#sorry i don't have a proper snippet for you

[yearnsforstarlight]

hello for the WIP ask game I really am interested in the 1st WIP listed. Could I see a snippet of it?

Hello there! Thank you so much for asking this (you're allowing me to rant about stobotnik and brainstorm this fanfic idea all at once..). This is still a massive WIP though, so I can't really offer you a proper snippet; but I can offer you the summary and the train of thoughts I had while coming up for this! This does contain Sonic 3 spoilers.

For years now, it had always been Doctor Robotnik and Agent Stone. Often, where Robotnik went, Stone followed. Then Doctor Robotnik’s grandfather, Gerald shows up. Agent Stone finds himself pushed into the background, even the Doctor doesn’t seem to want his Austrian steamed goat milk latte, anymore. A stir of feelings (definitely not jealously) sets off within the ever-loyal agent. Alas, Doctor Robotnik has never been an idiot, and his sudden infatuation with family isn’t unprovoked. Rather – it’s a survival instinct, if anyone knows how dangerous the Robotnik’s can be, it’s Ivo Robotnik himself.

As you can tell, by the well chosen name for this WIP, it takes place during (and perhaps after Sonic 3). When I first watched Sonic in 2020, it was purely because me and mother had time to kill...and now look, five years later I'm writing stobotnik fanfic, hope she's proud! But anyways; this fanfic will be my take on Sonic 3, and purely how Ivo sees family. In 1 (and perhaps 2, I haven't seen that in a while though), he seems pretty adamant he doesn't need family. He's very much anti-human, and the only affection he has ever shown is to his robots. Even Stone, who must of worked with the doctor for years now, doesn't get any display of gratitude from him until he's quite literally about to die. So...after seeing Sonic for the third time, it got me thinking. As much as it is obvious they're related, why did Ivo accept him so easily? And boom, this fanfic idea was born. Who knows a Robotnik better than anyone else? A Robotnik! Ivo knows from the beginning there is something up with his grandfather, and he is determined to find out what. He also knows that Robotnik's are dangerous, and frankly have little care for the people around them; thus he keeps Stone out of it. Stone, not knowing his master plan, assumes the worst: that he has been replaced. To sum up for what I have planned for the fic...Robotnik having family issues (you're no Maria has got to hurt), miscommunication by not talking to each other, and a jealous Stone (who is soon to realise he doesn't quite like Robotnik's attention not on him).

Oh, and General Walters and Robotnik's complicated relationship will be explored in this one. General Walters certainly has a lot of guilt for what happened to Maria, only with Ivo, well, you'll see he didn't show it the best.

[tsunomenom]

my fault: lando | ln4 smau

♡ summary: you star in my fault: london and the internet can’t stop comparing your onscreen love interest to your real life boyfriend, lando norris

♡ pairing: lando norris x singer/actress!reader

♡ warnings: use of yn, fluff, established relationship

♡ faceclaim: asha banks

♡ a/n: i watched my fault london and couldn’t stop thinking about how fun a smau with asha as the faceclaim would be 😭

masterlist

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

𝜗𝜚

yourusername

🎵 YN LN • Feel The Rush

Liked by lando and 635,789 others

yourusername My Fault: London is OUT!!!! AGHHH 😭🥲 i’m so proud of this movie and everyone who worked on it!! plus my song Feel The Rush is in the end credits (WTF 🥹🥹🥹) so go WATCH GUYS!!! and if that’s not enough to convince you there’s a mclaren cameo 😏

tagged: primevideo, primevideouk

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user854 “mclaren cameo” got me thinking lando just gonna pop up 😪

user206 but no queen meant an actual mclaren 🥲🥲

user173 ACTUALLY PEAK WATTPAD CINEMA 😍😍

user035 wattpad cinema is crazy 😭

pietra.pilao talented girl 🥰

yourusername love you p 😚🙃

mattbroome3 vroom vroom 🏎️ ♥︎ by author

user840 ABSOLUTELY OBSESSED

lando MY BEAUTIFUL TALENTED PRETTY TOTAL BABE OF A GIRLFRIEND EVERYONE 😍😩😝

maxfewtrell damn mate could you be anymore whipped

yourusername shush you muppet (don’t stop keep complimenting me) 🤭😝

yourusername maxfewtrell literally stfu who invited you 😒

user387 FAVORITE WAG EVER (she ate in this guys go watch it 🥹🥹🥹)

user218 guys hear me out nick is eerily lando coded….

user876 STOP CAUSE I THOUGHT THE SAME THING 😭😭

user321 THEY LOOK ALIKE FFS 💀

lilymhe best movie every pretty girl 🫶🏻

yourusername MWAH LOVE YOU BIG 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

lilyzneimer i’ve watched this way too many times i fear 🫣😭

yourusername BYEEEE ILYY

user530 the sequel is a NEEED 😭

primevideo buckle up

user408 she’s actually so pretty 😭😪

user032 when she can’t escape guys who drive mclarens >> ♥︎ by author

user321 ICONIC TBH

hattiepiastri can lando fight?

riabish no 🙂‍↔️

yourusername no (but he’d try) ☺️

maxfewtrell no he can’t

lando literally wtf 😀

hattiepiastri movie eats and so do you!!!

yourusername MWAH MWAH MWAH 😚😚😚

—— twitter

replies—

user912 ITS SOOO GOOD (BUT THE MCLAREN)

user773 THE FUCKING MCLAREN & THE LICENSE PLATE 😭😭😭

user912 LIKE THEY DID THAT ON PURPOSE 💀 ♥︎ by author

user775 YN LOOKED SO GOOOOD 😭

user773 HONESTLYYYYYYY

user925 THE NL LICENSE PLATE MADE ME CRASH OUT

user021 IT WAS CRAZY BEHAVIOR

user044 the actor even lowkey looks like lando 😭😭

user773 no cause they have some similarities it’s kinda scary 😭😭

user923 yn’s onscreen version having the same type as her irl is real af though

user773 honestly if you’re gonna kiss someone in a movie might as well be your bf’s lookalike 😭😭

user856 ITS SUCH A GOOD MOVIE I LOOK PAST THE WATTPADYNESS OF IT 😭😭😭

~~~

user550 BYE THATS DIABOLICAL 😭😭😭😭

user773 i hope yn sees these tweets cause this is wild 😭😭

user410 DONT WISH THAT ON ME OMFG-

user887 lando and matt ignoring that they’re kinda twins: 🧑‍🦯 ♥︎ by author

user444 yn’s too chronically online for you guys to be this bold 😭😭

user410 whoops 🥲

user923 mad respect for coming up with that one

yourusername STOP STFU 😭😭

user410 NO LOOK AWAY MY LOVE IM SOOO SORRY

user773 OH HI QUEEN 😭😭😭

user076 STOP U GUYS SCARRED HER SHE’LL NEVER INTERACT WITH US AGAIN 💀

yourusername GUYS NO DONT MAKE THIS A THING WTF-🥲🥲🥲

user923 ml i fear this is already a thing 😬

user176 LOOK AWAY LOOOK AWAYYYY

—— interview

snippet of YN LN & Matthew Broome youtube interview for My Fault: London

(pic 1: interviewer: now i'd be remissed if i didn't ask... YN how do we feel about fans online saying Nick and Lando have similarities? Matt: *laughs* YN: I honestly still don't see it! but i showed Lan a few of the tweets i saw and we all have seen many tiktoks—)(pic 2: Matt: i sent her and lando a few on instagram and was like this is f***ing nuts mates and we had a proper laugh about it YN: *laughs* it got worse when lan's siblings started seeing the comparisons and told him "he has your f***ing license plate!" but honestly i think we all just find it a funny coincidence! i mean nick does have a mclaren with a custom license plate *you shrug*)(pic 3: Matt: *laughs* although she's not a fan of me and lando calling each other twin which we have started doing just to mess with her! YN: it actually makes me mental it's the worst! Interviewer: *laughs*)

Comments —

user807 STOPP THEY THINK THE COMPARISONS ARE HILARIOUS

user776 YN is so unserious i love her 😭😭😭

user446 matt and lando calling each other twin is fucking hilarious 😭😭

user007 it honestly makes me so happy 😭😭

user310 okay but the similarities are so glaringly obvious 😭😭

user820 i love that lando has always been close to yn’s costars

user885 its boyfriend goals tbh

user431 such a good movie and the offscreen chemistry is adorable (platonic obvs)

user522 YN CALLING LANDO LAN FUCKS ME UP ISTG 😭😭😭

user032 MUM AND DAD HONESTLY

user001 love that she was probably giggling over the tweets with lando 😭😭😭😭

user045 f1 winter break has us so bored we all watched a movie because the main guy looked a little like lando norris 😭😭

user465 speak for yourself i watched for my fav wag yn‼️

user777 drop the sequel 😩😩😩😩

—— instagram

yourusername

🎵 Charli xcx • Vroom Vroom

Liked by pietra.pilao and 856,708 others

yourusername 1 week of My Fault: London!!! as a treat for streaming enjoy my lando cosplay 😚🙃☺️

tagged: mattbroome3

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user281 giving f1 driver 😍

user021 YN could drive an f1 car but lando couldn’t play Noah 😌😌 ♥︎ by author

mclaren contract is on its way 📝

yourusername mwah admin 🥰 (i will win the wdc for you bby)

lando you can’t give her my job… admin..? zak..? andrea..?

mclaren lando sorry who is lando norris? we only know YN LN 🤷‍♀️ ♥︎ by author

user630 i have watched it four times (ITS AMAAAZZZZINGGG) ♥︎ by author

lando i’ve watched it 10 get on my level 🤨

user630 lando pack it up nick leister wannabe

yourusername user630 BYE 😭

user388 ICON LEGEND GIVE HER THE WDC ALREADY HONESTLY

lilymhe woaaah racing driver 😍

yourusername 😝😏

alex_albon i- wow

lando you soooooooooooo pretty 😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍

yourusername omg it’s lando norris 🫢🫢🫢🫢🫢

lando u single????? can i have ur numberrrrrrr 😍😍

yourusername noo i have a bf 😨😨😨

lando yourusername NOOOOO 😓😓😓😓😓😓😓😓😓😓😓

maxfewtrell sometimes you make me question why i’m friends with you 🙂‍↔️

yourusername maxfewtrell wdym? aren’t you his wag??

user995 SOOOO PRETTYYYY 😍

mattbroome3 quick like norris quick like lando norris 🏎️🏎️

lando hey that’s me 🫢

mattbroome3 lando wait- twin… is that you?

yourusername don’t be slow stegosaurus..? 🏎️

yourusername mattbroome3 stfu 🙂

pietra.pilao missed opportunity to use sports car as the song 😪

yourusername YOURE SO RIGHT 🥲

user886 actually obsessed 😭😪

user930 ICONS

user765 so… anyone else think these two look cute together??

user176 no. that’s just you.

user004 hey so she has this really really cool bf and doesn’t enjoy being shipped with costars! hope this helps! 🙂

user032 go away.

lando some people shouldn’t have the internet.

yourusername NO THEY REALLY DONT 🙂

yourusername lando istg 😭😭

riabish actually best racing driver i’ve ever seen 🤷‍♀️

yourusername it’s true get me in that mclaren zbrownceo

lando yourusername hey so that’s my boss 🙂

yourusername lando i know 😊

user912 she’s gonna pull the race scene this season and race for lando 😭😭😭 ♥︎ by author

user321 ik this is a joke but pls could you IMAGINE 😭😭😭😭

user995 this photo is actually papaya’s lineup this season

user039 all i see is best driver ever and walmart lando 🏎️🏎️

user995 user039 WALMART LANDO IS CRAZY 😭😭

lando YOURE CRAZY IF YOURE NOT STREAMING THE SHIT OUT OF THIS MOVIE‼️‼️‼️‼️

yourusername guys… i think he might kinda like me 🤭🤭🤭

~~~

lando.jpg

🎵 Tate McRae • 2 Hands

Liked by lnfour and 255,890 others

lando.jpg movie star 🏎️

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user921 HE REMEMBERED THE PASSWORD TO SHOW OFF HIS GIRLFRIEND YASSSSS 😍😍

lnfour our favorite movie star!! ♥︎ by author

pietra.pilao the models hot can i have her number??

lando.jpg no.

yourusername yes 🤭

maxfewtrell yourusername you can’t steal my girlfriend!

user982 he remembered his password ‼️‼️‼️

user765 give her all the awards‼️ ♥︎ by author

primevideo movie star? or supermodel? 😍

yourusername omg 🤭🤭🤭

lando.jpg watch it 😒

quadrant we 🫶 YN

user254 coolest movie star in the world 😍😍

user087 my fault is such a good movie and YN slayyed 🤩

mattbroome3 omg guys twin posted‼️

yourusername STFU 😭😭😭

lando.jpg ITS MY TWIN ☺️☺️

maxfewtrell lando.jpg i thought i was your twin 🥲😕

user470 using 2 hands on a pic of his gf is so real 😭😭

user708 i love him for that tbh

user003 it’s fucking iconic 😭😭

user034 MOM AND DAD FRFR

user007 OBSESSED FAVORITE WAG TALENTED QUEEN 😍😍

user517 models are lucky YN chose acting and singing for a career cause DAMN 😍😍

user021 HONESTLY

lilyzneimer ITS MY FAVORITE RACING DRIVER YN LN 😍😍

yourusername FLATTERED AFFF 🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭

oscarpiastri this just… this just hurts 😕

lando.jpg damn that’s cold 😭😭

lilymhe mm real af mine too 🤭

alex_albon lilymhe OKAY—

yourusername AHH I LOOK GOOD 🤭🤭🤭🤭

lando.jpg YOU ALWAYS LOOK GOOD 😍😍😍😍

yourusername i love youuuuu this is so cutesyyyy 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹

lando.jpg MY FAVORITE PERSON IN THE WORLD TALENTED AMAZING BEAUTIFUL I LOVE YOU TOO 🥹🫶🫶

[maroonshirt81]

hey! did you see that post going around with drunk!Oscar looking completely out of it, some guy's hand around his waist? I remember you mentioned somewhere you like writing drunk scenes. could you write something carcar with this kind of dummy!drunk Oscar? that would make my day ❤️

You are completely right about my tendency to write fics where the characters are drunk. After this one, there are at least 3 more coming up. Clocked! And I don't even drink alcohol, hah! (also write a lot of porn for an asexual, so... make of that what you will.)

I didn't find the exact post you're referring to, but I'm guessing you meant this flavor of Oscar:

I've already postet a snippet of this, but here's the full, almost 6k of dummy!drunk carcar, rated M

----

Carlos let his gaze wander across the opulent, marble-columned room. It was the kind of space that belonged in a palace, but was in fact just the banquet hall of a local luxury hotel.

He wrinkled his nose, finding it all a bit tacky. This was a fundraiser for a school, for fuck’s sake! Granted, a fancy private school, but still. Not the goddamn royal wedding. Yet the board had spared no expense to impress the parents and grandparents of their future students.

The hall was lined on both sides with tables, overflowing with canapés and champagne flutes, from which an army of waiters continuously filled their trays, gliding from guest to guest to ensure not a single throat went dry.

Clearly, the master plan was to get everyone drunk enough to leave a generous check with their signature on it before the night was over.

Carlos had no idea why the teachers had to be part of this farce. They stood out in their ill-fitting suits like ducklings at a swan convention, clearly out of place.

His eyes landed on Charles, surrounded by a group of older ladies, his gaze silently screaming for help. A bit farther off stood Max, sulking in a corner with his arms crossed, shooting death glares at anyone who dared approach him. And in the opposite corner, Carlos spotted his least favorite colleague, Oscar – who he’d bet was having the worst time of all, trapped among privileged older people, forced to make small talk about what blessings their spoiled children were.

Instead, he found Oscar with a big, dopey smile on his face, eyes narrower than Carlos had ever seen them, a deep flush on his cheeks. He held an empty champagne flute in his hand, and there... there was an arm, slung low around his waist. Far too low. It belonged to some older man whose face was way too close to Oscar’s to be appropriate. Especially considering Oscar was clearly drunk out of his mind.

Before Carlos had even formed a proper plan, he was already striding across the hall, setting his empty glass on a passing tray.

Just because he didn’t like Oscar didn’t mean he’d let him get groped in the middle of a work function. As private school teachers, they already gave up enough dignity to these kinds of parents, money often speaking louder than real effort or basic decency.

“Good evening,” Carlos said politely once he reached the group of older men surrounding Oscar. “I’m terribly sorry, but I need to steal Mr. Piastri for a moment – we’re supposed to prepare the presentation later and he’s the only one who knows the password for the file.”

Oscar turned to him, that big, stupid smile still plastered on his face. “Wot?”

It took serious effort to keep his own fake smile in place, especially since the massive hand resting at the curve of Oscar’s ass didn’t even twitch.

“The presentation, Oscar,” Carlos repeated, enunciating pointedly. “I sent you an email about it earlier today.” When Oscar just gave a slow blink in response, Carlos turned to the men with exaggerated exasperation. “Math guys,” he sighed. “Famously terrible communicators.”

The overly hands-on man beside Oscar broke into loud, boisterous laughter, and Carlos swore he saw that giant hand slide even lower in his peripheral vision. He might’ve blacked out for a second. Abandoning the high road, Carlos grabbed the stranger’s hand and pulled it off Oscar’s ass, slipping an arm around his colleague’s back instead to steer him away from the predatory crowd. There was a chorus of surprised gasps and awkward chuckles behind him, and Carlos could only hope the guy wasn’t going to file a complaint with the higher-ups.

Oscar stumbled along with him, his side easily melting into Carlos’s, which was strange, because Oscar was usually stiff as a board, groaning like he was seventy every time he stood up from a chair. Now, he felt like liquid, easily guided across the room and out a side door. Carlos paused for a moment, getting his bearings. They’d ended up in a dim corridor, but there was light to the left, so he followed it, rounding the corner and finding an entrance to a long sunroom that opened into the hotel’s rear gardens.

He maneuvered Oscar’s boneless body through two sliding doors until they stood outside on the terrace, the summer evening breeze brushing soothingly against their skin.

Oscar made no attempt to free himself from Carlos’s arm. He probably needed the support. His head tilted as he looked around with slow, confused blinks.

“Is your laptop out here?” he asked.

“Oh my god!” Carlos took the empty champagne flute from Oscar’s hand and set it down on a mosaic table, then rounded on his hammered colleague. “You do realise that old creep’s hand was basically kneading your ass, right?”

Oscar gave him wide eyes – at least as wide as they would go in his state, which wasn’t very wide at all.

“Oh, no, he was just being a little overly friendly,” he waved it off with a shrug. “You know. American.”

“Yeah? Is that so? Do Americans usually stick their tongues in your ear at professional functions?”

Oscar, unbelievably, giggled like Carlos had just made a joke and didn’t even follow up on it. Instead, he slowly sank down to the tiled floor, his side dragging against Carlos’s. Apparently, the groaning like a dying animal wasn’t limited to getting up – it made an appearance even when he was sitting– or rather, lying down on the ground.

“What are you doing?” Carlos asked, incredulous.

“Head’s spinning a bit,” Oscar said, eyes closed.

“Yes, no shit. Are you going to throw up?”

Oscar snorted, opening one crinkly eye to peek up at Carlos. “From what?” he asked. “I didn’t drink any alcohol. I’m at work! I only had that funny, sparkly orange juice.”

“You mean the mimosas?” Carlos groaned, dragging his hand down his face. “Oscar! How many?”

Oscar gave him a blank look, then visibly blanched.

“Why do they have mimosas at a fancy gala?” he whined, instead of answering Carlos’s question. “Aren’t they for brunch and stuff?”

“Yes, but what kind of clientele do you think the parents of our students are? They made sure to have everyone’s favorite drink on hand!”

Oscar mumbled something unintelligible which Carlos was 90% sure was “They are pretty good…” and Carlos shook his head, pulling his phone from his pocket.

“I’m calling you an Uber,” he said, resolute.

Oscar didn’t even try to argue. He folded his hands over his belly and closed his eyes, face relaxed and content, very unlike his usual expression of mild constipation.

The nearest Uber was still a while out. They were on a secluded hilltop overlooking the ocean – an ideal setting for a whodunit, and Carlos could only hope Oscar didn’t drop dead and leave him as the prime suspect – miles away from the city.

“Don’t fall asleep now!” he warned, nudging Oscar with his foot. “I won’t carry your drunk ass all the way to the parking lot!”

“Hm yes, because you couldn’t,” Oscar murmured, clearly half-asleep. Of course he’s out of it enough to let some randy retiree grope him in the middle of a gala and not even register the violation – but God forbid he miss a chance to throw shade at Carlos.

“I teach sports,” Carlos reminded him, offended despite himself. “I’m fit! Of course I could carry you!”

“Really?” Oscar cracked open his eyes again, squinting up at him through the terrace lights. He looked Carlos up and down, then smiled. In a soft voice, he said, “Prove it?”

And honestly, Carlos would not have. He would not have fallen for it – if it weren’t for that soft voice and that stupid, froggy smile, a reminder of just how utterly wasted Oscar was. He would have laughed in his face and said, “You wish,” and then abandoned him on the terrace floor while he found Lando to dump the responsibility on.

Instead, he crouched down and hooked his arms under Oscar’s armpits.

Oscar’s hands wrapped around his neck without needing direction. And even though he looked like a sack of rice left on the ground, he lifted easily – body loose, melting into every curve of Carlos’s frame. He was warm against the breeze. And he smelled… surprisingly good. Carlos couldn’t place it. Something sweet. Something that made him feel hungry.

He was tempted to just throw Oscar over his shoulder and carry him toward the garden, where he knew there was a gate leading to the parking lot. At the last second, though, he decided that Oscar had already lost enough dignity for one day. So he merely set him upright, wrapped an arm around his waist for support, and gently nudged him in the direction of the stairs.

“You call this carrying?” Oscar grumbled, dragging his feet.

“I just decided I’d prefer not to have your puke dripping down my back,” Carlos said. “Careful! Steps.”

Oscar nearly didn’t make it down the obstacle of the three narrow steps into the garden, because, incredibly, a series of bubbly giggles burst from his throat – the kind usually reserved for Lando’s antics. It caught Carlos so off-guard that he almost missed a step himself. Thankfully, he managed to catch both of them in time, steadying Oscar by pulling him back into his side.

“Are you okay?” he asked, because Oscar giggling at something he said could only mean something was seriously wrong.

Oscar let out a low hum and allowed Carlos to guide him gently into the garden. It was darker here, though the stone path was lit by a row of soft ground lights. The way to the parking lot had to be somewhere nearby, but everything looked so different in the dark that Carlos briefly lost his sense of direction.

He stopped at a junction, glancing around.

“Can you stand on your own for a second?” he asked Oscar, who took a reluctant step back so Carlos could fish his phone out of his pocket. Google Maps wasn’t particularly helpful, but at least it confirmed the parking lot was somewhere to their left, and he should be looking for a gate on that side.

He had just stuffed his phone back in his pocket when Oscar sagged forward against him, forehead pressed to Carlos’s shoulder. Carlos barely caught him in time to keep them from toppling over backward.

“Whoa! What are you–”

“Sorry, just got dizzy for a sec,” Oscar mumbled into his shoulder, warm breath seeping right through Carlos’s shirt. There it was again – that sweet scent, stronger than the surrounding rose bushes. Carlos had to fight the urge to bury his nose in Oscar’s hair and take a deep breath. Instead, he carefully wrapped both arms around Oscar’s waist to steady him.

“Idiot,” Carlos murmured, but it came out far too fond – maybe because of the low voices they were using, or because it was hard to fall into their usual rhythm when Oscar was being so unusually soft and vulnerable. This whole side of him was completely derailing Carlos. He hadn’t known Oscar could be warm or affectionate. He hadn’t known Oscar smelled good. He hadn’t known his breath would feel hot through layers of clothing. If he had known, he definitely wouldn’t have carried him out here, into the garden, where the lights were dim, the insects buzzed lazily in the bushes, and the two of them were alone, pressed together from head to toe.

“Better?” Carlos asked after a moment, unable to stop his hand from drawing slow, soothing circles on Oscar’s back.

Oscar hummed an affirmative against his shoulder and finally pulled back slightly – not out of Carlos’s space, not really, but at least his lips were no longer touching him. When Carlos dared to meet Oscar’s far-too-close eyes, he spotted that same froggy little smile again.

“You’re being too nice to me,” Oscar said, barely audible despite how close he was. “It’s freaking me out.”

“I am always nice!” Carlos protested – relieved, honestly, to return to some form of arguing, even if his hands still hadn’t gotten the message and kept tracing slow circles on Oscar’s back. “You’re the one always picking fights with me!”

Oscar looked amused by that. His eyes crinkled even more than before, pale skin rippling with too many lines – not just around his eyes, but at the corners of his mouth, too. He looked like a different person. Then again, he’d looked different all night, ever since showing up with his hair brushed and in a suit, albeit a slightly-too-small one that hugged his ass so tightly Carlos had been distracted even before this drunken debacle began.

Maybe it was time to admit that Oscar was… actually really good-looking. And good-smelling. God, what a terrible thing to realize about your least favorite coworker.

“I’m sure I was antagonizing you when you scratched up my car in the parking lot, huh?” Oscar said, predictably, since it was the origin of their strained relationship. But for once, there was no real bite to it.

“You were parked like a jackass!” Carlos shot back with his usual retort. It was so worn out now it barely held any weight. “How was I supposed to see you sticking halfway out of the space?”

“Maybe look into getting some glasses if you’re that blind,” Oscar said, and then, without warning, went off-script. “Might actually look good on you.”

“Yeah?” Carlos breathed, too thrown to come up with a good comeback.

“Mmhm,” Oscar hummed again, one hand rising to brush against the place where the frame of a pair of glasses might sit. His long nails dragged gently under Carlos’s eyes, too light to scratch. Very, very slowly, Oscar leaned in further, his body melting into Carlos’s, one knee sliding between his legs.

Carlos inhaled sharply and let it out in a slow exhale. “Jesus, Oscar,” he finally said.

Oscar’s thumb drifted down Carlos’s cheekbone toward the corner of his mouth. He didn’t speak, just stared at the movement of his own hand like it was hypnotic. By the time he reached Carlos’s lips, both of them were breathing hard. No more laugh-lines on Oscar’s face – just the pale glow of his skin, only disturbed by a smattering of moles and the plush, pink hint of what hid inside his open mouth.

A shrill ringtone made them jump apart just in time. Carlos scrambled to pull his phone from the pocket of his suit pants, which suddenly felt much tighter than before.

Shit. He’d completely forgotten about the Uber!

“Sorry! We’re on our way!” he barked into the phone, then grabbed Oscar – who was giggling – by the arms and dragged him down the path.

They nearly walked past the small garden gate, which wasn’t lit at all. Fortunately, Carlos caught a flash of headlights from the waiting car and managed to deliver his completely wasted coworker to the parking lot before the driver could leave due to a no-show.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry!” he apologized to the man, who was pacing impatiently in front of his car. “We got lost in the garden.”

Opening the back door, he gently maneuvered Oscar onto the seat, where he slumped against the window, soft like mashed potatoes. He didn’t move a muscle as Carlos half-climbed over him to pull the seatbelt across and buckle him in. The car’s back seat was mostly dark, but a bit of light caught in the whites of Oscar’s eyes, and on the soft curve of his lips. He was looking up at Carlos with that quiet, contented smile Carlos had never seen before today.

As Carlos started to pull away, Oscar grabbed the sleeve of his jacket.

“Where are you going?”

“Back inside, obviously,” Carlos whispered, matching Oscar’s soft voice. “I can’t just ditch work. If anyone notices you’re gone, I’ll cover for you, okay?”

Oscar didn’t let go. Still smiling, he said, “Then I can’t go either.”

“What? Do you not trust me, or–”

“No, I don’t,” Oscar said, though he was clearly just teasing. “But I also can’t go home. Sophie made me put all my stuff in her purse because she said my bulging pockets ruined the fit of the pants. I don’t have my house keys on me.”

Carlos suppressed a groan and tried to ignore the driver growing more impatient behind him.

If he had to stumble all the way back to the hotel now, find Sophie in the massive hall, all while avoiding their bosses and the old men he’d antagonized…

“You’ll have to take me to your place,” Oscar whispered, tightening his grip on Carlos’s sleeve.

“Oh,” Carlos said.

This was a bad idea. A terrible idea. Horrible. Catastrophic.

He found himself settling into the middle seat before his brain could come up with more disastrous synonyms, buckling in while Oscar’s limp hand dropped from Carlos’s sleeve, right onto his thigh.

“Ready?” the driver called from outside and shut the door before Carlos could reply.

Two minutes later, they were on the road to Carlos’s apartment. A slow song played on the radio, streetlights flashing sparsely past the windows. Oscar’s hand stayed on his thigh, unmoving. A radioactive weight, pressing him down into the seat and keeping his pants tight.

He couldn’t even see Oscar’s face in the dark – just the occasional flicker of silhouette when they passed a streetlight. After a while, Oscar’s head tilted bit by bit until it rested against Carlos’s shoulder.

Had he fallen asleep? Probably not, judging by the steady, deliberate strokes of his thumb across Carlos’s inner thigh. Oscar’s hair tickled his nose, wafting that sweet scent again. Carlos hadn’t really clicked with the Uber driver, but suddenly he wished for some pointless chatter, just to defuse the tension in the car.

The drive felt twice as long as it had on the way here. And just when Carlos thought Oscar had dozed off, his hand moved again, dragging along the bulge in Carlos’s pants, drawing a surprised, breathy whimper from him that he really, really hoped the driver hadn’t heard over the music.

The next streetlight illuminated Oscar’s eyes again. He was looking up at Carlos from beneath a curl of hair, gauging his reaction. There was a glint on his lips where he’d licked them.

Carlos was going to die.

He’d had no idea the tension between himself and Oscar had been sexual all this time. Maybe it hadn’t been – maybe it had just turned upside down tonight because Oscar was being nice for once, and all dressed up, and… groping him in the backseat of the car.

No, not groping. Not exactly. His hand was just lightly brushing against him, irregular, almost by accident. The only reason Carlos had to assume intention was that Oscar’s face was tilted upward, presumably looking him right in the eyes.

Carlos closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the headrest. He could feel Oscar’s hot breath against his collar, making him reach up to loosen his tie. He felt like a teenager, one glass of champagne too many, bubbles dancing in his periphery, probing hands, blurred lines. It was just a twenty-minute ride, but by the time they finally re-entered civilization, Carlos felt like he’d lived half a life – hard and hot and on the brink of snapping.

He wasn’t sure how much he tipped the driver in the end. He just shoved his hand into his back pocket and pulled out whatever cash he’d stuffed in there, leaving it in the center console without a word. Then he got out and walked around the car, collecting Oscar from the other side.

The Uber driver stuck his head out the window, suddenly looking a lot friendlier than before.

“Thanks, ‘ppreciate it!” he said, waving the wad of cash Carlos had left him. There was definitely a twenty in there. Oh boy.

But Carlos didn’t have much time to mourn his hard-earned money. Oscar was heavily leaning into him, eyes half-lidded – no, three-quarters lidded. Actually, they were slits, at most. He was smiling again, as if he’d never been happier in his life than right now, with Carlos’s arm around his waist, insistently maneuvering him toward the entrance to his building.

He lived on the ground floor and had never been as glad about it as today, because there was no elevator in this building, and carrying Oscar up a flight of stairs might have ended in disaster.

Not that this wouldn’t end in disaster.

“Okay,” Carlos said, drawing in shallow breaths in a futile attempt to calm himself down. “This is… this is me.”

Oscar’s eyes crinkled, amused, as he walked over the threshold, right into Carlos’s life. Carlos was mostly an orderly person, but there were hints of him not expecting any visitors strewn around. A blender cup left to soak in the sink from where he’d hastily thrown together a smoothie that morning. A few discarded tie options hanging from the back of the couch. A sports magazine, flipped open on the coffee table.

“It’s nice,” Oscar said, which was probably the most un-Oscar-like thing he could’ve said about Carlos’s apartment, reminding Carlos once again of just how far gone he must be.

Stalling for time, Carlos wandered into the kitchen, hoping Oscar wouldn’t just collapse to the floor without his support. “You want anything to drink?” he asked, opening a random cupboard. “Water? Coffee?”

Oscar’s brows arched, but he followed, leaning with his elbows against the kitchen island.

“Water’s fine,” he said, and Carlos reached for a tall glass, filled it from the faucet, and handed it over from the other side of the island, so they didn’t have to touch.

Oscar, ignoring the message, sidled along the island’s edge until he was right in Carlos’s face again. The light was low, but bright enough to highlight the flush sitting high on Oscar’s cheeks, right on the fleshy part under the eyes. It looked pretty. He looked so fucking pretty when he wasn’t being a prissy bastard, nagging Carlos for literally just existing. So pretty when he smiled.

“Thank you,” Oscar whispered, finally taking the glass from Carlos’s sweaty hands. He didn’t break eye contact as he took a long sip, swallowing audibly. The half-empty glass gave a soft clink when Oscar set it down on the kitchen counter, and the sound went straight through Carlos, bone-deep.

It was so fucking hard to be ethical when Oscar looked the prettiest he’d ever looked, wore the tightest pants he’d ever worn, and stared right into his eyes while licking his lips.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” Oscar continued, when Carlos could do nothing but stare back, unblinking.

“Yeah, uh,” Carlos coughed, only just realizing how dry his throat had gotten. “It’s no problem, rea–”

Oscar grabbed his tie and pulled him in, a lot more coordinated than Carlos would’ve given him credit for. There was no miss, no awkward clack of teeth – just Oscar’s soft, freshly-wet lips, and then, already, his tongue, slipping into Carlos’s open, desperate mouth.

Carlos immediately lost the fight against his own morals.

Oscar’s body was fusing itself to his again. Mouth-to-mouth, chest-to-chest, bulge-to-bulge. They seemed to be about the same height, which, for some reason, was the hottest thing to Carlos right now. He’d never thought a lack of height difference could be a kink, but he was discovering a lot of new things about himself tonight.

His hands were busying themselves with Oscar’s shirt, fiddling with the buttons, which refused to open. They were just as stubborn as their wearer, so Carlos gave up and went straight for the belt instead. Oscar groaned into his mouth when Carlos peeled his pants down, past his ass, and the weight of the belt carried them further, until they pooled around Oscar’s ankles. It was probably a terrible idea to leave a drunk man with fabric shackles like that, but Carlos was too distracted by the firm grip of Oscar’s ass in his hands, and Oscar somehow managed to step out of his shoes and pant legs just fine. Maybe the alcohol was wearing off.

Spurred on by that idea, Carlos gripped Oscar’s ass harder, pulling him close, and up, until Oscar got the message and wrapped his legs around Carlos’s waist.

‘See? I can carry you. Easy!’ Carlos would’ve liked to say, as he transported Oscar around the kitchen island and across the living room blindly, until Oscar’s back hit the bedroom door. His mouth was still too busy to talk, so he hoped the quality of his neck-sucking conveyed the proper amount of smugness as he pushed down the door handle and stumbled into the room with Oscar in his arms.

The unloading wasn’t very elegant, unfortunately. He banged his shins on the bedframe and dropped Oscar into the pillows like a sack of bricks. 

Oscar landed with a muffled “Ooph!” but didn’t complain. He just looked up at Carlos, the flush even more widespread than before. It went all the way down into his loosened collar, tie hanging on by a thread, the first three buttons undone to reveal surprisingly shaped pecs.

“Fuck,” he groaned, as his narrow eyes raked across Carlos’s body. Carlos wasn’t sure what he was seeing that was so impressive – he wasn’t the one lying on the bed with naked, spread legs, light grey boxers tented and damp at the tip, ready to be devoured. Not even in his wildest dreams could Carlos have conjured up such a sinful image of Oscar Jack Piastri, bane of his existence.

But there Oscar was, one hand reaching down to squeeze his dick, still staring up at Carlos, voice coming out rough and breathless as he said, “Jesus! Why do you have to be so fucking hot?”

Suddenly, there was a record-scratch sound in Carlos’s brain.

Because it wasn’t just the picture in front of him – it was the words, too.

Oscar Piastri, in his right mind, would never say those words out loud to Carlos Sainz’s face.

One time, when it was just the two of them in the break room, Oscar had caught Carlos checking himself out in the reflection of the coffee machine and rolled his eyes so hard Carlos had genuinely worried about the strings holding them in place.

“Regret to inform you, you’re not as hot as you think you are,” Oscar had told him.

That was what the real, actual Oscar Piastri thought of Carlos. He couldn’t trust anything this mimosa-brained, dummy-drunk temptation was telling him. It was just the alcohol talking. And if Carlos ended up taking advantage, he wouldn’t only break his own morals – there’d probably be a murder in this house the moment the real Oscar returned to his body in the morning.

So, as hard as it was, Carlos took a step back – away from the heavily breathing, clearly aroused man sitting on his bed with spread legs – mumbled a quick, “Good night, Oscar”, and stumbled off toward the bathroom as fast as his legs could carry him.

It took about five minutes for Oscar to process what had just happened and show up at the closed bathroom door, banging his fists against it and yelling what the fuck was wrong with Carlos – and another five minutes until he gave up and shuffled back toward the bed, muttering a few choice words under his breath.

Carlos stayed in the bathroom for the rest of the night, not trusting himself to face Oscar again. He took a long, cold shower and built himself a nest out of a few towels.

It was a terrible night. He barely slept at all. Different scenes from the evening played on the inside of his eyelids like a movie screen every time he closed his eyes. At one point, he even had to take a second cold shower. He could still feel Oscar’s ghostly hand brushing over his thigh, again and again, grazing his bulge through the suit trousers.

He woke up when the sun shone through the small bathroom window, way too early, and half-hard.

There was no sound coming from outside, though, so he dared to slip out of the bathroom.

The door to his bedroom was closed, and Carlos gave it a wide berth, heading to the kitchen instead to make himself a coffee.

Two hours later, there were still no sounds coming from the bedroom. Carlos decided it was time to face his fate.

He grabbed the glass Oscar had abandoned on the kitchen island the night before and filled it with fresh water. Then, very carefully, he went to knock on his own bedroom door.

No reaction.

He knocked again, but nothing changed.

Had… had Oscar left after Carlos had locked himself in the bathroom? Unlikely – he didn’t have his keys, or his phone, and Carlos had found his pants abandoned on the kitchen floor this morning.

Oh God. What if he’d fallen asleep on his back and choked on his own vomit, like some kind of drug victim?

Carlos opened the door and found the room mostly dark. The curtains were drawn, but they didn’t manage to keep the sunlight out completely.

The bed was a mess, but the body sprawled half-over, half-under the pile of blankets and pillows Carlos kept in his bed was clearly still breathing. Carlos was greeted by a perfectly shaped ass, clad only in underwear, sticking out of the sheets, one bare leg tossed carelessly over the blankets. Oscar’s hair was sticking up in all directions, defying gravity.

Slowly, slowly, Carlos walked into the room. He just wanted to set the glass of water on the bedside table and sneak back out, but he must have made some kind of noise, because just as he reached the bed, Oscar’s eyes snapped open, staring up at him.

There was a moment of silence as Carlos didn’t dare move a muscle, hoping against hope that Oscar would simply close his eyes again and go back to sleep. Instead, he sat up in bed.

He didn’t look especially disoriented for someone who had just gotten blackout drunk the night before, but then, Oscar never really looked fazed by anything.

“What are you doing?” Oscar asked, voice deep with sleep.

Carlos hesitantly lifted the glass of water in his hand. “Bringing you a glass of water?”

“Hm. That’s considerate,” Oscar said, without even a hint of a smile. “I really need that right now.”

Good. Good! Carlos handed him the glass with slightly trembling fingers.

A second later, the entire contents of the water glass splashed into his face. Carlos didn’t make a sound. He just let it happen. He kind of deserved it.

“Thought you really needed that,” he mumbled, once the majority of the water had dripped off his chin.

“Yep. That’s exactly what I needed it for,” Oscar said.

Carlos nodded, understanding. He sat down on the edge of the bed, drying his face with the hem of his T-shirt.

So. Oscar was clearly furious with him, and he had every right to be. Unfortunately, Oscar was also sitting there in his underwear and rumpled dress shirt, tangled in Carlos’s sheets, with the most adorable bedhead the world had ever seen, looking soft and warm, like a murderous kitten.

“Look, I’m very sorry–” Carlos began, but Oscar didn’t seem interested in hearing him out.

“As you should be!” he snapped. “Jesus Christ, Carlos! You were flirting with me all night! Do you have any idea how humiliating this is for me? I’ve been practically throwing myself at you and you were giving every sign, including taking me home! Only to run away the second I’m half-naked on your bed? At least have the decency to explain yourself! I’m a grown man – if you’re not actually into me, just say it!”

What? In what world would Carlos not be into him? He was getting hard just sitting here, being told off.

“That’s not what–” he started, stammering. “I mean, I just suddenly realized you were blackout drunk, and–”

“Blackout drunk?” Oscar snapped. “I wish!”

“Okay, so maybe you remember some of it, but you were clearly drunk, Oscar! I couldn’t… I couldn’t risk it, okay?”

Oscar still looked like he was actively considering tearing Carlos’s head off and using it as a flower vase.

“I wasn’t drunk,” he said icily. “I had, like, two mimosas. I’ve seen you drink twice that much right after arriving, mate.”

“Uh–” Carlos faltered like he’d just been punched in the stomach.

“I was tipsy, at best!”

“But… but you were smiling!”

“It’s called ‘having a good time,’ Carlos!” Oscar snapped. “Not something I usually experience around you, granted, but not exactly unheard of!”

“And you were letting those old American guys grope you in front of everyone!”

Oscar’s mouth dropped open in protest. “You mean Zak?” he groaned. “Mate, that’s my old boss. He got me this job! And he wasn’t groping me – his hand was on my mid-back, at best. You were the only one groping me in front of everyone, Jesus Christ! I only let you because I thought it was hot when you suddenly got all territorial!”

“But… but…” Carlos was running out of arguments. “You couldn’t even move without me supporting you!”

“What?” Oscar rubbed at his eyes like a headache was starting to form – one that had nothing to do with last night’s drinks. “I was supporting you just as much! Mate, I just thought we were both a little tipsy off the champagne, in the mood for a stupid mistake that wouldn’t even matter in the long run, because we already don’t get along.”

“Right,” Carlos said, gears finally turning.

“Right,” Oscar echoed.

“So,” Carlos said carefully, scooting just a little closer along the edge of the bed, “does that mean… you’re not mad at me for taking advantage of you, but rather mad at me for not taking advantage of you?”

“Hardly taking advantage, is it?” Oscar said, narrowing his eyes.

“Right,” Carlos said again, and shut up, waiting.

Oscar eyed him warily, and then, after a beat of silence, leaned back, his dress shirt falling open just enough to reveal the faintest glimpse of a nipple.

“Right,” Oscar repeated, a glint in his eye.

Carlos tackled him back into the sheets.

[salford-blues]

The origins

A/n: It's been a couple weeks since I last wrote anything. I've been really busy and I'm burnt out :( Also this is my first proper written fic. I've mainly posted SMAU's, so if it's not good... I'm sorry. Would love to hear your critiques etc! Pairing: f1 x driver!reader Summary: The origins of our driver!reader - snippets of her growing up Warnings: butchered german??? Italics are the thoughts!

2008 - 5 years old

GROSSER PREIS SANTANDER VON DEUTSCHLAND 2008

The stands were crowded with energetic fans waiting for their favourite drivers to come out. Roars of laughter between friends and families. Piercing screams of devoted fans. In the middle of it all, a 5-year-old girl wrapped in the arms of her father with her hands over her ears trying to block out the deafening noise.

''It's too loud Papi. When's it home time?'' the girl pouted.

''Not just yet Spatzi (little sparrow). The drivers should be out any minute now.'' her father sighed. The child frowned and buried her head into his shoulder and neck.

Instantaneously, the crowd began to yell. Names were shrieked left, right, and centre. People pushing and shoving trying to get a picture or an autograph with their favourite driver. Luckily, the child and her father had managed to make it to the front without too much effort. They now had a perfect view of the track.

One by one the cars came out of the paddocks and lined up at the starting line.

''Who do you like Papi?'' the girl questioned, intrigued by the cars and their colours.

''I like Williams, do you see the navy blue and white car over there?'' her father pointed towards the middle of the grid.

''Uhhuh,'' she nodded, eyes lighting up at the car.

''That's the one that I really like. Which one do you like Schatz (treasure)?'' he questioned the child.

''Hmmm, I liikkeee... I think I like Williams too! Just like you Papi. I think I like the red car too.'' the girl's eyes shone as she spoke. Excitement now lacing her voice. There was a look of adoration on her father's face. Oh, how he loved his little bundle of joy.

''You can like whoever you want. The red car is a Ferrari.'' her father exclaimed.

''F-Fir-aa-r-ee? Ferrari! Yeah, I like that one too, but that one goes second!'' she said adamantly.

Suddenly, the cars were off, speeding down the track.

There was a glisten in the youngster's eyes. The screaming of the crowd was long forgotten. All she could hear was the vrooming of the cars. Wow, they're really fast. I want to do that.

''I want to be a race car driver when I'm older Papi! I'm gonna go really fast like vrrrrooomm." she held out her hands and acted as if she was driving a car.

2009 - 6 years old

''Alles Gute zum Geburtstag, Spatzi! (Happy Birthday, little sparrow!)''

The young girl stirred in her bed.

''Wakey wakey sleepy head... you don't want to miss out on opening presents do you.''

At that comment, the girl shot up in bed. Her wide eyes glanced up at her father, excitement running through her body.

''Please can I have waffles for breakfast? Can we go see Oma? Can we see Mami? Oooh can we make those doughnuts with the sugar on top for dessert? Plleeaassee?'' she gave her father her best puppy dog eyes.

''Okay, okay. How about we open your presents first and then see where the day takes us? How does that sound?'' her father queried.

A swift nod of the head gave her father all the conformation he needed and with that, he scooped her up into his arms and carried her down into the living room. The room was decorated with brightly coloured banners, balloons stuck to the wall via sellotape and streamers hung from the ceiling. On the living room table, 6 presents stood tall and were screaming to be opened by a certain birthday girl.

Once set down on the ground, the birthday girl ran over to the presents. She picked the first one up, inspecting its size before placing it down and ripping open the wrapping paper. Inside a box of Lego with an image of a Ferrari. The girl giggled with excitement moving on to her next present.

The small child was down to her last two presents. Both were small and sat on the corner of the table. Small hands picked up the thin present that sat on top, tearing open the wrapping paper. A signed driver's card sat inside. Shock spread across the young girl's face. A signed piece by Kimi Raikkonen. This just might be the best present ever!

''Oh wooooow! Danke Papi! This is the best present ever.'' She ran over wrapping her small arms around the man's neck.

''You're very welcome. But how about opening up your last one.'' he smiled at her.

She curiously looked back and took the present into her arms. The present was squishy under her touch. Possibly clothes? Carefully, the wrappers ripped open. A blue and white race suit sat inside.

''Do you like it, Schatz?''

''I love it! I love it! I love it!'' the girl twirled around with the race suit in hand.

2015 - 11 years old

''Hallo Logan!'' The girl ran up to the young lad. ''Do you want to get ice cream after the race? I'll ask Oscar if he wants to come too."

The blonde boy nodded his head and smiled. ''Yeah, I'd like that.''

''Okay, bye Logan.'' The girl waved before heading in the direction of her Aussie friend.

''Hallo Oscar! Do you want to come and get ice cream after the race with me and Logan?''

''Sure. Let me ask my parents.'' He ran off towards his parents.

Alone she stood listening to her surroundings. Loud chatter coming from children and parents. Birds chirping in the trees.

Hearing the latter she skipped towards the trees before noticing a small bird hopping around. Approaching the bird slowly, she scooped the animal into her hands and held it against her chest.

''I will help you little birdie! Papi, Papi look what I found. Can we help it get better?''

''Sure, we'll take it home with us.'' he smiled.

Strolling over were Oscar and Logan.

''What'cha got there N/n?'' Logan asked curiously.

''It's a bird... We're gonna take it home and look after it.'' She exclaimed.

''We are still up for ice cream though aren't we Birdie?'' Oscar peered a the girl.

''Of course we are Osc... birdie?? Why that??''

''Oh y'know... you've got a bird in your hand, so your new nickname is birdie,'' he uttered as if it was obvious.

''Ahh okie.'' A blush spread across her cheeks in embarrassment.

A whilst blew signalling that the race was about to begin.

''Papi, will you take care of it whilst I race?'' She turned back.

''Of course I will Spatzi. Now run along. The quicker you go the quicker you can get ice cream.''

yourusername

landonorris, georgerussell63, liamlawson30 & others liked

Ice cream dates just like old times. @oscarpiastri @logansargeant

View all comments

oscarpiastri Birdie delete this. This makes it out like we're all dating

> yourusername WAIT... WE ARENT????

>> logansargeant now look what you've done, you've made her cry...

>>> oscarpiastri We're not dating though???

user.1 why is Logan acting like a third wheel??

user.2 are they dating though? or is it two of them and then the third just tags along?

> user.3 I think they're just really weird friends

>> user.2 yhhh checks out

liamlawson30 annnd where was my invite?

> yourusername you weren't invited because you beat me at connect 4

>> user4 lmaaooo. Didn't realise y/n was a sore loser

>>> liamlawson30 you should see her when she plays monopoly

[synamartia]

I promise I haven't forgotten about this! Things have been a bit hectic in my personal life, and it feels like the hits just keep coming. But as a sign of good faith, I'll leave you all with another little snippet! Hopefully, it'll be the last one before I release the full story. On another note, as much as I LOVE the title Smutmus, I don't think that it's a fitting title anymore with the direction the story is taking - it's becoming a fully fledged fic with plot (which is one of the biggest reasons it's release has been delayed). So I will be renaming it in the future; just not sure what, yet. If you have any ideas, I would love to hear them! 🥰

Content Warnings: Again, none really. Afab!Reader ; No pronouns used ; Suggestive situations ; Nudity ; More light banter. If there's a warning anyone feels should be listed, please let me know!

Divider © cafekitsune

“Alastor, is that a tail?” you blurted out without thinking, immediately slapping both of your hands over your mouth right after. “Oh- that,” he said nonchalantly, moving to stand between your legs once more. Your body tensed as you awaited his reaction, so sure that you had just earned yourself a good scolding for such an impolite question. You hadn’t meant to be so bold or outright, but you’ve come to find that your body and your brain hadn’t been on the same page since the moment all of this began. “Yes, it’s a tail,” Alastor responded and turned slightly, swishing the puff of fur side to side a couple of times to amuse you before turning back. “I’m sorry, that was rude- …!?” you tried to apologize, but a surprised squeal interrupted your speech when his sharpened claws sunk into your posterior and he hoisted you up off the desk, your legs wrapping around his waist in the process.

“It’s alright, darling,” Alastor reassured you, spinning around and taking a few long strides to the rarely used bed. “While I’m not particularly fond of it, my tail isn’t something that I’ve ever gone out of my way to hide,” he explained, dropping you onto the mattress and climbing on top of you soon after, nestling himself in between your legs as you breathed a sigh of relief - albeit a short-lived one. He leaned down to whisper in your ear, causing your body to tense right back up with each word that left his mouth. “Although, you are correct - it was rude to ask such a thing,” he clicked his tongue in mock disapproval, his pointed teeth nipping at the shell of your ear then tugging on the lobe. “Perhaps I should give you a lesson in proper etiquette, hm?” Alastor mused, rolling his bare hips against yours and sending a shiver down your spine, not missing the flash of panic in your eyes when his words finally registered in your brain. 

‘Shit. Shit, shit, shit- fucking hell, fuck my life!’ you thought, trying to reel yourself back in and failing miserably. If this ‘lesson’ of his was anything like the punishment he had doled out earlier, you knew you were in for a rough night - one that would leave you physically incapable of walking out of his room come morning. “No- …! Al, no, no… i-it was just a slip of the tongue, I swear!” your pleas fell on deaf ears, his lips ghosting over the carotid artery in your neck, then over your collar bone and traveling further down to your breasts. “I’m sorry, please- …!” you spoke, only to be interrupted by Alastor’s stern gaze, looking up at you while he placed butterfly kisses to your chest and his teeth grazed your erect nipple. “I know you are, dear,” Alastor started, kissing further down to your navel, not breaking eye contact for even a millisecond. “But if ‘sorry’ fixed everything, there would be no hell, no demons, and we certainly would not be in this hotel,” he smiled wickedly, knowing that you couldn’t argue with the point he had just made - your silence proved as much.

Alastor continued to move south, soon reaching the delicious mound between your thighs which he had not known could be so fun, so intoxicating. But, as much as he wanted to devour you and everything you had to offer him, he was on a self-imposed mission now and couldn’t let himself get distracted. Heated breath fanning over your soaked core, Alastor lightly kissed and nipped at the insides of your thighs, past your knees and down your calves - stopping momentarily for a taste of your blood that was still seeping from your self-inflicted wound. He groaned as his tongue was coated in the coppery flavor of his new favorite thing, one hand wrapping around your ankle, his deft digits unclasping the strap of your heel and pulling it off, repeating the process with the other one and discarding both seconds later. 

Sighing softly, you wiggled your freed toes while Alastor began to kiss his way back up to your face. “W-well then… what would this lesson entail?” you asked nervously, resigning yourself over to your fate. Alastor chuckled darkly at your question, not bothering to answer you as he pressed his lips against yours harshly and pinched one of your pert nipples. “Mmph-phh!” you whined, your body flinching at the pain his digits were causing as he twisted the sensitive flesh between his thumb and forefinger. Alastor pulled back, his teeth dragging your bottom lip with him as far as it would go, releasing it and your nipple a few seconds later.

"On your knees."

[moodymisty]

I’ve been thinking about our resident fail wizard and have come up with two ideas for a request about him, pick which ever one appeals to you.

Maybe some cute pre heresy encounter with Ahriman, you are one of the rembrancer or chapter serf attached to the Thousand Sons legion. You find yourself amazed and interested in the warp sorcery that the legion performs and Ahriman strike up a conversation with you after seeing your admiring glance

Or post heresy your another psyker or acolyte of Tzneetch who been roped into helping Ahriman find a cure for the Rubric post heresy. You don’t really have a choice in the matter and so are forced to help him. Though as you spend more time together, pouring over ancient tomes and following leads, you can’t help but feel Azhek’s eyes on you more and more. Never escaping the feeling that you’ve begun to take up his attention more and more

Author's note: I love meetcutes, so i had to do the first one lol enjoy a little snippet

Relationships: Azhek Ahriman/Gn!Reader

Warnings: None really

It's always fascinated you- how the warp comes to them so easily.

They seem so natural with it, a power beyond your imagination is simply at their fingertips, cast in a million and one different shapes and forms. It's endless, boundless, yet they seem able to twist it to their desires at their beck and call. With an everexpanding grasp as well, each time you see them it's something new; A new spell at their fingertips or lips.

You don't mean to interrupt him; You were only taking a momentary breather in the night air before going to your bedchambers. This has always been your favorite spot, a small balcony overlooking vast portions of Prospero.

instead of being alone however you find Lord Ahriman on the balcony, flipping through the pages of a book that floats to his left as if hung by invisible strings.

You find yourself awestruck by the sight, and when he looks to you the warmth of his eyes is almost hypnotizing.

"You seem quite surprised,"

He says, and you quickly divert your eyes downward and partly bow in the proper show of respect. You hadn’t expected someone of his stature here, you barely had time to compose yourself.

"I, I am so sorry Lord Ahriman."

You raise your head up and take yet another glance towards his floating book, eyes catching on the odd way the very air around it seems distorted. Then they look towards him as you await his orders- you presume they will be to dismiss you- before glancing to his book again.

"You seem quite interested. Is something on your mind?"

You look back up at him; The moonlight casts his tanned skin in a pristine glow, only broken up by the way his scars cast the light differently. His armor is cleaned, the white fabric draping over harsh metal edges and smoothing out like flowing water.

You take a small step closer, words on your tongue.

"Is it..." You purse your lips, trying to find the right words. "What does it feel like?"

The gentle evening breeze blows through your clothes, sending them flying about before landing back against your skin. You still have trouble looking him in the eyes, holding your arms close to your body.

"I don't think there are any words to describe it, little one."

He watches the look on your face change curiously, before giving a breathy chuckle.

"I didn't mean to disappoint."

You can’t help the feeling of disappointment that crosses your face, the feeling of not fully understanding. You want to know more, you need to know more, but your lot in life has seemingly denied you.

Ahriman finds that amusing; And perhaps worth a bit of his pity. A bright young mind, forever closed off from learning more. But yet you yearn so eagerly, so wantonly for more.

In a fit of impulsiveness you reach your hand outward into the oddly warping air around his tome, feeling the way the air changes in a way indescribable. Ahriman lets you, watching amused as you pull your hand away.

“I don’t think I’ve seen a mortal quite as stupidly curious as you.” He smiles a bit, even as you shirk away and await admonishment.

How doesn’t however, and instead makes a bit of room at his side.

“Let me show you a few more wonders, if a floating book can mesmerize you so.”

[cherimilku]

Hungover Reader x Rafayel (Love and Deepspace). A snippet from full story.

The first thing I register is warmth. The second is the dull pounding in my skull.

I groan, pressing a hand to my forehead as I shift against the soft sheets beneath me. Soft sheets. That isn't right. My bed isn't this comfortable. And it definitely doesn't smell like—

My breath hitched. The unmistakable scent of him.

My eyes snap open, and I immediately regret it. The room is too bright, my head is too heavy, and worst of all—I'm not in my apartment.

I'm in Rafayel's bed.

Panic curls in my stomach as last night comes back in fragments—Jenna, Tara, the jazz bar, too many drinks and then Rafayel. His hands steadying me. His lips, warm and just slightly parted. The feel of his breath against mine.

Oh, no.

I kissed him.

I sit up too fast, my vision swimming. That is when I notice that someone took off my shoes. Someone tucked me in.

And I have a very good guess who that someone is.

As if on cue, a voice drifts from the other side of the room.

"Well, well. Sleeping Beauty awakens."

I nearly jump out of my skin. Rafayel is leaning against the doorway, his arms are crossed with a coffee mug in hand. His dark eyes are fixed on me, the usual smirk tugging at his lips.

I open my mouth, then immediately shut it because what am I supposed to say? Sorry for throwing myself at you? Thanks for not letting me collapse? Please forget I ever put my lips on yours?

He raises a brow, clearly enjoying my suffering. "You look like you're debating whether to thank me or to start planning your escape."

I scowl, my brain still too sluggish to come up with a proper response. Instead, I throw the nearest object at him,a pillow. He catches it effortlessly, shaking his head in mock disappointment.

"I carry you all the way here, give you my bed, and this is the thanks I get?" He tsks. "You're hurting me, you know?"

"Oh shut up," I groan, rubbing my temples. "Why am I here?"

He looks at me like he is considering how much to embarrass me. "Well, you were drunk, you got here god knows how, and you seemed like you were going to collapse next to my door at any moment, so I figured I should probably let you in."

My hands cover my face. "Kill me. Just end it now."

"Tempting," he chuckles. "But watching you suffer through this hangover is much more entertaining."

I peek through my fingers to glare at him, but he just smirks. Infuriating.

Then, as if the most amazing thought just struck him, he leans against the doorframe. "By the way, you never mentioned you get extra affectionate when you're drunk."

I freeze. My heart dropped.

"Oh, you don't remember?" he continues. "And here I thought it was a special moment."

"I hate you." I mutter under my breath.

"Now, that's just hurtful." He places a hand over his heart. "But don't worry, I was a perfect gentleman. You, however..." He trailes off, enjoying the way my eyes widen in horror.

"Oh my god..." I press my palms against my face again. "What did I do?"

"Well, aside from clinging to me like your life depended on it?" He tilts his head, drawing out the suspense.

I am torn between throwing myself out the window and strangling him. "I did not."

"You definitely did." He takes a sip of his coffee. "And let's not forget the part where you-"

"Okay!" I practically shout, shoving the blanket off me and swinging my legs over the side of the bed. "We're done talking about this."

He chuckles, clearly pleased with himself. "If you say so."

He leaves the room, wearing a proud smirk on his face. I will not think about the kiss. I will not think about the way he didn't pull away and kissee me again. And I definitely will not think about the look in his eyes now.

Rafayel returns a few minutes later, a glass of water in one hand and a bottle of painkillers in the other. He tosses them onto the bed beside me.

"Drink."

I swallow the pills, ignoring the way he is leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching me like I am the most interesting thing in the room. It is irritating.

I set the glass on his nightstand and exhale slowly. "Okay. I think I can go now."

"Bold of you to assume I'm letting you leave in your current state."

I blink. "Excuse me?"

He arches a brow. "After one sip of water, you think you're good to go?" He tsks. "Not happening, sweetheart."

I groan, flopping back onto the pillows. "This is the worst day of my life."

He chuckles. "You're so dramatic."

I turn my head to glare at him. "I drunkenly kissed you, Rafayel. And now I have to sit here and pretend like that didn't happen, while you-" I gestured at him, flustered. "-just stand there"

His lips twitches, like he is fighting back another smirk. "And what exactly am I doing wrong?"

"It's just Infuriating."

He humms. "Well, that's just my natural charm."

I throw another pillow at him. This time, he let it hit him.

Silence settles between us after that, heavy despite the teasing. I don't know what I want him to say. Maybe some kind of reassurance that I hadn't ruined everything. Maybe just an acknowledgment that he felt something too. Full story: The Artist's Muse │ Love and Deepspace Rafayel x Reader (on Wattpad) https://www.wattpad.com/story/389702656-the-artist%27s-muse-%E2%94%82-love-and-deepspace-rafayel-x? (On AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/65074873/chapters/167341744)

[hannahbarberra162]

Can we get a izou story snippet? Pleaseeee if not don't worry, ily

Of course Nonnie! I'm writing the second chapter now but I'm not sure when it will be done. I'm hoping this week but I can't promise.

Also, if you left me an ask, please know I'm getting to them. Unfortunately brevity is not one of my strengths and all these delicious ideas turn into like 5k+ word one shots (looking at you Yan Sabo Nonnie - I'm cooking up something good for you). I'm not complaining, I love reading everyone's ideas and suggestions. It just all takes time to write :)

“Commander Izou, my h-home is to the right,” you stated with uncertainty in your tone as Izou carried you in his arms to your residence. He told you that you would pack up whatever you most needed and that he would take you with him to his ship. You’d protested initially but he had left no room for argument. He could scent your fear and felt your trembling fingers wrapping themselves around his neck as he carried you through the snowy town. He’d have more time to explain later that you’d be safe, that nothing bad was going to happen to you ever again. But for now he wanted to put as much space as he could between you and the horrible people to dare call themselves your family.

You were wearing flimsy cloth shoes that were unsuitable for the winter climate on the island. By the rips on the sides and wear on the soles, you’d been wearing them a long time. Yet another reason Izou wasn’t upset by the destruction his brothers were wreaking on your employer. 

“B-but Commander, you don’t need to hold me, I can -” you’d been trying to get him to put you on the ground since he’d first swept you off your feet, before you’d even made contact with the snowy sidewalk.

“Carrying you pleases me,” Izou said simply. Given your reserved nature as well as the strict social hierarchy you were raised with, he knew you’d defer to him.  It was a dance he hadn’t done in a long time, playing along with the social cues and mores of Wanese culture but in this case it worked to his advantage. If he tried to explain that you were underdressed for the weather or that he felt the need to feel your meager weight in his arms, you’d protest further to prevent inconveniencing him. Truthfully, it did please him to carry you, to have your scent so close to his own, to feel the reassurance of you in his arms. He’d carry you forever if you let him. 

“Ah, this is it,” you indicated, pointing to a large brick house with smoke coming out the chimney. At least they’d given you a proper place to live, he thought to himself. As Izou stepped on the cleared path to the house, you shook your head. 

“N-no, sorry. The house behind this one,” you said quietly, pointing to a shack set back towards the snowy woods.

Of course.

Izou noted the rickety shack and the rags covering the windows - either to keep in heat or to keep out prying eyes. Swiftly walking towards the hut, he opened the door and set you down inside.

“Gather your things,” Izou said softly, putting his hand on the small of your back to encourage you. The inside of the single room hut was as dismal as Izou imagined it would be. There were gaps in the thin wood walls, letting in the harsh winter air. Your tiny bed was crammed into the corner, leaving enough room for a table

“I apologize for the state of my house, Commander. If I had known someone like you would be joining -” you were already bowing to him again, your hands stiff at your side. Izou bent down to put his hands on your shoulders and righted you to standing.

“Do not apologize. Collect your things,” Izou ordered in a gentle tone. You frowned but nodded and walked over to the small bookshelf on the wall. You grabbed an old, battered tome, wrapping it like you were swaddling a baby in one of the few blankets on your bed. Holding it to your chest, you put it in a basket and saw Izou watching you.

“Ah, the cookbook my father gave me before I left Wano,” you said in answer to Izou’s unasked question. You’d mentioned leaving Wano a few times but Izou hadn’t heard of many people leaving the country in recent years. He’d have to get the full story out of you on the Moby. Moving towards you, he noted a picture of himself tacked onto the wall. It was from his most recent Wanted Poster (an attractive photo, if he did say so himself). You followed Izou’s eyes towards the picture and hung your head.

“This is embarrassing. Please do not take offense, Commander,” you begged while looking down at your feet. Izou laughed softly into the sleeve of his winter yukata. 

“What man would take offense at a beautiful woman having his picture hung on the wall? Please, continue to gather your things. I would like to take you away from here. This building offends me,” Izou said. You were spurred into action from his words. You gathered a few clothing items and a lacquer hair comb, likely also from Wano based on the style.  “I am finished, Commander. I await your next instruction,” you replied seriously, like you were one of the men under his command. He’d have to get you to relax eventually, to accept help and seek it out from him. The Alpha in him wanted to grab you and take you back to his rooms, to show you he could protect you. But Izou knew you were traumatized and nervous, unsure what to do with yourself while you navigated the relationship between them.

[kaakelymaakely]

ROTTMNT LEO X READER TEASER 2

Much shorter than the first one lolz. just a snippet of a scene tho *big cheesy smile*

--

“Sorry. can't make it 2nite. upset stomach :("

Your short message blinks at Leo, almost tauntingly so. He uncurls from where he was positioned on his side, instead rolling to splay out on his back, the bed curving to the shape of his shell. He has his phone a few mere inches away from his face, thumbs supporting the weight of it from falling onto his pinched frown. 

You had written to the group chat, the one that included his whole family. It wasn't unusual for you to skip out on movie nights, citing an upset stomach or a raging headache. They would be hypocrites to say anything. Donnie will sit out, locking himself in his lab because of phantom impressions squirming across his backside and soft shell, like maggots digging into soil. Or Mikey, when his wrists sear with a burning pain, as if the skin is flaking off in giant, glowing chunks. Or Raph, because of the raised skin around his eye, the throbbing sensation feeling too similar to alive pulsing, like something was under the surface, threatening to break free.

Leo never sat out on movie nights.

Why would he, when the alternative would be to sit alone in his dark room, dark enough to where he couldn't see his hand in front of his face? It used to be comforting. Used to be the one place he could drop his splitting smile and just sit, devoid of any overwhelming emotions or purposeful overreactions. The curtains are drawn, the spotlights are dimmed, the audience dispersed, and he's alone on stage. But he couldn't get the blood taste out of his mouth, the disgusting sulfur smell that churned his stomach, as he was smashed to pieces again and again until all he could do was perform. Until Leonardo was gone, and all that was left was happy, go-lucky Leo whose basic expression was a snarky grin.

Wipe that grin off your face.

Leo blinks as something buzzes, and suddenly he's ripped from that horrible dark dimension and all he can see is light, light, light, until he finally registers it as his phone illuminating his face. It jingles with an incoming notification. Leo takes in a deep breath because his lungs aren't punctured. Lets it fill his chest because his ribs aren't shattered. And lets it slow the rhythm of his heart because it's surprisingly still pumping blood. Leo isn't dead. 

The phone buzzes again, vibrating his already shaking hand, as his brothers respond with varying levels of support and kindness. Donnie likes your text, Raph sends a simple red heart, and Mikey writes back a heartfelt message. His family isn't dead. And as his phone hums with another notification, Leo releases his breath, because you aren't dead.

"Can you pls come over? I need you here." 

You had texted, but not in the group chat-- instead to him, privately. He practically drops his phone on his face. Those last four words make him squirm with an emotion too big for him to name. He fights back the urge to grin-- the memory of that twisted smile as he cried and bled out onto his family portrait as a far-too-familiar figure rears back to deliver another blow, too fresh on his mind-- and instead places his phone onto his plastron. He tucks his other arm behind his head, propping it up to get a proper view of his ceiling, decorated in his glow-in-the-dark stars. 

Leo traces patterns of constellations. They didn't have stars in the Prison Dimension, just streaks of darkness. He couldn't even properly identify it as any color-- not even black. It was like the sensation of when you closed your eyes, hints and traces of colors threatening to pop up, but none making an appearance. It was a lack of color. A lack of anything. His throat contracts, swallowing back a pained whimper. Fear licks at his stomach, makes itself known in the dryness of his mouth. They don't have stars in the Prison Dimension, he reminds himself. He ignores the fact he's looking at fake stars, and ignores the fact he's beginning to make up his own constellations, and instead goes back to the fact that you texted him out of everyone else.

Why him?

[footandantlers]

Introducing my 381k Payneland fic!

Some of you may have seen my post yesterday about how I wasn't sure on how I should post this monstrosity of a fic but the vast majority of you requested that I post it in chapters! So here's all the information you need to know about it.

When and how will it be posted?

The first chapter will be posted on the 9th of September. There will be 30 chapters in total all stretching out to be between 10-15k each. By this schedule the fic should roughly finish up April of next year! However the full thing is written so I may feel generous and occasionally post twice a week however I'd like to build a community! So I'll be creating a tag for you guys to follow over here where I'll post snippets, extended scenes and scrapped scenes. When the fic ends I also have alternative endings written out that you guys might like! Depending on the popularity of this fic I might end up even creating a discord server, I'm not particularly sure how this fic will do but I'm a huge fan of connecting with my readers, more about a discord server below.

Is the fic titled yet? What's it about?

Yes it is! The fic will be called 'My Godforsaken Loverboy' and it's an AU of Edwin and Charles being dorm mates at St. Hilarions spanning five years. It's very much a slow burn that may drive you insane but I promise I spent forever going through Tumblr hunting down popular head canons and dynamic wishes that seemed popular to throw in this fic so hopefully there's something for everyone! A proper summary will be released soon!

Is this based off the Netflix Series?

Here's where I may lose some people. While it's definitely got plenty of aspects from the Netflix shows (Mostly character wise) I planned the entire fic around the comics and Doom Patrol's season three episode 'Dead Patrol' so the dynamics may be different to what you'll be expecting if you've only watched the Netflix show! I apologise if this throws some people off but I adore them in Doom Patrol dearly.

Now a question for you guys, do we want a discord server?

I'd love a discord server centred around Dead Boy Detectives in general! Where we could share head cannons, fanart, fic recs, ect in more of a discussion way instead of screaming into a void. So here's my idea, I'm more than happy to create an overall Dead Boy Detectives server however it'd just have a channel or two dedicated purely to this fic but I'd have plenty of other channels for different fics as well! I've been on servers like this before and really enjoyed them. Send me a message if you like this idea so I don't lose track of you and if I get enough people I'll make it!

PS. Sorry to those that wanted it posted as a one shot 😔 I decided this seemed the most manageable and reasonable

[martsonmars]

Thanks for the tags @monbons @hushed-chorus and @whatevertheweather. I'm back and it's pick a WIP Sunday!

I really want to get back into writing Snowbaz and participating actively in the fandom. I don't exactly have more free time but I did graduate and I am technically on holiday until October, so let's try.

So I'm sharing snippets from 6 WIPs and maybe I'll be inspired to finish one of them. Help me out!!!!

1. Where Baz is a different blood sucking creature than usual. Prince and the frog but the prince is just a guy and the frog is trying to steal your blood.

The heat would be more than sufficient to make Simon reconsider all of his life choices. Give up on meat. Never touch plastic again. He'd do anything.

But no, clearly whatever sin he's committed—was it writing Jesus/Judas fanfiction when he was 15? It wasn't even explicit!—was enough to condemn him to this.

2. Holiday with the Grimms, where Simon and Baz share a bed in the same room as Malcolm and Daphne.

“Sorry I haven't delivered to my father an updated list of all the cocks I've sucked.” He wasn't smiling, but I could hear the smirk in his voice. The fake smugness. I know he's sucked half a cock (half sucked one cock?) and it was quite a disaster. “He doesn't know how deeply my virtue has already been fucked.”

I still snort at the thought. (The answer is not deeply at all.)

3. TA Simon and Baz showing up to class in a slutty Blackbeard cosplay.

I don't need a complaint for assault (let alone sexual assault) to drive my doctorate even farther away from my grasp.

I just need Grimm-Pitch to leave my classroom and come back wearing proper trousers before my overworked brain cells decide to go on permanent strike. (I'm not sure they haven't deserted me already.)

More snippets and tags under the cut!

4. Where Baz is a dryad and Simon is a woodcutter.

Simon didn't know many things, but he was pretty sure that pines weren't pretty men with long dark hair and pouty lips. Of course, Simon had never seen a man with dark green skin before, either, but he resembled a man more than a pine.

“You are not a pine. You're a man,” Simon voiced his scepticism, and he was rewarded with one more pine cone hitting his forehead. If nothing, the tree man had an impeccable aim.

5. Secret concept for this one.

Tucked in a corner as if he was trying to make himself seem smaller, yet he's got my attention like the masterpiece in a museum. Even the dim light of the pizzeria is enough to imagine the shine of his bronze curls under the summer sun. He's pale and freckled, broad and solid. Sturdy like the old table in my living room. I can perfectly see how he'd fit there, between a stack of Spinoza's complete works and the cabinet where my grandmother's Capodimonte porcelain sits unused. His back to the floor-to-ceiling window that opens on the terrace, surrounded by the bright halo of the hours before sunset. Bright like a Michelangelo in a room that's all Caravaggio.

6. This one I'm going to continue for sure when inspiration strikes, so it's not part of pick a WIP Sunday. It's maybe guess the WIP Sunday in this case.

“Sounds like you could use a break,” his deep voice says from a corner of the hall, as if he's read my mind. I see a pair of long legs first—legs for miles—crossing the room towards me, wrapped in a pair of trousers so tight I can't help but wonder how he'll take them off. (Not that I'm thinking of Baz without trousers.) (I mean, I've seen him without trousers. He wears chitons most of the time.) (He also wears really short shorts.) (I just mean I'm not thinking about taking his trousers off.) (Just. I mean.)

Tags!! No pressure just saying hi because I miss you all!!!

@facewithoutheart @sillyunicorn @onepintobean @shrekgogurt @wellbelesbian @palimpsessed @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @forabeatofadrum @fatalfangirl @cutestkilla @ileadacharmedlife @bookish-bogwitch @artsyunderstudy @orange-peony @larkral @raenestee @stitchyqueer @technetiumai @brilla-brilla-estrellita @thewholelemon @theimpossibledemon @j-nipper-95 @imagineacoolusername @blackberrysummerblog @theearlgreymage @rimeswithpurple @messofthejess @alexalexinii @nightimedreamersworld @captain-aralias @jbrrring @prettygoododds @youarenevertooold @best--dress @theotherhufflepuff @run-for-chamo-miles @valeffelees @dragoneggos @gekkoinapeartree @ionlydrinkhotwater @erzbethluna @chen-chen-chen-again-chen @shemakesmeforget @basiltonbutliketheherb @otherpeoplesheartachept-2 @aristocratic-otter @noblecorgi

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hello hello! How are you doing miss Raven?

Just read your toughts about book 7 chapter 12 part 1 (wow that's a mouthful) and am pretty happy you enjoyed it like i did! I totally agree with your critiques on it too, especially regarding the lack of in-depth analysis towards Cater. I feel like this was the perfect chance to delve into his character even if for a short while, but I guess the team had to limit themselves to a specific number of chapters, and decided to prioritise some things over the others.

Hopefully, when the novel of book 7 comes out(💀) we'll get more in-depth with each dream/characters. At least this is my guess after reading the first novel and snippets of the second, where I really enjoyed the extra details to the world and characters (ignoring the weird language translator spell that doesn't make any sense the more you look into it).

Buut we'll have to wait a long time for that, which I'm mostly fine with because I don't want a rushed product(though the wait is still a little painful😣)

On a side note, the Ace Attorney bit with the two Deuce idea is so genius I really wish it was real. Really put me in a mood to write it when I read it dndhejvd

Anyways! Sorry for the too long yap and wish you a good day/night!!

[You can read my full thoughts on the book 7 part 12 Cater and Deuce update here!]

Twst 2025 updates gonna be like book 7 chapter 20 part 34 section 56 paragraph 89 sentence 10 💀

Yeeeah, I feel like Cater's dream was relegated to being one of those "funny haha" dreams (*stares at Epel*) and didn't really examine his character in a new and/or meaningful way 😔 I'm not sure if there would be a satisfactory way for the devs to have us dream hopping to each of the casts' dreams without something being compromised, whether it be the pacing or the quality of the writing. Unfortunately, each character is only allotted so much time... so Cater wasn't able to have his character shine and we focused on some of the shallowest aspects of him, things we already know. You'd think that literally being in his dreamscape would reveal something... heftier (?) about him.

I don’t expect a full-on depresso Cater moment, but I’d at least have liked to have a little more than what we got. Like what if the OG Cater barging in at least acted a little more serious, or had glimpses of his “true” character peeking through? What if we got an actual explanation as to why Cater had his clone be his stand-in, like he was too emotionally out of it that day and needed time for himself?? What if OG Cater wore a normal Heartslabyul dorm uniform, indicating how he wants to be among the common people and be friends instead of the isolated ruler??? What if Cater wakes up because the Deuce imposter trial reminds him of his own inability to be “true” to himself??? We could have gotten WAY more.

LIGHT NOVEL, IT'S ON YOU TO SAVE THE DUMPSTER FIRE THAT IS THE TERRIBLE DREAM SEQUENCES 🤡 But even then, I have major concerns about the length of the book 7 light novel. They'd have to either cut each dream short to contain it all in a single volume OR extend it across multiple volumes in order to grant every dream the proper time and development they didn't get in the game. (I talk more about this topic here!) It sounds like a logistical nightmare no matter how you think about it... And yes, that translation spell makes no sense the longer you ponder it and it was not explained adequately-- Stay strong for the wait... (<- still has to finish reading the first volume of the light novel)

You have no idea how badly I want that double Deuce imposter trial to happen OTL IN FACT I WANNA DO MY OWN REWRITE (since I've actually written a Twst x Ace Attorney trial fic before!) TOO... Alas, holiday season is so busy + I have other things to write so if I do it at all, it might come out around the time the book 7 Heartslabyul update comes out in EN 😭

[corneliaavenue-ao3]

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

[fairygeek777]

I've been writing little self indulgences as both practice and just personal wish fulfilment without drawing the scenes in my head. And while I don't particularly think I'll be posting them on AO3, I do think it'd be fun to just share my favorite snippets here in blog form! And since it's (almost) Christmas this can be a little gift to my followers who may like my writing.

This one I'm sharing here is my response to the 90s R season Break Up Arc. It sorta feels like not much is changed from episode 77 until Episode 83 even though Mamoru and Usagi get back together. So I wanted to write why I think that is.

My headcannon that drove this story: Mamoru is still having nightmares and while he promises that he won't give Usagi the cold shoulder anymore, he needs time before he's at ease being a proper couple. That is until certain truths come to light.

It's not the whole thing, I'll post it in snippets. But this is currently my favorite piece of fanfic that I've written. So I wanted to share it with fellow fans <3

Apologies for any tears, it's a little sad. Cuz as I've said before I love angst.

Kicks off at the very end of episode 77 and slightly extends the last scene:

After months of anxiety and stress it felt like he was dreaming. Was he really holding Usagi right now? Was he really kissing her? It was almost too good to be true. But… that's also why he decided it was. In his mind the warning played on a mantra.

“Usagi Tsukino will die on the day you are married. Stay away from Princess Serenity.”

He held her tighter and deepened the kiss when his anxiety rose, shutting his eyes tighter just trying to block out everything but her. When it became too much, he parted away from her lips abruptly and tightened his embrace as if he was afraid she'd vanish should he let go. “Usako…” it was all he could do just to get her name out.

“Mamo-chan?” she asked with concern in her voice just above a whisper. “Hey… what is it?” She pulled away to look at him. When he didn't respond she brought a hand to his face. “You're shaking.”

“I'm …” he paused. “I'm sorry. I- I can't.”

“Mamo-chan, talk to me. Don't go through this alone.” He opened his eyes cautiously and found hers full of concern and love. Love he didn't deserve. Not after the way he had been treating her.

“Usako… Everyday that I pushed you away or told you we were through… or called you weak.” he raised a hand to cup her face and his other hand moved to her back. “I never meant a single word of it. It was all a lie. I only… I only said any of it because of those nightmares… They terrified me. They still terrify me.”

“But we’re going to face it together. You're not alone in this anymore.”

“I… I don't know that we can be like we were until… until I know the danger has passed. This Black Moon clan… I can't relax with the constant threat they pose. The nightmares have to go away before I can feel at ease holding you…” He touched her forehead with his. “I'm sorry… I need time.”

Usagi looked down visibly hurt. “Oh. Okay.”

“No, I don't mean-” He pushed her at arms length to look at her face, shaking his head. “Usako, I'm not going to treat you the way I've been. It- it killed me to be so cold to you. I won't do that to you. I promise.” He sighed. “But… it can't be as it was before either. Not yet.” She was silent for a few moments. “Usa, please tell me you understand. It's not that I don't want to be with you.”

She replied with a weak smile and a nod of her head. “It's okay. I understand.”

He let out a sigh of relief with a twinge of regret “Thank you… Usako. I will never truly deserve you.”

“Don't say that. You'll make me mad.” she said playfully but still with an air of sadness. He laughed softly.

He was fighting the urge to pull her in for another kiss. But to do it would confuse her and he didn't want that. Instead he moved his hands to grab hers and smiled. “Can I walk you home?” It took a few moments but as she took in his meaning, she beamed up at him and he took that as all the invitation he needed. He lightly squeezed her hand and led her at his side to her parents house. He said good night to her with the hope that in the morning he would take her in his arms and tell her that the nightmares were finally gone.

Wishful thinking. That's all it was.

Like clockwork, the wedding is interrupted just as he kisses her, she cries, a catastrophe occurs that separates them and takes Usagi away.

That voice returns commanding as always “You cannot escape from this, Mamoru Chiba! Usagi Tsukino will die should the two of you marry.”

“No! Stop lying to me!!” Dream Mamoru covered his ears tightly with the palms of his hands. “Stop this! Leave us alone! Stop tormenting me!!!” He fell to his knees “Just let us be together.”

Mamoru spoke in his sleep “please…” as a tear fell from his eye.

In the morning Mamoru rose from his bed, not well rested at all. He walked to Crown in deep thought.

Why? Why would she be shown my dream if we can't be together? Why did she have to know if nothing has changed? He sighed, heartbroken. “Am I… am I not allowed to love her?” He balled a fist at his side. “No. I don't want to accept that.” He walked through the doors of Crown and stood at the entrance lost in thought but was suddenly brought out of it by Usagi linking an arm with his pulling him to the counter.

“Mamo-chan! Come on! Chibiusa is playing the Sailor V game!” She giggled as she gave him little choice but to follow. “She's gotten really good!”

“Okay, okay. But can I have my coffee first?” he said trying to unhook his arm from hers.

She looked back at him and her smile faded then her eyes panned down to their linked arms and it was like she only just realized she was holding onto him. “Oh! Right, sorry!” A blush crossed over her face and she quickly released his arm. “You- you go and get that.”

Her hands clasped in front of her and she turned from him. Was she embarrassed? “Usako, I-”

“Oi! Usagi! I just beat your high score!!!” Chibiusa shouted from the game console interrupting him.

Usagi immediately turned her attention to the pink bunned child. “What!? No way!” she whined already having walked away from him. The instant her warmth left him he wanted it back. How could it be that he wasn't supposed to feel this way? If that were true then how could everything about her feel like home?

He sat down at a stool close enough to the girls as they argued and bet over who was the best Sailor V player. He rested his chin in his palm and observed them. Even with all that was transpiring; the droids, the Black Moon Clan, Chibiusa’s mother, the future in danger. They still found time to be carefree. He envied them. How he wished he could distract himself from the dread he always seemed to feel these days. His gaze shifted from the two of them to focus on Usagi. She was taller since he first met her and her hair even seemed longer. She was maturing and growing even more beautiful than she was already. A cup and saucer was placed next to his elbow and Motoki started pouring black coffee into it.

“Hey, you okay Mamoru? Something on your mind?” He turned his attention to his blonde friend.

He sighed and picked up the hot cup by the handle. “No… I'm…” he paused. Part of him wanted to tell Motoki. To have someone to confide in, but Motoki didn't know about the double life that 6 of his regular patrons were leading. He couldn't burden him with that knowledge. “I'm okay. Thanks.”

“Come on, what did I say last time?” Motoki nudged the brooding teen with his elbow. “You can talk to me about anything.”

Mamoru looked back at the girls. Usagi had taken control of the Sailor V console as Chibiusa hovered over her shoulder in the stool next to her. The blonde looked adorable as she put her all into winning even against pixels on a screen. It was the same determination she showed in real battles.

“Hey, Motoki?”

“Yea?” Motoki responded while he wrote in a notepad.

He spoke without taking his eyes away from her. “If you were in love with someone but no matter what you did, the world was telling you it was forbidden… that you couldn't be together… what would you do?”

Motoki looked up from his task and followed Mamoru’s gaze with understanding. A soft chuckle escaped him as he stuffed the notepad and pen in his apron pocket. “Well, I guess the first thing I'd do is ask if she loved me back. Does she?”

Mamoru turned to face him a bit caught off guard. But he conceded and lowered his head with a smile. “I think so.”

“Yea, I think she does too.” Motoki smiled in a way that reminded Mamoru how much he appreciated his friendship. If not about youma battles or reincarnation, he could at least tell him about Usagi. Motoki rolled back on his heels. “As for the forbidden part. I guess we’d just have to prove the world wrong.” He cleared his throat “Unless ‘the world’” he raised both hands and his fingers in an air quote gesture, “refers to parents. In that respect I wouldn't rush anything.”

Mamoru started with a nervous smile raising his hands in front of him “Oh- no, no nothing like that.” and he too cleared his throat. “No… unfortunately… that would be much simpler.” Mamoru lowered his head again, smile fading and Motoki looked at him with sympathy.

“But, Mamoru. Does she know?”

Mamoru responded with a low voice, lifting the cup off the saucer again “Know what?”

“That you love her.” Looking into his untouched coffee cup he considered the question. Did Usagi know? Surely he'd said it once…

“I don't have feelings for you anymore.

“The red string of fate that connected us has been severed

“I do not like girls who are weak

“Why should I have to be your boyfriend just because of what happened in a past life?

“It can't be as it was before”

Mamoru winced at the memory of all the cruel things he said to her. He put down the coffee cup with a soft clink. No. He hadn't told her even once. Not when his memory returned, not after their first date. He just assumed she knew. But now, especially now with all that's happened, he couldn't be sure.

“No. I'm not so sure she does.”

To be continued

[abiiors]

can we get a little ross blurb where both of you are just innocently making love and you cry at the end and he comforts and praises you

(mdni, 18+ only // female reader)

okay so i've changed your prompt very slightly just because i've wanted to do a proper fluffy aftercare blurb for a bit. hope you don't mind ♡

every inch of you is covered in sweat, covered with rough kisses and hickeys and your brain is a haze. everything is happening all at once--every neuron, every pain and pleasure receptor in your body is on high alert and yet your head feels numb and so foggy.

it's been like this for minutes now--since the moment you came after being denied four times but ross is still going. although he's fucking you slower than before now, riding out his orgasm (and letting you ride out yours) by thrusting into you repeatedly.

you know how this usually ends--you collapse on top of each other, limbs tangled up and sweaty and covered in bodily fluids. you kiss, slow and gentle and intimate, and then you begin the clean up after cuddling for a bit. that is the usual. but today feels different.

your arms tremble, your thighs sting and the knot in your stomach tightens further. this doesn't feel good--none of this... just moments before you were screaming out in pleasure and now here you are, wincing and trying not to cry as he pulls out slowly.

he's saying something too--his voice is all around you, trying to penetrate the fog in your head but all you hear is snippets and broken sentences.

"...baby?...okay?"

"hey..."

and then soothing fingers trail down your spine. suddenly, you're well aware of how wet your face feels, of the salty taste on your lips and your dry mouth. oh god, it's like everything comes rushing in all at once and your arms give out from under you until you faceplant on the pillow, practically curling in on yourself and ross' worried face comes into view.

"hey, hey, darling look at me," he speaks in a hushed but rapid tone. there's sweat on his brow, on his forehead and his beard glistens with your slick but his eyes are full of concern.

"baby, what's going on? are you okay?" he asks, gently running his fingers through your hair.

you release a shaky breath and attempt to speak through the dryness in your mouth. "i'm okay, just... give me a moment."

ross nods and leans down to press a kiss to your forehead but he doesn't pull away entirely. instead he traces your features gently--first your nose, then your cupids bow, your lower lip all the way to the contours of your jaw till he's back to swiping his thumb on your eyelids and cheeks, wiping away the tears.

the roughness of the pad of his thumb is grounding. familiar. once you've composed yourself a bit, ross wraps an arm around you, pulling you into his chest. "you sure you're okay, darling?"

well no, not entirely. the anxious knot still tightens in your stomach and you can't stop the occasional sobs and sniffles from escaping. every time you make a sound, his arms tighten around you and he buries his face in your hair, placing tiny kisses.

"you were so so good, my love. so perfect. i'm so sorry, i went too hard on you..."

your heart breaks at how worried he sounds, how guilty. "i-it's not you, i just--" you choke up slightly but clear your throat again. "just got a bit overwhelmed."

some of the rigidity in his body melts away and you feel yourself growing calmer too, a bit less shaky now that you can properly breathe once again.

"tell me what you need, darling. we can just lay here, no pressure. you've been so good for me, now let me take care of you," he murmurs, his thumb gently caressing your cheek.

you manage a weak smile, and nod against his chest. "just stay with me, please. just for a bit."

"absolutely. anything else you want?"

you take a moment to think, to breathe in his scent to ground yourself further. "and can we have a bath in a bit?"

"anything for you, sweet girl," he speaks and you can finally hear a small smile in his voice.

you pull back a bit to look at him, to give him a sweet kiss and feel his strong, steady heartbeat against the palm of your hand. you're okay, you realise. you're okay as long as he's here, as long as he's holding you and cuddling you. and judging by his tight hug, he doesn't plan on letting go anytime soon.

[moodymisty]

mkay so I have 2 Warhammer ideas? requests? sticking in my head that I can't decide on one so I'll throw both out there and you can pick one (or neither since I already threw a request at ya lol) to chew on. also a lot of my lore knowledge comes from the wiki and lore vids so sorry if I get things wrong.

first, if I'm remembering right you've said that the blood angels get a smidge yandere over Sanguinius' partner. so I'm thinking, how the hell would they act towards them after ol Sangy gets murderized by Horus? what about the black rage? would they recognize them? maybe her being present around a raging blood angel somehow makes them even more feral, desperate to protect them from "Horus". or maybe it helps mellow them out, can't decide which I like better lol. also what if she's pregnant or has had Sanguinius' kid? idk just poor grieving widow surrounded by these also grieving giants who mean well but are kinda unhinged lol.

OR maybe some thoughts/ headcanons for your blorbo Sevatar lol. I don't know much about atm but reading the little thing you made of him made me think he's like one of those boys who picks on the girl he likes but heaven forbid someone else tries to pick on them.

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 | 𝕬𝖔3 ]

Author's Note: I know you said do one, but I'ma do both. Keep an eye out for the Sevatar one soon. I'm not going to pass up a chance to write about not only my crazy husband Sevatar, but also my yandere vamp boys. I really like both ideas of Sangy's lover either mellowing them out or making it worse. I chose that it's made worse in this snippet however. There's other yandere tendencies I could get into, but I decided to primarily do black rage stuff here. I hope you enjoy.

Summary: Guilliman visits the lover of Sanguinius for the first time since the Heresy reached it's murderous apex.

Relationships: Sanguinius/Fem!Reader (no pronouns just the title 'legion mother')

Warnings: Major Character Death technically, Sanguinius haunts the plot because that's what he do, Increasingly yandere Blood Angels

Word Count: 1116

It will have been the first time since the Siege that Guilliman has laid eyes on the Legion Mother of the Blood Angels.

He boarded the Red Tear with a small gathering of Ultramarines, though when he reaches the entrance of the room he's due to meet you in, he turns to his lieutenant and speaks.

"Stay out here."

The Lieutenant instantly begins to put up resistance, standing up even more rigid than he already had. His helmet is off, hanging on is belt and showing slight disbelief on his face.

"But My Lord, I-" Guilliman cuts him off.

"I am not going to bring a small army of Astartes to speak to a widow in mourning." He takes a breath and calms himself. "If I have need of you, you will know."

The marine quiets, and then the Primarch enters the room. The door closes right behind him, and two Blood Angels part for him; They had clearly been guarding the interior of the entrance. In the middle of the large room is you- in front of a massive table of maps and parchments, separating you and him.

"This is a surprise, Primarch Guilliman." You look up at him from across the room as he steps closer. This room was designed with Astartes and Primarchs in mind, so his height fits quite comfortably.

"Do you have need of the Blood Angels?"

You speak proper and polite, but not cold; It's a behavior that reminds him of Sanguinius, and for a moment he wonders if the Primarch had ever prepared you had you needed to ever command his legion.

Guilliman notices a well armored captain at your immediate left, and a few other Blood Angels standing guard in the room. More than he would've put in a room this size, though he thinks that perhaps it hadn't been your idea, judging by the captain's face. He looks across at you.

You look terribly, horribly lost. A young woman with her lover dead, thrust into a leading mantel of a legion in mourning. Belarius is serving as the Chapter Master of the Blood Angels now, but even he still looks to you as if you're an extension of Sanguinius. Something more.

He doesn't envy your position. For once he might see himself almost more fortunate than you; As despite circumstances, he has the genes of his creation assisting him, you do not; You were not make for the role cast upon you.

The Blood Angels standing guard are tense- unbelievably so. Guilliman suspects if he made even a somewhat fast movement, they'd have their bolters all pointed his way.

The weight of Sanguinius' death has weighed heavy on you all. All of you live in mourning. That drive in them now channels fully to making sure their Primarch's beloved stays alive.

"I wished to give you my condolences before you return to Baal."

You smile at him, weak, before it fades a bit as you loose yourself in thought. Then, you turn to your men.

"Leave us alone for a moment, if you will." The captain at your side speaks up. You shush him before he has a chance to say much of anything on the matter, and Guilliman suspects that this isn't the first time. You've clearly been growing frustrated at their obsessiveness already; You wish to mourn in peace, but this is how the Blood Angels have decided to.

"It will only be for a moment. I am sure nothing will happen in the ten minutes I would like to have a conversation without eight other pairs of ears listening." He can hear the strain of irritation and sleep deprivation in your voice. He moves to take his final strides closer and come fully up to the table that stands between you.

One step away however, he stops.

In the corner of Guilliman's eye, he notices in the back of the room that one Blood Angel turns rigid. With how tense his neck and jaw is it's like he's gritting his teeth into dust. He makes a move closer, his hand slipping down the barrel of his bolter towards the trigger-

Guilliman can't see a thing but rage in his eyes.

His own hand twitches in preparation, but the marine's partner in guard roughly grabs his pauldron. He whispers something the Primarch can't hear. As they all move to leave, it almost looks like he's dragging him out. Guilliman notices you watching the scene with a particular look on your face. Like you've seen it before, and you're unsurprised but displeased to see it again.

When they're all out of the room, his posture relaxes ever so slightly. As much as it can in his armor, at least.

"Thank you for visiting, Guilliman, but it wasn't needed. I'm sure you have many other duties to attend to." You smile, but it's forced. He's familiar with the gesture.

"The Ultramarines are always occupied. However I still wish you a safe journey." The smile on your face becomes a bit more sincere.

"Thank you. And I'll be sure to think of the Ultramarines have I any need of assistance." Guilliman has had nothing but respect for the Blood Angels, and a request of yours would be one he would consider.

"Very well. Do take care of yourself."

Guilliman wants to say something about Sanguinius, but he can't bring himself to. instead he gives you a nod, and turns away to leave. He does so silent other than the sound of his footfall, and you're left alone in the room. But only for a moment. Your captain that was here previously enters not long after he leaves, standing in front of you. Rubbing your tired eyes, you look up at him.

"How is he?"

You say in reference to the Blood Angel who'd snarled and almost attacked Guilliman moments ago. The captain shakes his head.

"Not well. He is just barely holding onto his sanity. He'll be in Death Company post haste." You sigh.

"Did any of the Ultramarines see?" Much to your relief, the captain once again shakes his head.

"No. We barely got him out of earshot before he started yelling about saving Primarch Sanguinius and you from the Arch Traitor."

Arch Traitor. How quickly everyone has begun refusing to even utter Horus' name.

You nod to the captain in thanks for his quick reactions in the matter, your face tired. Sleep has been a rarity; You feel sick, and mourning isn't an emotion that welcomes rest.

And no one can know about the Rage, or the Thirst. You suppose that's your duty now. You just hope you can hide it as well as Sanguinius had.