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drawlfoy · 3 years

Text

detention, retention, and draco malfoy being a little shit

masterlist request guidelines

pairing: draco x reader

request: no not really

summary: golden trio friend y/n y/l/n tries to extract information out of draco malfoy after being placed in detention together.

warnings: swearing, panic attack kinda stuff, just the dark war things that would come w having the task that draco does

a/n: ayo so i started this as a fic i was originally planning on writing in a week. i discontinued it bc i didn’t think anyone was that interested, but i’ve written for it on and off. it’s about 16k words right now standing, but i’m reposting this as a 2 part series. here are the first ~12k words....enjoy :) IMPORTANT: if you’re like “hey i started reading this in october why tf are you reposting the first two parts” just keep reading ok lmao i promise there’s more there’s about through part 6 in here hehe. i just wanted new readers to be able to pick up on it without being turned off by the fact that it was part 3. this will b e 2 parts and at least 20k words

word count: 11.6k

taglist: @gruffle1 @missmultifandommess @cleopatera @hahaboop @accio-rogers @geeksareunique @eltanin-malfoy @war-sword @cams-lynn @itsivyberry @ayo-cowbelly @nerd-domland @yesnerdsblog @shizarianathania @evanstanfanatic @strawberriesonsummer @hariosborn @night-ving @straightzoinked @imintoodeeptostop @naiomimoonshard @jejegu @ophelia-enthusiast @alwaysbeanunknownfan @nearly-memories @litty-dumb @callieclearwater @malfoy-wife15 @charlenasaxen @belladaises @fiantomartell

happy reading y’all

For legal purposes, the york pudding she lobbed at Pansy Parkinson’s head on Monday evening was simply meant to be a joke. She didn’t know that her aim was bad enough that it was going to get in Snape’s hair instead--honestly, it wasn’t even supposed to get past the Ravenclaw table, much less veer to the left to make a beeline for the professors--but no matter how much she tried to explain this to McGonagall, her sentence remained the same: detention every Friday. For two months.

Her life was ending for sure.

“I honestly don’t know what you were expecting,” Hermione told her as she gently wiped off the nib of her quill later that night in the common room. “Even if you had hit your mark, that’s still technically assault.”

“Did you even hear what she said to me? She told me that I looked like the type of kid that bit people in primary school,” complained Y/N. “I didn’t even think she knew what primary school was!”

Hermione snorted. “How long ago?”

“Two days. I’ve been waiting until there was something throwable on the dinner table.”

“How very analytic of you.”

“I’m going to hit you.”

“And you wonder why you’ve got detention.” Hermione tsk-ed at her, her face stone serious but her tone light hearted. “Maybe take this as an opportunity to, I don’t know, do your homework for once? So you won’t have to have a breakdown over the next Potion’s essay and beg me to write it for you?”

“I’m going to go to sleep and think terribly mean thoughts about you.”

“Have fun.”

Detention.

Something that Y/N wasn’t completely unfamiliar with--she’d done her time organizing Snape’s cabinets, just like every other Gryffindor--but it was different when it came to McGonagall. An impressive old lady, she thought that McGonagall saw something in her. She was always the first to chuckle at Y/N’s jokes and hesitated to reprimand her stupid behavior. And she never gave Y/N detention.

Until now, she supposed. 6th year was changing a lot of things--even their Potions professor--so McGonagall turning a new stone shouldn’t have been anything shocking.

At least, not as shocking as the first thing Y/N saw as she walked into her house head’s office.

“Malfoy?” she spat.

The platinum blonde didn’t even bother to look up from his desk.

“Miss Y/L/N,” Professor McGonagall chided. “I think we would all prefer if you restrained yourself from getting into any more physical altercations with Slytherins.”

She huffed, plopping down in the chair furthest away from that foul git and reaching for her satchel.

“I’ll be back in two hours,” said the elderly professor. “If I hear anything, and I mean anything, other than the sound of studying, consider your sentence doubled.”

With a swish of her robes, McGonagall was gone, leaving her with Malfoy.

“So what’d you do to get in here, huh? Did the administration finally get a hold of that video of you licking Voldemort’s toes?”

“What the fuck does that mean?!” he snapped, whipping around to glare at her.

“‘s just a joke,” said Y/N. “Like--how everyone says your family houses him and everything--but whatever. I can tell it’s a sore spot.”

His gaze, never withering in intensity, remained trained on her face. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Apparently so. What’re you here for?”

He exhaled sharply. “If I tell you, will you shut up and let me think?”

“No promises, but maybe.”

“Late work. I forgot to turn in the Transfiguration exam last week.”

She made a tutting sound as she lazily shuffled through the crumpled parchment in her satchel. “I expected more from you. Aren’t you gonna ask me how I wound up here?”

“No. I am going to ask you to stop talking now, though.”

“That’s terribly unfortunate,” Hermione said over breakfast the next morning. Ron and Harry were nervously chit chatting at the other side of the table over the Saturday Quidditch game against Hufflepuff--supposedly it was supposed to be quite a high stakes match. Not like Y/N cared much, though.

“Yeah! And the worst part was that he won’t even tease anymore. Like, he just sits there all broody and woe is me. We’re all witnessing our nation’s descent into war--he’s not special!”

“Who are you talking about?” asked Harry.

“Oh, just Malfoy,” said Y/N. “We have detention together with McGonagall. He’s such a nasty little greaseball, don’t you think? I mean, look at him right now, glowering over his cereal.”

“Wait! That’s it!”

“What’s it, Harry?” Hermione asked.

“It’s genius, really,” he said. “Y/N has to spend time with him alone every week, and we know that something is up with him. Malfoy is absolutely a Death Eater and has connections to You-Know-Who, but I just need to find a way to prove it.”

“I vaguely forecast where this is going, and I hate it already.”

“Listen, Y/N. It’s not for that long, and it’s for the health of the wizarding world. If you just get to know him--”

“Ick!”

“If you just get to know him, maybe get him to trust you and find out his secrets...we’d finally have enough to turn him in and throw him out of Hogwarts for good.”

“Is that really necessary, Harry?” Ginny butted in from her seat further down next to Dean. “Malfoy’s probably just exhausted like the rest of you. 6th year is difficult, and we have no solid evidence that he’s a Death Eater. I’m sure being stuck in a room with him for 2 hours is hard enough without pretending to be nice to him.”

“But what if Harry’s right?” said Y/N. “What if he is actually a Death Eater? What if he’s an active danger to the student body?”

“Exactly!” The joy written across Harry’s face at the prospect of someone else finally agreeing was infectious. “So will you?”

“Er…” She dragged her spoon across the top layer of her porridge. “In theory, sure. In actuality, I’m not sure how I could do it. Malfoy doesn’t want anything to do with me, either.”

“Love potion?” offered Ron.

“I don’t care how much of a prat he is, I’m not roofying him.”

“I rarely agree with you, Y/N, but I think you’re right. If you want to do this, you need to get him to trust you for real.”

“Your back-handed compliment skills never disappoint, Hermione. Do you think you could help me out with a plan?”

A slow smile spread across the girl’s face as she nodded. “That’s my strong suit.”

The plan they laid out over the remainder of the day was ambitious but at least do-able. Each week was split into different subtasks, the end goal being a somewhat tentative friendship between the two.

“If you can flirt with him and get him to have a crush on you without scaring him off, you’d be in the best possible position,” Hermione told her as they walked back from the Quidditch pitch among the screaming Gryffindor fans. They’d won--yet again. “Obviously I don’t foresee that being likely, but if you pull it off somehow he’d probably be willing to tell you anything. The fact that you’re a pureblood is going to carry you through this whole ordeal. He’ll at least be accepting of your existence in the wizarding community.”

The bitter edge in Hermione’s tone made Y/N’s blood boil. There was no reason for Malfoy to be as prejudiced as he was--he’d spent his adolescence in Hermione’s academic dust. She was obviously smarter than him.

“You got it, ‘Mione,” she said. Her voice barely carried over the cheers of her peers as they ascended the steps to the common room. “We’ll take this little ferret down. I can’t wait.”

“Don’t get too cocky, now.”

The Gryffindor after-party was crazy...per usual. The charmed self-filling goblets, the blasted playlist of Wizpop pumping through the air, and the buzzing energy of the room was giving Y/N a giant headache. She stood with Hermione and Harry by the edge of the crowd, watching Ron get hoisted up on the shoulders of the chasers.

“No wonder the Slytherins think we’re Neanderthals,” Y/N mused. For once, Hermione didn’t respond. “Hermione? Is everything okay?”

The second she turned away to look at her best friend, gasps and whistles filled the room. She whipped back just in time to see Lavender Brown, a sweet but slightly ditzy girl in their year, pull away from a kiss with Ron.

“Oh shi--Hermione!”

Harry and Y/N shared a glance before darting after the witch--who had impressively already made it to the door.

“Hermione, wait!” Y/N called as they jogged after her, throwing open the common room entrance and finding her sat by the tapestry on the other side of the hall, knees to her chest.

“‘Mione, what’s wrong?” asked Harry.

“Don’t be daft, Harry,” said Y/N. “You saw exactly what the rest of us did.”

“I don’t understa--”

“Harry.” Her voice was taut. “I know you’re just trying to help, but I think that it might be best if you let us be. Go back and enjoy the party.”

He gave her a tight, grateful smile before darting back through the door. Y/N wasted no more time in walking over to Hermione and throwing her arms around her shoulders.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, hugging her tight. Hermione made no move to detach them, so she continued. “Ron is an idiot. You deserve so much better--your first kiss was Viktor fucking Krum, after all. You’re hot stuff and this place is just unfortunately running dry of men who are impressive enough for you. Once you’re out of here and working in the Ministry, you’re gonna have the time of your life with men actually in your league.”

Hermione managed a sniffly laugh as she wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “It’s just so fucking embarrassing, you know. Like, I have a crush on him because I think he understands me and I smelled him in my Amortentia and I thought he’d like me back, but…” She hiccuped. “Then he goes off and kisses Lavender Brown, of all people. There’s nothing particularly wrong with her or anything, but she’s so different...I’m so bookish, and she’s so girly and everything I’m not…”

Y/N took the opportunity to tuck a lock of Hermione’s hair behind her ear as she listened.

“And it can’t help but make me think--was I ever anything to him but a friend? If the girl he ends up choosing is the opposite of me?”

“Girly, don’t think like that,” murmured Y/N. “He’s a teenage boy. They don’t think of love the way that we do--to them it’s a game of availability, not of choice. At least for Ronald. You intimidate him, and by extension, you’re not available.”

“That shouldn’t matter!”

“You’re right. It shouldn’t.” Y/N drew a long breath. “So you should find someone who always has you as their first choice--someone who isn’t intimidated by your intellect. They’re out there. I promise.”

Hermione managed a shaky smile. “Thanks, Y/N. I mean it. Do you mind if I have some alone time? I don’t think I’m ready to go back to the party but I just want some quiet.”

“Of course. Let me know if you need me,” she said, brushing herself off and making to walk down the hall.

“You’re not going back to the party?”

“Nah. It hurts my head and I want fresh air. If I’m not back here in a half hour, assume that I’ve been kidnapped.”

With that, she started her walk. She wasn’t planning on going on a long stroll--there was a small balcony that she often went to when she needed to clear her head. It was beautiful, especially on a snowy night like this.

But the walk was creepy.

There was only one way in and out--a narrow, damp hallway that had absolutely no light fixtures. If Y/N really wanted to, she could cast a quick lumos, but she wasn’t sure if she wanted to see what lived on the walls. The stairs were steep, too, but she managed to bound up all 40 of them in record time.

“Who’s there?”

The sudden voice ripped a scream out of Y/N’s throat as she reached the top, catching a glimpse of the shadowy figure at the edge of the balcony that spoke. She clasped her hand over her mouth and she crept forward to the opening, getting a better look at the person that was in her secret spot.

The clouds shifted in the sky to allow more moonlight to cast a soft glow on Malfoy’s face, hardened with irritation.

“Malfoy?” Y/N asked, rather dumbly.

“What stellar observational skills,” he drawled.

She felt her cheeks grow hot. “What are you doing here? This is part of the Gryffindor tower. Shouldn’t you be...I don’t know...playing hide and seek with the sewer rats in the dungeons?”

“Very funny.” His flat tone exposed the fact that he did not, in fact, find it very funny. “There’s no rule barring me from coming up here.”

“But why? This is my spot!”

“Because I wanted to get out. Now, I was here first, so unless you want your detention extended, I suggest you leave.”

Y/N bit the fiery comebacks on the tip of her tongue as the memories of her plan with Hermione began floating back to her.

Week 1 -- Hold one neutral, civil conversation with Malfoy.

“I’ll be quiet. You won’t even know I’m here,” Y/N decided upon. leaning up against the balcony. The rogue snowflakes that made it past the overhanging roof melted on her cheeks.

“That isn’t a suggestion,” said Malfoy. “I’m demanding you leave.”

“Beautiful night, isn’t it?” Y/N asked, pointedly ignoring his words. “I’ve always loved the snow. It’s so quiet.”

“And it would be even quieter if you left.”

“Aren’t you the conversationalist?” said Y/N.

“If you don’t leave, I will hex you,” Malfoy told her through gritted teeth.

“I just love how the moonlight reflects off of the snow,” continued Y/N. “It’s so...pure.”

“Please leave.”

On her walk back down the dank stairwell, she allowed herself a little smile.

Task 1? Technically done.

The first week went largely as planned. Malfoy was cold and certainly suspicious of her, but he wasn’t completely venomous when Y/N asked where he got his quill from in Potions. It was silver, charmed to shimmer with flecks of forest green. He told her Barnaby’s in France, and that was that. She walked away from his table with all of her limbs attached. Perhaps that was all the progress she was going to make in the next few weeks, but the task at hand certainly made the prospect of her lost Friday afternoons more bearable.

Harry was going completely batty, rambling on about how Malfoy was behind the mysterious cursed objects that had been floating about the castle without explanation.

“And why would Malfoy bring cursed objects to Hogwarts if he has aspirations other than being expelled?” Hermione would ask over their books.

“You don’t understand, Hermione! You girls need to be careful walking around at night--especially you, Y/N. I don’t want you going missing after detention because of that slimeball.”

Y/N always gave him a laugh, berating him for his slight misogynistic commentary and turning back to whatever her task was, but the truth was that she was worried for him. The mental weight of the impending war and the fact that he couldn’t do anything about it was certainly getting too difficult for him to bear. It was heartbreaking to see the vivacious boy she’d grown up with crumble under the responsibilities of something he should never have to worry about in the first place.

Friday came much sooner than expected, and Y/N reluctantly left her friends in the common room to trek to McGonagall’s office. The walk was frigid and the wind bit at her cheeks as she rounded the last outdoor hall.

Why was this castle so dark?

A thump behind her made her jump, and Harry’s words came floating back to her.

Remember all those cursed objects? What if there’s someone just...stalking the school grounds, waiting for someone like me to snatch?

She shivered, throwing herself at the office door and slamming it behind her.

“Miss Y/L/N,” Professor McGonagall greeted, her eyebrows raised in amusement. “Something giving you trouble?”

“No, Professor,” she answered, setting her bag down on the desk next to Malfoy. He sent her a curious look as well. “It’s just cold outside.”

She chuckled. “I need to go speak to Headmaster Dumbledore. I expect that, upon my return, you both are in one piece and alive.”

“I’m not sure if I’m the one who needs to be given that speech,” said Y/N, bored and testing the waters.

“She’s right, Professor,” added Malfoy. “There’s no projectiles here.”

McGonagall exhaled a long, shaky breath before brushing herself off. “Please. Behave yourselves.”

“You got it, boss,” she said as she watched her Professor walk out the door. “So, Malfoy. How was your week?”

“I don’t know what you’re up to, but I’d way prefer if you didn’t speak to me,” he said, refusing to make eye contact.

“I’m not up to anything! We’re in detention together and, I dunno, since I see you sometimes at balls, I thought it’d be nice to be on good terms.”

“Good terms?” He scoffed. “You’re a Gryffindor. I’d rather you be a bloody Hufflepuff.”

“How about neutral terms?”

Even though he wasn’t looking at her, she could catch a glimpse of him rolling his eyes. “If neutral terms mean you being quiet, then, yes. Please.”

“I’ll be plenty quiet. After I hear about your opinion on what happened in Potions today with Brown and Weasley. When Snape yelled at them for holding hands.”

He let out a sharp sigh. “Believe it or not, I actually have better things to do than keep up with whatever stuff your house does.”

“But…?” Y/N pressed. She may not’ve spent her time at Hogwarts as Malfoy’s best friend, but she had grown up with the boy, and she could tell when he was holding back.

He stared blankly at her.

“Come on. I’m literally the only person in my house who’ll openly admit that they’re disgusted by that dynamic. I’m begging you.”

She wasn’t sure if she was imagining it, but she thought she saw a flicker of amusement dance across his face for a moment. “Your house sounds more like a cult than a student group.”

“Oh, says the one from Slytherin,” said Y/N.

“We only act like that because our families are close. What’s your excuse? Hormones and Quidditch culture?”

“Touché.” As much as she wanted to fight back, she bit her tongue. Whatever she was doing was making progress, and quicker progress than she was expecting. Her next task was to make him laugh, and she was emboldened by the fact that she could potentially be able to kill two birds with one stone.

They sat in silence for a little bit, but this time, it was a comfortable silence. Malfoy wasn’t staring at the clock on the wall or rolling his eyes at her every move, so she had time to plot.

On one hand, she could make a fool of herself--drop her inkwell, say something stupid in class, fall down the stairs--but she had a sneaking suspicion that her sorry attempts at slapstick humor wouldn’t land well with Draco anymore. He’d become so serious lately, so solemn. This was the most light hearted she’d seen him, even compared with how he acted with the rest of his Slytherin lackeys.

On the other, she could try to sell out her friends. She could confide in him how “big” Hermione’s teeth were (they weren’t even big) or tell him that Ron smelled of eggs (true, but that was a low blow). Something told her that this would be much more successful, but she wasn’t willing to turn to that so quickly--she was already a week ahead as it was.

“What is it?”

Malfoy’s bored drawl cut through her flurried thoughts. Her cheeks turned pink as she blinked, noticing that she’d been staring at him for far too long. “Nothing. Sorry. I just spaced out.”

“Sure,” he mumbled, giving her another suspicious look before turning back to his work. “Can you maybe space out somewhere other than my face?”

“Where’s your vanity, Malfoy?” she pressed as she leaned back in her chair, hair swinging over the back.

“Shut up,” he snapped. She could tell that whatever connection they’d had in the fleeting moments beforehand was being burnt by the second, but her embarrassment and pride drove her forward.

“Merlin, what’s got you so wound up?” she prompted, noting how deliciously unraveled he looked at this. “Where’s my cool, collected Slytherin?”

He slammed hands on his desk at this, whipping around to glare at her. “What’s your angle, Y/L/N?”

“What?”

“Why are you bothering me?”

“Because I want to.” She beamed.

Malfoy ran his fingers through his hair, mussing up the usual neat manner in which it normally laid on his head. “Compelling. What do you want from me?”

“What do I want…?” She tilted her head at him, narrowing her eyes. “What?”

“You never talk to me,” he explained. “Obviously, I prefer it like that. I can’t help but wonder why suddenly you want to be making small talk. So, what is it you want from me?”

“Malfoy,” she said. “I think you’re a spoiled prick who thinks far too highly of himself and drives me insane. But I also think that you’re funnier than what my friends give you credit for. Granted, you’ve always been annoying, but I don’t want anything from you. I just want to, I dunno, make these next few months less insufferable.” Somehow the lie slipped through her teeth easier than any of her previous bluffs.

He frowned, his mouth opening once before firmly screwing shut into a scowl. “Oh.”

“No offense, Malfoy, but what else can you offer me other than your dazzling personality?” she teased. “You know my family. I don’t need to blackmail you to pay for jewelry I’ve had my eye on or anything.”

He scoffed. “As if I’d say yes.”

“Exactly my point. It’d be fucking weird. Merlin, I’m not trying to butter you up to buy out Borgin & Burkes for me. Do I give off gold-digger vibes? Is that what this is about?”

“Fucking hell.” Malfoy turned to her in disbelief. “Do you ever shut up?”

“Answer my question. Or better yet, pull out your wallet. Wait, did I say that out loud?” She mimed surprise and covered her mouth. “Oh no! What will my mother say now that I’ve squandered my last chance of hitching you? There’s no way I can go home for Christmas break now.”

He rolled his eyes so hard she found herself worried for a moment that they were going to just permanently get stuck in the back of his head. “Hate to break it to you, but you didn’t really have a shot to begin with.”

Ouch.

She huffed and dramatically flopped over the back of her chair, hoping he couldn’t see that she’d flinched. “So you don’t think I’m pretty??”

“Y/L/N,” he snapped, his voice a low warning. “Can I please just work? What is with you today?”

Y/N sent him a sour look before giving her Charms work another look. Malfoy was awfully quiet, and when she snuck any glances at him later on, he was angled to face away from her.

Why did she feel like such shit all of a sudden? She cataloged the past events, trying to pinpoint the exact moment that her stomach dropped. It all made sense when the words “You didn’t really have a shot to begin with” echoed around her head once again. She’d failed Harry. She’d failed Hermione. There was no way that she was going to be able to get him to reveal his secrets now--it’s not like he was confiding in even his closest friends as Harry made apparent when he explained how vague his statements were to his fellow Slytherins on the train. Her only chance would’ve been to somehow get him to fall for her, and that wasn’t going...great. And it had been a pipedream to begin with.

When McGonagall swished back into the classroom to dismiss them, Y/N shot out of there without even looking at Malfoy again. It felt like something was lodged in her throat and she was not going to cry in front of him. No, no. She had to make it to Hermione to tell her what was going on.

“Y/L/N?”

Malfoy’s voice made her pause in her flee as she nearly rounded the corner in front of her, but she refused to look back. It was far enough away that it was possible she didn’t hear him.

“Wait!”

She was up the stairs and speed walking as fast as her legs could carry her to the Gryffindor tower before he even saw which way she went.

“I don’t think you understand,” Y/N wailed by the fire as Hermione rubbed her shoulders and Harry sat awkwardly perched on the couch. “I can’t do this. The only way this was going to work was if he had a crush on me, and I don’t think he ever will. I fucked it up! The one time you guys need me, I fuck it up! I let you down!”

Hermione’s left hand stopped its rubbing to rest firmly on her shoulder. “Please don’t be upset. You didn’t let us down. Plus, you’re only, what...two weeks in? You don’t need him to like you to make it work. Just getting him to trust you will be enough, and you’re good at that.”

“I don’t think so,” continued Y/N. “Harry said that he wasn’t even that open on the train when he overheard him talking to all of his friends. And those are purebloods that he likes! That he’s trusted and known for years and years! I’m a friend of you guys, and he knows it. I think he’d figure it out quick.”

“We should take every chance we can get,” said Harry from his spot a few feet away, his eyes lazy and unfocused on the fire crackling in front of them. “You won’t let us down if you can’t get anything, Y/N, you know that! But if you got anything from him, it’d be incredible. It’s a win-win. I don’t understand why you’re so upset.”

“I’m not upset,” she said, her tone becoming defensive. “I just...don’t want to mess this up. I know how much it’d mean if I succeeded.”

“So just try!” Hermione said. “There’s nothing wrong with it. I’m sorry he was kind of mean to you today, but I don’t think that should bother you too much. He should be more afraid of what you’d say if you didn’t care about being a good person.”

“Fucking right on there,” she said, wiping away the frustrated tears. “If I was honest with him, he’d leave crying. He should be grateful that I’m taking this bet so I actually have to be nice to him.”

“That’s the spirit.” Harry leaned over to smack her back like he did his Quidditch teammates after a winning match.

After they’d parted their ways with Harry, Hermione and Y/N made their way slowly up the stairwell to the girls’ dorms.

“Y/N?” Hermione asked, breaking the silence.

“Yeah?”

“Do you think, er…” She paused. “Do you think you were really upset about failing us today? Or was it something else?”

“What do you mean?” Y/N furrowed her eyebrows. “I don’t see what else it would be.”

“I’m sorry,” responded the bright witch. “Forget I ever asked. It was a stupid thing to wonder about.”

“Weirdo,” she teased as she waved her a goodnight and made her way to her dorm.

The next morning, Y/N busied herself with revising her Charms essay over her breakfast--a cup of tea and a half-buttered piece of toast--while Hermione leaned over her shoulder, nodding or grimacing at the corrections she made.

“Did you work during detention? Like, at all?”

“‘Mione,” moaned Y/N. “It’s too early for this. I don’t want a lecture. I just couldn’t focus.”

Her warm brown eyes narrowed as they bore into Y/N’s face. “Why were you distracted?”

“Oh, I, uh…” She stumbled over her words as Hermione drew closer. “Merlin, Hermione. I told you last night. I just felt like I was letting you all down.”

“Mhm,” was all she got in response before her best friend tilted her head back down to the parchment in front of her.

Y/N sat, completely puzzled. What was Hermione on about? She’d been straightforward with what was hurting her--she didn’t want to mess up the only task the Golden Trio had ever given her--and, even if she hadn’t been, Hermione was smart enough to deduce things for herself. So what was she thinking about?

Her eyes drifted over to the Slytherin table where the usual 6th year pureblood gang loitered about, drinking black coffee and sulking--but Malfoy was not to be seen. She jumped when her eyes met Parkinson, her dark eyes burning into her soul as a deep scowl was written across her face.

“Malfoy, what the fuck do you want?” Ron’s voice pulled her back to reality to see him glaring somewhere behind her.

“I wasn’t here to talk to you,” a familiar voice drawled.

She turned to see Malfoy standing behind her, a sneer written all across his stupidly pretty face.

“Miss me already?” asked Y/N as she raised an eyebrow and cocked her head to the side.

“For fuck’s sake, stop doing that,” he mumbled, reaching into his pocket and throwing a box at her. “You forgot your quill. I took the liberty of properly storing it, because it seems like you lot like to just throw them in your bag. Makes me physically ill to watch.”

“Oh.” Y/N studied the intricate box in her hands before tucking it away in her knapsack. “Thanks? I guess?”

He nodded curtly, contorting his face into one last scowl to send to Ron before turning and leaving,

“So,” Hermione began, cutting her omelet at a much brisker pace, “I think we need to have a little chat. About...all of this.”

“Why?”

“Not right now,” she said, her voice low and her eyes flicking at Ron and Harry sitting across from them. “I don’t think it’d benefit us for them to hear.”

“Ok?” She cautiously took a bite out of her toast and continued staring Hermione down. “You’re scaring me.”

“It’s...I don’t know. I thought I was crazy for thinking this, but it seems like we need to talk about it anyways. For this little mission of yours to work, we need to be totally open and honest with each other.”

“Sure.” Y/N took another bite. “I honestly have no clue what’s got you so on edge, though.”

“Who’s on edge?” Harry asked, leaning over the table and stealing the croissant on Y/N’s plate.

“Hey!” she exclaimed. “Do you not see the entire plate of them over there?”

He laughed, sending her an easy grin and dunking a piece into the hot chocolate in his mug. “Finders keepers. Say, Y/N, are you busy next weekend? Ron and Lavender are going to Madame Puddingfoot’s together, and I know Hermione isn’t going to want to take a weekend off studying to go to Hogsmeade, so I thought that maybe we could go cause some trouble at the Cauldron.”

“If you stop stealing my food we can talk about it,” replied Y/N, the corners of her lips tugging up into a grin.

“Deal.”

Hermione tugged at her arm. “I just realized I need to get something out of my room before we watch the Quidditch game. Will you come with me, Y/N?”

“Sure!” said Y/N. “Gee, I’m rolling in invitations today.”

Once they exited the dining hall, though, it immediately became evident that they were not actually heading up to the dorms. Hermione dragged her into the nearest bathroom before casting a quick silencing charm.

“Myrtle! Are you in here?” Only when she was sure silence was the only response to her question, she seemed satisfied to turn to Y/N and begin talking. “When were you going to tell me that you have a thing for Malfoy?”

“I’m sorry, what?” Y/N felt the heat that had risen to her cheeks from the last quill-encounter re-emerge.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” said Hermione. “Are you seriously going to expect me to believe that you nearly sobbed over some random pureblood git telling you you never had a chance with him because it might slow down your progress with helping us? Actually? I’ve seen you look more ecstatic about hearing that your dear granny passed away.”

“To be fair, she had really good life insurance,” Y/N cut in. “And she was an old hag. Never had a nice thing to say to me.”

“Life insurance or no life insurance...you can’t seriously expect me to believe that you were just upset about not being able to help us as much. That was ridiculous. I don’t buy it. And the way you blushed like crazy when he came over to talk to you--the way you try and pretend like you can flirt...please. Y/N, it’s clear as day. I know you, and I know you have a crush on him.”

“Hermione!” hissed Y/N. “You have no clue what you’re talking about!”

“Yes, I think I do,” she pushed. “And you need to be honest with me if you want to be of any help right now.”

Her bossiness lit a fire of rage in Y/N’s chest, but she sucked in a deep breath, shutting her eyes before releasing it. “Believe me when I say I haven’t ever acknowledged any feelings I may or may not have towards him.”

“Ok.” Her face softened. “I know it might take time, but I honestly do think I’m right. Please just...be careful. This is a really odd situation to get caught up in if you actually have feelings for the other person. You’re trying to manipulate him, for Merlin’s sake.”

“And if I have these feelings for him, I’ve done a pretty damn good job of suppressing them for however long they’ve been here.”

Hermione sighed. “That’s true. I’m just saying that spending this much time with him is probably only going to make things worse. Will you please tell me if anything changes between the two of you?”

“Anything changes?” Y/N’s voice was dripping in disbelief. “You’re joking. Even if I was obsessed with him I don’t think there’s ever a chance of hell in anything ‘changing’ between us. He said it himself.”

“You know what I mean, Y/N,” responded Hermione. “Just promise me, ok?”

“Ok,” said Y/N. “I promise.”

That seemed to satiate Hermione as she nodded approvingly at her friend. “I think it goes without saying that Ron and Harry shouldn’t hear about this.”

“There’s nothing to hear about, but yes.” She shuffled her feet before meeting Hermione’s eyes again. “Er, I’m sorry for this being a weird question, but would you mind coming along with me and Harry to Hogsmeade? I don’t really see him like...that...and I don’t want to read into it too much and reject him if he is doing it just platonically, but just in case. Y’know.”

“Sure,” said Hermione, even though her face took on that curious expression yet again. “Anyways, you actually did forget something--you’re not wearing a single piece of Gryffindor colors for our game today. You should probably run back to your dorm before Harry and Ron notice.”

After they said their goodbyes, Y/N found herself turning over the things Hermione had said to her in her head. Did she like Malfoy? No, no fucking way. But a part of her really did think he was funny. And of course it was natural to feel rejected when anyone insinuates that they’d never consider you as a romantic interest without jest.

Once she’d made it up to her room and grabbed a few scarves, Y/N made to put her red cloak into her satchel. Her fingers ghosted over the box that Malfoy had given her and scoffed once she saw the Malfoy crest engraved into the rich wood.

Narcissistic snot.

Her curiosity got the better of her as she reached over to open up the elaborately decorated box. What met her was not just one quill but two--one of which was most certainly not her own.

She took them both out, tossing the old one in a pile with her other trusty familiar white feather quills and picked up the other one. It looked familiar--identical to the quill that she’d complimented Malfoy on in Potions about a week ago. Butterflies began to flutter like crazy in her stomach as she turned it over in her hand, watching the gray and green glitter together and the magic sparkles cast a gentle light over her bed. She generally avoided dipping into her family’s pockets to get school supplies any more than she had to--it’s not like it made her friends feel good about themselves when they were reminded how rich her family was--but this might be what she could consider to be an exception. She hadn’t even liked his quill all that much when she first saw it in Potions--but it was one of those things that was so noticeable that it made sense to compliment him.

She gave it one last look before tucking it back away into the elaborately decorated box. Perhaps she had spoken too soon when she’d told Hermione all hope was lost.

When Monday morning Potions class with the Slytherins rolled around, Y/N wasted no time. Malfoy was alone--even his Slytherin lackeys seemed to know not to bother him. Just what she needed.

“Malfoy,” she greeted, setting her bag down on his table and looking him dead on. He raised to meet her eyes, his eyebrow raised.

“Can I help you?”

“I just wanted you to know that I also really like your immense fortune,” she said. “And your manor.”

“Well, a lot of people do,” he mumbled as he looked away to dig through something in his bag. If she didn’t know any better, she would’ve thought he was blushing.

“I’m just letting you know,” she continued. “In case you were wanting to give them away. It worked for the quill, so I thought, well, why not?”

He exhaled, a deep and annoyed sound escaping his lips as he rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. “I knew I shouldn’t have done that.”

“You really didn’t have to.”

“I was getting sick of it,” he told her. “I never can stick with one quill for too long, and I thought it’d be a shame to toss it. I thought it’d be better to be charitable--it’s not like your family could get an appointment at Barnaby’s if they tried.”

“Hey!” Y/N said indignantly. “You don’t know that!”

“I’ve heard your parents try to speak French,” he said. “If you’re anything like them, you'll be barred from ever entering the country.”

“Malfoy!”

His lips turned up into a smile, a soft laugh escaping his lips. Y/N suppressed the urge to grin in return. Task 3? Done. “What?”

“I can’t even argue with you,” she said. “It’s tragic.”

She stared at the empty stool next to him, wondering if she should just take the leap and sit with him. Malfoy seemed unbothered by her presence as he opened up his Potions book and set it next to his cauldron. “Do you want a partner?” The words left her lips before she could stop them.

He cast her a curious look before glancing at the empty stool. “It depends. Are you going to be annoying?”

She gasped in faux-offense. “What makes you think I could ever be annoying?”

“On that note, I think you better get back to Potter.” He motioned with his head towards the side of the room where most of her Gryffindor friends were chatting. Harry was staring at her, his fists clenched by his side.

Y/N smirked and sent him a wink.

“On that note,” she said, careful to imitate Malfoy’s drawl and sending him a smug grin, “Maybe I better sit here.”

“Hm.” He awarded her one more uninterested look before rolling up his sleeves and setting out the ingredients for the potion they were brewing--Amortentia.

She tried not to make it too obvious that she was staring at his left arm, but there was nothing on it like Harry had told her. It was just pure, unblemished pale skin that shimmered under the light. Before he could catch her looking, she quickly sat down and started pulling out her own things. After a short pause, she decided to take out the silver quill. She’d left his box back in her room--she wouldn’t be caught dead with something that had the Malfoy crest on it--but she’d wrapped it in a pouch with her own family’s emblem on the front, shimmering in gold and red.

“Why don’t you just buy your own charmed quills?” asked Malfoy after they had chopped all of the gillweed.

“You already know. We’re an abomination to the French. We aren’t allowed entry.”

“That’s not what I mean.” His tone was meant to read as exasperated, but his words still seemed good-natured.

“I...well.” She frowned. She’d never confessed this to anyone, but she supposed that Malfoy wasn’t going to find a way to use it against her. “I don’t like to flaunt my family wealth. I think it makes people, at least in Gryffindor, like me less. I learned that pretty early on.”

He hummed something in response before sliding all the gillweed into the cauldron, turning the clear liquid into a bubbling forest green.

“Why are you being so nice to me all of a sudden?” she asked.

He took his time finishing the note he was jotting down before he answered. “I’m not being nice. It’s just called being civil. You said it yourself, we see each other at balls sometimes.”

“We probably won’t anymore, though,” she mused.

Malfoy’s eyebrows shot up, but his voice remained low and steady. “No. I suppose that we probably won’t. Is your family part of the Order?”

“Hm. Are you a Death Eater?” she asked brazenly. He had no business asking her something like that, and he knew it. Especially not with his family connections.

“What do you think?” he drawled, waving his bared left arm in front of her face.

“Bullshit. That doesn’t mean anything after we learned Glamour spells last year.”

“Guess you’ll just have to trust me, then,” he responded, focusing intently on the bubbling liquid in front of him instead of her face.

“I guess so,” she replied. The weight of her Glamour comment began to sink in--she was right, after all. How had she not thought of it before?

But he was right when he told her she just had to trust him. Could she? Y/N rested her chin in the palm of her propped hand as she watched him work. A piece of disobedient moonbeam blonde hair dangled over his forehead as he diced up the unicorn tail, his eyebrows furrowed in focus.

“Is this why you want to be my partner?” he finally asked after a few moments of silence. “So you can just stare at me while I do all the work?”

“There’s the vain Draco I know,” she said, grinning as she leaned over to punch his shoulder.

He rolled his eyes again, scooting out of arm's reach before flipping back to Amortentia in his book. “You’re insufferable. And it’s Malfoy to you.”

“Fine, fine, Malfoy,” said Y/N. “What do you want me to do, then?”

He shoved his cutting board towards her, the half-diced unicorn tail staring up at her. “Finish dicing this and then stir it in. 9 times clockwise. I did almost all of the work, but it should be finished after that.”

Y/N sent him another glare before doing as he said. The glittering quill kept catching her attention from the corner of her eye, and she couldn’t help but notice that Malfoy was writing with just a plain white quill for the time being. HE really did just give it to me.

After the final ingredients were diced, she began to stir, each rotation around the cauldron turning the potion to a different color. It began as the bubbling green, then a deep sea blue, then a royal purple, a crimson blood red, a glimmering gold--before settling into a pale silver.

“Wow. It’s beautiful,” she breathed. “It’s like...liquid starlight.”

“All thanks to me,” said Malfoy. “You didn’t even have to crush the Mandrake root.”

“You’re such a gentleman, Malfoy.” Her voice dripped in fake sincerity. “So, what do you smell?”

Y/N was expecting him to scowl at her and tell her that it wasn’t any of her business, but he actually leaned over the cauldron and shut his eyes.

“I’ve never been good at explaining what things smell like.”

“Fair.”

Once he leaned back, she took his place, shutting her eyes and breathing in a tendril of the beautiful potion. “Whoa.”

“What’s it for you?”

“I don’t...know,” she admitted. “It’s not something I can describe note by note. It kind of reminds me of something, though.”

“Something with Potter, I presume?” he said, casually twirling his generic white quill around his fingers.

“No,” she answered, surprised at how honest she was being. “It’s…I’m trying to think. Er, it’s very lavish. It reminds me of when I was younger and my parents would drag me to galas and balls and whatnot.”

He stared at her in silence.

“What about you? Does it remind you of anything?”

“Yeah.” Malfoy reached forward to put a lid on the cauldron, effectively shutting out the steam from reaching either of them.

“Ooh, have you figured it out yet?” she teased, crossing her legs and turning to face him head on. “Let me guess. Is it someone like…”

She paused, a wicked smile stretching across her face. “Oh my god, is it Hermione? Or Luna? Or...help me out here!”

“No.” His voice was sour.

“Ah, it’s Parkinson then, isn’t it? Tell her I’m sorry for throwing food at her if you ever have the chance. Make sure to add the part where I’m more sorry that I missed.”

“Y/L/N!”

“It’s okay. I’d be a little let down, too.”

“Can you please just…” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Please just stop. I haven’t figured it out. Okay? Happy now?”

“I’ll leave you alone,” said Y/N. “Under one condition. You give me a hint. I’ve given you everything I know! This isn’t fair.”

“This doesn’t have to be fair,” he hissed.

Y/N kept the easy smile plastered on her face while she waited, her eyebrows raised in anticipation.

“You’re not going to let up until I tell you, are you?”

“You’d be right on that,” she said, sugary sweet.

“Fine. It’s something kind of floral.”

“How descriptive,” she snorted as she slumped back in her stool, thinking hard. Where had she smelled it before? Y/N shut her eyes, leaning her head back and trying to immerse herself into the memory that had surfaced. It smelled like grandeur, like an open ballroom full of guests wearing expensive perfumes. She could feel spinning, spinning like she was with a dance partner. Who was it? She couldn’t quite remember--the last ball she’d been to had been years ago--but after she leaned forward and smelled the Amortentia once more time, she came to a conclusion.

“I had to have danced with him at a gala before,” she announced to Malfoy, who was looking quite unimpressed. “So I know it’s no one from Gryffindor.”

“Interesting,” was all he said before turning to his parchment and jotting something down.

Late that night, while Y/N was settling into bed, a strange idea struck her. Sure that the thought that was nagging her was completely fruitless, she had no trouble with reaching into her desk and pulling out the Malfoy box. She just had to check if she wanted to sleep well.

Here goes.

She closed her eyes, imagining the expensive scent of her Amortentia. Then she opened it, stuck her nose into the fabric, and breathed in.

Well, fuck.

The internal debate going through Y/N the next day at the breakfast table was intense. On one hand, she really, really wanted to just tell Hermione that Malfoy had been in her Amortentia and she was completely fucked, but on the other…

She glanced at the witch next to her as she methodically sliced her toast into perfect, equivalent squares before dunking them in jam. Y/N liking Malfoy was not going to fit into her toast cubes. If she said anything, she would lose her excuse to talk to her about him. And her excuse to try and get close with him.

Perhaps I can figure it out tomorrow.

When tomorrow came, she still hadn’t made progress. Y/N was beginning to think that her so called “revelation” after they brewed Amortentia was truly just complete and utter bullshit. So what that his quill box smelled like it--all rich people kind of smelled the same at some points, and so did their houses. There was a reason why she couldn’t immediately pin the scent to anything--it wasn’t like she even knew what Malfoy smelled like.

But the truth remained that she was still attracted to someone who happened to be a rich Slytherin--so naturally, her mind began to wander. There’s no way it was Zabini--his mother owned a fragrance line, and she would’ve instantly recognized the cologne that she knew Mrs. Zabini made him wear--and there was absolutely no way that it was Crabbe or Goyle, so the only other Slytherin it left was...Nott? But that didn’t make sense either--she’d never spoken to him before in her life, even less than Malfoy. So perhaps it would be better if she didn’t think on it.

The next day of potion brewing came on a stormy Wednesday. Malfoy and Y/N worked silently together to brew a Draught of Dreamless Sleep. She was surprised to see how practiced his movements were--he didn’t even have to reference the book to recite the exact measurements and directions.

“Do you have bad dreams or something?” she asked, mostly as a joke. He didn’t seem to pick up on the light-heartedness and stiffened up.

“No?”

“Gee, you’re talkative today,” Y/N said, trying to ignore how her hand brushed his by accident when she added the scoop of anjelica.

“Excuse me for not entertaining you,” he drawled. “I wasn’t expecting to have such a needy potions partner today.”

“I am not needy!” she gasped, smacking his arm. “I’ve sat in silence for a full hour!”

He rolled his eyes (he was always rolling his eyes) and gave the potion one more final stir before setting the lid on the cauldron. “Think you can do that again? It needs to simmer for that long.”

“Just because you’re so sweet to me,” crooned Y/N before pulling out a heavy book from her satchel. Her Charms exam was tomorrow, and, naturally, she had decided to save all of her revising work until the night before. The textbook stared back at her as she jotted a few notes onto a previously blank sheet of parchment. The quill in her hands was light and glided across the paper like the tears of Merlin, something that she had forgotten quills could do. All of her familiar basic quills were okay, but they were prone to skidding and breaking. This nib hadn’t worn down in the slightest, still at a smooth and defined peak.

Y/N couldn’t believe that, out of all people, the person to give her such a thoughtful gift was Draco Malfoy. She tried to sneak a glance at him then, moving her curtain of hair away from her face. It took all she had in her to not be startled at the fact that he was already looking back, a slightly concerned expression etched into his face.

“Is something wrong?”

He snapped out of it the moment the words left her lips, his face hardening. “No.”

“Forget I ever asked,” she responded, turning away from him for good and focusing on her textbook. No, there was no way he could be what she smelled in her Amortentia. She liked to think that her subconscious wasn’t secretly a masochist.

Friday evening swung around again, much to Y/N’s dismay. She’d had a talk with Hermione later on in the week, confirming that no, she did not smell Malfoy in her Amortentia, and that yes, she was still abiding by the plan that Hermione had so carefully laid out for her. It did bother her a bit that she could be lying to her on both fronts--but at the end of the day, she was going to get the answers that Harry wanted, no matter what.

She just had to get through the scary ass castle first. She’d forgotten how spooky Hogwarts was after her previous sprint to the door, and this time she was positively trembling by the time she turned another dark corner on her way to McGonagall’s office. Yet another cursed item had been found in the girl’s lavatory on the 3rd floor, right by some of the classes that she had taken earlier in the week. The fact that whoever was out there was capable of dark magic and actively wanted to hurt people terrified her, all that Gryffindor bravery be damned.

So when she heard footsteps suddenly right beside her, it was no wonder that she jumped feet in the air.

“Fuck!” she sputtered, turning to see a very familiar blonde in Slytherin robes. He was frozen in place, curiously looking her up and down.

“Am I interrupting something?”

“Malfoy,” Y/N said, resisting the urge to melt into a puddle of relief at the sight. This wasn’t right--wasn’t he a suspected Death Eater? “You scared me.”

He scoffed, digging his hands into his pockets. “You’re supposed to be the brave ones, right?”

“Huh?”

Malfoy motioned to her Gryffindor jumper.

“Oh.” Heat rushed to her cheeks as she realized what he meant. “I dunno. I just get jumpy around the castle at night.”

“No shit.” They’d begun to walk now, side by side. Y/N couldn’t remember ever walking with him before--she’d always been late. “Do you think I forgot the way you screamed when you saw me at the tower?”

“Shut up,” she grumbled, reaching over and giving him a healthy shove.

They walked in silence together. Malfoy moved noticeably slower than he normally did so he wouldn’t leave Y/N’s shorter legs in tow. McGonagall seemed pleasantly surprised to see Malfoy hold the door open for her.

“I’m glad to see you two getting along,” she said, giving Y/N a hesitant nod before grabbing the stack of papers on her desk. “I’ll be back momentarily.”

After she exited the room with a swish of her deep maroon robes, Malfoy turned to her. “Are you scared of the dark or something?”

She turned, ready to send a biting retort his way, before she noticed how gray his pallor looked...and how big the circles under his eyes were. “You look like shit, Malfoy. Is everything okay?”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t change the subject.”

“Oh. Um…” Y/N pause before deciding that the little tidbit of information she was about to reveal wasn’t that important anyways. “I’m just on edge at night at Hogwarts is all. Especially with all that weird shit going on with all the cursed objects. So I kind of hate walking to and from detention.”

Malfoy let out something that sounded like a strained laugh.

“You didn’t answer my question. Is everything okay?”

“None of your business,” he snipped. “I just had a bad night.”

“Do you have trouble sleeping?” she asked, unable to keep herself from prying.

“Something like that.”

“Have you tried lavender?”

“I’m sorry?” He frowned.

“Lavender. Like the essential oil. It’s nothing magical,” she explained. “I just like to spray it in my bed sometimes before I sleep. Or I’ll use a few drops in a diffuser. I have trouble sleeping too, all the time, actually.” She shut her mouth before she had any chance to ramble further.

“It sounds a bit too floral for my taste.”

“Here.” Y/N dug around in her satchel, searching for the tiny spray bottle she kept with her at all times. “Borrow this and spritz your pillow with it before you sleep, and then tell me it’s too floral. I promise it helps.”

He glared at her. She extended her hand with the white bottle that was covered in purple decor, raising her eyebrows expectantly. “I won’t tell anyone that you have it if that’s what you’re worried about or whatever.”

“Fine,” he snapped, snatching it from her hand and dragging his fingers over her palm for just a second. “Don’t expect me to actually try it, though.”

“Just give it a sniff.”

He huffed, but to her surprise, he actually uncapped the top and held the spray hole up to his nose, inhaling in once.

The effect was immediate. Malfoy’s face completely drained of color, becoming even grayer than he’d been when she first saw him under the light. The briefest expression of surprise fleeted over his face before he wiped it off, replacing it with something unreadable and tossing it back at her. “I’m not using this.”

“Why not?”

“Not quite my taste,” he spat.

Y/N was shocked by the sudden outburst, watching as he continued to glower at his desk. “I don’t understand. It really does help you sleep. I know it seems stupid, but I...really think you should try it. Just once, if anything.”

“Why does it matter so much to you?”

“Because I--” Y/N stopped herself before she let her mouth run without check. “I know what it’s like is all. I feel like shit if I don’t sleep. Plus, I have to spend time with you every Friday. I imagine that you’ll be slightly more tolerable if you sleep more.”

“Hm.” He sent her a particularly venomous glare. “Thanks for your concern. Consider me uninterested, though.”

“You break my heart,” she teased, pulling back her hand and placing the bottle on the corner of her desk. An idea struck her.

“And just what are you smiling about?” Draco said. His lips were turned into a sour frown.

“Nothing, nothing,” she responded, her voice adopting a sing-song quality. All she had to do now was wait.

He exhaled, a deep and exasperated sound. Then he turned back to whatever was in front of him.

McGonagall entered the room a few minutes later, nodding cordially at the comfortable silence the two students were in. What she didn’t know was that Y/N was waiting, just waiting for Malfoy to dig through his satchel and stop paying attention to his quill.

She got her opportunity a few minutes later, when McGonagall called him up to look over his latest Transfiguration homework.

“Mr. Malfoy, I’m happy to see that you’re taking more initiative in getting your assignments done...I have to say that you had me a bit concerned…”

While her professor kept Malfoy occupied, Y/N darted over and grabbed his quill.

Ha.

Malfoy frowned down at his desk when he returned, giving Y/N a suspicious look.

“What is it, Malfoy?” she said, hoping her voice conveyed nothing that might hint that she took something of his.

“Nothing.”

“Hm.”

The rest of detention passed without any more discussion. Y/N was eager to run up to her dorm and set up her plan to be carried out the next morning, but she calmed her bouncing leg and forced herself to keep a straight face when McGonagall dismissed them.

“Got somewhere to be, Y/L/N?” Malfoy’s voice called after her as she sped down the hall towards the Gryffindor tower.

“What’s it to you?” she fired back.

He didn’t respond. Instead, he picked up his pace until he was walking next to her.

“Aren’t the Slytherin dorms the other direction?” she asked.

“I don’t know. Are they?”

She allowed herself to be amused by the way words flowed out of his mouth when he was slightly out of breath. “Why are you walking with me?”

“You said it yourself.” He kept his eyes cast on the cobblestones below them. “You don’t like walking alone at night.”

“Uh...oh.” Against her will, her feet froze and she was glued to the ground. “You’re joking, right?”

If the lighting wasn’t so dim, Y/N would have good reason to believe he was blushing with how intently he was studying his fingernails. “By all means, I can be.”

“No! No, I didn’t mean it like that,” she said, the words tumbling out of her mouth. “Er...I’d like you to. If you want to, that is.”

He shrugged, an elfish expression spreading across his face as he took in how nervous she was. “Well, come to think of it, you didn’t ask me to. I suppose I better get back to the Slytherin dorms anyways. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere near the Gryffindor Tower right now.”

“Why?” she squeaked.

“Oh, you know, I don’t think it’s a coincidence that most of the cursed things showed up on your side of the castle, yeah?”

She gulped.

“I gotta get going. Don’t want to stand around here too long. This place gives me the creeps.” With that, he turned and began walking away.

“Malfoy?” She hated how timid her voice sounded. “Consider this me asking you to walk with me.”

He slowly faced her, a sly grin plastered all over his face. “Oh? Did I hear that correctly? Do you want me to?”

“I’m only going to say this once,” she said, putting her hands on her hips and trying her best to look intimidating. “Walk with me. Please.”

“I guess I’ll take it.” Malfoy glided down the hallway to her in just a couple steps, sending her yet another smug look.

“You made up that whole ordeal about Gryffindor Tower being targeted, didn’t you?” asked Y/N as they rounded the corner to reach the staircase leading up to the common room.

“You bought it, didn’t you?”

“Who says I didn’t just want you to walk with me?” pushed Y/N. This was as close to flirting as it would ever get for her--but it looked like, somehow, things were falling into place. The heat in her cheeks must’ve been from the excitement of making progress.

Malfoy’s toe caught on the first stair and, if it weren’t for Y/N’s steady grip on his arm, would’ve made him go sprawling across the stone steps.

“Merlin, Malfoy,” she said, immediately dropping her grip from his shoulder. “What’s gotten into you?”

He responded with an unceremonial snort and a withering glare. The rest of the walk was done in silence, and Y/N noted how careful his footwork became around the Gryffindor steps.

“This is me,” she finally said once they reached the tapestry for the Gryffindor dorms. He seemed surprised, and only then did it strike her that he’d probably never seen the entrance himself before. “Thanks for being such a gentleman.”

“I live to serve,” he drawled.

And just like that, he was gone.

Her plan was simple. She had located an extra monogrammed pouch in her cabinet, a rich mahogany color with her family crest in a vivid gold, and placed both his quill and the lavender bottle. She would corner him after breakfast or follow him out of the Great Hall and show him then.

However, it was becoming increasingly obvious that Malfoy was not coming to Saturday morning breakfast. Many people didn’t, but Y/N had never known him to miss it. His normal spot was vacant, and it certainly wasn’t a house-made decision as all of his Slytherin friends were present and accounted for. Y/N couldn’t say for sure, but she could see Parkinson turning her head to the entrance every time the doors thudded open before glancing back to Malfoy’s empty seat when it turned out to be someone else.

Where was that loser?

“Excuse me,” she said to the trio as she stood up and brushed off her skirt. “I think I’m going to go get some fresh air. I have a bitch of a headache.”

Hermione and Harry expressed their sympathies while Ron gave her a characteristic mumble through his mouthful of bread, and she was off with the pouch secured in her cloak pocket.

It was a clear November morning, clearly Mother Nature’s attempt to slowly move the world from the crisp autumn to a cold winter. The sky was clear and the sun’s rays warmed her skin at a slanted angle, casting weak shadows across the courtyard.

If I were Malfoy, where would I go to sulk?

The obvious answer was either the Slytherin common room or his own dorm, but that was without a doubt out of question for her. She wasn’t even sure if she possessed the knowledge to guess which corridor the entrance was in, much less work out the password herself. Beyond that, just getting into the common room and waiting would be...She shivered. It would be a terrible idea while she was clearly wearing a cloak in Gryffindor red and gold trim.

As she continued her aimless wander around the castle, she heard the slightest sound from the girl’s bathroom on the second floor. It wasn’t ever really in use--no one came in there to actually use the loo unless they wanted Myrtle to materialize and tell them her supernatural troubles while they were in the middle of their personal business--but it was often the source of strange happenings.

Like the cursed objects she thought to herself, her nails digging into her palms. But did she care about that right now? Surely cursed objects seemed somewhat...suspicious. Dark magic was difficult to hide, and to a pureblood eye that grew up around magical objects, cursed things shouldn’t be impossible to spot.

And, plus, it was Malfoy she was looking for. None of the students had died from the curses so far, and if she was able to break through and learn something, or at the very least gain his trust, the reward to the Order would be more than worth it.

She stepped in, expecting to see an entirely empty bathroom with perhaps a ghost rattling around at the sink. Instead, a different sight awaited her.

Draco Malfoy was clutching the edge of the cracked sink basin in front of him, rocking himself back and forth and shaking. From her vantage point, she could see that he was dressed in his normal garb--a black ensemble--but his hair was unruly and messy, sticking up in the back like he’d hurriedly tugged something over his head.

A strangled gasp grounded her and halted her curious observations. Malfoy began to make these awful sobbing sounds, like he could barely manage to breathe.

Y/N was frozen in place as she surveyed her options. If she stayed and tried to talk to him, he might react in anger or hurt her. But if she just left him, like this, all alone...She swallowed once before stepping forward.

“Malfoy? Are you okay?” Obviously he’s not, you bint said a voice deep in her brain. She pushed it aside as he swung around, his wand raised and his eyes blazing. “Whoa! I’m not going to...Put your wand down!”

He stared at her, his eyes wide with horror as he continued to shake, so much so that his wand slipped out of his hand and clattered to the floor. Without thinking, Y/N reached into her pocket and flung her wand away, holding her hands up.

“I’m not going to try anything. I promise.”

As she drew closer, she could see the remnants of tears on his wet cheeks and the way that his silver eyes were rimmed with a bloodshot red.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he hissed, his voice weak and cracking.

“Neither should you. This is the girl’s bathroom.”

final a/n: ok so lmk if you guys wants me to continue. i really did not edit the last half fjkdsal;f also kinda made this an au where malfoy tried to assassinate dumbledore. with more than one cursed object but dw it’ll all make sense ill clear that up 😭

#draco malfoy #draco x reader #draco malfoy x reader #draco imagine #draco malfoy imagine #draco x you #draco #draco malfoy x you #draco x y/n #draco malfoy x y/n #draco x oc #draco malfoy x oc

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elmidol · 3 years

Note

I love the way you write for Hux so much! The aloof in front of others but soft with the reader type is my favorite troupe! So I was wondering if you have and fic recs, either yours or anyone else's for Hux with a similar portrayal of his character?

Ahhh, thank you 🥺💚

Out of my personal fics, I have a soft spot for

Hold the Cream, Add Some Ginger

Acceptable Loss (kinda enemies to lovers though)

& then also Woes of an Officer in Training for nostalgic reasons.

I honestly need to read more Hux again so I can give proper recs for fics with him. The two authors I've followed the longest in fandom that have fics where he's similar are DramatistArtisan and MortyVongola.

Otherwise the Hux pieces off the top of my head are:

It's Not a Toy by @lumos-flies

A General Officer by frozenadventures (please mind the tags)

The General's Good Girl by MadameClutch

What's in a Number by HeartofDreamer (please mind the tags)

On top of that, I haven't read all of them but I know that Vintage_Beast writes for Hux as well.

#armitage hux x reader #the huxband #fic recs #my fics #author recs

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ya-girl-mc · 4 years

Text

Sweet Indulgence

Character: Kuroo Tetsurou × Fem Reader

Concept: Y/N and Kuroo spend their Valentine's evening with a homecooked date night dinner; then came "dessert" 😏

⚠️ Warning: Sexual content (also contains a minor spoiler from the Haikyuu!! manga since I referred to a lil detail there for Kuroo's character in this fic)

A/N: Happy Valentine's Day ya'll esp to those who'll be spending it alone (me lol 😔✊). This fic was requested by a dear irl friend of mine who's one of the biggest Kuroo trash I know so here ya go 😉

☆☆ A Haikyuu!! Fanfiction ☆☆

"Damn it."

Kuroo's disgruntled voice caused Y/N to look up from her morning coffee as she gazed at him inquisitively. "What's up?"

A deep frown etched on his face, he sighed and set his phone down on the table, his attention once again on his half-eaten breakfast. "The Chief. He needs me to work overtime tonight, of all times. I swear that old man is giving me way too much load for how much I'm getting paid-"

Y/N brought up her coffee mug to her lips, gazing at her boyfriend sympathetically as she listened to him rant about his rather unfortunate office life. While Kuroo loves and is adept at his new job at the Sports Promotion Division of the Japan Volleyball Association, his overbearing boss made matters far from pleasing.

Ah yes, the toil of the working class.

"-and we even made those dinner reservations tonight for Valentine's Day."

Oh, right. Like any typical run-of-the-mill working class couple, Y/N and Kuroo were looking forward to a classy dinner to celebrate the 14th, yet the unforeseen circumstances seemed to have derailed their evening plans. Huffing in annoyance, he set his utensils down and shot her a guilty look. She was quite disappointed of course, but it couldn't be helped; it's all part of the game, as they say. "It's fine, we could always go at a different time. You do what you gotta do."

"You know, when you act all level-headed like that, I can't help but feel even worse," Kuroo sighed, thoroughly frustrated at how his boss managed to ruin their dinner plans.

She grinned at him as an idea occurred to her. "What time do you get off work today?"

"Probably 8 or 9, at the latest. Why?"

"Great!" Y/N chimed, chuckling sheepishly as soon as she noticed the impassive expression on Kuroo's face. "Well...not because you have to work overtime since that definitely sucks. I mean, I'd have enough time to prepare us a fancy dinner for date night." Her eyes lit up in excitement, her mind already racing with ideas as she began to ponder on what dishes to prepare.

Kuroo grinned at her in amusement, feeling himself gradually get over his workplace woes. Glancing at his phone, he briskly cleaned up after himself and proceeded to grab his belongings. "Thanks for the meal, but I'd better go on ahead. The earlier I can get there, the sooner I can get everything done."

Y/N followed suit and ushered him to the entrance of their shared apartment. It was pretty rare to see Kuroo invigorated on a weekday morning as he usually lazed around with her for a bit before they both headed off to their respective offices; the idea of a scrumptious date night dinner prepared by his lover definitely served as extra motivation to get through the day.

After adjusting his tie, she proceeded to ruffle his hair to try and straighten his stubborn bed head, but to no avail. "I don't know how you can seem to pull off going to work with bed hair, but anyway, do your best today, Kuroo-san!" She teased and saw him off with a salute.

Damn it, how adorable.

In one swift motion, he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close, his lips pecking hers ever so slightly as he pulled away, chuckling at the dazed expression on her face. "I'll make it up to you later, I promise. Then, I'll be off." He waved at her as Y/N watched his retreating figure, her heart still pounding from their prior interaction.

As I thought, cohabitation really is the best.

*****

It was just about past 7 in the evening when Y/N arrived at their apartment with an armful of groceries. Despite getting off from work as early as 5:30, she lost track of time in the supermarket, completely engulfed with the multitude of ideas that raced through her mind. Cooking was a passion of hers, and there's nothing she enjoys more other than spoiling her significant other with her culinary prowess.

Unloading the bags on the kitchen's countertop, Y/N's eyes scanned over the ingredients, thoroughly pleased with her purchase.

Seared rib eye steak paired with a classic red wine jus, a creamy and delectable potato au gratin as a side dish, and a decadent chocolate mousse dessert for that extra indulgence...ahhh it's perfect! I'll make sure that every penny spent on these ridiculously expensive ingredients will be worth it!

Y/N threw an apron on and proceeded to undertake the necessary preparations for each of the dishes, determined to salvage what's left of her and Kuroo's Valentine's Day plans with probably the best dinner she'll be preparing by far. She recounted on the recipes she had sneakily studied in-between working hours, finding herself completely engrossed with the tasks at hand.

Okay, the gratin's baking in the oven...once there's 30 minutes left to its cooking time that's when I'll start preparing the red wine jus. Then I'll be searing the steak, let it rest, then prepare the mousse in the process. Yep, I got this in the bag!

Once more immersing herself in her culinary escapades, Y/N was finally down to the last task of whipping up the chocolate mousse when the front door opened, signaling Kuroo's arrival from work as the wonderful aromas that wafted from the kitchen uplifted him from his weariness. With her back turned towards him, he shut the door and sauntered towards the kitchen, a scheming grin on his face as he crept towards his oblivious girlfriend.

"Y/N," he breathed teasingly into her ear, causing her to yelp in surprise.

"Goddammit, Tetsurou!" She hastily switched off the hand mixer to avoid splattering chocolate mousse everywhere, shooting him a dirty look in the process. "You're lucky I only had a mixer in my hand! What if it was something else, like a-"

The sight of her handsome lover, still clad in his office attire with a bouquet of flowers in his hand, rendered her speechless. He chuckled as Y/N continued to gawk at him, stepping closer to wrap his free arm around her shoulders. "Happy Valentine's Day." Kuroo tenderly pressed his lips on her temples as he handed her the bouquet.

Ahh, great. Now I feel like crap for yelling at him like that. Unable to suppress the smile that made its way to her face, she sheepishly accepted his gift, standing on her toes to plant an appreciative kiss on his cheek. "T-thank you...and Happy Valentine's Day, too."

The warmth that adorned her cheeks just made her even more irresistible, yet Kuroo tried to reel in his urges as he allotted a reasonable distance between them. "So, what did my cute lover prepare for date night?"

As if on cue at his inquiry, her eyes immediately lit up. "Well, I started off by preparing the potato au gratin since that takes the longest to cook. I infused the cream with a little thyme, rosemary, and a dash of lemon zest to cut back on the heaviness. Then, for the rib eye steak, I-" Kuroo simply listened on as she rambled, the corners of his mouth turning upwards as she explained the entirety of the cooking process of each of the dishes she had prepared. While he didn't understand a majority of it, it was utterly endearing for him to see her so engrossed in the fervor of her culinary passion.

So basically, she prepared a fancy potato dish, a steak dish, and chocolate mousse for dessert. Damn it, she's just too adorable when she goes all out.

"-so anyway," Y/N continued, grasping Kuroo's attention once more. "Can you check if the mousse tastes fine? I'm a bit concerned that I may have fallen short on the sweetness." With a spoon in hand, she scooped a generous amount and held it out for him to taste.

Taking it into his mouth, Kuroo's eyes widened as the dessert's decadence flooded his taste buds. The mousse was not overbearingly sweet due to the dark chocolate she used, yet it still delivered the right amount of indulgence for a dessert; the perfect balance of flavor was definitely to his liking. "Wow, that's delicious!" He exclaimed and was tempted to beg for another spoonful.

Y/N grinned, her pride swelling up at his positive feedback. "Yay, glad to hear! I'll be popping this in the fridge to chill while we have dinner."

Setting down the bouquet of flowers on the countertop, she proceeded to take the bowl; however, Kuroo had something else in mind as he held her arm and leaned closer, peering at her inquisitive expression. "Why don't you give it a taste as well?"

"Uhm...okay." As she reached for another spoon, Kuroo snatched it away from her and shook his head dismissively. Scooping a spoonful of the mixture, he applied a dollop of mousse on his fingers and held it out, a mischievous smirk on his face.

"Here."

The atmosphere between them suddenly shifted, and with Kuroo eyeing her so earnestly, she couldn't help her cheeks from flaming up at his promiscuous gesture. Amid Y/N's brief contemplation, he brushed his fingers across her lips and gently pushed them into her mouth.

Her heart thumping at how unbelievably alluring Kuroo was at their proximity, she locked her eyes with his, her tongue slowly lapping up the remnants of chocolate mousse. It was long gone, yet she continued to suck fervently on his fingers, earning a shudder from him. She slowly took it out of her mouth, keeping her gaze trained on his. "You're right, it is delicious."

Kuroo's eyes darkened with lust as he took a step closer, running his thumb across her lip to collect all remaining traces of the mousse. His tongue slowly darted out of his mouth and licked his thumb clean, grinning as Y/N simply stared at him, her mouth slightly agape. "I know that you just prepared us a delicious dinner, but there's something else I'd rather eat right now."

Unable to hold himself back any longer, Kuroo slipped his hand behind her head, pulling her close as his lips urgently met hers. The force nearly made Y/N stumble, but his arm immediately went around her waist, stabilizing her position as she met his kiss with fervor. As their tongues intertwined, both of them could detect a hint of sweetness from the remnants of the chocolate mousse which only intensified their thirst for the other.

Y/N struggled to breathe as Kuroo's tongue relentlessly explored her mouth, the hands that held his blazer beginning to tremble. He took her bottom lip into his teeth, the sharp sensation causing her knees to buckle as he backed her up into the countertop, pressing himself even closer to her. Her head was beginning to spin, and if it weren't for Kuroo's lean stature holding her in place, she would have collapsed then and there.

"T-tetsurou," Y/N gasped out as Kuroo trailed his lips across her jaw and down to her neck, wincing as she felt his teeth graze the skin. His hands wandered down to her waist as he hoisted her up on the countertop, his tongue darting out to soothe the love bites he left along her neck. Pulling away momentarily, he eyed her with raw passion and need as he loosened up his neck tie, the seemingly mundane gesture igniting Y/N's desire.

"Strip for me." His voice was low, commanding, yet she could sense the desperation it conveyed. Her heart pounding wildly, Y/N proceeded to remove her apron and unbutton her blouse, her face burning at how Kuroo's eyes scrutinized her every move; however, her current position hindered her as she struggled to discard her skirt. Leaning back on her forearm, she slightly lifted her hips and slipped off her skirt with her free hand, causing Kuroo to grit his teeth at how unbelievably erotic the entire scene was.

Now down to her underwear, Y/N attempted to pull him towards her yet he shook his head defiantly, his finger trailing from her lips down to the swell of her breasts. "I meant all of it."

"You should've clarified it earlier," she huffed, completely flustered at how Kuroo enjoyed making her squirm.

He then responded to her quip with his own. "I didn't think that needed to be clarified, Y/N."

Completely at a loss on how to respond, she sighed in defeat and conceded as her hands moved to discard the last few pieces of clothing, eventually swallowing hard as she noticed how aroused Kuroo had gotten through his slacks. He wanted to take her then and there, but as his eyes wandered to the bowl of chocolate mousse atop the counter, he decided to have a little bit more fun; it was Valentine's Day after all.

Y/N followed his gaze and immediately caught on on what he was planning to do, sighing internally as the dessert she painstakingly made will be used for a completely different purpose. Yet, she fidgeted in anticipation, unable to deny how much the prospect turned her on. Kuroo chuckled, the gestures she displayed serving as all the confirmation he needed to proceed.

Reaching for the bowl and a ladle, Kuroo scooped a generous amount of mousse and poured it on her body, his own breathing picking up as he watched the slightly viscous mixture cascade down her bare chest. "That kind of tickles," Y/N remarked shyly, keeping her eyes trained downwards as she couldn't bring herself to look at him.

As I thought...this is kind of embarrassing after all.

Kuroo sensed her apprehension. He leaned towards her and pressed a reassuring kiss on her cheek, a gentle smile adorning his face. "I'll be cleaning this off of you in no time."

Before Y/N could process the implications of his words, she flinched in surprise as Kuroo's tongue boldly lapped up the mousse on her chest, her hands immediately moving towards his hair as she trembled in pleasure. His hands on her thighs, he abruptly pulled her closer towards him, her legs wrapping around his waist in the process. The sweetness of the mousse and the lustful moans Y/N released overwhelmed his senses as he ran his tongue over her nipple, her hands tightening its grip on his hair in response. It was starting to hurt a bit as she pulled at the strands, completely lost in her own passion as he stimulated her, yet Kuroo didn't mind; rather, it only encouraged him further as he began to take her nipples into his teeth, causing her to cry out at the sensations he induced.

"T-tetsurou...enough, please," she begged in-between gasps as she lifted Kuroo's head from her chest, her eyes dazed and completely overcome with desire.

"All right, all right. I'll stop," he rescinded, pulling away from Y/N slightly as he grinned at the panicked expression on her face.

"N-no, that's not what I-"

"You want me to touch you elsewhere, right?" Kuroo once more reached for the ladle and poured a generous amount of mousse along her thighs. In an instant, he was down on his knees as he positioned her legs atop his shoulders, the new angle allowing him an enticing view of her soaked core. Glancing up momentarily at her, he shuddered in pleasure as he noticed the lustful way she was looking at him.

Licking his fingers clean, he kissed hungrily down her thigh, his tongue darting out to lap up the sweet mixture. Y/N moaned uncontrollably, twining her fingers with the strands of his hair in an attempt to keep him in place. Kuroo's mouth eventually reached her inner thigh, the warm breaths he let out teasing her entrance. He looked up once more to seek out her permission as the single nod she managed was all the confirmation he needed.

His lips and tongue began to stimulate her most sensitive parts, Y/N's grip on his hair tightening as she gasped out in pleasure. She was intoxicating, the high-pitched noises and gestures she made guiding him in his ministrations. As soon as his lips touched her sweet spot, she jerked in surprise, causing Kuroo to cease his actions. "What's wrong? Did that feel good for you?"

Y/N nodded earnestly as she looked down at him; the sight of Kuroo on his knees with his head in-between her legs was just too much to take. Taking her silence as a signal to continue, he resumed his earlier actions, her every response, no matter how miniscule, fueling his own arousal. He decided to take it even further as the deliberate moans he let out caused Y/N to whimper at how pleasurable the vibrations felt.

"T-tetsurou...!" She gasped, her insides tightening which signaled her fast-approaching release. Kuroo made no attempt to stop as the movement of his lips and tongue intensified, pushing her on the verge of coming. Her entire body began to tremble and it wasn't long before she finally climaxed, her upper body slumping forward as she struggled to regain her breathing.

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Kuroo swiftly stood and allowed Y/N to lean into his embrace, his hands stroking her hair as her breathing eventually evened. "You okay?"

"Y-yeah, thanks for that," she mumbled in embarrassment, her head pressed against his chest as she listened to his heartbeat, her eyelids gradually becoming heavier.

However, Kuroo was far from being done. He tipped up her chin, all traces of his earlier composure long gone from his face. "Sorry Y/N. We're not done yet. Not when you got me all worked up from that." He drew back and gently pulled her arm, his hands moving to provide support as she hopped down from the counter, her legs slightly wobbling. Her entire body still felt quite sensitive from the remnants of her earlier passion, yet she was eager for more.

His hands moved frantically as he turned Y/N around and pushed her down, her front pressing against the cool surface of the granite countertop. She heard Kuroo curse under his breath as he took in her new position, her face burning at how much more exposed she felt; yet, she couldn't deny the anticipation she felt for what's to come. "Hurry..."

"Shit, hold on...let me just-" Kuroo was frantic now, completely engulfed in his own desire as he reached for his pocket for a condom; he always kept one in hand for "emergency purposes", as he claimed. Holding the packet momentarily between his teeth, his fingers fumbled as he unbuckled and unbuttoned his slacks. Ripping the wrapper off with his teeth, he proceeded to put the condom on, positioning himself behind Y/N. He wrapped his arm around her waist to pull her close as his other hand held his throbbing length. "I'm going in."

He plunged himself deep, both of them moaning uncontrollably at the sensation of their joined bodies. Her insides were unbearably warm and tight, yet she still managed to take in the entirety of his shaft so easily. Snapping his hips forward, Kuroo let out a throaty groan as their position allowed him to reach even deeper parts inside of her. Completely overcome with his overwhelming need, he began thrusting wildly, his grip on her waist tightening.

Y/N grasped the edges of the countertop at the sheer force of his thrusts, her entire being staggering at how relentlessly Kuroo made love to her; but, she was not one to complain as she eventually moved her hips along with his, taking him even deeper than before.

"Shit...Y/N, you feel so good," Kuroo moaned, his teeth nibbling along her earlobe. It was during times like these when she and him indulged in each other that Kuroo strays from his usual composed and laid-back demeanor; she took pride in being able to witness and experience this completely different side of him.

Their lustful moans echoed throughout the apartment, yet despite her current state-of-mind, Y/N managed to recollect herself, well-aware of their neighbors risking on hearing them. She brought up her hand to her mouth to silence herself; however, Kuroo withheld her attempt to do so, too far gone to care about such matters.

"It's too late for that now. Don't hold yourself back, let me hear you." The unbearably seductive manner he had whispered those words fueled Y/N's desire ten-fold, and it wasn't long before she felt her incoming release as her insides tightened, eliciting a throaty groan from Kuroo.

"I-I'm close...Tetsurou...!" She began calling for him even louder then before. Gritting his teeth, Kuroo wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her to a standing position, the new angle allowing him to plunge himself even deeper. His release was fast-approaching as well, his mouth falling atop her shoulder to stifle the lewd noises he was making. Y/N reached up and grasped his hair to keep him in place, her hips moving urgently against his as he showered her neck and shoulders with kisses.

It was just too much to bear, the lustful noises she made intensifying at the sensations he invoked. Moaning out her name, Kuroo lifted her leg and increased his pace, the pleasure of their love-making pushing them on the verge of insanity as they eventually climaxed, Y/N's entire body slumping against his body. Their chests heaving, Kuroo brushed his lips against her cheek, carefully pulling out of her as he collected her languid form into his arms, both of them gradually coming down from their high.

"I love you," he murmured tenderly, his lips brushing against the top of her head.

"I love you, too." Y/N's hands grasped his blazer, glancing upwards to return his smile with her own, both of them in a state of euphoria. It was short-lived, however, as she immediately recollected herself, her panicked eyes darting around the kitchen. "Oh my god, the gratin! And the steak, it's probably oxidized by now...and the chocolate mousse! Only you got to eat it, Tetsurou, you idiot!"

Kuroo couldn't hold back his laughter as she scrambled around the kitchen to collect her discarded clothes, abruptly switching the oven off before moving to check on the remaining dishes of their long-forgotten date night dinner. However, he stopped her in her tracks as he gathered her once more into his embrace. "Before that, I think we should clean up the counter - and more importantly - ourselves first. Besides, even if you feed me burnt crap, I'd still be happy to eat anything you make."

He'd expect her to swoon over his words, yet she only shot him a narrowed look, her hands pushing against his chest. "Butter me up all you want, you're not escaping dish duty tonight."

Kuroo chuckled and watched in amusement as Y/N marched to their bathroom to take a shower, his hands reaching for a rag and disinfectant. He proceeded to wipe the countertop clean, the grin on his face widening as he did. "It was still worth a shot."

#haikyuu #haikyuu fanfiction #kuroo tetsurou #smut #kuroo x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu kuroo #request

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dirt-cup-draco · 4 years

Text

Fred x Reader - Truth or Dare

Can I request a Fred x reader?They + some buds are playing T or D in common room with actual truth potion,you avoid doing a truth at all cost and have to go through the most mental dares.But George catches on + gets cheeky like ’I dare you to tell us why you havent picked truth’.At first you dont speak coz if you do you’ll confess your feelings for Fred.Coz you cant tell truth if you dont say anything.You can pick how it goes after😊sorry this if this is too long,I haven’t requested a fic before

Fred had his arm slung around your shoulder affectionately as you chatted idly with Lee and George. He sipped at his firewhisky, eyes moving about the room as the party had started to slow. The smart kids were turning in for the night, knowing they still had classes once the sun rose the next morning. The eager kids were already wasted, tripping over themselves and rushing to the nearest toilet as their stomach won out over their heads. The rest of you whoever were swaying comfortably to the music that had been turned down.

The night was coming to an end but Fred wasn’t ready. You were warm and pliant against his side and he was soaking up every second. It wasn’t rare for you to be this close, you had been closer to George once upon a time but the two of you had steadily melded together. George was still your best friend but Fred knew he was different. Fred knew you liked him, it might have something to do with the fact that George got tired of the both of you going to him with your tales of woe. Fred supposed his twin could only handle so much of, “Why doesn’t he/she like me back?” before he snapped. Fred considered himself lucky that his twin was such a miserable secret keeper.

Fred nursed his drinking, nodding subtly at George whose face split into a wicked grin. “Alright everyone who is sober enough to walk,” George teased as he announced to the Gryffindors partying around him, “It’s time to play...” He stalled, pretending to play the drums as he smacked Lee’s back in a rhythm that had people turning his way. “Truth or Dare!”

Fred felt you tense momentarily but then you were pulling away. “And that is where I take my leave,” You declared but George whirled on you as Angelina sat on the floor, Fred following her lead as the other other participants followed suit by making a wide circle.

“Nonsense!” George encouraged, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and guiding you to the circle where he sat you right across from Fred. You looked nervous and Fred would have otherwise been bothered if he wasn’t positive that you were just nervous about telling him how you felt. He was giddy for the night to unfold.

George, however, wanted to draw it out. Fred had been hoping that his brother would coax you to pick truth quite early, leaving the rest of the night for whatever the two of you decided to do. It seemed that neither you or George wanted that to happen as you picked dare once again. After several wicked dares that had you leaving an article of clothing in Filch’s office as well as lobbing a dungbomb into the Slytherin’s commonroom as well as Snape’s potions classroom, you were tired and ready to turn in.

“Dare,” You sighed, shoulders heavy as George thought for a moment. You hated this game, it had nothing to do with the juvenile dares and questions and everything to do with the look George had been giving you all night. He wasn’t going to go easy on you and you were desperate to escape. It was impossible though as Fred cheered you on every time you completed a wacky dare, a smile on his face. You hated to admit it but you craved validation from the boy who sat criss-cross in front of you, his clothes switched with Angelina’s as he teased that he thought he look ravishing in her skirt.

Fred’s eyes traveled to you and a frown tugged at his lips. You didn’t look like you were having fun at all. George was looking quite maniacal, the cogs of his brain turning so quick steam should have been coming out of his ears. Fred didn’t like the look of this.

“Alright, Y/N, I dare you to tell us why you haven’t picked truth all night long,” George quipped. “And no lies,” he added as you opened your mouth and then promptly shut it. This happened a few more times, your mouth opening but then clamping back shut as your eyes darted around the group that had slimmed in the past hour as Lee, Angelina, George, Katie, Fred and you remained.

Even that was overwhelming apparently as your stomach churned and your palms became clammy, heart thudding against your chest. “I’m sorry,” You muttered as you stood quickly, stepping over the mess of discarded cups and a shoe without it’s pair as you vanished to your dorm.

“Nice going!” Fred scolded. “I wanted you to get her to talk, not scare her off!”

George realized he had been a bit too hard on you but he wanted you and his brother to be happy, he regretted upsetting you however. It seemed like all would be well though as his twin got up and chased after you.

“What’s that all about?” Lee asked, puzzled.

“Do you try to be this stupid?” Katie rolled her eyes, silently cheering you and Fred on.

Meanwhile Fred caught you just before you slammed the door to your dorm shut. “Y/N, hey, what’s going on?” He asked as you slumped on your bed, rubbing frustrated tears from your eyes. His heart ached. Fred may have scolded his brother but he had just been doing what Fred had asked him to do.

“’M just tired Freddie,” You gave your poor excuse, kicking your shoes off.

“Are you sure?” Fred pressed. “It didn’t have anything to do with what George asked?”

“Oh come off it!” You burst out. “What does it matter?” Fred shut up and looked downcast. You let out a strained breath. “I’m sorry, I’m just not ready to... admit some personal things,” You said carefully. “Truth or dare makes me really uncomfortable.”

Fred came to sit beside you, hand running up and down your back carefully as you leaned into him, head lulling against his shoulder. “Would it make you feel better if I admitted something?” Fred asked as he shifted, and you followed, now directly across from each other, knees bumping together as you crossed your legs underneath you.

You watched Fred as he grew timid. His fair skin gave him away every time and he was blushing as he picked at a loose thread on your bed cover. “Is something wrong?” You asked, suddenly worried. The redhead reassured you immediately everything was alright with a shake of his head and his hold on your hand.

“I just should have come talk to you first,” He started with and you looked puzzled.

“About?” You coerced.

“You,”

“You should have come talk to me first about...me?” You weren’t following. Fred sighed and began to rock gently in his place, his nerves getting the better of him as you squeezed his hand to help relax him.

“Yeah, but instead I asked George a couple of days ago to try and get everyone together for truth and dare once we won the quidditch game-”

“Cocky,” You giggled but Fred just continued.

“-and he obviously did that, I just didn’t think that he would go so hard on you. Maybe more than that I thought you would pick truth sooner. I didn’t think you wouldn’t get upset either which was my fault, I know you don’t like being put on the spot-” Fred was speaking quickly, his train of thought derailing quickly and with seemingly no survivors.

“Woah, woah,” You interrupted. “Slow down. So let me get this straight, you asked George to start a truth of dare game so I would pick truth and say what exactly?”

“That you like me?” Fred finished for you, his phrase turning into a question as he became sheepish, now suddenly worried you didn’t feel the same and he would have only succeeded in angering you and ruining your friendship.

“Y-you know?” You asked, suddenly pale.

“Yes,” Fred confirmed but noticed the panic in your eyes. You were beginning to apologize when he cupped your cheeks in his hands. “But I wanted you to admit it because I like you too! A lot... It seems I’ve just mucked things up though,” He sighed, dejected.

“Say it again,” You pleaded, needing to fully grasp what he was saying.

“I really like you Y/N,” Fred admitted, more sturdy and confident this time.

You let a smile break out on your face and you held your hands over his to keep them in place. “I have to say, you did muck up things,” Fred’s expression fell. “But nothing so bad a kiss or two wouldn’t fix it,”

“You mean-?” Fred blushed.

“Kiss me,” You giggled, as he nodded excitedly, rushing forward to kiss you. It was eager and sloppy, your nose sore from him missing the mark the first time and bumping it but that faded to the background as he tried again and you two fell into an easy rhythm.

“I like you Fred,” You finally admitted aloud, the fear gone as he looked at you in a way you had never seen, or maybe just never noticed, before.

“Clearly,” He teased but pulled you back to him, not having had gotten enough of your lips on his.

Maybe you didn’t hate truth or dare as much as you thought.

#fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred x reader #anon #anon ask #request #ask #anon this is awesome #i love this #this is an amazing request <3 #not too long at all!#drabble

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jbbarnesnnoble · 4 years

Text

Leap Day

Summary: Leap Day is approaching and you have your eye on a guy from accounting. You work in a research capacity with the Avengers, scouring intelligence reports and doing research on localities where missions pop up, which means working closely with Captain America. When you’re overheard talking to Natasha about asking out the guy from accounting on Leap Day, Steve and Bucky go to great lengths to ensure that doesn’t happen.

Features/Warnings: Dark!/Grey!Stucky. Elements of manipulation, potential dubcon (not so much in this part but in part two if I write a part two)

Pairing: Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes/Reader

Notes: This fic has elements of manipulation. Steve and Bucky are underhanded and manipulative in getting what they want and if I write a part two that incorporates smut it will be dubcon. While I read dark!fic I don’t typically write it. This is me dipping my toes in that particular pool. Please let me know if you’d like to see a part two.

Word Count: 2896

You sat in the kitchen of the Avengers living quarters at the compound. You were the resident researcher, the one who went through intelligence reports to compile details for briefings, the one who did research on the places the team would be going on everything from the government to local customs and the general lay of the terrain. Your job meant you worked closely with Captain America--sorry Steve, as he insisted you call him. Two years into your job and you still had a hard time with that one, even if you did consider him a friend. It had been at his insistence that you had moved into their section of the compound six months into your job there.

Natasha was sat across from you, the two of you locked in a discussion on your love life, or rather the lack thereof. It was a Sunday and most of the team was scattered. It was a day off, except for light training, no mission on the horizon.

“So just ask him out. Leap Day is Saturday. You know there’s that whole tradition where women ask out guys on Leap Day,” she said. You laughed.

“He doesn’t work on Saturdays…besides I thought that was proposals,” you said. She smirked.

“You can still ask him out. Worst case, he says no, you move on with your life,” she said. You sighed. Rick worked in the accounting department. You crossed paths once in a while and you were smitten. You knew he had been flirting with you. There was no misinterpreting it. But neither one of you had made a move yet.

“Easier said than done. Rick’s just so...he’s the guy who all the girls would swoon for if this was high school. I don’t know that I can just ask him out,” you said.

“Just do it. One of you has to,” she said. In the living area, Steve and Bucky both tensed as they listened to your conversation with Natasha. It wouldn’t do to have their girl going out with someone else, especially someone from accounting who could never protect her the way they could.

“I think we need to pay the accounting office a visit tomorrow,” Steve said, his voice low. Bucky nodded in agreement.

“I think we do,” he said. The two sat in silence for a while longer, listening to what you and Natasha were saying. You’d see how wrong Rick was for you, and how right the two soldiers were. They just had to show you first.

Monday morning you headed to the accounting office, two cups of coffee in hand. You handed one to Rick as you found your way to his desk, a smile on your face.

“So, I was thinking. Maybe we could go out tomorrow?” you asked him. His smile fell. You could already feel the sting of rejection settling in.

“You’re a great person, a good friend, but...I don’t see you that way. I’m sorry,” he told you. You felt the sting of tears in your eyes. How had you misread the situation so poorly? You were sure he’d been flirting with you, sure that he was into you.

“Oh...I...okay, yeah. Um, have a good day?” you replied, unsure of what else to say before turning on your heel and heading for your office. You shut the door as soon as you were safely inside, letting the tears fall. Stupid, stupid, stupid. You chastised yourself. It was high school all over again. Of course someone like him wasn’t into you. You had been foolish to think otherwise. You were pulled from your thoughts by someone clearing their throat. You let out a startled yelp, seeing Steve and Bucky sitting in the two chairs across from your desk.

“What’s wrong?” Steve asked you. You shook your head.

“Nothing you need to worry about Captain Rogers,” you said. You saw the look of concern on his face as he stood and strode over to you. You were surprised when he brought a hand to your face, wiping away the tears that were still falling. Bucky was quick to join him.

“You’re our friend, doll. We’re going to worry when you come in looking like someone just broke your heart. Who do we gotta go have a chat with?” Bucky asked.

“No one. It’s nothing. I was foolish for thinking someone like him could like me. That’s all,” you told them, pulling away and heading for your desk. You had had a crush on both soldiers once upon a time when you started. But once you settled and got to know them, it passed. They had become good friends, after some insistence on their part.

“Someone like who, sweetheart?” Steve asked. You shook your head.

“You two aren’t here to talk about my relationship woes. What did you need?” you asked, your tone slightly clipped. The sooner you got them out of your office the sooner you could have your breakdown in relative peace.

“We wanted to go over the latest intel report with you, about the situation in Ottawa. But that can wait. Why don’t you take the day off?” Steve asked. You shook your head.

“I have far too much to get done today to do that,” you replied. The soft expression on his face hardened. You had never seen that look directed toward you.

“You’re taking the rest of the day off. No arguing. You report to me. And I’m telling you, it can wait until tomorrow,” he said, leaving no room for you to argue. Bucky gave you a small smile.

“Besides, we’re done with our work for the day. This was the only thing we needed to do today. We can go out and you can tell us what’s bothering you, doll,” Bucky said. You sighed. You missed the look the two shared as your shoulders sagged in defeat. There was no getting out of doing what Steve wanted, not when you knew he had no issue picking you up and forcing you out of your office. You stood and gathered your things, still missing the silent exchange between the two men.

“Good girl. Now, why don’t you go change into something more comfortable? We’ll go to that Italian place you like in town, hm?” Steve asked. You bristled at the first part of his comment. You took a moment before answering him.

“I think I’d rather just stay in. Have some time to myself tonight,” you said. His expression changed to something you couldn’t quite read.

“If you’re sure...you know where you can find us if you change your mind. We’ll always make time for you, doll,,” Bucky said as the three of you exited your office. The door locked automatically behind you, thanks to FRIDAY. You just nodded at him, before heading for the residential building that housed the team. The duo headed in the opposite direction, toward Steve’s office. Once the door was closed, Steve gave him a look of annoyance.

“You should’ve insisted she go out to dinner with us,” he snapped. Bucky shook his head.

“Too much, too soon. If we want her to want us, we need to do this right. Push just enough. You almost had her running like a scared rabbit with your good girl comment. What happened to “let’s ease her into this”, or was that never your plan?” Bucky asked. Steve ran a hand through his hair.

“You’re right. I got ahead of myself. She makes it so easy to want her,” Steve replied.

“We just have to be patient. We handled the Rick problem. Now we just have to wait for her to seek us out,” Bucky said.

By five in the afternoon, you found yourself looking for the two. You found them lounging in the living area, Steve reading over a mission report and Bucky reading a book. You leaned against the wall, not wanting to interrupt the two. Steve glanced up and smiled when he saw you.

“Change your mind?” he asked, causing Bucky to look up as well. You nodded.

“Yeah...I was thinking I could go for some Italian,” you said. They both stood up and walked toward you.

“How about you go shower and change into something nice. We’ll make a night of it,” Steve said. While it was phrased like a suggestion, his tone was commanding. You felt your face warm and a fluttering in your stomach. You nodded at the two before heading to your room to take a quick shower. You chose a simple dress, one of your favorites for the time of year, slipping on a pair of flats. You opted against putting on makeup. It was a dinner with friends, you didn’t need to go to that much effort. You headed to the common area, to find they were already there waiting, both men wearing dress pants and button downs. You shook your head, reminding yourself to get a grip.

“Ready, doll?” Bucky asked offering his arm for you to link yours with. You smiled.

“Yeah,” you said, linking your arm with his. Steve came up along your other side, wrapping an arm around your waist. You could only assume what others who saw you would think.

Dinner was nice. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say it was a date. As far as you were concerned, it was two friends taking you out to cheer you up to take the sting out of the rejection you had faced.

They walked you to your door at the compound when you returned. You stood outside your door and turned toward the two men.

“Thank you. I was feeling pretty low. I thought...I really thought he liked me. I don’t understand where I misinterpreted things,” you said. Steve brought a hand up to your cheek, tilting your head so you were looking at him.

“His loss. A guy like that? He doesn’t know how to treat a woman like you,” Steve said. You weren’t sure who made the first move, but his lips met yours in a gentle but demanding kiss. You were breathless when he pulled away, acutely aware of Bucky’s presence beside you. You were turned around suddenly to face him. Unlike Steve, his kiss wasn’t gentle. When he pulled away, you looked between the two men.

“I don’t...I don’t understand I thought,” you said trailing off. Everyone had their suspicions about the two.

“Doll, we’ve liked you for a while. And if you’re willing...we’d both like to take you on another date, see where this thing goes,” Bucky said, ducking his head a little. His eyes met Steve’s. Things were clicking into place.

“I...people will talk,” you protested. You felt the fire ignite inside you at the thought of being with them both, but you knew what people would say.

“Forget what others will say, doll. We can make you happier than some accountant,” Bucky all but growled. You paused. You had never mentioned that the guy you had asked out worked in accounting.

“How did you--,” Steve cut you off with another kiss. You tried shoving him away but you knew it was no use. You were confused.

“Don’t you worry about how we know doll. He wasn’t right for you,” Bucky said. Steve pulled away from you.

“Now, sweetheart, why don’t you go on, get ready for bed. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow,” Steve said. You nodded, still a bit dazed from the kiss. You missed the door handle at first, drawing chuckles from the two supersoldiers. Once you were inside and the door was shut, you let the events of the day play out. Maybe they had overheard you and Nat at some point. It was the only explanation that made sense.

In the apartment they shared, Steve and Bucky sat down on the couch. They were quiet, both relishing in the fact that they had gotten to kiss you.

“We could’ve had her tonight,” Bucky grumbled.

“Weren’t you the one telling me to be patient earlier?” Steve asked with a grin. Bucky groaned.

“I take it back. She’s so...she’s perfect,” Bucky said.

“Soon. Like you said, Buck, we need to take this slow.

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The next morning you were up early. You were briefing the team that morning on the mission they’d be leaving for that afternoon, Steve and Bucky included. You had given thought to the previous night, deciding that while you liked both men, right now you couldn’t put yourself in that position. You slipped into the conference room, coffee in hand. You were startled to find Steve and Bucky already there.

“Careful doll,” Bucky said, plucking the coffee from your hands and setting it down. You set the folders down beside it, each one marked with a name. You pulled away when Steve moved to hug you.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, a frown on his face. You sighed.

“I thought about it. You guys are great but...I don’t think I’m in a position to well, put myself in that position,” you said.

“Was it something we said?” Bucky asked, concern laced in his tone. He tried to think about anything that could have put you off. He and Steve didn’t account for this.

“No, no. It’s...you guys are well, you. I’m me. You might not care what people think or say but...I’m not in a position where I can’t care. I don’t want people to think I have this position because of who I’m with. I don’t want to ruin our friendship either,” you said. Steve moved to say something, to argue, but stopped when he saw the subtle shake of Bucky’s head.

“If that’s what you want, doll. It doesn’t change how we feel. You know where to find us if you change your mind,” Bucky said as the door opened, Natasha shuffling in with Sam and Wanda.

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You found yourself on Tinder in the absence of the team. Your only company was FRIDAY. Three days into the mission, you found yourself on a date with a guy named Wes. He was charming and funny. He was a school teacher, you had learned, teaching US history at a local high school. The team was due to be gone for the month, if not a little longer. The mission had taken a turn and you were working through the intel. In that time, one date turned to three turned into the two of you putting a label on things.

You weren’t at the compound when the quinjet landed. Steve and Bucky shared a look of concern while Wanda handed Natasha several bills. Natasha smirked.

“How did you know she wouldn’t be here?” Wanda grumbled.

“I checked her Instagram. She’s out with the guy she’s seeing. Spending the night from the looks of it,” Natasha said. Steve’s shield clattered to the ground, drawing the attention of the team.

“Must be more tired than I thought,” Steve said, picking up the shield. He wasn’t happy with this development and he could practically feel the tension radiating off of Bucky. They headed to their apartment in silence. Once inside, Bucky went to shower without saying a word as Steve pulled out his laptop. He found your Instagram with ease. For someone who worked in intelligence, you left your social media wide open.

He was quick to find out all he needed to about this Wes Everett you were seeing. A background check came up clean. Parents still alive, three older brothers and a sister. Youngest of five. And decidedly not good enough for you. No one was. Only he and Bucky could give you what you needed. Bucky entered the room, sweatpants slung low around his waist. He seemed calmer, but still on edge.

“Wes Everett, thirty years old, school teacher and the youngest of five kids. Not a single thing wrong with him on paper,” Steve grumbled.

“When are we going to pay him a visit?” Bucky asked.

“Tomorrow, once she’s home,” Steve said. Bucky nodded. It was in your best interest that things with Wes end before you got hurt. Because he’d hurt you in the end, they were convinced.

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Like clockwork, you were in the communal living room, crying. You had a movie on that you weren’t paying attention to. Bucky sat down beside you.

“What’s wrong doll?” he asked, concern on his face. You let out a sob.

“I really thought it would last. He was a good guy,” you cried.

“Whoa, whoa, let’s back up, who?” he asked.

“I’ve been seeing this guy, Wes. He was so good, so sweet. He broke up with me. Things seemed fine when I left his place this morning. He didn’t have the balls to break up with me to my face. I was really starting to fall for this guy,” you said.

“Come here, doll,” he said, opening his arms. You had no qualms about sitting on his lap and crying into his shoulder. He was Bucky, one of your closest friends there. He ran a hand up and down your back in comfort. Steve entered the room and a small smile emerged on his face as he took in the scene. Your crying had reduced to small whimpers here and there as Bucky whispered words of comfort in your ear.

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soniabigcheese · 4 years

Text

More about me

Wow, looking at everyone’s responses on that Fic Writer’s post, it suddenly struck me as to how accomplished everyone is.

And me?

Under the cut for length, and basically a ‘woe is me’ post Sorry about that

A poor excuse of a person, just getting by with no proper or useful qualifications under my belt per se. I don’t even have the privilege of being a mum. That was taken away from me when I had a hysterectomy way back in 2011 or was it 2013? Adoption agencies made it impossible to adopt or foster due to my weight (not that hubby was all that invested in the idea), we had VERY different views on the ages of the children, he wanted babies, I wanted older. In the end we ... and prospective children lost out.

Yeah, I have an NVQ qualification in Dressmaking. BUT.

That was only because I didn’t want to appear unemployed any more, most jobs asked for qualified people and I fell through the net ... a LOT So I decided to go for this training course to get the dole office off my back.

Then my mum took ill right when I was starting the training, so I was hardly ever there, I barely managed to get through it all but passed... just.

I spent three years looking after my mum ... with barely any help at all. I had to ask a friend of mine to help get my mum out of bed some days, when she was being uncooperative. When she died, the textile industry was outsourced, which left me with a useless qualification. More qualified people snagged those highly sought after sewing repair jobs.

I went through some bad crap in my life, then it started to turn around.

I know these are but small accomplishments but I learned to drive at 30 went bowling at 40

I suppose, my bit of usefulness is ... I know a fair bit about alzheimers and neurology - since I have had a brain tumour (removed, recovery iffy and slow ever since)

Oh and laundry ... as well as the knowledge of the care of certain fabrics/wools etc so they don’t shrink or stretch ... or worse still ... wrinkle to hell and back.

I’m an atheist too. Was baptised but never really took any interest in religion. I was one of only 7 people that had to take Religious Education at school because History or Geography was too full. Same with Latin. Failed those so badly it’s pathetic.

Brain can currently be a turd with me. I remember stuff, then it vanishes. POOF! GONE! Even halfway through a chat online or face to face conversation. That’s why I don’t like to talk face to face with strangers. Because I know I’ll blurt something really weird or random out and they’ll give me funny looks.

Sorry, can’t help it.

I like my own company. Not bothered about going out too much.

That’s about it really.

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waitingformy-fanfiction · 4 years

Text

Why I Have Several Pages of Printed Train Erotica in My Room, a Tale of Woe

This story begins a few years ago, when I was in the middle of a hardcore Starlight Express phase. If you don’t know what StEx is, it’s genderbent Cinderella the musical where all the characters are trains, and the actors perform on roller skates, and I wish I was kidding about any of this, but I freaking love it. So, for my nineteenth birthday, my dear friend @lazulia-fics wrote me...this. Ever since. I have kept a copy of this precious gift on my computer.

Recently, I was cleaning out my fanfiction folder, and I came across it. I clicked on it, but my mousepad has been finicky lately, so instead of opening the file, I received a brief message that the file was printing.

A few things you need to know:

Due to COVID, I have been living at home with my parents since March.

My mom spends most of her time in the office, where the printer is.

Our printer doesn’t work well. 99.9% of the time, it’s either stuck ‘offline’ or just doesn’t print very clearly.

It printed that fanfiction fucking perfectly.

I booked it to the office, and thank God and all that is precious and holy, my mom was in the shower. Nonetheless, I have no idea how to cancel the order, so I watched in horror as page after page of train porn emerged from the printer, frantically snatching each one as soon as I could. Finally, it stopped, I folded up the papers, and I returned to my room with the fruits of my misfortune.

Unfortunately, I was laughing so hard I was crying, and I couldn’t stop, so I ended up having to explain to my mom anyway that I had accidentally printed out several pages of train erotica—I just left out the parts where it was written for me and saved on my computer.

This was several weeks ago, and I still have it. I don’t know what to do with it.

#Fanfiction #Starlight Express

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presumenothing · 4 years

Text

(AO3)

These days Ed’s journals are actual proper travelogues, no coded shit or anything.

…okay, no, there’s still some coded shit because alchemy is an inseparable part of travelling for him and that’s just too damn dangerous to leave out in plain sight. Especially since he can’t just transmute the covers shut anymore.

Besides, old habits are hard to break. Though at least he’s trained himself (with Winry’s enthusiastic “encouragement”) out of accidentally writing shopping lists and stuff in code too, just because half his mind’s still occupied with figuring out a transmutation or three dozen.

But anyway. Somehow he keeps finding that there’s so much to write about these days whenever he arrives in a new place, or even when he visits those they’ve been in before.

(Fine, yes, probably that does say something about how much of a one-track mind he’d had, before – but getting his and Al’s bodies back had been really fucking important, okay?

That was putting it mildly, even, and he’d always consider it a worthy exchange even if it did make him wonder sometimes if there were other things he’d missed back then.)

He doesn’t mail out excitedly longwinded accounts of his journeys like Al does, complete with local recipes, pressed dried flowers, and photos or meticulously-labelled illustrations in place of them. Or that’s what he hears from Winry, at least – when Al sends Ed letters it runs more along the lines of alchemical notes that are thoroughly annotated (and even more thoroughly coded), though sometimes dried flowers still find their way into the envelope because his brother is a ridiculous sensory-addicted dork and Ed loves him to pieces despite the constant risk of pollen allergy.

Luckily the flowers are usually flat enough to double as bookmarks for his journals, which is also a convenient way of marking the progress of his journey against Al’s. So there’s that.

Though letters between them don’t happen very often, what with how very very frequently they change towns (or even countries) entirely.

He’s pretty sure there’s now an urban legend about that time Al’s letter had to be redirected a whole fifteen times before it reached him, and he’s definitely certain the postal system of Amestris and beyond actively hates them both by now.

(Which is seriously uncalled for, since Al always puts more than enough postage to account for the inevitable redirections? But by this point Ed will personally vouch that people everywhere can be unreasonable about the weirdest stuff. Turns out Amestris doesn’t have a monopoly on that. Possibly not even the biggest market share.)

And of course it’s almost always Al doing the sending. Contrary to what Mustang believes Ed is actually capable of semi-tidy handwriting when he needs to be – how the hell else would he draw transmutation circles and not have them blow up in his face?

But one time Ed had just gotten so immediately carried away that he’d written his reply on whatever he’d had on hand right then, which amounted to three crumpled-then-flattened-again receipts, a map from the last town, and the back of the envelope that Al had sent his letter in.

(Al’s answering letter had come with five crisply-folded sheets of blank paper; Ed could practically hear the sigh coming from it.)

So now that they’ve acknowledged that letter-writing isn’t Ed’s strong point even when it’s about alchemy, and since Al’s all for being super-organised about everything – the resemblance the Hawkeye is really starting to get terrifying – and makes plans in advance far more than Ed does (which is to say not at all), Al now includes also-coded lists of telephone numbers in his letters, along with the dates when he expects to be contactable at each place.

This way Al can continue taking however long he likes to compose each letter (and he definitely adds to them over different days, Ed can tell by the writing) while Ed can call right back to discuss seven different theories at once, and woe betide anyone who tries to bug their phone calls without at least a university library’s worth of theoretical alchemy to back it up.

It’s a great arrangement, and Ed doesn’t have to write any letters. His brother is a genius.

The resounding success of this arrangement also reminds Ed that there are more ways to say hi, still not dead! than just letters (because, once again: impossible), since so many people have insisted on expressing completely unnecessary worry over his decision to travel alone.

(Hawkeye had only expressed an offer to teach him self-defence via firearm, and when he turned that down she’d instead produced a wallet of alarmingly convincing fake documents under a half-dozen not-Edward-Elric names. “Just in case,” she’d said, which still hadn’t explained why there’d been a pass from Xing proclaiming him to be a diplomat and thus immune to Amestrisan law.

Hawkeye is the best, hands down.)

For Winry he scribbles down the compositions of metal alloys and composites by region alongside rough sketches of interesting-looking designs, and most of the time he even remembers to record all this through an engineering lens rather than an alchemical one. He collects the scraps of notes and mails them once he’s gathered enough, which he usually does every few weeks, though he saves the actual material samples for when they meet in-person because they’re just too damned troublesome to mail. (He doesn’t really send anything separate for Granny Pinako, except for that one magazine clipping from Creta that had dedicated one full-page spread to Rockbell Automail’s advances, along with a hastily-done translation on the back.)

Mustang’s team gets the occasional joke souvenir; Ed knows that Breda and Havoc have a betting pool going (because of course they do) on who can most accurately guess where he’ll go next, so he always makes sure to get things that aren’t obviously tied to any place, and addresses the parcels to Hawkeye directly because he trusts her to thoroughly destroy the postmarked evidence.

(During their last phone call Al had pretty much admitted to dropping red herrings about Ed’s plans in his letters back to the team, and Ed had laughed so hard he’d needed to sit down.)

But that’s pretty much the most regular of it – Al, Winry, and sowing chaos in Mustang’s office from afar – and no one’s complained yet, so Ed figures this is good enough. Maybe someday when they’re all back together again they can borrow some of his journals to read if they want to; he knows that Winry does enjoy reading about Al’s travels, and if nothing else Al will certainly have fun spotting which parts are actually about alchemy and cracking them.

That’s still some time off anyway.

Right now, though, he’s got a new idea about that alkahestry fusion that Al had written about, and – how the hell do you even dial from Aerugo to Xing?

Ed has no idea, but there’d better be a way or he’s gonna make one, see if he doesn’t.

(more fics here)

#writes fmab fic as a birthday present to myself because that's just how i roll #this entire thing literally started life as just the first sentence alone #i still don't understand how the rest of it happened #hence the nowhere ending #does this count as an ed character study???? i havent the faintest clue #closest i can get to it anyway #fanfiction #mine #fmab #fma

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sabineelectricheart · 3 years

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Guest-House [Pt. 1]

Summary: It is all quiet at the Blue Lion Pension, as Byleth prepares for a night in.

Rating: T - Suitable for teens, 13 years and older, with some violence, minor coarse language, and minor suggestive adult themes.

Words: 1308

Notes: So, it’s not my first multichapter fic ever, but it is the first time I have finished writing it before posting, so it might be the first one I take no hiatus or feel discouraged. I hope you like it.

Tonight, Byleth Eisner will spend alone. The people she usually spent time with were out in the town, leaving her behind to man the fort.

A night out with the lads. Nothing special, it is a recurrent event. Every Moon, her tenants would go out for the night, just the eight of them. That leaves her with the house to herself. She usually takes a bath, do a face-mask and watch some streamed movies on the big screen downstairs. Most of the time some bloody Almyran horror, one that the boys never want to watch, despite assuring her on many occasions that they do not get scared from stupid movies.

There is nothing different this night, and the green-haired young woman cannot help but feel glad about it. Taking care of her cubs was a full-time job, and she had another one of those on top of it.

Byleth had been helping on their guest-house ever since she was born, but this is the first time she takes care of their tenants all by herself. When her parents wed, many a year ago, they bought this old house just around the corner from the University of Garreg Mach gates.

To complement their income from their jobs at the Church of Seiros, the main sponsor of the university, they offered rooms for rental to her father’s friends, acquaintances and relatives from the Province of Faerghus, a place to stay during college. The place was convenient, being so close to the main schools and lecture halls, but also very clean, beautiful and coddled with the warm care of Sitri’s and the tough, disciplined love of Jeralt’s.

As the years passed them by, as the alums from their little guest-house grew in number and sent forward their own college-aged children with glowing recommendations, her mother was always proud to say that the Blue Lion Pension was the best in the Upper City. Certainly not apropos of nothing, they were always woe to accommodate every student that wished to reside there, as Faerghusians of all walks of life reached out to them for a room.

This semester, however, her mother got an opportunity to work in Enbarr for the Southern Church. It would be temporary, but absolutely invaluable for her studies on theology. Of course, moving tens of hundreds of kilometres south was not conductive with keeping a students’ guest-house. The choice weighed heavily on Sitri’s heart, as she felt neither seemed really the right answer.

As she witnessed her mother’s unwillingness to let her tenants go without a place to stay, of closing down, even if temporarily, a business she worked so hard to build from the ground up, Byleth offered to take care of it, at least so the Year Four students could finish their education and do not worry about moving out. It was merciful of her, as looking for a lease would be harsh to conciliate on top of exams, the bar and their term papers.

It seemed only natural to her, however. She was just finished with her master’s dissertation and was on a lull at the coffeeshop she worked down the street, so it would not be too much of a trouble. Life gave an opportunity to do something nice for her mother and the tenants, and so she jumped on it.

Besides, with or without her parents, she took care of her cubs for four years, now. It seemed cold-hearted to throw them out on the streets for the next great thing that came around their home.

There were eight tenants this year at the Blue Lions Pension. Ashe Ubert and Dedue Molinaro shared Room 1, next to the kitchen. Annette Dominic and Mercedes von Martritz shared Room 3 and Ingrid Galatea occupied Room 4 on the first floor. On the third floor, Room 7, by the stairs, was occupied by Felix Fraldarius, Room 8 belonged to Sylvain Gautier and Room 10 housed Dimitri Blaiddyd. Byleth had a suite on the attic and her parents’ room was on the basement.

They were a lively bunch, and after four years together, she came to care deeply for this batch of cubs, as the students that stayed on the guest-house were known across campus. As much as she appreciated her tenants, however, Byleth would not begrudge herself some time with her own thoughts every now and again, and so was more than glad to stay behind as they held their private party away from the house.

She said goodbye to the excited troupe, took a bath and now she is sitting in the living room about to start her gory slash film when their landline starts to ring. They kept it so the students could contact their parents in case of an emergency and vice-versa, but it has been a while since it last rung.

The phone was kept at the head office, and it was a bit of an ordeal to find the keys and unlock the door to the room while the damn thing rang obnoxiously.

“I’m coming, I’m coming…” She mutters. “Hello?”

“BYLETH? IS THAT YOU?!” Sylvain screams through the phone.

He is drunk. It was quick even for the ginger skirt-chaser, as it is not even past nine. Though, honestly, it does not quite surprise her. She has gone out with her tenants once in her life, too. Sylvain and the girls are usually the first ones to get inebriated, followed by Ashe, then Felix, Dedue and, on a rare occasion, Dimitri after that. Rare indeed, that man almost never loses sight of himself. A Blaiddyd thing, she is assured.

She can only hope they are taking care of Mercedes. She gets grabby whenever she is intoxicated and Byleth does not want to bail her out from jail due to public indecency again.

“Yes, Sylvain, it is me. You called the guest-house, who else did you expect to take it?” The landlady asks sarcastically. In the background, she can hear loud, electronic music playing. “Where are you?”

“INGRID FOUND A CLUB SOMEWHERE NEAR OUR USUAL BAR!” The redhead shouts once more, and the green-haired woman distances the phone from her ear.

“HEY BYLETH!” Ingrid yells.

The older woman laughs to herself. She cannot imagine them in a club, dancing the night away with the e-boys that populated the more modern dancefloors in Garreg Mach’s scene. Usually, their itinerary when out was comprised of just some drinks at a pub, quiz night if they are feeling frisky.

“Hey, Ingrid.” Byleth greets. “Are you having a good time? Is everything alright with you or should I take the Transporter out?”

Jeralt left the family car, a royal blue Transporter, behind for her to use in case of emergencies. Since they lived in an older part of the city, the streets were narrow and mostly pedestrianized, so driving was an absolute nightmare. The car was meant to be used for driving people to the hospital and the train station, and that is about it.

“THERE’S NO TROUBLE, SILLY YOU!” The inebriated blonde chuckled. “IT IS AMAZING HERE! EVEN DIMITRI IS DRUNK!”

“Dimitri?” She is rather shocked, as it is not like him to get drunk. Especially when there is not really something special to celebrate.

That would also mean there is no designated driver, no-one to stay sober and take care of the others, and so she should wait up for them, lest something bad happens. It was no use to be concerned about it now, though.

“Well, have fun.” Byleth finished cheerfully. “Don’t stay out too late!”

“Can’t promise anything, bitches!” Annette shouts aggressively from behind and the landlady roll her eyes.

“Alright, take care.” She says and hangs up the phone.

She stops by the kitchen to brew herself some coffee and returns to the movie. It will be a long night for her.

*_*_*_*_*

Guest-House Masterlist

Fire Emblem Masterlist

Three Houses Masterlist

#fire emblem #Dimitri Blaiddyd

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betabites · 4 years

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Ramblings on the Atlesian Military and Remnant Warfighters in General

I swear, I was just trying to get inside Winter's head for a fic, and things got out of hand. I have no idea if RWBY's writers know or care how the various military and paramilitary organizations of Remnant are structured. But I, woe to my creative process, have to figure this out, at least in broad strokes.

I'm basing all of this in what shows up in RWBY itself, and in the World of Remnant shorts. And while we don't have tons of details on military organization specifically, militaries reflect their parent culture, and we know a good amount about Remnant culture in general, and several Kingdoms in specific. And, RWBY being a show about awesome ladies kicking tremendous amounts of butt, we have a decent idea of military and paramilitary hardware.

Unlike Terra, Remnant suffers the constant threat of the Grimm. Which has implications for military actions. First of all, since Grimm are drawn to outpourings of negative emotions, anyone who wants to win a battle has to be prepared to win two in a row - first, against the actual enemy, and the second against the Grimm. Second, any long-term battlezone is going to be swarming with Grimm. If an army lays siege, they're going to have to be able to fight off both the Grimm and the defenders.

The bandit clan solution to this is lighting raids - get in, get the loot, get out before the Grimm (or local military) arrives. I'm not convinced that Remnant military operations look much different. Which explains why the Great War took place over so much of the world, as opposed to bogging down in a trench network outside Vale.

As far as the Great War specifically - Mantle and Mistral emphasized the society, Vale and Vacuo the individual. I'm imagining Mantle and Mistral just landing huge armies under tight command, and trying to perform a grand, sweeping, brilliant strategy, and it just keeps bogging down because field commanders have to keep calling back to command to ask for orders. Meanwhile smaller Vale & Vacuo forces, under independent commanders (many of whom are probably partisan guerrillas) are just tearing their opponents to pieces... to a point. Eventually, Mantle and Mistral forces are reduced to a point where they can be effectively coordinated, and they can defeat their smaller opponents in detail. Repeat a few times, with one side having an operational advantage, and the other a strategic advantage. By the end of the war, they've learned a lot from the other side, and everyone bets everything on one last gambit - trying to eliminate Vacuo.

Unlike Terra's Great War, Remnant's Great War doesn't end in humiliation and starvation for one faction. And (so far as we know) it also isn't followed by a world-wide plague and economic downturn. For whatever reason, the conflict post-Great War isn't socio-economic (capitalism, communism, socialism, fascism, conservatism, anarchism), but human/Faunus. And while there is fighting, it doesn't reignite a global conflict. Probably because every Kingdom has Faunus populations, and they try (however poorly) to resolve the issue politically with the foundation of Menagerie.

An aside: this is a history that draws a lot from the US experience. The USA came out of the WW1 fairly well, and wasn't really a participant in the interwar 'political debate via street-fights' that resulted in Nazi Germany and Fascist Italy. They were insulated from the actual causes of WW2, and were brought in because of an incredibly ill-conceived sneak attack (Not that the US wasn't heavily economically involved earlier, via the lend-lease act, and alliances to Entente powers. But that's complicated, and the actual flashpoint for USA entry into the war is a lot easier to teach to young children). So it's not surprising that the Faunus Rights Revolution looks a lot like the Civil Rights Movement, because that's also taught heavily in US schools. With the founding of Menagerie paralleling some of the post-Great War map redrawing in the Middle East, or possibly one of the proposed 'carve out an African diaspora state' ideas.

And that's a lot of words on history - so what are the implications for modern Remnant? First of all, we only see the Atlesian military. Including their deployment in Vale itself. The degree to which this is, by Terran standards, utterly insane, is difficult to overstate. Sure, Ozpin expresses reservations to Ironwood, but I mean - this is like if a USMC rifle company camped out in Olympic Village. The Vytal Festival is a celebration of Remnant's unity, and the only way this is even slightly acceptable by anyone's standards is if the Atlas military is essentially, UN Peacekeepers.

We know that everyone uses Atlesian robots. Not just the Schnee Dust Company, but Atlas hosts what is either an advertisement or a meet-and-greet for their newest model of robots. Which means that Atlas robots, are, effectively, the 7.62x51mm NATO rifle round. Atlas tech, from their robots to CCTS, is a result and perpetrator of Kingdom unity. I suspect that everyone's military forces are based on Atlas patterns, if only because they're probably reliant on Atlas tech.

But first, the weird thing about Atlas. Their Huntress Academy feeds directly into their military. No one else does this. ...At least, not directly. See, Huntresses are licensed by governments. They're not government employees, but they are absolutely state sanctioned to fight the existential war against Grimm. And hunting contracts/bounty boards are almost certainly government-run. Private citizens can absolutely issue contracts (see Jaune's crossing-guard duties), but like a post office, there's no one other than the state that could effectively run a national bounty board. Which is why Lionheart was able to send so many of Mistral's Huntresses to their deaths - he had access, as a Mistral Council member.

Ultimately, Huntresses exist within a government frame-work, but so long as they're hunting Grimm, oversight seems minimal. But, of course, there are dangers other than Grimm. The governments are probably mostly willing to look the other way if a Huntress accepts a contract to deal with some bandits. But someone like Raven, or Ilia, or Tock? Folks with an active Aura who aren't fighting Grimm? Those are a problem. And Atlas' answer to them seems to be the Ace-Ops.

So what does Atlas do with all their military Huntresses? I suspect that they're being used much like Cordovin - anchor points defending Atlesian interests. Which probably includes SDC assets. That's the less idealistic reason for the CCTS - it allows Atlas to co-ordinate their far-flung forces. That it also acts as a show of goodwill is just gravy. Atlas' widely scattered forces also mean that they can reinforce any of the other Kingdoms in the event of a disaster.

Aside - look, all of the Kingdoms are the US in some aspect. Atlas is 'the World's Policeman,' and an exploration of national corruption, fears of a surveillance state, and economic stratification. Vale is how the US wants to be seen, 'the Nation that Won the War,' containing both metropolises and tiny towns, fiercely individualistic. Mistral may be wearing a silk robe, but it's still the US in character. More economic stratification, and a giant sweep of frontier. And mercy, does the US still want to think of itself in frontier terms. Vacuo, I don't think we have enough information to really comment on, but I'd suggest that it's an aspirational combination of more frontier and actual equality.

Getting to the actual military. We kind of have to go off of Atlas' alone here, because we haven't seen anyone else. In accordance with the 'lightning raid' idea, it seems to be heavily vehicular. And honestly? Without an active Aura, I'd want a foot of armor between me and the Grimm. We've seen gunships, armed transports, and mecha. The non-robotic infantry seem to be limited to pairs of guards, with no actual presence of true Huntresses within the ranks.

My theory is that Atlesians who don't qualify for Atlas Academy still serve in the military, but as rank-and-file members - which very likely includes the Air Corps. Their combat academies, unlike Signal, don't have students make their own weapon but instead provide something a lot more recognizable to us as a military academy - sure, there's range time, and plenty of unarmed combat, but also a lot more actual schooling. But fairly early on, the teachers put students on a particular track - so this person will graduate as a combat engineer, that one as a commander, this one as a logistics officer, and that one will actually attend Atlas Academy and receive personalized combat training, but in the meantime, they're going to be studying small unit tactics and intensified general combat training.

Ultimately, Atlas Academy just produces special operatives for the Atlesian military. Very, very useful special operatives, but no more vital than the Air Corps, ultimately. Huntresses are specialists, not an entire military.

I can theorize about the militaries of the other Kingdoms, but we've never seen them, so it probably wouldn't be very effective theorizing. But we do see some other state-controlled violent actors: Mistral and Vale police, and the Menagerie Militia.

The police, by and large, seem to either be your standard law enforcement (supplemented by the standard Atlesian robots), or something more like search-and-rescue, as per the Volume 4 finale. Their ability to wield force is theoretical, not something we've actually seen on screen (apart from some RWBY Chibi gags, which I'm comfortable calling non-canonical). Given the Grimm attraction to negative emotions, focusing law enforcement on de-escalation makes sense. I don't know if there would actually be a paramilitary branch of the police (a la SWAT) or whether that would just fall under military jurisdiction. It probably varies from Kingdom to Kingdom.

The Menagerie Militia is really interesting. Largely because Kali does liaise with Mistral Police, and turns the stand-off with the White Fang into, not a clash between two rival non-state actors (Taurus' White Fang and the Belladonnas' White Fang), but a multi-national anti-terrorist police action. The Mistral Police provide dramatic spotlights, implicit fire support, and, probably most importantly, legitimacy, and the Menagerie Militia operates as a unit against the individual White Fang members. I don't think we can really take the Militia as an example of anything but itself, though. It's in Mistral to deal a morale hit to the White Fang, and, if that doesn't prompt flight or surrender, to use minimal force to disarm their fellow Faunus. Despite the name, they're not really a militia, so much as a posse. They're engaged in police action, they're drawn from the common citizenry, and RWBY deals pretty heavily in Western tropes.

Actually, that's another side note. Standard fantasy settings owe a good bit to the influence of D&D nowadays - mostly indirectly, via various video game franchises. But the medievalism of D&D doesn't look much like actual medieval times, despite the kings. It does look a lot like Westerns, with weak governments relying on parties of roving miscreants to beat back the hordes of savages from the frontiers. I'm well aware of how problematic the last part is. RWBY tries to avoid those particular racist bits by making the threat to civilization be literal hate-seeking monsters. And then, try to show that Remnant culture is full of all kinds of people, with different material cultures and appearances, all more or less co-operating. And then they use the Faunus to try to talk about racism - not always well, but making a better attempt to engage with the material than most fantasy. I mean, Blake has passing privilege - she can pretend to be human, and struggles with that idea. A lot of fantasy is still stuck on Lovecraft and Howard, in terms of race.

To summarize - Atlas is our only model for a modern Remnant army, but we can make some pretty good guessing about them. They're heavily invested in vehicle combat and robotic infantry, because Huntresses are rare, and no one else wants to get into melee with a Grimm. Atlas is heavily invested in a top-down organization, but since the Great War, has been allowing local commanders more initiative. Atlesian military Huntresses are specialists, not necessarily commanders in their own right. Until recently, the Atlesian military has been serving as a sort of global reserve, deploying units to hot spots to assist local forces against the Grimm.

And Salem's finally deployed an army of her own.

#RWBY #Atlas #Huntresses #military history #Beta rambles #with digressions into how very American RWBY is from a historical perspective #how Kali is awesome #racism in D&D

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stars-and-rose · 5 years

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a.s.h.es, ashes (we all fall down) chapter one

Jesus take the wheelie HERE WE ARE

(huge thanks to @broadwaytheanimatedseries for helping me with some of the finer/ kinda fucking important details for this fic! and shoutout to @fuzzylittleb for editing this for me!)

Fandom: Thomas Sanders/Sanders Sides

Pairings: Eventual Logicality, Eventual Prinixety, RED (Remy/Deceit/Emile)(it’s pre-established but it’s in the back seat for a bit), So much platonic Analogical and Royalty oh my god-

Summary: After a recuse gone wrong, SuperHeroes Logan and Virgil find themselves with mysteries on their hands- but most importantly, who in their organization A.S.H. wants Logan dead.

Word Count:4,506

Trigger Warnings: Fire, Injuries, Unconsciousness, Panic Attack, Violence, Cursing

Next>>

Chapter One: Smoke in Your Lungs

Pushing open the glass doors, Logan Cosmos scanned the busy café. He adjusted the bag over his shoulder as he walked towards a booth in the far left corner. When he sat, he snapped his fingers in front of the boy seated across from him. The startled boy jumped, pulling off his headphones and glaring at Logan.

"Hey! You didn't have to do that."

Logan cocked an eyebrow. "Really? You were wearing your noise-canceling headphones, Virgil."

Virgil Tempest shrugged. "They aren't exactly noise-canceling. I mean, for anyone else, I'd bet they would be but for me-"

"Your abilities get in the way?" Logan finished in a hushed tone.

"Yeah. One of the many woes of being a Super. Anyway, how was your class?"

Logan groaned. "To put it simply, my professor is a dumbass."

Virgil winced. "Ooof."

Then Logan sighed, leaning against the table. "Well, a positive. We do not have a mission tonight."

"Thank god."

"Negative: We still have a patrol."

Virgil groaned. "You win some. You lose some. I'm going to need caffeine for this, I'll go order."

Logan glanced at the cash register, where a green-eyed boy was handing an older woman a muffin. "Ah, he's working today."

"Yeah. He's annoying, but I'm more comfortable around him. It makes ordering less stressful when I crack a bad movie joke and he fires one right back." Virgil replied, standing from the booth.

Logan nodded, watching as his best friend walked away. He was so proud of Virgil, he didn't know how to put it into words. Watching Virgil battle his anxiety- watching Virgil win the battles with his anxiety- made Logan smile. As much as being a Super was difficult and tiresome and vexing, at least joining A.S.H. had given Logan his best friend. Through long nights and battle scars and mental breakdowns, Logan and Virgil managed to keep each other in one piece.

As Virgil ordered a dubious amount of caffeine and battled the cashier over some hidden plot in a children's movie, Logan pulled out the tablet A.S.H. provided its Supers, digging it out from under his textbooks and notebooks. A flick of Logan's wrist turned the device on. Another flick opened up a map of their city. Sure, Logan could have done it manually, but sometimes the ease of using his abilities made the irritation of having them dissipate a bit. Logan drew his fingers over the screen, mapping out the area the duo would have to patrol that night.

A few minutes later, Virgil sat down, pushing a large drink across the table to Logan. Virgil barely touched the thing, yet it nearly fell off the table. The grey-eyed boy glared at the cup, and muttered a phrase that was probably "Fuck super strength."

Logan let out a hum and took a sip of his drink, which was the same London fog latte he always ordered on patrol days. Virgil chugged his espresso, then looked down at the map. "Where do we gotta patrol?"

"Few blocks in Southside. It's a residential area, mostly apartment complexes and a convenience store." Logan replied, zooming in on the map.

"Crime rate?"

"Pretty low. A mugging a few weeks back, and other crimes of that sort."

Virgil let out a sigh of relief. "Easy night. Thank god. I have a gig tomorrow afternoon, and honestly, I don't know if I could go through with it if we had a rough night."

Logan arched an eyebrow. "Another wedding?"

"Another fucking wedding. I hate weddings, Lo! Overpriced and tons of strangers."

"Well, usually wedding guests don't hold much conversation with the photographer. Also, some of the expenses of a wedding go to the photographer. Besides, you only need to continue doing these gigs until we retire from A.S.H."

Virgil ran a hand through his messy dark hair; Logan could see the blonde roots Virgil hated so much starting to peek through. "Speaking of A.S.H…." Virgil lowered his voice. "Have you found anything?"

Logan leaned across the table a little more, suddenly aware of how busy the café was. Too many people meant too many ears, and too many ears were too big of a risk. "Some files of old SuperHeroes who died in combat or retired, various recordings of meetings, and a few marked-up articles, all written by the same guy. Why are you so invested into looking into A.S.H.'s files, anyway?"

Virgil shifted in his seat, his eyes flitting around the room. "Just a hunch, okay? I feel like something's up."

The first time Virgil had brought up looking into the organization's files, it had been late at night during a patrol. Logan had tried to convince Virgil there was nothing that A.S.H. would be hiding, but the other Super was invested in the idea. To calm Virgil, Logan had started using his abilities to hack into A.S.H.'s database. At first, it had been simply to placate Virgil, but Logan had been digging for over a month and had only come up with a minuscule amount of information. There was more information, all of it heavily locked, and now Logan's own curiosity and pride were invested in decoding all the files.

Logan glanced down at the clock on the tablet. "We should make our way to Headquarters. Our patrol starts in less than an hour."

Virgil huffed, taking another sip of his drink and shifting in his hoodie. "Can we walk? I really don't feel like taking the bus."

Sliding out of the booth, Logan nodded. "Some fresh air would be nice. Do we need to stop at your apartment for your medicine?"

"I have backups with my suit, I'll take them when we get there if I need to."

Leaving the cafe, they walked through the streets of Azotha to the A.S.H. Headquarters, only stopping once for Virgil to capture a shot of the sunset's light reflecting off a skyscraper.

For the second time that day, Logan opened a pair of glass doors, holding them open for Virgil. The lobby of A.S.H.'s headquarters was mostly empty. The only people in the room were the receptionist who was playing a game on his phone and a pair sitting on the bench. Logan recognized them: a set of first-year partners he and Virgil had helped train. Eliza was a flyer and her partner Kris was the human equivalent of a magnet. Eliza was holding an ice pack on Kris's forehead, angrily scolding them. After quickly checking in quickly with the bored receptionist, Logan and Virgil made their way over to the younger SuperHeroes.

"Is everything all right?" Logan asked.

Kris looked up, their eyes gleaming despite their injury. "You'll never guess what happened! I ran into Knight and Nova!"

A panicked looked passed from Virgil to Logan. Knight and Nova were labeled the most dangerous SuperVillains of their time. The duo had been active for five years, and not a single Super had been able to catch them. A.S.H. sent missions to search for the SuperVillains constantly (Logan and Virgil had been assigned to that particular mission a few times) and yielded no results.

The strangest part was, Knight and Nova didn't associate with other SuperVillains, nor did they cause large scale destructions. They were a mystery, striking every few months, stealing from a major corruption or leaving cryptic warnings in the mayor's office, then disappearing again. They were an enigma, an enigma Logan wanted to solve.

Virgil did a quick scan of Kris. "Did they hurt you?"

Eliza sighed, "Not exactly. Kris, tell them how you got hurt."

The younger Super pouted, an embarrassed flush covering their cheeks. "Well, we found them on top of the Whynter Building, right? We didn't know what they were doing but they were unprepared so we attacked them!"

"I didn't attack them, that was Kris on their own!" Eliza complained. She pointed at her partner. "They thought we could capture the SuperVillains by ourselves."

"I surprised them, and the SuperVillains flew down into the alley. Knight used his abilities and I got confused. I thought I was chasing after Nova, but in reality, I crashed into a wall."

A beat of silence, then Virgil let out a laugh. "You crashed into a wall?"

"They crashed into a fucking wall." Eliza huffed. "Fell for one of Knight's illusions."

"To be fair," Kris said, moving Eliza's hand and fixing the ice pack on their forehead. "Other people, older and higher ranked people, have fallen for Knight's illusions too. They're so lifelike it's hard not too."

Logan bit his lip. "But neither of them injured you directly?"

"Nope!"

Eliza twisted a lock of her curly hair around her finger. "Knight actually looked apologetic, watching this loser slam into the wall."

Logan glanced at Virgil, who had his nose scrunched up in concentration. Most SuperVillains would have taken the opportunity to take out a first-year SuperHero before they could truly harness their powers. But not only did Nova and Knight let Eliza and Kris go, but they didn't try to hurt them either?

That was something to think about later. Virgil and Logan had to get suited up for their patrol.

"Take care of Kris, Eliza. Vee and I have a patrol to go on." Logan announced.

Eliza mock-saluted as the older SuperHeroes walked away. Logan glanced at Virgil, "Elevator?"

"Yeah."

Luckily no one else was riding the elevator, so they got the tiny shaft to themselves. Logan pressed the button for the fourth floor, and the doors slowly shut behind them. Music Logan swore was older than the building poured out of an old speaker. Virgil glared at the speaker as if he was trying to make it explode. Luckily for the janitors, Virgil lacked that ability, and the doors opened before Virgil could decide to smash it.

The fourth floor was a little bit more active than the lobby, with a few Supers suiting up for patrols and missions, and a few more packing their bags and heading home. Logan led Virgil to their lockers, placing his palm against his, while Virgil did the same next to him.

The touchscreen connected to his locker opened, and Logan grabbed the black material hanging in it. If Logan ever took over A.S.H., the first thing he would do was change the uniforms. First of all, the material was irritating, which made fighting uncomfortable. Logan swore he had more welts from the fabric of his uniform than from actual combat. The suit was built for protection though, not comfort. That aside, each uniform was identical, making it difficult to tell the difference between Supers. Each SuperHero had their unique logo stitched right above their hearts, but could you see that during a battle? No. Not at all.

As Logan pulled the suit over his clothes, his fingers brushed over his logo. Virgil had designed it for him. It was the letter G, and Virgil had designed it to look like the letter was glitching, to associate with Logan's codename. Virgil's own logo was a spiking heart rate, stitched into his suit with careless caution.

"Lo? Can you untangle my earpiece?" Virgil asked, struggling to pull up his suit. Logan sighed and grabbed the communication device hanging from Virgil's locker. Logan had not an inkling of a clue how, but Virgil had managed to get the earpiece twisted with his eyepiece.

"Virgil? How- how did you mess this up so horribly?"

Virgil sighed, zipping up his uniform. "I just threw it in there on Monday, I don't know how it got so tangled!"

Logan groaned, finally pulling the pieces apart and tossing them at Virgil. His friend caught them with ease (damn his powers). Logan pulled on his own, untangled eye and earpieces, snapping his eyepiece on his glasses. Then, he snapped his finger to activate both pieces. Virgil rolled his eyes, manually turning on his equipment. "We online?"

"We are indeed."

Virgil gave Logan a wicked smile, his teeth flashing in the electric light. "I'll beat you downstairs."

Then, Logan blinked, and Virgil was a blur in the corner of his vision. A swear escaped Logan's lips and he closed his eyes, picturing the outside of the headquarters. He felt the familiar fizzling in his gut, and when Logan opened his eyes, he was standing outside with the night breeze blowing in his hair. Seconds later, the glass doors next to him were thrown open, and Virgil skidded to a stop next to him. "Damn the people on the stairs."

"We're making excuses now, Vee?"

"Damn you too." Virgil flashed Logan a set of double-birds.

"If you kept doing that, I'm not going to let you teleport with me to our patrol location."

Instantly, Virgil had his arms thrown around Logan's shoulders. "No, no hey, you're my best friend Lo! I love you!" He announced, dragging out the 'o' in love.

Logan rolled his eyes, a fond smile forming on his lips. "You only love me when you need something from me."

"If that was true, would I have shown up at your house with mint-chocolate chip ice cream when NASA released the black hole image and you freaked out for three hours?"

Instead of responding, Logan pictured the convenience store he'd seen on the digital map earlier. Virgil yelped and dug his nails into Logan's shoulder as the two of them teleported.

"Hey!" Virgil snapped. "That wasn't cool!"

"My apologies."

"Hmph. For that, I'm taking the eastern side of this sector."

"Why?"

Another wicked grin passed over Virgil's features. There are fewer buildings on the Eastern side. Less work for me. Stay out of trouble, Glitch."

Logan rolled his eyes. "Same to you, Adrenaline."

Virgil gave his partner a mock salute, before speeding off into the distance. Logan watched him go, then pressed his fingers against his eyepiece. A map of the western side of the sector glowed to life in his vision. Logan zoomed in on an apartment complex, memorizing its features, then teleporting there.

The patrol was uneventful. For the past three and a half hours, Logan teleported from rooftop to rooftop, searching for any suspicious activity. With only thirty minutes left on patrol, Logan was sitting on the rooftop of a building, mentally going over the notes his physics professor had given that day.

Then, he smelt the smoke.

Instantly Logan was on his feet, eyes searching the horizon as a scream echoed from a nearby building. Smoke was pouring out of an apartment window, and flashes of red and yellow were visible through the smoke. Logan concentrated on his comm, turning it on. "V- Adrenaline?"

"Issue on your end?" His best friends voice crackled through the comm.

"Fire. Anderson Street, third building on the left. Requesting back up."

"On my way, Glitch."

Logan shut off his comm, glancing at the ground below him and teleporting down. He spirited down the street, stopping in front of the building. The flames were starting to grow, and people were running out of the complex in a panic.

Logan didn't have the time to explain he was with A.S.H., which was against protocol, but if he did, he would have lost valuable time. Logan entered the building, gagging on the smoke in the air. The first floor was clear but on the second floor, Logan found a younger girl trapped behind a cabinet. Teleporting behind it, Logan knelt next to the girl. Her dark eyes were wide, and she was shaking.

"I'm going to assist you, may I lift you up?" The younger girl stared at him for a brief moment, then gave him a brief nod. Logan scooped the child into his arms, and she gripped his arm tightly. "Close your eyes now, all right?"

The girl obeyed, and Logan teleported them outside. The girl opened her eyes, staring at him with wonder. "You have magic?" She whispered in awe.

"No, it's a gene-. Nevermind. I do indeed have magic."

The girl's eyes widened with glee, but before she could reply, a man ran up to them. "Alina, darling!"

The girl looked at the man and smiled brightly. "Daddy! The magic man saved me!"

The man gave Logan a small smile. "Yes, he did. Now the magic man has to go save other people, okay?"

The girl nodded, and Logan handed her off to her father. The man muttered a quick, "Thank you," into Logan's ear before he walked away with his daughter.

Logan teleported back into the building when his comm was activated again. "G, there are a few more people on the fourth floor; there was someone on the third but I got them out. " Virgil announced.

"On it." Logan dashed through the building, making his way up the stairs until he reached the fourth floor, which was where the fire started. The heat was biting and ash started to stick to his clothes. Logan hesitated, looked around for which room held the most flames.

That was his mistake.

A cracking sound filled his ears, and before Logan could turn around to see what it was, something hit him in the back. Logan fell to the ground, his body held down by something heavy. He squirmed, trying to get free from whatever was holding him down, but he couldn't. He tried to teleport, but his mind was too frazzled from the hit and the heat to form the image Logan needed to teleport. Using the last of his concentration, Logan activated his comm, connecting with the A.S.H. Headquarters.

"This is Agent Glitch." He wheezed out. "I'm requesting back-up. There's a fire... I'm trapped in the building and my partner cannot get everyone out on his own."

Radio silence. Then a faint, "Cut him. He was getting too close to the truth." Static filled his ears, and Logan tried to reconnect to the comm, but the other end had severed the link. Understanding filled Logan's muddled brain. A.S.H. was leaving him to die.

Logan struggled against the weight on his back, but he was getting sluggish. The flames were closing in, the heat starting to overwhelm him. A hoarse scream roared from Logan's throat, but he doubted he could be heard over the roaring fire.

This was it. Logan was going to die.

He laid his head against the burning ground, gasping for air. He was going to die. He was going to die. Who would grieve him? His poor mother, who'd been abandoned by everyone else in her life? Virgil, who had just started getting to a place in life where his anxiety was livable? His friends from college? The other superheroes from A.S.H.?

The flames were closing in. Logan closed his eyes, accepting his fate. Before the flames could reach him, he heard a crackle of energy, and a soft, "Don't worry, I got you."

Then, the heat become too much, and Logan passed out.

-. --- - .... .. -. --. ... .- ... .. - ... . . -- ... -. --- - .... .. -. --. ... .- ... .. - ... . . -- ... -. --- - .... .. -. --. ... .- ... .. - ... . . -- ...

Beautiful blue eyes, the color of the sky at its absolute clearest, glowed slightly behind gray-tinted goggles, filled with something that looked like concern. Then, surprise bloomed, and Logan's eyes closed again.

-. --- - .... .. -. --. ... .- ... .. - ... . . -- ... -. --- - .... .. -. --. ... .- ... .. - ... . . -- ... -. --- - .... .. -. --. ... .- ... .. - ... . . -- ...

"Logan? Oh my god, oh my god please wake up, I can feel your heartbeat but you need to wake up, come on Lo." The voice was shaking, holding back tears. Logan opened his eyes, looking up at Virgil's gray eyes. His dark makeup was smeared and tears were streaming down his face. "Oh my god, you're okay."

"What happened?" Logan choked out, his lungs feeling heavy and his head fuzzy. He remembered the fire, his comm getting cut off (oh, oh hell, they had left him to die) and the beautiful eyes.

"I do- don't know." Virgil was talking fast, his chest rising and falling even faster. Suddenly, Logan was so much more worried for his friend then he was for himself. He grabbed Virgil's arms, attempting to ground his best friend.

"Name five things you can see," He instructed, voice still hoarse.

"You, my hands, the wall, I think that's a rat, and dirt."

"Good, four things you can hear?"

Virgil closed his eyes, a shaking breath coming out of his mouth. "My heartbeat, your voice, cars, that rat moving."

"You're doing so well, Vee. Three things you can feel?"

"Your hands, the breeze, and this god damn suit."

"Two things you can smell?"

Virgil's breathing was starting to slow. "You smell like a campfire. And we're really sweaty and it stinks."

"Fantastic, one thing you can taste?"

"Salt- I was crying, wasn't I?"

Logan ignored the question. "Are you all right?"

"Am I all right? Holy shit Lo, I'm worried about you, not me! You were missing for three days."

All the air exited Logan's lungs. "What? What are you talking about?"

"The fire. A.S.H. told me you died! But I went back into the apartment and looked for your body. It wasn't there, and I don't trust A.S.H. so I've been looking for you since. But, Lo, where were you?"

Logan closed his eyes and thought about it. His mind was hazy, but one image stuck out: blue eyes behind gray goggles. Familiar gray goggles.

"Give me the tablet," Logan demanded. Virgil tilted his head in confusion but slipped the device to his partner. Logan's fingers flew over the screen, the tablet working faster than his fingers. Soon, he had an image on the screen, and when Virgil looked over his shoulder, a gasp escaped from his mouth.

"That's Nova." Virgil breathed. It was indeed the SuperVillian. The Super was standing with blasts energy surrounding him, and bright, blue, glowing eyes shone behind gray goggles.

"That's a correct observation." Logan took a deep breath. "And as impossible as it sounds, I believe he was the one who saved me from the fire."

Virgil, to Logan's surprise, didn't shout in denial. Indeed, he took in a deep breath of his own and replied, "Well, it kinda makes sense, since Knight brought you to me."

Logan looked over at his partner, a bit shocked. Virgil raised a hand and started to tug on a loose piece of hair. As he was about to scold his partner for the bad habit, Logan noticed a smudge of glittery red on Virgil's glove. "Is that lipstick?"

Virgil glanced at his gloved hand, and his ears flamed. "No. Its blood."

"It is glittery."

"Vampire blood."

Logan decided to move on. "You said Knight brought me to you?"

"Yeah. I came into this alley to take a breath, and he appeared from the shadows. I almost punched him the moment I saw him, but I saw you in his arms, out cold. I might have jumped to conclusions, but he told me he wasn't the one who'd hurt you. He told me to make sure you took care of yourself and to make sure all the smoke was out your lungs. As soon as I took you from him, he was gone."

"And he kissed your hand?"

"Ignoring you." Virgil leaned back against the brick wall, rubbing at his eyes and making an even bigger mess out of his eyeshadow. "What's going on here? SuperVillains aiding SuperHeroes?"

"Would it be a bad time to mention that A.S.H. cut my comm while I was in the fire?"

Virgil whipped his head around to stare at him. "Explain."

After giving Virgil the synopsis of what had occurred in the burning apartment, his partner took in a shaky breath. "This isn't happening. It's just a dream."

"I'm afraid we are awake Virgil."

As Virgil was processing the information, Logan looked through the notifications on his tablet. One caught his eye- a news report from two days ago, labeled "SuperVillains Nova and Knight Spotted Aiding Victims of a Fire."

Intrigued, Logan clicked on the link. He was brought to the local newspaper's website, but instead of an article, there was a notice from the newspaper. The notice claimed that the article had been taken down. Logan glared at the screen but noticed another article at the bottom of the page, this one reading "Local Reporter Reported Missing."

Another click led Logan to a full article, discussing the disappearance of Remy Morpheus, a reporter for the same newspaper. The article revealed that Remy was the writer of the deleted article on the SuperVillains, and had written many articles on controversial topics. The name was familiar to Logan, and it soon hit him: the articles he'd found in A.S.H.'s secure files were also written by Remy Morpheus.

Logan nudged Virgil, who looked like he was on the brink of losing his mind. "Read this."

The darker hair boy took the tablet, reading the article, his nose scrunching up as he read. "A missing reporter?"

"A reporter who reported on a supposed rescue attempt by Nova and Knight. A reporter who wrote controversial articles, some criticizing A.S.H. A reporter whose articles I found covered in notes when I was hacking into A.S.H.'s files."

"You're saying you think there's something going on?"

Logan nodded. "I hate to speculate, but there is a mass of evidence that points to foul play."

Virgil's fingers made their way back to his hair, his eyes slightly unfocused. His lips were moving, but Logan didn't have Virgil's enhanced hearing to be able to discern the words. Before Logan could comment, Virgil shook his head quickly, snapping himself out of his thoughts. "So, we've got a missing reporter who might know things he shouldn't, two SuperVillians who might not be pure evil, and a fucking massive organization who might be hiding something and seems to want you dead."

Logan leaned against the wall next to Virgil. "It seems we have a mystery on our hands."

"Please do not Sherlock our situation."

"Ignoring you."

"And hey, don't you mock me." Virgil huffed, laying the tablet in his lap and crossing his arms. "You know, things were going well."

"We never did have an abundance of luck," Logan mused.

"And I know you aren't going to let this go."

"I wasn't planning on it."

"And no way in hell would I let you do this on your own."

Logan glanced at his friend. "That means you'll assist me?"

"Mmhm. But first, we're going home, you're changing, and we're both going to sleep."

Logan looked down, and it hit him that he was still wearing his charred A.S.H. uniform. Virgil was too, but his uniform was in better shape.

"Reasonable. Then, I think we're going to visit The Times's office."

Virgil raised his eyebrow again. "We're starting with the reporter?"

"Indeed. In the morning, we start the investigation on the disappearance of Remy Morpheus."

Virgil stood, slipping the tablet away. He offered his hand, and Logan took it, getting to his feet. The two SuperHeroes stumbled out of the alley, heading home under a starless sky.

TAGLIST

@another-sandersidesblog @nye275 @faithfreedom @dodos-in-damnation @storytellerofuntoldlegends @mavros-lykos @dall-off-weekes @the-fandoms-are-takin-over @rosesisupposes

@rebeyerfdog @average--human @icequeenoriginal @mferge7

@benjaminclareyrobar

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iffeelscouldkill · 5 years

Text

Adjusting [Part 3: Campbell]

A/N: It liiiives! Here is a long overdue Chapter 3. As compensation for the wait, this chapter is longer than the other two chapters put together :D

I originally drafted this chapter some time ago, but then once I started serialising the fic on AO3, decided that I wanted to rework the middle part. I wound up redrafting most of it over the past few months, and it was a bit of a slog at times, but I'm much, much happier with the final result. A big big thank you once again goes to my wonderfully encouraging beta @dragonsthough101, and to @whelvenwings for writing with me and listening to my Fic Woe and helping me fix That One Section that I was struggling with!

A heads up that this chapter contains some quite heavy conversations about wartime under an oppressive regime, loss and regret. There are no graphic descriptions of violence, just a lot of fairly grim introspection. It probably goes without saying, but I'm not a military veteran myself, so I based all of this on the podcast canon and my own imagination.

Please take care of yourselves, and I hope you all enjoy 💜

---

Summary: It turns out that there isn’t a blueprint for quitting your job, turning your back on the organisation that you’d built your life around, committing treason and abandoning your friends and family to go travel across the galaxy with a band of wanted criminals. Fortunately, RJ now knows some people who have been there.

Or: Five times that RJ McCabe shares a late-night drink with someone on the Iris 2.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Read on AO3

---

About three weeks on from the Iris’ flight from New Jupiter, Sana calls a crew meeting. It isn’t their first by any means, but until now, crew meetings have either been about the division of chores or about pooling information to convey to the resistance movement. This one is different.

“We’re making another stop-off,” she tells the crew once they’re all assembled, Arkady looking half-asleep and disgruntled at the earliness of the hour. “I’ve arranged to meet a… long-time contact of ours. I know that we need to be careful about who we trust outside of the crew on this ship and confirmed members of the anti-IGR resistance, but… he’s a friend. An old friend.”

RJ raises their hand. “Is it Ignatius Campbell?” they ask, feeling like they’re on a quiz show.

Arkady revives slightly and snorts. “Got it in one, kid.”

“Don’t call me that,” RJ shoots back automatically. This is old, well-worn banter between them at this point.

Sana blushes slightly. “Right. I forgot that of course… you and Park know exactly who Campbell is.” She gives them a sidelong look, and RJ suspects that she’s remembering her fractious exchange with Campbell after Elion, and thinking about exactly what they would have heard.

“If it’s any consolation, we’ve been trying to forget about the recordings, too,” Park offers, slightly abashed, as he always is when this subject comes up.

RJ finds it awkward, too, but doesn’t see any point in pretending that they weren’t at one point on very different sides. Or that listening to the recordings from the Rumor wasn’t literally their job. But Park is right – they have been doing their best to forget about those long days and nights spent cooped up in their tiny office, replaying audio over and over. Know thy enemy had practically been RJ’s motto back in those days, but the Rumor crew aren’t their enemies any more. And RJ wants to move on from the person they were back then.

“I’ve spoken to Campbell a couple of times since… Well, since Elion,” Sana continues. “Trying to smooth things over since we-”

“Accused him of backstabbing us?” Arkady volunteers drily.

“To be fair, we really didn’t have any other good theories about what was going on,” Brian puts in. “None of us would have ever jumped to ‘an invisible robot nanoswarm’ as the source of our leak.”

Sana nods. “I know, and Campbell understands that, too. That’s why he’s willing to meet with us, and help us out – with supplies, and with information about the situation on Telemachus as well as some of the other Regime planets.”

“What about payment?” Violet asks. “We’re pretty light on funds at the moment, and we don’t have any cargo to trade either.”

“Campbell has agreed to effectively give us the goods on credit, with the understanding that we’ll pay at a later date,” Sana replies. “We’re also trading a little information in exchange for what he knows. Nothing top-secret, just a bit about the Regime’s movements, to help him keep two steps ahead.”

“And did you ‘barter’ with him to get him to agree to that deal?” Arkady asks, raising her eyebrows in a significant way.

Sana reddens a little, but says with dignity, “I don’t know what you’re implying. But yes, we did haggle for a bit.”

“Nice to hear that you two are back on ‘bartering’ terms,” says Arkady with a smirk.

Krejjh, looking between Arkady and Sana, grins as if Ferin has come early.

Ignoring this, Sana continues, “It’s obviously too dangerous for us to land on any of the IGR planets, so I’ve arranged to meet Campbell on Halton Station, in the Neutral Zone.”

Brian instantly perks up. “Dude! We’re going to Neuzo? Wait, isn’t Halton Station-”

“Where Thasia and Emily Craddock grew up,” Krejjh finishes eagerly.

“Yeah. To be honest, I picked it half because I knew the name, but it happens to be in a particularly convenient location for us, too,” says Sana. “It’s also not that populated, so there’s less chance of us attracting unwanted attention.”

“Does this mean I’ll be able to go outside?” Krejjh asks, practically vibrating with excitement. “Oh, for the gentle caress of the wind! The touch of the ground beneath my feet!”

“I don’t see why not,” Sana says with a smile. “Just try to keep things, uh… low-key?”

Arkady snorts eloquently.

Later on, RJ is on joint kitchen cleaning duty with Violet, who is chatting aimlessly about the rendezvous with Campbell.

“…it’s just going to be Sana, Krejjh and Arkady going out to meet Campbell on Halton Station,” she says. “It’s still not safe for Brian to set foot on Neuzo, and having a huge group would definitely attract unwanted attention. So, I guess we won’t get a chance to meet Campbell this time, unless he comes back to the ship.”

“Is that likely?” asks RJ.

“If things go well between Sana and Campbell, I guess,” Violet says with a small smile. “At least, that’s what Arkady thinks.”

“So, are Sana and Campbell… a couple?” RJ clarifies. Violet laughs a little, moving a dishrag in slow circles over the countertop.

“Not that I know of? My impression from Arkady is that they’ve always been close, but never actually, uh… been romantically involved,” says Violet. “Then, after Elion… well. We didn’t really know who we could trust, and… Campbell was one of the only people who knew about our destination and had our new IDs. Or at least, so we thought.”

“Mmm,” RJ responds, which seems safer than ‘Sorry for being part of the evil government eavesdropping operation that made you paranoid and destroyed your friendships’.

“But now it seems they’re patching things up, so maybe…” Violet smiles brightly. “It would be great if they could make it work.”

“That’s true,” says RJ with as much enthusiasm as they can muster. Romance has never held much of an appeal for RJ – it’s nice for other people, but RJ realised some years ago that they just don’t feel the thing that people have devoted endless poems and novels and movies to, and trying to get invested in other people’s romances feels similarly awkward. But RJ likes Sana, and she deserves to be happy.

Violet, who is sensitive to that sort of thing, seems to pick up on RJ’s train of thought. “Sorry, I realise we might seem a bit… romance-obsessed on this ship sometimes,” she says with an embarrassed smile. “If it gets to be too much… feel free to tell us to knock it off any time, really.”

RJ thinks about working under the IGR, and the way that no-one ever felt safe being themselves. They’ve already started to take this new freedom for granted – but that doesn’t mean they’ve forgotten the way things used to be.

“It’s fine,” they say.

---

This time, it’s not unsettling dreams or racing thoughts that are keeping RJ awake. It’s just energy. It’s midnight, but they feel as tense and jittery as though they’ve just downed four mugs of that overbrewed sludge the IGR used to serve employees in the breakroom.

A lot happened during the day. A huge amount of planning went into the rendezvous with Campbell on Halton Station, and even though RJ wasn’t part of the group who went out to meet him, they were involved in every other part of the endeavour.

Halton Station might be in the Neutral Zone, but they’d already established that the IGR was willing to cross huge lines and even violate the Treaty in order to get what it wanted, and the crew of the Iris is wanted on every IGR planet. It’s impossible to be too careful. Park and RJ had advised Sana to the best of their knowledge on steps that the IGR might take to try and survey the area, on the resources that they might try to use.

Meanwhile, Brian and Krejjh – both over the moon at being back on Neuzo, where they first met – had taken it in turns to tell stories about Ryedell Station, where Brian once worked as a bartender alongside his friend Alvy Connors.

Inside the Republic, the Neutral Zone was referenced only sparingly, and always characterised as a den of vice and iniquity. RJ had hardly ever thought about it except to be glad that they’ve never had the misfortune to set foot on any of its stations. But hearing stories about a place where humans and Dwarnians co-existed alongside each other, talking, trading, bartering… It’s made RJ realise just how narrow their world was until recently. And it’s sobering.

Sure, they’ve been watching Dwarnian soap operas, which deal with a completely alien (literally) species and set of cultures – but those are overblown and feel removed from RJ’s day-to-day reality. This doesn't.

So, RJ processes by pottering around the kitchen, making a late-night cup of tea. The light in the kitchen is kind of busted and it only emits a very dim glow – Sana has been swearing that she’ll tackle it once they’ve got the supplies from Campbell, but RJ finds it soothing, particularly at this hour.

It does make them jump, however, when the door suddenly slides open to admit a tall, dark shape.

“Apologies,” says the man, in a rough voice accented with a slight drawl. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Ignatius Campbell,” says RJ in realisation. His voice, though RJ has only ever heard it over comms (and recorded comms at that), is pretty distinctive. Also, process of elimination dictates that there’s only one person this could be.

“The very same,” says Campbell, inclining his head forward. The door slides shut behind him. “And you must be RJ McCabe? I’ve heard a lot about you.”

RJ would like to say something witty like ‘The one and only’, but doesn’t really think they could pull it off. Instead, after a few dumb moments of deliberation, they manage, “You can call me RJ.”

Okay, so maybe they’re more tired than they realised.

Campbell raises his eyebrows a little. “Well, then, you can call me Ignatius.”

RJ doesn’t think so. Even Sana still calls him ‘Campbell’ – well, at least as far as RJ knows. Does his presence on the ship mean that the rendezvous has “gone well” like Violet and Arkady hoped?

The water comes to a boil, and RJ busies themself with pouring it out. “Would you, uh, like some tea?” they ask, mostly out of politeness – Campbell doesn’t really look like the tea type.

“Actually, I was planning on drinking something a bit stronger, if you don’t mind of course,” Campbell says, pulling out a battered metal flask from the pocket of his heavy brown coat. “It’s not moonshine,” he adds, at RJ’s slightly sceptical expression. “Just whiskey. You’re welcome to some, if you want.”

The opening notes of ‘Whiskey in the Jar’ immediately start up in RJ’s head, and they inwardly curse Violet, who has a habit of humming it when she’s nervous. And when she’s happy. And when she’s been spending time with Arkady.

“I’ll pass, but thanks,” says RJ, taking their tea and sitting down with it at the table. Campbell manages to locate a mug and pours his whiskey into it, but stays standing, drinking it slowly and staring into the middle distance. It puts RJ a little on edge, but they force themself to relax and remember that Campbell isn’t a threat.

It’s harder to resist the impulse to run through the collective intelligence that the Intergalactic Republic had on the man known as Ignatius Campbell. Known contact and long-time associate of the crew of the Rumor; expert forger; suspected aliases include Alexander Cole and Jonathan Johnson. Based in Telemachus, but with an extensive network of affiliates and possible connections across multiple galaxies.

As if picking up on their thoughts, Campbell suddenly asks, “You used to work for the IGR, right?”

RJ tenses. “Emphasis on ‘used to’,” they reply.

Campbell waves a hand. “Don’t worry, this isn’t me trying to accuse you of anything. God knows everyone on this ship has stuff in their past they’d rather not go back to – me included,” he says, a little darkly. “No, I was just wondering what kind of intel they might have on me up there. Any good rumours?”

“Most of it was inconclusive,” RJ tells him, but thinks back anyway. It already feels unnatural trying to access the headspace and knowledge that they had while working for the IGR, after going to such pains to put it behind them. “W- They suspected you might have links to the notorious pirate Kim Hoff and her Bald-Cat gang, potentially as a supplier of intel or documentation, but nothing was proven.”

Campbell gives a low chuckle of amusement. “Believe it or not, I’m not the one on this ship with links to Hoff,” he says. “Though I can’t say we’ve never crossed paths.”

In response to RJ’s look of confusion, he elaborates: “She was Brian Jeeter’s thesis advisor.”

“You’re kidding,” says RJ in disbelief.

Campbell lays a hand on his heart. “I swear – you can ask him about it. For all that he might seem mild-mannered and harmless, Brian Jeeter has some interesting connections.”

“I’ve heard about his run-ins with the Dwarnian mafia,” says RJ, partly to show that they aren’t completely uninformed.

“Yeah, that’s another good example,” says Campbell. “There’s a reason why I’ve kept doing business with the Rumor crew all these years: they have some damn good stories to tell.”

RJ snorts in acknowledgement. If it weren’t for the fact that they’ve listened to some of the Rumor crew’s insane exploits (and been present for one or two of them) they wouldn’t have believed half of the stories that they’ve heard since they came aboard the Iris.

Neither of them says anything for a while, and RJ contemplates taking their tea back to their room so that they can carry on thinking. But the prospect is dull and a little claustrophobic, and part of them wants to take this opportunity to find out more about this person who is obviously so important to their crewmates.

“So…” says RJ, and Campbell’s gaze flicks over to them from where he’d been contemplating the cupboards. “What’s got you up so late, drinking whiskey in the kitchen with a total stranger?”

One corner of Campbell’s mouth quirks up. “You’re not a total stranger,” he points out. RJ just raises an eyebrow, and Campbell relents.

“Not sure, really – Sana and I were talking, but then she wanted to crash, and I wasn’t quite ready to sleep yet. Got a bit too much going round in my head.”

RJ nods; in other words, a very similar reason to their own. “So I take it you’re staying the night?”

This immediately makes Campbell flustered, and RJ can’t make out his face very well but they imagine that he’s probably gone red. “I – I mean I am, but I promise that there’s nothing improper- It’s just for the one night. And we’re bunking in separate rooms,” he says in a rush.

RJ snorts and manages to keep from rolling their eyes – just about. “Calm down. I wasn’t trying to imply anything,” they tell Campbell. “I only asked because I’m on breakfast duty tomorrow morning, so I wanted to know how many people I’d be cooking for.”

“Oh.”

“Also, ‘improper’? What millennium is this, again?”

Campbell coughs, and says with the air of someone trying to pull the conversation back on track, “So – what about you? What has you up in the kitchen past midnight?”

RJ sips their tea, stalling for time as they try to decide how much to say about what has been keeping them awake. They settle on,

“I guess I’m… learning a lot about the universe that I never had the chance to before. Working for the… for the IGR, you’re told that only you have access to the real facts about everything – Dwarnians, the war, the upper limits of science and space exploration – and that anyone who tells you differently is lying or trying to confuse you. I prided myself,” they stress, bitterly, “on the thoroughness of my research. On having all the information. Now I realise just how little I really knew.”

Campbell nods, slowly. “All repressive governments control their people’s access to information,” he says. “The better to make sure that no-one gets any ideas of their own.”

“Yeah, I know,” says RJ, a little wearily. “I’m not under any illusions about what the IGR really is. Not anymore.”

“But you were,” Campbell points out. “Sure, maybe there were things you could’ve questioned and didn’t. There are also folks up at the top of the whole operation who have access to all the information and make a very different choice with it. At the end of the day, you still thought for yourself when it counted. You got out.”

RJ eyes Campbell warily. “I’m not fishing for reassurance here,” they tell him. “You don’t have to make me feel better.”

Campbell holds up his hands in apology. “I know,” he says. “It just sounded to me like maybe you were being a little harsh on yourself.”

RJ shakes their head and searches for the right words. “When I joined up with the Rumor crew on New Jupiter, it wasn’t some heroic stand,” they say eventually, quietly. “It was a strategic decision I made to survive. If I’d stayed where I was, I would have been killed on sight.”

“The crew of this ship knows a thing or two about survival,” Campbell tells them. “They’re not all on some grand moral crusade.”

RJ knows that Arkady worked as a guard for the IGR, that Violet used to be a government scientist, that Krejjh fought in the war on the Dwarnian side. But on nights like these, the gap between their experiences still feels vast.

The others, they all have this bond, a camaraderie forged from venturing out into the deepest parts of space, from facing near-death experiences and defying the Regime side by side. RJ might have tagged along at the end, but they don’t have that history. They haven’t earned that bond, yet.

RJ realises that Campbell is still watching them – considering, almost. Their first instinct is to break eye contact and look away, but instead they meet his gaze, raising their chin slightly. RJ thinks they see Campbell’s mouth twitch into a small smile.

“You know that I served in the military,” he says suddenly. It isn’t a question.

“Yes,” RJ replies cautiously.

“Do you want to know why I left?”

“Uh…”

RJ is well aware that Campbell fought in the war. They vividly recall the argument with Sana where Campbell angrily spoke about losing ninety percent of his first unit. RJ remembers listening to that exchange in their cramped office with Park, and looking over at him, wanting to ask for more information. But Park’s brow had been furrowed, his expression dark as he stared down at the wood of the desk, and the question died on RJ’s lips.

Park had fought in the war, too.

RJ doesn’t feel like they have a right to Campbell’s story any more than Park’s, but apparently, he's offering. “If you’re… okay with telling me,” they say uncertainly, pressing their mug between their palms until it’s a little painful. “I’m… sure it was nothing good.”

Campbell gives a short nod, his expression grim.

“I enlisted in the military in 2178, two years before the coup,” he says. “My first unit, they were… a really good group of people. Some of the best I’ve known. When the coup took place in 2180, we were excited. The old government had left the military drastically under-funded and over-stretched. The Regime promised better funding, better resources, more troops – of course, they accomplished that via the Mandate, but they made that seem like a great thing. A stable career path; an opportunity for everyone who was able to “serve the human race”. As they put it.”

RJ nods slowly. “I know. They’re pretty big on teaching that as part of the history of the Republic,” they say. “‘How the Intergalactic Republic transformed our military’.”

“Yeah, well, I experienced it first-hand. And for about a year, everything was as promised. But then my unit got word that we were being redeployed to the Dwarnian stronghold of Nreech-shlegga.”

RJ frowns. “As in… the Battle of Nreech-shlegga?”

“The very same,” Campbell confirmed. “But this was years before that battle. We were told that it was a small outpost, largely unmanned – an opportunity to score an early victory over the Dwarnians and make an incursion into their territory.”

RJ feels a sick sinking feeling, and unconsciously grips the edge of the table with one hand. “What happened?” they almost whisper, although they know the answer.

“On the basis of the briefing we were given, we stormed the stronghold,” Campbell says, and RJ suspects that he might not really have heard their question, lost in the memory. He’s not looking at them anymore, staring down at his mug, but he doesn’t drink from it. “Of course, Nreech-slegga was the exact opposite of what we'd been led to believe – it was an extremely well-defended military stronghold. My entire unit, barring myself and six others, was wiped out in less than an hour.”

Campbell is silent. RJ breathes out quietly, trying not to interrupt his thoughts by drawing attention to themself. Their throat is dry, but they’ve drunk all of their tea and daren’t move to make some more.

Several long minutes later, Campbell shakes himself a little, seeming to come back into the present. “Sorry,” he apologises gruffly, taking a swig of whiskey.

“Don’t apologise,” RJ says quickly, and then clamps their mouth shut, in case they sounded overly familiar. But Campbell nods, and they think they see his lips quirk upward slightly.

“What did you do… after?” RJ ventures, after another long moment of silence. They hate to pry, but they’re still not clear on why Campbell decided to tell them this in the first place. Maybe he’s not sure anymore either.

Campbell nods again, once, as if agreeing to something inside his head. He meets RJ’s eyes again. “Would you believe me if I told you that I defected from the military?”

“Of course,” RJ says immediately. “After what they did to your unit? Your superiors must have known the reality of the situation, but they withheld crucial intel. It cost the lives of dozens of good soldiers.”

“I notice you haven’t considered for a moment that the IGR might have had a good reason for giving those orders,” Campbell points out. He sounds amused.

“I—” RJ falters. “I mean. How could they have?”

People died needlessly, they want to say. But they know that while they were on the IGR’s payroll, they came across all kinds of evidence of similar incidents and found ways to rationalise them, to explain away the devastating loss of human life. Like the planet where the inhabitants were left to starve without aid after their food supply was consumed by ants – because of “improper paperwork” and “budgetary concerns”. Or the fate of the original Iris, in which an entire crew had been murdered in order to silence one man.

Why had it taken RJ so long to see the Regime for what it really was?

Because it’s easy to make excuses, to explain things away, when it’s not your life on the line, RJ’s brain supplies. When you’re not the one they’re coming for.

“If you see any of the Rumor crew, or Agents McCabe or Park, shoot to kill.”

Until you are.

“You’re right,” Campbell says, and RJ stares at him for a few seconds, having lost the thread of their conversation. Their head feels heavy and over-full, their mind whirling. “My superiors had perfect intel on the situation in Nreech-slegga and knew the full extent of its defences, but they lied to us because they wanted to test the Dwarnians’ response times on their own territory. We were just cannon fodder to them.”

The phrase rings a bell in RJ’s mind – they remember him using the same words to Sana in ‘Report 6: Parallel’. They nod mutely.

“But in the wake of The Nreech-Slegga Disaster, as it became known – though only among the troops, as official reports of the incident were largely suppressed – they told us that they’d been fed false intel by double agents working for the Dwarnian Federation. They even used it as an excuse to purge a few members of the rank and file who’d fallen out of favour.

“I could tell something was off about it all – if the Dwarnian counter-intelligence efforts were so effective, why tip their hand so obviously? Why waste them on eliminating a single ground unit? But at the time, I couldn’t envision a life for myself outside of the military. And I was afraid to follow that train of logic any further, for fear of where it might lead me. So I stayed enlisted – for three more years.”

“Three… years?” RJ echoes in shock. “But…”

“Why would I stay?” Campbell finishes for them. “It takes a lot of guts to choose a different path to the one you’re on, to leave behind everything you know. I didn’t have them, then.” He stares off into the middle distance, mug held loosely in one hand. “A lot of people who fought in the war didn’t really believe in the Regime’s cause. They had their own reasons, and I told myself I had mine.”

Campbell raises his mug to drink from it again, and then – evidently finding it empty – picks up his flask and drinks directly from there instead. “But I spent a hell of a lot of time regretting those three years.” His voice is a low, bitter growl, almost too low to hear.

A more profound silence descends this time, and RJ isn’t sure how to break it. Their instinctive response to hearing how Campbell lost his first unit had been to assume that he would have left the military and refused to serve under the regime that caused the deaths of his comrades – just as many people would question why RJ had stayed and continued to work for the IGR after Park was taken away.

Like Campbell said, at the time, they thought they had their reasons. It's only in hindsight that those reasons become a lot harder to justify.

It takes a lot of guts to choose a different path to the one you're on, Campbell had said. RJ can't find it in them yet to think of their decision to turn against the IGR as something that took "guts".

But no matter how adrift they've been feeling since then, they also haven't regretted it for a moment.

“Apologies,” says Campbell abruptly, and RJ looks up from toying with their mug, surprised. “I probably shouldn’t have dropped all of this on you at once. It’s just been… on my mind, what with the renewed crackdowns from the Regime, and skirmishes breaking out everywhere…”

RJ’s stomach turns over. They knew that there were protests on Telemachus, and a couple of the other large planets as well, the ones that were harder to control. But they hadn’t realised it had broken out into all-out fighting.

They realise that Campbell is still looking at them, and try to force their mind back to the subject at hand. “No, it’s fine – it actually helped. Uh, it’s nice to hear…” They trail off, not sure if it would be presumptuous to say, ‘a story similar to mine’. RJ isn’t a war veteran. It’s not the same thing at all. “That is, I uh, really appreciate you… trusting me with this.” There.

Campbell gives them a slight smile, and then ventures, “I’m not sure how well it’ll go with the aftertaste of whiskey, but… can I take you up on that tea?”

“Oh! Sure!” RJ jumps to their feet so quickly they almost upset their chair. They do their best to cover it up by holding the box of tea out to Campbell, who raises his eyebrows. “What kind would you like?”

“Uh… Why don’t you choose,” Campbell suggests.

“Oh, if you’re sure…” RJ looks down at the tea, wondering what kind would be appropriate to give a former-soldier-turned-forger after a heavy conversation about serving under an oppressive regime. They decide to go for vanilla and honey.

As RJ is busy boiling the water again, making another cup for themself at the same time, they realise that Campbell never actually told them how he came to leave the military. They wonder if it would be pushing it to ask him, or whether it would be best to leave the topic alone.

They procrastinate by pouring out the water, then finding a spoon to stir the tea with. “You can leave it in for as long as you want to – three minutes is usually a good amount of time,” they tell him, handing over the mug and the spoon.

“Thanks,” says Campbell appreciatively. “It smells good.”

“You’re welcome.” RJ goes back to pour out their second cup of jasmine green tea. Campbell gives a little chuckle to himself, and RJ looks over, curious.

“Oh, it’s just – I realised that after all that, I never finished my story,” Campbell explains. “But uh, I’m sure you’re sick of hearing-”

“Actually, I was wondering-” RJ begins, and then stops awkwardly. “Uh. That is. I’d like to hear the last part?”

“All right then,” says Campbell. His manner is a little more relaxed than before, and RJ senses that this part of the story is easier for Campbell to tell.

“I served in the military for three more years,” he says, “after the Nreech-Slegga Disaster. I rose up the ranks a little bit – but not that much. I wasn’t great at taking my superiors’ orders without question, especially when they were irrational, stupid orders. A lot of soldiers who started out below me on the pecking order quickly got promoted ahead. But that was fine – I never wanted to be in command. I knew there was all sorts of corruption in the upper ranks of the force – bribery, dirty deals, a comfortable life lived on military funds.

“But the breaking point really came when I was put into a situation that reminded me vividly of the Nreech-Slegga Disaster – a campaign where we were given almost no information about the situation on the ground, and were ordered to go in, guns blazing, and mount an attack. I refused to lead my men in blind – I demanded more information from the officers in command. And when they ordered me to go ahead with the offensive regardless… I left. I couldn’t watch it happen again.”

“Where did you go?” RJ asks.

“I disappeared,” Campbell says simply. “I had an old friend I’d never completely severed ties with who had links to the criminal underworld. Not, uh, Sana,” he adds quickly. “We met later. I went underground with a new identity, and set about methodically erasing every trace of my former life. Officially, I’m listed as Killed in Action during the offensive that I refused to participate in. I honed my skills as a forger at the same time.”

“Did you have, uh…” RJ realises partway through asking the question that it might be an uncomfortable subject – well, another uncomfortable subject. “…family? You don’t have to answer that,” they add awkwardly, but Campbell is nodding.

“My parents had passed away, but I had a brother I’m close to. I wasn’t able to make contact for several years. But now I… see him, occasionally. And his kids, my nephews.” He says the last part softly.

“That must be nice,” RJ says without thinking, and then flushes when Campbell looks at them quizzically. “Um, that is…”

At that moment, the door slides open and a voice says, “Hey, I woke up and I wasn’t sure where you’d – oh! RJ, sorry. I didn’t see you there.”

Sana stands framed in the doorway, wearing loose sleeping clothes, her hair twisted into a side braid. Because she’s Sana, rather than being embarrassed or discomfited, she immediately shifts into Concern Mode. “Is everything all right?” She looks between the two of them, obviously curious as to how they came to be talking in the kitchen.

“Hey, Sana. Everything’s fine, we were… just having tea,” RJ says.

“I think mine’s vanilla and honey,” Campbell adds, lifting his mug. Sana seems tickled by this, grinning broadly.

“All right, well I’ll leave you both to it, if you’d prefer – I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“No, it’s okay–” RJ says, at the same time as Campbell begins, “Actually, I’d be happy to come back to–”

They both stop, and RJ presses their lips together in amusement and then stands. “I’m gonna head back to my room. It was… really nice talking to you, Mr. Campbell.”

Campbell gives an exasperated huff at being called ‘Mister’, which makes RJ smile. “Likewise,” he says.

“Goodnight, then, RJ,” says Sana, standing to one side so that RJ can get past her. “Don’t be afraid to come and knock if you still can’t sleep.”

RJ nods, though they have no intention of doing anything of the sort. “I will. Oh, and Campbell?”

“Yes?”

“Do you like eggs?”

This throws Campbell for a loop. “Do I… like eggs?”

“For breakfast tomorrow. Sana said there would be some eggs in the supplies we were getting, so I figured I’d make eggs.”

Campbell laughs a little with surprise. “Sure. I’ll eat pretty much anything.”

“Great.” RJ looks back at Campbell. “See you at breakfast.”

What they really mean is:

Thank you.

#TSCOSI #The Strange Case of Starship Iris #RJ McCabe #Ignatius Campbell #Sana Tripathi #Violet Liu #late night tea drinking and heart to hearts #war stories #I want to promise that RJ will get a break from chatting to traumatised war veterans in the next chapter but uhhhh #let's just say I can't promise that quite yet

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