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amphxtrite · 4 years

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george weasley x fem!reader

part two: our future together

warnings: swearing, spelling/ grammar mistakes.

summary: George falls head over heels for the reader at Quidditch try-outs.

word count: 2.2k

enjoy <3

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Ah Quidditch, one of George’s favourite activities, other than pranking. The feeling of cool wind blowing against his face and the rush of adrenaline he gets hitting bludgers, and flying across the stadium at full speed makes him feel on top of the world. He’s adored the sport every since he was just a little kid watching in envy as his older brothers and his dad flew around throwing quaffles, catching snitches and, his favourite, hitting bludgers. He’d always dreamed of being to play real quidditch, not just the scrimmages at home, so when Fred suggested they try out for the gryffindor team in second year, he jumped on it. George smiles at the memory of their first try-out, they’d dusted any other kid in the beaters department and since then always have. Fred laughing loudly brings George out of thought.

It’s the start of a new year, which means try- outs again. George tries not to worry about it, he’s been on the team for years now, what could go wrong? He tries to focus on how excited he is to get back on the Hogwarts Pitch, but his anxiousness is shown, he’s tapping his foot and figeting with his bag string. “Let’s get a move on Fred, we’re going to be late!” He starts to drag Fred out the door of the gryffindor common room. “Alright, alright! Just quit your pestering.” Fred sighs, rolling his eyes and stuffing a dungbomb he was poking at back into his bag. “I don’t understand what’s got you in such a worry.” Fred starts. “We’ve been on the quidditch team for the past three years, we’ve got this!” The older twin smiles, patting George on the shoulder, “I know, but who knows who’s going to try out this year, what if there’s someone bloody amazing.” George says nervous. “Can’t be better than us, eh?” Fred smiles back. George manages a weak grin.

The twins make their way into the changeroom and get into more suitable clothing, swapping out their uniforms and ties, for their quidditch jerseys, and shin guards. Grabbing their brooms, they make their way onto the pitch and are greeted by their captain, Oliver Wood. “Hello lads.” He greets with his usual heavy Scottish accent. “How’s it going Oliver?” The twins answer back in sync. “Not bad, just excited to start try-outs, you guys have got competition this year!”Olliver laughs pointing over to a small group of gryffindors huddled together. “Well I guess we’ll just have to show em who’s boss, right Freddie?” George nudges his twin. “Right on George.” Fred answers back smugly.

The try out begins with a couple laps around the pitch, so Olliver can start to pick off those he sees unfit. Fred and George decide to have some fun looping around people and pestering their friends. “Heya, Harry how's it going?” George smiles at the blue-eyed brunette, while flying upside down above him, Harry flashes a smile and rolls his eyes at the twins' antics before making small talk with the red-head.

Oliver finally calls everyone back down and starts each round of try-outs starting with chasers, he and Fred began to cheer on Angelina, Katie and all their fellow gryffindors, feeling pride watching his classmates play.

George starts to grow nervous as the try-outs for the beaters roll around, he figits with his broom as Oliver begins to call them out in twos. “Alright let's have y/n and Finnick go first!” Oliver motions for two people. George sees a tall, skinny boy walk out first, sizing him up, he turns to Fred and shrugs slightly before turning back to look at whoever y/n was. His breath catches in his throat. You were stunning. He watches you in shock as you climb onto your broom with a bat and push off, taking a moment to admire the way your h/c hair blew in the wind and the look of excitement plastered on your face as you flew around, your e/c eyes seemed to shine like diamonds in the sunlight. How did he not notice you before? “Blimey.” George whispered out watching you race back and forth hitting bludgers back with such elegance and force. He had a dopey grin stuck on his face as he watched the way your eyebrows scrunched together when you spotted a bludger and how you retaliated quickly after a not-so-good hit. You were perfect. “Freddie…” he turned to his twin next to him. “I think I’m in love.” He concluded a blush littering his freckled cheeks. Fred eyes widen and his brows shoot up, looking back towards the pitch, he’s in time to see you landing back down, a huge smile plastered on your face as you pant slightly, giving a high-five to your partner. Fred looks back towards his twin “y/n?” Fred questions, George nods, still gazing at you, stuck in a daze, as you take a sip from your water bottle and spoke to Angelina. “Mate, that’s Angie’s best friend, she’s going to rip you to shreds!” Fred laughs. “Really?” George questions, he tries to think back to if he’s ever seen you before, but draws a blank every time. “How come I’ve never seen her before?” George asks, his eyebrows knitting together in a confused expression. “Well you’re pretty bloody clueless for one.” Fred smirks and continues, “You know, she goes to games a lot to cheer on the team, you probably haven’t noticed cuz you’ve got your head so far stuck in the game.” Fred laughs loudly. “She’s also in the year below us so that explains why she’s not in any of our classes.” Fred finishes explaining, rolling his eyes as he watches his twin’s love-struck expression.

“Weasleys’ you’re up!” Oliver shouts. The twins shoot up immediately, walk over and quickly ascend into the sky. “Alright George it’s go-time so put your goo-goo eyes away, alright?” Fred warns. George blushes bashfully, sneaking a glance down at you one last time, he almost has a heart attack when he sees you looking back at him, cheering him on with Angelina. He musters a smirk and decides to show off a little. Oliver releases the bludgers and George grips the bat a little tighter, he lets his usual competitive nature consume him and he flawlessly hits back the incoming bludgers with a strength only to be rivaled by his own twin. Flying back and forth down the pitch, doing loops and laughing, he looks back at you again after hitting the bludger several yards back and sees a look of amazement cross your eyes, your lips slightly parted in shock at the sheer talent of the twins. George’s smile goes even wider and taking a chance he shoots you his signature wink and speeds back into the game. Praying that he’d gotten the reaction he wanted.

Back down on the ground, you watch in awe as the Weasley twins loop around, hitting bludgers and laughing their heads off, you could kiss being a beater goodbye when the twins were this good. Your focus was mainly on George, his loops and turns were just so amazing and the ways his arm flexed made you blush. Continuing to watch him, he makes eye-contact with you and winks, before swinging his bat again, You smile and feel your heart swell. This doesn’t go unnoticed by Angelina, who comments on the small interaction.

“Oh what’s this I see?” she teases, “does someone fancy a certain Weasley?” Angelina continues a wicked grin crossing her face. “Don’t be ridiculous Angelina, there's nothing there.” You say brushing her off as the twins land, pushing each other around smiling. “I don’t know y/n, I’m pretty sure that wink was something.” She nudges you. Ah shit so she saw that. You feel your face grow hotter as a devilish smile grows on Angelina’s face.

George had just touched down. Wiping the sweat of his brow with his arm he nudges the boy beside him, “Nice job Fred!” he says high-fiving his twin. “You too!” Fred laughs back, bumping shoulders with George. Oliver calls up the next duo as Angelina calls out for them. “Oi, you two nitwits, i have someone for you to meet!” she yells for them. George can see you bury your face into your hands and he frowns. Was something wrong? Fred saunters over with George in tow and the two groups meet halfway.

“Well hello there Miss Angelina, you called?” Fred says as he approaches the two friends.

“Yes, I’d like you two to meet my very best mate y/n.” She laughs wrapping an arm around your shoulder. You blush and mutter a thank you to Angelina before speaking.

“Hi, it’s nice to meet you, you’re very great at quidditch by the way, y-your skills I mean.” you stutter out, mentally cursing yourself for messing up your introduction. George couldn’t care less in fact, he could’ve melted right there, your voice was adorable and your nervousness made him just want to wrap you in a hug.

“Thank you, haha y/n right?” Fred answers swavely before George could open his mouth, The younger twin turns and glares at his brother, what was he doing? “Yeah, that’s me.” You respond.

“Hey Angie, how come you haven’t mentioned little y/n before?” Fred teases. Angelina rolls her eyes.

“Oh I have, you two twats don’t seem to listen though.” She says coldly. Panic takes over the older twins face. “Oops?” Fred cringes. his answer coming out more like a question.

George decided to speak now while the other two were bickering. “You’re really good yourself you know, you’ve got a mean swing.” George compliments, your face lights up like a kid in a candy store. “Wow! Thanks George, it means a lot.” you smile sweetly at him. His breath hitches.

“W-wait you can already tell the difference between us?” he asks, trying to be nonchalant, but his voice comes out very excited. “Of course!” You laugh. “Angelina’s been telling me loads about you guys, and I’ve just drawn the personality to the person.” You giggle out. “Of course, she obviously can recognize the better looking twin.” Fred butts in puffing out his chest smugly. You roll your eyes, “Fred’s the confident and cocky twin and George is the sweet and compassionate twin” you explain with a smile playing on your lips. Fred opens his mouth in mock offence looking to Angelina for an answer, Angelina stares back at him and mutters a quick, it’s true.

George could tell he had to be beaming, you thought he was sweet and compassionate! He was going to burst with happiness.

“Hey Freddie can I talk to you, alone, for a sec?” Angelina asks, pulling Fred away. “Uh-yeah of course.” Fred follows slightly confused. Angelina shoots y/n a wink and George a look that said, don’t fuck up, as she continues to pull Fred away.

Oh shit she saw his blush didn’t she? Feeling nervous he turns back to face you and he can’t help but stare into your gorgeous eyes, tracing your adorable nose and perfect lips, he can feel himself falling. Hard.

“Lovely weather we’re having” you started, George accidentally cuts you off “Uh- hey, y/n how’d you like to grab a butterbeer with me this weekend?” he asks with a grin, silently kicking himself for interrupting you. Your eyes widen at his sudden boldness, but it’s replaced with a smirk. “Are you asking me on a date Georgie?” His face must’ve been on fire now, he hoped you’d think it was because of the try-outs. Godric he loved the way you said his name.

“I might be, what if I was?” he questions sarcastically. You grin playfully, you pretend to think it over, tapping a finger on your cheek. “I’d say, I’d love to go with you George Weasley and do this.” George looks at you confused as you walk closer to him, but it’s replaced with happiness when you wrap your arms around his torso. He was going to faint, he was sure of it, serotonin was coursing through him at such a fast pace he felt himself physically wobble. You step back a bit, not wanting to over step any boundaries.

Regaining a sliver of his confidence he flashes a charming smile. “Well then y/n what do you say then? Will you go on a date with me?” He opens his arms. You roll your eyes playfully and step back into his embrace. “Yes George I’ll go on a date with you.” you murmur into his broad chest. He hugs you tighter as Angelina and Fred walk back into your view, “alright love birds, y/n and I have got to get going.” Angelina pulls you by your shirt out of George’s embrace, you pout and say one final goodbye to both the twins before grabbing your bag and rushing to Angelina’s side, waving before turning and chatting with her.

Fred leans closer to the blushing red-head, “I take it, it went well?” Fred teases. George doesn’t answer at first, too busy watching you fade in the distance. “Perfect. It went perfect.” He feels himself grinning like an idiot and turning to his twin, “Freddie, I think I'm in love.” He says again joyously, “Alright, loverboy, let’s go get showered and changed so you can go hang with your little y/n again.” Fred suggests. George nods excitedly and grabs his bag, walking alongside Fred back towards the castle. Smiling all the way back.

George didn’t think it possible, but he found himself loving quidditch even more, tuning out Fred’s voice, he silently finds himself hoping he’d get to play quidditch with you by his side.

#george weasley #harry potter imagine #harry potter #weasley twins #george weasley x reader #george weasley imagine #quidditch #fluff #harry potter fluff #george weasley fluff #imagines

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antihero-writings · 3 years

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The Boy with the Unspeakable Name (Ch10)

Fandom: Harry Potter (and the Chamber or Secrets)

Fic Summary: Tom Riddle may have won his battle with Harry in the Chamber of Secrets, but there were a few unforeseen consequences; loss of Tom’s memory being the most obnoxious of them. Is it possible to stop Tom’s past from becoming his future? Or is the young Tom Riddle doomed to repeat his mistakes?

Chapter 10: Missing

When Harry woke up, Ron wasn’t there. There was only one day left of term, and his stuff was still by his bed, so Harry assumed he hadn’t gone home early, still…

The previous evening Harry and Hermione had stayed up a while, sitting silently by the fire, and the silence was far more comforting than words ever could be. When he went back to his room, he didn’t get much sleep that night. He knew he wouldn’t. And when he did, his dreams were fraught with snakes, and screams, and the color red.

When he woke up and turned over, hoping to see that Ron had made it back safely, and an empty bed greeting him…the pit in his stomach grew teeth.

He’d lost Ginny. He didn’t want to lose Ron too.

How much time had Ron spent with Ginny before someone came to fetch him?

Did Dumbledore take the Weasleys down there? Did they see her lying there all—?

What did they do with her body?

No. He shouldn’t think about those things. There was nothing he could do about any of it even so. Spending too much time thinking about it was only going to make him sad, and anxious, and angry.

When he went to the common room Hermione was standing by the window and—

And Ron was sitting in front of the couch, staring at the fire, his eyes glazed.

He felt a rush of relief at the sight of his friend. Just knowing he was okay—or at least there—was enough to soothe the thing gnawing at him at least a little. He made a move to run towards Ron but paused. He should probably talk to Hermione first. She could let him know if he’d rather be left alone. The last thing Harry wanted to was upset Ron further

“Well, there is one bit of good news.” She said softly as he arrived.

“What’s that?” Harry asked, wanting nothing more.

She pointed out the window.

He came to her side and looked out. Hagrid’s hut had smoke billowing out of the top.

“Hagrid’s back.” She gave a weak smile.

Whaddya know? That was good news.

“We should go see him.” He smiled back with the same weakened quality.

“Definitely.”

His smile slowly faded as he looked back at Ron.

“Have you tried talking to Ron yet?”

She looked over at Ron too, and nodded. “He…he doesn’t seem to feel like talking.” She mentioned softly. She looked at her hands and started fidgeting. “Percy hasn’t left his room. …And we-we don’t know where the twins are.”

The thing in his stomach writhed and churned.

“Do you think it’s a bad idea to try to talk to Ron?”

She shrugged. “He might be more likely to talk to you than me.”

He nodded, and made his way over and sat on the carpet beside Ron.

“Hagrid’s back.” He offered softly.

Ron didn’t say anything.

“Hermoine and I are thinking maybe we could go see him later. We thought you could come too.”

“Mm.” Ron grunted.

Harry, seeing that Hermoine had assessed the situation rather well, turned his attention to the fire. For a while he just sat there and didn’t say anything, unable to bring himself to leave his friend’s side.

“You-You wanna come down to breakfast with us?” Hermoine asked softly after a while.

“Not hungry.” Ron finally spoke, though his voice was distant.

Hermoine looked at Harry and bit her lip, clearly unsure how to proceed.

“Why don’t you go down to breakfast, Hermoine?” Harry offered. “Bring me back some sausages or something.”

Hermoine opened her mouth, likely about to say she’d rather stay, but nodded.

“Sure you don’t want anything, Ron?” She asked as if pleading with him to get up and go with her.

He didn’t reply. Hermoine looked at Harry. Harry tried to give her a reassuring, I’ll-hold-down-the-fort, look, but he wasn’t sure he accomplished it, as she looked nervous, and a little hurt as she turned to leave.

For a while Harry just sat with Ron in silence. Harry knew it was best to wait for him to speak; prodding him with questions, or else annoying him with answers, wouldn’t make him feel better. He knew from experience. So they sat in silence, the common room slowly draining of activity as the other Gryffindor’s went down to breakfast.

“You know,” Ron said a few minutes after everyone had left. “There…There was this one time when some neighbor kids…they bullied her.”

Ron didn’t say who, but Harry knew immediately.

“She came home crying. The next day we—Bill, and Charlie, Fred and George and me, I mean—were out for blood. I don’t know what we would have done to them, but it wouldn’t have been pretty. But…when we got there one was sitting there holding his bloody nose, and the other one ran away screaming when we arrived, smelling faintly of urine. And there was Ginny,” a smile crept onto his face, along with tears to his eyes, “standing there with her hands behind her back, not crying or anything.” The smile broadened. “Turns out Ginny had punched him. Mom was furious. Said we’d filled her head with violence. We’d never been so proud.

“She had the sweetest laugh.” Ron murmured. “Fred and George would would tease her and prank her. Sometimes she’d get upset, but she’d always shake it off. A few times she even pranked them back. One time they had an all out glitter war. Wish you could’ve been there. My underpants sparkled for weeks.

“…You know sometimes I think she was gutsier than all of us combined.”

He paused a moment, his smile sloughing off his face, his eyes traveling somewhere far from here.

“I can’t believe I’ll never hear that laugh again. Funny how that is. I never noticed how pretty it was before.”

“She sent me one of those valentines this year, you know.” Harry swallowed. “I thought it was silly at the time but now…” Harry bit his lip.

“Now you can’t stop replaying it in your head.” Ron’s words were cracking.

Hermione came back a little while later with breakfast—enough for Ron, even though he said he wasn’t hungry—citing that she tried to pick the best sausages she could find, and that she couldn’t remember what kind of jam that they liked on their toast, so she just grabbed them all.

When the topic of going to see Hagrid came up again, there was no debate, and barely any conversation. They were walking across the grounds to Hagrid’s hut before they could put much thought into any other options.

The sight of Hagrid’s face was like aloe on an intense sunburn, and they could almost convince themselves his hug squeezed all the sadness out of them. They asked how Hagrid was doing—he said he was a little worse for wear, but they couldn’t keep him away for too long—and tried to avoid any dangerous topics. When they walked back up the grounds, they did so feeling a little lighter, like the day might be a little brighter from here on out.

They were barely back inside the castle when a voice behind them severed that notion:

“Potter.”

Harry nearly jumped at the sound of Snape’s voice, not to mention the image of him materializing from the corner like a bat.

“The Headmaster wants to see you.”

Harry looked at Ron and Hermione, and they gave him looks that were fearful, sympathetic, and curious all at the same time.

Harry knew he couldn’t refuse, and also wanted to know what Dumbledore wanted to talk to him about, and if it was about Tom, so allowed himself to be escorted to the office. He could get there just fine by himself, but it seemed Snape thought if he didn’t watch him he’d just run off.

Snape was silent the entire time, but when they arrived, he spoke rather harshly:

“Let me make clear that I am not thrilled about this either.”

And with that ominous proclamation, he shut the door.

*****

Harry sat there, sure time had stopped moving. The clock on the wall had stopped ticking. His body had been doused in ice. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. Could barely breathe.

The whole summer with Snape. The whole summer with Snape. The whole summer living with Snape. Not just having lessons with him—two hours summoned straight from hell, as far as he was concerned—but actually living with him, in the same house, occupying the same space, at every hour.

Harry dreaded the summer, hated going back to the Dursleys for any amount of time, and two months always seemed like a lifetime. Last year he’d sat at the window dreaming of what it would be like to stay with one of his own kind. At this prospect, however, he thought he’d rather live with the Durselys for the entire year than spend even a week in the same house with Snape.

After what had clearly been a longer-than-natural amount of silence Harry asked feebly.

“But…” The words sputtered on his lips. “But-But why?”

“If we are going to make any strides at reforming the young Tom Riddle,” Dumbledore explained, “in addition to confirming he does not intend to make the mistakes of his predecessor, we must help him relearn magic over the summer. It is imperative that we have someone watching him at all times as well. He needs to stay with someone who is trustworthy. Who will not hesitate to act if he shows any signs of returning to his old ways. I thought professor Snape would be uniquely suitable for this job.”

Whatever Dumbledore said Harry didn’t think Snape was trustworthy, or suitable to teach kids of any age. Though he wouldn’t say the image of Tom hanging upside down getting an incorrect answer was unappealing. Still Snape would probably grow to favor him like he did Malfoy. Which brought him to his main concern.

“I understand that, Sir, but what I was wondering is why I have to live with him too?”

“As Voldemort has now returned in such a form, the rules for your summer arrangements may have changed a bit, don’t you think?”

Harry blinked. “You mean about me needing to stay with my aunt and uncle? That’s great! Then why can’t I stay with Ron?! Or…Or you?!” he gestured to Dumbledore. The words were out of his mouth before he could stop himself.

Dumbledore smiled pleasantly. “I am flattered you would be interested in living with me, Harry. But, on that account, I find it would be much more advantageous if you and the young Tom Riddle were to become…” He paused a moment, clearly being careful about choosing his words. “friends. Or something approximating the like.”

The word surged and burned down from his ears down through his blood, curling his hands into fists.

“Friends?!” Harry shot up, the chair groaning against the floor. “You want me to become friends with the guy who murdered my parents?!”

“I know I am asking a great much of you, Harry,” Dumbledore said calmly. “And if you think I am asking too much of you, I will understand, and attempt to discern another way to go about this situation. But please try to look at the big picture. For one thing, we would like to try our best to keep the identity of Tom Riddle between you, myself, and professor Snape—as well as a certain number of portraits and ghosts.” He gestured to the portraits, who crossed their arms and glared at him. “It would be rather telling if, well…” He paused again. “Forgive me, but your attitude towards him is not overabundant with kindness.”

Harry couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He was being asked to live with both the teacher he hated most in this school, and the young version of the literal Lord Voldemort, and it was all because of that very hatred. Because Dumbledore thought living with them would make him hate them less, as opposed to the answer Harry thought much more likely: that they would all come out of this hating each other a hundred times more.

“Kids hate each other all the time! I hardly think that’s something that needs a drastic remedy! You told him yourself he was a bully—it would be weirder if I wasn’t glaring hatefully at him! Why is this any different?!”

“You yourself know full well why it’s different.” Dumbledore never ceased his calm, cool tones. “This isn’t just any childish rivalry, nor do I think things will remain that way, if they continue on as they are.”

“Again! Why would you ask me to—?!”

“Because hatred of this brand corrupts even the purest of souls. It is one thing that everyone is capable of falling prey to. Kind people would never think of torturing or killing innocents, but hate, well…there is always evil in the world. And kind people struggle with the presence of this evil most of all. It is the mark of a good soul to be appalled by evil. However, we cannot allow that evil to infect our own souls with hate, lest we become like the very thing we are fighting so hard against.”

Harry swallowed. Whatever Dumbledore said, he didn’t much care if his soul was ‘infected by hatred’ as it were.

“If we intend to allow the young Tom Riddle to live,” Dumbledore continued, “I cannot in good faith allow things to go on this way. If you continue to hate him as much as I see you do now…it is my belief that you will certainly become the rivals you were always destined to be—or perhaps I should say, you once were.”

“What’s wrong with that? Why shouldn’t we be?! Why are you defending Voldemort?!”

“But he is not Voldemort. Remember Harry,” Dumbledore walked around the desk to stand in front of Harry. “At this moment the boy in the hospital wing is not, in fact, the man who murdered your parents. He is not the man who tortured so many. He is not the evil warlord, twisted by his own depraved experiments. I am not asking you to become friends with that man, nor would I advise it. However, he is a boy who might become the man who murdered your parents, if he falls upon the wrong path again. That is to say, if we fail to lead him down the proper path. I am asking you to try to become friends with boy he was before he became a killer. That boy right now is merely a boy like you. One who is, yes, a bit cold and self-serving, a bit too cunning and clever for his own good, but—though he will not admit it—who is also unfathomably lonely. That it why it is so crucial that we do our best to give him the proper guidance and support he so desperately needs. Just think about it. I won’t force you. But please note that your presence in his life may be the distinction between success and failure.

Harry slumped back in his chair. “You’re placing an awful lot of pressure on me, Sir. What makes you think you can lead him down the right path?”

“Oh I don’t have any delusions about leading him down the right path myself. As I’ve said, I think you, Harry, can lead him down the right path. And, most likely…only you can.”

“Why me?”

“Professor Snape can teach him magic, can try to discern the workings of his mind and if he intends to return to his old ways, but Tom Riddle has never been one persuaded to change by authority. On the contrary, he is prone to manipulate authority to his will rather as much as his peers—a trait, I imagine he will likely pick back up quickly. Hence why I have specifically chosen Professor Snape for this task. He is particularly resistant to flattery and the like. I would do it myself but something tells me his past hatred of me is not so easily forgotten. But as for someone who can be a more positive influence, rather than a disciplinary one, I think you would fit that role rather well.”

“If he doesn’t listen to you, why would he listen to me?! Did he ever listen to his classmates—let alone someone younger than him?!”

“When Tom was at school yes, he was surrounded by obedient followers who would not hesitate to throw themselves headfirst into danger for him. But Harry I believe you are uniquely suited to such a task, in no small part because you are aware of his past sins—or perhaps we should say, his future sins. Your awareness of what he is capable of, in tandem with your kind, resilient spirit makes you particularly adapted to helping lost souls such as Tom, and guiding them back to the light.”

“But this isn’t some lost soul! This is Voldemort we’re talking about! You really think someone like that is capable change?! Of compassion?! Of-Of anything?!”

“It is precisely because this is Voldemort that it is imperative we try. What would you prefer? That we stand idly by and watch him become the same man he was, without even attempting to reform him? We have a unique opportunity to rewrite history, to try again. I find opportunities of this nature do not come around twice.”

“We…” Harry paused. Swallowed. Not sure he should say what he was thinking. “We could…We could…get rid of him…Then the threat would be over…”

“Oh? But didn’t you yourself make the decision not to kill him in the Chamber, even when you believed he was still Voldemort? And have I not already told you my thoughts on the that decision? I, for one, am very grateful you didn’t. If you did, we wouldn’t have the opportunity we have now. Besides, we need not split young souls such as yours with such acts. Would it not make us uncomfortably similar to Voldemort if we decided to kill a defenseless boy without memory?”

Harry sighed. He was feeling less and less grateful for his decision by the day.

“I know it is a great burden I am placing on you.” Dumbledore added. “But it is also the greatest compliment I can give: that I have full faith that you could reform even the darkest of souls.”

Something in Harry wore out. His words were soft: “He killed Ginny.”

Dumbledore blinked up at him.

“I am not entirely certain that he did.”

He jerked up his head. “What?”

“Lord Voldemort, unlike with most other incidents, didn’t use the killing curse upon her. Instead, he used a very unique method to return to the land of the living, one that required a young girl’s life.”

“Exactly! That’s what killed her!”

“Do you understand what I’m saying? It required her life. Voldemort would have assumed this meant that her life was used up in the process, but what if it wasn’t? What if her soul was not destroyed, but transferred?”

“Transferred?” Realization hit him as soon as he asked the question, and horror twisted in Harry’s gut. “Y-You’re telling me that Ginny’s soul is inside—?!”

“It is my theory at least.” Dumbledore spoke as if they were discussing what to have for lunch. He folded his arms in front of him. “Whether it is fact, or nothing more than an educated hypothesis, only more research will yield the answers.”

Harry sat on the edge of his seat, thinking hard.

Ginny might still be alive. Her soul at least. Alive but trapped in the body of Tom Riddle. Hope and horror enacted a bloody duel in Harry’s gut.

“Do-Do you think we could save her, Sir? Get her out, I mean.”

Dumbledore sighed. “I am not certain but, considering as her body is already—”

“What if we could preserve her body?!” He stood up. “You know, make it so, if we could just get her soul out then…”

Dumbledore looked down, running his hand over his beard. “I hadn’t considered that.”

“Then maybe—maybe we could return her soul to her body!” He began pacing. “She could go back to living with her family! She’d be—”

Dumbledore held up a hand to stop him.

“It is a …possibility, but a possibility nonetheless. We must remember that this is nothing but a theory in the first place, and the prospect of preserving her body on the slim hope that we might be able to retrieve her soul from his body—if it is even there in the first place—would be rather a lot to put her family through.”

Harry was barely listening, his brain moving a thousand miles an hour. “We just need to find a way to get her soul out! There must be some way! Then everything can go back to normal!”

Dumbledore paused. “Before we make any decisions, I am wondering if perhaps we ought to consider another route as well.”

“What’s that?”

“Being unsure if we will be able to salvage her soul from its current state, I’ve been considering the possibility that the presence of her soul within Tom would grant him a level of compassion he has not previously exhibited. This is something which I have already seen exhibited during our previous conversation with him. While I am unsure we can return her soul to her body, this is something that, if my theory is true, is already in place. It is one of the reasons why I believe we might be able to reform him.”

Harry allowed himself to consider this a moment. The presence of Ginny’s soul within Tom…In some ways it was more appealing than simply viewing Tom as Voldemort, still, he didn’t much care for the thought of her trapped within the body of his parent’s murderer. It felt gross and wrong.

“I also must say that, due to her life being the thing that allowed him to return to life, I am unsure we could remove her soul without killing him.”

Harry wasn’t sure that was such an unwanted side effect.

Ginny was still alive. That changed everything. The prospect of living with either Snape or Tom made him feel sick. But both? He’d likely be needing a barf bag. However, at this prospect he felt a little more up to the challenge.

So he agreed to live with them over the summer, not to reform Tom, but to save Ginny.

*****

Considering it was the Leaving Feast, and he hadn’t done a very good job of eating well the past few days, Harry decided it was time to have dinner in the great hall. Ron could only say no to his stomach for so long, so he came with them.

When he entered the room his stomach sank. Last year the room was decorated with the colors of the house that won the Quidditch cup, but today they black, he knew why.

He found his place at the Gryffindor table and tried to ignore the questions fluttering around about the color of the banners.

He also tried to ignore the heat he felt as his back. It was as if he was being watched, but not just that, it was as if whoever was watching him could shoot laser beams out of their eyes. He was pretty sure he knew who it was, and sure enough, as he turned around he found it was coming off the potions master. He didn’t think it was possible, but Snape’s usual distaste had amplified tenfold.

He turned back to his food and tried not to exhibit that same distaste.

What he didn’t ignore was the sight of Percy and the twins at the table. Percy’s eyes looked just as veiled as Ron’s had, and he looked a bit green. When Fred saw Harry, he gave him a small nod, as if thanking him for his service, and George put his arm around Ron—something Harry had rarely, if ever, seen him do—and Harry tried not to feel worse.

After they’d finished dinner Dumbledore walked up to give his end-of-year speech, he said a few of the things Harry remembered him mentioning last year, then proceeded:

“This feast is a time for both celebration and loss this year.” He folded his hands in front of him.

“This year has been a strange one for Hogwarts. Throughout it many of you have no doubt heard the rumor that the Chamber of Secrets had been opened, as well as seen the strange messages and incidents that gave credence to this rumor.

“Well I will inform you, if it is not already clear, that the rumor is indeed true. The Chamber had been opened. And I thank whatever higher power might be out there that, for the most part, petrification was the only real consequence.

“I am even more thankful to inform you at this time, that the threat has ended.”

There was a general consensus about the room that this was a good thing, though the celebration was tinged with curiosity at what had happened.

“We can thank none other than Harry Potter for this.” He gestured to Harry, and too many heads turned for Harry’s comfort. “With the help of his friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger”—Ron tried to make himself look small, and Hermione waved awkwardly—“they were able to discern the mystery of the Chamber of Secrets, and defeat its monster. The Chamber will bring no more harm to any of you.”

More cheers and clinking of glasses.

“However, as some of you may have heard by now, that victory came at a great cost. Harry arrived as fast as he could, and fought his hardest, but—through no fault of his own—our dear Ginny Weasley, who had been taken by the heir of Slytherin into the Chamber itself tragically…” He paused now, taking a deep breath. “lost her life.”

The room was simultaneously spiked with loud gasps, exclamations and cries, and hushed as if a dampener had been placed over it.

“Those of you who knew her know she was fiery, brave, kind, and compassionate, possessing these and many other qualities that embody Gryffindor. We have lost a wonderful girl, who could have, in time, become a great woman.”

Harry bit his lip, looking down, trying not to let those words make his mind wander. He felt a squeeze at his hand and turned to see Hermione, holding his hand, as well as Ron’s, turning to each of them sympathetically. Ron was staring at the table.

“The heir of Slytherin had been working through her by virtue of a diary. Seemingly innocuous, she did not realize this diary was in actuality an object of extraordinary dark power.”

Anger rose in Harry’s gut when he thought of the boy in the he himself had seen in the diary, the one who had framed Hagrid, and lured Ginny in with that famous flattery Dumbledore mentioned earlier. He hoped he wasn’t listening now.

“Harry did everything in his power to keep her alive, and risked his own life several times over the course of the night, but in the end…” He trailed off. They all knew what it meant.

I couldn’t save her.

“Slytherin’s monster is no more, and the diary through which the heir of Slytherin worked has been destroyed. But Ginny Weasley’s memory lives on. Her body will not—as the writing on the wall so crudely and cruelly proclaimed—lie in the Chamber forever. Her body will return home with her parents to receive a proper burial.”

“Ron, you’re hurting me,” Hermione whispered, and Harry turned to see Ron relax his grip on her hand a little.

“A spirit like hers is not one so easily lost. Those of you who knew Ginny, do not let the pain of this incident cause her soul to fade from memory. Let her sprit live on in your hearts. Let the part of her that lives on in each of you guide you in your darkest moments.”

At this Harry wondered if Tom was indeed there, and the words were intended for him specifically. Though, when he looked around, he didn’t see him anywhere.

“I ask you not to pester the Weasleys, nor Harry, too much with questions about this incident. They have been through a lot and should be allowed to grieve in peace.”

At the painful, distant looks from each of the Weasleys present Harry wished more than anything he could tell them the truth of the situation, that Ginny was still alive it was just��a little more complicated than that. That he was going to everything in his power to save her. Yet he could do nothing but sit there silently, feeling sick.

And after a few more closing words, he left them all with the silence in the room, tragedy hanging over all their heads like the black curtains draped across the room.

*****

It was with a heart heavy as coal, a lump in his throat that hadn’t left since the feast, and the gnawing pit in his stomach that Harry packed up his things that day. He’d be going to the Dursleys first, still, but just knowing that he wouldn’t be able to talk to Ron, to make sure he was okay, and that he’d be living with Snape very soon didn’t make him at all eager to leave—not that he would be anyways.

He was then reminded of another boy who once wanted to stay at Hogwarts over the summer, and internally smacked himself for thinking that way.

It was a quiet ride on the train, too quiet. Even Fred and George, who usually never stopped cracking jokes, had developed an interest in their own shoelaces. Hermione tried to cheer everyone up by suggesting they practice disarming spells. They did so without much real heart--though Harry found he was getting rather good at them, even so. Still trying their best to enjoy what few moments of magic they had left, they then played Exploding Snap, and lit off the rest of Fred and George’s Filibuster fireworks. All of these things helped distract them at least a little, but nothing could fill the emptiness that threatened to swallow them, the emptiness that spawned from the seat where Ginny was supposed to be.

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menshusband · 4 years

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\\ this is a bit long. skip to the end if you do not want to read it all!

i love Cloudy because with him i would be free to keep a straight face, which others consider “unhappy”, and because i relate to him.

i love Joker because he thinks that what happened to him will happen to anyone who does not smile. not that he cares about others, but since i am in his life, he does anything possible to make me smile without a knife.

i love Bane because he knows what sufferance is, and has a kind heart, thus he would do anything to protect me.

i love Arthur because he is mature and serious, but has an awesome humour at the right moment, always. he would help me focus when there is need to, and laugh when i am down.

i love Benji because he is a technology genius. because he plays videogames and chews a gum during work, yet he is responsible. he is a bit nervous, but i do not blame him considering his job. he would try to keep me out of his work business, “it is too dangerous. i cannot tell you. and then itʼs top secret!11!!” ...but he would give up either to my puppy eyes or my stubbornness. he is definitely a bit underrated, too.

i love Chuck because he is fast. i am a pretty slow person, and i get called out quite a lot because of it. but he would tell me that it is alright, and he would take me on his back and show me what it is like to go that fast. if i liked it, he would help me become faster; if not, he would just let me have some rides every now and then. ... and then he is a dork.

i love Fred because he would make me laugh at any time of the day, in any way possible. he would have success 9/10 times. that one time i would not stop crying, he would just hold me and tell me comfort words, and tell George to shut up.

i love Hermes because he is really caring, friendly, chilled out, always has the right words, and he is fast. he would help me trip on my own tongue less, and would slow down his talking when he sees i am not getting much. he would give me a ride flying at an insane speed, just to be very unfunny because he knows i do not like heights. but he knew that i would like it and that would help me overcome my fear.

i love L because he is a very smart boy. he would help me stop lying completely, even for the small things. not that i usually lie - i actually hate lying - but i do not always tell the whole truth.

i love Lumière because he is romantic. i am not really much, so he would just be the nicest man on earth and offer me to dance, take me to beautiful places in Paris and to stargazing at night. and then he would also teach me french.

i love Marshall Mellow because, although he is shy, this never ever stops him from bringing to an end all of his orders, or anything he starts at all, whatever it takes. he would protect me in any way possible and take care of me.

i love Peter because he is fragile. because he needs to be taken care of, and i want to. i want to help him. because he has a trauma, and it will take him time to overcome it. and i want to be by his side all the way through it. i want to be his comfort anchor for when he wakes up from a nightmare, and he looks for something real to cling on in his bed. i want to help him understand it was not his fault, any of it, and that the spirits are finally gone. that he is safe, with me.

i love Sherlock because he is not an easy one. he has his very own way to think, to act, and i love it. i would do anything he would ask me to, and he would teach me all the things he knows - which are a lot. when he would catch a criminal and we would be home, he would feel guilty not to thank me for my help - even if small; and despite his bad skills in showing affection, he would call me and gimme a kiss on my forehead to thank me.

i love Stanley because he has been through a lot. kind of same story as Peter, but Stan is a bit stronger. i want to help him understand that he is safe now, that IT is gone, and will never come back. that none of that was his fault, and that his life still has got much for him.

i love Timon because he tries his best. he is a free spirit, yet he tries to adapt to his herd lifestyle. he tries to explain kindly why he thinks that he is not where he wants to be, and he always tries to fix his mistakes; yet everyone always sees him under a bad light. i relate to him in a way.

i love tin man because he is kind hearted and extremely caring. he is sensitive and, although he might not be the bravest, he never steps back when it comes to help someone.

i love Tulio because he is realistic. he is rational and always looks for a possible way out of things. he would help me solve my problems and teach me how to be down to earth and think quicker. he is very lucid, and despite how much he is attached to gold, he is always able to listen to his “little voice inside his head” and do the right thing. he is not insensitive.

i love Tschakko because he is brave. he is pretty smart in his own way, and protective as well. he is respectful towards women and always ready to attack someone or use dynamite, even when unnecessary. he would probably try to soften and not to yell as much as he could when i am around, knowing it startles me, but still would give me - kinder - orders to help me not to be too lazy.

i love Marvin because he is literally crazy. he is also really precise. he would definitely teach me how to use a gun and, as opposed to Benji, he would have no problem involving me in whatever his friends and he get caught into. does not mean he does not care about me– as soon as i get hurt, he will go insane and.. yeah.

i love Mickey because he!! is!! my!! childhood!!

i love Miguel because he has a big heart. he is a very human person, and a dreamer, which i really admire; not many people are able to. i love his way of thinking and how he stands for justice always, no matter what.

i love Ryuk because... because?? this is pretty hard to answer lol. he is funny, and.. a shinigami. i know he cares about me and would definitely have a crush on me at some point, but i frankly do not know how far he would go to defend me. but, i do know that he would be interested in anything i do during the day, both as human and as me myself, and would want to know what i want to do with the Death Note.

i love scarecrow because he is damn smart. that is it.

i appreciate Bobo because he is an adorable dork!! he might get annoying sometimes, but i would love to take care of him and patiently explain him everything. ... however, cannot deny that seeing him getting slapped upside the head by Tschakko or Cloudy would crack me up a LOT.

i appreciate Cooky because he cares about the others health!!! he always cooks healthy meals for them and does not want them to skip a meal. he is also a bit smarter than the others, sooo, a tiny bit less irritating..? lmao.

i appreciate Ralphy because he is so neat!!! Sunny is right, he is very nice!! his attempts to be a dwarf in the beginning were so adorable! i am glad his dreams came true and that he got to be a dwarf!!!

i appreciate Speedy because he is hilarious. despite he is a bit slow, i cannot say word to it, because i myself am! and then, he tries his best to stay behind others and help, which is nice.

i appreciate Sunny because he is solar, and always tries to light up everyoneʼs day. he always sees the bright side of everything, which i am.. almost never able to, so he would definitely help me a lot with that.

i appreciate CASE because IT IS SO ADORABLY SMART AND GREAT

i appreciate TARS because IT IS SO ADORABLY FUNNY AND BRAVE

i appreciate the Cheshire Cat because. he is a damn fluff ball, i would love to hug him all day. he is the cutest and obnoxiously clever.

i appreciate Gumball because he is just ridiculous, in a loving way!! he is the best when it comes to dumbassary and thus make me laugh. i am happy i consider him my brother :)

i appreciate Darwin because he is a bit more rational and sensitive, and without him, Gumball would probably be dead a long time ago. although sometimes they might keep me out of their “boys business”, i love seeing them sharing their unique bond.

i appreciate B. B. because he.. alright, give me a second. i ran out of words lmao. i appreciate the fact that he is vegetarian! and i love the brother bond he has with Cyborg. i am glad to think they would involve me in their nerdy projects. also, he would totally let me have a ride on whichever animal i would like hehe.

i appreciate Raven because she is so cool!!! i always wanted her to be my sister. i have always admired her rationality and intelligence. and then!! she is daughter of a demon!! she has super cool powers!! WHAT!!!

i appreciate Cyborg because he is neat!! he would let me watch him fix or create any technology piece he comes up with, and try to include me as much as he can in any project or event that is up!

i appreciate Robin because he tries his best to be a good leader for everyone. he tries to be responsible and focus on saving the city when the others do not! he is not very patient as a leader, but i cannot blame him. i myself am a bit too irascible at times.

i appreciate Starfire because, despite she might look a bit dumb, she is just a nice, pretty princess. she is sensitive and cares a lot about the others, and enjoys living on earth, which i am glad of! she has made enormous progresses since when she came here, considering she was already a teen when she arrived. and then, she has super cool powers too!!!

of course there are many more reasons why i like my f/os, but letʼs just say these are the “mains”.

i have made this long, long post not only because i wanted to give at least a reason per f/o, but also because i wanted to give you all a help. this is a good exercise for you and your f/os both, especially when you feel like you are not very close to them. try to say why you love them, or why you have fallen for them first, and try to include something they would do for/with you. this can help!

#f/o #f/os #romantic f/o #platonic f/o #familial f/o

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baekchelor · 4 years

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ａｓｈｏｒｅ[ix]

pairing: bodevan cash x reader genre: Doctor! AU, Romance, Angst, A tiny bit of Smut summary: After a fall out with your fianceé, and an opportunity to chase your dreams, you embark into a medical mission trip to Namibia where you run into self-taught doctor Bodevan Cash. Love ensues. word count: 4.7k a/n: I think you will love this. I loved writing this so, so much. This is the final chapert, BUT we still have the Epilogue to come. I’m opening a vote for my new story, if you want a Ned Kelly AU pls comment a 🥵below and if you want a George Mackay GossipGirl AU comment a 🤭.

❝the sea, the majestic sea, breaks everything, crushes everything, cleans everything, takes everything...from me.❞ ― corinne bailey rae

THREE ｅｉｇｈｔｅｅｎｄａｙｓ

◄ ｐｒｅｖ

Being completely, utterly honest, you were one of those doctors who suffered the hidden pleasure of actually enjoying Grey's Anatomy. Guilty as charged. Not ony our life, you've understood the guilt some of the characters experienced —Meredith, per se—when a phone buzzed loudly, the name of the person they were supposed to be committed to flashing on the screen, while they were trapped in dreamland and in the arms of someone else.

Empathy crawled over you, though, the thirteenth morning in Namibia. Over the bedside table, your phone spun over the fake wood as the ringtone chosen and reserved for Ethan and only Ethan, sneaked into your dream, grabbed you by the toes, and its claws were so sharp that on their attempt to drag you out, you jolted awake.

However, you weren't able to sit up all sweaty and scared. You tried to, but you were unable. The limbs in your body felt extremely stiff, heavy, and the source triggered the alarm system inside you. Someone's strong, perfect arms were resting tightly around your waist. Said someone, muffled and whined when you carefully freed your body and sat up, every inch of skin flushed red.

As things go, conveniently enough, it was almost midday, and you've slept curled up against Bodevan's frame. With the head buried on his chest, his arms encircling your waist, your legs mingled together... the entire flipping night.

Great. Just great.

The worst thing is —and it is shameful to admit, you must confess— the reason why you decided to answer Ethan's call that morning, was the fact that the longer your phone rang, the most possible it would wake Bo up. And firstly, you enjoyed the view too much to give it up. Secondly, the last thing you wanted was Bodevan to realise your fiancée had called.

By mere instinct, while you murmured a groggy Hello! to the speaker, your eyes travelled their usual route towards the exquisite engagement ring residing on your index finger. Then, right then, hell broke loose. Because there, right there, was none ring to be found.

Your eyes went wide, wild, and almost jumped out of your face when frantically, you introspected between the covers, underneath the carpet, across the floor only to be met with no sign of it.

Shit.

"Hey baby," Ethan's voice was sleepy, deep, and the obliviousness on it made your eyes water. "Did I wake you up, sleepyhead?"

Yes, he did, and your head is killing you.

How many drinks did you share with Bodevan last night?

How many bottles?

How on earth did you lose your engagement ring?!

"Yeah... It was a long night".

"Hospital emergency?" He pressed on, "You forgot to call me. I waited."

"Sorry, E," The apology means so much more, it quivers as you speak. "I was at the birthday party I mentioned before."

Bo rustled in the sheets beside you. Your voice must have woken him up.

The laughter at the other side of the phone, robbed back your attention, "Completely zoom out on that. How was it?".

"Fun, I guess..."

"So it was crap?"

"Yeah," you lied. More so, you didn't lie entirely. It was crap that you lost your ring, and it was crap that you snuggled all night with a boy who is not the one you're going to marry —and it was crap that if you're completely honest with yourself, you didn't give a shit about it. Because you were certain, almost certain, you have fallen in love with another man.

As in, with the man in front of you with wild pillow hair and piercing blue eyes.

With Bodevan Cash.

This was madness. Africa induced madness! Surely, this infatuation was a result of the miles-away syndrome. You haven't seen your fiancée in two weeks, and you have spent the majority of your days in the company of the uniquely weird boy.

But what if... what if the loss of your ring was destiny talking? Perhaps it was written in the stars that the sapphire engraved item wasn't supposed to be wrapped around your finger.

Fate or not, you needed to find it. You couldn't just give up on it and on Ethan. It wasn't fair, and you weren't that kind of girl.

In such wise, you cut the conversation short and hurriedly hung up the phone. Ethan believed your excuse: you slept in, and you needed to rush to the hospital for your rounds.

After you were enchanted by the fact that under a morning sky, Bo's eyes really did match, and you giggled and blushed over breakfast with him —you didn't share pancakes, you wouldn't do that to Ethan. The meal of choice was waffles and sweet but dark coffee—you two embarked on the exhausting search for the ring.

The starting point was the clinic, under the patient's cot. Then you searched across the beach, digging in the sand as if you were looking for seashells. You searched all over your cabin, in between the sheets, under the bed, inside the drawers...On day fourteen, you and Peera turned the teepee upside down, pushing furniture to the corners, emptying the shelves, to no avail. On day fifteen, you asked the hotel plumber to dismantle your sink, in case in your drunken state you'd washed your hands and didn't notice it going down the drain. On day sixteen, you gave up the pursuit. On day seventeen, you came to terms with it and gathered enough courage to break the news to Ethan.

Today, on day eighteen, you are ready. Or at least, you think you are. Bodevan will be here soon, like every day around 9pm to strum some chords on his acoustic guitar and then play that silly game you invented a week ago where either of you would close their eyes, while the other wrote medical terms onto your skin. Whoever wins, gets to choose dinner —and breakfast, because weirdly enough, Bo has been staying the nights. And he always wins.

Holding yourself, in seek of steadiness, you dial Ethan's number. The rain has increased, and you wish upon the stars it delays Bodevan's arrival.

Ethan picks up almost immediately, "Hello, you. I'm on my lunch break, so you're on luck today."

Here it comes. No filter.

"I lost the ring."

"What ring?" He's chewing something, an apple you presume. Ethan loves apples.

"The engagement ring."

"You did what?" He is not screaming, but his voice is sharp, and it cuts right through you.

"I-I lost it. It fell off the night of Danny's birthday party."

"I see." You know what it's about to come, you recognise the tone on his voice as the one he employs when he's aiming to hurt. "You lost your engagement ring the day you got wasted while partying with that excuse of a doctor you're working for."

"I was not-", you hurry, "I mean I didn't..."

"Of course, you did. I know you. I know your hangover voice, and I'm not a fucking idiot."

"Ethan, I-"

"Will you cut the bullshit?" he intervenes, "This is your revenge from what happened with Harper. I understand."

Your mouth falls open, at a loss for words, "Are you implying that I lost your ring on purpose, to get back at you?"

"Yes," he said firmly. "That's exactly what I'm saying."

Rage curls in your stomach, "Wow. Real nice, Ethan. You really don't know me at all."

Ethan laughs. He fucking laughs. "I'm saying this because I know you." None of you talks for a minute, and then he breaks the silence, "I'll change your flight for tonight."

"No," calmly, you answer. "I'm not leaving until I find that stupid ring."

"Come on, you're never going to find it." Ethan sighs, evidently done dealing with your stupidity. "I will just buy you a new one."

"I don't want a new one," you say, still calm. You've been pacing back and forth concerning the decision you're about to make. Finally, you've made up your mind, and it's clearly the right choice. "I don't want an engagement ring, Ethan." The rest of the sentence goes quietly, "I-I don't want this marriage."

He sighs again, and you can picture him resting his fingertips between his eyebrows, tired of dealing with you and your feelings. Ethan has always been a cold man, and for a while, you thought the only person he was warm to was you. Such a fool. "Is this your way of saying you're still upset over my previous marriage?" asks Ethan. "Because you said you were fine, but I knew this would happen—"

"It's not just that," you confess, in part, you haven't get over it yet and eighteen days in Namibia haven't bought you enough time to do it.

"What are you saying?"

Your heart grows heavy. You hate this. But you have to do it.

"I can't marry you, E. I'm sorry. But I-I can't promise away my entire life with someone when I'm not even sure how I want to live it," you confess, voice breaking.

"Fallen out of love with me already, huh?" he questions, the pain sewed to his words, further breaking your heart.

"I love you. I'm just—It's been hard, this whole thing... we being liers, you being married, me being here..." You don't dare to say his name, but you think it. Bodevan. "I don't know what I'm supposed to know, but at least at this exact moment, I'm sure I can't marry you."

"Alright," comes the response, always calm, always composed. "Let's take a break. We'll talk when you're back."

"Ethan—"

"I'm hanging up now."

Before you could retort, he hangs up. You feel a strange sense of relief, even though something inside you broke with the knowledge of what you'd just done.

It isn't entirely over, you're aware. You still have to go back, and you have to face him, and return gifts, and send apology letters to the guests. But the confession is off your chest. You didn't want to lie to him anymore.

As you let out a deep, heavy sigh, you glance back and notice that right at the doorframe, stands your very own sun. Now you understand why it's raining and cloudy; sunlight is trapped in your cabin. Bodavan witnessed everything, and he is watching you, warily.

Plastering a smile on your face, you greet, "Hi."

He rubs the back of his neck. "I would ask if everything is okay, but clearly…"

Shaking your head, you explain, "It had to be done. I can't do this anymore. Pretend as if I love him like he loves me and spend the rest of my life with him. It's not fair to him, or to me."

Bodevan says nothing. For the first time in days, he looks incredibly flustered, ocean eyes avoiding any sort of contact with you. You open your mouth to say something, anything, but then he steals the words away.

"I apologise," he blurts. "It was inappropriate for me to spend so much time with you, and even worse t-to fall asleep with you in the same bed."

Your cheeks burn in embarrassment, shame. More so, hurt. "What are you saying? All of that was my choice, you didn't force me into anything. Wh-why are you apologising?"

"Because I have this... feeling that whatever just happened," Bo hurries his gaze away from you. "H-Happened because of me."

If there was a hole in the middle of your room, you would crawl inside and dig your way back to New York.

"It had nothing to do with you," you half-lie. "Nothing even happened between us," you snap, coming off rougher than you'd expected.

"Right," he murmurs, looking away. You can't fathom why the look on his face manages to break your heart more than cancelling your engagement had. "Let's play something then. W-Whats your favourite song?"

"Sweet Child O' Mine."

He smiles, "That's my mother's as well."

Bodevan shrugs off his wet jacket. He clears his throat and sits on the edge of your mattress, guitar resting on his lap. You hear the soft sound of his voice singing a much slower version of the song, and suddenly, you feel at peace. Absent-mindedly, you pick up Bo's signature mustard jacket, draping it over a loveseat so it can dry. Right off the bat, something silver and sparkling drops to the ground.

You gape. Lying there, on the floor, is your engagement ring. Looking undamaged and pristine. A smile would have curved your lips if it hadn't unmistakably fallen from Bodevans's jacket.

When you crouch down to pick it up, your mind begins to spin. Since when does Bo have it? Had he had it all along? Or had he found it and not told you?

The mere train of thoughts makes you sick to the stomach. You clutch the ring in your fist.

When Bo strums the last chords of the song, and his soft voice comes undone in a whisper, he looks up to find you standing there, features betraying the long lost smile.

You stare out at the bay, avoiding the gaze he refuses to haul away from you. His eyes are deep blue, as wild as the waves crashing the shoreline. Confusion is evident on his face, brows curved in the sense of bewilderment. Right now, Bodevan is a doctor, trying to diagnose your symptoms, and figure out what shifted inside you that has you bracing yourself against the biting gale off the water. And him.

You tug the yellow montgomery closer, but it is no use. Only one thing could warm you tonight, and he is out of reach. You miss the way he fills the circle of his arms with your body, leaning down to kiss the crown of your head —it should be an Anatomy case of interest, it seems to be customed as the perfect resting spot for his lips. But it is a good thing Ethan isn't here now. What he'd find out would leave a bruise on Bodevan's face, and it would be the last hit to turn you into pieces.

Bo's eyes drop to his jacket, your fist clenched around the fabric, and his face falls. Dr Cash found the disease, and it pains him, of course, it pains him. He just figured out, the source of your lack of well-being, is him.

"You know," he states, careful. The astonishment in his voice doesn't surprise you, yet you can't explain to yourself why it stings so much. You’re trying your hardest to stay calm. But a lump has formed in your throat, your stomach has turned into a thousand knots, and you can feel the tears building up inside your eyes.

"Why?" It is pathetic, really, how your voice breaks amidst a one-word sentence. The tears are free now, streaming down your cheeks. "I know it wasn't for the money. Unless you've fooled me on your Maoist shit as well."

"A fighter for the rights of poor farmers and landless labourers, seeking to overthrow the state and usher in a classless society? I am."

"Then, why did you do this?"

Bodevan looks away, clearly weighing his options. It takes him a second, and then he is down on his knees, staring up at you with big ocean eyes, and your legs turn to jelly.

"I know what you think, but I didn't do this to hurt you," he grabs your hand, and you feel his fingerpads as though they were burning through my skin. He takes your palm in his own, urging to open up your fist. "You have broadened my mind, you've helped me grow. The way you've opened me up —you've penetrated deep inside me. Like if you had cut me open in the operating table and filled my insides with you. And I know I penetrated deep, deep inside of you—" he stutters, with eyes still wide. If you weren't as mad at him, you would find the pink streak across his cheeks adorable, and you would find inside you the box of tenderness reserved just for Bo and his peculiar self. But Bodevan made sure to close that box, cover it in tape, and carry it all the way down to the basement in your heart. "Not, not like that. I-I would love to... o-one d..."

"Bodevan..."

"I did it because I am an idiot," he blurts out. "I'm an idiot for you. I-If you'll have me." Right on cue, you watch him suck in his breath, wishing to take back his confession. Clear as water, you can see the progression of his emotions settle in the crease between his eyes. Bo feels impetuous, then bewildered, then ashamed by his own forwardness. He always does this, too many times before.

"No," you whisper, remembering...always remembering... Ethan. Bodevan's lies. "I don't want to talk to you, and if you care for me at all, you won't say another word."

His ocean eyes drill into you. Bo steps back and crosses his arms over his broad chest —God, you'll miss watching his yoga routine in the morning. But this is his fault.

For a few seconds, he looks at you strangely, wondering whether to concede. You stand for a moment, gathering energy, it's stupid, but it is taking all of you to walk away from this misunderstood unique boy. But is time to let your feet drag you out of this air-consuming cabin, away from Bodevan Cash and his perfect long hair. Back ashore.

The moment you storm out, rain drains all over you. It soaks you in a matter of seconds, but you don't care, you really don't care at all. You're angry and upset and feel as if you're adrift in the middle of the ocean, with thunders in the horizon and strong winds moving your ship from side to side, without giving you a rest.

Bodevan chases after you. Ever so careful, he clasps his big calloused hand, around your waist and guides you to meet his eyes. It's puzzling, he has never done such thing, on the contrary, his gaze is always playing hide and seek with you.

"I didn't tell you because every time your anatomy appears in from of me, I run out of methodology," he says frustratedly. "Because this love no longer understand of reasons or advice and it feeds on pretexts, and it lacks pants."

With shaking hands, almost without noticing, you let the ring fall to the sand. "T-This love?" you ask quietly.

Bodevan doesn't let go of your wrist. His lids are squeezed shut. "I'm sorry. You have every right to never talk to me again."

"You didn't answer the question. Do you love me?" you ask again, heart hammering in your chest.

"By all means," he confesses, chest rising and falling. "I-I'm an idiot who somehow fell in love with you without realising it."

Dizziness overwhelms you. You share the same suffering than Bo. This love doesn't allow you to stand, it has broken your heels. Even if you get up, you'll fall again into it. Even if he hid the ring, you're still in love with him. Even if Ethan returns, you would still be in love with Bodevan.

You've transformed into a thing that does nothing but love him —fool, blind, deaf, brute. Bodevan Cash rules your thoughts day and night, withal how many times you've tried to bury him in your memory, you haven't figure out a way to forget him.

If you could exorcise yourself from his voice.

If you could escape his name.

If you could rip your heart out and hide, so you don't feel ever again.

Maybe then, you would be able to stop loving him.

"I'm stupid, you know? I always want the things I can't have" Bodevan stutters. "And now I've ruined everything."

Your thumb brushes against his cheek, "You haven't ruin anything."

Taking him by surprise, you untangle his grip from your waist and bring his hand to your waistline. His figure grows very still as you pierce through his blue gaze, his pupils nervous. "I gift you my waist," you whisper softly, pink mouth close to his bruised one. "And my lips, for whenever you want to kiss."

Both of you, nervous as hell, can't believe the promises that are rolling off your tongue.

"I give you my delusion," you giggle. "And the few neurons I have left."

Bo doesn't react and says nothing for a bit. It frightens you, but you find comfort in the fact he hasn't pull away from you. And then, he hums, "I gift you my silence."

You want to cry, of pure and golden happiness. Bodevan leans closer, resting the damaged skin of his perfect lips at the tip of your nose. And you say, "I gift you my nose too."

"I give you my bones, even," Bo interjects, voice deeper, rough. He is breathing heavily, forehead pressed to yours, and your mind flashes back to the first day you met him, and how you have been like this, near the sea. "But don't run away from me anymore."

Bodevan lands his lips into yours. Responsive, you entangle your hands in his damp locks, luring him closer to your body. His lips are igniting fire down your spine, and you discern now why he is your sun, and why his eyes are like the morning sky.

Dramatically out of character, he doesn't hesitate when you reach down to pull his shirt up and off his body, your small, cold hands resting on his toned, flipping fantastic chest. The rain continues, yet, neither doubts to turn your clothes into a wet pile dangerously close to the seaside. Bo lowers you onto the sand, kissing patterns into every inch of skin he encounters, tracing the entire shape of your body. Never in your life, have you felt this alive. Every part of you burns under his touch and his eyes, and you don't fear to be consumed by the fire.

Eyelids screw shut when you hear yourself gasp. Your bodies have entwined, and you hold him close, closer as you ever embraced someone, his minty breath misting your ears as he whispers your name.

"Bo..." lazily, you flutter open your eyelashes and watch him in adoration. His jaw is clenched in concentration; his hard muscles contract and pull on top of you. Bodevan brushes your cheekbone with his fingers and kisses you twice before burying his head in the crook of your neck. His breath is staggering, hot and wild.

Bringing his face to yours, he opens his eyes, "You once asked what I loved most in the world..." You did. He answered, his siblings. "I lied. It's you."

As you smile, you recognise you're equally a liar. When he asked the question back, your answer was medicine. But it is him. It really is him.

The following morning, you wake up tangled in the sheets, a beam painting your face with pink shades as you remember why. Peacefully asleep and ever-so ethereal, Bodevan lies next to you.

Bo matches your smile as you kiss his cheek, your fingertips tracing the words you couldn't find yesterday, but the ones you're certain you feel. He's always been an expert, he always beats your ass, and you can tell he understands what you're writing with invisible ink across his back when he smiles, lids still closed. You love him, and although you can't vociferate it, you want him to know it.

Bo pulls you into his arms, "I'll wait for you. You have my words" he rustles. "But you need to go back to Manhattan. You need to go sort out if you really want a life in the middle of nowhere, with me.

"I do."

"You don't," he intervenes. "You have been here too many days, now everything is blurry. My dad, he—He never asked my mom if she still wanted the life she was living. And she killed herself." Tears run down both your faces, no matter how hard you're trying to stop them. "I would never do that to you."

You nod, "Alright."

Bo wipes your tears away with his thumb, "I will miss you."

"I will miss you too," you choke. "So much."

With one last look back at the boy with morning-sky coloured eyes, you step into the departures gate, taking a shaky breath as Bodevan waves goodbye. An ocean will be between you, and your heart drowns the entire flight home.

ｎｅｘｔ►

#ashore #ashore:three #George mackay #George mackay x reader #bodevan cash #captain fantastic

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trillian-anders · 5 years

Text

amor de mi vida - 1940

pairing: bucky barnes x latinx!reader

warnings: slow burn, racism, prejudice, fluff, language barrier

word count: 8497

description: Bucky Barnes is a sweet young Brooklyn boy, just on the cusp of manhood, a hopeless romantic that falls in love with almost every girl he sees. when he sets his eyes on a young girl fresh off the boat from Cuba he finds out how hard love can really be.

for @cake-writes 1940s challenge.

note: finally, i’m sorry it took so long! the next chapter should come quicker than that i promise lol enjoy guys

It was snowing, thick and blanketed in New York. The city streets hadn’t been plowed yet. Kids were having snowball fights in Sunset Park. They were pulling sleds down the street, laughing. The New Year freshly rung in, resolutions formed and already broken. Bucky Barnes drug his bundled up ten year old sister behind him back up the hill he’d just sled down with her.

“Y’know this would be a lot easier if you’d get out of the sled.” She cackled from her seat,

“How else are you gonna get some real muscle?” She jeered, “What girl is gonna let you bring her home looking like that?” Bucky had plenty of muscle, he told himself. He was no strong man but a few rounds in the boxing ring each week kept him fit and fast.

“I get plenty of girls.” The teen scoffed. The little girl rolled her eyes as her brother stopped at the top of the hill.

“We never see any.” It was true. He never brings any of the girls he takes out home. Never did. But, he thinks, he’d bring you home.

He’d bring you home in a heartbeat.

His own heart skipped, wondering what you were doing right now. Just as he wondered what you were doing every day for the last four months. He was working up the courage to go back. He was. And in between shifts at the shop and the few boxing matches he was doing for some extra cash, he hadn’t found much time to try to make it down there. But he knew where you were. He knew you liked him too. Maybe, possibly.

And that’s all that mattered.

He turned, hands on his hips looking at the girl with cheeks flushed red from the cold. Her little nose tipped red as well and sparkly white teeth smiling at him.

“Just because you don’t see any doesn’t mean they’re not around,” He say heavily on the sled behind her, bracing his hands against the hill. “I’m pretty sure I found the dame I’m gonna marry.” And Becca squealed as he pushed off the hill propelling them quickly down the side.

And as they tumbled down in the snow it was like God heard his prayers. A curl of your red lips and fingers clutching the fence on the other side. You’d found him this time.

His breath caught in his throat at the sight of you. Heels black and sensible, the peak of a well worn dark green dress underneath what looked like a brand new coat, matching green scarf wrapped around your delicate throat. Those red lips he’s been dreaming about in more ways than one. And underneath a darling hat were your pinned curls, tightly placed on the nape of your neck.

He stumbled and fell, sliding on the snow to land at your feet on the other side of the fence. “Hi.” He breathed, breath coming in a cloud in front of his face.

“Hi.” Your voice sang back. It’d been so long since he’s heard your voice. The sound that made his toes curl in his shoes.

“Te he extrañado. [I’ve missed you.]” He was a fool. He knows that. He’d never been this smitten. If the boys could see him now. If Steve could see him now. He’d laugh at him for being such a sucker. He watched you shift to one foot, pressing yourself closer to the gate, your face peering at him from over it.

“Have you?” You were coy. Your lips pulled into a smile. He’d be a fool every day if it meant you’d smile at him like that.

Bucky didn’t know what to say, “Como has estado? [How have you been?]” He asked, standing from his now soaked knees. He could do it. Lean in just a little closer and steal some love from your lips. He could totally do it.

“I’ve been well,” You adjusted your grip on the fence, “Nunca hacía tanto frío en La Habana. [It was never so cold in Havana.]” You tugged a perfect lip between your teeth. “It’s a lot to adjust to.”

Becca had been oddly quiet eyeing this interaction from behind. Silent. Studying.

“Have you…” He gestured behind himself to the sled that sat empty, his sister standing silently next to it. “Have you been sledding yet?” He grinned. You shook your head,

“No, not yet.” He leaned his full body against the gate, the fabric of his pants brushing your hose clad legs, fingers gripping the fence just above yours.

“That’s a shame,” He breathed, “Es la mejor parte de tener nieve. [It’s the best part of having snow.]” Other than picturing the two of you cozy by a fire. Feet tucked close to him, your curves pressed against him. He felt hot with the thought. “Come join us.” He pushed the gate open, you stood awkwardly on the other side. Your eyes drifted to the ten year old girl behind him. Her quick footfalls reminded Bucky she was even there.

“I’m Becca.” Her hand thrusts out in front of her at you, “Are you my brother’s girlfriend?” You took her hand but met Bucky’s eyes in confusion. He was sure you didn’t know that word.

“She’s my friend, Becca.” He turned to you, “Ella es mi hermana. [She’s my sister.]” He’d been practicing his Spanish. At first the guys down on the docks, the ones who worked in the factories there, laughed at him. They didn’t pay him any mind. But he tried. He was still trying. They’ve been helping him now with his pronunciation. He could make it there once a week at most but he hoped it showed, his effort. “Becks this is Y/N.”

A glimmer of recognition passed over Becca’s face. You stood there awkwardly, tense and unknowing. The Barnes’ have been in America practically since the first settlers. But truth be told they were once immigrants too. That’s how Winnie viewed it. In the Barnes household they typically didn’t concern themselves with immigration, but George Barnes once said,

“They made America the land of equal opportunity and then pitched a fit when everyone wanted to have a fair shot.” The family didn’t care that immigrants were coming by the boatload. They believed in the American Dream. For everyone. But it wasn’t discussed often.

Becca’s eyes were wide, she grinned, “I’ve never been anywhere else but here. Where are you from? What’s it like there? I like how you do your hair. Could you do mine like that?” Babbling you looked overwhelmed, the English being spewed at you faster than you could understand it.

“Becca, hold your horses.” Bucky laughed, he gently grasped your arm.

“She can be overwhelming,” He said with a comforting smile. His heart was racing. He looked down at your shoes, the little heels he knew would probably get stuck in the soft snow. “Do you want to sled?” He gestured at the old wooden thing that he was sure had been in his family since the beginning of time itself. You tugged your lip between your teeth once more and before he could help it his thumb met your chin and pulled it free. “No dejaré que te pase nada malo. Lo juro. [I won’t let anything bad happen to you. I swear.]” His blue eyes met yours and you nodded.

“Okay.” He could tell you were hesitant and he looked down again at your shoes. He looked back at Becca and grinned.

“Get on the sled.” She rolled her eyes and you squealed as he lifted you off your feet and carried you the few feet to the wooden toboggan. This was the best idea he’d ever had, he reasoned, your hands clutching his own coat in shock, your breath so close to his own lips it almost made him trip over his own two feet as he settled you behind Becca on the sled before grabbing the rope and making the steady climb up the hill.

“How do I tell her you’re an idiot?” Bucky rolled his eyes at his sisters question.

“He’s funny.” You replied. He tightened his grip on the rope, biceps and thighs working to pull the both of you up the hill.

“He’s stupid.” Becca laughed she leaned in and whispered something to you out of earshot of himself, but he didn’t care once he heard your peal of laughter. It gave him what he needed to push through and finally reach the top. This was gonna be the best part. He settled himself behind you, bracing his hands against the snow just as he did with Becca a few minutes earlier.

“Get ready,” He whispered hotly into your ear. His heart was racing. Surely he was a minute away from a heart attack. Your waist nestled against his hips and he hoped you didn’t feel the erection that was now throbbing in his slacks. He pushed off against the ground, the three of you screaming in delight as the toboggan raced down the hill.

Your perfume smacked him in the face. A sweet floral scent that smells almost like those peonies he’d been so keen to give you months before, mixed with something a little more bare skin. He wanted to press a kiss to the nape of your neck. Right where the scarf dipped and revealed your caramel skin to him.

It was over too quickly. You and Becca giggling in the snow, holding tightly onto one another as he admired you from his place behind. He imagined a future between the two of you. He imagined a little girl that was yours and his in this same situation. And he wanted it, he wanted it more than anything he’d ever wanted ever in his life.

It was a strange feeling. But he leaned into it.

“Did you like it?” His raspy voice asked you. Your eyes met his, grinning ear to ear.

“Can we do that again?” You asked. He grinned in return. He’d do anything for you. Even if it meant icing his sore muscles the next day because he for damn sure pulled you up that hill every time.

“Like this.” Becca said, spinning the twine around the stem of the flower, “Then you can hang it upside down until it dries, or you could press it between two heavy books.” Bucky nodded, taking the information in. Peonies were hard to come by here in winter, but he wanted to keep tradition. That’s what he’d been giving you since the start and he wanted to keep it that way.

He imagined himself bringing you flowers every week. A vase full of them on the kitchen table, always fresh and fragrant. The two of you sharing breakfast before work with them sitting in between. Your bare feet, swollen in his lap, you rubbing your pregnant belly as you talked to him about what you did that day. The flowers a silent witness in the background.

Becca twirled the stem between her fingers, studying her brother for a moment, “I really like her.” She said. You, she really liked you. Becca couldn’t speak any Spanish but she helped you through your broken English as best as she could. She really enjoyed the thick accent and had asked once again if you could pin her hair like hers, which you had eyed Bucky cautiously before replying,

“Maybe one day.”

It was clear to him that you were nervous. He couldn’t quite register why. Some niggling part of his brain nagged him with the thought. The reason why. “I really like her too.” Bucky replied, pressing a peony between the thin pages of a dictionary, laying a thicker English textbook on top.

“She was the one you were talking about, right?” Becca was smart. Very smart. Bucky was proud of that but also sometimes she was too smart for her own good.

“Yeah,” He blushed, wrapping the twine around the bar in his closet between his church suit and a dark blue button down. “She is.” Becca grinned,

“That’s another sister then.” Which made Bucky laugh. Becca loved her sisters, the girls were pretty close and did a lot together, but it was a fairly common joke in the Barnes household of the power struggle between the two men against the five women living in the home. Another tally against them.

Bucky didn’t mind at all. “Yeah, maybe.” He smiles, “If she’ll let me take her on a date first.”

It had come a week later, stuffed in the mailbox at the mechanic shop. He didn’t know how you’d found out where he worked but he’s pretty sure his surname slapped on the front of the building didn’t help. Nor did he really care. He’d had Steve slip you the dried peony two days before.

The small man waited outside of your work, Bucky around the corner and out of sight. You’d been leaving with your usual crowd, your Mother quickly approaching when the bloom was placed in your hand, Steve slipping quickly out of sight. The little slip of paper wrapped tightly around the stem loosened as you slipped it into your jacket pocket in just enough time that your mother was none the wiser.

You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen

Scrawled in practiced script.

Bucky’s heart was racing as he stuffed the letter in his pocket before running the rest of the mail to his father. He’d read it when he got home, the envelope weighing heavily in his pocket for the rest of his shift.

It was when he’d scrubbed his oil stained hands three times that he’d pulled it from his uniform, the envelope an off white,

James

written swirly and perfect on the front. His heart skipped as he brought the envelope to his nose. A floral perfume that made his heart sing, he gently pried the envelope open, a swift slide with the sharp letter opener across the top.

A picture of you.

Gorgeous and sweet. Hair perfectly curled, lips perfectly painted. Black and white, laughter in your face as you stood in front of a fruit cart in Havana. His finger traced your shape. His mouth watered with it.

The letter was more swirly script, a practiced hand.

James,

I hope this letter finds you well. Thank you for my flowers. I cherish them, always. I’ve kept all that you’ve given to me. I wish to see you again. The sledding I think you called it was very fun for me, the snow has taken a lot of getting used to but it’s a nice change from Havana.

I don’t have many pictures from my home. This is one taken not long before we came to Nueva York. It’s perhaps the most recent picture I have of myself. Thank you for being who you are,

Y/N

Bucky read it three times over, lying on his bed like a schoolgirl, belly down, feet up. Eyes tracing the picture of you that you’d enclosed in the letter.

You liked him. He was sure of it now. Otherwise why else would you give him a picture?

“Dinner!” His mother yelled from the bottom of the steps.

It took a lot of planning, coordination and Steve’s footwork to make this happen. Bucky checked himself in the side mirror again, the stubborn curl on his forehead refused to stay gelled back. He combed it back once more, hoping it would stay there when he saw you turn the corner, looking slyly behind you before picking up pace and jogging in your flats to his passenger door, he barely beat you there, yanking the door open and saying, “Hi.” With a soft smile.

You smiled softly in return, nervously, “Hi.” The door shut and he circled the car and slid into the drivers seat.

“I hope you like peanut butter and jelly.” He smiled nervously. He’d been nervously packing the basket all morning, taking things out and placing them back in. His Mom had baked some chocolate chip cookies the day before so he was sure to wrap four of them very delicately in cloth before placing them on top of the wedge of cheddar, grapes, apples, and two sloppily made sandwiches in a basket he had to steal from his Mom’s linen closet. It now sat in the backseat with a blanket and two bottles of coke he’d bought from the corner store.

The old clunker that had definitely seen better days rattled along as the two of you sat silently. This was the first time since the day you met that you’ve actually been alone. Now it seemed as though there wasn’t much to say.

Spring had just shaken the chill from the air, but not so much the ground as Bucky lay the thick blanket down. Your hands gripped around the handles of the basket as you gazed around the park. You seemed to be looking for something but Bucky couldn’t imagine what.

“Here,” He grabbed the basket from you and helped you sit, your skirt covering most of your legs in your position. You could feel a slight damp chill beneath you.

It was the first warm day of spring, the two of you really lucked out as you tucked into your sandwiches, the bottles of coke sweating between you. Bucky gave you a grin,

“Have you ever been to the movies? That’s where we should go for our next date.” Bucky took a bite as your cheeks flushed, his knees close to yours on the blanket.

“I’m not sure I’ll be allowed…” You spoke nervously. You looked out at the park, mostly empty aside from a few mothers pushing prams and smaller children tailing them.

Bucky brushed a piece of hair out of your face, exposing your cheek and pulling your attention from the others in the park back to him. “We’ll figure it out,” He soothed. He watched a smile pull across your lips and you took a bite from your sandwich.

We’ll figure it out.

“I’ve never been to the movies before.” You breathed. Knees almost touching as you turned into each other. Bucky grinned,

“I just took Becks to see The Wizard of Oz and my sisters really wanted to see Gone With The Wind so we went as a family you woulda loved Gone With The Wind,” Bucky rambled, “You’d love my family, they’d love you… Becks already does,” Your laugh. It stretched the grin on his face even further,

“¿Ya estás pensando en llevarme a casa? [Already thinking about bringing me home?]” You jested. His grin never wavered,

“I’ve wanted to bring you home the minute I saw you.” You felt your cheeks heat up. There was a tense silence before you watched him tug his pink lip between his teeth. “So what do you like to do?” He took a sip of coke, “When you’re not working.” You pondered for a moment, before running a finger over the swirl of the rose in your skirt.

“I like making my dresses,” You met his eyes, “And music… dancing.” Bucky sat up straighter,

“I love dancing, and music, and the dresses you wear.” You laughed, rocking back slightly as he joined you, “I like all of those things.” The sandwiches gone, the cheese laid out as Bucky carved an apple with a knife, handing you a slice before eating one of his own.

“Have you been dancing since being in America?” Bucky asked, laying a slice of cheese over his apple and taking a bite. You nodded your head,

“There’s a Cuban club in my barrio that has live music and dancing almost every night of the week.” Bucky’s eyebrows raised, “Maybe we can go sometime.” A hand met a hand, soft skin against his. So soft. Bucky traces his thumb against the back of your hand, his calloused pad relishing in the soft skin there. A shoulder pressed to a shoulder. The two of you sitting close. And closer, and closer.

“I work at my Dad’s shop.” Bucky said, his arm around your shoulder as you lay together under the swaying leaves of the giant oak. “Eventually he’ll retire and it’ll become my shop, but right now he wants me to start working on the books and fixing some stuff around the house he hasn’t gotten to yet, then I’ll start working more hours at the shop.” He shrugged.

“Have you always wanted it?” The shop. Your cheek pressed to his shoulder.

“I wanted to be a boxer,” Bucky laughed, “I’m not bad at it, I’m a good mechanic, but… I always wanted to go a couple rounds with Joe Louis.” The current heavyweight champion. You could see the scars on Bucky’s knuckles as you turned his hand in yours, the motor oil stuck in the corners of his nails from his shift yesterday that he couldn’t quite scrub from his nail beds.

“What did you want to do?” He asked you, fingers brushing up and down your bare arm, eyes watching the leaves sway and clouds drift across the sky.

You’d never really thought about it. You shrugged, “We were never given much of a choice,” You explain, “A wife and mother,” You lifted your face from his shoulder to look at him, his eyes dragging from the sky to meet yours, “Maybe…” His finger traced a stitched rose on your side. “Maybe I would make my dresses, maybe I would design clothes.” His hand drifted up your side to your shoulder, rubbing a thumb against your sleeve.

“You make beautiful dresses.” He agreed. You blushed. His hooded eyes causing a shiver to run down your spine. He lifts his hand to your face, cupping your cheek. Lips a breath away, the heat of your skin under his palm. And then pain.

A coke bottle, one just like the two empty ones that had already been stuffed back into the basket beside you, landed on your bodies. Bucky moved over you, his back in your view as he sat up and stared down the man whose arm was still raised from throwing, his wife standing behind him, both with tense brows and frowns.

“This is a family park,” The man yelled, “You’re not allowed here.” Bucky bristled, standing from the blanket as your heart dropped in your chest.

“We’re just having lunch.” Bucky’s voice was tense, scary. “We’re allowed to be here just like everyone else.” The man scoffed,

“You maybe, but not her.” Bucky looked back to you, your eyes downcast to the ground. Bucky stepped to the man,

“She can go wherever she wants.” He spat at the man, hands curling into fists. The man glared at you from over Bucky’s shoulder.

“Yeah, she can go back to wherever the hell she came from.” A word never heard by Bucky before tumbled from the man’s lips, but the way you reacted to it made Bucky flush with anger. The man’s wife screamed as Bucky’s fist connected with the man’s jaw.

“James!” You stood from the blanket, grabbing Bucky’s bicep as he went to swing again, the man stumbling back and raising his own fists. He slowed, turning towards you as the man swung his own fist, connecting with Bucky’s temple. Blood poured from the man’s nose as Bucky turned back from you and punched him again.

It was happening so fast, police who’d been patrolling nearby had come to break up the fight, Bucky and the stranger being separated. You watched them interrogate the two men, the stranger angrily pointing over at you as Bucky spoke from his seat on the grass,

“Y/N estará bien, no te preocupes. [Y/N it’ll be okay, don’t worry.]” Your line of sight was blocked by the officer stepping between you. There was nothing technically illegal about what you were doing. Having a picnic in the park. They couldn’t arrest you for that, what they could arrest you for was disturbing the peace and the fight between Bucky and the stranger. That was the fear.

“Take her home.” The cop spat, “And if you know what’s good for you kid, you wouldn’t bring her around here or anywhere anymore.” The hostility. The anger. It sunk like a pit in your stomach. Bucky’s face was still pulled in a glare, but directed at the ground this time. Resolve on his face as he stood, walking to you and gently grabbing your arm, and picking up the blanket and basket with his other hand.

“James.” You whispered softly. A bruise was blooming on the side of his head. A gash where the man’s wedding ring had caught. His knuckles were split. He sighed heavily, reaching the car and dropping your arm, digging his keys from his pocket.

“I can’t fucking believe some people.” He spat. “It’s ridiculous.” His eyes met yours after he tossed the basket and the blanket into the trunk heavily, shutting it with a thunk. You shrugged, arms wrapped around your middle. The anger drained from his face as he saw the tear tracks on your cheeks, the mascara you’d been wearing smudged around the corners of your eyes. “I’m so sorry dahlin.” His gentle hands coming to grab your elbows.

“It’s just how it is.” You mumbled. Bucky shook his head,

“But it shouldn’t be,” His hands moved from your elbows to curl around your back, pulling your tense body tightly into his. Holding you tightly, a hand soothingly rubbing your back. “I’m sorry that people treat you this way dahlin.”

The tears were dried and you pulled away from him, feeling the absence of his warmth as you rounded the car to the passenger side, reaching for the door but Bucky beat you to it. He opened it silently letting you sit in the passenger seat before softly closing the door and rounding the front. As he shut his door he looked back at you, you could feel him want to say something. “Do you want me to take you home?” His voice was weak and sad. It broke your heart.

Truthfully you didn’t want to go home. You didn’t want to leave him. In his arms you felt safe, but your Mama and Mateo’s words were ringing through your ears. His kind doesn’t do well with ours. He is fascinated by something new. Like a baby with a new toy. You’d soon be discarded and he would marry a girl who looked like him. Someone who was easier to talk to. Someone he didn’t have to stumble through his words with.

But he was trying. He was trying so hard. The sweet words that poured from his mouth making you drunk with love. How could it be love? You remembered a boy from the island, the one who lived four doors down who would walk with you to school every day. Your tiny child heart fluttering with his fingers brushing yours and him carrying your books for you.

This was nothing like that.

This wasn’t fluttering. This was pounding. Like hurricane waves on the shore. Crashing and ebbing and flowing. Consuming. You had a box under the couch. Dried peonies and the little note asking you on this date. You’d wish you could add to it, but after today you weren’t even sure if you’ll have anything to add to it in the future.

“Yes.” You answered. As much as you didn’t want to. You had to do what you felt was right in the moment.

Bucky’s heart fell.

He was back to not seeing you. And Steve was done with Bucky’s shit.

“What are you doing?” Steve asked him. Voice tense, snapping. Bucky wiped his hands on the oil stained rag in his pocket, not taking his eyes away from the engine of the car he had been working tirelessly on for the last hour.

“I’m about to change the catalytic converter and put on--”

“No Buck.” Steve’s pencil was posed over his sketchpad. A warm bottle of coke next to him, he had to take it easy drinking soda so his blood sugar wouldn’t spike. He’d usually drink half the bottle and Bucky would finish the rest. “With Y/N. It’s been a week since your date and you’ve done nothing but mope around and act like you can’t walk three blocks to go see her.” Bucky’s jaw twitched,

“I can’t.” He lifted a dirty car part from under the hood. “You shoulda seen how upset she was Stevie.” His eyes glassy as he picked up the new clean part, disappearing back under the hood. The soft rambling of the radio in the background. “I put her in that situation. It’s my fault for that.”

“You didn’t know someone was going to do something like that.” Steve defends, “How could you have known? If that couple hadn’t walked by--”

“Whose to say someone else wouldn’t have done the same thing? I can’t put her in a situation where she could get seriously hurt. That bottle hit me, but if it had hit her?” Bucky scoffed, “I would be sitting in a holding right now or on my way to Sing Sing I swear.” Steve sat back in his chair, staring at his friend.

“Sunset Park is growing in Hispanic population.” He stated factually, “Things will change, people will grow. This segregation won’t last forever. Not when there’s guys like us.” Bucky smirked at him,

“Barnes and Rogers knocking every piece of shit on their ass in Brooklyn.” He joked, “Home grown vigilantes.”

“We should go.” Steve offered, “Tonight.” Bucky stared at him skeptically.

“To Sunset Park?” Bucky’s heart skipped in his chest, as Steve smirked at him,

“Yeah, to Sunset Park.”

To this little barrio that Bucky and Steve didn’t belong in. And it was clear. A culture shock. But everyone who glanced at them didn’t bat an eye. Maybe they were used to interlopers? The temperature had just begun to rise in the city, but on these streets it felt like summer had already hit. It was at least ten degrees hotter here, the black tar holding that heat. Music spilled into the streets. This horn heavy fast paced jive that Bucky imagined was coming from the little dance club you’d told him about. Maybe that’s where he’d find you?

The club was hot, messy. Bodies everywhere. A dancing style the boys had never seen before. It was close, so close. Sweat lined bodies and rhythmic hips gyrating to a pulsing beat. The band was playing on a small stage and a woman in a tight red dress was crooning her smoky voice over a microphone with words Bucky half picked up.

Something about lovers. Something about a revolution. He couldn’t be sure. The woman’s words spilled fast. His heart stopped when he spotted the bar. Your hair was loose, spilling in thick waves down your back and pinned back by a red peony. A matching red dress, not tight like the singers, but tighter than anything he’d ever seen you it. Your cherry painted lips parted as you sipped from a tumbler glass filled with some kind of amber liquid with a slice of orange and a cherry.

He felt naughty, like he was taking a peek at you in a way he wasn’t supposed to.

He’d never even seen his own mother without her hair perfectly pinned and curled. The hair loose and free, combed out and he wanted to bury his face in it. He could almost imagine you so soft, so relaxed and carefree. You laughed at something the girl said next to you, but before his feet moved to bring himself closer to you Mateo came into frame.

The tall Hispanic man was handsome. Bucky could see that. His hair was slicked back and there was a tattoo of a pin up model on his right forearm. A little dangerous, hardly anyone outside of sailors had tattoos. It made Bucky wonder if he was one. If so… you know what they say about sailors. The guy would never be faithful to you. Mateo brushed your hair off your neck, pressing his lips to your cheek. And Bucky’s heart broke.

Had you really given up on him?

Maybe so.

Maybe this was a mistake.

“Is that the guy?” Stevie asked from beside him. Bucky nodded, sighing,

“Yeah.” He quickly turned and walked from the club. The air didn’t feel as hot this time. Bucky stomped angrily a few buildings away, Steve following him at a slower pace. “We shouldn’t have come here.”

Steve sighed heavily, “She likes you Bucky.”

“I love her.” Bucky emphasized. He shook his head, turning to face his friend, the club music a dull thump against his rib cage. “If she would marry me tonight, I would--”

“You’re so intense, Buck.” Steve sighed and rubbed his forehead, “You’ve been hooked on this girl for almost a year now, I know you love her, but you have to be logical here. She likes you too, I don’t know if she loves you, but she definitely likes you. I think she’s just scared.” Bucky stood, hands on his hips.

He looked over Steve’s shoulder, watching you step from the club, Mateo hot on your heels. His breath catching in his chest as you caught his eye. He watched your red lips part a slight stumble on your feet and Mateo helped steady you before following your line of sight to see Bucky standing there, mere feet away.

His lips pulled in a frown, hands leaving your waist as he straightened, pulling his shoulders back. Mateo was a big guy, but so was Bucky.

“I thought I told you to not come around here anymore.” Mateo yelled. Bucky watched you put a hand to his chest, trying to push him back slightly.

“I thought you meant the factory.” It spilled from Bucky’s mouth before he could stop it. Shut up Barnes.

“Bucky,” Steve said to him in warning. The jealousy Bucky felt seeing Mateo’s hands on you flushed his neck. He couldn’t stop.

“You’re a funny man, aren’t you?” Mateo stepped up to him, his chest almost touching Bucky’s, Mateo’s dark brown eyes locking with Bucky’s blue.

“What are you going to do?” Bucky spat. Your hand pressed to his chest, a hand pressed in likeness to Mateo’s where you pushed them apart, stepping between.

“Stop it,” You said sternly, “Both of you.” Mateo glared down at you,

“Los hombres estan hablando. [Men are speaking],” He spat, grabbing your arm roughly and yanking you to the side. You stumbled on uneasy feet, buzzed from the drinks in the bar. Steve caught you, helping you steady as Bucky’s fist met Mateo’s jaw.

A mirror of a week ago. But Mateo didn’t throw a punch back.

“You see this man.” Mateo pointed to Bucky, fuming, blood in his mouth, “This idiot you’re messing around with.” Bucky smacked the guy’s hand out of his face, the man turning back to him as you started crying. “You see, if you hit me you’re a goddamn hero. If I hit you I get jail time.” Mateo spat blood on Bucky’s shoes. “Stay away from her.”

“Mateo,” You called shakily. “Stop.” Bucky wanted to break his face, but you looked so scared. It was his fault this time. He put you into this position. Not the stranger. Not Mateo. He did this. And he wanted to puke. “James.” Softer this time, almost a whimper. Your glassy eyes meeting his, “Usted tiene que ir. [You have to go.]” He shook his head,

“Y/N” Bucky knew his voice sounded pathetic. But he’s so sorry. Please don’t leave with Mateo. Please. Your eyes snapped between his and Mateo’s before settling back on his.

“James, please.” Bucky felt like he was missing out on something here. Some kind of exchange that made him uneasy.

“Are you gonna be okay?” Steve had whispered to you.

“She’ll be fine.” Mateo bit, laying a hand out and gesturing for you to come over to him. Bucky wanted to kill him. Isn’t that what he said earlier? Sing Sing. Bucky watched you take the few steps on shaky legs back to Mateo’s side. The two boys watching as you looked at them once again before Mateo wrapped and arm around your shoulder, pulling you tightly under his arm. “This is your last warning James.” Mateo glared at the both of them.

The two of you disappeared into a building across the street. The one Bucky assumed that you lived in.

“Buck.” Steve started,

“Don’t say anything.” Please.

This time he stayed away for two weeks. Hands in his jumpsuit pockets. He’d left work early today having worked late yesterday. He had to do this. He didn’t have any time to change, hands still dirty, forehead with a sheen of sweat. The creeping summer sun didn’t help any. His car sat silently in front of him just in case he needed a quick escape.

He’d had a lot of time to think about it. A lot of nights unable to sleep, tossing and turning, cursing himself for being such an idiot. A hothead. That’s what his Ma had called him before. “So stupid.” He mumbled to himself.

It was embarrassing, but more importantly you probably hated him. The way Mateo grabbed you though, it set his blood boiling. He couldn’t help it. If a man was willing to put his hands on you like that in the street, he could only imagine… no. He didn’t want to imagine that. Fists clenching in his pockets.

Mateo would never put his hands on you again, not if Bucky could help it.

The familiar chatter, the girls were finally off work and you stepped out like a dream. Shoulders scandalously bare. The off the shoulder white blouse you wore was tucked into a silky powder blue skirt. Bucky imagined pressing a kiss to your bare skin. He wondered if your neck was as soft as your hands were.

Your breath faltered when you’d seen him standing there. You’d felt so embarrassed at the way Mateo had acted when he found Bucky outside of the club two weeks ago, but it had been the second time Bucky had fought to defend your honor and honestly you didn’t know how to feel about it.

He was young. You both were, but what he felt for you seemed so wild and untamed. You’d never experienced this before. It terrified you.

He pushed off the wall, his hands leaving his pockets. You remembered those hands, calloused, working hands. “I’m sorry.” He said immediately. You felt the eyes of the girls behind you and you wished they would just disappear, but they were nosey and you were going to have no such luck. “I was such an idiot, I shouldn’t have….” the two of you took a step in tandem towards each other. “He shouldn’t put his hands on you like that.” A chill went down your spine.

Mateo.

When you’d first moved he was a stunning prospect. Perfect hair, chiseled jaw, a couple of tattoos, and the ability to speak English. He could provide. He could pave a life for you here. But he had a wicked temper. One you’d found yourself at the end of more than once.

You shake your head. “It’s complicated.” You said, the two of you taking another step closer in tandem. Bucky started at you for a moment, before brushing his fingers against your arm.

“Please forgive me,” He said, “I never meant to hurt you.” Confusion.

“You didn’t hurt me, James.” You placed your hand on his arm, “I just don’t know what to do, I don’t know if we should be doing this.” Bucky stared at you with glassy eyes. “The more time we spend together the more people seem to hate us.” Your thumb stroked his arm softly. He placed a hand over yours.

“I’m crazy about you dahlin, from the bottom of my heart.” He stated smoothly, “No one else matters, I can take care of you. I wanna take care of you.” Marriage implied.

“James.” Your voice thick with emotion. The heat between your bodies severe.

“Y/N.” It was your Mother. Bucky stepped back from you and your Mother almost stepped between the two of you.

“James solo quería verme, eso es todo. [James just wanted to see me that’s all.]” You tried to explain. She held her hand up to you, ceasing you from speaking. She studied James for a moment before shoving her bag in his arms.

“Take us home.” She said, “My feet hurt.” Bucky looked between you and your mother before quickly nodding and opening the passenger door for her. The older woman slipped into the seat and he shut the door before turning to you questioningly. You only shrugged. You had no idea what she was doing or what she wanted.

Truly it wasn’t far back to the apartment, but Bucky drove diligently, the car silently parked. And he definitely carried your mother’s bag all the way up to the apartment. You’d unlocked the door, Bucky waiting for the two of you to enter before your mother turned to him,

“Vamos [Come on].” And he stepped in the apartment.

It was small.. Cozy. Vibrantly decorated. Pictures of family on the walls and a picture of Jesus hanging over the dining table. The apartment seemed messy, but everything had its place. The two of you stood awkwardly side by side as your Mother began taking food out of the fridge.

“You fix things? Yes?” Your Mother asked him. He opened and closed his mouth, looking over at you to see you shrug at him again.

“Yes ma’am.” He stuttered, “I can fix some things.” She nodded, pointing towards the tool box that Mateo had left by the front door.

“Our bathroom sink isn’t working,” You explained, “Mateo can’t fix it, and we can’t afford a plumber.” You looked to your mother questioningly, to which she gave no reply. Bucky nodded,

“I’ll take a look at it.” He fixed the sink, then he fixed the bedroom door that’s hinge was loose, and then he fixed the living room window so that it would actually open, letting a cool breeze into the hot apartment. He was sweating and as you and your Mother cooked in the kitchen the temperature had only risen. His jumpsuit was off of his arms and tied around his waist. The white undershirt he wore underneath smudged with dirt and sweat from his work.

“Here.” A glass with a muddled looking liquid in it. With first sip Bucky couldn’t place the flavor. Something he’d never had before. You sat next to him where he rest on the windowsill. “She wants you to stay for dinner, if that’s okay.” Bucky looked at your Mother’s back. The older woman was spooning something in a pot. He nodded,

“Of course.” A grin. He finally feels like he’s won this. He did it. He’s in. They’ve cooked him dinner right? His Ma wouldn’t cook dinner for anyone she didn’t like.

He’d never eaten food like this before. Rice and beans, these fried banana looking things, meat that was spicy and made his tongue burn but he couldn’t stop eating it. Whenever his plate emptied your Mother, Claudia, would refill it. He was grateful for the jumpsuit because if he was wearing slacks he was sure they’d be unbuttoned by now. He leaned back heavily in his seat after his third plate, taking another sip of the sweet juice you’d placed before him when he’d sat down.

“That was incredible,” Bucky praised, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Caudia smiled, looking between you and him. She looked at you before beginning, “Si vas a hacer esto, debes saber que no será fácil. [If you’re going to do this, you have to know it will not be easy.]” You nodded, looking at Bucky across from you. Your Mother sighed heavily, “Solo quiero que seas feliz mija, eso es todo lo que siempre quise, por eso vinimos aquí [I just want you to be happy mija, that is all I ever wanted, that is why we came here.]”

“Él me hace feliz. [He makes me happy.]” You whispered, cheeks growing hot. Bucky’s hand reached out and grabbed yours softly.

“Ella me hace feliz. [She makes me happy.]” He agreed, looking at your Mother very seriously. “No quiero nada más que hacerla feliz ... por el resto de nuestras vidas. [I want nothing more than to make her happy… for the rest of our lives.]” It was bold, but worked. Your Mother smiling softly and humming.

“Alright, now do the dishes, an old woman is tired.” She stepped from her chair, circling around to turn the radio in the living room to an ambling level, sitting on the couch and taking out her knitting needles. Leaving the two of you to pack up the leftover food and stand hip to hip at the sink.

A rambling comes over the radio which your Mother turns up, the hispanic announcer stating that the Germans had begun air attacks on Great Britain. Bucky stiffened beside you, his hands pausing in his drying before continuing, but much slower.

“Are you okay?” You asked him, he smiled back at you,

“Yeah, I’m good.” He leaned over, pressing a kiss to your temple. Soft lips against your skin. “We just might be going to war soon is all.” He shrugged, “My old man fought in the last one, he served his country like he was supposed to.”

“So if we go to war…” Your voice trailed off. Bucky looked at you with a strange expression before his boyish grin came back across his face.

“Let’s not worry about that right now dahlin,” He bumped your hip softly with his, “It’s a possibility, not a certainty.” You hummed softly in response, unsure. If that’s what he wanted to do you’d support him, you had to right? If we went to war.

If.

“I have to talk to you about something.” Bucky sat in front of his parents. The girls were already off at school, their chatter and yelling silenced by the closing of the heavy oak front door. Winnie and George Barnes looked at their son from their places. His father cleaning up the girl’s plates, his mother packing their lunches for the day.

“What is it son?” George placed the dishes in the sink, turning to sit back down in front of Bucky.

“I’ve met a girl.” He started, his Mother stopped what she was doing and turned to him fully, “She’s amazing. Smart, beautiful, she makes dresses and is really talented. Becks met her and she’ll tell you how incredible Y/N is....”

“So when are you going to bring her home?” His Mother asked eagerly, laying a hand on his Father’s shoulder. “We’d love to meet her.” He’d never brought anyone home before, he’d never even mentioned a girl to his parents other than school dances.

“There’s one problem,” He started, “Not to me, not to us, but…” This felt hard to say. He didn’t know how they’d react. “She’s from Cuba.” He said, “I met her last year, when she first arrived, but I haven’t really had the chance to get to know her until now.” He thought back to your apartment, your Mother softly humming to Billie Holiday on the couch, the two of you swaying side by side washing dishes.

Sitting on the fire escape afterward, your back against his chest. You’d told him about the beaches in Cuba. How you loved playing in the sand as a child. He told you about his Dad talking him to Dodgers games and his Ma trying to teach him how to sew. His fingers weren’t practiced enough for it. You told him about your father. How he died when you were young. He remembers pressing a kiss to your temple. To your cheek when he left.

His parents sighed, Winnie coming to sit next to George. “Son, it will be very hard for the two of you, you know that right?” His Dad said, it wasn’t a stern voice, but it was firm. Factual. Winnie looked at her husband and then to her son,

“The world is changing,” She started, “You’re not going to be the first couple to do this and I’m sure you won’t be the last… Do you love her?”

The smile you gave him as he stood in your doorway, his hands pressed onto the door jam above your head. “I’m gonna marry you, you know that?” He whispered.

Your eyes widened a fraction before you grinned, “I do.”

“Yeah Ma,” Bucky smiled, “I do.” The two parents nodded.

“Okay then.” George nodded, “I think we’ve got a bit of work to do.” He patted his wife’s knee, giving her a kiss before standing. “Let’s get down to the shop kid.”

“Invite her over for dinner,” Winnie brushed her son’s hair out of his forehead, that errant curl that never seemed to stay in place. “As soon as you can.” Bucky nodded, a grin on his face.

“Will do Ma.” A kiss to his forehead,

“I love you.” And he loved her too. He felt lucky to have his parents. He wasn’t sure if they were anyone else they’d be as accepting. Later he’d painted a sign for his Dad. One to go in the front window of the shop.

EVERYONE WELCOME

The backlash was sure. Bucky and his Dad didn’t care. They were well known and trusted enough to keep business and while they would have never turned anyone away before George wanted to make sure that his son knew he supported him with his decision. Business dipped at first. Men that were once close friends yelling in protest, screaming expletives, slurs. Bucky had to keep himself in check multiple times.

But George stayed steadfast. “If you don’t do anything,” He said to Bucky as they repaired the front window, “You’re just as bad as them.” And Bucky understood. They hired men who needed work, anyone who needed work and was skilled with cars. It was then that business picked up. They became busier than ever. And they were making enough money that Bucky started stashing some away.

Was it for a wedding? Maybe.

A house? Maybe that too.

But for right now, as he sat in the driver’s seat of his car, arm wrapped around your shoulder at the drive in he could only be grateful for everything that had happened. Everything that led him here. He could only be in this moment. The moment where in the dark of the car, while Pride and Prejudice played on a big screen two cars ahead, you pressed those rosy lips to his for the very first time. And he knew he was lost to this forever.

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#1940s bucky barnes #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers #latina!reader #latinx!reader #challenge #sebastian stan

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turning-dreams-into-chaos · 5 years

Text

Closure

*Not my Gif*

Post Date: 9-30-19

Paring: Fred Weasley x Reader

Word Count: 1.9K

A/N: I have no heart anymore 😂

~Master Lists~

~Harry Potter Master List~

“You ever been in love?” Fred asks as his head hung upside down off the couch, looking at you in the same position. You scrunched up your nose, turning to meet the boy eyes.

“Why would you ask me that? You know I haven’t.” You said with a chuckle as Fred joined in, making the small living room echo with your sounds. “Seriously though, why would you ask such a thing?”

“Just wondering. I was curious as to why you never got a boyfriend. You know you could get one.” He nudged your shoulder and you brought your hand to your face, hiding the slight blush coming in at this topic. “Lee was asking about you a lot last year.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing, Fred was really trying to set you up right now? Sure you could go out with Lee, chances were you could get almost any guy in the school but you just graduated, and now the chances of you seeing any of the kids at hogwarts we’re pretty low if they didn’t show up at the twins and your joke shop.

“Who needs a boyfriend when I have a best friend like you?” Fred gave you a small smile and grabbed your hand, giving it a squeeze before standing up.

“Come on Love, store opens soon and I promised George I’d get you there on time at least once this week.” He pulled you off the couch, bringing you next to him before you both apparated to your shop.

The store sprung to life around you but you couldn’t bring yourself to smile right, never quite reaching your eyes. It was hard to remain cheery and happy while your dreams were coming true if the person you’d dreamt them with wasn’t there. It had been nearly 6 months since Fred died, your best friend leaving the store to you and George to take care of alone. George was a mess. He hardly ever showed up anymore and you couldn’t blame him, everything in here reminded you of Fred, hell seeing his twin caused your entire brain to shut down. You felt guilty, your time with the Weasley family was cut down tremendously because you were too afraid. You were too afraid to face them and not break down because you might’ve lost the best person and friend you could’ve asked for but they lost a brother, a son, family, and you couldn’t help but feel bad for thinking only about yourself. Today was supposed to be a shorter day for you, George was supposed to come in a few minutes and relive you of your duties but time seemed to stand still as a little boy approached the counter you sat behind. It wouldn’t have been completely dreadful if he hadn’t turned around to his brother, wearing the same face as him and you found yourself staring a little long.

The moment they were gone and leaving you alone, you ducked under the counter, trying to calm your now rapid breaths. It was like that every time a twin came in, which turned out to be more frequent than not. You would clam up and suddenly the entire world around you yet none of it registered in your head until ginger hair entered your view and grabbed your shoulders, shaking you gently before pulling you into their arms. For a second you thought the world was right again and you were in Fred’s arms, but soon enough you realized that wasn’t him.

“Let me go!” You cried quietly into the once younger twins arms as he held you tighter, running a hand over your hair which only made things worse.

George knew exactly what to do from watching Fred over the years. He was like a guidebook that he could never open again.

The moment your cries turned to gentle sniffles George let you go, watching you press your back into the shelf behind you and wipe your nose onto your sweater. “Thank you.” You mumbled as George nodded, copying your pose across from you. Neither of you said anything, just staying in the comfort of each other as kids laughed around you.

“You can’t keep doing this to yourself Y/N.” George finally spoke as you looked up at him, seeing him play with his fingers instead of looking at you. You were about to ask him what he was talking about before he kept going. “You need closure.”

Your mood instantly got worse as you realized what he meant. In the 6 months since you lost Fred, you never once visited his grave. It was just too hard. “What about you huh? Don’t you need closure as well? I don’t see you making any move to visit him.” You knew you would soon regret the words but George didn’t say anything, just leaning forward to wipe the tears streaming down your face.

“It’s different for you.” He whispered, letting his fingers stop to cup your cheek. “He’s always going to be different for you.”

The first time you realized life wasn’t going to just wait for you to get your shit together, you were eleven. Hogwarts has always seemed like a dream to you growing up but now that you were here it didn’t really seem all that special. You were failing half your classes, Snape scared the living daylights out of you, you had yet to find the people you would fit in with, and Gryffindor truly didn’t seem like the house you fit into. You were always more of a shy girl, everyone called you a mouse since you could talk because you never really did, brave and daring were just two words you’d never use to describe yourself. So far the only thing you managed to do was get detention for staying up too late in the library studying and getting caught by Snape on your way back. You tried to convince him to just let you go but instead he took 50 points from Gryffindor which had increased due to your persistence further damning you to solitude in your house. No one really liked the out of place first year losing 50 points in one night.

You sat alone for what seemed like the millionth time that month in the Great Hall before the spot across from you became occupied by a ginger haired first year you’d seen quite a bit through out hogwarts. “Umm... hi?” You said, hoping that this awkwardness would be put to rest soon. The boy just gave you a cheeky smile and stuck his hand out.

“I’m Fred. I’ve seen you around, you don’t talk much.” He seemed so cheery that you couldn’t help but smile a little, letting your hair fall into your face but Fred wasn’t having it. He pushed the hair behind your ear, revealing your Y/E/C orbs he just stared into. It didn’t last long before another boy came up behind him, making you do a double take at the fact they were twins. That’s why you saw them so much.

Fred introduced his brother to you and from that day forward he made it his mission to crack your shell, bringing out the girl he grew fond of over the years. It only took him 5 years to get you to show your true self to everyone else at hogwarts instead of keeping it inside you for only Fred and sometimes George to get glimpses of. Fred wanted the whole world to see what made you special, but the moment he did he hated it. Boys suddenly started finding you more and more interesting and Fred got worried, yet you never made any move to get with them. You never had any interest in people who only found you worth it when you changed what you showed them, you preferred people who put in the work and who would love you regardless.

The air was a lot thicker than you thought it would be as you stood right in front of the grave you had been avoiding for the better half of a year. A bag of dung bombs was in your hands, they seemed to better fit Fred more than flowers but now you couldn’t help but feel stupid as you held them because how was he supposed to know you brought him this instead of flowers.

“Hi Freddie.” You whispered as you fell to your knees, tears slowly making their way into your vision but you held strong. “I’m lost without you.” You said, jumping right into the hard stuff. You fought the battle with your tears as they plummeted to the ground, wetting your cheeks along the way. “Do you remember that day you asked me...” you swallowed and took a big breath, trying to keep your words from coming out cracking. “Do you remember that day you asked me if I had ever been in love?” You asked even though you knew he couldn’t answer. Your hand found the ground, the only way you could feel like you were holding his before you continued.

“Merlin, I mean what do I say?” You let your eyes close and laid the dung bombs by the top of the grave, sighing as read his name over and over again. “What do you say to the man you love? The man you’ll never be able to see again? What do you say except goodbye?”

You could of sworn your heart broke a little more at your words, finally feeling the full affect the boy had on you. “I love you Fred Weasley.”

It was like the sky could sense your emotions because the moment you got the words out, rain started to fall and yet you made no motion to move, letting the cold water cover your skin because maybe you’d finally feel something.

Maybe you’d finally feel something besides the heartbreak. “I love you Freddie. I love you and I never even found the courage to tell you before I lost you. I-I Lost you.” You couldn’t tell the tears from rain at this point but you didn’t care. All you wanted to do was just curl up in a ball and sleep away the pain, sleep away the memories and hope that you would wake up and Fred would be there sleeping next to you after you showed up to his house unexpectedly and Molly would give you a big hug and tell you that you were always welcomed here and Fred would agree, wrapping his arms around your waist and putting his chin onto your head. You wished you could go back to when Fred asked you to the Yule ball and he spent the entire night making you blush and laugh. You wished you wouldn’t have wasted your time and just kissed him then and there. You wished more than anything that Fred was back in your arms, whispering a stupid joke just to see your smile once again before lifting you onto his back and jumping around the burrow. You wished you had been there to get him out of the way of the building falling on him because living without the one you love was worse than death. But George was right. Closure did make it a little better. At least now you told Fred the truth, even if he wasn’t alive to hear it.

Thoughts?

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schreibfeather · 5 years

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Dreams of Today 13

Characters: Haley Potter (femHarry), Draco Malfoy, Luna Lovegood, Hermione Granger, Neville Longbottom, Ron Weasley, Rating: T Genre: Friendship/Romance, Angst, Fluff, Slow Burn Summary: Number one: Malfoy was a git. Nothing new there. Number two: He was an arrogant, annoying, little ferret. Number three: He used every chance he got to humiliate her and – and… that wasn’t right. Last year… at the Yule Ball… he had been acting surprisingly nice toward her. To be fair, Malfoy had also spent a big part of that night annoying the hell out of her… but… he’d also been… really sweet.. … Sequel to Songs of Yesterday. Haley Potter still has nightmares about that night at the graveyard. But is the nightmare really over? Luckily she has her friends to keep her from worrying too much. Her friends and… a certain Slytherin that is really bad at pretending he hates her.

Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 (link to masterlist)

13 – A Christmas Revelation

In the end Haley didn't receive a present from Malfoy after all. She didn't even see him again before the start of the holidays. It wasn't too bad because she hadn't come up with an idea for a present in time. But of course the circumstances surrounding her early return to Grimmauld Place didn't provide much reason for cheerfulness. Mr Weasley had been attacked by a snake and was now resting at St. Mungo's. She had visited him along with the other Weasleys and now it looked as though he was going to be discharged in a few more days.

"Ah! So this is how you make a heel!" Hermione exclaimed, triumphantly. Haley turned her head to see what had caused her friend to say something so strange. The other girl was sitting by the fireplace with Mrs Weasley who was apparently giving her knitting tips.

"It's really not that hard once you know how to do it," Mrs Weasley replied warmly. She looked up from her needles and caught Haley watching them.

"Come sit with us, dear. The knitting is really relaxing," the older witch invited her.

"I don't know," she said slowly, "I've never really done this before."

"You should try it, Haley. It's so much fun!" Hermione agreed. Haley looked at the needles that were soaring in mid-air and slowly creating a hat or a sock or –

"Gloves!" She burst out, suddenly hit with an idea. "Can you teach me how to make gloves?" The raven-haired girl asked excitedly.

Mrs Weasley frowned. "A bit difficult for the beginning..." She tilted her head left and right thoughtfully. "But I guess it could work. Have a seat, dear." A kind smile formed on the woman's face as she patted the seat next to her. At once Haley was handed a pair of needles and a ball of bright red wool.

"I'm afraid you'll have to learn the basics without magic first. But once you've got it I'll show you a helpful spell that will make you work faster."

She started knitting simple rows at first then experimented with different patterns and after a while she found that Hermione was right. Knitting was fun. And oddly relaxing. And now she finally had an idea what she could give Malfoy for Christmas. She grinned to herself, thinking of his pale hands that were always so cold.

Before dinner Haley went up to the room she shared with Ginny and Hermione and jotted down a few lines on a piece of paper. She folded it up, scribbled the name Luna Lovegood across the top and gave the letter to Hedwig. She couldn't wait to find out what Luna thought of her idea.

…

As it turned out Haley didn't have to wait long for an answer. The following day just when she was about to go downstairs for dinner Hedwig soared in through the window with a small package attached to her leg.

"Hedwig!" Haley exclaimed, walking over to her owl and stroking her feathers, before loosening the string that kept the package in place. After filling some more treats into the bowl inside Hedwig's cage, she tore open the package in a swift move. There was a brightly coloured card on top that said Get well soon!. Haley smiled fondly. Then she found a folded up piece of paper that had her own name on top. She opened it and began to read.

Dear Haley,

Thank you for your letter! How is Mr Weasley? Is it true he's been attacked inside the Ministry of Magic?

I think gloves are an excellent idea! I'm sure our friend will like his present! Dad and I went into town today to do some Christmas shopping. We always end up doing that in the last possible second. I found something nice for you, Ginny, Ron and Hermione. Hopefully you will like it. And I also went to a wool shop where they had all kinds of wool. I found some really soft wool. From a yeti. It's said to keep the hands extra warm. Maybe you could use it for your present?

I'm already looking forward to seeing all of you again.

Merry Christmas!

Luna

Along with the letter there were a ball of light blue wool and four small boxes inside the package. Haley felt warmth surge up inside her chest. Luna was such a sweet girl. Placing the ball of wool and her letter on top of her bed, she picked up the Get well soon! card and made her way down to the kitchen.

"What took you so long?" Hermione asked, when Haley sat down next to her.

"Hedwig brought a package,"she replied, reaching for a plate with mashed potatoes.

"A package?" She asked. "From whom?"

"Luna," she answered with a shrug. "She also sent this 'Get well soon!' card. Isn't that sweet?"

"Luna did?" Ginny asked, from the seat next to Hermione's. Haley nodded, making to hand over the card to the younger girl. But before she could take it it was intercepted by Ron.

"Hey!" Ginny complained, reaching for the brightly coloured card.

""Dear, Ginny, Ron, George, Fred and everyone else,"" Ron started to read out loud. ""How are you? One of daddy's co-workers saw Mr Weasley at St Mungo's last week. I didn't know he was sick! He told me that one of his arms is injured. I really hope it's not too bad. There is this herb called armwell that I found at Healing Herbs' (That's a lovely little shop near our town!). The shop attendant said if you make tea with it or rub it onto the skin it will heal any injuries located on the arm. It's inside the little pouch attached to the card.""

Ron turned the card over and indeed there was a small violet pouch dangling from the corner of it. "Does she mean this?" He murmured, turning the card around again, before he continued to read. ""Perhaps Mr Weasley could try it? Hopefully he'll get better soon. I'm looking forward to seeing you again after the holidays! Merry Christmas to all of you! Luna."" Ron turned the card over once more and looked at the image. He chuckled lightly, shaking his head. "Did she draw this herself?" He mumbled, still smiling softly.

That's when Ginny reached across the table and finally snatched the card away from him in order to look at the image. It really was a drawing. A drawing of a man with red hair, sitting in a bed with something that looked like a bandage around his arm. Was this supposed to be Mr Weasley? The expression on the man's face seemed rather glum. But there was something in his hand – a mug? – and after he took a sip from it there suddenly appeared a big smile on his face. And the whole card lit up with colours and glitter. Haley snorted. This was a bit much. But also really sweet. Now she felt bad that she hadn't even thought about getting Luna a present for Christmas. Right. Presents!

"Oh, before I forget," she said. "Luna sent presents, too."

"Presents?" Ron perked up. He was always so eager where presents were concerned. Presents and food. It was really easy to make the boy happy.

"Yes. For me, Ginny, Hermione and you. They're upstairs." she confirmed.

"Awesome," Ron beamed, happily scooping up a spoonful of peas. When Haley turned to Hermione she noticed her friend's brows were furrowed like she was deep in thought. Her gaze was fixed on the card, lying next to Ginny's glass. Then she looked up at her, meeting her eyes. Unspoken questions were swirling behind her brown orbs. But with a shock Haley realised that it was almost too easy to guess what made Hermione this suspicious.

'Why does Luna send you a package all of a sudden? Why does she send us presents when she barely even knows us? And why has it been your owl, Hedwig, who brought the package?'

Haley tried to look as clueless as possible. Like she was asking herself the same questions. All the while fearing that her friend looked right through her.

…

Christmas morning was astoundingly similar to the previous Christmases she had experienced at Hogwarts. At some point Ron had burst into the room that Haley shared with Hermione and Ginny without knocking, causing Hermione to throw a pillow at him and hide behind her blankets. Haley carelessly rummaged around her trunk in search for a jumper. After Hermione put on a violet cardigan the boy was allowed back in. Ginny rolled her eyes on her bed in the corner. Usually, they compared their presents in the common room.

"So, what'd you get this year?" Ron asked, plopping down at the end of Haley's bed, barely missing her presents.

"Oh, the usual," Haley answered. "Lots of sweets, books, a brand new Weasley jumper," she laughed, holding up a bottle green jumper with a golden H in the middle. "By the way, thank you for those," she said, pointing at a huge pack of Bertie Bott's Beans.

"No problem," he said, grinning lazily. "Oh, you got one of those, too?" He exclaimed, pointing at the homework planner Hermione had got her. She nodded. "And thanks for that Broom Compass. It's amazing. I can't wait to try it out!" he blabbered on, while he sifted through her mount of presents.

"What's that?" He asked all of a sudden, holding up a tiny doll, made out of clay. It had a blank face and was no bigger than her hand.

"I'm not sure," she replied, thoughtfully, "I go it from Luna. Maybe it's a lucky charm or something? I'll ask her about it once we're back at school."

"Look, there's something written beneath the feet," Ron noticed, turning the doll upside down. And sure enough, in dwarfish letters there were two phrases engraved into each foot.

"The golem carries a valuable charm. Protects its master from terrible harm."

"How curious. Do you think it's enchanted?" She asked, holding the script close to her eyes.

"Dunno. Never heard of something like this before. Maybe it's just a weird old figure," he replied with a shrug. "You know, I also got something weird from her. Here." He presented something thin and long that reminded her of a fork from the pocket of his pyjama top. "At first I thought it was some kind of fork but… it's got only two prongs. And it doesn't even really look like a fork so…" He shrugged. Haley took the fork from his fingers and examined it for a moment. It was made from some kind of metal but apart from that she had no idea what it could be.

"It's a tuning fork," Hermione informed them, she had walked over from her bed and sunk to her knees on the carpet in front of Haley's bed. There was an amused grin on her face.

"A tuning fork?" Ron questioned. "What's that?"

"It's used by musicians. To help them with tuning their instruments. I used to play the clarinet when I was younger. I never used one myself but there was a picture of such a fork in one of my theory books."

Ron looked more than a little confused. "But… I'm not a musician? Why would I need a tuning fork?"

"I guess, that's something for you to think about," Hermione advised, raising an eyebrow and sharing a grin with Haley. "Perhaps she thinks you're out of tune with your environment."

The boy looked back and forth between his two friends, frowning. "I don't get it." He mumbled dejectedly, making Hermione burst into uncontrollable giggles. Haley chuckled as well, wondering whether the present was hinting at his lack of tactfulness. The moment was disrupted by two loud cracks coming from the open door.

"How mean of you to have a laugh without us," Fred remarked in mock-offence. George followed him into the room, both of them wearing mischievous grins.

"Yeah, what's so funny that even our Hermione is in stitches?" George wanted to know.

Fred stopped at Ginny's bed, which was opposite Haley's and looked at something in his sister's hands.

"What's that?" He asked, pointing at the small white thing curiously. All eyes turned to the red-haired girl. "Don't know," she replied. "I found it lying on the ground."

"You sure about that?" Fred asked, snatching the thing from her hands in a quick move. "I bet you got it from one of your admirers." He teased with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

"It's not mine," she insisted, crossing her arms in front of her chest defiantly. She was right. In that moment Fred turned around and showed off the white thing that turned out to be a handkerchief. The handkerchief that she had got from Malfoy with treacle tarts wrapped up in it all those weeks ago. She froze. Her heart beating a mile a minute. How had Ginny found it? Why was it here in the first place? Had it been in her trunk? She didn't remember putting it in there. And even so. How had it ended up on the ground? Had it been earlier, when she had blindly rummaged through her trunk while looking for a jumper to throw on?

"I think I've seen that before." Ron said, interrupting her panicked thoughts. "Isn't that yours, Haley?"

"I..." she bit her lips, not knowing what to say.

"Yours?" Fred asked her with a grin. "Then it's you who's got a secret admirer. Who is it? Is it someone we know?"

All heads were turned to her. Haley's ribcage felt like it was going to burst any second now. They all watched her, curiosity clear in their eyes… Except for one. George. The boy's expression seemed thoughtful, pondering even.

"Is this a letter?" Fred wondered, inspecting the handkerchief carefully. "Could be an… I don't know… and M maybe?" Haley's heart stopped. "What do you think George?" He asked, handing the cloth to his twin brother.

"No way," he said after a moment. "It's clearly a B." He guessed. Wait a second. A B? He looked up for the fraction of a second and Haley could swear that he winked at her.

"You weren't holding it right," he scolded his brother, elbowing him lightly. "See?"

Before Fred had a chance to reply, Sirius hopped down the stairs, singing "Oh, Christmas Tree" in a surprisingly festive tone. He sauntered past the open door and stuck his head into the room, wishing, "Merry Christmas!" Nobody returned the greeting. That seemed to make Haley's godfather notice the atmosphere inside the room.

"What's going on here?" He asked, walking a few steps into the room. Nobody seemed to have an answer to that. Sirius walked closer to Haley's bed where all of them were gathered, when George tried to hide the handkerchief behind his back. It was too late, though. He had already spotted it. Everyone looked at Haley, silently asking her how to handle the situation.

How was she supposed to know? She wanted nothing more than to just run away from all of this. Would Sirius recognize the embroidery? Would he know who the handkerchief belonged to? She glanced toward George, for no more than a split second. Which was a mistake. Sirius followed her gaze with a frown.

"Oh, this? We were just wondering what kind of letter this could be. It's obviously a B, isn't it?" George babbled, holding the white cloth in front of him now. Sirius peaked at it over George's shoulder. Damn, Haley panicked. It' s over. It's over. I'm done. I'm –

"Yeah, it's a B," Sirius agreed. The handkerchief was in his hands now.

What? Haley looked up in surprise.

"It stands for Black, doesn't it?" Hermione realised with wide eyes, from her position on the carpet. Sirius nodded slowly. "So, this is where Haley has it from. This house," she concluded, content that she solved the mystery.

Haley nodded quickly. She was saved. She had been so scared that it would all come to light like this. Now she felt as light as a feather. She could float away in the next second.

Then Sirius cleared his throat, still looking at the embroidered letter.

"Um, Haley, would you come with me for a moment. I found something in the drawing room I wanted to show you."

There was something in his voice that sent shivers down the girl's spine. What was it he wanted to show her? Or even worse, was there nothing he wanted to show her at all? Had he just said that because he had recognized the letter? Because he knew it was actually an M that stood for Malfoy?

"Haley, are you coming?" He asked impatiently. He had already crossed the room and was now waiting by the door. Haley got out of her bed and slipped into her shoes. With every step she took toward him, dread sank deeper into her heart. When she reached the door, Sirius descended the stairs toward the drawing room. She followed him silently, feeling her lower lip start to tremble. What was wrong with her? She entered the drawing room behind her godfather, who closed the door behind her. A couple of feet could be heard stomping down the stairs and for a second Haley thought, they would enter the drawing room as well. But all of them continued on downwards. Probably headed toward the kitchen. How Haley wished she could go down and have breakfast with them as well. She took a deep breath and turned around to face her godfather.

"You know when I last saw this?" Sirius asked, a smile lighting up his voice. Wait. A smile? He really was smiling. Maybe he wasn't suspecting her after all.

"I must have been… around ten, I think? It was before I got my Hogwarts letter anyway. One day in summer, my dear cousins came to visit and… well I never really got along with them. The only one I could stand was Andromeda. Tonks' mother." He added with a nod downwards to the kitchens. "We were both not the typical Blacks… so to speak. So, during that visit – it was for Narcissa's birthday, if I remember correctly. And for some reason Bellatrix and her got into a fight, I think it was because Bella wanted to take Narcissa's cat with her to Hogwarts or something…Honestly, from what I remember these two were constantly fighting about one thing or another."

Sirius paused, staring at the ceiling, as if the memories were playing there like a film. "Anyway, Narcissa was showing off her brand new handmade handkerchief – a birthday present with her initials and ornaments and daffodils everywhere… It was exceptionally beautiful, come to think of it. I only found out later that Andy was the one who made it." He tilted his head to the side like the information surprised him still. "In any case, it was apparent that Bella was jealous of her sister's present. Narcissa had always been the most beautiful out of the three and consequently she had always got everything she wanted." Sirius walked toward the opposite wall, where a painting of a snow white cat with big blue eyes was hanging. Haley wasn't sure if she should follow him.

He continued his story in a distant voice. "Narcissa had brought her cat with her. I don't remember seeing her without the cat until this day… I think it's name… was Lady?" He shrugged, taking the painting off the wall. "I don't know what it was that Bellatrix did to Lady but the quiet and peaceful cat suddenly turned into a wild beast, biting and clawing at Narcissa who she had not so much as hissed at before that day. On top of that, the cat also tore apart her handkerchief. And this," he said, turning over the painting and removing the backing paper. There was a beautifully made piece of cloth hiding behind the painting. "This is all that's left of it."

Upon closer inspection Haley saw that the cloth was torn apart beyond recognition and you could only guess what it might have looked like before. Haley didn't know why her godfather was telling her all this. But at least it distracted her from the glum thoughts that had clouded her mind beforehand.

"Tonks' mother made this?" She asked, quietly. The needlework was truly beautiful. From what she could see.

"Yes," Sirius confirmed. "I remember how dejected she was after seeing this. I should have known it then. What a crazy witch Bellatrix was, already as a child. She seemed positively delighted at her sisters' misery. And in the end she even took the cat because Narcissa didn't want it any more. If there is one person who deserves being in Azkaban it's that woman." He concluded, his mind seemingly miles away. Haley took a closer look at the handkerchief with the B. The embroidered letter looked different from the rest of the cloth. And there were also a few flowers that seemed like they were a different kind of fabric.

Sirius seemed to notice. "That's right. Those were the only patches big enough to be rescued. She must have kept them and stitched them onto this handkerchief." Her godfather turned to her at last. "Now that you know my story regarding this… I'm really curious how this handkerchief got into your hands. Because I'm pretty sure my dear cousin didn't leave it here. If saving it was that important to her."

Haley's eyes widened. She had almost forgotten that there was another side to this story. She lowered her eyes to the ground, unable to meet his boring gaze.

"I'm sure it's a much funnier story than mine. Why don't we sit down to hear it?" Sirius suggested, walking over to the old, moth-eaten couch in the middle of the room and gestured for her to join him.

Slowly, the girl walked toward the sitting area, frantically debating what to tell her godfather. She heavily sank down into the old, uncomfortable armchair that had definitely seen better days, so she was seated more next to him than opposite him.

"So? How did you get it? Rather unlikely that you stole it from Narcissa herself… so maybe… her son? Did you steal it from him? Did he cry because he lost it?" Sirius asked in a highly amused tone, chuckling like a boy.

Haley still couldn't meet his eyes. She stiffly sat in her chair, silently wishing she was anywhere but here. An excuse. She needed an excuse. But there was nothing in her mind. It was like someone had taken a big eraser and blotted out any sensible thought from her head.

"Haley?" Sirius asked. "You took it from him, didn't you?"

It was easy really. All she had to do was nod her head in confirmation. Or open her mouth and say yes. And then invent some wild story that involved humiliating the boy no one would ever approve of.

Haley took a deep breath. There really was no other option. Say yes. A voice whispered into her mind. Yes. Just say yes. All right. She could do that. It was the easiest thing in the world.

Yes.

She had done it. Now, she was save. Now everything was good. Now it was all –

"What? Did you say no?" Sirius asked, sounding confused.

What? No! She had said yes, hadn't she? Hadn't she? At least she had wanted to say yes. But she could still get out of it. All she had to do was rectify her answer.

"Yes." Her lips formed the word without her consent. Why did she say that? What was happening? Was she possessed? Her heart was racing, reminding her of a frightened little bird. The rest of her was surprisingly calm, like she was somewhere else and someone else was navigating her body.

"What? So… how'd you get it then?" Sirius asked, not understanding what she was saying.

"He gave it to me," the voice that didn't sound like it was her own, replied quietly.

"So you tricked him or…?"

"No," Haley said, finally looking up. She didn't know where her sudden confidence had come from. And as soon as she looked into her godfather's grey, curious eyes she felt like a scared little girl again. It was a bit unsettling how much the colour reminded her of Malfoy's eyes. She had never really noticed that before. But what was she thinking? He would never understand the truth. If she said one more word, she would lose him. The realisation brought tears to her eyes, her fingers were clasped together tightly in her lap, and her chin began to tremble. She had to stop this. Here and now.

Sirius' eyes filled with worry. He jumped to his feet and knelt down in front of her. "What did that bastard do to you? Did he hurt you? I'm going to kill him," he growled. He seemed ready to jump out the window ad hunt the boy down.

Haley shook her head. "No," she whispered. "He didn't h-hurt me."

Her godfather's brows furrowed. "What is it then? You're scaring me, here," he whispered, reaching out his hand and brushing a lone tear from her cheek.

The girl sobbed, looking into his warm grey eyes. There was no suspicion in them. Just worry.

"Hey, it's okay. It's okay," he soothed, rubbing his thumb across her cheek, where more tears had started to fall. She didn't know why she was reacting like this. Was whatever she had with Malfoy that important to her? Or was she simply scared of her godfather's reaction? She just wanted him to understand. She didn't want to keep lying about something that seemed like such a big part of her life. Wasn't she a Gryffindor? Where was that bravery she always prided herself for?

"Sirius," she began in a soft tone, not knowing how to continue. "I… to be honest… M-Malfoy a-and I… we..."

He stared at her, questioningly. Haley wondered if his eyes were going to be filled with hatred and disdain within the next seconds. She placed her hand on top of her godfather's and pulled it down into her lap, where she clutched it between her own two hands. His fingers were calloused and warm. The warmth gave her hope.

"The handkerchief… he gave it to me because…" her lower lip was trembling but she had to continue. "Because we… because we've been… I've been kind of… seeing him." The last two words stole out of her mouth like they were something forbidden and shameful. It didn't feel right. She swallowed, waiting anxiously for Sirius' reaction. He stared right at her, looking like he was faced with an exceptionally difficult riddle. The silence stretched longer and longer until Haley thought she was going to burst with anxiety. Then finally the frown on her godfather's face lifted and he chuckled softly, shaking his head.

He got up and ran his hand through Haley's hair playfully. "You almost had me there." He said with a grin. "You seeing a Malfoy. That's the most ridiculous thing I heard in ages." He laughed, pointing his finger at her. "That's a really good one. I almost fell for it."

He didn't believe her. All the worrying and her own godfather thought her biggest secret was no more than a silly joke?

"It's not a joke," she said, frowning slightly.

"Yeah, right. I'm afraid this won't work a second time. Come on, I think what we both need now is a good breakfast." He remarked, walking toward the door.

Haley got up as well, a sudden anger filling her, stirred by the fact that he was treating her like a child. "I said it's not a joke. I'm serious!"

Sirius stopped, turning around to face her. "No, you're not. That's m–"

But she couldn't let him finish the joke. Not this time.

"Sirius, do you honestly believe, I made all of this up? Do you think it was all an act? The tears, the story? And for what? Just so we could have a laugh?"

Doubt appeared on her godfather's face, clearly questioning the whole situation.

"It can't be anything else," he whispered, shaking his head. "It has to be a joke. How could it be true?"

Haley walked over to the man, stopping in front of him with some distance between them.

"Because it is true. Because this is something that I wouldn't joke about," she answered quietly.

"But – how? – No, I don't believe it. You wouldn't be that stupid. You wouldn't..."

Another tear rolled silently down her face. Sirius seemed to follow it with his eyes, until it finally dropped to the carpet, leaving a tiny dark stain. She lifted her hand to touch his arm but he pulled away from her. Was that it? Did he believe it now? She tried to brace herself for the judgement that was bound to come.

"A Malfoy?" He whispered. "Have you gone mad?" He boomed. "Did you completely lose your mind? Did you forget what kind of people the Malfoys are? They're evil, Haley! All they care about is their own personal gain! They're the filthiest, dirtiest bunch of wizards that ever-"

A dull plop from outside the door made Sirius stop his tirade. Alarmed, they both turned toward the door. Sirius opened it but there was nothing to see. Nothing except a flash of pink that looked suspiciously like an extendable ear, which was vanishing beneath the stairs. Haley leaned over the railings and with a sinking feeling she recognized freckled skin, red-hair and a cheeky grin on a boy's face. One of the twins. In the darkness she couldn't make out who of the two it was.

"Guess you caught me," the boy said cheerfully, while he trudged up the stairs toward her and Sirius who snatched the extendable ear right out of his hands. As the red-head walked past them into the drawing room, Haley noticed the little mole next to his left ear. It was George. She didn't know why but for some reason this calmed her somewhat. Which was stupid because even if he tended to be the more sensible of the twins that didn't mean he was going to refrain from telling Ron about her secret. And if Sirius' reaction had been bad she didn't want to imagine what Ron was going to say.

"Oh, did you want to finish your conversation in the hall?" George asked.

Right, they were still standing in the hall. Sirius shot George a calculating look, before re-entering the drawing room. There was nothing for Haley to do but follow. Once the door was closed behind her, Sirius pointed his wand at it and mumbled something under his breath that she couldn't understand.

"Ah, making sure, nobody can overhear this time. That's thoughtful," George commented. Ah. So he had sound-proofed the room.

Sirius crossed his arms in front of his chest and turned to George. "How much did you hear?" He grumbled, his wand still in his hand.

"Oh, not much," the boy answered casually. "Just the bit about… Haley dating a certain Slytherin. So nothing new." He flopped down onto the couch lazily.

"If you tell anyone a word about this-" Sirius growled but Haley interrupted him.

"Nothing new? What do you mean by that? Did you… did you know?" She asked, replaying the events of this morning in her mind. He had been acting so weird with the handkerchief. Like he had been trying to lead his brother onto the wrong track on purpose… But why? It didn't make any sense.

"You knew?" Sirius thundered.

"Well, I only found out recently," George told them, while he looked for something in the pockets of his pyjama bottoms. "Where is it? You know, I saw you with him that night on the Astronomy tower. When was it? Three weeks ago?"

Haley froze. He had seen her? With Malfoy? Next to her, she noticed how Sirius face slowly turned red. That was not a good sign.

"You were on the Astronomy tower? At night? With a boy? With a Malfoy?" Her godfather's voice sounded more dangerous with every question he asked.

"Yep. It was definitely her." George confirmed. Haley closed her eyes. He was making everything that much worse.

"It's not what it sounds like! We weren't – we weren't doing anything!" She tried to reason with the angry man but his accusing eyes were burning with a fury that seemed unquenchable.

"You weren't doing anything?" He asked dangerously. "Well, then enlighten me what it is that you were doing at night up at the Astronomy tower with a boy."

"Well, we – we talked and..." She answered sheepishly.

"And what?" Sirius repeated, in a suspiciously calm tone.

"Oh, it was rather boring," George commented with a wink at Haley. "All they did was talk and talk until I thought I was going to fall asleep. And oh, right stare at each other in this disgustingly lovesick way."

"I did not stare at him like that!" Haley protested. Now, he was lying as well?

"Sorry, my mistake," George apologized. "That's the way he was looking at you," he added nonchalantly, his self-satisfied grin made her think of a striped cat she had once seen in a muggle book. Wait. What had he said just now?

"You should have seen it! That Malfoy may be a slimy brat and all that but man, the emotion in his eyes almost made me cry. He looked at her like she – what do they say? – stole the moon?"

"Hung the moon," Sirius corrected, tonelessly. Haley wasn't sure he was even aware he had said that.

"Right! That's the word I was looking for," the boy agreed with a laugh. "Although I think 'stole the moon' would be a much better expression. It was poetical, really, how he looked at her like he was ready to steal the moon and all the stars for her if she only hinted at it. Didn't think he was such a romantic." George concluded thoughtfully.

Had Malfoy really looked at her like that? Haley knew this wasn't the moment to think about that but the way George described it it sounded like Malfoy was madly in love with her. The thought made a familiar fluttery feeling rise up in her stomach. This is hardly the moment to daydream!, she scolded herself internally. But it was too late to stop the soft smile that had stolen onto her face.

George noticed it first, lifting an amused eyebrow. Sirius, who had been watching George contemplatively, seeming uncertain, turned his doubtful gaze to her and for a split second it looked like he was giving this a chance. But when he noticed the smile and the light flush of her cheeks something in his eyes hardened.

"The Malfoys have always been exceptionally good actors. Actually, this can be said about all the pureblood families. Well, most of them. What I mean to say is… There's a reason why the Malfoys are still walking around unpunished even though Lucius Malfoy has been one of Voldemort's most loyal followers. He knows what to say to make people believe him."

Something softened in her godfather's eyes. He placed his hand on top of her shoulder gently. "I know you're at that age where you think nobody gets you and then there's that one person who seems to understand you and you have all these feelings and you think it's going to last forever." He bit his lip. There was something sad and wistful in his eyes. "But Haley, you have to understand these are dark times. We're on the verge of a war and… as far as we know this could all be a trick. A trick to find out what our side is planning and to-"

Haley shook her head. "No," she interrupted him. "It's not a trick. He never asked for any information-"

"Not yet!" He ran his hand through his long hair in frustration. "That would be much too obvious! Can't you see that he's using you?"

Haley said nothing. Just silently returned his smouldering gaze. She didn't know whether it was stubbornness that made her react like this. But what else could it be? Why did she suddenly feel this protective of Malfoy? Why did she feel the need to defend him? If nothing else, she knew she didn't like her godfather talking about the boy like this.

"Ugh!" Sirius looked to the ground, silently nodding to himself. "I didn't want to go this far but you leave me no choice. Tell that git you won't see him any more. At once."

"Right. Do you want me to send Hedwig? I'm sure no one's going to be suspicious if I send her to-"

"Fine! Do it once you're back at school!"

"What if I refuse?"

"You'll see when it comes to that!"

"Oh, are you going to disown me?"

"Maybe I will!" With that Sirius rushed past her out the door, slamming it behind him.

As soon as the door was shut, Haley sank to the ground, suddenly bereft of all energy.

"I must say, I pictured this confrontation a bit differently," George commented from the couch. Haley had completely forgotten that the boy was still here. What did it matter now? What did anything matter now?

"He hates me," Haley whispered, her voice reflecting how defeated and hopeless she felt.

"No, he doesn't hate you."

"You're just saying that to make me feel better."

"Actually, I'm talking from experience. This was nothing compared to mum's fits of anger."

"But the way he looked at me..."

"He's worried about you. Which is kind of understandable. From his point of view. If mum was able to forgive me for that time Fred and me turned all of Percy's clothes permanently see-through, I think you're good."

"What? You turned them permanently see-through?"

"In our second year," he revealed fondly. "And Percy didn't even notice because the spell only works an hour after you put the clothes on."

Haley chuckled, despite herself. "Even so. That's harmless compared to my situation. It's not like you're fraternizing with an evil Slytherin."

"Gotta say, he's not really my type, no. You can keep him."

She snorted. It was sweet how he was trying to cheer her up. But why was he cheering her up in the first place?

"Don't you agree with him?" She asked quietly. "Don't you think it's foolish of me to give Malfoy a chance?"

There was a long pause. Then a heavy body plopped down next to her.

"Toffee?" The boy asked, offering her a toffee, wrapped in shiny golden paper. It looked familiar somehow. Where had she seen it before? Then it dawned on her. It was the same type of candy, she had found on the Astronomy tower after Malfoy and her had heard the suspicious noise. Now it all made sense. He had really been there with them. But he must have hidden somewhere.

"I'll admit, when I first saw the two of you together that night… I thought you'd lost your marbles. But it's like I said. There was something… in the way he looked at you. He seemed so… human. Nothing like the git we all love to hate. It surprised me so much that I knocked down the stupid telescope. You know which telescope I'm talking about, don't you?"

She nodded. She had found one lying beneath a window. And then there had been a cat… Carrying a toffee in its mouth.

"Wait!" She exclaimed. "You're not an animagus, are you?"

George chuckled. "You never tried the toffee, did you? When you don't have an invisibility cloak you need to find other ways to sneak around."

He hadn't answered her question. But it couldn't be, right? He couldn't have been hiding that for all these years.

"It's harmless, right?" She asked, taking the toffee and rolling it between her fingers thoughtfully.

"Completely. The only side effect is throwing up hairballs," he added with a grimace. Haley lifted an eyebrow and slipped the candy into her pocket.

"So, after I saw the two of you… snogging," he continued, wiggling his eyebrows and making her blush. "I decided to do my own research. You know, following the guy around, reading his letters and watching him, whenever he thought no one was looking."

Haley didn't know what to feel. Offended, because he had spied on her… her… well, Malfoy? Or grateful because he had gone through all of this to make sure he wasn't messing with her? Or guilty because she actually wanted to know what he had found out?

"So what's the verdict?" She said almost soundlessly.

George grinned at her in an annoyingly smug way. "That eager to know, are we?"

She elbowed him impatiently.

"Okay, okay, I'll tell you," he said with a chuckle. "So judging from the way your boy keeps stealing glances at you whenever he thinks no one is looking – meaning whenever he doesn't have to pretend for anyone – I'm honestly surprised he hasn't offered his heart to you on a silver plate."

"What?"

"Or has he? Anyway, I think the only thing you should be afraid of is him jumping you and snogging you to death."

Haley blushed even more than before "You're exaggerating," she breathed with a shy smile.

"No, seriously. I accidentally came into possession of one of his notebooks and there were so many hearts with 'D+ H' in it, I wanted to puke."

Haley bit her lips. "Stop it. I know you're making that up," she scolded but the smile on her lips grew even bigger.

"I'm not! Do you want me to show you?" He offered, making to get up.

"No, stay," she said, taking hold of his arm. Suddenly, she needed to know. "You're… You're not going to tell anyone, right?"

"You're hurting my pride," he remarked in mock-offence. "I haven't even told Fred."

This was surprising. "Why not?" She asked, curiously.

"Well," he scratched his neck, somewhat sheepish. "It's not like I think he's going to tattle… It's just… it felt like this wasn't my story to tell."

Haley felt a wave of warmth and gratefulness wash over her.

"That's awfully considerate of you," she remarked. "Do you… do you think I should tell the others?" She asked quietly.

"Is 'the others' code for Ron?"

The girl shrugged, looking at her fingers. "Not necessarily."

"Hm," George pondered, tapping his finger against his chin. "Would it be better if he finds out from you or through someone else? I think you know the answer to that." He replied. "Your real question is… how is he going to take it?"

He was right of course. She wouldn't be able to keep her secret forever. One day, she would have no choice but to tell her friends the truth.

"He's going to kill me," she said with a heavy sigh.

"Not if you turn him into a cute little kitten before he gets the chance," the boy replied with a grin that seemed so mischievous, she was afraid that her clothes were actually see-through and she was the only one who hadn't noticed. She looked down at her pyjama bottoms and jumper combo, which seemed as non-transparent as before.

George followed her eyes with an amused grin. He chuckled. "Come on. We'd never use the spell on a girl, jokester's honour," he assured her.

Haley raised an eyebrow sceptically.

"Well, except for someone like Umbridge, maybe. Now, that's an idea!"

"Merlin, no! I don't want to see that!" She retorted, shuddering at the mental picture.

"Come on. Imagine her face," he said with a carefree laugh that was so infectious that Haley found herself laughing along with him. Even if it was completely absurd.

After a while, they calmed down and Haley realised that she felt a teensy bit better about her current situation. And it was all thanks to George. It was silent for a moment.

"Thank you, George," she said, earnestly, reaching for his arm and giving it a squeeze.

"I didn't do anything," he replied, shrugging her words off.

"But you did. You're an amazing friend." She complimented him.

That made the boy in question pull his hand away and grip at his chest in shock. "What? A friend? And here I thought you were finally returning my feelings," he gasped, wiping non present tears from his eyes.

Haley laughed. "You're such a goof."

"So, they say," he agreed, grinning cheekily. Then something about his expression changed all of a sudden. "So, tell me. How far did you get with Malfoy?"

"I – w-what?" She spluttered, flustered at the sudden change of topic.

"You know," he pressed, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. "Besides snogging…what did you two get up to?"

"I- we didn't- nothing! - I mean-" She stammered, exhaling audibly. "Why do boys always have to be perverts?"

George shrugged, like he wanted to say he didn't know either.

"You're impossible." She grumbled but there was the hint of a smile on her lips. It felt really good to finally be able to talk to someone about her thing with Malfoy. Almost too good to be true if she was honest. But she would take what she got. What other alternative did she have? She didn't want to keep pondering about the way her godfather had reacted. About the way he had looked at her. Eyes filled with disappointment and anger. It would just make her sad.

And so it didn't cross her mind that Sirius had never returned the extendable ears to George. She also didn't wonder whether a room was still sound-proof when the person who had cast the spell was no longer inside the room. It never occurred to her that George might not be the only person listening to her stories.

…

____________________

A/N: In case you’re looking for more recent updates, please check out my fanfiction (https://www.fanfiction.net/~schreibfeather) or ao3 page (https://archiveofourown.org/users/schreibfeather). I post updates there more regularly than here!

#My writing #Fem!Harry #female harry potter #girl!harry #Draco Malfoy #Harry Potter #harry potter fanfiction #Harry Potter fic #dreams of today #dot #dreams of today fic #feather writes

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lowdenfordays · 7 years

Photo

Karaoke night

You sat in your booth, nursing your drink and listening to Aneurin sing Bowie’s ‘Life on Mars’ at a karaoke bar. You had heard of a place, about 20 minutes from where you were shooting, that held a karaoke night every Saturday and, since you all had a day off the next day, you’d convinced a load of the guys to come with you. Aneurin was a great singer, and was having such a great time onstage; it put a smile on your face. Tom had sung Wonderwall before that, and Harry was up next. There was no way he was going to a karaoke bar and not singing. You cheered and whistled when Aneurin finished, and hugged him when he sat down.

“You know you’re up next, right?” Harry grinned at you. He downed the rest of his drink and walked towards the stage, completely ignoring your protestations.

In his usual, flamboyant style, Harry sang ‘I Don’t Wanna Miss a Thing’ by Aerosmith and was completely nailing it. However, your mind couldn’t help but wander as he sang. You looked across to Jack. He swayed softly to the music, sipping his whiskey occasionally. A sadness seemed to hang over him, which you couldn’t help but inhale.

I could stay awake just to hear you breathing

Watch you smile while you are sleeping

While you're far away dreaming...

It hadn’t taken long for you to fall head over heels for Jack. You were acting in Dunkirk with him, as Mr Dawson’s eldest daughter. You shared a few scenes with Collins aboard the Moonstone and by the end of the first day on set you felt as if you’d known Jack forever. You joked about constantly, much to Chris’s annoyance, and were always taking the piss out of each other. Within a week you knew you were in trouble. Jack was everything you’d ever wanted in a man. He was funny, charming, sweet and thoughtful, and to top it all off he was classically handsome, especially in his uniform. You had trouble holding yourself together when you shot the scenes of him telling Farrier to “come on”.

I'm wondering what you're dreaming

Wondering if it's me you're seeing…

But now months later, even when the teasing turned to flirting, you hadn’t said a word about the way you felt. He was a colleague, and you couldn’t risk jeopardising your relationship. If you confessed your feelings and he rebuffed you, you weren’t sure you would be able to keep the awkwardness off camera. This was such an important project, and your big break, you couldn’t afford to put yourself on the line like that. But as the weeks had rolled by you and Jack became closer and closer. Each time you saw his dimpled smile or heard his laugh dancing through the air, your chest would swell and you’d have to physically restrain yourself from running into his arms and kissing him.

I just want to hold you close

Feel your heart so close to mine

And just stay here in this moment

For all the rest of time…

The song reached its crescendo, Harry giving absolutely everything he had, and the whole bar was in the palm of his hand. Except you. You knew you were staring at Jack, but you just couldn’t tear your gaze away. His usually bright blue eyes, so playful and full of boyish glee, seemed grey in the dim light and his sorrow swirled around inside them like the whiskey in his glass. You wanted desperately to reach out and touch him; hold his hand, stroke his cheek, anything.

'Cause even when I dream of you

The sweetest dream will never do

I'd still miss you baby

And I don't want to miss a thing.

Harry finished the song, to loud applause, which snapped you out of your stupor. He came back to the table and said, “Right, your turn young lady,” nudging your arm.

“No way. I can’t follow that,” you said definitively.

“You brought us here, Y/N, it was your idea. That means you have to sing,” Tom agreed, nudging you. Everyone nodded, all urging you to have a turn.

You had wanted to sing when the night began. You were no canary, but you could hold a tune and sang often, in the shower, in the car, on set, whenever there was a lull in conversation. But seeing Jack so glum had dampened your mood somewhat.

“Come on, you have to!” Barry exclaimed.

You caught Jack’s eye and he gave you and encouraging smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“What if I sing with you?” Harry offered. “We could do a duet.”

You knew there was no getting out of this, so took the chance to share the limelight, hoping Harry would carry you through. You picked Aretha Franklin and George Michael’s ‘I Knew You Were Waiting (For Me)’ and let the 80’s beat seep into your soul. Soon enough you were completely immersed and dancing about on the stage. You shimmied and swayed your hips, letting your voice harmonise with Harry’s. You sounded surprisingly good. Harry grinned at you throughout, and you boogied together. You smiled so widely you thought your cheeks would explode. You heard someone cheering from your table and tried to look through the stage lights at your friends. From what you could tell, everyone was laughing and singing along. You caught a glimpse of Jack, hoping he would have cheered up a bit, but half-blinded, you thought you saw him staring at you, brow furrowed angrily. You shook it off, thinking it must have been a trick of the lights. You belted the big notes at the end, and did your best to fill Aretha’s boots. You took a bow when the song finished and could practically hear the endorphins rushing through your veins. You heart was pounding as you sat back down and let the guys congratulate you. You smiled modestly and looked to Jack, hoping for his endorsement. It hadn’t been the lights; he was fuming. Before you could ask him what was wrong Harry came and sat beside you, scooting you along the bench.

“You were amazing up there, love! We make quite the pair, you and I”, he said with a smile, which you returned. You went to reply but Jack abruptly stood up and stormed towards the door.

“What’s up with him?” Harry asked.

Equally confused you looked to Aneurin who sighed and nodded towards you.

“I think he’s jealous. You two looked pretty close up there.”

I took a moment for the implication of his words to set in, but as soon as they did you jumped out of your seat and raced out into the night after him.

The moon was shining especially brightly, and you saw him in the distance. His blonde hair practically glowed.

“Jack, wait!” you yelled. He glanced back to meet your eyes, but only turned and quickened his pace.

You sprinted to catch up with him, your small legs pushed to the limit to match his long ones. You caught his arm and pulled him round to face you.

In the starlight you saw his eyes glinting with tears and your heart shattered in your chest.

It was only when you opened your mouth to speak that you realised you had no idea what to say. A moment passed and you could only gaze at him. All your past interactions raced through your head, all the times you’d laughed together, or snuggled up close to each other. All the inside jokes, and times you’d tried to steal a glance at him, only to find he was already looking at you. The first time it happened he had looked away, blushing, but when it kept happening he’d just shoot you a toothy grin and you’d giggle. Those memories which had been tinted with sadness, longing, were now so filled with joy that your mortal body could barely contain the passion raging like a bull around your ribcage.

“If you’ve got something to say please do it quickly,” Jack said forcefully, but you noticed the slight crack. He ran a hand through his hair in distress, and you could feel his body vibrating with anxiety.

“Jack, I… um, I didn’t really think this through but-”. His fringe flopped into his eyes and you giggled. God, you loved this man.

“Don’t laugh at me Y/N. It’s been a shitty enough evening already, having to watch you up there with him…”. His voice trailed off.

“No Jack, that’s not… I- I’ve been wanting to tell you for so long, but I never had the balls.” You looked down at your feet, suddenly bashful, “I think you’re wonderful Jack. Harry and I were just having a laugh, but you make me happier than anyone I’ve ever met. I mean, you turned my world upside down.” You felt a warm hand stroke your cheek and lift your chin gently. Your eyes met his and you saw that familiar blue was now deep with hunger.

“I’ve fallen for you, hard, and I-”. Your voice died in your throat as Jack dipped his head and crashed his lips to yours. He slid a hand round your hip to the small of your back and pressed your hips into his, your body melting under his touch. You moaned softly as he nipped your bottom lip, and in turn a growl rumbled low in his throat. It wasn’t until you parted and you gasped that you realised you’d been holding your breath. He placed a gentle kiss on your forehead and you shuddered.

“Can I take you out for dinner one day, princess?” he proposed with a half-smile.

“Yes please,” you whispered, the strength gone from your voice.

The sound of cheers infiltrated your bubble of bliss, and you turned to see everyone had followed you out.

“Finally,” Aneurin cried.

Jack turned back to you and grinned, before kissing you again. You could taste the smile on his lips.

#this is so shit lord give me strength #jack lowden #jack lowden imagine #jack lowden x reader #dunkirk #dunkirk imagine #dunkirk cast #imagine

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theunwrittenones · 6 years

Text

Prompt #3

„Dude, we are not asking the dragon for directions.”

“Dude, we`re not asking the Dragon for directions.” He slammed the warning down on her, like a sledgehammer to an anvil.

“Alright, alright. I got it, ok?” Ferroy brushed the dark leather-gloved hands off her collar and took a step back. It was bad enough that people talked about them already. A scene was the last thing they needed right now.

“Look Vince, it’ll be easy peasy lemon sqeezy, I tell you!” The bald man called Vince gave her a look, that told her exactly how not amused he was about her flippant attitude.

“Don’t yer fucking ‘Vince’ me, Roy!” He knew how much she despised it when he abbreviated her name like that. “Listen Girl, you go down that stinking hell hole of a dungeon and all sorts of crazy shebang is going to happen to you.” He couldn’t see her rolling back her eyes behind the giant brim of her hat, but he knew her to well, to pick up on it. “Roll those squinty balls back a little further and maybe, just maybe, you can see the sun shining in your arse!” He put his hands on his hips and averted his eyes.

She leaned in to him and spoke through gritted teeth: “Vince, do you think that I -of all people- don’t know how fucking dangerous that damn manor is?” He didn’t look at her, but ever so slightly shook his head. His skin was unnaturally pale, so that the red-brown scars, traced all over his face in their crisscross pattern, became even more obvious.

“I wouldn’t have accepted, if we had a darn choice, now would I? Guess what, dear brother, we don’t have a choice, not anymore.” Vince stared at the ground, as if he expected to find the right argument hidden between dusty wooden boards. She relaxed and put her hand on his shoulder. He wanted to do right by her, she knew. After all, they only had each other.

Their parents and friends were simply gone, devoured by the blight. Growing up in an orphanage was tough. The Mistress and Director had a deal with the local farmers, so they were raised in slave labor. Working children still were a viable currency back then.

The streets took them, as soon as their teenage years began to dawn. The unmitigated gateway to a life of crime and violence. Ferroy then, discovered her unhealthy affinity to knives. It didn’t take her long to work her first wet-job. In the beginning, she was sloppy. Her Targets got away sometimes and her clients tried to ditch her on occasion, but she was a quick learner. Vince on the other hand had a nag to acquire all sorts off dangerous friends. Often the wrong types of people in wrong types of places, but always high up in rank and unhinged in all the bad ways.

Their wild years began shortly after they carved a market for themselves. Leviathan Bay was a candy store and no one said no to the ‘Grimm Twins’. One slip up, however, is often enough to send your luck straight down the toilette bowl.

Ferroy owed money. To the wrong people. People introduced to her by Vince.

“You’re right.” Vince wiped invisible mud off his face. “Of course, you’re right. Just promise me, don’t do anything rash!”

She shrugged: “You know me.”

“Damn right, I do.” His tempered flared up again, but he fought it down.

“The bastard is here, brace yourself.”

An incredible fat man made his way through the crowd. His gestures, as he greeted several townsfolk, were relaxed and aloof. Rakash-Tai Vun, ‘caretaker’ of most known and unknown gambling houses in Leviathan Bay, effortlessly split the groups of people that stood in his path. It took him a few moments to spot them, but when he did, a smile began to crack his face.

Talking to Rakash was every bit as disgusting and loathsome, as she imagined. Even now, Ferroy felt ice sliding down her bare back. There were the usual threats of skinning and bone breaking, of course. Talk that seemed to come so natural to people with deep confidence issues. However, the price to pay was much steeper this time around. The way he looked at them made her knife hand itch. ‘Forced employment’ was the term, Rakash used. Vince, despite all that, kept his head cool. He never apologized or begged. He simply offered the plan Ferroy had pushed on him earlier and wrapped it up like the deal of the century. Rakash took the bait. He knew the risk, but craved the reward even more. Their debt was mere formality to him, but meant all to them. Now, there was a unique opportunity, each man of the business dreamed about.

She departed to her very probable doom around noon the next day. Leviathan Bay was but a speck in the distance. A grey wound in the spotless golden fields behind her. In front of her rose the ‘Chocking Hills’. Covered almost to completion with thick forest, that held bandits at best and unspeakable horrors at worst. There was however, an upside to her situation. Her two traveling companions were over all quite pleasant. There was almost no talking. Their only exchanges were social grunts, when task needed to be performed or hand signals, when they were hunting and navigating.

It took them the better part of the afternoon to arrive at their destination, the serpentine, narrow path up to ‘Raven Barrow’.

Never had her eyes seen more dilapidation then here. Corpses, bloated out of proportion by unknown diseases, littered the streets. Nearly all houses appeared to be caved in and inhabitable. Gallows hung right in front of her, holding lifeless forms gently swaying from the tireless arm of the giant scaffold, built in the town square. There was madness in the serenity of this horrific landscape. From the farmstead to her left emanated a sick purple glow. She knew it to be there, because of the stories she heard when she was quite young. Something from the depth of the ‘Wailing Forest’ took quite literally roots there. Last but not least, the manor house itself. Its quite, ominous presence overshadowed the whole of ‘Raven Barrow’. Built on the highest location just outside of town. Like a dark sentinel, always watching. Ferroys heart took a dive into her stomach. The pure rawness of death all around almost made her dizzy. Her two companions urged her forward and she was glad they did, for she wasn’t sure what she would have done. Her instincts screamed flight, but flight was not an option.

So she braced herself, for there was only one way to go…

“We are not asking the dragon for directions!” Jimmy says. I loath him for being a coward. Being a coward myself, naturally, I don’t say anything. Instead I step back, out of the streetlight and closer to the forest. The ‘dragon’ was the one that yelled insults at us, but Jimmy had been stupid enough to reply. We’d almost made it home after our D’n’D session at Kim’s.

“This isn’t D’n’D, Jimmy.” Mona says and pushes her elbow into Jimmy’s side. Mona is fierce. One day I want to have the courage to ask her out. I could take her up the mountain and map out constellations at night. I think she would like that.

“This isn’t D’n’D, Jimmy.” Our enemy grunts and his friends join the laugher. Wonder who the ‘dragon’ is? It’s George the dumbest and meanest guy from school. Walking cliché and quarterback of our school team the ‘Mighty Smallville Dragons’.

Finally, Mark, our Dungeon Master each Friday night and king of the nerds (he gets beaten up the least at school), steps forward.

“We don’t want any trouble.” Mark says, and George cocks his head like he’s just warming up. Mark is tall, but in a stretched out lanky way. He doesn’t stand a chance. George and his friends laugh. There’s us, Mark, Jimmy, Mona and I. Four nerds against four of the dragons. They are going to beat the shit out of us.

“Fucking dumb asses.” George says and lets his fist crack against Jimmy’s head. Jimmy goes down like he rolled a critical one.

“No!” I shout and step forward on impulse. I’m next. My lip splits when George’s fist collides. My hand goes up to my jaw on instinct and warm blood spills into my mouth. It dribbles down my chin as I stagger back. I feel around my teeth with my tongue. My incisor cut into my cheek, but all my teeth are okay.

“Shit. What the hell is wrong with you?” Mona aims at George and the dude is too surprised or too dumb to move. She bitch-slaps George. I’d swoon if I weren’t occupied with the pain in my face.

“You’ll regret this.” George says. “Cunt.” He adds, and I see how Mona’s face scrunches up in anger.

“We gotta run!” Jimmy says. I grab Mona by the elbow. Jimmy helps Mark back to his feet. George looks like he might murder Mona. You don’t hit girls. Maybe George abides to that rule, but better not risk it.

“God, I wish we could do something against that guy. He’s such a dick.” I exclaim, when we’re far away from George and his cronies, close by my house.

“What happened to you, Andy?” My mom asks when she opens the door. I’m dragged into the kitchen, where she and grandma make a fuss. Grandma dabs my lip with something that makes my eyes water.

“Was it that big boy George Miller?” Mom asks, but I shake my head. I’m not a traitor. Guess the heat in my cheeks is telling enough.

“You know how those dragon guys are.” I say, and my Mom puts a band-aid on my face. Come Monday, let’s hope I’m all healed up. I don’t want to look like a total looser at school. Mom steps away from me and gives me a worried look. I’m glad Dad is still at work, because he would be angry at me for not fighting back. Dad was never a nerd, he was one of the cool kids. He’ll never understand.

“They are bullies.” Grandma says. “When you’re ready, come upstairs. I have something to show you.” She adds with a sad smile. Avoiding eye-contact, Mom and I exchange a few platitudes about how our day was, before I head upstairs. I scratch at the congealed blood that dribbled down my neck. Yelling for Grandma I follow her voice into her bedroom. I’m never in here, it’s too stuffy and just like I don’t want Grandma to invade my privacy and hang out in my room, I never stay long in hers. She’s sitting at her dresser, the yellow lamp light smooths out her wrinkles. Something glistens in her palm.

“Take it!” She says when I reach her. I look at it, it’s a small green carving of a dragon. Too heavy to be plastic. There’s a hole going through its middle, like you are supposed to wear it on a chain around your neck.

“It’s made from jade.” She explains. “Your Grandpa brought it back after ‘Nam.” She says.

“Uh, thanks.” I say, unsure what to do.

“Your Grandpa said it was for protection.” She says and folds her hands over mine to wrap around the jade dragon. Her hands are wrinkled and dry, but warm.

“I think you should have it.” She says and I pocket it.

“Thanks, Grandma.” I want to turn around and leave, but Grandma stops me with a hand to my forearm.

“You’re a good boy, Andy. I just wished you would believe in yourself.” I swallow hard. Suddenly I feel not only embarrassed, but crushed. It’s like she can look right behind my eyes and into my thoughts.

“Promise me, next time you and your friends meet the Miller boy you’ll try to talk to him.” Grandma continues and lets go of my arm.

“There’s no point talking to them. They’ll- you know how they are- they’re-.” I stop and she finishes for me: “They’re violent. At least, I can tell you this: high school doesn’t last forever. Once you went to college, and Miller and his friends are still stuck in Smallville, you’ll have the upper hand. And because you’re you, you won’t hold it against them.” She says it with a fond smile, that makes me look at my shoes.

“I think I understand.” I mumble, without looking up.

“Good night, Andy.” Grandma says.

Lying awake for at least an hour, I imagine all the things I could have said to George Miller to keep him from hitting my friends, but every time it ends the same: I am the one that gets beaten up, even more than today. Curled into a tight ball, I stare into the darkness. All the other guys at school make fun of me too, even the girls. They always find a reason: my glasses, my fat ass, the cheap T-shirts my Mom buys me. Every time their jabs hurt just as much as a physical beating. There are tears in my throat. Gulping, I remind myself that I am too old for crying.

The moonlight glistens on the little jade dragon I put on my night stand. It’s cool to the touch and I curl my hand around it in a tight fist and press it to my chest. It calms be down, I think, but maybe I am just exhausted. I’m so, so tired. The stone warms to my touch until it becomes a pinpoint of fire. The dragon is scourging my chest, but after all, I am only dreaming.

I wake up and double over coughing. The smell of smoke clogs up my lungs. I take a deep breath, arch my back. Fire, I think, and jump to my feet. There’s a fire in the house. The jade dragon falls to the floor with a clink. I’m halfway down the steps, before I realize the smell of smoke is gone. Maybe a remnant of a dream. Slower, with my heart beating fast in my eardrums, I walk down the rest of the stairs.

The TV‘s on mute in the living room. I expect my Dad to be sleeping on the couch (he doesn’t like to wake up Mom in the middle of the night). But Dad isn’t there. There’s noises coming from the porch. Following the commotion, dread drops into my stomach. My parents are outside, talking in hushed voices with our neighbor through the fence. Grandma is probably still sleeping upstairs. Dad has his arm slung over Mom’s shoulder and she’s huddled close.

The wood creaks under my feet. Their heads turn. My neighbor says his goodbyes and vanishes back inside.

“Go back to bed, Andy!” Dad tells me, but my eyes find Mom’s.

“What happened?” I ask.

She shakes her sleep tousled head. “There’s been a fire in town.” She stops, swallows, like she needs to find the right words first: “George Miller’s house burned to the ground.” She finally settles for the truth.

I feel an odd and disconcerting mixture of fear and excitement trickle down my spine.

“Is he dead?” I ask and hold my breath. My lungs feel hollow, like someone scooped them out like ice cream with a big spoon. Dad clears his throat. Mom pushes out of his embrace.

“He’ll know from the newspapers anyway.” She says. “George, his parents and his little sister Jody didn’t make it out alive. The smoke suffocated them, before the fire reached the upper level of their home.” I immediately wonder if they woke up first and weren’t able to get out of the house.

“The firemen came in too late.” Dad explains. After I say nothing for several seconds, he asks: “Son, are you okay?”

I nod, but it’s automatic.

“I feel- I feel sorry for them.” I stutter, cross my arms around my chest.

“Go back to bed! Try to sleep if you can!” Mom says and steps closer. She wants to hug me, but I step out of her reach. It feels like her touch would burn me to a crisp.

“Sorry.” I mumble. “Good night Mom.” I say and exchange a look with my Dad, before I turn on my heals and go back inside. In my room I close the door behind me and lean against it for a moment. I try to take even breaths, but it doesn’t work. George was a bad guy, a bully, a total dickhead, but him and his whole family didn’t deserve to die.

There’s something on the edge of my awareness that comes into focus now. A small stabbing pain right in the middle of my chest where the breastbone is. As I think about it the pain intensifies. My hand is shaking as I inspect my shirt. There’s a burn mark right where I pushed the jade dragon against my chest.

“Shit.” I cuss and repeat the words so much it becomes a litany. I stumble over to my wardrobe and open the doors to look at my reflection. I look like a wax puppet. My skin’s shiny and sweaty. My mouth snaps shut. With clammy fingers I lift my shirt. It drops to the floor and I see the red burn mark on my chest. The skin is alleviated where the jade dragon touched down. On closer inspection I can see that the outline of the dragon is drawn in red angry lines, like it literally burned my skin away. It’ll scar. It’ll stay for everyone to see. I gulp. It’s evidence of what I did. Whatever my Grandpa brought back from Vietnam is dangerous. It killed George and Jody and their parents.

I search for the dragon. It fell under my bed. It’s no longer calm and cool, but hot. I close my fist around the pendant. With my eyes shut, I am certain it pulses in sync with my own heart beat. For a moment I feel like I am the one in control for once in my life.

I take the hike up to the mountain, the jade dragon sleeps in my pocket. All thoughts of taking Mona up here are pushed aside. I need to see with my own eyes. I looked at George’s house on Google Maps. It’s one of those two story block buildings, unspectacular, except it wasn’t the only one like it build in that street. After checking the weather and reading up on how fires develop and behave under certain conditions, I am certain the other houses should have caught fire too. Additionally, it had been a fairly stormy night. From up here I can see the building. It’s easy to find among the strong colors of spring. The Miller house is a black burned hole. I got my binoculars with me. I check the surrounding ground. Not even the grass around the building is burned or the least bit dried out, but lush and green. It’s like the fire came from inside the walls itself.

It’s a curse, is it not? I try flinging the jade dragon down the cliff. I don’t want it anymore. But it stays in my palm like it has been glued to it. The whole next week I attempt to get rid of the damn thing. But it’s no use. I thought about giving it away as a gift, because that is how I got it from Grandma, but I can’t do that to the bullies at school, least of all my friends. A rumor starts, about me paying someone of the dropout kids in town to burn down George Miller’s building. I try laughing it off, but to my own ears it’s a bitter laugh. Guess the others know I had something to do with the fire one way or the other. Even my friends start avoiding me after a while. Maybe they can sense something isn’t right with me. For a while, things stay quiet. Soon the kids at school forget the whole affair and George Miller becomes an anecdote, nothing more. That’s how the bullying starts up again.

It’s not the same. The fire changed something inside of me. The night of the dragon let me get my revenge on George. This time, when someone tries to get under my skin, I know what I can do to make them regret it. The worst thing is that I like the thought. I like the idea of power. I don’t know what the dragon can do. But the bigger question is what I am capable of. That scares me most of all. Grandma was wrong, I am not a good boy. I’m afraid one day I’ll have enough. I’ll snap and use it again on someone else. I fear for that day to come.

„Dude, we are not asking the dragon for directions.”

“But it’s so cute and fluffy.”

“Are you out of your mind? It’s huge. Has scales and fucking spits ice.” My friend hissed under his breath, pointing with his swords towards the beast.

In between the tannin-brown forest, the icy-blue dragon wasn’t able to hide very well. The grass was crisp under my feet. I looked up and the trees were skyscraper tall, reminding me of home. My view went between my friend Leroy and then back to the dragon. The beast really looked cute, with round little ears and blue sparkling scales. Maybe he was not fluffy but I knew deep down, that this dragon had to be a good guy. Someone we could trust. You just had to look at those feline eyes, they were gleaming with cunning and somewhat kindness. He wasn’t aware of what would come for him. It made me trust him on the spot.

“I’ll go talk to him.” I let my companion know. Hands traveling down to my battle-ax. “You think I should leave my ax here? It would show I come in peace. He might not attack me right away.”

“Kane, if you leave now I’ll go back to the tavern and spend my coin. You’re not a dragon, you’re human and dragons eat humans for breakfast. They don’t care if you carry a weapon or not. They attack.” Leroy pointed out.

“Don’t worry friend, I used my last skill point to level up on the skill Animal-friend and, may I remind you, that I was raised by a dragon.”

Leroy sighed heavily. “Animal-friend means you don’t scare rabbits or chickens easily, but I highly doubt that a dragon will not attack you due to that skill.”

“I was raised by a dragon.” I pointed out again to make my point. The delicate creature would not attack one of their own children.

“You were not raised by a fucking dragon. You had human parents as I did.”

“Never met my parents, have no memory of them. I was raised by a dragon. If you would read all the documents we find along our adventures and not skip them, you would know that there was an unnamed young boy in Themar Land, who was saved by magicians from a fierce dragon… and turns out in other letters that this boy was raised by the dragon. They took the boy against his will and slaughtered the pure creature for nothing.”

“And how are you sure it was you? Was your name written down?” Leroy wanted to know, looking at the dragon, afraid we might catch his attention with our banter.

“I can’t be sure, but as you’ve might noticed, I have a pretty big scar on my shoulder and … that’s proof.” I said, opening my mouth to say more before closing it again. Damn, I needed better arguments to prove my point of being dragon-raised to convince him. Did being pretty sure about it count as proof?

“Okay” Leroy rolled his eyes, clearly avoiding the topic now and trying to find a solution. He eyed the dragon more than once, unsure if we’d drawn his attention already but I was sure we hadn’t crossed the checkpoint yet and that’s why the ice-spitting dragon hadn’t moved yet.

Leroy looked at me, raised eyebrows, sword in hand. “So, what are we gonna do? We can stand here and hide, but then we won’t find the treasure and you know I want the treasure. I need to find it and I can’t do this without you.”

“I know, that’s why I’m gonna go and talk to him. Dragons are a million years old, he has to know something about the hidden treasure of Themar Land.”

“This still does not solve our problem, even if he wouldn’t turn you into an ice statue, you can’t talk Dragon.”

“Duh, I leveled my language skills too.”

Leroy’s lips pressed into a white slash. “Yeah, for human language and that upgrade means that it’s easier for you to get information from humans, not freakin’ dragons.”

I shrugged. My shoulders lowered and I crossed my arms. Maybe he had a point but we needed to make a decision quick.

“Guys!” The voice from the Gamemaker blurted into my ears through the tiny intercom. “Make a decision or you’re out of the game!”

This whole situation Leroy and I were stuck in didn’t seem to look good on TV. The ratings weren’t rising like the producers wanted to. They needed more action. That was getting them great ratings, it was the reason I started to watch it and applied to be part of too. Action, slaying dragon, fighting aliens or battleships -whatever the setting, it always involved fighting.

Leroy and I nodded. We didn’t want to be cut.

“Like it or not, I’ll try talking to him, when I die you have to go and find the treasure without me. You chose the skill Death-From-Above and Lightfoot, that-”

“Landing safely when jumping from higher grounds won’t help me when this thing attacks.” Leroy snapped.

Maybe he was right, the dragon was huge but asking him for directions seemed to be a good way to get ahead of the competition. I was sure no one else was so smart about it.

I was going to do this. Although Leroy had taken some of my confidence away, I kept the battle-ax with me just in case things went south. I didn’t want to die so early in the game.

The grass was crunching lightly under my boots when I moved forward. I was amazed, that even though I knew this was just Virtual-Reality-TV, I was nervous. My heart rate was going up, my hands were sweating and the closer I moved the bigger the dragon got. When crossing the checkpoint the dragon started to move. He spread his wings, sending icy wind towards me. The air was shifting and I saw my breath coming out of my mouth. My hands started shaking, it was suddenly so cold and I had trouble standing straight.

When the dragon spotted me, he growled. The ground was trembling. I lost my balance.

“I’m Kane. Son of the dragons.” I yelled. The dragon looked at me. A smile crept up my piercing cool face, before the dragon opened his mouth. He spilled ice, not words. The icicles flew through the air, cut into my skin and split painfully through my heart.

My sight faded, everything went black.

#writing prompt #short story

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