#rdrabbles

Murder and strangulation tw 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, even as he pressed his weight down harder. Ryland closed his eyes, wishing he could block out the sounds and sensations just as easily.

Under him, Gideon bucked and spasmed as he fought for oxygen.

“I’m sorry,” Ryland whispered again. He didn’t deserve to avoid this. Ryland forced his eyes open, forced himself to watch what he was doing. He watched the way Gideon’s eyes darted about. He watched the shuddering of Gideon’s lips. He watched as it all slowed.

Eventually Gideon was still, but Ryland didn’t immediately let his weight off. He held it. He held it until he was positive that Gideon hadn’t just passed out. Only then did Ryland move his arm. 

Still, he stayed above Gideon another moment, taking in everything about how he looked in death. Ryland had done this. He had caused it. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered one last time, leaning in to press his lips to Gideon’s forehead. He reached out to lower Gideon’s eyelids. He could almost be sleeping. 

“You’ve got a smudge just... here.” Edgar gestured to a spot on Ryland’s face.

He smiled and raised an eyebrow. “I thought you were sitting still.” Ryland reached up to wipe the paint smudge off his cheek, realizing belatedly that he had more paint on his hand.”It’s worse now, isn’t it?”

Edgar nodded, then froze, trying to keep his same position. “Are you almost done with my face yet?”

Ryland laughed. “Nearly. I can’t quite get the color of your eyes, but I might go back in and add a little more layer to them later. Your hands can go wherever, though.”

“Even here?” Edgar asked, a sly smile on his face before it disappeared behind his bladed hand.

“I always love when the radio comes out.”

Ryland tried not to smile as Edgar jumped and turned to look at him, but it couldn’t be helped. He knew it was perhaps a bit mean to come from behind the couch to speak. “Off in thought? You know you could be enjoying the party.”

Edgar chuckled and shook his head. “What’s to enjoy? It’s your party, your victory.”

Ryland flushed, but he managed to say, “So? Just because you didn’t play doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy it. Most people here didn’t play.”

He shrugged, looking down at his feet. “I guess I just prefer to watch.” 

“Is that so?” Ryland asked. He stepped away from the couch back, unable to resist another smile when he saw Edgar’s face fall. He didn’t leave the disappointment long, though, as he walked around the couch and fell half on top of Edgar.

“What? Get off!” Edgar sputtered through his own laughter. 

“I still don’t know why you trusted me for this,” Ryland said, brows furrowing in concentration as he tried to get the color right for Frank’s eyes. Everything he mixed seemed to end up too much like his hair, and there was a distinct difference that Alice would definitely notice.

Frank shrugged, then quickly stilled as Ryland narrowed his eyes as yet another warning to stop fidgeting. “I figured you wouldn’t make a big deal about it.”

Ryland hummed, supposing that was as good an answer as any. He’d added a hint more gold, and since the color was as close as he thought he was going to get, he dipped his brush into it and began his work on the canvas. “You’re just lucky Isla spent two months thinking she was going to be the next Sofonisba Anguissola.” He’d humored her through that like he did all of her hobbies, but Ryland had been downright pleased to realize he had a little talent of his own. If he could use it for Frank’s benefit, even better.

“By the way,” Frank said, trying not to move as he spoke, “if this goes over well for the anniversary, how would you feel about Alice sitting for one for my birthday?”

“Do you think you could handle watching him be happy with someone else?”

Edgar’s words still rang in Ryland’s ears as he stepped out of the floo and into Gideon’s parlor. It had been a long hard conversation, and Ryland had needed to confront a lot of things he’d been ignoring for a long time. He couldn’t ignore them anymore. Gideon needed to know how he felt, and he needed to know now.

As he stepped through into the hall, Ryland saw Pippin run from the ajar bedroom door. He smiled and scooped up the cat to kiss the top of his head. “Gideon in there?” he asked, but Pippin only blinked in response. 

Ryland set down the cat and slipped into the bedroom. Through darkened curtains, little light settled in the room, but Ryland could just barely make out a ginger-covered head sticking out above a heap of blankets.

He took a deep breath and steeled up his courage. Ryland knelt on the edge of the bed, reaching forward to slip his hand along his sleeping friend’s jaw. “Wake up,” he said quietly. As soon as the redhead stirred. Ryland leaned forward to press his lips against the other’s. He savored it, enjoying that moment, especially once he felt the surge of the kiss being returned.

When Ryland finally pulled back, he stayed close, prepared to press back in for another kiss. 

“Ryland?”

The voice wasn’t quite right. Ryland’s eyes flew open, and he stared into eyes that while similar, were definitely not Gideon’s. “Fabian?”

“What--”

Isla practically screamed again, and Ryland held her closer against his chest. “Shhh,” he whispered. He wasn’t telling her to be quiet, just providing a little sound reassurance. “Shhhh, it’s okay. Archie’s okay.”

“I could have lost him!” Isla sobbed against Ryland’s chest.

She’d held up so well. Ryland had found her, and she’d been so brave. She’d stepped right into danger herself to save her husband, which was more than Ryland could say he had done. Both had insisted he shouldn’t feel guilty, but he always would.

Isla made it exactly long enough for Archie to leave to find Gideon before she’d collapsed into a wailing puddle in Ryland’s arms.

“He’s safe. That’s all that matters,” Ryland said, still gentle against the top of her head. “Archie is safe. You’re safe. I’m safe. We’re okay, Isla. We’re all okay.”

Ryland stared down at the grave. He hadn’t dared stay long after the funeral, not wanting to draw any more attention from unhappy family than he could help. With the way she had died, too, Ryland couldn’t be sure if all the tears and mournful faces were genuine. How many of them hated her for dying in an Order attack? Had one of them been the one to do it?

“We should go,” Isla said quietly, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Ryland reached up to squeeze hers automatically. It had grown dark while they’d been standing here, and he knew Isla was right. Still, he focused all of his magic on the red glove from his pocket and managed to reshape it with his wand into a flower. It wasn’t necessarily a perfect rose, but he hoped Cora would appreciate the thought.

tw hateful language that might read allegorical for homophobia, etc. I feel gross writing it if we’re being honest, so it’s definitely less than it could be.

“You put everyone in danger just by existing!” Ryland sneered, willing himself to stick to his principles and sound braver than he felt. “We deserve to know this is a safe environment! Are you going to deny it?”

“No one ever said I was a werewolf,” Remus tried to argue, but the fight was going out of him. No one had said it, but James’ denial had apparently been hard to ignore.

“Are you going to deny it?” Ryland repeated. He took a step back. His wand being out wouldn’t do anything if a vicious animal decided to attack, and he didn’t have it. It was in the other room, where he’d left it like an idiot. Apparently he would never take James’ advice to heart. Then again, how great could his advice be? He’d willingly cohorted with and hidden a werewolf.