#nevermind that these are from like four days ago but STILL

[hellvcifer]

CARING FOR YOU WHEN YOU'RE SICK— ଘ drabbles ┆part 1

ft. pairings :: blitzø, stolas, poly!fizz/ozzie, poly!moxxie/millie // gn!reader wc :: 4.3k note :: i am still trying to flush out this sickness! it's awful but here's some more drabbles. ozzie and fizzy's is so long omg i have fizzmodeus brain rot and got carried away !! warnings :: canon typical language, pet names used instead of y/n (darling, dear, honey, bunny, babe, baby, pumpkin, sweetie), reader throws up, descriptions of throwing up, blitzø using insults as pet names, a little suggestive (blitzø and fizzmodeus)

꒰ BLITZØ ꒱

Moxxie held the phone away from his ear as he heard you trail into another coughing fit. “Can you please just tell him I can’t make it in today?” 

“You should really call him yourself.” He paced, worry etched into his brow. Millie glanced at him in concern. “If I tell him you’re sick–”

“Dont!” Your plugged nose filtered your voice. “Don’t tell him I’m sick…”

“What, why?” Moxxie paused, thinking about his boss and what exactly could happen if he were to say something. “Nevermind.” He shook his head. “What exactly am I supposed to tell him?”

“Tell who, what?” 

“Gyah!” Moxxie jolted, phone flying out of his hand as he zipped to turn and face his boss. Blitzø entered, eyes scanning the room. “Uh, nothing, Sir!”

“As much as I would love to tear you a new hole and fuck it, Mox, I have more important matters. Like finding out where the fuck my assistant is.” He frowned, realizing you hadn’t shown up yet. 

“Oh, uh, right!” Moxxie glanced at Millie, searching for some sort of answer.

“Out!” She spoke up, hands slamming on the table as she stood from her seat. “Told us to let you know! Something about picking up a recent order made for an upcoming client.”

“Fuck yeah!” Blitzø grinned before glaring, “See Mox, that’s how you get shit done. Instead of sitting here on your ass, jerking off.” 

“What? But Sir–”

“Anyways!” He strutted past the two and waltzed into his office. “Don’t bother me, I’ve got important shit I’m doing in here!” His words were followed by the slam of the door. Moxxie and Millie shared eye contact before releasing a relieved sigh.

Blitzø immediately walked over to his desk, lounging back in his chair and kicking his feet up. The place felt a bit off without you around. Typically, you two would sneak off into his office to hang out or mess around when you didn’t have any client work. 

He opened the drawers and saw the makeshift mini-figures he created of Millie, Moxxie, and you. A huge grin appeared on his lips, tongue sticking out happily. He knows exactly how to pass the time until you get back in the office. 

Except, you hadn’t come into the office for the rest of the day. Which okay, sure, you’re probably busy. But, eventually the one day turned into two; and then three; and now four. He stared down at his phone, seeing the last text you sent him five days ago. He really meant to send something, to check up on you. But would you even care if you hadn’t reached out to him first?

His eyes widened, jaw falling slack at the thought. That is until he heard Millie call out your name in an excited tone. He smiled instantly and jumped his desk, nearly ripping the door to his office off the hinges. 

“Fucking finally you show up!” He leaned against the frame, a smirk appearing on his face with his brow raised. Until he couldn’t find you. “What the–”

Millie was huddled over Moxxie’s shoulder, looking down at her phone in his hands. Loona was chilling at her desk watching videos on her own phone. “Oh, sorry, Sir. We just got a text… That’s all.”

They got a text? And not him? He gritted his teeth. “Okay, what the fuck do you– I mean. I’m the boss so– Fuck! You know what! They’re fired! See how they get by without a job, that Ass fucker.” 

“Uh, Blitzø?” Millie tried to calm him down. “You’re not actually gonna fire–”

“Oh don’t you worry your little head about it, Millie!” He stomped into a pace in front of the white board. “I’ll find out wherever the fuck they’ve been hiding and make sure–”

Loona’s phone went off, interrupting Blitzø’s rampage. Everyone stopped to look at her when she picked it up. “Hey… Yeah… You need more? Already? Yeah that’s fine… I’ll see you soon.” She hung up. The silence in the room caused her eyes to slide over to the others. They all blinked at her. 

“Oh no! You’re not going to see anyone missy!” Blitzø wagged his finger at her. She stood up, weight shifting to one side as she jutted her hip out. “Not until we find out where my shit face assistant is hiding!” 

“Are you serious?” Loona frowned at him. “They’re at their apartment.” 

“What.”

“I’ve been dropping stuff off these past few days while–”

“Oh that sexy dick sucker is gonna fucking pay!” He stormed out, not even hearing the rest of what Loona was going to say. She huffed.

“I’m not dealing with that.” She sat down in her chair again and went back to her phone. As much as she didn’t mind helping you while you recovered, she wasn’t going to try to interfere with the relationship you had with her dad. 

You felt your body tense at the loud noise heard from beyond your bedroom. Someone had knocked on your front door. You churned it up to one of your neighbors or someone with the wrong address and slowly closed your eyes once more.

The incessant banging prevented you from falling back to sleep. Now, a familiar voice had tacked on to the noise and caused you to let out a groan.

“Alright Dipshit, I know you’re in there! Open up the fuck up!” 

Knowing he’d eventually bust the door off the hinges or break the window, you arose from your sickened bedding and shuffled towards the front door with your blanket. “Go away!” You shouted, followed by a few short coughs. That stopped his thumping. 

“Gross, why the fuck do you sound like that?” 

“Oh fuck you, Blitzø!” You really had zero patience. The past few days your flu has only been getting worse. Loona tried to help out with the few things she brought over but whatever sickness you had was stubborn as hell. 

It was quiet… You encircled your blanket tighter around you as you got closer to the door, looking through the peephole and seeing that he was no longer there. Damn. Guess that worked. Which was odd knowing Blitzø.

“What the shit is this?!” Shouting came from your bedroom, followed by shuffling feet and your door slamming open to reveal the person you thought had left. You narrowed your eyes at him.

“Oh my Satan.” You rolled your eyes and walked over to your couch, feeling yourself become overly hot. “You can’t just break in when I don’t open the door!” You relinquished your blanket while sitting down. “I told you to leave!” 

“Yeah right!” He strutted over. “Just tell me the real reason you’re avoiding me!” Your eyes widened.

“What?”

“You may think your sorry ass was gonna get away with this,” He began pacing in front of your couch. “But I’ve got you all figured out.” He gestured wildly with his words.

“Blitzø.”

 “Texting with M&M… having my own Loonie visit you… not talking with me at all!”

“Blitzø!”

 “You really think it could go on without me–”

“I’m sick you dumbass!” You shouted and spurred a few coughs from you. He paused, slowly turning towards you. He finally took a real good look at your form. Runny nose that was rubbed to dry, bleary eyes, sunken cheeks. 

His eyes widened. “You mean… You didn’t just play hooky to avoid me?”

“No!” You shook your head. “Satan no, I would love to be at work right now.”

Blitzø sighed and glanced at your bedroom, seeing the trail of snotty tissues he pushed through to get to your living room. “Well that explains those.” 

You tried to smile, though it came off wearily. “Not to mention, I’ve thrown up twice already.” He glanced back at you. “And that’s just today!” It was quiet as he peered at the floor. 

He walked over, sitting next to you. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Your eyes met his, seeing them drill into your own with a hidden desire of curiosity and… hurt.

“Because…” You glanced away. “Clients have been slow… And, when I saw the rush of appointments we had this week, I didn’t want anything to mess it up or… Be in the way.” You squeezed your hands around your arms.

You felt something gently encircling your waist before yanking you closer to Blitzø. You peered down to see the tip of his tail. He rested his head against your own, sighing. “Fucking idiot.” He whispered. And although it was an insult, you know that it was from a place of endearment.

You scoffed a laugh before poking him in the chest. “You’ll get sick.”  You tried to push him away. He merely brushed your hands away and pulled you closer to him. 

“Fuck it, a few days off of work doesn’t sound so bad.”

“Except I’ll be the one that has to take care of your whiny ass when you do get sick.” 

He glanced at you. “Damn… your raspy voice is making my dick so hard right now.” He wiggled his eyebrows a few times. “Wanna fuck?” He smirked.

Leaning in, you feel a flutter within your stomach.“Oh~ Blitzø.” You whined, eyes half-lidded. Your cheeks filled with liquid before releasing the contents of your soup from earlier. Chunks flew onto his lap and all over the couch. The horrid taste coated your tongue as leftover bile leaked down your chin.

Blitzø sighed, slowly pushing your heaving face away from his dick. “Yeah I probably deserved that.”

꒰ STOLAS ꒱

The bird prince had just finished preparing himself, placing his crown on and taking one last glance in the mirror. He would be meeting you soon and wanted to look his best considering you both would be spending the whole day together. His phone buzzed and he chirped with excitement. He made quick steps over to his phone with a smile. That is, until he saw your text.

Stolas honey, I can’t make it. I’m so sorry.  I think I’ve caught some kind of flu. Can we reschedule?

He felt his brows crease immediately, frown sinking its way onto his lips. “Flu?” He questioned. Well this wasn’t good at all. His fingers immediately began typing.

Hello darling, I’m so sorry to hear that… Perhaps we could be together even while you're sick. A little company while feeling ill always seems to help me.  Would you like it if I came over? I could help take care of you while you recover. I don’t mind really, I just want to make sure you have everything you need to feel better. Of course, we don’t have to if you don’t want to

He anxiously awaited a reply, pacing across his room in front of his vanity. Did he come off too needy? Maybe he should have just wished you to feel better and be on his way. But how could he when his loved one is feeling sick? He saw that you read the messages and were currently typing. The bubbles went away a few times and with each passing second, he felt his stomach twist with nerves.

I really want to see you…  But I would hate for you to get sick :(

His response back was almost immediate.

No problem at all darling, I promise. A little sickness won’t harm me. I’ll see you in a few <3

After reading his text back, you wearily smiled. As much as you wanted to tell him not to come, in fear of him catching whatever bug you had, you were desperately hoping to see him today. Things had been hectic in both of your schedules so it had been awhile since you two had seen each other. Let alone have time to go out and do activities together. 

And of course, Satan was a bitch and chose today of all days to curse you. Or should you say, this entire week he’s been testing your limit. It started out as a small cough and runny nose. It might have gone away faster if you weren’t so stubborn, but that little bit turned into a full blown, body ache and fever. 

You laid back down in your bed, placing your phone on your bedside table and sighing. It will be nice to see Stolas, that’s for sure. Having been away from him for so long was taking its toll on you. He really did recharge your draining battery. You closed your eyes, thinking about his caring nature and loving words. Oh to see him will possibly end this sickness instantly.

Stolas pulled his phone out and texted that he had arrived. He grabbed the bags from his car and waved his chauffeur away. The car drove off as he walked up to your door. He knocked a few times, hoping it wouldn’t be much trouble for you to answer. “Darling?” He called out but received no answer. The prince called your cell but again, no answer. He huffed, wondering if you decided on not wanting to see him. Or what if… You were really sick. So sick that you were dying! 

Stolas broke in immediately, feet trailing through your place as if he lived there. He found his way into your bedroom, opening the door and seeing you in bed. A long breath escaped his worried lungs, feeling relief when he saw your chest moving in a deep sleep as he walked over.

“Oh, my dear.” He placed a hand on his chest, kneeling down to the side of your bed. Stolas felt an ache grow within his heart as he gazed at your form. Sweaty, shaking, breathless. You appeared tired even as you slept. “My darling, why would you push yourself like this.” He could simply tell that you didn’t get sick today alone, but were most likely not taking care of yourself as you should have been.

His hand reached out, caressing your overly warm forehead before raking his fingers lightly along your scalp. The motion slowly brought you awake, eyes fluttering open to see your lover aside your bed. 

“Stolas.” You smiled dreamily before realizing he had arrived. You pushed yourself up. “Oh my goodness, I feel asleep!” Your eyes were wide as your outburst shocked him. Sitting up so quickly, you felt pressure bloom in your head and held it. “Ow…”

“Careful, dear.” He placed a hand on your leg, circling it to soothe you with some comfort. “I’m here now. You don’t have to worry your sick–” He booped your nose. “–little head about anything.” He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I’ll always be here to take care of you.”

꒰ ASMODEUS & FIZZAROLLI ꒱

“Hm?” You felt your blurred vision focus on the jester in front of you, headache making itself even more prominent the more you tried to will it away. 

“Agree with my choice for dinner after the show tonight!” He bounced in place, arms motivating his movements. 

“Oh, uh… Yeah sure.” You stood up and quickly walked over to your vanity, a shaky hand reaching out for the edge as you sat. Asmodeus and Fizz watched as your behavior was completely different from how you typically were before a night at Ozzie’s.

“Oh Honey~” Oz's sultry voice dug into your skull. “Something the matter?” He asked, cautious of your emotions. You shook your head, a strained smile appearing on your lips. 

“Not at all!” Heat rushed over your face, a sweat now brewing from an oncoming fever. “Just nervous for tonight. The new routine and all.” You glanced away.

“Aw, our little Bunny is all shakin’ up?” Ozzie walked over, his finger caressing your chin and tilting your face to look up at him. “That don’t sound right at all~” He smirked, though you could see the underlying worry in his eyes as they dipped at the corners.

Sleek metal arms squeezed around you and brought you into a tight hug. “Don’t worry, Babe! If you forget a step or two, just look at me and I’ll help you out.” He wagged his eyebrows at you, tongue sticking out of his upturned lips.

You let out a nervous laugh, feeling the sweat begin to build up on your forehead. “Yeah, thanks, Fizzy.” He leaned in, cheeks squishing together as you both glanced at yourselves in the mirror. The clammy coating on your skin dug into your mind. You worried he might feel just how warm you were becoming due to your fever. You recoiled quickly. “Uh, I think it’s time!” You grabbed your matching cap n’ bells and placed it on your head.

Fizz was saddened at your reaction, peaking at Oz to see if he felt the weird tension coming off of you. As much as he wanted to push for more, he worried that he would upset you. But he couldn’t just let you go without doing something. “Hey.” Fizz grabbed your shoulders, turning you towards him oh so gently, his voice softening. “Are you really okay?” His eyes dewed as his lips pulled into pout. 

Your head tilted to the side, bells jingling as you did. “Yes, yes! Of course!” You released a heavy breath, stomach churning. “I’m fine! Totally fine!” Your voice cracked at the end of your words. You stepped closer to the door, escaping your dear Fizzy’s hold. “I’ll get into position now!” You opened the door, beginning to wave at them with your fingers. “Bruise some knees and make them cum, my lustful babes!” 

Finally you were free from the room, air so heavy you felt as if it weighed you down. Breathe. Just breathe. You began climbing the ladder to the catwalk to get into position for the opening act that was supposed to start shortly. Your stomach rolled a few more times with the movement, causing you to clasp a hand around your mouth. You felt the bile raise into your throat with a burp but swallowed it back down. The taste barely coating your tongue. 

Don’t. Puke. Just put on the show and everything will be fine. You grasped the stripper pole in front of you, hearing the introductions begin. Your platform would be lowered down anytime now. Your knuckles tightened around the metal. Breathe. You closed your eyes. 

A jolt sent a shake through your legs as you felt yourself beginning to descend. Slowly, the glowing eyes of the audience came into view, spotlights on you as the music blared loudly. 

“The one! The only!” Fizz spoke into the mic, arm outstretched in your direction. Breathe. Smile. Show time. He screamed your name, you flashed a strained grin and began your routine, singing your solo part. 

It was going fine for the first few minutes. Your duet with Fizz and the routine felt as if it was muscle memory. Until he grabbed your hand and began to spin you, a few times too many than what you had practiced. When he had finished, he sprung onto the opposite side of the stage and continued his performance. But you, on the other hand, were left in a dizzying mess.

You stumbled, trying to hold your bearings as much as possible. The flashing spotlights made things worse the more you tried to focus on not throwing up. Unfortunately, that made everything more difficult. The lights centered on you, awaiting your final high-note. Ozzie watched your hunched over form, his faces frowning in concern.

Fizz peered at you, his smile faltering when he noticed your hand clasped over your mouth and the pained expression you displayed. He took a few steps closer but you bolted off stage, exiting fast behind the curtain. The two remaining snapped to look at each other before Asmodeus flashed away in a heartbeat. 

Fizzy glanced at the crowd, his worrisome face disappeared to the silly grin he always held. He addressed the situation and transitioned to the next act seamlessly, covering for you as if that whole mishap was supposed to happen. He left the stage quickly while the next performance took over. Making his way in the direction you ran off in, he was able to locate you and Ozzie in the bathroom next to the dressing room. Concern etched onto his face as he saw you.

Oz had shifted to his smaller form, hand caressing your back as your head hovered the toilet bowl. “Ahw, it's okay baby. Let it out.” Sweet velvet tones caressed you in comfort as tears streaked down your face. Fizz’s heels clicked over before he sat down on the other side of you. His metal limbs cool against your heated skin. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I wanted too–” You hiccuped. 

“Hey, hey, calm down, babe.” Fizz spoke gently, petting your head as you leaned into him. “You should have told us you weren’t feeling well.”

“Froggy’s right.” Oz added. “The show means nothing if your health is at risk.” He tilted your face to look at him. “You mean everything to us. You come first.” Your eyes watered at his words, lip quivering. 

“I-I wanna go home.” You sputtered, a hand reaching out to each of them and squeezing tightly. Fizz leaned his head against yours, tail pulling you closer to him.

“I’ll nurse you better, Baby.” He smiled. 

“Sounds like,” You hiccuped, followed by a sniffle. “A fun new roleplay we can try.” You quipped with a smirk.

“And we can wear cute nurse outfits!” Fizzy kicked his feet, tongue blepped at the thought. 

Ozzie stood, shifting to his larger form and grabbing you both in his arms, lifting you. “After Bunny is feeling better, okay you two?”  He shook his head, though an endearing smile remained as he ducked through the door, ready to take his lovers home and get you on your way to recovery. 

꒰ MOXXIE & MILLIE ꒱

“Uh… Babe?”

“Yeah?” Moxxie called from the bathroom, his mouth garbled with the spit from foamy toothpaste.

Millie felt your forehead with the back of her hand, noticing your abnormal body temperature almost immediately. “Our little Pumpkin is burning up right now.”

“What?” He spat the extra fluoride into the sink and ran out into the bedroom. He saw you still in bed, body curled up and face scrunched in pain. “Oh, crumbs.” He quickly got closer, sitting on the mattress and copying his wife’s actions. His brows dipped in concern as he stared down at you, his other hand going to your shoulder and rubbing softly. 

“We’ll have to call in.” Millie bit her lip, brows furrowing. “We can’t go to work and leave ‘em here alone.”

“You’re right, Sweetie.” He stood back up. “I’ll call and look for some ibuprofen to help with the fever.”

“I’ll fix up some tea.” Millie leaned over, her lips gently placing a kiss on your clammy forehead before she walked away into the kitchen.

“Wait!” You tried sitting up even though there was an immense amount of pressure in your head. They both looked at you worriedly. “Don’t stay home…” Millie came and sat next to you, her hand rubbing your back as you held your head in discomfort. “I can take care of myself, okay?” You looked at her. “I’ll be fine.”

“Oh, honey.” Her eyes stared at you, taking in every bit of your face. “We know that. And before you were with us, that may have been what you’re used to. But ‘round here we take care of each other.” She leaned in, forehead kissing yours as you both closed your eyes at the contact. Moxxie sighed at the scene, his hands hovering his heart. 

He walked closer. “And we’ll always be here.” He kneeled on the bed, scooting closer before kissing your cheek. “We’re taking the day off. No matter what you try to say to convince us not to.” He smiled gently before grabbing his cell and returning to his task from before. 

You melted at both of their actions, the care and comfort they offered so endlessly being a new feeling to you. Typically, you’d get sick and fight through it on your own. Sleeping in bed and rotting until it finally flushed itself from your system. But this was a completely different feeling, one that you’re slowly getting used to and relishing in the affection.

Moxxie called your boss and through a shit ton of convincing, he was finally able to get Blitzø to agree and let the three of you have the day off. It was basically the entire staff for I.M.P. that wasn’t going to show up for the day, so obviously he was pissed.

Millie walked in and handed you some tea while Moxxie came over with some medication in his hand. “This should help with your fever.” You were able to take them easily and sipped your tea. 

“Need anything else right now, Sweetie?” Millie asked. You shook your head, slowly handing the tea back.

“I kinda wanna just sleep right now.” You muttered, glancing at the covers over your legs.

“Mind if we join you?” She smiled softly, her voice quiet to not make things any worse. “A little cuddle session always makes you and Moxxie feel better.”

“I don’t want you two getting sick.” You glanced between them. “As much as I would love to.”

“Well, technically we already slept together last night.” Moxxie began before crawling under the covers and getting situated on his side of the bed. 

“That’s right!” Millie followed his actions, scooting you over so you were in between them. “If we get sick, then we’ll be sick together.” She snuggled right into your side, her tail looping around you and Mox and squeezing tightly. You felt another warm sensation crawl across your skin though this time, it wasn’t due to your fever. You sighed, eyes fluttering shut, feeling your lovers’ arms circle around you.

An odd sound was heard from the ceiling before a hefty lump landed onto the bed. Everyone's eyes shot open to see a familiar person.

“Sir!?” Moxxie called out, voice raised. 

“Fuck this shit!” Blitzø got up and stormed out of the bedroom. “I thought yall would be porking it up in a sexy threeway!”

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[dilemmaontwolegs]

Not A Verstappen: Gridlocked {3}

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!driver!reader x Lando Norris Summary: It's Charles birthday and you have to find the perfect gift. Warnings: 18+ only, allusions to smut, alcohol WC: 2.3k F1 Masterlist NAV: Sibling Rivalry One || Two || Three NAV: Gridlocked One || Two || Three || Four

Charles’ Birthday Week 2022 “I need you to steal something for me.”

Lando blinked twice as he tried to compute your words before giving up. “What?”

Despite hearing the shower still running, cupped your hand around his ear and whispered, “I need you to go to Charles’ apartment and steal a race suit. It’s for his birthday and I’m running out of time. Please?” 

He perked up knowing you weren’t going to actually get him arrested and started to get a little excited as he nodded. “Okay, but you have to keep him distracted so I can borrow his keys.”

“You’re not even going to ask what I’m doing?” 

“No, I want to be surprised too.” Lando grinned and kissed your nose before getting out of bed and dressing in record time to leave. 

You had spent a long time wondering what to get Charles for a birthday gift when he could literally afford to buy everything he wanted. It had only been when an old video began circulating online a few days ago that the idea sparked to life. You just hoped Lando remembered to disable the alarm.

“Where’s Lan?” Charles asked when he found you alone in bed. 

For a moment you were struck by how good he looked with just a towel slung around his hips and water running down his chest. “He had to pop out, shouldn’t be too long.”

Charles smirked as he climbed onto the bed, the towel falling away as it got caught on the bedpost. “That’s a shame,” he chuckled, caging you beneath him as droplets of cold water fell onto your skin. “He can join in when he gets back.”

Your lips parted to meet his but before they could touch an alarm sounded on Charles’ phone and he pulled back with a frown. “That’s my home security…” He reached for the phone and you snatched it from him before he could open the live video feed and see what Lando was taking. “What are you doing?”

“It’s just Lando,” you admitted as you buried the phone under your pillow. “I sent him on an errand to your place so we could have some alone time.”

“Why would you do that?” Concern contorted Charles face as he sat up and pulled the sheet around his body. “Is this not working for you?”

“No, no, shit, it’s not like that. I love what we have.” The lie didn’t make him relax like you were hoping and your stomach knotted with the need to erase the look from his face. “I love you, and Lando.”

“Moi aussi,” he replied but he still kept his distance as he tried to understand. “Do you want to spend time one-on-one, is that it? I should have offered…”

“Charles, please, shut up,” you groaned as your head fell into your hands. “I don’t want that, I always want us to be together. When we are together I feel like I finally know where I belong, like I have a proper family, and I really wanted to do something special for your birthday to thank you for giving me that and now the surprise is ruined.”

The sheet slipped from his fingers as he reached for your hands and pulled them away from your face. “My birthday?” 

“Since I have to share you with everyone else for your party I thought I could give you a present early but I needed Lando to help. Now it’s not a surprise.”

“I still don’t know what it is, so that’s a surprise,” he reminded softly. 

You sighed and gave him a small nod. “I guess that’s the most important part. But the suspense is gone.”

“I think I can help with that,” he smirked and reached under the pillow to grab his phone before calling Lando on speakerphone. “Mon cher, where are you?”

“Well, uh, you see, we…needed milk,” Lando lied weakly before you heard the bell of the convenience store door in the retail shops downstairs before Monsieur Verne greeted him like an old friend.

“Oh, I thought, nevermind. I should call the police, I think someone has broken into my apartment.”

You clapped a hand over your mouth before you could laugh but a small choked sound broke through at Charles' growing amusement. 

“Fuck, okay it was me, please don’t call the cops,” Lando admitted as the elevator pinged and you heard his panicked voice repeat the request before the line cut out as it always did on the ride to the top. 

“You are so mean!” you gasped but it ended in laughter as Charles tossed his phone to the side table. 

“He lied to me,” Charles chuckled with a shrug and you both turned at the sound of the front door slamming shut and feet sprinting through the house. 

“I don’t think that can really count as a lie,” you teased before Lando filled the doorway, a bottle of milk in his hands even though there was a new bottle in the fridge. “Hi baby.”

“Please don’t call the cops,” he pleaded as he climbed onto the bed. “I forgot the passcode again.”

“No shit,” you giggled as you combed his hair out of his face and he relaxed enough to see the glint of mischief in Charles’ eyes. “He’s fucking with you.”

You took the bottle from his hands as Charles reached for him, tugging him against his body before taking his breath away with a heated kiss that left Lando in a daze. “No more lying,” Charles warned as he nipped at Lando’s bottom lip just hard enough to make him whimper. 

Raising your hand, he turned his attention to you and the small smirk tipping up your lips. “Yes, amour?”

You bit your lip and eyed the flushes on their cheeks, wanting that heat for yourself. “I lied too.”

Your fingertips hurt and you remembered just how much you hated sewing when you were younger. You thought needlework would be like riding a bicycle and it took a few stabs to prove right as you looked at the final product with satisfaction. Just in time too.

The big celebration was set to start in a few hours but you and Lando were going to meet Charles at his house to get ready for his birthday party together. He had spent the afternoon at his mother’s with his brothers and it was times like this that you wished the relationship could be made known. Then you wouldn’t have to miss sharing these moments with him and his family. 

Next month would be the same with Lando’s birthday.

“Spitz, baby, ready to go?” Lando had been serious about wanting to be surprised and had kept out of the office which was filled with your computer desk and sim-setup. 

“Ready!” You grabbed the bright red gift box and folded Charles’ race suit up before carefully placing it in and sealing it up with a big bow. “What did you get him?”

“Another bottle of Tom Ford.”

“Nice,” you grinned. It was certainly a favourite for all of you and Charles knew it since he wore it more than any of the other bottles he owned, depleting the bottle quite a bit in the last few months. 

Lando carried the box for you, balancing his smaller one on top, and grabbing the keys for your Mercedes Maybach that was parked in the garage next to his Fiat Jolly. The heavy tinting that your car could provide was definitely needed since it was going to be impossible to keep your hands to yourself. Lando hadn’t even changed into his clubbing clothes and he looked mouthwatering, it was only going to get harder for you when he and Charles were dressed up in their finest.

It seemed like all of Monte Carlo had taken to the streets for their Saturday night and it was gridlocked. The minutes ticked away and you ground your teeth as you debated parking and making the rest of the short journey on foot to Charles apartment.

“We’re going to be late if this doesn’t start moving,” you grumbled and Lando reached across the driver’s seat to squeeze your thigh.

“Relax, Spitfire, it’s not race day.”

“Not helping, Norris. I’m not good with going slow.”

His warm laugh filled the car and his hand ran dangerously high up your thigh. “Don’t I know it.”

There was hardly any time to get dressed when you finally arrived at Charles’ and you were in such a rush that you completely forgot about the present in your car. It wasn’t until you climbed in the backseat and Charles found it waiting on his seat in the front.

“C’est risqué?” Charles asked as he lifted it up and gently shook it beside his ear, trying to figure out what it was.

You chuckled and leaned through the middle of the seats to fix up a few strands of his hair that had gone amiss. “It’s not a double ended dildo, if that’s what you were thinking.”

“So I can open it with the others?” You were suddenly nervous but gave him a nod because shying away wasn’t in your nature.

The exclusive club was just ahead and you knew it would be a few hours before you would be able to indulge yourself again so you trusted Lando not to crash and half climbed through the seats to kiss Charles.

“Happy almost Birthday.”

Three tables had been pushed together for all the presents the guests had bought but, after Lorenzo and Arthur had carried out a large cake and everyone had sung Happy Birthday, it was your gift he picked up first.

“Is it kinky?” Pierre asked in your ear as he draped an arm over your shoulder. “Personalised, diamanté cock rings?”

“I swear you think about our sex life more than we do,” you teased with a prod to his ribs. Charles scanned the crowd but like magnets his eyes found yours almost instantly and you gave him a smile as he tugged the bow open.

The material shook slightly in his hands and you wondered if maybe you had overstepped the line when he lifted it out of the box. Beside you, Pierre gasped and his arm fell away as Lando slipped in the narrow space.

“I, I, um, saw an interview,” you stammered as you felt the hundreds of eyes on you. Lando placed a comforting hand on the small of your back and you tried to calm your racing heart before continuing. “And you mentioned your grandma and your race suit and I thought you might like…”

Charles ran his hand over the stitching where you had unpicked the Shell logo, replacing it with a cross. “I love it. Thank you.” He slung the racing suit over his shoulder and crossed the floor to pull you into a friendly hug but his words were certainly more as he hid his lips in your hair. “I love you.”

Max found you as the lights dimmed and the party started to get into full swing. Lando had disappeared into the DJ booth while Charles was being pulled every which way by his friends and family wanting a minute of his time.

“That was nice of you, the gift,” Max said after he ordered two gin and tonics. “Kind of weird too.”

“I'm still more normal than you.”

“Debatable, we are equally fucked up,” he argued, passing one of the drinks to you. “Didn’t know you could sew.”

“You learn a whole lot of useful skills when you can’t afford new things,” you murmured into your glass before taking a sip. “It was either darn secondhand, worn and torn race suits or not race at all.”

“Fuck,” Max swore and tipped his glass back to gulp a few mouthfuls down before changing the subject from the reminder of your fathers lack of decency to provide for all his children equally. “What have you been up to? I hardly see you anymore.”

“I see you literally everyday at work.”

“Yeah, but that’s work, it doesn’t count. You haven’t raided my fridge in weeks.”

“I’m maturing, Max Emilian,” you said as you clapped him on the shoulder, “buying my own groceries and potpourri. You should be grateful, not asking me twenty questions.”

You turned away from the bar and grinned at the sight of Lando at the mixing board, a headset over one ear as he bobbed his head to music he was making. The dance floor was full of people from the F1 world but there were still a lot of faces you didn’t recognise and you wondered if Charles would’ve introduced you to them under other circumstances.

“Fine, no more questions if you come to breakfast tomorrow,” Max bartered and you nodded absentmindedly, throwing a thumbs up as you made your way to the dance floor.

You spotted Charles’ white shirt and snuck up behind him to cup your hands over his eyes. Rising up on your tiptoes your lips brushed the shell of his ear and you purred, “Hey, big boy, wanna dance?”

Your hands were torn away and you frowned as Charles turned, but the eyes that met yours weren’t the right shade. “Fuck me, you look like your brother from behind.”

“He went to the bathroom,” Arthur said as he jutted his thumb towards the dark hallway. “Do I even want to know…?”

“Nope, definitely not,” you cut him off. “Just have a few more drinks and forget this happened, yeah?”

“I don’t think I am ever going to forget you calling me, well Char, big boy, Verstappen,” he laughed.

“She’s not a Verstappen, petit frère,” Charles corrected him as he threw his arms around the both of you and squeezed his brother’s shoulder. “What did I miss?”

“She called me-”

“Arthur!”

Arthur clamped his mouth shut with a laugh that rocked his shoulders and he wriggled out of his brother's grasp to disappear into the crowd. Charles kept his arm around you as he started dancing along to the music Lando was playing, both of their smiles brightening when their eyes met.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?” he asked in your ear.

Your nose wrinkled and you shook your head. “Nothing, just an inchident.”

Click here for part four.

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[noemilivv]

Haii!! Uhh no need to do this request if u don't want 2,,, but I really wanted to ask if u could write cherri bomb comforting reader after a nightmare?? ^_^ Fem reader preferred pretty please!!

𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐢 𝐛𝐨𝐦𝐛 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐬 ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

a/n: hiii!! ofc i can!! i could never turn down a request for my wifey ahah. normally i do gn!reader so all can enjoy, so i hope that’s okay :)

warnings: nightmares, anxiety attacks, descriptions of blood and injury, sexual references (no smut)

proofread: no :’)

tags: scenarios, cherri bomb, hazbin hotel, fanfic

you ran. faster than what your feet could take you to. rushing to your girlfriend who laid ahead. “cherri!?”

within the heat of the extermination, the war practically, cherri had gotten swooped down by a good chunk of the hotel falling on her, due to adam splitting in half from his beams of light and warmth, that were now being used for more cold and wicked actions.

cherri laid, with a chunk of stone crushing her, forbidding her from getting up, as if it wanted her to plummet, just as the remainder of the hazbin hotel was, just how razzle did, and alastor, and how pentious did…

“hey..” cherri mustered, managing a smile throughout all the pain she’d been through, she was so strong. you let out a sob as you cupped her cheek. “cherri…”

“aye.” she said, stretching to take your hand in hers, which was hard enough considered she was stuck, she was losing so much blood… “ya gotta keep going.”

you looked down at your intertwined hands, she blood was all over your skin, a toxically dark red, it made you feel sick to your stomach looking at it. “i can’t.” you mustered. “not without you.”

“i’m always gonna be here.” cherri chuckled softly, letting out a few coughs afterwards, even her cheerfulness wasn’t enough to save her now. “even if you can’t see me, you’ll feel me… here —”

she said, taking her hand, and placing it on your heart, her handprint covered your shirt in her blood. “i love you. always remember that…” she smiled so softly, before her body went limp.

“no… no!?” you screamed. “cherri!!” you shook her. “wake up!! i can’t fucking do this without you!!” you cupped her face, her eye half open, you sobbed, as you pulled her closer to you, she was gone.

you heard a chuckle from behind you. your head whipped around, to see an exorcist, her mask half torn off, realizing a woman white bob and piercing yellow eyes was behind you, she was adam’s lieutenant. “gotcha.” she smirked evilly, before raising the spear above your head and—

your body shot up immediately, you grasped your bed sheets tightly, you turned your head to see cherri still fast asleep in bed, drooling on the sheets as she snored.

you sighed, what the hell would spark that? the most recent extermination was almost four months ago, alastor was okay, pentious was redeemed, and adam was dead, why did it matter?

‘nevermind, it’s not worth it.’ you thought to yourself, you pulled the sheets over to the other side, and got out of bed, and you went into the bathroom that was connected to you and cherri’s shared room.

you turned the sink on and splashed water onto your face, the coldness and feeling of it all made your current reality feel real, it made the nightmares feel a little less real, but the thought of cherri being gone shook you to your core, and not like how she did to you in bed.

tears welled up in your eyes, the imagery of cherri’s body still clear as day.

cherri’s snores subsided as her eye opened, hearing the sound of a faucet running from afar, she sat up, yawning slightly, adjusting her pajama shorts as she saw the bathroom light on.

she crept over to come in, before hearing your sobs, instantly, she hid against the side of the wall, out of your sight, ‘fuck’.

quietly, cherri grabbed her phone from her nightstand, scrolling through her contacts before finding her best friends, angel dust, turning her phone on silent to call him.

she felt the vibration in her phone as it silently run. “cherri, it’s too early for this, it’s three in da damn mornin’” angel spoke groggily.

“i know, i know! i need your help!” cherri whisper-shouted to the other line, moving further away from the bathroom so you couldn’t hear. “with…?”

“they’re crying… and i don’t know why…” cherri whispered. “cmon babe! you know ‘em better than anyone! just do what you do with me! it works just the same!” angel exclaimed from the other line.

“no it won’t! their special.” cherri said. “did you talk to them yet?” angel asked, if it wasn’t cherri, he would’ve hung up already.

“noo….” your girlfriend mumbled, sulking slightly. “then go do that, and call me back if you need me, this bitch has ta get his beauty sleep!” angel joked. “kay, ‘night.” cherri smiled.

“night toots.” angel said, softer this time, before hanging up.

cherri placed her phone on the bed, approaching the bathroom again, your sobs seem to subside, “hey baby.” she smiled softly.

“you uh… doing alright?” that was stupid. why would she ask that? of course you’re not. you’re crying!?

you sniffle “bad dream.”

“wanna talk about it?” cherri asks, plopping down on the bathroom floor, the coldness leaving goosebumps against her bare skin, as she patted the space in her lap for you to sit.

“yeah..” you sniffle out with a small smile, sitting down on top of her, snuggling into her. “let it out, cutie.” cherri says with a soft smile, she may not always know what to say, but she can listen.

i do not permit for my work to be reposted, translated, or stolen. all rights go to signedmio. characters are not mine, unless stated, and belong to their rightful creators.

[mtchee]

Birthday Week! - [Hinata Shoyo] GN

blurb:

A birthday week--a fun little traditon in your family that you decide to share with your sunshine of a boyfriend! Instead of just celebrating one day, the birthday celebrant gets a whole week of presents and pampering! It's perfect seeing how Shoyo's birthday is right around the corner! If only he didn't forget... oh well, even more of a surprise!

cw: timeskip AU, fluff, flirting, second-person-pov, shoyo being lovesick and burnt out but still a ball of energy, super special sickly sweet birthday kisses, worried [name], hopelessly in love, flirting, suggestive at the end

| masterlist | haikyuu collection |

[4.1k]

Boy, when you're with me, I'll give you a taste~ Make it like your birthday everyday! I know you like it sweet, So you can have your cake~ Give you something good to celebrate!

June 21, this Wednesday, was Hinata Shoyo's birthday.

"And today is... Tuesday the 13th," You mutter quietly, working things out in your head.

Eight days until your boyfriend's special day.

You smile to yourself, "I can do this."

"Baby! I'm hoooome!" Shoyo calls out, slipping off his shoes by the door, "baby?" he peers around curiously at no response.

"Sho!"

His face automatically brightens at the sound of your voice, immediately dropping his sports bag and anything else he was holding as his partner leaps into his arms, "I missed youuuu."

"I missed you tooooo!" He lowers you back onto the ground, peppering your face in an abundance of tickling kisses.

Despite his aching calves and sore shoulders, he smiles gleefully at the sight of his love, always happy to see you at the end of the day, "How was your work?"

"It was busy, as usual. But I think things are going to start slowing down now, thank god. How was training?"

"Tiring," Shoyo lets out an exaggerated sigh, eyes closed dramatically before he props one open again, "but I feel better now that I've seen you." He grins cheekily.

You roll your eyes, scoffing playfully, "You saw me this morning."

"But that was ages ago~" He whines, clinging onto you as you make your way into the kitchen, "I wanted to see you at lunch but Atsumu dragged us all out instead."

"I was working anyway," You laugh.

Shoyo pouts, "I just wanted to say hi..."

You can't help but shake your head fondly at his light hearted compaints, patting him on the arm.

"It's okay—you're here now, love. Now go pick up your bag and have a shower, I don't wanna be tripping over it later."

"Yes, Captain!" He does as he's told with a goofy grin, giving you one last kiss on the cheek before bounding away happily.

"Oh, Sho?" He obediently whips back around at your call, "is there anything you want to do this week? Or... anything you want in general?"

He blinks with wide eyes. A blank slate.

"Mmm, nope! Not really. Oh! I have been meaning to refurbish the soles on my training shoes though, I keep putting it off..."

"That's not--" You brush it off, "ah, nevermind. But... aren't you forgetting something?"

"Oh, right!" A spark ignite in you as Shoyo perks up, only for him to bounce over to you to give you a big smooch with a giggle, "thanks for preparing dinner, baby," before turning back around to do as earlier requested.

You watch him leave the room with a half-turned smile and hot cheeks, hearing him hum a little tune as he does so.

Your smiling eyes down turn ever so slightly when you notice him massaging the muscle of his right shoulder where his bag strap sat; no doubt already sore from his practice.

A soft but determined breath leaves your lips as you look back at the calendar hanging on the wall.

"Mission: birthday week, begins tomorrow!"

Day 1, Wednesday 14 - 7 days until Shoyo's birthday!

Shoyo groans, cracking a reluctant eye open at the sound of his alarm going off—four forty-five in the freaking morning. His coach wanted the team there by six-thirty, but someone complained about it (its too early for him to remember who) so it was changed to five instead. He was naturally an early riser, so usually he wouldn't have any complaints anyway, but recently things had been taking a toll on him.

He blinks tiredly as he turns off the noise maker, vision blurry as he pats the bedding beside him to feel for a certain someone. He frowns, only feeling the cold empty covers. "Mm, baby...?"

"Sho~" He perks up at the sound of his name, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. He blinks slowly as his eyes clear up, revealing the smiling face of his beloved holding a tray of food, "good morning, sunshine." Your greeting results in a bright smile from him too.

He tilts his bedhead at you.

"What're you doing up so early? Did you get called in to work?" He subconsciously licks his lips at the sight of the breakfast tray. You giggle at his expression and place it in his lap, motioning for him to eat up.

"No, I just thought you should get a good meal in since you have to head in earlier today."

"Wow! This looks so good!" His eyes sparkle, tiredness disappearing in an instant, "you made all of this?"

You nod.

"Yeah, I've pack you lunch and some money in case you want to buy meat buns later as well," You smile as he eagerly picks up his utensils and begins to eat, "I know Bokuto likes to steal them off of you."

He swallows some of his food, "Mm, eat with me!" He frowns as you shake your head, and you holds back the urge to coo and squeeze at his cheeks when he pouts.

"No, thanks Sho," You giggle at his disgruntled features, "it's for you."

"But I wanna share it with you!" He scoops some rice onto his spoon with his chopsticks, adding a small piece of grilled salmon on top.

"Pleeeeaaaaase?"

His large honey-brown eyes tug a string in your heart, and you sigh in defeat. 'If that's what he wants...' You smile softly.

"Alright then." You snort as the tangerine lets out a shout of happiness ("YOSH!!") before opening your mouth for him to feed you.

You flush under his intense gaze, nodding your head and covering your mouth with your hand as you chew, "mm, it's gwood."

"I know," He beams proudly, "my partner made it for me." Shoyo's smile brightens at the sound of your laughter.

Day 2, Thursday 15 - 6 days until Shoyo's birthday!

Your shoes pitter patter along the polished floor of the corridor, a skip in your step as you turn a corner. Your features brighten at the sound of shoes squeaking and muffled shouts reverberating through the double doors ahead.

You eagerly pick up your pace.

Clutching the neatly wrapped bento box close, you quickly reach into your pocket and click on your phone. Checking the time, you nod to yourself with an affirmative 'hmph!' before reaching for the door.

A whistle is heard from behind the barrier, a muffled voice calling out, "Alright! Take a break. Back in an hour!"

"Hai!"

'Ah, so I'm right on time,' You rap your knuckles on the door, 'good job me!'

You push open the door.

"Ohayo!" Your greeting earns you many head turns, and your wave at the familiar faces that you see.

"Oya?" Bokuto spins around curiously before smiling, "Hey hey hey, [name]! Long time no see!"

"[name]-san." Sakusa greets briefly with a nod.

"Mm, mm!" Atsumu waves her over from the side, drinking from his water bottle.

"Eh? [name]?" Shoyo blinks, clutching a volleyball in his hands. He turns his head and visibly brightens at the sight of you; a wide smile spreads across his face and he drops the volleyball, letting bounce and roll on the ground as he dashes over, "baby!"

He almost tramples you in his excitement, giving you a sweet kiss before grabbing your hand and leading you over to the side bench.

"What are you doing here?" He asks before stiffening, "I-I mean, not that I don't appreciate it or anything—I'm actually really glad you're here, I didn't get to say goodbye to you properly this morning and—"

"Sho?" He keeps rambling, "Shoyo? Baby!" You finally get his attention again, hand placed on his cheek to hold him still.

A giddy feeling wells up inside you as Shoyo's eyes meet yours, a large blush covering his cheeks. "It's okay," you laugh, and he smiles back at you, "I came to bring you lunch."

The human tangerine glances down at the wrapped up bento box in your other hand, "What is it?"

You hand it to him, watching as he undoes the bow, the fabric falling back, and revealing the enclosed contents of the lunchbox through its transparent lid, "I made you your favourite."

The man's face lights up.

"Really!? Tamago gohan?! YES!" He bounces up happily, almost dropping the bento box, "Thanks, baby!"

"Anything for the rest of us?" Shoyo narrows his eyes as Bokuto bowls on over, slinging an arm around his partner's shoulders with a grin, "man, you're cooking is amazing!"

"Shrimpy here will share, right?" Atsumu smirks at the shorter male, ignoring the fact that he was silently blowing a fuse.

Noticing your boyfriend's eyes piercing the arm around your shoulders, you laugh and push it off, "Sorry guys, but my Shoyo comes first. I'll make something next time though."

You give him a hug to ease his angry pout.

"Aw, hell yeah!" The owl haired male fist pumps, high fiving Atsumu victoriously before jogging away.

You laugh at the sulking pout still adorning your Shoyo's face, "Don't worry, Sho. You don't have to share your lunch with anyone."

Day 3, Friday 16 - 5 days until Shoyo's birthday!

Fridays through to Sundays were rest days for the MSBY team; as athletes, they needed to train often, however, if they didn't rest they would risk heavy injury in the future.

Three days seemed a bit much for a few of them. But more often than not they either met up or did individual training to stay on track, wherein the remaining days they would take it easy.

This time, you suggested to Shoyo that you two do something fun for a day out, like go to the beach. Already excited before you even finished piping the idea to him, your boyfriend very readily agreed.

"Whaaa, this is so cool!" Shoyo exclaims, dropping everything under the beach umbrella. He hears you giggling behind him as you move around, laying out the towels and opening your bags.

"It is a nice day, isn't it?" You use your hand to shield your eyes from the ever burning sun, looking out towards the ocean. It wasn't too windy, but there a few good waves. Your loose cover up blows along with the breeze.

"It isn't too busy either--that's good!"

Shoyo nods along happily, ruffling his already fluffy hair as he eyes the shoreline, "Hey, do you think we could-" He lets out a noise of shock as he turns his head, spotting you slipping off your cover up to reveal your swim wear.

He swallows as a large blush races across his cheeks, eyes running up and down your form unabashedly "I-I, uh, um... b-baby..!"

'O..-Oh no..! I'm a... PERVERT..!"

"Have you seen the sunscreen?" You ask distractedly, dropping the cover up onto a towel as you search through one of the bags.

Shoyo snaps himself out of his stupor, smacking himself in the face with a gulp as he speedily reaches into the bag closest to him, pulling out said item in question.

"UM! I-I'VE GOT IT!" He clears his throat, "let.. let me help you..! Please?"

"Sure. Thanks, love." You smile at him, causing his brain to short circuit.

Turning around, you sit with your back towards your flustered boyfriend, who practically self combusts.

'WHAAAAAAAAAA I'M SO LUCKY!!' His inner self weeps with gratitude to the gods above.

Opening the cap, he gently applies the sunscreen to the open skin on your back, massaging gently.

His hands are slightly calloused, proof of all of his hard work, but it feels nice nonetheless. His face reddens when you let out a noise of contentment. His actions slow, but he continues to rub your back as his head leans down, heat radiating from him in embarrassment.

If you looked at him now you'd think he was already sunburnt.

He looks up shyly, admiring you while you remain oblivious to his fluster.

'My baby's so pretty...' He bites his lip bashfully, hands coming to a stop at your lower back. You straighten up slightly.

"Oh, are you done?" You move to turn around, "I can do yours if you want—"

"I CAN'T HANDLE IT!" Shoyo topples you over, pressing you down against the towel as he leans over you, arms either side of your head.

"Y-You're too gorgeous!" He almost seems to pout at that, face flushed red.

You blink up at him, cheeks growing warm, "S-Sho..?" He frowns, lips pursed--he looks like a kicked puppy.

"I don't..." He lowers his voice, almost mumbling, "I don't want anyone else to look at you..."

You smile up at him awkwardly in your own fluster.

"I'm only here for you, sunshine," You reassure, wrapping your arms around his neck and bringing him into a kiss. He trembles at your touch, embarrassment overwhelming him as he suddenly realises your position.

"W-Wait, baby...!"

Day 4, Saturday 17 - 4 days until Shoyo's birthday!

"It's too far!" You puff out, hands on your hips as you fight for your life, "when I said I'd help you train I didn't mean I'd actually do it with you."

"We've barely started," Shoyo grins, "come oooon! We can stop at the park on the way!"

"No, I love you, but I can't run, Sho."

He laughs, "What if we get ice cream later?"

You wave him off, "I can get that anyway."

"What if I carry you?"

"You can't carry me and run, Shoyo," You still heave for your precious air--never again will you take it for granted--fanning yourself. Your boyfriend raises an eyebrow.

"Is that a challenge?!" His eyes widen with a mischievous sheen.

"What? No, no. Sho—SHOYO!" You squeal when your plucked up and forced to shift onto his back for a piggyback ride.

"C'mon, baby! This'll be fun! Plus, I get to show you how strong I've gotten!"

...Admittedly, you do drool over the feel of his muscles at work.

Day 5, Sunday 18 - 3 days until Shoyo's birthday!

"Shoyo?" You look up at your boyfriend sleepily, only feeling his grip tighten on you. You shuffle closer to him under the bed covers, hearing him sigh peacefully at the feeling of you pressed against him.

"Are you—" You yawn, "—doing any training today?"

The orange haired male slowly blinks himself awake, glancing at the sunlight seeping through the cracks of their closed blinds.

"Mm, no..." He nuzzles into you, "I just wanna sleep in today..."

You smile softly, "Alright," you press your lips to his, the man humming in response, "rest well, sunshine."

He hugs you tighter.

"You're the best. I love youuu~."

"Mm, I love you too, Sho."

Day 6, Monday 19 - 2 days until Shoyo's birthday!

Another long day of training for the tangerine, and he couldn't wait to see his special someone when he got home. Even his teammates asked if he was doing alright, in which he responded he was fine, though his tender muscles and tired eyes said otherwise.

"Welcome home~" You greet him as soon as he opens the door, concern flickering in your eyes as you immediately notice his off demeanor.

"How are you feeling?"

He beams at you.

It wasn't fake, or an attempt to cover up his exhaustion—but simply his heart shining through.

Seeing you always gave him an extra boost.

"Everything's great! We had a practice match today, so I'm a little tired is all. How about you?" He sags into your touch with a contented sigh.

"I'm good, love. I just got started on dinner," You give him a quick peck on the lips, "how about you go take a bath—don't worry about helping me cook, I've got it handled.'

"Are you sure?" Shoyo makes his way into the bedroom, placing his sports bag by the end of the bed, "what about you? You're not gonna join me?"

You giggle at him, shaking your head, "No, Sho. But, uh, if you want," your face flushes with warmth and you dart your eyes away unsurely, "I... could give you a massage after dinner?"

You panic as Shoyo freezes and turns red, "I DON'T MEAN ANYTHING BY IT! J-JUST TO HELP YOU FEEL BETTER!"

A sigh escapes you, "I've noticed how sore you've been after practice recently, so... I though I might be able to help..?"

His eyes soften, and he places a light kiss on your forehead to ease your embarrassment, "Sure! I don't mind."

You smile at him, bouncing on your heel excitedly, "Great!" you slow, clearing her throat awkwardly, "I'll, uh... I-I'll go get dinner ready. Eheh."

Shoyo watches fondly as you scurries away, a loving curve to his lips.

Day 7, Tuesday 20 - 1 day until Shoyo's birthday!

The tangerine haired male huffs out a tired sigh, seating himself on the side bench while he takes a swig of water from his bottle. He didn't get to see you properly this morning since you seemed to be up and running from the crack of dawn.

You'd cooked him a quick breakfast in bed again, though you couldn't join him this time since you had a few errands to run. Selfishly, he wanted to grab you and sit you down next to him so you would get a meal in as well, but he knew he'd get in trouble by you if he did.

Although he almost had you by giving you his classic puppy eyes, but you managed to escape it.

This time.

Just barely.

He hums to himself in thought.

'Man, [name]'s been extra nice this week... I mean, they're always nice and do these things every now and then, but it feels like they've been SUUUUPERRR nice.' He smiles, face tinted pink, 'I'm so lucky~'

"Hey! Shrimpy!" He looks up to see Atsumu already back on the court after his water break, "come hit a few sets for me, will ya?"

"Alright!" Shoyo stands up, stretching his arms over his head and awing at the lack of soreness in his muscles, "whaa, that massage really worked, huh?" He mumbles under his breath.

About to step back onto the court, he stops whenhe hears his phone ping on the bench, "hm?"

A small smile rests on his lips at the contact name.

It was you. He unlocks his phone to read your message.

His smile widens. 'I really am lucky.'

Wednesday 21 - Shoyo's Birthday!

Aaaand another long day of training it was for Shoyo.

What was weird though was that some of his teammates were rather skittish during practice too—namely Bokuto and Atsumu. Bokuto was awfully giggly whereas the latter kept sending him cheeky looks--although Sakusa couldn't seem to care any less. He was a little agitated at the duos extra hype.

To make things even harder though, and with everyone eager to get home, they all made a bet in which the loser would stay behind to pack up all the volleyballs—they worked together to put the nets away, and the floors were mopped--but no one seemed to have the energy to gather all of the balls scattered around the gymnasium.

A bet which Shoyo unfortunately lost, and the others spared no pity and left him to lock up as well.

Upset that he would be home a little later than usual, he sent you a quick text about the change in time so you wouldn't worry.

So after another thirty minutes of cleanup (one of the balls got stuck between the bleachers) he finally locked up and left for home.

The whole day had been a bit... odd. It just felt like something was off.

Oh well.

"Baby?" Shoyo calls out from the door, "I'm hooome!"

He frowns at the lack of response, stomach dropping at the fact that all the lights were off as well.

Worry begins to boil in the pit of his stomach, "Baby?"

He drops his bag by the door, not bothering to slip off his shoes as he rushes into the darkness. He winces, hitting his thigh against the corner of (presumably) the kitchen counter before reaching the living room.

His eyes slowly adjust to the dark, and he begins to see figures moving about. He prepares himself to launch the decorative vase on his left.

"[name]!?"

He flicks on the light.

"SURPRISE!"

He jumps back as a chorus of voices hit his ears. He blinks at the sight in front of him; a large group of his friends scattered throughout the room, a large happy birthday banner dangling from one end of the ceiling to the other along with a series of streamers and balloons.

He spots a pile of gifts by one side of the couch, and a heap of snacks and drinks set atop the coffee table.

"Happy birthday, Sho!" Shoyo zones in on the figure in front of him, a smile of refrained excitement on they're face.

"Baby?"

"Hi," You grin at him, "you've been working yourself a lot lately, and you still make time for me even though you're tired after training. So, I though... why not surprise you for your birthday?"

You open your arms toward him.

Shoyo tears up, "Babyyyy...!" He bolts into your embrace, laughing gleefully alongside you when you stumble before catching your footing.

"That's what this week's been about?!" You laugh at his sudden realisation, "[name], you're so cool!"

"Aw," You giggle, "I'm glad, sunshine."

"Oi," You break away from your embrace, turning to see a familiar blueberry resembling friend, "happy birthday, stupid."

Kageyama greets, the smallest of smile on his face before he scoffs and rolls his eyes when Shoyo awes obnoxiously.

"Kageyama!" The tangerine launches himself towards said male, who tries (and fails) to dodge him.

"Get—Get off me, idiot!"

"And Nishinoya-senpai? Tanaka-senpai?" Shoyo beams at the sight of his old teammates, "Suga-san? Daichi-san!?" Everyone gives their own greeting and wishes him happy birthday, "Yamagichi? even Tsukishima!?"

"Don't think this means anything." The blonde huffs.

"I'm here because [name] asked. But happy birthday anyway, I guess."

"Be nice, Tsukki."

"Whatever, Yamaguchi."

Shoyo scans his eyes around the room once more, spotting old rivals and whatnot as well. He sees Kuroo and Kenma alongside Lev, Inouka and Yaku, and Akaashi, and Osamu and Suna, and Oikawa and Iwaizumi, and Aone—and the rest of the MSBY team.

So that's why they all scurried off so quick.

He shakes his head, laughing to himself.

Turning around, he notices you immersed in a conversation with Asahi, Kiyoko, and Yachi. There were people everywhere!

He grins to himself, all worries and stress on his shoulders suddenly lifting—and he feels fully energised for the first time in weeks.

"Bye!"

"Thanks for coming!"

"See you later, guys!"

"Oh yeah, happy birthday bro!"

"Man, that was fun..."

"Night everyone!"

"See you! Thanks everyone!" The couple wave goodbye to their last few visitors, reaching the end of the party.

"Ah, it was nice seeing everyone again, that's for sure." You breathe out, hands lax on your hips.

"Definitely," Shoyo nods.

He smiles at you gratefully, eyes crinkling, "I can't believe you did all that for me."

"I can't believe you forgot your own birthday," You giggle, playfully flicking his forehead, "I'm glad you had fun. I know you've had a hard time the past few weeks, so I wanted to help you feel better."

You squeal when he launches at you, peppering your face with kisses.

"You're so sweet!" He lets out a sudden gasp, "oh! I know! It's my birthday, right?"

Shoyo grins, a glint in his honey brown eyes when nod with an unknowing hum, "know what would make it even better...?"

You raise a bemused brow, shrugging, "I dunno, what?"

"If I could open my present."

You perk up, glancing over your shoulder at the pile of gifts by the couch, "Oh, that's right! Come, sit over here—"

Shoyo grips you by the waist, stopping you in your tracks.

"Eh?"

He's quick to spin back around to face him.

"No, baby, not those ones--" He beaming grin curls into something a little cheekier, ears tinted red as he gets a little handsy, feeling up your sides.

His eyes flick down past your face to your stomach, trailing up your torso and chest before settling on your lips. A hand slips past the hem of your shirt, and he slides a leg between yours as he starts backing you towards the couch.

"--this one."

Your breath hitches in your throat as his eyes dim.

Oh.

Your heart drops excitedly when his tongue traces over your lips, his touch growing a little less innocent with each heated kiss.

Oh.

[joelswritingmistress]

Last Halloween: Chapter 30

Summary: After a tragedy involving Joel happened on Halloween one year prior, the town now shuns him while ignoring the details of the now closed case. You are seemingly the only one to offer empathy to a man the town is making out to be a monster.

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

One Week Later

"After seven excruciating days, the manhunt for Victor Alan Champagne of Haddonfield is over. Police have him in their custody and he is being held at the Livingston County Correctional Facility. Champagne is accused of kidnapping, assault, home invasion and attempted murder. One year ago his brother, John Champagne, died in an attempted car jacking as he was attempting to strangle the victim."

You would never forget the face of the news woman who recited the fate of Vic Champagne on television that November morning. As icing on the cake, she further freed Joel's name by including the horrific ordeal between him and Johnny the year before. Referring to Joel as the *victim* of an attempted car jacking and assault, rather than the villain as he had been labeled by the town, was a massive win. It seemed to solidify the truth and gave you hope for the future.

Beside you on the couch, Joel just stared at the television. He wasn't smiling or frowning, or showing any real sign of emotion. When he turned to you as the newscaster switched to the next story, he finally edge a smile out of the right side of his lips.

"This is all because of you, ya know," Joel said matter-of-factly.

You shook your head and kissed him before resting his head on your shoulder. "I can't wait to start fresh.. and be able to enjoy some time together without looking over our shoulders."

Joel rubbed your back and left a kiss on the top of your head. "I have to get to work." When you lifted your head he raised his eyebrows. "Dinner tonight?"

"Definitely." You shared another short series of kisses before he rose to his feet to grab his work boots.

You checked your watch, "I have class at nine and then work until four after that."

"I'll be by for my nightly coffee." Joel's eyes turned a little more playful and you smiled wide.

"Mmm.. back to where it all started."

"It'll be a great story to tell the grandkids one day." He raised his eyebrows and you smile back at him even wider. You loved when he made comments like that.

When he winked, you couldn't help it. You threw your arms around him and kissed him until he finally had to pull away with a laugh.

"Will Ronnie really be mad if you're a few minutes late?" You teased.

Joel laughed and looked down the hall. "Tempting."

"I'm kidding."

"You're half kidding."

"I'm half kidding," you agreed, still laughing, "Plus, I think we'd wake everyone up."

"We can go back to my place tonight then," Joel said, "I'll make it up to you."

"Deal." You kissed again and then saw him out the door before wandering back down toward your room. When you heard music coming from Chrissy's room you gave a knock. "Chris?"

There was movement and whispers. You realized there was someone else in the room and you almost called out, "Nevermind," but the door opened before you could.

Chrissy's face peeked between the door frame and the door that she only opened about four or five inches. "Hey."

"Hey," you smirked. "I'll come back later. I didn't know.." you motioned with your finger toward the door and shrugged, silently asking who the mystery person was that accompanied her.

Chrissy managed to slide out of her room in her sports bra and sleep shorts. Amusement and guilt plagued her expression and she looked away for a second.

"This wasn't planned," she started.

"No judgment," you said, putting your hands up, "And you don't have to say anything if you don't want to. But.." you laughed, "I'm very curious now."

"I don't want you to get mad."

"Mad? Why would I be mad?"

Chrissy sighed. "Like I said, things kind of just happened. It was like this lightbulb went off the night that we were all on the town green with you, and then we bumped into each other and went for coffee twice and then drinks a few times over the last couple of weeks. And then, I don't know. I just.. it's a bad friend move."

"Chrissy! Unless Joel snuck back in your window just now, I won't be mad. What? Tell me." Her lead up was killing you, but you also couldn't stop giggling.

"Fuck." Chrissy took a breath. "I.. I'm really into.. I can't believe I'm saying this because I hate cops sometimes."

"Wait! Steve?"

"Fuck. You hate me. I know you dated-"

"No, it's fine!" You bellowed, laughing out loud. "Are you serious?"

She nodded. "I'm sorry. He was so helpful and kind of really came through for all of us, and you and I just thought it was really brave on his part because he could have gotten into so much trouble for helping us like that. But he did the right thing. And then when he was almost killed I.. felt something."

You pouted your bottom lip and then gave your friend a hug. "I'm happy for you."

"It's not weird?"

"No it's not weird. At all."

"I mean we slept with the same guy-"

"I never slept with him."

"What?"

"Nope." You shook your head. "So you're good. Zero weirdness. We had no connection."

Chrissy let out a sigh of relief. "I'm sorry for keeping it from you."

"Don't be." You nodded toward the door with another smirk. "Enjoy."

...

Joel drove in through the gates of the junk yard. It felt a little surreal after all that had happened - and so recently. Still, he and Ronnie had similar feelings on the matter. Life must go on, and the junk yard was Ronnie's meal ticket. It was his business; how he made a living. Joel was on board with getting back to business.

"Hey kid," his boss greeted with a smile after he parked and exited the vehicle. For the first time ever, the two men greeted one another with a long, meaningful hug.

Joel patted him on the back a few times and he looked at him directly when he pulled away. "I'm sorry for all the trouble, Ronnie."

"You have nothing to be sorry for." He shook his head. "You're the best friend and coworker a guy could ask for. I'm sorry for what's happened to you."

"You saved my life."

"I did what you would have done in the same situation." He waved his hand. "Come here. I have something for you."

"For me?" Joel shook his head, "Ronnie, I owe you my life. You don't have to give me anything."

Ronnie waved his hand again and lead the way down to the last bay. He waited for Joel to be next to him before flinging the door upward.

"Ronnie.." Joel shook his head. "You didn't have to.. what is this? Where did you get this?" He slowly enters the garage and placed his hand on the handlebars of a motorcycle.

"I have lots of fun little projects to be done just waiting in the wings." He wiggled his fingers towards the rows of cars in the distance. "I felt bad about them busting up and ruining your other one."

"You didn't have to do this." Joel shook his head, still in awe over the bike as he ran his fingers over the seat next.

"I had fun fixing this thing up," Ronnie told him. "I'm actually a little sad I finished. Reminded me of building a car with father in my younger years. I could spend weeks or months doing this stuff." He held out a single key. "Besides, Joel. You need a little pick-me-up. And I think you and your girl will have a good time cruising around on this thing."

Joel smiled and accepted the key before giving his friend another hug. "You're a good man, Ron."

"You're a good man, Joel."

CLICK HERE FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER

@untamedheart81 @amyispxnk @grogusmum @ghostwritesthings @strawbunnyx @ayamenimthiriel @noisynightmarepoetry @jiminstinypinky @tuquoquebrute @pedr0swh0r3 @runningmom94 @mellymbee @shayna-d-clown @bbiophiliaa @theclassicvinyldragon @tiffanypooh @mandijo17 @poodlebae @purple-fig @vabeachazn

[thatstormygeek]

But one key group was left out. The Uncommitted Movement, the antiwar, pro-Palestinian action that placed second to Joe Biden in this spring’s discarded primaries, had spent weeks trying to move the convention, both in matters of symbol and substance, against the U.S.-armed slaughter in Gaza. In the end, their efforts had boiled down to one extremely achievable ask: to give a Palestinian-American — any Palestinian-American — or a doctor who had witnessed the suffering at the hands of the Israeli military a brief speaking slot, at any time during the four-day-long national pep rally. ... But the word that had come down on Wednesday turned out to be final. No Palestinian would be allowed to speak. ... Nevermind, too, that there was already a tearful presentation on the horrors of October 7, from the parents of Hersh Goldberg-Polin, an Israeli-American veteran of the IDF who is still being held hostage in Gaza — a presentation that the Uncommitted delegates made sure to attend in solidarity with the families of Israeli hostages, by the way. ... The refusal to platform a Palestinian speaker echoes nothing so much as the refusal, on orders of then-President and candidate Lyndon Johnson, of the integrated Mississippi Freedom Democratic Party, under the leadership of Fannie Lou Hamer, at the 1964 Democratic Convention in Atlantic City, sixty years ago this month. It similarly ignores the substantive divide between the protesters outside the convention and the uncommitted delegates inside — the fact that the latter are trying to work within and in coalition with the institutional Democratic Party. While some, like some in the MFDP, will likely continue to work for Harris’ election this fall, the refusal to give the reformers even a token platform on the main stage fuels arguments that the party, and perhaps the entire political system as it stands, is too hopelessly corrupted to work with, and thus must be challenged or overthrown.

It seems that those instincts are now operating — that the Harris-Walz campaign and the convention planners decided they could afford to alienate Palestinian-Americans and their ever-growing contingent of allies on the antiwar left. That it would be better to disappoint and insult them than to challenge, in the mildest of ways, the pro-Israel contingent or the reactionary center. It was clear from last night’s programming that their play is going to be to appeal to disaffected Republicans and so-called “moderate” independents, by focusing on militarism, police, and Harris’s career as a prosecutor, locking away criminals and “securing” the border. She telegraphed that in the foreign policy section by declaring with almost Reaganite bravado: “As commander in chief, I will ensure America always has the strongest, most lethal fighting force in the world.” I really think they could have done both. I don’t think that having a Palestinian woman, hijab and all, deliver what was at bottom a bog-standard Democratic convention speech, with a shoutout to her father’s Jerusalemite origins where others shouted out their Hispanic or Native American heritage would have necessarily detracted from that pivot. I think they could have shored up part of the Michigan Arab-American vote without scaring away the voters they hoped to gain by trotting out ex-Republican congressmen and the Genesee County sheriff. I want to believe that sacrificing the lives of tens of thousands of innocent Gazans, along with the other Omelas children of the world, in Haiti, Congo, and elsewhere, is not really the intractable trolley problem — a trade between potential victims of American fascism at home and the victims of American militarism abroad — it is made out to be. But maybe I’m naïve.

[literaila]

magnetic attraction 

part one. 

tasm!peter x fem!reader 

summary: after a bad interaction with peter, your interaction with spider-man could not be any more chaotic. 

warnings: ha. angst/fluff. and then. so much banter. too much banter. 

a/n: to bob, who put on her spider-man mask and pretended to roleplay with me (also i don’t hate john green. the fault in our stars is good.)

*

"hey, what's the answer to number seven?" 

here's the thing. 

despite any and all efforts made to introduce peter into your life as an ex--because you broke up. that's a thing--he is anything but. 

simple solution, you know. 

avoid him. 

follow the rules of break-ups. write yourself a checklist and make sure that there aren't any empty boxes left at the end of the day. no spaces to fill, no void to think about. 

channel the resentment. fuel the anger, make yourself even madder, make him a bad guy so that maybe you won't miss him this much. block his number, forget any important thing that you know about him. 

simple. easy. breathing is hard in comparison. 

and still, you can't do any of it. 

because you don't hate him. you really, really can't. 

and the thing, you and peter have always been magnets. 

even before any of it, you were drawn to each other. 

when he pushed, you pulled. when you pushed--he grabbed on so tight you were worried about blood circulation. 

you met him in chemistry, and after that, you met him everywhere else. 

the grocery store and on campus and walking home from places that peter really shouldn't have been. 

you met him and that was that. 

you have always been lab partners. and you're not speaking to him enough--at all, because there are rules--to fix the issue. to ask to sit somewhere else. 

to break this foundation with a sledgehammer. 

and if there's a tiny part of you that just can't let go--erase a checkmark--then you ignore it. you don't want his warmth. you don't want to feel him laughing right next to you. you don't want to even know peter at all. 

you don't-- 

"what?" you don't look over at him. it's an unspoken rule. 

"number seven." 

"it's--" you breathe in, steal a look at his paper. completely blank. "can't you see it?" 

"what?" peter's voice is so soft, so quiet and unrelenting that you can barely hear it. 

it blares like a siren in your ear. 

"my paper. can't you see it? i can see yours." 

"why are you looking at my paper?" 

this might've been a joke, four weeks ago. 

"peter." 

he doesn't respond. pretends to write something down even though you both know that he was sleeping the whole class--until the teacher came over and asked him if he needed to see the nurse and peter responded with a polite smile which you definitely didn't stare at. 

it's too quiet. 

"here," you slide it over to him, just slightly, looking straight ahead at a poster of a skeleton. mandible, clavicle, sternum. 

you wait. 

"why didn't you just look over?" you ask him, maybe just because you have no sensibility left. 

"it's cheating if i steal it off of your sheet." 

"you're opposed to cheating now?" 

you can practically hear his teeth grinding together, as sure as a drill to a nail. 

you breathe in. fire moves down your stomach and back up. it doesn't take a genius to know that no matter how many deep breaths you take, the feeling isn't going to go away. 

radius, ulna. 

"nevermind," peter slides the paper back to you. he's got bruised knuckles. 

"you don't know how to do any of this," you say to him, pushing it back. 

he pushes, you pull. 

you look back up. sacrum, patella. 

"i got it." 

"peter." 

he is completely silent. 

there are only unspoken words between the two of you. 

"i got it, okay?" his voice is soft, but it's a snap. it's a rubber band, hitting back. 

you both know it. 

and so, your fingertips brush the edge of your paper, because if he doesn't want your help then you don't need to help him, and if he doesn't want to talk to you then it's even easier to cross 'silent treatment' off of the list. 

it only takes him a moment to stop you. "sorry," he whispers. 

and it's enough. because you're feeble. because you know him, even four weeks later. 

you scribble over the list. 

"will you help me with this one?" 

you know that he doesn't need help. you know that you probably do. 

still, you lean a little bit closer--making sure to keep a foot of distance at all times. "okay." 

peter looks at you, a small smile on his face, and you forget to look away. 

you forget all of the ground rules and fall off the edge of the earth. 

you trip and run directly into him. 

and you swallow, tasting the bile before you can push it down. you feel the fire, anger, like you've been trying to throw away. 

"what--" you swallow again, try to take a deep breath without it being too noticeable. "you've got another bruise." 

and a cut. and a yellowing face. and circles under his eyes that can almost compare with yours. 

immediately peter looks away. he hides again. 

you want to feel ashamed, you want to be guilty. but even still--fear isn't something that goes away with him. 

and love, no matter how much you beg it, won't burn itself to the ground. 

"doesn't matter," peter mutters, scribbling on his paper again. "do i need to divide or multiply--" 

"peter." 

he looks towards you, but he's staring at the wall. 

"what happened?" 

"i thought you didn't want any more excuses." 

"that doesn't mean that i don't care, peter," you whisper it, but the words come out of your mouth like an attack. 

peter's eyes meet yours, and you see a flash of something almost unrecognizable. 

"actually," he swallows. his frown sends sparks down your core, leaving burn marks in their wake. "i thought that you didn't want to talk to me at all." 

you struggle for words, you try to reach out and grab them but they're too far. 

this is much more than a worksheet. 

"that's what you said, right? that you didn't want to talk to me until i--" 

"this isn't--that's not--" you're too close to him. 

you're far too close. he's leaned in enough. 

you can feel him. 

and this, god, this is breaking every ground rule. this is unspoken and broken promises and your throat feels dry and your hands are clammy. 

you've never not known how to talk to him. 

peter scoffs, in the silence, into the expanse of the world and directly in your face. he throws back more than you could ever catch. 

and his eyes are completely serious when he says "just leave me alone, y/n."  

the bell rings, and peter gets up. 

he's better at this than you are. 

*

and later that night, you're still angry. 

you're still completely fed up with reality, with being alone, with having to sit there in class and just pretend that it's all fine. 

you accuse peter of lying, but between the two of you, the scales are only balanced. 

maybe that's why you're standing on the roof of your apartment building. 

a bad day, a couple of bad weeks. feelings that wrap themselves so tight around your throat that they keep you from breathing. 

peter, and his smiles, and his eyes--because you know his eyes. 

and you can pretend all you want that you've given him no room to be angry; that he has no right. 

but you'd just be lying. 

a particular brand of hypocrisy. 

so maybe it's self-pity that leads you up the stairs. maybe it's loneliness. 

regret, never. yearning, absolutely not. 

you lie to yourself again and again and imagine that it's all some joke. you'll laugh eventually. 

you don't want peter to come back. 

you don't want to be afraid to look in his eyes, at his face. you don't want to expect him to come home late at night and have blood dripping down his face. you don't want to presume that everything he says--all the stupid promises he makes you--are only lies. 

you don't want precedents. 

and you really don't want to be alone. 

so, the roof. the tiny little things to help you escape from the ever imminent reality. 

peter isn't coming back. you don't want him to. 

and still, talking to him earlier that day, being angry at him, getting him to snap at you. 

it felt like relief. 

it felt like a gasp of air, like drowning yourself for years and then finally deciding to swim up the surface. it felt like scrubbing the infection from your skin, finally, and finding a new layer of yourself underneath. 

it felt like peter. 

and you miss peter. you're not stupid enough to deny that. 

and the book you'd been reading--because the roof is a substitute room--is missing. 

you look under another box. push some spare trash around, hoping that maybe you'd just misplaced it. 

you're doing this when you hear a crash just a couple of feet behind you. 

a quick casual earthquake almost making you trip over the nearest box. 

and when you spin around, still trying to catch your balance, you realize that you aren't alone. 

maybe it's the man that crashed onto your roof--because it is yours--almost tackling you as he came down. he is two feet away from you.

just maybe.

you're frozen in shock for a moment, fingers reaching out to touch him--just to make sure that he's alive--but never getting quite close enough. 

luckily for you, spider-man jumps up before you feel around your pockets for some spare courage. 

"jesus," he says as if he didn't just almost kill you. he looks away, up at the sky, like he's expecting it to laugh back. 

and you stare at him. unsure what to say. 

what to be doing in a situation where a superhero has fallen onto your roof and ended the possibility of any quiet time. 

how to feel when the man turns to look at you, frozen. how to feel when, after a moment, he merely waves a hand at you like he's a celebrity. 

"what are you doing here?" the words fly out of your mouth, stupid and slightly scared. 

"i--" he shakes his head. tilts his head like he's trying to get water out of his ear. 

your brow furrows. your heart stutters off the edge of your ribs. "are you hurt?" 

"fit as a fiddle." 

you blink, trying to comprehend the words at the speed they come out. 

you stare at him, then look up, then back to him. he's whistling, completely casual. 

"you just fell onto my roof," you say, eyes wide. 

spider-man takes a step away from you, shakes out his foot. "was it that obvious?" 

"you..." you stare at him. he's taller than you are. long. breathing too hard. "you're spider-man." 

"pleasure," he pretends to tip a hat at you. you ignore that, for his own dignity. 

you feel your heart climb out from your body, telling you that it's going to take a break. 

"where did you come from?" you look around, expecting a camera and crew to jump out from behind a box. 

"a building," he says, so simply. "was trying something new." 

"it didn't work." 

spider-man looks at you again, head tilted. "ha." 

"aren't you, like--" you swallow. "supposed to be nice? and uh, good at what you do? isn't there a superhero code to... not scare unsuspecting strangers?" 

"i'm nice," he defends. "i'm spider-man," he reaches his hand out as if to introduce himself. 

you stare. blink. try to shove the shock away from your system. 

it doesn't work. 

"i already said that." 

"you can shake my hand anyway. tell your friends." 

you blink. "what?" 

"did i hit you?" he asks, very serious now. maybe concerned. he tries to take a step closer, maybe to look at you, but you move back. 

a bit perturbed by this man being an inch away from your face. 

"i'm okay." 

he tsks. "that's not an answer." 

"i'm pretty sure you didn't hit me," you revise, continuing to step back every time he gets any closer. 

but he is much faster than you. 

"pretty sure?" 

"positive." 

"really?" 

you nod your head, very seriously. you analyze every little twitch of his limbs. 

"because you don't seem okay," he says. he taps his temple. "you might've hit your head." 

"i didn't fall." 

he pauses, movement stopping. "maybe i hit my head." 

"that would explain a lot," you say, the words coming out before you can stop them. 

spider-man is still staring at you. you're pretty sure that you hear him laugh--but you're also certifiably insane, so who really knows?

he waits a moment, like he's searching for something, and then bends down. 

when he straightens, he's got something in his hands. "this yours?" 

you swallow. squint and try to see it clearly. "yeah," you say, "that's-that's my book." 

and in that brief moment, you begin to wonder if you're just imagining all of this. 

spider-man turns it around in his hands, looking at it very closely. "the fault in our stars?" 

you nod. 

"you're reading this?"

you nod again. 

"seriously?" his voice goes up with his words, a bit disbelieving. 

you furrow your brows, cross your arms. "what's wrong with that?" 

"it's just... oh, you know, the worst." 

"you've read it?" 

"no." 

you wait for him to elaborate. he does not. 

"then how would you know that it's bad?" you ask, not believing that you're actually having this conversation. 

that spider-man is judging your book choices. and that he fell onto your roof and still hasn't apologized for almost killing you. 

maybe you did die. 

"do you get out a lot?" spider-man asks you like you're a weird little hermit bothering him on his night out. like he hasn't just made you question every single concrete thing you thought you knew. 

"what does that have to do with anything?" minute by minute, your scowl gets harder. 

spider-man doesn't answer, merely nods his head as if your response gave him everything he needed to know. 

"what?" you demand, trying to grab the book from his hands. 

spider-man laughs. it's a small chuckle amidst the wind. he's got a deep voice. "i think it's a part of my civic duty to keep this away from you." 

"i've never heard about you being an asshole in the news," you mumble, trying again to grab the book from his hands. 

"what was that?" spider-man asks, leaning his ear towards you comically. 

you give up. stare at him for a moment. 

any emotions you feel in this exact moment have no name. 

"for a superhero," you tell him, face void of anything, "you're not very super." 

"what a nice thing to say," he brings his hand to his chest, mock-appreciative. 

you glare. "can i have my book back?" 

"for a civilian," he says, sing-songing just enough to make it noticeable, "you're not very civil." 

you almost, almost groan. you almost, almost laugh. "why are you here?" you demand, again, irritation climbing up your spine. 

why you're his designated target is unclear. 

"don't you have better things to be doing than annoying random girls on rooves?" 

he pretends to consider it. "not really, no." 

"there are no cats to save from trees?" 

and really, you don't mean to joke. you don't mean to let the smile slip. 

"you're funny," spider-man says, leaning back against the ledge of the roof. "why are you here?" 

"i live here." 

"pretty sure that door says 'do not enter.'" 

"you can't see that far," you tell him, trying to look back. you, of course, already know what it says. 

"i actually can." 

you cross your arms again. raise a brow. "how?" 

he taps his head like it's an answer. 

you stare. insist on being as stubborn and unwelcoming as possible. 

"you know, if you don't answer my question i might be forced to alert the authorities," spider-man pretends to look down at his nails--which, as far as you can see--are non-existent. 

"really?" you deadpan. "a masked vigilante, threatening to call the cops on me? for sitting on a roof?" 

spider-man waves a hand. his ankles are crossed. "please. they love me." 

"i can't see how." 

he raises his hands in defense. "wow. after all i've done for you..." 

"like almost murdering me?" 

"like saving you from a friday night alone." 

you frown. 

his words are a gentle reminder. a gentle push over the edge of this roof. 

"can i have my book back?" you ask, serious now. 

"are you going to answer the question?" 

you imagine that he's blinking at you. you imagine pushing him off of the building. 

"it was loud in my apartment. it's nice out here." 

"your family?" he inquires. 

you shake your head. "just... loud in my head, i guess. whatever. i needed a change of scenery." 

"and to read the fault in our stars." 

you glare at him. 

"i'm honestly saving you," he says. "you should be thanking me." 

you try to grab it from him again. "thank you for stealing my book?" 

at that point, he sits on it. your jaw drops but he ignores it. 

instead, he shrugs, so nonchalant. "just looking out for you." 

you sigh. drop your head in your hands and then look back up. "yeah. okay. can i have it now?" 

"how much did you spend on this?" 

"what?" 

spider-man tilts his head. it seems like he's teasing you but you honestly can't tell. 

"i didn't. we had it." 

spider-man clasps his hands together, a professional psychologist. "so you, before the concussion, just happened to spot this on a bookshelf and decided to read it?" 

"i don't have a concussion," you stare at him, squinting. "and yes." 

"are you an avid romance reader?" 

you blink. tilt your head. "i don't understand the question." 

he nods. "so, no. i mean, obviously. no person with any sort of knowledge, or sense would--" 

"hey!"

he shrugs again. "i'm just saying." 

"okay, then, spider-man," you cross your arms again. "what would you suggest?" 

"maybe finding a real boyfriend. or girlfriend." 

you scoff, a little bit shocked. 

somehow, you've relaxed. adrenaline has brought you here and dropped you off, kissing you goodbye. 

spider-man is an idiot. and a jerk. 

"what are you implying?" 

"that you don't have a significant other," he scratches his neck. "i thought that was obvious." 

you glare at him. "and you do?" 

he pauses. raises a finger in the air like he's got something to say. stutters. drops his hand. 

you smile, smugly. "exactly." 

"yeah, okay, but i get out," he copies your stance, staring. 

"when you're crashing into buildings, maybe." 

he rests his chin on his hand. "ever heard of a coffee shop?" he asks you. "great place to meet people. or the subway? an abandoned church? the park?" 

"nope. don't recall," you respond, dryly. 

"this is new york," he gestures around him like he's making a point. like he's got any point at all. "there are tons of people." 

"and yet, you're still alone." 

spider-man scoffs. "i have better things to do. responsibilities." 

"then how come you've been sitting on my roof for half an hour?" 

"i'm helping you, obviously." 

"how do you know that i don't have better things to do, too?" you shrug. "maybe i'm a superhero." 

"no superhero would read john green in their spare time. we have standards." 

"i find that hard to believe," you look him up and down, making note of spandex. 

he balks--or, at least, seems to. "you are not making me want to give it back." 

"please," you flutter your eyelashes, smiling. "i'll even cancel my subscription to the daily bugle." 

he scoffs again, beginning to say something when there's a crash from below the two of you. 

another earthquake. another superhero falling onto a roof. 

spider-man leans over the ledge, looking down at the city below. then back to you, posture changed. maybe a little bit tenser. 

"just for that comment, i'm leaving," he says, but his voice is easygoing, calm. 

you don't think you want to know what's going on under your feet. 

you reach out to grab the book from him--to forget about this entire night, especially the possibility that it might have improved your mood. minimally. 

but in the blink of an eye, he's gone. 

and there's no evidence that he was ever there. not even a book. 

you run towards the edge, worried that he fell, that he just stole your book, or that you really are going crazy. 

and you see him, swinging away with one hand. 

book in the other. 

you turn around, groaning. 

think about performing a citizen's arrest. 

*

when you climb into bed that night, you try to ignore it. 

realities. sitting on a roof in the cold of the night for no reason. feelings that have faded away, if only to leave a mark. 

you try and try to forget about the entire day. 

about peter and his resentment, his lies, his excuses, and how tired he looked. 

spider-man, who despite all else, made you laugh. at least once. 

that lingering feeling tucks you in. 

concern and worry and fear all morphed into something else. something like doubt. something like you can't feel your own heart. like you have no idea whose skin this is. 

a bug crawling on the ceiling, keeping you awake. 

when you fall asleep, it's to that feeling. 

*

part three.

my masterlist here. 

tags:  @moonlarking @v1ci0us @preciousbabypeter @alexxavicry @directioner5life @random_writer1021

[mawofthemagnetar]

So I was thinking about NameMC...

And this ensued. I may expand on this, we'll see.

“Oh, not again!” Impulse moaned.

Zed opened his mouth to ask what was happening, when the air in front of both of them shimmered. A four-bladed drone popped out of the walls between the worlds, and swiped a blue scanner beam over Impulse from head to toe. Before either hermit could react, the drone dove back into the crack in the air and vanished.

Impulse buried his face in his hands.

“I’m so tired of this, Zed. Just sick to death. I changed my shirt. So what?”

Zed nodded, leaning back on the rock he’d found. Impulse had indeed changed out of his dwarf costume and back into his familiar black t-shirt and cargo shorts. Impulse flicked his tail irritably, the yellow spines just below the surface sticking up just slightly in annoyance.

Zed swallowed, leaning back against the boulder at spawn.

“…I mean, isn’t that…doesn’t this happen to everyone?” Zed said cautiously, “you change your shirt, the drones pop out and scan you, and they go away again. Mate, you know as well as I do-“

“But- why?!” Impulse protested, “Here, look. Open your comm. Go to the index.”

Zed rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, I know, I know. The MC Lookbook. I know! You know I had people wearing my Ezed Kenized getup the day after I finished sewing it!...actually, hold on. On further reflection, you’ve got a point.”

Impulse flapped his wings irritably.

“Look, dude, I’m just. This is so frustrating. Is this even right? Like-“

A shout cut the air, and both men jerked their heads up.

“GET AWAY FROM ME!” Cleo yelled, swinging her sword at a nearby drone, “THAT’S TOO BLOODY CLOSE!”

She’d changed out of her blue evening dress into the sportier getup she liked for the Life games, and Zed smiled sympathetically as the drone vanished into thin air.

“I just- like- is this okay?” Impulse asked slowly, “Are the people sending these things out- Like, I know, I know, I know it’s harmless. It’s just collecting stuff for the lookbook. I get it. But…”

“-but the drones once jumped Skizz as he was stepping out of a hot tub?” Zed snickered.

Impulse shuddered.

“Yeah. How do you think that red speedo ended up all over…you know what, nevermind.”

They both sighed, and Zed shook his head.

“Someday, I want to get a whole bunch of shirts.” Zed said slowly, “A whole bunch of jumpers, like this one. In all different colours, and then I’ll wear a different colour every day of the week. Not just a pile of forty brown jumpers like this one.”

“I want to wear black cargo shorts.” Impulse blurted out, “And I want to wear a wristwatch.”

They both fell silent.

Impulse glanced over at Zed, and a stab of fear lanced through his heart.

“…Zed? You’ve got that look on your face. I don’t like that look.”

“Hmm? Oh, nothing, nothing. I wasn’t thinking about anything. Well, maybe a few things. But anyway, enough about me! You! And Tango, but he’s still getting out of Decked Out. You two have fun with your silly traffic, you hear me?”

“Traff- oh. Yeah, I���ll have fun, don’t worry.” Impulse beamed, “I’ll be back after we’re done today’s game. It’s only like, three hours, Zed.”

Zed shook his head.

“Yeah, I know, but still. Be careful. Ren came back off his rocker awhile ago. Or was that something else? You know what, nevermind.”

Impulse chuckled, and an alarm went off on his comm.

“Alright, Well, nice chatting with you, Zed. Anyway, I gotta go.”

And with that, he selected the option to leave the server, and vanished.

<ImpulseSV has left the game.>

Zed stroked his chin, and slid off the boulder he was sitting on. This was giving him…ideas.

[perpetualproductions]

If We Were Vampires (Pt. 9)

- There's a party tonight?

- Jordan decides to stay in

- Nevermind. Jordan needs to go to the party.

CW: Blood. Violence. More blood. Mentions of drugs/drug use. Same w/Alcohol.

[a/n: ngl, kinda let the depression win with this one. Words just weren't wording when I wrote it. But hey, still wrote. Anyways, sorry, ig. Hope it's readable.]

3k words

<-Previous| Next->

Jordan and Marie were both sitting at one of the picnic tables in the quad, sharing a sandwich from the cafeteria. They had spent most of the afternoon outside now, just walking around, spending time together and simply enjoying each other's company. They had fallen into casual conversation when they were suddenly approached by Cate and Andre. 

“Well look who decided to show their face?” Cate said, sliding into the open spot on Marie's left.

“Yo, I'm gonna need to know what you took that left you MIA for four fucking days, dude. Seriously, where'd you go that night?” Andre said, slinging an arm around Jordan's shoulders, taking the spot on their right. 

Jordan just forces a laugh. “Trust me, you don't want to know. Definitely never doing that again.”

Andre jokingly narrows his eyes. “Fine. Keep your secrets.” Andre drops his arm, giving Jordan some space. 

“Doesn't matter. There'll be plenty of opportunities to get fucked up later tonight.” Cate winks, nudging Marie a bit, who just gives a tight smile and nods in response. 

Jordan's a little confused from the interaction. “What's tonight?” 

“Party in the woods. There's a clearing about a mile out from Dusty's, right next to a lake. There's gonna be a bonfire and everything.” Cate responded. 

“And rumor has it Dusty's supplier is bringing out some of the good shit this time.” Andre added. 

“I thought Marie told you?” Cate questioned, looking at Marie. 

Marie just looked at Jordan a bit wide eyed. She did mean to tell them, but then the whole vampire thing came to light and Marie was sure partying was gonna be the last thing on Jordan's mind. “I uh, well Jordan's been really busy, haven't really had time to bring up-” 

“It's fine. Don't think I'm gonna go anyways.” Jordan interrupts. “I am still pretty busy.” They tried to reason. 

“Oh come on, you're always busy, Jordan. It's Saturday! Come get fucked up with your friends!” Andre tries to convince them. 

“Yeah, since when does Jordan Li say no to a party?” Cate adds.

“Since I completely blacked out from one a couple days ago. And I seriously can't afford to do that again when I have so much work to do. Sorry guys. Maybe next time.” Jordan said, definitely. They switched to female form as they got up and began to walk away from the table, knowing they wouldn't stop trying to convince Jordan to go to the party if they stayed. They were right. Usually Jordan would jump at the chance to escape their response for a night, but they really weren't sure how they'd behave in a crowd of people, blood pumping through their veins from the dancing and drugs. Just sounded like a recipe for disaster. Also, there may be a touch of ptsd, given they actually died at the last party they went to. Or adjacent. Whatever, it was the middle of the woods, they're a vampire, they've seen this movie before. They weren't gonna risk it. 

They could hear Marie call their name from behind them, but they didn't feel like talking at the moment, so they rounded a tree and sped away once they were out of sight.

–

Jordan spent the rest of the day working out in the student gym, then going to study in their dorm, alone. Just trying to keep them busy, taking their mind off of anything vampire for the rest of the day. As much as they could anyway, cause they still had to drink blood every now and again.

Except this time, as they sat at their desk studying for what felt like hours, they felt their stomach growl, the hunger seeping in. They were on a bit of a roll, so they ignored it as much as they could until they finally caved, dropping their pencil and rolling over to their mini fridge. As they swung the door open, they froze… There was only one bag left. Shit. 

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit-” Jordan stumbled out of their chair, kneeling in front of the fridge, digging through to make sure there weren't any bags hiding in the back (not that it even went back that far). “Shit!” Jordan yelled, slamming their hand down on the fridge door. A loud crack followed by a thump rang out as the fridge door broke off its hinges, falling on the floor. Jordan moved back a bit as it happened, a hand clutching their head, fingers tangling into their bob. “Fuck…” Jordan sighed, sliding down till they were sat on the floor. They angrily kick the broken door away from them and reach into the fridge, grabbing the last blood bag, ripping it open and drinking it all down. 

They tried to savor it, take it slow, but they were too hungry. They finished the bag in seconds, throwing it to the side. Jordan groaned as they clutched their head in their hands. They were a bit fucked here. They were doing a decent job at rationing their “meals” and making sure they were pacing themselves and not drinking too many bags at once. But that morning sort of fucked them. When they got spooked, accidentally biting Marie's lip, they just lost control a bit and drank down like five fucking bags at once. Shit. They were gonna have to get more, and unfortunately, they only had one supplier…

–

Jordan made their way over to Justine Garcia’s dorm, banging on the door. “Hey! Open the fuck up!” Jordan yelled. They didn't want to bring any attention to themselves, but they were pretty on edge at the moment. They kept knocking on the door, but didn't get a response. 

Jordan sighed, thinking Justine was already at the party by now. Fuck. They were gonna have to go, confront her, and either convince her to come back to give them more blood bags, or drag her back. No- they really shouldn't make a scene. They can't make a scene. 

Jordan's about to walk away, but stops. They turn back around to the door in front of them, getting close to it to see if they can sense what they're looking for on the other side. They couldn't sense anyone on the other side. No fresh blood flowing through veins or breathing can be heard, but they think they can smell a faint scent of blood. Bagged blood, but still blood.

Fuck it. Jordan thought. They grabbed the door handle and yanked it down, effectively breaking it off. They push the door open, taking a scan of the room before walking in. But, as they go to step in, they can't.

"What the fuck?" Jordan mutters to themselves. They try to step through again, but can't. It's as if an invisible force is keeping them from crossing the threshold into the dorm. Getting frustrated with whatever the fuck this was, Jordan stepped back and tried to run as hard as they could through this invisible force, but they just ended up being pushed back. "Fuck!" They exclaimed, finally giving up. There was blood right inside that room and for whatever fucking reason, they couldn't walk in to get it. Fucking hell.

Jordan took a deep breath, trying to ground themselves. Their hunger was very present, but they couldn't let it take over. They just needed to push it down, go to the party, get in and get out, and everything would be fine. 

–

Jordan shuffled their way through the crowd in their male form, the cold night air barely noticeable while in the sea of bodies, so crowded you'd think you were actually indoors. Jordan focused on their breathing as they waded through, letting the hundreds of heartbeats fade in with the pounding music. Their eyes scanned around, trying not to linger on any necks, looking for one particular person, and honestly having no luck so far.

Jordan decided to move closer to the lake where there seemed to be less people. They turned to face the water and took a deep breath, trying to focus their hearing on the gentle lapping water of the lake, doing their best to shove down the incessant hunger clawing at them from the inside. They literally shook themselves off as they turned back around, determined to find the other vamp and get more blood bags on their hands and into their stomach. 

They scanned through the crowd from the outside, able to focus in more now that they were out of the chaos in the middle. They spot a few familiar faces, the usual Godolkin party goers. They see dusty near the pit snorting powders with a couple others, they see Cate and Andre drinking and laughing it up, and then their eyes land on the one Marie Moreau. There she was, as beautiful as ever, dancing in the crowd, hands reaching to the sky as her body moved to the rhythm of the music. They couldn't take their eyes off her, they barely even noticed Emma dancing next to her, seemingly preoccupied with some random curly haired freshman. Jordan couldn't help themselves as they began to walk towards Marie, almost forgetting why they came to this party in the first place. 

But, before Jordan could make it to her, they noticed someone else walk up to her. A douchey looking (in Jordan's opinion), 6-foot-something, blonde guy made his way up behind Marie and just blatantly placed his hands on her waist. The proximity alone made Jordan's blood boil, but the touching was too far. Even as Marie began to turn around, her hands coming up, ready to push the guy away from her, Jordan was there in the blink of an eye, throwing Marie off for a second. She watched as Jordan (who came out of nowhere to her), pushed the guy so hard he fell to the ground with a thump. 

“What the FUCK do you think you're doing!” Jordan barked at the guy, looking down at him. 

The guy got back up, brushing the dirt off of himself. “Hey man, what the fuck’s your problem?!” The dude shouted back. It was clear this guy was a bit drunk, Jordan smelling the alcohol off his breath as the guy got up in their face. “I was just asking the lady if she wanted to-”

Jordan, letting their heightened emotions get the better of them, just swung at the guy, hitting him square in the face. A loud crack could be heard, along with a cry coming from the guy they just hit. They watched him stumble back, clutching his face. Jordan didn't need him to move his hands to know that they had broken the guys nose, smelling the blood oozing out and running down his face. 

“Jordan, what the fuck?!” Marie's voice pulled them back.  They looked back at her, clocking her worried, yet pissed off face. But Jordan already felt themselves hurdling off the edge with all the heightened feeling and the presence of blood, they just yelled back at her. 

“What do you mean, “what the fuck?!” That asshole was fucking all over you!” They shouted, not paying attention to said asshole being ushered away from the situation by some other party goers. Jordan could tell by the fading scent of fresh blood moving further away, which just reminded them of their hunger even more. 

“Yeah, and I was gonna take care of it til you came running in, arms swinging like an idiot!” Marie shouted back. Jordan's head was too busy ringing from all the overwhelming sensations, they didn't even notice their chest was still heaving. Marie took the time to notice they were still in the middle of a large crowd, sighing and grabbing Jordan's arm to drag them away. 

They stopped a good ten feet away from the crowd, just at the forest treeline. Jordan switched to their female form and pulled themselves out of Marie's hold. “Hey, how about you calm down for a second.” Marie said, clearly still peeved from the whole situation.

“I'm trying to be calm! Okay, Moreau? I'm fucking trying, it's just-” Jordan clutches their head, trying to get their thoughts together, but all they could focus on was Marie's pounding pulse. “Fuck, I-I’m sorry. I shouldn't even fucking be here-” 

“-Then why are you here, Jordan? I thought you weren't coming?” Marie asked, crossing her arms. 

“I wasn't gonna come, but then I- I don't know. I thought I'd be fine- that I'd have it under control, but I obviously fucking don't!” Jordan shouted, more at themselves. 

“Are you hungry? Have you-” Marie tried to ask, but Jordan cut her off. 

“I'm fine, Marie! I'm fucking fine! You don't have to worry about that shit.” Jordan said, defensively. 

“Well you don't seem fucking fine, Jordan. What did we say about communicat-” 

“I am fine, Marie, okay? I'm just fucking tired from everything. I thought this would help, but obviously not.” Jordan tried, hoping Marie would buy the explanation. Before Marie could respond, Jordan decided to just completely backpedal from the situation, they needed to get some distance between them right now, especially with just how fucking hungry they were right now. “I'm just gonna go. We can talk tomorrow.” 

Marie was already shaking her head as she spoke, “No, Jordan, wait-” but before she could finish, Jordan had sped off, leaving her standing alone by the trees. 

Jordan had sped back into the woods, just far enough to be out of Marie's line of sight. They couldn't help but look back at her, confused and upset at Jordan's sudden disappearance. But they didn't have a choice, they needed to get the fuck out of their and just lock themselves in their dorm till they could go safely find Justine again. Jordan took a deep breath, turning around, and walking their way back to Godolkin. They had only taken a couple steps before a sound to their right caught their attention. They turned, only to catch the sight of someone leaning against a tree, seemingly groaning in pain. 

“Hello? Are you alright?” Jordan asked as they slowly approached, only to stop dead in their tracks once they realized who this was. There Jordan stood, face to face with the blonde asshole who tried to grab Marie earlier. They were surprised to see their nose was still actively bleeding, the words coming out of the guys mouth not even registering. Jordan could help but step closer to him, making him back up more into the tree. 

“Aw fuck man, look- I-I’m sorry, okay? I didn't mean to-” 

“Shut the fuck up.” Jordan said, looking into the guy's eyes. But to Jordan's slight surprise, he immediately stopped talking. In fact, the guy looked as shocked as they did. But Jordan didn't have time to linger on that, the blood on guys face still drawing them in. The sound of their elevated pulse, pounding in their neck made Jordan's mouth water. The tiny voice in the back of their head tried to speak up, yell at them, beg them to stop, but they were too far gone now. It had been too long, they waited to fucking long. Their stomach ached with hunger, their skin crawling and begging for satiation. And here it was, right in front of them. Without thinking, they switched back to male form, grabbing the blonde by the shit, pinning him in place. The guy looked truly terrified, unable to yell out for help. The terror only grew as he watched the veins protrude beneath Jordan's now darkened eyes. Jordan felt the familiar ache in their teeth as their fangs grew out. At this point, Jordan could care less how terrified the man looked. All that mattered was the delicious substance that ran in the veins, just beneath the skin. Jordan, now mere centimeters from the man's neck, took a deep inhale through the nose, relishing in the intoxicating aroma of blood, and without a second thought, sunk their teeth right in, ripping through the skin and unleashing that which they crave. 

An animalistic growl escaped Jordan as they continued to feed on this man, sucking every last drop of blood he had to offer. The taste of fresh warm blood was almost incomparable to that of cold, bagged blood. It was invigorating, only urging them to drink more. They didn't stop, couldn't stop for a good few minutes, feeling the man's body go limp in their arms. A feeling they remember from the first time they did this. It was then that Jordan's conscience clawed its way back to yell at them. The images of that poor lady flashing through their mind, the possibility of them almost doing that to Marie. They screamed at themselves to stop, let go, maybe it wasn't too late, but it was. Because they couldn't stop. They kept drinking till there wasn't a drop left to drink. Only then did they manage to unclench their jaw and pull away, dropping the body on the forest floor. 

Jordan fell to their knees, staring at the dead body before them. They felt so relieved and rejuvenated, but at the same time terrified. Drinking the blood straight from the vein was a feeling unlike any other that left them with a clear head, but looking down at the dead eyes and limp body in front of them, with a clear, bloody bite mark on their neck, it fucking terrified them. It terrified them that they were the animal that did this, and even more so that they wanted nothing more than to do it again. Before Jordan could think anything else, a voice echoed out from beside them. 

“Well, took you long enough.” Justine tisked looking down at Jordan with a feigned apologetic look. “Aw, what's wrong? That conscience of yours making you feel bad?” 

The sound of Justine's voice alone ticked Jordan off, but her words were confusing them. “What the fuck-” but before Jordan could finish their sentence, they felt a sharp prick on their neck, a hand instinctively shooting up to feel where they've been pricked. They tried to turn around to see what the fuck that was, but it was too late. Their vision quickly became blurry, the darkness taking over, as they felt themselves fall, everything fading to black…

--

Thanks for reading this far! Hope you enjoyed. And honest big thanks to those that have interacted with every update, I appreciate it so much and it lets me know that people actually read these, lol. So yeah, until people don't, I plan to keep writing this. Actually have an idea for where I want this story to go, but if you have any suggestions or things you want to see, please let me know! I'm happy to do so. It might be a minute before the next chapter tbh. Life's getting hectic again and I'm in between jobs rn, so I won't have much time to write. But feel free to check out my other fic in the meantime (Never Be The Same), which drops every Saturday. Anyways, hope you have a nice day!

Much Love, 😎👍❤️

-PB

[dwarrowdelf]

o my brother

Seven drabbles for @maedhrosmaglorweek which I’m definitely not two entire weeks late for 😅 You can also read them on AO3 with any relevant author’s notes, but I’m posting them there in batches.

one: childhood/growing up

Of the brothers, Maedhros and Maglor were closest in age. They spent nearly their entire childhoods as a family of four, roaming the cultivated wildlands of Aman. Tirion upheld them as darlings, once the crown prince returned to the city: bright-haired, quick-witted Maitimo and sweet-voiced, silver-tongued Macalaurë, ever together. Two shining jewels to adorn any debate parlor, concert hall, or royal party. There were the other brilliant princes, and of course the beloved princesses, but the eldest house was ever the most brilliant and most beloved by the Noldor, in the days before Morgoth spread his discord to peaceful Valinor.

two: the oath

Maglor had not, as many suspected in later years, helped to craft the oath. Fëanor was a great orator and wordsmith in his own right without his second son’s help.

Their father had stood in the square under the Mindon and spoken his oath fiercely and without forethought. And what a rousing oath it was! The younger sons had been quick to follow. Maglor had looked to Maedhros and found him already looking back. Neither of them had wanted to swear it, but they had agreed, with that look, not to abandon their little brothers.

Funny how that worked out.

three: the long peace

“I cannot believe the audacity of that boy!”

“‘That boy’ is the Lord of Nargothrond,” Maedhros says, amused.

Maglor whirls on him, finger pointed in a hilarious mirror of their mother at her most high tempered. “He’s our little shit of a cousin who abandoned us on a hunting trip that he planned and then found the Secondborn! Without us! No, don’t look at me in that tone of voice, I’m very cross!”

Maedhros’s tremulous hold on his expression cracks, and he breaks into laughter. Maglor smiles to himself, relieved to see the tension finally slipping from his brother’s shoulders.

four: nirnaeth arnoediad, reputation

Maedhros’s well-earned reputation precedes him. Orcs would sooner run than face him, fearsome as he is; even trolls and wargs are wary.

Maglor’s reputation precedes him too, carefully crafted. The kind brother, the soft brother, nevermind that softness alone could never hold the least defensible line of the leaguer. But it is good to be underestimated, good to let everyone forget that he was the one Maedhros trained against when relearning the sword.

That soft reputation is why Ulfang’s eyes are wide with shock in the head that Maglor cleaves from his body for the crime of betraying his brother.

five: change and loss of self

Being burnt by the Silmaril did not break Maglor as it broke his brother, though losing him nearly did. What broke Maglor, in the end, was realizing that the burn would never heal such that he could play any two-handed instrument again.

He contemplated, then, following in the footsteps of his brother or grandmother.

But many years ago, when Maedhros still could not leave his sickbed, they had picked apart the Oath. It seemed fit to kill them all, but they thought if just one of them lived, perhaps the rest might have a chance, however small.

So Maglor lives.

six: alienation and isolation, AUs and fix-its

Maglor dreams, sometimes: a voice telling him it is time to come home. His mother telling him not to stay out too late, his father calling that dinner is ready. Maedhros as he had been, slinging an arm around his shoulders and telling him he’s done enough and to stop hiding in his room before they all forget what he looks like.

Sometimes he wakes up after those dreams at dawn or dusk, and a red-orange sky tricks him a moment longer.

He confesses all of this to a stranger near Mithlond, and finds himself on a boat sailing West.

seven: fate

Maglor never came to the timeless halls, and Maedhros feared. The only tapestry he could find of his brother was a vast stretch of shore with one figure, alone, walking. Anyone who might have news, he asked.

Lost, faded, disappeared, they all said, some even with pity.

Maedhros reembodies last of his brothers, and there, there is Maglor. Maedhros folds himself without thought into supplication older than Valinor, begs forgiveness from the one he most wronged.

Two scarred hands deign to cradle his face. “There is no need. Only do not leave me again, I beg you.”

“Never,” Maedhros swears.

[marislittlestories]

Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter

Mature | Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Spy Draco Malfoy, Draco Malfoy in the Muggle World, Hogwarts Eighth Year

6/10 - one, two, three, four, five - read on ao3

january 1999 - may 1999

1999 starts with snow. It falls, slow and lazy, from a dark, overcast sky and covers the ground outside in a thick layer. It’s not quite cold enough to keep it in pristine condition, so it melts into an icy sludge by mid-morning, but for a few hours before the sun rises, the world is quiet and still and blanketed in glittering white.

“C’mon, c’mon,” Ginny shakes him awake while it’s still dark out, “We’re going to have a snowball fight.”

Draco stares up at her from his makeshift bed, “What time is it?”

“Nevermind that. Get up.”

He can’t refuse her. He hurriedly throws on his warmest clothes, including, of course, his very own iconic Weasley sweater, presented to him by Molly when he arrived at the Burrow a couple days ago. It’s a beautiful burnt-orange that brings out the nearly-invisible flecks of blue in his steel grey eyes. The crooked D is black and a slightly different texture. It’s possibly one of his most prized possessions, right up there with the aviators that Claire gave him over the summer and the copy of Darke Arts & Their Masters that he recklessly nicked from Bellatrix when he was sixteen.

They join the group outside. Hermione, Ron, Charlie, Bill, Fleur, and Percy are all huddled together, teeth chattering in the cold, brisk air. There’s just a hint of sunrise on the horizon, turning the sky brilliant shades of gold and red and pink. The flecks of snow drifting in the air gather on Draco’s shoulders and hair and stick to his lashes.

He crowds as close to Ginny as he can, watching as Harry and George make their way out of the house over to where the rest of them are waiting. George hasn’t been himself, not since the battle, not since Fred. Draco had known this, from what Ginny’s said over the past few months, but it’s different seeing it for himself. It’s different experiencing the force of George’s listlessness firsthand, face blank, strings cut.

In the time that Draco’s been here, just over two days, Harry hasn’t left George’s side for more than a few minutes. They’re always together, sometimes chatting quietly, but more often just sitting in silence. It makes some unnameable emotion surge in Draco’s chest.

It’s not quite jealousy, not quite pride. This is the person I have given everything to, Draco thinks, and he deserves it, he keeps deserving it. It’s a feeling resigned to its own fate, a burgeoning satisfaction made sharp by its hopelessness, made hungry by his bottomless desire. It’s a longing, a knowing, a vision of a future that will never exist, one where he could have that kindness, that unwavering loyalty and care for himself.

He thinks that if he had it, he may never be lonely again.

It’s such a bittersweet, maudlin line of thought that he stops it there. The rest of the world comes back into focus, and he only has to glance in Ginny’s direction to see the look on her face, naked concern and sorrow.

“You okay?”

She shrugs, and glances over at George and Harry talking, heads bowed together.

“I know it’s different for him,” she whispers, “But I’m worried, you know? He smiles and laughs now, which is a hell of a lot better than a few months ago, but… There’s this heaviness, like I can see the grief around him, and it just never leaves, not like it does for the rest of us.”

Draco sees it too, “Yeah. You were like that, during the summer. It won’t be like that forever, it might just take him longer to shake it, that’s all.”

She sighs and leans back into him. He breathes in the scent of her shampoo, something tropical and summery, at odds with the wintry landscape surrounding them, and he’s overwhelmed again, by love and despair and hope, by a million other feelings he couldn’t describe if he was asked to.

The intensity, the way it ebbs and flows, whiting out his physical senses for a moment, it’s all become familiar to him. After so much deliberate numbing, there was bound to be a little pain, a little discomfort when it all came flooding back in. It feels like his shower later in the morning, stepping under the hot water after being out in the snow. It’s a thawing, too sudden to be entirely pleasant.

The next time it happens, he breathes through it. He closes his eyes and he lets everything crash down around him and he catalogs everything he feels, bad things first. It gets easier and easier.

***

Pansy pulls him into an empty compartment on the train, throwing a tight smile over her shoulder at the rest of his friends, catching him off guard. He’s always been the one to turn back, to grab hold, to stay. He’s lost everything he hasn’t sunk his teeth into, and there is no better example of that than Pansy.

He doesn’t know what to do other than stare at her from the other bench. First year, Pansy had shown up to Hogwarts pale and almost disturbingly composed for an eleven year old. Her signature burgundy manicure was just one item on a long list of what set her apart, what made her instantly seem more mature, more sophisticated, more in control.

Her nails are neon pink. She looks anxious, but underneath it she’s well-rested. She even has a bit of a tan.

“Do you remember, in fourth year,” she says in a small, quiet voice, “We were talking about the Durmstrang students? You said it was sad to look at them, so sad that you had to look away.”

Draco does remember, so clearly, like it was yesterday, “Yes.”

“That’s how I felt with you, you know? I couldn’t see you without seeing the sadness, the misery, so I just… closed my eyes. I’m so sorry, Draco, I don’t know how I’m ever going to make it up to you, but I want to try.”

“It’s not your fault,” he replies automatically, “I knew what I was doing. I pushed you away.”

Pansy shakes her head as frustrated tears gather in her eyes, “But I knew it too. I knew something else was happening, even if I didn’t have the details, and I let you do it. I let you go off on your own, and it wasn’t because it was what you wanted, or because I was hurt. It was just because I was a coward. I didn’t want to face it.”

It stops him. Whatever platitude he was going to offer her dies on his tongue, and he just stares at her in shock and pain. His hands have always been empty, reaching. His feet have always been soft and bruised. He’s never thought about why no one has reached back, why no one carried him across the rough earth. He’s never had anything but the deep, abiding feeling that the loneliness that has plagued him for as long as he can remember is somehow his fault.

“I-” he takes in a long, shuddering breath, “If it makes you feel better, I didn’t want to face it either. I didn’t face it, not really.”

She sweeps him up in her arms and he spends the rest of the journey crying without shame or guilt or worry. He cries and he knows that Pansy will hold him, that she will shield him from the world for a couple hours, and when he is done she will not look at him differently.

***

They all sit together in the Great Hall, all of Draco’s people. Except Ella, of course, who is two tables over with her massive, eclectic group of friends. Ginny fusses over his bloodshot eyes and the general air of exhaustion around him.

“We only just got back to school. How have you already had a crisis?”

Draco laughs, “It was good, alright? I made up with Pansy.”

“Oh, thank Merlin.”

“You have no idea how close she was to locking the two of you in a broom cupboard somewhere,” Dean says.

“Hey,” Pansy starts with an air of nonchalance that immediately sets Draco on edge, “Where’s boy wonder?”

Ron frowns, “Harry? Something came up at the Ministry.”

“Whatever you’re doing,” Draco mutters, “Stop it.”

“If we’re going to have a mushy, Hufflepuff friendship, you have to let me scheme. For balance.”

“I absolutely do not!”

“It’s just your love life,” she whispers.

“Oh, if that’s all.”

“It could be worse,” she says, “Would you rather me interfere with your career prospects?”

“Yes!”

“Come on, it’s not so bad. You’ve got an in now. Mutual friends.”

“What exactly do you want me to do? Ask Ron to be my wing man? Have Luna say something vague and disconcerting about the love of his life being right in front of him?”

“Hmm,” Pansy drums a pattern on the table with her fingers, “I’ll have to think on that one.”

Draco peers at her with suspicion and terror, “What does that mean?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

He’s going to, obviously, but he lets it go for now because the feast is starting and Ginny is trying a little too hard to listen in.

***

“This is a great start, Draco,” Professor Islington beams, “Really, really impressive.”

He blinks at her, frowning, “Seriously?”

The report is a mess of disjointed research and half-developed theories. The bulk of it is a sort of annotated bibliography, if an annotated bibliography was meant to be full of expletives and strings of question marks in place of intelligent commentary. He likes to think there’s some of that, too, but it’s dwarfed by the rest, a stream-of-consciousness dumping ground.

“Seriously! I know you probably wanted to have turned in something more polished, but nothing is ever polished when you’re in the middle of it. The ideas you have, though, and your grasp on the historical and theoretical… it’s all excellent. I did take the liberty of consulting with Professor Flitwick on some of the more complex Charm work, and he agrees. If he’s to be believed, you’re some sort of prodigy.”

Draco thinks of the way his hands shake every time he casts a spell, no matter how benign, “I wouldn’t take his word for it.”

“I think you’re onto something with runic enchantments and sentience. You’re not taking Ancient Runes this year, are you?”

He winces, “No, I know I’m rusty.”

She smiles, “Well, this is your project. I’m trusting you to make use of the resources available to you, and that includes asking for help if you need it, alright? I know an excellent professor of Ancient Runes who is currently on sabbatical and would be happy to consult.”

Draco thinks about it, and then he thinks about last term, how he let the project consume him.

“I think I have a better idea.”

He steals Harry’s spot at dinner that night, right by Hermione, “I have two questions for you, one of which I think I know the answer to.”

“What are they?” she asks, already laser-focused on him.

“Have you started on your capstone project? And because you’re Hermione, and you’ve definitely started, how attached are you?”

Ron tries to shush him, “We’re at dinner, mate, that’s an off-limits topic until we leave the Hall!”

Draco raises his eyebrows.

“Don’t get me started,” Hermione glares down at her plate.

“Is that a yes, and it’s not going well, or a no, I don’t know what to do and I’m freaking out about it?”

“The second, if you can believe it.”

Draco pumps his fist, “Sick. Listen, I have a proposition for you. My project is turning out to require pretty extensive Ancient Runes expertise, and I dropped that-”

“After fourth year, I know,” Hermione narrows her eyes at him, “This is the thing that essentially turned you into a phantom last year?”

“Well, yes, but-”

“I’m in,” she says firmly.

Ron groans, “I wish you’d never become friends.”

“I can keep an eye on him,” she says, “Make sure he doesn’t actually disappear into the ether.”

“Wow, thank you so much for the vote of confidence,” Draco mutters.

Dean, Luna, and Ginny sit down across from them. Pansy takes the seat next to Ginny. Out of their usual group, Harry arrives last, and after a second’s hesitation, he sits next to Draco, even though there’s enough space next to Ron for him. Sure, it would have meant that he was facing a random sixth year, but he could have done it.

Draco is hyper-aware of the sliver of bench between them, just a couple inches.

“No one has confidence in your ability to take care of yourself,” Ron says, prompting laughter from everyone else.

“I’m still alive, aren’t I? Anyways, I’ve gotten better! Haven’t I?”

Dean answers his imploring look with a shrug, “Sure, but when you’re at rock bottom, you can only really go up.”

***

On a Sunday morning in February, he plays his first full game of Quidditch in years. It’s the last phase of try-outs for the school team, all of the candidates that passed the initial rounds of skills tests playing together in a rotating cast. Draco plays with three different combinations of players; Ginny is in all of them, on his team for two and against him for one. She is a ruthless Chaser, and he wants, desperately, to play for her.

“Thank you,” she says breathlessly, pulling him into a hug on the pitch, “I know you weren’t the most enthusiastic-”

“I had fun. I’m glad I did it.”

She beams at him. They both make the team, starting line. Ella manages to slide in as a Seeker sub, and she nearly tackles him when they get the news.

“I did it, I did it!”

Draco hugs her close, “You did. I’m so proud of you, El.”

“Thank you,” she says quietly, almost shyly.

It’s such an unfamiliar tone that it takes Draco a few seconds to respond, “For what?”

“For training with me. I couldn’t have done it without you, you know.”

Draco smiles dopily at her, “Aw. You don’t need to thank me. What are big brothers for?”

She scoffs, “You forgot the annoying.”

“Sorry, what are annoying big brothers for?”

The endless slog of training, conditioning, practice once again punctuates his week, sets a rhythm to his life that he hadn’t realized was important. He feels better, more real, for it. He goes to bed every night with aching muscles, and yet he somehow has more energy than ever. That ravenous hunger that used to consume him, the need to win, never returns but there is something relieving about pushing his body to its limit.

Sometimes, he’ll feel it becoming something else, a convenient way to punish the weakest parts of himself. He’s better at catching these things before they happen now, and he pulls himself back from the edge every time. He takes an extra rest day. He piles his plate full at every meal. He even takes Dreamless Sleep when he has to, and he doesn’t feel guilty or out of control.

“Has it always been this simple?” he asks, mostly to himself, as they’re coming back from Quidditch practice one evening.

Ginny glances at him, “What?”

“I don’t know, existing?”

Ella rolls her eyes, shoving at his shoulder, “Why does everything have to be some great big tragedy with you? Sometimes things are easy.”

Except that hasn’t happened to him, not ever. Everything has been a constant battle, a fight to the death, a sacrifice and a trial by fire. Ella ruffles his hair and jogs to catch up to the rest of the team. He lingers on the path behind them, Ginny at his side, looking down at the soft moss beneath his feet.

It doesn’t hurt to love Ella or Marcie or his friends, not anymore, and if he took his shoes off right now, the earth would welcome him and cushion his step. Another piece, falling into place.

They walk on towards the castle.

***

The Gryffindor common room is nearly empty by the time he starts to pack his things up. He’d been working on the project with Hermione, but Ron had dragged her away from it nearly an hour ago and they’ve both gone up to bed. There are a few students that Draco doesn’t know scattered in various armchairs, but right around the fire, it’s just him and Harry.

Harry’s bent over a stack of parchment, a colorful array of plastic tubes lined up on the floor beside him. They’re some sort of Muggle writing utensil, and Harry seems to always have them when he’s studying. He’s pretty sure that Harry isn’t studying right now, mostly because he usually doesn’t look so upset when he studies anymore.

“What are you working on?”

Harry looks up at him from his place on the rug, green eyes tired and slightly unfocused, “Oh, it’s just Wizengamot shit. I fucking hate politics.”

Harry goes back to swiping color over the printed text. Draco thinks about slinging his bag over his shoulder and going to get some sleep, but he can’t quite make himself do it. The two of them are very similar, in some ways, and Draco knows what it looks like when someone is working themselves into a hole. He knows how hard it is to claw your way out of it, too.

“I could help,” Draco offers, cursing himself in his head.

He doesn’t need another puzzle to solve, but it’s Harry. It’s Harry, and he looks like he hasn’t slept well in weeks, and Draco knows he hasn’t been to any meals today. It’s Harry and Draco will never be able to look at him struggling with indifference.

Harry frowns, “What happened to fuck the world?”

“There’s a big difference between reading over a bit of legal code and recounting the worst years of my life for an audience. In detail.”

Harry ducks his head, ears turning red hot.

Draco sighs, “What I mean is, this is something I can do. If you want.”

He reaches out, palm facing upwards, and waits. Harry hesitates but eventually does hand the folder over to him.

“What is it?”

“As far I can tell,” Harry says wearily, “Garbage.”

Draco scans the text, noting the color-coded annotations in Harry’s atrocious handwriting. It’s impressive, despite being barely legible, and he’s right, too. A lot of the language is vague, superfluous. He’d have to consult existing law to be sure, but it doesn’t seem to do much of anything.

“And you said Robards is the one doing it?”

“Well, he’s not writing the bills, but he is letting them through and I can’t imagine this is anything but a coordinated effort.”

Draco nods, recalling the dinner with Hestia, months ago now. Robards may be an asshole, but he’s not an idiot. If he’s letting this gibberish through, and not actually coherent legislation, there’s got to be a reason outside of pure pettiness. Surely he doesn’t believe it would actually pass under close inspection.

“No, it has to be…” Draco thumbs between the last two pages again, “When are you going to the Ministry next?”

“Tomorrow. I have a free period in the afternoon, and I’m just going to skip my last class.”

Draco winces. He has a meeting with Professor Islington that evening, and a full slate of classes besides, but he’s been willing to die for this boy. Ditching is nothing.

“Yeah, alright. I’m coming with you.”

Harry bites his lip, “Are you sure? I don’t want to make you do something you’re not comfortable with…”

“Relax,” Draco smiles, “I’m the one who offered. I think I can get some information for you, and it won’t cost me anything but a little time. No big deal.”

Neither of them really believe that, but Harry doesn’t call his bluff. Draco tags along on his pre-approved Floo trip to the Ministry lobby, where he splits off from Harry and takes a lift up to the DMLE. Oliver Travers is sitting at his desk, tucked into a corner with a few other cubicles, scribbling something on a legal pad.

Draco raps his knuckles on the yellowed wooden divider, “Hey, Oliver.”

“Dray,” Oliver greets, face alight with something long-familiar to Draco, “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

He winces, “I need something.”

“Ah. So not my dazzling conversation?”

“I’m sorry I haven’t stopped by earlier, I went away for a while, after everything,” Draco says, apologetic, “And I’m sorry that the first time I’ve seen you in almost a year is to ask for a favor.”

Oliver waves a hand in the air, dismissive, “Oh, don’t worry about that. You know I’m always happy to help, and I know you’re good for it. You always are. I’m assuming you need information.”

“Yes. It’s about the Wizengamot.”

Oliver glances around at the sparsely populated room, “I can give you something, but I can’t do it here.”

“I understand. Up for a field trip?”

Oliver follows him back down to the offices that line the corridors off of the Wizengamot chambers, and he’s clearly surprised when they pass Hestia’s and take another turn. Draco doesn’t bother knocking, he simply strolls into Harry’s office. Under Oliver’s watchful, heated gaze, it’s much easier to settle back into the smooth confidence that he’d worn like armor, back when he’d frequented the Ministry during the war.

“Oliver, Harry,” Draco gestures lazily, “Harry, Oliver.”

Oliver tilts his head, “Potter.”

“Travers.”

“Right,” Draco says slowly, “So you two have met.”

Neither of them seem to be eager to elaborate, so Draco shakes his head and drops it. This is above his pay grade, not that he’s getting anything out of this at all, besides a headache.

“Anyways, I looked over some of the legislation that Robards let out of committee last week, and if he doesn’t have ulterior motives, I have serious questions about his competence. And reading comprehension.”

Oliver laughs, “I’ve missed you, Dray.”

“Dray?” Harry mouths, expression dripping with judgment.

Draco rolls his eyes, “Any insights?”

He looks at Harry, gaze narrowed, “I don’t think I have to say this, but just in case, you didn’t hear any of this from me. I don’t know what’s going on, but I have my suspicions.”

“And are these suspicions supported by any observations, or…?”

“Robards has been meeting with a lot of Wizengamot members, but it’s an… eclectic bunch, to say the least. Not natural allies.”

“He can’t be courting votes,” Harry says, “He wouldn’t risk it.”

Robards’s position in the Wizengamot is powerful, but precarious. He acts as a gatekeeper, deciding which bills to put to vote and which to let die in committee. He is not an elected member, and he is strictly forbidden from engaging in political maneuvering, so if he is trying to influence voting he could be removed from his post and be in danger of losing his job as head of the DMLE as well.

“No, definitely not,” Oliver confirms, “The people he’s meeting with… the legislation he’s letting through… it doesn’t really add up, not to that. He’s not talking to anyone persuadable. I think he’s probably being very careful about that.”

“So what do you think he’s doing? I assume you’re not going to actually give us names.”

Oliver shrugs, “I’d give them to you, if I didn’t know you’d just tell him as soon as I left.”

Draco grins, unapologetic.

“I’ve heard some other chatter- I can’t repeat it exactly- but it makes me think certain factions within the Wizengamot are trying to test you,” he nods at Harry, “There have been some whispers, I guess, that you’re just a figurehead, that there are a group of people behind you, in the shadows, and you simply take the votes they tell you to.”

Draco gets so angry that he actually starts to shake, “Are you serious?”

“I mean,” Harry shrugs, “That’s not the most incorrect thing someone has ever said about me.”

Draco snorts, “Oh, yeah, because that’s a high bar to clear. Fourth year alone-”

“I’m just saying, that is essentially what’s happening. Hestia and Hermione are a lot better at this than I am, and I do rely on their judgment most of the time.”

“Don’t pull that shit with me,” Draco says, still incensed, “I’m not some decrepit politician whose brain has been rotted by twenty years in the Wizengamot. You did not stumble into this.”

Harry blinks at him, shocked into silence for a moment. He recovers quickly, opening his mouth, presumably to argue his point.

“No. I’ve seen your fucking annotation system.”

“That’s the thing, though,” Harry gets animated, and a thrill runs down Draco’s spine, “I basically copied that from Hermione, too. I didn’t do any of this myself, not really.”

Draco is alive, on fire, “Care to translate that for me?”

Harry simply stares at him, confusion and discomfort battling across his face.

“I think you’re forgetting that I have firsthand knowledge about Hermione’s note taking,” Draco says, “She hates writing on a text, even when it’s a copy, and she has to write down every thought she has or she can’t make them line up properly. She takes a truly insane amount of notes, but she doesn’t annotate shit. And yeah, they’re color coded, but based on a completely different set of criteria than yours. So, if I had to take a guess, I’d say that at some point, maybe when you got into politics last summer, you asked her for help with a legal text, and she taught you her system, which you then adapted.”

Harry doesn’t exactly confirm that Draco is right, but he does stop arguing.

“So,” Draco turns back to Oliver, who is clearly holding back a laugh, “What exactly is the objective here?”

“You know, that’s one of my favorite things about you. You take everyone completely seriously, and you make them take themselves seriously too.”

Draco sighs, “Focus, please.”

“They’re trying to trip him up with nonsensical legislation,” Oliver says, “They’re going to grill him in session, if I had to guess.”

“The only real solution, then, is to read through it all with fine toothed comb,” Draco groans.

“Yeah.”

Draco rolls his shoulders, “Ugh, to work we go then. Thank you, Oliver, I owe you one.”

Oliver stands and walks towards the door, pausing with his hand on the doorknob and turning back to Draco with a smile, small but no less dazzling for it.

“I think I’ve decided what you owe me, actually,” Oliver says, “A date.”

Draco tilts his head, smiling up at Oliver in exasperation, “I-”

Oliver holds his hands up, “You can say no, but it’s just one night. Give me a chance to convince you I’m perfect for you?”

They stare at each other. Oliver is earnest, sincere, and he understands Draco, all of the ugliness and dark, gritty truth. He’s seen the world Draco exists in, he’s been a part of it, lived it too. He knows what it’s like to plant your feet in the shadows.

Besides, Draco’s never been on a date.

“You get two hours,” he concedes, “Next weekend.”

Oliver’s grin widens into something triumphant and heated, “I’ll make a reservation.”

He leaves then, and Draco checks the time. He could make it back to Hogwarts for his meeting with Professor Islington, if he left in the next few minutes.

“I have to get back to the castle,” he says, “How many do you have left to read through?”

Harry answers reluctantly, “Eight.”

“Give me one you’ve already done, and five that you haven’t.”

“I can’t ask you to-”

“You didn’t,” Draco replies firmly, leaving no room for debate, “I said I would help, and I’m going to.”

He takes the folders from Harry’s outstretched hand. It’s not the first time Draco has wanted to take a piece of Harry’s perpetual burden, and it’s not the first time he’s reached out to grab it, but it is the first time Harry has given it to him, willingly, knowingly. It’s important in a way Draco can’t articulate.

Before he can make a move to leave, Harry clears his throat.

“It was during the war,” Harry ducks his head, looking down at the file open in front of him.

“What?”

“For a while last year, it was just me and Hermione, and we had to do a lot of research for,” he pauses, “Anyways. I’m not really good at this shit, you know, but I wanted to help. That’s when I started taking notes like this.”

Draco can’t fight the smile blooming across his face, but he doesn’t have to let Harry see it. He turns towards the door.

“I’ll see you back at Hogwarts,” he says, and closes the door softly behind him.

***

Pansy shows up in his dorm to drag him to dinner that night. Professor Islington had probably picked up on how distracted he was, because she cut their meeting short, after talking through the seemingly contradictory accounts of the Room’s relationship to Gamp’s Law. Draco wishes he could test his theories in real time, but if he could, he’d never have started on this project in the first place.

“I thought you weren’t going to do politics,” Pansy says, eyeing the folders spread across Draco’s bed.

Pansy knows better than to think that this change of heart is motivated by friendship. Draco is not that selfless.

“Shut up,” he mutters, “You know why I’m doing this. We really don’t need to talk about it.”

Pansy folds her arms, “Draco, we’re going to talk about it. I’m not going to lecture you, you know that, but… are you sure this is a good idea? That you want to do it?”

“I want to help.”

“And you promise this isn’t a power grab?” she grins.

He laughs helplessly, “Promise. Maybe it’s not very Slytherin of me, but world domination has lost its appeal. Besides, you’d probably be a better overlord anyways.”

“You’d be terrible. So inefficient.”

After dinner, she follows him back to his room and sits with him on his worn-in cotton duvet, handing him one of the fizzy Japanese drinks she always seems to have on hand, the ones with the glass marble inside. He breaks the seal of it with a pop.

“You don’t have to help, you know,” he says.

She picks up a folder, “Yeah, yeah. Explain Harry’s serial killer code to me.”

Harry goes to the next session of the Wizengamot armed with a stack of legal code, all annotated using his meticulous system. Draco hadn’t outsourced the reading beyond Pansy. He doesn’t know why Harry didn’t ask Hermione for help, and that wasn’t something he wanted to push back on.

When Harry shows up to breakfast the next morning, the storm raging in his eyes and in the tightness around his mouth have both vanished. He looks, for the first time in weeks, well rested.

He smiles warmly, incandescently, at Draco, “Thank you.”

Draco tries to remember that smile, when he has to go through the mortifying process of telling Pansy he has a date.

“I’m sorry, when did this happen?” she asks, delighted, “Was he really that grateful for your help?”

He frowns, “What?”

“Y’know, with whatever bullshit the ghouls in the Wizengamot were pulling?”

It takes him a second to understand what she’s saying, and then he giggles nervously, “No, no, Pans. The date isn’t with Harry. And if it was, I’d be extremely offended that you thought it was payback for a favor.”

“Oh, excuse me, sorry I assumed that you’d be going on a date with the only person you’ve been interested in since you were fourteen. What are you doing going on dates with random blokes? How do you get yourself into these situations?”

Draco winces, “As payback for a favor?”

Pansy is shrieking with laughter as she jumps onto his bed, kneeing him in the ribs in the process.

“Oh, fuck, ow, Pansy!”

She helps him select an acceptable date outfit, one of the few nice sweaters he has left and a pair of jeans without holes in them, and he ties his hair up while she yells at him to leave it down.

“It’s so pretty now, why would you even grow it out if you were just going to put up all the time?”

He tightens his ponytail, “I didn’t really mean to grow it out, it just happened.”

“Well, you’re certainly not allowed to cut it now!”

“It’s my hair,” Draco says.

Pansy stares blankly at him, “I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”

“It’s not like I was planning on cutting it,” he mutters, “But I could, if I wanted to.”

“Uh huh.”

The date itself isn’t so bad. Oliver had made reservations at the Indian place in Hogsmeade, and he was perfectly polite. Charming, even. The conversation flows effortlessly, and Draco finds himself laughing more and more as the night progresses. They blow right through the mandated two hours and spend the rest of the evening wandering around the shops, not really buying anything. It’s really just an excuse to keep talking.

And then Oliver walks him part of the way back to the castle, all the way to the gate that is charmed to only let students and faculty pass through, and Draco remembers that it’s a date.

Oliver steps into Draco’s space, brushing a hand over the lapel of his peacoat, “So, how’d I do?”

“On?”

“Convincing you that we’re literal soulmates?”

Draco laughs breathily, “I’m sure you’re very persuasive, but…”

“Mh. Are you saying you need more information? Another date, perhaps?”

Oliver’s smile is soft, inviting. He wants Draco, and he knows what wanting Draco means, and he’s everything that a thirteen year old Draco imagined.

There is just one, glaring problem. Draco doesn’t want him.

“I don’t think another date is going to change anything,” Draco whispers, taking a small step backwards, “I had a great time, and you’ve been wonderful, I just…”

Oliver nods, ducking his head, “Right.”

He puts more distance between them, and Draco wants to broach it, wants to comfort someone that he’s come to see as a friend, but he knows that it would be counterproductive.

“I’m sorry.”

“Is this the part where you say it’s complicated?”

Draco can’t help but laugh, “It’s the part where I say it’s actually very simple. I’m in love with someone who doesn’t particularly care about me.”

“Ah. That is a situation I’m deeply familiar with,” Oliver says with a miserable twist of his mouth.

“I-”

“Oh, don’t worry, it’s become something of a pattern for me. You are not the first, and you certainly won’t be the last person to tell me that they like me, just not as much as I like them.”

“Would it be awful of me to ask that we still be friends?”

Oliver shakes his head, as if dispelling the rain cloud above it, “No. I suspect we’ll be great friends, once I’ve found someone else to fixate on.”

“Let me know how that goes.”

“I promise, you will hear all about it. As long as I can hear about whatever tragic little story you’ve written for yourself.”

It’s not an inaccurate description. They part as friends, and Draco completes the trek across the grounds and into the castle, a little after curfew but not enough for him to be genuinely worried about getting caught. He slips into the common room with no incident and sleeps easily.

***

Ginny shoves her way into place beside him at breakfast, “What’s this I hear about you going on a date?”

“Would you let me eat before you launch the interrogation?”

“Late night?” she smirks.

“I was barely even late for curfew.”

“It was longer than two hours, then,” Harry chimes in.

Draco glares at him, which he silently congratulates himself on, “Fuck off.”

“What?”

“I agreed to two hours.”

“And Harry knows this because…”

“He was there.”

“Oliver Travers,” Harry offers, “Personally, he seems a little sleazy. I suppose there’s no accounting for taste.”

Draco considers homicide, briefly, and then thinks about all the work he’s put in keeping Harry alive. It would be such a waste to kill him now.

“The guy at the DMLE?” Ron asks, leaning across the table.

“Yeah.”

“He’s not the worst looking person you could go on a date with,” Ron says, considering, “I know he didn’t go to Hogwarts, but still, very Slytherin. I can see it.”

Draco appreciates the support, however pointless it is.

“It doesn’t matter,” he groans, “There won’t be a second one.”

Ron nods like he knows something, “Bad kisser.”

“No, what the hell,” Draco buries his head in his arms, hoping that he’ll wake up in his bed and all of this will be a bizarre, terrible dream.

“If he’s a good kisser, why aren’t you going on another date with him?”

Draco elects to ignore the rush of speculation that spawns from that comment, and goes back to eating his breakfast. He’ll wait until it dies down, and then he’ll set the record straight.

There is an inevitable lull, and Draco clears his throat, “Okay, here’s what happened. Oliver helped me out with something, I agreed to go on a date with him in exchange. I knew it wasn’t going to go anywhere, and it didn’t. We had dinner and talked for a while, and then I turned him down when he asked about a second date.”

“Because he’s not the person you’re in love with,” Ginny says, like this is a fact everyone is aware of.

The entire group goes silent. Draco gapes at her.

“What? Claire literally announced it at my birthday party. This is not news.”

“Is that true? Are you in love with someone? Like, right now? Actively?” Dean asks.

Pansy bursts into wild peals of laughter, head thrown back and everything.

“I hate all of you,” Draco spits, and takes a croissant with him as he abandons the rest of his food and storms out of the Great Hall.

No one tries to come after him.

***

Ginny manages to catch him with his guard down after Quidditch practice later in the week, “Hey, can we talk?”

“I don’t know, do you want to tell another one of my darkest secrets to a captive audience?”

“Is it a secret if someone literally already told everyone in the audience?”

“Claire made one off-hand comment that no one but you seemed to take as indication of anything!”

“How was I supposed to know the rest of our friends are dumb?”

Draco snorts, “I’m not really mad, you know. I just don’t really want to talk about it.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Ginny fidgets, plays with the tips of her fingers and doesn’t speak. Draco certainly won’t be the one to break the silence.

“I just… I get it, okay?”

Draco looks at her, really looks at her, and he sees it. All the scattered puzzle pieces come together, the hints of it he saw on her birthday, everything he’s seen since…

“It’s both of them, right?”

He couldn’t imagine Ginny loving Dean or Luna in isolation, not seriously, not now.

Ginny nods.

“Well,” Draco says, considering, “I don’t want to rain on your misery parade, but we know Dean is at the very least attracted to you. Or he was at one point. And Luna is… she’s Luna. I think-”

He can’t finish the thought, because he knows how painful it is to dream, to imagine.

***

Occasionally, Hermione will indulge Draco’s sentimentality and they’ll work on their project at his old spot, across from the entrance to the Room. It’s a small comfort, to feel the gentle ebb of its magic, though it won’t appear. It means that it’s not gone, and even if they don’t manage to fix it themselves, their research may serve as the foundation for someone else to do it.

It will serve the students of Hogwarts again, eventually. Some other lonely child will stumble across it and it will become a refuge for them, just as it was for Draco.

“You call it the Room of Hidden Things?” Hermione asks absently.

“I know some people make the distinction between the static version of the Room and the Room in general, but I like the name. I think it works, given that it is hidden most of the time. Besides, that’s what I was introduced to it as.”

Hermione looks up, her focus intense and sharp, a blade pressing but not breaking the skin, “So someone showed it to you?”

“Not exactly. I found it on my own, but Dumbledore knew I was using it, and he called it the Room of Hidden Things.”

“Hm,” her face screws up into something annoyed, “I was under the impression that he didn’t know about the Room.”

“Why?”

“He never acknowledged it to any of us, even when it could have been useful.”

“Well, he always was supremely unhelpful.”

Hermione snorts, “That’s an understatement. I mean, do you know how much shit could have been avoided if he just told us point-blank that you and Snape were on our side? Or if he tried to actually prepare any of us for what he knew he was going to ask us to do?”

“I think it was probably a little different for me,” Draco says, “At least I knew what was happening most of the time, even if he refused to help.”

“Honestly the most frustrating part was not knowing what was going on with you.”

Draco laughs, incredulous, “What? Why?”

“Harry wouldn’t fucking shut up about it. He would oscillate wildly between thinking you had never done anything wrong in your life and being convinced that you were the next Dark Lord. This was like, a day to day kind of thing.”

“What the hell?”

“Yeah. I think it really freaked him out when you just suddenly stopped giving a shit about anything. In fifth year? Your grades dropped and you stopped antagonizing him and you sort of just floated through the halls, not really looking at anything. At first, he really thought you were in danger and we needed to help you, but… you know what fifth year was like. Dumbledore basically shut him out completely, and then Sirius died, and Harry stopped caring for a while too.”

“But-” Draco cuts himself off. He shouldn’t want to hear more, not when it will inevitably become fodder for anxiety and nightmares later, but he can’t help himself, “Was there something I did? That flipped the switch?”

Hermione, for all her intelligence, takes it at face value. Simple curiosity.

“No. He just got… angrier, I guess, more combative. He started going back and forth a lot, on everything. His moods changed so quickly. And then, one day, it stopped. He settled a little, and he started saying you were being coerced. That’s basically how it stayed until the war was over and we found out that you were a spy the whole time.”

Draco is relatively sure what day it was that changed things. He doesn’t want to think about it. He directs the conversation back to the project, back to the Room and the magic that binds it together.

“Maybe we’re overthinking this,” Draco says, “We can’t test the boundaries of the Room because we can’t get inside, but we can do some diagnostic spells from the outside.”

“If it’s still there.”

“It is,” Draco frowns, “Can’t you feel it?”

“Feel what?”

“I don’t know, there’s like a hum? A frequency? A tone? Like a television that’s turned on but not playing anything.”

Hermione blinks, “Okay, we’re going to move past the fact that you’re familiar enough with TVs to use that comparison, because the implications of what you’re saying are… Draco, is it a feeling or a sound?”

“Feeling, but they’re not that different, you know? It’s all vibration.”

“Yeah, yeah, got it. Have you felt it before?”

Draco narrows his eyes at her, “Um, is that a trick question?”

“It’s really, really not. Does all magic have a vibration to it?”

“Yes?”

“Holy shit,” Hermione breathes, “That’s not, Draco, that’s not something everyone can feel, not even most people. It’s very rare to be able to sense magic that way, intuitively.”

“Alright?”

“I have to… I need to think about this,” Hermione mutters, already stuffing loose sheets of parchment into her book bag, “I’ll see you at dinner.”

***

The last of the snow melts away and dead things start to grow again. Draco’s life becomes full to bursting, some of it good and some of it bad, but none of it empty. He and Harry orbit around the same people, and they never quite touch. It’s manageable. In a quiet corner of his mind, there is something that wants more. It’s like a living thing, insatiable, and Draco keeps it on a leash. He restrains himself the same way that Harry does. He restrains himself in a way that is visible.

Dean sometimes still sends him concerned glances over dinner. Luna leaves little glass bottles full of things that Draco doesn’t recognize in his pockets. When questioned, she says they’re talismans for happiness or luck or on one occasion, a healthy sex life.

In some ways, he feels the least lonely he’s ever been. He feels less like a bruised flower petal, just waiting to be crushed beneath someone’s boot. He’ll be sitting at dinner, surrounded by his friends, and his mind won’t turn to war or death or venom at all.

In other ways, the chasm widens every day. The sadness that has been his constant companion his entire life might be slipping away, but it still feels like a loss, like a thing he needs to grieve. He’ll catch a glimpse of Harry, still too tentative, reserved, and it’ll pull him right out of whatever conversation he’s in. He feels like he’s in some alternate reality, a world apart from the rest of their friends, none of whom seem to notice how quiet Harry has gone.

He wonders if this is normal, to the rest of them, and it’s just the absence of hostility that Draco is seeing. Maybe this is how Harry has always been, when he doesn’t hate you.

But then Draco remembers that laugh, the rest of fourth year, Harry fighting and, on occasion, fighting back. He remembers the first in a collection of things he loved about Harry, the one he kept close to his chest, clutched in shaking hands; the obvious fear in Harry’s eyes, the way it didn’t change him at all.

They’re all walking back from another Hogsmeade trip, in the middle of March, and Draco keeps peeking over at Harry, too concerned to be careful.

“Hey,” Ginny says, bumping into his purposefully, “What’s been up with you lately?”

Draco shrugs. He’s still distracted, trying to figure out if Harry is tired or upset at something specific, something solvable, something Draco could fix for him.

“Is it because of the thing?”

“The thing?” he repeats, amused.

“The big embarrassing thing we happen to have in common?”

Draco loops their arms together and tugs her properly into his side. He supposes it is. As always, he’s let himself get swept up in the tide of Harry’s need and he’s forgotten that fighting the current is something he can do, should do. Logically, he knows it’s not entirely healthy to be so consumed by another person, especially one who will never reciprocate, but he doesn’t really know how to do anything else. He’s trying, and failing more often than not.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“I know you said that you didn’t want to talk about it, but I’m here if you ever change your mind, you know that, right?”

“Of course,” Draco says emphatically, “Gin, you’re the best friend I think I’ve ever had. It’s not because I don’t think you’ll listen.”

She brightens, “Can I tell Pansy you said that?”

“Fuck, no, she’d actually murder me in my sleep. But, I don’t know, Pansy’s my oldest friend and there was a time when we were more similar, it’s just… you and me, we’re the same person. It was kind of scary how well I knew you without knowing you at all.”

“It was the same for me,” Ginny chokes out past building tears.

“Please don’t cry, then I’ll start crying.”

“Okay, okay,” she takes a few deep breaths, “Just to be clear, this isn’t me asking you to talk about it, but why don’t you want to?”

“It’s quite tragic. Doomed. I think I just don’t want it to take up so much space in my life anymore.”

Ginny tries, successfully, to trip him. He doesn’t fall, but he does stumble over his own feet, cursing.

“Fuck, you know I got clumsy, that’s not fair.”

Ginny doesn’t laugh at him, which is the first sign that she’s a little annoyed.

“Gin?”

“You’re being stupid, aren’t you?” she hisses, “Self-sabotaging.”

“Genuinely, no. I’m actually trying to do the opposite. Promise. I’m not just saying that it’s doomed because I don’t want to be happy. It’s… really, really not going to work out for me, seriously, and I let it be my whole world for a long time anyways. I’m trying to move on from something that’s hurt me, a lot, or at least get rid of the most painful parts.”

Ginny doesn’t look entirely satisfied with his response, but she doesn’t push for more, and the rest of their friends go along pretending that they didn’t hear any of the conversation.

***

Hermione drags him back to the seventh floor more and more frequently so she can pester him with questions about how the Room feels. They do some diagnostic spells, but with little luck. Hermione tells him, cagily, that she has reason to believe the Room is Unplottable, which seems like overkill to Draco, as Hogwarts itself is Unplottable. There’s a reason why students get hopelessly lost within it, and it’s not just the sheer size or the staircases. It is impossible to map the inner workings of the castle. In any case, the complex tangle of shielding and cloaking enchantments that go into making it Unplottable and invisible also make it impervious to most examination they’ve tried.

They can’t even confirm Draco’s pet theory, that the magic of the Room is anchored with runic enchantments engraved deep in the stone, the entire reason that he now has a research partner in Hermione.

He doesn’t need it, not quite in the same way he did when he first took on the project, but it’s still a place he felt safe, another thing he loved that has been ravaged by war. Maybe he can’t fix his relationship with his mother, or bleed the darkness from the Manor, or make Harry’s grief and guilt and pain disappear, but he knows this is something that can be repaired. He wants to be the one to do it.

***

The weather continues to get warmer, and Quidditch starts to take up more and more of his time. They’re the underdogs of the season, brand new to the league and fresh out of a war, but they fight through April and May, and they win more than they lose. As they approach the end of term, they’re ranked fourth, with a real shot at the final match.

Draco is proud of himself, but he’s prouder of Ella, whose mind is outpacing her body- for now. She may not be as fast on a broom as Draco quite yet, but she spends hours pouring over plays with Ginny and she’s better than anyone at corralling the players, bringing different styles and personalities together into one cohesive whole. She’s going to make an excellent Seeker, and an even better Captain one day.

The last match before graduation is grueling. It’s the only game they’ve played at home the entire season, and Castelobruxo gets an astronomical lead very quickly. They spend most of the game catching up, and Draco spends it distracting the other Seeker and waiting for the lead to narrow enough that catching the Snitch would actually win them the game.

They win by ten points, in the end. He hits the ground with a little too much momentum and practically rolls off his broom, snitch in hand.

Ginny tackles him into a sweaty hug, “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

Draco laughs, “You were brilliant, Gin.”

“I think this is the happiest I’ve been in a long time.”

He catches sight of Luna and Dean behind them, hand in hand, wearing matching grins. He takes hold of Ginny’s shoulders, turns her around, and shoves her into their arms.

People are flooding the pitch, forcing Draco to fight through the crowd to get to Ella. She’s standing on the sidelines, smiling wide and beautiful. She does her best to deprive him of his hearing.

“You were so good! I can’t believe we made it to the finals!”

He tries to get some distance between his ear and her mouth, “Just think, next year that’ll be you.”

That seems to incapacitate her. She clings tightly to his hand as they start to look for Marcie. He isn’t afraid of losing her in the crowd. For a moment, he isn’t afraid of anything. The three of them, him and Ella and Marcie, collide and begin to jump around excitedly in a tangle of limbs. They’re laughing. Ella is crying a little.

He doesn’t know how to describe it. There’s a part of him that is deeply, deeply sad. He thinks maybe there always will be. It’s distant, though. There is so much more happiness in this moment, in most moments now, and it overwhelms the sadness. It drowns it out.

He heads off to shower and change, and then he meets them back at the path to Hogsmeade. Harry is there when he returns, chatting with Ella about how he thinks the match went. Marcie is standing beside them, looking bored. Her face lights up when she sees Draco.

“I have so much to tell you,” she’s smiling, but she says it very seriously.

He gestures for her to go ahead, and the four of them begin to make the trek to Hogsmeade. She regales him with the latest drama from her school. Lauren and the boy she likes- no, not Rowan’s ex-boyfriend, that was over weeks ago- went to the movies and he held her hand in the popcorn bucket.

Draco wrinkles his nose, “Wasn’t it greasy? That doesn’t seem very pleasant.”

“She said it was the best thing that has ever happened to her.”

He shrugs. Who is he to judge?

“And Becca got into a fight, like a real one, with punching and everything.”

“Becca? Sweet, sensitive Becca?”

Marcie nods furiously, “It was so cool. Not that hitting someone is cool, but it was a boy so.”

“Oh, that’s fine then.”

Andromeda and Teddy are waiting for them outside the restaurant, because Teddy is exercising his full lung capacity by shrieking very loudly. She hands him off to Draco as soon as they approach. He doesn’t mind a little crying.

He just bounces Teddy lightly on his hip, cooing in his ear, “It’s alright. It’s okay. You’re fine, aren’t you? Just a little upset. That’s okay.”

“You don’t mind, do you?” Andromeda asks, after she’s already passed him a burping towel and his teething beads.

Draco smiles at her, “Of course not. You can go in, if you want. If he doesn’t calm down in ten or fifteen minutes, we can take turns or something.”

She sighs in relief and kisses him on the cheek, “Thank you. My energy is not what it used to be. Are you sure you don’t mind?”

“I’m sure.”

Draco walks the length of the little alleyway beside the restaurant and talks softly to Teddy. He’s calmer after a few minutes, but everytime Draco stops walking or bouncing him, he starts crying again, so Marcie comes to grab his order and they get his food to-go. Harry offers to switch off with him, but Draco politely refuses.

“It’s alright,” he says, “I’m happy to take this shift.”

Harry doesn’t protest, but he does linger outside the restaurant for a moment too long, looking back at Draco with something that isn’t quite a smile.

Draco spends the evening outside with Teddy in the balmy night air, looking up at the stars and telling Teddy everything he can remember about Remus Lupin. He thinks about the summer with Marcie and the fall with Ella, how desperately he wanted to erase all of the bad things they’d seen, how futile the wanting is. There are some things that love just cannot fix.

But he can do this. He can listen to Marcie’s gossip and read the books she tells him about in her letters, he can do core workouts with Ella that border on insane and let her make fun of him, he can give them a family. He’s done his part to make the world a little kinder, a little more inhabitable for Ella and Marcie. He’s made sure that Teddy will not have to see the same horrors they did, the ones Draco did.

He just has to care. The rest of it, he doesn’t have to do alone.

***

Ginny flings herself onto the pitch next to him, panting.

“Fuck, that was the worst two hours of my life,” Draco gasps, “You’re actually sadistic, oh my God.”

“Baby.”

She’s been ramping up their practices in preparation for the final match of the season, which they’ll play against Durmstrang just after the end of term. If he’s honest, Draco doesn’t completely understand the fervor. It’s not like they really have a shot at winning, however miraculous their season has been so far.

“Stretch, shower, eat,” Ginny chants under her breath like a mantra, “Stretch, shower, eat.”

Still, it’s several minutes before they move at all. Draco goes through the motions of stretching his worn muscles, starting at the neck and working his way down his body, until he’s warm and malleable, until he feels as if he could be pulled apart like taffy. The hot shower almost puts him to sleep, and dinner afterwards actually does. He and Ginny doze off, ridiculously early, on the rug in the Gryffindor common room.

Draco has no dreams.

Ron wakes him a couple of hours later with an apologetic smile, “Things are about to get loud in here, if you want to go sleep in your dorm.”

He peers around the room, which is obviously being set up for an improvised party of some kind. A couple sixth years are pushing all of the furniture against the walls, and Neville is levitating a case of Firewhisky down the stairs and into the common room.

He blinks the sleep from his eyes, and finds that he’s no longer tired. Or, rather, that he’s reached a level of exhaustion that’s tipped over into restlessness. He could go back the dungeons, but chances are, he’ll have a hard time falling back asleep.

“No, I’m awake.”

“Do you want to stay then? It’s someone’s birthday, I think. Not too sure who.”

“Is that alright? If I stay?”

Ron is unimpressed, “Obviously. No one cares who’s here.”

It’s true, really. No one questions his presence, and once Ginny wakes up, he doesn’t feel out of place at all. She slings an arm around his shoulders, and they pass the next few hours getting steadily drunk and talking about absolutely nothing. He drinks away the ache in his muscles, and Ginny drinks away the thin veneer of sadness that she usually carries around.

“We’re never going to be together like this again, are we?” Ginny whispers in the dark, “After term ends.”

She’s already had offers from half of the professional teams in the United Kingdom, and though she hasn’t signed a contract yet, Draco knows she’s set on the Hollyhead Harpies. She’s just waiting on the final details, including what date she’ll have to report to training.

“No.”

“Sometimes I wish we could live in last summer forever, even though it was shit.”

Draco smiles, “Me too.”

But he knows that Ginny’s right. It’ll never be like that again, not really. He still has no idea what he’s going to do after Hogwarts, but he has this inescapable feeling that going back to Crawley Down would be like trying to fall back asleep and continue a dream that’s already over.

“I’m going to miss you,” Ginny sighs into his shoulder.

Eventually, he has to make the mad dash to the dungeons without getting caught. Curfew has become increasingly relaxed, but he’d still get in a lot of trouble for wandering around the castle in the middle of the night while obviously intoxicated. The riskiest stretch is the stairs. There’s nowhere to hide when you’re stuck on a moving staircase.

It’s on the stairs that he runs into Harry, who is presumably going up to the common room. Harry peers at him in the low light, takes a sniff, and recoils a bit.

“Draco,” he says, scandalized, “Are you drunk?”

“No,” Draco answers honestly. He’s a little tipsy, but definitely not drunk.

Harry sighs, “Why don’t I believe you?”

“Probably because I smell awful. That’s not my fault, though. Ginny spilled her firewhisky on me.”

Draco leans back against the railing of the stairs and waits for it to stop moving. It’s making him a little queasy. He’s always gotten motion sickness easily, unless he’s on a broom. He threw up on the train to Hogwarts his first year.

The stairs click into place, and Draco starts to descend. Harry follows him.

“Are you going to go back to following me around everywhere?”

He’s thinking about what Hermione said, about Harry changing his mind every day, and he’s wondering if Harry is still unsure. Not about whether or not Draco is a Death Eater, just… Hermione hadn’t understood him until recently. Maybe Harry doesn’t really know what to make of him either.

Harry reaches out to catch his elbow, “No. I’m just making sure you get back to your common room alright.”

“Oh. That’s very nice of you. You’re one of the nicest people I’ve ever met, you know.”

“I don’t know about that,” Harry says softly.

“You are. Even though you’re sad right now.”

Harry shifts to take more of Draco’s weight. The line of his body is warm and solid against Draco’s side, “I’m not sad.”

“It won’t last forever, promise. I thought I’d never be happy again but I am. It happens all the time.”

Harry doesn’t really respond, and the conversation is seemingly over. Draco can’t imagine ever getting sick of this. He knows it doesn’t mean anything- Harry is selfless, good, in a way that Draco is not- but it’s still nice. It feels like eating a warm dinner, sinking into a hot bath. His limbs are heavy, in a good way, and he knows that Harry has him. He’s not going to fall.

Harry doesn’t keep his word about taking Draco to the common room. Instead, he takes Draco all the way to his dorm and deposits him on his bed. Draco remembers the lightning bolt carved into the frame too late, but Harry doesn’t notice it. He’s too focused on taking Draco’s shoes off and Conjuring a glass. He casts an Augmenti, makes Draco drink it, then casts it again.

“That’s for the morning, alright?”

Draco nods. He doesn’t think he could speak, even if he knew what to say.

“Goodnight, Draco.”

***

Draco sits by the lake, staring out at the endless expanse of water. It’s not really endless, and he knows it, but his vision is no longer good enough to see the other side so he imagines that the rest of the world doesn’t exist.

Only him, and the rocky beach, and the water.

Distantly, he can hear footsteps behind him. Harry’s distinctive scent, sandalwood and cloves and vanilla, washes over him as Harry lowers himself to the ground beside Draco.

“I think I owe you an apology,” he says, and the words are so startling, so incomprehensible, that Draco jerks violently.

His heart is already racing, mind telling him this is a trap, “Pardon?”

Harry sighs and drifts back, laying down and looking up at the sky, “I didn’t know.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Potter.”

“I haven’t brought it up, because Hermione said you might not want an apology and I felt like I owed you that much, but Draco…” he sits up again. Draco won’t look at him, but he can sense Harry’s restless movement, “I can’t keep not talking about it.”

“Hermione was right.”

He’s going to be sick. He doesn’t want Harry to say sorry. He can’t actually think of anything worse. It’s one thing to know that he didn’t deserve the treatment, it’s another to have someone actually say it. To have Harry say it.

“For sixth year, at least-”

“Does it matter?”

He looks at Draco with a strange expression, somewhere between confused and frustrated, “Of course it does. I almost killed you.”

Draco shrugs, “Like you said, you didn’t know I wasn’t really a Death Eater.”

“Even if you weren’t just acting on Dumbledore’s orders, and you really were a Death Eater, I’d still regret doing it. And what I meant was, I didn’t know what the spell did, when I used it.”

“I’m not upset about it,” Draco says, “If that’s any consolation.”

“It’s not.”

There’s a long silence, and then Harry manages to find something worse to say.

“I saw them. The scars I left. Last night, when I took you back to your dorm, your shirt rode up. I saw them.”

“Please. You don’t need to do this.”

“Look at me?”

Draco does, because he can’t say no to Harry. Harry’s eyes are so, so green. Right now, they’re sad and tired and a little desperate. He has the sudden thought that maybe Harry needs to do this, the same way Draco needed to sweat out the pain of last summer.

“I’m sorry,” Harry says, and then waits for a while before he says anything else, “I wouldn’t have used it if I knew what it did. I already had serious doubts about how much you wanted to be doing what I thought you were doing, and when I found out that you had been on our side all along… it made perfect sense to me. I know that you were never the person I thought you were in the first place, and you certainly weren’t then.”

He takes a breath and breaks eye contact. Draco can feel hot tears building behind his eyes and he tries to hold them off, but he can’t.

“I know that crucio wouldn’t have hit. I know you didn’t mean it.”

Draco cries. He cries for a long time, and when he’s done, Harry is still there, still sitting beside him on the lake shore. He feels raw in the worst way. He doesn’t understand why Harry couldn’t have just left him alone, and for the very first time, he thinks he hates him. He hates Harry Potter.

So he tells him, “I hate you.”

“Would it be easier, if you did?” Harry asks, voice soft.

Draco laughs, and it’s wet and grating, but it’s genuine, “No, I don’t think it would. Couldn’t you have just listened to Hermione?”

“Eh, I think we’re at the point where there’s not much left we can do to hurt each other.”

If only that were true. Draco peeks over at Harry, and he’s surprised to find that Harry is looking at him too, with warmth and understanding and kindness. There’s always been something contradictory about Harry’s eyes, a steadiness at odds with how wild his body and his magic are. It feels dangerous, like a beast on a chain. His wand is out, just resting in his loose grip. Draco realizes, with a start, that it’s his. It’s the wand that Draco got at Ollivander’s when he was eleven, the wand that he handed to Harry during the final battle, the wand that killed Voldemort.

He shivers.

“I don’t know why I haven’t given it to you,” Harry says, rolling the wand between his hands, “It’s been eating at me, a little.”

And then he stills, face conflicted, and slowly extends it towards Draco.

Draco shakes his head, horrified, “I don’t want it.”

“But-”

“No.”

Harry laughs, but it’s an awful, painful thing, “I don’t understand.”

Draco can’t explain himself. He likes that the last thing he did with it, with the wand that had seen so much death and darkness, was hand it over. He likes that no matter what else happens, no matter where life takes them, there will always be a part of Draco there in the knobby wood, forever waiting to be called upon, ready to serve.

Though it’s not enough, not enough to quell the insistent demand for more, not enough to slake his thirst, it’s a small comfort.

“I don’t understand why I-” Harry pulls the words from inside himself, and it doesn’t sound easy, “I think it would have killed me, maybe, to give it back. I can’t… I haven’t used another wand, even though I feel guilty every time I pick it up, thinking of you without your wand. Mine broke, while we were on the run, and it was like losing a part of myself, and I knew I was making you feel that way, but I just couldn’t let it go.”

Draco lowers his head until it’s almost between his knees, “I gave it to you. You should keep it. I’m not sure if it would even respond to me now, and I had to get a new one before last term anyways.”

He could obsess over what it means. He could spend every waking moment thinking about Harry reaching for the wand when he needs something, about it becoming a part of him.

But he sees the waves coming, and he lets them crash over him, and then he lets them wash back out to sea. The unpredictable torrents of emotion haven’t stopped, but they don’t bowl him over anymore. He knows how to keep his footing. He knows how to keep himself from drowning.

There will always be a line that connects them, that tugs at Draco’s heart, but he’s stronger than the pull of it.

[tgr-2x5-roleswap-au]

You've Got Mail - Chapter 2

Chapter 2 - The Other Victorian

Paint Pots and Queens - Season 4 Episode 23

Word Count: 1,191

Fought with my sanity with this chapter smh. i blame the original idea i had. it just wasn't working or reasonable to have

~

“There you go, dear! A perfect spot for a Victorian like you.”

Edward agreed as he mused over his temporary environment and the volunteers left, whispering about.

For one, it was far away from Old Coppernob. The copper firebox was smack dab in the center of the facility. The Larger Seagull could still see him but, thankfully, Coppernob couldn't, facing the opposite direction.

But what he was more pleased about was that he was surrounded by other engines from his era, from his time. From the older Victorians to the ones built around the turn of the century, he figured he could socialize with them. Maybe it'll be easier mingling with those from his time.

Maybe.

…

It was not.

Once the volunteers left, the four surrounding engines greeted him. Voices ranged from high-pitched but slow to soft yet bubbly. Despite their politeness, FR 21 was overwhelmed. It didn't help that he was placed between two of them, one in the front and another in the back, right next to a wall.

“Who are you?” One of them asked once the quick greetings stopped. They were green, a similar shade to the other three, but their shape was drastically different. Their cylinders were outside and connected to their smokebox, powering a massive single pair of drivers.

This must be the Stirling Single! She looked similar to the one from the North Western Railway. “Furness Railway Twenty-Ane,” the Larger Seagull quickly stammered, just so he wouldn't overthink such a simple question. “Edward, as well.”

“Ah, you have a name! Well, then, I'm the old Great Northern Railway Number One,” she beamed, her wrinkles and dimples becoming prominent. “But you may call me, Esmeralda. It's lovely to see another pre-grouping engine survive. Not many are around, you know?”

The Furness red engine hummed, agreeing.

“Oh, don’t be shy!” exclaimed the single non-green engine of the group, unaware of startling Edward. He was ochre yellow with white and bronze accents. “Gladstone! A pleasure to meet you, lad!”

“N-Nice tae meet ye, too!”

“I'm the North Eastern's number fourteen-sixty-three!” piped up the NER E5 class.

“And I'm their number sixteen-twenty-one. Oh! Same numbers!” The NER M class giggled. “What a coincidence.”

“B-But-” Oh wait- “Nevermind,” mumbled the FR 21 class. They meant the last two. They're being literal. 

“Now, don't overwhelm the poor thing!” Edward almost scoffed. ‘Poor thing?’ He wasn't a newly built engine. He's over half a century old! But a quick look over at the ones in his range of vision changed his mind as they seemed older. “How about you tell us a little about yourself, hm?” suggested Gladstone.

“Och- well- I'm frae the Furness Railway…” His train of thought froze. What else was he supposed to say? He wasn't sure he wanted to tell them about his time in the forest. Being a part of the Scottish greenery in a territory far away from home… The critters, the twigs…

The rust…

He was glad no one mentioned it. It must not be as noticeable as he thought.

The thought soothed him. Yet he realized how hypocritical he was being. Just days ago, he told another engine he'd just met. It was someone who initially didn't take a liking to him. Edward was engrossed in the conversation that day. He felt comfortable sharing with someone who understood—to some degree—how he felt. 

“Edward?” FR 21 perked up. “Is everything alright?”

Edward hummed. “Aye. It’s awrite.”

“Mmm, if you say so.”

Silence followed for a bit. The occasional clank of metal was heard as volunteers wandered around, checking up on the engines. There seemed to be another conversation happening elsewhere but it could barely be heard. They were either whispering or just far away. No one from the group could tell.

“So,” squeaked the M class, “how was the Railway Show? We heard you won!”

“Oh, yes, please tell!” Excitement creaked from Esmeralda.

“Och, well-” Easy enough! “Twis’ nice.”

“Nice? It was a close finish! That must've been exciting!”

“It- uh-” The clear memory of the Canadian Pacific running across the track, nearly knocking off the poor, little diesel into the pit of a turntable, came back. “It wis.”

“Weren't there preserved engines?” asked the E5. “Estelle said they'd go there.”

Edward frowned, confused. “...Who?” I don’t remember hearing an “Estelle.”

NER 1463 gasped. “Goodness, my apologies! The Caledonian Single! A blue single with white lining.”

Lips pursed, and then a bell rang. “Och, them!” Ah, the other single he spoke to. They were sweet, but they didn't speak much. It was comforting yet odd.

“Is something the matter? Did Estelle say something?” NER 1463 glanced at Esmeralda.

And before they could continue, the green single fumed, “Don't you start!”

“Esmeralda!” scolded Gladstone.

“You know it’s her fault!” Her face wrinkled as fury covered it.

“And you play right along…”

“Just who does-”

“This normal?” Edward whispered.

“‘Fraid so,” replied NER 1621.

“-she think she is? I was elated to know, to see that singles would come back, and she had the nerve to disrespect a pioneer-!”

.

.

.

“-As such, I’m here to straighten your behavior.” The eldest of the Seagulls strolled closer to the side of the oldest Larger Seagull. The Seagull was smaller, but 21 felt like a cornered mouse. “If you don’t listen, then say goodbye to your sisters. Leaving them behind because of your selfish behavior! So unlike an eldest.”

.

.

.

“You'll burst your valve-” continued Gladstone. The engines remained unaware of Edward's jolt.

“I'm not even in steam!” Esmeralda protested.

“Mmm, you'd be surprised…” Gladstone sighed as Esmeralda continued, bringing the attention back to the newcomer. “What were we on about?”

“...The railway show?”

“Ah, yes. Estelle, we speak of.” He cleared his pipes. “Did something happen?”

“Nothin’… They were quiet.”

Amused, Gladstone pressed on. “Have you met them before?”

“Noo…” Edward squinted. “Just seemit…” He stopped. He was one to speak. He himself was quiet these days since… that, so he shouldn't be judging. “Never mind.”

“Odd?” Gladstone hummed. “Estelle has changed since they were preserved. It's nothing out of the ordinary… It happens to everyone.”

As soon as those words came out, the atmosphere changed. The group made no noise, so quiet that a pen dropping from the opposite side of the building could be heard. Even the voices from the other group went quiet.

I've hit a sore spot. “S-Sorry… I-”

“Haven't you been to the show before?” piped Gladstone. “I do remember hearing the volunteers make a mention of such.”

“Och, yes.” The guilt of ruining the atmosphere bubbled within. “I huv.”

“Do tell. You've yet to fully introduce yourself, mate.”

“Well…” He might as well. It seemed that they wanted to move on from it as if it never happened. Edward could do that, so from there, Edward told Gladstone about the time he went to the Great Railway at the turn of the 20th century. His sentences weren't complete, his words were jumbled about, and he refused to make eye contact, but that didn't push away the other engines from tuning in. The little tale was a welcome starter to a new and comforting conversation.

~

important!!!

if you're looking to find the table of contents of all the chapters, i made a page on the desktop version with all of the chapters, including the ones for this story!

Otherwise, here's the link! (TGR 2x5 Roleswap AU - Table of Contents)

And here's the first batch of new characters!

GNR 1 "Esmeralda" - GNR No 1 (GNR A1 class"Stirling Single")

NER 1463 - NER E5 class

NER 1621 - NER D17 class

LBSCR 214 Gladstone - LBSCR B1 class

Notes:

Edward going to the Great Railway Show before this one was part of the original plot of "TGR but There's a Roleswap - Chapter 7: The Furness Railway 21" but I scrapped it, along with other revelations that just didn't make sense.

EDIT 09/01/2024: Fixed the links!

[poursomesunaonme]

BEANIE CONGRATS!!

Hope you have fun with this event! Can I request some sfw (angst and unrequited love) for Armin and Security Question?

Thank you in advance and looking SO FORWARD TO THIS <3

marie !! thank u sooo much for ur submission !! (for all my other pals, submissions are still open !)

cw: angst, unrequited love, eremika appearance

"wish i could ask, 'how was your day?' / i wish i knew the person's name / you think of under the covers when you slip into the night"

the light from the tv screen flickers over your body as the couch swallows you into the space between armin and mikasa.  you simply wish you could disappear.  eren’s arm wraps securely around mikasa, her legs thrown over his in a lazy show of affection.  you and armin?  nothing.  your legs don’t even touch.  

snores from next to you pique your interest, and you glance over, finding both eren and mikasa’s eyes shut as they sleep peacefully through the movie.  do you tell armin?  could this be a chance?  you don’t think he heard them yet, so you decide to leave it be.  just for now.

you stretch your legs, but armin doesn’t seem to notice.  he pulls out his phone and starts texting someone, but you can’t see who it is because of his privacy screen.  it could be jean or connie, it could be that girl he mentioned off-handedly to eren when the four of y’all were eating dinner.  you really hope it was just one of the boys.  

he sighs, relaxing his body, and his thigh presses against yours.  you try to cage the reaction, the slight jump—but you can’t.  it’s not like it matters anyway.  armin isn’t even paying attention, still texting.  you lean back into the couch, wishing it would gobble you whole, wishing it would suck this feeling out of your body.

you’d liked armin for a several weeks now.  he was kind and considerate and he probably didn’t even mean for his actions to be considered flirtatious.  it was a welcome change of pace from the shitty previous relationships you’d been in, so maybe that was why you’d found yourself bending over backwards so he would notice you and give you a one armed hug when you all hung out together and he would ask you about your day because it simply was the nice thing to do.

was it pathetic?  yes.  did you care?  not really.

your heart accelerates when he relaxes further, sinking into the couch as he stretches his arms over the back of it.  it’s not meant to be a move on you, but you can’t help the heat rushing to your cheeks at the thought that maybe it is.  you can’t return anything, though.  you can’t alert him to your feelings.

the movie credits roll, and you gently nudge mikasa awake, who in turn mumbles into eren’s hair as she pulls him off the couch and they stumble tiredly to eren’s room.  and then it’s just you and armin.  you stretch your legs out, begging for the feeling inside you to dissipate.

“how… how was your day?”

the question echoes like a bombshell in the quiet living room when it leaves your lips without your permission.  you want to slap a hand into your forehead.  you could’ve asked this hours ago when the four of you first got together.  armin swallows, looking slightly confused, before answering.

“it was good.  how was yours?”

you couldn’t have made the situation more awkward.  you stand up to leave, grabbing your bag.

“it was good.”  you sigh, chewing your bottom lip as you tug the hem of your tshirt nervously.  “i’m… i’m gonna head home.”

“be safe.”  he smiles, going in for a friendly one armed hug that you straight up want to refuse because of how platonic it is, but you can’t because it means you’re touching him.

you pad over to the door, hand freezing over the doorknob.  “armin, i-”

i think i really like you.  i’ve never felt this way about anyone else.  can i spend the night?  can you hold me?  would you kissed me if i asked you?  would you love me if i asked you?  

“nevermind.  have a good night.”

submissions for the promised event are still open ! click here to go to the nav page <3

© all work belongs to poursomesunaonme. do not copy and repost.

[talesofsonicasura]

Herald of Ruin

Hello everyone. It's been awhile since I made a post here. Tumblr isn't exactly making things easy especially because I finally gotten asks after so long. And guess who got a glitch which makes it impossible to edit said asks much less one that still hasn't been solved in days?

Nevermind the details although since that isn't the focus. I got plagued with a new AU idea which wouldn't leave me alone. Thus this particular post.

We all know about Optimus Prime. The heroic leader of the Autobots, a kind and gentle mech who battles those that dare threaten the peace. Yet one part of him we really see is his humble origin as Orion Pax. The bot before the war truly war began.

In multiple iterations, Orion is depicted as a dock worker, a miner, or for this AU Prime's archivist version. What do I have in store for him? Let's begin. (Part 2 can be found here.)

Orion Pax didn't exactly know where he was. It definitely ain't Cybertron from the vibrant greenery, bright blue sky and the peculiar fauna that roamed around him. An organic world instead of metal.

His memory core being a massive mess didn't help either. Orion could access some datas like who he is, where he came from, his function, and even a few individuals but everything else is engulfed by errors. All the archivist could do at the moment was walk.

Thus Orion Pax took his first steps into this strange colorful world. A directionless path past red cliffs, small pools of water, and the various wildlife that watched from a distance in curiosity. It all led to a peculiar metallic emblem embedded in the one such cliff.

A large vault that bear an eerie vibrant purple symbol that glowed as if reacting to him. Without word, Orion Pax approach the strange landmark. His vision flashing constantly to a dark abyss that held a faint blue light before his outstretched servo.

Time began to stretch into constant flashes until contact been made. Orion Pax barely blinked before he found himself on the ground back to the colorful world around him. And it didn't take long to see amber eyes peer down his optics.

Narrow gaze full of skeptical curiosity in what embodies a pure ancient grudge woven in wooden tablets decorated by dead leaves. The kind which had Orion remembering a phrase hidden by broken processor. Knowledge is power. A treasure that can bring peace...

Or RuIn.

Yup. We are delving into the world of Pokemon as Orion Pax just encounter the Ruinous Tablets: Wo-Chien. In Scarlet and Violet, there are four unique seals scattered across the region. These contain the Treasures of Ruin, powerful Pokemon that brought disaster onto Paldea long long ago.

Wo-Chien is the wooden tablets used by a grudge filled scribe to write the deeds of a corrupt king. The Pokemon doesn't attack Orion for one sheer reason: curiosity. It never seen anything like the archivist before.

The potential of untold knowledge leads to an unspoken alliance between the two. Something which later evolves into a powerful bond. Orion names the Wo-Chien 'Blackbox'. (Black boxes are devices that record and contain important data.)

It doesn't take long until the two come across a Pokemon Trainer named Roc. (This trainer fills the main character role for Scarlet/Violet.) After a misunderstanding which involves a language barrier and mistaking a Cybertronian for a Pokemon, Orion Pax's path is laid.

Travel the Paldea region alongside Roc, maybe even help him on his journey. By doing this he could piece together the answers to what led him here and maybe get back home. For now Orion learns about this strange new world.

Travelling across Paldea is gonna require a mix of alt mode, holoform and alternate fuel sources. Orion's alt mode is gonna be a cargo truck since my headcanon height for him is 19 ft. As for alternate fuel, it takes the forms of Tera Shards.

These shards are crystallized energy only found in the Paldea region and responsible for a phenomenon known as Terastallization. Roc made a desperate attempt to save a energy drained Orion by having him consume a Dark Tera Shard. These items become vital for the Cybertronian until he can fully perfect a recipe for Synthetic Energon. Success varies.

For Pokemon, Orion only catches those who wish to join him unless a situation calls for it. Like the safety of the creature in question that leads to no other option. Otherwise Orion leaves them be. The same goes for battling as well with the exception of spars.

Our archivist will have a team like any other trainer and I'll be going over the main ones. His signature team basically. Let's start with Orion's first Pokemon.

Blackbox: Wo-Chien

Type: Dark/Grass Nature: Serious Tera: Dark

Ability: Tablets of Ruin- reduce the ATK of all other Pokemon on the field.

Moves: Growth, Ruination, Giga Drain, Dark Pulse

This grumpy book snail of a Wo-Chien prefers to quietly read and nap in peace. He's not above using his ability to intimidate someone if irritated enough. Blackbox isn't fully heartless though as he cares for Orion alongside his close companions in subtle ways. Harm them and this Wo-Chien will drain those offenders dry.

Purrlee: Purugly

Type: Normal Nature: Jolly Tera: Ground

Ability: Defiant - Boosts Attack when stats lowered.

Moves: Play Rough, Hone Claws, Dig, Bulldoze

Orion's second Pokemon, this Tiger Cat is surprisingly very friendly, snuggly and energetic despite the species. She was abandoned by her former Trainer after evolving from Glameow. Purrlee has a tendency to bowl over others for surprise nuzzles. No one stops her though, not even Blackbox.

Vos: Gligar

Type: Ground/Flying Nature: Impish Tera: Poison

Ability: Hyper Cutter- Prevents Attack from lowering

Moves: Cross Poison, Swords Dance, Bulldoze, Fire Fang

A wild glutton who serves as Orion's third Pokemon. He joined the team back when he was a Gligar that gotten lost from his group and slept in the archivist's cabin. Vos' name is coined from a lost memory that the Pokemon had accidentally triggered. He loves sleeping in Orion's cabin or hang off him like a perch.

Shard: Quaquaval *Shiny

Type: Water/Fighting Nature:Timid Tera: Ice

Ability: Moxie- boosts Attack for each Pokemon they defeat

Moves: Aqua Step, Ice Spinner, Counter, Hurricane

Orion's fourth Pokemon is a shy dancer who wishes to perfect her craft. Shard started as a very timid Quaxly who evolves over the span of the adventure. The dual type has gain more confidence upon becoming a Quaquaval but still hides behind Orion if spooked.

Noctis: Grimmsnarl

Type: Dark/Fairy Nature: Naughty Tera: Fairy

Ability: Pickpocket - Steals an item if physically attacked

Moves: Spirit Break, Play Rough, Drain Punch, Crunch

A loyal yet mischievous powerhouse that became Orion's fifth Pokemon. He started as a self destructive chaotic Morgrem who absolutely loathe the archivist until one fateful incident led to Noctis not only evolving into Grimmsnarl but try to better himself. The dual type still pull pranks, thankfully these aren't as dangerous like back then.

Vector Prime: Steelix *Can Mega Evolve

Type: Steel/Ground Nature: Gentle Tera: Steel

Ability: Sturdy - Cannot be knocked out with 1 hit KOs

Moves: Dragon Dance, Iron Tail, Psychic Fangs, Metal Burst

A mysterious Pokemon that can sense space-time anomalies serves as Orion's sixth Pokemon. Vector is a grandfatherly soul who tends to dote on everyone and provide comfort or wisdom if needed. His name stems from a triggered memory like Vos. Vector can mega evolve with the Steelixite Orion earned if need be.

Crimson: Koraidon

Type: Dragon/Fighting Nature: Hasty Tera: Dragon

Ability: Orichalcum Pulse -Turns the sunlight harsh when entering battle. The ancient energy thrumming through this Pokemon boosts it's Attack in harsh sunlight.

Moves: Collision Course, Iron Head, Dragon Claw, Shadow Claw

A hyperactive and affectionate Legendary that is Orion's emotional support Pokemon. He was entrusted to the archivist by Professor Sada as a Ride Pokemon, although she's unaware of him not being human. Crimson spends most his time munching on sandwiches and making others laugh than battling. Doesn't mean the Koraidon is unable to curb stomp those who wish to cause trouble.

I can't forget about Orion's human companion. Roc is a 23 year old trainer who tends to be quite carefree but also equally reckless. He aspires to be a Frontier Brain and run his own facility. To do so, he must compete in the Battle Frontier which will pit him against trainers who can match even Pokemon League champions in skill or strength.

Roc explores various regions to gain experience that could aid in his quest. He accidentally mistook Orion for a Pokemon on their first meeting and it took Blackbox stealing the man's Rotomphone to stop the fight from escalating. (There's a language barrier which can be resolved by the data inside the device.)

Roc is an enabler when it comes to Orion. From the limited info he got out of the bot's fragmented memory, the young man felt angry about how his new friend lived back on Cybertron. Something Roc decides to rectify by giving Orion a chance to experience life.

It does put a dent in his wallet but the price is worth it when the archivist gets to attend a carnival or read whatever book he wants. Orion tries to pay him back however Roc usually refuses. The time he doesn't is by asking to learn stuff from the bot in exchange.

Such things consist of reading/writing/understanding Cybertronian, history and other subjects on the planet that isn't functionalism. Roc's penmanship definitely approved upon trying to write Orion's language. He did roll his eyes when the bot mistook his handwriting for 'clocker' scratch. (Cybertronian Chicken)

I will be drawing Roc. For holoform design, either design my own or use the TFA version. Orion Pax is participating in all the events of the main Scarlet/Violet game and Teal Mask/Indigo Disk DLC alongside my OC except for the Pokemon League. Now this is the first half of my AU explanation.

The second will delve into the Transformers side and why it's called 'Herald of Ruin'. Do know that Orion Pax is gonna be quite different from his canon counterpart throughout this. I will drive a wedge between them and see how the character can molded.

That's all I got for now! Until next time folks, I'll see you back in Paldea. Now transform and roll out! Here's a Trainer Card that I made on Pokecharms.com for Orion Pax and Crimson(Koraidon).

[rapid-as-sass-in-nation-team]

m!a: Delusional, for Asmodeus!

Oz starts randomly seeing Mammon everywhere he goes for the next two days.

Enjoy your jump scares my king.

//m!a oh my fucking god that's awful! I love it XD Espeically with my Ozz it's fucking terrifying for him so let's get into it, just gonna do a short thing then I'll post something in the morning as like a status for him XP Asmodeus was not having a good night, he was woken up in the middle of the night by one of his employees due to some urgent paper work that came in last minute,, The clock having struck midnight not long ago as he worked away at it as a rainstorm poured outside, dressed in a dark magenta robe and a deep blue gown underneath, resting his head on his hand as he wrote what he needed too, before an odd glow entered his perphiral vision, oddly a simalir shade to what his mouth and eyes emanated, eyes looking up from his paper and his heart nearly stopped at the grin only a few centimeters from his face.

Looming over him was the grinning sin of greed, his green teeth contorted into a grin that seemed almost impossible with a bone structure of any sort, pulled into a uncomfortable looking crescent shape, ever dressed in his green and yellow Jester attire, just silently grinning down at Asmodeus with his four claws pressed down on Lust's desk that made getting up and trying to move past him a seem like a bad idea, the blood draining from Asmodeus's face along with any sentence he could give, stammering in shock before lightning flashed outside, and just like that Mammon was gone without a trace

"M-Mammon!..." Asmodeus yelled out getting out of his chair, eyes darting around before landing on his balcony, seeing the familar three pointed sillouette making He said before rushing over to throw the doors open, but with another flash the figure vanished, making him growl "Wh-What are you doing here!? You can't be here! I made sure you couldn't!" The sin yelled clutching his suddenly aching head, before throwing his hands up sending a blast of fire out, revealing the barrier encompassing the entire skyscraper penthouse, invigorating even more so, likely to the poing it'd hurt bad if anyone activated it, though only one could agitate it, even if it's effectiveness seemed to questionable right now....

but he just huffed with a swish of his robe before he went back inside, rushing out of the room, nearly knocking over an Succubus walking down the hall, letting out a yelp drawing Ozz's attention to her "A-Asmodeus! What's got you in such a rush boss?"She asked, noticing the fear and panick on his face "Mammon."

"What?!"

"Mammon! Did you see him? He was just here! He snuck into my office and was just grinning at me then he just vanished! Where'd he go?!" He asked desperately, deeply flustering the poor Succubi "Uh.. no sir, I haven't seen anyone but you tonight, I'm sorry..." She said bashfully, before he sighed "It's fine Venus. Just... nevermind. Go... Go home, I'll handle what I need to but don't stay on my part... I must just be tired" He said, massaging his temples before walking on, leaving a very confused woman in his wake "Okay...?"

After that he went to check on Fizz, still asleep and safe luckily, but just in case he put an extra secure ward on him to keep him that way, but Asmodeus couldn't bare to try to sleep, swearing he could hear his laughter along with all the glmpses of green and lime his peripheral was giving him. The slightest strange brush of his gown against his body or sensation against his tail feathers making him jump, pacing around before making his way to one of the lounges, lighting the fire with a snap of his fingers, summoning some cushions to lay on in front of the fire. His fire, something he had control of when he did not feel safe for the first time in centuries, eyes apprehensive about closing for fear of seeing that grin again. Just seeing in front of that fire alone, almost desperate to make it stay that way while wanting the opposite as well.

He couldn't bother his employees, with this, and especially not FIzz, he was just tired he told himself, and he jsut wished he passed out into a dreamless sleep soon, curling into a ball slightly as his heart beat wildly...

[infinitesimaldna]

Have You Ever Considered Killing Your Title?—Chapter 13

Masterpost

______

Remus was, at this point, seriously considering attending the ceremony in the buff. 

If he had to attend one more fitting ceremony, he felt like he was at serious risk of biting the tailor. It was one ceremony, he didn't need four outfits to choose from.

As he tugged open the door to his room, he made a silent vow to himself that if there was yet another new outfit waiting for him, he was throwing it out the window. 

Something else greeted him, however, sitting simply on the table in way too innocent a manner for how off guard it managed to catch Remus. 

It was the training dummy, the one from a couple weeks ago now. He had nearly forgotten about the whole incident, his interaction with Patton. In his defense, there had been just a bit going on since then, but still. Had it really been that short of a time? His talk with the older man felt like ages ago.

Then again, most things from before the announcement felt like a long time ago. 

He was hesitant as he approached the doll, somehow worried (if irrationally) that he would damage it again. Still, he picked the fabric up, examining where he knew he had ripped it in the shoulder. 

It was a very well done sewing job; Patton definitely had a talent if this was anything to show for it. The stitches were so small Roman had a hard time seeing them, only able to just find the edge of the thread because he knew exactly where the hole had been. They were even, perfectly spaced from one another, like he had measured each one. That, or he just had an immaculate sense of space. This dummy was better off for the fact that Remus hadn’t been the one to sew it, and he was hit with another wave of gratitude to the man he ran into that day. 

Speaking of which, there was a piece of paper that floated to the surface of the table when he picked up the dummy, landing gracefully on the wooden surface. Remus was surprised he hadn’t seen it in the first place. 

Despite how little he knew about the other, somehow it fit Remus’ perception perfectly that he would leave a note and not just the dummy. Plus, this was something to read that didn’t revolve around that stupid ceremony.

Hey Kiddo, hope this finds you well!

I took a while to fix him up, but I figured it wouldn’t bother you too badly with all the other kerfuffle you’ve had to deal with. Plus, he looks as good as new now, if I do say so myself! Maybe with a little more character, but I just see that as a good thing.

I know things have changed since the last time we talked, but I still wanted to remind you of a few things. Advice doesn’t necessarily have to change just because the situation does! 

There’s no right or wrong way to be the crown prince, just like there wasn’t as only a prince. You can do things your way, and being authentic and finding your way to do it is probably one of the best things you can do. 

And remember to let yourself have moments where you’re not the authority! Make sure you’re taking care of yourself along with the kingdom, kiddo. Giving everything for them and nothing for yourself will only end with you not being able to help either. 

You’re a wonderful crown prince, and an even better young man. You may still be a lost soul, but that won’t always be the case. 

The kingdom is gonna love you, kiddo. And if you ever need a break from all that love, you’ll always have a place down here. It may be past its hay-day (get it?), but it’s a pretty good place to get away. It’ll never be closed to a wandering soul.

Patton

It was perhaps the calmest Remus had felt in days, reading that note. There was just something so straightforward about the other man, something that made everything seem so simple despite how complicated his own situation was. Nevermind the fact his entire life had been a lie, and he was technically usurping the throne from his brother despite being the only one who knew that; anything could be fixed when put so easily to paper. Like he really could just find that place to get away, and everything would work itself out.

Removing himself from the equation wasn’t exactly an option, though. Not in his position. If he wanted freedom in that wandering soul way Patton mentioned, he’d probably have to be dead first. 

He looked at the note again, smiling at the other’s scrawl, so messy compared to his own that had been carefully trained into neatness. Patton seemed so sure he would be loved by the people, but he wasn’t even the one they should be giving their adoration to. That honor belonged to Roman, even if no one else knew. 

And then he considered the other part of Patton’s advice: the wrong way to do things. 

He couldn’t abandon the idea entirely—it had been so forcefully ingrained into him it fell as carvings in his bone, etched into the surface. As much as Patton may think there was no wrong way, Remus knew better.

What he might consider was that perhaps the wrong way wasn’t necessarily wrong. In a complicated, “it may not be the option they want but it’s the option they need” kinda way. Was it not on that very ideal that his father had called out his name instead of Roman’s? Doing things the wrong way in terms of lineage, but still doing as he saw necessary?

His parents were more than willing to utilize the wrong way, it seemed. He was sure if he really dug, he could find a dozen more examples throughout his life. What stopped him from doing the same?

The fact that they’ll disown you, that same whispering voice from before came forward. Or punish you, or something else along those lines. If you try to go down this path, you’ll lose them, probably forever.

You’ve already lost Roman.

Remus winced at that one, shaking his head to shake away the voice. Like hitting a pillow a few times to make sure the filling falls the way you want it to. 

He looked back at Patton’s note, resting carefully against the dummy. Freedom from the pressure on every decision he made, or the love of the only family he had. 

It was then that an idea sparked in his mind; first just a little echo of a whisper but growing quickly in volume. Threads started to weave together, the stitching coming together so tightly in his mind he was sure when it was complete it would rival Patton’s work. 

It wouldn’t be possible alone, that much he was sure of. But he had people on his side, had some for almost a decade now. They always seemed happiest when he was his authentic self; surely they would help him in his plan if it allowed that to happen more often. Maybe even permanently. 

The idea of permanence, of finality—here it felt right.

Perhaps… it could be better to be lost than loved, now couldn’t it?

~~

The next week was a whirlwind. 

Janus was running around more than he thought he ever had, and that was on top of delegating most of his ordinary chores to other servants. Luckily, he wasn’t questioned too much on it, being able to play it off as having extra responsibilities with his prince’s inaugural ceremony coming up.

He wasn’t entirely sure how that was working, since he was spending more time going down to the lower town than anything. At least his reputation for heading down there often was helpful now, providing a convenient cover to avoid suspicion. 

He had hit the tavern yesterday, so today he was scouting outside the brothel. Of course, not many knew it was a brothel, but that was practically Janus’ personality: knowing things he wasn’t supposed to. 

It was going to be a long day, he thought as he settled into a cranny across the way where he wouldn’t be easily seen. Every day would be long for a bit. When he thought about his friend though…

He stepped forward, just enough so the gentlemen who had just exited would catch sight of him, quickly disappearing back to where he was with enough of an atmosphere about it to draw the man in. 

The long days were worth it for Remus.

~~

Patton wasn’t expecting anything to be different when he got to the stables that morning, but there was something pinned to the door. He hummed curiously, honestly more used to random people stopping by than finding anything written. 

A crying kid or overworked servant? Normal. A note? Outside his area of expertise.

Luckily, the marshall was never one to turn away from surprises, and so he opened the note and began reading. It was several pages, rife with information and a blocky style of penmanship, as well as the occasional drawing. 

He tucked the pages in his pocket as he unlocked the stables, approaching the first horse and giving them a pat on the snout when they snorted. 

It seemed it was one of his kiddos, after all.

~~

Logan didn’t like talking to Prince Roman, and that alone proved how dedicated he was to this cause. 

That didn’t mean he would smile as he approached the man, though. 

“Prince Roman, I would like to discuss some of the upcoming assignments for the knights with you.”

“Oh, Sir Logan! Did Remus send you in his steed?” Roman chuckled. “He has been a hard man to track down this week.”

“You are quite right about that, your highness. If we could perhaps head somewhere a bit quieter?”

“Of course, of course.” 

The prince followed him back to the guest room Logan had previously checked was empty, looking perhaps a bit confused but not questioning just yet. It was only once Logan had locked the door behind them both that the prince chose to speak.

“You know, we typically just hold these meetings in the strategy room. It was a bit further but still an option.”

“I apologize for my deception,” Logan started, adjusting his spectacles where they sat on the bridge of his nose, “but it was imperative I get you by yourself with little suspicion being cast upon us.”

A crack in the prince’s cheery facade. “Sir Logan?”

“Your skills and services are going to be tested very soon, and it’s my job to make sure you play your role well.”

“I must admit, I’m very confused. This has nothing to do with the knights’ schedule?”

“No, rather another matter that holds a higher importance. Although, I do have a written list of the placements for the knights this next week to give to you, so that you walk out of here with the knowledge you supposedly entered to obtain.”

“I’d like to think there’s no ‘supposedly’ about it,” came Prince Roman’s reply, his shoulders rising and stature increasing from where he stood next to the table. “What are you hinting at?”

“I’m afraid I can’t get into many of the details.” Logan tried to sound apologetic as he said it; tone was never his strong suit. “Your role is simply critical, despite how you’re unable to know exactly how big a part you play. The most I can give you right now is to let you know a moment will come soon, and you’ll know the right thing to do.”

In front of him, the prince seemed flabbergasted, unable or unwilling to comprehend what he was being told. “Sir Logan, you have to understand how vague this is. Is there a threat coming to the castle? Is there some chatter of something in motion to disturb my brother’s ceremony?”

Logan sighed. He really didn’t want to have to resort to giving him more information, but it seemed he would have to. There was a reason he had befriended the other prince instead of this one. 

With his decision made, he stepped forward to make eye contact with Prince Roman. “Look, we both know I don’t like you—”

“You don’t like me?”

“—but this isn’t for me, it’s for your brother. That alone should prove I’m being earnest.”

There was a pause as Prince Roman seemed to search his gaze, looking for something Logan didn’t know, but he was certain he was conveying it anyway. 

“Did Janus put you up to this?”

“...He has a part to play as well.”

There was a sigh, and Prince Roman all but sunk into one of the chairs at the table they were situated next to. “I can’t know more?” he asked.

“Not without it causing trouble, for you and others.”

“That servant really will be the death of me.” Roman rubbed at his temples for a moment, placing his hand out a second later. “You said you had the plans for the guards this week?”

 “I do, but your—”

“Sir Logan, I understand.” Roman was quick to cut him off, his gaze sharp but not angry. “You said it will be a certain moment, and I doubt it to be this exact one. So, let’s see those guard routes, yes?”

Overall, this whole thing went better than Logan expected, and he was all too willing to draw forth the guard assignments, beginning the detailed explanation of where everyone was to be for their next rotations in the upcoming week. 

~~

Remus didn’t think himself the sentimental type, but before the ceremony, here he was, cross legged on the floor next to his wardrobe, old wooden sword in hand. 

He hadn’t used it in years, not since he and Roman had started proper training and had been given blunt swords instead. He wasn’t sure it had even moved from where it sat at the bottom of his wardrobe in the past 10 years. 

He wished he could remember where every chip in the paint came from.

Every edge of the wood seemed to have a gash in it, only the center portion of the blade still retaining its silver color. They really had always gone all out when they fought with these things, never taking it easy on the swords or each other.

There was a comfort in knowing that no matter how much they both had changed, their ability to be extra never had. 

And Remus… Remus was about to do the most extra thing of all. He gripped the small play sword like a lifeline, conveying to it everything he had wanted to say over the past 18 years, every comment he let slip away for the sake of being proper. 

He let his love for his brother flow towards it, so palpable he was surprised there wasn’t a physical manifestation. 

But no, it was just him. Him, and this old wooden blade. 

He left it on the windowsill, pointed towards he and his brother’s favorite spot to play, as he exited the room to take his role of crown prince.

------

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