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megs-mostly-past-random-fandoms · 3 years

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Painting

Here’s another fic! My hope is to be able to open requests soon! *Familiar characters are NEVER mine!*

Fandom: TURN: Washington’s Spied

Warnings: Fluff. Me trying to write romance for Simcoe without making him OOC XD. Post show! It’s pretty long.

Pairings/Characters: John Graves Simcoe x fem!reader

From your place next to him, you reached over and gently began playing with John's fingers. Your eyes were trained on his hands. Those hands that could easily kill people but were so gentle with you. John's other hand tightened slightly on your hip in his sleep. You smiled to yourself as he began waking and your mind began wandering.

During the war, you and your family had decided to relocate to Canada. It was safer there during the tumultuous years between America and the British. But it wasn't until Lt. Colonel John Graves Simcoe was given the office of lieutenant governor that you met him.

Your father was close with the British officers in Canada and was, of course, invited to the celebration of the new lieutenant governor. He brought you, your mother, and your siblings along. When you first met John, his stare had intimidated you. But there was something more behind those striking blue eyes that you couldn't quite place. You found yourself staring back at him, unable to tear your gaze away until your father brought your name up in his conversation.

"Oh, I thoroughly agree. As the first lieutenant governor, Governor Simcoe should have his portrait painted," your father was saying to one of the many officials in attendance. John looked rather bored, but gave a tiny smile as your father continued, "My daughter, Y/N, is quite the painter. She has done portraits of everyone in the family and a few of the other officers here. I'm sure she would be honored." He looked at you, his eyes daring you to disagree.

"O-Of course, Father. Though I am certain Governor Simcoe would rather commission a more experienced painter." Your gaze met John's again although this time, his looked a bit more interested. He hummed lightly. "Perhaps, if I were to see some of your work, I would be better informed to make a decision." He spoke to you as if you were the only person in the room. In truth, it terrified you to have his attention. He was so intense.

"Yes. You must join us for supper tomorrow evening. You would be able to see Y/N's work then." Once again, your father spoke for you. That didn't bother you. You were used to it, but it did seem to bother John a bit. "Tell me, Miss Y/L/N, are you a selective mute?" Your brows furrowed and you shook your head. He gave you another smile before turning to your father. "I would appreciate if, in the future, you let your daughter speak for herself in my presence."

Your father blinked in surprise. Clearly, he hadn't been expecting that. Even you could sense the threat behind the governor's words. "Of course. My apologies," your father stuttered out and you had to prevent yourself from smiling. It wasn't that you didn't love your father, but sometimes it was nice to see someone speak to him as if he weren't better than they were. John turned to you once more and you found yourself inviting the governor to dine with your family yourself.

The next evening, after supper, your father shooed everyone from the room except one servant that acted as a chaperone so that John could discuss your work with you in private. He looked over the portraits you had in your family's parlor as well as some of your sketches and a painting you had been working on.

"These are quite good, Miss Y/L/N. I would like to commission you to paint this portrait the officials so badly desire." You looked at him in confusion. "Thank you. I take it you aren't exactly keen on the idea of having your portrait painted?" He frowned a bit. "No, but one must do what one must." You smiled at him. "True, but why me then?"

"You have talent, Miss Y/L/N. And, if I may be so forward, I would very much like the opportunity to see you again." You felt your face heat up and you cleared your throat. "Oh. Thank you, Governor." He smiled at you. "Shall we begin tomorrow then?" You nodded immediately. "Of course." He gave you a slight bow and bid you good evening.

That was how it all began. The two of you sat for hours every day for weeks while you painted his portrait. As you painted, you talked to one another. At first, he sat stiffly, afraid to open up even a little, but that soon changed. He told you the truth about his past. He admitted the part he played in the war between America and the British. He admitted that he had done terrible things for what he thought was right. You had been shocked and somewhat horrified. But then, you remembered hearing about all the policies he was enacting as the lieutenant governor and softened. He wasn't the same man he was before.

You don't know when or how it happened, but over the time you spent together, you developed feelings for the man. Feelings that only grew stronger the closer you got to finishing the portrait. You found yourself becoming sad whenever you realized that there would soon be no need for the two of you to spend time together. It upset you a bit, truthfully. Especially as he had given no indication that he returned any feelings for you. Until the day came that you finished the painting, you were in the dark of the man's interest in you.

"I've finished," you told him as you put your paintbrush down for the final time. John rose from the chair he'd been posed in and came around to look at the painting over your shoulder. He was so close you could practically feel the heat radiating off of him and yet, he wasn't close enough. You rose as gracefully as you could and moved away from him. He stared at the painting and said nothing. His eyes scanned your work, taking in everything.

"You hate it," you said sadly when he still made no comment. His eyes met yours. "Quite the contrary. It is exquisite." You smiled a bit, but there was no mirth in it. John cocked his head to the side. "You are unhappy?" You were a little surprised. You didn't think he would be that in tune with your moods. "I, well…yes and no. I am please with the work I've done. It is one of my best, if I may say so."

"Then why are you not pleased? I must confess, the minds of women confound me still." You let out a little giggle at that, prompting a smile to appear on his face. You took a deep breath and confessed, "I am unhappy because I shall now be deprived of your company. I must admit that I have come to enjoy our time together. Our hours together have been the happiest time of my day recently."

John didn't reply at first and you had no clue what he was thinking. He schooled his features well. You waited rather impatiently for him to say something. You wanted to know what was going through his mind as he stared at you. With every second that passed, your heart broke a bit more. When you finally thought you might cry, John spoke.

"I confess you surprised me. You've given no sign of this. I had hoped to approach the subject with you before I spoke to your father." You looked at him. "My father?" John smiled. "For permission to court you, of course. If that is something you wish." Your jaw dropped open in a very unladylike fashion.

"Leave us," you told the servant. She opened her mouth to argue, but did what she was told when you gave her a pleading glance. Once she was gone, you turned back to John. "Do you mean that?" He nodded. "You will find I never say anything that I do not mean." You beamed up at him. "I would be honored to be courted by you, sir." He took a step closer to you, gently taking your chin between his thumb and forefinger. "Please, call me John."

"What are you thinking about so intently?" John's voice, still rough from sleep, asked. You tilted your head up to look at him with a smile. "How we met. How we ended up here." John's grip on your hip tightened even more. "Fond memories then?" You playfully rolled your eyes and sat up just enough to place a kiss to his lips. His hands traveled to your spine, holding you closer. "I love you, John," you mumbled against his lips. "And I adore you, my wife."

(a/n: I hope you like it!)

#turn: washington's spies #john graves simcoe #john graves simcoe x reader #simcoe x reader

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mfingenius · 5 years

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College AU

“What?” Harry asks, eyebrows raised.

Draco’s cheeks turn red, but he clenches his jaw determinately. “You heard me, Potter.”

“I did,” Harry says slowly. His brain seems to have stopped working. “I’m just contemplating the odds of you having gone insane.”

Draco’s cheeks turn even redder, and he rolls his eyes. “I haven’t gone insane. If you didn’t want me to say yes-”

“No, no!” Harry says quickly. He licks his lips. “It’s just – why?”

“It was recently pointed out to me that you were trying to be civil.” He says primly. “And

that I was not reciprocating. I am – trying to be – fair.”

He sounds like it’s taking him great effort to get the words out, and Harry very nearly

laughs. He manages to bite it back, and he nods slowly.

“Alright,” He says. Honestly, when he’d asked Draco – the most gorgeous git Harry’s ever met – to model for his final sketches, he thought he was murdering their very, very fragile relationship. He never expected Draco to say yes. “I – when are you free?”

His brain seems to refuse to put more than a few words together at a time. He can’t help it; he’s had a crush on Draco for almost a year now, and with this project coming up, he knows a lot of people wanted to draw Draco. He can’t blame them; Draco is gorgeous, and a classical ballet dancer, and their sketches are supposed to showcase the beauty in human movement. He’s the perfect subject.

He can’t quite believe that Draco said yes to him.

“When is the project due?” Draco asks, instead of answering. It’s fondly infuriating.

“Two weeks.” Harry says.

Draco’s eyes snap to him, disbelieving. “Two weeks? You left what is the equivalent of your final exam for two weeks before it was due?”

“You sound like Hermione,” Harry says mildly. Draco scoffs, and before he can get angry at Harry and change his mind about letting him draw him, Harry continues. “It’s alright. I can do it. I just need a few of your free afternoons.”

Draco rolls his eyes. “Fine. I need to practice for the presentation in June, anyway. I practice every day, from three to nine.”

“Apart from your dance classes? Aren’t you tired?” Harry asks, frowning lightly. Draco throws him a glare, and Harry holds his hands up in surrender. “Alright. When do you want me to drop by?”

“I don’t want you to drop by.” Draco says snidely. “I’m doing this as a favor, Potter.”

“I was under the impression that you didn’t do favors, Malfoy.” Harry shoots back. He knows it’s not the wisest course of action, angering his muse – and Draco is his muse,

has been for a long time now – before he’s drawn him, but he can’t resist. He’s never been able to keep himself in check when it comes to Draco, in any context or situation.

Draco merely glares at Harry and flips him off.

“You can come whenever you want to,” He says. “But text me before. I don’t want you to show up unannounced.”

And then he walks away.

“I don’t have your number!” Harry calls after him. “Figure it out!”

Harry gets Draco’s number from Hermione, who texts it to him with an eyeroll and a ‘kiss him already, will you?’. Harry thanks her and flips her off. He finds himself standing outside of the ballet building the day after Draco agrees, at 2:54. He doesn’t want to go in yet because he doesn’t want to be early, but he does, because it’s a building he’s never been in before and he thinks he might get lost.

He does.

“You’re late.” Draco says, when Harry finally finds the practice room Draco had set apart for this.

“Two minutes,” Harry huffs, dropping his bag and sitting on the only chair in the room. He takes out his sketchbook and a normal pencil. He’s just going to do some rough sketches today, trying to get as many moves of Draco’s dance as he can; he’ll sharpen them and redo them cleanly when he gets back to their dorm, and, if he needs to, he’ll be back tomorrow. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Draco rolls his eyes at him. “I need to stretch, Potter, I don’t fancy pulling something.”

Harry watches as he puts on music and begins stretching. He’s in a white shirt, black tights, and ballet slippers, and Harry can see every line of his body as he warms up; he moves with a grace that Harry could never achieve; where he is messy and careless, Draco’s every move is done with elegance and a delicacy that might be natural or might be learned.

Whichever one it is, it seems like it’s in Draco’s nature.

He finds himself mindlessly sketching along with Draco’s every movement, fluid and purposeful. When he finally begins dancing, Harry very nearly forgets what he’s supposed to be doing; every move takes his breath away.

When he finally begins sketching, it’s a struggle against time; he sketches quickly, barely looking down at the paper, because if he does, he’ll miss Draco’s next move, and he’s unwilling to do that. Draco does the dance again, and again, and again, and every time

Harry finds new things to fall in love with, new moves his sketches could never do justice to.

Draco seems to lose himself in it, doing every dance move fluidly, with the familiarity of someone who’s done something a thousand times and loves it. Harry’s never seen him like this, lost in what he’s doing, relaxed, passionate, happy.

He barely even notices time passing. By the time he notices that it’s been a while, it’s dark outside, and he’s filled several pages of his sketchbook with sketches of Draco. He checks his wristwatch and curses.

“It’s nine thirty.” He says. “I lost track of time.”

Draco seems surprised. He checks the clock, and then hums mildly. He turns off the music and begins picking up his things.

“Can I see you tomorrow?” Harry forces himself to say it before he can lose his nerve.

“I – alright,” Draco agrees, hesitantly. His cheeks are flushed, and Harry thinks they weren’t a minute ago, but they must’ve been, because it must be caused by the exercise. “Did you get anything good today?”

“Yes,” Harry says sincerely. “Your dancing is...” Enamoring. He doesn’t say it.

Draco’s cheeks go redder, and he looks down, eyelashes fluttering. Harry’s never seen him like this, embarrassed and shy. It’s endearing.

“Thank you,” he says, eyelashes fluttering as he looks around the room. “I – err. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“Tomorrow,” Harry echoes. He doesn’t want to say goodbye yet. In a desperate feat, he says, “I’ll walk you to your dorm.”

Draco frowns lightly. “My dorm is all the way across campus. Isn’t yours right by here?”

“Know where my dorm is, do you?” Harry grins, and Draco’s cheeks turn scarlet. Harry enjoys that look on him.

“You’re rooming with Weasley, and if you’ve forgotten, her girlfriend is my best friend.” Draco says snidely. “I’ve accompanied her enough times there to have memorized it by now.”

“Sure,” Harry grins teasingly, elbowing Draco’s side lightly.

Draco glares at him – the effect greatly diminished by the color on his cheeks – but he allows him to walk him to his dorm. When they get there, Harry walks him to the door – which is definitely more than unnecessary – and they find a red post-it on the door.

“What does that mean?” Harry asks when Draco groans.

“It means Blaise is having sex.” Draco glares at the closed door. “And I’m supposed to stay out of the room.”

Harry says it before he can stop himself. “You can sleep with me.”

Silence.

Then, “Excuse me?”

Fuck.

“I don’t mean sex!” Harry rushes to say. “I – I mean that – Ron is always at Hermione’s

dorm, so I have the dorm to myself. You can sleep there.”

Draco hesitates.

“Potter,” he says finally. “Why are you doing this? We’re not friends.”

“We could be,” Harry says.

“But we’re not.” Draco stresses.

“But we could be,” Harry repeats.

“We’re not.” Draco says.

Harry rolls his eyes. “Can’t I just do something nice for you?”

“But why are you doing this?” Draco asks. “No one does anything without a reason.”

“Why are you modeling for me, then?” Harry asks. “I’m not doing anything for you.”

“We’re not talking about that.” Draco snaps.

“Why not?”

“Because I know why I’m being nice, but why are you?” Draco asks, exasperated. “And don’t tell me it’s your unbearable hero complex, because I-”

Harry kisses him.

-----------

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#drarry #fanfic #mine

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askdawnandvern · 5 years

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January Roundup (Asks Open Tomorrow)

First and foremost, at the head of this particular blog entry, I’d like to give a special shoutout to my Patreon peeps fro another month of support.

ACYLOTES

Warwolf416 Hyenafur NervousBlackRabbit Bjerken FluffyWolf117 AManCalledDominik Unformed Sypher597

DEVOTEE

Luposong Karakuri Keifox

FOLLOWER

Major Matt Mason

Thanks again my friends, I appreciate your continued support, especially now more than ever.

Another thing I’d like to start off the bat by saying is that the Ask box will be open again tomorrow. I will be closing it as soon as it reaches 25 non-patreon related asks. Patreon asks will be considered whether they come in late or not, but in order to keep from having the box closed for another 2-month spell, I cannot risk leaving the box open for a full week. I tried my best to prune some asks, but you guys just ask too many good ones. So Tomorrow at 6:00 PM EST the box will open. There is your heads up.

Now with the most pivotal news out of the way, I can move on to news about other projects and things in the works.

First off, let’s talk LAW. Obviously, I wanted to have LAW done by now. I had even considered taking the month off to try and crank it out. But two weeks into the month I knew it wasn’t going to work, which is why I emptied the ask box out in preparation for February.

So where’s chapter 50? Why isn’t that done? Well, two reasons. One of which is that chapter 50 is coming up on 50 pages or more. We are at 42 currently, and based on the outline it’s going to take at least another 10 pages to conclude. So basically we are looking at two chapters in one here. This chapter, the wedding chapter, is the apex of the whole story, and it demands the most critical eye possible.

The other issue is that there have been some incidents at home that have taken away from completion goals. I care for my elderly mother, and recently her health has taken a downturn. In the past three weeks we’ve had an ambulance out twice, and between those incidents, she’s required a lot of attention. And my already atrocious sleep habits have been further affected by waking every hour to either give her medicine or wheel her to the bathroom. Needless to say, that has put a strain on LAW’s completion, and even being able to focus on it.

All that said, preliminary reports by my Patreon backers who got to read rough drafts and incompletes say it’s the best chapter yet. So at the very least, it’s something I hope will be worth the wait.

Now for a note about commissions. For those familiar with my commissions, my rates are on furaffinity, and while they haven’t been open for months now, I can not keep up with the number of inquiries. Every time I’m about to open the public commissions, someone PM’s me about them, and I take their commission. So I’m going to be upping the commission prices by five dollars each. And hopefully, after I clear out the remaining comms, I can open commissions to the public again.

There have also been some changes to my Patreon that reflect this. Modifications are still being made but free sketches have been removed. However, if you are a Patreon the commission prices will remain the same, plus the preexisting discount levels. For those who are interested, i will announce in the future if and when commissions will open, but as always I implore you to give the patreon a looksee.

And with all that said, I’d like to take the time to thank you for reading and supporting this blog, and me. I really appreciate it. :)

-WT

#askdawnandvern #ask blog #Author #wastedtimeee #Assistant Mayor Bellwether #dawn bellwether

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kati-mariposa · 6 years

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Guardians: Chapter 2

Characters: OC, Bill Skarsgard & Jeffrey Dean Morgan

*WARNING: Mild Language

Summary: Can be found in Chapter 1

[*DISCLAIMER: The actors do not represent themselves as actors, but as the characters I created to play out in the story.]

-Chapter 3

“What are you working on right now?” Jeffrey asked, casting a shadow by hovering over me as I sat on the beige couch.

“I’m doing a Christmas themed commission for someone who’s just as obsessed with the holidays as I am,” I replied with my eyes glued to the picture. I drew a stray line by accident and had to erase it gently, so that I don’t bend the paper or tear it. I’d die if that’d happen.

“But it’s not even Halloween yet,” he reminded me as he went around and sat on the loveseat diagonal of me.

“I’m almost always dreaming of Christmas even during Springtime,” I grinned when I glanced up at him, quietly chuckling under my breath.

He chuckled deeply in his chest and gave a warm smile towards me, grabbing a book from the coffee table to read. Sometimes he liked to relax and read anything he can find, while I enjoy drawing, for fun and for business, then practice writing on the side.

“Do you plan to go to bed soon? Or are you staying up to draw?” he wondered while scanning his book.

“Nah. I got plenty of time to work on it more tomorrow before I have to get ready for the Halloween party at Alexander’s house,” I told him as I sketched some new lines on the paper.

There was only silence between us for a minute or two, but it suddenly felt cold in the room. It also felt like a pair of eyes were burning through my head as I peered down at my sketch book. I eventually raised my head to check out my hunch and sure enough, Jeffrey had his dark hazel eyes pierce into mine, which made me uncomfortable and click my mechanical pencil out of nervousness.

“Right. The party. Do you have your costume ready?” his curious tone didn’t sound so pleased.

“Yep. I took care of the finishing touches just before I started drawing today. I only need to make sure I have everything together for tomorrow.”

“How will you be getting there?”

“Bill’s supposed to pick me up.”

“Is he dropping you off back home afterwards or is he planning on taking you to his apartment, into his bedroom for the night?”

I froze abruptly when he said the last sentence, which also began to make me uneasy and I bit my lip out of annoyance.

“Jeffrey!” I said irritated.

“What? I simply asked a question,” he tried to lie with his rough voice. I could tell he was being distasteful of Bill again without being so forward. Basically beating around the bush.

“Yeah, but you constantly try to make him look bad when he’s not provoking you or has done anything to deserve your rudeness,” I defended Bill. My voice began to rise a bit from the small intensity of the argument.

Jeffrey was offended that I snapped back at him for disrespecting my friend, but he had no right to talk about him like he was some kind of sleazy person. Sometimes, I felt like he purposely plotted ways to get me to not like Bill, but I couldn’t fully prove it and it seemed unlikely that he’d be that drastic.

“He’s a young guy. I was his age once and I know what’s on their minds at that time in their lives. He’s up to no good,” he explained putting the opened book face down on the coffee table. I put my pencil and sketch pad to the side of me in order to concentrate on the conversation with my “Guardian Godfather”.

“Oh he’s not like that! Give me examples of why you think “he” of all the other people I know, is such a bad person?” I challenged him loudly, crossing my arms and sitting with my feet planted to the floor for support.

“He’s a smoker,” his response was given.

“You smoke too. But he doesn’t do it so often and he rarely smokes around me because he knows I hate cigarettes. Does that make you a bad person for smoking?”

“No. But I’ve seen the look in his eyes, the way he sees you whenever you’re around. It’s obvious there’s something he wants from you and it’s usually the one and only thing on every man’s mind. In fact, I’m surprised he’s hung around for this long.”

He was pissing me off, so I stood up fast, firmly stomping on the floor and balling my hands into fists.

“Just stop it already! I can’t believe you would say those terrible things about him like that. He’s not what you think he is, so don’t ever talk about him that way!” I yelled at him with sheer anger.

He fixed himself on the cushion, clasping his big hands onto his grey pajama pants as rage also fueled his emotions high. He was silent as he scolded me through his black frame glasses, but he removed them to continue the stare down with me, like he meant business.

“Don’t give me that tone little lady,” he clenched his jaw.

“I’ll stop once you stop insulting Bill,” I dared to tell him. I was so worked up, my hands were nervously shaking, but I kept them firm by my side. The corner of my eyes were tearing up from Jeffrey’s words echoing in my mind. I blinked a few times and ultimately a tear or two rolled down my warm cheek. I couldn’t even make eye contact at that point, I was so upset with him.

“Wait a minute. Don’t tell me… Oh Lord,” he muffled while pinching the arch of his nose.

I didn’t say a word, but I was worried about what he was going to say next. Who knew what was going through his mind. His eyes were focused on the floor for a short few seconds before returning his attention towards me. Then, he started to chuckle, which freaked me out because after that, he grinned.

“You. Oh Kat, Kat, Kat. My little kitten,” he chanted slowly standing over me, showing off superiority, “Are you?”

“Am I what?” I hesitated.

“Sweetheart, are you in love with Bill?” he finished, snickering to himself.

“W-What?!” I was taken aback by his assumption.

“Are you?” he said as calm as he could maintain.

“Why are you like this? You used to not care and suddenly you’re making more of an effort to intimidate him. Why change now?”

“Answer the damn question,” he demanded.

“No! Even if I might be, I’m better off not telling you about it,” I snapped, partially lied to his face.

Deep down, I did kind of have feelings for Bill, but I would never admit it. I especially would never tell Jeffrey after the crap he’s been pulling. I picked up my drawing supplies from the couch and made my away around Jeffrey so I could head for my room. I was too emotional in front of him and I refused to break down and let him win this argument.

“Where are you going? We’re not finished talking here,” he shouted at me.

“You’re not my dad! This conversation is over,” I cried back, ignoring him down the rest of the hallway until I finally reached my bedroom, shutting the door behind me and locking it.

I then tossed my stuff onto my black desk and ran to the bed, crawling under the sheets and pouring my eyes out with unlimited tears. My sobs were discreet because I didn’t want him to hear me. The only things I heard after storming out of the living room was the footsteps of Jeffrey retreating to his bedroom at the end of the hall. He shut the door loud, startling me as I wept under the blanket.

I couldn’t understand it. He was never that way when I was first becoming friends with Bill. In fact, he welcomed him into the family even though we weren’t dating. As a matter of fact, he truly liked Bill then. For a year, Jeffrey showed his hospitality and trustworthiness to him, but something was definitely off nowadays. What did he mean by “the way Bill looks at me”? He saw me differently? It’s just too overwhelming, I thought, it made my head hurt. Things needed to go back to normal.

I grabbed my phone and was about to call Bill so I could seek comfort, but then I side-tracked. It didn’t seem wise to immediately call and complain about Jeffrey’s insults to the one person it was meant for, at least not right away, in my condition. If he heard even a sign of unhappiness and sniffles, he’ll automatically worry a lot and interrogate the crap out of me. Not that it was a completely bad thing, but I was too overcome with anger and sadness to express it to him then. I also didn’t want him to become even more hateful of Jeffrey, since I knew it could cause more problems between all of us.

I care for Jeffrey, but I also care for Bill. This was too much to bear in mind as I uncovered myself from the sheets to get some cooler air. I needed to do something. I couldn’t stay here for the night. I had to leave.

I sat up, pondering what to do. If I wanted to leave the house, I’d have to wait until Jeffrey fell into a deep sleep, but as a start, I had to pack what I was planning to wear for Halloween. So I jumped out of bed, searched and gathered all of my costume necessities, took out a dark red duffle bag from my closet and carefully packed my items inside, organizing at the same time. I would need to wait awhile until I could see that the coast was clear to leave to spend the night at someone else’s place.

“Really hate this,” I muffled under my breath before finishing my packing, then sitting on the bed, waiting almost impatiently for the time to sneak out like a mouse.

#bill skarsgard #jeffrey dean morgan #oc #guardians #chapter two #bill skarsgard x oc #bill skarsgard fanfiction #jdm #fanfiction #fanfic #jeffrey dean morgan x oc #bill skarsgard x reader #jeffrey dean morgan x reader #original character #trust issues #love story #romance #guardians fanfiction

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littleoldrachel · 6 years

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you’ve got a warm heart, you’ve got a beautiful brain [fic]

I wrote something new and a bit different to my usual stuff - my first Ginny/Luna fic!!! Sorry it’s riddled with typos, but I hope y’all still enjoy.

Read it here on ao3 or here on ff.net or under the cut.

you’ve got a warm heart, you’ve got a beautiful brain

Summary: "Christmas is always a difficult time of year for her, no matter how many years in recovery she clocks up."

In which Luna struggles with the festive season, Ginny is the supportive girlfriend we all wish we had, and there's very little actual plot, it's mostly just fluffy and gay.

Tw: eating disorders

Christmas is always a difficult time of year for her, no matter how many years in recovery she clocks up. It’s been a better year than most, but recovery is not linear, she should know this by now. She should know that her demons always come crawling back at the first chords of that Mariah Carey song, that the obsessive focus on food – and not just food, but an excess of food – will trigger her unhealthiest coping mechanisms, that something about holidays seems to give the world permission to comment upon her appearance, and that her brain will somehow twist even the most well-meant compliments against her.

She’s been doing remarkably well so far – a change of medication, a fresh start at CBT, and the endless love and support from the Best Girlfriend in the World mean that she’s managed most of December with only one food-related breakdown.

This week though, it feels like everything’s out to get her – it’s been a crazy work week, commissions coming left, right and centre, and people just not grasping that she can’t create what they’re demanding in a day, no matter how much cash they throw at it. On top of her workload, there’s the added pressure of Christmas shopping – which, by the way, she still hasn’t finished, and she doesn’t know how she’s going to face the crowds, but she has to, else she has to explain to her girlfriend of almost four years why she hasn’t got her a present… And then there’s the million and one little things, that are tugging her in a thousand different directions, stretching her thinner and thinner (which is fucking ironic, considering that she feels like she’s ballooning) – the worry about travelling to her dad’s, the panic at having to spend Christmas Day surrounded by people at the Weasley household, the way that all her coping mechanisms have taken a backseat to carol singing, Christmas baking, pub meets…

It’s a lot.

In fact, it’s so much that there’s a near constant weight buried in her chest, and it’s so heavy and unyielding and like hundreds of tiny wires are slicing in to her lungs, ripping her apart from the inside out, and she can’t – she can’t – she can’t –

She throws her pencil at the sketchpad in frustration, and it bounces off, clattering to the floor somewhere. It’s struck straight through the rough design she’s been working on for the last two hours, but the sketch was useless anyway. She tears it out, scrunches it in to a tight ball, and hurls it to join her pencil.

Luna presses her palms in to her eyes, willing herself not to cry – and failing, because she’s useless, useless, useless. The tears drip down her cheeks, and she knows she’s teetering on the edge of a panic attack – knows that she needs to call someone, or practice one of those breathing techniques, or go for a walk or something that isn’t sitting here and wallowing in it, but she can’t seem to move, everything is so much, she can’t –

The sound of the phone is an unpleasant pull back to reality, and she lets it ring and ring, because having to talk to someone right now suddenly seems like the biggest effort in the world (she can’t). Eventually it reaches the answerphone.

(She and Ginny had recorded a message together – because Ginny had suggested it as a joke – “we can be one of those gross couples” – but Luna knew how much Ginny loved those kind of stupid things, and how much it had meant to her that she’d gone along with it. She can hear the smile in Ginny’s voice as she chirps to ‘leave a message after the beep,’ and the happiness in her own voice makes her feel as though she’s listening to a different person entirely.)

Finally, Molly Weasley’s voice echoes around the room, and Luna squeezes her eyes shut against it.

“Ginny, dear, everybody is getting here for one tomorrow – we probably won’t sit down to eat before three, because you know how Christmas Day is… oh, and Percy had a change of plans – he’s not going to Penny’s anymore, so there’ll be thirty-five or so of us – a full house! It’ll be so lovely to see you again, it’s been too long, and Luna, of course. I do hope she’s not going to be awkward about food this year… Anyway, I look forward to seeing you both tomorrow… Merry Christmas, sweetie.”

Later, Luna will be able to look back on this seemingly innocent phone call, and recognise it as the straw that broke the camel’s back. Later, she will pick apart in therapy exactly what it was that triggered the spiral of self-loathing like concrete in her stomach, the sobbing, shuddering panic attack that lasts and lasts and will not end. Later, this will be an experience that she can look back on, and say I didn’t relapse, I made it, everything is okay.

For now, though – she sits, and cries, and chokes on gasps of air, because she’s “awkward about food” and she knew that she was a burden – she fucking knew it, and everyone who has spent hours convincing her otherwise was fucking wrong, and she hates herself – everything about herself, she’s huge and awful and inconvenient and Too Much –

She’s tugging at her hair – long, stringy, white-blonde, utterly uninteresting like everything else about her – when a hand closes around her wrist and gently untangles it from her fingers.

“Lu? Angel, what happened?”

Ginny is kneeling in front of her – her cheeks are flushed-pink from the nip of the winter wind, her hair a mess from being bundled under her beanie, she looks tired and cold and anxious – but still somehow utterly, devastatingly gorgeous.

“Luna?” Ginny says again, a little more urgently, and Luna reaches out to touch Ginny’s cheek. Ginny cups a hand over Luna’s, holding it in place, and then presses a kiss to her palm. “What’s going on, baby?”

Luna takes a breath – it’s so much easier now that Ginny’s here, but she’s suddenly horribly aware that she’s snotty and streaky with tears. She wipes a sleeve across her face, takes another breath, and draws her knees in tight to her chest.

(A couple of years ago, she would have struggled to articulate this to anyone, let alone to Ginny. A couple of years ago, the thought of someone loving her as fiercely and as passionately as Ginny loves her, would have been completely incomprehensible. A couple of years ago, this would probably have spiralled in to a full-blown relapse. Now, she will stand strong in the knowledge that articulating this will not make Ginny think any less of her, that Ginny loves her, that she will get through this and be okay again).

Ginny loops an arm around her waist, leads Luna to the armchair by the fireplace, and pulls her down in to her lap. Luna curls up against Ginny’s chest, and Ginny presses a gentle kiss to the top of her head, trailing her fingertips soothingly down Luna’s back, like a kitten. Something in Luna’s chest loosens a little, and warmth trickles in to the gap it creates, because this is safe and familiar and comfortable.

“Your mum rang,” she says eventually, and Ginny’s hand stills for a second, before continuing smoothly. “And something she said – it just – I know it sounds silly, it wasn’t even meant like that, but it just struck a nerve, I suppose.”

(One of the things Luna loves most about Ginny is how well she knows her; Ginny knows that Luna doesn’t need her to interrupt her, to tell her that she doesn’t sound silly, that what she needs is to sound things out herself, in order to make sense of her thought processes, because Ginny understands how muddled and muddied they can become sometimes).

When Luna is done explaining that it’s been such a hard week, and how overwhelmed and stretched-thin she’s feeling, and how the message tipped everything over the edge, and now the thought of having to sit down and eat a Christmas dinner is too much, too much, too much –

When she’s finally finished, Ginny presses another kiss to her forehead, and says, “thank you, angel. Do you mind if I listen to the message?”

Luna shakes her head, and shifts to allow Ginny to reach across to the phone. Ginny frowns when she hears Molly’s voice, her confusion growing as the message runs its course. Luna sees rather than hears the moment when Ginny gets it, watches her shoulders tense, her mouth form a grimly thin line, her eyes darken a little. When the message is over, there’s a pause, and Ginny is glaring in to the distance. Luna hesitantly squeezes her hand to bring her back. “Why are you mad?”

Ginny blinks, the anger draining out of her in a breath, and says carefully, “I’m not mad.”

Luna cocks her head. “Annoyed, then?”

“I just – I just wish she’d think. I wish you hadn’t had to hear that – I’m so sorry, baby, that you did hear that, she’s so-“

“It’s okay. I’d rather hear it and know, rather than not know that she feels that way about me and my – my issues.”

“But that’s my point!” Ginny explodes, and then closes her eyes, and inhales deeply. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to shout. I just – she has no right – this isn’t just some diet fad, this isn’t you insisting on some weird trendy raw vegan shit, this is a mental illness, and after all this time, she should know fucking better than to treat you like you’re just being – being-“

“Awkward?”

“Yeah.” Ginny hesitates, then says, “you know it’s bullshit, right? You know that you’re not being awkward, you know that you’re not – a burden, or whatever it is you’re thinking, right?”

Luna sighs. “I know that I want to believe that. And that objectively, somewhere deep down, I do know that, but…”

“That doesn’t mean it doesn’t still hurt?”

“Exactly.”

Ginny presses her lips together, and wraps her arms tighter around Luna, who shuffles round so that it’s a proper cuddle. For a while, they sit in an embrace, as the light in the room narrows in to a thin, pinkish strip across the wall, before fading fast in to the growing darkness. The gloom is thick and cool and pressing before either of them speak again, but Luna still feels cocooned in her little bubble in Ginny’s arms.

“Angel, I need to ask some difficult questions about food and tomorrow. And it can wait, but we should talk about it at some point.”

“Now is okay,” Luna says quietly, pressing her ear against Ginny’s chest so that she can hear the comforting thump-thump-thump of her heart.

“Mealtimes. Would it help it we stuck to your meal plan tomorrow, and had lunch at one like usual?”

Luna bites her lip to stop herself from protesting that she doesn’t want to be awkward. “Yes, but, your mum said-“

“Would it help if we stayed in tomorrow? Did our own thing?”

“I-“ Luna is floored by the offer, because she knows what Ginny would be giving up, knows how much Christmas Day with her whole family means to her, and that the thought of seeing her brothers, Harry and Hermione again soon was what got her through her latest Bad Day. “I can’t ask you to do that. You love Christmas Day.”

“I love you more,” Ginny says immediately, pulling her in a little closer.

Tears prick in Luna’s eyes, only this time they aren’t tears of frustration, misery or stress – this time, it’s because Ginny loves her, and sometimes Luna fails to appreciate just how strongly Ginny loves. She loves with everything she has – a protective, adoring, wholehearted kind of love, that overwhelms and shelters and inspires Luna to be kinder, braver, better. It’s the best and purest kind of love that Luna could wish for.

“Maybe, we can go to your mum’s in the evening? When the food part is over?” Luna suggests, because love involves compromise and the thought of Ginny being so sacrificial on Christmas Day makes guilt curdle in her stomach.

“Okay. But it’s okay if that’s too much. Don’t put that kind of pressure on yourself.”

“Okay. I love you,” Luna whispers, and even in an undertone, the words sound big and brave against the darkness.

“I love you too. So, so much.”

It’s another hour or so before they finally move. Ginny lifts Luna with an ease and strength at odds with her smaller stature, and they spend a while poring over Luna’s book of ‘Safe Recipes’ for dinner. They settle on a minestrone soup, and before long, they’re dicing vegetables side by side in the kitchen – courgettes, carrots, onion, garlic, celery. Ginny distracts Luna, whilst the soup bubbles away in the pan, with a long-winded and much-embellished tale about her harrowing experiences last-minute shopping. They take steaming bowls through to the living room, and eat the hot, delicious soup with warm, crusty bread, under the lights of the Christmas tree and in front of an episode of Riverdale – because it’s complete trash, but it’s still gripping enough that it manages to keep Luna’s attention on the plot, and not the liquid she’s spooning in to her mouth.

It’s an evening like any other – they wash and dry up together, scooping bubbles from the washing up bowl, and blowing them at each other’s faces. Luna works the knots out of Ginny’s shoulders, and in return she massages Luna’s feet and hands, and they end up cuddled together under a blanket on the sofa, communicating in hushed voices and gentle kisses.

(It’s an evening Luna could never have envisaged earlier, and even though the warm weight of the soup in her stomach isn’t exactly comfortable, Ginny’s wrapped around her like an octopus, showering her with affection, and Luna knows that whatever tomorrow brings, she will get through it).

Ginny is already awake, one arm propping up her head and legs thrown carelessly across the mattress. Everything is a little softer in the light of the weak winter sun, and the glow catches on Ginny’s vivid hair, dancing golden and amber on her curls. Her eyes are heavy-lidded, but they light up when they meet Luna’s gaze, and her mouth curls up in to the sweetest of smiles.

“Morning, beautiful,” her voice is scratchy, but it’s still the loveliest sound Luna’s ever heard, and she thinks vaguely to herself that this is what love feels like – this warm, precious, comforting adoration that curls around her heart like a gentle embrace.

“Merry Christmas.” Luna leans up to press a kiss to the corner of Ginny’s mouth, but Ginny catches her chin, cradles the back of her head like she’s something exquisite, and keeps her there in a long, slow kiss that fills Luna’s entire body with a joy so pure that it threatens to overflow out of her mouth in a giggle.

“I love you,” Ginny murmurs against her lips.

“I love you too.”

They have a slow, quiet morning, full of tender embraces, forehead kisses, and loving words. The Christmas tree lights twinkle, and the log fire fills the room with a blazing warmth that casts frolicking shadows across the walls. Around ten, Ginny entwines their fingers, and asks, with a lightness that belies the heaviness of the situation: “pancakes? Or d’you want to stick to your usual?”

Luna closes her eyes against the pangs of guilt that stir with the pangs of hunger, and for a second, imagines a world where she could eat Ginny’s delicious, piping hot, thick and fluffy pancakes, and not hate herself for it the second it passed her lips.

But she knows herself, and knows that the panic stirring in her chest at even the thought of that much food will erupt if she forces anything. More than that, she knows her girlfriend, and knows that Ginny is the kindest, most supportive and understanding soul she’s blessed to know. “My usual,” she says quietly.

They move in to the kitchen, and Ginny hops up on the counter to whip up her pancake mix, swinging her legs. Luna chops her fruit in to a bowl, spoons a little yoghurt over it, and then, whilst Ginny cooks up a stack of pancakes, she sits in front of the piano, and begins to play.

“Oh, the rising of the sun, and the running of the deer-“

Luna can’t help but smile, because she loves Ginny with her entire heart and soul, but Lord, she can’t hold a tune to save her life. She joins in anyway, “the playing of the merry organ, sweet singing in the choir.”

“Sweet singing from one of us, at least,” Ginny says with a grin, coming to stand behind her, and pressing a kiss to Luna’s neck. “Pancakes are done.” There’s flour on her cheek, and Luna strokes it off gently. Some clings to her fingertips, and she holds it in front of Ginny’s mouth.

“Make a wish,” she says softly.

“You and your wishes,” Ginny rolls her eyes fondly, but obediently blows the flour off, squeezing her eyes shut.

The two of them eat in bed – a rare treat for the two of them, since Ginny is usually up with the morning sun for training – in a nest of blankets and cushions. Luna’s heart is so full that she has to reach for a sketchpad, and before long, she’s captured her girlfriend mid-laugh, her pyjama shirt (white, emblazoned with “HI, I’M BI” in blue, pink and purple) slipping off one shoulder, revealing the small, crescent moon on the edge of her collarbone – her own permanent Luna.

Later, Neville pops by with a bouquet of sunflowers, because they’re Luna’s favourite, though where he got hold of sunflowers on bloody Christmas Day, Luna can’t imagine. She squeezes him tight in an embrace, and blinks back tears when he tells her she’s strong and brilliant and brave. She takes the flowers to put them in a vase as Neville and Ginny chat, and catches murmurs of their conversation through the kitchen door.

“-you’re doing it tonight?”

“Yes. That’s the plan. I wanted-“

“-I’m so excited for you both.”

“I’m so nervous-“

Luna frowns a little, casting her mind back to try and think if Ginny had mentioned any special plans for tonight. Before she gets very far though, the phone rings, and it’s Harry – they have a brief, but heartfelt conversation, before she hears Draco in the background, panicking about champagne, and insists that Harry goes and reassures his boyfriend that no, Mr Weasley won’t care that this isn’t the bottle that cost almost as much as an average salary. She hangs up with a genuine smile on her lips, the whispered conversation completely gone from her mind.

“Are you sure this is okay?” Ginny asks for the fifth time.

“Yes,” Luna says, and though she’s laughing, inside she’s high-key freaking out, because any minute now, Molly will come to the door, and she’ll be thrown in to an environment that’s so focused around food. She’s not ready to have to hear people moaning about how full they are, about how much they ate, about how they really shouldn’t have another slice of cake, but will anyway – because even this vicarious interaction with food makes her feel sick and uncomfortable.

But Ginny is vibrating with excitement at seeing her family, and the radiant happiness on her face as George opens the door, lifts her in to a hug, and spins her around with a whoop, only strengthens Luna’s resolve.

To her surprise though – it’s not overwhelming and difficult. That’s not to say that it’s easy, because nothing feels easy when your brain will not stop screaming calorie counts and overanalysing tiny interactions every single second. But nobody turns to stare at her as she walks in to a room practically overflowing with Weasleys and their various partners – there are no awkward questions about where she’s been for the past five hours, and Hermione immediately and seamlessly draws her in to a conversation about Roman mythology. Ginny is tucked in the corner with George, Harry, and Bill, presumably engrossed in a sports conversation judging by Harry’s intense eye contact and Bill’s enthusiastic gestures. Even so, she glances over at Luna every now and then, checking in with a reassuring smile, and every time she does, Luna feels the tension slide out of her shoulders a little more.

Ron and Charlie come over to join them, and suggest a game of Monopoly. Hermione immediately counters their proposal with Trivial Pursuit, and their shouts attract Ginny’s little group over too. Before long, everybody’s bickering over board games, and Luna is surrounded by her friends – by people who love her and aren’t making a big deal over her mental health and who she feels so comfortable around – and she feels, not happy exactly, but the kind of content that she can recognise that this is not the low she thought it was going to be.

Eventually, they settle on Catan, and Luna’s about to team up with George – because her smarts and his pluck make for a winning combination, when she catches sight of Draco slipping in to the kitchen. She follows him without really thinking about what she’s doing, ignoring George’s noise of betrayal, and ducks in to the kitchen too.

It’s so much quieter in the kitchen, away from the excitable cries of friends and family. Every surface is covered in dirty dishes, or leftover piles of food, and Luna’s stomach twists sharply, the safe-warm-pleasant feeling popping like a balloon, and leaving a saggy heap of apprehension. But then, she catches sight of Draco, who’s leaning against the kitchen counter, staring at the surplus turkey with a strained expression.

(It’s an expression that she recognises, though she wishes that she didn’t. And it’s the fact that she recognises it that gives her the courage to move further in to the kitchen – further away from the security of the living room).

“Hello,” she says softly, mirroring his position on the other side of the room.

Draco jumps a little, eyes snapping to her face, his guard instantly up. He nods at her, “evening.”

“I suppose it is.” Luna’s heart aches a little for him, because he’s holding on to the countertop for dear life, his knuckles bright white. “Is everything alright?”

“Of course. I’m fine.” His voice is carefully measured and brisk, the perfect example of someone who has learnt how to mimic stable mental health, who’s suppressed their feelings for too long. (She supposes, what with everything that she knows about the Malfoys, that this isn’t that surprising given his home environment). “And yourself? Harry said that you weren’t feeling well earlier?”

“Oh, I’m alright. Or at least, I will be.” There’s a pause, and it occurs to her that they’ve never been alone together before. Draco looks at a loss for what to say, his gaze darting every now and then at the stacks of food. Luna takes a breath, and says, anxiety building with every word, “are you – are you sure everything’s okay? Because I – I get it, if it’s not? I – I have issues with food too.” She trails off, has to force herself to breathe in, and then drags her gaze back to Draco’s face.

He’s watching her, and it feels like she’s watching him drown, and she’s thrown him a lifeline, but he’s refusing to reach out and take it. Her heart beats painfully fast, as she remembers all the reasons why the two of them have never really been friends, how spiteful and malicious he’s capable of being.

He clears his throat and looks down. “I don’t – I. I don’t know why it’s happening now. It hasn’t happened for so long.” His grip tightens even further if possible, and his jaw clenches.

She instantly feels unbearably guilty for thinking ill of him, because she knows he’s changed – she knows how hard he worked to become someone better, and she steps forward. “That’s okay. That’s part of what recovery means. You have people who love you to help you through this.” He flinches a little, and Luna’s heart clenches again as the understanding dawns on her. “You haven’t told Harry?”

He shakes his head minutely – finally raising his eyes to meet hers, and it’s Luna’s turn to flinch, because she’s never seen him so look so vulnerable. And she hates it. She never thought she’d hate it when she finally saw him stripped bare of his defensive shields, but it’s awful and painful and devastating.

“Why not?” her voice is much smaller now.

Draco shakes his head again, looking more and more like a lost, little schoolboy. “I don’t – he’s got so much on his plate already, I can’t – it’s not even an issue usually. I don’t even know how to tell him.”

“But he loves you. He’ll make time for you, he loves you so much.”

“I don’t want him to have to. I want this to not be an issue, I don’t-“

“Draco,” Luna says sharply, and, to her surprise, he stops spiralling – out loud, at least. “Tell him. He’ll get it. He’s good and kind, and he always checks in with me to see how I’m doing, if he knew this was an issue for you, then he would be the most supportive. Give him that chance. If you can’t do it for yourself, then do it for him.”

There’s a silence that stretches between them, and it feels like the moment when you drop a glass, before it hits the floor and shatters – the moment when you might just be able to clasp it back between your fingers.

“Okay,” Draco says at last. “I – I’ll try.”

(The anxiety slides away, like loosening ropes around her chest, and she breathes.)

Her smile is uncontrollable, and she wants to tell him how proud she is, that this is a Big Deal, that she cares, but she always knows that it would be too much, too soon, and so instead, she nods, and turns to leave the kitchen.

“Luna – I – thanks,” Draco calls after her, and her smile widens.

“Any time. I mean that,” she says, trying to convey everything she wants to say in that one, over-used but still fully-intentioned phrase.

“You too.”

The door opens suddenly, and the noise from the living room pours in as Ginny steps through the door. She catches sight of Luna first, and moves forward, her expression concerned and caring. “Are you alright, ang-“ Her gaze slides past Luna to Draco, and she narrows her eyes at him. He shrinks back a little at the unbridled protectiveness in them, and slides past them both, back in to the living room.

“What was that about?”

“It’s not what you think. I’ll tell you later.” Ginny still looks worried, and so Luna drops a kiss on her lips, sliding her arms around her waist, and drawing her closer. Ginny responds enthusiastically, and for a few minutes, Luna’s heart is glowing, filling her up with a warmth and a light so powerful, it shines in to all the dark and murky corners of her brain, every anxious pocket of her lungs, every insecurity and fear momentarily displaced with love-joy-pleasure-adoration.

“I love you,” she says, breaking away from the kiss breathlessly, the words spilling out. “I love you more than I ever thought possible.”

Ginny bites her slightly swollen lips, her mouth fighting against a smile – it’s her self-conscious but overwhelmingly pleased smile – one of Luna’s favourites – and she has to kiss it. This time, they only break apart when someone clears their throat, and not even the sight of Molly Weasley can suck away Luna’s cloud of happiness.

“Mum, hi,” Ginny says, her cheeks flushed, but she’s still beaming too.

“Hello, darling, how are you?” Molly says, and there’s a conversation that Luna zones out of, because she gets entirely distracted by Ginny: the way the setting sun haloes around her hair, the expressiveness of her hands as she speaks, the lovely sound of her voice as it rises and falls. (Ginny is thoroughly beautiful, and Luna is helplessly, irrevocably in love.)

But then-

“You look well, Luna, dear,” Molly says, and she’s smiling, but all Luna can hear is fat fat fat, and she feels like for all the progress she’s made today, this one phrase has just pushed her right back to the start line. Suddenly, she’s battling thoughts that she hasn’t had to tackle in months, where ‘well’ means ‘healthy,’ and ‘healthy’ means recovery, which means weight gain, which is bad bad bad bad. There’s not enough air in the room, and Luna is so frustrated – mostly at herself for reacting so badly to a well-meaning compliment, but also at Molly, because everybody else had managed not to comment on her appearance, why couldn’t Molly just butt out?

She tracks everything she’s eaten today, counting and recounting calories, trying to reassure herself that it wasn’t Too Much, and that even if it was, that’s allowed too – the world will not end, no one meal will impact anything that drastically, she’s fine, she’s fine, she’s fine –

Ginny’s hand on her arm is what brings her back to reality, but the room now feels much colder. She glances at Ginny’s concerned face, and tries to smile, but feels her lungs constricting. Ginny’s face contorts in to something dark and angry, and she turns on Molly, who’s examining Luna’s outfit with a less-than-thrilled expression.

“Enough,” Ginny barks, and both Luna and Molly jump. “Stop this, mum. Stop being so fucking inconsiderate about my girlfriend, who’s too polite to say anything, but I will-“

“Language, Ginny,” snaps Molly. “What on Earth are you talking about?”

“I specifically told you not to say that word-“

“You’re being ridiculous, calm down-“

“I told you,” Ginny hisses. “She’s been having a difficult time lately, the holidays are always hard, and you know that recovery isn’t linear-“

“Yes, but I just thought-“ blusters Molly, but Ginny cuts her off sharply.

“No, mum. You weren’t thinking at all. Because if you’d thought at all before opening your mouth, you would have realised how hurtful you were being – and it’s not just now – the message you left yesterday – I just – I don’t understand how you’re capable of caring so little that you can’t even ask what Luna needs!”

(Luna doesn’t know how to feel. It means the world that Ginny would defend her even against her own family, but this isn’t what she wants. This is just skyrocketing her anxiety, upsetting the people she loves, not solving anything.) “G – love – it’s okay,” Luna touches Ginny’s arm.

“It’s not, Lu-“

“Please, stop. You’re not listening-“

Ginny opens her mouth to retort, and then freezes. She closes her mouth, visibly swallows, and closes her eyes. “You’re right, angel. I’m sorry.” She hesitates, then slides an arm around Luna’s waist. “What do you need?” she says in a lower voice, “we can leave, if that would help.”

Luna shakes her head, because she doesn’t know what she needs, but she does know that she can’t leave it like this. Not just because it’s Christmas, and Christmas is for love and family and friendship, but also because she hates the unhappy expression on Molly’s face, and the fact that she’s the cause of a dispute. She’s not okay – the thought of food is still making her heart erratic and panicky, Molly’s words are still ringing in her ears, and she will probably have a minor breakdown when she gets home. But for now, what she really needs is to be around her favourite people, and to try and recapture that lovely, safe, warm feeling from before.

(She’s going to be okay.)

“Can we go back to the other room?”

Ginny nods immediately, entwining their hands, and pressing a kiss to their joined fingers. Luna reaches out her other hand to Molly, who stares at her in shock for a minute, but then hastily accepts. The three of them settle back in to the living room, where they have moved on to Charades – Percy is currently gesticulating violently at his groin, swaying a little on his feet, and the guesses are coming fast and thick. Ginny settles on the floor by the sofa, and, when Luna plops down in to her lap, wraps her arms around Luna’s waist and playing with her hair.

It’s a little rocky at first, but the evening goes on, Luna feels herself beginning to relax again. There’s something about watching Harry and George act out Dirty Dancing, by George hurling himself in to Harry’s arms and crushing him to the floor, that forces her anxieties to settle down just a little. Ginny plaits and braids and twists her hair, and Luna slips further and further down in to her lap, growing drowsier in the warm, fairy-light-lit room. On the opposite side of the sofa, Draco and Harry are curled together, and Draco shoots her a half-smile that warms her heart. Eventually, board games switch in to films, and A Muppet’s Christmas Carol begins to play; Luna finally gives in to sleep around the time that the ghost of Christmas present arrives, and her last memory before she drifts off, is Ginny murmuring, “I love you, baby.”

(She’s going to be okay.)

It’s more than a little disorientating to wake up in their own bed the next morning, the sun pouring in through the blinds. Ginny is sprawled across the sheets next to her, still breathing deeply, and snuffling a little with every inhale. Luna can’t help the fond smile that spreads across her face, and it’s instinctive the way she reaches for the sketchpad in her bedside table.

As she draws, her mind journeys, and she begins sifting through the events of yesterday, trying to figure out where her mental health is at today. Yesterday was A Lot, but she actually slept through the night, rather than staying awake and beating herself up over every single action, and the lack of sleep deprivation means she’s a lot more rational than she usually is after a day like yesterday. Even Molly’s words sting a little less in the peace and safety of her bedroom, and she manages to resist the urge to go and weigh herself, to make a list of everything she ate yesterday and punish herself for every single calorie, to go and devour every single thing in the kitchen – she resists it all; she breathes and draws and breathes, makes a note of the things she’s going to have to bring up in her next CBT session, takes her medication, and breathes. She’s coping, she’s managing, and this is not a relapse.

When Ginny finally wakes up, bleary-eyed and affectionate, she beams when Luna tells her what she’s managed to do – or not do, this morning. “I’m so proud of you, baby.” She peppers kisses on Luna’s thighs, beautiful and open and loving in the sunlight, and Luna feels weak with how much she loves her.

They spend a lazy couple of hours in bed – they cuddle, make love, and cuddle some more, entirely engrossed in each other. It’s midday before either of them make a move to leave the bed, and even then, Ginny only pads across to the wardrobe to retrieve something, before coming straight back.

“I meant to do this yesterday,” she begins, kneeling on the mattress in front of Luna, an uncharacteristically nervous expression on her face, and Luna’s heart leaps in anticipation.

“Angel. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything in my life. You’re brilliant and beautiful and bright, and you make me so, so proud every single day. Your strength in the face of everything you deal with on a daily basis makes me stronger, because you inspire me so much. I don’t know what I’d do without you. I’m not interested in a future that you’re not a part of. I’m so grateful and blessed that you’re my girlfriend – every day, I wake up next to you, and think about how lucky I am, and I want to have that feeling for the rest of my life. I want to wake up to my best friend and lover and favourite person, and be the one to cherish you, and keep you safe, to kiss you and to make love to you, I – I want to make you proud. Luna, angel, will you marry me?”

Luna had known it was coming from the moment Ginny had started speaking, because Ginny only gushes and waxes lyrical when she’s drunk, but it didn’t feel real until she caught sight of the ring. It’s a simple silver band, set with a smooth-cut moonstone, and it’s so perfect – so them – that tears spring to her eyes. She nods, the words not coming immediately, then clears her throat, and nods faster still.

“Yes – yes – yes – a thousand times yes –“ her voice cracks as she flings her arms around Ginny, and they’re both crying and laughing and all Luna can feel is her heart near exploding with joy love elation adoration happy happy happy –

(There are always going to be difficult times in recovery. Maybe holidays will be hard for the rest of her life. But, there is an up after every down, there is always a reason to keep fighting, and Ginny will never stop reminding her of how loved and appreciated she is. She is going to be okay.)

A/N: If you're struggling with an eating disorder/disordered eating/body image issues this Christmas, then please know that you are not alone, that you are important, and that you are loved. Talk to someone - do not struggle with this on your own, because you deserve to be supported and understood. Remember that it's not an all-or-nothing thing. Your comfort matters. YOU matter.

If you're in the UK, Beat has a helpline open over the holidays. If you want to support a loved one, Beat have a tonne of advice on their website. Alternatively: (1) Think about the language you're using when you talk about food/calories/size/weight. Maybe avoid talking about people's appearances - even in a positive way. (2) It might help to stick to regular meal times and food options. Be accommodating! (3) Listen to what they need. It's so hard to talk about ed stuff, so be patient, compassionate and understanding. (I'll get off my soapbox now)

#i should have posted this before christmas #but i am useless #sorry that they are ooc #pls be nice #i am fragile #tw: eating disorder #luna lovegood #ginny weasley #harry potter #fic #luna/ginny #luna x ginny #christmas #linny #fluff #hurt/comfort #littleoldrachel writes

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