#once in a lifetime occurrence n now it's back to the sillies

[tonycries]

omg ur blog is being called out in the comments of averageanimangaenjoyer tiktok video :(( (by commenters, not the creator) titled “people don’t make fanfics anymore they don’t make full length stories, they just try to post $mut fics” and they’re talking about how they burn out and put out a new one

REPORTED THEM FOR HATE SPEECH

PLSSS WHY DID THIS MAKE ME GIGGLE 😭 And honestly, I was going to respond with a silly werewolf meme like usual, but I genuinely want to take the time out to say that some people treat fanfic writers like content farms and it's disgusting.

Like this is not directed or hate towards the creator or ANYONE really, because everyone has their own opinion - but you have to understand that you're NOT obligated to content.

Feeling burnt out? Valid and I feel you, I really do. Dislike my content and want a 200k+ slow burn angst instead? That's great! Block me and write your own then.

Just stop hating on fic writers who spend hours upon hours of time and effort to write, edit, and share something they love for FREE.

You don't have to like every fic, but I saw some of the comments on that video and they were fr disheartening talking trash about not just me, but writers in general that just want to contribute something they love towards a fandom - be it smut or one-shots or SMAU. Again, content for FREE - no one is entitled to anything. Write your own if you want something so bad.

And once more, this is NOT shade so don't send hate to anyone. Quite frankly I'm not even upset (gen), this is just my perspective.

In the end, we're all just silly people with our silly interests so can we all just get along?

But yeah, sorry for rambling, and thanks for standing up for me lovely MWAH <33 💗💗

[hajimesh]

𝗸𝗲𝗲𝗽 𝗺𝗲 𝗶𝗻 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗿𝘁

⥅ eren jaeger / 1.8k words

warnings. manga spoilers, fluff and angst, gender neutral reader

a/n. my entry for anilysium's collab, don't forget to check the masterlist !! thank u sm temi for the beta ♡ @thefairywalker

hope is what makes someone hold onto a promise. and that hope it's worse than the broken promise itself.

—

845.

an autumn-like breeze cooled down the summer afternoon, and with the sky barren of any clouds, it was easier for the sun rays to land on those familiar blond strands.

"over there!"

eren's small hand—even though it was big enough to cover yours—wrapped around your wrist before it tugged you through the crowd. your rapid breaths were all you could hear while you mentally prayed to make it on time, just a couple more steps and you would be within reach, already staring at armin’s frightened face which caused your heart to jump. but what finally managed to send you in a state of despair was the sight of eren shoving the bigger kid away.

“what do you think you’re doing, yeager?!”

“are you hurt?” tears gathered at the corners of your eyes while you helped armin up on his feet, you didn’t have to turn around to know eren had received a punch, his pained wail making you flinch.

armin took your hand and together faced the scene before your eyes, holding onto each other's hands while tears dampened your cheeks.

“leave him alone!” the tremble in your voice was obvious, even after multiple fights with those kids it always ended up the same way. armin and you crying in fear for eren and mikasa's safety.

only this time mikasa was nowhere to be seen.

“shut up!” 

“don’t talk to them like that!” with a kick on the shin, eren managed to keep the bully out of commission for a few seconds. but that was enough for your saviour to arrive.

“leave before i call the garrison.”

relief began to relax your tense stance, you all knew that it wasn’t the moment to be wasting their time in a kid’s fight, the shortage of food seemed to worsen each day and keeping the people on a tight leash became harder as the days went by.

the kid seemed to finally realize he wouldn't win this time, so with a scoff he took a couple of steps back, "this isn't over," his annoyed gaze traveled from eren to you, "and try not to piss your pants next time."

the three of you watched him run away while the rush of adrenaline began to wear out on your bodies and gave in to the tiredness. had mikasa not intervened, the outcome would've been way worse.

"hey," eren was the first one to break the silence, turning towards you and landing a hand on your shoulder. unfortunately, the softness in his voice was your catalyst and soon you allowed the distress to overcome you, "oh no, don't cry!"

it was useless to try to get your tears to stop, falling one after another as your chest racked with broken sobs, "i-i'm sorry i couldn't be o-of help!"

armin watched in worry as eren tried and failed to get you to calm down. he could tell you were scared when you confronted the bully, your hold on his hand so tight he feared you would end up hurting yourselves. but even so, you had pulled through your fear and stood your ground, something he admired from you.

with a tug on your shirt, mikasa signaled you to start walking, her impassive yet reassuring gaze letting you know she was there for you.

"let's go home."

—

the warm steam that blew onto your blotchy face felt soothing, the taste of mrs. yeager's freshly brewed tea successfully relaxing the tightness in your chest as it ran down your throat.

you could already feel the tiredness hitting you all at once, begging you to lie down and close your eyes so you could rest your mind after the afternoon's occurrences. but with eren's eyes observing you, you knew you weren't off the hook yet.

"better?"

not trusting your voice, you hummed and smiled behind the cup resting on your lips, sniffling slightly when a flashback of eren being punched on the face appeared on your mind.

however, he didn't seem to be done with the topic.

"why did you stand up to him if you were so scared? you were lucky he didn't go for you." 

"'cause i didn't want him to keep punching you."

"i don't need your help," his tone gave you the wrong impression. were you bothering him? a frown pulled your lips in a wobbly pout but he was quick to realize his error, "i mean, we should focus on armin, right? he's the one always in trouble."

you rocked your feet back and forth, watching them dangle from the chair as you mulled over his words. he wasn't lying, it was armin who often ended up as the victim of those bullies. at least when neither of you were around to aid him.

"i have a plan!" eren suddenly perked up, eyes brimming with excitement and pride as he obviously found his plan a good one, "dad always says that it's his duty to protect mom because they're married. so, if we get married, i can protect you and we can protect armin—together!"

you couldn't help but gasp, "married?! but we are too little!"

"not now, dummy. when we grow up!"

"what if i cry again and can't protect armin?" you voiced out your biggest worry as you pushed the cup away and made room on the table for your arm, resting your chin on top of it after yawning.

"i'll protect all of us," he didn't even hesitate, “and we have mikasa too.”

the silly promise made so much sense to your 10-year-old brain, which is why you held onto the hope and safety it gave you and agreed.

carla yeager squealed the news to her husband once eren and you had fallen asleep.

—

850.

there wasn't a day where you didn't regret not going with them.

the lively days soon became dull without eren and armin’s excited voices as they discussed the fire and icy lands in armin’s book, mikasa’s reassuring presence gone as well. but you knew you wouldn’t make it through the strenuous military training—or at least that was what you had told yourself.

truthfully, you wondered how were they not scared of continuing with their suicide mission of joining the legion, all those sacrifices just to see what was outside the walls. why couldn’t they be happy with what you already had? it wasn’t much, but you had each other, which was more than what most people could say.

with shiganshina gone, you became one of the refugees that lurked in the streets of trost. the conditions to live growing harsher, food and shelter becoming escarse and a luxury, but eren’s promise gave you enough strength to go on with your days until you landed a job as a waitress at a pub. 

you missed them, all of them.

their names flew from the mouths of the military police and other higher ups that passed by, making you wonder what they were up to. however, when news spread about eren’s abilities to shift into one of those creatures, that old sense of worry shook you to your very core.

was he hurt? mikasa wouldn't let anyone lay a finger on him, but what if they separated them?

multiple scenarios ran through your head, many of them not so pleasing and only worsening your nerves. but if their names kept coming up in the authorities’ conversations after each and every mission, then it meant they were still alive.

unfortunately, all you could do was pray for their well-being and silently beg them to return.

—

854.

after years of not hearing his voice, it took you several seconds to recognize it.

“where– where are we? why–”

“you’ve changed,” his tone was soft yet hints of curiosity sept through as he marveled at you, “you look older..." prettier, he wanted to say.

having spent so many years without the intensity of his gaze, you realized you had grown unused to it, “you’ve changed too.”

it seemed like everyone had disappeared, except for you and him. dunes of fine sand slithered under your feet and a bright light illuminated the starry sky, converging by the horizon and causing his green eyes to shine in a way you had never seen before.

“eren… what’s all this?”

one moment you were surrounded by chaos, people screaming while an army of colossal titans walked south and eren declared war against the rest of the world; and the next it all had gone quiet, a man—eren—standing next to you while holding your hand.

"they will pay, and then we will be free," his thumb rubbed the skin on the back of your hand gently.

you caught the way his gaze hardened for a second, rage clear in his features but what confused you the most was the amount of hurt swirling in his eyes.

​​what did he mean by 'they'? you were aware of marley's feelings towards the eldians but was it truly that bad? there were so many questions you wanted to ask, but something told you that you didn’t have enough time so you chose to stick to the most important ones. 

“how's mikasa? armin... is it true? he’s the colossal now?”

eren pulled you closer to him by tugging on your hand, cradling the side of your face with his free hand as a smile took over his lips.

"mikasa's busy kicking everyone's asses," he joked and you couldn't help but laugh, relieved at the sudden lightness in his voice. your eyes closed briefly when he leaned forward and rested his forehead against yours, licking his lips before continuing, "armin... yeah, he's the colossal. looks like i need to find another excuse to marry you, hm?” 

you found it unfair how after almost a decade, he could still hold such a power over your heart, the butterflies in your stomach feeling worse than what you recalled.

“you remember?”

he didn't miss the hope in your tone, his own heart aching at the thought of you assuming he had forgotten about your existence. there wasn't a day where he hadn't wondered about your well-being, were you safe? had a titan stole your life just like they had done with his mom? it was armin and mikasa who consoled him whenever the intrusive thoughts became too much to his already stressed mind.

“i never forgot.”

it was subtle, the way that kids promise evolved into a lifetime vow—but neither of you minded.

“i need you to promise me one more thing," he murmured, his breath fanning over your lips while your own faltered at his proximity.

“you’re leaving again,” it wasn't a question.

“i have to.”

it pained him to no end, but it had to be done. the warmth of his lips touched your forehead, your cheeks, and lips; staying longer on the latter while your hearts synchronized for a moment, sharing years worth of affection.

"stay here, on the island. find somewhere safe to stay until it all ends.”

a mere murmur on your lips, that was all it took to harm your hopeful soul.

"and don't wait for me."

[aliteama]

hi! can i request itadori with a cursed vessel! fem s/o? her curse allow her to shape shift her body and mutate with animals part, the curse is just vibing with her and loves her so no problem bonus: the curse is a special first grade

☆彡 Drabbles☆彡

Itadori Yuji

☆彡 A/N: Anon I was so confused! I was like wait what is this request ( •᷄ὤ•᷅)？ but I think I understood what you meant so I hope this is somewhat what you had in mind!

☆彡 A once in a lifetime occurrence and the worst possible thing to happen to those scowling elders. Not only was a compatible vessel found for Sukuna but one for another unregistered special grade as well, its presence hidden under the radar until you had stumbled upon it.

Changing your form and taking upon a new look Itadori watched from his place on the bed as you shift back forth, his mind racing with ideas of what animal would be the strongest to spar with.

“I’ve got it! A whale!”

“A whale..?”

“Whale’s are super strong right?”

Throwing your head back with a sigh you looked at the childish wonder on his face, a whale huh? “Yea whales are strong but I don’t think I could shift into one”

“Eh? Is the brat too weak? I knew you weren’t a special grade” slapping a hand to his cheek to silence Sukuna he let out a breathy laugh before appearing on Itadori’s palm.

“Silly Sukuna, you speak as if I couldn’t rid of you right here right now.” a mouth of its own formed on your hand as well with a sinister grin, sharp fangs bared and pointed tongue lolling out.

“Are the curses fighting again?” Peaking into the room Gojo let out a surprised noise as your curse and Sukuna bickered back and forth, “I don’t understand how you and Itadori can get along so well when your curses hate eachother”

“It’s ‘cause Yuji is sweet and Sukuna is a no good trapped curse who can’t even roam freely” switching places with you the curse that inhabited your body took over and tugged at the tongue sticking out of Itadoris hand to make it retract.

“Tch. At least I have a name thats feared” pressing a sharp nails to her cheek the curse in your body pondered, while it was true she was strong she couldn’t recall her name for some odd reason.

“Ok, ok break it up you two! And switch back with Y/N now if you will” clasping his hands together Gojo watch you loose balance before popping back up, “I have a special mission for my favorite vessels!”

“We’re your only vessels!”

“Anywho.. I need the two of you to track down a finger, it’s whereabouts are somewhere in downtown Tokyo. Eliminate all curses in the area as well”

Sticking a thumb out Itadori pulled you along while grumbling about how annoying Sukuna’s voice was, “Your lucky ya’know? I wish Sukuna was as compliant as your curse but all he does it give me headaches..”

Sticking your tongue out at his dishearted face you poked at his cheek before rushing ahead “I guess you just got the short end of the stick Yuji!”

“Huh? Isnt the short end the better one?”

“What.. no, it’s the longer stick wins”

[jeogiyall]

[11:57 pm]

It wasn’t an uncommon thing for Kevin to text you at a quarter till midnight and ask if you wanted to run to Sheetz with him. In truth, it was very common. At least once a week you listened to the clock tower of your one horse town chime while you lazed on the curb with your best friend nestled safely beside you. He would always tell you to make a wish, and you would say that’s silly because wishes are meant for stars or eyelashes. You would always make one anyways. This was not uncommon.

What was uncommon, however, was the boys behavior on this particular night. Whenever he picked you up he was usually already halfway into his favorite broadway playlist, but there was no music when you entered his car this time. He’s barely said a word other than asking about your day. He almost didn’t get a blue slushy to match your red one like you always do. Even now he’s sitting an ocean away from you on the curbside with his cheeks squished between his hands. There’s a pout creeping onto his thin lips.

“Kev?” You question into the inky night, causing him to pull his head up and stare at you. You think it’s sweet that even from so far away you can still see the glimmer of his eyes. It makes you question if he’s even far away at all.

“(Y/n.)” He answers. You move closer to him inch by inch until your thigh brushes his. This feels more familiar than before, you think.

“What’re you thinking about?” When he sighs it’s with his head tilted back, black hair spilling from where it was fastened behind his ears as his grievances travel to the sky. He rubs his temples before responding.

“The future, I guess. How quickly it’s coming. How badly I want it. H-how... How you fit into it.” You know that there are two things he could mean by that. He could be saying that you don’t fit into it at all. That you’re one size too small for the rest of Kevin’s life, or... There’s always the ‘or.’

“I can fit into it in whichever way you’d like me to.” As the words leave your mouth you take hold of his hands, gripping them firmly. You squeeze them ever so slightly in an attempt to convey your sincerity, because you mean this in the deepest way that you can. He needs to know that.

“Really?” His eyes finally meet your own, and you’re about to respond when the clock tower chimes. The abrupt noise causes Kevin to jump back, so you’re both left giggling on the curbside while your hands embrace one another’s. It feels good. Like a common occurrence.

“What’d you wish for?” You ask once his laughter has died down. There’s still a grin on his face and a breathlessness to his voice, but now he can look at you. He can look at you with the adoration of ten thousand lifetimes loved and lived.

“You.” In the following moments you do four things. First is climbing into your friends lap in a way that traps his petite torso between your thighs. Second is running your hands along the delicate slopes of his shoulders. Third you ask him, ‘can I?’ to which he answers ‘I thought you’d never ask.’ So fourth you finally, finally, kiss him.

It’s not fervent like the kisses you see in movies. There’s no thrashing around. His hands barely travel from their home on your cheeks. You don’t have to pull away and gasp for air, but it’s still magical. It still fills you with warmth and love for the boy who’s smiling beneath you.

When you’re finished you’re about to pull back completely, but his hands on your face restrict you. He pulls you towards him until your foreheads rest together. You giggle while trailing your hands down to his chest. The movement there is even, a rise and fall that drills comfort deep into your heart.

He spends the rest of the night with you spilling all the thoughts that had been pent up before then. He draws circles on the back of your palm. He kisses your temple. You start to think that you and Kevin have an uncommon kind of love. All these years you’ve had each other without being together, all this time that you’ve wanted him without yearning. Years spent knowing that you were meant for each other, but never rushing it. You think that it’s because you both knew that this was where your stories would end. You both knew that there was no point in rushing forever.

“Did you mean what you said?” He asks much much later, once morning is bleeding into your treasured night sky and sleep is hanging heavy beneath your eyes. You nuzzle closer into his chest and stretch your legs so that they bump against the interior of his car door. Hours of sitting on curbsides and driving down nameless roads has led you to stretch out in his backseat while parked in the driveway to your home.

“Mean what?” Your voice is tired, yet still you don’t want to sleep. You want to remember this for just a little bit longer.

“The thing about how you’ll fit wherever I want you to. Did you mean it?”

“Every word.” You affirm with certainty while moving your hand so that it can find his. When they’re joined you give him a squeeze, “What do you want me to be?”

He doesn’t answer for a moment, but when he does the response is definite.

“Everything.”

[obeymeaskme]

Obey Me!: Human and Demon hearts!

A/N: I've been working on a Fanfic for Obey me with a close friend of mine. It takes place after the game, and possibly in a AU. Each of my chapters are about 10 pages long, so I have split them up into sections for everyone! Please enjoy!

Chapter one: The Arrivals (1/2)

Word Count: 1,530

Rating: 18+

The world is an ever changing place. Some make a fair living, and others struggle with the flex and flow of life. Yet there were still opportunities left for two young girls looking for respite from their previous lives. Noelle, a short pudgy, artistic type who was the one to suggest moving to the countryside. Bella, Noelle’s long term friend who was searching for work, had agreed due to the open jobs in the town they had settled into. Even with their seemingly bright future, the skies above their trailer grew darker by the minute. It seemed almost unnatural to them. Noelle had paused outside while helping unpack boxes into the house. She looked up at the sky to stare at the shifting clouds, and shuddered when she caught a glimpse of lightning whip through the clouds.

“I know we're nowhere close to tornado alley out here, but I swear if these creepy clouds mean there's a storm coming, I'm not going to be happy...”

Bella laughed and stole the boxes from her hands, taking what was left of the packages.

“If you're that scared don't stand outside, silly!”

Soon enough the air was thick with humidity, and the girls made their way inside. Noelle began stretching as Bella took a seat on a stray bean bag chair and began to complain.

“I don't know what's gonna suck more. Unpacking, or trying to find our beds. I'm so tired...”

“I'm tired too. We did bring a blow up mattress. I can get that going, and one of us can hoard the bean bags...” Noelle responded with a flat tone.

“You want to sleep on the bean bags don't you?” Bella playfully accused.

Noelle gave no verbal response, and opted for just nodding as she rummaged through the boxes for the air pump and mattress.

Later on in the evening they unpacked most of the Tupperware, ate their dinner, and unfolded their bedding; Creating a small space for temporary living. In the corner of boxes they had placed a kindle that was playing a news station. Noelle had given a second shudder as the Anchor explained that the dark purple clouds was just a rare occurrence, only lasting a few days. Even when pronounced that the possible storm wasn't deadly, the atmosphere felt like it was about to crack. Furthering the girl's concerns.

Bella had crawled out of her makeshift bed, and found a box labeled “Bella's Stuffed Animalz”. The 'Z' was scrawled over the 'S' in an attempt of a joke done by her current roommate. Dumping out the contents, an armful of cow plushies, and a realistic seal squishy covered her bed. Tossing the seal towards Noelle's way she stroke up conversation about their new life. The longer they chatted, the more they yawned until finally both girls had fallen asleep. Unaware of what the next few days will bring.

Morning came, and so did the sun, but instead of golden rays, the previous forecast had turned the world around then into a filter of purples and blues. The same news station played in the background as the girls continued their adventure in unpacking boxes. After the morning had dragged on, a break was in order. It was a new day, and most of the boxes had dispersed. A sign of their hard work. Hard work that Noelle decided was to be rewarded with a trip to the nearby town. Begrudgingly Bella had agreed, and the two made their way down the road. The Town itself was nothing special. A straight way of small stores, and a handful of side roads that probably lead to other houses. Two Stomachs growled at the sight of a Pizza shop where they chose to spend lunch before they had gone window shopping.

Both the girls were fairly happy with the lack of social introductions, and the short walks to the stores were even better. It was a slow pace that they both ached for after years of past hardships and day to day life. A final destination came about, but only by the sheer magnetic allure the oddity shop had given them. The Purple banner had matched the sky above them, though the clouds seemed as if they were soon about to part. A bell jingled against the door as they walked in. Both in awe that such a store would exist in this kind of town.

The shop was a mix of herbs, Wicca and witch tools, and various other hand crafted items that seemed to sparkle on their own. The further the girls went in, the more drawn to the corner of the store they became. Very quickly they had walked up to a bland bulletin board that was littered in 'Help Wanted' and theater ads. Yet among all the paper clutter, they had both reached out to a paper advertising for a transfer program. The touching of their hands had broken them out of their trace, and they looked at each other, then back to the paper to examine it more.

The ad seemed like it was hung up a millennium ago. Stains and aged finger oils had caused the paper to look ill compared to the others. Yet the black ink border and description seemed fresh, and also most modern.

“Where does one's soul inlay in the human body? The Heart? The Mind? Or the Nature of a human's will and desire for knowledge. Come forth to the Royal Academy of Diavolo! Help Create A Peaceful Change with the Human Soul!

No School-Age-Or Degree Necessary”

Noelle chuckled as she shook her head.

“This sounds more like a cult than an Academy. ‘Cause Diavolo sounds like a cult god...”

As if on cue a creaky old voice spoke from behind them.

“So close, but no dice!”

Chills ran down the girls spine as a hunched over, yet tall elderly woman had seemingly mocked them. A blush ran across Noelle's face, and Bella had shifted from discomfort.

“Oh please, don't get so nervous. I'm only playing around. That ad you read is for a very well and respected school, that not many people get in. Well... half because not many people are interested.”

Noelle had shaken off her nerves and read the ad again, taking an application form from the packet. She considered it, and then took a second one.

“there's no number to call...”

“The RAD is a bit old fashioned, but that's precisely why they're good at what they do. Yet they somehow manage to barely hit the mark for modern day technology. I know the headmaster personally, and I tell you, if you want the experience of a lifetime, I'd risk filling one of those out.”

The Woman didn't leave. She seemed to be waiting for an answer. Only when the girls told her they'd think about it, did they get to exit the shop, and walk away from the old ladies tracking eyes. To say they got back to their small home as quickly as possible was an understatement.

After they made a beeline to the door, Bella had turned around and locked it. Giving the girls a feeling of satisfactory safety. The house was calm for once, and though the sky above had finally started clearing up Noelle's hand seemed to twitch and itch towards the papers in her bag.

“I... I kind of want to fill one out... Do you?”

“No, not really. You said it yourself, it sounds like a cult...”

“I just looked it up, and the only thing I'm finding out is that Diavolo means Devil...”

It was a false, calm, silence and both of their tangled up nerves returned as they laughed. Only to try and relieve stress. Bella shook her head and took one of the applications, and scoffed.

“I'll fill it out, but it's not like we're going to actually send them. There's not even a return address on these.”

Noelle read her paper over and over again. Bella was right. It was a basic form with Name, Number, past Achievements, and a whole other list of personality questions. The Academy symbol wasn't even on it. It came down as a simple prank to them. That woman might just be trying to scare them off. Maybe the town had a hallmark type of thing against newcomers? It didn't matter. No, now they had begun filling out the papers as a joke. They took the questions seriously. Noelle wanted to mock “Diavolo” since he'd never receive those papers. And he'd never get to read them. Soon after finishing the applications, they had thrown them out after tearing them up, and reminisced about the achievements written on the papers. Poking fun of their personality assessments telling them both that they were likely candidates.

Dusk had taken over the day, and the clouds had finally cleared. Signaling another day has gone by, and sleep once again took over the household. Leaving behind a finished home, and two cautious sleepers.

[the-last-cuddlebender]

I wish you would write a fic where Aang is just flustered and is amassed at katara while she’s just doing nothing ❤️maybe after the balcony kiss (btw your my favorite fic writer 💕)

*smacks table* *kicks a chair over* *screams into the void*

(;´༎ຶٹ༎ຶ`) NO YOU’RE MY FAVORITE, ANON😤❤💕💖

Ngl tho, this prompt and one other have been haunting me for so long oml I just for the longest time drew complete blanks like...just nothing came to me. Nada. I even tried getting a legit 12 straight hours of sleep to turn my brain off and back on again but nOpE. I really wanted to keep it related to after the balcony kiss since I wanted the challenge, but gosh did it fight me. My brain go poof I hope you’re happy for making me question everything, Anon lol

Anywho, I love and cherish you, Anon, you bean, you godsend, you magnificent angel, you🥰~ I hope you enjoy the fic!!!

Words: 1,785

***************************************

Aang kneaded his right thumb into his left palm. The scars there were small and white and hardly noticeable unless he held his hand right to his face.

It was peculiar, to say the least. Only the hand that received Ozai’s lightning bore a shadow of his opponent’s cold fire. The belly of his palm was a memory of death barely avoided, but he tried (...tried…tried very, very hard...) to imagine the milky pattern on pale skin as looking like a leaf’s veins when held up to the sunlight.

Aang rolled his lip between his teeth. He was going to tear something if he crouched for much longer. The scars burned without burning, and he wasn’t sure which fate was worse. Was it even considered a scar if it was never open? It was just there after the battle like it was a maker’s mark on a finished piece.

Katara would know—there was little that she didn’t know—, but she had been far too exhausted for him to even consider asking—

Katara...

Aang’s face burned like the fire she lit in his cheeks was eternal.

If he was perfectly honest, he didn’t remember feeling the kiss.

He only remembered how the kiss felt.

Because remembering the moment when Katara redefined what happiness felt like was a moment Aang would never forget.

His shoulders rose to his ears; his face smoldered as giddy magma crawled up his neck. He teetered to one side when thoughts of her shifted gravity. Maybe it was a good thing that he was crouching, after all.

Katara…

...But then he looked at his estranged left palm and the new maker’s mark that it bore.

...And his heart crisped and flaked into ashes piling in the pit of his chest.

The scarring changed nothing but uprooted everything. It was a cancer, black and numb on his hand, like it was suffering from frostbite and needed to be removed.

The estranged left palm that saved his life was the same hand Katara held—all those months ago—when they kissed that day in the dark, trapped and alone, in an inky-black Earth Kingdom cave.

The kiss was a gentle waltz turning into a speedy tango, but her hand on his was the tug to lift him out of his chair. It was the strike of flint and steel that burned away the cobwebs in his heart and brushed aside all dust to welcome something new.

...Katara...

Sokka had interrupted before Aang could ask her to be his girlfriend. Time was an illusion, but time was precious. Memories framed in moments were the beginnings of beautiful new somethings.

What they were, though...

He really hoped Katara knew better than him. Of course, she would—there was little that she didn’t know.

Did the kiss make it—them—official? They said more in words unspoken than words said aloud ever could, but they hadn’t had a moment of peace since then. Surely, he had to ask her. He really, really wanted to, too. It didn’t feel right to celebrate an anniversary without a proper date—Spirits, he and Katara were gonna have an anniversary, oh Spirits—

Aang’s palm stared back at him. Embarrassment hit him like a skybison at full-speed.

Katara had nearly killed him during the meeting that morning.

Holding his hand—that hand—under the table was toying with whatever gave his heart reason to beat.

Aang had hugged her times a-plenty, but he had never held her hand in that way for that long. It eclipsed their kiss and left him powerless like a suddenly doused fire.

...It had felt like he was poisoning her—like he was touching her with an open wound. 

Aang slumped a little more in the corner of the balcony and stared at his callouses like they could tell him what to do.

The sunset was a smirk mocking his plight, but the moonrise was a gentle grin trying (...trying…trying very, very hard...) to heal his hurts.

Katara hated holding his hand. He felt that she did. She muted the room for him when she touched him; it brought her every reaction into stark relief. He had briefly wondered if that was what Toph felt like when she sensed when someone was lying.

Katara had stiffened. She even shifted like she couldn’t get comfortable. The breath that left her was fast at first like she was just told bad news. Her exhales after that were deep and almost seething.

...The worst part was when she wouldn’t look at him. She only glared about and around them.

Aang slumped from his crouch until his rear hit the ground. His right thumb stayed married to his left palm, and the white lightning stung tender like something freshly burned. He only partially wished that he had the top of his robes on when the thought of her regretting him cut the strings that held him together; he was a puppet collapsing against the balcony wall and sliding down gritty concrete. His scar—another reminder of her—stung him like smacks to the face and melted him into something made of noodles.

The moon was a bit higher, now, but its grin wasn’t any more reassuring than before. The bugs and small critters must have become annoyed with his melting because there was silence like Hei Bai’s forest when Aang made himself smaller than his shadow and dragged his kneading hand even closer to his face.

Their kiss—she had kissed him—barbed him with a sting like thorns on a rose bush except laced with poison and fiberglass. It was decaying from the start of something new into the empty longing for a once in a lifetime occurrence. 

Something shot him in the leg and crippled what made him Aang.

His right thumb kneading his left palm slipped and dug a fingernail into a callous.

He was goo freezing over—a body consumed by jennamite.

Aang breathed out, about to take the inhale to fuel the first hiccup dancing on his shaking lip—

—but then Katara stepped onto the balcony and leaned up against the bars.

Being an airbender had its perks, and his lungs not popping from the force and fullness of his panicked inhale was definitely one of them. He was a statue—a deformed gargoyle that looked more horrific to behold than to cross—, and the glimpse of Katara’s soft grin became a braided noose refusing to let him exhale.

None of the lights were lit.

Spirits, did he love his moonrise and the weakness that she gave him.

Katara was staring into something that didn’t exist on this plane and smiling at something he couldn’t see. She was a stilled lake normally raging and powerful and beautiful to behold. He wouldn’t dare disturb her. She was as calm as a reflection.

Sudden exposure reminded him of stepping into a forbidden part of the Southern Air Temple, and his presence became a violation of something precious. Katara was remembering moments of beautiful new somethings if the way she absentmindedly bent a stream of water about one wrist—her bending her joy unhindered—was anything to go by.

Aang blushed a shade of red that Aunt Wu could have mistaken as the intended location for eruption from the Symbol of Volcanic Doom. He closed his eyes, covered his ears, and dared to shimmy into the shadow of the corner. Katara was a warrior unmatched and without equal. That’s why she was Master Katara. He could no sooner escape her than escape the earthshaking hammer-blows that the hint of her smile drove into his chest. 

He sat on a tightrope whose cables were snapping and unwinding.

It was only when he felt weaker in a way that made him stronger that he peaked an eye open.

Katara was crouched and more concerned than bemused. “Aang?” She touched the knee that had curled to his chest and was threatening to buckle into his sternum. “Are you okay?”

…’Okay’ was a subjective and circumstantial term.

His voice was the sound of rubber sliding water off of wet glass. “M-hm.”

“What are you doing out here alone and...in the corner?”

“Well, I was just...Well, y’know…” His right thumb stuck to his left palm like they were nailed together. He tried (...tried...tried very, very hard...) to hide his wound from her. “Moon ‘s nice ‘n…’n stuff.”

Katara mulled over his words, said and unsaid. Her stare was an examination checking his vitals—his heart, his soul, and his happiness. She hummed a thoughtful sound that bookmarked her place in the pages of him.

It all happened in under the time it took her to breathe. Aang nearly stopped breathing altogether when she tapped her finger on his knee.

“You’re hiding on the balcony because ‘Moon ‘n stuff’?”

“...Yes?”

She spared his ‘hidden’ fiddling hands a half-lidded glance. “Aang...”

“What?”

Katara flicked his arrow. Then, she waited.

Aang didn’t crack. He melted. 

“I was just—I thought…” He deflated. “I needed somewhere to think.”

Something about his words or the way that he said them made every bit of her soft. Her concern riddled him with holes, and, when she settled on the ground before him and propped her head on her arms on his knees, there was barely any of him left to keep him together.

“You wanna talk about it? It’s okay if you don’t. I just haven’t seen that look on your face since...Well, I can’t remember since when.”

One part of Aang threatened to grab the other part of him and throw him into a volcano.

He was making her worry. He should never make her worry, especially over something so silly—

He opened his mouth but hesitated. He didn't want to say no.

“Not—Not now.”

His honesty tamed her like she could feel it as easily as a temperature change. “It’s not something hurting you, right?”

Yes.

“No.”

Katara frowned with her eyes.

Then, she stood.

(Spirits, Aang loved his moonrise.)

“Take my hand.”

Aang’s heart took a trip to the tiny star just to the right of the moon.

She looked at him, and he felt hot cinders flake from his face and into his twisting belly. It sparked a fire so hot that it turned his sea of chi into an ocean of molten ore.

He was suddenly empty of something and filled to the brim with something else.

Katara’s hand was an invitation without equal, and the instinct to grab hold and never let go was a god’s hand trying to push him forward. 

He almost did.

But then his right thumb paused on his left palm, and white lightning struck him down.

Katara flinched like she felt it.

Aang curled into a knot like he could still hide it. 

Kneeling, Katara unraveled him without touching him. Her eyes found his and held him in place not like in a trap but like in a hug. Too soon his right thumb was hushed away from his left palm and his estranged hand was held close to her face. 

Aang couldn’t remember hearing her words, but he felt what she was saying.

Her sorrow nearly tore him apart.

Luckily, her smile kept his shredded heart together. 

And the kiss to his white lightning and the three points of his hand’s arrow put air back into his lungs. He dove into the cool-blue look she gave him and drowned himself in all that she was. 

He was filled with clouds so puffy that they threatened to let loose their rain, but his eyes became only wet and never misty. He smiled beyond the limits of what anatomy allowed when her face turn as red as his felt.

She said something that put his pieces back together, and she looked at him with something that gave him the strength. Cherry-red metal poured from a kiln and wept up her neck and into her cheeks.

Katara rolled her eyes to something that wasn’t there, disappeared inside, and returned with a mass of blankets.

“What are all the blankets for?”

“Moon ‘n stuff,” Katara said as she finished her nest of comforters and fortified quilt walls. 

Then she offered her hand again—she slipped it loosely into his own and waited for him to hold her first. 

“Sit with me.”

Aang shouldn’t have been as giddy as he was, and Katara pursed her smile like she was struggling not to enjoy his happiness too much when she tugged him up from the ground and laid with him against cushioned concrete. 

Moon ‘n Stuff was laughing and pointing out funny bits in constellations of their own designs. It was gossiping all the good rumors and their hopes about which of them might be true.

Katara crowned him King of their Chateau of Comforters with the softest blanket she had. It was blue and smelled like mornings when he could sleep in and like the small joys of finding warm things in cold places.

Katara accepted his invitation into his Blanket Castle within their Comforter Chateau. The blanket was plenty big for both of them and tied them together in a fuzzy cocoon.

She relaxed against him like she was sinking into warm water. The air that left her was fast at first like she just saw something she dearly missed. Every exhale after that was slow and satisfied—drunk on the indescribable and bewitched by the unimaginable. Aang felt her every movement so clearly that he wasn’t sure whether to give thanks or repent for the precious moment she was creating with him.

But then she shifted like she couldn’t get comfortable enough.

And she dragged an eye open to glare at any critter’s sound breaking their peace.

That was when Aang understood.

That was also when Aang lost it.

The urge to laugh was so overwhelming that it didn’t process into the bodily function, instead filling him from toe to brim with small giggles and soft feelings.

Katara didn’t want to share.

Of course, she didn’t.

Their moments were their moments, and he was hers and hers alone.

Master Katara was a being without equal, but Aang knew that which even she didn’t know.

Don’t worry about them. It’s just you and me right now.

Aang’s confidence limped back to him and convinced his estranged left hand to sidle towards hers. He touched the back of it with two fingers—an almost mute invitation, an almost silent knock on the door.

Katara laced her fingers with his like it was the most natural thing in the world. She handled it not like it was something wounded but like it was something precious, and she kissed all of his knuckles before cooling his white lightning with the gentle touches of her snowy-soft palm.

The hands were the most sacred part of a bender. They were the outlets from which their soul leaked. They were the culmination of all of their senses to interact with the world.

Aang’s world shyly smiled and fiddled with her hair. She shifted like she couldn’t decide on which spot against him or which way to hold him would bring them as close as she wanted. 

She wouldn’t even look at him for fear of changing color and state of matter from beautiful young woman to gorgeous little puddle.

She blushed like something beautiful coming into bloom.

Then, she said something.

Her words bypassed all feeling and branded themselves onto his heart

“...want to be my boyfriend? O-Only if you want to...because I want to, so...um...”

She inhaled on the word like she was telling good news and hoping for the universe to talk back to her.

Aang’s current incarnation threatened to be kicked out from under him and reborn into the Water Tribes.

His head nodded like it was trying to make a break for it.

Katara laughed like it was the only language she knew.

They shared each others’ smiles in a shy kiss that felt like a brushing of souls—like the gentle zap of lightning between earth and sky that brought beauty and shook all that they knew but brought with it no scars or destruction.

She squeezed his hand.

He kissed her again just because he could.

White lightning and snowy-soft touches connected what made them each other.

Aang wilted like soggy grass, full of that which gave him life and drunk on all that she gave him.

His hand didn’t hurt anymore. His heart was starting to ache, though. It was going to burst if he looked at her for much longer.

His night got darker when Katara closed her eyes, but he welcomed the weakness his rising full moon gave him.

She fell asleep against his side, and even when Aang no longer felt his arm, he didn’t dare move.

The balcony was empty except for them, and his heart was full of only her.

Katara mumbled once, shifted twice, and adjusted her grip to hug the whole of his arm.

She was hardly doing anything, but her doing nothing did everything to him.

Aang’s courage found him just as Katara found her new favorite spot.

He kissed her cheek, but, if he was being honest, he didn’t remember feeling the kiss.

“...I love you.”

He only remembered how her smile felt.

***************************************

.

.

I hope you enjoyed, Anon! I know this isn’t Katara doing “nothing”, per se, but this is what my mush-brain put down when I sat and wrote😅  (I did, however, tuck that little ”doing nothing” idea away for different ficlet👀)

[justasparkwritings]

Cardigan: Thrill Expired

Previous: Once in Twenty Lifetimes 

Pairing: Seokjin X Reader

Genre: Angst / Slice of Life

Rating: PG17 

Word Count: 1,280

Warnings: Disagreement between lovers, swearing, 

Listen: Cardigan by Taylor Swift 

        “You don’t know everything!” You said, arms thrown in the air. You pulled your hair out of its loose ponytail, which had once been secure and sleek, now a mess from fingers intertwining with your locks.

           “Oh, please, I know more than –

           “What makes you think you know more than I do?” You snapped. You felt crazy, the desire that had been pooling in your abdomen dissipating as you become more outraged.

           “I know everything,” Jin said winking.

           “You are so –

           “So what?” His eyes were daring you to continue, daring you to push this silly disagreement into a full-fledged fight. He was daring you, make me sleep on the couch, make me regret coming home for two days, make me.

           “Arrogant, rude, insulting,” You listed his characteristics on your finger, being sure to hold up your middle at him.

           “And you’re not?” He countered.

           “Seok-Jin,” You said, emphasis on the last syllables. His expression didn’t change, unwavering in its annoyance for this conversation.

           “Y/N,” His voice was frustrated, a strain on his throat. He was exhausted, couldn’t you fight tomorrow? “Why are we fighting?” He asked.

           “You said-      

           “No, that is not why we’re fighting.” He cut you off, knowing exactly what you were going to say.

           “Then why are we fighting?” You asked, watching as he plopped back down on the bed. He sighed, unwilling to take the first steps toward a solution. “We were kissing,” You started, trying to retrace your missteps.

           “My hands were under your sweatshirt, really my sweatshirt,” His cheeks flushed.

           “I said I wanted to stop,” You put the next piece in.

           “So, we did,” Jin watched you as you counted off the occurrences on your fingers.

           “Then we started fighting?” It was a question.

           “I believe I called you a tease,” Jin offered, eyes sparkling at the banter he hoped would follow.

           “You did, you said that I was such a fucking tease, and what could possibly be the problem, after all we’ve been apart for months,” A lightbulb went off in your mind, and your heart clenched around the insinuation.

           “That sounds about right.” Jin laid back, unsure what had been the fateful misstep.

           “I’m still mad.” Your voice was a whisper.

           “About what?”

           “I’m not a tease!” You called, voice rising an octave.

           “Yes, you are!” Jin said sitting up.

           “You hurt my feelings!”

           “How did I hurt your feelings?” He chuckled; how could one phrase have flipped a switch in you?

           “You come home, the first time I’ve seen you in months, and you immediately want me naked,” You said.

           “I’ve missed being with you,” Jin couldn’t make sense of it, you wanted him equally. Wasn’t that what you did, he came home, you caught up over dinner or breakfast, you made love, then you spent the remaining hours talking, resting, soaking up every ounce of one another?

           “Are you just, using me?” You asked.

           “What? Of course not,” Jin said, voice softening.

           “You come home for two days and all you want is to have your way with me and then, what, leave on Monday? So that in another six weeks you’ll come back and fuck me again?”

           “That’s not what our relationship is,” Jin could feel the hurt building in his chest.

           “Then why do I feel so used?” You asked.

           “I don’t just want to sleep with you,” Seokjin said.

           “What if,” You said.

           “What if?” He asked, eyes wide.

           “What if all you ever want me for is sex?” You could feel your mind starting to spiral, the gnawing feelings you’d had for the last two years seeping into your words.

           “Do you think I’d reduce our very loving relationship to just, sex?” Jin is exasperated by this ridiculous argument.

           “What if after being on tour all you want is to use me and then leave me,” You say, eyes wide, trying to get him to understand your anxieties.

          “I love you; how could I reduce this love to just sex?”

          “What if you stop?” It’s a whisper, barely audible.

          “Stop?”

          “What if you stop loving me, and I become some, glorified sex doll?”  

           “First of all, I will never stop loving you, second of all, what are these hypotheticals? You don’t think I’m going to –

           “Get tired of me and then move on to the next girl?” You interjected.

           “Yeah,” Jin said.

           “Jin,”

           “Honey,” He tried to reach for you, to pull you to him.

           “What if you come back from tour, and this is what we become?” You hadn’t put words to your fears, preferring to bury the thoughts under the other piles of unresolved issues you’ve been avoiding.

           “What are you saying?” Jin hadn’t heard this level of insecurity in your voice since you started seeing each other. Since he’d shared his insecurity with you, and you ensured him you’d still be there.

           “I, I don’t know,” You shook your head and turned to leave the bedroom.

“Don’t go! We need to talk about this,” Jin pleaded.

“I just, I need to clear my head,” You slipped your shoes on, grabbing your purse, and made for a line for your car. As you drove back to your apartment, your mind wandered to all the things you had lost… things you had thought were safe, secure.

          It started as a child, friend after friend moving schools, switching grades, leaving you with the scraps. As you got older, and puberty gave way to betrayal, your parents split, your sister leaving for college, you were left to your own devices. Your heart was yours to protect, and every time it shattered you struggled to put the pieces back together. Insecurities weren’t grounded in reality, there was no reason to believe Jin would stop loving you or would only use you for sex, but the fear of loving him so wholly, so completely, and have him love you in return… You were trying to change your ending. To reverse the pattern you’d become accustomed to.

          Jin sat on the bed, the emptiness giving way to his own emotional spiral.

          He was a disappointment. A disappointing son, a disappointing band member, a general failure that had tricked his way to stardom.

          His university work had been fine. He stood out because of his looks and his charm, but in his time studying, he never became a master. His chance with fame had given him his only hope of ever becoming something to be proud of. His father was successful, a man who had made his fortune by working hard and making opportunities for himself. Jin had grown up in the shadow of him and his older brother. Everything came easily to Seok-Jung, and everyone expected that things would fall into place for Jin, too. Though the eldest held the weight of making the family proud, Seok-Jin, the youngest, held the weight of their legacy. Being “discovered” was the only way Jin thought he could make any of them proud. As he moved through their first years as trainees, and even after their debut, that dream remained elusive.

          His heartache had melded with yours. Every fortification you’d created around yourself, every safeguard, had absolutely shattered under the gaze of Seok-Jin. His heartache and disappointment fed on yours. Your insecurities melted into one another, but instead of destroying you both, you built a love that was stronger than your hurt.

           Jin let you go, not making a move to run after you.

Tomorrow he’d find his way to your door, coffee and pastries in hand, waiting on your front porch.

           Tomorrow he’d wrap his arms around you and kiss it better.

           He knew you.

           Tomorrow he’d make everything okay.

Next: Your Favorite

[rokutouxei]

you are still the sun that shines for me

part 8 of atelier heart

ikemen vampire: temptation in the dark theo van gogh/mc | G | 2793 | [ao3 in bio]

Life couldn’t get any better. You enjoy what you do here, spending your life without regrets with the person you love the most. That is, until you meet her. The woman who still loves Theo.

CHAPTER 4

You and Theo rarely work Sundays. It’s a rule—practicing work-life balance is important, the both of you say. Sundays are for taking King out for a walk or joining Vincent out for a little painting session in the flower fields.

Today, Theo asks you if you could sleep in a little longer.

By “sleep in” he means not get up at 7:00 am, which is about the time Sebastian asks for your help in the kitchen. This is a luxury that neither of you have afforded in some time—mostly because Theo is a workaholic, but also partially because you’ve gotten so used to the rhythm of life in the mansion—so this occurrence is special. He holds you by the wrist when you’ve gotten up and asks you to stay in bed.

You do.

Let yourself get tucked into his still sleep-warm arms, even if your mind is elsewhere. Last week’s little chat in the café had broken down the wall between the both of you, but you were still standing outside the boundary of it, wondering if it is now right to enter. Maybe, you think, maybe it is okay to sleep in, just a little longer, to delay what is… inevitable, today that you’ve decided to talk to Theo about it.

About his little Vincent.

You take a deep breath that comes out so shakily, you know Theo can notice it with your proximity. But there hasn’t been any hiding about all of this from the beginning, anyway, just the illusion of it. You know you are transparent to him the same way he is transparent to you.

The both of you are just waiting for your voices to come back.

You’ll just...take it slowly today. Find a quiet moment alone with Theo. Maybe not this early in the morning, but maybe in the late afternoon. You’re sure you’ll find an exactly right time to bring it up to him.

What should you say? Maybe you should apologize, first, for prying, for having carried this with you since that day at the exhibit a full two months before, so short and yet so long back it feels like a different lifetime ago. Of course, you won’t be telling him about the conversation with Vincent, at the cliffside, but maybe you should tell him about what you’d learned from the boy Vincent, maybe—

“Can’t sleep?”

His voice drags you back into reality, your eyes refocusing to see how close his face is, his beautiful sea-blue eyes. The familiar ones you’d seen on someone else.

“Just a little...distracted,” you offer.

Your heart is up your throat all at once. Should you bring it up now? You’d already been procrastinating on telling him about this for an irresponsible amount of time—no, you were waiting for him to be ready, maybe?—so you may as well do it now, right? Just tell him how you feel about it. He’s basically already asking you what’s wrong. This is your chance to say it. You’ve been waiting for this. You can’t keep sitting on this secret forever.

But before the words come out of your mouth, Theo speaks.

“Come with me out today, won’t you?”

You blink. All your resolution dissolves into thin air at the missed chance.

“Work? Yeah, sure, I can help.”

“I have something to pick up at the atelier, after lunch. I want you to see it, too.”

You nod, pressing your face against his neck. “Yeah. Sure.”

Inhaling his scent, feeling his warmth, relishing in his touch, you try to banish the thought of some other woman in his arms just like this, just like how he held you, how he’d promised the world to her too, maybe. How he’d married her just like that, and how you’re just… here. You try to let the thoughts come up in a cloud of smoke. Later, you tell yourself. Later.

Theo rubs a comforting circle on your lower back.

-

You leave the house after lunch. Arthur sends you and Theo off with a round of teasing that you do not understand, but one that seems to set Theo on edge—you don’t know why yet. Once you exit the carriage, you see the warm spring sun basking the streets in a golden light. It’s a Wednesday, an ordinary day, and the streets of Paris are the same as they’ve always been. Parents walking around town with their children. Busybodies rushing past. Carriages crawl up and down the avenue. You whiff the delicious smell of your favorite pancakes when you pass by your favorite café.

You think of all the memories you’ve made in this city. Down that corner, in a hundred meters you’ll reach the house of a marquis who loves rococo-styled paintings. Straight up the avenue is the café where you and Theo had your first date. If you turn left at that jewelry shop, there’s a bakery that lends its walls to display some of the young artists’ works. A pathway that leads out the side of a bookshop leads to the Seine, where you’d had long walks with Theo, talking about art, love, family.

You are so distracted cataloguing a little map of nostalgia that the whole time you are lost in memory, Theo is also seemingly lost in thought. He stays quiet, guiding you past crowds and on the safer side of the street. The only way you know he’s still with you is the comforting warmth of his hand in yours—your hand he had taken in his as he guided you down the carriage, and then hadn’t let go—and you hold hands all the way to the atelier.

There are no artists today, when you get there, no marquis; just you and Theo, the front door creaking when you enter. The gallery is as spic and span as always, filled with the kind of artwork the Academie loved to tout. But in this building, the magic is on the second floor, the room with the distinct smell of paint and thinner seeping through its walls; a scent that has become to you very familiar.

You go upstairs to the atelier, finding it empty as well, the easels pushed to the side with their respective canvases left out to dry, save for one easel, standing in the middle of the room. It’s covered with a white cloth; the window at the end of the room lets in just enough sun to spotlight the covered painting.

Theo shuts the door behind you, and then settles next to you. “Came for this,” Theo says softly, pulling you gently by the wrist toward the painting before he lets go, grips the cloth with one hand.

You feel him hesitate, but in a moment it is gone.

When he pulls off the piece of cloth, the painting is revealed—a painting of a gray near-spring morning, the trees without leaves and bare, sheets of ice slowly melting atop a glassy silver lake, shimmering white in the dim sunlight. This was a painting you’d seen a duplicate of, one time you were watching the younger artists work—but this one, and you’re sure because of what Theo had taught you, was an original, as original as can be.

It’s hardly the masterpiece that would change your life, as Theo liked to say, but it was an amazing piece, and you’d secretly wished you could own it.

“That’s... a Monet,” is all you say, stepping closer to be fully engrossed in the beautiful near-chromatic landscape, the white of the ice so stark you can almost feel its chill. You’re struck by the wonder of art, as you always do, with Theo. “That’s an actual Monet.”

“What do you think of it?” he asks, nonchalantly.

“Well, it’s, wow,” you say, rather eloquently, “Where do I begin? it’s beautiful.”

“It is,” he says, placing one hand on your waist, and another on the painting’s frame. “And it’s yours.”

The weight of his love is, all of a sudden, so heavy and certain on your shoulders. And oh, what a weight you didn’t mind to bring. You feel so childish so suddenly. “Why?”

He ruffles your hair. “Just take it or I’m taking it back.”

You pout a little, placing your hand on the frame too. “No! I want it. Thank you, Theo,” you say.

And then nothing else.

Just silence.

The both of you know there are things to be said, it’s just that neither of you know where to begin.

Theo decides it’s better to just do.

“I’m not… Vincent. I’m not my brother. I don’t have the skills for painting, and neither have I been chosen for creating anything wonderful. I’m just a mediocre, ordinary person.”

“You know I don’t like it when you say that,” you murmur, gripping his arm.

“I know. But it’s true, and I’m okay with it,” he says. “At the very least, this is what I can do. To buy, and sell, and share paintings. This is my whole life. This is who I am, this is probably what I was born to do. So this is what I can do for you.”

You bite your lip.

“This is the only way I know how to love you; to give you all of what I know how to give.”

You want to cry. You want to apologize for the days you spent discolored by envy, clouded with distrust. You want to take back all the time you’ve spent mulling about if Theo really loved you as much as he claimed to.

“I’m sorry I ever doubted you, Theo,” you say, throwing your arms around him—but this time, the touch doesn’t claw at you; it isn’t a constant chant of mine mine mine mine, but just the collapse of wanting to be held. “I’m sorry I ever doubted this. I just… I didn’t know what could happen. I’m not—I won’t ever be—ready to lose you.”

“You aren’t going to lose me. You were never going to.”

Your heart feels so real suddenly, in your chest. So heavy and alight. “I didn’t know that.”

“You should have, silly hondje,” he says, as he bends down to pick you up, place you on the sofa by the side of the room. You smooth your hand over its fabric and chuckle to yourself; this piece of furniture has seen so much history, if between you and Theo. And here it is to witness one more.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about it earlier.”

His voice wavers in a way you never want to hear ever again.

Months and months of words hidden underneath heavy tongues, but they dissolve all at once. “You didn’t have a reason to.”

The lump in his throat is too heavy to put into words. “I didn’t know.”

He doesn’t say it, but you can see it in his eyes, like the boy with his face and Vincent’s name is reflected right on its glassy surface. “I know you didn’t.” You press your hand against his cheek, and you’re surprised at how it doesn’t shake. “I’m sorry,” you whisper.

He looks up at you. “For what?”

“For holding this against you.”

He turns away with an exhale, making an expression you can’t make out. “You were right to do it.”

“Maybe I was,” you say, with a deep sigh. “But it still wouldn’t have been right of me to have made it all about myself.”

The words sink in between the two of you, refreshing and cool in its honesty, like melted ice.

“Do you want to ask about her?”

Theo doesn’t know.

He does, but at the same time, he doesn’t.

Because what then happens once he knows?

Look at how much happened, when he knew, just standing there in the gallery?

What more could happen if he dared to ask the rest of it?

And if he did… what is there to be done?

He frowns. “I didn’t think she would stay in Paris.”

“She doesn’t. She only came to visit, and heard about the exhibit when she was in town.” Theo doesn’t move. “She came to visit a friend, and… Vincent.”

Theo flinches. “Broer?”

“In Auvers-sur-Oise.”

The information clicks into place. Auvers-sur-Oise, where they’d taken Vincent’s body to the place he’d written about wanting to visit. Where he would have gone, if not for…

“I didn’t think…”

“Who do you think took care of all the paintings you’d left behind?” You snicker. “You left her a lot of work to do.”

“She didn’t have to.”

“She will, though,” you affirm. “She has, and she will, and she always will. Because she still loves you, Theo. That’s how much love you’ve left for her.”

Theo’s heart near collapses.

“You talk as if you know for sure.”

You smile, a small smile that’s equal parts hurt and equal parts forgiveness; doused in relief but also love. The rest of forever is a foggy place and you hold a lamp of certainty on it.

“You forget I come from the future.”

You pull his head against your chest and rest your head in his hair, shielding him from your own expression (teary-eyed, relieved, exhausted) and allowing him to hide his own.

“You don’t need to keep beating yourself up over this.”

He snorts, a wordless well, you did too, you’re one to talk. Oh, the delight of once again being able to hear what Theo does not say.

“I might have, but now I don’t. Want to know why?”

Theo snakes his arms around your waist.

“…Because you stayed. Because you’re still thinking of me when you’re dealing with all of this grief on your own.”

Grief Theo believed he didn’t deserve to live without.

“I left her on her own.”

“You did,” you say; there is no point in sugarcoating it now. “And at the same time, you didn’t. You taught her to stand, and you gave her so much love, and faith, and direction…” You shake your head, because by god, does Theo just keep giving and giving and giving and he doesn’t even know how much he is doing. “You gave her Vincentje.”

Theo holds you tighter, but really, it’s you that’s holding him together.

“You can go around saying everything is your fault, Theo, be the judge, defendant, the prosecutor, the jury—but it still won’t change the truth,” you say. “That at the end of the day, you’ve planted the seeds of greatness, and the world will watch it blossom from her.” You cup his cheeks. “From the artists you’re nurturing. From the art world you’re watching over. From me.”

You press a kiss on his forehead and settle him back under your chin. You feel him shaking, ever so gently.

“You don’t have to keep being the bad guy, you know?”

He sighs, like he doesn’t believe it. Or like he’s finally letting it out of his system. The two of you sit together like that in companionable silence for a long moment, as Theo begins to put himself together. And when the fog in his mind has cleared, he murmurs a question into your flesh, like he’s guilty for wanting to ask it.

“How is the boy?”

You smile. And it hurts, but smiling is what this moment deserves. “He loves his papa very much. He says he doesn’t understand art, but he knows how much it means to him, his mama, his papa, that he respects it. He says his papa is watching over him, and that’s the only way he can keep up with his mama.” You feel Theo clench his jaw. The sting of tears begin to grow on your eyes. “Theo, he looks just like you.”

A single laugh, pressed into your chest. “He ought to do better than me.”

“And he will, for sure,” you say. Adamant. “Isn’t it exciting to see what he can do?”

“Would you like to see it?”

You smile like it’s obvious. “Yes, of course. He’s a brilliant boy. Just like his papa.”

He presses a kiss to your shoulder before looking up at you. “Why are you like that?”

“Like what?”

Theo only looks at your face for a moment, and you wait for him to continue.

“I thought art dealership had to be a lonely job.”

The shift surprises you, but you nod. “It doesn’t have to be.”

“You taught me that,” he says, “in the ways you let me be alone, let me process this on my own, didn’t come at my throat for it. I want to apologize for how long it took. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

The smile hurts. “I know.”

“When I got that Monet painting, I was thinking of you. I was thinking of how beautiful you are, how strong and yet so tender. How important you are to me. How even in this… coldness, you still managed to find me. Sit with me.”

“Theo…”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Jo. I do, still have feelings for her—but they are regret, remorse. That chapter is over, and I am no longer part of her story; my exhibit in the gallery of her life is over. And you… you hold my whole heart. The main event, the masterpiece. I took you from the waves of time, you know? My little time-traveling knabbeltje.”

“Hey!”

“I love you, ik hou van jou, je t'aime,” he chants. “I’ll tell you over and over again, until you get sick of it.”

“I won’t get sick of it.”

Theo laughs, and oh, the sound of his laughter. “That’s what you think.”

You grin, pulling at his tie and kissing him on the lips. “Challenge accepted.”

-

(“I can’t believe you bought me a Monet to ask for forgiveness. Maybe we should fight more often.”

“Hondje.”

“I was joking!”

“You spend too much time with Arthur, if you’re joking like that.”

“Geez, Theo, don’t be jealous of your best friend.”

“We’re not friends.”)

-

Theo tells you to hang the painting in your room, but considering you already spend most your nights in his, the Monet hangs instead on the walls of his room, watching over the bed like a constant reminder of the lessons learned from the entire experience.

On the dresser is a letter you finally had the courage to show Theo.

On the dresser is a letter from Jo, addressed to you.

---

in the atelier: ice melting near vétheuil by claude monet, 1880

i don't have any particular smart reason for the painting choice, i just thought it was really nice; i feel like theo doesn't also need much spectacle to get his message across, so. also that’s a monet, okay.

fun fact, theo was hosting an exhibit by monet when he was preparing to get their apartment at 8 cite pigalle... didn’t know before i wrote this in, actually! 

[miazeklos]

HEY. HEY PUT THOSE TAGS INTO A FULL STORY PLS. Comfort. Healing. D-0 (I LOVE THAT LITTLE GUY!!!) don't just hide this potential in tags! :O

Anything for you, dear. ;D Based on this post. This is also on AO3 because it’s Christmas Eve and therefore traditional.   Also I gotta warn you, this was written... entirely on public transport, so sorry in advance for any mistakes. 

.

They wait out the rest of the war onTatooine.

Ben had been the one to bring it up,resolute to go alone, and Rey had followed without a second thought. They lieas low as they can at first, eager to avoid the wrath of anyone who couldfollow them here, but they plant themselves into the locals's lives soon enough,taking on the role of mechanics for anyone who could need their services inexchange for anything to help them earn a living. Even though it's onlytemporary, things are still light years better than they had been on Jakku. Shehas a home here, not a makeshift shelter, and better yet, she might have afamily. It's only when they both find the rhythm of their new life that sherealises how easy it actually is.

“D-0, what happened to my memory circuit?”

“I-in here.”

“Are you still hoarding my droids?” Rey looks up from the engine she's beenslaving over for a week now just in time to catch the deadpan look he sends herway. The contrast between their working stations never fails to make her smile,even if the reasons behind it are less than pleasant - hers is clean enough,after years of doing this on her own, and the chaos that reigns over Ben's,with his two helpers and the array of needed parts that he has floating inorbit around him, is such an obvious compensation for an absence that it makesher heart ache. When he’s like this – entirely consumed by whatever is takinghis attention, face scrunched up in concentration with a lightness to his bodythat hadn’t seemed possible before – she thinks she might never want to lookaway.

“This is an assistance droid. It's what he does. I had a similar one as a child.”He stretches his hand out impatiently, only to realise that the miniaturecompartment needs to be manually opened. “Give it here.”

“N-no thank you.” D-0 rolls away before Bencan have another chance to approach and he retracts his arm as if he'd beenburnt, the pile of metal suspended in the air coming to a precarious stop as hefrowns.

“He does that with everyone.” Hisexpression eases, but there's still something there, bigger than astrangely misbehaving droid, as if he had understood but rather wished hehadn't. It’s something Rey has seen before, but he carefully tucks the emotionaway before she can so much as nudge it awake. “I'm not sure what happened tohim, but it takes him a while to approach a human. Or anything bigger than BB-8.”

“It’s all right. See?” He taps the droid inquestion until he gets an acknowledgment as D-0 whirls away pensively at a safedistance. “It’s not always bad.”

“O-often.”

Ben freezes for a moment before, with aquick glance at Rey and the work she’d forgotten about, hunching back over hisown project. “Someone needs to fix that defect of his. Droids don’t stutter.”

It would be an easy enough thing to dealwith and they both know it, but Rey bites the comment back along with a widearray of things he might not be quite ready to hear her say. “He’s fine as heis.”

A week later, as they flee through themarket on the run from the scene that they’d left behind – a spy that they’dhad to dispose of once he’d attacked them, again,though whether it’s from the former First Order or the new New Republic thistime, Rey isn’t sure any longer – the droid is the first thing Ben asks foronce he’s sure they’re safe.

~.~

She starts to notice a pattern after that.

It’s a silly thing to pay so much attentionto, given what had started it, but it’s impossible to ignore once Rey catcheson – no matter what he does, no matter how content or safe he is, everythingfrom Ben’s direction feels like he’s suspended mid-air, constantly waiting forthe other shoe to drop. What exactly it is that he’s expecting is impossible totell, but it’s there all the same, like an anxious backdrop to his every move.It relaxes its hold on him more and more every day and it never disappearscompletely – every step he makes is made with him holding his breath.

She finally cracks when she steps into theshower one day and sees him stiffen for all of a moment, shoulders caving inbefore he lets go.

“This doesn’t bother you when I do it.” It’sbarely a question and he cracks one eye open to give her a questioning look. “Unexpectedtouching.”

“No.” He rinses the soap out of his hair,the pristinely maintained air of nonchalance only giving when she doesn’telaborate either. “Why should it?”

Lessthan a year ago, I could have used it to kill you.It’s such a distant thought now, when he looks her in the eye, as open as he’sbeen ever since the very start. It had just meant something different then. “Itdoes with everyone else. I’ve seen it in a crowd. With our neighbours, too.”They don’t have too many of those and it’s still just a temporary home, but thepeople in their vicinity tend to be surprisingly affectionate. He’s always acutelyaware of his surroundings, but never of her – if anything, Rey suspects thatshe might have caught him by surprise only due to the fact that her presence isalready constant in his mind. “It doesn’t surprise you when it bothers others,too.”

“Is this about the droid?”

He’s just incredulous enough for her toknow that she’s right. “The same droid you’ve trained to trust you?”

The smile she gets in return might just bethe saddest one he’d ever given her. It’s a good thing, Rey supposes – she’sbeen seeing him happy more and more often lately and if memories are the onlything that can draw this out of him, it’s all the better for both of them.

“I’ve found that if you can’t train peopleto trust you, you have to teach yourself to duck out of their way.” There’s ascattered, chaotic recoil of recollection somewhere deep inside him, of lightningand shouting and pain and more pain It stretches on, seemingly over the courseof years, right before he shoves it out of sight. It’s horrifying, even more sofor how matter-of-fact he finds it – it’s a part of his life, just another laststraw on top of years of questioning and doubt, both external and internal; alifetime of looking over his shoulder and only seeing more unanswered questionsscattered along his path. It’s something she understands all too well, but eventhen, it’s far too much and for the first time, she sees it all, laid out likean open book in front of her on his command. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed,”he says, voice even lower than usual as he finally looks her in the eye, “but Ihave to train people out of mistrusting me.”

He’d never managed to train himself to trust him, that much Rey knowsnow. It almost makes her laugh; how for a long time, she had hoped against hopethat he would end up the explanation to all of her missing pieces (the past andthe peace and the hope, both her own and the ones of the entire galaxy), giventhat she’d answered some of his own questions in the meantime. Bond or no bond,she can’t imagine the relief it must have been – realising that she had lookedat him and had seen nothing but him alone, without a single accusation orpraise or expectation.

“Not me,” she argues immediately, ready fora rebuttal. He’s fond of arguing for argument’s sake, she’d had the time tofind out, but this might just be too important for him to try it now.

“No,” Ben agrees and there’s a little awein there too, just before he breaks into a smile. It’s entirely different thistime and it lights up his entire face and she’s already gravitating towards itlike a spaceship towards its homing beacon even before his hand cups her cheekand draws her closer. “Not you.”

~.~

When she wakes up the next day, the otherhalf of the bed is empty.

It’s a relatively common occurrence forher; waking up alone. Ben is a light sleeper and doesn’t seem to need much ofit to begin with, while Rey had had a much easier time of it ever since they’darrived on Tatooine. It would be a day like any other if it hadn’t been for thevoices in the only other room in the house and the strange mechanical wheezing thataccompanies it.

“Ben?” She rubs the sleep out of her eyesand pats the floor for her lightsaber, checking in on him through the bond oninstinct. He’s tense but not afraid, though that might just be the effort notto wake her – perhaps whoever is there doesn’t know that he’s not alone. Itshould have shocked her, how quickly every possible enemy on every spot on thespectrum had shifted into a vague theywhen they’d ended up alone against the rest of the galaxy, but it’s almost ahabit by now. Back when they had first slept with their weapons under theirpillows, it had been easier to think of their potential enemies as varying degreesof dangerous. Now, it’s just a distant sort of anxiety, ready to jump up atevery hint of a threat.

Lightsaber clutched in her hand, shetiptoes over to the door as the frenzied noise grows louder and her breathleaves her on a relieved exhale just as it comes to an abrupt stop.

“Do you see now? There’s no point infussing. This could have been much easier.” The sight in front of her is afamiliar one – Ben’s lying on his front on the floor, eyes shielded by themakeshift mask he usually uses when needed as he clutches D-0 in one hand and adrill in the other. Rey plucks one of the instruments floating around the roomand revels in the fact that he doesn’t flinch at the disturbance, the tension frommoments ago seeping away in favour of mild annoyance.

“B-better now.”

“I know.Now you can’t pretend you can’t hear me when I ask for something.” He tossesthe drill away in favour of an unsettlingly large needle. “We have to do something about this speechpattern. I thought it would go away on its own, but it’s been months.”

“R-Rey.”

“Yes, most likely. She’s good at that, isn’tshe?” The tone shifts from berating to almost conspiratorial mid-sentence and Reysteps fully into the room once his greeting flows through the connectionbetween them, as well as the awareness of her presence, and the warmth thatfollows engulfs her from head to toe, gentle and tentative and so carelesslyhonest that it nearly makes her cry. “Fixing things.”

When he turns to face her, she throws thewrench in his general direction. “I’m not sure he needs my help with thingsthat can fix themselves.”

Ben swiftly moves its course towards thetable where her weapon is already resting, returning her grin with one of hisown as he jumps up to his feet, repairs temporarily forgotten. “Perhaps not,”he allows, nearing her without an ounce of hesitation (it might not matteranymore, she thinks, how many times they’ve caught each other with their guarddown; not when it’s far more of a blessing than it’s ever been a curse). Atlong last, he’s actually landed, right here in front of her, without the pastbreathing down his back. It might be just around the corner, but the change isstill palpable enough for Rey to realise that she’d been holding her breathwith him; enough for her to feel nearly lightheaded as her own memories slip tothe side right along with his. “It’s enough that you’re here.”

This time, when she reaches out towardshim, Ben meets her halfway.

[amontaguscapulet]

To Make A Home

Summary: Molly Turner is the loving daughter of a black smith. Together they only just make ends meet but their situation is on the decline. That is until one night, her father saves a wealthy gentleman, a Mr Sandstone, who just might be willing to help them. Molly might just have to learn to be a Lady.

A/N: Hi!! Here’s the first chapter of the period drama/classic lit story I was talking about! :’D Thank you to the amazing, lovely beta readers @klassikally @max-would-beg-to-differ @move-him-into-the-sun!!!

Chapter 1

It is not unusual for a girl of low birth to dream of one day marrying a gentleman: or rather any man who has found himself by however means, above her station. Miss Molly Turner was no different despite her assurances that she would be happy if not more inclined to marry someone of similar prospects for then she would never feel out of place. Her father, a blacksmith, wouldn’t be expected to pay a large dowry and it would be much easier to make a house a home if it weren’t much grander than the one she grew up in. Besides, she was rather plain and she wouldn’t be made a laughing stock should the opportunity to attend a ball with exemplary guests arises. No, she was perfectly fine as and where she was. She took care of her father, helped him with his work and earned a few coins from generous customers and helped with general house duties. They couldn’t afford a servant and she wouldn’t want one either, unless they could be paid decently. Even so, she found making supper to be calming not much of a chore at all.

“Molly, I ‘ave good news. Very good news..” Her father said one dreary October upon return from the local tavern. Molly was bring water to boil on the fire. He hung up his coat and hat and sat by the fire, rubbing his hands together to bring warmth back into them. “Much better for you though, I ‘ope.” Molly smiled down at him as she brought a cup of warm water from him to drink. Her face screwed up at the smell of alcohol, “Are you drunk?” She put her hands on her hips.

“No, no. It’s part of what I ‘ave to tell you. Good news.”

“Did Mrs Long burn ‘er bread again and has kindly given us some for free with some ale?”

“No, ‘course not. She never burns it twice in one week. I met a gentleman.” 

“A gentleman?” Molly frowned sitting opposite her father on the wooden chair. “And why’s that good news? Does he want you to make or mend something for ‘im?” Her father shook his head with the same grin he wore when he beat Mr Gale in the cricket match he swore he could win. “Da’ you didn’t gamble with him did you?” It was certainly something he would do just for the fun of it. These gentleman types were always taking part in it. Of course, her father would never gamble anything away seriously. They had no real assets and he’d never do anything to further exhaust there supplies and worsen their circumstance. Being a blacksmith was respectable, he wouldn’t ruin that reputation. It would have been a bit fun to gamble with a rich man more than anything. 

 “In a way…” Her father shrugged, stretching his legs out, sipping from his cup. Molly’s eyes widened, ready to scold her father before she remembered her father had said the news he had was good. She shook her head, closing her eyes and sighing.

“Now before yer say anything, I want yer to hear me out and jus’ listen.” She nodded. “This gentleman fella’ came in the tavern, just lookin’ for place to stop and ‘ave a drink, mindin’ his own business for the most part but Mr Porter was there and you know how he gets. Loves to start a fight wiv anyone he fancies. Well, he took notice of this gentleman, Mr Sandstone. Stood out a mile he did. So as you can imagine, Mr Porter didn’t like the look’f ‘im one bit…” Molly wasn’t surprised, it was a regular occurrence to see the man passed out on the street in the morning with a bloodied nose. He would have deserved it too, sticking it where it doesn’t belong. 

“…So along he comes, tries to rough the man up. Find out his business an all tha’. Things go’ a bit physical, and Mr Sandstone bein’ a gentleman didn’t fancy ‘imself a fight, all in his fine clothes and all, he didn’t know what t’make of Mr Porter.” Her father must have found the whole ordeal amusing as he was talking so animatedly with a laugh in his voice. “But-,” he held up a finger to her, “I’m not one to stand by and watch so I stepped in, in both senses of the word. I was in between both men just as Mr Porter threw his ale. I was covered in the stuff but after that I sent ‘im on his way.”

“I don’t see how that’s good news…”

“I’m gettin’ to that. Mr Sandstone thanked myself for ridding the drunkard. ‘If that ale had soaked my coat it would have ruined important papers’ he said to me. Turns out, those papers were very valuable. Would’ve cost him a lotta money, more than I’ll make in a lifetime I wager ‘cause he couldn’t thank me enough. We got to talking, told him about the smith, and you, and all that and he says he must repay me. I said, I don’t want your money.”

“Da’…” Molly complained. As much as she wouldn’t have liked to have taken money from a wealthy person who probably saw it as charity. If it was offered in return of a good deed, then her father was silly to say no. They got by. They were surviving but a little extra money wouldn’t hurt. 

“Now, now. I bargained somefin’ much better.” He looked awfully pleased with himself. “‘I ‘ave a daughter, 15 years old’ , I told him.”

“Da’ you didn’t! I’m not about to marry some-“

“Who said anyfin’ about marriage? The mans not much older than myself.” He shook his head, “No, ‘I ‘ave a daughter’ I said. If you want to repay me, you can find a way to make ‘er a Lady as payment. Teach ‘er to read and write. How to speak all proper, if you can. She’s a clever, ‘ardworking girl, I said. Then maybe her chances out there will improve.”

“I don’t need any of that, I’m happy as I am.” She was happy. Not being able to reading and write was something she’d made peace with but when she would be able to put it into much practice if she could was hard to say. Probably not at all. There’s not much time for those pastimes.

“That may be, but I want what’s best for you. This opportunity doesn’t come to the likes of us often, Moll’. So, he’s paying a visit tomorrow and you be nice. Not all of his standing would do as he is. He seemed like a fine fella’.”

“But-.”

“Do this f’me. I won’t be around forever. I want to know you’re as good as you can be when I do go.” 

“I will be, da’.” She implored but her father continued, voice tracing over hers.

“There are plenty o’ folk around who could do wiv’ someone who can read and write for work or otherwise. There will be more opportunities for you and I’ll rest easy in my grave knowin’ that I did what I could to make your life better.” 

“I ‘ave a good life. I’m not unhappy and when, in the very distant future, you go, I’ll know ‘ow to take care of myself. That’s if I ‘aven’t been married off by then but that won’t be for a long time if I can help it. I have no interest in that.” She said, poking the fire to bring the flames back up to roaring.

“Yet.” Her father, chuckled. “I hope it won’t be for a long time either.” He took her hand and squeezed it gently. “And then it’ll be to a nice lad. I’ll make sure of that.” Molly shook her head with a grin. 

“You still shouldn’t have asked this of that gentleman. I’ll be shocked if he even comes here tomorrow.” He was probably on his way out of town as soon as they had parted ways. You can’t pay up if you can’t be found. 

“Oh ‘e’ll turn up. You’re too ‘arsh on them upper folk. They’re not all so bad and me can’t judge everyone the same way.”

“Well, I’ve yet to meet one that can be fully trusted. Like that Adelaide girl. She pushed me once.”

“Tha’ was when you were six.”

“She passed me in town the other day too, looked me up and down and made a comment about ‘ow she’s ‘so glad she’s a lady. Rags just wouldn’t suit me at all.’” Molly mimicked Adalaide’s voice, the girl’s high pitched voice exaggerated in poise. “And if that’s how she is now, she’s gonna be so much worse when she’s married off to some pompous peacock.” Her nose scrunched up at the thought. At least she didn’t have to attend balls that would be heaving with the likes of them. Adalaide, her family were invited to all the dances, gatherings and events. Molly would be lying if she said she’d never envied Adalaide when they were younger. She wanted to wear fine gowns and ride in fancy carriages. Until she thought of all the haughty people who would fill the halls and she’d be glad it was just her and her father at home sharing what they could scrape together for dinner. Fine dining be damned.

“And Mr Sandstone is hardly a young lady now.”

“No, he comes with a lot more trouble. At least all Adalaide has to throw in our faces are the new ribbons she’s bought.” Molly mumbled. She acting like a  child and she knew it. At least that she could admit it. Adalaide acted as a child but thought herself a grown woman. That was much much worse. The thought of being taught by some gentleman to be just like them was a sour prospect. 

“Speaking of, I want you in yer best clothes tomorrow when Mr Sandstone comes. Show you’ve got it in yer to learn from ‘im.” The embers in her fathers eyes proved just how much he wanted this for her and Molly didn’t have the heart to fight it any more. “I know you ‘ave it in you. I’m ain’t askin’ you to run off into the lions den but just wise up abou’ it all. Then you can do wiv’ it what you want.” 

She didn’t like it one bit. It wasn’t so much poking the hornets nest as it was becoming the hornet herself. Her father only wanted what was best for her and if he believed this was it, then fine. She’d have to at least try. Maybe if she only viewed it as a challenge then it wouldn’t feel like she was betraying the mind she had made up about the rich and their silly excuse for pageantry. 

“Alrigh’. But don’t expect him to think it’s my best clothes. It’ll all look like tattered cloth to him.” She rose from her seat, “I suppose I should wash in the mornin’ as well.”

“Right you are.” Her father replied with a chuckle then sipping once more from his water.

“Well then, I shall bid you goodnight.” Molly mocked the speech of a lady and curtseyed, earning a fond shake of her father’s head. 

“Off with you.” He waved to the door. She kissed his cheek before making her way to bed. Who knows, it could be fun; a source of entertainment and a break away from the routine of day to day work. She won’t be making any promises until she’d met Mr Sandstone. 

[kioraxerxo]

Beyond

Pairing: Brian May x F!OC Rating: G Word Count: 1.3k A/N: This is actually an old fic. A really old fic. I wrote this about 6 years ago. I just recently converted it to a Queen fic because I never got to publish it anywhere. Might be really cheesy forgive me pls

Summary: Brian was on tour. The both of you were thousands of miles apart, and yet something keeps you together.  ________________________

1974

She picked up the phone at the first ring. Naturally, she was jittery when she greeted “Hello,” but her nerves settled after she was greeted back by a warm, deep “Hi.”

“Brian,” she smiled; and he practically heard her smile.

“I just came to call you. Even though it’s just been like what, a week?” he said, clutching the phone close, as if its proximity might make her more real.

“You know it’s only been a week. I bet your calendar has red X marks on it like in those teen movies we used to watch,” she teased. He bit his lip and lowered the volume of the telly. He missed her enough to actually watch the horrid films that she seemed to take a genuine interest of. But then she didn’t need to know that.

“So how is it all the way there?” he asked. “I bet you’re all tanned and fluent now,” he attempted to construct the image of his girlfriend.  “Hey! There’s more to this place than that. I came here to take up my graduates program, not to flirt with boys,” she rolled her eyes. “Besides, I already have one back home,” she chuckled.

“I can’t believe it’s already been a week. Fourty-eight more to go then,” he sighed, leaning his head against the deep wooden cupboard of the hotel they were staying in, a slight creek emitting from its old hinges. “I’m just stuck here second-lining with Mott while you’re there skinny dipping in perfect white sand beaches,” he mused, hoping she would laugh, although it was funny, and he did truly mean it as a joke, she stayed silent. “Wait… you haven’t been skinny-dipping, have you?!” he asked, suddenly panicking at the prospect of his girlfriend’s naked body out in the open.

“ ‘Course not” she laughed.

Finally.

“Then why were you so silent?”

There was a pause in the line.

“I just recalled the first day we met.” she said nonchalantly.

“You mean the day you had to purposefully walk in front of a person who was taking scenery shots when you could’ve just walked behind?” he laughed, recalling the fated day as well.  

“It was the best mistake I ever made,” she said, smiling. He was piqued as to why she suddenly had a nostalgic tone in her voice, a rare occurrence to the naturally vivacious girl. “You know, I actually read some of that during my litcrit class. Wait for a moment, I’m going to fetch my book.” she got up and went to her room leaving the phone by their picture on her desk. The book was under a pile of memorabilia she stuffed in her duffel bag last week while packing for her scholarship. She shuffled through the pages and finally spotted it. The Chinese Proverb.

“Here we are.” she picked up the phone again. “It’s a Chinese proverb about the Red String of Fate. They say that when a human is born, the spirits tie an invisible red string around the two individual’s ankles. The individuals are then destined to meet. It may wear, stretch, loosen, and tangle but it will never tear. Some soul mates meet once in the village market, in the court, or even merely passing by at the train station. Some lives they live happily ever after, some lives they merely catch a glimpse by the other side of the road. One thing is certain, they are destined to meet one way or another.”

“ That says a lot about the state of the quality of education there,” he laughed.

“I’m serious Brian! It’s…”

“Romantic? Cosmic-connection-pseudoscience-fiction-like?” he poked fun at her. Knowing all her favourite topics inside out. “Oh shut up, you.” she never mentioned it, but she was endeared by his silly antics, even if she often found herself the victim. She palmed the bracelet he gave her.

“What if I never met you?” she whispered.

“Bull.”

“I’m not jesting you! Just think about it. What if I chose to walk behind you than in front of you that day? What if you didn't notice me walk by or just tolerated my mistake and let me pass without speaking to me? I mean, the world is a pretty big place. A person you walk by in the city might as well be never seen by you again. What if… what if Sharon walked by instead of me?” she asked, misty-eyed and contemplative.

He gagged at the notion. “Sharon? No, what the hell?” Sharon was his ex-girlfriend. She was smart, nice, stunningly beautiful, and they got along pretty well. But she just wasn’t her.

“Well, what if?!” She pushed on the other end.

“As much as I’d like to play pretend right now, I’m perfectly content with my girl.”

“You wouldn’t know that,” she twirled the phone line around her finger. “What if it really were Sharon who passed you, and you got into a serious relationship with her. And you loved and learned and grew together. But she had to accept a scholarship in the Philippines and you had to go tour for a year and now she’s talking to you on the phone forcing you to imagine what ifs. And you said you were perfectly content with her… because you never met me.”

He was silent on the other line, coming to terms with the ideas she put int his head.

“How would you know? How could you long for something that never existed? How could you remember something that never happened? How could you treasure a memory that did not occur in the first place? What if I wasn’t your red string of fate? What if I was just like Sharon, a wrong encounter gone right? A second-best because destiny decided to wait a little longer till you met the other end of the string?”

He heard her voice shiver. “A little tangle in the grand scheme of it all?” she bit her lip.

Brian took a deep breath, she continued. “And what’s disturbing is that you’d never know. You’d never realize that somewhere, someone out there could actually make you happier than I can? Because how can you know happiness you’ve never felt?”

There was a long pause creeping in every corner of the room, transcending all the way to his place. He felt the weight of her questions, the doubt, the possibility that what they had was temporary, an accident of fate. He spoke up. “Does this Red String of yours transcend time, age, circumstance, status, probability, geography, and economic standing?” he worded out confidently.

“….what?”

“I mean does the contract still work?”

“ I guess so…” She trailed off, uncertain at where he was going with this. She flipped through the pages for reference. He heard sound of her clamouring for an answer to his rhetorical question. He knew her so well.

“Well then!” he piped happily, “Remember this day! For I shall check up on you in the next lifetime and let’s see how that’ll turn out. Then we shall see if you truly are at the other end of my red string of fate,” his voice was warm and comforting.

As if the vibrations travelled by string. And it made her believe, for just a moment, that maybe, just maybe, the other end was wrapped around hers. She grinned.

“See you in the next lifetime, Brian.”

“See you in the next lifetime, love.”

It had been minutes after he hung up, with a loving goodbye, that she smiled knowingly. She doesn't have to be afraid of losing him. He was connected to her beyond their physical beings. She glanced at her watch, but only found the tattered, red bracelet he had given her the day they met.

She smiled. She knew it was her. She felt it.

[leekycauldron-blog1]

Let’s Pretend

feel free to send requests HERE

Summary:  Pansy spent the entirety of her teenage years pining after her best friend. Draco might have known about this and he might not have but Pansy didn’t care either way. She was blinded by her love for him and he might have taken advantage but again, Pansy didn’t really care. He was her best friend after all.

(a/n: i’m posting this to celebrate 1 THOUSAND followers! holy shit i couldn’t be happier. I want to thank everyone deeply, it makes me sooo happy nd i really really hope people enjoy this because it’s taken me two weeks to write it to the best standard i think i can - for once ive written something im actually proud of hahaha enjoy xx)

Pairing:Draco Malfoy/Pansy Parkinson

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of sex

Wordcount: 7k

i 06/02/1986

They met when they were just five years old, a cold February day where she was wrapped up in a bright pink duffle coat and he a black jacket with a green scarf that covered his neck up to his face, slightly red from the harsh wind even after they’d entered the quiet café.

Pansy had never spoken to a boy before and so she hid behind her mother’s legs as she conversed with who Pansy supposed was the strange boy’s own mother. Pansy heard her mother say there was no need to be shy; Draco was perfectly polite, she’d said. But Pansy wasn’t having any of it. Not even when the boy took a few steps towards her and held out a gloved hand for her to shake.

“I’m Draco, it’s nice to meet you.” He introduces himself in a way that Pansy would have thought of as too sophisticated for his age if she even knew what the word meant at the time. Draco’s hand drops to his side when Pansy refuses to shake it, his brows furrowed as though his small mind can’t comprehend why this girl in the bright pink coat hadn’t wanted to shake his hand.

“Mummy always says not to talk to strangers.” Pansy’s voice is stubborn as she folds her arms across her chest and she watches as Draco chews on his bottom lip as though she’s presented him with a puzzle and he’s trying to solve it. Then his grey eyes light up.

“If we’re friends I’m not a stranger anymore.” He speaks carefully and Pansy thinks maybe boys aren’t that scary because this boy, Draco, is smiling at her. “Do you want to be my friend?” Pansy nods with a giggle, going completely against Draco’s previous formalities as she hugs him abruptly. Children don’t have any perception of personal space and that’s why she hugged him so tight and he hugged her back without a hint of hesitation.

“I’m Pansy. Let’s play hide and seek.” And just like that, they were friends.

ii 03/06/1989

“Pans, you have to come. Mum says she won’t take no for an answer so you have no choice.” It’s his ninth birthday in two days and maybe Pansy is a little too young to feel insecure but she’d read about insecurity (or read as much as she could understand at her age) when she was peeking through one of her mother’s copies of Witch Weekly and now she thinks she feels it. She’s worried that Draco is growing up and leaving her behind; she’d know that fear was irrational now but at the age of only eight, two months difference in age feels like a lifetime. Draco would probably have friends at the party that Pansy didn’t know and what if they didn’t like her? What if they hated her and teased her and Draco joined in because he’s older now?

“What if your friends don’t like me?” Pansy whispers as she plonks herself down on Draco’s bedroom floor, legs crossed with her fingers tracing cracks in the wood before she pulls her dress over her knees. Draco had asked her earlier if the pattern embroidered in the dress were pansies because of her name and she had laughed and called him ‘silly’ because obviously they were daisies, before he pushed her onto the floor with a laugh in retort.

“If they don’t, then I don’t want them to be my friend anymore.” He speaks as though it’s the simplest thing ever and Pansy thinks she’s the luckiest person in the world for having a friend like him as he sits down on the floor in front of her, his legs crossing so their knees touch and he watches the movement of her fingers carefully. “You’re my only real friend anyway. Everyone else is too nice.”

Pansy snickers at his words as her eyes look up to meet his, there’s amusement flashing on his face and there’s a hopeful childish glint in his eyes as he stares at her. Pansy thinks he’s right. She loves Draco unconditionally, they’ve rarely spent more than a week apart since that first time they met but her mind flashes back to when he pushed her on the floor earlier or the time she shouted her first curse word at him and thinks maybe other people wouldn’t understand that they show their affection in more ways that just jokes and hugs. Some people are just too nice. Or the two of them are a little too unkind for eight-year-olds but Pansy doesn’t consider that much.

“I suppose I can come to your party then.” Draco’s face practically lights up as he beams at her, his whole demeanour changing until he appears lighter than he had for the entirety of the day. He practically bounces to his feet, grabbing her hand and pulling her up with him. Pansy can’t stop the grin spreading across her face as he hugs her in excitement – they may not show all their affection through hugs but that doesn’t mean hugging isn’t a frequent occurrence.

“It’s going to be so fun, Pansy, I promise!” Draco practically yells in excitement. “We might even be able to sneak a sip of father’s fire whiskey while he’s not looking.” Pansy thinks maybe she’s too young to be trying alcohol, her mother always told her she can’t touch it until she’s old enough to read a full book cover to cover (a proper book,  not one of her beloved fairytale books) and Pansy isn’t even close to that. But the mischief in Draco’s eyes is Pansy’s favourite thing and the fact that she goes along with what he says when she sees that look has got them in to more trouble than she’d like to remember. Pansy doesn’t care though, she’s certain she’d do anything for her best friend.

iii 01/09/1991

Pansy’s fingers pull at a stray piece of fabric on the seat beside her, resting her head against the window as she listens the rhythm of the Hogwarts Express on the train tracks. Her mind is spinning, her stomach in knots as she runs over the possibilities of what could happen when she arrives for her first year at Hogwarts. She hasn’t spoken a word to her best friend opposite her since he arrived aside from a ‘hello’ and he thinks it’s strange how quiet she is but knows it’s best not to disturb her when she’s worked up over something. Draco is already dressed in his robes, Pansy can’t even bring herself to do that yet because she’s terrified and Merlin, she envies Draco the majority of the time but especially at times like this – he’s never phased by anything, unlike her.

“Are you nervous?” Pansy questions before taking a ridiculously large bite of the chocolate frog Draco had bought her because she has to at least eat something. She’s completely aware of the chocolate smeared around her mouth. Her mother always told her that it’s not ladylike to behave so carelessly, especially in front of a male but she thinks it doesn’t matter with Draco; he’s seen her knickers once before when he pushed her off of her broom in a game of tag and her skirt rode up, a bit of chocolate really wasn’t a big deal.

“About what?”

“Everything. Going to Hogwarts, making new friends, getting sorted into your house.” Pansy counts her reasons on her fingers as Draco watches her, amusement clear in his eyes as though he’d been waiting for this conversation since he sat down. Pansy thinks he knows her too well sometimes but then realises that’s not a problem because she knows just as much about him. She’s spent many hours telling him everything on her mind only for him to make her feel better with a few kind words and a little bit of name-calling and a cuddle. “I couldn’t sleep last night.”

“You’ll make friends straight away, Pans. You made friends with me easy enough.”

“Draco, we were five. It’s not that simple at this age.” Pansy scowls at him and she almost laughs at the way she’s talking. She sounds like an old woman, she knows and Draco thinks the same because a slight snort of laughter can be heard from him as he swallows a handful of sweets.

“Just relax. Even if you don’t make friends, you still have me.” All she can do is nod because he’s right and she really does need to relax, this is supposed to be exciting. “Unless, of course, you get sorted into Hufflepuff. Then I’d have no choice but to never speak to you again.” Pansy directs a light kick straight to his shin and he laughs, she can’t stop the corners of her mouth curling upwards because his laughter is infectious and it’s her favourite sound.

“Not funny.”

“I’ll be in Slytherin, there’s not been a single Malfoy that hasn’t been in Slytherin.” Draco has a hint of superiority in his tone, something he always takes on when he’s discussing his family or his blood status. Honestly, Pansy wasn’t even aware about the significance of blood until Draco explained to her the difference between pure-bloods and other types of wizards, something she supposed he learnt from his father. Pansy isn’t sure she fully agrees with those views but she tells Draco she does every time it’s mentioned; she likes the way his eyes shine when she agrees with him, when she really feels important to him.

“You’ll be Slytherin too, Pans. Just wait.” She hopes more than anything that he’s right.

iv 14/02/1993

Pansy has only just managed stop the tears falling freely down her face as she pulls her knees up onto the couch beside her, her head on Draco’s lap, his fingers combing through her hair as he waits for her to calm down. She thanks Salazar that it’s 2am and no one else is awake to hear her this way because Pansy Parkinson isn’t weak and no one can see her like this, no one except Draco. The tone of his quiet, soothing ‘shh’ echoes through the dungeons as she tries her absolute best to get a fucking grip because she’s thirteen now and she shouldn’t be sobbing over things as pathetic as this.

“He’s not worth it, y’know? I always told you he’s an arse.” And Pansy wants to roll her eyes at his way of saying ‘I told you so’ but she can’t when they’re sore from crying so she just nods quickly. Draco is right, of course he is, and Pansy knew that all along but Theo was the first person who showed her any attention in that way and she was foolish to believe it. And now it’s Valentine’s Day and her (ex)boyfriend has been shagging Flora Carrow behind her back and Pansy doesn’t think she’s ever felt so stupid. Of course he’d prefer a fourth year, most boys want sex and Pansy certainly wasn’t prepared to give him that at the age of thirteen.

“You didn’t have sex with him, did you?” Draco asks, his fingers hesitating in her hair as he speaks and Pansy thinks she hears a hint of jealousy in his tone but then again she probably imagined it; she thinks she imagines half of the affection Draco shows her. She ignores the fact that it’s because she wants it so much, she wants him to care for her as much as she cares for him but sometimes he’s cold and she doesn’t know what to do with him because growing up creates distance and at times like this she pretends it’s not there.

“Of course not.” Pansy scoffs with a rather unattractive sniffle, lifting her head up off his lap finally to look him in the eyes and she imagines that there’s a flash of relief in the grey. “We kissed and we did… stuff but never that.” Draco nods and Pansy shuffles uncomfortably, she wonders when they reached a point where he didn’t already know these things about her. She wonders when they reached a point where she felt awkward discussing these things with him.

“I’ll hex him in the corridor tomorrow, if you want?” That mischievous glint that Pansy has grown up to love makes her heart skip a beat because he does care, just not as intensely and in his own way and it’s okay. Sometimes. Not when she looks at him and her pulse quickens and her face flushes red and sometimes when she thinks of his smile she gets small butterflies in the pit of her stomach. She’s sure that’s friendship, that’s how everyone feels towards their best friend but she’s too scared to ask Draco if he feels it too.

“I’d like that.”

“You need sleep, your eyes are all red.” Draco mutters softly, standing from the sofa and holding out his hand for her to take as she stands up. When her skin touches his, Pansy feels those familiar butterflies she feels every time he touches her; she also notices the way he doesn’t seem phased in the slightest but ignores that completely. “I’ll walk to breakfast with you tomorrow and we’ll act like he doesn’t exist, yeah? Just me and you like old times.” Pansy could burst into tears of joy right then and there if she hadn’t already cried as much as she thought was possible.

And when the blonde leans forward just the slightest amount, his head tilted downwards towards hers, she thinks he’s going to kiss her lips and she didn’t realise she wanted that until her breathing stops and her hands are shaking by her side. But his lips land on her cheek in the slightest brush of a goodnight kiss and Pansy feels a sense of disappointment over something she didn’t even know she needed but she’ll take what she can get because this is Draco and she’ll always care more than she has to with him.

v 25/12/1994

‘You look fucking beautiful, Pans’, he had said as she made her way towards him in the entrance to the Great Hall and she had blushed as pink as her frilly gown as she took his arm. Now as she dances with him at the Yule Ball, his arm around her waist and her head on his shoulder, she thinks that nothing compares to him. Nothing is as beautiful as Draco Malfoy.

Pansy has come to accept that the feelings she has for Draco go way beyond the way one should feel for their best friend. She learnt that it definitely isn’t friendship when she asked Daphne and Millie what they thought love was and they described exactly how she felt. They’d both said they hope they fall in love one day and Pansy didn’t want to tell them that sometimes love feels like a dagger through the heart when you see that one person with his lips on another girls’ neck and it’s like a form of silent torture when it’s a different girl the next week and another the week after. She wishes more than anything that just once that girl could be her.

But tonight that doesn’t matter because Draco asked her to the ball over anyone else and maybe it’s only because she’s the only girl he’s ever been close enough to dance with but Pansy never got over that habit of pretending and tonight she pretends that it’s because he loves her back.

The night disappears much faster than Pansy would like it to and soon enough, it’s midnight and the ball is over. Draco keeps his fingers intertwined with hers though as they leave the hall and he doesn’t let go until they reach the door to the common room. She’s sure this must just be another one of those things she imagines but it’s not and it’s real and he’s perfect.

They pause at the entrance to the dormitories, Draco finally letting go of her hand as he faces her – Pansy feels uncharacteristically nervous under his gaze. “I’m glad you asked me to go with you, Draco. It was so wonderful.” Pansy hadn’t told him that she was glad he’d asked her to the Ball, the conversation in which she was asked included a nonchalant shrug of her shoulders and a short ‘why not’ as they sat in the library one afternoon. Inside she was squealing with delight.

“I- You were the only person I could’ve asked.” Draco’s smiling as he speaks but Pansy can’t help but feel hurt by his words, was she really his last resort? “You’re the only person I care about in this shitty school; I couldn’t have possibly asked anyone else.” Oh Merlin, Pansy thinks this is the happiest she’s ever felt and it can’t get better than this, ever.

Except it can because his fingers are on her chin and he tilts her head up to his and he’s oh so gorgeous as he stares down at her. “You really do look stunning tonight, Pans.” And Pansy doesn’t even get time to hide her blush this time as Draco places a soft peck on her lips which lasts a second at most but it’s enough to make her head spin and she thinks she might pass out. “I- uh, I just wanted to check something that’s all.” Draco murmurs awkwardly and its now his turn for his pale cheeks to go a light shade of pink. And then he leans forward once more and it’s longer this time and Pansy doesn’t think she’s held her breath for this long before.

The kiss is soft and slow and Pansy’s eyes flutter closed through instinct as their lips move together. Draco’s lips are softer than she ever imagined and when his tongue swipes against her mouth, she opens hers just enough to let him into her own mouth before she has to grip his arm to steady herself. This is the definition of magic, Pansy thinks, forget spells and potions; it’s kissing Draco Malfoy. It ends all too soon and Pansy finds herself desperately chasing his mouth as he pulls away until she snaps herself out of it and she opens her eyes to find him looking down at her, his brows furrowed.

“That was…” Amazing. Perfect. Everything I could have ever imagined. “Different.” Draco beams down at her and Pansy smiles back but she doesn’t think that he means the good kind of different.

“It was, yeah, it was different.” She nods because she always makes sure he knows she agrees with him, even when she doesn’t. “What were you checking?”

“I felt like I wanted to kiss you all night, I was checking that it would be as good as I hoped.” Draco shrugs, cracking his knuckles in that way that irritates most people beyond belief but she finds it more endearing that anything.

“And?”

“Like I said… different.” He’s right, it was different. Different because Pansy is so head-over-heels for the blonde in front of her and this night is a dream come true. But he doesn’t mean it that way, she knows that and this time she doesn’t even feel like pretending. Instead she mimics his grin and she’s aware that his words act as a mutual agreement that it didn’t mean anything other than curiosity – even if she doesn’t fully feel the same on her behalf.

“I’ll take that as a compliment, Malfoy.”

“Don’t. I meant it in the worst way.” And Pansy laughs, she genuinely laughs for the millionth time that night because she knows his humour and she knows that even though he didn’t like the kiss the way she did, he’s only joking with his harsh words. “Love you though.”

“Go to bed, Draco.” Pansy rolls her eyes followed by the quickest kiss on his cheek before he turns to his dorm. Tonight she’ll tell her friends that Draco kissed her and tonight she’ll pretend he enjoyed it as much as she did.

vi 19/08/1994

Her back slams against the door of Draco’s bedroom as his hands pin hers to the wood by her side, his lips on her jaw and his scent is everywhere. She loves it. She loves him. And her head is spinning because she’s completely intoxicated by him, she won’t ever get used to this. And she knows he does this with other girls but she always wished she could be one of those and now she is and she pretends that she means more than the others because the two of them have a history and that has to count for something.

It’s the summer holidays, just a couple of weeks before the start of fifth year and Pansy hasn’t seen Draco since term ended. As soon as she arrived at Malfoy Manor, Draco had pulled her upstairs and she was hit with memories of when he’d do the same thing when they were children. But when they were children it didn’t end with his hands on the hem of her shirt as he starts pulling it over her head. And then her fingers are in his hair as his mouth trails sloppy kisses over her collar bone.

Pansy always told herself that her first time would be with someone she’s in love with, the person she’s going to marry and although she plans their wedding in her head some nights, she’s not sure that person will be Draco. But she’s in love with him, completely irrevocably in love with him and thinks that might be enough for now, even if he doesn’t love her back.

“Draco-“ She starts, cutting herself off as he sucks on her neck hard enough and in the right place to make her let out a small hiss of pleasure. “Draco, I want- I want you to takemyvirginity.” Pansy’s cheeks burn red as she rushes the last three words out, her eyes focusing on the wall behind Draco’s head because what if he says not or even worse, what if he laughs at her? His mouth stops moving against her skin as he registers what was said before he lifts his head, his eyes searching her face for any sign that she didn’t mean what she said.

“Are you sure?” And Pansy feels relief at the softness in his voice, his hands releasing hers from pinning her to door as one moves to her hip and the other lifts to move a stray lock of hair from her face. She’s sure, she’s never been more sure of anything in her life.

Pansy nods her head quickly, his eyes focused on his lips because she can’t even bare to look into his eyes at this point. “It has to be you. There’s no one else.” The words are practically a whisper as they leave her lips and when Draco’s mouth connects with hers it’s so soft that it reminds her of their first kiss after the Yule Ball, every kiss after that has been rushed and desperate until now. This kiss tells Pansy that he knows what she’s saying, he understands that it can only be him she does this with, he’s the only person she trusts to see her vulnerable that way for the first time.

Draco’s hand intertwines with hers as he walks her towards his bed and she lays down on it with nerves in the pit of her stomach and her hands trembling just the slightest amount. She watches as Draco takes his shirt off followed by his trousers so then he’s only in his underwear and it’s nothing she hasn’t seen before but it’s different this time, entirely different.

He’s on top of her then, his lips on her mouth, her jaw, her neck; everywhere. Her hands laced in his hair as she closes her eyes, her heart thudding uncontrollably and her mind is so clouded with excitement and need she can’t stop the words leaving her lips.

“I love you.” It’s not in the same way she usually says it, they both know it’s more than the brief ‘love you’s they’ve shared over the years of their friendship and Draco doesn’t stop his movements for a second.

“I know.” Pansy never expected him to say it back yet despite that, she can’t ignore the pang of pain that shoots through her heart. But she can pretend, just for tonight at least, that they are in love and it’ll be everything she imagined it would be.

vii 30/03/1995

OWLs are more stressful than Pansy could have ever imagined, she spends hours on top of hours studying yet nothing seems to stay in her head and Pansy is close to accepting her fate in that she will fail everything. But it’s just past curfew and the common room is almost empty as she leans over her potions notes, the exam is only weeks away and most nights Pansy can’t sleep with worry.

When the doors to the common room open, Pansy doesn’t even lift her head until he sofa dips beside her and she’s met with the sight of Draco. Her quill drops immediately as she turns to give him her full attention and he leans into her, a yawn falling from his lips and he rests his head on her shoulder. Pansy wrinkles her nose in disgust however because while she’d usually relish in any kind of affection from him, he smells of perfume and sex and she tries to ignore the nausea spreading all over her body.

“Ugh, Draco get off me.” She pushes his head from her and instead he slouches back and sinks into the sofa. “You reek of pussy.” Draco snorts at her vulgar language, laughing loudly and she can’t help but smile back at him despite the fact that imagining him with another girl is equivilant to shattering her heart into tiny pieces.

“And you reek of jealousy,” Draco teases but he’s right and they both know it. He uses her, she knows it, he takes advantage of her feelings for him so he can have a quick fuck when he feels like it and she knows she should probably hate him for it but she loves him more than she can explain and maybe it’s fucked up but Pansy accepted that’s what she is a long time ago. He’s still her best friend and if Pansy could see past the feelings she has for him, she might come to realise that he’s not the same boy she met ten years ago and she deserves better than him but she can’t do that.

“I’m trying to study.” Irritation is clear in her tone but it’s fake and Draco likes to annoy her, he always has done so he kicks his legs up onto the coffee table where her work is with a smirk. “Which you should be doing too, by the way. Not off fucking sluts in broom closets.” She pushes his feet off the table with a huff as he shrugs.

“For your information, it wasn’t a broom closet. It was a-“

“I don’t care. Now either help me with this Potions work or go get a wash.” Pansy feels him shuffle closer to her on the sofa, so close that their arms are side by side and their legs pressed against each other. He leans forward and scans his eyes over the notes in front of her, his brows furrowed as he reads and she feels secretly glad that he didn’t pay attention to her suggestion that he leaves.

Draco’s head shakes a little as he picks up her quill, dipping in the ink before he starts scratching words on her notes on brewing an Invigoration Draught. “Look Pans, you wrote it wrong. You need three asphodel roots, not two. In fact, most of this is wrong, were you even paying attention?”

“Probably not. You know how much I hate that subject.” Sometimes Draco makes her feel a little inferior, mainly because he’s so clever and Pansy knows he can’t help that but if it were anyone else she’d resent it. “I don’t know why you’re acting so smart; Granger’s beating you anyway, she got top of the class in the last test.” Now it’s her turn to irritate him.

“Don’t get me started on that mudblood.” Draco sneers and she hides the way she cringes at his language because she really isn’t prejudiced, not as much as everyone thinks. She wasn’t brought up to think that way at least, her parents have always been very accepting. But as Draco grew up, he grew to have the same pure-blood elitist beliefs as his parents and Pansy only challenged him on it once before she decided it was easier to just go along with it. Her parents would no doubt be disappointed if they knew the foul things she’d said to muggle-borns at school over the years but that doesn’t seem to matter when she does it to impress him.

“Better up your game, Malfoy.” Pansy nudges him, a hint of challenge in her voice as he pushes her shoulder lightly.

“Tomorrow.” He stands up, finally deciding it’s time he got a shower. “Tomorrow, we’ll go to the library after breakfast and we’ll study. You’re going to get an Exceeds Expectations, and I’m going to beat that Granger.” Pansy is amazed at the way a few words from the right person can ease practically every worry in her mind.

viii 22/05/1995

Sex with Draco is the best thing she’s ever had the pleasure of doing. The sound of her name leaving his lips, way his hands caress her body so delicately even when the act itself is the furthest from delicate, it’s all rather mind-blowing. Draco prefers rough sex, Pansy prefers slow sex but she doesn’t ever tell him that because she supposes rough sex is better than no sex. That’s what she thinks as she comes down from what she’s sure might be the best orgasm of her life and Draco pulls out of her, dropping onto her bed beside her. Everyone else is at dinner so there’s no need for him to rush away like usual.

“Pansy, can I tell you something?” Draco’s voice is still raspy as he sits up, his hands reaching to the bottom of the bed so he can grab his shirt and Pansy nods, still too warm to even think of getting dressed. “I think I’ve fallen in love.” This is it, she thinks. This is when he finally tells her those three words she’s been waiting for since as long as she can remember and all of this pain she’s felt, all these times he’s left her in the aftermath of their sex feeling used and alone won’t matter anymore. “Do you know Astoria Greengrass?”

Her mouth goes dry and she feels a lump in the back of her throat, the back of her eyes prickling with the beginning of tears that she desperately tries to hold back. And she will hold them back because she won’t let him see her hurt even though he knows how much his words are killing her. She doesn’t think he does it intentionally but she doesn’t know him anymore, she pretends she does but she doesn’t. She hasn’t known him, properly known him inside and out, since he was thirteen; growing up changed him into a much colder person than the one she grew up with. “Daphne’s sister, she’s in third year isn’t she?”

Draco swings his legs off the edge of the bed as he pulls on his underwear, deciding that he’s wearing enough clothes for now as he turns to face her. “I- She’s not like other girls, y’know? She’s special and I kissed her once, a few months back. I’ve never felt like that before, not with anyone.” There’s a dagger in her heart and Draco is holding it, twisting it deeper with each word he speaks. “I didn’t kiss her again though; I didn’t want her to just be like the others. I want everything to be right.”

The others. That includes her. She’s one of ‘the others’. How did she go from being his best friend to being nothing more than a girl he sleeps with? “Have you spoken to Astoria about it? That you- you love her.” Draco shakes his head and Pansy wonders why in the world he’s sat here with her, having just fucked her if he’s in love with someone else. Pansy couldn’t do that; she’s been hopelessly loyal to someone who will never feel the same way for the majority of her life. It’s pathetic really.

“What should I do, Pans?” Pansy feels the jealousy still burning in the pit of her stomach, anger the only thing driving her thoughts as she goes through possible answers in her head. She wants to tell him to stay away from her, to yell at him for leading her on all these years, swear at him for taking advantage of her. But she does none of those things.

“I think you need to tell her.” Before now, Pansy didn’t think it would be possible to be heartbroken by her own words but as they echo around her dorm she thinks that’s just what’s happened.

“But what if she doesn’t love me back? What if she feels nothing?” Well then you’ll know exactly how I feel. Pansy doesn’t speak half of the words she thinks most of the time.

“You get on with it. You keep your head high and wait until something better comes along.” Draco’s eyes are burning into hers as she speaks and she knows he’s got questions on the tip of his tongue that she’s not certain he’ll ask.

“Is that what you did?” He’s talking about her, about her feelings for him as though they don’t exist anymore and then it hits her that maybe he has no idea she still feels that way for him. He doesn’t have any clue about the extent of her love for him, both platonic and romantic. And she wants to tell him the truth, that no – she’s still waiting for that ‘something better’ but she doesn’t. She’d rather be in pain; she’d rather be broken hearted for the rest of her life than possibly burden him with the guilt of her feelings when he has a chance at being happy.

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I did.”

ix 08/08/1995

“Does it hurt?” Pansy asks as she sits opposite Draco on her bed, his sleeve is rolled up and on his forearm she watches the tattoo move under his skin. It causes shivers of fear to run through her body. Part of her wants to touch it but the other part is disgusted, just slightly to the point where she can’t look him in the eye.

“At first it did, not so much now.” Draco shrugs, pulling his sleeve back down but through the thin white fabric she can still make out the black stain on his skin. “Do you hate me?” Pansy shakes her head instinctively; she should hate him, she should be telling him to get the hell out of her house because Draco Malfoy is a Death Eater and this isn’t right. But she doesn’t hate him. She understands he had no choice, she’s listened to his explanation over and over again and she gets it, she gets him.

“Of course not.” She whispers, finally looking up at him and there’s a sadness on his face that she hasn’t seen before. He looks young and old all at once, young because he appears so damn vulnerable and old because his eyes are tired and his skin is pale and she feels more pity for him than anything. “Everything that’s happened, you- you didn’t have any other choice.”

“Astoria is going to hate me.” He’s going to cry again and she’s going to have to hold him again as she desperately tries to hold back tears because she’s never seen him so broken before and she’s not used to being the one who has to stay strong. But he blinks away the tears. “I- I had to break up with her. I’m too scared he’ll use it against me so I sent her an owl. How noble of me.”  Pansy rolls her eyes at his dry humour even at times like this but at least this is a way to get him to smile even if it’s the tiniest amount.

“Wow Draco, I hope you had the decency to at least use your best quill and take your time with the most elaborate handwriting.” She teases and he gives a weak chuckle.

“Actually, I scribbled it out at 2am in the dark so who knows what it looks like.” A snort of laughter leaves Pansy’s mouth at his words and his face seems to light up because even at times like this, she can always make him laugh.

She’s also gotten used to the idea of Draco and Astoria being together, almost. She spent the rest of fifth year purposely looking away from the two of them when Draco chose to sit with Astoria instead of her at meals, she spent way too many nights crying over it that she became numb to the idea and began to not feel anything when Draco cluelessly asked her for advice on relationships. As if she’d have the slightest idea, she’d always scoffed in her head.

That’s why she’s not surprised by the sadness and pity she feels for Draco when finding out he had to leave the girl he loves so intensely that even Pansy can’t pretend he doesn’t anymore. She still loves Draco, she thinks she always will but she’s not going to hold him back. It’s her problem to deal with, not his.

“When all this is over, you can explain it to her properly. She’ll understand, I know it and then you can be happy.” Draco’s head is shaking in disagreement before she’s even finished speaking.

“I think you’re the only person I want around when all this is over, Pans. The world is too complicated for being in love, friendship is more important.” Pansy doesn’t press the fact that she is in love with him and therefore his theory doesn’t matter in the slightest to her. “When everything’s done, we can be roommates and we’ll rent a place and get good jobs and we won’t need anyone else. Just me and you.”

Pansy’s happy with that plan. He might not want to marry her, he might not even love her but that’s the best she’s going to get and she couldn’t be more satisfied.

x 14/10/2004

Hey Pans,

I know we haven’t spoken in a while and I was going to send you the same invite as everyone else but I thought you deserve a handwritten one (lucky).

I asked Astoria to marry me! Can you believe it? I certainly can’t! But we’re getting married on the 14th of December and I’d love if you’d come to the wedding. It’ll only be you, Blaise and Daphne from school but I miss you a lot and you’re the only one I haven’t seen since everything happened.

I’ll still send you the proper invitation so you know the dates and things but I just wanted you to know that I want you there more than I want any of the others really and it’d make me beyond happy. I do hope you can make it (mother says she misses you as well).

Lots of love, your bestest friend (Draco in case you didn’t already know). Xx

“Incendio.” Pansy mutters as she watches the parchment go up in flames, her heart heavy but she ignores it as she takes a puff of her cigarette. She’s long past the point of being sad over Draco Malfoy, she did enough of that after the war. He was the one who chose not to reply to her letters, he was the one who didn’t get into contact until now.

Pansy spent many months waiting for his owl or even for him to turn up at her door with the keys to their place they were going to rent and that grin that she used to love so much but now she can’t fully picture. We won’t need anyone else. Just me and you. The words haunted her, they were the only things she could think of for such a long time as she clung onto the hope that he hadn’t forgotten about her, he was just busy fixing himself after the war.

But she saw him on the cover of the Prophet, he had a job at the Ministry, he attended events with Astoria on his arm and she washed away the bitter taste in her mouth with cigarette smoke; deciding that killing herself this way was much less painful that killing herself by pining after him. Because that’s what she’d been doing all those years; following him around, being at his beck and call, letting him use her whenever he wished – those were all things that broke her bit by bit but she was too blinded by him to notice it until she was away from him.

And Pansy spent hours contemplating whether she’d go to the wedding, she’s read the letter hundreds of times but that only served to convince her that she can’t possibly face him. Not after all this time. And it might upset him, she knows that, it won’t be easy for him to get married without having his oldest friend there but Pansy has spent too much of her life going out of her way to keep Draco Malfoy happy.

Pansy has had enough of pretending that she’s going to get her happy ending. It’s time for her to face reality and her reality is harsh and sometimes lonely but now this is the best she’s going to get. Pansy is ready to accept that.