#(it's just a struggle and a forced change from my normal writing practices which means i am freefalling a little)

[mournings-stars]

Hello hello! I’d like to request some platonic into romantic headcannons on an Alastor x fallen ex-exorcist/exterminator reader please :>

Small background: Reader fell for whatever reason and maybe a few days to a week (or even months-) afterward they end up striking a deal with Alastor, where they’ll be under his protection (because as skilled as they are it wouldn’t matter much with the entirety of hell on their ass) but he gets a pretty good portion of their power in return or maybe something else that you think Alastor would take.

Gender neutral reader pls

I’ve only read one fic or two with this concept and I am on my hands and knees for more lol

If you prefer a different writing format or feel this is too specific or OC-ish please please please feel free to change anything! I’m not very picky ^^

Thank you for your time and have a good day/night!

okay i LOVE this concept — i think it be the slowest fucking burn in the world tho like

you were never one of adam’s favorites, as you had the tendency to spare demons who seem harmless, but covered it nearly everytime

during this last extermination, however, he was trying to catch you fucking up the plan, so the minute you skipped over someone, he had lute launch her weapon at you

i doubt he’d let her kill you or anything, but he definitely just left you there for the demons to finish off, probably pinned to the ground with lute’s spear in your wing or something before he called all the other exorcists back (and he made sure to leave your halo so even if you did change clothes people knew what you were)

luckily (not really) you’d be in cannibal town, so before anyone could get to you, alastor’s probably just walking around like nothings happening (LMAO) and sees you

i doubt he’d make it known he saw you, like he’d definitely keep humming merrily down the street until he saw you struggling to get away from him as quickly as possible and tearing your wing even more

“my, my, let’s calm down, shall we?” he’d laugh and take the spear out of your wing. “isn’t that better, little bird?” but he’d say that while literally pointing the spear at you so don’t feel too safe

you’d definitely get defensive and shoot into the air with your weapon, ready to kill, and i think after seeing you still attempting to fly with that damaged of a wing (like its fucked up), he’d be impressed enough to drop the spear he had with a very big grin

“you’d better hide, little bird”

and you’d take his warning to fly off, quickly snatching lute’s weapon with yours in case you needed to defend yourself

he would literally just smile and watch you leave before continuing to hum and walk down the street

it’d probably be like a solid three days of hiding and having to fight for your life before the damage to your wing really messed with you and you had to force yourself to find a good hiding place

maybe you see charlie on the news and notice that no one seems to want to go to her hotel, so you force yourself to fly all the way there like a week after her horrible interview (ep 1) and practically collapse at the front door

of course you recognize vaggie and of course you practically run over and hug her despite the spear pointed at you… and of course that means vaggie either may or may not have to confess depending on if you pick up that no one knows or not (off the concept but im sparing chaggie heartbreak)

“who the fuck is this?” would be the first thing you hear from a spider demon and you’d have to explain what you were and hope they didn’t kill you — which, duh, charlie wouldn’t that let happen

“hello again, little bird,” would make everyone shut up because… how does alastor know you??? of course, he doesn’t answer their questions, just says hello and moves on like it’s all normal

your first day would totally be catching up with vaggie, probably breaking down because you needed to get back to heaven and had no way there

i think exorcists probably have a little bit of angelic power, but they probably can’t create portals without that power being given to them or something which means you have no way home and no where to go

vaggie and charlie of course tell you to stay, but once anyone shows up they’ll know you’re here and all of hell would be coming to the hotel to try and get to you — and you didn’t want to ruin what they had going (even if it was small you thought it was a great idea) so they probably give you a change of clothes, something more hellish, and tell you to stay until you have somewhere else to go

that would probably give alastor the perfect opportunity to talk to you privately and offer his protection

you wouldn’t take his offer at first, but once pentious shows up and the overlords somehow find out that charlie is hiding an angel in her hotel (vox and his stupid drones) you dont really have a choice

i dont think he’d ask for any power in return, but i do think you’d owe him a favor each time he has to protect you

vox would probably give subtle hints in all the programs he runs, so alastor would have to protect you very often

that meant if he ordered you to get rid of someone, you did it — whether that meant by the snap of your fingers with holy light (which they could potentially survive or respawn from) or killing them with your exorcist weapon was totally up to him sometimes, he just asked that you create a bouquet of flowers for his room

usually the people he had you “take care of” were repulsive enough, and you never minded creating things with your abilities, so you agreed to what he asked with ease

it’d be a little time before who he instructed you to “take care of” slowly shifted to anyone who wronged you

of course, he’d still protect you, but if he didn’t own their soul and he didnt have an angelic weapon, he couldn’t ensure that they wouldn’t come back, so he asked you, “do you think they’ll come back for you, little bird?” if you were unsure, or knew it was likely they’d come back for the person that ended up being the reason they had to go through the painful process of respawning, he’d tell you to just kill them

it’d probably come to a point where he stopped asking for favors, made sure you were alright, and told you to focus on what you needed to do while he “did his job”

i think eventually you’d find a place you think could be safe and once your wing is totally healed up and alright you’d say your goodbyes even though you weren’t that close with anyone but vaggie (also i feel like niffty would be down to talk to u about her bug battles or some shit)

anyway, when you go to say bye to alastor, he definitely cashes in his favor with a simple “hmm, no” cus he sees no reason for you to leave??? like so what everyone else’s lives are in danger by you being here… you’re safer here

so you’d stay, and it’d definitely make charlie happy because if she can get an angel back to heaven that’d prove she could actually do this

you’d be pissed at alastor for a while, but slowly, it seemed like demons understood that by coming for you, they were fucking with the radio demon (and we all know how that goes) so after a few months you were finally left alone

in that time you’d totally help spruce up the hotel while slowly forgetting why you wanted to go back

but every once in a while you’d have a very prolonged sadness about the situation… heaven was your home after all, and even if you liked the hotel, you could never leave because the minute you stepped outside, there was a line for your head — you were trapped there (like a bird in a cage — hence the nickname)

i think even though everyone likes having you there, vaggie would eventually bring up lucifer (like he can literally open a portal…)

but immediately alastor is not fucking having it and he cashes in another one of his pent up favors, saying that getting back to heaven through a fallen angel was the dumbest thing you could do if you wanted it to look like you were the one wronged in this situation (he has a point i fear)

i think this is where you kind of accept that you’re not going home and maybe just give up because 1. you can’t go to the heaven embassy since you’d just be met with adam and 2. the only person that could get you contact wasn’t a good option

i think now would be when alastor recognizes how much you want to go home and finds himself feeling bad?? for keeping you, but he just wants you to get home safely and surely

still, once he sees that you literally wont leave your room and have contemplated taking your own halo he compromises to let you try going to the heaven embassy to see if you could get a meeting with anyone but adam

you said it wasn’t possible, but he insisted “i can’t have you looking so upset all the time, birdie” he’d say while using his hand to squish your cheeks into a smile just to make you laugh

so you’d go — i think you’d totally get there safely but once demons see an exorcist angel coming out of the heaven embassy, you have to fight the minute you step out of the building

you can 100% see holy light from the hotel, so the minute alastor sees a golden beam he’s out the door

you can handle your own, so you fought them off, but i’d imagine you get injured and that’s what really makes alastor realize he’s falling for you cus he’s seething

even just a minuscule amount of golden blood on you had him tearing apart any demon who even looked like they’d been near you

i hate to say it but i don’t think this would be a happy ending — reader loves heaven even though they hate being an exorcist and alastor knows that so he’d definitely keep his feelings hidden and if you showed any signs of feelings for him he’d be terrified because an angel falling, literally falling because thats what would happen to you, for someone like him would never get you back home

obviously it’d come to a point where he doesn’t want you to leave, but at the same time, he’d never keep you

if i did end up writing an actual fic of this it’d probably end on a bit of a cliffhanger ex. reader getting accepted back and being hesitant with alastor’s last favor just him saying, “if you want to stay for anyone, don’t,” and letting you decide whether or not to go back

OR reader being accepted back but still having to be an exorcist, so the next time they see alastor is the finale where adam would 100% put them against him

[altruistic-meme]

i can do this i can do this i can do this i can do this i can do this i can do this i can do this i can do this i can do this i can do this i can do this i ca-

*muffled screaming*

me, breaking out my laptop: i am going to write smut. it is going to pwp. i will get through this!!

also me, the moment i start writing: *pouring out feelings and angst and emotions and going nowhere near the planned smut*

[whump-ventures]

Return to Kethrys

-had a sudden burst of inspiration for this world as a whole and some old characters are getting a revival. Most of them are changing quite a bit (even though if anyone remembers my bastard Edwyn he's not changing much at all and I'm excited to bring him back). Similar world, new plot, similar characters, and a lot of new ones! Should be fun, and hopefully I actually get around to writing since I wrote maybe one (1) drabble last year.

~~~

Clawing her way to consciousness has never been this difficult, but her memory has never been quite as fractured either.

She doesn’t blink open her eyes just yet, letting the other senses gather information. The air is heavy and stale, a far cry from the crisp and clean mountain air that she’s familiar with. The smells are confusing- rats, she can smell and hear their warm bodies snuffling along the ground, humans as well, and hay. An odd combination, especially with some of the humans seemingly healthy- but others not so much. And above all there is the overwhelming smell and taste of metal and stone surrounding her.

Footsteps, from far down the hall. A soft clinking a hundred or so yards away. She’s certain that the stale taste in the air means that they are deep underground, but even here she can hear the faintest song of the wind. Curious- like an opening to the world in such a foreign place-

A miniscule twist of her head and a sudden striking realization that she isn’t in the right form. Arms and hands tied- no, bound- by harsh metal that is behind her back and attached to the wall. Her legs and feet folded underneath her, and there's a deep ache which means she must have been kneeling in this position for quite some time now. She can feel the biting cold through her wrists and on her shins, which is another sure sign of her flimsy human skin, not tough and beautiful scales that can stop even the most deadly weapon.

She would never contain herself to this body unless… unless someone with wards forced her into it.

Silver eyes flash open with a snarl, teeth bared ready for a fight.

There is no foe in front of her. She twists her head to each side, tongue flicking out to taste the air. It’s dark in the- cave?- but her predatory eyes adjust in an instant, adding to her already confusing intel. She wills her body to grow and shift, needing to be rid of this weak and useless body and back into the one that she belongs in: With wings that stretch with scales of glittering obsidian, fangs that are longer than some men are tall, claws that rip and shred with ease. Yet the attempt is met with a harsh flash of light from behind her, and her transformation runs into a wall of stone. Try as she might, the effort to become herself again is met with nothing but exhaustion.

None of this makes sense. In one last effort, her legs bend underneath her, trying to push her to her feet. But the metal bites, bites like a snake in the grass, and tugs her back down to the ground. Another snarl and a twist to fight, and it bites into her again, causing her to growl in a combination of pain and frustration. The claws and fangs that remain in this form are much smaller, practically useless against metal. After a brief moment of struggle to get away from the snake-metal, she finally stops with a hiss, panting in her frustrations.

How did she get here? In this deep cave, surrounded by trees of metal, with hurt humans and healthy humans both off in the distance? Where even is… here? And what is this place? Too many unanswered questions as her breathing slowly returns to normal- or as normal as it can get in this nasty stale air that has no hint of freedom, no taste of sun or grass or the moon or stars. Cold and unforgiving stone, not covered in a perfect layer of snow, not gleaming under the light from above, more stone blocking her from the world above. A dark and terrible place, and one that she has no recognition of. All she knows is that she is very far from where she belongs.

So lost in her thoughts and confusion, that she almost misses the footsteps approaching her.

Another sharp twist of her head- mindful of the snake-metal this time, and her eyes lock onto a woman with flowing hair. The hair is near-white: not the gold of the sun, but also not the pure color of the snow. Her eyes remind Kaelyx of an alpine lake- which only serves to anger her further about the way she has been trapped in such a manner. The woman is studying her intensely, a soft smile flickering across her face that Kaelyx knows means nothing good- she’s seen that expression one too many times.

“So…..” It’s drawled out, the focused gaze never wavering, “You’re finally awake, half-breed.”

A growl builds in her throat, claws scraping against the stone wall behind her as she imagines sinking them into the woman’s neck. But she keeps her mouth shut, eyes narrowed in on the woman like she’s nothing more than a tasty bite of prey.

“You’ll drop that tough act soon enough, dragon.”

Less of an insult this time, but the tone is still enough for Kaelyx to have a sharp image in her mind of ripping the woman’s throat out. She nearly opens her mouth to respond, but once again decides better of it, desiring to get a better idea of the situation before speaking something that she may regret.

The woman’s smile only grows, staring straight at her with that intensity that Kaelyx has only seen on other dragons before. A sudden strike rushes through her when she grasps that this is what it must be like for her prey. What they see, maybe even what they feel… There is no doubt that this woman has the power here. For now. So long as the snake-metal bites her wrists, so long as that strange flash of light keeps her contained in this body- for the first time in her life, Kaelyx is the prey.

“Well, I don’t see any point in delaying.” The tall, sparse, metal… trees- this place makes no sense- click and swing open, and the woman strides in. Kaelyx’s growl builds as she strides closer, and she pulls harder against her trapped hands, wishing she could swing her claws at the woman’s face. That smile could be wiped away with a single slash, and it would be so satisfying to hear the haughty human scream. Maybe Kaelyx can even rip out an eye in the process.

A hand extends slowly towards her, and her fangs flash and snap. As she lunges, that damn bite returns around her wrists. Kaelyx enters a fierce brawl with her own body, willing it to shift, and yet there’s simply another flash that leaves her exhausted.

The hand rests on her forearm, just above the wicked metal, carefully out of range of Kaelyx’s flashing teeth that have a strong desire to sink into flesh, tear muscle, crush bone…

“Any more words for now, darling?”

Darling?

That insult can not be ignored.

“How dare you?” Her words come out as a hiss of rage, shocked to her core at the utter disrespect towards her race. As if a human could even compare to the grandeur of a dragon. "We are far superior to you, and such a revolting slander is beyond—”

A sudden jolt runs through her body, like a living creature is walking through her veins. It's enough of a surprise, so foreign, that she cuts her words off to focus on it. Curiosity battling with apprehension. The energy knots inside her, follow by a grasp around her chest and then a sharp pull...

All the air rushes out of her lungs.

Shock rushes through her, and Kaelyx's immediate reaction is to turn and look at the mage kneeling beside her, looking for any hint to understand the magic at work here. The woman doesn’t speak, nor does she move, her studying gaze never leaving Kaelyx’s own.

An attempt to breathe, and there’s nothing.

Another, and still no oxygen.

A third, and the fear hits.

If only logic and reasoning would have stayed with her, but the dragon, the animal that she is, responds first. And that response is manifested in pure panic. Followed by pain. That terrible feeling of fire in her lungs that she remembers once before when she was young, trapped in a cave and running out of air. But this is worse. Worse because the air is everywhere around her. Worse because as hard as she tries, all that necessary oxygen just seems to get pulled away from her before it can go to her lungs. And then she’s thrashing, struggling, needing to get her claws to her throat, to open her airway, to get some breath into her, to stop the burning- burning- burning that continues to grow and spread.

Her panic grows like a weed, choking her as quickly as the woman that steals her air with just a touch. Her struggles grow weaker, the cave getting dimmer around her. A terrifying thought scorches through Kaelyx, as intense as the fiery burn in her lungs- she’s going to die.

The woman smiles right before her world turns black.

[merakiui]

A Leaf Swept up in an Autumnal Breeze

yandere!kaedehara kazuha x (gender neutral) reader art credit - Tourou_7 on twt cw: yandere, unhealthy/obsessive behaviors, slight nsfw implications/thoughts, alcohol consumption, intoxication, spoilers for kazuha’s character story + inazuma lore note - i decided to write something short for kazuha as i analyze what we know so far of his character. hopefully the characterization isn’t too off! please enjoy nonetheless! orz

The moonlight casts its thin rays upon the calm, motionless sea. In the distance, fish surface and their movements are captured in the ripples that expand in the water, a minor blip in the otherwise tranquil atmosphere of the dark night. As if a god has taken a brush to the sky, utilizing its inky vastness as a canvas, the stars have been drawn in small specks—winking down at those who sleep underneath a blanket of natural light.

And you are caught up in the glorious shimmer, grinning widely as Beidou wraps her arm around you, pulling you against her as if the two of you have known each other for years. In reality, it’s only been a few months since you were discovered on her ship: a hidden stowaway with your Vision clutched in your hands and raw resolve etched into your body in the form of bruises and old scars. You’re a fighter and yet you also ran from something. Kazuha can’t quite tell what it is you’ve escaped. Whether it’s another person, a group of people, or even an entire nation, he’s certain it’s worthy of the risks that come with fleeing.

Your Vision shines brightly, a stark contrast to the dark color scheme of your clothes. He tries to place a nation to your outfit and comes up empty, his thoughts returning to Inazuma as though it’s the only place he can think of. And he supposes that’s true. The situation in Inazuma has clouded his mind with its strange fog, taking up residence in the nooks and crannies of his brain. Though he can dwell upon the past and the mistakes that led up to the downfall of a precious friend, he knows there is no use for such somber reflections during a happy celebration. Life moves on, as the common saying goes, and he cannot allow himself to remain trapped in the past.

During moments such as these, where he relives the horrible memory in vivid detail, you are a sweet balm that soothes the sting of loss. Even when you’re struggling to stand, face hot from the intoxication of good drinks in even better company, you’re a wondrous presence who chases away his doubts and worries.

Unknowingly, you cast a temporary shroud over those matters and he’s put at ease the minute you extend your arm in his direction.

“Kazuha! Come over here. Let’s dance!”

A hiccup interrupts your jovial giggle and Beidou chuckles before throwing her head back to drink what’s left in her flask. The aura of her ship is beyond lively. Men and women alike celebrate another successful week with drinks, harrowing tales of past heroes, and broken ballads sang in drunken tones. He can’t help the smile that sprouts on his lips. You’re such an outgoing person, always wanting to include him in your daily activities. And though he politely declines whenever you offer him alcohol, he has wondered what the appeal could possibly be.

Perhaps it’s the idea of losing your sensibility for one night, ignoring all reason for the sake of spending pleasurable moments in the confines of a warm bed, wrapped snugly in a lover’s embrace. Such instances are lost to intoxicating pleasure—buried under a hazy recollection come morning. But you haven’t done that sort of thing. Kazuha would know. He listens in while you’re relaxing—while you’re bathing and going about life on the ship without a care in the world—and his head runs wild with all sorts of fantasies. Fantasies he never would have imagined had he not met you.

To think you were just a mere stowaway, a trespasser who had snuck onto the ship and hid in the darkest corner, obscured by crates and chests. And he had pulled those crates aside in search of a few ingredients and his eyes met yours and you held your finger to your lips—a silent urge to keep quiet—and his heart skipped a beat.

It was a special meeting between two, which will remain locked away in his heart for all of eternity. A memory he regards with warm fondness. After much negotiation and a disarming conversation, you were soon welcomed with open arms as Beidou practically offered you to join her crew. You had nowhere else to go—no one else to see or protect—and so you agreed. And Kazuha felt a relief he hasn’t felt in a while, the sort of emotion that stems from almost losing something important.

The pure relief that comes and goes once he realizes you’re a missing piece in the puzzle of his life.

“You’ll trip,” he warns, pushing off from the side of the ship and walking over to you and Beidou. “It wouldn’t be wise to dance in your inebriated state. Surely you’re aware of this, no?”

“I can hold my alcohol.” Your wavering glare doesn’t reach him. “Don’t... Don’t think otherwise or else I’ll—ah!”

The majority of Beidou’s weight burdens your shoulders and you nearly almost crumble.

“You—“ she searches for a means to steady herself— “worry too much,” the captain adds, nodding in agreement to an unspoken statement. “It’ll be okay! Live a little while you’re still young.”

Kazuha sighs and easily slips between the two of you, hooking his arm around Beidou’s waist as he guides her to a barrel. The scent of alcohol kisses the air, clinging to your clothes and breath like an oversaturated perfume. Once she’s sat down, now fully determined to get the last few drops from out of the flask, the rōnin turns to you. He’s caught by surprise when your hands grasp his, your eager expression stabbing his heart with a dozen pins. He’s rooted to the floorboards, unable to look away when your face is dangerously close to his.

“You heard the captain,” you tease in a slurred voice. “Live a little.”

And he does. Or he thinks he does. Having traveled with Beidou, this is the current life he’s come to know and appreciate. But is it truly living if he feels unfulfilled in the process? To find a means for bringing back the familiar glow in a lonely Vision. To secure peace of mind and put his rowdy thoughts to rest. To one day return to the nation he was forced to flee, with you in tow. Are all of these things necessary in order to fill the gaping void in his damaged heart? Kazuha wonders if you also came from Inazuma. Perhaps you wouldn’t be so surprised to see the scenery if he were to take you there. Not now, of course. Sometime in the future, if such a future holds a changed Inazuma.

“I’m going to warn you now,” he mumbles, his fingers ghosting over your waist, “I’m not what one would call a dancer of skillful grace.”

“I don’t think that’s true, dear Kazuha.”

He blinks once and then releases a short laugh at the endearing term. “If you say so.”

“Enough talk.” You huff and pull him into your chest and he feels as though he could stay locked in this position for millennia. “Dance with me before...” A stilted pause as you nearly forget your sentence. “Before I turn in for the night. That’s it.”

Or before you get sick, he thinks, not so cheerful about the inevitable mess. But he’ll tolerate it because you’ve tolerated him. You never pry into his past, nor do you force him to answer personal questions regarding Inazuma and the Raiden Shogun. If you ever notice the way he lingers near your quarters, you don’t say a word. And if you hear his subdued moans as his hand moves in time with a picturesque fantasy of your nude form pressed against his, you keep your mouth shut. You are everything he could ever want and like the very ideal the Raiden Shogun wishes to uphold he wants to pursue an eternity with you.

Your movements are far from the precision you normally have when moving about the ship and it’s a very odd dance. Yet you spin him and he follows your unusual lead like an animal with tunnel vision. For a taut moment, the background noise melts away into obscurity and the two of you are the only people in existence. He stares at your face the entire time, ignoring the way your sandals crush his feet or the instances where he unintentionally returns the gesture. It’s certainly an awkward sort of waltz, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

And in this moment where no one else matters, he sees your radiance in the glow of the moon. You truly are worthy of the sun and the stars beyond and should you verbalize an outlandish wish of that nature he has no choice but to follow through.

Like a leaf swept up in an autumnal breeze, reminiscent of a ronin who lacks a place in the world, Kazuha allows himself to be carried on by the winds that rustle the sails and tangle through your hair, painting you in a backdrop that’s heaven handcrafted by the pickiest god. And where you have your wits, a lively Vision, and your confidence, he only has his blade, a dull Vision, and an inkling of hope. But that’s really all he requires.

[puttingherinhistory]

“Covid has unleashed the most severe setback to women’s liberation in my lifetime. While watching this happen, I have started to think we are witnessing an outbreak of disaster patriarchy.

Naomi Klein was the first to identify “disaster capitalism”, when capitalists use a disaster to impose measures they couldn’t possibly get away with in normal times, generating more profit for themselves. Disaster patriarchy is a parallel and complementary process, where men exploit a crisis to reassert control and dominance, and rapidly erase hard-earned women’s rights. (The term “racialized disaster patriarchy” was used by Rachel E Luft in writing about an intersectional model for understanding disaster 10 years after Hurricane Katrina.) All over the world, patriarchy has taken full advantage of the virus to reclaim power – on the one hand, escalating the danger and violence to women, and on the other, stepping in as their supposed controller and protector.

I have spent months interviewing activists and grassroots leaders around the world, from Kenya to France to India, to find out how this process is affecting them, and how they are fighting back. In very different contexts, five key factors come up again and again. In disaster patriarchy, women lose their safety, their economic power, their autonomy, their education, and they are pushed on to the frontlines, unprotected, to be sacrificed. 

Part of me hesitates to use the word “patriarchy”, because some people feel confused by it, and others feel it’s archaic. I have tried to imagine a newer, more contemporary phrase for it, but I have watched how we keep changing language, updating and modernising our descriptions in an attempt to meet the horror of the moment. I think, for example, of all the names we have given to the act of women being beaten by their partner. First, it was battery, then domestic violence, then intimate partner violence, and most recently intimate terrorism. We are forever doing the painstaking work of refining and illuminating, rather than insisting the patriarchs work harder to deepen their understanding of a system that is eviscerating the planet. So, I’m sticking with the word. 

In this devastating time of Covid we have seen an explosion of violence towards women, whether they are cisgender or gender-diverse. Intimate terrorism in lockdown has turned the home into a kind of torture chamber for millions of women. We have seen the spread of revenge porn as lockdown has pushed the world online; such digital sexual abuse is now central to domestic violence as intimate partners threaten to share sexually explicit images without victims’ consent. 

The conditions of lockdown – confinement, economic insecurity, fear of illness, excess of alcohol – were a perfect storm for abuse. It is hard to determine what is more disturbing: the fact that in 2021 thousands of men still feel willing and entitled to control, torture and beat their wives, girlfriends and children, or that no government appears to have thought about this in their planning for lockdown. 

In Peru, hundreds of women and girls have gone missing since lockdown was imposed, and are feared dead. According to official figures reported by Al Jazeera, 606 girls and 309 women went missing between 16 March and 30 June last year. Worldwide, the closure of schools has increased the likelihood of various forms of violence. The US Rape Abuse and Incest National Network says its helpline for survivors of sexual assault has never been in such demand in its 26-year history, as children are locked in with abusers with no ability to alert their teachers or friends. In Italy, calls to the national anti-violence toll-free number increased by 73% between 1 March and 16 April 2020, according to the activist Luisa Rizzitelli. In Mexico, emergency call handlers received the highest number of calls in the country’s history, and the number of women who sought domestic violence shelters quadrupled. 

To add outrage to outrage, many governments reduced funding for these shelters at the exact moment they were most needed. This seems to be true throughout Europe. In the UK, providers told Human Rights Watch that the Covid-19 crisis has exacerbated a lack of access to services for migrant and Black, Asian and minority ethnic women. The organisations working with these communities say that persistent inequality leads to additional difficulties in accessing services such as education, healthcare and disaster relief remotely. 

In the US, more than 5 million women’s jobs were lost between the start of the pandemic and November 2020. Because much of women’s work requires physical contact with the public – restaurants, stores, childcare, healthcare settings – theirs were some of the first to go. Those who were able to keep their jobs were often frontline workers whose positions have put them in great danger; some 77% of hospital workers and 74% percent of school staff are women. Even then, the lack of childcare options left many women unable to return to their jobs. Having children does not have this effect for men. The rate of unemployment for Black and Latina women was higher before the virus, and now it is even worse. 

The situation is more severe for women in other parts of the world. Shabnam Hashmi, a leading women’s activist from India, tells me that by April 2020 a staggering 39.5% of women there had lost their jobs. “Work from home is very taxing on women as their personal space has disappeared, and workload increased threefold,” Hashmi says. In Italy, existing inequalities have been amplified by the health emergency. Rizzitelli points out that women already face lower employment, poorer salaries and more precarious contracts, and are rarely employed in “safe” corporate roles; they have been the first to suffer the effects of the crisis. “Pre-existing economic, social, racial and gender inequalities have been accentuated, and all of this risks having longer-term consequences than the virus itself,” Rizzitelli says. 

When women are put under greater financial pressure, their rights rapidly erode. With the economic crisis created by Covid, sex- and labour-trafficking are again on the rise. Young women who struggle to pay their rent are being preyed on by landlords, in a process known as “sextortion”. 

I don’t think we can overstate the level of exhaustion, anxiety and fear that women are suffering from taking care of families, with no break or time for themselves. It’s a subtle form of madness. As women take care of the sick, the needy and the dying, who takes care of them? Colani Hlatjwako, an activist leader from the Kingdom of Eswatini, sums it up: “Social norms that put a heavy caregiving burden on women and girls remain likely to make their physical and mental health suffer.” These structures also impede access to education, damage livelihoods, and strip away sources of support.

Unesco estimates that upward of 11 million girls may not return to school once the Covid pandemic subsides. The Malala Fund estimates an even bigger number: 20 million. Phumzile Mlambo-Ngcuka, from UN Women, says her organisation has been fighting for girls’ education since the Beijing UN women’s summit in 1995. “Girls make up the majority of the schoolchildren who are not going back,” she says. “We had been making progress – not perfect, but we were keeping them at school for longer. And now, to have these girls just dropping out in one year, is quite devastating.” 

Of all these setbacks, this will be the most significant. When girls are educated, they know their rights, and what to demand. They have the possibility of getting jobs and taking care of their families. When they can’t access education, they become a financial strain to their families and are often forced into early marriages. 

This has particular implications for female genital mutilation (FGM). Often, fathers will accept not subjecting their daughters to this process because their daughters can become breadwinners through being educated. If there is no education, then the traditional practices resume, so that daughters can be sold for dowries. As Agnes Pareyio, chairwoman of the Kenyan Anti-Female Genital Mutilation Board, tells me: “Covid closed our schools and brought our girls back home. No one knew what was going on in the houses. We know that if you educate a girl, FGM will not happen. And now, sadly the reverse is true.” 

In the early months of the pandemic, I had a front-row seat to the situation of nurses in the US, most of whom are women. I worked with National Nurses United, the biggest and most radical nurses’ union, and interviewed many nurses working on the frontline. I watched as for months they worked gruelling 12-hour shifts filled with agonising choices and trauma, acting as midwives to death. On their short lunch breaks, they had to protest over their own lack of personal protective equipment, which put them in even greater danger. In the same way that no one thought what it would mean to lock women and children in houses with abusers, no one thought what it would be like to send nurses into an extremely contagious pandemic without proper PPE. In some US hospitals, nurses were wearing garbage bags instead of gowns, and reusing single-use masks many times. They were being forced to stay on the job even if they had fevers.

The treatment of nurses who were risking their lives to save ours was a shocking kind of violence and disrespect. But there are many other areas of work where women have been left unprotected, from the warehouse workers who are packing and shipping our goods, to women who work in poultry and meat plants who are crammed together in dangerous proximity and forced to stay on the job even when they are sick. One of the more stunning developments has been with “tipped” restaurant workers in the US, already allowed to be paid the shockingly low wage of $2.13 (£1.50) an hour, which has remained the same for the past 22 years. Not only has work declined, tips have also declined greatly for those women, and now a new degradation called “maskular harassment” has emerged, where male customers insist waitresses take off their masks so they can determine if and how much to tip them based on their looks. 

Women farm workers in the US have seen their protections diminished while no one was looking. Mily Treviño-Sauceda, executive director of Alianza Nacional de Campesinas, tells me how pressures have increased on campesinas, or female farm workers: “There have been more incidents of pesticides poisonings, sexual abuse and heat stress issues, and there is less monitoring from governmental agencies or law enforcement due to Covid-19.” 

Covid has revealed the fact that we live with two incompatible ideas when it comes to women. The first is that women are essential to every aspect of life and our survival as a species. The second is that women can easily be violated, sacrificed and erased. This is the duality that patriarchy has slashed into the fabric of existence, and that Covid has laid bare. If we are to continue as a species, this contradiction needs to be healed and made whole. 

To be clear, the problem is not the lockdowns, but what the lockdowns, and the pandemic that required them, have made clear. Covid has revealed that patriarchy is alive and well; that it will reassert itself in times of crisis because it has never been truly deconstructed, and like an untreated virus it will return with a vengeance when the conditions are ripe. 

The truth is that unless the culture changes, unless patriarchy is dismantled, we will forever be spinning our wheels. Coming out of Covid, we need to be bold, daring, outrageous and to imagine a more radical way of existing on the Earth. We need to continue to build and spread activist movements. We need progressive grassroots women and women of colour in positions of power. We need a global initiative on the scale of a Marshall Plan or larger, to deconstruct and exorcise patriarchy – which is the root of so many other forms of oppression, from imperialism to racism, from transphobia to the denigration of the Earth. 

There would first be a public acknowledgment, and education, about the nature of patriarchy and an understanding that it is driving us to our end. There would be ongoing education, public forums and processes studying how patriarchy leads to various forms of oppression. Art would help expunge trauma, grief, aggression, sorrow and anger in the culture and help heal and make people whole. We would understand that a culture that has diabolical amnesia and refuses to address its past can only repeat its misfortunes and abuses. Community and religious centres would help members deal with trauma. We would study the high arts of listening and empathy. Reparations and apologies would be done in public forums and in private meetings. Learning the art of apology would be as important as prayer.

The feminist author Gerda Lerner wrote in 1986: “The system of patriarchy in a historic construct has a beginning and it will have an end. Its time seems to have nearly run its course. It no longer serves the needs of men and women, and its intractable linkage to militarism, hierarchy and racism has threatened the very existence of life on Earth.”

As powerful as patriarchy is, it’s just a story. As the post-pandemic era unfolds, can we imagine another system, one that is not based on hierarchy, violence, domination, colonialisation and occupation? Do we see the connection between the devaluing, harming and oppression of all women and the destruction of the Earth itself? What if we lived as if we were kin? What if we treated each person as sacred and essential to the unfolding story of humanity? 

What if rather than exploiting, dominating and hurting women and girls during a crisis, we designed a world that valued them, educated them, paid them, listened to them, cared for them and centred them?“

[littlelioncub43]

Stress Relief

Awww his wee face! Hehehe, anyhooters!

Summary: Justin has a bad day at school and you help him relax ;)

Pairing: college!Justin Capshaw x fem!reader

Warnings: SMUT 18+ (minors DNI, obvi), mutual masturbation, cum play, cum eating, mommy kink, mommy!reader, subby!Justin, basically baby boy!Justin, edging, fingering (f receiving), hand job (m receiving)

Word count: 3.1k

A/N: I had too much fun writing this one, you guys hehe. I mean look at that sweet little faaaace!! Awwwwwwwww! Hehe, anyway, this is the 3rd fic for my birthday celebration week! The last 2 are Lee Bodecker fics so it’ll be a lot of fun! I hope you like it, tell me what you think, reply, reblog, or send me asks about it! If you wanna be added to my taglist just let me know! Any questions or comments? send em my way, baby! I love you all! 

Kisses 💋

—K

~~~~~~

Today was your day off, a slight rarity nowadays. Taking the day to really pamper yourself, you were freshly showered and wrapped in your favorite teal silk robe, sitting on your couch comfortably. You were in the middle of enjoying one of your favorite movies when you heard the front door slam with much more force than Justin normally used. Jumping at the loud noise, you turned to see a very stressed out Justin practically stomp his way through the house. A surprised look etched on his face at the sight of you.

“Oh! Mommy. I must have forgotten that you had the day off,” he says with a sheepish smile, the agitation of his day still present.

You nod and smile softly, “what’s the matter, Sweet Boy?” You ask and pat the spot on the couch next to you for him to join, which he does.

With a sigh, he plops on the couch, his hand finding yours naturally, seeking out your comfort in any way that he can.

“It’s nothing, Mommy,” he mumbled unconvincingly, looking down at your intertwined hands, his signature pout forming on his face. You scoot closer and gently tilt his face to look at you, cradling his head.

“You know how I feel about lying, baby,” you chastise softly, your voice still gentle, not wanting to make him feel any worse than he already does. You hear him sigh heavily.

“I’m just… I had a bad day,” he says in a small voice, his sweet blue eyes holding all the struggle he endured during the day. It broke your heart to see your Sweet Boy so stressed and beaten down. You coo at him lovingly and rub his cheek with the pad of your thumb causing him to lean into your palm, desperate for your touch already.

“Aww, my poor boy, I’m sorry. Do you wanna take a bubble bath and watch some cartoons with Mommy?” You ask with a grin, knowing how much he adores taking bubble baths, especially when he’s had a hard day, but to your surprise he shakes his head.

“No?” You ask in slight shock, “What do you want to do, Sweet Boy?” You run a hand through his hair, smiling at the way his eyes slip shut and the pleased sigh that leaves his lips. He couldn’t help the way his cock hardened in his jeans, you always knew what buttons to push, and it really didn’t take much to get him hard for you.

He blushed softly, something he does quite regularly, wetting his lips as he opened his eyes again to gaze at you longingly. You could tell what he wanted now, his pupils dilating with lust, his breaths coming out in short puffs, he wanted to play. His change in demeanor had you smirking knowingly.

“What do you want, Sweet Boy?” You pressed again, your voice sultry as you lean in, his free hand coming to slide up your thigh.

“I-I want you to touch me, Mommy…” he whispered, your lips a mere centimeter from his.

“I am touching you, baby,” you tease, your hand in his hair gently tugging to get his attention before massaging sensually. He whines in frustration, shaking his head like a child.

“No… no, Mommy, want you to touch me here,” he emphasizes his words by bringing one of your hands to cup the tent in his pants, gasping when you grope his bulge happily.

“Oh, you want to play?” He nods vigorously at you, his eyes pleading and begging already.

“Alright, Sweet Boy, we can play, but let’s go to the bedroom, hm?” You taunt with a small peck to his lips, he all but runs to your room, making you giggle at his eagerness.

Shutting the door behind you, you smile at what a good boy Justin is; he’s sitting at the edge of your bed, hands on his knees like you taught him, leg bouncing in anticipation. Biting your lip, you saunter over to your waiting boy, admiring the way his eyes trail over your figure in a shy yet hungry manner. Standing in between his spread legs, you rest your hands on his shoulders, his head tilting back to gaze up at you, his glasses perched cutely on his nose. Running your hands up his shoulders and neck to his head makes a shiver run up the base of Justin’s spine, you hum appreciatively at him, your eyes drinking in his handsome face and soft body.

“Hmmmm, I can never seem to get over just how handsome you are, baby,” you whisper to him, adoring the way he bats his eyes bashfully, practically preening under your praise. You bring him in for a heated yet short kiss, “so fucking handsome,” you mumble against his lips, he responds with a whimper.

His hands slowly come to your waist, secretly trying to pull you closer to his throbbing bulge. You tsk at him, “now, now, you didn’t say anything about wanting to touch Mommy,” you grin when he whines.

“Can I touch you, Mommy?” He asks like the good boy he is, you can’t help but give in to his requests, he has you wrapped around his little finger. You nod and he immediately wraps his large hands around your middle, sighing happily at the feeling of your silky robe. His lips lifting to search for yours, “kiss me, Mommy, please,” he mumbles before you smash your lips against his. Your hands hold him in place, moaning at how pliant your sweet boy is, his body submitting to yours with no hesitation. The level of trust he has in you never ceases to amaze you. He grinds his hips into your thigh, silently begging you for more, a reminder as to what he really needs at the moment. After a few moments, you pull back, both of you breathless and needier than before.

But then you get an idea. An awful idea. A wonderfully, terrible idea.

“C’mere, baby,” you bite your lip and pull Justin to stand up, climbing onto your neatly made king size bed, settling with your head on your pillows, hair sprawled out around you like a halo, smiling at Justin’s eager face. You lay on your back and pat your thigh, calling him to you, and he scrambles up your bed, panting in excitement. Just as he was going to hover over you, you press on his chest to make him sit on his haunches between your legs. The confused look on his face made you giggle softly. Without a word, you bite your lip and pull the tie on your robe, letting it fall open slowly. Justin watches with wide eyes as you reveal your naked form to him, cock now painfully hard in his jeans, his jaw falling open as you spread your legs wide, your knees bent to give him the best view possible. Justin can swear that he’d never seen anything more beautiful in his entire life, he couldn’t believe that you were really his, that you loved him for all that he is and all that he was. He swallows the lump of saliva in his throat and waits for your next order.

“Take yourself out, Sweet Boy,” you say softly, watching how he quickly fumbles with his belt buckle and fly zipper. Once he has them undone, he shoves his jeans and boxers down to his mid thigh in one go. You moan at the sight of his hard dick springing free, the slick in between your legs growing with each passing minute.

“Mmm there it is, that sweet little cock,” you praise, watching how he takes in a shaky breath, his face flushed and slightly sweaty, “touch yourself for me, baby, show Mommy how you play with yourself.”

He whines ever so softly and makes a face, his eyes falling shut before he takes a deep breath, a large hand slowly wrapping around his weeping dick. The groan that leaves him is subtle, his hand offering him some relief but he knows it’s nothing compared to the feeling of your softer hands working him.

“Open up for me, baby,” you whisper, two of your fingers caressing his bottom lip which he happily accepts into his mouth, sucking eagerly, his tongue swirling around your digits. Once you make sure they’re nice and wet, you pull them from his mouth and tease your throbbing clit with them. The breathy moan you let out makes Justin open his eyes, your eyes are already on his, hunger and desire burning deep within your irises. He sees your spit covered fingers rubbing slow circles on your clit, pace matching his, and moans with you, his hand tightening around his girth, glasses sliding down his nose ever so slowly. You watch as he tugs his cock in slow, practiced movements, his pace speeding up as soon as he opens his eyes. With your lip caught between your teeth, you slowly push your two fingers into your soaked cunt, gasping at the intrusion, moaning his name in a throaty tone, putting on a show. He whimpers as he watches your pussy swallow your fingers, his face contorting in a envious grimace, your juices dripping from your folds and he desperately wishes he could lick each drop from you.

“Oh, god, Mommy, y’look so pretty,” he whines out, his eyes glued to the apex of your thighs, his balls tensing, his face gathering a thin sheen of sweat as he jerked himself off. “Mommy, touch me, y’said you’d touch me, Mommy, please,” he begged, his voice a pitiful whine, his lip jutted out in a pleading pout.

“I will, baby, I promise, just keep going for a little longer,” you soothe him as best you can, your fingers moving at a quicker pace, getting lost in the pleasure that your fingers provide. He whines again but does as you ask, his hand now stroking at a more rushed pace, his high approaching, his dick twitching as he gets closer and closer to finishing. “Don’t cum yet, baby, hold it for Mommy,” you say just moments before he comes, his head tossing back as his hand grips the base of his throbbing cock in a tight hold, a soft, high pitched roar leaving his chest as he forces himself back from his peak. You can tell that he’s frustrated, he never liked edging but he never disobeyed you either. He can hear your praises over the ringing in his ears, his thighs trembling in effort.

Bringing your fingers from your core, you offer them up to Justin’s swollen lips which he greedily sucks clean, a satisfied sigh leaving him at the sweet taste of you. You sit up, leaning back on one of your hands, grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him into a headed kiss, moaning at the taste of yourself on his tongue.

“Such a good boy, Justin, always so good,” you moan into his mouth, he leans over you slightly, panting heavily, his hand still cinching the base of his dick. With your eyes staring deeply into his, you slowly pull his hand off his cock, making sure that he knows what’s coming next, you can see his face twist in relief, nearly crying at the realization that you’re going to touch him where he needs you most.

“Oh my god, Mommy, yes,” he sighs in a croaky voice, his forehead resting against yours as his eyes shut once more. You bring your hand to your sopping heat, collecting your juices on your palm, then slowly wrap it around him. Justin pants heavily at the sensation, his jaw hung open, eyebrows pinched upwards, feeling extra sensitive having been edged moments before. Watching his face intensely, you give him an experimental stroke, his hips instinctively thrusting to chase your hand.

“A-Ah!!” He groans, his hands clutching the duvet cover beneath you. You smirk and start a steady, slow pace, loving the way his face twists with each downward pull or squeeze of your fist. You bring your lips to swallow each of his little noises, your pace picking up to jerk him off at a deliciously pleasurable speed. Tossing his head back, he cries out loudly, hips fucking into your fist desperately, you take the opportunity to suck deep love bites into the sensitive column of his neck.

“M—Mommy!! Mommy!! Mommy!!” He shouts in a quivering voice, you know he’s close again, so you stop and grip the base of his dick to keep him from finishing. Another growl leaves his throat, but it’s not a dominant angry growl but one to help hold himself back.

“That’s it, good, that’s the last one, I promise,” you whisper into the sweaty skin on his neck, your free hand resting on his hip now, caressing and soothing his trembling form. He’s almost crying, all the stress from his bad day building to a peak, his whole body feels tight, everything feels too tight. He’s chanting please under his breath, his eyes open now, forehead pressed against yours, staring deeply into your eyes, tears pooling at his bottom lashes. You give him a sweet peck to his lips which makes his cock jump and a nearly pained moan leave him.

“Play with Mommy, Sweet Boy, go on,” you take one of his hands and bring it to your leaking pussy, his fingers immediately starting to play with your drenched folds. The feeling of your weeping cunt under his fingers calms him down, his focus now on how wet you are rather than the tense feeling in his balls. “Feel how wet I am for you, Sweet Boy?” He nods, sniffling ever so softly, his eyes trained on your pussy, his fingers focused on your clit. “S’all for you, baby,” you whisper in his ear, your hand beginning to move again, thumb rubbing over his tip, collecting the precum and smearing it around, “I’m all yours, Sweet Boy…”

“All mine…” He echoes in a fucked out voice, his fingers slipping into your tight cunt, he grunted at the way your walls gripped his thick fingers, thumb rubbing circles at your clit, “you’re all mine, right, Mommy?” He asks in a daze.

“Yes, Justin, I’m all yours, just yours,” you moaned for him, knowing how much he loves to hear that, how much it calms him down and lets him know that you aren’t going anywhere. His fingers speed up, and you can’t help but match his pace, your free hand coaxing his hips to start fucking your hand again, which he does.

“D’you wanna cum all over Mommy, Sweet Boy? Shoot all your hot cum on to my little pussy? Will that make you feel better?” You taunt and nip at his ear.

He sobs and falls forward onto you, pushing you both on to the bed, both of you still working each other furiously, his hips still thrusting. “Yes!! Oh god!!” He cries, fat tears rolling down his cheeks at the intensity of it all, his fingers curling into your spongey g spot over and over, thumb strumming your clit in quick motions, hell bent on making you cum with him. Your legs begin to shake around him, toes curling, back arching.

“I’m gonna cum, baby! Fuuuuuuuuuck!” You screech as you cum around his fingers, your eyes crossing as you ride out your high, hand still tugging on Justin’s member which was practically an angry red. He moaned with you, loving the way you milked his fingers, wishing he was actually inside of you.

“Mommy!Mommy!Mommy!Mommy!” He warned you of his upcoming high, his hips losing their rhythm as you pull his fingers from you and angle his bulbous tip at your cunt.

“Let go, Justin, let it all go, Sweet Boy,” you encourage him, and he’s gone. He shoots his load all over your puffy lips, your cum mixing together as each hot rope of his cum paints your skin beautifully. A strangled, ear splitting scream reverberates through the house, his entire being shaking as he is nearly drowned in pleasure.

“fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck,” he chants under his breath, and you can’t help but moan, he never curses unless it’s really, really, really good. He releases the death grip on the pillows beneath your head that he doesn’t remember grabbing, the aftershocks of his intense orgasm still rocking through him even after what seems like forever. When he regains his sight, he looks down to see the mess he made, his creamy white spend covering your pussy and reaching parts of your torso and even on your tits. He’s gasping for breath, his head all fuzzy and lightheaded, he offers you a smile, it’s dopey and spent, having just came so hard he swears he saw god. You smile back at his, pushing the sweaty strands of hair out of his face, readjusting his glasses before peppering his face with kisses, whispering how much a of a good boy he is, how good he did, how much you love him. When you bring your lips to his, he hums happily before murmuring your name softly.

“Hmmmmm, you made such a mess, baby,” you say and nibble his bottom lip teasingly, smiling as he nods, licking his lips. He loved cleaning up after himself, mostly because of how much it turned you on. Slipping his tongue down the side of your neck, he scoots down to bring himself eye level with your tits, his hot tongue sneaking out to swipe off the sticky rope of his cum from your breast. He moans at the salty taste of himself, gathering more and more eagerly.

“Come here,” you grip the back of his head and bring his cum-filled mouth to yours, forcing him to pour it into yours, drinking it down with a deep hum. Your tongue swirls in his mouth, making sure to get each and every drop from him. When you pull back, his lips are slick with a mixture of spit and his cum which you happily lick clean, leaving him breathless at the filthy act.

“Feeling better?”

He nods immediately, all previous stress long forgotten.

“Thank you, Mommy,” he says and kisses your cheek, “y’always make me feel so good, I love you so much,” he slurs happily and sweetly kisses you, entering full cuddle mode as he begins to feel the effects of your playtime.

“I love you too, Sweet Boy,” you giggle and boop his nose, “wanna take a nap with Mommy?” He nods with a yawn, rolling over next to you, helping you pull his clothes off and toss them on the floor, you could worry about those later.

Once he’s all tucked in, you crawl in next to him, laying your head on his chest. He snakes his arms around you, sleepily rubbing your back, pressing kisses to your head every now and then before he ultimately succumbs to the exhaustion that fills his body, with you following suit.

~~~~~~

Taglist: 

@tumblin-theworldaway​, @slothspaghettiwrites​, @smokememories​, @inlovewithsebstan​

[bopbopstyles]

Residue

RATING: R/smut (cw: emotional and mild physical abuse mentioned) 

WORD COUNT: 8.5k eek

CATEGORIES: friends to lovers, camping!harry (?), sleeping in the same bed

NOTE: this is for the Sex Bucket List Fic Challenge from @berrynarrybanana​ - prompt was in a tent while camping with friends....and then I just kind of created this mess. check out the other fics and the amazing creators!!!!

I ENDED UP WRITING A PT.2! Read Endlessly here.

pls reblog and share with your friends 💕

“When are you going to tell Y/N?”

Harry looked down at his feet. His boots were scuffed from walking through the rocky terrain to the lake earlier when they’d gone swimming. The image of you in her bikini flashed through his mind, and he restrained from groaning--he’d known you for years, swam with you for years, and yet seeing you in that bikini still did things to him, no matter how much he tried to tell himself you didn’t feel the same way about him. “She doesn’t feel the same way.”

Mitch let out a heavy sigh and stood up. “You can be so fucking daft sometimes, you know.”

“Y/N tells me all the time.”

“Well, she’s right,” he replied. “Tell her how you feel, Harry. She feels the same way.”

Harry looked up and met his friend’s eyes. “How do you know?”

“I can see it in how she looks at you. You’re blind if you don’t see it too.”

Harry paused. “How…”

“It’s the same way you look at her.”

or 

Harry and Y/N go camping with their friends and the fact that they’ve been in love with each other comes out

The drive out to the country was peaceful. Harry put on a podcast about music on the way and you listened as they analyzed Beyoncé’s Lemonade, pausing it occasionally to ask Harry questions about the technical parts. With the sunshine and Harry’s commentary once the podcast episode ended, the drive to the campgrounds in West Sussex passed quickly. 

Harry had booked your camp site last weekend, their trip a last-minute decision. You, Mitch, Sarah, and Nick had all been at Harry’s for a cookout and he’d mentioned wanting to get out in nature before the tour started, and Mitch threw out going camping. Nick took some convincing, but eventually he agreed. You and Nick had managed to get the time off from work, although Nick had to head back a day earlier, and it was settled. You had all left the particulars to Harry and when he texted a link to the campground in their group chat, you had fallen in love. Wooded, no power, cooking over an open fire--it reminded you of camping with your family when you were young. 

“Excited?” You asked Harry when you pulled into the parking lot at the front office. You threw the car in park and turned off the ignition, looking over at your best friend. 

He grinned back at you, eyes gleaming. You knew he’d been looking forward to this ever since you had first talked about it--he’d been calling you every day to go over the plans and picking out their meals for the weekend. “Psyched.”

You both climbed out of your car, stretching from the drive, and you inhaled the sweet smell of English oak trees, the sound of birds chirping making you smile as widely as Harry. Nick, Sarah, and Mitch were waiting by their cars, and Nick seemed to be animatedly telling a story about who knows what. 

“Is Nick being annoying?” You asked, throwing your arm around Nick’s shoulders and ruffling his hair. 

“He’s telling the story about the Brits. Again,” Sarah said, reaching out to hug you. “Save us, please.”

“Oi, you’re being mean.” Nick said and Sarah just laughed and shook her head. 

Mitch gave you a quick hug and you smiled at him--they’d all been working a lot lately in preparation for the tour. You had barely seen him, Sarah, and Harry, and you missed their presences more than you had realized. “Let’s go see what Harry got us,” you said.

“Spoiled you lot rotten,” Harry said, sliding a pair of sunglasses onto his nose. 

“I’d hoped so,” you replied, and Harry chuckled softly before leading the group inside the office. 

“Reservation for Y/N,” Harry said to the receptionist and you looked at him in confusion. “Didn’t want anyone finding us,” he explained and you nodded immediately in understanding. After years of friendship, you were used to it, though it always tugged on your heart. You wanted, more than anything, for him to be able to be normal at some point. You knew he craved it too--anonymity. 

The receptionist clicked some buttons on her computer before pulling some folders out of a drawer and turning back to you all. “I’ve got three yurts reserved for you all--is that correct?”

Harry’s eyebrows crinkled in confusion. “I had requested four over the phone.”

The receptionist--Martha, according to her badge, frowned. “Oh, I’m so sorry about that. Unfortunately, though, we’re all booked up this weekend. Is there any way three could be made to work?”

That meant someone was going to have to share. Harry looked at you, and then at Nick. “Nick, you good to bunk, mate?”

Nick groaned and you rolled your eyes at him. “Fine, but if you kick me in your sleep I’ll lock you out.”

“I don’t think they have doors, Nick,” you told him.

He looked at you and grimaced. “Zip him out then.”

“How threatening,” Harry said, before looking back to the receptionist. “That’ll be fine.” She nodded and explained the rest of the check-in and check-out policies and the amenities on the site. It seemed perfect--a pub not too far from the grounds, camp fires you was most definitely going to take advantage of, and actual showers. He truly was spoiling you all. 

You walked back to the car with Harry to drive to their yurts, swinging your keys around your finger in thought. “H,” you said when you sat down in the driver’s seat.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for bunking with Nick. I know you like your own space, so I appreciate it.”

He gave you a wide smile and you couldn’t help it--it warmed every part of you. It was moments like these you struggled to remember that Harry was just your friend. Nothing more. You’d dated people, he’d dated people, and you two were just friends. But then he’d look at you like this and you wanted more. “‘Course, love.” He reached across the console and gave your hand a quick squeeze, and your heart flopped in your chest. 

You were starved for touch--it’d been months since you broke up with your asshole of an ex and you were desperate to be touched, even if it was someone holding your hand. Usually you could count on Harry for some cuddles and tight hugs, but he’d been so busy practicing for tour that you hadn’t seen him much. Just FaceTime and the occasional meet-up at the café by your office on your lunch break and it seemed to be showing. 

You started the engine and prayed to the Gods that they would help you get through this weekend in one piece. 

The yurts were in a quiet part of the campground, secluded and in a thicket of trees. All you could hear was the sound of wind whistling through the leaves and the chirping of birds. After living in London for the past two years and barely leaving, it was a relief to be able to hear nothing but nature. 

Nick let out a whoop when he opened the door to his car. “God, this is gorgeous, isn’t it?” Sarah and Mitch pulled up a second later and you all wandered around the campground, deciding where you would put your chairs (around the campfire, obviously) and what you wanted to eat for dinner. Then, you started to unpack. You claimed the tent closer to the woods, wanting not to be awoken in the middle of the night if cars drove by and to get away from the group if you went to bed early, something that you had a tendency towards when Nick and Harry were together. 

The sound of the yurt being zipped open caused you to look up from where you were checking to see if there were bed bugs. After getting them when you were 13 on a family trip, you always checked. “This going to be okay for you?” Harry stood hunched over, his head poking into your yurt. His shirt was unbuttoned, the beige linen flowing in the soft breeze, and his hair flopped into his face. His green eyes were gleaming, a look he only got on break or on holiday, and it was your favorite look on him. He looked just unperturbed and blissfully happy. 

“Come in, silly,” you said, turning around and flopping down onto the bed. “It’s perfect, H.”

Harry grinned and dropped down next to you. “Comfy, eh?”

“Very.”

“I should plan every holiday at this rate.”

You whacked him with the pillow. The last holiday you had planned and the hotel had ended up being bad and their reservation for their yacht trip fully did not exist when they showed up. It was a disaster and Harry had yet to let you live it down. “Now you’re just fishing for compliments.”

“What? I like planning!”

“And you like being complimented.”

Harry huffed and you just smiled at him. After knowing one another for years, not only did you know everything important about Harry, you also knew how to push his buttons. Calling him out for what you had longed believed to be some kind of praise kink (you’d asked him about if while drunk and he’d looked so confused and embarrassed you dropped it) was the number one way to get him riled up. 

“How’s your tent with Grimmy?”

“He’s already asleep.”

“It’s noon.”

“Apparently he didn’t sleep last night.”

You laughed because it was classic Nick. It happened on almost every holiday you went on together, of which there had been a few. He’d get to wherever you were staying and immediately fall asleep for usually the rest of the day. You all usually just left him where he was and went about your business, but he also usually had his own room. “Were you able to put your stuff down at least?”

Harry shrugged. “Just dropped my suitcase on the ground and left him. I’ll wake him up eventually.” He turned his head and looked at you, his head so close that if you turned your head up ever so slightly, you could probably kiss him. 

“Fancy a swim?” You asked him, sitting up suddenly and trying to push the thought away. 

“Fuck yes,” he replied. “Let me change into my suit.”

The sun was out in full force when you jumped into the lake, your towels and clothes abandoned on the edge of the water. You were lying on your back, eyes closed, basking in the feeling of sun on your skin. Mitch and Sarah were swimming around--you could hear them chattering about how Sarah wanted a dog and Mitch wasn’t into the idea--but you didn’t know where Harry was. You couldn’t hear him. Maybe he’d swam a little further away?

You pushed the thoughts from your mind and focused on not thinking about anything, which somehow took a significant amount of effort. Work kept trying to drift into your head--had the office finished the pitch that you had left for them on Thursday? It was a big account and you had put your all into it, but you hadn’t finished the final touches on Thursday before you had to leave the office, so you left it for your coworkers to wrap up on your behalf. Hopefully they didn’t half-ass it. 

Suddenly, fingers wrapped around your waist and you were being flipped onto your stomach, water immediately filling your nose and mouth. You snapped up, water flicking from the ends of your hair, and blinked the droplets away so you could see who had done it. 

Harry. 

“You bastard!” You screeched, shoving him. His skin was slick from the sunscreen and water, and you tried not to focus on the feeling of his arm muscles under your palms. “I could’ve drowned!”

“You were a competitive swimmer, Y/N,” he reminded you, chuckling. “You weren’t going to drown.”

You sputtered, slicking your hair back, and then gave him a death stare. “Still. You’re an ass.”

“That’s not news,” Sarah piped up from where she and Mitch were treading water and laughing at what had just happened. 

“This is true.” You gave Harry another look before shoving a wave of water in his direction, splashing water into his face. 

Harry gasped, wiping water from his face, his hair, which had grown longer in the past few weeks while he’d been on break, sticking to his forehead. He looked like a little kid, despite how muscular he’d become in the past year or so. You tried to not linger on it, but when he was in front of you without a shirt on, sun-kissed skin just begging to be looked it, it was quite difficult. “This is war.”

He shoved water at you, and suddenly you were splashing one another like children, both of you screeching as water got into your eyes. Your feet collided underwater, arms hitting each other as you twirled around each other in the water, trying to surprise one another. 

It was all fun and games until Harry’s hand reached out and accidentally hit you right in the boob.

“Harry!” You called out, swatting him. “You just hit me in the boob.”

“Fuck, sorry,” he said. “You okay?”

“Just sore,” you said, swimming a bit farther away from him. “Meanie.”

Harry gave you his puppy dog eyes, lashes blinking at you, plump lips sticking out ever so slightly. You hated when he did this because you always fell for it. Years of friendship and you still couldn’t hold anything against him when he did this because he just looked so goddamn gorgeous. You hated it. “Sorry?”

“Fine,” you said, “but you’re carrying me the whole way back to the campsite.”

You all ended up grilling burgers over the fire, Harry surprising you with some hidden skills over the open fire, and together the four of you drank beers as the fire glowed between them. Nick had never surfaced and Harry didn’t have it in him to wake him, so he let him be. Harry, Sarah, and Mitch had started playing music after dinner and you kept yourself entertained by requesting old One Direction songs, which made Harry stare daggers at you but amused you, Sarah, and Mitch to no end.

It was a chilly summer night and you were cuddled up in a sweatshirt of Harry’s, having forgotten yours at home, and a pair of leggings. You could feel your eyes drooping, your entire concept of time gone without the ability to check your phone. It could’ve been 9pm for all you knew. After a rendition of Landslide, you yawned and stretched your arms above your head, and decided to call it a night. 

“I’m going to turn in,” you said, standing up from the chair you’d been in for the past few hours. “Which way’s the bathrooms?” 

Sarah pointed to the right, and you nodded. You had to brush your teeth and pee before you could go to sleep, and you had no desire to traipse through the woods at night to pee in the brush, so you started off in the direction of the bathrooms, your toiletries bag tucked under your arm.

“Wait!” You turned to see Harry walking after you, his own bag tucked under his arm. “Didn’t want you to walk alone.”

You gave him a sweet smile and waited for him to catch up with you. “You ready for sleep too?”

He shrugged. “Probably be up for a little while longer, if that’s not too disruptive? Mitch and I thought we’d work on a song I’ve been thinking about. Thought I’d go ahead and brush my teeth, though.”

“I like listening to you play as I go to bed,” you said, the words leaving your mouth before you thought about them. 

Harry’s eyebrows knit together and he studied you. “Never told me that before.”

Probably because it’s embarrassing, you thought to yourself. You loved listening to his music before you went to bed, especially the voice memos he’d sent you over the years of bits of songs he was working on before they were fully mastered. They were more raw, less produced, the stripped down Harry that you loved. “You never asked.”

He filed that information away for later and you climbed the steps to the bathrooms, both heading into the same free stall. You’d stopped caring about peeing in front of one another a long time ago. You went first, listening to Harry prattle on about a book he was reading that he thought you’d like as he washed his face. When you finished up, you switched places and you started brushing your teeth, stealing his toothpaste because it tasted nicer. 

“You should just buy some for yourself,” he commented.

“But I can use yours for free.”

He didn’t reply, just let you be, and you brushed your teeth next to one another, Harry knocking his hip against yours to make you smile. 

“Glad you came,” he told you when you exited the bathrooms. 

“Me too. Needed this, I think.”

“Same. Missed you, too.” 

You studied his face, barely visible in the moonlight. His stubble was growing in, but he had a peaceful expression you rarely saw in him. You saw it in moments on tour, sometimes--when you were cuddled up on his sofa watching a film after a show, or after a morning run on a day off. But here, this was the purest form and one you wished you saw more often. You didn’t tell him, though. You’d had that conversation before--how you were worried he was overworking himself, believing that he was able to work so much after years in 1D, working with barely any breaks. You wanted his solo career to be different, but Harry had a tendency to find work even when he wasn’t touring or recording. He loved it so much that it was all he wanted to do. “Missed you too,” you replied simply, and leaned into him when he wrapped an arm around your shoulders. 

Mitch set down his guitar and looked at Harry across the fire from him.

“What?”

“When are you going to tell Y/N?”

Harry looked down at his feet. His boots were scuffed from walking through the rocky terrain to the lake earlier when they’d gone swimming. The image of you in her bikini flashed through his mind, and he restrained from groaning--he’d known you for years, swam with you for years, and yet seeing you in that bikini still did things to him, no matter how much he tried to tell himself you didn’t feel the same way about him. “She doesn’t feel the same way.”

Mitch let out a heavy sigh and stood up. “You can be so fucking daft sometimes, you know.”

“Y/N tells me all the time.”

“Well, she’s right,” he replied. “Tell her how you feel, Harry. She feels the same way.”

Harry looked up and met his friend’s eyes. “How do you know?”

“I can see it in how she looks at you. You’re blind if you don’t see it too.”

Harry paused. “How…”

“It’s the same way you look at her.”

With that, Mitch turned and went to where Sarah waited for him in their yurt, leaving Harry alone with his thoughts. It was quiet, aside from the crinkle of the fire. Harry couldn’t remember when he fell in love with Y/N--there wasn’t some specific moment like they say in the books. It just...happened. The more time he spent with you, the closer you got, the more Harry hated leaving you. And when you dated other guys, it made his stomach turn to be around them. He tried to pretend like it didn’t, he tried to be nice and polite as you were to the girls he tried to date, but he knew he never was. He hated the way you would look at him when he’d make some snide remark, and he could feel the disappointment radiating from your stare. And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to let you go.

He’d tried to bury himself in work, in touring, in women. He’d lived in LA for months to try and get over you, he’d even dated Kendall fucking Jenner to try and get over you. Nothing helped. Camille had been the closest he’d gotten, but there had always been something holding him back. When he’d found out she cheated on him, it was a relief more than heartbreak--he didn’t have to be the one to break up with her this time. And he always went back to you, pretending to be more broken hearted than he was just to get you to spend days on end by his side, eating ice cream and watching films that you thought helped him. In actuality, it was you who helped him. It was being by your side, it was laughing with you, going on walks, even fucking gardening with you at his house in Hampstead. Anything with you healed him. 

And he knew it wasn’t fair, using you like he did. But he couldn’t help himself--it was the time when he could almost pretend you were his. It was when you ignored everything else and focused on only him and that attention is what he craved. You, together, no distractions. It’s what he wanted this weekend to be, but then you suggested inviting friends, and how could he say no to you? How could he tell you he just wanted to be with you for the whole weekend, the rest of the world forgotten?

Mitch’s words, though, were a stab in his heart. He’d always convinced himself that there was no way you could feel the same. You had fallen in love, you’d told him. With Tom. Bloody Tom. You’d met at some networking dinner and he’d asked you out, and from then on it was Tom, Tom, Tom. You had dated for a little over a year and Harry despised every second of it. Tom treated you like dirt--belittling you in front of your friends, in front of Harry, even, controlled your time and your friends. Boxed you in like you were some animal just there to please him, no life to speak of. It had happened while Harry was on tour and then in LA, so he hadn’t been there in person for most of it, and when he had been around you two together--whe he came home for the holidays and saw you, you had played it off. Said it was nothing, just a joke. 

But then her college roommate Jordan had called Harry, worried out of her mind about you. Told him how Tom treated you, all the things he’d done, how he’d manipulated you--hit you one time. Jordan was in New York City and work wouldn’t let her leave, but she knew Harry could go. She told him it was getting bad and he had to get you out. And so he did. He took the next flight out, barely packed a suitcase, and went. He went to your apartment and told you that Jordan had told him what happened, and you two had a massive fight over it, you defending Tom, Harry trying to convince you he had manipulated your thoughts, your emotions, your feelings, and you both ended up in tears before you finally let him take you to his house to stay for a few weeks. And together, you’d pieced his fierce Y/N back together. 

And all that time, he had never thought...He never thought you’d loved him. Not as he did, at least. You’d told him so many times that you loved him, but it was just as a friend. You’d made that clear in the ways you touched him and introduced him to people. He was your Harry, but just your friend. Your best friend, but friend all the same. It broke him, as much as he tried not to let it show. But for you to feel the same way? All this time?

And what did Mitch expect him to do? Bust into your tent and admit his undying love for you, you to admit you felt the same way, and for you to ride off into the night together? This wasn’t some romance novel (which Harrry knew Mitch read, even though he tried to hide them). This was reality, and in reality, it was just Harry, writing songs about you that you’d never understand the true meaning of, and a yurt shared with Grimmy. 

He stood up, his guitar held tightly in his hand, and put out the fire before heading into the yurt. Nick was spread eagle on the bed, still somehow asleep--Harry had never understood his ability to sleep literally all day--and snoring. Loudly. Harry sighed and went over to his suitcase, tugging off his jeans and sweatshirt and folding them neatly into the case. He pulled a henley and pajama pants on, knowing if Nick woke up to a half naked Harry in his bed he’d most definitely not let him hear the end of it, and walked over to the bed. He tried to shove Nick over and make space for himself, but the man was most definitely stronger than Harry had realized. 

Had he been working out lately?

Harry gave his arm another shove, but Nick didn’t even flinch. “Fuck you, Nick,” Harry said. “Do you have to seriously sleep like the dead?”

He looked around the room, trying to see if there was anything he could fashion a makeshift bed with. But there wasn’t even a spare fucking blanket. 

Maybe Sarah and Mitch would have one? Then he pictured walking into the couple’s yurt and immediately decided against that idea. That left you. You’d slept in the same bed before, albeit usually while drunk--maybe you’d let him sleep with you? Just for the night? 

Harry slipped on his flip flops, grabbed his flashlight and made his way over to your yurt. It was quiet except for the sound of your soft breathing and he immediately felt at peace, despite what his mind told him. He unzipped the front of your yurt and stuck his head in. It was dark and he could barely make out your figure, curled up tightly under the covers, hair strewn across the pillow. 

“Y/N?”

After a beat, he saw your body shift and your head stick up from the pillow. “Harry?”

“Can I sleep with you? Nick’s taking up the whole bed and snoring like a train.”

You giggled--and Harry’s heart started racing--and then said, “Of course. C’mere.” You lifted the edge of the blanket and Harry toed off his flip flops before walking over to the bed. “What time is it?”

He laid down next to you carefully, not wanting to brush up against you and make you uncomfortable. “Dunno. Late.”

You reached out for him, fingers brushing against his henley right over his stomach, and Harry’s heart seized. Did you know what you were doing to him right now? “Why are you lying there straight as a rod? I don’t bite, you know.” Probably not, he realized. You had no idea what the mere touch of your skin did to his heart. 

“Don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he said, his voice quiet in the silence of the yurt. 

“You don’t, silly. Now c’mere.” 

He moved closer to you and you turned onto your side so that your back rested against his chest, and he wound his arm around your stomach loosely, holding you to him. You’d laid like this before, after your birthday earlier in the year when you’d gotten quite drunk and he’d brought you home so you didn’t choke in your own vomit. You’d snuggled into him then, just like you did now, and he tried to think of anything to get his dick to stop from plumping up under his pants. 

“H?”

“Yeah?”

“What was your song about?”

His breath caught in his throat. Had you heard it? It was so obviously about you, so unabashedly telling you how he felt. God, every song was about you. Even when he tried to make them less specific, when he tried to remove the details that would make it about you, you still left a residue. 

“Harry?” Your voice broke his thoughts, so sweet in his ears. He opened his eyes, which had closed while he thought, and looked into your hair. He could smell the remnants of your perfume mixed with the fresh smell of oak from the woods and the essence of smoke from the fire. He wanted to bury himself in your smell, in you. 

He should tell you. He knew he should. It was the perfect time--you were giving him the prompting. But he didn’t have the courage. “Did we wake you up?”

You rolled over and suddenly your face was mere inches from his. He could see your eyes in the dark, bright blue in the night. The ones that were painted in his dreams, echoes of you that never let him go. “Thought I heard something in the woods. Heard you instead.”

How much had you heard, he wondered. Had you heard his conversation with Mitch? You had been asleep when he had come into the yurt, so you had to have fallen back asleep. “What’d you think of it?”

You stared at him, your gaze searing through the protections he tried and struggled to keep up. “It was sad,” you said simply. 

“Hmm?” He mumbled, not really knowing what else to say to that. Of course it was sad, he was in love with his best friend and he didn’t have the balls to tell her. 

“The opening lines,” you whispered. “Put a price on emotion/I'm looking for something to buy/You've got my devotion/But man, I can hate you sometimes,” you sang it, perfectly in tune, hitting every note as he had around the campfire with Mitch. Your voice singing his words broke him in two, for some reason. They were the most honest ones of the whole song, he thought to himself, and the ones he was least likely to change. “Who is it about?”

Her question had changed. When you asked the first time, it was what. Now it was who. He studied you in the dark, searching himself. Could he muster the courage?

“Camille?”

“No,” he said, his words immediate. “No, not Camille.”

There was a rustle of the trees, but your eyes didn’t leave his. “Are you seeing someone new?”

“No.”

“Then who?”

He took a deep breath, and then, he pulled the words from the depths of his heart. “It’s about you.”

It was silent in the yurt. He couldn’t even tell if you were breathing. But your eyes didn’t leave his. He watched as your brain processed his words, pieced them together, matched them up with the song. 

“Test of my patience/There's things that we'll never know/You sunshine, you temptress/My hand's at risk, I fold.” You said the words, no song to them, just words, flowing from your lips as poetry, not lyrics. “You...Me. Things we’ll never know--that’s us?” 

He nodded, resisting the urge to reach out and brush a strand of hair behind your ear that had come loose. 

“You've got my devotion,” you whispered, the opening lines coming back around. “That’s about me?”

“Yes,” he said, the word simple, soft, quiet in the dark. But it took every ounce of his courage. It was worse than when he’d decided to go solo, it was worse than going out on stage alone for the first time, worse than stepping on the X-Factor stage. The hardest words he’d had to say. “Y/N,” he whispered, summoning the last of his courage, “the songs are all about you.”

That made you go quiet for longer. You stared at him, taking inventory of every part of his face. He could feel your eyes and he didn’t even squirm--it felt different than it did when you usually looked at him. It felt like you were seeing him for the first time. Like a veil had been lifted between them. 

And yet, you said nothing.

“Do you want me to go?” He asked, the words breaking him. “I--I can go.”

But you pressed your fingers to his chin, instead. “Don’t go,” you whispered and this time it was him who stared at you. “I--I’m scared.”

“I know.” Your eyes blinked at him, eye level, so close he could see nothing but the rim of the blue, your long eyelashes he’d always admired. “I just...I can’t pretend anymore, love.” The nickname, long used between them, suddenly took on a new meaning in this moment. He could feel the shift in the air, the way the word landed between them. It slipped from his lips without him thinking about it, but he meant it in every which way. 

You ran your forefinger along the edge of his jaw and Harry’s breath caught in his chest. “Me either.”

And then, you pulled his lips down to meet yours and it was like Harry’s world bottomed out. Your lips were soft, just like he’d imagined them, and you tasted like sugar and the watermelons they’d had for a snack after dinner. The hint of toothpaste lingered and it made him smile, remembering how you’d spoken in the bathroom. His fingers wound their way into your hair and you let out a soft moan that set Harry’s skin on fire. 

Your teeth tugged on his bottom lip and Harry rolled you onto you back with a groan, begging for more, for anything you would give him. The kiss was deep, passionate, without end. You barely pulled away to breathe, wanting to never stop touching him. Your fingers crawled up his arms, across his collarbones, fire left in their wake. 

Harry balanced above you on his forearms, head dipping to meet your lips over and over again, his fingers curled into your hair that was spread out on the pillow. Your legs tugged apart, letting him slot himself between them, leaning into you. It was like a dream he didn’t want to wake up from. 

“Y/N,” he said, pulling back from your lips just an inch so he could speak. “I--I don’t want to do anything if you don’t--”

“I want you,” you said, your hands drifting from his shoulders to cup his face between them. He leaned into your touch and you smoothed your fingers across his cheekbones. “I’ve always wanted you. H, you’re everything to me.”

His lips found yours again without a second beat, and you pulled every ounce of his heart from his chest with your lips. The sheets rustled under their bodies as they moved, begging to get more and more of each other. Your hands wound under his shirt, tugging as he leaned back, pulling it off, the chilly night air nipping at his skin. You sat up, Harry balanced precariously on your lap, and pressed kisses to his skin, licking over his swallows. 

Harry let out a moan, not being able to hold it in, but didn’t stop her as you made your way across his skin, claiming it as your own. He couldn’t hear anything but you--it was consuming, the feeling of being this close to you. Your teeth bit into the skin on his collarbones, sucking a bruise he knew would be there tomorrow, and he couldn’t find it in himself to care. He wanted the world to know he was yours, that he loved you with every fiber of his being, unashamedly. 

“I’m yours,” he said, his voice edging on a moan as you licked across his nipples. “Yours, Y/N, I’m yours.”

“And I’m yours,” you replied, and leaned back, tugging off his sweatshirt, which you’d worn to bed. You were bare underneath, and you could feel Harry’s eyes on your skin, learning you. Usually, you felt studied under the gaze of a man, but now, with Harry, you felt admired, adored, loved. His hands kneaded circles into your breasts and you arched into him, moans leaving your mouth in breaths. 

You felt his tongue on your nipples, just as you had done to him, and your fingers gripped into the curls of his hair. “Fuck, H.”

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, pressing kisses to your sternum. “So, utterly beautiful.”

You leaned back onto your hands, chest rising and falling as he made his way down your body, inching farther and farther back on the bed until he was on his stomach, lips hovering above the waistband of your sleep shorts. His eyes met yours in question, and you nodded, words failing you.

“Need to hear your words, love,” he said, kissing your bare skin just centimeters above the bow on her shorts. “Want to make sure that you’re sure.”

“Take them off,” you said, struggling to speak as he licked your skin. “Touch me, H, please.”

And he did. He tugged your shorts down your legs, underwear coming with them, and pressed kisses to the inside of your thighs, nipping love bites into the skin there. “You know, I dreamed of you last week,” he said against your skin. 

“What?” You squealed as he sucked on the sensitive skin at the crease of your thighs. 

“Of you, like this.” Then, he licked a stripe up her clit and you buried your hands in his hair, holding him there. “But in the dream, I couldn’t smell you.” He sucked on your clit, and you struggled not to scream his name. Your friends would hear and the last thing you wanted was to deal with that in the morning. “I couldn’t hear you,” he said, licking you again, and your head flailed to the side. “And I woke up before I could do this.”

And then, he dove his tongue inside of you, and you pressed a hand to your mouth, holding in the moans that begged to fly free. It was heaven, his tongue. Delving into her like it was made for you, curling inside of you and rubbing the front of your walls delicately. 

“Harry,” you said, trying to keep your voice quiet, “more, please.”

He wasted no time pressing his finger to your clit and rubbing you in circles, causing your chest to arch from the pleasure. You could feel a knot building in your belly, begging and begging for more. 

“Please, H,” you let out in a moan, and that’s when you felt his own moan against your skin, the vibration of the stubble on your skin causing you to shake against him. But his free hand anchored your hips to his lips, and he continued his work, licking in and out of you, then up and down your folds, drawing soft moans from your mouth over and over again. 

“Wanna hear you,” he said softly against your skin, “please, love, wanna hear you.”

“Don’t want to wake them,” you replied, struggling to look down at him. But when you did, the sight of his head between your thighs, hair a mess, eyes gleaming up at you in the dark, it ripped a moan from your chest that you couldn’t contain. 

“That’s it,” he said. “Don’t give a fuck about them. S’just us, yeah?” He kneaded circles into her skin with his hands and sucked harshly on her clit, your hips bucking in response, but he didn’t let go. “What d’ya want, love?”

His words were rough, broken from pleasure. You loved the way he sounded, having never had the opportunity to have him this way. “Fingers,” you said. “I’m close.”

“Yeah?” His one hand left her hips and circled your entrance, drawing your wetness around his fingers. “Fuck, love, you’re so wet.”

“H,” you breathed out, “please.”

That’s all he needed. He dipped his forefinger inside of you, your tight walls gripping him like a vice. But to him, you were virtue--you were everything to him, everything good in the world wrapped up in a single person. He curled his finger, brushing against a spot that made you squeak and he smiled before adding a second finger. “Come for me, love,” he said, sucking on your clit. “Wanna taste you.”

And that’s all it took. Your orgasm washed over you like a wave, your hands gripped in his hair, keeping his face there as he licked your clit softly, drawing shock waves from your body over and over again. You struggled to keep your eyes open, wanting to watch him as you came, and he held your eye contact as you did. When he pulled his fingers from you and sucked on them, you just stared at him, wondering if this was real. If he was real. 

“Taste sweet,” he said, crawling up your body, pushing you down onto the bed with the weight of him. You loved it, the feeling of his skin on yours, of his body on yours. “With an edge of sourness.” He pressed his lips to yours, and you licked into his mouth, tasting yourself on his tongue. You hadn’t been this turned on...ever, you realized. “Tastes good,” he said against your lips. 

You smiled, running your fingers through his hair. “Felt good too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You’re good at that, you know.” 

He chuckled at you and pressed a kiss to your cheeks. “Can’t wait to do it again.”

You captured his lips again, arms winding around his chest, pulling him into you, closer and closer until you couldn’t find the space between you. And then, you rolled, taking him with her, leaving him on his back and you flush to his chest. “Some other time,” you said softly, drawing back. “I want you.”

“Fuck,” he let out, gaze travelling up your body as you sat back on his hips, bare center brushing over his pajama pants. “Want you too, baby.”

You smirked at him. “Baby?”

He blushed. “Sorry, it just--”

“Shh.” You pressed a finger to his lips. “I like it.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhmm.” You rolled your hips over his erection and he bucked up into you, not being able to stop himself, drawing groans from both of them. “Wanna hear you, H,” you whispered, tossing his words back at him. “Hmm?”

“Take ‘em off.” He bucked his hips again, and you smiled down at him. Your fingers curled around his pants and his underwear, and crawled back, pulling them off together in one motion, just as he had done to you. 

You held him in your hand, brushing your thumb over his tip, the pre-cum slick against your skin. Your tongue licked a stripe up the underside of him, drawing a moan from his chest as you laved circles around the tip of his length. 

“Y/N,” he breathed, “Not gonna last if you keep doing that,” he said. “Need--”

“I know,” you replied. You pressed another kiss to him and clamored back up his body. “Wouldn’t have happened to bring condoms, would you?”

“Fuck,” he said, “no, wasn’t exactly planning this.”

You pressed a kiss to his chest, trying to calm the panicked look in his eyes. His hands ran up and down your thighs, his touch consuming you. “I’ve got the implant,” you said, “if that’s ok with you.”

“I’ll pull out,” he said, leaning up on his elbows. “Promise.” Then your lips found each other’s and you rocked your hips against him, the slick of you dripping down onto his length. He swallowed your moans and you did the same, the dark of the night wrapping around you, encasing you in a world that was just the two of you. 

You reached down and ran your fingertips along his length, brushing his tip against your slit, the feeling sending tingles down her spine.

“Please,” he begged beneath you, fingers digging into your hips to where there would probably be marks tomorrow, “please, Y/N.”

When you slid down his length, your eyes shut from the sensation of him stretching you. You didn’t stop until he had bottomed out, you hips flush against one another. You could feel his eyes watching as you adjusted to his size, to the burn of him inside of you. It was surreal to have him like this, to have him so close to that you couldn’t find where you ended and he began. To have his lips find yours as you began to rock back and forth on him, open mouths meeting like old friends, begging for more and more and more. It was heaven, you decided, this was heaven on earth, this feeling. Your head snapped back when he bucked up into you, hitting a deep spot that made your arms shake. And then he ran his tongue down your exposed neck, nipping and biting into your skin, whispers of your name like an echo around them. 

You wanted all of him. Every single part of him, you wanted to have his laughter and his smile and his words and his thoughts and his love. You wanted his body in the morning and the night and across the distance. You wanted him to hold you in his arms always, to care always. To you, he was hope, he was a bright spot in a sea of darkness. He was the antithesis of your exes, of Tom, of the men who had used you up and left you in a bed of nails. Harry built you up, stoking your fire with actions that showed you how much he cared, never wavering from your side, always running back when you called. No matter how far he went, the residue of him never left your mind, body, or soul. 

Harry’s arms caged you in and suddenly you were on your back and he was above you and inside of you and everywhere. His fingers danced across you skin as his hips snapped into you, moans drying in your throat because you could barely think from the pleasure zipping through your body. 

“Fuck, Y/N,” he said, words darting through the fog, “I love you.” He was holding you so tightly in his arms that you wondered if he thought you would run. As if you wanted to be anywhere else but here, beneath him, close to him, breathing him in and out. 

“I love you too.” The words left you without hesitation and you pressed your lips back to his as you chased your highs together, his hips never stopping. He pulled one of your legs high on his hip, reaching a new depth inside of you, and you scrabbled at his back with your fingers, leaving marks in your wake. “Right there,” you whispered against his shoulder, biting softly into the skin there. 

He pistoned his hips in and out, hitting the spot over and over again. “Yeah? Right there, baby?” 

You had always joked he had a praise kink, but now that you had him, you knew you were right and good lord did you feed right into it. “So good,” you mumbled, “so good Harry, please don’t stop.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied, tongue darting to the spot under your ear when you turned hyourer head, choking on a moan when he thumbed your clit. “You’re so beautiful, Y/N. Gonna tell you every day. Never going to stop now that I have you. Finally.”

You dug into his ass with your heels, keeping him deep inside of you. Hands grabbed skin, and you basked in the heat that surrounded you, the sweat that stuck their skin together. It was perfect--he was perfect, he felt perfect, it was as if you were made for one another. Somehow, every movement he made was better, he navigated your body like he had the only compass and it was carved into his heart. 

Every part of you ached, ached for him and for release. You could feel it rising inside of you, taught like a string, begging. “Oh my god,” you whined, spasming around him. Your hand gripped the back of his neck and dragged his head back to you, fingers digging into his warm skin. Your lips met as he pumped into you over and over, drawing moans from them both that never stopped. You loved that he made noise in bed, that he told you how good you felt, that he made sure you knew how incredible it was. Every kiss pressed to your clammy skin was a reminder of how much he loved you.

“Fuck.” A guttural moan escaped him when you clamped down on his length, your orgasm threatening to rip through you. “Not going to last, baby.” His forehead rested against yours as he dug into the sheets with his fingers and toes, using every ounce of his energy to bring you both to the brink. Your fingers scratched against his shoulder blades, gripping him close as you arched into him. 

“I’m close,” you said, words ragged, “so close.”

“Come,” he breathed out, “please, Y/N.”

You pressed a kiss to his brow, the salt of his sweat against your lips. “Come inside me,” you whispered to his skin. “Want to feel you.”

His head turned, eyes meeting yours. “Sure?”

You dug your heels into his ass in response, gripping him like a vice to you. A moan ripped through him as he dug deep inside of you, pulling every piece of your love from her chest, just as you did to him. Then, he kissed you again, your name a mantra against your lips, and with that, your orgasm ripped through your body. 

He chased it with every brush of his hips, running after you as you soared and fell. You held him close as you came down, struggling to find your breath. But you didn’t want him to move. You wanted to feel him, to see him, to hear him finish. And when he did, it was the most beautiful sight you’d ever seen. His eyes bore into yours, teeth dug into his bottom lip so deep it probably drew blood, fingers curling tightly into the sheets on either side of your shoulders. Slowly, his hips came to a halt and you could feel his cum inside of you. The air was silent except for your breathing as he rested his body against you, not pulling out. 

You two laid there together, your arms wound around his waist, running your fingers up and down his back, his fingers threading through your hair. It was as if you were waiting for the words, because neither of you had them. What do you say after that? 

Harry moved to pull out of you, but you held him fast. “Please,” you whispered, “just…”

He shushed you, knowing what you meant. You wanted him close. After denying your feelings for so long it was like they were consuming every inch of you, overwhelming your brain and your heart. Having him close helped tether you to the ground and you couldn’t let go. Not yet. 

“Love you,” he said softly into your hair. “Love you so much, Y/N.”

You pressed a kiss to his shoulder. “Love you too.”

“Think they heard?”

You giggled against his skin and you could feel his smile. “Probably. Don’t care that much, though.”

“Me either.”

You were quiet for a second before mustering the courage to ask the question swirling through your brain. “You’re not going to leave in the morning, right?”

He lifted his head and looked at you. “Never.” Then, he pressed a soft kiss against your lips and tucked his head into the space between your shoulder and your neck, his breath even against your skin. 

And you both laid there, adjusting to what it felt like to finally have the one person you’d always wanted, praying that when the sun rose nothing would change.

talk to me about camping!harry here | masterlist here

[mentally-in-northern-italy]

The Best Potioneer (pt. 2) — Harry Potter x reader

***not my gif***

(pt. 1 can be found here)

Summary: You despise Harry. Your Slytherin friends seem to have strong opinions of him already, but during your sixth year, you also seem to have found a reason to absolutely hate the boy. But when you’re forced to work on an assignment together and stay up all night, is it possible for those feelings to change?

Word Count: ~3.4 K

A/N: Part 2 is finally here! I’m so sorry for the delay, school is really being a pain right now. Thank you for all the love you guys gave pt. 1, and I hope you like pt. 2, which will be the last part (unless I get inspired to write another one or something)! This one is very different from anything I’ve written before, and you’ll see what I mean when you read lol. Very dialogue-heavy. Enjoy!!

Another reminder: Thank you to everyone who sent in requests! I really, really appreciate it! But, since school has started, requests will most likely be delayed, as I will only be able to work on them when I have the time to. They are still open, though, so feel free, but please be aware that they will probably take a while. Thanks!

____________________

“This,” you observed, utterly unimpressed, “is just a wall. Do you need your glasses checked, Potter?” 

You had shown up to the seventh floor with your bag and all your books, as promised. Harry had already been there waiting for you, leaning on a wall. He saw you approaching and had led you down the hallway, without exchanging any words. He stopped in the middle to face a bare wall, which earned him a scoff from you.

“Just wait,” he told you as he closed his eyes and visualized exactly what he wanted in the room.

“What are you doing?” you question as you walk from your spot behind him to stand beside him, “If we get caught--”

“We won’t,” he told you impatiently, “Now, please let me focus.”

You shut yourself up despite all the questions that were fighting to make their way out of your mouth. You tapped your foot impatiently, not exactly sure what was supposed to be happening. 

Before you knew it, the wall that you could’ve sworn that had been there previously, had turned into a door. The door didn’t exactly look inviting, holding a similar appeal that an old Victorian library would hold. 

“Come on,” Harry turned to you and gestured to you to go in, “You first.”

You would’ve scoffed at this, except you were incredibly stunned. How hadn’t you known about this room before? You took a tentative step forward and reached for the handle, turning back to Harry to check for confirmation. He nodded once.

You opened the door. It creaked slightly as you took a step inside. A small gasp escaped your lips.

“The room of requirement!” Realization set in for you as you looked around, “I’ve heard about this.”

The room was grand. That was the only way to describe it. It was dimly lit, stacked with books on old bookshelves that looked like they would collapse at any second. At the bottom of the bookshelves were cupboards, that seemed to contain even the rarest of ingredients. In the middle of it all, there was a large wooden table with two chairs on one side. Right beside it, was a rug that looked old and inviting, like something that belonged to an elderly grandma. This was exactly what you needed.

“Yeah,” Harry said as he followed in behind you and shut the door, “I came across it last year when we had our DA meetings.”

“DA?” you turned to face him, turning your back to the large wooden table. 

“Oh, uh, Dumbledore’s Army.” 

“Right,” you nodded as you turned around again, looking at the bookshelves and cabinets filled with Potions ingredients lining the walls, “No Slytherins were allowed, I presume?” You mocked.

“Well,” Harry tried to diffuse the tension, “I don’t know about all Slytherins… but you definitely wouldn’t be allowed.” He teased lightly.

“Oh, sod off,” you told him as you rolled your eyes. You struggled to fight the smile that was threatening to break upon your lips. Your friends hadn’t mentioned Harry would be able to make you smile so easily. Or that he would let you, a Slytherin into a room that was a designated meeting spot for Harry and his friends last year. Now that you’ve come to think of it, they didn’t mention a lot of things about Harry. 

When it really came down to it, you realized in that moment that you had never really had a casual conversation with Harry. Your conversations were always filled with a competitive need to embarrass the other; there was no room for casual teasing. However, now, standing in this room with Harry behind you, you couldn’t say that you minded his presence, exactly. Like you had expected to. 

You couldn’t help but ask yourself, is he really that bad? 

___________________

[1:34 AM]

“Slughorn,” you decided as you sighed, “sucks.”

You and Harry were both seated at the table, sitting with your bodies slightly positioned towards each other. You were both hunched over various copies of Potions textbooks, searching desperately for any information about Memory Potions.

“Like Snape was any better,” Harry muttered distractedly, barely glancing up, as he flipped through a copy of The Art of Potion-Making, 6th edition.

“He was!” you defended him, straightening your posture and looking up at Harry’s face. Your eyes instantly landed on the tongue that he was sticking out slightly, concentrating on writing something down that he had found in the book. The way he was squinting his eyes, despite him wearing glasses. Ugh. No. Stop it!, you told yourself. You snapped your eyes back down to your textbook, “Er--, yes, Snape! He might have been a git, but at least he was a practical git. He would never give us an assignment like this.”

“He hated me,” Harry told you as he looked up from his book. He shuddered involuntarily being reminded of all the Potions classes he had to suffer while Snape was Potions Master.

“Well,” you looked up again, smirking slightly, “some would argue he sort of had the right idea with that.” 

Harry sent you a look at which you chuckled slightly. The chuckle was soft, light-hearted. He had never heard you laugh like that. Oddly for Harry, he didn’t seem to mind the insult like he normally always does. On the contrary, he rather liked the sound. He didn’t know what this foreign feeling inside his chest was-- this feeling that seemed to only grow when he caught a glimpse of your hair falling onto your face as you scanned multiple textbooks at once, but he did know that he wanted to hear the sound of your laugh again.

________________

[2:06 AM]

You yawned as you pushed yourself onto your elbows. You and Harry were now situated on the rug, with you laying on your stomach, continuing your research and Harry sitting up-right trying to keep his eyes open as he, too, tried to write down all the ingredients he had managed to find in one of the textbooks. 

Books were sprawled all around you. You reached to grab a copy of Advanced Potions, when you realized the closest one was actually Harry’s. 

“Merlin, what’d you do to this thing?” you questioned as you turned the tattered book over to examine it, “Throw it down the Grand Staircase?” 

“[Y/N], give it--” Harry had looked unusually alarmed when he caught sight of you inspecting the Potions book that was the secret to his success this year. He reached his hand out to take it from your hands but he was too late, as you had already opened the cover to find “Property of the Half-Blood Prince” scrawled neatly inside. 

You looked up at Harry and then back down again. The look on Harry’s face was priceless. 

You couldn’t help but start to laugh. Your quiet laughter soon grew loud and obnoxious as you sat up. The room echoed with your laugh, and it would seem, so did Harry’s heart. 

“The Half-Blood Prince?” you choked out, in between laughs, “Out of all the nicknames you’ve been given, you choose that one to write in your books?” Your stomach was aching slightly and your cheekbones hurt but your laughter didn’t falter. You clutched your stomach, as you continued to holler.

Harry’s face was flushed red. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to be relieved or embarrassed. Or both. 

“No--” Harry stuttered as he tried to talk over your giggles that wouldn’t seem to stop, “No, I didn’t write that!”

“Oh yeah?” you teased, “Did one of the girls in your fanclub write it, then?” 

“I mean,” Harry scratched the back of his neck. He was sure now that he should be embarrassed, “I would assume so.”

This only made you laugh more.

Not that Harry minded, though.

________________

[2:59 AM]

Harry wanted to talk to you. 

He was sitting a few feet away from you. You two were still situated on the rug, both sitting up-right now. Both of you were starting to get tired, as you stifled yawns while consistently pouring over material that never seemed to end. You and Harry had both taken your ties off and thrown them on the floor. Your robes were tossed on the floor, in a manner that would convey a very different message as to what you two were doing than what you two were actually doing, had someone walked into the room. 

Harry had tried to call you over for help multiple times now. Only so he could talk to you, so be it if it was only about the quantity of stewed mandrakes that would be required for the recipe. 

But each time, you had given him a response and moved back to your spot, returning to your quiet study of textbooks. 

Harry audibly sighed, hoping to get your attention, even if it was only an annoyed glance in his direction. 

“What is it now, Scarhead?” you asked through a yawn. You were tired, so incredibly tired. But it seemed that whenever Harry looked at you, you seemed to wake up a little. 

“I didn’t say anything,” he tried to play it cool. That’s what he was supposed to do, right? 

“Oh,” you yawned again, to which Harry yawned back, “my bad, Oh Chosen One, I sincerely apologize.” 

“Are you really going to use up all the names in one night?” He tried not to smile.

You did nothing to conceal your smile, making Harry’s smile appear on his face as well. You scooched over until you were sitting right beside him. 

“Not if I can help it,” you turned to face him, abandoning your textbooks, “Tell me Half-Blood Prince, are there any other names you go by?”

“Well, there is one,” Harry pretended to be in deep thought. 

“Really?” you asked, with exaggerated excitement in your eyes. You tried to tell yourself that this was purely because of your entertainment. It was to tease him. To belittle him. He was your rival, after all. Your mind forcibly pushed out the ridiculous notion that you were only teasing him with these names now because you found it endearing how he blushed slightly, or how, in some rare occasions, he would retort back. That was definitely not it. 

“Yeah.” his breath hitched in his throat as he saw the look in your eyes. Has she always looked like that?

“Alright,” you rolled your eyes playfully, “what is it? The Four-Eyed Seeker? The Serpent Slayer?” You teased. 

“Actually,” he smirked a little, “some people like to call me ‘that one guy who was able to brew a draught of living death perfectly and beat [Y/N]’.” 

Your teasing composure dropped and you shot Harry an angry look. Without thinking twice, you raised your hand to flick Harry on the forehead.

“Ow!” he cried out, clutching his head more in surprise than in pain. You had made sure not to hurt him. 

“You can add that to your scar collection, Potter.” 

 At this, Harry also raised his hand to flick you softly on the forehead. It felt more like a tap on the head than a flick, but you flinched regardless. 

“Now, we can have matching ones…?” he joked weakly. 

It was as if time had stopped for a while, with both of you staring at each other. You, in shock, and Harry in something that could only be described as embarrassed nervousness. All you could think was, What an absolute dork! Is he really the guy that Voldemort is hell-bent on defeating? 

Meanwhile, Harry wanted to climb into a hole and die, because he could not believe he had just said that. 

You wanted to be mad at him. You wanted to be furious. But your anger died down instantly after one glance at his nervous and crooked smile. Frankly, his weak attempt at getting you back was too dorky to be mad at. But you would never admit that. 

You huffed in exaggerated annoyance and picked your textbook back up again. Only, you stayed sitting beside him on the rug. You both returned to reading as your arms kept brushing against one another’s comfortably, making you both tingly, causing you two to look at each other from time to time. Harry would shoot you a smile, and you would try your very hardest to scowl at him. 

Harry could see through it, though. 

Comfortable silence ensued, filled with the faint sound of turning pages and two hearts beating, simultaneously. 

_______________

[3:25 AM]

Your eyes drooped closed as you managed to snap them back open yet again. It had been a long night, for sure, and you and Harry were nowhere near being done. 

“Did we really have to do this tonight?” Harry muttered, a little irritated. He had Quidditch tomorrow. He needed his sleep. He rested his head in his hands, as he leaned over the table with his elbows on it. You were sitting beside him in a similar position as you massaged the temples of your head that were starting ache.

“Yes,” you muttered back, “how many times do I have to tell you? We would’ve lost if we hadn’t.”

“Of course,” he groaned with fatigue. 

“You know,” you turn to look at him, “this is a group project. Stop acting like I’m doing this for myself.”

“I never said that,” he replied, “Just-- It’s just that we’re nowhere close to being done.” He rubbed his eyes tiredly. He needed to be well-rested to properly argue with you.

“We just need to find the antidote to the crushed sea worms,” you tried to recall, “It’ll balance the potion out. And then, we can start brewing.”

“I’m taking a break, [Y/N], wake me up in five minutes?” Harry asked you as he slurred some of his words, being overcome with sleep. Without waiting for a response, he rested his head on the table and closed his eyes.

“Fine. Only five minutes!” 

_________________

[3:33 AM]

It had been a little more than five minutes. You knew this.

Yet, you didn’t have the heart to wake him up. He looked so peaceful, with his mouth slightly open and his glasses pressed up against the side of his face and the table.

You hesitantly extended your hand to gently take his glasses off. He stirred a little in his sleep and scratched his face softly, but much to your relief, didn’t wake up. You set his glasses down carefully on the table and tried to return back to your work when you heard a sound.

Snoring. Harry had already started to snore. 

They weren’t loud snores. They were soft, gentle. You couldn’t help but smile a little as you looked at the boy snoozing beside you. 

Perhaps you were too tired to think deeper, or maybe you just knew the answer already, but you didn’t even bother to ask yourself why you were acting this way. Why weren’t you annoyed by the snores? Why hadn’t you woken him up? For Merlin’s sake, what was with all that smiling? 

And most importantly, why were you enjoying working on this blasted project with your arch-nemesis Harry Potter?

________________

The first rays of sunshine poured through the small windows that were lined against the walls, illuminating everything that had previously been dim and hard to see. 

Under normal circumstances, this morning would’ve seemed peaceful. Almost ethereal, even. 

But as your eyes fluttered open and took in the scene that seemed to appear in front of them, the only thing that you felt was panic. 

Your head was resting on the table, with your nose only millimetres away from Harry’s. If you had moved only a fraction of a millimetre, your nose would’ve brushed against his. 

Before you had the chance to properly be flustered by this, reality set in. 

“Harry!” You practically screamed, “Wake up, Harry!” You sat up in your seat with a jolt and tried to shake Harry awake. 

Harry stirred slightly, and furrowed his brows, but didn’t wake up.

“I swear, Potter, if you don’t wake up, right now!” You shouted again. 

This seemed to work, for as soon as Harry’s eyes opened, his face also contorted into a panicked expression that was similar to yours. You two had overslept, and missed breakfast. Not only would this raise suspicion among your peers, but if you didn’t hurry, you would miss your first-period Potions class, consequently losing the competition. 

“Did you brew the potion?” Harry questioned hastily, as he attempted to smooth his messy morning hair and rush to pack up the scattered books and papers, “Why didn’t you wake me up!”

“Luckily for you, I did!” You replied just as hastily, looking around frantically for your bag and books, “Come on, hurry up!”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Harry snapped, as he looked for his robes and ties. He quickly picked up a tie off of the floor as you did the same.

Taking one last look around to make sure you hadn’t missed anything, and picking up the vial of the memory potion that you had prepared before falling asleep last night, you two were off, running as fast as your legs allowed to claim your victory. 

_________________

“Congratulations!” Slughorn exclaimed as he beamed at you, the class surrounding you and Harry as you two stood at the front of the class and the noise of applause filled your ears, “I expected nothing less from my two star students!” 

Your heart seemed to swell at your success, and you couldn’t stop yourself from beaming. You and Harry stood side by side, basking in glory, so be it if it was with incredibly deep eye bags, incredibly unruly hair, and a bad migraine from the lack of sleep. You exchanged a few small smiles with Harry that seemed to only make this moment better. 

After the prolonged appreciation of your success, you separated from Harry, and walked over to stand beside Millicent, as Harry walked to the other side of the group to stand with Ron and Hermione. As Slughorn started to demonstrate for your next assignment, Millicent smirked at you.

“Nice tie, [Y/L/N],” she sneered as she leaned over, “Looks like Potions wasn’t the only thing you two were doing all night.” 

Horrified, as you glanced down to your tie, the world seemed to stop. 

It was a Gryffindor tie. You had taken his, and him yours. Your face burned red as you quickly rushed to take the tie off. But many people had already noticed, as they all glanced about, smirking and muttering things about your and Potter’s eventful night.

On the other side of the group, Ron and Hermione looked positively flabbergasted at the sight of Harry’s green and silver tie.

“Mate… your--your tie,” Ron whispered to Harry quietly. 

“Wha--?” To say that Harry was petrified, and frozen in his spot when he caught a glimpse of your tie around his neck would be an understatement. His eyes shot towards you, but you did everything you had to do to avoid his eyes. 

“Well… um, how was it?” Ron questioned uncertainly, only adding to the awkwardness of this situation. 

“Ronald!” Hermione exclaimed, hitting Ron on the arm scoldingly. 

“What? I’m only asking!”

_________________

“Hey.” 

You turned around to see Harry, looking dashing in his suit, with an awkward smile on his stupidly handsome face.

“Hey,” you said back with a smile, and turned back to the scene in front of you.

Slughorn’s Christmas party. 

Of course, you had come. You couldn’t stand to disappoint Slughorn, especially when he had finally started to acknowledge you more in class.

Now, you were standing here in your extremely uncomfortable dress and heels, watching people dancing, and socializing, in which you were taking no part. The only thing that was on your mind was how much you wished that you hadn’t come tonight. 

“You…, uh--came alone?” Harry questioned as he took a step forward to stand beside you and watch both of your dates dancing with other partners. 

“No,” you rolled your eyes playfully, “I’m not that much of a loser.”

Harry grinned at this, feeling as if this playful remark had broken through the tension that ensued between you two ever since the tie incident. 

“Of course,” Harry nodded, smiling stupidly.

“I bet you came alone, though,” you teased, nudging his shoulder a little.

“Funnily enough, no,” Harry replied smugly. You tried to ignore how your heart dropped a little at this. 

“Oh?” you raised an eyebrow, “who’s the unlucky lady?”

“Luna. Although, she seems a bit preoccupied with Neville at the moment.”

You turned to look where he was looking to see Luna conversing excitedly with Neville. 

“Hm,” you hummed, “Zabini seems a little busy himself.” You shifted your gaze to Zabini, who was dancing with some Ravenclaw girl that you had never seen. 

Both of you were quiet for a moment, enjoying the company of the other and watching the terrible attempts at dancing on the dance floor. 

Out of nowhere, Harry broke the silence, “Want to get out of here?” 

Surprised, you turned to him, “What?”

“You don’t seem to be enjoying this any more than I am, “ Harry stated, rubbing his sweaty palms on his trousers, “let’s leave.”

“And go where?” This prospect didn’t sound half bad to you.

“Up to you.” 

“Um,” you crossed your arms, and thought for a moment, “Have you ever stargazed?” 

Harry looked dumbfounded. “No…?” 

“Great, let’s go.” And with that, you took his arm and led the way.

___________________

The Astronomy Tower was particularly chilly tonight, but you two seemed to have forgotten all about the temperature as soon as you caught sight of the beautiful view of the night sky, teeming with stars. 

“Y’know, I almost asked you to the party tonight,” Harry blurted out without thinking about it too much. Clearly, he had gotten far too comfortable, lying on his back beside you, looking up at the stars. He tried to keep his calm as he waited for a response from you.

“What stopped you?” you turned your head to face him, genuinely curious. Your heartbeat had started to beat faster, and your stomach felt weird and queasy.

“I--,” Harry wasn’t expecting a serious response, so he gulped a little before turning his face to face you, “Well, I didn’t want to make it weird, I guess. I wasn’t sure… of what you would’ve said.”

“So…” you smirked, “in other words, you were too much of a coward.” 

“What? Absolutely not! I just--. Well--”

“Well,” you smiled a little, “I would’ve said yes if you had, hypothetically, of course, gathered up your courage and asked me. I don’t seem to mind your company nearly as much as one would think.” 

“Yeah?” his heart seemed to skip a beat as he looked into your eyes, which sparkled from the reflections of the stars above. He was, quite literally, star-struck.

“Yeah,” you smiled, finally giving up on trying to hide your feelings, and allowing yourself to come to terms with them instead, “I wouldn’t even dream of giving up the opportunity to go out with the mighty Half-Blood Prince.” 

Harry groaned, as you erupted into a fit of giggles.

“I would much rather prefer if you called me by my other nickname,” Harry said slowly, his lips curling upwards.

“Which is?”

“The best potioneer,” he grinned. The roles had been reversed, and now it was time for you to roll your eyes and for Harry to chuckle.  

The rest of the night was filled with playful banter, with laughs and jokes, and with insults that weren’t very insulting, all the while gazing up at the stars. Though, Harry wasn’t too focused on the beautiful celestial bodies that seemed to occupy the night sky above, as the only beautiful thing he was interested in gazing at, at the moment, was you.

Tags: 

@bisexualprinxexx​ @parkeroffline​

[melanielocke]

Lost in the Shadows - Chapter 19

AO3

Taglist: @nott-the-best @foxglove-airmid @alastair-esfandiyar-carstairs1 @justanormaldemon @styxdrawings @ipromiseiwillwrite @a-dream-dirty-and-bruised

Previous Chapter: Chapter 18

Next Chapter: Chapter 20

Cordelia and Lucie returned to the lake when Cordelia was finally done training. She looked forward to going for a swim and cool down a little, training all afternoon in the heat might not have been the best idea ever, and she understood Lucie had given up on practicing magic sooner. She had no idea how exhausting it was to open a portal. It looked like Lucie simply asking for favors, but Cordelia expected it was exhausting in its own way, different from swinging a sword. The last time she’d even seen shadows gather around Lucie, although she didn’t think Lucie herself had seen anything. It made Cordelia wonder how her magic worked. Did the darkness come from inside of her? Or did it come from everywhere, finding its way to Lucie? And could it be dangerous? What if such power corrupted people?

It wasn’t that surprising magic tired her though. Alastair’s ability could exhaust him too. As far as Cordelia knew he was always tired, and she wondered if his memory had anything to do with that.

Alastair and Thomas were already there, they’d swum all the way to the island. Cordelia didn’t think Alastair had swum in some time. Cordelia hadn’t either before coming here, mostly because she had struggled so much with finding swimwear she liked that also fit. Boys had it easy when it came to finding swimwear, she thought to herself. All they needed was find a pair of swim shorts that fit around their waist, whereas Cordelia needed a top that fit properly and a bottom that was high waisted enough for her to feel comfortable. She knew it was stupid, but she didn’t like wearing something that bared her stomach. She did enjoy swimming though, now that she could.

They returned just in time for dinner, and Lucie changed into her lounge clothes, which consisted of a very large and long Green Day shirt she wore as a dress, tucked in the waist with a black lint she’d tied into a bow at her side.

‘I’d been wondering where that shirt had gone,’ Thomas said when he saw her.

Cordelia loved that Lucie could look so good in a shirt that apparently belonged to Thomas and was supposed to fit him.

‘I think I asked you if I could borrow it,’ Lucie said.

‘I don’t remember that,’ Thomas said.

‘It was several months ago, so that could be why you don’t remember.’

‘Are you going to give it back at some point?’ Thomas asked.

Lucie shrugged. ‘Maybe,’ she said.

Thomas sighed. ‘At least Barbara has a boyfriend she can steal clothes from now. Sometimes I feel like my closet is a free for all.’

Cordelia didn’t think Alastair was the type to steal Thomas’ clothes, he always dressed in well fitting clothes, eager to impress. She guessed Thomas’ shirts and sweaters had to be comfortable, but Cordelia didn’t like to wear clothes that were baggy and oversized. Cordelia always felt like they made her look much bigger, and being both muscular and chubby had caused some issues with her body image.

Thomas returned to his parents after dinner, and Alastair went to his room. Cordelia followed him upstairs while Lucie was writing. She’d been meaning to talk to him.

Alastair was cleaning up in his room. She didn’t think it could get any cleaner, yet here Alastair was, carefully rearranging his bed.

‘Did you want to ask something?’ he asked without looking up from changing the bed sheets.

‘I did, can I come in?’

‘Sure, but give me a moment to finish this. Thomas is coming to sleep over tonight,’ Alastair said, ‘I figured I’d change the bed sheets and add an extra pillow.’

‘That’s sweet of him,’ Cordelia said.

‘It is. Thomas said he wanted to protect me from nightmares. I don’t think that’ll work but I’m learning to feel safe around him.’

Cordelia knew to Alastair, a sense of safety was hard to come by. He’d been unsafe for so long he struggled to recognize when he was safe and loved. They’d been working on that together, Cordelia trying to figure out the best ways to support him and make him feel safe, ways to help him through flashbacks and panic attacks. It had taken some time, but Alastair had slowly started trusting her with his feelings.

‘What did you want to talk about?’ Alastair asked.

‘I think I’m in love with Lucie,’ she confessed.

Cordelia had been close to Lucie for a long time, she struggled to tell the difference between their friendship and falling in love, but lately she’d started to suspect what she felt was romantic love.

Alastair grinned. ‘Well, that means your taste in women is decidedly better than your taste in men. Do you think she likes you?’

‘I don’t know. I know she likes girls, but I’m not sure she likes me.’

‘Isn’t her story about you titled the Beautiful Cordelia?’ Alastair asked.

Cordelia tilted her head. ‘Yes, but I think that’s not so uncommon. I mean, she started writing that story when she was twelve and lots of twelve year old girls write main characters who are constantly described as being exceedingly beautiful and perfect and courageous.’

‘But aren’t many of those characters an idealized version of the author themselves?’ Alastair asked. ‘Lots of twelve year old girls are insecure about how they look and some write themselves as how they wished they looked.’

Cordelia had definitely been insecure, and she knew Alastair was still insecure about his dark features. She often made fun of his dyed blonde hair, which he’d thankfully died back to black, but she knew it was because Alastair was insecure about how he looked as a brown man. His hair was one of the few things about his appearance he could change.

Cordelia had too, she’d been insecure about her brown skin and dark eyes, she’d believed her red hair, a very uncommon feature for an Iranian girl, was the best part about her appearance. But Lucie’s story had dedicated pages to describing the beauty of Cordelia’s brown skin and dark eyes, and Cordelia had read many books written by women of color where girls were celebrated for their brown skin and dark hair and eyes. And she’d read books about fat or mid sized girls written by fat authors where their bodies were celebrated or just not that important in the long run, which had helped Cordelia feel less insecure about her body

‘Lots of twelve year old girls describe their main characters as so skinny people thought they had an eating disorder, but you know that although it’s written in a negative light, it’s supposed to be a compliment,’ Cordelia said. ‘You’re probably right, that the authors wanted to be thinner and therefore wrote their characters that way.’

At twelve, she’d gravitated towards stories with those main characters, because of her own insecurity. At that age she’d barely been able to read books with a fat main character. Of course, most fat girls in books back then hated themselves and could only have a happy ending after losing weight, but Cordelia suspected back then she would not have been able to appreciate books about fat girls loving themselves as she could now. Even though at twelve years old, Cordelia hadn’t even been fat.

‘But Lucie didn’t write an idealized version of herself,’ Alastair said. ‘She wrote about you.’

‘There was a side character called princess Lucinda, who was the fictional version of Lucie,’ Cordelia said. ‘But when it came to descriptions of how characters looked, Cordelia was always the most beautiful girl around and everyone fell in love with her at first sight. And I mean literally everyone.’

‘The obvious explanation would be that she likes you,’ Alastair said.

‘She didn’t realize she liked girls until recently,’ Cordelia said. ‘She started writing the beautiful Cordeliayears ago.’

‘She might not have realized she liked you,’ Alastair said. ‘I’ve never read much from the story, but from what did read, I cannot think of another explanation for this.’

Cordelia had to admit her brother had a point. Still, she was nervous when she returned downstairs to Lucie, who was still writing. She looked up when Cordelia sat down next to her with a book.

‘I introduced Mabel,’ Lucie said. ‘Eloise just fell asleep and woke in the dreamworld, and is trying to figure out where she is and how to get out, and although she doesn’t trust or understand Mabel, they are forced to work together. And Mabel at this point thinks Eloise is just a conceited rich girl. So a bit like Pride and Prejudice.’

Cordelia wondered if she was anything like Mabel and if Eloise was anything like Lucie. Or perhaps the other way around, she wasn’t too familiar with either character yet.

‘I like Pride and Prejudice,’ Cordelia said. ‘So they go from being enemies to being in love?’

‘Not enemies in the sense that they’re on opposite sides or anything, but they do strongly dislike each other at first, which will slowly develop to grudging respect to genuine respect to friendship to I would die for you. It’s a fun dynamic, but difficult to write and space out. And of course Eloise is in the dreamland the whole time, whereas Mabel is only there at night when she’s sleeping.’

‘So, if Mabel can talk to Eloise while they’re asleep and she also wakes up into the real world, could she serve as a line of communication between Eloise and her family?’ Cordelia asked.

Lucie’s eyes lit up. ‘Of course, that’s an excellent idea. Now the first time Mabel visits Eloise’ house, her family doesn’t listen to Mabel, which reinforces her negative beliefs about Eloise, but eventually she gives in and tries again and tells them something only Eloise could have told her and then the family does begin to trust her.’

‘How exhausted does Mabel get from all this?’ Cordelia said. ‘Since she gets to adventure in her sleep?’

‘Well, the adventuring in her sleep does count as sleep,’ Lucie said. ‘But you have a point, it would probably be less restful than normal sleep. Perhaps Eloise’s family can take her in and provide for her family so she can get enough rest to visit the dreamland.’

‘What do your characters look like?’ Cordelia asked. ‘I’m thinking about drawing them for you.’

Cordelia hadn’t drawn in some time, but had brought some art supplies with her. She wasn’t particularly talented, but decent when it came to drawing Lucie’s characters, although she still struggled with drawing men.

‘Oh that would be fantastic,’ Lucie said. ‘I always like to have something to visualize, but I can’t draw a straight line. Alright, so Mabel is from a poor family, and works in a factory to support her family, so she’s going to look a bit dirty and stained. She has dirty blonde hair and brown eyes and freckles and is a little underweight because she struggles to feed herself and her mother and younger siblings.

Eloise on the other hand is from a wealthy family, although her mother was poor, and she wears fancier clothes like the dress Jessamine wears. She has dark brown hair and gray eyes and because she always had enough food and likes sweets, she is fat.

Maybe Mabel judges Eloise for her weight at first, because Mabel is poor herself but I’m thinking that might not go over well to a modern audience.’

Cordelia tilted her head. ‘Maybe not. But it’s nice to have a fat main character, I don’t think there are enough of those.’

Nor were there enough queer main characters, women of color main characters, the list could go on. Cordelia often wished she could see herself more in books, and Lucie understood that. Lucie often recommended her books based on what she was looking for.

‘Yes, exactly,’ Lucie said. ‘And it gives me an opportunity to write away any insecurities I have about gaining weight. One of the great benefits of stealing Thomas’ clothes is that it rarely happens that they suddenly don’t fit anymore.’

Lucie had told her she’d gained some weight over the past year, but as it had happened slowly, Cordelia found it difficult to tell the difference. She and Thomas used to have eating contests together, which was a bit of an odd hobby but both seemed to enjoy it, and Lucie was probably the only one who stood a chance against Thomas, but ever since gaining weight she’d gotten too insecure about it.

Cordelia thought Lucie would look good at any size, and hated how being taught to be insecure had made her give up on a weird but fun hobby.

‘That sounds like a good idea,’ Cordelia said. ‘I’m going to get my art supplies and get started.’

***

Alastair and Thomas were in Alastair’s bed together, in each other’s arms. It was nice, warm, comfortable, Thomas asking every now and then if it was still okay, if he wanted to be kissed, if certain parts of his body were alright for him to touch. Alastair didn’t think he’d ever get enough of this. Thomas’ arms were firm and strong and applied just enough pressure to his body to be comforting.

He was whispering to Thomas in Farsi, terms of endearments he had not imagined using for someone else after Charles.

‘What is it you’re saying?’ Thomas asked. ‘Is that Farsi?’

‘It is,’ Alastair said.

‘What were you saying?’ Thomas asked. ‘Lucie and I tried to learn Farsi for Cordelia, but so far we only learnt a few phrases and my accent is probably terrible.’

‘Likely,’ Alastair agreed, ‘but it’s nice that you’re learning. I could help you.’

Charles had never cared much for his language, or his culture. Of course, at the time Alastair had tried to distance himself from his heritage, all too aware how people treated him for it. He’d thought people would accept him better that way. After all, people often claimed foreigners should adapt to the dominant culture. He knew better now, and loved that Thomas showed an interest in the language.

‘That would be amazing. You are fluent, aren’t you?’

‘My mother mostly spoke Farsi with us at home, and aunt Risa still struggles with English. She understands everything you say, but cannot express herself well enough to feel comfortable, so we always speak Farsi with her. So I’d say Cordelia and I are fluent, yes.’

‘So, what were you just saying for me?’

‘Kharâbetam. I am ruined for you. Nooré cheshm-am. The light of my eyes. Ãtashé del-am. The fire of my heart.’

‘Wow. That all sounds so romantic,’ Thomas said.

‘Farsi endearments can be dramatic, but I like that,’ Alastair said.

‘I’ll try to learn some of those,’ Thomas promised. ‘Learning the language will undoubtedly be easier with a native speaker around.’

Thomas started kissing him again, wrapping his arms around Alastair, still checking if everything was alright. He threw in some terms of endearments of his own, phrases Alastair did not understand, but recognized as Spanish. He remembered Thomas saying his father often spoke Spanish around the house and Thomas was fluent himself. Alastair wasn’t sure what exactly Thomas was saying, but it sounded sweet.

He started to wonder if Thomas wanted to move things along. Part of Alastair wanted to, part of him was scared. Truth to be told, he wasn’t sure what he wanted, and he’d much rather follow Thomas’ lead.

He didn’t realize what was happening at first. Thomas, apparently, did long to move things along, and asked if it would be alright to take off some clothes. Alastair said yes, even if part of him was still scared. It would be fine, he told himself. This was Thomas, who loved him and would stop if Alastair asked him to.

And at first it was amazing. Alastair gently traced the stretch marks on Thomas’ back with his fingers. It must have been hard on the body, to grow so much in only a few years. Thomas used to be so small… He didn’t feel like it was going too fast, he was taking his time admiring Thomas.

And Thomas was still sweet as always, asking what was alright. Alastair said yes to everything. He wanted Thomas, wanted to find out what it could be like with someone who cared for him. But the more intimate their kissing, their exploring each other’s bodies became, the more Alastair was reminded of previous times he’d done this. Stop, he told himself. This wasn’t like it was with Charles. This was Thomas and he was sweet and perfect and would never do anything Alastair wasn’t comfortable with. But he fell back into the memory anyway. It wasn’t real, he told himself. He was here with Thomas, but he couldn’t feel Thomas anymore. Instead, he was with Charles, and he was scared and uncomfortable, but didn’t dare say anything because what if Charles would abandon him? It wasn’t real, he told himself. He’d done something wrong, he felt, Charles had been upset with him most of the evening and Alastair didn’t know why. He couldn’t figure what he’d done wrong, and at the time he’d thought it reasonable to make it up to Charles like this, pushing himself despite his fear and discomfort. Doing whatever he asked for because he’d clearly done something wrong and he wanted to show Charles he loved him. Now Alastair felt shame for allowing all this to happen. He felt Charles’ hands on him, and yelled at him to stop but it was a memory and in the past Alastair had never asked him to stop. There was nothing he could do now, nothing to change the past. In the distance, he heard a voice calling to him. It wasn’t real, he reminded himself. He wasn’t with Charles, he’d done nothing wrong, and he had nothing to make up for.

‘Alastair, are you alright?’

‘Get away from me!’ Alastair yelled and he wasn’t sure if it was directed at Thomas or Charles or both of them.

‘Alastair, what do you need me to do?’

Thomas sounded like he was freaking out, but he was still there. It wasn’t real, he reminded himself. Thomas was real. His bedroom was real. He felt something in his arms, something soft and hairy. He focused on that sensation, stroking the soft thing. Alastair had always had a fondness for soft things, his hedgehog, nice blankets. He loved how it felt under his fingers, how it could put him at ease to stroke his hand over something soft. It was his hedgehog, he realized. Thomas had found Mr. Prickly somewhere between the sheets and shoved it into his arms. It was something to focus on. He held Mr. Prickly against him, stroking it gently, focusing on the sensation underneath his fingers. This was real. He could see the hedgehog. Could see Thomas, asking him to breathe, talking to him.

‘Don’t panic,’ Alastair told Thomas as he sat upright, hedgehog in his lap.

Part of him was tempted to send Thomas away, to not let him see Alastair like this. He wanted to yell at him to get out of here and retreat into his protective shell, but what would be the point? Thomas had already seen the worst, nothing to be done about that now. Besides, it would be rude to expect Thomas to sleep on the couch or go back to his parents at this hour. This was a bad idea. He tried to breathe, keeping all his attention on Mr. Prickly. Perhaps he should give trust a try, he told himself. Perhaps he and Thomas could work through this. He knew it was unlikely, but Alastair forced himself to at least give it a try.

‘I’m not panicking,’ Thomas protested. ‘I just really didn’t know what to do. I don’t want to hurt you.’

‘This was a good move though,’ Alastair said, cradling Mr. Prickly against him.

‘What happened?’ Thomas asked. ‘Did I do something wrong?’

Alastair sighed, how long until Thomas would give up? He wanted to take this further, he wanted to be able to have sex with Thomas without it reminding him of past times. He was older now, and although he was still scared he also wanted to have sex. And Thomas deserved it, deserved a partner who could satisfy him. Alastair wasn’t so sure he could.

‘It’s not you, eshgham,’ he said slowly. None of this was Thomas’ fault. It was his, for being too broken to be a good lover. ‘You know I have these flashbacks, right?’

‘Yes, I do. Did I do something to trigger a flashback?’

‘I didn’t realize it would happen,’ Alastair said. ‘I thought I was ready. I wanted to sleep with you. But then something reminded me of him, and I fell into a memory. I’m sorry.’

‘It’s nothing to be sorry for. I just don’t want to hurt you,’ Thomas said.

‘I do not always know what will happen,’ Alastair said. ‘One thing that helped me greatly in therapy is learning to identify triggers. Alcohol is an obvious one, of course. But because of Charles, intimacy is also difficult. I thought it would be alright. I was a little nervous, but I also really wanted it.’

‘It’s alright to wait,’ Thomas said. ‘As long as you need. We haven’t even been together that long, and I’m fine just cuddling. If that’s still alright. Honestly the idea of having sex makes me nervous too. You know, since I’ve never done it.’

Alastair could still see a hint of disappointment on Thomas’ face, but right now he just couldn’t. He was so tired, he didn’t think he’d ever feel rested again. He’d had a long day, he reminded himself.

‘You know what, maybe we should go outside,’ Thomas said.

Alastair frowned. ‘Outside?’

What did Thomas have in mind? Cuddling outside in the grass? Alastair imagined it would be cold.

‘I like watching the stars,’ Thomas admitted. ‘When I was young and so sick I had to stay in the hospital, Barbara gifted me some books by Stephen Hawking. Children’s books he’d written with his daughter, not the complicated ones. I had a bit of an obsession with the galaxy then because of these books. It’s very calming, so maybe it’ll help you.’

‘So, you want to watch the stars with me?’ Alastair asked.

‘I could point them all out to you,’ Thomas said. ‘If you like that, I mean. London is too light for stargazing, there’s nothing to see, but here that’s not the case and the sky is very clear tonight. Not a cloud to be seen. Unless you’d rather go to sleep?’

‘I’m not sure I’d be able to fall asleep right now.’

Alastair reluctantly followed Thomas. Will and Tessa were still downstairs, both reading as they often did.

‘We’re going to watch the stars,’ Thomas announced.

Will looked up from his book. ‘Well, enjoy. Don’t stay out too long, it’s cold outside.’

Will was right, it was cold outside. Alastair wished he’d worn something warmer than his pajamas. They sat down on the garden lounge set, Alastair finding a comfortable position sitting in between Thomas’ legs in front of him, laying back against his chest with Thomas’ arms around him. He was exhausted, flashbacks always did that even if he was still too alert to fall asleep. Perhaps after a while he’d doze off here, leaning against Thomas.

‘Do you know how to find the polar star?’ Thomas asked.

‘I’ve heard it had something to do with the bear constellation?’ Alastair asked.

He’d read about this ages ago, but stars had never been a particular interest of his even if he’d had many unusual interests in his youth. He’d read a few things here and there, but barely remembered anything.

‘Yes. That there’s the big bear.’

Alastair tried to look where Thomas was pointing, which was difficult, but he recognized the saucepan shape of the big bear constellation. He’d long been confused why it was called a bear when it clearly resembled a pan or a ladle more, but later he’d learnt there were actually more stars to the constellation, the pan shape was just the brightest.

‘Now you must follow the two stars at the side of the pan shape, into that direction and there’s ursa minor. Although ursa minor doesn’t really look like a bear, it just looks like a smaller version of the saucepan.’

Alastair had to look for a while, but he could find the constellation Thomas described.

‘Now, the end of the pan, that’s Polaris,’ Thomas said proudly. ‘True north. So, if you ever get lost at sea, you now know how to navigate.’

‘If I get lost at sea, I’d probably die of other causes first,’ Alastair said. ‘Dehydration would be the obvious choice.’

‘I guess that’s true. But if you’re lost at sea with a huge supply of water and food that won’t go to waste, then it might be nice to actually know how to navigate.’

‘You think that’ll happen?’ Alastair asked.

‘Oh, probably not,’ Thomas said. ‘But I’ve always liked the idea of finding my own true north. I’m actually planning to get a tattoo. I haven’t told anyone, I’ve been working up the courage to ask my parents.’

‘What kind?’ Alastair asked.

‘A compass,’ Thomas said. ‘But I was thinking of combining it with a flower, a rose I think. I have made a few sketches, I’ll show you someday.’

‘Where did you want to get it?’ Alastair asked.

‘Just here, on my arm.’

Thomas leaned a bit forward, against Alastair’s back, and showed him a spot on his wrist. Alastair mindlessly traced the spot with his fingers, and he could feel Thomas’ shiver beneath his touch. If a subtle touch on his arm could get such a reaction out of him, what would happen when Alastair was able to move things along and have sex with him? He felt another pang of guilt, at being unable to, at wanting to please his partner yet falling into a memory of a previous partner he’d been desperate to satisfy.

‘It’ll look amazing here,’ Alastair said. ‘Do you think your parents will not approve?’

‘Oh I’m thinking they will, they were supportive when Genie wanted to get her nose pierced at least. I know some parents can be absolutely horrified about their children getting tattoos and piercings.’

‘My mother would probably have a heart attack,’ Alastair agreed. ‘When I was fifteen, she caught me smoking in the windowsill. Let’s just say I did not dare smoke again. Which was probably for the best, because quitting now would have been harder than it was then.’

‘I remember you smoking just outside school,’ Thomas said. ‘Back then I thought it was attractive. Now I’m glad you quit, I really wouldn’t want you to get sick because of it.’

‘I wasn’t really occupied with that at fifteen,’ Alastair admitted. ‘I guess I figured I wouldn’t live long enough to get cancer from smoking anyway. But I also didn’t really have the money to keep buying cigarettes, so there’s that. Smoking is a very expensive pastime. And I could breathe much easier after I’d quit and had far better stamina.’

Alastair wasn’t even sure why he’d liked it back then. Part of it was to fit in, sure, but he’d also smoked at home, hanging out of the window so his room wouldn’t smell. Nowadays he found the scent of cigarettes disgusting and overwhelming and he couldn’t imagine ever smoking again.

Thomas pointed out several more stars and constellations for him. ‘That’s Orion,’ he said. ‘With the brightest star, Sirius. The dog star.’

‘Like in the Black family in Harry Potter,’ Alastair said. ‘Looks like a face with a crooked mouth.’

‘I think J.K. Rowling just pulled out a constellation map when she needed names for Black family members,’ Thomas said. ‘Do you like Harry Potter?’

‘I used to,’ Alastair said. ‘But that was before Rowling’s transphobia became widely known. I understand why some people still like the series and separate it from her, but I heavily associate them with the damage she did to trans people.’

‘Understandable,’ Thomas said. ‘Those books were a great comfort to me as a child. Besides the George’s secret key to the universe series.’

‘What was that about?’

‘Those are the space books I mentioned. It’s about a boy named George, whose new neighbor is a scientist with a daughter around his age. He grows closer to the girl and her father, and discovers he has a super computer that can create portals into space. And then there’s an evil former colleague of the scientist who wants to steal the computer. It was very entertaining, but also educational, explaining the universe and the stars and planets in a way that’s understandable for children. And when I could go back to school I told everyone I’d read a book by Stephen Hawking. Of course, at that age half the children had no idea who that was.’

‘That’s just adorable,’ Alastair grinned. ‘Was your teacher at least impressed?’

‘I think so. I think she did suspect I read his children’s books and not his more serious work, but I could tell the others everything about the stars.’

‘I’m getting very cold,’ Alastair said. ‘And sleepy. I could probably fall asleep right here if I wasn’t so cold.’

‘Oh, am I that comfortable?’

‘Don’t let it rise to your head. I’m going to bed, you coming?’

They returned upstairs, both Will and Tessa were still reading and Alastair wondered how long they would keep that up.

They both found a comfortable way to lie down in the bed, and Alastair found it reassuring that Thomas was still here, even if it was difficult to be near someone. Charles wouldn’t have stayed. Charles would not have helped him through a flashback. Charles would have scolded him for being so emotional and left him alone.

‘Good night,’ Thomas said.

‘Good night.’

Alastair slept peacefully that night. Perhaps it was Thomas, perhaps the hedgehog, or perhaps he was simply too tired to still have nightmares. He didn’t feel rested when he woke up the next morning, but he didn’t feel as tired as yesterday either. Thomas was still asleep, his mouth slightly open, clutching the blanket. Alastair was very glad Thomas didn’t snore. He was quiet in his sleep, breathing softly.

Alastair checked the time, six in the morning. What a useless time to wake up. No one else would be awake yet, but there was no point in going back to sleep either. He remained in bed, not exactly motivated to get out either. When would Thomas wake up? He was an early riser too, but six was a probably a bit too early. Miraculously he did fall asleep for a bit longer, with a hazy dream he did not remember when he woke up. Seven thirty, which meant he’d gotten another hour and a half of sleep.

Thomas woke around eight, and Alastair was still in bed, contemplating getting up to make breakfast.

‘Did you sleep well?’ Thomas asked, yawning.

‘Well enough,’ Alastair said. He didn’t usually fall back asleep after waking up around six, and had slept about as well as he could. He was still tired though, which didn’t surprise him after yesterday, and unmotivated to get out of bed.

‘I thought so. I woke at some point in the middle of the night and you seemed so peaceful.’

‘I have been told I am very still when I don’t have nightmares,’ Alastair said. ‘When Cordelia and I shared a room, she once thought I might be dead in the middle of the night when I was just sleeping.’

Of course, at the time Cordelia hadn’t quite understood his mental illness yet and feared he might be suicidal. She’s panicked and woken him up to make sure he wasn’t dead, and Alastair had assured her he had no intention of leaving her alone.

‘I didn’t think you were dead,’ Thomas said. ‘Just at peace for a change. So, do you feel rested?’

‘As I said, I never feel rested,’ Alastair said. ‘But I feel like I can face the day, and that’s good enough.’

‘Maybe someday,’ Thomas said. ‘I liked sleeping next to you and I do feel rested.’

Alastair groaned. ‘Of course you do. So, if you have an endless supply of energy for the day, you would have no issue making me breakfast.’

‘For sure,’ Thomas said to Alastair’s surprise and he got out of bed. ‘Do you want toast? ’

‘And coffee,’ Alastair said.

‘Maybe you would be less tired without the coffee,’ Thomas said.

Alastair frowned. ‘What are you talking about, coffee is what keeps me alive.’

‘Yes, but frequently drinking coffee builds tolerance. Drinking lots of coffee regularly won’t make you more energetic, it only makes you more tired when you don’t drink coffee.’

Alastair fell back onto the bed. ‘I still want coffee,’ he said, not willing to give in and admit Thomas was right.

‘Alright, coffee it is,’ Thomas said and he changed out of his pajamas.

Alastair took his time to admire the view until Thomas put on his shirt. He still found it hard to believe that this Thomas was the same small boy who’d followed him around years ago.

He didn’t get out of bed until Thomas returned to announce he’d made breakfast. Part of Alastair had still expected him to only make his own breakfast, but when Alastair was dressed and entered the kitchen, there was a cup of coffee and some toast with jam finished.

Thomas was sipping from a cup of English tea. ‘Do you want milk or sugar in your coffee?’

‘No,’ Alastair said. ‘I just drink it black.’

‘I’ve never liked coffee,’ Thomas said. ‘I think it tastes terrible.’

‘It does taste terrible. It’s supposed to be terrible. But at this point I’ve drunk so much coffee that I tolerate the taste. I need it for energy.’

‘I prefer tea myself.’

‘That’s not tea,’ Alastair said. ‘That’s an abomination.’

Thomas stared at him.

‘Wait until I introduce you to my mother,’ Alastair said. ‘She makes the best rose tea you’ve ever tasted. You’ll never drink that stuff again.’

‘Rose tea?’ Thomas said.

‘It is common in Iran to add rose petals when making tea. Tea is a very popular drink, and my mother is very precise on how she makes her tea,’ Alastair explained. ‘Just tell her you like her tea and she’ll adore you.’

‘That’s good to know,’ Thomas said before taking another sip of his English tea.

‘Risa is more critical though,’ Alastair added. ‘She might not be so impressed.’

When Cordelia had dated James, his mother had instantly adored James because he was polite and loved her tea. Risa had not been impressed at all and had not been afraid to let it show. All English people were polite after all and it was often only a façade. Alastair hoped she would treat Thomas better.

‘Maybe we should work on your Farsi before meeting Risa,’ Alastair added. ‘If you speak Farsi with her she’ll probably like you.’

‘That sounds promising,’ Thomas said.

‘You’re up early,’ said a sleepy voice.

Cordelia was still wearing her pajamas, her red hair tangled and messy.

‘As you well know, I’m always up early,’ Alastair said.

Cordelia nodded. ‘Are you ready to go find a selkie skin?’

[dionysianfreak]

some spicy things I do in my practice because of ADHD

given that it's literally my brain, adhd takes over a lot of things in my life. it finds a way to wiggle into everything I do in both bad and good ways. it's just how it is being neurodivergent and it's just how life goes for me, but that doesn't mean it doesn't aid me in many ways. growing up we aren't taught about mental divergency. we're taught the abled and neurotypical way and that's it, but in truth neurodivergent people only struggle due to not having the resources to do things the way that'll let them work efficiently. so here is a list of ways my personal adhd effects my pagan practice and ways I incorporate it into my worship !

stimming

stimming ! i stim a LOT and sometimes, if the emotion I feel is strong enough, they turn to uncontrollable tics. this also means that when during things like rituals, I'll have to pause so I don't tic and ruin something. this is totally normal and okay ! I've never once had a problem with it, and the Gods just patiently waited for it to pass as it always does. we both know it's just something that happens and it's apart of me, it isn't something to be ashamed of or hide.

accepting stimming once I was diagnosed was also something I did as a devotional act to Dionysos ! instead of trying to mask or push down the urge to stim, I'd allow myself to just let it out. my stims vary between very overt to covert, and accepting the overt ones as normal was a feat worthy of devotion imo. you can also keep stim toys on your altar when you're not using them, if you wanted to.

time and schedules

consistent worship ????? never heard of her. same goes for offerings. sometimes I give 294894 offerings in a day and sometimes I've given one offering in a week, it just depends on my ever changing behavior. there's no need to be stuck on a schedule if you don't want to or even make one to begin with. when I first started out, I asked Hermès, Apollon, and Dionysos (who I worshipped at the time) if I should make a schedule and the no was so hard I haven't asked since. my worship is a part of my daily life, as just like I don't drive places every day I don't worship every day. both are still important in my life regardless if I'm actively doing it or not. if you stuggle with consistency, I urge you to speak with the Gods you worship and see if making things more fluid would help !

hyperfixation is also a pain in the ass sometimes, especially when it becomes something other than paganism. due to the free nature of my practice and that I've chosen to devote, it sometimes translates into "well I don't haveeee to do this" and suddenly poof, all the motivation is gone. it's VERY hard to come back when your brain is so wired on something else entirely, and I understand the feeling. during these times I personally do very small things to keep up. if I make dinner for myself, I'll offer a portion and eat with the Gods just to show that I'm participating even when I'm struggling to. the small things count.

RSD - Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria

my RSD is crippling in my life, and it's reach extends to paganism sometimes as well (if you're unaware, RSD is the extreme sensitivity to perceived rejection in any form). sometimes during readings I receive a card that I believe is saying something "negative". sometimes it's criticism, sometimes advice, sometimes it's a slap on the wrist, but no matter what it is in reality I'm at the mercy of my brain to interpret it. so this has lead to meltdowns, long depressive/anxious episodes, and crying fests when I think a deity is angry with me. it has gotten so bad before that delusions have appeared and made me believe false memories or feelings of hatred from the Gods.

it's so hard and I'm so sorry if anyone else has to deal with it. to help with this, I have to fight to remind myself that advice is not an attack. the Gods are trying to help me and, even if They were angry at me, I've made mistakes before and They've allowed me to grow from them. i also have a checklist of questions I ask myself to allow logic and reality back into my head. a few questions include "have i done anything recently that's worthy of anger from a God ?", "is this something that will last forever ?", and "is this a message that has something to teach me ?".

impulsiveness

ask most people with ADHD about being impulsive and you'll probably receive a nervous side glace. we're impulsive often, which can do a multitude of things in paganism. one, starting a devoting and never finishing it. i am SO guilty of this one, and it make me feel bad even now. i have plenty up unfinished plans, drawings, and other devotional items that look around and guilt me. I've been in this cycle for a year and I don't think I'll ever grow out of it, but from what I've noticed the Gods don't mind. doing some of a devotion is a wonderful feat, and the energy that took is a wonderful offering even if you don't finish it.

I'm sure other adhd people and probably some autistic people have been in the position of "I just discovered this new Deity and oh my god I NEED to worship them RIGHT NOW or I'll DIE". They're just SO COOL and you automatically feel a connection. then three weeks later you feel demotivated to worship Them and now you feel terrible about it. don't worry, me too. to help with this nowadays I personally honor for a bit then worship if the worship relationship doesn't involve any help between us. this is what I did with Pan, and it worked VERY well for me. i recognized our connection but I didn't feel the pressure to consistently worship Him.

back to the start of the second paragraph, if you're stuck in that situation just communicate with the Deity. it can be hard to admit you're wrong, especially with adhd. however, just sitting down and calling to Them to let them know how you feel and that you think you made a mistake is a huge communicative step !

demotivation

this. one. sucks. inbetween hyperfixations, being stressed out or anxious, going through a depressive episode, and more can cause very deep demotivation and loss of energy in people with ADHD and other disorders. sometimes I'll just lay in my floor with my headphones on for hours because I literally can't find the energy to get up. a lot of people worry that this directly conflicts with Paganism and would slow progress. i understand why it seems that way, especially since adhd is a very "GO FAST, DO THIS THING N O W" disorder. there's actually a few solutions here I can think of

devote your personal healing to the Gods as this can give your brain a "reward" and can help you personally feel better in many ways. after weeks without a shower, devote a bath to a Deity or maybe eat breakfast at Their altar if you haven't been eating much. allow Them to be your motivation

take a break entirely. paganism certrainly isn't a 24/7/365 commitment and your practice molds to your needs. if you're just absolutely knocked out and need rest, take a break. I've taken MANY breaks before. I've been forced on breaks too because the Gods noticed my mental health declining before I did. never feel ashamed for needing time for yourself

do multiple small things rather than big things. a little bit of your dinner when you eat, redecorate Their altar or space, listen to music that reminds you of Them, think of Them when you're out and about in case you see something. you can weave devotion into daily acts in order to reinforce mundane things you need to do and calm your mind about paganism.

and finally, miscellaneous list of other things I do that are too small for their own section.

if you need to keep track of divination readings, no need to write down every reading you've ever had in detail. you can voice record them as you go, take photos of the cards, or use apps like Labyrinthos that can act as a tarot log.

your altar doesn't need to look perfect, it should reflect your worship and your devotion to a Deity. this means if your altar looks like a mess, as mine ALWAYS do, it's perfectly okay ! clutter aesthetic altars are the most beautiful altars in my eyes, and they're so worthy of adoration. I've never once heard of a Deity disliking an altar, They appreciate our work to put in a space just for Them. let your altar look messy and wild as you want, altars don't need to be aesthetic or color coordinated

you see everywhere that many of us are devoted to one deity in particular or multiple, I fit in here too. i just wanted to say that you never have to devote to any Deity if you don't want to. you could worship when you need help from a specific Deity or worship a different deity every month. never feel like you have to tie yourself down just because other people feel comfortable doing so.

you don't have to celebrate every festival. it's okay to skip celebrations that don't really apply to you or are at an inconvenient time ! you could also reschedule if you find yourself wanting to celebrate but burnt out or busy.

[edie-k]

Here‘s my drabble for the HPRomione Discord fanfic tag. Thanks to @zurisenchantedquill for tagging me. My prompt was fireworks - literal and figurative.

My head - let’s write spicy figurative fireworks! You’ve wanted to stretch those muscles!

My heart - uh…. we’re going to write a fight.

I am tagging @bluegreenandpurple next. Your prompt is revenge

Title: Tense

Rating: PG-13 (Ron and I can’t go too long without using the f word)

Pairing: Romione

Disclaimer: Not my characters

Quick head canon note: I believe that Ron isn’t completely aware of his actions when under veela influence.

Takes place the summer before HBP.

Ron stepped out of the house and rubbed his face wearily.

Everything was so fucking tense right now.

He had certainly gotten used to a high level of tension in the year since Voldemort had returned and it was obviously warranted. But today, there was a completely new kind of tension and it made no sense.

The week had started off well. Hermione had arrived four days ago. Ginny, of course, had to insert herself in their business constantly but the first night, Hermione had suggested the two of them take a walk around the edge of the property after dinner and they’d repeated it every night. With the shop opening, Fred and George had been scarcely around to subject him to their normal torment. And Bill had written to say that he’d be arriving today to stay for the summer and it was always great to have his older brother around.

But that was where the trouble started.

Bill hadn’t arrived alone. He hadn’t mentioned that his girlfriend, Fleur Delacour, would be in tow. Ron had no issue with Fleur except it was considered polite to give a fucking warning when you bring a veela around so a bloke can have a chance to try to not make a fool of himself.

And then, with Fleur standing next to him with a beatific smile on her face, Bill announced she wasn’t his girlfriend - she was his fiancée.

Ron had always assumed his mum would go mad with excitement at the first of her children to marry and the fact that it was her golden boy should have made it even more unbearable. Instead Bill’s announcement was met with confusion by he and the twins (while he caught all the grief from his sister, Fred and George certainly weren’t immune to veela charms), a nervous smile from his dad, and stony silence from his mum and Ginny.

Fleur’s smile dropped and Bill frowned.

“Well,” said Dad, standing up and breaking the silence. “Certainly something to celebrate!” He pulled his eldest son into a hug before repeating the action with Fleur.

Ron felt his mind clear a bit and shook his head. “Uh, yeah. Congratulations,” he said, stepping forward to pat his brother on the back and grin. The twins seemed to come back to themselves as well and enthusiastically shook Bill’s hand.

“And, uh,” Ron turned to Fleur. “Welcome to the family.” He tried to make his voice warm and mature but he was sure he sounded like a total git. To make matters worse, he awkwardly raised his arms but didn’t actually move to touch her. Ron was sure he looked like an idiot.

Fleur, however, seemed to appreciate his gesture. She gave him a small smile and quietly said “Thank you.” She then pushed herself up on her toes and kissed his cheek.

His brain was starting to feel a touch fuzzy until he suddenly heard a tongue cluck behind him. He whirled around - Mum and Ginny were now both glaring at Dad for some reason. Hermione however, was looking at Fleur with absolute disdain. He shot a quizzical look at her but she pointedly ignored him.

Dad was staring back at Mum and Ginny. “This is something to celebrate,” he repeated in an unusually stern tone.

“Of course,” replied Mum tersely. Ron watched his mum inhale sharply and force a smile onto her face. “Oh, my boy is getting married!” She pushed Fred aside to embrace Bill and her words almost sounded genuine.

At his father’s insistence, they had a full feast for dinner. Dad had even popped out and returned with three bottles of champagne. He had poured Ron, Hermione, and Ginny each a generous glass as Mum looked on disapprovingly. But despite Dad’s best efforts, the meal had been uncomfortable. Delicious but uncomfortable. And Hermione had skipped pudding and excused herself from the table, breaking what he already considered their after dinner tradition. Ron hadn’t seen her since. He’d gone to the sitting room to play a couple of games of chess with Bill but as darkness was setting, he felt the need to escape the uneasiness that existed in the room and a pull to see Hermione.

As he glanced around the garden, he spotted her on the far end, sitting on the bench with a book.

“Hey,” he greeted, approaching her slowly.

Hermione glanced up from the tome and grunted in acknowledgement. Ron bristled at her reaction.

“You stood me up,” he said, struggling to keep his tone light. He was still unsure as to what had brought on this mood.

“You seemed busy,” she responded curtly.

He shrugged. “I wanted cake. And Bill was asking about the Quidditch Cup match.”

Hermione snorted and closed her book before setting it next to her. “Oh, it was Bill you were sharing your heroics with.”

“Yes,” he said, confused. “They weren’t exactly heroics either.”

“Right. And Bill is the one you found so interesting. Not his fiancée, whose lap you practically crawled into.”

Ron ignored that comment. He thought he was doing quite an admirable job of treating Fleur normally. “Do you have a problem with Fleur?” he asked.

“Do I have a problem with Fleur,” she repeated, a bit shrilly.

“Er, yeah? It just seems like you do.”

“She’s being awful! Snide comments about absolutely everything.”

“She’s to be my sister in law! And Mum and Ginny are being awful to her! I just think we all should make an effort.”

“Yes, that’s you. The welcoming committee,” she rolled her eyes.

“Again, she’s going to be part of the family,” he insisted.

“It doesn’t bother you that it’s happening so quickly? You’re always so suspicious of new people. They just met.”

“It’s been a year. And I reckon I trust Bill,” he said, shrugging.

“I know he’s your brother and you think a lot of him but he’s just a person like the rest of you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“The whole lot of you. Falling all over yourselves because a beautiful woman enters the room or looks at you or kisses your cheek,” Hermione sneered.

“Hang on,” Ron stopped, his blood suddenly running cold. “Are you jealous of Fleur?”

“What?” Hermione squeaked, looking a bit panicked.

“Are you - do you have a thing for my brother?”

“What?!” Hermione shrieked.

“Well, you seem to have a thing for people that are way too old for you. Lockhart, Krum, and now…”

“Are you being serious?”

“It’s the only thing that makes sense. You must be jealous of Fleur over Bill.”

Hermione let out a humorless laugh. “I’m not jealous of Fleur because of Bill.”

Ron froze. He replayed her answer in his mind. He wasn’t at his sharpest due to the after effects of veela powers and champagne but he was sure that she hadn’t denied that she was jealous; it just didn’t have to do with Bill. Did that mean… what did that mean?

“What does that mean?” he asked her. Their eyes locked and Hermione bit her lip nervously.

Wheeeeee - BANG!

Ron turned sharply and looked up to the sky to see three pink rockets bursting overhead.

“There’s your proper celebration, Dad!” shouted Fred gleefully. George whooped and pumped a fist in the air.

While Ron and Hermione had argued, Fred and George apparently tapped into their firework stock, which was bringing the rest of the family outside.

“Boys! Be careful! Ginny!” Mum yelled, as his sister squeezed by and ran toward the twins. She tutted and followed Ginny, his dad close behind. An orange Catherine wheel appeared above their moving forms.

Bill and Fleur, holding hands paused at the door and looked up.

“They are lovely although the display in Marseille for Bastille Day simply cannot be outdone,” Fleur declared. “The city is not without its problems but -” Bill laughed and pulled her along, trailing after his parents.

Ron glanced back at Hermione, who was scowling. “Is that true?”

“Is what true?”

“You’ve been to Marseille with your parents, right? Cause your mum’s a fan of that one poet from there. Are the fireworks there better?”

She looked at him and for a moment, she seemed speechless, which made no sense. It wasn’t a particularly challenging question. “Uh, yes, I have been there but not for Bastille Day. I wouldn’t have seen any wizarding fireworks anyway of course but I have a hard time believing that anyone can outdo your brothers.”

BOOM! Sparks in the form of a large green fire breathing dragon lit up the sky.

“Fred and George are quite unbeatable when it comes to explosions,” Ron agreed.

Hermione smiled at him and moved her book back onto her lap, gesturing for him to sit. Ron didn’t quite understand what he did to change her attitude but he thought it best not to push. He plopped down next to her and his bare calf brushed up against hers, sending a shiver up his spine. She didn’t move her leg away.

They sat side by side, Hermione watching the fireworks, Ron watching Hermione.

[drabbles-of-writing]

We’re Soarin’, Flying

This is part of my Wing AU

AO3

Masterpost

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

“Amity! Hey, Amity! Amity!”

Luz swooped from the top of one of the lockers, flaring her wings to slow herself down as she skidded to a stop by the girl, nearly knocking into her.

Amity jumped, her wings twitching ever so slightly before she relaxed into a smile, side-stepping to avoid Luz’s flailing wings.

“Hey, Luz.”

“Sorry about the drop in,” Luz said sheepishly, her wings scrunching up over her shoulders as she rubbed the back of her neck. “I’ve been trying to find you all day, but, ah, all my classes were practically on the other side of school.”

Amity’s ears perked slightly in curiosity. She let Luz continue rambling as she placed the last of her books in her lockers, far more relaxed than how she had been earlier.

“So, I actually have an idea for us! You said you weren’t busy today, right?” Luz asked, clearly straining to not stand so close to Amity as to avoid hitting her with her wings that refused to sit still.

“No…” Amity said slowly, shutting her locker and glanced at Luz with sudden interest. “What were you thinking of?” She said, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear.

“You’re gonna love it!” Luz smiled, grabbing her wrist with both hands and beginning to tug her along. “It’s just a little off from where we fought Grometheus, remember?”

“It was only a few days ago, Luz.” Amity said, a faint blush on her cheeks as she was pulled along. “What’s this about?”

“So, I was talking with Willow and Gus,” Luz said, flapping her wings on occasion to speed up their movement. “And I felt bad that you can’t fl--”

Amity stiffened and suddenly seized forward, slapping her hand over Luz’s mouth. Only then did the human stop.

Amity looked around fearfully, though since it was the end of the day, nobody was really paying attention. The only students still in the building were too busy making their ways to the exit.

“Luz!” Amity hissed, slowly taking her hand away.

“Right, sorry, private subject, I forgot.” Luz said sheepishly, her wings drooping slightly. “But that’s the point of this outing! It’s to help you with that little dilemma.” 

Amity blinked at her in confusion. Luz’s wings were already twitching again as she was hurrying towards the exit, once again, pulling the kestrel along.

Then Luz saw her expression of realization.

“No, no, no no no,” Amity said, digging her heels in, but it was useless against the tile and the unstoppable force known as Luz. “No, bad idea, we’re not doing this.”

“Yes, yes, yes we are!” Luz said, giving Amity a wide grin and beating her wings as they came out of the school. “You said you couldn’t, you know, do the thing, during our fight with Grometheus, and I have made it my mission to help you.”

“You really don’t have to,” Amity shook her head, still half-heartedly struggling as Luz dragged her to the bottom of the steps, where Willow and Gus were waiting.

“Too bad, I’m doing it anyway.” Luz said, finally stopping by her friends, her wings practically vibrating.

“Please tell me you’re here to try and be the voice of reason,” Amity begged, turning to Willow leaning against the stone by the steps.

“I am,” Willow nodded, and Amity visibly relaxed. “And my voice of reason says that you need to learn how to use those wings.” She said firmly, crossing her arms.

Amity groaned and hung her head, defeated. Luz was too giddy with excitement to bother with a sympathetic pat on the back.

“And it would be interesting to document,” Gus added. “I mean, not a lot of people write down or talk about what happens to wings when they aren’t used in flight for years on end. It could be enlightening!”

“You better keep that completely anonymous.” Amity warned, pointing a threatening finger at the boy. “No names, no locations, no mentions of species, anything.”

“All my research is one hundred percent confidential.” Gus said, raising a hand. “It’ll remain personal for a long time, anyway.”

“Keep it that way,”

“Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!” Luz said, flapping her wings widely and jumping around her friends. “We only have so much light left!” “We have at least a few hours,” Amity pointed out.

“And those precious hours are being wasted,” Luz whined, her wings hanging loosely at her sides. “Come on, come on!” She said, grabbing Amity’s hand with both of hers and already tugging her along.

“Looks like the natural disaster has truly begun,” Gus sighed, hurrying after the two as Luz pulled them along.

“Oh, just you wait.” Willow mumbled.

,

“Okay, so!” Luz stood in front of Amity, the cliff behind her. “What do you know about flying?”

“Uh,” Amity blinked, glancing back at Willow and Gus, who were sitting on the sidelines of the clearing. “I know you need to...flap your wings a lot?”

“Alright, not a bad start.” Luz said, her wings half-open as she scrunched her face in thought. “Do you know how to take off?”

“I just need to jump and flap my wings, right?” Amity said. “Then, I dunno, catch a draft of air?”

Luz pressed her mouth into a thin line, mildly concerned.

“How about we just take a look at those wings first?” She said, doing her best to give a reassuring smile.

Luz spread her own wings to their full length, then gestured for Amity to do the same. The witch swallowed and slowly unfurled her wings from her shoulders.

They sagged a bit, the tips of her feathers brushing the grass. The first thing Amity noticed was that, in comparison to her own, Luz’s wings were tiny. Amity’s wings were narrow and meant for speed. Whereas Luz’s were wider, the feathers and patagium thinner, and practically shrank when put in front of the kestrels.

Which was an odd realization, Amity thought. Her wings were nowhere near big, and barely even normal-sized. She supposed it put into perspective just how...fragile Luz was in this world.

“Not bad, not bad,” Luz hummed, her wings arching as she walked in a circle around Amity, peering at her wings.

Luz reached forward and touched Amity’s left wing. Amity startled and jerked her wing back.

“Sorry, sorry!” Luz raised her hands quickly and stepped away. “Wing sensitivity, my bad.” She said shyly.

“N-no, it’s fine,” Amity mumbled, slowly stretching out her wing again and ignoring Willow and Gus’s snickers behind her. “Just surprised me, that’s all.”

Luz flicked her tail and reached forward again, glancing at Amity. At her nod, she drew her hands underneath Amity’s wing and lifted it higher.

Amity resisted the urge to shutter at the touch and instead did her best to hold her wing at the height Luz lifted it to.

Once Luz was satisfied, she hurried to Amity’s other wing and did the same, until they were raised just above her shoulders and back in a take-off position.

“Try moving them,” Luz said, backing up to stand in front of Amity again. “Like this,”

She began beating her wings, slowly at first, but soon became rapid. It created a small gust of wind that ruffled Amity’s hair and feathers, and even rose Luz off the ground a few inches before she stopped and dropped back down.

Amity shuffled her feet and stretched her wings back further, feeling small pops in her muscles at being stretched. She beat them forward, and mid-movement, the bones on her wings let out a sickening crack.

Really, it was only the type of crack that your bones give in the morning when you wake up and haven’t moved for a while. But nevertheless, it was loud, and it was disturbing, to say the least.

Luz instantly cringed back, wincing at the sound. Willow did the same as Gus self-consciously drew his wings closer.

Amity paused, her wings halfway hanging in front of her as she gave a nervous smile.

“It’s, uh, been a while.” She mumbled.

“I can tell,” Luz nodded. “Just, erm, stretch them out.”

Amity nodded and slowly beat her wings back and forth, wincing at every strain and crack her wings gave, not used to being moved. Luz was disturbed by every noise she heard, and Amity didn’t blame her.

Eventually, her wings stopped making sickening noises, and she began to speed up her flapping. Luz perked up and her own wings started to beat in excitement.

“Don’t forget the tail!” Luz added above the wind being created by Amity’s flapping.

Amity spread her tail and increased the power, despite already starting to feel fatigued.

She felt her feet begin to lift slightly and she held the speed her wings were at. Luz bounced on her heels in excitement and stepped back.

Amity rose a few inches in the air, causing Willow and Gus’s interest to grow. 

A spike of pain shot through Amity’s right wing and she dropped with a yelp, her wings laying on the grass as she landed on her side.

“Are you okay?” Luz worried, hurrying over and dropping to her knees. 

“M’fine,” Amity mumbled, raising her head and giving a smile as Willow rushed over. “Just a cramp, I think.”

“Probably from not using your wings for a while,” Willow said, both her and Luz helping Amity to her feet.

“Maybe we should just work on wing exercises today,” Luz hummed, glancing back at Amity’s wings, which were loosely dragging on the ground. “It’s probably not easy on your wings to start flying after going unused for years.”

“No, no, I can do it.” Amity shook her head, raising her wings to her sides.

“Someone had a change of heart,” Willow murmured, stepping away and fluttering her wings.

“Zip it,” Amity grumbled, her ears pressing back.

“Are you sure?” Luz worried, her tail flicking. “I thought this would only take a few days, but if it hurts, it might take longer…” She said, running a hand through her hair.

“I’m fine, really.” Amity insisted. “I wanna try again.”

Luz seemed unsure, but nodded. She stepped back and let Amity stretch out her wings again. Willow wandered back to Gus but stayed standing, her wings buzzing every now and again.

Amity beat her wings once more, testing them out. Luz circled her in half-flutters as she did so, her tail twitching nonstop.

Amity soon rose off the ground again, feeling a heavy strain in her wings and creeping pain. She ignored it and held her position a few inches in the air. Luz started grinning and chirped, flying a little ways above her in encouragement.

“Come on, let’s see if we can get you airborne!” Luz said, giving Willow and Gus thumbs up.

Amity felt a swell in her chest and beat her wings faster, trying to angle properly and push herself in the air.

The second she tried to fly up instead of hovering, however, was when her wings suddenly felt like thorn-covered chains had suddenly wrapped around them.

A strained cry escaped Amity and her wings cramped up. She hit the ground harder than she thought and was winded momentarily, letting out a wheezing breath of air.

She was subconsciously aware of Luz landing and her friends surrounding her, asking questions that blurred together. Her vision was fuzzy and she tried to blink it away, shutting her eyes like that would combat the pain her wings were in.

It truly felt like a sharp string was contracting around them at different levels, and she was reminded of those awful binding straps her parents made her try out that wouldn’t let her wings move an inch.

She tried to mumble that she was fine and attempted to push herself upright. Her wings started to automatically move to fold regally over her back as they had been for all these years, and the muscles in not only her wings but shoulders and back cried in protest, causing her to whimper and collapse again.

She was aware of the flash of speckled brown wings covering her before she let her head thump on the ground and her eyes shut.

,

“Day three of flight training,” Gus mumbled, walking along the large branch as he tapped his pencil on his notebook. “Luz has decided to try moving through the trees to build up Amity’s wing muscle-mass. It's…” He paused, frowning.

“Not going too well,”

“I can hear you!”

Amity hopped to the next closest branch, stumbling before clinging to the trunk of the tree, her wings curled tightly at her sides. Willow landed on the same branch, giving her a pitying look.

“This is ridiculous,” Amity grumbled under her breath, looking off the branch to the ground spiraling below. “The kid with baby fluff is better than me.”

“I’m writing that down!” Gus called from his branch, angrily scribbling in his notebook.

“Don’t mind him, he’s just had more...exercise with his wings.” Willow said, hovering a few feet away as Amity peeled herself off the trunk and sheepishly stepped to the next branch.

“If it makes you feel any better, Luz still has a bit of fluff.” She offered.

“She does?” Amity instantly perked up, missing her branch and slipping off.

Thankfully, she managed to scramble and grab onto the branch, her lower half hanging off as she clinged to the thicker branch for dear life, her wings still tightly around her sides as she tried to pull herself up.

“Hey, Amity!”

Luz zoomed right on by, pausing for a moment to perch on a thinner branch above the witch, making her pause and look up.

“The point is to, uh, use your wings.” She said, ruffling her own. “Just try gliding! Or moving them when going from branch-to-branch.”

“I’d rather not fall out of the tree, thank you.” Amity grumbled, struggling to pull herself up as Willow watched with mild concern.

“Psh, you won’t fall. We’re high enough that you’d hit a branch that’d stop your fall...eventually.” Luz shrugged.

“You’re terrible at reassurance,” Willow deadpanned.

“Tell you what,” Amity said, laying her chin on the branch. “I’ll give it a shot. But I’m starting slow.”

“I can work with that!” Luz said cheerfully, her wings raising. “Hey, Gus! Race ya!” She called, hopping off the branch.

“Wha--wait! I wasn’t ready!” The nuthatch cried, fluttering after her.

Amity watched Luz fly off, stopping on branches occasionally to laugh and tease Gus. Her wings were constantly moving this way and that, and not for the first time, Amity wondered if Luz’s wings were really as fragile as they looked.

Willow cleared her throat and Amity jerked her head up, catching the hummingbirds smile with a raised brow.

“What?” Amity growled, finally managing to pull herself up onto her branch and trying to steady herself.

“I didn’t say anything,” Willow said simply, landing on a branch next to Amity’s. “Just that...you’re awfully more open recently, that’s all.”

“Luz has that impact on people,” Amity said stiffly, half-opening her wings and debating if the five foot jump to the next branch was worth it.

“Of course,” Willow said calmly.

Amity jumped to the next branch, her wings spread to balance her. She floundered for a moment before shooting out both of her wings, keeping herself from falling off.

Amity let out a breath of relief and lowered her wings slightly, but kept them open. She looked down the line of trees again, spotting Luz darting around the bigger trunks and startling Gus, laughing with her wings hanging at her sides, yet seeming so lively.

She smiled, just a bit.

“You know I wouldn’t mind, right?”

Amity squawked and whirled around, realizing Willow had landed next to her without her noticing, a smug look on her face.

“Mind? Course, course not.” Amity said quickly, ears flicking back as a flush came to her face. “I mean, it’s a small thing anyway, why would you even worry about it?” She said, forgoing judging the gap and flapping her wings as she landed on the next branch, having to grab one above her to stop herself from slipping off.

“But, uh, you wouldn’t? Really?” Amity swallowed, glancing at Willow as she calmly landed next to her.

“So you do know what I’m implying,” Willow said smugly, her wings arched.

“I--” Amity started before slowly shutting her mouth again and resorting to a glare. “I don’t like you.”

“Yes, you do.”

Amity muttered and released the branch above her, debating the consequences of knocking Willow off the branch with her wings. So far, the cons were outweighing the pros.

“Out of curiosity, could you bend the trees so I don’t break every bone in my body when I inevitably fall?” Amity asked, hoping to change the conversation.

“It would be more like growing the leaves, not bending the tree, but yes.” Willow said, deciding to be merciful. “You’re going to be fine, Amity. Luz went out of her way to make sure nothing went wrong today.”

“Which means she shoved a bunch of problems into a closet and is going to deal with them when she forgets they exist and suddenly burst free?” Amity guessed, giving Willow a side-eye.

“Yeah, pretty much.” Willow nodded with a tired sigh. “But let's focus on getting those wings moving before whatever troubles Luz has hidden away come looking for blood.”

“It is sounding more appealing now,” Amity agreed, holding her wings out and taking a breath before jumping off her branch.

She glided in a wonky fashion for only a few moments before smacking into a thin branch and clinging clumsily to it, her cheek resting against the wood. She heard whoops and rattles and looked up, seeing Luz and Gus had brought their game closer to her and Willow.

“That was a good glide,” Luz complimented, landing on a branch underneath Amity’s so her face could lean closer to hers. “We could probably try glides across the clearing, soon!” She said gleefully.

Amity short-circuited for a moment, her words coming out in a jumbled mess before she realized she was slipping off and re-tightened her old on the branch.

“Y-yeah! Totally,” Amity nodded, swallowing thickly as she attempted to sit up.

“How are your wings feeling?” Luz asked, flying up and offering a hand to Amity, which the witch gratefully took.

“A little stiff, but not too bad.” Amity said, steadying herself on her feet. “I haven’t been moving them much, so that probably helps.”

“Aw, come on, Amity! You’re supposed to use them,” Luz complained, landing on the thin branch beside her and making it wobble. 

If she noticed, she didn’t react to it.

“We gotta build up those muscles! Make them big and powerful, like mine.” She said, proudly flaring her wings, despite them being significantly smaller than Amity’s.

Amity raised a brow in amusement and looked over Luz. Her gaze paused for a moment on her wings. Specifically, the base of them.

Sure enough, Willow was right. Where Luz’s wings met her body, and even underneath her marginal and secondary covert feathers, was small gray and white downy fluff. It wasn’t exactly hidden, but due to how close it was to her body and her wings' natural white speckles, most people wouldn’t even notice them.

“Amity?”

The witch jerked her head up, startled. She blushed redder when she noticed Luz was looking at her oddly and drawing her wings half-closed.

“Are you sure you're okay? You kinda spaced out for a moment, there.” She said, a slight twitch to her tail.

“Yes! Yeah, I, erm, I’m okay.” Amity said, hating how loud her voice was at first and rubbing the back of her neck. “Just, uh, thinking about how I’m gonna actually manage to fly.” 

“Aw, you’ll get it, I’m sure.” Luz said kindly. “We’re not giving up that easily!”

“What are ya talkin’ bout?” 

The branch shook more as Gus landed on Amity’s other side. Amity held out her hands to keep her balance, uneasy.

“Just flying,” Luz said, oblivious as Gus rose his wings to hold himself still. “Hey, where’s Wil--”

Willow, sure enough, came to land on the branch where it connected to the trunk of the tree. Her wings were still slowing down to stop her flight when a cracking noise reached their ears.

Before anyone could shout a warning, the branch snapped off from underneath the kids, sending them tumbling down.

Amity flailed and flung out her wings, trying to stop her fall. Her wings caught the air and she got momentary whiplash as her fall stopped abruptly.

She glided for a good few moments, looking around frantically before crashing face-first into a branch and landing with a thud on the one beneath it, groaning.

She lifted her head to check what happened to the others, worried. Gazing below her, she saw that Gus had landed on a large leaf that Willow made to catch him. Luz hadn’t been so lucky and clearly tried to fly away but instead hit a branch and landed on the intersection between two larger ones. Bruised, but no worse for wear.

Willow, since she had been the last to land, and was a hummingbird, had avoided falling altogether.

“You guys okay?” Willow asked, landing in the middle of where her friends were scattered.

Groans of pain greeted her.

“I think we’re done for today.” Amity decided, folding her wings over her back as she sat up. 

“Fair,” Luz mumbled, rolling off the intersection before flaring out her wings and flying up. “Amity, you need help getting down?”

“I...I think I can try and glide down.” Amity said, peering over the branch. “Willow, prepare to catch me, please.”

“Can do,” Willow sighed, letting Gus’s leaf shrink to normal size and dumping the nuthatch on the ground below, much to his complaints.

“Hey, I think today was pretty successful.” Luz shrugged, flying around Amity. “Considering how it could’ve gone, breaking a branch is actually pretty decent!” Amity and Willow made eye contact from across the trees.

“You have a monster chasing you today, don’t you?” Willow deadpanned.

“Two, actually.”

,

“This is the worst idea you’ve ever had during these sessions. And you wanted us to try and ride a Roc.”

“I think you’re being a little over-dramatic, Amity.”

“It’s not so bad,” Luz said, standing at the edge of the cliff. “I mean, you’ve made a lot of progress. And it’s only been just over a week! If anything bad happens, you can just glide to safety. Or Willow can catch you.” She added.

“There is one branch on this entire cliff.” Amity said, pointing below. “And I don’t want to land in the ocean, Luz.”

“This is why we don’t take advice from Eda,” Gus mumbled under his breath.

“I won’t let you fall, I promise.” Luz said, her tail quivering slightly. “I can catch you, and so can Willow.” She insisted.

Amity frowned and peered over the edge, clearly not convinced.

Okay, Luz thought, so maybe her previous ideas hadn’t all been bangers. Especially not the Roc or the throwing plan. But this wasn’t that bad, not really. Sure, Amity could get her wings wet, but so long she didn’t crash at the bottom of the cliff, she’d be fine, this is fine.

“We gotta get those wings in the air somehow, and you’re already able to glide longer! This’ll be great, I’m sure.” She said, waving a hand.

“Yeah,” Gus drawled out slowly, glancing at Luz’s tail, which had not stopped twitching. “Maybe we shouldn’t do this if you're not completely sure of it?”

“Course I’m sure, why wouldn’t I be sure?” Luz said quickly, glancing around. “I’m fine, it’ll all be fine. Look, here,”

With that, she calmly took a step backwards off the cliff.

Amity jerked forward for a moment before drawing back. Luz had fallen for barely a second before she had spread her wings and flown up, now hovering a little over two thousand feet in the air.

“Now I can make sure nothing bad happens.” She said. “Just, uh, you know...don’t look down?” She tried with a sheepish smile.

“We’re all going to regret this,” Willow muttered.

Despite her words, she also stepped off the cliff and flew halfway down where the broken branch was, hovering by it at the ready.

“You three have fun, I’m staying here.” Gus said, fluttering his wings as he focused on his notebook. “I’d rather not risk crashing into the sea.”

This did little to reassure Amity.

“Just open your wings and glide,” Luz said, flying around the edge of the cliff. “Maybe flap your wings a little. What’s the worst that could--”

“Don’t finish that,” Amity growled, snapping her head up to glare at the sparrow. “I don’t need us being jinxed right now.”

“Right, yeah, sorry,” Luz nodded, flying back. “Uh, you can do it?”

“Thanks,” Amity deadpanned.

Luz flew a little below the cliff, clinging onto the rock as she looked up at Amity psyching herself up. She kept her wings half open behind her, should she fall off.

“I’m right here, I promise.” Luz said, offering a smile.

Amity looked down at her for a few moments before giving a smile back and vanishing from her line of view. 

Luz tilted her head, confused, and a little intrigued, as she heard the shuffling and ruffling of feathers above her.

Then, without warning, Amity suddenly leapt off the cliff.

Her wings were spread wide, and she soared right over both Luz’s and Willow’s heads. Luz gaped for a few moments before launching off the rockface. 

Amity was managing to glide, albeit shakily, over the ocean. Luz grinned and flew up beside her, whooping and cheering.

Amity had her arms held out at her sides and her eyes were glued to the horizon.

“You alright?” Luz giggled.

“If I just keep staring ahead I’ll be fine,” Amity said, never moving her head. “I’m not falling, right?”

“Hmm,” Luz glanced back and at Amity’s steady gliding. “Nope! Well, I guess you are, but it’s with style.” 

Amity snorted, her stiff stance wavering for a moment. Luz grinned in victory and looked back, noticing they were getting further from the cliff. Willow had moved away from the branch and was waving to them.

“We should probably turn back before you glide out to sea,” Luz called over to her. “You remember how to tilt your wings?”

“I think so?” Amity mumbled.

She dipped her left wing and leaned, turning in the air. Luz smiled, flying up and over Amity in a spinning circle before continuing to fly normally just underneath the witch.

Willow was cheering as well, hovering above the cliff. Luz could see Gus furiously scribbling notes and constantly looking back up at them, grinning.

Amity laughed, finally relaxing as she tilted her wings slightly, swaying in the air.

“And you thought this was a terrible idea,” Luz smirked.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Amity grumbled, rolling her eyes before glancing down at Luz.

Luz saw her eyes wander to the crashing ocean beneath them and her face fell.

“Uh, Luz?” Amity said, going a little pale.

“I told you not to look down!” Luz squawked, flying higher up so that her wings were nearly brushing Amity’s.

“It-it’s not the height,” Amity shook her head, tearing her gaze away from the ocean and looking back up at the human. “I think there’s something down there.”

Luz blinked and looked down, squinting. For a few brief moments, she saw nothing. Then, in a brief flash, she saw something dark flick out of the water before vanishing.

Luz glanced back at Amity, who was banking to the right in a circle, nervous.

“Uh, out of curiosity,” Luz said slowly, pausing in the air to hover as Amity glided by. “What’s the ocean wildlife like in the Boiling Isles?”

A massive tremor suddenly shook the area, catching the attention of Willow and Gus, who were both standing when it hti. Luz whirled around to call a warning to Amity before the sea suddenly split apart, revealing massive, gaping jaws. 

Luz let out a cry and flailed, barely missing jaws closing around her tail as she tucked in and darted away.

She spun, taking in the massive monster that had come from the sea.

It’s lower half was a golden carp, even with the head. But the mouth was wide open, and coming from said mouth was a striped cat-like demon. All that was coming out of the mouth was from the shoulder up, including paws nearly the size of the Owl House and a maw filled with teeth as big as a person.

The monster fell back to the sea at it’s failed attempt, though it’s eyes still shone with hunger.

“What was that?” Luz shouted, looking around wildly. “Amity? Amity!”

The kestrel, during the chaos, had smacked into the cliffside and was about two hundred feet down, clinging to the rock for dear life. Willow and Gus were picking themselves up from the sudden attack, panic evident.

“Luz, get back here!” Willow waved her hands around. “It’s after you!”

Luz didn’t need to be told twice.

She dove towards the cliff, hitting the safe grass before springing up a moment later and leaning over, her tail trembling.

“Amity!” She called down, and the witch jerked her head up.

“Hang on,” Willow said, stretching out a hand and making the branch a couple hundred feet below Amity twitch and move.

The branch had grown to a reasonable size before it started growing up towards Amity.

That was when the sea monster leapt out again.

It had spotted Amity, as her bright green feathers made her stand out against the dark gray stone. It snapped its jaws, taking out the branch cleanly as a claw dug into the cliff, dangerously close to the witch.

Luz didn’t know when she jumped off, but in a flash, she was suddenly diving right towards the leviathan.

She flared her wings, barely slowing her descent before she landed right between its eyes. She could hear her friends screaming, either at her or for their own lives, but she couldn’t make out any of the words.

“Get lost, you overgrown catfish!” She barked, flapping over to its left eye before slamming her feet down on it.

The monster howled and reared back, nearly taking Luz with it before she darted back into the air. She turned and flew to Amity, who was curled into a ball where she was clinging to the rocks, her wings shaking.

Luz landed right on the rock beside her and grabbed her shoulder. Amity’s eyes opened and she stared at Luz, unable to speak. All Luz could hear were distressed, rapid chirps from her throat.

“Willow! Help me grab Amity!” Luz called up the cliff, taking Amity’s arm.

It took a few moments, considering all the howling and tremors the sea beast was causing, but Willow appeared on Amity’s other side just a moment later. She grabbed her right arm and the two were quick to launch off the cliff and rise to the air.

Until a paw slammed into the cliff, just above them and barely a few meters away from missing Gus, who had been peering over the edge.

The girls all whirled around, meeting two massive eyes, one of them slightly red from getting kicked.

The three froze for a moment, the girls and the monster having a momentary staring contest.

Then its jaw opened and it launched towards them.

The three split apart in a flash. Luz and Willow flew to the left and right, and Amity...dove.

Luz could see her wings tucked into her sides as she dove downwards, panic violently seizing her.

“Amity! Pull up!” Luz cried.

The monster’s face hit the cliff and it hissed, jerking back and swiping it's free paw towards the closest bird, which happened to be Willow.

Willow managed to dodge and fly upwards, making a beeline for Gus, who had stepped back.

Luz tightened her wings to her sides and dropped like a stone, attempting to peer around the hulking beast, trying to figure out where Amity was among the thrashing golden body and massive waves.

She saw something coming at her from the corner of her eye and spun to the side, spreading her wings right as a gust of wind went by, accompanying a paw with claws the length of a bus.

The tiger roared, furious that it’s prey was proving so hard to catch. 

Luz finally saw Amity, right as she was twisting around to miss the beasts thrashing tail.

Luz cried out, curving around to try and reach her friend.

Amity suddenly shot out her wings and tilted upwards, sending her soaring nearly straight-up.

Luz didn’t have the chance to gape, because the beasts paw had hit the water right by her, sending waves four times as big as she was.

She darted up and around its forearm, missing its jaws by the brush of her feathers as she finally popped up above its head.

Willow was swiftly growing the grass on the cliff face, beginning to move them around the monster's neck and face, causing it to yowl and hiss.

Luz couldn’t even pay attention to that, she was too busy flying around and looking for a familiar flash of green.

And, right by the leviathans back, she saw it.

Amity soared up and her hand suddenly lit ablaze. She paused right by its head and flared out her wings. In that brief moment of pause, she flung the handful of fire at the cat's nose, hissing a slew of curses at it.

The fire grew when it came in contact with its nose and the beast shrieked, pulling back and breaking free of the grass wrapped around it. Amity flew, flew, out of the way as it hissed and removed its claws from the cliff face.

Luz slowly landed, deciding she’d rather not get involved. Amity’s rage-filled snarls were enough to keep her at bay.

The cat spat back at her but lowered its head, rubbing at its nose with its paw.

With a growl, the beast turned and dove back into the sea, deciding the fight wasn’t worth the prey.

In mere moments, it was like it was never there.

The others were breathing heavily, trying to process what had just happened. Luz, on the other hand, was left staring in the air at Amity, who was hovering right where she was, still watching where it vanished.

“She’s flying,” Luz murmured, before suddenly jumping up. “She’s flying! Amity! Amity! You’re flying!”

The witch turned back around, confused for a brief moment before glancing at her wings.

Luz leapt into the air and spun around the kestrel, talking a mile a minute as she resisted the urge to tackle Amity out of the sky in a hug.

Amity exhaled, shaking with the effort and her wings faltered. Luz paused then and gave her a worried look.

“Yeah, great,” Amity wheezed, her eyelids drooping. “I’m...I’m kinda tired…”

“Oh, right, right!” Luz nodded, taking her hands and flying the witch down. “Yeah, I think we’ve done more than enough for the day.”

“Are you okay?” Willow worried, coming up to Amity once they landed and holding her up.

“Everything hurts,” Amity whined, “Especially these,” She weakly twitched her wings.

“But not as much as before, right?” Gus inquired.

“...nah, not yet.” Amity shook her head.

“That’s a win in my book!” Luz said cheerfully. “C’mon, let’s get back to the Owl House before Eda shows up wondering what the fuss was all about.”

Amity didn’t respond. She just closed her eyes and nodded tiredly, leaning on Willow as she began the walk back to the Owl House.

Gus and Luz kept on talking, about the fight, the flying, what Gus had written down, anything. Luz somehow still had an abundance of energy, asking Amity questions she didn’t expect answers to and thinking up more ideas now that Amity had flown. After all, just because she flew once didn’t mean she was a master now.

Amity could barely keep her eyes open, and her walking was more like stumbling. 

And yet, despite that, she couldn’t stop smiling, either.

[sword-brainrot]

Hello~! Let's say that the saniwa has a part time job at a cafe to get some more money for the Citadel, and the swords already know this.

One day, some of the swords decided to go visit them while they were working. How would Sanchoumou, Tsurumaru and Shokudaikiri (separate please) react if the first thing they see is an angry customer pouring their steaming hot coffee on top of the saniwa because they got their order wrong (and possibly burning the saniwa too)?

Hello! I wasn't sure whether I wanted to do the headcanon format for this or actually write out each scenario for it (like a little fanfic). I decided on going with the headcanon format but if you wish to see the other way as well, just let me know! I loved this idea and wouldn't mind doing it again ^^

TW: Implied violence, burns/scars

♡  Sanchoumou would actually frequent the café that you work at (even if he scares the other customers a little bit just from his rather intimidating appearance). He would always order the same thing, a black cup of coffee as he watches you work or reads a magazine.

♡  He would always sit in the the table closest to the corner as well. The customers that go there often begin to think it's just his table due to him being there fairly often.

♡  Everyday after your shift ends and you are suppose to clean up and go home, he would be outside waiting for you to walk you back to the citadel together. Making extra sure you are safe. Even on the days where he can't make it, he will make Nikkou or Nansen come and walk you home in his stead. (very rarely he ever asks Norimune to go)

♡  He actually tries really hard to not scare away your customers! He knows he looks rather intimidating for being there so often and his appearance, so if he seems some customers looking at him with concern, he will flash them his most gentlemanly smile.

♡  So the day that a new customer comes in and starts to get all angry? Oh boy...

♡  When he first hears someone raising their voice, he puts down anything he was doing and quickly looks up. He knows that you are independent and can take care of yourself so he will clench his fists until the whites of his knuckles appear and bite his lip, trying to hold himself back from going over there.

♡  It is only when the fuming customer stands up and pour their steaming hot coffee on you that he loses control. No longer is he sitting in the corner, far away from the action. You don't even see it happen before you know it, he is right next to you, towering over you and the customer. His ruby eyes feel like you can see the flames coming off of them.

♡  He would grab the rude customer by the front of this clothing, making sure they can't escape before ordering the other staff to come and help you quickly.

♡  The last thing you see before they pull you into the back is Sanchoumou practically dragging the guy out of the café. Almost dragging him on the floor like he weighs nothing.

♡  That afternoon, when you are suppose to go home, Sanchoumou isn't there. It will be Nansen. Right away the poor boy will ask if you are okay and ensure you that will never happen again before taking you home.

♡  When you do get home, Nikkou and Sanchoumou are both not there.

♡  It isn't until very late at night until you will see Sanchoumou. He would ask to go into your bedroom and ask if you are alright.

♡  If you have burns/scarring, he would gently hold the area and give soft kisses to it saying how sorry he is and how he should of stepped in sooner. He would blame himself a lot for letting you get hurt. This will probably the only time he will show the more vulnerable side of himself. He will worry about you a lot and constantly say how it is his fault you got hurt.

♡  Needless the say, that customer never shows his face at the cafe again.

♡  "I promise I will never let you get hurt like that again, my little dove."

♡  Tsurumaru would also show up at the café a lot! Though... Not when you expect it.

♡  He comes in when you aren't there and waits to surprise you when you are coming out (and normally holding drinks... and almost dropping them). He would laugh and apologize while continuing to laugh.

♡  He gets bored at the citadel a lot so he will often sneak out and visit you!

♡  But that also means he sneaked out and could cause trouble else where...

♡  Did he buy those silly glasses with a mustache and a big hat just to sit in the café with a newspaper and freak you out when you go get his order? Oh ya. He tries to find anything to spice up the every life at the citadel and the café.

♡  The customers warmed up to him very quickly and often talk about him when he isn't causing trouble there. They all believe that he is your boyfriend or at least has a crush on you (and are they wrong?).

♡  So the day Tsurumaru comes in (loud and proud) but is met with an angry customer yelling at his saniwa? Oh god. He quickly runs over and puts on his smile to try to calm down the customer. Trying his best to take the attention off of you and onto him. If the customer was going to lash out at anyone and harm them, he wanted it to be him and not you.

♡  But clearly it isn't enough to take the attention off of you and as soon as the coffee hits your skin, his smile drops and his face shifts from nervous happiness, to concern, to anger.

♡  Unlike Sanchoumou, Tsurumaru doesn't even take the customer outside. He quickly grabs their arm, twists it behind their back, and forces them down on the ground to cause them to stop any further damaging actions.

♡  A smile would appear once more as he calls for help for you and to make sure this customer ends up being taken to the authorities. A smile that was poorly hiding a bunch of anger behind it.

♡  After he makes sure that the person is taken away, he would go in the back and gently touch your hands, and ask you if you are okay.

♡  He would give you a slightly worried look with a smile. "Guess I didn't help too much, huh? I'm sorry."

♡  He would feel terrible if you had any burns/scars. He would offer to take your place in the café until you felt safe and healed so you didn't have to worry about making money.

♡  Expect a lot of hugs with his big white coat constantly engulfing you and making sure you are warm and safe in his arms.

♡  Anything he can do for you, he will. With no complaints what so ever. He wants to make sure you know that even if he is a pretty silly guy, you can always rely on him and he would never let you down.

♡  Unlike Sanchoumou and Tsurumaru, Mitsutada doesn't actually come to the café too often! He is often busy at the citadel with making sure everything is clean and making sure to prepare every meal.

♡  But when he does have time (when Kasen or any other sword is planning on cooking that day), he is there!

♡  He likes to order a lot of different stuff from the café. Every time he comes, he orders something new. He wants to taste everything. Also expect him to go over and compliment the chiefs and the baristas after every visit. They quickly warm up to him and actually bring him into the back to teach him how to make things. (More food and drinks at the citadel!)

♡  He will often make you taste whatever he orders on your shift because he wants to find out what you like and dislike! As well make sure you have enough energy throughout the day.

♡  You will also see him in an apron way too small of him when he is in the kitchen. He sometimes won't even noticed that you came in because he is so consumed in whatever he is making/learning. It is very cute how much he gets engrossed in these activities and how much his eyes sparkle being there.

♡  He also makes sure that you two walk together when he is able to make it. If he has a day off, he is gonna use it to the fullest and make sure to spend the whole day at the café and with you!

♡  Mitsutada isn't a man who lets his anger get to him. But when he walked out of the kitchen one day and saw hot coffee be poured onto you? He had some struggles to hold himself back.

♡  He quickly ran over to you, taking off his jacket and putting it over you as he turned to the customer and told them, "Get out and never come back if you know what is good for you."

♡  He doesn't even wait to see their reaction before quickly bringing you into the back and take care of you and try to make sure that your wounds don't scar. He knows very well how scars can really shake up another person. Mitsutada’s hands are scarred badly which is why he constantly wears gloves to hide it from everyone. 

♡  All the while, his hands are shaking slightly as he is trying to tend to your wounds and bandaging them up after putting cold water on them and getting you new clothes to change into.

♡  He makes sure you have his jacket still on you in case that helps you feel a little safer.

♡  You don't even hear it at first because he is so quiet as he is treating you but he is constantly saying how sorry he is. It is the only thing he can really get out before sometimes looking up with a very worried expression and asking if you are truly okay.

♡  He wouldn't know what he would do if you got really badly hurt and he couldn't do anything about it.

♡  He would insist that you stay at the citadel for a while and let him make extra money for the citadel in your stead. He doesn't ever want to see you get hurt like that again.

♡  His gloved hands would gently caress your cheek as he looks at you with a worried eye. "You are okay... right? It's okay to lean on us swords too, you know? We will all help out if you need money, aruji(master). We care about you dearly."

[staarshines]

The Force Awakens Chapter 2: Hidden Force || P.D.

| The Force Awakens Masterlist |

Warnings: TFA Spoilers, torture, cursing

Word Count: 2.8k

After following Poe Dameron to the planet of Jakku in order to retrieve a map that supposedly leads to Luke Skywalker, a series of unthinkable events ensues and you’re left, stranded on a planet you know next to nothing about. After finding Finn, the stormtrooper you and Poe escaped with, BB-8, the droid who holds the map, and Rey, a girl who is surprisingly strong with he Force, you four embark on a mission full of long-lost family members, life-threatening situations, and tricks played by the Force. A mission that will change the fate of the galaxy.

[A/N]: Ignore any typos I’ll edit those out in the morning 😭 But y’all need to bully me into writing more please

“How’s mom?” Those words had been echoing in your head for the past however many hours you’d been in here. How could you have been so stupid? Maybe Mom was right. Maybe his training outweighed how strong you were in the Force. Hell, you couldn’t even brainwash the troopers that brought you in, let alone fight him in a lightsaber battle—

You hear the doors slide open and brace for whatever new form of torture they’d expose you to, but much to your relief, you see Poe—beaten, bruised, and bloody—but still your Poe.

“You look like hell,” he mutters with a grin, and you note the fact that he had four troopers escorting him. Little shit must’ve done something to up his guard count. Just the thought of it makes you smile a little.

“Look who’s talking.” You were lying. He looked hot—hotter than normal, you’d daresay. The white suits throw him at your feet and you reflexively try to bend down to help him up, but your restraints don’t allow you to do so. “Why’d they bring you here?”

“Hell if I know,” he shrugs, groaning as he tries to sit up—something the shackles made it much harder to do.

Before you two can continue your witty exchange, the doors slide open once again, and you know who it is before you even move your eyes from Poe. You let Ben—Kylo? (you’d always hated that name)—make his dramatic entrance and walk over to the two of you.

“Where’s the drive?”

“Hell if I know,” you copy Poe’s last sentence, hearing the pilot stifle a chuckle. Ben’s gaze immediately snaps down to Poe but you practically stare a hole into his helmet, not wanting to let him hurt Poe. He senses it—through the Force or whatnot, that isn’t your concern at the time—and turns his attention back to you.

“The drive.”

“I don’t have it, Ben.” You see Poe look at you and then Kyl—Ben, out of the corner of your eye, his face bathed in confusion.

“Ben?”

“Poe, meet my twin brother—”

“Stop it,” he instructs, but you can’t give a damn.

“—Ben. Solo.” You know he’s a mess of anger under that mask; you can feel it. And call it stupid, but that was exactly your plan. To get him so angry that he’d lose it, letting you see what his true abilities were.

Because fuck being on the frontlines. You finally understood that you were needed here, fighting the battles that nobody else could.

There’s the sensation of fingers curling around your throat, and you immediately regret your plan, trying to hold your breath for as long as you could instead of letting yourself panic and fight against it. Because you couldn’t. You choke a little bit, beginning to see black spots in your vision before squeezing your eyes shut, feeling yourself slowly start to slip away from consciousness.

“What the hell are you doing? Let her go!” Surprisingly, Ben does let go at Poe’s pleads, leaving you gasping for air and trying to focus on the situation at hand as fast as you could.

 Poe. He was going for Poe.

Breathe. You can’t do anything if you’re unconscious.

Poe.

 His screams shatter the silence that only your gasps were accompanying, which only panics you more. You’ve barely regained your breath before trying to find Poe through your haze, willing yourself to stay awake no matter how much pain it would cause you.

At least you could put up a fight against Ben. Poe was helpless.

“Ben, stop it!” Poe’s yells continue, and you can practically feel the pain he’s going through. “Ben, I said stop it!” You hear a thud and Poe’s screams stop immediately—you suddenly feel drained for absolutely no reason, like your oxygen supply was being cut off but you could breathe again.

“What… What did you do?” You hear Poe gasp, and you look down at him clutching his head, about to ask him what he means until you see Ben struggling to get up a few meters away from Poe, collapsed on the ground.

What the hell just happened?

Oh Maker. You did that.

“I don’t— I didn’t—”

“We have to get out of here. He’s going to hurt you.”

“No shit—”

“No, I mean he’s going to hurt you. He knows things about you that he shouldn’t—”

“What the hell are you talking abo—” Your head is suddenly thrown back, a sick bang resounding around the room as a result. You’re defenseless for now—when you’d look back on it, you’d realize that was bliss in the moment. You couldn’t hear anything except for muffled yells and a sharp ringing, and your vision had gone almost completely black—it was an escape for a few seconds before Kylo started to probe your mind.

And that was hell on its own.

You didn’t even remember what happened—it was all just a blur. It was like a knife being slowly pushed into your head, with you powerless to stop it. You couldn’t separate your screams of anguish from Poe’s yells of begging Kylo to stop.

But one thing you couldn’t understand—the memories of Poe flashing right in front of you. Why was Kylo looking for things about Poe instead of the location of the drive?

“No, I mean he’s going to hurt you. He knows things about you that he shouldn’t—”

That was why.

The knife is sharply ripped from your head and you’re not sure what hurt worse—experiencing the pain or being free of it.

You could recognize Poe yelling in the background trying to get your attention, but you just didn’t have enough energy to respond. The idea of trying to do what you did before to Kylo—throwing him on the ground somehow so that you and Poe could have a few seconds of peace—came to you, but if you were too tired to speak, there was no way you’d be able to channel the Force to do anything.

Through your blurry field of vision, you can see Kylo say something to the troopers then leave, and a few moments later, you have just enough strength to start to process what you were hearing.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Poe, you… you have nothing to be sorry about,” you breathe, swallowing thickly and wondering if Kylo had done some permanent damage to him. If he had, there was no way you’d let your brother live.

“I gave him the location of the drive.” Your heart stops.

“You did what?” You find the energy to look at him, but even then, you just can’t seem to process everything at once.

“I told him where it was, he was going to kill you—”

“That was his plan, Poe.” He stops abruptly. “He could kill us and we’d have no regard for ourselves over the Resistance. But the moment he knew that we’d do anything to keep each other safe, that… that was the weak link.” You’re not sure if you just exposed the fact that you had feelings for him, but that was the last thing on your mind.

“So… So you’re saying the fact that we care about each other could be the reason for the entire Resistance’s downfall?”

“Get up.” You’re awoken by the unmistakable voice of a trooper—the heaviness of the modulator gave it away.

“I can’t exactly just walk out of here,” you quip tiredly, a bit glad to know that the sleep you’d fell into after the stormtroopers escorted Poe out of the room had given you back your usual self.

If you’d ever be back to your usual self after being tortured and seeing the love of your life tortured by your brother, the both of you helpless to stop it.

The trooper removes you from the restraints of the chair, giving you a second to rub your sore hands together. You look up at him while he re-chains your hands in front of you, staring through his helmet as if you’d be able to look through it if you tried hard enough.

You’d seen him somewhere. There was no way you were mistaking him for one of the other thousands of white suits you’d encountered; something just felt… different.

Jakku.

That’s where you knew him from. You’d sensed someone else Force-Sensitive, but their signature wasn’t as strong in the moment, nor was it the one you were focusing on.

“Hey. You were on Jakku, right?” He hesitates—even if it’s for a split second. “You gotta get me and the guy that came in with me outta here. You saw what Kylo did to those innocents. We can save others just like them, but not if we’re held captive or dead.

No response.

You sigh, at least having given it a shot. You’re thinking of other ways to make a run for it without being killed as he leads you down the brightly-lit black and white hallway—no wonder their stormtroopers were depressed. There wasn’t any life on these dreadnoughts. It just looked… Mechanical. Lifeless.

“Turn here.” You’re about to question where he means here, because the closest break in the hallway is about a hundred feet in front of you, but he quickly shoves you into a storage closet, and you go full-on defense mode.

That is, until, you see your favorite curly-haired flyboy staring at you in awe.

“Poe!” you nearly scream, just the mere sight of him making you want to hug him and never let go, but that wasn’t really an option because of the cuffs on both of you. He simply tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear and you hold his face in your hands, thankful that your flyboy was okay and with you once again. Then, the fact that there’s a stormtrooper right behind you strikes you, causing you to turn around while grabbing onto one of Poe’s hands. “Wait, who are you? And why are you helping us?”

The stormtrooper rips his helmet off, and the sight brings you a little bit of pity—he was just another person scared for his life, running from the First Order. Or about to run from the First Order. You could tell.

“I wanted to do something good for once.”

“Nah, he was running and he needed a pilot. But I wouldn’t say yes until he agreed to bring you along, too.” You smile a little bit as he squeezes your hand, a gentle reminder that everything was going to be okay.

Maker, how could the two of you act like this as “friends” and still not be together?

You shake your head to get rid of those thoughts—why you weren’t dating Poe was an issue, but not the one at hand—and then ask the question everyone was wondering.

“So how the hell are we going to get out of here?”

“Are you sure you remember which TIE Poe is in?” you mutter quietly, starting to wonder if the stormtrooper’s nerves were rubbing off on you. The three of you had agreed that it would be stupid to have one stormtrooper escorting two high-profile prisoners, so he’d take you one by one.

“Just shut up. Stay calm.”

“I am calm,” you state a bit too confidently, still having doubts about the situation. But this was a shred of hope, and as a Resistance member, what you did best was live on the mere specks of hope you could find.

“No, I was talking to myself.” You roll your eyes a bit. “Okay, turn left, now!” The both of you quickly hurry into the tunnels where the access to the TIEs was, with you following his lead and quickly slipping into one part of the TIE, where much to your surprise, you land on Poe’s lap.

“What the hell?!” you yell, immediately jumping off his lap and thanking the Maker that the lighting in here was dim—he wouldn’t be able to see the absolutely flustered expression on your face.

“Oh. Oh.”

“What the hell do you mean ‘oh’?” you ask a bit harshly, already jumpy before you slid into Poe’s lap.

“There are only two seats in a TIE.”

“And there are three of us,” you finish for him, rubbing your temples. “I’ll fly my own one out.”

“And risk us being separated—or worse, captured? Are you out of your mind?”

“Do you have a better idea, flyboy?”

“Just sit on my lap and pilot.” You’re not sure why the idea is making you so flustered, but it is.

“Right. And is that harness big enough for the both of us?”

“I’ll be your seatbelt.” There’s a moment before you burst out into disbelieving laughter, shaking your head.

“That has to be the stupidest thing I’ve heard you say, Dameron.”

“Do you have a better idea, Solo?” He calls out your “true” last name right there, which leaves you speechless for a second. You simply shake your head, muttering a few curse words under your breath before sitting down, sucking in a breath when you feel his hands go around your waist. “Do you know how to fly a TIE?”

“Someone’s forgetting the time I did this exact same thing on my own,” you shut him up quickly, actually trying to recall how, exactly, you did it the first time.

“Are you two done, or do we plan on spending a few more hours here?!” The trooper calls from the other side, starting to fire up the weapons.

“Okay. Here goes nothing.” You push the joystick as far ahead as you can, bracing for the sudden change in speed when what actually hits you all is a jolt backwards. Your heart stops for a second, thinking Ben was pulling the TIE back, but then you realize that the idiot who you were hopelessly in love with forgot to take the leash off the TIE.

“Are you serious?!” Both you and the stormtrooper exclaim at the same time, and you swear you can hear Poe chuckle a little bit before reaching around you to grab some controls, doing Maker knows what.

You were going to kill him as soon as you made it back to base.

“I got it, I got it!” He somehow gets rid of it, leaving you to rely on nothing but memories from a few years ago and your sheer intuition to fly the TIE out of here, all while the hangar shield was closing and you were being shot at.

But, having it in your blood, you manage to do it, grinning as both of the boys cheer you on as you speed past the cannons on the bottom of the dreadnought.

Oh shit. The cannons.

“We have to get rid of those—”

“—cannons, you hear me?” you finish for Poe, making sure the TIE was going as fast as it could. “I’m going to spin around, and you’re going to shoot them. You got that?!”

“I got it!” he screams back, and you take in a deep breath, trying to do what you needed to before you realized how stupid it was.

Here goes nothing.

You spin around, yanking the joystick all the way back so you make a perfect transition from moving forward at full speed to going in reverse at full speed, all while making sure the wings don’t get burnt off by the walls.

“I got ‘em!”

“Well, you have some more TIEs to take care of when I turn back around!”

“Yes, ma’am!”

You do the full-spin again, laughing a little bit when Poe whoops and pulls you further into his chest, hugging you.

“You’re fucking amazing!”

“Tell me something I don’t know, Dameron!” You laugh in glee, shooting out of the tunnel and heading towards Jakku.

“I got ‘em! I got the TIEs!” The aircraft is full of laughter and rejoicing and hope, something you haven’t felt this much of in a long time.

“Hey, what’s your name?” Poe asks the stormtrooper sitting in the back.

“I don’t have one.”

“What?”

“They just call me FN-2187.”

“FN, huh? Well I ain’t using it. FN… How about Finn?” You turn around slightly, just enough to face Poe, and nod a little bit, a wide smile on your face. Looking back on this memory, you wonder whether it was this small action that led to the entire course of the galaxy being changed.

“Finn… I like it.” You seem to forget everything in the galaxy besides the man whose lap you’re sitting in, repeatedly looking from his eyes to his lips, unable to help yourself and not wanting to.

“You’re amazing, you know?” The compliment masked as a question brings a smile to your face.

And perhaps, if you hadn’t been so lost in the celebration and the haze of love, you would’ve kept your head in the game and swerved the incoming blast that Finn didn’t even have time to worry any of you about.

“I know.”

Masterlist

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[ladyeliot]

Welcome Seaville. Chapter One. [T.S. / J.H.]

Series:  “Anything that can go wrong will go wrong”

Prologue

Pairing: Tony Stark/Justin Hammer x Fem!Reader / Best Friend Steve Rogers

Summary:  1987. The exchange term is over, so you return to your hometown, Seaville, just before Christmas. The reunions with friends, the first day of school, everything goes back to the way it used to be.

Warnings: Insults, piques.

Word Count: 3465

A/N: Sorry for my spelling and grammatical mistakes, English is not my native language, I am learning.

December 1987

It would have been enough to say that this was just another ordinary Christmas in the small Maine town of Seaville, but it was not. The Christmas lights were brighter, the streets were more beautiful under the clear splendour of the moon, and the wind brought a sweet smell of sea salts that gave you a pleasant sensation. You peered through the passenger window and let the east wind envelop you and welcome you home again. Seaville was welcoming you in its entirety and you were leaving it.

It had been just four months since you had left the coast of Maine to head off to fulfil one of your many dreams, to spend a term in the French city of Paris. Nothing in your life could have compared to that singular experience, and you even hoped to return next year having been accepted to the University of Paris, but, equally, nothing could compare to the love you felt for home.

"Please roll up the window," your father insisted. "I don't want you to spend the whole Christmas holidays with the flu."

And of course nothing could compare to your dear father.

As you rounded the corner into your little residential area you could almost smell the sweet scent of hot chocolate and puffy clouds that your father had promised you when he picked you up from the airport. You got out of the car so quickly that you barely paid any attention to the bundle of suitcases your father was trying to pull out of the boot without any help.

As you had predicted, as soon as you turned the lock and opened the door, the smell of cocoa filled the whole house. You allowed yourself a few seconds to take in the view, the fireplace lit and adorned with the three corresponding boots, the Christmas tree in place, without the star on the top, as that was your job, and the coats sorted on the hanger by colour. All the same as always.

"Don't worry, I can manage," your father said almost breathlessly as he climbed the porch steps.

You laughed and grabbed one of the three suitcases that were blocking your father's path. You both closed the door behind you and followed each other into the kitchen as if it were tradition. The chocolate was still warm and the clouds had dissolved, just the way you used to like them. The conversation with your father went on for so long, explaining to him everything you hadn't wanted to tell him over the phone, or through letters, a method your father had forced you to maintain, for we should note that his job was as a literary writer, although he sometimes resorted to writing a few newspaper columns to make a little extra money.

The point is that the little family had been talking for hours on end, not realising that midnight had already passed, and that tomorrow you had to go to the institute to settle bureaucratic matters due to your return.

"Bonne nuit, chérie," your father said in a chaste French accent, kissing your forehead.

"Bonne nuit, papa," you smiled back, preparing to be reunited with your room.

Your room, which you had not yet had the pleasure of entering, was as usual, oblivious to the fact that your father had changed the quilt on your bed so you could sleep warmer. You flopped on your back on the bed, but just as a memory came to you, you quickly got up and went to the window. What your eyes beheld brought a laugh and a sense of relief and happiness, how could you not have noticed it before?

By chance of life, you were lucky enough to have discovered true friendship in the person who lived right across the street from you. When you and your father moved to Seaville, due to your mother's death 10 years ago, you chose that quiet residential neighbourhood to settle down and raise a small family. You met Steve Rogers on your first day of second grade, and from the moment you discovered you lived across the street from each other, a beautiful friendship was forged.

For ten minutes you couldn't take your eyes off the window of the house across the street, right next to yours. A large light blue cardboard covered the whole space and a few letters in capital letters decorated it with "Bon retour". Obviously you had kept Steve constantly in mind during your term away, long phone conversations and a few postcards proved it, but during the flight back you were afraid that he had forgotten about the day you were coming back, a rather stupid fear. So, with the comfort that gesture had brought you, you decided it was time to go to bed and get some rest, as the next morning was a long day ahead.

The sunbeam fell incessantly on your face, the curtains could barely block its power, you had assumed that you were not a good early riser, but that morning you woke up in a good mood, not even the strong smell of charred toast was going to take it away from you.

"Wow, nice smile," your father notified, offering you a plate with two pieces of toast blackened under raspberry jam.

"Thanks!" you took the plate and took his usual seat. "I'm looking forward to seeing Steve, and catching up with Natasha. Although I hope they've got things to tell me too. What are you doing today?"

"I have to finish the chapter of the book to hand in to the publisher," he sat down next to you. "And I also have to go to the mall to pick up a gift."

The smile on your face that morning widened, there were only two days left until Christmas, so it was obvious that the gift I was supposed to pick up would be for you. Even though you had everything planned, and had brought some presents from Paris, you still had to buy the last detail for your father.

Just then the front doorbell rang, and you realised that time had run out on you when you noticed that you were still in your pyjamas.

"Shit!" you exclaimed, taking the last bite of toast and heading upstairs. "I'll be down in five minutes!"

Just as you disappeared your father headed off to greet his visitor. You could hear Steve's voice as you hurriedly went about getting dressed, combing your hair and getting your backpack ready for class, not forgetting to grab two rolls of film to develop, but when you heard his laughter you couldn't help but laugh too, even though you had barely heard the reason for his action. You rushed downstairs and from the third step practically threw yourself onto Steve's back in a laughing embrace.

"Have you grown up? No way, let me see you," Steve scoffed receiving your customary punch on his shoulder.

"Hey, nice cartel," you arched an eyebrow pointing to his house.

"You think so?" your friend asked. "I'm glad you liked it. I spent three poster boards until I was proud of my work. "

Steve's sincerity did nothing but thank you for the small detail he'd had for you. But time was passing and you still hadn't left the house.

"Come on, guys! You're going to be late for class," your father informed you, offering you your lunch bag. You took it with a kiss on the cheek and ran after Steve, who was waiting for you by your bike in the garden. That morning you couldn't keep a smile off your face and Steve couldn't take his eyes off you.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" you said getting on your bike.

"You're so happy. It's not normal to see that smile at eight o'clock in the morning," Steve's comment made you laugh a little.

You both set off in the direction of the school, it usually took you ten minutes to get there by bike if you cycled at a leisurely pace, but you were still able to catch up. On the way Steve was interested in the photographs you had taken during your stay in the European city, as you had sent him some of the ones you had had time to develop. Photography was a way for you to escape, your mother had dedicated all the years of her life to the art, and perhaps it was an incentive for you to admire her.

"It's different, Paris inspires me, it's so romantic and bohemian that it's very easy to get carried away," you explained. "That doesn't mean Seaville isn't, it's... different."

Steve listened attentively to your every word, possibly one thing you both had in common was a sensitivity that you only showed when you were both alone.

It didn't take you long to realise that the school was nearby, as the amount of cars queuing at the entrance informed you of your arrival.

"Welcome back," said Steve as he entered with you through the main door leading to a long corridor lined with lockers.

You both headed towards your locker area, you didn't know why you expected anything to have changed, but everything, literally everything, was still the same.

"There you go again! Have you been deported?" that voice, which you hadn't missed, made you roll your eyes. "I had hoped that you would have climbed the Eiffel Tower and let yourself plummet. But here you are, again."

"I had hoped that one of your absurd inventions would have exploded and you would have been shot to pieces with them," you shot back with a sarcastic grin. "But not all dreams come true."

"And I had hoped that being a senior in high school you two could get along," Steve interrupted. "But I see that's impossible."

A wide wry grin on Tony's face competed with yours, but you added a snip and he countered by trying to bite your finger.

"Lovely welcome Tony," Natasha joined the group hugging you from behind, depositing a kiss on his cheek. "Wait, do I smell Parisian perfume? You haven't turned into one of those French repipes have you?"

You were grateful for Nat's presence, who was your ally against the daily struggle against Tony, for after all Steve was a neutral lynchpin in the battle. Nat shook Steve's hand and when he went to greet Tony he tried to give him a kiss on the lips, which resulted in him getting punched in the arm. The bell rang, breaking up the group, depending on which subjects you were in.

"Meet me later in the cafeteria and continue to catch up?" you commented to Steve who was going the other way with Tony.

"As always."

You gave him a parting smile, but your gaze met Tony's who blew you a kiss in the air, causing you to squint and grimace.

"And we're still catching up?" repeated Nat with a quizzical arch of his eyebrow.

"I've got a lot to tell you, and I hope you've got a lot to tell me..." you arched an eyebrow.

"It all depends on the present you brought me from Paris," replied your friend, winking at you.

You laughed, but the two of you parted ways just inside the administration offices, where a long morning of tidying up awaited you.

After two hours of filling out forms and making photocopies of the documents you had brought from the institute in Paris, you had become quite an expert. You had hoped to have an hour to spare before lunchtime to escape to the developing room to develop the film, but that seemed impossible. When the bell rang, you had barely had time to approach the room and put the film in your locker, which you had been assigned to since sixth grade when photography had become your obsession, so you made your way to the cafeteria and found your friend sitting at your table, right next to the big window overlooking the football field.

"Where were you? I was waiting for you to start eating together, but this pizza... it was tempting me," Nat took a bite of pizza like there was no tomorrow.

"If I tell you I've been reading absurd, meaningless documents all morning..." you snorted sitting down across from her and pulling out your sandwich. "If I knew that, I wouldn't be going to Paris."

"You know that's not true," Nat arched an eyebrow drawing a smile from her. "You would have gone to Paris even if you had to repeat one more grade in high school."

"Anyway, I need an update," you began, turning serious. "Has anything interesting happened while I've been away? Anyone new? Anyone who's been stirring things up?"

"New? No, anything interesting? Neither. This Seaville Murph, there's nothing going on here," Nat shrugged finishing his slice of pizza.

"I'll look for the bright side. At least I haven't missed anything," you shrugged.

"I guess you could go away for ten years and when you came back everything would still be the same," Nat looked around. "Where are the boys?"

"I'll bet you five bucks they're on the football field," you commented. "By the way, have you written the application for Brenau yet?"

"It's practically finished," your friend reported. "I'll go over it during the holidays and send it off in January. Are you ready to move to Paris next year and drive the Parisians crazy?" Natasha winked. "You haven't been hiding some movie adventure from me all this time?"

"Oh! Of course," you said wryly just as Steve and Tony made their big appearance. "Now that you mention it, as I was strolling the first evening in the Luxembourg Gardens I heard a sweet melody in the background and headed for it. There was a man playing the saxophone and I stopped to listen to him for a couple of minutes. I was so absorbed that I hardly noticed that a boy had stopped right next to me until he said 'Ne pensez-vous pas que Paris a un charme particulier?' Then I looked at him, he had the most beautiful green eyes I had ever seen," you paused your story to make a false sigh. "Then we strolled until late at night, and we met every evening so that he could show me the most beautiful corners of the city. I think those were the most romantic months of my life."

Three pairs of eyes stared at you showing completely different feelings. Natasha, who was sitting opposite you, was holding back her laughter, Steve, who was standing holding his tray next to Tony, looked completely confused by what had just happened and Tony was arching an eyebrow somewhat curiously at the story. At this point neither of you two could hold it in and started laughing, snapping the boys out of their trance.

"What was that?" asked Steve sitting down next to you. "Is that true? Because it would annoy me if you hadn't told me."

"Come on! He's pulling your leg," informed Tony jokingly and taking his place next to Nat.

"Wait how are you so sure my story isn't true? Couldn't I have my romantic history with a Parisian?" you rebutted somewhat indignantly at his certainty.

"Was he blind?" Tony arched an eyebrow.

For your part you squinted, just as Tony got a jolt of shock after getting stomped under the table by Nat because of his comment. Steve's change of conversation made it easier to keep the argument from escalating, but something always happened to spoil civilised conversations. A few minutes later, Tony was struggling with the Ketchup sachet which he couldn't open to spread on his burger, such was his desperation that when he took a bite of the sachet, it burst causing the sauce to hit your dress. Nat's eyes along with Steve's widened in anticipation of the contest between the two of you.

"You're an idiot Stark!" you quickly grabbed a couple of napkins Nat offered you so you could remove the sauce before it left a mark.

"At least it matches your dress," Tony interjected, holding back a laugh.

Cursing through your teeth, you headed for the food counter with the intention that some cook would have one of her magical ideas to make the stain go away. Tony followed you without letting go of his burger, even though Steve and Nat advised him to stay quiet and sit down.

"Come on Murphy! It's hardly any different from the red fabric of the dress," he said stepping up beside you, and knowing how much you hated it when he called you that.

"How many times have I told you not to call me Murphy?" you said scrubbing the stain with soap and water.

"It's your name," she shrugged nonchalantly. "It's not my fault your parents decided to name you that."

You bit down hard on your lip so you wouldn't have to blurt out all those things that were running through your mind, and put on an act in the middle of the cafeteria. You were lucky that at that instant someone appeared and diverted Tony's attention.

"Ready for Stark debate class?" Justin Hammer, with whom you shared a few classes introduced himself to you.

"Of course Hammer. I can't wait to see you try to put your meager vocabulary together in one sentence," Tony took a bite of his burger, causing sauce to smear his mustache and chin.

"Come on Tony, you've got a lifetime to be an idiot why don't you take a day off?" Hammer smiled slightly.

You couldn't help but smile at the comment, to which Tony noticed and became uncomfortable.

"Hammer, everyone has the right to act stupid for a while, but I'm not really the one abusing that privilege," Tony took another bite of his burger. "So fuck off."

Justin Hammer had gotten what he wanted, and his success was grounded in a half-smile as he walked away, leaving Tony frustrated. Within seconds he turned to you, so you gave him a raised eyebrow.

"You don't abuse that privilege?" you asked, referring to what he had just said to Hammer. "Please, Tony..."

Your smile faded just as Tony dipped his finger into his burger, and, bathed in what little ketchup he could get his hands on, rubbed it all over your right cheek.

"You're despicable!" you exclaimed wiping your cheek.

"Thank you, sweetheart."

"Don't thank me for the insult, it's always a pleasure," you cocked your head to the side and widened a fake smile leaving him alone, returning to the table.

The doorbell once again brought the lunch hour to an end. Tony followed you and jumped on Steve's back with the burger still in his hand, while you and Natasha gathered up your bags and belongings.

"Hey, what are you doing this afternoon? I thought we could all go to Barry's and catch up," you suggested to Natasha as you headed towards the lockers.

"I've got dance class, and I guess since it's the last one before Christmas it's going to run until dinner time," she lamented.

"Did someone say Barry's?" Tony slowed his pace and interjected into the conversation.

"Sounds like a good idea to me," said Steve. Barry's at 7pm?

"Nat's got dance class," you commented, opening your backpack to put your books in your locker.

"Guys, I know I'm a one-off, but you can go without me, don't worry," Natasha shrugged. "We can meet up tomorrow."

"Okay, but tomorrow you have to come with me to the mall, I'm still missing a present for my dad," you leaned in front of her.

"That means you already got mine," Tony winked at you, you hated his sudden mood swings.

"Yeah, a single ticket to the farthest place on the planet," you said, cocking your head.

"You know you'd miss me," he cut you short and you nudged him.

Oblivious to Tony, you added, "So I'll see you at Barry's this afternoon, and it's okay if you don't show up Stark."

"Believe me it's the last thing I feel like doing, but where Steve goes I go."

Taglist Open (DM) - @ravishingreid

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[kae-karo]

fic writer interview!

i saw @prince-liest do this and thus i will take ur 'tagging anyone who wants to do this' seriously lmaoooo (also hi btw hope ur well!!! 💜💜)

How many works do you have on AO3?

ahaha,,,,,159 lmao

What's your total AO3 word count?

fdsjkkjlsfdklj as of today, 2,089,769

How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

only three fsdjkldslfkj the phandom (dan&phil), bnha, and genshin!

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

chosen (x) - zhongchi (genshin)

to love (and be loved in return) (x) - kaeluc (genshin)

little bird (x) - dabihawks (bnha)

feet don't touch the ground (x) - xiaoven (genshin)

i knew you were fire (x) - dabihawks (bnha)

honestly none of that surprises me except that little bird is still up there, although i think i owe that to sif (@the-final-sif) for sharing it around the time it got posted since it was partly inspired by her raptor stress grip post!!

the rest are all chaptered fics, which is mostly what i expected to be in the top 5 lmao

Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

yes!!! always!!!! no matter what u comment, i will respond!!! and if i don't, it's probably cause ao3 didn't notify me properly or i didn't see it in my inbox or something

as for why, it's mostly to do with like...i know how hard it can be for some people to comment, even just a bunch of heart emojis or a 'i loved this!' or something short and simple? and it means a lot to me that ppl are going out of their way to say something nice, no matter how small, and it's really really important to me to acknowledge that

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

hmm,,,,,this is a hard one, cause for a very long time, my policy was that my fic would always have a happy ending? and for a long time, that was true!! but the dabihawks interaction (during the raid) broke me, and from an emotional standpoint, i think freeing icarus (x) is probably the one that has the angstiest ending of the two or so that i wrote in that time?

Do you write crossovers? If so what is the craziest one you’ve written?

u know i really haven't written any crossovers? it's normally not my thing cause my brain typically focuses on a single thing and doesn't really have the capacity to think about more than that, so i end up writing just au-style or fusion-style (shoutout to that one bnha but it was scooby doo fic i wrote - x)

i don't think i'd be opposed to writing a crossover but i'd have to be SUPER inspired by the idea and both fandoms lmao

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

aha yes, i have. the only straight up hate i've received was on a kaeluc fic (surprisingly not because it was kaeluc, but bc i was 'mistreating' kaeya in the fic) - to be entirely fair, the commenter pointed out something that i hadn't realized myself, and it led to a second piece of the story that helped me tie up some loose ends, but...let's just say they weren't very kind about their feelings lmao

other than that, i had someone very upset because i didn't tag which character was bottoming in a fic (valid if that bugs u!) and they read through most of it before getting to the smut (and said that they enjoyed everything up to that point) then said they were 'disgusted' by it. i have opinions on that and a few other comments they made, but i will keep them to myself lmao

and beyond that, just a few ppl on my xiaoven fic saying that they were unhappy about the background kaeluc (which is tagged lmao) - really no hate whatsoever til genshin, honestly, which is...very hmmmm :) lmao

Do you write smut? If so what kind?

yep!!! mostly vanilla or vanilla-adjacent lmao i'm not super into heavy kink, although i know if epi reads this she's gonna call me out for being a monsterfucker bc of my dragon!zhongli smut :) lmaoooo but really i tend to write pretty vanilla smut! i also prefer to avoid any noncon/dubcon or hate sex or anything particularly angsty, just not my jam to write!

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

hmm i don't think so? although i don't heavily monitor ao3 (or wattpad/ffn), so i can't really say that for sure lmao

Have you ever had a fic translated?

yes!!! i've had a few fics translated to russian (little bird is one of them!) which is very sweet and i hope that anyone who prefers to read in russian has been enjoying those fics!!

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

alksdfjklsdf only once, and it's deadass how me and rose got together. we decided to co-write a podcast au fic for the phandom (x) and ended up flirting via google docs asldkfjkldsfj

What’s your all time favourite ship?

what a horrible question, making me choose between my children like this!!!! sdlfkjdskf tbh i'm not sure i have a real answer bc it changes as i go? and 'favorite' is so vague,,,,,favorite to read? to write about? to think about? asdklfjkjsdfk i really don't know if i have an answer, but i'll maybe say kaeluc for now lmao

What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

well first and foremost, with only 2 exceptions, i never post a fic unless it's done. i tend to follow wherever my passion leads my brain, so i'm notorious for jumping around between stories and taking breaks from long fic and returning later on to finish them, and i know that i would not do well under the pressure of posting something unfinished and trying to finish it in a timely manner

that said, many wips sit in my google doc folder, but one is Well Known as the one that has followed me through both the phandom and bnha (rose keeps asking who i'm gonna switch the chars to in genshin, but i think it suits bakudeku too well to do that) - only the lonely survive. it sits at like 36k in my wip folder, and i adore the story dearly and i want very much to finish it, but it never makes it quite to the forefront of my motivation, and so it rarely if ever gets worked on...i hate the idea of 'never' finishing it, but it's unfortunately quite likely that i won't 😭😭😭

What are your writing strengths?

emotion!!! and immersion!!! it's my goal in a fic to make it as immersive as possible and saturated with emotion to help convey that feeling of being in the place of the pov character, and i think i do it pretty well. also just bc i feel a little obligated to say it - another strength is actually sitting down and putting words down. i know that's a struggle for a lot of writers and i often get,,,,lovingly bullied? i guess? lmao for being able to bash out a few k in a day most days

What are your writing weaknesses?

this isn't so much a weakness i guess but i am basically incapable of treating crack fic as crack. if i have a cracky idea, it will, without a doubt, end up turning into a Perfectly Serious fic somehow (notable 'crack treated so seriously that it's no longer crack' fics include: todoroki doing the freeze-the-ocean thing from frozen 2, 'shmigaraki', todo and denki get together bc of vine references, the league sells feet pics, shiggy and natsu own a nightclub/bakery, scooby doo but make it bnha, and dabi getting his ears pierced at claire's)

but in all seriousness, i think my main weakness is that i often get comfortable? and i'm not one to typically push myself forcefully out of my comfort zone when it comes to stories that i come up with on my own, which often means that ideas inspired by discussions with others are what prompt me to branch out and try new things?

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

i think, like anything, it has its place? there are certainly stories where it makes sense to do that and even adds depth to a story, although i personally am not exceptionally comfortable enough with other languages (except maybe asl) to do that in fic myself without the assistance of someone very comfortable with that language lmao

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

the phandom! not really my jam to write rpf anymore but it definitely got me started and i'm really grateful for my time writing there, as everyone was super supportive and kind, and it was really a perfect place for a beginner to get comfortable and practice

What’s your favourite fic you’ve written?

again, forcing me to choose between my children...i really don't know that i can pick one fic bc they all exist in such wildly different spaces? i poured my worldbuilding soul into the king of disaster series (mainly dabihawks - x), exile (dan and phil - x) was my first massively long fic, our hearts are heavy burdens we shouldn't have to bear alone (chayea - x) is probably my favorite character/character dynamic study, i'm exceptionally proud of the smut in chosen (zhongchi - x), the list goes on and on and on lmao like. i could probably list half my fics as favorites in some regard dsflkjdfsjkl

anyway, tyty bellamy for putting this on my dash so i could do it as well!!

tagging: literally anyone who wants to do this, i have so many writer friends slkdjfjklsdf but please please tag me if u do it so i can read urs!!! 💜💜💜