#OH MY GOODNESS SHES MICROFICING! SOMEONE GET HER!

[xjustakay]

✺ (1/22) ✺ @jegulus-microfic prompt: cry — 1130 words (jegulus dads ft. harry; getting in trouble at school - but he’s got a real good reason, your honor)

Regulus hangs up his phone with a huff, pushing up from his desk chair to head up the hall to the living room. “James?”

“Yes, my love?” James calls back. He turns from folding laundry into piles on the sofa and frowns when he clocks the tension in Regulus’ face. “What could I have possibly done?”

“It’s not you, it’s your son,” Regulus mutters.

“My son?” James’ brows shoot upward. 

“He’s your son when he gets into trouble.”

“I resent that.”

“Resemble it, more like.” Regulus rolls his eyes. “I just got off the phone with Pandora. She got a call from Harry’s school about him being in principal McGonagall’s office because of an altercation with another student.”

James blinks. “They’re five, what does that even look like?”

“Well, we’ll be finding out shortly, because we have to go pick him up. Lily’s got their car and she’s at work.” Regulus shakes his head as he goes to retrieve his coat from the peg inside the front door.

“Hey, hang on.” James grabs him gently by the elbow to get him to look at him. “I’m sure it’s not a big deal.”

“He’s in the principal’s office at five years old, James.”

“That happened a time or a few when I was—” James cuts himself off when one dark eyebrow is arched at him pointedly. “Right, not helping my case. Look, it’s Harry. It’s probably just a big misunderstanding.”

James lifts both hands to grab Regulus by the jaw, towing him in to kiss his forehead a couple quick times. The corner of Regulus’ mouth ticks upward despite himself.

As it turns out, it’s not a misunderstanding.

Instead of looking guilty, Harry looks instantly defiant, arms crossed tight over his chest and chin tilted upward, when Regulus and James join him in the principal’s office.

“Have a seat.” Minerva McGonagall motions across her desk to the open chairs on either side of their son. “Harry, would you care to explain to your fathers why we’re here?”

Harry’s brow furrows as he lets out a huff. “I tackled someone in the sandbox.”

Regulus tilts his head. “Pardon?”

James cuts him a vaguely admonishing look before his focus returns to the child between them, expression softening. “What happened, mate?”

“He made Luna cry, daddy!” Harry whines. “He kept on pulling her hair and calling her Loony.”

Regulus whips toward McGonagall, glaring icily. “And where’s that boy?”

“He’s also been spoken to and picked up by his parents, mister Potter,” She tells him.

“That’s not all, either!” Harry interjects with a dramatic flail of his arms. “I went and told him he was being mean and to say sorry, but he said he was sorry to me ‘cause I have a weird family.”

“Alright, that’s not—” James’ mounting irritation gets cut off when McGonagall lifts a hand to halt him.

“Then he said his mum and dad are talking all the time about how papa’s gonna leave us all someday, and I got really mad so I tackled him and hit him.”

Oh.

Oh, that’s…

Regulus stares at Harry for a long moment, an unexpected pang in his chest. He didn’t know what to expect coming down to the school, hearing Harry’s story of what had occurred. He certainly had not assumed it had anything to do with him.

Harry is so like James, standing up for those he loves with everything he’s got. Even if it gets him into trouble.

Opening and closing his mouth twice, Regulus catches James’ eye. A small smile curls at his husband’s mouth, an odd cocktail of pride and sadness mixed in his hazel eyes. Regulus suddenly knows the feeling, complex as it is.

“I understand you were upset and looking out for your family, but you know you’re not supposed to hit people, mate,” James tells Harry.

“I know…” Harry mumbles, ducking his chin.

“If someone’s being mean, you tell a teacher, alright?”

“Yes, daddy…”

Regulus, lip pinched between his teeth, looks across the desk to find McGonagall’s eyes already on him. A strangely sympathetic look is offered to him from the older woman, but he ignores the twist it causes in his stomach.

Asks instead, “Is Luna alright?”

“I’ve spoken with her, as well, yes. Despite the issue, she said she’d like to finish her day as she usually does,” She confirms.

“Right, well, we’ll get this one home, then.” James claps his hands on his knees then pushes to stand. “So sorry, principal McGonagall.”

“Yeah, me too, sorry, principal McGonagall,” Harry mutters.

Harry shuffles off his chair to follow James on the way out of the office, Regulus grabbing his Spiderman backpack for him. He’s last to the door, which means the ‘mister Potter’ that’s called after them can only be for him. He turns with dark brows lifted, tries not to look too confused when McGonagall’s mouth twitches upward just barely.

“That’s quite the little boy you’ve got standing up for you, there,” She says.

Regulus glances back the other direction at where James and Harry are walking to the school’s main door hand in hand. His own small smile appears, throat tightening before he quietly clears it.

“Yeah, he’s really something,” He murmurs, turning back to the woman. “We’ll work on the hitting bit.”

“That’s good, yes,” She snorts, waving him off.

Regulus catches up to his family, falling into step on Harry’s other side. He makes it a point to ensure that he’s the one who helps Harry into the back of the car when they reach it. Keeps an eye on him pulling his seatbelt across himself on his booster while James settles in the driver’s seat, watching them in the rear view mirror.

Mind still reeling a bit with the turn of events, he can’t help but feel like he’s meant to say something.

“Harry, my darling, you—” Regulus twists his lips to the side as he runs a hand over Harry’s messy hair affectionately. “You know that I’m not really going anywhere, don’t you?”

“Of course, papa.” Harry nods surely. “I know you love us all too much.”

Regulus smiles faintly, nodding in return. “That’s my boy.”

He leans in to leave a kiss against the side of Harry’s head, double checks his seatbelt is secured appropriately, then closes the car door. When he drops into the passenger seat, he finds James looking over at him adoringly, a bright smile on his face. Wordlessly, he leans over the center console to press a lingering kiss to Regulus’ lips.

“Does this mean I can still have dessert after dinner tonight?” Harry asks from the back.

There’s a shared laugh between Regulus and James, two wide smiles pressed together now, before they finally separate to get on their way home.

[thedvilsinthedetails]

rosekiller microfic band au pt3

heyyy pt3 is here yayyy

I haven’t rlly read it thru again and I’m feeling pretty tired today so if there’s a quality dip that’s why but also we have some nice Barty POV which I find easier to write sooo balances out ig

also we have some Marlene in this one (u can thank @good-oldfashioned-lover-girl because I wasn’t gonna put her in but she loves Marls [not that I don’t] to and yk she’s the boss so 🫡🫡🫡 Marlene is in the fic and I’m actually glad bc I love her part in this)

oh also Reg is autistic in this [in my mind] so when I mention him wearing headphones it’s bc he wears headphones on public transport/often in public/during gigs to help block noise <3

oh also all the skittles have matching nail polish and little tattoos on their wrists (idk if I actually mention it here but just so u have it in ur mind)

Tags for ppl that (I think?) wanted to be tagged <3 : @depressedtheatrekiddo @blu3stars @picklerab23 @lady-stardust-incarnate @always-reading @no-names-work @y0url0verb0y @2bluetwo85 @idk-what-to-put-here-123 @weirdtinkerbellversion @lulublack90 @nikholascrow (please please do tell me if you don’t want to be tagged bc idm and obviously won’t be upset but I just don’t want to tag ppl that don’t actually want to be tagged so I’m just sort of guessing by who commented last time so um yeah)

Link to previous part

link to part one

link to next part

(Cw: lil bit of homophobia in here sorry)

***

By the time the train arrived at their station both Barty and Evan had dozed off. Arms wrapping around each other, bodies curled into one another like a jigsaw puzzle. Evan didn’t wake up as gently as he fell asleep though because he was woken by Regulus kicking his seat aggressively. Once he finally opened his eyes he turned to face him. He was wearing his headphones, big and black originally but covered in splodges of spray paint from when Barty had offered to ‘customise‘ them for Regulus. He’d pushed them back though, now that the majority of people has filtered out of the little compartment.

“Hurry up and get your stuff.”

Regulus ordered before following Pandora and Dorcas who had already left.

Evan turned and tapped Barty gently to wake him up. Then when that didn’t work he shook him till he opened his eyes with a start. 

It took Barty a moment to realise where he was but even once he did he just grumbled.

“Ev don’t make me get up, please.”

He pouted, eyes wide and dilated in some kind of cheap attempt at cuteness.

“Come on you know you have to get up baby- Barty!”

Evan gaped, realising his mistake just too late. A slip of the tongue and he’d gone and fucked everything up.

“D’you just call me baby?”

A grin spread on Barty’s face and he poked Evan gently and laughed.

“You’ve been single too long Rosier.”

“You- you’re not mad?”

“Why would I be mad, baby?”

Barty winked, clicking his tongue as he got up and shuffled past Evan with a wicked smirk.

•••

Barty was going insane. 

Evan had called him baby. Baby. And fuck his reaction had been visceral. But like…in a good way? It made him want to bite down on something hard but that thing was the muscles on Evan’s arms. Or bruise something but that thing was Evan’s neck…with a hickey or two. 

Something about the way it had slipped out so naturally, so warmly. It just made Barty’s heart flutter. Made him want to grab Evan and shake the sense out of him enough to like Barty. Something along the lines of ‘kiss me, ruin me, dear God I’m begging you.’ Ah well, nothing you can’t really do about these kinds of situations except get on with it. Lying was something Barty had gotten very good at from a young age and not stopped since. Some might call it acting but those were the types of people who were just trying to convince themselves they were good and moral. Barty didn’t really care enough about that kind of stuff to bother. White lies this and how it contrasts with malicious lies that, like someone trying to section off a gradient in two. You can’t, it’s all the same monochrome blur in the end. 

Barty was lost in this little daydream when he heard Pandora roar.

“WHAT?!”

Now Pandora didn’t often roar, maybe laugh maniacally every now and then yes, but yell? Scream? That was never her type of thing. Save for some rare occasions that Barty could probably count on one hand. Pandora yelling meant it was time to stop daydreaming about Evan’s curls or Evan’s hands with their chipped green nail polish or Evan’s fucking tight t shirts. Yeah time to stop thinking about that and listen up. So he did.

“I do not intend to offend anyone by it.”

Riddle raised his hands up defensively with a cheap sleazy smile that immediately made Barty dislike him.

“I’m just saying that this venue prides itself on a distinct lack of…untoward behaviour. It’s not a massive deal, I think your lead and backup singers can use separate microphones for two nights of a six month tour. 

“What the fuck man?”

Barty stepped forward immediately hands curling into fists, Riddle was pretty short, he could definitely take him if that’s what it came to.

“Barty stop, that isn’t the right way to solve things. Come on let’s just- let’s come back later ok? See if we can talk to someone else, not this piece of shit.”

Dorcas spat out the last three words as she pulled Barty back to the group.

He was going to argue till he felt Evan put a hand on his shoulder, instead he just left Evan guide him away after the rest of the group.

“We’ll figure it out ok?”

“Fucking- Ev we can’t play there. They’re fucking homophobic.”

“Barty the O2 has been your dream since-“

“I DONT BLOODY CARE!”

“Barty shut the fuck up. I said we’ll talk about it and we will, we will figure it out but stop acting like a goddamn CHILD.”

Barty looked over at Evan who had his teeth bared, slightly wild look in his eyes. He was seething too, clearly. Just more mature than Barty.

“Ok, yeah.”

He breathed in.

“I’m sorry Ev.”

“Hey it’s alright. It’s just important the band shows a united front against this you know? We can’t split up or in fight because then, well then we all lose.”

“Yeah. Yeah you’re right Rosie. But we will do something.”

“I promise you they’re not getting away with this.”

Evan nodded. He tossed a hand over Barty’s shoulder, pulling him in just a little bit closer as they walked. Barty wasn’t complaining. 

•••

“You don’t get it Marls, we can’t just not play the O2. We’d lose way too much money off it, probably too much to be able to continue with the rest of the tour. Plus venues will think we’re unreliable and might cancel or pull out. Riddle is such a fucking dick, he only told us when we went there for a tech practice literally today.”

“Fuck yeah that’s shitty.”

Marlene was sat next to Barty on the floor of his hotel room, helping him repaint his nails. The entire band had them matching, a bright toxic green, his had started to fade though. 

“What if you just…ignore them? Do it anyway?”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s not like they can drag us off stage mid performance.”

“Not without exposing their homophobia.”

“Still…I wanna make a statement. Something big you know? Show them they can’t straight wash us.”

Marlene looked up at Barty, eyes twinkling mischievously.

“I might have an idea then.”

•••

Evan was sat in an alcove in the hotel corridor watching Regulus patiently braid and unbraid Pandora’s hair on the sofa opposite him. It calmed them both down whenever they were stressed. And Barty and Marlene, locked up together in Barty’s hotel room. Both raging homosexuals dead set on never following rules talking amongst themselves just before the biggest gig of the band’s history? Yeah that was a reason to be stressed. That’s when he heard the tell tale clump of Barty’s docs down the corridor. And he was walking with purpose.

As soon as he came into view Evan noticed the way his eyebrows were knotted together yet his eyes were glimmering with excitement. Evan had no clue what Barty was going to say next but it wasn’t that.

“Marlene thinks I should kiss you.”

Barty announced and Evan dropped his jaw, staring at him agape.

“What?”

“And I agree with her.”

“What?”

***

OK HOPE U LIKED IT

xxx BYEEEE

pt4 probs gonna come soon bc I swear this fic has a life of its own

[lulublack90]

Prompt 9 - Movie

@jegulus-microfic February 9 Word count 980

Previous part First part

Regulus woke in relative comfort. His wounds had all been healed, and he’d been allowed to sleep. 

His hair was moving strangely, though. He craned his head to get a better look.

James Potter was absentmindedly trailing his fingers through Regulus’s hair.

“Hi,” His voice was cracked and raw. But it was still understandable. James jumped. He hadn’t realised Regulus had woken up.

“Oh, hi. How are you feeling?” James asked, already scanning Regulus for signs of pain. 

“Good. My skin feels a bit tight where the cuts were, but I’m sure that will go away once everything’s fully healed.” James nodded in agreement. 

“Oh, I’m supposed to let them know when you wake up.” James pulled out his wand and cast the patronus charm. A huge regal stag shot out of his wand, casting them in its eerie blue light. “Tell Frank that Reg is awake,” James told the ghostly creature. It galloped away through the wall, and a moment later, they could hear footsteps crossing the floor above them.

Mad-Eye Moody came through the door, glowering at the reclining Regulus. Regulus put all his energy into not recoiling at the sight of him. He refused to give him that satisfaction. 

“I need details, and I need names.” Moody barked at him, getting straight to the point. Regulus appreciated that. He didn’t have the patience for niceties. “And you, I don’t want a peep out of you if I allow you to stay.” He ordered, narrowing his eyes at James. 

“Yes, Mad-Eye. I promise.” Moody looked at the cot Regulus had been sleeping on and waved his wand. Regulus was levitated into the air, and he watched as the cot transformed back into the chair it had been the previous day. He was lowered onto it. Then, the chair scooted itself forward until Regulus was at the table. 

Moody took a scroll of parchment and a quill from his robes and set them on the table. He then looked at Regulus pointedly, waiting for him to begin. 

“I don’t know how.” He stated but added when Moody glared at him, demanding more. “As far as I’m aware, those orders are being left until the last minute. So there are no leaks.”

“Does he think he has a spy in his organisation?” Moody interrupted him. His deeply scared face revealed nothing. 

“I’m not sure. He’s been keeping important information close to his chest more so than usual.”

“Alright. Names?” Moody moved the questioning on, clearly deciding that Regulus didn’t have anything else to offer about the actual attack. 

“Malfoy,”

“Which one?”

“Both.” Moody nodded and made a note on his scroll of parchment. 

“Next.”

“Lestrange,”

“Which?”

“All three,”

“Three?”

“Rodolphus, Rabastan and Bellatrix.”

“Ah yes, she’s a Lestrange now, isn’t she? I still think of her as a Black.” More jotting. “Any more?”

“Crabbe, Goyle, Nott, Lee, Dolohov and Snyde.” He gave as many big names as he could. But left out his friends. Evan and Barty would be safe for now. 

“Hmm,” Moody murmured to himself as he scanned the list. "That’s a good lot to be getting on with. We know about most of these. But Lee and Nott, these are new leads. Well done, Black.” He stood up and made to leave. 

“Wait! What about me? What’s going to happen to me?” Regulus’s eyes darted between Moody and James. 

“Oh, I’ll have someone from the Ministry come and pick you up and take you to Azkaban,” Moody said blandly, carefully rolling up the parchment. 

“Azkaban?” Regulus felt his whole body go numb.

“You’re a death eater, Black. What did you expect?”

“You can’t do that to him!” James broke his promise to keep silent during the interrogation and leapt out of his chair. 

“I can and I will, Potter. He’s killed countless people on our side. Good people.” Moody didn’t even bother to look at them, already planning his next steps. 

“Please, Mad-Eye. There has to be something else. Anything else. Please, please don’t send him there.” James’s eyes had filled with tears at the thought of Regulus sitting in one of the cold stone cells of Azkaban surrounded by dementors. 

There was a sudden banging noise outside the door, and Sirius came barging in with Remus in tow. 

“Where the bloody hell have you been Black?” Moody shouted, already aggravated by James’s outburst. 

“Remus took me to see the new Monty Python movie. We told Alice we wouldn’t be long.”

“I don’t care about minty lizard motive. You’ve been gone for hours!” Moody snapped. 

“It’s Monty Python. It’s a movie, you know, a muggle motion picture. As for time, it’s an hour and a half film, plus the trailers, and I had to get popcorn, and—” 

“Mad-Eye’s trying to send Regulus to Azkaban, Sirius!” James interrupted before Sirius started explaining further.

“WHAT!!!” Sirius bellowed. “I REFUSE TO LET YOU SEND HIM THERE! AZKABAN IS NOT AN OPTION MAD-EYE! I WILL FIGHT YOU OVER THIS!” 

Remus had to grab the back of Sirius’s robes to stop him from launching himself at Mad-Eye.

“Calm down, Sirius. I’m sure we can sort this out.” He turned to Mad-Eye. “Perhaps it would be best to discuss this later when we’ve all had the time to think.” Remus tried to be the voice of reason and stood between the two riled-up men. Moody grunted. 

“Fine. I’ll discuss this with Dumbledore. Get his thoughts on the matter.” He pointed a stubby finger at Regulus. “He does not leave this room. Is that clear?” 

“Crystal,” Remus responded, his tone cooler than usual. 

Four pairs of eyes watched Moody leave the cellar. As soon as the door at the top of the stairs shut, a collective sigh rang out. 

Regulus started shaking. He couldn’t go to Azkaban. James wrapped his arms around him and held him close. 

“Don’t worry, love. We’ll figure it out.”   

Next part

[static-radio-ao3]

@jegulus-microfic // august 24 // prompt: skirt // words: 473

It’s tradition. James and Marlene always go to Poppy’s Diner after a game, win or lose. So to say James is familiar with the waiting staff is an understatement. This is why, when someone new shows up at their table to take their order, James is intrigued. He has pale skin with a constellation of freckles all over his face and black, curly hair that falls just below his ears. He’s pretty.

“Hi, welcome to Poppy’s, my name is Regulus and I’ll be your waiter today. Can I get you guys started on some drinks?” 

James simply blinks. Listen, James Potter is a man with eyes, so when a cute guy shows up at his table wearing a skirt and rollerskates, he’s bound to look. Respectfully, of course.

“I didn’t know they gave guys skirts as well,” James says. Red floods Regulus’ face and James adds, “I like it! It- it looks good, I just... didn’t know they gave them to waiters here,” he finishes lamely. 

“They do if you ask,” Regulus mumbles. “Drinks?”

“Um, uh, yeah,” James shoots Marlene a pleading look. She simply lifts an eyebrow at him. 

When no one speaks, Regulus says, “I’ll give you another minute to decide.” And skates away, pink skirt fluttering around his thighs.

James lets his head drop to the table with a thunk, and Marlene reaches over to pet him on the head in a particularly condescending way. “There, there,” she says, a poorly concealed laugh in her voice.  

“Pretty boys make me stupid,” James moans. 

“Oh, darling, you’re always stupid.”  

Regulus comes back a few moments later, which gave James just enough time to pull himself together, give himself a brief pep talk, and kick Marlene under the table when she laughed at him for it. 

“Did you guys settle on what you’d like to have?” Regulus asks, pen and notebook ready to take their order.

“What’s your favorite?” James asks, charm turned up to a hundred.

“I’m sorry, what?” Regulus frowns at him in confusion. James wants to reach over and smooth his thumb over the wrinkles in his forehead, but he bites his lip instead.

“Your favorite order, what is it? Because I’ll just have that,” James clarifies.

“And what if you don’t like it?”

“I like whatever you like, love.” 

Regulus simply rolls his eyes at that and jots something down. He turns to Marlene expectantly, and after she orders a strawberry shake and a burger, Regulus turns to skate away again. Marlene whistles low under her breath and says, “That skirt really does work.”

James reaches over to grab her jaw and forcefully turns her gaze away from Regulus. “You’re a lesbian, Marlene. Look away.” 

“I still have eyes, James.” 

-

James was right - he does like whatever Regulus likes, but turns out he likes Regulus most of all.

[kiwi2229]

My boyfriend

(James Potter / Regulus Black | 737 words)

For @jegulus-microfic prompt: kitchen

James is more nervous than he expected. He could postpone it, but he doesn’t want to. Not really. He just wants to have it over as soon as possible. His father is at work so it’s the ideal time to talk to his mum. He always knew she will be the first to tell.

As predicted Effie is in the kitchen preparing lunch. He stops before the door to take a deep breath. He wished Regulus would be here with him. The boy offered, but James refused. He has to do it alone. But he still would appreciate his touch right now. It always calms him.

His mum is mixing dough in a big bowl, her back turned to the entrance so she doesn’t notice her son at first. “Mum?” James calls for attention and he goes to stand next to her leaning against the kitchen counter.

“Jamie, here you are!” His mum smiles at him. Everybody always tells him he looks like his father, except for a smile. He has his mothers. “I’m making the apple pie you love so much.”

James gives her a tight smile trying to calm his nerves down. “That’s great. Ehmm, mum? Can I talk to you about something?”

Effie doesn’t look at him as she nods encouraging him. Before James can say anything, she looks at the recipe. “Oh, can you pass me the sugar?”

Sugar. Okay. He can get sugar. It’s fine. James walks across the kitchen to get the sugar. He places it next to the bowl in silence. “Thank you, honey. So, what was it you wanted to tell me?”

James opens his mouth but hesitates. He is pretty sure his mum will be alright with him. She always told him that all she wants is for him to be happy. And he is. Effie stops what she is doing to look at her son. “Oh, it’s serious. Sorry, hold on.”

She wipes her hands with the kitchen towel and turns towards James to give him full attention. “I’m listening.” James can see the worry form in her eyes. Right, staling will only make it worse.

“I met someone,” James says because it’s the easiest way to start. And honestly, Regulus is all he can think about these days.

“Really? That’s great, James!” Effie smiles and James prays he won’t disappoint her.

“It is. I’m really happy Mum. He makes me happy.” James says and holds his breath. It takes a second before the meaning of his words reaches his mother.

“So, you are dating a boy?” Effie asks carefully and James just nods not sure what his mom is thinking. When she doesn’t say anything else James’ nerves cracks and he says all in a breath.

“Yeah, I’m. I found out that I like boys too. So… ehm... I... boys too so that means I still also like girls. But well, I just don’t care about the gender, and he is really great. And…” James cuts out because he doesn’t know what else to say.

“Honey,” Effie says softly. “Thanks for telling me. You know I love you and want you to be happy.”

And James breathes out in relief. He really needed to hear this. He was almost certain his mum won’t mind. But the almost was killing him. And hearing her say that she still loves him the same. He can feel the tears fighting their way into his eyes.

“Come here,” Effies says and wraps him into a tight hug. James goes pliant in her arms grateful for his family. He receives a kiss on his head before Effie slightly leans away. “So, do you want to tell me about him?”

James quickly wipes his eyes. “Yeah, he… mum he is so great. His name is Regulus, like the star and he’s so smart and reads all these books. Honestly, I probably never saw him without a book. And talented. You have to hear him play the piano. He is so good. And also, so handsome.” James reaches out for his phone to show a photo of him and Regulus.

“Does he treat you right?” Effie asks.

“He does.” James looks at his mum from the phone to see her smiling at him. “I can be just me with him and it’s enough. He makes me feel I’m enough.” Effie wraps him in her arms again.

“We should invite him for lunch soon.”

[sophie-hatter-jenkins]

Chapter Update - Into The Hinnyverse

A collection of Hinny-centric drabbles, microfics and one-shots written for the Ginny Lovers Discord server 5-Year Ginnversary Bingo game.

Chapter 5 - When In Doubt

She likes him, and she's pretty sure that he likes her. So what's the problem, exactly? Ginny wishes she knew.

Rating - T, for smidge of bad language. 5 points from Gryffindor, Miss Weasley!

Read on AO3 from the beginning or continue below the cut for the latest chapter (975 words)

Ginny Weasley was a girl on a mission. Just after breakfast, she seized her chance. Her target was alone, but leaving the Great Hall at a fairly purposeful pace, so Ginny had to scurry to catch up. Her Chaser’s instincts helped her to time her approach so that she slipped alongside just as they passed the entrance to the girl’s bathroom in the hallway leading to Gryffindor Tower. Then, it was a simple matter to slip her arm through that of her prey, and bundle her inside.

“Hey!” protested Hermione. “What did you do that for?”

“I need to talk to you,” hissed Ginny, as she checked all of the cubicles were unoccupied.

“Well, you could have just asked!” huffed Hermione. “There’s no need to resort to kidnapping, you know!”

“Sorry,” Ginny told her, with absolutely no trace of apology in her voice. “It’s just it’s actually really hard to get you on your own, you know.”

Hermione folded her arms. “I don’t see why that means you couldn’t ask.”

“Because you’re always with Ron, now he’s not with Lavender anymore. And…” Ginny looked down at the floor. “And Harry.”

“Ah,” Hermione nodded, sagely, leaning back against the ornate ceramic sinks. “Do I take it that it’s Harry that’s the problem?”

Ginny gave a snort of humourless laughter. “When is it ever not Harry that’s the problem. But yes, you take it correctly.”

Hermione’s brows pinched in concern. “Has something happened?”

“No.” Ginny pressed her lips together in annoyance. “Which is my point precisely. I don’t get it, Hermione! I did everything you said! Got on with my life, focused on me, relaxed around him, saw other people, didn’t pin any hopes on him…”

“Well, I didn’t exactly….” interjected Hermione

“...and I would swear it worked!” continued Ginny, completely ignoring her. “I’ve been catching him staring at me since Christmas! The number of bludger hits he takes at Quidditch practice because he’s looking at me rather than paying attention is frankly embarrassing. Other people have started to notice. Ron has started to notice, for fuck’s sake! And that’s not all! He’s started finding excuses to touch me - like, one day last week, he picked some fluff off my jumper, then at dinner he sat next to me and I swear his hand kept brushing mine under the table! He laughs at my jokes, even when they’re not funny. And yesterday, I told him he had nice fingers, and he blushed, Hermione! He honestly, properly, blushed.”

“You… told him he has nice fingers?” asked Hermione, weakly.

Ginny looked a little bit embarrassed. “Okay, yes, perhaps I was being a bit obvious, but there was some context, honestly. It was after Quidditch, and I said it was probably why he’d made so many good catches. But you’re missing the point here! Tell me I’m wrong, Hermione? I’m not, am I? I’m not reading too much into this?”

Hermione smiled, the sort of broad, satisfied smile of someone who is really enjoying being right. “You’re not wrong, Ginny. I’ve noticed it too, he’s definitely interested. Let’s face it, Harry really isn’t subtle about his feelings, is he? But I’m confused about why that isn’t a good thing?”

“Oh, it’s a good thing! It’s definitely a good thing,” Ginny sighed, dramatically. “What I don’t understand, and I’m hoping you can enlighten me, is why he hasn’t done anything about it? I split up with Dean weeks ago! I have dangled opportunities to get me alone in front of him like a snail on a plimpy line, but he seems determined not to bite. If he’s as keen as we both think he is, I just don’t get what’s stopping him. I’m single, he’s single…” Ginny paused, as a horrible thought occurred to her. “Oh Merlin, he is single isn’t he? He hasn’t started seeing someone else?”

“No, Ginny - he hasn’t,” confirmed Hermione. “Frankly, with Quidditch, trailing after Malfoy and mooning over you, I can’t think where he would find the time.”

“Gah! He is so frustrating! Why is he wasting time mooning over me when he could be… well, you know. Doing other things with me.”

Hermione smirked. “I know.”

“I just… I don’t know what else to do.” Ginny’s shoulders dropped at the thought. “Short of hurling myself at him in the common room.”

“Oh Merlin, don’t do that!” giggled Hermione. “I have a much better idea.”

Ginny raised her eyebrows. “And that would be?”

“Well, it’s like I always say,” Hermione told her. “When in doubt, go to the library.”

Ginny shook her head. “Honestly, Hermione - I’m pretty sure I won’t find the answer in a book. Not unless Madam Pince has added ‘How to Seduce the Clueless Wizard of Your Dreams’ to the catalogue.”

Hermione laughed. “No, that isn’t what I meant. I think you were on to something earlier. You need to get him on his own, as much and as often as you can. He’ll crack eventually. And I happen to know that he’s spending this morning in the library attempting to finish the Herbology essay he was meant to have done two weeks ago.” 

Ginny immediately spotted the potential flaw in this plan. “On his own? Won’t Ron be there? I can’t imagine he’s got his essay finished if Harry hasn’t.”

“Nope. You’re completely correct about the status of Ron’s Herbology essay, but Ron has prefect duty this morning. With me.” Hermione checked her watch. “And I’m going to be late if I don’t get a move on!”

“Oh!” exclaimed Ginny “Go, go!” Then she caught her friend up in an enthusiastic hug. “And thank you! I guess I ought to be going too.”

“Yes,” agreed Hermione. “You should. Have fun in the library!”

Ginny shot her friend a wide grin. “Well, there’s a first time for everything, I suppose!”

[adenei]

Sparks Fly

Written for Microfic Mayhem! A good old GOF AU/Missing Moment (ish?)

Thank you @cruelsummer-ficfest for helping me find my writing groove again and hosting a FABULOUS fest

Song: Sparks Fly

Ship: Romione

Read on AO3

The way you move is like a full on rainstorm

And I'm a house of cards

You're the kind of reckless that should send me running

But I kinda know that I won't get far

“‘Next time there’s a ball, ask me before someone else does, and not as a last resort!’” 

Hermione brushes past Ron, heat rising in her cheeks and tears stinging her eyes. She only makes it a couple of steps before he grabs her by the arm and pulls her back. The room is starkly empty all of a sudden.

“Let me go, Ron,” she warns, but he doesn’t.

“You weren’t a last resort.” The words are barely audible. She wouldn’t have believed he actually spoke if she hadn’t seen his lips move.

“Oh, really?” She yanks her arm out of his grasp and steps forward so that they’re nose to nose again. “So, what? You just needed to ensure I was, in fact, a girl first?”

“I’m well aware you’re a girl,” he responds through gritted teeth.

And at that exact moment his eyes drift down, settling on the tiny bit of cleavage heaving up and down from her breathing before snapping back up to her face. Flattered as Hermione is, her nostrils flare and her cheeks flush with anger. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“What? No, I—” His ears are scarlet now and he steps back to shed the outer layer of his robes. “C’mon, Hermione. Trust me, I noticed.”

“Yes, well, don’t seem so shocked. I’m fully capable of wearing form-fitting clothes or undoing an extra button on my shirt. I just choose not to.”

“Why?” Ron’s eyes widen slightly, giving away that he didn’t mean to ask the question out loud.

Hermione sighs. “Because I’ll never be as desirable as Fleur or Lavender, so why bother trying?”

She’s not sure where the honesty comes from. It must be all the Butterbeer she’s had tonight that’s finally catching up to her.

“You’re clearly desirable. Viktor fucking Krum took you to the Yule Ball.”

“If only he were the one I wanted to go with,” she admits in a whisper.

Ron scoffs. “Yeah, right. Sure didn’t look like that in the Great Hall.”

“I’m not saying I had a horrible time,” Hermione snaps. “It’s just—” 

“Just what?”

I'm on my guard for the rest of the world

But with you, I know it's no good

She shudders, but doesn’t know if she can tell Ron. Sure, he’s her best friend, but admitting this would be a step too far. But he gives her that look and her heart melts a little more before the words come tumbling out. 

“I was having a good time until the end of the night. He tried to kiss me and I—I turned away.”

Ron balls his fists at his side. “He what?”

“No, no! He tried, but he didn’t. Being his date to the ball was one thing, but—I don’t know, I just couldn’t…he’s not who I wanted to share a first kiss with.”

Silence hangs thick and clouds the space between them until Ron finally speaks. His hands are no longer clenched and his jaw is more relaxed.

“You’ve thought about who you want to share a first kiss with?”

Hermione lets out a derisive laugh. “Of course I have! I am fifteen, you know. Even if I don’t always act like it…I would like the experience of kissing a boy at some point.”

“But you didn’t kiss Viktor.”

“I did not.”

“So who then?”

“I can’t say.”

“Can’t? Or won’t?”

“Can’t.” Her lip turns up into the slightest smirk, and perhaps it’s still the Butterbeer coursing through her veins, but she’s pretty sure the proximity to Ron is getting to her. That’s the reason she’s brave enough to say, “Rumor has it, he thinks I’m a nightmare.”

Their fingers brush and she hears a slight hitch in his throat and—did he just move closer? She’s so busy contemplating it that she almost misses his lips brush hers. It may not be a true kiss, but it’s pure heaven. Hermione closes her eyes and sparks fly, but before she can bask in the moment, it’s already gone.

“He definitely doesn’t.”

They remain frozen like that for a beat, and Hermione wishes he’d move back in and truly kiss her this time. Now that she’s had the smallest taste, she wants more.

But Ron pulls away instead. Running a hand through his hair, he grabs the discarded robe, and backs toward the boys’ staircase. Hermione is left reeling in the common room, frozen in place as she watches him leave. She leans on the back of the sofa for support, almost missing when Ron flashes a lopsided grin at her before disappearing up the staircase, and she’s left wondering if all of this is real.

Regardless of whether it did or didn’t, the question still remains:  Now what?

Gimme something that'll haunt me when you're not around

'Cause I see sparks fly, whenever you smile

[athenasparrow]

Part 2/2- interview anon 🫣

Regular smut:

“It should be a crime for someone to be so addicting. Each time I remember the time I licked your sweet juices off of my lips as I hear your soft moans, Lils you have no idea how torturous it was to wait three days to see you again. To be inside you, that’s too long”.

“James, don’t say these things-

“Why? Give a damn good reason as to why I can’t tell you how much I want to be inside you again. I know you want that too”, James said as he walked closer to Lily, as he looked into her green eyes.

James reached up to touch Lily's cheek.

"Give me your hand”, he said as he licked his lips as he saw Lily’s eyes widen, “James-

“Please, Lily.”

She nods and her cheeks flush

With a groan he takes her delicate hand and kisses it, without taking his eyes away from hers, then he slowly brought it down and against the bulge that’s straining inside of his trousers.

"James, this isn't fair"

"I know, but you have no idea what you're doing to me".

Lily moaned, and the sound drove him even more mad.

"You want me too, Lily, I can feel it".

Annnnnd here is the

Extra smut:

“James, love wake up”. Lily said as she began to nibble on her fiancé’s neck. She watched as he pushed his head back into the pillow and bite his bottom lip, “Lily”, he moaned as he tried to get up but notices that his wrists are being retrained. “What the-

She giggled and moved to get his glasses and place them on him, when his eyesight came into focus he saw that his wrists were tied up with two red ribbons. “A simple magic trick, Marlene showed me”, Lily winked at him.

He looked at her and saw that she was only wearing his old Hogwarts jersey, a black lace panty, and a devilish smile, that was a clear indication that she was up to no good.

“Fuck, Lils…. This isn’t fair I need to touch you”, he groaned as he involuntarily shook against his restraints.

“Tsk tsk, oh James, I simply can’t do that”, Lily purred as she grabbed her wand and conjured a ice cube, leaning forward she trailed the ice down his chest, smiling as the ice begins to slowly melt on his warm body.

“Ugh, it’s too bloody cold”, James whined as his body erupted in gooseflesh.

“Don’t worry, love I’ll warm you up pretty soon”, Lily teased before she brought her face closer to his abdomen and began to slowly lick the water droplets off his body. Hearing his moans only fueling the desire within her.

Lily moved the ice cube down to the elastic of his boxers and let it slip underneath, she giggled as she watched him try to lift his hips.

She took her index finger and slipped it inside the waistband of his boxers, looking at him innocently and biting her lower lip.

“FUCK, ohh… f-fuck your so gonna get it when I’m out of these bloody restraints”, James stutter as he pushed his hips up.

Aaaaaannnnnnndddd I’ll leave it there because cliffhangers are the best. Better leave it on a Cliffy rather than a STIFFY…….. Opps sorry James 😉 🥵😳 not really sorry but I don’t know if Tumblr would restrict the second part of the Extra smut snippet

If you don’t mind can I have your thoughts on these? Please be honest

🥺

Oh my gosh anonymous smut in my inbox?!!!!! EEEEK!!!! Also HOT! This is an amazing "interview anon"! What do I think?? I think you should take that smut, finish the story and publish it on AO3 so I can continue reading! THEN you should come join Discord so we can rave to you in person! THAT IS WHAT I THINK!!!!

Tagging some fellow smut lovers and the microfics squad to come read this and encourage you to publish! @annabtg @annasghosts @isahorcrux @kay-elle-cee @charmsandtealeaves @oceanboyblues @uncertainwallflower @ohmygodshesinsane @startanewdream @liiilyevans @mppmaraudergirl @practicecourts @wearingaberetinparis @joyseuphoria

I had this moment where I thought you were @nodirectionhome-ao3 because she joined Discord right after I shared the link so perhaps yes or you're a complete stranger to me 😂

[xanthippe74]

Drarry microfic: Crown

Eighth-year fluff, 700 words give or take, tiny mention of post-war trauma

When Ron arrives in the Great Hall on Saturday morning, still a bit wobbly and woefully uncaffeinated, he sees something that makes his legs stop working ten feet from the eighth-year table.

Malfoy is wearing the crown. Malfoy has never got the crown before.

It’s a ridiculous thing with an even more ridiculous origin story, made out of twisted paper serviettes held together with Sticking Charms. They’d all gone out to celebrate Seamus’ birthday at the Three Broomsticks and he’d insisted that their entire year—or what was left of it—come along. No one objected because the Slytherins had been decent so far, though Harry did grumble in Ron’s ear all the way to Hogsmeade.

They’d been a few rounds in and feeling almost at ease with each other when Zabini proclaimed that everyone had to try Italian elf-made wine. And then Dean, who apparently got a little belligerent when he was in his cups, demanded to know who died and made Zabini king?

"I did," Parkinson declared and proceeded to set various items from their table on Zabini’s head for an impromptu coronation: a beer mat, an empty chip basket, Hermione’s purse. By the time someone tried fashioning an actual crown from serviettes, everyone was howling and Rosmerta looked like she wanted to chuck them out into the snow.

“Hey, I should get the crown,” Seamus cried after Zabini had accepted the paper coronet. “It’s my birthday!”

“You can have it tomorrow.” Zabini gave a magnanimous nod that caused the crown to slip down over one eyebrow, which made Lavender give a loud hiccup, which set Greengrass giggling again. “In honour of turning nineteen-and-one-day.”

True to his word, Zabini had passed off the crown the next morning. Seamus wore it proudly all day before awarding it to Justin for courageously choosing Muggle pills over Hangover Potion. And so it’s been going around for a month now. McGonagall hasn’t said anything about it, just let them get on with their shenanigans. She probably decided that loosening the school's uniform rules was better than the nervous breakdowns that had seemed imminent at the Welcome Feast.

But Malfoy has never been given the crown, even by his housemates. Ron reckons they’re not sorry to see Malfoy humbled a bit, after watching him swan around like an actual prince for seven years. Harry has his own theories about what’s happening among the Slytherins (because of course he does). Ron and Hermione nipped that in the bud right quick when he tried to share them. The last thing Harry needs, on top of everything else, is another bout of Malfoy Obsession.

Harry. Harry had the crown yesterday, Ron remembers suddenly. A horrible, horrible idea grips him, as unsettling as a wriggling Flobberworm in his palm. Oh Morgana’s sweet tits, no.

“Good morning,” Hermione says briskly as Ron sits beside her, then huffs when he ignores her in favour of glaring at Malfoy.

Malfoy, for his part, keeps his eyes on his plate and ignores Ron entirely. Unsatisfied, Ron continues to examine him until his suspicions are heightened by a deep blush rising on Malfoy’s cheeks and ears. Bloody fucking hell.

Ron splutters, “What did you—”

“Do you really want to know, Ronald?” Hermione asks, cutting him off. “Think about it for a moment.”

Ron decides—very wisely, he thinks—that he does not want to know. In fact, he may never want to know anything about Harry ever again, because the idiot can’t stop smiling at Malfoy when he finally turns up for breakfast.

To everyone’s surprise, Malfoy passes the crown to Ron the following morning, with Harry (still grinning like an absolute numpty) as witness.

“For not punching me again,” Malfoy says solemnly as he sets the crown on Ron’s head. “Which would be completely understandable.”

Ron can’t help but laugh. “All right. But I demand your complete loyalty as my royal subject.”

With a roll of his eyes, Malfoy agrees—just for today. It seems he’s willing to put up with quite a lot, for Harry’s sake.

Ron whistles a few bars of “Weasley Is Our King” on the way to breakfast and decides that he’s willing, too. For Harry’s sake.

Written for the @drarrymicrofic prompt, "crown."

Masterlist of my microfics

[oonajaeadira]

For the Love of Fic: March 27

Very slowly getting caught up! Here’s what I’ve been enjoying lately!!!

🪐 = Year of Themed Creations work!

.

PERO TOVAR

The Herbalist: Part 5: Manners Apparently Do Not Maketh All Men by @blueeyesatnight I am thoroughly enjoying this Victorian lady-sleuth piece and the little glimpses of our grumpy Spaniard. He’s rude, he’s dirty, and I’d jump on him in a heartbeat. Kitty might not be drawn to someone who picks his teeth with a knife, but I can’t wait until the day she sees some strange potential in him... 

Dance in the Fire by @writeforfandoms 🪐 I will never ever ever tire of a good werewolf!Pero fic, especially one where I get cheek rubs and nuzzles and I’m protected from monsters by a big black wolf/scarred man in grey sweatpants that seems to take a fancy to me. 

Watch Over You by @flightlessangelwings 🪐 This has so many good tropes. Bodyguard/escort Pero. Sword-weilding maiden. Fake relationship. One bed. Runaway bride. I eat it up like a tasty cake. No crumbs left.

.

EZRA

untitled by @insomniamamma  A little microfic set at the end of the movie, wading through Ezra’s unconciousness and waking up in a medical bed with Cee watching over him. Even when he dreams, Ezra has troubles...

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JAVIER PEÑA

Whatever You Need by @haylzcyon  I don’t know what right Haylz has to write something so hot and with just enough swirling under the surface that makes me ache at the same time. I mean, sometimes you just need to get railed, and for that there’s Javier. And sometimes you need to read really good writing, and for that, there’s Haylz.

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DIETER BRAVO

After the Beep by @oogaboogasphincter It’s Dieter and it’s voicemails. You know what’s up. Do I really need to tell you that he’s taken himself in hand to do it? Or that he woke up after a night with you wanting more? That he might be catching feels? This boy is my favorite switch....

.

JAVI GUTIERREZ

Cloud Nine by @chaoticgeminate  🪐 Pairing up the Gutierrez family business and relationships with Pokemon plot and intrigue is just fantastic. Reader is a Pokemon champion come home to Javi only to get swept up in a plot to bring back some very familiar villains...

.

JOEL MILLER

West by @radiowallet Cat can tear my heart out with her writing any day and I’d still thank her for being a part of this fandom and the talent she brings. Her internal pieces are some of my favorite as it is here, inside Joel Miller’s head and heart, trying just to ride out a moment in time... gorgeous.

.

WINGS GUY

First and 10 by @something-tofightfor  Rachael has affectionately named the Wings Guy Daniel and I’m here for it. A meet cute twice over on one day, once in a beer cave and another at a football party. I don’t know anything about football, but I know food, and there’s a lot of good stuff at this party. I also know cute boys and there’s at least one of them here. Flirting and staying close and being sly about exchanging numbers...I don’t know if I’d be paying much attention to the game really...

.

GROGU

In Which, Beans Are Not Beans, Eggs Are Everyplace and I Have To Eat Them (this is doing my part, people!) as told by Grogu Djarin by @grogusmum 🪐 I will never tire of Grogu’s adventures here on earth, his sass, his delight at all the animals and traditions, and the way he loves food like I like food. This time it’s Ostara time which means eggs and bunnies and beans and candy and I am all for it. Oh, and a duck with whappy feet which I am also all for. 

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TRIPLE FRONTIER BOYS

As Long as I’m Alive by @artemiseamoon 🪐 This one kept me at the edge of my seat. The team is kidnapped and it’s a hairy ride to extraction. Arte’s OCs are always so brave and fleshed out and I’m happy to ride in their capable shoes any day, even in the Year of Whump.

.

SPECIAL GUEST CORNER

WESTLEY

The Dread Pirate Roberts by @captainsophiestark 🪐 It certainly would have saved Westley a lot of trouble if his beloved had come seeking him instead of him having to come after her! Of course that doesn’t mean it’s without its perils because the sea is rough and no place to get caught drowning in... (at least it’s not full of shrieking eels!!!) But true love wins all the same...

.

[jmagnabo92]

PM - 53 Advice

@prongsfoot-microfic

When James is due to marry Lily, Sirius finally seeks advice from James’ parents and gets a surprise.

AO3

***

If there was one thing that Sirius always struggled with, it’s asking for advice.  Whether it was advice on how to approach a situation or a person, it didn’t matter, he was always stuck with wanting to do it himself.  

Especially when the advice he seeks has to do with dealing with James.  Still, he knows that he can’t keep pretending that he’s totally fine with James marrying someone else, and he needs advice on how to deal with that.  Thus, choosing to stay back after Sunday dinner to ask James’ parents for advice.

Only, now that it’s the three of them, Sirius can’t quite form the words to ask for such advice.

“What’s on your mind, son?” Fleamont asks.

Sirius coughs.  “Er, well, I – it’s about James.”

“Are you finally admitting that you’re in love with him?” Effie asks.

“I – you know?” Sirius stutters.

“Oh, sweetheart, of course we do.  Just like we know that James is in love with you, but he also loves Lily, hence marrying her – he never thought he stood a chance with you,” Effie says.  “Our boy can be quite oblivious.”

“He – James – no, he can’t –” Sirius sputters.  “It’s not possible.  He can’t – if he – why…”

“Oh, son, you two might be the most oblivious people we’ve ever met,” Fleamont states.  “James was infatuated with Lily, but after everything that happened during fifth year and your running away that summer, James realized he was in love with you, but he thought you didn’t feel for him as he felt for you and he wasn’t going to risk saying anything, thus, he went the safer route – Lily.”

“Once she started showing interest and you didn’t, he let himself fall in love with someone else, but he still loves you, too.”

“How do you know all of this?  Did he tell you?” Sirius questions, trying to wrap his brain around this new information.

Effie smiles.  “A mother always knows.  He didn’t have to tell us, just like you didn’t have to tell us.”

Sirius nods.  It made sense.  “I still need advice – what do I do?”

Effie and Fleamont share a look.  “Go confess to him.  Perhaps the three of you can make it work.  After all, Lily did assume that you two were a packaged deal and not in the friendship sense.”

Sirius finds himself stunned at such a statement.  “Really?  Lily – miss prim and proper – thought, maybe even wanted to be in a threesome with me and James?”

Effie bursts out laughing.  “Not her specific words, but she did ask because James wouldn’t admit his feelings for his best mate to her.”

“Wow.”

It takes a second for it to sink in before he’s on his feet.  “I’ve got to go confess – now!  Tell them I want it all – with them, both of them!”

“Go get them, tiger!”

With that Sirius leaves from Potter house to the future Potters house.  

He stumbles out of fireplace and straight into James’ arms.  Ironically, exactly where he wants to be.  He straightens up and kisses him passionately on the mouth.  

They break apart at a cough from behind them and before anyone could say anything, Sirius turns and kisses Lily passionately, too.  Mildly less passionately than his kiss with James, but if she’s game for the three of them together, he’ll give her everything he’s got.  

James is sputtering in the background, so they break apart quickly.  

“Is that your new form of hello, Pads?” James demands.  

“It is now, but just for you two, if you’ll have me,” Sirius says, a slightly hopeful look on his face.  

“Of course we will,” Lily states.  “I’m just curious what brought this on?”

Sirius chuckles.  “I, er, I was going to ask James’ parents’ advice on how I should handle my feelings for James while he’s marrying you, and they told me that James feels for me, too, and that you thought we were a packaged deal and I – well, I just had to, you know?”

James, seemingly recovered, says, “Well, I – as long as you’re kissing me like that forever, I’m – I’m not going to be complaining.”

“Good,” Sirius grins.  “Lily?”

“I’m definitely not complaining either,” Lily grins.

“Good.”

[professorspork]

If you're accepting non-superhell prompts, I'd love to see a conversation between Nora and Emerald! I've been REALLY loving these microfics, I've subscribed to you on Ao3, I'll read whatever else you write

[Gahhh that’s so nice you’re so nice!! thanks for being patient on this one, finding my Nora took some doing]

It’s occurring to Emerald that she’s never had a close female friend before.

You say that like you’ve ever had any friends before, the voice in her head that sounds suspiciously like Mercury needles her, but she brushes it aside. Like—okay, yeah, she’ll concede the point when it comes to Cinder. In hindsight, whatever they’d had going on between them may have been... super intense... but it probably had never been friendship, in the usual definition. But she and Mercury were friends, no matter what the judgy little shitstain version of him who lives in her head has to say about it. They’d always gotten along. Told each other stuff. It’s not like there’s more to it than that, right?

It had always been like that. Been—instinctive somehow, with guys. Before Cinder, on the street, it was always the men who’d been easiest to manipulate; who would empty their pockets for a smile and a sob story. And then she and Merc had been two sides of the same coin for so long, and then... well, Hazel’d liked her enough to die for her, apparently. (Which—that’s a door that she keeps closed, thanks. She shuts it firmly again, now.) Oscar seems fond of her, in a sweet, uncomplicated sort of way that she really doesn’t know what to do with, seeing as he shares headspace with like a trillion year old man and the idea that anything to do with that kid could be “uncomplicated” is batshit. Ren vouched for her once, and then again, and now he keeps doing it, like it’s habit, like she should just be used to the fact that people are going to have her back, to ask her if she’s eaten, to turn to her with a raised eyebrow in conversation like her opinion would be constructive.

Anyway.

Now that she’s noticed the pattern, it seems like the kind of thing she should probably… work on, or whatever. And Nora seems like an obvious place for Emerald to start. They’ve been thrown in together a lot, lately, Emerald and Oscar expected to fill in the gaps of what’s left of the old JNPR by default. Not that they’ve ever really had a conversation about it—Emerald can’t think of the last time Nora said two words to her that weren’t combat warnings like “more Grimm coming” or “on your left,” but. That’s probably just because things have been tense. She remembers Nora being friendly, on the whole of it. Off-puttingly friendly, even, back at Beacon.

How hard could it be?

The answer, it turns out, is absurdly hard. Nora’s barely ever in the temporary barracks they’re all living out of, instead always checking on the refugees, going on supply runs over esoteric requests, volunteering for extra patrols. Emerald used to find that kind of dogged do-goodery gag-inducing, but now that she’s been the helping hand herself a few times, she’s starting to see the appeal. The way people look at you when you’ve been of service, it’s—nice. Really nice. But Nora works utterly thankless jobs, the kind most people don’t even notice, let alone appreciate. And when they have their insufferably long leadership meetings and they’re talking about distribution of resources or whatever, Nora’s a fierce debater—jumping in to advocate for the people from Mantle sometimes even before May can. As far as Emerald can tell, she does this stuff just because... she believes in it. Because it’s the right thing to do, and someone has to.

She can’t imagine what it would feel like, to have the attention of someone like that turned on her. She’s craved it from the wrong people for so long, but now that she has her pick of options... she’s letting herself actually want the right kind, for once. She thinks.

Which is all to say that largely through no fault of her own, Emerald unexpectedly finds herself sitting with a profound, fervent desire for Nora Valkyrie to think she’s cool.

She hates that.

-

Fighting with Nora is easy.

(—er. Alongside. Fighting alongside Nora is easy. Emerald’s done fighting with these people. Very done.)

It’s weird, because Emerald’s finding working with a full team to be a real adjustment. When battles get big enough to merit it, she’s used to keeping to the sidelines to use her Semblance for nefarious purposes, or, in a jam, used to having Mercury’s six—literally, because all the forward momentum from his feet-first style always left his back wide open. Figuring out where to put herself so that Oscar can use her shoulder as a fulcrum as he dodges, or trying to aim for the Grimm Ren isn’t already shooting (ugh)—it’s taking work.

But somehow, it’s not work for Nora. Nora seems to anticipate with perfect ease how Emerald will move or what she’ll be doing; Nora bobs and weaves around their ragtag little band with her war hammer like it’s breathing.

It doesn’t bother Emerald until it does, and she means to bring it up casually but there’s never a good time. So it just… stews, and stews, until she can’t keep it bottled up anymore.

Which means that instead of the earnest question she intends it to be, it comes out like this:

“Okay, seriously? It’s creepy how you do that.”

It’s just the two of them, plus the handful of dweeby Atlesian tech-types they’re escorting back from their foray installing some fancy hydro-filtration modules on the outskirts of the camp. And it’s not like Emerald had felt outmatched by the half-dozen Ravagers that had decided they looked like lunch—she can shoot Ravagers in her sleep, at this point—but still. The way Nora had moved around her, it was like they’d been fighting side by side for years.

Nora just cocks her head to the side. “Do what?” she asks, like she hadn’t just basically read Emerald’s mind in front of the water nerds.

Emerald does a complicated gesture with her hands, wrist over wrist, and then flicking two fingers—trying to evoke the way Nora had flipped over Emerald’s back and then kicked off, just trusting Emerald would reel her back in with a chain in midair before a Grimm could fly away with her sorry ass. “That.”

“Oh!” Nora laughs and rubs at the back of her neck, looking sheepish. “It’s nothing. I guess it’s just not a big deal for me? Like—I was there when Ren built StormFlower. The cables are newish, but we practiced so much back in Atlas… I dunno. It’s just reflex, when your weapons are so similar. Fighting with you, it’s almost like fighting with him. I don’t even have to think about it.”

Nora swallows, then, and makes a face Emerald can’t interpret—disappointed, maybe, or ashamed. Which: good. She probably should be, taking things for granted like that.

“Well—just—” Emerald’s not even sure what she wants to say. Ask, next time? Don’t? “You shouldn’t make assumptions. I’m not your boyfriend, okay?”

The venom she puts behind the word is directed more at herself than Nora—frustrated, again, that she’s put herself in the position of wanting so desperately to be liked.

Pathetic.

Nora just nods, looking glum.

“Yeah,” she murmurs, cheeks pulling in a bitter smile. “You’d think I’d be able to keep that one straight, huh?”

She says it with such pointed irony that for a second Emerald wonders if she’d gotten it wrong somehow, but like—Nora and Ren are a thing, right? That’s—everyone knows that.

“Hey, what—?”

“Let’s just go,” Nora says, and Emerald automatically falls into line behind her.

They make the rest of the walk back in silence.

-

Sometimes at night, when she can’t sleep, Emerald likes to climb up to the roof of the barracks and look out over the refugee camp.

It’s—peaceful, is all. A good reminder of where she is; how far she’s come. The night sky in Vacuo has more stars than she’s ever seen, and being able to watch over all these people who have somehow become her responsibility… well.

A part of her will always be standing on the rooftop at Beacon, looking down on pure chaos as a queasy, frightened sensation twists in her gut and its noxious voice whispers you did this, you did this, you did this. What did you think was going to happen, you stupid little girl? You don’t get to feel sorry for it now.

But she does.

Weird how the only thing that’s helped is actually doing something about it.

She hears a scuffling noise over her shoulder, and she’s got Thief’s Respite drawn and ready before she can even really register what she’s heard. She relaxes when she sees it’s Nora at the other end of the barrels, unarmed and hands raised—a funny little smile on her face, like yeah, fair enough, I should have known better than to try and sneak up.

“Just me,” she says, unnecessarily.

Emerald holsters her guns. “Can I help you?” she asks, and—what is it about her voice, that makes sentences that would be nice if any other human said them come out straight-up hostile?

Nora shrugs, hands dropping to her sides. “I was hoping we could talk; I figured you’d come up here if I waited long enough.”

Well, see—what kind of lesson is she supposed to take from that? She’s been hoping for Nora to talk to her for weeks, and acting like a bitch is the thing that gets her what she wants? Good guys are supposed to know better.

And there’s the way she said it, too. Like everyone knows Emerald comes up here to brood; like it’s a big open secret. The knowledge sits uncomfortably in her stomach, makes her feel watched. Even now, even here, she can’t get a moment alone. Not really.

“What, so you’re spying on me now?”

Nora’s eyes narrow. “I have a pretty bad track record when it comes to losing people. Makes a girl want to put in a little hustle when it comes to keeping tabs on her friends.”

And Emerald would snark at that, or maybe apologize, or something, only—

Nora thinks they’re friends?

“Well, take a seat, I guess,” she mumbles, scooching to the side as though she needs to make room on the massive, empty roof.

Nora walks over and joins Emerald on the asphalt, letting her legs dangle over the edge. Seemingly unsure of where to start, she stares at her hands. Emerald stares too, but her eyes can’t help but wander—tracing the way scars, silvery in the moonlight, spiderweb up Nora’s bare wrists and forearms to fetter her shoulders, clavicle, neck. Like cracks in a pane of glass, right before it shatters.

(Only that’s not it at all, is it? It’s not a sign of weakness, but a warning of strength. I care this much, her scars announce to the word. You wanna try me?

Hazel’s arms always looked like that.)

Emerald doesn’t want to be the one to break the silence, sure that whatever she’d say would be incredibly stupid.

Luckily, Nora has no such qualms, and opens with: “I really admire you, you know?”

Emerald stares, jaw slack, certain she’s heard wrong. “I—what?” She’d say something defensive, like yeah right or you don’t have to make fun of me, only Nora’s eyes are so wide and so guileless they don’t leave any room for argument.

“I mean it,” Nora adds. “I know we don’t know all that much about each other, but… here’s what I do know: I can’t remember a time I saw you without Mercury right behind. Just like me’n Ren. And the way you fought for Cinder…” Nora smiles a sad, private little smile. “You don’t fight like that unless it’s personal; unless someone means something to you. Just like me’n Ren. And now you’re here. All on your own. And you didn’t have to be. That’s—don’t you think that’s crazy brave? I sure do.”

Of course she fucking doesn’t. Crazy brave would have been walking away the first, tenth, hundredth time she had a flash of panic about what she was doing. Or, better yet, doing something about it. Crazy brave is taking thirty thousand volts to get to your friends; it’s flooding your veins with pure crystalline power and saying Go, I’m doing what Gretchen would have done, it’s—

She closes that door.

“It’s not like I really had a choice,” she sighs, dodging the question.

“Oh, you know that’s not true,” Nora scoffs dismissively, tilting sideways to nudge Emerald with her shoulder.

And Emerald jolts, because—look, it’s not like no one touches her. They have to manhandle each other all the time in battle, and… and Oscar gives her high fives sometimes, which makes her embarrassingly pleased. But what Nora’s offering now, that kind of buddy-buddy casual contact…

… it’s been a while, is all.

“So, why did you want to talk to me?” Emerald asks, overwhelmed and suddenly desperate to find a way to get this conversation over with. She feels like she’s sprinted five miles; like she’s had the crap kicked out of her and she has to go somewhere to lick her wounds. Too much, too fast.

Nora laughs—a chuffing, cynical noise that doesn’t sound at all like her. “Looking for pointers? See, I’m trying this thing where I do things on my own, but I just—I suck at it. Like today; you saw. Even when I’m not with Ren, all I do is… is act exactly the same way I do when I’m with Ren. Like I literally don’t know how to exist without him, whether he’s actually there or not. And I know that’s not fair to anyone; I didn’t mean to treat you like—” She shakes her head, biting her lip. “You’re not just some stand-in. It’s not you at all. I’m just—broken, or something. One trick pony.”

“No, hey—”

“But you figured it out,” she barrels on, which is good, because Emerald doesn’t actually have a clue what she would have said there. “You don’t have anyone and somehow you’re just, like—good to go!” Nora says it cheerily, like it’s a compliment, but has the grace to balk a little when she hears how it sounds. “…sorry. That’s—sorry.”

Emerald shrugs, drawing her knees to her chest and resting her chin there. She feels like an idiot; building it up for weeks like spending time with Nora would solve all her problems when, surprise surprise, Nora’s just as fucked up as she is.

“Hate to disappoint you, but I don’t have any hot tips,” she mutters into the crooks of her elbows. “I don’t have a clue what I’m doing. Like—you want to know the really sad part? I was just following your lead.”

“My…?” Nora can’t even finish repeating it, which: Emerald can’t blame her. It’s so dumb. “Huh?”

“Come on. You know.”

“I don’t,” Nora says, voice thick with exhaustion. Like she’s sick of herself. “Ask anyone—I’m not the brains of the operation.”

Hearing Nora talk about herself that way makes Emerald’s chest feel tight; like her ribs have locked in place so her lungs can’t expand. She doesn’t know how to explain it; not without sounding like a starry-eyed fangirl or a moron with a crush and that’s not what this—it’s only that—

She chooses to start a different way.

“You wanna know why I switched sides? Like, really why?”

Nora softens, and reaches out to touch the back of Emerald’s left hand, where it dangles over her knee. “Sure,” she says, but Emerald barely hears it; it’s taking all of her concentration not to clench her fist or pull away in response.

“I overheard Oscar—or, Ozpin, I guess, I don’t know—talking to Hazel about Salem, about her goals. And… listen. No one joins under Salem because they’re trying to kill the world, okay? I mean, no one but Tyrian, anyway. We were all just trying to… find ways to get by. And when Cinder found me, she—” Emerald swallows, hard. This cuts too deep, too close. It’s not something she can just say. “I wasn’t trying to be some big villain, or something. I was just—looking out for the people who were looking out for me. And why wouldn’t I? No one else ever seemed to think I was worth it.”

“Of course you are,” Nora cuts in, quiet but vehement. “Everyone is.”

“See, the worst part is that you mean that when you say it,” Emerald grumbles, scrubbing at her face until smears of color kaleidoscope behind her closed eyes. “I figured people like you didn’t exist, and then Cinder and Merc were glad to prove me right, and—I let them. You know? And maybe if I’d just held out a little longer…”

“You’re not the only one here who’s ashamed of her past. Harriet tried to blow up Mantle, like, a month ago.”

“That’s not—forget that. I’m talking about you. Nora.” It’s the first time she’s ever said her name like that—addressing her, in conversation. It feels… astonishingly intimate, for so small a thing. Emerald powers past it. “Every day, I see you do something ridiculous, like double back on a patrol because you forgot you promised some kid a candy bar, or something, and that—matters. To me. It’s so stupid, but it’s not, because… argh! I want—it’s—” She tries to get her mouth to form the words, that’s the kind of person I want to be, but they stop in her throat.

Still, Nora seems to get the message. Her eyes seem suspiciously shiny for a moment—but when she blinks, it’s gone. “I… thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Emerald grumbles. Saying it like she means it: seriously. Don’t mention it.

“I understand what you mean, though. For years, the only person who looked out for me was Ren. And if he’d said…” Nora trails off, then, cocking her head to the side as she works through something. “Huh.”

“What?”

“Nothing, just. I remembered something. I was about to say that if Ren told me the only way for us to get by was a life of crime, or something, I would’ve taken his word for it, but—the opposite happened. We decided to enroll at Beacon. And that wasn’t his idea; it was mine. I always wanted to be a Huntress. To… to be the one strong enough to help people, instead of always needing the help. He wasn’t sure if we would make it, but I was. We were together, right? How could we lose?” She chuckles, a little, shaking her head at herself. “Get a load of that. He followed me.”

They smile at each other, then. Like they’ve figured out something profound. Maybe Nora has; Emerald hopes so.

“I’m glad you’re here, Emerald,” Nora says, and—there it is again. The frisson of electricity that comes with being referred to by name.

Of course, then Emerald ruins it by blurting out:

“Of course you are, all your other friends are dead.”

Which—“Fuck!” she sputters, because she didn’t mean to say that. What is wrong with her? “Sorry! Sorry.”

Nora only grins at her, feral and incisive. “Yeah, well. Yours are evil, so. Pick your poison. At least I’m proud of mine.”

Touché.

“Still glad I’m here?” Emerald jeers, because her first instinct is still to press on the bruise to see how much it hurts.

Nora laughs, and gets to her feet. “Believe it or not, yes. If putting your foot in your mouth was all it took to get booted from Hero Club, I’d have been kicked out a long time ago.” She reaches down to offer Emerald a hand; Emerald takes it, letting Nora pull her to standing. “Now go and get some rest, huh? None of us can ever sleep when you’re up here thinking so loud.”

“That an order?”

“Advice. Friends give it, from time to time.”

And—yeah. Maybe they do. 

[hephaestiions]

flood.

for the @drarrymicrofic prompt: flood. this is decidedly not a microfic, i am an embarrassment to the community. it is also once again, 3.08 am, so i have no idea how much sense this makes and no patience to wait till morning to post. here goes.  

TW: parent death, hospitals, seizures (non-graphic). 

The day Mother dies, things keep happening one after another.

Draco has a vague understanding— distant and loose, sand through his fingers in Santorini— that things happen one after another everyday. But knowing something all your life doesn’t really compare to the brutal moment of understanding it, really understanding it, for the first time.

For one, Mother died. Her heart gave out after one last seizure that Draco wasn’t there to see. He’d gone down to the cafeteria for a breakfast muffin, which in retrospect didn’t taste good enough for the price he paid. But then again, the last seizure couldn’t have looked very much different from the first or the twenty seventh or the one before the last, by which point Draco had lost count and sensitivity to the vision of his mother’s body curling in on itself over and over. Repeat a word enough times and it stops making sense and all that. The Mediwitches arranged her to look peaceful— possible finally— folding her hands and shutting her eyelids, stretching the skirt of the paper thin Mungo’s gown across the width of the bed like massive butterfly wings in an exhibit, polka dots and all.  

Within three hours, the solicitor sends a letter so oily that Draco compulsively washes his hands after reading it, the curling letters of venerated father’s dutiful wife aftereffects he can’t blink enough to rid himself of. The Mediwitches bring him document after document, three separate Healers pop by to offer their effusive condolences and the patient in the room next to Mother’s comes in to tell him that he had been a very good son indeed, to be so patient in his her dying days. She says it with a trembling lower lip and too-bright eyes and Draco gets the distinct feeling there is someone out there who ignores the memories of a sweet old lady with a walker she can’t quite wrangle into submission while going about their business. There’s a part of him that sneers. There’s a part of him that says fair. A third part says, I wish and Draco has to physically grip the armrests of his uncomfortable chair to not smack himself in the temple.

He smiles at the old lady, kisses her hand and signals behind her back for a passing Mediwitch to take her away.

Pansy pops up at noon in a navy suit Draco suspects she borrowed from Blaise. “I have a conference in the evening,” she says, and Draco nods. “I’ll cancel it,” she adds, and Draco shakes his head.

“It’s all under control, I assure you,” he tells her and she snorts, loud and rude and comforting, in his face.

“I assure you,” she repeats, mimicking him. “Draco, I am not your supervisor.” A few seconds of staring ensues before she tacks on, “I just don’t want you to have to do this alone.”

“I’m not—” he blurts out, before realising he is, he very much is, he has been for a week and a half, and cuts himself off. “It’s under control,” he repeats.

“So he hasn’t been around?” she asks, looking about as though expecting someone to spring from the aggressively artificial bushes in the lobby. “The bloody arsehole.”

“It really isn’t—” his chest feels tight with the intercrossing wires of too many aches, “—his place anymore.”

“Is that what you’re telling yourself?” she asks because she’s a cow without manners.

“My mother just died. I haven’t been telling myself much, I didn’t have the time.”

Pansy doesn’t have the grace to look chastened. “How long have you been here?”

“Not for very— oh.”

“Draco?”

He blinks at her. “Four days, I believe. That’s, oh. That’s quite a while, isn’t it? I thought— I hadn’t— realised.”

“Oh, for fuck’s—!”

He looks down at himself, clothes he can’t remember changing into, hands that won’t stop shaking though he can’t feel them, feet that feel swollen and raw.

“Go home,” Pansy says. Her palm against his cheek is warm and smooth and Draco notices, for the first time in a long time, how much he wants it to be large and calloused. “Darling, Draco, go home.”

“It’ll be empty.”

He hates it when her face goes that pinched. “I’m cancelling the conference.”

For a moment, Draco wants to give in. Go home with her, let her fuss and make him soup and peel him an orange and stay up the night with him, pouring out glasses of red. But he can’t.

“It’s under control,” he says again, and hopes she won’t push. She doesn’t, because she’s Pansy.

—

The first thing he notices is that the wireless is on, something about the Glasgow Cathcart by-election turnouts crackling through the speaker. Draco spends a prolonged moment wondering if four days of sleeping around pain potions has done osmotic damage to his brain. Labour holds, Draco hears before the rest is cut of in a sputter of static. The silence in the room is oppressively heavy. Harry’s hair looks messier than ever.

“Who told you?” Draco asks.

Harry’s brow crinkles. “Told me?”

“My mother—” Harry looks concerned. Draco feels wrong-footed. “No one told you? Why are you here?”

“Narcissa—?”

“She’s— No one told you. You’re— she died this morning. Heart failure. I was at Mungo’s.”

Harry’s expression goes from concern to shock to horror to a sort of complicated blankness so pathetically fake that Draco wants to shake it off. He doesn’t, standing by the Floo instead, awkward and uncertain. Harry’s here. Harry didn’t know Mother died but he’s here. Which brings him back to—

“Why are you here?”

“Because I couldn’t stay away,” Harry says, like it’s simple. He shrugs. “I tried and I couldn’t, so I came here, but you weren’t there. And I thought I’d leave, but then it looked like you hadn’t been here in a while, so I—” he breaks off. “I, well. I cleaned up. There was dust everywhere, and the post was piling up and I looked in the kitchen and you didn’t have any food, so I— Oh, God, Draco, God, are you crying?”

Draco blinks, and yes, he is in fact crying, that is what the burning in his eyes was all this while, his face is wet with it. Once the tears start, they don’t stop, soaking the skin of his throat with rivulets of salt water. Harry couldn’t stay away. Harry checked his post. He’s here.

His knees buckle and Harry’s over in a flash, holding him up and close, whispering sorry, sorry, I’m so sorry in his ear.

“I didn’t see her,” Draco says, muffled into the fist clenched in Harry’s shirt. “When she died, I was— I wasn’t there. I didn’t see her, she died alone. Merlin, I spent four days in Mungo’s and she still— she still died alone. Harry, I—”

And there, there’s the hand threading through his hair, curving around the side of his face. He’s missed this, fuck, every lonely moment sitting in uncomfortable chairs while his mother wasted away before him, he’s missed this. He allows himself to remember her now, pale and still and small, remembers the old forgotten lady in the room next to hers, remembers the terrible breakfast muffin that left crumbs all down his front and the Healer’s drawn face when she told him. Harry pulls him closer still.

Mother’s dead. Mother’s dead. The dam breaks.

[sweet-s0rr0w]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love 💖

Oh, @pennygalleon, thanks so much for thinking of me! I'm so boring though, I feel like I talk about the same fics over and over LOL. Can I do five fandom things I've loved doing instead?

1. I loved making these Drarry travel reclists! I adore travel fics, absolutely love being thrown head first into somewhere far flung and exciting, so these were so much fun to read and collate. I just need to update them at some point now! <3

2. I loved being part of this collaborative group to write the microfic round-robin Gather Your Will With Mine (E, 1.9k) for @onbeinganangel's birthday. Honestly, I am dreadful, I really thrive on sort of semi-organised chaos, which works fine when it's just me, but not so great when I've accidentally dragged twenty other people in too. Thank god for @maesterchill, who did such a good job whipping me into shape. I still remember when she asked me 'so what's the plan then?' and when I sort of shrugged I'm pretty sure I heard her sigh all the way across the Irish Sea :D <3 but didn't it work out nicely in the end? And everyone was so, so lovely, it was lots of fun to be a part of.

3. I loved betaing @graymatters' Big Bang fic Among Ancient Pines (E, 74k). I don't think I'm a great beta, partly because of the aforementioned semi-organised chaos (em-dashes what now?), but I absolutely adored that fic from the first chapter and it felt like such a privilege to get to help in any way with it coming together. Alpha-reading is much more my thing, and two fics I really enjoyed helping with from that point of view were @onbeinganangel's fabulous Suds fic Maelstrom, the water told me (E, 11k) and @tackytigerfic's Wireless fic Mortal Frame (M, 7k).

4. I loved writing this microfic that I just posted, Thameslink, the 07:29 from Luton (G, 1k). Hahaha yes, bit of self-promotion going on here, but @ihopeyoubothstaysafefromharm's picture prompt was such an inspiration, and I was very happy with the way it turned out.

5. Alright, alright, yawn yawn, I love my longest fic, Nor All That Glisters (E, 111k). You know, I love it more now than when I posted it, because every week or so I get some gorgeous comment in my inbox where someone asks me a question, or tells me they couldn't stop reading, or says that the addiction theme touched them, and it gets me right in the heart every single time <3

This was fun! Thanks again Penny, and sorry to derail your lovely ask! I look forward to reading your answers, and I will attempt to pass it forward <3

[fw00shy]

Prophesy

For @drarrymicrofic prompt, better than fighting. This is a 1.4k "microfic" lmao. You can read on AO3 as well as here.

You know when you look at someone and just know they're no good? Pansy says it's a sure sign that they pissed you off in a past life. I tell her that's about the funniest shite I've ever heard. I don't need divinity to explain myself; I've always been good at reading people. That's just how I am.

Say, Pansy. I knew we'd hit it off the moment I saw her head-to-toe in Prada, her hair as glossy as volcanic glass. That's not fate: that's good taste. And Crabbe, well — that one is a bit odd, I'll give you that. Lord knows why I have a soft spot for him when he's far too much trouble for his worth. Nearly got me killed once or twice, even. Not literally, of course — just at the bars, when he drinks me under the table. Pansy says he's "mine" the same way Theo is "hers"; I've never cared for Theo. He seems the type of guy who holds back while you make a rash of bad decisions. Mind you, Pansy isn't much better either, but at least she's always right there, too, making the same damn mistakes.

Pansy asked me what Theo did to piss me off so much. I made up some lie about how he didn't warn me about a rotted foundation on a house I was trying to sell, but really, I don't know why I think that about Theo. I'm a genius people-reader, alright? And I don't question intuition.

So I'm not worried when Blaise calls me in to meet a high-profile client. Rich geezers, they're all the same. And I've seen this one plenty in the newsstands before, so I've already sussed him out. He always looks like he doesn't want to be there. A bit sullen — dead inside — but harmless enough.

"Seems a trifle odd, doesn't it?" I tell Pansy that morning. "He could've called me direct. My number's on half the park benches around his neighbourhood."

"Maybe he thinks you'll say no," Pansy says. She has that faraway look in her eyes she gets every morning before the caffeine kicks in.

"Why would I say no?" I laugh. "I'd be an idiot to give up a million-pound commission."

She's not paying attention to me. Her eyes bug out and her lips part. It's like she's in a bloody trance. I swear she does it just to piss me off.

I'm still thinking about her ugly mug when I'm going up to Blaise's office. He's got the entire penthouse of the building for him to sign papers, and the elevator ride up the twenty-three floors leaves plenty of time for spacing out. So I'm caught off guard when, coming out of the elevator, Harry Potter smacks straight into me and all I want to do is kill him.

Oh lord, how I want to kill him. My rage builds so strong that I'm taken out of my body. Where I go, I don't know. But when I come to, Potter is gone and I'm sitting across from Blaise.

Blaise has his pitying face on, the one he practices in the mirror. His hands are clasped over the expansive walnut desk (live edge, of course), his suit as green as Potter's eyes.

Potter's eyes. Merlin, I barely remember meeting the man, but it's all I can think of now. That luxurious, deep emerald. Green as everything I ever wanted.

"No," I say. "I won't take him on."

"Dee," Blaise says, gentle. His brows raise.

I'm on the spin bike at the gym trying to blow off some steam when Pansy calls and says, "Blaise is right, you know," her voice tinny above the whirl of bikes around me. "You'll be stupid to walk away from a million pounds over a premonition."

"He's a lying tramp, I swear. I'll put in all this work, set up the listing, stage the place, and then he'll change his mind and walk right out. I know. He's a ticking time bomb."

"So...." she giggles, "what'd you think he did?"

I'm confused for a second, but then I realise she's probably talking about her reincarnation theory again.

"Don't you dare start on this past life shite," I warn. "I'm not in the damn mood."

"Maybe he razed your lands. Ohhh, can you imagine, Harry Potter — a viking? All that fur… mm, and those horned helmets. Sure makes me horny —"

"Jesus, woman. I'm at the gym."

"Okay, okay," she says. "Since you're at the gym, what about this: Harry Potter as naughty, lying George Wickham. And you: the poor Lydia Bennet, tricked into a life of poverty and ridicule for the rest of your days. Embittered, you —"

"That's Jane Austen, that's not even real life," I say before hanging up.

I meet Potter at his Islington townhouse the following Tuesday. He's a capital C celebrity so he's got no regular day job, which makes him horrifying easy to slot into my schedule.

"You're late," I say as soon as he opens the front door. He runs a hand through his tangled hair — soft, I know — and bleats out an apology as I brush past him into the grim, old place. The hallway is long and dark. There's a kitchen in the far west corner overlooking the garden. And upstairs there are three bedrooms, of which the medium-sized one is his because it faces east, and he enjoys waking sun-rumpled and satisfied.

The floorplan, I pulled from public records. The rest, I — well, I don't know. I just know. I know it with such vivaciousness that I can see us there, on his — no, our — bed, his arm thrown across my chest, and I —

"Draco?" he asks, tentative. Like he's found something he's lost but isn't sure what to do with it, yet.

My hands clam up, my heart racing back to the present. He's only a foot from me, his doe eyes searching. I know what it feels like to pull him in by the waist, to watch those lids flutter shut as we kiss. And I know he knows this too, so I lean in and punch his face.

"He called me Draco," I say to Pansy later. "Draco. Only my mother calls me Draco, and she's been dead a full decade."

"You're crazy, Dee," Pansy says, patting my hand with hers on the bar counter. "What did you do after? Get on your knees to kiss his arse so he'd keep you on?"

"Bloody hell, no. I bolted the fuck out of there thinking I lost the biggest deal of my life. But then the next day, Blaise calls and says Potter stopped by the office. Says could I get him a list of stagers, all cool and shite like nothing had happened!"

"Hm… maybe you two are more Troilus and Cressida than Brutus and Caesar. Ohh, or Achilles and Patroclus. God, yes. That fits so well —"

"Good God, woman! Unless Patroclus was trying to sell Achilles' ionic column abode, I don't want to hear another peep of past lives from you."

Pansy pushes her martini to me and waits for me to drain it before signalling for another round. "I'm only saying," she says, tapping her square-tip nails on the stem of the glass, "Kissing. Fucking, even. Wouldn't that be better than fighting?"

Naturally, I choke on my drink.

I meet with Potter the next day and manage to get through the walkthrough without any further hallucinations or fisticuffs. I call Greg up to stage the place and we go through the house again the following week. Potter's in the kitchen when Greg leaves and offers me a cup of tea while I wait for my car. I'm out of excuses and exhausted from the day, so I accept.

"Draco," he says when he hands the cup to me. Two sugars, a splash of milk. I try not to think about how he knows.

"Why do you call me that?" I ask instead, blustering.

"Why do you call me Potter?" he retorts. He's smiling, but I can tell he's not really happy. It's the same smile the paparazzi catches him with.

"I don't know," I say because I don't. My tongue knows his name better than I do.

I can't keep my eyes off of his as he comes up to me. "Draco," he says my name like he had a claim to it, long ago. I let him loosen the cup from my hand and push me up onto the counter. The angle's better here; perfect if I want to slide my hand up to his cheek and through his hair. He smells like broomstick and phoenix ash. I love him, I know. But it's not supposed to be this easy.

[phoebe-delia]

Congrats on 100 followers!

Can I request prompts 21 and 24?

Hi, thank so much! So, the prompt is "smile" and "potions," and after much deliberation with my lovely microfic server friends, I have settled on this angst--because of course I did. Enjoy!

CW: depression, (sort of accidental) drug/bad potions use

Grin and Bear It

It wasn't a smile; it was a grin.

After the war, everyone had been surprised to see Harry smiling--all the time. Most people chalked it up to relief at having finally killed Voldemort, but some others took his apparent joy for apathy toward those who'd lost their lives in the war.

Still, Harry grinned through it all: the pictures, the interviews, the galas, the fundraisers, the random interactions with weeping fans. He grinned even as his cheeks ached, his friends' expressions shifted to worry, and he could only move his mouth to speak and eat.

The potion had seemed like a good idea. It had been advertised as a surefire way to force your brain to be happy.

"Turn That Frown Upside-Down!" the cheery slogan was written in optimistic, curvy letters. "After the war, you'll grin like never before, with the Smiling Serum!"

And when the potion had slid down Harry's throat for the first time, and his mouth had stretched wide, he thought it might just clear the fog in his mind and give him the kind of happiness that'd always eluded him.

His friends grew more and more concerned, Hermione's face becoming increasingly pinched with worry. Harry knew that thread would snap eventually, but he'd just flash her a smile to show her all was well.

He really shouldn't have been surprised to see Hermione's owl pecking at his window one day--and he definitely shouldn't have been puzzled by her message

Harry, I know what you're going to say, but I've sent someone to help you. If this doesn't work to snap you out of the potion's hold, I don't know what will.

There was a knock at the door.

Harry's eyebrows furrowed for a moment--before he realized how ridiculous that would look combined with a wide smile--and he moved to greet his visitor.

"Oh, Merlin, she wasn't joking," Malfoy sneered.

Harry's smile faltered, but it jumped into place. "What do you want, Malfoy?"

Malfoy barged in, smirking in a way that sent a familiar jolt down Harry's spine. "Just here to see how the Savior's holding up. Honestly, Potter, this is a bit sacrilegious, isn't it? Living in the house that should belong to a proper Pureblood?"

Harry's eyebrow twitched. "Shut up, Malfoy."

"I suppose I get why you'd want to live somewhere other than Potter Cottage. The scene of the crime, isn't it?"

He clenched his jaw. "Malfoy!"

"It's where your blood traitor father and mudblood mother took their last breaths to save you. Gods, they must've regretted it when they saw how you turned out. They should've handed you over to the Dark Lord when they had the chance."

Harry snarled, his mouth twisting into a fierce scowl. He pointed his wand at Malfoy's neck, and the other man's eyes widened, his mouth twitching into a relieved smile.

"Finally, I was starting to think Granger was wrong."

"What?"

"She said you've been under the influence of a potion--that's why you've been forced into smiling. So she asked me to, er, snap you out of it."

Harry blinked. He felt his mind shift, the artificial haze fading to leave a dull ache; still, he felt the relief of clarity and reality settle in his chest.

He swallowed. "Thank you."

Malfoy nodded. "No problem, Potter. I'm sorry about...what I said."

"It's alright, you were trying to help."

"Still...I hated it. I don't believe those things anymore, Potter, you have to know that."

"I do."

Malfoy nodded. "Good. Right then. Oh, Granger wanted me to give you this," Malfoy reached into his pocket and handed Harry a note.

"It's the Floo address of a Mind Healer. They'll be able to help you find...well, some other way to help your mental health."

"Thanks, Malfoy."

"Sure," Malfoy cleared his throat and stuck his hands in his pockets. "I'll, er, be going then."

Malfoy turned, and Harry acted on impulse and reached and gently grasped his wrist. Malfoy looked at him in surprise.

"D'you, uh, want some tea?"

Malfoy regarded him with narrowed, scrutinizing eyes, and Harry tried not to shift under the gaze.

"Okay," Malfoy said with a slow nod.

Harry smiled softly.