#THIS OLD GIT IS IN DENIAL

[lloyd-007]

[michinnyun]

Fashion Choices Ch. 2

Ch. 1

Pairing: Marc x F!Reader

Summary: A little role reversal with Marcy-Marc?

Tags: Sub Marc Spector × Prostate Milking × Prostate Massage × Orgasm Denial × Edging × Naked Male Clothed Female × Femdom × Dom/sub × Hair Pulling × Biting × showering together × Aftercare × Marc Spector Needs A Hug

Words: 3.2k

Ao3 link

Marc is being a brat.

It’s not totally unusual behavior, especially coming from him. He likes to pretend he’s a big strong man, but he’s really just a sensitive little softie who needs attention. Not like Steven does, but still.

He hasn’t talked to you since you got back at Steven for their collective teasing. It’s rare that they put up a united front like they did that day, and he knows his punishment is coming. It’s just a matter of when.

At this point, Jake is fronting more often than Marc, and that never happens. He can’t hide forever.

You head back to the boutique, finding the owner at the counter once again.

“Thank you for all your help,” you say, pushing your hair behind your ear nervously. 

“Of course. It's nice to see you again! I trust everything went according to plan?”

“Oh yes,” you answer mischievously. She claps her hands in delight.

“I’m glad to hear it. What can I help you find today? New set? We just got these in today.”

She opens a box for you, showcasing a lovely black and red lace teddy that actually does pique your interest. Another time, maybe.

“I was actually wondering… And I know this might be a little unusual, but bear with me. Do you have anything in a men’s size?”

__

Steven is back from the museum and sitting with you on the couch, chattering away about a shipment for a new exhibit that Donna expressly told him to stay away from, his head resting in the cradle of your lap while you stroke the hair away from his temples.

“It’s from the remains of a temple of Khonshu,” he whines. “I hate that bloody bastard, he’s a right git, but come on, there are hardly any temples of his remaining, it's an incredible find! Big crates stuffed with straw and little statues and tablets. Can you believe Donna?”

“You know I can’t.” You used to work with Steven at the museum. Donna and her bitchiness are not new to you by any means.

Steven snorts. “Yeah, right.” He pauses. “So what did you do today?”

You smile down at him, shrugging. “Not much. Same old work stuff.” He hums, eyes fluttering shut as he enjoys your gentle touch. “I did visit the lingerie store, though.”

He almost stops breathing. “Oh?”

You chew your bottom lip. “Yeah.”

He lifts his head to look at you with dark eyes. “Got another little something for me, then?”

You hesitate. “It’s actually- It’s for Marc,” you blurt out, hoping your words will have their intended effect and he’ll come out to play.

It does. Steven’s head snaps back, Marc staring back at you skeptically.

“What are you up to?” he asks, sitting up to snake his arms around your middle and lay a kiss on your cheek.

You blush. “Nothing! I just missed you, that’s all. Wanted to do something special.”

He quirks his head doubtfully. “Okay. And this has nothing to do with the shirt thing?”

You shake your head, pursing your lips.

“You’re a terrible liar.”

You groan, pushing him back onto the couch and climbing on top of him.

“Fine. It’s because of the shirt thing. But you deserve it. And don’t just let Steven take charge of the body, you’re going to like it, okay? I promise.”

He grunts. If it were anybody else, they'd probably say no, but Marc seems to trust you implicitly for whatever reason. It makes you all warm inside that he loves you enough to let you do whatever you want to him.

“Fine,” he grumbles. You kiss him, wrapping your fingers in his hair. He responds in kind, surging up into you and holding your neck with his giant palm.

You keen, the wet slide of your tongues already escalating far more quickly than you intended. He’s trying to distract you.

“Marc,” you protest, out of breath. “There’s something for you in the bathroom. Go get changed.”

He looks up at you with hooded eyelids, licking his lower lip, nodding.

“Okay,” he says, grinding up into you. You slap his chest. “Fuck, okay.”

You disentangle yourselves, Marc trudging to the bathroom and shutting the curtain. He pauses before you hear the rustling of the box being opened.

You bite your lip in anticipation as you listen to the silence in the other room. Marc must think you’re insane.

He emerges several minutes later in the lingerie you picked out with your new best friend at the boutique, silky lace that covers his chest and manhood.

Your mouth waters. “You look so pretty.”

Marc blushes, which you don't think you've ever seen him do before. “I look like an idiot,” he says, despite the fact that he’s already getting visibly hard in his panties.

You walk up to him slowly, cornering him like he’s an injured animal. He looks that way, fear and humiliation and lust clouding his dark eyes.

“Marc,” you murmur, cupping his face with your palms and pressing gentle kisses onto each eyelid. His nose. His lips.

He groans, deepening the kiss and pressing into you, leading you to the bed and knocking you down so you’re sprawled on your back.

“This what you wanted?” he asks, adjusting his cock until it’s visible above the line of his underwear, tip dribbling and shiny. Wet. Sensitive.

“Yes,” you breathe, reaching out to touch. He shakes his head.

“No, princess. Not today. This is as much as you get, me in this little outfit.” He shoves your pants down along with your underwear and you cry out.

“Marc,” you whine when he pumps his fingers into you, already finding you wet and needy.

“You like when I’m dressed up like this? Wearing the pretty little set you bought for me?”

You nod, breaths coming out shakily. This is not how this was supposed to go.

“Fuck,” you choke out, arching when his fingers reach inside and make you see stars.

“Gonna make you come, even if it's more than you deserve. Look at yourself. Look at what you do to me.”

You crane your neck up, watching him palm himself through the lace and cup his balls.

You rip yourself off of his fingers, sitting up and caging him in with your thighs, leveraging your weight until he’s falling onto the bed and taking your place underneath.

You straddle him again, pulling down his panties and lining him up with your entrance.

“Marc,” you murmur. “Stop trying to take control. Just let me do this for you.”

He chokes as you sink down onto him, placing one hand on the center of his chest for balance.

You don’t move after that, licking and kissing his collarbones and nuzzling his nipples through the lace of his bra.

He whines. “Stop, baby I-”

“If you really wanted me to stop, you would've used the safe word,” you tell him. “But you didn’t. You want me to be in control. You want to give in. So just give in Marc. Let me take care of you.”

You know he has a hard time asking for what he wants, and sometimes you just need to give it to him. He licks his lips before gritting his teeth, fighting the urge to buck up into you. You get flashbacks to the other day with Steven. Oh, how the tables have turned.

“Marc,” you say. “Hands above your head, please.”

He frowns, but complies. You reach into the bedside drawer, lifting off enough to make him gasp, then sink back down once you have the little bundle of rope you put away for this very occasion.

You tie Marc gently and efficiently. He’s a smart boy, he knows how to escape these kinds of bonds easily. You want him to be snug, not trapped.

You tug, testing the restraints. Perfect.

You snap the strap of his bra, watching the flush on his cheeks deepen into a beautiful scarlet.

“Look at you,” you coo. “So pretty for me. My sweet boy.” You run your finger through his hair, capturing his rough exhale in your mouth and shifting him inside of you.

This angle lets you pull out the slightest amount, perfect for torturing Marc. He’s practically shaking, fists white knuckled against the rope as he struggles to give in.

“Marc,” you murmur against his mouth. “Relax.” You lean down, pulling at the lace of his bra with your teeth and laving your tongue over his nipple.

He keens, writhing and pushing into you.

You blow a puff of cold air over the pink skin, watching in amusement as it hardens. 

“Baby,” he gasps. “Please, I-”

“You what?” you ask, gripping his hair and using it to tilt his head back until his neck is exposed to you. “What do you want? Because it looks like you’ve been begging for this all week.” You snap the strap of his bra, making him whine as you slowly fuck yourself on him.

He struggles against his bindings, dark eyes nearly black as he watches the spot where he disappears into you. “Fuck,” he groans when you bite down at the juncture of his neck and shoulder.

He tries rutting into you, making you frown and pull off completely. He looks breathless, his cock wet and throbbing as you sit back and trace a finger over the head.

“Marc,” you say disapprovingly, and he whines, like words are too much for him right now. “Color?”

“Green,” he gasps. “Green. So green. Keep going.”

You reach into the bedside drawer for lube, another thing you keep nearby for special occasions. You warm it between your fingers as Marc watches you with eyes glazed over with lust.

“Still green?”

He nods frantically, arching his back and making his cock slap his stomach with the movement. You laugh at his eagerness, his total submission such a contrast from how he was acting two minutes ago.

You lean over his body as your fingers circle his entrance, his breath stuttering as you kiss and breach him at the same time. He’s tight. It’s been a while since you did something like this with him, and he seems nervous with anticipation.

“Relax,” you murmur, pressing your cheek to his so you can both watch him adjust to the intrusion of your finger. He breathes deeply, obeying instantly and making your heart flutter with affection. You kiss his cheek.

You reach deeper inside, finding the spot that makes him cry out and his mouth water. “I fucking love you,” he slurs, bending his knees and pulling his legs closer ot his body to give you better access. You fuck him slowly, adding another finger when he starts getting a little too whiny, sating him momentarily. You occasionally brush the sensitive bundle of nerves, making him jolt like he’s been shocked by a live wire. Marc’s eyes flutter shut as he takes in the sensations, surrendering to your hold on him.

“That’s it,” you murmur, lips brushing the corner of his mouth. He turns his face into yours, staring up at you with big brown eyes, lashes fanning the shadows under his eyes. “So pretty,” you tell him, kissing the side of his nose.

His breath hitches, his eyes widening as he starts to tighten around your fingers, movements becoming needy and urgent. His cock is leaking steadily, a dribbling fountain that clings to his underwear, ruining the lace. You brush that spot again, that little pleasure button that makes him crazy, and he grunts, brows knitting together in concentration as his stomach tenses.

Then, you pull out of him.

He groans in frustration as you get up to wash your hands thoroughly in the bathroom sink, laughing at his whines in the other room.

“That’s what you get,” you sing-song, drying your hands off on the bathroom towel before you come back out, admiring the way his jaw tenses as he stares at the ceiling in deep contemplation. 

You crawl back on top of him, spreading your fingers through the slick on his stomach.

“Look at the mess you made,” you coo, holding back a laugh at the way he’s adamantly avoiding eye contact with you. “We have to get you cleaned up, poor baby.”

He growls deep in his chest, and you <i>do</i> laugh at that. “What’s wrong? Are you upset about something? Any of this not to your <i>liking?</i>” You tug on his curls again, making him bare his teeth and arch into your body.

 You gather his fluids on your fingers, holding them up this mouth and waiting for him to take your silent instruction. His mouth stays clamped shut, a droplet of milky liquid landing above his lip.

“Come on baby, open up.” He clenches his jaw again, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d say he’s pouting. You use your other hand to stroke his bottom lip, coaxing his mouth open until his tongue is sticking out and he can accept your offering.

Still no eye contact.

“So it’s gonna be like that?” you ask, grabbing his cock and adjusting so that he’s lined up with your entrance again. He whips his head towards you as you sink down, smiling evilly as you fuck him hard and fast to bring him to the edge of orgasm for what must be the third time.

He shouts, knowing what’s coming as his stomach tenses again. You pull off, pressing a kiss to his mouth as you hover over his body, taut as a bowstring. 

“Not fair,” he whines. “Not fair, not fair-”

“Shh,” you tell him, sinking down once more as tears spring to the corners of his eyes and he struggles underneath you. 

This continues for a good while, you bringing him right to the edge only to leave him cold and devastated before he can release.

“You didn’t do all this to Steven,” he complains after the tenth denial, cock red and angry with stimulation. 

“Me and Steven have fun in our own way, sweetheart.” You roll your body over his in a luxurious stretch, making his breath stutter as he dick catches your entrance at an angle. At this point, you can only allow him to be inside you for so long before he comes dangerously close to spilling inside of you. You bite your lip at the thought of how you’d punish him if he did. 

You love Steven, but this brand of torture that Marc craves is special. You stretch it out as long as you can, because you hate to see it end too quickly. Marc will never say it out loud, but he likes it that way too.

You sigh, seated on his cock and just staying there as he wriggles desperately. You play with your clit absentmindedly, barely paying him any attention as you savor the fullness. You toy with his nipple through the scratchy fabric of the bra, watching with delight as his eyes roll to the back of his head.

“I love how sensitive you are, my sweet boy,” you coo. “You’ve been so good for me.”

“Then can I come?” he practically shouts, elbows bending in his restraints as his curls fall into his eyes.

You hum, pretending to think. “Do you think you deserve it?”

“Yes!” he says, practically trembling.

You laugh, fucking him with your hands placed on his chest, grabbing his tiny little tits. Using him.

The final straw, apparently, is when you lean down and press a kiss to his lips, slipping your tongue inside as he whimpers, body tensing as he comes, long and hard inside of you.

His whimpers turn into a long moan, overstimulated as you keep fucking him through his aftershocks. He’s hard again after one orgasm, and you smile down at him.

“No,” he whimpers. “No, please, enough, please, please,” he begs, even as he begins to fuck into the tight clutch of your body again.

You gasp, slightly breathless. You haven’t paid attention to your own needs, and you’re starting to notice as you feel his spend getting fucked back into you. You rub your clit indulgently, surprised by how quickly you can feel your own orgasm approaching. It looks like you’ve been enjoying this as much as Marc. You sigh, bouncing on top of him as he watches you use his body to get yourself off. His lips are wet, his eyes shining with adoration as you increase your pace, milking him for all he’s worth.

You come with the image of Marc staring at you burned into your brain, covered in lace and his own semen, jaw open and lashes fluttering.

“Baby,” you sigh, finally sated. You keep moving on top of him, giving him the choice of whether or not he wants to chase a second orgasm by untying him.

Apparently he does, because his hands fly to your waist and he pulls you down for one last sloppy kiss, grinding his length into you so hard that you see stars, your breath coming out in one big whoosh. The sweat and come covering his body sticks to your shirt, and you think absently that you’ll have to do laundry later.

He chokes when you stroke your fingers through his hair tenderly, practically sobbing when you bite down softly on his bottom lip.

“Gonna come,” he says, like it’s physically painful. “Gonna come, I’m gonna-”

His breath halts, his hips pistoning into you as he finally reaches his last, blissful orgasm, finishing inside of you with finality. His head is tilted back, the lines of his neck taut and pink with exertion.

You both heave a giant sigh as you collapse on top of him, letting him run his fingers through your hair as he catches his breath.

You disconnect yourself from him, wrinkling your nose at the dribble that gushes from your entrance. Taking your shirt off inside out, you make sure to throw it into the empty laundry bin. “Gross,” you say, pressing another kiss to Marc’s mouth before running into the bathroom to heat up the hot water for a shower.

You wet a washcloth under the warm spray, returning to where he lays prone on the bed, half asleep. Chuckling as his eyes flutter open when you drag the damp cloth across his stomach and chest, you press a gentle kiss to his cheek and reach behind his back to unclasp the bra.

“You okay?”

He nods as you throw the scrap of lacy fabric on top of your shirt in the bin, making a mental note to see if you can salvage it in the wash. Marc’s face is so open. He’s never like this, except with you. You really enjoy the moments right after, when he’s quiet and trusting. He looks younger. Small. It makes your heart melt.

You encourage him to get up, holding his hands in yours as he stands on wobbly feet, stepping out of the panties and padding to the bathroom. You hold a hand under the running water, making sure it’s the right temperature before you nod at him to step in.

You traipse in after him, watching the tension melt from his shoulders. The water beads on the muscles of his back, his muscular legs. It always strikes you as funny, this big strong man letting you do all that to him. It makes you happy. You just want him to feel loved, even when you’re getting back at him for something as petty as a tease.

You grab the shampoo, lathering it through his wet hair as he stands under the spray. You scratch his scalp, watching him shudder. He turns around, leaning down to kiss you and getting soap on your forehead.

“Feel better?”

He nods. “Better.”

[anime-dreams]

Gojo's and Geto's thoughts during the KFC breakup HAHAHHAHAHA

Theme: SatoSugu mwah

Warnings: none, angst??? (i mean it's SatoSugu so what do yall expect besides angst i hope my writing can bring out the angst thou) not proofread!!

Authors note: hi beautiful people, this is my first time trying this out so my sincerest apologies if i did smt wrong that caused any kind of inconvenience for yall. SatoSugu broke my heart and i havent felt the same way since i read that darn In Another Life fanfic (i loved it thou anyone who watches Haikyuu and ships BokuAka should go check it out). Anyways my ultimate goal here is to make yall cry over SatoSugu again cuz i cant seem to get over them :/ hahahaha

Gojo's POV:

I heard what Yaga said. My brain could not process it in time. “Huh?” 

The only thoughts running through my mind was “No. it must be a mistake. No, Suguru would never.” Denial, denial, denial. I was confused. I was mad. Not mad at you, but at those damned old gits that tried to blame this on you. It had to be a misunderstanding… right? My mind told me you’ve changed. But my heart and soul still holds onto that last shred of hope. I tried everything to reach you, and eventually got ahold of your whereabouts through Shoko.

I recognised your figure amidst the busy streets of Shinjuku immediately. “Explain yourself, Suguru.” you paused. Your reply was stark.  “You heard it from Shoko, right? That’s all there is.” You didn’t even bother to turn, didn’t even bother to look into my eyes to say those words. I grind my teeth. “So you’re just gonna kill everyone who’s not a jujutsu sorcerer? Even your parents?” That shred of hope was slowly sliding out of my grasp. “I can’t allow my parents to be a special exception.” You sounded crazy. Your words were insane. I feel like i don’t understand you anymore.

When you told me that there was a point to kill, and that you were aiming to eliminate all non-sorcerers from this world, that hope disappeared completely. Who are you now? I was looking at a familiar face, yet it was clouded in a shroud of unfamiliarity. It was impossible to do so. I yelled at you, to try and get you back to your senses.

I tried, so you won’t leave, although a part of me already knew how this would end. Every cell in my body rejected that inescapable truth. Every nerve in my body rejected that inevitable outcome. You finally turned, and my eyes locked with yours. My heart skipped a beat, and my breathing hitched. Those dark eyes were like nocturnal oceans, with secrets shimmering in the depths. Those dark eyes that once had the light of life, those dark eyes that turned steely when they met mine.  “Are you the strongest because you’re Satoru Gojo, or does being the strongest make you Satoru Gojo?” What sort of a dumb question is that? You’re not making any sense. “What are you trying to say?” “If I had your powers, don’t you think that chances would be higher that my foolish ideal would become a reality?” just for a split second, sorrow flashed in your eyes, and it was gone so fast I couldn’t be sure it was even there in the first place.

Your eyes hardened into solid obsidian. “Satoru, I have decided how to live my life, and what's left is doing the best I can to achieve it. Goodbye, Satoru” I was stumped again. No. No. No, no, no, no. We didn’t come this far just to come this far. The words that cursed you crawled up my throat, but I couldn't find my voice. You turned your back firmly on me, and reality came crashing down. You were leaving. There will never be ‘us’ again. I will never be the same again. Was I nothing to you? Was I someone you just used, and throw away? How are you able to turn your back so easily on me?

I don't even know which pain is worse. The shock of what had happened, or the ache of what never will. I stood there, wanting to run after you, shout at you, beg you to stay, but I know, even if I do catch up to you, you will still fade into the crowd. Even if, by some miracle, you do stay, we will never be the same again. I swallowed, my hands trembling as I raised them up. I had to do it. I'm not born strongest for nothing. I'm strong enough to do this. You are a criminal after all. I should do it, I must do it. Your silhouette blurred each step you took, walking away from me, just like my future, how i cannot visualize without you in it, foggy and unclear. My hands paused, then fell back limply to my sides. I am…  not strong enough after all. Because it's you. Suguru, truth is, I think I already felt you leaving even before you left, but don’t you think I at least deserved a better ‘goodbye’ than this? Now I have to remember you for longer than I've kept you. No more riding on your shikigamis to school. No more going on missions together. No more joking around and annoying everyone else. No more…you, just the memories. Yeah, I think I can live with that. I should be able to. I'm the strongest, after all.

Geto's POV:

"Explain yourself, Suguru.” I recognised your voice immediately, and stopped in my tracks. I couldn’t turn, I couldn't face you without betraying my emotions. I knew you would confront me sooner or later. And I wasn't ready for that yet. “You heard it from Shoko, right? That's all there is.”

I could see your facial expressions in my mind’s eye. Your eyebrows knitted in frustration and anger, your teeth grinding together. The urge to turn and see you with my own eyes grew. “So you’re just gonna kill everyone who’s not a Jujutsu sorcerer? Even your parents?” “I cant allow my parents to be a special exception.” I know I must sound insane to you now, Satoru. But I promise you will understand. Once I achieved that ideal future for us. 

When you yelled at me that it was impossible for me to wipe out every single one of those non-sorcerers from this world, I heard it in your voice. The pain, the betrayal, the hurt, the anger, all directed at me. I braced myself, and turned, and I saw your face, twisted with rage and anguish. My gaze locked with yours. Your eyes that once held the most beautiful blue of the deep sea, had now became icy crystals, sharp and cold, but still breathtaking and pristine.

My front almost melted right there and then and I almost ran right back to you. But I held my ground. Because I knew that I had to be the one to do it. Because you won’t. I knew that the odds were against me, I knew that the chances of me succeeding were far and few between, but I had to try. For a better future for you, for us. And i blurted out my thoughts. “Are you the strongest because you’re Satoru Gojo, or does being the strongest make you Satoru Gojo?” Those beautiful blue eyes darkened with confusion. “What are you trying to say?” “If I had your powers, don’t you think that chances would be higher that my foolish ideal would become a reality?”

Exorcise, absorb, over and over. Who am I doing this for? Who are we doing this for? After seeing Nanami’s breakdown over Haibara’s death, I just cant let it go on anymore, Satoru. If the only thing waiting for us sorcerers at the end of the climb is a mountain of our friends’ corpses, then…  “Satoru, I have decided how to live my life, and what's left is doing the best i can to achieve it. Goodbye, Satoru” I didn't know what else to say, except that it tore the heart out of my body saying goodbye to you.

Before i could allow myself to see the pain already beginning to seep into your face, and let my cowardice take over me, I memorized your features and turned my back on you. It was the hardest thing I've ever forced myself to do. It was excruciating, like carrying a heavy boulder up a steep, endless mountain, each step I took that increased the distance between us was an agonizing struggle. Satoru, you have no idea how many times I wanted to let go of that boulder, and make my way back to you. That would’ve been too easy, a much too comfortable feeling. But for the sake of our futures, I could not.

I'm sorry, Satoru. Part of me hoped that I would hear your familiar footsteps running after me, part of me hoped that you will tell me to stay. But I'm glad you didn't, because I'm sure, if you had done that, I will not have the strength to resist anymore. Because it’s you. 

I could feel it in my bones, your arms reaching, and I braced myself for the incoming reversal red. It never happened.

Actually, Satoru, I think I knew. I knew from the moment I met you that I'll spend an entire lifetime missing you. I know you deserved a better goodbye, I'm so sorry. But I promise our paths will cross again, maybe a few years later, and I promise then, I'll bring a better world to you. Satoru, between the moon and stars, I'm glad that I stepped onto the same land and dreamt, played and lived under the same sky as you.

-I WAS REALLY NERVOUS WHEN POSTING THIS HAHAHA BUT THANKS FOR MAKING IT ALL THE WAY THROUGH!!!! IF YOU ENJOYED THAT PLS LEMME KNOW IDK IF ILL MAKE A PT 2 BUT IF I DO, ILL PUT SHOKO INSIDE AND IF YALL HAVE SUGGESTIONS ILL BE MORE THAN HONOURED TO HEAR!! 💕💕-

****pls dont be a copycat and photocopy my work without permission or else im coming after u after i go after Gege

******pls only repost with permission

*****some quotes used in this are also not mine credits to google and tiktok haha

[lilly-white]

/me steadily putting all my fanart up on my art instagram at last and seeing it in that close-together ‘gallery’ format

........... huh. It’s even more of a hot mess than i thought

[mean-scarlet-deceiver]

I'd love to hear your thoughts on Edwards exploit?

It's one of my favourite Edward story's next to old iron.

Hmm, sometimes I prefer “Old Iron” myself, at least so far as TVS goes ♥ (that long tracking shot over the bridge is friggin’ gold, man.)

But only in TVS. Story-wise, while both are great, there's just a little extra something going on in this one...

So many people have noticed the similarities between those two stories, of course, and indeed you can throw in Edward’s introductory arc too—this story doesn’t really break new ground in the Edward-proves-himself genre. And with it, the genre is DONE. Okay y'all? DONE. NO MORE. FIND ANOTHER PLOT. YES, SHOW WRITERS OF YEARS PAST, I AM TALKING TO YOU. Nor is the “exploit” really any more impressive than “Old Faithful” and “Gallant Old Engine,” which in RWS actually come before this story, and in which the stakes were higher.

And yet I still feel like “Exploit” is in a league of its own, and judging from its insane popularity I’m not the only one who feels that way.

At least one thing that sets this story apart, something I’ve come to really treasure: The feat is such a group effort. The crew’s contribution in “Faithful” and “Gallant” was mostly to get out once the train stopped, do an examination, and pronounce, Huh. You’re broken. And we're stuck. *awkward pause* Soooo, uhh… whatcha got, hotshot? And it was really all down to Skarloey and Rheneas. Whereas in this story the main character’s willpower alone is not enough, and the crew had to contribute their own talents. More than once, actually. True teamwork. So, like, yes, this is a story about perseverance, it’s a story about beating the odds, but it’s not only about that. This time at least (for we’ve seen that old theme in RWS before—many times) there’s also something about it that moves me in a similar way to the Henry arc.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that this story also shows something important about disability. If your only takeaway here is “Edward is an inspiring badass,” it’s not that you’re wrong, but there’s more. Specifically—he could not have done it without help. Even with the help, he could have done it but it would not have necessarily been a triumph. I mean, this could have easily been a story about a stubborn, in-denial old git finally learning his limits the hard way and limping back home, shamed and beaten and probably damn sure never taking another “important train” ever again. In fact it could very easily be this sort of story, given the big engines’ gossip at the beginning and, at the end, good ol’ STH being on hand and proper pissed off about the extreme lateness.

Why isn’t it an L? Apart from the meta that Edward is a ray of sunshine and one of Awdry’s favorites? Mostly it’s because of the passengers—so let’s give them props, too. They had all the power to define this narrative! But instead of being put out and caught up in their own inconvenience when stranded in the middle of nowhere during a wild dark wet rainstorm, they had the sense to notice and appreciate the efforts of engine and crew. Instead of stropping out onto the platform and complaining, they celebrated and thanked everyone. Whether this incident was a disgrace or an “exploit” is really all a matter of perspective. Hell, they literally changed STH’s!

And, of course, we see it as a triumph because of the way Awdry frames it. Do we always see it that way in real life, though? I hope so. I wish we lived in a world where the need for aid and accommodation does not invalidate what we do. I wish we lived in a world where the disabled or old or sick or just the plain not-as-gifted were always respected rather than disparaged due to the fact that it may take them three times as much trouble and effort to accomplish things that are easy to others.

But let’s be honest: we don’t live in that world. We’re a long ways from it. And while there are lots of RWS stories that inspire us to persevere and to press on and to do our best and to never give up… “Exploit” really hits me in the heart because it also portrays how the need for others’ help and for adjusted expectations isn’t shameful at all, in fact it shows me how interesting and impressive it is when people (people and, I guess, the occasional sapient locomotive) work together in complementary ways—not to mention, it portrays how much more exciting life is when we show each other genuine, unstinting grace.

[vnderoos]

potions and prats ✷ draco malfoy

(gif is not mine, credit to the owner) warnings / language word count / 2.7k

masterlist in bio ↴

Y/N HUFFED UNENTHUSIASTICALLY as she and a couple other Slytherins were the last to filter into Slughorn's lesson for the day and she dropped her leather bag on the floor beside her seat. Daphne Greengrass, her potion's partner as of late, flashed her a close-mouthed smile. She hadn't noticed it when she'd walked in, but Professor Slughorn must've brewed a potion for the day, because the whole room was filled with a familiar smell. "I reckon we've got an exciting lesson today," she hummed to the brunette as she took a seat beside her.

Daphne shrugged her shoulders and tucked a lock of her shiny, brown hair behind her ear. "If we haven't, at least it smells nice," she countered. "Like lemon and broom wax and steak dinners almost," she elaborated and she slumped against her hand, which was propped up on the table.

At that, Y/N's eyebrows knitted together, because that was not what she smelled. The room was flooded with the smell of pine trees, amongst other things, but those were the clearest to her. "What? Daph, that's completely—" she started to protest, to voice her confusion, but Professor Slughorn stood up from his desk and made his way towards a table in the center of the room, silencing all conversation as he did. Perhaps his lecture would clear up her confusion.

"Alright, everyone. I trust you're all doing well this afternoon," he greeted as he situated himself for everyone to see. Nods of agreement rippled through the classroom and he did the same. "Good, good. If you'll all do me a favor and gather round, please," he instructed, motioning towards the opposite side of the table with his hands, his fingers breaking through the steam from the potion that sat on top of it. Y/N and Daphne shared a curious look, before the two of them followed the rest of the class and stood up out of their seats. They joined the rest of the students in front of the table. "Can anyone tell me what this potion is?" Professor Slughorn questioned after everyone had settled in, and he eyed them all in anticipation. When nobody spoke up, he chuckled once. "This," he hummed, gesturing to the cauldron on the desk, "this is amortentia, the most powerful love potion in the world," he explained. "Sound familiar to anyone?"

Y/N's eyes drifted from Slughorn to the steaming cauldron as his question, because it did, in fact, sound familiar to her. She remembered reading about it in a book, which she'd long forgotten the name of, that she'd borrowed from the library in one of her previous years and she'd found it a little peculiar. She swallowed thickly, glancing around the room to see if anyone else was feeling inclined to answer, but when nobody did, she let her hand creep upwards slowly.

"And what do you know about amortentia, Miss Y/L/N?" Professor Slughorn asked, folding his hands in front of him as he encouraged her to speak and she smiled awkwardly.

"Well, like you said, it's the most powerful love potion in existence, and regardless of its title, it's unable to create actual love, only obsession. For that reason, it can be dangerous, because someone who holds a deep infatuation with another can be unpredictable," she explained, her eyes flickering around at all of her classmates. Some of them seemed interested, and others were looking elsewhere, but when her eyes landed on Draco Malfoy's, his direct eye contact made her shiver. Merlin. She averted her gaze quickly. "Supposedly, it smells different for everyone, too, as it's made to remind them of the things they're most attracted to, even if they're oblivious of their fondness for said things," she continued. Her eyes wandered over to Daphne, who was looking at her with raised eyebrows, probably realizing that the smell she'd described earlier was unique to her.

Y/N crossed her arms over her chest as she fell silent, waiting for Slughorn to continue his lesson, but before he could, Malfoy interrupted. "Fancy telling us what you smell, Y/L/N?" he asked, a smirk settled in on his pale pink lips, and she shot him a cross look. "That mean it's someone foul?" he added teasingly and Blaise Zabini chuckled softly from behind him.

She was about to tell him to bugger off, because Professor Slughorn piped up. "Actually, that's not a bad idea," he hummed, completely oblivious to the fact that Malfoy had only been pestering her, and he gestured towards the potion. "Why don't you come up and give it a sniff?" he asked.

She nodded at him with a smile and she advanced towards the table, throwing Malfoy another nasty look over her shoulder as she did, but he was entirely unfazed. She turned her attention towards the cauldron sitting on the table top and she leaned over it. The potion had a pearly shimmer to it and steam spiraled up out of the container. She closed her eyes to keep from getting distracted as she drew in a deep breath. She nodded and turned back towards the class. She started, pinning each scent to a memory in her brain, and she swallowed. It sort of smelled like the air after a day-long thunderstorm and old parchment, with hints of pine and expensive cologne. Her eyes darted towards Draco almost immediately, knowing that his smell was too distinct not to recognize, and her stomach dropped. He was looking back at her just as intensely, and he cocked an eyebrow. She tore her gaze off of him and spun back around towards Professor Slughorn. "I don't smell anything," she lied.

"Well, that's impossible. You must smell something," he explained, but she shook her head.

"Nope," she said, not unaware of a cold stare driving holes in the back of her head. "Nothing."

"That's quite peculiar," he said. "Anyone else want to give it a go, then?" he asked, and on Y/N's way back to her place beside Daphne, she didn't miss the way that Draco's eyes followed her every step.

✷ ✷ ✷

The rest of the day had come and gone since Slughorn's lesson and Y/N and Daphne had spent their time in the library, letting the sunlight fade and the students scatter. It wasn't until their curfew had nearly rolled around that they found themselves entering the Slytherin common room once again. "I didn't want to ask in front of everyone in the library, but who smells like lemon and broom wax?" Y/N piped up, her eyes adjusting to the soft green light of the dungeons as they walked in.

Daphne's eyes widened slightly and she grabbed Y/N's arm, stopping her in her tracks. "You've got to promise not to tell," she hummed, the girl's brown eyes darting around the room to make sure there was no other students in earshot. Y/N lifted her hand up and made a zipping emotion across her lips, turning an imaginary key and casting it aside. "I'm not sure yet, but I think it smelled like Blaise," she muttered quietly, despite the fact that everyone seemed to have been tucked inside their dorms already.

"No way," Y/N blurted, the boy in question flickering in her mind. "That explains the steak dinner thing, then, too," she added, referring to the way he'd taken Daphne to Hogesmeade to grab dinner that past weekend, and she laughed.

"Yeah, I just don't know if I should tell him. Maybe he smelled me, too, you know?" she speculated.

Y/N cocked an eyebrow at her. "Oh, he so did," she affirmed. "He couldn't keep his eyes off of you all class," she explained and she smiled slightly at the way her cheeks flushed red.

The girl shook her head softly, hopeful, but still in denial. Daphne's eyes fluttered over Y/N's shoulder and her eyebrows lifted. "You know, speaking of staring," she muttered, lowering her voice and jutting her chin out to the right of them. "Draco looks like he's trying to set you on fire with his mind," she teased, bringing her fingers up to her temples and narrowing her gaze dramatically.

"Salazar, we don't need to make ourselves so obviously aware, do we?" Y/N hissed softly. She grabbed both of Daphne's wrists and shoved them down quickly, sparing a quick glance over her shoulder to confirm that Draco was, in fact, glaring at her.

Daphne was giggling quietly to herself. "I knew he was going to want to talk to you eventually," she hummed triumphantly, tilting her chin up with confidence.

Y/N shot her a look. "How could you possibly—"

"You're gonna tell me that you don't know he fancies you?" Daphne cut her off, careful to keep her voice low, and Y/N's eyes blew wide. "I'm not buying it. He never leaves you alone," she elaborated.

"Are you crazy? I would welcome that, if it were true, but he hates me."

"He doesn't seek you out everyday to talk to bug you because he hates you, you git," Daphne said. "He doesn't even do that to Potter. I think he'll take any attention he can get from you," she explained, crossing her arms over her chest, and Y/N glanced back over at Draco.

Her eyes locked with his and a shiver travelled down her spine. Her lips parted and she turned back to Daphne. "You think he knows I smelled him?" she asked in a whisper, nerves starting to settle in her stomach, because now, all the times she'd caught him looking at her in class were starting to make sense.

Daphne shrugged. Her eyes darted back towards the blonde. "I think you're about to find out, though," she said. "I'll catch you back in the dorm and I expect to know everything," she added in a rushed whisper and Y/N barely had time to register that her friend was leaving, before she turned around and bumped straight into the last person she wanted to talk to at the moment.

A small gasp left her lips when her chest crashed against Draco's and her hands lifted up to his shoulders steady herself, while his grabbed onto her waist lightly. Her eyes trailed up to meet his, as deep and blue as ever, and her heart was beating so quickly, she thought it might explode. "'M sorry," she muttered, pulling her hands off of him and taking a few steps back out of his own grip when she realized the position they'd been in.

Draco didn't acknowledge her apology, he only ran a hand through his hair and shifted his gaze to his feet. "I know you lied to Slughorn," he said. His voice was lower than usual, lacking the attitude that normally came with it, and she felt her stomach flip.

"What?" she asked, taking a couple more steps backwards when he started to advance forward, but she didn't get far before her back hit the cold, stone wall. There was no escaping him anymore as his eyes met hers again, so close to her that the tips of their shoes were nearly touching, and he blinked at her.

"Your amortentia," he told her, though she'd already known exactly what he'd meant.

"My amortentia?" she repeated quietly, hoping she could buy herself enough time to say something—anything—that might get him off of her back, but she was finding it increasingly hard to concentrate when all she could smell was him, him, him. She silently cursed him for being so close to her. "I didn't smell anything, I—"

She couldn't even finish her sentence before he cut her off, slamming the palms of his hands on either side of her head and trapping her between his arms. "For Merlin's sake, quit lying," he hissed, his face only centimeters away from her own at that point, and her lips parted in surprise. Her eyebrows furrowed as she practically gaped at him, wondering why the situation had intensified so quickly. "What did you smell?" he snarled.

Y/N shot him a look of disgust. She didn't understand why he was being so aggressive about the whole thing, but she didn't appreciate it, no matter how hot it might've been. "I told you. I smelled nothing," she growled, lifting her hands up. She was about ready to shove him away from her at that point, but he let out a frustrated sigh and let his head hang forwards instead. She flexed her fingers in midair, fighting the urge to card them through his hair as the smell of his shampoo really tested her boundaries, but she let them fall back to her sides.

Draco pulled one of his hands off of the wall and ran it over his face. "Bloody hell, Y/L/N, did you smell me or not?" he asked, his voice softer than it had been before, and he tilted his head back up to meet her eyes again. When he did, it was like all of the breath in her lungs was stolen away.

Maybe Daphne was right. Maybe he didn't hate her. "Why would it matter if I smelled you or not?" she questioned.

"I walked in and the whole room smelled like you," he admitted. "I didn't realize what it meant until you talked about it," he told her, and her eyes searched his for any tell that this was all some sort of sick joke, but he looked more sincere than she'd ever seen him before.

A smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth and her stomach did a little leap at his confession. "You smelled me? That's awfully sweet of you," she hummed, all the wrong sorts of tension having faded away, leaving only the good to float about between them. Y/N reached up to brush the backs of her fingers over one of his cheeks, but he caught her wrist in his free hand instead.

Draco gave her a dead stare. "I'm going to ask you once more before I drop the topic altogether, did you or did you not—"

"I did," she caved, cutting his sentence short, and she watched the way that his expression instantly softened. He released the hand that he'd caught in his own, his face still scrunched up a bit, because it was Draco, for Merlin's sake, but she touched it hesitantly to his cheek. Her eyebrows lifted slightly in surprise when his skin felt warm against her fingertips, proving that he wasn't completely reptilian, and she let it slide down his jaw softly. He seemed to lean into her touch, before she let it sit loosely on the back of his neck. "It smelled of rain, and parchment, and entirely of you," she whispered and his eyes swam around in hers.

"Why'd you lie, then?" he asked, his voice quiet.

Y/N shrugged. "I think I panicked," she admitted. "If I said what it smelled like, I was worried everyone might've known my feelings for you," she explained.

Draco nodded once and he leaned forward, his face inching closer to her own. The hand that he had on the wall curled against it and his other hand came up to cup her face. Y/N turned her head to press a kiss to the front of his wrist and he tilted her head to the side, pressing a soft kiss to her collarbone and leaving a trail up her neck. "Were you ever going to tell me?" he questioned.

A grin spread across her lips and she shook her head softly. "Couldn't have my sworn enemy knowing I had a soft spot for him, could I?" she quirked and his lips tilted up into a half-smile.

"Sworn enemy, huh?" he asked and he placed a kiss against the corner of her mouth. "To be honest, I always thought we were flirting," he hummed and she looked at him in disbelief.

"You act like a prat and you call that flirting, Malfoy?" she asked through a slight chuckle and he laughed. "You're unbelievable," she told him. "But I'll take it, so guess," she told him and he pressed his lips to hers again, pulling her closer to him by her waist and keeping her pressed against the wall.

He only broke the kiss to mutter an, "I'd hope so," against her lips and she smiled against his mouth, reaching up to tangle her fingers in his hair.

↴

author’s note / just a little hp tiktok inspired mumbo jumbo hehe

[thedarklingxalina]

A Darklina fic I'm playing about with but not committing to yet. This would be the first chapter. I need to finish Dark Guardian first but this idea wouldn't leave me alone.

Eclipse

Summary: Alina is an investigative journalist, investigating the death of her childhood friend, Mal.

Alina is reunited with her other childhood friend, Aleksander - known to the world as Kirigan, a famous actor and grisha rights activist. All too quickly though, Alina begins to discover Aleksander is hiding a dark secret.

Modern Grisha AU. Everyone has their powers. Mentions of suicide. Mild torture.

Saints, give me strength. 

Alina stared at the rusty mesh gates through the rain speckled windscreen. A barrage of warning signs prohibiting entrance were pinned across the fencing. Keep out. Danger. Risk to life. On one fence was a display of withered flowers entwined around the metal, with hand-made laminated pleads to stay away, to remember that someone out there loves you. 

It was a somber sight. Careful reminders of the danger that lurked behind that run-down gate, past the abandoned warehouses, looming at the end of decrepit wooden bridges. Even from here Alina could see the mass of swirling shadows, an endless stretch of darkness that tore Ravka in two.

And here she was armed with wire cutters, ready to break in. Foolish, reckless, stupid. Exactly what she had been told not to do. 

This is for Mal, she reminded herself.  

Alina took in a deep breath and left the warmth and safety of her car. She put on her medical face mask, slipped on a pair of disposable gloves and tucked her camera inside her satchel. 

She didn't plan on staying here long, but seeing as research into the side effects of prolonged exposure to the Fold was ongoing, she decided to err on the side of caution. 

Gravel crunched under her boots as she approached the fence, making her way to a part hidden by the treeline. There she cut a reasonable size hole for herself to squeeze through. 

So far, getting into the site was easy. Too easy really, considering the dangers of this place.

Abandoned heavy equipment littered the rubble ridden grounds. Metallic, battle-worn Skiffs (centuries ago once manned by Squallers before new technological advancements replaced them) laid in ruins around the site; rust-encrusted, dented and torn up. The warehouses were dilapidated, weathered down and overgrown with weeds. 

And that wasn't even mentioning the bridges that crossed the ten foot moat, giving unhindered access to the Unsea and the monsters within. 

This place was a death trap. 

"Why in the Saints name did you come back here, Mal?" Alina asked. 

He had loathed this place. Everyone in Os Atla had. There had been vocal opposition from the public for decades, demanding the site be shut down. The residents of the city uncomfortable with an access point to the Fold being right on their doorstep. 

This skiffyard's infamous reputation for being the most dangerous, certainly hadn't endeared it to people, no matter the flow of trade it provided. It had the highest fatality and injury rate of an skiffyard. Budget cuts producing poorly made Skiffs that broke down frequently and were east pickings for Volcra. Breaching person capacity on each trip to increase profit. Bribing of safety inspectors. Understaffed. Overworking their employees to exhaustion. 

The place had been a nightmare. The stories Mal had told Alina about it over the years still made her recoil. 

The final nail in the coffin for Skiffyard 13 had been when three urban explorers had snuck into the docks, using it to bypass the the forest and ten foot moat separating the Fold from the city - deterrents erected over a century prior, to keep the public safe. The three individuals, the youngest only fourteen years old, had never came out again. 

The dock had been shut down. Workers like Mal had been relocated to other docks outside the city.

Yet despite this, the site had never been dismantled. It was too expensive, was the frequent excuse. The go to excuse for all failures in protecting the general public from the dangers of the Unsea. 

Now, it was the easiest access point to the Fold. No workers to sneak past, no checkpoints, and no maintenance to the gates and various deterrents. There wasn't even video surveillance or electrical fencing, as electronics were unreliable this close the Fold. And much to the people of Os Atla's grief, no armed patrols or guards dogs to keep trespassers like her out.  

Oh, the mayor promised they would upgrade the security on access points to the Fold regularly. But those promises seemed to be forgotten after the elections had passed. Funny that. 

As Alina scanned the deserted skiffyard, the Fold a short walk away, she realized the bitter irony of it all.

It didn't take long for Alina to find the place she was looking. Dock Six. The last place Mal had last been seen alive. 

Alina took a shuddering breath, her grip on her satchel tightening. she closed her eyes, feeling the sting of tears at her eyes.

Another life lost to the Fold, the news reporter had said. A tragic suicide, the police had decided, he left a farewell note on the dock.

A farewell note that doesn't mention me? His childhood best friend. That doesn't mention his girlfriend Lucy who he had planned to propose to on her birthday? 

But Alina's protests had fallen on deaf ears. She was nothing but a grieving girl in denial to them. Even Lucy had tried to discourage her, wanting her to accept-

No. Alina wouldn't hear it. Mal didn't take his own life. He hadn't. He wouldn't. Alina had spoken to him days before. There had been something he had wanted to tell her, something he hadn't felt safe discussing over phone or email. A story, he had said, that people need to know. Then that phone call the night he vanished. That desperate, breathless voice pleading with her through a breaking line. 

Alina... don't... Atla... away- 

Mal? Mal, is that you? I can't hear you, the line is terrible. Where are you? 

Distant shouting, five loud bangs, more static.

Mal? Mal!

Stay away... sorry... sorry...

Something had happened to Mal that night. Something awful that the police were refusing to look into. Alina was sure of it. And come hell or high water, she was going to find out what. She owed it to Mal, to Lucy, to herself. 

Alina scouted the area, alighting her hand with a soft glow to light her way.

It took a while, but the Saints finally took pity on her and Alina found something. Something that she suspected to be the source of the bangs in that final phone call. Gouged into a floorboard of the dock, into a post, and a concrete wall. 

Bullet holes.

They weren't old. The moss overgrowing the post and floorboards having been blasted off with the impact, yet to have grown back. 

Alina snapped some photos. 

After an hour prowling around each bullet hole site, sometimes on hands and knees, getting caked in dust and mud, Alina was ready to give up when an idea sprung to mind. She summoned her light, shining it across the ground until something silver glinted back. 

A bullet, hidden among the overgrown weeds. Alina took more photos before putting the bullet in a labeled ziplock bag. 

Suicide in deed, Alina mused bitterly. Had the police even bothered to check the scene? 

"I'll find out what happened to you, Mal. I swear it."

Alina rose to her feet, dusting her trousers.

Mal had come here for a reason, and whatever it was, someone had killed him for it. But what could be here that was worth killing over? 

There was only one warehouse stable enough to enter. Warehouse three. Alina didn't bother to pick the lock, just melted it off its hinges then crept in. 

The warehouse was massive and surprisingly well maintained. Everything was clean. There was no debris. Creates and boxes were stacked high and neatly.

Alina frowned, extinguishing her light in favor of using a battery powered torch.

If there were people here, she didn't need them knowing she was Grisha. That element of surprise could be the difference that mattered. Besides, there were too many out there that despised her kind; having people know you were Grisha was like walking around with a bullseye on your back. 

Alina crept behind a row of shelves, occasionally taking photos. She stopped at an easy to reach pile of boxes and pulled back the lids. 

Oxygen canisters, boxes of personal protective equipment, bullets (but not the same as the one that she found outside; these were longer and bigger, meant for something... larger.) 

This is all essential items for crossings, Alina realised. And it's all new. 

Someone had to making illegal crossings across the Fold, using these docks as their access point. 

Alina closed the lid, a dreadful unease settling over her. 

What are they taking across the Fold that requires all the secrecy? 

Maybe the answer was in another crate. Alina moved to open another- 

A sharp tug on her heart stilled her, making her choke for air. Alina fell to her knees, the energy in her body bleeding from her.

As darkness consumed her, one though flickered through her mind. 

Saints above, she hated Heartrenders.

☀️🌑☀️🌑☀️🌑☀️🌑☀️🌑☀️🌑☀️🌑☀️🌑

Alina was no stranger to danger. Her investigative journalism had gotten her into many a difficult situation. But nothing ever quite this bad. 

When Alina had awoken, it was to find herself tied to a chair, her hands separated and bound to a steel bar (rendering her powers useless). She was blind folded; inconvenient and certainly unnerving, but it gave her some hope. Whoever had assaulted her, cared if she saw their faces. If they were going to kill her a blindfold wasn't necessary.

"Who are you?" A man asked. Middle aged by the deep roughness. Ravkan by the accent. A grumpy git, by the tone. 

Not the person you're looking for, Alina wants to snark, but thinks better of it. They might not be fans of Star Wars references and honestly, she is too exhausted to try and be smart. Besides, snarky quips and teasing here would only charm her way into a pair of cement boots and a dip in the river. Or the Unsea. 

Alina tried not to shiver. 

"I said who are you?" Grumpy demands. 

"Alina Starkov. Investigative Journalist for the Ketterdam Express News."

There's no point lying. They probably already know who she is with a quick internet search. Lying will only make them mad. 

"What's a small-time news journalist doing in Os Atla?"

Alina twitches at his comment. 

This time the man who speaks is younger. He has a scratchy voice and bratty attitude that made Alina want to kick him in the shin. 

"I'm looking for a friend of mine. Nothing more. He went missing three months ago and was last spotted working at the docks you snatched me from." 

Wouldn't happen to have seen him, would you? Put a bullet through his head perhaps? 

"Name?" Grumpy asks.

"Mal Oretsev."

"Never heard of him. Seems you've wasted your time, Nancy Drew," Bratty said. 

I doubt that, Alina mused bitterly. She had clearly stumbled onto something if they were willing to kidnap and interrogate her. 

"That's a shame," Alina said with exaggerated glumness. "Well, if you could just untie me I can head off. Wouldn't want to keep you guys later than need be."

Grumpy snorted. Bratty let out a nasty chuckle (Alina would wager a week on gossip column duty, that Bratty had a very punchable face).

"We can't have snoopy reporters buzzing around here," Bratty says.

Don't panic, Alina tells herself. Don't-

Alina hears the rustle of fabric, then the dreaded sound of a gun's safety clicking off. 

-starting to panic.

"And you think a dead one will prevent that?" Alina swallowed down the hysteria threatening to overwhelm her, but there was still a frantic edge to her voice. "There are people who know where I am and know to call the police if I don't make it back soon. Within an hour this place will be swarming!" 

"She's bluffing." 

"You think I'm stupid enough not to have a back up plan in case something like this happened?" 

If she said it strongly enough, maybe even she would believe it. Because really, a smart journalist would have done that. 

"You were stupid enough to get caught."

Prick.

"You have a heartrender, that's cheat-" 

Someone slapped her, Bratty she would bet. Alina cries out as pain flares hot on her cheek.

That'll leave a bruise, Alina muses bitterly.

"That's enough," Grumpy snapped, his footsteps loud as he got closer. "Tell us, what information do you have on Project Likhoradka?"

Alina frowned. The name rung a bell, but it was too distant to make out. Likhoradka... why would they think she had any information on it? Was it because she had mentioned Mal? Did it have something to do with the illegal Fold crossings? 

"I don't know anything about-" 

Someone slapped her again, worse than before. Where his hand had connected, her skin burned and ached.

Bastard, bastard, bastard, Alina thinks, gritting her teeth.

"I don't know anything! One of you is a heartrender, you know I'm telling the truth!" Alina snarled. 

Alina strained against the bonds on her wrist, tied behind her back. If only she could melt through them. She could distract them with a flash of blinding light, turn invisible, then flee into the night. Had they known she was Grisha and that was why they bound her this way? Or was it just a precaution?

A phone buzzed, cutting the interrogation short. A moment later, Grumpy spoke again. "The boss is here."

Alina heard the whirling grate of the warehouses large doors lifting. A brief wind tickled her face. Then a new set of footsteps, slow and precise, made their way closer. 

Damn it. How many of them where their now? Three inside, but could more be waiting outside? More heartrenders or maybe other Grisha? Infernis, Squallers, more heartrenders?

Alina swallowed hard, sniffing back the tears welling behind her eyes. Hope of making it out of this alive was dimming like a setting sun. 

"And what is this?" A voice asked. He had a pleasing voice; gentle, smooth, young, yet firm. The boss, she'd guess. Boss of what though?

"Nosey reporter from Kansas-"

"Ketterdam, I'm not Dorothy," Alina muttered. But Bratty would certainly make a perfect Scarescrow; no brains and all.

Bratty smacked her again; this time across the head, more chiding than malicious. Speak when spoken to, the message was clear. 

"Does she know anything?" The leader asked. 

"Don't know yet. But she said she's friends with Oretsev." So much for not knowing him. "We figure she has to know something about-"

Bratty stops talking. Footsteps come closer and Alina holds her breath as someone takes a delicate hold of her chin. She gets the impression they are studying her features intently. Long fingers brush aside the hair from her face, lightly tracing the scar on her forehead. 

A scar she had gotten when she was a child, when a group of bullies found out she was different from them. Witch, demon, freak... stones flying through the air... frightened shrieks and tears... and a little boy with onyx eyes, arms out stretched, shielding her from it all... 

The man inhales sharply. 

The heartrender knocked her out again. 

[driversmutbucket]

Suspension

Headmaster!Kylo AU x reader

(The vibe - except no facial hair and longer actual hair).

Warnings: power dynamics, switch!reader, switch!kylo, verbal abuse, orgasm denial. Only very mild NSFW

Hello chaps. A wee multi chapter fic I have been writing 100% in my head (why am I like this?!) for a few weeks. About time I put it to paper tumblr. I have no idea where this is going, as usual. 👌🏼👌🏼👌🏼

Many described your new workplace as a real-life Hogwarts. The 17th century boarding school was grand, roaming ivy accented the tall arches of the exterior walls. You loved the sliding vertical windows, which were made from, what seemed like, hundreds of small square panes of glass bordered by thick metal glazing bars. The school sat on a large former-estate, no other buildings or civilization in sight.

Parents paid out the nose for their little darlings to attend. It was an interesting mix of emotionally neglected and rebellious rich kids, ultra-smart and relatively normal scholarship kids and stuck up spoilt-brats.

If the school was a Hogwarts, then the headmaster was a Snape.

He was notorious. Or so you heard.

You had heard murmurings of junior school students bursting into tears at the mere sight of him.

You could hardly be blamed for stopping dead in your tracks- or rather- teachings, when the classroom door creaked open and all your students went dead silent, some as white as a sheet.

You knew this was Headmaster Ren from the reaction alone. But when the tall, pale and bizarrely handsome man stepped into the classroom, you could have been knocked over by a feather.

You were expecting an ugly, miserable old git with a thorn in his side.

“Please pretend I’m not here Miss y/l/n.” His voice was deep, smooth and foreign, American? Why had no one mentioned this. You felt betrayed by the lack of information your colleagues had provided, blindsided.

The students followed him with their eyes as far as they could without physically moving as he retreated to the back of the room and sat on a stool. Crossing one leg over the other. Your eyes lingered for a moment on the third button of his dress shirt that seemed to be working just a bit too hard.

You cleared your throat, “right, well, as I was saying, this term our first module….”

You could feel his eyes on you as you leant against your desk and spoke about the outline for the term.

You eventually managed to relax, dishing out the necessary supplies for the first exercise as you explained what you expected the students to produce by the end of the class.

After watching for a time, you notice one of the shyer girls, Molly, hadn’t begun.

You pulled up a stool next to her at the table.

“Why haven’t you started Molly?” You asked gently.

You noticed Headmaster Ren was now walking around the tables slowly, looking at what the students were doing.

“I’m scared.” Molly whispered, her bottom lip quivering.

“Of the Headmaster?” You asked, quietly.

She nodded.

Bloody hell, you thought, glancing at your unreasonably handsome headmaster as he walked around the tables, hands behind his back and stony expression hardening his already strong features.

“How about I stay and help you until he buzzes off?” You smiled at the young girl.

Molly looked up at you, slight shock flitting across her freckled face. You winked, and picked up the protractor.

The only plus of having Ren hovering around would have been that the students were on their best behavior. But they weren’t even speaking, “why are you all so quiet? Feel free to compare your drawings and see what your neighbor has done, they might have some valuable tips!”

The students looked at you startled. You sighed, “well if you don’t I will just start picking students to come and show the rest of the class their progress at the front here.”

That worked a treat, a low hum of chatter and rustling of paper broke out, breaking the godawful, pin-drop silence.

You watched Ren, a flicker of amusement passing briefly over his features.

The bell rang, and the students bolted when you dismissed them.

Headmaster Ren loitered, you could feel his eyes appraising you.

“A pleasure to finally meet you headmaster.” You offered, finally making eye contact as he walked up to your desk.

“Your teaching style is interesting.” He said coldly.

“Oh, ok?”

“You don’t prefer silence in your classroom Miss y/l/n?” He tapped his lips with his pointer finger, as if in deep thought.

“No, I don’t think art class is the place for silence.” You crossed your arms with a small frown.

His eyebrows shot up into his hairline, “I see, perhaps my idea to inject some young blood into this institution was a flawed one.”

Your frown deepened, and you met his eyes, was he baiting you?

“Headmaster, I hardly think that is fair!” You said calmly but sternly.

You swore you saw the corner of his mouth twitch.

“Can’t say I’ve ever had a teacher, let alone, a new hire, challenge me.” He continued.

“This is absolutely absurd.” You tried your hardest not to scoff. Your patience wavering.

“What is absurd, Miss y/l/n?” He locked eyes with you, you swore he was challenging you.

“You.” You snapped, “this ridiculous conversation is over.”

Before you could chicken out, you strode out the classroom door.

—

The summoning to Headmaster Ren’s office was hardly a surprise.

What was surprising was that it took a week.

In that week you had seen why he struck the fear of god into everyone.

Except for you.

Quite frankly he struck you as an arrogant, controlling, stuck up, wanker. Albeit a sexy one.

His explosive temper reminded you of a spoilt teenager. You had lost count of the number of times you had had to stop yourself from rolling your eyes.

But tonight you had been unable to stop yourself. You had rolled your eyes. You had to admit, you went into the meeting on the defensive.

You met his rising temper with a calm, stern teacher voice, even though you wanted to scream at him.

“Headmaster, if you are going to continue this conversation behaving like a petulant child I will simply leave.” You sighed, standing in front of his desk with your arms crossed.

He was whiteknuckling the arms of his office chair. His hands were so big….

That’s when your gaze drifted to his crotch.

There was no mistaking it. He was hard.

You slowly lifted your gaze to meet his. Had you misread lust for hate?

“Are you fucking hard?!” You hissed, breaking your calm and collected facade.

He moaned. It was deep and guttural. Your nipples hardened and your cunt betrayed you as it began to throb.

Planting both hands on the desk, you let your gaze linger on his straining black dress trousers. There was no doubt he was packing. You very slowly let your eyes wander up his large torso. His three piece suit seemed like overkill for a Headmaster, but he pulled it off. His cheeks were flushed, the first time you had ever seen color grace his pale skin. His plush lips parted slightly as he panted, blown pupils watching your every move.

“You are disgusting.” You spat. “Arrogant, conceded, fucking wanker.”

His eyes rolled back in his head. You couldn’t believe this was happening. But you were high on the power you held over him. His reaction egged you on.

“Are you going to cum in your pants like a teenager Ren?” You scoffed, feigning disgust.

He didn’t reply, but his hand drifted toward his zipper.

“Don’t you dare.” You snapped. “I asked you a question.”

“Yes.” He gritted out.

“Yes….?” you prompted.

“Yes, Miss y/l/n.”

“Good boy.” You cooed, breaking into a smile.

You turned on your heel and walked out of his office and down the hall his raging yells echoing behind you.

—

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[classiccheesecake]

i cant count but like i think Im having more sages in my au than what oot hasss but like ミ ᕕ(ᐛ) ᕗ idk if I mentioned but i like sages so like sages are a part of the au now ;v;; and I think a sage for each race is swag so this is what I have Delie Ravio Impa some random minish some random zora some random goron some random gerudo some random rito some random skull kid some random fairy :D okay post gets long so uh weeeeeee ٩(´•⌢•｀ )۶⁼³₌₃

okay okay uhhh so like theres two main like time key frames in my au kinda like oot where Time gets the master sword and everything went to shit same here Dream tries to get the master sword (and does an epic fail) Ravio gets killed aaa and Delie just goes poof since like before Dream and Ravio went to get the master sword Delie and Dream had a really heated argument but in a nutshell Delie was not believing that Dream was a hero and basically just being super in denial that there was a master sword (hm kinda sus miss girl) so Dream was like ight bet I'll prove it to you but Ravio is like uh prettyyyy sure you arent ready (at this point Dream has freed all the heros but he's still missing one orb but he doesnt know that dkjcnhfbgjhc) and that sets up the 2nd half of the au where its Dream searching for Ravio (hes somehow convinced that they made it out alive) and Delie so this is also the part of the au where Delie goes out and meets Impa :D and they both set out on a journey to find out wtf is happening (so like Delie also freeing the princess's spirits and finding out that hyrule was not just something her dad made up but was real woahh shocker ) okay uh Ravio next so I knowww that I kinda killed them off but dw they are actually vibing back in Lorule uh this makes total sense skljdhcbhcfnbg I just thought it would be cool if like the heros of lorule and hyrule like since they are reflections die at the same time and if one of them dies like earlier than expected they get reincarnated (so like mayhaps this explains why you can restart after a game over screen since ravio over there is just chilling and uh .. not dying xD) but heres the catch ravio did get reincarnated but uh idk i dont have an explanation they are young again and dont remember shit from their past life (like helping Dream or his quest) in their past life Hilda sent them to aid Hyrule and help Dream and that led to years of their childhood just wasted trying to find the hero of hyrule (dream honestly just hid in his cave so it made ravio's job just 100x harder ;v;) and when Dream uses Legend's bracelet to travel to Lorule and he finds Ravio in a just blissful state, they are living the life in the castle with Hilda ;v; he doesnt want to even talk to them since hes scared that he would resurface any memories but Hilda is like ik they are baby but you must take them and Dream is like no >:v they are happy here and hilda goes ik dumbass I wish they could stay here but they are sage and therefore is needed to go back to hyrule >:v dream : :v

so now you have to protecc a 8 year old child (yeah we time skipped a lottt aaa) and hopefully not invoke any memories of their past life or else you will feel guilty :D yayyyyyy also Dream did have a sister until she died D: but Ravio's sister didnt die cuz like unlike Hyrule who is drowning in shit, Lorule just be vibing and is chilling so ravio's sister is just waiting... for them to come back and she doesnt even realize that her older sibling doesnt even remember her ;v; (since aryll's name in spanish is april thats gonna be ravio's sister name gosh ik im so clever/j slkjdchbgjdhcnbfghducbfg) and alsooooooo instead of having like a lorulean ver of the master sword, why not swap the weapons and have a master bow and a light sword in lorule so Dream now has an even bigger to do list

Link's To Do List Updated Version

Find all ded heros ★ Git master sword Find Ravio ★ Find Delie Find Impa Sages are now a thing Find Master Bow and more incoming shit that gods will make me do I already explained like Impa's up bringing and she would like bring peace to both of the yiga and shekiah tribes while helping Delie reawaken like Ravio did with Dream uh ... I dont got much else for her at the moment xD MINISH SAGEEEE AAA they are so smol so imagine a feisty lil minish who would beat you the fuck up if it werent for the tiny size yet shes like the most emotional person Dream would meet like she would beat up your ass, then admire the sunset and cry in the same minute and she rides Dragonflies so like I have to name her Dragonfly isnt that epic aaaa shes like the tough mom love friend and would absolutely bake Dream pies aaaa she just saw Dream being super hungry and lost and led him to a minish portal and fed him once they got to her lil house and she helped him find Four's temple ik that apprently the rito came from like the zora further down the line so like what if the zora had a civil war and they split up one became the rito and the other started to become like the zoras you would find in hyrule and legend's time so we got a zora sage named Nelly and she is super into hylian stuff and glady lets Dream into Zora's Domain (which is just a swamp at this point since like the reason the zora are enemies in the downfall timeline are because of the lack of communication between them and the hyrule kingdom and since there isnt a kingdom now thats what the civil war was about, the side that still wanted to try and communicate with hylians is the rito and the zoras are the ones who didnt but this happened like over centuries ago so Nelly is just a descendant of those who fought) and they are super hyper about just meeting Dream saying how he is the first hylian is the first one ever she has seen and they just ramble about incorrect facts about hylians like "didya know that hylians can only run for short periods of time until they faint? my grandpa swears it's true! such lazy peoples" so Nelly gibs Dream some zora costume so that he can blend in and shenanigans ensue uh I got nothing for gorons or gerudo (aside from the fact that the gerudo's desert froze and you need the rods of seasons and the sage is a badass mother who gives Dream a shit ton of sweaters since that old poncho isnt doing anything) and the rito cant fly so the sage is a lil boy who is filled with rage and tries his hardest to fly, and I got nothing for fairyrn okay okay I actually think im super smart for thinking about this but instead of having a kokiri being a sage why not let a skull kid take the stage for once? :D okay so Dream and kid Ravio (o ye when dream looks for the sages its after the timeskip so ravio would be smol) and they enter the lost woods and get ambushed by the kokiri who are determined to legit burn Dream since hes responsible (not really xlkcfhbu) for so many kokiri and young children to be turned into skullkids since he let ganon take control of the lands like before he was born dkjhcbgjcd so the kokiri are just children filled with murder intent but they are like super kind to ravio and offer them tea and while some are restraining dream the rest of the kokiri are like "hey uhhh *sweats* dont look at that we are just playing tag! yeahhhh anyways wanna some cookies?" towards ravio and the burning is about to start until a kokiri stops them and its set up in a way that you would go oh she must be the sage cool but haHAHAH you were fooled for a sec cuz shes not the sageee a skullkid isss uh no idea how to introduce her just know that she starts with lost of angry towards Dream then comes to realize that its not his fault that she became a lost child and vows to help him and tada sage :D O also would like to mention that the kokiri and the skullkids have the same masks like the kokiri have the leaf mask like the koroks and the skullkids have the same leaves mask but they are more wilted so they both look unsettling but they are sweet

children ;v; also since the kokiri have been wearing masks for so long they dont have faces anymore kinda like their skullkid brethren but they decided to carry the burden with them uh yeahhhh thats all I have for now :D uh if you made it this far, I genuinely thank you and pls have this cookie :D!!

[graymatters]

On Insecurity

Number 12 Grimmauld Place smells absolutely rancid as Draco Malfoy feels the warm wash of the wards permit his entrance. A putrid mix of days-old takeaway, stale whiskey and smoke assaults his senses as he scans the poor state of the front room.

He’s not heard from Harry for weeks. As a result, Draco had initially convinced himself that he’d imagined the last few months. Denial and disbelief progressed to a deep sense of guilt, whispering that he would never have been allowed to keep this anyway. Harry must have finally remembered that the creature he’d let crawl into his bed had ugly scars and a black mark that screamed ‘wretched’ and ‘undeserving.’ Draco knew it would happen eventually. He knew it back in December when Harry, wrapped in a crimson and gold scarf, cheeks flushed a beautiful pink, had actually smiled at him when he entered the pub.

Regardless, Draco had wrung every ounce of bliss that he possibly could out of these weeks. He’d savored each time Harry’s knee had secretly rested against his under the table, every soft touch in the middle of the night and the white hot touches that followed after. The short time they’ve had was more than he deserved and he wasn’t going to hurt Harry by asking for more than he could give.

Draco was well into drowning in his disillusionment when Granger had shown up, frazzled and desperate on his doorstep, asking if he’d heard from Harry. She couldn’t reach him by owl, couldn’t get through his floo and the house was warded shut. The distress in her eyes made Draco’s stomach drop and he cursed himself for allowing his self-deprecating nature to make Harry’s absence all about himself.

He weaves through the neglected home to find Harry in a dark and musty upstairs bedroom, sitting on a worn desk with one knee pulled up under his chin, his other leg dangling off the edge. He’s wearing old pajama pants that are two sizes too big and hang low on his hips, but didn’t make it so far as to put on a shirt. His hair isn’t just unkempt, it’s unwashed and greasy. A thin trail of smoke escapes from the end of a lit cigarette that dangles loosely from his hand. Harry absently watches the curling wisps float out the open window next to him.

He turns when the floor creaks under Draco’s weight. The bright green of his eyes contradicts Harry’s lifeless expression and makes Draco uncomfortable.

“Harry,” he says, because he doesn’t know what else to say. Draco fidgets with a stray string on his sweater and looks at Harry’s hands, his toes that graze the wooden floorboards.

“I’m not up for this right now,” he mumbles, barely above a whisper.

“And what’s that?” Draco asks, raising his eyes to look at Harry’s chewed lips, the anxious scratch marks that trail his neck and chest.

Harry turns to look back out the window. He places the shrinking cigarette between his lips and mutters around it, “A pep talk.” A clump of ash falls and lands on Harry’s knee. He doesn’t seem to notice.

“What if I’m not here for a pep talk? What if I’m here to bum a smoke?” Draco hopes he sounds confident.

“Then you’re shit out of luck,” he shrugs. “Last one,” he says a bit louder and casually blows smoke in Draco’s direction.

Draco steps towards the desk. “May I sit?”

Harry just shrugs again. Not a ‘no,’ Draco thinks. He sits, and brings his knee up to his chest, mirroring Harry’s position.

He glances at the ash pile that still graces Harry’s knee, raising an eyebrow in Harry’s direction. A subtle nod grants him permission and he brushes the ash off of Harry’s threadbare pants. Their fingers brush as Harry passes the cigarette to Draco. The smoke curls deep in his lungs. He blows it out the window and looks towards Harry when he says, “Hello.”

“Hi.”

“How are you?”

“Fine.”

“How are you, really?”

“Shit.”

“I can see that. And smell that.”

Harry huffs a hint of laughter through his nose and aims his gaze towards Draco. “Git.”

“If you wanted sugar-coated truths, you should’ve let Granger through the wards,” Draco shrugs and takes another puff of the cigarette. “This is vile.”

Harry reaches to pluck the cigarette from Draco’s lips. “More for me then.” He places a grin on his face that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but it’s something.

“Thought you were ignoring me,” Draco admits.

“I’m not ignoring you, I’m ignoring everyone.”

“I can see that.”

“Can you smell that, too?” Harry smirks.

Draco ignores him and says, “Figured you’d finally realized the gravity of the mistake you made.”

“Which one?” Harry raises an eyebrow.

“The one where you’re sleeping with your arch enemy and sharing your deepest secrets with an ex-death eater,” Draco whispers.

The smirk disappears from Harry’s face and he says, “Sure, every time I see your face I can’t help but think, yup, definitely fucked that one up.”

“You wouldn’t be the only one if you did. Great conversation starter with my parents.”

Harry reaches out to interlace their fingers and says, “I look at you and ask myself what the fuck I did to earn this. I wonder what you were even thinking, getting anywhere near me after… everything.” He gives Draco’s fingers a squeeze. “You’re the one that should be questioning his decisions right now. Unless you think the unshowered and depressed look is sexy?”

“Honestly, Potter, I don’t think there’s a thing you could do to convince me this is a mistake. And the days-old filth and aura of misery is actually quite the turn-on for me. Had to restrain myself from jumping your bones the minute I saw those tattered pants.” Draco looks down at their hands for a moment before continuing, “Now, contrary to my typical behavior, I am not here to talk about me. Do you care to tell me why no one’s heard from you for weeks?” Draco asks as he watches Harry toss the cigarette butt on the floor. It joins a mess of dirty clothes, half-consumed takeaway containers, dirty utensils and piles of ash.

Harry thinks for a moment before answering, “No.”

Draco sends a stern gaze towards Harry. Harry’s knee falls outward and he releases Draco’s hand to place his palms on the desk. He leans forward so far that their lips are nearly touching. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Draco brings his hands up to cup Harry’s face, smooths his thumb over Harry’s cheekbone. He says, “Okay. What do you want to talk about?”

Harry leans his cheek into Draco’s hand, closes his eyes as he rests against Draco’s support and says, “Hmmm… Have you ever watched a muggle telly? You couldn’t imagine what I had to pay to get this to work in this ancient fucking house, but how could I wallow in self-pity without it? Walburga screamed for days, can’t believe I didn’t invite you for the fun.” Harry proceeds to slip out of Draco’s hands and off the desk to lean against the doorframe. “Would you like to see?”

“How about we get you in the shower first? Self-care is important, Potter. No, I won’t take this nonsense. You find a clean, and I mean clean, towel and I will get the shower started for you. And before you even ask, yes, you must wash your hair. It is required, or Merlin help me, I will leave, you just watch.”

After Harry is washed, they spend the evening with limbs tangled under blankets, eating popcorn that Draco successfully did not burn. Draco mindlessly runs his fingers through Harry’s damp hair, untangling the strands as he goes. They watch reruns of a show called Friends , and Draco laughs but also questions this Ross fellow’s character. It’s nearly midnight when Draco turns to Harry and says, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Harry turns the volume down as Phoebe sings a rude Christmas song. “Hermione’s pregnant,” he says with a finality.

“Ok. You seem sad.”

“I’m not sad. I’m… Fuck, I don’t know. I’m happy for them, I really am. But,” he exhales loudly.

Harry shifts his hips to settle into the sofa a bit more, presses himself against Draco from shoulder to knee. Still uncomfortable, he turns sideways to slide his legs between Draco’s and leans his elbow against the back of the sofa. Draco waits patiently through the nervous repositioning until Harry responds, “I feel a bit... left behind? It’s like everyone else has figured out how to move on. How to, I don’t know, get past the fucking trauma that we went through, and just, keep going. Hermione’s on track to be Minister of Magic by thirty, Ron’s about to overtake Robards as Head Auror, you’ll be running your own ward at St. Mungo’s, I know you will. And here I am, still having god damned nightmares.” He looks into his lap, “I dropped out of auror training. I had a panic attack during a bogart exercise and I just... left.”

Draco reaches up to brush a stray curl off of Harry’s forehead, revealing the beginning of the lightning bolt scar that continues through his left eye and disperses over his cheekbone. “Harry, you are so good, and brilliant, and beautiful. You can still be what you want to be, whatever that is and whoever that is, whenever you want. Or not. You could escape to Reykjavik. You could start a circus for all I care, as long as you’re happy, the context is irrelevant.”

“What would I do in Reykjavik?”

“Soak in the hot springs til you shrivel up like a prune. Fuck if I know, but that wasn’t really the point. Harry, you don’t owe anyone anything. Do what makes you happy and fuck the rest.”

Harry moves to nuzzle his nose into Draco’s neck. His exhalations are hot against Draco’s skin. He traces his nose to follow the line of muscle up behind Draco’s ear, tugs at the lobe with his teeth and whispers, “You make me happy.”

“Well thank fuck for that. We’re not done here, not even close.”

Harry’s breath tickles Draco’s neck, sends a shiver down his spine. “Can we be done for now?” he whispers into Draco’s ear.

Counting the short conversation as a win, Draco lets out an exasperated sigh and says, “For now.” Harry celebrates his victory by licking a stripe up the side of Draco’s neck, making Draco cringe. The shape of Harry’s smile is obvious as his lips trail gently back down Draco’s skin and his hand settles under Draco’s sweater to rest firmly against his ribs.

Also on AO3.

[holisticalecsecareanu]

Here we are at Alec Media Monday, gente!

Thanks to the brilliant @skm-skm and her mad research skills today we have Alec in a short film called Trizeci/Thirty, by Director Victor Dragomir. Or, as I like to call it, How Not To Move On Gracefully.

In this thirty minute short, which has English sub-titles, Alec plays the new boyfriend of a woman whose ex is the main protagonist of the story. The ex is apparently carrying an enormous torch for her and is basically kind of a stupid git since he picks a fight with Alec, who has at least half a foot of height on his dumb a$$.

Alec is gorgeous here, playing the taller, more suave, objectively more handsome catch of the pined for gf in question. The aforementioned fight scene is especially frenetic and artfully shot in the pulsing dark and light of a nightclub and I, as a viewer, couldn't tell if Alec won, but my money's on him. Also, there is a patented Alec death glance right after he's introduced to the ex-bf which I love LOL. His part starts at about 9:00 in if you'd like to skip through.

The work is a pretty frank exploration of regret and denial and the title a reference to being thirty years old, just out of your twenties and facing your mortality and the realization you can longer eat an entire pizza without it showing up on your hips. But, mostly, it seems to be a study of how one person is unwilling to accept change in his life. In short, I really cant' fault her choice. Can you?

See you all tomorrow, gente!

[mean-scarlet-deceiver]

*attaches her shipping goggles and beams them upon rws!james*

You all know that I default to reading the vehicles as totally aromantic.

But sometimes it's great fun to view everything from a different lens—and 'James and the Diesels' is a case in point.

So, fine. Trains can get the hots too.

Except... James. For decades James never gets involved with anyone. The other engines casually assume that he is just plain too in love with himself to notice anyone else.

They were wrong. Turns out, he's just diesel-sexual.

But he remains deeply in denial about this for another couple decades.

And he lashes out at diesels precisely because he's goddamn confused what these new Feelings are.

It becomes obvious to the others, though. Because James is the complete cliche of a steamer still stuck in the closet... so much so that in the late '60s his portion of the shed starts filling up with what eventually becomes an entire shrine of 'Kestrel' press clippings and photos:

The others thought they were beyond reacting to pretty much anything James ever does. But this is a whole new level of obliviousness.

Tidmouth sheds, 1970

"Jim old boy, just accept it. You have a thing for the petrol guzzlers. You're among friends here. We wouldn't laugh at you."

"Wouldn't we?"

"... ... ... all right, we would. But we'll laugh at him a lot more if he keeps going about acting like—"

"I AM NOT ATTRACTED TO DIESELS."

"We're all stuck with six feet of yon glossy HS4000 staring down at our funnels! Because ye're gone, laddie—clean gone!"

"That's not—I don't—you—youyouyouyouyou—"

"Oh."

"Well-put."

"We're convinced, we are."

"I am just impressed by his performance stats, you rusty Caledonian git!"

*beat, as everyone contemplates this*

"Mate, I hate to break it to you... but that is not a close-up of his performance stats..."

"Oh, bugger OFF, Henry!"

James remains unreconciled to his own blindingly obvious sexuality until winter 1984...

the works diesel: *exists*

james: ...

james: ...

james: ...

james: ohh

[gloves94]

To Be So Lonely [Draco Malfoy] 9

Rating: PG-13 Pairings: Draco Malfoy/OC Chapter warnings: Bullying!

Raised as an orphan, Nel Saintday, endured years of torture from the Slytherin House. The Dark Lord only allowed her existence for her to serve a very specific vile purpose for him. Her birthright dictates for her to choose a side in the Wizarding War… But what would happen if she dares defy the Dark Lord and his wishes? And what happens when she falls for her tormentor? Will Nel fulfill her life’s purpose? And what side will her tormentor, Draco Malfoy, choose? The light that calls to him or the darkness…

CHAPTER MASTERLIST MY MASTERLIST

1 9 9 3

Holiday at Wool’s was exactly what one could expect.

Being locked up in the laundry room in complete isolation without the exception of Barberry, the owl that kept Nel company and allowed her to exchange letters with her few friends, and her magic books which kept her entertained and helped her pass the time. Any other year Lucy would’ve snuck her out or snuck in some pastries or anything to bring a little bit of light into the now fourteen-year old’s life, but that had been years ago. It had been two years since she had last seen or heard from her friend Lucy and wherever she was Nel hoped she was okay.

Her third year started pretty much the same as the last two. She started getting off the wrong feet with Malfoy which by now was a very irritating tradition. This was also the year that Sirius Black, a mass murdered, had managed to escape from the Prison of Azkaban.

She fainted in the train when dementors attacked and made Tracey and Theodore swear not to tell anyone. As far as she knew nobody else knew. Instead rumors that Harry Potter had fainted spread like wildfire as well. Earning him taunts from Malfoy and the other Slytherins during Study of Magical Creatures. A class Nel did not like in the least due to the distaste most animals had for her.

“Shut up you insufferable lot,” To everyone’s surprise she defended Harry to the taunts of the Slytherin boys.

Harry was- well they weren't particularly friends, but they were friendly acquaintances. Even having spent a Christmas dinner together with a group last year.

She hadn’t defended him because she wanted to defend Harry, she had done it because to her it was personal. She had also passed out from the Dementors, felt could still remember coldness that they brought with them and the numbing pain flooded her body when the dark creature had come near her.

“Oooooh, looks like you’ve got a girlfriend Potter,” Draco taunted. Rolling up her sleeves Nel had had enough of him, she was ready to go and take it up with him personally. She had already punched him in the face once she wouldn’t hesitate in doing it twice.

“Don’t,” Harry and Ron had to hold her back.

“What’s wrong Malfoy? Run out of hair gel?” She commented on his new hair do. He had shed his gel helmet and now wore his hair lose, blonde bangs falling carelessly over his face.

He flushed as several other male students laughed at her comment.

xxx

After class Malfoy tailed after as the two headed towards Divination a class Nel hated due to the fact that Professor Trelawny had made a prophecy about her on the first day of class.

“My child you carry a terrible curse!” She had cried and reached for her face with both hands. “You bear the mark of the serpent-bearer on your face! You undead one!”

It was all of course, complete nonsense. It simply made her feel self-conscious about the several moles scattered on her face.

She didn't know what Malfoy wanted, but she was a feeling it was going to ruin her day.

“I didn’t know you and Potter had a thing,” He said walking next to her. She hated that he was prying into her personal life, why was it any of his business anyway? She hated the way he said ‘Pottah’ even more. She considered saying yes just to piss him off.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” she retorted dully eyes frozen ahead to the staircase leading to the classroom.

“Of course,” he uttered with disgust. “Saint Potter and Saint Nel,” he gagged. “Makes perfect sense if you ask me. Both of you have so much in common. Parselmouths, Muggle-borns, the fact both of you fainted in the train-“

There was no way on Earth that he could've know that. With her patience running thin she pulled out her wand and pointed it against his face as she cornered him. She hated that she had to look up to him since he had grown so much over the holiday.

“What do you want Malfoy?” She hissed out. “Or are you just bored out of your mind? Aren’t you sick and tired of being at the end of my wand?”

He looked down at the tip of her wand before cooly moving it away from his face.

Whatever it was she was expecting him to say weren't the following words:

“Come to Hogsmeade with me.”

Her expression shifted from one of anger to one of pure confusion. He never ceased to stop surprising her. It was typical of third and fourth years to go on dates to Hogsmeade together with their sweethearts or with their friends to split butterbeers and go to Honeydukes.

She lowered her wand slightly, blinking twice as she processed his words. "Yes," she answered softly.

“Really?” He asked just as shocked that she had actually accepted.

“Of course, not you git!” She said zapping him with a head swelling hex. She turned around huffing not finding his latest trick to be the slightest bit funny.

Over the years Nel had grown more bitter and alone. The cause of this bitterness her isolation back at Wool's orphanage. Her abandonment issues preventing her from allowing anybody that weren't her two friends into her personal life and even then they were kept at an arms distance. She grew to be resentful over the parental figures in her life, specially over whoever her parents were.

Several days passed and Nel was surprised to find a note on her desk during Defense Against the Dark Arts. A class she enjoyed, for the first time they actually had a competent professor. Professor Lupin was lecturing about the dangers of grindylows, he had some in a water tank and was signalizing to them as he spoke. She looked at the note on her desk, it was folded in the shape of a paper crane also known as Draco's trademark. Who woul've thought the bastard was so crafty with his origami? She should've just swatted it off her desk but the contents of it were curious to her. She was expecting him to make a joke comparing her apperance to the one of a grindylow but instead the bold word starred back at her: 'Hogsmead?' She set the note on fire without a second thought. Her answer clear. Lupin raised an eyebrow at her? "Anything you'd like to share with the class Ms. Saintday?" She shrugged and shook her head. Thankfully Lupin let it go. Malfoy was insane if he thought she would willingly go with him to Hogsmeade.

Presently, Nel was keeping busy writing one of Crabbe's parchment during History of Magic. Also known as the most boring class ever and the one that Nel would use to catch up on her side gig of writing essays for other students. By now, with little expenses she had amassed what she considered to be a small fortune. One she was saving in case of an emergency. Afterall it wasn’t like she was allowed to go out and spend her money when she was locked up back at Wool’s. Who knows, maybe she'd treat herself to something nice when she visited Hogsmeade for the first time. Professor Bins didn't even seem to either notice or care what was happening in class, sometimes he’d just pass out on his desk which often times lead to a chaotic environment. She felt a hand pull at her shoulder length dark hair and ignored it already knowing who it was.

She ignored the pull, then she felt it again. That tug in the back of her scalp annoyingly commanding her attention.

This year was going to be different. She wasn’t going to spare Malfoy an ounce of attention. She was better than that.

"I know something you don't," She felt a voice singsong behind her ear.

"I could care less about anything you have to say Malfoy," she huffed quickly not removing her hand or eye from the parchment she was currently writing on Animagi. Completely disinterested in the Medieval Witch-hunts that Binns was lecturing about or in whatever Draco had to say. She had a feeling it had to go with his weird obsession to get her to go to Hogsmeade with her.

"Is that so?" She didn't see his expression, but the teen raised an eyebrow. He braced himself waiting for the bomb to drop and savor the bait he was about to dangle in front of her. "It's about your parents."

The only thing Nel knew about her parents was that they had abandoned her in an abbey on October 31st of the year 1981. She had always assumed they were muggle-born until last year when she learned she was a Parselmouth, a dark skill that only the descendants of Salazar Slytherin possessed. She had mixed feeling about them to the day. Sure, as an orphan she was naturally curious, but now she didn’t know if she would be happy or not when she found out who they were. After all being related to You-Know-Who was not a good thing…

Malfoy saw how her hand froze and her back visibly stiffened. She gripped the quill hard as she paused writing the parchment. He didn't stop to wonder just whose essay she was writing this time.

"Yeah, right," He saw her shoulders slightly move up before she scoffed shook her head in denial.

What would he know about her parents? He had to be bluffing.

Draco sat back on his seat and patiently waited for her to take the bite. After years of observing her behavior he knew just what would make her tick and what wouldn’t. He was sure she'd bite.

A moment later Nel turned around with a visible frown. Her dark eyes meeting his light ones. “What do you know about anything, anyways?” She eyed him warily with mistrust.

She had already trusted him once before and it had not ended well. It was something neither of them seem to speak about or mention. It was something she certainly hadn’t told Nott or Davis, nor she expected him to share with Crabbe, Goyle or Zabini.

"I know who it was,” he said slowly savoring the moment. “The person that left you on the doorstep of the abbey."

He saw her eyes go wide at the revelation. That was confidential information. A little-known fact that only a select number of people knew. How would he know? He probably wouldn't, but his father would. Lucius Malfoy, that odd man that seemed to be unreasonably interested in Elowen's life.

Class was dismissed and Malfoy stood up self-righteously and left his seat walking out of the class with a satisfied smiled.

"Wait!" She called after him. However, he did not stop.

"Wait!" She called again and trotted after him. Catching up to him and reaching for his arm holding him back. He slowed his pace and glanced at her with the edge of his lips turned up.

"How do you know that?"

The arrogant look on his face only stretched wider across his lips. Guess for once sitting in during one of his father’s dull conversations had actually paid off.

"How do you know?" She repeated. Draco remained silent secretly enjoying the attention he was receiving from the hostile girl. "Are you going to tell me?" She asked.

He remained silent, marinating in the moment.

"Tell me please!" She implored him slapping his arm roughly. Still he remained deadly silent simply walking away from her.

"Please!" She pleaded. "I'll give you or do whatever you want," she bartered. Maybe she couldn't buy Malfoy but she could offer her business and services to him.

She saw him come to a halt. Crabbe and Goyle who were walking with him also stopped on their tracks. He raised his hand indicating that he would later meet them at the Great Hall later.

"Anything?" He swaggered towards her, arching an eyebrow. A suggestive smirk on his face.

Her face flushed in unflattering red patches as she looked away from his icy eyes. "Well," She pondered.

Just how far was she willing to go for this vital information?

Also - this was Malfoy. Whoever knew if he was being sincere or not. If anything, it was probably a cruel trick he was playing on her. Also, Merlin knows just how twisted Draco's imagination could stretch when making his vile demands.

"Would I lie to you?" He said seeing the uncertainty in her face.

"Yes," She said with an incredulous scoff. He most definitely would. In a heartbeat and without hesitation. He was not to be trusted.

"Not about that," He stuck his hands in his pockets. "I wouldn't waste my time with such nonsense," he said self-importantly.

Nel strongly fought the urge to roll her eyes. His time? What did he spend his time doing? Talking Quidditch with Marcus Flint and the other Slytherin boys? Ogling the other Slytherin girls?

"What do you want Malfoy?" She crossed her arms over her chest growing impatient from walking around in circles with the conversation.

He didn't look away from her perturbing gaze. She was looking at him so intensely almost as if she was trying to read his mind.

"I want Parkinson off my back," He said slowly walking towards her. It was no secret that Pansy Parkinson was thirsting over Draco. She had warned all of her chamber mates to back off because she had claimed her ‘Drakey’ as hers. It was disgusting. Even the way she threw herself at him and always attempted to cling off his arm.

Nel was known for having the reputation of being a hustler in the school. You wanted something done you went to her.

Homework Check.

Test answers Check.

Wanted to hex someone? Check.

Slip a love note or potion? Consider it done.

Of course, her services did not come cheap.

"Consider it done," She clapped her hands together and licked her lips thinking of all the vicious things she could do to Pansy Parkinson. Someone she already despised. She would greatly enjoy this.

"It's different," He clarified almost as if he could read her mind.

"She won't take no for an answer which is why I need you to come to Hogsmeade with me."

So that’s why he had been so insistent… Wait-

"What?" She gaped at him. Horrified at the ridiculous request. At what he was implying. He was asking her out on a date? Why couldn't he just tell Parkinson to shove off? She had endured three years of Malfoy's torture, why couldn't he be just as crude to the insufferable girl?

She was still waiting for him to admit it was all a horrid prank, but his expression told her otherwise. He was dead serious. He really did want her to go to Hogsmeade with him. It hadn’t been some kind of trick. She didn't know what she had been expecting, but it hadn't been this.

"Please Saintday, don't flatter yourself," he scoffed at her shaken expression. Again, she felt vulnerable almost as if he could read her mind. "Believe me, I would've preferred asking anybody else, but seeing she already has it out for you - it makes things easier for me," he flashed her his most charming smile.

“Also, we’ve been civil to each other in the past and it wasn’t completely unbearable.”

She shushed him immediately. Not wanting to remember that Christmas Eve the two had spent together during their second year. It wasn't something she liked to remember, much less talk about.

Normally this would've come at a very expensive price for anybody else, but in these circumstances… He possessed something she needed. Priceless information about her life. What was one trip to Hogsmeade? Really, what was the worst thing that could happen? She'd get stuck having butterbeers with Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle and listening to them talk about this seasons Quidditch. There were worse things happening out in the world right now.

"Fine," She caved adjusting her bag strap.

He stretched out a hand and hesitantly she shook it. She didn't know why she had expected it to be slimy like a reptiles but instead his hand was soft and warm. He definitely had the hands of somebody who had never worked a day in his life.

"You're also to carry my bag and write all my parchments."

"What?" She looked at him incredulously pulling her hand back as if she had been burnt, as if she had just signed a deal with the devil himself. "For how long?"

"Until I feel like it."

"You're not being fair now," She said beginning to walk away.

"Fine," He bartered. "For a month."

"A month?" Her eyebrows went up so far they almost reached her hairline. "Make it a two weeks."

"Three," He pressed.

"One and a trip to Hogsmeade or you've got nothing."

"Deal." They shook hands again finalizing their deal.

He smirked pleased with the transaction. She rolled her eyes and began to walk away.

"Oh, and Saintday," he called after her making her stop and turn to face him. "Most girls would kill to go to Hogsmeade with me," he said pompously.

"I'm sure," She responded her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Who? Besides Parkinson and your mom?"

His eyes widened at the comment.

"Let me know so I can get in line," she flashed him a charming smile before turning away.

[seromreven]

Would you be willing to write a non-smut fic where its Paul's birthday but they're so caught up filming Let It Be that they forget and it sours his day until John suddenly remembers and decides to throw something together real quick? Much thanks ^_^

here ya go, here ya go, here ya go,

1969,

Paul showed up early at Abbey Road Studios the morning of the eighteenth of June. Ha hadn’t needed too but he had woken up in such a great mood early that morning and just couldn’t keep it to himself so he had left the house well before anyone else had even woken up.  It made him hope Linda hadn’t planned anything special because, well, he wouldn’t be there to experience it.

He got up the clean stone stairs leading to the entrance of the studio, full of anticipation. It wasn’t an especially exciting age he was turning. Twenty-seven. Hopefully just another of many years left for him. It made him wonder with excitement what he would be ten years from now. In twenty years. In fifty years! Imagine that! Him at seventy-seven. The thought made him all giddy and anxious at the same time.

He rushed to the studio itself and, unsurprisingly, he was the first to arrive of The Beatles. The cameramen and the miscellaneous crew was already there setting things up while looking at him with stunned faces or raised brow. While, yes, Paul showing up early wasn’t uncommon. It was to this degree. He was, in fact, very early.

He shrugged it off and continued his way to the front of the pianoforte where he placed his briefcase and jacket in a small bundle next to the small stool and sat down in front of the piano with a crack of his knuckles. Might as well warm up and look over some songs while he waited for the others.

Michael, the director of the film, came to his side and placed a steaming mug of coffee in front of him with a flow of well wishes and happy birthdays from him and the crew. It gave him a warm sense of wellbeing he knew to only be surpassed by that of his bandmates.

They hadn’t been getting along together well lately but Paul had hoped, and hoped and hoped, so intensely that it could be pushed aside for this one day. That for this day they could have a calm and easy time making music. Hanging out and hopefully, for once, eat dinner together like they used to before all this animosity came over them like a vengeful tsunami.

Paul played music for about an hour or so before the rest shoved up one after another. Only Ringo really said anything to him, much to his dismay. Only a ‘mornin’, and nothing else. He hadn’t recalled doing anything recently to piss off the other two but there must have been some reason for their avoidance. Maybe they were all much too into their work mindset already that they didn’t think of anything else but getting down to it. So that’s what they did when the hours rolled by. Singing and playing. Occasionally looking over lyrics and notes. The usual.

Paul felt his mood gradually dampen at the lack of… anything from the other men. Had they forgotten? Could they forget? They had known each other for over a decade so surely this wasn’t a date easily forgotten? He was getting right bloody sour and was quickly packing his things to go back home to his wife and kids who he knew for sure wouldn’t have forgotten like some people.

Turning towards the door; he saw that the room was already empty of any other Beatle. Which made him pause; he hadn’t noticed any of them leave. Last he had noticed (which was something that he found, in a way, peculiar now that he was giving it some thought) was that John had been whispering to the other two in hushed voices. Paul had wondered about that but had been far too depressed about the lack of any birthday greetings or attention to put any deep thoughts to it. Until now. What had that been about? Hopefully nothing too serious. Paul just couldn’t handle any more band related drama today.

He slowly made his way out of the studio and as he was nearing the front door was stopped by a heavily breathing John who suddenly appeared out of a corner down the long hallway. He wasn’t wearing the (his wife’s) coat that he had been wearing that morning and now was showing off his skinny arms in a tight-fitting t-shirt as he stood with his hands on his knees, trying to get his breath back.

“John... We were taught in school not to run indoors, y’know,” Paul joked, despite the mood he was in. He couldn’t help himself, really. John waved a hand at him as he finally straightened himself out.

“When did I ever do what the teachers told me to?”

He said with a snicker and Paul, again despite himself, joined in on it. Well, no matter how much he wanted to be mad and hold a grudge about what had happened (or not have) today; he also had found it hard to be mad at John for too long.

John’s slender, calloused hand came to rest on Paul’s bicep and started slightly tugging at it as he started to go in the direction from where he had emerged from not too long again. “Come along now, Paulie,” he said with a slight grin as he dragged the younger man along with him.

Paul questioned him as to where they were going but to no avail. John had apparently decided to stay mum the entire way to… wherever he was bringing him. It was all very… strange for Paul who much rather just wanted to go home after the rather exhausting and… lacking day he had had. John stopped in front of the door Paul knew to be belonging to the small kitchen and breakroom of the studio and looked to his old friend with a raised brow. Why had he led him there?

It was quickly found out once John slammed open the door (the force was pretty unnecessary, Paul thought) to a sudden influx of yelling ‘happy birthday” with small bundles of shredded paper thrown at him. It took a second or two before it really registered with Paul what was going on. He looked around the room to find a small, probably quickly done, birthday party done in his honour. Ringo and George stood behind the wide table with bags of white shredded paper (homemade confetti, apparently) and a small store bought cake that looked to be from the small grocery down the road.

He looked at the duo in gaping shock before turning to John. John, who seemed uncharacteristically nervous, glanced from Paul to the cake and back again. When their eyes connected; he smiled nervously to Paul as he awaited some kind of reaction.

Paul laughed. Laughed in relief. Laughed at the rather ridiculous sight the trio made. John smiling awkwardly by the door while Ringo and George held clear bags of shredded paper that was still flowing around the room due to the draft the open door and window made. It had gotten in their long brown hair for which they seemed oblivious.

“So you did forget!”

He managed to get out in the midst of his laughter and John started stammering in response. Most likely thinking of some kind of denial or excuse but it was clearly all very obvious to Paul what had happened in the proceedings of this impromptu birthday party. He dragged John into a hug, something he soon after realised hadn’t happened in… years, with a fluttering of thanks to both him and the confetti wielding duo.

And as he pulled back from the hug; both John and his own cheeks slightly pink, he admitted that whatever this was… it was much better than whatever they could have done if they had remembered his birthday in advance. That this small impromptu intimate affair was much closer to what he would have wanted from the three of them.

So, they celebrated in the small cramp room. Eating the strawberry cake, which wasn’t all that good but Paul didn’t mind, while throwing clumps of confetti at each other occasionally. Soon, Ringo and George each had to leave, leaving John and Paul alone. Sadly, a rare occasion these last few weeks. There were always people from various jobs and duties. Or Yoko, who seemed to be an eternal shadow to John’s figure. Paul didn’t exactly mind that. She was nice enough, but there were times where she needn’t be in the studio (admittedly that was most times) but she was.

“Again… thank you,” Paul said to John who sat across from him, scraping off the last few pieces of frosting off his plate as they sat talking. He shrugged with a shake of his head and licked his fork clean.

“It’s the least we could do for being such gits and forgetting your birthday, yea?” he glanced to the still open door. “In all the years we’ve known each other… you’ve never forgotten mine,” he muttered and looked back at Paul, looking distraught. Paul sighed, “it’s alright. We’ve been all very… stressed, y’know. Backed up with work and the like.”

John shook his head again and got up to collect their plates; putting them in the sink while saying in the midst of the porcelain clanking; “don’t excuse our actions.”

Paul said no more, knowing it to be a losing battle and satisfied himself in the feeling of content the small gathering had brought. It had been so long (too long) since the four of them last had been in a room alone with no fighting or threats of leaving the band.

So he got up; feeling a content sense of calm he had not expected to end the day with just a little earlier said day. He turned around to face the sink and almost bumped into John, whom had not heard near him at all. They followed each other out the room in serene silence but Paul was stopped by John before they reached the corner where they had almost crashed into each other earlier that day. Paul looked at him, feeling confused at the sudden interruption.

If his silent question was answered or not remained to be seen as John whispered a last ‘happy birthday’ before placing a chaste, bearded, kiss to his own soft lips. Paul knew not how to react and when he finally snapped out of his bewildered haze, John had disappeared out of sight. He heard a door slam but didn’t yet move out of his laconic state of being as he silently felt his lips with the tips of his fingers; trying to discern if that had really happened.

He blinked before lightly shaking his head, trying to snap himself out of it. Had John really kissed him? He took one step. Two steps down the hall before stopping again to, yet again, feel his lips that still tingled from the soft touch and rough tickles John’s lips and beard had left. It was certainly a birthday that both ended and started in a way he hadn’t expected.

[potter-loves-malfoy]

you have a few favorites? They don't have to be brand new or anything. Just some that you love?

I have some new and some old! Also some Jeddy cuz I’ve been reading a whole lot of Jeddy lately, but I’ll put those in the end! Also, this is gonna be mostly smut because that's what I mostly read unless I’m in a very wholesome mood. This is gonna be long, like very long, I’m bad at picking favorites there are just too many (34 to be exact, apparently and this is the most I could narrow it down). (I also ran out of things to say because I remember loving those fics SO MUCH but I dont remember enough to give a “review”)

The Magic Cat by dot_the_writer

When Harry sees Draco Malfoy with painted nails and wearing an oversized jumper covered in cat fur, his obsession from school comes back in full force. Featuring supportive friends, cute cats and lots of Harry figuring out what he wants.

This one I read just this morning when my best friend asked me to rec her some hurt/comfort (hi Jess) and it’s my most recent favorite. Sooo cute!

A New Page by bixgirl1

Draco just wanted to find out what was up with Potter’s new attitude. Some light stalking, the discovery of a hidden diary, and a lot of wanking later, and he has some answers.

They’re just not the ones he expected.

(Things have changed since sixth year, folks. …Mostly.)

This one also, I read fairly recently and I mean @bixgirl1 fics, do I even need to say more?

The Tapestry of Kinship by khalulu 

Harry is at loose ends, Draco is good with needles, and Draco’s young daughter wants to see a certain tapestry repaired. The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black will never be the same.

Helix by Saras_Girl

Seven months after the end of the war, Harry is feeling lost. Fortunately, he is about to be offered an unexpected and sparkling chance to find himself again. [2014 advent fic]

Sanguis Vita Est by Shiguresan

Whilst Voldemort’s prisoner, Draco is made a vampire and forced to take Harry as his first meal. With Draco managing to resist the temptation to drain him, just barely, in a moment of blind rage at what he has been forced to become, he aids Harry in the destruction of Voldemort. But even with that threat vanquished, once back at Hogwarts, Draco finds himself disturbingly addicted to Harry’s blood. And amongst all this, a dark shadow looms ominously on the outline of the forest, watching them closely. A vampire!Draco story and also an ‘Eighth year’ story.

I read this ages ago but I remember hesitating before I started to read this because it’s 312k+ and I didn’t really read super long fics back then, but I loved this so much, also vampire!Draco is a good

Turn by Saras_Girl

One good turn always deserves another. Apparently.

My favorite execution of the “character’s life kinda sucks so character magically gets sent to an alternate universe” trope. Oh also, it’s part of a series

dirtynumbangelboy by magpie_fngrl

After Harry’s unfortunate encounter with his ex, Draco Malfoy makes him a proposition. Draco wants his parents to stop matchmaking him and Harry wants to make his ex jealous. All they need to do is simply pretend they’re in love. Problem is… Draco already is.

Again another amazing fake relationship fic!

Give Me Sweet Oblivion by tryslora 

Italy seems like a long way to go to keep a fetish secret. But the club is exclusive, and the far away location, and Muggle nature, promises anonymity from Wizarding Britain. The only problem is that sometimes, great minds think alike.

One of the actual hottest smut fics that I’ve read, recced to me by my friend @the-cellar-spiral Fun fact, we planned and failed to write a kind of sequel to this, we had @tryslora ‘s permission and everything, we just never really had time, but who knows maybe in the future.

Every Me and Every You by bixgirl1

Harry liked his life just fine, thankyouverymuch — so it was bad enough when a sly fairy cursed him to leap into alternate realities. But seeing Malfoy in all of them? Definitely way too much. And worse yet: needing the bastard’s help to figure out how to get out of of it.

It was a disaster waiting to happen, really.

Well… probably.

Another AMAZING alternate universe fic, using @magpiefngrl ‘s tumblr prompt AU’s as said alternate universes that Harry keeps going in and out of, which makes it 974957839 times better! Also Unspeakable!Draco, also the alternate realities are almost always sexual and it’s great

Dating for Dads in Denial by aibidil

In which one wizard designs and another reluctantly patronises a magical matchmaking service, amidst the chaos of children and parenting.

Since You Asked by Magnolia822

Newly retired Draco Malfoy writes an anonymous agony column for the Quibbler, for which he quickly gains a reputation for offering pithy, practical advice. His life is comfortably predictable until he receives a letter from a reader seeking a divorce from his wife of thirty years. The situation seems far too familiar … could the writer be the Savior himself?

Salty Sweet by Aelys_Althea

Draco was a Master. He’d always been one, but having a town of Muggles consider him as close to God’s gift as they would ever receive was certainly validating. Except it wasn’t enough. After years of settling, of conjuring masterpieces with his fingers and his prowess, Draco realised he needed a change.

How hard could it be to find an apprentice pâtissier that did what they were told? As it happened, doing ‘what was told’ was about the last thing on his inevitable prospect’s mind. Trust Harry Potter to be the one to turn Draco’s life upside down.

Moldova’s Magical Tea by aibidil

Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood, and—to everyone’s surprise—Draco Malfoy are opening a magical tea shop to revive wizarding tea culture and, hopefully, to bring the community together after the war. Harry, who is unemployed and trying to find his way in post-war society, wants to help his friends with their new business—but that means spending a lot of time around Malfoy. Featuring Muggle music from summer 2001, trips to the Muggle cinema, herbology and magical herbal infusions, and Draco trying to convince Harry that, while he’s still a snarky git, he’s no longer a bigot.

The Critiquer by dysonrules

When Harry submits his cock photo to a renowned Cock Critiquer and gets a terrible review, he decides to take a photography class to hopefully improve his skills.

Career Choices: Harry: Shiftless layabout; Draco: Cock Critiquer

But, In Dreams by kedavranox

Harry is a Seer, with a particular affinity for speaking to the dead, but this comes at a price he’s slowly killing himself to pay.

My Name Was Safest in Your Mouth by alpha_exodus

Harry didn’t ask for Malfoy to walk into his shop after so many years. But one event leads to another, and soon they’re scrambling to help Hermione find the solution to one of the most insidious viruses the wizarding world has ever seen. To make matters worse, Malfoy’s hiding something, and Harry really wants to kiss him—except Malfoy doesn’t date. Ever.

I Can’t Take It! by XxTheDarkLordxX

After the war, Draco Malfoy became an author. A best selling author whose books move the hearts of those who read them. Which wouldn’t be a problem for Ron if all of them weren’t about Harry! It was obvious to him that Malfoy was in love with his best friend but why was it that no one else seemed to think so? He was going to get to the bottom of this and get Harry to stop mooning over the blonde idiot at the same time. Perhaps, they just needed someone to come along and get them to fess up. For the safety of his own sanity, Ron was going to help Malfoy ensnare Harry. That is, if they can get along long enough not to kill each other.

The Full Monty by magpie_fngrl

Harry poses for a naked Auror calendar and Draco goes batshit crazy with lust.

Tea and No Sympathy by who_la_hoop

It’s Potter’s fault, of course, that Draco finds himself trapped in the same twenty-four-hour period, repeating itself over and over again. It’s been nearly a year since the unpleasant business at Hogwarts, and Draco’s getting on with his life quite nicely, thank you, until Harry sodding Potter steps in and ruins it all, just like always. At first, though, the time loop seems liberating. For the first time in his life, he can do anything, say anything, be anything, without consequence. But the more Draco repeats the day, the more he realises the uncomfortable truth: he’s falling head over heels for the speccy git. And suddenly, the time loop feels like a trap. For how can he ever get Harry to love him back when time is, quite literally, against him?

Moon-Eyed by loveglowsinthedark 

Draco Malfoy, Head of Veela Affairs at the Department of Magical Beings, does not do people favours.

Harry Potter, recently turned werewolf, is not “people” – not to Draco anyway.

Does Draco plan to fall in love with Harry when he decides to help him? No. Does he end up falling in love with him anyway? Pft, what do you think?

Adventures in Solitude (Are You There, Sirius? It’s Me, Draco) by oceaxe 

Draco is grateful to have had Sirius’ portrait to confide in all those years ago, about his sexuality and unwanted feelings for a classmate named Harry. But when he gets the portrait out of storage after twenty years, the secrets he has kept from Sirius all along come out. Secrets about Draco’s role in the war… and secrets about Harry Potter.

Proof of the Pudding by gracie137 

When Greg’s bakery opens on Diagon Alley, Draco doesn’t expect it to the place he ends up finding love, but then again Harry Potter had always ended up defying Draco’s expectations.

AKA: The One Where Gregory Goyle somehow ends up running both a bakery and a match making service.

The Rules of Matchbreaking by PalenDrome (nerdherderette)

For Prompt #51:When Draco gets fired, he reluctantly agrees to break up a girl’s relationship for her disapproving mother. Through word of mouth, the one-time gig turns him into a professional Matchbreaker, however he winds up falling for one of his clients and must somehow balance his secret job and love life.[excerpt]:“So who is it? The Curse-breaker and the Veela? The head of the Department of Magical Transportation?” Draco’s eyes lit up. “The Dragon-tamer?” Now that particular Weasley could be fun.

“No. It’s Harry,” Hermione said, the name exploding out of her in a rush.

Draco blinked, stunned into silence.

“Harry,” he said, after he recovered his faculties. “You want me to break up Harry and the Weaselette?!“

One Night at the Leaky by birdsofshore

Harry should have known better than to accept a drunken dare. Especially when Malfoy was sitting right there, looking like that and wearing those bloody tight trousers.

This is the very first Drarry fic I read, while trying to research dares for a seungchuchu fic I was writing at the time and it is the fic that made me ship Drarry and it will always hold a special place in my heart.

Ligabus Filium by Tessa Crowley (tessacrowley)

It should be careful, deliberate, but it isn’t. Like every other part of their relationship, it happens gradually and then all at once, before they even realize it. And when the little blue threads bind them together, there’s no going back.

The Printed Press by Soupy_George

Draco Malfoy was still slightly amazed that he was standing on the doorstep of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. He never would have thought that Harry Potter’s very public and very … sweary, emotional explosion would have led to him offering Draco, of all people, a job.

All Life is Yours to Miss by Saras_Girl

Professor Malfoy’s world is contained, controlled, and as solitary as he can make it, but when an act of petty revenge goes horribly awry, he and his trusty six-legged friend are thrown into Hogwarts life at the deep end and must learn to live, love and let go.

Foundations!verse by Saras_Girl

Reparations by Saras_Girl

Harry is about to discover that the steepest learning curve comes after Healer training, and that second chances can be found in unexpected places.

Foundations by Saras_Girl

When one door closes, another one opens – with a bit of a push. Life, love, and complications. [sequel to Reparations]

So this was included in my healer!Harry rec list but this series is just so good also it has way too many fics in the series for me to link to all of them but once you read the two main fics there’s no way you’re not gonna wanna read the one-shots that come with the series as well.

Are You Mine? by gracerene

A trilogy of fics set in an Epilogue-Compliant Harry Potter ‘Verse, with various accompanying time-stamps and one-shots. Fics are in chronological order.

Not Just When You Want to Be by gracerene

A little over a year after the end of the war, fate seems intent on pushing Harry and Draco together. Staying together is a different matter entirely.

What I’m Waiting to Find by gracerene

James has devoted the past two years to being the best damn Chaser that Puddlemere United has ever seen…and to getting over his teenage crush on Teddy. But when Teddy comes back to England after a long stint abroad, James’s resolve to move on is put to the test.

All of the Time by gracerene

Twenty-five years later, Harry and Draco find their way back to one another.

I read this one fairly recently as well and this is definitely one of my all-time favorite series, the first and third fics are Drarry and the second is Jeddy. I honestly love this so much that I lowkey want to go find @gracerene09 down and thank her for writing such an amazing series. Oh fair warning though, the first fic made me ugly cry and opened a wound that only the third fic could heal so you know, prepare yourself. There are also accompanying oneshots that are also v amazing!

This Must Be the Place by aibidil

When your dad is Harry Potter, your face shows up in Teen Witch, your social media videos go viral, and sometimes your life depends on pretending to date your metamorph godbrother, whom you’ve been over for years, thank you very much. Or, the one where James and Teddy do animal yoga and risqué karaoke and their families could do with seeing fewer videos of them snogging.

I’m a sucker of the fake relationship trope and @aibidil wrote this sooo beautifully

The Hidden Side by gracerene

Twenty years ago today, James Sirius Potter was born into this world. Four years, two months, and six days later, somebody took him.

Oh god this, THIS Auror!Teddy is one of my favorite Teddy’s. Also super intriguing plot and still quite a few unexpected twists even though the biggest revelation you guess/know pretty early on. Oh and background drarry!