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corneliaavenue-ao3 · 5 days

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Summer's a Knife (a graveyard fic)

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

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

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

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

I even had a playlist made

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

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

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

So Long Daisy May

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fred had forgiven him.

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

Percy walked through the front door, Ginny closely following.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The twin’s room was last.

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

Flashbacks to the Great Hall flooded her brain.

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

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

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

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s safe to go home now.”

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

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

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

“Everyone else is inside,” her dad said.

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi,” Harry said.

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

Her heart skipped a beat.

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

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

Alive. Alive. Alive. Alive.

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

Fred's dead.

Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead.

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

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

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

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

“Where’s everyone else?” Ginny asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

One.

Two.

In.

Out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Slowly, she looped closer to the ground.

She noticed his dark hair first.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But yesterday was the ba-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then he kissed her.

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

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

His hands in her hair. I missed you.

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

Their lips pressed together. I need you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please. She was my friend.”

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

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

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

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

“Hello, my name is Ginn-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ginny broke the silence first.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No,” the boy stuttered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Both of the Deacon’s stood immediately.

“Of course,” Mrs. Deacon said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But we have one more-"

"Take me home."

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

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

That night, she did not fly.

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

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

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

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

But she did not ask.

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

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

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

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

“Ready?”

No.

“Yes,” she said, gripping his arm.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shit.”

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

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

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

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

"You know."

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

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

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

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

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

"Ex-boyfriend."

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

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

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

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

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

Fred Weasley

1/4/1978 - 2/5/1998

Mischief

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She has no right,” hissed Ron.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

With a pop, Narcissa disappeared.

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

“Harry?” Hermione’s voice questioned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Thank you, Jess."

Jessica paused before wrapping Hermione in a hug as well.

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

"Here."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You okay?" Harry murmured in her ear.

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

"I'm fine."

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course,” Ginny choked out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Night, Gin” Harry replied softly.

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

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

One breath in. One breath out.

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

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

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

To new beginnings.

The best and worst day of June (chapter 2)

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

The back door slammed close after George drunkenly stumbly out

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

“Do you need any help?” Ginny asked.

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

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

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

“What’s the difference?”

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry what?”

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

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

Ginny drops comments every now and then about memory loss

She is not very happy that Hermione took her parents memories

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

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

“Do you think they will understand?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The next day she runs away to Lunas

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Only what little Neville has told me."

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

---

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

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

***enter depressing thoughts here***

---

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

I forgot.

Lucky you.

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

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

“I'm the reason Sophie's dead.”

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

“Why do you think so?”

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

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

"You couldn’t have known.”

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

I've been down since July

In the cracks of light, I dreamed of you

The Great Depression

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

Hermione and Ron come back from Australia

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

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

Ron and Ginny conversation

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

"What did you used to talk about."

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

Ron scowled.

Criminal Trials get announced for the Death Eaters and the date

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Harry’s birthday

Ginny gets drunk at Harry’s party

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

August slipped away

Ginny’s birthday

Carrow trials

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

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

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

She felt her heart quicken. Calm down.

Breathe in and out.

"Her brother told me."

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

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

Breathe In.

Out.

In.

Out.

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

• The coming together of Harry and Ginny officially

You'll Have New Septembers

The epilogue where Harry sends Ginny off on the Hogwarts express

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

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theharrowing · 11 months

Text

Lost & Found

Taehyung just wants to be left alone. Too bad you need a place to stay.

👻 Ghost Taehyung x Living Non-Gendered Reader (platonic), formerly Taehyung x Yoongi

👻 word count: 1.9k

👻 strangers to friends (kind of), haunting au, angst, hint of fluff, hurt/comfort, slice of life, 18+

👻 warnings: Taehyung is a ghost and we learn how he died, but it is not too graphic; grief, depression and crying. this might be sad for some, but i did my best to make it light and hopeful.

👻 note: since it’s a drabble, the descriptions are not as vivid as usual. it’s mostly ~vibes~.

👻 requested by @sabiekay for my Harrowing Halloween event! thank you so much for requesting!!! 💜 i, uhhhh.........i was not intending for this to be so focused on grief, but given my last couple of weeks, i am also not shocked by how i ended it. i hope you don't mind! 😅

👻 story told from Taehyung's pov!

👻 beta read by @neoneunnajimin

👻 posted nov. 2023 | read on ao3

Taehyung watches with a frown as you lean over the kitchen counter and sign a new lease. His kitchen counter, where he prepared his food all those years ago.

He frowns as he imagines you messing it up with condensating cups and take-out containers. Will you wash it properly with a detergent made for porous material or fuck it up with the cheap shit he has seen tenant after tenant spray on its surface?

That tends to be his final straw – the push he needs to haunt someone adequately enough to scare them off. He hates it when people fail to show consideration for other people's things. Just because he is dead does not mean this house is any less his.

He bought this house with his own money, fresh out of college. He proposed to the love of his life in the center of the living room just past where you shake hands with the landlord. And right above you, where there are three balusters that look slightly different from the rest on the wooden railing of the upper level was where he leaned just a little too hard unknowingly against rotting wood, falling to his death.

Just because the impact of his skull against that very kitchen counter that you lean against was culpable in his death, does not mean he wants some asshole from who-knows-where getting it all dirty and not taking proper care of it.

You have a nice smile, at least, albeit a little sad around the edges and never reaching your eyes. As he shifts just enough to make the curtains move and steps just close enough to give you a chill, he could swear you look directly at him, right into his eyes.

But why would you rent a home knowing that it is haunted by the ghost of its past? Taehyung finds the notion ridiculous. He is certain the landlord did not disclose the fact that previous tenants have broken their leases feeling scared for their lives after he has grown impatient and terrorized them; why would he?

As soon as the landlord is gone, Taehyung watches as you slump down to the hardwood floor, sitting with your knees bent, hugging them tightly. You do not look like a person who has made a big, happy life decision, and Taehyung finds himself nearly wishing to console you. Nearly.

"What am I doing?" you grumble into your knees before letting out a deep sigh.

Taehyung tests your limits almost immediately. He gets the sense that you might not hate the thought of not being perfectly alone, as he has caught you crying more than once, and you do not seem to have very many people you reach out to for comfort, if any at all. To say you seem lonely is an understatement.

When you come from around the kitchen counter, which is mostly bare of any personal items, he stands in your path, allowing you to feel just enough of his presence to get a chill down your spine. To his delight, you halt and look around as if trying to sense more of him, but then you shrug and carry on through the living room, to the hideous brown couch that clashes with your hideous black coffee table to dissociate, he assumes.

You spend a long time looking at nothing. Sometimes he slightly moves your scented candles a few inches over and opens the curtains just a crack, and you never seem to notice. Or, perhaps you don't care.

Truth be told, Taehyung prefers to be left alone. He likes it when his house is perfectly calm, still, and quiet. He can still remember the way it smelled when he and his fiancé Yoongi occupied the space, and he hates to imagine what it may smell like with someone around; he feels thankful that his sense of smell is gone, feeling none too eager to discover what candles like Witches Brew and Boo-Nana Toffee would do to the place.

Every inch of this home, even after years of new paint jobs and different, ugly furnishings, holds a different memory of Yoongi occupying the space. Seeing someone else in the home that was meant for the two of them feels wrong.

At least you do not take up a ton of space, but your depression kills the mood. The energy in the house is constantly off, and even Taehyung cannot fathom why you don't just go out and meet new people. It seems that you work or study from home; Taehyung does not pay close attention. He prefers to avoid traveling to the upper level of the house, and that is where you seem to spend the working hours of the day.

Each weekday, like clockwork, 5:05 pm rolls around, and you shuffle out of the smaller of the two rooms on the upper floor – the one where Taehyung had all of his art supplies set up and laid out long ago, where he assumes you have an office space set up. You are always dressed nicely from the waist up but wear sweatpants or pajama shorts and slippers, and you plop down on your couch, letting out a sigh so heavy that even the huff of air from the cushions under your weight falling against it cannot cover the sound.

Each weekday, like clockwork, you turn on the television and stare toward the screen, never seeming to watch it. Sometimes, you scroll around on your phone. Often, you cry. And then, after several bleak hours of seemingly nothing, you shut off the television, walk up the stairs, turn out all the lights, and leave Taehyung alone.

"I think the house may be haunted," Taehyung hears you say one day.

To his surprise, your voice travels from the upper floor, and he perks up from his place on your couch, glancing up in your direction.

You sit at the top of the stairs, looking down through the railing banister, directly at Taehyung. Well, at the space that Taehyung occupies. He wonders if you can see the slight dip that he likes to make in the cushion. He had been doing it for weeks with the hope of creeping you out, and he had begun to wonder whether you had been noticing at all.

This is only the second time Taehyung has ever seen you talking to another human being, and he watches with fascination as your face contorts to something that may actually be considered a smile.

"It's a vibe I get," you say with a shrug.

Eager to enhance the vibe, so to speak, Taehyung slowly begins to stand. He is certain that the shifting of his energy is causing the cushion of the couch to relax from its indented position, and he watches with delight as your eyes widen, following the movement.

“S-sorry,” you mutter into the phone, shifting in place while your eyes stay glued to the couch, “spaced out. What did you say?”

Taehyung stays put while you finish your conversation, having all the time in the world to watch as your eyes trail knowingly back to the spot on the couch before you finally stand and retreat into one of the upstairs rooms.

Today, when 5:05 pm rolls around and you do not shuffle from the upstairs room, Taehyung grows concerned. He moves to the kitchen and checks the calendar you have hanging on the fridge, which is covered in images and stickers of kittens, confirming today is a weekday by seeing that the last day you crossed a black x over – yesterday – was Wednesday.

He considers walking up the stairs to make sure you are alright, but he hesitates. Not since Yoongi left, has he been in the bedroom they shared. Not since grief pushed his beautiful fiancé to pack up and move out and never return – a grief that Taehyung shares to this day.

But as the minutes tick by, Taehyung becomes increasingly worried. He tells himself that he should go upstairs and check on you – that if it is too much to handle, he will return downstairs.

Slowly, Taehyung makes his way up, walking each step at a time despite not needing to, just to hear the third step creak underfoot as it has so many times before. He keeps expecting to see you appear at the top landing, ready for your daily routine of spacing out during reruns of a drama he once enjoyed, but you never do.

Once at the top landing, he hears you crying. It is unmistakable the way you sob – familiar in the way each inhale rattles through your lungs.

When he rounds the corner and peeks into the master bedroom, nostalgia hits him hard. You sit at the edge of your bed with your head in your hands, just as Yoongi had for months after the accident.

Without thinking, Taehyung approaches and sits on the bed beside you, close enough that the dip from his weight makes you gasp and lift your head to check.

Your hand falls to the spot, straight through Taehyung’s leg, and you chuckle while sniffling wetly. Taehyung is shocked to see you smiling, slight as it is.

"Hey, there," you say through a shaky inhale. "I was wondering if you would ever join me."

Silence hangs, and Taehyung weighs his options. He is certain that he has no voice that can be heard, and changing the weight of his energy might actually freak you out. To his own surprise, Taehyung finds he is not eager to scare you away. And so, he just sits with you, and he does nothing.

“It doesn’t get easier, does it?” you ask after a long pause, eyes cast down on your hand that traces dips in the fabric of the soft white comforter. Softer, as if just to yourself, you say, “I don’t know how to let her go.”

Taehyung gets it, he really does. Without knowing who you have lost and how, he cannot help but think of Yoongi, of the life they were building, and of the love that they shared.

For the first time since Yoongi left, Taehyung feels glad his house is not empty of life. He wants to tell you that it will get easier, but that it never really goes away; that the pain ebbs and flows, and some days are harder than others. He wants to console you in more ways than just sitting by your side. It is strange, but he thinks he wants to try a little harder to befriend you – to make his presence known.

“At least I have cool ghost vibes to keep me company,” you mutter, making yourself laugh as you sniffle in a sob and your tears come out over a bright smile. "Thank you for sitting with me and making me feel a little less alone."

For the first time since Yoongi left, Taehyung feels glad to know he can bring comfort to someone again. And for the first time in years, his house feels a little more like a home; a place where those who have lost may just find something new.

HAPPY (late) HALLOWEEEEN!!! 🎃👻🍂

the ending feels a bit abrupt, but i was trying to keep it as short and sweet as possible. it felt like if i tried to add even one more scene, it would become a beast needing to be tamed lolol.

i hope you enjoy this little drabble! i have a couple more on the way, so look forward to Halloween vibes in November hehe. submissions for this event are closed, but i hope to do it again, next year!!!

REBLOGS AND COMMENTS KEEP ME WRITING, AND LIKES MAKE MY DAY BRIGHT!!! THANK YOU FOR READING! I LOVE YOU!

tag list: @codeinebelle @dasexydevitt13 @fluffybuns69 @giriiboyy @idkjustlovingbts @mgthecat @moonleeai @m1sss1mp @spookyminyunki 👻 wanna be tagged in all my works? dm me!

Lost & Found is copyright theharrowing 2023. no translations or reposting allowed!

#taehyung x reader #taehyung angst #taehyung fluff #taehyung scenarios #bts angst #bts fluff #bts scenarios #a harrowing halloween #fic: lost & found

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angeart · 1 year

Note

I always want to hear abiut the ghost Hunter Grian & ghost scar au. Hello

Hi hello! Right. So, consider this.

Scar is a ghost. He lives in an abandoned, decrepit house. (It used to be nice once. He built it himself.) The house is famous for being haunted. This attracts two types of people:

One is ghost hunters. They're either amateur ones who fool around, or professional ones that are jaded and know what they came for. In and out, always. They come, they pretend like they care, get their content, pack up and go.

The second one is young people who come in because they've been dared to by their friends. Thrill seekers, cowards pretending to be brave, etc. You know the lot. They don't care about the ghost that's there. They care about spookiness and fear spikes and proving a point.

Now, Scar is as jumpy as we know him to be. Half the time he scares people, it's because he got scared first. But sometimes, he does it on purpose. Sometimes he likes to scare others. For a laugh. Just to cause mischief. To amuse himself.

But underneath it all? He's watching his house crumble around him, people who know nothing about him keep telling him (or more like, telling each other; very little of the conversation is usually aimed at Scar) that he's scary, that he's evil.

Scar can't do anything about any of it. He can just be.

It's the only thing he has left.

And he's so, so lonely.

Let's throw Grian into the mix. In a way, he does fall into one of the categories - he is a ghost hunter. But it's not as much for content, as it it for the sake of his own curiosity.

So when he's in the house and he tries to talk to Scar? It... feels different. Something about it is shifted. Maybe it's the questions he asks. The way he looks around. The way he speaks into the silence of the house, without knowing if there's anyone to listen.

Scar is there, and he listens.

And he tries to talk to him. It's hard. It's not easy to communicate when you're a ghost, starved and lonely and sad. But he tries. For once, he makes a proper effort.

Grian picks up on it, and maybe they have a halting, broken conversation through various tools. Staticky radios and flickering flashlights and taps on the wooden walls.

Once Scar finds out that Grian's trying to really listen and understand, instead of jumping to conclusions and putting words into Scar's mouth that he never intended to say, Scar tries to say so, so much. Words tumble out, but words are no longer his language, and they refuse to come across the way he shapes them.

He grows scared, then.

Because here's this one person who is trying to understand him, but just like everyone else, he's bound to leave, too. Right? So Scar panics, and he uses his powers to lock the house. He traps Grian inside, if only until the dawn.

At first, Grian freaks out.

This makes Scar panic too, and he strings up apologies and tries to somehow show him that he's not going to hurt him (it's hard. it doesn't work.) - but he's too desperate for company, for understanding, for someone to be there. For someone to act like maybe deep underneath all of this, Scar is still a person.

And maybe Grian catches on, after a while. And maybe they try communicating again.

And maybe it goes better this time.

And Grian comes to understand that this ghost is just lonely and sad.

He makes a deal. He promises to come back to visit again. And Scar... lets him go. He lets him go and he hopes.

It's all he can do.

(Here are supplemental thoughts of how the rest of it could go:)

(Grian does come back. Each time, the communication is easier. Scar tells him how upset he is with the way people come in and treat him. And the way his house is falling apart at the seams. And how everyone acts like he's this evil, demonic thing. How they scare him sometimes. How he doesn't want to deal with it anymore.)

(He doesn't beg Grian to stay again. But he wants to.)

(Now consider: what if Grian ends up buying the house. What if he ends up renovating it with Mumbo. What if they move in. What if they bring in potted plants that Scar offhandedly mentions liking. What if they bring in a stray cat (Jellie). What if down the line, when they're all settled and know each other fairly well, they just start messing with each other like the menaces they are. For entertainment. Always making sure to know where the boundaries are and what lines to not cross. Always making sure to check up on each other if something goes too far or wrong.)

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queerestqueertoeverqueer · 2 years

Text

an attempt to summarise my TPOTD thoughts

YAZ/MANDIP:

mandip gill, i love you forever. her acting in the scene where thirteen's hand starts glowing? i will be haunted by that forever, congratulations. girl knows how to cry.

yasmin fucking khan, best companion. BEST companion. she saved the doctor, she got everyone together, she took the lead when she needed to, she piloted the TARDIS when it counted (the fact that she still had her post-it notes 🥺) she really became the doctor when the doctor was gone. loml.

yaz carrying the doctor will never ever stop being so amazing. ever. i'm convinced she kisses thirteen on the cheek also. fight me.

THASMIN:

SPEAKING OF KISSING. there was a noticeable lack of it. to be fair, it wasn't NECESSARY. i do think we, and they, deserved it though. also see this parallel? rude.

i can get over the no-kiss, eventually. i cannot get over the no hug!!!!!

and i ABSOLUTELY CAN NEVER GET OVER the fact that yaz wasn't allowed a proper reason to leave the TARDIS. you know how we've all been saying 'i can't see any reason for yaz to leave the TARDIS willingly', guess what, NEITHER CAN CHIBS!!!! 😭

but seriously, it didn't need much. all it needed was an extra 2 minutes of just thasmin and i'd have nothing bad to say about this episode.

if they'd just added a couple of minutes at the end of yaz explaining to the doctor how much she loves her (onto that in a minute) but how she doesn't feel like she can stay when she'll look at 'MY doctor' and see someone else, especially after the master thing.

MORE THASMIN:

so, i'm actually quite pleased with what thirteen said to yaz. the 'my hearts are so full of love of all of you' was a bit like,,,, yes i know the fam need a shout-out but don't be scared BBC, she's allowed to just love yaz too. same with 'and she is loved', like always it has to be from the fam, not just from yaz.

however, the next line, 'i have loved being with you, yaz' was BRILLIANT. that's the closest we're gonna get for a while to the doctor actually saying 'i love you' and i think yaz understands that too.

what i DIDN'T like was the fact that it didn't go 'i have loved being with you, yaz' 'i love you too, bighead' or something similar. because yaz never got to tell the doctor her feelings. dan did a great job, sure, but she never got to vocalise them, and i wish she did.

sure, she spent the whole episode DEMONSTRATING that she loves the doctor, arguably the whole last 3 seasons. but i wish she'd got to say the words. the opportunity was right there.

REGEN:

the regeneration was beautiful. again, same as with thasmin. what we were given was 10/10, BUT we should have been given a bit more!!! thirteen deserved a slightly longer speech, i don't think it necessarily had to be super long, but maybe a little more than what she got.

her last line was perfect though. i wouldn't change a thing. 'doctor whoever-i-am-next. tag, you're it.' PERFECT thirteen.

her regeneration's tone kept in-line with the past too. the doctor growing up. from ten's 'i don't want to go' to eleven accepting it but being very very sad, to twelve using it as an opportunity to shape his next self, to thirteen not only accepting it, bu embracing it. seeing one last sunrise. taking it as something beautiful. because it was.

CLASSIC STUFF:

THE RETURNING DOCTORS WERE PERFECT. i was worried they wouldn't be able to find a natural way to put returning characters in and it would feel clunky, but it was flawless.

i'd heard rumours about five, six, and seven, but one and eight were totally unexpected. paul mcgann, national treasure. plus jo martin!!!!! she wasn't there for long but it was very her, very badass, plus i loved the fact that it was yaz's idea (more on that later too)

returning companions also, damn. i was not expecting that at all. when i saw graham i was like 'ahhh so this is their big surprise, i'll pretend to be shocked, ahhhhh' BUT THEN. i loved it.

CATBOY RASPUTIN:

ok, it's been long enough. it is time to talk about the master.

flawless. perfect. i genuinely would not change a thing about it. (for now at least, maybe i will when i think about it more)

the rasputin dance break was iconic. there was no need for it. but it was there. it was glorious. i can never listen to rasputin again.

i almost don't care that we didn't get the next doctor in thirteen's outfit, because sacha dhawan in that outfit, earring and all, was spectacular. honestly, brilliant. i didn't think they'd go there but they did.

the concept of the master regenerating into the doctor. o o f . there's some very clever things to be said and meta to be written about that, but i don't have the brainpower rn, so hopefully someone else will.

i will admit, when sacha regenerated into the doctor, my brain immediately went 'fuck, no, we're gonna have a lot less jodie screentime now', but honestly it was okay. the scenes of her with classic doctors plus the hologram stuff made sure she was still around enough.

CATBOY MASTER. ENOUGH SAID.

MISCELLANEOUS OTHER THOUGHTS:

ace and seven getting closure!!!!! yay!!!!!!

the adric mention and 'brave heart, tegan' was lovely

the fact that yaz said to ruth 'the last time i saw you, you were a tour guide in gloucester' was funny. but, it means something quite sad really. the doctor never told her about the timeless child stuff, or division. or if she did, she left out some major details. the end of the vanquishers is one of my favourite scenes, and it's sad that they didn't give her the chance to follow through with 'i want to tell you everything'. but who knows, if big finish wants to give us that one day, i'll be happy.

the hands in the 'you saved my life' scene. stunning. there was no need for the glass though. let them touch BBC it's okay.

yaz carrying the doctor. yeah, i've said it already, but that scene was genuinely stunning.

the doctor seeing yaz's face, smiling, and closing her eyes. she should have said 'my yaz', paralleling the 'my fam' at the end of S12, but sure. in my head, she said it.

thirteen being trapped in the dalek!!!!!!! the clara parallels!!!!!!!!!!!!! when they said 'open the casing' a good 78% of me was going 'cLARA CLARA CLARA CLARA CLARA' but yeah. i liked that.

i realise i haven't said much about jodie (that's a first) and honestly i have nothing more to say that i haven't already said. how can anyone feel anything but love for her. she and mandip are brilliant. easily my favourite actors ever. easily.

they should have kissed man, chibnall you fucking coward.

to summarise: what we got was perfect. i mean, genuinely. like, every scene of that episode, i adored. but there was a 2 minute scene missing. a two minute scene, my version of which i will probably write at some point as i'm sure lots of us will, where yaz explains why she can't stay. they hug, they kiss, they reminisce, and they part.

i liked that they ended on 'let's not say goodbye' though. leaves it open for a yaz return, plus, VERY doctor of her to hate endings, to hate goodbyes. yaz's doctorification came full-circle and it was magnificent.

once again, mandip gill, WHERE did you learn to cry like that.

overall? solid 8.7/10. i can't forgive yaz not getting her proper exit. but i did enjoy what we got. and i miss them and i want them back. she's yaz's doctor, but she's our doctor too.

#thirteenth doctor #the power of the doctor #yasmin khan #the master #dhawan!master #sacha dhawan #jodie whittaker #mandip gill #doctor who #tpotd #dw #thirteen's era #chris chibnall #robin is in mourning :(

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rocknrollsalad · 10 months

Text

STWG Daily Prompt (Nov 30) - Running Out of Gas

if you squint it's also the prompt for today (Dec 1) - road trip

⛽ pairing(s): jargyle

🚙 Jonathan is having a tougher time than he lets on and it ends up all coming out anyway

😿 content/trigger warnings: i don't think there is anything

🧑‍🤝‍🧑 word count: 1273

🌲author's note: this is mostly an experiment in jargyle. trying it out a little bit and playing in this new sandbox but since I'm barely 24 hours late on it, I'm still posting it. for me lol. it's a cute and great idea I should expand on but time and so many challenges and stuff.

A lot was going on with the whole world ending stuff, Argyle knew he was supposed to care but what was he going to do about giant cracks in the ground? He couldn’t fight some slimy vine monster who haunts dreams or whatever. If anyone was ever just some guy, Argyle knew it was him. Maybe this Vecna thing really liked pizza.

Or maybe he didn’t have enough. Good food would make anyone less angry. Argyle ate all the time and he never felt like snapping people’s bones. But he left the monster hunting to all the people who knew what they were dealing with.

Instead, he took on cleaning, cooking, and talking with everyone. It was amazing what talking about anything other than the tragedy they were looking at did for them. Argyle learned a lot about dragons and some things about very boring, uninteresting dungeons. He also learned that even though the cop acted like he didn’t like to be bothered, he really, really liked being bothered. The more people the better, even.

So yeah, Argyle should have gone home by now but he was playing a real part in a very scary situation. He couldn’t leave now. Jonathan needed him because somehow in all this, he and Nancy found time to break up.

Jonathan finally had the tough conversation he’d been avoiding and they did exactly what he was afraid would happen. Only it was hard to be sad about it. Everyone knew it was coming, even his mom barely found any comfort for the guy.

Yet Jonathan moped. For weeks. It was hard to watch but harder to be around and none of Argyle’s tricks worked. As much as he tried to come up with a plan, nothing helped. It was worse than the lead up to spring break and if Argyle wasn’t making friends with everyone else, he might have gone back to California. Sure, he’d probably never see Jonathan again but he wasn’t seeing him now.

Joyce came in like the angel she was and asked Jonathan if he’d run into town and get some things and before she could finish her request, Argyle was offering to drive. Anything to get out of the woods and maybe having Jonathan away from everyone else (all to himself) would help too.

Reluctantly, Jonathan agreed but he didn’t know how to agree any other way. He took the keys since he knew the way, got into the pizza van, and headed into Hawkins proper to get some more lumber, a pipe, and more milk. An easy list, they’d be done in no time so Argyle had to hatch some sort of plan quick.

Had he not been thinking so hard, he might have caught the turn Jonathan didn’t make. The building they were calling the hardware store was now behind them. The “Now leaving Hawkins” sign was behind them by the time Argyle realized.

“Hate to tell ya, man, but you overshot the hardware store.”

“We’re not going,” Jonathan answered, so flat and empty. His mind was already miles away, busy only with keeping the car in the lane.

“Wh-ere are we going?”

“Dunno.”

“Right on.” was all Argyle could think to say.

It’d be a kidnapping if he weren’t willing to follow Jonathan into those cracks in the city or outer space. There wasn’t a crime, just a new adventure. One Argyle rode along quietly until the van started to shimmy and sputter. Jonathan eased it over into a pull-out among the trees and a cough from the exhaust killed the engine for him.

Not that it brought any more conversation to the van. Jonathan continued to stare straight ahead, hands at ten and two like the upright citizen he was. As Argyle went to say something, Jonathan’s forehead fell to the steering wheel, brought down by an unseen force. From there, he let it all out.

This was a new place to be, not the destination Argyle expected but he couldn’t help but think it was one Jonathan needed to visit. Perhaps desperately. It was hard to watch, Argyle likely wasn’t meant to see this but he’d crashed the party, and forced his way into this. As much as he wanted to say he wouldn’t have come had he known, it would have made him want to come more.

Rubbing Jonathan’s back just like that night those gas station sandwiches gave them food poisoning, Argyle inched to the edge of his seat and did his best to stay quiet. He knew a lot of things about Jonathan and one of the hardest ones to put into action was keeping quiet. There was something to be said for how opposite they were but Argyle liked that part best, really.

Jonathan may have been granted the quiet but Argyle couldn’t stop everything and the inching to the edge of his own seat wasn’t enough. Argyle moved over to crowd into the driver's seat to invade Jonathan’s space. Room was immediately made for him. It didn’t take long for Jonathan to turn and curl up against Argyle to get that comfort and affection he so rarely asked for.

By that point, Jonathan was cried out but not ready for much else. Leaving Argyle to watch the cars go by and let his friend share some of the weight he held.

As selfish as it was, it all made Argyle feel better too. Being a help was at the top of that list. Even if it wasn’t asked of him and he probably wasn’t anyone’s first pick for this, he was here and willing. But it forced him to slow down to think about everything. Not just what Jonathan was going through but what he’d be dragged into.

He hadn’t been paying attention to know how much time had passed, somehow a lifetime and not enough, but Jonathan broke the silence with an obvious announcement, “We’re out of gas.”

“There should be a can in the back and I don’t mind taking a little walk.”

“I’ll go with you. You won’t know where to go.”

“Thought I’d just walk straight, something would show up.”

The silence said that was the right answer but they both let it pass by.

“I’ll come with you, we don’t know what’s out there,” Jonathan tried again.

It was a little difficult untangling from the shared seat and made standing out on the road feel empty and expansive. Argyle wanted to climb back in and stay there until the guys at home sent out a search party. They’d be mad but it’d be worth it.

Instead, they walked around to the back of the van and Argyle rooted around until he came up with a small gas can. Holding it above his head like a grand treasure, waiting for that familiar look of annoyance. Of course, it came before Argyle had his arms fully extended. Jonathan was still himself at least.

Without a word shared between them, they both walked in the same direction. Jonathan slid his hand into Argyle’s free hand and drifted closer as they wandered down the shoulder. For as weird as everything had been, this felt incredibly normal. Like they’d been doing this their whole lives.

Whether it was for comfort or something more, Argyle didn’t care. Friends could hold hands without it being something. At the same time, them doing this at eighty played in Argyle’s mind. A life spent side by side. Decades of annoying Jonathan seemed like a great use of his time.

“We’re gonna have to call your mom when we get there. She’s probably already worried.”

“I know.”

#hey everyone come see what i wrote now #stwgdailyprompt #two things at once - i'm on a roll #and going to bed lol

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coffeecat1983 · 1 year

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Good Omens "Give it all up" (AU one shot)

(note, I haven't finished the show, but I know the basics from you lovely folks. I humbly offer this drabble that bit my brain last night. Mad props to @piratewinzer for dragging me into this fandom, and for pre-reading this. Love mew!)

"Then come with me, stay with me!" Crowley took a step back. "You know I can't do that," he hissed, "to even suggest it is-" Aziraphale fell to his knees. "Then take me with you." "Angel you can't set foot in Hell, it's forbidden, you'd be in agony!" The only sound in Crowley's ears was the labored, pained breathing coming from the other. A voluntary action for them, and yet the angel pressed on with it, adding in the proper emotional pattern to the human function. Crowley could swear Aziraphale wasn't acting consciously at that point, and if he was, he deserved a damn award for it. A shuddering sob escaped the figure, his hands now supporting him as he doubled over. "I renounce it." he muttered. In all his time in existence, very few things made Crowley feel the cold embrace of fear, but now it wrapped around him in a grip that was tighter than anything the serpent of Satan could ever inflict upon another. "W-What?" he managed, voice shaking so hard he could barely manage the simple word. "I renounce it, all of it." Aziraphale said louder. "I renounce Heaven, I reject the holy light, the word given upon the land to all humankind!" He looked up, his face a mixture of pain, anger, fear, and love. Crowley couldn't move.

"Rip my wings from me, o' God!" Aziraphale called out. "I give what I have to offer to the almighty lord of darkness! Take me into your service, o' Satan!" Crowley shot forward, falling to his knees as he grabbed him. "Don't say those words you fool! Don't do this!" he pleaded. He felt stinging in his eyes and realized tears were falling. "You have to take it back! TAKE IT BACK!" Aziraphale looked at him, tears in his own eyes. "No." he said softly. Thunder shook the air around them, the floor cracking apart. A voice, both sad and powerful, called out. "So it is done." Aziraphale cried out, collapsing against Crowley. His wings stretched up, snow-white feathers dancing in the air as the wings began to fall apart, turning black and dissolving like a sweet in boiling water. The sight was more horrifying than any image Hell could have possibly created. The dark mass from the wings crept down, sweeping over Aziraphale's clothing. The cream, gold, and white all changing to black and shades of smoke. His once white curls were next, shifting from the swirls of snow on a clear morning, to the color of ashes long grown cold in the hearth. A haunting voice, the sound of damnation itself, echoed out. "I welcome this newcomer to my unholy flock." Crowley held the unconscious, newly born demon, tenderly cradling him close. He couldn't hold back. Six thousand years of heartbreak escaped him, his tearful screams reaching Heaven itself.

By "CC"

#good omens #fanfiction #fanfic #drabble #oneshot #I haven't finished the show please don't kill me for this #Angst #aziraphale #aziracrow #crowley

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renniethedwstan · 1 year

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I just can't puck a favourite Doctor anymore. I love them all. I love all the Classics, (need to watch them again to know why i like each doctor from the classics. )all the rebooted. I love Nine, ten, eleven, twelve and Thirteen. I just can't pick one. They're all amazing and wonderful in their own ways I just can't pick at all.

I love Nine because he's a no-nonsense smart aleck spaceman who falls in love with a modern-day shop girl. He's still recovering from the war. He obviously suffers from either trauma or PTSD but tries to make the best of it. He has some of the best one liners and is just funny. (Or at least I think he's funny and I do like a lot of his episodes.)

I love Ten because, let's be honest. He's a pretty boy, goofy. His and Donna's dynamic will always be iconic. There are moments where I just want to smack the sod because he's a jerk or he's just pushed the lines too far. But I can never stay mad at him. (Well maybe I can because he removed Donna's memories but that's a different conversation) he's pretty, he's fun, also funny as well. But is a tad more childlike. I enjoy watching his episodes with my mum as she adores ten.

Eleven. I love this Doctor so much. Yes I love all of them like I said but I will admit there is a soft spot for eleven in there as well. He's an elderich old man with a young face. He acts so childish that it makes it obvious that he's actually a very haunted being whose filled with so much anger and sadness that he loses control and some of his kindness. As much as I love this Doctor. He's not a doctor I'd find myself trusting easily just because of how dark he can get. He's suffered a lot of lost but he's also comfortable causing loss as well. Which shows that he's lost compassion and its going to be hard to rail him back to the spot he used to be where mercy was better than cruelty.

Twelve. Okay so my love for him is a bit more newer as I felt like I never gave him a proper chance when I was younger but I'm now reaching his episodes (s10 it's underrated. So is Bill and his dynamic) I will admit I struggled to like him when I was younger but now I'm older. I feel like I can relate to his grumpiness quite a bit. Humans are stupid and annoying. They're hard work I just wish I had the confidence to insult everyone or had the ability to tell them to shut up like Twelve did. Now on my rewatch I could possibly say Twelve is a brilliant Doctor. Maybe even the best. Not writing wise but in a. He doesn't react like how ten or eleven reacts. He reacts a bit more like how nine reacts. With mercy. He gives the enemies a chance. I mean all Doctor's do but Twelve does it similar to how nine does it. They take a different way of sorting things out with snark and grumpiness.

Thirteen. Oh my precious baby girl. I'm still not okay that she's no longer the Doctor. I loved Thirteen if I'm honest. I will always defend her Doctor. Yes maybe the episodes needs tweaking ill say that but I don't hate the Doctor. I loved her Doctor. She's bubbly fun and just a funny o' ball of social anxious. She's a mood. She's my lil ND mood. Yes she can go dark too. And those moments have made me cross when she takes her anger out on her fam. So she does make me wanna dmack her like ten does. Bit I'm probably more likely to trust her more than I would with eleven just because she seems like she has such warm energy when she is happy. She's a bit more level headed than ten and eleven I'd say (may need to watch her era again. I haven't done it yet lol ooops) she was more with her words than actions I'd say but correct me if I'm wrong. I did like the way she defended Ryan that was sweet. Yes she was awkward at some moments but she's an awkward Doctor. But I will say. Some of her episodes had some funny moments for example when Graham was just like "WORST UBER EVER!) I loved that. I also loved the Master from her era. Now I love all the incarnations of the Master but I will say that Dhawan is my favourite. I just love how utterly fucking manic he is. Dude terrified me. Yet at the same time. He got those dark puppy eyes that makes me wanna hug him too!!.

...sorry bout that rant. But I'm excited for the 60th though.

#doctor who #thirteenth doctor #twelveth doctor #eleventh doctor #tenth doctor #ninth doctor #i love all of them for different reasons #bbc doctor who #christphor eccleson #david tennent #matt smith #peter capaldi #jodie whittaker

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brainrot-buffet · 3 years

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Aight guys time to be miserable with me

(Warnings: mentions of death and blood)

Does anyone else just randomly wonder what happened to Mylo and Claggor's bodies?

We know for a fact that in Jinx's head, she's aware of what and where their wounds are, as seen with Mylo's blood on his chest where he got impaled as well as Claggor's blood on his head. This clearly indicates that at some point after being recently adopted by Silco, Powder saw their bodies.

If that doesn't get dark enough, the main thing I'm thinking about is the possible circumstances of HOW she came to see them. One way could've been that she happened to come across them by herself underneath the ruins and that's where their bodies still lay. Another sadder idea I have is that while Silco and his goons were clearing the area, they recover Mylo, Claggor, and Vander's bodies and discuss what to do with them (this might be possible since Powder had time to take Claggor's goggles). If the whole "Vander becomes Warwick" theory is true, then it makes sense that they decided to salvage Vander's body and then dump Mylo and Claggor's remains in an unmarked grave. Like imagine Silco taking Powder away from the scene and the last time she ever sees her brothers is them being hauled off to be thrown in a ditch somewhere.

There are so many variables and outcomes that could've occurred surrounding this one question, but it's something I've always wondered whenever I rewatch Episode 3. The possibility of Mylo and Claggor not receiving burials due to having no other family left to claim them just makes me genuinely sad. Hell it makes their entire lives beginning to end sad, especially since we're given a scene in which Piltover enforcers were given formal funerals whereas our two boys, both young Zaunites, receive no scene and possibly indicating no funeral or at least a proper farewell. I'm kinda hoping in one way or another we get a confirmation from the writers and creators on what happened to their remains, cuz this is one of the details in the show that just haunt me when I think about it too much.

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EDIT!!!:

OH MY GOD GUYS MY LATE NIGHT RAMBLING ACTUALLY MADE ME CONNECT SOMETHING!!!

Okay so let me jump onto the irony when I compared the deaths of the Piltover enforcers vs Mylo and Claggor's. One thing that connects them together is that they were all killed by Jinx/Powder, and another thing is the eulogy that Marcus gives at the enforcers' funeral scene.

youtube

Now listen carefully to every word of Marcus's eulogy:

"These brave enforcers sacrificed their lives to defend the values of our city. To some they are mothers, fathers, sons, daughters, but to all, they're heroes."

The thing here is that his words also similarly describe Mylo and Claggor, except they sacrificed their lives to protect their family. Another main difference they have is that the boys' memories aren't as secure as the enforcers'.

The enforcers are formally remembered by the city, possibly have records to confirm their existence, are given a ceremony, and graves and caskets that show/state who they were in life and what they did. On the other hand, we don't know what came to be for Mylo and Claggor's bodies, they possibly have no formal records to prove they were real people who were alive once, and the memory of their lives and who they were only truly live on through those that knew them in life. Their memory is immortalized in Ekko's mural at the Firelight headquarters, but even then all we can take from their portraits is that they were dearly loved by those who had the fortune to meet them. The fact that Claggor was the humblest, Chaddest Chad and Mylo broke his record for picking locks all to save Vander goes unknown unless you ask Ekko, Vi, or Jinx/Powder.

Despite now being unnamed faces, much like those enforcers, Mylo and Claggor died as heroes of their own story.

But that's until the day that everyone who loved them eventually dies, and that's the moment Mylo and Claggor themselves truly die. At that point, they'll really be just faces on a mural, with people wondering how and why they are there.

God the writing for this show is just beautiful.

NOTE: Damn I just realized that Marcus in a way contributed to Vander, Mylo, and Claggor's deaths whereas Jinx contributed to the deaths of the enforcers, a group that Marcus is a part of. You could say it's almost like payback to what Marcus did to the Vander family all those years ago.

#arcane #arcane league of legends #claggor arcane #mylo arcane #powder arcane #league of legends #Youtube #brainrot rambles

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avengers-age-of-fanfics · 3 years

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just for you, honeybee (6/?)

pairing: steve rogers x reader (platonic), natasha romanoff x reader (platonic), bruce banner x reader (y/n is a big fan of his), tony stark x reader, bucky barnes x reader

warnings: mention of bucky, fighting, training, mention of guns, takes place during The Avengers

words: 3,359

a/n: part 6! i honestly don't know how long this series will be, but i think i may end it at either endgame or TFATWS. so basically going through all the movies lmao, but skipping over a few. i just want honeybee and bucky to be happy but gotta add some angst.

Transitioning into a new world, the year of 2011, was no easy feat, and you appreciated Director Fury being somewhat patient and honest about how much has changed. Him, and apparently one of your biggest ‘fans,’ Phil Coulson, have been the most helpful with your adjustment, teaching you all about the new technology and supplying you with a new phone, courtesy of S.H.I.E.L.D.

However, along the way, were a few speedbumps. You and Steve trained consistently in S.H.I.E.L.D.’s gym, almost leaving no room for sleep or taking proper care of yourselves. You both knew it was terrible, you should be looking out for one another, but the loss and confusion overran your needs to live a normal life. However, over time, he seemed to adjust better than you, as expected. Even though Steve had only been awake a few months before you, he jumped right back into the new world.

For you and Steve, the both of you had seen Bucky a few weeks ago; you had seen Steve a few minutes ago, from the time you had woken up. To everyone else in the world, including Steve, however, that was history, a moment written in textbooks ages ago; and for Captain Rogers, that moment was months ago.

In your mind, you deserved to release your anger out on some punching bags.

It had taken Director Fury and Agent Coulson a while until they shared the news to you and Steve, that Peggy was alive. They had claimed that since they found Steve, high hopes were in store for finding you, hence saving off on telling him beforehand. Steve had immediately wanted to see her but you hesitated; what would Peggy say to the both of you? How would she react to you both being alive? No matter, Steve had begged you to come along to visit Peg and you caved, giving him some time with her before he called you in.

Peggy’s eyes lit up, “y/n, you’re alive! Sweetheart…”

You smiled, pulling up a chair next to her, “hey, Peggy. How’s the strongest woman alive doin’?”

She sighed, grasping your hand, “better…much better. Howard never stopped looking for you, the both of you. He’d be so happy to see you.”

You sucked in a breath as her eyes turned glossy, “we know, Pegs. We know.”

She held back her tears as she continued, “he had a son, Anthony; just as stubborn but smart as Howard. You’d love him.”

Steve chuckled, “sounds like a handful.”

Peggy laughed before falling into a coughing fit, turning away for a few seconds. After regaining her breath, she turned towards you and Steve, “Steve! Y/N! You – you’re both alive; you came back!”

Steve gave a sad smile as your face fell, “yeah, Peggy, we did…”

Steve’s eyes teared up, “I couldn’t leave my best girl; not when she owes me a dance.”

Over time, the visits to Peggy became too much and you needed to rest. So, with little convincing to Director Fury, you found yourself in a small cabin in Bozeman, Montana, with frequent visits by both Coulson and your new female friend, Natasha Romanoff. At first, you hated the idea of someone visiting you during your time to reflect, but once you realized that she wanted to help you train and become used to your super serum abilities, you appreciated the company.

You barely had any time to adjust to your newfound strength, among other things, and you slowly became grateful that Natasha had joined you over the course of a few months. Sure, sometimes she was so nosy and bossy, waking you up in the ungodly hours of the morning to train, but she had slowly become one of your closest friends.

Honestly, some days it felt as if you just met Natasha the day before:

You stood in Fury’s office, arms crossed, as he stood adjacent to you, Coulson awkwardly standing beside him. “Why are you sending a babysitter to a place where I am supposed to be, oh, I don’t know, relaxing? Reflecting?”

Director Fury grumbled for the umpteenth time, “because, Agent L/N, you never know when the day will come where we will need you and Rogers, along with your special abilities. You are unskilled in hand-in-hand combat, among other areas in defense, and it’d be nice to enhance our agents.”

You uncrossed your arms, still very pissed off, “I don’t want them to visit me every day. That’s my one condition. I need time, Nick; I feel like I haven’t properly…taken everything in. I just want time to myself.”

Phil spoke up beside Fury, “and we respect that, Y/N, we truly do. But we hope you also see where we are coming from. Natasha Romanoff is very skilled in her profession and understands your situation – you’re in good hands.”

“Phil, you’re making me blush,” a female monotonous voice spoke.

Whipping your head around, you were met with a beautiful redhead who definitely seemed like an Agent, someone who meant all business. You’d learn later on that was just a façade.

“I- Y/N L/N, you must be Agent Romanoff,” you said, holding out your hand.

Natasha grinned, shaking your hand in hers, “just call me Nat, Agent sounds too formal. I look forward to seeing what that super soldier serum truly did to you.”

Apparently, not too much as she continuously kicked your ass in combat.

Training with Natasha was, well, with your lack of combat, embarrassing. You had your ass handed to you so many times, it was a bit pathetic – but she always told you that you were improving. You used your heightened senses to your advantage, listening to her footsteps and figuring out what move she intended to use next. You hesitated to use your strength at first, but with continued training, you knew Nat could handle it.

With Nat, you also became very skilled in shooting handguns, rifles, the whole nine. Your aim was impeccable and target training was becoming a breeze. The thought of shooting someone terrified you at first, but when Nat reminded you that hesitation could get you killed, you understood – there was no room for mistakes.

During your stay in Montana, you kept in touch with Steve, but only through short texts. He was not thrilled with you leaving him, but he understood where you were coming from; you needed to mourn but also keep busy, careful to not fall into a dark abyss. Fury kept you updated, telling you that he had pushed himself into training continuously and visiting Peggy all he could. You knew seeing Peg was doing Steve no good whatsoever, and your heart ached...but at least he got to see his long love.

Nat had been there when Bucky’s birthday passed, holding you as you cried, unable to leave your bed the day of and a few after. She held you as you yelled at the sky for taking away the most important person in your life, leaving you so alone. She knew you had Steve, but it wasn’t the same – you needed Bucky. But she also knew by letting you cry, your emotions out of your body, you’d feel so much more at peace.

And she was right.

Natasha also told you about Howard's son, Anthony, and from what you saw on the news, that was definitely Howard's kid. Tony was arrogant, self-absorbed, but did what he thought was right. After his declaration of being Iron Man, you followed Tony all over the internet, but hearing first hand from Natasha of the man that Tony was...Howard would be proud. You wished to meet him, you did, but something pulled at your heart, telling you that Tony probably hated you for taking his dad from him, forcing Howard to become obsessed with finding you and Steve and thus, costing him his life.

Natasha told you he might see you in that light, yes, but if you ever got to know Tony, he'd warm up.

You weren’t healed and you still weren’t okay, but you were…better. You hated whatever being there was in the sky for taking your James, but you came to terms with it. But the one thing you were so resentful about was the fact that there was no body, no funeral for him.

Becca hated that, too.

You had visited her in her old age, just like Peggy, and the two of you held hands as you talked about James and Steve – your boys. She had missed you so much, just like she missed Jamie, and she understood your pain the best. She had tried to encourage a search party for him, to have some closure, but the government refused. He was gone, and they couldn’t send more men to find a disfigured body.

You hated thinking about that, what James would look like. It haunted you in your nightmares, waking you up in the wee hours of the morning, his frostbitten body staring right back at you. Phil had found you a morning after such nightmare, sitting on your porch in nothing but an oversized shirt and a blanket around your shoulders, cheeks wet with fresh tears.

You sniffled once more, wiping your nose with the back of your hand, watching as a black car parked into your dirt driveway. The car opened and Phil Coulson emerged, as expected - on time for your monthly visits. Hugging onto the blanket tighter, you shivered against the cold air, hoping Phil would just leave upon noticing your state.

He did the exact opposite.

Phil took off his jacket, resting it upon your shoulders even though you had the blanket. You sniffled, inhaling his scent, and hugged the jacket closer, feeling Phil take a seat next to you on your wooden bench.

"I always found snow to be soft, almost like a cloud, falling down upon it when James and I would make snow angels," you began. A shiver ran down your spine as you continued, "but now, I can't help but think of his body just...plopping onto the ground so roughly that he was hurting, still alive, yelling out for anyone and..."

Phil ran his hand over your head, brushing your hair back, "freezing."

You glanced to Phil, "freezing to...to death. He must've been so scared, I-"

Phil shushed you as the tears formed, "no what if's, y/n. He's safe now - that's what matters most. You're okay, and so is he."

Your bottom lip trembled as you held onto the dog tags, nodding to Phil's words, "you're right, as always."

Phil gave a tight smile, "let's go inside and heat up some milk, 'm getting tired myself." Coulson held your hand for the rest of the night.

Trying to convince yourself to get some closure, you told yourself that the next time you were in Washington D.C., you’d visit the museum and read all about Bucky, all that he had done, and see the amazed looks of citizens who saw him as a hero. Your James Barnes was a hero to so many people, including yourself, and you should be able to celebrate his goodness from when he was alive.

You were going to go the next day until Director Fury knocked on your door at 2:30 in the morning, holding a file labeled “CLASSIFIED.”

You raised an eyebrow, “couldn’t have given me this at a decent time?”

He narrowed his good eye, “it’s urgent, didn’t have time for formalities, your highness.”

With a snort, you grabbed the folder from his hands, “glad you know how to properly address me. What time do we leave?”

Fury tilted his head toward the quinjet, directing your eyes toward Steve who stood alongside Natasha, “once you get dressed, Agent. You’ll have time to look over the file in the jet.”

You weren’t sure why you got dressed so fast; seeing Steve for the first time in about 6 months, finally going on a mission, or just getting some new sense of scenery. Either way, you engulfed Steve in a hug and he laid a hand on the back of your head, “hey, honeybee.”

Your heart ached whenever he called you that, but you figured it was one of the last things he could hold onto Bucky as his dog tags laid against your chest, “hey, Stevie. So, what’s the deal?”

Reading over the file while Nat gave more information about Clint – someone else who you had grown quite close to – you grew confused. You looked to Steve, “the Tesseract. That’s the blue cube that…disintegrated Schmidt, right?”

Steve nodded, “looks like Howard recovered it and it’s been in S.H.I.E.L.D.’s hands since, but this guy, Loki, wants something to do with it – Hydra’s secret weapon.”

Fury spoke up from the front of the jet, “that scepter he has, it controls the minds of anyone it touches, including one of my sharpest agents. The Tesseract could be the key to unlimited sustainable energy – that’s something the world sorely needs. Falls into the wrong hands, well…”

You shook your head, “you shoulda left it in the ocean.”

Silence overtook the quinjet until Phil came over to your seat, sitting beside you, “I’d like you to come along to recruit another member, if you don’t mind.”

You gave a small smile to Phil, “um, yeah, that’s fine. Where we goin’ and who are we recruiting, Coulson?”

Phil seemed a bit nervous as he spared a glance to Nat, who nodded her head, “Tony Stark, Iron Man.”

You sucked in a breath, “Howard’s son? You want me to come along?”

Phil laid his own hand upon yours that rested in your lap, file forgotten about, “I do, and I hope you wouldn’t mind tagging along.”

Holding back your tears, you nodded, “yeah, yeah, I’ll come. When do we leave?”

“Once we land in D.C., we’ll take a quick trip to New York. Easy car ride.”

You squinted your eyes, “isn’t that like, a 6-hour drive?”

Phil gave an uneasy smile, “not with me driving, we’ll be there in 2.”

You chuckled, “as long as I get there alive, I don’t really care how we get there.”

In all honesty, the drive to Stark Tower was relatively calm, save for swerving through traffic and going way too fast for your liking. Once you arrived, you and Phil talked to the impressive AI named JARVIS who told you both that he was informing Mr. Stark of your arrival.

“Impressive Artificial Intelligence,” you whispered to Phil, “definitely Howard's kid.”

Phil was about to respond until JARVIS spoke up, “Mr. Stark is not in, Agent Coulson.”

Your friend pursed his lips together, “please tell Tony that this is urgent and we need to speak. Now.”

Very quickly, Tony ignored your calls until Phil hacked into the system, overriding JARVIS and his protocols. Phil spoke into the phone, pulling you inside the elevator, “Mr. Stark, we need to talk.”

Tony sighed on the other line, “you have reached the life model decoy of Tony Stark. Please leave a message.”

Phil rolled his eyes, causing you to let out a snort, along with Pepper Potts on the other line, “this is urgent, Tony.”

You and Phil stood in the elevator, about to reach his floor as Tony responded, “then leave it urgently.” Right on cue, the elevator doors opened and Tony held up his glass of champagne, “security breach, it’s on you.”

Tony’s eyes glanced over your figure as you stood beside Phil, Pepper getting up from the floor to greet him, “Phil! Come in. I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve met yet, Miss?”

You smiled at Pepper, meeting her halfway and shaking her hand, “Agent Y/N L/N, Miss Potts.”

Tony stood beside Pepper, “the infamous Miss America, Cap’s sidekick. How’s S.H.I.E.L.D. treating you? Always annoying you with something, barging in without your knowledge, telling you that you've been asleep for 70 years?”

Phil spoke for you, “I’m afraid we can’t stay. We need you to look this over as soon as possible.”

Tony shook his head, “I don’t like being handed things.”

You let out a chuckle as Pepper took the folder, “that’s fine, because I love to be handed things. So, let’s trade.” With a quick switch of hands, Pepper gave Tony the folder as she handed Phil the glass of champagne, “thank you. Anything for you, Y/N?”

You shook your head, “no thank you, Miss Potts.”

You took a moment to look Tony over. Peggy was not kidding – he looked exactly like Howard, and certainly acted like him, too. They had the same eyes, the same face, and the same attitude; it was almost like looking at a clone of Howard. Your eyes filled with unshed tears but you pushed them back, taking a small breath as Phil continued, “this is not a consultation.”

Pepper’s eyes grew wide, “is this about the Avengers? Which I know nothing about.” She looked guilty once the words slipped.

Tony sighed as he walked away, opening up the folder and looking through it quickly, “the Avengers initiative was scrapped, I thought – and I didn’t even qualify.”

Pepper shrugged, “I didn’t know that, either.”

Tony continued, “apparently I’m volatile, self-obsessed, don’t play well with others.”

You mumbled, “kind of like Howard.” Tony pointed his finger towards you as he nodded, “and she speaks of him!”

Pepper nodded her head, “that I did know,” ignoring his comment towards you.

Phil shifted his weight, “this isn’t about personality profiles anymore.”

Tony grunted, “whatever. Ms. Potts, got a second?”

As the two were talking, screens were lit up of you, Steve, and others fighting, and you stumbled back with a slight gasp, still new to the whole holographic stuff of technology. Phil turned towards you, asking you if you were okay with a look, and you nodded. Pepper looked towards you both and back to Tony, whispering, “maybe while working on this, you can get to know her. Get to know your dad. I’ll take the jet to D.C. tonight. You have homework – a lot of homework.”

The two kissed before Pepper headed your way, “so, any chance you two are driving by LaGuardia?”

Phil nodded, “I can drop you.” Pepper smiled, “fantastic!”

The two began to walk towards the elevator as you looked on at Tony who held a holographic Tesseract in his hand. In that moment, your brain convinced yourself that was Howard, your Howie.

Tony turned towards you, “you joining them or you just gonna stare?”

You took a step back, a frown on your face as you mumbled an apology, meeting Pepper and Phil in the elevator. Pepper turned your way as the doors closed, “I’m sorry about him. When it comes to his dad and you, he gets a bit…”

You finished her sentence, “jealous. He missed out on a lot and I can imagine Howard spent too much time talking about me or Steve instead of him. I understand.”

Pepper gave a tight smile.

In a few short hours, you, Phil, Steve, and a few other S.H.I.E.L.D agents were on your way to the helicarrier, something that only a few of you knew about. You sat next to Steve, looking over Dr. Bruce Banner’s files, examining videos of him as Hulk, and how he was trying to recreate the super soldier serum. You had known about Dr. Banner and honestly, had become one of his fans – when he was in his human form, of course. His works on nuclear physics and gamma radiation greatly interested you and upon reading many of his published articles, you had completely forgotten about his condition. Having the opportunity to meet him in person was certainly one of your dreams and you just knew Bucky was making fun of you for being such a dork.

Phil stood up from his seat, walking towards you and Steve, leaning above you both. Steve looked to Phil, “this Dr. Banner was trying to replicate the serum they used on me?”

Phil nodded, “after Howard Stark’s death in 1991, Dr. Banner made it his mission to replicate it. A lot of people were. You – you both – were the world’s first superheroes. Banner thought gamma radiation might hold the key to unlocking Erskine’s original formula.”

Steve looked uneasy, “didn’t really go his way, did it?”

Phil shifted his weight as he looked towards you, then to Steve, “not so much. When he’s not that thing, though,” you interrupted him with a glare, “sorry, the Hulk, the guy’s like a Stephen Hawking.”

Steve looked to you, confusion written on his face. You shrugged, “a really smart person.”

Silence enveloped the three of you until you nodded to Phil, urging him to continue. Phil seemed all giddy, “I gotta say, it’s an honor to meet you officially. I’ve sort of met you, I mean, I watched you while you were sleeping.”

You snorted as Steve nervously smiled at Phil, covering your face as he continued, “I mean, I was present while you were unconscious from the ice.” Steve stood up as you continued laughing, making his way to the front of the jet, “you know, it’s just a huge honor to have you on board this.”

You followed Phil, clapping him on the back as Steve overlooked the ocean, “thank you for that, Phil, truly.”

Steve elbowed you as he mumbled, “I hope we’re the people for the job.”

Phil’s eyes lit up, “oh, you are – you both are, absolutely! We, uh, made some modifications to your suits, by the way.”

You glanced towards Phil – now this was what you missed.

honeybee taglist:

@clownerlyluv

@ginger-swag-rapunzel

@starkleila

@intothesoul

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the-melting-world · 3 years

Text

Jezebel | Solo de la Vega

This exists because @lucigucci asked for it and I couldn't say no. Sorry it took me so long! It's basically a background/personality/daily life montage for Sascha's brother, Solo. I was trying to figure out how to work some of his experiences into Sascha's story, so this is exactly what he needed!

This fic pairs well with Sascha's "Don't Call Me Daughter" miniseries!

Music: "Jezebel" by Sade

cw: there is some nested lemony content 🍋 (some choking), emotional abuse, just very bad parenting in general

~ 2.6k words

***

~ Twenty-six years ago ~

Solo and Sascha hid. They were close enough to hear the screams and the dishes shattering.

“Get out of my house!”

“I want to see my children. Please–”

“I said, GET OUT!”

And on and on it went.

Shortly after Honore stopped making his infrequent trips to Casa Vega, the Vega twins learned to never ask about him. Instead, they protected the few mementos they had of Honore and remembered him quietly, out from under the eyes of their mother…

***

~ Present Day ~

“Nanang, why would I make any of this up?”

Solo had no more fire left in him to spat with Floribeth. He just wanted to close his eyes and become unconscious to the pain settling into his bones. But his mother wouldn’t leave. Despite her petite frame, she haunted the foot of his bed like an overfed wraith.

“You were in bed all day yesterday, Solomon. How is it that you had enough energy to traipse the town with your sister this morning, but you couldn’t even pull your weight in this negotiation? Do you plan to leave April without any assistance this afternoon as well?”

Solo’s eyes smarted as he rolled onto his side and tried to hide his head under the blankets.

“You were there. You saw how that man didn’t touch any of the swatches I brought. My charms were in those swatches.”

Beth’s response came out clipped and dismissive. “So what?”

Great, Solo groaned internally, today she wants to play dumb about how my magic works.

Solo had tried to explain this to Beth before. Why couldn’t her sharp mind sense his meaning? Why did she have to make every conversation about his magic so taboo?

“Nanang, please understand…it is… easier for me when the clients touch–”

But she cut him off. “Solo, stop. You’re whining about your condition again. For all of your devotion to our practice, you forget sometimes how spoiled you’ve become. I blame myself for that. Get your rest. I’ll fetch Sascha. But you’re to be present for April by this afternoon. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Part of him wished he hadn’t agreed, but it was the only way to get her to leave. When she finally did, Solo wanted nothing more than to blackout and let his body recover the old fashioned way until Sascha administered some relief for his pain. But all he could think about was Floribeth and how guilty she had made him feel over the years.

Even though he had nothing but devote his entire body and heart to her business.

Whenever Beth became upset or disappointed with him like this, it took him back to listening to her and Honore argue. For some reason, Solo couldn’t shake off the feeling that Beth had wanted those fights to escalate between herself and the father of her children.

“Beth. Look at what you’ve done to him. By the gods, look at his hands! Every time I come back, they’re swollen or bleeding. This isn’t right.”

“Stop being melodramatic, Honore. Solomon picked up sewing faster than Sascha and all of his cousins combined. We don’t let talent go unhoned in this family.”

"He is just a child!"

"He will heal! His hands will form calluses in time and then he won’t be able to feel it anymore. The pain is only temporary. You really are an idiot."

"Let me at least take Sascha with me. You’re always complaining about her. She’ll be cared for. Happy for once–"

"You’re not taking her anywhere. Now go away."

When Solo opened his eyes again, Sascha was at his side.

***

Later that week...

Solo was where he was the most comfortable – in his dressing room, sewing a project by hand. He was alone until someone walked in. Solo recognized the newcomer almost immediately. Basil Jebel-something or other. He was an usher for a friend from what sounded like a collegiate past. Today Basil was there for alteration, without the entourage of the rest of the groom’s party.

“You came alone this time, Mister…”

“Jebeles.” His delivery was tired, but not unkind.

Solo, who was stretched out on his divan, looked up briefly from his work. “Yes, now I remember. We didn’t have your size. And we still don't, unfortunately.”

Basil made a face as he slapped his gut. “Figures.” Then he mumbled something blunt and self-deprecating.

By now, Solo was rising to his feet and warming his pearls over his knuckles.

“Please. You have a nice figure, Mr. Jebeles.” He came around behind the man, who smelled a lot like the inside of a tavern, and eyeballed his measurements with the help of his long string of pearls.

“And not all is lost. We may not have your size, but that’s why I wanted you to come back. For a closer look at what we’re working with–” Solo let his pearls slide down Basil’s frame before pulling them a little taut under his abdomen. Then he whispered, “We can easily correct the garment for the occasion.”

Not long after Solo finished up and memorized all of Basil’s measurements, he checked to see how the client was responding to his charms.

By the way Basil had dropped his dry humor and focused more on the path Solo’s hands took, the seamstress would have to say that he was responding very well.

Better than he expected in fact.

So well that Basil stayed afterward. They talked. Solo had one of the attendants bring them something to drink. Basil, it turned out, was quite easy to keep talking to and getting to know.

Very soon Basil’s back was against the floral wallpaper, his hands above his head, grasping weakly at nothing. His wrists strained against a makeshift binding out of Solo’s seemingly endless yards of freshwater pearls.

“Solo.” The barhand breathed. His head only grew dizzier against the dressmaker’s slow, lingering touches. Solo’s lips found his again with a rough tenderness. His hands roamed, dragging his pearls with him under Basil’s tunic, past his fly. The barhand turned hard in Solo’s grasp.

“Solo — ngh.”

There were no words to describe the seamstress’ calloused, dimpled touch.

“Mr. Jebeles, please relax,” Solo said, sneaking his tongue along the seam of Basil’s mouth. “Excitement breeds excitement. Keep squirming and calling on me and I’ll soil my nice linens for sure.”

“Gods. Slow down then! Perhaps we could both last longer if you unwrap those fucking pearls from around my cock—“

The bindings drifted up around his neck. “Oh? You mean these pearls? Shall we do something else with them?”

Basil locked onto the uneven, iridescent orbs. “Do you take those with you everywhere?”

Solo’s smirk was as soft as his question. “What do you wish to know?”

Basil suddenly felt very stupid for trying to initiate a conversation right then. He wished he could take it back and just quietly let the seamstress take him apart.

Solo’s smirk deepened as he read the meaning in Basil’s hesitation.

“Fine. We don’t need to go into any details until afterwards. Just try not to choke while I’m sucking you off. Simple enough?” Solo dropped to his knees without waiting for an answer, pulling his pearls taut around the client’s neck on his descent.

It wasn’t that strange for Floribeth, head of Vega Bridal, to be passing by Solo’s dressing room as he escorted his latest client out. It was, however, not like her to pause and study the poorly concealed familiarity between her son and the client who smelled like cheap booze and was clean shaven all but for those ungodly sideburns.

Solo saw the man out and joined his mother for a debriefing while they traveled to the main house. She noticed how easily he kept up with her and the slight bounce in his step as he walked.

Solo. Sascha.

Her children always needed reminding of what was what. When and how. That life didn’t give them joy without a little sacrifice. That no goodness came without consequence.

Floribeth knew that it was her duty to consistently remind them.

“Solo, honey,” the matriarch began, depriving her voice of as much edge as she could bear, “you know I don’t care one way or the other of the company you keep in your space. In fact, I encourage it. It’s good for business.”

Solo managed a tight smile. “So you’ve told me in the past, nanay.”

Beth chose to ignore how Solo reverted to the more formal way to address her. The way Sascha always did unless she was throwing a tantrum.

“Well, listen closely to me because I’ve never told you what I’m about to tell you now.”

She felt better once the spirit left Solo’s gait. She finally had his attention.

Eyes forward and heels clacking briskly against the sandy tiles, Floribeth began, “You know I don’t expect you to dedicate any energy to finding a suitable partner or more to marry. Unless that’s what you want. But since you’re at that age, I’ll just say a few things.”

Solo honestly had no idea where this was going. It was true that Floribeth was very diligent about avoiding the topic of a potential marriage in Solo’s future. Thanks to his condition and the value of his magic to the business, he had been excused from much of the pressure that came down on young de la Vegas to grow and expand the family as quickly as possible.

Floribeth carried on. “Your father would have never so much as caught my eye if it hadn’t been for those damnable charms. Their existence made me question everything we had…”

Solo did not expect to hear the slip, if ever so slight, of sadness in his mother’s tone. She was quick to recover from it.

“So one can assume that even with all of your charisma, in the end, it could never yield a proper marriage. Perhaps you could get someone to love you, but it wouldn’t be true love, Solo. And it wouldn’t be fair to the other person. You can never forget that. Eventually your charms will wear off and they will suffer in some way or another. You’re smart, Solomon. I’m sure you’ve figured all this out by now.”

Solo’s lip quivered.

“Yes, nanang.”

He managed to keep his voice from shaking.

“That makes a lot of sense now that you point it out. Thank you.”

He didn’t know how much longer he could keep it up.

***

Solo felt stupid and selfish for running to Sascha’s room and collapsing onto her lap. In seconds, he was sobbing, his make-up running, his outbursts incoherent and shrill.

“That’s basically what she told me, Sascha!”

Solo was beside himself. He couldn’t believe the state of anger he had allowed Floribeth to work him into.

“I’m incapable of being loved in any natural way? Because of…” He lifted his pearls up over his head and shook them in his fist. “Because of these?”

Then the seamstress made a wretched sound as he hurled the ancestral pearls at the wall.

“Well I didn’t ask for them! I just do what she wants of me all the time, but sure, Sasch – no one can love me!”

Solo could feel Sascha trying to call her magic to the surface and soothe him with it. But that wouldn’t do any good. This was a different kind of pain.

“Solo, shhh. It’s okay. It’s not true. You know it isn’t true.”

Solo barely heard her. He sobbed until he couldn’t anymore.

Later, when Solo had gotten it all out of his system and he was leaning against Sascha while she played in his hair, he whispered, “Sasch. Can I tell you something?”

He had opened the question in broken Esmeraldi. Sascha answered in the same way, signaling that whatever he said would be kept safe and just between them.

“My charms have always behaved in strange ways, yet I’m the only one who’s ever understood them. I can’t explain it, but Sascha, I know what I know. They only work to flex people’s attitude about the material world. People are people – they internalize those feelings and sometimes what they feel has the potential to carry them beyond the object. Still, whatever feeling they project out into the world came from a foundation of something inanimate. It’s all in the dress, the garment, the pearls, whatever they’re wearing or touching.” He paused to take a breath. “What I’m trying to say is, it’s impossible to generate a charm through my own... self.”

Sascha remained silent, but Solo could feel her thinking.

The seamstress added, “It makes me think about tatang–uh. I mean Honore.”

“So,” Sascha said finally, “all those times Beth claimed our father tricked her into feeling things for him that were never there... you’re saying that she was full of it?”

Solo frowned. “I don’t think she lied on purpose, but I could see her needing something to justify her own decisions to herself. The charms are an easy thing to blame.”

Sascha helped her brother off of her and into an upright position so she could look him in the eye.

“Solo, if you were to ever tell nanay this, she would just deny it.”

His gaze drifted elsewhere. “…. I know.”

Sascha gave his shoulders a gentle shake. “I don’t say that to be harsh, Solo.”

Solo reached up to pry her hands from her shoulders and cradled them between his own scarred palms.

“Not at all, Sasch. I’m... relieved that I came to this realization. It means that no matter what nanang says about me, I know it can never be true.” He paused. “I don’t get to talk through these sorts of things very often. But it’s the only way I’m able to make sense of all of it… everything that you and I have been through.”

Sascha smiled, which gave Solo hope more than anything else. “If you ever need to talk again, I’m here.”

She got off her bed and made her way across the room. She came back with Solo’s pearls and placed them around his neck.

“I needed to hear that,” Solo whispered, his voice full of emotion. “Thank you.”

Sascha glanced down and noticed that Solo hadn’t gone to reassure himself by touching the pearls.

She said, “You know, something that I’ve noticed over the years is this. Whenever our family comes to visit from Esmeralda or even as far as Catclaw, they like to dump their old, creepy heirlooms on us.”

Sascha looked up at her brother and pushed aside the bang that always managed to cascade over the left side of his face.

“Cousins and great aunts and uncles whose names we never knew and probably won’t ever remember walk through here with artifacts that look like they should belong in a museum. And who do they bring them to? Not Beth. It’s never Beth. They bring them to you.”

Before Solo knew it, his scarred fingers were walking along the lace in his dress, seeking out the ancient voices, beaded and condensed in layers against his torso.

“You know the placement of each pearl by heart and the ancestor it belonged to. Our family members come to you to feel reassured, Solo. They leave our past with you because they know it’s safe in your hands. Clients come to you to feel beautiful and cherished. So the next time Floribeth tries to make you feel low...”

Sascha brushed a tear that had escaped Solo’s dark eyes.

“I want you to remember whose face comes to mind when people think of Vega Bridal… and who it is our ancestors have always looked to.”

#the arcana #solo de la vega #solo the seamstress #sascha de la vega #sascha the gunslinger #floribeth de la vega #stefan honore #basil jebeles #my writing #lemony

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heytherejulietx · 4 years

Text

Haunted ~ Jughead Jones

Masterlists

Requests are OPEN

Notes - Hi so I’m seriously proud of this fic, and even though I feel like all of my Riverdale fics flop I’m super happy with this, so if you could reblog this and get it more reach that’s be amazing. (Also, on a note not related to this, I am working on the requests and I’m so sorry about the wait for them, but I was having trouble writing them so that’s why I wrote this fic. Sorry everyone they’re coming soon!)

Warnings - Pure angst and hurt. Be warned.

Word count - 5.6k.

Riverdale tag list - @idont-knowrn

If you’d like to be added to any tag list please just tell me!

You and I walk a fragile line

I have known it all this time

But I never thought I'd live to see it break

Everything changed when Jughead moved to the South Side. Of course, she couldn't blame him for moving, she knew he had to. With his dad behind bars for a murder he didn't even commit and not being able to stay at the Andrews household any longer, he didn't have a choice in moving. Living in his dad's trailer was better than staying with a foster family whom he didn't know, though living on opposite sides of town and now attending different schools meant they saw less and less of each other. And to be completely honest, Y/N missed him so much. She missed having him stay over at her house before school since her house wasn't far from Archie's. She missed waking up with him in the mornings, being greeted with lazy kisses and warm hugs. She missed sitting with him in class, helping him in math and getting his help in English literature. She missed after school dates at Pop's; sharing each other's milkshakes and helping him write his novel.

But once he'd moved, the cracks in their relationship started to appear. At first it was just missed phone calls and being left on read, though soon it developed to frequent arguments, being stood up on dates for the Serpents, and just not seeing each other much anymore. It hurt her, because she missed her once perfect boyfriend, who was now so caught up with his new school and his imprisoned father's gang to give any sort of time or attention to her. Maybe it was selfish, but Y/N wanted him to focus on her, and not anybody else, even if just for one night. She could tell that their relationship was headed downhill, though she thought that it would be fixable. They had been through so much already, surely this wouldn't break them apart, right?

It's getting dark and it's all too quiet

And I can't trust anything now

And it's comin' over you like it's all a big mistake

Y/N frowned down at the Pop's menu sat on the table in front of her, scowling at the small printed words there. This was the third time he'd missed one of their dates, or just forgotten about it all together. She was guessing it was the latter, as Jughead had been too wrapped up in the Serpents and with Toni Topaz to think of anything else. She was certain that he was getting bored of her, or tired of her company. He was hanging around with a gang now, his people, so surely his plain old north-side girlfriend was getting tiresome? She took a glance out of the window beside her seat, seeing that the sky was darkening into evening - dark oranges and blues swirled together as the sun went down like an artist mixing paint on a canvas. When she'd gotten to Pop's it was still daylight, but he had taken so long to show that now it was getting dark.

Before she knew it, disappointed tears were brimming in her eyes, and a lump was forming in her throat. Why couldn't he just spare a few hours to go and see her? At first, she had given him the time he quite clearly needed, and the benefit of the doubt. He had just moved and he was adjusting, and she got that, but now it had been weeks and there was still no effort put in from his end. It wasn't like he was even a proper member of the Serpents, so she just didn't get it.

After another few minutes she had paid for the one milkshake she had drank and the one that had been left sitting on the table untouched, that was meant for Jughead, and then left the diner. It was cold outside, the kind of cold that seeped through your clothes and gave you goosebumps. Though she already felt the cold disappointment that had been sticking with her for weeks, now. On the colder days before Jughead had moved, he would give her his denim jacket as they walked to Pop's after school, but just the thought of that now made her want to start crying. She couldn't remember the last time she had been wrapped in his jacket, or even his arms for that matter.

Before she knew what she was doing, Y/N had pulled her phone out and called him, anger washing over her and replacing the sadness she felt. He picked up after six rings. Usually it would only take one.

"Y/N?" He asked, no 'love' or 'baby'. "Can I call you back later? I'm with the Serpents."

"Couldn't you have spared one night from the Serpents to show up to our date?" She scoffed, lifting her free hand to wipe her eyes which were now streaming with tears.

"What?" Jughead asked, sounding confused. "We didn't have a date today."

"Yes we did." Y/N sniffled, her lip quivering when realising he'd forgotten. "This is the third one you've missed for Christ's sake, Jug. I shouldn't trust anything you even say, anymore."

"I'm sorry I've been busy." He huffed, sounding more irritated than anything.

"Yeah, you're always busy now." She swallowed back the lump forming in her throat. "Too busy to come and see your girlfriend anymore."

"Y/N, come on-"

Before he could say anymore she cut the call off, not ready to hear it. Once her phone was back in her pocket she covered her mouth with her hands as she started crying, her chest heaving with each choked sob that passed her lips. Soon it hurt, though nothing hurt as bad as the sadness consuming her from realising he didn't love her like he used to.

Holding my breath, won't lose you again

Something's made your eyes go cold

It was almost midnight when Y/N heard the rumble of a motorbike turning into her street corner, before she heard the noise cut off right outside her house. It wasn't unusual for Jughead to come and see her after a fight, though it was unusual for them to fight so often. The most they had ever argued before the move was when his father had first been arrested, but she understood that he was just so stressed with everything that he was lashing out at people. Though this was different.

Y/N hadn't moved from her bed since she had gotten home. She hadn't even changed out of her clothes, she had just gotten into her bed and cried. She was still crying by the time she heard her window being pushed open further and someone stepping into her room. Y/N had the covers over her head so she couldn't see him approaching, though she felt the bed dip when he sat down beside her, and felt his hand rubbing her back through the covers. She sat up just enough to turn and move her arms around him, pressing her face into his chest as she started crying again, holding onto him tightly.

"I'm sorry." She heard him whisper into her hair as he wrapped his arms around her shaking body, which only made her cry harder. Did he really mean that? She couldn't be sure.

"Do- do you still love me?" Y/N couldn't help but ask through the tears, needing to know. It felt like he didn't, or that he was loving her less and less every day.

"Of course I still love you." Jughead sighed, his hand lifting to gently run his fingers through her hair. "I'm sorry I've been so distant lately, I've been busy sorting out stuff at South Side High and with the Serpents. I really didn't mean to forget about meeting up with you, okay?"

Y/N sniffled a little as she nodded, just holding onto him a little tighter. Whether she completely forgave him or not was a different question, though she was willing to give him another chance to prove that he really did mean what he said.

"Hey." He said softly, moving his hand underneath her chin to tilt her head upwards. Her red-rimmed eyes locked with his and she watched his expression soften somewhat when he took in her features, though there was something about his eyes that made her stomach swirl with uneasiness. They were just so cold and unlike him. Maybe he didn't really mean what he had said.

Come on, come on don't leave me like this

I thought I had you figured out

Something's gone terribly wrong, you're all I wanted

Come on, come on don't leave me like this

I thought I had you figured out

Can't breathe whenever you're gone

Can't turn back, now I'm haunted

After that night, Jughead had promised to make it up to her and come and see her the following weekend at Pop's. And to be honest, she really needed it. Her week had gone absolutely horribly, with Betty suddenly becoming cold and distant towards her. Y/N couldn't fathom why Betty had become so cruel to her; she just knew that the last time herself and the Cooper girl had spoken, it had ended in a long string of insults from Betty then her walking off. So she could really do with her boyfriend's comfort, after her best friend clearly didn't want to be around her anymore.

Y/N sipped on her milkshake at Pop's as she waited for Jughead to show up, his drink sat untouched opposite her on the other side of the table. Once she had hit the ten minute mark she began to grow worried that he wasn't going to show, but thankfully she spotted him pulling into the parking lot of Pop's after she had heard the rumble of his motorcycle outside. A smile was painted over her lips as she waited for him to walk inside, though it quickly faded once she had caught sight of him.

His face was full of cuts and bruises, most of them looking extremely painful. At first she had been worried that he had been in a fight with somebody at his school, though her stomach sank when seeing the leather jacket he was wearing. The leather Serpents jacket.

He had clearly caught sight of her expression, as Jughead sighed as he slipped into the seat opposite her own. "Y/N, I meant to tell you-"

"That you'd joined the gang you told me you wouldn't?" She whispered, her eyebrows furrowed with disbelief. "Why would you do that? They're dangerous, Jug, they're a biker gang. Are you kidding me?"

"They aren't dangerous." He frowned. "They're like family."

"They're like family?" She scoffed. "Oh, and I'm not anymore?"

"Hey, I didn't say that." Jughead frowned a little more.

"Maybe you didn't say it, but you've been meaning it for weeks!" She practically exploded, sitting up in her seat as her waterline burned with the build up of tears again. "When was the last time we both properly hung out together, hm? Or ate dinner together? Or even spoke to each other without arguing?"

"I told you I've been busy, with-"

"With the Serpents, yeah I know." Y/N scoffed. "You never have time for me anymore, and that's all I'm asking for. I miss you, Jug. You could have at least told me that the reason you were too busy to spare a few hours for me is because you were joining a fucking gang."

"What is your issue with the Serpents?" He snapped defensively, making her flinch at the harshness of his voice.

"You said you wouldn't join them, you promised me, remember that?" She asked. "Oh, but maybe you don't, since you seem to be forgetting a lot recently." She huffed, lifting a hand to wipe away the tears that had started falling. "They are dangerous, Jughead, have you even looked in the mirror recently? If you had to do that to join then what else might you have to do now that you're involved?"

"Will you give it a rest?" Jughead snapped, causing her to flinch once more. "Like it or not, I'm a Serpent now, okay? And I'm sorry that since I have this thing called responsibilities now that I can't spend every minute of the day with you."

"I didn't say that, Jug." She whispered, more tears falling. "I just miss you, we never see each other anymore and when we do it's... it's like you're a different person."

"Yeah? Well if I'm so different then why don't you just find yourself a new boyfriend, then. One that fits the criteria." Jughead scowled as he got out of his seat, shaking his head as he looked at her.

"Hey, wait." Y/N whispered, also getting out of her seat. "Don't go, Jug, I'm sorry." She whispered, reaching out to touch his arm.

Jughead was still frowning as he pulled away from her touch immediately, shaking his head as he just turned away and walked out of the diner, leaving her stood crying as she watched him leave.

Stood there and watched you walk away

From everything we had

But I still mean every word I said to you

Despite everything Jughead had said, they didn't break up. A few days later Jughead had stopped by her house to apologise, and for once it looked like he meant it. He had been close to tears himself as he ranted to her about everything, but mostly about how sorry he was and how he couldn't stand to lose her. By the end of the conversation she was crying too, and she had agreed to give him another chance. Maybe by this point she should have noticed just how many chances she had given him recently, and saved herself from any future hurt by breaking up with him, though she couldn't do it. She physically couldn't be without him, it pained her to even think about it.

Everything was good for a while. Betty had given her an explanation as to why she had been acting so funny, and definitely one she hadn't been expecting at that - as she had been getting phone calls from the Black Hood - the infamous serial killer who had taken up occupation in Riverdale over the past however many weeks. Whilst it was a complete and utter shock, she had immediately forgiven Betty, as she understood that she had become distant from Y/N so that the Black Hood wouldn't kill her. And things with Jughead had gotten better. Whilst he was still different to the soft and loving boy she had known before the move, he was clearly making an effort, and that mattered a lot to her.

Jughead had been especially better once his father was out of jail. It was a huge relief for everybody to have FP out, and whilst his return meant Jughead having to step up as Serpent King, Y/N was making an effort to try and understand the Serpents more, so she had been helping Jughead plan FP's retirement party in the Whyte Worm.

Though she had also been meeting up with Toni Topaz there, who was helping her learn the Serpent dance for her own initiation.

Whilst she still wasn't too fond of the Serpents, she wanted to be there for Jughead to make sure he didn't end up getting hurt or imprisoned like his father, so she had agreed to do the extremely sexist 'Serpent dance' and partially join the gang to keep an eye on her boyfriend.

Even though she wanted to keep him safe, on the night of the party she felt horrible. On her way to the bar she felt nauseated at even just the thought of stripping into lingerie and dancing in front of a whole bar of gang members, but once she was there she felt even worse. The smell of alcohol once she had walked into the building was sickening, and it only made her worse. She was almost convinced enough to leave altogether, though once she saw her boyfriend approaching she knew there was no way of getting out of it now.

"Hey." He smiled once he had reached her, planting his hands at her waist as he leaned down to give her a kiss - thankfully the action helped calm her a little. "You look amazing."

The compliment made her blush a little, as she was only wearing a peach skirt and white blouse, though she couldn't help but wonder what he would be thinking later once she had revealed what she was dressed in underneath the good-girl outfit.

Soon the party was in full swing, and somehow she had managed to lose Jughead in the crowd, though she had managed to find Toni sat at the bar instead. Whilst she wasn't extremely fond of the Topaz girl, she was grateful that she had wanted to help her out with the dance.

"Hey north-sider." Toni greeted once she had sat at the bar, stood on the other side of it. "How're you feeling?"

"Like I'm about to throw up or pass out." Y/N told her, scanning the room for a moment before looking back at the pink-haired girl. "Give me something." She tapped the bar, hoping a drink would help. She didn't even drink - but Y/N was hoping that some alcohol would help calm her nerves.

"Are you sure?" Toni asked as she started pouring a liquor into a shot glass for her. "You don't exactly look like you can hold your drink."

"Please, I need some confidence right now, and if that means drinking to get some then so be it." She sighed.

"Alright then." Toni placed the glass on the bar in front of her, looking a little concerned.

Y/N lifted the glass and eyed the liquid for a moment before lifting it to her lips and knocking back the whole drink in one. It burned it's way down her throat and made her start to cough at the horrible feeling, though despite that she put the glass back on the bar and tapped it, signalling that she wanted another.

"Another?" Toni asked. "Are you sure? Maybe that's not the best idea."

"Please, Toni. I won't be able to do this completely sober." She sighed.

Toni just nodded and started to pour her another one, though as she did Y/N's attention was soon locked on the stage a little away from the bar, seeing Veronica and Archie stood there with the Karaoke machine that Y/N had managed to hire for the party earlier in the week. Tearing her gaze away she took the second shot pretty quickly. It still burned horribly on the way down, though she didn't start coughing again. By the time she had taken her third shot, Veronica and Archie had ran off of the stage mid-song, and Y/N had left the bar to quickly move onto the stage, once Toni had said that it was now or never.

Once she was up on the stage she had managed to meet Jughead's confused eyes in the sea of people, and somehow she didn't tear her gaze as she started singing the rest of the song as she unbuttoned her blouse. Y/N tried her best to look seductive and confident as she stripped herself of her clothes and started dancing, and the alcohol did help a lot with that. She was able to focus solely on the dancing as she moved over to the pole on the middle of the stage and spun around it twice, before lowering herself down onto the floor in front of it. The mass amount of people watching her didn't even phase her as she had moved back to the microphone to sing the last few notes of the song, though once she met Jughead's eyes again she felt her stomach sink with nausea. He had that same cold look in his eye again, the one that looked like he had lost all of his love for her.

After the dance was over Y/N had left with her clothes to change in the bathroom of the Wyrm, missing the speech that FP had started as afterwards she went to stand outside by Jughead's motorbike to cool off. It wasn't long before she spotted Jughead walking out of the back entrance of the bar to come and join her, his expression one she couldn't even read. She could just see that he was not happy, not at all.

"Hey," She said softly as he approached, though was met with no reply once he was stood in front of her. "What's wrong? Was it the dance?"

"It's everything." His voice broke as he shook his head. "And yeah. Why would you do that?"

"I wanted to be a part of this." She told him. "The Serpents, your world."

"Why?" He asked, his eyebrows furrowing as he frowned at her. The expression made her uneasy, as it was one she was all too familiar with recently. "Archie knew to cut bait. Now I'm dragging you down. I'm dragging my dad down."

"He's still figuring it out." She told him softly, trying to muster up a genuine sympathetic smile. "And it's gonna be okay, we'll figure out whatever we have to do together." Y/N reached out to place her hands on his chest, though frowned when he had immediately stepped backwards.

"No, Y/N. Mm-Mm." He shook his head. "Not together."

The words struck her like he had just slapped her around the face. Her head tilted a little as a sudden coldness rushed over her body, nausea swirling around her stomach once again. Was he really about to break up with her?

"Y/N, if you stay, I don't know if I can protect you anymore. You might get-" Jughead paused as he ran a hand over his mouth, before planting both of them on her shoulders. "You probably will get hurt. I can't let that happen to you."

Y/N felt her waterline burning with a build up of tears as she stared back at him, starting to shake her head. "That's not your decision to make." She practically whispered.

"Actually, yeah it is." He stepped backwards as he spoke, the painful cold gaze returning to his eyes.

"How many times, Jug?" Y/N asked as the tears started falling down her cheeks, her voice becoming wobbly with emotion. "How many times are we going to push each other away?" She gave a light push to his chest as she spoke, taking in a light breath as she tried to stop the tears.

"Until it sticks." The harshness in his voice just made more tears fall as her expression crumpled. "This was my dad's one chance at going straight, and I wrecked it. I'm not going to destroy you, too." He moved to turn and walk away, though Y/N started following instead.

"Just tell me what happened, Jug." Her voice broke as she moved to grab his jacket and turn him around, tears cascading down her face faster as she reached up to cup his face in her hands. "Tell me."

"Please," His voice was weak, and she could see that he was holding back tears, too. "Go home."

Jughead stared at her for another moment before pulling away from her hold, and turning away to walk back into the bar. Y/N couldn't stop the oncoming wave of sobs as she watched him walk away and head back into the bar, her heart aching as she covered her face with her hands. She felt like somebody had just ripped out her chest. He wasn't her's anymore, and she wasn't his.

He will try to take away my pain

And he just might make me smile

But the whole time I'm wishin' he was you instead

The next day, Y/N had found out on the same night that Veronica had broken up with Archie too. She had been at Pop's trying to fight back a fresh wave of tears, when Archie had taken a seat beside her and started up a conversation with her. She eventually just broke into a fresh wave of tears as she tried explaining to Archie what had happened, and he had moved his arms around her to hug her, trying to comfort her in the best way he could. Though it felt wrong - his arms felt different to Jughead's, they were more muscular and harder. That fact alone just made her cry harder as she held onto Archie, as she wished it was Jughead sat with her instead. But she couldn't seem to let go of Archie - needing the reassuring contact even if it wasn't from the right person. So she just held onto him tightly as she cried, silently wishing it was Jughead instead.

Oh, oh, holding my breath, won't see you again

Something keeps me holding on to nothing

Y/N returned to Pop's the day after, hoping to catch Archie there again. Though as she had walked though the doors of the diner, instead of seeing her red-haired friend, she saw Toni sat at the table beside her usual one instead. She frowned as she looked at her, knowing she probably knew about what her gone down between herself and Jughead at FP’s retirement party. She had tried to walk part Toni without being noticed, though just sighed when she heard her call her name.

“Y/N?” She asked, causing the girl to force a smile as she turned to face her. “Listen, I’m sorry about what happened between you and Jug at the party.”

“It’s fine.” Y/N shook her head. It wasn’t fine, far from it, but she wasn’t about to stand and talk to Toni Topaz about her feelings, of all people. “It’s probably been a long-time coming.” She sighed.

“Listen, I-“

“Y/N?” Another voice came from behind her, an all too familiar voice, causing Y/N to frown as she turned around and saw Jughead stood there. She hadn’t seen him since the night he’d broken up with her, and hadn’t planned on seeing him for a long while, knowing she wouldn’t be able to handle it. Though instead of tears of sadness filling her eyes like she thought would happen, angry tears filled them together as she put two and two together. She glanced between him and Toni, and just shook her head as the tears started falling. He was meeting up with her, not even three days after they had broken up.

“Nice.” She whispered. “Rub salt in the wound, why don’t you?”

“What?” Jughead asked, before his eyes widened as he looked at Toni before back at her. “Y/N-“

“I don’t want to hear it, Jughead.” Y/N shook her head as the tears fell faster, quickly stepping past him and towards the exit of the diner to head outside. Her vision quickly became blurred with tears as she walked, breathing becoming a difficult task as she pushed back any verbal cries trying to escape.

“Y/N wait!” Jughead called after her. “It’s not what you think, please.”

Y/N turned around to face him as she started full-on crying, despite trying not to. “No, Jughead, I don’t care!” She shouted through her tears, her whole body starting to shake. “Just leave me alone, okay? I can’t be around you right now.”

Whilst Jughead stumbled over his words trying to say something, Y/N just turned around and walked away as she started sobbing freely.

Come on, come on don't leave me like this

I thought I had you figured out

Something's gone terribly wrong, you're all I wanted

Come on, come on don't leave me like this

I thought I had you figured out

Can't breathe whenever you're gone

Can't turn back, now I'm haunted

By the time Y/N had gotten home, she was a mess. Her chest hurt with each rough cry that passed her lips but she couldn’t stop. Weeks of emotional torture she’d endured, watching Jughead fall out of love with her, and just as things had started to seem okay he’d broken up with her. He had said it was to protect her, because he couldn’t let her get hurt, but was that really the reason? Or was he really just not in love with her? And wanted to be with Toni instead?

Once she had managed to get to her room she just slammed the door and fell to her floor, her hands covering her face as she hunched over. Everywhere hurt; her chest, her throat, her eyes, her heart. She felt like screaming, screaming for hours until her throat was raw and she couldn’t make anymore noise. Though she couldn’t physically stop the sobs long enough to even try to scream.

Her hands were shaking once she’d moved them from her face to plant them on her bedroom floor to stable herself, the shakes travelling up her arms and through her body until her entire frame was quivering with the agonising pain she felt. The tears couldn’t seem to stop, either. It felt like she had been crying ever since the break up, and for the most part she had.

“You’re not gone.“ She sobbed, hitting the floor with her palms before hunching over again as she continued crying. “You can’t be gone!“ The words mixed in with her crying to the point where she sounded like a wounded animal, begging for death. And in a way, she felt like it. Y/N didn’t think she could survive without Jughead by her side.

You and I walk a fragile line

I have known it all this time

Never ever thought I'd see it break

Never thought I'd see it

Another week passed before she saw Jughead again. The first time she had seen him after the break up it had been an accident, though this time he had asked to meet up with her, and for some reason said yes. Y/N tried telling herself that she had agreed to go simply because she was curious about what he had to say, though the real reason was because she was hoping he wanted to meet up with her to get back together.

For once, Jughead was there before her, though the scene looked so odd. For a start, he wasn’t even wearing his signature beanie - just the Serpent jacket that looked so foreign to her. And there was nothing on the table. Usually when they met up, whoever got there first would get each other’s favourite milkshakes. Though the only thing there was an untouched Pop’s menu.

“Hey.” Jughead said softly once she had sat in the seat opposite him, not beside him as usual. “I’m glad you came. I wouldn’t have put it past you if you didn’t.”

“What did you want to talk about?” She asked, just wanting to get it over and done with. Whilst she wasn’t crying herself to sleep every night anymore or tearing up at the mention of his name, she still didn’t trust herself to be with him for too long, in fear of setting off her uncontrollable flow of emotions.

“I just...” Jughead sighed. “I wanted to say I was sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have been so harsh with you about it. I probably could have done it all in a nicer way to make it easier for the both of us. And, I just wanted to say that I wasn’t meeting up with Toni last week in the way that you thought. Really, Y/N, she just wanted to make sure I was okay.”

Y/N scoffed quietly as she shook her head, a sad smile making it’s way to her face. “And I was thinking you wanted to get back together.” She whispered, though he heard her.

Seeing his eyebrows furrow and the shake of his head was enough to make her eyes brim with tears again as a lump formed in her throat.

“Y/N, I can’t do that.” He whispered, reaching across the table to take her hands in his. “You’re in too much danger with me, I can’t let anything happen to you.”

“I can handle it, Jug.” She tried telling him, though her throat was clogged up with tears and it made talking an extremely difficult task. “I can handle it, please can we just try.” Tears starter falling as her voice broke, her hands tearing from his as they flew to cover her face. After a moment she felt the seat dip beside her as he sat down, his arms winding around her and pulling her into him as she started crying.

“Please don’t leave me.” She started crying, the sound of her heart breaking almost louder than her cries. Almost. “Please, Jug, this can’t be over, I never thought I’d see this break, please.”

Jughead was stiff as he rubbed her arm gently, letting his lips linger on her forehead as a way of trying to comfort her. “I’m sorry.” He whispered, his own voice thick. “I have to. Y/N.”

At that she just started crying harder as she held onto him, trying to soak up his hold, his touch, everything, as she knew once he left she wouldn’t ever get it again. She turned to be completely pressed into him as she sobbed into the cold uncomfortable leather of his jacket, trying to hold onto him for as long as possible. Though she knew everything was over, and she couldn’t even take the thought. She couldn’t stand to live without Jughead in her life, she just didn’t want to.

She was haunted.

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