#My little sister took this picture and she cannot keep the camera still enough to get a clear photo
It's dungaree sunday 🍓
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x of swords - george weasley
part one of three
Summary: Growing up as Harry’s neighbor, you always believed that you were completely regular. In an attempt to feel closer to Harry (your best friend) you begin to dabble in the art of divination and, in the process, you uncover magic that you didn’t know you had. (i hate doing summaries this does not sum it up but you get the jist)
Relationships: George Weasley x Reader, platonic!Harry Potter x Reader, platonic!OC x Reader, platonic!Sirius Black x Reader, platonic!Remus Lupin x Reader, platonic!Fred Weasley x Reader, platonic!Nymphadora Tonks x Reader, platonic!Molly Weasley x Reader, platonic!Hermoine Granger x Reader, Sirius Black x Remus Lupin
Warnings: Swearing, anxiety, fluff, angst, mentions of torture, mentions of death (let me know if I missed anything!)
Word count: 22.9k
so here it is 😏 i was going to wait until i was completely finished with this to post it but i didn’t wanna rush it and oh my god it’s already so long 😫 I’m moving to Edinburgh in 2 weeks so i won’t be able to write as i have so much to pack so i hope this keeps some of you happy for a while <3 obviously i put a lot of effort into this and spent a lot of time on it so i really hope yall like it and i will personally kiss everyone who comments. likes or reblogs <3
mastelist
Life on Privet Drive was definitely something- something being incredibly boring. Nothing even remotely exciting happened on the street and the company was, to put it simply, miserable.
You’d lived in 5 Privet Drive since birth which, unfortunately for you, meant that your family are extremely close with the Dursleys who live next door. The Dursleys are a family of bigoted, pig-headed bullies. Made up of Petunia, Vernon, Dudley and, in your opinion the only tolerable one, Harry.
From the age of five, Harry had been your only friend on the street and vice versa. Initially, the both of you had bonded over your dislike of Dudley but as the years rolled on Harry and yourself had become virtually inseparable.
It was certainly strange- how close your parents were with Petunia and Vernon. Your mother and father are actually quite lovely, they are the complete opposite of the Dursleys, they’re open minded, kind and extremely friendly. But, you supposed, their friendliness didn’t discriminate from person to person, even if said person forced their orphaned nephew to sleep in the cupboard underneath the stairs.
There was no denying that Harry had been miserable with the Dursleys, who were unfortunately his only remaining family and you supposed you should’ve been happy when your best friend finally got away from them after his 11th birthday.
You’d missed him for the entire school year and you only got a chance to ask where he’d actually gone off to when he’d arrived home for the summer. (You didn’t believe the story Vernon had spun about Harry attending a boarding school for juvenile trouble makers).
“It’s incredible, (Y/n), honestly! I wish you could be there too.” He’d told you when you finally saw him again, after he’d finished his first year in his mysterious boarding school.
“That’s great, Haz, but where exactly is it?” You wondered and Harry only gave you his signature grin.
“Scotland.”
With a heavy sigh you let the subject go, he was clearly happy wherever he was going to school so it didn’t matter where or what it was. As long as he was happy.
By the time his 12th birthday rolled around you’d found the perfect gift for him. You’d made your parents buy you a polaroid camera for him to take away to school, he’d told you so many amazing stories about his school, you wanted to see some of it for yourself so you figured a camera would be the best course of action.
The morning of his birthday, Harry was woken up by the sound of pebbles tapping against his barred up window. The boy looked out to see you waving at him, an excited smile on your face and a neatly wrapped present in your other hand. Harry couldn’t stop the smile that formed on his face as you beckoned him down with your hand. It was barely dawn but you knew better than to give a present for Harry to either his aunt or uncle because they’d only give it to Dudley, so it was best to get it to him before the rest of his supposed family woke up.
Hogwarts was amazing and Harry was over the moon to have discovered he was a wizard and make so many new friends, but he had missed you- his only friend in the muggle world. Your birthday was only a few weeks after his and he hoped that maybe you’d get a hogwarts letter of your own, obviously that hadn’t happened. Nonetheless he was happy to see you in the summer, he couldn’t shake the thought that Ron and Hermione would have loved to meet you though.
Slowly and quietly, Harry snook down the stairs and out the front door to meet you.
“Happy birthday, Haz!” You whisper-shouted excitedly, pulling the green-eyed boy into your house so he wouldn’t get caught outside when he wasn’t even allowed out of his bedroom.
Harry rolled his eyes at the nickname, “I hope you know that you’re still the only person who calls me that.”
“Good,” you said happily, closing the front door behind you. “Anyway, I got you something that you can bring away to school with you!” He rose an eyebrow at you as you pushed the carefully wrapped box into his hands, “Open it,” you instructed. And so he did.
It was very possibly the most expensive gift he’d ever gotten, you (or your parents) usually got Harry presents that couldn’t be stolen by Dudley. For example, your mother had taken to buying Harry his own clothes, seeing as your best friend was a lot taller and thinner than his horrid cousin.
You, on the other hand, would usually make him gifts with sentimental value, something Dudley had absolutely zero interest in. The camera though, you knew would be safe as Harry would be leaving for school again soon enough.
Harry stared dumbfounded at the cardboard box that held the rather large polaroid camera, judging by the image on the box it was a good quality thing, probably expensive. “This is… really nice, (Y/n).”
A bright smile found your lips as you rushed into an animated explanation about why you’d picked a camera as his birthday present this year.
“So you can take lots of pictures of you and your new friends in your new fancy private school and when you come back here you can show them to me!” Harry chuckled and nodded his head, hoping he’d be able to find time to take pictures like you wanted.
“I’ll take pictures of everything. Promise.” He told you, holding out his pinky with a cheeky grin. You linked your pinky with his and nodded gratefully.
“We should christen it,” Harry announced, tearing into the box and he quickly set the camera up before he pointed it at you expectantly. “Well, come on then. I’ve told my school friends all about you, they’re going to want to see what you look like too. So, smile-“ with a disbelieving laugh, you crossed your legs underneath yourself from where you were sitting on the floor across from Harry, and tucked your hair behind your ears before you looked directly at the lense of the camera and gave it the brightest smile you could muster. The camera flashed and the picture slowly revealed itself, it seemed to be good enough to satisfy Harry’s twelve year old self.
He’d shown the polaroid to Hermione first, the bushy haired girl had smiled softly as she held the polaroid gently, “She seems lovely, Harry.”
Harry had nodded his head in agreement, you were lovely. He just hoped Dudley wasn’t terrorising you too much while he was away. His cousin always had somewhat of a crush on you, which Harry knew was ridiculous considering you all but loathed Dudley.
True to his word, Harry had taken plenty of pictures, many were of (non-magic) areas of the Hogwarts campus, many were of his friends; Ron, Hermione, Fred and George Weasley (who had an absolute field day with the muggle contraption), one or two of Hagrid and he even managed to capture a nice one of the owlery. Although you were one of his best friends, sometimes thinking about you while he was in Hogwarts brought his mood down. It reminded him of how much he wished you could’ve shared in his adventures and not to mention how much he missed you, you could hardly send him an owl, what with being a muggle and all, so he only got to spend time with you during the summer months.
Things had changed during his third year, though. When he received a rather shocking, albeit very welcome, letter.
Dear Harry,
I’d like to start by saying: hi, how are you? How’s school? Good? Great. Now that that’s out of the way… when you come home I’m going to KILL you!!! I cannot believe you didn’t tell me you are a wizard! Well, I understand why you didn’t but anyway.
You’re probably wondering how I found all of this out. Long story short, I saw Vernon’s sister floating around your sitting room and then I saw you running out swinging a wand around. I put two and two together. You would not believe how long it took me to figure out how to get in contact with you. I practically had to beg Dudley to tell me how to get this package to you, he eventually told me how in exchange for a kiss on the cheek. It was as horrifying as it sounds, the things I do for you, Haz, honestly. Don’t worry though, you can make it up to me over the summer.
I bought an owl by the way. I’m guessing she found you okay? Look after her for a little while before sending her back will you? She’s just a baby so she can’t do too much long distance travel just yet.The lady I got her from is a witch, she was very kind and knew exactly what I was looking to use an owl for. Her name is Astra (the owl’s not the lady’s)! Isn’t she lovely?
Moving on from that, I felt bad forcing you to send me pictures and getting nothing in return so I have decided to very kindly grace you with my exhilaratingly normal life. You will also find I sent you some of those sweets you like.
Tell Ron and Hermione that I said hi! Oh and Fred and George too! Get into lots of trouble for me ;) I suppose I better stop rambling now, sorry about that I’m just excited (and i might be missing you… just a tiny bit!)
Write back to me soon, if you can! Tell Astra I’m proud of her for making her first delivery! (give her plenty of treats for me yeah?)
I’ll let you get back to your wizardy stuff now, Haz.
Lots of love,
(Y/n) xoxo
P.s. your magical secret is safe with me. promise.
Harry looked up from your letter with a dazed smile, your new little owl was looking at him expectantly, no doubt awaiting her treat, “Good job, Astra. Your owner says she’s very proud of you,” he informed her, handing her a piece of bacon from his breakfast plate and laughed when she hooted happily.
Astra is a gorgeous little tawny, she has brown and white feathers that were fluffy to the touch. Harry could already tell she was well suited to you though, she was friendly as anything with the most curious eyes he’d ever seen.
“Whose it from?” Ron grunted from beside him, munching happily on his huge breakfast.
Harry let out a short laugh, digging into the envelope to pull out the photos and sweets you’d sent, “(Y/n).”
“I thought she didn’t know about you?” Hermione asked from beside Ron, Harry only shrugged.
“She figured it out. She’s quite clever, I think you’d like her Hermione. She says hi by the way.” He answered somewhat distantly, distracted by the pictures you’d sent, all of which had writing on the backs. He paused on one photo, he guessed one of your parents had taken it, you were stood in the woods, surrounded by trees with a huge smile on your face, your eyes were closed and your nose was scrunched up as a very tiny Astra seemed to be nibbling at your ear affectionately.
“I’m sure we’d get along, I admire her determination, really. And she even bought an owl?” The girl questioned, reaching over and petting Astra gently.
Harry’s smile was gentle as Astra hopped onto his shoulder, “Yeah, suppose she did.”
“Alright! I’m gonna say it!” George Weasley exclaimed, plucking the photo of you from Harry’s grasp, he held it between himself and Fred, the older twin had somehow swiped the letter you’d written. “Harry’s girlfriend back home is quite cute, don’t you think, Freddie?” Fred nodded resolutely, pushing the letter into George’s face as he pointed towards a specific line.
“I have to agree and look, Georgie, she told Harry to tell us that she says hi! Ugh, such a darling,” Fred fake swooned and Harry felt his face heat up while George made kissy faces.
“She’s not my girlfriend.” Yeah, you had opened Harry up to a whole new world of teasing yet somehow he didn’t mind.
“Oi, do you think she’d like some of our Weasley products?” George asked genuinely, wiggling his eyebrows. Harry shuddered at the thought of you getting a hold of anything that Fred and George had created, because yes, you would like some magical pranking products. You had quite a talent for mischief, only in Harry’s worst nightmares would the Weasley twins ever get their hands on you.
Harry shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly, “Dunno.”
“She single?” Fred asked jokingly and Harry scrunched his face up. He supposed you were single, though, he’d never really pictured you with anyone. He felt quite protective over you, but he supposed he'd like to see you happy with someone he approved of- or alternatively; anyone but Dudley.
“Think so,” Harry told him with another shrug before a cheeky grin spread across his lips, as he focused his attention on the twins who were nudging each other in mock victory, “Why? Should I write home and tell her the esteemed Weasley twins have a crush on her?”
George was the first the speak, he nodded, completely serious and Harry found himself worrying that perhaps one of the Weasley twins would get his hands on you.
“Yes. Absolutely,” Fred snorted and said no more, allowing his younger twin to continue the girl based antics seeing as Fred’s actual crush, Angelina, had started to glare. “In fact, give her my name. Tell her to write to me next time, eh?”
Harry’s eyes widened, oh Merlin, George was serious.
“Oh sod off, would you? The poor girl is a muggle, she’d throw herself off the astronomy tower if she got stuck with either of you prats.” Ron said through a laugh, none of them could deny it was quite funny, even Hermione had to bite back a smile at the chaos your simple letter had caused.
Around two weeks had passed until Astra returned to you, two letters attached to her leg this time.
You greeted her with a warm smile as she landed on the inside of you window, “Welcome home, pretty lady! Did you have a nice trip?” You cooed, patting her feathers and giggling when she nuzzled her head against your fingers. Having a magical owl as a pet was weird, but still, you seemed to be managing her okay.
Astra hooted happily, as if informing you that she did, in fact, have a nice trip. “That’s good! Let me take these letters off and you can have a well deserved rest, I’ve made a nice nest up for you,” you rambled softly as you untied the string that was holding the letters to her leg.
Astra hooted, hopping onto your arm and allowing you to place her on the plush pile of pillows and blankets which she immediately made herself comfortable upon, once again hooting in content when you placed a handful of treats in front of her.
You assumed that both letters were from Harry until you noticed the messy handwriting that covered one of the envelopes, handwriting that definitely didn’t belong to Harry. Besides, never, even in the furthest reaches of your imagination, would your best friend ever refer to you as; “Harry’s Pretty Neighbour”. You set that one to the side for the time being and focused on the letter you knew to actually be from Harry.
Dear (Y/n),
Hi. Sorry I didn’t tell you I was a wizard. If it makes you feel better I was actually planning on telling you this summer, but thank you for saving me from that conversation. I miss you too (only a tad). I hope you’re having a good school year so far, it’s been pretty chaotic here but I promise I’ll tell you every single tiny detail when we see each other at the end of May!
Did Astra get home okay? She’s a really lovely owl, she took quite a liking to George who (terrifyingly) has taken quite a liking to you. He’s been badgering me all week for “permission” to write to you, in his words, “just to say hello.” I think you’d actually get along but he and the rest of his family are very magic oriented, I’d be surprised if he didn’t scare you away… the pair of you together would be my worst nightmare. Don’t even get me started on how I’d feel if Fred was in the mix too. I’m tired just thinking about it.
Thank you for the sweets they were lovely, I put a chocolate frog in the envelope for you, it’s a really popular sweet in the wizarding world- don’t freak out when it hops, it’s just a charm the frog isn’t really alive.
I enjoyed the pictures too, I put a few in this letter for you too, the polaroid is running out of film but it should be enough to keep me going until the end of term.
Write to me again soon, I like hearing from you.
Take care,
Harry.
P.S. I’m really sorry you had to kiss Dudley, I’ll do something to make it up to you. Promise.
P.P.S. If George OR Fred manage to write to you PLEASE don’t eat anything they give you.
With a laugh you set the letter down beside you. Curiously, you reached a hand into the ivory envelope and pulled out the peculiarly shaped chocolate box as well as the polaroids. You viewed the photos with a fond smile, Harry always looked so happy, even with whatever chaos was happening around him. Wizard school definitely made your best friend the happiest he’d ever been.
Opening the next letter, which you now guessed judging by Harry’s letter, came from George Weasley, Harry’s friend Ron’s older brother. That was all you knew about him. You let out a gasp once you opened the seal, a small show of tiny fireworks shot out, exploding in balls of reds and oranges across your bedroom before they disappeared as if they’d never been there in the first place.
Slightly frazzled, yet amazed, you cautiously plucked the letter from the envelope and began reading.
Hello, Harry’s Pretty Neighbour.
I hope you enjoyed the show, hopefully it didn’t startle you too much… I’m not exactly sure what muggles are used to… if it did scare you I’m sorry.
Anyway, just wanted to say hi. Promised Harry I wouldn’t spook you, he’s quite protective of you, you know. It’s very sweet.
I don’t blame him, though. If I had a friend as pretty as you I’d be protective too ;)
Don’t break my heart, write back?
Yours truly,
George Weasley x
And that had been the start of it. Two years had passed since you’d discovered the wizarding world and it seemed as though things had simultaneously gotten worse and better. As it turns out, your lifelong best friend was some sort of prophetic hero in the wizard community and on top of that it seemed that there was a war brewing that he would be expected to lead.
Of course, you were completely useless as you don’t possess the ability to perform magic which also means you're at risk of being hate crimed by some classist, wizard, blood supremacists? You weren’t sure. But Harry was worried.
You’d been writing back and forth to a few of Harry’s Hogwarts friends (your friends now too) for a long while now, you’d even gotten a chance to finally meet them when you’d gone with the Dursleys to collect Harry from King’s Cross Station.
You got along best with Hermione seeing as she was raised similarly to yourself and Harry. However, of all of Harry’s school mates, you liked George the most. Everyone could have predicted it really, you’d been writing to each other constantly and the second you’d clapped eyes on each other in the flesh he’d broken out in a run to crush you in a hug. Harry had groaned at the sight of the pair of you, smiling widely at each other, seeming to slot together perfectly. He had to laugh about it now though, if things went well with Ginny he supposed you’d probably end up being his sister-in-law, assuming his predictions of George falling completely in love with you were correct (they were, he knew).
All air of laughter or wizard/muggle romances was gone at the moment however. You and Harry sat alongside each other, your hand holding his loosely between the swings you were sat on, he’d be going into his 5th year at Hogwarts soon, he’d yet to recover from the last. He’d made a friend only for that friend to be killed right in front of him. He’d almost been murdered himself for God’s sake.
“If you don’t feel safe, Haz… maybe, I don’t know? Don’t go back?” You suggested weakly, knowing he’d never do such a thing. As you expected, Harry shook his head and looked at you solemnly.
“Can’t. Not now that he’s back.” With a sigh you squeezed his hand.
“They should be paying you for this, you know,” Harry chuckled then, squeezing your hand in return.
“I’m doing this for you too. To keep you safe.” He admitted and you sighed miserably.
“I wish I could be of more help.” Harry scoffed, his green eyes shining with pure disbelief as he stared at you.
“More help? (Y/n) you must be joking…” he trailed off as you shook your head, you weren’t joking, you hated that you couldn’t help Harry through this, for once you knew there was nothing you could do to improve the situation in any way that would make an impact, “Oi. Look at me,” Harry demanded, no trace of the usual awkward sarcasm to be heard when he spoke.
You let your eyes meet his again and watched how they seemed to soften when he took in how utterly defenceless you looked, “If it hadn’t been for you, the first ten years of my life would’ve been an even worse hell than they already were. You were the only good thing and you’re still the only good thing about being back in this place.”
He watched sadly as your eyes fell to the floor again, “Besides, the sooner we get this mess with Voldemort sorted out, the sooner you and George Weasley can navigate the whole muggle/wizard romance thing.”
At his statement you barked out a laugh and Harry let himself smile too, “Shut up, Potter. S’not like that.”
Harry laughed then too, “Oh it is so like that, (N/n).”
“It so isn’t.” You grumbled, but your little smile confirmed to Harry that it absolutely was like that.
“Okay. Fine, please then do tell, what is going on between you and the infamous George Weasley?” Harry challenged, revelling in the way your cheeks burned with embarrassment. He let out a low chuckle when you shrugged shyly and kicked the stones beneath your feet.
“I don’t know… We write to each other a lot, and I think he’s really interesting and funny and sweet and of course I think he’s fit. But, I don’t know,” you bit your lip as Harry listened to you, he found it quite endearing. “I just don’t see how it would work. I like him, yeah, but…” Harry scoffed again as you trailed off. He hated seeing you feeling so insecure, Harry was clueless about a lot of things, but he knew exactly how much his best friend was worth- more than all the gold in Gringott’s.
“Ok as your best mate, and as someone who is very close with the Weasley family, I’m telling you that he’s mad about you. All he ever does is ask me about you, Fred is completely sick of him. He’s even told Molly about you, which is truly a commitment believe me,” Harry started, growing more content with the more bashful you became, “And didn’t he write to you just before the Yule Ball to tell you that he was going with Katie Bell as a friend but he wanted to tell you just incase you heard it from someone else and he didn’t want you to get the wrong idea?” Finally, you were back to fighting a smile.
“Yeah he did.”
“Well there you go. But seriously he hasn’t dated or even so much as looked at anyone else since he met you. Which I’ll be honest is super annoying for me but you deserve someone who thinks you hung the stars in the sky.”
A mock gasp left your lips and you released his hand to place it over your chest in faux hurt, “You mean to tell me you don’t think I hung the stars in the sky? I’m hurt, Harry. I think I’ll have to rat you out to Mrs. Weasley.”
Harry laughed but the lighthearted atmosphere didn’t last long before Dudley had shown up with his little gang of bullies, all of whom made fun of Harry’s nightmares.
It was then things had taken a turn for the worst, the sky turned black and storm clouds completely blocked out the previously scorching sun. You looked to Harry for answers but he seemed to be seeing something that you couldn’t, all you knew was that it had become unbearably cold, a feeling of misery making a home in your bones as Harry rushed to pull you to your feet.
“Run! Come on!” He shouted, clutching your hand tightly in his and sprinting through the neighbourhood until you, Harry and Dudley found yourselves struggling to catch a breath in a graffiti covered tunnel.
A terrified yelp left your throat as what you’d been running from revealed itself to you.
Several floating, cloaked shadowy figures swooped into the tunnel on both sides, their hands decaying and boney, their presence leaving you with the feeling that you’d never know positively ever again.
Harry had effectively used his body to cage you against the wall of the tunnel, his back pressed firmly against your chest, your own back pressed to the cold concrete wall, his wand was at the ready as the creatures approached rapidly.
“Don’t look at them.” Harry instructed, protecting you first as you watched in horror as one of the creatures seemed to be ripping Dudley’s essence straight out of his body.
It only took Harry a few painfully long seconds to take care of the creature in front of the pair of you, you’d wished you’d taken his advice and buried your head in his shoulder so you wouldn’t see the monstrous creatures before you, yet, you couldn’t seem to tear your eyes away from Dudley.
The rest happened in a blur, Harry had yet to let go of your hand as it (and your entire body) shook violently. Demontors broke even the strongest of wizards, Harry knew that as a muggle who’d never seen a magical creature, other than an owl, you’d react negatively.
“If it makes you feel any better, I used to faint every time I saw a dementor.” You nodded numbly, giving Dudley a side glance of concern while he mumbled incoherently to himself.
“Is he alright?” You questioned meekly, voice shaking. You were still freezing and the all too familiar feeling of uselessness didn’t do anything to help you regain your inner warmth.
Harry nodded, “He will be.”
“The ministry will be after my head for using magic outside of school,” he told you after a few minutes, squeezing your hand lightly for the umpteenth time, “So I’m gonna have to go away for a while. Probably tonight. Eat some chocolate, it should stop the shaking.” He told you, you hadn’t even noticed you’d reached Privet Drive.
“And they won’t-“ your breath got caught in your throat and your eyes filled with fear, “The dementors. They won’t come back, will they?”
Harry shook his head, “No. But come on, we should get you inside before the ministry shows up and tries to obliviate you.” His final words came out as more of a mumble than an actual sentence as he passed a bumbling Dudley over to Petunia and Vernon before steering you down your own driveway.
“You better not have broken her too, boy!” You vaguely registered Vernon’s voice shouting in your and Harry’s direction.
Your parents were away on holiday at the moment, in Spain. They’d wanted you to come but you hadn’t wanted to miss Harry’s visit, so when you shakily managed to open the door the house was completely dark, you weren’t sure at what point night had fallen.
Harry closed the door behind himself and made his way into your kitchen, the boy rifled through your sweet press before his hand finally settled on what he was looking for. A triumphant sort of yell left his lips as he pulled a bar of chocolate out of the cupboard.
While Harry tossed the bar onto the counter and busied himself with boiling the kettle, you stood in the hallway still, completely rigid.
“Come on, (Y/n). Sit down.” He urged gently, not turning around. Wordlessly, you fully entered the kitchen and slid into a chair facing Harry.
“Don’t you have better things to be doing than making me tea?” You wondered, setting your hands on the table and fidgeting with your icy fingers. Obviously, you appreciated Harry’s fussing but with the way he was talking about the ministry earlier you were sure he had more important things to worry about.
Harry only faced you once he was finished making your tea. He carried the hot cup and the previously discarded bar of chocolate over to you, he placed them both on the table before giving you a hard look, “I’m looking after you first. I’ll deal with everything else later.”
“I used to be the one who took care of you.” You said through a sigh, taking a sip of the hot tea and slumping against your seat as you began to heat up on the inside again.
Harry let out a low chuckle, “Oh how the tables have turned.”
“I liked it better the other way.” You complained, munching on a square of chocolate.
“Trust me, so did I,” Harry groaned, standing up and placing a comforting hand on your shoulder, “Don’t worry though, (N/n). Have a sneaking feeling that you’ll be looking after me again soon enough.”
You patted the hand he had clamped on your shoulder in appreciation, “Thank you, though, for looking after me.”
“Course. I better go. I don’t want you getting roped into anything else tonight,” he said with a sad smile and you nodded in understanding, “We probably won’t see each other for a while but I’ll write. Is Astra back from Cecilia's yet?” Celillia is the witch you’d gotten Astra from in the first place, the pair of you had kept in touch and she’d recently offered to try and teach you some basic divination skills, she claimed that, “Being a wizard isn’t exactly a requirement” and you desperately needed something, anything, to make you feel more connected to your friends in the wizarding world. You supposed you’d need to plan a trip to her cottage soon, after tonight you definitely needed some of her wisdom.
“No, not yet. She flew straight there from the burrow so I suppose she’s probably resting,” you informed him distantly, still clutching his hand, “You’ll be careful, won’t you?”
Harry squeezed your shoulder and let out a deep breath, “I’ll try my best. Promise,” with that he lifted his hand from your shoulder and extended his pinky to you, you gladly linked it with your own. Harry noted, very gratefully, that the warmth had now returned to your hands and you’d stopped shaking so violently.
“Send me a letter once Astra gets back, alright? I’ll keep you updated on what’s going on over on my side.” You agreed before walking Harry to the door, hugging him tightly and watching as he approached the Dursley’s front door.
As predicted, Harry, George, Hermione and Cecillia had let you know that the wizarding world was crumbling fast. Admittedly you were worried about your wizard friends, but Cecillia had done a great job of keeping you distracted by keeping you buried under heaps of divination books, tarot cards and crystal guidebooks. As it turns out, though, you had quite the talent for making accurate detailed predictions.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were descended from a powerful seer,” she’d written to you in awe after you’d managed to predict exactly how a date of hers would go without missing a single detail.
Reading tarot cards quickly became one of your favourite hobbies to indulge in when you weren’t in school. You’d made the mistake of telling George about it in a recent letter, Harry already knew and he also knew that there was no point telling you that he didn’t have a heap of faith in divination. George however was having a field day with the new information.
The older boy teased you at every chance he got, but it was all in good fun as in every letter he sent, you’d find a page that he’d ripped out of his own divination book, the pages would be crinkled and have messy notes scribbled along the margins, with explanations over words that he knew you wouldn’t understand as a muggle. They were actually really helpful. Aside from all the teasing he found it quite endearing that you were trying to get familiar with some form of magic. Even if it was a form of magic wizards tended to ridicule.
He’d been quite worried about you, Harry told him about the dementors and how you’d been quite shaken up after your encounter with them. He’d written to you on a weekly basis, constantly checking in on you, making absolutely sure that no more dementors paid you a visit. He and Harry both kept you up to date with the constant and seemingly never ending rules being imposed upon them by their new headmaster, or headmistress; Delores Umbridge. George also disclosed to you all about his and Fred’s plan to leave Hogwarts and pursue their lifelong dream of opening a joke shop. You had nothing but faith in the twins, really. Your complete faith in them hadn’t stopped you from sending George a handful of crystals that you believed would help his and his shop’s success. He’d teased you relentlessly in each letter since he’d received your package containing citrine, tiger’s eye, amazonite, aventurine and smokey quartz. What he hadn’t mentioned since receiving your little gifts, is that he’d been carrying the five crystals around in their little orange mesh drawstring bag in his pocket everywhere he went. He had to give credit where credit is due and, to be fair to you and your holistic ways, he hadn’t run into any serious obstacles since he started carrying the gems around.
November through June had brought forth a plethora of unfortunate events. You were practically swimming in school work which left you with no time to write to Harry, or even practice tarot. As well as that, you’d been having nightmares, although Cecillia had warned that these dreams could hold some sort of prophesies within them, you highly doubted that though, you weren’t a wizard, only a muggle. Whether prophetic or not, the nightmares plagued you, keeping you up at night or waking you at all hours of the morning.
On one particular morning, you’d awoken with a gasp. Sweat coated your face, soaked your pillow cases and caused your legs to stick to your blankets in a way not even the June heat could've caused. Your heart pounded against your ribcage, tears welled in your eyes, and your body shook as violently as it had the night you’d come face to face with the dementors of Azkaban. The unadulterated fear coursing through your bloodstream suggested that perhaps this bad dream had been something more than simply that.
As fast as you could manage in your panicked state, you dragged your body out of bed and stumbled towards your light switch, flicking it on before haphazardly ripping a sheet out of the refill pad on your desk, grabbing a pen and beginning to scribble down the dream that you could only describe as a warning.
Your laboured breaths stirred Astra from her slumber, the tawny hooted tiredly, hopping out of her cage and fluttering over to your shoulder, settling there as you wrote.
Harry,
I hope this letter reaches you in time. I might sound completely mad but something terrible may be about to happen. I’ve been having these horrific dreams over the last few months, I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to worry but Cecillia suspects they’re premonitions and I’m terrified she may be right. I’ve just woken up, it’s around 2am and if I’m lucky, Astra should get this letter to you before 6am…
Onto the dream, you were there and you were asleep, I was standing by your bed, it was a four-poster sort of thing, the room was decorated in mostly red and gold. You woke up panicked, you looked completely overwhelmed and you began shouting about your Godfather Sirius, about how he was in trouble… From then on I watched the day play out. You, Hermoine, Ron, Ginny, a boy with brown hair I’ve never met, I think you called him Neville in my dream, and a blonde girl- Luna I think you called her, you all went to the ministry to rescue Sirius and find some kind of prophecy. Harry you have to listen to me, you mustn’t go, it’s a trick, Voldemort planted it in your head and if you go you’ll only put Sirius in harm’s way. But, knowing you, you’re gonna go anyway… so here’s my advice: keep your eyes open for the witch Bellatrix. Keep Sirius away from the veil and please please please, be careful.
I’m heading to Cecillia’s cottage for the day and maybe even the next couple of days, send Astra there when you find time to write back.
I hope I’m wrong but if I’m not; good luck, Harry. I love you and if you don’t look after yourself the dark lord will be the least of your worries.
Lots of love,
Y/n.
Folding up the letter and placing it in a stray envelope, you addressed it and gently tied it to your loyal owl’s leg. “I’m gonna need you to go as fast as you can to get this to Harry, okay Astra?” She hooted with what you guessed to be determination before she set off, out into the night. Thankfully for you, now that your owl was occupied, you knew Cecillia owned a telephone so you’d have no problems contacting her. While writing to Harry, you’d left out a few details about the dream. You conveniently forget to mention that you’d watched his only remaining family member killed at the hand’s of Bellatrix, it had looked so terrifyingly real that your mind couldn’t have possibly conjured it up all by itself. You also failed to mention hearing Harry’s agonising scream as Sirius fell, the noise was nearly deafening. Seeing Sirius, a man you’d only seen in pictures, die and watching your best friend mourn for him was, well, traumatising. There was no way you’d get a wink of sleep for the remainder of the night, so, you quietly tiptoed downstairs and made a call.
The line rang three times before Cecillia’s voice sounded, chirpy as ever despite the late hour, “Hello?”
“Sorry to call so late,” was all you managed, your voice although shaky was immediately identified by the much older witch.
You could nearly see the soft smile on her youthful face as she spoke, “Ah, Y/n my darling, no worries at all! How is my favourite student doing at half two in the morning?”
“Not well, I’ve had another vision. I think you might’ve been right about the dreams being prophetic,” you told her, willing your voice not to crack as the image of your bad dreams crept into your mind once again.
Cecillia let out a gentle hum, “Shall I apparate over? You don’t sound in the highest of spirits, darling.”
“Yes please,” you answered simply and within seconds Cecillia was standing before you, a worried furrow in her brow and her ashy brown hair disheveled from apparating to you in such a hurry. How could she not? You were, after all, her protégé.
“Oh, darling. You look terribly shaken up, come, come, let’s get you some water,” she fretted, guiding you to your kitchen, magically flicking on the light with her wand and filling up a glass of water, with a few flicks of her wrist the glass had floated over to your usual seat at the table, meanwhile Cecillia had stirred you into the wooden chair adjacent the glass.
Wordlessly, the witch peeled your damp hair away from your face and secured it back with a crocodile clip shaped like a huge golden bumble bee, it’s wings adorned with glittering gems. The bee sat comfortably in your hair as Cecillia finally sat down beside you, she made herself comfortable on the kitchen chair, crossing one leg over the other, resting her elbow on the table and using it to prop her cheek up. Her wide green eyes stared at you sympathetically, watching intently as you sipped your water.
“I’m assuming your loyal familiar is sleeping soundly?” She wondered, referring to Astra. You shook your head, simultaneously swallowing a gulp of water before responding verbally.
“I sent her with a letter to Harry, it was more of a warning really,” Cecillia nodded her head, signalling you to go on, “I dreamt of Harry and his friends going to the Ministry of Magic to rescue Sirius Black, but it was a trap. When they got there they were ambushed by dark wizards and Sirius well he…” you trailed off, eyes growing distant and unfocused when the sight of the man being murdered reentered your mind’s eye. A gentle hand on your shoulder pulled you back to the present.
“This one was far worse than the others then?”
You nodded, “It didn’t feel like a dream, cecillia. It was like I was actually standing there but I couldn’t do anything to help though… as per usual,” you muttered bitterly, receiving a harsh squeeze to your shoulder in response.
Cecillia fixed you with a maternal glare, “None of that! You potentially saved a life tonight. And, as I effortlessly predicted since the moment I met you, you’ve got the magical gift of sight,” her hard look melted into something more forgiving as she spoke, “You’re much more than just a muggle. You may have been an extremely late bloomer, but, you’re a witch and a seer at that. A peculiar case indeed, although in the wizarding world stranger things have happened,” the old witch told you proudly, eyes shining with glee as your own filled with confusion.
“How do we know the dream will even come true?” You questioned.
Cecillia simply shrugged and offered you a cheeky grin, “I trust your feelings, darling.”
True to your initial feeling, you hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep, you knew you wouldn’t be able to rest until you found out whether or not your dream had come to fruition. Cecillia remained by your side throughout the night, eventually the sun had risen and your parents descended down the stairs, neither of them were surprised to see Cecillia sitting at the kitchen table. They saw her as an odd woman, very kind and perfectly lovely, but odd. You’d told them that she owned an animal sanctuary and that you’d been volunteering with her, it wasn’t too far fetched really, she had given you an owl after all, not to mention the amount of cats that hung around her cottage.
She explained to your parents that she needed your help at ‘the sanctuary’ for the next few days and that she’d drop you home once the work was finished. It hadn’t been a problem, so you traveled to Cecillia’s cottage after getting dressed and packing an overnight bag (full to the brim with tarot decks and only some clothes).
It was nearly 8 in the evening when Cecillia sauntered into her living room, where you were sitting, sporting a knowing grin, she held a piece of parchment in one hand and an unopened envelope in the other.
Jovially, she plopped herself down beside you, obviously doing her very best to contain a huge grin from forming on her face. Wordlessly, she placed the envelope on your lap with a mere, “For you.”
On the envelope you could tell by the handwriting that it had come from Harry. This was definitely a make or break moment for you. The contents of this letter would either confirm that you did in fact have magic, or, they would be responsible for causing you to experience a seismic amount of embarrassment. Swallowing the lump in your throat you tore the envelope open, freeing the letter and daring to read what was inside.
Dear Y/n,
Your dream was right. And that advice you gave about keeping an eye on Sirius? It saved his life. I suppose I’m mostly writing to say thank you. I’ve got some updates for you too: firstly, it’s finally been confirmed that Voldemort is back so my name is cleared. Secondly, it turns out that Remus and Cecillia are old friends, she contacted him earlier today about your vision and he and Sirius haven’t shut up about how impressive it is. I have a feeling you might be hearing from them soon, The Order now more than ever is in need of a secret weapon and genuine seers are hard to come by. I hate to involve you in this, it’ll probably be dangerous and you know I don’t want to see you hurt, or worse. But having said that, I’m glad we’re in this together now.
Astra got here in good time, by the way, she landed on my window just after I woke up from my vision of Sirius, it was actually quite freaky. I’m taking good care of her so don’t worry, she should be back to you at some point tomorrow.
Hermoine and Ron say hi too. I’m sure you’ll be hearing from George soon, seeing as he and Fred are in the Order… On that note I better get going.
Thank you again for the warning.
See you soon,
Love, Harry.
A bemused smile spread across your lips as you scanned the page, thankful to have finally made a significant difference in Harry’s life. Cecillia was grinning like a cheshire cat beside you, pride shimmering in her emerald eyes. She bumped her arm against yours playfully when you let the letter fall to your lap, “An old friend of mine will be stopping by in a short while. It seems he’d like to get you trained up in some defence against the dark arts.” She told you, still grinning.
“Defence against the dark arts?” You wondered out loud, you were sure you’d heard Harry mention those words to you before, however, the memories were fuzzy.
“Magic to keep you safe from darker magic, the likes of which the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters rely,” she explained darkly. Just then, a loud bang erupted from her open stone fireplace, a bubble of green dissipated as two men stepped less than gracefully onto Cecillia’s faux-fur rug. You recognised them both from your vision. They were Sirius Black and, if you were to take an educated guess, Remus Lupin.
Cecillia wasted no time before she was giddily jumping from her seat to greet the pair who had just appeared in her sitting room.
“Remus! Oh, how wonderful to see you!” She all but squealed, pulling the tall man into a hug and ruffling his already messy hair.
He reciprocated the hug with a gentle chuckle, “It’s nice to see you again, Cece. It’s been far too long,” he pulled away and the pair of them shared a fond smile before simultaneously looking to Sirius. “I trust you remember Sirius?” Lupin asked, almost rhetorically.
Sirius let out a booming laugh at that, “She could never forget me, now could you, Cece?” Cecillia rolled her eyes, and with a look of endearment nearly tackled Sirius into an embrace.
Seeing the woman who was essentially your magical mentor so overjoyed was lovely, Cecillia was jolly at the best of times but you’d never seen her quite like this. Her happiness added to your sense of helpfulness, Sirius Black was obviously important to more than just Harry, if the smile on the free-spirited witches face was anything to go by. Although you were ecstatic for the three witches and wizards before you, you couldn’t help but feel like you were imposing on an intimate reunion.
Awkwardly you cleared your throat, successfully bringing the trio’s attention onto you as you stood by the sofa, smiling unsurely. If it was even possible, all three of their smiles broadened when their gazes landed on you.
“Am I right in assuming that this is my guardian angel?” Sirius asked, separating from Cecillia.
Cecillia nodded, filled with pride, “And isn’t she just the loveliest guardian angel you’ve ever seen?” She gushed, half seriously.
You offered Sirius a bashful smile, along with a nod of greeting, “I’m glad to see you’re alright,” you told him.
His grin stayed fixed in place but he raised a single eyebrow in confusion, “Glad? And yet you’ve never met me before now…” his tone was laced with inquisition, as if he wanted to figure out what ulterior motive you could possibly have for caring about a stranger you’d only ever seen in a dream.
It didn’t take a seer or a psychic to see what Sirius was after, so you simply answered him truthfully, “No, we’ve never met, but you’re still a person, I watched that woman kill you, it was horrible, nobody deserves that. As well as that; I know how much you mean to Harry and what sort of best friend would I be if I didn’t try to help him keep his last family member safe?” Sirius nodded approvingly at your reply, looking between Remus and Cecillia.
“She remind you of anyone?” The black haired man asked in a low chuckle, Remus snickered and Cecillia bit back a grin.
The witch made her way back to your side and wrapped an arm around your shoulder, jostling you ever so slightly when she noticed your vaguely worried expression, “Don’t worry, darling, you just remind us of one of our most treasured school friends, I promise I will tell you all about it later. But for now, I believe Sirius was about to thank you for saving his life?” She prompted, waiting expectantly.
Sirius cleared his throat and straightened his posture before outstretching his arm, offering you his hand which you took firmly in your own. His voice was steady, strong and genuine when he spoke, “I am truly thankful for what you did for not only me but Harry today. I’m extremely proud of my godson for aligning himself with such a strong, powerful and wonderfully loyal young lady.”
“How sweet,” Cecillia cooed, before guiding you to the kitchen, “Come now, boys, kettles on- we have a lot to discuss!” She called over her shoulder.
There certainly had been a lot to discuss. The Order of the Phoenix thought having a seer at their disposal would be extremely beneficial in the upcoming war, the issue was; you are not yet of age and some members of the group didn’t wish to involve a child in their battle. Sirius, Remus and Cecillia made it abundantly clear that if you desired to join the Order, you were more than welcome but you would be welcomed under certain conditions. Those conditions being that your membership be kept under wraps and not disclosed to any muggles, meaning your parents.
“To keep them safe and to give you an escape route if things get too messy, even with the level of magic you’ll have gained by the time the war is in full swing, as a muggle born you’ll most likely need to flee quickly,” Remus explained, though it didn’t make much sense.
“Wouldn’t it be easier to run if my parents knew what we were running from? They’re open minded people, I’m sure they’d understand,” you attempted to reason, the trio but exchanged yet another loaded look with each other.
Cecillia placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, “We have a contingency plan in place, darling. Nothing you need to worry about for right now,” she reassured, easing your nerves a tad. “You trust me don’t you?” She followed up, her tone slightly stonier, more serious. You nodded your head certainly in response, there was no doubt about it; you trusted the witch with your life. “Then,” she began again, a somewhat chastising look on her face, “Trust that I will not allow a single hair on your head to be harmed.” This rule also extended to wizards not in the Order, which meant that when in the magical world, you were to air on the side of extreme caution.
Relating to that, another condition was that, at all times in the magical world, you were to be accompanied by an of age member of the Order. According to Sirius, who your were growing to like more by the second, he was going to arrange for a member of the Order to bring you to Diagon Alley in the morning to get you a wand. The prospect of having a wand of your own was terribly exciting, once again though, you found yourself wondering if you had it in you to properly wield one, or wield one at all for that matter. You were too exhausted to fret for too long, so the thoughts about magic levels and your own capabilities were only fleeting. Once all of the serious chat dissipated into friendly chatter, you managed to slip away from the table at which you were all sat. Making your way back to the sitting room, you tucked yourself into the corner seat of Cecillia’s old and very comfortable sofa, pulled your knees against your chest, wrapped your arms around them and rested your cheek against your knee. Slowly and deeply, you began to breathe in and out, fiddling with the amazonite bracelet that adorned your wrist in order to quell your ever growing anxiety. For a few sweet minutes you indulged in the calm silence, meditating peacefully in your comfy seat until a soft knock sounded from the doorway. When your eyes fluttered open they were met with the image of Sirius Black, leaning casually against the frame of the door, a hand plunged deep into his trouser pocket and another flipping a stray tarot card between his fingers. His eyes were focused on yours as he spoke, “I hope I’m not interrupting.”
You shook your head and patted the seat beside you, “‘Course not, come sit.”
The man chuckled but obliged, settling in the spot beside you and offering you the card he’d previously been fiddling with.
“The ten of swords,” you identified easily, “I assume you’ve been feeling quite overwhelmed if this card found its way to you.”
Sirius hummed, “CeCe tells me that you’ve a penchant for card reading. I was rubbish at divination back at Hogwarts, only took it because I thought it’d be easy but I could never get my head around it,” he reminisced, an airy laugh slipping from his lips.
“If you don’t mind me asking, who were you all talking about earlier when you asked if I reminded Cecilia and Remus of anyone?” He let out a deep sigh before fixing you with a soft smile.
“An old school friend of ours, she was more than a friend to me, but that’s a story for another time,” he started, staring out into the empty space before him a melancholy grin on his lips, “She was fiercely loyal to her friends, if she wanted to help there was absolutely nothing that would stop her from doing so. I know I don’t know you very well, but from what I heard today and the way in which you’ve been described to me by Harry; I can see her in you,” he finished, bumping his shoulder with yours and forcing a happy smile onto your lips which mirrored Sirius’.
“What’s her name?” You asked.
“Her name was Marlene,” Sirius answered.
Your heart dropped with his use of past tense, “Was?”
Sirius bowed his head slightly and began to twist the rings that adorned his slender fingers, “She was killed during the first war,” he told you, making eye contact once again, a grave expression on his face as he continued, “I saw your apprehension earlier when we brought up the topic of secrecy, but you must understand that during the first war we lost so many who were dear to us, keeping you in our back pocket will ensure that you aren’t harmed in the face of this war, if any dark wizards hear so much of a whisper of a muggleborn seer they will stop at nothing to eliminate you,” he paused for a brief second, never breaking eye contact, the gravity of the situation heavy on your chest your fingers absentmindedly found your amazonite bracelet once again. Your movements were halted when Sirius placed his large hand over yours, squeezing it warmly while staring at you determinedly, “You saved my life today, Y/n. So believe me when I tell you that I will stop at nothing to keep you safe,” he promised and you squeezed his hand in return.
“I know,” he smiled as he watched your eyes return to the ten of swords and your grin broadened with the sort of mischief he’d only ever seen in four people; James Potter, Marlene McKinnon and Fred and George Weasley. “I have a prediction for you.”
Sirius entertained you fondly, a mischievous air that reminded him of when he was your age surrounding the pair of you, “By all means, do tell.”
“I predict,” you paused for emphasis, “that we are going to be very good friends.”
Sirius let out a booming laugh of which the volume he couldn’t control, “That is a prediction I truly hope will come to fruition.”
“Oh no, this is a duo that spells trouble,” Cecillia giggled to Remus as they entered the sitting room.
Remus looked between you and Sirius with a grin, “With a mentor like you, Cece, I’m not surprised Y/n has a taste for mischief,” the ruffled wizard teased, receiving a gentle elbow to the ribs from your mentor.
“Oi, if you’re going to blame my beloved girl’s mischief on anyone you better blame it on a certain Weasley twin,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows and causing the boys to smile giddily like teenagers.
Sirius bumped your shoulder again, this time with a faux-scandalised smile, “A Weasley twin, eh? Come on then, which one?” You blushed heavily and cleared your throat in an attempt to alleviate the embarrassment filling your being.
“He’s just a friend!”
“Mhm. A friend that sends her annotated pages from his divination text book,” Cecillia sang and Sirius snickered.
“Whichever one it is must be quite taken with you if you made him actually crack open a textbook.”
“Annotations are quite intimate,” Remus half teased although you could see he believed what he’d just said, “I bet it’s George,” he directed the bet at Sirius who carefully observed the way you bit your lip and bashfully looked towards the wooden floor.
“I think you’re right, moony. Now!” He stood suddenly and pointed a finger at Remus expectantly, “We best get going and arrange Y/n’s accomplice for tomorrow’s field trip,” he wiggled his eyebrows before turning his head to face you again, he shot you a wink and you couldn’t stop the airy laugh that left your mouth at his lighthearted antics.
Remus gave Cecillia a one armed hug, “we’ll be seeing you both tomorrow then, it was lovely to meet you, Y/n, perhaps next time Sirius will allow me to get a word in,” he chuckled and Sirius responded by throwing his arm around your shoulder.
“I better get off, this husband of mine is growing jealous,” he told you in a teasingly hushed whisper.
Your eyes widened and you looked between the two men, “You two are married?”
A love struck smile took over both of their faces which immediately gave you your answer. “We’re engaged,” Sirius clarified before pulling you into a proper hug, “Get a good night's sleep, we’ll be sending an order member to collect you early tomorrow morning so you can be in and out of Olivander’s before a crowd can build,” he told you while giving you an affectionate squeeze, you could’ve laughed when you realised that it felt like you’d known Sirius forever but you also could’ve cried when you relived the image of him losing his life and realised that just because it was over and prevented didn't mean it hadn’t still transpired in your mind’s eye, you didn’t let that show on your face though.
“I’ll make sure I’m well rested,” you promised.
With that, Sirius bid Cecillia goodbye, and he and Remus left the way they’d came.
The rest of the night had been spent with Cecillia telling you story after story about her school days and the trouble she’d caused with Sirius, Remus, James and Lily Potter, Harry’s parents, and another boy who she only referred to as “the rat”. Though the tone of the stories were completely lighthearted, they weighed on your chest with a sense of such tragedy. A huge majority of their friends were killed young because of the war, a war that was now waging once again. It led you to wonder who’d be lost to this one, if perhaps you’d be on the list of names that Harry or Cecillia or George would speak about fondly with a dense undertone of sorrow in the years after the second war had long since been won. It was a risk you were willing to take though, the notion of fighting for a deserving cause filled you with a sense of purpose, a purpose you’d been searching for for years. More than that, you felt important. You were needed. An asset. You would actually be of some help.
True to your word, you’d been getting a good night’s rest. The bed in Cecillia’s spare room was the comfiest thing you’d ever come across, though, as you began to stir from your deep slumber you couldn’t recall the empty side of the double bed being quite so dipped.
Slowly and begrudgingly, you cracked your eyes open to see Cecillia smiling tiredly at you in the light of dawn, “Morning, darling. Sorry about the early start, I’ve made you some tea,” she greeted quietly so as to not disturb the peace of the early morning. She held two ceramic mugs, one in each hand and passed you the steaming cup that was hand painted green, keeping the brown one for herself. Tiredly, you patted the spot beside you and pulled the quilt to the side, inviting the witch into the warm bed. She happily slid in, pulling the quilt over her and chuckling quietly when you dropped your head onto her robed shoulder and began to sip the tea she’d made. Cecillia rested her head against yours and sipped on her own tea.
“Are you excited for today?” She asked and you hummed.
“I’m having mixed emotions,” you stated, “I’m excited to see everything, but I’m sort of nervous that I won’t have enough magic to even get a wand,” Comfort spread through your chest when Cecillia pressed her lips to the crown of your head.
“The wonderful thing about wands, lovely, is that the wand picks the wizard,” she began, “so whatever wand you end up with will accentuate the level of magic inside you. Its power will grow as yours does and you’ll soon come to realise that you couldn’t imagine wielding anything else,” her voice was wistful and her eyes shined with wonder as she recalled how it felt to bond to a wand.
“What do you think mine will be like?” You wondered, excitement awakening in you thanks to Cecillia’s encouraging words.
The witch took an exaggerated slurp of her tea before answering, “Something curious,” was all she said.
“Insightful,” you murmured and she shrugged unapologetically, her chaotic energy exuding now that she’d started to wake up fully. “What time is it anyway?”
“Half six, your chaperone should be arriving at seven and Olivander’s opens at eight,” she told you before shimmying out of bed, you whined in the absence of your head rest. “You better get dressed. Wear something nice, rumour has it that your tag along is quite the eligible bachelor,” she wiggled her eyebrows and all but floated out of the spare room. It was practically your room by now though, over the years since you’d gotten Astra and met Cecillia you’d stayed in the room on countless occasions. Cecillia embodied something that was something between a second mother, a spiritual mentor, a teasing older sister and a slightly kooky aunt.
“Oh? So do you reckon I should brush my hair then?” You jokingly called out after her only to receive a harsh scoff.
“Absolutely not! Don’t be desperate!” You barked out a laugh at her response, shaking your head and getting ready for the day ahead.
You were just about finished getting ready when a familiar bang sounded from the sitting room. Taking a deep breath, you gave yourself one last look over in the mirror, happy with the outfit you’d chosen, you made your way towards the sitting room to come face to face with your surprise chaperone for the day.
When you shuffled into the sitting room, a smile immediately stretched across your lips upon seeing who had been appointed to stick by your side for the day, “George!” His name left your mouth in a squeal that would’ve been embarrassing had you not been so excited to see him. It’d been upwards of a year since the last time you’d seen George in the flesh and although you’d seen each other in photos and written to each other at a rate that was almost excessive, the prospect of spending time together in person was, for lack of a better word; magical.
George drew his attention away from the framed pictures that lined Cecillia’s fireplace to see you standing in the doorway, looking as bright as the newly risen sun and sporting a smile that he couldn’t quite put into words how it made him feel. It only took a second before his own cheek splitting smile grew on his face, and with it left his hopes of impressing you with his cool and collected attitude. You hadn’t given him too much time to dwell on his ruined cool guy facade as you all but threw yourself into his arms. The red head let out an endearing laugh, catching you in his toned arms, wrapping them tightly around your torso. A scarlet blush rising on his ears when he felt your smile against his neck. “Hello to you too,” he chuckled against your ear and you pulled back enough to look at him, your arms still secure around his shoulders.
“Sorry,” you started, the smile that still adorned your lips telling him that you weren’t all that sorry at all, “Hi,” you greeted, bashfully pulling your arms away from him.
The sitting room was quiet for a moment as the pair of you only stared at each other, would it be too much to tell him that you’ve missed him? You didn’t want to come on too strong after such a long time apart, you’d already tackled him into a hug within the first five seconds, but with that came your next internal question of; did you really want to keep this boy on his toes?
George, having already discarded his notion of acting nonchalant with you, bet you to the punch. He rubbed the back of his neck and flicked his gaze to the floor before bringing it back to you, “I’ve missed you.”
A giggle left your lips before you could think about choking it down, you nodded your head, bouncing slightly on the balls of your feet, “Yeah, I’ve missed you too. Sorry I haven’t written, Astra is still with Harry.”
George gave you a grin, “No worries, darling. Heard you’ve been a very busy little psychic lately.”
Darling, you mused internally, the nickname echoing through your head and causing your heart to somersault in a way you’d never really felt before.
“Oh how sweet,” Cecillia sang from the doorway, a wicked grin on her face as she took in the two hopeless blushing messes, staring doe-eyed at each other in the middle of her living room. “I hate to break up the reunion, my dears, but the pair of you really should get going,” she instructed, strutting up to you and holding a cloth pouch in your direction, “Sirius left you some spending money, it’s different than the money you usually use but I’m sure George will have no problem helping you out,” Cecillia shot the boy a wink and he nodded, once again growing bashful.
“Now,” she grew serious, directing her words at George and making him slightly intimidated with her strong eye contact, “You are to be extremely careful. You are not to mention that Y/n is a seer and you are not to draw any attention to the fact that she is a muggleborn, if Mr. Olivander asks, she’s a half-blood who's been living in the states and that’s why she doesn’t have a wand,” you wore a confused expression, George nodded in complete understanding, “Did Sirius give you the list?”
George nodded once again, pulling a folded piece of parchment out of the back pocket of his slightly baggy denim jeans, “May I take a look?” Cecillia asked, already snatching the parchment from George’s long fingers and unfolding the sheet and reading it aloud, “Alright! A wand… seriously? He used a whole page of parchment just to write one thing?” She grumbled, stomping over to the nearest side table, leaning down and began to scribble on the parchment. You looked to George as she wrote, “Why do you have to say I’m from the States?” You asked quietly and George leaned down slightly to be closer to your ear.
“Witches and wizards in America don’t get wands until they’re of age, we get them here when we’re eleven,” just as he was finished offering his explanation, Cecillia walked back over, a hard look on her face that you weren’t used to seeing, though it seemed that the look was reserved for George.
Silently she handed him the parchment before looking to you, hard look dissolving back into her usual playful expression, “Have fun, lovely.” She then turned to George again, apparently having had enough of trying to intimidate the poor boy, she shot him a smile, “You’ll be taking the floo to Diagon Alley, my fireplace is big enough to take the both of you at once,” she handed George a pouch of what looked like green powder, “George knows what to do, now, not to sound like a broken record but do stay safe and have fun,” she finished, ushering the pair of you into her fireplace. You couldn’t lie, it was quite strange, you supposed you should get used to things coming across as strange, you were about to be exposed to the magical wizarding world for the first time after all. In the fireplace, you stood shoulder to shoulder with George, noticing the nervous look on your face, he slid his hand into yours gently. When you looked at him, he kept his face focused on his feet, “Ready, Y/n?” Taking a deep breath you nodded shakily.
“Ready, George.”
At your words, George slammed the green powder onto the ground and shouted, “Diagon Alley!”
You were sure you were going to be sick. Whatever the powder was, it had you spinning at a pace you didn’t know was possible, you had screwed your eyes shut and you were almost certain that you could feel yourself physically moving. It was only when George tugged on your hand that you opened your eyes to see that your surroundings had actually changed. “It’s horrible the first time, but you get used to it,” George said, pulling you by your still intertwined hands onto the cobbled street. The dizziness died down after only a few seconds out in the fresh air, the added sensation of George’s thumb rubbing soothing circles against your hand seemed to do the trick in settling you completely as you took in the street ahead of you. It was dazzling, really. A long cobbled street, lined with shops that looked like they were plucked straight out of a fairytale. As planned, the streets were fairly empty in the early morning as George led you down the path towards the shop where you’d hopefully get your wand. The name “Olivanders” was written above both windows of the dark shop, the words “makers of fine wands since 382 B.C.” were to be seen just above the door. Excitement had completely overridden your nerves and you practically skipped towards the door, George followed casually behind you, his hands tucked into his pockets and a fond smile on his lips.
“I suppose you’re excited then?” He asked teasingly and you didn’t bother trying to hide your obvious childlike wonder as you waited for him to catch up with you.
“It probably seems silly to you, but this morning Cecillia told me all about when she got her wand and it sounded so wonderful,” you told him, smiling when he bumped his shoulder against yours.
“I don’t think it’s silly, I still get giddy thinking about the time Fred and I got wands of our own,” he pushed the door open and motioned for you to step inside, slowly you walked into the empty shop. It was dark and somewhat dingy but there was something very mystically inclining about it, you could feel the energy and it was utterly exhilarating.
“Wow,” you breathed out, spinning where you stood, gazing at the boxes upon boxes that lined the shelves.
Only a minute passed before an old man stumbled to the front of the shop, smiling at the pair of you from behind the counter, “Ah, Mr. Weasley, it’s good to see you, it’s been some time. What can I do for you this morning? I see you’ve brought a friend,” the older wizard greeted and you smiled in response.
“I’m looking for a wand. I’ve been living in the states for the past few years but I just moved home,” you lied easily, George couldn’t help but smirk, what he’d give to have had you around for some of his and Fred’s pranks at Hogwarts.
The old man nodded in understanding, his eyes scanned you, his eyes were scrutinising and you fought the urge to squirm under his gaze, “Interesting. One moment please,” he said, murmuring to himself as he searched the isles for what he was looking for. A small “aha” sounded from within the isles, he was back in front of you within seconds, an open rectangular box in his hand. It was absolutely gorgeous, it resembled a raw tree branch, wood spiralling up its expanse until it stopped at the top, cutting off in a jagged, dull edge. He must’ve noticed how your jaw dropped, how could he not? He hadn’t been able to take his eyes off you since you’d wandered into his shop. He was an old wizard, but he wasn’t naive, he was well aware you weren’t returning from America, he could sense an energy in you that he hadn’t come in contact with in a long time. “Curious, isn’t it?” He prompted you, causing you to let out an airy laugh. Cecillia was going to tease you big time when you got back to her cabin.
“It’s lovely, what is it?” He offered you the box expectantly and you hesitantly picked up the wand with as much care as you possibly could. It was cool against your skin and was heavier than you’d imagined it would be.
“Thirteen inch, oak; cut from the base of a tree, which at the time, was almost six hundred years old,” he explained, watching happily as you ran your fingers along the wands several ridges,”With a phoenix feather core, quite a rare piece indeed. Unfortunately, this particular wand has been extremely difficult to match to a witch. But something tells me that you might be just the witch for the job,” he held your gaze and you once again got the feeling that he knew something he shouldn’t, “Go on, then. Give it a wave,” he prompted and you looked to George for further encouragement. George laughed at your lost expression, pulling his own wand out and pointing it towards the now empty box on the counter, “Like this, love,” he demonstrated, moving his wrist in a semi-circle motion, making the box levitate off the counter.
Another pet name. You ignored the butterflies in your stomach in favour of clearing your throat, squaring your shoulders and pointing your wand at the same box George had just made float, which was now settled back against the counter. Imitating the boy beside you, you moved your wrist in a swift semi-circle. Suddenly, a golden light poured from the tip of the wand and warm air surrounded you, gently blowing your hair back and forcing a laugh of disbelief to leave your lips. George stood wide eyed beside you, his lips parted slightly. He was amazed really, he went through five wands before he found the one that fit him, yet you’d found yours on the first try, and he had to admit; you looked glorious doing it.
After paying for your wand, you exited the shop, looking around George’s side at the list he was holding. From what you could make out, Cecillia had added a number of items to the originally very short list; 1) a wand, 2) a pendulum (crystal of the ladies choice), 3) crystals: labradorite, lapis lazuli & azurite, 4) mugwort, 5) new tarot deck (again, whatever she wants Sirius can afford it ;)).
“Suppose our next stop is the divination shop,” George said, mostly to himself but gave you a mischievous smile, “If we hurry up and get our shopping done fast we could probably get a butterbeer in before we rejoin the rest of the Order,” he sang, grazing his hand against yours as you walked side by side.
“Beer? You seriously want to drink beer at half eight in the morning?” You asked him, your eyebrow raised and he replied with an exaggerated roll of his eyes and draped his arm around your shoulder, pulling you close against his side and once again leaning his head down so his lips were level with your eye.
“No, you git,” he began with a laugh, “It’s not really beer, it’s pretty sweet; most wizards love it.”
You hummed in acknowledgment, “Sounds nice,” you told him absently, preoccupied with all the intriguing shops that surrounded you. George’s arm remained wrapped around your shoulder as you strolled further into Diagon Alley, seemingly uninterested in his offer for a butterbeer. The pair of you got what you needed from the shop and, since it hadn’t taken long, you decided to take George up on his drinks offer. You noticed that he seemed a little bit crestfallen since your noncommittal answer earlier.
“Hey,” you said, bumping your arm against his.
“Hello,” he replied, returning the gesture.
“So… d’you wanna go get one of those beer things that you were talking about earlier?” You asked nervously, your lip between your teeth. For all you knew, asking someone to grab a butterbeer in the wizarding world was the muggle equivalent to proposing.
George flashed you a grin that was almost childlike, it was mesmerising, so sweet and pure and you almost wished you’d brought your camera to take a picture of it. “I thought you’d never ask.”
With a giggle you let him grab your hand and lead you excitedly towards a building that had “The Leaky Cauldron” written above the door. When you got inside, George led you to a small round table with two chairs and you both sat down opposite each other. As casually as you could, you rested your elbow against the table and let your cheek rest against your fist, for a solid few minutes, while George ordered, you curiously looked around the pub until your gaze finally rested on George who was already looking at you with a soft smile, “Having fun?” He asked, genuinely curious.
You nodded your head, “Mhm, are you? I’m sure getting up at the crack of dawn to take me shopping isn’t something someone like you would usually like to do for fun,” you said, becoming slightly self conscious when you realised that he probably wasn’t enjoying the morning as much as you were. This was all normal for him, you’d nearly forgotten.
George gave you a perplexed look, “Course I’m having fun, love. But, what do you mean someone like me?”
You shrugged, once again pushing down the butterflies that arose in your stomach from the pet name, “I dunno, you’re just- you’re mischievous and fun and… I don’t know, shopping for stuff with me doesn’t seem like it’s something you’d want to do. I just hope Sirius didn’t force you into it,” you admitted shyly, smiling gratefully at the waiter when he placed the mugs of golden liquid on the table.
George chewed on his bottom lip for a second before he shook his head, “He didn’t force me. I sort of, well, I sort of forced him to let me take you. He wanted Professor Lupin to do it but I…” he let out an exaggerated sigh before giving you a smile, “I wanted to spend time with you,” he confessed sweetly, watching happily as a smile formed on your lips and you tried to hide it in the rim of your butterbeer. He laughed when your face lit up once the liquid hit your lips, “Like it?”
“This stuff is amazing,” you almost shouted, taking another large sip from the drink, “No wonder you all love it so much.”
George snickered, “Just in case it wasn’t clear; I’m having a lot of fun with you,” he said all too casually, taking a sip of his drink.
“Where to now?” You wondered, after you’d finished your drinks and set off back towards the floo network.
George shot you a cheeky look and wiggled his eyebrows, “I’m taking you back to headquarters.”
“Sounds ominous,” you commented, following him into the fireplace, nervously.
“D’you want a tip?” George asked out of the blue and you looked up at him expectantly, nodding. “The dizziness isn’t as bad if you keep your eyes open,” he whispered, taking your hand once again and throwing down the same green powder from earlier and shouting a new location that you hadn’t heard before. You cringed as the world began to spin, listening to George’s advice hadn’t helped much as the transportation was just as awful as it had been the first time. Unbeknownst to you, you were squeezing George’s hand like your life depended on it, George’s thumb had resumed brushing circles around your hand in response, the harsh squeezing didn’t bother him at all, not when it was you doing the squeezing. Just like earlier, George led you out of the fireplace and into the unfamiliar sitting room. Though the room was completely unfamiliar it was full of faces you immediately recognised, one face in particular standing out above all the rest.
In a second you’d dropped not only George’s hand, but all of your shopping bags to the floor carelessly and hurled yourself towards the boy who had already begun rushing towards you the second he caught sight of you appearing in the fireplace. Your bodies collided with so much force that you nearly sent each other tumbling to the ground, laughter sounded from both of you as you swayed the other, almost roughly, the way you always did when reuniting after an extended period of time.
“Glad to see you in one piece, Harry,” you told him with a cheeky smile on your lips, opting not to call him Haz in front of all of his wizard friends lest they tease him, not to mention you’d become quite possessive of the nickname, you wouldn’t be too pleased if anyone else started adopting it. Not that you’d ever admit that out loud.
“Yeah, you too,” his smile was as wide as could be when he shook his head, “I can’t believe you’re actually here.”
“Do you want me to pinch you?” You teased, jokingly taking his cheek between your thumb and your pointer, giving the skin between them a gentle squeeze. Harry swatted your hand away with a low chuckle and unraveled his arms from around you.
“Alright, you two, if you’re ready we have some matters we need to discuss with our newest member,” Sirius’ voice sounded from behind you, a knowing look on his face as he watched Harry sneakily pinch your arm in retaliation. He had to fight the urge he felt to reminisce on his old school days; when he’d purposely annoy James, Remus or Peter and receive the exact same mockingly vengeful look that you’d just given Harry.
“I’ll bring your things to the kitchen,” George announced, reminding you of his presence before he walked rather quickly out of the room, bags clutched in his hands.
Harry snorted out a laugh when Sirius followed George out of the room, leaving the both of you alone. Harry wiggled his eyebrows and did his best to make his voice take on a sultry tone, “he’s bringing your things to the kitchen.”
“Shut your mouth, Potter,” you replied, pinching his cheek for the second time and tossing your arm around his shoulder, him doing the same as he led you to what you assumed was the kitchen.
“Do I have your permission to open my mouth to tell you something,” Harry asked lightly, stopping so you were both standing outside a closed wooden door.
“I’ll allow it,” you answered, smiling softly at your best friend.
Harry grinned, “I missed you.”
“I missed you too, Haz,” the boy groaned at the name but made no further comment, he pushed the wooden door open and walked inside.
The room held a long table where many adults were sat, chatting in hushed whispers when you entered the room, some of whom you recognised and some you didn’t. Mrs. Weasley was fluttering about the table, filling people’s tea cups before she spotted you. The woman, who you’d only ever met briefly at King’s Cross station one year, rushed over to you and greeted you warmly, “Hello, dear! Come, come sit down!” She ushered you to a vacant chair beside George and across from Fred, Harry took the seat on your other side. “I trust you got everything you needed from Diagon Alley? I hope that son of mine didn’t cause any trouble for you,” you gave her a friendly smile and shook your head.
“Yes, we were able to find what we needed and George was very helpful,” Mrs. Weasley, seemingly satisfied with your answer, offered a gentle smile to you and George. She then pushed a cup of tea towards you before sitting down herself.
Beneath the table George bumped his knee lightly against yours, but didn’t break from his conversation with his twin as he left his knee pressed against yours. You didn’t draw attention to it either, simply letting your knee relax against his as the witches and wizards at the long table grew quiet in favour of staring at you wordlessly.
“I’m sure you’ve all heard the news of the seer we’ve acquired,” Sirius’ commanding voice broke the silence as he stood up from his chair, and placed his palms against the table, “I’ve brought her here today so that we may discuss proceedings to ensure her safety.”
“Yes,” a toneless drawl, drawn out nasally from the end of the table drew your attention to a black haired man at the opposite end of the table, “and what of Mr. Potter’s presence?” He asked, almost menacingly. Right off the bat, you didn’t like the greasy haired man. He was rigid and his face sported a permanent snarl and from across the table you could already tell; he wasn’t on your side.
“She’s my best friend, I’m here to make sure she’s not going to be put in any unnecessary danger,” Harry told the man shortly, in a tone that he’d more than likely perfected after having spoken to the man previously.
“As touching as that may be,” the older man snarled, “you are not a member of the Order.”
“Oh, enough, Serverus,” Sirius scoffed, pulling his hand down his face in exasperation before he let his eyes settle on Harry, “Perhaps you should wait upstairs for now. We’ll let you know of any significant updates.”
“I’ll tell you everything later, promise,” you whispered quietly, linking his pinky with yours beneath the table before he stropily took his leave.
“As I was saying,” Sirius spared Severus a glare and continued, “As we know, Yn is an unregistered wizard with an unregistered wand, meaning she won’t be on the radar of The Ministry of Magic. On the downside of this, seeing as her power manifested late, she is also untrained.”
All gazes fell to you once more, only Remus’ eyes were staring softly, crinkled at the edges from the smile on his lips, “I’ll be tutoring her in Defence Against the Dark Arts over the summer. She’ll catch up quickly, no doubt,” you smiled gratefully at him from your spot, relaxing a bit knowing that you’d actually be learning how to defend yourself the wizard way.
“I suppose I will be tasked with teaching the art of Occlumency? A seer with an easily accessible mind is hardly an asset,” Severus drawled. You didn’t have a clue what occlumency was, in all honesty, but you kept your mouth shut in favour of asking Remus when the meeting was over.
The meeting soon drew to a close, the older Order members slinking to one end of the table to arrange the schedule for your glorified summer school while you, Fred and George snuck away to find Harry. You found him sitting against the headboard of a bed in one of the upstairs bedrooms, “How’d it go?”
“Take a guess, mate, Snape had a right sour look on his face the whole time,” Fred answered, sitting on the bed across from Harry’s. George sat beside him and you made your way to sit with Harry.
“Ah, so that was the infamous professor Snape?” All three boys nodded, looks of exhaustion on their faces, “I don’t trust him. Something is very off about him,” you spoke thoughtfully and the boys nodded in agreement once again.
“I don’t like the idea of you being alone with him,” George said, his brows furrowed.
Fred snorted and clapped his twin roughly on the shoulder, “Getting a bit jealous are you, Georgie?” Harry laughed along with Fred while you blushed lightly and George felt heat rising up the nape of his neck.
“Sod off,” he muttered, but made no attempt to deny that he was slightly jealous of all the alone time his old evil potions professor would be getting with the girl he was harbouring feelings for.
The afternoon quickly turned into the evening and before long you were gathering your things and preparing to return to Cecillia’s. Harry would be heading back to the Dursley’s later that night, much to his dismay. You told him you’d be back on Privet Drive at some point the next morning since Cecillia would be dropping you home, as she promised your parents, so he wouldn’t have to suffer alone for too long.
That summer came and went in a bit of a blur. Two days in each week were spent learning how to protect yourself against the dark arts with Remus. He’s an amazing teacher, that couldn’t be disputed. In the space of only two months he had you duelling like you’d been doing it since the day you were born. Of course, you were thrilled to be bonding with your wand and developing (according to Remus) a very impressive skill for Defence Against the Dark Arts. But, on top of that, the shared conversations and exchanging of stories over hefty mugs of hot chocolate with the werewolf had been a huge highlight of your summer, and had caused the two of you to grow exponentially closer.
September was nearing and with it came a stiff breeze that prompted the hair on your arms to stand alert as you waited by the bus stop, the one just down the road from your house. Today was to be an important lesson with Remus, he hadn’t told you what the lesson would entail, but he had said that it was a charm that was “of the utmost importance”.
Although June, July and August were technically your summer holidays, you’d barely had a second to rest. You were, at this point, running on fumes and sheer will power. Extensively using magic was bound to wear you out, however, getting a good night’s rest after a gruelling training session had become something of a luxury for you. Visions of the future and retellings of past torments plagued your dreams and allowed you no time to rest. One vision in particular had been reoccurring, it arrived every night for the past two weeks, taunting you. The autumn chill that dripped down your spine reminded you of the premonition, having your hairs standing due to fright, rather than cold. It was always the same, no details ever shifted or warped and, unfortunately, the experience never grew any less harrowing. The warning that the vision brought about weighed on you heavily and followed you around like a stray cat. Images of a cold, desolate, blue-hued cellar lived behind your eyes, the phantom feeling of freezing metal shackles weighed on your wrists painfully and the undiluted terror combined with the indescribable agony brought about by the unfamiliar wand shoved against your throat had you forcing yourself to stay awake until you physically couldn’t anymore, each and every night. Nobody knew about the vision, you didn’t want to worry them, though, you knew that your distress was beginning to become visible; dark bags were prominent beneath your eyes, Harry had watched you fall asleep in the middle of the day, often on his shoulder, almost everyday that week and Remus could tell by the sluggish movements of your wand that your mind was elsewhere.
A few minutes passed before your bus arrived, the journey to Grimmauld Place was quite long but you couldn’t seem to warm up to floo travel, so going on a regular bus was the better option. When the red double decker pulled up, you greeted the driver with a smile and paid for your ticket. You made your way up to the second story and sat right at the front. The bus, as it normally tended to be, was empty. Resting your head against the window, you let your eyes slip shut, the noises of tree branches brushing against the speeding windows lulling you into a, hopefully, peaceful sleep.
Thankfully when you woke up, no visions lingered. You woke up just in time too as the bus was rounding up to your stop. As usual, Remus waited for you at the bus stop, his hands shoved deep in his tattered jacket pockets and a gentle smile on his lips.
Still groggy from your nap, when you exited the bus you greeted Remus with a tired wave.
“Dare I say you haven’t been sleeping well, dear?” He said gently, walking alongside you towards the house.
You thought about it for a second, perhaps telling someone wouldn’t be the worst idea in the world. “I’ve just, well, I’ve been having this nightmare,” you started, growing nervous just thinking about it.
“Nightmare or vision?” He pressed as you walked into the house.
Guilt creeped into your chest upon seeing the clear worry on his face, “I think it’s a vision.”
Remus nodded quietly, placing his hand on the small of your back and pushing you in the direction of the living room. He gave you a warm smile, when you sat down on the sofa. He grabbed a blanket that hung over the back of the sofa and draped it over your lap. “I’ll make us some hot chocolate and we can discuss this,” he suggested.
“I thought you had an important lesson for today?” He only shook his head, smiling lightly.
He made his way to the door wordlessly and returned within two minutes with two big, steaming mugs in his hands. Remus handed you a mug and sat down beside you on the sofa, accepting your invitation to pull the blanket over his lap too.
“Now tell me; what has been going on in that wonderful mind of yours?”
You took in a deep breath, staring into the hot chocolate and avoiding his understanding gaze, “It happened for the first time around two weeks ago. I thought that it was just a dream, it didn’t feel like a dream but I thought that if I kept telling myself it was I would start to believe it,” you started, taking a sip of your drink before going back to staring at it, “But it kept coming back. Every night for the last two weeks. I haven’t been able to sleep, I’ve been too scared to,” your voice was small as you made the confession. You hated that the feeling of helplessness was beginning to wash over you yet again.
“What happens in this vision?” At his question, you placed your cup on the floor and turned to face him fully, turning on the sofa and pulling your knees up to your chest.
“It’s always the same. I wake up and the first thing I know is that I’m absolutely freezing. I’m in this cellar-like thing. I’m chained up by my wrists and my feet are barely touching the ground… I can’t see anyone but I can feel-“ your breath hitched and you rushed the swipe the tears that were falling away from your cheeks, “I can feel a wand against my throat, it’s pressing hard. There’s a whisper, it’s quiet and ghostly and I can barely make it out but I hear them say; crucio.”
Remus’ eyes widened in horror.
“Then I feel nothing but agonising pain and then I wake up,” Remus’ eyebrows furrowed.
“You’ve had this same vision every night?” You nodded.
“I know I should have said something but I didn’t want anyone to worry,” it was then that Remus grabbed your hands and looked at you with a sense of urgency you didn’t know he could possess.
“I need you to listen to me very carefully,” his eyes were wild and his hands shook lightly as they held yours, “You-Know-Who is back. There are already reports of certain Wizards going missing and none of us have any doubt that it’s his doing. And although I- we- care for you a great deal, it would serve us all well to remember that you’re a detrimental piece in this war. If he catches wind of you, he’ll stop at nothing to take you from us,” your heart was now running at the speed of a hummingbird. “We have a plan in place to keep you safe, I fear we may have to implement it sooner than planned.”
Before you knew it, you were surrounded by the entire Order of the Phoenix, all of whom looked grave. Cecillia sat to your right while Nymphadora Tonks occupied the seat to your left. You had the pink haired auror to thank for your duelling capabilities, as well as Remus of course. Her presence was comforting, she made it a point to shoot you a wink every time she caught your eyes looking more fearful than usual.
“Our original plan will need to be tweaked, I ran into Narcissa Malfoy in Diagon Alley and she very plainly insinuated that I was a person of interest in the death eating community,” Cecillia informed the table, a, for lack of a better word, bitchy tone laced in her voice. She’d told you many of her Hogwarts stories, you could recall her telling you that she and the woman she’d mentioned, Narcissa, had once been good friends until around their fourth year. She hadn’t told you what exactly had happened, only that it had been messy.
“What was the original plan?” You asked, growing frustrated with the Order’s lack of communication skills.
Thankfully, being one of the younger members of the group, Tonks understood your frustrations and spoke up on behalf of the group, regardless of whether they were ready for you to know or not; she understood that it was your life they were coordinating.
“We talked about relocating you to CeCe’s. We also, and far more pressingly, planned on erasing all traces of you from both the muggle and wizard world. Which would mean using a memory charm on your family and friends in the muggle world,” Tonks explained, eyes locked on yours while everyone else in the room glared daggers at the purple haired girl.
“Yes. Though we also planned on telling you this information with a far more delicate approach,” Snapped Molly Weasley from the end of the table, causing Fred, who sat to her left, to roll his eyes.
“She’s been riddled with visions of being ruthlessly tortured with an unforgivable curse for the past two weeks. I think the time for delicacy is long passed,” the older of the two twins practically scoffed. George nodded in agreement.
“Besides,” he set his gaze on you, eyes genuine and unwavering as he spoke, “she’s strong enough to handle the truth. It’s time you all stopped acting like she isn’t.”
The table fell silent. His words hung in the air as many of the adults hung their heads.
“By memory charm I’m assuming you mean obliviate?” You broke the silence, if you could you hoped to start an open conversation with the experienced witches and wizards that surrounded you.
“Yes. They’re completely reversible and once the war is over I’ll restore all of the memories.” Cecillia said.
“We know it’s a huge ask, dear, but it’s our best chance at keeping you out of that wretched creature’s hands,” Molly attempted to soothe both you and herself when she pictured what it would like to be in your shoes, how she’d feel if she had no other choice but to be forgotten by the thing she valued the most; her family. Molly Weasley had never been very good at hiding her maternal instincts, over the summer that fact had become glaringly obvious to you. You and Harry had laughed about how the children of Privet Drive had a special place in her heart.
“I understand,” you told her sadly, chewing on the inside of your lip, “I’m guessing by the atmosphere in the room that I won’t be home to say goodbye before you wipe their memories,” you shifted yours eyes from person to person, stopping when Cecillia took your hand firmly in hers.
Her lips were downturned and her eyes filled with guilt, she shook her head mournfully, “I’m afraid we can’t risk it, my darling. Even being here places you in danger at the moment.”
“Where will she go then? If CeCe’s place isn’t an option we’ll have to find a safe house,” Sirius sounded and, simultaneously, both Fred and George stood up, shoulder to shoulder with very professional expressions on their faces.
“We may be able to help with that, actually. George, if you would,” Fred started, nodding to his twin who straightened his shoulders and puffed his chest out over so slightly.
“Thank you, Fred. As you know, we have a property for Weasley Wizard Wheezes secured and we’ll be living in the flat above where the shop will be,” everyone at the table, including yourself, stared at the twins in confusion, not quite sure where they were going with their little pitch until Fred took over again.
“And that flat has three bedrooms,” he said, a smirk growing on his thin lips.
George spoke again, “Which means there’s one for me and one for Fred.”
“Which means there’s one spare,” Fred grinned wickedly.
Tonks let out an impressed laugh once the penny finally dropped, “We apparate her in and nobody would ever know a thing. Nobody other than those of us in the room know that Y/n is a friend of the Weasley’s, plus us visiting the joke shop wouldn’t raise any suspicion. I have to give it to them, it’s a great idea,”
“And one of the two of us will always be within shouting distance if anything happens,” George added, somewhat pleadingly.
Sirius looked across the table at you, “Y/n, it’s up to you. Whatever you decide will be final, we won’t interfere,” he promised sincerely. It was an easy decision, but still, it weighed heavily on your chest. In all honesty, you weren’t worried about your location, staying with the twins would surely be a light and fun time amidst all the doom and gloom. Your worry was that you would, once again, be handing over your control. Sirius dressed it up as though it was your choice, but you knew that this was probably their best option and in reality you really had no other choice than to move in with Fred and George.
“Sounds good to me,” you whispered halfheartedly, eyes dropping to stare at your lap as your teeth pulled anxiously at the skin of your lips.
“So it’s settled then,” Remus said, “Y/n will go with Fred and George tonight.”
Abruptly, you pushed your chair away from the table and stood up. Sparing nobody a glance, you left the room as quickly as you possibly could, before the lump in your throat could choke you or the tears that pooled in your eyes spilled like water through a broken dam. George made a move to rise from his seat only for Remus to stop him by placing his hand on the boy’s shoulder, “Give her a moment.”
You found yourself locked in the second story bathroom, sitting in the bath. Your legs hung out over the side of the tub while your head was tilted back against the black tiled wall. As hard as you tried to prevent them, tears were streaming down the expense of your cheeks, neck and beneath the neckline of your shirt. The minutes ticked by yet your chest continued to rise and fall rapidly due to the sobs that shook it, your breath uneven. Visions of brutal torture were bad enough when you were in your own home, in your own warm bed, with your parents just a room away and ready to make you a hot cup of tea after you woke up screaming. Now, the visions would without a doubt continue to plague you, unlike before though, you wouldn’t be waking up in a familiar setting, nor would you fall asleep in the comfort of your own mattress, when you woke up screaming so loud that your throat grew raw, your comfort would rely on two seventeen year old boys who seldom took things seriously. It’s not that you didn’t trust them, no, you trusted them with your life- you are trusting them with your life, it’s just that there was already a lot going on in your mind at the moment, moving in with your crush and his identical twin brother isn’t exactly your idea of a nerve killer.
A knock against the bathroom door pulled you from your thoughts. You rushed to wipe your tears with your sleeves, sniffling, “Come in,” you choked out. Cursing your voice for breaking when you spoke.
Remus’ head poked through the door, his body following soon after. Even in an atmosphere as dense as this one, a sense of gentle calm always followed Remus wherever he went. Clumsily, the werewolf slid into the bath beside you with a low “oof” sound, mimicking your position with his much longer legs dangling closer to the wooden floor than your own.
“CeCe has gone to collect your things for you and get Harry, then, I believe, perform the spell,” he eyed you cautiously, hyper aware of your glassy eyes and puffy face. When your eyes widened and you whipped your face towards him, his stomach twisted into knots, he hated seeing you like this. He could sympathise with your feelings. When James and Lily were killed, and Sirius went to Azkaban and even when Peter was presumed dead, Remus had been left with a vicious frustration fuelled by his belief that he was utterly powerless in his own life. He could see in your eyes that that same notion was starting to creep up on you too.
“Already?” You gasped out, pulse rising again, a slight panic setting in. “It won’t hurt them will it? The spell?” You fretted, looking pleadingly to the man beside you.
He shook his head, tenderly taking your hand and placing it against his clothed chest, his beating heart present against the palm of your shaking hand. “I promise you that they won’t feel a thing. They will go on living an exciting life, travelling, seeing the world safely while you’re away. When this is all over we’ll place their memories of you back in their minds and it will be as though you were never gone.” Your teeth found the inside of your cheek again, gnawing relentlessly at the skin as you failed miserably to hold back a fresh set of tears. Remus squeezed the hand he held against his chest. “Let it out, Y/n. It’s okay, I won’t tell anyone,” he whispered, heart sinking lower when your bottom lip quivered and you let a rasped sob leave your body. With a deep sigh, Remus used the hand he was already holding as leverage to pull you into him, wasting no time he enveloped you in his arms, holding you securely as you cried against his chest. Admittedly, it felt good to let it out, Remus’ hand rubbed soothing circles against your heaving back and eventually, you didn’t know how long it had been, you calmed down, your tear ducts all dried out.
Remus held you in his arms for a while longer, even though you’d stopped crying, he could feel your body as it continued to shake. “I can’t promise you it will all be okay, but I can assure you that myself and Sirius, and everyone else for that matter, will be there for you at the drop of a hat; whatever you need,” he spoke against your hair.
“Whatever I need?” You echoed, the pit in your stomach ever growing.
“Of course,” he confirmed.
Remus startled slightly when you suddenly tore yourself away from him. As best you could in your awkward position, you turned to face him and grabbed his hands with as much urgency as he had done with yours. “I need you to do something for me,” Remus furrowed his brows in confusion, but nodded his head anyway.
“If anything happens to me… Don’t make them remember,” you instructed, maybe the request would’ve seemed radical if you had said it to anyone else, but you knew that Remus had experienced losses like no one else you knew, perhaps Harry came close but even his shortcomings couldn’t compare to Remus’. “It’d only cause them pain. If I die and they’re happily living none the wiser, leave them be, please,” the man let out a heavy sigh and took a moment to take you in. Your eyes were hard yet pleading, they left him no room to negotiate and he understood perfectly where you were coming from.
“Alright,” he agreed before raising his eyebrow and readjusting himself to get a better look at you, “However you should know; no matter what may come of this war, none of us will forget about you. In such a short time you’ve given us so much… you gave Harry his first friendship, a friendship that he cherishes more than anything in the world, I might add. You saved Sirius from death, my fiancé and Harry’s godfather. Mentoring you has given Cecillia a new lease of life and Molly Weasley one more child to knit jumpers for at Christmas,” he took a brief pause then went on, “For the sake of saving time I won’t even begin to tell you what you mean to the twins. My point is;” there was a melancholic type of smile on his face when he paused again, as if he was imagining what it would be like to remember you fondly if you did in fact die for the cause, “What you’re asking is incredibly selfless. And while your mother and father may not remember how wonderful you are, we all will.” Remus chuckled lowly when you shuffled your way back into his arms, squeezing his middle tightly. He slung his arm around your shoulders and delicately pressed his lips to the top of your head. You held so much love in your heart for the man who was currently cradling you in his arms. You debated telling him, you weren’t sure if it was entirely appropriate but after the speech he’d just given you couldn’t have cared less, “Remus?”
“Hm?”
“I love you,” you murmured, looking up at him innocently.
He offered you a toothy smile and breathed out a soft laugh, “I love you too.” With a content nod, you rested your head back against his chest, enjoying his soothing heartbeats against your ear. A melodic hum rumbled against your cheek, a quiet giggle left your mouth when you recognised the melody to the song he was humming. The tune of “Rhiannon” by Fleetwood Mac floated through the bathroom bringing a genuine smile to your lips. The werewolf’s humming was interrupted by another knock against the bathroom door, whoever was knocking didn’t wait for a response before entering the room. Sirius stepped in and quietly shut the door behind him. He didn’t question you and Remus' position in the bath but simply slid into the tub on the other side of you, sandwiching you between himself and Remus. The black haired man let out a heavy sigh and leaned his head back against the tiles.
“The mother hens downstairs are worrying up a storm,” he said in exasperation, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Tonks so riled up about someone’s safety. I tasked Molly with making you some hot chocolate to keep her occupied”
“Maybe I should go back down…” you muttered halfheartedly, begrudgingly peeling yourself away from Remus’ warm body.
Sirius gave you an apologetic look, “I held them off for as long as I could.”
“Thanks,” you whispered, bumping your shoulder to his, making him chuckle. After pulling yourself out of the bath, rather clumsily, you took a second to check yourself over in the mirror.
“You’re glowing, darling,” Sirius all but sang from behind you and you couldn’t stop the slight snort that escaped you.
“That’s one way to put it.”
“If you don’t believe me go on downstairs and ask George what he thinks,” Sirius teased, wiggling his eyebrows and receiving a light shove from his fiancé who couldn’t hide his grin.
“Leave her alone, love,” he chastised weakly, “You look perfectly fine, Y/n. Go downstairs and get something to drink, you need to rehydrate.” A bittersweet smile broke out on your lips, his fatherly tone simultaneously soothed you and left you yearning for what you were in the process of losing. Trying not to dwell on the sad fact, you left the bathroom and slowly descended the stairs.
As you assumed, the second you stepped back into the kitchen, Molly began to fret over you as if her life depended on it. Sipping on the hot chocolate she’d given you, you were reminded of how desperately tired you were. All the crying hadn’t helped ease the heaviness in your eyes either. Every bone in your body felt heavy for that matter, you were struggling to even hold your head up.
“You can lean against my shoulder if you’d like,” George’s voice broke you from your hazed state, you’d completely forgotten he was sitting beside you despite his leg that was pressed against yours beneath the table. You gave him a sleepy but grateful smile, as subtly as you could you scooched closer to the ginger and slotted yourself against his side, letting your head fall onto his shoulder. “Will you keep me awake until Harry and Cecillia get here?” You requested in a slurred murmur, your eyes fluttering between open and shut.
“Of course,” was all he said, he looked down at you adoringly, smiling like an idiot when you nuzzled into his shoulder, your nose rubbing against his neck. Try as he might, George couldn’t pull his eyes away from your drowsy face. “What do you propose we do?”
You shrugged your shoulders lightly, “Just talk.”
“How would you like your new room decorated?” He asked quietly, his head tilted down while he spoke to you, so you could hear him and so he wouldn’t ruin the lulled bubble you’d managed to obtain between you by talking too loudly. A sweet smile grew on your face, a smile that all but knocked all the breath out of George’s lungs when you angled your head to make eye contact.
“Can I have a double bed?” George snorted at your question and shook his head no.
“Nothing smaller than a king. What else?”
You pretended to ponder for a moment, “Can we paint it?” The ginger nodded, taking his bottom lip between his teeth.
“If you want to,” he started, almost sounding nervous, “We could paint it together?” Even in your sleep deprived state you hadn’t missed the vulnerability in his voice, it was the same vulnerability that you’d noticed when he’d asked you to go get a butterbeer with him a couple of months ago.
“I’d love that,” you told him, your answer causing his lips to twist into a pleased smile, “How do you feel about the colour green?”
Immediately, his smile dropped and he let out a disgusted scoff, “Green is a Slytherin colour.”
“You keep forgetting that I don’t get the whole house sorty thing,” you reminded him, not happy with his reasoning for hating your favourite colour. “Besides, I love green, it’s my favourite colour.” You told him truthfully. Not content with his disgruntled facial expression you began to defend your preference, “A lot of beautiful things are green; you’ve got grass, trees, emeralds- did you know that emeralds are really useful for enhancing psychic abilities? It also evokes clarity of thought,” you rambled, willing yourself to be quiet when you registered George’s fond expression.
The look of endearment aimed at you brought butterflies to life in your stomach, effectively waking you up somewhat.
“Do you have any emerald?” He asked, you assumed he was only feigning interest, you didn’t know that he could’ve listened to you go on and on about anything and everything for the rest of his life.
“No, not yet. I should probably get some though.” You said through a yawn. Your breath against his neck made him giggle, it was pure and unsuspecting but you took note of it. Everything about George Weasley felt like sunshine to you, his laugh filled your chest with warmth whenever you heard it, his eyes found yours like a lighthouse, guiding your lost mind back to the present each time your gazes connected. His voice, like his laugh, warmed you up when you were cold, giving you a reason to stay awake when you’d rather just slip away. In conjunction with the sun, even if you couldn’t physically see him, you never doubted that he was always there. As well as all of that, like your favourite tarot card; The Sun, he signified good things, hope that hard times will end with you on top, contentment and happiness. While your thoughts consisted of George’s similarities to the sun, his were consumed with the, in his mind, overwhelmingly cheesily romantic notion that you were the moon and the stars, he would’ve cringed if he didn’t wholeheartedly believe it. Everything that made the night sky magnificent was reflected in you. Like the stars, you were mysterious and captivating. Nothing seemed to compare to your glow or beauty, if you were to ask him what he preferred; you or the night sky on a clear night, he’d happily ignore a blank, starless sky in favour of simply staring at you as you went on tangent after tangent about crystals or tarot cards.
The pair of you were pulled from your musings when Harry rushed through the kitchen door looking unmistakably heartbroken, ever the empath when it came to his best friend, Harry’s heart sank the moment he laid eyes on your form, limp against George’s side. The second you saw him you all but ripped yourself from George’s side and the older redhead felt a surge of irrational jealousy begin to build in his chest at how fast you left his hold in favour of the chosen one. He knew it was ridiculous, he’d heard the way each of you respectively talked about each other, at this point you were practically siblings. But he supposed it was rational to be jealous when you liked someone the way he liked you.
Quickly, you crossed the room to Harry who had his arms already outstretched. He knew you were emotionally exhausted when you didn’t bear hug him. You meekly slid your arms beneath his open zip-up hoodie, tucked your head beneath his chin and didn’t say a word. “I shouldn’t bother asking if you’re okay then,” Harry muttered to himself, leaning his cheek against the top of your head and wrapping his lanky arms around your frame.
“Did Cecillia remember to bring Astra?” You asked, it was all you wanted to know about the night’s events.
“She’s in her cage in the living room, darling,” Cecilia said, walking into the room looking guilty.
“C’mon, let’s go have a chat,” Harry suggested, leading you out of the kitchen and upstairs to his unofficial room. Once inside the room you sat down on the edge of the bed, the blue duvet softly creasing beneath you. Harry plopped himself down beside you and offered you a gesture that was always saved for when either of you felt the other was on the edge of something dangerous. Your hands rested against your lap and he deftly slid his pinky over yours, intertwining your two littlest fingers. It was such a familiar experience; he’d done it when your grandparents died, when you’d cried over failed exams that you worked hard for, and in turn, you did it for him when he’d felt as though he had no place in the world, when he’d open up about his parents and when Cedric died and the ministry dragged his name through the mud you’d find your pinky tangled with his almost every night after he’d sneak over to your place after another nightmare or panic attack. “Do you want to talk about it?”
You shook your head, “Not tonight. I don’t want to cry anymore,” you croaked out, looking straight ahead of you at the grey painted wall.
“I understand,” he said, sighing and dropping his head onto your shoulder, “Let’s talk about something else then.”
“Like what, Haz?”
Harry snorted out a chuckle, “Like the way George looked like he wanted to hex me when you left him to come to me,” he teased, a smug lilt to his voice.
“He wasn’t teasing me, perhaps I’ll go back to him,” you grumbled, ignoring Harry’s childish giggles.
“Yeah you’d like that wouldn’t you?” You smacked his arm lightly with your free hand, doing a bad job of containing giggles of your own. “Don’t worry, since he’s going to be your new roommate there will be plenty of time for “oh George I’m so sleepy, please hold me until I fall asleep”,” you let out a cackle at Harry’s terrible impression of your voice, laying your cheek against his wild hair.
“That is so not what was going on, Haz,” you defended with a tiny smile.
Harry let out an airy, disbelieving chuckle, “Then what was going on?”
“He just said I could lean on him until you and Cecillia arrived and we just started chatting about how I wanna decorate my room,” you explained truthfully and Harry nodded.
“Riveting,” he mumbled sarcastically. Despite his snarky comment, the boy removed his head from your shoulder and pulled you against his chest. “Jokes aside, I’m glad you’re staying with him, I know he’ll look after you for me,” you rolled your eyes at the sentiment.
“I don’t need to be looked after,” you reminded him, looking up at him with a chastising smile.
He rolled his eyes right back at you, jostling you slightly in his arms, “No. But you like to be.”
You threw your head back in laughter, “Yeah, I suppose I do.” You did. You quite like both doting on people and being doted on, you’d grown up in an affectionate family so it was no wonder really.
“It’s getting late. We should get you settled into your new home,” Harry announced, pulling himself and you up from the bed, “I wasn’t going to say anything but you look terrible. You need sleep.”
“Thank you, Harry. Just what every girl wants to hear before moving in with her crush,” you joked, gently hitting your hip against his.
The kitchen was quiet when you returned, it seemed everyone had grown tired from the dramatic events of the evening.
“Ready to go then?” Fred asked, his coat already on and a handful of your bags in his hands.
“As I’ll ever be I suppose.”
After saying goodbye to everyone you, Fred and George traveled to their apartment by floo, to your dismay. The apartment was bare as they’d only just moved in but you could see it had lots of potential for becoming a cozy home for the twins.
As your first night in your new residence began, your aching eyes and tired mind didn’t leave you with any time to dwell on current events, the second your head made contact with the pillow you were out like a light. A dreamless slumber welcomed you for a while until your peace was broken by the all too familiar nightmare.
The first thing you recognised was the burn coming from your wrists. Shackles adorned them and effectively held your hands high above your head, stretching them uncomfortably. Goosebumps painted the expanse of your arms and legs, due to the freezing temperature in the nondescript cellar. A feeling of hopelessness planted firmly in your chest, the feeling only hightening when the familiar echo of footsteps, heavy and loud, drifted from the corridor outside of your field of vision. You knew who was approaching, you’ve lived this before, and so, you held your lip between your teeth and squeezed your eyes shut. The face of the dark wizard who always brought about your intense suffering was, for the most part, completely fuzzy, unrecognisable, featureless and bone-chillingly terrifying. You’d learned over the last two weeks of having this vision that it was less harrowing if you closed your eyes.
“I’ll ask you once more,” The voice was distorted, like it was being heard through a weedy radio, ominously unplaceable, “Where is he?”
You held no control over your voice, as was the norm during visions, as you felt and heard yourself reply, “I’ll tell you once more; I’d sooner die then sell him to you.” You felt your teeth gritting and your jaw clenching while you spoke. Jaw only tightening when the pointed tip of the wizard’s wand stabbed unforgivingly against the column of your neck.
“And die you will, my dear. But not yet-“ your eyes sealed themselves shut and you did your best to shake yourself out of the vision before what you knew was coming took place, as usual, your attempts were fruitless, “-Crucio.” Just like that your body was consumed by pain, the likes of which you’d never imagined possible, until you couldn’t even register yourself screaming anymore.
You bolted upright, clutching at the sheets of your new bed. Laboured breaths left your mouth and you aimlessly gripped at your neck, where the wand had been pressed, and let the tears spill freely. Momentarily disoriented, you’d forgotten where you were. Deep, heavy bursts of air left your mouth as you hastily scurried out of bed and towards the door. Somewhat aimlessly, you gravitated to the door across the hall. A yellow hue seeped from under the frame into the otherwise dark hallway. Light flooded the hall once you managed to fumble the handle down and pull the door ajar, a discombobulated ginger greeting you with half lidded eyes, obviously having been dozing off before you disturbed his peace.
“Sorry,” you rasped once your peace of mind returned to you and you realised where you were. Despite knowing that you shouldn’t have been standing numbly in his doorway, your feet seemed to be rooted in place, you couldn’t have walked away if you wanted to.
“S’alright,” George called out to you softly, sitting up in his bed, his back against the headboard. “You can come in, you know.”
Shutting the door behind you, you nervously shuffled into the room, stopping when you reached the side of his bed. George’s eyes roamed your face and he took notice of your still somewhat panicked expression, he drew his covers to the side and patted the empty space by his side. Something that always intrigued you was people’s preferred side of the bed, some people gravitated towards the left while others were more biased towards the right, but George Weasley? He slept right in the middle. The twin slept with a huge number of pillows, to the point where it was almost laughable, many of which you could only guess he’d smuggled from the Burrow.
Far too wound up to save face, you slid into his bed and didn’t shy away when he guided you into his side and tucked you tenderly beneath his lean arm. His embrace offered a greatly appreciated warmth as the chill of the dank dungeon always lingered long after the vision itself was over.
“What’re you doing up so late?” You asked, your voice gravelly. As you spoke, George effortlessly shuffled your body and his down so that your backs were resting on the mattress and not the headboard. Your head found it’s home against George’s shoulder and your hair was being tentatively twirled between his fingers.
“It’s our first night actually sleeping here. I couldn’t get to sleep,” he explained, his voice low and laced with fatigue. “I’m not really used to having my own room. It’s strange not hearing Freddie snoring or breathing.”
“I get that,” you whispered, “it’s quite comforting knowing for certain that someone is there with you.”
George nodded then. His eyes were glued to your face and he hadn’t even registered his own thought process before his lips were pressing delicately against your forehead. Today had appeared to be the day for laying all your cards out on the table, yourself and George hadn’t danced around your feelings for each other half as much as you usually did when you’d be in each other’s presence. Neither of you had the energy anymore, besides, if today’s events proved anything it was that; things were getting seriously messy as the war built momentum and it was clear that time was something that could very well be running out.
“Yeah,” he regarded you carefully, a little grin growing on his lips, “It is.”
A comfortable silence overtook the room. George’s twirling of your hair never ceased, every now and then his fingers would ghost over your shoulder and you’d catch yourself smiling against the cotton of his shirt as your eyes grew tired enough that they were close to falling shut.
Just as you were working up the motivation to lift yourself up and trudge back to your own bed, George spoke, “You can sleep here if you want, with me,” there was that innocent vulnerability again. There was never an ulterior motive when it came to him, he did things purely for the sake of making others happy, if he felt he could make a difference he simply needed to. Especially when it came to you, he realised.
“You don’t mind?” You asked, daring to peek up at him.
“Course not. I could use some company anyway.” He reassured you, his lips returning to your forehead, only this time the action held far more intention. “You don’t snore do you, love?”
You snorted out a giggle, looking up at the ginger cheekily, mischief dripping from your little grin that forced George’s heart to stutter rather violently and he hoped you hadn’t noticed. “No. But I drool.”
George’s face contorted, his nose scrunching up adorably in disgust, “Do you really?”
“Suppose you’ll have to find out, won’t you?” You teased and he sighed deeply, his disgruntled expression melting into a soft, adoring smile.
“I should’ve expected this, I knew you couldn’t have been completely perfect,” he said, mockingly sorrowful.
You scoffed, pushing his chest lightly, “You’re doing a lot of sweet talking tonight, Mr. Weasley,” you told him and he shrugged innocently.
“Just wanted to see you smiling again, darling.”
“Yeah, well, you’re doing a good job,” you assured him, the bashful yet tired smile that stretched your lips as you gazed up at him proved that you meant what you’d just said. “I like it by the way, the sweet talking.”
At your words, a huge, shit eating smirk grew on the boy’s freckled face. He managed to rearrange your bodies so that you were still tucked under his arm but you were now facing each other at eye level. “I knew it,” he proclaimed cockily.
You raised a challenging eyebrow, biting back a smirk, “Oh did you?”
George nodded pridefully, “‘Course I did. You see, I’m a little bit psychic,” his words forced a booming laugh from your lips, your cheeks hurting from the smile he’d orchestrated.
You shook your head, smile never dulling as you let out a chastising whisper, “oh sod off.”
“I love your smile,” he said suddenly, his eyes widened in horror when he realised he’d uttered the words out loud. The world could’ve stopped in that moment and you wouldn’t have noticed, all you could take in was George’s face, his eyes searching yours for something.
Carefully, you slid from hand from his chest to his red, blushing face. You cupped his cheek gently, moving your thumb against his cheek bone, almost swooning where you lay when he nuzzled against your touch. Working up some Gryffindor courage, George mimicked your movement, removing his arm from around your shoulder and bringing his palm to rest against the curve of your jaw.
As you stared at each other, you weighed up the pros and cons of telling him that you were completely head over heels for him. Your decision, apparently taking far too long, was made for you when George tugged you impossibly closer to him.
“I wasn’t going to tell you… you’ve had so much going on I didn’t want to overwhelm you,” he said, brown eyes boring into your soul.
“Tell me what?”
He took a deep breath, preparing himself for every possible outcome that may spring once the words on the tip of his tongue are spoken aloud, “That I love you.”
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Beautiful Mischief [Pt. 3]
Bad Batch x Reader • Angst/Fluff/NSFW (yknow the whole deal) • Mechanic [hidden Jedi] ! Reader • Female reader
Fall on your knees, sweet girl
Sweet girl...
——
“SHES A FUCKING JEDI”
“And how the fuck would you know that?”
“HER PETITE FUCKING ASS CANT TAKE DOWN A TREE IN A SINGLE PUNCH”
“You think she used the force?”
“She did! Don’t believe me?! Wait till the next incident”
Y/N frowns outside the cockpit hearing Cross talk about what he saw with Hunter and Tech. She straightens up when Echo came into the common area seeing the angered look on her face. He didn’t say a word. They stood in the silence and Y/N felt overwhelmed all of a sudden causing her to leave the room, before he could reach—-
“Don’t touch her Echo. We don’t know what she’s capable of” Tech states witnessing what just happened as Echo gave him a worried look.
——
“You’re taking on a Padawan? You know what Anakin turned out to be. You think you’ll produce a normal one?”
“They are Anakin’s age now. Not a child. I believe I can train them to be the best”
“A little late to find a force sensitive being”
“I didn’t find her, she found me”
“I trust you Obi Wan. But—“
Don’t be surprised by the hardships
——
Wrecker finds himself in the storage compartment looking for extra ration bars in their food supply when he saw Y/N sitting on the ground propped up against her crate staring at the ceiling.
“Hey?” He tilts his head confused seeing the redness in her eyes and swollen cheeks. “Hey Y/N...what’s wrong?” He decided to sit with her waiting for her to respond and if she didn’t, he would’ve stayed as a comfort.
“I’m a monster Wrecker”
“What? I don’t think so”
“Crosshair does, he’s telling everybody what he saw in the forest. Just another monster in this galaxy full of darkness”
“Okay now that’s a lot of talk. I’m going to need context”
“He didn’t tell you? None of your brothers did?”
“Honestly I ignore what most of them say” Wrecker laughs as he handed her a ration bar seeing her take the offer.
“I worked on your ship for a year before you decided to add me on this journey with you all. Then it’s been six months and as much as you’re all close with one another...I don’t think I’ll ever been looked at normally ever again”
“Y/N...from the time with the scar thing. Scars are scars. It was stupid of us to push you to tell us what happened. As for this recent thing. Speaking for myself, I don’t care what you are. You’re Y/N. A badass mechanic that knows a lot more than we expected. And if shit changes. Who gives a fuck? Imma still like you for you. Besides. Half of my face is a scar and I don’t give a fuck” Wrecker smiles hearing her laugh a little, feeling better.
——
“Two lightsabers? Ha! This will work nicely for you young apprentice”
Y/N stares with grey covered eyes standing still like a solider as the dathomirian receives the kyber crystals for the hilts before handing the new and improved sabers to his mindless slave.
“You’ll receive a new look. Keep you hidden away from the so called Jedi you used to call your family. Little do they know your parents died and adoptive sister left. Or you left her. I’ve always wondered why you did so”
“I wanted to become a Jedi, Odious...” Y/N says groggily before freeing when he started to force choke her. “I’m sorry sir...”
“Mmm. Are you truly, sweet girl?” He smirks pushing her against the wall and keeping her there like a wall ornament. “We don’t want you to remember to good old days...we need information and you will kill for it if it deems necessary” Odious laughs squeezing his hold hearing her choke. “You will kill if they won’t expose their secrets. We will take down the Jedi council”
Soon Y/N dropped on her side feeling the cold ground turn into a cold surrounding. Feeling like death was crawling in but she quickly stood to their feet seeing Odious’s accomplices approach her to start the appearance change.
No one said it was pain-free
——
Returning to Coruscant, Y/N thought she was being dropped off but Hunter assured her it was for Echo to receive some simplicity with his brothers in blue.
Even the clones need to go back to their home.
“You coming?”
“No”
“But come on. The mess hall will have more of those ration bars you like” Wrecker adds as Y/N stayed glued to her seat feeling a weight grow in her chest when she sensed him. “Y/N?”
“I can’t Wrecker...I know we’ll be here for three days but I’m safe here”
“Well you know where we’ll be” He smiles being the last stepping off the ramp as it closed behind him.
But it didn’t take until nightfall for Y/N to step out and take a look at something that over came their thoughts.
——
“You’ll be staying”
“No Obi-Wan”
“Y/N you’ve come so far. Why give up training now?”
“Your master was a grey-Jedi because he didn’t believe in the rules the council had held accountable on us all. I can’t live in a cult that doesn’t want me to seek out for more in my life”
“But you can—“
“I’m not becoming a whore of the Jedi council all because I can fuck every man that steps into the facility. I want to fall in love. I want to be free. Free from my personal burdens. Reunite with my sister. Go home. I won’t be corrupted Obi Wan. You can keep your tabs on me if you like. But I cannot be here”
“Y/N. Please”
“Take a look behind you Obi Wan, and what do you see?”
Obi Wan turns around to look at the city of Coruscant erupt in colors and volumes of plenty. He was about to say something but when he turned around.
She was gone
——
And now she’s returned
Y/N stepped into the quarters she stayed in during her time there. The nostalgia started to hit when the familiar feeling returned.
“Leave”
“Y/N—“
“Leave me alone” She frowns clenching her fists. “You shouldn’t have come out of whatever corner you were in”
“Y/N it took courage for you to come back inside this place. Please just let me spe—“
Obi Wan suddenly hit the wall outside of her room as she stepped out quickly leaving.
“General I heard—“ Cody stopped talking seeing Y/N and his General on the floor, triggering him to take out his weapon. “You stay right there”
“Don’t hurt him Y/N”
“I’m not a monster like you Kenobi” Y/N frowns lifting her hands and before Cody could even do anything, she booked it in the other direction.
“What the—“ Cody started chasing after her as Obi Wan quickly gets on his feet following in suit after the two.
Having no obstacle in the way made it easy, until Cody called in reinforcements from Rex and a few more from the 501st.
“This—“
“It’s Y/N. Why would Cody—“
“Cody explain?!”
“Cody stand down for maker’s sake” Obi Wan states. “You can’t just—“
“They—“
“NO” He snaps as the distress in his voice made Cody finally stop thinks but the actions still confused his brothers. “Now leave. All of you. Except Y/N”
As the sun sets on today
We’ll never know about tomorrow
——
“General Kenobi. New information has come up”
“What about this time Cody?”
“About fugitive x. You said to dig up anything on them and we got something”
Obi Wan turns to Cody seeing the information on the datapad and taking it, leaving to process this all.
Fugitive X
Name: Y/F/N Y/L/N
Found in the streets of the black market wielding duel lightsabers. Nothing life threatening. But they were found with a kyber crystal that was floating around in the market.
“This...isn’t giving me anything...” Cody frowns flipping through the pictures and finding the video from one of the street cameras of them taking out a knife and suddenly—-
Fuck
——
“Why didn’t you come back once you escaped?”
“Why would I?”
“What do you mean...”
“Just because you had spies in my life to keep tabs on me. Doesn’t mean they saw everything. You......” Y/N stops talking as she brings her knees to her chest staring out in the scenery as Obi Wan sheds his robe to be comfortable around her just enough. “You...you lost your master. Imagine that pain, but with your humanity, sanity...”
“Y/N, what happened?”
“A lot...”
A lot that nobody knows
Until now
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Enemies-to-lovers!Changbin
request: Hiiiii I read you bangchan enemies to lovers au and I swear if I could like a post more than once I'd like that one a MILLION TIMES I'm wondering if maybe you could write an enemies to lovers au for changbin pretty please? 🥺🥰
genre: enemies-to-lovers!au (again, not Super extreme, low-key clash bc they’re both stubborn), film club president!Changbin, childhood penpal!au (fluff, very mild angst, they bicker a lot, kind of cheesy bc changbin’s a sap and we know that)
pairing/s: Changbin / Reader (ft some skz members)
word count: 17k+
tw: mild coarse language (they say shit a lot LOL)
a/n: THE ANON WHO REQUESTED THIS...IM PRETTY SURE you waited months for this so thank you for being so so so patient!! I decided to try something a little different from my usual style but idk if it’s That Obvious, but its more structure wise I guess, but nonetheless, I'll be getting a little busier soon so I’m not sure If I'll be able to put out Full one shots for the next few months but I'll try my best w those little shorter ones maybe! (I'll have to see how Tired I am) also p.s I love this gif thank u to whoever made it but changbin is blonde in this fic bc of Personal Reasons
To: my penpal Y/N
How are you?
I had a good day today. Sorry if the paper is crunchy I am writing this on my bed because my mom thinks I am already asleep. Today I went out with my mom and we went to the park and ate some sandwiches at the park. We had a picnic but with no juice because my sister finished everything. And then we went to the toy shop after lunch. I saw a keychain of a camera and bought it for you because you like acting and cameras can take a video of you acting.
This is a picture of me next to the wishing well at the park, you cannot see it but i’m making a peace sign. I threw a coin in the well and made a wish that your audition will be good. I know you will do very well because you practiced a lot for it. That’s all. I’m a bit tired now. Goodnight, or good morning if you are reading this in the morning. Or afternoon.
I hope i’ll be hearing from you soon,
Binnie.
“So, do you wanna keep them? If not I can chuck them together with the rest of your old things,” your mom began, already reaching over to take the letter from you.
Your eyes widened just as quickly, shaking your head quickly as you gripped the envelope and its contents behind your back away from her reach.
“No, no. Don’t throw them away,” you said sternly, softening your gaze when you noticed the way her eyebrows had raised in amusement, embarrassment washing over your features.
“I’ll keep them. Gimme the box.”
Your mom set the beaten looking converse shoebox down onto the table, shaking her head at you as a small chuckle escaped her. Mental note to transfer the letters to a smaller (and more durable) box.
“Alright, alright,” she waved her hands at you in dismissal, “hurry up or you’ll be late for school.”
She shut the door behind her with a light thud, leaving you to stare at the grainy polaroid your childhood penpal had sent you when you both were only eight and still exchanging letters every week.
Inhaling deeply, you shoved the polaroid picture back into the envelope, slipping it into the box of envelopes before getting up. You figured that was a box you wouldn’t have the time to delve into when you were already keeping Jisung waiting.
Driving as fast as you could (or as fast as you dared to) within the speed limit, you’d reached your campus soon enough. It wasn’t that long of a drive and it would be even shorter (walking distance to be specific), when you move into your apartment nearer to campus in a few days. But that didn’t change the fact that you were running late now, spotting Jisung standing by the fountain with a sour look on his face that had only deepened once he’d spotted you.
Before an utterance of apology could leave you, Jisung had pursed his lips, stretching out his hand that held your cup of drink, a small hint of a smile playing at his lips.
“I’m starting to wonder which one of us has worse time management,” he sighed deeply, shaking his head with feigned disappointment as he glanced at his nonexistent watch on his wrist.
Jisung was one to talk, for sure. His crumpled looking shirt over baggy cargo pants and a hat to cover his head of messy hair told you his journey to school wasn’t exactly ‘leisurely’ either.
You rolled your eyes, taking a sip of your drink and sighing at the taste, “it’s definitely you. I was only late today ‘cause my mom was showing me my old stuff she found in the storeroom.”
Jisung waved you off, “fine, whatever,” he fished his phone out of his pocket as you started walking towards the auditorium for a class you were both dreading.
“Oh, shit, Hyunjin says the professor’s already in class, we should hurry up.”
Quickening your pace, you were glad to have reached before your professor had started, Jisung directing you towards where Hyunjin was seated at the side of the auditorium, giving him a small nod as you sat down.
Not that Hyunjin noticed anyway, the said boy busy with messaging someone on his phone with a frown on his face.
“What are you doing?”
Jisung peered over Hyunjin’s shoulder, frankly not wanting to focus on the lesson as the professor played a video on boring business things he figured he could just ask you for later.
Hyunjin sighed, setting his phone down onto the table and pushing his laptop open further, going to his email with quick clicks on his trackpad, “gotta send the scene for the auditions later to Changbin.”
“Oh, for that film thing?” Jisung asked, earning a nod from Hyunjin, whose eyebrows furrowed as they remembered your presence.
“Y/N should audition,” Hyunjin nodded his head towards you, his mention of your name distracting you momentarily, but you’d brushed it off quickly as you tried to take down whatever your professor was rambling on about.
At your lack of response, Jisung nudged your shoulder with more force, “hey, did you hear what Hyunjin said?”
You tore your gaze reluctantly from your professor as your fingers finished typing whatever you had left in your memory, the confused look on your face prompting Hyunjin to take over.
“We’re having auditions later for the movie the film club’s gonna be making,” he started, nodding slowly as his eyebrows raised, “I was saying you should join, you’d be good for the role.”
You narrowed your eyes at Hyunjin, “what’s it about?”
Jisung huffed, “some cheesy penpal shit, the last I heard.”
Your quirked an eyebrow at that, Hyunjin rolling his eyes.
“Something like that, but it’s not super romantic. They’re childhood penpals who meet again in the future but they don’t end up together, I don’t know how to explain it to you as well as Changbin can, but will you come anyway?”
You scrunch your nose as you consider his offer.
Was there anything you needed to prepare? You didn’t even know exactly what you were signing up for. Or much less anyone in the film club. Well, other than Hyunjin, of course.
“Is there any script I'm supposed to prepare with?” you asked, making Hyunjin’s eyebrows raise, his lips parting in realisation.
“I’m pretty sure it depends on what role you want…” he trailed off, making you scoff.
Not being able to help the laugh from escaping you, you narrowed your eyes at him, “you sound like you’re not even in the club.”
Hyunjin flashed you a sweet smile, “you know what? I’ll just send you what I sent Changbin. You can just prepare with that! Penny’s role!”
Jisung snorted, his hand coming up in a poor attempt to stifle his giggles.
“Penny? Is it because...she’s a pen pal?”
You pressed your lips into a firm line, finding it awfully amusing as well.
Hyunjin frowned, scrunching his nose up in distaste, “we couldn’t think of anything better, okay?”
You huffed, lower lip jutting out in a small pensive pout. You didn’t have much going on in terms of school productions as of now, anyway, you guessed there would be no harm in showing some support for Hyunjin.
“What time are the auditions?”
“They start from lunchtime until like five,” Hyunjin tried his best to recall, looking at you with his best pleading gaze.
Sighing again, you nodded, “this is my only class for today.”
Hyunjin was practically beaming now.
“Perfect.”
===
“I don’t like it.”
Hyunjin sputtered over his sip of coffee, an incredulous expression on his face, attracting looks from the other film club members in the dance studio. Excusing himself, he’d made his way outside, oblivious to the squeals and stares the girls waiting to audition were directing towards him, settling himself in the middle of the field outside the dance studio.
“What do you mean, ‘you don’t like it’?” he asked you again, his eyebrows furrowed as curiosity took over him.
You sighed, rolling your shoulders back as you nodded at one of your teachers you were walking past, your grip relaxing on your phone as your arm had started to get tired.
“I mean, I read through the script, and something about Penny’s character just doesn’t sit right with me,” you told him, “it just… doesn’t make sense for her to come to that conclusion when she’d been having a perfectly good time with the guy before that, you know?”
Pausing, you’d waited for him to respond, his silence prompting you to continue with your elaboration.
“Okay, I’ll put it this way,” you started, adjusting your grip on your laptop in your arm, “If I were a reader, or like, a viewer in this case, I would wanna be able to pick up on these small moments or signs that Penny is actually thinking about her relationship, do you know what I mean? Because now the way it looks is that she’s just a plot device meant to hurt him, and that there’s no exploration of the development of their relationship at all.”
Hyunjin let out a deep sigh, “Okay, I know, I know, but the thing is… this was Changbin’s idea, and I don’t know if you’ve heard—I mean, you probably have, but… nobody really questions him.”
You hummed, following Hyunjin into the school building and tugging your coat tighter around yourself, the cold air in the building shocking you as you entered.
“Yeah, I get that, but you’re forgetting that I don’t have the same relationship with this Changbin guy that you guys do. I don’t mind telling him that I have a problem with it. I don’t wanna be acting out some two-dimensional love interest character if I can help it.”
Hyunjin grimaced, not seeming to be too keen on your insistence, “I really think it might be a little late for him to change the script.”
“It’s never too late.”
“Well to Changbin it could be!” Hyunjin insisted, making you roll your eyes, a small chuckle leaving you.
You huffed, “I still think the audience deserves a better film with better crafted characters.”
Hyunjin let out a sound in between a sigh and a groan, “Okay fine, you just have to make sure you get the role, and then you’re free to argue with Changbin all you want. Deal?”
“Deal,” You turned the corner and spotted Hyunjin standing in the middle of the field, already making his way back to the dance studio.
“Okay,” he spoke before you could end the call, “I gotta go, see you later.”
You didn’t expect there to be so many people at the auditions, mostly girls and just a handful of guys. Though you seemed to piece the uneven ratio together when you saw the not-so-furtive stares the girls would cast in Hyunjin’s direction whenever he’d peek his head out from the crack in the door to call the next person in.
You recognized one of the guys who’d come in later than you, one of Jisung’s upperclassmen friends whose name was Minho.
“Didn’t think i’d see you here,” he gave you a small smile as he took a seat next to you.
Shrugging in response, you let out an awkward huff of laughter, not used to talking to him about anything other than his cats and Jisung’s whereabouts.
“Yeah… well, Hyunjin asked me to come, so I figured I might as well,” you fiddled with the slip of paper with the scene printed on it, “not like I had anything better to do, anyway.”
Minho nodded slowly, leaning closer to you and dropping his voice to a murmur, “I’ve never seen any of these girls before.”
You huffed, “I’m pretty sure most of them are here for Hyunjin.”
“Oh yeah, makes sense,” Minho hummed, a small lilt of amusement to his tone, “where is he, anyway? He told me he would be here—”
Minho’s question was answered when the girls beside the both of you had erupted into harsh whispers and murmurs, tapping each other excitedly as Hyunjin could be seen through the window panel in the door, looking on seriously as one of the girls inside the room was auditioning.
You huffed, gesturing to the window.
“Found him.”
Inside the room, Changbin was distracted.
He knew he had a certain image in his head about what he wanted ‘Penny’ to be. But whatever the girls that had auditioned so far had been showing, that dramatic ‘i never loved you!’ emotion, that wasn’t exactly it. And it didn’t help either that they struggled letting go of the dramatics when Chan would prompt them to try a different angle.
Hyunjin cast a (mildly concerned) look at Changbin, trying to gauge his expression, figuring the pointed look Changbin had sent his way was enough to say he didn’t think this girl would be shortlisted.
“Who’s next?” Chan leaned over in his seat to peek at the clipboard of names of signups, Changbin leaning back in his seat and pushing the clipboard towards him, not finding it in him to be able to be more hopeful about the next person.
“Oh, Y/N,” Chan hummed, nodding with an impressed expression on his face, the name catching Changbin’s attention, “that’s cool, didn’t think they’d audition.”
“Y/N?” Changbin echoed, something about the name awfully familiar to him, yet not being able to make the connection in his memories yet.
So for now, he’d simply gestured to Hyunjin to signal that he could send the next girl in, Chan sweetly thanking the girl that had just auditioned as she left the room.
Making your way into the room, you scanned the ‘panel’ of judges.
You recognized Chan, the said pale-faced boy looking even more tired when he’d yawned as you made your way to the centre of the room. He came to your school productions often since he and Felix were friends, and Felix was always involved in some way or another. The other boy, though, you didn’t think you’d seen before.
The two of them seemed to exude completely different auras, with Chan smiling warmly at you and gesturing for you to come closer while the other boy sat with his arms folded across his chest, frowning at you as though you were a code to decipher.
“Hey, didn’t expect to see you here,” Chan broke the silence first, giggling.
You shook your head, “honestly didn’t think i’d sign-up either.”
You pressed your lips together in a tight-lipped smile, rocking back on your heels as you glanced at the boy next to him again, “I actually only heard about it from Hyunjin this morning,” you admitted, Hyunjin flashing Chan a grin from behind you as if to say ‘you’re welcome’.
Changbin cleared his throat, making Chan perk up.
“Right, sorry. So, we’ve obviously met but this is our club’s president Changbin,” he gestured to the boy sitting next to him.
Changbin nodded curtly, bringing his hand up to run it through his bleached hair and shoving his cap back on his head with habitual movements.
Now you were starting to understand why Hyunjin was so intimidated by Changbin, always having heard stories about him but only now being able to put a face to the name.
Nodding slowly, you gave him a smile, “nice to meet you, I’m Y/N.”
Changbin had to stop himself from faltering, his breath hitching when he realised why your name was so familiar.
After all, it had been the first candidate before they’d decided to go with ‘penny’. He wondered how cruel fate was to have brought you, someone with the same name as the person he’d practically based this story on, to be auditioning for the very role.
You tried not to be offended by the way Changbin had simply nodded at you, straightening up in his seat, “and you’ll be auditioning for the role of…?”
Would it hurt him to smile?
You inhaled deeply, trying to hide your amusement as you answered him, “Penny.”
Changbin nodded, Chan humming as he looked up from his copy of the script to give you another reassuring smile.
“Alright, whenever you’re ready. I’ll be taking the lines of the male lead,” Chan told you.
You understood that the scene was some sort of scene where the two romantic leads have some sort of confrontation, and you did your best to get into what you imagined Penny would be feeling, Chan reading the line asking if ‘penny’ had even loved him at all. Dramatic was the word to describe it, really.
You softened your gaze, unintentionally letting it rest on Changbin but deciding to let it stay there, executing your lines all the while trying to ignore the way Changbin’s stare was unnerving you, making you want to prove to him that you were a good actor even though he hadn’t questioned your acting skills.
Hyunjin had been watching the exchange closely, Changbin’s grip on his pencil loosening as he’d let the pencil fall softly against the table.
Changbin wondered if it was some sort of coincidence, because whatever ‘it’ was that he’d been looking for in Penny’s character, you’d managed to convey almost perfectly.
And it was clear that Chan had felt the same way as well, since once your audition was over, the smile on Chan’s face was nothing but beaming.
Once you’d left the room, Hyunjin telling you that they would contact you by the next morning, Chan had turned to Changbin, the same stupid smile on his face.
“That was great!” he nudged Changbin, the younger boy still recovering from the shock of the coincidence of it all, managing to muster a small huff in response.
“Yeah,” Changbin reached over to grab his water bottle, prolonging his silence as he took a long sip, “I don’t think we’d even need to see the rest.”
Chris scrunched his nose up, grinning, “but you know we still will, of course. Just in case.”
Changbin sighed, glancing at the clock, agreeing with Chan even though he knew he’d already had his mind made up.
“Yeah, just in case,” Changbin mumbled, looking out the window and seeing you talk to Minho, tearing his gaze away and rolling his shoulders back.
“Okay, send the next one in.”
===
To: Binnie
How are you?
I’m okay. I like the picture you sent me of you using your scooter. My mom says you look nice. I think so too.
Today I went to the museum and I ate an ice cream for lunch. I don’t have a picture of it but it was a Strawberry ice cream.
I just finished reading your letter. Sorry to say it using a bad word, but i think what your sister did was stupid. I think you should still tell her to ask for permission to use your scooter. But if she still does not listen, maybe you should tell her again. Because my mom always tells me that if I want something, I have to ask for it. So you should do that. Maybe she does not know you don’t like it when she plays with your scooter. Or, you could buy a new scooter. Here is some money so you can buy a scooter. I drew you $50 because that is a lot of money. I hope you have a good day when you read this.
Till next time,
Your penpal Y/N.
You weren’t the world’s kindest human alive, you had your petty moments. I mean, there were so many songs and literature and movies that highlighted that idea that no human was perfect, right? But you tried your best, surely.
So, you’d gladly complied when Hyunjin asked you to grab extra cups of coffee for Chan and Changbin (as reluctant as you were. You were strapped for cash as it was).
You figured that was the least you could do before the trouble you were about to cause the both of them. But hopefully, if office etiquette was anything to go by, the simple gesture would show that you were kind, and someone who appreciated the offer given to you, as much as you hated the superficiality of your character.
However, when you showed up at the room, you were reminded that Changbin wasn’t just anyone. And while Chan made his appreciation known, Changbin… was the same as ever. Intimidating, and very hard to read. The sight of it almost made you want to take back his coffee.
He wasn’t wearing a hat today. Instead, he’d let his blonde hair (which looked darker since the last time you saw him, or maybe it was just his dyed-black undercut) fall messily over his forehead in a slight side part.
His black shirt did nothing to hide his physique, every movement of his coming across as a subtle flex, making you have to remind yourself time and time again that you weren’t exactly here to fawn over him.
He would lean back in his seat, scrolling through whatever he was looking at in his phone with one hand, his other hand draped over his stomach and propped underneath his elbow to support it. The way he would look made it seem as if he was almost oblivious to the world around him, only paying attention to what was on his phone until he would laugh at something Chan said, Chan being the only person you’ve seen that managed to elicit seemingly uncharacteristic giggles from him.
Though it wasn’t as if you were given much time to get used to it. The moment Chan had murmured something in his ear, his expression had switched back to ‘strictly business’.
Chan straightened up, looking around the room with his eyebrows slightly raised in question, one hand adjusting the braided leather bracelet around his wrist
“So, shall we get started then?” Chan asked, gesturing to Changbin before typing away at his laptop.
Changbin took his cue, getting up from his seat and making his way around the table to the front of the room, pulling the overhanging screen up to reveal the whiteboard.
“So, first of all, we’ve finalised the actors playing the characters,” he gestured towards you and Minho, “Minho as Soobin and Y/N as Penny. So, we can start shooting about next week. I would say we’re working with a pretty loose deadline because we don’t have to submit it until a few months from now.”
Changbin rolled his shoulders back, his body language seeming fairly relaxed although his expression remained serious nonetheless, “but that doesn’t mean we should slack, obviously.”
His statement elicited a small groan from Hyunjin, who muttered a ‘figures’ under his breath, making you stifle your giggles for Changbin’s sake.
“But we will start with maybe going over the script once through, go over the technical stuff after we get any issues with the flow out of the way.”
He looked as though he were going through a mental list of things to cover, his gaze flickering momentarily to Hyunjin, as if his face would give him answers to the invisible question in his head.
“The people in charge of the props, have you started preparing the letters?” Chan stepped in, earning a shake of the head from the two girls sitting next to Hyunjin, making Changbin wave a hand dismissively in their direction.
“They could start on that after we confirm the script,” Changbin leaned over the table to grab his cup of coffee, proceeding to take a long sip from it.
“Alright, let’s start then.”
Changbin took the empty seat he was standing next to, pulling his laptop closer to him to pull up the script.
Throughout the reading, you tried to keep your comments to yourself, you really did. It just fascinated you how fearful the team was of Changbin (well, aside from Chan), the way everyone seemed to bite their tongues or withhold their comments caused a permanent frown to be etched on your face.
It didn’t make it any better that Minho seemed to have no problems with the script, not even when you’d occasionally leant over to whisper to him and ask if he found that part a little weird or a little abrupt. But you held your tongue for now, (and also because of the side glance Hyunjin would cast your way whenever you would let out a small sigh), you wanted to give Changbin the benefit of the doubt, figuring maybe if he read through his script again he’d realise how one-sided it was.
But thankfully, when you were reading out the lines where the two main characters had ended their date, and on a particularly high note for that matter, it seemed the opportunity to voice your concerns about the script was presented to you when Changbin had spoken up.
“Okay, since the next scene onwards will be where their relationship breaks down, any questions so far?” He asked, though his tone didn’t sound like he was really asking for feedback. But, hey, an opportunity as an opportunity, wasn’t it?
You cleared your throat a little too harshly, raising up your hand as you leaned against the table to be seen better, “uh, actually, me? I mean, I have some feedback actually.”
Changbin looked at you curiously, his gaze landing on you with slight surprise, as if he hadn’t expected it to be you of all people. There was a slight hesitancy evident in the way he paused before giving you a short nod, prompting you to go ahead.
You smiled, ignoring the way Hyunjin had sighed deeply a few seats away from you, dreading the chaos that could have come with people like you and Changbin bumping heads.
“Well, it’s not really specific to this scene. It’s kind of about the whole flow of the plot in general…” you fiddled with the corner of the page you were on, “but I was thinking it would be better to show more of Penny’s point of view? You know, because when I was reading it it just felt a little… weird for them to suddenly break up if everything seemed to be going fine.”
Changbin narrowed his eyes at you, looking back down at his computer with a simple dismissive shake of the head, “That’s not necessary, they’re going to break up anyway.”
The room had fallen silent, everybody seeming to have taken that as a ‘end of the conversation’ kind of line, already beginning to bring their attention to the next scene.
You frowned, unable to control your expression as you made your dismay obvious, casting a desperate look to Hyunjin who honestly looked as though he would pay you not to pursue this.
“But that’s not the point,” you spoke, getting Chan’s attention as he looked at you, silently urging you to continue, “you wanted to show their relationship, right? So, shouldn’t you show… both their parts in the relationship? Since it’s not like this is told in Soobin’s point of view.”
Changbin pursed his lips, “the point is,” he brought his cup of coffee to his lips, taking a small sip before continuing, “their relationship was superficial so it doesn’t matter.”
You mirrored his expression. The way it sounded was that he was just trying to convince himself that it didn’t matter.
Your frown deepened, quick to respond to him.
“That’s the thing, if you’re so insistent on them breaking up, why don’t you just make their relationship lead up to that? The way they’re interacting up to this scene makes viewers think they’re just going to end up together,” you tried to reason, hoping Changbin would understand where you were coming from.
Minho took that opportunity to excuse himself to the bathroom, and as you gave the rest of the film club members a once-over, you hated the way they were all looking at you as if you were cussing Changbin out instead of just giving him constructive feedback, or just voicing your thoughts for that matter.
“Well, not everyone gets a happy ending, I guess.”
He was practically avoiding your message at this point, making you grow more frustrated.
“Okay, look, what’s your intention behind making this film?” you asked, watching carefully as Changbin huffed, looking fairly amused at your insistence, which only served to irk you more.
“Simple,” he shrugged, “to show people like you that not everything that seems so perfect ends up perfect in the end.”
Your lips parted, scoffing, resisting the urge to get up from your seat as you heard Minho re-enter the room.
“People like me?” you echoed spitefully, “okay, fine, whatever. But as you said, if that’s the point of your discourse, shouldn’t your message be to tell people that they can work through things like this instead of just giving up and leaving like Penny did?”
Changbin was annoyed now. To him, you seemed too idealistic to understand his reasoning behind the story. He wondered why it had to be you that was telling him this, you were the only one that was trying to find problems with his story, that he’d based on his own life for that matter.
“Well what if she did, huh? What if Penny did just up and leave with no warning?”
You rolled your eyes, hearing Chan struggle to stifle his laugh, your exchange with Changbin being just about the most excitement he had in the whole school year.
You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, “which is why I'm saying that your job as a storyteller is to shed some light on the reason behind that. Then your story wouldn’t be about showing how things don’t turn out the way they seem, it would just be telling you, but not showing you. You could just ask literally anybody to hurt Minho—”
“Soobin,” you heard Minho correct from beside you, making you huff, scrunching your eyes shut tightly before opening them harshly.
“—Yes, Soobin’s character, and it would be the same? The story wouldn’t show me anything other than the fact that it was Soobin’s fault he ended up that way. He didn’t question anything that happened, he just let it happen to him,” you sighed again, clenching your jaw, “Penny isn’t anything other than some 2-dimensional plot device designed as an excuse for Soobin to sulk about how cruel love is.”
Changbin scrunched his nose up, his brows knitting in annoyance as he stared at you, a silence falling again in the room. Changbin was about to interject when Chan had decided that would be a good time to step in.
“C’mon guys, let’s… calm down a little. We’re talking about penpals here, not the king’s lover betraying him.”
You cast Chan a questioning look at his example, making him shrug, continuing, “we’re running a little overtime anyway, we can just continue discussing this another time.”
Just like that, the rest of the film club members seemed eager to leave, either rushing for their next class or just not wanting to be in the same environment as an irritable Changbin.
Chan directed his gaze towards you as you were getting up from your seat, slinging your bag over your shoulder.
“I’m sure Changbin will keep your points in mind, don’t worry,” he reassured you just as Changbin chimed in with a ‘no, I won’t’ behind him, leaving the room promptly afterwards, leaving you free to let out the frustrated groan you had been withholding.
“Thanks, Chan. Sorry I kind of made you guys overrun your time,” you sighed, watching Hyunjin making his way to you with wide eyes.
Chan shook his head, holding his laptop securely in one arm as he let out a burst of giggles.
“No, don’t apologize! I should be thanking you, I didn’t think about your point until you mentioned it just now,” he murmured, “but again, sorry about Changbin. He’s just a little… protective of his work.”
Hyunjin let out a low whistle from next to you, “Extremely.”
You nodded, shrugging, “It’s alright, I get it.”
Chan flashed you a smile, his hand reaching out to give your shoulder a reassuring squeeze, “Thanks, again. See you around.”
Leaving the room with Hyunjin, you ignored the way he’d begun to chuckle to himself, “honestly, in this whole time i’ve been in the film club, i’ve never seen Changbin actually… argue with someone.”
You rolled your eyes, kicking at the stray pebble “well if he continues like this, you’re gonna be seeing a lot more of it.”
“You sure seemed like you were having fun, though, weren’t you?” Hyunjin was being sarcastic, knowing he was just doing this to dissuade you, his tone eliciting a scoff from you.
You shook your head.
“You know for a fact I wasn’t. But it wouldn’t sit right with me if I just kept my mouth shut like you and the rest of your film club goons,” you shot him a pointed glare.
Hyunjin pressed his lips into a firm line, holding his hands up beside his head in surrender, prompting you to continue.
“If I want something done, I’m gonna ask for it. It’s as simple as that.”
===
To: my penpal Y/N
How are you?
Was your audition good? Thank you for the money. But $50 is a lot of money so I don’t think I should spend everything, my mom says I need to save money. Thank you for telling me what I should do, but in the end I didn’t buy another scooter. I did this because we were learning about needs vs wants in school and I think the scooter is a want. My teacher says this means I don’t really need it. But needs are things like colour pencils and pens and paper so I can write letters to send you. Maybe your mom tells you you cannot buy so many stickers because the stickers are a want and not a need.
Anyway, I think I can just let my sister take my scooter. Maybe I will just get another scooter for myself when I am older and I have more money.
I hope I will be hearing from you soon,
Binnie.
As you said before, you weren’t perfect, but you surely did your best. But days like this you wondered if people like Changbin even tried.
After your interaction with said stubborn being during your meeting with the film club had put you in a bad mood, you were currently seated with Jisung in a booth at a popular burger outlet outside school, thankfully having managed to get a place in the midst of the anxious afternoon crowd. And even more thankful that you could eat your lunch in peace where you were very much away from Changbin.
“What did you say to him, again?” Jisung hadn’t bothered trying to hold in his laughter as he was almost shouting over the noise of the crowd, making you huff as you bit into your burger.
“I said it’s funny that he was talking so much shit about the main couple when he’s dedicating his entire movie to them,” you drawled, your annoyance returning as you recounted the spat you had with him during the small meeting you had with the film club just before lunch.
Jisung’s shoulders shook as he laughed, fumbling with his drink as his eyes shut tightly, giggles leaving him and seeming as though they would never end, “and that’s what you said word for word?”
You nodded, reaching over to press the lid of Jisung’s drink down firmer before he could spill it all over himself.
“I know you’re friends with him but I really don’t know how you work with this guy, he’s as stubborn as stubborn goes,” you huffed, taking another bite into your burger as Jisung’s laughter had died down, though his smile had only lingered.
“You’re worse,” he snickered, earning a glare from you.
Jisung remained unaffected, “Look, he’s honestly fine once you get to know him,” he tried to reason, sounding as though he were trying to convince a child to make friends, “I mean, we’re all still kind of wary around him when he’s in a mood but honestly, if not for the way you guys met, I’m pretty sure you two would get along well. He seems like he’s your type.”
Your eyes widened, scandalised at Jisung’s implication.
“The only thing he has in common with my exes is being annoying, okay?” you rushed to push away the curiosity of what Changbin would be like as a boyfriend. Curse Jisung and his stupid implication.
“And plus,” you continued, hearing the doorbell chime for what sounded like the thousandth time to signal yet another entry into the diner that was now overflowing with people asking for take-out, “it’s not like he’s been very nice to me since I got involved with his stupid short film.”
Jisung sighed, his gaze momentarily distracted by something behind you, making you wave your hand in front of his face to keep his attention. He’d glanced back at you, an almost dazed look in his eyes before he’d given you a small smile, taking a bite out of his burger and not waiting to finish chewing before he answered you.
“I honestly think that he just needs a little more persuasion. Like, take this for example, something similar happened with him and Chan when they were composing something in the past, and trust me, if you don’t give up now, i’m pretty sure he’d agree to come to a compromise or something,” he gave you a shrug, his gaze returning to whatever was behind you (probably someone cute, you figured). You couldn’t say you blamed him; almost all your conversations revolved around you and Changbin’s squabbles these days.
You pursed your lips, narrowing your eyes at him, “you really think he’d be willing to rewrite his script?”
Your tone was skeptical, already imagining how Changbin would simply tell you to keep dreaming if you’d brought up the proposal to him.
At Jisung’s lack of response, you’d frowned slightly, seeing him turn back to you calmly as his smile widened, giving you yet another shrug.
“Maybe you can ask him yourself.”
If there was any feeling one would get just before something bad was about to happen, that was definitely what you were feeling now.
You didn’t dare to tear your gaze away from Jisung as you watched him turn his body, his hand coming up in a wave that had only turned into a hi-five, his behaviour only adequately described as boisterous as he welcomed the people you were hoping you wouldn’t have to see for another week until the next film club meeting.
Well, Chan was fine, you were simply referring to Changbin.
“Oh, hey, Y/N! Didn’t know you and Jisung were friends,” Chan gave you a sweet smile, gesturing between you and Jisung as he spoke.
Jisung chimed in with a nonchalant “Best friends, actually,” which had only made you shoot him a glare.
“Might have to re-evaluate that,” you muttered, turning back to Chan and Changbin to give them as warm a smile as you could muster.
“Are you guys eating here too?” you asked.
You were oblivious to the way Changbin’s gaze flickered from your face to the food in your hand, and then back to Jisung, looking perfectly unaffected as he joked with Jisung about something you didn’t quite catch.
“Well, we wanted to, but, you know, with the crowd and all we probably won’t be able to get a seat,” Chan’s gaze was pitiful, to say the least, making Jisung raise his eyebrows, and that sinking feeling within you had only intensified as his next sentence left his lips.
Jisung had barely glanced at you as he held onto Changbin’s hand.
“Well, our booth’s actually meant to seat four people, so you guys could squeeze in if you want,” he offered.
Changbin quirked his eyebrow, skepticism written all over his features, though mostly directed towards you, “you guys really won’t mind?”
You glared at your burger, scrunching your nose up as you avoided Changbin’s pointed gaze.
Jisung scoffed, giving Changbin a loud smack on the arm, “of course we won’t, right Y/N?”
He turned to you, giving you a smile you could only describe to be devious (and fairly amused).
“Yeah,” your voice took a pitch higher unintentionally, “go ahead,” you murmured, scooting into the booth to make space for them.
You took another bite from your burger, watching out of the corner of your eye as Changbin took a seat next to Jisung, Chan excusing himself to retrieve both their orders.
“Funny that you showed up, actually. Y/N and I were just talking about your short film,” Jisung spoke, earning a pointed glare for you, as if daring him to continue (and you should’ve known that wasn’t going to faze him at all).
“Oh, were you?” Changbin drawled, his eyebrows raised and a slight smile playing at his lips, “I’m sure Y/N had a lot to say about that.”
As you were about to speak, Jisung had interjected with a little giggle, “she did.”
Changbin didn’t seem to take Jisung’s comment as an answer, simply keeping his gaze fixed on you, prompting you to produce an answer of your own. You ignored the knowing look Jisung gave you.
You sighed, “maybe I wouldn’t, if someone just took my suggestions.”
Changbin had let out a small huff at that, leaning back in his seat with his arms folded over his chest as Chan returned to the table with his and Changbin’s food, casting curious glances between the three of you seated at the table.
“Hope you guys didn’t fight while I was gone,” he joked, making you sigh, and you missed the pointed look he cast Changbin’s way when the boy had scoffed, “what were you guys talking about before I came?”
You shrugged.
“We were talking about the short film,” you told him, “kind of.”
Chan had perked up at that, turning to you as he handed Changbin his food, “oh yeah, I wanted to ask if you had more feedback about the scenes.”
You nodded, “I do, actually.”
Changbin’s gaze lifted from his burger to look at you as he sighed, “what is it now?”
You huffed, “It’s not that bad. I was just wondering if the content of the letters were gonna be read out during the scene? ‘Cause if it is, then maybe we could kind of make it a little more relevant to their personalities or something.”
“Will that be hard? What do kids even talk about in their letters?” Jisung laughed.
Changbin’s lips parted slightly before pressing them into a firm line.
“Well, they’ll be like 9 when they’re exchanging letters, I suppose, so I guess they’d at least know how to have a conversation… ” He sounded almost hesitant, making you wonder why he made talking about childhood penpals seem like such a complex thing.
You thought about your own penpal, Binnie. You were about that age when you were exchanging letters with him too, figuring you could give some insight on that until Jisung had intercepted.
“At that age all I did was talk about hot wheels, to be honest. Much less talk to girls,” he snorted, making you scoff, using your shoe to nudge his leg under the table.
Chan, who had been silently thinking, had straightened up abruptly.
“Wait,” Chan’s eyebrows lowered, frowning slightly as his lower lip jut out in a slight pout. He directed his attention to Changbin, pointing his index finger towards him, “didn’t you used to have a penpal?”
You had to stop yourself from making your shock too obvious, your eyes widening as your gaze became nothing but accusatory. How badly did his penpal experience go for him to be so cynical about it now?
Whatever it was, the newfound information made you curious as to exactly how much of the story he’d changed, more importantly, how much he’d retained.
“You?” you couldn’t help yourself from blurting, though Changbin remained unamused.
“Yeah, I did,” he bypassed your incredulous stare, answering Chan simply.
Jisung hummed, bringing one hand up to fiddle with his ear piercing, not having expected Changbin’s response.
“Oh, well, what was it like, then?”
Changbin shrugged, resting one of his forearms on the table to support himself, his other hand reaching down to pick up a fry, “was nice. We would exchange letters every week. Talked about a lot of things, sent each other pictures, you know, all that stuff.”
“Do you still keep in contact with them?” Chan asked, genuine curiosity in his voice, not having heard much from Changbin about this penpal in the entire duration of their friendship.
Changbin shook his head, “nope,” he popped the p, picking up his cup to swirl it around noisily, the ice rumbling as it got tossed around in the paper cup, proceeding to take a sip from it as the rest of you looked on curiously at him.
“Well, why not?” you dared to ask, a million different possible reasons running through your mind.
Maybe they did something to piss Changbin off, or maybe they got into a big fight (which also made you wonder how heated fights could get over snail mail), or maybe one of their parents disapproved of the other. The possibilities were endless as you anticipated just why 8 year old Changbin would’ve cut ties with his penpal. And maybe, you were enjoying the dramatic aspect of it a little more than you should’ve been.
But something about the way he replied felt restrained. Maybe you were reading into it too much, but he almost sounded evasive. But, of course, you chose to ignore (suppress) it for now, watching intently as Changbin had once again shrugged, an air of nonchalance to his gestures as he met your gaze.
“Just… grew out of it, I guess.”
You huffed, memories of your own penpal making his response sting.
You don’t think you ever ‘grew out’ of talking to binnie. You remembered how frustrated you were when you’d stopped hearing from him after he moved, and every letter you’d sent to his new address had only been returned back to you. Maybe he grew out of it, but you wouldn’t have left it like that if you had a choice.
You rolled your eyes at his response, something in your response seeming to have irked Changbin.
“What?” he snapped, making you hesitate just the slightest bit, deciding to bite your tongue and shake your head.
“Nothing.”
Chan let out a huff of laughter through his nose next to you, shaking his head at you goodnaturedly.
“Forgive us, you always seem like you have something more to say,” Chan spoke, apparent ‘damage control’ for Changbin’s abrasiveness.
“Wait, so, you’re really not gonna have a happy ending?” Jisung frowned.
“Well, Changbin and I were talking about it after the meeting that day, we figured since we have time we could afford to change the script a little,” he hummed, turning to you, “you know, since it could be a chance to kind of send a more hopeful message like you were talking about.”
Your eyes widened, your hand almost reaching out to touch Chan’s arm but realising you were still holding your burger, “really? You’re open to changing it?”
Changbin’s gaze flickered momentarily to you, observing your posture, noticing how open and comfortable you seemed with Chan, the sight alone enough to make him scoff. Call him a cynic, but he couldn’t tell if this was you acting or not just to get your way.
“There could be another meeting for you to discuss and work on the script together, but yeah, we’re alright with changing it.”
You turned to Changbin, a hint of distrust in your stare, making him huff again, putting down his drink on the table with a little too much force.
“He said it, not me,” he told you, pressing his lips firmly into a tight line, “you wanna change my script so badly? Fine. But your ideas better be worth changing it for.”
Jisung scrunched up his nose as you turned back to Chan, not wishing to look at Changbin’s face any longer, leaning over to whisper to Changbin, “you two don’t like each other very much, do you?”
If he was caught off guard by Jisung’s statement, he didn’t show it.
Changbin shrugged, picking his drink back up, “they started it.”
At the sound of his accusation, your eyes narrowed, turning to glare at Changbin, thankful for Jisung nudging you under the table before you could retaliate with a comment of your own. Chan simply casting you an amused look, his eyebrows raised in a silent question of what you were about to do.
You shook your head.
Whatever, you pushed your annoyance away in your head, as long as Chan was there during the rewrite meeting, you’d hopefully still be able to maintain your sanity.
Or at least, that was the hope that you were holding on to until that night when you’d gotten a text from Chan.
Chan
11:17pm - hey, i gave changbin your number if you don't mind... you know, since you guys have to discuss to rewrite the script and all -
You’d almost sat up from your bed in shock, frowning against the harsh light coming from your phone and the contents of the text, the latter obviously making you more disgruntled.
11:17pm - won’t you be discussing with us?? Why not just make a group chat??? -
Your heart was pumping with anxiousness as you awaited his reply, something about the sound of the clock ticking putting you in an even more anxious state, your heart almost sinking as texts from him and Changbin had come in at the same time.
You looked at Chan’s first.
Chan
11:18pm - oh i didn’t tell you? All script writing is done by Changbin. I’m just in charge of the other elements like props and directing and whatnot -
You shut your eyes, suddenly wishing you could travel back a few seconds back in time and not have checked your phone when Chan had texted you. Bringing your fingers across your screen reluctantly as you typed a reply to him.
11:18pm - ohhh hahaha right i forgot, thanks chan -
Now for the bigger menace at hand. You swiped over to Changbin’s message, your finger lingering on his chat as you decided to stop being petty and just open it.
seo changbin
11:18pm - just so you know, i’m doing this only because Chan asked me to. we can go over the changes at my house. is saturday okay with you? -
You pulled your notifications bar down. Tomorrow was Friday, and from what you knew you were pretty much free on Saturday. Fortunately or unfortunately for you.
You took another deep breath as you typed out your reply to him. For your own sanity, you tried to ignore the way he felt the need to clarify that he wasn’t doing it for your sake.
11:18pm - saturday’s fine. What time?-
Resisting the urge to go offline when you saw him come online, you felt as though you were in some sort of staring contest through your phone as you watched him type, his message coming in quickly.
seo changbin
11:18pm -1? We could order in and discuss -
You sighed, it wasn’t enough that he had to take away one peaceful lunch from you today, but yet another one on Saturday.
11:19pm -okay text me your address-
Another sigh left you when you read that the address he’d sent you was just a few blocks away from your apartment. Maybe he lived alone too; most of the apartments here were occupied by college students looking for affordable rent and shorter travel time.
seo changbin
11:19pm - don't be late -
You scoffed, shoving your phone back onto your bedside table as you slumped back against your pillow, burying your head into your pillow and kicking at your blanket that covered your feet uncomfortably.
Fine, if he wanted to be that way, that was fine by you. You would just do this for the sake of the short film. Yeah. That’s all it would be.
===
“Let’s make this quick and painless for the both of us,” you blurted the moment Changbin had opened his door to let you in, glad to see he was donning an outfit similar to yours (sweatpants and a t-shirt), your previous worries of being underdressed dissipating instantly.
He let out a sigh, his hand coming up to run it through his hair, his hair messy and sticking up at one place awkwardly, looking as though he’d slept on that side for too long.
“Hello to you too,” he grumbled, shutting the door behind you as he gestured to the living room.
You glanced around his rather plain apartment as he led you to the living room, his laptop resting on one of the cushions of the sofa, soft music verberating from the device.
“What food do you want?” he asked, earning a thoughtful frown from you as you set your things down on the floor next to the sofa, taking a seat on the other side of it.
“Fastest delivery would be if we order from that Chinese food place nearby, right?”
Changbin’s eyebrows quirked up in intrigue, “I was thinking of that place too,” he handed you his phone, letting you order what you wanted before handing it back to him.
It was otherwise silent between the both of you as you waited for the food to arrive, neither of you quite knowing how to break the silence. The tension slowly made you grow increasingly fidgety as time passed.
Changbin had sat down on the floor next to the coffee table, resting one hand on his soft rug as he pushed a stack of papers towards you, drawing your attention away from your soft copy of the script on your phone as you realised it was a hard copy of the script.
“Just use this, i’ve got a copy on my laptop,” he mumbled, making you nod, accepting it from him as you flipped to where you left off.
Changbin glanced at the clock, in disbelief that only 10 minutes had passed and yet he found himself feeling jittery at your silence. Turning his gaze towards you, he let out a small sigh.
He had expected you to say something by now, or let out some snarky comment about something he wrote. Your silence was unnerving him, it was almost as if he wanted you to say something, especially with the way you were scribbling notes beside the pages with a mechanical pencil he didn’t even recall seeing you take out.
“Which scene are you at?” he blurted, his anxiousness getting the better of him, making your head shoot up abruptly, surprised at his sudden outburst.
“Uh,” you glanced back down at the page, “I’m at the part where they find out they used to be penpals,” you told him.
“Okay,” Changbin murmured, thinking about where to go from there, momentarily distracted when he’d heard the doorbell ring. Pausing, he’d stepped out momentarily to retrieve your food, the rustling of bags getting louder as he neared the table.
Setting the food down on the table, surprising you when he’d pushed the food towards you, your surprise hadn’t gone unnoticed by Changbin.
“What?” he scoffed.
You shrugged, “nothing, just didn’t know you were capable of doing nice things,” you told him, a sarcastic lilt to your tone.
Changbin inhaled deeply, shooting you a patronizing smile as he broke his chopsticks, “anyway, I think we could start from there, since that’s kind of the turning point of their relationship.”
You nodded, pulling your food towards you as you began to eat.
“I was thinking,” you spoke, pausing to chew on your food, “this part has a lot of unanswered questions, like… I wouldn’t just let it go so easily if I found out someone was my penpal that I grew apart from. I felt like they should’ve had a bit more of a confrontation there.”
Changbin hummed, shocking you when he’d leant closer to you to look at the script, making you push it towards him, a small huff leaving him at your action.
“What questions do you think Penny would ask, then?” he asked you.
“I don’t know, maybe why they stopped talking in the first place?” there was a hint of sarcasm in your tone, making Changbin look at you over his mouthful of noodles.
“I told you already, Soobin grew out of it—”
You grimaced at his answer, your chopsticks halting before your mouth momentarily before you shovelled your noodles in with annoyance, “I don’t believe that.”
“I used to have a penpal, and I can guarantee you, the reason why we stopped talking wasn’t because we ‘grew out of it’,” you told him pointedly, having to stop yourself from growing too riled up about it, Changbin tensing up at your revelation.
Bringing his glass of water to his lips, he let his gaze wander around everything but you as he thought, curious as to what your penpal experience was like. Finally meeting your gaze, he almost sputtered over his water with how much he wasn’t paying attention to his actions, the only thing on his mind being to get his words out.
“You did?” It was pathetic, really, that that was all he’d come up with after such a long pause.
You nodded.
“Yeah, but it doesn’t matter, the story isn’t based on my penpal, it’s based on yours,” you attempted to draw the attention away from you, unsettling feelings of sourness building within you at the thought of how you left things.
“So, think. What would you be curious about?” you prompted him, seeing him purse his lips, a certain dazed look tinting his gaze.
Swallowing his mouthful of food, he looked at you as he thought. He would want to know if they were still passionate about acting, he would want to know how their family was doing, he would want to know if their personality had changed, if they were still the assertive ‘go after what you want’ character that had encouraged him so much. Or maybe, just how they are.
Changbin’s lips parted, shaking his head slowly, “... so many things,” he murmured.
An unexpected tension fell between the both of you, Changbin’s eyes meeting yours with a sort of unspeakable thoughtfulness, as if he was still thinking about your question.
You broke eye contact first, “write that, then. Who knows? Maybe they’re both as curious as the other.”
“You’re one of those glass half full people, aren’t you?” he huffed, making you click your tongue in annoyance.
“And what? You have no glass at all?” you retorted.
“Would you still be… curious too? Even If it didn’t end well?” he asked suddenly, a stupid question, Changbin thought, but still something he felt compelled to ask in the moment, as if he wanted the confirmation that you, someone with a penpal experience as well had shared the same sentiments as him.
You nodded, “of course I’d be. I could hate you and still be curious about you,” you shrugged.
“Me?” Changbin asked, making your eyes widen, the tension dissipating slightly as you shook your head vigorously, your hands coming up to wave at him dismissively.
“No no, not you. I meant-” you stopped yourself, glaring at him, “I just meant it as an example.”
And for what you were sure was the first time, Changbin had laughed, beginning to feel a bit more comfortable around you, his eyes forming narrow slits and the apples of his cheeks rounding slightly as he grinned, soft breathy giggles leaving him.
“Alright, I get it. It’s not a secret that you don’t like me.”
You huffed, not being able to help but feel the need to reassure him, “you’re not… that bad I guess. Jisung talks you up all the time.” you said, unsure why you felt the need to reassure him that you didn’t have a burning hatred for him, “you’re just stubborn as hell.”
He scoffed, “I could say the same about you.”
You quirked an eyebrow at him, reaching over to flip the page, “glad to know we’re on the same page, then.”
“Now that you said it,” Changbin began, moving on quickly from your bickering as he shoved his empty food packaging aside, “I do think Soobin would be curious about the things they talked about in their letters.”
You perked up at that, eyebrows raising, “That reminded me, I actually still have some of the letters from my penpal when we were younger, if you want I can loan them to you for some inspiration or something.”
Changbin nodded, flipping over to another page before pausing to type something on his computer, “yeah, actually that would be useful.”
You continued to look at the script for what had become hours, the both of you deciding it would be easier if you each assumed one of the character’s voices, speaking on behalf of the characters as you discussed. Coming up with a ‘what would soobin/penny do?’ process.
All the while during this discussion, Changbin had been scribbling down in his beaten up journal, the sides of the spine of the book peeling off when he’d set it down on the table, making you grimace.
“Do you think Pe—”
“Why don’t you just get a new journal? This one’s making such a mess,” you blurted out, frowning at the way the little brittle pieces of God knows what material covered his notebook had fallen onto the coffee table, making him tear his gaze away from what he was writing, looking at the mess on the coffee table you were gesturing at and letting out an amused huff.
“Oh, didn’t notice,” he smiled, “but that won’t be necessary, this journal’s been serving me fine.”
“It’s literally falling apart,” you pointed out.
“And you’re literally exaggerating.”
You scoffed.
“I mean, look at it, it’s such a hassle to use, since you have to keep cleaning up whenever you do so much as touch it,” you reasoned, seeing him shake his head.
“I don’t need a new journal, I’m perfectly fine using this one,” he told you, making you scrunch your nose up in distaste, Changbin looking at you with amusement heavily laden in his smile.
It seemed that there was something about the hours of bouncing off ideas and bickering that warmed the both of you up more, not feeling as wound up or hostile towards each other as you did a few hours ago, bonding over a shared want for the short film to be good.
“What?” he asked, leaning back against the sofa and resting his arm on one of the cushions, his other hand grasping his fingers as he awaited your response.
“You sound exactly like my mom,” you had a sour look on your face, continuing, “I bet you’re one of those needs versus wants people.” You huffed in amusement, shifting in your seat as you flipped through the scene you were about to discuss.
Changbin’s lips parted in shock, a breathy huff leaving him, “and what’s that supposed to mean?”
You shrugged, “You know, those people that decide on buying things through the concept of needing it or not.”
Changbin rolled his eyes, “yeah, like any other normal person.”
“It’s so boring! Ever heard of the concept of treating yourself?” you huffed, gesturing wildly. You were clearly very passionate about this.
Changbin shook his head, the smile lingering on his face, “I’m starting to understand why you’re Jisung’s friend. Sure, a treat once in a while is understandable, but i’d rather not waste my money on things I could do without.”
You huffed, a deep sigh leaving you, recalling a conversation you had with Binnie about his scooter.
“What’s up with boys and this need versus want thing? My penpal said the same thing even though he was only eight,” you mumbled, a small breath of laughter leaving your lips, leaving Changbin frowning at your statement.
Maybe other kids just talked about the same things he did with Y/N? He brushed the thought aside.
“He did?”
Changbin’s voice came out more hoarse than he’d intended, the intent in his stare making you falter momentarily, forgetting what you were doing just for a second.
Thankfully, you’d snapped out of whatever trance you were in, shaking your head dismissively, “nothing, it doesn’t matter.”
Changbin tilted his head at you, narrowing his eyes as he contemplated whether to pursue it or not, watching closely as you busied yourself with flipping pages just to look busy, even though the inside of your mind was spinning with an indescribable feeling that came with convincing yourself that the drift between you and your penpal was merely circumstantial.
You chewed on your lip, hating the way it felt as though your stomach was churning as you remembered the disappointment you felt when your letters had stopped getting sent through.
You were young, surely you shouldn’t blame yourself, you believed that. Your finger fiddled with the corner of the page, staring at Soobin’s dialogue.
‘Did our conversations even mean anything to you?’ the dialogue read, and you inhaled deeply as your head lifted to look at Changbin, your abrupt movement almost making him flinch in surprise.
“Why did you really stop talking to your penpal?” you sighed, curiosity getting the better of you. Though at this point you weren’t sure if it was curiosity or simply reassurance. Maybe even closure. All of which you needed to satisfy.
Changbin knew you weren’t going to accept his ‘grew out of it’ statement for an answer, deciding to be honest with you, you know, for the sake of the short film.
“I just… stopped hearing from them,” he began, heaving a sigh of his own as he shifted in his seat, picking at the imaginary dust on his sweatpants, “guess they had nothing to say.”
You couldn’t lie about it, you felt relieved. A part of you began to understand why he’d painted Penny’s character out to be like that, or furthermore why Soobin had seemed so affected by the revelation.
“Nothing to say…” you echoed, as if trying to wrap your head around his reasoning as well.
A small huff of amusement left him, though there was a hint of bitterness in his smile.
“I wouldn’t have minded, you know.”
He took his lower lip between his teeth, letting it go and you watched as the blood rushed back into his lips, looking redder than before.
Your eyebrows knit into a frown, “Wouldn’t have minded what?”
Changbin met your gaze, giving you a resigned shrug, “hearing it,” he continued, “nothing, everything.”
You could almost feel your heartbeat slowing down, the tense silence returning in the room and making you feel like you couldn’t breathe. Now that was some dialogue.
“Oh,” you broke the silence, your blank expression reading pure shock, your reaction catching Changbin off guard, “write that down, that’s such a Soobin thing to say.”
Changbin couldn’t do anything but laugh, shaking his head at you, “how opportunistic of you,” he teased, though he wrote it down nonetheless.
Maybe you being here was good, Changbin thought, it reminded him not to take himself too seriously sometimes.
===
To: Binnie
How are you?
I hope you are not still sad about your friends. I would tell you not to listen to them but i know that’s difficult sometimes because you can hear everything they say. But they were being very mean so they are not nice people. I don’t agree with what they said, because i think you are very nice and you have a nice smile. I don’t think you are scary. Sometimes my mom tells me i should smile more so people think i’m happy but I think you should just smile if you are happy. If you are sad then you can be sad. It is not a bad thing. I’m your friend because you’re nice to me and I like talking to you. If they’re going to be mean to you then they’re not your friends. If they do that to you again you can tell me their address and I will go and tell them myself!
Till next time,
Your penpal Y/N
You’d shown up on the filming set on the first day absolutely buzzing from head to toe and ready to go (though, when you told Jisung about how you felt he’d insisted it was because of the lack of substantial sleep and the cans of energy drink you’d both drank the night before while he was helping you prepare your lines), but it seemed that everyone on the set was more tense than ever.
You found Hyunjin huddled with a few of them next to the sound cart, deciding to approach them to ask where Changbin was, having bought a coffee for him along the way.
“Hey,” you called, Hyunjin jumping in shock as he turned, his hand over his heart as he winced at you.
“Why do you move so quietly!” he groaned, making you dismiss him with a wave.
“Did something happen? You guys look stressed,” you took a step towards them, possible reasons fluttering around in your mind but none seeming quite appropriate for the context you were in. Maybe the semester’s GPA results were out?
“Whatever, do you guys know where I can find Changbin?” The boy next to Hyunjin, a freshman by the name of Jeongin had sucked in a sharp breath at your question, making you grow even more confused.
“He’s… a little tense these days, so I’d suggest being a more careful around him,” Chan explained, earning nods of agreement from the film club members.
Your eyebrows raised, confusion showing in a slight pout on your lips. You didn’t remember him behaving out of the ordinary when you’d seen him the day before.
“Where’d he go?”
“He’s over there,” Chan pointed towards where the camera was set up and true enough, you saw Changbin seated at a bench there busying himself with his phone.
Nodding, you’d made your way over to Changbin, discomfort growing within you at the stares you were getting from the club members (some of which you didn’t even know the names of) as you made your way towards the blonde haired boy. It was a wonder why they all avoided him like the plague.
Changbin seemed to have sensed your presence, looking up from his phone and giving you a small wave as you reached the bench, sitting down next to him and holding out his cup of coffee.
Accepting it gratefully, he’d given you a nod.
“Thanks,” he glanced at your hands, “you didn’t get one for yourself?”
You let out a small burst of chuckles, “nope, figured it wasn’t the most logical thing to do since i’m already pretty alert from last night’s energy drinks.”
Changbin sucked in a sharp breath, clicking his tongue in teasing disapproval, “I figured as much, Jisung was way too hyper when I met him at the studio.”
Your expression was sheepish, “I’d say I was sorry but it was... important.”
Changbin huffed, “It’s alright, as long as you’re taking care of yourself.”
Before you could react to his statement, Changbin had acted as though he hadn’t said anything, an amused smile playing at his lips as he tore his gaze away from you, looking forward as he took a sip from his cup, “ready to film today?”
You nodded, regaining your bearings, trying not to think too much of his words.
“Pretty much, you?”
Changbin nodded, “yeah, even though we still have a little bit of the script left, I would say i’m pretty confident.”
You glanced behind Changbin, spotting Hyunjin looking at the both of you with sheer disbelief, making you roll your eyes, turning back to Changbin, angling your body on the bench so you could hug your knees to your chest, looking at him curiously.
“Are you feeling okay?”
He nodded, looking at you with confusion written in his features, clasping his hands around his coffee cup as he rested his hands on his lap, “yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”
Maybe it was just his resting bitch face.
“Smile,” you commanded, nodding your head when he’d looked even more confused.
You watched in amusement as Changbin had laughed, shaking his head before looking at you with an all too sarcastic smile, his hand coming up in a peace sign next to his cheek, a smile unknowingly making its way onto your face at the sight.
“Okay now, don’t smile,” you continued.
Changbin had let his smile fall, looking just the same as he did when you’d shown up, making you press your lips into a firm line, a slight knit in your brows as your eyes narrowed.
Turning his head, he straightened up.
“Cool, Minho’s here,” he said, getting up and holding a hand out to help you up.
“Thanks,” you muttered, not expecting him to turn around and give you a smile.
“Let’s go, Penny.”
It was strange to you that there was something that felt so familiar about his smile, it reminded you of something that made you feel nostalgic. You liked seeing him smile. Changbin had a nice smile.
You brushed the thought away, nodding as you took his hand, letting him help you out.
“What, so you guys don’t hate each other anymore?” Jisung groaned later on that same week when you’d told him about the exchange you had.
He lifted his head from where he lay on your bed, “God, with you guys it’s like everyday’s something different.”
You quirked an eyebrow at him in amusement, “well… that’s because it is, isn’t it?”
You spotted the box of letters from your childhood penpal hidden beneath a stack of novels you had yet to unpack, your eyes glistening with triumph as you reached into your storage closet, fishing it out with a grunt.
“Come to think of it, Changbin hasn’t said anything about you since that day you met him to rewrite the script,” he murmured thoughtfully.
Heaving a sigh as you got up from your squat, you closed your closet, “which day? We met up a few times for the script.”
Jisung perked up at that, sitting up slightly and supporting his weight with his elbows.
“You did? Why am I only finding out about this now?” he scoffed.
You rolled your eyes, walking over to your desk to set the box onto it, “I told you about it, you just forgot.”
Making your way over to the bed, you flopped down onto your belly next to Jisung, looking at him curiously as he frowned at you. His mention of Changbin had made you curious.
“He… really hasn’t said anything about me?” you dared to ask, regretting it almost immediately when Jisung had taken the opportunity to twist your words.
Jisung’s expression had changed to one that you were all too used to, how his eyes would give away that he was thinking of saying something to tease you, his lips curving into a slight smirk.
“Why? Do you want him to be talking about you?”
You wrinkled your nose, a small panicked scoff leaving you, “yeah, right. Don’t get too carried away there.”
Jisung prodded further, leaning closer to you as he drawled, “well, why not? I mean, you said it yourself, you guys are on pretty good terms now, aren’t you?”
You purse your lips. The film club had been nice enough to give you a month longer to work on the script, you and Changbin ending up getting carried away and doing the whole thing over. And of course, within that month, you interacted with Changbin in some way or another almost everyday.
It could be meetings at his or your apartment, or spontaneous phone calls when one of you thought of an idea and you’d felt inspired to discuss it (even if you were on your bed tucked into your sheets when it happened most of the time), sometimes it was even just simple texts checking up on each other and asking what the other thought about the updates.
Nonetheless, you’d grown used to Changbin’s presence, finding that after that meeting at his house, it was like it had softened the both of you up to each other, especially when you realised your perception of Changbin was all wrong and that really, he was as soft as softies go.
You gave Jisung a shrug, tugging the neckline of your shirt down, feeling as though the room had gotten hotter, “I mean, yeah, I guess. He doesn’t annoy me as much as he used to.”
Jisung let out a chuckle, the laugh bubbling out louder as he continued.
“You know if you tell me you like him now, I won’t make fun of you.”
“You’re lying.”
“So, you do like him?” His grin widened, making you sputter for a better response, figuring you’d dug your own grave with that one.
“Don’t stir shit,” you narrowed your eyes at him.
Your reaction had only tickled him even more, clutching his belly as he sighed, “I knew it. Remember? I told you he was your type!” his tone was triumphant, making you regret fuelling his suspicions.
“Yeah, I’m sure you’re very happy about that,” you huffed, turning away from him and burying your face in your soft sheets, your hand coming up next to your head to smooth over the fabric.
You felt Jisung’s hand on your arm, his expression grim.
“Wait, so am I really right? You like him?”
You shrugged his hand away, though he hadn’t budged, giving up soon after.
“I mean,” you enjoyed your last moment of peace before you decided to reply to him, “he’s cute, I won’t deny that. And he’s become a lot nicer to me… he’s fun to talk to? I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little attracted to him.”
Jisung snickered, “that’s cute, but gross. I can’t believe you like Changbin.”
Trust him to only get that out of whatever you’d just told him.
You turned to give him a wide-eyed look of disbelief, “oh, please, you were the one that kept fluffing him up to me!”
Jisung had simply shrugged, unfazed by your outburst, a small sound of hesitation leaving him.
“I would say I did a minimal amount of fluffing. I just called it before the both of you realised.”
You grit your teeth, “fine, enjoy your moment. But one word about it to Changbin and you’re dead. Got it?”
Jisung’s eyes widened, his hand coming up to mimic zipping up his lips.
“Got it.”
===
“Cut!”
You turned to cast a desperate look to Chan, the said boy looking apologetic as he called for a stop again. You watched as he leant down for Changbin to murmur something in his ear, Chan nodding before making his way over to you and Minho.
“We’re thinking maybe you could try that scene again but maybe with just a little more… in the moment? Maybe try not to rush through it,” Chan suggested to Minho, making the said boy groan.
“Sorry, it’s my fault. It’s just- we’ve been filming for hours, if I wasn’t so scared of Changbin I would’ve—”
“I know,” Chan reassured Minho, giving the both of you a small smile, “hopefully we can get this scene done quickly and then we’ll all be free to go, hmm?”
You nodded, letting Chan make his way back to where the monitor was as you got back into position with Minho.
Changbin watched intently as you and Minho acted out the scene again, something about the way Minho was delivering his lines seeming so unaligned with the picture Changbin had in his head. Was it the lines that weren't doing it for him? Was it because Changbin couldn’t quite tap into the emotions of the character in this scene?
He wasn’t sure what exactly it would look or sound like to be in love, but whatever ‘Soobin’ was showing, sure wasn’t what Changbin wanted it to be.
After you’d finished the scene, the film club members had waited anxiously for Changbin’s greenlight on whether they were free to go, all of them anxiously looking on as Chan went to talk to a few of them at props.
You taken the liberty of making your way over to where Changbin was, seeing him intently monitoring the scene that you’d just shot, the reason behind why he’d made you and Minho run through the same scene 15 times starting to become clear to you.
“That’s not gonna help you make it better, you know?” you spoke, shoving your hands into your pocket and scrunching your eyes shut as you braced against the cool wind that was blowing your way, the trees rustling loudly as Changbin’s head shot up, the frown remaining on his face.
“What?” Changbin figured he came off as a little too annoyed, but he stayed unwavering nonetheless, wanting to know just what you thought you knew about him.
“You know, I watched an interview once, and this actor said something that was so true,” you began, taking a seat next to him, feeling his gaze on you before you continued, your gaze falling on the image of you and Minho on the monitor, “he said that playback makes scenes seem a lot more dissatisfactory.”
Changbin’s frown deepened, “I don’t get it, just spit it out.”
You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t help but smile, “I’m trying to give you advice here, okay? As I was saying, be in the moment. Not everything’s gonna turn out like how it is in your head.”
You inhaled deeply, a slight shiver running down your spine at how cold you felt, taking a hand out of your pocket to tap him on the arm.
“Now can you wrap it up and call it a day? The rest of them have been dying to go home but they’re too scared to tell you.”
Changbin hummed, “They are? Why?”
You nodded, seeing Changbin already making to stand up and call for the rest’s attention, with you taking the opportunity to lean over to him and mutter, “Dunno, maybe they just haven’t figured out what a softie you are yet.”
Changbin attempted to press his lips together firmly to contain his smile, though eventually giving up and letting the soft smile be shown on his face as he dismissed the club members, the rest of them already having started shifting their equipment back.
You’d decided to help them shift the equipment while Changbin talked to Chan about something, trying your best to ignore the way the weather seemed to be getting chillier as all the equipment had started feeling cold to the touch. Mental note to start wearing warmer clothes out after today.
“Thanks for convincing Changbin to free us,” Hyunjin sighed when you were coming down the stairs after locking the club room, making you huff.
“He’s not some dictator, you know. You guys could just ask him next time,” you reasoned.
Hyunjin scoffed, “I’d much rather keep my life, thank you very much.”
Rolling your eyes, you pulled out your phone as you thought whether to text Jisung if he’d wanted to meet for dinner.
“You’re so dramatic,” you told Hyunjin, “I told him and I got to keep my life.”
Hyunjin scoffed, “that’s cause he—”
He stopped himself abruptly, eyes widening for a split second before he shrugged, “that’s cause you fight with him all the time, it’s different.”
You saw a text come in.
Changbin
8:14pm - do u wanna go get dinner? I’m done talking to Chan -
“Speak of the devil,” you murmured, erasing your drafted text to Jisung and replying to Changbin to say that you would wait at the quad.
Changbin
8:14pm - i was thinking of eating some cold noodles -
You grimaced at the thought, Hyunjin pulling you out of your thoughts, “are you waiting for Changbin?”
You nodded, sensing his hesitancy to let you wait there alone, “you go ahead, I’ll be fine, he’s already on his way.”
Hyunjin frowned, turning to see Changbin from afar already making his way over, Changbin having spotted the both of you and given Hyunjin a wave.
Waving back, Hyunjin nodded, “alright, I’ll see you.”
Tugging your jacket tighter around yourself, you folded your arms, hoping Changbin would hurry up so you could finally go somewhere with heating.
Though once he’d met up with you, you were a little confused when he’d gone a completely different direction than you’d expected, leading you to a traditional restaurant that served mainly soups and broths instead.
Don’t get me wrong, you were thankful for the warmth of the restaurant, of course, but just a little confused about why he changed his mind.
You let him order for the both of you, looking curiously from where you were seated facing him, leaning back in the wooden chairs as Changbin ordered from the older lady running the shop.
“I thought you wanted to eat cold noodles?” you scanned the menu in search of the item, confusion increasing when you found nothing of the sort.
Changbin shook his head, “figured you might wanna eat something warmer,” he admitted, making your lips part in surprise.
“How’d you know?”
Changbin didn’t know how to explain that it was because he’d kept looking at you during shooting and he didn’t miss the way your hands would clench and unclench the fabric of your clothes, or how you’d fold your arms more and shake them out in between takes when you thought no one was looking.
“… just a wild guess.”
You brushed his comment aside, the both of you talking about your upcoming classes or complaining about readings that had yet to be read, the sheer boiling temperature of the stone pot making heat rush to your cheeks and spread through your body, thankful for Changbin’s wild guess.
Leaning back in your seat with your hands over your stomach, you sighed at how full you were feeling, already anticipating your food coma as you let yourself zone out staring at the label of Changbin’s bottle of soju.
“Are they really scared of me?”
You’d dragged yourself out of your daze (reluctantly), your lips pursing, “sorry, what did you say?”
Changbin averted his gaze, fiddling with his fingers under the table. Smoothing his thumb over the soft skin at his palm, his tongue poking at his canines before he looked back at you, meeting your gaze with a certain determination.
“The film club people,” he repeated, “are they really scared of me?”
You shrugged, “yeah, I guess. Like, they talked about it before… I guess it’s because you have that serious expression on a lot so they might take it the wrong way.”
Observing his expression, his lips had parted, a blank expression on his face, “I have a serious expression?”
You couldn’t help but laugh, tilting your head at him, “I think It’s just your resting face. They’re kind of wary of how they act around you during meetings, you know, which is why they had that kind of reaction when I first spoke up about the script.”
Changbin let his grip around his spoon relax, whatever rice he’d scooped into it dispersing into the soup.
“Then why aren’t you scared?”
You almost snorted with how immediate your laughter had bubbled out of you, a bout of chuckles leaving you as your shoulders shook lightly.
“Because,” you waved your spoon slightly, “there’s nothing to be scared of.”
Changbin’s blank expression had prompted you to continue.
“I have no problem with you being assertive about what you want,” you explained, “I mean, if it were my script, i’d probably be equally, if not more, assertive about how I want it. But that’s a good thing about you. You don’t just… shut up if something doesn’t sit right with you. That’s something I’ve always thought was really important.”
Call him crazy, but Changbin couldn’t adequately describe how your words had done more in spreading a giddy warmth in his chest than the food ever could.
He wasn’t always like this. If anything, he’d wanted to say that he’d pushed himself to be more assertive after countless conversations with his penpal about not being afraid to speak up for what you want.
Though he’d always been scared of whether he’d be doing a disservice to the people he worked with if he chose not to speak up, he was glad that you reminded him just why he started doing it in the first place.
Penny’s character in his head had started to look more and more like you. And he was glad.
“You wanna hear something crazy?” You blurted.
You didn’t know where you were going with this. It was a spur of the moment kind of thing, really. You just knew that saying what you said to him had triggered a sense of what you could only describe as love within you. If you knew anything about it.
“What?” he asked, the smile on his face making you stop in your tracks. How could he remind you so much of someone, yet seem so much like a mature, upgraded version of them at the same time?
You couldn’t possibly tell him that you were starting to be kind of glad that you didn’t meet Binnie, because you felt like you were looking at him right now. And childhood penpal or not, you were so much more smitten with the one sitting before you.
“Nothing,” you breathed, “nothing, sorry, forget I said anything.”
Your revelation reminded you that you’d brought your old letters from Binnie for Changbin to tap on for inspiration to write the last scene, shutting your mouth and turning to fish the box out of your bag.
“I just remembered, you asked for these right?” you pushed the box towards him, seeing him pick up the box gingerly (as though it were that brittle old notebook he uses), placing it into his bag.
“I’m assuming they’re the letters from your old penpal?”
You nodded, “but don’t laugh when you read them, okay? He was really nice to me.”
Changbin huffed, his tongue peeking out to wet his lips, “yeah, yeah, no promises.”
After you were done with your dinner (Changbin paying for it as a supposed ‘thank you’ for being patient during filming), you’d prepared yourself to fight against the cold night breeze as you stepped out of the restaurant before Changbin, not having expected to feel a warm weight being draped over your shoulders.
“I don’t know why you decided to come out without a coat when you know now’s usually when the weather gets colder,” he tutted his tongue, feigning disapproval, not giving you any time to be shocked at his gesture.
He stood in front of you, tugging the coat tighter around you as he met your gaze, giving you a tired smile.
“I’ll walk you back to your apartment.”
You bit down on your lip, your racing heart and panic making the best reply you could come up with to be a mere, “didn’t peg you to be so gentlemanly.”
To which Changbin shrugged, a small smirk playing at his lips.
“I can be pretty romantic if I want.”
You were gonna get whiplash at this rate.
That same night (or day, 3am was a fine line), you’d received an email from Changbin of the last scene for the film, reading through it and having to stop in between for breaths and water breaks because you had no idea Changbin was capable of encompassing such romantic sentiments in a scene.
Looking at what he wrote, you would never have thought he was the same person that kept arguing with you about happy endings going to shit.
Changbin had written the scene in a burst of inspiration, having felt an almost uncomfortably foreign giddiness within him after returning home from your dinner, feeling even more motivated when he’d watched the film footage they’d shot earlier that day (unconsciously rewinding more than once to watch you act) deciding to just go with whatever he was feeling and write down the scene he had in mind.
And if anyone was asking, no, he totally didn’t picture you as Penny and himself as Soobin the entire time while doing so.
By the time you were done, it was almost an hour later, the aftermath of reading his scene making you pick your phone up and send him a text.
4:02am - did something happen? What’s with the lovey dovey script? Did someone finally change their mind about Penny? -
Not long after, Changbin’s reply came in, feeling thankful that he’d only decided to open your box of letters, or more accurately his letters, after he was done with the scene, something about what he found putting him in an all too thoughtful mood.
Changbin
4:04am -let’s just say... i took your advice-
===
“What do you think, Changbin?” Chan’s voice had snapped Changbin out of his daze, the latter looking at Jisung with a shrug.
“I would say you’re just short changing yourself if you didn’t talk to her. I mean, you said you liked her, right? So what are you waiting for?” Changbin sounded almost impatient, his tone eliciting a grunt from Jisung.
“Yeah, you say it like you’re not the one hiding your hopeless crush on Y/N.”
Chan’s eyes widened, not having expected Jisung to say it so blatantly.
Changbin sputtered, looking at Chan for help only to be met with giggles.
“I’m sorry, dude, it was really quite easy to tell.”
Changbin wanted the cushioned booth to swallow him whole, scrunching his eyes tightly shut in a wince.
“Whatever, that’s not the point,” he waved Jisung off dismissively, “we’re talking about your love life here.”
Jisung pursed his lips, shaking his head, “it’s not fun anymore, I wanna talk about yours.”
Changbin glared at Jisung, “i’m not having this conversation with you.”
“Good, ‘cause you should be having it with Y/N.”
Chan raised an eyebrow at the younger boy, humming in suspicion.
“Why do you sound like you know things...”
Jisung shrugged, raising his hands to give a dramatic shrug, “Do I? I guess we’ll never find out since Changbin ‘isn’t gonna have this conversation with me’.”
Chan turned to Changbin, who currently looked as though he would rather die than be here right now, “actually, what are you waiting for?”
Changbin brought a hand up to massage his fingers on his temples, a resigned sigh leaving him.
“I don’t know, I’ll probably not do anything until the showcase. I still don’t know how exactly I wanna go about it.”
Jisung snickered, “you’ll be fine, seriously.”
“Yeah, whatever, I’ll just enjoy whatever time I have left to think about it till the showcase. Now back to your issue… ”
But obviously, Changbin didn’t use his 3 days of buffer time very well.
He was lucky the atmosphere of the showcase and the unexpected crowd of people had prolonged the time until he’d be in a situation where he’d feel compelled to talk to you about it. Whatever it was.
You hadn’t noticed, obviously, the way Changbin had been keeping himself busy talking to guests and teachers that had shown up, people from the media and publications club. You were too busy being whisked away by your own friends and a already slightly tipsy Minho who thought it was a good idea to pregame drinks before the afterparty later on.
It’d only been when things started calming down and people were actually watching the film that you’d been put in a position where you had no choice other than to think about the boy seated in front of you tapping his foot incessantly on the carpeted floor of the auditorium.
Once the show was over, you’d leant forward, about to congratulate him when you’d both been whisked up by one of the teachers-in-charge, pulling you together with Minho onto the stage to answer questions from the audience.
The questions were fairly simple, most of them from the media and publications club trying to get technical details for their article, allowing you to zone out from where you stood on the stage, letting Changbin smoothly answer all the questions they could possibly throw at him. It wasn’t like Minho was in any position to answer them, tipsy and zoned out of his mind.
It was only when you’d heard him fumbling around with his words that you looked up from the spot on the wall you were staring at, turning to look at Changbin with an embarrassing amount of concern on your features.
“I’m sorry can you repeat the question?” you’d spoken into the microphone, hearing someone that sounded almost identical to Jisung asking how he got inspiration from the story.
You looked at Changbin curiously, as if silently asking if he needed you to step in, only to have him look at you with a blank expression, his mouth opening and closing as he fumbled for an answer.
“Oh, well, I’m sure I can answer this on behalf of Changbin,” you began, “we’d worked on the script together, and it was inspired by a lot of things, like our experiences with pen pals as well as movies like ‘you’ve got mail’.”
Changbin’s shoulders slumped with relief, nodding towards you as a silent thanks, the moment cut short when you were once again whisked away into different crowds to take pictures or to carpool to the afterparty.
Though you were bored 10 minutes into the party, Minho having gotten drunk before you could even get past your second drink, you’d let Changbin have his fun. You figured it was a good thing that he was being recognized for his efforts, even if he didn’t look like he was enjoying the attention very much. He needed it, you supposed, to be forced to see how much people enjoyed the work he made.
But you didn’t stay to see it too long, adjourning to the porch of whoever’s house you were in to enjoy an environment away from the loud music and too many people you didn’t know.
“Already bored?”
You’d jumped at the sound of Changbin’s voice, his footsteps loud against the wooden porch as he took a seat next to you on the swing, holding out his bottle of soda to you, “do you want some?”
You shook your head, seeing him shrug, “suit yourself, then.” He took a long sip of his soda, sighing afterwards.
A tired smile on your face, you let out a deep sigh, “didn’t expect you to find me here so quickly.”
“How could I not?” he laughed, shaking his head, “In case you didn’t notice, I was suffocating in there, figured I deserve a break.”
“Good job, though, I’d say you handled everything well…” you started, your smile growing, “... though there is one thing… I didn’t think you were the type to struggle with public speaking.”
Changbin’s lips parted in shock, scoffing, “shut up, I don’t usually.”
“Sure, you don’t,” you teased, bringing your hands to your sides to support your weight, letting your legs lift off the ground as Changbin used his feet to move the swing gently.
You leant back in your seat, enjoying the silence you were able to get out here as compared to the chaos going on within the house, noticing how tense Changbin seemed, his posture anything but relaxed as he’d let out sigh after sigh, tapping his rings against the seat of the bench absently.
“Relax,” you chuckled, “it’s already over.”
Doing the opposite of relaxing, Changbin simply stopped moving the swing, angling his body to face you more as he fished in his blazer pocket for something, pulling out an envelope from his jacket, “I have uh… something for you.”
Holding it out for you to take, your gaze fell on the colourful envelope, the little strawberry stickers you remembered using your savings to buy as you frowned at the address written on the envelope in your old messy ‘princess handwriting’.
Your gaze darted from the envelope back to him, “how did you… how do you have this?”
“I have it,” he began, letting out yet another sigh, “because you sent it to me.”
If it could, your heart would’ve stopped in that exact moment.
“Read it,” he prompted when you’d stayed silent, your hands moving urgently to open the envelope, your heart feeling warm when you pulled the paper out, already being able to see the ‘To: Binnie’ written with your favourite scented marker.
To: Binnie
How are you?
I’m fine. I am writing this very late in the night because I finished my rehearsal for my school play in the evening and I just finished taking a bath. I have to be quick or my mom is gonna scold me for not sleeping yet. I wanted to tell you that you should sign up for the competition. Which is why I have to mail this to you A.S.A.P as possible because you said the sign up closes in a few days. I think that you should just try it out, even if you don’t do well. Because then at least you can say that you gave it a try and you had fun. I saw this on a tv show, and they said if you don’t try, you will never know if it will turn out well, because you didn’t try.
So I’m telling you to try!!!!! Just try your best and have fun. I think you will do well.
Till next time,
Your penpal Y/N.
“So this is me… trying… it. Whatever it is,” he sounded out of breath, almost, and your heart had begun to pick up speed at how it seemed as though this would be the time where he would confess his feelings to you (if Soobin and Penny were any guide to go by).
You should’ve known Changbin better by now, though.
“Thank you… for helping me with the film. You know, for giving me crap about it because I know that that wasn’t really what I felt. I was just… bitter, but for some reason, you giving me shit about it kind of reminded me why I liked being friends with my penpal- or, I guess, liked being friends with you, so much in the first place.” he was looking at you more confidently now, straightening up as he continued.
“It wasn’t because you gave me fake money to buy a scooter, or anything,” he laughed, “it was more because you were someone that was friends with me for who I was? You were kind, and you were honest.”
Changbin fiddled with the envelope in his hands as you tried your best to contain your smile.
“And you were especially supportive, you know, in your own argumentative way.”
You let out a huff of breathy laughter at that, your hand coming up to touch your necklace, finding something else to fiddle with to contain your anxiousness.
“I’m glad, though, that I didn’t know you were that Y/N,” he told you, “because I already grew to like this Y/N so much, that… finding out was just… a pleasant surprise.”
For the first time since you saw the letter, you’d spoken, a breathy, “me too,” leaving you, embarrassing you to no end.
“I’m glad it was you,” you murmured, averting your gaze, not having expected Changbin to have reached out a hand towards yours, hovering just momentarily before making the decisive action of grasping it gently.
“Me too.”
“So are you gonna explain why my letters—”
“Shh,” he shut his eyes, the smile on his face making you give in almost instantly, “don’t ruin it.”
===
“I didn’t know people even still sent letters these days,” Jisung snorted, sipping on his coffee that he’d just gone downstairs to buy, “here, you have one, but there's no name.”
You frowned, picking it up and finding the handwriting of your address awfully familiar, feeling as though you’d definitely seen it scribbled on a specific brittle old notebook before.
You flopped onto your bed, opening the letter as Jisung resumed playing whatever game he was busy with on your desktop computer.
Thankful for the distraction, you’d quickly unfolded it, scrunching your nose at his choice of pen name.
To: my penpal Y/N
This letter may just be over a decade overdue, but I wanted to firstly say I’m sorry for making you wait so long. That letter about my film competition, that was the last one I received from you, and one of my favourites. I figured it out, by the way, I gave you the wrong address. Phonics was a very tricky thing for my eight year old stubborn self that refused to cross check with my mom.
I figured sending you a letter was best, you know, since you know I'm not the very best at public speaking, or just speaking in general sometimes, I doubt I'd be able to say as eloquently what I wanted to say to you in this letter.
I wanted to give you a few updates. Firstly, I met someone in my film club. Well, technically I auditioned them for my short film so there’s no one to blame for the trouble they caused other than me. I didn’t like them that much at the beginning. I thought they were just trying to impose their stupid happily ever after beliefs on me, someone who thought I was a big bad cynical bitter man that didn’t believe in love stories.
As you probably guessed, they challenged me (a lot), and waiting to see them started to feel like the days where I would wait to hear my mom tell me that a letter came in for me, even better actually. They reminded me of the qualities in myself that I was always afraid of showing, and they reminded me what was so good about being unapologetic for who I was sometimes, because they accepted all of that, (but not without giving me an shit about it first, of course).
But i’m thankful, I’m thankful because I really grew to like them a lot. I liked how I could be comfortable being myself around her, and I liked how they would support me when I needed it, but also to correct me when I need to be corrected.
They were real, and I liked that, a lot.
So, the point of this was that if they ever happen to receive this, you know, (because I totally didn’t know your current address, obviously), I hope they know that I’ve grown to like them very much, to like the personality that i’ve come to know, and that i’m very excited to grow to know (and like) even more.
I’ll be seeing you,
Binnie.
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hi, I don’t know if your inbox is still open for requests,if not that’s completely fine :). If so, I would like to request “Fuck, I need a drink to deal with you.” For Bucky x Sarah. Thank you.
It's a little long and a little different from my other bits of writing, less cute, more character study but I hope you still like it anon! Cross posted to AO3
She watches them get out of the truck, loud and boisterous in that way she's learnt means that they're ok. She knows they've been back stateside for several days already, spending extended time at the base in DC while Sam trains Torres and James continues his cross-country journey training special forces personnel. Hell, she had even video chatted with them but there is some part of her that does not settle, cannot settle, until she can touch them and see for herself that they are safe.
"You're a menace Buck, you know that right? Is it something about the 40s that made you and Steve like this or did the two of you find each other because everyone else saw how fucking crazy you were?" Sam asks, voice light with laughter.
Sarah watches the easy line of James' shoulders as he reaches into the back for his duffle, she can tell a lot about the headspace he's in based solely off of how he holds himself. She's had to learn his little tells because he still doesn't talk as much as she'd like.
"I trained with 12-year-old Dora's that were more impressive than this asshole and that was practically their after school program. It's not my fault he took exception to that comparison." James replies, glaring mockingly at Sam. She can tell they've been having whatever conversation this is for a while.
"You know if you keep breaking their soldiers the US military isn't going to continue inviting you back." Sam's smirk is playful though, clearly harassing James more for the sake of the harassment than out of any actual concern.
"Thank-fucking-Christ. See if I miss them." James grumbles, turning to face her with his duffle draped over his shoulders.
She is moving towards them before she consciously tells her feet to go. She isn't some damsel left behind though, so there will be no running and leaping into his arms, no matter how much she may want that. Instead, she strolls casually out her front door and down her porch steps with her arms tucked safely in her pockets, face excited, but in a cool and controlled way.
She watches as his smile broadens into a grin at the sight of her and her cool and controlled expression fails immediately as she grins back at him.
Sam makes a retching sound somewhere to the right of her but she isn't paying him any attention, thank you very much.
"Welcome back." She manages around her smile, technically to both of them but she's staring at James.
"Thank you, kind sister. You know it was a really rough couple of weeks, but it's the support of family that really holds us togeth- oh Christ, just kiss him already. It's not like watching the two of you make eyes at each other is any better." Sam ends in an exasperated mutter.
She chuckles lightly, her eyes darting around James' face, taking in the familiar blue of his eyes along with the healing bruises high on his left cheek. Her brother occasionally has good ideas.
He drops his bag on the dew-wet grass of the early morning and is reaching for her as she stretches up slightly to meet his soft, chapped lips.
"Sam, is it very hard being Captain America and having to stop white panther over there from doing stupid shit every ten minutes? As a matter of fact, yes, it is. Thank you for asking, sister of mine." Sam's voice grumbles as he moves away from them towards the front door.
His solo conversation forces a huff of laughter from her lips. It's become one of her favourite things, laughing into James' mouth. She pulls away from him, feeling sorted for the first time in weeks.
"Hi Sam! How are you? It's been so long since I last spoke to you 10 hours ago." She says brightly.
She watches the back of Sam's headshake ruefully as he keeps walking away from them and hears James pick back up his bag as he begins strolling lazily beside her.
"What's all this, then?" Sam asks as he gets to the porch, looking down at the three boxes piled outside.
"I'm not sure. It came last night. It's for you." She says with a small twist, turning to face James.
He raises his eyebrows in surprised confusion.
"For me? And it came here?" He questions.
Sam leans over, grabbing the still-sealed envelope off the top of the boxes.
"It came 'Care of Captain America' but yeah, it's for you." She says easily, hopping up the steps in one go and turning to lean her hip against the old wooden railing.
"Do you mind?" Sam asks James, already moving to open the envelope. James shakes his head, leaning on a post on the other side of the staircase.
Sam's eyes scan quickly back and forth over the letter before his mouth narrows into a small frown.
"It's from the Smithsonian." He finally says, handing the letter over to James.
"The Smithsonian?" James mumbles, taking the letter and she watches his expression freeze then go utterly blank as he reads it.
"Why is the Smithsonian writing to you?" She asks with concern.
Neither answer her for a moment just long enough that she starts to feel genuine concern.
"Dear Sergeant Barnes," James begins to read, pausing to clear his throat.
By the end of the sentence, James' voice has just the barest hints of a wobble.
"My name is Eloise Lambert and I have been the lead curator and researcher behind the Captain America and the Howling Commandos exhibit for nearly 40 years. I understand this must seem a drop in the hat to you, but it has represented my life's work. While I cannot begin to understand what it must be like to find out strangers have been heavily involved in the study of your life while you were still living it, please forgive me the eccentricities of an old woman to tell you that you were always my favourite.
During the initial stages of the creation of the exhibit in Washington and at its sister sites, several pieces of memorabilia were gifted to the institution by your family. In the intervening years, through research and the continued graciousness of your siblings, we have amassed quite an impressive list of items from your pre-war life. Additionally, in the often hard and lonely years that followed the blip, Captain Rogers also donated several items related to both your lives. It is my belief, however, that he gave us these items in good faith, believing you were permanently gone.
In the aftermath of the returns and the continued examination of the cultural damage that can be wrought by museums, especially with the years of discourse that followed the attack on The Museum of Great Britain, the Smithsonian has wrestled with what to do with the pieces that we have that are not fit for public showing. It is my honest belief that not only would your family and Captain Rogers want you to have these items, but that good morality compels us to return them to you. This endeavour has turned out to be harder than initially anticipated as though I am assured you returned after the blip, no one seems to know quite how to find you. With our continued efforts to locate you failing, and possible sightings of you with Captain America, we have decided to send these items to Captain Wilson in the hopes that they will eventually find their way to you.
Time is a cruel mistress, and as I approach the end of my life, the meaningfulness of old memories has become increasingly clear. I hope this has remained true for you as well, even through your painful but most extraordinary journey, however, should these items bring more pain than happy remembrance, please feel free to return them. The appropriate address is enclosed below."
He looks down at the unassuming boxes with the same carefully blank look on his face.
"Well… that's unexpected." He finally says, looking over at her with questioning eyes.
James drops to his knees, pulling one of the boxes to him at random and opening it gently. He lets out a soft breath as he pulls out the object on top.
Sarah strays closer, looking over his shoulder. It's a framed photograph of him in his military uniform, smiling easily at something behind the camera and in the right lower corner, held in place by some kind of cloth housing, is a small medal.
"Holy shit. Is that a Silver Star, Buck?" Sam asks, stooping down beside James whose thumb brushes reverently over the frame.
"Yeah," James says, voice cracking a little but a small smile curving his lips. "They gave it to me after Azzano, when I got back from Austria… the first time Zola…" he drifts off, glancing over at Sam.
The first time he had been captured. The first time he had been experimented on.
"I had sent it to my ma. They'd sent her a letter listing me as missing and presumed captured. Becca said she'd spent every spare minute she had in the pews at St. Leo's." He huffs out a small laugh, eyes going unfocused. "So I sent her the star and the picture in my next letter, as an apology."
Both Sarah and Sam are quiet, unsure what to say. A moment later James seems to shake the fog away and pushes the photo back into the box, standing abruptly.
"I'm gonna grab a shower, get cleaned up before the boys wake up." He mutters, old Brooklyn accent seeping in around the edges to soften his consonants, the way it always seems to when he gets lost in his past.
Sam stands slowly, making eye contact with her for a second before she steps up beside James.
"Are you ok?" She asks lowly.
He pushes the open box to the side of the door with his foot, then leans in and drops a quick kiss on her cheek.
"I'm good. Honest. I'll come back to it." He replies, shouldering his bag and stepping inside. She turns to look at Sam. He just shrugs and follows James into the house.
**********************************
The rest of the day continues like every one of her weekends since she began to be called mom more often than Sarah.
AJ wakes first and is downstairs pulling out dishes and mixing bowls for her because 'weekend mornings mean pancakes, mom!'
Then he's in the living room, TV on, watching whatever cartoon is his latest obsession. This month it's Clone Wars.
Sam comes down next, surprising AJ who hadn't noticed the truck in the driveway or the shoes by the entrance, so he's folded into the mandatory cartoons.
Cass is a late sleeper. Will sleep till the early afternoon if left to his own devices usually, but if Sam is AJs favourite adult, James is Cass's, so she's not all that surprised to see him at James' elbow when he does come downstairs in grey sweats and an old, soft-looking graphic T proclaiming Wakanda Forever. Bucky wanders into the kitchen, Cass right behind him and sets up to help with breakfast.
So the morning goes, with laughter and sticky spills and chocolate chips, until Sarah all but forgets about the boxes heavy with history sitting on her porch. It's not until much later, when the dishes are already washed and packed away, loads of laundry completed and her eyes tired from staring at income and expense spreadsheets from the restaurant, that she realises she hasn't seen hide nor hair of James and his shadow in some time.
Needing a break from excel, Sarah stretches languidly, feeling the bones in her back pop and realign before she stands, strolling through the house to find them. She hears the soft murmur of James' voice and the gentle cadence of Cass asking questions coming from the porch.
The door is propped open, only the screen door closed, so she can see them from the entryway and she has to stop to take it in for a moment. They are sitting on the floor, Cass in between James' outstretched legs with his back curved into James' chest, going through one of his boxes from the Smithsonian.
"And what about this?" Cass asks, pulling out a piece of ancient-looking folded paper.
"You tell me," James replies softly, unfolding the delicate age stained paper, hand over hand with Cass.
"Um, it's another letter. From Ruth?"
"My youngest sister,” James mumbles. “What does it say?"
"De-dearest James,” Cass begins to read. “I was so ple-ple-as-"
"Pleased," James corrects lightly.
"Pleased to read your most re-recent letter. We are so glad that you are away from the front for the next few weeks… what does that mean? Front of what?" Cass asks, turning to look up at James, whose eyes are sombre but kind, seemingly unable to look away from the old words.
"It means where the fighting was during the war."
Sarah stands watching the easy care James takes with her son and feels like she can't catch her breath. He's not doing it for her, she knows. He is sitting and sharing his life with her child, going over his reading with him, solely because he wants to. Because Cass wants to be near to him. She moves her hand to her chest, rubbing absently, trying to work out the heavy feeling that has settled over her heart.
"Why didn't she want you to fight? You're really good at it." Cass says with the carelessness of the young.
James hums consideringly, going through the rest of the letters in the batch in his hand. "I wasn't as good at it then, and she was worried about me."
She chooses that moment to join them. "What're ya'll up to out here?" She asks, coming to sit cross-legged on the other side of the boxes.
James looks up at her, eyes lighter than she expects, and smiles. "Just going through them, you know," he replies. She wants to ask if he is ok, if he needs time or space or any of the 20 other things she could probably come up with but thinks it might be better to just let him be.
She reaches into the box in front of her and comes out with another stack of papers. She gently pulls them apart then freezes. They're copies of his enlistment documents. The top right-hand corner of one has a faded, black and white photo of a man, barely more than a boy really, with familiar blue eyes but no hint of the darkness James carries.
"Bucky Barnes I presume." She says softly, holding the picture out to him.
Cass' little hands pull James' arm down to his level as he takes the photo so he can see too.
"That's not you!" Cass says, scrunching up his nose.
James makes a face and looks down at him askance.
"And why not?"
Cass shrugs. "You look so old now"
James absolutely cackles at that. Head thrown back, hand over his heart. Sarah tries to stifle her own laugh and look disapprovingly at Cass. Nothing beats the open honesty of the innocent.
"Real vicious, kid. I think I look ok for 106." He finally gets out.
Cass seems unimpressed, scrambling away from James to poke at another box as Sam’s head appears around the front door.
"What's going on out here? Grandpa is laughing?"
James just shrugs.
"Your nephew is speaking truth to power," Sarah replies with a smirk. James gives her a baleful glare while Sam takes in the scene around them, giving Sarah a significant look that she can't really read.
"Is this you too, Uncle Buck?" Cass asks, holding up a sketchbook.
Sarah looks over to see an impressive likeness of a young James in side profile, a small smile curving his lips as a thin cigarette dangles from the corner of his mouth.
James nods, holding his hand out for the sketchbook as a grin overtakes his face. Sam comes to sit, dropping down heavily beside her as Sarah switches to laying on her stomach, head perched on her hands. James places the dog eared book on the floor between them.
Cass scrunches up his nose again. "Is that a cigarette? Those are bad!"
James nods, looking up as Cass comes to lean heavily against his shoulder. "You're right but gimme a break. It was 1938. We didn't know that yet."
Sarah reaches out and flips through the book. There are drawings of the view from a fire escape at different times of day with the vague outlines of people coming and going, a few of a young woman with old, old eyes and a lot of sketches of James. Sometimes just bits and pieces of him, how his eyes look happy or sad or tired. His hands holding a cigarette or a beer or fixing things. Some are whole body portraits, from James in a full suit to him in nothing but an undershirt and trousers, his suspenders hanging off his shoulders.
The last few pages have several drawings of a delicate-looking young man who’s almost pretty, soft hair and a pointed chin, but with eyes that blaze.
"Who's that?" She asks.
James gets a complicated look on his face, wrapping an arm around Cass's small frame.
"Portrait of the artist as a young man." He whispers.
"No shit," Sam says softly, reaching to twist the book more towards himself. Sarah is so shocked she doesn't even remember to yell at Sam about his language.
She stares down at the image. She's seen the hologram of Captain America before the serum in museums, like everyone else, but it's always the same image: him in some military clothes with an ill-fitted helmet on, before it slides into that famous shot of him, almost 6 and a half feet of righteous fury. She studies the picture some more. She thinks she can see it, see him, in the curve of his mouth and the intensity in his gaze. She supposes America doesn't want the world reminded of the small boy behind one of the greatest symbols of 'American Exceptionalism'. She doesn't really know much about the man that Steve Rogers was. She never particularly cared for what he represented. She wonders now if he even liked what he came to be seen as.
"And the woman? She's in here a lot too." Sam asks.
James smiles crookedly. "His ma. Her name was Sarah."
When Sarah's sharp eyes flick to him, he's already looking at her, smile widening minutely before he sighs.
"She died a month after my 18th. TB. Money got even tighter after that. Eventually moved with him into a tiny little apartment near Red Hook, let my Ma rent out my room at home. Anything for a buck, you know."
Cass gets bored with the conversation and wanders back inside, probably to harass his brother.
Sarah looks at her namesake, trying to wrap her mind around this whole other life that James has lived. She flips through the pages again. By far the most common subject is James, the lines of him traced with familiarity and clearly with love. Sarah flicks her eyes up to James who is watching her quietly.
“Ask” he commands.
She makes a face. “What? I don’t know what you-”
“Just ask, Sarah.” he interrupts, eyes playful. She looks back down at the drawings, unable to resist trailing her fingers lightly along the charcoal lines.
“Well… I mean there are a lot of drawings of you here… were you two ever-”
“No,” he says with a put upon smile.
“Hey! You told me to ask! I didn’t even get to finish my question!” she chuckles. James rolls his eyes heavenward.
“God, I need a drink to deal with you,” he mumbles. Sarah pouts and Sam also starts to laugh. “You think you’re the first person to ask if I was sleeping with Captain America? God, if I had a nickel every time someone asked me, I’d be a millionaire.”
Sam shrugs. “Man, if I had a nickel every time someone asked me if you were sleeping with Steve, I’d be a millionaire.”
Bucky laughs at that. It takes him a minute to settle down.
"Steve got real sick winter of '37. Didn't really shake it for the rest of the next year. Would get a couple of good weeks then his breathing was shit again. Spent most of the year in bed. Couldn’t manage to do too much but draw… didn't have too many models though. So it was what he could see from the window and well… me. I think the priest came to the house 3 or 4 times that year.” he trails off, eyes seeming to stare past the sketches.
“Priest?” she asks.
Bucky nods, leaning back against the house. “Steve's ma was real religious. Wouldn'ta let us live it down if Steve passed without last rights. It was touch and go a few times.”
They’re all silent for a bit after that, letting it sink in. She looks back down at the drawings, how much they seem like they are about to start moving, how well they seem to capture James’ essence.
“He loved you though, you can’t draw someone like that without a lot of love.” She whispers looking up to see Sam and James share a look.
“Steve loved… hard,” Sam replies. James nods.
“Could be real irritable about it, but yeah. His pa died when he was real little. Ma never remarried. Between Steve being so sickly and his ma being a single mother, things were rough. My parents owned a little deli. Wasn’t much but it meant we were doing a lot better for a lot longer than a lot of people until we weren’t.” James says with a shrug. Sarah barely breathes, she’s never heard him talk about his past so freely.
“We lived in the same building. My ma had a real bleeding heart. Came over from Italy as a teenager… I don’t think she ever forgot how people looked at her in the beginning when her accent was real strong.” he scoffs. “Never forgot being run out of her own country either. Didn’t much take to what other people thought. Helped out whenever she could, practically adopted them. There were times when things got bad, I was all he had.” James eventually finishes.
She supposes she can see it then, why Steve Rogers risked his life, risked his freedom, to get James back. Sam just nods slowly, like he’s heard it all before. Hell, he probably has. Sam pulls the last unopened box to him and starts carefully going through it as Sarah relaxes in the gentle breeze in the early afternoon.
“Damn. Didn’t think they’d give this back.” Sam says, pulling a dusty old leather case with a glass front out. He flips the case open slowly, turning it to face James who lets out a quiet release of breath.
Sarah frowns. It’s a medal of some kind, but she doesn’t recognize it. “What is that?”
Sam looks at her, his face very solemn. “It’s a medal of honour. Highest military award you get. A lot of times posthumously.”
James takes the medal, looking down at it with wonder. “I’d never seen it,” he says softly. “Steve said it was Peggy who made sure we both got them. Wanted the world to know that we died for something even if no one could be told exactly what. I don’t even know who it was presented to." James stares at the small medallion with an expression of adoration on his face.
A moment later there is a loud crash from inside the house followed by a suspicious silence. Sarah moves to stand but Sam waves her off, standing first to go investigate.
James leans back against the wall, just staring at the small medallion while Sarah watches him. He's occasionally so much more than she expects and yet still so very human.
"You are handling all this a lot better than I expected you to." She says, unable to keep the thought in.
James pauses. "Honestly, I don't think I ever expected to get any of these things back, and I certainly never expected to have anyone to share all this with." He replies, looking at her with such deep affection, she has to look away.
"Can I ask another question that may make you uncomfortable?"
"You literally asked me if I was fucking my best friend 10 minutes ago, I don't think anything is off the table." He replies with a small smirk and a head tilt. She huffs out a quiet laugh at that.
"How come more things from this century don't seem to… shock you? No 'for coloured only signs', gay marriage, interracial dating… “ she adds, pointing between the two of them. "Most people your age have pretty set opinions on a lot of those things. "
He frowns, tilting his head in that way that she knows means she has shocked him.
"Where's this coming from?"
She shrugs, reaching for one of the small piles of letters littering the floor between them. If she's honest it's a thought she's had before, but always assumed it had something to do with him not being fully unaware of the passage of time given the intermittent awakenings of the Soldier, or the fact that he'd basically been kept as property himself. She'd never felt entirely comfortable asking before, but this James, the one who reads his old letters to her son, seems so much more like an open book than ever before.
"Just… being reminded that you really were born in 1917 and the world of your youth looked very very different." Is what she chooses to say.
James seems to think for a minute and she appreciates that. Appreciates him trying to give her an answer that feels honest to him.
"A strong man who has known power all his life may lose respect for that power, but a weak man knows the value of it. Erskine said that to Steve before he gave him the serum. Steve was fond of that quote." He says quietly.
She frowns.
"Not to call you out James but this guy might have been a few pounds lighter than you but I don't know if anyone would call him weak." She replies holding up the enrollment form with his picture.
He shakes his head, digging into the box in front of him and pulling out another old frame with an ancient-looking sepia portrait, colour bleeding at edges. He hands it to her.
She looks down at it. It's a family. Woman, man, four children. Taken in that old-timey way that you only ever see in horror movies these days. James looks like he's maybe 16 or 17. It's truly stunning.
"This is them, isn't it? Your whole family." She asks. He nods, looking down at his hands.
"You know how I said, my ma came over from Italy?"
"Yeah"
"Well she did, but her first language wasn't Italian. It was Romani."
"Romani?" Sarah asks with a frown, she doesn't think she's heard of that before.
"They used to call them gypsies. Weren't real popular in the US. Neither in Europe. She'd spent a lot of her life afraid simply for being born what she was, but she was proud and tough and unwilling to be afraid anymore. She wasn't going to let any of us forget her roots. Wasn't going to allow any of us to turn into bullies."
Sarah stares at the faded photo focusing on the woman.
"What was her name?" She questions.
"Maria." He replies, voice soft.
She looks tiny next to the man in the photo, a dainty little thing with full lips set in a stubborn looking line and proud eyes. She can see the resemblance to James though, can trace the lines of his features in her face.
"She sounds like an amazing woman," Sarah says looking up, surprised to find James studying her with almost the same intensity that she was studying the photo.
"Yeah… I seem to know a lot of those." He replies, with a strange, crooked little smile.
She blushes at that, feeling heat spread along her face and down the line of her throat at the unexpected compliment. She holds his gaze though, lets the moment sit between them warm and heavy somewhere in her chest as the bird songs continue and the wind rustles through the trees. For a moment, sitting amongst the ancient memories that helped create this impossible man, time finally seems to pause in deference to them.
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Episode 1: The Nigerian Job Rewatch
Nate is so far beyond done at this point it’s hilarious. “I want to hire you” “FUCK OFF MAN I’M BUSY DRINKING MYSELF TO AN EARLY GRAVE”
“I need you to steal them back…” WTF DID YOU THINK WAS GOING TO HAPPEN VICTOR? WHAT, DID YOU THINK THE BEST INSURANCE INVESTIGATOR WASN’T GOING TO FIGURE OUT YOU WERE GOING TO DOUBLE CROSS HIM? He’s so stupid I can’t.
“Parker is insane.” No. She just has a little trouble. Don’t DO THIS to her Nate.
“They work alone,” not for looong.
And… there it is! IYS. The most overused villains and this coming from a doctor who fan who sat through the daleks coming back EVERY SINGLE SEASON after being destroyed
Why do they all sound so weird? Like the dialogue does NOT sound normal
How tf did Eliot win in that scene tho? We see how long it takes him to fight later on like I just do not get it. ANd the tea isn’t even scathed? How? Everyone talks about The Big Bang Job’s shootout scene as being super unrealistic, but honestly, it barely registers compared to this one.
“You’re precisely why I work alone.” Yeah, because you’re at risk of falling in love otherwise Mr. Heart Eyes.
I’m remembering how much I did NOT like Parker in the beginning and I don’t like that. I love Parker but early Parker was eh.
PARKER YOU CAN’T JUST THROW THE GLASS. THAT’S EVIDENCE PARKER. YOU COULD KILL SOMEONE PARKER. SOMEONE’S GOING TO KNOW PARKER.
You expect me to believe that Parker is a world class thief who wouldn’t think to count the haircuts? They keep making everyone else look dumber to make Nate look smarter which makes NO SENSE because honestly, it makes it hard to believe that the other three survived on their own without Nate to guide them. WHICH THEY DID! AND THEY WERE THE BEST IN THE WORLD AT WHAT THEY DID. WTF
“That’s what I do.” AKA THE MOMENT ALEC HARDISON BECOMES AN ELIOT STAN
JENNY 8675309????
“I know you children don’t play well with others” He’s already a dad i can’t.
If they knew about this plan and had the materials to pull it off, why did no one think of it?
ALSO HOW TF DO THEY GET THE MAKE UP ON SO QUICKLY IT DOESN'T MAKE SENSE
How did the burn scam even work? Like i get it, make him uncomfortable so he won’t ask questions but like… they thought no one was in the building? The elevators were shut down? Why did he not question it? How stupid????
The black king/white knight metaphor was honestly the worst part of the first episode like it bothers me so much and I cannot effectively come close to explaining why
Where does Nate live? Why is his place so fancy? HE’S UNEMPLOYED RIGHT NOW AND BANKRUPTED HIMSELF TRYING TO HELP SAM. “It’s a hotel,” my sister says. IN WHAT WORLD DOES THAT LOOK LIKE A HOTEL ROOM? ANd that doesn’t explain how he affords a hotel room that nice.
….Why didn’t Eliot just disarm Hardison? We know he can. I don’t get it.
If you knew the place was gonna blow, why didn’t you run Nate? WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIS NATE
Eliot’s already putting himself in danger to help Hardison up. YOUR HONOR THEY’RE IN LOVE. THEY’VE KNOWN EACH OTHER LESS THAN 24 HOURS AND THEY’RE IN LOVE.
“Do you trust me?” NO. NO NATE. NO I FUCKING DON’T.
I feel like passing that phone through the grate should not have worked.
YEAH HARDISON. MUG IT FOR THE CAMERA
Eliot’s accent I LOVE HIM “Can you hold, son?” FOREVER FOR YOU.
How are the state police so fucking stupid i can’t
They literally… they just dumb everyone down to make Nate look smarter and it SUCKS
Ah, the first Hardison safe house.
“You won’t get within 100 yards” HE’S ELIOT FUCKING SPENCER I BET YOU ANYTHING HE CAN
“He didn’t pay us… I take that personally.” I-- Parker if you’re dead you can’t make more money. Parker? It’s important to me that you know this, Parker.
The websites they’re looking at are so obviously fake.
Nate? Nate it’s just a picture. DUbenich can’t hear you, Nate.
“He used my son” I cannot explain how much overexposure has made me NOT CARE ABOUT FUCKING SAM
“What the hecks a Sophie” That, Eliot. That’s a Sophie.
Honestly? My favorite character introduction in this episode.
WHY DO THEY ALL TALK SO WEIRD IN THIS EPISODE? THEIR VOICES ARE SO OFF WHAT THE FUCK?
“I’m a citizen now. Honest.” YEAH FUCKING RIGHT IN WHAT WORLD
Eliot with the snacks, he’s always bringing food to his fam it’s amazing
“That’s an odd thing for you to know” “That’s an odd place for you to be” ...why am i reading a sexy sort of tension in there???
And Nate’s SMILING at it
Ok but how does Nate know about plane schematics?
Sophie’s accent… none of them are that accurate but this one felt especially weird
Eliot playing the IT tech is everything
Also the reference to the IT Crowd by Parker is *chef’s kiss*
HE’S SO CUTE THOUGH
I’m just a simp for Eliot Spencer okay?
“I know you’re manipulating me, Anna.” Yeah but you’re still gonna fall for it, aren’t you? You stupid, stupid man.
Eliot’s so sweet though. He’s just trying to make friends.
Like really though, he’s so standoffish and stoic, but the second he has the chance, he tries to bond and he’s so gregarious. Like, it makes so much sense that he has so many friends all over he place.
“Eliot, we’re not friends,” STOP BEING AN ASSHOLE NATE. I HATE YOU NATE. HE’S JUST TRYING TO BE YOUR FRIEND NATE.
Hardison gliding by in the wheelie chair… he’s such a goof and a mood and i love him.
...Hardison… Hardison you can hack anything… Hardison why didn’t you put them in the building directory? IT’S A DIGITAL DIRECTORY YOU COULD HAVE DONE IT THIS WAS SO UNNECESSARY
Nate, EVERYONE CAN SEE YOU!! hoW DOES HE NOT GET ARRESTED???
THERE”S A COP CAR RIGHT THERE HOW THE FUCK DID THAT WORK
...is there anyone Sophie doesn’t have sexual chemistry with in this episode? Like, seriously, i think it’s just Hardison. She and Nate are obvious, and she and Eliot have that moment, and then… did they not put them in the directory just to have Parker and Sophie make heart eyes at each other for a few seconds?
HOW DID ANYONE WATCH THIS SHOW AND EVER THINK SOPHIE AND PARKER WERE STRAIGHT THO
Dubenich sounds like Wallace Shawn and looks like Stephen Moffat and I HATE HIM. Wallace Shawn is great, and i love him but DUBENICH CAN DIE
This looks like such a boring party why would anyone want to be there. THERE’S DAY DRINKING FOR GOODNESS SAKE EWWW WHY (okay maybe i just hate alcohol. I hate it more in professional settings.)
“Sir, I can take your underpants.” OKAY HIGGINS. WEIRD FLEX BUT OKAY.
Parker and Hardison look so smug walking out of the building i love it.
...why don’t you want the money Nate? YOU COULD GET A LOT MORE MONEY NATE. TAKE THE GODDAMNED MONEY NATE
And today on “I Will Never Understand the Way the Stock Market Works…” Like i get the basic idea but like… how do you make money if it’s gonna fall that much? HOw.. how does this work?
NO THAT IS NOT AN INVITATION TO EXPLAIN ECONOMICS TO ME I DO NOT CARE ABOUT THE STOCK MARKET
“Somebody kiss this man so I don’t have to” you will. One day, Eliot, you will.
So, fun fact. Supposedly, their score was $32,761,349.05 each. Which doesn’t really seem like a lot of money to me? Like, at least definitely not enough for Nate to do with it what he does? Like, maybe I just have a really difficult time fathoming that much money? Like, don’t get me wrong, I’d love just a taste of that but like, also? It really seems like not so much? … And further on “This blogger does not understand budgeting.”
ELIOT JUST ADMIT YOU WANT PART OF A TEAM
WHY DOES SOPHIE SOUND SO WEIRD??? WHAT THE FUCK
Okay, also, i have a question. These people, at the end, this is their first client, right? So why does it look like they haven’t seen each other since they took down Dubenich in the homecoming job? WHAT?
The SUITS THO
OKAY FINAL THOUGHTS: 6/10. Not the best Leverage episode, and certainly not the best character episode. There were a LOT of kinks to work out. Things got sorted too well. And I REALLY HATE NATE THIS EARLY ON. I’ve also never loved the “this guy is an asshole but he’s smarter than everyone else and really good at what he does so it’s fine” trope that you see in so many shows like Leverage. And they really really dumb people down early on to make him seem smarter. But like… there’s a reason I kept watching, you know? Also... I remember why it took me a while to warm up to Parker and Sophie. LIke, they’re badass but I still took a while and I remember why.
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eunoia - prologue
Summary: Sam is trying to adjust to a life post-Steve Rogers.
Sam Wilson x Quinn (Asian ofc)
Warnings: Some spoilers for Civil War, Inifinity War, Endgame and TFATWS
Wordcount: 2.2k
A/N: Did I just abandon my other wips to work on this one? Maybe. This story follows around 50% of TFATWS storyline, but it’s not identical. I honestly don’t know whether or not people are gonna like it, but if you do, please let me know 🥺Our boy Sam deserves all the fics 🥰
Masterlist // eunoia masterlist //
Not a day goes by that Sam doesn’t think about Quinn. It was at the Joint Terrorist Centre’s headquarters in Berlin when he first saw her on security camera’s. While Bucky was being interviewed, a different set of cameras showed another interrogation room. It was nearly identical to Bucky’s room, though the difference was that there a woman was strapped in a similar containment cell. They had found her earlier that day and according to some intel she was part of another Hydra program, though there was not much known about her yet.
With the reactivated Winter Soldier Program, Sam tried to capture Zemo, before the fugitive disappeared into the crowd. Together with Steve, they took Bucky into an abandoned building. While Bucky slowly regained consciousness and both Steve and Sam being distracted, no one noticed someone sneaking up behind them.
In a twinkling of an eye, both Steve and Sam were tied up with one rope, despite the two of them being on opposite sides of the room. With a certain focus, the petite woman marched up to Bucky, ready to do whatever was her task. As her fingers wrapped around his neck, tips digging in his neck, Bucky seemed to recognize her. A soft ‘hey’ from the Winter Soldier was enough to snap her out of it.
The rope stopped cutting into Sam’s skin, as the woman looked around her. She dropped the rope and she ran her hands through her long black locks. There was something about her that intrigued him. Her eyes darted from one side to the other, before they landed on him.
Sam didn’t know her that long, but he could see that there were a lot of undisclosed feelings. She was confused, maybe even a bit scared.
She introduced herself as Quinn, though adding the fact that she had no idea what her real name was and Quinn seemed fitting.
Just like Bucky, Quinn was also a target of Zero’s spree. She remembers Zemo breaking her out of the secret and deserted Hydra facility back in Munich, where she was put into cryogenic stasis. Zemo released her into the world, only for her to be caught within a few hours. She had no idea if that was Zemo’s intention, her getting caught that soon.
‘Just a few hours ago,’ Quinn explained, ‘there was this guy with black hair, questionable facial hair, who told me to catch a guy. It was a picture of you.’ She gestured towards Bucky, who tilted his head as his gaze softened.
‘You remember me?’ Bucky asked her.
She shrugs. ‘I don’t know,’ she whimpers. ‘I didn’t when he showed me the picture, but… There is something I sort of remember of you. You walked into the room, dressed in all black, looking visibly exhausted. You were in this other cell and looked at me and told me that it was all gonna be okay.’ Quinn let out a soft—yet meaningless—chuckle. ‘That’s not quite working out.’
Without any more painful questions, Steve suggested she came along and Sam and her actually fought alongside the rest on the airport, making sure Bucky and Steve were on that flight and just like the rest who stayed behind, they were imprisoned in the Raft.
Sam watched her, day in, day out. She was yet again strapped inside a containment cell within her cell, another counter measurement to make sure she was unable to escape. Sam saw how she kicked an entire van to the side on the airport, without breaking a sweat. It made him question whether or not she was just cooperating or if the restraints were really working.
Her petite frame was perfect for her to blend in the crowd, in contrast to Bucky, however strength wise, they were around the same level.
Speed wise, it was Quinn who had the upper hand there.
She simply sat in the cell, staring ahead of her. Sam wondered what happened inside her head, but when they made eye contact, all he could see was sadness and hopelessness.
At night, when the lights were dim and everyone was asleep, he told her that it was all gonna be okay.
‘How do you know?’
‘I just do,’ he said.
For the first time, she smiled at him. ‘And I just have to trust you on that one?’
‘It’s the wisest thing to do. Besides, what have you got to lose?’
After Steve freed them from the Raft, he did not know what to expect from her. Deep down, Sam kinda hoped she would join him. On the airport, it was obvious how well they worked together, but just like Clint, Scott and Wanda, she decided to live her own life.
And just like that, she disappeared.
Sam never thought he’d see her again, but when they all met in the New Avengers Facility, when they learned about Thanos’ plan to capture all the Infinity Stones, she walked in as if she never left. She stayed close to either him or Steve, not once speaking up about what she did in the meantime and Sam never felt like he could ask.
When they landed in Wakanda, Quinn took him aside and asked: ‘You got my back?’
He smiled at her, realizing that his efforts in gaining her trust back at the Raft and the Facility had helped. ‘Always,’ he promised.
But he didn’t keep his promise. He didn’t have her back like he promised.
Quinn was the last person Sam saw, before he disintegrated into ashes, together with half of the world population. Her hand on his cheek, as her eyes darted from side to side, slightly confused of what was happening, but also realizing that he couldn’t have her back anymore.
While Sam was aware that she was right there on the battlefield after they were all brought back, the first time he saw her was on Tony’s funeral. After Steve told him, Banner, Bucky and Quinn he was going to return the Infinity Stones and Mjølnir—looking back on it—it was obvious she knew what Steve decided to do. Sam can still hear the words that left her lips then: ‘Are you sure you want that to be your future?’
Sam did not know what it meant then, but he sure does now. After he received the shield minutes later of a much older Steve, Quinn did what she always does: disappear.
He never knew where she went, what she was doing and while he respects her decision, he still thinks about her. Every single day. His hope of seeing her again, hasn’t faded away and sometimes it frustrates him. He barely knew her, why is he so hung up on her then?
Sam lets out a sigh, as he drives his truck over the roads to his destination. It has been a rough couple of weeks. He is working closely together with the United States Air Force and after a few missions, he made his decision whether or not to give up the shield.
Without Steve, the shield is nothing.
He desperately needs a break from all of this and there is no place like Delacroix Louisiana to wind down from the hectic of an after Blip world. He had been there two times, but both times ended abruptly as the Air Force needed him.
Now, he has the time. All the time in the world to relax and forget about an Avenger like life.
Sam parks his car on the dock and his nephews AJ and Cass are the first to notice him. ‘Uncle Sam, uncle Sam,’ they exclaim.
‘Ah, there you two are,’ he says, hugging the two boys tightly.
‘How long are you gonna stay this time?’ Cass asks.
‘Awhile,’ is the answer he is giving his nephews, but that is mostly because he wants to keep them in suspense a little.
AJ scoffs. ‘That’s not an answer.’
‘Okay, okay, gotta give you that,’ he chuckles. ‘How about: at least two weeks?’
The two boys high five each other. His sister Sarah loudly places a crate on the ground. ‘Finally,’ she says, ‘took you long enough.’
‘Nice to see you too,’ he retorts with a smile, before giving her a hug. ‘Missed you.’
‘Of course you did,’ she says. ‘We missed you too, just like almost everyone here. Almost got me thinking that you’re the favorite Wilson sibling.’
‘That’s because I am.’ He carries the crate to where Sarah wants it and he smiles when his eyes land on the family boat. ‘She sure is a beauty.’
‘A broken beauty,’ Sarah says, ‘that is costing me a fortune.’ She places her hands on her hips as she says: ‘With both the house and the boat needing some fixing up, every penny I got to spare is going to the house.’
‘Is this about you wanting to sell it again?’
‘Yes, since I’m not willing to sell a working organ on the black market in order to afford its repairs.’
‘I told you I would fix it,’ Sam says.
Sarah rolls her eyes. ‘Yeah, you told me that months ago, but the boat still isn’t working. You know the situation, Sam, the thing’s gotta go.’
‘Sarah, you’re kidding. We grew up on this thing.’
She scoffs. ‘Yeah, I know, I was there. It’s just that I cannot afford it anymore.’
Sam sure loves his sister, but there are moments where he—just like back in the days—he’d want to put her behind the wallpaper, making her shut up. It’s always this doom thinking. Everything or nothing at all, there is no in between. ‘You know I can help with this.’
‘Yeah, big help you’ve been.’
Sam clenches his jaw. ‘Well, I’m sorry I was taken away by the blip.’
‘It’s not about you being gone for the blip,’ Sarah says. ‘It’s about the fact that there is too much for me to do here. I need to keep the house, so it’s either keeping the boat or the business and since the business is my income, it’s only logical that the boat has got to go.’
Great, he has been back for a few minutes and he is already having this conversation with his sister. ‘I’ve got this, Sarah, I promise.’
She doesn’t believe him, he can see it in her eyes, but decides to drop the matter. Maybe she realizes too that this is no conversation for them to have after he got back for only a few minutes.
The two of them step back on the dock, where his nephews are stretching out their necks, almost like they are searching for something. ‘Whatcha looking at?’ Sam asks. ‘See a pretty lady?’
‘Is that,’ Cass starts, only for AJ to exclaim: ‘Auntie Quinn!’
The two boys drop their stuff and rush over the dock to the woman Sam never thought he’d see again, let alone right here. Quinn holds out her arms and despite the boys being nearly the same height as her, she still manages to catch them both as they jump in her arms. They must’ve known about her enhanced strength, Sam thinks to himself, otherwise they wouldn’t have jumped right in her arms.
But that raises another question: how could they’ve known?
‘Auntie Quinn?’ he asks Sarah.
Sarah nods. ‘Auntie Quinn,’ she confirms.
She’s gonna leave it at that? ‘Care to explain?’
‘I think it was two weeks after you were blipped away. It was chaos here, like literal chaos. People were missing, I hadn’t heard anything from you. She walked up the dock and offered her help. I thought for at least a month she was an angel send from the heavens. She told me she saw you right before you were blipped away and that she went to your place back in DC. She found out about us and decided to see how it all went down here. Thankfully she did, because I desperately needed her help. She assisted with the business, helped raising the boys.’
To say he is confused, would be an understatement. ‘She stayed here?’ he asks. ‘During the entire blip?’
‘Oh yeah,’ Sarah says, holding up her hand to Quinn. ‘I think all in all, she stayed here for four years. Sometimes she went away for a few weeks, but she always returned. Near the end, she called me and told me that Steve needed her. It’s actually the first time I’ve seen her in a while.’
Sam can’t stop looking at the big smiles and chuckles being exchanged between AJ, Cass and Quinn. She hugs his nephews tightly and even from a distance he can tell she is scolding them for growing taller.
‘I think that without her,’ Sarah continues, ‘I barely would’ve made it. She was slightly clueless though. Had issues with the simplest tasks, like cooking and day to day stuff, but she’s a fast learner.’
It shouldn’t warm his heart like it does, but Sam can’t help but smile as he realizes that Quinn went on the look out to care for his family.
‘She told me she had no memories of growing up. Poor thing,’ Sarah says, shaking her head as she as well looks at the trio. ‘She tried so hard to remember, but in all those years she spend here, no luck. I wonder if she does now.’
She doesn’t. Sam doesn’t need to ask her, because he simply knows.
Quinn still doesn’t remember her past.
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1, 7, 25 for the fanfic end of year ask :)
001. favorite fic you wrote this year
i have a soft spot for take my hand (take my everything) which was the first fic i wrote this year! and kind of the first step back into writing creatively on something new that wasn’t the 7 year monster sterek fic. also my first foray into 9-1-1 fic and was just a lot of fun!
007. longest completed fic you wrote this year
the longest fic i wrote was my second for the year! so show me (family) wound up being around 16k+ for 9-1-1 which kind of burst out of me over the course of one 48 hour window unlike take my hand which took a few weeks to crank out.
025. a fic you read this year you would recommend everyone read
SO MANY FICS DUDE!!! i’m gonna rec a couple, some that i re-read this year and some that i discovered for the first time, all from a variety of fandoms. BUT heads up, you didn’t specify a fandom so it’s gonna be a little scattered. also someone else sent me this same question but specified 9-1-1, so i’m gonna reserve those recs for that ask. GET READY!!
and this, your living kiss by opal_bullets (7/7 | 84k+ | M)
destiel; AU: college/university; john winchester’s A+ parenting; angst with a happy ending
only a very few people in the world know that the celebrated and reclusive poet jack allen is just kansas mechanic dean winchester, a high school dropout with a few bucks to his name. not that it matters anymore; life has left him so wrung out he never wants to pick up another pen.
until, that is, a string of coincidences leads dean to auditing a poetry course with one dr. castiel novak. the professor is wildly intelligent, devastatingly handsome...and just so happens to be academia’s foremost expert on the poetry of jack allen.
note: i discovered this fic back in the pre-pandemic times of feb 2020 and i’ve read this fic TWICE since, leaving a lengthy comment each time. the poetry in the fic itself is stunningly gorgeous and i have a habit of reading it out loud to myself while reading bc it begs to be heard. this fic is seriously beautiful and makes me want to read all the poet!dean au’s out there in the world. unfortunately there aren’t that many so i just keep coming back to this well. i don’t think i can express enough how much i love this fic.
lost time by ARCurren (105/105 | 350k+ | T)
bransonxsybil; AU: canon divergent; outsider POVs; original characters; slow burn
the story of a free spirit who was asked to give up the man she loved for a system she didn’t believe in and what happened next. AU after 3.04.
note: did i think, when i stumbled across this fic years ago, that it would wind up being one of my all time favorites that i return to time and again to re-read? never. did i re-read it for like the dozenth time this year?? 110%. this fic is everything i want from fanfiction—it’s beautifully written, expands on canon, and shows me all the hidden moments the cameras never did (not to mention it’s historically accurate and delves deep into irish politics of the time). the first third or so of this fic is all about tom and sybil’s slow burn romance at downton, but the fic really bursts into its own when we follow the two to dublin and get introduced to all of the author’s deliciously detailed oc’s. heads up warning: this fic was never officially completed, though the final chapter is a beautifully written summary of the final arc of the fic. even so, it’s fucking worth it.
misfire by mothlights & unpossible (6/6 | 28k+ | T)
sterek; time travel; angst with a happy ending; alive hale family; magic; alternating POV
“the debt must be repaid,” she says, and it has the weight of a vow. the words resonate through him, ringing through his ribcage and the bones of his jaw, and stiles loses his breath and maybe his grip on reality because she draws herself upright and where there had once stood a supermodel-level MILK now there is galadriel’s much hotter older sister, a presence of unmistakable power in their ordinary, smells-vaguely-of-thai-takeout hallway.
“oh shit,” stiles says.
note: this fic is the first in the misfire ‘verse and i need you to understand that it literally broke me when i binge read these fics a month or so ago. i am a sucker for a solid time travel fic especially bc there are such few good ones in fandom. but this gets at the heart of it all by exploring the idea of stiles getting the chance to save derek’s family and taking it...after he and derek are romantically together in his true timeline and then actually dealing with the ramifications of how that alters everything and how stiles survives in this new present where he and derek are virtual strangers. everyone should definitely read this, but you should also know that i fucking sobbed while reading the sequel (which also has a happy ending, but really digs deep into the nitty gritty angst of the repercussions).
map of the world by seperis (11/11 | 154k+ | M)
destiel; end!verse; alternate universe; canon divergent; original characters; slow burn
the world’s already over and they’re already dead. all they’re doing now is marking time until the end.
note: look, if you don’t know about down to agincourt by @seperis, what are you doing with your life?? the series is over 1M+ words so far, the fic author is on book 4 out of a planned 8, and it’s fucking phenomenal. i know i’ve tagged a couple of these recs as slow burn but...this is the slowest slow burn to ever burn. canon!dean travels back into the end!verse timeline just as lucifer kills dean and somehow cas made it out alive and has to keep dean safe while he learns to become his end!verse counterpoint. the world building in this series is intense and i cannot recommend it enough. i’m still in the midst of my re-read bc it’s SUCH an endeavor but i highly recommend it to everybody.
invictus by ellanasan (116/116 | 355+ | M)
hayffie; au: alive abernathy family; pre-hunger games; canon prostitution; slow burn
“so then, before i can even think about doing something stupid like trying to stab him with his fucking golden paperknife, he gives me a choice, see?” haymitch continued, almost detached. “either i play nice like all the other victors or he’ll kill my family. i could either become his puppet—greatest punishment he could give me, according to him—or i could become the example.”
AU in which haymitch’s family lives.
note: hello, have you ever wondered what the hunger games series would be like if haymitch’s family were alive? i fucking hadn’t until 2 years ago when i stumbled across this fic and fell head over heels in love with this ship. @ellanainthetardis is my go to hunger games fic writer for anything exploring canon and i’m obsessed with anything she writes about the OG victors pre-canon (finnick, joanna, chaff, etc). this fic is just 300k+ exploring that world and all the intricate details of how cruel the games could really be. HIGHLY recommend. i definitely re-read it this fall when i needed a pick me up.
don’t know what i’m supposed to do (haunted by the ghost of you) by crazyassmurdererwall (1/1 | 30k+ | T)
sterek; canon divergent; angst with a happy ending; ghosts; stiles POV
stiles sees dead people. yep. seriously.
(he’s got this. he’s totally got this. so what if one of them is derek’s mom?)
note: did you know that @crazyassmurdererwall is one of my all time favorite people? and that she’s wicked talented? and that in our spare time she’ll send me a billion fic ideas that are amazing and i get to hear all the intricate details of her plot bunnies? but i digress. this fic is one of my all time fave sterek fics i’ve re-read it sooo many times. there’s just something about the heartache and stiles’ insecurity and the way he tries to shoulder it all on his own. and then there’s alli’s brilliant writing, the way she weaves through a scene and paints a picture just so and manages to tug at your heart strings with her precise word choice. there’s some amazing world building in this fic as it explores this other facet of the supernatural that canon teen wolf never touched upon, and i’m so grateful for that bc alli is the only one who should be allowed to write about ghosts and teen wolf together.
lagavulin and guinness by snarfle (10/10 | 163k+ | explicit)
hartwin; slow burn; PTSD; suicidal thoughts; graphic depictions of violence; domestic abuse
plenty of people had looked down on eggsy throughout his life. he had gotten fairly used to it. didn’t mean it was fair, but he knew how these things worked. what really sucked was that the new arthur was worse than the old one.
“eggsy grimaced. he didn’t know how to explain to harry—who seemed like he hadn’t been discriminated against a day in his life—that the new arthur kept giving him what amounted to suicide missions, and that he was currently bleeding out in a warehouse because of the deliberately bad intel she had given him.”
also featuring: dean is harder to get rid of than eggsy thought, his mum is going off the deep end, there are way too many nefarious plots in play, and eggsy is really beginning to wish that harry would stop holding his hand and kiss him instead.
note: look, i know i recced this literally less than a week ago but i ALSO stayed up til 5AM re-reading this last night and it was a-m-a-z-i-n-g. i was on a bit of a kingsman kick earlier this year, so i’ve actually re-read this fic TWICE so far in 2020. i will give you a serious warning in that this fic delves deep into domestic abuse through the lens of a variety of different relationships. it also explores the potential for abuse in hartwin, bc this fic is one of the few that actually commits to the fact that they’re literal spies who murder people. actively. a lot. but seriously, this fic is one of my fave in the fandom and i STRONGLY recommend it.
waste of breath by bryrosea (1/1 | 22k+ | M)
loganxveronica; canon compliant; missing scenes; navy; past child abuse
logan echolls, the nine years, and the navy.
note: bryrosea has an obscene number of amazing logan and veronica fics (her canon divergent series stay with me is another i re-read this year), but i’ve found myself returning to this fic a lot over the years. i’m a sucker for canon compliant fics that explore the missing scenes in between canon and this fic hits all the right buttons by diving deep into how logan echolls went from being a trash fire at hearst college at the end of s3 to being a decorated navy pilot by the movie. it explores logan seeking out therapy and making a life for himself that he can be proud of, all while pining after the girl who got away. and bc this author is amazing, she followed it up with a sequel from veronica’s point of view in the series done by only me.
the law of equivalent exchange by awed_frog (8/8 | 60k+ | M)
destiel; POV castiel; pre-canon; post-canon; canon compliant; immortality; reincarnation
“and what’s the point of it?”
“of love? there isn’t one. loving is its own purpose.”
note: i mean??? i don’t really know what to say except that this is one of the truly most beautiful fics i have ever read. it follows castiel through time as he meets different reincarnations of sam and dean across history and falls ever more deeply in love. it is achingly tender and so ecstatically written that i die just thinking about it. and that summary? i mean. holy fuck break my heart why don’t you? i don’t know how i missed out on this fic for so long since it was published in 2015 but i only learned about it for the first time back in july and it was. life changing?? when the fic finally reaches the canon timeline and he meets THIS dean it’s peak yearning. 10/10 will read again.
ahead in the count by elisela (17/17 | 50k+ | E)
sterek; AU: sports; pitcher!stiles; teacher!derek; long distance relationship; getting together
“yankee fan,” derek says, laughing when stiles makes a disgusted face. “the bronx bombers, stiles, you can’t be a new yorker and—”
“stop talking right now,” stiles sighs, shaking his head. “i can’t believe i still want to kiss you after that,” he says, pulling derek in by his coat. “this is making me rethink everything.”
“i’ll never watch them again,” derek promises, and stiles laughs against his mouth.
or: stiles is a starting pitcher for the NY mets when he meets and falls in love with derek. derek doesn’t know.
note: i read SO MANY of @elisela’s 911 fics this summer, which i loved, and then she got into teen wolf and started writing sterek and i just about died. this fic is amazing, one of my fave sterek AU’s that i’ve read in years. it’s just the right amount of drama and angst and fluff filled with all the joys of miscommunication and character relationships that makes reading sterek such a joy. reading this fic and finding out eli needed fic recs pushed me to dive back in to reading sterek fics for a bit this fall so i can say with the utmost authority that this is one of the best i’ve read in a long time.
i used to think one day we’d tell the story of us by notequitegucci (2/2 | 32k+ | M)
gendrya; alternate universe—modern setting; outsider POV; friends to lovers; friends to lovers
9 times a stark encounters gendry + 1 time he meets the starks.
note: again, this is the first in a 2 part series titled love me like you do that explores arya and gendry’s dynamics together through the point of view of her family. game of thrones ended last year with a whimper but i keep returning to the gendrya tag on ao3 to seek out new, amazing content and also to re-read some old favorites. i can’t remember if i came across this for the first time last year or this one, but i’ve read it and re-read it more times than i can count since and i love it more than i can describe. i’m a total sucker for outsider POV fics and my biggest pet peeve in canon is the fact that none of the stark’s ever found out that arya and gendry had a history together. this modern au fic almost makes up for it by giving me a gendry encounter with every family member and then the big reveal. it’s peak content.
theeeeeeese recs got a little away from me. i wasn’t originally intending on adding lengthy notes to each entry but ... oh well!! these are all amazing so please enjoy.
fanfic end of the year asks
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Do you make The beatles fanfics? If yes, can you make one with Paul for me, where y/n has a huge crush on him and all the other beatles know except him because he's always been oblivious? I would like to read it hiihi. You can decide how it ends. Thank you so much!
Thank you for this idea! It's really cute! I'll try my best to write it as good as I can :-))
Masterlist
Midnight
Pairing: Paul McCartney x reader
Word count: 2.4k
Warnings: None that I could think of :-))
Summary: The request is the summary :-)) But to elaborate, y/n has been working as the secretary for the band and she became really close friends with the boys over the course — she had a huge crush on Paul which he was very oblivious about.
Year: Mid-60s
You’ve been friends with The Beatles since you started working in their team two years ago as a secretary and you’re usually the one that talks to the press during cancellations when the manager and the band cannot. It wasn’t entirely hard working with the boys, they’re well behaved — well sometimes. Okay fine, not that behaved but they were still a bunch of nice-sometimes-immature-but-funny boys.
You were in a small two-storey cottage where the band hangs out when they feel like taking a break — also to write songs for a new album. You didn’t really need to be around since it was just a casual hang out and didn’t need a professional aura but since they’re really good friends with you, they always tag you along in their plans which you are forever grateful for. You really enjoyed spending time with them and just watching them fool around the place.
“Come on, just admit it already," John pushily says, puffing his smoke to the other direction — he knew how much you hated the smell so he’d blow it as far from you as possible. “Admit what?” You asked innocently, like as if you didn’t know what he was talking about. He started picking up on your huge crush for Paul, saying he’s known since the first year and he just didn’t want to pressure you into admitting — but now he says it’s been long enough and he was assuming you’ve already gathered enough confidence. “Your big fat crush over —”
“Did you really call me up here just to talk to me about this?” You butt in before he could even mention the name. You were both seated on the lounge chair out the cottage’s terrace, relaxing under the almost setting sun. The sky was painted with colours of golden orange and splashes of pink were also vivid. The wind wasn’t too harsh, it was just perfect and relaxing.
“Yeah, today’s the only time I can help you out on your crush problem. Tomorrow, we might start writing all day again," he said, finally putting the cigar out on the ash tray. “I have no idea what you’re talking about John," you said, sighing as you got up. “I’m going back in.”
“Maybe you’ll know what I’m talking about if I went into details,” he said, almost in a jokingly-threatening manner, you squinted at him; you weren’t going to give in to his dirty tricks, he’s just saying that, you thought, turning around again, what details is he even talking about? Pfft. You mentally scoffed.
“Like that one time you were taking pictures of him while he was writing, took a bunch, by the way. God, if I just get my hands on that camera I’d be RICH in proofs!” You turned around, sending him a glare. ”You are nosy!”
“A little, yeah,” he laughed, standing up and putting his heavy arm over your shoulders. “Just tell him already! I’m helping you out here, y/n.”
You were about to say something when both George and Ringo walked in. “Tell whom what?” George asked curiously. You immediately looked at John, who seemed really excited to tell. “Don’t you dare —”
“Let us in on the secret,” George frowned. “Come on, not fair.”
“There are no secrets, George, John’s just playing around —”
“She likes Paul,” John said nonchalantly and a little too loud. You kicked his shin causing him to yelp and curl trying to rub it to stop hurting. “Stop spreading fake news, you a —”
“I knew it!” George beamed, causing John to laugh. “See, you’re obvious.”
You just sighed, giving up and plopping back down on the lounger, there’s no point denying it to them — you guess you were pretty obvious sometimes. You would always stay up late whenever Paul does just so he won’t be alone, you’d hug him more than you did the other guys, and you loved taking photographs of him — not as creepy as it sounds. “If it were that obvious, how come he’s never said anything about it?”
“You know Paul’s a bit... dumb sometimes," George says, making you chortle. “No, he’s not.”
He nodded his head defensively, putting both hands up in mock surrender. “Oblivious, I mean.”
“Very," John added. “I mean, I think he had every reason to, you also hug the three of us all the time, you bring us same amount of foods and drinks, you complimented all of us often — he’s probably thinking you’re just doing your job.”
“I hug him twice as much,” you muttered sulkingly, your eyes closed and your arms crossed against your chest. “Doesn’t matter, it’s just a small crush. Not really expecting anything,” you lied. You knew you wanted to at least have something more with Paul. Even for a while, see if it works out. “Just try telling him.”
“Can’t, George. I can’t just throw all my cards on the table like that,”
“You’ve been throwing one card a day since the first time, bird. You’ve long ran out,” John said matter-of-factly. You just groaned. “Whatever. I just want to keep it professional. My contract with you guys is ending in a few weeks anyway.”
“Aren’t you renewing?” Ringo asked, you opened your eyes to look at him, he looked sad. Ringo was the calmest out of the four (Although he can be a bit talkative too unlike George who's really quiet) and he’s treated you like a little sister since the beginning, he’d say ‘your brother is lucky to have you' with a matching ruffling of the hair.
“I don’t know," you mumbled, closing your eyes again. “If it’s about Paul —”
“It’s not, it’s not. I just... really have a long list of other things I want to do.”
“Like what?”
“Like Paul," you cockily joked and they all turned away with a stifled laugh. “Kidding, I’m kid —”
“What about me?” You froze when you heard Paul’s voice, he was walking towards the rest of you, a glass of whatever alcohol is in his hand. The other three fell silent and they were sharing awkward glances with each other. You mentally groaned, can’t they be any more fucking obvious?
“What were you guys talking about?” Paul asked again after a few minutes of silence and just awkward glances while you were seated, frozen. “Y/n’s contract is ending and she said she’s not getting it renewed," Ringo said, carefully lifting himself up to sit on the barricade.
“Oh.”
Oh? That’s all the reaction I’m gonna get from Paul while I got sad looks from the other three?
“Yeah, oh.” you sarcastically repeated, you were a bit disappointed with the reaction. John immediately noticed, getting up, walking towards the door back inside the cottage. “Help me with something, y/n?” He called, you looked at him, nodding and getting off the lounger, you walked past Paul, your shoulder hitting him. You lazily apologized, not looking at him.
John walked you to your room, he was seating on the edge of your bed while you were lied down, your pillow over your face. “Y’alright?” He finally asked after debating about it in his head, he didn’t want to trigger your tears but he also wanted to make sure. “Yeah, yeah," you spoke sotto voce, the pillow still on your face. “I mean, it’s not a big deal. He doesn’t really need to care, it’s not like I do. I could care less about Paul —”
“Don’t lie, it just makes it harder, y/n," he murmured, you stopped rambling, sitting up and putting the pillow on your back. “You’re right, who am I kidding? God, I care about him so much, his opinions and all that — getting an oh is just... disappointing.”
“Come on, you know Paul better, he’s not very open about his feelings. Who knows, he may be disappointed as well, just not showing it. He tends to avoid attachments," John explained, you just weakly smiled, bringing up your legs to your chest and resting your chin on your knees. “Thanks for trying to make me feel better.”
The night still went on pretty smoothly, you were keeping distance from Paul, hoping it’d make you like him less if you just stay away for a bit. You thought you were just liking him because you’re spending a lot of time with him.
“S’fine,” you smiled, not looking at him, “What are you doing still up?”
It was already midnight and you couldn’t sleep so you decided to go out the terrace, seating on the barricade with your feet dangling down. You were just looking at the bright, silver moon. “I didn’t know it was a full moon tonight,” you mumbled to yourself.
“Me neither.”
The very familiar and your favourite voice startled you and luckily, he was able to grab on to you immediately. “Careful, you’re gonna fall,” he says, finally letting go of you so he could jump up the barricade as well to seat beside you. “Sorry, I startled you.”
“I should also be asking you that,” he said, you see him looking at you through your peripheral vision. You were trying so hard not to look at him, you’re scared it will just give away all that you’re thinking about at the moment.
You looked back up to the moon, silence engulfing the two of you. The only thing you could hear was the cold wind that was brushing against your skins and each other’s quiet breathing.
“Can’t sleep,” you replied, putting your hands down against the cement to prop your shoulders higher. “I can’t too."
You finally turned your head to him, he was looking at his hands. “Do you want me to make you tea?” You asked and he just shook his head.
“I was actually thinking about something,” he finally said. You relaxed your shoulders, putting your hands on your lap. “What about?”
“Just... are you really not going to renew your contract?” He asked, looking at you, his voice sounded miserable than it did when he reacted with an oh a while ago. “I don’t know, Paul,” you sighed. “I really don’t know, there’s really no reason to renew —”
“Are we not enough reason for you to stay and want to renew? John? Ringo? George?” He asked. He sounded a bit hurt. “No —”
“No?”
“No. No, I mean — no, that’s not what I meant —”
“Then what do you mean?”
“God, let me finish, hush,” you said, making him break into a fit of laughter. You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “It’s just really hard to explain, Paul. I don’t think I’m always going to have that emotional capacity to take care of you, guys —” And watch you flirt with fans all the time or random chicks at the bar. It’s... not making my life any better.
“Are we giving you a hard time?” He asked, you shook your head with a silent snort. “Sometimes, yeah, I mean, John’s always playing around, George would need food every second to function, you’re always all over the place. Ringo was the only break I ever really had — sometimes George too when he's not in the mood to talk,” you laughed. “But I enjoyed it. So, so much. I enjoyed being with you... guys. With you guys." You cleared your throat.
“Then stay.”
You were going to say something but it escaped your mind, looking at him sadly, you smiled. “I’ll think about it, Paul.”
He didn’t say anything. You fell into another deafening silence, it was getting even colder, he must’ve noticed you shiver a bit so he moved a bit closer, taking your hands and wrapping it with his and pinning it between his thighs. You just looked at him do what he was doing. You didn’t want to give anything meanings as you didn’t want to keep your hopes up. He’s just being nice. You thought, your eyes glued on both your hands.
“You didn’t talk to me much tonight, are you okay?”
You nodded hesitantly, he didn’t say anything back.
Another long silence.
“I’m just gonna throw it out there, I like you, Paul," you finally said after rehearsing it over and over again in your head. You had nothing to lose anymore, the contract’s ending anyway so if it turned out awkward, you’d only have a few weeks to endure until you never see him again. You were too afraid to look at his reaction, so you kept your eyes on your hands.
You looked at him when you heard him let out a quiet laugh, you nudged him with your shoulder. “Don’t laugh at me, I’m being serious.”
“I know, but — why did you just tell me that now?” He asked. “It was risky. Too risky. But since my contract’s ending soon, I couldn’t care less anymore. Just thought you should at least know before I leave,” you sadly said, it was sincere and vehement. “You’re a really, really, really great person and I admire you a lot.”
“You could’ve told me that sooner, been waiting to hear it since last year." He shrugged.
“What?” Was all that came out your mouth — is he saying he knew? Does that mean he likes me back? What is happening? What is he talking about? Multiple questions came rumbling into your mind. “I always thought you were just being nice because you are, not just to me. But I had this little hope that you liked me more because... well, you hugged me a bit longer than you did with the rest. It’s just one small thing but that extra three seconds really meant a lot to me and I gave meaning to it.”
You just looked at him, not really knowing what to say, you were overwhelming with joy, fear that it’s a dream, confusion, questions, but mostly with joy. He leaned in a little closer and you started to feel heat rush up to your face, the warmth of his breath was all you could feel. He freed his other hand to cup your face, pulling you closer, your noses were basically touching. You were just waiting for him to do it but part of you is thinking he’s gonna pull back and say it was a joke and then laugh at you — you’d be ready to jump off by then.
“Is it okay?” He asked, his voice was barely above a whisper. You took your hand up to his nape, initiating the kiss. It wasn’t aggressive, hungry, or the like, it was sweet and longing. Like something you both have been waiting to do for so long — neither just had the confidence to admit.
You wondered what stars aligned tonight for you to have the confidence to admit and him saying he liked you back — and getting a kiss — all at the same night. You couldn’t think of any other explanations — all possible constellations must’ve been made.
Random pic bc he looks cute here. :-))
This was requested three weeks ago, I think? Forgive me, yes? :-))
---
Let's be mutuals please!
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Sera with the Members
a/n: mark is in this because dream is now a fixed unit and he’s part of the lineup!!!!!!
WATERMELON ADDICT
was the person who made Sera comfortable since he reminded her of home
always asks if canadian bacon is better than american bacon
‘i dONt kNoW, sERa! mEAT iS mEaT!’
she didnt actually cry on stage when he was leaving but she cried when it was just the two of them and he recorded for the last time
it was her idea for hyuck to buy him a big bottle of ketchup
CANNOT believe that mark was a churchboy and ends up acting up in music videos
the duality SCARES her
calls her finny since her name is serafina
sera has her own room but she has an extra bed so he sleeps in there when he spends the night
learned this watermelon shake to help mark’s hangover
english all the time
ever since they met, mark has always placed his elbow on her head due to her short height
sera learned this fried rice recipe from her mom and he goes over to their dorm for breakfast
‘mark bls dont touch anything. get out of the kitchen and go watch tv or something’
always brings up his messed up eggs
‘gordon spitting facts tho’
whenever he feels too overworked or too pressured, sera has always made it a point to come over to their dorm and have a movie night with just the 2 of them with his favorite snacks and drinks
LONJIN
omg these two
sera is typically not mean but when renjun starts, she becomes ruthless
always calling out his fake personality
‘everyone, don’t believe him! he’s 2 faced!’
‘what are you even saying! you act like you’re so quirky and giggly but you yeeted jisung into the wall last night!’
‘YAH!’
so yea, they fight a lot
but its very playful and they know where that line is drawn and not cross it
he talks to her about space and aliens and she listens to every word bc renjun sounds so confident and happy whenever he talks about that stuff
they’re actually 10 days apart but sera acts like she’s 10 years older than him
‘IS THAT HOW YOU TALK TO SOMEONE OLDER?!’
‘okay, granny’
always in awe whenever renjun draws and paints and she really likes seeing him in his element
unbeknowst to her, he actually draws her a lot
wants to frame all of his work
they go out to the roof and stargaze
he steals her airpods just to watch her go crazy
once hid her phone in the fridge
lives for his vocals
cannot believe how much he’s grown from chewing gum era to now
her heart strings were tugged when he cried in dnyl
renjun always says that he wishes sera was born as his little sister bc they act like they’re siblings
EYESMILE PRINCE
hmm
so their is kinda complicated
sera’s closest to him than all the members bc 1, he was her first friend and 2, he has cats
before, when they still went to school, her and jeno always went together
yes, jaemin and jeno and her went together in the beginning
but jaemin was in the hospital and recovering so it just became them 2
also, she goes to visit his parents so she can see his cats
this results to his parents and older sister adoring her
‘bongsik, nal, and seol are my kids’ - lee sera, 00 line vlive
she always craves for attention and when it isnt given bc he’s too busy playing, she just walks into his room and sits on his lap while he plays
tries to get his attention by saying stuff but he teases her by acting like she aint there
‘fine, i’ll go to jaemin’
jeno wasnt supposed to be blonde for the comeback but they were just messing around and next thing they knew, jeno’s tips were bleach blonde
when shes on that,,,, time,,,,, hes the only one in the dorm she listens to
not even johnny, who’s practically her father
collabs with her mukbang show and jsmr
he mentions her like at least once whenever he has lives that she’s not in
steals his glasses all the time just to watch him wander around with this confused adorable face
hugs are so cute w these two and czennies see them hugging in videos and she can barely reach his shoulder
forehead kisses and sweater paws for daysss
NANA
drop dead gorgeous boy
shes not safe from jaemin’s affections
*cue jeno glaring at him for stealing her*
we all know how much he loves the members and whenever sera breathes, he busts his uwus
takes so many pictures of her
sera buys him lots of lip balms and carmex but he always forgets to put them on
sera hates peaches but she buys him peach flavored sweets whenever she sees them
‘NANA!!’
sera is also an attention whore so she always runs to him and wraps her arms around him and he squeals by how cute she is
bought him an expensive camera for his birthday
has a polaroid picture of him in her clear phone case
actually, her phone background is an old picture of predebut sera, jeno, and jaemin
one of the rare moments where she cried was when she found out that jaemin wouldnt be in a few comebacks bc he was sick
kept visiting him and jaemin cannot repay her enough
the dorm is full of ryan and winnie plushies from the sofa, a tiny winnie plush on the corner of the island counter, and their bedrooms
sera is the one who always throws away the his satanic drink even though it’s still full
‘yah, you need to think about your health and if it your body is tired, dont fight it by trying to drink these to keep your energy’
sleepovers with them are often and sometimes found sleeping on the spare bed in her room
FULL SUN
our big babie
oh boi when he got hurt
sera called him twice a day, one in the morning and one at night, just to check if it’s still hurting and making sure he’s resting
forever remembers when he dressed up as a girl
‘you see, i’m not the only girl member. dongsuk is just on hiatus right now’
his name on her phone is ‘man-child’
when he went on tour with 127, she really missed him
like she missed him so much that she kept posting on instagram for him to hurry back home
still mad that he moved dorms to be with the older members
when sera got sick, she made him sing ‘no longer’ to her like a lullaby
when he asks sera to do something for him, usually she says no because he asks her to do ridiculous things but his aegyo always convinces her
thinks his color amblyopia is so fascinating and adds more into the unique traits he has
another attention giver and she loves hugging him because he gives really warm hugs
one time, jeno and sera had a fight and it got so bad that hyuck had to be called and he was the only one who got to talk some sense in sera to talk to jeno
but the legendary markhyuck summer fight was resolved because sera yelled at them and cried since they are best friends and they shouldnt be like that to each other
they made up since ‘wow sera cried’ and ‘the members are ready to beat us up if we continue this’
and by members, like all members, including the older ones
sera knows how much being the moodmaker title burdens him so she tries to ease that burden by talking to him just the two of them
DOLPHIN CHILD
look how adorable he is UWU
he is 1/2 of sera’s sons
like she’s whipped for him and jisung and he knows it too
‘noona~’
‘yes, i will give you the world, the stars, and the moon’
thinks his laugh is endearing and is sad that it isnt that high-pitched anymore since his voice got a little deeper
cannot believe how much he’s grown too
when he speaks in chinese, sera thinks its the cutest thing
‘can we give his scalp some rest? its not healthy for the boy’
trust fund babies
you know how chenle has 3 airpods?
sera went through 4 phones since she keeps losing or breaking it
dont ask how bc shes as clumsy as namjoon
had this phase where he wouldn’t stop back-hugging his noona and she just left it alone
always buys him snacks and cooks him a lot of food bc she thinks he’s too skinny and wants him to be healthy and gain some fat on those cheeks again
on their break, she went to china with jisung and her lock screen is a picture of her and chenle holding his nephew
triggered her baby fever
czennies ship them but he makes it clear she’s the older sister he’s never had
nct dream took a vacation to her hometown and she bought them basketball tickets so chenle could see his idol
his mom practically adopted her since she goes over to his apartment all the time whenever the others are getting too much for her
she misses him so much its not even funny
JISUNG PWARK
our maknae is growing up :(
sera had the whole family sit and watch the first episode of dancing high
so proud of her boy
she called him during the show and it was shown and heard about her telling him to take care of himself and to not be too hard on his body and that she’s waiting for him at home
as the youngest member overall, sera babies him the most
he obvs takes advantage of it and she used to cuddle him to sleep when he was younger bc he had a hard time sleeping
again, cooks for him a lot since he’s a growing boy and making sure he takes vitamins and drinks water and limit sugary things
she calls his mom to give him updates about her son
remember his phone that he used until it actually died?
sera actually bought him a new one before that happened and just casually gave it to him
‘i know this was going to happen so i just took care of it. i have to take care of you, jisung-ah’
hypes him up whenever he dances bc wow this boy is actually talented
doesnt really like skinship but he tolerates it when she holds his hands bc theyre so much bigger than hers
one day just woke up and she got so confused when jisung grew up
‘did you grow in your sleep?’
‘n-no?’
loves his awkward nature and she keeps saying how adorable he is and cute he is whenever he acts cool
god, she’s just so whipped for him
but tbh, who isn’t?
aaaahhhhhh i cannot believe our wish came true and they became a fixed unit and we really getting a comeback and an mv in the 29th!!!
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ML: Are They Worthy? Chapter 23: Those Closest to You!/Scrap Heart
“I can tell something is bothering you. Why don’t you go first?” Master Fu said, delaying the inevitable.
“Sure” Marinette said. “Well, it appears that Hawk Moth has someone else working for them. Yesterday, a mysterious person lured Vincent the photographer away and they messed up his camera, which lead Vncent to be Akumatized.”
“It is as I feared” Master Fu said. “Hawk Moth is gaining more allies.”
Marinette grew concerned. “Master, what if Hawk Moth is blackmailing more people? What if it isn’t just one person? Now that he no longer has Lila, he might be targeting others like her.”
“We cannot deny that possibility” Master Fu said. “Marinette, I have come to a difficult decision. Since Hawk Moth is trying to stack the odds in his favor, we need to do the same.”
“What do you suggest we do?” Marinette asked. She noticed the Miracle Box was still there. “Uh, why is the Miracle Box still out?”
“I didn’t want to do this, but Hawk Moth has forced our hand” Master Fu said. “Marinette, I want you to take the Fox and Turtle miraculous and give them to Alya and Nino.”
“For what? The Akuma is gone” Marinette said. She then saw the look in Master Fu’s eyes. “Oh. Are you sure about this, Master?”
“This was a difficult choice to make. But with heroes out there that Hawk Moth is familiar with, it might reduce the amount that he isn’t needing to show up” Master Fu said. “Plus, it strengthens our numbers.” He took off the turtle miraculous and gave it to Marinette.
Marinette grabbed the fox miraculous, She saw the bee miraculous and had a thought. “Master? I know this might sound crazy, but do you think we can give Chloe the bee miraculous for keeps as well?”
“What makes you say that?” Master Fu asked.
“Well, it’s just yesterday I talked with Chloe. It seems Hawk Moth is also targeting her as well. Like how he targeted Lila” Marinette said. “I know that it’ll put a lot of hardship on Chloe, but since he’s targeting her anyway, with or without a miraculous, I think it might be better if Chloe could defend herself.”
“Hmmmm. I will agree to it” Master Fu said. Marinette lit up. “On one condition: She has to be proven worthy.”
“You mean by Vlad” Marinette said, frowning.
“You seem concerned” Master Fu said.
“Well, it’s just that Chloe is difficult” Marinette said. “I don’t know if Vlad or Beyyo would come to trust her. I believe in her, she is changing, but I've also seen what she’s capable of. I don’t want to leave her alone though.”
“Marinette, if Chloe is changing like you said, then everything should be fine, correct?” Master Fu said.
Marinette smiled. “Right Master.” Marinette left.
After Marinette left, Master Fu went to the miracle box, took out the goat miraculous, and put it on. “Hello Ziggy.”
Meanwhile, Vlad enters his room after finishing up his interview. “I have to say, despite it getting interrupted by a maniacal clown bent on making people smile, that was one of the better interviews I’ve had,” he said.
“Well, it’s all a first for me” Beyyo retorted. “Most people with the wolf miraculous don’t usually talk to others this much outside of other miraculous users.”
“Do you mind me being an exception?” Vlad asked, sitting at his computer.
“No” Beyyo said. “I kind of think it’s fun. A bit challenging, but fun.”
Vlad laughed. “I’m rubbing off on you.” He did some research on the LadyBlog. “Reflekta, huh?” He read the details of the story.
“Are you going to make her fight herself?” Beyyo asked. “Like brother, like sister?”
“Not Really. Let me tell you what I have in mind” Vlad said. He went over his plan with Beyyo.
At the Liberty, Richard and May were dropping off Juleka and Luka. “The kids had a great time,” Richard said.
“Mom. You’re not going to believe it” Luka said, excitedly. “Oh. Wait, can I tell her?” he asked May.
“Of course” May said.
“May is May from Pest Control” Luka said.
“Really?” Anarka said. “Richard, you lucky duck.”
“Ha ha, yeah” Richard said. He looked at his girlfriend. “But not because she used to play for the best band ever. Because she’s May.”
“Oh stop” May said. The two shared a kiss.
Anarka shrugged. “That’s Richard for you,” she said.
“Well, we should get going,” Richard said. “I assume we’ll meet to finalize our new arrangements.”
“Of course Richard” Anarka said.
“Bye kids! Bye Anarka!” Richard said, getting in the car.
“Bye everyone!” May said. They drove off, and Anarka, Juleka, and Luka waved goodbye. They all went into the boat to get some sleep.
Judgement Wolf hopped onto the Liberty sign. “Good. She’s here. I’d hate having to track down where Richard lives.” He hopped down onto the boat. He snuck in, and found Juleka asleep. “Wolf Mist!”
Juleka was in school, smiling ear to ear. She was the most popular girl in the class after all. She walked in and was greeted with the usual his and hellos from fiends. “Hey Juleka” Nathanial said.
“Hey Nathanial” Juleka replied.
“Hi Juleka” Max said.
“Hello Max.”
“Hey Juleka. Wanna try on my newest design after school?” Marinette asked.
“Of course Marinette” Juleka said. Juleka was feeling confident. She sat down.
Rose came in the class, looking down as usual. No greeting for her, except a quite “Hey Rose” from Marinette. Rose took her seat next to Juleka.
Juleka could tell something was wrong. “Rose? Is something the matter?”
“Not more than usual” Rose said, in her usual downer voice. Juleka didn’t understand it. Rose used to be so outgoing and fun.
“We all know what’s the matter with Rose” Chloe said. “She scares everyone off. She’s so cheery, it’s detestable.”
“Back off, Chloe!” Juleka said.
“It’s OK Juleka” Rose said. “What she says is true.”
“But it isn’t Rose!” Juleka said. “Why are you letting her get to you?” Even though Juleka said that, everyone else in the class was murmuring. She knew that Rose’s strong approach to meeting people wasn’t well received. Juleka enjoyed it though. But it wasn’t enough. Not for Rose anyway.
After school, Juleka headed to the art room. She noticed Rose leaving the other way. “Rose? What are you doing? The art room is this way?”
“That’s OK. I don’t feel like scrapbooking today. You go on ahead” Rose said, leave.
“Well, I’ll come with you” Juleka said.
“DON’T!” Rose yelled. “I just want to be by myself.” Rose left. Juleka was concerned, but she wanted to respect her friend’s wishes. She headed to the art room.
“Hey Juleka. Ready to try on my design?” Marinette asked. Marinette took notice of Juleka’s sour mood. “What’s wrong?”
“Rose isn’t coming today” Juleka said.
“Oh” Marinette said. “Well, I’m sure she just needs to work things out.”
“I hope you’re right” Juleka said.
Meanwhile, Rose was hiding under the stairs, looking through her scrapbook. All she saw were pictures of things and herself. Not one other person. She had even tried to ask Juleka, but Juleka was always busy with something else. Of course she was. Everyone loved her.
“A lonely heart that just wants some friends. I can sympathize with that” Hawk Moth said. “Fly away my little Akuma, and evilize this poor unfortunate soul.”
The Akuma flew and fused with Rose’s scrapbook. “Hello Scrap Heart. I am Hawk Moth. Anyone whose picture is in your scrapbook will instantly become your friend. What I want in return is Ladybug and Cat Noir’s miraculous.”
“Friends loan each other stuff all the time,” Rose said. A purple-black aura surrounded Rose.
Juleka was trying on a hat Marinette made. She was enjoying it, and she loved whatever Marinette designed, but she was still worried about Rose. “I’m sorry Marinette. I just want to check on Rose” she said.
“OK Juleka” Marinette said. Juleka put the hand down and left the room. Juleka went one way, but from behind, coming up the stairs, was Scrap Heart.
Scrap Heart looked like Rose, but she was made of paper folded like an origami figure, and was wearing a samurai body armor, and a headband. She also had a belt, which had a scrapbook on one side, and a camera on the other. She walked into the art room.
“Hello” she said.
“Rose?” Marinette said, shocked.
Scap Heart shook her head. “I am Scrap Heart. And from now on, we’re going to be best friends!” She took out her camera and took a photo of Marinette. The photo came out of the camera, and Scrap Heart placed it in her scrapbook.
Marinette’s eyes turned pink. “Scrap Heart!” she said, leaping into her arms to give her a hug.
Scrap Heart returned the hug. “Now, let’s make some more friends.”
Juleka was still looking for Rose. “Rose? Rose? Where are you Rose?” Juleka heard some clicks and some commotion. She decided to follow it.
She ran into her classroom, where Scrap Heart had amassed numerous friends. Juleka saw Scrap Heart take someone else’s picture, as her friends were holding them down. Scrap Heart put the picture in her scrapbook, and suddenly she gained a new friend. Scrap Heart turned around and saw Juleka. “JULEKA!” she said, excitedly. Juleka ran away and hid. “Juleka? You’ve never had time for photos before. Now we have all the time we could ask for. We can be together forever. I just need a picture.” Juleka was afraid. She wanted what Scrap Heart was saying, but not like this.
Suddenly, Scrap Heart was hit from behind. “This isn’t how you make friends” Ladybug said.
“If you want advice, I have a few pointers” Cat Noir said.
Scrap Heart smiled. She took out her camera. Juleka became worried. She came out of hiding and shouted “DON’T LET HER TAKE A PICTURE OF YOU!” Ladybug and Cat Noir lept out of the way. The picture Scrap Heart took came out blurry. She got frustrated and crumpled it.
She kept trying to get a picture of the heroes, but the two kept dodging. “We can’t keep doing this” Ladybug said.
“You’re right, this needs to end in a flash. Where do you think the Akuma is?” Cat Noir responded.
“It’s probably in the scrapbook” Ladybug said.
“OK. I’ll keep her distracted” Cat Noir said. Ladybug nodded and ran off. “Yoo hoo. Try to get my good side” Cat Noir taunted, while running in the other direction.
When Ladybug thought she was safe, she called out “Lucky Charm! Diet soda?” she looked around and saw some Mentos on a teacher's desk, and also took stock of Scrap Heart’s paper body. Ladybug smiled.
Scrap Heart noticed Ladybug standing still. “Picture perfect” she said,aiming her camera at Ladybug.
“No!” Juleka said. She rushed in and stood in front of the hero as the picture was being taken.
“Juleka!” Ladybug said.
“It’s OK. You’ll save the day. And afterwards, so will I” Juleka said. Ladybug rushed into the classroom and grabbed the Mentos. Scrap Heart put the photo in her scrapbook. Juleka’s eyes turned pink.
Ladybug closed the door and locked it. She found some string and a stand. She placed the Mentos in the diet soda, and put the cap back on.
“Oh Juleka? Would you be a dear and get the door for me?” Scrap Heart said, coming up the stairs.
“Of course. Anything for a friend” Juleka said. She tried opening the door. “I’m afraid it’s locked.”
“That’s OK” Scrap Heart said. “Someone as sweet and delicate as you shouldn’t be confronting superheroes on your own anyway.” Scrap Heart kicked down the door, which pulled the string, opening the diet soda bottle with the Mentos aimed directly at Scrap Heart. “NOOOOOO!” she said, as her paper body started to collapse on itself.
Ladybug grabbed the scrapbook and tossed it to Cat Noir. “Cat Noir!”
Cat Noir Caught it. “Thanks bugaboo. Cataclysm!” Cat Noir destroyed the scrapbook, freeing the Akuma.
“No more evildoing for you, little Akuma. Time to de-evilize! Gotcha. Bye bye, little butterfly. Miraculous Ladybug” she threw the bottle in the air, and the magic ladybugs undid everything Scrap Heart did.
“Take a picture of your victory, Ladybug. It’ll be all you have of you winning once I have your miraculous!” Hawk Moth said.
Rose returned to normal. “Pound it” said the heroes. Their miraculous started to beep.
“It’s OK. I’ll take it from here” Juleka said.
“Thanks” Ladybug said. “Bug out!” She and Cat Noir left.
Juleka walked up to Rose. “What happened?” Rose asked.
“You were Akumatized. But it’s OK now” Juleka said. She lifted up Rose and together they walked to their classroom. They entered on a bunch of confused students. “Everyone. I have something to say” Juleka said. All eyes were on Juleka. “Rose is the sweetest, gentlest people I know. If you can’t accept that, then you can’t accept me either. From now on, I will be with Rose constantly. She got Akumatized because she felt alone. No one should feel that way. So either you get me and Rose, or you don’t get me at all.”
“Juleka…” Rose said. The group of students looked at each other, and one by one came up to Rose to apologize to her.
Later on, Rose and Juleka were sitting on a bench together. “Thank you for sticking up for me earlier,” Rose said.
Juleka smiled. “You’d do the same if our roles were reversed” Juleka replied.
Rose got nervous. “Hey, can I tell you something?”
“What are friends for?” Juleka said.
“Well, about that…” Rose said. She put her hand on Juleka’s leg. “I was kind of hoping we could be more than friends.”
Juleka was surprised. She then smiled and said “I was kind of hoping you would ask.” The two of them kissed.
“Why don’t we take a picture to commemorate this moment?” Rose asked.
“Good idea” Juleka said. Rose took out her phone and took a picture. In the flash, Juleka was warped to a mysterious white void.
“Hello Juleka” Judgement Wolf said.
Juleka was confused. “So, was this my test?” she asked.
“Yes” Judgement Wolf said. “You always aspire to be part of the group. To never be left alone. I wanted to give you that, but give someone else that burden. And it turns out you were true to your morals either way. So you passed.”
Juleka smiled. “Thank you. You’ve given me such wonderful things.”
“You’re welcome. You’ve also given such wonderful things to me as well” Judgement Wolf said. “Well, good night.” He lept out of the mist, and Juleka fell back to sleep.
The next morning, Vlad woke up to a text from Marinette. “Hey Vlad. We need to talk ASAP.”
Vlad looked at it. “Well, it looks like today is going to be busy. Isn’t that right Beyyo?”
“You’re the one who made it that way” Beyyo said.
“Well, do you mind?” Vlad asked.
“Not really” Beyyo responded.
“Then let’s go” Vlad said. He started getting ready for school.
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[Coco] Nuestra Iglesia, Pt. 11
Title: Nuestra Iglesia
Summary: Fake Priest AU. In the midst of the Mexican Revolution, Santa Cecilia is still a relatively safe place; all a young orphan named Miguel has to worry about is how to get novices Héctor and Imelda to switch their religious vows for wedding vows before it’s too late. He’s not having much success until he finds an unlikely ally in their new parish priest, who just arrived from out of town.
Fine, so Padre Ernesto is a really odd priest. He’s probably not even a real priest, and the army-issued pistol he carries is more than slightly worrying. But he agrees that Héctor and Imelda would be wasted on religious life, and Miguel will take all the help he can get.
It’s either the best idea he’s ever had, or the worst.
Characters: Miguel Rivera, Ernesto de la Cruz, Héctor Rivera, Imelda Rivera, Chicharrón, Óscar and Felipe Rivera, OCs. Imector.
Rating: T
[Tag with all chapters up here.]
[Also on Ao3]
A/N: On one hand I'm sorry for the delay of this chapter, but on the other hand I got to post an Easter-centric chapter on Good Friday and I'm not that sorry. So, uh, happy Easter?
Art is by Dara and @senoraluna!
***
“Why is the dog here?”
“Because Miguel wanted to help and he follows Miguel everywhere.”
“We’re in a church!”
“This is an attic.”
“Of a church!”
“Look, it’s not like we let the dog do his business in the chapel,” Ernesto pointed out. Padre Juan made a face that he supposed meant he was conceding the point, and made sure to stay several steps away from the dog, who was sniffing enthusiastically the floor, only to sneeze out clouds of dust. That place was going to need a serious clean-up, Ernesto thought, gaze pausing on the table on the far end. He could see some empty basins, and bottles. “Not fond on dogs?”
“Not especially,” the gringo said a bit pointedly, walking up to the table. “They’re boisterous, unhygienic, and they carry--” he trailed off, stilling. “Good God, a Brownie!”
“A what?”
“An Eastman Kodak Brownie!”
“Can you go back to speaking Spanish?”
Padre Juan turned, and Ernesto was so startled by his expression - he was grinning like a child, he really was - that at first he didn’t notice the aluminium box he was holding. “This camera,” the gringo said, holding it up. It caused Miguel, who was still struggling to contain Dante, to light up.
“Oh! Yes, that’s Padre Edmundo’s camera! Everyone was curious about it because it doesn’t have a tripod like his old one.���
“It’s far better than I was expecting. This will make everything much easier,” Padre Juan said. He looked down at it, wiping the dust off it with his sleeve. “I had a camera much like this, Father bought it as a gift when I turned--” he trailed off suddenly, and his gaze turned oddly blank. It was such a stark contrast to his unexpected giddiness it made something in Ernesto’s stomach clench. Beside him, Miguel looked confused.
“So, uh. These are commonplace in the States?” Ernesto asked, not really caring to know but wanting to say something to snap him out of it. Luckily, it worked: the question seemed to shake Padre Juan out of whatever thoughts crossed his mind. He nodded, the smile back on his face.
“Yes, quite. These were a huge commercial success - it’s the No. 2 Brownie, see? An improvement on the original I used to have, that one was made of cardboard with artificial leather. Still, it served me well - astonishing in its simplicity. It uses a simple meniscus lens, the shutter is integrated-- see? And the viewfinder! My old one did not--”
“I think we get the picture,” Ernesto, who knew precisely nothing about cameras aside from the fact you’re supposed to pose in front of them, cut him off. It seemed a better thing to say than ‘it’s all Greek to me and I really don’t care’.
“What do you need to get it to work?” Miguel asked.
The gingo looked around. “Film-- number 120, I believe. Kodak produces specific film for each specific camera. Hopefully there will be some of that around here, too. Not much point in having a camera you have no film for. I am amazed to see one of these here.”
“We don’t live on the moon, you know,” Ernesto grumbled, but he was still too taken aback by the absolute glee on the gringo’s face to be too annoyed. He hadn’t seen him that excited over anything before. And really, a weirdly excited Father John was easier to deal with than the sanctimonious ass he generally was. So, no complaints.
For now.
***
“Run this by me again - we’re supposed to pose and look holy for the gringo.”
“Sister Sofía! Padre Ju-- John has a name and you’ll be using it! Have you learned nothi--”
“... Did you almost call him Juan, Madre?”
“A-absolutely not! I have enough respect--”
“He keeps calling you Mother Gretchen.”
The remark caused Madre Gregoria’s wrinkled face to twist for a moment in the darkest scowl Imelda had ever seen on her - and that was saying… a lot. “Well, he’s a priest and--”
“An insufferable ass,” Padre Ernesto supplied, causing the old bruja to nod.
“Yes, accurate.”
Héctor smiled a little. Behind la Madre Superiora, several nuns covered their mouths to hide a smirk, or coughed. “Really now, Madre?”
A shrug. “Well, he is the parish priest. Who am to argue his judgment?”
Padre Ernesto laughed. “Your trust moves me. To answer So-- Sister Sofía’s question, yes. He thinks some photographs would help convince… whoever there is to convince that we’re really deserving of some support. Which we need. Like, a lot. No objections there, right?”
No, of course, none at all; Imelda wasn’t surprised. Their situation was not yet desperate - donations had helped them buy some more food - but it was serious, and they needed funds to ensure a steady supply of food until… well, until harvest, at least. Or until that war was over.
“So, he’s going to take pictures during Mass?”
“Among other things, yes. So, let’s all act like good Catholics and--”
“We are good Catholics,” Imelda said, maybe a bit more pointedly than she should have, and entirely ignored the glare from the Mother Superior. Padre Ernesto, however, didn’t seem fazed. Considering that their first proper introduction had happened while they both turned up at a guy’s place to beat the crap out of him, Imelda would have been surprised if he were.
“Yes, of course, but you know how the gringo is. Let’s keep him happy.”
“He’s impossible to make happy,” Gustavo muttered sourly from his corner. It was the only contribution he’d given to the meeting up to that point, and Imelda barely held back from rolling her eyes. She noticed that Héctor’s own eyes twitched upwards for a moment before turning to her, sharing with her an exasperated look. Look who’s talking.
“This is still worth a try,” Padre Ernesto was saying, his voice calm but devoid of the usual warmth. “Let’s pose for nice pictures, so that he can argue for us and get us the money.”
“You mean charity,” Héctor said, causing Padre Ernesto to raise an eyebrow.
“Was that such an important distinction to make?”
“Makes us sound better.”
“... Point taken. We need charity, so let’s all behave and watch--”
“I’m not gonna watch my mouth,” Chicharrón loudly informed them all, despite having never been spoken to once. The old gravedigger seemed entirely unaffected by the looks he got from all nuns present, herself, and Héctor. He shrugged, leaning back on his seat, peg leg stretched before him. Imelda sort of liked him, but right there and then she’d have happily strangled him with a rosary. “Words aren’t going to show on photos, no?”
“... Fair enough,” Padre Ernesto replied. It was the voice of a man who’d decided to pick his battles, and that the one at hand was not worth fighting. “Not to worry though, I don’t think he will want to photograph you specifica--"
“Padre Ernesto should be in the photos,” la Madre Superiora spoke up suddenly. As everyone fell quiet and turned slowly to look at her, she had the good grace to look embarrassed and shrugged. “Well, he’s… appealing.”
“He is,” the Delgado window - who was mainly there due to the fact telling her anything was the quickest way to make sure the entire village would know it by dusk - nodded in agreement.
As all nuns suddenly looked down as though very interested in their shoes, some of them coughing again, Imelda shot a quick glance to her left. Sofía was staring at the Mother Superior like she’d never seen her before, while Padre Ernesto looked unfazed. If anything, he seemed flattered: the smile that followed was much more of a grin.
“Well, as the parish priest, I suppose that cannot be helped,” he said. “He will want to take pictures of the children at Mass, so make sure all those in your care look at their best.”
“Well, not too much at their best,” Héctor muttered. “Last thing we need is for some Bishop in the States to decide we don’t look like we’re in enough trouble to get the money.”
“Charity,” Padre Ernesto corrected him, elbowing his side with a grin. “Makes us sound better, I think you said.”
Héctor laughed, and it was… nice to hear. All their meetings had been about such serious matters lately, Imelda had found she missed his laugh. “Right. Charity.”
“Also, he will take pictures of the Palm Sunday procession tomorrow, so you better be the best Jesus you can be,” Padre Ernesto added, and Héctor smiled.
“I’ll do my best.”
“Good. Get ready to do the same for el Vía Crucis, too.”
Héctor’s smile faded in a confused look. “... What? Who decided I’m going to--”
Padre Ernesto waved his hand, putting an arm over his shoulders. “I did, just now. I’m sure you’ll do great. Can someone ask Prospero to get to work with the cross?”
“I already did, Padre,” Gustavo said magnanimously, and grinned in Héctor’s direction. “I told him to make it as heavy as the one our Lord had to carry,” he added, gaining himself a blank look from Héctor. It took all of Imelda’s self-control not to grab her crucifix and hurl it to his face.
“Oh, how generous,” Héctor said drily. Gustavo shrugged.
“For realism.”
“Of course.”
“What a wonderful idea,” Padre Ernesto said, smiling at Gustavo as he let go of Héctor’s shoulders. “Great thinking. You should be given a part, too.”
That caused Gustavo’s own smirk to waver. “A-ah, that would be kind of you, but--”
“Oh, I insist! You earned it, after all. You’ll be Simon of Cyrene, helping out Lord carry the heavy cross,” he added, and Héctor had to bite the inside of his cheek not to laugh; Imelda could see that even from a distance. She almost smirked herself… until Padre Ernesto spoke again. “And Ime-- Sister Gisela, you’ll be Verónica.”
Santa Verónica, the woman who wiped Jesus’ face clean on his way to crucifixion. The thought made her falter a little - it seemed something too… too intimate to be doing. As she opened her mouth to protest, she didn’t notice Héctor’s foot suddenly landing on Padre Ernesto’s, causing him smile to become forced. “I’m… touched, but maybe someone else-- la Madre Superiora--”
“Ay, la Madre Superiora should be Holy Mary, I’d say,” he cut her off, and tilted his head towards Madre Gregoria, whose cheeks were quickly reddening.
“Oh-- that would be-- a honor, but--”
“No buts, you’d be amazing,” Padre Ernesto replied with a wave of his hand and a wide, charming smile. Imelda could distinctly see Sofía rolling her eyes. “The other Sisters can be the women of Jerusalem. Would that be all good with you?”
As the sisters in questions nodded - several of them glancing in Imelda’s direction with knowing smirks and making her wish to kill Padre Ernesto, all of them and herself in quick succession - Padre Ernesto smiled.
“All settled, then,” he exclaimed. “Just act at your best starting tomorrow, and Padre Ju-- John will immortalize it. Any questions?”
“Juanita doesn’t like cameras,” Chicharrón declared.
It took Padre Ernesto a clear effort not to roll his eyes. “We won’t involve your rooster more than strictly necessary - just make it crow three times before el Vía Crucis starts, for drama. Anything else? No? Wonderful. Now go and spread the word. And most of all, smile for the camera.”
***
“Are you ready or not?”
“Yes, yes. Just… give me a minute.”
“It’s an old donkey, Héctor. Are you seriously afraid to climb on a donkey?”
“It’s not that, it’s… Ceci did a great job on this tunic, but it doesn’t help and the wig keeps getti-”
“Por Dios, just get on this damn burro!”
“Hey! Careful how you speak to Jesus!” Héctor grumbled, finally sitting on the saddle. He wasn’t a good rider, be it on a donkey or a horse, and it sure wouldn’t kill Gustavo to be a bit more patient. As a response, Gustavo scoffed.
“You’re just playing a part, cabrón.”
“Do you kiss you mamá with that mouth?” Héctor snapped back, only to of course regret it the second it left his mouth, as Gustavo’s frame stiffened. He remembered suddenly of all the times, when they’d been kids, when Gustavo had repeated over and over that he was not an orphan like them, that his mamá was alive and would be back for him soon, any day now, any day now.
Mierda.
“I-- lo siento. I didn’t mean--”
“Just get going,” Gustavo snapped, and suddenly smacked the rear of the donkey, which bolted forward. All right, it didn’t quite bolt, but it set out at a quicker pace than Héctor would have liked, heading towards the main road where, he knew, all of Santa Cecilia was waiting with palm branches… and, in Padre Juan’s case, with a camera.
Make us look good, Padre Ernesto had said, but it was easier said than done, clinging as he was to a trotting donkey. Maybe if he pulled just a little on the bridles, he could make it slow down before he made the entrance and--
“Woof! Woof!”
“Wha-- Dante?” Under Héctor’s stunned gaze, Miguel’s dog appeared - seemingly out of thin air - in front of the donkey, who abruptly slowed down, clearly taken aback by the dog walking ahead of it, head turned back to Héctor rather than towards the path ahead. With a sigh of relief, Héctor smiled.
“Gracias,” he called out. He straightened himself on the saddle, made sure the long wig was still in place, and headed down the main road and into the town.
***
The whole arrangement was… picturesque, John had to admit.
People stood on both sides of the road, waving blessed palm branches, dressed up in their best clothes - which were… quite colorful, but he could allow that. After all, Jesus’ arrival to Jerusalem was a day of celebration; he would talk to Father Ernest about having people wear something slightly more subdued during the Via Crucis procession on Good Friday, later.
For now, he would take pictures.
“Pretty impressive, isn’t it?” Father Ernest said, his voice smug as it could be. Normally, John would have reminded that pride is the root of all other deadly sins-- but right now, he was too focused on capturing what was happening before his eyes. Father Edmund had left behind a good amount of film, but it wasn’t infinite, so he had to make each shot count.
The parishioners with the palm branches - the people of Jerusalem celebrating Jesus’ arrival in their holy city, less than a week before turning on him, choosing the life of a criminal over his and sending him to his death. Click.
Brother Hector - a slightly unconvincing Jesus, though no for lack of trying - waving at the crowd as his donkey kept going, over the palm branches thrown in its path, towards the main square and then the church. Click.
“Maybe he should have cried.”
“... What?” Father Ernest blinked. “Why?”
“In the Gospel according to Luke-- never mind. The other three didn’t mention it, anyway.”
John moved along the road, taking more pictures - a child on his father’s shoulders holding up a branch, a little girl throwing hers right before the donkey, a woman crossing herself, the twin boys who had organised everything smiling so widely, Mich-- Miguel with them; there was chatter and cheering and laughed, none of which the camera could capture.
Click. Click. Click. Click.
By the time they reached the parish, John was smiling, holding tightly onto the camera. He took another shot as Brother Hector dismounted, the church in the background; a couple more as Father Ernesto joined him, smiled, patted his shoulder. Another one as they smiled at the children from the orphanage, crouching to take something - flowers? - from a few of the little girls. They both looked so at ease, making the children laugh, and John took more pictures.
Click. Click.
Father Ernest laughed at something a boy had said, and he turned towards him, the smile still on his face. He looked positively delighted, and John’s finger froze on the shutter, heart leaping in his throat. To his relief - and a pang of something that wasn’t relief at all - Father Ernest’s eyes moved to his left, where Miguel was holding up a basket full of donations. He hadn’t been smiling at him, after all. His heart sank from his throat down to his stomach. What he felt now was not quite lust, but something similar and yet different, and even more terrifying.
Focus, focus, focus. A few more pictures, just a few more. Do your duty.
He took several more pictures, trying to keep himself from turning the camera towards Father Ernest - but of course, when he developed them in the attic, he found he appeared in most of the shots. He told himself that was normal - he was the parish priest, he was there, that couldn’t be helped. He could almost convince himself of that, really. Just almost.
That day’s photos developed, John forced himself to tear his gaze away. He excused himself from dinner and went to his room, to deal with his affliction in the only way he knew.
***
“All right, we’re good to go.”
“We look nothing like women of Jerusalem,” Imelda muttered, adjusting her headdress. Of course they couldn’t change in different clothing - as nuns, they had to keep wearing their robes - which made including them in the Via Crucis procession especially stupid.
“Well, neither will anyone else,” Sofía reasoned, and handed her a piece of linen with a smile. “Here you go, Verónica. Make sure to wipe our Lord’s face nicely.”
Imelda took the linen with a scoff and a suggestion as to where to put it that was unbecoming of a novice, or any kind of lady in the first place. Sofía just grinned.
“With Lent almost over with, I’m really hoping to have Antonia see to that.”
“You’re the worst nun I have ever met.”
“And I want to keep the title, which is why I’ve been trying to get you out of here since day one.”
Wait, what? “You have some nerve, trying to imply I’d somehow be worse--”
“Assuming you’d be better? That’s pride.”
“That is common sense!” Imelda snapped, only to get an angelic smile and a pat on the hand.
“Temper, novice. A good nun holds her temper,” she said, all sweetness and light. Madre Gregoria’s voice was the only thing that kept Imelda from using the linen cloth to strangle her.
“Let’s get going, everyone-- you chattered enough! Silence is virtue!”
“Yes, Holy Mary,” Sofía muttered with a roll of her eyes, and Imelda felt like strangling her a little less. Maybe she’d settle for a smack, later, away from witnesses. Right now, she would just focus on the procession and getting that nonsense over with.
She really hoped the gringo would get them some funding from his church in the United States as he said he would, because it was the only reason why she put up with any of it.
***
“Ow!”
“Sorry.”
“You’re not sorry at all.”
“What kind of Jesus can’t endure a bit flagellation?”
“The kind that’s just pretending to be Jesus, Cheech. And that’s unnecessary, anyway. No one’s gonna see a thing until I step out.”
“Was trying to get you into the character,” Chicharrón muttered, but there was a smirk on his face when he left the sacristy, leaving him standing there with the cross - it was really heavy, dammit - across his shoulder. Of course he was smirking, Héctor thought, adjusting the crown of thorns - not real thorns, thank God, which was what he’d have gotten if Gustavo had a say in it. Why had he let himself be talked into it?
“You’re looking good,” Padre Ernesto muttered, and grinned, slapping a hand on his shoulder. “Jesus Christ, heading off to steal hearts.”
“That’s… not exactly what this procession is about,” Héctor pointed out, only to be ignored.
“Now, when you come across Verónica, make sure to look as tired and suffering as you can. And put those eyelashes to work. Don’t make my perfect casting go to waste.”
“Hijo de puta.”
“What?”
“... Praise the Lord,” Héctor muttered. Padre Ernesto laughed.
“That’s just what I thought you’d said.”
***
This is so stupid.
The thought kept circling in Imelda’s head as her hands clenched on the linen cloth she was supposed to use to dry Héctor’s face. Jesus’ face, really - that was how she should think of it. For as long as the procession went, Héctor was meant to be symbolically represent the son of God, so it wasn’t his face she’d be wiping, not really. In a way, it made sense.
… Except that it didn’t, who was she kidding? She got stuck into that stupid role because Padre Ernesto didn’t know any better - she refused to consider he had known about the implications because he was the parish priest, por Dios, for all his eccentricities he wouldn’t do a such thing - and now she would have to wipe Héctor’s face.
Which wasn’t supposed to be a big deal at all, but it was and she rather resented that.
This is ridiculous. It will take a moment. I’ll do it, and it will be over with.
The cheering went up, and Imelda looked down the road to see that Héctor was staggering forward, rather good at feigning exhaustion despite the fact he wasn’t carrying the cross: that was currently being dragged by Gustavo, as the angriest Simon of Cyrene Imelda had ever witnessed. Despite everything, it made her smirk a little.
Serves him right.
Of course, all too soon he had done his part and he quite literally dropped the wooden cross right back on Héctor. He staggered - Imelda suspected it wasn’t an act at all now - and kept walking, dragging the cross… until, of course, he paused before her.
He looked… awful, really: his exhaustion hadn’t been an act. Panting, all sweaty and wig askew, with hair stuck to his face and neck, he sure looked the part of the suffering man condemned to death. Nothing especially pleasant to look at, and yet…
… And yet.
Héctor looked back at her, and he seemed to freeze for a moment. There was nothing unusual about her appearance, she was sure, but his eyes were wide and fixed, jaw slack like he was looking at something incredible. He looked mesmerized-- something in her stomach twisted-- oh God, she had to do something.
Imelda leaned forward and went to wipe his face - gently, carefully. To her relief, his eyes closed a moment. One more moment of that gaze, and… she didn’t know what she’d do or say, and she she was glad she didn’t have to find out. When he opened his eyes to look at her again, he looked oddly lost - then he recoiled when Imelda sharply tilted her head - go ahead.
He staggered away, wavering a little more than he had before. She watched him go on for a time, dragging the cross. Some distance ahead were the other sisters, as the women of Jerusalem, but Imelda refused to look their way, keeping her gaze fixed on the cross. Any moment now he would have the second fall, then… then… wasn’t he supposed to fall about now, before reaching her sisters?
“Fall, Héctor,” she heard Miguel muttering, perfectly audible somewhere the left. “You must fall!”
Something that looked suspiciously like Chicharrón’s peg leg shot shead from somewhere in the crowd, hitting Héctor behind a knee and causing him to finally fall for the second time. Only a couple more stations, and then he would get to the point where Jesus would stripped of his clothes aaand no, no, she had to turn her thoughts to something else entirely just about now.
Imelda looked down at the linen cloth in her hands, face aflame and all to aware of several pairs of eyes fixed on her.
***
“Everything hurts.”
“I think you did great.”
“Everything hurts everywhere. I was not supposed to fall off the cross. ”
“But you absolutely nailed it the second time. Heh, nailed, get i--”
“Suffering is the meaning of the Good Friday, Brother Héctor. Certainly your pain is nothing compared to what our Lord went through.”
Padre Juan’s voice seemed to lower the temperature in the chapel by several degrees, causing Héctor to still, hand halfway to his aching back, and Ernesto to roll his eyes. Whatever magic finding that camera had worked on the gringo, it clearly had ran its course: he was even more standoffish than usual, lately, and ate his meals in his room rather than joining them.
He spoke little with anyone, and with him even less; he was stiff even in the way he stood, and when he sat he hardly even touched the backrest. It made Ernesto wonder what exactly had crawled up the guy’s ass and died, but he decided to try being civil.
“Taken good pictures?” he asked.
A sharp nod. “Quite,” was the curt reply. No more details, no giddy talk about the photos he’d taken and how good the camera was. “No, I’d like to use this chapel for its purpose and pray.”
Héctor and Ernesto glanced at each other with one clear, shared thought - the hell is wrong with him now? - and it was Héctor to try again.
“Are you sure you don’t want to join us--”
“You’re welcome to join me in prayer, if you can be bothered,” Padre Juan snapped, kneeling. He did so slowly and stiffly, and maybe Ernesto should have wondered, but he did not: he was just too annoyed. Padre Culo Blanco could be an ass all he wanted: Ernesto was done worrying for him. He had no idea when or why he’d even started worrying in the first place.
“Maybe later,” he muttered, and turned to talk out of the chapel, gesturing for Héctor to follow him so that they could talk more about the very obvious look he and Imelda had exchanged during the procession.
Neither of them noticed the way Father John’s features twisted in a pained grimace as he braced his elbows, leaned his forehead on his joined hands, and prayed in silence.
***
“You know, you were close enough to kiss.”
“I am not hearing this.”
“I’m sure you thought of it.”
“I did not!”
“You were turning red, Imelda.”
Oh, damn her. She couldn’t deny that, could she? “... I wasn’t thinking of kissing him,” she finally muttered. After all, it was not a lie. She’d been thinking of him nearly naked.
Far from discouraged, Sofía raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And what were you imagining?”
“None of your business. Are we done now? We have priorities here,” Imelda snapped, putting some more rolls of clean bandages and disinfectant - she could even get her hand on some morphine, in case someone needed to dull the pain - in what had been a fruit crate long ago.
“Yes, yes, the medical supplies. Viva la Revolución. We can still talk while we do this.”
Imelda groaned. “And do we absolutely have to?”
Sofía grinned. “Yes,” she replied. “Yes, we do.”
***
“This is awfully unnecessary.”
“First time seeing la quema de Judas?”
“The-- the hanging and burning of some puppet is-- unbecoming of such a solemn occasion!”
“I’m pretty sure they do that somewhere in Europe, too. Feliz Sabado de Gloria.”
“That doesn’t make it appropriate!”
“Look, we’re burning Judas. We’ve got more than a few reasons to be sort of pissed at Judas.”
“That thing doesn’t even look like him.”
“... What, you knew him personally now?”
“You know exactly what I mean,” Padre Juan grumbled, crossing his arms and glaring at the scene before him. The effigy of Judas was hanging high, on a rope stretched between two houses at the opposite sides of the plaza. Truth be told, it looked an awful lot like Victoriano Huerta; it was clear to everyone as it was clear to the gringo, but of course none of them said as much aloud.
Plus, at least they hadn’t made him white as someone had suggested only half-jokingly at one point. Ernesto felt the gringo had no reason to complain there. “Not taking any pictures?” he asked, lightly elbowing him as he kept watching the crowd all around the effigy parting to allow Miguel to walk up to it, head held high and all solemn-eyed, holding a burning torch.
Padre Juan scoffed, stepping aside. “I’m supposed to try making the lot of you look virtuous.”
“Burning evil is virtuous. I think. The Church did that a lot.”
“Dark and ignorant times,” was the sour reply. “Evil is to be vanquished from our lives each day, every day. There is no need nor point to make a… a spectacle out of it.”
Ernesto rolled his eyes and turned to retort, but words died in his mouth when he noticed one of Padre Juan’s hands had slipped under his sleeve where, he knew, this fingers were now running over a thin raised scar. His mouth was pulled in a tight line, skin even paler than usual; Ernesto paid no mind to that. Only minutes later, he’d wish he had.
I tried to raise my arm to shield myself of the rightful punishment. They did the right thing.
“... Well, you know. It’s a bit of a distraction for what’s going on,” he muttered in the end.
“Comfort should be sought in prayer, not with these-- fetishes,” he pointed out stiffly, but he let the matter drop. Not that Ernesto would have heard him either way, because the next moment two very familiar voices reached him.
“Hola, Padre!”
“Like our Judas?”
Ernesto glanced down at Imelda’s brothers, and grinned. “Love it,” he said. It was true: he liked the idea of watching the face of the bastard who’d had him drafted in that damn army go up in flames. He liked it a lot. “Padre Juan here was just saying how impressed he is,” he added. The gringo stiffened, but the boys paid him no mind.
“Thank you for letting us put fireworks in the effigy!”
“Ah, you’re wel--” Ernesto trailed off, brain finally catching up. By his side, Padre Juan looked extremely alarmed. “Wait-- I didn’t give you permission to stuff fireworks in it!”
The boys gave him two wide, identical grins.
“But you didn’t tell us not to.”
“Ah. Mierda.”
“Father Ernest! Langua--”
The rest of the tirade never happened, because Miguel had set fire to the effigy of Judas and that was it. A loud crackling noise, followed my whistles and smoke, caused the crowd in the plaza to back away from the effigy - but none of them seemed scared, or even particularly surprised, which Ernesto supposed could be put down to the fact most of them knew what to expect from the twins.
Flames enveloped the effigy, and more bangs rang out, greeted with cheers and laughter. Judas, aflame, rocked on one side and then the other before yet another bang caused it to jolt; the rope holding it up gave in, and the remains fell on the ground, jolting with each subsequent crackle to roaring laughter - including Ernesto’s own.
“That was great!” Miguel exclaimed, seemingly having popped by him out of nowhere after setting Judas on fire and dropping the torch. “Wait, where is Dante? Aw, I think he got scared…”
“There was-- nothing great about it!” Padre Juan snapped. People around them were already rolling their eyes and muttering to one another, bright smiles fading. “That was an awfully irresponsible and-- and blasphemous--”
All right, enough. He wasn’t going to let him sour the mood for everyone, so Ernesto forced himself to smile. “Hah! Come on, it was funny. Lighten up,” he laughed, and slapped a hand on his back.
John screamed.
It was unexpected, and loud enough to make everyone fall into a stunned silence. Ernesto stepped back, struggling to understand what the hell had just happened, just as the gringo took a staggering step forward and then sank on his knees, trying and failing to hold back something that sounded much like a sob. His skin, already even paler than usual, was now chalk white; he wheezed like all air had been used up for his cry.
“Pad-- Father John?”
“What is it?”
“Is he all right?”
“Come on, it was just a pat!”
“Is he pretending?”
“He’s got to be, it was nothing!”
“What is it with gringos…”
“Ju-- John?” Ernesto called out, still taken aback, and crouched. Father John Johnson was hunched over as though in immense pain - eyes screwed shut, teeth clenched and face reddened. It was alarming as it was, but seeing tears escaping the corner of his eyes made it worse. “What is it? That wasn’t me, I didn’t-- can you stand up, or…?”
“Make way,” someone spoke, and suddenly Sofía was there, crouching next to him. “What did you do?” she hissed.
Ernesto blinked. “Nothing! You saw it, it was just a--”
“I'm not talking to you,” she cut him off, giving Padre Juan an exasperated look before glancing back, at the crowd around them. Miguel and the twins looked completely lost, and a few men were moving closer, Héctor first of all.
“What happened? Is he ill?” he asked, eyes shifting to Ernesto like he thought he had an explanation. And he didn’t… but someone else did, or so it sounded like.
“It's nothing serious,” Sofía replied. “Call doctor Sanchez to the parish, we’ll take it from here.”
“N-no, I don’t need--” Padre Juan mumbled, but no one bothered to listen. Sofía glanced at Ernesto, who nodded and grabbed the gringo’s arm, passing over his shoulders before he stood. The idea was to help him walk, but he was so limp he pretty much had to carry him.
Only once they got to the parish, with no one else around and Padre Juan seemingly semi-conscious, did he speak again. “So, what is the deal with him? You sound like you know what the hell is going on and I’d really appreciate being filled in, because--”
Sofía sighed. “I think this idiota whipped himself raw.”
“What??”
“Explains the shriek when you gave him a pat. Don’t ask why, I have no clue whatsoever,” she added, entirely unaware that Ernesto did, in fact, have a clue. More than just a clue, really.
I need penance, he’d said. Prayer is not enough, he’d said.
“Crazy gringo,” he muttered under his breath as he carried him inside, hoping he hadn’t fucked himself up too badly.
***
“Not a bad place to be, huh? God, I was never in Veracruz before and I already love it.”
“Mph.”
“Oh, come on. It’s much better than marching under the sun all day. Getting stationed to Veracruz is the best thing that happened to any of us since this damn war started.”
“It’s the best thing that happened to me since your wife, Sergio!”
“Shut up, cabrón! At least I have a wife!”
“And who knows who else has her now!”
There was laughter, a couple of glasses thrown on a background of drunken singing. It made Santiago scoff, and he finished his own glass, sitting on the stone steps a little outside the cantina where half of his battalion spent much of their time, drinking and boasting and doing little else. He stared down towards the harbor and the sea, a thoughtful frown on his face.
Discipline had never been all that great, with so many of his comrades having been picked up from the streets or out of prisons; however, it was quickly getting out of hand now that they were there - supposedly to defend Veracruz in case the Constitutional Army decided to attack.
What a joke. Most of the men here couldn’t fight their way out of a wet paper bag.
Not that anyone really expected to fight, with Carranza’s forces far enough not to be an imminent threat; by all accounts, they had little to nothing to worry about, and yet… and yet.
“A peso for your thoughts,” Nando spoke somewhere behind him, and then he was sitting on the steps by him, a shot glass in each hand. He handed one to him. “As long as it’s not something on how we should be down south looking for de la Cruz, in which case I don’t want to hear it.”
Santiago let out another scoff, but he did accept the glass. “I’m thinking a bunch of children in a wooden cart could overpower us if they show up right now with all men drunk.”
“Oh, come now. They’re away from their families and celebrating Easter, and no one is coming.”
“We’re getting too comfortable.”
“And you’re too uptight. Come on, drink-- ah, look, midnight! Feliz Domingo de Pascua.”
They toasted, drank, and Santiago made an effort enjoy the uneventful Easter in Veracruz as much as he could, trying not to think of of how wrong it was, not having Beto there to enjoy the relative peace with him.
And trying to ignore the gut feeling that it wouldn’t last.
***
[Back to Part 10]
[On to Part 12]
***
A bit of extra art by Dara:
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paper riches - dawsey x juliet
I watched the movie, fell in love, read the book in 12 hours, watched the movie again, then wrote this. It takes place in the bookverse, where Juliet corresponds with Isola, Dawsey, Amelia, and Eben for several weeks before deciding to visit Guernsey, and sends Amelia a copy of her Anne Brontë biography as proof of her authorship.
The sea breeze, if Dawsey Adams cared to notice, bore the scent of salt, foam, and decomposing seaweed, same as it always has. But as it is, Dawsey doesn’t make a point to notice the same air that’s sustained him for nearly four decades--not since the stench of death and starvation has seceded from Guernsey, departing with the German troops who conjured it. The only thought Dawsey gives to the ever-present wind is that it whips back and forth so, blowing his fringe constantly into his eyes, and so it must be time for Isola to attack it with her shears again.
He pushes his hair out of his vision as he winds his way through Isola’s garden, picking his path to avoid the jungle of herbs that nearly obscure the cobblestone walkway. He hears her shout before he even reaches her door, and the corners of his lips tug up into a cheerful smile. Isola, ever the eager, ever the hostess.
“Dawsey!” She wraps her arms around him in greeting, and Dawsey gently encircles her lean body in his arms. She smells of rosemary and sage, as usual, and she’s already babbling before he lets go.
“I’ve written her, of course, not four days ago. She’s truly a writer, now isn’t she? I feel as if I know her already, from your letters and her ones to Amelia. D’you think she’ll ever come calling?”
Dawsey’s usual response to Isola’s prattle is a hum and a nod. But this time, it fails him. The familiar swooping sensation commandeers his stomach, as it always does when the topic of Juliet Ashton arises, and he cannot bear to utter anything that would dismiss the conversation. “I dearly hope so,” he replies. It’s a fine line to walk, one that will prod Isola forward with the subject of Juliet, but not so far that she’ll notice his obsession.
Isola, having turned towards her drawing room, pauses at the lintel with one hand on the doorjamb. “You are corresponding with her too, are you not? I do hope you’re not frightening her off with your brooding reticence.”
“I do write,” Dawsey counters, with a little more force than necessary. How little Isola knew of the hours Dawsey spent at his writing desk, rehearsing the penmanship and the words to write before committing them to paper. How to seem as effortless as Juliet did, when her skill so far exceeded his own.
She smiles genially and rests one pale hand against his wrist. “Just needling you, Daws. How short are we going today?” She lifts her hand from his arm to his forehead and makes a scissor shape with her first two fingers, then squeezes his fringe between the “blades.” “Shall I lop it all off and be done with winter?”
He frowns, his pride slightly wounded by how quickly he’d fallen for her ruse, and he tilts his chin upward so that his bangs slip out from between Isola’s fingers. “Just a trim, or Kit will have my head.”
Isola laughs at that, a waterfall of giggles that, once rare, he’s heard more and more over the last year. “I’d forgot about that. Didn’t recognize you, did she?”
“No, and we shan’t do it again.” She turns back to her drawing room and gestures to the highbacked chair by the window, on which rests a patched and frayed tablecloth. While Isola busies herself with her tools, Dawsey crosses the room in two strides and unfolds the tablecloth. He sinks into the chair, facing the window, and ties two corners of the tablecloth around his neck.
He breathes out a long sigh as Isola’s comb drags across his scalp. Even during the Occupation, and even despite Isola’s chattering, he’s always found solace in the rhythmic motion of her hands in his hair, the snip of the shears, the lilt of her voice (he never took in a word she said, he just enjoyed the sound of a voice that wasn’t a barking Nazi or a squealing pig).
But this time, he doesn’t block her out. “What have you written her?” he asks, before she can launch into her daily gossip. “Juliet, I mean.”
“Juliet! I wrote all about the Brontë sisters, you know I love them so.” Dawsey smiles into his lap as Isola angles his head forward to trim the back of his neck. He has vivid memories of Isola’s florid monologues on their arcane genius. “Didn’t Amelia tell you? She’s written a biography of Anne Brontë. Her first work, before Izzy Bickerstaff Goes to War. I’m told it sold dreadfully, though I can’t see why. A true illumination of the least known sister, and so thorough I feel as though I could invite her for tea and never run out of things to talk about.”
He hides his smile at that, doubting that Isola would have trouble running out of things to talk about with a stump. “You’ve read it?” he asks.
“Of course, I begged Amelia to lend it to me as soon as she finished.”
“I want it next,” Dawsey says.
Isola’s shears cease clipping, and Dawsey slowly lifts his head. He feels the heat beginning to rise there--was he too obvious? Too plain that he was desperate to read her own words, her thoughts she felt so strongly she published them for the world to see? Too desperate to touch the child of her mind?
But if Isola notices, she doesn’t say anything. “I’ve it around here somewhere,” she says finally, and tips Dawsey’s head forward with one hand to resume cutting. “I promised it to Eben next, but he’s an even slower reader than you are.”
He doesn’t reply to that, partly from embarrassment and partly because it’s true. Slow, but sincere. That was how he was, and had always been.
The minutes tick by and Dawsey clenches his hands into fists beneath the tablecloth. It takes ages, but Isola finally finishes trimming his hair, and he obediently removes the tablecloth for her to shake out on the stoop while he rinses his hair in the washbasin outside. After a thorough dunking, she hands him the tablecloth to towel off the most of the damp, and then he follows her back inside.
He waits in the drawing room while she putters about in her bedroom to look for the biography. It’s cluttered, as usual, with herbs, upended flower pots, and two dozen vials of tonic in various states of cleanliness. He spies a blotter and shifts two spice containers of lavender to the side to look closer. Miss Juliet Ashton, 23 Glebe Place, Chelsea, London S.W. 3.
A creak of the floorboards makes Dawsey look up to see Isola, book clutched tightly in two hands before her, like the deacon bearing the Holy Bible up the aisle to begin Mass. “Anne Brontë: A Biography,” she announces.
Heart pounding, Dawsey reaches out and hefts the book from Isola. “Thank you,” he says. “And you’ve done a good job?” He runs his hands through his still-moist hair, and Isola nods.
“More handsome than ever, Daws.”
He flushes again at that, and merely nods and brushes past Isola to reach her front door. “Thanks, Isola.”
“You will share me any more of her letters, won’t you?” she asks, following him to the door.
“I will,” he promises, although only through a stab of what feels suspiciously like selfishness. He tries to bury it, try to rationalize that it’s not because there’s some aspects of Juliet he wants to keep for himself.
“Good day.”
He sets off down the path, this time far less concerned with foot placement, in his haste to be out of Isola’s line of sight. He hurries along the main road, disregarding the limp in his leg, until he’s halfway to his home and nearly out of breath. Then he stops, looks behind him and in front of him, but he’s utterly alone. His heart is still fluttering, and it feels almost the same speed as the book pages he flips through with one thumb. A hundred pages, maybe more, from Juliet. He feels as though he is the richest man in the world.
Pages flipped through, the book remains open in Dawsey’s hand, with only the back pages visible. His heart stops fluttering, and in fact feels like it’s stopped altogether. On the back side of the dusk jacket, a picture stares up at him.
Juliet.
It’s just a small square, hardly enough quality to make out her facial features, but it’s enough to strike Dawsey to the bone. She’s smiling up at the camera, which is perhaps the same direction of the sun because her cheeks are pushed up into her eyes with a squint. Her hair falls about her shoulders in sleek ringlets.
He gently traces his thumb along the curve of her head to the well of her shoulder. She can’t be older than he is. He feels as if his circulatory system has been replaced with warm oil heating him through, filling his body with a numb, happy throb.
Juliet.
He snaps to when he hears the wheels of a cart approaching. He hastily tucks the book into the back of his trousers as the heads of a horse team appear in front of him. It’s Eben, with the post.
“Dawsey!” he shouts when he recognizes him standing beside the road. “You weren’t home, and I wanted to give this to you myself.”
He’s beaming down from the driver’s seat, Eli riding shotgun, and holds out a crisp white envelope.
Dawsey feels a stab of guilt at the concealed book in his possession that’s supposed to be in Eben’s hands, but it’s overwhelmed immediately when he recognizes the neat scarlet ink on the front of the envelope.
“Jul--Miss Ashton?” he catches himself, and reaches out to take the letter from Eben’s callused hands.
“The very same. I’m off to Isola’s but do share what she’s written at the Society tomorrow,” he says.
Dawsey barely hears Eben but manages a brief nod of acquiesce, still staring, almost disbelieving, at the letter in his hands. He barely hears the mail cart driving away, barely feels his feet as he saunters homeward. A letter from Juliet, and her book, and her picture.
When he reaches the top of the hill and sees his farm, he can’t help but break into a run, and then a grin. He can see Kit kneeling in the garden, pulling up carrots, with Amelia on a chair watching over her. The book and letter feel light as a feather in his hand. The richest man in the world.
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#RaceRecap below! | Did it for the (amazing) free shirt, obviously 😂 #rockthemock Swipe for my Marine Corps Marathon #flatrunner - I really got a kick out of these #PeoplesMarathon shirts. 🔸#MarineCorpsMarathon 🤩 🔸First of all, let’s just say race morning was an absolute cluster - and I got to the start as the gun was going off. (💩 I’ll post this full section in the comments but spare anyone not interested in hearing details about the shuttle situation; just know that I essentially started 25 min late behind 20k runners - behind the 5:30 pace group!!) 🔸I was stressed but I trained to be unfkingbothered by things I cannot control, so I just trusted in the plan of the day. 🔸I tried to not weave through people but after a while I really had no choice to do a little off-roading. I was jumping up on curbs, running on slopes bankings, through damp grass (I knew I was being dumb 🙄) all while just telling myself to relax and get to where the course opens up. 🔸Well, after 8 miles it still wasn’t opening up. But I was having FUN. I was singing along with the bands (Shipping up to Boston gave me all the feels), cheering on bad ass runners running their first marathon, pushing the disabled, service men & women running in uniform, etc, hitting every Tap Here for Power sign and little kids offering high fives that I could. It was so awesome experiencing the *fun* part of marathoning. 🔸When my times were coming up as 8:30s and the crowds still weren’t opening up, I started to panic a little. Every person who stopped short in front of my, or every mass of people I couldn’t get around, made me feel like I was expelling so much extra energy early in the race despite only running in the 8 min zone. Water stops were my salvation: when the masses parted to the left for Gatorade and to the right for water I legit felt like Moses and would zip through a sea of people, grabbing the last possible water cup and maximizing my small clear runway 😂 🔸 Finally through the half, I decided I was just going to go for it. After all, what I had wanted so badly for the first half was to be able to move, so I did exactly that. Contd in comments, bless you if you’re still reading 🤪 (at Marine Corps Marathon) https://www.instagram.com/p/Bpra9KjBvn6/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=3hujvbdu4juf
🔸Even when I could finally pick up the pace, I was still on a high from the “fun part” of the race - I continued to high five spectators. I gave my sister a massive hug when I saw her 😍 (she did the 10k, crushed it, and immediately came to cheer me on! @nconnolly141 #MVP. A couple miles later, a stopped to kiss my boyfriend. I was barely looking at my watch; I just knew I felt good and that I had trained at a faster pace than my planned GMP so I let the wheels roll. Finally when I saw more pals along the course, I didn’t stop - cause I was finally entering the overthinking part of the race - calculating what it would take to still PR despite the unreal start. Somewhere after the mile 9 I had passed the 5:00 and maybe 4:30 pace group. I focused on finding and passing the 4:00 group in the coming miles. 🔸 I hung on to my pace for as long as I could. Mile 20 came and reminded me I probably couldn’t PR bc your legs don’t really agree with your brain after that many miles 😂 but I had diligently fueled and hydrated the whole race. I just kept pressing. The end of the MCM course is so hard IMO. You go from exciting sights and cheers to desolate, slight inclines over bridges with nothing to look at but other runners slowly fading around you. But it fortunately goes by pretty fast. 🔸 Someone along the course had bumped into me and split my watch, so I was confusing myself with being on lap 24 but really on mile 23. I was also about half a mile ahead on mile markers - I knew I’d end up coming in well over 26.2 miles. I tried to take this as a blessing: not knowing exactly what I had left so just keep rolling. 🔸My goal was to get the the 24 and see what my legs had left. I pictured myself kicking for the last 2 miles. Well, they didn’t have much left. I was hurting. My hips were locking up. But I had such a great past few miles that I didn’t want to throw it away now. Before I knew it I was finishing. Literally what my face looked like when I made it up the hill and could see the finish: 🤩🤩🤩 🔸The end! Not quite a PR but close enough for me. I’m so happy with how much fun I had, and thankful that the cluster of a start forced me to start slow. 💩 Details on the start: Okay what the HECK, MCM? For a race where Marines are helping organize things, the shuttle situation in Crystal City was far from efficient. I left my hotel room at 6 AM and got to the shuttles at 6:10, to find already massive lines wrapping around the park. This part is my bad: maybe I didn't get there early enough. The start was at 7:55. However, in 2014 I took the metro to the runner's village and had to walk 2 miles to the start. I purposely chose my hotel so that I could take the shuttles directly to the start without the worry of walking. *My complaining ends here - because all in all, everything went fine. But it's still a race morning experience I'd like to document so I can remember for the future! 💩After waiting over an hour in line, post-coffee and fueling, my body was STRESSED. I was cold, needed a bathroom badly, and was getting concerned about standing for so long in the cold without being able to move around to warm up for fear of losing my spot in line. I also didn't have my phone to seek an alternate route to the start (good thing I didn't learn until after that I was only 2.5 MILES from the freaking start!!) 💩Another 30 min later, we were finally to the start of the shuttle line, only to be cut by people who were well behind us in line. Literally people were screaming and fighting about boarding 😅 It was aggressive and a little scary (don' fk w runners the morning of a big race!) but I literally didn't care about anything but getting on a bus bc HELLO BUS BATHROOMS #BLESSED. Legit, a bus bathroom could have been the only bathroom I got to use that morning, and we all know what an important part of race prep that is. 💩We got to the runner's village with less than 10 minutes until the gun went off. I quickly realized I wasn't going to be lining up with my corral by the time I made it over to the start, so I spent 10-20 minutes getting ready to run, shedding my throw away clothes (the weather was perfect🤩), and waiting for a port o potty just in case (I had nothing to lose at this point). I started at around 8:20 - and soon realized I was behind even the 5:30 pace group aka it was suuuuper crowded. The course gets narrow in a lot of places so even when I thought I was getting break free, I'd quickly be back in a place where I quite literally could not get around walkers, joggers, or even just runners who were cutting from side to side to jump in front of cameras 🙄 I respect ANYONE doing a marathon at ANY pace, but holy moly was all the stopping, starting, and jolting not fun. I finally resorted to running on curbs, through rocky terrain, and even in grass bankings. Should out and sorry to the 100+ people I accidentally elbowed 😅 💛All in all, I'm not too mad at this start situation because it gave me the best IDGAF mentality that ultimately allowed me to roll through the second half. I recall repeating I.D.G.A.F. on repeat in my head.👽
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And on and on we go! Only 5 chapters left!
[ff] or [ao3]
75. 22 Months & 10 Months (4)
Haymitch heard the distinctive footsteps of his wife coming toward the living-room with something akin to relief. He usually liked Lyssandra and Leo well enough but having to be in the same room as Lyssa while she got over-excited about the ball at the Presidential Mansion was a little too much even for him. And that was without taking into consideration the fact that they had both poured themselves a drink of Tadius’ best liquor.
And had offered him one.
Which he had obviously declined.
“Oh, Effie, do hurry!” Lyssa squealed, barely glancing away from the huge TV. “Here they come!”
Effie walked into the room with less flair than usual. She had changed out of the green dress and into something a little more casual – well, if silk red pants and a white sweater with a sweetheart neckline could be considered casual, but then again her sister was wearing an evening cocktail dress for what they had agreed would be a quick dinner so… Effie was exhausted, it was written all over her face, and he simply opened his arm when she sank on the couch next to him, not surprised when she immediately leaned against his side, company be damned.
Her blue eyes darted to the various bottles of alcohol on the coffee table and she pursed her lips. He rubbed her shoulder with his thumb, letting her know he was fine. Well… Fine might be a big word for it but he was doing alright with the temptation.
“They’re sleeping?” he asked quietly while Lyssa exclaimed at the cars stopping next to the red carpet on TV.
He had offered to put the kids to bed but she had insisted on doing it herself, probably needing some family time after that dreadful day. The speech that morning had left her tired and it hadn’t gotten better in the afternoon. Her parents’ house had literally been besieged by the press. They had had an agreement with Plutarch about that but, to be fair, after what had happened and what Effie had revealed, none of them expected the former Gamemaker to keep his word. Haymitch had braved through the crowd at some point after noon, because Snowball needed a walk and because they would never let go until someone had made some sort of official comment on their behalf.
It had been empty words, of course, because Effie had always been better at handling that sort of circus but it had given the press something to chew on for now. It didn’t mean they weren’t still camping in the street outside. It was the whole reason the curtains were drawn and the kids had had so much trouble falling asleep.
“I don’t think they will stay asleep all night.” she sighed in answer, placing the baby monitor on his lap.
“I cannot believe you chose to stay here instead of going.” Lyssa commented. And, right on cue, Tadius and Elindra stepped out of the car that had been sent for them, Haymitch’s invitation in hand.
The next car would be the kids’, and the one after that Jo’s and Annie’s.
They couldn’t all miss the ball without it being turned into a political message regarding Hummingbird Operation and Paylor’s involvement but they had decided that Effie’s absence could be put on the day’s conference and that Haymitch would simply stay behind with his wife as a good husband ought to do. That was their official stance on it.
The truth was Effie had begged out and Haymitch hadn’t wanted to go without her so they had offered their spot to her parents – if only to watch Elindra get flustered at the thought of going to a ball at the Presidential Mansion.
“I had enough excitement for the day.” Effie replied casually, smiling when Katniss and Peeta exited their own car. “Don’t they look dashing?”
They did.
Katniss was wearing an orange-red dress that vaguely reminded him of fire – the whole point, he figured – and her dark hair was up. Her burn scars were exposed but she didn’t seem to care. She never did. She looked radiant and the boy looked really good in his dark suit. They waved at the crowd, forced smiles…
Everything they didn’t have to do anymore.
The picture of two perfect victors.
“We shouldn’t have come back.” Haymitch said in a low voice.
Lyssa was too engrossed in the live feed to hear but Leo shot him an understanding look.
Effie simply leaned harder against him. An agreement, he knew.
A visit to her parents would have been fine. He truly thought they could have handled that but being in the spotlight again, playing roles they had all long shed…
“Are you still going to do the campaigning work for Paylor?” Leo asked.
Haymitch rubbed his face with his free hand. Nobody had been in touch about that. He had been happy to schedule a couple of interviews in support of Paylor because he truly believed she was the best candidate but now he wasn’t sure they wanted him anywhere near a camera in case he decided to follow Effie’s example and leak more state secrets.
“If they still want me too, I guess, yeah.” he shrugged.
“This is all my fault.” Effie shook her head. “I do not know what came over me. I am so…”
“Do not dare say you are sorry.” Lyssa huffed. “They have been lying to us for years. We have a right to the truth. I am proud of you for what you did.”
Effie stared at her sister for a few seconds and then swallowed hard. “Thank you.”
“If you want my opinion, you did Paylor a favor.” Leo observed. “Her transparency policy gave her a boost in the polls.”
“Smoke and screens.” Haymitch grumbled. “Always fucking smoke and screens.”
“Politics.” Leo remarked in a fatalistic tone.
After a short debate between the two sisters, they agreed to have dinner in the living-room instead of moving to the big dining-room. Haymitch couldn’t help but smirk, watching them giggle to themselves because apparently having a relaxed dinner on the couch in front of the TV was a big no-no in that house and Elindra would have had a fit if she had known. It was good to see Effie relax and have some fun.
He had honestly thought that press conference would go worse than it had. He had been fully prepared for her to have a panic attack up there on the podium. Talking about what had happened to her, about the torture… It wasn’t easy when it was the only two of them so in a room full of people… All in all, she had handled it well. Blurting out state secrets wasn’t the worst that could have happened and he did see her point. They advocated truth but kept the secrets they wanted to keep.
Truth be told, he was glad the truth was out.
Not only because there was some justice in that but because now people might stop calling Katniss insane for having murdered a war hero. Coin was no hero. Thirteen’s candidate could deny all he wanted, call out Effie’s credibility into question and accuse Paylor of lying… It didn’t change the fact people had already decided what to believe.
And when all the former victors stood on one side of the equation…
Effie barely touched her plate and she ignored all his pointed looks about it. He kept his peace because she did finish her chocolate mousse and as long as she was eating chocolate, she couldn’t be feeling that bad.
They all grew a little quiet after dessert. They watched the live feed from the ball, trying to glimpse the kids and the Trinkets… Haymitch wasn’t really interested but Lyssa’s running commentary got a few snorts out of him. Effie was starting to doze off, he could feel her sliding a little down the couch, her head falling on his shoulder only to pop back up…
He was about to suggest they called it a night when he noticed Leo’s staring.
He liked Lyssandra’s fiancé but he didn’t like men staring at his wife with that sort of thoughtful look.
“What?” he challenged.
His tone was a little aggressive and the women both startled and looked at them both in turn, puzzled. Leo blinked as if he had been distracted and then shook his head.
“My apologies. I was simply thinking…” The Capitol winced. “I am sorry if it is a sensitive subject but… It is common knowledge your bank accounts were frozen and seized during the Purge…”
“It wasn’t exactly during the Purge.” Effie corrected. “It was well after Katniss’ trial. Well after Haymitch was gone. Peeta had already gone back to Twelve too.”
“So, after you were officially pardoned?” Leo insisted.
Effie glanced at Haymitch who shrugged.
“Yeah.” he confirmed. “I got her pardon secured weeks before Snow’s execution. I bargained it against…” He hesitated. It wasn’t a time he liked to revisit. In the end he rolled his eyes. It was all done. In the past. “Coin was holding Effie over my head. She wanted her to be tried but it was just a way to control Katniss through me. I threatened her to tell everyone about Hummingbird Operation if she didn’t pardon Effie. She refused to cave but… It ain’t like she had a choice. Plutarch did the rest.”
“I see…” Leo frowned. “And… Pardon me for asking but how much would you say your fortune amounted to, Effie?”
“Well…” She let her voice trail off and bit down on her bottom lip, probably trying to make calculations. “It wasn’t just my bank accounts. They took my apartment and everything that was in it. It had been ransacked so there wasn’t much left of value inside. My jewels were gone but there were still some haute couture pieces and… All in all… I would say…” The amount she announced was such that Haymitch regretted taking a sip of water at that precise moment. He almost choked on it and coughed hard until she patted his back with a worried expression. “Are you alright, darling?”
“You never said it was that much.” he croaked.
“It did not seem to matter. Suddenly I had debts everywhere.” she said defensively. “Bills that were scheduled to be paid, purchases, groceries…” She closed her eyes and waved a hand. “You remember how it was.”
He remembered because he had paid out almost all of it.
But at no point had he thought she had owned that much money. He had known she had been wealthy. Of course, she had been wealthy. Escorts were rarely poor. But…
“Didn’t know you were that loaded.” he admitted. Mostly because she was the spending kind.
“Life was expensive and I was not particularly careful.” she confessed. “But between my escort salary, the modeling jobs and the money I got for featuring in various magazines or TV shows… Besides, people often sent me free stuff in hope I would use it and do free advertisement for them. Dresses, shoes, furs, jewelry…”
“It adds to the estate.” Leo nodded. “And you did not try to protest when…”
“I was not given a choice to protest.” she cut him off, wrapping her arms around herself. “They showed up at my apartment at dawn, handed me a piece of paper with the government’s seal and they kicked me out with one suitcase full of clothes they declared unsuitable for auctioning.” She licked her lips. “I tried to book into a hotel but my credit cards were blocked. I had some cash in my wallet they hadn’t thought to check… I tried to find a job but nobody in the Capitol would… I managed for a few weeks and then I had too many debts to deal with, I was so tired, I… I tried to come here and… Well, Mother said I wasn’t welcomed. At that point, I just… I just couldn’t do it anymore.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I left for Twelve.”
Haymitch covered her hand with his, brushing his thumb over her new ring. She flashed him a poor excuse of a smile.
“Oh, Effie…” Lyssa whispered, sounding genuinely hurt for her sister. Or maybe guilt because it was her fault her parents had kicked her out the door.
“When was that?” Leo asked.
“A year after I came back with Katniss.” Haymitch answered. “I remember ‘cause I thought it was almost to the day. What’s with all the questions?”
“I’m sorry, professional quirk.” the Capitol apologized. “I was just wondering because… Based on what you said today at that conference and what you just told me… I do not see what legal grounds they had to seize your assets.”
“They called it compensation for my war crimes.” Effie said.
“You were pardoned for your war crimes.” Leo argued. “So unless it was made part of the agreement when they officially pardoned you…”
“No.” Haymitch shook his head. And then he frowned. “You’re saying…”
“I am saying that a few months after the war, Panem’s finances were at an all-time low and that they were desperate to get money anywhere they could find it.” Leo confirmed “They tried to do that to a few Capitol companies but we are talking about empires here. They fought back. Some lost, of course, once their association with Snow was proven. That’s how I met Lyssa, actually. When the government turned on Tadius’ company. But in Effie’s case… It looks very straightforward to me. Didn’t you have a lawyer?”
“He died in the war.” Effie whispered. “Half my friends were dead and the other half wouldn’t associate with me. Father… Mother made it clear Father would not associate with me either so…”
Lyssa was upset, that was plain to see. Leo reached out to pat her leg but his attention was fully on Effie.
“You have a lawyer now.” the Capitol declared. “And I truly believe if you take them to court, you can get your money back. Perhaps not the entire amount, understand. It might be difficult to prove you owned anything you do not have legal paperwork for but… What was on your back accounts and the value of your apartment… Those should be easy enough to trace back.”
“Take them to court?” she repeated, a little faint.
Haymitch made a face. “After this morning…”
“Precisely because of this morning.” Leo insisted. “They had no legal grounds and now that the opinion is favorable to Capitols… It would be the right time.”
“Hummingbird Operation was top secret.” he retorted. “If she takes them to court and they decide to retaliate…”
“They can’t legally retaliate about Effie disclosing that without painting themselves as hypocrites.” the lawyer declared. “Paylor stepped on that stage right after her and swore Effie had done it because she had given it her blessing in the spirit of transparency.”
“You think I can get my money back?” Effie cut in and she sounded… odd. A little distant.
Haymitch studied her, wary of a possible flashback or…
“Let me dig around.” Leo requested. “As your lawyer, I will demand to see the case they made. But honestly… Yes, I think we can get a good portion of it back.”
“It would be public though, wouldn’t it?” she insisted. “A trial?”
“If they want to go all the way there, yes. I believe it would be a big trial.” the Capitol man conceded. “If they based themselves on your alleged war crimes…”
“There was nothing alleged to them.” Haymitch said quietly, not to be mean but because he had never lied to her on that front. “She was an escort. She reaped the kids. She willingly participated in the Games. She made money out of that.”
Effie’s jaw clenched but she didn’t protest.
“Yes.” Leo granted. “But she was pardoned.”
“Look, sweetheart…” he winced, squeezing Effie’s hand. “It’s your money so it’s your call but… You want my opinion, it’s not worth reopening that can of worms. They’re gonna play dirty and…”
“I agree.” Effie cut him off. “I do not want a public trial. I do not want…” She closed her eyes. “I am tired of my life being exposed like this. I just… I want to go home with my children.”
“I understand.” Leo offered. “Still… Given the current climate, even the threat of a possible case against the government… Look, let me poke around. Would that be alright? If I am right and they had no legal grounds… We might not even need to go to court, they might agree to settling this with an arrangement.”
“I don’t know…” Haymitch insisted. “I feel like we’re poking the bear and the bear’s a good friend.”
“A good friend who stole your wife’s money and would have made her live in the streets.” Lyssa objected.
“Yeah, well the bear wasn’t the only one responsible for that, was he?” he snapped.
She had the good grace of lowering her gaze in shame.
“Please, don’t fight.” Effie begged, rubbing her forehead.
“It isn’t right.” Leo insisted. “They had no rights to…”
“But Haymitch is correct. I am guilty.” Effie insisted. “Perhaps they had no legal rights but they did have the moral ones.” She shook her head and stood up. “My apologies but I am awfully tired. Good night.”
“Think about it, at least.” Leo urged her.
“I’m gonna head to bed too.” Haymitch declared. “Night.”
He followed Effie in silence, not commenting when she stopped in the nursery to check on the children. They were both sleeping. April was on her stomach, her blond hair wild around her head, and he adjusted the blankets so she wouldn’t be cold. Aidan was on his side, clutching his stuffed giraffe to his chest. And Snowball was sprawled on the rug at equal distance of the two beds and barely lifted his head when Haymitch scratched his belly.
He had a feeling Effie would have stayed there to watch them far much longer if he hadn’t placed a hand at the small of her back. She didn’t look at him when she left the room and headed straight to their bedroom. She didn’t look at him either when she sat heavily at the foot of the bed and took her head in her hands.
He sighed and dropped next to her.
“What the fuck did I think I was doing today, Haymitch?” she whispered.
His lips twitched. “Language, sweetheart.”
She shot him a glare but it was tired and weak. With a sigh of her own, she started unpinning her hair from the weird braided hairdo Katniss had done it in.
“It could have gone very badly.” she insisted, her voice rising in anger. “I was stupid. What if… People could have rioted. Isn’t that why it was kept secret in the first place? It was pure dumb luck it went as well as it did. It was… I could have started another war today and then where would we be? We have peace and Panem is flourishing and here I go and almost wreck it all and just because…” She shook her head. “I could have wrecked it all and our children would have been in danger and…”
“Effie.” he said firmly, grabbing her shoulders.
She shrugged him off and stood up, pacing the length of the room back and forth again and again. Her hair wild and crumpled from having been pinned up all day.
“I am stupid. This city makes me stupid.” she ranted. “Plutarch was right. This was reckless and…”
“It was brave.” Haymitch argued, because he believed it.
Yes, it could have ended worse than it had but… Really, right then, the chance of another rebellion happening were slim. Snow’s loyalists had been eradicated. The only potential danger came from Thirteen and, after that little revelation, he supposed it was now safe to think this threat was gone as well.
“No, it was not!” she shouted. “I was supposed to tell them about me, about… I wanted to be able to tell them. I wanted to be strong enough to…” She shook her head. “This was easier, do you understand? I made it all about dead children because it was easier. I used dead children again. It was not brave, it was the utter form of cowardice and I…”
The sob shook her whole frame and Haymitch bolted from the bed in a flash. He hugged her tight, not leaving her a choice to keep her pacing, coiling a hand around her nape.
“You did tell them about you, sweetheart.” he reminded her.
“No.” she denied. “I…”
“Effie, you did.” he interrupted, drawing back to look at her. “You don’t remember?”
She stared back and, after a few seconds, she shook her head no. “I… I lost time. Everything is blurry in my mind. I…”
“You told them, sweetheart.” he promised, planting a kiss on her forehead. “And I’m fucking proud of you, alright? Yeah, talking about Hummingbird was reckless and, yeah, it could have ended badly but… I’m fucking proud, alright? I’ve wanted to do that for ages.”
She still looked a little uncertain but she allowed herself to relax. The tension slowly left her shoulders and she brushed a hesitant kiss against his lips. He answered to it eagerly, using the hand that was still around her nape to deepen it.
Her fingers were quick when it came to undoing the buttons of his shirt so he lost no time in slipping that sweater over her head. The kiss turned violent, her hands demanding, and the frenzy of the embrace got to his head.
He wasn’t really sure how they went from there to him pinning her against the wall but by the time he had her naked and her left leg wrapped around his waist, he had scratches all over his back from her nails. He bit down on her shoulder in retaliation and she hissed, coiling her fingers hard around him in warning. He groaned his defeat, licking the abused patch of skin in apology. It didn’t stop her from pumping him at a punishing rate, leaving him to knead her breasts and stroke her between the legs with jerky angry moves because this wasn’t what he wanted.
He wanted her.
He wanted to be inside.
He wanted…
“Fuck me.”
The order whispered in his ear was all the permission he needed.
He batted her hand away and propped her leg higher, slipping into her in one powerful thrust that made her jerk her head back. It hit the wall with a thud. The angle wasn’t awesome but he didn’t want to try and lift her up completely. He was pretty sure his right knee would buckle. After a few thrusts he grew frustrated because she wasn’t getting off on it as much as he wanted her too and so he slipped out and turned her around without leaving her much of a choice. She braced herself against the wall and bent a little, offering herself up in an invitation he had never been able to resist.
He tangled his fingers in her hair, pulled a little so her back would arch and then he let himself grew wild, only spurred on by her whimpers and mewls of pleasure.
It had been a very long time since sex had been so… rough.
She cried out and, after a few more thrusts, he came too, resulting in the two of them collapsing on the floor, out of breath.
Haymitch felt… weird. He glanced at her, not really surprised to find her staring at the ceiling.
“You’re okay?” he asked when he saw her rub the shoulder that had been hurt during the war. It always hurt her if she strained it too much. She couldn’t play her violin too long, she never complained but he knew that carrying the kids around did a number to it, and the cold was by far the worst.
“Yes.” she answered, a second too late. She turned her head to look at him, a frown on her face. “This was…”
She let her sentence trail off.
“So not us anymore…” he finished.
It wasn’t that he hadn’t enjoyed it but he had always been careful with her since her rescue. It wasn’t that they were all vanilla and strictly missionary either now but they were never… It was never about power plays anymore, it was never about pinning the other to a wall or fucking each other brainless…
It was always more…
Loving.
“Yes.” she whispered, closing her eyes. She didn’t voice what she was really thinking but he heard it anyway. That had been the mentor and the escort. That had been who they used to be. That had been… “Today was awful.”
“Oh, yeah.” he agreed. “Though your mother had her moments.”
“You are a mama boy.” she accused him with a snort, hauling herself up and outstretching a hand to help him to his feet. “Although I do admit it was a little fun to watch her chew Plutarch’s head off.”
“She defended you first.” he pointed out.
“I noticed.” she hummed. “Bed?”
He nodded but didn’t bother putting on pajamas before climbing between the sheets. He was only happy once he was spooning her, an arm wrapped tight around her waist.
“We don’t need the money.” he said. “Ain’t worth a public trial. They’re gonna drag you in the mud.”
She was silent for a long moment and then he heard her lick her lips. “What if Leo can get them to agree to an arrangement?”
He hesitated. He wasn’t in favor of that plan. At all. But… “Your money, your decision.”
“I could pay you back what I owe you.” she murmured.
“You don’t owe me shit.” he rebuked, irritated. “We’ve had that conversation how many times now?”
“Fine.” She rolled her eyes. “But still… Some of that money… Some of that money I won fair and square. It’s not tied to the Games. If we could get back at least a fragment of it…”
“You could open a shop.” He figured that it was what she had in mind since it was what she had been saving her dressmaking earnings for.
“It would help.” she agreed. “But, truly, what I was thinking was… I would open saving accounts for April and Aidan.”
“You father already did that.” he reminded her.
“There is never enough money, Haymitch.” she countered. “What if they want to go to expensive schools? Or build a house when they settle down with someone? Or just… It could help them.”
“There is something like too much money.” he argued. “What if they become spoiled brats? They get to access those accounts at eighteen. I don’t know about you but I wasn’t the most responsible guy at eighteen.”
“You have always been a responsible person.” she denied. “I was not. But I was also never careless. I valued my independence.” She sighed. “I do see your point though. Then perhaps… Perhaps we keep the money on a different account until the children truly need it. We can judge if it is for a good thing or if it just youth.”
“You’ve already made the decision.” he lamented.
She didn’t answer. He didn’t really need her to though.
He let out a deep breath and closed his eyes, nuzzling her hair a little, wishing they could just…
“I didn’t like where we left things with Plutarch.” Effie told him. “He has his flaws but he is right when he says he has always been a good friend and… I didn’t like how it played out.”
“Me neither.” he agreed.
“I do not like who I am in this city.” She covered the hand that was resting on her stomach, entwined their fingers.
“I don’t like who I am here either.” he snorted. “This place just makes me…”
“I know.” she hummed. “Can you believe I have been craving a cigarette ever since we landed? I swear I haven’t thought about cigarettes in months. Perhaps not even since I learned I was pregnant with April.”
“Oh, I can.” he chuckled. “If you knew just how badly I want a drink…” He shook his head. “Ain’t gonna happen though.”
“No.” she promised. “It won’t.”
“No way we can just cut this trip short and go home, right?” he pleaded.
She hesitated and her voice was apologetic when she answered. “My parents see the babies so rarely… They were really looking forward to spending time with them.”
“Yeah.” He didn’t want to punish Elindra and Tadius for their own problems. “Guess we better get in touch with Plutarch. Clear the air.”
She reached behind her and awkwardly wrapped her hand around his nape, turning her head so she could draw him down for a kiss. “What we should do is get some sleep before…”
The baby monitor he had tossed on the bedside table crackled to life.
Aidan or April, it didn’t matter. Whoever it was would wake the other.
Haymitch groaned against her shoulder. “You or me?”
“Both of us.” she decided.
He didn’t dispute that. They were always stronger together anyway.
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