#sobbing crying eating my own fingers slamming the table eating a brick

[metiredlr]

Yulma Sunday night depression

[witchqueenofthemoon]

BODY AND SOUL Part 8 (Duncan Shepherd/Mackenzie Stone Millory AU)

BODY AND SOUL MASTERPOST

Author’s Note: Whew, okay y’all, Duncan and Kenzie are dragging me along at a breakneck pace, trying to tell me everything at once and I’m trying to get them to slow down so I can organize everything, but I can’t stop writing this fic. I’ve been forgetting to eat I’ve been so wrapped up in it. I keep trying to take a break for a day but I don’t feel like doing anything else half as much as I feel like writing. That’s an amazing feeling I haven’t had in...a really fucking long time, years and years. I have to thank some of you again for your love and attention to me and this story: @nat-de-lioncourt, @impiorumrequies, @carousallie (thanks for your tips about cool DC places, darling!), @ladywriter94 (who had a fucking dream about Duckenzie, oh my god, a dream I’ve vowed to make into a scene at some point), @ghostwithangeleyes (who made this edit a few days ago!), @icouldrun, @hi-ilovedamien (who made this which I fucking love and is writing an amazing Millory fic of their own that you should definitely read, Dichotomy), @killcort and @amanda-d0000, Thank you. There’s a lot of stressful stuff coming up for Duckenzie regarding outward pressures; the good news is, they have each other. Here’s Billie Holiday’s BODY AND SOUL, which is a song I had never heard before until a few days ago, though now I feel like it’s as integral a part of this story as any other song I’ve listened to or included as inspiration (and her name is Billie too; how amazing is that). I based Madeline’s little china dolls on the work of an existing artist, but I looked for her to link to it and couldn’t find it again; if anyone knows of an artist who modifies china dolls so they’re little grotesqueries, let me know, because it’s probably the artist I was thinking of. Like Annette, I found Madeline (who is based on Carrie Fisher) challenging but ultimately rewarding to write; she sees the world very differently than Annette, and it was important for me to communicate the differences in Duncan and Mackenzie’s upbringings with their mostly-single mothers. I listened to Rihanna’s KISS IT BETTER a lot for the sex. As ever, if you’re reading and enjoying, your comments and reblogs are everything to me.

Kenzie pulled at the latch handle on her mother’s hardwood front door, stepping inside warily, practically tip-toeing. She was immediately enveloped by the warm, wonderfully inviting, deeply nostalgic smell of her mother’s homemade spaghetti sauce; a smell she seemed to be able to pinpoint in her dreams sometimes (smells in dreams, always weird, she thought). It juxtaposed sharply with the sinking feeling now nestling deep into her guts, the foreboding feeling of being a disappointment to her mother, who she couldn’t help but idolize in her own secret way; couldn’t help but want to impress, make proud, bring contentment.

She moved slowly through the doorway, setting her satchel down by the door, slipping her kitten heels off and checking with a soft tap of her hand that her phone was still tucked into the large pocket of Duncan’s cardigan, then moved past the staircase and into the living room, with its large oak-framed fireplace and soft, squishy, jump-in-there mulberry-colored couch, gazing at the odds and ends of her mother’s house, the tchotchkes that defined so much of her mother’s energy in her head. Her mother loved weird paintings in particular; things that looked like other things; on the mantel was her growing collection of delicate china girls that had been reconfigured to feature odd anomalies; one girl had tentacles growing out of her arms, another was holding her own disembodied heart with a hole in her chest, one had a gaping hole in her side, her arm on the little porcelain patch of grass at her feet, and a dazed, zombie-like expression, her mouth a mess of blood and gaping teeth. Kenzie had bought a couple for Madeline one Christmas while she was still in college, seeing them in an online shop by an independent artist; their defiant monstrous femininity was Madeline always in Mackenzie’s eyes, and they’d made her think of her mother right away. Over time, Madeline had acquired more, and now they formed a small monstrous army there. On the wall over the fireplace, her eyes dusted over the large gold coin that was her mother’s Pulitzer prize; a prize Madeline had earned at an absurdly young age for a now-legendary editorial on her struggles with bipolar disorder. Kenzie scrutinized it with a mixture of pride and longing; she was already 24, older than her mother had been when Madeline had been awarded the prize. She wondered if she’d ever win something so prestigious for her writing; couldn’t stave away her doubt that she wouldn’t. Who cares, make art anyway, because it’s for survival, it’s for your own heart and soul, the memory of her mother’s advices past pushing between her ears. Momby, who was in the kitchen, banging pots and pans with pointed slamming and slapping; Momby, who was mad at her.

Kenzie slipped her hand into her pocket, her little fingers closing around the familiar smooth rectangle of her iPhone in its gold case, thumbing the moon sticker; thinking of you, Duncan, her memory flashing back to his lips under her ear (leaving an invisible gold tattoo) before she slipped away from him into the car outside Le Diplomate, the moment now frozen in time by a stranger’s camera, her heart ramming into her ribcage, her body immersed in liquid fire. I have to make Momby understand.

She entered the kitchen where to the right she saw Madeline at the sink, past the fridge, staring at the water falling from the faucet into the stainless steel pasta pot she held steady under it. Her lips were pursed together, her expression neutral, far away. She glanced over her shoulder at Kenzie, who stood in the doorway in her knee-socks, making her hands into fists and then relaxing them, hesitant. Glanced, looked back at the pasta pot, glanced back again, silent, on the edge of her anger, but unable to find words for it.

“Momby,” Kenzie started.

“Mackenzie, how could you be so fucking naive?”

The words stung her like a slap in the face.

“Men like that--” Madeline began, and Kenzie walked past her, tears already stinging at the corners of her eyes (oh god, Kenz, not already), trying to hide her face from her mother, trying to find footing in her slowly disintegrating composure. She cried so easily with her mother; maybe it’s because she usually felt so safe to. But not right now. Right now she wanted to hide in a hole until Madeline decided she forgave her daughter. Right now, Kenzie wanted to fast-forward to everything being okay, because it had to be. She couldn’t bear the idea of not being with him now. A sharp, imaginary spear of pain jabbed into her chest as Madeline finished her words. “Men like that will take everything away from you, they will try to control you and make you their slave and they will try to crush your spirit, Mackenzie.”

Kenzie jerked one of the squat wooden chairs from the round kitchen table in the corner and sat, setting her fingers against the edge of the table, gripping that edge for dear life, eye fixed on the brick wall behind it, refusing to look her mother in the eye. Kenzie, do not cry, do not fucking cry, don’t do it, you stupid crybaby bitch, don’t fucking cry--

But it was too late and she could feel the tears coming, pushing themselves out of her lower eyelids like a tide coming in to shore; she was powerless to stop them, just as the shore was powerless to stop that tide, that ocean wave. She felt the first of them course down her cheeks, and her lip trembled.

“Momby,” she whispered. “I love him.”

She looked over at her mother then, more tears falling down her cheeks now; Madeline stood with her back to the sink now, the faucet still running, her arms crossed, her expression full of fury. She saw her daughter’s tears, and her face crumpled a little; enough that Kenzie could see her falter internally, double-back on her anger, try to go forward with it again, and become stuck in an in-between of emotions.

“Mackenzie. My dearest. You don’t know him yet.”

“Momby, I will get to know him. Please listen to me.”

“Annette Shepherd has tried to ruin my career, destroy my credibility and my livelihood, she has tried to smear my personal life, tried to discredit my work, Annette Shepherd is an evil bitch--”

“Momby, this is not about you!”

Kenzie shocked herself with the shrillness of her scream; her voice rising until it seemed to shake her entire body as it came out, rocking her back from the edge of the table into the seat, and she turned her body to her mother, her own anger now finally having risen, the tears still stinging their way down her face. Her mother’s face went white with shock, and she fell into a stunned silence. For a few minutes, the only sound was the water running over the edge of the now-full pasta pot, and the tick of the little classic black Kitty-Kat clock against the wall leading to the dining room.

“Momby,” Kenzie said again, and her voice cracked a little--she hated to fight with her mother so much. She hated it, it punched a hole through her heart, it fractured her spirit and filled her with abject sadness. “Momby. Please. Let me make my own mistakes. You have to let me. You made mistakes too. Don’t I get to make any? Can’t I--” Her face collapsed, unable to stave off the sob building in her lungs any longer, and she gasped as it burst out of her. “Can’t I figure out myself if this is a mistake or not?”

Her mother’s face softened, her arms unfolded, and she turned, shutting off the faucet, moving to where Kenzie sat with her body now shuddering as she cried.

“Kenzie Lou,” her mother said, and she reached out to grasp Kenzie’s hand. Kenzie immediately felt enveloped in the warmth of her mother’s now-wrinkly touch. She gasped out a little sigh of tear-clogged air, forced herself to speak between her hitching breaths.

“Duncan isn’t his mother, Momby. Please, believe me. Why can’t you trust me?”

“Oh, sweet pea.” Her mother pressed her other hand over Kenzie’s, so both grasped her fingers. “I do trust you. But sometimes you feel blinded by something--by someone. Sometimes you can’t see what’s going on because you’re looking at one tree in a forest.”

“Momby, that’s not what this is.”

“How do you know?”

“I feel it. In my heart. In my spirit. He loves me and I love him and we want to be together and I love you so much, but I’m going to be with him whether or not you like it, Momby, and I’m an adult and you need to let me do this.”

Madeline let go of her, standing again, moving back to the sink, dumping the overflow water out of the pot, bringing it over to the stove, lighting it, grabbing the salt off the rack beside the stovetop, her expression exasperated again. Kenzie wiped at her teary face with the sleeves of Duncan’s cardigan, sniffling, feeling pitiable and tired.

“I’m not stupid, Momby, and I need you to trust me. I need that from you.”

Madeline shook salt into the water, still not saying anything, still pressing her lips together, her eyes unreadable behind her squarish black glasses, shoving the container back onto the rack; grabbed the glass bottle of olive oil beside the rack, shaking it hastily into the water next. She was thinking. She was listening; at least, I think she is, Kenzie hoped. I think she’s listening to me now.

“I know in my heart that this is what I want.”

“And what if he betrays you, my sweet Kenzie?” She could hear the edge in her mother’s voice; the edge of tears. Her own tears sprang back into her eyes, threatening at the corners. Oh Momby, she thought, don’t cry.

“You experienced pain, you were betrayed, and you came out the other side, you survived,��� Kenzie replied, and her hand slipped down into her pocket again, clutched her phone in her wet fingers. Duncan, please, be true to me. Please, promise me I’m not doing this in vain. “If that’s what my path is, I have to see it through. Momby, you know, I was with Tyler for three years. I never once felt this way about him. I’ve never felt this way about anyone. Like my eyes are finally open. Like I finally understand.”

“Like you understand what?”

Kenzie stared evenly at her mother, who was now facing her again, hands resting against the back of her hips. She saw the moisture behind her mother’s glasses, could see the searching expression in her mother’s eyes behind the shield; knew that Madeline was as prone to tears around her daughter as her daughter was to her. And Kenzie knew that her mother was listening. Kenzie stood up, padding over to her mother on soft, earnest feet; she reached her arms around Madeline’s stiff body, burying her face in the crook of Madeline’s neck, pressing into her. She felt her mother soften in her embrace; felt Madeline’s own arms come around her little frame, hand coming up to stroke her hair.

“What it means to love someone,” Kenzie said into her mother’s skin, and her tears came back again, falling along the shoulder of Madeline’s indigo sweater, like little pearls of rainwater.

They stood that way for a little while; Kenzie could hear the soft hiss of the gas stovetop under the spaghetti sauce (simmering for hours now, filling the house with its rich, spicy smell) and the pasta pot, the soft ticking of the cat clock’s tail, back and forth, and the rustling of the trees outside in a drifting wind. A car passed by on the street, its rumble indistinct. And she could hear her mother breathing softly against her; feel the weight of her mother’s warm hand in her hair. And she knew: eventually, this would be okay. She knew with a startling certainty that sometime, someday, her mother would accept Duncan, and it filled her with emotion again, silent, still, and overwhelming.

-----

Madeline had driven Kenzie back to the train station after dinner; over her mother’s wonderfully spicy garlic meatballs and long handmade pasta, her mother had insisted on meeting Duncan this week; if it were up to Madeline, Kenzie thought, she would drive to his penthouse now, an accusatory finger in his face as soon as he opened the door, provided she could get up there without a doorman hurriedly chasing after her. She couldn’t erase the worried tone of voice her mother used for the rest of the meal; couldn’t erase the apprehensive gaze hovering on her mother’s face. This will take some time, she told herself, trying to reassure her frayed nerves. Rome wasn’t built in a day, and neither was any lasting relationship. She wondered at her appetite, expecting it to have dissolved entirely over the stress between them, but she found she was starving; I guess I only ate half my lunch, she reminded herself, and no breakfast, didn’t have time for Duncan to make me eggs and toast again, and she felt wistful, wanting to go back to that first morning they spent together, the memory crystallizing in her psyche now; set to last forever. There will be so many days for us to have breakfast together, she told herself. God, I could die of happiness, I can’t believe it still.

She glanced at her mother, who was quietly staring out at the road, not speaking, lost in her own thoughts. Kenzie pulled out her phone and sent Duncan a quick text; she was disappointed to see he hadn’t yet replied to the last one that had included the link to the gossip website. Mom isn’t happy, but I think I made her understand, at least a little. At least for now. She wants to meet you soon; I thought maybe on Friday? She put the phone back in her pocket, determined not to stare at it in hope for a reply. He’s at dinner with Annette, she told herself. He’ll reply when he can. Her mother pulled into the station’s parking lot, the waxing half-moon scattering its light down on the platform.

“Kenzie Lou, promise me you will keep your wits sharp.” Her mother had grasped her hand before she got out of the Jeep, tightly, insistently. “Promise me you will keep your head. Words are just that; words. It’s action alone that proves affection. And I don’t mean just the bedroom kind.”

“I promise, Momby,” Kenzie said, squeezing her mother’s hand, unable to suppress the smile that spread over her face at that last part. “I promise I will.”

My heart is already lost in him, Momby, she thought. And in his bed. But my wits are always my own.

Kenzie waved a little as the beat-up Jeep Cherokee drove away, and her mother laid a light tap-tap on the horn (the way she always did) as the headlights turned to the street and the car accelerated behind Kenzie, drifting away into the waxing moonlight. She turned toward the station platform, seeing the glowing lights of the approaching train, still a quarter of a mile down the track; she held the strap of her satchel in one hand against her leg, and the other hand she used to pull her phone out of the big pocket of Duncan’s cardigan again. She’d noticed her mother looking at her clothing several times over dinner, and though Madeline hadn’t said anything; Kenzie could tell her mother knew the cardigan was too big for her; that Madeline knew it was his. But fuck it, she thought. I told her. It was awful. But now she knows. She pressed the home button of the iPhone, heart in her mouth, hoping Duncan had replied by now; but to her dismay there were no new text messages on her phone. She lowered her arm, thumb absently stroking the phone screen, her heart sinking. She realized in a wave how tired she felt; not a physical tiredness as much as an emotional ache. Her soul felt tired with all that had happened; her heart wasn’t used to being tossed back and forth this way, and now her body ached; ached with the hug she’d shared with her mother, ached with the come-down of adrenaline, and most of all, ached because of Duncan--the ardent touch of his hands and mouth and cock, but also the ardent immediacy of his desire and his soul, and they way they had touched her, touched her in the deepest part of her being. She felt lost in the depth of feeling that had surrounded her for the past few days; the thought of sleeping in her bed alone tonight made her want to burst into tears again, as if nothing at all had happened, as if she was now supposed to go back to things as usual, supposed to sleep somehow, supposed to bring herself down from the highest peak of heaven, back to earth, unbothered.

As the train pulled up, rustling Kenzie’s hair into her eyes and against her cheeks, she felt the swell of an incomprehensible emotion fall into her, one that felt like a door opening, or a book falling open, or the rush of air that comes before a storm. She felt lost in the feeling for a moment; a feeling that had no definition, no name, and no intention of explaining itself to her. She slipped her earbuds on, and, too exhausted to choose, hit the shuffle button in her iTunes library; as she eased into one of the long, flat seats along the side of the train, she heard the sweet voice of Billie Holiday slip into the buzzing space of her mind, calming her, sweet and understanding, full of that emotion she had felt, unable to name. My days have grown so lonely, for you I cry, for you dear, only...why haven’t you seen it, I’m all for you, body and soul...Kenzie closed her eyes, letting Billie’s voice wash over her, the train pulling her along, back to her empty little apartment, through the waxing moonlight.

What lies before me, a future that’s stormy, or winter that’s gray and cold...unless there’s magic, the end will be tragic, and echo a tale that’s been told, so often...my life revolves about you, what earthly good am I without you?...I tell you, I mean it, I’m all for you...body and soul...

-------

Kenzie made it to the door of her little studio apartment, its familiar gold moon swinging back and forth as she pushed it open with her elbow, and uncaringly dropped her satchel on the floor; it teetered and fell over, spilling her Macbook to the side, a pen, a tube of chapstick, a packet of tampons and the little bottle of Tylenol she always carried scattering out. Who fucking cares, Kenzie thought, and she walked over to her bed, sat on the edge, kicked off her shoes, pressed her fingers into her eyes, and felt the involuntary shake of a sob escape between her lips. The silence settled around her, enveloping, like a thick blanket; she suddenly felt unable to breathe, felt more tears coursing in an unstoppable stream from her eyes, pressing her fingers in harder, relishing the cold feeling of her fingertips against the hot tears. She wondered with a sudden, horrible, shaking fear if Duncan was going to leave her, if his mother had managed to somehow sway him to drop her, dump her unceremoniously; wondered if Annette had convinced him somehow that she wasn’t worth anything after all, that his reputation was more important than dating some two-bit mediocre journalist, that he, the wildly beautiful and wildly rich and wildly perfect Duncan Shepherd, didn’t need her, didn’t love her, and didn’t want to see her again.

Oh no, she thought, as she felt the despair of her wildly derailing thoughts pressing into her throat and her lungs and her ribs. Oh no, oh no. And Kenzie couldn’t stop herself; she started to cry, cry so hard she thought she might break into a hundred pieces, cry so hard, tears falling like tiny crystals through her fingers, that she thought she might never stop. She imagined that her long, fraught argument with her mother tonight had all been for nothing; that that pain and the ache of her mother’s disapproval had been for naught, and the feeling that had washed over her that everything would be okay in the end was a fraudulent one; that the feeling had been a lie. She thought of his passionate kisses and his beautiful hands and wondered if they, too, had been a lie; if somehow she was as stupid and as naive as her mother had worried she was...and as Kenzie cried, she heard the trumpet of her phone ring out in her pocket.

She pulled it out, eyes wet and blurry with her tears, her mind aching. Duncan.

Baby, I’m so sorry it took so long to text you back. It took a long time to get my Mom to a place where she wasn’t being irrational. Thank you for sending me that link; everything’s okay, my Mom has seen it already, we’ll make it through this, I promise. She wants to meet you on Friday as well; can we see your Mom on a different day? I can make time on Wednesday or Thursday, I just don’t know if it’s a good idea to have dinner with both of them at the same time yet. I feel like we’re going to have to ease them both into this, and I want everything to work out okay. I want them to accept this (accept us, accept you, accept me) because it means more to me than anything else. You do.

I miss you terribly right now.

Kenzie’s breath hitched; the sob there stopped abruptly as the wave of aching relief washed over her. It means more to me than anything else. You do. I miss you terribly right now.

For a few heartbeats, she read the text again; one more time after that. Then, she typed.

Baby, can you come to my apartment? Please come.

For a moment her breath shuddered through her body from the comedown of her tears; and she stared at her phone, her mind blank of everything but her hope.

Duncan:  Coming to you, baby.

Her heart slammed into her ribs the instant she read it, against the edge of the bottom of her throat. Whoever is listening, she thought. Thank you. Oh god, goddess, Fate, thank you.

------

It couldn’t have been more than ten minutes later when Kenzie heard the buzzer for the front door ring; it resonated in its shrill little voice through her apartment. She had been in the bathroom, trying to dry the worst of the tears and dab the worst of the redness from her cheeks and her nose; she turned, achingly, resigned to her tear-stained face, and practically ran to the button by her front door that unlocked the buzzer; she waited there, not moving at all, as if frozen, listening; she heard the front door snap open with a jerk, heard the sound of his pointed gait, the click of his boots in the hall, and then the insistent knock on her door, once, twice, three times.

“Baby,” she heard his low voice murmur, and she yanked it open, feeling her face crumple again, to her deep dismay; she couldn’t stop the feeling of relief that washed over her in more tears as she looked up into his face, flushed with what seemed to be the aftermath of him running up the sidewalk from the car, into her building; a curl of his caramel-chocolate-dark hair had fallen over his brow and his eyes were clouded with concern as they gazed at her tear-stained face, his expression one of desperate longing.

“Duncan--” she murmured, but that was all she had a chance to say; he had enveloped her in his arms with an entirety that stole all the breath from her body, pushing her back with aching gentleness, kicking her door shut behind him with one of his black boots, his mouth reaching down hungrily to hers in a burning kiss, the fingers of his left hand falling down to cradle her waist, the fingers of his right coming up to her neck, under the base of her skull, holding her face to him with aching softness that made her body vibrate with an immediate burst of feeling that sent waves of heat into the sensitive folds of her sex.

:”Oh, baby,” he whispered into her. “Oh, Kenzie, don’t cry, please don’t cry…” His voice made her tears threaten to flow again, though, despite his words; they were full of ardency, achingly gentle, and blasted with the tenderness of his own sadness and longing. He was afraid too, she realized, lost in his mouth and the warmth and pressure of his hands. He was scared, too.

“I thought maybe your mother--” she started to speak against him but he shushed her, with that aching tenderness, that insistent need to soothe her. “No, baby, no,” he said. “Nobody will ever come between us. Not her. Not anyone. I swear.” His hand came up from behind her head, his thumb trailing over the incline of her jaw, over her lips, over the tenderness of her sore cheek. “We’re together now. Me and you. Only me and you.”

She nodded, unable to speak, her hands clutching at the thick smoothness of his leather jacket, leaning her face into his hand, full of such relief and warmth and sweetness suddenly that she felt faint with it; faint with the immediacy of him, where before her apartment had been cold and empty and void of him, faint with his realness, faint in the weight of his embrace. But then her head cleared; her sense sharpened, as if someone had turned a light on inside her; had turned up the volume of her spirit, had pressed a shot of adrenaline into her heart, and she pulled his face down to her, demanding, hungry; he came to her eagerly, a little moan escaping into her from his mouth, and she felt his aching need press against her belly; she pulled him over to her bed with its blanket covered in constellations, and she pushed him down insistently, needy and unselfconscious in this moment; she wanted him to know that he was hers now, she felt it acutely; there was a sort of possessive rawness growing behind her thoughts; she didn’t want to share Duncan with anyone anymore tonight, she wanted him to be hers now, and hers alone.

Duncan had leaned up a little on one elbow to look at her, gazing up at her from where he lay on her coverlet with hunger shining out of his gray-blue eyes; hunger, and that same look of wonder, of reverence, that had so thrilled and frightened her before. That hair still fell over his forehead; his beauty filled her with a demanding ache that she wanted sated, and she was going to make him give her what she wanted, and she felt, without any doubt, that he would give her whatever she wanted, with devotion.

“Baby, I want your tongue inside me.” Kenzie stared into Duncan (her boyfriend, her lover)’s eyes as she said it. She moved her hands down beneath the hem of her dress as his eyes followed, pulling the waistband of her black panties down; her nerves thrilled at the soft groan that came out of him towards her as she stepped out of them.

“Yes, baby, please,” he whispered, trying to reach for her.

“Not yet. Lay back.”

He looked at her, a thrill of gold light flickering through his gaze. Then he lay back as she had instructed, his eyes never leaving her face. She could see the rise of his erection under his tailored slacks; she could see his neediness, and it thrilled her.

She pulled the turtleneck dress over her head, throwing it onto the floor, her hair cascading around her bare shoulders now; she unhooked the clasp of her cream-colored bralette, letting it fall to the ground as well, her eyes never leaving his. His expression was divine; entranced. He was so beautiful; she wondered if she’d ever be able to look at him without feeling as though her body was simmering under a fire; his beauty pierced into her, causing her bare skin to burst into goosebumps as she stood there in soft light and shadow falling from the bathroom doorway, naked but for the thigh-high socks she’d been wearing all day; she pushed them from her knees, keeping her eyes locked on his.

“I want you to fuck me with your mouth, baby.”

“Yes, Kenzie. Please.”

She smiled at that; please. She liked that.

“Ask me again.”

“Please, Kenzie. Please let me fuck you with my mouth.” His expression was achingly sincere; he was truly begging her, and she loved it so much. She laughed a little, delighted. God, I love this, she thought. Him asking for it like this. This fucking Prince, begging to eat me.

She climbed on top of him; his hands came around her, but she pushed them gently down and he followed her lead, lowering them, gazing at her in desirous wonder. She moved up carefully, slipping over him so her knees came to rest on the coverlet on either side of his head, the softness of her ass sitting on his chest, right over his breastbone. He let a soft moan fall from his lips again; “Oh, baby--”

“Shhhh,” she insisted. He quieted. She slipped her hands around his wrists, bringing his hands up so they rested against her lower back, just at the incline of her ass. Then she lifted her hips, feeling the lips of her labia stretch, wet with her arousal, gazing down at him, expectantly.

“What do you want, Duncan?” she whispered, smiling, hovering there.

“I want you to sit on my face, baby,” he replied, eyes gazing into hers; she saw the wild, rough abandon buried in them; an abandon that was for her, and her alone.

At that she pressed down onto his mouth (that beautiful mouth, holding the most beautiful smile she’d ever seen captive), feeling the edge of his teeth graze against her clit, the warmth and wetness of his tongue press into her, slide up into the sweetness between her folds; she felt his hands move down to cradle her ass, clutching at her tightly as he buried himself between her legs, and it made her body shudder with a violent knowledge; he was going to make her come and he was going to make her come hard. He moved his head so she fell up and down onto him, each insistent lick of his tongue into her core rocking her body back in a haze of sunbursts behind her eyelids, fireworks, rolling thunder breaking into shocks of lightning.

“Ahhh, Duncan, baby, fu-uuuuuuuck---” and her words bled into a groan of wordless, overcome sensation; he was working himself into her so utterly that she felt like she was a spool of thread unraveling into warm water; the heat building down at her sex where his mouth sucked at her with insistence was causing her mind to hum with warning, hum with the threat of an onslaught of sensation she wasn’t sure she could prepare herself for. The press of his large hands clutching at her ass, the weight of his tongue pressed into that overwhelmingly sensitive bundle of nerves, moving down again to probe into her swollen pussy, licking up again, hard and soft, rough and then achingly gentle, and she shuddered; she felt her release coming from behind a corner, rushing up. His eyes came up to stare into her again, as if he could feel her climax approaching, she looked down into their blue depth, and that was what sent her over the edge, tumbling into the abyss of them: she screamed and her body rocked back with an involuntary spasm that stretched into a prolonged convulsion, clutching his skull, pulling his hair back, pressing her core down into his mouth with so much force she worried for a moment that she’d suffocate him; and he moaned under her, sucking the wetness that dripped out of her down his throat, eagerly, keeping his mouth there as her orgasm eked out of her in waves; she gasped as he continued to lick at her overly-sensitive, now-swollen clit, as if he was loathe to leave it.

Kenzie collapsed down into the crook of Duncan’s shoulder; she continued to moan, her orgasm still hovering around the corners of her eyes, her body dissolving into a post-coital daze; tears pricked at her eyelids again, and she felt them course down her cheeks; will my tears ever end tonight? she thought, overwhelmed in her release. Her body continued to shudder under his gentle hands as he moved them, softly, up and down her skin; caressing her breasts, her waist, the bumps of her ribs, the incline of her hip bone, the soft skin of her upper arm, the indentation of her throat, and all over again, starting at the beginning.They gazed at each other, blinking slowly, not speaking; Duncan’s mouth was wet with her release, and she pulled him down to her; he kissed her deeply, the taste of her mingling between them again (like that first night), and clutching her hand in his larger one, tracing his fingers through hers, slowly.

“Okay,” she whispered. “Fuck me now.”

“Are you sure?” He asked, hesitant, delicate. She nodded; said “yes”; she sat up, pulling him with her, pushing his leather jacket off his shoulders (he yanked it off, lips connecting with hers again) and she pulled his soft long-sleeved black shirt over his head; he unbuttoned his pants and pushed them and and briefs off together in a fluid motion, kicking his shoes off, pulling his cashmere socks off his feet; he turned to her, grabbing harshly onto her legs at the back of her thighs, yanking her down the bed to press against him, his naked cock shuddering between his legs against her skin, and stood at the edge of her bed, holding her legs together and her knees up so the back of her thighs were resting against his the front of his, her feet brushing against his shoulder. He lifted her a little; and then he buried his length in her sensitive cunt, groaning, and held her legs up as he pounded into her, his knees bumping into the edge of her mattress with every thrust, burying his entire length deep into her again and again; she gazed up at him, her mouth open, unable to look away; Kenzie felt like an invisible thread had extended between them, tying them into each other indistinguishably, souls threaded through one another.

Duncan gasped, pausing for a moment, gripping her tightly, staring into her, his chest heaving, still buried inside her; “fuck me from behind, baby,” Kenzie said, and he smiled (baby that smile that smile, eat me up) and pulled out of her, soothing her body down, and using his strong hands he flipped her over; she moved so she came up on her knees, hands pressed into her coverlet so she was on all fours; she moved her ass up just a little, so it was higher, against head of his cock, expectant.

He grasped her around the neck (“oh god baby,” she gasped) and right under the space beneath her left breast, and he buried himself inside her cunt, his mouth finding the small space under her ear. “Fuck baby, this feels so fucking good,” he moaned into her. “Fuck, you’re so lovely, baby, fuck, I love you--” and she gasped against the weight of his hand which he tightened a little, tightened and made little stars come out under her eyes, “Fuck baby, I love you too,” she cried, “fuck, keep your hand on my neck that way, fuck that feels so good--” and he steadied his grip so his fingers splayed out and covered the front of her throat, possessively.

Duncan’s cock was wildly hard; Kenzie could feel the way it was stretching the lips of her labia, stretching her to the edge, burying itself so deeply into her she felt him bumping against her cervix with little dazzles of vague pain--he thrust into her again and again, hand steady on her neck, the other reaching down to her clit again; he pulled her up so she was pressed flush against him, her little body prostrate to him, his fingers working between her legs, lips still on her neck, hand still at her throat, and as he shuddered into her, coming deep inside her (“Kenzie, angel, I’m fucking coming--” and a longer “Fuu-uu-ck, fuck me, fuck” into the skin of her neck) she felt a second wave wash over her; an orgasm of smaller power than her first, like short tides bursting over a rocky shore one after the other, and she whimpered into his hand around her windpipe, shaking.

This time they both collapsed back onto the bed, hands coming around each other with need, holding each other between trying to catch their breath; “are you okay, baby?” Duncan whispered against her forehead, where a sweet film of sweat gathered along the hair at her temples; she could see sweat glistening on his forehead, too, and along the incline of his jaw.

“I feel so fucking good, baby,” she replied, hazy, quieting. “Do you feel good?”

“God, so fucking good,” he laughed, his lips falling on her shoulder blades, his hands trailing along her arms. Then his expression shifted, became serious.

“Kenzie, I’m so sorry I made you worry. I’m so sorry for not texting you sooner; today was terrible, neverending, but that’s not an excuse. I promise I will never ignore your messages or disregard them. It kills me that you thought the worst; that you were sad because of my lack of perception.”

“Duncan, it’s okay. I was just...blowing it out of proportion...today was just, so long--”

“Baby, no.” Duncan shook his head, hands falling down the wave of her hair, twisting his fingers through it. “No, I’m sorry. I should have texted you before I went to dinner and I didn’t. It won’t happen again. I promise.”

Kenzie nodded against his hand, closing her eyes, sighing. How are you real, she thought towards him again; how are you mine.

“I need to text Samuel to tell him to come back in the morning--” Duncan sat up a little, his eyes questioning, asking her. Kenzie felt a thrill course through her--he’s going to stay here with me tonight.

“Okay,” she said, smiling at him, hand trailing down his arm. “Yes. Please sleep with me here tonight.” And he nodded, leaning down to kiss her, and she felt like she was dissolving into the waning moon that hung in the window, dissolving into him, and both of them melting into the stars on her bed.

[readitandreddie]

rough

pairings: reddie

A/N: i wrote this back in december on a03 and i’m about to post chapter two this weekend so i figured i’d post it on tumblr! 

Summary: Eddie Kaspbrak is 17 and wants to be the perfect son, even if that means harming himself or others along the way. 

Word Count: 1.8k.

WARNINGS: MAJOR SELF HARM. LIKE GROSS. Angst out the ass. Abuse, violence, blood, mental illness, homophobia. 

Tugging the hem of his red shorts as high as they could possibly go, Eddie exhaled the breath he had been holding. Looking down at his legs to see the scars from the past few months were starting to fade away except for the couple from a few days ago. Running his fingertip down the jagged lines, he felt his heart sink.

Why couldn’t he be normal and like girls? Just the thought of when Bev had kissed him playing spin the bottle made him want to hurl. He would never admit it to himself, but the only person he wanted the bottle to land on was Richie.

Richie. If it hadn’t been for him maybe Eddie wouldn’t be in this position. They had been best friends since before he could remember. It wasn’t until he was 16 when all of his friends were getting dates, Eddie felt himself becoming jealous that Richie was flirting with all of these random girls.

He remembers that night he decided he should tell his mother how he was feeling, wondering if it was normal. To say the least, Mrs. Kaspbrak was pissed.

You’re sick Eddie. Good boys like you only like girls. Don’t you wanna be good?

”Yes mommy.” 

Those words repeated every time he pressed the razor into his skin.

Biting his lip, Eddie reached into his fanny pack for the package of gum that hid his razor and held the metal between his thumb and finger. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. You can’t like him. It’s not right. His thoughts were so loud he couldn’t hear over them if he tried.

Making a quick slit into his right leg, Eddie exhaled, feeling release rushing over him. As nice as the high felt, it went away as quick as it came. More. Shaking now, Eddie aligned the edge under the last slit and pressed. A hiss escaped his lips as he went deeper and drug it along his leg. You deserve this, you know you do. You’re sick. Tears had escaped during this, feeling pain rush to his leg.

The shaking had gotten worse as he reached for the miniature bottle of hand sanitizer that was sitting next to him and dropped it on the floor, making the boy jump. Eddie slowly placed two fingers on the outsides of the cut and bit his lip as hard as he could, knowing this was going to hurt like literal hell.

A yelp slipped out of his mouth as his fingers started moving away from the other, opening the cut he had just made. It was burning, badly. The feeling of his skin tearing was new, but he hoped this would fix him.

Finally releasing the pressure off of his legs, Eddie managed to grab the bottle of sanitizer and pop the lid open with his thumb. Clean. Clean. He needed to be cleansed. The pills aren’t helping you. You know you still like him. Lifting the bottle a couple inches above the now gaping cut, he felt himself squeeze and saw the liquid drop into his leg.

“Oh my- fuck! Fuck!” Eddie screamed, not being able to hold back his emotions. His leg was stinging, bad. Sobs escaped the boy trying to process the pain. This was undoubtedly the worst pain he had experienced, next to breaking his arm a few years back after falling off his bike. A part of him felt lucky that his mom was at work, while another part wished she would come to his rescue.

Sometimes Eddie wondered what things would be like if his mom had just loved him for him, instead of trying to change him. Would he be able to hold Richie’s hand in public? Could he wear that pair of black shorts he bought at a thrift shop with a small rainbow patch on the side for the first time? Could he be happy?

The hand sanitizer had seemed to stent the clotting process and the blood just kept coming and coming until it was running down Eddie’s leg onto the bed sheets. He needed to move before it got any worse.

Grabbing onto the bed frame Eddie lifted himself to the floor putting his weight on his uncut leg, but felt his head start to feel more like an air balloon. Sitting back down, he closed his eyes and squeezed the bridge of his nose trying to regain his strength. Consciousness was starting to slip and Eddie wondered if this what it felt like.

-

The next morning Eddie woke up freezing. He had passed out and slept in shorts and t-shirt. This normally would’ve been fine but being in November, he was fucking freezing right now.

Slowly sitting up, Eddie’s eyes were glued to the cut that now had a purple bruise around it with the dried blood. He wondered when he finally stopped bleeding last night. Looking over at the clock, 7:34 a.m. Ugh. School was going to suck today. He contemplated staying home, but knew that would require his mom scheduling a doctor appointment. And that wasn’t a risk worth taking.

After rummaging through his drawer, he managed to put on the baggiest pair of sweatpants he owned. There was no way jeans were being worn today. The bike ride to school was uncomfortable, but bearable compared to the pain from last night. He hadn’t realized that this cut was going to make his whole leg sore.

-

The first few periods went quick. He was lucky enough to be assigned work and not have time to converse with the losers until lunch came.

“H-hey Eddie.” Bill greeted him as Eddie had walked over to the usual lunch table. They must’ve still been in the lunch line. Good. He didn’t want to see Richie.

“Hi, how was the History test?” Eddie asked, wanting to keep the conversation as normal as possible. If he even hinted at being upset he knew it wouldn’t take long before the whole club knew and he was being interrogated.

“G-good. Fairly easy i-if you s-studied.” Bill answered and took a bite from the sandwich his mom had packed him.

Shit. Eddie hadn’t had any time to study since the events of last night. He couldn’t let his grades start slipping too or his mom might lose it. He wasn’t going to eat anyway so taking this time to study alone sounded great.

“I should go do that, tell the guys I said hi.” Eddie exclaimed, taking off before Bill had the chance to say anything.

A few seconds later Stan, Richie, and Bev arrived at the lunch table laughing Rich had said. It didn’t take but a second to realize Eddie wasn’t sitting in his usual spot.

“Hey Bill, have you seen Eds? Chicken and Noodles day is his favorite. I figured he already would be wanting seconds.” Rich asked, shoving a fork into the mashed potatoes.

“Y-yeah he went to s-study for the History test. I think he-he forgot.” Bill replied, giving a slight frown but quickly turned his attention to Bev.

Richie wondered to himself if he should go offer to help but quickly stopped himself. Whenever he reached out to the boy, even if it was just to hangout, he was shot down the past couple months.

-

Eddie found an empty bathroom to move into for the next half hour and opened the History book to begin studying. It felt nice sitting in the quiet until he heard the door fling open.

He didn’t hear any talking, which confused Eddie but he figured it was just some underclassman. That is until he saw a pair of black leather boots stand in front of his stall. Fuck. Henry Bowers.

He kept his lips pressed together as hard as they could and held his breath. Go away. Please go away. He was wishing he hadn’t left the lunch table at this point.

“Is my favorite little queer in there?” Henry asked, leaning even closer to the stall door. Eddie could hear the smirk in his voice which only made it worse. Silence.

Henry started banging his hand on the door at this point causing a jump from Eddie, letting the History book fall to the bathroom floor.

“Come out come out, or it’ll just be worse on you!” Henry stated, raising his voice to show how inferior he was to Eddie. He couldn’t move, so he figured begging was the only way out.

“Henry p-please stop. I’ll give you my lunch m-money, okay?” Eddie pleaded, wanting out of this situation.

A laugh that sounded like victory came from Henry’s mouth. Oh shit. Did he just give him what he wanted? Eddie remembered what Richie said to do if these assholes were causing him shit. “Just punch them in the dick Eds. It’ll be hard finding it but they’ll go cry to their mama’s. Don’t be scared, they like that too much.”

Henry started fumbling with his pocket knife onto the door lock until he got it open. A grin came across his face seeing Eddie sitting there staring like he had just saw a ghost.

“Should’ve just came out instead of making things so hard on yourself, hm?” Henry asked before grabbing Eddie by the shoulder blade pulling him out of the stall.

Don’t cry. You can do this. Eddie kept his eyes glued on Henry as he was shoved against the painted brick wall. A few blows to the stomach were nothing he couldn’t handle. Eddie focused on the chipping paint behind Henry as the punches got more intense. Just get through this.

Henry stepped back getting ready to kick him in the crotch as Eddie slammed his eyes shut. His boot had landed about six inches away, but was spot on the cut on his leg.

Eddie yelped at this point feeling the hot tears breaking past his eyes. Too much. Henry perked up at the sudden pain he caused.

“Bingo. What do we have here?” Henry asked, smiling from ear to ear as he went to yank his jeans partially down to see the infected cut. Eddie couldn’t stop the tears at this point.

“Jesus Christ! Who knew our little twink cut himself? Let me help.” Henry reached into his back pocket for the switchblade and smiled seeing Eddie crying so hard. He must get off on this. No one should be this mean.

Henry didn’t hesitate to drag the blade across Eddie’s leg. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Eddie stopped counting after a minute or so gaining the courage to fight back.

“Get. Off. Me.” Eddie screamed, trying to knee Henry in the balls but being pressed back into the wall. Why couldn’t he be stronger.

“Little shit!” Henry exclaimed, grabbing the younger boys arm and spitting in his face before the bell rang initiating that lunch had just ended. 

Eddie slid down the bathroom wall sobbing as Henry rinsed the knife and walked out of the bathroom. No more. No more.

Eddie scrambled to pull his pants up and rolled his sleeve back down, wincing at the sudden stinging. There was no point grabbing his books, he just wanted to leave. No more.

[mintyvan]

20

filling the prompt "I know it's one a.m. and we stopped talking after you went on tour, but I just broke up with my boyfriend and didn't have a ride home and now it's raining outside and I don't know what to do"

note warnings for mentions of domestic abuse/violence and rape. I hate that this took so long. I had to get through some stuff of my own before writing bits of this. If it sucks, I’m sorry.

_____________________

You scrolled through the contacts on your phone, fingers numb and teeth chattering. Pressed against cold bricks under the ledge of a roof, the leather jacket you wore did nothing to insulate you. Cold droplets of water pattered around your feet, downpour turning from light to torrential as soon as you realized you were stuck outside. Rain flowed through holes in pipes and leaked around you, soaking your hair and mixing with tears already flowing down your face. Makeup dripped off your chin and onto your freezing hands. Your jeans were wet and stuck to your legs, chilling to the bone. Boots crunched asphalt as you weakly stomped from foot to foot to keep yourself warm. With no money for a taxi, and a dying phone battery, you didn’t want to press his name, but you needed to.

“I know it’s one a.m. and we stopped talking after you went on tour, but I just broke up with my boyfriend and don’t have a ride home and now it’s raining outside and I don’t know what to do,” you cried in one breath over the phone. The receiver crackled and you heard him take a shaky breath.

“Send me your location.” A pause. Then nothing. He hung up.

You quickly tapped the cold glass with frozen fingers and shared the information. When it was done, you slumped down the brick wall, scratching the leather on your back against the bricks, and choked out a sob. You pulled your knees tightly to your chest, wiping the water dripping down your brow on the already soaked fabric. You couldn’t believe you called him after all this time. After what you did. Your heart was pounding in your chest.

The sleek black car arrived within minutes, but the drive to wherever Van was staying took almost the whole night. You peeled your soaked jacket off in the back, and spread out over the seats just as your phone died.

When you arrived at the sky-high hotel, it was still dark. Van was waiting on the sidewalk, smoking. He wrenched open the car door, and motioned for you to follow him up to a room he had booked for you. As you set your dead phone down on the table and removed your boots, he finally spoke.

“You’re lucky I was back in the UK.”

“I knew you were here because some of our old mates were talking about going to the gig tomorrow.” He sighed. He knew they weren’t his friends anymore. Only yours. The group had split away from Catfish after what had happened between you two. Van decided to change the subject. The bags under his eyes revealed he hadn’t slept for a long time.

“Here. You’re soaked. Take a hot shower and rest. I’ll… check on you in the morning.” He spun on his heel, ready to open the door and retreat to his hotel room, wherever that was.

“Van?”

“Yeah?”

“Could you…. Stay?” It was unlikely. But you were hopeful, and tired, and seeing him had evoked all those feelings you thought you’d left behind. Calculated, he took a breath, and spoke.

“I don’t think that would be a good idea now.”

“Okay.”

“Yeah.”

“Goodnight.”

“Night,” he faintly called as the hotel door slammed behind him.

You awoke to a fresh set of clothes from Topshop folded on the couch. New with tags, all in your size. Various bottles of shampoos, conditioners, face washes, in a shopping bag next to them. Newspaper stuffed in your boots. You admired the new items as Van opened the door to the room. He noticed you were still clad in a fluffy hotel robe.

“Sorry, I’ll come back later -”

“No it’s fine. Thank you.” You were trying to hold it together.

“Welcome. Do you want something to eat?” He was avoiding questions that didn’t need to be asked until later. A very Van kind of tactic.

“Sure, I’ll have whatever you’re having.” Keeping things amicable. You pick up the clothes, give him a grateful look as you go into the bathroom and change from the hotel robe.

Of course the clothes looked good on you. Van always had an impeccable taste. You spun in the mirror, feeling more like yourself now than you had in a long time.

You trail behind him, trying to keep up with his long strides, to a restaurant around the corner where he sits in front of you in a booth (more private, you suppose) and lets you order whatever you want. The conversation dwindled after a while. The small talk could only go on for so long.

“I didn’t want to ask you this, Y/N, but I have to know why you’re here. Why you called.”

*

You went through it all with Van. How you had slowly been tuning in to the rumors of how your boyfriend had been cheating on you, but how he denied it to your face. How he managed to make you trust him over the opinions of the people who mattered most to you. How your best friend had finally been the one to admit that she was one of the girls who fucked him. How you told him it wasn’t okay that he was seeing other girls on the side, and that you didn’t like how he was treating you.

You told Van every detail in a shaky voice how your boyfriend had grabbed your wrists, hard, a remnant of the other times he’d used force on you; you cringed visibly, and Van’s eyebrows knitted together, eyes closing, only guessing what could have been done to you. He hadn’t realized in what a state you’d been left in.

You didn’t know it then, but since that moment, Van had been thinking about how he could have treated you better. Or how, if he had been in the country, (which he wasn’t), he could have intervened somehow. Or kept you from falling for this guy. Or kept you from moving in with him. Or kept you from being hurt by him somehow. Or kept you from going anywhere near him in the first place. So you kept speaking, even though the cogs in his brain kept turning.

You told Van how your boyfriend had told you that you weren’t his main girl anyway, and how he pushed you up against the wall, scratching your arms against cement, probably scarring them for weeks to come, and said if he ever saw you again, he’d make you regret it. That fear alone was enough to make you want to curl up into a ball and never stretch out again.

You had walked two miles in the wrong direction and realized you were lost just as it started raining fat drops on your head; you shuffled under the shanty roof of an old shed, but it did nothing to protect you from the elements. That’s when you started crying, both in the story you were recounting, and now in front of Van.

You told Van here and now that you were sorry, that you didn’t want to call him, but you knew he’d always answer. Under your breath you whispered “you’re the best I ever had” but it came out croaky and split and he didn’t hear it. He mistook it for the start of a sob. He was still silent, eyes wide and looking at you like you were made of glass.

Tears were streaming down your face at that point, mimicking how it had begun to rain outside, droplets sliding down the glass of the windows to the outside. You wiped the tears out of your eyes, a habit in your quest to always keep composure for fear of consequence.

He led you back to the hotel after you got the check, mist coating the tops of your heads, his multicolored brown hair slicking to the top of his forehead as he darted under awnings and around people with umbrellas held high.

As soon as you were back, he left you to yourself. He had to be somewhere, he said. You fingered the beautiful tops he’d purchased from Topshop, feeling the soft knit between your fingers, tears brimming at his kindness after all this time. You decided to nap. It was better than feeling everything you’d dredged up in the past two hours.

*

When Larry found out you were there, he visited you eagerly. He was never one to hold grudges, so you quickly became friends again, catching up with each other, especially since you and Larry were the closest of friends before you’d dated Van. Speaking to Larry on the level of “old friends reunited” helped Van warm up to you as well. It had been three days since you’d arrived; the boys had tried to keep quiet about you and prevent management from discovering that you were there. And although you were their best kept secret as of yet, the others hadn’t warmed up to you. Benji refused to say hello. Bob softly smiled when he saw you downstairs at the hotel breakfast, but he hadn’t acknowledged anything else regarding your presence. There was a new one in their friend group, Bondy, but he kept to himself and smoked alone.

Larry suggested that you and Van have a movie night to break the ice, to help you heal -- because you’d also recounted your story to Larry. Having someone else to speak to, but without the previous bounds of a relationship, helped heaps; you could feel yourself on the mend already. The love that was filling your cracks, little by little, was improving your mood and allowing you to feel more confident about doing tasks on your own.

But you didn’t know everyone else was going to be at movie night too.

Arriving at the door of the hotel room with popcorn bags in hand, and seeing everyone’s tentative faces on the couch, apart from Larry’s toothy grin, you knew you’d made a wrong decision. You sat down, nervous, next to Van. He put his arm around you, trying to make you feel welcome, but it only made you feel more awkward as Benji’s eyes went wide. He had to have been thinking, “Not again.”

After all, it was Benji who had found you lying naked with the guy to begin with, all those years ago, drunk out of your mind and freshly fucked. You don’t remember the guy’s face, and you don’t remember Benji finding you. But he had, and everything else that followed was a blur. You remembered beforehand, being angry at Van for something petty and flirting with other people across the room to get back at him. The drunker you got, the lesser you cared about who you were flirting with, and the more you cared about getting back at Van; though you couldn’t remember for what. Larry had been the one to call and tell you it was over; you remember being pissed because Van couldn’t even say it to your face. You had sobbed to him over voicemail that you didn’t deserve it anyway. That had been it. No contact for years. The feelings had obviously turned bitter over all this time.

Now, you could read the confusion in Benji’s’ face. You tried not to notice as Benji shifted uncomfortably against Bondy, trying to shy away from your body as you were wedged between Van and Benji.

Eventually Van scooped you up and pulled you onto the floor next to him. Despite how bad he previously felt about you being there, he couldn’t have imagined the situation being worse for anyone else but you. To come in unannounced, to stay in a 5 star hotel on the band’s money for god knows how long, and to come reclaim friendships as if they were always rock solid; he knew how it looked, and he knew you were trying your hardest to seem genuine. Therefore, he tried his hardest to be the boy from Llandudno that you always knew. Tit for tat.

The movie progressed uneventful, at least in your eyes. You were more focused on your next tactical move. How to leave here, go back to your estranged parents, or even an old best friend’s house… You didn’t know what to do. Your train of thought was broken as a young girl and boy yelled across the TV screen to each other.

“I don’t understand why you had to do this to me!” The boy yelled, close to tears under an overpass.

“I didn’t know what I was doing, it was just… I just wasn’t me!” The girl yelled back.

“It wasn’t fair,” he sniffled, wiping his nose on his long shirt sleeve.

“But you weren’t fair to me either!” she yelled, loud tone overpowering his now quiet one.

“Bullshit,” Benji whispered, to no one in particular, taking a swig of his beer. Bondy and Bob visibly froze, and you were stunned right there along with them. Van felt you freeze, but didn’t move. The tension in the air could be cut with a knife. No one moved as the scene changed.

You shifted, uncomfortable. Rising from your seat on the floor, you started toward the door. You knew this was a bad idea. Expecting acceptance from a group who was on the wrong end of something that was your fault to begin with was not a viable option. You didn’t know why you’d thought to call in the first place.

“Where ya goin, Y/N?” Van called after you.

“Don’t bother,” Benji replied to him in plain air. At that, you spun on your heel. You were tired. Tired and sick of people’s bullshit. Your ex-boyfriend’s, and everyone else’s. Fueled by a few beers and angst, you replied, not caring anymore about how they felt towards you.

“You know… I know you were the one who found me, Benji, but out of everyone here, I’d expect that you would be the one to have the most insight on what happened. I was so fucking scared, and alone, and I know it was my fault, but God fucking damn it, I never expected to be in the situation that I was. Maybe if I had a little help, I wouldn’t have been here, years later, in a similar fucking situation, with yet another man using me and treating me like I’m utter shit. But maybe I am. Utter shit. That’s a question for the next asshole to play with. Because it seems like all I can do is surround myself with them.”

Trudging through the room, slamming the door behind you and leaving shocked faces behind it, you found your way back to your own hotel room and cried yourself to sleep.

*

A soft knock on the door felt ten times heavier in your head. You had been asleep for less than an hour. When you croaked, “Come in,” it was Van’s silhouette that kneeled at your bedside. It took him a few moments to gather his thoughts, but soon he was speaking with determination you hadn’t heard in years.

“Listen, Y/N… Benji was wrong. Like, I know you think you did wrong just now and you may think you’ve made a fool of y’self but you didn’t. Bondy even applauded your monologue before he realized you were really upset. He doesn’t get us a lot. But that’s beside the point,” he trailed off, fumbling for a cigarette, and realizing he left the packet in the other room.

“I… I shouldn’t have ended things the way I did. But I didn’t even know you’d been hurt, and when your friends told Larry about the rape kit, Larry didn’t even tell me because he thought it would have hurt me more. I mean, it would have, but… fuck… that’s not what I’m trying to say.”

You opened your eyelids and saw through the sleep in them that he was on the verge of tears.

“Y/N, I didn’t break up with you because you cheated on me, like all me mates led you to believe. I broke up with you because of the people we were hangin’ with before all the mess. They weren’t good for you. They… gave these looks at you. When that happened, I just knew. I knew it wasn’t your fault, it was mine. I’d lured these people in, gave them my company, and one of them left with a piece of you I know you’ll never get back.”

Your tears rolled down your cheeks as you closed your eyes. Van’s eyes, blue and glistening, reinforced his point.

“I just…. I just fuckin’ blame myself for exposing you to things that could cause you harm. I knew it was only gonna get more confusing. I just knew it’d be selfish of me to keep you with me, especially after what happened. I didn’t expect it to get worse. M’so sorry. So fucking sorry. I’ve loved you since you left. When you called, it all came back. I can’t fucking believe I let this happen to you.”

He launched off his knees into you on the bed, nuzzling your neck and wrapping his long arms around you in a fierce hug. You cried harder into his shoulder as he rocked you back and forth, rekindling the love as the space between you closed.

“You still love me, even after all this time?” you asked, lips open on the quilted material of his jacket.

“Fuck, babe, all the fucking songs on this album were about you. You think singing about you every day was gonna make me forget? Exact fucking opposite.”

You sobbed into his chest, and rubbed your nose against his neck, cocooned in his embrace once again. You didn’t want to leave. He was the only man you’d ever felt truly safe being this close with.

“M’ not ever gonna let you go again, darlin’,” he whispered, kissing your forehead, echoing your thoughts. “Fuck everything else.”

Smiling into his shoulder, you knew you’d never leave him. He was going to help you get through this.

[mybeautifuldecay]

Hey! I kind of completely screwed up a final today. I read some of your fanfics afterwards and they were a real comfort to me, especially "What's in a Name". So I wanted to say thank you because even though it may be 'just' a story to you and/or others, today it really helped me. Thank you for all you do!

BIG HUGS! I really hope that you didn’t mess it up, but…here is chapter 5 of WiaN to try and cheer you some more. I will keep my fingers crossed that you do much better in your finals than you think ♡

…and thank you for you lovely comments, they just made my day. 

Links to other parts can be found here: HOPEFULLY! (Sorry if some are broken, I am working on it)

What’s In A Name: Part 5:

“Jamie! Please, don’t leave. Out of e-everyone here…“ Claire stumbled over her words, her stomach lurching as she tried to vocalise her feelings to the only man she’d come across that had taken care of her. She could see the hurt, the betrayal in his eyes, and she couldn’t bare it. "Jamie, you’re the only one I want to believe me. I am not a spy, you have to…” She wanted to say trust, but she knew that wasn’t an appropriate word to choose at this particular moment. She’d broken that, and it’d be a time before she could claim it back. "Please, don’t hate me. It isn’t like you think, I wish I could explain, how much easier this would be!” She stood, her back against the cold brick of her cell, hoping to anyone who would listen that he would stay. Her eyes filled with tears; she wouldn’t take back what she’d done. She had needed to get back to the stones, but losing that dispatch notice, that’d been foolish, and she wished with all her might that she’d taken more care with it. “Ye kent what Randall did to me, Mistress…” His regression to using her formal address caused her heart to lurch in her chest. “Ye saw wi’ yer own eyes, the marks he left. I didna mean to keep secrets from ye, because I didna just wish to keep ye safe. Damnit!” He slammed his fist against the small wooden table, the goblet of ale and the small plate of bread flew into the air and clattered at Claire’s feet. She jumped back, her ears ringing, the tears falling from her eyes now as she gasped in air at an alarming rate. “I trusted ye Claire! I was reckless! …and I am a fool for doing so.” “No! Jamie…no! You are no fool. I promise you that,” she stammered out as fast as she could, her lungs rising painfully under her ribs as panic set in. He was still young, not naïve but certainly filled with an exuberance and innocence that caused him to trust in what his gut told him. She could see that rapidly fading, and cursed herself for being the cause. "I am NOT a spy, I-I can’t explain…b-but…” She was panting hard now, her brain rushing through every possible outcome, trying to figure out what to tell him. In the end, there was only one option: the truth. Before she could even begin he interrupted her, his blue eyes hard. “I have one thing to say to ye, Mistress. Before ye say anymore. Whatever the cost, if it is to cost me my life, I wouldna change it. I’ll hang, and I have no regrets.”Claire’s hands shook. Hang? She’d known of course, he was a wanted man, but was he about to give himself over to the redcoats? He looked ready for battle; he obviously didn’t believe anything she would say would change his fate. He truly thought she’d been collecting information on him and sending it back to Captain Randall. Her mouth opened and closed, dry from not swallowing. She was never going to convince him she’d fallen through time, but she had to try. “If you’d read the entire dispatch notice, if you’d read the date! Jamie, you’d know.” She reached her hand out to him, knowing he would snub her but making the attempt nonetheless. “It would have said 1944. I-I needed to get back to Craigh Na Dunn. T-that’s where it happened, where I came…through, if that’s the right word for it…” She let her body slide down the damp wall until she was sat, curled up, on the floor. She sat there staring at her now joined hands as she told her story; she couldn’t bring herself to look him in the eye. But she had to get it all out. Jamie stood stock still through her entire speech. He was still reeling from the discovery and couldn’t bring himself to relax even a little. He was tensed for action, convinced that any moment now, Randall would burst through the gates at Leoch and demand to take him away. But as of yet, that had not occurred. She was right, the men had all been so concerned with the name on the note that they hadn’t stopped to read any more of it. He wished he’d kept it just to check that she was telling the truth, but for now he’d just have to decide whether he trusted her or not. “I didn’t even remember having it on me, until I packed everything away before I ran. I hid it in my pocket. I knew you couldn’t see it. I knew what would happen if you did.” She wiped her eyes, the tears blurring her vision and irritating her. “…And look what it’s done. Frank is my husband, Jamie. Frank Randall. But he won’t be until the 20th century…and you won’t hang, because…I - am - not - a - spy!” She punctuated her words carefully, trying to drive home the important facts. “Am I to trust that yer a time traveller, Claire? Is that what ye want me to think?” His tone was bitter, but softening. She stood and cautiously made her way over to him, stopping just before him. “I know it’s impossible to believe, I know because I’d feel the same. I still don’t understand it…but I’m here, and it happened. I don’t care whether you choose to trust me or not, have me tried for witchcraft if you want!” She turned away now, too tired from her tale to continue on. He watched as she stumbled away from him once more, her shoulders shaking with sobs. He swallowed back the emotion welling in his throat, something deep down niggled at him, something he couldn’t quite explain himself. “I believe ye, Sassenach. I suppose it’d be a fair deal easier if ye were…a witch. Whether it’s daft of me to do so, though, I believe ye.” His voice was so low she almost didn’t catch it. She stopped still as he spoke, letting the words tumble out of him before she allowed his speech to melt into her skin. Her heart slowed for the first time since he’d stepped into her cell. “Murtagh told me I must come and see ye, so I kent there must be a good reason for it.”“M-Murtagh?”“Aye, has he spoken wi’ ye?”“N-no, only Colum and Dougal have been down since my arrest. Nobody else.” She twisted her head, he could see the tear tracks running down the black patches of dust that clung to her skin. He could see the fatigue in her eyes, and he felt what she felt: sheer desperation. He went to her then, without thinking much about his actions, and gathered her up in his arms. She turned and buried her face against his warm chest, her gentle sobs morphing into deep wails of grief as she clung to him. He could feel her tears as they dropped under his shirt and ran down his bare torso. “What’ll h-happen to me…Jamie?” she managed to force out, as she eventually calmed. “Dougal said they may send me back to Randall, I-I’m…” Her eyes squeezed shut as she imagined the horror of being passed over to the Redcoats. “…I’m s-scared. I promised myself I’d get back, e-even if it cost me my life.” Her hands started to shake once more, as she continued on. “B-but…if he takes me, it won’t be…i-it, he won’t…” She couldn’t finish her sentence. It made Jamie’s wame drop to think of her in his care. He knew precisely what would happen should he come to take possession of her, and it wouldn’t be pretty. “Shh, Claire lass. Hush and breathe. I willna let either Dougal or Colum take ye, not until we’ve straightened the matter out.” “Y-you’d do that…for me?” Claire spoke, her head still resting against him, her nose buried now in the crook of his neck. This was the second time he’d had to make this promise, only this time it was under more tense circumstances. The thought made her cry once more, he’d dropped his anger completely now, and was looking at her with only a glint of wariness behind his eyes. There was something more though, something she couldn’t catch. “Aye, I would. I told ye before, Claire. I wouldna change what came afore. I still mean it now, especially since ye arena going to turn me over to the English!” There was humour in his voice that only brought more tears to Claire’s eyes. “Please don’t joke, Jamie,” she spluttered out, trying to regain some handle on her emotions.  "I have t’ go now, Claire. I’ll make sure yer safe, as I said, but I need to get back. Ye must eat, though.” Jamie shifted a little, and Claire moved with him pushing herself off him and settling herself on the small cot she’d been assigned. “Y-yes, I will.” Her voice broke as she wiped her eyes once more and pulled her knees up against her chest. “Will I see you soon?” “I’ll try and come back in the next few days, Sassenach. But I canna make any promises.” She nodded, understanding the position he was in, the position she had put him in.

Leaning down, Jamie took a deep breath and gently placed his lips over hers.

Claire jumped, but managed to just about keep both of her feet on the ground. She moved with him, her mouth sliding fluidly against his as her punctuated the end of his sweet kiss with a little nip of her top lip.

It was rash and a wee bit daft, but Jamie couldn’t stop himself. Not knowing when he might be able to return, he didn’t want to leave her without a small hint of his feelings for her. In this instance he wasn’t sure his earlier words would be enough.

As he left her, Jamie took one look back through the door as it locked tight. His heart was torn; he ached to believe her and he had in the moment, but it was his love for her that overruled the logical part of him. The logical part, that warned him to be careful. He swore to himself that he wouldn’t fall too deep until he’d really come to a conclusion, and that would rest partially on Murtagh’s shoulders.

His godfather knew something. He’d need to find out what.

[asher-blackwood]

Chapter 3 Birthday surprises

 It's been a few days since the trail and Harry is exhausted. Cleaning is an on going project for everyone as they try making the house livable. To accomplish this Harry, with Remus' help, sit his Godfather down to talk with him. " Sirius you know we love you, but the way you treat Kreature has to change." Sirius stairs at them, "That foul little imp. He made my childhood hell. Why should I !?"  Waiting till he was done Harry stood, hugging him. " I understand, but he didn't have a choice if your mother gave him an order. Then he was trapped here with her mad old portrait. If we're really going to make this place a home you have to make peace or we'll be fighting him every step. I want this place to be our home and we can't set him free so please." Harry looks at his Godfather his large almond shape eye shining with hope. Sirius sighs, he knows they're right and he can't disappoint Harry so he nods. "Alright fine but you two are going to have to help me."

 The smell of fresh bread and sausages fills the air waking Harry from his exhaustion driven sleep. Pulling on long pajama bottoms he heads down into the kitchen. Remus was sipping his tea while Sirius was arguing with Molly. " It's his job Molly and he enjoys it. I'm not going to tell him to stop.  Kreater is finally starting to feel like he really has a household to keep. Now Please drop it."  Molly it seams is not happy that Kreater is  taking over what she felt was her job. Though to be honest Kreater doing the cooking, laundry and helping out with all the cleaning and storing of stuff let's her do more for the order. Harry secretly thinks she doesn't like this because she can't keep an eye on all of them.    Harry sits remembering the conversation with Kreater. The ancient elf was extremely suspicious and it took a good long while to convince him. But in the end he accepted what they were telling him and reswore himself to Sirius and The Ancient and Noble House of Black. He was also very excited to find out that Sirius and his partner were going to blood adopt Harry making him Kreater's new young Lord.

 The kitchen door slams open and a horde of redhead comes in laughing. "Morning Mum," The chorus as they kiss her cheeks. Harry smiles at there antics as everyone sits about the table chatting. The food is wonderful and Harry notes that Kreature prepared a small something special for everyone, even Molly. He couldn't help but feel proud of the grumpy old elf and once every one else had left the room Harry told him so. Kreature blushes muttering his thanks.

 Now that Kreature was helping the cleaning was going much faster. The old house elf also told "Master Sirius"  that rather then troughing out the dark objects that he could clean and disenchant or if need be destroy what they had. After that Masters could sell the objects safely if they wished. Sirius agrees and everyone began working. However this would not include a small strange locket that was found in a jewelry case on the second floor. When asked Kreature didn't answer at first just stood twisting his ears. " Master is going to be angry he is. Maters are going to have Kreature out when he tells."  The little house elf eyes well with tears and he begins balling. Sirius looks at his better half for what to do. It was just a locket, and yet to Kreature it was as if he's world was coming to and end. " Kreature... Kreature calm down please we won't put you out just tell us what you know." He sniffs loudly nodding his head. He told the small group of brave Master Regulus and his secret war against the dark lord. How he gave wrong orders and misinformation to his fellow death eaters. How he smuggled muggles, squibs and may others to safety under the dark lord nose. He told them of how he would come home wounded and Kreature would have to patch him up. Then finally he told of the cave. He spoke of blood, boats and a single dark island. This is where his voice broke and the tears fell once more. " Then Master Regulus is making Kreature force feed him the nasty dark potion. He is telling Kreature I is to make him drink it all. When nasty potion is gone he is telling me to take the locket and run. I is not understanding Master is so thirsty but I is unable to give him water. He is telling me to leave but... But I is to be slipping in the water sirs . "  He shivers violently. " Then the dead is rising from the dark water they is. They is infeary they is, Master is telling me to take the locket and destroy it. He is telling me to leaves him and go. Kreature is still hearing Master's screams." He looks at Sirius imploringly, " Kreature tried and tried but Kreature is not being able to destroy the evil locket, is old magic dark magic. Kreature is not begin strong enough to fight the Dark Lord's magics. Kreature is sorry." He began to wail his whole body shaking with his sobs. Sirius was blank faced and frozen then his own tears began to fall, dropping to his knees he hugs the little elf.

 The large group sits around the polished kitchen table waiting for the Headmaster. Once Kreature calmed down he explained what the locket was and why Regulus went after it. First the locket was a family heirloom of the Dark Lord as an heir of Slytherin. Second, Master Regulus told him the Dark Lord turned it in to a horcrux. The tried old elf went on to say he didn't know how it was done only that it was very dark and very powerful. Then he was sent to rest. " Well bullocks, what do we do with it now." Sirius exclaims shaking the gathering out of their thought. No one knew what to say, at the moment they could only hope Dumbledore would arrive quickly. The tension in the room thick as the fire roars to life with green flame and Albus Dumbledore steps out into the kitchen. "Well then what is it you needed to see me for so urgently Sirius? "  The old man was smiling with that damned twinkle in his eye Harry thinks. Then quite sudden it hits him like a ton of bricks. He had to have know Voldemort did or would so something like this.  Harry thinks now glaring at the Headmaster as the "adults" argue over if he and the others get to stay or not. He decides to simply take it out of their hand. "  Hermione what precisely is a horcrux?"  Gasps fill the room while Molly cries " Harry!"  Dumbledore twinkle dims for a moment then he shakes his head. " It would seam we have kept our young ones in the dark to long. Come and sit we have much to talk about." Once every one was comfortable the Headmaster explained what a horcrux is how to normally break one and that he thinks Voldemort made at least two if not more but he doesn't know for sure. He went on to say that he would be giving Harry special lessons to better find out as much as they can about the Dark Lord.

 It's been almost a week since Dumbledore's visit to Grimmold place and the whole house was buzzing with plans for shopping and Harry's birthday party. With this in mind Sirius suggests that on Wednesday everyone bout himself, Remus and Harry go shopping . Afterwards they go to the Burrow to rap presents the come back in the morning. Molly thinking it's a great idea hurries everyone along while Remus makes a list things they have run out of. When Sirius tries to give her some money for the shopping she blushes and tries to refuse but he's firm on this saying, "  You lot have helped so much and cared for Harry when I couldn't. Please let me do this for you."  Looking at him flustered  she takes the bag with a quiet thank you.

 Kreature was cooking a small birthday/ welcome to the family meal for Harry and his soon to be fathers. The house itself seams strange now almost like it was holding it's breathe. Sirius and Remus had set up the tapestry room form the ritual. Everything was finally ready, two hour later they emerge weak, shaky but very happy. Remus told Harry it wouldn't take full effect till his birthday, he might start feeding strange anytime between now and then and if he does to tell they immediately.

 That night Harry was gripped by dreams that were full of laughter, kisses and grey eyes. They felt so real and familiar that when he woke the next day he was confused as to were he was. The feeling soon left him as he hears Sirius calling for him to come down and eat the dreams falling to the back of his mind. Far away another lay in his bed confused as screams where ripped from his throat the pain hitting him again. What was happening to me, he thought as he began to pass out. Muffled voices seam to be shouting something but he couldn't make it out as the darkness engulfs him.

 Narcissa Malfoy passes Draco's study, her nerves couldn't take the waiting as she began ringing her hands. Finally after what felt like hours, but was more like thirty minutes, Severus emerges looking tired. " Well!?" She asks anxiety clear in her voice. Snape ran his fingers through his hair, " He's sleeping right now." He fixes Narcissa with a hard look the asks, " Does Draco have some kind of magical ailment, or something you haven't told me of Cissi, because I'm really not sure what is wrong with him."  The potions master looks worriedly at his friend. " I'm his Godfather for Merlin's sake. I can't help him if you hide things from me." Lady Malfoy finally let's go and begins to cry the glamor she had put in place falling away. She has dark circles under her eyes , and her skin looks like parchment. Severus also could see what remains of bruises on her arms now. She must be so tired,and of course Lucius is still being his charming self. Why does she let this go on.  He's thought were cut off as the sobs quieted. She wipes at her face and looks at him,her mask in place once more. " Come on See I will tell you everything I can." With that the to went to speak of what has a hold of her son and what it means. All the while Draco lay in his bed dreaming of laughter, kisses and green eyes.

 Sirius hasn't been this tired in along time nor this scared. Everything seemed fine during Harry's party, witch had been held the day before so everyone could be there. Then as though the universe  planned it  midnight came and Harry starts to screaming. At the sound Sirius rushes from his room shouting fo Kreature. The sight of Harry twisting and writhing on the bed hurts the older man but he moves into action. " Kreature get me the pain potions we have to get him to settle."  A few moments later the old elf returns potions in hand. Sirius is able to get him to take them but he still whimpers his body hot with fever even though he's pouring sweat. Running his hands through his hair Sirius tells Kreature to stay with him, heading out of the room.

 Severus had barley returned home when his fire chime began going crazy. Sighing heavily he goes into his office to answer the call. He was stunned to find the mutt's face looking back at him . Schooling his expression quickly he glares coolly at him. " Black, what do you want now. I'm sure I gave you enough potion to get Lupin..."  Sirius cut him off, "  It's not Remus it's Harry please Snape I .... I don't know what to do please can you come through."  His voice was shaking and he looks worried. Severus ask him to give him a moment gathering what he thought he might need he flooded through.

 Snape had been expecting many things but not what this. Black had made him give his word on Lilly's grave that he would tell no one, then explained about the blood adoption. Nothing they found made them think that he has a blood heritage. But that is the only thing, according to their findings, that would cause a reaction like this. " We have no idea what other magical blood he carries. Hell he's family may go as fair back as mine. But whatever it is, it old and powerful."  Black runs his had through his hair and over his face. Snape, for his part can't help noticing the similarities between the Potter boy's symptoms and Draco's. This gave him an unnerving thought. He would have to talk with Cissi more. Shaking himself he got to work.

 Harry woke his body feeling heavy and achy. He sleepily brushes his fringe out of his eyes and goes to the bathroom. Stepping into the shower he began to relax. His sore muscles easing in the hot water. After scrubbing himself clean he goes to wash his hair. From down stairs everyone hears a yell and a loud thud. Remus holds up a hand to the rest and walks up stairs to check on the noise.

  Harry was bagging his head against the wall when Remus opens the door stopping abruptly. He stood taking it all in. Where once a scrawny bespectacled teen had been now was a corded young man with long raven curls. He skin was now a creamy coffee color though his scars were still there. The large emerald now has a ring of gold around the pupil rimmed with think long lashes. He also seams to have grown four or five inches in the three days he slept.  He shook himself looking at his adopted son. "Harry?" Turning at the sound of Moony's concerned voice he rushes the other man crying into his shoulder," Why!? Why does everything happen to me?" Hugging his son he leads him back to his room pulling out some jeans and a t-shirt. " Come on Harry get dressed. You can't go around in nothing but a towel come on."  Harry nods  pulling on his pants while he did so Remus calls for Kreature. The old elf appears with a pop and upon seeing Harry he bows lower the he has ever done but before he can speak Moony ask him to get Sirius. He nods glancing at his young master a strange look in his eyes.

 Sirius arrives in next to no time and he and Remus talk briefly before Sirius moves further into the room and Remus down stairs. Harry was sitting on his bed looking down at his once calloused hands.  What had happened to him. He knew the blood adoption would change him some but this was... What was this? Why does all the weird shit happen to him? He looks up when he feels the bed move to see Sirius sitting next to him. He blinks the tears away a he's engulfed in a warm hug. " It's alright Pup I'm here, Remy's here. Whatever is going on we'll deal with it ok. We aren't going anywhere. "  Harry sighs hugging him back then suddenly he looks up, "Thank Pop. You and Dad are the best... Best I could have ever asked for." The he berries his face into Sirius's shoulder hugging him tight. Harry isn't sure when Remus gets there but he was glad to see him, his dads. He tests the thought out, then his face breaks into a smile. "The others have cleared out for now, Except Hermione. She will be staying, a long with Bill. He took her to buy her school things to give you some time." Moony's voice was calm, soothing it made him feel better just to listen to him explain things.

  After sitting and talk about random things for awhile the older men stood, " Well Harry, I know things are going to be a bit strange for a while but we will figure this out alright." Remus says in his teaching voice looking around the boys room. He suddenly claps his hands together excitement in his eyes." Harry, why don't you decorate your room. You can use the things you bought in London and Kreature can help change the colors in here if you like."  Harry looks up at them like he has never seen their like before. " Really, I can decorate the room?"  They both nod smiling at him. "Go ahead Pup the room is all yours."  Harry whoops for joy. The two men laugh calling for Kreature, leaving the teen to his work. Smiling Harry asks Kreature to help make changes to the room and the elf was more then happy to agree.

 The room was unrecognizable, the walls painted with a mural all the way around the room of a long forgotten forest at night. Among the trees where various animals including the Marauders, sans Wormtail, and other magical creatures.  Kreature also changed the furniture with the antiques Harry bought. A large beautifully carved four poster bed with blue hangings, matching silk sheets and blankets. He also has tapestries hanging over the windows and the bathroom door each showing different Arthurian tales. All the book we're on shelves and his old trunk was replaced with the one he bought. Which, to his surprise, was magicly enlarged and given extra spaces. All the clothes, both what he had and bought, were repaired and updated to Harry's taste. Much to his delight, the only thing left was to buy the last of his school things. Kreature had also put the knick knacks and various other things around the room on shells and the walls as was appropriate. "Thanks so much Kreature, this.. this is amazing."  He smiles at the old elf then hugs him, finally feeling like he was home at last.

 Hermione arrives back to the same old Harry she has always known. Though unbenounced to her his fathers had used a modified glamor that would show his physical changes over time rather then all at once. He was smiling and chatting with her like normal relieving her worries. Harry could see her relaxing more as they talk. This might not be so hard, and I can figure things out with out getting overwhelmed. He thought smiling at his friend. Going to bed that night was also exciting. He was in a room that was all him for the first time and nothing could spoil this.

 Draco awoke in a strange room, warm summer air wafting in through the open window. The room was done in soft shades of blue and yellow with pops of jewel tones in pink, purple, red and green. It was well furnished in beautiful french antiques made of birchwood at ash give the room a gorgeous but relaxed atmosphere. He sits up slowly his body aching, What the hell is going on and where the hell is he now. This is no property his father owns that is easy to see...  As he sat contemplating his mother come quietly into the room a small house elf fallowing with a tray of food. " I see you are awake at last darling. How's you body feel did you sleep well?" The house elf set the tray filled with strawberries, several cheese, summer melons, and croissants a long fruit juice of some kind. His mother smiles at him as the little elf sets out clothes and tidies the room. " Do you wish to eat or bath first dear?" She ask him gently touching his shoulder, he blinks realizing she had been speaking to him. " I'm sorry mother I must still be half asleep. Though food sounds great." After that he digs into the meal like a starving man his mother watching him. Once every scrap of food was gone he sits back with a sigh. He moves his hand up to push his fringe out of his eyes he he finally notices. Draco grabs hold of his now waist length hair the last few inches in sunset hues. For a moment he just sat there staring at his  hair in his hands the stood. " Mother I think I'm going to bathe now. Excuse me."  He heads to the bathroom with out another word his mother smiling behind him.

 Harry was sitting down to lunch the day after his birthday when Arthur came into the kitchen. He looks at the older man in surprise, " What are you doing here?" Arthur turns to the young teen he has come to know and love like a son with a sad smile. " The Department of Mysteries gave me a letter for you Harry. Said they need you to get it a quick and quiet as possible." The older man had no idea what this was about, he's just hopes that Harry would be alright after TDM was done.