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blossom-hwa · 4 years ago

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Skipping Stones - KEVIN

This was the second full scenario I ever finished for The Boyz and I think it was pretty nice to start with some soft Kevin :D THANK YOU KAI FOR LETTING ME YELL TO YOU ABOUT THIS ONE I HOPE IT LIVES UP TO YOUR EXPECTATIONS.

Anyway! Happy (slightly early but only by a couple hours??) birthday to one of the best boys in the world, the one and only wonderful beautiful lovely Kevin Moon! I hope you all enjoy this <3 please reblog if you did!

Pairing: Kevin x gender neutral!reader

Genre: fluff, teacher!au

Triggers: cursing, alcohol

Word Count: 7.8k

Falling in love with you, Kevin thinks, is a bit like skipping stones.

Alternatively:

Five times Kevin felt himself falling deeper in love with you, and the one time he knew he was gone.

TBZ Masterlist | Touching Stars | Breathe, and Live

prelude.

Kevin knows he exists to be clowned. His sister says it’s something about his face – there’s something undeniably meme-y about his reactions, apparently, that makes him very clownable. His students tell him it’s in his demeanor – he comes off as pretty chill, according to them, which makes him easy to tease because they know he’ll react in some hilarious way, but it won’t affect him too deeply.

(Changmin just says he’s stupid, which makes him clownable to the highest degree, but Kevin refuses to take information from the teacher who still scares him every other week with whichever horror movie mask has recently caught his fancy.)

So Kevin knows he’s just a clownable human being, and he’s resigned himself to that fate for the rest of his life. But around you? His calm, collected, hilarious, wonderful partner? He expected a little less clownery and a little more loving.

“Oh, come on,” you laugh, trying to get Kevin to turn around. Honestly, he’s already feeling the effects of withdrawal from not seeing your smile for more than a few minutes, but he refuses to budge, lips curved downwards in a semi-permanent pout. He knows he won’t be able to keep this up for long (he’ll miss looking at your face too much, and really, he can’t be mad at you about anything), but he can make a scene. “Kevin!”

“You’re so mean,” he whines, still resisting your efforts to make him look at you. “I just poured out a very embarrassing part of my childhood to you and instead of comforting me, you laugh?” His pout deepens. “I don’t know why we’re dating.”

Your hands leave the back of his shoulders. For a second, Kevin thinks you’ve given up and he’s about to start whining about that too, but then you appear in front of him, fingers clasped placatingly. “All right, all right, Kevin.” Still grinning, you grab his hands. “I won’t tease anymore. But seriously, how could you expect me not to laugh my ass off when you told me you learned to skip stones for the –” you make jazz hands, presumably to emphasize your point – “aesthetic?”

Kevin sticks his lip out childishly. “I didn’t think it was that funny,” he mumbles.

“It’s not, not really.” You squeeze his hands. “But it’s a move that’s got Kevin Moon stamped all over it.” As if to accentuate your point, you snort. “Of course you’d learn to skip stones for the aesthetic.”

“Y/N,” he whines.

“Fine, fine, I’ll stop.” Your teasing grin melts into an eager smile. “Hey, teach me?”

“Right now?”

“Why not?”

It feels like Kevin’s physically crumbling to pieces with the way your hopeful voice and sparkling eyes just attack him from all angles. Grudgingly, the deep pout on his lips stretches into a smile, the starstruck smile that all of his friends like to tease him for. “Fine, let’s go.”

He spends the rest of the afternoon stepping around small children and younger couples, trying to find suitable rocks for skipping and teaching you the right angles, the right stance, the right way to hold the stone in your hand before sending it into the water. You learn fast, something he envies – where it took him at least a couple of weeks to perfect the art, you (mostly) pick it up in a matter of hours – but he can’t feel too jealous or too bad when you look up at him after your stone skips once on the water. “Kevin, I did it!” You shake him slightly. “Did you see that?”

The softest smile spreads across Kevin’s face as he kisses your forehead softly “Yeah, I did.”

When he pulls away, you give him the brightest grin before scrambling away to find more stones to skip. Kevin just watches, taking in the way your figure looks against the setting sun, bright gold and pale pink light streaming over your body, almost making you glow.

This is why he fell in love with you, he thinks. Your character, your tenacity, the way you throw yourself into every task you’ve been assigned so that you can complete it as best as you can. It doesn’t matter if you’re trying to treat a new cancer case at the hospital or trying to skip a stupid rock across the water. You always give it your all.

Idly, Kevin picks up a stone of his own. With a practiced flick of his wrist, it goes sailing onto the lake, skipping three, four, five times before sinking beneath the surface.

Falling in love with you is a bit like skipping stones, he thinks, watching the stone disappear from sight. Someone had to force him into that first blind date with you, much like making the first toss of the stone into the water, but every skip after that was quick, effortless, the way he felt himself falling for you, step by stumbling step, until his heart finally gave in and sank below the waves of your warmth.

It’s hard to imagine a time when he wasn’t in love with you, even though such a time did at one point exist. But the way you make him feel with the smallest things you do – the way you scrunch your eyebrows in confusion, the way you rest your chin on your hand in thought – it feels like he’s known you for an eternity and loved you even longer, loved you before time existed.

Your stone skips twice across the water and you shout with joy, racing up to Kevin to celebrate. He catches you when you leap at him, arms wrapping around your waist automatically, smiling into your shining face. Yes, he thinks, he’s in love.

He’s so in love with you.

. . . . .

Kevin, by all definitions of the word, is panicking.

He’s been dreading this blind date for almost a month now, circling the day on his calendar and marking it D-Day, begging Jacob and Changmin to come along and hide in case he needs to be bailed out, relentlessly praying that he’ll be able to leave the stupid date in one piece.

(Look, as much as he appreciates Mrs. Park’s kindness and her brownies, she can be… a little overbearing. To say the least.)

Just a few hours ago, he was putting on his yellow sweater and bemoaning the existence of his pushy coworker. Just a few hours ago, he was lamenting his fate to his two friends (friends is a term he will use loosely for today – all they did was laugh at him). Just a few hours ago, he was cursing the existence of Mrs. Park and her brownies for getting him locked into this date with her sister’s kid. Wait, was it her sister? Or her brother?

(“Yes, her sister,” Changmin says, rolling his eyes. “Pay more attention, won’t you, Kev?”

Kevin groans. “Why couldn’t either of you be chosen by Mrs. Park, huh? Why me?”

“Because I have a partner and Jacob is good at disappearing.” Changmin grins that evil, evil grin he always has on just before he’s about to execute a prank on someone (usually Kevin).

“More like the two of you are good at leaving me to fend for myself against Mrs. Park, even though you know I can’t say no to shit,” Kevin grumbles.

“Give up her brownies,” Jacob suggests.

Kevin gasps. “No way in hell.”)

But now, he’s actually sitting across from you in a café not too far from his apartment, holding a cup of coffee between his (visibly shaking) hands. And he can’t even think of why he was dreading this date so much because you’re just… really, really perfect.

Why are you so sweet? he’s screaming inside. Why are you so funny? Why are you literally the perfect mix of snark and kindness and just – everything?

“So my aunt told me you work with her,” you say, seemingly oblivious to Kevin’s jitters. The smile on your face is really sending electricity racing through his heart. “I know the children must be fun, but I know she can be a bit… overbearing.” There’s a hint of apology in your eyes, like you know your aunt must have pressured him into this and you’re sorry that he had to come on a date with you.

Kevin’s stomach flip-flops. Okay, so Mrs. Park maybe did severely pressure and sweetly blackmail Kevin into a blind date. But Kevin also doesn’t want you to feel bad for it because it’s not your fault at all, so as usual, when he finds himself in a tight spot, his mouth decides it’s time to run.

“No, your aunt is really nice,” he starts. “I really mean it – she’s always very kind to the kids and to the rest of us teachers. I’m still kind of new compared to the rest of them – I’ve only been at the school for a few years now – but she helped me feel welcome that first year when I was still figuring things out. And she also likes Beyonce! You know, the greatest female artist there is? She let me play my entire playlist of Beyonce songs for her last year and she liked every single one of them!”

Kevin’s babbling now. Rambling. Whatever he wants to call it. His brain is screaming for him to stop talking but his mouth won’t stop running because this is what he does when he’s nervous. He talks. Endlessly.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the table where Changmin and Jacob are situated in case they need to rescue him from mental or physical harm. The top of Changmin’s head is barely visible behind a huge menu so Kevin can barely see his friend, but somewhere in his babbling haze, he notices a phone camera poking out from behind the menu.

If he wasn’t blushing before, he definitely is now.

Finally, his mouth listens to his brain and he trails off on his last thought on why Beyonce is the best artist in the entire world. There’s a second of silence.

“Sorry,” Kevin finally squeaks. “I… tend to ramble when I get nervous. Or when I talk about Beyonce.”

Your smile flashes even wider. Kevin is torn between wanting to melt into the ground out of embarrassment and staying upright to keep seeing that grin on your face.

“Don’t be sorry,” you laugh, fiddling with your cup of coffee. “I thought it was cute.”

Kevin’s face burns so much that he misses what you say next. “Sorry?”

You grin. “I’m always interested in hearing about a new artist to add to my playlist.”

Kevin lets out a theatrical gasp. “You don’t have Beyonce in your music library?”

A sheepish look spreads across your face. “… No?”

“Oh my God.” Kevin pulls out his phone. “Okay, I’m about to educate you on the artist of our time.”

The afternoon, then, passes in a flash. Changmin and Jacob eventually just up and exit the café (presumably with enough blackmail to last the rest of Kevin’s life – he knows he was acting like a complete fool, but luckily, you didn’t seem to care), leaving him alone with you. Under any other circumstances, he probably would’ve started crying, but you’re so sweet and so interesting that Kevin thinks he could stay and talk to you in this café forever.

He learns you’re an oncologist at a nearby children’s hospital, that even though the work is hard and tiring and sometimes overwhelmingly depressing, the strength of the children and the families you work with inspire you to keep going every day. He learns that you don’t have too much of a sweet tooth (though you won’t say no to ice cream or cheesecake, both of which he notes in his head), he learns that you love coffee, and he learns that you like to take walks in the park whenever you have a little bit of free time.

He also learns that you’re snarky, intelligent, driven, hardworking. He learns that you’re something far beyond the beauty of your face – that underneath your skin, there’s a heart that’s warmer than the sun.

Kevin understands that this is only the first date and that he maybe shouldn’t be making judgments so quickly. But he’s been told that he’s a relatively good judge of character, and the genuine look in your eyes when you talks speaks volumes about the person deep inside.

Even though you live further away, Kevin takes the bus with you to your home, citing that it’s only polite to walk one’s date to the door (in reality, he just wants to spend a little more time with you). As the bus rattles along the road, Kevin lets you listen to the songs on his phone, delighting in the way your head bobs to the beat of his favorite tracks.

Kevin’s a bit sad when you reach your apartment, sad that your time together is over for the day. He lingers outside the building for a moment, trying to work up the courage to ask about a second date.

Suddenly, you lean forward. Kevin jerks back – he briefly wonders if you’re trying to kiss him – but you just pat a spot on his sweater, frowning slightly at your fingers. “Is that… paint?”

Oh my God.

Kevin tugs the material of his sweater forward so he can see the spot you’re pointing at. Sure enough, there’s a small patch of red paint on the yellow fuzz. He groans. “I didn’t even notice.”

��Well, that’s what people like us get for working with children.” You roll your eyes comically, and Kevin bursts into laughter that’s definitely too loud for the small joke you made. Then silence falls again.

You break it. “Listen, Kevin.”

He perks up. “Hmm?”

“I’ll admit, I wasn’t exactly looking forward to this date because my aunt has been trying to set me up with people my age for several years now.” For the first time today, you look shy. “She was probably really pushy with you too, so I’m sorry about that. But I really enjoyed this afternoon.” You meet Kevin’s eyes. “If you’d like, I’d love to go on a second date.”

Kevin’s heart explodes. It really does. Sheer excitement courses through his veins, and he has to stop himself from smiling widely enough to mimic a god damn clown. “I’d love that,” he says trying to hide how eager he really is. “Um, I’ll say that I wasn’t exactly looking forward to this either, mostly because my experience with blind dates has had… limited success. But I’m really glad I met you. You’re a wonderful person.”

Your smile grows wider at Kevin’s admission. “Thank you, Kevin. You’re wonderful too.”

“Do you kiss on the first date?” he blurts out because his brain has no filter. Then he backtracks. “Um, it’s totally okay if you don’t, I was just asking, please don’t think I’m a creep –”

You briefly press your lips to his. Kevin shuts up.

When you break away, Kevin honestly thinks you’re glowing. “Does that answer your question?” you ask, bravely trying to hide something – is that embarrassment? Whatever it is, he thinks it’s adorable.

Kevin blushes. “Yes.”

People probably think he’s insane with the way he’s smiling on the bus ride back to his apartment. He can’t help it, though – the tingling touch of your lips, gentle against his, plays over and over in his mind, along with memories of your lovely voice and your lovely smile and your lovely, lovely disposition. Some people are giving him weird looks, and Jacob and Changmin are sure to tease him to no end when he comes in to work tomorrow.

But who cares? Kevin’s got a second date in the works with one of the most wonderful people he’s ever met.

In his mind, he’s on top of the world.

. . . . .

ii.

Usually, when Kevin gets lucky and scores a second date or a third, he suggests taking his date somewhere with children to gauge how they feel about small toddlers tearing up the place. Children are a huge part of Kevin’s life – he teaches elementary school and knows he wants kids when he gets a bit older – so one of the silent standards he’s set for potential significant others is that they have to like and be good with children.

You work at a children’s hospital, Kevin knows, so you must at least be good with kids, even if you might not like them (hey, it’s possible – Kevin has known many people who are good at things they hate). That fulfills half of the standard. He just needs to gauge the other half.

There aren’t many events at the school coming up, though – no plays, no art exhibitions, nothing he can really invite you to. He’s racking his brains for a third date somehow involving children when you unexpectedly call him about an event at the hospital.

“I know it’s last minute,” you apologize profusely, “but the guy who was supposed to come today for the kids’ music hour called in sick. I don’t want to cancel the event because they always look forward to it and I know you play the piano – would it be possible for you to fill in?”

It is possible, it turns out. He may not be able to pack his Yamaha upright into the back of your car, but he does have an electronic keyboard that fits into your trunk. The whole way there, you’re apologizing, but between reassurances that it’s totally fine, Kevin can’t help but anticipate how you’ll act around the children once the two of you arrive.

Setting up takes more time than he’d like (the extension cord that comes with his keyboard is too short, so you disappear on a twenty-minute manhunt for a longer one while Kevin just stands there awkwardly), which makes him feel slightly like a burden on the rest of your coworkers. They’re so polite, though, so genuine and kind, that Kevin eventually starts to feel more at ease.

(He’s still endlessly grateful when you return, extension cord clasped victoriously in one hand.)

Then the kids start trickling in, and Kevin’s heart immediately both breaks and melts. Some are in wheelchairs, others have lost their hair, but they’re all smiling with so much excitement, chattering to their parents and the staff around them as they settle on beanbags and pillows on the floor. Several look at him curiously and he smiles at them, prompting several questions about who he is, why there’s a keyboard and not a guitar, and why the normal guy isn’t here.

“The usual guy got sick and couldn’t come,” Kevin says to one sweet girl with chubby cheeks and shining eyes. “I’m just here to replace him for a day.”

“Do you play the piano?” she asks, shyly pointing at the keyboard, which more than a few curious souls are standing around.

Kevin smiles. “Yes, I do.” He would say more, maybe offer to show her the instrument a little, but then you’re walking over, and her eyes brighten. “Dr. L/N!” she cheers.

With a loud laugh, you swoop her up carefully, cradling the girl against your shoulder. “How are you, Daeun?” you ask, lips spread in a smile that Kevin knows can’t be faked.

The girl – Daeun – grins. “I’ve been good!” she announces proudly. “Are we going to start soon?”

You laugh again, settling her back down on the floor. Kevin thinks his heart melts with the way your eyes sparkle. “Yes, we are,” you say. “I see you’ve already met Kevin?”

“Your name is Kevin?” Daeun looks at him curiously. “Your name is strange.”

Kevin has to force himself not to coo. “I was born in Canada,” he says. “My Korean name is Hyungseo.”

Daeun’s nose scrunches. “I like Kevin more,” she decides with finality.

Kevin feels brave enough to pat her on the head. “Then you can call me Kevin.”

“All right, Daeun. Go find your mom, okay? Kevin and I are going to finish setting up, and then we’ll get started.” With a soft kiss on the forehead (Kevin makes a sound he really hopes you don’t hear – the scene is just too adorable), you send the small girl off, turning back to Kevin. “Shall we get started?” you ask, grinning widely.

It may only be the third date, but he’s falling in love, Kevin thinks, falling in love with your shining face and sparkling eyes, with the way you shower love upon the children you’ve placed under your care. Right now, you’re everything he’s ever wanted in a future partner – beautiful in character, kind, gentle, fiercely loving.

His heart pounds a little faster.

Belatedly, Kevin realizes you’re waiting for a response and nods quickly. “Yeah,” he breathes, eyes glancing over the sea of children waiting (somewhat) patiently. A smile to rival yours spreads across his face. “Let’s get started.”

. . . . .

iii.

Kevin loves the last Friday of every month, he really does. It’s been tradition for several years now to go out with Changmin and Jacob on what he calls nights for “the boyz” to eat cheap food and get drunk. And no matter how much the others complain about the stupid name (Kevin will admit it sounds stupid now, but that doesn’t mean he’ll change it), he knows they enjoy the nights all the same.

Sometimes, though, Kevin just wishes he had more of a filter on his mouth. If not that, then maybe his brain could stop remembering every single dumb thing he said or did on drunk nights out. It would make his life a lot easier if he could just forget being stupid.

But no, God decided to be mean when making Kevin Moon. So Kevin, as a result, is an emotional drunk. He cries a lot when he hears about sad or adorable things, he says a lot of stupid stuff to (badly) express his overwhelming feelings, and worst of all, he remembers all of it when he wakes up hungover the next morning.

(None of this stops him from getting drunk anyway. Kevin Moon doesn’t learn lessons when it comes to alcohol. When he falls on his face (sometimes literally), he just gets up again, even if it’s with a bloody nose.)

Luckily, the night doesn’t end in chaos. Even though Jacob, who’s half of Kevin’s impulse control, leaves after an hour (he’s meeting with his family the next day, so Kevin is obligated call him a noob – it’s like a law of physics or something), Changmin doesn’t seem to be in the mood to do weird things without Jacob there to stop him, so the night passes relatively smoothly without Kevin throwing, like, a tantrum or anything.

He gets close, though. Because damn, if Changmin isn’t so fucking adorable when talking about his partner. Buried in his purple hoodie, black hair peeking softly over the top, it’s impossible for Kevin not to tear up when Changmin begins gushing over his beautiful, amazing, wonderful significant other whom he just compared to stardust.

Stardust.

Kevin wants to scream, that’s so romantic.

When you come to pick him and Changmin up, Kevin can’t resist relaying all of this to you as soon as he gets in the car. Vaguely, he thinks he should be worried about Changmin hearing it and hitting him, but the boy is mostly asleep in the back, eyes only fluttering slightly when you go over a bump or something. After Changmin gets dropped off at his apartment, Kevin turns the gushing on full force.

“Y/N, the love of my life, he called her stardust,” he’s still babbling even as you strongarm him up to his own apartment. “He’s so adorable. Changmin is so adorable. Oh my God.”

He thinks you snort. Probably. It would be a normal response. “Didn’t you call him the spawn of Satan just a few days ago?”

Definitely a snort, Kevin thinks, but he’s too invested in Changmin’s loveliness to whine about you making fun of him. “Y/N,” he pouts instead, “listen to meeeeee.”

“I’m listening, I’m listening.” You grunt, catching him just as he misses the next step and almost falls forward. “Hey, be careful.”

“’M trying.” Kevin manfully does his best to stop the world from tilting on its side. “But Changminnie.”

“Yes, yes, Changminnie.” Even drunk, Kevin can make out the playful exasperation in your voice. “Keep going.”

“Thank you, love of my life.” Kevin tries to give you a kiss but his lips hit air instead of your cheek. “Heck.”

You burst into loud laughter. “Kevin Moon, you never told me you were this adorable when drunk.”

“Changminnie,” he says more insistently.

“Okay, yes, I’m listening.” You kiss his cheek instead, and Kevin almost topples over right then and there. “Hey, you can’t fall over whenever I kiss you. Tell me about Changmin.”

Kevin starts flailing his arms around as best he can. “He’s so cute!” he half-yells. “He told me his partner was like stardust because she’s so perfect and warm, but she’s also like stardust because… because…”

His lip juts out.

“Oh, no, don’t cry, Kev.” You stop moving, then Kevin registers you bundling him into a hug, patting his head. “I know you’re a sad emotional drunk, but don’t cry.”

“Not crying,” Kevin protests, visibly crying.

“Mhm.” You pat his head one last time before letting go. “Hey, give me a second, I’m going to unlock your door.”

There’s some fumbling and a quiet snick, then Kevin obediently follows you through the door of his apartment. Once inside, you press a thumb to the side of his face, brushing a tear away. “Tell me what Changmin said to make you sad.”

“Changminnie said he’s afraid she’ll… she’ll… slip away between his fingers. Like stardust.” Kevin feels like he’s going to start sobbing any moment now. “He’s afraid she’s going to leave him eventually because she’s too perfect and he’s not good enough.”

“Oh my God.” You sit down on the couch. Kevin follows suit, albeit a lot more ungracefully as he collapses onto a cushion in a tangle of limbs. “Oh my God, that’s so sad and cute at the same time.”

“I said he should call her his star,” Kevin mumbles, turning slightly so he can burrow into your side. “Because stardust. Texted them about it. Both of them.”

Your laugh sounds like music even to the drunken haze of his brain. “Wonder what they’ll think when they see a drunken keysmash on their phones first thing tomorrow morning.”

The two of you sit in silence for a bit. Kevin feels his eyes beginning to get droopy, and he almost falls asleep before a thought strikes him with lightning force.

“I need to give you a nickname!” he almost yells, sitting bolt upright. The movement makes the room spin, but he doesn’t care. This is urgent. “Changmin’s going to call her his star, but I haven’t given you a nickname yet!”

“Kev, Kev.” You hold him by the shoulders, and he relaxes a little. “You can come up with a nickname for me in the morning. Right now, I think you need to sleep.”

“No,” he whines, shifting in your grip. “This is important. You need a nickname.” He sinks into deep, drunken thoughts, the kinds of thoughts he has when he ignores everything around him in favor of getting philosophical after having drunk too much alcohol.

Then it hits him.

“Oh my God,” he gasps. “Oh my God.” It’s his turn to grab you by the shoulders, now. “Oh my God. You’re the sun. Because I’m the moon. Get it? Kevin Moon?”

Through his drunken haze, Kevin thinks he sees you smile, maybe. It looks like a smile.

Your eyes are sparkling. You look happy.

Probably a smile.

“I’m a genius,” he whispers. A genius for coming up with the nickname and for making you happy.

“Sure, Kevin.” You grunt a little as he shifts his weight. “Come on, get up. We’ll see if you’re still a genius tomorrow if you wake up and remember all of this.”

Kevin doesn’t register much for the rest of the night, just remembers falling into his bed and forcing you to lie down next to him. The next morning, he wakes up with a throbbing headache and the vague, ever-present worry that he said something stupid last night.

You’re not in the bed with him anymore. Kevin blinks once, twice, before trying to sit up so to figure out where you went. Then he remembers you don’t live here. You probably went home.

Which is why he nearly goes into cardiac arrest when you appear in his doorway, holding a mug of coffee and a glass of water.

For a moment, the two of you just stare at each other. Kevin’s not sure what thoughts are running through your head, but he knows he’s trying to piece together what happened last night, and whether or not he should be hiding under the covers out of embarrassment.

Then it hits him.

Sun.

Moon.

Genius.

Oh, God.

Kevin wants to die.

“Morning, sunshine,” he says, using your new nickname in the desperate hope that it’ll distract you from remembering the rest of what he said last night.

A catlike smirk curls your lips as you walk over, pressing the glass of water into his hands. A feeling of dread fills Kevin’s heart as he takes it.

“Morning, genius,” you say with enough evil delight to power Changmin for a year.

Kevin groans. “I was drunk.”

“Yeah, I noticed.” Your teasing smile melts into something gentler as you place your mug on the bedside table, turning to bring the glass of water in his hands to his lips. “Coffee’s mine, don’t touch it or I’ll break a bone. Drink the water. I made some breakfast, so come into the kitchen whenever you feel up to it. After you’ve brushed your teeth.”

Warmth courses through Kevin’s body, and it has nothing to do with the alcohol from last night and everything to do with how you’re here in body and mind, sweetly helping him recover from a stupid hangover even when it’s definitely not your problem to take care of and you probably have better things to do. His heart thumps, loud enough that he thinks you could probably hear it.

In this moment, Kevin doesn’t think he’s ever been more grateful for anything than you coming into his life.

“Got it.” He awkwardly tries to salute, but he does it with the hand holding the glass and the water nearly spills onto the bed. As his cheeks flush, you break into snorting giggles.

Even though it’s at his expense, Kevin thinks he would do anything, anything in the world, to keep that wonderful smile on your face and that musical laughter in the air.

. . . . .

iv.

Only when you move in together does Kevin realize just how taxing your job is. He had an idea from when you sometimes had to cancel or move around dates, but when you did meet up, you were usually energetic and cheerful. Of course, there were the token dates where you just came over to Kevin’s apartment or he came over to yours and you just flopped around for a few hours. Outside, though, you always showed a bright face.

But that was because dates were mostly on your days off or when your hours were short, and as a result, you felt good enough, energized enough to show Kevin your brilliant smile. When you first moved in together, Kevin felt a bit surprised – well, maybe not surprised, but saddened – that you didn’t have the energy to smile as brightly as he saw before.

It’s fine by Kevin, though. You smile often enough, and if your teeth don’t show as much as they used to, there’s something beautiful, something calming and sweet in the slower curve of your lips, the gentle, lethargic way you lean up for a kiss. After all, Kevin has enough energy to compensate for when you might lack some of yours.

(It helps that he can cook, he thinks. Even when the kids at school sometimes wear him out, the brief sparkle in your eye that spreads across your lips when you walk through the door to see him stirring something on the stove is more than enough to make up for it.)

You’re cute, too, when you’re tired. Though Kevin loves it when you’re energetic and ready for whatever the day has decided to throw in your path, there’s something so peaceful, so pleasant about feeling you lying lethargically against his side on the couch, scrolling through your phone or reading a book or just resting, doing nothing but breathing softly. Kevin cherishes those small moments, the soft atmosphere where he kisses your hair and you smile, reach up, and press a kiss of your own to his cheek.

Tonight is one of those nights, a night of soft, comforting silence, words few and far between. It’s been a bit warm lately, so Kevin’s elected to wear one of the tank tops he keeps for the warmer months instead of his usual sweater.

You sit next to him on the couch, back pressed to his side as you send off emails on your phone. Kevin’s working too, inputting grades on his laptop. He hums a little under his breath to take his mind off of the monotony of his task.

At some point, you finish, putting down your phone with a sigh and slumping into his ribs. Kevin starts at the sudden movement. “Sunshine,” he whines, even though he could really care less.

“Moon boy,” you parrot in the same tone of voice.

Kevin’s attention turns back to his laptop, so he barely registers you shifting on the couch to a new position. He does notice it, though, when your fingers start trailing along his skin, exposed by the lack of sleeves on his tank top, because your touch tickles.

You completely ignore his resulting twitch of surprise, only keep tracing the skin of his rib cage. Kevin looks down, confused as to what’s caught your attention.

Oh. His tattoos.

“Sunshine?” he asks softly, watching your fingers shift along his skin.

“Mm,” you hum, eyes still fixated on the ink decorating his side.

“Sleepy?”

Slowly, you shake your head, fingers paused on the image of Mickey Mouse. “Not yet.”

He goes back to inputting grades, all the while still aware of your fingers tracing the lines, the curls, the swirls of black ink along his side. When he finishes, he looks over before closing his laptop to see your eyes still focused on his skin.

Something in his heart explodes, spreading a tingly, comforting warmth throughout his body. It’s a feeling he’s come to associate with your presence, a feeling of absolute security, absolute trust, absolute warmth that comes with falling in love with you.

You look up, noticing his lack of movement. “Finished, moonbeams?”

“First moon boy, now moonbeams?” Kevin teases you lightly, picking up the hand you were using to trace his skin and pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. Just like every other time he’s ever done it, a wide smile spreads across your face and a shyness sparkles in your eyes, as though you still can’t believe the bliss of the moment.

(At least, that’s what Kevin feels every time you do something to remind him that he’s yours.)

Your voice breaks into his thoughts. “Can’t call you moonshine, that’s an alcohol.” You shrug as best as you can in your stretched-out position. “Moonbeams, moon boy… whatever feels right.”

Kevin puts his laptop on the coffee table. As he leans back into the couch, you curl up into him, one hand still lingering against the Mickey Mouse tattoo on his side. “Tell me about these?” you ask, pressing your fingers a bit more firmly against the ink.

His tattoos are personal, serving as reminders of the past and inspiration to keep moving. Rarely does he share their meanings with anyone (not that people usually ask, because the tattoos are mostly covered by his clothes), and only with those who mean the world to him.

Kevin thinks you qualify as one of them.

Touching your shoulders, he turns you around slightly, just enough to press a short, sweet kiss to the top of your head. “Of course, sunshine.” He smiles, gazing into your eyes, feeling the warmth of your love travel through his limbs. “Which one first?”

. . . . .

Kevin Moon, for the majority of his life, has hovered in between being classified as a morning person or a night owl. Yes, he gets up at six in the morning for a cup of coffee, but he also stays up past midnight doing… stuff. Grading, writing reports, watching cat videos, wasting time.

(When Changmin judges his lifestyle, Kevin just reminds him that he fell in love with his roommate’s hookup and is on a dance team with the parent of one of his students.)

Honestly, if Kevin didn’t remind himself every so often that he’s currently a full adult, his lifestyle would make him think he was still in college. He certainly still acts like it when he isn’t working. Procrastinating? Check. Crying over reports he needs to submit at three a.m.? Check. Flopping around on the floor when life is going badly? Check.

And most importantly: nonexistent sleep schedule? Check.

You put a stop to that real quick when you move in, both directly and indirectly. Directly, you make an appointment for him at a sleep clinic after figuring out his shitty sleep patterns, and Kevin finds out he probably has mild insomnia. The aftermath is horrible – you put him on a strict sleep schedule and all but ban caffeine from his diet (goodbye, morning coffee) – but it helps, after a couple of weeks. He sleeps better. Perks of having a partner who works in medicine.

Indirectly, though, you probably make a bigger difference.

See, the way Kevin thinks about it, he just never had a lot of reasons to stay in bed very long. Even though he appreciates sleep, really appreciates it on long days, it’s just that he can’t really force it if it doesn’t want to come. He’d also rather be doing something productive (or not productive, depends on the asker’s perspective) than lying awake for hours, anyway.

But now that he’s waking up to a face he loves?

Well, even if you sometimes disappear before he wakes (hospital hours are whack as hell, but sadly, you can’t ignore your job), Kevin will just say your warmth is a powerful incentive to stay huddled under the covers, even if he can’t fall back asleep.

He still wakes up every morning to grey light beginning to peek through the window. No matter how hard he tries to sleep in just a little longer, his body can’t seem to stay unconscious past six in the morning, so both of you have just resigned yourselves to the fact that Kevin will always be an early riser.

Before you walked into his life, he would’ve rolled out of bed almost immediately, stumbled to the bathroom (and maybe knocked his knee against the doorframe, who knows), then started brewing coffee in the kitchen to start the day.

Now?

A drowsy smile begins to make its way across Kevin’s face, soft as the morning light, when his brain catches up to the present and he registers your warmth under the covers. Sleepily, he blinks, taking in the sight of your peaceful face buried halfway in the sheets.

You shouldn’t look this beautiful, Kevin thinks, not with your hair strewn all over the pillow, blankets rumpled around your shoulders, arms outstretched so that one sort of curls over his body while the other is held up to your chest. It’s the morning – no one should look pretty and put-together. That isn’t natural.

(Unless you happy to be Kim Younghoon, but that’s another story.)

Yet you somehow look like a sleeping deity in Kevin’s mind, even with your hair a mess and drool drying on the pillowcase. As the drowsiness clears from his eyes, as the light from the window grows brighter, Kevin can barely even think of moving, of disturbing your peace.

He dislikes your alarm. It’s loud, annoying, and hits him with a jolt when he’s just trying to take these stolen morning moments to admire your beauty. When he complains about it the first time, you tell him to serve as the alarm, to wake you up himself.

Kevin counters that he’s an artist, that he needs peace and quiet to give beauty of such a degree the respect it deserves. You just roll your eyes, telling him that if he isn’t going to wake you up, the alarm’s going to have to take that job. The smile on your face, though, and the brief kiss you press to his lips right after, speaks volumes for the emotions Kevin’s words make you feel.

(He loves flustering you like this, even if you pretend his words don’t make you feel some sort of way.)

So eventually, you wake, eyes fluttering as the alarm brings you back to the conscious plane. Kevin’s heart feels like it’s bursting when your eyes fully open, blearily blinking at the world.

“Morning, sunshine,” he whispers, running one hand through your hair.

You lean slightly into the touch, the corners of your lips twitching up. And every day, as he stares into your sleepy eyes, lips curling as you whisper a quiet “Morning, moon boy” in reply, Kevin knows he’s falling, falling in love with every part of you.

. . . . .

+i.

Kevin’s waiting in front of the school when you pull up at the curb. Smiling apologetically, he gives you a quick kiss on the cheek as you step out of the car. “Sorry, sunshine.” He gestures at the two small boys standing beside him, absorbed in their own world. “Their uncle’s running late and Changmin and Jacob have things to do, so I need to wait for Sangyeon to pick them up before we can go.”

“No worries.” You return the kiss, smiling as bright as the sun. Kevin feels a flash of pride for coming up with a nickname that fits you so well. “We have the whole afternoon, don’t we?”

“That, we do.” He grins, squeezing your hand.

“Mr. Moon, who’s that?” a small voice asks closer to the ground. The two of you turn to see Sunwoo and Eric trotting over, curious looks on their faces.

Kevin looks over at you, but you’re already bending down to get to eye level with the two boys. “Oh, hello!” Your grin, if possible, grows wider. “I’m Y/N, Kevin’s significant other. What are your names?”

“I’m Eric,” Eric pipes up. “This is my brother, Sunwoo.”

Sunwoo just stares with round eyes. Well, he’s always been the shyer of the two.

“Those are lovely names,” you reply smoothly, giving Sunwoo an encouraging smile. Kevin feels his heart melt completely at how well you interact with the kids. “I’m just going to be waiting with Kevin until your uncle picks you up, is that okay?”

The two kids nod and immediately go back to babbling in their own little world. Kevin notices the fond smile on your face, and his heart melts even more.

“They’re so cute,” you whisper to him.

“I know, right?” Kevin clutches his heart dramatically. “Can you imagine teaching them every day?”

Just as you’re shaking your head in comic disbelief, another car pulls up behind yours. A harried-looking young man quickly exits and Eric and Sunwoo cheer, distracted by the arrival of their uncle.

“Sorry about this,” Sangyeon says, absentmindedly patting Eric’s head as the boy hugs his leg. Sunwoo seems to be attempting to climb onto his uncle’s back. “Traffic wasn’t the kindest when I was getting out of work.” Then he notices you. “Oh, hello. Are you Kevin’s partner?”

“That I am.” You stick out a hand. “I’m Y/N, and I’ve been told you’re Sangyeon?”

Sangyeon nods, smiling. “Nice to meet you. And to see that Kevin’s found someone to deal with his antics.”

Kevin blushes as you laugh. “Hey,” he complains. “No jokes at my expense, please.”

“Sure, moonbeams.” You roll your eyes, then turn back to Sangyeon. “It’s nice to meet you. Your nephews are adorable.”

The smile that Sangyeon gives the two boys clambering around him says it all. “They are, aren’t they?” He checks his watch. “I’m sorry, I have to go now. My sister’s expecting us back soon, and I’m already a bit late.”

Kevin breathes a sigh of relief. No more teasing at his expense from Sangyeon, at least, though there’s no guarantee from you. “Nice seeing you, Sangyeon. And have a good day, kids.”

A small chorus of “You too, Mr. Moon!” sounds, and Kevin expects that to be the end. Sangyeon will herd the boys into the car, Kevin will follow you into yours, and then you’ll go your separate ways. What he doesn’t expect is for Sunwoo to look out at you from behind his uncle’s leg, round eyes cautiously curious, and ask you a question.

“Y/N?”

Immediately, you turn around, teasing smirk melting into a gentle smile for the small boy. “Yes, Sunwoo?”

Sunwoo’s eyes dart between you and Kevin. Then, softly, shyly – “Do you love Mr. Moon?”

Time seems to stop as Kevin’s breath hitches in his throat at the sudden question, but you only look back at him, eyes soft and sparkling in the sunlight.

Your answer glitters in your gaze.

Though you’re supposed to be talking to Sunwoo, your eyes stay fixed on Kevin, strong and unyielding, yet gentle and affectionate, as you answer. Your voice is soft when you reply. “Yes, Sunwoo. I do love him.” The smile on your face grows wider as you turn back to the child. “I love him very much.”

Indescribable warmth floods Kevin’s chest and tears prick his eyes. And as Sangyeon hurries his nephews away, as you turn around to unlock your car, one truth burns with absolute, crystal-clear certainty in his mind.

He isn’t falling in love with you, not anymore. No, he’s far past that stage.

Kevin Moon is completely, wholly, irrevocably in love with you.

“Kevin?” You look at him from the other side of the car. “You coming?”

A wide grin spreads across his face as he meets your sparkling eyes. Love blooms in his chest.

“Coming, sunshine.”

If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

(1 reblog = 1 prayer for kevin’s whipped ass ksjdkgsdhjk)

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lyallblacklupin · 3 years ago

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Don’t miss the Yule Ball.

Remus sorts out his feelings about Sirius.

Tags: Post-Incident with Severus Snape, Angst with Happy Ending, Getting Back Together, Trust Issues.

Chapter 4

If someone had been there to witness what happened to Remus after Sirius had left the dorm, they would have had given him the longest hug to repress his teeming guilt that had gushed out of him so hard that he had collapsed on the floor, rocking back and forth for tears to come out, but they never came. He never wanted things to be turned this way between him and Sirius, which were completely unexpected. Sure, he did fantasize of being asked out by Sirius, but not in his right mind he had ever had any hopes for it to happen. He really underestimated Sirius. He was strongly reminded that the void in his chest was Sirius’ absence in his life which was expanding day by day, ripping his heart in the midst. He wanted Sirius. So much. He felt selfish—in fact he was selfish, and right now it didn’t seem like much of a sin.

He was again at the Gryffindor Table in the Great Hall, sipping coffee heedlessly, mind floating elsewhere in the crack of dawn. There were no classes today due to the Yule Ball in the evening. He had nothing to distract himself with. Surprisingly, he was greeted by a very unusual couple that he had to blink his eyes a little too much to believe he was seeing right.

“Oh, stop blinking! I know it’s hard to believe.” Lily Evans grumbled, with a slight amusement in her voice.

“Oh Evans, it’s not hard for me to believe. I am very much alive right now!” Yes, that was none other than James Potter, grinning his usual stupid, stupid smirk.

“For your information, we are not dating, Potter. We are just friends who happened to be going on a very casual event of our school.” Lily imitated a very elegant voice, smiling successfully that James couldn’t stop looking at her—or couldn’t stop swooning at her.

“Sure.” He shrugged, the smile not leaving his face for a second. They both slipped into their seats beside Remus, but they didn’t sit together. James and Lily were sitting on Remus’ sides. When the silence had prolonged for more than it was necessary, he found both of them staring at him.

“What?” He was utter confused.

“You think we are unable to see that long face of yours?” Lily commented, arching her brows like Mcgonacall. He shook his head slightly. He knew that he was not going to get away from this, “Tell us what happened?”

Remus was unable to gather words. He felt like he had no ounce of energy left in his body.

“I don’t know what to tell…” He trailed off.

“Okay, how about you tell us what are you feeling?” She put her hand on his.

“I don’t know that either.”

“Okay, okay…Umm. How about we ask you questions and you try to answer them?” Remus was not thrilled with her idea, so he stayed silent which she took it as his approval, “Did you have a fight with Sirius?”

“Not exactly a fight…” Remus was replaying the memory in his head for the infinith time, “Merlin, I wish it had been a fight.”

“Was it about…what he did with Snap—“ Lily was cut off by the shake of his head.

“No, it was not about that!” He said irritatingly, “We are way past that, okay?” He wasn’t asking but he was making it clear.

“Are you?” James interjected.

“Look, I have forgiven him long time ago. It’s just getting difficult to be, you know…normal?”

“Okay, let’s talk straight here, mate,” James put his arm around Remus—which was a typical ‘James Potter move’ when he was trying to convince someone, “You guys were dating before…all of that,” He did a vague hand gesture, “And right now, you guys are just these uncomfortable exes who are missing each other so much but have a tendency to ignore that.”

“Of course, I miss Sirius. He was my only best friend, James.” James gasped dramatically, making a show of how mocked he felt by his comment. Remus rolled his eyes at him.

“Yes, but James is trying to say that you guys miss being each other’s boyfriends.” Lily said those words with such gentleness that Remus felt heat creeping up on his neck. He was suddenly reminiscing the best memories of his life when he was dating Sirius.

“You are an ignorant, self-centered and a mean boyfriend, do you know that?” Remus replied blankly, his temper had reached the level of exhaustion because Sirius was right that Remus was never going to win any arguments with him. So he flopped on his bed but Sirius crawled from his behind to take him in his arms.

“But you love me.” He whispered, planting tiny kisses on Remus’ ear and jaw. Remus had turned into a mush, because it felt so good. He decided that he wasn’t unhappy on his position in their relationship. His mind made a mental note to himself that he’d rather let Sirius win all the arguments if it meant that he was never going to leave Remus.

“I do, I do love you.” He whispered back.

“Moony?”

“Remus?”

Remus jerked out of his ruminating to see James and Lily gawking at him.

“Sorry, just zoned out of the conversation.” He cleared his throat and Lily offered him her coffee.

“You’re a mess, Rem. You need to sort this out with yourself.” She was right, Remus knew, but he also wanted someone to tell him what to do.

“What do I do?”

“Go to the dance with him!” James piped up, and Remus flinched, “What?”

“Urgh. That was how it all started…”And then he told them what happened when Sirius asked him to be his date, how it turned out, and how infuriatingly he didn’t know what to do.

“You have a date!?” Lily scowled at him. Not only James was looking disappointed by the news, but Remus also felt sick of himself.

“I am the worst person in the world. I messed up. I messed everything! I knew that this was not what I wanted! I never wanted to date anyone. And yes, I admit, I haven’t moved on. Not even a little bit. I still think about him, and I can’t stop thinking about the fact that he had always been the one to calm me down whenever I’m angry or sad but then Snape happened, and I made a promise with myself that I will never let Sirius come near me. But I was this overconfident shit that I thought I will be able to handle all it. And then I wasn’t…and I can’t…”

His chest was thundering as the sobs began to cloud his throat, waiting for Remus to let go of himself. He didn’t want anyone to touch him otherwise, he’d never stop crying now that his heart was opening and becoming vulnerable.

“Moony…” James’ gentle voice was enough to bring his emotion at the brink of his eyes. He didn’t just underestimate Sirius, but also himself. That was very unlike Remus. He hated being the center of attention, he hated breaking down in public, and he hated people’s soft words—let alone the physical gestures.

“Don’t.” It was all he could manage to say when Lily had touched his arm. He was on his feet as he fled the hall, in desperate need to reach the lavatory.

So it was about what happened with Snape, came a voice in his head when he was inside the vacant bathroom. There was still mistrust, swimming with his judgments. His mind was telling him that he shouldn’t commit the same mistake of getting into relationship with Sirius but his heart was not helping at all. It was so in love. He was trying breathe properly.

Let love be your guide, his heart said.

And then get lost? His mind retorted.

Yes! Remus wanted to slap himself.

He had been pushing feelings all of his life. He had been very difficult with Sirius for straight two days when Sirius had confessed that he was in love with him. The most remarkable thing was that Sirius understood his struggle with feelings and emotions. He had the art to scoop them out of Remus’ system. Moony, this is the only way to calm yourself, he had said to him. And now, as Lily had said, he was a mess. Without him. Without Sirius.

After few hours—what felt like minutes—he washed his miserable face and walked to the courtyard. He didn’t want to go the Gryffindor Tower to face anyone. He was a wreck. He didn’t want to face Sirius either, so he just sat by the outdated fountain where the tree was protecting him from the sun. He decided that he was not going to the Ball. He just wanted to rehearse his future act of turning down Catherina Johnson gently. He relaxed himself there. It had been fifteen minutes, and he had been thinking of his DADA essay for Patronus charms, which was a win-win for him as a distraction.

However, it wasn’t long when he took out his wand and tried to cast a patronus.

“Expecto Patronum.” He whispered, thinking about the time when his friends had first time accompanied him to the moon as Animagus. A silver wisp glowed on the tip of his wand but then died out after a second, which made him eventually want to think about the moments that had made him genuinely happy. He thought about the time when Sirius had told him he was a good kisser, when he had told him that they should start dating, and a lot more but they were not strong enough to cast full patronus, just a silver light flickering. He was confused. He focused and focused, becoming impatient. He was also worrying if Sirius was not associated with his happiest memory then maybe Remus had been in an oblivion—or say, stupid in love. He knew that love was the most powerful element to do wonders, even in the wizarding world. But What if it was never love? What if it was just infatuation? Then why was his heart hammering so violently in his chest? But then he was suddenly reminded of a very bad day in his fifth year when he was walking by the dungeon where the sixth-years were taking their Potions class, and Slughorn had called him to volunteer.

“Mr Lupin here is a fifth year, and he has advanced enough to brew Veritaserum which is supposed to be taught in his next year. Uh—Mr Lupin please, come forth and—Mr Lupin?”

Remus was extremely annoyed by a certain scent saturating the room. He was sniffing, and whipping his head to follow it. He had completely forgotten that he was volunteering with Professor Slughorn because he is so concentrated on the scent which is filling his nostrils, making him quite dizzy.

“What is this smell, Professor?” He asked, still looking here and there. He knew that some of his senior students were making fun of him as the room was filled with faint sounds of sniggers and snorts.

“Mr Lupin, you are in a Potion classroom, there are numerous of potions sitting out…” Remus ignored his rambling because the scent is getting stronger. He couldn’t put a finger on it because it was reminding him of many things. Musk, which was making him lightheaded. Cigarettes. Damp hair after hot shower. The feeling of leather on skin, and also the forbidden forest. The scent had a strange sense of familiarization. It was vague but he was drawn to it. It was like he was sitting in the heart of someone—someone he knew, because he could feel their heart beat in his ears.

Remus’ whole day was a disaster because he couldn’t brew the Veritaserum properly, Slughorn had sent him back to his dorm, he was tackled by Peeves on his way, and he was also annoyed by some portraits which had made fun of his scars. After his prefect rounds, he entered the common room with a foul mood, and spotted Sirius Black sitting alone on the couch. He looked at his pocket watch and found that it was past midnight. Sirius stood up and held out his arms, smiling at him. Remus threw his satchel and books away, and fell into Sirius’ arms. He was embraced so tightly and warmly.

They both stayed quiet, and Remus nuzzled his face in the crook of his neck. That was when his eyes snapped both because he caught a whiff of the same scent that had been annoying him in the Potions.

“That scent.” Remus murmured, pulling away from Sirius.

“What scent?” Sirius asked, perplexed.

“Oh! Not you, now! I have had enough of it! This scent is driving me mad, Sirius!”

“Hey, hey, calm down, Moony, why are you crying?”

“What?”

“You are crying.”

“Oh.”

“Come here.”

He was embraced again, and then it hit him. That scent was Sirius. It was not coming from somewhere, it was just Sirius’ scent. Very natural, and very Sirius. The potion he had smelled in the dungeon was Amortentia. Sirius had always been the one to give Remus the physical interaction he shared with no one in his group. Due to his claustrophobia, he had always found hugging very uncomfortable, but not with Sirius, never with Sirius.

“I’m claustrophobic.”

“I know.” Sirius tightened his hold on Remus, pulling him impossibly closer, and he was not choking for breath. That made him cry, more and more. He was not embarrassed for the streaming tears, so he let them fall because it was just Sirius. His home.

“Expecto Patronum.”

A full grown silver dog shot out of his wand, running in circles around Remus enthusiastically. And suddenly, Remus realized why such an odd memory was his happiest and the most powerful one because it was the day when he was brought in front of the raw truth that he was in love with Sirius Black.

It was afternoon, and everyone was gathering for lunch a little earlier because the Great Hall was going to be sealed for the decorations of the Yule Ball until the evening. Remus looked around him, everyone was beaming and laughing with the exhilaration for tonight. He needed to find Sirius. He wanted to talk to him. He wanted to see him, at least. He walking quickly through the crowd, looking for him.

“Hey Remus!” He turned to find Catherina staring at him. Remus groaned internally.

“Hi, Catherina.” He tried to smile.

“Oh, call me Cathy. My friends calls me Cathy.” They fell into brief silence but she break it—to Remus’ horror, “So what’s the color of your robes tonight?” He frowned at her, “Oh, it’s okay if you don’t to tell but please don’t wear anything mustard. I have an extreme aversion to—“

“Catherina, I can’t go with you tonight.” He tried to ignore the hammering of his heart.

“What?” She looked distraught.

“I’m sorry—“

“Is this because of Black?”

“What does Sirius has to do with any of this?”

“Oh you bet your arse, it is! You guys think you are so subtle.” Remus is frozen in his place, “Who do you think you are? You thought I was just a bloody nobody to whom you’ll say yes without having to mean it—“

“Catherine, it’s not like that! I’m not feeling well, I can’t go—“

“Oh, save it, Lupin! You first agreed to be my date and broke Black’s heart, and now you’re going to his date by breaking mine?” She looked hurt, very hurt and Remus wanted to just die because her words were too true to be painful, “Can’t you see what you are doing?”

“I am so sorry, Cathy. Please. And I’m not going with anyone!” But she was shaking his head, “You have to believe me. And you are right, I did break your heart and you have no idea how pathetic I feel! I am a terrible person. I don’t deserve to be your date.”

“You are not,” She spoke after a brief silence, “You are not a terrible person. You are just stupid.”

“Same thing.”

“Look, you didn’t break my heart. You hurt my feelings, and I didn’t expect that from you. But you know what, people surprise you.” There is a very awkward silence between them and Remus couldn’t stop himself from apologizing. She gave him a long strange look, and then walked away.

Remus didn’t stand for any longer, he began walking. The thoughts, the guilt, the pain, the unjust things, the stupid acts, unfathomable love, all of that was dawning upon him at every step he was taking. His pace was becoming frantic as he reached closer to the Gryffindor Tower.

He entered the common room, his heart was racing abnormally. He paid no heed to the fourth-years standing in their robes and gowns. He ascended the staircase to his dormitory. For a second, he thought he was the same fifth-year student fleeing the Potions class because a certain scent had screwed up his day. He barged into the dorm just like he had on that day in the common room.

And once again, he found none other than Sirius Black, sitting alone in the room.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Chapter 5 is coming soon!

#wolfstar #WOLFSTAR FLUFF #Wolfstar fanfiction #wolfstar angst #Remus Lupin #Sirius Black #remus x sirius #Sirius x Remus #SIRIUSxREMUS #yule ball #triwizard tournament #hp marauders #James Potter #Lily Evans #jily #peter pettigrew #gay love #remus loves sirius #amortentia

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strangerays · 3 years ago

Text

Nothing in Particular Update #3

About seven months and I finished the first draft at 93k!

I always imagined how it would feel to finish a first draft (I’ve been writing novels “seriously” since about 2017) and now that I’ve finally done it, I can say it’s a better feeling than I imagined! Telling my friends and family (and even my doctor, who was really quite excited about it) was an amazing amazing thing. I’m generally pretty nervous to tell people about my work, but I had a really positive reaction. Honestly all of it has me on a creative high (not sure I’m coming down from that any time soon lol).

I’m going back for my last year of school in two days, which means I’m not going to have as much time as I did to write all summer. This is okay, because I’m actually going to take an entire month off of writing! I’m really burnt out - don’t want to start editing a story that’s so near to me if I don’t feel ready. I’ll talk more about editing when the time comes!

In a lot of ways, I found that my life mimicked my art. I think for a lot of people, it tends to be the other way around, but this story did a lot to heal me.

Going to hop right into excerpts now! I’m not going to explain much this far into the story because I would like to try to publish this story (FAR in the future) so I apologize for that! Also, I stopped naming most of the chapters until I go back and edit because there are just SO MANY and I didn’t have the time to stop and think of cool names. Anyways... enjoy!!

(Here is the link to the original masterpost!)

text: Rays of gold curled to the ground, primordial and shy as the fire reeds on the cusps of shallow pool around the bay outside of Mothouse combed them to fine sparkles. I remembered the way Lonan kneeled on the edges of this pool. He never dove in – just blinked slowly as he watched crabs and minnows chase each other in a swirl of sand. I could not resist the water. I’d made it a part of me. My hair was longer then; down to my elbows, fading from dark red to orange and white, soaked always. Lonan let me borrow his shirts when I forgot to bring my own. They hung from my waist, too big for me, and I was warm even as the breeze rocked us inside.

text: The sky was never blue in Point Blink. At least, I couldn’t remember the last time the clouds hadn’t given way to a dark gray mist. Jude was here. I was out of place. I was floating – watching slender, underfed pines wave in the breeze behind houses on the water before they disappeared underneath furls of cloud. Bursts of warm light shone in windows on the bay, like hungry eyes watching for a storm. A group of kids our age chaffed on a rocky expanse, their heads popping over pockets of darkness when they laughed. Froths of cloud stretched across the sky, moving the ground with it. Long stretches of trees and islands far on the other side of our small pocket of ocean looked more like large freight ships. Lights glittered and beamed on the roads and highways that belonged to the city. Pink was starting to show over the horizon. Lonan was on the other side. Somewhere.

text:

Jude sucked her lips in and flopped onto her stomach so she could see the blue below her feet. Her dark curls draped over her ears and hid her nose.

“I can’t see the bottom of the ocean.” She cupped her fingers with the other hand. “See where the water fades to white and back again? The endless tide. Why do people say the ocean is blue?”

I leaned forward. She was right. Blue ocean climbed up the side of the cliffs and turned the rocks a dark gray; ate the erosion as if from a plate. I’d never had the ocean explained to me that way before.

“I think I like it that way,” I said.

I wasn’t sure I wanted to know what was at the bottom of Point Blink.

text:

She smiled weakly. “It’s okay. This is just guesswork. Patchwork.”

I wanted to apologize again, but I had a strong guess that it might make her annoyed with me. “It’s kind of like… I’m just waiting for the next bad thing to happen.”

She wrinkled her nose and eyebrows, scrunched up her little face. “That’s dumb.”

“I think it’s a smart way to live.” Sometimes it felt like worry was the only thing that kept me alive. It wasn’t dumb at all.

“You’re going to be fine though. We’re going to be fine. If something bad happens, we’ll deal with it. Don’t let it eat you.”

There was wisdom in what this seventeen-year-old girl on my bed had offered me. I caught it like a gold coin. Before I could reply with anything, she launched into another question. I didn’t want to think much about change anyways.

text:

“Oh. Wow. That’s like, next year.” I sort of laughed.

“A year can be a long time,” Lonan said with a wince. “What do you think?”

I sighed through my nose and leaned back with him. The sun was going down. Sometimes, my life felt less like a golden hourglass and more like a stopwatch with a broken face.

“For once, I think I agree with your mom.”

Lonan just stared at me, with something like awe.

“I think you should do what you want,” I said.

“Ray,” Lonan started.

“No,” I interrupted him. “It’s not about me. She’s stopped you from doing anything and everything you’ve wanted to for the last four years, so when you go to college, you’ve got to separate yourself from this place.” I pointed to him. “You’re allowed to do this.”

text:

Maybe I was just being strange. Lonan was my best friend. It didn’t help that there was a little bit of him in everything – the tide pools, the echo of shells, my broken camera.

Soon, we stood in the center of the field. A breeze whispered through the cattails, fanning against our knees. Ellis loped behind me as I stepped in and out of tire tracks under the cloudless sun. She wasn’t much different than Jude. Her footsteps crunched excitedly behind mine, excited at the prospect of an unprecedented adventure. I’d missed those.

Lonan said he didn’t like to walk in fields because the wind tricked him into thinking that someone was behind him. Every brisk of his heel was a trick of the mind. Sometimes I felt the same way, like I might be haunted.

text:

The ageless water begged me closer, frizzed my hair and swathed my arms in a sweet, familiar scent. I remembered galloping down to the shore with a childhood friend in one May. Soft piano accompanied croaky lyrics from someone’s radio when we fell chest-first into the water. Static erupted in my head. There had been nothing new for me in Point Blink for so long that I’d forgotten what it was like to float. Grass turned into pebbles, and I heard Ellis’ footsteps soften to the beat of the sand. Our eyes crumbled the shells that walled the long expanse of dark sand where waves rolled in. We leaned over like two swans, crunching shells beneath our feet, displaying shells to one another, naming the ones we recognized, and when I looked out at the horizon, I saw blue.

Red plastic cups, cigarettes, and even some broken glass stuck out through the sand as we made our way further down the shoreline, as if someone had thrown a party. My brow furrowed. Maybe this part of the beach wasn’t so abandoned after all.

Between the spit of the waves and dry sand lay some sort of book. Sand trickled out of the pages and onto my shoes when I swept it out of line of an oncoming wave. Ellis was beside me in moments. Shells tolled under her shoes.

*Warning for mention of blood (fake blood and fake knife!!) this takes place on Halloween haha*

text:

Jude held the container in her palm, kneeled down so we were shoulder to shoulder. Her eyes fixed on the knife in my neck, mine on her hands, then her focused expression. Her fingers tipped my chin up, cold on my skin. I tried not to move. Suddenly, I wasn’t thinking about Dad, or Raven, or Lonan. I only let Jude in – this girl who had come out of nowhere and wrecked me, saved me. And she didn’t know any of that. I didn’t owe anything to her, but I needed her. She kept us afloat when I couldn’t even keep myself above water. Her fingers painted blood over the center of my throat, our breath quiet on each other’s cheeks. She held my shoulder as she set back.

“Absolutely feral,” she said.

text:

“Point Blink is all I have. It’s where I am, what I am.” My throat was tight. “It’s all I’ve known. I am happy with my life. And I’m sorry, but I’m not willing to throw all of that away so we can dig up answers. I want to stay.”

Jude sat there for a moment. I think Florian and Ellis had turned to look at us, because when we went silent, I could no longer heat their hushed whispers, only the sound of water as it rose and rose and rose. I wondered if it would rain.

Jude sat up on her hands, then her knees, then she stood over me.

“Is that what you honestly believe?”

Tears bubbled in her eyes. Blood streaked down her cheeks. I’d been so focused on not crying, I had missed when she started to.

“Point Blink is just the same as anywhere,” she said. The words sat somewhere above her inside her chest, weak and frail, as though they’d been realized a long time ago.

I’d stared into her eyes until they disappeared. She grabbed onto a branch above her and quietly swung herself around a corner. Her footsteps echoed until they dissolved into waves and birds and frogs and left me in the dark.

#10

*Warning for strong language!*

text:

“Why didn’t you tell me how you’d been feeling?” he asked after a few moments of silence. It was beginning to stretch uncomfortably.

“I know I don’t deserve to know,” he added, “but you’ve always put me first.”

I picked at the wood that peeled from the fence.

“I just want you to be okay,” Lonan croaked. “Please tell me what to do.”

Even when we were together, we still worried about each other. It wasn’t always that way. Maybe that was my fault. I didn’t want to think about it.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” I mumbled into the crisp, red air. “To be fair, I didn’t know it like I know now for a long time. I think sometimes I got the same way as a kid. Now I have a name for it, and I still don’t know if it feels right.” I sighed. “I guess… I guess I just thought that was how things were supposed to be. I thought I was only the humming low and the high.”

“Of course that’s not how you’re fucking supposed to be.”

I coughed on a laugh, wiped away a new set of tears. On the rare occasion that Lonan did swear, he sounded much like he was doing it for the first time.

I hadn’t fully realized what I’d said before Lonan’s hand was around my arm. He pulled me close to his chest. I felt smaller than him; warm and safe. I exhaled and sunk into him, didn’t allow anything else in. I’d almost forgotten what that felt like.

“You’re funny and smart and better than a lot of people.”

And... that wraps up all of my excerpts for the time being! I really enjoyed writing the last four chapters of this book. Of course they aren’t perfect. A lot of the book needs improvement. There are entire characters who are flat and plot lines I just forgot about! Come October, I plan to get back into my edits/rewrite the story.

Really quick before I finish writing this:

I just wanted to thank everyone who read about my story and showed genuine interest in the characters. Had I not received all of this love from people in real life and online, I might never have finished this draft at all. When I started this story, my mental health was really quite bad. (I’m doing a whole lot better these days!!) I guess you could say the idea started as more of a journal entry. All of these characters are like little parts of me coming together to help the main character, and I think there’s something really special about that.

Thank you so much! Good luck on all your creative endeavors! It pays off in the end, I promise :)

tag list (ask to be +/-); @wannabeauthorzofija @a-completely-normal-writer @baguettethebooklover @corkytheguar @writeherewaiting @cryptid-s-wips @kingsinking @author-a-holmes

#my little note at the end says it all haha #thank you so so much for reading!#I still can't believe I finished this book on five hours of sleep

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mcwerewolfblack · 5 years ago

Text

Yule Ball: Part III - Professor Snape x Reader [Smut]

Synopsis: You and Professor Snape sort out a poorly written examination in his classroom, but somebody sees. With your reputations at stake, only magic can save you now... and a little of something else too, at a time most inopportune.

Notes: Sorry this is three days late, but I wanted to edit it to perfection, since it’s been a year since the last part! Enjoy, I love all of you so much. Happy holidays x

@fandom-puff (sorry I know there are so many more ppl who asked to be tagged but I lost track!)

Part One

Part Two

Part Four

The soft bubbling in his classroom late at night was comforting to Severus. He found it helped him think... and grade test scores, as per what he was currently preoccupied with. The moon is full outside, shining through what little window Snape had left uncovered. He ignores the squawk of Hagrid's distant Hippogriff (that thing takes pleasure in ensuring he never got any peace and quiet as of ten o clock at night) and gets back to the paper. He scowls.

"What is it with these twits?" he murmurs to himself, using his wand to mark a large "fail" on Ron Weasley's test, flopping it onto the pile of Fred and George's equally dismal efforts. Just then, he flips to one with your neat, flowery handwriting on it, and stops.

Well, what's the problem? Just mark it as you would any other student. Besides, this will be nice and quick. (y/n) always gets a perfect score on my examinations.

Beginning to read though, he finds himself beginning to frown. Wrong... another one wrong... He looks up at the ceiling, and clenches his jaw. Of course. Why should he expect any less, when you'd been all over him for the past month?

----

The next afternoon, you’re wiling away potions by watching your quill spin in its inkwell. Wandless magic, along with perfecting the art of apparition, is something you’d been trying your hand at for years, and the fruits of your labor are just starting to manifest now.

“Miss (y/l/n).”

Your attention moves up to Professor Snape, at the head of the potions room.

This your last class of the day, before a much needed weekend rest. You're supposed to get the test grades back this afternoon, and you have to say you're excited-- you studied long and hard for it, attempting to make Snape proud of a little more than your talents of bewitchment.

"Miss (y/l/n). May I see you after class?"

You smile to yourself. "Of course, sir." You expect he'll reward you, calling you his good girl, telling you all about how much you deserve him tonight. Snape was rarely pleased with anything, but you're sure he'd find exception in your astounding work.

After class had finished on the note of homework and groaning, you stay in your seat, assuring your friends you’d catch up later. Once the rest of the unassuming students had filed out, you move to get up and join him by his desk, but he strides over before you can, thwacking the test down in front of you.

"What… is this?"

You look down at it, and give him a charming smile. "The best damn exam you'll ever grade."

Snape makes a noise halfway between a laugh and a groan, sarcasm dripping as he says, "I insist you take a second look."

You frown, and look down at your work, flipping through. As you do, you become more and more frustrated. "But-- but I knew this one! This is... this was clearly draught of the living death..."

"Was it?" Snape asks patiently, staring at you with his arms folded, "I pray you never need to brew it, then."

You huff, glaring up at him. "Do you know, I studied for hours for this--"

"Don't lie to me," he hisses, "I know what you're doing. Fail the exam, get called up to see me when everyone else is safely in their dormitories and get the punishment of a lifetime.” He leans in, glowering. “I know how your mind works."

You balk. "You actually think I'd sacrifice my grades in potions to have sex with you?! You have more of an ego than I thought, professor!"

Snape sputters. It does sound quite far fetched the way you put it, but...

"Perhaps your exams are a little too hard," you raise your eyebrows, and push the test away from you.

"Perhaps. Perhaps I was mistaken as well..." He holds his frown. "I want a perfect grade next time, do you understand me?"

"Oh, perfectly. It's just I've been so preoccupied with extra activities, like the frog choir, that whole tri-wizard competition-- I mean the tournaments are bloody thrilling! They'll be leaving soon, anyway, with all the visitors. Also McGonagall's lessons..."

"There's nothing Professor McGonagall can do that I can't do twice as ruthlessly."

"Yes. I know," you smirk.

“Do not let it happen again. My class takes precedence… you should know that by now.” Snape waits, and when you don't get up to leave, sighs. "That will be all, Miss (y/l/n)."

“Will it?”

He turns back at your teasing tone, and already feels a headache coming on. He fell right into your trap… which wasn’t even a trap in the first place. He brought this on himself, truly. Perhaps he should just forget how to feel guilty. After all, how many times had this happened?

"I'm not wearing anything beneath my robes."

Snape gives a tight lipped smile. "I was never foolish enough to believe you were."

"Proved it a bit difficult in class..." you begin to shrug the robes off, "Malfoy was hanging over my shoulder the whole time, it's a bloody miracle he didn't get an eyeful.”

"Perhaps he did," Snape muses, "We'll never know." You watch him closely, parting your legs. He still looks hesitant, even after all these times.

"We don't have to if you don't want to," you bite your lip, starting to undo the robe, "But Professor… I want to."

He puts a hand on yours to stop you, and you look up in surprise. Maybe this is really where he would take a stand... you were wondering when he would.

But he smacks your hand away, giving you that look. "Don't touch." He turns you around, and slots himself behind you, dark hair falling against your cheek. "That's. My. Job."

You grin, and he slowly opens your robes, admiring how your tie falls between your breasts, perfectly centered.

"This will have to come off," he murmurs, taking the tie with the tip of his fingers, then stops. "Unless..."

"What?" you breathe.

He hums thoughtfully, eyes narrowing. "Perhaps I ought to make sure you receive what you deserve. It was an abysmal examination score, after all..."

A thrill runs through you. "What do you mean?"

"This is the third time we've done this, and somehow I doubt it will be the last. You believe I'd let you get off without a punishment for your dangerous behavior?"

"I believe you'd let me get off.”

"Silence." Though he maintains most of his stern expression, you can sense his impulse to smirk. He takes the tie off, and ties it around your wrists behind your back, laying your back on his desk. He then begins to slowly tug the robes off, and groans when he sees your breasts bare to him in full. You moan, stretching your arms, and bite your lip, blinking up at him.

"You don't deserve what you have in mind," he whispers, "You deserve my lips on you, teasing you, bringing you close until I deny you what you need. That is what you get when you don't take my class seriously."

You whimper, rubbing your thighs together. "But Professor... please, I haven't touched myself all week."

He narrows his eyes. "Why? Preparing for something, were we?"

You avert eye contact, blushing. "I..."

"Go on."

"I expected a good grade. I thought you would reward me, daddy."

Snape inhales sharply at the name, and you see his hips start to slightly shift to rub against the desk. "Well, we both saw how that turned out. Knickers, off."

Just as you're reaching down, you both hear someone mutter an 'alohamora.' The door swings open on you and Snape. There, a boy your age stands, eyes a fraction wider.

"Krum," you breathe. He seems caught, and slowly backs away. Snape's eyes widen slightly, and you pull your robes back on. Before you can run after the visiting student though, your professor grabs your arm, tugging you back.

"He'll tell Karkarov," you protest desperately.

"He will," Snape nods, "Let him. There is little he can prove. It will just seem like dirty sportsmanship for the Durmstrang visitors to try and smear the reputation of one of Hogwarts' best teachers.”

Still... it was unnerving.

---

The next day, you're far more on edge than usual. A meeting had been called, as Snape had relayed to you, and you’re both so sure it’s about… that.

You lay on your bed, flicking your wand about as a feather dances atop you. It floats up, down, with each unspoken leviosa of your wand, and finally, you let it fall against your chest. You would much rather be practicing your apparating—it was a little harder, and would take your mind off the possibility of your getting expelled.

You try and push the thoughts of Snape out of your head, and replace them with where you want to apparate. Focus… focus…

In Dumbledore’s office, Snape takes his seat alongside McGonagall, Dumbledore, Sprout, Flitwick, Karkaroff, and Maxime. Pursing his lips and narrowing his eyes, he doesn’t say a word.

“Well. Let us bring to attention why this meeting has been called,” McGonagall begins, and Dumbledore nods.

“Quite right, Minerva. There has been an incident.”

In your dorm, you concentrate hard on apparating to the library. If you could only… focus…

“A special thank you to Karkaroff, for one his boys, Victor Krum, bringing this situation to our attention,” Dumbledore goes on. “It is a matter we here at Hogwarts, take very seriously.”

Snape is about to open his mouth, when he feels something under the table, directly in front of his legs.

You glance around, confused. Where had you ended up?

“A matter, I might say, that could even have serious repercussions if not looked into further.”

“Mon Dieu,” Maxime tuts, “What has happened, Albus?”

Oh, shit. Oh, shit! Your subconscious had won out. You had been thinking of Severus too much when trying to apparate, and had apparated to the meeting.

Snape could not, for the life of him, figure out what had just materialized between his legs. Pretending to drop a vial from his sleeve, he reached down to check… and the two of you came face to face.

Snape’s eyes widen, then he narrows them into slits. The glare is threatening in every way it could be, and you cower back a little.

I didn’t mean to, you try to mouth, but he’s already sat up again. His boot comes up, and lays to rest on your stomach, keeping you far away from him, yet close enough so the others can’t feel you. If anyone else was to check under the table, it’s not like you have an invisibility cloak—you’d both be dead meat.

“What, might I inquire, would this matter be?” Severus asks, in the most level voice he can manage. He was absolutely furious that you were where you were. Had you no shame? He was about to lose his job over this! You were simply taunting fate, at this point.

“I’m very glad you asked, Severus,” Karkaroff interjected with sinister glint in his eyes, “For this matter concerns you.”

Between his legs under the table, you try to apparate back. Only… you didn’t apparate with your wand on you. Damn wandless magic! Now you couldn’t get back.

“What have I got to do with anything, pray tell, Igor?” Snape is doing a rather good job of sounding unimpressed, bored even. You start to squirm, listening to his deep voice. It still does things to you, even in a situation like this. Especially in a situation like this.

“It is a matter of something Krum saw, Severus,” Dumbledore says slowly, “Something troubling indeed.”

Under the table, desire starts to creep up on you. You had been given a very rare, very exciting opportunity here. You could get back at Snape for grading your test badly, and have a little fun along the way… two can play at that game.

“You see, we have learned that it involves one of our students here at Hogwarts,” Minerva says sternly, “Namely, Miss (y/l/n) of (y/house) house.” You hesitate, then take the chance to unlatch him.

“Miss (y/l/n)?” Snape quirks a brow, “A model student.”

“Seems like such a lovely girl. Tres jolie,” Maxime comments.

Snape begins to frown, feeling your hands on his breeches. You weren’t. You wouldn’t…

“Yes, well there’s no doubt about that,” Flitwick says, “But the news we have heard of her is nothing short of shocking! Nothing we would expect from a young lady of her stature.” You take Snape out of his pants, half hard, and close your mouth softly around his tip. He tries to swat you off, but you dodge him.

“No doubt,” Minerva agrees.

“Surely…” Snape swallows, shifting his hips, “Whatever she has done… can be forgiven?” Oh….

“Why would you be so quick to forgive her, Severus?” Minerva asks, “We haven’t even learned of the situation.”

“I only wish to reprimand students when reprimandation is wholeheartedly deserved,” Snape clenches his jaw, giving you a good whack with his knee, “Otherwise, such punishment would subsequently lose its value.”

“Well. With that I agree,” Sprout speaks up, “But this, from what we’ve been led to believe, is a very serious issue!”

“Out with it, then,” Snape annunciates in that menacing tone, “What exactly has she done, and how exactly… does it involve me?” His hand grabs you by the hair under the table, and tightens. If you’re going to play with him like this, then he will remain in control.

“Why don’t we simply ask the boy himself?” Karkaroff smirks, and with a whisk of his wand and the utterance of Dumbledore’s secret password, the doors open. Victor Krum comes in, rigid as if he had been trained for battle. He gives a swift bow, and stands before them.

“Tell us what you saw, Victor,” Minerva encourages. Krum looks to everyone, brow furrowed. Snape guides your head, gritting his teeth. He’s already close, and he can faintly hear you moaning like a whore.

“Wait for a moment,” Filius says, holding up a finger, “I hear something strange.”

Snape coughs, trying to overpower the sounds of him getting his dick sucked by a slutty little student. “Must be Hagrid’s Hippogrif,” he grumbles, “The infernal thing does not know how to quiet down.”

“Buckbeak only caws at night,” Filius frowns, “This sounds much closer.”

Snape begins to sweat. This was it. If you didn’t quiet down your sounds of pleasure from under the table, you would both be found out, and that would be that. Disgraced, humiliated, cast out--

Igor clears his throat in irritation, and attention is once again collectively returned to Krum. Snape relaxes a little bit, this being the only time he’s ever praised his old death eater friend for interrupting something.

You smirk under the table, quieting your moaning down a little as Snape slams you back into him, your lips sliding down even further over his cock with each thrust into your mouth. It feels so good to be used, especially in such a dangerous situation—you’d never been so wet in your life, and you start to rub yourself, gasping softly and gagging on his large cock.

Snape curses you out in his mind. You’re a troublemaker, more than a troublemaker, and absolutely disobedient little girl. What he wouldn’t do to slam you down over a desk right at this very moment and teach you a real lesson.

“Go on,” Minerva encourages Krum gently, “What you say will never leave this room.”

“Unless required,” Flitwick sniffs, straightening his tie.

“Oh, Merlin,” Snape grunts, crumpling forward a little. He’s on the edge, he’s about to come… Everyone turns to him, their stares burning.

“Something to say, Severus?” Karkaroff jabs, sneering.

Snape’s eyelids flutter, and he white knuckles the table as his orgasm hits him. You moan under the table, feeling it on your tongue, and you come as well, biting back a whine. Fuck, you’re hit little whore… oh, yeah…

“Severus?” Minerva prods, frowning. Snape clenches his jaw, regaining his foothold on the conversation.

“Only a reminder that I am very busy and do not have all day. Consider this an encouragement, Mr. Krum, to spit it out,” he growls, then his lips tug up ever so slightly. “Though not everyone present in this room must take that advice.”

You hold back a giggle, and swallow dutifully.

Through the confused stares of the heads of houses, Krum finally speaks. Snape holds his breath, and you listen carefully, nerves buzzing. At least you went out with a bang.

“I was walking past Professor Snape’s classroom,” Krum begins, staring at the dark Slytherin head of house, “And…” Everyone seems to lean forward. “And spotted (y/n)…”

“Yes?” Sprout murmurs. Snape worries the inside of his lip. This was it. Perhaps he could apparate as smoothly as you had, out of this room. Though he could never match your impeccable timing, surely.

“—I spotted (y/n) stealing lacewing flies from Professor Snape’s personal storage.”

Snape nearly drops his jaw. Everyone at the table looks terribly scandalized, and he counts his blessings that it is not for the reason they should.

“Allow me… to explain,” he says, fixing himself discreetly under the table. “I had given (y/n) an assignment outside of class protocol, brewing a specially modified batch of polyjuice potion for extra credit. I have been tutoring her as somewhat of an apprentice.” He looks up at Krum with a curious sort of respect. “I… appreciate your diligence in reporting what would typically be an unforgivable offense against my private collection of ingredients, Mr. Krum. However, in this particular case… no further action is required, at the bidding, of course, of Headmaster Dumbledore.”

Dumbledore opens his hands. “Your explanation is quite sufficient, Severus. I see no further need to pursue any consequence toward Miss (y/l/n), if her intentions were warranted and academic.”

You sigh in relief under the table, and Snape smirks. Karkaroff is fuming, thinking the matter would absolutely ruin him. The potions master lifts his chin.

“Will that be all, then?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” he growls, and rises. He gets out a small vial, and hands it to you under the table, as the others talk amongst themselves.

“Drink,” he mutters, and you do. Before your eyes, you begin to turn invisible. His potion-brewing abilities never fail to astound you. Flitwick and Sprout spot the slight elevation in the tablecloth as you get out and follow Snape. They frown at one another, and check for an open window anywhere in the office.

You follow Snape to his classroom, and this time, he locks the door.

“You are lucky he said what he did, you little harlot.”

You smirk, the small vial already wearing off. “He knows Hermione. Hermione knows me. It’s only natural he’d cover for me.”

“And what you did back under the table?!” he continues, cape billowing as he paces. You grimace a little, waiting for that. He just sighs, glancing at you. “Will be the reason for my nightly shut-ins.”

You saunter over, kissing his cheek. “I knew you’d thank me.” He doesn’t look up.

“Hardly. Detention for the remainder of the school year.”

“But sir!” You slowly start to realize what that means. “Ah. Yes, sir.”

He can’t help but smile to himself as you leave for your dormitory, admiring your uniform on the way out. Perhaps he hadn’t taken such leave of his senses when he had found you that night at the Yule Ball, as he had so forced himself to believe. Perhaps, instead, he had come to them.

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panharmonium · 4 years ago

Text

the edge of seventeen [fic]

summary: Daegal forgets his own birthday. Merlin has a conniption. Daegal has a crisis.

context for newcomers: This is the next installment in an ongoing AU that @once-and-future-gay and I have been playing around with, wherein both Will and Daegal survived into Season 5. The background for that AU can be found here, and the associated fics (plus one art post) are at the following links: be good / persistence / tournaments / daegal post-carpentry (art).

a/n: @once-and-future-gay, this was actually written for your birthday XD I started it that Tuesday intending for it to be a very short snippet that I could post the same day, but I quickly realized that it was turning into a bigger piece, and now, a week and a half later, it’s a 10k story. I apologize for how belated it is, but I hope you'll accept it as a birthday gift anyhow - I figured that if it were up to me, I’d rather have ‘more fic’ than ‘on-time fic,’ so - happy (belated) birthday to you, and here’s some more of this AU for you, featuring Daegal and a wide supporting cast! ✨

“Are you trying to slice that thing or just beat it to death?”

Will stared incredulously down the table at Daegal, who continued to hack at the seedpod held between his fingers even though his aggravated chopping did little more than squash the unyielding capsule down into the wood of the table. “It’s my knife,” Daegal muttered, stabbing at his botanical nemesis. “It’s dull.”

“So sharpen it.”

“I did,” Daegal replied. “It’s old. It doesn’t hold an edge.”

Will beckoned for the knife. Daegal scooted it down the table to him like an innkeeper sliding drinks down the length of the bar, even in defiance of Merlin’s exasperated, “Don’t - !” But Will caught the knife easily, handle-first, and gave it a disapproving once-over.

“Use mine,” he said, and slid one of his own blades down the table.

“Don’t - !” Merlin bit out again, then sighed and returned to the text he was copying after Daegal intercepted the blade without injury.

“Careful,” Will warned Daegal. “It’s - ”

Pop. Daegal startled out of his seat at the first enthusiastic slice of the knife, as the capsule burst and sent hundreds of tiny black seeds scattering in every direction, the dried granules rolling off the edge of the table and pouring onto the floor with a rain-like hiss.

Merlin sighed and rubbed his forehead. Will picked up his own half-finished carving again and gestured at Merlin’s face. “You’ve got a bit of ink on you, you know.”

Merlin shot him a flat look. “Have I?”

“Yeah. Just over your nose there.”

“Maybe it’s because you keep doing things that make me want to pull my hair out.”

Will gave Daegal a knowing grin across the table. Daegal, doing his best to contain the spilled seeds, couldn’t help feeling pleased, even if the smile he offered to Will in return was slightly sheepish.

“Do I?” Will asked Merlin, utterly unconcerned. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“Stop giving him knives!” Merlin burst out, gesturing broadly at Daegal’s end of the table.

“He’s fine!” Will said. “He’s a big lad.”

“And he’s making a big mess.”

“I’ll clean it up,” Daegal assured Merlin, scooping the runaway seeds into uncooperative piles. “I didn’t think it would cut so well, is all.”

“You need better tools,” Will declared. “Merlin, the man works for you. Why haven’t you got him outfitted properly?”

Merlin opened his mouth to reply, but before he could say anything, he was interrupted by a rap at the door. “It’s open,” he called, frowning. It was a bit late for visitors.

The door swung open, revealing Gwaine, who took only a single step into the physician’s chambers before pausing at the loud crunching sound under his boot. “Hallo,” he said curiously, lifting up his foot. “What’s all this, then?”

“Seeds,” Daegal supplied helpfully, at the same time as Merlin grumbled, “Never mind. Don’t come in; you’ll track it all over.”

Gwaine obliged, bowing at the waist in deference to Merlin’s directive. “Don’t mind me,” he said. “I only came by to see if you lot fancied an excursion.”

“What sort?”

“The lads and I are off to see the sunrise. Thought you might like to join us.”

It was only after a moment’s confusion that Daegal realized Gwaine was talking about the tavern, in some sort of post-curfew, plausible deniability-laden way. Daegal wiped seeds from his palms and looked hopefully between Will and Merlin, not daring to believe that they would say yes. It wasn’t often Gwaine heard the word “no” from someone he’d propositioned, Daegal was willing to bet, but Daegal knew trying to drag Will and Merlin out of their nest two whole bells after curfew, especially when the weather had frosted all the windows, was an extremely optimistic maneuver, even for Gwaine.

Will, predictably, snorted, not even bothering to pretend he was interested. Merlin did a better job of feigning regret, holding up the heavy text he was copying as if it explained everything. “Can’t,” he said simply. “Sorry. Too much work. Too late. Too tired. Too cold.”

“Any other excuses?” Gwaine asked, the corners of his mouth twitching up.

“Pick whichever one you like best,” Merlin said, returning to scratch away at his manuscript. “I’m comfy in here.”

Gwaine gestured amicably at Daegal. “How about you, lad?”

Daegal’s eyes widened. Merlin always made tavern nights with Gwaine sound legendary, and the fact that Will groaned every time they came up in conversation made them even more intriguing, but Will, in a surprisingly swift intervention, interrupted before Daegal could even open his mouth.

“Not a chance,” he said, when Daegal tentatively started to rise from his chair. “Sit down.”

Gwaine did not seem offended, but simply leaned against the doorframe and grinned in that careless way of his. “Can’t the lad have a bit of fun?”

“Not with that lot. Not at this hour.”

“I’ll look after him.”

“You? By the time you’re done drinking you won’t know him from Bruta.”

Gwaine shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He pointed at Daegal. “Invitation stands, lad. Another time, maybe.”

Daegal nodded wistfully, and Gwaine bade them farewell, departing. Will, shaking his head, returned to his whittling, muttering, “Not ruddy likely.” He brushed wood shavings off his knees, adding to the mess on the floor. “Lunatic.”

“He’s a good lunatic,” Merlin said, absorbed in his copying.

“If you say so.”

“I could still go, maybe,” Daegal said. “I could look after myself.”

Will raised his eyebrows. “At the Rising Sun? After curfew? You’d wake up with your head in a snowbank.”

“No, I wouldn’t.”

“Yes, you would,” Will said, not budging. “Don’t go courting trouble. You’re too young for that crowd.”

Daegal scrunched up his nose. He knew that in a contest of stubbornness, Will would win by a mile, but still - “I’m not too young. I’m seventeen.”

Merlin’s head snapped up from his book, his copying abruptly forgotten. “You’re sixteen.”

“No,” Daegal said, bewildered by Merlin’s sudden bizarre intensity. “Seventeen.”

“Since when?”

“I had my birthday last month.”

“You what?”

Daegal, confused, looked between Merlin and Will, the latter of whom sighed. “Oh, lor.”

“What?” Daegal asked. “Have I - is that bad?”

“Why didn’t you say something?” Merlin demanded, ignoring Daegal’s question.

“I don’t know,” Daegal replied, taken aback. He hadn’t even thought of it at the time. What was there to think about? It was just another day. Sometimes he didn’t even remember his birthday had happened until it was already over. Once he hadn’t remembered until the last week in January, when he’d taken a courier job and been forced to lie about his age.

Merlin looked incensed. Will, by contrast, looked like he was trying not to laugh. “Right, then,” he said, getting up and tucking his carving into his pocket. “I’m off. You two have fun.”

Daegal had an absurd urge to beg Will to sit back down, because Merlin was starting to get a frankly loony look on his face and Daegal did not understand what was the matter. But Will just patted Daegal on the top of the head on his way out - tap tap - and let the door swing closed behind him.

Merlin, his hands on his hips, assessed Daegal with narrowed eyes.

“I’m sorry?” Daegal ventured, unsure what he was apologizing for.

Merlin pressed his lips together. “You and him,” he said, pointing to the door where Will had just exited, “you’re two of a kind, you know that?”

Daegal did not know. He had no idea what Merlin was talking about, in fact, and he was afraid to ask. He did not exactly want to apologize again, though, because that felt sort of like apologizing for being like Will (although why Merlin seemed to think this was the case was a mystery).

“Right,” Merlin said after a moment. “Not to worry. I’ll take care of it.”

Daegal hesitated. “Take care of what?”

Merlin sighed and shook his head, but did not answer. Daegal decided that perhaps it would be best if he did not needle Merlin with further questions right now. His mentor was acting very strange, and Daegal could not possibly imagine what had gotten him so worked up.

He would just have to ask Will about it later.

As it turned out, Daegal did not have a chance to ask Will about it later.

The next day, Will did not come by. The day after that, Merlin sent Daegal out to collect more dried seedpods to replace the ones Daegal had mangled, which took all afternoon and was exhausting enough for Daegal to go straight to his little chamber in the servants’ wing and flop into bed after supper.

The morning after that, he woke to find a smiling Elyan hovering barely two inches above his face.

Daegal stifled a gasp and only just barely stopped himself from whacking Elyan across the nose. He scrambled upright in the bed, his back pressed against the wall. “El - Sir Elyan! What - ”

“Good morning,” Elyan said, as if he could not possibly have been happier to have gotten almost-smacked in the face. “Merlin sent me down. Said it’s your birthday.”

Daegal goggled at him. “My what?”

“Your birthday,” Elyan repeated. “Isn’t it?”

Daegal shook his head, certain that he was still asleep. “No.”

“Merlin said you might say that.” Elyan whipped the covers off Daegal’s legs. “Up you get. It’s time for breakfast.”

Daegal shivered violently, his sleep clothes providing little protection against the cold. “I don’t normally - I’m supposed to go and help Gaius - ”

“Not today. You’ve been given the day off.”

Daegal stared. “What for?”

Elyan chuckled. “Still asleep in there, I see,” he remarked, tossing Daegal a shirt. “It’s your birthday. Haven’t I just said that?”

“It’s not, though,” Daegal said, feeling as if he were speaking a different language. “My birthday’s in November.”

“Not this year, it isn’t.” Elyan grinned. “Get dressed. We’ve got all sorts of things do today.”

When Elyan had said ‘all sorts of things,’ Daegal had not expected one of those things to be a full breakfast served in the King and Queen’s personal chambers, catered by the King and Queen’s personal serving staff, and attended by the King and Queen themselves.

“I didn’t know,” Daegal whispered frantically to Merlin, as Elyan ushered him inside the room. “Why wouldn’t you tell me? I would have worn something else!”

“You don’t have anything else,” Merlin shot back under his breath. “Relax. Arthur put his undershirt on back to front this morning; he’s hardly Sir Stylish.”

Daegal gave Merlin a panicked, pleading stare, but Merlin just plunked Daegal down in a seat and left to pour the drinks.

“We’ve been meaning to do this for ages,” the Queen told him, sitting down next to Elyan. “Merlin keeps you very busy, doesn’t he?”

Daegal’s mouth was too dry to formulate any sort of reply. Only a few short months ago this very same woman had been standing at Morgana’s elbow, plotting Arthur’s assassination, and at the time, Daegal had not even realized there was anything wrong with her. There was, after all, nothing hard to believe about a servant-turned-queen who’d gotten a taste for power and decided to keep climbing the ladder, and while Merlin had always been very adamant that Daegal would never have believed this of Gwen if he had ever met her previously, it was hard for Daegal to look at her and not remember how she had willingly embraced the woman who later tried to murder Merlin and threatened to do the same to Daegal, if he didn’t keep his mouth shut.

Merlin, busy setting out the ewery on a sidetable, heard Gwen’s comment and spared Daegal the necessity of replying. “Arthur keeps me very busy,” he said, directing a pointed look at the king. “If you’d like me to arrange your subjects’ social schedules on top of my other duties, Sire, perhaps you ought to hire someone else to look after your washing.”

Arthur waved a hand. “Guinevere likes that funny thing you do with my socks.”

“Guinevere,” corrected the Queen , “thinks her husband is perfectly capable of rolling his own socks, thank you.” She smiled encouragingly at Daegal. “But enough about the laundry. We’d been meaning to have you round for a meal, to say thank you, and Merlin mentioned that it was your birthday, so we thought now would be the perfect time.”

Daegal barely even heard the bit about his birthday, instead fixated on what had come just before it. Thank him? What for? He had nearly gotten the king killed.

“Merlin tells us you’ve been helping Gaius?” Arthur prompted.

Daegal nodded.

“He’s a fine physician. If you’re pursuing a path in the healing arts, you couldn’t ask for a better teacher.”

“Is that something you’re interested in?” Guinevere asked, warm interest written across her face.

Daegal’s eyes darted helplessly to Merlin, who nodded encouragingly. Daegal cleared his throat. “Er - I think so. Maybe. Merlin says I’m picking it up quickly.”

“Well, you’ve already saved one life,” Arthur said with a grin, gesturing at himself, “so if that’s any indication of your capabilities, I expect you’ll do well.” He offered Daegal a platter of pastries. “Tell us about your studies.”

The meal continued on in much the same fashion, with Gwen and Arthur asking Daegal questions and Elyan occasionally putting in a comment or two of his own. Daegal did his best to answer honestly, even as he was plied with heaps of food, most of which was comprised of dishes he had never had the chance to try before and all of which flavors he was certain he would never be able to remember later, given how worked up he was. Arthur was gracious and charming throughout, very unlike the man who often featured in Merlin’s grumbling suppertime complaints. Elyan talked to Merlin as much as he did to either of the royal guests, which was probably a breach of some kind of protocol, though nobody seemed to mind. And the Queen - the Queen looked exactly the same as she had when Daegal had first met her, minus the cloak and surreptitious glances, and if he hadn’t known better, he would have thought nothing had changed.

Except -

There came one moment, towards the end of the meal, when Merlin put a goblet down in front of Gwen with a playful and very exaggerated “Your Majesty,” and Gwen jabbed his knee with a fork under the table where Arthur couldn’t see, all the while both of them keeping their eyes locked on each other as if daring the other one to laugh first, and it was then that Daegal knew with absolute certainty that this was not the same woman he had met that night in the woods.

“I hope you’ll accept this token of the Crown’s appreciation,” Arthur said to Daegal later, when they had finally finished their meal and risen from their chairs. “You’ve done this kingdom a tremendous service, and I’m indebted to you.” He passed Daegal a very official-looking bit of folded parchment stamped with the royal seal, which Daegal knew it would not be appropriate to open now. He took it and bowed the way Merlin had shown him.

“And there’s something from me, too,” said Guinevere. “Only it would have been a bit difficult to get it up the steps - Elyan will take you to see it instead. I think you’ll find it useful, given that you’re apprenticing to our physicians.”

Daegal could not possibly imagine what on earth could have been so unwieldy that she could not get it up the stairs, but he bowed to her as well. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

“Thank you,” she said, in a more solemn voice. “For helping, when I couldn’t help myself.”

Daegal straightened, hesitant. Her eyes - it seemed ludicrous to Daegal, now, that he had not recognized the enchanted version of her for what it was. That hollow shell had had no soul.

“I’m sorry for what happened to you,” he blurted out. “I wish I could’ve done more.”

“You’ve done more than enough,” Arthur said, wrapping a steady arm around his wife’s shoulders. “For both of us. We owe you a great deal.”

Daegal bowed to both of them again, and Elyan escorted him to the door. “Oh, and Daegal?” Gwen added.

Daegal stumbled over his own feet trying to turn around. “Your Majesty?”

She smiled at him. “Happy birthday.”

“What did Arthur give you, then?” Elyan asked, once they were out in the street.

Daegal fingered the mystery envelope. He did not know, and honestly, his head was spinning too much for him to even think about puzzling out a jumble of words right now, especially when he was only just learning his letters to begin with.

“Can I have a look?” Elyan asked, and Daegal willingly handed him the parchment. Elyan slipped a finger under the seal and unfolded the document, parsing it with a speed Daegal had pretty much despaired of ever achieving for himself.

“Mm,” Elyan said. “Thought so. Typical kingly stuff.”

“What is it?”

“Land grant,” Elyan said, handing back the parchment, and then, as if this were nothing to worry about, he turned and ambled into the stables.

Daegal stared after him. “What?”

“Land grant,” Elyan repeated. “You know, like a knight’s fee. For services rendered to the Crown.” He wandered deeper down the central aisle of the stable, stalled horses on either side of him lifting their heads. “Come on. It’s through here.”

Stunned, Daegal followed him, his fingers clutching at the incomprehensible slip of parchment. “I can’t own land,” he protested. “I don’t own a second pair of shoes.”

“You do now. Or you can afford to, at least.” Elyan glanced back at Daegal. “Don’t worry, it’s a small plot. Just a little square out in the Sprawl.”

Outside the city walls, then. “I don’t - what am I supposed to do with it?”

“You could live there.”

“But - ” Daegal stared at Elyan’s back uncomprehendingly. “I live in the Citadel.”

“Rent it?”

Daegal’s head was going to explode. “Will says landlords are leeches,” he said faintly.

Elyan laughed. “Herb garden?” he suggested. “Merlin’s always sending you off to gods know where, searching for things you could grow yourself.”

Daegal hardly knew what to say to that, but Elyan stopped walking before Daegal could think of anything coherent. “Here we are,” Elyan announced, clapping a hand down on top of a stall door to his left.

A wave of misgiving flooded Daegal, temporarily wiping away the lingering shock of the land grant. “Are we riding somewhere?”

He had not considered this, and he did not want to admit that the only way he was going to be able to ride anywhere at all was on the back of someone else’s saddle. He had never had access to a horse himself, and had only had the opportunity to ride twice in the past - the first occasion had been extremely brief, and the second had ended in him being thrown, so he was not quite sure that it counted.

“Not today,” Elyan said. “Unless you count the training ring.”

“Sorry?”

“Merlin says you don’t know how to ride.”

“Yeah,” Daegal said. He could feel himself turning red. “I mean - no, I don’t know how. Not well. I don’t need to. I don’t have a horse.”

“Didn’t have a horse,” Elyan said, as if making a correction.

“What?”

Elyan gestured at the stall they were standing next to. “Couldn’t get her up the stairs.”

Daegal’s mouth popped open. The creature Elyan was pointing to was a dark bay with an irregular, splotchy white blaze down her muzzle, her smooth coat appearing nearly black in the dim light of the stables. She was stout and smoothly muscled, watching them with a calm, composed energy, and even as Daegal stared, she stretched her neck over the stall door and sniffed at Elyan’s hands, perhaps searching for any remnants of his recent breakfast.

“My sister,” Elyan said proudly, scratching the horse’s cheek, “is aces at presents.”

“She’s not for me,” Daegal croaked disbelievingly.

“Of course she is,” Elyan assured him. “She’s the same stock as Merlin’s. Steady temperament, friendly, not likely to spook. Not like Arthur’s beasts.”

A horse, Daegal thought numbly. A horse.

“I can’t take this,” he mumbled. “It’s too much.”

“Of course it’s not too much. You saved the king’s life.”

I almost killed him! Daegal wanted to shout, but Elyan would not understand.

“And you’ll need transportation, anyhow,” Elyan continued. “You can’t be jogging along behind Merlin on foot. Apprentices in the royal household have mounts, or they can’t do their work.”

Daegal bit the inside of his cheek. “I don’t even know how to ride her.”

The horse cocked her ears in Daegal’s direction and swung her blocky head around to inspect him, her dark brown eyes sedate and trusting. “What do you think we’re here to practice?” Elyan asked cheerfully, retrieving a halter and lead rope from a hook on the wall. “Go on, say hello to her.”

Daegal’s hand came up of its own accord, hovering in the air below his new mount’s nose. She lipped at his fingers curiously. “Hello,” Daegal breathed.

He didn’t deserve her. He knew he didn’t.

But he was falling in love with her anyway.

It was a very windswept and breathless Daegal who climbed off his horse later that day and ran to greet Merlin at the fence.

Evening was coming on, and the temperature had sunk as quickly as the sun, but Daegal did not even notice the stiffness in his fingers or the tightness in his cheeks. He was too carried away with the elation of riding, and the dizzying knowledge that he now had the means to go anywhere he wanted, anytime, without begging for rides in the back of strangers’ wagons. Months ago he would have killed for this kind of ability to roam.

It was strange, now that he finally had the freedom to run away whenever he pleased, that he no longer felt he had anything to run away from.

“Having fun?” Merlin asked, elbows resting on the fence.

Daegal did not think fun was the right word. There was just no good way to explain that he felt like a menagerie bear whose shackles had slipped, or a noblewoman’s bird escaping out a cracked window. “It’s brilliant,” he said, settling for a completely inadequate adjective. “It’s the best thing I’ve ever done.”

“And he’s good at it!” Elyan put in, walking Daegal’s horse over to the gate. “We’ve only been out here one day and he’s got her cantering already - I think this beast is talking to him.”

If Daegal’s cheeks had not been whipped rosy by the wind already, they were certainly turning pink now. “No,” he said to Merlin, “not - talking to me. Obviously not. Just - I sort of feel like I understand her, is all.”

Merlin did not seem to think this was strange at all, and produced a chunk of some sort of winter root vegetable from his coat, offering it to the horse. She snapped it up eagerly. “Animals talk,” Merlin said, shrugging. “It’s people as don’t know how to listen that get kicked in the nethers.”

He untied the gate for Elyan, who led the horse through it and started up the path back to the stables proper. “How was your day?” Merlin asked Daegal, as the three of them walked, Elyan leading the horse on one side, and Merlin and Daegal on the other.

Daegal had to think before answering. It had been, by a wide margin, the strangest day he had ever experienced in Camelot, starting with Elyan’s surprise appearance that morning and punctuated by a number of other unexpected visitors. Leon had arrived in the stables not long after Elyan and Daegal, bringing with him a collection of exquisitely embroidered tack (“Part of Her Majesty’s gift,” he’d explained), and then he’d spent the next hour walking Daegal through the various bits and pieces, guiding him through the process of putting them on his mount and taking them off again. Percival had dropped by with his own mount and accompanied Daegal on a slow ride outside the ring, along the edge of the woods - Elyan had ridden in the saddle behind Daegal, just to be safe, but he had not had to take the reins from Daegal once, and they had gone on a nice plodding walk around the frostbitten perimeter of what would be fairgrounds, come summer. Even Mordred had made a brief appearance, in his oddly intense way - apparently out for a ride of his own, watching Elyan and Daegal lungeing Daegal’s mount for a few minutes, before nodding to the both of them and continuing on his way, his own horse cresting the hill so smoothly that it appeared as if it were not touching the ground.

“It was strange,” Daegal decided.

Merlin walked along beside him, his boots crunching on the frostbitten grass. “Why?”

“I don’t know. All these people - ” Daegal paused, brushing a hand against his horse’s flank. “I don’t see why they’re taking an interest.”

“It’s your birthday,” Merlin replied. “People are supposed to make a fuss.”

Daegal was not sure about that. It had not ever been his experience in the past, at least. “It’s not really my birthday, though.”

“Only because I didn’t know about it.”

They continued walking, Daegal worrying at his lip. “I shouldn’t have said anything,” he said abruptly, after a minute.

“You’re not enjoying yourself?”

Daegal shook his head quickly. “I am.” Too much, he thought. His exhilaration at being taught how to ride had driven it from his mind for a while, but now -

Elyan waved to someone up ahead, interrupting Daegal’s thoughts. There in the stableyard was Gwaine, lounging against the edge of the open doors, dressed not in his crimson surcoat but in plain clothes, and tossing a small pouch from hand to hand.

“You’re early,” Merlin called to him. “We’ve still got to groom and water this creature.”

“I thought I was supposed to be in charge of the watering,” Gwaine replied, which seemed like a very odd thing to say. “Wasn’t that the plan?”

“I’m talking about the horse.”

Gwaine pushed himself off the wall, joining the little group as they entered the yard. “Our guest of honor,” he said, indicating Daegal. “This fellow’s been doing our job for us, Elyan. Saving the king is knight’s work, isn’t it?”

Elyan led the horse past Gwaine with a smirk. “How would you know? You’ve never done a bit of it.”

Gwaine shook his head, glancing at Daegal in a comradely way. “Why does everybody think I only took this job for the food?”

Daegal, who had only rarely interacted with Gwaine before, did not know what to answer, but Merlin saved him the trouble. “Because we know you,” he said, and then smiled when Gwaine gave him a crooked grin.

That was utter nonsense. Even Daegal knew that Gwaine had nearly died during Morgana’s occupation, specifically while fighting to keep a number of his fellow prisoners from starving - but Merlin and Gwaine were a bit like Merlin and Will in that way, at least to Daegal’s limited experience, wherein Gwaine did not always want people to see him for what he truly was, and Merlin always chose to see him anyway, if only from behind a mutually agreed-upon smokescreen of affectionate teasing.

“Well, let’s hurry it up,” Gwaine said, tossing his little bag in the air. “I’d like to get on with my bit.”

His bit?

Gwaine paused in front of the empty stall while Elyan gathered what they would need for a post-ride grooming. “I hear it’s your birthday,” Gwaine said to Daegal, and then before Daegal could explain that it wasn’t, exactly, Gwaine handed Daegal the little leather bag. “There’s for you, then.”

Daegal, surprised, loosened the cinched string at the top of the pouch and tipped the contents into his other hand. Out tumbled four dice, the smoothly-carved cubes clacking against one another as they fell into Daegal’s palm.

Daegal looked up at Gwaine, confused.

“I thought you could use them,” Gwaine said.

“For what?”

Gwaine grinned and exchanged a knowing look with Merlin. “My bit.”

Daegal stared at at the dice in his hand, then snapped his gaze up to Merlin, suddenly seized by a burst of excitement. “Are we - ”

Merlin held up a finger. “On three conditions,” he declared, obviously trying not to smile.

Daegal closed his fingers tightly around the dice, trying not to appear too eager.

“One: you’re going to untack and groom your mount. The stablehands will do that for you, when you ride out with our party, but she’s your responsibility. You have to know how to take care of her.”

Daegal had no objections to that. He already loved this horse better than anything he’d ever owned.

“Two: weak drinks only.”

We’ll see, Gwaine mouthed behind Merlin.

“Three - ” Merlin held up a third finger. “You leave when I leave. Will’s right about the after-curfew crowd. That’s a sort of trouble you don’t need.” He looked expectantly at Daegal. “Agreed?”

“Agreed.” Daegal nodded fervently. “Is it - who’s coming?”

“Everybody!” Elyan supplied happily, uncinching the horse’s girth. “You saved our king. We owe you a night out.”

Merlin, who had perhaps understood Daegal’s question better, said, “Everybody who likes drinks and dicing and general uproar.”

This statement prompted appreciative, anticipatory grins from Gwaine and Elyan, and Daegal refrained from asking any follow-up questions, having understood the answer perfectly well. He had been working with Merlin long enough to know that if there were one thing Will avoided more assiduously than King Arthur, it was large groups of loud people losing their heads over absolutely nothing.

“Let’s get started, then,” Gwaine said. “D’you think you can untack this beast and learn the rules to Hazard at the same time?”

Daegal stuffed the dice into his pocket and grasped the bridle’s noseband buckle. “I can try.”

Gwaine grinned wolfishly. “That’s just what I like to hear.”

They ended up staying a bit later than they’d intended.

By the time Merlin finally had the sense to bring the evening to a close, Daegal had turned the single half-penny he had started with into several silver pieces (“Alchemy!” Gwaine had proclaimed triumphantly, knocking his cup into Daegal’s so that some of the drink had sloshed over), and Daegal had become very popular with some of the tavern regulars, who were beyond tickled to see a seventeen year-old boy flatten strangers’ smug expectations of victory. Daegal had not won every time, of course, but he had gotten extremely lucky at several critical moments and had at the very end miraculously thrown his chance number twice, after the odds had already been declared heavily against him (and thus after the other players had upped their contribution to Daegal’s stake with the expectation that he would lose).

Merlin had pulled Daegal from the game after that, sitting him back down at the knights’ table, which was piled high with food and drink. “First lesson,” he’d said, offering Daegal a very watered-down ale, “and one you won’t learn from Gwaine - quit while you’re ahead.”

They had stayed for a long time after that, socializing and eating their fill, until Merlin had finally seemed to take notice of the time (or perhaps of the slightly seedy-looking characters who had started to wander in through the back entrance). Merlin, at that point, had prompted Daegal to gather his winnings, say his goodbyes, and make his exit, pursued by a chorus of enthusiastic farewells from the knights, none of whom showed any sign of abandoning their seats anytime soon.

Stepping out into the night air was like diving into a frozen moat. Daegal drew his cloak tighter around his torso as he and Merlin wound their way through the town. The Rising Sun’s interior had been as stiflingly hot as its namesake, overflowing with a press of bodies and thrumming with a constant cacophony of conversation, and even from the outside its closed shutters leaked driblets of light and noise, as if the building were bursting at the seams. The town, by contrast, was stone-silent and frigid, everybody shut up in their homes waiting for the weak light of morning.

“You did well,” Merlin said, as they approached the citadel. “You’re sure you’ve never played Hazard before?”

Daegal shook his head. His mother would never have let him, before, and after -

He pushed that thought away, watching his breath mist in front of his face. He’d never had enough money to gamble with after that, that was all.

“You weren’t helping me, were you?” Daegal asked Merlin.

“No, you got lucky.” Merlin chuckled. “The look on that fellow’s face...”

Daegal smiled faintly, remembering. Daegal had taken rather a lot of money from a beefy, belligerent fellow who had been bothering everybody all night, which had resulted in a vastly improved tavern experience for all when the man had stormed out in a rage, and which had also earned a round of free drinks for Daegal’s table. “He wasn’t too pleased, was he?”

“No, he wasn’t. Not quite the sort of evening he was expecting to have, I don’t think.”

They walked on, approaching the retracted drawbridge, and detoured to the parallel pedestrian crossing instead, passing through the smaller door to the bridge’s left and entering the courtyard, Merlin offering a hello to the familiar guards as they went.

“How does it feel to be older?” Merlin asked, as they crossed the darkened square.

Daegal shrugged. “I don’t know. The same, I suppose.”

But that wasn’t exactly true, Daegal thought, as they entered the base of the North Tower. Last year, things had been very different. A few months ago, he could never have dreamed of the sort of day he’d been having today. And now -

He hesitated at the bottom of the stair leading to the physician’s chambers. Merlin, oblivious to the fact that Daegal was not right behind him, kept climbing.

“Why are you doing all this?” Daegal asked. His voice sounded strange in his own ears, or maybe that was just a function of the echo in the hollow space, his words bouncing off the stone shell on either side of him.

Merlin turned around, surprised to see Daegal still standing at the bottom of the stairs. “All what?”

Daegal made an uncertain gesture. “This. All these things today...I don’t understand.”

“It’s your birthday,” Merlin said, as if that made any sense at all.

“It’s not, though,” Daegal said. “Even if it were, I don’t see - I mean, it doesn’t matter.” He shrugged uncomfortably. “Who cares?”

Merlin stared levelly at Daegal. “I do,” he said.

A long silence ensued. Daegal could not possibly have formulated a reply to this even if he’d known what to say, but Merlin did not ask him to respond, instead descending a few steps and putting a hand on Daegal’s elbow, nudging him up the staircase. “Come on,” he said quietly. “It’s late.”

Daegal followed him without a word, stunned and silent, seven stories straight up.

“Isn’t it a bit past your bedtime, old man?” Merlin said, immediately upon opening the doors to the physician’s chambers.

Daegal, trailing behind, thought this was a very unusual way for Merlin to address Gaius, but as he peered around Merlin’s shoulder, he realized it was not Gaius to whom Merlin was speaking, but Will, who was sitting by the little hearthfire at the left of the room with his feet propped up on a stool.

“No,” Will replied, though he did look like he was ready to doze off. “It might be a bit past Arthur’s, though.”

Merlin swore and stopped dead in the doorway. “He sent somebody up?”

“Several somebodies.”

“What did you tell them?

Will waved an unconcerned hand. “I don’t remember.”

“Will - ”

“Isn’t he waiting for you to turn down his sheets or something?”

“Did you tell them I was at the tavern?”

Will smirked.

Merlin, cursing under his breath, took Daegal by the upper arms and maneuvered him into the room. “Drink some water. Kip on the patient cot - you’re up early collecting pots with Gaius tomorrow; you might as well sleep here.” He tore off his outerwear and dumped it on a table. “You,” he said to Will, “on the other hand, can go home, you ass.”

Will tipped his chair back, cupping a hand to his ear. “What’s that? ‘Have my bed, William’? All right, if you say so.”

Merlin flashed Will a rude gesture before tearing out of the room. Daegal caught the door before it could slam and closed it carefully, so as not to disturb Gaius, who was sleeping behind the screens that had been drawn around his corner.

Will rose from his seat with a yawn, stretching. “So you had your evening out at last.”

Daegal did not answer him, his mind still trapped back there in the stairwell with Merlin. I do, he heard again, as he struggled to untie his cloak. I do.

“Was it everything you thought it would be?”

Daegal managed to undo the knot, his fingers clumsy with cold. He pulled his cloak from his shoulders and folded it slowly, first in half, then in fours, and then laid it aside before doing the same with Merlin’s rumpled jacket, single-mindedly focused on his task.

“I hope you at least took something off Gwaine. Fellow’s too cocky for his own good.”

Daegal, out of things to fold, stared at his hands. Will came closer, scrutinizing Daegal in the low light. “How much did you have to drink?”

Daegal stuck his hands into his pockets, avoiding Will’s gaze. Not much, was the true answer, but he couldn’t find the words.

He fingered the coins in his pocket, the silver pieces cold and clinking against one another.

“Oi,” Will said, frowning. He tipped Daegal’s chin up to see his eyes. “You all right in there?”

Morgana had given Daegal a sack of coins just like this, once.

Daegal yanked his hands out of his pockets as if he had been burned, jerking back from Will’s fingers.

“This is wrong,” he blurted out.

Will blinked at him. “Sorry?”

“I can’t do this. It’s - I can’t. It’s not right.”

“What isn’t?”

“Everything! The birthday, the money, the tavern, the riding - ” Daegal's voice was rising, but he could not rein himself in. He had been trying to tell this to someone all day. “The horse, the land, breakfast - ”

Will stared at him, confounded. “Breakfast?”

Daegal struggled mightily not to holler in frustration. Will, of all people, ought to have understood, but it appeared he was committed to being just as obtuse as everyone else. “Yes! I don’t deserve it; it isn’t right - ”

Will’s eyebrows shot up. He did not give Daegal another chance to wake Gaius, but planted a hand on Daegal’s shoulder and spun him around, muttering, “Go,” in a low voice, pushing Daegal away from Gaius’s sleeping area in the direction of Merlin’s chambers. Daegal allowed himself to be marched up the little staircase, Will following, until they were both in Merlin’s room, the small chamber chilly and cloaked with shadows, lit only by a single hanging candle.

Closing the door, Will turned back to Daegal. “Start over,” he commanded.

Daegal whipped out Arthur’s envelope. “The King - he gave me a land grant.”

Will snatched the piece of parchment out of Daegal’s hand, scanning it briefly. “So?” he said, discarding the envelope onto Merlin’s desk. “He can afford it.”

“But it’s - ”

“Nothing he’ll miss.”

“But - ”

“But what?”

“The Queen - ”

“What about her?”

“She gave me a horse.”

Will shrugged. “And?”

“It’s too much! I can’t - ”

“Are you planning to thank her for it?”

“Yes.”

“You’re going to take care of it?”

“Of course!”

“Then what’s the trouble? She wanted you to have it.”

“She gave it to me for the wrong reasons!” Daegal exclaimed frustratedly. “She kept saying I helped her, but I didn’t do anything. I didn’t even know she needed help. I thought she wanted the throne for herself - ”

“You stopped her killing her husband,” Will said, interrupting. “You saved his life.”

“I didn’t save him. I almost killed him. I’m the reason he needed help in the first place. But all of them are acting like - ” Daegal thought back to earlier that night, to Elyan, who had shown Daegal how to calculate Hazard odds in his head; to Leon, who had spoken to Daegal like one of the adults; to Percival, who had taught Daegal the less savory lyrics to the tavern’s favorite drinking songs; and to Gwaine, who had murmured advice in Daegal’s ear while Daegal cast his dice. “They kept saying I’d done their job for them. They - ”

A horrible, hollow feeling bloomed in Daegal’s chest, strangling his voice. He pulled the coins out of his pocket and dumped them onto Merlin’s desk, not wanting to carry that cold weight for another moment. “They don’t know me. They don’t know what I’m like.”

Will watched him closely, his eyes narrowing. “What are you like?”

Daegal shook his head and sank down onto Merlin’s bed, staring at the floor. He didn’t want to say it. He shouldn’t need to say it. Will already knew the whole story; Daegal shouldn’t have needed to retread all the ugly details.

Will folded his arms, leaning back against the top of Merlin’s desk. The single candle did very little to illuminate his set expression, but the moonlight in the window behind him threaded his silhouette with silver.

“I shouldn’t have said anything about my birthday,” Daegal murmured, his voice thick. “I should have just kept it quiet. That’s what you do, isn’t it?”

Will frowned. “Who said that?”

“Merlin. When I didn’t mention my birthday - he said you were - well, he said we were two of a kind.”

Will shook his head. “I don’t hide my birthday.”

“I think you must,” Daegal said stubbornly, returning to his intense inspection of the floorboards. “Because I don’t even know when it is.”

“Neither do I.”

Daegal looked up, surprised. “What?”

“I don’t know when my birthday is.”

“Why - ”

Will lifted a finger repressively, and Daegal realized he was not going to be getting that part of the story tonight, or maybe ever. “It doesn’t matter,” Will said. “I don’t care. I don’t fancy it much, anyhow. It’s nothing to me. Merlin, though - ” He gestured at the room around them, at the mussed bedclothes and the stacked manuscripts and the sketched diagrams pasted to the walls. “He doesn’t like it when I say things like that. It bothers him. He’s got ideas about how these things are supposed to be done, and he thinks it’s wrong, not telling me happy birthday, even if I’d rather he just left it alone.”

Daegal had no trouble believing it, if Merlin’s reaction to Daegal’s skipped birthday were anything to go by. “But then - ” Daegal frowned. “He mustn’t know when your birthday is, either.”

“My birthday,” Will said, in a long-suffering way, “is whenever Merlin decides he wants it to be. He comes crawling into my cott at some godsforsaken hour of the morning on whatever personally convenient day he’s picked that year, and then he yanks me out of bed and feeds me too much food and drags me all over creation doing the sort of things he thinks I’ll like doing. I’ve been telling him to drop it for more years than you’ve been alive, but he never listens. It doesn’t matter how much I whinge about it. He never forgets. He can’t help himself. He thinks it’s important, telling people he’s happy they were born, even if they don’t think being born was such a fantastic thing themselves.”

Will gestured at Daegal. “If you’re going to be one of his people now, you’re going to have to get used to that. You don’t have to like it, but you’ve got to understand it. That’s who he is. That’s how he treats people. He won’t give you a pass on birthday fuss just because you don’t think you’re worth fussing over. He’s not built that way.”

Daegal heard Merlin’s words again, echoing against the frozen stones of the stairwell. Who cares? Daegal had asked.

I do.

He twisted his fingers together. Out in the physician’s chamber proper, Gaius was snoring.

“It’s not just Merlin, though,” Daegal said finally, in a soft voice. “Everybody - all of them are doing too much.”

“Too much how?”

“They keep thanking me. But the gifts are - I didn’t earn them. I don’t deserve them.”

“Who told you that?”

“I don’t need anyone to tell me; I know.” Daegal stared at Will, helpless to explain why Will’s inability to accept this simple truth made him feel so utterly lost at sea. “I don’t understand this. You’re the one who kept saying I did something wrong.”

“You did do something wrong,” Will replied, as if this entire line of discussion were so obvious that it did not need to be examined. “But you did something right, too.”

“I - ”

Will held up a hand. “Who was it nearly got themselves killed saving Pendragon’s gleaming hide? Who was it betrayed Morgana?”

“Me, but - ”

“Who was it came back to save Merlin’s life?”

“From something I did to him in the first place.”

“From something Morgana did to him,” Will corrected.

“I helped,” Daegal retorted. “You’re always saying - you said I need to take responsibility.”

“You do,” Will said. “For all your choices. Not just the shyte ones.” He gestured at the door, back towards the rest of the castle. “You saved two lives. You nearly got yourself killed doing it. That’s what they’re all thanking you for. It’s not about what you did for yourself; it’s what you did for everyone else, when you didn’t have to. You didn’t have to come back for Merlin. You didn’t have to follow him to Camelot. You could have just taken Morgana’s money and run.”

“I tried,” Daegal confessed, his mouth very dry. “I tried. I couldn’t do it.”

“Why not?” Will said, as if he already knew the answer.

“I just - couldn’t.” Daegal remembered it with a nightmarish clarity, hesitating in the thickness of the undergrowth as the encroaching night muddled his vision, knowing that Merlin was suffocating at the bottom of a muddy ravine where no one would ever find his body. “I felt like something was going to swallow me. I would’ve rather died than felt like that all the time.”

“That’s because you know what’s right and what’s wrong,” Will said, as if he had been waiting for Daegal to say this all along. “And you chose right.”

“I chose wrong first.”

Will shook his head. “Lots of people choose wrong first. Doesn’t mean that what you choose next doesn’t matter.”

Daegal played with the hem of his sleeve, wrapping a fraying thread around his finger. Will pushed himself up from the desk and dragged Merlin’s chair over to a spot across from Daegal, then sat down. “Listen here,” he said. “I can’t say I’d be too pleased to get a load of gifts that I didn’t think I ought to have, either. But you can’t give them back, and you can’t convince people that you don’t deserve them, either.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You’ve got to just smile, and say thank you, and do your best to be worthy of everyone’s gifts.”

Daegal absorbed this, nodding slowly. “I’m trying.”

“I know you are,” Will said. “And so does everyone else.” Will met Daegal’s gaze unflinchingly, his outline illuminated at the edges by the moon at his back. “Don’t you ever tell me that lot doesn’t know what you’re like. They know it better than you do.”

Daegal swallowed, not trusting himself to speak.

“Now then,” Will said, linking his hands behind the back of his chair and stretching out his arms. “This is rubbish timing, but you’ve got to start practicing sometime, so let’s just get it over with.” He withdrew a thin, utensil-sized package from his pocket, extending it to Daegal. “Don’t have a crisis, now.”

“Oh - no - ” Daegal moaned.

“Oi,” Will warned. “What’ve we just talked about?”

Daegal took the parcel.

“Smile and say thank you,” Will prompted, when Daegal did not say anything right away.

Daegal managed a wobbly smile, and an even wobblier thank you, which Will, to Daegal’s very great relief, chose not to comment upon.

Daegal untied the parcel. The cloth casing fell away, revealing a short and sturdy pocketknife encased in a plain leather sheath. Daegal picked it up and turned it over in his hands, knowing immediately that Will had carved the handle himself. It fit into Daegal’s hand as if it had been moulded from a plaster cast, and it was the only part of the knife sporting any decoration, inscribed as it was with an angular script that Daegal could not read in this light. Daegal removed the sheath and found that the blade had been sharpened to a dangerous edge, the point glinting in the moonlight.

“Elyan did that bit,” Will said. “It ought to hold an edge better than what you have now.”

“No more mashing seed pods,” Daegal murmured.

“Exactly.”

Daegal ran a finger over the symbols carved into the handle. He hadn’t learned all his letters yet, but he thought he ought to have been able to recognize a few of them, at least. “What’s this writing?”

“Oh, that,” Will said, as if he had almost forgotten. “It’s spelled.”

“Spelled?”

“Magicked. Against slips. To spare your fingers.” Will waggled his own fingers in the air, and Daegal had to laugh a little.

“Merlin?”

Will’s face took on a thoughtful look. “No, actually.” He pointed at the unfamiliar runes, his tone becoming more serious. “Mordred says that if you’re going to exploit his people for personal gain, then you’re going to learn something about the culture.”

Daegal froze. A chill ran through him. He had never even considered -

He gripped the inscribed handle with sweaty fingers, mortified. “He’s angry with me.”

“No,” Will said. “I don’t think so, at least. It’s hard to tell with that fellow.”

At Daegal’s dismayed look, Will added, “He offered to spell the thing himself, at least, so I can’t imagine he’s too upset with you. But he has every right to be, you realize that?”

Daegal nodded quickly.

“You’re going to go and see him,” Will said, his voice calm, but his tone brooking no argument. “And you’re going to apologize, and you’re going to listen to whatever it is he wants to tell you. You understand?”

“Yes,” Daegal said quickly. “I’ll do it.” He glanced at the door.

“Not now,” Will clarified. “Tomorrow. He might not be angry just yet, but he will be if you yank him out of bed a few hours before he’s supposed to be on patrol.”

Daegal’s shoulders sagged. Will was right, but Daegal could not stand the thought of waiting. Yet another guilt-monster was chewing a hole in his stomach, and he was starting to think those gnawing teeth would never let him sleep. He recalled, suddenly, with a fresh wave of horror, the outrage on Merlin’s face when Daegal’s falsified triskele had smeared away, how tightly Merlin’s fingers had dug into Daegal’s wrist.

Here was one more stupid thing Daegal had done. One more person he’d injured. One more wrongheaded decision.

His eyes drifted longingly towards the door again.

“No,” Will said, shaking his head. “You made that bed, now you lie in it for one night.”

Daegal sighed, and Will’s tone softened. “You’ll make it right in the morning,” he said.

Daegal traced one of the Druidic runes with a finger. He supposed that was the best he could do.

Will stood up and beckoned for Daegal to join him. “Listen,” he said, pushing Merlin’s chair back under the desk. “It’s late. I don’t want you up all night brooding over this, all right?”

“All right,” Daegal said, but he had a feeling he was in for yet another night of lying awake under a blanket of guilt he had woven for himself.

“And - not that this needs to be said, but let’s not tell anyone you’ve got a magic pocketknife, all right? Pendragon will think I’ve been messing about with enchantments behind his back, and he’ll have me booted out of this kingdom faster than you can say insufferable bastard.”

“But you don’t have - ”

“Yes, I do,” Will reminded Daegal, giving him a significant look. “And that’s exactly what you’re going to tell people, if anybody starts asking questions.” He opened Merlin’s door, ushering Daegal through it. “But let’s not give folk a reason to ask, all right? Otherwise the next person trying to kill the king might be me, because if Pendragon wants me out of this place he’s going to have to execute me and exile my corpse, no matter if I did sign a stupid promise ‘renouncing the practice of magic in all its forms,’ or whatever other rubbish that idiot asked me to agree to.”

Daegal followed Will across the main chamber, watching while Will pulled on his outerwear. “I’m guessing he never gave you a land grant, then?”

Will burst into laughter, leaning heavily on the door handle. He only remembered to clap a hand over his mouth when a slumbering Gaius snorted and rolled over. “Oh, lor,” he wheezed, trying to recover himself. “Don’t do that to me.”

Daegal smiled sheepishly. Will straightened up, his eyes creased with pure, undisciplined mirth. “You won’t let all those fancy presents go to your head, now, will you?”

“I won’t,” Daegal promised. “But - about Arthur’s gift, though. I don’t actually know what to do with a plot of land.”

“Neither does Arthur,” Will said, rolling his eyes. “But I do, and so does Merlin. We’ll work it out together, all right?”

“All right,” Daegal said, as Will unlatched the door. “Erm. Will - ”

“Yeah.”

Smile and say thank you. “Thank you,” Daegal said, trying on a smile for size, hoping it did not falter too much at the corners. “For the knife, and - everything else.”

Will regarded him in that way of his that was very off-putting when you did not want to be read like a book but somehow oddly useful when you were trying to communicate something unspoken. “You’re welcome,” Will said finally, surprising Daegal by reaching out and mussing his hair. “See? You’ve got the hang of things already.”

Will turned to go, but when he reached the top of the staircase he paused, glancing back. “And, listen - ” he said, his voice low enough not to wake Gaius, but somehow warm enough to push back the December chill. “Whether you like it or not - happy birthday, lad.”

Daegal sat tucked away in one of the window nooks, his cloak wrapped around him like a blanket and the glass casement leaching heat away from his side. Merlin was long since abed, and Gaius’s muffled snores filled the main chamber, a soft drone of sound behind the screens. Outside, the moon hung chubby and ovoid in the sky, like a pale seed on a black field of soil, like the bulbs Daegal would plant in his new garden, which was out there somewhere, nestled in the farming fields of the Sprawl.

He rubbed his thumb over the unfamiliar runes carved into the handle of his birthday blade. His sixteen year-old self would have thrown that knife away, just to be safe. There would have been no reason for him to believe that someone he’d injured would ever magick a gift for him just to be helpful, and sixteen year-old Daegal would have assumed that the spell “to spare his fingers” was in fact a curse to make sure they all fell off.

But seventeen year-old Daegal was determined not to think like that anymore. He was not going to think the worst of everyone who tried to help him, and he was not going to throw away gifts, whether he thought he deserved them or not. He was going to smile, and say thank you, and do his best to be worthy of what he’d been given.

He leaned his forehead against the cold glass, looking down at the flickering lights on the city walls and the dark countryside beyond. The Sprawl’s rolling jumble of cottages and fields melted into a shadowy sea of forest, and far away, the looming bulk of the White Mountains towered over the skyline, the peaks’ black silhouettes only distinguishable at this hour by an absence of stars.

It was a very big world, Daegal thought, following the craggy outline of the range with his eyes. And he had made plenty of bad decisions blundering around within its borders, that was certain. But there was something beautiful about it still, even in the dead of winter.

And it was not nearly as bleak as it had appeared to be, this time last year.

Seventeen was going to be different, Daegal told himself. Like Merlin always said. It won’t always be like this. Things will be better. Daegal could make them better. He had chosen wrong first, but he could choose right next. He could choose right from now on. He had made a mistake, but he could make it right in the morning.

And tonight - tonight, it was still his birthday.

It isn’t, his sixteen year-old self snapped.

“It is,” Daegal said. “It’s my birthday.”

Who cares, the voice scoffed.

Daegal wrapped his fingers around his unearned mark of forgiveness, the grooves of the rune-etched handle imprinting themselves into his skin. “I do,” he said firmly, putting every ounce of conviction he had behind the words. “I do.”

His younger self shut its mouth.

Daegal smiled slightly. “Happy birthday to me,” he murmured, and was surprised to find that for the first time in a long time, he actually meant it.

Curled up against the window, he tucked his knife against his side and fixed his eyes on the horizon, settling in to wait for the sun.

#bbc merlin gen #fic #also fyi i know we haven't discussed the broader worldstate of this AU and you're welcome to change anything i chose to use here #but just for the purposes of this particular fic - lancelot did still die; but elyan did not #because i don't acknowledge writing decisions that had no narrative integrity 🙃#the once and future slowburn #verse: offcut joinery #the physician's apprentice #no kings no masters

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clean-bands-dirty-stories · 4 years ago

Text

The Best Things ~ J.V. (part 11)

A/n: Don’t mind me, updating a series no one cares about lol. I’ve been toeing the line of what he’s like in other fanficiton and fans’ minds, but with this one I may just cover a side of Jerome y’all might really believe is out of character. I don’t care though. I’m having fun exploring a character and I’m having fun.

Word Count: 5400+

MASTERLIST

There was something different about waking up in the morning to Jerome still being asleep next to you. Or at least that's how Harley felt. Especially because this never happened, and considering what had happened last night. Maybe that was it. The night before was the main thing on Harley's mind as he slowly woke up, his head immediately filling with the memory as if denying him even a second dog bliss from it.

If he was being honest, it made him both terrified and exhilarated. They'd never had sex like that before. Slow and tender and soft. Words of praise had poured from Jerome's mouth nonstop, and it had sent Harley's body in a different way. Rather than fireworks, it was more like lava under rocks. Searing heat that crept through Harley's veins like it was trying to sneak. It made Harley feel infinitely close to Jerome. Made him feel tethered to Jerome. He'd never felt anything like that before, and from Jerome's reactions neither had he. It also gave both men a new fear. Or, a deeper rooted hold on a fear that already existed at the very least.

What if this ended?

What if neither man felt this ever again?

What if they'd unveiling something in themselves last night... and now, in the day time, the other didn't like it?

It was then that Jerome turned, facing Harley, where he'd had his back turned before. "I'm sorry about your friend." His voice was quiet, and Jerome wouldn't look at him.

Harley was surprised by that. He scooted closer, resting his forehead on Jerome's chest. The red head pulled the other man's body closer, tucking Harley against Jerome's own frame. He held onto him, protecting him from the world for a second. It was empowering when Harley leaned into it immediately, reaching his hands so he fisted Jerome's shirt so hard his knuckles turn white.

Jerome had never been comforting before. Safe. He'd never had someone take refuge in him before. It was intoxicating. It made him feel strong and unbreakable. It was more of a high than he'd ever felt before. Maybe just as good as when he put his little shows on and watched people panic and squirm. Harley finding safety in this moment was on par with all the moments other people had found danger in Jerome.

I guess when all you get is the same thing all your life, even if it's good, something new can have a strong effect on a man. Jerome had always been fear personified. He'd been a walking weapon of death and destruction, and somehow in that chaos Harley found himself making a home. It made Jerome feel incredible. Maybe he wasn't as bad as everyone thought.

"Can I see those drawings you did last night?" Harley leaned back so they were looking at each other. Jerome had an odd expression on his face. Not the one Bruce and Jeremiah wore when they looked at each other, but a very close approximation. It made Harley's heart pick up.

"Sure." He slid out of bed to pad to the living room, snagging his drawing pad and returning with it. He sat in bed this time, extending the drawing pad so Jerome could grab it.

The red head say up as well, taking the pad from Harley and beginning to slowly look through it. He took longer than Harley though he had the attention span for, drinking in the different angles and shadows of his own face. He seemed to be scanning it. At one point he reached up and touched his face, his eyebrows coming together. "What are you thinking, J?"

Jerome looked up, a look of concern and confusion on his face. "Is this really how you see me?"

It was Harley's turn to be confused. "What are you talking about?"

He seemed to struggle to explain a few seconds before weakly offering, "I'm beautiful." He immediately scowled. "You make me look... good looking." A deeper scowl. "I mean, I know I'm sexy don't get me wrong, but the way you draw me looks... looks..."

"Pretty?" Harley offered.

"Yes," Jerome groaned, like it hurt him.

Harley bit his lip for a second, thinking. "To me, you were always a work of art. Even before I drew you." He looked at the bed, fingers fiddling with the blanket. "You used to come to my mind all the time when you were dead. I thought of you constantly. Went to therapy over it because they thought it was a side effect of trauma." He snorted, shaking his head. "Turns out I was just infatuated with you." He looked back at Jerome then. "You came to me in dreams when I finally learned how to control my thoughts when awake. Even before we met that day, in person, I was obsessed with you. I used to draw you all the time. I told myself that it was to deal with the trauma of my parents dying, my fixation on death and murderers. People that were considered psychotic and dangerous. And maybe it was, in part. Maybe it began that way. But ever since the first second I saw you, you became this beacon of hope. Hope that in some world, with someone, I could be free from expectation and restrictions. That I could be wild and have fun and be GAY and not have to worry about what other people thought. You stood for the happiness I've been denied since the first day time I ever found anyone attractive." He paused. "Helped that you were incredibly attractive." Jerome giggled at that and Harley's smile widened. "You're so silly." Jerome scooted closer, kissing Harley so deeply he lost all of his breath. He leaned away after too short a time though, tilting his head. "Let's do something fun today."

"Like what?" Harley asked. He was getting good at keeping track with Jerome's zipping thought train.

Considering, Jerome grew quiet. "I want to take you on a date. Something nice." Harley deflated. "It's not smart to go out right now. We're trying to convince Bruce and the police that you're dead. If you're seen it'll all be over."

Jerome pouted. "Let me take you somewhere."

A long sigh came from Harley. "Do you want to die?" Jerome shook his head no. "Do you want to get caught and sent to Arkham?" Another silent no. "Then what the hell do you suppose we do that won't require any people, when we're in the middle of a huge city?"

Quiet groans and Jerome was flopping back on the bed, making Harley smile fondly. "I can't stay here forever, Harley! It's BORING. You get to go out all the time and check in on our dear brothers. Why don't I get to?"

"Because you'd be found out," Harley reminded patiently. "And entrapped. Or killed. Or entrapped and then killed."

There was a pause where Jerome was quiet. "You must go to Jeremiah's again and get me new information." Harley nodded, moving to get off the bed so he could get ready to head out. Jerome was suddenly moving though, pinning him before he could leave all the way. "But before you do that, I would like you to leave me with something to think about. Something to make this day a little more worth it." He licked his lips. "Entertain me, Harley." His eyes darkened and Harley shivered.

"Yes sir." - "Hey Harley!" Jeremiah greeted brightly. Harley chuckled at the boy. How was he twins with Jerome? That lightness and energy came so easily to this man, where Jerome struggled to even accept the idea of adorableness, let alone embody it constantly. But this wasn't the time to think about Jerome. "How did your date with the boy wonder go?" Jeremiah was bouncing on his toes. It was genuinely adorable. "He kissed me."

Harley launched to his feet. "What?" He was grinning, hands outstretched as if deciding on whether to grab him or pump into the air victoriously.

"Yeah!" Jeremiah squeaked.

"That's awesome!" Harley gushed. "Tell me everything! Wait- where's Ecco?"

"I already told her," Jeremiah dismissed, waving his hand through the air. "She picked me up afterward and I filled her ears with it all the way home.

Harley giggled, his nose scrunching in amusement. "I bet she loved that." Jeremiah blushed and Harley winked, nudging his friend playfully. "Okay well now it's my turn. Every detail Jeremiah, I'm serious."

And the red head eagerly delivered. The two boys talked for hours, going from the date and all that happened right into Harley waltzing around the room dramatically planning the wedding and the house and family that would follow. "You'll definitely need at least one dog. You both seem like cat people, but I bet your ass that you two raise a kid willing to rough house with a dog. It's got to be huge then. Like so big toddlers can ride on its back, and whenever it wants to go anywhere it'll just drag you along even if you want to go somewhere else."

At this point Jeremiah had covered his face, laying his hands on the counter and his head in the palms of his hands. "Please stop," he groaned, but both boys knew he had to hide his expression or risk showing off the radiant smile he'd hinted at earlier.

"Fine fine fine," Harley sighed, finally sitting back down. He chuckled, sitting back in the chair. He was lounging, legs spread and arms over the back of his seat. He looked comfortable. It was so different than the Wayne boy that had been seen on TV for years. The one Bruce talked about even. Harley really wasn't Y/n. He was... too much like Jerome to ever be that boy again. "What's with the frown?" Harley asked, raising an eyebrow.

Jeremiah debated on whether he should share his thoughts, but Harley leaned forward, showing that he knew Jeremiah was thinking something and that he wouldn't let it drop. Having gotten to the point where Harley could always pry information out of Jeremiah, the redhead didn't even bother fighting him. "I was thinking about how much you remind me of Jerome." Harley hesitated and Jeremiah rushed to add, "Not in a bad way. But your confidence and ease. Your very presence is so much bigger than it used to be. I didn't know you back then, but Bruce has mentioned how you guys used to be. Mostly because he obsesses over the worry that Jerome is still alive so it comes up often, because I always listen. Once he mentions Jerome, then we talk about how things were in my childhood and then it goes to how his childhood used to be and then you come up." He looked away, obviously self conscious about the way Harley's eyes were drilling into him.

"Do you lie to him?"

That caught Jeremiah off guard. "What?" He looked back with an expression like a deer in the headlights, or a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

"Jerome talked to me a lot." Harley watched his words carefully, being sure not to reveal that Jerome STILL talked to him just as much. "And that day in the tunnels, when Jerome tried to kidnap you. He said you lied about your guys' past."

Jeremiah was quiet for a long time. "I don't lie to him." He paused again and Harley waited for him to continue. When Jeremiah realized Harley wasn't going to let it go, he continued. "I don't tell him what I used to tell our mom. I'm... ashamed. You were right when you said I contributed a lot to how Jerome turned out. But, you have to understand Harley he terrified me. He never threatened me per say, but I was the one who always found the bodies of the animals he mutilated. I was the one he talked about to his fantasies about other people. He... He used to say he was joking, and he never did anything until our mom, from what I know, but he was curious and he didn't have the same empathy as everyone else did. For animals at least."

Harley sighed. "He loved me." Jeremiah looked up sharply. "He told me so. And- and you know what, I believed him." Harley swallowed. "Did I ever tell you how we found out where you were?" Jeremiah hesitated before shaking his head. "Would you like to know?" There was a darkness in Harley's voice. One that made Jeremiah want to shy away. But, he was curious too. It was one of the fatal flaws him and Jerome had in common. So, even though he wanted to run, he nodded instead. "We went to your Uncle Zack's."

Immediately Jeremiah cringed. "Oh god."

"So you know what that man is capable of then," Harley eased, even though his expression had not changed at all. It was the same forced calm that Jerome had perfected. The similarity between Harley and Jeremiah's lost brother in that moment made anxiety twist in the redhead's chest. "You know, if I hadn't been there..." He shook his head. "He heated soup to boiling. He wanted to pour it into Jerome's mouth. Thank god I was there to stop that one. What would it have bee like, being a child against grown adults. No where to run, no one to turn to, and no mercy in sight. No reprieve. If I was Jerome, I probably would have killed that bitch you called your mother too."

Harley expected Jeremiah to snap at him, but he didn't. It made the air get even more thick with dark tension. It set into reality not only what Harley had said, but what Jeremiah wouldn't. That he would have too. "I think I'm going to go work on my prototypes." Harley didn't say anything, so Jeremiah left him alone in the quiet.

There was a part of Harley that felt bad for ruining the mood after they'd both been flying so high earlier, but there was also a part of him that didn't care. So he stood up and left through the maze, standing outside to get some air. To breathe after the stifling pressure inside. He hesitated too long, though. If he had just left right then and headed back to Jerome and forgotten about the conversation for the rest of the day, he would have made it out of there with plenty of time. But he didn't. He hesitated and and he breathed and he closed his eyes and felt the sun on his skin.

That was what gave Bruce the time he needed to pull up to Jeremiah's front door just to see Harley standing there. The boy tripped as he got out of the car, his eyes wide and lips parted. "Y/n?"

Harley jerked at the name, flinching away from it. It eyes slammed open, his gaze hard and angry. After the conversation he'd just had with Jeremiah, he was not in the right place to face his brother. Yet, here they both were. "Mr. Wayne," Harley greeted bitterly.

Bruce looked like Harley had slapped him. "Where have you been?" He shook his head. "Where's Jerome?" He then remembered where they were and looked between Harley and the door that lead to the maze where Bruce's boyfriend was. "Why are you here?"

The chaotic barrage of questions made Harley relax. He had the control in this situation. "I'm here because Jeremiah lets be stay here, when I want to. I check in sometimes and talk to him." Any other answer would get him in trouble, and he didn't feel like setting off his brother so he stayed with the truth, ignoring the other two questions.

The Wayne boy stepped forward, settling on angry between the emotions he'd been battling before. "You're friends with Jeremiah?"

"Sort of," Harley shrugged. "And by the way, it's Harley."

Hands curled into fists and Harley found himself slipping into a sort of distant amusement. His stance solidified, arms relaxing and fingers twitching at his sides. Bruce got hit with the same thought Jeremiah had been before. Harley looked a lot like Jerome in that moment, but more sane. In control. He didn't have that same unhinged factor, which left him far more unpredictable. Harley had the air of someone who would kill everyone in the room and then get away with it. Not for chaos' sake, but because he simply didn't care. Seeing sanity int he face of someone so cold and distant and confident sent a chill down Bruce's spine. What had happened to the brother who radiated sunshine and painted the most odd paintings with even weirder origin stories? The brother that couldn't handle even a little confrontation, let alone stand empty handed and still look dangerous? "I guess it is." Bruce's voice was soft and broken. His anger had fallen away, exchanging for a heart break that made Harley shift away from it like it burned him.

The door behind Harley opened. "Wait wait wait!" The voice belonged to Jeremiah, who was scrambling between the brothers as if trying to stop a fight. Maybe it would have eventually turned into that, but as of now all that was happening was Bruce was staring a Harley, looking for answers, and Harley was looking anywhere except at his brother as he refused to give them.

"You know," Harley mused. "I seem to be ruining the mood a lot today. You two love birds spend time together and I'll keep my distance so that my unhappiness won't affect you. How does that sound?"

Jeremiah launched forward, catching Harley's shoulder. "Please," he begged softly. "Don't go."

"Do you want him to leave instead, because I can promise it won't be pretty if we're both here," Harley spat viciously. Jeremiah recognized a deeper level to the boy though. A hurt that was curling into his face. There was more than just anger driving him to run now. There was fear, and pain. Jeremiah had seen that look on Jerome's face far too many times to let Harley go now.

Jeremiah looked at Bruce. "Listen," he sighed heavily. "You're both important to me. I have three friends, and one of them is more of a body guard who's paid to hang around, and another is... more than a friend, if I'm lucky." Bruce couldn't help how his face softened. Jeremiah cleared his throat. "I need as many people in my life as I can get, because I already basically have no one. You guys are brothers, for goodness sake. Don't let life tear you apart like I let happen for me and Jerome." This he directed at Harley. The words seemed to confuse Bruce, but he stayed quiet despite that.

Harley on the other hand looked ready to go. "He doesn't want me here."

"I didn't say that," Bruce rushed before he could rein his self control.

Jeremiah perked up. "You're the one person that can actually reassure Bruce that Jerome is dead."

Ah, how wrong he was. Harley could not honestly reassure Bruce that Jerome was dead. He could, however, convince Bruce that Jerome was dead- and he was also the only person who could. No matter how much of Harley Bruce saw, every time the Wayne heir looked at the man who used to be his best friend, he would always see Y/n. Y/n, who had never once been capable of hiding his emotions or even considering telling a lie, let alone delivering one convincingly. Y/n, who had always valued honesty - especially when it came to family. Who valued trust over power. Who had been abused and pushed around and broken and destroyed, replaced by someone who used lies to get what he wanted like one uses hammers to drive in nails. Harley would lie without hesitation or regret, and Bruce would believe him because Y/n wouldn't lie, and even if he did, Bruce would be able to tell.

"I killed him myself," Harley reassured, looking Bruce in the eye without hesitation.

Bruce formed an expression that spoke of disbelief and doubt, but Harley could see through that into the desperation in Bruce's eyes. "You killed him?"

Harley sighed. "I do that now."

Obviously Bruce didn't like that, but he seemed to accept it at least. "Why?"

This part was easy. "Because he hurt you." Harley shrugged, kicking the dirt under his foot. "He had no reason to involve you. He just did. He didn't even consult me, and he didn't because he knew that if he had I would have said no. We had a deal- no touching you. He might be my partner, but you're my brother and that's more important. No one hurts you. I made that clear since the beginning." He swallowed. That wasn't totally true. In fact, that day he had encouraged Jerome to mess Bruce up a little. Even kill him. But there had been a hesitance to hurt Bruce since the first day even if it had faded over time. Because the truth was, above even Bruce and Alfred, Jerome was the most important person to Harley now. "He was jealous because I cared more about you. He's kind of an attention whore." That was true. Not that Jerome was jealous, but that he was a slut for attention. The more time Harley spent with him, the more obvious it became. Harley didn't mind in the least though.

Bruce seemed to take a moment to consider this and choose his next words before he spoke again. "He sounds obsessive."

Jeremiah scoffed. "If I had to describe Jerome in one words," he mumbled.

"When I was caught with Jerome at the fair, I only ended up there because the first thing Jerome thought about when he came back from the dead was that the last thing he'd thought about when he was alive was that he'd wanted to kill me." Harley scoffed. "He took his wanting to kill me through death with him. If that doesn't spell obsessed, I don't know what does." That was another truth, but yet again Harley didn't mind. He liked to think of being on Jerome's mind, haunting him as the red head had haunted Harley. He liked the thought that not even death could do them part. Or however that line went, whatever.

There was a sort of melting slouch of Bruce's shoulders. He'd given in. Harley had succeeded. "We're not just going to be brothers again. Neither of us are the same."

"The last time I saw you my boyfriend was trying to kill you, and before that I was convinced you'd been brainwashed by some cult, so yeah we have some catching up to do."

Bruce looked at Jeremiah who perked up. "Wonderful! Dinner, anyone?"

"Actually," Harley edged. "I think we both have a lot to think about. Maybe rushing it all tonight wouldn't be the best idea." For the first time in a long time, Bruce nodded in agreement with Harley. In fact, it had probably been the first time Bruce had agreed with Harley since he had stopped being Y/n Wayne.

"Fine," Jeremiah sighed. "But I expect you two to have a dinner together within the next week. I won't let you just avoid it."

Harley sighed and nodded, turning away from the other two boys and heading toward his car. "Use protection!" Harley called, smirking when he heard the boys behind him groan in unison. Before they could curse him though, he slipped into his car and closed the door, cutting off any attempts of communication. He turned his car on and drove away, letting his smile melt away when he was positive he was out of view. His hands tightened on the wheel so hard that his knuckles turned white. His jaw locked, beginning to hurt after a few seconds it was cemented so. Not wanting to get pulled over when he was in a car that wasn't technically in his name - he'd gotten it a long time ago when he still worked with Penguin - and was, more importantly, a wanted criminal. Focusing on safe driving only got him to the front door though. He slammed it closed, standing in his doorway glaring at the floor.

And then he snapped.

A scream ripped out of him as he reached for the closest things light enough to pick up and began throwing them across the room. Some - a vase, a few dishes that hadn't been taking to the kitchen yet, a table decoration - shattered, while most of it landed safely after crashing into more things - books slamming into chairs, pillows knocking things off the wall, a shoe hitting the edge of a full length mirror hard enough that it tilted, so on. Altogether, he was creating a lot of noise, destruction, and chaos.

Jerome ran into the scene, looking rather startled. Harley wasn't the angry type. He had never been, except the rare times Penguin had been able to unlock long since buried trauma that he wasn't dealing with. Oswald had taught him to both control AND channel his emotions, so that they could be expressed but also make you look more terrifying rather than show as weaknesses and wear you away to nothing. No one had seen this side of Harley except him yet, and Jerome wasn't quite sure how to handle it. In fact, it reminded him a little of... his mom.

When Harley finally stopped, he turned away from Jerome, curling his fingers around his short hair very tightly, tugging as he planted his forehead against the wall furthest from Jerome. The redhead paused before slowly making his way over. "Harley?" His voice was soft. The anger in his boyfriend had unlocked a fear in him that he hadn't felt like this since he was a child. He was scared of Harley losing it again, both because he didn't want to have this feeling get worse, and also because if Harley was upset enough to melt down like this, he might get destructive with himself rather than loose objects.

Or worse, Harley might get destructive with Jerome.

"I'm sorry," Harley croaked. He took a deep breath, finally dropping his hands and leaning away from the wall before turning to Jerome. This was closer to the Harley Jerome knew. A little exhausted from his heavy emotions, but otherwise solid and in control. "I'm sorry J." His voice was stronger now. More fluid and solid. He saw Jerome's expression and slowly approached. Jerome didn't move away. When Harley touched him, Jerome didn't flinch even though his pulse skipped a beat. Not something totally new with Harley, except that this wasn't a good spike. The emotion he felt was new when it came to Harley. "I'm sorry," Harley said again, pulling Jerome to him until their foreheads touched. "Did I upset you?"

Jerome's brain had short circuited a bit. After being free of his mom for years, he'd grown a solid defense against things that reminded him of her. But Harley had waited until he was past all of Jerome's walls and defenses. Until he had become Jerome's home and safety embodied. Seeing such anger now threw Jerome for a loop. How would he leave Harley now if things got bad like it used to be with his mom? I had taken Jerome eighteen years to kill his mother and get away from her, and she had been... terrible. How would he do the same to Harley, who had claimed all of the most important parts of Harley and become essential to Jerome's insanity. Harley was the one who calmed him after nightmares, and defused a situation that set off something that triggered backlash from Jerome's past. Harley was the one who saved him from his uncle and his brother and his past. How would he get rid of someone like that?

"You looked... like her." The words were soft.

Harley froze. "Jerome-"

Jerome turned away and left. He said some joke but didn't hear it, too busy trying to think about how to backtrack and defend himself again from these emotions with Harley's help. "Never mind," he breathily dismissed, waving his hand in the air.

Harley wasn't having it though. He caught the hand, forcing Jerome to stop and face him. His face was serious, but his eyes were soft. "I would never hurt you, do you understand?I might what I said that day I pulled you from that ledge, Jerome Valeska. You lead, I will follow. I love you and I will do anything you ask of me. You don't have to be afraid of me. Even if i get angry and break shit, you are still safe with me."

"You're so dramatic," Jerome sighed, looping his arm over Harley's shoulders. His body had relaxed though. Even if he did a fantastic job of brushing things off and playing like nothing effected him, Harley's words had brought him a sense of peace he would never admit he needed. "I mean, anything? You won't even let me leave or kill our brothers."

Harley blew air out of his nose upon remembering Bruce. "If that's what you really want."

"Really?" Jerome faced him, surprised. Harley had been so adamant about doing neither for the last several weeks. Why change his mind now? Unlike Harley, Jerome was not a good people reader. Not for details, at least. He could tell when someone was scared of him, or when they were intrigued or interested or disgusted. He couldn't read Harley's micro signs though.

Harley rolled his eyes. "Ran into Bruce on my way back today." His lips curled but this time it didn't make Jerome nervous. He couldn't even think why Harley would remind him of his mother. Jerome broke things when he was angry too. Harley hadn't even know Jerome's mom. He was getting side tracked, but Harley spoke again, pulling his thoughts back as Harley's voice always did. "Jeremiah wants us to make amends and catch up. Wants us to spend dinner together. Ugh."

"My brother trying to make the world perfect for him?" Jerome joked. "Never."

Harley chuckled softly. No matter his state, Jerome could always make him laugh. "Yeah. I just- Bruce stills wants me to be that weak little scared boy I used to be. I'm better now. Happier and stronger. Maybe that scares him because I didn't succeed the way he wanted me to, but that doesn't change the fact that I can fight for myself now. I don't just settle and lie down and take shit. If he had it his way, along with everyone in this stupid city, I would sit in a chair in the corner of every room and sit in Bruce's shadow, there to talk to him when he needs company but otherwise be ignored and be okay with that. Alone, by myself, maybe with a girl who I can have kids with." He shuddered and Jerome followed with a scowl. Neither liked the idea of that, "Even worse, I'd be working for my younger brother. Working at Wayne incorporated, or as some sort of side kick as he stop bad guys or whatever." He grunted in disgust. "As if they even know what bad is."

Jerome pulled Harley toward the couch and next to him. When they were both seated, Jerome continued to tug on Harley until the boy curled into the redhead's side. All cuddled up, both seemed to feel a lot better with the words of a future that made both of them sick still ringing in their ears. "You know, if we're going back to being gay and doing crime and all that fun stuff, it might not hurt to be around your brother."

Harley sat up, eyebrows pulled together. "Why him? He's just a cop wannabe."

"He's friends with Gordon though, isn't he? Can you imagine how much power you had at your fingertips when everyone thought you were good and harmless and not even a wisp of a threat? Now you're none of those things, and the only person who knows your true potential is Mr. Penguin." He shrugged, his smile growing. "I've seen you do it before. Heard stories about your escapades with the Little Man, and you've told me before how valuable sneaking is. Never something I did because I never could have pulled it off, but you..." He pointed at Harley, getting excited now. "Why isn't Bruce following you around, or questioning you, or taking you to the police in an attempt to find me?"

Tracing the pattern of the couch, Harley tried not to smirk. "I told him what he wanted to hear."

The smirk that Harley was repressing shone on Jerome's face like light from the sun. Brilliant and bright. He hopped up onto the couch into a crouch, his fingers dancing in the air like he was constructing an orchestra. "What a clever boy. Deserves a reward..."

Now Harley grinned. "What did you have in mind?"

#jerome valeska #cameron monaghan #gotham #male reader #jerome valeska imagine #jerome valeska x reader #jerome valeska x male reader #cameron monaghan imagine #cameron monaghan x reader #cameron monaghan x male reader #gotham x reader #gotham imagine #gotham x male reader #joker imagine #joker x reader #joker x male reader

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aspiringhorrorauthor · 4 years ago

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hello, PLEASE tell me your aroace analysis of the black parade album, i would like to see it 👀👀

What up guys, I just passed a vet med practice exam and I’m aroace and emo as fuck so let’s do this

First off, I will preface that I know that this wasn’t quite MCR’s idea of the album, but art is interpretive and I will at every possible opportunity rub my grubby little aroace hands all over that shit. This is also gonna get long so here’s a read more

Okay so first off, let me just exclude the following songs from this interpretation simply because they are exactly as they appear: The End, Dead!, Welcome to the Black Parade, Sleep, Teenagers and Blood. I can’t find anything to really psychoanalyse in this regarding the aroace experience so much as they are about the emo experience. And also, as a heads up, I feel this may teter more into aromantic interpretation than asexual simply because that’s how I roll, baby.

Let’s start with ‘This Is How I Disappear’, there’s something in here that strikes me as ‘coming to terms with being aroace Very Badly’, that first onset of panic when you realise ‘oh crap, I’m not allo’. I didn’t have the ‘hell yeah no sexual/romantic attraction oh wait there’s a word for that?’ realisation often stated online, I was in a lot of denial, especially when I first started listening to this album.

The lines “And without you is how I disappear/and live my life alone forever now” really strikes this message to me. The gnawing sense of loneliness and isolation when you first realise that you’re not like everyone else, that ‘living a life alone’ is both what you want from life and dread, as an amatonormative society drills into every one of us that love and relationships is what makes us important in life, and without it we will simply disappear. The line hits home the pain of questioning, the horror of when you realise this is who you likely are before you can truly accept it. It’s not a pretty part of being aroace, it wasn’t for me, but it is an important one, and the lines always hit home to me in this era.

Added on to this is a sense of how we’re seen in media. Consider the line “Who walks among the famous living dead”. There’s a real push in amatonormativity that love and romance is what makes us human, what makes us alive, and without it, we’re not human. Therefore, by extension, the aromantic narrator is ‘not alive’ by these standards, nor is their community they’ve yet to find. This is also doubled down by the monster symbolism throughout the song; especially when I was younger, aromantic (and asexual) coded characters in media were always the bad guys, the monsters who could only be stopped by the unstoppable power of love; the narrator is lamenting how this part of themselves seems monstrous, evil to society, when really that isn’t true, and this evolves over the course of the album.

Let’s move on to The Sharpest Lives. This is less aroace specific, but it certainly seems like a downward spiral of the narrator, which carries on from the self-loathing of Disappear. There’s really only 1 line I want to talk about here: “Juliet loves the beat and the lust it commands/Drop the dagger and lather the blood on your hands, Romeo”. This is an obvious allusion to Romeo and Juliet, but it turns on its head the usual story of Romeo and Juliet being in love; Juliet doesn’t love Romeo, she just loves the beat, and Romeo is taking it too far. This speaks to another experience, not exclusive to aromantics, but definitely strongly felt in it, when someone misinterprets the relationship or your feelings and tries to push for romance when all you wanted was a good time. I had an awful experience of this myself, so I’m claiming this one for the aroaces.

(As an aside, I got into MCR around the same time we did Romeo and Juliet at school, so imagine little me, not knowing she’s aroace and sick to death of talking about romance at school and hearing this line. To say I lost my shit was an understatement. I ADORE that line.)

Next up is ‘I Don’t Love You’. I’ve talked about this one before on my blog, but this is the song that really gives it away to me that this album is very strongly catered towards aroaces. “But it’s a break up song!” No, it’s not, if you look at it from the correct angle. Also I’ve gone to further lengths with other break up songs so try me bitches (See: Love Drunk by Boys Like Girls being about disregarding amatonormativity rather than breaking up with someone. It’s so damn obvious too)

Here’s the short of it: I Don’t Love You is actually about falling out with a friend because you had entirely different ideas as to what it was you wanted from your relationship. The aro narrator wants it to remain friends; they’re happy with where they are, and doesn’t want it to change. The other ‘person’ in the song is alloromantic, and wants it to become a romantic relationship. The most important line for this is the most important line in the song: “When you go, would you even turn to say, I don’t love you like I did yesterday”. Let’s focus on the word choice here: ‘Like I did yesterday’. When allos talk about love, they talk about the amount; if this was about falling out of love, it would reflect that, that the other person in the song loves them less, not differently. The narrator is lamenting that their friend no longer loves them as a friend; the friend’s view of love has changed, they love them romantically, and less as a friend as a result, and the narrator’s insistence on remaining friends has highlighted this.

What’s more, I don’t think this is the first time the narrator has gone through this. Admittedly, I misheard one of the lines for years and I insist the line is “Another time was just another blow” but I’m not American so we don’t have dollars, and this is about me and my interpretation of the album so we’re in this ride together and I’m driving so lets do this. The song is very pained, you can hear it in Gerard’s voice, and there’s so little about the pain of losing a friend, especially when they wanted romance from you, that this song really speaks to.

What really gets me though is how the narrator is clearly still struggling with being aroace too. Let’s consider the line “Sometimes I cry so hard from pleading”. The narrator clearly isn’t at ease with their identity yet; maybe they wish they could keep their friend, but their placing their boundaries down, even though its costing a friend. These boundaries are important, and its important for our friends to respect them too. And listening to, and singing along to, this song really makes me proud for the narrator in a sort of self-love kind of way when you couldn’t love yourself.

Final matter on this song: the narrator still thinks of them as a friend, which is tearing the narrator apart. Yes, the line “Don’t ever think I’ll make you try to stay” might make you think differently, but I believe that’s the narrator setting their boundaries; they’re not going to become an item just to please their friend and make them stay. Instead lets look at “Better get out while you can”. The narrator sees that their different views on the relationship is incompatible, and suggests they ‘fall out’ before their friend gets too caught up, and the rejection pains them both even more.

Now for House of Wolves. Not a long to say on this one, but I see it as being about media and ace exclusionists. See, the song flips between another character seeing the narrator as an angel and as a sinner simultaneously; just as how the media depicts asexual/aromatic/aroace people as non-human, that our sexuality (or lack thereof) makes us incomplete (the sinner aspect), while exclusionists say that we must be loved by the same media (and by religion too) for being aspec (the angel aspect). The song flip flops between them very rapidly, a state of confusion that felt very poignant for me when I was questioning in the height of the ace discourse.

Okay Mama is just here not for interpretation but because my English teacher once told us to analyse songs for her to mark as revision for exams and she loves long songs and kept making us analyse them so I analysed Mama and handed that in and got an A*. So Mama said AroAce rights that day.

Disenchanted is another strange one, filled with lines that mean more to aroace interpretation than the song itself. It spoke to me most when I was on my year out, having failed to get into uni despite good grades, still struggling with coming to terms with being aromantic, and dealing with severe anxiety. All in all, it was a year of disenchantment. It’s a good song. So what about an aroace interpretation?

The main thing about the song seems to be pretending to be someone you’re not. And really, when talking with family who expect you to be allo, how can you be anything but? I was told in this time that ‘Girls only go to university to find a husband’, which is many levels of wrong, but that thought always sticks in my head with this song. Moreover, I always think of break up songs with the line “You’re just a sad song, with nothing to say”, because they ARE just sad songs with nothing to say; and yet we’re expected to love them, because it’s a universal experience. There’s never been nothing to them.

But really, the line “I spent my high school career spit on and shoved to agree, so I can watch all my heroes sell a car on TV” is what really spoke to me. You spend school years being told that these people are sexy, you’ll want romance one day, and you have to agree or we’ll bully you mercilessly for it. The kids at school knew who was aroace before they knew what aroace meant. And we grow up watching heroes we relate to on TV, the fantastic loners who don’t need a significant other, only for fandom and the shows themselves to pair them up, make them “sell cars on tv” and sell out what made them special to us. And it hurts. And this song reflects that so well. In this song, the narrator is reflecting back on the years lost by hating themselves, slowly coming to terms with being aroace.

And finally, Famous Last Words. This is the real tipping point where the narrator feels comfortable with themselves, and finally confronts the friend from ‘I Don’t Love You’. The song is sung by one person, yes, but it feels like a dialogue between the friend, who still wants to hold a romantic relationship with the narrator, and the narrator who’s finally had enough. The introduction is from the friend, their thoughts on the narrator and how they know that they’re not going to win, but maybe they can make them feel bad for it “But where’s your heart?”, the friend is accusing the narrator of being heartless for being aromantic. But here’s the thing:

The narrator’s accepted who they are. “Well is it hard understanding? I’m incomplete.” The narrator accepts that they’re aroace, that to the friend, they are different, they don’t experience romance. The pain that they felt in the first few songs, of being the living dead and disappearing, makes them feel incomplete still, but they’re finally secure with being aroace enough to declare that, while they aren’t fully there yet, “I am not afraid to walk this world alone.” The narrator knows who they are, and they’re no longer afraid of it. Even when the friend tries to backpedal “Honey if you stay I’ll be forgiving” the narrator knows that the friend isn’t worth the pain anymore “Nothing you can say can stop me going home.”

That’s also why the lines about ‘love’ in this song are so important too. “A love that’s so demanding I can’t speak” “A love that’s so demanding, I get weak”. The narrator is explaining that, for them, romance is demanding; it’s not easy, and it’s not worth it for them, it’ll tire them out. The first quote can also speak of their friendship now; it’s so demanding, the narrator feels that if they stay, they may not be able to speak up for themselves any more. They have to friend break up, for both of their wellbeings.

And finally, the last verses “Awake and unafraid, asleep or dead” is the final attempt at kicking the narrator, harking back to “the famous living dead”. But the narrator refutes it by insisting that they’re not afraid to be alone anymore. And the song ends with the narrator winning, leaving the friend for good, for a better life.

And that’s the aroace interpretation of Black Parade.

And it’s 2200 words long fuck

#my chemical romance #the black parade #aroace #aromantic #asexual #You should've asked me why I can headcannon every video game character as aroace instead its shorter #Well all except the sims 2

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writteninsunshine · 4 years ago

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Dramatique - Sephiroth/Genesis Rhapsodos - SFW

Title: Dramatique

Author: Reno

Fandom: Final Fantasy VII

Setting: Sephiroth’s Apartment

Pairing: Sephiroth/Genesis Rhapsodos

Characters: Sephiroth, Genesis Rhapsodos, Angeal Hewley, OC: Kimmy, OC: Harrison

Genre: Romance/Humor

Rating: K

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 1054

Type Of Work: One-Shot, Day Two of the Shinra Holiday 2020 Prompts

Status: Complete

Warnings: Gay, Slash, Yaoi, MLM, Fluff, Romance, Silliness, Genesis watches soap operas, Kimmy and Harrison are characters in said Soap Opera

Disclaimer: I don’t own anything except Kimmy and Harrison.

Summary: It’s too cold for anything less than a sweater, but Sephiroth chose to try anyway.

AN: Hey guys, it’s me again! Just thought I ought to say, if you want vague updates and to talk to me more, I have Twitter and Tumblr, too! Twitter is Sunnywritings, and Tumblr is Writteninsunshine! I also have a writing Discord that is currently pretty dead. xD I can PM it to people who want it on FFN, for everyone else, it’s here: https://discord.gg/FyaWw25

So, these prompts are really fun? Apparently, I’m just using a lot of inside jokes from rps with my husband for these, too. Kimmy is “that bitch” in the Soap Opera Genesis watches that is always doing something. Harrison is the male equivalent, now, more or less. At any rate, I hope you guys like this! Here we go!

Shinra Holiday Week 2020 Fic Masterlist

Final Fantasy VII Fic Masterlist

Dramatique

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Honestly, it’s far too cold out there!” Genesis griped, letting his head fall back with a dramatic whine. His hands, covered by the sleeves of the sweater he’d burgled from Sephiroth’s closet, flopped onto his face and he drug them down, and all Sephiroth could do was snicker behind his mug of hot chocolate.

“Genesis, I always thought you were too hot to be so cold in the winter.” The look he received, a strange mixture of concession and indignation, made him snort and look away. He was about to spew hot chocolate through his nose if he wasn’t careful. Genesis was the greatest with his overdramatic nature and his adoration of the arts. Sephiroth couldn’t see another man pulling the same stunts in front of him and making him half as happy as Genesis always did.

“I am hot! I’m just-- So, so cold in the winter. It’s like the entire world is out to snuff out my fire.” This time, a dramatic toss of one arm sent his face into the crook of his elbow, and the other arm simply flopped to the bed to hold him up. If he wasn’t careful, he would throw himself to the floor on accident and spend the rest of the night grousing about how everything hurt. Sephiroth was fully aware that his SOLDIER status meant that all of these tiny bumps and bruises didn’t truly bother him, but it was still amusing to watch Genesis make his own problems just to complain about them.

It was something of a favorite past-time of his, watching Genesis overreact to things for his benefit. While it went unspoken between them, Sephiroth knew that this was so much more than he ever did in public, or even with Angeal. This, in all of its melodramatic, soap-drama-esque glory, was just for him.

That, and Genesis parading around in nothing but Sephiroth’s simple black turtleneck and a pair of bright red boxer briefs and nothing else? That was probably just for him, too. Granted, if Genesis was going to bemoan his loss of heat this loudly for much longer, Sephiroth might just have to wrestle him into a pair of warm socks, at least. Maybe those warm, red flannel sleep pants if push came to shove, too.

“Are you going to go on like this all day, love?” Sephiroth asked, finally setting his hot cocoa down on the bedside table. “If you could go five seconds without pretending to be Kimmy, you might notice your cinnamon hot chocolate. If it can’t warm you up, I know I can give it a valiant effort.”

“Kimmy?!” Genesis pouted, shaking his head and rolling his eyes with an indignant huff. “If anything, I’d say I’m more of a Harrison. Just as big of a dramatic flair and only half of the blatant two-faced bitch attitude.”

“You’re right.” Sephiroth nodded, “Harrison is more of a one-faced bitch, isn’t he?”

“Hey!” Reaching over, Genesis smacked the other’s arm before finally taking his drink in both hands and sitting up straight, one knee bent on the bed and the other hanging over the side. “That’s just plain rude.”

“You’re very authentic, Genesis, just like Harrison.” Sephiroth tried with a small smile, sitting beside him and reaching out to gently wrap his hands around the other’s. Genesis rose a brow, giving the other a quick once-over before finally sighing and offering him a pleased smile.

“Authentic, yes. Just like Harrison? Hardly. I would never jeopardize the lives of my loved ones because I was on a bender and didn’t tell them before driving from one end of the continent to the other.” He pointed out, breaking his hands free of Sephiroth’s to take a sip of his drink. Hissing after he swallowed, he gulped again and shook his head. “How in the world did you get it to be hot enough to burn me?”

“I watched you make it so that I could see how to make it how you like it.”

“...Clever. How did you know I enjoy burning my mouth?” The sardonic tone of Genesis’ voice wasn’t lost on Sephiroth for a second.

“Because you never wait long enough for anything to cool. The second you have your food or the drink you made or ordered, it’s going in your mouth, even if you hiss and whine and make a big deal out of it. It’s just how you operate.” Sephiroth said all of this with a gentle, enamored smile on his lips, and Genesis couldn’t help but blush as he tipped the mug back against his lips. Whining softly as he took a long pull from it, he set the mug down on the bedside table and pouted.

“That doesn’t necessarily mean I actually like it when I burn myself.” He pointed out, and Sephiroth was quick to crawl forward and kiss him softly on his lips, pulling Genesis to lay in bed with him. It took a couple of seconds to pull the thick, Chocobo down comforter out from beneath them, but he was happy to wrap Genesis in it and then into his embrace when the struggle was over. Genesis sighed a little, content to be in the other’s arms when it finally struck him that something was off.

“Sephiroth…” He asked slowly, turning to look at the other over his shoulder while his hand traveled over his lover’s bare abdomen, “Are you wearing my sweater?”

“What, is it that noticeable?” Sephiroth purred, leaning in to kiss at Genesis’ cheek and earlobe. The redhead pouted, leaning into the affection despite himself as he crossed his arms and leaned his back more against Sephiroth’s chest.

“You’re wearing the crop top one, that can’t be warm.”

“You weren’t wearing it.” Sephiroth chuckled, nuzzling his hairline, “I thought you might get some amusement out of it.”

“You’d better not stretch it out.” That was all Genesis said as he turned around in the other’s arms, kissing him softly, holding him close by the front of his own sweater. “It does look good on you, though.” He finally admitted, taking a moment to appreciate just how short it was on the other man’s chest. The thought to add ‘crop top sweaters’ to his gift idea list for Sephiroth bubbled up from the deepest part of Genesis’ brain. He decided he should start shopping around online that night when he got the chance.

“Thank you,” Sephiroth replied against the other’s lips, barely able to say much more through the barrage of kisses he received. There was absolutely no time left for Genesis to start his Christmas shopping that night, but it wasn’t like he was complaining.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

AN: Welp, it took me longer to finish this than I would have liked but I hope that it’s good, guys! I really love how it came out, even if it might seem a little rambly. I hope you guys enjoyed it! I know I had a blast writing it.

Prompt: Shinra Holiday 2020 Day Two - Sweater Weather

#ShinraHolidayWeek2020 #Final Fantasy VII Fanfic #Final Fantasy VII Fanfiction #Sephiroth x Genesis Rhapsodos

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emospritelet · 4 years ago

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Desperation - chapter 12

34: “Remember when we used to leave the house? Fun times”

Apparently I can only write fluff at the moment. Must be a reaction to the shitty timeline we’re in :/

[AO3]

As lockdown entered its second week, Belle found that she was settling into her new life quite comfortably. Bae had improved each day, and was restless and energetic. She had him helping her with baking and pulling weeds in the garden to burn off some of the excess energy. A call from Mary Margaret Nolan, Neal’s mother and Bae’s teacher, announced that lessons would be resuming over Zoom, and Belle cleared a space at the kitchen table for Bae to participate on his father's laptop.

“I’m hoping this works,” confessed Mary Margaret, having explained her idea for the format of the lessons. “Redesigning the lessons for remote delivery and trying to think of ways to keep them engaged has been driving me nuts.”

“If you need a break, I’d be happy to do a story hour with them,” offered Belle. “Maybe we could collaborate on something; a story hour on a book you want them to read, followed by some sort of art project based on that.”

Mary Margaret beamed.

“That’s a great idea!” she said. “We could continue once lockdown ends, too.”

“I’m trying to recall what life was like before lockdown,” said Belle, with a wry grin. “Remember when we used to leave the house? Fun times.”

“Yeah.” Mary Margaret chuckled. “I guess I’m better off than most. The farm still needs work, the animals still have to be fed. I feel for those going stir-crazy in their apartments.”

“That would have been me, if I hadn’t ended up staying here,” said Belle, and Mary Margaret looked curious.

“How did that happen?” she asked. “I was wondering.”

“Completely by chance,” admitted Belle. “Rum and I kind of had a spat over the last packet of paracetamol at the store, and somehow I ended up moving in.”

“Huh." Mary Margaret pursed her lips. “Not your average meet-cute, but these are unusual times.”

Belle gave her a level look.

“He was sick, and I wanted to help.”

“Oh, ignore me,” Mary Margaret assured her. “I’m a hopeless romantic, and Storybrooke needs more happy endings.”

“Hard to be romantic when you literally can’t touch one another.”

“Then you’ll have to be very inventive.”

“Speaking of inventive,” said Belle, feeling herself blush and wanting to change the subject. “Let’s talk more about working together. I was intending to set up some after-school clubs for different age groups at the library. Any input you and the other teachers could give would be great.”

“I’ll email the staff and ask them for their thoughts,” said Mary Margaret. “Sounds like the kind of integrated program we’ve been wanting to introduce in Storybrooke. If we can get the Mayor’s approval we should be able to get more funding.”

“Does the Mayor have kids?” asked Belle, and Mary Margaret gave her a knowing smile.

“She has a ten-year-old son. Something tells me this town will be very supportive of more activities for kids after trying to entertain their own for three weeks.”

The Zoom lessons started well, with only a few technological teething problems, which meant that Bae spent much of his days learning and chatting with his friends, leaving Belle free to do chores and read. The first story hour was due to take place that Friday, and Belle and Mary Margaret had already discussed ideas for complementary lesson-planning. It made Belle feel as though she was achieving something in her new position, despite not having set foot in the library in almost two weeks.

Gold, alas, was still in bed.

Belle had not tried to hide how much he was worrying her, with his rattling cough and the high fever that came and went. Already thin, he was now almost gaunt, and she and Bae tried their best to tempt him with homemade cookies and cakes, along with more substantial meals from the freezer. She told herself repeatedly that at least he didn’t seem to be getting any worse, and that his quietly stubborn nature would surely help him pull through.

On Wednesday evening she took him some tea and found him sitting on the edge of his bed with his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor.

“Hey,” she said.

Her voice made him look up. His eyes and cheeks were hollow, his cheeks and chin covered with almost two weeks of stubble, but there was a determined glint in his eyes. She put her head to the side.

“You okay?”

“I’m getting up,” he said decidedly, gesturing with a finger. “I’m getting my arse up, and I’m going down the bloody stairs.”

Belle hurried to set down the cup of tea on his nightstand.

“Let me help you.”

“No no, it’s fine, I can do it.” He waved her away. “I have to do it. Bloody sick of being a dead weight around this place.”

“You’re sick!”

“And I won’t get better if I let this fucking thing keep me horizontal,” he said shortly, and sighed, running his hands over his face. “Sorry. I’m not angry with you, just this virus.”

“Anger is good in this instance,” she said, and took a step back from him. “Okay, up you get.”

Gold nodded, reaching to the side for his cane and using it to push himself upright. His legs wobbled, and he leaned hard on the cane, but after a moment he seemed to relax a little, although his smile was more of a grimace.

“Okay,” he whispered. “I’m taking a shower, and I’ll see you and Bae downstairs in ten minutes.”

“In that case, I’ll take your tea down with me,” she said. “We can all sit around the table and eat some of the fruit loaf Bae and I made.”

Gold nodded, his knuckles tight around the cane handle.

“Sounds perfect.”

He made it downstairs, much to Bae’s delight, and sat quietly at the table while Bae drank his suppertime warm milk and told him all about the lessons he had done that day. Belle warmed some soup through on the stove, setting it in front of Gold with bread and butter from the supplies that had been delivered.

“That’s fantastic, Belle, thank you,” he said, picking up a spoon. “I think perhaps my appetite’s coming back.”

“There’s plenty more, if you need it,” she said. “And more bread.”

“The bread tastes weird, Papa,” said Bae, wrinkling his nose. “It’s the same one they have at the school cafeteria. Paige says it’s made of polystyrene and fluff from the inside of the teachers’ pockets.”

Belle chuckled.

“I have to admit that I’ve thought that myself,” she said. “It certainly doesn’t come close to any of the delicious bread I’ve eaten since I came to this house. But it was free, which counts for a lot.”

“Quite right,” said Gold, dipping a piece of the bread in his soup. “We have to appreciate the kindness of those that gave it, Bae. Whether or not you think it tastes good.”

“Okay.” Bae looked a little despondent. “I was just kidding.”

“I know that.” Gold put down his spoon and pulled Bae close for a hug. “You’re a good lad. And a thoughtful one.”

“Belle and I didn’t make bread, though,” said Bae. “Maybe we should have, and then we could use this for something else.”

“We were concentrating on making your dad some treats, right?” said Belle, stroking his hair. “Making him feel better was very important work.”

“And something you both did excellently,” said Gold, turning back to his soup. “See? I’m already up and eating dinner again.”

Bae grinned, flopping back into his seat, and Gold blew on his soup to cool it.

“Go on, then,” he said. “Tell me more of what you learned about birds today.”

Something woke Belle.

She yawned, snuggling in her blankets on the couch, her body warm and comfortable. Something had disturbed her sleep: a soft, distant thumping noise that she couldn’t place. Her eyes fluttered and opened, and the noise came again. Glancing at her watch, Belle groaned to herself and sat up, swinging her legs out of the blankets and getting up to head for the kitchen. She could hear the low sound of Gold humming, and assumed it was he that was making the noise. If he was already up and about at just after six in the morning, perhaps he was feeling better.

Her sock-clad feet made no sound as she padded across the floor, and she entered the kitchen silently, hands curling around the door frame. Gold was standing at the counter in T-shirt and jeans with his cane leaning beside him and a dish towel tucked into his belt, his forearms covered in flour. He was kneading dough, one hand grasping, folding and turning before pushing down with the heels of his hands. Two bowls sat on the table with towels draped over them, with a third standing empty at his side. He hummed as he worked, the rhythmic slap and thump of his hands against the dough in time with the beat, and Belle smiled a little as she watched him.

“Couldn’t face the polystyrene and pocket lint bread again, huh?” she asked, and Gold started, turning to face her with the dough ball in his hands.

“Ah,” he said, looking down. “Well. You both said you liked my bread better, so I thought it was probably time to make some.”

“You didn’t have to get up at six in the morning to make it,” she said, and he shrugged, turning back to his kneading.

“That was always my usual habit, before I came down with the virus,” he said. “I usually set the loaves aside for first rise, then do the rest of my chores. I bet the garden’s just choked with weeds.”

“I hope not, Bae and I have been working on it,” she said, coming into the kitchen properly. “Tea?”

“I’ll make it. You’ve done more than enough this past ten days.”

“Don’t burn yourself out,” she warned, crossing to the sink to fill the kettle. “I can make the tea. The last thing we need is you falling over again. Take it slow.”

Gold gave her a slanting grin, and bowed his head.

“Yes, ma’am.”

He gave the dough a final press, then worked it into a ball with swift passes of his hands and dropped it in the empty bowl. Going to the sink to wash his hands, he flourished the dish towel to dry them off, and draped it over the bowl before wiping down the work surface.

“Wholemeal, mixed seed, oat and honey, and black olive,” he explained, as Belle looked questioningly at the bowls. “We’ll eat some and freeze the rest. Just in case.”

“You’re very well prepared.”

“I try to be.”

He grasped his cane, almost falling into one of the kitchen chairs with a sigh, and Belle shook her head.

“You’re still not well,” she said, and he opened his eyes, a tired smile back on his face.

“I’m okay.”

“You’re stubborn, is what you are,” she said severely.

“One of my few redeeming qualities.”

“Stubborn and self-effacing,” she remarked. “It’s almost adorable.”

Gold’s smile grew.

“‘Almost’?”

Belle put her hands on her hips, feeling heat rise in her cheeks. For an awkward moment she found herself recalling what he looked like with a small towel around his waist, and told herself to concentrate.

“I very much doubt the virus cares how adorable it is,” she said loftily. “If it knocks you on your ass again and you end up spending another week in bed, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

He was grinning now.

“A good thing I have such a competent housemate,” he said. “I’ll miss you when this is over, Belle. Bae and I will miss you, I mean. Both of us.”

She was definitely blushing now, and that image would not leave her mind, but she couldn’t help grinning back.

“Yeah,” she said. “I’ll miss you guys too.”

#fic: desperation #rumbelle fic #my fic #rumbelle #sprite's pandemic promptathon #goldenspinner

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forkanna · 4 years ago

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[AO3] [WATTPAD]

WARNING: Rise's views and Ai's views on the LGBT community, and especially those of other characters in this work of fiction, do not always line up with those of the author. Please do your own research! The more you understand, the better our world will be.

CHAPTER WARNING: Bulimia.

NOTE: Happy New Year! Welcome to my particularly long and exhaustive crackship tome that literally no one asked for! What else is new, right? The first scene of this chapter is almost entirely copy-pasted from my other P4 fanfiction, "We'll Face Ourselves", though I tried to spruce it up and shift perspective so it doesn't feel like quite so much rehash. I thought it served as a nice lead-in to this story, with some added focus on the new ship. The second half of this chapter and the rest of the fic is all-new, don't worry. The "Golden" is more a reference to it being additional "dlc" for my other fic, not to me specifically focusing on Marie or any such content exclusive to P4G. Apologies if this dashes anyone's expectations but I hope you enjoy the fic regardless!

As for anyone wishing for that fic to debut... you know the one... well, all things in time. Soon, I promise. In the meantime, check me out at jxsleator dot carrd dot co !

Jessex

PROLOGUE

Once upon a time, in the quaint town of Inaba… a minstrel girl and a stubborn princess fought over a handsome prince. Very briefly.

"Can't you give me a little kiss goodbye?" the minstrel pulled back to look up into the boy's stoic face, her large doe eyes shining with tears — on purpose. She was a top notch minstrel, after all. "Something to keep me from… from dying from missing you?"

"Oh please," the quiet innkeeper muttered under her breath with a begrudging smile.

However, the prince obliged the minstrel girl with a kindly kiss upon the forehead. She was in awe of his tenderness. Right up until…

"Excuse me? What do you think you're doing, you bitch?!"

The others pulled back to see royalty approaching, hands on her hips. A truly glamorous princess indeed, even though her regal vestments weren't nearly as radiant as they had been in days past. The ever-present lacy pink turtleneck lived underneath a cardigan today rather than her school uniform.

"What is who doing?" the pouting siren protested, clinging a little tighter to her prince's arm.

"You! Little trollop!" The flawless beauty stomped over to the two of them, honey-brown waves bouncing as she got right up in the singer's face. "Take your greedy little paws off my boyfriend!"

The idol stamped her foot and snapped, "HEY! I don't see your name on him anywhere!"

The prince gulped and began to back away. "Uh…"

"Really?" the princess scoffed. "What makes you think you have any claim to him, slut puppy? He went to the festival with me — and spent Christmas Eve with me, too! And for your goddamn information, we got pretty close!"

Though the siren was comely, and manipulative toward many of the young suitors in the land, it was in playful jest; she did consider them friends but couldn't seem to suppress her womanly wiles, so she flirted for sport. Alas, the princess wounded her deeply with such words; her lip wobbled at the princess's declarations, even though that may have been for show.

"Senpai, say that's not true! How could you, when I… I let you… you know!"

"Hey, it doesn't count when I'm just sitting there and you plop your butt down on my hand," the prince said reasonably. "And Ai-chan, we hugged a little; please don't tease her by making it sound like more."

The prince's pair of suitresses were chagrined. The princess seemed a little more genuinely hurt than her rival for his attentions but neither were particularly happy with being called out.

"Whew," the flop-haired jester exhaled, wiping his brow. "Don't know how you get away with it, juggling two chicks like that."

"That's not…" The prince sighed, shaking his head as he facepalmed. "Maybe I'm glad to be leaving."

But in truth, he was not. Nor was anyone else present. As they alternately squabbled and lamented the prince's parting, other classmates and citizens of Inaba began to approach to wish him bon voyage. He really had left an impression in the short year he had lived there. When the train whistle signalled that it was about to pull away, the bickering came to an end so they could truly see their friend off. A lot of tearful hugs and well wishes were offered before the prince was inside, looking out the window at them as it pulled away from the station. They ran after him all the way to the end of the platform until they ran out of space, then stood waving after him until the train was completely out of sight.

And thus the prince's tale gave way to another. One about a minstrel who had lost her way and found it again, and a princess who had not always known she was a princess at all.

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

CHAPTER ONE

"I just… he really left," Rise Kujikawa finally sobbed now that the click-clack sounds of the train had faded into the distance.

"Geez, turn it off already," Yosuke Hanamura sighed as he clasped his hands behind his neck, pressing his floppy hair hard against his neck. They turned away to start toward home or wherever the night might take them. "You don't have to keep up the act when he's not even here."

"Act?!" She shoved him from behind, and he stumbled a couple of steps as his arms windmilled out to the sides, attempting to regain his balance. "Not cool, Hanamura! I am grieving the death of my relationship!"

"What relationship?" Kanji Tatsumi grunted.

"Boys, you could be a little more sensitive," Yukiko Amagi told them in an even, reasonable tone. She was dabbing at her eyes like everyone else, and leaning a little more heavily than usual on her best friend, Chie Satonaka, but she seemed to be maintaining her composure better than Rise could manage. "We're all going to miss him so much."

"I'm just trying to get Rise to wake up," Yosuke persisted anyway. "She's delusional. We all know Nakamura was trying to scam on that chick at the hospital."

"What?"

"You know. The nurse. Though I think she moved away…"

Kanji cleared his throat. "Actually, I… thought that woman with the kid was his squeeze. Y'know, the one that came up to him a minute ago?"

Chie squeaked, "He was doing what with who?! That's… why? Why chase a married woman?!"

"Oh, I thought it was one of you girls."

The group of them turned to blink at the girl from the drama club. "Who are you again?" Yosuke asked — very rudely, even though they were all thinking it.

"Yumi Ozawa," she said softly with a slight bow. "He gave me a great deal of help when I was dealing with my own family problems, you know. And… well, I revealed I had feelings for him, and he shut me down. Just said he wanted to remain friends, and it's hard to argue with that, isn't it?"

While Chie and Yukiko were chattering to her about that, the boys suffering through a "girly" conversation they had no interest in, the slightly jealous Rise found herself momentarily distracted. Everyone kept moving along as she slowly came to a halt, turned her white sandals off to the side, and approached someone who looked like she could use her company. Even if she wasn't absolutely sure of that.

"You okay over here?"

"Oh… no, no, I'm fine. Mind your own goddamn business."

"Wooooow. I guess that's what I get for caring, huh?"

"Wait," Ebihara suddenly blurted, standing up from the bus stop bench and taking a couple of steps toward her. "All right, I may have been unnecessarily rude. I just have no idea why you would want to talk to me when I was your rival for Narukami's affections."

"Because you looked kind of pathetic over here, all by yourself."

"I did not! I'm not 'pathetic', I'm legitimately upset that my boyfriend left!"

"He wasn't your…" But at least she managed to cut herself off with a roll of her eyes, swallowing down the jab and instead moving to hold onto Ebihara's shoulder. Tears were already rolling down the teen queen's cheeks, and her voice was tight and strangled, as if she were fighting back tears — clearly a losing battle. "He could never stay here. We all kind of knew that, and just talked ourselves out of believing it. I'm so mad! But… I have to get over it."

Clearly shocked by her more reasonable response, the prissy girl took a moment longer to respond herself. By the time she did, she was looking down toward their shoes. "Completely ridiculous. Right? I should have known better, I… ugh, I'm so pissed at myself."

"Right?!" Rise still wanted to slap her for trying to steal the boy of her dreams, but it really felt irrelevant now. So instead she tried for her most convincing smile — which, considering her previous vocation, was extremely convincing — and said, "Hey, um, why don't you try getting to know us a little better? Might as well, since you'll have more time on your hands now."

"Sounds stupid." The words came out so fraught with emotion that they were nearly unintelligible, but Rise still understood. "But I have nothing better to do, so lead on."

However, the closer they drew to the remaining group of students, the more anxious the prima donna became. Rise didn't know why exactly — and she couldn't know until Ai cleared her throat to get their attention. She could tell Naoto had been deep in discussion with Yukiko and Chie, though not what about.

"Yes?" Yukiko prompted her in mild surprise.

"I… thought I should say… I am sorry." She swallowed hard, brows furrowed. The expression still made her look angry and snobby, despite her tone of voice being gentle now; she just had resting bitch face. "Probably too late. But I was really going through some things when I sidelined you two in Aiya, and being rude is second nature to me. Can't be the most stunning girl in school without it going to your head, can you?"

"You say that like I would ever know," Chie snorted.

"Right. And… normally I would be agreeing with you and belittling you, Bowl Cu- I mean, Satonaka. I have a lot of practice." Grimacing, she growled, "Got so used to being queen bitch that it's hard to just be nice."

After a brief silence, so awkward that it felt as if any sound would have been preferable, Yukiko laid a hand on Ai's arm, gentle and reassuring. "Please, Ai-san. We all have darkness inside of us; nobody is a perfect person. So I think it's very admirable you're seeing your flaws and that you're trying to improve. I am the same, and so are my friends."

"Oh yeah?" The girl let out a wet-sounding laugh; indeed, tears were budding at the corners of her eyes. "How the hell aren't you perfect, Miss Goody Two-Shoes? I mean… I've always been so jealous of how the boys talk about you. No 'buts'."

"No butts?!" Chie burst out. "What do you mean? She's got a GREAT butt!"

Ai chuckled a little more heartily at that. Naoto was the only one who tapped her chin while noticing Yukiko's slight blush from the compliment; the others weren't paying it any attention. "No, no, not her ass. Which — fine, sure, it's fantastic. I mean like, they describe both of us as really beautiful, or hot or whatever. Same words for both of us. But with me, it always had a 'but she's such a bitch', 'but she's stuck up', 'but she's psycho' attached. Yukiko… a couple of guys said you were snooty if you turned them down for a date, but the rest of them saw through that. You're a good woman and I'm just a good-looking woman. I did so much work to be beautiful so boys would like me, but I'm just… ugly on the inside."

Though clearly, Yukiko was about to speak up, Chie beat her to the punch. "So that's it, huh? You're pathetic."

"Excuse me?"

"C'mon, Ebihara. You're made of tougher stuff than that. Where's that girl who slammed her leg up on the table in Aiya and demanded we appreciate it?"

Though the teen queen had been firing up, being reminded of that moment in the diner made her squirm and fold her arms tightly over her chest. "That was stupid. Do you wanna know why I did that?" When Yukiko nodded, she pushed ahead, "Thing is, I was a... when I was little, I was nowhere near the adorable Ai you see before you now. Fat and hideous, got told I had pig hooves. So like, I'm sure it sounds really stupid to you guys, but having dainty little feet now is super amazing to me still."

"You were fat?!" Chie demanded, looking her up and down afresh. "No way! I call bullshit!"

"Yep, a total blimp. And I got hella teased because I didn't match up with their…" What a pregnant pause. "W-whatever. Yu already knows all this stuff, but pretty much I decided to reinvent myself when I found out we were moving to Inaba. Obviously it went to my head, but… at least I'm better now. Getting better all the time."

The rest of the Investigation Team was speechless. Rise, for her part, couldn't believe the superficial teen queen actually had some substance under that lip gloss. Certainly hadn't seemed that way when Ai basically bit her head off just for being at the shopping center with Narukami. Maybe he was the one responsible. After all, the stoic boy had touched all their lives, brought about an awakening of sorts to their inner beauty that they likely would never have found within themselves without him shedding that light. It just seemed to be one of his latent talents. Unsurprising that he had done the same for the entitled fashionista.

"There seems to be only one solution for this predicament," Naoto was stating firmly with a small nod, finger tapping her chin. "We must return to Aiya to remember our departed friend, and strengthen our bonds with each other."

"Oooh, a party!" Rise piped up with an excited little bounce, despite the light drizzle that was beginning to fall. "Yes please!"

"I guess that's a plan," Chie agreed as Rise, Kanji and Yosuke joined them. "What do you guys think? We catching the portal to the meat dimension?"

Grimacing, Yosuke demanded, "Do you have to call it that every time, Satonaka?! Geesh! Sounds super nasty."

"Bet you can't even handle it."

"Wha- OH YEAH?! BRING IT ON!"

~ o ~

"PHWOOOO! I can't even look at it anymore!"

The ragtag group of assorted teenagers, who would seemingly have nothing in common from an outsider's perspective, were all sitting back and holding their stomachs by now. It was almost painful how much meat was straining to escape the linings of their stomachs. Actually, it was painful for some of them.

"Yyyyeah," Rise groaned in agreement with Yukiko's statement, arms like wet noodles at her sides. "My… I'm pregnant… food baby…"

"Even I'm feeling it a little," Chie was chuckling as Rise staggered to her feet. "And normally I can demolish one of these no sweat!"

"Must be… getting old," Yosuke said as their voices began to fade into the background. She could hear Satonaka clapping back at him, but once the bathroom door shut she could no longer identify words, just noise.

In fact… there was a new noise filling the ladies' restroom. Not a pleasant one. Brow furrowing as her lip curled in disgust, she glanced at the bottoms of the stalls and saw a pair of designer shoes with their soles facing up.

"Is… are you okay… in there?"

"HRRK!" What a weird noise — but not nearly as weird as the sound of pronounced retching that followed. God, how disgusting! Maybe she should just backpedal out of the bathroom… but before she could act, there was some spitting, a clearing of the throat, and a strained tone calling out, "Mind your own business! Do you have to be so fucking nosey?!"

Oh no. "Wait — Ebihara?"

"Yes! And this isn't something I want anybody to…" Another gagging noise. "Ugh… you probably have an Aqua Balance on you, don't you, Risette?"

Her eye twitched. "Just because I did the commercials doesn't mean I have a bag full of them on me at all times, you know!" But she still hated to hear a girl in need, so she forced herself to continue, "Need me to hold your hair back?"

"No, I… I got it. Practice."

"Practice? Just how often do you toss your cookies?!"

Dead. Silence. When it had gone on for a few seconds too long to be normal, Rise began to sense she had broached a topic that Ebihara did not want broached. Her brow creased harder, and eventually she said in a meek voice, "I'll… go get you some water."

"Thanks."

She was so preoccupied as she hit the bar to get some ice water for the prissy girl that she didn't even comprehend the words of her friends calling out to her — though she couldn't even see Chie and Yukiko at the table anymore. The rest were probably asking her what she was doing. And what was she doing? Why was she helping this complete bitch who would never do the same thing for her? There was no doubt in her mind that Ebihara would have completely ignored her if she found her voiding her stomach in a public restroom. Might even have laughed at her. But she still remembered how distraught she looked when they said goodbye to their mutual love interest.

Maybe hanging out with the Investigation Team had revived the conscience of a jaded teen idol who had taken a brief hiatus from the spotlight. No, it definitely had done that; what was in question was whether or not the same could be said of Ebihara's willingness to open up to her peers.

"Okay, here," she sighed as she opened the door — and almost ran straight into the girl's face. "WHOA!"

"Shit!" Ai yelped as she took a step back, then patted down her chest. "You made my soul leave my body — what the hell are you doing?!"

"Bringing you water! Do you need to add a little ginkgo to your diet, Obaachan?! It's been like one minute since I told you!"

"Fuck your water! I'm gone, I don't need this!" And she actually tried to push past her.

"Wha- hey! No, you don't just get to run off like this!"

"Don't you tell me what I can and can't do, you cow! Now get your goddamn cankles and your crow's feet out of my fucking way!"

Holy shit. That was a lot of random venom. Rise knew already that she didn't have either of those things, but she still felt the sting regardless.

"I… was trying to help you, but fine. Go away." And she stepped to the side with a flip of one of her mauve-tinted pigtails. "Don't let the door hit you on the way out, brat."

What a mistake it had been to be nice to Ebihara. They were too much alike. Sure, Rise knew how to be polite, and was always warm and affectionate with her friends, but they both had the Bitch Gene and it ran strong through their veins. Ebi just led with that instead of saving it for people who deserved it.

She wasn't sure how long she had been standing there, looking stubbornly into the corner, before she felt the glass of water being taken from her fingers. She started to grab after it — instinct telling her she had dropped it and needed to catch it — until she saw Ai swishing it around in her mouth, then turning to spit into the sink.

"Oh," she breathed.

"What?" Ai grunted before she tipped the glass up again and started gulping it down. The lacy choker above her turtleneck bobbed with every swallow.

"Nothing, I just thought- I mean, did you leave and come back?"

Breathing a loud sigh as she set the glass down, she turned to glare at Rise. "Nosey. You ask too many questions all the time."

"I do not! They're really normal questions; you're just a bitch."

Her eyebrows furrowed, and her jaw tightened. Rise was absolutely positive she was about to give her a tongue lashing. But then she just snorted and shook her head, looking away.

"Wow. I don't know what I expected from Risette, but it wasn't you."

"I know," she began, making this up as she went along. "You either thought I would be completely spoiled and stuck up like you, or I would be such a goody-goody that I never had anything mean to say about anyone. Those are the two flavours of idols, right?"

Ebi smirked and pressed an open palm to the center of her chest. "I spoil myself. And I told you what I went through as a child; don't I deserve it? Isn't this my time to shine?"

"Not if it means you piss off everyone around you while shining. That's just selfish, you know. Don't you care about anyone but yourself?"

"No. Why should I? They don't care about me." Her haughty tone turned bitter. "Nobody in Inaba. Not anymore."

Most of her ire fading, she said, "You gotta put yourself out there. This whole time we've been at Aiya, you barely said a word. I actually forgot you were here until I heard you puking your guts out."

"See my point? The boys who idolize me are the only ones that remember I exist. And even them… I know they don't care about me as a person. They just keep hoping a strong breeze will show them a little flash of my panties."

"No, that's not right. I'm trying to tell you that it's your fault."

"Excuse me?"

"How are we supposed to get to know you if you just hang in the background and never say anything? That doesn't-"

"Look, I don't need to take this," Ebi sighed with a roll of her hazel eyes. "At this point, I just want to go home and be alone. Is that allowed? Or are you going to block the door again?"

Rise's lips thinned in frustration. It wasn't worth it. She didn't want to keep banging her head against this brick wall anymore. So she didn't even say a word; just turned her back on Ebi before she said something particularly nasty.

"Thanks for the water," the other girl offered shortly as she strode out through the door. And that really was it.

"At least she thanked me," she muttered to herself as she finally took her place in one of the stalls to do her business. But in the back of her mind, she couldn't help but replay those conversations over and over in her head.

Because none of that blustering truly hid the fact that Ai Ebihara was in pain. And if nobody did anything about it, Rise was almost dead certain she was heading for disaster.

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

To Be Continued…

#We'll Face Ourselves #ai ebihara #rise kujikawa #rise/ai #forkanna writes #persona 4 fanfiction #p4 fanfic #persona 4 #jess the writer

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kalypsichor · 5 years ago

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and they were quARANTINED [a beatles fic] - ch 1

summary: George takes a shit. Ringo braves a trip to the tescos and loses a bit of his soul. John harrasses the general public and Paul’s just trying to get them home before they kill each other. All while a virus tears the world apart.

warnings: CRACK (not cocaine), geo’s bad potty habits, ringo’s copious use of emojis

so, this is different... but i’ve always been a crack fic writer at heart. this is the result of being quarantined myself due to COVID-19. i’ve been seeing so much fear and frustration and hatred that i just wanted to write about it kinda cathartically. enjoy!

Unfortunately, George doesn’t realize that they’re out of toilet paper until after he’s taken a shit.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “Ringo?”

No answer.

“Ringooooooooo. RINGO!!!”

George’s legs are starting to lose feeling. He bounces them up and down a bit and the motion almost makes him drop his phone in the toilet.

“RICHARD FUCKING STARKEY!”

There’s the sound of footsteps and then a pause before Ringo answers.

“What’s up?”

“What took you so long?”

“Had my headphones in. Sorry I couldn’t be at your beck and call, O Lord of the Loo.”

“SHUT up. Look, do we have any more loo roll?”

A pause. “Why, are we out?”

George rolls his eyes so hard he sees stars. “No, I’m askin’ for the banter.”

“I’ll go check. Don’t move!”

George can almost see the shit-eating (heh) grin on his mate’s face as he walks away. With a sigh and some choice curse words that would make Louise cry, George pulls out his phone again. Opens Twitter. Sees yet another tweet from that spraytanned clown across the pond. Closes Twitter and contemplates deleting it. After about three rounds of this, Ringo comes back and knocks on the door.

“We’re all out. Got you some tissues, though.”

Krishna help me. George tips his head back against the wall and thumps it a few times for good measure.

“Thanks,” he says flatly. “Could you- ?”

The door opens just a smidge before he can finish talking there’s a flying blur of Kleenex box, a blinding pain in the side of his head, and a sickening crACK—

***

“I’m really sorry,” Ringo says for the millionth time, hovering over George as he examines the spiderweb of cracks on his phone screen. George huffs. He wants to be mad, he really does, but Ringo’s face is doing that stupid thing where his eyes are very, very blue and droopy and his teeth are worrying his bottom lip and it’s obvious that he’s genuinely remorseful and—fuck, he’s got it bad.

“It’s fine,” George insists, even though he can hear his bank account having a fit. “Piece of shit phone, anyway. And look, it still works!” Very shittily, his brain adds, but that’s what you get with a five year old phone.

The older boy’s eyes still have an unconvinced, sad look about them and George wishes he could kiss it away. No homo, though.

“How can I make it up to you?” George’s brain does a slutdrop into the gutter. “I’ll… I’ll get the groceries! How ‘bout that?”

“NO!” Scrambling off the couch, George just barely misses smacking noses with Ringo. “What about the… the virus?”

“I’ll wear a mask and all. Wash hands for twenty seconds, stay six feet away from people… am I missing anything?”

“Yeah, the quarantine bit.”

Ringo snorts and puts a hand on George’s arm. “Quit your worrying, Geo. I’ll be fine. Haven’t John and Paul been out all day?”

***

John and Paul want to go the fuck home. They’d walked all the way to a new art gallery opening only to find out it was cancelled (“Why didn’t you check Google?” “Why didn’t you?”). And now, both being tired as hell from their long trek, they couldn’t even flag down a single cab to take them home.

“This is the worst thing ever,” John cries, flopping his entire body down on a park bench. Paul rolls his eyes and lifts up John’s stupidly long legs so he can sit down as well.

“People are dying, John.”

“I feel like I’m dying.”

“John.”

“Okay, fine, maybe I’m being dramatic. But this stupid… thing… is fucking up all our plans!”

“It’s not fucking Voldemort, you can say the name.”

“Alright, fine. Coronavirus. CORONAVIRUS. You happy, Paul?”

A woman hurrying by shoots them a wide-eyed, nervous look and crosses the street, tugging a little boy by the hand.

“... bitch.”

“Jesus, John.” Paul pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’d do that too if some rando was shouting in the streets.”

“Yeah, but she didn’t hafta shoot that nasty look at us… did you see that? Paul?”

“Hold on, hold on.” His phone is vibrating in his pocket and he fumbles to pull it out. “Your stupid legs are in the way.”

John huffs and makes a show of wiggling said legs, almost kicking Paul in the face. Still, he tucks them to his chest (flexible, Paul thinks and then instantly regrets) so that Paul can take out the buzzing rectangle.

bongo: do u or john want anything? 🤔🤔

bongo: like groceries

bongo: going to tescos

Shouldnt you be quarantining?

bongo: ur literally at an art museum 😂

It’s a gallery

And it got cancelled :/

bongo: oop sorry m8 thats tough

bongo: srsly tho whaddaya want

We need more vegetables. Carrots, etc

“Tell him to get cornflakes,” John says, peering over Paul’s shoulder. He’s sat up and practically draped over Paul’s lap. Paul sighs and shoves his legs off, ignoring the indignant squawk the other boy makes when he almost falls off the bench.

Also that cornflake cereal stuff

bongo: k

bongo: tell john i said hi

Heyyyyyy rich wots up

Paulie’s being a bitch he pushed me :((((

Why is his auto caps on lsdnfol

“Give it back!”

“Ow! Ow stop hitting me Jesus fuckin-”

Sorry that was john

bongo: yeah i could tell lmao

bongo: where are u guys??

Stuck at some park. Can’t get any cabs home

bongo: well duh coronavirus 😷😷😷

bongo: bad time to be a cabbie man 😔

Yeah yikes

Pick up some rice for george too

And hand sanitizer

bongo: ill try but twitter says handsan itizer is going fast

bongo: what the fuc why did it space like that

Lol

bongo: oh also

bongo: geos being a mother hen and making me wear a face mask

bongo: u know where they are?

Second drawer down in the bathroom, behind the rubber gloves

bongo: … how did u reply SO fast

Uh i know where things are in our flat? Like a normal person?

bongo: thats sus but ok

bongo: wow theyre actually here

bongo: okay imma head out before it gets dark

What’s after dark? Zombies?

bongo: u never no

bongo: *no

bongo: FUCKING *KNOW

Nice

Okay stay safe ritch

bongo: 😘🙃👍🏼✌🏼✌🏼🌈🌟🥦🥦🥦☮️

***

Ringo has never seen this many people at Tesco in his entire life. Two grown men are having a full on argument in the pastries. A harried-looking dad almost knocks Ringo into a rack of Twinkies, pulling along two screaming kids with one slung on his hip. And… is that person actually wearing a Hazmat suit??

“This is insane,” Ringo mutters to himself, slightly muffled due to the face mask. He just needs to find the loo roll and then he’s going to yeet outta here ASAP.

Okay, hygiene aisle… here we g—what the—

The entire aisle is empty.

It’s like a goddamn Old Western. Just add a cow skull… cue the tumbleweed… and it would be perfect.

Not for the first time that day, Ringo sends a prayer to whoever is listening above. There’s got to be something left. He walks down to the end of the aisle. Walks back. Jumps a couple times to check if there’s anything on the top shelf. Sincerely hopes no one just saw him do that. Finally, shoved at the very back behind a couple of Always boxes, Ringo digs out a dusty as shit six-pack of toilet paper.

Well. It’ll have to do.

As he’s walking to the check out lines, a woman drops her bottle of hand sanitizer. It rolls across the floor in a perfect arc and Ringo scoops it up before it can get too far.

“Oops, you dropped this!” He says cheerily, handing it to her. Well, trying to. The woman makes a strangled noise in the back of her throat, physically flinches away from his outstretched hand, and almost drops the rest of her groceries. Before Ringo can react, she’s disappeared behind the produce aisle.

Ringo’s arm falls to his side. He stares at the space where she was just a second ago and holds in a scream.

“More for us, I guess.”

***

By the time Ringo reaches the flat, he’s ready to never see another person again. He trudges right past George in the kitchen, dropping the groceries on the table with a thwack. John hums a greeting to him in the living room and offers him a biscuit.

“No thanks,” Ringo says. He faceplants into the couch.

Something clinks onto the coffee table. Well, coffee table is one way to put it; it’s more of a hunk of stone from back when Paul thought he was going to be the next Michelangelo and get really into classical sculpture. It now sits in the living room and primarily holds George’s textbooks, plus takeout for whenever they don’t feel like cooking (which is all the time), so you can see how that panned out for Paul.

“Tea for you,” George says. He plops onto the floor between the couch and the table and runs a friendly, comforting hand through Ringo’s hair. Ringo practically purrs, leaning into the touch, and George feels his heart melt and trickle through his ribs. “You okay?”

“I’ve lost all faith in humanity,” Ringo mumbles into the cushion. John reaches over and pats him on the back.

“Don’t worry, Ringo. There won’t be any humans to have faith in soon.”

George throws a packet of sugar at John who dodges it, snickering. Ringo groans and tries to sink even deeper into the couch.

And that’s when they hear Paul scream.

#mclennon #starrison #mclennon fanfic #starrison fanfic #john lennon x paul mccartney #george harrison x ringo starr #beatles fanfic #beatles crackfic #kalwrites #idk

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danceworshipper · 4 years ago

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Okay I can't wait any longer so I'm posting this now. This is my writing piece for @hphmbang2020 and the art by @mervinamoonishere will be linked when it gets posted! The prompt was about how much better Rowan deserved. I'm on mobile, so I sincerely apologize for the lack of a "read more" (5,035 words)

Edit: link to the art: https://mervinamoonishere.tumblr.com/post/630784625693818880/hello-this-is-my-art-piece-that-i-did-to-the

Not Your Sacrifice

Rowan Khanna stands at the edge of the universe, staring out into the abyss. Her eyes are bright, shining with the light of the stars, but dull and sad inside. She stares at something she can't see, something impossibly far away. There's a pain in her chest that won't go away. She doesn't know how to alleviate it. Right now, all she can think of is her memories of the living world that haunt her, all the things she left unsaid. Hands shaking, Rowan takes a breath and begins to speak, though no one is around to hear her.

"Uh, hey. Merlin, how do I even start this? I'm pretty sure you can't hear me now, but I wish I could have said something before I got hit. Or at all. It happened so fast, didn't it? I'm not even sure when the moment I died was. At least it didn't hurt; not that I can remember. I didn't feel anything, but I saw it coming. It was rather pretty, actually, being surrounded by such a bright green."

She chuckles sadly, pressing a hand to her chest. Though there had been no pain, Rowan flinches. Sometimes that moment is all she can see, all she can hear. Just the green, and the sound of crackling power. She doesn't want to cry, not right now, not yet. After refocusing her mind, Rowan speaks again.

"Are you okay? I guess not. I wish you hadn't had to watch. Really, I wish it had never happened. Jumping in front of Ben wasn't even a choice, I don't think. I just moved, and then I was here. I suppose this is Heaven? No one has said. It seems like Heaven with how beautiful it all is. The gardens are mind blowing here. I landed in a garden, and then my grandfather found me and brought me to his and my Grandma's tree farm. They have tree farms here, can you imagine that? Anything you could ever want in the entire universe, right here where you can have it."

A brilliant smile forms on her face. It falls just as quickly.

"Anything except living people like you. You're what I miss most of all. People always said that the suffering ended once you died but... you're suffering, and that makes me suffer."

Her voice is growing tighter. Rowan grips her arms, never looking away from the person she can't see. Her nails dig into her skin, but leave no marks behind.

"Sometimes I can see you all, just little glimpses of what's going on. The 'Circle of Khanna' huh? Sounds a lot more impressive than it should. I believe in you, of course! I didn't mean that in a bad way. It's just rather funny to imagine a powerful group of witches and wizards named after me. Is that my legacy? I died so you all could become great? Rowan Khanna, the girl that got murdered. I - "

Her arms drop.

"I don't like that. That's not who I wanted to be. I wanted to be the youngest professor at Hogwarts. I wanted to travel with my friends and learn as much as I could. I wanted to live, really live. Now I don't get to. I don't just want to be the girl who died. Anything else; I could have been anyone else! Why was I such a failure? I didn't do anything I wanted. I didn't even get to be a prefect. Don't blame yourself, though. Please. Don't be more upset. You deserve to live your life and be happy. You do so much for everyone. You've saved lives. You've done so many amazing things."

Rowan sniffs. Now, instead of sad, she looks as though she hates herself.

"Why didn't I try to stop Rakepick? I had plenty of time. I had my wand. I could have stunned her. Anything but die, which was arguably the least logical action. High stress situations, I suppose. You never know what you'd actually do, and apparently my solution was to jump in front of Ben and die instead of doing anything that would have made sense. Even being a coward and doing nothing might have been better. Is that selfish? To wish that I had let Ben die? I don't like it here. I don't want to be here!"

Rowan screams in frustration. There's nothing around her, but her yell echoes anyway. Tears are falling from her eyes, and she blinks fiercely, still not taking her eyes off of her first friend. Her best friend. Rowan's chest heaves with every forced breath, and a look of desperation grows on her face.

"I know so many spells. I could have stunned her, hexed her, set her on fire, frozen her, blinded her, even just confused her with some random flowers. I could have helped. I could have prevented all of this. Not you. You did everything you could. I'm the one who was lacking. I always dreamed of a situation like this, where I could swoop in and be a hero and maybe then I'd matter a little, but when it happened I didn't even think about using my stupid wand."

Her wand materializes before her eyes from the nothing, and she angrily grabs it and snaps it in half. She can't use it from here. When she throws the pieces away, they fuse back together and vanish. It only serves to make her more upset.

"Everything is perfect here. Nothing ever goes wrong. You can't break anything, or hurt anyone. I cut myself while trimming branches and I didn't even feel it. No blood, no scar, nothing. Is that supposed to be a good thing? Can anything even be good if there isn't anything bad to compare it to? Or are we supposed to compare all this good with all the bad we went through in our lives?"

Rowan finally looks away. She rips her glasses off and wipes at her eyes, though the tears keep coming. Her chest shudders now as she tries to control her breathing so she can keep talking. The grief is overpowering her, threatening to consume her, so she tries to cheer herself up.

"It really is beautiful here. I shouldn't be complaining. There's so much space for trees, and they never wither or get sick. All the bowtruckles are easier to get along with. They seem to trust everyone. There are even dragons here! Friendly dragons that don't want to fry me up and eat me. I got to ride a Chinese Fireball around. She took me up to the nebulas and I could almost touch the stars. It felt like a dream, and it still does. None of this feels real. It's too perfect. I guess that's how it's supposed to be, right? No more suffering, unless you're me, still mourning the loss of my own life."

The tears start again no matter how hard Rowan tries to stop them. She looks down, fidgeting with her hands for a moment, and then looks back up almost hesitantly. Within a second she looks back down. There's something she needs to know, but is afraid to ask.

"Why did you leave me?"

It's a change of subject, from beautiful star dragons to ended friendships, but by the pained look on Rowan's face, she's been thinking about it the whole time. She keeps her eyes down, glasses still clutched tightly in one hand.

"I thought I was a good friend. What did I do wrong? Why did you stop hanging out with me? We used to do everything together. What happened? Was it me? Did you just outgrow me?"

Rowan sobs loudly.

"Was I too much of a coward?"

She hits the ground with a thud, sprawled out with her legs in different directions and her back at an odd angle. It can't be comfortable, but she doesn't move from the position. She's too exhausted.

"I gave up on the vaults. I couldn't handle it. Even though Ben used to be a coward, he kept trying. That was it, wasn't it? I was too scared, so you left me behind. You didn't tell me anything because you thought it would keep me safer and I was too weak to handle it. Right?"

There's no answer. Rowan's friend can't hear her. With a huff, Rowan sits up, the effort making her wince. Her face is wet and red and blotchy, and she's squinting - she dropped her glasses when she lay down. She doesn't look for them.

"You should have told me so I wouldn't have to find out for myself."

The dark anger in Rowan's voice is far different from the sad anger it held previously. Her friend's betrayal - could it even be called that? - really hurt her.

"This is your fault. It's not, and I know it's not, but it's your damn fault. You're the one who stopped talking to me. You're the one who left me so far behind I had to run to keep up! I tried! I tried so hard to be the best friend I could be, and what did I get? Dead. I got dead. I hate you!"

Rowan falls silent, and flops back down. The rage has dissipated. Her next words come out barely audible.

"I don't hate you. I shouldn't have said that. I love you. I love you so much it hurts. I miss you so much and I shouldn't, because you didn't love me. Not in the end. You loved everyone else; you loved everyone useful. All you could focus on was those vaults, and so anyone who wasn't helping you didn't matter. I didn't matter. All I did was follow you around like a puppy. Was I annoying? Were you too nice to tell me to go away? Were we really friends in the end?"

A pause.

"I noticed you kept the spare pair of glasses I had in my bedside drawer. There's a few more things in my trunk that I'd like you to have, if you ever find the time to go through it. If you even want to. My old watch is in there, a few things from Diagon Alley, and a few pictures. There's one of me and you from the beginning of fifth year, and one of us and our friends at the Celestial Ball. I think there's also one of me and Fuzzclaw in there. My parents already have a copy of that one. It's from the day he was born, I'm pretty sure. We had already decided we were going to keep one kitten, and as soon as I picked him up for the first time he snuggled right into me and that was that. I was only seven, so I thought I was super special that a newborn kitten already liked me that much. Merlin, I didn't even get a decade with him. Never would have guessed that I'd die first. You never expect that kind of thing. You always think you'll outlive your pets, your parents. My parents are miserable, you know. I've seen even less of them than I have of you, but they're not doing well. I can't blame them. I never told them much about the vaults. I didn't want them to worry."

Another pause, a longer one. Rowan is lost in thought for a while, looking thoughtful at first, and then even a little angry.

"Was that it? You didn't want me to worry? Too bad. I already knew too much. Even if I didn't know a single thing about the vaults I would have been worried about you. You don't get enough sleep. You say you do, but I don't believe you. I doubt you eat enough. You run yourself dry with homework and the vaults and every little problem anyone has. It's okay to make sure you're okay. As much as I miss you, I hope I don't see you again for a really long time, because if I do, I'll have to smack you for not putting yourself first. Just say no! Just say 'sorry not right now, I'm tired.' Stop wearing yourself thin! You're not helping anyone by hurting yourself like this."

Rowan reaches out, her hand easily finding her glasses, almost as if they were right beside her the whole time. They weren't. As Rowan sits up, she refocuses her eyes out in the distance. If she tries hard enough she can almost see her friend again. Almost.

"Put yourself first, but you need to take down R. If that's the last thing I can ask from you, avenge me. You need to make me worth it. It's selfish of me to say, because going through this might ruin you, but I know you can stop Rakepick. I know you can end R's reign once and for all. You and all our friends. I've seen the things you can do with friends by your side. Taking down this cabal should be nothing."

Rowan snorts.

"Maybe not nothing. But I believe in you either way. You're incredible, and you have Bill Weasley on your side. Is it just me, or is he only getting cooler the older he gets? I still sometimes can't believe that I got to be somewhat friends with him."

A small smile appears on Rowan's face. Her eyes glaze over a bit, no longer focused on her far away friend. Instead, they become focused on a memory.

"Remember when Bill told Emily off at the Celestial Ball and then came over to talk to me? I'm so glad you convinced me to go. It would have been fun even without Bill, but really it was only because of you. You always made me feel better about myself. You were right; I would have regretted not going. I didn't want to make a fool of myself, but if I didn't go I wouldn't have those memories or be a part of those inside jokes. I would have felt even more left out then I already did."

The smile drops.

"Dammit, I really don't want to start crying again."

A little meow comes from behind Rowan. She whips around and sees a large, fluffy grey cat staring up at her. Rowan's smile comes back through her tears, and she reaches out for the cat to come closer.

"Toebean!"

The cat perks up at the name and leaps onto Rowan's lap. Rowan strokes the cat's fur as it purrs.

"You're another someone I didn't think I'd see so soon."

Rowan looks back up toward her friend again.

"This is Fuzzclaw's mother. She was one of the most affectionate cats I've ever seen. She'd always come into my room when I was crying and sit on my lap like this."

Toebean adjusts on Rowan's lap to be able to look up at her. Rowan wipes at her eyes again and rubs Toebean's stomach, something most cats would never let anyone do. Rowan smiles sadly again.

"Such a good kitty. I was nine years old the last time I saw you, wasn't I? You were the first family member I ever lost. I remember sobbing under the blankets every night for months, wishing you would come back to me and cuddle me again. Every single time I was ever sad I'd think of you. Fuzzclaw was wonderful, but he never quite understood me like you do."

Wiping her eyes isn't helping at this point. Rowan's getting choked up again, alternating looking at Toebean and her friend in the distance.

"Turns out dying yourself hurts just as much."

Toebean meows louder, pawing gently at her owner. Rowan sobs and leans down, hiding her face in Toebean's fur. Now Rowan's voice is muffled when she speaks.

"Did you feel like this? Did you miss us like I miss my friends? My family? Did it hurt to leave us behind, or were you happy here with all the other cats and all the food you could ever eat?"

Another sob. Rowan sits up straighter, and Toebean meows disapprovingly.

"I know. I know you want me to stop crying."

Rowan sniffs.

"I want me to stop crying, too."

Toebean leans into Rowan's chest, looking as sad as a cat possibly can.

"I just miss them so much. And I can't stop thinking about how I'll never be able to be anything. I'll never get to be Head Girl, or the youngest professor at Hogwarts. I might get to learn everything there ever was to know, but I won't get to do it with my friends. I'll never get to help them achieve their dreams, or help them through their hardships. I'll never get to attend their weddings, or go on a tour across Europe with them. I'm nothing now. They'll all forget me someday. They were already starting to before I died. I did get to spend a little time with my best friend though, right before. It was so nice. It felt like the old days, where it was just the two of us against the world. You would have loved them, Toebean, all of them. I have so many stories to tell you, like that one time my best friend cast the tickling charm on this nasty girl Merula in first year. I almost laughed as hard as she did, and I didn't even get hit! Merula did end up getting nicer throughout the years, even if only slightly. And then there were all of my actual friends, like Penny and Barnaby. Penny was really good at potions, and she knew all the Hogwarts gossip, which would have been a bad thing if she wasn't so nice. Barnaby seemed pretty stupid, but once you got to know him he was one of the sweetest people ever. I used to help him out with his homework sometimes, and he always thanked me so genuinely. Ben I'm not sure I ever really liked, which is ironic because he's the one I jumped in front of. He was cowardly at first, but he still always helped out when he could. He started acting weird though, and I didn't trust him. It turned out he was being controlled by someone, but I still thought something was wrong. I guess he won me over in the end. Oh, and I was sort of friends with Bill Weasley! He was the coolest boy in school. He was smart and powerful and really, really tall. He was a couple years older than all of us - I'm not actually sure why he spent so much time with kids that much younger than him, but I'm not complaining. Maybe he did it for his brother, Charlie. Although Bill joined our friend group before Charlie did... I don't know. He's a Cursebreaker now. Rakepick got him that job."

Rowan's face hardens at the mention of her murderer.

"If there's only one person I could ever wish death upon, it would be her. Rakepick was our Defense Against the Dark Arts professor during his last year, my fifth year. She came to the school the year before that because Dumbledore wanted her to deal with the vaults and not us, although she immediately got a few of my friends involved, which got the rest of us involved too. I wasn't there when this happened, but she took a bunch of them into one of the Cursed Vaults and then left them there to die. She hit Merula with the Cruciatus Curse, and probably would have killed them all if my best friend hadn't through Garroting Gas at her. No one expected her to be a member of R, not even Professor Dumbledore. We thought she was working against R, and that even if we didn't like her we could trust her. I didn't trust her, though. I thought she was a bad influence. Turns out I was right."

A little smugness appears on Rowan's face, although she grows more serious again quickly.

"After she disappeared we decided that we couldn't let her get to the last vault first. She was willing to murder children, so if the treasure of the vaults was anything to do with power, we couldn't risk her getting her hands on it. We tried everything we could to stay one step ahead, which was difficult considering we had no clue what R was up to. And then..."

Rowan trails off and gulps. Toebean looks up at her almost encouragingly.

"I wasn't as involved as I should have been. I still don't know everything that was going on, but I was getting really worried. It was so rare to see anyone with any hope anymore. I followed Ben, Merula, and my best friend into the Forbidden Forest one night. They didn't want me there, either to keep me safe or just because they thought I would get in the way. No one ever told me anything at that point. I used to help all the time, you know? They'd ask me about curses or secret codes, and I'd do what I could. But in sixth year they never talked to me. That's why I followed them. I felt left out and I just wanted to help. I didn't actually follow them, I guess. They left long before me, but after a little while I couldn't help myself. I knew they were in danger and I just had to go make sure they were alright. They weren't. Rakepick was there, and it was really cold for some reason. I think there might have been dementors there. That would explain the cold and the heavy feeling of dread. Rakepick was attacking the three of them - Ben, Merula, and my best friend - and she said something about my best friend owing her a life, and then she tried to kill Ben. And I ran..."

Toebean gives a sad meow.

"And now I'm here, because I acted on impulse instead of doing something smart. I was watching for a little bit. I could have stopped her! I could have done something to throw her off so they could get the upper hand! Why didn't I help? Why was I so stupid?"

The tears start again as Rowan shudders. She heaves so hard she almost throws up, and Toebean jumps off her lap to avoid it.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

She's not talking to her cat.

"I'm sorry, okay? I never wanted this. I just wanted to help, and now I can't even say your name because I'm afraid I'm going to go off the deep end even more than I already have. I'm a damn coward."

Her mind has gone back to second year when she said she'd never go to another vault. It may have been the right decision at the time, but she regrets it so much it causes a physical pain in her chest. Rowan thinks it may be her biggest regret in her whole life.

"I know I let you down. I know. I'm sorry. I was scared. I know you think I'm a worthless coward. I know you like your other friends more than me. I know! I just wish you had lied about it! That you had pretended you still loved me and needed me! I know I was annoying! I know I wasn't as useful as everyone else! I know! I keep saying the same things over and over again and I know that I am but you're not hearing me!"

Rowan is screaming. Toebean sits a short distance away, watching.

"You never listened! You never listened to me and now you never will! It didn't matter if I was right or not, because you wouldn't listen! You should have left it alone! Let the adults deal! I know they were incapable but at least you would have been safe and then I wouldn't have had to die! I don't care who else would have gotten hurt as long as you and I were okay! I'm a terrible person, alright? I just wanted us to be okay."

Her voice cracks on the last word and she stops screaming, panting. She shoves her hand in her hair and pulls. She scratches at her arms and claws at her chest. Nothing hurts her. She can't make her blood flow, can't leave a mark. Even launching herself out of a tall tree didn't hurt, which Rowan discovered - had it been yesterday? She can't remember. It's so infuriating.

"I want to go back."

It's a whisper, a miserable whisper.

"Let me start over. Let me be better. Even if keeping you safe means I'll have to make you hate me, I'll do it. Just let me start over."

Nothing happens. No god responds, no all powerful force resets time. Rowan is dead, and she can't go back no matter how much she wants to.

"I hate Rakepick for doing this. I hate Dumbledore for not stopping her. I hate Mad Eye Moody for not preparing you better. I hate your brother for getting you into this mess. I hate you for dragging me into it with you. I hate you so much but I don't actually hate you and that hurts more than hating everyone else does."

Toebean slowly creeps back over. Rowan sniffs and reaches out slightly.

"I'm not going to freak out again. Not right now."

Taking that as permission, Toebean settles back onto Rowan's lap. Rowan's right hand goes back into her cat's fur, her left fixing her glasses on her face. They stay silent for a long time, although time doesn't really matter anymore. It might be days they sit there, staring out into nothing, or it might only be seconds. Neither of them could say for sure. All Rowan does is stare, absently stroking Toebean's fur, and the cat simply lies there and offers silent support. Rowan's face shifts with her train of thought sometimes, but she doesn't speak aloud until the silence fully unnerves her.

"Do you think Grandpa knows where we are? Is he worried?"

Toebean doesn't answer.

"Do you think he and Grandma even care? How long does it take until you become numb to the living world? They don't react at all when I mention Mum and Dad. You'd think they would want to know what they've been up to, but they don't. They're perfectly content to be here and let the living world be as it is. How long did that take? For them to let go? Will I ever reach that point?"

Still, Toebean doesn't answer. Probably because she's a cat and cannot speak. Even without an answer, Rowan continues on.

"I guess I should be grateful I'm not a ghost like Duncan. He constantly seems miserable, from what I've heard, and he'll never be able to pass on. He'll never see anyone he loves ever again. At least I'll be here with my family and friends in the very end. No matter how far away that is. I miss them, but I hope it takes a long time. They all deserve to live and be happy."

Rowan sighs.

"I guess I didn't."

The silence stretches on again. No one is around to tell Rowan just how much she did deserve to live and be happy. That out of everyone, she deserved to live her life the most. No one is there to remind her just how much she means to everyone, and how much they miss her, and because no one can tell her, she doesn't believe it. She cries again, and again, but she doesn't let go. She just keeps trying to send her message out.

"I miss you."

Rowan was an incredible friend. She cared more than she let on, and she worried so much. She loved her friends with all she had, and it left her dead in a moment of impulse. Could she have stopped Rakepick, at least for a second? Yes, of course she could have, but what she did do shows just how big her heart is. Even if she and Ben never fully repaired their friendship, she still was so horrified at the thought of him dying that she jumped in front of him. She could have just run away, but instead, her fear driven impulse was to protect, and that means something. Rowan deserved better, so much better. She was not a throwaway friend. She was smart, brave, loyal, and ambitious. She could have fit perfectly in any house. If only she had lived, she could have done incredible things that no one else could have ever dreamed of. Like everyone, she had her bad moments. Her trust, once lost, was hard to earn back. She let anger get the best of her sometimes, and fear. Rowan was human. Humans are not perfect, but Rowan Khanna was closer than most. Rowan was wasted potential in every way, and no one should ever forgive the people who did this to her. Rowan Khanna will not be remembered as the girl who died, but rather the most incredible friend we've ever had. As we prepare to face R and fight this final battle, we must remember her and all she's worked for. We're doing this for her. It's the least we can do to repay her.

I miss you, Rowan. I wish I could tell you how much I miss you, and how much I love you. We'll win this fight for you, and no one will ever forget you. I promise I never will. Love, your best friend forever and ever.

Rowan's best friend can't sleep. It's not an unusual thing these days, but tonight it seems even more impossible. If they try hard enough, they can almost see her again, hear her voice. She's watching over them; they know she's watching. They'll make her proud.

"I miss you."

The two of them said it at the same time, but they'll never know that. Even so, saying it brings a small amount of comfort.

"I miss you so much."

There, in bed, in the dark, with a silencing charm around them and with the curtains drawn, Rowan's friend finally breaks down and weeps.

#hogwarts mystery #rowan khanna #hphm spoilers #hphm bang 2020 #my writing #long post

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