#just know that i have been agonizing over this for the last couple months and i hate having to make this call lol

[groenendaze]

the unfortunate consequence of dog is that sometimes things just don't work out, no matter how much you want them to.

pando will be going back to his breeder here in the next coming weeks. i love this little dog, i wish the best for him in his life, and i want to see him succeed in a place where he can truly thrive. i think he's a great dog, but he needs a different lifestyle than the one that i currently have.

[cassandraclare]

A bit of publishing stuff (if you get my newsletter you've already seen this)

So by now you lovely people have all seen the announcement about what books I have coming up next. Ragpicker King is coming March 4, 2025, and The Last King of Faerie is coming early 2026.

I know a lot of you were hoping for LKOF to come earlier. It’s going to be a big gap between the last Shadowhunter book and the next — three years. Previously the longest gap between Shadowhunter books was two years, between Mortal Instruments and the Dark Artifices.

I announced last year that I was taking time off — six months. It was the first time I’d taken any real time off since 2005. The pandemic had just happened and I was wiped out physically and mentally. I also needed to take stock of where I was in my publishing journey and really think about what I wanted — it had been years since I’d had time to consider whether I was happy, because I always had another deadline and that was always more important.

  When I came to the end of The Last Hours, I was “out of contract” — meaning I didn’t have any further Shadowhunter books that were owned by or owed to a publisher.  it was the first time that had happened since, again, 2005. Being out of contract is your one chance to change anything you want to change about your career, and I knew I was going to leave my longtime US publisher of the Shadowhunter books and move to Random House, who published Sword Catcher.

This isn’t a small decision for any writer to make. It sometimes happens when a writer has been at a publisher for a very long time that the nature of the publisher changes. Maybe all the people you worked with when you first came to that publisher have gone elsewhere, so your team has inherited you rather than having chosen you. Maybe your publisher has been sold to another company whose vision for that publisher doesn’t fit with yours. Maybe your publisher isn’t interested in your genre anymore. 

I spent a lot of time agonizing over the decision—I certainly could have stayed where I was, but I knew that was no longer the best decision for the books. So those of you who pay attention to these kinds of details will note that where the other Shadowhunter books have all been published by McElderry Books, these next ones will be published by Knopf. (Who are an amazing imprint. They make great books.)

Normally a writer wouldn’t really address switching publishers — it happens a lot, and most readers don’t care who publishes a book. I’m talking about it now because I know there will be a lot of people who are angry and don’t understand why Ragpicker King is coming out before Last King of Faerie. The short answer is: Ragpicker King has been under contract since it was sold along with Sword Catcher, years ago now, and I’m obligated to get it done when I said I was going to. The books of The Wicked Powers are only just now securely under contract enough to be announced, as you just saw! So Ragpicker King is planned to be turned in in a couple of months, and after that I will be able to focus entirely on The Last King of Faerie (which I already began, but since it was only sold to Knopf last October, I was only able to get started after that).

And it takes a a year at least to write a book and another good year or so to publish it, and that gets us to the pub dates we’ve got. I would love if I could get it to you earlier, but multiple factors have brought us to this point, and in the end, not rushing through them is the best thing for the books, and will produce the best version of those books. I always want to get you my best work — that’s what is important to me above all things.

In terms of other publishers in other countries — I’m staying with all my longterm Shadowhunter publishers. Nothing’s going to change for y’all — Walker Books is still publishing Shadowhunters in the UK, even though a different publisher is going to publish In Fire Foretold there (due to spiciness.) ;) 

For those of you who backed the Kickstarter, that will mean you do get new Shadowhunter content between now and early 2026* — which was part of the reason I did it! I’m also talking to my new publisher about bringing Better in Black out — with at least a six month gap for the Kickstarter backers to have it to themselves — so fingers crossed. There’s also Black Volume of the Dead, the final Eldest Curses book, which is still planned and which I am still excited to write, but since it is set after Last King of Faerie, it hasn’t been scheduled yet. More news on that as it develops—for now, I wanted to talk directly about the schedule in the next couple of years, since I feel confident it is set and will reliably happen this way, something I can’t yet say about 2027 and beyond. The point is, I’m really excited to bring you Wicked Powers just as soon as it is ready, and I know enough about it to say  it’s going to be quite a ride!

And also an early look at In Fire Foretold.

[staycalmandhugaclone]

Fool's Errand Pt 2

Part (2) of Fool's Errand, the next arc of Doc's Misadventures! If you're new, start at the beginning with Touch Starved!

Y'all it has been an interesting couples weeks! To summarize, we've decided to upgrade, so are scrambling to get our house ready to sell while caring for a 5 month old and drooling over possible new places to buy! Super fun, super chaotic, and super stressful - wish us luck! (and if any of you are diy specialists in WA, hit me up 😆)

Warnings: Medical procedures, broken nose, blood, needles, profanity

WC: 3,095

“I c’n fight! G’me a kr’ffin’ gun!”

“You can’t even stand! Stay down or, by the Force, Hunter, I will sedate you!” I didn’t try to hide the impatience sewn through the shouted threat.

“I c’n st’ll shoot!” He tried to yell, but the words tangled around his stiff jaw, the muscles locked taut, though whether from pain or injury I couldn’t tell. Our exit had been blocked, the hall too full of droids to even see the far side. We’d had to run. I didn’t know how Echo managed to keep track of our location - if he’d managed to keep track of our location…

The room we’d ducked into was oppressively hot. It radiated from stacks of servers stretching floor to ceiling around us and sent sweat soaking into my blacks in just those few minutes we’d hidden within. Hunter sat against one of the towering jumbles of wires and electronics, one arm wrapped tightly around his chest while the other reached toward me, open hand trembling too violently for anyone to feign ignorance to. I stood beside him leaning around the server just enough to watch the door, pistol trained before me in anticipation of the coming horde while Echo tried to override the droids’ programing at least long enough to grant us an escape, scomp plugged into a massive terminal in the center of the room.

“If you’re so eager to do something, try to get your armor back on before we have to move again.” I ordered, snatching the sack at Echo’s feet to toss toward the seething man. The painkiller was fading, but it was still strong enough to take the edge off, and the denial it granted him, the ill-fated belief that his wounds weren’t as bad as they seemed, was a danger in itself. His lips pulled into a snarl, retort crawling up his throat, but the lungful of air he drew in to voice it left his entire body seizing against a sudden surge of pain.

His gaze fell quickly away from me, unable to hide the way his too-shallow breaths shook even as he fought for some means to continue arguing, and my heart ached at the sight. Blood still trickled from his nose, coating his lips and chin, and staining the dark fabric of his shirt. He had to strain to open his eyes enough to see me, but the way they wavered left me doubting whether or not he could really make out more than some blurred outline before him.

“Here.” I whispered, kneeling beside him and reaching into the bag. “The last thing you need right now is to get shot without any kind of protection.” He didn’t look at me, mouth just twitching into a scowl before his shoulders sank in resignation. Gaze constantly shifting back toward the door, I carefully helped him slide into his cuirass, wincing at his every hitched movement, but there was no avoiding it. He couldn’t get back into the precious gear without contorting his arms. The pull that movement caused against his ribs couldn’t be anything less than agonizing.

“Almost there.” The murmur escaped me without thought toward how it would be received, if he would balk at the soft encouragement or fight to make some retort. I only cared that he was in pain, and all I could offer in that moment was gentle words and some menial bit of assistance in maneuvering into the unyielding durasteel shell. His chest bucked around choppy gasps by the time the armor finally settled into place, skin frightfully pale and covered in a sweat that had nothing to do with the heat.

“Hard part’s done.” He nearly offered some response but let the words fall away with a strained exhale.

“No luck.” Voice heavy with disappointment, Echo abandoned the terminal to walk back toward us, readily joining me help his brother into his gear, “but we’re not far from another hatch.” None of us spoke toward the impossible task of getting Hunter up the vertical stairs, the difficulty in just getting back to his feet at all when every second seemed like the very act of drawing breath was growing more difficult, but that was a problem we’d have to deal with if we managed to actually reach an exit.

“Crosshair’s been trying to draw them to the surface, but they’re not taking the bait.” My lips twisted into a scowl at the very thought of Crosshair acting as bait, but quickly forced the image aside.

“Tech, Wrecker; you guys make it out, yet?” I called over our coms as Hunter finished pulling his last glove on.

“N… nearly there.” Tech’s response was interrupted with a small grunt, blasterfire screaming loudly in the background. “We’ve come upon some – Wrecker, n-!” The compound shook hard enough to nearly throw me to the ground despite how quickly Echo’s hand locked around my arm to steady me.

“Tech?!” I shouted nervously, noting how Hunter’s arm tightened around his chest, fingers strained in a clenched fist.

“I told ‘im the roof would hold!” Wrecker boasted loudly. In nearly the same breath, however, the alarm stopped. The silence that followed was deafening. Despite the hint of relief Hunter couldn’t quite hide from finally being free of the surely agonizing screeching, none of us could ignore the impending threat looming in that quiet.

“That wasn’t why I advised against it.” Tech stated, tone just shy of frustration. “I believe the site has now fully locked down, meaning we’ll be unable to leave in the same manner we got in.” He paused a moment. “Crosshair, do you read me?” Another pause. “Crosshair?” My heart sank, a chill flooding my chest with an entirely new dread. “Additionally, I believe all coms are being blocked as well…” He added in a grumble.

“Well, how was I supposed to know it’d do that?” Wrecker’s retort failed to hide the edge of guilt gnawing beneath his annoyance.

“This is a black ops site.” His brother said simply. “It is common sense for such facilities to-”

“Enough!” Echo growled over them. “Tech, can you reach an access panel? Maybe we can figure out a way to override the fail-safe.” I stopped listening as the discussion wandered toward subjects beyond my understanding.

“Hunter, how are you holding up?” Movements slow, I kneeled beside him once more, unable to ignore the way his body nearly shuddered in pain from even shallow breaths.

“‘m f’n.” He didn’t so much as try to look at me as he said it.

“Hunter.” I called more forcefully, setting my pack down quietly beside me when he didn’t answer. “Hey, I’m going to take your helmet off. Okay?” Voice lowered into a gentle murmur, I quickly removed my own before reaching for his, pausing a moment to grant him time to refuse, but, when he offered no objection, carefully eased the bucket from his head. Unmuffled by the thick layer of duraplast, I could clearly make out the quiet whistle catching on every inhale, and the unrelenting trickle of blood from his distorted nose left me uneasy.

I looked toward the doorway for just a moment more before reluctantly setting my pistol down beside me, fingers nearly twitching with the urge to immediately pick it back up.

“I think it’s time for some more meds. What do you say?” I tried to sow a joking temptation into my words, pleased that he at least managed to open his eyes enough to glance at me, if only briefly. “Thought you were eager to join the fight just a few minutes ago?” I teased, hoping to draw a proper response from him. His jaw shifted, but the attempt to swallow faltered beneath a wince, and I almost didn’t want to check what monstrous bruises lay hidden beneath the cover of blood and cloth.

“Y… y’ g’na g’v me a g’n?” I almost couldn’t make out what he tried to say, but felt a new sense of urgency quicken my movements as I dug through my bag.

“You planning on shooting Echo? Because, right now, he and I are the only ones in here with you.” He let out a weak hum, not bothering to look down as I pulled one of his gloves off.

“C’n’t… c’n’t sw’low.” He didn’t flinch when I slipped the IV into the back of his hand.

“This should help.” I murmured. “Some pain killers, some anti-inflammatories, and a couple other things to get you moving again.” His eyes strained to focus on me, and I knew he’d heard everything I pointedly left unsaid; that the meds I’d listed were only the least concerning ones saturating his IV. I didn’t tell him about the vitamin K and platelets I was flooding him with in hopes of stopping the bleeding; both what could clearly be seen and what couldn’t. I didn’t tell him that I was straining against the bag of fluids to force the saline into his veins because the risk of hypovolemic shock was too great to be ignored; that the frightful pallor of his sweat-soaked skin and quickness of his breathing sent my heart racing nearly as fast as his, but he could only maintain that focus for a few seconds before falling back into something far too near to unconsciousness.

“Can you tilt your head back for me?” My hands reached up to lightly rest on either side of his neck before delicately tugging at the lip of his blacks. It was faint, but he just managed to tilt his chin up, allowing me to more easily cut through the fabric. The mess of blood and bruises beneath obscured skin just starting to show the beginnings of stubble. I was barely able to brush the ridge of his Adams apple before he winced in pain.

“You’d think they’d be more careful with your neck during a damn interrogation…” I muttered with a sigh.

“Th’nk I… made ‘m angry.” His lips just managed to twitch into a smirk that made my heart soar.

“You?” I scoffed teasingly, “Get on someone’s nerves? Nah.” That smirk grew, and I had to ignore the guilt that churned through my stomach as I retrieved some bacta.

“Alright; I’m going to get some goo on that neck. I know it’s sensitive, so I’ll try to be careful, okay?” His grin instantly fell, jaw tensing as he gave a small, stiff nod. His leg twitched slightly at the first touch of that cool gel against his swollen throat, breath catching in a pained grunt that he only just managed to silence.

“I know, honey.” The quiet murmur fluttered thoughtlessly passed my lips with a sympathetic frown.

“H’ney?” He nearly huffed, voice strained beneath a vain attempt to ignore the hurt lancing through him at even the featherlight caress of my fingers. “Cr’ss ‘s gonna th’nk you’re… you’re goin’ sweet on me.” I let out a quiet chuckle, ignoring the way my cheeks threatened to warm beneath the thought.

“You let me worry about that grumpy brother of yours.” He offered another grin, if only briefly at my whispered reply, and I let out a small sigh of relief at how he began to slump back against the wall, that accursed tension easing as the combination of meds began to offer him some bit of respite, but the steady stream of blood from his nose refused to quell.

“Hunter, we’ve got one more thing we need to deal with before you can relax.” I warned reluctantly. He let out a short breath but otherwise didn’t bother moving. “Either I straighten your nose now and then treat it, or I just treat it to stop the bleeding and have to re-break it later.” I didn’t press him for an answer, but he didn’t have to explain. I knew what he wanted by the way his body sank with a heavy exhale.

“You know, the first time I fixed a broken nose was actually Emmy’s.” I told him, voice purposefully quiet as I set out strips of tape and some bacta spray before carefully palpating the swollen flesh. I knew he was barely listening, focus instead on trying to fight the tension plaguing him from the impending pain. “She was trying to wrestle her brother into a cab – he’d gotten a bit too drunk at our engagement party.”

“Engageme-” In that brief moment of distraction, I wrenched his nose straight. His breath fled him in a choked grunt, hand darting up to lock around my forearm tight enough to make my vambrace creak in protest. I didn’t want to think about the damage he might have done without that protective armor, heart stuttering at the powerful display.

“K-kriff… s’ry…” He muttered, releasing me with an almost jerked motion.

“It’s fine, Hunter.” I assured warmly, fingers flitting over his nose with tape to offer it some bit of support before retrieving the bacta. “Alright, I want you to try to take a deep breath in.” He was still scowling from the lingering hurt as he tried to obey me. I didn’t offer further warning before flooding his nostril with blue gel, free hand locking around the back of his head as he threw himself back in a violent recoil, straining to follow the sharp movement even as my stomach churned at the choked retch that tore through him.

“I know, I know. One more.” I murmured quickly, granting no reprieve before doing the same to the other side. His hands latched onto my sides, grip burring into my cuirass in a barely repressed effort to rip himself free of me. “Alright, it’s alright.” I whispered softly, fingers shifting gently through his hair in a way that I knew would send a pleasant shiver through him, and he nearly collapsed against me, face twisted into a snarl, torso bucking in a torrent of painful coughs. After securing a final strip of tape to hold a pad of gauze beneath his nose, I allowed us both a moment of quiet, arms wrapping carefully around him in hopes of granting him some breadth of comfort.

“E… e-gaged?” He asked, voice thick and nasally, yet I still found myself laughing softly.

“Don’t sound so surprised.” I replied with a feigned insult that gleaned a tiny huff from him as my fingers gently curled through his hair. “She and I got through med-school together – that says something.” Jaw parted around still heavy breaths, he shifted enough to glance up at me, but before he could gather strength to speak, another tremor tore through the base, this one far more powerful than the last.

“Echo?” I could hear the trepidation stealing through me, felt my shoulders tense and my mouth go dry as my gaze glanced nervously over the unknown tons of duracrete and steel overhead.

“That wasn’t us.” He said darkly. My hand darted out to snatch my pistol, eyes flicking back to the doorway.

“Can you hear anything coming?” I asked Hunter. He paused, straining to focus for a long moment.

“Looks like it came from outside.” Echo added, attention focused on the stream of data pouring into his mind through the terminal. I didn't want to think about what that might mean. Had Crosshair caused the explosion? Was he under attack? Was he alive?

“Hmm…” A weak hum sounded from Hunter, catching my attention. His brow was furrowed in concentration, eyes closed. “…droids.” Kriff.

“Echo!” I called over my shoulder before turning my attention back to the crumpled man before me. “Can you tell how many?” He paused before shaking his head.

“’nough.” He muttered, breath quickening before he tried to push himself up.

“Whoa – hold on, hold on; let me help.” I was at his side before I’d finished speaking, gently pulling his arm over my shoulder

“What’s going on?” Echo asked. I could hear the dread in his voice; the certainty that he wasn’t going to like the answer to his question.

“Droids. We need to move.” He didn’t question me, gaze flicking only briefly to Hunter before kneeling down to retrieve the abandoned bucket to slip back onto his brother’s head. The look he sent me upon noting the hitch of his shoulders with each half-gasp, the amount of blood soaking his shirt and the still present hiss with his every inhale, left me tensing my jaw.

“I’ve got him.” I assured him. If it came to a fight, there was no question who was more valuable, and I couldn’t dismiss my simple want to be the one Hunter leaned against; memories from so long ago forever fresh in my mind when we’d been captured together, when hidden speakers left him crippled and in agony, and he’d turned to me for comfort rather than his brother. I hoped I could offer him that same comfort now as I donned my own helmet once again and eased him to his feet.

“Tech, we’ve got droids incoming. I had to leave the terminal.” Echo warned, purposeful strides carrying him toward the door.

“Wait; it would appear most of the droids are mobilizing.” We quickly paused at Tech’s comment. “Based on where you described yourselves to be, I do not believe they are converging at your location.”

“Crosshair.” Hunter mumbled against my chest. I had to swallow back the anxiety coiling through my gut, had to force the image of Crosshair luring an army of battle droids into the surrounding wilds from my mind. Each member of this squad was a frightening force in their own right, but his strengths didn’t lie in close quarters and limited visibility…

“I believe the location they are headed is nearer to us… Wrecker and I will investigate and report back. Perhaps, this will yield a way out of here.” Be careful. The words were held back only by how forcefully my teeth ground together. It didn’t need to be said lest even that tiny distraction prove disastrous.

“We’ll stay holed up here. If we don’t hear from them in ten minutes, we’ll move out – see if we can catch up with them.” Hunter offered no objection to how effortlessly Echo stepped into his role, and I worried for the true cause of that silence. Was it trust? The knowledge that Echo’s tactical mind was one of the brightest in the GAR? Or were teasing retorts subdued by pain and exhaustion? Ten minutes was a lifetime that could mean the difference between Hunter merely being hurt and his condition becoming critical, and my worry grew with each passing second.

Next Chapter

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[therabbitthatpostthings]

(Masterpost)

Giyuu never thought he’d grow to like the snow. Every step he took was coated in ice, the waving of his hand brought down blizzards. Icicles stabbed into the earth as they fell from his antlers, and a wind storm signified his arrival. Snow was his eternal prison. A sentence brought onto him by an evil long gone. The same that took his family and secluded him on this mountain. The earth withers and dies in the winter. The night becomes longer and the monsters more violent. There was truly nothing good about winter.

In such a dreary month, Giyuu started to find joy in the little things. He liked the way snowflakes clung to your hair. The way they dotted your eyelashes in little white specks. The rosiness of your cheeks in the cold air as you laughed. A hearty laugh that lit up the mansion in a warm ambience. You bring him towards the hearth and brush his hair back. The soft pads of your fingertips against his scalp. The way you trace the markings on his face.

The dulcet tone of your voice as you ponder over a conversation you had earlier, “I don’t think ice suits you that much.”

He scoffed at the absurdity if he wasn’t so indulged in the soft tug of the comb through his hair.

You continue, “I think water suits you better.”

“How is that different?” Giyuu sighs into his response as he tilts his head back into your lap, mindful of his antlers at your side.

“Ice doesn’t change. It keeps everything in place until spring comes. Ice is stagnant for months.”

Giyuu let out a hum to let you know he was still listening.

“Water is constantly changing. Flowing from one place to another. As harmless as rain and powerful as the ocean. Dangerous too.”

“Am I dangerous to you?”

Your lips curve into a smile as he feels a soft pressure on his face. You leisurely traced the markings on his face. “Not to me you are. You changed for me, didn’t you?”

Giyuu melts into your touch. He couldn’t answer if he wanted to. Not when you held him so tenderly. The way your fingers danced across his markings, these cursed markings of his prison and you held him with such ease. He wanted to be held closer. He wanted to be enveloped in the warmth you shared. He wanted you. That was too selfish of a desire. He was content with moments like this. Any moment with you near would be enough.

“You change me,” he murmured.

“Hmm? Giyuu? What did you say?” You gently nudged him but Giyuu stayed still. In this faux-repose, he looked gentle. Your heart softened at the sight. This was a far cry from the man that ignored you at every turn. The man that recoiled in your presence was now settling against your legs as you gently brushed his hair. Soft giggles escaped your lips at the thought.

“What?” He questioned in a hushed tone.

“A couple months ago, you would have never been this close to me.” You mused over Past-Giyuu’s short answers.

“You’re too insistent for me to ignore.” Giyuu gently tugged at your wrist. Following his lead, he pulled you to the ground with him. Your head found shelter against the inside of his shoulder, back pressed lightly into his chest. His arm gingerly wrapped around your waist. “I like it better like this.”

You yawned as you sunk into the inviting chill, “Let’s stay like this.”

“I love you.”

Barley above a whisper. Only when you could no longer hear him could he bring himself to say it. Giyuu didn’t know what scared what more, your acceptance or rejection. It was agonizing not knowing. But it would destroy him to know. He watched your breathing even out. The repetitive rise and fall of your chest. Just beyond the sunrise you would be gone. He’d lead you down the mountain and to meet a wagon that would take you through the valley and back to your home village. He trusted you to come back. Be it three days or three months, it didn’t matter. As long as you returned he would be happy. He’d never ask for anything if it meant you two would have more moments like this. He couldn’t tell you he loved you. Not when it might be the last time he saw you. He couldn’t lose you too. He made a promise to himself, an oath he etched into his heart.

“Come back to me, and I’ll tell you I love you.”

In the cold dark hours of the morning Giyuu hid in the shadows as an old man and his wooden cart pulled ahead of the path. You thanked him kindly as you climbed into the back of the wagon. The old man climbed back onto his horse. On his command the wagon began to move. You waved into the dark abyss, your figure growing smaller. Giyuu stepped further out to watch you disappear over the horizon. If the rising sun hadn’t been so cruel he would have waited there until you returned. Fate wasn’t as kind as you were. All he could was rest for the day and hope you’d be back tomorrow morning.

That was wishful thinking on his end. Something he learned from you.

[creadigol]

*Warning: Contains a very creepy criminal and mentions of past murders.

Hero could only manage a pained, wet gasp as they lay bleeding on their kitchen floor. 

It had all gone so wrong. 

The case was a typical undercover deal. Hero got the missions handed to them from the police themselves. A simple bag and tag of a drug dealer. Not even big time, just little things here and there. Normally, something this small wasn’t even on Hero’s radar, but they were told the Criminal had a type and Hero fit the bill perfectly. 

Hero had the looks and countenance Criminal would respond to. 

And oh how Criminal had responded…though they certainly weren’t a drug dealer. 

Well they were…but they were something much worse as well.

“I don’t want this to last all night dear,” Criminal cooed from above. They had a look of concentration as if trying to memorize every agonizing moment of Hero bleeding out. “You gave a good fight…truly the best I’ve seen…but now I really must move on. Can’t have you be the only victim this week now can we?” 

Criminal knelt down beside them. Despite every fiber of Hero’s being telling them to move, run, flee, they could only give a pained whine, their hands clutched over their abdomen. 

“Yes,” Criminal continued. They reached out and stroked Hero’s hair. “You really are perfect aren't you? It’ll be difficult to find someone else who fits so well…but it really can’t be helped.” 

How could they have been so blind? All the victims had all looked the same…all looked like Hero. When the police told them the drug dealer had a type…how had they not seen? How had any of them not seen? 

The serial killer they had been hunting for months now stood over them, a smile spreading on their lips as Hero’s eyes struggled more and more to stay open. 

“Come now,” Criminal took both of Hero’s hands in theirs and gently pulled, taking the pressure off the wound and letting the blood spread across both their hands. “Let’s not prolong this dear.” 

Hero could only whimper as they felt the blood flow freely. A tear escaped, despite their best efforts. 

“That’s it,” Criminal grinned as they watched Hero cry. “My favorite part.” 

“Yeah?” Came a voice from behind them, “Mine too.”

A grunt and suddenly Criminal wasn’t above Hero anymore. A new strong pair of hands clamped over their abdomen and an icy feeling spread through them viciously. 

Hero cried out and jerked, only to have the same hands hold them down by the shoulders. 

“Easy,” Came a voice. “Easy now, that was a lot to heal. You’ll need to eat and sleep for a week before you move around.” 

“Villain?” Hero rasped. Their vision had cleared and the pain in their stomach had ebbed to only a throb. Their entire body was heavy though, as if they had used every last ounce of their energy and then some, leaving only the power to breath and whisper a few words. 

A hand ran through their hair, sweeping it from their sweat covered forehead. Unlike before, this touch only conveyed concern and comfort rather than sadistic pleasure. 

“Yeah buddy, it’s me. I’m sorry I was late, but you should be alright in a couple weeks.” 

Hero gazed up at them in confusion. “But how?” 

“Like I don’t know what the police are up to at any given moment. When they called you in for a minor drug deal I got a little suspicious…and here we are.” Villain gave them a  rueful smile. 

“But…Criminal…” Hero struggle to keep their eyes open. 

“No longer a problem.” Villain said. Then they looked a little troubled, pausing in their ministrations of Hero’s hair. “Best not to look to your right though…you have too fair a disposition to look at Criminal now.” 

Hero could only open their mouth in response before darkness took them.

[johnslittlespoon]

all the actor/celebrity au posts lately combined with troye bringing ross on stage last night for one of your girls has got me thinking...

a musician x musician au where gale is a troye sivan–esque ultra–famous queer pop star, and john's the singer of a well known indie rock band, and he gets asked by gale's team to star in a music video similar to one of your girls...

to everyone who doesn't know him personally, gale feels like this untouchable pop star. he's been in the industry for years, one of those classic 'i used to make music in my bedroom in my small town' stories, working his ass off before finally a song of his blows up and gets traction and then it's such a fast rise to stardom that he doesn't have time to wrap his head around it.

he never gets used to it, but he doesn't get an ego from it; he still hangs out with the same group of friends he's had since high school, and his team does most of his social media posting for him, because it freaks him out having all that attention, as grateful as he is. he's not shy by any means, not like he was when he started out, but he's not the biggest fan of all the fanfare and interviews and being put on a pedestal and all that. he keeps himself pretty distant online, and that coupled with the diva/superstar energy in his music/projects gives him this air of being on another level– a rare type of star all around.

john has a similar story, the whole growing up on the internet thing, making music in his basement in high school with the friends he's now in a pretty popular indie rock band with, working tirelessly to make a name for him and his friends. but that's kinda where their similarities end.

because john is known for being an absolute shit–poster, a little fiend online, a running joke in his fandom that 'john doesn't know that he's famous', 'should someone remind him this isn't a finsta?' type of vibe. he feels so accessible and down to earth, and while he's just as level headed and humble about his celebrity status as gale is, he displays it by being more present and trying to show the human side of it all, vs gale trying to create distance between gale cleven and the gale persona the world knows.

the band is first and foremost john's thing, but as he's grown in popularity, he's of course gotten offers for other avenues here and there, and at the insistence of his manager he decides to agree to try out a modelling shoot one day. he's not naive; he's more than aware of all the comments going on about his looks, stumbles across more tiktok thirst trap edits of him sweaty and shirtless on stage than he can count, isn't all too sfw in some of his band's songs, either.

he finds it all funny, but he also is someone who will always jump on new opportunities/experiences, and he ends up having a good time modelling, and picks up more gigs as time goes on. this is how gale becomes aware of him, somewhat because gale does occasional modelling too, but mostly because he's worked with a lot of big fashion names for tours and videos, so his and john's circles occasionally crossover, though they never actually meet in person.

so then comes this music video shoot, one that gale's been agonizing over for months, planning every little detail and making sure everything is perfect. it's something that drives his manager (marge? <3 gotta include the angel in every au obvs) insane because gale's got so much on his plate as is, but he likes to be so hands on with his projects, and she knows by now there's no talking him out of that. and everything is going great, until the person who's meant to be starring opposite gale has to pull out last minute due to a scheduling conflict or personal emergency or something.

and the usually very collected and put together gale is freaking out. it's the day before the shoot, everyone involved has already travelled to be on location, choreography is set in stone– this is his nightmare scenario, never doing well in situations where he has a lack of control. it's half of what scares him so much about being as famous as he is, is that he doesn't have a lot of autonomy or control over his own image or how he's perceived in the public eye (and digging deeper into backstory, probably stems from wanting to take back control after a childhood filled with being controlled by family.)

but it's situations like these where he's reminded why marge is his manager and he isn't, because she leaps into action the moment they find out about the cancellation, calming gale down so they can put their heads together to find a replacement. they reach out to a few of the names they have connections to, but it's too short notice for all of them, so maybe marge even just resorts to going through the people gale follows on instagram, and stumbles across john's page. he's got a good rep in industry and has worked on less 'conventional' projects before, so marge shuts down gale's fretting over "would he be comfortable with something like this?" by telling him there's only one way to find out, and contacting john's manager.

john agrees before he even hears the full pitch, and he's just as keen afterwards (albeit a bit nervous because by no means is he a professional dancer), knowing it'll be good publicity, and curious to explore a more artsy/out there gig, but also curious about the illusive gale, who he'd been surprised to receive a follow from a few weeks back.

john is flown out that night to the city of the shoot location, barely having a few minutes to change and head to the rehearsal space, where he meets a very frazzled but very thankful gale for the first time.

maybe they both have some preconceived notions about each other, despite having mutual respect and no actual interactions; john probably expects gale to be a bit stand–offish or conceited given his high celebrity status, but finds gale's actually bashful and quiet and easygoing when the cameras are off (when they're on, it's like he flips a switch, slipping into this persona, exuding confidence and sexuality and it honestly blows john's mind to witness in person).

gale probably expects to john to be loud and abrasive based off his well known social media posts, maybe even a little uncomfortable around gale, who is openly queer, whereas john isn't– maybe john hasn't ever stated his sexuality, has never given much thought to it, it doesn't matter much to him. instead he finds john's actually a little shy, much less bravado than he'd anticipated, but very enthusiastic and eager to learn and get the choreo and everything else right, assuring gale repeatedly that he's down to do whatever is needed.

so the two of them rehearse till the early hours of the morning, john taking it as seriously as though it's his own project he's invested months into, and gale gains such admiration for his commitment and willingness to stick his neck out for a borderline stranger (even though he's obviously aware this is a big boost for john's career). john gains a newfound appreciation for gale's work ethic and how much effort goes into every little thing for a huge artist like him.

and inevitably... there is sexual tension during the rehearsals. they're both overtired and sweaty and it's such a strange situation to meet for like five minutes and then jump right into dancing together so intimately, having to shed any inhibitions and self consciousness, but it's a blessing in the sense that they have to get comfortable around each other so quickly. there's no room for modesty or shyness, and john is genuinely speechless at how gale puts business first, and after double checking that john isn't uncomfortable, how he has no qualms about physically directing john, moving him how he wants him.

it's hot to john, the way gale knows exactly what he wants and is so passionate about his vision, and he'd be lying if he said the combination of being starstruck and being lowkey manhandled isn't getting to his head a bit. which is a whole other thing to unpack, because aside from vague acknowledgement of some men being attractive/beautiful, he's never actually found himself flustered by one like this, and it catches him off guard. he stays professional, but he still can't help but let his naturally flirtatious/joking personality slip out as the night drags on; he's like that with everyone he works with or hangs out with, and he thinks it would be weirder if he wasn't like that with gale, like everyone else would somehow notice.

meanwhile gale is fighting his own demons because he's got a very sought–after, very hot, very straight man dropping everything for him and letting him puppeteer him, on top of being so stubborn that even though gale can tell he's exhausted, john's refusing to call it a night until gale does, and THEN as if all that's not enough, john's effortlessly witty and complimentary and flirty. and gale's not one to mix business and pleasure, so he's not even entertaining these emotions, but he can't help but feel flattered by it all, while also reminding himself that john probably doesn't swing that way.

basically they both are discovering they have competence kinks lmao, like objectively they both find the other attractive, but it's not like they aren't constantly surrounded by beautiful humans in their lines of work, so it's more so the emotional side/work ethic that gets them both flustered, coupled with the inherent sexuality of dancing with very little clothing, hands on sweaty skin and toned muscles. but neither of them act on it, too tired by the time they call it a night even if they'd wanted to, and then it's back to their respective hotels to get a few hours of sleep before the shoot.

john isn't called to be on location until mid afternoon, and when he wakes up to his phone ringing and glances at the time, he freaks out, thinking he's slept through the shoot or something because he'd expected to be called early in the morning. he's told that he didn't sleep through it, but he's disoriented until he shows up, when he's told that gale had moved things around, filming as many scenes as he could without him before john was needed for his part, so that john could get more rest. (john swoons. just a little.)

he gets swept up in the capable hands of hair and makeup and wardrobe in his own trailer, and he doesn't see gale until it's time to film, and when he does, he almost doesn't believe it's gale. the glam makeup, the long blonde wig, the form–fitting sheer black dress and heels– gale's pretty as is, but with his features accentuated like that, john doesn't even know what to do with himself, feels like he's going through a midlife crisis at the ripe age of 25. he'd known gale would be in some sort of getup for their choreo, but nothing could've prepared him for this.

it makes it even more endearing that gale seems so awkward about it when he greets john, clearly out of his comfort zone in the ensemble, but john knows there's no way gale doesn't know how stunning he is, it's not a lack of confidence that's making him awkward. john keeps it together, reminds himself to be professional. tells gale it was really sweet that he let him sleep in, that he didn't have to do that, to which gale waves him off like it's no big deal. and he compliments gale too as they walk onto set, tells him, "you look great, wow," tame as he can be, and gale tells him "could say the same for you," and john snorts, gesturing to his simple jeans and boots and lack of shirt, says "feeling a bit underdressed, actually," and it gets a laugh out of gale.

when the cameras are rolling, any of that visible discomfort or awkwardness in gale disappears like someone's snapped their fingers and rid him of it, movements fluid like water, not an ounce of anything other than confidence and power and sensuality seeping through as he commands the camera with his energy. despite his aching body, john's grateful they ran the routine into the ground last night to the point that it's nearly muscle memory, because it's hard to concentrate when gale's looking down at him through long faux–lashes and gloss–plumped lips, caressing his jaw, playing with his hair, the sway of his hips and roll of his waist beneath john's hands so mesmerizing, john's half convinced he's being serenaded by a siren.

the tension would be insane, but equally confusing because neither of them would be able to discern what's an act and what's not, or if it's all just an act, pushing and pulling at an invisible line but never quite stepping over it even once the shoot wraps, both for the sake of professionalism but also for fear of rejection.

maybe after it all, john's on his flight back home and realizes in the whirlwind of everything, he never got gale's number (has a moment of 'why would i need it? this was just a gig' lol okay yearner). john's not even sure at that point what/how he's feeling about gale, the conflicting emotions of feeling attraction to him while in borderline drag doing nothing to help the confusion, especially because he can't excuse the attraction as just that when he was feeling things during rehearsal in casual clothes too.

he knows he could easily ask his manager to reach out to gale's manager for his number, but then he gets in his head convincing himself that if gale had wanted to talk further, surely he would've asked for john's number, since gale has way more reason to be selective with his own with his status.

he doesn't realize that on the other end of things, gale's realizing he also never got john's number, only he's talking himself out of reaching out because he doesn't want to read into john's friendliness as something flirtatious when as far as he knows, john is straight, and this was likely just a job for john, as well as they seemed to get along.

cue miscommunication when one of them actually works up the courage to dm the other on instagram since they're mutuals– either john dms gale something simple, a 'thanks again for the opportunity', and because gale is never on his socials and gale's team doesn't check messages much, it's weeks before anyone clocks john's message, during which john becomes sure he's nothing more than a coworker to gale, which he understands but is sad about. or, gale dms john, but from a private account with an innocuous username that he has just for friends and family, and john never even opens it because the lack of profile picture and generic user blends in with all the other message requests he gets a day.

they only end up reconnecting when the music video actually drops, because obviously it breaks the internet, and john happens to be doing promo interviews and radio shows at the time for his band's new album and tour, so an interviewer of course asks him what the experience was like working on a set like that and working with gale. john gives a glowing review, goes out of his way to praise gale– "the nicest guy you'll ever meet, and the craziest work ethic i've ever witnessed firsthand in hollywood."

when the interviewer asks if john would ever consider working with him again, y'know, the classic question an interviewer has to ask so they can drum up clicks with a 'john egan hints at possible future project with gale cleven!' title, john lays it on thick the way he always does with a wink at the camera and a "he can call me up anytime," but then adds a serious "no, really, i would love to work with him again, he was great."

predictably, the people who are already losing their shit over the music video and making edits and fan theories about the two of them go even crazier, spam–tagging gale and his team in the comments of this interview post, which leads to it eventually making its way to gale, and gale then realizes that john hasn't been uninterested; he must've just not seen his message since surely he would've replied if he had (marge looks at him with so much disappointment when gale mentions his attempt to reach out– "gale, no one with that kind of following is going through dm requests from faceless, private instagram pages, you of all people should know this").

gale hasn't told marge about his possible feelings, but marge isn't dumb; she didn't stand on set for nearly 24 hours with her eagle–eyes and not notice the way gale had been looking at john. to anyone else, it might've just seemed like he was leaning into his persona, but marge has known gale for a long time, and she could tell it wasn't all him playing it up for the cameras.

so marge puts her manager–brain and best friend–brain together and decides that with all the hype surrounding the new song and video, the two of them being seen together in public and making a few posts together would be a great boost for both of them. but she knows gale will never go for it if she voices this to him, because he'd see it as using john for popularity; she reasons that if he doesn't know, it can't be using. so she reaches out to john's manager and figures out when they'll both be back in the same city, and relays her plan as if it's just business, asking for john's manager to let john know that gale will be in town the next week if he wants to set something up, and she gives the manager gale's number for john to contact.

when gale wakes up one morning to a 'hi, this is john! my manager passed on your number to me, hope that's okay. i was told you're in town next week? :)' and then 'egan. btw. lots of johns out there.' and then 'the music video guy.' (john, absolutely panicking on his end, worrying that gale might not even remember his name, not knowing gale's been stalking his socials and confusion–pining just as much as john has been doing the same.)

and then more miscommunication after they arrange to hang out, because john assumes this is just for publicity based on what his manager told him, and he understands, as much as he wishes they're hanging out properly. but gale assumes this is a genuine hangout, because john never says otherwise, until the end of the evening, when gale has to leave for a dinner event and john says "we better take those pics for the 'gram before we say goodbye, or the big guns'll have a fit."

and either gale masks his surprise and then disappointment and goes along with it, thinking maybe he missed a memo or misread things, and this conflict and miscommunication is dragged out even longer, or gale doesn't hide his confusion in time, and john is then equally confused, says "your manager didn't...?" and gale says "sorry, i didn't know; i guess i misread your texts," feeling stupid that he's been thinking the hangout is anything other than a pr stunt. and then there's the awkward "no! no– well, yeah, i was told that this was to promote the video, so i thought– i mean, i would've liked to hang anyway, i just didn't think you wanted to?" from john.

gale is slowly connecting the dots in his head and he's so embarrassed, but also relieved that he hasn't misread things and made a fool of himself. john looks on the verge jumping out of his skin as gale sits quietly, so gale puts him out of his misery, smiles and pushes his irritation about the incident down and says "i do want to, john. i think marge– it doesn't matter. it was a miscommunication, i guess." and all the tension evaporates out of john's body, and he lets out a laugh, and a "oh, thank god. fuck. i was about to walk into the street," and gale lets himself relax too, scoffing at john.

so they decide to have a redo the next week, since they both do feel obligated to take their stupid pictures now to please their teams (and the internet), and thus a tentative friendship is born, the two of them dancing around each other and around feelings because everything is confusing as is, let alone with the way their careers affect every aspect of their lives. so much slowburn, lots of john trying to figure his attraction out and gale keeping his walls up because the thought of literally becoming the person he's singing about in his music video is laughable, he doesn't wanna be strung around or used as an experiment for john.

and john respects this unspoken boundary and also appreciates that they can get to know each other as friends while he tries to stop freaking out every time he pictures him and gale doing less than platonic things. probably a whole lot of chaos on john's end with the absolute tornado that he is, ie: '4am 'am i gay' quizzes taken in the dark of his bunk on a tour bus, asking an openly queer friend from his band if his feelings toward gale are normal, rumours started by a fan that they saw john in a gay club after a show, etc.

because john doesn't do anything halfway– he's ready to literally go out and kiss men and explore his newfound feelings, not just to prove himself to gale, but to figure himself out, because he's terrified of hurting gale since john doesn't have the best track record with relationships. overthinks the shit out of everything and doesn't realize it's not that deep, that liking gale doesn't mean he's suddenly attracted to all men, that all gale wants is for john to be confident in himself and his feelings for him before pursuing anything.

there's a lot of back and forth and messiness and emotions stacked on top of their already crazy hectic schedules and lives, the theorizing and prying from fans and paparazzi, caution from management, but when they eventually have their point of no return moment and cross that line from friends to more, the chemistry is so intense that both of them feel stupid for dragging things out for so long.

when the initial new relationship shyness wears off, the sex is also insane, all the exploration and playfulness (and inevitability of the whole feminization thing coming back into play since that's what starts everything in the first place lol). they're barely able to keep their hands off each other, almost always spending the night at each other's places, stealing as much time as they can to make up for the time apart when there are tours or other events separating them.

they try to keep things private for a while, but with how active john is online, he slips up a good few times– tiktoks where a hat or something of gale's is accidentally left in the background, story posts where john's wearing one of gale's hoodies unthinkingly, mirror selfies where there's a mystery hand or leg in the background. the internet is torn, some convinced it's coincidence, some certain it's all a pr stunt to get people talking, some adamant that they're in a secret relationship. gale's never upset about it; they both just know how much things will change if they go public.

months are spent sneaking around, rarely going on public dates, the odd paparazzi shots still leaking out until it finally gets to the point that there's no point hiding things anymore, it's obvious that they're not just friends. they never actually announce it or make some relationship launch post; they just stop caring, and it's freeing and neither of them expect to be so affected by being able to publicly show affection for each other, but it's such a sweet thing and makes things feel so much more real.

john goes to gale's sold out arena shows and stares up at him in awe and can't believe that gale chooses him every day, and gale goes to john's band's high energy festival sets and watches his golden boy light up with joy every time he glances at him side stage and can't believe john chooses him too.

:-)

lol this post was meant to just be the two lines above the cut but then i got to thinking about origin stories and whoops new au drabble because i'm a master at getting carried away!!

[comelay]

"It's been a little over two months, since my friend, Aaron, passed away.

This has been my experience."

When the police let me know they were performing a wellness check, I was confused. They let me know Aaron left his cat in his will to me. I didn’t think much of it at first, I was confused by it. About an hour later, I opened an email from Aaron. I read the words “If you are reading this, it means I have passed away.” It was followed by Aaron asking me to take care of Pumpkin. My heart sank. I called the police immediately and sobbed to the dispatcher while telling them I thought Aaron was about to take his life. The Stow Police called me about 30 minutes later, and let me know Aaron’s phone had pinged in Washington DC. I had hope that they would find Aaron before. I had hope that I could still talk to Aaron and grow with him as friends.

I spammed Aarons's email, begging him to respond, telling him I would be his friend and help him. I did not know Aaron was on life support when those messages were sent.

I called Aarons's friend, who, for the purpose of protecting his privacy, I will not name. He let me know he had a suspicion that Aaron was the person who self-immolated in front of the Israeli Embassy. I didn't understand. I asked for clarity, and Aarons's friend explained that he believed Aaron lit himself on fire earlier as an act of protest. I heard the emptiness in his friend's voice caused by shock. We chatted for a little longer, but, we both didn't know what to say, and shortly hung up. I spoke to Aaron's other friend about 30 minutes later, and told him what I knew. His first emotion wasn't shock, but pure sadness and horror. The conversation didn't last more than a few minutes.

After he hung up, I got a phone call from the Stow Police. They asked me to come outside and told me I could go into Aaron's apartment to get his cat, Pumpkin if I still wanted him.

I walked in with Ross. I looked around Aaron's apartment as much as I could, seeing the snacks he liked to eat, the books he had on his counter, and his lack of furniture but an abundance of cat supplies. I walked upstairs. The police officer picked up Aaron’s mattress, and I grabbed Pumpkin and kissed him before putting him in his carrier. The police officer tried to crack a joke with me, saying “Crazy story right?,” which I ignored. Ross and I took Pumpkin to the emergency vet to get checked out.

Between all this, I read bits and pieces of Aaron’s last will. After the vet, I was able to read it in its entirety. I saw a piece of Aaron I never knew about. I knew little Aaron’s life previously. I knew about how he was from Texas, how he came out here for a software engineering internship, how he liked our dogs, and how much he loved his cat. I now knew where Aaron’s heart was, and it was with Palestine.

Every five minutes I was refreshing the news and looking up “Aaron Bushnell.” I was desperately looking to see that Aaron somehow survived. Ross and I watched the blurred video of Aaron self-immolating. We were in shock and didn’t realize the impact it would later have on us. We heard Aaron's screams for justice and his final scream of pure agonizing pain.

The last time I refreshed this day, I saw that Aaron had passed away, with no friends or family present.

The next day, the shock wore off a little. I was sad, but didn't understand how sad this would make me. Ross and I went to Aaron’s friends apartment and explained to him that Aaron had passed away. This man, presumable about 60 or 70 years old, was a little surprising to me at first. But, by talking to him, it made sense. He was kind, and gentle. Just like Aaron. And he really, really, loved dogs and cats.

A couple days later, the fire alarm went off at work. It brought me back to seeing the video of Aaron, and filled my body with pure panic. Ross and I know to warn each other of scenes in shows with fire, knowing it will still bring our minds straight back to that video.

The next few weeks were hard. I talked to Aaron’s friends and tried to process the situation with them as much as possible. They told me about Aaron's love for rootbeer, video games, activism, and cats. They told me about Aaron’s backstory. It felt like something I was never supposed to know about Aaron. It was everything Aaron hated about his life. It was everything Aaron was trying to forget.

I became friends with Aaron's aunt and would call her for hours trying to process everything.

I began knowing more about Aaron in two weeks than I had learned in the past 5 months of being his neighbor.

I felt closer to him, I felt like a better friend to him. I had frequent thoughts of how I would bond with Aaron more with this newfound information. And then I would remember that he was gone.

I would see all the new stories about Aaron being mentally ill, or crazy. I would have people ask me if he was. I would try to explain that Aaron was just, good. That’s how I have and will always see him. I could tell that they heard me, but didn’t believe me. Everyone wanted this crazy story about how Aaron was psychotic. No one wanted to hear that he was the kindest person I knew.

I saw Aaron’s mailbox fill up with letters. I would pick up his flowers and rootbeer I left out on his doorstep every morning when the wind blew them down.

I would imagine Aaron saying hello and chatting to me when I let my dogs out.

I believed I would see Aaron again, until about a month after his passing, when the airforce knocked on my door.

They told me they were clearing out his apartment, and asked me if I would like to take any of Pumpkin’s supplies. I spoke to Aaron’s mom to confirm with her what I was taking. I felt guilty talking to her, as I knew Aaron would not have liked me too. I asked her if I could take one of Aaron’s shirts, so Pumpkin could have his scent. She agreed. I looked through a pile of Aaron’s shirts, and picked a red pullover I had saw him wear before. It smelled like him.

Seeing his apartment cleared out solidified in my mind Aaron was completely gone. They took away the flowers I left for him. I no longer saw the mailman delivering mail to him.

Pumpkin was the only thing left I had to hold on to the memory of Aaron. I can not express enough my gratitude towards Aaron for leaving him with me. Aaron stated in his will that his biggest regret was leaving Pumpkin. I am so fortunate that Aaron saw me the same way I saw him, and trusted me with his beloved cat.

This is all to say, the stories you read online never reflect reality. See the good in others before having your preconceived notions. Aaron always did.

To Aaron:

Hi friend.

I miss you. I love you. I hope you are doing well out there. I hope you know we are all managing down here. I hope you know we all still think of you.

Pumpkin is doing well. I took him to get his surgery. He did incredible. I wonder if he slept on your pillow every night. I wonder if he woke you up by head-butting you every morning. He stares at the wall we shared. I wonder if he knows that’s where he lived with you. I bought the same treats you used to buy him, which he goes crazy for. He still loves to sleep in the bed you bought him. He is truly, my biggest blessing. I hope you see how much love I give him for you.

I miss you, Aaron. I will always say your name with love and respect. I will always remember you as good.

With love,

Your friend,

Erin."

[sincerely-sofie]

Seeing as you have finished writing the script for your AU thingy, I wanna know, how?

Like, were you motivated the whole time? Or was it a on and off writing type thing?

i'm trying to write but I don't know if I have the motivation...

How did you keep the motivation if so?

Oh man. I have so much to say about writing and creativity that I could make an entire series of posts talking about the subject, but I'll try to keep things orderly and brief.

Disclaimer: I should let you know that I have never finished a writing project before recently finishing my TPiaG AU. Keep that in mind when reading the advice I offer— the tips I give have only been put into work in my own life over the course of the last couple of months, but they’ve proven very effective in my experience!

Sofie Creativity Tips Episode 1, go!!!

Was I motivated the whole time I was writing TPiaG / How did I stay motivated?

Absolutely not. If I hadn’t provided myself a detailed chapter-by-chapter outline for TPiaG before starting the writing process, I would have given up thanks to a mix of writer’s block and absent motivation. Motivation is a fickle muse and prone to ditching me for months on end, so I’ve adapted by trying not to rely on it, but also by creating new motivation rather than clinging to past motivation. I create motivation for myself in two ways: removing friction when writing and being my own fandom.

Removing friction is pretty simple— I create very detailed chapter outlines that remove any fear of writer’s block, set up my devices in a way to make it easy to access my manuscripts and notes, download premade writing playlists that have Pomodoro session break timers built into them, and more. Anything that makes the writing process easier to get into and enjoy doing, I make sure to incorporate into my life.

Being my own fandom is less intuitive, but a thousand times more rewarding in terms of motivation. I make memes of my characters. I write self-indulgent snippets on the side. I make AUs of my own work. I make playlists and save audio clips that suit the characters. I draw comics exploring concepts that might not get into the manuscript itself but that I want to make content for regardless. Basically, I dive in deep into the story, characters, and world, and try to do so with the enthusiasm that I give other people’s projects.

(That part is extra fun, because if I have a headcanon, it automatically becomes canon to whatever AU or original project I’m working on. I have all the power in the world when working like this, and it’s very fun.)

What changed and made it so I finished my first ever written project?

This isn’t exactly what was asked, but because I have eschewed motivation as the main driving force in my writing process, I figured I’d give another insight into how TPiaG went against the pattern of half-started and swiftly abandoned projects that came before it and actually got finished. Late into October, I adopted a new method of producing first drafts. Previously, I would spend weeks polishing the same chapter and would only move on to the next chapter once the current one was perfect. My new method is the complete opposite. I’ve started calling it Writing BFF:

Write bad

Write fast

Write fun

First up, write bad. The point of this is not to waste your time writing prettily during your first draft. Don’t bother agonizing over how to reword that one sentence to be more elegant when it does the job well enough to get its point across. Don’t go off on a 30-minute research tangent in the middle of a writing session because you want to fact-check that one detail and make sure it’s perfectly accurate when you could just put a placeholder detail in brackets and CTRL+F search and plug in something accurate later on. Don’t write pretty, write bad. And be okay with it. You can’t edit an empty page, so fill the page with as much garbage as possible so that you can turn it into gold later on.

Next, write fast. This is only effective when paired with writing bad. Don’t pause, don’t hesitate, don’t deliberate. Write as much as you can and do it as fast as you can. This idea is best illustrated by Chris Fox’s book 5,000 Words Per Hour, where he talks about increasing your WPM (words per minute) and how it makes everything about your writing better. The person who creates a beautiful first draft once every three years is doing okay, but the person who cranks out a complete manuscript every three months learns leagues more about writing than the first person does by the end of three years. The second person has practiced outlining, drafting, editing, publishing, and more with every manuscript completed. The faster you write, the better you get, because practice makes perfect and quantity begets quality.

Finally, write fun. I write what I enjoy, and if I’m not enjoying it, I pivot the project so that I enjoy it again. I like writing deeply personal stories, so pretty much everything I write is heavily based on my life and experiences— TPiaG included. Grovyle’s portrayal is deeply influenced by my experience being an elder sibling who has been a bad example of self-talk, and cleaned up my act because my younger sister started echoing how I spoke to myself. Dusknoir’s portrayal is informed by my experiences with being the therapist / mom friend in different social circles as well as attending actual formal therapy. Twig is the character that my experiences have the greatest influence on in her portrayal, and I joke about her being a self-insert, but ultimately all of the characters are self-inserts to some extent. I also enjoy low-stakes and slow slice-of-life stories that are driven by character growth. If I ever stop having fun with a project, I inject more of myself and my preferences into my work to get it back into my favor.

TL;DR / Writing advice lightning round

Write as badly as possible as quickly as possible, and have fun as you do it. Momentum yields motivation and stagnancy yields doubt. Editing comes only after the first draft is complete. Be your own fandom and your project’s biggest fan. Give yourself direction and ward against writer’s block by making detailed chapter-by-chapter outlines. Make the writing process as easy and enjoyable as possible. Motivation is a lie and if you chase after it instead of making your own, you’ll be writing on hard mode for the rest of your life. Reject perfectionism, embrace flawesomeness.

If I didn’t answer your question right, let me know! I’ll do my best to correct it.

[phoebe-delia]

Phoebe Delia's 2023 Fics and Reflection

Thank you to my lovely friend @geesenoises for the tag!! Check out Goose's post here.

I didn't do much writing this year. If I'm being honest, writing has been very hard for me this past year. I don't have the kind of free time that I used to, and I've just had such little inspiration. It got to the point that I actually considered quitting a couple of times. I want so, so badly to get the kind of stamina I used to have. When I started out, I was writing 3-5k fics in the span of a couple months and cranking them out pretty consistently.

This year, I didn't add a single fic to the Drarry as Taylor Swift Songs series. I did a couple fests, a gift fic, and my Hanukkah series. I also did drabbles and microfics. I spent much of the year being SO mean to myself about my writing and my lack of progress. l all but forced myself to write my fest fics, agonized over them not being "perfect," and obsessed and compared the stats to other people's fics until I wore myself out. I wondered why I seem unable to write the longfics that my friends are capable of. I wondered whether I'm really cut out for this, after all.

Now, my god, please don't give me your pity. This isn't me fishing for compliments. This is me being honest and reflecting on the year, and I don't want any of this to come across as self-pitying or whining. My point is that I don't know what the future holds for me. I know that I love this fandom, and I love all of you, and I want writing to always be something I love.

I think I'm going to spend 2024 repairing my relationship with writing, and being kinder to myself. And so, in that spirit, I'm going to celebrate the work I did last year; because I still created things this year. And I'm going to be proud of that.

That said, thanks to everyone who held me up this past year. Thanks to everyone who read my fics. Thanks to my friends who kept me sane. In particular, I gotta thank @basicallyahedgehog, without whom I doubt I’d still be writing.

Just Take Me Home (4.7k)

When Harry drinks too much at a pub one night, Hermione decides to use a new service offered by the Ministry: a team of Apparators dedicated to helping transport Wixen who cannot safely travel on their own. Of course, Draco Malfoy answers the call.

Stars by the Pocketful (2k)

Draco arrives first, to scope out the place and pick the best bed before Potter can beat him to it.

Can I Go Where You Go? (1.8k)

Harry presses a kiss to Draco's lips before pulling away with a pout. "I'm so glad you've got this opportunity, really. And America sounds amazing, even if it is just for a conference. But Godric, I'm going to miss you." Draco hums. "Me too." Then, he blinks and looks up at Harry. "You know. We don't have to miss each other." Harry frowns. "What do you mean?" "Come with me." "Wait, really?"

2023 Eight Drarry Nights fics are on AO3 here (masterlist on Tumblr is here)

[takeariskao3]

So, full disclosure

chapter 16 of the path from you has been hanging over my head for months and i think most of you have guessed why... for those who haven't or who are curious to know more about why it's taking so long, i've decided to be pretty open and candid below the cut. there aren't any outright spoilers but more just an explanation about the process i've been going back and forth on since.... february ?? (ffs)

this isn't directly in response to that anon from last night but they did make a valid point that i have been promising an update and failing to deliver so, if you're wondering why, keep reading

i very much realize that this is my hobby, and i do it for fun, and i don't owe anyone an explanation but i still feel like i can give one anyway. most of you have probably guessed that the next 3-4 chapters of the path from you are harry and ginny reaching their boiling points and finally having it out (in more ways than one)

my problem has been that i have a very specific order of events in my head about how it should all unfold but everytime i sit down to write, harry and ginny jump ahead three chapters and start ruining all my plans. i think they, and i, are ready for some conversations to start happening, however, if they break one wall, then they all come crashing down and to be honest, i'm a little bit attached to what i've already written in 17-18-19 to truly be able to blow it all up again.

now, with that being said, i also think i've gotten to the point where i know it's time for some reconciliation. unfortunately, my ego/pride/self-confidence is getting in the way a little bit because, in my opinion, a well-executed emotional payoff separates a good writer from a great one, and in the spirit of full honesty, i want to be great.

this version of harry and ginny, and all of you who have stuck with me for this long, have earned a damn good moment and i really *really* want it to be the best possible unfolding of events it can be. full of heart and vulnerability and passion.

the people that i talk to almost everyday about this fic (@narukoibito, @fairsquare16, @corneliaavenue-ao3, @herblazinglook, @ginwhisky, @brightlybound, & @valfromcall) can tell you that i have been laboring and struggling and agonizing over this chapter for months. this is not something i take lightly and this fic means a whole lot to me in a lot of really personal ways, so i have been taking a massive amount of time getting us to where we are because i want to get it right. i want harry and ginny's reasons for ending up where they are to feel honest and i want their resolution to feel cathartic. and maybe this is where i'm crippling myself, by trying to make it perfect, but dammit HARRY AND GINNY DESERVE PERFECT

thank you to everyone who reached out last night and over the past few weeks with love and encouragement and support. you guys mean more to me than you will ever know. any good vibes you can throw my way while i write tonight would be much appreciated. chapter 16 is close. i had a revelation a couple nights ago about why i kept getting stuck so hopefully this newfound direction will finally get us to the finish line.

i guess i'll end by saying this, if ever you are curious about what i'm working on or what's coming up next or why an update is taking so long, just ask. i am an open book. i swear i'm not intentionally holding out on you. and if i promise an update and come back a few days later saying its not ready yet, please remember that i am trying to put out the best possible version of my stories and i am just as disappointed as you are that i'm not updating.

as always, thanks for reading and for allowing me the space to create this version of h/g's love story.

[bubblefina]

King of Hearts Chapter 27

Masterlist

Summary: Reader and Tom meet during their years at Hogwarts, but as the years pass a rivalry grows between the two of them, which leads from soft beginnings to tragic endings.

What the characters look like!

" “Kill me!” he yells in an agonizing way. His eyes look as though he’s pleading for you to finish the job. It terrified you to see him like this."

Pairings: Tom x f!reader

•̩̩͙˚⁺‧. •̩̩͙˚⁺‧.˚ •̩̩͙ ✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧. •̩̩͙˚⁺‧. •̩̩͙˚⁺‧.˚ •̩̩͙ ✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧.

Chapter 27- Unfortune

“You’re doing well, keep going, and you will be better than before.” Dumbledore’s eyes looked intently as the small cup levitated in the air. 

You try to keep your breath steady, afraid that any sudden movement would cause it to fall down and break. Moving your finger back and forth, the cup mimicked the movement. Such a small achievement after months of practice.

The cup is set back down onto the desk. Dumbledore scribbles something on a piece of paper, staying silent.

“Well, how was that?” you ask.

“Very good, it’s better than how you did the previous week. No straining of your hand, the object didn’t shake, very steady.”

“How long do you think it’ll take for me to fully get the hang of this? Wandless, no spell magic.”

“That is hard to say, it took you months to do this, I can’t say how long it’ll be before you’re able to do much more.”

“You could have just said that you believe in me and I could do it.”

Dumbledore sighs, rubbing his eyebrows, “I believe in you, you will be able to do it in no time.”

You laugh, packing up your books. Today’s practice is over, and it will be the last one until you return from winter break. After saying bye to Dumbledore, you open the grand doors, the chill of the hallways welcome you.

Exhaling, you could see your breath in the cold. 2 weeks at home, 2 weeks with your family, 2 weeks with your mother… and whoever she invites.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid-” turning a corner, you bump into someone. 

“Sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going.” mumbling an apology, you rub your nose, trying to ease the pain.

“All good, I’ve never had a problem running into you.” 

Familiar golden hair, bright blue eyes, the warmest smile that a person could ever see. A black and yellow scarf wrapped around his neck, he tilts his head to tease you slightly.

“Archer! It’s been so long!” 

“You could say that again, I haven’t seen your face as much.”

“Ahaha, yeah. I’ve just been a little busy with things here and there.”

“Well, it is a big castle too.”

“Nonsense! I’ve missed you, it really is a shame that I haven’t seen much of you.”

Both of you began to walk down the hallway, enjoying the company. 

“I suppose that we could hang out after winter break is over.” Archer places his hands in his pockets, his fingers digging into his thigh as he replayed what he had just said over and over again in his head.

You raise your eyebrows in surprise, “you’d want that? Really?” 

“Y-yeah, of course! We could go to the Three Broomsticks and grab a Butterbeer, and talk about all the things that happened this year.”

A shy grin spread across your face. Was he asking you out? 5 years into knowing each other, could this finally be the time that you’re getting a boyfriend?

“Sounds good.” 

Both of you stop outside the Ravenclaw dormitories, he says goodbye, leaving you to enter into the common room. Walking up to the dormitories, only Melissa remained out of your group of four.

“Hey, what are you doing here? I thought you would have left by now.” You ask, removing your heavy coat and other accessories.

“Not yet, I’m still packing. My brothers want me to bring them something, so I spent some time in Hogsmeade shopping.”

You sit down next to her on the bed, “what did you get for them?”

“A couple of Sneakoscopes, they can tell you if someone is lying or being untrustworthy.” She brings one out of a small bag, handing it to you.

“How does it tell you if someone is lying?” 

“It lights up, spins, lets out loud noises. It’ll be annoying for sure, but luckily I'm at Hogwarts for most of the year anyway.”

 “Interesting things, your brothers are bound to enjoy them.” 

Melissa takes the sneakoscope back, putting it inside the bag. She zips up her suitcase and stands up.

“The train is about to set off soon, are you ready?” She asks.

“Yeah, I already packed, so now I just need to head to the train.” 

“Let’s go together, we can complain about the snow while we walk.”

“Haha, deal.”

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

The snow covered castles of Hogwarts slowly faded away as the Hogwarts express made its way to London’s King Cross station. Melissa went with her family, leaving you alone at the station.

As the clock continued to tick, hours passed, still no one came to pick you up. Your dad would usually be on time, so this was unusual. The sheer cold became too much, so scrounging whatever money you had, you paid for a taxi to take you home. 

The ride felt cold and almost eerily still. There was something uneasy about going home, something you just couldn’t explain. The feeling was even stronger when you were in front of your home. No Christmas decorations, it looked lifeless. The neighborhood looked as if there was a gray filter on it, what could be going on?

Turning the door knob, you enter your home.

“Hello? Is anyone home?” you set down your bags, walking around. Checking multiple rooms until you enter the nursery, where your brother is holding Dahlia and Nathan sitting down near her feet.

“Mom?” you whisper. The room is so cold that your warm breath spread through the air.

Nathan took notice of you immediately, his eyes welling up with tears. He runs up to you, hugging you so tightly, spilling into sobs.

“What's wrong, why is everything so cold?” you wrap your arms around your younger brother, he seems so frail.

Your mother didn’t answer, she just kept mumbling about something. You wipe Nathan's tears and ask him, hoping he could provide some insight.

“H-he’s gone…” he cries out.

Your brows furrowed in confusion, “who’s gone?”

“Dad! He’s gone!” he begins to cry again, hiding his face in your coat.

“Gone? Gone where?” You ask again, heart thumping against your rib cage.

“Death…” that was one word that you could make out from your mother's senseless rambles.

It felt as your body went numb. It couldn’t be, she had to have been talking about something else? Your dad is probably just at the store or something, nonsense, complete nonsense.

Swallowing your anxiety, you wipe Nathan's tears again. Heading towards the living room, you start a fire, hoping it’ll warm the house. After a few hours, you manage to get everyone down to the living room, giving them blankets and making them food.

“Can you tell me again…where is dad?” you ask, palms forming sweat as you look at your mother's lifeless state.

“He was drafted…in the war…” she whispers, her voice so dry.

“When?” 

“In October” Nathan replies, his hand on his mothers.

“Well…where is he now?” The heavy feeling seems to be crushing your shoulders. You want to hear what you want to hear, afraid to listen to the truth.

“He’s dead.”

Those two words from your mother felt like she just professed the end of the world. Is this why he stopped sending letters? The lack of communication was odd, but you didn’t think anything of it. Your father…he was gone. It was hard to keep it together, so you joined your family in silence.

Later that night, when you were alone in your room, you hid under your blankets, tears gushing out of your eyes. The walls were thin, so any loud sob could be heard by others. How, how could he be gone? You saw him at the train station when he dropped you off for your 5th year, he couldn’t have been drafted the next month.

Fingers digging into the sheets, you put down on your fingers, wanting to stop the tears from flowing, which were now staining your pillow. According to Nathan, he died two weeks ago, his funeral is later this week. How are people strong enough to put the ones they love in a coffin? Who has that kind of mental strength, certainly not you? If you had known the last time you hugged him would be the last time, perhaps you would have hugged him for a little longer.

The next few days until the funeral were spent inside your room. Every so often you went down to keep the fire going, but not much else. The day of the funeral, it was raining. The Davis family also attended, along with some others.

Your heart felt hollow looking at your father's grave. It’s hard to believe that he’s really gone. No more pep talks, no more asking about your family history…nothing. 

A shaky hand on the tombstone, you begin to cry once again. Wet footsteps approach from behind. The free flowing rain now echoing over an umbrella.

You turn around, a tall figure stood behind you.

“I'm sorry for your loss.”

Jarrod Davis. He seemed to have sneaked away from his family to try an attempt at consoling you. There wasn’t any concern on his face, it was smug as always. 

“Yeah…thanks…” you whisper, turning your head back to the tombstone.

“Well, you can’t stay here forever, come along now, we must join the others.” 

You staying silent seemed to annoy him. He kept urging you to get up, not getting the hint that this was a funeral for your father, and that grief isn’t easy. 

“Would you get off my back, why are you so adamant about me coming anyway?” you snap back, annoyed at his constant pestering.

“ I don’t want my future wife to be sprawled on the floor over a tombstone.”

You slowly blinked, confused. Did you just hear him correctly? 

“Wife? What are you on about?”

“Oh, you haven’t heard? Your mother is planning on marrying us”.

Shuffling your feet on wet puddles, you stand up. You didn’t know if it was his words or the cold of the rain that made a chill go up your spine.

“You’re joking, that’s not funny.” 

“You think so? Go ask, I’m sure that she’ll confirm whatever I say.”

You brush past him, chest heaving, as you walk through the cold rain to the building where the guests were. Your mother was talking to Davis', tears staining her cheeks, hands crumpling a tissue. Would it be wise to create a scene here?

“Mom…” you say, walking up to her, close enough to whisper, “I need to talk to you tonight.”

She looked directly in your eyes, she knew exactly what you were referring to. This hurt, the look in her eyes of certainty. She would have you married to someone you barely even knew, and for what?

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

Later that night, when your family returned to your home, all hell broke loose.

“What do you mean I’m getting married?!” you exclaim, it felt like a vein was about to pop out of your throat.

“You insolent girl, I’m doing this for your own good!” she retorts, her nails digging into the wooden desk she leaned against.

“What good?! You’re just doing this because they’re rich! If you want money, I can get a job in the wizarding world-”

“Nonsense! I don’t want you going there again. Your father was a fool to send you there. Feed these ideas of magic in your head.”

“Calling a man a fool on his funeral, only you would have the nerve to do something like that.”

She looked at you with scorn after that comment. If looks could kill, you would have disintegrated into pieces. 

“Jarrod is a nice boy, he will make an excellent husband, stop being so difficult.”

“I’m 16! I can’t get married, I have thing’s I want to do-!”

A sharp noise echoes throughout the room, stinging pain spreads across your cheek as you stumble backwards, hitting the bookshelf. Your hand goes to your cheek, holding it as you stare at your mother.

“Mom!” Nathan yells out, he attempts to get in between you and her, but he’s just pushed away.

“Stay out of this! This girl will learn her place in proper society, even if it means I beat some sense into her.”

You remain silent for the rest of the time she talks, barely listening to what she says. All you could think of was what was going to happen to you, to your siblings. Your mother seemed to be one foot in the grave herself with the way she’s acting.

After she went to bed, you crawled your way to your room, under the sheets once again. It was hard to tell which emotion you felt more at the moment. Anger? Sadness? Even emptiness may have been a good answer.

Tears didn’t even drop, maybe everything dried up from the constant crying throughout the week.

Closing your eyes shut, you hoped that when you woke up, you’d be back in your dorm room at Hogwarts. However, not too long later, you hear the door creak open. With the flash of lightning, it illuminated your little brother's face.

“Nathan?” you whisper, getting up from your lying position.

“You need to leave.” He says.

“What?” you’re puzzled, this was completely out of the blue, especially for him.

“Mom’s going to sell you off to the Davis’, so you have to leave, now.” 

“Nathan, I can’t just leave, it’s not that easy. Where am I even supposed to go at this time of night?”

“Back to Hogwarts, where she can’t find you.”

He looked so hurt, you never saw him look like this. You pat the area next to you, he walks over and sits down. He’s grown so much over the past few years, it’s hard to recognize him sometimes.

“Nathan, it’s complicated, I know, but I’ll figure something out.”

“No, you can't. I heard her talking to them, and by the end of the year, they’re planning on making it official.”

A sense of dread now passes over you, it’s as if a dementor is trying to suck the life out of you. Remaining silent, you close your eyes for a minute, trying to think of a solution.

“If I leave, I need to take you and Dahlia with me. There’s no way you’re going to stay here with her.”

“Don’t worry about that. I talked to auntie Merin, she said she’d be happy to take us in.”

“That’s all the way in the countryside.”

He smiles, but you could see the pain behind the smile, “It beats living here.”

“Nathan…” the tears that felt as though they dried up now sprung forth as you embraced him.

“I don’t want you to sacrifice yourself to keep our family stable, that’s not fair on you. Dad would have never wanted this.” 

“I miss him…you know” you whisper, holding him tighter.

“Me too, it felt like the light was drained from this place when he left…mom became unbearable.”

“You sure you don’t want to come with me? The wizarding world is a wonderful place. You and Dahlia would love it there.”

“No, that place isn’t for us. It’s for you.”

“Don’t say that…”

“It’s true, you’re a wizard. We’ll just get in your way.”

Letting go of the hug, you look at him. Did he really feel this way?

“But when you graduate, you can come visit anytime you want! You won’t need anyone's protection, and…maybe the war will be over by then.”

“Are you sure living in the countryside is for you?”

“It’ll be safer for us.”

After more discussion, you pack your things once more, earlier than you ever expected. This time, more things were added, seeing as how you had no intention of coming back to this place. Nathan helped you with the process, both of you enjoying the company of each other. It seemed a little melancholic, but it needed to be done.

You put on a coat over your clothes, ready to head out. 

“Do you know how to send me letters via owl?” you ask him.

“Of course, I saw dad do it many times. I’ll write to you a lot.”

“And I’ll reply to each one.”

You head to Dahlia’s room, where she’s sleeping peacefully, kissing her on the head. Before exiting the house, you hug Nathan one last time, telling him to stay safe and tell if he needs anything.

“I’ll miss you.” he says, trying to hold back tears.

“I’ll miss you too, but I’ll visit, okay? This isn’t the last time, I promise.”

He nods, opening the door for you. You bring out your wand, holding it out in front of you. Not too long later, a rather tall bus appears in front of you at lightning speed. The doors open, a man greeting you and taking your luggage. 

One foot inside the bus, you look behind you and see Nathan hugging the door. You wished the circumstances were different, you want them to come with you, but it just can’t happen right now.

You wave goodbye, and he returns it. Entering the bus, the door closes behind you, now moving extremely fast. The man asks for 11 sickles to get to Hogsmeade, which you give. Sitting down one of the beds, you look down at your hands, the feeling now setting in that you just left your family, your father is dead, and your mother has finally lost it. You begin to sob again, holding your face in your hands as the cries escape. 

Things seemed so peaceful when the term started, why couldn’t they just stay that way?

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

The knight bus came to a sudden stop, the destination was reached. After getting your luggage, you walk yourself to the castle. It was raining here too, not even bothering to use a spell to protect yourself, you walk to Hogwarts in pain and cold.

As you got closer and closer to the castle, the feeling of dread got larger, as if it was clouding your sense of being. Your vision became shaky as you walked on the floors of Hogwarts, wet footsteps following behind you. The great hall was just up ahead, you hold your cold wet fingers out to open the door, hoping there was someone there.

The door creaks as it opens. Christmas decorations lined the room, festive energy in the air. Your vision tries to focus itself on someone you could know, and there are two right in the middle of the room. 

Dumbledore, who seemed to be talking with Tom. The creaking of the door alerts them as they see you holding onto the door for dear life, clothes soaking wet from the rain, head hung low. 

“Y/n.” Dumbledore says, recognizing you immediately.

Tom also raises his brow, getting up from his seat. Your vision becomes blurry once more as your legs give out on you. Collapsing on the floor, you’re tired from everything that has happened. Your eyes close, welcoming the darkness.

Dumbledore and Tom are taken aback, both rushing towards you. Dumbledore holds you, trying to wake you up, but it doesn’t work. He yells to one of the other professors to get Crafince

You’re taken to the hospital wing, where Crafince immediately tries to figure out what’s wrong. She dries you up, making sure that you don't stay in your wet clothes. Dumbledore and Tom are across the room as Crafince works, wondering what could have happened to make you collapse on the floor.

After some time, Crafince makes her way over to them and gives her analysis.

“Cold skin, her eyes are swollen and there's a red mark on her cheek. It’s safe to say that she did not have fun at home.”

“You’re saying someone in her family did this?” Tom asks, his brows crinkling inward, looking rather annoyed.

“Possibly, she might have collapsed due to a combination of walking in the rain and stress. Give her some time and she’ll wake up, but for right now she needs rest, lots of it.” Crafince nods and leaves to attend to another.

“She always did talk about her mother being overbearing…” Dumbledore whispered, he looked over at Tom, who seems to have his gaze glued to you.

“Is there something on your mind?” Dumbledore asks. 

Tom doesn’t answer, his eyes seem to look almost piercing as he stares at your sleeping form. It seems all too familiar to him, you being unconscious while he and Dumbledore watch from afar.

“Déjà vu…” he whispers.

“Pardon?” Dumbledore turns his head towards him, confused as to what he said.

“Nothing, I’ll be leaving now.” 

Tom turns and leaves the hospital wing, his expression still confused. Dumbledore tries not to question him, more worried about your condition and what could have caused it. On the other hand, he’s glad that you made it back to Hogwarts without any serious injuries. He’d have to ask you what happened when you woke up.

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

Hours upon hours later, you wake up. Throat dry, you erupt into a coughing fit, looking around to see where you were. The all too familiar walls of the hospital wing. Everything hit you like a ton of bricks, the events from the past week, last night, it screwed with your head.

“Ugh…” you latch onto your head, bringing it down to your knees.

“Someone’s awake.” Crafince walks up to your bed, a pitcher, and glass in hand. She pours a glass full of water and hands it to you.

You happily drink it, hoping it would soothe your throat.

“Looks like I made it…” you trail off, eyes wandering around the room.

“Yes you did, and you caused quite the scare for Dumbledore. Even Tom Riddle looked conflicted, and Merlin knows both of you aren’t peas in a pod.”

“He was worried?” your thumb traces the rim of the cup, listening to Crafince rant.

“Well he certainly didn’t look pleased when he saw you lying unconscious. Left right after I told both him and Dumbledore what happened.”

“Ah…” piecing the puzzle together wasn’t hard. He was the one who stayed by your side constantly when you were recovering from the Vampire attack when both of you traveled back in time.

“Enough of that, Dumbledore will come later on to ask you what happened. Right now you just need to take it easy.” 

Sure enough, Dumbledore came a little later. He was relieved that you managed to wake up. After making sure you were okay, he immediately got to asking what happened while you were away.

Explaining every detail you could remember, you recall the events since leaving Hogwarts for winter break. Your dad dying, you almost being married to that cretin Jarrod, having to leave your family. 

“I see… I am very sorry for what you’ve gone through.” Dumbledore offers his condolences, feeling true pity for you.

“I won’t be going outside the wizarding world anytime soon,” your nose scrunches as you feel the stinging sensation in your eyes, “It was really hard to leave my family…”

You brush your hand against your eyes, not wanting to cry anymore, or cry in front of someone for that matter. It’s just too much to go through the same emotions you’ve been repeating for the past week, but it couldn’t be helped.

“I’m sure it was, you’re very brave for leaving.”

“I don’t understand how something could crumble so quickly. Going home during breaks…even though there were bumpy roads, I looked forward to it. Seeing my family, my home…all that seems to be gone now.”

“Things may seem as though they will never return to normal, but I assure you, one day you will be reunited with your family. The world has been thrown into chaos, but we cannot lose hope, because if we do…that will be the beginning of the end.”

Dumbledore's words of comfort do work slightly, but they just couldn’t erase the heavy feeling over your heart. Seeing as how you were getting tired, he left you to rest, leaving the hospital wing. You turn onto your side, facing towards the window as you contemplate once more. Everything seemed still at the moment, as if even time had stopped. Closing your eyes, you hoped that you would drift into a lovely dream where you didn’t have to worry about anything.

Not too long after, you fell asleep. The hospital wing was empty, only you remained in the room, for now. When dusk broke, someone else entered the hospital wing, Crafince nagging behind them.

“You should know better to mess with potions without a professor present!” she exclaims, her voice bouncing off the walls, making you wake up.

You push yourself up, rubbing your eyes to see who it was she was yelling at. After focusing, you noticed the familiar hair of black and simple clothing.

“What happened?” you ask, still half asleep.

Both of them take notice of you, Crafince being the first to speak up.

“Riddle right here made a mess in a potions classroom and injured his arm,” She says, rubbing ointment on his arm, “sit here, I need to get gauze.”

She leaves the room, the giant doors shutting behind her. Silence filled the room, you didn’t know if you should strike up a conversation. Both of you aren’t on the best terms, but things were looking up before they went down again…

“I didn’t know you could mess up on potions.” you say, hoping that it wouldn’t offend him.

You could hear a scoff covered laugh, “this potion was different.”

“Different enough for you not to consult a professor?” 

He turned to look at you. You half expected a gaze of vexation, but that wasn’t it. He for once looked relaxed. He wasn’t smiling, nor was he frowning, he just looked like a normal person.

“I suppose that was a mistake on my part, a mistake of which I am paying the consequences for.” He stares down at his arm that is covered in ointment. 

“How bad is the pain?” 

“Do you want a scale?”

“Out of ten.”

Tom closes his eyes and lets out a huff of a laugh, he seems to find the notion of you wanting a scaled rating of his pain amusing.

“A four, nothing too serious. I just think Crafince doesn’t enjoy patching people up during winter break.” 

“Or maybe she thought that someone as responsible as you couldn’t do something so reckless. What made you want to experiment with such a dangerous potion anyway?” you hang your feet over the bed, wanting to face him.

“Curiosity, just something I wanted to try.”

“Never thought I’d see the day that Tom Riddle would mess up at potions.” you gave him a crooked smile, mainly due to your drowsy state.

He locked eyes with you, face still stoic, “don’t get used to it.”

Madam Crafince returns, cutting the conversation short.

“What are you doing, get your feet back onto the bed!” She waves her hand towards you, then turns back to Tom, “The ointment won’t heal you completely, so stay here for a few hours, so I can check on you to see if you’re recovering correctly.”

“Spending the night in the hospital wing? Forget it-” Tom attempts to get up, however madam Crafince has other plans when she pushes Tom back down.

“Young man, I will only say this once. Stay here until the wound has shown signs of improvement.”

Tom stayed silent, not wanting to argue with someone who won't change her mind. He scoots back onto the bed and lays down while Crafince continues to patch him up.

“Another thing, I better not see the both of you fighting in here. Any show of shooting magic at each other and the both of you can patch your injuries in the courtyard.” Crafince gives both of you a stern look as she leaves.

Silence fills the air once more, to the point where you think you could hear the snow falling outside. You stare at the ceiling, unable to sleep, thinking of what you were going to do once the term starts again.

Tom closes his eyes, but his curiosity just could not let him rest until he asks you what happened.

“So, why did you come back here?” He asks.

You raise your brows at the question, not expecting him to ask.

“My dad died in the war.” 

Tom didn’t say anything, but he did open his eyes at the confession. He looks towards you, seeing how you’re struggling to keep talking.

“My mom tried to marry me off to a rich snob, I had to leave my family…”

No tears fell during this round of reminiscence, but your heart still stung talking about it. Tom stayed silent for some time before saying something.

“I find the notion that someone would agree to marry you a little ridiculous”

“Seriously, you’re making jokes now?” You roll your eyes, the somber feeling leaving you as you turn your attention to your fellow injured student who had horrible timing with jokes.

“Take it as me trying to lighten the mood. I don’t even have to look at you to know that you were about to cry.”

“Terrible timing, you have terrible timing.”

Tom closed his eyes once more, “Maybe I do.”

“And you didn’t know that I was about to cry, my voice didn’t even shake when I was talking.”

“I think I’ve known you long enough to tell when you’re trying to act like the hero. Pretending it’s not bothering you even though it is.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. He isn’t wrong, he’s one of the people who’s seen you at your worst and at your best. Despite the usual bad blood between the both of you, it’s hard to deny that he probably does know you better than you think he does. 

Pulling the blanket over you, you lay down once more. The room felt cold, reaching over for your wand, you cast Incendio at the barren fireplace. The flames let out light crackles, its warmth spreading throughout the room. You close your eyes, hoping to get some rest, Tom does the same.

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

The next morning when you wake up, Tom is already gone. It’s not like you expected him to stay, his injury wasn’t that serious, or that’s what you thought. Crafince would be around for the morning check up in a little, if she thinks that you’ve recovered enough to leave the hospital wing then this will hopefully be your last time laying in this bed.

In the meantime you space out, thinking about your siblings and what they may be doing. Would your aunt be taking care of them properly? No owls came yet, so you can only imagine that things are going well.

The door creaks open, Crafince approaching you. She immediately gets to work, giving a thorough check-up.

“Well, it seems as though you’ve recovered well. You’re free to go, but take it easy, and don’t go outside just yet, it’s still too cold.”

You leave and go back to your dorm room. It’s fairly empty since your friends are still on winter break. Your suitcases and any luggage you managed to bring are neatly set beside your bed, waiting to be opened. A new fresh pair of clothes wouldn’t hurt, it beats wearing whatever hospital gown you have on right now. 

Strolling down the hallways, you thought of ways you could pass time before the classes resume. What could Hogwarts have to offer during winter break anyway? Turning a corner, you run into someone. 

“Tch, you have a knack for running into people. Perhaps you should look before you walk.”

“Isn’t it too early in the morning for you to act like a dick?”

Tom’s lips slanted, not amused by you snapping back at him.

“And who else have I run into?” You ask, crossing your arms.

“That golden retriever hufflepuff boy of yours, I care not to remember his name.”

“Archer? But that was before winter break even started. Wait, were you watching us?”

“I just happened to be passing by, you’re not interesting enough for me to keep an eye on.”

You inhale sharply, reminding yourself that it would be useless trying to argue with him right now. 

“Whatever.” You brush past him.

Tom takes a deep breath before turning around, “Wait.”

You stop walking, looking at him, wondering what he wants. He looks like he’s seriously struggling with what he wanted to say.

“I need your help with something…” he says.

You raise your brows, taken aback by his sudden need for assistance after saying all of that to you. 

“With what?”

“Just follow me, I can’t talk about it here.”

Tom begins to walk away, expecting you to follow him. You stand still for a moment, shocked that he would expect for you to listen to him. After contemplating for a few moments, you decide to go, it’s not like there’s anything better to do.

He leads you down to the Slytherin dungeons. A place you aren’t a complete stranger too, but it’s not exactly the go-to place to hang out either. What could he possibly want anyway?

He opens a door that was shrouded in darkness, it cracks open, revealing a room with a ton of books and a small table. Potion supplies seemed to be scattered around the room, one vial was still dripping with something.

“So, why are we here?” you ask as he closes the door behind the both of you.

“I need help cleaning this up.”

You scoff, “you need me to help you clean up? Get real, I’m out of here.”

He grabs you by your wrist, restricting your movement.

“It takes two people to clean the mess that… I made.”

You think for a moment, piecing things together, “Wait, is there where you got hurt?” looking around the room once more, you noticed that things looked like they were left in a hurry, “What were you making?”

“I can’t tell you that, but I can tell you that I need you to help me clean it up.”

He lets you go, but you walk backwards, back against the wall.

“Look, I don’t want to get involved with whatever experiment you were doing here, I’m not going to be an accomplice.”

“And I suppose you dragging me to the astronomy tower when we were younger and getting me into trouble doesn’t cross your mind? You owe me.”

“Really? I went into the forbidden forest as a punishment, I don’t owe you anything.”

He blocks the door, by the look in his eyes he really does seem desperate for your help.

“First…tell me what the hell happened here.” you say.

“I can’t go into detail, but let’s just say it was a potion to protect something, and it backfired.”

“Backfired is an understatement, Crafince said it looked like your arm was burned pretty badly.”

“That’s beside the point, I need to get rid of it.”

“How am I supposed to help with that?”

Tom takes out his wand, pointing it at the door, “Colloportus”

The door locks, unable to be opened by manual means. You didn’t really get why he had to go to such measures, and not like he’d tell you anyway.

He takes out two vials from a box on the floor, one was colored green while the other seemed to be a foggy gray.

He held up the foggy gray potion, “I was working on this, but forgot a crucial step, and that’s how I got burned.”

“I’m guessing the crucial step has something to do with the green stuff?” 

He nods, opening the corks of both the vials. He pours the green into the other vial, mixing it slowly. The potion turns green fully, glowing inside the poorly lit room.

“Now it won’t hurt me, physically at least,” he stares at you while holding the vial, “I need you to stand watch while I drink it.”

Your eyes almost pop out of your head at the idea. Immediately, you rush over to him, attempting to get the vial out of his hand.

“Are you crazy?! That thing burned your arm and now you want to ingest it?” you try to reach for the potion, but he holds it above his head.

“I told you, It’s safe now. I was just being an idiot last night.” He pushes you back slightly.

“Okay, you’re still crazy. Why do I need to be here to witness it?” 

“To make sure that I don’t do anything reckless.”

Your brows furrow at his reasoning. He’s a smart person, yet he’s doing something so incredibly stupid that you just can't wrap your mind around it.

“What am I supposed to do then, watch?” you ask, hesitant to hear his answer.

“Yes, but if things start getting out of your control, you have to subdue me.”

Usually a part of you would rejoice in the thought of knocking him out cold, but under these circumstances it just felt…wrong. He starts bringing the potion to his lips, but before he could drink it, you stop him again.

“Wait! What’s it going to do to you?”

“If made correctly, it’ll induce fear and pain, amongst other things.”

“Are you sure you want to do this? What’s the point? I don't understand.”

Tom swirls the potion once more, “You don’t need to, just stand by, and if things get out of control…you know what to do.”

Tom tilts his head back, drinking the potion in one full swing. His eyes dart open, his face contorting as he forces himself to drink the potion completely. After the last drop rolls down his throat, he drops the potion vial, it shatters on contact with the floor. He coughs repeatedly, backing up until his back hits the bookshelf behind him. The books topple over, falling down, Tom slides down with them. 

You shuffle over closer to him, but he holds his arm out, telling you to stay away. He begins to pant, his nails digging into the floorboards. Groans leave his mouth, it sounds as if he’s being tortured. It’s hard to watch and hear, and despite the fact that things aren’t out of control at the moment, it’s hard to not step in and help. 

He lets out an agonizing groan, holding his head in his hands. You turn your head back and forth, contemplating on what you should do. Yes he’s an asshole and makes your life a living hell sometimes, but Merlin you just can’t stand and watch this happen!

You rush over to him, despite his protests. Kneeling down, you hold his face in your hands, his eyes closed shut, sweat forming on his brows as he thrashes around.

“ill…me…” he whispers in between disgruntled groans.

“What?” you ask, trying to keep him steady.

“Kill me!” he yells in an agonizing way. His eyes look as though he’s pleading for you to finish the job. It terrified you to see him like this.

Tom Riddle, someone who’s usually so composed and well put together, is asking for you to kill him. 

“I’m not going to kill you-!” you begin to fight against his hands who try to push you away, but you won’t have any of it.

“Do it…do it now!” he yells once more, the pain in his eyes now turning into anger.

You hold your wand in your hand, pointing the tip at him, “Incarcerous!” 

Ropes shootout and bind him, rendering him unable to move. He continues to groan and cry as he lies on the floor. You stand up, holding your hand to your mouth as you recall the scene that just happened. It was one of the most frightening things you had witnessed, and that might partially have to do with the fact that it was Tom that was going through all this pain.

Some time later, he passes out, still bound by rope. You sit in an old wooden chair, watching over him as his breath grows easy. Relieved that it was over, you still couldn’t wrap your mind around what made him do what he did. 

After what felt like ages, Tom started to wake up. The pain that once consumed him was no longer there, he felt slightly relieved. You notice him shuffling on the ground, immediately releasing him of the rope.

“Are you okay?” you ask, kneeling down to his level.

“Mnn… I’m fine…” he says, attempting to stabilize himself.

After he felt like he could sit without falling down, he looked over at you. You still look worried about him, and it’s very apparent on your face.

“Stop looking at me like that.” He says.

“Why? Do you not appreciate that I’m worried about you? What state of mind do you need to be in to do something like that?!” you yell.

He’s taken aback by your sudden shift in tone, not expecting you to raise your voice so suddenly.

“I just needed to test something out, stop mulling over it.”

“You were writhing in pain and crying, what’s so important that you needed to subject yourself to that much pain?”

“If I had known that you were going to be so annoying about this, I would have done it myself.”

That hurt, a little more than it should have. You didn’t know why it hurt, almost anything that came out of his mouth was an insult, you should be used to it by now. Standing up, you grab your wand and begin to walk out of the room. The cold air of the Slytherin dungeons welcome you as you pace yourself across the cold, barren hallway.

You hear a thump behind you, turning around you see Tom slumped against the wall trying to catch up with you.

“Wait-” he says, hand on the wall trying to walk.

“What are you doing, you can’t walk.” You stand still, arms crossed as you watch him attempting to get closer to you.

“Doesn’t help that you’re so far away now.”

“The only person you have to blame for that is yourself.” you begin to walk away again, but once more you hear a thud and stop.

Tom is on his knees, head hung low, and he tries to catch his breath. You take a moment to consider, in a second you walk up to him, kneeling down to his level.

“And now you owe me,” throwing his arm around your shoulder, you balance him against you as you begin to walk, “Where is your dorm room?”

“Just…keep going until you see the big black doors.” he’s sluggish in his movement, which makes it that much harder to walk with him.

The both of you arrive at the doors of the common room. Tom utters the password, which makes you roll your eyes. Only the Slytherins would have “pure blood” as their password.

The Slytherin common rooms are elegant. Cold emerald green covered the room, the room felt rather hollow despite the vast amount of furnishings that were placed in the room. Luckily, there was nobody there, or else you’d be in for one hell of an earful about entering another house's common room.  

You miraculously walk Tom all the way to his dorm room, practically throwing him onto his bed. He groans in pain as you take a deep breath, glad to be rid of the excess weight that was on your side.

“Good riddance.” you mumble, heading towards the door.

Before you could get away, Tom waves his wand, locking the door with a spell. You shake the door handle but to no avail. Frustrated, you stare at him while he scoots himself to sit down.

Rolling your eyes, you take out your wand, about to use a spell to open the door, but he disarms you instead.

“What- what the hell is wrong with you? Just go to sleep already!” you exclaim, clearly frustrated by his antics.

“I need to know, before you go, that you won’t tell anyone about what happened today.”

“What? Do you think I'm going to go running to Dumbledore or Dippet and tell them that the star student of Slytherin, the masterful prefect, is actually a psycho that drinks dangerous potions that make him writhe in agony??” 

“Yes.”

“Ugh!” you just want to get away from him already, but knowing him he’s going to do everything in his power to make sure that you don’t.

“I won't tell, now let me go.”

“I need your word.”

“You have my word. Now let me leave.”

Tom waves his wand and unlocks the door, you leave as soon as the door clicks open. Rushing down the stairs, you think of how relieved you’re going to be out of the Slytherin dungeons once and for all.

While making your way down the stairs, your heart stops when you see the main door open. Stopping in your tracks, you watch like a deer in headlights as someone walks in. You’re somewhat relieved when you see it’s just Slughorn, but that doesn’t make it any better. 

Slughorn takes notice of you and is just as surprised to see you as you are to see him.

“Ms. L/n, what are you doing here?” he asks.

“I…um… I was just…helping someone.” there isn’t enough time to come up with a decent lie. Stupid Tom, if he didn’t play that damn game of keeping you locked in his room, you could have avoided this.

“Helping someone, who?” 

Dammit Slughorn, why can’t you just ignore what’s happening?

“You see…”

“She was helping me, professor.” 

Looking to the top of the stairs, you see Tom staring down, intervening in the conversation.

“Oh, Tom! Well what were the both of you doing?”

“Just some school work, it’s not that big of a deal.” you let out somewhat of an awkward laugh, the unpleasant tension feeling like it's pressing down on your chest. 

“Well I suppose that’s fine but…why does it have to be here, in the dorm rooms?”

Your nails are digging into your palms, the longer this goes on the more awkward it’s going to get.

“That’s a little private, professor-” Tom begins his excuse but is quickly cut off.

“It was just a school matter, Professor Slughorn! I apologize for intruding in the Slytherin common room space, it won’t happen again!” you power walk past Slughorn, opening the door and slamming it shut behind you, leaving a bewildered Slughorn and an indifferent Tom behind you.

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

Over the next few days, you do your best to avoid Tom as much as possible. The new term would be starting soon, so more people filling the halls of Hogwarts would help. You sit next to one of the windows in the hallways, watching the snow fall, thinking of how you’re going to make it through the next semester. The wounds from your fathers' death are still fresh.

You play with the bracelet that he always told to keep with you, this now being one of the last mementos that you have of him. He never got to tell you why it was so important in the first place, perhaps it was a family heirloom? 

The feelings of loneliness and sadness came in waves. One moment you think that you’re fine, and the next you’re here…staring out and contemplating life. An owl did come from Archer a few days ago. It said that Aunt Merin was very kind to them and that they were adjusting well to life in the countryside. It made you smile knowing that your siblings were safe, but it stung your heart knowing that your family was now separated. He didn’t write about what happened with your mother, but knowing her, she probably sought refuge with the Davis family, if they’d even accept her.

When winter break finally did end, you reunited with your friends. Telling them of what a “wonderful” break you had. Immediately showered with their hugs, you felt a little better, knowing that you had such incredible people around you.

“So you went inside the Slytherin common rooms?” Azalea asks, kicking her feet back and forth on her bed.

“Azzy! Is that what you’re really focusing on?” Naomi butts in, a little astonished at Azalea’s attempt to change the topic back to your adventures in the dungeons.

“No, it’s fine, I need to get my mind off of it anyway,” you give a small smile before continuing, “Yeah, I went there, Slughorn caught me trying to leave, it was so…awkward.”

“I bet it’ll be even more awkward when you see him in potions again tomorrow.” Melissa laughs, her teasing just makes you groan even more at the thought.

“Don’t remind me, not only is Slughorn the professor, but that damn Tom is in my class too!” throwing a pillow over your face, you groan as loud as you can.

“I don’t think it’ll be too bad, just try your best to ignore them.” Naomi says.

“Yeah, just make a polyjuice potion and you can do whatever you want.” Azzy gives her two cents, although it may not be the best of advice.

“Disgusting, they always taste so gross. It’s better to just do what you need to do, y/n. Potions is only twice a week.” Melissa gives you a smile, trying to make you feel better.

Spending the rest of the night talking, the four of you fall asleep mid-conversation, still in your day clothes. It makes for a rude awakening in the morning when your body feels stiff from sleeping in weird positions. It can’t be helped, classes still need to be attended.

Getting transfiguration over and done with, you head over to potions, which you’re dreading. You hope whoever is watching over you to please not let Lela and her gang be there. It’s too early in the new semester for a fight to break

out, and you did not have the energy to indulge her in whatever she has to say. 

Luckily for you, they weren’t there. The class was getting full quickly, and you took a seat in the back of the class, avoiding any unneeded attention from the two people you desperately did not want to interact with. Luckily today was just a review day. Multiple things were revised, none of which you took special interest in. You almost fell asleep at one point, but tried to stay awake, fighting the slumber.

When class was over, you were the first out the door, making your way down the hallway as quickly as you could. You’re suddenly pulled to a stop when you feel someone's hand on your wrist, keeping you from moving. You turn back to see who it was, and to a pleasant surprise, it’s Archer.

“Hey…sorry for grabbing you like that. I just needed to talk.”

He lets go of your wrist, looking as sweet as ever. Tom was right about one thing, he truly did give off golden retriever energy. 

“It’s no problem, what is it?”

“Well firstly… I heard about what happened to you over winter break. I’m really sorry.”

You close your eyes to think of how he could have possibly found out, coming to only one possible conclusion, “Did Azalea tell you?”

“Yeah, she said something about it during herbology.”

“Well…thanks for reaching out, it means a lot.”

“Of course. And listen, if you don’t feel up to hanging out anymore, we could put it off until you’re feeling better.” 

“No, no! I could really use that to hang out actually, a distraction would be really nice.”

He smiles, showing his teeth slightly. Who knew that a person showing the smallest bit of happiness could warm your heart so much?

“Great, we could do it this weekend? Since it won’t be too busy.”

“I’d like that, sounds like a date.”

Your smile is suddenly wiped off your face when you realize what you just said. A date? Does he consider it a date? Wait, do you even consider it a date, it just slid right out of your mouth like butter on a pan. 

“I mean, it’s not a date, it’s-” you try to fix your supposed mistake, but to no avail.

“A date? Hmm… I like the sound of that, actually. It’s a date then.”

He actually agreed to it, well that went better than expected.

“Yeah, I’ll see you then.”

Since the next class was starting soon, both of you went your separate ways. You wished that the conversation didn’t have to end so soon, but it couldn’t be helped.

The same process repeated in your next class, just staring off into space while the professor lectured. By the end of the class, your notes were just a mess of words that didn’t even belong together. You’d have to ask someone for their notes another time. Something about the first day back just felt so tiring for some reason.

It also didn’t help that you still couldn’t get your mind off of well…the different things that occurred since winter break started. Stopping by one of the bridges, you peer off into the distance watching as different areas of the ground get covered in fresh snow.

“Oh dad…if only I knew.” you play with your bracelet again. In the span of a week, you managed to lose both of your parents. You wondered if your mom even cared that you ran away, you wished that the relationship between the both of you was better. Perhaps after you were done with Hogwarts you could have worked on that, but that’s not exactly possible anymore.

The chill sweeps inward, brushing against you. Wrapping your robe around yourself tightly, you walk away.

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

The weekend came quickly, which was a relief. The weather remained the same, which caused for an extra thick jacket while you were waiting for Archer so the both of you could head to the three broomsticks. 

Archer came in the most surprising way possible, on a flying broomstick. 

“Hey, I didn’t know they were starting quidditch this early.” you say, taking in what you were seeing.

“They aren’t, I managed to sneak one of the brooms, so we could go flying to Hogsmeade.”

“You what?! You know broomsticks are only permitted on the quidditch pitch.”

“I know, which is why you should hop on quickly, before any of the professors notice that I’m flying a little too close to the castle.”

He lowers himself so that it’ll be easier to get on, you grab onto his shoulders as you position yourself, sitting down as comfortably as you can.

“Remember the last time we flew together?” He asks.

“Yeah.”

“Well let’s say I’ve gotten a little faster since then, hold on.”

You take his words to heart, almost digging into his skin as he launches off. You couldn’t help but let out a scream at how fast he was going. The cold weather just made you want to squeeze your eyes shut even more, afraid that a snowflake was going to penetrate your eye if you weren't careful. Even when you played quidditch you weren’t this fast, where did he get this need for speed?

Getting the courage to finally open your eyes, you look down, taking in the sights of Hogsmeade. The Three Broomsticks wasn’t too far, and he seemed to be slowing down quite a bit compared to his initial speed. Getting closer to ground level, he allowed you to step off first before he did.

“We made it, sorry if it scared you.” he smiles, the cold coloring the apples of his cheeks a slight pink.

“Well, I lived,” you begin to laugh, walking into the pub, “But how were you able to fly that fast?”

“It’s a new broom, I got it for Christmas and decided to take it for a test drive.”

“This was your test drive? With me on it?”

“Well I figured I’d might as well have company when I take it for a ride, and who better than a fellow quidditch player.”

Both of you take a seat, the waiter handing you menu’s.

“And what if the broom malfunctioned, then both of us would be face down in the snow, and I don’t think Crafince wants to see me any time soon.” you browse the menu, smiling to yourself.

“It’s a new broom, an expensive one at that, there would be no malfunctioning, and if there was… I could make it up with a free Butterbeer.”

You put down your menu, staring at him with a raised brow, “Free? It only costs two sickles, not five galleons.” 

“Worth a shot.” 

The both of you get some food and continue to talk. Most of the conversations just revolved around reminiscing about the past. You don’t think about previous years at Hogwarts too much, but talking about all the fun things does bring back memories.

“Remember when you launched a book at me during first year?” He asks, smiling as he bites down onto his food.

“I hoped you’d have forgotten about that, not one of my best moments…”

Archer laughs, the noise was almost magic itself,“ What, I like remembering things from when we were younger. Like how I taught you how to ride a broom.”

“True, I have you to thank for being able to do so well in quidditch.”

Archer rests his head on his hand, swirling the drink in his cup with the other, “It’s crazy how we’re in our 5th year. Two more years and we’ll be out of Hogwarts.”

“Don’t go having a midlife crisis on me now, we’re way too young to be thinking about that.”

“I am not having a crisis, I’m just simply stating that time goes by so quickly. I mean one minute I’m being pummeled in the face by a book and the next I'm on a date with the same person who launched it at me.”

Your face heats up slightly, the tone of his voice is so suave, the words sliding off of his tongue with ease. You clear your throat, attempting to come up with something to say. 

“Well…life has unexpected turns and twists. I’m not complaining about this turn of events.”

“Ahaha, I wasn’t expecting you to get flustered about me saying that.”

You bite the inside of your cheeks. It’s not easy to hide your emotions these days, curses for not having better control.

“I’m not flustered- I’m just…” you couldn’t even think of a proper response. Hoping that he’d just gloss over this, you stop talking, looking down at your Butterbeer.

“Don’t worry, I think it’s cute, and we'll…getting you flustered was my goal.” He takes a sip of his drink, still maintaining eye contact with you.

The back and forth between the both of you went on for a while, before you knew it, it had gotten dark outside. Hitching a ride back to Hogwarts on Archer's broom, he drops you off at one of the arched cloister bridges before flying back to the quidditch pitch to return his broom.

It was dark now, the chill of winter began to creep up on you. Closing your jacket around yourself, you began to walk. The bridge seemed especially creepy at night, but the torches provided some comfort. While walking, you heard something move against the stone walls, turning around you were greeted with a friendly face.

“Orion!” you gleamed, happy to see your snake companion. She had developed a habit of running off, which caused you to worry since she was still a relatively small snake compared to others of her species.

Reaching out your hand, you try to get her to climb on, but she ignores you, slithering away to the shadow shrouded area of the bridge. You watch as she goes, a little hurt, but that feeling fades when you hear footsteps approach from the shadows.

Little by little, the figure is unveiled. Shined black boots, green accents on the dark robe, a green tie to match. You seemed to find him in the most riveting and oddest spots in the castle. 

Tom held Orion, she wrapped herself around his arm. Your brows furrow, confused as to why she would ignore you and go for him instead.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, his eyes not breaking contact with yours, even when Orion begins to slither around his shoulder.

“I was taking a walk.” 

Since Tom is a prefect, if he knew that Archer stole a broom from the quidditch equipment, it would spell trouble.

“This late? People are having dinner, shouldn’t you go eat too?”

“Yeah, I just needed some fresh air before I ate. The Great Hall can be stuffy sometimes.” You tried to remain stoic, but it seemed that your eyes gave you away.

Tom began to walk closer to you until he was in front of you. He places his index finger under your chin and lifts your head so that you look up at him.

“It’s not nice to lie.” he says, his expression remaining neutral.

“I’m not, I just didn’t feel well.” 

He pulls his hand away, now analyzing you, “In that case, go eat dinner. The hall will close soon, and besides…this area grows especially cold this time of year.”

It was odd, was he showing genuine kindness? Could it be that he wants to maintain a good relationship, so you don’t tell anyone about that incident in the potions closet?

Before you could reply, Orion hissed and slithered off. You attempted to rush after her, but Tom held onto your wrist, restraining you.

“No need, she will be back.” He says, attempting to provide reassurance.

“But-!”

“It’s nothing, it’s just something that snakes do. She’ll be back.”

You look at him for a moment, then nod your head. He did seem like a snake charmer at one point, so maybe he does know a thing or two about her behavior.

Tom’s hands felt warm against your wrist, which was cold due to not bringing any gloves with you on your adventure to Hogsmeade. He lets go of his grip eventually, your hand cascading down back to your side.

“You should go now, while there’s still food out.” He says.

You nod and brush beside him, walking down the bridge again. Thunder roared from a distance, a storm was brewing. You look at him one last time as you walk, he seems to be staring off into the distance, but for a second he turns his head and both of you look at each other. You continue to walk, and before you know it, you can’t see him anymore. 

The drizzle of rain can be heard from the roof of the bridge, along with the raindrops that bounce against the sides of the bridge. The warmth of the castle welcomed you as you entered through the doors.

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

AN:

Hellooo! I want to say, thank you ALL for your kind words regarding the hiatus of this story, as well as your support! Things have gotten busy for me in life, so I haven't been able to dedicate as much time into my creative habits as I would like. I have never forgotten once about this story, or any other story I have in my drafts for the matter. Little by little I write, and I admit at times I did lose motivation and have writers block, but I do mean it when your comments and messages have helped me jump that hurdle and put something out. I hope you enjoy the new chapter, which I have made my longest by far (10k words!), and I am sorry for the wait :)). Thank you for your vigorous amount of support once again!

Taglist <3

@omotan​ 

@kuratitsu

[paintedvanilla]

hey!! i would love to hear some of your head cannons for your ‘every man you’re every been’ fic because i am literally obsessed with their dynamic as a domestic couple who still struggle to express their emotions still.

i love you writing so much btw, you are fuelling my fight club obsession in the best way possible!!

Punching the air thank you SO MUCH for asking I am OBSESSED with their dynamic in this au

Me and manar were literally talking about this last night about the balance of domestication between the two of them, and we agreed that like. Tyler absolutely undomesticated the narrator in a sense, but the narrator also has a little bit of a counter balance effect on Tyler? He domesticates him slightly. They eventually reach an equilibrium. And maybe one day they’ll even get a bed frame who knows. Probably not.

Anyway this is corny of me but I took the love languages test for both of them and the results were actually very fascinating. Gift giving didn’t place for either of them so I’m completely ignoring it here. Both of them scored physical touch as their second place and quality time as their third place, but interestingly their first and last places were flipped. The narrator has words of affirmation as his first place, Tyler has it as his last. Tyler has acts of service as his first place, the narrator has it as his last.

I think this affects their dynamic very much as seen in “every man you’ve ever been” when Tyler says I love you to the narrator for the first time after they’ve been together for seven years. Which is an absurd amount of time to wait to say such a thing. But the thing is from Tyler’s perspective that’s not the first time he’s said it. Every little thing he does for the narrator is meant to be a declaration of love. But the narrator doesn’t necessarily interpret them like this because Tyler has never laid a foundation for what he’s trying to communicate with his actions. He just does things and expects the narrator to understand what they mean. He thinks it should be unspoken. And the narrator cannot function like that. The narrator doubts himself and the way Tyler perceives him constantly, and Tyler’s unwillingness to communicate how he’s feeling Does Not help. I think this causes a lot of issues in their relationship. They’ll figure it out eventually but it is a touchy subject for both of them.

Additionally how they met and get together in this au is something I’ve kind of referenced but I really want to eventually write a full on fic for. The way I’m writing it, Tyler and the narrator briefly meet on a nude beach in florida, Tyler immediately becomes obsessed with him and follows him home, stalks him for 18 months and then blows up his condo. The plot proceeds as it does in the movie, the narrator calls him after meeting him on the plane, they get a drink, they fight, they both really enjoy the fight (it awakens many things in both of them), they go back to the paper street house, the narrator starts living there, the encounter with Marla takes place, she and Tyler start sleeping together, the narrator wants to kill himself, yadda yadda yadda

Throughout all this tho the narrator is dealing with a whole identity crisis because prior to meeting Tyler the narrator had noooo idea he was into men. Like it never once occurred to him. He just thought he had the worlds lowest sex drive and was coincidentally not attracted to any woman he had ever laid eyes on. Then he meets Tyler and he’s already like Jesus Christ why does he look like that and why does it make me feel things. And then they have their little fist fight and oohhhhh god does it awaken things in the narrator. He thinks of little else. He’s agonizing and obsessing over this man and unaware that Tyler is just as obsessed with him.

Anyway, Tyler won’t make a move because he can tell the narrator is so incredibly repressed and is actively fighting against any impulse to do something about how he feels, so he waits until the narrator fucking snaps and then the two of them are all over each other, literally inseparable. Tyler tells the narrator about the whole stalking situation and the narrator is a little freak who thinks that’s the hottest thing he’s ever heard in his life, like, genuinely gets way too excited about it. And now the two of them are practically sewn together and cannot be pried apart. Bonded pair do not separate.

Other miscellaneous headcanons:

the narrator cannot swim

Tyler kisses the little mole on the narrators chin

the two of them have never and will never utter the word “cuddle” it’s always “laying down”

Tyler is the fucking miracle cure for the narrators insomnia. When they’re in bed together, the narrator can sleep. When they fight, Tyler uses this against him and will purposefully make sure he can’t sleep for days at a time.

The narrator cannot remember dates for the fucking life of him. He’s great at math, can calculate tip and tax in his head, has a fuck ton of formulas memorized for work, but cannot remember dates

He also frequently loses track of what day it is. He never knows the date.

By the time Tyler and the narrator have been together 7 years the narrator has only remembered two of his birthdays within that time. The others passed without him noticing. He has to do math with the year he was born to remember how old he is.

Tyler on the other hand remembers all dates, always, the instant he’s been told them. He always remembers the narrators birthday, their anniversary, and Valentine’s Day, among other important dates in his head

The narrator still has to sing the months of the year song they teach to you in kindergarten in his head to remember the order of the months

The narrator is autistic. I am an autistic narrator truther. He does not know this about himself nor will he ever know this about himself. He just thinks he’s a little quirky

The narrator is scared of driving and being a passenger in cars. He has his license but never wants to drive

The narrator wishes he’d studied something like English literature in college instead of finance

Tyler learned how to make soap from his mom

Tyler makes the narrator come to work with him at the theater sometimes because he cannot stand being apart from that man

That’s all I can think of at the moment I hope this suffices. Thank you for your kind words I’m going to explode. <333

[mandareeboo]

Loona considering if she be up for a polycule with Vortex and Bee?

Loona's never had a partner. She's had dates, of course, and a few even lasted a couple, but it's hard to find romance when you're a hellhound in Pride. Doesn't help to have a dad who aims a glock at anyone's dick when they try. So no. No boyfriends or girlfriends to name of, and especially not both. Not until Bee and Tex.

It just?? Kind of happens????

Loona's house is closer to Bee's than Vortex's. This is apparently good info to have, as the sin starts casually climbing through the window to sleep off whatever drugs she'd taken the night before. Loona asked how much drugs a sin had to take to get high and she'd laughed and laughed until it trailed off into a guttural snore.

She'd sat through Blitz's inane attempts to sound threatening and ate all their bacon, then Vortex came by with more and they all went out giving away hangover cures to locals; because that's something the epitome of gluttony does, apparently.

Then she'd just. Dropped by work one day? Because she'd texted Vortex that it was a shitty day and somehow that meant sending demonic royalty? And Vortex brought donuts, because he was the bringer of foodstuffs or whatever, and Moxxie and Millie wouldn't let that shit go for months.

Vortex had texted her the same and Loona, assuming reciprocity was needed (she's had more hookups than friends, alright?) brought him food for once and he was so happy to see her it almost made Verosika Mayday glaring at her survivable.

And they just. Kept doing it? Kept commenting on her shitty photos, kept laughing at her shitty jokes. She couldn't be that entertaining, surely? One hellhound who could barely get a sentence out and refused to partake in the honey?

Then Bee had kissed her and. Huh. That's a thing now.

Loona agonized for days over telling Vortex, terrified of losing the only friendships she'd ever had, and then he'd just. Given her a gentle laugh and patted her on the back. And apologized??? To her??? For his girlfriend kissing her?????

"We thought you knew," he says sheepishly. "We're poly, girl. And open. Bee's been wantin' to ask you for a while now, but we know you're not exactly the spontaneous type. I think she finally exploded."

Which felt. Suspiciously like an invitation. But Loona wasn't losing this, so Loona decided to throw her last braincells in the trash and go 'I don't see it'.

Then Vortex asked if he could kiss her, and she kind of lost her willpower in that bin too.

All things have an expiration date. That's, like, one of the laws of the universe, between gravity and physics. Apples falling from trees. No one really likes Loona, not really. The stop will kill you in a car crash. Eventually Bee and Tex will get bored of whatever they thought this was, and Loona would be stuck at a dead-end job with her dad and two imps who hate her.

Loona relays all of this to Bee while they smoke a cigarette. She isn't entirely sure why she says all of that. To make it easier? So that when they turn and walk away, they will know she's expecting it and won't fight them?

Beezlebub tsks, squishes the cinders, and pulls her into a hug. "You're all sad and lonely, girl. We gotta fix that. We'll get you all loved up, you'll see."

Everything has a timer. But Loona snuggles into Bee's soft fur and decides, to hell with it. Might as well enjoy it while it lasts.

[elizaellwrites]

Writing Share Tag

Thank you @somethingclevermahogony for tagging me here

Rules: Share some writing!

Here is an excerpt from Chapter 14 in Legacy of the Fallen. Just some fun banter for you today.

Ryan felt a curious grin ticking across his face, turning back to face forward. “Ready to get back into action?” He asked Amber, tilting his head with his eyes tracking the path of a raptor too far away to identify.

“Not much action here,” her dark eyes darted to him for a split second. “You know I didn’t expect my act of sticking it to Maishear to be driving into town to pick up a kid from school.”

“You never know,” He stretched his arms out before him, feeling his shoulder pop as he did so. “Last time we had a load of fun.” He swung his head to face her.

She pursed her lips with a hum, tapping her fingers lightly on the steering wheel. “It sure looked like you did.” She cleared her throat quietly. “At least I’m off house arrest for a couple of hours.”

Ryan rolled his eyes. “You have to put it that way, don’t you?”

“What other way is there?” she shrugged, face impassive. “He forbade me from leaving, shut me out of inter-observance intel, and won’t even let me watch that giant gate of his. You could call it something else, but it’s really a hard sell to make.”

“You’re here though,” Ryan pointed out. “You didn’t have to break through bars or fight the army to drive away. This has to be at least somewhat appealing, considering that you actually woke up early without wanting to kill somebody.”

“See it how you please, I’m here because Cameron asked me to be,” she returned, reaching up to smooth her already tight ponytail. “I agonized over whether I should help out your little issue,” she drawled. “Waking up at four, defying the all-powerful and ever so wise headmaster, spending over thirty minutes with you- in a car to boot…” Sarcasm rang through her droning words. “I wondered if I, the perfect golden child, would have the courage to defy everything I stand for. But then I remembered how you all would worship me when I lead and taught all of you; giving me food, offering favors, and telling me how wonderful I am. Besides, it gives me the perfect opportunity to welcome my beloved brother home while he’s not drooling onto himself.”

Ryan covered his laugh with a cough, ignoring the bitter tone of the last part of what she said. In the back seat, he could see how Ben had turned away from the window to stare ahead in concern. “If you’re looking for something from me,” Ryan remarked. “You know I hate to disappoint you, but you have to take it up with Cameron.”

“Oh no!” She gasped mockingly. “What makes you think I’d expect anything from you all? After all, I’m doing this from the kindness in my heart. To say such a thing is an insult to my integrity. But if I asked, what do you think he’d do for me?” Her voice dropped back down from the high tone she had been using.

“I don’t know,” Ryan threw his hands in the air as he slouched in the seat. “I can’t read his mind, I don’t think I want to either. He needs to take a chill pill and maybe find someone special to spend time with rather than study and practice all the time.”

“Maybe I could get him to do my dishes for a month,” Amber mused as though he hadn’t spoken. “But then again, he likes doing that, so that’s not going to work.”

“Laundry?” Ryan suggested.

“No,” Amber shook her head as they slowed for a red light. “He’d like that too; besides, he’d just read or something while it’s running.” The car was silent for a minute before a slap on the steering wheel made Ryan jolt up in his seat. “I could make him rearrange our furniture!” She exclaimed proudly. “It just feels like it could be better than it is right now.”

“I’d love to see the look on his face when you use that reasoning with him.” A mental picture of Cameron dragging a couch with an exasperated expression was too good to pass on. “Can I be there?”

Tagging: @dyrewrites, @talesofsorrowandofruin, @winglesswriter, @my-cursed-prince, and @phoenixradiant

[amewinterswriting]

Writing Patterns Tag Game

Thanks for the tag @late-to-the-fandom! I've also never done this one before, but variety is spice and I (occasionally) aim to be spicy. The rules are to list the first line(s) of your last 10 fics and see if there's a pattern, so I'm going to be going between fanfic and original fic a bit.

Tagging: @by-allison-kai, @winterandwords, @author-a-holmes, @authoralexharvey, @ahordeofwasps, @tailoroffates and @sam-glade

Magic's Servant (original novel)

Desidero hated these little gatherings. In theory, they were to foster positive connections between reapers - those who should have died long ago and only lived because they were foolish enough to take a demon bargain. In practice, they were an excellent way for said demons to keep a close eye upon their investment.

Two Lefts (original short)

No one ever claimed it would be easy. Yet, as Chwith crept further down the dark hallways, she couldn't help but think that her task had been going ridiculously smoothly.

The Landlady (original novella)

Scarlett opened the cupboard doors for the fifth time. As she had expected, nothing new had materialised in the last hour. All that lay within were a few lonely packets of instant noodle flavouring, a can of pinto beans and a jar with a thin smear of solidified honey in the bottom. The fridge was a similar story, except a couple of the fresh vegetables she had once been ambitious enough to buy were now creating new civilisations of fungal inhabitants.

An Arrangement (original short)

The Otherworld was rather an exclusive bar in Camden, hidden to most. It's clientèle were predominantly non-humans, all of whom agreed to a strict non-violence pact at the door, so here it was not uncommon to see demons brushing shoulders with angels, different packs of werewolves huddled together in their close groups or Fae practicing their charms upon specters.

Doctor (original short)

Pearly white teeth stretched out in a soundless scream. The man's – the subject's – dark hair stuck in strands to his damp forehead. His eyes screwed tightly shut as though it would shut out the pain.

A Ravenwatch Party (Elder Scrolls Online fanfiction)

Tamriel had been quiet for many long months. Since the troubles at Markarth, barely a whisper of danger or strife had reached Arianne. She was trying to take advantage of the quiet while it lasted, resting in her comfortably cozy home in Fell’s Run, yet she found the sudden peace hard to get fully accustomed to.

A Single Light (RWBY fanfiction)

Snow covered the ground everywhere metal shards did not. Fires claimed some of the oily wreckage, whipped into a steady blaze by the winds howling across the tundra. Shouts were swallowed by the gale and uniformed men and women ran across the site.

In the midst of this chaos, a woman struggled her way out from a pile of debris, hauling herself inch by agonizing inch across twisted and sharp fragments digging into her skin. Her hands were numb and aching by the time she fell into clear snow, but shakily, she pushed herself up onto her knees.

You Don't Know Me (Final Fantasy IX fanfiction)

The rain always fell heavy over Burmecia. That one constant had never changed, even as repairs transformed the ruins to a tentatively recovering city. New additions had sprung up; memorials and statues, celebrations of those who had saved the nation alongside reminders of just how much had been lost. Freya wondered exactly which purpose the statue of Fratley was meant to serve.

Heart to Heart to Heart (Final Fantasy XIII series fanfiction)

Noel's first impression of Snow left much to be desired. From hearing Serah and her friends talk, he had gained the impression that Snow was kind and generous and a little brash but good-hearted with it. Yet the Snow he had met was reckless, rushing into danger half-cocked. It was selfish, treating his own well-being with such disregard. He had left Serah behind with promises that he had no ability to keep and threw himself headlong into mortal peril. If he had died out here, flung far forward from his own relative time, how would the Serah he believed was safe at home ever get word of his death? It was selfish and cruel, to just let her keep on waiting and hoping for Snow's safe return, never hearing news of her fiancé.

The Purifier (Tales of Zesteria fanfiction)

It was reasonably common for seraphs to spend their first hundred years without discovering their true name. It was somewhat rarer to be two hundred years old and still not know their true name. It was downright embarrassing to be three hundred years old and nameless. Lailah was a significant amount older than that - though naturally, she would never divulge exactly how much older - and her own name was still a mystery to her. 

I do tend to shove characters in at the deep end, huh? Get straight into the meat of the story as quickly as possible, usually highlighting a negative aspect of the plot that needs to be solved over the course of the tale. The only one that doesn't is 'The Arrangement' - that sets the location first and the 'plot' comes in through the next few paragraphs.

[eriquin]

Steddie Superhero AU part 3

More from the outlined fic about a superhero AU.

(part 1) (part 2) (you are here) (part 4)

When we last left our heroes, they'd dated briefly and then broken up because of all the hidden identities and lying that happens as standard in comic book superhero nonsense. Yes, I watched Smallville back in the day. No, I'm not sorry.

Warning tags: kidnapping, bad parents, healing ability abuse, lost limbs.

...

It’s at least a couple of months later when Steve gets a call after work. He’s tired and ready to turn in, but it’s a call on a high priority number. It’s not one of Robin’s and Steve almost doesn't answer it, feeling wary about it, but he does. It’s his mother. She says that something’s happened to his father and she wants to know if he’ll come to them. Steve’s blood runs cold when she says that his father can’t be moved, and he is a little terrified that they’re only calling him to get him to heal. But his mom says that his father just wants to see him and begs him to let them get a teleporter to him. He agrees, and soon he’s back in the family mansion and at his dad’s bedside. 

His father is suffering from some kind of poisoning or burns. They’re not sure which, but it’s affecting his own healing ability. He wanted to see Steve before it consumes him, but both his parents say that they don’t want him to use his abilities to heal his father. They’re worried that it wouldn’t work, and even if it did it would mean that it might kill Steve instead. 

Instead there’s a lot of words of reconciliation, and about how they’re proud of the work he does saving civilians. They say they brag so much about their son having gone into medicine, being a quiet type of superhero.

Steve is overwhelmed by this, because he never thought he’d get anything like his parent’s approval. The follow-up is that his father wants him to take on the mantle of being a real superhero again after he’s gone, even if it’s just as a figurehead. There’s a lot of talk about the family legacy and carrying on after he’s gone and how his dad doesn’t want his mom to be alone. 

This is way too much for Steve. He has to leave the room to think about it, and while he’s there he gets a chance to look at whatever notes there are about what’s going on with his father. He thinks he recognizes it as radiation poisoning, and he thinks that he’d rather try to do that than try to actually be the kind of hero his father is. He comes to this decision and doesn’t discuss it with anyone, but goes back in to meet with his parents again. He sits down at his father’s bedside and tells him that he’s very, very sorry, but he definitely cannot take over his superhero position. Then he throws all his healing powers at his dad. 

The transfer of wounds is agonizing and there’s yelling but it only lasts for a second because Steve almost immediately passes out. He wakes up in another hospital bed, but in his childhood bedroom. He’s high as a kite and somehow still in pain. There are nurses, and then his mom is there, and then he’s out again. It goes like this for some time, though Steve doesn’t know how long. Eventually, he’s able to stay awake enough for his mother to give him more information. Steve is fighting the illness better than his father did. The doctors think it’s because Steve’s younger and his healing abilities are a little different. They’re monitoring him, but think that he’ll be able to fully recover. It’s been at least a week, though, which is longer than Steve’s ever needed to recover from an injury. 

His parents are both mad at and proud of him. They say they’re going to take care of him here, in the house, as long as it takes to get him all the way better. He’s healing so slowly, though. He keeps getting worse and better and worse, like he’s constantly fighting off the poisoning. The doctors say his overall health is trending towards better, but it could be a long fight. They’re still not sure what caused it, or more like what continues to cause it. Steve sleeps a lot. Eventually he realizes that it’s been a very long time since he talked to Robin or anyone other than his parents. He asks his mom how long it’s been and she doesn’t give him a straight answer. Just tells him not to worry about his job or anything, that they’ll make it all right after he’s healed up. He asks if his friends can visit and she says she’ll contact them, but that he needs to focus on getting better. 

Eventually when he’s awake enough, he starts to worry about everything a little more. He starts with asking them to turn down the painkiller and sedative doses so he can be more awake, even though the burns he still has hurt terribly. The nurses do this so he can get up and walk around, and he figures out that it’s been a couple of weeks at least. But he can’t get them to give him anything to communicate with the outside world, as his parents are still worried about whatever’s happening to him. They say his dad is hunting down whoever did this. The next day, he’s much worse and his mother attributes it to him refusing the drugs and has the nurses put him back on everything. From then on, he has to screw with the machines to keep from being sedated often. He now realizes that he’s being kept prisoner by his own parents, and maybe this was their plan from the beginning and he walked right into it. He doesn’t know how to get a message out. He tries to make a break for it one day and afterwards ends up strapped to the bed “for his own good.”

He doesn’t know how long he stays like that, but eventually there’s a change. An attack on the mansion, which is seriously guarded. It’s the extended Party. One smaller group has made it in to free Steve, and they are suited up like it’s a poisonous environment. As they’re getting him out, they explain that it is. Robin has evidence that his parents have been exposing him to radiation regularly to keep him sick. Steve has to lean on some of his kids’ shoulders to get out, but he’s beyond furious. He wants to confront his parents and fight them, not that he’s in any shape for it. 

They get him out to the front lawn, intent on getting outside of the mansion’s teleportation restriction field so that Erica can get him away. But he sees that Hellfire is being the biggest distraction, and he not only has more summoned monsters than he’s ever managed before (helped by Will and Dustin) but he’s got a massive dragon and is directly fighting King Harrington (or whatever his name is.) The dragon is doing most of the fighting. Steve can hear Eddie’s taunts, though, and he says that Mama Dragon doesn’t approve of bad parents. Steve gets to see the dragon bite his father’s arm off and is more than a little shocked by that. They send word to Eddie that they’re ready to go, and he leaves with a threat that if either the King or Queen goes near Steve again, he’ll let his monsters kill them. Then they make a break for it. 

They have to scatter and Robin and Jonathan have been working on wiping records of the Party being involved, but Eddie is much too obvious. The next news cycle not only have him listed as villain #1, but have his real identity broadcast as well. They’re saying that he’s kidnapped Le Petit Prince, Steve’s old sidekick name (which now makes Steve cringe so hard). Eddie’s uncle is being questioned, but Eddie has gone to ground to avoid capture.

Hopper steps in as their group spokesperson and starts arranging things in a legal sense. There’s a lot of legal weirdness around supers, and the Regal Heroes have established their base and a separate entity from the rest of the country, so it’s more of an extradition thing. They’re banking on vigilante heroes going after Hellfire and public opinion being on their side, but they are in a gray area for having revealed his real identity because that’s just not done to heroes by other heroes. There’s a lot of inter-hero fighting but this isn’t something that was on public property or damaging civilians. They were literally on a private island. So Hopper wants to get someone to listen to Hellfire’s side of the story, but first they have to come up with it.

Words like “kidnapping” and “illegal imprisonment” and “medical torture” come up around Steve, but this means that he would have to have to be public again with his superhero identity. Hopper wonders what he wants to do. He’s not sure what kind of justice they’d be able to get against the Regal Heroes, but Steve’s his own person and if he came clean with his identity, it would mean that theirs would be easy to infer. Also, he could talk about them kidnapping him, and about the fact that bringing him on as a hero so young would be considered abuse in the current day and age. Child heroes simply aren’t a thing like that anymore. There’s a lot that Steve could tell about his childhood that would look very bad for his parents, and they’re really banking on public opinion. 

Steve considers it, but isn’t sure that it would help very much. He doesn’t want the attention, and he doesn’t want his parents' wrath. He really just wants to be left alone and go back to his life. It was pretty good until they interrupted. And he’s worried that Eddie’s life has been destroyed, too. Robin wonders if he really cares about that, and Steve says that he does ‘cause the guy did it to rescue him. And maybe he lied to him about his identity but that’s superhero shit. People always do that. And now his identity is everywhere and his parents shouldn’t get away with that.

...

I think part 4 will end it, though I might write up some of the brainstorming notes for part 5.

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