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cyanoticfireflies · 5 months

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Huskerdust H/C Fic

It was a truly ridiculous time of the morning – closer to sunrise than to midnight – when the front door to the hotel opened and Angel stumbled in, looking like the exhausted and battered remnants of a very bad night. He closed the door behind himself and leaned back against it, eyes closed and head tipped back as he tried to make the entire world stop spinning around him. Colors and light were hurting his eyes. He could hear a constant low-level whine in his ears. His entire body throbbed like a giant bruise.

He didn’t even know for sure how he had gotten home from the studio. The last thing he remembered clearly was being blindfolded with all four of his hands encased in chained cuffs. One of the other actors had pulled his hair too hard and Angel had pulled away. The guy had hit him – and Angel’s world had gone slanted.

He breathed deeply against the door and accepted that, yeah, he most likely had a minor concussion. Had the guy actually managed to hit him that hard? It wasn’t the first time Angel had been roughed up during filming. Hell, it wasn’t the first time he’d been roughed up during filming that week!

“Hey, Angel? You okay, there, kid?”

Angel jerked to attention and immediately swayed, vision going foggy. He could feel himself start to go down before his upper arms went around a pair of shoulders, strong paws grabbing the elbows of his second set of arms and holding him upright. Angel flinched and instinctively pulled back and he was quickly released, which helped bring him back into the moment. He wouldn’t have been released anywhere but the Hazbin Hotel.

He slowly opened his eyes and his vision focused enough to recognize Husk standing in front of him, looking up at him with concern written across his face.

“Why ‘r ya up so late?” Angel asked, slurring his words as his tongue didn’t want to cooperate.

Husk reached out and touched Angel’s elbow again, and now that Angel knew who was the one with paws on him he let Husk guide him away from the door.

The cat had a bit of a blush around the muzzle as he admitted, “I waited up for you. I wasn’t counting on you getting back this late, though.” Husk paused and then said, “You look like a mess.”

“I think I have a concussion,” Angel told him. “I don’t remember too much after gettin’ hit….”

Husk swore and grabbed him again now that Angel wasn’t jerking away from his touch. “All right, baby, come here.” He pulled at the spider and Angel let him. He trusted Husk. Husk wouldn’t hurt him. Husk would take him somewhere safe.

He blacked out a bit as the cat demon tugged him and then realized that he was laid out on the couch, staring up at the ceiling with his long legs dangling off the side. “Um.”

“Here, can I touch your legs?”

“Yeah, s’fine,” Angel told him. Husk carefully grabbed at Angel’s shins and moved his legs up to lay on the couch. Angel would normally have made some kind of joke. He knew that his legs were his best feature (as long as no one got a glimpse of his feet). But even through the fog he remembered that Husk didn’t like when Angel threw passes at him. And honestly he was in no shape to do anything if the cat did take him up on it.

Husk moved up closer to him and said, “Eyes on me for a second, Angel.”

He blinked slowly and tipped his head toward Husk. “Huh?”

“Yeah, your pupils don’t look right,” Husk said, sighing. “All right, kid. We’ll take care of you.”

Angel snorted quietly and said, “I’ve done scripts that started a little bit like that before.” He paused and added, “Not for a long time, though. Val doesn’t take care of me anymore.”

“I know, baby.” Husk shook his head. “Close your eyes so the light doesn’t bother them. And don’t try to move. I’m getting some stuff to help.”

Angel had zero desire to move ever again, honestly. Every time he did, it set the world to spinning and that was highly unpleasant. He lay there on the couch, feeling like he was floating in the air but in a bad way. He couldn’t feel anything solid underneath him, even though he knew logically that there was.

He didn’t know how long he’d been left to lay there, but eventually he felt his eyes start to tear up. He didn’t want to be alone when he felt like this. Which was so strange to him; Angel had always retreated and licked his wounds alone, hiding his weakness behind a grin and an inuendo.

“Hey, no, don’t do that, baby,” Husk scolded as he returned. “If you start crying, it’s just going to make you feel worse.”

“But it hurts,” Angel sobbed. He reached out with his second left hand, groping blindly in the air, until he felt the bend of a wing get pushed into his palm. He curled his fingers around the shape, being careful not to yank the feathers since he remembered when Niffty had accidentally (and, yes, it did genuinely seem to be an accident) yanked a few out and Husk had complained about it stinging.

“What hurts?” Husk asked him.

“Everything.”

“All right, kid. Can you motion to where on your head you got hit?”

Angel took a long breath, trying to calm down so he would be able to obey Husk’s gentle urging. He sniffled sadly and raised a hand, making a vague circle around where he recalled the jerk’s fist connecting. Husk gently moved his hand away then Angel felt the cat move and something soft and cold press against his head.

“Ouch,” he whined.

“I know, baby,” Husk soothed. “But we’ve got to ice it to make sure there’s no swelling.”

“Okay.” Angel lightly squeezed Husk’s wing, still careful. Husk treated him real good, and Angel didn’t want to hurt him, even if it was on accident.

He laid there with his eyes closed, feeling the coldness of the ice pack seep into the skin and soothe away some of the burning ache where the jerk’s fist had made contact. Husk continued to make low shushing sounds as Angel fussed, and Angel listened to his low voice, felt that familiar comforting presence.

But as the pain in his head receded just a bit, Angel slowly became aware of everything else on his body that was just not right.

“Husky?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“My stomach is really not happy.”

“All right, one hand up to hold your ice pack.”

Angel raised one of his upper arms slowly, taking over holding it. Then he felt Husk slide a hand behind his shoulders and slowly ease him off of the couch cushions. The world lurched again but no where near as violently as it had before. Angel kept his eyes closed to combat the dizziness until he was sat up a bit, his upper body shifted to lean against Husk.

“Here.”

Angel cracked one eye open and saw that Husk had put one of the cleaning buckets under him so that if he threw up it wouldn’t make a mess. Angel really really didn’t want to be sick, but he appreciated that Husk was prepared for it.

“I’m not sure if I’ll puke or not,” Angel admitted.

“That’s fine, legs. You can sit for a moment to see what your stomach does.”

Angel nodded and leaned even more against Husk, letting the grumpy old cat hold him up. He could feel the places they were pressed together – his upper shoulder against Husk’s chest, his head leaning in the crook of Husk’s neck. There were spots where the fur on Angel’s upper and lower right arms rubbed against the bare fur of Husk’s torso around the straps of his suspenders. The fur rubbing sent tingles racing from those points of contact, raising goosebumps on Angel’s skin in a good way and tickling him just a little.

“Think I’m okay,” Angel managed after a moment when he decided that his stomach had temporarily stopped its revolt.

Husk shifted and then Angel felt the bar-cat gently pushing the fluff of hair out of his face, stroking it back. “All right. Can you have some medicine and water while you’re sitting up?”

“I think so.”

Husk shifted a bit and Angel moved with him, not willing to sit up on his own. He could hear the high-pitched rattle of the medicine bottle and winced as that noise pierced through his aching head, but he moved his lower arm and focused on the way Husk’s fur pulled at his own (one of these days he would get the grumpy gambler to use fur conditioner, Angel swore it.)

“Here, baby.”

“I don’t wanna open my eyes again,” Angel whined.

“Then hold your hand out and I can give it to you.”

Angel moved a little but then decided that he didn’t want to do that either. He opened his mouth, extending his tongue just a bit, wanting Husk to put it in his mouth instead of in his hand.

“Are you kidding me right now?” Husk grumbled.

Angel hummed sweetly and said, “I don’t feel well. Be nice.”

Husk huffed and Angel waited several seconds to see what he would do. He was about to give up – he wanted to tease Husk a little but wasn’t in the mood for anything drawn out – when Angel felt a light pressure on his tongue.

“I spoil you,” Husk told him.

Angel made a soft happy noise and pulled his tongue back, feeling the pain pill Husk had given him.

“You have to help with the water, though.”

He agreeably raised his lower left arm and fumbled through the air until he felt the cool surface of the glass under his fingers. Husk helped him raise it up and Angel took a long gulp of water, washing down the medicine and some of the lingering nausea eeking up the back of his throat.

“Thanks, kitty,” he said when he finally let the glass go.

“Happy to help, brat.” Husk took the glass away from him then shifted Angel’s weight and had him pull the ice pack away. “You’ve got a little egg, but you should be okay. Any other injuries we need to worry about?”

Angel slowly took a mental inventory of himself. “I hurt a lot of other places, but nothing that won’t heal up.”

“All right, baby. Come on – let’s get you into bed. Concussions need to make sure they get enough sleep.”

“Mmhmm,” Angel muttered. He moved to try to get up but then groaned as the world shifted. “Nope. I’m sleeping here.”

Husk heaved out a deep sigh and then Angel felt Husk’s arm settle more heavily around his shoulders. Then he squeaked when he felt Husk’s other arm nudging against his knees.

“Husk?”

“Don’t squirm or I’ll drop you and you’ll end up in worse shape.”

Angel smiled and pressed his face further into Husk’s neck as he was picked up from the couch. Husk was actually really strong. Angel had seen him hauling bins of dirty bar glasses and cases of liquor without much struggle. Angel was probably a bit more awkward to carry considering how lanky he was, but he curled himself up as best he could to make it easier for Husk to wrap his arms around him and carry him.

Angel could feel the way his body shifted as Husk carried him across the lobby and then up the stairs. He didn’t say anything, just kept his pleased smile pressed against Husk’s neck. He could feel when they stopped and reached out with his lower left hand, fumbling until he felt the doorknob he assumed was his own and twisting it to open the door.

He heard the soft snuffling and quiet squeals of Fat Nuggets as someone else came into Angel’s bedroom carrying the loyal pig’s master. Angel managed to turn his head and opened his eyes then extended a lower arm, giving the pig a few pats on the head.

“It’s all right, Nuggsy,” Angel cooed. “We know Husk. He’s our friend, right?”

“Careful so I don’t drop you on him or accidentally kick him,” Husk warned. Angel pulled his arm up and felt the way Husk moved more slowly, easing his steps forward so that he didn’t end up with a porcine pet underfoot.

Angel peeked and saw as they approached his bed then felt the careful way Husk lowered his weight to lay him down.

“You okay to sleep in your makeup tonight?” Husk asked him.

“Uh-huh.” It would be a pain to have to deal with it in the morning – as well as whatever else was surely caked into his fur – but Angel knew there was no way he was going to be able to do anything but quickly fall asleep now that he was on familiar sheets and pillows.

Husk reached a paw out and gently stroked Angel’s hair back, expression a bit soft as the two of them looked at each other. “You’ll be all right,” Husk told him. Angel didn’t know if Husk meant from only the blow to the head or in general, but he wanted to believe the older demon’s words. It might take a long time for Angel to be truly all right, but he was trying.

Husk moved to lean down and scooped up Fat Nuggets, depositing him on the sheets. The pig immediately scrambled up the sheets to give Angel some piggy kisses, his little tongue on the fur at Angel’s cheeks. Angel smiled and raised a hand to curl around his beloved pet.

“I’ll let you get some sleep, kid,” Husk said.

But Angel didn’t want him to go. He wanted Husk to stay and help him feel safe and cared for and like someone that mattered. He reached out a lower hand and snagged onto Husk’s wrist before the cat could leave.

“Stay,” he whispered quickly, gently tugging on Husk. “Don’t go.”

Husk sighed. “Angel….”

“I don’ mean like that. I just don’t wanna be alone right now,” Angel admitted.

For several long seconds Husk didn’t say anything. Angel, feeling the sting of being rejected hurt far worse, actually, than his various injuries, released Husk’s wrist and turned onto his side, curling himself around Fat Nuggets.

He should have known better, Angel thought to himself. He had been trying to be so good with Husk, trying to behave himself, but Angel was a mess on his best days and would inevitably screw it up again.

He heard shuffling and figured Husk was leaving. Angel would be all right, or at least so he told himself. He would wrap himself around Fat Nuggets and cry a bit even though Husk had told him not to and pretend he was fine in the morning. He was really, really good at pretending he was fine in the morning…

But then the bed shifted and Angel felt Husk sidle up against him, moving awkwardly across the sheets until he was spooned around Angel’s larger form. “You have more elbows than I’m used to working around, so if you elbow me in the ribs or kick me with those long legs I’m taking it out of your fur.”

“The fur is sacred,” Angel said after a minute of trying to find his voice. He hadn’t expected this. He’d thought Husk might pull a chair over or sleep on the floor, either stretched out or half-leaning on the side of the bed. But this was so much more than he’d dared to hope for. This was warmth and comfort and care and connection and a dozen other things that Angel had forgotten existed.

Short but strong arms wrapped around him and Angel wiggled back, fitting them together as best he could. It wasn’t a perfect fit with how much taller Angel was than Husk, but it felt perfect to him. That kitty nose pressed to the back of his neck. The way Husk’s breath rustled his fur. The press of knees into the backs of his thighs.

He sighed and relaxed, pulling Fat Nuggets close to his own chest. He really, really wanted to sleep, and now he definitely felt like he could. “Night, Husk. And thank you.”

“Anything for you, baby.”

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel fanfic #angel dust #husk #huskerdust #hazbin hotel angel dust #hazbin hotel husk #hurt/comfort #hurt/comfort fanfiction

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skelesunderthetale · 4 months

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How about what they would do on a date? Like activities and stuff like that

What they would like to do with you

Characters: Blue, Dream, Nightmare, Killer, Dust, Goth

💞

Underswap (Blue) Blue would love to share his passion for sports and exercise with you! Going on a walk, at the gym, at the beach to play some volleyball and then cool off by getting in the water… Not only are they good habits, but also they are some things that he likes and wants you to enjoy just as much. If you aren’t used to sporty activities, if you had bad experiences, it’s okay! If you are willing to try stuff out, he’ll be empathetic of your experiences and make sure to be attentive and guiding. If you aren’t ready and prefer to stay in, he’s also fine with watching action movies, comedies, or even cheesy romance with you. At least he can cuddle with his favorite person meanwhile! Dreamtale (Dream) Dream doesn’t have much time on his hands, it’s obvious. When he has enough time, and when he can actually put all his attention on you, he likes to either stay inside your home to fully relax together, do some puzzles, cross stitch, read, or even watch documentaries. He only likes TV when it makes people learn things, good luck making him watch reality shows (he’s old). If you actually want him to take you out, he’d propose a nice dinner somewhere calm and cozy, or go on a walk in a special garden place. Dreamtale (Nightmare) Nightmare being himself, he hates going out during the day, or at least when it’s sickeningly sunny and pretty. He likes foggy weather, when it’s dark, and when you can look up and see the clouds almost hiding the moon. Speaking of the moon, that’s probably one of the calmest activities you can do with him: star gazing. If you are sleeping, he would bother waking you up so you guys can watch the sky together through the big window of your bedroom. Honorable mention to: reading! He’s an old soul (if he still really has one?) and can give you easily any definition you need if you have a hard time reading some of the classics he has in his bookshelves (you saw one that dated from… like… 1798…)

Something New (Killer) Killer loves cats. His hobby is to bring a new cat everytime he comes back from a mission at this point… So to cope with his lack of time that he can spend with you, he simply makes you take care of them with him. Feed them, make sure they are okay, pet them and play with them until they are all sleeping from exhaustion. If you are allergic… Well, he’ll have to think really hard to think about something else to do with you… Actually, he has a very enjoyable sport in mind :) He’s kidding! Unless…

Dusttale (Dust) Dust is a homebody, it takes him an enormous amount of willpower to actually get out of bed each morning to do whatever jobs he needs to finish before sunset. He loves you though, and his brother wants him to do what he can to make you happy. Thank his hallucinations, because they are probably the reason why you didn’t die during your first encounter… If you want to chill at home, well good for him! I mean… you guys! He’s not really doing anything though, he’s kind of just watching you do things. Will it be drawing, dancing, singing, watching a show or video, he’s silently watching. No judgment behind those eyes though, so don’t feel silly or embarassed. If you want to go out, well he just hopes it’s not somewhere like a festival or anything.

Goth (JessyDS comic version) Goth is funny to be around, and like his name can lead to think… he’s goth, and metal, and likes anything that sounds a bit louder than usual. He’s edgy, and it shows. If he was rich, he’d buy you guys tickets to every concert of bands he likes that isn’t a 10 hour drive away. And merch! IT’S EXPENSIVE. The number of times you saw him beg his dad for 10$ then beg his other dad for 100$ (Reaper understands his passion a bit more than Geno does…) When you go to a concert, it’s loud, people stink, the lights blind you, but it’s fine: at least you can feel his wings brushing your back. --- Author note : Im not a poser, and also comments are very welcome! Requests too! I love interacting with the community

#sans x reader #underswap #undertale #undertale aus #dreamtale #killer sans #goth sans #geno x reaper #dust sans #dream sans #nightmare sans #underswap sans #x reader

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averageallogene · 1 year

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Soulmate Mark!AU (The mark is either be a name or a picture that hints to who the soulmate is)

It is common knowledge in Teyvat that everyone gains a soulmate mark sometime in their lifetimes.

Reader's soulmate mark appears during the night of her most recent birthday, linking her to a certain former Sixth Harbinger.

What is not so commonly known is that the soulmate mark can change; when something happened that not only shatters the affected person's trust and belief in their partner, it also makes them unable to accept their partner anymore.

When Reader catches Wanderer cheating on her with Haypasia, she wakes up the next morning to a new soulmate mark on her arm that matches either Alhaitham, Kaveh, Cyno or Tighnari (who I call the Sumeru 4).

WANDERER ♡⊹˚ Constellations [SFW]

fem. reader (3rd person) ; angst. Soulmate Mark AU. cw for cheating, as well as possibly ooc characters oops- anyway Wanderer and reader don't end up together :(

3k words.

notes. Alright so as I've stated in my rules, I don't exactly dabble a lot in AUs, however I will make an exception for this since it's been sitting for so long on my askbox. Anyway I hope you enjoy ✧˖°

A soulmate could take on many shapes and forms, as well as hold different meanings. To some, a soulmate was bound to become one's life partner. To others, a soulmate didn't have to implicate romantic emotions, it simply being the other half of a puzzle that completed them on a platonic level. Whichever the case, all were aware that everyone in Teyvat shared someone special, for it was written in the stars.

Their one and only sign of who it would be came in the form of a small mark, a set of dots and lines that formed their set constellation. It had always been said that in Teyvat, under the stars there was a home for everyone. Everyone is their own unique person, signified by their own constellation that astrologers could reveal.

To [F/N], her own mark had come on her most recent birthday, at long last. The first thing in order of business was to schedule a meeting with a well known astrologer, hoping to find any other clues regarding her soulmate. It had become an unwritten rule to visit a reader of stars for two things - one, to know one's own constellation. After all, were they to meet their soulmate, they should know to identify it. The other, was to see if any other clues could be gathered regarding their other half. Only a selective few in all seven nations could add information to their search, and as such, consultations weren't cheap.

Nonetheless, with some of the mora she'd received on her birthday, [F/N] went. The older woman, who'd been incessantly recommended by many of her friends, thoroughly read through the lines that made up her mark, fingertip brushing the skin of her lower arm. She sought guidance with her magic, and after a while, she was finally able to give her what little information she could.

"Peregrinus." She'd revealed, the word being the title of her soulmate's constellation. It was a strange language, yet it was said it was the language the stars spoke in. "I see a figure… Tormented by past experiences, yet striving to move forth in one's own manner. Constantly moving, constantly uprooting themselves from any one setting."

[F/N] couldn't help but repeat those words in her head that day forward. Peregrinus. Peregrinus. Peregrinus. She dared not ever forget the name of her soulmate's constellation, for it was the key to finding out who they were. When memory began to play tricks on the specific words the astrologer had told her, she even decided to write them down on a simple notebook she carried with herself, patiently waiting for the day she and they crossed paths.

It had been on the Grand Bazaar in Sumeru City. [F/N] wasn't even certain anymore why she'd gone there, it was to get a few things on a list to aid her mother or something. That part of the memory was foggy. What hadn't been foggy however, was the moment she noticed her mark grow in grandeur, as if the stars in the constellation were signifying they were glowing. They were near, so near.

Her eyes had widened, head darting around as if looking for who it could be. She'd heard of all the stories of her friends, how they had met their soulmate in romantic ways. She wished to have such an encounter, yet amidst the chaos of the bazaar and the wish to not lose them among the crowd, she resolved to shout straight to the point.

"Peregrinus?! Peregrinus!"

People turned their way, some as if she were mad, others quickly understanding what that meant. Some offered her consoling and encouraging smiles, though most simply continued on with their day.

One single figure stopped, before finally turning in her direction. To her walked a young looking man dressed in elaborate clothes of a soothing blue, his skin like porcelain and eyes piercing, indigo in shade. His very figure, adorned with an elaborate hat, was difficult to miss, especially when she was in such high alert. The expression on his face was difficult to decipher, a small scowl across his pretty features, his eyebrows furrowed before he finally parted his lips.

"That's my constellation."

Yes, he was her soulmate. Words didn't seem to be his forté, the young man speaking with a gruff tone and words that could appear harsh at first glance. Well, [F/N] didn't take it to heart much, especially when thinking back on the words the astrologer had shared with her - tormented by past experiences, yet striving to move forth in one's own manner. Patience was something she quickly learned to deploy, calmly asking if they could move away to a quieter place. He'd agreed, and before long, he himself had shown his own mark carved on his arm. It was her constellation, the young woman naming it before he'd done so.

They shared a glance, a sea of emotions streaming through them. Hope, hesitancy, vulnerability. They'd found their one.

[F/N] had learned quickly her soulmate had no name. He'd had many, in his past, yet none mattered to him. He went by only wanderer, his will to attach himself to the world never quite strong. That was, until she'd come along. In truth, Wanderer had never quite expected he'd find his soulmate. Human life was so fickle after all, and could a puppet truly love? It was one of many thoughts that haunted his head, yet the patience [F/N] showed him sure showed itself to be more stubborn than his own stubbornness.

In the end, she'd won, and he had opened up the small crack she'd managed to break. Her wanderer slowly but surely shared more about himself, as well as a past name of his. One that he hadn't minded as much. One she quickled fashioned into her own name for him. Kuni. It felt… Odd, to hear her call him by it. It felt…. Strange... Foreignly warm.

Kuni hadn't ever shared everything with her. It was too much, and the way he'd become overwhelmed was understandable. She never pushed him much, instead allowing him to open up at his own pace. Instead she talked, and shared, and he listened. Despite his rough exterior, he'd proven himself to be a great listener, engaging her in conversation whenever she saw fit. They spent time together, they got to know one another, and eventually, Kuni had grown comfortable around her, at least enough to display public signs of affection such as hand holding.

Everything felt wonderful. Everything felt complete.

That was, until everything crashed down. Until her heart was broken in a million pieces.

"Kuni? Kuni I'm home! My boss told me I could-" [F/N] had announced, only to find their shared house empty. He wasn't in the living room, nor the bedroom, not even in the kitchen.

Strange, yet it wasn't enough to raise alarm bells. After all, he was free to leave whenever, and he wasn't expecting her to come back so soon.

So, she waited. And whilst waiting, [F/N] had calmly set the groceries on their kitchen table, sorting everything needed for the dish she wished to prepare. It was one of Kuni's favorites, him having taught her how to cook it. It was difficult perfecting Inazuman cuisine, yet for her lover, there was nothing she wouldn't attempt to do.

The rice was cooking, and the freshly caught eel she'd bought from the market was prepped. [F/N] was about to begin cooking when she heard the front door open. She couldn't even contain the smile from forming on her face as she cleaned her hands with her apron, grabbing the wooden spoon to stir the sauce before making her way to the kitchen door. There, she heard more than one voice. She stopped, and listened. It was a woman's voice, yet still, she didn't dare even question it. To [F/N], for all she knew, it was a friend! It had been difficult for Kuni to open up for others, and as such, she was more than happy for him.

"K-"

"Come, it's okay. She's not home."

The words stopped from coming out, the woman left stunned and frozen. Her eyes focused on nothing but the empty hallway ahead, the previous happiness slowly being morphed into foggy confusion. Giggles were heard following suit, and without even knowing what to do or what to say, it wasn't long until she heard sounds of kissing. It was loud, and obvious. Sloppy. Gross.

Suddenly everything felt nauseating. Her eyes were glossy, yet despite everything else, she moved. Whether due to denial, disbelief or rage, she wasn't sure. [F/N] simply moved, emerging from the small hallway to gaze up at her front door, wooden spoon still in hand as she pitifully stood there, clothes dirtied from the dish she wished to prepare for him. She stood there, unmoving, glancing up to the man that now stood at her front door, kissing another woman.

"Kuni?" She finally let out, loud enough for them to hear. Her voice was trembling, the tears pricking her vision.

She watched as the pair jumped in surprise, him practically shoving the other girl away before eyeing her with a surprised look. A look of guilt.

"[F/N]-"

"What are you doing? And who is that girl!" She cut him off, her voice fluctuating between anger and sorrow. Her hands hung low, the rage slowly boiling over as she tried to not jump at either of them.

"Look-"

"I thought you'd said she wasn't home." She heard the green haired girl whisper, it being enough to break her.

"How long has this been going on for!? How could you do this!"

"This means nothing, [F/N]." He outright scoffed, baffled that it would make her that angry.

"What do you mean this means nothing?!" It was the other woman's turn to shout, disbelief on her features. "That certainly wasn't what you told me last time we were together!"

"You piece of shit!" Tears were flowing freely down [F/N]'s face, their voices quickly raising and garnering attention from their neighbors.

A sudden sorrowful confrontation quickly turned into a screaming match, hurtful words being thrown as [F/N] ran down the hallway, arms flailing in an attempt to try and shove them out of her house.

Kuni's indifference turned to defensive dismissal, shouting back over how she shouldn't be that fucking mad, that it wasn't a big deal, that they were still soulmates. It had been that last one that utterly crushed her beyond belief, the pure anger evident on her face finally seeming to get through him.

"Shut. Up. Don't EVER call me your soulmate again! You talk to me about betrayal yet you have the gall to turn around and do this!" At that point they were outside, their neighbors watching on through windows or open doors as the sight before them unfolded. "Fuck off and stay away from my sight!"

"You're being dramatic, [F/N]-"

"You two better leave before I call the Corps of Thirty." Against all the rage she was feeling, [F/N]'s voice grew lower, colder. It was enough to finally get through them. They were no longer welcome.

And as such, with all eyes watching them in shame, they left. The young woman was left crying inside her house, the women that lived beside her coming to her aid when she felt ready.

That first night had been rough, and sure enough, many were to follow. Practicing her better judgment, [F/N] managed to not burn Kuni's clothing that same day, instead packing them before leaving them outside for him to take. She couldn't eat, she couldn't relax, she couldn't sleep. She could only let it out, crying for Archons knows how long before her exhaustion took over.

The following day, she couldn't even dare look upon the damned mark on her arm. She wished nothing to do with him, and at that point, even the house felt suffocating. It still smelled of him, his once comforting scent she'd grown to dislike. Before leaving for work, she remembered to leave her windows cracked open, hoping the breeze would sweep away his scent before she returned.

It was only during work she'd realized it, how the constellation upon her arm had suddenly changed. While at work she'd accidentally splashed water on herself, prompting her to change out of the long sleeved shirt she had brought to work. She didn't want to look, her eyes actively trying to glance anywhere but there, yet against all her efforts, her gaze jumped to the mark, and there she stayed. The six dots were now rearranged in a new order, the once seemingly symmetrical pattern now forming a new, undiscovered constellation.

Her heart was beating quickly, yet she wasn't sure it was due to good reasoning.

Not again, she thought.

[F/N] was hesitant to even give it much thought. Her heart was still broken to a million pieces, and it would take time to recover. She didn't really have the same excitement to seek out an astrologer to find out more, instead trying to distract herself.

Days turned to weeks, weeks passed on and morphed into months. By that point, [F/N] had calmed down, settled in somewhat. Still, she hadn't sought out any answers just yet. The thought still churned her stomach, yet her friends figured it was time for her to move on.

"How about I go with you after work?" A friend had proposed, smiling with encouragement. Fine, she would relent eventually.

"Alright… Only so you guys shut up about it." [F/N] pouted, her friend nodding along in victory.

Despite not having previously booked their appointment, they managed to successfully get their consultation later that evening. There was a clear lack of enthusiasm in [F/N]'s face, and even the older woman noticed so. Still, she went through with the same ritual, the answers she got prompting her to bloom a smile even prior to revealing them her answers.

She'd murmured the constellation's name, yet [F/N] had only halfheartedly heard it. It was what came after that peaked her interest.

"Discipline, loyalty. A king by their own right."

Her friend seemed far more giddy than she was. As they left the appointment, she couldn't exactly contain her curiosity.

"Isn't that far more appealing, [F/N]? I mean, a king? Only what you deserve, truly."

"Oh come on, you know how they tend to flower their words." The girl scoffed, a small smile still present on her face regardless. Sure, she wasn't exactly as thrilled as she was her first merry go round, yet still…

Perhaps, this time it would go better.

Days went on by, routine setting in. Work, home, repeat. [F/N] had gotten used to living by herself, slowly mending her own heart before readying herself for another try.

"Come on now, you're not going back home straight from work again are you?" Her friend had groaned, hands on her hips.

"Well I wanted to relax…" [F/N] pouted.

"I get it, I do, but you have to go out more. Fresh air will do you nice! How about a small walk through the Bazaar and then a stop at Puspa Café? My treat!"

"Ugh, fine…." She groaned, her friend cheering in victory before linking their arms together.

She had to admit, the walk felt… Refreshing. Nice. There was good conversation made, and before long, a treat at the Café was in order. The pair entered before noticing it was rather packed, their eyes looking around whilst looking for a table.

"Goodness, it's packed today. What's the occasion?" Her friend muttered, following the waiter that seated them.

"Ah, there's a small TCG event we're hosting." He explained with a polite smile, before taking their orders.

"Oh right, it's that game that has gotten so popular. Have you tried it before?" She asked her friend.

"Yeah, I have. It's fun, though I only pick it up occasionally." [F/N] hummed, looking ahead to the players while resting her chin on her hand. "Those guys seem to take it much more competitively."

"[F/N]-"

"Besides, it requires a lot of strategy and sometimes you just don't feel like thinking much? Some opponents will think like 5 steps ahead of you, so you really have to be in the zone."

"[F/N]."

"One time my boss found my deck out in the open and had it confiscated, too. That's probably why I haven't played it in a bit though-"

"[F/N]!"

"What?!" The young woman said startled, eyeing back her friend with furrowed brows. "Why are you-"

"Your arm!"

Slowly, her gaze lowered to the aforementioned limb, eyes finally landing on the constellation that had shown up months before. The dots replicated the same gleam as once they had, signifying that her new soulmate was close, very close.

"Oh shit…" She whispered.

"What are you still doing here, go on!" Her friend said eagerly.

"Go, go where?! What do you want me to do?" [F/N] stuttered, her face suddenly feeling hot.

"Oh I don't know, go to where all the people are?! On the other end of the Café!"

"And what am I supposed to do, stop their match to ask if one of them is my soulmate?!"

"Uhm, yeah???" Her friend crossed her arms, huffing impatiently. "Do you want me to do it for you? I know the name of their constellation, after all."

"No need!" [F/N] groaned in frustration, getting up from her seat and glaring at her now grinning friend. "F-Fine, I'll go there!"

With a huff, [F/N] made her way across the Café, slowly and hesitantly reaching the gathered crowd around the match that was apparently reaching its end. Those around the two players watched in awe, commenting on each move performed by the two of them. The young woman tried to remain calm, her eyes shifting around those whose arms were showing in a vague attempt at finding her own constellation marked on one of them.

"I have to say, it was a wonderful match. Though, I'll have to cut this short." One of them said loud and clear, his fingers picking up one of his own cards before placing it neatly in front of his adversary. "And with this… I believe I win the match."

"Oh, so the General was saving that for the end of the match…. Well played."

"Tsk…. I should've seen it coming." His adversary smiled humbly, nodding his head before the two of them shared a handshake. "Well played, General."

"You were great, too. I'd enjoy playing another round with you, next time."

"Oh, hello miss," A young man, dressed in Akademiya attire reached her side, smiling her way. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

"Oh, uh, yes." [F/N] blushed softly, tucking some hair behind her ear. "Is the match finished?"

"Did you wish to witness it? I'm afraid it is… Oh, but if you'd like, I can recap it for you?"

"N-No, that's okay, thank you though!" She shook her hand before gathering up her strength. "I'm here because… Well you see, my soulmate mark-"

"Ooohhh, I see." He was quick to catch on, nodding his head. "Please, feel free to inquire anyone present further, and good luck."

"Thanks…"

It certainly felt odd, reaching everyone so suddenly for such a question. Amidst that group of mostly young men, was her soulmate… She supposed that was enough justification for the way her heart was outright pounding in her chest.

And thus, her questioning began.

"Uh, excuse me? Is your constellation… Lupus Aureus?"

"Hi, sorry for the question, is your constellation Lupus Aureus?"

"You don't happen to have your constellation named Lupus Aureus, do you?"

She practically went through every student there, her friend patiently waiting for any outcome by her table. Her face at that point was burning, her heartbeat almost audible to those around her. By the end there weren't many left, and as the General Mahamatra himself was putting his deck away, the young woman took a deep breath and approached him.

Surely, it wasn't him. Surely someone as grand as the General had already found his soulmate, yet it didn't hurt to get it out if the way.

"Excuse me, General?" Her voice was soft when addressing him, him in turn humming softly before turning her way. "You don't… Happen to have your constellation be Lupus Aureus, do you?" There was silence on his end, prompting her to fill it with more talk. "Sorry, it's just- It's my soulmate's constellation, and while I was here my mark began to glow and… Well…"

The General Mahamatra was still quiet, his gaze piercing hers as his expression didn't shift. [F/N] almost felt like she should expect some sort of retribution for addressing him, his eyes nearly suffocating her with the aura of respect he presented.

"...Aureus Sirius?" He muttered out in a monotone voice, rendering her rather confused.

"H-Huh?" She breathed out.

"Aureus Sirius? Because that really is my constellation."

"...."

She needed time to process it.

Not the joke, the mere fact that it indeed was his constellation.

"...Get it?" The General mumbled, his face still not shifting. "Aureus because it's part of the name of my constellation, and Sirius because it's another constellation to which it's related to, according to the astrologer I visited."

It was her turn to be frozen in place, completely silent. Her eyes were now fixated on his, incredulous while still processing what he'd just said. The joke was absolutely terrible, and definitely not something she would've expected from the General Mahamatra. Still…. The way he went out of his way to explain it was what had broke her façade, a crack of a smile appearing on her face before she let out a huff of a laugh.

"Yes… Yes I do get it…"

"Funny, right?" He revealed a hint of a smile. Sure she could deny it, but before she were to say it, he cut her to the chase. "You laughed."

She had… Albeit not for the reason he hoped it was. Still, it felt like all the pressure of the situation had suddenly dissipated.

"I'm [F/N], and-"

"You're my soulmate." He softly cut her off, his eyes suddenly growing softer. It was like he felt relief to have finally found her. "Please, call my Cyno."

Cyno, the acclaimed King of Invocation TCG. Well, sure, turned out he really was a king of his own kind.

"Oh… Of course." [F/N] gave him a shy but sincere smile, holding her own hands whilst playing with her fingers in nervousness. "...Would you like to have a coffee with me?"

"Of course."

The way he glanced at her… Something in [F/N] told her this time everything would sail much smoother.

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin wanderer x reader #genshin impact wanderer x reader #genshin impact cyno x reader #genshin cyno x reader #genshin impact angst #genshin drabbles #genshin impact drabbles #yoko drabbles

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pineappleciders · 10 months

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sunny is an empty concert auditorium. sunny is the warmth of hot cocoa in a cabin. sunny is crayons that are too short to draw with yet too long to throw away. sunny is a green, open field that doesn't seem to end. sunny is a set dinner table that is empty. sunny is the warm light that reflects through the shades and onto the floor. sunny is drawing on a foggy window with your finger. sunny is the one blurry photo you take while taking pictures.

aubrey is a broken chain fence. aubrey is going to the zoo, and wanting to bring every animal home. aubrey is a bus ride at night back home, anticipating punishment from your parents. aubrey is eating popsicles by the side of the road with your best friend. aubrey is selling lemonade during the summer. aubrey is going barefoot into the muddy lake. aubrey is a dog let off-leash for the first time, running freely through fields. aubrey is a messy collage of newspapers and dry markers.

kel is drawing on the sidewalk using chalk with your friends. kel is the sandwich and carrots your mom makes you after school. kel is waiting for the school bus early in the morning in your raincoat. kel is fear; fear of yourself, of what you cannot control. kel is the last slice of pizza that one person insists the other has. kel is jumping in a pile of leaves with your dog. kel is falling and skinning your knee as a child, yet having nobody around to hear your cries.

hero is nostalgia. hero is eating fruit loops with your siblings on a sunday morning. hero is colorful ice cream and brownies for dessert. hero is stuffed animals in a claw machine. hero is the bottom of a tea cup after it's been emptied. hero is coming home after a long day to nobody. hero is the stray cat that brings you something every day. hero is the feeling of a dog's fur. hero is a painting the artist recreated, new and refreshed while the old version rots. hero is breakfast in bed from your children.

mari is a tire swing hanging from a beautiful oak tree. mari is the taste of your grandmother's baking. mari is confiding in someone you trust. mari is the flowers swaying by the riverbank. mari is asking someone to not take a photo of you, then later regretting it. mari is an old piano, one overgrown with plants and long abandoned. mari is the pictures of generations of your family hung in the hallways. mari is going out to eat after your big volleyball game.

basil is scraping your knee and insisting you don't need a band-aid. basil is polaroid photos strung up in a teenager's bedroom. basil is an old, dusty key which you're not sure what it unlocks. basil is a kid's journal with a lock on it that you forgot the password to. basil is spilling something in someone else's house and watching them clean it up for you. basil is jars of honey and jam in a cupboard. basil is dry, cracked knuckles.

#does this make sense #pineapple yaps #omori #omori fandom #omori game #writing #poetry???#idfk #pineappleciders

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cubitodragon-moved · 1 year

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Yesterday Mike added more fuel to my “Tubbo is bugged” theory and it’s making me extra worried about what’s going to happen this week LOL.

This post is rambly and long, so I’m sticking things behind a cut!

Mike’s memories of the last 3+ weeks are scrambled and foggy; an interrupted El Quackity treatment? Unclear. But between saying he doesn’t remember anything and then spouting off pro-Federation propaganda (something his anarchist ass would never willingly do!) and fiercely trying to pin blame to Fit as a traitor, a comment by him during one of the questioning sessions stood out to me.

When Fit asked who told him his janitor duties were fake/a front, that he couldn’t be trusted, he said Cucurucho.

We and FitMC know that the Feds are sus of Fit, but they’ve had no actual concrete evidence that he’s been misusing his position to obtain information. And yet now Cucurucho, supposedly, is informing Mike of this so called betrayal?

If we think back to the prison cleanup in August, there was a room that had a chess board map on the wall. Only two pieces were present: a queen and a pawn. And the pawn was positioned on a clear way to indicate it’s meant to represent Fit. A warning - possibly to Fit from the ghost entity in the Prison (or someone in a neighbouring pocket dimension, if recent ruminations and theories on the server have any legs) that aided Pac and Mike, OR the Federation itself, reminding him of who has the power and who is always watching.

But they have yet to take any action. And always praised his work when completed.

Enter: Tubbo. Who arrived on the Island as part of a group rescued from a mysterious location. One with lots of strange blocks, code-eggs, frozen floors and who himself was frozen away. Shortly after, Mike and Pac ventured back to that location to explore, and when he entered the tower, the floor vanished and Mike fell. Fell down into a pool of water at the bottom of a trap lined in black concrete, and then frozen.

During Mike’s absence, Tubbo has gotten to know the “morning crew”, has gotten up in everyone’s business. I’ve outlined some highlights in another post. But more recently, every time he talks to Fit about his cleaning job, he’s picked at it again and again. Freaks out over the badge and keycard - especially over the keycard. (This feels important, for more than just Tubbo’s excuses of it being bugged, but I can’t put my finger on why, yet.). Tubbo whines when Fit won’t give him direct insight, or tell him detailed specifics on what he’s found on the job. Fit has made it clear he will not jeopardise his position to satisfy Tubbo’s need to meta-game win over the system to know everything, resulting in accusations, and Tubbo commenting privately to his own chat that this makes Fit untrustworthy in his eyes. Tubbo has been careless with some of his questions. They’ve been asked topside, sideways comments uttered with side eye. He wants to KNOW what Fit is after.

And Fit did spill to Tubbo that he’s not just there for the obvious. Yes, He IS looking for something. Yeah, he IS trying to find things out about the Codes, the Eggs, and the Federation - he wants his beautiful baby boy (made in Heaven by God Himself) back home safe and sound.

But this has not been successful, never mind the long absence of any work in the last few weeks..and we the viewers know that things he has found have been incomplete, or need more time to cook before he goes to others with evidence. Fit is meticulous, his life on 2B2T trained this into him in order to survive. You don’t last 10 years in an anarchy wasteland without being prepared. Better and safer to leave things unsaid than having to walk them back later. And there’s no point in sharing what isn’t relevant to the matter at hand.

And now Mike - who Fit calls friend, who he bonded with, who he swore to help locate Walter Bob with - said Cucurucho told him that Fit was a traitor, and wasn’t looking for what he said he was, even point blank accused him of lying yesterday about what he’s looking for. And when pressed about what he’d found so far when on janitor duty, Fit had to admit that no, he hadn’t found anything related to the Eggs or the Code.

Mike seemed to take that as proof of his lying about what he’s doing. That what he was told was right. But admitting to a lack of success doesn’t make one a liar. And Fit telling him he found nothing is also a smart play - lose lips sink ships, and better to be thought incompetent. Especially if the Federation are now trying to flush you - and perhaps your ties to your employer, outside the island - out into the open.

The Federation did not know about Ramón’s furnaces until Tubbo did. And they didn’t know Fit was in it for more than the obvious until he spoke with Tubbo. They can’t get Tubbo to take on Fit, but they can use a different pawn they have on the board instead.

I may well be completely off base. And I’ll be delighted if I am. It’s been so much fun to theorise about the lore on QSMP! But mark my words, we need to pay much more attention over the next 48 hours. And who knows what everyone will come back to in a week’s time?

#qsmp #qsmp lore #Qsmp theory #qsmp tubbo #Qsmp fitmc #Qsmp Mike #qsmp cucurucho #Qsmp federation #Qsmp player data plot

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corneliaavenue-ao3 · 7 days

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Summer's a Knife (a graveyard fic)

Graveyard fics are fics that I started and will never return to. Some are vague outlines, some are 4 sentences, some are 40 pages. But if they haunt me, I want them to haunt you too.

I am actually sad that this became a graveyard fic. But I truly cannot write it anymore. I wanted to release this first chapter in May of 2022... you see how well that went for me.

This is the first summer after the war from Ginny's POV. It is sad, it is romantic, it deals with grief. It was going to have flashbacks to Ginny's sixth year. It was going to have 4 big chapters and a small epilogue, each chapter focusing on a month. It was going to be one of my favorite things I wrote. Unfortanetly, I don't feel that way anymore.

May (chapter title: so long daisy May) is the only complete (non-edited) chapter. I knew what I wanted to write in June (the best and worst day of June), no clue what July (I've been down since July) would bring, and an idea for August (August slipped away)

I even had a playlist made

Chapter 1 is below the cut because it is 10k words, and I am giving it all to you. After that I will explain the rest of the vibes of the fic with some snippets I wrote. Sorry this is a LONG POST.

You say that we'll just screw it up in these trying times. We're not trying.

If I bleed, you’ll be the last to know

So Long Daisy May

Ginny’s bloodstained trainers echoed on the cobblestone path to her Great Aunt’s house.

Once again, she was sent away for being too young. It wasn’t that long ago her parents were begging her to leave, to come back here for safety away from the final battle. Harry gave her a look that he didn’t want to see her either. She stayed of course. Fought in the war that was her fight as much as any other member of her family’s fight. Probably even more than most of them to be honest.

Now the war was over, she was sent away again. Her mum didn’t want Ginny to stay at Hogwarts any longer than necessary, wary of any lurking danger from Death Eaters still roaming the grounds. The Burrow was not safe yet. Her dad, Bill, and Charlie left soon after Voldemort fell to ensure that their home would be safe for them to come home. Molly Weasley could not bear to convince George to leave his twin’s side in the room of all the deceased. Ron was off somewhere once again, probably conjoined to Harry and Hermione’s sides, unbearable for them to separate.

That is how Ginny ends up with Percy of all brother’s returning to Great Aunt Muriel’s cold mansion that foggy, early morning.

Percy took a moment to knock on the front door. Ginny was planning to just walk inside, finding herself too tired to care about politeness and proper etiquette.

The front door swung open 30 seconds later, a small house elf stood in the entryway.

“Hey, Milsey. We were sent here to update Muriel and wait it out until the Burrow is safe,” Ginny said.

Milsey bowed down, “Of course, anything for Prewett blood.”

Ginny didn’t even try to hide her eye roll. She could practically hear Hermione in her ear ranting about House Elf Welfare.

“You don’t need to bow for us, Milsey,” Percy said. The first words he said aloud since their mum sent them here. Ginny did not know what to make of Percy anymore. He was the only brother who noticed anything was wrong with her during her first year at Hogwarts, and then he was the only one who checked up on her during her second year. Then he stopped caring about her. Ron told her that he got a letter from Percy telling him to stop being friends with Harry during his fifth year. She didn’t even get that. She could not understand how he could ignore his family for two years, and then come back begging for forgiveness.

Fred had forgiven him.

The thought of Fred made her entire insides clench. She wanted to vomit even though she had not had anything to eat in hours.

Percy walked through the front door, Ginny closely following.

“I am 109 years old, I just can’t have people showing up to my house unannounced at the crack of dawn. I have not even finished my tea yet this morning. Ginevra, your shoes are filthy. Take them off before you step on my Egyptian Rug, it is older than me and made from Sphynx fur,” Ginny’s aunt said in one breath.

Muriel stood in the doorway, wrapped in her silk nightgown, arms folded, looking very unpleased to see her niece and nephew. “And where is Molly? I need to speak with her about her inability to raise polite children who give warning when they are going to visit their aunt!”

Ginny felt Percy’s hand wrap around her bicep, warning her to not make a retort. “We will make sure we give you notice next time we visit, Auntie Muriel. Thank you for letting us pop in this morning,” Percy said, using his trademark pompous voice.

Muriel grunted, "I missed you Percy. You were always the most respectable Weasley. The Prewett blood runs strong in you."

Percy squeezed Ginny's arm again as a reminder to stay calm. Ginny turned and gave him a look that read something like I’m not a baby, get your annoying hands off of me. She wasn’t sure he quite got the message, but he removed his hand anyway.

“We are only here until dad gives us the all clear to go back home. I will clear out all of our things we left in your spare rooms. Your favorite Weasley can update you on what has happened in the last 24 hours.” Ginny turned, not even sparing a glance at Percy to see his reaction to the news that he would be the one updating the family about Fred’s death. She crossed over the sphinx rug and stormed up the stairs, making sure to leave dirty footprints with each step.

Her room was first. Her trunk sat in the middle of the floor, a few articles of clothing scattered across the floor, but mostly still packed. She didn’t want to admit it to her mum at the time, but she kept her trunk packed in case they needed to make another quick escape. Now, it seems so frivolous caring about her things when her family is now forever torn apart.

She quickly gathered her clothes strewn around and shoved them into her trunk. Levitating her trunk out the bedroom door and into the hallway.

The Ministry of Magic has more to worry about at the moment than some underage magic.

Her parent’s room was next. Unlike Ginny, they did not have their trunks already packed from school, so they did not bring much from the Burrow. Ginny noticed this on her third day at her aunt’s house when her mum had not changed robes. Looking around the room, Ginny gathered what little items were there and put them into her own trunk.

The twin’s room was last.

Ginny took a deep breath, bracing herself before pushing the door open slowly. Unsurprisingly, the room was a mess. Weasley Wizard Wheezes products piled in boxes on the floor and stacked on top of the bed. Mail in orders haphazardly organized in some system that only made sense to George. In the corner was Fred’s belongings frozen in time, never to be touched by him again.

Flashbacks to the Great Hall flooded her brain.

The smell of burning smoke clogged her nose. Seamus guided her back inside from the courtyard into the entryway of the Great Hall. Everything was too quiet. The emeralds littered on the floor cracked under her step, echoing against the stone walls. Suddenly Bill was there, pulling her from Seamus into his arms. He was crying. Why was he crying? He led her to the middle of the Great Hall where her family was huddled together. She counted the amount of heads, realizing two were missing. Slowly she approached her mum, who was kneeling on the ground in front of - NO.

Ginny stumbled, tripping over a box of sparklers on the ground. Her knees crashed into the footboard of the bed. A spare sparkler fizzled on the ground then ignited the entire box. An impressive explosion lit up the entire room, burning an imprint on the ceiling. Smoke filled her lungs. Spluttering, Ginny sunk to the ground, trying to catch her breath.

Breathe in. Breathe out. In and out. Quicker. Faster.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

She felt herself start to hyperventilate. Her throat clogged up, unable to suck in deep enough breath to fill her lungs with oxygen. Tears blurred her vision. Pressure built in her head, she felt like she was submerged underwater. Unable to catch her breath. Drowning in her tears.

Arms wrapped around her, pulling her close. For a second, she thought she was with Bill back in the Great Hall again before realizing that was not the brother holding her.

“It’s alright, Ginny,” Percy soothed her.

Sobs wracked her body. She was exhausted. She could not keep them in any longer. Tucking her head into Percy’s chest, Ginny cried for her brother. She would never hear Fred tell another joke or have a late night race on the brooms. Her whole body ached. Several hours after his death, she finally felt the magnitude of the loss of Fred.

Percy scratched her back, lightly tracing his fingertips down her spine, soothing her. Just like he had the time she broke down during their trip to Egypt. Slowly, oxygen inflated her lungs and her sobs lessened. Her breath slowed back to a stable rate.

"Thanks, Perce," Ginny said when she finally trusted her own voice.

"Don't mention it," he shrugged. "How about you get some rest, I will clean up the rest of this room."

Ginny was too tired to protest. Pulling herself to stand, Ginny nodded at Percy before slowly making her way back to her guest bedroom. She didn't even bother changing into fresh clothes before crawling into bed. Curled into a ball, she pulled the covers tightly around her.

Her thoughts drifted to the same person she dreamt about for the entire year before the blackness wrapped around her, pulling her into a deep sleep.

Hours too soon she was gently shook awake. Groggy eyes opened to her father smiling down at her. He aged so much within the last year. What red was once in his hair has turned primarily gray, fresh wrinkles were etched into his face. Ginny flung her arms around his neck.

“It’s safe to go home now.”

“Where’s Percy?” Ginny asked, hating how childish her voice sounded.

Her dad stroked her hair, “Already home. Let’s join him.”

Her dad grabbed the trunk on the ground and Ginny’s hand, side-apparating her to the Burrow. Teaching the sixth years how to apparate was not a priority this past year. Just another flaw in her education from the last 9 months. Her landing was not soft. Stumbling a few steps, Ginny stood at the top of the hill, just inside the ward line.

“Everyone else is inside,” her dad said.

Stumbling over herself, Ginny ran down the hill to her home. At first glance, the Burrow looked the same as the day she left it. But as she got closer to the front door, she noticed more things amiss. The treeline looked different like a few branches were knocked away. The grass was scorched yellow like someone burned it. Windows were cracked or blasted open with missing shards of glass.

The front door groaned open with her push. Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat together, heads bent down, all snapped up at the sound of her entering the kitchen.

“Ginny!” Hermione smiled, standing to embrace her in a hug.

Ginny squeezed her friend back. She didn’t get to appreciate seeing the three of them at Hogwarts. Hermione was much thinner than the last time she saw her. They all were.

Ron embraced her next, giving her a pat on the back. She let go and looked over at the end of the table where Harry now stood.

“Hi,” Harry said.

He looked good. Thin like the other two, but still handsome. He had somehow gotten taller over the last year, his hair long, messier than she had ever seen it. The dark rings around his eyes and his hollow cheeks emphasized his green eyes. Staring at her the same way he had a year ago, like he was staring into a brilliant light.

Her heart skipped a beat.

But in the next heartbeat, they were crossing the room to one another. His arms wrapped tightly around her shoulders, hers around his waist. Pulling each other close. She pressed her ear against his chest.

He's alive, heart is beating, lungs are expanding with each breath.

Alive. Alive. Alive. Alive.

The stairs creaked, alerting them to the presence of another Weasley member. Ginny pulled back from Harry just slightly, not completely breaking contact, as George entered the room. Slowly, he crossed the room, giving Ginny a quick pat on the head before leaving out the back door. Reality sunk back in as she watched the back of George’s head.

Fred's dead.

Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead.

She felt her throat start to clog again. The unbearable feeling of loss started to overwhelm her. Slowly, she pulled away from Harry. She could not lose it again, especially not in front of the others who went through so much more than she had. Ron also lost Fred, and he wasn’t breaking down at the sight of George.

And George, who would see Fred’s face whenever he looked in the mirror, did not deserve Ginny breaking down by looking at him. It made her feel like an awful person for almost losing it. No one needed the stress of taking care of her while they too were struggling.

“He hasn’t said anything,” Ron said, filling the silence. Ginny realized her eyes had not left the back door George exited. “Charlie went back to Hogwarts to convince him to leave. He got back maybe 20 minutes before you did.”

Ginny wouldn’t know what to say either when everyone looked at you like they were seeing a ghost.

“Where’s everyone else?” Ginny asked.

Ron nodded to the back door. “Bill and Fleur are out back. They checked the house for curses, but haven’t finished the rest of the property.” He pointed to the stairs next. “Mum’s up in her room. I imagine now that dad is back, she will spend the rest of the day in the kitchen. She shares her love through food, you know. And I think she has a lot of love she will want to share.”

Ron’s prediction that Molly Weasley would cook a feast for dinner was not far off. A few hours later, everyone was crammed at the table, along with enough food to feed them for days. Harry sat next to her with a plate stacked full. Throughout their meal, they exchanged casual brushes and quick glances.

“What are Kingsley’s plans with the Ministry?” Harry asked her dad as he passed the salad bowl to her.

“There is a lot to figure out. The Ministry was corrupted, that is no secret.” Percy kept his head down, avoiding the gaze of his father. Arthur took a bite of his chicken before continuing, “It is fair to assume there will be trials, but those probably won’t occur until later this summer. First, the physical damages of the war need to be fixed before the government can fix itself. Kingsley is working with Gawain to assess the damage first.”

“Do we know how many people lost their lives?” Bill asked.

Arthur shook his head. “It is unclear. There are still those unaccounted for in addition to those in critical care at Saint Mungos. But right now the number is at 43, not including Death Eaters.”

The clattering of silverware halted. Silence overcame the table as the magnitude of the battle overcame them.

“Excuse me,” Harry stood, tossing his fork on his half finished plate of food. He crossed the kitchen and made his way up the stairs, not bothering to look back at any of them.

Ron silently stood too, following Harry up. Hermione paused, eyes following Ron, but she stayed in her seat. “He will be fine,” Hermione reassured the table, not making eye contact with any direct member of the Weasley family as she spoke.

The table remained awkwardly quiet for the rest of the meal. Fleur spoke of Shell Cottage to fill the silence. Ginny excused herself to her room as soon as she felt appropriate to leave.

“I will be right back,” Hermione said as she passed Ginny’s bedroom door later that evening, two plates of food balanced on her arm.

Ginny nodded and continued to get ready for bed. By the time Hermione returned, Ginny had already tucked herself into bed, facing the wall. Hermione silently dressed for bed. “Goodnight, Ginny.”

Her circadian clock was off. Even though her entire body felt exhausted, Ginny lay awake staring up at the cracked ceiling of her own bedroom for hours. Sleeping at Muriel’s threw her off. In other circumstances, she would have taken this opportunity for a night flight. But she didn't feel safe flying alone tonight. Her mum would also be worried sick if she found out Ginny went out alone unsupervised in the middle of the night. Ginny did not need to be an added reason for her mother's stress right now.

So instead she shifted in her bed, trying to drift off to sleep. Counting Hermione's rhythmic breaths as she slept on the cot next to her bed.

One.

Two.

In.

Out.

Ginny tried to prevent her thoughts from drifting to anything depressing. No Fred, no Hogwarts, not even her childhood home. So instead she tried to make her mind go blank, to think of absolutely nothing besides the sound of Hermione’s breath.

Her counts of Hermione’s breaths quickened. “No, please no!”

“Hermione?” Ginny leaned over the edge to peer down at her friend. Her face was twisted in distress. The faded quilt was thrown off her body as she tossed and turned in her sleep. “It’s fake! Please stop!” a blood curdling, terrible scream escaped Hermione’s lips.

Hermione bolted straight up, eyes widened in fear, her hand reached for her right forearm. Ginny crawled out of her bed, squeezing next to Hermione on the cot. Tentatively, she reached out, stroking her back.

Hermione flinched away from her touch before finally relaxing. She tugged the sleeves of her jumper down her arms and pulled her knees into her chest. Ginny continued to try to provide comfort to her friend.

After a few minutes of silence, Hermione finally looked at her. “Sorry.”

Wrapping Hermione into an embrace, Ginny whispered, “You have no need to apologize. I wasn’t even asleep.”

Hermione hummed. “Bellatrix, well…” she trailed off, staring out the bedroom window. The quarter moon provided minimal light in Ginny’s bedroom, so Ginny could hardly make out the look on Hermione’s face. “Nevermind,” Hermione finished, pushing herself away from Ginny, standing. “I’m going to go sleep upstairs, so you can get some rest. Goodnight Ginny.”

She grabbed her wand and bolted out the door, leaving Ginny all alone.

Ginny sighed and crawled back into her own bed. She punched her lumpy pillow, trying to find a comfortable enough position to drift off to sleep. With Hermione gone, she lost her distraction from letting her mind run wild. Now, thoughts of Bellatrix infiltrated her head.

Chaos reigned. Flashes of lights of every color surrounded her. She fired off spells at any person still cowardly enough to hide their face behind a mask. Harry was dead, but Tom had not won. She would make sure of it. Ginny caught sight of her wild mane of black hair before she saw her face. Firing off a cascade of curses, each aimed for Tom’s right-hand woman, each somehow deflected with ease. Bellatrix gave her a wicked smile, and for a moment Ginny wondered if Bellatrix knew exactly who she was and why she was so distraught. Hermione and Luna joined her side to fight Bellatrix. A streak of green passed her head, and for a moment, Ginny thought she would finally be at peace.

All good judgment she made hours prior about not flying tonight was out the window. She needed out.

Shoving her feet in her trainers and grabbing a jumper to combat the cool May evening air, Ginny quickly slipped out of her bedroom. Taking the stairs two at a time, pushing open the backdoor, and sprinting the moment she stepped out into the night.

With no one to tend to it in over a month and Death Eaters to trample it to the ground, the orchard was a disaster. Apples littered the ground, the sweet fruit squashed underfoot. The burnt grass damp with dew.

The broom closet smelled musty. Thankfully, it appeared untouched. Ginny grabbed an old Cleansweep, swinging one leg over the handle in a fluid motion. Her feet firmly placed on the ground, inhaling the cold air, she pushed off into the dark sky.

The common phrase “It’s like riding a broom,” never fit so eloquently. Months away from the sky, and it is almost like she had never left. She pressed her chest closer to the handle to center her gravity, and she was soaring. Past the treeline and the top of her home, she flew lazy laps. Circling the property, spiraling in the open air.

Her lungs expanded with cold air, her heart kicked faster with adrenaline, and her mind forgot old haunts. She felt invincible. She felt alive.

Slowly, she looped closer to the ground.

She noticed his dark hair first.

Once she flew within earshot, Harry started to speak. “Imagine my surprise to be awoken in the middle of the night to the sound of your brother snogging.”

For the first time in days, Ginny smiled "I hope it wasn't with the picture of Aunt Muriel he keeps stashed under his pillow.”

A laugh escaped Harry’s lips. It was one of the most joyous sounds Ginny ever heard. "I think he finally has reason to dispose of that picture."

“Oh?” Ginny questioned, the tips of her toes grazing the grass as she hovered closer to him.

The corner of Harry’s mouth quirked up, “Your brother is snogging Hermione Granger.”

“When did that happen? Oh, you haven’t been stuck third wheeling them this entire time have you?” Ginny asked, sympathetically patting Harry’s arm.

Harry looked down at where Ginny was touching him, slowly moving his other hand up to give her fingers a gentle squeeze. Ginny sucked in a breath.

He shook his head, letting go of her hand, “They didn’t snog until yesterday.”

“But yesterday was the ba-”

“Exactly,” Harry said, interrupting her. “How long have you been out here?”

"I couldn’t sleep, and Hermione had a nightmare,” she said, shaking her head. “It was Bellatrix. That's all that I know."

A dark look crossed Harry’s features. "I can only imagine."

Ginny did not push further. It wasn't Harry’s secret to tell, nor was it her's to know.

Instead, she slid off the Cleansweep and took a seat next to him. Enough space to not touch, but enough to feel the electricity between them. The hairs on her arm stood straight up. All day, tension wrung between them. Each touch sparked every nerve in her body. For months, she dreamt about what she would do when she saw him again, and now she was too overwhelmed to act.

They sat in the silence, staring up at the stars. As each second ticked by, she became more and more unsure how to express how much she missed him. Harry shifted beside her, and Ginny braved a glance to peek over at him only to find his bright, green eyes focused on her.

He hesitated for only a moment before his signature look of determination swept across his features. A look found right before doing something brave and stupid.

And then he kissed her.

If Ginny thought it was easy to return to flying after time away, nothing compared to kissing Harry. The feel of his mouth slanted against hers felt like coming home. Nothing was more natural. An instinct. Just like the instinct of Harry’s hands to wind in her hair and hers to press against his chest.

No words were said aloud, but so much was shared within one kiss. They were always good at having silent conversations. A single look. A single touch. So many emotions and thoughts expressed between them in those moments.

His hands in her hair. I missed you.

Her hands wrapped around his waist. Please don’t go again.

Their lips pressed together. I need you.

Eventually they broke apart after what could have been several days. Ginny always lost track of time when Harry kissed her. Pulling away, Ginny let out an uncharacteristic giggle, relishing in the warmth of an alive Harry.

She shifted her weight, leaning against his side. Her head rest on his shoulder. His arms snaked around her waist. Slot against one another like no time had passed since those days spent by the lake.

That is where they stayed until daylight broke over the horizon.

Days were quiet. Planning funerals drained livelihood out of the Burrow. Ginny found herself helping where she could. Her mum was constantly cooking in the kitchen, so Ginny would help clean. She didn’t speak, she kept her thoughts to herself. When Harry was in the room, they moved like they were dancing. Never touching.

Nights were loud. Hermione would leave her room after everyone officially went to bed to join Ron in his. That was when Ginny would sneak out to fly. Harry would join her minutes later, some joke on his lips about Ron and Hermione and how he wished maybe they went back to fighting. Then they would fly together or sit and talk. Eventually, they would fall asleep under the stars pressed into each other's arms, waking just at the crack of dawn to sneak back into their respective bedrooms.

One bright morning, Ginny followed the scent of fresh breads and sweet sugar down to the kitchen. Her mum hunched over the oven, a faded floral apron tied loosely around her waist. Ginny would not be surprised if she barely missed her mum waking up to slave away in the kitchen right as her and Harry were sneaking back into their beds.

“Morning, mum,” Ginny said, giving her mum a squeeze around the waist.

“Good morning, dear,” her mum replied, leaning into her hug. “I would like you and Charlie to run some errands for me today.”

“Sure,” Ginny said, stealing a pastry from the counter. “What do you need?” She asked, mouth full of scone.

Her mum turned back to the oven to pull out a fresh pie. “I would love it if you could run some of these breads to some families for me. The Browns, the Deacons, and the Rivers. I believe Deacon’s daughter was in your year. Sophie was it?”

The scone in her mouth went stale. Bile rose, burning her throat on the way up. Ginny grabbed a napkin off the counter and spit out the mushed up pastry. “Yeah, Sophie,” Ginny’s voice wavered. She cleared the acid from her throat, pushing the sound of late night giggles about Hogwarts gossip out from her head. “I can do that for you. Where’s Charlie?”

After wrangling her second eldest brother from the yard, the pair apparated, Ginny tightly wrapping her hand around Charlie's arm, to the home of Ron’s ex girlfriend.

Ever the introvert, Charlie left her to do all the talking and condolences.

After giving her final sorrows to the Brown Family, Charlie grabbed her arm and apparated them to the small Wizarding village the Deacon’s lived.

Ginny stumbles forward as her feet crashed into the stepping stones of her dead dormmates home. Steadying herself, Ginny wondered if she would ever get used to apparition. Flying makes sense. Apparating does not.

Grabbing her brother’s arm, she turned him to face her, “Listen, let me do this house alone, yeah?”

Charlie gave her a look, questioning her judgment. “You know you aren’t of age and mum would slit my throat.”

“Please. She was my friend.”

Something in her eyes must have given enough reasoning to Charlie to let her go alone. “I will wait over at the shop across the street. Meet me there when you’re done.”

Ginny pulled him into a hug, wrapping her arms around his thick waist. Charlie was the closest of her siblings to her own height, so she could rest her chin on his shoulder during the embrace. “I won’t be too long.”

She turned away from her brother, the pie her mother gave her rest carefully on her arm. Steadying herself with a shaky breath, she knocked.

A moment passed. And then another. Ginny held her breath as she waited. Maybe she would not have to face them. Maybe she could set the pie down on the step and turn her back and run away from the grief inside the home. But before Ginny could follow her intrusive thoughts, the door opened to a beautiful woman with short auburn hair and laugh lines carved into her face even though she looked as though she had not had a reason to laugh in a long time.

“Hello, my name is Ginn-”

“Ginny come in,” Sophie’s mum invited her in, opening the door wider for Ginny to slip inside.

She shouldn’t be surprised that Mrs. Deacon knew who she was, a classmate of her daughters, a Weasley, a blood traitor whose family housed The Boy Who Lived for years. Ginny did not want to know what the exact reason was that Mrs. Deacon recognized her.

“My mum made this for you,” Ginny said, offering the baked pie that would never fill the Sophie-sized hole in her heart.

“Thank you, that is very sweet of her and sweet of you to drop it off.”

Sophie’s mum took the pie and set it on the kitchen counter filled with other condolence foods. Ginny felt nauseous at the sight.

Ginny sat on the gray loveseat and turned away from the sight and took in the room around her. Light cascaded in and reflected off of the framed photos on the cream wall to brighten the room. Photos of Sophie and her little brother, Samuel, were everywhere. Together with a woman, who must have been their grandmother, standing in Diagon Alley. Sophie singing in the frog choir with her hair tucked back in her signature butterfly clips. Sam tugging on a much younger Sophie’s hair and running away. All moments forever to cycle on repeat, but to never be updated again.

The bile that she swallowed that morning began to rise again.

“Would you like something to drink, dear?” Mrs. Deacon asked, pulling Ginny out of her reverie.

“No, thank you,” Ginny replied, even though she could probably use a glass of water or a shot of firewhiskey.

A grunt from the door leading to the hallway alerted Ginny of Mr. Deacon’s presence. He was a tall man, not as tall as her own father, but much wider. He worked for the Ministry’s Portkey Office. Sophie often boasted about all the places her father traveled for work, and Ginny could see it. A man like him did not belong behind a desk.

“Elric, this is Ginny. She is,” Mrs. Deacon paused, “She was one of Sophie’s classmates.”

Ginny stood to her feet, “Mr. Deacon, I am so sorry for your loss.”

Mr. Deacon waved his hand, his other rubbing his sternum like he too struggled with gastric reflux at the reminder of Sophie.

“I too am sorry for yours. I heard you lost a brother.”

The grief of losing Fred washed over her again like a wave that quickly retreated into a cool, cold nothing. “Yes, I did. Thank you.” Ginny sat back down on the couch. The Deacons sat across from her, gripping each other’s hands.

Silence swept over the room like a cloak. Thick, warm, and suffocating.

Ginny broke the silence first.

“Sophie was-,” Ginny paused, clearing her throat, “she was a beautiful soul. Her voice lit up the dorm room. She would sing under her breath and she studied and then belt songs in the shower. She was wicked at potions and brilliant at Gobstones. She was one of my best friends, and I am so sorry for your loss.”

The all too familiar prickling sensation behind her eyes grew. Rapidly blinking, trying to keep the tears at bay, because she had so much more to say. So she pressed on. “I was there,” Ginny said, looking up to meet Mrs. Deacon’s eye.

The scent of smoke encroached her olfactory system. The feel of Sophie’s manicured hand in her own haunted her skin.

Ginny ignored the memories and pressed on. “When You-Know-Who asked for a pause, I went out to the ground to help.” The words recover bodies left unsaid. “I saw her lying there. She was alive, and she was asking for you. She loved you so much.” The tears building in her eyes escaped, rolling steadily down her cheeks.

"They told us her body was recovered during The Silent Hour, but never by who," Mr. Deacon said, tears brimming his eyes. “Thank you, Ginny.”

The guilt bubbling in her gut was interrupted by footsteps bounding down the steps. Little, 12-year old, Samuel Deacon slid into the room.

“Ginny!” Samuel shouted, eyes filled with joy as though he were seeing a hero. And to him he probably was. She had not seen him in months. Thankfully, Samuel was long gone from Hogwarts during the battle, but the last time she saw him was forever ingrained in her brain. The memory seeped through her pores.

“Pain does not last forever,” Amycus Carrow said to a room full of scared students. “But the memory of it does.” He sauntered across the front of the entrance hall, each step deliberate to draw out the dramatics of what he was saying. Ginny guessed he got this schtick from Tom. “Which is why it makes such an excellent punishment. You remember the pain, so maybe next time you won’t misbehave.” He turned to face her, smiling like a Grindylow ready to to entangle their prey within their long fingers.

“Now can someone please tell me which illiterate idiot graffitied the walls?” Amycus��s voice echoes through the hall. Dozens of eyes stayed focused on the floor. “Was it you?” A finger pointing at a short Hufflepuff boy standing over in the corner. His eyes widened at being called out for a crime he never committed.

“No,” the boy stuttered.

“I don’t believe you,” Amycus sneered, clenching the collar of his cloak, dragging him out into the open. “What’s your name, boy?”

“Sa-Samuel,” the young boy managed to stutter out.

“Well, Sa-Samuel, I hope you remember to never misbehave again.” With those words, Amycus lifted his wand.

Quickly shoving her hand into her bag, fumbling around searching for the jar of paint stashed at the bottom. Her fingers found the cool glass and she yanked it out and threw it at Amycus’s feet.

He turned to meet her, and grinned. The Grindylow caught his prey. “I see I found the illiterate idiot.” He turned his wand to her face, “Crucio.”

“Sam, it is good to see you,” Ginny asked, voice overly pleasant.

To Ginny’s horror, Mrs. Deacon said, “Samuel has told me a lot about you.” She smiled too warmly at her. Like she wasn’t the reason Sam was not almost cursed in the first place. Like she wasn’t the last one to see her daughter alive. Like she deserved forgiveness.

Ginny’s stomach turned and threatened to spill out on their carpet. She needed to leave.

“Thank you so much for your hospitality. I do need to get going.”

Both of the Deacon’s stood immediately.

“Of course,” Mrs. Deacon said.

“Let me walk you out,” Mr. Deacon said.

So Ginny let herself be ushered out. She kept her mouth clamped shut. Afraid to vomit out words along with her guts.

As she reached the door, Mr. Deacon stopped her, “Sophie’s funeral is set on the thirteenth. We would love it if you could make it.”

Ginny couldn’t trust her words, so she nodded in agreement, and burst out the front door. As soon as the door closed, she broke out into a sprint, down to the corner shop where Charlie should be waiting for her.

He was leaning against the side wall, lazily smoking a cigarette.

"Take me home." Ginny said, walking past Charlie.

"But we have one more-"

"Take me home."

Charlie paused before grabbing her arm and spinning on his heel. They arrived in front of the Burrow a second later. Ginny sprinted to the broom shed. Grabbing the closest broom, not even checking whose it belongs to, Ginny kicked off of the ground.

She lapped the Burrow several times, streaking by as fast as the broom allowed her. Up in the air, she could blame her tears on the wind in her eyes instead of the guilt she felt in her heart.

That night, she did not fly.

Hermione snuck out of the room, but Ginny stayed in her bed. Waiting. A soft knock on the door alerted her of his presence. Her bed shifted from his added weight.

They avoided each other that day. Well really, Ginny avoided him and everyone else. Hiding in the sky, and when she was called inside by her mum, she hid in the kitchen. Charlie did not say anything to her, which was a blessing. Her mum did comment on the extra pie brought up, but a quick lie that the Rivers were not home avoided anymore questions.

Harry’s arms snuck around her waist, pulling her against his chest. She tucked herself under his chin as he pressed his nose into her hair. Her hair was still damp from the shower she took earlier that evening, but she knew Harry would not care. In fact, he probably preferred it. The scent of her shampoo freshly washed into her hair. It calmed him.

She wondered if he was struggling with what was going to happen tomorrow as much as she knew she would.

But she did not ask.

Slowly, his breaths evened as he fell asleep behind her. And Ginny fell shortly after.

All mornings have been quiet since the battle at the Burrow. But none compared to this one. Outside, the morning fog was thick and suffocating. Inside, so was the silence.

Weasley family members dressed in black to bury their loudest family member.

When it was time, her father led the family to the grave. Walking in a line to the apparition line on the edge of the Burrow property, and one-by-one apparating to Fred’s final destination. Ginny stood and watched as her loved ones disappeared with a pop. Her dad stood by her side and lifted his arm.

“Ready?”

No.

“Yes,” she said, gripping his arm.

The graveyard was busier than she expected. Her family is large, but so was Fred’s impact.

Old classmates of his, old teammates, old co-workers lined the chairs in the back. Professor McGonagall could be seen from her tall witch’s hat. Hagrid stood off to the side, already loudly sobbing. Ginny felt her tears join his.

She made her way to the front and sat in her seat nestled between Ron and George. The same small wizard that preached at Dumbledore’s funeral and Bill’s wedding stood in the front. A twisted thought crossed her mind about how busy that man is during this week.

And he talked in platitudes. He talked about his sacrifice, how he was a light in the family. But never really about Fred. Ginny wished she had taken the time to write something, then maybe Fred would have gotten the send off he deserved.

George gripped her hand near the end of the small wizard’s speech. “Are you ready to see some magic?”

Ginny grinned, a warmth spreading across her chest. “Always.”

George grinned back at her, reaching into his pocket, pulling out his wand. With a small flick of his wrist. A bang behind the gravestones went off.

Gasps wrang out from behind her. Aunt Muriel gave out a shriek of terror, as fireworks lit up the foggy sky.

Sparks flew above her, spelling out the initials F.W. And for the first time all week, Ginny was crying, but she was not upset by it.

After the funeral, the mood was much brighter, the fog outside lifted with the smoke of the fireworks, and Ginny could feel like she could breathe again.

Slowly, the crowd began to thin. Angelina grabbed George’s arm and loudly declared that they were going to the Leaky to celebrate Fred’s life and a group followed her. Bill, Charlie, and Fleur followed shortly after them. After a moment of contemplation, Percy followed suit.

Her mother gave her a kiss on the cheek before heading further into the graveyard to where her brothers lay. Her father followed a few steps behind her.

Ron and Hermione were still sitting in their seats. Their chairs were now pushed impossibly close together as Hermione almost sat on Ron’s lap with her head tucked against his chest, and Ron’s face pressed into her hair. Masking the tears that he was shedding.

Ginny steadily made her way up to Fred’s grave. Ash sprinkled the grass from the firework show. She lowered herself to the ground, sitting to the right of the gravestone.

“Hey, Forge,” Ginny murmured, closing her eyes and resting her head on the stone. “Miss you.”

Ginny slowly descended down the stairs, unsure exactly which one would creak under her step. She wasn’t sure who would be worse to alert of her late night excursion: her mother or her great aunt.

All she wanted to do was see them and not just take Bill’s word for it that they were safe. Luna. Dean. Hermione. Ron. And of course Harry. Mum nearly locked her in her bedroom when Ginny asked to go to Shell Cottage.

So now she was sneaking to the fireplace in the middle of the night to floo her way over to Shell Cottage. A task significantly less dangerous than any of the times she snuck out in the middle of the night this last year.

The third from the bottom step let out a loud groan.

“Shit.”

“Going somewhere?” A voice from the top of the stairs called down to her. Thankfully, it was the person who would most likely go with her on this adventure.

“I thought getting some nice fresh, saltwater air would be nice at this time of night. Want to come along?” Ginny asked, nodding her head to the living room.

Fred quickly descended the stairs, uncaring if he woke the entire house along the way.

"Is that the plan then? Run off to Shell Cottage without letting anyone know where you're going?"

"You know."

"I know because I caught you sneaking out," Fred retorted. "And when mum and dad wake in the morning and find your bed empty? What will you do after they chain you to your bed?"

Ginny rolled her eyes, "They won't tie me to the bed."

"No, probably not, but you won't be let out of their sight. And when the time comes when it is important for you to sneak out, you won't be able to."

"What do you mean?" Ginny asked, hating that she didn't understand.

"I'm saying, wait. Wait until something big. I will go with you then. Not when you're sneaking out to see your boyfriend."

"Ex-boyfriend."

"I didn't realize you were sneaking off to see Thomas. Don't let me stop you then," Fred teased.

"Oh, shove off," Ginny said, pushing his shoulder.

Heavy footsteps pulled her from her thoughts. Harry stood above her, head of messy hair blocking the sun. He held his hand out, an offer to help her up.

She took it, pulling herself up and into his arms in one fluid motion. He enveloped her in a hug, holding her tight against his chest. Ginny breathed in the scent of him. Woodsy and cool, like the morning air in the autumn.

Reluctantly, she detangled herself from him, keeping her hand intertwined in his. There they stood, hand in hand, staring down at Fred Weasley’s grave.

Fred Weasley

1/4/1978 - 2/5/1998

Mischief

Harry gave her fingers a squeeze before letting go. He bent down in front of Fred’s grave. He paused for a second, before pulling out his wand, waving it carefully. A bouquet of daisies appeared in the dirt. Fresh and white. Harry stood, reaching back for her hand, but refusing to look at her.

“Hermione and I went to my parent’s graves on Christmas. She did this,” Harry said, waving his hands at the flowers on the ground, “I thought Fred deserved some too.” He bent down and picked one from the ground, “Daisies mean new beginnings.”

He shifted his weight, "or at least that's what Hermione told me when she showed me how to do the spell."

Ginny’s gut twisted into a knot. "They're beautiful," was all she could muster out. She wasn't sure she wanted a new beginning. She wanted to start all over.

"For you," Harry said, handing her a single flower.

Ginny smiled and accepted the pity flower. Harry didn't believe in the pity flowers either, but it was thoughtful, so Ginny tucked it into her pocket.

When she got home later that night, she tossed it into her windowsill. With hope that maybe the rest of the summer improved from the beginning.

The next several days were spent in mourning. Traveling from funeral to funeral.

Colin’s funeral was hard because she spent 30 minutes before leaving being coached by Hermione on the intricacies of a muggle funeral. Obviously, no fireworks like Fred’s nor an ablaze casket like at Dumbledore’s. But instead a metal contraption that would slowly lower his wooden casket into the ground.

She sat near front on the side with Neville and Seamus on either side of her. Harry with Ron and Hermione in the back, trying to keep attention off of them as much as possible.

Ginny grieved for her friend. Her Herbology partner. The person who never tired answering her questions about the Muggle World. The same sinking feeling that ebbed and flowed in her since the battle came back. She was the reason why he lost half of his first year lying petrified in the hospital wing. Tom was the reason he lost the rest of his life.

Tonks and Remus’s funerals were next. Members of the Order carried both caskets. Kingsley had tears streaming down his face with Tonks’ casket on his shoulders. Her dad looked more tired than usual under the weight of Remus’s casket.

Only one other gravestone stood in the ground on the plot of land. Tonks’ final resting place lay next to the empty grave of her father whose body was never recovered.

In the last row sat Andromeda cradling a young Teddy Lupin. Remus showed her a picture of young Teddy when he visited the Weasley’s at Muriel’s place. Then, his hair was a bright orange. Now, it lacked any sign of vibrance, instead he wore Remus’s signature sandy hair.

Next to Andromeda sat Narcissa, poised, dressed head to toe in expensive black robes. Looking every bit out of place Ginny is sure she felt.

Harry did a double-take after he noticed her next to his godson. Ginny reached forward and laced her fingers with his, offering a squeeze of comfort. On the other side of Harry, Ron pulled Hermione closer to his body.

Instead of the small wizard, Kingsley stood in front of the graves and gave a speech about hope and love and loss. A personal story about Tonks catching a death eater by tripping on top of him was interrupted by wails coming from the back row.

Little Teddy’s uncontrollable sobs echoed in the cemetery. Andromeda tried shushing him to no avail. Narcissa stood, offering a hand, a moment passed before Andromeda passed over her grandson to her sister. Narcissa carried Teddy further away from the funeral and whispers of the guests.

“She has no right,” hissed Ron.

“It’s fine,” Harry replied, his leg bouncing, looking everything but fine.

Kingsley continued on with Teddy’s sobs quieted by distance. Ron kept anxiously looking over his shoulder back at Narcissa while Hermione stared straight forward. Harry leaned forward in his seat, releasing his grip on her hand.

Ginny, for her part, kept listening to Kingsley and silently wondered if she would ever fully understand what happened with those three last year.

The funeral ended with Kingsley and Gawain Robards casting golden sparks at the pair of caskets before they slowly descended into the ground.

Gradually, the crowd began to thin out. Narcissa carefully returned to her sister’s side off in the back, swaying back and forth, cradling a sleepy Teddy in her arms.

Harry stood and started to make his way back towards where his Godson was.

“Mr. Potter. May I have a word?” Gawain Robards asked.

Harry froze momentarily, and Ginny wondered if he was going to tell the Head Auror to fuck right off before he calmly nodded. Robards stuck out his hand, leading Harry away from the crowds, in the opposite direction of Narcissa Malfoy.

Ginny stood frozen next to Ron and Hermione, both just as conflicted as she felt on whether they should eavesdrop on Robards and Harry’s conversation or confront Mrs. Malfoy.

Her mum approached the Black sisters. Ginny snuck over to the back, Ron and Hermione following her closely, ready to witness whatever drama could unfold between Molly Weasley and Narcissa Malfoy. But instead of sharp words or curses shot from wands, her mum swept both Andy and Narcissa into a warm embrace

“I am so sorry about your sister,” Mum said, pulling away from the Black sisters.

Narcissa placed a hand on her mum’s arm, “We do anything to protect our children.” She gave Andromeda a curt nod and took a slender finger to brush Teddy’s cheek. “I won’t intrude any longer than I meant to. It was good to see you, Andy.”

With a pop, Narcissa disappeared.

Harry stormed by a few seconds later, Robards still standing where Harry left him, hand rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“Harry?” Hermione’s voice questioned.

“Later,” Harry shortly replied before apparating off, not even sparing Ginny a second glance.

Hermione sighed, turning to Ron. “Ready?” Ron gripped her hand and then both disappeared with another pop.

“Wanker,” Ginny muttered under her breath, “You were supposed to apparate me home.”

Kicking a rock on the ground, Ginny begrudgingly walked back to where her mother was now rocking Teddy.

On the thirteenth, Ginny dressed once again in black. Hermione and her traded their black robes so they were not wearing the exact same outfit to every funeral they attended. By the fourth day of funerals, Fleur was offering her wardrobe to them as well, altering her clothes to fit their bodies.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione attended every funeral, each of them feeling like they owed it to the witch or wizard who lost their life. Just yesterday, they attended the funeral of a Slytherin fifth year girl that none of them had even met. Ginny joined them most days. Harry side-along apparating her to the graveyard. Occasionally, other members of the D.A. would be in attendance and Ginny would stand next to them.

Harry planned on arriving right before the funeral started, but Ginny wanted to be there as early as possible. Hermione’s heels clicked as she walked down the Burrow steps into the kitchen. “Ready, Ginny?”

Together they apparated to a large wizarding cemetery. A place where thousands of purebloods were buried before. A place that currently had an unusually high amount of fresh mounds of dirt and 6 foot holes due to the significant amount of deaths during the war.

Ginny found her dormmates immediately. Jessica embracing Elise with Athena rubbing circles on her back. They all looked up as Ginny and Hermione approached the trio.

Jessica let go of Elise to engulf Ginny into a hug. "I am so sorry about Fred, Ginny."

"Thank you, Jess."

Jessica paused before wrapping Hermione in a hug as well.

Athena pulled something out of her pocket and placed it in Ginny’s hand.

"Here."

Opening her palm, Ginny felt that familiar tug of her gut. In her hand was a green butterfly clip, similar to the ones Sophie often donned in her hair. Looking up, she saw her roommates all had one clipped in their hair as well.

"Thank you," Ginny choked out, clipping her loose strands back.

"Do you want to sit with us?" Athena asked Hermione.

Hermione shook her head, "Thank you for the invite, but Ron and Harry should be arriving soon. I will sit with them in the back. You four should sit together."

Hermione gave Ginny’s shoulder a squeeze before walking to the back row of chairs.

The funeral started not too long later. Ginny pressed between Athena and Elise near the front. The four dormmates held hands the entire time, offering gentle squeezes of support to one another as they buried their friend. Little Samuel Deacon sobbed throughout the entire procession, and Ginny wished nothing more than him to have his sister back.

Ginny stayed back after the funeral to watch Harry approach the Deacon family. It was something he did after every burial, apologize to the family. Ginny wished Harry understood that Sophie’s death was not his fault.

Samuel turned away from his parents and gave her a small wave. Ginny lifted her hand, but turned away. The nausea associated with Sophie was churning in her stomach once again.

That night, with her back pressed against Harry’s chest and one of his arms draped across her churning stomach, she lay frozen still.

"You okay?" Harry murmured in her ear.

She wasn't, but she couldn't admit that secret out loud. Especially to the person who carried so much more guilt than she could even begin to imagine. So she lied.

"I'm fine."

Harry had no reason to believe her lie, since it was his favorite lie to tell too. But he pretended for her, pulling her closer to his chest, pressing his lips to the back of her skull.

Not shortly after, his breaths evened out as he was lulled to sleep. Ginny’s brain was ignited on fire, keeping her awake.

“I know, it’s going to be alright,” Ginny lied. Sophie continued to whimper in pain. Ginny could only bear to look at her face, scared of what the rest of her crushed body may look like.

“I want to go home,” Sophie cried out, tears leaking down her face. Ginny felt tears well up in her eyes too.

A sound from behind her drew her away from her dying friend. Ginny couldn’t see anyone, but something in her wanted to get up and follow.

Sophie’s weak cough drew her back in. Blood tinged on her lips, her face losing color as each second passed. “Will you stay with me until I go?” Sophie asked, her voice childlike. She is just a child, Ginny realized. At 17 years old, there was so much Sophie never experienced. So many people Sophie was leaving behind. Ginny’s gut flipped realizing this is why her own mother wanted her to stay hidden.

“Of course,” Ginny choked out.

Sophie’s fingers managed to find Ginny’s. “It’s okay, Gin. You were one of my best of friends.”

Ginny snapped herself out of the memory. Harry still wrapped tightly around her, his heat radiating off his body suffocating her. She wrestled herself out from underneath him, desperately trying to not wake him. She needed fresh air.

Barefoot in the grass, Ginny padded to the paddock and grabbed her broom. She took flight and hoped the night air could cool the fire she felt in her brain.

As the sun began to crack streaks of light in the sky, Ginny crept back into her bedroom. Harry softly snored in her sheets. Ginny smiled as she slid back into his arms. She had been awake for nearly 24 hours, her brain was finally exhausted enough to finally fall asleep.

With no more funerals to attend, the rest of May trickled by. Everyone was stagnant with grief, finding it difficult to progress on. Charlie was growing restless, staying now at Shell Cottage with Bill and Fleur, but not feeling like he could abandon the family back in Romania just yet. Every time he mentioned the country, her mum would burst into tears.

Percy was just there. All the time. He and her dad would attend work, but then he would always come back to the Burrow instead of his own apartment.

Ginny sat with George most days. They had a quiet understanding that talking was the last thing either one of them wanted to do. A few days a week, they would go to Weasleys' Wizards Wheezes and organize the mess. Some days, Lee Jordan and Angelina Johnson would stop by and help up, filling in the silence with endless chatter. Other days, the pair would sit on the front counter, passing back and forth a bottle of butterbeer with the radio blasting Wizard Rock in the background.

Ron and Hermione were wrapped around each other at all times of the day. One couldn't even use the toilet without the other hovering nearby on the stairwell.

She had not seen Harry in days due to conflicting schedules. He would fall asleep in her bed after a long day of performing bullshit politics with Kingsley, and Ginny would join him after her nightly flight. When she finally rose in the late morning, his side of her bed would be cold.

Moments alone were rare, and those moments were spent exploring each other's bodies instead of exploring each other's thoughts. They were two vastly different novels only sharing a page with one another and then snapping the book shut before either one could read any further. So Ginny came to her own conclusions.

The burn marks on his thighs were fresh as though his escape dragon from Gringotts scorched him. The ribs she traced with finger in the dark told her that food was scarce. The lightning shaped scar on his chest told a horror story she didn't want to touch with a ten foot pole. The erythematous circle branded into his chest was the most confusing part of his story.

Ginny hated to think what conclusions Harry was drawing from her body.

On a cool evening in late May, Ginny decided to actually retire to bed at a reasonable time. The sky had opened into a massive thunderstorm which was not relenting any time soon. Harry and her had played a round of Exploding Snap earlier in the day to pass the time.

"Are you falling asleep with me tonight?" Harry asked, bare legs crossed on her bed, his hand propped behind his head. He looked so casual, like her bed was his own.

"Only if you promise not to snore tonight," Ginny teased.

A pillow flew at her face. Ginny snapped it from the air and threw it right back into Harry’s face. With glasses askew and a smile tugging at his lips, Harry reached out a hand to her.

She eagerly took it, being led to her own bed.

Ginny melted into Harry’s side, his hands immediately resting on her hips pulling her close. She tilted her chin to slot her lips against his.

This part was easy. Harry’s body was a map she had traced and memorized a year ago, and, during the quiet dark nights in her dorm room, she recited to herself.

His lips were soft and chapped. Teeth grazing her own lips, threatening to roughen her up with a bite or two. His chest pressed against her own. His hands, one always wrapped around a strand of her hair, tugging her whenever she pressed up against him just right. His strong thighs, one always slotted in between her legs.

That was the mantra she replayed in her head over and over while her fingers wandered down her skin last year.

But now, in the dark of her warm bedroom, it was Harry’s fingers trailing down her body.

“You’re perfect,” Harry murmured into her collarbone as she moaned his name.

Ginny came undone with the touch of his fingertips, her world bursting, once again, into a fire. Her insides ignited for Harry. She felt far from perfect, but with Harry she felt alive.

Her hands worked to remove his faded T-shirt, eager to return the favor. Fingers trailed down his chest, avoiding the new scars on his body. She wrapped her hand around his length and Harry’s breath hitched, a noise escaping his mouth that Ginny wanted to bottle up and savor forever. He never had to say anything to her ever again as long as he kept making that noise.

“Ginny,” Harry moaned, “I don’t think I will last much long-”

Ginny shut him up by capturing his mouth with her own. Teeth grazing his swollen lips. With a few more pumps, Harry shuddered about another moan that made Ginny’s toes curl.

Harry blinked his eyes open, green irises hidden behind his black pupils, staring hungerly at her. He pressed lazy kisses along her jawline, nose, forehead, before finally catching her lips. “You make me forget everything bad,” Harry sighed into her lips.

Ginny’s insides turned cold, the blazing heat evaporated and replaced by an icy tundra. She wasn’t sure why, Harry’s confession or the idea of forgetting, losing memories.

“Goodnight, Harry,” Ginny said, hoping to prevent any more confessions from slipping through his loose lips.

“Night, Gin” Harry replied softly.

Harry’s bare chest rose and fell with each breath, and Ginny wished nothing more than the ability to join him in unconsciousness. Her finger traced the lightning bolt on his chest, her own chest tightening with memories of that day. She thought she lost him. The final blow in a series of blows that kept hitting her over and over again that night.

With everything she lost, she had to keep taking steps. One at a time.

One breath in. One breath out.

Ginny glanced out her window. The rain had slowed to a trickle. The blooming daisy sitting in the window sill caught her eye. She bolted up from her bed, grabbing the flower on her way out the door.

The orchard was still a mess. Her mum had removed the destroyed flowers, but all that was left was upturned earth. Falling to her hands and knees, Ginny dug in the soil. A wand would have made it easier, but she did not want easy.

Taking a step back and admiring her work, the daisy Harry had given her now rooted in the soil of the orchard. Alone. With a promise of growth.

To new beginnings.

The best and worst day of June (chapter 2)

If May trickled slowly like the water on the River Styx, June crashed in like a tsunami under Poseidon's rage.

The back door slammed close after George drunkenly stumbly out

Maps of Australia and pictures of the brain were pinned up on her walls. Gwenog Jones’s face was covered by a colorful poster highlighting the anatomy of the brain.

“Do you need any help?” Ginny asked.

Hermione tutted, wrapping her hair into a bun and sticking her want through it. “I wouldn’t mind a fresh pair of eyes. Thanks.”

Ginny picked up one of the massive textbook with a brain on the cover Charms of the Central Nervous System: Don’t be Nervous! Opening to the back glossary, Ginny scanned the O’s until she found what she was looking for.

Peering over her shoulder, Hermione said “I didn’t obliviate my parents’ memories. I blocked them.”

“What’s the difference?”

Hermione stood from the bed and walked over to the brain poster covering Gwenog’s face. “Obliviation destroys old memories. Burns them. That is why Gilderoy Lockhart will never fully recover because so much of his brain was destroyed. If little bits are taken then there is some neuroplasticity and ability to regenerate what was missing, but if I took 17 years of my parents' lives from them, I would never be able to get that back.” She paused, staring off into the distance, as though she was realizing the challenge she could be facing instead.

Shaking her head, Hermione continued. “So instead of taking away their memories, I hid them behind a wall.”

“The hippocampus stores memories,” Hermione said, pointing to a part of the brain that looked nothing like a seahorse. “So that is where my parents’ memories are being blocked. I just put their old memories behind a wall and put new memories in front of that wall.”

“There has not been a whole lot of research, but in theory, worst case scenario, if I remove their new memories too quickly, I could cause their brain to blow.”

“I’m sorry what?”

“Not like pew pew,” Hermione said, mimicking an explosion. “More like, their brains would swell to fill in the space of the memories that I took back. Which could cause their brain to expand and possibly herniate causing a stroke."

She mindlessly flipped through the pages of the textbook, hoping something would give her hints about memory and memory loss.

Ginny drops comments every now and then about memory loss

She is not very happy that Hermione took her parents memories

“What are you planning on telling your parents when you see them?”

“That I am their daughter and I had to keep them safe.”

“Do you think they will understand?”

“From personal experience, amnesia and having your memories taken from you can be very traumatizing.”

“This is different from the diary, Ginny. I was trying to keep them safe.”

As we will find out in a later chapter, Ginny is not talking about the diary

"Are you going to go with them?" Ginny asks on a warm night.

"No, I don't fancy facing another Winter so soon," Harry replied

And there it was. A hint about what he had faced this past year, but neither one pushed forward. She could ask, and he might answer, but then he might ask the same of her. And that was something she did not want to answer. Some Gryffindor she is.

Harry tells her everything about the horcruxes and how we was one for the last 16 years of his life.

Ginny tells Harry very little about what she experienced this last year.

Hermione goes up to switch beds like they do every night and when Harry is lying next to her, she dreams about him. But when he talks she hears Tom. When she wakes and Harry is laying right next to her, she freaks the fuck out.

The next day she runs away to Lunas

Luna “I always liked being outside. Now I love it even more. It is open, and bright. I’m not a big fan of the dark right now.”

“If you want to talk about it, I will happily listen.”

“Ginny, you are such a good listener, but not a very good talker.”

“You should tell Ron that. He says I never shut up.”

“Oh no you talk, you just don’t talk about what is bothering you. You ask questions about me or how other people are doing, but when people ask how you are doing. You deflect. You talk about how Quidditch is going, or how your family is. But never you.

A few nights later, Harry joins her out flying, and that is when she admits that she is afraid that she was never in love with Harry, but she was attracted to the horcrux within him this entire time.

Harry has to put his big boy pants on and try to be emotionally mature hearing that from her. (Boy does not do a very good job, but at least he is trying)

He tries to get her to open up more about what happened to her and slowly we start to see some things

She picked up a strand of grass, carefully pulling it apart into two separate pieces. A simple distraction. "What do you know of last year?"

"Only what little Neville has told me."

"I'm sure what he told you paints the picture of what happened," she shrugged. She couldn't meet his gaze, she stared at the grass in her hand, delicately tying it into a knot. His hand reached for hers, fingers intertwining. He squeezed her hand gently, reassuringly. Offering support.

---

She is hiding. She doesn’t want to talk to Harry, or see her mum’s broken face. So she is hiding in the one place no one would look.

Laying on Fred’s bed, she could finally be alone.

***enter depressing thoughts here***

---

On June 22nd, she dreams of Tom. She always dreams of him on this day. Their anniversary of meeting face to face in a chamber meant to be a secret. She wants to ask Harry if he remembers, but she doesn't dare for the fear of what he might say.

I forgot.

Lucky you.

So she keeps this nightmare to herself just like she kept the past year to herself. She felt like she was slowly becoming a chamber full of secrets herself.

That night, with her back against Harry’s chest and one of his arms draped across her stomach, was the first time she felt brave all day. In the dark where he couldn’t see her face, when they were alone, unlikely to be overheard since the house was asleep. She finally muttered the truth that haunted her.

“I'm the reason Sophie's dead.”

The only indication that Harry heard her was the pause in his breath. Harry’s arm tightened, pulling her impossibly closer to his chest. And because he understands her perfectly, he does not suggest that she possibly could not be a murderer, he asks a different question.

“Why do you think so?”

She inhales slowly, calming down her nerves. “I left her on the courtyard. We were fighting together, Colin and Seamus were also there. Spells were flying everywhere, and I lost her in the crowd. There just was so much chaos. Then a death eater was in front of me, I think it was Avery, firing curse after curse at me,” Ginny paused, flashes of that night playing over and over in her mind. “I fired a reducto at the arch above his head and it collapsed on top of him. But it caused a lot more damage. It wasn’t much later that Voldemort called for a pause.

“After, well after, I went inside,” Ginny said, skipping over finding out about Fred’s death, “I went out to the courtyard to find survivors. To help. That is where I found her. Underneath the rubble that I caused.”

"You couldn’t have known.”

But Ginny felt like she should have known better. She knew innocent actions have consequences after surviving her first year

I've been down since July

In the cracks of light, I dreamed of you

The Great Depression

Pieces of her life were black. Dark and missing and forgotten. She had soared to unimaginable heights to try to find them, but every time she thought she heard a whisper of a memory, it turned into his voice mocking her, or worse, her own voice laughing at her.

Hermione and Ron come back from Australia

Hermione apologizes to Ginny because her mum cannot forgive her. Her dad had to play mediator in the argument.

Her parents are coming back to England eventually, but not yet. They wanted more time before returning home.

Ron and Ginny conversation

"It's supposed to be easy. Harry and me. How it was before."

"What did you used to talk about."

"I tried prying once to know what he was up to with Dumbledore, but Harry not so subtly shut that down quickly. So we stuck to safe topics. Quidditch, O.W.L.s, how maroon definitely isn't your color."

Ron scowled.

Criminal Trials get announced for the Death Eaters and the date

A brown owl flew into the kitchen, dropping off the newest edition of the Daily Prophet on Hermione’s plate. She reached into her shorts pocket to trade a knut for the paper. Ron fed a small piece of his breakfast sausage to the owl as compensation as well. The owl gave a satisfied hoot before flapping its wings and flying out of the kitchen window.

Ginny pointed her fork at her brother. "Who was the person I suggested you snogged for practice?"

"Are you seriously asking me security questions right now?"

"The Ron Weasley I know would never voluntarily give up some of his breakfast."

Ron stabbed his fork in another piece of sausage, taking the whole thing in his mouth, "Yeah well I've matured."

"Oh! They released the dates for the trails!" Hermione shouted, interrupting them.

Ron looked away from her and turned back to his girlfriend. “When’s Malfoy’s?” He asked, kindly swallowing his food before asking.

The Carrow trials get announced for like August 13th, making sure that they are AFTER Ginny's birthday which makes her an adult, therefore, she is required to speak at them if they summon her as a witness

yeah this was done intentionally, fuck the ministry for forcing my girl to have to relive her trauma

Harry’s birthday

Ginny gets drunk at Harry’s party

I love you, ain't that the worst thing you’ve ever heard?

August slipped away

Ginny’s birthday

Carrow trials

Amycus was a man. He only understood pain in tears and in blood. He didn’t understand that to girls blood meant nothing more than washing their sheets that night before bed. He didn’t understand that girlhood was pain, or that tears could be shed from grief or laughter.

Alecto was a woman. She understood that trauma of girlhood because no matter how horrid she currently is, she was a victim of it too. She understood how to torture a young girl scared of her past. She knew how to weaponize memories, or the lack thereof, so that Ginny could continue to torture herself without Alecto lifting another finger.

Ginny turned to the other side of the courtroom where Amycus Carrow sat. His face emotionless, but his muddy eyes filled with glee, like her reliving her torture was *erotic* for him.

She felt her heart quicken. Calm down.

Breathe in and out.

"Her brother told me."

Her mind brought her back to the floor of the DADA classroom. Those same hungry brown eyes staring down at her, his wand still raised. Every one of her nerve endings felt like it was on fire, every synapse filled with ice. Her mind bounced from one area of her body to the next, unable to focus on what body system hurt the most. Amycus lowered his wand and sneered down at her, "I know Alecto makes you forget her detentions, but I want this one to be unforgettable."

The courtroom was silent. The judge leaned forward in his chair, "Can you please further explain, Miss Weasley?"

Breathe In.

Out.

In.

Out.

• So since I never actually wrote what happened to Ginny during her time with Alecto, I will tell you all now. Alecto would erase Ginny's memory after every detention. Often times, the detentions were tame, because the punishment was the fact that Ginny was slowly losing her mind and she felt like she was reliving her first year at Hogwarts. Alecto figured out that Ginny was the girl in the chamber (because how would people not know this information? like Ginny wrote her suicide note on the wall in red paint) and used that to torment her. Also tying in the fact that Amycus was still torturing my poor girl with the cruciatus curse, Ginny was going through it. And it is not like she could really tell anyone what was happening to her because she didn't know what was happening to her. She eventually pieced it together.

• The coming together of Harry and Ginny officially

You'll Have New Septembers

The epilogue where Harry sends Ginny off on the Hogwarts express

#graveyard fic #hinny #ginny weasley #i could just upload the first chapter.... but that also feels like a disservice to the rest of the fic #Spotify

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lambtotheslaughterr · 1 year

Text

When The Bough Breaks : Part One

A Rafe Cameron Mini Series

[THIS STORY WILL CONTAIN THEMES OF NON-CON/DUB-CON, MENTAL-EMOTIONAL-PHYSICAL ABUSE, ETC. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. 18+. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT]

WC: 4.7k

Dividers provided by @firefly-graphics

MASTERLIST | PART TWO

SUMMARY: Reader is a content housewife to her wealthy husband who she somewhat loves. After a tragedy shakes both their lives, reader & her husband move to the island of Kildare to start over, but an all too interested young man next door will make their new home anything but pleasant…

The mornings weren’t any easier just because your husband decided to move the two of you to the North Carolina coast. You still woke up late in the morning, your head foggy from the previous nights’ cocktail of wine & anti-depressant. You of all people knew better than to mix your medication with alcohol, especially with your husband being a pain management physician, but even he couldn’t take away the pain you felt in the deepest darkest parts of your heart.

Moses McFarlane, your husband, meant well. He was suffering as much as you were, but you two never spoke about it. The loss forced you into a constant zombie-like state, & it forced your husband to spend more time at work. But with the recent move to another environment, one that was warmer & prettier, your husband was home more often. Back in the city he was working 60+ hours a week, five days a week. Now, having lived on the island of Kildare for less than a month, he worked at a smaller hospital an hour & a half inland. So he was only working three days a week now, staying in a small apartment inland so he didn’t have to commute every day.

The three days he was gone never made much a difference to you. Even during the days he was home he was still absent. He was always nearby, but never close. You knew he wanted to support you as best as he could, it’s why he followed the advice of the counselor & moved you to somewhere with more sun. But he struggled with wanting to talk about it. You refused to talk about it. There was no point in it.

On this particular morning, it was 10:30 when you finally rolled out of bed. The house you two moved into was impressively large for a beach home. Three stories, six bedrooms, direct beach access. A year ago you would’ve loved the home, excited to fill it with family & happy memories. But it was just you in it. And sometimes your husband. You had never felt more alone.

You freshened up in the bathroom, splashing your face with water. The reflection in the mirror looked nothing like the vibrant woman from a year ago. Your skin was ashen, splotchy from the regular amounts of wine consumed. Your hair was dry, the ends splitting. The skin under your eyes was baggy & gray. Your mouth tasted bad. Lazily, you leaned against the counter with your back to the mirror, brushing your teeth.

It was Wednesday. Moses left for his three day long stay inland Monday evening. He wouldn’t be back until Friday morning. When you left the bedroom, you noted his side of the bed was unslept in. It normally was. You often found him having fallen asleep on a lounger in the screened in sunroom off the kitchen. Though you saw how much he still loved you, you often wondered if he blamed you.

Shaking the thoughts from your head, you emerged from the master bedroom on the top floor, trudging down the hallway. The rest of the third floor was a living room, dining room, & kitchen. Entering the kitchen, you noticed an empty liter & a half bottle of wine stood in the kitchen sink, a wine glass next to it. The bad taste returned to your mouth.

Tossing the bottle in a nearby recycling bin & the glass in the dishwasher, you started a pot of coffee. As your coffee brewed, you reached into a cabinet on the left side of the sink. You pulled out over-the-counter painkillers to kill the growing headache. Washing two of them down with a glass of water, you rinsed the glass, staring mindlessly through the window.

It was another beautiful day out, as typical with North Carolina weather you realized. You contemplated if you would finally go out & enjoy it. The hiss of your coffee pot interrupted your thoughts.

Pouring yourself a mug, you sat at the counter on one of the stools, allowing yourself to be enveloped by the silence of the house. It was too early to take your medication. Though you recklessly mixed your medication with alcohol, you didn’t want to abuse it further by taking too much. That’s what the wine was for. And that was usually in the evening when you needed to sleep. But it was day time. You needed to find something to distract yourself. Or else his laughter would begin echoing through the empty home.

Inhaling sharply, you grabbed your mug & went out onto the back patio that overlooked a spacious yard with a pool, the beach only a couple yards from the edge of your property. Other homes were nearby but not enough for you to feel part of a neighborhood. Sitting at the patio table, you recalled how you were once a social butterfly.

In the first years of your relationship with Moses, you two were very sociable. Though Moses was 20 years your senior, he still enjoyed hosting dinners with friends, taking small cruises along the Eastern Coast, & even attending his charity fundraisers. You two were a well-known & popular couple amongst your friends & colleagues. A small smile appeared on your face at the memory of your wedding & how wild it had gotten.

You had never imagined yourself getting married, let alone being in a long-term relationship. After all, you were 30 when your friend had set you up on a blind date with Moses. She had informed you that he was 51 & a doctor, recently divorced & looking for something casual & low maintenance. So, you were a shoe-in. Relationships had never been of great interest or importance to you. You were much too busy juggling your myriad of jobs. If a job couldn’t tie you down, a man surely never could.

But something about Moses kept you coming back for more. He had said the same about you. Your chemistry with one another was magnetic. He was handsome for his age; his hair dark with graying on the sides, his five-o-clock shadow was salt & pepper, but over the years it had become more salt. He had these soft, gentle dark blue eyes that paired well with his tanned skin. Honestly, you couldn’t believe that he was even in his 50s. And as you two spent the next seven years together, he only grew to be more handsome.

The memory of your love for one another made your stomach whirl with anxiety. Swallowing down the anxious feelings, you finished off your mug of coffee. You needed to get out of the house. After you placed the mug in the sink to be cleaned you later, you walked around the kitchen, writing down a list for groceries. Moses had groceries delivered when the two of you lived in the city but had yet to set an alternative up here. You didn’t mind though. It gave you something to do, somewhere to go.

Getting dressed for the day in your bedroom, you reluctantly decided to pop some make-up onto your face, liven it up a bit. From what little you knew about Kildare, it was one of those places where everyone knew everyone, & with it being your first appearance out in the world since moving to the island, you didn’t want the gossip to be about how wretched you looked. You imagined they were already discussing how you were an alcoholic, medicated recluse anyway.

Taking one final look in the mirror, you frowned at your middle. You had gained twenty or so pounds. The silk tank top you wore thankfully hid it enough, but you knew, you saw plenty. Disgusted with who you saw in the mirror, no matter what they wore or how much make-up they used to hide, you saw right through her. And she made you sick.

A grocery store on a tiny island was nothing like a grocery store in the city. There was no underground parking or two-three story level buildings that held everything a household could possibly need. On Kildare, the grocery store consisted of a small market & deli, along with a handful of produce stalls along a boardwalk.

You wore your shades under the sun, but did enjoy the feel of the rays against your skin as you meandered up to a vegetable stall. An older man stood behind it, taking animatedly on the phone. He nodded towards you in acknowledgment but carried on with his conversation. As you fingered & gripped tomatoes, looking for the ripest ones, you subtly observed your surroundings. There were not a ton of people out this morning, but considering it was the middle of the week it was no surprise. However, you were aware of a few stares from passerby’s as they shopped amongst themselves. No one approached you though, for that you were thankful.

You handed three tomatoes to the man to bag. He did as much then placed them on a scale, writing down on a piece of paper the weight then did some math, all while still on the phone deep in conversation. You were mildly impressed by the old school standards of the island thus far. He returned the bag to you, trading it with your card. He swiped it then gave it back. You went on your merry way.

The market & deli was closest to where you parked. You wanted to walk along the boardwalk, taking your time getting back to avoid returning to that large, empty house that was now your home. You placed the bag of tomatoes in the trunk of your car, knowing they wouldn’t be in there for long while you shopped inside really quick. You were just opening the door to the royal blue building when a woman around your age was coming out of it.

Her eyes met your own through the sunglasses you wore. Then a warm pearly white smile appeared across her lips.

“Mrs. McFarlane!” The woman greeted, stepping off to the side so she wasn’t blocking the entrance to the building. You felt your lips part in confused discomfort. You didn’t know this woman…

“It’s so nice to finally meet you.” She offered her hand, a black leather Prada handbag dangling from the crevice of her curved elbow. Forcing down your blatant awkwardness, you gripped her hand weakly, shaking it once.

“Oh, you as well.” You muttered behind an unsure smile.

“Oh, sweetie, you don’t have to pretend to know who I am.” Her smile grew brighter, you were grateful to be wearing shades otherwise you might’ve gone blind.

“My name is Rose Cameron. I’m a realtor in Kildare. Your husband worked with my colleague Jack Shaeffer. He sold you the house on Three Weathers Lane.”

“Oh.” The name didn’t sound at all familiar. It was your husband who worked directly with the realtor, “Of course, yes.” You lied, the conversation quickly draining you. It was hard to believe that you spent your whole life thriving from conversations like so.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you. Jack had a lot of great things to say about your husband. We’re lucky to have another doctor on the island.”

“Barely.” You responded without a filter. Rose’s perfectly plucked eyebrows frowned slightly. You rebutted, “I mean, he works inland three days a week, so he’s not really a doctor for Kildare.”

“I see.” Rose scrunched her nose cutely, “Well, still. It’s nice to meet you. I imagine we’ll be seeing each other often.”

Oh? The unspoken word must’ve been evident across your features. Rose laughed a light-hearted airy sound. You imagined if Kildare had a laugh to match it’s feel, it would be hers.

“We live down the road from you.” Rose informed, “My husband & I & his three children.”

“Oh, yes.” You started, “I imagine we’ll see each other enough.” You hadn’t intended for the comment to sound as unenthusiastic as it had but it couldn’t be helped. Rose’s wide smile had reduced to a close-lipped one at that point.

“I’ll get out of your way, then.” She shuffled to the side, her heels clacking proudly against the pavement as she began to walk away.

“And, Mrs. McFarlane, if you need anything, anything at all. Please don’t hesitate to give me a ring. Or to show up on our doorstep. Oh!” She approached you a second time, pulling out her phone, “Actually, while I have you. I would love to have you & your husband over for dinner. Since we��re going to be neighbors it would be nice for us all to get to know one another. This is Kildare, after all. Everyone looks out for everyone.”

Her final comment left you feeling unsettled. In a blur, you found yourself entering your number on her phone. She rang you once so you could log hers. After trading was completed, Rose grabbed your hand, “I’m so excited to get to know you, Mrs. McFarlane.”

You had actually kept your maiden name in your marriage to Moses, so hearing her call you by his last name was different. “Call me _____.” You told her, “I much prefer my name.”

“Of course.” She grinned, “I’ll call you soon to arrange dinner. Have a good day, _____.”

You barely uttered out a ‘you too’ before she strolled away.

You stood outside the market for a few moments in a daze, feeling as if you were recovering from whiplash in a car accident. When you left your house this morning, you certainly hadn’t expected to befriend—if you could call it that—a stranger & be invited to dinner in the same breath. You only hoped that she was the type to offer a gesture to be polite, not to actually follow through.

Putting the encounter behind you, you entered the market & carried on with your shopping. On the drive back home, you were relieved you didn’t meet any other Kildare residents that were kind enough to approach you. The social butterfly you used to be had long since flown away. Pulling into the driveway, you sat in the car peering up at the house. It wasn’t particularly your taste but you knew Moses was only trying what he thought would be best for you, for the both of you.

The bright blue three story beach-house was the exact opposite of your 18th floor condo in the city. You had to admit that the fresh air that North Carolina offered was nice, as well as the view from every single window in your new home. You allowed yourself to smile up at the house, even if it fell a few seconds later.

Once all the groceries were put away, you noted that it was only 3 in the afternoon. You found it hard to believe that four hours had passed so quickly. But you knew it was a side effect of the medication. It made you sigh internally as you recalled the ridiculous amount of time you spent in an aisle at a time for 15 minutes, having trouble deciding between two different pasta sauce brands simply because you couldn’t focus your mind. You considered telling your doctor about it, but decided against it.

In the butler’s kitchen near the dining room, you pulled out a bottle of red by the neck. It was earlier than typical for you to begin drinking, but the abrupt meeting with your overly friendly neighbor had pushed you to seek comfort inside a bottle.

Kicking off your heels by the backdoor, you threw an accent blanket over your shoulder & went into the sunroom off the kitchen. Moses slept out here often so you wanted to see why he preferred this over the comfort & warmth of your bed, though you knew it likely had nothing to do with the bed. Settling into a lounger, you corked open the bottle & poured yourself a glass. You rested against the back of the lounger, taking a sip of the wine. The light flavors of rose & cherry coated your tongue deliciously. The sounds of the ocean calmed your nerves. You set an alarm on your phone for 4’o’clock to take your medication in case you fell asleep.

Taking another sip of wine, you pulled the blanket up to your shoulders, tucking your bare feet under yourself. Fluttering your eyes closed, you fought back the images of a two year old smiling at you. A tear escaped. And then sleep came for you, just in time to take the pain away.

“Sarah!”

A man’s voice in the distance woke you. You groaned, opening your eyes slowly. Your body ached in protest with your sluggish movement. The first thing you noted was that it was completely dark out. Your head was pounding. On the side table to your right, the bottle of wine had been half drunk. You frowned. You didn’t remember drinking it that much. Further, your phone was lit up with notifications.

Picking it up, you had 3 missed calls & 2 text messages. All from Moses. You would call him in the morning. It was too late now. The time on your phone read 9:00 p.m. You shot forward at the realization. Hissing to yourself, you clumsily moved inside to the kitchen where your pills were kept in a cabinet by the fridge. You had slept right through your alarm. It wasn’t too detrimental to be late on taking your medication but you tried to be regular with it. A morbid part of you laughed internally at your attempt to be ‘good’ with the medication. The bottle of red, & the many others in the recycling bin would argue otherwise.

Swallowing the chalky pink pill dry, you winced past the taste. The wine would chase away the taste. Returning to the sunroom, you finished off what was left in your glass, about ready to pour yourself another one before going up to bed when a man yelled again. This time closer.

“Sarah! Don’t walk away from me when I’m talking to you.” He sounded angry, beyond angry.

The patio lights were off so you wouldn’t be seen when you stepped out onto the patio from the sunroom.

“Leave me alone, Rafe. You’re a mess.” A woman’s voice sounded next.

It took you a moment to find the pair, not used to the landscape outside your house just yet. In the dark, just at the edge of your property line, you could make out a young man & woman as they faced each other.

Whatever they were saying now you were unable to hear since they weren’t shouting. But you watched on, curious. From what you could see, the man appeared upset, talking fast & animatedly as he got in the woman’s face. She had her arms crossed in front of her, shaking her head, but she wasn’t submitting to him. You took another sip of your wine, watching them as if they were a trash reality show on the TV.

But then it escalated. Badly.

The woman, who you noted couldn’t be yet in her 20’s, turned her back on the man. Swiftly, he spun her around & slapped her.

“Fuck off, Rafe!” She screamed at him, ripping her arm out of his grip & taking off across your backyard. The man looked as if he was about to follow when you yelled out.

“Hey! Get outta here before I call the cops!” You hollered. The young man paused in his steps to glare up in your direction, but you knew he likely had a hard time even making you out against the darkness of your unlit house.

“I’m serious, kid. I’m calling them right now.” He lowered his eyes, glaring in the direction the woman had taken off in before turning on his heel & stomping off in the opposite direction. Leaving your wine on the patio, you went inside, speed-walking to the stairs. When you got to the second floor, you opened your front door, hoping you’d see where the girl disappeared to if she indeed went to the front side of your home.

Sure enough, you saw her sitting at the end of your driveway, a phone in her hand.

Grabbing a cardigan in the nearby closet, you stepped out, calling out her.

“Are you okay?”

The tanned blonde spun around, her eyes narrowing in your direction.

“Do you need me to call the cops?”

When she finally spotted you, she began walking towards you. You descended the stairs to the ground level, meeting her at the bottom. Once you saw her up close, your heart hurt for her. She absolutely couldn’t be any older than 20, she still looked like she could be in high school.

“No, I’m okay, thank you, though.”

You frowned, “Are you sure? I mean, I don’t know that asshole was but any man who puts his hand on a woman deserves a night in jail.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled in agreement, “Unfortunately he wouldn’t even make it to the backseat of the police car.”

When she saw the look of confusion on your face she continued, “My dad wouldn’t let a cuff touch his skin.”

“Your dad?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, leaning against the railing to your stairs, “that was my darling brother who slapped me.”

Your stomach flipped at her information. A father that allows his son to hit his sister? You presumed that it wasn’t a man at all who raised these kids.

“I’m sorry.” You said, “Would you like to come inside? I can order you an Uber or if you have someone coming to get you…”

“That’s okay.” She shrugged, but smiled weakly nonetheless, “I live down the road a ways. I was just gonna walk back after he cooled off.”

You nodded, not entirely liking the idea that this young girl you had just met would have to return to a home where her own brother feels hitting her is okay.

“Well, come in anyway. No point in standing out here.”

She hesitated for a moment but nodded, “Thanks, I appreciate it.”

Once inside, you led her up the stairs & to the kitchen. Your bottle of anti-depressants sat on the counter. Before she could spot them, you swiped them quickly & deposited them in the closest drawer.

“Are you hungry at all? Thirsty?” You offered, knowing damn well that you really didn’t have any prepared to eat despite having gone grocery shopping.

She shook her head, admiring the interior of your home, “I’ve always wondered what it looked like inside here.” She commented, “The last owners were an old couple who let their family stay here throughout the years. None of them were half as nice as you.”

You chuckled lightly at that, “I wouldn’t say I’m much nice either.”

“Sure, you are.” She returned, “You’re letting a random girl into your house in the middle of night from right off the street.”

You pondered this, nodding in agreement, “You are right. I wouldn’t have done that in the city.”

“Thank you, though. I do appreciate it.” She grinned at you, “I’m Sarah, by the way.”

“_____.” You shared.

Sarah slid into a stool at the counter, drumming her fingers on the granite.

“So,” you started, “your brother hits you & your dad doesn’t care.”

Her eyes widened, “Oh, I wouldn’t say he doesn’t care. Not at all. If he knew Rafe has hit me before he’d hit him back harder. He just wouldn’t let Rafe go to jail for it. For his own good.”

“Your brothers own good?” You questioned, not understanding the logic.

“No, my dad’s own good.” She corrected.

“Oh.” You felt your face fall. You had met plenty of people like that back in the city. Who cared more about the reputation with their name then the well-being of their kids & loved ones. It didn’t surprise you though that such people existed on an exquisite & upper class island.

“Yeah.” Sarah pursed her lips, “Anyway, how do you like Kildare so far?”

It was your turn to shrug, “I haven’t explored it much. Today was the first time I left the house, to be honest.”

“That’s fair. I’ve lived here my whole life & I can assure you that it’s not nearly as impeccable as people make it out to be. You’re probably better off staying at home like you have been.”

“How old are you?” You asked.

“18.”

“Oh, wow.” You furrowed your brows, “At least you’re old enough now to leave your home. Get away from your prick brother.”

“Ha, yeah.” She nodded but it was solemn, “If he or my dad would ever let me. That’s what he was chasing me down about.”

“Because you want to leave?”

“Kind of.” She shook her head, “There’s this guy I’ve been seeing, & he comes from the other side of the island. My dad wouldn’t like it if he found that out but my brother knows already & he’s always barking at me to dump him.”

“Gross.” You commented, “It’s the 21st century. The men in your family don’t control who you date.”

Sarah smiled at that, “You should tell em as much.”

“What’s your address? I’ll do it now.” You joked. Sarah giggled but soon the smile disappeared, “I’ll get out. One day. Hopefully sooner than later.”

“If you need anything,” you began, recalling Rose Cameron’s offer earlier in the day, “You can always come here. My husband is gone during the week so it’s just me here. I won’t shut you out if you need a place to escape to.”

Sarah’s brown eyes sparkled at that, “Really? I mean, I don’t wanna bother you. I’d give anything to be alone.”

You sighed heavily, “I think being alone is probably the last thing I need these days.”

You & Sarah traded smiles, “Okay. I might take you up on that. Especially if Rafe is being a dick again.”

“Especially.” You enunciated.

An hour later, Sarah went home. You had offered one of the many guest bedrooms but she insisted on going home, that if she didn’t then her brother & his cronies would scour the entire island for her & the first place they’d look is her boyfriend’s. You waved her off from the patio as she parted through your backyard where you first saw her. Once she was out of sight, you gathered the half empty wine bottle & glass of wine, going into the kitchen. Without a thought in mind, you emptied the remnants of wine in the glass into the sink, re-corking the wine & putting it back on a shelf in the butler’s kitchen.

Speaking with Sarah for an hour had made you feel really good. More so, it made you forget about your grief. Sarah had clued you in on all the Kildare island need-to-know. The most important being that there were two classes of people on the island: kooks & pogues, the latter of which Sarah’s boyfriend was, which is why her brother & dad wouldn’t approve of the relationship. They were proud kooks, as she said.

Listening to her talk about her life & all that she & her friends get up to made you smile for the first time in a long time. You listened intently, paralleling your own teenage experiences with her own. Even the memory of being a teenager felt like it was hundreds of years ago. Sarah had been sweet enough though to escape you for much younger than you were. She was shocked to discover you were 37, commenting that she wouldn’t have guessed anywhere north of 30. For that you were relieved, feeling much better about yourself than you had in the last year.

Turning off the lights in your house, you crossed the third floor to your bedroom. Undressing, you slipped into one of Moses’ old college sweaters before climbing into bed. It would be the first night since moving here that you didn’t depend on wine to fall asleep. Sarah & her youth had made you forget all about your pain.

You would allow yourself this one night to feel painless, knowing well-enough that the pain would undoubtedly return in the morning.

First part to my new Rafe Cameron series! I am so so excited to begin this new venture. I already know every detail about this story & can't wait to share it with you guys. Rafe will make an appearance in the next part so be sure to follow me or ask to be on the taglist for this series, or Rafe in general, to not miss it.

In the meantime, share your thoughts with me! Any & all feedback in the form of a reblog with tags, a thoughtful comment, or dropping an ask are huge motivators to post sooner. I really would love to hear your thoughts so far. So, let me know!

Thanks for reading.

oona<3

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rue-dixon · 2 months

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Chilchuck comforting Puckpatti during a storm

Dadchuck Dadchuck Dadchuck

Word count: 1831

Also I wrote this while a hurricane was going over me. And my backyard and garage ended up flooding lol

A terrible storm raged outside. The thunder was so strong it shook the house at times. Strong winds whistled throughout the small house. Heavy downpour of rain was relentless, making a steady rhythm against the roof. It was the middle of the night, possibly now reaching early morning hours. The home would've been quiet if it wasn't for the noise the weather was causing.

Chilchuck laid asleep, heavy bags under his eyes. His breathing ragged and uneven, he tossed and turned in his shared bed. His clothes stuck to his skin from sweat. Constantly teetering on the edge of asleep and conscious until-

Boom!

A crash of thunder shot Chilchuck awake from his rest. His eyes were wide open, and his breathing picked up as if he was on high alert. Head spinning as his eyes darted around the dark room, lifting his head slightly to see all of it easily. Heavy breaths left his lips, the heaviness of his chest matched the loud beating of his heart. His chest felt tight and full all at once.

His wife, Bellana, stirred next to him. "Mm.. Chil..?" She mumbled softly.

The storm didn't bother her as much. Which was only natural. Chilchuck’s body’s unconscious reaction wasn't from having some childish fear of storms. Rather the loud noises triggering some forms of ptsd he had unknowingly picked up in his time in the dungeons. Affecting him even during the couple weeks he'd take in between jobs to care for his family.

Bellana peered at him over her shoulder, she could barely keep her eyes open. Only having woken up from the combination of the bed shaking so suddenly and the loud noise.

Chilchuck sat up in bed, the blanket falling around his waist. He sat there for a moment, taking deep breaths trying to calm himself down. Trying to get his heart rate normal once again.

"Just thunder..." He muttered to himself with a sigh. He ran a hand through his messy hair, now damp with sweat. Groaning as he looked over at his wife.

Bellana had a look of concern now. “Are you alright..?” She questioned softly, her mind still foggy from barely being awake.

"Yeah, I'm fine... Go back to sleep," Chilchuck assured her. Bellana frowned, he always pushed her away like that. Never talking about what was actually going on, just brushing it off and saying he’s fine. In her sleep deprived mind, she was in no shape or mood to argue. So she just rolled over again. Quickly falling back asleep within minutes.

Chilchuck took another breath, grateful she didn't push further before laying back down himself. However as he closed his eyes, another crash of thunder shook the house, sending a jolt through his body again.

"Shit..." He grumbled under his breath.

Soon, soft snores accompanied the rain and thunder. Although it would've been impossible for anyone to hear them over the weather if you weren't laying next to her like he was.

Chilchuck looked over, he envied how fast she was able to fall asleep and ignore all this. Part of him felt jealous almost, even though he knew that wasn't fair to feel that way. He chose that job, and he liked it, for the most part. It was unfair to hold ill feelings towards his own wife for his own decisions that caused his major inconvenience. Especially considering the fact that she tried so hard to convince him to choose a different career path, but he was the stubborn one that refused.

Another crack of lightning lite up the small room through the cracks of the curtains. Causing him to blink a little, it definitely didn't seem like he was going to sleep any time soon. Chilchuck grumbled under his breath, rolling over to face away from his wife and rest on the very edge of the bed. Not even a few seconds later the boom of thunder no doubt following that lightning shook the house. This one noticeably much bigger than the rest. Chilchuck's eyes widened as the thunder crashed and echoed throughout the house. He let out a shaky breath as he stared at the wall in front of him, his mind racing. Was the wall coming closer? No no it was just the dark. Did it sound like the walls were cracking? Or is that just in his head? Dripping? Did the rain damage the roof?

A million thoughts were rushing through this head now as it seemed to get harder to breathe. Why? It's just a storm, you've experienced so many since you were a child so why now are you acting a fool. It wasn't like it was unlocking some horrible memories from the dungeon right? At least he didn't think so, he didn't feel like he was remembering anything.

"I-it's just a storm..... It's just a storm...." He repeated to himself in a quiet whisper, gripping the sheets of the bed to try and calm himself down. Lord he felt pathetic.

A pitter patter sound was suddenly heard scurrying down the hall. Chilchuck's already sharp hearing immediately recognized the tiny spacing and clear bare feet belonging to his daughter. The door slowly creaked open, but the hall was darker than the inside of the room. So not even a small figure could be seen in the dark. It wasn't until she came closer to the bed was when Chilchuck could make out the long hair of Puckpatti. Gripping a small ragdoll in her arm, hugging it to her face as the other tugged down at her light pink nightgown.

“Puck, what are you doing up?” Chilchuck groaned, his panic somehow immediately being forgotten from before. However he had a pretty good idea of what she was doing here.

She sniffled, big tears globing her eyes. "I don't like it..." she said in a small, hoarse voice. Trying her best not to break into tears.

Chilchuck's heart ached as he saw the pain and fear in his daughter's eyes. Backing up in bed while lifting the covers, he made sure that he wouldn't disturb his wife. Before patting the spot on the edge of the bed next to him, silently inviting her to come closer.

"Come here," he said softly, beckoning her over.

Puckpatti continued to sniff as she wiped her tears, climbing up on the bed with some struggle. Gripping her small dolly tightly as she nuzzled herself into her fathers torso. Curling up into a ball, her small size made it easy to fit. Chilchuck wrapped an arm around his daughter, gently pulling her closer to him before covering her with the blanket. He held her against his side, his hand rubbing soothing circles on her back as she nuzzled against him.

"It's just a storm," he reassured her, his voice low and soothing. "It will pass soon, I promise."

She nodded, "I don't like it..." she mumbled, looking up to him. "It's loud.." her small hands came up to cover her ears. But due to the size difference between the two it didn't do anything. A useless attempt at drowning out the sound.

Even as the storm raged on, Chilchuck no longer felt heavy or filled with dread. Completely forgetting about why he had originally woken up in the first place. The distraction of his distressed daughter taking up his mind and body, not leaving room to worry for himself. He understood too well not liking the loud noises, now more than ever. However the irony went over his head.

Chilchuck frowned as Puckpatti shook from another lightning strike. Preparing herself for the next big boom of thunder. Without thinking, he took his larger hands and gently laid them over her smaller ears. Covering her own hands as he did so. Chilchuck's hands easily covered Puckpatti's small ears, blocking out most of the sound of the storm. Even the loud croaking of the frogs that had come out of hiding outside was barely heard now. He held his hands in place for a moment, feeling the way that she was shaking.

"Shh... Shhhh..." he cooed softly, attempting to soothe her as the bang of thunder tore through the house. "It's alright. It can't hurt you, it'll pass soon ok?"

Puckpatti sniffled as she nodded, her shaking had decreased. They laid like that for a while. Eventually her face resembled a small pout instead of the big, teary eyed expression she had earlier.

“Feeling better?” Chilchuck asked, causing her to nod.

“That's good, you're being such a brave girl you know?” He hummed softly, still subconsciously trying to not wake his wife.

Puckpatti's eyes grew heavy as she offered him a weak smile. The storm still harsh but not as daunting as before.

Chilchuck continued to hold her close, noticing how her eyelids were growing heavy. His thumbs making small circles on her rosy cheeks. It was clear the storm was now having less of an impact on her, which brought him some relief.

"Are you getting sleepy...?"

Puckpatti nodded again, "can I sleep here...?" She asked in a tiny voice. Sure, she shared a bed with her two big sisters. Despite this, she much rather be in the arms of her father right now rather than be in bed with a grumpy Meijack telling her to stop crying and a Flertom who wouldn't even wake up, who would probably also start crying as well if she did awake.

Chilchuck and Bellana really tried not to let the girls sleep in their bed too much when they were younger. Worrying it could develop some independence issues when they are older. Of course, every rule has its exceptions, and Chilchuck possibly couldn't bring himself to say no right now.

“Of course.”

Chilchuck adjusted his position on the bed so that Puckpatti was lying against his chest. He wrapped his arm around her tiny form, holding her close.

"Comfortable?" He asked, gently running his fingers through her hair.

Puckpatti nodded as she yawned, her eyelids growing heavy. Slowly starting to drift off again herself, being only a toddler made it easier to fall back asleep. Chilchuck was awake for a while, but much more calm than before. Soon, he followed her into a slumped as well.

It was funny really, to Chilchuck all he was doing was comforting his youngest. Something all (decent) parents do. Most do it well into their child's adulthood as well. The difference is what they're comforting them from changing. At this age, it might be storms or monsters under the bed, but as they get older it could turn to failed relationships or lost jobs. Point being, a basic part of parenting. However, Puckpatti unknowingly had comforted her own father just as well as he comforted her that night. Not only giving him a distraction to ease his mind, but the comfort of holding his baby close no doubt being calming to his anxiety. Despite him not realizing, or even bothering to acknowledge this fact.

#chilchuck #chilchuck's wife #dungeon meshi #chilchack #chilchuck tims #chilchuk dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #dunmeshi #puckpatti #chilwife #dadchuck #Bellana Sams (chilwife)#puckpatti chils

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the-guilty-writer · 1 year

Text

A Little Tachy

Request from anon: Hiya, could you possibly do something with Morgan x platonic!bau!reader who has pots, or if your not comfortable just faints? X

Derek Morgan x platonic!BAU!reader

GN!reader

Summary: Reader’s tachycardia is flaring and Morgan helps them through the day

A/N: What a great way to kick off Disability Pride Month!

I don’t have POTS, but I’m educated on the condition. One of the things I believe is important to acknowledge is that not everyone with POTS faints, so while the reader comes close to fainting and it’s implied that they have fainted in the past, the reader does not faint during the fic. This fic contains the symptoms and form of POTS I am most familiar with and hear about most often, but it effects everyone who has it individually.

CW: reader almost faints, reader has tachycardia but specific condition is never stated, liquid IV (yes it deserves a warning)

---

Beep! Beep! Beep!

Your smartwatch went off, disturbing the already awkward silence of the elevator. Quickly, you pressed the button to silence it and looked down at the screen that read a number much too high for your liking. The line on the screen climbed with the elevator. Your vision began to fog at the edges and tightness spread across your chest.

Just a few more floors… you thought to yourself, but even that thought was a little hazy. Your grip weakened ever so slightly on the accessible bar. Please, not first thing in the morning… The doors opened onto the sixth floor.

“-scuse me,” you managed to say to the person blocking your way to the door. They scooted to give you room to escape and you managed to dizzily shuffle out of the elevator and into the familiar hallway. With weak limbs and a foggy head, you sank against the closest wall, breathing rapidly.

Keeping your head lifted felt all too much like a chore, so you tilted it back against the wall and allowed your eyes to close. Instead of trying to control your breathing, you allowed yourself to heave with every exhale; it wasn’t worth the extra energy to try to control the muscles of your diaphragm. The alert on your watch went off again, but it wasn’t worth it to turn it off. The sound was annoying as hell, but you didn’t have the strength to turn it off. It should have been alarming to have someone take your wrist while you were in such a vulnerable position, but the touch was so familiar, you knew who it was without looking.

“Thanks,” you managed to get the entire word out without slurring - a good sign.

Derek Morgan sat down on the floor next to you, sighing. “You need me to take you home?” Your best friend’s voice was filled with sympathy.

Sometimes you hated that he worried about you so much, and other times you were grateful you had someone that cared enough to accompany you on the ground.

“No,” you said, your strength coming back to you. “I’ll be fine in a minute.”

Your heart came down to a normal (but still less-than-ideal) rate. The pain in your chest faded and the dizziness began to clear. Morgan got up first to help pull you to your feet.

“Thanks,” you said, checking your watch to make sure your heart didn't spike.

“You sure you're okay?” He looked at you with concern.

With your heart staying steady, you cracked a smirk. “A little tachy, but okay.”

The joke was bad, but you still managed to pull a smile out of Morgan. “Take it easy today,” he said.

“I will.”

You walked towards the bullpen, your heart rate rising just a bit as it always did when you were on the move. Derek stood in the hall and watched you carefully for any signs of stumbling. It wasn’t until you were safely through the glass doors, surrounded by people that could catch you if you fainted, that he felt it was okay to go down the hall to his office.

---

You had a few dizzy moments and foggy incidents since your initial extreme tachycardic episode in the morning, but nothing too far out of the ordinary: some lightheadedness when you went to turn in some files and needing some deep breaths whenever you reached down into your bag. It wasn’t technically normal, but it was your normal, and you made it work.

Eleven o’clock rolled around, and just like everyone else in the office, you started to crave caffeine to keep you going. The old coffee maker struggled to keep up with the high demand of it's job. A small line had formed for the chance to grab a mug. You were beginning to wonder if you could convince the section chief to budget for an entire coffee bar.

You saw Morgan at the front of the line, taking his sweet time adjusting his coffee to the exact way he liked it. When he turned to leave, he stopped by you at the back of the line.

“Now, what do you think you’re doing?”

“Trying to make sure I don’t fall asleep,” you replied.

He raised his eyebrows, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a packet of liquid IV.

“Morgan…” you whined. “Please?”

He shook his head. “Nope.”

His stubborn attitude was nice, but also annoying. You rolled your eyes a bit, but accepted the packet. “Thanks,” you said with a heavy sigh.

“I’d rather have you passing out because you need a nap than caffeine induced tachycardia,” he said with enough humor to make you smile, but enough seriousness for you to believe him.

You went back to your desk, added the liquid IV to your water and took a sip. It didn't matter what the flavor was, the sharpness of the electrolyte mixture always made you wince at the first taste. “Better than straight up salt packets,” you commented.

Morgan chuckled. “Don't give me any prank ideas.”

“Wouldn't dream of it,” you said, then looked over at the rest of the BAU. “For me at least.”

The two of you shared a smirk before he left the bullpen and you went back to work. The great prank planning would have to wait till later.

---

By the end of the day, you were beyond exhausted. Between your heart rate acting up, a lack of coffee, and actually taking a break for lunch, you didn't get as much work done as you planned. Even Hotch had managed to leave the office before you.

You finished a file and put it on the finished stack, then looked at your to-do stack and sighed. With a weak hand you went to grab one.

“Uh-uh.”

You startled, more alert than you had been for hours, but relaxed when you heard Morgan's familiar laugh.

“Are you trying to send me into a medical episode?” You asked him as he leaned on the edge of your desk.

“Come on,” he didn't answer the question. “I'll drive you home.”

You shook your head. “I've gotta finish-”

“You've gotta sleep.”

With exhausted eyes, you looked back at your friend. His gaze was gentle and caring as always.

After a quiet, “Okay,” he helped you pack up your bag and stand up from your seat. From the time you exited the bullpen, until he helped you into the car, he steadied you through every dizzy episode, kept a light hand on your arm to help you walk straight, and gave you gentle reminders to breathe.

It didn't matter if you were having a good day or a bad day, your best friend would always be there to make sure you got through it.

#derek morgan fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #derek morgan x reader #derek morgan x platonic!reader #criminal minds x reader #derek morgan x y/n #criminal minds x y/n #criminal minds x platonic!reader #criminal minds #derek morgan x gn!reader #criminal minds x gn!reader

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autisticlenaluthor · 1 year

Text

Twilight

Lena often thinks her real life is somewhere else far away. Sure, physically, she exists in her body. She can see and touch and experience all the other senses that supposedly make her whole. But for as long as she can remember, she’s had the strongest feeling that the real Lena is out there somewhere else. And while this one watches the rest of the world through her glass box and foggy goggles, the woman she’s supposed to be thrives in another existence. Maybe even another timeline.

This other life isn’t something Lena looks for– it isn’t something that can be revealed through tireless searching. When Lena tries, it only seems to grow further away.

So she chooses to believe that one day, they will step into each other and the box will break. She’ll become real and whole, and the fog will be gone and her new life will start. The life she’s always been meant to have.

In the bleak hours of twilight, Lena finds herself the closest she’s ever been to shattering that barrier.

In high school, Lena used to tell herself that longer she stayed awake, the longer it would take for the next day to come. She needed to savor the times that weren’t consumed by the energy it took to mask at school or locked in the upstairs bathroom to avoid Lillian’s resentment. And that could only happen when the rest of the world was asleep.

Night was her safe haven.

Darkness expects nothing of no one. She didn't have to be presentable or restrained she could just... be.

At night, the requirements that had been forced upon her since the ripe age of four are momentarily lifted because nobody’s that put together when it’s three in the morning and they haven’t slept in almost as many days.

Sleep, on the other hand, felt like pressing fast forward on existence.

Lena’s head would hit the pillow and in an instant, the cycle would start back up again.

She’d wake up. Get dressed. Get coffee. Go to school. Skip lunch to complete homework. Study during her free period. Get ahead on extra credit during study hall. Stay late for chess club Wednesdays and Fridays. Stay late for fencing on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Go home and hope the mansion would be empty when she arrived. Drink more coffee. Study for upcoming exams. Eat dinner (or not). Work on college essays. Even more coffee. Brush teeth. Sleep. Repeat.

The cycle couldn’t be broken but the beginning of a new day could be prolonged. And at sixteen-years-old with no real freedom, time was the most finite resource Lena had.

The night was Lena’s out and it was embarrassingly easy to become addicted to it’s reprive.

Lena’s late nights transitioned from her childhood bedroom, to her university dorm, to her first apartment, to the hotel she lives out of in National City for three months. Eventually, they land in the basement of L Corp, where her favorite place in the entire world sits – her personal lab.

Lena spends more hours down there than she can count.

She does everything from experimentation on different substances to developing plans for high tech militant weapons. She picks apart and studies Lex’s old devices and spitefully finds ways to improve them (oh, how he would hate if he knew his little sister had been the one to fix the flaws he hadn’t accounted for).

Some nights she even finds herself going back to her Metropolis roots of trying to cure cancer out of a garage with Jack Spheer. She reads through medical journals when she’s looking for more mental stimulation than physical, and writes up lists of her own hypotheses and ideas. Clinical trials could be built around her midnight endeavors, if Lena would ever let anyone read her work.

At night, Lena thrives. She gets so close to this other world that at times, she thinks if she pushed just a little harder, she’d finally be able to break the seal.

But then there are the nights where it’s never felt further away.

Those nights come after soul sucking days where Lena spends every minute forced to be on. They come from masking more than she can handle, until she feels like she might physically burst from the tension. They leave her feeling like a shell of herself, like her capacity for being alive has dropped to zero.

Lena only tries to explain it once. Sam can tell something’s wrong so Lena does the thing most unlike herself and confides in her. It’s the only time she ever says it out loud.

Really, Lena doesn’t know what she was expecting– maybe reassurance that her struggle is real and that her burn out is enough. But instead, Sam tells her she gets it. She gets exhausted too from the long days and crashes hard after sitting in a board room with executives and other titles for hours on end.

It’s in good faith but it makes Lena feel even worse. Because she doesn’t get it– not really. Sam may struggle, but Lena is autistic. She’s speech loss and shut down, ugly stimming, and violent meltdowns autistic. She's 'can only eat five foods because of ARFID', prolonged burn out, sleep deprived, and insomniac autistic.

And god, there’s nothing more isolating than knowing that no matter how hard they try, her friends will never be able to ‘get it’ when she tells them she’s having a hard time.

Those are the nights where to Lena, doing anything substantial feels entirely inconceivable. But the routine can’t be broken. So she stops by Noonans for an iced coffee and safe food dinner of Uncrustables that she can eat on the laboratory floor. Because sometimes all it takes to feel okay is to be surrounded by her special interests, even if she can’t interact with them.

She's tapping her fingers, trying to block out the sound of the buzzing overhead lights, when she finds Kara standing in the pick-up spot parallel to her. Lena isn’t sure what time it is but the sky outside is black and the coffee shop is empty. All she knows is t's way too late for Kara "It starts at 10? That's when I go to bed" Danvers.

Kara smiles when she spots her.

“Hey! What are you doing here? I thought all the big CEOs sent their assistants out for coffee runs,” she jokes.

For a split second, Lena manages to smile back at her. It's small and fleeting but it's there. Her first real one in days.

“I sent Jess home hours ago,” she replies. “It wouldn’t be fair to subject her to my all-nighters.”

Lena pauses when the barista approaches the counter to hand Kara her drink.

“Why are you still up?” She asks after a moment. “Snapper torturing you again?”

Kara shrugs and gives a light laugh

“No, Snapper’s been surprisingly okay recently. I just stayed late to finish some stuff up. I’m done now but I wanted to get myself a little reward.”

She sips at her drink, grinning when she sees Lena’s confused expression.

“It’s hot chocolate– no caffeine for me.”

Lena hums. Before she can say anything else, her large iced black coffee is placed on the counter in front of her. Her cheeks flush red and for whatever reason, all she can feel is pure shame at the sight of it.

This isn’t normal. She isn’t normal. And there’s no way Kara doesn’t feel it too.

But Kara doesn’t judge. She doesn’t chastise Lena’s choices or go on about how it’s so unhealthy to have caffeine so late and how she should know better by now.

Instead, she says “are you going back to the office? I can walk with you.”

Of course, Lena accepts.

They walk together in silence. It doesn’t feel awkward– there isn’t an expectation to fill the gaps. It’s just the two of them. They’re side by side and in that moment, neither of them need anything more.

When they arrive at L Corp, Lena brings Kara inside with her.

They skip security and stop at the elevator. Lena pulls out her ID card but she doesn’t scan it. She looks at Kara and shifts her weight between her heels.

“Would you like to come down with me?” She asks.

“Down?”

“My lab… it’s in the basement.”

“Oh.”

“You don’t have to. I wouldn’t put you to work or anything– I was just going to sit on the floor and have dinner. If you’d like to do that with me.”

Kara can’t help but chuckle at Lena’s phrasing. Her best friend, who can’t touch the buttons on public elevators without putting a tissue over her thumb, relaxes by eating her dinner on the basement floor.

The contrast is stark yet endearing. And as strange as it sounds, Kara cant think of a better way to spend her night.

They spend the next hour sitting in a corner, backs up against the wall, eating grape uncrustables, vending machine chips, and Oreos. Kara tells Lena about her day, making sure she knows she doesn’t have to respond if she isn’t up to speaking. And as they drink their respective beverages, Kara goes on about how incredible Lena’s lab is– how nice it was of her to share it.

It feels good. It feels calming. Lena’s surrounded by her favorite things, eating her safe foods, with her best friend, who upholds none of the social barriers she struggles with so much.

By the time they’re done– it’s nearly two in the morning.

“Gosh, I’m tired,” Kara says, smiling dreamily. She yawns and looks over at Lena. “Are you?”

Lena just shrugs. She is. She always is. But right now, the last place she wants to be is her empty penthouse.

“We both need sleep,” Kara adds. She slouches into the wall and sighs. “But my loft is so far. And I don’t want to leave you. Why is everything so unfair?”

Softly, Lena laughs.

“You could come to my place,” she suggests, her voice small and apprehensive. “If you’d like. I- I think it would be nice to… not be alone for a bit.”

“Really?” Kara asks.

Lena nods. “Really.”

"I'd love that!"

Lena smiles. For the first time in years, the thought of going to sleep doesn't feel all that daunting.

#supercorptober2023 #supercorp fanfic #lena luthor #autistic lena luthor #kara danvers #supergirl #I struggled with this one lol pls be nice

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munsonfunken · 1 year

Text

A MAN WITHOUT LOVE . STEVEN GRANT

Pairing: Steven Grant x Gender neutral!Reader

Summary: Your path crosses Steven Grant's an unexpectedly amount of times.

Word count: 2.6k

Notes: This is a repost, since I deleted my old blog! So, I tried something different when it comes to the first interaction between the characters. I feel that everytime I write something that involves a first interaction between the characters, it follows the same script, so I tried to make it rather awkward and confusing for both of them. Keep in mind that English isn’t my first language. Sorry in advance for any mistakes. Enjoy!

If you prefer to read on AO3, here it is!

If you want to take a look at my other writings, here they are!

The first time you became aware of Steven Grant’s existence was on the morning bus to work. Reminiscences of the stormy night rested scattered throughout London. During the walk to the bus station, the damp sidewalks bore leaves, twigs, and puddles, and during the ride, the bus vast windows were slightly foggy. A breath of fresh air invaded the bus when its double door opened, and, along with it, three people hopped on. Steven Grant, hurriedly crossing the street, was the last one. Nearly missing the bus, he breathlessly climbed the steps and awkwardly thanked the driver before maneuvering himself inside the crowded bus. He firmly grasped a blue vacuum bottle in his right hand, and a Rubik’s cube in his left one. An intrigued expression rose to your features. A Rubik’s cube. When was the last time you had seen one?

Accompanying his movements amongst the standing people, your eyes wandered from the colorful object to his shabby grey jacket, to his left shoulder, to his brown bag, to his neck, to his jawline, to his rather disheveled jet-black hair, and to his features. Steven Grant looked exhausted. In fact, he looked distinctly careworn. And, of course, late to wherever he was heading. Well, he was particularly late on that dull, blustery, and cloudy morning. Donna Kraft would not be happy. But… When was she? The same callous speech tumbled from her lips ever since Steven set foot in the National Art Gallery.

Routine.

And, at the end of the day, Steven would run Staying Awake on his smartphone – “Hello, and welcome to Staying Awake!” –, dive in books, solve the Rubik’s cube, teach himself Hieroglyphs, enjoy French poems, and, when his organism collapsed in tiredness, he would tie his ankle to the bed, and close his eyes only to open them on the following morning feeling like he had been hit by a bus. Everyday. Dazzled by daylight and dogged by confusion, he would suspiciously scrutinize his surroundings for, yet again, his sleep had been disturbed by far-fetched experiences. Then, it would dawn on him that he hadn’t been woken up by any alarm, and he would desperately search for the digital clock, which registered that he was, well, late, and that the alarm had gone off earlier. On that dull, blustery, and cloudy morning, Steven Grant was later than ever, and out of luck.

His organism refused to function, and he kept drowsing on people’s shoulders, receiving nonplussed glares and obnoxious shoves. He was much too prim to get his own back on people, so he muttered “good morning” and, although useless, sipped the coffee inside the blue vacuum bottle in a desperate attempt to force his organism to function properly. The dewy-eyed innocence Steven Grant bore stirred a sensation of embarrassment towards him.

The second time you became aware of Steven Grant’s existence was on the walk home from The London Library. Three books were clutched against your right hipbone, and you fumbled with them as you hurriedly piled them up descending the stony steps to the sidewalk. The wind blew silently, digging its way through leaves, branches, and trunks. A crack of sky was visible between the thin leaves above. It was the navy-blue of the ocean, and the din of the traffic annoyingly ringed inside your skull. Nonetheless, the walk home was reinvigorating.

Turning into a relatively silent street, the soft buzz of conversation replaced the din of the traffic. The sidewalk ahead was tinted in the usual pink lightning coming from the pink lit restaurant that marked three quarters of the walk home. As usual, the tables placed outside the restaurant were occupied by couples, except for one of them. It was occupied by a hunched lone man. His features slid in and out of sight as the branches of overhanging trees broke the moonlight. The other tables were laden with food and wine bottles, but his was nearly empty. As you approached the restaurant, your eyesight registered missed details.

A pink heart-shaped box and a bouquet of flowers rested on the white tablecloth. Uh, cheesy. Your eyes wandered from the box to his black jacket, to his fidgety hands, to his pursed lips, to his frowned features, to his combed jet-black hair, to – Wait. Steven Grant sat alone, listlessly staring at a steak in his plate. A leaden sensation was settling in the pit of his stomach. He looked a forlorn figure sitting at a table originally destined for a couple. Wait. How… Hm, well, what were the odds?

He nervously gulped and unwillingly grasped the silver fork resting on the tablecloth. The table in front of him was occupied by two women who were deeply chatting while two boys played nearby, laughing mirthfully. They ran towards his table and the women calling after them pulled Steven out of his misery. He abashedly blinked, exchanging an apologetic look with them, which prompted him to hurriedly pull the heart-shaped box to his lap, underneath the tablecloth. He seemed not to register the bouquet of flowers, since he didn’t try to hide it.

Your feet were rooted to the sidewalk and your features bore a rapt expression observing the events unfolding before your eyes. The pink lightning created a pathetic aura around him. A sudden, almost desperate compassion for Steven Grant burnt inside your vessels. Your fingers dig into the books, painfully pressing them against your hipbone.

The third time you became aware of Steven Grant’s existence was on a visit to the National Art Gallery. The Egyptian exhibition had been inaugurated weeks prior, and, even though everything you knew about its culture had been absorbed from Rick Riordan’s The Kane Chronicles when you were, hm, 14 years old, the propaganda bearing Egyptian deities convinced you to pay a visit. The vast museum rooms were way too packed for a Saturday evening, but you managed to find your way amongst the crowd. The exhibition was impressive. Its details completely enthralled you, to the point where the robotic voice announcing the museum closure in an hour revealed that you spent way too much time appreciating the exhibition pieces for someone who had been educated solely by The Kane Chronicles.

“And this is the last room of the day. We’ll be done in a minute, I promise! I know my voice is quite annoying.” An excited voice echoed in the room, catching people’s attention, including yours. Oh…

There was Steven Grant. He wore a crumpled blue jacket, to which a silver tag had been attached. From where you stood, it was impossible to read it, but you presumed it identified him as a museum employee. So, he was a tour guide. That was, in fact, lovely. He accompanied five visitors, to whom he gesticulated expansively. His eyes gleamed in genuine joyousness, his hands carefully yet firmly pointed to artifacts, and his feet glided throughout the room in an adorable choreography.

He seemed completely fulfilled spilling his excitement regarding Ancient Egypt to those visitors. Other people’s ears prickled at Steven’s explanations, and so did yours. Well, you read the tags attached to each exhibition piece, but, honestly, it was endearing to observe him, to listen to him, to become aware of his existence. It was odd to observe him in such contrasting situations. You could hardly believe the man before your eyes was the same man that kept drowsing on people’s shoulders on the morning bus to work or the same man that sat alone with a pink heart-shaped box and a bouquet of flowers at a pink lit restaurant.

Steps echoed at the room entrance. A blonde woman in a blue suit appeared and glared at Steven. A pink chewing gum rolled inside her mouth.

“Oh, Donna, hello!” Steven waved at her, but she expressed no intention to answer him. “Meet Donna Kraft, my boss! Excuse me for a second, yeah? I hope none of the exhibition pieces has come to life!” He turned to the visitors gathered around him, who laughed at the Night at the Museum reference, and, with a polite gesture, excused himself.

Beaming with delight at his, uh, joke, your eyes followed his figure, which shamefacedly gesticulated with the blonde woman. She seemed determined to sustain her argument, and, for a millisecond, Steven was the same man that kept drowsing on people’s shoulders on the morning bus to work or the same man that sat alone with a pink heart-shaped box and a bouquet of flowers at a pink lit restaurant. His genuine joyousness seemed to have been nonchalantly crumpled and carelessly thrown into the nearest bin. Donna Kraft simpered and traipsed from the room.

“Right, where were we?” Steven muttered more to himself than to the people still gathered around ancient, tarnished garden tools.

Something seemed to tauten in his face, and it became stony, but he managed to give a wan smile towards the crowd. He had resumed speaking, and you registered his mouth moving, but not the words leaving it. For a brief second, his voice got mixed with the robotic voice announcing the museum closure in thirty minutes. There the almost desperate compassion for Steven Grant was. Again. It was too much mistreatment to witness. What was the Universe’s intention forcing your path to cross his not one, but three times? An urge to leave the room – and, well, to ignore Steven Grant’s existence – burnt inside your vessels, but your feet remained rooted to the marble floor.

“Steven”. The silver tag attached to the crumpled jacket read “Steven”. It shone under the spotlights strategically lightning the exhibition pieces. “Steven”. The name almost involuntarily rolled from your lips. Well, the man that kept drowsing on people’s shoulders on the morning bus to work, sat alone with a pink heart-shaped box and a bouquet of flowers at a pink lit restaurant and spilled his excitement regarding the Egyptian culture was not a stranger anymore.

He waved at the people gathered around them, and the movement caught your attention. “Uh, thank you so much for sticking around. It’s been wonderful to accompany you through the exhibition. I hope it was entertaining!” A timid smile accompanied the mirthful words. The robotic voice announced the museum closure in fifteen minutes. “Well, the museum closes shortly, but feel free to explore this room or other rooms for a bit longer. And if you have any questions, find me in the gift shop in the entrance hall.” Then, he left the room. The gift shop. In the entrance hall. Well, you had a question. Not about the exhibition. And, for the first time, you knew where to find Steven Grant to ask it.

You made a beeline for the museum entrance hall. Visitors, parents mostly, waited in line to buy stuffed animals for their children. When you approached the gift shop, two employees hurriedly talked to visitors in an attempt to extinguish the line, but Steven peaceably paced around. He leaned over the showcase counter with a stuffed hippopotamus in hand and talked to a girl through the toy in a goofy manner. She laughed, reached for it, and ran away. Then, Steven turned to, apparently, the girl’s mother, laughed at something she uttered and pushed a card machine towards her. The delightful sound accompanied by crinkles around his eyes brought a grin to your lips, and you could not help but stare at his adorable being. Oh, heaven.

Absentmindedly circling the model of the Great Pyramid of Giza and other exhibition pieces, you patiently waited for the people to leave, but, as the movement in the entrance hall diminished, you considered remaining anonymous. Why the urge to ask him how he was? And… How awkward would it be to approach a stranger and suddenly ask how he was? Where did the question come from? Well, you were certainly not revealing that you had kept an eye on him on the morning bus to work, on the walk home from the library, on a visit to the National Art Gallery. It would be even more awkward, right? You stared at your faint reflection in the protective glass surrounding a sarcophagus. Yeah, how awkward would it be? Your eyes wandered from the top of your head to the tip of your shoes. And it dawned on you.

Suddenly.

Unexpectedly.

Shamefully.

Oh…

You wanted him to know that you were aware of his existence. You wanted him to know that you felt sorry for him. You wanted him to know that you cared for him. Breathe. You stared at your own eyes. Because you were infatuated with him. With a stranger.

No, wait.

Not a stranger. With a man who was particularly late to wherever he was heading on that dull, blustery, and cloudy morning. With a man who was unexpectedly alone at a pink lit restaurant. With a man who was completely fulfilled spilling his excitement regarding Ancient Egypt. Not a stranger.

“Uh, excuse me.”

There was Steven Grant. Your eyes focused on the sarcophagus. Then, on his reflection. Beside yours.

“Steven,” Startled by the sudden appearance, the name slipped from your lips. An unknown warmth burnt inside his vessels. His name. What a luxury inside a place in which Steven Grant was invisible except to receive the same callous speech tumbling from Donna Kraft’s lips. “I read the silver tag during the tour. Sorry.”

“Yeah, yeah. Thank you,” Steven earnestly mumbled in an attempt to indirectly argue you were needlessly apologizing. “And I’m deeply sorry to interrupt, but we’re closing.”

You nodded. “By the way, thank you for the tour.”

“Yeah,” He awkwardly laughed. A puzzled expression rose to your features. “I, uh… I actually work on the gift shop.”

“Oh–”

“Yeah, Donna, my boss, the blonde woman, was not supposed to discover–”

“Scotty.”

Your attention was captured by the voice echoing around the nearly empty room. So was Steven’s. A security guard paced towards your direction, and you noticed he was, well, actually talking to the man beside you. The puzzled expression returned to your features, and your eyes wandered from the security guard to Steven.

“Steven, J.B., with a ‘V’.”

“Yeah,” He brazenly dismissed the correction to tap the digital clock attached to his wrist with the end of a black lantern.

“I believe that will be on me. I had a question about this piece.” You politely smiled to the security guard. “Sorry for the disturbance.”

J.B. suspiciously nodded, scrutinizing your figure from the top of your head to the tip of your shoes, and returned to the chair behind the large televisions playing innumerous live footages of diverse museum locations.

“Thank you,” Steven, again, awkwardly laughed. “I’m staying the night for escaping the gift shop. I certainly did not want to stay another one. I hope none of the exhibition pieces comes to life!”

“Yeah, no problem.” You faintly smiled at the repeated joke. Not because it wasn’t funny, but because it masked utter sadness. You were right. Steven seemed completely fulfilled spilling his excitement regarding Ancient Egypt to visitors, because he definitely wasn’t. Stay the night? For touring with visitors? He was strangely treated as a child who needed severe punishment for, uh, accidentally knocking crayons when drawing. Your eyes overflowed pity. “I’m sorry, Steven.”

And you were. You were sorry for him. You were sorry for the unfairness. You were sorry for the mistreatment. You were sorry for the sadness. You were sorry for the loneliness. You were sorry.

“Don’t, yeah? I don’t need your pity.”

And he was right. He was right. You looked at him in rueful regret and gave him a sheepish smile. “Sorry.”

“I-I-I did not mean to be rude, I–”

“I know, Steven.” You reassured him. He was not rude at all. He was right. He didn’t need your pity. Or anyone else’s. He needed a hand. He needed a friend. “I should leave, or else J.B. is arresting me for trespassing. Goodbye.”

For now.

PLEASE, CONSIDER REBLOGGING THIS AND/OR GIVING ME FEEDBACK, I WOULD APPRECIATE IT A LOT!

#steven grant #steven grant x reader #moon knight #marvel cinematic universe #thunder writes

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