#not my fault the wizard took over my brain

[residentdormouse]

Guess I'm drawing again... And I'm pretty sure this is the first in the 'Goddamn it, I need another option...' series.

Also the start of my petition to have more 'Give them a Hug' in game prompts. They all desperately need one. More than one. Lots. Lots of hugs. Emotional Heimlich maneuvers for the full bunch. They need it, your honor.

(Do I wish this would have happened somewhere more scenic? Or anywhere other than Auntie Ethel's hideout? Yes. But, you know, can't ignore when that little '!' hits...)

[corrodedcoughin]

little story about little Eddie and his 2 new friends | word count approx 2.5k | general audience rating | steve and eddie are kids and Wayne is a pushover

Wayne sometimes thinks it was a mistake, not taking in the boy. God no, he would never think of Eddie as anything other than an important and intrinsic part of his life, couldn't be without him, wouldn't want to be. 

No, what Wayne worries about is how his readiness to help Eddie feel loved might contribute to the boy's difficulty in making friends.

It was an innocent enough request, Eddie asked for a pet as all young children do. He was so small and so wide eyed, just a scrap of an 8 year old with more feelings than he knew what to do with. Wayne knew he'd never hold up against any request Eddie made but he liked to pretend to himself that he could. And while technically he never pandered to the boy, yes Eddie usually got what he wanted but in a way that suited their means. Or so Wayne tells himself. 

8 year old Eddie asked for a pet and a pet is what he got.

-

Eddie barrelled into the trailer door, backpack swinging off his arm and ready to be thrown into the corner. Planning to shoot off back out the door to do his usual; lift up rocks and inspect whatever bugs he could find, to grab sticks and imagine them as wizard staffs, to let his imagination finally run wild after hours of sitting still at a desk under too bright lights and too busy class rooms. In truth he wasn't really paying attention to the insides of the trailer, expecting it to be the same as always. It took a very pointed cough for Eddie to register that Wayne was unusually home from work, far earlier than normal, and a further loud clearing of the throat for Eddie to pay attention to what Wayne had placed on the kitchen table. 

Right in the middle of the table, sitting in a beam of sunlight, was a cage and in that cage was what would soon become, Eddie's very reason for being. He crept up close, almost as if scared that any sudden movements would prove the whole thing to be a cruel illusion. He was brought out of his reverie by a pink nose wiggling at the bars, whiskers attached and twitching as the rest of the rat appeared.

'is he-? is he for real?' Eddie said with a gasp, hands inching towards the door of the cage. 

Wayne had to suppress a laugh, trust this boy to be bowled over in wonder at a rat as if it were a puppy. He opened the contraption of the enclosure door and dipped his hand inside, allowing the rat to climb onto his palm. The guy from work assured him that this one was the most tame he had, inquisitive to a fault and oddly enough, desperate to be handled. Quite honestly, the perfect match for his well meaning but excitable nephew-near-enough-son. 

'Yeah, yeah kid it's for real. And he's a she.' Wayne lets the rat sniff at Eddie's hands, little pink hands finding a platform on Eddie's palms, clearly holding himself a still as possible but if Wayne knew this boy, and he did, he knows that Eddie is so close to vibrating out of his skin, that containing that much excitement must be killing him. 

'I don't care. Wayne, I don't! Can she sleep in my room? Does she know tricks? Can I teach her? What does she like? Can I take her to school? Please! Wayne!' He's started now, words pouring out of his mouth, tripping over himself to try and release every thought entering his brain at lightning speed.

'Woah, there' Wayne says pulling the rat up, cradling it in two hands, 'We got to be kind to her alright? She's only small. Doesn't know what loud noises are good and which are bad, okay?' He watches as Eddie nods vigorously, eyes never leaving the creature. 'Now you promised me you'd look after a pet so that's what's going to happen. She is your responsibility. That means cleaning, feeding and loving, got it?' Eddie nods again, tentatively reaching his hands up, the image of Oliver Twist springs to Wayne's mind. 

Wayne comes around the kitchen table, crouches down to Eddie on creaky knees and hands the rat over, filling Eddie's small hands with a heartbeat and fur. Eddie giggles, watching as the rat surveils the new patch of skin its found itself on. 

'Tickles, Wayne' and its said with such love and devotion Wayne almost feels his heart break 

'Yeah son. She does, doesn't she?' 

-

 Of course it takes less than a week and Eddie and Sam are inseparable. As soon as Eddie gets home he's itching for his furry friend, delighting in the way she scampers around the room, over his arms and anywhere she can get. No matter what though, she always comes back to him. She can be digging in to a particularly interesting crevice behind the couch but she'll always come running back when she hears Eddie make a noise.  

The thing is, Eddie is a pretty lonely kid. Not for lack of trying, don't get it wrong. Eddie tries to socialise he tries to talk to the other kids in his class, get them involved in his imaginary games and play pretend but being the new kid doesn't really do him any favours. Being the new kid that lives in the trailer park and a penchant for biting to show affection does him even less. 

To Eddie, its him and Sam against the world. He can come home and know that his best friend will listen to all his problems, will stay close and won't run away even when he's extra loud or being 'a lot' as his teacher like to tell him. He's so tired of being told to use his 'quiet hands', his 'inside voice' and every other subdued phrase they try to press on him. 

This particular day was a hard one, Sally Winters had said that Eddie was 'bad luck' and the word quickly spread around by recess. Eddie had thought he was making some progress with a couple of kids from the class, was thinking today might be the day that he finally got asked to play but that hope quickly got squashed. He had hopped up to the potential friends with a stick in his hand and a notion of being a pirate when they both looked at him like he was a monster, they couldn't get away fast enough. And Eddie couldn't find a place to hide quick enough before the fat and heavy tears fell from his eyes. 

It was a long day and home time was his only saving grace. 

Wayne knows somethings up, can tell in the way that Eddie isn't even really talking to Sam, hardly looking at the Tv despite the fact that Wayne very purposefully had put the cartoon Lord of the Rings movie on. The sure fire fall back he liked to keep in his back pocket. The trump card to get his kid happy. This time though? No luck. Looking at the kid makes a chasm open up in his gut, deep and full of overwhelming sadness that he just wants to stop, wants to find the solution to make this boy smile like the sun again. They don't talk much for the rest of the night but Wayne makes sure to stay close, stay awake in case he's needed. Eddie spends the time between dinner and bed sitting on the floor, side pressed up against Wayne's leg and playing fetch with bits of Wayne's whittling with Sam, not a word said. 

-

Eddie wakes up the next morning with a plan and a devil may care attitude. Oh so carefully he maintains his usual routine; says good morning to Sam, carts her around the trailer as he washes his face and wanders into the kitchen, placing her in her secondary cage so she can eat breakfast with Eddie and Wayne - Eddie was adamant that they couldn't have meals without her, 'she's part of the family!' and soft hearted fool Wayne Munson agreed and an additional cage was sourced. 

When breakfast is finished Eddie begins his usual rigmarole of dragging his feet to get out of his pjs and into his clothes, reluctant to grab his bag and go out the door. Same old protests as Wayne watches him walk out towards the school bus. 

What is a new addition to the routine though, is Sam Munson hiding up the sleeve of a school boy and about to go on a secret and very dangerous mission. A mission to survive the school day. 

Surprisingly, Eddie manages to keep Sam secret, keep her safe, the whole morning. He came prepared with snacks to make sure she was entertained and happy, he couldn't stand the thought of her being sad, her eyes get so big and her tail droops as well as her ears, it makes the whole of Eddie ache. But no, she's happy, or happy enough at least. 

So the morning goes without a hitch, Eddie making noises to cover up any squeaks and keeping a hand in his pocket to reassure Sam, stowed in the pocket of his hoodie. He knows he's seen as 'weird' so what's a few extra noises? They are let out for recess and Eddie breathes a sigh of relief, thinking this is his time to let Sam out, knowing she's desperate for some fresh air. Sure, she's peed in his hoodie pocket, but he can't really tell with it's dark colour and the layer of t-shirt between the wet material and his tummy. 

He runs off to his usual corner, stuck between a bush and a tree and gently tips Sam out of his pocket, she scampers around his feet and gratefully accepts a broken off bit of cracker between her hands.

'Thanks for coming with me Sam. Everyone is so mean, its so stupid. I don't care. You are a better friend than any of those losers' He crouches down, hoping to find a twig to play fetch with. A game that he delights in, is immeasurably proud of her for learning it so quickly. 'Gonna find you the best stick Sam. Promise. Best stick for the best friend' 

He continues muttering to himself and doesn't notice that he's getting progressively louder after finding a twig and beginning the game. Doesn't register that he's drawn unwanted attention with his happy shouts and encouragement until a body is crashing through the shrub he's hidden himself behind. 

Sam doesn't notice either until the unexpected form is right in front of her and she bolts, running as fast as her legs will carry her and Eddie is right behind her, muttering under his breath as he trips over his own feet in an attempt to catch her 'oh shit oh no oh no oh no' He's pushing himself as hard as he can but it doesn't count for much, he never was the fastest. He keeps trying though but then a faster body is accelrating past him, in a evident bee line for Sam. 

Without thinking, Eddie lets out a painful 'NO!' terrified of what might happen.

He knows people think rats are dirty, thinks they don't deserve love and don't deserve life. He doesn't want to imagine what this person's intent might be. Sam reaches a dead end up against the wall of the school and the body, the boy, stops infront of her. Scoops her up? Cradles her into his chest? Eddie...Eddie doesn't know what to think, he's prepared to fight this kid but then the boy is looking up at him with curious hazel eyes. Stroking Sam's head gently and with intent.

He holds Sam out, careful with his motions, trying to blow his brown floppy hair out of his face without disturbing the animal in his hands 'is she okay? is she yours? did I hurt her? she looks okay, is she?' Eddie gingerly steps forward and plucks Sam out of the boys hands, gives hera thorough inspection as the other boy continues 

'I didn't mean to scare her I swear! I didn't even know you had her! I won't tell, I swear I wont! You know...you shouldn't really have a rat in school. If I promise not to tell can I play with you? I'm Steve' 

Holding her close, Eddie squints at the boy, at Steve, and thinks. Thinks about how he looks nice, about how soft his hair looks and how he asked Eddie, Eddie!, to play, that he didn't give him a wide bearth and that he held Sam with such care. It isn't even a hard decision.

They spend the rest of recess together. Eddie shows Steve just how smart Sam. That she can play fetch, that she can run across one arm to the next, over your shoulders without losing balance. That she can twitch her whiskers and it seems like she's laughing at the joke Eddie tells her. That she laughs at the joke Steve tells her! Steve learns that she's named after somebody called Samwise and it doesn't matter that he's a boy because Sam is brave just like Samwise and smart and cares just as much. That Sam is Sam and Eddie is Frodo and together they can take on the world. 

Steve asks if he can have a name too and Eddie calls him Legolas, doesn't tell him why. Doesn't say that Steve reminds him of the pretty elves described in the books Wayne reads out loud to Eddie. It doesn't matter, not really. 

Recess ends and they shuffle back to the school doors, both of them lagging behind the others.

Eddie steels himself, knows he has to bring his misfortune up so that he can own in, so that his new friend doesn't find out from someone else. 'I'm bad luck you know. Sally...she said it. now everyone wont talk to me. I wont be mad if you don't either. I've got Sam. We'll be oaky! So you can just go, I don't care!' He knows he's getting wound up, he can't stop himself. He just wants the bandaid ripped off so he can start feeling sad quicker, get it over with sooner.

Before he can register is, Steve is wrapped around Eddie in a flash of a hug, careful to keep his tummy away from squashing Sam. 

'Not bad luck to me. See you tomorrow Frodo' Steve whispers next to Eddie's ear and shuffles through the school door. 

Eddie is in a daze of joy and happiness, thoughts rumbling through his head but none of them sticking as he journey back into his class room. Pure happiness radiating out of his body, he takes Sam out of his pocket and holds her up to his face 'Sam you made my bad luck go away!' kissing her on the forehead as he hears his teacher scream 

'EDWARD MUNSON IS THAT A RAT?!'

-

So Wayne thought the already unpopular kid having a rat would make things worse. Turns out, he was wrong. Very, very wrong. He might have to start pocket inspections before school though.

--------------------------------------

also on ao3 if that's the preferred reading format for you

[ariundercovers]

Withholding (Din Djarin x Reader)

Summary: Din has been holding something back from you. He finally willingly gives it.

Pairing: Din Djarin x Reader (one female gender descriptor used @ the end)

Word count: ~2k

Warnings: fluff, marshmallows, and feely good feelings. A flagon of angst at the very beginning if you squint with some reading glasses on.

A/n: This is very dialogue heavy - not my usual style of writing! It's super plotty for being a fluffy fic so, idk. we'll just try it out. As always - let me know what you think!

It was just about a week since the three of you settled in the small cabin on Nevarro. You and Din were happily seated outside under the small awning, Grogu off playing with the other school-aged students for the time being. There was a comfortable silence between you for some time when Din finally broke it unceremoniously.

“I commed Bo Katan yesterday.”

You turn to look at him, surprised. “Oh? And?”

“She asked me if I had taken you as my riduur yet, and then she told me I was a kriffing moron. Her words.” You’re surprised at the response, assuming it would have been something regarding Mandalore, but then you chuckle. 

“Sounds about right.”

He nods his head almost imperceptively. “She made me realize many things. I owe you a lot.”

You turn fully to him, eyebrows scrunched together in concern. “What? No, you don’t owe me anything.”

He sits up a little straighter and it feels like his visor is burrowing into your very soul with the intensity he is giving off. “I do though. I owe you much. I know you were disappointed when I took Grogu as my own in the mines, in front of all the other Mandalorians, but I did not offer the same to you. It wasn’t fair.”

“No, no… It’s okay. I understand. I know I’m not Mandalorian, and, well, honestly I’m just happy with whatever you can give me. I don’t need more.” 

He sighs, always overwhelmed by the selflessness you exhibit to a fault, especially when it comes to him and the kid. 

“But it’s not okay. I have been withholding things from you, and that’s not right. You have given me everything, you have shared all of yourself with me, but I have not offered you the same. I can give you more than this.”

He pauses briefly before continuing. “It never felt like the right time. I’ve had nothing to offer you - no home, no stability. Just running into the abyss and a wizard of a tiny green child.”

You laugh at his description of your lives over the past few years. “I love running into the abyss with you. And I love your tiny green child.”

He leans into you abruptly. “Ours, cyare. Our tiny green child.” 

You hum in response. You know he’s right, even if it’s hard to admit to yourself. “I don’t need anything from you, Din. Just you. I don’t need a home, or a ship. I don’t need stability. I just need you and Grogu. I’ll run into the abyss for the rest of my life if it means I get to have the two of you.”

He leans back in the chair a little bit, looking out over the fields that sprawl in front of your little home. “I know that now. But I wanted so badly to be able to provide for you in some way. I was starting to think the Crest was enough of a home for us, but just as I was coming to terms with that, Gideon showed up and we lost the kid. I needed to have something for you. You deserve something. You are an amazing mother, and an even better partner. You are… everything to me. You are the planets, the suns, and all the stars in my galaxy.”

“Din…” You can feel yourself blushing as he overwhelms you with compliments. It’s too much to wrap your brain around.

“I mean it. We finally have a moment here - a small slice of normal. Something… real, maybe even permanent. But it’s still not complete because I have one thing more I need to offer you, to let you choose.”

You turn your head toward him, brows scrunching in confusion. You’re curious, unsure exactly where he’s going with it.

“Cyar’ika, I want nothing more than to have you as my riduur, my kin. You are already part of my clan but I want you to be mine and I yours, completely. I… would you make a riduurok with me? Be my riduur?”

You knew what a riduur was - at least a little bit. The first time you had met her, Bo-Katan mistakenly assumed you already made a riduurok. She explained it to you a bit then. The first time you met Paz, he huffed about letting an aruetii in - that Din needed to be a real Mandalorian and choose his riduur already.

“I’ve been wondering if you would ever ask. I was starting to think you couldn’t ask me… Or wouldn’t, maybe.” Your eyes dart down to your lap, where you’re fiddling with your hands.

“I know. I never should have made you wait this long.”

You look up to him, meeting his visor. “Surely you must know I would have said yes, right? If you had asked me before.”

He nods back at you. “I know. This wasn’t about you, it was all me. And I’m sorry. I should’ve asked you many cycles ago.” 

You smile softly and pull on of his hands into your lap, craving the friction of his skin against yours. “How does it work? Is there a ceremony?”

You slowly unlatch the buckle of his glove, loosening each finger. “No. It’s always done in private. You exchange a set of vows in Mando’a.”

You pause, to look at him with a concerned expression. “I’m gonna fuck them up.”

He puffs out a chuckle and turns his hand over so you have easy access to the alm. “Doesn’t matter. It’s about the intention behind them.” 

You nod your head in agreement, pulling his glove the rest of the way off and tucking it off to the side. “Will you let me? Let me take you as my riduur?”

You revel in the feeling of his bare skin upon your own as you contemplate how you’ll answer - of course you know the answer you’ll give him already, but you have to figure out how you’ll actually say it. You lace your fingers in his own. “Yes, Din. Of course, I will.”

He stares, unmoving.

“Just like that, you say yes to marrying a person you’ve never even seen before?”

You sigh, immediately understanding where this line of questioning was going. Din was always a self-deprecating soul - someone who didn’t understand how he could deserve, or earn, happiness in his life. Someone who saw himself as a means to an end more than as anything else. 

“Din… I’ve seen enough of you to know you’re human. That’s good enough for me. I don’t need to see you to know I love you.”

His helmet droops, looking away. “You’ve never wondered?”

You shake your head no. “Not really. I try not to let myself. I respect you and your Creed far too much to allow my thoughts to go down that road.”

“What if I’m ugly? Beneath all the beskar?”

You tilt your head to the side and smile genuinely at him. There’s that self-deprecation creeping in again. “A man as good as you could never be. I see you, Din Djarin, through all the beskar. And Din Djarin the man - not Din Djarin the Mandalorian - is a kind and compassionate soul. He’s an honorable and righteous man, a great father, and a very worthy romantic partner. You could never be ugly to me, because that is how I see you, helmet or not.”

He doesn’t move, only speaks lowly, nearly a whisper.“What if I’m… disfigured? Or horrifying? Or something else?”

You smile again, rubbing the back of his hand as you hope to settle his nerves. You can tell he has built all this up into something major in his mind. “Then I’d learn to love that, too. But it doesn’t matter, because I will never, ever, ask you to break your Creed for me.”

The two of you sit in silence for a few moments, pleasant as you stare into his visor, hoping that any change might alert you to his current mental state. He’s the first one to break the silence.

“I know you wouldn’t ask it. It’s part of the vows.”

You blink a few times, not understanding. “What’s part of the vows?”

He responds quickly. “I have to show you my face.”

You’ll feel badly about it later, but in the moment you’re so taken aback by it that your voice raises and comes out like a blaster shot. “You what?”

You can hear a audible deep sigh through the modulator, his tone exasperated. “We vow to share all with one another. I have to share this, too. There are no secrets between riduurs. It’s why they’re always done in private.”

You squeak out an “oh”, but that’a all you can manage.

“Do you… still want to? If you don’t, I wouldn’t…”

You shift quickly, gathering both of his hands in your own as you pull yourself closer to him. You want him to see that you are serious about this. “Yes. Kriff, yes, of course I do.”

“Even if…” You shake your head and cut him off before he can start.

“No. Din. Even if I could never see your face. Even if you were the most conventionally ugly human in the entire galaxy. I. Want. To. Marry. You.” He nods a little bit in acceptance. “How soon can we do it?”

Shifting in his seat, he squeezes your hands back in his own. “Whenever you want, cyar’ika. It’s just us.”

You look toward the barren lands in front of you and then back to him. “Can we do it now? Here?”

He sighs again, and you can tell how baadly this conversation must have been wearing on his soul. “If that’s what you want, yes.”

“Then tell me the vows.”

He’s visibly taken aback by your sudden response, floored by the way you’ve been responding to him since he first brought this all up. “You… really? Right now?”

You sit up in the chair a little more, smiling, waiting, hopeful “I’ve waited long enough, Din - I’m not wasting another moment without you being mine. What are the vows, Din?”

He stutters out a response. Even though he knows these vows by heart, sharing them with you sends him spiraling into a nervousnss that he’s never felt before.“I, uh… T-There are four of them: Mhi solus tome. We are one when together. Mhi solus dar’tome. We are one when parted. Mhi me’dinui an. We share all. Mhi bajuri verde. We will raise warriors.”

You smile. The vows - like all things Mandalorian - are short and sweet. But that means that every vow - every word - every letter - means that much more. Din tells you each vow again, this time addressing you directly. He goes slowly, and helps you through each vowel that feels foreign on your tongue. You stumble the most over the last one - the heavy-handed language is like a sticky substance stuck to the roof of your mouth, but you make it through to the other side and you look at him, hopeful. 

There’s a lightness to your heart that you don’t recognize when Din tells you, “Then it is written in song, my riduur.”

Your face erupts into a wild grin, never having thought youd see the day that he would can you mine. “Riduur…” You test out the word on your tongue, feeling like you could have been floating on clouds.

His hands squeeze yours, pulling you out of your thoughts and back into the moment.

“Yes. My riduur, Lady Djarin.”  Your cheeks hurt from smiling so much for so long, but you just cant make yourself stop. You can’t help the expression that forms on your face at his words. 

“Lady Djarin. I like it.” He chuckles, smoothing one ungloved hand over your cheek. He grabs your hands in his and places them on either side of his helmet. 

“Help me fulfill the rest of my vows to you?” 

You nod your head, yes, knowing that this moment would be emblazoned in your memory forever. This evening would change everything. In a new house, on a new planet, with a newly christened relationship, and a tiny wizard of a green child, this is where you and Din finally became one. One clan, one partnership, one shared bond - forever.

And it turns out, you couldn’t wait.

riduur - spouse

riduurok - marriage/love bond

aruetii - outsider

cyare/cyar'ika - beloved one; term of endearment

[snotsloth]

10 Characters/10 Fandoms/10 Tags

Tagged by @icehearts

Tagging, but don't feel pressured! (Also you do not have to make pretty pictures. Graphic Designer brain just took over and this happened.) @physicalvocalist, @sarenraegalpaladin, @vorpalbun, @captainqster, @leagor-majere, @sundered-souls, @ardberts, @hinganskies, @lilbittymonster, @janzoo

1. Harrowhark Nonagesimus - The Locked Tomb Trilogy

Harrow has true scrungly wet cat energy. I want to put her in one of those little backpacks with a window and carry her around in it for her enrichment. She's an absolute bitch. She is a pathetic little meow meow. She lobotomized herself to save the soul of the woman she refuses to admit she's in love with. She tried to kill a saint with soup made from her own bone marrow. She is a war crime. I like her so much!

2. Magneto - X-Men

He is the platonic ideal of my favorite trope, "Does all the wrong things for all the right reasons." Magneto has gone through the polar opposite of villain decay. The longer he exists, the longer the universe has to prove him increasingly correct on most things. All I can really say is, "Magneto was right."

3. Wei Wuxian - Mo Dao Zu Shi

Truly the most blorbo of all time. Are you also an ADHD burned out gifted and talented submissive brat with a praise kink? Boy howdy, do I have a character that you are going to imprint on like a baby goose! Wei Wuxian also has a hearty dose of, "Does all the wrong things for all the right reasons." Also like who multiclasses in wizard (specifically necromancer) and bard? This fucking guy apparently.

4. Hythlodaeus - Final Fantasy 14

I am so normal about Hythlodaeus, I made an entire AU around him. That is a reasonable thing to do about a character that you like a normal amount, right? The idealized lost love, trapped in amber, untouchable but also incorruptible by the sands of time that keep eroding the edges of your soul. And then they gave him lavender dead anime mom hair!

5. Varric Tethras - Dragon Age

I literally have a semi-viral post about how much this character has consumed my thoughts. Rule Number 1 of Dragon Age: Varric lies. He's a charming scoundrel. He's loyal to a fault. He knows everything worth knowing about Kirkwall. And he's a dirty fucking liar. The only reason Varric isn't romanceable in DA2 is that no other romantic interest would get any attention if Varric was on the table. I desire him carnally.

6. Temeraire - Temeraire

My most precious and smartest boy! I adore Temeraire so much. Swear to god, I did not read the Temeraire books before creating Orion as a character, but the parallels are so strong, you would think I had! He's a bookworm, a little awkward but full of opinions, and he has an unwavering moral compass. Temeraire will forever be one of my favorite dragon characters.

7. Jaina Solo - Star Wars Legends

I will never forget what Disney took from me. As a weird, nerdy girl who was also kind of a guy growing up, Jaina meant so much to me. She was an active participant in the stories she was in. She was an ace pilot, a skilled mechanic, and a Jedi to boot. She had her dad's sense of humor and her mom's moral certainty. I thought she was the coolest. Still do.

8. Ansur - Baldur's Gate 3

Ansur! My beloved! If you had told me that the character I would be most obsessed with from BG3 would be an undead bronze dragon who you don't even know about until the third act -- actually, no that checks out. He was so in love, and so loyal, and so bitter at Balduron for embracing his corruption! And that reveal! All the build-up, only to find his bones and then wham! the entire narrative of the Emperor gets turned on its head. I still get chills. Also, they were absolutely fucking.

9. Viktor - Arcane

Listen, as a disabled, obsessive nerd with too much to do and not enough time to do it all in, Viktor is my gender. I love just about everything about Arcane, but Viktor's storyline is my favorite part. I, for one, am very excited to watch his fall from grace and further corruption. I have already forgiven all of his atrocities. I do not care. He's babygirl.

10. Clark Kent - DC

You thought I was going to say Jason or Dick for a DC character didn't you? (Or even Roy!) Those would all have been very reasonable expectations. I am pretty obsessed with all of them. However, Clark Kent is a very special character to me, and yes I specifically am focusing on the Clark persona and not the Supes persona. Yeah, they are ultimately the same guy, but I much prefer Superman stories grounded in his Clark Kent identity. Superman is at his best when he is attached to the mundane world by things like his job, his family, and his love for Lois. (Lois/Clark is the ultimate het ship. I will not be taking questions on this. It just is.) Clark is essentially a demigod, and yet he chooses to spend his time loving people and living as one of them, and I think that's really fucking cool.

[philcoulsonismyhero]

⛅️🌧️🌈!!!

Okay since you know what the deal is with the crack QPR fic and it's partially your fault inspired by your QPR-fic-posting, I'm going to go with bits from that.

For those not in the know, I rewatched the first Kingsman movie while I had Rivers of London on the brain and decided Harry Hart and Thomas Nightingale would be really good friends. And then I ended up thinking 'but what if... they got queerplatonic about it' because I headcanon them both as aro and suddenly my brain was full of emotionally repressed old men figuring out how to navigate the fact that cuddling and/or platonic bed sharing suddenly sounded like a really good idea. They're both used to dealing with things on their own and suddenly here's someone who Gets It, and maybe around him it's okay to let the walls down a bit and acknowledge that sometimes You Just Need A Hug...

It's deeply self-indulgent and I'm having a lot of fun. Mildly embarrassed about how sappy it gets, but Fuck It, We're Rolling With It

🌤️Share your favorite piece of dialogue from your WIP.

"We're not sleeping together," Nightingale said. "Well, aside from in the most literal sense." He frowned. "I find that euphemism awkward at the best of times, it's so unspecific."

Also, relevant to the next bit:

“Thomas, the fact that it took until now for one of us to wake the other up by screaming in our sleep is frankly a fucking miracle." (For context, they have shared a bed a grand total of. Twice, prior to this.)

🌧️Share something angsty from your WIP.

(From the obligatory 'one of these deeply traumatised men has nightmares around the other for the first time' scene. In this case, it's Nightingale.)

Thomas flailed slightly, fists clenched, his eyes wide and staring into a time that wasn’t now, but then his conscious mind asserted itself and he slumped, the coiled tension of action draining out of his shoulders and limbs. He put a hand to his face, rubbing his eyes, and when he glanced around at Harry through his fingers he was present again.

“Harry,” he said, his voice soft and a little ragged.

“I’m here,” said Harry. “You were dreaming.” Thomas reached over and fumbled in the vicinity of Harry’s hand. Harry took his hand, and Thomas held on tightly, grounding himself.

“I know,” he said. He was still breathing quickly, and started making an obvious effort to slow down and take in deep breaths. “Ettersberg,” he said, simply, and Harry didn’t need any more explanation. He lifted his other arm, offering an embrace if Thomas wanted it, but he shook his head in a tiny, tight motion. He still held on to Harry’s hand, though, in a grip that was so tight it was verging on painful. 

(Ettersberg was the battle during WWII where the vast majority of his friends and fellow wizards were killed, for context.)

🌈 Share something soft/fluffy from your WIP.

(Contextless post-hurt comfort, as witnessed by Peter)

Nightingale sat at one end of the sofa, at a slight angle so that his back was in the corner between the back of the sofa and the armrest, and Hart lay along the sofa with his head in his lap. His long legs stuck out awkwardly over the arm at the other side, but he didn’t seem to care. His eyes were closed, and he had one hand pressed against the bridge of his nose in a loose fist. His other hand hung off the front of the sofa, and was holding his glasses. Nightingale had apparently abandoned a hardcopy casefile that he’d been reading, leaving it lying open on Hart’s chest in favour of gently stroking the man’s hair.

It was a shockingly intimate moment, all the more so for how casual and comfortable it was, and I shrank back from the doorway, not wanting to disturb them. Hart was talking, but quietly, so that all I could hear was a low murmur without being able to make out the words. He looked tense, upset, but it was clear that Nightingale’s touch was slowly calming him down. As I watched, transfixed, mostly hidden behind in the doorway, Hart lifted his hand from his face and reached back to take Nightingale’s hand. Nightingale switched to running his other hand through his hair, and laced their fingers together. Hart then brought their linked hands down and gently kissed the back of Nightingale’s, holding it pressed against his mouth.

It was still strange, seeing Nightingale be so physical with anyone, let alone another man who looked like he’d have just as many Englishman’s hang-ups about touch. I’d seen enough of his gentle side to not be surprised, as such, that he was capable of it, I’d just never really expected to see it. And then Harry Hart had come along, and something had shifted in their friendship, and suddenly there was cuddling happening right under my nose.

[siriannatan]

Morning One-Shot

I Did Not Order TWO Familiars - fWhipScottJimmy wizards!au

Scott was certain he got the whole familiar summoning ritual set up properly. He checked it about ten times before starting the incantation. There was no way he made a mistake and yet…

He was now faced with two dragons. In their humanoid forms, luckily for the limited size of the summoning room. It could fit one dragon, it did once - thank you Grian, but not two. It has never, according to what Scott knew and was currently running through his brain, happened before that someone summoned two dragons at once. Small fey or other magical critters, yes. Not something as big and powerful as a dragon. What was he supposed to do with two dragons staring at him with wide eyes? Maybe he should have not worn his jewellery for this…

"Are you the one who summoned me?" the dragons asked at once before glaring at each other. And proceeded to argue as Scott's head started to develop a headache. He was sure there were bits of frost forming on the windows already.

"Shut up both of you, I'm trying to think," Scott glared and they instantly got quiet. "Sit there and wait for a moment, I have no idea why there are two of you," he ordered and send a message to Pixl. If anyone knew what to do about accidentally summoning two familiars it was him. "Any ideas why both of you showed up?" he asked once that was out of the way. "You first," he pointed to the blonde dragon. The other, the red-headed one, was visibly not too happy but didn't complain.

"Um… I was having a nap, then I felt the pull of a summon, and since I had nothing better to do I answered," he recalled, twisting his cute face in the most adorable of ways. Scott would not mind having him as his familiar even if just to look at. "It didn't feel unusual or weird in any way. Just a standard summoning," he added and shrugged.

"Pretty much the same here," the other dragon said with a sigh as Scott turned to him. "And the sigil here looks correct so… so it was either something from outside interfering or meant to be," he finished, glaring at the blondie. "I'm fWhip, a fire dragon," he quickly introduced himself. He was quite cute too, Scott was not against keeping him either.

"Jimmy, a water dragon," the other dragon quickly joined in on the introduction.

Fire? Water? Scott was expecting an ice-aligned familiar. "I'm Scott, I specialise in ice magic," the wizard introduced himself. "This whole situation is very confusing.

It was then that Pix and his familiar, a full wither named Sausage, showed up. He wasn't any less confused about the whole thing. "There is a way to check which of the two is your familiar since the ritual already settles a bond," Pix hummed and… Smacked Scott across the head which resulted in loud protests from both dragons. "There we have it, they're both your familiars," he concluded as the two and Sausage glared at each other. "Come on Soos, I need a nap," Pix patted his familiar and left. Completely unbothered by the fact that he just annoyed two grown dragons.

And Scott was once again alone with his problem. Two, glaring at each other, clearly unhappy that the other was staying dragons. The windows were properly frosted over now as Scott tried to think what to do now. He really wanted to sleep now. The ritual took a whole day to set up after all…

"You okay?" fWhip, the fire dragon asked, noticing Scott was staring at the ceiling and clearly upset. And he hugged Scott, of all things he could do. "It's cold here," he hummed as Scott sighed.

"I'm fine, it's my magic, this whole thing… I wasn't prepared for something like this happening," Scott explained as Jimmy joined the hug. He wasn't as warm as fWhip but Scott wasn't about to complain about two cute guys hugging him.

"Sorry?" Jimmy offered an apology for something Scott was aware wasn't any of their faults. "Would you like a nap?" he asked and both he and fWhip started to purr as Scott relaxed a bit.

"Yes, but I don't think my room has enough room for three," Scott sighed. "And no more arguing, it makes my head hurt," he added, noticing that the dragons were trying to smack each other's hands off of him.

"Not a problem," fWhip grinned and turned into a small dragon, just the right size to ride on Scott's shoulder. Dragons were known for their shape-shifting abilities so Scott wasn't too shocked, mostly because he was willing to do so. Dragons were also very proud creatures. Jimmy didn't stay far behind and also changed, perching on Scott's other shoulder.

Scott was not sure how but somehow managed to collect his things without either of the dragons falling off of him. And made it to his room, leaving the two on his bed before showering and collapsing into the plush bedding. He didn't have enough strength to care how Jimmy and fWhip organised themselves.

He woke up late the next day. Between two handsome guys. He was a bit confused for a second before his brain caught up and reminded him of his familiar situation. Both dragons ditched the simple shirts they wore last night, giving Scott a perfect view of patches of gold and red scales. What woke him up was the dragons waking up and growling at each other.

"No arguing," Scott reminded them with a yawn. "We're stuck together the three of us so do get along, at least when I'm around," he added relaxing into the pleasant warmth fWhip radiated off. Jimmy cuddled closer too. He was very pleasant to cuddle as well. "You're both lucky I have a day of classes today," Scott hummed, already ready to sleep some more. Food could wait a bit longer if it meant more cuddle time for him.

And people's reaction to him having two familiars. He really didn't need that right now. Maybe tomorrow, maybe Monday. Just not now.

[senorablack]

Happily Ever Afters or Whatever

Words: 4613 Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson Characters: The Party (Stranger Things) Additional Tags: Renaissance Faires, Pining, First Kiss, Post-Canon, Fluff and Humor, POV Eddie Munson Summary: Eddie coaxes Steve into attending a Renaissance faire with him and the kids. He’s prepared to laugh at Steve out of his element, but the dude ends up being an absolute Prince fucking Charming and then the jokes on him, really.

It’s like sipping his coffee right out the percolator. Like stubbing his toe on the drawer after he’s leapt out of bed, caught out of sorts as his alarm blares its final warning. Like all those times he’s gotten lippy with his bullies in freshman year only to have gotten them busted in against his teeth. It’s a sting, then an ache. Eddie rubs at his chest. Keeps an even pressure. First aid booth’s not too far off, that much is reassuring. But Eddie catches sight of him doing that and being like this again, and Eddie’s sure he’s experiencing what professionals might call a myocardial infarction, but what he knows intimately as a phantom's hand cutting through his chest and squeezing reallyreallyreally hard. Eddie’s hearts humming some war song in rebellion, trying to keep up the good fight. Eddie is just thankful something is leading the march forward because it’s not his brain. That’s focused solely on keeping his wizard’s staff upward and not hurling over his midnight blue cloak. All to say, if he dies at a Ren faire, it’ll all be Steve Harrington’s fault, even if it was his own fault first. 

It was hard work, but he was hellbent on getting that square son of a bitch to come.

It took masterfully orchestrated psychological manipulation (“You’d really deprive your son-slash-little brother-slash-best buddy an immersive, one-of-a-kind, for-a-few-nights-only learning experience? Shit, Steve, that’s low, even for you.”). 

Blackmail (“If you don’t come I’ll be force to let Rob and Nance know that you let me do your eyeliner when we were stoned last Wednesday. What was your response again, oh, not terrible?”).

It took sweet, sweet torture (“Oh Steve? He’s actually busy tonight with the twins. Yeah, you didn’t know? It’s real recent. Nah, they’re not together but it’s—you know, it’s not really my place to say. Yeah, sure thing, sweetheart, I’ll tell him you rang.”). 

Eddie’s seemingly futile feat proved fruitful. It took 27 days and 2 hours to get Steve to agree to being the King Arthur to his Merlin, while the kids dressed as various lord and ladies of Camelot. His compliance came with the tiniest of caveats, of course. Eddie was to do all the carpooling and beer purchasing. Eddie didn’t even say anything snarky about Steve being loaded and perfectly able to buy his own fucking beer like he normally would, because he was too busy riding his high, strung out on glee and mischief.

See, Eddie was 50 percent in this thing to share something he loved with his new post-apocalypse best bud, and 50 percent in it for the few good laughs he’d get at Steve being completely out of his element. Steve struggling with a sword. Steve running around all day with his chainmail on backwards. Steve saying anachronistic things like “good day, old chap” as if he was a transatlantic steel tycoon. Oh-ho how Eddie would laugh, how he would fucking cackle—but of course Steve Harrington comes riding from the east on a god damn horse, red cape falling off his broad shoulders and flowing cinematically behind him; both the gold crown on his head and sword dangling from his side glittering and mesmerizing and stupid—and oh-ho how the round tables have turned. 

[luveline]

in the morning, afternoon and night [Fred Weasley x Reader]

tags: reader-insert, hurt/comfort, self esteem issues, low self esteem, reader has acne, sad reader, insecure reader

pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader

word count: 1.8k

You glared at your reflection.

You'd think with such amazing magical medicine available, some witch or wizard would've invented a cure for acne, or at least a spell that covered it up.

You'd struggled with it since your third year. The muggle doctor you'd seen with your mother had suggested it was hormonal, and would calm down as you got older.

That was years ago.

It shouldn't have been a big deal. It wasn't, really. It wasn't usually very painful, though it was itchy as a stinging nettle and twice as unsightly. A large part of you knew it wasn't your fault, that acne was something that simply affected people at different times in their lives. You'd tried topicals and changing your diet, you'd tried losing weight and exercising and dermaplaning and everything they suggested in your mams fashion magazines.

Nothing worked.

Tears welled in your eyes and you sniffed them back, blinking rapidly.

It might've been silly, but it honestly made you want to hide away. You'd skipped dinner without really thinking, finding your way into the girls bathroom you inhabited now. You straightened your tie and robes, dusting down the sides. You leaned forward again, dabbing under your eyes with your sleeve.

The last thing you wanted was for anyone to know you'd been crying, because then someone might ask why. You didn't want to talk about it, ever.

If Fred saw you like this...

You and Fred Weasley had been almost dating for a few weeks now. Almost, because you hadn't talked about the whole boyfriend/girlfriend thing yet.

It had been years of thinking he was the fittest boy in Gryffindor (besides George) and months of meeting his gaze in the corridors and catching his eye over dinner. Gradually it had become something more; he started carrying your books between classes and opening doors, touching your arms and your hair and your face.

You cringed at the memory. He had been so caring, moving to wipe an eyelash from the skin under your eye. You'd violently flinched from his hand, afraid he might feel the bumpy texture of your skin, feel the acne beneath your makeup. He'd been apologetic and a little confused, filling you with guilt. You hadn't been able to find a way to tell him it wasn't him, it was you. Of course you wanted him to touch you, the thought of him cradling your face had been the subject of many dizzy daydreams, but you just couldn't tell him this one thing.

It was your deepest insecurity.

The stress had only made it worse. Redness was easy to cover with muggle make up and even some wizarding tricks you'd learned over the years, but there wasn't a way to smooth your skin, and the acne was textured.

It was depressing. You didn't want to use that word, it felt ungrateful to compare your skin issues to something so severe, but it made you miserable.

You but down on your quivering lip, pushing away from the mirror unhappily and opening the bathroom door, a frown on your face.

"Y/N!" a familiar voice said.

You jumped, startled but unsurprised. Fred had a talent of always knowing where you were. You'd find it creepy if he wasn't so endearing.

"Fred," you said, plastering a smile over your frown. "I was just coming to find you."

"What a coincidence, ma chérie, I was doing the same."

"Well," you began, easily sidling into his space, "you found me."

"Yes, I did," Fred hummed, wrapping his arms behind your neck, grinning.

He took a long look at your face, his forehead creased. "What's wrong?"

"Nothings wrong, Fred."

He moved his hands to your shoulders, looking down into your face searchingly. "Have you been crying?" he asked.

You shook your head, lying without thinking. "Something in my eye,"

"Both of them?"

You stepped backwards. He let go of your shoulders accordingly.

"Y/N?"

"It's really nothing," you said through a forced laugh.

He frowned at you for a few seconds more and his face cleared. "Alright," he said slowly, rolling the words in his mouth, "if you say so, doll."

You opened like a blooming flower at the pet name, your whole face softening. You smiled, hoping he understood that the smile meant, oh I just so adore you, Fred Weasley.

He threaded his fingers through yours, dragging you down the corridor beside him and waxing poetic about their newest lot of Peruvian darkness powder as you went.

-

It got so bad you couldn't go to class.

Okay, so you definitely could've gone to class, but the thought of leaving your curtained bed was enough to make you sick with anxiety, so worried that everyone would see you - see your face.

NEWTs were coming fast and hard. Everyone who wanted to be anyone was working hard studying their asses of, on top of Professor Umbridge's million new rules you had to abide by, including her newest life-ruining rule: Boys and girl are not to be within 5 inches of each other.

What a joke. You struggled through classes, wrote essays so long your hand burned at night and now you weren't allowed to sit next to your almost boyfriend at lunch? It was miserable. It was making you miserable, and now you may as well have sharpied on your forehead how equipped your body was to deal with it.

Fucking badly.

You groaned to yourself, rolling on your side to face the wall. You were at your wits end. It felt endlessly unfair that the thing that was stressing you out most was getting worse from stress.

Your stomach growled hungrily.

You threw your arm over your eyes in defeat, eyes finally filling with tears. You felt so hopeless. There was nothing to be done except keep up your routine until the flare up was over, or until your mothers next 'miracle cure' popped into existence.

The tears felt too hot against your sore skin. You couldn't help but sob quietly to yourself in self-pity.

A knock sounded at the door. You gasped, wiping the tears away in panic.

"Y/N?" It was Alicia. "Are you alright? Can I come in?"

"Yes," you managed. "Yes, of course. It's your room too, after all."

The door clicked open. Alicia appeared, tanned skin completely clear and glowing, though each perfect feature was marred with empathy. "Fred's been begging every girl in the common room to come fetch you, but I told him to leave you be."

"Thank you," you said.

You cleared your throat. Alicia moved her weight from foot to foot, twisting her hands.

"I- Y/N. I won't pretend to know how it feels, but I promise you, Fred won't care. He's beside himself worrying that you're bedridden and dying or-" she laughed to herself, "or that you're still mad at him for the itching powder. What I mean is... he's a good guy, and you're upset. Maybe you should tell him what's wrong. He won't care."

You sniffed. "I know," you admitted, feeling the weight of her shifting the bed. "I know he's a great guy. I just wouldn't blame him if he, if he didn't like me anymore. If he found it ugly. I would understand it, and I think that makes it worse," you choked on your words, heat building behind your eyes.

"Oh, Y/N," Alicia said, placing a tentative but comforting hand on your shoulder.

You lay in quiet, listening to your own ragged breathing.

"I'll go talk to him," Alicia said.

"No! I mean, no. Thank you, but no. I... I'll speak to him myself."

Alicia nodded, rubbing your arm kindly.

The sound of the door clicking shut behind her finally spurred you into sitting up. You dressed in a hurry, chucking a wool jumper over last nights pyjamas.

He wouldn't care, would he? You cringed. Yes, he definitely would. Whatever was between you would stop. He'd have the grace to let you down slowly, drawing away his affections. He was a polite guy, he'd probably even say the whole spiel of "it's not you, it's me". But he would, eventually.

Well, you figured. Let it be quick. Like ripping off a bandaid.

You tread lightly down the steps, hoping to see him before he saw you.

Of course, when the slightest groan on the bottom step sounded, his lovely face whipped to meet yours. He smiled in relief, but it was mixed with something else. Disgust, your brain supplied nastily. He was disgusted. He rose to his feet, smiling smiling smiling. But something in his eyes was different, now.

"Y/N," he said.

"Hi," you said.

"Hi yourself, beautiful. Where've you been all day?"

"I'm... sick. Bad cold," you settled on.

He raised an eyebrow. "You sound okay," he said, not unkindly.

"I..." you looked down at your hands.

A siren was sounding in your head. You didn't think Fred had seen you without make up for the last 3 years. Fight or flight was leaning heavily towards flight.

"Well, are you hungry?"

You shook your head.

"Are you sure? You haven't eaten all day. You need something in your system if you're gonna fight this cold."

"I'm not actually sick, Fred," you admitted under your breath.

"I know."

You looked up. He was still smiling kindly. It was infuriating.

"Look," you said finally, rushed and all at once, "if you don't want to- if you're grossed out. Then it's fine, I'll understand if you don't want to see me anymore."

Fred was stricken.

"I know it's - ugly."

"Ugly? Nothing about you is ugly."

"Fred, my face-"

"No, listen to me, Y/N. It's not ugly. It's not gross. You're not any of those things, are you kidding?" he said, grabbing your hands. "You're beautiful. All the time, in the morning, afternoon and night. You're beautiful in charms and transfiguration and care of magical creatures. You were beautiful yesterday and you're beautiful today and you'll be even more so tomorrow." He stopped suddenly, looking down at your joined hands. His cheeks had turned bright red.

"Smooth, Freddie," came George's voice, from the sofa behind them.

"Shove OFF," exclaimed Fred, growing more red by the second. Heat filled your own cheeks.

"It's skin, Y/N. That's all it is."

"Okay," you said tightly, trying not to cry.

Fred breathed out, his hair shifting in response. His corded arms pulled you tight to his chest. You breathed him in. He smelled sweet and rough, like burning caramel.

He thought you were beautiful.

You smiled into his shirt.

<3<3<3

tag list: @msmimimerton

if you’d like to be added to a tag list, please ask ! for in general or for specific characters, i don’t mind

[barry-j-blupjeans]

@blupjeansweek Day 7: Free Day

Y’know Barry really never thought he’d be in a princess-and-the-frog type situation. Like, forgive him for thinking magic wasn’t real. And forgive him even more for expressing his doubts to an asshole wizard. But it had been a good hundred years since he got cursed to live forever in the body of a doll and he still hadn’t found his true love, let alone kissed them.

Not from lack of trying. He couldn’t exactly fault people for not wanting to kiss a small, horrifying porcelain doll.

In the past fifty years or so, magic had become more mainstream. The stories Barry grew up with about spooky witches, dangerous mythical creatures, and terrifying demons had become an everyday norm. The owner of the thrift shop Barry currently resided in was a werewolf himself and was personally one of the nicest people Barry had ever known. He made Barry was large dollhouse to live in, so he wouldn’t have to sit among the other (lifeless) dolls. He took his lunch breaks with Barry and while Barry couldn’t eat, they had very nice conversations.

For the first time in years, his life finally broke free from the sad cycle he had been in. And, even more amazing (or maybe, even worse), Barry had a crush on someone.

He had long since given up on True Love’s Kiss or whatever. To be honest, he couldn’t remember half of what was said in the curse in the first place, but True Love’s Kiss put too much pressure on a relationship right off the bat. Also, Barry was very bad at talking to people. The werewolf store owner- Magnus, that is- was fine. Most of the employees here were fine. Hell, even the customers were chill when he had to interact with them. But something about Lup made Barry’s brain go all fuzzy and he could never get the words out correctly.

Embarrassing, if you were a human person. Downright mortifying as a talking doll.

“-and it’s not like I was trying to be mean to him,” Lup was saying. Barry had his flimsy arms resting on top of a book, his head in his hands. “But like, what the hell am I supposed to do when my brother comes home with a guy whose family literally used to run a business that hunted mythical creatures? Like, we’re elves, babe, did you forget? Was I supposed to not try to hurt him? Does Taako even remember what happened in 1932?”

“Probably not,” Barry said. Lup’s shoulders sagged.

“Probably not,” she agreed. “He’s gonna get himself hurt, though.”

“Sometimes that’s what happens,” Barry said.

“Yeah but there’s a difference between “getting hurt” and “this guy has the tools to kill you and might use them”.”

“That’s, uh, that’s true,” Barry said. “But do you really think Taako’d bring him home if he wasn’t at least a semi-good person? Would he risk your safety like that?”

“No,” Lup said, though she didn’t seem happy with it. “Guess not.”

“He’s an adult,” Barry said.

“He’s still acting like he’s seventy,” Lup grumbled. She ran her hands over her face, scrubbing at her eyes. “You’re right. Again.”

“I’m always right,” Barry said. Lup snorted, flicking the tip of his hat. Barry batted her hand away. They settled into a round of easy silence, watching different patrons pursue the aisles. Giving advice to Lup was always a lot easier than just talking to her. At least he could say some useful things then. If she asked him about his day or anything, he’d be a mess. Granted, he was a mess at most other times, so maybe advice-giving was just his exception.

“Hey, Barry?” Lup asked after a few minutes of watching one customer sort through their picture frames.

“Uhm, yeah, Lup?”

“Taako and his new babe and I are gonna go clubbing,” she said. “Meaning that Taako’s gonna get shitfaced drunk and I’m gonna grill that dude to hell and back. And I was wondering if you, uh, if you wanted to tag along or not?”

“I can’t drink anything,” Barry blurted out before he could stop himself. Lup turned to look at him, smiling.

“Wasn’t asking you to,” she said. “I’m gonna need some backup with this guy. Figured you're as good as anyone.”

No one had asked Barry to go anywhere in years, let alone clubbing. He was suddenly grateful that his expression couldn’t change much now as a doll, because he’d be blushing terribly right now.

“Oh, uh, then sure!” Barry said. From just behind Lup, he could see a customer starting to shove as many picture frames as he could into his bag.

“When should I pick you up?”

“I mean,” Barry shrugged. “Any time is fine. You, uh, you know where I live.” He nodded off to the right, where Magnus had placed his house in the back room.

“I’ll be by at six-thirty, then,” Lup said. She winked. “Wear your best.”

Like Barry could change clothes. He snorted.

“I’ll find myself a cool jacket from the toys section,” he said. Lup laughed. And then, out of moral obligation, he said, “the guy behind you is stealing all the picture frames.”

“Shit,” Lup said, standing up and turning around. Picture frame man’s bag was full and awkwardly pointy from the edges of the frames. “Sir, we’re not gonna let you in again if you keep doing this!”

[saphirered]

We've all seen fics where Caleb's SO dies and gets resurrected, and we seen Caleb accidentally hurting his SO, but what about Caleb accidentially killing his SO? Maybe Reader got burned by one of his fire attacks? The revival's successful, but damn, the angst.

Angst was requested and angst you shall receive. I hope this is to your liking. 😘

Trigger warning for death and grief themes.

Caleb sits on his knees, head bowed, whispering pleas in Zemnian to the gods, the world, to you, your cold hand encased between his own, occasionally pressing a kiss to it in the hopes you’d just wake up. But you’re not going to wake up. Not in the way you would in the morning when you’ve had a particularly late night and Caleb has to drag you out of bed, you being stubborn or pretending to still be asleep so you maybe could convince him to join you for a little more. Not in the way after you got knocked out in a fight, when you sit up and rub your eyes with a grunt like usual. Nothing within his capabilities will wake you up.

So here Caleb sits, begging for it to be a nightmare, some sick and twisted tricks played on his mind but there’s no denying this is real and this is the truth. You’re dead. You’re dead and it’s his fault. You ended up as collateral damage in his reckless attempt to kill the creature. You got stuck in the crossfire of that. He hadn’t realised you were doing so bad already, you even sent him a wink right before when he asked if you were okay. Why did you? Why didn’t you just tell him you weren’t? Why did you lie? Not lie, omitted the truth.

He knew exactly why you did it but that doesn’t make it any easier. You’d known the other’s weren’t doing great and barely holding on already. You were severely outmatched and couldn’t get away from the creature. Not without it chasing after you and running you in an even more perilous situation. Anything Caleb could do would affect anyone close to the creature. With Yasha having dragged Beau out of the fray you were the only one left to hold it at bay while the clerics worked on patching them up, Fjord and Veth offering them cover. You were the final line of defence. At the end of the day you had to keep the clerics alive.

Caleb took a calculated risk. A fireball to send the creature dropping into the ruined depths of Aeor. He had tried to keep you out of the range but wouldn’t have been able to strike the creature without putting you at risk. The spell worked and the creature got hit with full force. It was your attack right before the fireball struck that had send it stumbling, then with the blast, it lost its footing and stumbled off the edge.

But you too, dropped. and when you did, the creature’s tail lashed out, grabbing onto your body, dragging you with it. The creature had hit the platform below in its fall and the impact had made it release you, saving you from the full drop. Caleb had rushed to the edge, fear, pain, anger and guilt riddling his mind thinking he had truly lost you but there you were, bloodied, bruised, broken and burned. Because of him. All because of him. How could he have been so stupid and reckless. When he brought your body back to the others, he wasn’t quick enough. You’d already faded into the cold embrace of the Raven Queen and the clerics had expended their last resources.

So that leaves Caleb here, sitting at your side a day after you died, body preserved by the graces of Caduceus and the Wildmother. The clerics set up their ritual, working around him and you as the others help where they can. Beau and Veth had tried to console him, tell him it wasn’t his fault and if he hadn’t they might all have been dead right now. He appreciates his friends trying but it’s of no use. He already made up his mind and it’s not going to change anything. You died because of him. He murdered you and how is that any different than his actions in the past? How does that make him any different than the lives he’s taken in the clutches of his former mentor? Is there truly no redemption for him? You’d slap him for even thinking that way.

“Mr. Caleb? Why don’t you try talking to them? Persuasion has worked in the past to coax someone back.” Caduceus places a hand on the wizard’s shoulder but it barely registers. Yet the firbolg knows they did not fall upon deaf ears when the whispers stop for just a moment.

“I-. I do not think they’d want to hear from their murderer.” Speaking the words make them so much more painful. By the looks of it, Beau is ready to unleash in a degrading rant about how wrong Caleb is, breaking him apart only build him back up but she’s held at bay by Yasha. This is not the time and place. Caduceus doesn’t claim to know what Caleb’s going through, nor may he be the brightest mind here but he understands and can empathise.

“I know no matter what I say it won’t change your feelings so instead I will offer you this. You owe it to them to try. Not for what happened here but for the countless times they’ve been there for you, have had your back, and for the unconditional love they’ve given you. You owe them to try.” The wizard looks up over his shoulder to the firbolg, pain in his eyes, and the trails of silent tears that have long since run out. Caduceus is right. He owes it to you to save you and right now it is within his power to try. If he doesn’t, if he fails he’ll have condemned you to this fate. If he succeeds with this part, he’ll be able to look into your eyes again. You may never forgive him but he hopes to see you smile, hear your voice even if just once more.

Caleb nods looking back at you, bringing your limp fingers up to his lips and pressing them against your knuckles. He takes in a deep breath and tries to find the right words as Caduceus steps back. What are the right words? He cannot afford to fuck this up. He cannot afford to fail. He must succeed. He must.

“I know I might be the last person you want to hear right now. I want you to know I’m sorry-“ Caleb’s voice cracks as he feels the eyes of the others on him. He brushes some of your hair away from your forehead, running his thumb across your cheek.

“I don’t-uh. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know if I can do this. You’re always here for me during difficult times. You’d put your hand on my cheek and tell me ‘If anyone can do it it’s you, Caleb Widogast. You could move mountains if you set your will to it. Now stop being stubborn before I slap some sense in you.’ but now you’re not here to tell me that. You’ve shown me there’s a world beyond the walls I put up, that there is a light at the end of that tunnel, but now I cannot help but feel the world has grown dull, the walls are caving in, and that light is fading.”

“I have no right, no right to ask you this, but I need you to save my world one more time. So please, I beg of you. Do not leave me to brave this world without you.” The weight of his heart heavy on his conscious. Caleb feels a pressure causing a ringing in his ears. He’s so focussed on you, he cannot take his eyes off you. Not even when the others do their part in the ritual. He realises this pressure is coming from the effects of the spell to bring you back. He holds his breath, not daring to take in oxygen if only to savour the moment, hoping it will not pass, that for just a little longer he can hold on to the hope you’re coming back instead of having that hope crushed by a potential failure.

The pressure fades but nothing happens. Nothing changes. It’s silent as everyone waits for something, anything to happen. That moment alone feels like an eternity of suspense. Caleb finds himself whispering prayers and pleas in Zemnian again, your hand clasped between his own as he squeezes his eyes shut tightly to live through the memories of you, preserve them for the rest of his life just in case because he refuses to forget even a single one of them. He’s so consumed in his own mind he doesn’t notice warmth returning to your fingers. He doesn’t notice your chest beginning to rise and fall. Caleb’s pleas continue.

“Would you mind translating that? I think my brain got a bit scrambled.” Caleb freezes and his eyes open. Your eyes are closed but your brow is furrowed. Furrowed in discomfort. Not sleeping and not void of your usual expressions. Colour has returned to your limbs and face and no longer dulled. Caleb falls silent in disbelief, frozen in place and mind blank.

“Caleb?” You speak his name, peaking through one eye to see the wizard in his disheveled state. You sit up, grunting in pain. Apparently being brought back from the dead isn’t kind on your physical form, not even mentioning the exhaustion weighing on your mind. You could sleep for a couple of hours… or days… or weeks… You could do with a break really. All of you could. You nudge Caleb’s head up by his chin allowing your fingers to slide onto his cheek.

“Blink twice if you need me to get Beauregard to slap you back into reality.” You muster a smile as you brush your thumb over his cheekbone. Caleb doesn’t understand how you’re not recoiling in disgust or lashing back in anger. He doesn’t understand how you can look at him with love and kindness.

“I’m so sorry. Please-“ Caleb goes off in a spur of apologies, begging for your forgiveness.

“Caleb, I love you but you really need to stop. This is a problem for another day.”

“You died. I killed you. How can you even look at me like you do?”

“So what? I died. I’m here now. I got better. Now preferably I’d like to not die again, some things are beyond our control. And if you need some kind of reassurance; Veth killed Cad that one time and he doesn’t hate her.” Veth yells a ‘hey’ in defence while you earn a chuckle from the firbolg. You know Caleb isn’t just going to take your word for it and you’re also not going to make anyone buy you’re totally okay with just dying and being brought back to life because you’re not but you also know that you can’t blame Caleb for being a factor in what happened when you yourself were aware of the risks of the situation you were in. You made your own bet and it didn’t pay off but all your friends are still alive and well, Caleb’s still alive and well and that alone makes it worth the risk you took.

“You have no idea how much I love you.” Caleb breathes as he pulls you into his arms with a gentleness as if you’re made of porcelain, or will fade out of existence if he holds on too tightly.

“I think I have a pretty good estimate but we can compare notes later if you’d prefer.” You pull back enough to look at Caleb’s face, brush aside some of the red strands and softly place your lips on his. It’s not a heated kiss but one filled with emotion and a desperation no less. Neither of you thought you’d get to be in each other’s arms again but here you are despite everything. Maybe your work here isn’t done yet. You still got some asses to kick.

[omniscientwreck]

Let me combine both of your favorite things! I would love a little thing about Caduceus (in his infinite wisdom and questionable intelligence) trying to give either Essek or Caleb relationship advice that may or may not be actually helpful. Those two wizards are probably too much in their own heads to see what's right in front of them and could use a little nudge. Just imagine both of them going to Caduceus for advice on how they're attracted to the other and Caduceus just sitting there trying to fight to urge to facepalm.

Hello! Thank you for combining my two favourite things into this fic that took way too long but I'm quite pleased with! I hope you enjoy!

In which Caduceus has three conversations with two wizards fighting against a force bigger than either of them.

----------

The first of these conversations Caduceus had was expected. Gardening alongside Essek, teaching him how to sow beauty where destruction had laid waste had been therapeutic for both of them. Caduceus had never given up on the war criminal. It’s difficult to feel no sympathy for someone whose story was written across their face in blank but pleasant stares and a mask of platitudes.

The state he’d been in when they met him at the outpost had filled Caduceus with determination. He’d been as close to a wreck as they’d ever seen him and now kneeling alongside him and looking over to see a small self-satisfied smile as he observed the work they’d done, it feels like they’ve done something right. This second chance had been well earned and he has faith that Essek will continue to earn it for the rest of his days.

This Essek is determined to right wrongs, and he’s started with the garden. He pays careful attention to the plants, always asking if he’s unsure about the compatibility of certain species, and making sure to put them exactly where they tell him. When they work past the point when the sun disappears behind emerald leaves he takes off the gloves Jester had made him and digs his hands into the ground. It seems to bring him peace, it’s good that he’s found any.

Most of the time when they work it’s silent, creases pressed into Essek’s forehead. He sweats through the layers that serve to keep him safe from the heat overhead and always has to be cajoled into taking breaks or drinking water. It reminds him a bit of Yasha.

On the third day, when he’d nearly gone faint Caduceus has to intervene, “You don’t need to hurt yourself to repent you know.”

Essek takes great care to swallow and not choke on the water he’d been sipping, bad timing. The mask comes up again, “I don’t know what you mean.” he states flatly. He knows that Caduceus is smarter than that and it shows.

“Hurting yourself doesn’t change anything. It’s the creation of beauty here that tips your scales, not the destruction of yourself.”

He nods slowly, indigo eyes downcast. “I suppose you’re correct. I have much to atone for Caduceus. There is much work to be done before I will deserve any of the kindness you foist upon me.”

“Hey now, I decide who deserves my kindness. We all do.”

Essek nods again, running a dirt stained hand through his silver hair. It leaves streaks of dirt, Caduceus says nothing.

“It’s difficult to be made aware of your stark moral failings, to learn what it means to truly care for someone again. It’s difficult to care more than you expect and to know what is enough, if anything is.”

His eyes flick behind Caduceus, where he can hear Caleb explaining something to Luc and he understands more than Essek probably wants him to. “You’ll find enough.” Essek looks at him, eyes full of a delicate hope, easily shattered, “He’ll tell you when it’s enough.”

His eyes widen just slightly and a deep blush spreads across his face alongside a smile so small it’s like he doesn’t want to let himself accept the barrage of feelings it holds back. “If.” His voice is small but the weight is heavy in the tone.

Caduceus reaches a hand to cover one of his, “When. Remember, I see things the rest of you don’t.”

Essek smiles wryly at that, voice full of mirth, “Of course Mr. Clay the ever observing.”

They go in for dinner and Essek speaks up a little more, he’s a little more alive. The change is small, but Caduceus notices.

----------

The second conversation is less expected, completely unexpected if he’s being honest. Caleb arrives at the doorstep of the grove one evening around 8 months after they’d last seen each other. “Hallo friend, I hope I am not intruding.”

His smile is easier now, though still restrained by sadness. “Not at all Mr. Caleb you are always welcome here. There should be left overs from dinner, fix yourself a plate.”

Caleb allows himself to be ushered in and fussed over. He tells a few stories of the trial but Caduceus tries to steer away from that particular vein of conversation. It’s raw and it doesn’t look like he’s fully healed. There’s still one catch somewhere that he needs to loose himself from before the smile will be easy and free, before he can walk away from his past and toward the future.

“I am going to Aeor next.”

Ah.

When Caduceus doesn’t say anything he continues, voice laced with trepidation, “I am going to ask Essek to join me.” he wants Caduceus to convince him of something.

“Well, two wizards is better than one.” He eyes Caleb knowingly and the wizard squirms a bit under his gaze.

“It is just, a little strange isn’t it? The directions we are led in.” He trails off again, maybe he’s hoping for wisdom. Caduceus decides he can probably dispense something.

“You’ve never seemed like someone who wanted much to be herded into decisions to me.”

“It’s been a journey.”

Caduceus clears his dish and sets down a teapot, “It’s a journey you’re still on. One that might not have a definite end. Is it worth it to deny yourself happiness because you’re worried about whether you deserve it?”

That caught him a little off guard, copper hair shook a bit as he’d clearly gone a little further than Caleb was expecting. He likes to talk in metaphors so that he can hide from truths later, or at least pretend everything can have multiple meanings. It’s time for Caduceus to stop letting him twist words around in that expansive brain of his until the original meaning is obscured by hypotheticals.

“I cannot tell you what’s right Caleb, but if you came here for a reasonable perspective listen to the one I’m giving you.” He pours the tea and offers honey, “You will never know if you don’t go and I know you better than you think. You don’t like loose ends, not as long as there’s something to learn.”

He nods, staring into tea, they’re so similar and so stubborn that Caduceus can feel the loving annoyance usually directed at his siblings creeping in. “Caleb, stop punishing yourself for something that wasn’t your fault in the first place.” Caleb nearly interrupts but Caduceus keeps barrelling through, “Self-flagellation won’t get you anywhere, you’ll just end up with regrets and what ifs. Go explore Aeor, forget everything else for a bit. Do that thing the two of you do where you’re finishing each other’s sentences and nobody knows why you’re bothering to speak out loud because it’s obvious you’re thinking the same things.”

Caleb’s smile is smaller now, but lighter. “Ja mein Freunde, I think you will. Thank you for tolerating questions I don’t know how to ask out loud.”

Caduceus smiles back, “I think this will be good. If you need anything while you’re there don’t hesitate to reach out. Stock up on healing, you’ll need it.”

Caleb laughs at that and spends the night, before heading to Zadash the next morning, undoubtedly to clear out Pumat’s stock of healing potions.

----------

The third time this conversation is had it’s his fault. He doesn’t mean to start it, but honestly the situation is getting ridiculous and the sibling feelings Caduceus has to both the wizards are firmly cemented.

They decide to get everyone together maybe a year after the last conversation. It’s his first time seeing any of them since then and as soon as they’re all in the same room it’s like no time has passed at all. Essek had come to get him while Caleb gathered the rest at Beau and Yasha’s home in Rexxentrum. Jester wraps him in a crushing and loving hug, Beau gives him a punch that’s soft for her but still stings, Yasha offers clippings of flowers immediately, and Fjord’s hug is warm. Veth’s family is here and she looks happier than he’s ever seen her. Caleb greets him with the warmth that’s always burned behind eyes that hold less and less sorrow every time he sees him. He hopes they’ll drop it all together one day.

When they pop back into existence from the way Caleb and Essek look at each other Caduceus expects something to happen. He doesn’t know what exactly but they hold each other’s eyes in a profound way. There’s gravity to them and everyone can feel it, he’s getting tired of watching them fight it.

It seems so simple even though he doesn’t feel that kind of pull, to see where this is going. It’s feels like the days before a big storm, when everyone knows what’s coming and it’s getting a little ridiculous that you’re still waiting for lightning to strike.

Everyone else drinks, they cook and eat and tell stories. Caleb and Essek sit apart but spend the entire time stealing glances across the table when they don’t think the other is looking. Nearly always they catch each other.

Yasha plays on the bone harp, she’s gotten very good and Jester swings Veth around into a dance. Kingsley, three sheets to the wind, grabs Beau and whips her into a reluctant dance and her initial protests eventually bubble into laughter. Caleb sits beside Caduceus and Jester has switched to twirling a flustered Essek across the floor of the livingroom. It often turns to dancing with these people and he loves that they love it so much.

“As I recall you’re an excellent dancer Mr. Caleb, go cut in.”

He shakes his head, “Ah- I couldn’t. Yasha is playing and I don’t think you’re much of a dancer.” He looks over with a quirk of a brow.

“I’m sure Jester won’t mind a break.”

He coughs at that, “I ah-”

Caduceus shakes his head, “No, talking is done, this is getting ridiculous.” He puts a hand square on his back and guides Caleb to stand, “You two will weave circles of metaphor around each other until one of you drops. Go Caleb, follow gravity.”

He seems to understand, seems to accept Cadcueus’ words and as soon as he stands to full height, Essek is watching over Jester’s shoulder. She, thankfully, understands the same way Caduceus does and even sends a wink as she loudly proclaims, “Oh my gosh Essek I’m so tired, I think Caleb needs someone to dance with, go to him.” She extends her arm, releasing him, and his levitation doesn’t allow him to stumble at the abrupt change in momentum.

Essek and Caleb meet and Essek steps to the ground gracefully as Caleb holds his hand out and pulls him in.

Nobody says anything for fear of spooking the delicate peace that settles over both of them as they gently turn, but Yasha slows the music she’s playing a bit and a quiet celebration is shared in the eyes of the rest of the Nein.

Caduceus breathes a sigh of relief and Jester sits herself beside him, bringing an overly sweet juice she’d found on her travels for him to try. She tells him stories into the night, and the wizards never let each other’s hands go.

[keepingupwithpotters]

23-“Hey, look at me. Focus on me alright?” For jily???

Hope you don't mind I used this prompt to write a second part to this one. There was a concerning amount of distress over it and I am nothing if not a compulsive people pleaser

Happy mf birthday to my bestie, my other brain cell @clare-with-no-i words cannot express how much I adore you. Hope you'll enjoy the custody of our shared brain cell for your birthday as a gift <333

He tried not to feel guilty about the loud noises his feet were making as he ran through empty hallways, an act that went against his every instinct as a Marauder. He just needed to remind himself that he was not hiding from an authority who’s about to catch him this time, rather running towards it actually.

In his haste he forgot to bring his cloak too, though what good it would do to him in this scenario was dubious. Maybe it could’ve helped with a sneak attack, but it wasn’t like they were expecting him now anyway. Occasional ghosts and portraits seeing a pair of feet run around in Hogwarts would be amusing perhaps, if he was in the mood for it.

He clutched the map in his hand tighter. He couldn’t dare to take another look at it in fear of losing time. When he first announced he was up to no good today, it was certainly not because it was a Thursday. Sirius had actually seen to that, making sure that the map was always in the hands of another Marauder every Thursday patrol, without asking for James’ input of course. Today was a fluke, his first one to be exact.

It wasn’t like he had been looking for a little dot named Lily Evans for his own selfish purposes, he was literally supposed to be up to no good before he got severely sidetracked. He winced remembering how he left the dorm quickly without giving an explanation to Peter, trying not to think about the telling off he would receive from Sirius when he got back from his detention.

Well, he could get something for Peter from the kitchens on his way back. As an apology, and a thank you.

Right now wasn’t the time for planning his return though, he first had to hurry up and reach them. When he finally turned the last corner, he had no expectations as to what he would see, only prepared to fire the first spell possible, taking his wand in his right hand.

As he took in the scene in front of him slowly, he realized that was not true, he had been expecting a fight. Certainly not… this.

His eyes passed over Cresswell quickly, cowering in a corner by himself and seemingly not moving a muscle as he stared ahead blankly. Anxiously searching for that flash of red, he finally found it when he turned his head a little to the right. Just not in the way he expected.

With the natural shock of seeing blood, he only lost a second before he ran to its direction. He felt his way around in the dark before remembering he was a wizard, doing a quick lumos to locate where the blood was coming from. The young face in front of him didn’t react to the light at all, laying dead still (not dead, not dead) in front of him. He saw his Hufflepuff tie, yellows darkening with blood, before he saw his wound. All the bleeding seemed to come from his head, his skin paling every second James left to go to waste. But healing spells weren’t his forte, they were Lily’s. He finally let his eyes find her, a coil releasing inside him with the permission.

The first thing he noticed were her hands; one of them fisted, the other one raised, still holding her wand, both shaking. He stood up to go by her side slowly, afraid to spook her out. When he was finally beside her, he saw her empty eyes were fixed on the bleeding boy. No, not empty – terrified, shaken, and devastated but not empty.

He stepped to come between her and the boy, desperate to cut across her line of vision to save her from some of that terror. “Hey, look at me. “He broadened his shoulders to block as much of that scene as possible. “Focus on me alright?”

His words appeared to have no effect on her from the way she was looking. He put his hands on her shoulders but couldn’t decide if shaking her to “snap out of it” would actually be beneficial before he realized where she was focusing on. Green gaze cut a straight line to his heart, he tried to slow it down for her sake.

Her frail hands found their way to his chest unsteadily, clasping firmly right above the beating. He let her clench the shirt between her fists, trying to encourage her to copy his breathing. When her eyes met his at last, it was his turn to lose his breath this time.

“James? What–what are you doing here?”

Her breathing still felt too shaky for him to relax, so he bent his knees to stare her directly in the eye instead. “Lily, I need you to breathe in and out at the same time as I do. You think you can manage that?”

Eyes widened slightly with a manic look, she nodded her head unsurely. Her inhales steadied comparably after a few tries, hands loosening slightly from their tight fists. Scared she would take them away, he put his own on top of hers, allowing her to ground herself as long as she liked.

“They have left.” Her voice trembled slightly. She didn’t continue until James squeezed her fists, once. “Just before you came. I didn’t understand why at the time, but I guess they thought you were a teacher.”

“Who has left?” he asked gently.

“The Slytherins. They were—” She finally seemed to remember what stood behind James. “Is he okay? I couldn’t break his fall in time. There were three of them and—”

“Did you try to take on three Slytherins on your own?” He tried not to grit his teeth, but it was hard, voice coming out clipped anyway.

“It’s not like I had any other choice. Cresswell was…” She trailed off, not sure how to finish her sentence. James knew exactly how he could finish it, but that might be his bitterness talking.

He couldn’t focus on how if he were the one with her tonight, he could’ve helped her. Lily needed his supportiveness now, not his ugly jealousy rearing its head.

“I think he has a severe head wound, but I didn’t know how to stop the bleeding. And he isn’t moving at all.”

Lily dropped her hands in a flash, running around him to go to the Hufflepuff’s side. Before he could mourn the loss of her, she had her hand under the boy’s nose, “Well, he’s still breathing.”

“Can you do anything about his injury?” He was crouching beside her now, watching her do some spells to check over the still body.

She looked pensive for a moment. “I could but if he lost consciousness there is a chance it might be something more serious.” The look she gave to James as she got up was urgent. “We should take him to Madam Pomfrey immediately.”

“I can help you with that.”

They both turned to the voice coming behind them, surprised that Cresswell was up and about. He was looking back at them sheepishly, neck flushing under their gazes.

“I think you’ve done enough help so far,” James sneered. He knew this was not the prefect’s fault per say, but the anger simmering behind his skin had not passed after hearing what Lily had to do alone, prompting one cutting remark from his lips.

He had been good so far, he deserved it.

“Why don’t you go back to your room, Dirk?” She sounded tired, and he immediately regretted his little moment of pettiness. “James and I will handle the rest of it from here.”

She turned her back to him without waiting to hear his retorts, starting to levitate the injured boy carefully. While James cleaned the blood on the floor, she waited. He tried to suppress the giddy feeling rising inside him at the act.

They started walking towards the hospital wing side by side, Lily surprising him by taking his hand. If it weren’t for the occasional blood dripping from the boy in the air, it could be considered romantic, like a midnight stroll in the castle.

They continued without speaking, until Lily finally broke the peaceful silence. “I think it was a bad idea.”

He desperately willed his heart to calm down. “What was, Lily?”

“Us not patrolling together and… other things. I may have made a mistake.”

His grasp on Lily’s hand tightened with the words. “Well, we still have time to fix it, don’t we?”

[halorocks1214]

familiar song and d-aha-nce

One second, they were having a conversation. The next, Scar was screaming from below him. Suddenly, the server had a singular Red, and Grian was still bound by a blood agreement.

It felt like this tune had been played before.

Despite the insistence that his contract was null from the rest of the Ahalliance- yes that was their name, screw Martyn's "Southlands" or whatever- Grian made his way over to Magic Mountain regardless.

Better to be safe than sorry, right? Scar was Red now, and who knew what he was capable of with that unrestrained freedom. His mischief while not Red was already off the charts enough as it was, the last thing Grian needed to deal with was that amped up to eleven. Who knew, maybe his contract was void. Maybe Scar's fine print wasn't as fine as it could have been- Scar wrote them after all- but...

No, Grian was just doing this to be cautious. The sweet nothings his brain was whispering were exactly what they were described as: nothing.

You know what? I am all for science and discovery. And I feel like this is science and discovery.

You're right, I will kill them all.

For everything you did to me to keep me alive this long, you may slay me and take the Enchanter.

(A deeper, more shoved-away part of his mind was tingling with excitement. That part was shoved away for a reason.)

Grian's breath fogged in front of him as he reached the chilly peak. Sitting on top of it was the familiar hut with a giant wizard hat for a roof, and for some mindboggling reason, Grian felt no hesitation in making his way over and knocking. With how long it took for the door to open, he worried he would need to come back another day, but thankfully, Scar was ready and waiting on the other side with an emotion that was a mixture between disbelief and grouchiness, "Oh, you're here. Why?"

Grian cleared his throat, "Our contract states that you're allowed access to my resources whenever you want or need them. I figured I'd get an early start and give you some gear to make up for lost time."

Scar stared at him somewhat unimpressed, "Dude, I'm Red. And you're just waltzing up to me without a care in the world because you want to be nice?"

"Well... yeah, basically." Ever since this world started, I've felt something connecting us. I bet you feel it too, don't you? "Also, I know I shouldn't be asking, but... the reason you're stuck like this is technically partly my fault, so, forgiveness gift? Please, some spare mercy?"

Scar continued to stare before letting out a snort and taking the armor in Grian's hands, "Don't worry about it, you did tell me to not walk past the brick. It's my own dumb fault, really."

Something inside Grian heated up at that, as for what that 'heat' exactly was, he wasn't sure. Scar was letting it go? Sure, Grian knew better than to shoot a gift horse in the mouth (unless that horse's name was Yellow snow, unfortunately), but it felt... out-of-character, to say the least. Crossing his arms, Grian took a step back so Scar could put the iron equipment on, "The big scary wizard is admitting defeat just like that? Who are you and what have you done with Scar?"

Scar rolled his eyes as he fitted the chestplate around himself, "Watch it or you might not get this kind of special treatment from me anymore."

The two froze, and Grian could only gaze at Scar in shock as it slowly dawned on both of them what Scar just said. Once Grian got his vocal cords working again, the first thing he did was make a few choking noises, "What? Scar, you- I did nothing but constantly talk about how you were on My List, I threatened you into giving me a life, and yet you still like me enough to treat me better compared to others that didn't talk shit about you? Maybe I should be asking if you're the crazy one."

Scar could only stare at the ground beneath their feet, "Alright Mister I-Went-Back-To-My-Group-Even-Though-They-Kicked-Me-Out-Without-Second-Thought, please tell me more about how emotions make sense."

Er.

Standing straight as a board, Grian quit that argument before he could make an even bigger fool out of himself than he already had, "So that's all I have for now. Be careful when coming around and wanting to uphold certain parts of the contract, I can't promise what my team will do if they see you."

After taking a second to register what Grian was essentially saying, Scar nodded and hummed, "Mhm mhm. Of course, of course."

Turning around, Grian got over to the edge of the mountain before taking a moment to pause.

Jimmy betrayed them today, and Martyn played along in the trial, sure, but it was obvious he was hiding something from them. Grian could see out of the corner of his eye how Martyn constantly looked over his shoulder to make sure he wasn't being watched. Then there were the other two. Grian loved Impulse and especially Mumbo, but... they weren't exactly the toughest players Grian has had the chance to meet. Plus, they could feel sad all they want, but they never exactly fought in favor of Grian when he got exiled from the base he built.

Scar was slimy, conniving, but quick-witted and could easily charm the horns off a ravager if he tried hard enough.

I am in your service until I lose my first life.

In a split-second decision, Grian held one hand up and pointed at the sky. While he never turned around to look at Scar, he knew the man was listening anyway, "If... When I become Red, I'll be right over to join you. No matter who else is Red with me, you'll be the first I consolidate with."

Scar said nothing in reply. The cold wind whistled around them, howling like a wolf on the hunt.

"You're serious," Scar finally stated. It wasn't a question.

Grian didn't turn around, "Please, I named my alliance the Ahalliance. When am I ever not?"

As he descended back down the mountain, he swore that the fond muttering he was hearing was just his imagination.

Mumbo was at the now untrapped gate to welcome him back, "Grian! Glad to see you in one piece. Everything work out okay?"

Grian's smile was probably a little wider than it should have been, "It certainly did, Mumbo. It certainly did."

[justasparkwritings]

The Littlest Dumpling {10}

Previous: The Littlest Dumpling {9}

Pairing: Min Yoongi x OFC

Genre: Non Idol AU / Author AU

Rating: PG13

Warnings: Swearing! Talking About Sex! Kissing! Making Out!

Word Count: 3.8K

Summary: Oo baby gotta love a short ending.

Master List

Tag List: @4ksj, @jagiya, @ot7nem, @knjkitten, @teamtardis-notdead​, @canarystwin​

Tag List

        “I’m sorry,” Lil King Yoongi said, holding Hee-Young’s hand.

        “For what?”

        “Friends don’t treat each other the way I treated you. I’m sorry.”

        “Are you the King right now, or Yoongi?” She asked.      

        “Yoongi.”

        “Well, Yoongi. I accept your apology.”

        “Do you forgive me?” Yoongi asked.

        “Yes, I do. Do you forgive me?”

        “Yes I forgive you.” He answered. “You are the greatest witch in my kingdom.”

        “That is true, but I fall second to your power.”

        “I am royal, my powers are stronger, but take longer to harness.”

        She turned to him, staring into his eyes. “Will you teach me?”

        “Teach you?”

        “To fight like you.” Hee-Young said.

        “You don’t want to fight like me,” Lil King Yoongi warned, dropping her hand and stepping away.

        “Why not?” She wondered. What could be more important than learning to fight like he did? He was the greatest wizard and sorcerer in the Kingdom, in all the land. He was the king for a reason.

        Yoongi turned to leave but paused at the door out of Hee-Young’s little shack. “The power will destroy you.”

Lil King Yoongi Vol. 4

February

        “Have you heard from him?” Seokjin asks, sitting across from you at The Ruby Poppy. Gone is sitting in your booth, snuggled into Yoongi. For now, and you guess maybe the foreseeable future. You haven’t sat in that booth, cozied up to him … in months. Tonight, it’s staring at you, empty, wanting and wondering when its rightful owners, its lovers, will be returning. Maybe it isn’t wondering anymore, enough time has passed. Maybe now it just knows that you won’t be coming back to it for a while longer. Your booth, your old booth, could be a new couples place to sit and get cozy over winter cocktails and hushed voices. It could be a place for someone else to fall in love.

        “Since yesterday?” You ask Jin. “Yes.”

        “How is he?” He asks.

        “He’s, better.”

        “But not whole.”

        “I don’t know what whole looks like for Yoongi, and I’m not sure he does either.”

        “Was it a mistake?” Jin asks.

        “No,” You shake your head. “Going back to Korea was the right choice, spending some time with his extended family, immersing himself in the language again.... it’s what he needed and wanted.”

        “The pages he’s sending me are really good, better than I was expecting. Book two might be stronger than book one.”

        “Please don’t tell him that,” You request.

        Jin stares at you with an obvious expression. “I wouldn’t dare. When is he coming home?”

        “Valentine’s Day. At least that’s what he’s planning. If he changes his mind, I don’t really know what I’ll do.”

        “You know you can talk to me, about not work things,” Jin says.

        “Isn’t that why we’re here? To discuss how my relationship feels like it’s in the toilet because my boyfriend had a slight breakdown over my ex showing up and took himself to Korea for a writing retreat that’s going to have last nearly two months?” You lament.

        “I – yes?”  

        “That I feel like it’s my fault and that I can’t edit Taehyung’s book, which is so good and it’s only the first three chapters. That I’m the one that broke us, because I didn’t see he was barely holding on?”

       “It isn’t your fault.”

       “No, but this is the second time he’s tried to come back, and the first wasn’t successful so… maybe it is.” You comment, knowing full well it isn’t that Yoongi doesn’t want to be with you, it isn’t about you at all.

       “You didn’t cause this,” Jin reminds you. “His brain chemistry did. Yoongi was already falling apart before he saw Taehyung in your office and knew he wanted you to edit his book.”

       “Perhaps…”

       “Not perhaps, it’s the truth. You know it is.”

       “He hasn’t come back though, what if he doesn’t know how to break up with me?”

       “You really think Yoongi wouldn’t know how to break up with you?”

       “I’d hope he wouldn’t.”

       “He doesn’t want to break up, he cares about you.”

       You shrug, dismissing the conversation. “I still I don’t know what to do about Tae.”

       “You should probably stop calling him Tae, first of all,” Jin comments.

       “Fuck off.”

        “Tell Taehyung that I’ll edit his book,” Jin says, stilling with his glass in his hands, carefully watching your reaction.

        “What?” You ask.

        “I’ll edit Taehyung’s book.”

       “Why?”

       “I’ve been thinking a lot about it, and it’s a good career move for me. And, if you’re honest with yourself, do you really want Taehyung’s ego to come between you and Yoongi?” Jin says.

        “No, I don’t. But you don’t know him.” You counter.

        “No, but I’ve read Two Affairs. I’m sure he and I will get along fine enough, at least better than Yoongi and me.”

        “You can’t let him turn it into women becoming gay because men wronged them, you just can’t,” You warn.

        “I wouldn’t dare. Is that what it’s about?” He leans forward, curiosity ignited.

        “Let me send you the pages, you can do an edit and I’ll present it to him before introducing you both.”

        “Has he signed with us yet?” Seokjin asks.

        “Yes, he signed the day he sent me his pages.”

        “Let me take this off your plate, Y/N,” Jin says.

        “Thank you.”

        “As for Yoongi,” Jin pauses, thinking back to what his mother had said on the phone the other day. “He’s coming home.”

        “Supposedly.”

        “You can’t blame him for that.”

        “I don’t, I just wish… there’s a lot of things that I wish we’d done differently in the last six weeks. I don’t know if we can fix it.”

        “Do you want to?” He asks.

        You’ve been asking yourself the exact same question, to the same answer every single time. “I do.”

        “Then you can. Or at least, you can try.”

        Yoongi arrives at your doorstep on Valentine’s Day. He’d lied and had actually arrived on February 12th, then spent the 13th and today rewiring his body to be on standard time. It hasn’t really worked, but he’s less jetlagged today than when he first set foot in the states and that is a relief. He’s got a basket with him, full of foods you love, drinks, and a few trinkets he picked up in Seoul every time he thought of you. Which was a lot. Probably too much.

        He can’t lie though, he’s shitting bricks. So nervous and unsure about what is left of your relationship, where you stand and if he can fight to win you back. That’s what he wants, you. If you want him…. Shit if you want him, he’ll be the happiest man alive, but if you’re done, he will respect it, and be totally crushed.

        Yoongi knocks at your door and waits patiently as he hears your feet shuffle towards him. You open it cautiously, staring at him. It’s been six weeks since you laid eyes on your boyfriend, if that word even applies. He looks… he looks good. Hair growing out into waves of onyx, his cheeks a little fuller from his family’s cooking. He looks healthier than when he left, under the cover of night to Daegu. He’d bundled in his winter best, and drug his very large and somehow very empty suitcase past his front door and into the cab, not really saying goodbye to you or Hoseok or Namjoon. He’d just… gone. Taking a cab instead of bothering anyone, and somehow slept almost the entire flight.

        “Hi,” Yoongi says.

        “Hi,” You answer.

        “I uh, can I hug you?” he asks.

        You step aside and let him in, and once he’s taken his shoes off and hung up his coat, he turns to you. The tears you hadn’t expected to shed start pouring down your face as he pulls you into a tight embrace. He hadn’t realized – he didn’t think you would cry. Though what did he expect? You cried when he told you he was going to Korea for an extended period of time, leaving to focus on him and his health. It was the right move, no doubt about it, and Seokjin is correct, The Littlest Dumpling Book 2 will be stronger than Book 1, but that doesn’t negate how much you’ve missed him. Missed cuddling into him, missed the smell of his hair, missed the sound of his voice when he just wakes up, the gravel low as he asks why you’re staring at him for the millionth time. You’ve missed being with him, in any way, shape or form. Him leaving had put a strain on your relationship, but it hadn’t seemed insurmountable until he decided he was coming home and well, didn’t.  

       Yoongi was at the airport when he had a major panic attack. While feeling like he was having a heart attack, he left Incheon and went back to his aunt’s house. What was worse? Yoongi not telling you he wasn’t coming, not for two days, why he didn’t get on the plane? Or you driving to the airport, all ready to welcome your boyfriend home… to nothing. Or the fear and stress that he had gone missing or died and no one had a way to tell you? They all sucked, but what hurt most was that he couldn’t, he didn’t, he was so debilitated that he couldn’t text you… that’s what hurt. How in pain he was, and how little you could do to help.

       It wasn’t and hasn’t been that you don’t understand the pain and inconvenience of mental illness. God knows the number of meetings and outings you’ve cancelled due to anxiety or those deep depressive episodes that have you feeling like you’re walking through a bowl of cement. But yours doesn’t manifest the way Yoongi’s does, and while you can reach out when you’re hurting, Yoongi hasn’t quite gotten to that point in his toolbox. You two spent hours on the phone, and video calls, just breathing together, staring at each other through the screen, nothing to say, nothing to do but find some sort of intimacy together, apart. But asking for help… hasn’t that always been Yoongi’s weakest character trait?

       “I’m sorry,” You comment, pulling away from him and wiping your eyes on the hem of your shirt.

       “For?” He asks, voice cracking.

       “Crying.”

       “Don’t apologize for crying, it’s therapeutic.”

       “I knew I missed you, but I didn’t realize how much until I saw you… and you’re real, and you’re here,” You comment, wiping the excess snot your t-shirt had missed.

       “Yeah, I made it back,” he shrugs, hands still resting on your hips.

       “I wasn’t sure you would.”

       “I know. I was, though.”

       “I really missed you,” you say again, not fishing for him to say it back, but letting him know the deep, abject hurting you’ve been experiencing.

       “I really fucking missed you. I wanted to ask you to come to Daegu, but I didn’t, I didn’t know how.” Yoongi shares.

       “I would’ve Yoongi,” you answer.

       “I know, knowing you would jump on a plane for me… it was overwhelming.”

       You nod. “In a good way?”

       “In a, she would travel the world for me just to lay in bed and walk around a city she doesn’t speak the language or has never been to before… my god she cares about me, so much, kind of way,” he explains.

       “Does that scare you?” You ask.

       “A little,” he says. “I would, if you, you know, had a breakdown and went home for two months, I’d come sit in bed with you. No questions asked.”

       “Is that what you discovered?”  

       “Yes, that I think I’m ready and I want that kind of caring in my life, all the time, every day, from you,” Yoongi says.

       “You still want to be my boyfriend?” You ask.

       “Did you think I didn’t?” Yoongi’s eyes are sad, but he knows why you’re asking. “I know I’ve been … absent.”

       “Yoongi, I’ve barely spoken to you in the last three weeks. I know part of that is how upset I was, but still.” You remind him.

       “I’ve been a shitty boyfriend.” He says.

       “I’ve been a shitty girlfriend.” You reply.

       “How do we make this, work again?”

       Your hand moves to caress his cheek. “I don’t know. Can we have dinner and keep talking?”

       Yoongi cracks a smile. “You’re starving aren’t you.”

       “So, fucking hungry.”

        “You know, I know he’s never going to say it, but part of my breakdown was, and is, the fact that The Littlest Dumpling book two is better than book one, and book three is… so much better than either of them.” Yoongi says after finishing his drink, a generous pour of the whiskey he brought.

        “I don’t know if that’s true, Yoongi. They all can be good in their own ways.” You say diplomatically.

        “Yes, but you haven’t read the latest edit of book two.”

        “I like that in each book the rhyme scheme becomes a bit more convoluted and complicated,” you tell him.

        “Do you think it makes sense? Or sounds okay when read aloud?” He asks.

        “I think so, they bounce more in each book.”

        “That’s what I was going for.”

        “It’s definitely working,” You compliment.

        “Hey – what happened with Taehyung’s book?” He asks, treading lightly into the topic that sent him over the edge. He knows if he doesn’t ask, it’s going to eat away at him, and as the one true hurdle in your relationship, he’d much rather ask and get it out of the way than wait and wait while it festers inside of him.

        “Seokjin is editing it.”

        “Two people I dislike, working together? Are they waiting for the other two horses of the apocalypse, or?” Yoongi asks.

        “You’re an ass,” You tease. “I think they will work well together. They’re in the new, smaller section of Serendipity that deals with adult novels, so I don’t really know. I don’t have jurisdiction over them.”

        He sighs, relief he wasn’t expecting to feel cascading over him.

        “That makes me, so, happy?”

        You stare at him, expression clear and precise. “I wasn’t going to let Taehyung come between us, Yoongi.”

        “I know you weren’t, but I was,” he admits.

        “He doesn’t mean –

        “You don’t have to do that,” Yoongi interrupts.

        “Do what?”

        “Make me feel better. Say he doesn’t mean anything to you, that it’s just work… He did mean something to you, and it’s unfair of me to minimize that because I’m jealous and insecure,” He explains. He’s done a lot of thinking, a lot of confronting the interactions he had with you before he left, and even after.  

        “Insecure about what, Yoongi?” You scoot closer to him, hand reaching for his.

        “That you loved him first, and he’s, fucking Taehyung Kim.”

        “Yoongi, honey, he destroyed whatever love or affection I had for him. He does mean something, but it was more a lesson in growth and protecting myself. If he hadn’t, if he hadn’t broken my heart, I wouldn’t be able to be with you.”

        “You wouldn’t?”

        “No, I wouldn’t know that what we have, what I feel for you, is so much, better, than what I had with him.”

        “Is it?” He asks, disbelieving.

        “Yes, you goof. Not just because I know you’re only dating me, but because you and I are more, equal. If that makes sense.”

        “There’s more of a natural give and take with us,” Yoongi guesses.

        “Yes.”

        Yoongi smiles. “I think that’s because you hold more power than I do.”

        “I think it’s because you respect me, as a person, in my career… you respect my wants and needs.” You say.

        When you look back at your relationship with Taehyung, that’s really what it comes down to: respect. He didn’t respect your relationship, or the honesty you kept with him. He didn’t respect the care you gave to your romance, or how you always supported him. He didn’t respect your job, or your work… Or maybe, in his mind, he did. But how he showed it, and how it made you feel, were incongruous. It was about a misalignment of values, or shared and mutual respect, of boundaries. Taehyung, for all his charm and beauty and stunning prose, was a bit of an asshole.

        On the contrary, Yoongi, by virtue of being Yoongi, is only similar to Taehyung in the facts that he too is a beautiful author, and he has at one point in time, been somewhat in love with you. Maybe it was how you two met, in your office to discuss signing him to Serendipity Publishing, or maybe it was because you had come out of your relationship with Taehyung hell bent on finding success… It didn’t matter, because Yoongi isn’t Taehyung, and thus he hasn’t mistreated you or disrespected you in the ways you have been before.

        “And what are your wants and needs?” He smirks, hoping how close you’re sitting is an indication that maybe your body wants and needs his.

        “Yoongi,” You scold.

        “What?”

        “You think we’re going to have this emotional evening and conversation and then have –

        “Make love, say it correctly,” He teases.

        “We’ve never once called it that, Yoongi.” You say.

        “I know, but I think we should.” He says earnestly.

        You stare at him, fully smitten before leaning in and placing your lips on his.

        Seokjin paces back and forth, waiting patiently for Violette to come out of the bathroom dressed and ready to go to dinner. Except in his pacing, he’s rubbing the velvet of the ring box painfully hard, causing the box itself to indent as velvet crumbles beneath his sweaty thumb.

        He’s so busy in his current state that he misses Violette coming out of the bathroom, eyes falling on him with a worried stare. That is, until she sees the ring box.

        “Seokjin Kim, what the fuck is in your hands?” She asks.

        He snaps out of his trance, and stares at her. Her multicolored dress compliments her recently dyed red and copper hair, bringing out the natural highlights in her face.

        “You look beautiful,” He mutters, staring at her with a slack jaw.

        “I know. But what is in your hands?” She asks again.

        “I – fuck.”

        “No, tell me,” Violette demands.

        “I was debating doing this after dinner, or right now, in our home… but I couldn’t decide, and then you came out and I wasn’t paying attention…. So now we’re here.”

        “You were going to do what?” She’s becoming annoyed that he won’t just answer her damn question.

        “Propose.”

        “Propose?” She repeats, her stomach dropping.

        “Yes, I was going to propose to you, Violette, and ask you to marry me,” Seokjin explains with painstaking condescension.

        “You’re an ass, I know what a proposal is.”

        “Then why’d you ask?”

        “Why aren’t you?”

        “Proposing?”

        “Yes.”

        “I – do you want me to?”

        “Yes.”

        Jin rolls his eyes, of course this is the level of obstipation he’d have to endure to propose to his love. He kneels and opens the ring box, showing a gorgeous diamond and jade ring that Violette’s mom helped him pick.

        “Violette, I love you. Will you marry me?”

        “That’s all you’re going to say?” She snaps, eyes wide in horror.

        “What could I say? You’ll tease me mercilessly until the day I die if I say anything more romantic than I love you. This isn’t our first trip around the sun, Violette. I know how you are. You’ll hate me forever if I say something mushy.”

        “I’ll hate you into eternity if you don’t.”

        “Violette, you are the most difficult, stubborn, challenging woman I have ever had the pleasure of knowing.”

        “Y/N included.”

        “Yes, goes without saying. I love you, no matter how frustrated you make me, or how soft and warm your heart is, you never stop amazing me. I want nothing more than to marry you, and to continue building this life we have together. So, Violette, my love, my darling, will you marry me?”

3 Months Later

       Clothes are strewn across Yoongi’s apartment, not wanting to wait to get his hands on you after the launch party of The Littlest Dumpling. You’d outdone yourself, a really beautiful celebration of this new chapter in Yoongi’s career. Catered by his favorite Korean place, mandu was overflowing and paired nicely with other traditional Korean foods broken down into bite sized morsels. He did a reading of the whole book, which had at first felt stupid in a room full of adults, but after a whiskey it wasn’t so crazy that he was reading his book for his friends.

       All of it led you back here, to Yoongi’s house, with him beneath you as you celebrated his genius, and he the fact that he hasn’t spent more than his allotted 8 hours in bed at one time.

       Yoongi, with his lips still tingling from being pressed to yours, pulls way from your skin. His always placid eyes stare into yours, which often don’t mirror his tranquility. For two highly anxious people, it’s a wonder your gaze ever stills enough to lock with Yoongi’s.

       “What?” You ask.

       “I’m thinking,” He answers.

       “About?”

       “What you taste like,” he says.

       You blush ferociously, had you eaten something weird? Forgotten to brush your teeth? Could gum lose its potency?

       “What do I taste like? Regret and Chanel No. 5?” You laugh.

       “Of course not,” he shakes his head, leaning into your fingers that still linger on his cheek.

       “Then what?”

       “It’s not honey but it’s sweet.” Yoongi knows he is failing to describe you to you, but he doesn’t know what else to say. Burrowing his head in the crook of your neck, he suddenly feels embarrassment as he kissed your skin.

        “Yoongi,” you mutter, both to get his attention and to signal the tingling sensations that have begun to creep out from the places his lips are landing.

       “What?” He asks, blushing cheeks and uncertain gaze finding yours once more.

       “What do I taste like?” You ask again.

       “I think it’s love. You taste like love,” he says, the usual droll of his voice full of timbre and gravitas.

       “Do you love me?” You question, unsure if tasting like love means being in love, or loving you at all. At this point, after all this time, doesn’t it?

       “I do,” he says. “Do you love me?”

       When the question is repeated back to you, it sounds so odd, so silly and peculiar. What a dumb thing you had asked, because of course you love him. Haven’t you been loving him this entire time?

       “I do,” you answer, pulling his hyper pigmented lips to yours once more.

[fandom-puff]

Sectumsempra

Pairing: Severus Snape x reader

Requested by: anon

Warnings: duel, battle, mentions of death, serious injury, bleeding

Gif creds to owner

The Battle of the Department of Mysteries raged on around you, beams of light shooting either side of you as you ducked and dodged, casting your own protection charms as you warded the death eaters away from the children who had already fought so bravely.

“Alastor!” You yelled, having difficulty warding off two death eaters at a time, one of whom was Lucius Malfoy, already sprouting a black eye as blood trickled from beneath his hair, staining the silvery-blonde a bright red.

“Behind you, YN,” Moody said gruffly, joining the duel as Dolohov joined his fellow death eaters in taking you on. “Bunch of cowards,” he growled as you duelled. “Three against one was it, Malfoy?”

Malfoy visibly bristled at the jab at his pride, at his duelling skills, at his worth as a wizard. He raised his wand, the silver snake head gleaming, as Moody raised his own wand.

“Protego!”

“Sectumsempra!”

For a moment, you thought the curse had rebounded, the white light of Moody’s shield charm blinding. Then the pain came, slicing through your flesh, the slight sting turning to a violent, throbbing pain as blood bloomed under your clothes and a sob ripped from your throat. Moody cursed, quickly stunning the jeering death eaters before him, binding their bodies and knocking them out for good measure, before apparating you to a safe place, then returning to the battle.

***

Your eyes slipped open, though it took you a while to focus; the room was dark, pitch black save for the flickering candle light that cast eerie shadows along the sloped ceiling. The dungeons.

Making to sit up, you heard rustling, then quick footsteps, gentle hands on your shoulders pushing you back down. “You need to rest,”

“Sev?” You whispered. “What am I doing here- Harry- the battle-”

“Hush,” he murmured, his thumbs rubbing gentle circles over your skin. “The battle is won. Potter is unharmed. The dark lord is back,”

“We knew that already,” you said fiercely- you had been one of the first to declare your loyalty to the cause, to agree that Voldemort was really back. “Casualties?” You asked, before nibbling your lip. “Fatalities?”

Severus sighed. “Black is dead,” he allowed you a moment or two to process before continuing. “Our only fatality. Ronald Weasley is concussed- something to do with tentacled brains, Granger says- his sister has a few wounds- they all do,”

“They’re children, Sev… it’s not fair,”

“It’s never fair. But the cards have been set. The children are the soldiers, the war is Dumbledore’s. Potter showed his distaste hours ago- Albus is still in the process of repairing his office,”

You heaved a great sigh before wincing. “Why am I not with Poppy? I’m injured,” you asked. Severus looked to the floor.

“Poppy would’ve been unable to heal you… it’s my fault,”

“How is it?” You bristled. Severus had not wanted you to go to the battle, but you refused to allow him to feel guilty. “You weren’t there. It was Dolohov, Yaxley, maybe. Malfoy- I remember duelling him before Mad-Eye came to help. Three against one. It’s not your fault Severus, you didn’t cast the curse-”

“I invented the blasted curse!” Severus exclaimed, drawing away from you and standing up. “Sectumsempra. It’s mine. Meant to slash the victim with a thousand invisible swords, normal healing charms and salves don’t heal the wounds. It’s dark magic, YN, and I am its creator,” as his face crumpled and hot tears of anguish poured down his face, you hauled yourself out of bed, ignoring the stabbing pain that leached you of your energy.

You grasped onto his arms, holding yourself up and staring him hard in the eye. “You may have invented the spell, Severus. But Merlin knows it isn’t half as evil as dragging kids into war. And what’s more; you invented healing charms to go with it. If you were truly evil, you would’ve just left it at ‘Sectumsempra’,” your glassy eyes shone with tears as you wiped away Severus’s. “You have healed me, Severus. Now come to bed. Leave your brooding for the classroom,” you whispered, guiding him to bed.

As he held you close, careful not to jar you, Severus murmured into your ear: “tomorrow, I am going to teach poppy the counter curse and the healing charms for this spell,”

Tags: @liliputbahn @lilymurphy03 @pinkandblueblurbs @wholebigboxofyikes @remus-lupin-simp @dailyalanrickman @cremedelabrulee @simpforsnape @imareallygrumpyme @ithinkweallsing @lizlil @whizzbeesdukes @sassicaismysupreme @acciosiriusblack @highfunctioningfangirl19 @sociallyawkward-princess @sw33tgirl @pandaxnienke @agalandhermarvelobsession @once-upon-an-imagine @lazyotakujen @lilypad-55449

[hxseok-honee]

atlas heart || part 25

a/n : so sorry it took so long getting this update out !! i had a disgusting amount of work to do and i really was not doing anything else for a few days -- i really hope you like it!! pls lmk what you think about things now that jimin (and we) know everything! its gonna get,,,, i wanna say messy but messys not even enough to cover how messy its gonna get

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________________________________

Jimin can’t remember the last time he’d closed his eyes for more than a few minutes. Time goes by so fast these days that he’s partially convinced he’s been falling asleep and not realizing it. The hours between class and dinner every day are spent in the library, his headphones shoved into his ears haphazardly while he tunnel visions onto what’s been in the back of his mind since the beginning of the year.

Those spare hours had turned into days and days into weeks -- weekends where he doesn’t even glance at his phone, unaware of the growing concern of his friends. It’s almost May now, the chill of early spring having melted away around him without him realizing. His schoolwork stopped being a priority ages ago, and he knows his grades are really taking the hit for it. He vaguely remembers Namjoon confronting him one night some time ago -- a week? Two weeks ago? -- but he can’t for the life of him recall the contents of that conversation. Something about hating to play the ‘prefect card’, but having no choice. He doesn’t even know if he’s still on the quidditch team. It doesn’t matter -- nothing matters when seeing everything with the perspective he’s got now.

Practically buried in scrolls and books, Jimin could care less about the time and the fact that he’s very obviously breaking curfew right now -- the library’s been empty for hours now, and the light outside the window has well past faded into pitch black darkness. He had to hide from Pince around 10pm, barely managing to catch the click of the librarian’s heels through the music blasting in his headphones to keep him concentrated -- it’s a miracle that she hadn't caught him, really. He’d never be able to focus properly back in his room, not when he’s this close to putting the pieces together.

It’s there, right there, everything scattered in his brain. He knows it’s sitting right in front of him, he can feel himself trying to hyperfocus on anything that can blatantly tell him what he needs to know. Flipping through the pages of a book with one hand and shuffling through scrolls with his other, he glances down at a scrap of paper with his own handwriting, chicken-scratch on a ripped up piece of parchment for him to refer back to every few minutes. There, in black ink, the words ‘vampire’ and ‘veela’ are written and then, later, crossed out. There’s one below it -- ‘maledictus’ -- that remains uncrossed and haunts his every thought.

For the better half of the week, he’d spent his nights scouring the bookshelves for any text he could find on blood malediction -- there isn’t much to show for his efforts. Too rare a condition to have any extensive research done, he could barely manage to put together a few measly scrolls and one book with less than a full chapter on the subject. Sighing heavily, Jimin leans back in his chair, rubbing at his temples while he reconsiders the information for what feels like the hundredth time.

It fits the fact that she has a blood condition… but it’s not right. There’s no mention of a potion or even of regularly experiencing sickness. Y/n is in the Hospital Wing like once a month. There wouldn’t be anything Pomfrey or Hoseok could do to help her if she was a maledictus…

He considers that maybe those things are part of blood malediction and that there just isn’t enough documentation for him to verify it. But there’s something nagging at him, telling him this isn’t right. He thinks back over everything he knows, trying to pull up the major details that could help him finally get some sleep. Ignoring the fact that he very well could doze off, even with his loud ass music, he lets his eyes close so he can think. It takes a few minutes, but eventually he’s sitting up in his seat, eyes wide as he recalls something said to him almost months ago, forgotten amidst everything else on his mind.

“What’s the deal with your roommate, Tae?”

“Who, Stephen?”

“No, not fuckin’ Stephen -- Jungkook!”

“Well, how the hell was I supposed to know?”

“Because Stephen doesn’t look at me like I’m the bane of his existence.”

“Yeah… I don’t know what you did to make Jeon Jungkook hate you, but it must have be serious--”

“Just tell me what you know about him, Tae.”

“I mean… nothing crazy, really -- an only child, comes from old money. Probably as old as the Malfoys or the Potters. His family’s the purest of purebloods. And always Gryffindors, just like the Malfoys are always Slytherins. It’s kind of nuts, having a family history like that.”

Jimin stumbles out of his chair, already making his way down the aisles of bookshelves, almost crazed with concentration.

Purest of purebloods -- there’s not a single pureblood family that isn’t documented in a registry… registry… regis-- aha!

Turning down an aisle designated for family registries dating back centuries, he scans the shelves at a lightening speed, finally coming to a halt in front of a tome titled Gryffindor Legacies. Hauling it from the shelf, he doesn’t even bother returning to his table, taking a seat right there on the floor.

Flipping straight to the back to search for the family name, he locates it easily and heads to appropriate page. Searching the family tree down generations, it takes him several pages of flipping through Jungkook’s ancestors’ lives to finally get to his parents. They’re the most recent entry -- new editions of the book are printed with each new generation, the original, handwritten copy belonging to the respective families. It’s an inefficient system for sure, but Jimin’s not exactly complaining when he’s the one benefiting directly.

Scanning the page, from the birth of his mother -- Jeon Eunha -- to her school days, from her marriage to his father all the way to Jungkook’s birth. Jimin expects the next part to follow the same structure of his mother’s story, recounting his childhood, but it diverges from that almost immediately with some extra lines that he almost feels don’t exist in the original copy at the Jeon family residence.

Not long after the birth of their first and only child, they were met with circumstances leading to the adoption and care of another, the recently orphaned infant girl, Y/n Y/l/n. In her days at Hogwarts, young Eunha had become friends with a female Ravenclaw student, who had a noticeably sickly pallor about her at all times. She was to become her closest lifelong friend. The same night in which Y/l/n was to give birth to her first child, she and her husband met an untimely fate in the form of a violent animal attack in the backyard of their own home. The Jeon family were the first to arrive at the premises, deciding immediately to take in the infant child and raise her alongside their own son. Not much else is known about the girl, only that she and the Jeon heir were to become inseparable.

Jimin stares down at the page, unblinking. There’s a lot of information to process, but the things that stand out most to him are the fact that Y/n’s mother was also apparently afflicted with the same illness as Y/n, and --

‘Violent animal attack’? I knew the car accident thing was bullshit, but… did her mom not even die in childbirth? Why would she not tell me… there’s nothing suspicious about an animal atta--

Almost like his brain has started to short-circuit after the long nights and lack of sleep, Jimin’s thoughts are gone instantly, replaced by the mental image of a book sitting not a even a few aisles away, on a table littered with all of the information he’d ever needed in the first place. He’s completely incapable of registering anything around him as he races back to his table, his mind flipping incomprehensibly between the information in front of him and all of the pieces of his memories, details that make too much sense in this moment to match anything but this one conclusion.

Most Muggles, however, will die from the extent of their injuries… all known instances of Muggle attacks have been portrayed in the media as ‘animal attacks’ so as to preserve the secrecy of the wizarding world…

Given the extent of the available research and data, collected almost entirely from male subjects afflicted with lycanthropy, not much is known about the hereditary components related to a female werewolf. Therefore, it is unknown if a pregnant female werewolf's transformations would affect the ability to carry the pregnancy to term…

Without any humans nearby to attack, or other animals to occupy it, the werewolf will attack itself out of frustration…

“My mom died in childbirth and my dad… just a… just a freak accident you know, no one’s fault or anything…”

Because werewolves only pose a danger to humans, companionship with animals whilst transformed has been known to make the experience more bearable as the werewolf has no-one to harm and will be less willing to harm themselves…

“You want to talk about forbidden, Jeon? Let’s talk about your illegal animagus status-”

The way one must imbibe it is very unique among potions, in that a goblet full of wolfsbane potion must be taken each day for a week preceding the full moon…

“…you know how long it takes me to make a full set of vials for you. I barely have enough to make it last 3 days…”

The monthly transformation of a werewolf is extremely painful if untreated and is usually preceded and succeeded by a few days of pallor and ill health…

“He was lowkey carrying her down the stairs… she looked kinda sick actually…”

Throwing scrolls behind him without care as he searches for the one with the final detail, he pulls his phone out when he finds it -- a book listing all of the recorded moon cycles for over a century. Jamming his thumb down on the icon that’ll take him to his search engine and typing with blind panic, he finds himself yanking out his headphones by the cord with one sharp tug when the answer flashes back at it him on the screen, and he realizes that almost all of the pieces are in place.

The quidditch match against Slytherin -- it was the night before a full moon.

“No, no… no, no, no, this can’t be right. This isn’t happening, this can’t be right, she can’t be--” Jimin remembers the text he’d sent to her almost 8 hours ago, sitting unanswered, and he moves without thinking. Slamming his hands down on either side of the moon cycle record, he flips frantically to the cycle for this current month, April of 1978. What he sees there has his heart dropping out of his chest.

“Next week? It’s next week? But that means she’d have to be feeling the effects of it this wee--” He’s cut off by the feeling of his phone buzzing in his pocket, and he reaches for it almost desperately. It’s Y/n, finally responding to his concerned texts with nothing more than a single line. His blood turns to ice when he reads it.

I’m fine, just feeling under the weather.

--

When Jimin bursts through the door of Dumbledore’s office just past 3am, the headmaster’s already seated at his desk, evidently waiting for him. He’s donning a light blue robe with a matching sleeping cap perched delicately on his head, suggesting to Jimin that he’d somehow woken up knowing he was soon to greet a guest. All of the panic invading Jimin’s body is masked just slightly by guilt, only now realizing how late it is and how intrusive he must seem in this moment.

“Mister Park, you certainly are out quite a bit past curfew, no?” Jimin stands in the doorway cradling all of the scrolls and books he’d been hoarding the last few weeks -- he can’t very well have left a huge pile of evidence back in the library. It would have taken no time at all for someone to look through it and see there were connections everywhere to lycanthropy, even if he himself had been blind to it for so long.

“... Park? Mister Park?” Jimin jumps, lifting his tired eyes to meet Dumbledore’s concerned ones. The man continues once he’s got Jimin’s attention. “Surely, you must need something from me, or you wouldn’t appear so…” He doesn’t finish his sentence. He doesn’t need to. Jimin’s aware of the state he’s in -- the dark rings under his eyes, his ruffled clothes and hair, the way he’s holding his books like he needs to protect them with his life. He looks unhinged. He feels unhinged.

Realizing he has absolutely no idea how to approach the subject of a potential werewolf at Hogwarts with the school’s very headmaster, Jimin decides to start by moving toward the chair in front of Dumbledore’s desk.

Maybe I just need to sit down and take a deep breath. That should help--

He doesn’t even make it two steps before one of the many books he’s holding crashes to the floor between them, falling open to the page he’d stuck a pencil in to save his spot. The moon cycle for April of 1978 stares back up at him, and when he flicks his gaze up to peer at Dumbledore, he sees the headmaster’s expression has hardened with caution.

“Professor--”

“Have a seat, Mister Park.” Jimin’s heart lodges in his throat at Dumbledore’s tone, never having heard such a sharp edge to the kind man’s voice. He moves to the chair, setting the obnoxious amount of research haphazardly in his lap. His eyes will only go so far as the top of Dumbledore’s desk, unable to bring himself to meet the man’s eyes.

“Sir, I… need to ask you something.” When he isn’t granted a response, he swallows hard, pushing forward. “If there were to be a student at Hogwarts with a… peculiarity of sorts… how would you go about dealing with that?”

“How would I deal with what, Mister Park?”

“That student.”

“I’m not quite sure I know what you mean.” Jimin lifts his eyes then, confused, but he’s met with a deliberately ignorant smile.

“Sir?” Dumbledore’s smile, albeit strained, only widens.

“I think you may be suffering from a lack of sleep, Mister Park. There are no students at Hogwarts with any peculiarities, as you call it.” Jimin stares suspiciously up at him, knowing Dumbledore can tell that Jimin doesn’t for a second believe that claim. Breaking eye contact, he glances down at his lap, trying to figure out how to keep this conversation going. Trying to figure out why he’s even here.

Jimin looks down at himself and the pile of incriminating evidence, cursing his idiocy when he realizes just how bad this situation must look. A student out of bed way past curfew, barging into the headmaster’s office holding weeks of research and making outrageous claims about a potentially dangerous student. And he’s a Ravenclaw no less.

Shit. He probably thought I was some nosy little fucker trying to expose her and get her expelled.

Knowing that he’s risking a lot by being straightforward, he takes a single deep breath and meets Dumbledore’s eyes, his own filled with determination.

“Sir, I know about Y/n Y/l/n, and I know you do, too. I need to know how to take care of her. I need to know how to help her. I need you to tell me what to do because, to be honest with you, I’m freaking out.” The way Dumbledore’s examining him as he speaks tells Jimin that he’s right, but more importantly, it tells Jimin that Dumbledore hadn’t been expecting him to want to help.

“That is a very serious accusation you’re making, Mister Park, especially in this political climate. Very serious.” Jimin doesn’t waver when he responds.

“I know, sir. That’s why you’re the only one I’ve made it to. Because I need your help. Because I know you can help.” Dumbledore narrows his eyes, peering at Jimin over the tops of his half-moon spectacles.

“Have you considered the fact that just you knowing this information at all has placed Miss Y/l/n in more danger than she’s already in?” As soon as the words leave Dumbledore’s mouth, Jimin’s heart is stopping in his chest. All the times that Hoseok and Jungkook had told him to mind his business come rushing back, and he feels himself becoming sick to his stomach. Of course it’s more dangerous for her now that he knows -- he’d been too selfish to even think it through, too nosy for his own good. He had done all this to try to understand her, to try to be a better friend who can help when she needs it, but it’s all bullshit. Everything he thought he had done for her sake had actually been for his. For him and his stupid curiosity.

Lifting his head as a thought comes to mind, Jimin doesn’t even think twice before speaking.

“Can you erase my memories?” The headmaster’s eyebrows fly to his hairline, his expression becoming amused as Jimin continues rambling. “Can’t you obliviate me or something? Wouldn’t that be the best way for me to help her? Wait… but do you have to erase everything I know about her -- will I still know her? Can you make sure I still know her? I really like her! I don’t like Hoseok or Jungkook very much -- they kind of scare me -- but I like her! I don’t want to forget her, but also if me knowing that she’s a werewolf is only going to cause her more trouble, then I really think you should make me forget--” Dumbledore lifts his hand calmly, effectively silencing a frantic Jimin.

“Have you always had such a one-track mind, Mister Park?” Jimin smiles weakly, offering a half-joking response.

“It’s my only redeeming Ravenclaw quality…” Dumbledore chuckles before scratching at his forehead with a heavy sigh.

“Unfortunately -- and I do truly mean that -- I cannot erase a student’s memories. So, you and I will need to continue this difficult conversation.” Jimin considers the man’s words, knowing that it really would be better for everyone if he had his mind wiped clean and hating that he’d unknowingly put Y/n even more in harm’s way. He looks up when Dumbledore sighs again.

“Mister Park, you do understand that you are strictly forbidden from informing anyone else of this situation, yes?” When Jimin nods immediately, opening his mouth to assure the man that he wouldn’t say a word, Dumbledore only shakes his head. “No, Mister Park, I’m not sure you really understand. This situation is infinitely more complicated than you could ever imagine, so it is absolutely imperative that you keep this information to yourself.” Jimin blinks, unsure what’s meant by ‘infinitely more complicated’, but he nods again.

“I’ve put her in enough danger just by being here, Sir -- I’m not breathing a word of this to anyone.” Dumbledore examines him a moment longer, essentially staring into Jimin’s soul to gauge his trustworthiness. Eventually he nods, leaning back in his chair.

“What advice would you like me to give you, Mister Park?” Jimin stays silent, thinking hard about any way that he can make Y/n’s life easier, especially after all the trouble he’s caused up to now. His mind flashes back to the conversation he’d overheard in the library. He opens his mouth slowly, choosing his words with care.

“Sir… how does a student that isn’t even taking Potions know how to brew the wolfsbane potion? Isn’t it nearly impossible?” Jimin sees Dumbledore’s eyes flicker with recognition, and the headmaster responds cautiously.

“…If that student isn’t taking any kind of Potions course at all, they’d need to already be an expert from having dedicated all their studies to the art of potionmaking. They would also need an immense amount of private mentoring, even if they are taking Potions. We do not teach the wolfsbane potion in the curriculum. As I’m sure you can imagine, it wouldn’t fare well in these times…” Jimin squints, putting the pieces together quickly in his mind.

“And where would a student like that find this kind of… private mentoring?” The headmaster hums at Jimin’s question, peering down at him with knowing eyes.

“Well, Mister Park, if you wish to receive mentoring on much… safer forms of potionmaking, I’m sure Professor Slughorn would be happy to help you. However, if you are asking me about Mister Jung Hoseok of Slytherin House, and if you are wondering just how he became capable of caring for Miss Y/l/n at the young age of 13, well… you’re looking at his mentor.”

--

When Jimin leaves Dumbledore’s office almost an hour later, he feels like his head is going to explode. The nights of sleeplessness seem to also have come rushing back to him at once, and he’s not sure if he’s going to collapse first from the exhaustion or from the weight of everything he knows now. For a moment, he considers that maybe he really should ask someone to erase his memories -- Jungkook or Hoseok, perhaps.

Yeah, I’m sure they’d absolutely love to do me that favor.

Dragging his feet as he trudges down the corridor in the direction of Ravenclaw tower, Jimin stops short at a window when movement down by the Black Lake catches his eye. Almost as if thinking about them has caused them to materialize before him, Jimin watches the silhouette of Jung Hoseok stroll casually down by the shoreline, followed not long after by Jeon Jungkook racing toward him, a body perched precariously on his back. It’s not hard to see that Y/n’s clinging weakly to him as he runs, her arms wrapped around his shoulders as he keeps his hands hooked under her knees. Jimin can see that she’s got a gown on from the Hospital Wing, and it’s obvious that Jungkook and Hoseok have snuck her out from under Madam Pomfrey’s stern supervision.

They head for the Forbidden Forest, Y/n reaching back for Hoseok when Jungkook passes him. She beckons him forward, and Jimin watches as the three of them disappear together into the trees. He sighs deeply when he can no longer see them, muttering to himself under his breath as he makes his way to his room, overcome with extreme guilt at the entire situation.

“You’ve really gone and done it now, you fucking idiot.”