#it's a childhood book my friend held onto so i needed to explain why i wanted to come raid her bookshelf for a book of nursery rhymes ahaha

[picturebookshelf]

Hi there. That 1993 First board golden book of mother goose nursery rhymes, does the back cover have twinkle twinkle little star? I'm trying to find a complete board book I had as a toddler and all I remember is very vague details. I'm trying to find it for my daughter.

Hi! That book doesn't have Twinkle Twinkle Little Star on its back cover, but it does have it as the final rhyme in the book! Here's the complete book in the order it's printed in:

The inside pages are all the standard, thick cardboard you'd expect from a board book, but the cover is slightly softer, it has a little give to it. If this is the correct book, the ISBN number is 0-307-06143-4 and there's actually a couple copies available for purchase on Thriftbook (though potentially with a different binding)

I hope this helps! If it is this book (or if it's not and you find the correct book later) please let me know, I'm invested in whether the hunt is successful ٩(^ᗜ^ )و ´-

[furiyama]

I have something to say to certain people in this fandom and I've had these thoughts and feelings for a while. I won't name names for the sake of what I'm about to say. It's important that I say it, and explain it, and tell you firstly

I am absolutely disgusted, on a soul level, on a heart level, by your beloved Snarry ship and I must call you out on what you are doing to Severus (and also to Harry, though Severus has been with me since I was read the first book at 4 years old. From that age on, I knew and felt he was more, he was onto something, so he is the main focus of this)

I don't know you are, and I can't quantify and analyze each one of your lives to understand why you like Severus, but I know within my soul, you do not understand the gravity of what he gave up for Lily, the amount of self will it took, the knowledge that even if he would never make things right with Lily, he must do the right thing (which we can debate on if he actually made this emotional decision but I have a following more important point)

I have dealt with the strength of love towards a friend after the world that birthed you shatters you soul with abuse, you have no one truly supporting you in this world, you don't know what geniune love looks or feels like, but yet, you meet somebody who makes your soul glimmer, like you are actually alive and not dead inside. I have been down many schools of thought about these types of love, having them for a handful of different people I met throughout my journey. On one hand there is geniune pyschological phenomanoms when it comes to loving and connections after abuse, that some of us develop unhealthy attachment styles, some of us encounter limerance (unwanted, obsessive love for somebody else you cannot get out of), all of these schools of thoughts are valid and in appropriate medical settings and pyschology study, are useful for helping us understands how humans work and potentially helping us guide us to a patch of healing.

But what I'm going to say is different , because I experienced different, thought different.

I had to validate that love I held for those people because it made me want to continue to exist - and so what if is excerbated or partially caused by my trauma and/or mental illness. It was the most real feeling I had ever felt, those feelings eventually lead me to this moment now, where I can finally stand up and tell you how disrespectful you are to Severus and his journey by shipping him with Harry. I trusted those feelings and they lead me to the healing I needed for many years.

Severus's journey mirrored my own, I was the child with a terrible temper, getting kicked out of schools early on in childhood, group homes. But why did me and him continue to exist in a world that made it clear it didn't want us?

I found that answer out as I grew into a teenager and experienced love for my friends and my limerance objects (the object of ones affection while under limerance effects), that I wanted to keep existing so I could do good for them.

I had no idea how to do that, at this point I shipped literal Armstrongcest from full metal alchimist, my entirely way of being, and thinking, was fucked up. I hurt people left and right even though the feelings I had - and for certain people I didn't realize until I used and hurt them so much, that they weren't my emotional priority, I liked the companionship, somebody who talked about things you knew and were interested in.

Severus made friends with terrible people because they were the only ones that really gave that to him. And nobody stepped in to teach him straight or differently, he only knew the world as it was for him. I'm not condoning being a wizard racist or anything, I simply understand when you are in that much pain, as my friend says often to me 'if you aren't given appropriate love you will learn to lick it off a knife'

Something in him for Lily always stirred, and unhealthy as it was for him to have that, I truly believe it was the only geniune relationship he ever had growing up. And knowing personally still grief after 8 years of the person my heart chose simply ghosting and refusing all contact, sometimes that pain, that longing, it never goes away. You remember it because it spoke to your soul at that time in your life in a way you have never encountered since.

I am absolutely... just, offended, that as somebody who has gone through this emotional journeys, who understands now the appropriate space that must be given to this person, it is beyond words of absolute recoiling of the soul to think that after all that happens, your person never returns to you

That you go and fuck their child

all the self work you've done on yourself to achieve a sense of self you now can find yourself be proud you climbed that mluntain for them

That you go and think their kid is an appropriate partner

Part of this is understanding you need to leave their circle alone (even if it was never involved their circle before), it is a level of respect you come to and understand for this person. that from afar, mayhaps now and again you can send a blessing or help in some way, but to want to change your behavior from what you did that hurt them to run (which is the level of emotional decision i want to write for severus but that's another topic)

you understand your behaviors and your way of connecting with people isn't good, and the first thing you can do to make it right within your soul is going and trying to exude the exact opposite energy

which means respectfully at the end leaving her kid the fuck alone

i could go on rants for many of the other severus ships but i don't care to. none of them are more annoying to a mosquito to me. but this one, stirs a specifc part of my soul that i need you to hear when i say

When you fucking ship him with harry, you are completely opposite of that energy, you don't want what's best for him, otherwise you'd know the grief and such goes through stages and you's eventually want him to learn how to respect his own emotions and experiences

to see you snarry shippers say dumb shit like i love his smile, i love a happy snape, i love him, i am disgusted beyond words

you don't actually fucking care at all if you want him to go down that dark ass road

i geniunely had to ask myself at a point of thinking about this, what if it was me, and i was the person who was diddling that persons child?

i said to my friend, if that ever happens, please just shoot me. end it. clearly something has gone wrong, very wrong, and it can't be fixed when you get to that level, it's all already fucked. my friend, understanding he said to me 'i definitely wouldnt want to but i hear you... it'd be painful but i know where you are coming from when you talk about severus and m(person). if it gets that bad, i know you don't want it to go on'

of course this is a hypothetical question so of course it won't happen but that parallel is the Foundation of the understanding. without my feelings for all those people that eventually coalesced into my now many year long grief over just 1 and has held steady, I wouldn't have this personal context to give you but it's important I give it to you

so you can understand now how the very ship is an anti-thesis to severus's soul and how dare you say you care about him while doing that shit

how fuckin ass dare you disrespect him and his journey like that

how dare you try to stand with him while pushing him back into a similiar kind of darkness he was born in!

fuck you and fuck your snarry.

respect severus, don't you ass fucking dare act like you understand what it's living it because you clearly fucking don't if you can't give him the basic respect of not pushing him backwards

i hope y'all learn how to swim because i'm the goddamn severus snape goddess and your ship is creepier than flying dutchman, like he's not gonna even be willing to raise your sunken ship, that's how bad it is

[lloke]

I am a person who tends to get very emotionally attached to physical objects -- mostly things that have nostalgic memories attached to them, favorite toys from my childhood and so forth. I've been like this ever since my second birthday, when I was so attached to the cake that I cried when my mom started cutting it. This was only the first of the many conflicts I've had over the years with my mom, a Marie Kondo type whose favorite hobby is throwing things away and who really does not understand why I would ever want to keep something around that doesn't have any immediate practical use.

Sometimes I wonder if I'm like this because my episodic memory is unusually poor, so if I don't hold onto these mementos I just won't have anything of the past left.  People often think I have a good memory because I can rattle off all sorts of facts about my fandoms or other obsessive interests; but the only reason I remember all that stuff is because I'm so deeply immersed in the topic in question -- I've read it/content about it over and over again, I'm constantly following discussions of it online, etc., which of course makes it stick in my head. But I actually have a very poor memory for things I've only read/watched/experienced once, and I find that very sad and frustrating. Like I'll read a book and a year or two later I'll barely remember anything about it -- as if it passed right through my brain and out the other side without leaving anything behind at all. It makes me feel like all the time I spend reading books is largely wasted, since I retain so little of what I read. Meanwhile I have a friend who's able to recite in detail the plot of a movie he only saw once a decade ago. My family went on all these great trips to national parks and stuff when I was a kid and gave us all these great experiences and I don't remember any of it (while Dad will still remember what corner of the parking lot we parked in on our trip to Yellowstone in 1997 or whatever).

Given that memory is closely tied to emotion, maybe my being less emotional than other people is part of why I have such a bad memory. But it sucks -- losing your memory feels like losing your self. And when someone dies, and now they remain only in your memory -- but you barely even have any of that?

Mom also doesn't have the best memory in the world, though -- and it's getting worse as she gets older -- so I don't know if this can really explain the difference between our attitudes toward sentimental possessions. I don't know if "I need this stuff because my memory sucks" would mean anything to her. I think she prefers to focus on the present so she doesn't really understand wanting to dwell on the past.

I was looking through some old journals and things that I've held onto from elementary school and one of the writing prompts I had been given apparently was "something you will always remember" and I described an event (an occasion when I lost some beloved toys) which I have no memory of now. But in a sense I was right that I would always remember it -- because I wrote it down, and I kept that notebook all these years. If this is all that I can have of my past -- the scribblings of a child whose mindset my 35-year-old brain can no longer even really conceive of, much less remember what it was like to actually be that person -- well, then I guess I'll take it.

[introverting-rn]

THE ESSAY IS HERE

fell first fell harder

first thing is to define this trope. i remember reading a very good tumblr post explaining it which i can no longer find, so i’ll just give my own summary of it: character A fell in love, and it was something constant and growing. they have felt that love every day and held onto it, to the point where it has become almost a background noise - it’s just part of who they are. character B has known and loved them for years, but it hasn’t been a realised, romantic love, until one day they get punched in the nose with it and are suddenly head-over-heels and proposing marriage immediately.

i’ve seen this go both ways in narumitsu but the larger consensus seems to be that phoenix fell first, and i’m here to argue against it with a random deep dive into their childhoods

the thing about phoenix wright is that he makes families. everywhere he goes he finds people (or they find him) and they just stick together until they become a finely gelled unit, and phoenix has always worked as the backbone of these families. i believe this is because he didn’t have a particularly close family as a kid - whether he lost parents, faced neglect, or got caught between a split in the family, i don’t know, but i don’t think home was ever really HIS safe space even when it was safe.

for little phoenix, those family units came through his drawings. he used to sit at his bedroom window and look out at the people and try to sketch them, tongue sticking out of the side of his mouth and eyebrows furrowing. sometimes he’d sit in comic book stores and try to make the characters or experiment with style, and sometimes he’d stare at whatever came on tv and try to figure out what shapes and frames things were made of. through all this he found some people he liked the best, and he redrew and redrew and redrew them until they became his close companions in life.

he says in the flashback to the school trial that he’d never felt truly alone until that moment, and i believe him! he’d never really had people-friends, but he always had those friends in his drawings, and was never isolated from all others until the fateful lunch money was stolen. then, not only did he feel alone for the first time, but when he was saved he also had those stars in his eyes of family family family and he made sure they all stuck together.

but do i believe that he fell for miles? no, i don’t really. i’m absolutely ready to concede a crush, but that was never the important thing for phoenix - the important thing was that he now had a unit, and he would hold onto them with white knuckles and bleeding fingers.

and, well, he tried. he really did. he sent letters and letters as often as he could, and drew for miles those same characters that had once been his only refuge. but at some point, he must have thought that miles was done with him, and as he grew up he also moved on, keeping miles as a promise of family in his heart.

(while i’m here, i want to mention larry - i read the fic “christmas with the wrights” by stardustsolitude on ao3, highly recommend, and really enjoyed what they wrote about him in chapter 3: “Larry Butz was kind of an unreliable guy… but Phoenix knew better than that. They had been friends since he was in elementary school, and Larry had been loyal to him and stuck by him through some tough times… That, and Phoenix understood why Larry was the way he was. He’d come from a very unstable background. Even now, he often had to bail his mother out of jail, and his father was an alcoholic who hardly remembered what day it was. When one considered that, it made sense that Larry had turned out a bit flaky and reckless himself. He’d lacked the structure and safety that most kids grew up with and took for granted.” banger fic and rly nice characterisation, 10/10.)

miles’ life was the inverse of nick’s. as a kid, he already had that family unit in gregory edgeworth, and he’d never needed anything else for a family. however, he quietly wanted friends closer to his age, despite not knowing how to relate with them because he’d never wanted to talk to anyone but his dad before he hit primary school.

then came phoenix, and when he saw the stars of family in phoenix’s eyes, he latched on in the same way. he took the opportunity with both hands and whenever he looked over to see phoenix do the same, his kiddy crush got bigger and bigger.

but i’m not going to act like seven year olds are capable of falling in love, because that’s just weird. no, the love didn’t come until later - not until he had nothing else.

gregory died, and miles lived in total isolation. fransiska showed moments of sweetness and childhood and miles adored her when he could, but von karma pitted them against each other to such an extent that he could find no true family in her (yet). thinking about gregory brought back memories of the elevator, the gunshot, that horrible scream, and so instead he held on to phoenix with the same white knuckles and bleeding fingers.

von karma only let him read phoenix’s letters when he performed better than fransiska, and when he saw the spark of rebellious spirit this grew in mikes, karma burnt all of them and said he’d stopped writing. the only solace that miles had was the memories from their short time together. miles cradled them close to his heart as he grew, and somewhere along the line fell slowly in love with the boy who had stars in his eyes and light in his smile and warmth in his easily given hugs.

then more time passed. in this time, each of them became to the other a representation of justice and good: phoenix meant the joy of a job well done and a person saved, and miles meant that fervour of belief and hope. also in this period came dahlia, another reason why i don’t believe phoenix fell first - he would never date someone if his thoughts circled back to another whenever they were near.

phoenix made another family unit in mia, this time not with stars in his eyes but with determination to become a lawyer.

then they met again.

and they were both cruelly let down. fighting against the person who means justice will do that to you, especially when phoenix no longer had stars but stone in his eyes, and miles seemed to have turned away from what he himself said was right.

then miles started to see everything he had once believed of phoenix, and as much as he fought against himself, he fell back into love without any choice.

phoenix was still just trying to save his friend, to rebuilt their family unit. he started to learn what had happened, to see why miles had changed, and started to see the ways in which he continued to change. he admired miles deeply as he began to focus not on the change, but on the incredible ways that he managed the remain - just like cinderella, he survived.

everything miles went through drove him into a panic and a need to get away. he deserves better than me, he thought, and in doing so almost proved it fact. but he returned, because as he grew this time in maturity rather than age, he could only love more and more hopelessly. he could do nothing except come back, and he did.

of course, phoenix was going through a similar shitshow throughout all this, and i don’t think i need to explain why. it was only at the end of it all, when he’d learnt the truth of dahlia and misty and mia and godot and everything was together, he held one hand each of pearl and maya and looked across the room and saw stars in miles’ eyes, and for the first time in so long felt the same stars in his own, and he smiled so largely that it stretched his face, and he fell head over heels in love.

thank you for listening <3

hottest take i have at the minute: when it comes to narumitsu, edgeworth fell first and phoenix fell harder, not the other way around.

[bumblesimagines]

Green Thumb

Part 17

Request: Yes or No

For anyone curious and if I did my math correctly y/ns dad had him when he was 35. This one feels short and I hate ittt but I tried making it feel longer. The chunks are just thicc

~

"So, why are we going to Belgium?" Natasha asked, setting the course. You looked at her, taking a seat beside her.

"Cause.. I have family there.. She might be family, I don't now." You answered, feeling the jet move forward before it took off into the sky.

"Family? Like, blood related? Who?" Natasha asked, glancing at you. You licked your lips, staring forward.

"My aunt." Natasha's brows raised, looking over at you. You sighed, nodding.

"What if she turns me away?" You asked softly.

"Well.. You're probably her only remaining family. I wouldn't want to turn away a family member." Natasha licked her lips, looking forward at the passing clouds.

"What do I even say? Hey, I'm (Y/N) and I have superpowers?"

"Well, you can introduce yourself and ask about her brother." Natasha gave a small smile. You nodded.

"How's Clint?" Natasha asked, rested her head on her fist. Her hair was long and her natural red locks were returning. It made her hair look a little weird but she was going through a lot of things.

"Who fucking knows." You frowned, arms crossing. Clint had fucked off to god knows where, leaving you to deal with your grief alone. Natashas' brows furrowed.

"Clint has decided not to return home in what feels like weeks. Maybe even months, I haven't been paying attention." You shrugged lightly. Natasha frowned, leaning back in the seat. Definitely didn't sound like Clint but grief could make people do crazy things.

"I've been trying to keep up with the house but I'm just one guy handling everything Clint decided to build and add on." You licked your lips, shaking your head and letting out a heavy sigh.

"I'm sorry." Natasha said softly, giving your arm a squeeze. "I'll talk to him if you want."

"Let him do whatever the hell he wants to do. He's a grown man." You replied, feeling bitter and resentful. Natasha silently nodded. The rest of the ride was silent until the jet reached Belgium.

"We're here." You stepped out of the jet, feeling a small breeze go by. You felt your stomach doing flips, heartbeat quickening. You took in a deep breath, glancing at Natasha. She placed a gentle hand on your back, offering a small smile.

"Are you sure you don't want me to get in touch with Clint?" She asked, head tilting. You shook your head.

"It could make things more complicated." You said, looking around. The house across the street matched with the address Tony had given you. It was more on the outskirts of town, surrounded by trees. You could hear some horses behind the house. You took in a deep breath, trying to ease your nerves as you walked towards the house, crossing the road. Natasha followed, studying the area.

"Seems like gardening might run in the family." Natasha said, motioning to the flower garden.

"Yeah.." You chuckled softly. You stepped onto the porch, noticing some plotted flowers on the windowsill. You raised your hand, pressing the doorbell. You waited a few minutes about to press it again before the door opened. A scowl appeared on Florines' face. She was shorter than you had imagined. Her hair was a bit messy and tied back into a low ponytail.

"Wat wil je?" She asked, gaze flickering over to Natasha. You swallowed, fiddling with your fingers.

"Are you Florine De Meyers?" You asked, watching her narrow her eyes.

"Who's asking?"

"(Y/N).. I think I might be the son of your brother." You said quietly. Florine stared at you, lips parting. Her features softened for a second before the frown returned. She opened the door wider, letting you and Natasha inside. The inside of the house smelled like black tea, earthy and floral. It felt straight out of a country movie.

"I've got some tea and speculoos." Florine called as she entered the kitchen. You looked at the pictures she had up. Most were pictures of horses or her at events with friends. You didn't see any pictures that seemed family related. You took a seat on the floral patterned couch, gazing dropping onto the unbothered elderly sheepdog. It made no attempt to move and simply rolled onto its side to face away from you.

"That's Gerdie. Old girl used to be a good guard dog but now she's more of a house cat." Florine said, sitting down and placing a tray on the coffee table. Natasha reached forward, taking one of the biscuits. Florine reached under the table, looking through the books she had before pulling out what looked like a photo book.

"The reason I didn't slam the door in your face is because Michael had told me he was gonna have a kid named (Y/N)." Florine said, hand wiping away the dust in the book. She scooted forward, placing the book on the table.

"Michael?" You repeated, looking at her. She nodded, opening the book. She flipped to the second page, pointing to a picture of a young boy by a fireplace opening presents.

"Michael, my half brother and your father." Your brows raised, leaning in to take a better look. The photo was old but you could see his face clearly. Natasha leaned in as well, smiling gently.

"You have his smile." She pointed out.

"Michael and his father moved here from America when he was about five. He met my mother and they got married. They had me when Michael was nine. He was a good brother. He held no resentment towards me or my mom. Michael was as stubborn as a mule and he could never keep his mouth shut. He'd let you know if he didn't agree with you." Florine chuckled, shaking her head. You watched the nostalgic look pass over her eyes.

"What happened to him?" You asked softly. Florine let out a heavy sigh, leaning back in her chair. She reached down, giving Gerdie some pats on the head.

"He disappeared for some time." She answered, gaze becoming distant.

"He wrote letters occasionally. Said he was working for a government in another country.. He might've been some sort of spy, my memory's a little fuzzy on the subject. He spent a long time working but.. He came back eventually. He never talked about it but he was good ole Michael." Florine leaned forward again, flipping to another page of a more grown up Michael. You did notice some similar features between him and you.

"By then, our father had passed from cancer and my mother needed all the help she could get. Michael built this house with some friends of his and gave it to my mother. Oh, my mother was so happy. She got the farm she had always wanted and got to garden whenever she could." Florine pointed to a a couple in the photobook.

"This is your grandmother, Sylvie. You would've loved her. She made the best cakes in town. This is your grandfather, Jonathan. He was always up to no good. He loved pulled helping the kids in town with pranks." Florine spoke of them fondly. Her childhood seemed to have been good with Jonathon and Sylvie.

"You have powers, right?" Florine asked, looking at you. You nodded, reaching out to the plant on the coffee table and watching it grow taller.

"She passed on her powers to you." Florine leaned back, clearing her throat. You glanced at Natasha, noticing her eating another biscuit.

"She? Who's she?" You asked, looking back at Florine.

"Your witch of a mother." She answered bitterly. You raised your brows at the hate and disgust in her tone.

"I shouldn't speak ill of her. Even if she deserves it." Florine muttered, standing up with a heavy sigh.

"C'mon." She motioned for you to follow. You turned towards Natasha. Natasha picked up another biscuit, making eye contact with you. You raised your brows.

"What? These are delicious!" Natasha huffed. You chuckled, standing up and following her out the backdoor. You noticed the stables with the horses walking around their fenced area. Florine had a vegetable garden and a greenhouse out back as well.

"Those pretty babies are Ernie, Kuma, and Goldie." Florine said, motioning to the horses. They approached the fence when she walked over to them. You smiled softly as she petted them, cooing in Dutch.

"They won't bite. Well, Ernie might but he's just a playful old man." Florine chuckled, turning back in the original direction. You followed her down a dirt path and into a wooded area. You blinked, seeing what looked like a moss covered statue of a woman. Her eyes were closed though her head was pointed downwards, looking at anyone who walked down the path.

"She was a charming little witch, I'll give her that." Florine crossed her arms, staring up at the statue. You tilted your head, licking your lips.

"Did he make this for her?" You asked, turning to look at her. Florine shook her head, looking down at the ground.

"Gaia, or better known as Mother Nature, is your mother. She took a human form in an attempt to convince humans to cherish what she had given them. When that proved useless, she spread plagues as punishment. What Gaia truly wanted.. Was a child. Animals, humans, and all those things were creations.. Projects she could ignore if she got bored. She met your father and he fell for her." Florine told you, another breeze blowing by. You reached your hand forward, gently touching a flower that rested by the statue. It felt full of life.

"Your mother fell pregnant with you and Michael was thrilled. Gaia had started realizing that human life wasn't for her. She was slowly becoming human herself. She disappeared with Michael and returned without him or you. She explained she couldn't stay and left her human body here."

"She abandonded me for no reason?" You stared up at the statue, features hardening.

"In some sense, she didn't. She's all around us so.. Your mother never truly left you." Florine said, turning to look at you. You scoffed.

"I have a mother. Her name is Laura Barton and she's not here anymore because of Thanos." You looked at Florine, blinking away tears.

"I don't blame you for being angry. I never found out where she took you or if you were even alive. If you want to keep in touch, I don't mind. Lord knows I could use the company." Florine looked forward again. You let out a soft sigh, shoulders slumping.

"And.. And dad? What happened to him?" You asked hesitantly, almost afraid of finding out he had done the same as Gaia. Florine stayed silent for a moment.

"He.. They never told me how it happened but.. He was murdered." Florine revealed, staring at the ground with a small frown. You stared at him, brows furrowing.

"What? By- By who?"

"You might've heard of him. People around town were talking about him a two or three years back. The infamous Winter Soldier."

~

Tags: @geek-and-proud @wolfelocksley @babyvisionisamenace

[cocobutnochanel]

Roommates | 18+

Genre: slight fluff, smut, roommate!Chanyeol

Main Characters: Park Chanyeol x Reader (oc: fem)

Summary: Your brother's bestfriend, the wrong pill and empty threats could never be good news. Your life turns 180 degrees around when you drink medicine impulsively.

Warning: profanity, sex scene, drug intake

Kink List: unprotected sex, bondage, restraints, drug intake, verbal degradation, creampie, aftercare, daddy kink, daddy!Chanyeol, dom!Chanyeol

Word count: 3.3k+ words

You wanted to bang your head against the wall. Integral calculus was so goddamn hard to learn and you hated how it's included in your courses when you majored in political science. It didn't make sense and the book in front of you didn't too.

You let out a huff and try to comprehend it since you aimed for a perfect GPA this semester.

The door swings open "Hey, dumbface." A familiar voice disrupts you. "What do you need, frat boy?" You hiss, not even bothering to turn around to look at him. Even his presence alone annoys you.

"Stay out tonight." He snickers, shutting the door behind him. "Can you not have sex while exams are going on? I'm trying to study." You whip your head and glare at his smirking face.

"Don't test me, I can tell eomma you're dating someone in uni." He was threatening you with bullshit like this again. What more, you know your mom loves him so much and she'll believe him.

You roll your eyes at him. "Eomma? She's my mother, Chanyeol, not yours. I'll tell her you're fucking with the entire population of Seoul instead." You look at him incredulously while he smiles with amusement in his eyes. He loved pissing you off, you had no idea why your oppa and eomma let you share a dorm room with him.

"You wouldn't do that to your oppa." He cooed at you mockingly. "Oppa? You? Fuck off, Yeollie." You flip him the finger while he cringed. He hates his childhood nickname.

He finally heads out of your shared dorm room and you return to reading the book. Park Chanyeol was a rodent who never left your family alone ever since he met your big brother, Jongin, in pre-school. Like Jongin who was his best friend, he loves pissing you off too. He even has his own room in your house and calls your mother 'eomma'.

You finally resumed studying after he heads out. After a few hours of reviewing calculus over and over again, you decide to sleep for your last day of exam tomorrow.

-

You wake up and notice Chanyeol's top bunk empty and unslept in. He must be with his whores, you assume. You hurriedly get ready and head to your first exam of the day.

The day passed by idly, occupying you with three exams and integral calculus being the last. The moment you got out of the classroom, your head ached. Fuck math, honestly.

You get back to your dorm room and see that Chanyeol still wasn't home despite it being 2 in the afternoon already. You shrug that thought off and text him instead. Your headache bothered you more than your brother's manwhore best friend not coming home.

'frat boy do u have tylenol ?' You text him.

'aww, uri dongsaeng is sick xx' He responded in a heartbeat, dying to tease you since exams were over.

'fuck you where are ur meds' You reply as your vision blurs even more. You couldn't afford to deal with his bullshit. Your head was killing you now.

'my nightstand. be home in a sec w/ food' He finally texted you back. You groan as another pang hits your head, telling you to let go of your phone. You curse integral calculus for giving you this pain.

You pull the drawer in his nightstand. You see condoms of different variations and that disgusted you to the core. Safe sex should be practiced but to need this amount of condoms? He sure does love sleeping around.

You see a white bottle with a red label in the far corner. You couldn't read the label but your head throbbed even more, making you grab that bottle out of impulse. You take it and drink a glass of water.

The sound of the door opening reached your ears as you laid on your bed, trying to rest. "Hey, you okay?" Chanyeol's voice was worried but the pain you were feeling made you snap at him. "Don't talk to me. I'm about to die." He laughs about what you just said and teases you with "That's good news."

A few minutes later, you were expecting the drowsy feeling to take over but unfortunately, it didn't. Your head was still in pain and it wasn't letting you sleep. You wince at an intense pang again.

"Are you sure you took Tylenol? You should be knocked out right now." He comments when he sees you still suffering. "I don't know anymore, fuck. All I know is that the pain is going away." You groan but now, the pain was slowly diminishing.

Few more minutes again, the throbbing stopped but you felt kind of hot. "Holy shit." You hear him mutter.

"What now?" You ask him with a grimace, fanning yourself. Heat now taking over the pain you felt earlier. "You took the wrong bottle! You're so fucking dumb, I swear." He shrieks. You never saw him freak out before which is why I was alarmed.

He holds up a bottle and you cover your mouth as soon as you saw it clearly. "It was my horny pills, you dumbfuck." He said with a flabbergasted face. Well, that explains the heat.

You didn't know why or how but you were aroused when he called you 'dumbfuck'. It wasn't the first time hearing this insult from him but it set you on fire right now. The pill made you feel things you don't feel when you're not having raging hormones.

"B-But, w-why do you even have them?!" You tried to distract yourself from the feeling but it only heightened. This was wrong on all angles. He was your brother's best friend! There was a reason why your mother trusted him to be your roommate! You weren't supposed to feel things like these!

You feel yourself get wet down there. "Fuck." You breathed out, his eyes glued on you while you lay in your bed with a defeated face. He sat across you with knitted eyebrows and an angry face.

"Yeol, get out!" You scream at him before you lost your sanity. You were getting wetter by the minute. "Are you sure you're gonna be okay?" Even his concerned voice sent you over the edge.

Without thinking, you stand up and sit on top of him. "N-No.. Jongin's gonna kill me." His voice was raspy and sitting on top of him made you feel the growing bulge between his legs.

"What happened to the brave frat boy?" You whispered against his ear, your hormones getting the better of you. You start dry humping on his thigh as he closed his eyes in frustration. "Y/N, you know we can't do this." Desperation dripping in his voice.

You roll your eyes at what he just said. "Yeollie, be responsible. This was your fault." You purred, the libido inside you growing. He bit his lip in response.

"God knows how much I want to but Jongin will kill me. You know that, Y/N." He pleaded but you knew he couldn't resist seeing you like this, like a thirsty bitch for him. "Please don't make this harder tha-" You cut him off with a hungry kiss.

He was stunned and he couldn't move but your hands travelled down to the hem of his shirt. You took it off, your lips still on his. He was defenseless under your kiss. Soon, he kissed you back gently too.

His tongue ran down on your bottom lip and you moan his name. His erection was now as hard as a rock and you liked it like that. Especially when it was between your legs too.

His mouth hungrily darted down your neck. You knew he was leaving marks but you couldn't care less. He was finally returning the passion you were feeling. This was his fault, all along.

Your hands held onto his locks as he devoured you on top of him. He couldn't meet your eye. He knew he wanted you but it was wrong. Jongin was your brother and he was his best friend. It was wrong but it only made the two of you want it even more.

His hand clutched your thigh as he nibbles on the sensitive skin of your collarbones. "Yeol." You call out to him, desperately wanting for more. You take off the pullover you had on and he couldn't help but stare in awe.

"Beautiful." He breathes out, his face meeting your hot chest. He unclasps the bra from your back and as it fell to the floor, his hands immediately replaced that warmth.

He massaged your sensitive breasts as he let his mouth play with your chest. You could only moan in agreement.

He managed to slip hand inside your miniskirt. His fingers found your wetness, your back arching at the contact. "Yeol!" You scream in surprise the moment he slipped a digit in. "Wet enough.." He whispers.

He gets up and throws you on the bed. He pulls his belt out of the skinny jeans he was wearing. You gasp when he ties your hand above your head, tightening the belt around it.

You were left in your skirt and that turned him on. You and you were good girl ways, he thought. He pulls your soaked panties down with a satisfied grin, his eyes never leaving yours.

He goes down on you, his hot breath on your pussy. You writhe under his warmth as you buck your hips forward to meet his lips. "Nah-uh. Wait." He whispers breathily.

You exhale in frustration. He felt your desperation and flipped you around, positioning your knees on the bed. "I said wait." He growls as you feel his palm smack your buttcheek.

You bite your lip as the impact made you wetter. You were sure you were dripping down there and the pill you took didn't help either.

Another smack hits your bottom and the sting it inflicted made you moan out loud.

"Jesus, Chanyeol, put it in already." You begged desperately. He puts two digits inside which made you hungrier.

You feel your insides clench around his fingers as he scissors his way in. He was a cruel fucker and you loved how he likes you at his mercy.

"Beg for it." He bellowed above you, fisting a handful of your hair.

Pride wasn't your priority right now. Your priority was your need for him inside you. "Please, daddy, put it in." You sigh, letting all your pride go down the  drain. You hated him but now, you're begging while calling him daddy.

You turn your head around to see him but his erection was now out and it tensed at your nickname for him. It was itching to be inside you too.

He finally pulls out his teasing fingers. Positioning his 9-inch cock on your entrance, you moan audibly. "Daddy, please." You beg once again.

He slides it in as you felt your insides stretch at his size. Tears welled up in your eyes as pain intensified down there. “I’m not even fully inside. Wipe your tears, slut.” He hisses, his fingers diving into the sides of your hips out of frustration.

“So fucking tight.” He comments, feeling up every inch inside you. You could only groan in response as the belt on your wrists restrained you from moving.

He pulls out a bit and starts thrusting in a rhythm. “Yeollie.” You moan out loud as he took you from behind. “What did you just call me?” He spat, thrusting stops abruptly.

“I-I’m sorry, daddy.” Your voice was powerless. Just like how you are right now, kneeling as you call your brother’s best friend ‘daddy’.

“Good.” He starts ramming it inside you again. Your eyes deliriously rolled as he thrusts into your G-spot again.

You weren’t a virgin but you didn’t sleep around as well. You only had sex with the guys you were in a relationship with, hence, why you were so tight. Despite lacking experience that Chanyeol had, it was a no-brainer that this was your best fuck.

After simultaneously hitting your spot, you notice his pace quicken. He was about to come. “D-Daddy!” You screech as his hot liquid filled you to the brim, your own juice gushing out of you too.

You were weak as you slump back on the bed. He wipes you down there, making sure you were clean. He was a monster while doing the deed yet he was so domestic when it was over.

He took his belt off your wrists as you lay on your back, bare and sore. He plants a soft kiss on your lips as if it’d make up for how he tired you out today.

You thought you were through but another wave of heat hit you again 10 minutes later. He plops on your side after that and tries to cuddle you but that only ignited your desires once again.

“Yeol...” You moan into his ear as his arm drapes over your bare waist. “Do you want to go at it again?” He asks like a puppy as if he hadn’t made you beg a while ago.

“How long does it wear off?” You ask, referring to the pill. “I don’t know but usually half a day, I guess?” He shrugs, still cuddling you.

“Are you serious?! Does it mean I’m gonna be like this for twelve fucking hours?!” You grit your teeth. “Relax, I’m willing to help as long as you let me. Also, I’m sorry for that earlier..” He says with sincerity dripping from his voice.

“It was the first time I was ever like that. I just got carried away cause it’s you, I guess.” He looks at you with puppy eyes while his hands inch down towards your pussy that was now wet again. For him.

“What do you mean cause it’s me?” You ask him with a shaky voice, feeling his middle finger against your clit now. “You know you’re attractive. I just didn’t make a move cause I know Jongin would kill me.” He chuckles.

“Hmmm.” You hum which makes him look at you. “I guess I’m flattered, daddy.” You mischievously grin as he bites his lip at the nickname.

-

You wake up with sore thighs and a cooking Chanyeol. You lost count of how many rounds you had with him and he had the guts to look like a husband the next morning. He looked so domestic in a plain white shirt and an apron. He didn't look like the frat boy that he was and it was the first time you saw him in that light.

You get up and he whips his head around. "Good morning.." He greets you with a bright smile as if he wasn't the reason you could barely walk now.

Your feet meet your dorm room's cold hard floor and you walk to the dining table. He serves the breakfast he prepared: fried eggs, pancakes and bacon.

"You look so domestic, it's disgusting." You comment on his bright toothy smile when he placed the food in front of you as if he was some husband serving his wife. "You wish. As if you didn’t beg last night to be cuddled." He winks at you, pulling the chair across.

"There's the frat boy I know." You roll your eyes at his laughing figure. "By the way, eomma texted me the train schedule for today. You have to get ready by 9." He reminds you, his mouth full of pancakes.

You only nod at him, sipping the coffee he prepared for you too. You two finish breakfast while bantering about little things. You wanted to ask him about last night but then, you were afraid it'd make things awkward.

You dismiss that thought and get ready for your trip back countryside. Exams were over which meant it was already summer. Suncheon was only 3 hours away from Seoul but you only went home during school breaks.

You change into comfortable travelling clothes. Chanyeol has a designer hoodie on as if he was some idol in airport fashion. "You picking up girls from the train too?" You snicker judgementally.

He lets out a hoarse laugh. "You jealous?" He smirks and runs a hand through his blonde hair. "You wish." You glare at him and head out of your dorm room with a luggage in hand.

He follows you, his luggage with him too. You two head out to the train station nearby and buy a ticket to Suncheon.

You settle in beside him and sleep for the rest of your 3-hour ride. Last night's strenuous activities tired you out. Drowsiness took over you as Chanyeol leaned his head on your shoulders, slowly getting addicted to your natural scent.

-

You wake up to Chanyeol drooling on your shoulder. You were now near so you decide to wake him up. You were reminded of your question earlier too.

"Yeollie, you’re drooling." You tease him but he only hummed in response, trying to rub his eyes. But suddenly, you wanted to ask him about last night. Were you just an easy fuck? Or were you dating him like how you did with your exes? You weren’t really one to sleep around, you remind yourself.

"W-What does last night mean? Should we act like it never happened?" You ask with a thumping heart. You were scared that he'd say you were just another fuck. Despite your denial of ‘liking him’, rejection scared you.

"We're here." He grabs your hand and lets you up when the train comes to a stop. "Wait, Yeol. Answer me." You say in a weak voice while he dragged you out. Instead, it looks like he just shrugs your question off.

You spot your eomma and oppa waving. Jongin was smiling when he saw you and his best friend. You had no idea he was gonna be here but you were happy. You haven't seen him in so long.

"We missed you!" Your eomma runs to you and Chanyeol, hugging you two. You only smile at her and Jongin who was behind him too.

"Dude!" Jongin greeted Chanyeol with a man-hug. You roll your eyes at their bromance. "Dumbass." Jongin ruffled your hair while you only whine in response. “Oppa, cut it out!” You shriek at him.

"Did you eat already?" Your mom asks the two of you, linking her arms around yours. "Nope." You answer timidly, still not over the fact that Chanyeol dodged your question earlier.

"Let's go to Kyungsoo's place! He opened a new pizzeria." Jongin chimes in. Chanyeol could only nod. Did he lose his energy because you asked him that? Was it wrong to clarify whatever it was between you two?

You sensed the tension in the air when you saw Chanyeol walk so stiffly behind you.

"How's my sister in Seoul? Did her dumbass get a boyfriend, no?" Jongin sneers. He knew you had minimum experience in dating and he loved teasing you about it. Chanyeol clears his throat. "She's seeing someone." You and your mom stop walking the moment he announced this. Suddenly, you were reminded of the empty threat he made when you refused to leave for his hook-up. Were you two back at that again? Just.... roommates?

"What? Her? Are you joking?" Jongin laughs at you and you wanted to smack him in the face but you were too busy overthinking. "Yeol, if this is about the threat you made-" You assumed this was about that night but he cut you off with a bold statement.

"She's seeing me." You let out an audible gasp. Your eomma covered her mouth in surprise. "What did you say?" Jongin sounded like he was challenging his own best friend. The danger in his voice scared you but it didn't affect Chanyeol in any way. Instead, he confirms it again.

"Dude, I said she's seeing me." Before you could deny it, your oppa lunged forward and tackled Chanyeol to the floor.

[purecantarella]

Sweet Promises

so this is overdue, i had this drafted a week ago but tumblr deleted ALL of my drafts :") so updates will take a little longer. i'll keep on writing but yeah, i'm gonna fix my account first. anyway, this is sort of my pride month fic. i genuinely hope you all enjoy it! 💖 disclaimer : shin yuna x female!reader, this contains hate speech and actions against the LGBTQ+ community. some angsty fluff ahead. reader's discretion is advised.

The story of your romance with Yuna was one of the classics. You'd been neighbours as kids and became inseparable as you both grew up and became best friends. Being attached at the hip since childhood, she knew your likes, your dislikes, your secrets, and your burdens. And you knew hers.

The attraction was hardly noticeable until Yuna had taken care of you after the biggest fight your parents had had to date.

The argument had been boiling in the house for the entire week when the brunette had come over to have dinner with you all since her parents had to work later that day.

"So, Yuna how are things at home?" Your father asked politely as you all ate at the table. Since all of you had sat down, the tension was present and eating away at the both of you. Yuna offered a polite smile before saying, "Good, Mr. L/n. But my dad recently got a promotion so he hasn't been home often and my mom is still looking for work." She explained hastily before taking another spoonful of food.

Your mother, who'd been glaring at your father, chimed in with, "Oh, see that, dear..." She began sarcastically. "Yuna's father has gotten another promotion." The man at the head of the table clenched his fist before giving the middle aged woman a tight grin. "And her mother is contributing something to the family, my love." With that harsh words were exchanged and they both screamed at one another, not even caring that both you and Yuna sat there in horror watching the adults fight.

She turned to you tentatively. As she saw you stare intently at your parents while your eyes glossed up with tears, she took your hand in hers under the table. Your gaze immediately shot to your best friend. She tilted her head to the backyard, silently asking you both to hang out there until things boiled down a little.

You and Yuna slipped out of the house and were welcomed by the cold night air and the beam of the moonlight. The shorter girl looked up at you, a broken expression etched onto your features. She gave you a small smile before plopping to the ground and dragged you down with her.

Giggles briefly swirled around the air, making light of the situation you were in. Once the both of you had settled down, she scooted her way into your lap as you chuckled and wrapped your arms around her waist. Your face nuzzled into her neck making her giggle. The night was almost serene, except of course for the heated debate inside the house. Yuna looked down at your comfortable features as she felt damp tears begin to trail down her neck. She bit her lip tentatively before placing her chin over the top of your head.

“It’s all going to turn out fine, N/n…” The brunette whispered in a baby voice, her hand moving to the back of your head. Making sure that you felt safe and secure despite your position. “I don’t know about that anymore, Yuna…” You paused to lean back. She shuddered as the cold wind hit the back of her neck, your warm embrace now missing. "This isn't the first time they've argued." You explained before returning to lean on her.

The dark haired girl turned her head, still cross legged, to look directly at you. It was a strange occurrence for her; seeing you so defeated. She'd always admired your strength in the public eye. You were the rock to her balloon. Yet here you were, so vulnerable. Yuna knew that she was the only one who got to see you like this. You needed her as much as she needed you, and that was always heart-warming to her.

But it was different this time.

The way she could feel your breath fanning her neck, the warmth that radiated off of you. Attempting to shake off the feeling, knowing you needed her support, she adjusted herself to no longer be leaning on you. Yuna moved to kneel in front of you, offering you a gentle smile, her hand placed over yours.

"I'm here Y/n. No matter what." She paused, leaning closer, brushing her nose against yours. "When things get tough, I promise I'll be here for you. For whatever you need, whenever you need it.” It was a simple enough promise. Something Yuna would always say. But there was something about the sincerity in her eyes and the proximity of her face, just a breath away.

You’d always known she was a beautiful girl. Everyone at school had their eyes on her but you’d just never seen the hype to her. She was your best friend after all.

Realizing you were both staring at one another, you pulled away and thanked her softly before laying down onto the grass to which she followed suit. You both stared up at the dark sky, your hands still intertwined.

After that, it became hard to ignore the creeping feeling in each of your chests that made your pulses hammer erratically. You couldn't ignore the butterflies in your chest when she smiled just for you, when her hand intertwined with yours, and when you cuddled how she propped her head over your chest listening to each detail, not letting a single thing run amiss.

It was the same with her. Movie nights became harder to navigate without getting too flustered, touches lingered longer between the two of you and it confused her to no end.

Before long, longing glances turned into loving stares and one drunken night after your highschool exams, you two finally kissed and admitted your feelings for one another.

Your relationship had become an open secret around the school and each of your households. Despite it being so out in the open, her parents had no idea. You were just clingy best friends to them. Which had become the subject of your petty arguments.

She was afraid to come out to her parents and with good reason. They'd raised her as a reserved child. Her parents wanted her and her sister to have a full and happy future. That came with a successful job, a loving husband, and kids. She didn't want to disappoint them. So you were understanding of her situation, as her best friend and her girlfriend.

"I'll see you tomorrow then?" You said as you walked her to stairs leading to the porch in front of her house, handing her her book bag. She looked up at you and gave you an adorable pout. The dark haired girl wrapped her arms around your neck, pulling you down to her level. You grinned dumbly, leaning lower. "You know, this wouldn't be a problem if you weren't so small—"

She placed her hand at the back of your head. "You always like to run your mouth, N/n." Yuna teased before pulling you towards her, pressing your lips together ever innocent, ever sweet. You relished the feeling of her soft lips against your own, placing your thumb and pointer under her chin to deepen the connection.

Your arm was about to wrap around her waist when you heard a sharp squeal from the household's door. Both of you jumped back. Her head whipping to the side, eyes going wide in horror as she saw her mother looking at her with utter disgust and disappointment.

"Your daughter has corrupted ours!" Her father screamed to both your parents, his face going red in anger. You looked over at Yuna. Her lower lip was trembling, her eyes were red and puffy, and she had clutched herself as if preventing herself from falling apart right there and then.

You wanted terribly to hold your girl in your arms and tell her everything was going to be fine. But you knew that if you took even a step closer, you might not get the chance to.

Your father rubbed his eyes tiredly yet raised a brow at his neighbour. "What are you talking about. Y/n's been nothing but a good friend and person to your daughter." Her mother scoffed and rolled her eyes. Her brown eyes narrowing at you, silently cursing you before pointing.

"Or so we thought. Turns out she's been filling our angel's mind with sapphic and devious thoughts." She spat at you. Yuna tried pulling her mom back, begging for her to stop her attack on you before she was pushed back violently. "Do you see? This is all your daughter's doing!"

No longer caring, you strong-held your way to her. "Are you okay, baby?" You asked, your thumb tracing over her cheekbone in the most delicate way you could. Her arms jutted around your waist pulling you closer. "Shin Yuna, get off of the monster." Her father said sternly.

"That monster is my daughter." Your father said standing up. Both of Yuna's parents scowled at your father. "What's your issue here? These two clearly care about each other, why get in the way of their happiness." You smiled at your father's words as you made eye contact and he offered you a small smile.

"Well now it's clear that this isn't the child's fault, more so you both as parents didn't raise her right." Mrs. Shin said, tutting softly. Your mother then gave her a tight grin.

"If you're going to insult me, my family, and my manner of raising my child. You know where the exit is." Your father wrapped an arm around your mother, agreeing wholeheartedly.

The two glared at your family before turning a heel, motioning for Yuna to follow. But she simply held onto your torso tighter. The sneer on each of their faces deepened before her father spit in your direction and walked out the door, her mother at his heel.

Hours went by after the incident, her sister had called to check up on her and they had talked it through. It'd been decided that Yuna would stay with your family for the time being, not that either of you were opposed to the idea anyway.

You lay in your bed, she was curled up on your chest. Hiccups fell from her lips every so often as a result of her hours of sobbing. Your arm securely wrapped around her waist and your hand running through her hair as you whispered sweet nothings into her ear in attempts to calm her down.

"I'm sorry it turned out this way. I wish I'd never forced you to tell them." You said suddenly. Yuna got up to meet your eye. Her face was, at this point, flushed. Both your hands sat on her cheeks, wiping the damp patches on her skin. She choked on another hiccup before shaking her head. "No, it was right this came out now. I don't want to hide us anymore..." She paused, putting her hands over yours, pressing them harder. "I don't want to hide anymore."

You gave her a small smile before tentatively taking her lips again. Your forehead then pressed against hers, wanting to feel a little closer to her. Her eyes were downcast and her expression still grim.

"It sucks right now, I know." You paused to force her to look at you. As you looked into her gorgeous brown eyes, you finally said, "But I'll be here for you. Every step of the way. I promise."

A small smile crept onto her face as she asked, "Promise?"

"I promise." You sealed your words with another peck of the lips. You took her in your arms again. Yuna looked up at your serene expression and she'd felt content and safe.

She had you, you had her. That was your promise.

cheesy, overdue, and hella late. yeah that's my brand now apparently. HAHAHAHAHA i hope you all enjoyed and i hope you all had a good pride month. remember that if anyone makes you feel uncomfortable or bad for who you love, no matter who it is, it's probably best to distance yourself from them for the time being. love is love and you should never feel bad for feeling things. anyway, requests are open and i'm very open to criticism and comments are very appreciated. i love you all and stay safe always! 💖 mini update : tumblr said that they have fixed my tags and i hope you all can see this. taglist : @labrachrosite

[hillnerd]

WAKING UP- CHAPTER 5

Rating M      A03   ff.net   [ Previous Chapter]  [start at the beginning] 

For thanks yous, chapter warnings and ‘what happened last chapter’ scroll to the end of this chapter :)

=======================================================

CHAPTER 5 - QUEEN OF CLUBS

Ginny didn’t have a very large room, and it felt even smaller as Hermione tried to ready herself to go to a club, of all places. She wasn’t the club ‘type.’ She couldn’t say for sure, as she’d never been to one, but what little familiarity she had made it sound awful. Loud noises, skimpily dressed, dancing as if she hadn’t a care in the world seemed… exhausting. And pointless. And dangerous! Fleur, Angelina and Ginny were trying on a myriad of dresses and asking for the group's approval. While the wireless played raucous tunes and the other girls giggled, Hermione spent her time packing and repacking her beaded bag. 

The extension charm was still firmly in place. She hadn’t figured out a way to keep things more organized within it, though, so the canned goods she’d placed there kept falling over. She wasn’t going to forget food again, that she knew. She hadn’t located a new tent yet, but she needed to prioritize that soon. She had just finished repacking some of her clothes when she heard Ginny ask, “What are you doing?”

Hermione snapped the bag shut, not knowing how to explain her preparations in any way that made her seem of sound mind. 

“Just wasn’t sure what to wear…”  It wasn’t a complete lie. She wasn’t sure what fit her anymore. 

“Well, you can never go wrong with a little black dress,” said Ginny pointing to a thin-strapped sundress Hermione hadn’t had reason to wear in well over a year. 

She nodded and went to a corner, turning her front away from them as she changed into the dress. As she wiggled her jeans out from under the dress she noticed the other girls showed no similar discretion, happily throwing dresses off in the middle of the room. 

Hermione gave a speculative look in the mirror, tugging a bit at the neckline of her sundress. It fit differently than before, bagging around her waist and chest in an unflattering way, and the straps would not stay in place. 

“I can do alterations to dresses if anyone needs them,” said Fleur, grabbing a book from within her bag, discreetly catching Hermione’s eye. Arachne Salavarrieta’s Little Book of Sewing had a few good spells for altering clothing on the fly. All four of them looked over the text for just the right spells to take in, let out, and shorten dresses. 

Ginny, still underage and unable to do magic, begged them “you’ve got to shorten my skirt once we’re there!”

“Why not have us do it now?” Angelina asked, propping up a magically enlarged hand mirror on the roll top desk.

“I have four older brothers downstairs,” Ginny said with a sour look.

“Why should that matter?”

“One of those gits will take the piss in front of Mum if I look remotely sexy. That is, if Mum doesn’t already notice all on her own. I don’t know! Either way, just help me with the hem at the club, please? I don’t want to be the only one there looking frumpy!”

“From-py?” Fleur asked.

“Unfashionable, old-fashioned, overly modest and drab,” Hermione provided, fairly certain the term had been liberally applied to herself over the years.

“You look far from from-py, but we will help with the skirt,” Fleur assured Ginny. 

“And if any brother gives you shit at the club, we’ll hex them for good measure too,” Angelina added, bringing out a pair of curling tongs and prompting Ginny to sit in front of her.

Hermione pulled at her dress some more, not sure how much to alter it, and not sure if she wanted to bother. A pernicious guilt gnawed at her as she pulled the dress taut to her body. She should be doing something that mattered, not fretting over a dress. She should be in Australia. She hadn’t earned a rest, let alone a ‘fun time out.’ She’d taken no steps forward. She’d not found her parents’  location, she’d not earned money, she’d not even checked to see if her old childhood home was still standing.

“Hermione, is everything alright?” Fleur quietly asked, coming to stand beside her at the long mirror.

Hermione forced a smile onto her face.

“Oh you know me… I’m never sure what to do with fashion and all that. I’m more at ease in a library.”

Fleur gave her a searching look she’d seen before at Shell Cottage. It was a look that sought truth behind idle chit chat. It brought a sisterly sort of comfort that Hermione had not thought Fleur capable of a year ago. She had found the French woman to be condescending and too effortlessly beautiful to warrant any attempt at friendship. The war had given her an appreciation for Fleur, though. They were something akin to friends now.

“I just…” Hermione said in a low voice only Fleur could hear as the wireless yowled another rock anthem. “This feels so silly when there’s so much to do.”

“We’ve earned a bit of silly, do you not think so?”

“You all might have…”

“Hermione,” she said, putting a tentative hand around her shoulder. “You ‘ave done more than most anyone.”

“Since The Battle I’ve done nothing! Everyone is helping rebuild and all I’ve done is sleep! And my parents are still in Australia, and I’ve…I’ve done nothing to get them back.”

“Ron told us of your parents and the memories… Will you be needing any help?”

“No,” Hermione quickly insisted. “No. I just need to make a plan and get them back here. Once I have a plan then it will all be alright.”

“You are meaning to bring them back here in England… To the home you lived in before?” 

Hermione nodded, and saw a look of concern wrinkle Fleur’s otherwise flawless brow. 

“Hermione… Have you been to your home since the war ended?”

Hermione shook her head. “I’m planning on checking on it soon.”

“This is why I asked. You can not do that alone. Many Muggleborn homes were cursed after the war. Some are no longer standing,” said Fleur, her voice ringing with intensity despite the lyric tone.

Hermione was aware that many a Muggleborn home had been razed to the ground, but refused to believe the same could have happened to her childhood home. 

“Even the Burrow needed much curse breaking,” she continued. “We do not know each other well, but I am happy to help you with this.”

“Oh you don’t have to!” Hermione said with a shake of her head.

“Oh poppyrot!” Fleur said with a dismissive wave of her hand. Hermione let out a long breath, her gratitude forcing her to not correct Fleur to the word ‘poppycock.’ “It is my pleasure!” 

“You two alright?” asked Ginny giving the two a sidelong look as Angelina continued to curl her hair.

“We are,” Fleur said, looking to Hermione who confirmed this with a head nod. “Just helping out with fashion. It is a ritual we women do. The girls gather and dress and help one another to look more beautiful, while the men do nothing.”

“Maybe they shower,” Angelina added with a laugh, “but probably not. They never put in half the effort we do!”

“You see? It is the way of it,” Fleur said, giving Hermione a small squeeze and a meaningful look. “I can help whenever you like.”

“Thank you, Fleur…” she said with equal import. When the other girls looked at her with curiosity she continued, “I don’t have any of my usual things like makeup or hair products.”

“I have a ton of stuff in my bag,” Angelina offered. 

“As do I. We girls help one another,” Fleur said, grabbing a comb and some bottles of French products Hermione didn’t recognize. She continued with the faintest whisper, “You can send a message or Patronus to me when you are ready to enter your old home.”

Words failing her, Hermione put a hand on Fleur’s and gave it a small squeeze. Fleur said nothing, but the warm smile she sent in the mirror reassured her that the French woman completely understood.

After an hour of sewing alterations, primping, squealing, and many changes of clothes by each of the ladies, they decided they were almost ready enough to leave. 

“Oh! Jewelry! I forgot about that,” Ginny moaned, looking through her small box of earrings. 

Angelina and Fleur were eager to help her, but Hermione wasn’t sure she could take another debate about fashion. She was grateful for the silly hour she’d gotten to spend with them, though. Despite her hair still being a bit wild and curly, Hermione had to admit she liked how she looked in the mirror. The black sundress fit her perfectly now. She almost looked like she had a figure again. Between the dress and the makeup, and a bit of product from Angelina to keep her hair from frizzing, she looked almost pretty. She felt a touch of excitement flurry in her stomach at the thought of looking nice in front of Ron. It almost made her forget how nervous she was to be out of the safety of the Burrow. She gripped her beaded bag close to her side.

“I’m going to wait with the boys, if that’s alright.”

The girls waved her off as they held different earrings beside Ginny’s face. 

As Hermione stepped into the hallways she immediately ran into a thin, though sturdy, body and let out a small exclamation of alarm. She quickly muffled her sound when she saw it was only Harry.

“Are you all ready to go then?” he asked, craning his neck to catch a glimpse of Ginny behind the closing door.

“We’re almost all ready,” she said with a fond smile. “You know girls, it takes them forever.”

“You’re a girl too, according to Ron at least,” said Harry, giving her a wry grin. Harry was looking rather sharp in Muggle clothes that actually fit, and his hair was looking mysteriously untidy. 

“Did you do something to your hair?”

“What?” he asked, putting a hand to the back of his hair and patting at it. “It doesn’t look bad, does it?”

“No,” she laughed, seeing the panic in his eyes. “Just not as wild as usual.”

“Yeah, well it took like four spells and I think they’re already wearing off.”

She studied his hair and could see one by one little hairs slowly moving into disarray, almost like someone had rubbed an invisible balloon against it. 

“You’re trying to look extra nice for Ginny,” she teased.   He frowned, but a blush began to form around his jaw. “Yeah, well, we’ve never gotten to properly go someplace together, have we? You did the same for Ron, right?”

He had her there. 

“Speaking of, where is he?”

“Downstairs, I think,” he said, hand going to his hair again. “Is it looking bad again?”

“It’s looking more like it usually does, if that’s what you mean.” His face scrunched in disapproval. “Really, it looks fine. Your hair fits you best when you do nothing to it. You look perfectly nice.”

“You too,” he said with a glance at her, before heading towards the bathroom. “Ok, I’m going to try to spell this one more time.”

She knew it was a lost cause, but didn’t have the heart to tell him as he eagerly tried to preen. 

As she reached the bottom steps of the stairs, she could hear the low rumble of men’s voices.

“They’re taking ages,” Charlie sighed. “I don’t see why it takes them so long.”

“Women wear more?” said George. 

“Harry’s hair has taken almost as long,” Lee said with a snort.

Hermione looked around the corner and saw the men all sprawled around the room, shoes up on tables and couch arms in a way they’d never dare if Mrs Weasley were in the room.

While everyone lightheartedly bantered with one another, in the corner sat Ron. His brow was creased as he silently played chess with Lee. He looked haggard, and for the eleventh time that evening, Hermione wished they weren’t going out. She’d much rather spend the evening wrapped in Ron’s arms, as she had that afternoon. 

Her nerves had frayed at the thought of sleeping beside him, worried he would catch her in a nightmare. Silencing spell in place, she had feigned grumpy tiredness when he asked her questions. There had been no need to worry, though. Cuddled up to him she fell asleep as surely as one did on sleeping draughts, and somehow her nightmares were kept entirely at bay. It was the best sleep she’d had in months. The only thing that could have improved it was waking up beside Ron. He’d been gone when she’d woken, with no one knowing where he was. He’d come back from the village looking worn out giving excuses of ‘getting supplies’ which didn’t hold up to real scrutiny, when she thought of the timeline he gave. Ron Weasley was up to something, she just didn’t know what.

As if her thoughts drew him to her, Ron’s eyes rose and met hers.

The furrow in his brow smoothed, his scowling expression softened, and a boyish smile of his tugged at the corner of his mouth. 

“Who’s winning?” she asked, approaching the chess board.

“Ron was, but I think my luck’s about to change,” said Lee, a few of the men joining him in laughter and elbowing Ron, seeing his rather besotted look. Usually he’d turn beet red and curse at them, but his face remained mostly impassive as he met her eyes and smiled. The only sign of his discomfort was his ears going a tiny bit flush.

“Check mate,” said Ron, moving his bishop across the board, and rising from his seat.

“No it’s not, is it?” Lee asked, looking at the board. “Damn!”

Ron gave the lot a two fingered salute and led her from the living room to the kitchen, where his mother was doing some tidying and listening to the radio.

“I wasn’t sure about the dress,” she mumbled. Ron’s eyes traveled down her and she suppressed the urge to readjust her neckline, though she wasn’t sure in what direction.

“Well you look amazing in it,” he said, looking her in the eye and making her stomach do a tsukahara flip. 

“Thank you,” she managed. A pleasurable rush of nerves ran up her spine. Despite looking very tired, he looked handsome. He was wearing an untucked dress shirt she’d not seen before, with the sleeves rolled up his arms in a way that made the nerves in her spine turn to jolts. Given the darker color scheme of it, she assumed it was a hand-me-down from Bill. She quickly realized all of him was looking rather polished, with the exception of his beat up boots. She wasn’t sure what to say to him. He was so sensitive about clothes, and the last thing she wanted was to cause additional stress on him, but she also knew he was a bit insecure and it might be nice to compliment his appearance.

“So how long until the rest of the girls are ready?” he asked. 

Well there went that opportunity.

“Soon, I think. They just had to pick out earrings for Ginny,” she said looking up into face. His eyes looked so weary. “Are you doing well?”

“Course,” he grunted, immediately turning from her. “Mum, do you need help with that?”

Mrs Weasley turned from the dishes and assured him she didn’t. Despite the assurance, he started putting dishes in the cabinets. He didn’t spare her another look, not when the rest of the girls came down the stairs some ten minutes later, and not when they gathered on the edge of the property.

“Before we go,” George announced, beginning to hand each of them a playing card, “here is a Muggle I.D. for each of you.”

“Why do we need an I.D?” Ginny asked, inspecting the playing card in the waning light of the sunset.

“Because they check to see if you’re old enough to drink at clubs and such and can’t just put up an age line,” answered Bill.

“Why didn’t you transfigure these already?” asked Hermione, looking at her playing card, the Queen of Clubs.

“I’d have to know what Muggle I.D.s look like to do that. This just has a spell to register as an I.D. to Muggles. Pretty clever, if I do say so,” George said, smiling to them all as he finished handing out the cards. “Getting the dates right was tricky. Just make sure you say your birthday was in 79 or earlier. The card will match up with whatever date you say.”

“Where are we apparating to, George?” asked Angelina.

“My hotel room’ll do,” he answered.

Hermione felt Ron unexpectedly stiffen beside her. 

“Everyone but Harry, Ginny, Hermione and Fleur knows where to go. So you all can pair up and side-along there. Here, Gin, come with me,” said George, waving Ginny over.

Ron made as if to grab Ginny back, but George had quickly disappeared with her. One by one they all disapparated, leaving her and a distracted Ron staring at the space George had just occupied.

Ron licked his dry lips and scrunched his brow in determination. “Right… Okay then, I guess we better go.”

“We don’t have to, if you don’t want to,” she said, gently putting her hand in his. “We could just stay in, you and me.”

His shoulders slumped. “Merlin, I wish I could take you up on that.”

“Why don’t you?” she said, giving his hand a squeeze. “I’ve been dreading going out.”

“You too?”  “I packed and repacked my bag, just in case,” she said, giving the beaded bag a small shake that made its contents give a crash. “Damn. That’s probably the books again. I really need to find a way to make things stay in place!” 

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” he said with a fond look on his face. “But we should go. It’ll be good to get out, plus with G— nevermind.”

“Plus what?”

“Look, I really want to tell you, but I’m just not up for it all right now.” Her face must have given away how frustrating she found that. “I will, I swear I will! Just not tonight. Let’s just— let’s just pretend we’re okay and go out and try to enjoy ourselves.”

It went against every instinct in her body to agree to wait to know something, but she nodded her acquiescence.   His large hand moved to her back and the tight feeling of being compressed overtook her as he Apparated them to George’s hotel room.

In moments they reached their destination and the feeling of her breath being stolen didn’t stop, for Ron’s fingers grazed her side as he took a pace back from her. 

When they arrived they received a good amount of teasing for taking their time to arrive, heavily implying the two had been snogging. Neither teen corrected them. As everyone made small talk, Ron was completely silent and looked about the room with seeming purpose. He had shown immense concern about George right before they left, had that intense conversation with him earlier, and she had to admit George smelt like a bar when he arrived and looked like he might have been sleeping on the floor of one. She had no idea what Ron was looking for, except perhaps empty bottles. The room was sparse, and only a tray of food, and a small bag in the corner showing any signs someone had been living there. 

No one seemed to notice his actions except George who fixed him with a glare when no one was looking. Ron looked far from sheepish, and instead stood tall and locked eyes with his brother.

“Let’s get going. It’s just a few streets over,” George announced to the room, looking away from Ron.

Nerves shook Hermione as they travelled down the grimy London street. It did not look much different from Tottenham Court Road. The last time she had been near this part of London they’d ducked into a grotty cafe and been cornered by a pair of Death Eaters.

At least then it had been a less obtrusive group, with only her, Ron and Harry. Now they were a large boisterous group with so many redheads they stood out like a flock of goldfinches. Most of them were loudly talking or laughing, and many a passerby smirked at the boisterous group. If someone wanted to target them, they’d be all too easy to spot. She gripped her beaded bag so harshly one of her nails chipped. 

Thankfully George was quite correct about the distance being short. In minutes they arrived at a large dark building with music dimly pulsing through its walls and a line to get in. 

A large barrel-chested man with the thickest neck Hermione had ever seen stood at the door. The eldest Weasleys along with Lee and Angelina were let through with barely a glance at their playing cards, but as soon as he spotted the younger members of the group the bouncer began to look like an agitated bulldog. 

He eyed Ron and Hermione’s cards closely, but gave a much more scrutinizing look towards Ginny and Harry as they handed their playing cards to him. He held a small flashlight to the Jack of Spades and Queen of Spades, and even ran a fingernail along the edge. 

“What’s your birthday?”

“1979!” Harry offered, before wincing at his volume. Ron let out a chuckle, while Ginny rolled her eyes. The man’s glare intensified. “Er… July 31st 1979, that is.”

“Hmm… And you?” growled the Bouncer, sourly looking to Ginny.

“Tonight’s my birthday, actually!” she said with a winning smile. Hermione nearly protested, but Ron gave a small shake of his head. 

“Ah, happy birthday!” said the man nodding at the card before handing it back to her, looking much less ornery. “Let Teresa know about it, and they’ll do ya something special.”

“Your birthday, huh?” Harry asked Ginny as soon as they were through the door.

“Much easier to have a good time and get some free drinks that way, isn’t it?” she said, giving a conspiratorial grin he shared.

“But it’s not your birthday!” Hermione protested, irritation prickling down her neck.

“I’m not eighteen either,” Ginny breezily pointed out. 

“Well you’re lucky the card was able to adapt to that when you hadn’t said an actual date,” Hermione persisted. She clutched her beaded bag closer to her chest. “We don’t want to stand out.”

“Why not? It’s a Muggle club. It should be fun.”

“Well, it might be a Muggle club, but that doesn’t mean it’s completely safe.”

“You worry too much,” she said in an infuriatingly calm and understanding voice.

“No! We have to make sure we stay low profile and don’t say anything wrong, because all it takes is one wrong word and then everything falls apart!”

Harry looked to the ground, his eyebrows knitting together. He had to be thinking of the Taboo and the Snatchers as well.

“It’s just a bit of fun, Hermione. We’ll be okay,” said Ginny with a smile, looking around to spot the rest of their group, taking Harry by the hand towards a corner table. “Ah there they are!”

Hermione had never felt more like shaking her friend. Didn’t she understand how dire things were? They’d met Death Eaters at a Muggle cafe in London last August, and Fenrir and those Snatchers in the woods. All it took was one small mistake and then hell would rain down on them; they could end up beaten or cursed or stabbed in the chest.   “Hermione…” she heard Ron’s voice quiet and low in her ear. “There isn’t a Taboo anymore…”

“You don’t know that!” she almost shouted at him, painfully gripping her beaded bag. 

One of his large hands gently started unwinding her fingers from the bag, before taking it from her and putting it in his jacket pocket. He started massaging her fingers. Under the pink and orange lights she could just make out the imprint the bag had left on her hands.

“I can feel the Taboo’s broken, and I bet you can too if you concentrate on it,” he said, continuing to work her hands until they became limp in his. “But if you want to leave and go back to the Burrow, we can right now.”

His quiet earnest words brought her eyes up to his. He saw right through her. He didn’t give her empty platitudes. He gave her a common sense answer to why things would be different, and an out if she was uncomfortable. She felt the overwhelming need to kiss him, and despite the crowd she decided to indulge herself. She stood on her tiptoes, and he took her lead leaning down to brush his lips against hers, hands still holding hers. How had they had so many years together without kissing? 

For years she’d had to sit near him, with careful scrutinization over every action and inch between them. Was sitting too close to her friend? Would her leg pressing to his be too much? Would he notice how her eyes were fixated on his mouth a good three minutes as he grinned and told her about the mad thing he’d seen earlier that day? Did his hand around her shoulder linger longer than a friend’s hand would? When he’d tiredly leaned his head into her, had it meant something to him?

Now she could kiss him whenever she liked, and melt into his strong form, and let her hands be caressed, and get the anticipation of more ring through her body, and know it might be fulfilled later. The only thing she struggled to hold back was blurting out how very much she loved everything about him.

“Alright?” he asked as their lips parted. 

She nodded, biting her bottom lip to keep herself from saying ‘I love you and actually yes I’d like to go home, but only because I want to snog you until both of us can barely breathe.’

“Ready to have ‘a bit of fun?’”

“I think I can manage,” she said with a smile. As long as he was by her side something akin to enjoyment of the evening could happen.

They went to a back table that didn’t nearly have enough seating for them all. This didn’t seem to matter as half of them strategically placed their jackets and purses so strangers would know it was occupied, while the others went to the bar to get drinks for everyone. Their table butted nearly up to the bar, and Ron perched on one of its stools. 

“Do you want something to drink?” Hermione asked, looking at a menu. 

He shook his head. “Someone needs to stay sober. Might as well be me.” He took the menu from her and eagerly pointed to it. “But I could do with these fried cheese things!”

She got in line, ready to order and pay when George stepped in. “Put your cash away. You’re not buying a thing, tonight! We’re here to celebrate you three, after all!”

Grateful not to have to spend the meager amount of cash she had, she put in her order for Ron’s food, and her wine. She’d never drunk much in her life, but she experienced the occasional wine with her parents.

She had worried the evening would be tedious, but seeing everyone looking giddy, toasting one another, and even dancing made her rethink the evening. 

Ron had kept a close eye on George, but his brother was looking at ease and jubilant surrounded by family and friends. Hermione enjoyed the warming tang of red wine as they chatted away and seemed more relaxed than they’d been in years. The wine soothed her nerves as well.

“Was your skirt that short when we left?” George asked Ginny after she did a twirl to the music that accidentally flashed a cheek of her knickers.

“Yes it was,” she coolly answered. “And even if it wasn’t, there’s nothing you’re going to do about it, is there?” 

Harry, already looking sloshed, looked down at Ginny’s legs, his mouth slightly open.

Ron gave a chuckle before flicking his friend’s ear. 

“Righ’, sorry,” Harry said with a nod. Despite all the spells he’d done on his hair, it had reverted to its normal disheveled state.

“Let’s dance!” Ginny said, grabbing Harry’s hand. If it weren’t for the few rounds of shots, Hermione didn’t think they’d be able to get him on to the dance floor, but in his current state he happily followed his girlfriend to the bright lights and thumping music. This seemed an adorable prospect until they actually saw him dance.

“Oh shit… Someone needs to hit him with a stunner or something,” Ron laughed, as Hermione leaned back into him. 

Harry had no sense of rhythm at all, and his stiff-armed movements made many people wince. Ginny didn’t seem to care, and was happily dancing beside him. Her effervescence seemed to drown out Harry’s sad attempts at movement.

Ron guffawed, and shook his head in amusement. Seated on a bar stool, he was only a half a foot taller than Hermione, which made for much more convenient kisses with no tiptoes needed. She had finished her second glass of wine and had a hot pleasant sensation buzzing through her. She put her head back and closed her eyes, feeling the vibration of his deep laugh and the music thrumming. 

“Hmm… Y’should dance with me,” she murmured, though she made no move towards the dance floor. Instead she rubbed her hands down his legs that were on either side of her. The lights on the dancefloor shifted to green for a moment, and the cozy peace felt strangled. She glanced up to Ron, and thought of the one thing that really made her feel nothing but warmth. “You should snog me.”

He chuckled a bit, and she felt the back of his fingers graze her cheek. 

“Dance or snog— Whichever you want,” he replied in her ear. “Though it seems you’re going a bit legless for dancing.”

“I am not!” she protested, pushing herself off of him and nearly stumbling. She stood very tall and made firm eye contact. “I am far from inebriated and do not like the implication that I am inebredated!”

“You mean inebriated?”

“That’s what I just said!” she said, grabbing his hand. “C’mon, let’s dance!”

He gave a shake of his head, but followed her onto the dance floor, where most of their group were dancing. Despite the yellow and orange lights, they were a vibrant group that stood out. Hermione couldn’t think why she’d been worried about it, though! And Ron was actually a very good dancer. She’d discovered this at Bill and Fleur’s wedding, and was happy nothing had changed. He had a grand sense of rhythm and the way he held her close and moved about with her made her feel like one of those ladies from an old musical. Roger Gingers? No, that wasn’t it… 

“You make me feel like a lady!” she shouted over the music. “I mean, a lady from a musical that dances and such! Y’know? Like with Astaire and all those old ones in the movies?” 

Ron gave a nod, and she nodded along happy he knew the reference. Yes! He and she were meant for one another. He knew what she meant when she said things. Oh no, that couldn’t be right. Fred Astaire was a Muggle! There was no way he knew that reference!

“Wait! You don’t know who Astaire is!”

“Nope,” he replied, an amused grin making his dimple appear. 

“Then why did you nod along?”

“You’re supposed to smile and nod at drunk people and irate girlfriends— and you’re the best of both!”

She laughed as he spun her around. She could do this forever! Just spin and spin, his hands on her, the bright lights bringing out odd colors in his hair, his warm smile, the invigorating feeling of just being alive...

“You dance as well as you snog!” she yelled, right as the song stopped, making many on the dance floor snigger, but she didn’t care. It was true. And he was hers, not anyone else's, and she got to snog him whenever she wanted. “Let’s get another drink!”

She bounded to the bar, and added another wine to the tab George had started. 

“I think you might’ve had enough,” said Ron, sidling up beside her.

“Then you drink it!” she said, holding up the wine before taking a sip. He gently took the wine glass from her, and put it on the bar.

“Ever since I drank that poisoned mead, I’m not much for drinks from people I don’t know.”

“I just drank from it, though, so you know it’s safe,” she said, holding her hair up and away from her too hot neck. 

“And I need to be sober so someone can get us all home at the end of the evening.”

That was a very good point. “You should snog me in the club’s bathroom,” she countered. 

“That is very very tempting,” he said leaning in and giving her a peck on the nose. “When you aren’t sloshing about I might take you up on that.”

“M’not!” she said, grabbing her wine glass. 

“Another round?” George asked, holding out a tray of shots. “For the trio! And the birthday girl!”

“Oh yes, let’s drink to my birthday!” Ginny crowed, grabbing what was at least her shot glass. There was a quick clearing of a throat from behind her from Bill. “Oh come oooon! Can’t I have some fun?”

“You can have plenty of fun. Just might want to be able to remember it tomorrow.”

“Don’t be mummish!” she replied, downing her drink.

Harry tittered at this, and she put a hand over his shot glass before he could get it to his lips. “You might want to hold back.”

“Mummish,” Harry laughed, with a shake of his shaggy head. 

“How much has he had?” Charlie asked.

“A couple of shots and a beer,” said Lee with a shake of his head. “Complete and utter lightweight.”

“I want another shot,” Harry protested.

“Sorry, sloppy, leave this to the professionals,” George said, downing it before Harry could stop him. Hermione caught a grim look pass between Ron and Bill, but dismissed it as a good song came on and the other girls dragged them all onto the dance floor.

The party continued until Ron insisted they take a water break. Hermione slide into the booth next to him, wobbling only slightly, yet she gladly snuggled into him.

There was a gauzy blur to everything, with only the center of her vision having much clarity. It was nice. Her blurred cameo-vision settled on Ron. He was very handsome. And tall! 

She told him so.

“Thanks,” he said, not seeming to take her seriously.

“I mean it, though! You’re almost pretty,” she said with a firm nod. “I’ve always thought so. You have the bluest eyes… They’re so… Blue! And I love your hands. They feel nice too.”

“Uh huh…” he said with a smile. “I think we best get you home soon… Here, have some water.”

“I don’t want water, I want more wine,” she said, taking the water and drinking it. “But I do mean it. You’re very good looking. And you have a cute bum! I haven’t told you that, but I should. I should tell you these things! I mean to, but I wait too long, and then I can’t tell you. Like with your clothes tonight! You look extra dishy and I can’t tell you because I don’t want you to think I’m not nice about clothes to you, ya know?”

“Well in that case, thank you?” he said, pouring her some more water that she angrily sipped at. 

He’d taken off his jacket and rolled his sleeves up again at one point. She trailed a finger along a brain-scar on his forearm.  She liked that. There was something about it that made her squirm in a good way.

“I like your arms…  But to my point!!” she said, sitting up straight and poking him in the chest. “There’so much I can’t tell you! I’m the best secret keeper in the world. It’s like… It’s like my words are Fidelius charmed! And I don’t know how to tell you the secret! I want to, of course, but if I did and you didn’t say you love me back then I’d be so upset, and so I don’t say anything!”

She closed her eyes and leaned into his chest.

“You make it hard to not say things when you’re so pretty and good. You’re so good, Ron Weasley. I want to… I want to bottle you up and marry you and be the only one to touch your bum.”

His chuckle pleasantly hummed through her. He braced her against him a bit then kissed her forehead. 

“I want that too,” he said, almost so quietly it couldn’t be heard over the music. She felt him stir beneath her head and let out a huff. “What?”

She cracked open an eye to see Harry gormlessly staring at them.

“I’m so glad you didn’t die. You’re like… the most important people in my life and I love you both so much,” said Harry, pointing to somewhere a foot or so to the left of them.

“No more alcohol for you, Harry,” said Ron, making Hermione sit up. 

“I mean it!” Harry belligerently stated. 

“We love you too, Harry,” said Hermione, putting a hand on him. “You’re like a brother to me! If I had brothers. I don’t. But if I did, you’d be my little brother.”

“You’re like an older sister that I love like a sister. And we’re both not dead,” Harry said with a nod. 

“Merlin’s balls. We’ve got to get out of here,” Ron muttered, grabbing a glass of water and thrusting it into Harry’s hand. “Chug that and try not to be such a melancholy arsewipe, yeah?”

“I can’t help it. I had a bad childhood until I met you and Hagrid…” Harry said, looking so sad Hermione wanted to cry. 

“You did! Ron, he DID have a bad childhood!”

“Yep, I’m aware,” said Ron with a sigh getting up. “Harry, where’d you put your glasses and jacket?”

He gave a sad shrug. “I don’t have a family. I don’t even have glasses now.”

Hermione nodded. “He can’t SEE, Ron.”

“I’m legally blind.”

“He’s blind, Ron!”

“Oh my GOD! I’m going to find the glasses!” Ron exploded, a hand going to his hair. “I’m getting bloody tired of dealing with drunks, you know that?”

“But he’s blind, Ron.”

With a wild gesture of frustration he started looking around the various points in the bar Harry had been to. Harry murmured about a lot of sad things, and Hermione told him about Ron’s bum which made him snigger. She leaned her head against the back of the booth, closing her eyes for just a moment. 

She heard Charlie, Bill and Fleur bowed out for the evening, citing business they had to do the next day. Bill pulled Ron aside for a moment. She could just make out the low voiced words of ‘George,’ ‘rest’ and ‘bail’ beside her. She cracked open an eye and saw them both glancing at George, who was still bouncing on the dance floor with Lee and Angelina. Hermione listened to hear more, but the thrum of music drowned them out. 

Hermione woke up an indeterminate amount of time later lying in their booth, head curled up on a conjured pillow and Ron’s large jacket draped over her.

She blearily rose and blinked to see Harry finish a shot beside her.

“I thought you weren’t supposed to be drinking anymore,” she managed to rasp even though her tongue stuck to the top of her mouth. She smacked her lips and looked for some water. The nearest pitcher seemed miles away even though it was a mere few feet.

“Y’were sleeping in the booth and there’s was noone to stop me,” said Harry with a triumphant smile that morphed into an unpleasant low belch.

“How long have I been asleep?” Her head was aching. She should have drunk more water.

“Mmm… An hour or so?”

“Where’s Ron?”

“He tucked you in,” Harry answered. She warmed at the thought of giant Ron hunching over to tenderly make her comfortable.

 Harry put his chin on his hand and stared at her. “He fancies you.”

“Well I quite fancy him as well.”

“You fancy him,” he said with a sloppy dismissive hand, “but not like he does you. He’s all…” A series of soft pats rained down on her head. “And you’re all…” He pointed a finger at her face, nearly poking her in the eye. “Ya know?”

“Oh well that makes sense,” she humored him. “Where are your glasses? Didn’t Ron go to fetch them ages ago?”

“Search me…” he said, putting his head on the table before slurring. “I need a nap…”

Ginny, Lee and Angelina came panting off the dancefloor.

“Where’s George?” asked Angelina, gulping down some water and making a loud noise of satisfaction when she’d finished.

“Wasn’t he with you?”

No one knew where George or Ron were. They were about to start searching when there was the sound of a mic turning on, and the DJ announced, “and now one of our guests wants to make an announcement.” 

There was a horrid feedback noise and a scuffle, but then a familiar voice began to ring through the crowd.

“Hello everyone!” said George into the mic. 

“Oh God, who let him have a microphone?” said Angelina, shaking her head.

“I’m George and I’m here to celebrate my little sister’s birthday! So everyone, say cheers to her!”

Many of the crowd raised their glasses and Ginny was happy to wave to them and give a small bow. Hermione spotted that she was wearing Harry’s glasses on top of her head. She turned to point this out to Harry but he was letting out a series of small snores.

“Also we’re here to celebrate my brother Ronnie, and his two best friends. I can’t tell you what they did, but they are being honored for their services and it’s pretty impressive shit, so cheers to them!” The crowd cheered again. “That’s right. He’s very impressive. Didn’t think he would be, but here we are! Didn’t think he’d make it out of a war alive, but he did. Not a fucking scratch on him, ‘cept some missing fingernails.”

Hermione looked for Ron, and found him standing to the side of the DJ booth. He looked like he was saying something, and George’s face went dark and surly. “No, I don’t feel like going home.”

“Get off the mic!” someone from the crowd hollered, and few people let out a resounding ‘woo’ in agreement.

“Yes, thank you for your support!” George said with a wave. “What was I talking about? Oh yes! The war! My other brothers all made it ok, but I lost an ear, and then my twin brother got fucking killed by a bloody wall. How stupid a way is that to go?”

The DJ tried to get George to hand over the mic, but he was belligerently holding it low and crowding the DJ out. Ron looked like he was saying something. He put a hand on George’s shoulder that was violently shrugged off, prompting Angelina and Lee to run over to intervene.

Hermione didn’t want to crowd them and was fairly certain she couldn’t get there fast enough to help anyways. Ginny had a hand to her mouth. 

“None of you know how much we sacrificed to keep you all safe, you know that? On the run all the time, nearly dying every day, and you lot just went about your lives having no fucking clue. People died. My brother is DEAD! And you’re all having a bloody good time, but he’s dead and everything is fucking ruined and—”

The thick-necked bouncer moved in and started pointing a beefy hand in George’s face.

“George, don’t!” came Ron’s holler, just barely picked up by the mic.

Hermione heard a chorus of yells beside her as, in front of the entire Muggle club, George whipped out his wand and brandished it at the bouncer.

“Take another step and I’ll drop you,” he snarled.

Hermione gave a yell of her own as Ron put up his hands and stood in front of George’s sparking wand.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 5 Author’s Note- 

Chapter 6 is already written and in the editing process.

I actually split Chapter 5 into two parts as it was epically long. So next chapter will be from Hermione's POV

oh, and it will have some smut

and angst

====================================================

Giant thank you to:

@abradystrix​ and @divagonzo​ for betaing and being so supportive and wonderful.

CHAPTER WARNINGS:

cursing, depresssed/anxious thinking, talk about eating & weight gain/loss, evidence of PTSD, drinking and drunkeness, threats

Previously, in 'Waking Up'

Hermione is on edge about her parents and is having trouble with anxiety in general- also worried about Ron not saying 'I love you' yet

Ron was exhausted from tending to George the night before- he's running on fumes- and is devastated that Hermione doesn't seem to care for Harry joining the Aurors- He fills out paperwork and gets sick with anxiety

Needs a quill and sees Hermione needs money for Australia

Goes to the village to get a job- gets lost in dark memories

Comes home to everyone giving cheers to him and the trio for Order of Merlins and Auror offers

They're all gonna go out to celebrate

[hello-everyfandom]

“How do you know that you won’t fall out of love with me?”

Warnings: N/A

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Reader

Words: 2.5k

Summary: Your love language is Words of Affirmation

(This is a continuation from my series “Love Languages”)

Growing up in Malfoy Manor was less than loving. Although the Malfoy’s had the extremely upheld ideal of family, loyalty, and honor, Draco’s upbringing was not so much about comfort and love but the constant pressures of being perfect. Perfect. Always perfect. From his young ages, he was expected to always be pristine, polite and most of all: quiet. A young Draco spent a lot of time outdoors, trying to hide from the pressures of his family, climbing trees, and touching the breeze, enjoying the small moments of being alone. He basked in the safety of being outside in the open until one day when he accidentally got dirt on his trousers. That afternoon, his father berated him, yelling and harshly reprimanding him. How dare he decide to dirty himself, to look less than ideal. As his father scolded him, his mother stood in the background, arms crossed to hold herself. By the end of Draco’s familial slaughter, his father decided Draco needed something more than verbal punishment. That was the first time Draco had been hit by his father. He could still feel the sting, even as a teenager, and the bruises from his father’s hand, gripping his wrist tightly, seemed to stay forever. From then on, Draco suffered, molding himself, hurting himself to become the Malfoy definition of “perfect.” 

When Draco fell in love with you, part of him was ecstatic. He had you. The kindest and flawless human there ever was. He was merely enchanted with your sweet nature. He would question, every morning, how such an amazing creature, like yourself, could be any type of enamored with him. But part of him was terrified. More than terrified. There was a deep seeded insecurity that lied within his chest. You, the light in the dark, was his one happiness, his one source of love. Draco Malfoy knew he wasn’t good enough, not for someone like you. He could not handle the idea of you seeing him as anything less than perfect. The moment you whispered those three words, the words that would make him swoon, he vowed to be the perfect boyfriend. He vowed to become the man you absolutely deserved. 

Draco’s insecurities, his faults and fears did not need to be said out loud. You knew of his childhood and had heard through the grapevine of the Malfoy’s ferocity and less than ideal traits. Even before you met him, you knew Draco Malfoy was deserving of love. Most students in Hogwarts, besides the ones in the Slytherin House, seemed to despise Malfoy for his bullying and constant insults. However, you saw him as who he was, a boy who has been nothing but hurt. 

Therefore, it was your own duty to compliment every aspect of him. Your words of love were endless and you loved to see the way Draco’s neck blushed while he attempted to keep himself cool. You loved to surprise him by finding different ways and different things to compliment him on. While Draco would roll his eyes or scoff, you knew he thrived off of it. Other times, you’d comment on his nice penmanship or his ability to cast difficult spells. It came naturally to you as you were raised in the most loving, passionate and encouraging family. You wanted nothing more than to spread that compassion to your boyfriend.

If Draco was honest with himself, he couldn’t help but stand, anxiously, on his toes. He was constantly worried about disappointing you, hurting you, being anything less than perfect. Insecurities in the shape of heart murmurs kept him up at night. There was an ache, a hurt, a fear that nearly rendered Draco breathless.You were, by far, the most radiant person Draco knew. Equal parts funny and sweet, sarcastic and kind. And, much to Draco’s exasperation, many of the other boys at Hogwarts knew this as well. And, to make his insecurities and self doubt even worse, you were Draco’s first relationship. Draco was not yours. Many boys, since first year, had fancied you and you had even dated a few. This was always a sore spot for your boyfriend who seemed to be jealous of any past relationships you had. The jealousy and insecurities made Draco more fearful, worried even, that you’d slip away. 

You sat in the empty classroom Draco had found for the two of you. While other couples took to the Common Rooms, corridors, courtyards, and even sometimes the Great Hall to inflict PDA, Draco preferred utter privacy. He felt that wherever he went, people gawked. Instead, he much preferred being alone with you. He wasn’t sure if it was because in private rooms he could kiss you whenever he wanted or if it was because when you were alone he did not have to worry about other blokes staring at you. 

The afternoon sun streamed through the class windows, casting streaks of light onto the table in front of you. You were perched on the wooden bench, sitting on your crossed legs, a book held leisurely in your hand. Draco sat next to you, leaned over his Alchemy essay on antidotes and blended potions. Though the essay was difficult, Draco felt relaxed, resting his hand on your bare thigh and rubbing shapes on the skin. He listened to your steady breathing and the crinkling of the paper as you turned the pages. 

He only turned to look at you when you let out a long sigh and snapped the book shut.“Good book?” Draco asked, looking at you from the corner of your eye.

“Oh yes, I think it has to be one of my favorites.” 

“Is that why you look so grumpy?” he leaned to dip his quill in more ink, his hand never leaving your thigh.

You laughed and shook your head, “No no, I’m not grumpy. But, there is so much drama in it and it renders me rather exhausted sometimes.”

Draco hummed, “How does a silly little thing like you become tired from books?” 

“If you knew me,” you ticked your tongue, “you’d know I become tired from nearly everything.”

Draco let out a chuckle and put down his quill. “I do know you, well enough to know you become grumpy when tired.”

You opened your mouth to protest but paused to realize that your boyfriend was annoyingly correct. “Damn you,” you huffed and leaned back before picking up your book again.

“Exactly.” Draco’s smile was small but still prominent. It was silent again as you began flipping through the pages once more, easily letting yourself fall into the plot and dramatics of the story.

“Love,” Draco shook your leg lightly, “Do you have any extra parchment paper?”

You raised your hand to shoo him away, “In my bag, help yourself and let me read, I think they are finally about to kiss.” Draco shook his head, clearly amused. 

Entranced in your book, you didn’t notice Draco’s hands shaking. A piece of parchment held tightly in his fingers.

“What is this?” Draco’s voice was strained. 

Peeking up from your book, your eyes moved from Draco’s hand to his distraught and angered face. “It’s,” you stuttered and quickly sat up. “Draco,”

“What. Is. It. Y/N.” Now, Draco was standing. Eyes skimming through the words over and over again. 

“Honey,” you swallowed. “It’s really nothing.”

“It doesn’t look like nothing, Y/N.” Draco said, his voice a painful mixture of hurt and outrage. 

“Truly, it really is nothing. I was going to tell you about it-”

“But you didn’t.” Draco seemed to snap.

“But I forgot.” You shook your head. 

You knew exactly why Draco was upset. By your parchment, crumpled up in the corner of your book bag, was an old love letter. 

Before, as you were walking to Care of Magical Creatures, an old boyfriend, William Franklin, of yours had stopped you. Your fourth year boyfriend greeted you with a smile and you smiled back as your break up was neither malicious nor horrid. The two of you had split up merely because you fell out of love and decided to remain friends instead. William was exactly that, just a friend. And when he approached you, he teased you, handing you the old love letter you had written him in fourth year. It was a pathetic letter, one a lovesick little school girl would have written, but it was enough for Draco. 

William and you laughed it off, you called him a “Nasty bastard,” 

And he returned the insult as well as whistling and said “Malfoy’s got his hands full, poor bloke.”  

However, Draco did not see this as two friends reminiscing on cringey memories, he saw it as the girl he loved, effortlessly, proclaiming her love for someone who wasn’t him.

“Darling,” you sighed, standing and brushing off your skirt, “Please, don’t be upset.”

“Don’t be upset?” Draco asked incredulously.

“Yes.” 

You moved slowly around the table, knowing Draco needs both space and company when the two of you fight. Everyone in the world knows, couples fight. All healthy couples, all loving relationships are not without some mode of arguments, bickering or debates. However, you wouldn’t really call your arguments with Draco even arguments but rather heavily emotional conversations. It took a while to understand Draco’s argument style, sometimes he was harsh and critical, others he was quiet and sarcastic. But you knew Draco’s defensiveness stemmed from the demons of fear and self-doubt.

“This is ridiculous, what the fuck is this, Y/N?” Draco shouted. The veins in his neck began to bulge and you could see his eyes narrow, his heart pumping. You didn’t flinch. 

“Let me explain, yeah?” your voice steady. Your arm raised slowly to take the letter from him, but Draco pulled back harshly. “It is an old love letter.”

“I can see that it is a love letter.” 

“No,” you shook your head again, “It is an old love letter. Old.”

“And yet you still have it?”

“Yes-”

“So you’re off just dreaming about some other fucking wanker then? You keep this to remember your old better boyfriends?”

You took a deep breath, “No. I don’t. William-”

“Don’t say his bloody name.” Draco groaned. You stopped to hold in laughter, although it seemed rather insensitive, you couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity. 

“Draco,” you clenched your jaw to stop yourself from laughing, “he gave me it during class. I had wrote it back in fourth year. Darling, have you read it? It’s mortifying, not romantic.”

“But-”

“But nothing. There is nothing to it. No secrets, no affair, no sneaking around. Nothing. Just two old, old, old friends laughing about something extremely embarrassing.” 

As you said that, you slipped in the small space between the table and him. You gingerly took the parchment out of his hands and placed it on the table. Draco watched as you put your hand on his chest and another on the side of his abdomen and sighed.

“Really?”

“Really.” you confirmed. “I am, solely, without a single doubt, yours.”

“Are you sure?” Draco’s voice was timid, quiet.

“Draco,” you looked up at him. His pale eyes looked into yours, no longer narrowed or angry but looked almost in defeat. 

“You are my one and my only. No one else has made me laugh like you do or made me feel loved like you do. You are, and I say this with nothing but honesty, the love of my life. Nothing will change that.” You stood there for a while in silence, feeling the slowing heart beat of your boyfriend.

“I’m sorry.” Draco whispered, eyes closed.

“Don’t be,” you smiled, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “If I were to find an old love letter from one of your ex-girlfriends, I’m sure I’d go mad.”

“May I ask you something?” Draco mumbled, he leaned forward so his chin was on the crown of your head.

“Anything.”

“Do... do you... does it bother you that I haven’t had any girlfriends before you?”

“No,” you replied, “Does it bother you that I’ve had boyfriends before you?”

Draco stayed silent as his response. You bit your lip and shuffled closer to Draco, not wanting to upset him more.

“My love, look at me,” you said quietly. “There is no one else but you. All the past boyfriends were... childish crushes, nothing more, nothing less.”

“Then why did you and William break up?”

“William and I fell out of love, simple as that.”

Anxiety. Draco felt anxiety. He attempted to push it down, to swallow it, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t decide whether to leave or to stay and bask in his insecurities. 

“Then,” Draco’s eyes flickered to yours, “How do you know that you won’t fall out of love with me?”

You were taken aback by his bluntness. Nearly speechless and fighting to find words. 

“What?”

“You wrote him a love letter-”

“It was when I was fourteen!”

“If you were that in love with him, who's to say you won’t wake up and realize that you-”

“Stop.” you said firmly. “Draco, why are you doing this?”

Your eyes looked into his, searching for anything, hoping to find the answer in the grey of his eyes. The helpless look he omitted hurt. Your body ached in sync with his. What were the words you could say? What could help him? Aid him? What simple words, complex words could you speak that would ensure Draco of your love and affections.

Your hand shifted to softly hold his. With a kiss on each of the knuckles, you answered, “On my last dying breath, on every child we have and every memory we will experience, I will love you. I am,” you paused, “So lucky to have you. So utterly happy and content. My silly boy.”

“Y/N...”

“And, I am so, so proud of you.”

“You don’t have to say that if you don’t mean it,”

You rolled your eyes jokingly, “Must you always argue with me?”

“Still-”

“Of course I am proud of you. If I could shout it from the Astronomy Tower, I would in a heartbeat.” 

Draco laughed along with you. The idea of your small body chanting and screaming to the wind that you were proud of him made him feel both embarrassed and loved.

“I would write you a thousand, a million, a billion soppy love letters. I will gladly tell you everyday how in love I am with you. If not for you, for myself.” you finished and pressed a kiss to the corner of his lips, “I find it quite amusing to see you flush when I compliment you.” “

Are you-”

“Please do not ask me if I am sure,” you laughed, “I am most sure.”

“Real-”

You interrupted Draco’s question, silencing his insecurities and pressing a long kiss to his lips. His lips were wet and nervous between yours, but he felt the way you pushed and pulled, the way your fingers gripped his shirt tightly, the way your smile imprinted onto his. He simply could not describe it. He could search every dictionary and learn every language, but he would not be able to find any definition that could explain your love. 

The only thing that could even come close to describing how you made him feel is the feeling he got when he was young, high in a tree, and touching the comforting breeze.

[lfcology]

swatches | sirius black

summary: you had loved sirius black for longer than you could remember. through two wizarding wars and a harsh time in azkaban: you were head over heels. what happens when he misunderstood your relationship? everyone lives au lowkey as it should be! 

pairing: Fem!Reader x Sirius (post books so they’re slightly older)

word count: 1.6k

warnings: misunderstandings, mention of pregnancy/getting pregnant

*

Two wars. You had survived two wars against the most powerful dark wizard ever and had no inclination to tell your longtime friend you loved him. You'd been head over heels for Sirius Black for the better part of two decades yet opted to keep your feelings to yourself – stating something about the timing not being right. But if not during a war – nay, two wars – when would the time be right? You'd been with other people, trying to get over the raven-haired beauty yet no one ever made you feel anything close to what you did with him.

He'd served years in Azkaban, convicted of some of the most heinous crimes against muggles and the reason behind his best friends death, but you knew he was innocent. Sirius Black was a lot of things but a traitor was not one of them. Now, years later, he was finally free – an innocent man to the world. Once the dark lord was defeated again, and things started to calm down, 12 Grimmauld Place wasn't needed for the order anymore so you insisted on helping Sirius clean it up.

Though you couldn't wash away the painful memories of his childhood, it didn't mean you couldn't try. Harry was old enough to live on his own now but after years apart he and Sirius wanted to catch up on lost time. The first order of business you planned was putting that horrid painting of Mrs. Black in the basement. It took a lot of spells to detach her from the wall but the relief that came across Sirius' face once she was gone was worth it. The two of you worked together tirelessly to bring brightness into the home for the first time since it was built. The Black family tree tapestry was peeled off and replaced with a fresh coat of white paint and a photo wall.

Photos of James, Lily, Marlene and other friends lost over the years lined the wall and memories flooded your senses. There were moments in time captured that reminded you of easier days. Your times at Hogwarts. Your summers at the Potters. You, Sirius and Remus, admired your handy work on the wall. You three had lost so much but the thankfulness you felt to still have each other was beyond you. Sirius wrapped his arm around you and pressed a kiss to your temple. Remus excused himself to spend time with Teddy, leaving you and your love alone. "Should we start clearing out some of the rooms?" You suggested despite not wanting to leave Sirius' side just yet.

He hummed in confirmation before (rather reluctantly) letting you go. The house had been empty and cold for years so in an attempt to revive it Harry, Remus, Tonks and baby Teddy were due to move in. You two started with the guest room that would become a nursery for Teddy. Magic made cleaning much easier but being around Sirius meant more time joking around than actually being productive.

"This whole bloody house smells like dirty boxes." He said with a huff and a wave of his hand to open the window.

The two of you sat for longer than you'd like to admit trying to put a crib together the muggle way. Soon you gave up and used magic, much to Sirius' dismay who insisted "it'll just be 5 more minutes". With a wave of your wand, the walls were coloured a soft sage green compared to the drab mud brown it was before. Things were finally coming together.

"Do you wonder what it's like?" Sirius asked as he set a few toys out onto the shelves.

"What what's like?" You asked from your spot at the bookshelf.

"Being a parent." He clarified.

You shrugged and put down your copy of ABCs with Merlin. "I suppose... I kind of assume I won't have kids. I'm too old now."

"Nonsense!" He replied quickly.

You raised your brows and crossed your arms. "I know you're about to mention something about Moony but shall I remind you he didn't carry the child?" You countered.

"You make it sound like you're ancient." He scoffed. "Don't rule it out, darling."

You let out a laugh and returned to your task of sorting the shelves. "It takes two to have a baby and I don't exactly have a lineup of people wanting to impregnate me.”

"I sure hope not." He said incredulously. "Now, what colour should the walls in the master room be?"

You furrowed your brows. What on earth did he mean by I sure hope not? Instead of letting yourself dwell on it later, you decided to outright ask him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He looked perplexed. "What? The colour of the master room?"

"No, no... that you sure hope there isn't people lined up for me?" You said crossing your arms a tad defensively.

Sirius, to put things simply, had a habit of being rude sometimes without realizing it. So, you were expecting a backhanded comment about your looks or a joke about how long you've been single. "Well, wouldn't exactly be the best for my odds." He said with a chuckle. "Now, the room colour." He repeated holding the swatches up.

"To hell with the swatches Sirius! What are you talking about!" You all but yelled at him. Was this a joke? Did he find out you were in love with him and decided to subtly tease you about it? How had he even figured it out? You felt yourself going into overdrive. You were going to kill Moony. He had to be the one to tell him after all!

"The swatch is for your room too so it does matter," Sirius said bewildered.

"What?"

"What?" He repeated making you huff. He could be so frustrating sometimes.

"What do you mean my room?"

"Well, it's gonna be our room." He clarified.

You were surprised if that's what you could call it. Sirius thought you were moving in? And sharing a room with him? What on earth was happening? "Sirius, I'm not living here? I thought it was just you, Harry and Moonys family?"

"What? Why? It's meant to be a family home!" He protested with a pout that reminded you of the ones he wore as a student not getting his way with Professor McGonagall.

"We don't have room for me if Teddy has his own room. He'll need one as he grows up." You explained.

"That makes no sense! We would share a room."

"Why the hell would we share a room? We're adults we can't just be dormmates like we're kids." You said and he gave you a disgruntled look. “We've been sharing beds for 20 years why does it matter now?" He rebutted and crossed his arms.

"Don't you want privacy?" You asked.

"For what? We're dating so I don't see why you're being so weird about this."

Now that shocked you.

"DATING?" You shouted and he chuckled softly as he took a step towards you. "Since bloody when?"

"Well, we've had a weird relationship for 20 years I just assumed? Two wars change people." He said and you gaped at him.

"Bloody hell Sirius." You said rubbing your temples. This was not how you expected to find out your feelings were returned. Was this his loneliness speaking? His trauma?

"I'm sorry if I overstepped in thinking that..." He said rubbing the back of his neck and losing his confidence. He became sheepish under your scrutiny. Maybe it wasn't so outlandish of him to assume that. You two did kiss and cuddle a fair bit more than the average friends. But Sirius had always been fond of physical affection with his friends and you chalked it up to that. You honestly never expected him to feel the same way you did.

"I-" You began before swallowing down in an attempt to collect your thoughts. "-You weren't wrong. I just never really thought you'd feel that way about me."

He scoffed. "I've felt that way since we were in 5th year!"

"That makes no bloody sense! You hooked up with half the damn school but didn't look at me." You scoffed back.

"Because I was trying to hide my feelings like a dumb teenage boy! It killed me seeing you all over Peter so I deflected the only way I knew how." He countered. You rolled your eyes. You and Peter had gone out twice before realizing you were better off as friends.

"You don't get to do this Sirius. You can't just say you've liked me for more than 20 damn years and not made a move." You said pointing your finger at him accusingly.

"Need I remind you I was in prison for half of it. And I just asked what colour you want our room to be." He replied with a huff.

You were silent. He wasn't wrong after all but in your overflow of emotions, you chose to place all the blame on him. "I..." You looked down. "I'm sorry. I just always thought I wasn't your type."

He took a step closer and gently held your shoulders. "It's my fault for not letting you know how utterly in love with you I am."

Hearing those words come out of his mouth shot electricity through your body. It was a euphoric feeling you could definitely get used to feeling all the time. You looked up at him and cupped his cheek softly. For the first time, you realized the way you looked at him was the same way he looked at you: with utter love and devotion. You were so worried about not letting your feelings for him spill that you didn't realize you'd been dating the man of your dreams this whole time. The man you'd longed for but thought was unattainable.

"I love you too..." You said through happy tears. "I have for so long."

"Now darling, what colour for our bedroom?" He said with a perfect smirk and a kiss to your temple.

It took two wars but you and Sirius were creating the silly little family you always dreamed of.

*

taglist: @writing-wh0re​

[xutokawa]

↬ dance with me | pt. 3

pairing: k.bokuto x fem!reader

genre(s): soulmate!au, soul-crushing angst, some fluff, childhood best friends to lovers

warnings: none, just angst

wc: 1.3k

» series masterlist

✧ updates every 1-3 days

a/n: sorry it took a little longer to update pt. 3! i was lacking some motivation but seeing so many people liking my series gave me the motivation i needed to finish pt. 3! its a big shorter than pt. 2 but packed with angst >:) hope you enjoy :D

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Bokuto tried to ignore the clench of his heart once he took in your state. He tried to ignore the urges to pull you into his arms and protect you from whatever was causing you distress. 

He shouldn’t be feeling this way. He shouldn’t be blushing anytime your hand accidentally brushed against his. There shouldn’t be butterflies fluttering in his stomach anytime you flashed your oh-so-beautiful smile at him. He shouldn’t be going out of his way to say silly things just to hear the beautiful melody of your laugh.

He can’t have feelings for you. You aren’t his soulmate, that much was made clear on the morning of your eighteenth birthday.

Bokuto didn’t understand why he felt so disappointed hearing you say you didn’t have a soulmate mark. He couldn’t explain why even though he felt sad, all he wanted to do was make you smile again.

His feelings were unexplainable, he couldn’t have feelings for his best friend.

What was even more unexplainable, however, is why he accepted Machi’s confession. Don’t get him wrong, Machi was beautiful. There wasn’t anything bad about her; she was sweet, smart, and attractive. That’s why Bokuto said yes, it had to be. No one in their right mind would turn down Machi. Of course, that’s why Bokuto agreed to take her on a date. He should be happy.

So why did it feel like his world was crumbling when he told you about Machi? Why did he feel like the scum of the earth watching you take in the information. He felt pathetic. He couldn’t even look you in the eyes. Watching you turn around in a flurry, mumbling about forgetting something in your classroom, he wanted nothing more than to run after you, tell you it was a mistake. 

The spiker pulled on his hair in frustration. Despite knowing these things, he still didn’t understand why? He has no right to feel this way. 

Chalking it up to guilt from not consulting with his best friend before accepting a confession, he pushed away his feelings, claiming it was just platonic guilt.

His confusion only grew when he realized you were avoiding him. He tried to convince himself otherwise. The spiker just assumed you were respecting the boundaries between the two of you because of Machi, letting her wait for him after practices instead of you, giving him time to catch up with Machi before classes instead of talking to you. 

You didn’t miss his longing gazes that burned through your shoulders as you brushed past him in the hallways. refusing to acknowledge him. It felt wrong ignoring Bokuto, a weird feeling settling in your chest after acting as if he never existed. But it was necessary. Your couldn’t put yourself through the pain of acting like everything was normal around Bokuto, knowing he was your soulmate, yet giving all of his firsts to her.

Laying in bed, you often find yourself wondering if Bokuto already had his first kiss, first date, first time. Unbeknownst to you, your soulmate was laying in his own bed across the street, wondering if your hair always looked so pretty in the sun.

That’s why the next time you two are alone, the tension between the two of you became unbearable. “So what do you think about Machi?” Bokuto asked, trying to clear the air of any awkwardness.

“I don’t know her that well, but she seems nice,” you tried to reply, not letting your voice betray your emotions.

Bokuto looked down. Nice, huh?

“Why did you do it?” you suddenly asked, eyes boring into the side of the spiker’s head.

“I don’t know,” Bokuto mumbled honestly. Clearing his throat, he looked up, meeting your eyes, trying to decipher the emotions running through them. “I guess I wanted to date someone. Waiting around for my soulmate seemed boring,” he lied, eyes searching a little too hard to see your reaction, still seeming to miss the flash of hurt in your eyes.

“What are you going to do when you find your soulmate?” you prodded, curiosity taking over, knowing you would be hurt by his response.

“I guess we’ll have to see,” Bokuto started, sending a knife straight into your heart, “I know our soulmates are meant to be our perfect match, but what if things between Machi and I turn out to be really good, y’know?” You wanted nothing more to escape and return home, shutting yourself away from the outside world.

Hearing there was no guarantee that Bokuto would chose you, even after finding out about being soulmates, caused something inside you to shatter. You quickly stood up from where you were sitting, walking off before the spiker could see the tears well up in your eyes.  

“Y/n, where are you going?” Bokuto’s eyes shone with concern as he started walking after you.

“It’s nothing, I just remembered something important I have to do,” you lied, trying to level your shaky voice. 

You hoped your lie would work, but you knew you couldn’t fool Bokuto. That’s why it hurt even more when he didn’t come after you, demanding you tell him what was wrong so he could cheer you up. He used to do it all the time, so why stop now? Was it because of Machi? It would make sense for him as a boyfriend to respect some boundaries. 

After all, to him, you were just his childhood friend.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

The next time you ran into Bokuto was at the library. You were there to finish up a paper, feeling stuffy in your own bedroom after being holed up attempting to avoid Bokuto. It was just your luck that the moment you went out in public, you would run into him. He hadn’t noticed you. How could you when he was sleeping soundly, mouth slightly agape as drool pooled onto the book under his head. You could help but slightly giggle at his appearance. His left splayed on the table, palm facing upwards as his right arm acted as a cushion for his head. His soulmate mark on his left wrist stood out proudly against his milky skin. 

Before you knew it, you were walking towards where he was seated. An insatiable urged filled you to match your soulmate mark to his. Perhaps you just wanted confirmation that what Akaashi said was true, perhaps you just needed reassurance that the wing spiker was actually your soulmate, wanted the justification that he was deemed to be your perfect match. 

Quietly pulling out the chair next to him, you set your belongings on the table before turning to face Bokuto. Your breathing fell in time with his as you tentatively reached out with your right hand, soulmate mark tingling. Nervously, you stared as you watched your fingers lightly brushed against his palm before slotting them between his calloused fingers. It wasn’t like you never held his hand before, but somehow, it felt different this time, more intimate. You hesitated before slowly pushing your wrist to align with his. Holding your breath, you watched as the thick lines on your wrist perfectly filled the gaps between Bokuto’s lines, filling them in to create a perfect square. The blood in your body rushed to your head as your heart pounded furiously against your chest, soulmate mark burning at this point. Tears unknowingly rolled down your cheeks.

He’s mine. Bokuto is my soulmate.

You couldn’t help but let out happy chuckle. Your happiness was quickly replaced with panic as you felt Bokuto’s hand tighten around yours. Eyes quickly darting to Bokuto’s face, you breathed out a sigh of relief as you took in his sleeping figure, knowing he was still unconscious. However, no measure of preparedness could have braced you from the heartbreak you were about to endure.

The happiness you built up knowing Bokuto truly was your soulmate was soon shattered as soon as the spiker breathed out one word in his sleep.

“Machi.”

That day you realized it didn’t matter if Bokuto was your soulmate, if he was your one true other half. He would never be yours.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

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[weelittleweasley]

what once was mine (g.w.)

prompt as requested by anon: the breakup between you and george weasley was abrupt and shocking. but after you had healed from it, you started dating an unlikely match, draco malfoy. when george hears of your new partner, he decides to send a letter, not to you, but to draco explaining some things. 

pairing: george weasley x fem!reader

warnings: mentions of death, depression, angst

word count: 4.7k

a/n: i literally took this prompt and fucking SPRINTED with it. i’m so sorry i literally RAN WITH IT and i am very very proud of it. an anon told me that they found this request on here from another blog. if anyone knows whos idea this was originally and put it out there, please let me know so i can give them the credit they deserve! 

It was after the war and George was in shambles. Fred, his brother, his twin, his business partner, his best friend, was dead. The image of his dead brother’s body haunted his mind when he closed his eyes. George refused to believe he was gone for good. Two days ago he saw him sitting on the couch of their childhood home, there was no way that he just disappeared like that. It wasn’t fair. The world was playing a cruel joke on him. Was it karma? Was he paying the price for action he didn’t know he committed? Why Fred? 

George just stood in what once was their shared flat in the kitchen, leaning over the kitchen island, head in his hands. Pain and sadness possessed his chest as he tried to not cry for surely the hundredth time that day. Crying wasn’t helping him; it was just making him more sad. George sat up and took a look around their flat, Fred’s things still untouched from the last time he was in the flat. George was afraid to move it, thinking that Fred put those things in those places for a reason and if George touched them or moved them, it would disrupt something. He wished he could freeze time and look at the apartment as it was in this moment, Fred and his thing’s in the apartment, sprawled about the couch and table. A picture of Fred and George in front of the joke shoppe when it first opened, both hugging each other and smiling. All of their dreams came true that day. If he only knew it would be stripped from them a few years later. What a cruel, cruel world. 

His thoughts were interrupted when there were three light knocks on the door. “Georgie? It’s me...please let me in,” your sweet voice called from outside. George’s heart leaped at the sound of your voice and his eyes filled with tears. He knew what he had to do, but he didn’t want to do it. He didn’t have the strength to do it. 

With a sigh, he walked to the door and opened it up to reveal you there, eyes soft when they looked at George. Your heart broke at the sight of George. He was destroyed. “Darling,” you whisper as you look at him. George just gives you a sad smile before motioning for you to come in. 

As George closed the door, you notice that the apartment hadn’t changed one bit since he left it last. You sigh, knowing George too well. “I’m going to move back home for a while to live with Mum and Dad and my siblings for a while. We all need each other right now,” George rubs his face as your heart shatters. You knew how much having his own place, running the joke shoppe, and living the life he planned meant to him. Now since his world has shattered, his dreams had to be paused. 

“Of course,” you shake your head, understanding completely. “And you know you can stay with me if you want as well. My door is always open for you, George.” George’s heart breaks at your words as he gulps, trying to force his tears away. “I want you to take care of yourself...I love you, George. I always have and I always will.”

George takes a deep breath in and closes his eyes, rubbing his face before running his hands through his hair. “(Y/N), we should talk about all of this,” George tries to start. There was no easy way to word this. There was no easy way to do this. There was no way that George could do this and keep you in his life. It was one or the other. 

When George says this, your heart immediately sinks. Those words strung together only meant one thing and you weren’t ready for that. Even though George was going through the unimaginable, you were also suffering. You lost family and friends of your own and George was the only stable thing in your life right now. It was selfish, but right now, you need George to help you through this and you knew he needed you too. This was all true. “George, please, don’t,” you speak, voice cracking, tears filling your eyes.

The sight of you made George feel weak. He turned away to not look at his love crying. This all was so painful. “We need to break up. We both need to take time for ourselves. To heal,” George tries to rationalize with you. You let a sob escape your lips as you cover your mouth to muffle them. George sneaks a look at you and he instantly hates what he said. Your eyes were flooded with tears as they spilled over and streamed down your cheeks. “I am damaged goods right now. I can’t let that effect you.”

“I want to be there for you,” you whisper to George. “I want to help you through this. I want to be someone that you can rely on like you have all these years. Why are you letting me go now when we need each other most?” you grab his hands, holding them close to your heart. George steps closer to you, pressing his body into yours and you cry into his chest. He wraps his arms around you tightly, as if to not let you go when that’s exactly what he was doing. 

George sniffles, “Because I don’t want you to see me enter a dark place. I know it’s bound to happen. But I don’t want you to see me like that. I’m scared that once you do, that’s all you’ll see me as.”

You look up at the tall man. He had grown up before your eyes. George always had a childlike mysticism and a young heart. But this war made him realize that he wasn’t invincible. He wasn’t a student at Hogwarts like he was years prior. George was a man. “I will never think of you like that. I will always think of you as the love of my life,” you tell him as you brush away George’s tears, him leaning into your touch. “But I understand if you need time. If that’s what you need, I respect your wishes.”

The two of you had let each other go and that was the icing on the cake. You didn’t hold back anymore. You let the sob rake through your body, shaking you as George held onto you tightly, crying silently as the two of you held onto each other for dear life. Your face was hot with tears and your stomach felt this sick. This was never your plan. You had such big plans. George had promised marriage months ago after the war was over. He had promised to whisk you away from your normal life and give you a life you had dreamed of. George wanted to take you around the world, showing you the beauty of it. But those plans were now empty promises. Hollow shells of what could have been. 

George looks at you, pulling your face in his hands. “We will be alright. I promise you,” he speaks passionately. “If we can survive a war, we can survive this.” You breathe in jagged breaths. “You are going to live a life that is much better than I could have ever given you.”

“Don’t you dare say that,” you sob.

George shakes his head, “I want you to find someone who can give you the world. I have no doubt that you will find that person and live a very happy life.”

Pushing his hands away from your face lightly, you speak, “No matter who I find, I will never love them like I love you.” George’s heart breaks. “I will never love or care for someone as fiercely as I do for you, George Weasley. That will never change. I will never stop loving you.”

“And I will never stop loving you,” George repeats, pressing your foreheads together. “You will always be mine.”

“And you will always be mine,” you promise him.

-----------

A year had past and much had changed.

You had a job now as a Healer, taking care of the sick and hurt. Your job let you help people like you’ve always wanted. It was stressful, but the amount of joy it brought you was immeasurable. Your job allowed you to live comfortably in a new flat in the heart of London, overlooking the busy city. 

The biggest change was who came into your life. After you and George’s split, you spent a lot of your time as a single woman, six months, focusing on your career and personal goals. You worked hard and most times, worked to distract yourself from the fact that you missed George Weasley something fierce. But as you distracted yourself, you didn’t expect to meet someone new. Rather, re-meet someone.

Seeing Draco Malfoy again was like meeting a whole new person. Draco had turned over a new leaf completely. He was kinder and more gentle. He claimed to have seen the error of his ways when he was a teenager in Hogwarts and had sworn to be a better person after the war when he saw how much hurt and pain his family had put others in. Draco now worked as a Healer like you did at St. Mungo’s. 

What you didn’t expect most of all was to fall in love with Draco. It took you both a while to say something to the other in fear that the other person felt differently. But after a long shift at work and a glass of wine, you both had confessed your feelings to the other. From that moment on, you and Draco’s relationship progressed quickly. Within weeks, you and Draco lived in a new flat, bigger and better than your last in a beautiful part of London. Draco spoiled you tremendously with material things and beautiful vacations. When you had told Draco your dream was to travel the world, he had booked flights everywhere. Throughout Europe to America to Asia, everywhere, you just say the word. Life felt like a dream. Draco gave you everything that you could ever ask for; love, stability, and happiness. 

You loved Draco immensely; it hurt your heart how you loved him. However, there was still a piece of your heart that belonged to that red headed boy. You thought of George Weasley often. How was he? Was he better? Is he happy now? Did he find someone new? Did he make them happy? Did they make him happy? But before you got sentimental, you often cast those thoughts from your mind. 

After another six months of dating Draco, you found yourself wearing a large diamond ring on your left ring finger. You were engaged. Draco had done it when you were in Paris on vacation. You told him you didn’t want a huge romantic gesture, but that still didn’t stop Draco. You were on a park in a small park, but down the path, there were small lights in trees, a small speaker that played your favorite song, and rose petals everywhere that spelt out, Marry Me. You said yes before Draco could even say anything, jumping on him, covering his face in kisses. You were getting married to your love. 

The news of your engagement spread very quickly. You wanted everyone to know that you were happy and in love with Draco. Not to mention, you wanted to get married right away. There was no time to waste. Why wait if you were so certain that you both loved each other and wanted to spend eternity together?

Draco laughed as you happily wrote and send out save the dates to your family and friends. “Darling,” he chuckled. “We’ve been engaged for two weeks! You’re sending out invitations already?” 

He sat next to you on the couch, placing a chaste kiss to your cheek. “It’s not an invitation, just a save the date,” you roll your eyes. “Invitations are being send out in another week,” you speak, making Draco laugh. “I just don’t want to waste time. I want to get our lives started as husband and wife as soon as possible.”

“That sounds perfect to me,” he smiles as you kiss his lips gently. 

You continue to seal envelopes and send out save the dates to everyone. And by everyone, you meant everyone.

--------

Molly Weasley stood in the kitchen, cooking an early dinner for her family as the rest of the Weasley family was scattered throughout the house. Ron and Ginny argued over quidditch as they usually did on nights like this, Harry laughing as he watched his best friend and new wife arguing over the beloved sport. Hermione helped Molly cut vegetables in the kitchen while George and Arthur fixed a leak in the sink upstairs. 

Sounds of cacophony filled the house, but halted when an owl flew through the window, dropping an envelope in Molly Weasley’s house. “What’s that?” Ron asked. 

“Dunno,” said Molly. “It’s addressed to all of us.” She shows her family the ivory envelope that has Weasley Family written in cursive. Molly opens up the message and starts to read it out to herself. “Oh my stars!”

Hermione looks over Molly’s shoulder and reads the letter and gasps, “She’s getting married!” Hermione giggles as she looks to Molly who beams.

“Hello? Who is getting married? Would you mind sharing?” Ron asks, not liking being left out of the merriment. Molly hands him the invitation as Ron reads it out to the rest of the group. “Dear Weasley Family and Potter,” Ron laughs as Harry rolls his eyes. “Please save the date. On the fourteenth of May at 6pm sharp, join us for the wedding of (Y/N) (Y/L/N) and Draco Malfoy.” Everyone’s eyes widen when Ron finished reading. “Bloody hell.”

Ginny looks to Harry, “I didn’t that their relationship was that serious.” Harry shrugs, not knowing the answer either. When Draco told Harry that you two were seeing other, he didn’t think much of it. No reflection on either of you, but Harry assumed that you would always find your way back to George.

Ron scoffs, “You didn’t think it was that serious? I didn’t know they were together!” Hermione rolls her eyes. “You knew?! You didn’t tell me!”

Hermione defends herself, “What do you mean? We had them over for dinner a few months ago! What did you think they were? Just friends living together?”

Ron rolls his eyes and leans back in his chair, knowing that he was in the wrong. “Well, that’s beside the point. I’m glad they’re happy. They deserve it after everything they have been though.”

“Agreed. A wedding! How exciting!” Hermione gushes as Molly smiles beside her.

“Whose getting married?” George’s voice calls out as he walks down the stairs, Arthur not far behind. 

Everyone freezes when they see George, not knowing who should break the news that the girl he was in love with months ago was getting married. Ron immediately leaves the room, not wanting anything to do with the situation, Harry following suit. Molly, Ginny, and Hermione all look at each other, silently deciding who should tell him. “Um,” Ginny starts. “We received a letter. That, um, Draco Malfoy is getting married.”

George nods his head, “That’s good news. I hope the bloke is well. Who is the poor gal getting married to him?”

Ginny gulps and looks to her mother to do the hard part. Molly sighs and looks at her son. “Draco is marrying (Y/N), George. They’re getting married on the 14th of May,” Molly hands him the invitation that rests on the coffee table.

George’s heart sinks to his stomach and his face goes pale. There was no way that this was happening. Sure, you two had broken up a while back, but that didn’t mean that George was over you. George missed you with every passing moment, his heart yearning for you, your gaze, your touch. He read the invite feverishly, running his fingers over what was clearly your penmanship. “May 14th? That’s in two weeks,” he looks to his mother who looks at him sadly. George looks back at the invite. “And she invited all of us? She invited me?” 

Everyone just looks at each other, not knowing what to say. Ginny sighs, “I’m so sorry, Georgie.”

He nods his head, “Yeah, me too. Excuse me.” George drops the invitation and walks up the stairs to his room. It was at times like this where he wished Fred was here to comfort him. Fred would know exactly what to say or what to do. But Fred wasn’t here. 

George laid on his bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering how you could fall in love so fast and get married in the blink of an eye. You and George were together for four years. You and Draco were together for six months. He didn’t know you like George did. He didn’t know you to the extent that George did. George knew everything about you; what you loved, what you hated, what made you tick, what kept you up at night. And that’s when it hit him.

George sprung from his bed and to his desk, grabbing a piece of parchment and his quill and began.

----------

Draco sat next to you in bed as you read quietly to yourselves when there was a tap at the window in the next room. “I’ll get it, love,” Draco said, rising from the bed. You smiled at your fiancee as he left the room to check on what was going on.

In the living room, an owl perched on the window sill with a letter in his mouth. “Thank you,” Draco smiled at the owl as it shook its head before flying away. Draco looks at the letter and sees his name on the red envelope. Draco slowly opened the envelope to see a folded up piece of parchment. As he unfolded it, he began to read the contents of the letter.

Malfoy,

First off, I would like to offer my congratulations to you on your engagement to (Y/N). I can only imagine that you two are scrambling to get the wedding ready for the next week. But enjoy it, cause you only have one wedding day.

I know that my timing is off, but I decided I better do it now rather than never do it at all. It’s odd, I know, but this will not only help me get her out of my mind, but help you when you need it most. 

(Y/N) is the most special woman in the world. I’m sure you know that, but in case you forgot, I’m here to remind you that you have the best woman who will soon be your wife. Something I dreamed of doing one day. 

That being said, your time with her has been short in comparison to the times that we shared and here are some things that I have learned about her that I thought I should share. 

When she is upset, give her space. She needs time to breathe and be with her thoughts before she tells you about them. Just give her time and space and she’ll eventually come around to you and ask you for your company. When she does, make sure you have a hot cup of tea ready and a blanket. She likes to cuddle and needs something warm. Listen to what she says and promise that you’ll be there for her. After you two talk, she’ll probably ask to watch a movie of some kind. Put on a romantic movie. She’ll tell you she doesn’t like them, but she does. She has a couple of favorites, too.

When she is angry, let her take it out. If she keeps in all bundled in, she’ll explode one day without knowing it. Tell her it’s okay to scream or yell or punch a pillow. She’ll calm down after a few minutes and take a nap. Make sure you put socks on her feet because they usually get cold.

(Y/N) doesn’t like it when she’s alone, so if you are leaving for a trip, make sure she has a companion that can check up on her or hang out with her. If you’re gone on a trip, bring her back one of those cheap keychains. She collects them. She’ll like it. Especially if it has her name on it, too.

(Y/N) loves black tea and green tea. She takes the black with milk and honey and the green tea plain. Don’t let her drink more than two cups of coffee a day or else she gets too wired. Her favorite flavour of ice cream is mint chocolate chip, but she won’t reject any flavour. 

If you go to the beach, stay until sundown. She likes to watch the sunset fade into the horizon and wrap herself in the blanket. It’s a tradition she and her father used to do when she was a child. She loves the beach, but hates the sand. Strange, I know, but I always thought it was charming.

She usually forget to put a new roll of toilet paper on the hanger when the other is finished, so be mindful of that. It’ll drive you mad after a few months, but you’ll get used to it. And she also has a favorite brand of body wash. It smells of rose and vanilla and you can only get it at one shoppe in the city. I forget the brand name, but it comes in purple packaging. Buy her that, she runs out of it often.

Dance with her. Please. She always complained that I never slow danced with her enough. I was always too silly for her. But she loves to slow dance. Put on the radio and dance with her. It doesn’t matter where you are. But dance with her. I don’t care who is watching. Neither does she. Just dance with her and make her feel like you are the only one watching her. 

I should have told her that I loved her more. I told her every day, but even that wasn’t enough. Tell her every moment that you can, even if it annoys her. Make her feel loved. Let her know she is loved. Because, Godric, she deserves to be loved. She is brilliant. She is the moon, the star, and the whole damned sky. And you better love her better than I have ever loved her. Or else she’ll slip through your fingertips and you won’t even notice until she’s gone.

I don’t want to lie and say that I am happy about your engagement, but I will be happy if she’s happy. Please treat her the way she deserves to be treated. Love her with every fiber, every cell within you. And, for the love of Godric, don’t let her go like I did.

I don’t know if I’ll be in attendance to the wedding, but if I don’t show up, tell her that she looks beautiful for me. I know she will. Even if I am there, tell her is beautiful. Tell her she is beautiful each time someone else says it. It’s her special day. 

Best of luck to the both of you. I wish you every happiness together and I hope you live long lives together. Take care of the girl who used to be mine. 

Warmly,

George Weasley

As Draco finishes reading the letter, he isn’t angry. He isn’t sad. He is happy to know that there is someone else out there who wants the absolute best for his future wife. Draco smiles at the letter and sighs, “Thank you, George. I’ll do my best.” Draco then folds the letter and tucks it away in his pocket. Draco thinks to himself about how hard it must have been for George when he heard the news of Draco and (Y/N)’s engagement, but he dismisses the thought after realizing that (Y/N) was probably wondering where he was.

Draco walks back into the bedroom and you look at your future husband with a smile. “Was it an owl?” you ask as Draco nods. “From who?”

Draco smiles, “An old friend. Wishing us lots of love and luck in our marriage.”

“How kind,” you beam. “Are they coming to the wedding?”

“I don’t know,” Draco shrugs, genuinely not knowing the answer. You furrow your brows, confused at the answer given. “It’s not important though, darling. I’ve taken care of it.” 

You nod your head gently and close your book as you watch Draco change for bed. He takes off his pants shirt before walking into the bathroom, closing the door behind him as you hear the shower run. 

Impulsively, you spring to your feet and grab Draco’s pants, digging into the contents of his pockets, knowing your fiancee well enough to know that he stuffed the letter in there. In his right pocket, there is parchment and you pull it out, feverishly pulling out the letter and opening it up. 

You scan the paper and you feel your heart sink as you recognize the writing. “George,” you whisper as tears fill your eyes. You read his words and your mind reels and goes fuzzy. It was obvious that George still loved you after all this time. It was evident in your words. Every word written with care and love that radiated into your soul. “My George,” you whisper as a tear rolls down your cheek as you stroke the paper. 

The sound of the shower stops and you shove the letter back into Draco’s pants, springing back into the bed, and wiping away your tears as if nothing happened. Draco emerges with fresh pajamas and wet hair. “Bedtime?” Draco asks with a soft smile. You nod gently as Draco climbs into bed with you. “I love you, darling. So much. I can’t wait to be yours and you to be mine forever.”

“I love you, too, Draco.”

Draco smiles and turns off the light, wrapping his arm around your waist as you sit in bed, thinking of George’s words on that parchment. He still loved you. You were engaged to another. Your heart loved Draco. But your heart belonged to George. Was that possible? It had to be, this feeling in your chest when you thought of George just confirmed it.

You think of that last night with George when you broke up, crying in his arms. His words haunting you, “I will never stop loving you. You will always be mine.” How his words rang true. You did belong to him. If only things were different. You could run to George and tell him you still loved him. That the life you once had you wanted back. How you were still his and always would be until death do you both part. 

But the thought of leaving Draco made your stomach churn and your heart ache. Draco found you and picked you up when you were low and showed you a second chance at love. He gave you everything you wanted. Love, a home, stability, kindness, and strength. Draco was your everything. Your sun and moon. And you knew it rang true for him. The ring on your finger proved it.

With a sigh, you close your eyes and tune out your thoughts. What was in the past was in the past. It was over. It was time for something new and that something new was Draco. Even though you loved Draco, a piece of you would be attached to George. And that would be enough.

On the other hand, George laid in his bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering if Draco even read his letter. If he showed it to you. Or if he kept it a secret. What was happening in London? All questions George would never get the answer to. Sighing, George spoke to himself, “It’s over, George. It’s done. The battle has been fought and you lost. Time to move on.”

And so you both did. 

[modgirlyreposts-revamped]

Ok so this is actually probably gonna be several asks ‘cause we split again today and I’m mentally and physically exhausted /lh

Anyways I’m gonna start by explaining this rewritten William Afton.

William is not just a heartless killer with no reasoning or motivation. He had a pretty fucked up childhood that was a big factor in how he is during the main story.

He wasn’t abused, not outright- though as his life went on his parents both certainly reflected their trauma onto their kids, pushing upon them a cycle of generational abuse and trauma- rather, the trauma he faced was more regarding death.

William was the second of six children. His older sister Timothy was seven years older than him, younger sister Eliza was five years younger, brother Calvin was six years younger, Margaret ten years younger and Maxton eleven. However, only he, Calvin, Maxton and Margaret- or Peggy- survived to adulthood. Eliza suffered “sudden infant death syndrome” at 6 months old, and 9 months later Calvin was born. Timothy died in an accident at seventeen, and 9 months later came Peggy. Then their parents divorced and from another father came Maxton and a new marriage with him.

William’s mother Helen was obsessive, and reacted to every tragedy with another addition to the family in a desperate reach for control, particularly controlling who lived and died. This is something William internalized as he grew up. The idea of having control over who lived and who died was something that remained out of reach to Helen, but that William eventually attempted to truly grasp with remnant.

Spring Bonnie was based on a toy given to Eliza when she was born. A stuffed yellow rabbit with a white top hat and bow tie that William held onto.

The day Michael died, that stuffed bunny- which had a name tag dubbing it “bappa”, as Eliza had called it- was found at a local children’s hospital as an anonymous donation for any young patients who needed “a friend.”

William was not the most social person, but later in life began to pretend to be to earn people’s trust so no one he didn’t want to have a reason to dislike him would.

Henry, on the other hand, was the 16 year old clinically depressed autistic recluse who wore the same 3 turtlenecks every day, who no one really talked to. He spent all his time with his nose buried in a book and got all C’s except for his robotics class, which he had an A+ in.

But William didn’t want Henry to have a reason to dislike him, so he was polite to him until they actually began to hit it off in college.

Pursuing similar career goals, they went to the same town together after college, where they started Fredbear’s Family Diner in the 1970s. Henry married a woman named Melissa and had twins, and William married a woman named Amalie and had three children with her.

While all seemed to be going well- with the restaurant off the ground, they began to make promotional TV cartoons which later became a series itself that introduced characters who later became animatronics, and both seemed to have exactly what they wanted, William- just like Helen- was obsessive and needed control. He wanted to control who would live and who would die.

Soo he abused, kidnapped, violently murdered, and tortured a bunch of children, as you do. His actual body count is only about six as opposed to the like thirteen in canon, because I think not overdoing it is important to not nullifying the horror of his actions lmao

This is actually very similar to my William's motivations, even though he's not that important in my AU (except for my Good Father!William AU but that's a different story-)

While his parents did care for him, being an only child, they also had high expectations for him which stressed him out, and he gradually became just a terrible person and was an expert at manipulating others, which is how he had so many connections and created Fazbear Entertainment, despite his shady past with petty crimes.

He wanted control, which is why he had Elizabeth and decided to kidnap Michael. When Michael started to rebel in his early teen years William got frustrated that he wasn't turning out to be how he wanted, which was exactly like him, so he mostly neglected him and paid more attention to Elizabeth as a result because she was too young to really understand just what was going on.

He killed Charlie after Elizabeth's death, because the way he saw it if he couldn't be happy why should Henry be able to, and caused Henry a lot more pain because he already lost Michael to him years ago.

He only killed the FNaF 1 kids himself, any other deaths being caused by the animatronics so they could be easily written off as freak accidents, and William wouldn't be a suspect.

The worse part is that he doesn't regret anything, and still believes he was in the right for just about everything, even as he's being tortured by Cassidy in his own personal hell in UCN

[pinkchanelbag]

it’s okay; stay

armin arlert x reader

wc: 4k

cw: angst, comfort, pain, childhood flashbacks? armin getting beat up </3 not proofread

note: yes i cried while writing this.

do you remember the days when things were so hopeless that not even he had a way out of it, and all he could do was offer eyes as big as sky-blue plates, and a hand under the table to hold, to anchor you to something when you so badly wanted to drift away. to anchor you to him. 

this was how it was, and this was how it continued to be, and as the feeling of impermanence faded, as your bunk bed in the girls’ quarters filled with more personal belongings and you subconsciously scooted backwards from the edge of your seat, stopped standing on tip-toes, you sunk back into your life, and somehow, into armin. as you found more ways to manipulate your daily routine to fit in more time alone with him, you found that you were your most lucid when you were staring down at a pale palm that you held in both hands, tracing the countless ravines of warm skin and looking for patterns or shapes or words. sometimes his fingers twitched when it tickled, and sometimes you’d tell him what word you had spelled out into his flesh and he’d laugh before continuing reading whatever book his nose was so attached to. 

the memories move too fast and are too painful. you try your best to maneuver away from the ones that most ache, but each path seems worse than the last. 

you’d met him when you were wearing a pale blue dress that stopped at your knees. you only remember this fact because you remember the way it felt as you gripped the fabric close to keep yourself from crying out at the sight of your older brother and his friends kicking at a smaller boy behind a house. you were hidden away after a prompt threat from your brother to go unseen and unheard, because if you interfered or got the bullies caught, he’d make your life an indefinite hell. he’d done it before and he’d do it again, so you stayed out across the road in an alley, your dress turning into a wrinkled wreck between your tiny fingers. there you stayed until the toothless brainless boys had their fill, backing up and shoving shoulders in kudos before running off in a hurry. characteristically, your brother had forgotten to come back for you. you didn’t care. you hated his presence. 

a tiny blond heap sputtered and coughed on the floor some distance away. tears sprung to your eyes. you didn’t care. you hated him. 

the lump on the floor moaned and rolled over in an attempt at a first step to mobility, which was to no avail as he—the young boy whose scuffed face you now saw—stared up at the sky. it lasted all of two seconds before he gasped and scrambled onto all fours, injuries forgotten as his eyes whipped around the scene of the assault. they landed on something and scurried to it. you narrowed your eyes and watched him dust off a half-wrecked book, sighing and pressing it to his chest. a tear curled over your eye and fell down your chubby cheek. he was a good boy. he laid back against the back of the tall house, and you tucked yourself further down the alley to avoid sighting, but you still watched him, feeling like you’d discovered something sort of very precious. 

the next time you saw him was when your mom sent you to the market with a basket and a few coins to buy vegetables for dinner. you were happy to be allowed on your own without the “protection” of your deceptively polite brother. you were confident and unbothered as you took your time to stroll through the vendors. and then you saw him, and some part of you short-circuited. somewhere on the other side of your brain, something launched into overdrive, and you suppose this is what brought your feet forward to stand before him as he eyed a booth of crystals. 

“what are you looking at?” you asked dumbly. your voice and presence scared him out of his skin for a good few moments and he froze for a good five seconds before stammering his answer. 

“um, i’m looking at, at crystals,” he said. you smiled a little, deciding you liked how he talked. you looked at the table before you, tilting your head curiously. 

“why would someone pay for these? couldn’t you just go into the forest and find them yourself?” your tone was incredulous, but when you looked back at armin, he was bewildered to see genuine wonder in your eyes, expecting an answer. an answer from him. 

he fiddled with his fingers. “well, these are different, i think. they come from all over the walls and they all have different names and stuff. you wouldn’t be able to find them around here, i think.” 

you nodded in comprehension, again looking at the assortment before bending down and pointing to a particular one. 

“i like this one,” you said, suddenly sheepish. you clasped your hands to the handle of your basket and looked down. 

“that’s called amethyst,” he said shyly, eyeing the deep purple rock with white flecks as it sparkled in the sun. his eyes shifted to you and stayed there for a few seconds before he decided what to do next. 

“i’m armin,” he said, and you looked up to see a small hand extended to you. your momentary hesitation had him stuttering, “um, my grandpa said it’s polite to shake someone’s hand when you meet them.” 

you really smiled this time, and armin smiled with you. you put your hand in his. 

“i’m y/n.” 

even at your fresh age, you knew that what you found in armin was different. even when he introduced you to his friends eren and mikasa, who welcomed you without reserve and taught you about love different from that which was familial, compulsory, you knew armin was like no other. you were too young to make sense of it, but it felt like in some way you’d been friends all along but hadn’t met yet; as though it was only a matter of time before you met or maybe you’d met before and forgotten. a ridiculous notion, but you were young, and happy. 

things were wonderful. 

until, weeks later, as you trudged behind your brother and a few of his friends, who were bored and lazy for the day, you smacked into your brother’s back by accident, not having been looking in front of you. he barely acknowledged you, instead bumping you off his shoulders as he and his friends pointed at a grounded nest of baby birds. interested, you stood on tip toes and peaked over your brother’s shoulder. 

“y/n?” 

you froze at the soft, questioning voice that called on you from your left. of course it was him, this you didn’t need to look to confirm, but you did anyway. his face sunk in a way that tore at your heart, but still he looked at you with questioning eyes that fell between you and the bullies you now stood amidst, asking for an explanation. 

you couldn’t give him one, but you mouthed an “i’m sorry” before armin gathered his wits and silently backtracked his steps before the boys saw him and found something to satiate their boredom. 

you didn’t see him for ages, half because he was never around and half because of the shame that paralyzed you. how selfish of you, to accept armin’s friendship when you’d been a person who enabled his suffering? 

it wasn’t until almost an entire week later that you saw eren by the river near the market. he sat with a bored expression on his face, head thrown back. he was the most prickly of the trio, and even though you were sure he wouldn’t be pleasant to you, your feet sped towards him.

“eren!” you called, but when his eyes met yours, they turned cold, and immediately he got up to leave. “please wait! please! let me explain!” you stopped a few feet away from him, and he looked over his shoulder at you, and the look on his face made you crumble slightly. 

“there’s nothing to explain. if those are the type of the people you hang around, then we don’t want anything to do with you. do you even know half the things they’ve done to armin?” he sneered. 

“i do,” you said quietly. eren scoffed, just about ready to leave, until he heard the next bit. “…because they do it to me too.” 

from there on, really, it was easy to win back eren’s loyalty, as he had barred you from seeing armin until you put some sort of stop to the abuse he suffered at the hands of your brother. he had said that it wasn’t enough that you were helpless, and that you needed to find a way to help armin out of this, because you’re in a unique position to help and because that’s what friends do. and he was right, and you did it.

on one of those evenings when your brother’s irritating snores didn’t fill the room you shared, you sat upright in bed until the boy himself attempted to sneak back through the window—he was about as subtle as a loosed horse. 

he almost jumped out of his skin when he saw your moon-illuminated figure. 

“what are you doing!?” he whisper-yelled. your voice was small enough that you didn’t need to whisper, and this way, you were able to fein strength in your voice. part of you thought about how maybe the power was there all along, but your passive nature put not use to it until you made your own friends. armin introduced you to courage, you realized, and you couldn’t help but smile in the dark. 

“i know that you sneak out to wreck the farm fences next to jonah’s house,” you said. even in the dark, you could sense his hackles rise.

“so?” he replied, daring you to say the words he thought you might.

“pa said if you did one more bad thing he’d send you to uncle’s ranch to work for the entire summer.” you saw his shoulders tense at perhaps the only thing that scared him. 

“there’s something i want from you…” 

“and?” he said, seething. 

“…and if you don’t do it, i’ll tell mama and pa all the bad things you’ve been doing.”

—

“this really isn’t necessary…” his soft voice spoke, and your heart ached a little at hearing it. eren shushed him while mikasa stood silent as usual, and you stood some distance away from them and waited. 

it wasn’t long before your brother’s gang came trudging down the path before the four of you. you could see your brother angrily muttering at one of the other boys who looked displeased. when they spotted you and the others, they made a small ruckus of shoving and incredulous sounds, but your brother had them under control in a moment before looking in front of him. 

his eyes met yours first, and you saw the hatred. for once, you didn’t care, and even returned it gracefully, hands clasped in front of you and shoulders tall. he held your gaze for only a few moments longer before conceding and looking at the trio that stood in the middle of the path. eren and mikasa stood in front of armin, but not in his field of vision, ready to defend him. but it wasn’t necessary. after a few moments, your brother shoved his hands in his pockets and nodded begrudgingly, aggressively, at armin, without meeting his eyes. armin’s chest seemed to deflate slightly with relief, tension in his fists gone at the sight of his bully surrendering. 

and then they left. 

and as soon as they did, armin pushed past eren and came towards you with a smile. you spoke the words that had been close to bursting for the past week, that you wanted to say a million times over to him if it meant he could believe them to be true. 

“i’m sorry,” you blurted, and armin blinked in slight surpise before he made eye contact with you, now right in front of you. 

“it’s okay,” he said. the words were slow and soft as if he wanted them to materialize in the air for you to see. you couldn’t help it when your eyes teared up as you stared at his blue ones, so impossibly untainted and unnatural in their own right, different than the river or grass fields or pretty crystals or anything at all. for a moment you had a silly thought about all the crazy things armin had told you about the outside, none of them making sense and sounding so supernatural that they surely couldn’t be real, and for a moment you thought that if somehow they were real, these eyes, these impossible orbs were made from the same stuff. supernatural stuff, stuff of nonsense, and that they belonged out there and not in here. 

and then he offered you his hand, and you cleared away the mess of over-mature thinking by resolving that he was here now, and you’d be by his side while you had him. for as long as you could. 

you look upon him now. you look at supernatural eyes that peer down at mikasa, quiet, powerful mikasa, holding her back from the sound of boot hitting bone. his eyes tell her that this is what needs to happen. 

you stand close to the wall, not innocent in the eyes of the soldiers around you but not as guilty as the titan shifter who sits on the floor with blood seeping into his mouth, a disappointed captain before him. 

you haven’t been restrained—yet—because of eren’s claim that he more or less forced your hand, as he had done to everyone else when he planned his scheme. it wasn’t entirely untrue. eren told you what he hoped to do all that time ago, because he needed your help. he wouldn’t go to mikasa because of her priority for his safety nor to armin for his priority on peaceful resolve. eren knew you were neither emotionally attached to his wellbeing nor against necessary violence. you didn’t want to do it, didn’t want to act as a spy who gathered information for eren on his best means of communication, the weakest link the command for him to access, and all other needs. but eren told you he’d do it whether you joined him or not, and he wouldn’t ask anyone else, and that having a second hand to facilitate his intelligence would drastically increase his chances of seeing his plan through, therefor the chances of the survey corps making it out of this alive. 

no one has come to talk to you yet, but you know that you’ll be dealt with, and you could already predict the questions. when they ask you why you didn’t find another way, you won’t have an answer. you’re sure armin would’ve found a better way and convinced eren of it, or that mikasa would’ve never allowed him to sneak out like he did. but you’re not either of those people, and so when they ask, you won’t have an answer. 

for now, all you can do is memorize the faces and figures of your friends whom you haven’t seen in so long. you note mikasa’s hair that’s even shorter than before. the titan markings beneath armin’s eyes. eyes that you avoid desperately because they hurt to look at. they’re just as entrancing, but it’s different now. he finally made it outside the walls. and all that used to be nonsense isn’t anymore. now it’s just the way the world goes, vast and cruel and sometimes beautiful, and those blue catastrophes fit right in. 

when he stood at the door of the aircraft and didn’t wait longer than seconds, mere seconds, before he reached out a hand to take his best friend’s, the man who’d turned him into a killer. a crushing truth for you to realize, and as such you can’t even bear to think of armin’s own feelings about it. and yet, he looked him in the eyes. and yet, he took eren’s hand, and in the way only soulbound people can, he spoke words into eren’s heart that only they two could know. 

the knowledge of this alone is so much to bare that for the next night and day, you don’t dare go near them. 

almost twenty-four hours pass and still all you can do is stare ahead at food rations on the table before you. the aircraft kitchen is small and has exactly three tables lined up for seating. two soldiers sit at the table furthest from you and talk in quiet murmurs while you sit alone, unable to eat. 

the door opens and before you can even command your sluggish mind to take note of it, armin is sitting beside you. once you realize it, your whole body tenses. your head instinctually moves to look in his direction, but you stop it before it can, casting a sidelong look in his direction. there’s a book in his hand that he places on his other side. from your peripheral, he doesn’t look at you either. he stares ahead, but you can’t see his face to read what he wants. 

“i’ve given you space.” 

your entire chest tightens at the sound of his voice. he’s a man now, but somehow the soft timbre is as clear as it was so that “i’ve given you space” sounds not so very different from “i’m looking at crystals.” 

“i thought maybe that’s what you needed. but now i don’t know. now i feel like you’re just avoiding me.”

breathing becomes near impossible. you watch you own chest rise and fall heavily and wonder how you can still feel no air in your throat. you can’t look at him. you don’t dare.

“y/n.” don’t say that, you think, the first thought you’ve managed since he got the jump on you. he turns to you then, and still you don’t look. “are you avoiding me?”

you tell yourself you won’t look, won’t talk, won’t acknowledge he’s there, but as soon as he asks you the question, you feel a reply formulating. you don’t have the ability to refuse him. you’re at his mercy, even if it’ll break you. 

“i don’t know how to be around you,” you say in a choppy, breathless whisper. armin leans in to hear it, and now you can feel his breath, smelling of brown sugar and fruits from his lunch. at feeling him so close to you after so many months, you suck in your top lip as if it’ll keep you together. 

“why not?” and he’s hurt. you can hear it. all his hurt seeps out his pours and all the holes in his body so that even if you don’t look into his face, you can feel it stabbing at your heart. guilt. guilt. 

“i’ve caused you pain.” the words are too much, and your chin trembles uncontrollably. the door opens to let in two more soldiers who turn into the kitchen and begin rummaging through a drawer. you bow your head to hide the evident grief on your face. armin breathes onto your cheek and thinks and thinks. 

“eren made you do it, y/n. it wasn’t your fault.” 

you shake your head lightly. 

“‘should’ve done more.”  the two soldiers mull over their options of snacks for awhile. 

“y/n.” how you wish he’d stop saying your name. “y/n, look at me.” deviantly, you shut your eyes, stiffening your face as much as you possibly can, because you can’t hold on much longer, not when he keeps pushing you like this. not in front of other soldiers, you beg him in your mind. and maybe in a way he understands, because it’s not until the pair in the kitchen have selected a food and walked out that armin raises a hand to your chin and delicately guides your head to face him. you suck in a breath and squeeze your mouth shut to hold onto the anguish inside you, and then you’re looking at him. the first of your tears falls when you see the concerned, pained set of his brow, his soft lips downturned like a sad pup. his eyes. they burn into you. they wither the fabric of your soul. 

“y/n,” he says again, letting go of your chin. you know he can’t find words to say, because there are no words. no words for all that’s happened and all you’ve done. rather than speaking, he does something much worse. 

he reaches into your lap where your hands are clasped by the fingers in an iron grip. panic fills your features as you shake your head fearfully at him, but he doesn’t exercise mercy on you as he takes your two hands into one of his, warm and scarred and you can’t breathe. 

he pulls your hands to his own lap, and in a stroke of—all you can call it—madeness, he delicately pulls your hands apart and places one of his own on his lap, palm facing the ceiling. he settles one of your hands on his palm and nestles the other one underneath, as if guiding you to hold one of his hands with yours. immediately, you understand the words he’s delivered to your heart. your face crumbles, shoulders sag. you stare into his palm and trace shaky fingers across ridges where beneath skin lies bones. you feel each line that builds to make peculiar images and spell all kinds of words, that forms the illustration of a boy filled to the brim with pain and somehow exhuming only love. a beaten boy lying behind a house and staring into the sky, a boy whose eyes don’t really resemble anything at all because maybe they’re unearthly, an entire world unto themselves, a boy whose mere existence pains you because you can’t take his pain away and he’s far too pure to have endure so much. a good boy. 

tears drip onto your pants and take over your cheeks in silent anarchy, because you can’t take whatever it is this boy is made out of. because he offers his hand to you and still meets your eyes after everything, and because his palm spells forgiveness. 

your eyes find his, and say there in silent grief as your hands touch. his gaze is calm, peaceful, assuring. in it you see refuge. redemption. you think that maybe your soul can take it. you bare all of yourself to him in one look, but you trust him completely. 

after some time, the two soldiers remaining get up and dispose of their dishes in the sink, casting side glances at the colossal titan and the rogue soldier who hold hands on the eating table. they take their leave. 

you try to put it into words. and of course, of course there are none. 

“armin,” you breathe. you inhale sharply, because finally it comes. “oh, armin…” you sob, slowly descending into his chest. his arms come around you, and he cradles the back of your head and holds your upper body against himself. you grip his shoulders for dear life and lay your face into his neck, finally, finally, weeping. 

“i’m sorry,” you choke. your tears are hot and wet on his neck. 

“it’s okay,” he murmurs, stroking your hair. “it’s okay.” you shake your head as if to say it’s not and he runs a hand up and down your back as if to say it is. i promise it is. 

he reaches behind him to pull one of your hands off his shoulder and hold it in his own, bringing them to his chest. your close contact makes it so both your hands press against both your ribcages at once, and astonishingly, you can hear two heartbeats. 

“armin,” your body shakes in his embrace. 

he squeezes your hand hard enough to hurt, but you squeeze back just as tight. as if to say to you, stay with me, and as if to tell him, i will. i will. 

[combat-wombatus]

Crimson Snow

Pairing: Hawks (Takami Keigo) x Fem!Reader

Genre: angst :’) (a lil bit of fluff thrown in here and there)

Warnings: mentions of blood, character death. 

WC: 7.8k. am i sorry? no.

Summary: Childhood friends doesn’t always equal lovers in the future. You wished that was the case, but ever since Keigo disappeared, you found it hard to believe in love again. 

(A/N): this was. i had to write this. it wasn’t up for debate. finishing this at 4am in the morning aldksjfhajshd. spent a grant total of 2 days brainstorming & writing this fic. not proofread at all. heavily inspired by the song 小幸运 by Hebe Tien. i strongly suggest you give it a try and listen to it as you read this :p (for all my chinese speakers out there...let’s see how you deal with this heartbreak :’) so yeah. i’m actually...really really proud of this fic. i tried a new format with this, and i think i kinda like it. also i left the ending up to interpretation if you don’t read the epilogue. enjoy! 

credit for this au goes to @wafflesandkruge​

here’s the link to the music :)

The one constant in your life.

The boy who’d always been there for you, through the dark days and the cold nights, holding your hand through it all.

The one who’d held you when you broke down.

The one who’d tucked you under his wings as the skies crackled with energy, rain pouring from the heavens, and told you that no matter where you went, he’d stay with you. He’d keep you nice and dry, snuggled close to his body as he shielded you from the storm.

The one constant in your life.

He’d left quietly in the night, not stopping by to say farewell.

In his place, he’d left a lonesome letter, tucked away beneath a boulder on your special hill.

“I’ll come back for you. Wait for me, okay?”

And from within that plain white envelope, a single red feather floated out, carried on the autumn winds, drifting aimlessly.

Almost as if it were lost.

And in that moment, you felt as if you’d lost a part of yourself, a little piece of your soul.

You weren’t sure you were ever going to get it back.

Years passed. You waited. There was no sign of him

Not in the skies, not on the land, and even though you’d sometimes see him in the reflection of the water, sitting next to you as you told him about your day, he wasn’t really there either.

I won’t give up on him.

I’ll stay strong.

He told me he’d come back for me.

Against the test of time, your resolve never withered. It only grew, strong as steel, taking over the crevices in your heart where he’d left his mark.

I’ll wait for you, Kei.

But please…come back to me.

“Hey, (Y/N)!” Your friend called out enthusiastically from her position on the couch. “Come look!”

“What?” You stepped out of the kitchen, only to be greeted by a familiar face, smirking on the TV screen.

“Look at him! He’s this new hero, and he’s only 18! (Y/N)! He’s our age! Isn’t he hot?” She pointed at his flickering image. “His hero name is Hawks!” Squealing, she turned to you. “Isn’t that so cool?”

You stood in shock, the glass of water that you had been holding slipped from your fingers and shattered onto the floor. Liquid pooled around your feet, soaking your slippers, but you made no move to step aside.

“Woah! (Y/N), are you okay?” She jumped off the couch, rushing towards you. “Hey, (Y/N)? He’s cute and all but…this is a little bit much, isn’t it?” She looked at you with concern, eyebrows drawing tighter when you didn’t respond.

“(Y/N) …what’s wrong? You look like you just saw a ghost.”

Shaking yourself from your daze, you averted your eyes. “Ahh, I’m sorry. Uh…I just, I never thought I’d see him again.”

“Wait, you know him?” Your friend looked at you, surprised. “(Y/N) …did he do something to you?” She asked softly. “If he did, I don’t care how cute he is, I’m gonna kick his ass to high heaven if need be. Someone like that shouldn’t be a hero.”

You shook your head, chuckling a little. “No…no, there’s no need to do that. It’s just…it’s been a long time, and I just didn’t expect to see him.”

“Ahh. Well, step out of that puddle! Come on, let’s grab you some paper towels.”

Hey!

It’s me, (Y/N). I…I saw you on TV today. You look…different. In a good way, I suppose. You’ve bulked up a bit.

You never used to smile like that though. Not like…like you were smiling for others. Seeing you smile for the camera, well…it made me sad.

But I’m happy that you’re ok. I think it would probably be hard for you to find me, since obviously I’m not on the news. So I’ll come find you instead, yeah? What do you say we catch up sometime?

I miss you. I’m in college now. I’m doing pretty good. You’re an overachiever, aren’t you? 18 years old and you already have your own agency.

Not that I’m complaining. Thanks for making it so easy for me to find you :)

So…let’s meet up sometime, when you have time? Maybe for some coffee? I know a quaint little place. It’s not too far away from your agency, three blocks to the right, turn left, and walk to the next intersection. It’s the corner shop. You can’t miss it.

I’ll wait for you there this Saturday, okay? I’ll do my work there. You can walk in whenever you have the time.

Your chicken, (Y/N)

Saturday came faster than you could prepare yourself. You checked your reflection repeatedly in the mirror, double-guessing your outfit decisions.

What if he doesn’t like it?

Is this too formal for a coffee date?

“Hey, (Y/N)!” Your friend barged into the bathroom. “I saw all the clothes on your bed! Are you going on a date?”

“Uh…just a meeting with an old friend. To catch up,” you explained.

She looked at you suspiciously. “Old friend…is it that guy on TV? Hawks?”

You grew flustered. “Err…yeah. If he got my letter.”

She looked you up and down, then dragged you into her closet. “Good thing I just went on a shopping spree last weekend then!” She pumped a fist excitedly in the air. “I’m giving you a makeover!”

Two hours later, you stood in front of the bathroom mirror once more. Your friend had put you through every single possible combination of outfits using both your closet and hers, and you had to agree that she had impeccable taste.

“Come on, you’re going to be late!” She shoved you out of the bathroom.

“I didn’t set a time!” You protested, laughing.

“Well, get your ass out of here! My boyfriend’s coming over!”

“So that’s the real reason you want me gone, hmm?” You teased her.

“Shush! Get out!”

Hawks was on patrol. You had been on his mind the entire week. Ever since your letter had reached his desk, he couldn’t stop thinking about you.

Thinking about you brought back happier times, and he wasn’t masochistic enough to give himself false hope.

No, it would be better for you to forget about him, and vice versa.

Still, he couldn’t stop himself. His body flew of its own accord, ignoring the sensibilities of his mind that screamed at it to stop.

Go back! The reasonable voice inside his head yelled.

Fly back!

His body refused to listen.

He found himself gently landing on a rooftop, right across the little café you told him to meet you at.

He even debated going inside. Just for a second. Just for a cup of coffee, to warm myself up in the chilly late-afternoon breeze, he told himself.

Then, he scoffed. Who was he kidding? If he went inside, he wouldn’t have the resolve to step back out before he saw you.

Shaking his head, he flew away as quickly as he could.

If he’d stayed a moment longer, he would’ve seen you walk down the street, humming a little tune to yourself.

Maybe then his resolve would’ve cracked.

Too bad he’ll never know.

Sitting alone at a table for two was an unpleasant feeling. Especially when you’re on your third drink, the waitress keeps eyeing you with pity, and you couldn’t concentrate on your work.

“Miss?” The waitress stopped by your table again. “Sorry to bother you, but we’re closing in 15 minutes.”

You checked the time on your laptop. Crap. It was already 5:15.

“Oh yeah, uhh, sorry to bother you!” You chuckle awkwardly. You quickly packed your books and laptop, dropped a $20 bill on the table, and hurried out the door. Walking home in silence, you tried your best not to feel too disappointed.

Maybe he just didn’t have time?

It’s ok. You’ll just ask him again, another time.

Another time.

You sent him countless letters. For the first year, at least. When he ignores all of them, you visit his agency in person.

As you walk through the glass doors, there’s a man sitting behind the reception desk.

“Hello, miss. How can I help you today?” He asks in the customary polite tone.

“I’m looking for Keigo. Hawks,” you answer, trying to hide your nervousness.

He looks at you suspiciously. “How do you know his first name?”

“We…we were childhood friends,” you tried to explain. “I…well, I haven’t seen him in a while.”

He took a closer look at you. “Can I ask for your name, miss?”

“(Y/N). (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

He sighed. “I’m afraid that you’ll have to leave the premises, Miss (Y/L/N). You’re not allowed to be here.”

What?

He hadn’t kicked you out before you told him your name.

“Why-” you started, but he cut you off.

“Miss (Y/L/N). I’m afraid that I have to ask you to leave, and don’t come back. Should I call security to escort you out?”

Holding back tears, you clutched your purse close to your chest and hurried out the glass doors, wishing nothing more than to shatter them into pieces.

You didn’t send any more letters after that.

Years pass. Every year on your birthday, Keigo gave you a feather.

“So I’ll always be with you,” he joked.

His feathers are extra durable, but time can wear down even the strongest things.

The last feather you got from him was ten years ago.

It can barely be considered a feather at this point, and you keep it in a special glass case so it can’t get any more worn down.

Ten years.

You’re turning 25 tomorrow.

Ten years of waiting around for him turned into ten years of watching him date other women. Ten years of hiding your pain every time another picture of him kissing a new girl graced the covers of the tabloids.

The first time, you cried yourself to sleep.

It wasn’t the last time.

Again and again, he breaks your heart.

By the third year, you convinced yourself to stop looking at the tabloids and the gossip sites.

By the fifth year, you scold yourself. You vow to stop crying over a stupid childhood crush.

By the seventh, you told yourself that you needed to forget about him. Step back into the dating ring, make out with someone else, and remove his presence entirely from your mind.

That didn’t work out.

Ten years.

It killed you to finally harden your resolve, but you told yourself that you couldn’t spend your whole life waiting for someone who was never going to love you back.

You’re turning 25 tomorrow, and you’re going to go on a date.

He’s watching you. He always is.

It makes him feel like a creepy stalker, but he can’t help it.

He watches you as you step into the restaurant, decked out in formal wear that looked amazing on you.

Going on a date. With someone who wasn’t him.

He stays on the rooftop, watching you through a window as you ate and laughed.

He wishes that he was the one making you laugh, that he was the one helping you order food from the menu, that he was the one sharing a dessert with you.

He’s selfish like that. It never does him any good.

He’s scared, really. Scared of commitment, tarnished by his time spent in the work program.

He sees you as the one thing in life that they can’t take away from him. You have this innocence, this purity that you always carry around with you, because you’re a part of a time when his life wasn’t so complicated.

He doesn’t want to shatter that illusion.

He never reached out to you because he’s scared.

He’s scared that he’ll break you.

He stopped sending you feathers, heart splintering every time your birthday comes around, hoping you’ll eventually forget him.

You don’t.

It’s not that you didn’t try.

No one else really interested you.

That is, until Masaki came along. He was bright, happy, always upbeat. He could find the words to cheer you up, to make a bad day that much better. He was attentive, caring, sweet.

He was everything that most people would look for in a partner.

And slowly, you began to open up to him too.

You fell into his embrace easier. You got a little happier when he came over for dinner.

You felt just a little safer when you were wrapped in his arms, a luxury you never thought you’d have.

Two years later, during a picnic date, he proposed.

You always had a love for picnic dates. Maybe because your first date, with Keigo, was a messy picnic affair during the spring, on top of a little hill where wildflowers bloomed and birds pecked at your leftovers.

“Stop!” You giggled, whipped cream smeared all over your cheeks. “You’re going to get it on my clothes!”

Keigo laughed, then popped another strawberry in your mouth. “You can wash that off later, silly! Just have fun!”

“It’s not fun when my clothes are all sticky,” you whined. “You try it! It feels gross!”

He smirked. “Oh really?”

Taking a strawberry, he dipped it in the container of cream you had brought, then stuck it down his shirt.

“Ha! Take that!” He gloated.

You stared at him in shock. “Did you just–”

“Yes I did! And it’s not gross at all, see?” He plucked the strawberry back out and shoved it in his mouth.

“Eww! Kei, that’s disgusting!”

“No it’s not, it still tastes like a strawberry! Mphm!” He chewed, licking his fingers.

He regretted that decision later, when bees swarmed the front of his shirt.

“Eek!” He shrieked, hopping backwards.

“Kei, take off your shirt!”

“It’s so sticky!” He yelped, trying to peel the front of his shirt away from his chest.

“I told you!”

“Hey, now is NOT the time for the ‘I told you so’ speech, okay?” He finally ripped his shirt off.

You couldn’t help it. You cackled.

“What now?” He looked at the bees feasting on his ruined tee.

“I told you so,” you teased him.

Taking one look at the devious glint in his eyes, you scooped up the picnic supplies and raced down the hill.

He followed, wings beating, taking off into the air. He reached you within seconds, tacking you to the ground.

“Hey, that’s not fair!” You struggled against him. “You know you’re fast when you fly!”

He looked at you mischievously. “And what about it?”

“You can’t race me like that when I’m on foot!”

“Who said we were racing?” His eyes locked on your lips. “I was just trying to catch up to you.”

You blushed, suddenly realizing how close his face was to yours.

“Kei–” you started.

“Can I kiss you?” He interrupted you, then quickly blushed. “I mean, only if you want to-”

You wrapped your hands in his hair, interrupting him with a kiss.

He tasted like the remnants of strawberries and cream, sweet honey on a beautiful spring day.

And it was a beautiful spring day.

Perhaps the last beautiful spring day you’d ever have, for the next spring, he was gone.

Beautiful spring days were few and far between. You’d learned that the hard way.

But today…you were inclined to think that it might be another one of those days.

Your boyfriend of two years had proposed on a beautiful spring day reminiscent of one long ago.

You supposed that this marked a series of firsts.

First date. First kiss. And now…a proposal.

You accept his proposal, tears in your eyes. He thinks that they’re tears of happiness, and in part, they are.

You don’t tell him that this was the one thing that you never thought you’d do. You feel like you’re betraying Keigo.

You have to remind yourself that he betrayed you first.

Half a year later, you have a wedding. It’s a small wedding, with only your families and close friends. You considered reaching out to Hawks’s hero agency, but decided to spare yourself the pain.

He’d moved on. So would you.

Unbeknownst to you, when the ceremony rolled around, Keigo was standing on a nearby rooftop, the wind blowing away his tears.

He couldn’t believe how beautiful you were.

He knew that he couldn’t have you, but didn’t you know that he was a sucker for pain? Watching you repeat the vows was like getting punched full-force in the gut, but the wind never returned to his lungs.

He felt empty inside. Something essential was missing, and he knew what it was, but he also knew that he couldn’t ever have it. Not if he wanted you to stay alive.

As the ceremony finished, he flew away into the sunset, and you caught a glimpse of his crimson wings, purely on accident. You shook your head in disbelief.

“Now I’m hallucinating too,” you muttered to yourself.

But no matter how hard you tried to convince yourself you imagined the whole thing, that final view made it so much harder for you to forget him.

Another year passed, and the seasons changed as they did. Spring flowing into summer, summer fading into autumn, autumn slowly drifting into winter.

Gradually, your new life engulfed you, the comfort of it all slowly draining away your doubts. Your husband was a good man. A faithful man. A caring man.

He held doors open for you and snuggled you on the couch. He played with your hair and made you breakfast in bed. He made it difficult for you not to love him.

You weren’t entirely sure you wanted to resist, anyways.

One night, you woke up in your shared bed, screaming in pain. Your lower back burned, almost as if you were getting branded.

Your husband woke up to the commotion. The bedsheets were stained with blood. Fresh, crimson, blood, all of it coming from you.

Whimpering, you laid limp as Masaki set you on your belly, trying to figure out the source of the injury. Taking a clean paper towel, he gingerly wiped the blood off of your raw skin, showing a tattoo emblazoned in gold ink.

Written in elegant cursive were three simple words.

Three words, but they hurt to look at.

(Y/N) …I’m sorry.

Your husband stared in shock. This didn’t happen. This couldn’t happen, could it? The only way someone got a tattoo like this was if their soulmate died, and, well…he was still very much alive.

He wasn’t your soulmate.

In this world, quirks weren’t the only strange thing.

Soulmates existed. But most never found out until it was too late.

When your soulmate died, their last words would be tattooed permanently on their other half’s skin in a bloody and painful process.

Their last moments would flash before the other’s eyes.

Nothing you could do. Nothing you could be sure of, until it was too late.

Fires blazed everywhere.

Building after building, it ate away at the crumbling city, tearing down everything in its path.

“Help!” A voice choked out, raspy from smoke intake. “There’s a beam—ugh—on my leg. I can’t get it off!”

A winged figure crouched on a burning rooftop, out of breath and utterly exhausted.

Backup wasn’t coming.

The whole city was burning.

Standing shakily, he sent the last of his feathers off to help the trapped woman.

“That’s it for me then, I suppose,” his smile wobbled slightly. “My work here is done.”

He couldn’t risk jumping off of the roof. His wings were stubs on his back, and only a single feather remained.

“That’s not enough for me to fly off, now is it?” He chuckled mirthlessly. “Oh, if only you could see me right now, (Y/N). You’d be proud. Saved more than 500 people today, you know that?” He sighed, sitting down on the roof. “Lost count somewhere around there. You were always proud of me, weren’t you? The only one that believed in me when I told myself I couldn’t fly.

You’re the one that taught me to fly, remember, chicken? Those were the good times.

Look at me now. Talking to myself. Don’t even have the strength to fly down anymore.” He coughed into his hand, blood staining his palm. He grasped tightly onto a keychain around his neck, smearing the metal with crimson.

“I never did thank you. Guess it’s too late now.” He stared up at the sky, hues of orange and gold dancing across the horizon.

“Never did treat you right.” He plucked his last feather off of his back, twirling it around in his fingers.

“You were always too good for me. Too good for anyone, really.” He laid down on the roof, back no longer sensitive to the burning heat.

“I lost the right to love you a long time ago. I’ve got no business crying over you.” He chuckled bitterly. “But is that going to stop me?”

Letting go of the keychain and his feather, his hands went limp.

“(Y/N),” he sighed, closing his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

The roof collapsed, the hungry flames licking at the bottom finally swallowing him whole. His comms fell out of his ear, the plastic melting in the heat.

A single red feather floated down to the ground, charred and blackened.

The only remains of his body they’ll ever find.

You were sobbing uncontrollably. Keigo.

He was your soulmate.

The boy you loved.

The one who’d abandoned you.

The one who you tried to forget.

He was your soulmate.

Your soulmate, who was dead.

“Turn…turn on the TV,” you whispered weakly. “Turn it on. I need to see.”

Masaki reached for the remote, flipping it on to the news channel.

“Earlier tonight, a bomb was detonated in Nagoya prefecture. Top heroes were on the scene, including Endeavor and Hawks, but their quirks are ill-suited to fight the conflagration. Endeavor has resorted to using brute strength to rescue people from the rubble, while Hawks hasn’t been seen since the beginning of the night. We are now reporting his status as MIA, and will continue to look for the Winged Hero, along with updating our reports on the status of missing civilians–”

You shut the TV off. You’d heard all you needed to.

Throwing on a mishmash of clothing, you sprinted out the door. Hailing a taxi, you hopped in before it had even screeched to a full stop.

“Hawks Hero Agency.” You told the driver, not bothering to mince your words. You hadn’t bothered to wipe all the blood off of your back either, so it was gradually staining your coat a deep crimson, a mocking parody of the way that Keigo’s feathers used to lay against his back.

His feathers that were burnt, charred, turned to ashes, no longer able to bring you the comfort they once had when they wrapped you in a warm embrace.

The driver looked concerned. “Miss, do you know what happened today? Hawks isn’t–”

“Yes, I know. Drive.”

You pressed your forehead against the window, breath steaming up the glass. It reminded you of one winter, when the two of you had been building snowmen, and your mother called you in for dinner.

“Kei, I have to go,” you tugged at his hand.

“Aww, (Y/N),” he kicked at an unfortunate stone with the scuffed toe of his boot. “Why can’t you stay a little longer? We haven’t finished his head yet.” He pouted.

“I can’t, Kei,” you tried to make him release his iron grip on your hand. “Mama’s gonna get mad.”

“Then I’ll make you stay!” He boldly declared, wrapping his little arms around your frame, tackling you to the snow-covered ground.

The two of you giggled, engaged in a tickle war, your mom’s voice fading into the distance.

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N)!” Your mom yelled, marching over to where the two of you lay, tangled in a heap. “Do you want to get a cold?”

“No, Mama,” you said, slowly getting up and dusting the snow off of your parka. “I’m coming.” You turned around and poked your tongue out at your friend, letting your mom drag you back into your house.

Keigo sat in the snow for a while longer, not exactly excited to go back to his house.

Suddenly, an idea popped into his head.

He beat his little wings as fast as he could, half flying, half stumbling to your kitchen window.

Sneaking a peek inside, he saw you staring questioningly back at him. Not bothering to hide his mischievous grin, he puffed out a breath, steaming the window, took his little glove off, and started writing.

“D O  Y O U  W A N T  T O  F L Y  W I T H  M E ?” He painstakingly wrote out.

You shook your head, and his grin quickly dropped from his face. Looking down, he almost missed the words you mouthed out.

“I can’t read it!” You tried your best to sign. “It’s backwards!”

“Oh!” He tried his best to write the mirror image of what he had just written, making sure that you could read it from your point of view this time. You read his little message, a grin taking over your face.

“Y E S!” You mouthed. “YES, YES, YES!”

Quickly scarfing down your dinner, you waved a hasty goodbye to your mom, racing out the back door, only to get tackled into the snow.

“Come on, let’s go!” He took ahold of your hand. “Race you!”

“You can’t race me if you’re holding my hand!” You shrieked in delight. “Stop it!”

He paused, turning around. “Hmm. Well, maybe I don’t want to race you then,” he looked at you with a small smile on his face. “I wanna try something new!”

“Oh?” You asked, seeing the way his eyes lit up with delight. “What is it?”

“I wanna fly! With you!”

Giggling, he turned you around so that your back was facing him. He circled his arms below your armpits.

“Hang on!” He flapped his wings as fast as he could, kicking up a storm of snow around you. To his surprise, he actually managed to lift the two of you off the ground for around 3 feet or so. He wasn’t expecting it to work on his first try, but the two of you really were flying!

Sighing, you turned away from the window.

Happier times, you chuckled mirthlessly.

Isn’t it sad that I’m only remembering them now?

The car screeched to a stop at the front door to the Hawks Hero Agency.

You stepped into the lobby, the fluorescent lights blinding.

It’s the middle of the night, but they don’t seem to mind, you thought. Everyone was bustling around the place like it was normal.

The receptionist had changed since you’d last been here.

She spotted you and hurried over, most likely because of the blood staining your clothes.

“Miss, are you hurt?” She gave you a once-over. “Can I help you?”

You stared at her in shock for a moment. What were you here for again?

“Oh…uh,” you wrung your hands nervously. “I’m here for Hawks.”

Her expression of concern melted away into one of annoyance. “Another fangirl. This one appears to be married too,” she scoffed at the band adorning your left ring finger. “People these days…” she muttered underneath her breath, already hurrying back to her desk, where the phone rang incessantly.

“No. I’m not a fangirl.” You lifted your head. You might be in pain, but damned if you were going to let a stranger strip you of the remaining shreds of your dignity.

“I’m his soulmate.”

The way you said that phrase with such conviction made the lady pause.

“Soulmate?” She questioned. Girls had tried this trick on her before, but…when asked to prove themselves, they merely responded with “oh, it’s just a feeling,” or “I just know it.”

Never once had anyone said this phrase with such confidence.

“Yes.” You shut your eyes, defiantly holding back tears. “You have comms, right? What did he say before the comms died?”

The lady stared back at you, a pang of sorrow shooting its way into her heart. You weren’t joking around, were you?

“I…yes, yes we do. What’s your name, miss?”

You sucked in a deep breath. “(Y/N). (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

She stared at you for another moment, then quietly pulled out her comms.

“He said…” she choked a little. “He said, ‘(Y/N) …I’m sorry.’ We weren’t sure who he was talking about. We assumed it was a civilian he wasn’t able to save,” she pressed the back of her hand to her mouth. “Oh God…”

Quietly, she choked out another question. “Was it…was he talking about…you?”

You didn’t want to reply. You’d heard enough.

The lady didn’t try to stop you as you ran to the elevator, your fingertip pressing the “up” button so hard it bruised.

Quickly looking at the directory, you found his office.

“420.” You choked out a pained laugh. “He always did like messing around with people.”

Collapsing against the corner of the elevator, you wrapped your arms around your knees and lowered your head. You felt so goddamn tired.

Why did it have to be you?

Why couldn’t he break someone else’s heart?

Someone who was stronger?

Someone who could take this in stride and move on?

Why did the universe choose you?

The elevator bell dinged, rousing you from your thoughts. You stood up slowly, a trail of blood staining the place where you once sat.

Crimson, like the trail of feathers he’d (perhaps intentionally) shed during that game of hide and seek.

You buried your face into your hands.

Goddamnit, Keigo! Why does everything have to remind me of you?

You made your way into his office, most likely the messiest of all the top pro-hero offices. Paperwork was scattered everywhere, jackets strewn across the floor. You even saw a shoelace string laying on the carpet next to his desk.

It’s almost as if he’d always expected to come back.

Stepping cautiously over the objects that littered the ground, you came face-to-face with a cabinet next to his desk.

Snowglobes. So many snowglobes.

Snowglobes occupied every shelf of the cabinet, and the glass doors made it easy to examine the contents.

You squinted closely at them. They were all…different angles of the same scene, you realized.

The snow park above your houses.

He’d had snowglobes made.

They immortalized the place where the two of you played all day in the snow.

The place where he first learned how to fly, gliding off the hills like a paraglider.

The place where he’d picked you up and learned how to fly with another person’s life in his hands, hugging you close to his chest, reveling in your warmth.

In the spring, it was the place where he took you on your first picnic date.

The place where the two of you shared your first kiss.

The place where he left you his goodbye note, tucked away under the grounding weight of a boulder you used to lay on, basking in the sun’s warmth.

He’d had 12 snowglobes made. Your lucky number.

12 different angles that showcased the same scenery.

Suddenly, your legs wouldn’t carry your weight anymore. You leaned back into his chair, still smelling faintly of his scent.

How can someone’s scent not change over 13 years?

You closed your eyes, and quickly opened them again when you saw a pile of letters on the corner of the desk.

You weren’t sure why they caught your eye. They weren’t anything special, really. Plain white envelopes addressed in plain black print.

You took a closer look.

That was your name on the envelopes.

You leaned closer, quickly shuffling through them all.

Each and every single one of them was addressed to you.

Each and every single one of them was dated a year apart.

Each and every single one of them was marked for your various addresses over the years, his handwriting steadily improving.

You couldn’t resist your curiosity. Taking a paper cutter, you tore through the seal of the earliest envelope.

A single red feather, beautifully preserved, floated out.

You stared in shock. He…he didn’t forget.

He never forgot.

He just chose not to send it.

Hurriedly opening the remaining envelopes, you acquired more feathers, each fresher than the last.

By the end, you had a pile of 13 crimson feathers, right next to 13 shredded envelopes.

You looked around, confused. Why hadn’t he left a note? Any note?

Did he…did he never write letters?

You knew that you had sent him letters.

Maybe they did throw them out as spam.

Your curiosity piqued, you pulled open drawer after drawer, but none of them held anything of personal importance.

Finally, you came upon the bottom right drawer.

It was locked, you realized.

You carefully place the feathers back in their respective envelopes. Sealing them up once again, you carry them in a stack, making your way downstairs.

The agency workers saw you with the letters in your arms, not sure if they should stop you or not. When you looked to the receptionist and murmured a quiet “thank you”, they stood their ground. If she was okay with you walking away like this, then there shouldn’t be a reason that they wouldn’t be.

The taxi driver who took you here was still waiting outside. Seeing you arrive, he stomped out his cigarette butt and opened the backseat door for you.

“Rough night, miss?” He looked at your back, pity obvious in his expression. “Do you want me to take you to a hospital with that?”

You shook your head. “They can’t fix that. Do you remember the way we came?”

“Aye, yes I do,” he stepped into his own seat. “I’ll take you there right quick, miss. Don’t you worry.”

As you rode back home in silence, you couldn’t stop thinking about the cabinet in Keigo’s office.

The feathers, folded away safely in the envelopes you were holding.

If he never forgot, why did he never reach out?

The car door slamming shook you from your daze. “Miss, you’re back home.”

You stared at the man, realizing that you didn’t have your wallet on you.

“Do you mind waiting a second? I’ll go get my wallet now–”

He shook his head. “I know where that blood came from. See here?” He rolled up his sleeve.

“Got mine when I was 22,” a melancholy smile framed his face. “Rare, right? I never did find out who she was.

But the hospital staff helped me that day. Looked for deaths around my age, and then when I tried to pay ‘em, they refused. Said ‘twas only the right thing to do. Now I finally get to repay the favor. Don’t you go tryna pay me now. Won’t ‘ccept it.”

He leaned back against the hood of his car. When you opened your mouth to object, he merely saluted you, hopped back into the driver’s seat, and drove off into the night.

You turned to your house. The lights were still on inside, meaning your husband was still up. He probably couldn’t sleep, not after what had just happened. You couldn’t blame him.

Stepping inside, you heard muffled sobs coming from the kitchen.

“Masaki?” You leaned on the doorframe. He looked up at your voice.

“(Y/N)?” He rose from the table. “You’re…you’re okay,” he wrapped you in a hug.

You cleared your throat. “…yeah. Yeah, I’m okay,” you hugged him back.

I’m okay, you tried to convince yourself.

“Where did you go?” He looked at you curiously. Finally seeing the envelopes in your arms, he paused.

“Babe?” He asked softly. “Did you…did you know him?”

You buried your face into his chest. “Yeah…yeah, I did.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asked softly.

“Not really…not now…” you replied.

He patted your back lightly. “That’s ok. I understand.”

The rest of the night went by in a blur. The letters were scattered on your nightstand, your husband helping you into the shower. He’s changed the bloody sheets already, but the stains on the mattress were stubborn and refused to come out.

Crimson stains, in the shape of wings.

Days later, some people from the agency stopped by your house.

“Is there a (Y/N) (Y/L/N) at this address?” The receptionist from your earlier encounter knocked on the door.

“Uh, hi. Yeah, that’s me,” you answered, not bothering to change out of your bathrobe. Your complexion had grown waxen, face shallow. Your hair formed an unkempt nest, spiraling around your face.

She gave you a smile, pity etched in her face. It disgusted you, really.

All anyone ever gave you nowadays was pity. Pity cards from your coworkers, although you weren’t sure how the information leaked out. Pitiful glances from your husband, who insisted on doing all the chores around the house.

Pity, pity, pity.

“What is it?” You asked her.

“We have some…documents for you.” She waved over two guys, each lugging a large crate of…paper?

“Wait…all that? For me?” You were confused. There was no way that that bottom drawer, even if all it contained were letters, had that much paper in it.

“Yes, (Y/L/N)-san. It’s all for you.” The men dropped off their crates at your door.

“What’s going on?”

“These were stored in the records house. Hawks filed them. They were all addressed to you, so we felt that this was the proper treatment.”

“We’ll leave you to go through these in your own time.” She started down the steps. Then, as if remembering something suddenly, she paused.

“You know…he was a good man,” she smiled gently. “We all knew he had a secret someone. We just didn’t know who they were. I’m glad he found you. Hero work is dangerous, especially for top heroes like him.

I hope that you find joy in those letters.” She turned back and finished her journey down the steps.

You turned around and looked at the crates.

Found me?

You smiled bitterly, a brittle coldness taking over your heart.

He never really did find me, did he?

Sighing, you sorted through the crates, looking for the ones that were dated the earliest. You carried the oldest set of letters into the bedroom and tore open the first envelope.

Hey, (Y/N). It’s me, Kei.

I hope you haven’t forgotten about me. I mean, I’m not an easy person to forget, I suppose, but it has been a while. Three years, to be exact.

Three years can do a lot to a person.

I should know.

How are you doing? I hope you managed to keep Timothy alive. You were always prone to overwatering him.

I’m not sure how long cacti live, but…if you nurture something, anything can happen, right?

I’m a hero now. I’m sure you know. My debut was broadcasted all over national television. They just can’t resist making themselves look good, can they?

At least now I’m allowed to write. I hope you understand why I haven’t written to you in so long.

I didn’t forget about you. How could I? Even though we were only 15, how could I forget someone like you?

I missed you. I don’t think you understand how much. It felt so empty, living without you by my side. Like…like I wasn’t ever warm enough, even bundled in the tightest blankets. I was always missing you.

Sounds like a curse, eh?

But don’t worry. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I just wanted you to know that.

Yours, Kei.

Ripping open letter after letter, you realized that you held his entire life story in your hands.

Hey chicken. It’s Kei again.

Realized I’ve been treating these letters as a kind of diary. I guess it’s…therapeutic? Even though I know I’ll never send these. I don’t want to put you in danger, you know?

Do you remember when we were kids?

We had all the time in the world to do whatever we wanted.

I miss that time.

Not as much as I miss you though.

I check in on you every so often, but I make sure you never see.

False hope is a dangerous thing. It shatters your soul into pieces, and when you try and piece them back together, it cuts your heart so badly you wish you’d never started.

But, you see, you’re like a drug for me.

I can’t seem to stop myself. No matter how bad it hurts, I…I still come back.

You wouldn’t know, of course.

I suppose there’s a reason it hurts when you stare into the sun.

I’m already broken, yeah? I don’t want you to break with me.

The thing is, I know you’d want to. I know we promised we’d always come back for each other. We promised we’d always be here for each other.

But some promises were meant to be broken.

You can’t be here for me, birdie. You’ll get hurt.

That would hurt me more than anything else, (Y/N).

So for my own safety, and yours…

This is the last time I’ll write to you.

I have to move on, or else those pieces of my soul?

They’re already in splinters, but if I keep going like this, they’ll be nothing more than powder, and I don’t think I could go on like that, yeah?

I love you, forever and always.

Kei.

Ha. Guess what.

What I said in the last letter?

A fucking lie.

I physically. Can’t stop.

The thought of not writing to you breaks me more than the thought of never being with you, and that’s a milestone I never thought I’d be able to pass.

So here I am again.

You’ve already heard my entire life story.

I wish I could be there to hear yours.

I saw you tonight, standing on your balcony. You know, the stars were so bright tonight. Reminded me of your eyes the first time I flew with you around the whole field, yeah?

Sparkling. You never stop sparkling, do you?

You know…do you ever wonder who your soulmate is?

I know that the world is cruel. I know that we don’t know exactly who our soulmates are until one of us dies.

But…do you ever think about it?

Who’s out there, just waiting for you?

Because I do.

And sometimes, when I’m at rock bottom, I’ll imagine that we’re soulmates.

I’ll create scenarios in my head. We’d be happily married. I’d spoon-feed you ice cream.

We’d play tickle wars with my feathers, have pillow fights, binge TV shows.

We’d watch horror movies, and you’d hide your face in my chest the whole time.

But…those scenarios always make me feel worse after I wake up. Because they’re not real.

And I…I so desperately want them to be real.

But you can’t always get what you wish for, yeah?

Going on a big mission soon. Undercover. Cool, right?

You’d be proud of me, I think, if you saw me.

I have to go now. But I’ll come back safe for you, yeah?

I know you won’t wait for me. I want you to wait for me, but…I know it’s not in your best interests. Probably not in mine either.

Sometimes I try and convince myself that it’s okay to be selfish. I want what I want, and you only live once, right?

But then I realize that you’re the one I’d be putting in danger.

And that’s when I realize you can’t ever stay with me.

It’s okay. I’ll watch from afar.

I don’t think I’ll ever be able to stop loving you.

Yours,

Kei.

You put the letter down and rummaged through the second crate, desperately trying to find the last letter that he wrote.

Hey birdie. Long time no see. Ha.

13 years and I still can’t forget about you. Doesn’t seem normal, does it?

I’m convinced that we’re soulmates, but then again, I may have convinced myself. You know…I used to hate the idea of soulmates. Sharing your life with another person, seen as incomplete without them?

Sharing my soul?

Bunch of crap, right? I like making my own decisions. Wasn’t ever much of a rule-stickler. But…you know…I’m starting to warm up to that idea.

But only with you.

And that’s why I’m convinced that we are, in fact, soulmates.

You don’t know how my heart breaks every time I see you. Manual is a good guy. I know he’s treating you well.

That’s the only reason I’m letting you stay married to him, really. If it was anyone else, I would’ve busted their ass.

But…you deserve someone like him. Someone who can give you their all.

Someone who, if you date them…they won’t lead you into danger.

Soulmates are a finicky concept, yeah?

So…I guess we’ll never know ‘till one of us dies.

Yours,

Kei.

Epilogue

Rainy winter days were the saddest days of the year.

Especially today.

Strolling through the park, you held a black umbrella in one hand and clutched a glass case tightly in the other.

You stopped in front of a marble headstone.

“Hey there,” your voice cracked.

“Miss me?”

A whistling wind, scattering powdered snow and frozen rain across the landscape, was your only answer.

“Kei, I–” You collapsed onto your knees, uncaring of whether or not the cold would seep in. It couldn’t get colder than your soul now, anyways.

“I…I didn’t go to your funeral.” Tears rolled down your cheeks, leaving a silvery sheen in their wake. “There were too many people and I…I couldn’t handle it.”

“But…Kei…” You choked out an ugly sob. “Why didn’t you send me the fucking letters?”

“I don’t care how dangerous your work was. You can’t get anywhere without taking risks in life, Kei!” You screamed at the marble façade, willing it to crumble.

“You can’t–”

“You can’t make my decisions for me!”

“I should be the one who gets to choose who I love!”

Your screams attracted the attention of several bystanders, who quickly averted their eyes and walked away when they saw your distraught state.

“You shouldn’t have tried to choose for me!”

“And now–”

“You’re dead, Kei! What am I supposed to do now?” Your tears pooled on the frozen ground, marking little dents in the snow.

You slammed your fists into the ground, the glass case in your hand cracking.

Another ugly sob made its way out.

“Kei–” you whimpered.

The glass shattered, splintering into thousands of tiny pieces, each fragment glittering like diamonds.

Slivers found their way into your palm.

Crimson blood, the color of the worn-out feather freed from its enclosure, splattered the snow-white ground.

“Kei,” you whispered, carefully placing the feather on top of the chiseled marble.

“Wherever you are, I hope you’re happy.”

Masterlist

[hadtochangemyurlquick]

here’s 7.1k of Toni pining and Shelby and Toni being childhood friends and also far more character analysis of Rachel than I was expecting? also Marcus is real and I made him a gorgeous himbo. it’s based off that poem by @theycallmedizzy and you can find it here. lmk if you want a second chapter from shelby’s perspective, tho i literally just finished this one. like literally ten minute ago.

Mr. Williams finishes reading the poem and looks over his spectacles at the class. Yes, they’re spectacles, those kind of tiny thick ones that make his eyes too big because he’s much too old to be teaching.

It’s eight am on a Tuesday, Toni walked the three miles to school because she missed the bus only to walk into her shitty honors English class and hear the teacher reading a poem aloud to the class. Her poem. She’d sat down after a momentary pause and listened to him read the final damning stanza.

And then he looks at Toni.

He reads her essays right? What if he recognizes her writing voice? Is that a thing? Or maybe her handwriting or—

“Toni, I was just explaining to the class that whoever wrote this should submit it to the state literature festival,” Mr. Williams says, Toni almost sags against her chair. “I was hoping someone would come forward,” He turns back to the class, eyes hovering over Quinn and Monty, two of the more sensitive guys who sit in the back and ruin the curve for everyone. “But I’ll leave it on the board here,” he clacks it on with a magnet and Toni flinches, “and hopefully someone will come forward. Now onto today’s lesson.”

After class Martha goes up to the board and takes a picture of it, her eyes a little starry at the words and Toni grits her teeth.

“You have to admit it’s pretty,” Martha says. “Even you can’t deny that.”

“It’s dumb,” Toni says flatly, crossing her arms.

“Well I’m keeping it anyway, maybe someday someone will write a poem about me,” Martha says.

“How do you know it’s not about you?” Shelby asks coming out of nowhere and uninvited too. Toni glares at her, letting her open disdain shine through like sunshine through clouds after a gully washer.

“No guys notice me,” Martha informs Shelby sadly. “I bet Andrew wrote it for you.”

Shelby purses her lips and looks over the poem, “I doubt it. He’s more of a doer, I think. Besides, I’m sure that guys notice you, you went on a date with that boy Sam last month.”

Martha sighs and before she can launch into what a disaster that date was, Toni tightens her hands around her backpack.

“I’ll see you in science,” She tells Martha and manages to escape Shelby’s eyes burning at the back of her neck.

———

reasons not to kiss her

1.) this sort of love is not allowed. you are both too soft, and the world around you is all knives and chipped teeth

Toni had played about every sport she was allowed to growing up. Basketball was her favorite, but she loved beat it ball, the game she made up with the other kids in the neighborhood. It was basketball but without rules, devolving into fist fights within the first half. Nothing tasted better than her own bloody lip on a hot summer day. Not even the cool glass of lemonade Mrs. Blackburn always had ready when she ran all skinned knees to Martha’s telling her about how she beat guys two years older than her.

She got angry when she had to stop playing, moving to a different neighborhood. Apparently, Mrs. Blackburn had figured out that she wasn’t only getting her split lip from the older kids in the neighborhood.

The new foster parents were a little stricter, a little richer, and signed her up for youth soccer when she complained about how there was nothing to do without beat it ball.

Martha Blackburn would always be her person, but Toni didn’t expect to find her people so young. Dottie killed as goalie, and Becca’s sweetness made her defense all the better. But it was Shelby and Toni who were the dynamic duo. Toni had a never ending amount of energy as a midfielder and Shelby’s precision made her the perfect striker. It worked the same way every game, Becca would kick it to Toni, who got it to Shelby, who scored a goal. It got to the point that Becca didn’t even need to do much and the coach had to pull Toni aside to tell her to pass to the other girls too.

At the end of the season they sat together at the team party, wearing orange slice smiles. With sticky fingers they held hands and Toni kinda wondered how someone’s eyes could be so green.

Toni doesn’t remember why Shelby’s parents were so angry about them holding hands, but she knows Mr. Goodkind talked to her foster parents and Toni was off to a different home, in a different district, and she lost even Martha for a few months.

———

At lunch everyone’s talking about that fucking poem. Martha sent it around to the whole school and Leah is discussing its merits with Rachel and Nora. Even they don’t seem bored with the topic, though Nora is sure Quinn didn’t write it.

“It could be Monty,” Leah says. “I wouldn’t have thought he had an eye for this stuff.”

“I don’t think it’s Monty,” Rachel says. She looks at Nora, “C’mon, you know what I’m talking about, right?”

“What?” Nora asks.

“I mean it smells like Anna Akhmatova had a baby with Adrienne Rich,” Rachel says.

“Who had a baby with who?” Martha asks.

“Please,” Fatin says. “You’re not exactly the world’s leading expert on free form poetry.”

“Uh, I know when something’s written by a girl,” Rachel says. “I bet you fifty bucks some closet case wrote this.”

Everyone looks at Toni. “You caught me,” Toni deadpans.

“Rachel’s right,” Nora says. “A girl definitely wrote this. Toni, do you know anyone?”

Toni glares at her. “I’ll shake the lesbian phone tree and see what comes out.”

“Well, could it be Regan?” Martha asks. “Maybe she wants to—”

“It’s not fucking Regan,” Toni grabs her books and stalks out, kicking a chair randomly strewn around away as she did.

She hears Shelby sit down just as she leaves, “What’s got her madder than a baptized cat?” Shelby asks and Toni rolls her eyes.

———

2.) no one ever taught you how to love. your war paint and scarred hands could never hold her like she deserves

The worst of it was that Shelby was gentle. Her hands were warm and soft around Toni’s callouses, and there was a crinkle between her eyebrows as she focused on Toni’s hands. No, the worst of it was that Shelby didn’t let go of Toni’s hands when she finished, kept holding onto them as she met Toni’s eyes.

“Well?”

Toni swallowed hard, “I’m not gonna apologize.”

Shelby sighed, her thumb traced little circles around Toni’s hands. “I know today ain’t easy for you.” Toni scoffed and looked away. “But you know you were pickin' a fight. Andrew promised to leave you alone.”

Toni ripped her hands away and jumped from the bench of the locker room. “What the fuck do you know? You weren’t fucking there.”

Shelby’s calm only made Toni’s anger redder, “You ain’t denying it.”

“Why the fuck are you dating him? He’s a self-satisfied little asshole who just wants a little trophy girlfriend to—”

“Toni,” Shelby cut her off sharply and got to her feet, meeting Toni’s eyes.

“You’re not denying that either,” Toni spat.

She could’ve screamed at the hypocrisy. She wanted to scream. She wanted to pound her fists against the walls and bleed all over the bandages Shelby wrapped around her knuckles. She wanted to hurt, to make Shelby hurt. She wanted everyone to see and feel how hurt she was, and hurt them with that hurt. Finally level the playing field.

“Andrew is my business,” Shelby said. “Not yours.”

“He becomes my business when you—”

“When I what?” Shelby asked.

Toni looked at her hands, “Never mind.”

Shelby sighed, “Martha’s helping you move in today, right? Shel’ll be there the whole time?”

“Don’t pretend you give a shit.”

“Of course I care. The last time you lived with your mom you didn’t eat for a week.”

“I was five, not fifteen,” Toni said. “And seriously, stop pretending you give a shit.”

She shoulder checked Shelby as she walked out and winced at the sound of Shelby hitting the gym lockers. Her hands still sting where Andrew’s teeth had scrapped them.

———

Regan approaches Toni during science, her eyes serious. Martha straightens, and Toni does her best not to make eye contact.

“It’s not mine,” Regan says.

“Yeah duh,” Toni mutters.

Regan frowns, “I just—I didn’t want you to—”

“You made it perfectly clear what you want,” Toni says.

Regan sighs and leaves and Toni regrets it.

“Shelby thinks it’s Marcus,” Martha tells her. Toni blinks up at her and Martha nods. “She thinks he wrote it for me.”

“Martha, that kid is dumber than a box of rocks,” Toni says.

Martha furrows her brow, “Maybe he has hidden depths.”

“If you think it’s him ask him out,” Toni says.

“Shelby thinks it’s him,” Martha is quick to correct. “But he doesn’t even know who I am.”

Toni rolls her eyes. Marcus had been in love with Martha since the ninth grade. They had gotten placed as lab partners and he literally didn’t take his eyes off her the entire time. Every time there was a dance he would always look like he was about to say something, shoot his shot, when Martha would loudly proclaim she couldn’t wait to go with her friends.

Toni would’ve pulled the guy aside and told him to grow a pair, but a guy who’s not brave enough to go after what he wants wasn’t good enough for her Marty, not by a long shot.

“Rachel still thinks a girl wrote it,” Martha says.

“Maybe Rachel wrote it,” Toni mutters.

Martha’s eyes light up.

———

3.) no one has ever loved you this full surely you would drown in it all

Being a lifeguard was the worst. It was super boring, the pay was shit, and also Toni would probably get someone killed. Like, they pretended she was CPR certified but she absolutely had no idea how to do it. She went to some hour long course, slept through it, took a test that was just: should you kill people? And then they wrote some bullshit on some papers about a three week long set of classes.

But Shelby was tanned and golden looking and on their shifts they’d text back and forth about which kids they were betting on to win sharks and minnows. Tweenage boys in all their adolescent infancy would gaze open mouthed at Shelby and Toni alike but Shelby was the only one who let them down gently. Toni would ruin them for girls forever with something enough to cut through even the thickest skin.

On the fourth of July the pool paid for fireworks and Toni found a blanket and Shelby found her and they sat watching the reflections of the lights together. Shelby rested her head on Toni’s shoulder, all gentle, like she was afraid Toni would spook.

“I know this ain’t much of a holiday for you,” Shelby said. “But thank you for spending it with me.”

She had her hand on the blanket, splayed out like she was waiting for Toni to take it, there in front of everyone. Toni imagined a world in which she did.

———

“Yeah it’s not me,” Rachel says. “I wish I could write that good.”

Which is such bullshit because Toni knows Rachel could say well if she wanted to. Rachel’s weird inferiority complex about Nora pisses off Toni to no end. Nora’s the smart one, Rachel will be the first to say, and Rachel’s the athletic one. But Nora has a six minute mile and Rachel has perfect pitch so Toni hates them both.

“Maybe it’s Dot,” Toni suggests and Rachel, Nora, and Martha snicker.

Out of all of them, Martha’s the best driver, but they always end up in Rachel’s car after school anyway.

“Most of the school seems to think it’s by Andrew,” Nora says. Toni’s fists clench.

“Yeah,” Rachel rolls her eyes, “I’m sure he would love to take the credit. C’mon Toni, you don’t know any lesbians who could’ve written this?”

“You’re a lesbian too,” Toni says. “You don’t know any?”

“I don’t have a life outside of the pool,” Rachel says, “and none of them have picked up a book since Hop on Pop.”

“Regan says it wasn’t her,” Martha cuts in helpfully. “But maybe it’s another kid in theatre. Shelby says—”

“Oh my god,” Toni grits out. “What is everyone’s deal with her anyway? Why is everyone still obsessed with her? She’s just another basic Jesus bitch.”

The car goes quiet and Toni wishes she could melt into her seat cushion.

“I didn’t mean that,” Toni says.

“Except you did,” Martha snaps.

Toni winces.

“What’s your deal with her?” Rachel asks. “You guys were fine last year.”

“Quinn says there’s a poetry club,” Nora says. “Maybe it’s someone there?”

No one takes the bait and they don’t talk the rest of the way.

———

4.) she belongs in a museum, and you are merely here to gaze. look around you, all the signs scream ‘do not touch’

“Shelby?”

Toni grabbed the shoulder of the girl and pulled her away from Marcus. Shelby was bruised lips and ruined make up and Toni took her by the hand. Thank god Martha wasn’t here, thank god Andrew wasn’t here, thank god Marcus looked just as trashed.

“Toni?” Shelby sorta stumbled, her ankle twisting painfully on her heel and Toni steadied her.

Shelby could do a cartwheel in six inch heels.

“I’m gonna get you home, okay?” Toni called over the music.

Shelby didn’t really respond, just leant into Toni as she led her away and outside. The party had spilled into the backyard and front yard some, the cops probably already on their way, but everyone was too fucking hammered to notice them making their way out.

Shelby’s house was only about a twenty minute walk but it was cold and Toni was only wearing her basketball shorts and her mom’s jacket that she promptly put over Shelby’s shoulders.

“Are you still—” Shelby swallowed hard, “You’re still living with your mom?”

“Mostly with Martha,” Toni said.

“Martha’s great,” Shelby said. “She’s so pretty it makes my eyes hurt.”

“One of our finest,” Toni grunted as Shelby nearly fell on her heels again.

“She could be a model,” Shelby told her. “We should get waffle house.”

“Shelbs, we’re nowhere near a waffle house.”

“What was Becca’s order? At waffle house?”

Toni sighed, looping an arm around her. “I dunno.”

“Neither do I,” Shelby said.

“I’m sorry, Shelby,” Toni said.

Shelby shook her head and stopped right there, circling her arms around Toni and pressing her into a hug. Toni closed her eyes, holding her back as tightly as she dared.

“Oh, Shelby, I’m so fucking sorry.”

———

“Day two!” Mr. Williams calls. He taps the poem again, “I will investigate the handwriting if the poet doesn’t come forward by Friday. I know it’s someone in one of my classes.”

His eyes narrow as he takes them all in and his eyes don’t linger on Toni. Not even for a moment.

There’s a part of her that wants to march up to the front of the room and write her name down, make eye contact with everyone who never even considered her before. But no one expects shit from her, and even if he does go over the handwriting he won’t really be able to pin it on her. He might not even bother checking to see if it matches.

Toni tries not to jump when Marcus takes the seat in front of her during quant lit. It’s not like they have assigned seating but everyone sticks to the same seats anyway. Marcus won’t get shit for it though, perks of being the quarterback.

“So, listen,” he scratches the back of his head and Toni rolls her eyes at him. “I know we aren’t really friends but I—um.”

“Marcus,” Toni says.

“I wanna ask Martha out,” Marcus rushes out. “She’s like the nicest, smartest, coolest girl in the school and like her eyes are out of this world radical.” Radical? “And I would take her somewhere nice like Olive Garden. Or Cheesecake Factory? And pay for it, and open all the doors for her, and I’d carry her books to class—”

“On your date? This is happening during school?” Toni asks.

His eyebrows furrow as he tries to connect the dots. Football players.

“Oh no! I meant like, after, if she wants me to,” He says. “Can I?”

“Can you what?”

“Can I ask her out?”

Toni blinks at him. “What?”

“My buddy said if you want to get with a girl you get close to the best friend first, and I figured I’d ask you for your blessing because that’s what they do in old fashioned stuff right?” He bounces up in down in his seat. “Can I? Or like, do you wanna give me your blessing?”

She feels like she’s having an aneurysm.

Listen, Marcus having feelings for Martha is one thing. Everyone on the planet who’s ever met Martha falls a little in love with her. That’s kinda just how she operates. Toni narrowly avoided that pitfall by being lucky enough to know her since she was five, but it was a tough time. But Marcus was never gonna act on it. Marcus can’t—he’s the quarterback.

It’s basic math, Marcus is a six foot five football player with shoulders wide enough to bench press the Subaru Forrester Toni’s legally required to buy when she turns thirty-two. He’s got that all American boy smile that shows of perfectly white teeth, and dark hair that sweeps in front of his eyes. His face looks like it was sculpted out of marble, like literally he looks like some sort of roman god, except if that roman god volunteered at the humane society on the weekends and called his mom Mami.

Martha is a res girl who’s best friend is the dyke with anger issues. And like yeah, she’s stupid pretty, but Marcus has exclusively dated varsity cheerleaders since the seventh grade.

So yeah, even if Marcus may have feelings for Marty, everyone fucking does, and there’s a host of reasons why she doesn’t have a date to every dance and a new guy every week. And most of them are the cliche high school movie hierarchy sort.

“It’s really none of my business, man,” she says.

“Dude, it’s totally your business,” Marcus says. He leans closer, “you two are like sisters right? What do I gotta do to prove I’m not gonna hurt her? I’ll do your math homework for a month, no two months.”

A thought occurs to Toni and it’s a terrible one. But when has that ever stopped her?

“You’re in my honors English class right?”

Marcus’s face screws in, “Uh, yeah. But I don’t think you want me doing your homework in there, I’m like totally failing.”

“I have a better idea.”

———

5.) she touches you like youre fragile, and if you break you wont be able put yourself together again

Dot was asleep which was Toni’s first indication that something was deeply wrong. The second was that Shelby wasn’t. She was definitely trying her darnedest, but Toni could tell she was awake. Awake in her arms.

Toni shifted, just enough to let Shelby know she was awake too. The movie was some horror flick, something dumb and flashy and almost muted it was so quiet. It was the only thing rated R that they could all agree on. Dot’s house was the only place they were allowed to watch anything rated R when they were still thirteen, so it was all they watched there.

She felt Shelby shift up, so her head rested on Toni’s chest, shifted until her lips met Toni’s clavicle.

Toni wondered if she’d die.

Shelby went up instead of down, pressing kisses up the length of Toni’s neck, soft barely there things that made Toni’s breath catch as she watched Dot snore on the couch next to them.

Toni’s hands moved to the inside of Shelby’s thighs and they stared there, tracing delicate patterns that only made Shelby curl closer.

���I think you’re probably the most beautiful girl I ever saw,” Shelby whispered.

“I—”

“I’m not done.”

Toni’s mouth clamped shut.

“I think about you all the time,” Shelby whispered. “Even when I—”

“Shelby,” Toni warned. Shelby pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth.

“You’re right,” Shelby said.

Neither of them slept that night.

———

Toni walks into class three minutes late with Mr. Williams, and takes her seat with a sulk.

“He still won’t let me redo that paper,” Toni mutters to Martha who’s eyes are wide.

“Toni, Marcus just—” She nods her head at the poem where Mr. Williams is studying it too.

“Marcus Gonzales?” Mr. Williams asks.

Marcus gets to his feet.

“You wrote this?”

“Yessir.”

“This poem right here?”

“Yessir.”

Mr. Williams blinks and takes off his spectacles, setting them down on the desk. “We’ll talk after class. I should hope everyone has a copy of—”

“I wrote it for Martha,” Marcus doesn’t sit down and the entire class stares at him.

“—Franny and Zooey and I would like you all to turn to page 52. Begin by annotating—”

“Martha, can I take you out on a date?” Marcus asks.

“—this first section, and on to page 64. Remember what Seymour serves as in—”

Martha blushes hard and glances at Toni who smiles before she looks back at Marcus in all his golden boy 6’5” glory.

“Um, okay,” she mutters out and he grins.

“Cool.” Marcus finally sits and gives Toni a thumbs up. She rolls her eyes.

“—this story and compare that to his roles in the other parts of the work we’ve read.”

“I told you it was for you, girl,” Shelby says on Martha’s other side. “People always have a way of surprising you.”

———

6.) she is all bubblegum skies and chapped stick kisses, and you cannot watch the love run out of another persons eyes

They were all a little bit slap happy by the end of the night. A little bit drunk, a little bit high, and laughing far too hard at one another.

“I’m scared,” Shelby told them, still grinning wider than any pageant smile.

“Girl, you picked dare,” Fatin said.

“I did,” Shelby bit her lip. “But all y’all dared Leah to do was finish the vodka.”

“That was—that was bad vodka,” Leah slurred from her position on Dot’s lap.

“But now we’re out of vodka,” Martha sang. “You picked dare.”

“I’ll go with you,” Toni got to her feet, surprised when they were more steady than she assumed they’d be. “Two chairs right?”

“Alright,” Shelby said. “And you’ll hold my hand?”

“Sure princess,” Toni rolled her eyes.

It was an office supply place, probably. The parking lot had this killer decline, and it was one of those spring nights where nothing could really ruin anything. Not forever.

The rolling chairs were kinda gross, left there but not yet picked up by the garbage men. They had to do a special pickup for that, which costed extra. No one in the office had done it for the weeks the girls had been going there after parties.

“Be careful,” Nora urged.

“Don’t fall,” Rachel suggested.

“Hold on, I’m not recording yet,” Fatin said. “Okay now go.”

They pushed off in their rolling chairs, holding hands, and sped down the decline laughing as they barely managed to hold on and steer at the same time.

Toni went flying as she bumped into a patch of grass and for some reason, Shelby went flying with her, landing on top. Toni grunted, but she wasn’t in pain, not really.

They met eyes.

“Sorry,” Shelby said. She didn’t sound sorry.

“You okay?” Toni asked.

Shelby smiled, this real soft thing, Toni wondered what it’d taste like.

“Fuck yeah bitches! I’m so putting that on snapchat!” Fatin screamed and Shelby pulled away, turning white.

“God if this is you in in freshman year, I’m terrified of you as a senior,” Toni called back.

Shelby’s hand slipped out of her’s and Toni tried very very hard not to overthink it.

———

“So I’ve been thinking,” Leah said. Toni took her gym bag out of her locker, pretty much the only thing she kept in there.

“Oh no.”

“Rachel was right about that poem being written by a girl,” Leah continued. “Which meant Marcus lied. And Marcus would never do that unless someone gave him permission to take credit. And since Marcus lied so he could ask Martha out that means the person who wrote the poem wanted Martha to be happy.”

Toni swallowed hard and tried not to fumble with the lock, stumbling with it.

“Toni,” Leah walked over to her. “You need to face the facts: Shelby’s into you.”

Toni blinked, “What?”

“She wrote that whole poem for you, don’t tell me you don’t see it. It’s about you!”

“She—” Toni stopped and furrowed her brow, finally making eye contact with Leah, “You think she wrote that poem for me?”

Leah nodded, “And she let Marcus take the credit. Listen, I know I’m right. I’ve been thinking about it for ages. Whatever fight the two of you had—you need to get over it. She’s into you, Toni. She’s been into you.”

“You have no fucking idea what you’re talking about,” Toni told her. “Seriously, fuck you Leah and fuck off. This is none of your fucking business.”

“You aren’t denying it,” Leah crowed. “Shelby likes you.”

“No she fucking doesn’t!” Toni spat at her. “She fucking hates me! She didn’t write that poem Marcus did! For Martha!”

Leah’s brow furrowed, “But… but you wanted her to. Didn’t you?”

Toni looked away.

“Shelby’s actually straight, isn’t she?” Leah asked. “Fuck Toni.”

“I’m happy for Martha,” Toni said, and marched away.

———

7.) if you jump, she might catch you, and then youd have to watch as she tumbled through the dark

“What if we ran away?” Shelby asked, which was Toni’s third indication that the punch was spiked.

The first two were her arms wrapped around Toni’s waist, swaying in the soft breeze to the distant music of Junior prom.

“Oh yeah?” Toni asked. “Where’d we go?”

“Peru,” Shelby said. “Or LA, or New York or—” Shelby sort of trailed off, losing her thought halfway through it.

“Our parents,” Toni pointed out. She’d moved in with Martha a few months ago but her mom had taken it as a wakeup call, promising to get her shit back together as soon as she could. Toni couldn’t help but believe her, even if it put her in stasis.

“Right,” Shelby sounded cold, “Our parents.”

“Are things worse with them?” Toni asked.

“No,” Shelby said. “The same, really. They’ve lightened up since—since Becca. Have you heard from your mom?”

“Every week or so,” Toni said. “And if you ever need a break you know—“

“Martha is happy to have me,” Shelby finished.

Toni smiled and pulled away enough to meet Shelby’s eyes, her hands slid from behind Shelby’s neck to either side.

“Did I tell you you look beautiful tonight?” Toni asked.

“You did,” Shelby said.

“Can I say it again?”

“You can.”

“You look beautiful tonight.” Shelby closed her eyes and Toni tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “You’re gonna get out, you know that right?”

Shelby nodded, leaning into Toni’s hand.

Later, Toni will learn that was one of two lies Shelby told that night.

———

Martha gets home at 11:30, exactly when Marcus promised, and Toni smiles as her sister collapses backwards into her bed.

“Toni,” she actually giggles, giggles like a little school girl. “It was amazing.”

“Where’d you go?” Toni asks.

“Olive Garden, I think he was trying to win points with you,” Martha says.

“As he should,” Toni nods.

“He was the perfect gentleman,” Martha swoons. She rolls onto her stomach and looks at Toni and oh god, Toni knows that look. “He did tell me something about you, though.”

“Oh yeah? How I’m better in quant lit than him?” Toni asks.

“He told me you wrote the poem,” she says.

Toni looks away, “Okay, and?”

“You told me you were over Regan,” Martha says.

“It’s complicated,” Toni decides. “And whatever. I wrote it awhile ago anyway.”

“Have you thought about submitting it to that contest Mr. Williams was talking about?” Martha asks.

“Can we go back to talking about your date with Prince Charming?” Toni says. Martha acquiesces, she’s too damn giddy to do anything else.

———

8.) her gaze is too gentle. you will not be the one to tell her that not everything can be fixed with a smile

“Toni,” Dot began, and Toni could tell she was looking at her. “Toni, is Shelby—is she gay?”

Toni snickered, “Dot, Shelby is possibly the biggest straight girl in our school. Maybe our state. She’d sooner give herself a buzzcut than she would ever even kiss a girl."

“Andrew said Shelby got a job as a counselor at this church camp—Guiding Light—in Plano,” Dot said. “I wanted to find the address so I could write to her and it’s a conversion camp.”

The breath left Toni’s body.

“What?”

“And I got to thinking,” Dot said. “About what a mess she was after Becca died this year. Ignoring us, going to all those parties, signing up for a crazy number of pageants. Hell, it was only once you two started talking that she talked to us again.”

“Stop it, Dot.”

“Toni is Shelby gay?”

“Dot,” Toni said.

“Because if she’s gay, if she’s not there as a camp counselor—Toni, did you know about this?”

“Of course not! Jesus!” Toni said. She jumped to her feet and started to pace, “Jesus Christ. Oh my god.”

“Toni is Shelby gay?”

Toni looked at Dot and Dot sighed, her entire body sagging.

“What do we do?” Toni asked.

Dot, her solid, steady, friend since fucking youth soccer was silent.

“Dot, what do we do?”

“Dot, what the fuck do we do?”

———

Shelby finds her before school, Toni smoking like she hasn’t since ninth grade when Bernice gave her a stern lecture about lung cancer. It made Toni cry, actually. Not because it was so stern but because Martha and Toni had been separated for three years and Bernice still cared enough to get angry with her. She promised then and there to stop, and each drag she took now makes her feel like she’s committing treason.

“Smokin’ kills,” Shelby tells her, like they didn’t all go to Dot’s dad’s funeral last year.

Toni takes another drag, just to watch Shelby roll her eyes.

“How’d Martha’s date go last night?” Shelby asks.

Toni glares, “Seriously? You avoid me all year and now you’re asking about Martha’s date?” Shelby looks away. “It went fine. Whatever.”

“I just—I was surprised Marcus wrote that poem is all.”

“You literally said multiple times you thought it was him,” Toni says.

“I know, I know but—”

“Still holding out hope for Andrew?” Toni sneers. “Marcus may not be the sharpest tool in the shed but he cares about Martha. Even a fucking idiot could write a half decent poem if they had someone worth writing about.”

Shelby meets her eyes and Toni’s breath catches.

“Know a lot about poetry, Toni?”

Fuck fuck fuck.

Toni flicks the only half used cigarette away. “I have to go to class,” She says, aware it’s just about the worst thing she can do.

Shelby doesn’t even need the last word, she’s aware she’s already won.  

———

9.) she is so good. she is so good, and you cannot ruin one more good thing

It hadn’t been the first time Toni found her mom overdosed on the couch, but it’d been the most terrifying. Toni had waited in the school parking lot for a pick up for twenty minutes before Shelby had offered her a ride.

When they trooped inside, after having to use the key Tamera kept tucked away in a loose brick, her mom had been passed out on the couch. And the stupid thing had been that Toni had known her mom hadn’t been doing great. Like she’d known Tamera had lost her job, and was close to losing the car, that the pain in her back had been getting worse again from stress. Toni had known that.

But for some stupid, naive reason, Toni had never thought she’d pull this, go back to who she was.

Her tolerance was low, the doctors had told her, because she’d been clean for so long. She hadn’t realized it and had taken more than she could handle.

Shelby had taken the three of them to the hospital, helped carry Toni’s drooling mother into the ER, and held Toni’s hand until the other girls showed up, who she texted to come.

Shelby had been there when the police and social services came to talk to her about going back into foster care. Shelby had never left her side.

Toni couldn’t help but contrast that to the Shelby she saw now. The Shelby who showed up for senior year was barely christian, barely anything, just sort of blank and empty and waiting to grow up so she could have daughters that'd also wait to grow up so that they could have daughters that’d also wait to grow up so that they could have daughters that’d also

Shelby didn’t even look at her, for the first week of senior year she didn’t even look at Toni. She talked with Martha in that faux friendly way, she passed off on lunch invitations to do school work and Toni felt like she was going insane.

Sometimes she would just stare at the back of Shelby’s head in English class, writing whatever gibberish came to mind, and not listening to Mr. Williams at all. Just stare, for forty-five minutes, at a girl who wouldn’t even make eye contact, Toni’s pencil moving rapidly as she barely even glanced at the words her hands produced.

On the last day of the semester Toni finally looked away and came to two realizations:

a. Her mother was never getting better. Not really. b. Toni had written P E R U over forty times in her notebook.

As quietly as she could she tore the page out, and maybe about fifteen pages behind it, filled with similar drivel and recycled them at the end of class.

When the next semester started the seats were changed and something she’d written that she barely remembered was on the board.

Her mother was still in rehab.

———

Toni watches Marcus carry Martha’s backpack to class and watches as Martha giggles at him, argues with him. She is literally so happy it makes Toni’s heart burst.

“Shelby’s quite the matchmaker, huh?” Fatin asks.

Toni looks at her.

“Leah told me,” Fatin explains.

Toni rolls her eyes.

“Yeah, that’s what I said too,” Fatin says. “Leah’s good at noticing things but putting the pieces together is not her strong suit. So I called Dorothy.”

This makes Toni’s shoulders tense and Fatin wraps an arm around them.

“Dorothy didn’t want to talk but what she didn’t say was enough.” Fatin sighs, “I’m all for a little drama but this is cutting into my me time.”

“What going from twenty-four hours a day to twenty-three and a half?” Toni asks.

“God forbid,” Fatin nods sagely. “I didn’t know you could write.”

“I can’t.”

“Clearly not.”

Toni slips out from under her arm, and follows Martha into class. Mr. Williams glares as she comes in and Toni realizes if Marcus came clean to Martha he definitely came clean to Mr. Williams. At least the poem is off the board.

When he passes out papers from a recent essay her’s has a “see me after class” sticker that makes Toni slide down in her seat. Martha doesn’t even notice enough to give her an odd look because she and Shelby are yukking it up about the quarterback.

When everyone files out she hangs back and he looks at her, over his spectacles.

“I’m disappointed,” he says at last.

Toni scoffs.

“You write essays based off spark notes, you never participate, and half the time you don’t even do the homework. But you write this.” He slides the crumpled paper over his desk, her poem shining back at her. “So all I can conclude is that you’re lazy.”

Yeah, obviously.

“Why did you have Marcus tell everyone he wrote it?” Mr. Williams asks.

“So he could ask out Martha.”

“He didn’t need to have written the poem to do that,” Mr. Williams says.

“Can I go?” Toni asks.

“I want to submit this poem to a contest, I want you to start trying in this class, and this,” he hands her a slip of paper with about twenty sets of numbers on it, “is a list of Dickinson poems I want you to read by next week. Pick at least three to write me at least a page about. Single spaced.”

“What?” Toni asks, “You can’t make me do that.”

“I know half the kids in this class write off spark notes, I can easily have them all—including you—fail. So yes, yes I can actually.” He takes off his spectacles and Toni glares at him. “You’re a smart kid, Toni. You’ve got a talent for this.”

Toni shakes her head, “I’m a one hit wonder.”

“You know Britney Spears said the same thing after Baby One More Time.”

“That’s not true,” Toni says.

“Yeah,” Mr. Williams says. “Because she kept working at it.”

And Toni takes the slip of paper with the numbers on it, and marches to her next class and he watches her the whole way, not bothering to put on his stupid spectacles.

———

10.) you will not watch her crumble under the weight of your sins. she is too light, too breathless to be caught up in the dizziness of your heart

Dot didn’t invite them all to the funeral but they came anyway, even Shelby who Toni knew had been waffling back and forth.

Some of his army friends showed up, a doctor or two, and Mateo—the hot nurse Dot steadily ignored. It was a small and quiet service, and the seven of them sat towards the back, holding steady for her.

There was too much on Dot’s shoulders, there always had been, but she didn’t look any freer now that the burden was lifted. She just looked scared, small, and sad.

Toni couldn’t help but wonder if that was what she’d look like, if she got the call about her mom. It was a terribly selfish thought but who could blame her?

Shelby’s hands interlocked with hers, in broad daylight, and stayed there for the entire day. When Toni met her eyes she saw pure terror reflected back at her.

God, were they really only seventeen?

———

Rachel is complaining at lunch about owing Nora five bucks, how she was so sure some closet case wrote the poem but it’s no surprise Nora got it right.

Fatin and Leah don’t contribute and Martha probably wouldn’t have either except she was eating lunch with Marcus, they had found their own little table and were smiling at one another.

“They’re certainly cute together,” Shelby says, glancing back at Martha and Marcus.

“I say it’s weird they have the same name,” Rachel says.

“Says the girl who dated a guy named Raymond,” Nora says.

Rachel throws a straw wrapper at him, “That was a phase and you know it.”

“Marcus is sweet,” Shelby says. “If anyone deserves someone sweet it’s Martha.”

“Don’t you think he’s a little,” Leah trailed off and they all looked at her. “You know a little…”

“Spit it out, Leah,” Rachel says.

“Like the porch lights on but no one’s home?” Leah says.

“Martha is smart enough for the both of them,” Toni says. “And thank god because I was sick of doing his homework in quant lit.”

“That’s literally the easiest math class there is,” Fatin says and Toni shrugs.

“What’s that?” Shelby asks, pointing at the yellow slip sticking out of Toni’s binder.

“Some extra credit stuff, from Williams. Apparently I’m not doing so hot in that class,” Toni says.

Rachel leans way over from the other end of the table. “What is that, Dickinson?”

“It’s a list of numbers,” Shelby says. “Why would it be Dickinson?”

“All of Dickinson’s poems were numbered. It was only after she died that other people named them,” Nora says.

“And Nora said it so you know it’s true,” Rachel smirks.

“Join the fucking club,” Dot says to Toni. “I don’t know why y’all didn’t take non-honors English twelve with me. We just sit around and talk about whatever football game was on the most recently.”

“Well I’ve never liked football so.” Toni gets up, “I’ve gotta talk to my science teacher. I’ll see you guys after school.”

“I’ll go with you,” Shelby smiles and Toni clenches her jaw. “Ms. Roberts said I needed to rework my psych paper.”

“See you guys,” Rachel says and as they leave she’s arguing with Dot about why football is stupid and Toni can feel Fatin’s eyes on her all the way out.

———

reasons to kiss her

1.) she loves you, and her eyes are closed, and didnt your mother ever tell you not to leave a good thing waiting

Toni hated the magnet program kids at her middle school. Like everyone not in their cluster she found them annoying, rich, and privileged as fuck. They only hung out with each other and it was clear they’d never give—

———

“Toni?”

The stair well is empty, it’s the short cut through the language hallway and no one goes there during lunch.

Toni is working hard on ignoring Shelby but is forced to turn around when Shelby stops halfway up.

“Ms. Roberts doesn’t need me to rework my psych paper.”

Toni stares at her.

Shelby takes a step up, one step closer to Toni.

“I had hoped maybe you wrote it for Regan,” Shelby says.

“No such luck,” Toni croaks out.

“That’s a lot of reasons not to kiss someone,” Shelby says. “You’d think if you really shouldn’t kiss someone you’d only need the one.” She takes another step up, until they’re only separated by a few inches.

“I guess,” Toni says.

“Are you really gonna keep me waiting?” Shelby says.

Toni blinks, “You mean you still—”

“I have to do everything myself,” Shelby says.

She kisses her.