#sorry it got angsty ^^“

[the-journey-was-the-point]

🎵Callonduin

[   🎵     ] is there a specific song or songs you associate with your muse? why is that? (Asks)

Ahhh there isn't a better character of mine you could have asked this for! There are sooooo many songs that make me think of Callonduin in a variety of ways... I've been meaning to assemble a playlist but get so overwhelmed every time! 😅

But ok, summoning them to my mind and narrowing it down:

A good song to describe Callonduin overall I think, is Let's Get The Party Started by Tom Morello (feat. Bring Me the Horizon). It's.... all there. His inner turmoil, mental state, unhealthy ways of coping, and the line "I don't wanna face my demons so let's get the party started". I can imagine this playing as he gets into all sorts of trouble in an attempt to bury the sadness that threatens to drown him.

When it comes to his near-wraithified experience, Dancing With the Devil by Demi Lovato represents it pretty well. I know it's specifically about overdose, but it hits a lot of the same emotional/behavioral beats that Callonduin has. There's lines like "I've been good, don't I deserve it?", "playing with the enemy, gambling with my soul", and the regret that comes with going too far.

But for something more tongue-in-cheek! Ex's & Oh's by Elle King is his go-to karaoke song, representing his love life ^_^

[noodles-and-tea]

Just some more thoughts on that jayvik dbh au

[brucedefender4eva]

< prev >

——

Tim: I have never seen you as an obligation- as a means to an end

Bruce: … Neither have I

——

Bruce slowly sipped his chamomile tea. Alfred had somehow noticed his back flaring up and brewed him a nice cup of tea to help with the inflammation. Bruce had asked for extra honey and sugar, which the older man generously allowed.

“I can feel you staring at me, Tim.” Bruce rumbled, taking another slow sip, making sure not to slurp. Both he and Tim hated the sound of people slurping their drinks; it was horrid. “Drink your tea, sweetheart, it’s good for gut health.”

Tim let out a small hum of acknowledgment but didn’t look away, his own chamomile tea going untouched in his cup.

“Switch?” Tim asked, pushing himself up from the couch he was sprawled out on and carefully bringing his full cup to Bruce. “Want yours.”

Without a second thought, Bruce took Tim’s teacup and placed his own on his son’s saucer, grabbing two more sugar cubes and plopping them in the tea for Tim. “Still hot,” Bruce warned, watching Tim as he took a sip and let out a soft hum, making Bruce smile softly.

The two lapsed into another comfortable silence; the only sound audible in the study was the soft clicking of their teacups every time they set them down on their saucers.

“Hey.” Bruce looked up from the newspaper he was absentmindedly skimming, tilting his head at Tim. “Say I love you.”

Bruce blinked but complied nonetheless. “I love you. A lot. I love you very much, Timmothy.” Bruce stated, his face remaining in a relaxed expression.

Tim wrinkled his nose at his Dad using his full name, trying to hide the flush on his cheeks from Bruce being able to say the three words so easily, compared to how it was before. “Ew, you full named me.” Tim pouted, hiding a grin behind his teacup as he heard Bruce chuckle lightly.

“Me too, by the way…” Tim set down the teacup, looking into Bruce’s eyes before shifting them to look at his forehead. Much easier than actually looking into his eyes. “I love you lots, Dad.”

This time, Bruce wrinkled his nose in confusion. “Did your brothers put you up to this?”

Bruce’s voice wasn’t accusing, but then again, it never really is when he talks to his children. He always gives them the benefit of the doubt.

Tim scowled, feeling a twinge of embarrassment bubble up in his chest. “No. Why would you think that, Bruce?”

Uh oh, he was back to being Bruce right now. Bruce let out a small huff of air from his nose and folded his hands over one another. “You and your brothers have been acting… strange. Coming here, to me, once a week and interrogating me over… menial topics.”

“Menial?” Tim’s voice took on a sharp edge once he heard the word. “You made Dick cry and Jason looked like he was in fucking shock. Obviously, those conversations were important.” Tim accused, pointing his finger at Bruce.

Bruce blinked, the only sign that would tell he was surprised by the change of tone. “I did no such thing. I have no idea why that happened, and they refused to tell me. You can not blame that on me, I will not allow it.” Bruce asserted.

“You’re supposed to know!” Tim raised his voice.

“How am I supposed to know when no one will tell me?! You guys always get mad at me for ‘snooping’ or ‘going through your business’ on normal days! How am I supposed to know when it’s appropriate?” Bruce struggled not to raise his voice at Tim. He knew Tim would shut down immediately and this… conversation would devolve into a screaming match that would rival the ones with Dick and Jason.

“You told Jason that you think we hate you! How could you do that?!”

Bruce threw his hands up in the air. Fuck! Not this stupid conversation again. Was this the only thing people wanted to talk about in this household?

“When someone says they hate you, you tend to believe that!” Bruce shouted, immediately regretting the action when he saw Tim curl into himself and his face harden.

Bruce let out a shuddering breath and ran a hand through his hair, grateful that he had forgone putting gel into it. He did not need to be overstimulated on top of this talk with Tim.

“I don’t understand why this is a topic of discussion in the household as of late.” Bruce continued quietly. “And I don’t know why you would insert yourself into something like this.”

Tim squinted his eyes, not understanding what the fuck that meant. Before he could ask, Bruce continued speaking.

“Look… I know how this relationship between the two of us officially started. I see you as my son, Tim, one of my own, and I’ll always love you as such.” Bruce reassured, but instead of it making Tim feel better, he felt like he was about to be dropped off into a gaping black hole. “But I know that this,” Bruce gestured between the two of them, “is nothing more than a… responsibility on your part.”

And just like that, the floor was swept out from underneath Tim’s feet.

“What makes you say that?” Tim could feel his lips move and feel the way his vocal cords vibrated to ask the question, but blood rushed through his ears, making everything sound muffled. "What have I done that could possibly make you say that?"

“You came to me because I was a danger to myself, which meant I was a danger to Gotham,” Bruce said matter of factly, like he knew what the fuck he was talking about. “I’m just glad that somewhere along the way you decided to stay with us, even if it wasn’t for me.”

The words leave Tim’s lips before they even have a chance to register in his mind. “But it’s the same for you!”

“The only reason why you took me is because I pestered you so much! And even then, you didn’t want me; Alfred was the one who gave me Robin.” Tim tried to pretend that his voice didn't break in the middle of his sentence, silently glad that Bruce didn't mention it and allowed him to keep his dignity.

Bruce tapped his fingers against the arm of his chair, peeling off the flaking paint and ripping it up into smaller pieces. He would run out of paint soon enough if people kept trying to lie right to his face that they didn't hate him.

“You became Robin not just because Alfred gave it to you, but because you wanted to do good. Because you are good.” Bruce let out a small hum. “If I could go back in time, I would change how our relationship started. How everything started.”

“Change how?”

“I would be better. I would show you that I love you.” Bruce nodded to himself, smiling softly as he turned to Tim. “I would tell you it’s okay to hate me, that you don’t have to pretend that you love me. I already know. Everyone hates me. I also hate myself.”

And truly, what the fuck do you say to that?

Because if Bruce could believe something so… twisted, then how could Tim believe anything that this man in front of him was saying?

How could he believe that Bruce truly loved him if Bruce didn’t believe that Tim loved him?

[hyruling]

beautiful wife. please write buddie + 50 FOR ME. or buddie + 32 if that’s what strikes the fancy

50. “I need more time.” & 32: “Keep your eyes on me.”

—

The house is dark when Eddie lets himself in.

It’s dusk, the sunlight slowly giving way to shadow, dust motes swirling through the faint light peeking in through the curtains. They’re drawn haphazardly, as though someone ripped them closed in a hurry, but the sun is still stubbornly poking through the edges. There’s no sound from the kitchen, no TV or music playing, no warmth anywhere to be found. He knows where Buck will be.

He’s on his side, back to the door when Eddie quietly steps into the bedroom. He tiptoes around the bed so he can see him, make his presence known. His heart breaks all over again when he sees the face he’s been missing like a limb for months.

Buck is asleep, his face contorted with grief even in rest. His hair is a tangled mess of curls, pillow creases line his cheeks, and there are dark circles painted under his eyes. He looks so small, curled up on the bed with one hand tucked under the pillow and the other curled tight around his stomach, like he’d fallen asleep trying to hold himself together with his own hands.

Tears prick at Eddie’s eyes. He’s managed to put his own grief to the side until he could get back here, pushing it down to something manageable until it coiled like a snake ready to lunge in his chest. He’d focused all his attention on logistics and plane tickets and packing; on helping Chris navigate his feelings and endless phone calls to the Buck and the 118 letting them know he was there, he was right there with them, even from eight-hundred miles away.

Buck, it seems, has had no such luxury - he’s been feeling it all, the razor sharp agony and mind numbing emptiness of it all with no buffer, and this is probably the first real rest he’s had in days.

Eddie toes off his shoes and makes quick work of digging out a pair of sweats from his duffel, trading them for his jeans. He climbs into the bed and tucks himself against Buck’s back, noses into the warmth of his neck with a sigh. Something settles in his veins at the feel of him, the familiar scent of his shampoo. Buck doesn’t stir, not even when Eddie’s arm wraps around his side and his hand slips into Buck’s, gently prying his clenched fingers apart and smoothing them over his stomach. And for the first time since Buck called him to break the news, Eddie lets the tears fall, silent and warm into the neck of Buck’s shirt.

By the time Buck wakes, night has fallen and sunk the room into darkness. Eddie had dozed off himself at some point but only managed thirty fitful minutes of sleep; he’s spent a good hour watching the shadows play on the wall, and listening to the thunderstorm rolling in from the east. Rain patters softly on the window while Buck stirs under his arm - he’s sure that’s what woke him in the first place. Buck hasn’t been able to sleep through a storm since the lightning strike.

He doesn’t seem to register Eddie’s presence at first. He twists in Eddie’s arms and blinks blearily at him for a few moments, uncomprehending. His face goes slack when his eyes clear and adjust to the dark.

“Eddie?” he asks, voice like gravel.

“Hey, Buck,” Eddie says softly. His hand rests on Buck’s waist, and he squeezes gently.

“Thought you weren’t coming in ‘til tomorrow,” Buck mumbles, sleepily rubbing at his eyes.

“Changed my flight,” Eddie explains, and leaves it at that.

“Chris?”

“He’ll be here in the morning, he understood that I needed to be here.” With you, he doesn’t say. “Adriana is flying with him.”

Buck nods, accepting his non-explanation easily. Buck looks down between their bodies, not quite pressed together but close enough that he can feel Buck’s breath puff against his cheek when it starts going shallow, when he squeezes his eyes shut.

“Eddie,” Buck rasps, wrecked in a way Eddie hasn’t heard in a long time, and that’s all he needs. Eddie pulls Buck into him just as he breaks, shuddering against Eddie’s collarbone. His hands twist in Eddie’s shirt as the sobs wrack through him, and Eddie presses his own tear stained cheek against Buck’s hair.

“Shhh,” Eddie soothes him softly, though he’s barely keeping it together himself. “I’m here, Buck, I’m here. I’m right here with you.”

“He’s - he’s gone.”

His voice scrapes Eddie raw, makes his breath hitch on a sob that he tries to hide by pulling Buck closer. “I know. I know, baby, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

He holds Buck through it, combing his fingers gently through the tangles in his hair and rubbing his back while Buck shakes and cries. He doesn’t know how long it takes - time has a funny way of stretching and slowing after death until it feels meaningless. The storm outside reaches a peak just as Buck does, thunder shaking the walls as violently as Buck’s shoulders. Eddie holds on, lets Buck take what he needs, an immovable rock in the eye of the storm. Eventually, Buck stops shaking. His breathing evens out and he goes limp in Eddie’s arms, sniffling occasionally into his collarbone.

Just when Eddie thinks he’s fallen back to sleep, Buck says, “Athena asked me to ring the bell.”

Eddie tightens his hold, closes his eyes against the onslaught of tears that threaten to reappear. “He would want that too,” Eddie says gently, but Buck shakes his head and pulls back to look at him.

Even in the dark Eddie can see his eyes are bloodshot, dark circles more pronounced against his red rimmed lash line. He’s beautiful even in grief, devastatingly so. His chest aches at the look on Buck’s face, the guilt and sorrow leaving their cruel marks.

“Eddie, I don’t - I don’t think I can,” Buck admits, squeezing his eyes shut against fresh tears. “It’s - I can-can barely admit he’s gone, I can’t - I n-need more time, I can’t-”

“Hey, hey,” Eddie soothes. He lifts a hand to Buck’s face, swiping away the tears with his thumb. “You can. We’re going to get through this. All of us, together. I’ll be right there with you, okay?”

“Eddie, I don’t - you don’t get it, it’s my fault, I should have-”

“No,” Eddie cuts him off. “None of this is your fault, Buck, don’t do that. You know he would tell you the exact same thing.”

“You weren’t there, you-you didn’t see, I could have stopped it, I-”

It cuts like a knife, the guilt that cracks through his ribs. Buck is right - he wasn’t there, he couldn’t help, couldn’t protect Bobby or Buck or anyone. He knows he was where he needed to be, knows no one blames him for his absence, but it still crushes him a little to hear the thoughts that have haunted him for days from Buck’s mouth.

Buck must see some of that on his face, because he shakes his head urgently and grasps at his shoulder. “No, Eddie, I didn’t mean - you know I didn’t mean it like that.”

Eddie pushes his hand gently back into Buck’s hair, smoothly gliding through the curls now. “I know, Buck. I know. But this is no one’s fault, okay? It was an accident, just like we deal with everyday.”

Buck shudders and closes his eyes. Eddie traces his fingers over his face, brushes his birthmark with his thumb. Touching him this way crosses the line he’d so firmly held for so many years, but he can’t stop himself now. Doesn’t want to, either. He thinks he needs it as much as Buck right now, the closeness, the comfort of another person’s touch. Buck is always so cold, colder now in grief, but he’s warming under Eddie’s hands.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Buck murmurs, eyes still closed. Eddie feels Buck’s hands move soothingly over his shoulder blades, has to swallow against the wave of emotion that tries to consume him.

“Nowhere else I’d be,” Eddie says, and presses his lips to Buck’s hair. He’s not sure Buck even notices.

They’re quiet again for long time. Long enough that the storm passes, leaves them suspended in the deadened aftermath, until Buck’s voice breaks the silence. “I don’t think I can do it, Eddie.”

Eddie leans back and meets Buck’s wide, terrified eyes. “No one will force you, Buck. Athena will understand if you say no, but I think - I think you’ll regret it, if you don’t.”

Buck looks at him for a long time, quietly contemplating his words. Eddie brushes a hand down his neck, feels his pulse racing against his fingertips.

“You’re right,” Buck says at last, so quiet Eddie almost doesn’t hear him. “I have to, I - for him. For - for Bobby.”

Eddie wonders if it’s the first time he’s said his name out loud since it happened, since he called Eddie and told him through splintering sobs.

“I’ll be right there the whole time,” Eddie promises, holding Buck’s face carefully with one hand. “You’re not alone, Buck. Just keep your eyes on me while you’re up there, if it’s too much.”

Buck nods, tears in his eyes again, and tucks his face in Eddie’s neck. Eddie’s shirt is damp by the time Buck has cried himself out, same as the pillow under Eddie’s cheek. He takes a peek at his watch and sees it’s barely 8:30, though it feels like it’s been hours since he first laid next to Buck.

“How long until you have to go back to El Paso?” Buck asks, and it shreds him to pieces.

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly. “I pulled Chris out of school for a week. But his spring break is the week after, so we-we have time.”

He doesn’t tell him that he’ll stay as long as Buck needs, though the words sit heavy as a boulder in his throat, aching to get out. He can’t promise that, even with everything in him screaming that he needs to stay. He can’t voice his suspicion that Chris might want to stay once he’s here, can’t tell him that he’s been hinting at wanting to move back for weeks. He can’t afford to give himself or Buck any false hope when they’re hanging on by a thread.

“Did you eat today?” Eddie asks quietly, changing the subject before he cracks.

Buck nods. “A little. Maddie and Chim brought lunch and stayed with me until they had to pick up Jee.”

“Why don’t I make us something?” Eddie says. “Maybe some soup, a sandwich if you can manage?”

Buck nods again, forehead knocking into Eddie’s chin. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

Eddie gets up, expecting Buck to stay in bed while he makes the food, but Buck follows and all but plasters himself to Eddie’s back as he digs out two cans of chicken noodle soup and starts heating them on the stove. Eddie lets him, and leans back into Buck’s chest when he feels him hesitate to touch Eddie again. Buck rests his chin on Eddie’s shoulder while the soup heats; Eddie sits him at the table while he makes the sandwiches and switches on the lamps, suffusing the room with soft light. He finds one of Buck’s hoodies and helps him shrug it on, because he’s still so cold, even with Eddie wrapping himself around him every spare moment.

They eat on the couch, Buck almost in Eddie’s lap with how closely he presses against him. Buck manages to finish his soup and eats most of the sandwich, which Eddie counts as a win.

He doesn’t know what tomorrow holds. Doesn’t know how Buck will handle the funeral proceedings, how he will handle them. He’s lived with grief for years, sees her now as an old friend that won’t give up the ghost and leave him be, and now he has another lining up to haunt him. Another person he failed, leaving him with so much love and memory and nowhere to put it, waiting for the day it overflows and chokes him.

What he does know is that he has Buck - he has his son, and his family. That the love he has for the man pressed against his shoulder will still be there in the morning and for the rest of his life. That as long as there is breath in his body he won’t let Buck disappear, that none of them will. That tomorrow he will celebrate Bobby’s life and mourn with those who loved him best, that they will heal together.

Buck’s head falls heavily on his shoulder, and he knows they will be okay.

——

prompts ❤️

[minyard-05]

i think i might be the biggest mary hatford defender in the fandom cuz like i am fully aware she fucked him up ROYALLY and that she's by no means a good mother, but it feels like people think she hated neil and PURPOSELY ruined him

speak your truth. mary hatford was not a good mother but think about how she could've left neil. she could've run on her own, probably successfully disappeared too. she could've let him do the second day of raven trials. she could've risked nathan killing him if tetsuji decided.

she didn't even hesitate. she took him and left because there was no way in hell she was letting there even be a chance that neil wouldn't survive. i think mary expected to die on the run from the moment she left but do you know how long they ran without nathan catching up??? EIGHT YEARS. eight years mary hatford kept her son alive and not only that she kept him with her too. no doubt there would've been an opportunity to leave him at an orphanage or something, run away alone, but she didn't just want him to stay alive she wanted to stay with him. she loved him. even when he smiled just like his father did. even when his voice trembled when he lied. even when his hands shook when she taught him how to shoot even when he cried and couldn't hold the needle to stitch up a wound. she couldn't bear losing him.

i don't think she wanted him to run forever. i think part of her hoped that someday he would be able to live a normal life, find people he loved, without keeping one foot out the door all the time, without looking over his shoulder. she told him to never stop running but i think part of her wanted him to. i think she would be proud of where he is now. one of them had to make it.

[baeshijima]

mmm thoughts of private executioner!blade, who is high priestess!kafka's bodyguard. well, more like her guard dog, as many fearfully seem to think.

he is aloof and gruff and rough around the edges, his name capturing it perfectly. when in the eyes of the public he either keeps to himself or stands ready by kafka's side, but when out he lurks in the shadows ready and waiting to carry out her death orders.

you, yourself, haven't had very many pleasant encounters with him... if you can even call them that. that being said, you haven't had many pleasant encounters with anyone. notorious for your... less than pleasant disposition, for a lack of better words, you have more people who'd rather see you run through than those you can call a friend.

in a dog-eat-dog world, you had no choice but to protect yourself. that, however, ultimately became your demise.

"oh? so you're the one sent to kill me. can't say i'm all that surprised."

standing before you is the feared executioner. his sword is tucked inside the sheath attached to his hip, that ever-present dark swirl of an aura stifling the air. he doesn't say anything, instead opting to silently stare down at your slumped and worn-out form. you find that his gaze doesn't bother you; rather, it's oddly comforting knowing someone will see you in your last moments.

"i've never asked you for a favour before, so this will be my first and last request for you." in all honesty, you're not sure where this chattiness stems from. considering you're currently in a holding cell under the crime of attempted murder towards kafka (a poisoned wine you were most definitely framed for, though you can't say you were surprised) and are awaiting for your turn to be under the guillotine for your public execution, you probably should be a little desperate towards the private executioner in front of you.

and yet, your mind is nothing if not peaceful.

with a huff, you relay your request, "can you make sure it's quick? painless, preferably, but i'd rather you just get it over and done with."

silence blankets the cold chambers. moisture accumulated along the cobble ceiling drip in a steady rhythm, like a clock ticking away the seconds. it's unnerving, almost, how there is not a single sound other than your impending countdown.

"why?" comes his low mutter, effectively causing a ripple within the stagnant air. you almost think you misheard him, but his following words cease the thought, "why won't you ask me for help?"

had it not been for the abrupt shuffle and clanging against the metal bars, you would have never looked up to see him in your last moments.

his scarred hands gripping the metal until his knuckles turn a ghastly white and blood dripping from his palms is what greets your sight. as your gaze slowly trails up, you almost let loose a laugh of disbelief; who would have thought blade, the infamous guard dog of the high priestess, could make such a desperate expression? one looking as though his whole world crumbled before him, in which he can do nothing but sit and watch.

(you will never know of the anger and desperation which coursed through his veins the moment he heard of your predicament. had it been anyone else, he wouldn't have cared. but you're not anyone else; you're you — unapologetically, wholeheartedly. it didn't take him long to hunt down those behind it, cutting them down without thought and putting an end to their miserable lives. he rushed as soon as he could when kafka gave him the order, no thoughts other than you, you, you, occupying his mind.

you will never know of the anguish which overcame him when he found you in such a state, your once healthy complexion and defiant gaze reduced to nothing but a tiredness which had always sat quietly behind your disposition. he's almost positive the muscle which unwillingly keeps him alive tore at the seams from your request, the acceptance in which you displayed causing his mind to go astray. even as he damn-near begs you to rely on him for help — to run away with him to some place no one knows of you and start anew there — you merely smile, resigned and peaceful.

you will never know of how much blade is willing to put on the line for you, for you never made it to see the complete and utter carnage he wrecked in your name.)

[gremliinsart]

You'll come back...won't you?

I don't think Bubble would know what to do if Caine left... he's all they've ever known...

Anyway *rings dinner bell* come get some Bubble angst lol

As always, au belongs to @sm-baby

[scvrgrl]

part two | part one

cw: suggestive themes & mature language

you were eternally grateful for your father to grant you a spot on his crew, truly. life back home had been comfortable but mundane, sticking to the same routines everyday to satisfy the ember of boredom that burned through your entire body. no matter where you were in that small little town in the north blue, your gaze wandered to the ocean. drinking in their salty breeze, you dreamt of the day that the waves rolled and crashed beneath your feet.

but it was moments like these — elbow deep in soapy, chunky dishwater with copious amounts of sweat sticking your clothes and forehead — that you regretted accepting such an offer. to make matters worse, you were stuck with none other than Portgas D. Ace, who was mopping the floorboards behind you. well, at least he would be if he wasn’t so busy vocalizing a tune in an obnoxious attempt to sound half-way decent, using the long wooden handle as his microphone stand.

“GATHER UP ALL OF THE CREWWWW,” Ace continued, shuffling closer to where you had been stationed, leaning over the ceramic sink to guarantee he was in your line of sight. you gave him a quick glance, watching the way his jaw worked to pronounce every syllable that left his lips. it wasn’t long before Ace’s espresso-colored pupils caught your own, his cheeks flushing ever so slightly. you could see the smile in his eyes, despite remaining completely focused on the not-so-correct lyrics. “OUR WAVES WILL BE OUR GUIDEEE”

as annoyed and overstimulated you were, you couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped your lips. god how ridiculous can he get?

“those aren’t even the right lyrics,” you mused, splashing the soapy dishwater into Ace’s face. white suds clung to his hair, flinching as the cold water hit his warm, freckled cheeks.

“oh i’m sorry, I didn’t know you were the pirate song expert,” Ace retorted, still squinting the water from his eyes. he dug his own hand into the sink, scooping up the fresh layer of soap you had just rinsed from a plate and flung it right back into your face.

the rest of the crew thought it would be a great idea to schedule your chores at the exact same time, forcing you and Ace to work together. they believed that, through teamwork, there was a chance the two of you would develop a bond. at least that’s the story they gave Whitebeard when they proposed the idea, anyway. in reality, many of them began to place bets on whether or not the two of you would develop feelings for each other.

“i’ll bet you 300 berries that they’re gonna do it within the next few weeks,” Marco said drunkenly, his lips returning to the mysterious bottle of liquor in his grasp.

Izo watched as he took a big swig, grimacing at such a vulgar image planted in his mind, “you don’t even have 300 berries. plus she totally hates his guts and Ace wouldn’t dare risk his position on this ship.”

“i don’t know…it could just be a buncha pigtail pulling,” Marco shrugged, offering Izo a sip which he politely declined.

“yeah, and by the looks of it, [y/n] is doing much of the pulling.”

...

you’d never admit it to their faces, but they were kinda right. over the last few days, working together with Ace helped to ease the tension between the two of you. sounds of unrelenting bickering were then exchanged with lighthearted laughs and teasing, no signs of hostility in your words. of course, this change didn’t come easy, constantly snapping at Ace even after the smallest mistakes. 

“god, can you ever do anything right!?” you griped, snatching the red bucket from Ace’s grasp after he clumsily knocked it over. “i told you there was a fucking bucket right behind you! now i have to start all over again!” 

“maybe if you didn’t mumble your words and actually looked at me in the eyes for once, i would’ve heard you!” Ace scoffed, irritation thrumming in his chest. “you’re making this really difficult, you know that?” 

your stinging eyes returned his gaze, eyes flashing with an emotion that you couldn’t quite pinpoint. sure he was irritated, but there was a strange sense of desperation that lingered, a spark of sadness you didn’t expect. since that discussion in your father’s quarters, you’ve noticed that Ace was strangely nice to you. his jabs at you were never harsh, just playful enough to get a reaction. 

in truth, the memory of you dazed and lost in your mind haunted him. Ace carried burdens the weight of battleships, his pain unbearable and agonizing. he often had nightmares of losing his brothers, that one day his entire world would crumble and be swept from beneath him. he was used to the odds never being in his favor, that being unlovable and rejected was his birthright. Ace never would have thought that his loneliness projected onto another face would hurt him so deeply, yet it did. he had so much to give to this world, so many favors to return to the ones he loved. Ace believed that being able to relieve you of just one of those burdens was enough for him. 

“look, [y/n]. i’m really trying to get along with you, here. i know how much it hurts you to disappoint your dad, i saw it.” 

the last line of Ace’s words stunned you, shocked that someone you hardly knew was able to read you so well. but at the same time, you hated it.

“what the hell do you know, huh? you don’t know my life. i’m fine, Ace — and I’ve been doing fine until you came and screwed everything up! stop trying to meddle in my business when you obviously don’t know what you’re talking about. you might have your own shit going on, but don’t use that as an excuse to project your sorry life onto mine.” 

your voice became shaky towards the end of your rant, words more harsh than you had anticipated. the gravity of your outburst finally hit you as you saw Ace take a step back — taking a step away from you to avoid further damage. your spite was infectious, and he wasn’t going to let you drag him down with you. 

“fuck this,” he whispered, blinking away the sting of tears as he stormed out.

you’d never seen Ace hurt before, not even after your little tiffs and nasty arguments. he’d always brush off your words with his stupid laugh, arms clutching his stomach as if your anger was the most amusing thing in the world. you would often daydream of the moment Ace truly got angry with you, just so you could relish in the same joy he got from bickering with you. but now that your dream was fulfilled, you realized that it was all wrong. a pit of regret ached in your stomach, the remnants of venom from your words stinging your throat. 

… 

from that day forward, you made an effort to mend your nonexistent relationship. as much as it pained you to do so, you were much kinder to Ace, patiently waiting for your anger to subside rather than lashing out at him. over time, it became easier and easier to work with Ace, fondness blooming where resentment once stood. awkward silences became comfortable ones, a sign of mutually respecting each other’s space when needed. now, the two of you wrestled playfully in the ship’s kitchen, dodging soapy advances from each other, giggles and squeals erupting from your throat.  

“okay! we still have to finish the kitchen, weirdo!” you chuckled, dodging behind the counter as a handful of water flies toward your face. 

“we are finished — take a look around,” Ace argues, gesturing to the room with open arms. “the soap makes it nice and clean!”  

you rolled your eyes, scoffing at his antics. “what am i gonna do with you, Ace?” 

a mischievous look glossed over Ace’s expression, eyes squinting as they flicker between your eyes and lips. 

“i know something we can do,” Ace drawled, a devilish grin plastered across his face as he inches closer to meet you.

your cheeks flushed instantly, brows furrowing to counteract the rapid thumping of your heart. as Ace approached closer and closer, you found yourself pressed against the wooden island, lower back digging into its sharp edge. Ace was dangerously close to your face as he leaned in, arms caging you in from both sides. you closed your eyes in anticipation, breath shuddering against the soft skin of his neck. dad’s gonna kill me.

every one of Ace’s movements had been calculated — the way the warmth of his thumbs lingered desperately close to your waist, how his lips ghosted over the rosy skin that rested over your decorated ears. he knew what he was doing was wrong, knew that any sort of reaction he would elicit from you was entirely forbidden. and thats exactly what made it so addicting. 

“gotcha,” Ace said, voice just above a whisper. you could feel the smile behind his words, his warm breath teasing the sensitive skin of your neck. 

“huh?” you asked breathlessly, eyes still shut as your thoughts swirled in your head. his scent was intoxicating yet inviting. 

the sound of glass scraping and liquid sloshing pulled you out of your daze, blinking back into reality. the absence of Ace’s warmth soon followed as he took a step back, dangling the cool bottle of liquor in front of your face. your eyes flickered to his, Ace’s guise entirely oblivious to the last few seconds. 

“what? are you feeling okay, [y/n]? you look a little flushed,” Ace teased, feigning innocence, yet the knowing look in his eyes was anything but. 

“you’re unbelievable,” you huffed, snatching the bottle from his grasp while shoving his face away from your sight. Ace released a deep laugh as he watched you take a long swig from the rim, hoping the sting of its contents would distract you from the unfamiliar fluttering deep in your stomach. 

…

fusions of pinks and oranges faded across the horizon as the sun set before the two of you, slightly tipsy and giggling at each other like schoolgirls. Ace had been filling you in on every moment that lead him here — his dark past in loneliness and the special moments he shared with his brothers. he told you about his late brother, Sabo and his menacing little brother, Luffy, each story more entertaining than the last.

“—and then he tried to make us work under him! Luffy had told us that one day Sabo and i would be on his pirate ship, under his command! and oh man did we get him good for that,” Ace chuckled, a twinkle of nostalgia and fondness sparkling in his eyes.

you couldn’t help the cheesy smile that stuck to your face, cheeks set into place so long that they began to ache. your heart fluttered with unbridled joy as you watched Ace be genuine and honest, his walls of mystery and teasing crumbling before your eyes. it was a beautiful demolition, like an accident that you couldn’t pry your eyes from, wanting and waiting for more.

“but that’s enough about me and my life. i want to know about you — better yet, what’s it like being Whitebeard’s daughter?” Ace queried, eyes wild with curiosity. he gently removed the bottle from your grasp, his strong fingers grazing your own.

“well, they’re definitely some pretty big shoes to fill,” you began, suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious. “i didn’t grow up with any siblings — just me and my mom for the most part. sure i had friends, but i always felt…empty. like i was missing something but i couldn’t quite figure out what it was. it wasn’t until i was thirteen that i realized i needed a purpose, something to fight for.”

you felt Ace’s gaze burn into the side of your face, his eyes focused on the space beneath the curve of your jaw. he mustered up all the fleeting sobriety in his body and studied you, brows slightly furrowed in concentration. the intensity of his gaze made your cheeks burn hot, occasionally returning his glances when it felt most appropriate. you hadn’t noticed the way Ace inched closer to you until his knee bumped yours, warm stubbly skin grazing your bones. however, he was completely unaware of this advancement, continuing the conversation like normal, “and did you find it?”

the alcohol continued its rampage through your body, its fuzzy sensation inhibiting your awkwardness. there was no pressure to fill the silence that lingered between the two of you, taking the time to gather your thoughts. and as you reflected, you realized that no one’s ever asked you that before, not even yourself. …did i?

“yes…? no..?” you said, entirely unsure of yourself. your face suddenly met your hands as you sighed into them, “it’s complicated.”

“then tell me what you have so far,” Ace suggested, eyes soft and reassuring. “and we’ll work from there.”

the nervous pit in your stomach abruptly ignited, burning with an unfamiliar warmth that spread to your chest. to your heart. uh oh.

“i want to be free,” you started, words slow and certain. “all i want is to explore and see what the world has to offer. i want to know about things that could be beyond my comprehension, things i would only see in my wildest dreams.”

Ace watched the way your eyes began to sparkle, passion and the reflection of the setting sun causing your pupils to light up. he smiled to himself, huffing a small laugh as he brought the bottle to his mouth once again, “you sound just like Luffy. in fact, i think the two of you would get along quite nicely.”

“he sounds like my kinda guy,” you mused, nudging Ace’s broad shoulders with a loose fist. “but like i said, i wanna be able to explore the world and to do that i have to make a name for myself, ya know? i want to be successful more than anything! but…i don’t want to be seen as some stupid nepo baby whose daddy gave her everything she wanted.”

your fingers gently traced the rings in the wooden planks beneath you, carving their age with a delicate touch. “i’ve never told anyone this before so don’t go around telling people what i’m about to tell you!” you commanded, redirecting your finger from the floor to the man before you.

Ace flinched at the sight, eyes crossing to meet your fingertip that hovered over his strong nose. “no promises,” he teased, hands up in mock defense.

you squinted your eyes in an attempt to appear intimidating, but deep down you knew Ace could be trustworthy. “i almost didn’t get on the ship that day…that day back home when Pops came to get me.”

Ace’s brows furrowed in confusion. whatever he had expected you to say was definitely not this. “wait what? they told me you were dying to board, like you had slept there and waited all night or something.”

“and i was! i was so unbelievably excited. trust me, my mother had a hard time sending me off — i mean tears in her eyes and everything! she was a mess!”

you took a pause to laugh at the memory, clutching your stomach as you nearly toppled over. the sight of your mother staring up at you with tears streaming down her cheeks, eyes puffy and nose running like a small child. it was a precious sight — one that reminded you that she was once in your shoes, a young girl who had dreams bigger than the whole sky.

“but seriously though, something in me felt…unsure. i’ve had that dream for a while and it’s completely set in stone, i’m sure. and yet, i still questioned if this was the right choice. if everyone thought that i didn’t earn or work toward where i wanted, what’s the point?”

the sigh that followed released a weight off your chest you hadn’t even realized was there, waves of relief crashing over you. however, the gravity of your vulnerability presented another burden, embarrassment rising hot in your cheeks.

“sorry that was probably a lot…” you said timidly, averting your gaze from Ace’s, who had been watching you intently the entire time.

the softness in his eyes never faltered. he didn’t judge or laugh or brush off your words like many have before, labeling your dream as foolish or impractical. instead he listened, trailing closely behind every word that left your lips and cradling it into a protective embrace.

“we’re a lot more similar than you may realize,” he began, handing the bottle over to you with a knowing look. you need this more than i do.

“i’ve always had a knack for piracy and living life on the edge. commanding a ship and leading my crew through the waters to success has been a dream of mine for as long as i can remember. it’s what brought me the family i have today — the people i would risk everything for if they asked. plus it’s in my blood, not that i have him to thank for that anyway.”

“but now that i’ve joined this crew, my world as done a complete one-eighty. i want to be a part of this family more than anything, but i also don’t really know what that means…” Ace said, scratching at the nape of his neck and causing his rusty orange hat to tip over his eyes in the process. without a second thought you reached forward to adjust it, returning a small smile once you could see his dark eyelashes once more. he continued on, as if your random act of kindness was a natural response.

“so if we’re both in this weird limbo…why not figure it out together? you scratch my back and i’ll scratch yours, no matter what.”

his question had been so casual, yet it meant the world to you. having someone who understood you so deeply be your side through it all was a tempting offer. sure you had many people on this crew who would provide you with the wisdom suited to your needs. but they had it all figured out for themselves, content with their lives and their positions that feelings of self-doubt were a distant memory.

Ace’s hand raised in front of your face, inviting you to take his and shake on the offer. you set the bottle down after a final swig, cupping your hands together with a strong grip, “let’s do it.”

[arsenicflame]

It's a time-honoured tradition- every time Sam comes across Izzy (and Ed) in their travels, he asks Izzy to marry him. And every time, Izzy turns him down.

At this point, Sam is asking more for the sake of it than any belief Izzy will ever say yes, a remnant of childhood dedication touched with 30 years of heartbreak and regret- though even now, a small part of him still holds out hope. Sam's promises have only got more extravagant over the years, from a job as his first mate, to a captaincy, a fleet at his command, a whole fucking island if that's what Izzy wants- but he knows it isn't though, not really. If Izzy was ever going to agree to marry him, to leave his life and go with Sam, it wouldn't be for anything Sam could offer him. Izzy never did care for flashy shows of wealth, for a ship or to be captain. The only thing that ever mattered to him was loyalty given, and loyalty shown in return. 

It all comes to a head after Stede left and came back, after Izzy lost a toe, lost his leg. Sam hasn't seen him since before things with Ed started to really slide off the rails, before stress permanently set into the lines of Izzy’s face. So, when he sees a dishevelled man with a hoof for a leg in a no-name port, he doesn't even consider the idea that he might know him. It's only when he turns towards him, and Sam catches a glance at those oh too familiar tattoos, he realises this is Izzy, his Izzy, that stands before him.

Knowing Izzy's discomfort with pity, he doesn't treat him any differently than he would in years gone by, positioning himself in Izzy's line of sight before approaching and sweeping him up into a bone crushing hug. 

“Israel-goddamn-Hands!” he exclaims, as Izzy grumbles back a begrudging “Samuel-fucking-Bellamy”, a tradition almost as old as their friendship itself. Izzy might not hug him back, but he can’t keep the corner of his mouth from twitching, just for a second.

(If Sam holds Izzy a little tighter and a little longer than usual, well. That's his business)

By the time Sam lets go, most of the crew has appeared in the town square, drawn in by the commotion. They may have given Izzy his leg and welcomed him as one of them, but still there’s an underlying tension, with nobody quite ready to set aside everything that happened before the Kraken. Seeing him cosying up to an unknown man sets everyone on edge, unsure whether to come to their first mate’s aid, or to assume that they've been betrayed once again.

When Ed sees that the yelling was Sam, his hand goes tense where it's held in Stede's. He knows the routine, has seen it more times than he can count, but as he watches them part he realises that this is the first time in a long time he's unsure of what Izzy's response will be.

Knowing that something’s different, knowing that Izzy's feeling vulnerable already, Sam doesn't go for the same flashy proposal he’s been giving for years. He doesn't promise Izzy the world, he doesn't cause a scene (or, any more of a scene than he already has, anyway). He looks at the fractured man in front of him, takes his face in his hands, and says the exact same thing to him he said when they were little more than boys. “Israel, I have to ask you. I know what you'll say, but I have to try. Come with me. Marry me and sail away with me. I'll keep you safe”

And Izzy… hesitates. He glances over at Ed, at Stede, and says to Sam “...We’re staying in port for a week. Ask me again then”

That's the moment Sam knows there is something deeply, horribly, wrong. He's not just looking at an Izzy who got seriously injured in a fight and is struggling to cope, this is something so much bigger than that- and that Ed has something to do with it. Izzy wouldn't even be considering leaving if he didn't. Whether it was negligence or something more sinister, Sam doesn't yet know, but he intends to find out.

[slytherizz]

Fight or Flight - Sebastian Sallow/F!MC

Summary: Sometimes sleeping dogs don't lie.

Two years after his uncles death and with Anne missing the last remaining Auror who scents deception requests a testimony from the only person witness to what really happened between Sebastian and Solomon in the catacombs that day. In a bid to protect those memories and keep him out of Azkaban their marriage is arranged - A marriage Sebastian is hell bent on putting a stop to.

Word count: 15,000 (remember when I said I’d keep it under 10k)

Tags/Warnings: Arranged Marriage, 18+, Explicit Sexual Content, Smut, Angst, Masturbation, First Time

Link: You can find the complete fic on Ao3.

A/N: Sebastian ‘my wife’ Sallow. To the anon who requested this, I’m sorry it’s so late but it was so much fun to write.

Sebastian is almost certain he’d been on the receiving end of a lethal confundus charm. Either that or he was at present suffering a massive life altering haemorrhage somewhere amongst the sun deceptively warming his cheeks and the familiar groan of the dragon bones anchored above them, as it tilted its great head in greeting when they'd arrived in Hecate's office. Full of mysterious tombs and the lingering scent of smoke. Ash trampled so tightly into the grooves in the floorboards he doubted even the house elves could scour out the smell. 

He’d gotten too comfortable. No. Down right complacent as of late and now his psyche in a riotous act of self-preservation was giving him a blistering slap back into reality. 

Pull yourself together. 

Sebastian dug his nails into the soft flesh of his palm. He hissed at the sharp pain as he broke the skin. Felt the blood prickle hot against his sweat slicked palms as it beaded along the thin superficial wound. Uncomfortable. Stinging. And far, far too real. 

“What-?” he managed to croak around a lump in his throat. Praying to Merlin that if this wasn’t a dream it was some elaborate and albeit cruel practical joke. 

“Spousal Privileges,” Hecat repeated. Matter of fact. Her features were drawn and to his dismay betraying no hint of amusement. 

Sebastian choked violently on his own saliva. A hacked cough, raw against his throat. As if the wind had been knocked out of him by a patient and vindictive phantom.

“What this means is you couldn’t be forced to give a testimony or surrender any memories pertaining to anything to do with Mr Sallow. With his sister still missing, the only people who know what really happened in that catacomb are the two of you. If you can’t be forced to corroborate this theory that has been gaining traction at the Ministry that’s the way it stays,” his professor continued to address the witch beside him, unmoved by the blood draining rapidly from his face. 

Her eyes were fixed intently on Hecat, chin raised as she refused to meet Sebastian’s increasingly panicked eye. He shifted in his seat towards her. Turning rapidly back and forth between her and their professor. 

Waiting. A heartbeat and then more passed. Mounting up until it became a deafening drum in his ears. 

He wanted her to laugh. Let it loose. Burst the dangerous tension mounting with every second this insanity stretched on for. Most pathetically of all - he wanted her to save him. Wanted to watch her face crease with laughter at the absurdity of what Hecat was saying. Cling to some sense of normalcy, her stability by his side whilst the rest of him was spiralling out of control.

She was uncharacteristically still in her chair. As frozen as the statue of the mourning lover in the courtyard. Her fist clenched so tightly in the pleats of her skirt her knuckles blanched. A half finished braid she’d been fiddling with behind her ear hung abandoned. Not a shadow of humour remaining. 

“Why now? It’s been years since…”  she asked, with a more measured tone Sebastian felt the situation did not warrant.

She spared him a glance which did little to put him at ease. If anything the serious crease to her brow set him on a razor's edge. 

Sebastian was unravelling. The thread he’d used to stitch back together a semblance of a life was pulling apart at an alarming rate. And the only two people who had any hope of holding him back together were entertaining this insanity. 

“Some of Miss Sallow’s effects were uncovered at the former Feldcroft residence. It seems no one had tended to the home since your Uncle passed…unexpectedly. My contact at the Ministry informs me that there's only one Auror pushing for those memories. Sergeant Tuttle. Old guard. Worked closely with your uncle when they were both juniors in the department. The rest are happy to let Solomon’s memory remain as it has been for the past two years - the heroic final act protecting his young charges from a horde of uncontrollable inferi,” she paused and Sebastian felt the weight of every word. “Personally I am inclined to agree.”

Hecate’s already thin lips pulled so tight they almost entirely disappeared. Her inscrutable brown eyes peeling back the curtain seeing far beyond the truth to the crux of him. Weighing his mettle. And he wasn’t sure she’d be impressed at what she found. 

Because what he was - was careless. Sebastian supposed he could argue that his distress over losing his sister had made it too painful to return. Knowing Anne was not there, Feldcroft seemed rather pointless. 

But really all he’d been was too eager to turn his back on that hovel that had never been his home. Ivy grew thick over its stones and he hoped one day it would pull it down entirely. No one had touched the wards in over a year. Perhaps when he’d boxed up his feelings and shoved them away in his desperation to move past what he had done, he didn’t consider the possibility that there were others out there who, unlike him, may not want to move on so hastily from Solomon's death. 

Anne certainly hadn’t. 

“With you two being so close, this is the cleanest option-” Hecate continued. 

“I don’t bloody care about clean!” Sebastian broke from his stupor. Fist slamming on the table rattling the spoon from where it rested against his saucer. “Tell me the other options. I don’t care how messy they are. I’ll do them.”

“Perhaps I should rephrase,” Hecat said sharply. “This is your only option. And you’d do well not to leap to such dramatics if you want this to work, Mr Sallow. In particular I’d advise against taking such a tone with me.” 

Sebastian didn’t care. He’d already geared up to argue back against this preposterous idea when the statue of the witch beside him suddenly came to life. As if Pygmalion himself had loved her into life just to spite Sebastian. 

“We’ll do it,” she said firmly. 

Sebastian choked again, head snapping to look at her. “You can’t be serious!” 

She simply glared back at him, as if he wasn’t the only reasonable person left in the room. “I’ve kept you out of Azkaban this long-“

Their professor cleared her throat, having little patience for the squabblings of teenagers that was beginning to unfold in her office. It set Sebastian even more on edge. She’d thrown a bomb into their lives and was now regarding him as some petulant child causing a scene. As if instead while he was scrambling to hold it together she expected him to thank her for it. 

“I’d choose your words more carefully in front of an audience but I admire the passion. If you want this to succeed you’ll have to make them believe this. Believe you. You can’t cast any doubt on the reason for any of it. A young couple, so in love they simply cannot wait to be married.”

***

It was like taking a match to a forest doused in kerosine. How quickly word could spread overnight when students kept such close quarters and they were eager for anything to save them from revision. Whispers billowed up from steeped mugs. Steam laced with secrets curled around their lips. Huddled so tightly together they looked like hydras. Each set of eyes alight with amusement. Teeth bared ready to feast on their speculation. 

From the moment Sebastian had stepped into the Great Hall he’d felt it. The oppressive shift to the atmosphere that usually welcomed him each morning. Clouds dark, heavy with the foreboding rain swirled on the enchanted sky. At least it was fitting.

Instinctively he sought her out. Looked for hers amongst the hundreds of eyes turned towards him. Which he pointedly ignored instead following the remaining half who stole glances towards her. 

Blue. Green. Brown. Shifted between them assessing to see what they might do. 

She was boxed into the middle of the table by Onai and Sweeting with Reyes taking up the spot across from them. A vicious hound guarding her flock ensured even the most brazen little wretch who considered interrupting would think twice - give her wrath a wide berth. 

Reyes to her credit - snarling banshee that she was - looked as deeply horrified by the pathetic silver band on her friend's finger as Sebastian felt it deserved. 

They’d transfigured it hastily from a pair of silver spectacles once they’d stumbled out of Hecat’s office the previous evening. One she kept in an odd tangle of items in her satchel and the rushed magic had already begun to tarnish its appearance. It was a wonder anyone actually believed them with how dull and thoughtless it looked sitting on her hand. 

If her smile wasn’t so tight, or her laugh a little too airy she would be executing Hecat’s ludicrous scheme to perfection. 

Sebastian swallowed around the lump in his throat and sheepishly changed course. Rerouted himself away from the group of witches throwing his bag down on the bench and slumping into a seat at the Slytherin table. Which seemed to delight some of the onlookers. Clearly humiliation was a good seasoning for eggs, he thought as he poured himself a cup of tea from the pot and took out his potions essay in an attempt to look busy enough no one would suspect exactly why he was sitting alone. Or worse, try and talk to him. Not that they would dare when his face looked as thunderous as the sky overhead. It didn't, however, stop him from overhearing their animated gossiping. 

‘Do you think she’s…you know?’ 

‘Obviously! Who in their right mind gets married a month before they leave school? Clearly they’re in a rush before she starts to y’know...’ one girl smirked with an exaggerated flourish over her stomach.

Sebastian shot a glare across to the gaggle of Ravenclaw’s in the year below. Who giggled even more loudly when they caught his eye, one turning pink from the tips of her ears to well past the neckline of her jumper. Sebastian on the other hand felt like someone had doused him in a bucket of water from the lake. 

If Reyes didn’t skin him for the insulting piece of jewellery she certainly would if she suspected he’d gotten her favourite flying partner up the kyte. 

Sebastian tried to focus on his potions essay. List even a single ingredient of ‘Felix Felicis’ which was proving to be impossible when behind him a brazen fourth year proclaimed and loudly he’d caught them sequestered away between the stacks of the restricted section - her body bent over a desk. Sebastian’s grip on the quill tensed as he strained himself to write the differing effects between wyrm and dragon scale on a potion - and not a very vivid description of what he apparently looked like on his knees buried between her thighs. Ink blotted on the parchment. 

Sod Hecat on ‘selling it’. Why did they need to go to such lengths when apparently every gossiping vulture was content to click their beak and do all the work for them? 

Surely Azkaban couldn’t be worse than this? 

Well, that was delusional - but if he overheard one more person comment on if her robes looked bigger he was more than likely going to do something that would get him thrown in Azkaban regardless. 

Sebastian had anticipated suspicion but he still wasn’t prepared for how much it would chafe. 

He knew if they were not at the centre of this farce, the two main players on the stage they would have jovially picked apart their performance too. She would have speculated over their sanity as she picked idly at her cauldron cake. Made some snide comment about being too eager to get his leg over. He’d bet her a galleon they’d see the proof in nine months and she would have snorted, undignified unladylike into her pumpkin juice. 

Being the subject of this speculation however was mortifying. 

Would that be next? Bringing a child into the fucking mess he’d made just to cover his own back? If the thought of dragging her into a marriage him feel ill it paled in comparison to the feeling of crippling dread that conjured. 

But would she want that one day? In a young witch's sacrifice to keep him had she truly considered all the things she was giving up in his stead. Things she may not know she even wanted until the opportunity had already been bartered and sold off for the price of his freedom. What kind of man was he to take the hope of any kind of family from someone who already had none to show for it? Take away the chance for someone to love her. 

Or maybe she never intended to give up on that particular dream. And Sebastian would be expected to play his part - the cuckolded husband. 

Work late until the candles burned down to the wick to give her lover time to retreat. Share her with one; or with many. 

Vow now to never let her go without. 

Even go as far as to raise her children as his own. Glamour their cheeks with foreign freckles he’d wish were inherited. Brand them with the Sallow name with ink on thin parchment but not their blood; their ties to him just as flimsy and performative as hers.

Her easy smile as she lathered honey onto her toast set his teeth on edge. Sebastian felt in that moment like he never really knew her at all. Head pounding Sebastian stuffed his ink pot and notes back into his bag. Abandoned his breakfast in a rush to get out of the stifling hall. Away from the whispers that he knew would also be deafening in her ears. Perhaps even more so.

‘I didn’t even know they were courting. It’s a shame he’s off the market.’

‘Here’s the thing - I don’t think they were. Clearly, he’s marrying her to do the right thing. Now that she’s trapped him with a baby.’

She caught his eye, her eyebrows stitched together in concern but it did not offset the rigid lock of her furious ticking jaw. Teeth set, clamped together as if Hecat had clamped a muzzle on a fucking dragon and then handed her chains to Sebastian. 

Shamefully, he couldn’t bring himself to hold her gaze. Couldn’t even bear to face her in that moment despite knowing he was the reason she had to listen to these lies spread. He should tell her he was sorry. But instead he fled. 

Complete fic can be found on Ao3.

[mairon-goth-minion]

I’m so sorry for McGonnagall honestly. She had to watch the kids she basically raised die, and then see their children thrown into a war against the same person. And she could see them. She could see them in the eyes of their successors, in their bravery, in their will to fight. She could see James’ determination and Lily’s heart in Harry. She could see Fabian and Gideon’s free spirit in Fred and George. She could see Alice and Frank’s courage and goodness in Neville. She could see Pandora’s endearing oddness and creativity in Luna. She could see them.

They were all as children to her, and no parent should have to bury their child.

So she’s left alone, seeing generations pass, having to outlive those to whom she teaches their first spells, carrying memories of long dead friends, wondering if surviving with memories is truly a better fate than passing away on the battlefield.

[chimckenns]

honey and guy angst pls

It was nearing holiday season, and Guy and Honey were working overtime for what felt like every single day. Guy is forced to take more shifts as Max’s Pizza was getting more orders, and Honey had to take over another project after their coworker took the week off for a holiday.

By the time Honey got home, Guy was passed out in the bed. And by the time Guy woke up, Honey had already left. Guy wanted to stay awake or at least wake up when Honey got home to talk to them, but he was so drained from standing and working all day.

When was the last time they even saw each other?

On Sunday Guy finally got a small break, with his shift starting in the afternoon instead of the morning, and he took this opportunity to finally see and talk to his Honey again.

He woke up to the sun shining through the blinds. He was pleasantly surprised to feel warmth coming from the spot next to him on the bed, and he wriggled towards it, arms snaking around Honey’s waist and burying his face in the crook of their neck.

“Mmmmf…” He nuzzled into their hair. “Honeyyy…”

He felt them wriggle a little, head tilting ever so slightly in his direction. “Hmm? What time is it?”

“It’s 8am or something, I don’t know.”

“Mmmmmh… lemme sleep.” They rolled away from him and buried their face in the sheets.

Guy let out a gasp, waking up a little more now.

“You’d throw away an opportunity to spend the morning with the love of your life? When we finally have the chance? Come on Honeeeyyy I missed youuuu.” He wriggled closer, arms reaching for them again.

“Please stop. I’m tired. Lemme sleep.” Honey mumbled and avoided his touch again.

Something in Guy snapped, frustration built up from the previous week of fatigue, and without a word he got up and left the bed. He made his way to the kitchen and made breakfast, before leaving for work a little early. He’d make up some excuse and help out with prep today. Not that any of his coworkers would complain about extra hands on deck.

Honey fell back asleep, making the most of their one day off. They vaguely remember Guy saying something that morning, but couldn’t recall what happened. They were dragged into deep slumber, before they were trapped in a nightmare.

Guy had left. Actually left. And they hadn’t even noticed. When was the last time they even talked? When was the last time they ever even saw him? They jolted awake, hand feeling the spot next to them where he usually lies. But it was empty. Cold. Honey sat up and looked around. It was their apartment, but it was as if every trace of Guy had disappeared. His clothes were gone from their closet. His extra pillow and plushie was gone from the bed. His hoodie that was always on the chair in the room was gone.

Or was he ever here?

Honey spiralled and it felt harder to breathe. Their thoughts in their head grew louder and louder until it overwhelmed them, and all they could hear were the same thoughts that used to plague them.

Why would anyone be here? Why would anyone want to be with you anyway? No one likes you, you’re too cold. You’re too mean. You’re too closed off. No one understands you. Why would they even want to. You’re not worth the time.

Time seemed to stop yet also speed up at the same time, and they felt themselves freeze up. Their hands instinctively moved to cover their ears. It was too loud. Yet the house was silent. Their thoughts just kept getting louder, and they shut their eyes, a single tear falling down their cheek. Somewhere along the way they had woken up, but their dreams had blended into reality, and they felt trapped.

Guy came home earlier than he planned as he had started work early. Rosa insisted he rest, and he was too tired to refuse. It had been a while since he got to go home before the night time rush.

He opened the door to find darkness. That’s odd. Honey had their day off today. They could have gone out, but that would be very uncharacteristic of them considering it’s their rare day off.

He shuffled in, putting his bag down and taking off his jacket. He made his way to the bedroom, just in case. Sometimes Honey would nap at odd times of the day, maybe this was one of those moments.

But there they were. Sitting up on the bed with their knees folded up, curling in on themselves. They had their hands over their ears still, and Guy could see dried tear stains on their cheek.

Oh.

Not wanting to scare them, Guy whispered.

“Honey? What’s wrong?”

Honey didn’t seem to hear him. Their eyes were hollow and unfocused, gaze stuck at their feet.

Guy reached for their hands, and gently touched it, gauging their reaction. When Honey didn’t flinch, he held their wrist in his hand and pried it away from their ear. Only then did Honey finally register his presence.

“…Guy?”

“Yeah, it’s me. What’s wrong?”

“I don’t… I-… I thought you left.” Honey looked up at him, their eyes desperately searching for answers in his. Their hands were shaking. Guy had never seen them so small before.

“I did, but I just went to work. You said you wanted to sleep, and I didn’t want to bother you if you weren’t in the mood.” He kept his hands on theirs, hoping it somehow grounded them.

They fell silent. Then they leaned their head on his shoulder, hiding their face.

“I thought you left.” It was barely a whisper.

Guy wrapped his arms around them, and shifted so that they could sit in his lap and he could have his legs on either side of them, holding them properly.

“I’ll never leave you, Honey.” He pressed a kiss to their head.

[mogamuncher]

Brucie is a menace to society: The Thesis

Urrgh the brainworms got to me again, so we're talking about some funky Brucie Wayne headcanons:

• There's a difference between Brucie Wayne interacting with the general public and random rich folks that he isn't too close with vs Brucie Wayne interacting with business partners, friends, or people Brucie is generally a bit more trusting towards

• To the general public and the more distant rich folks? Brucie is a himbo dork, a hot playboy manwhore who donates to charity all the time, a little dumb, a heart of gold, definitely seen as way too naive. Brucie is just a well-intentioned goofball who is very good looking, he's clumsy and kinda adorable, people just generally like him because of his Vibes™. Also just very good with kids, though his habit of adoption is brought up a lot in jokes

• But with long time business partners, friends and people he'd be closer to? Brucie is 100% a smug bitch, absolutely insufferable. He's like, still seem as mostly stupid and vapid, still a manwhore, but as they get to know Brucie more others definitely start to catch on whenever he's just fucking with people. Brucie can no longer get away with pretending like he's naive anymore, because these specific people have 100% caught him saying certain things solely because he thought it would be just so fucking funny

• Because of this, Brucie tends to be more playful with this select group of people, being less of an adorable himbo and more like a loud snarky friend, he's absolutely hilarious if you're actually in on the joke, has an awful habit of teasing others as well

• If you're particularly grouchy or insufferable then Brucie will dedicate the rest of his day to bother you in particular. He can and will just make up any excuse to have a meeting, or to tour at someone else's office, or anything and other to simply be able to annoy bitter people from a close range

• His biggest victims: Oliver Queen, Lex Luthor and Harvey Dent. These three will never know peace, the moment they got close enough to get to the more snarky side of Brucie it was game over. It was really common to see Bruce waltz through parties acting like his normal himbo self, only to do an immediate shift in attitude once he spotted one of them, the press usually found it hilarious

• Lex is the one that suffers under this the most since he's the bitchiest man alive, so Brucie is basically in speed dial to annoy this man 24/7, he's an actual menace about Lex to the point where he will make the trip to metropolis solely to piss Lex off on a completely random Wednesday. They're both the pettiest people to ever exist so the annoyance is actually kinda mutual, but Brucie often wins out since his reactions aren't really fully genuine (on account of being, well, Brucie), something that Lex is endlessly bitter on. To this day no one can tell if they're genuinely actually friends, or if they just hate each other

• Oliver does not get hit by the full brunt of the Brucie Wayne Effect™ as Lex does, but they both still snark at each other all the time, to the point that having a conversation with the two of them present becomes a comedy routine really fast. The accounts of the poor poor survivors that have ever third wheeled their conversations say that it was vaguely reminiscent of being the ball in a game of verbal tennis, as was read in a particularly descriptive article released by several bitter interviewers

• Now, of course Harvey is actually aware that Brucie isn't really fully real, like, he knows that it's mainly a persona, he's actually had full conversations and memories with Bruce instead of Brucie. Still though, Brucie and Harvey are like a menace duo, being targeted by both of them is a sentence to being messed with or manipulated, it's actually really impressive what they can get done together. Of course, they both use their methods for good, and to annoy people that are assholes while still somehow being polite, so it's more funny than anything, really

• Brucie is also just generally more mellow around Harvey, being less snarky and sometimes even quiet, staying in a sweet spot between Bruce and Brucie. Seeing Smug Bitch™ Brucie Wayne chill out a little whenever Harvey was around is a bit surreal to everyone else though, Lex and Oliver will forever complain about it

• Once Harvey became Two Face, Lex and Oliver both actually had some tact (yes, I know right) and gave Brucie some space to deal with it. A week later after the incident Brucie visited both of them with a big confident smile, beer and an invite to a party with only the family friends

• Not much changed after that, Lex is still insufferable, Oliver is still playing along with Brucie's bullshit to some extent, and Brucie is still a menace to society disguised as a harmless himbo playboy. Though sometimes the clear absence of Harvey is felt, especially whenever those quieter and softer moments of Brucie mellowing out simply cease to exist entirely

[hater-era]

Veeeeeeeeeery slight nsfw warning

what if I had been writing a vampire au foils to friends to lovers slow burn angst eR fic that throws the idealistic character (Enjolras) into the terrors of nihilism in the face of eternity while Grantaire resident nihilist struggles with the meaning of revolution because immortality makes all their sacrifices worthless? also it’s canon era to modern era

[murd3rouscrow]

Sherlock Holmes loves John Watson.

That is my main takeaway from the last episode. Whether this love is romantic, platonic or an entirely separate thing altogether. The fact still remains.

Looking at the whole ordeal from Sherlock's perspective reveals something interesting. To Sherlock, John is one of his extremely few friends, his best friend even. Sherlock hasn't had many friends. Sure Mariana is his friend, and once, so was Victor. But none of them have been a friend to him in the way that John has.

No one else had taken the time to dig deep into who he was. No one else had put themselves in genuine danger for him. No one else has followed him into murders, and kidnappings, and all the other horrors he deals with, and stays by side throughout it all. He can count on John to always be there. He can trust John with his fears. He can be vulnerable around him, and believes that John can do the same.

He has, in his own way, fallen in love with him. He has grown attached. He cares about John in a way he hasn't cared for anyone before... He nearly killed for John Watson... He'd very willingly die for him as well...

That's what takes me to The Final Problem. Where, at the threat of John getting hurt, Sherlock would back down. He'd call John, tell him everything, how much he cares. He'd ask, plead, beg, John to forgive for what he's about to do... Then he'd jump. Spending the next few years, still protecting John. And when he has to come back, he'll be afraid. Not of the press, or that he won't be accepted. That John, his John Watson will not forgive him...

After all, there is no universe, where Sherlock doesn't love his Watson.

[whumpacabra]

Whump that is about change. Whump that is about acceptance. Whump that is about adapting to loss. Whump where there is no rehabilitation, no getting back what’s gone. Sometimes things happen and there is no going back, there is no getting better. Sometimes the person that comes out the other side is different and they will never be the same again. Sometimes you need to grapple with the reality that most people don’t bounce back from traumatic brain injuries, from severe burns, from lost limbs and are their old selves ever again.

Whump that is about change, with no going back, and how the world won’t end because of it.