#Gonna mess around with Vee having stretch marks more

[karmathehalflander]

Drew this half asleep man idk I need to go to bed. They’re so cute though and I wanted to share.

[bleepblopbloop56]

The Murder in the Dressing Room

Chapter 3: 2 buttons

Chapter one, chapter 2, ao3

Warnings: slight suggestive content around the end (not too bad), murder/character death

As always @pathos-logical did an increble amount of work on this and everyone should go give her all the love

-

"Dada!" Logan could hear Patton's protest from the other room, which was quickly followed by the sound of unsteady footsteps that grew louder and louder until his one-year-old had run straight into his legs. He finished buttoning up his shirt before leaning down and lifting the child into his arms. Logan was the last person on earth you'd expect to want a child, and in a way he didn't. Or at least, he hadn't, not at first. About 16 months ago, his best friend had died giving birth to Patton, and all hopes of becoming "Uncle Logan" were thrown out the window and replaced with "dada".

His roommate Virgil walked in the room after the child, a small grin on his face. "The lil rugrat keeps getting away from me!" he laughed, sitting on Logan's bed. "I don't think he wants you to leave." Logan bounced the baby on his hip before handing him down to Virgil, earning a soft "nooo" from the child. 

"Thank you for watching him Virgil, I really can't tell you how much you're helping me." Logan shifted his attention back to Patton and smiled, poking his nose lightly. "Dada's gonna be gone for a while, okay?" The baby shook his head furiously, pouting before stretching out his arms and making grabby hands. Powerless to resist that face, Logan picked him up and began to bounce him again. 

"Pattttonnn," he sing-songed. "I gotta go, baby, or else I'll be late." He smiled at the boy clutching his shirt while trying to discreetly check his watch to see how long he had till he needed to leave. "Go to Uncle Vee now, okay?" Despite having lived with Virgil as long as he had lived with Logan, Patton had never really latched on to him the way he had Logan, deeming "Uncle Vee" as tolerable but not preferred- probably because of Virgil's piercings, tattoos, loud music, and overall gloomy vibe. 

Logan slowly pulled Patton off his shirt and placed him back in the arms of his roommate and friend. 

"Fix your hair before you go out," Virgil commented, standing up with the baby and tossing Logan's hair around with his hand. Logan looked in the mirror to see a "messy on purpose" look much more suited to Remy than him. 

"What was wrong with how I had it before?" he asked, flinching and covering his glasses when Virgil brought the hairspray to his hair.

"Too neat. If you really want this dude to like you, ya gotta loosen up." Virgil winked at him before unbuttoning the top two buttons of his dark navy shirt.

"This isn't a date, Virgil, this is a meeting between two friends to discuss the loss of… an acquaintance," Logan sniffed, but the shirt remained the way it was.

Patton let out a big yawn, arching his body before settling into Virgil's side. He seemed to have resigned himself to his fate and decided now was a perfect time for a nap. Virgil effortlessly adjusted his hold on him before quirking a pierced eyebrow at Logan. "Oh really? Your ex-boyfriend strolls into your life after you lose your mutual best friend, and now you're meeting up for the first time since the breakup." Virgil walked to the corner of Logan's room where Patton's small baby bed was set up, laying him down gently. "I've seen enough telenovelas to know that this will end with a makeout session in the rain." 

Logan rolled his eyes before stuffing his wallet and phone in his back pocket. He leaned down and kissed Patton's head softly, whispering a soft "love you" to the sleeping baby before making his way to the door. 

"Be home by 10!" Virgil called playfully, careful to make sure not to wake up the baby. 

"I am not a child, Virgil, I do not require a curfew," he joked, smiling back at his friend. He walked out the door and softly clicked it closed as he made his way down his apartment's hallway. 

"Is!"

"Isn't!"

"Is!!"

"ISN'T!"

"IS!" Remus shouted over Roman, laughing loudly before kicking his legs out, only to be silenced to a pillow to the face. 

"It. Isn't. A. Date!" Roman punctuated each syllable with another whack of the pillow, earning himself a kick in the gut. Amazing how even after twenty years they acted like they did when they were five. 

Remus kicked Roman again, shoving him into the floor and also probably leaving a considerable bruise. 

"Jesus fuck," Roman groaned, "do you always have to play so rough?" He lifted his shirt to observe the red mark on his stomach, flinching as he prodded at it. 

Roman ignored Remus' whiny "It's not my fault! You were trying to kill me!" and pulled himself up, picking through the mess on the floor to look through Remus' closet for anything he could pass off as acceptable fashion. Unfortunately, his twin's taste in clothing was… very different from his own, to say the least.

It had been three days since he and Logan had agreed to meet up, three days since Thomas has been murdered, three days since he'd last returned to his and Thomas' house. It hurt too much to go back now- he needed time. 

"Why the hell is everything you wear straight out of a clown's formal wear catalog?" Roman sneered, holding up a neon green polka-dotted suit jacket before dropping it in the trash can. Really, it was a wonder anything was hung up at all, considering the state of the house Remus was currently infesting. 

"Shut up and take what you can get!" Remus snapped, coming up and scanning the closet beside his brother. He reached in and yanked out a black pencil skirt before shoving it into Roman's hands. "There, that'll get you some detective D," he leered, wiggling his eyebrows. It took every ounce of self-restraint Roman had to not fucking deck the man in the face.

"I had planned on wearing pants," Roman scowled, thinking of how cold the walk back home could get, but he folded the skirt over his arm nonetheless. After some more bickering and insults, Remus managed to dig up a plain red short-sleeved button-up for him from the bottom of his drawers. 

"Do you have any makeup?" Roman called from the bathroom, frantically smoothing out his shirt from where it was tucked into his skirt, trying to keep it from leaving any weird bumps or wrinkles.

"Why the fuck would I have makeup?!" Remus yelled back. ‘Probably for the best,’ Roman decided. ‘Spending another minute in this bathroom might be hazardous to my health.’ 

"I don't know," Roman complained, stepping out of the bathroom and pulling on a pair of Remus' shoes. "You paint your nails and own a fucking pencil skirt, it doesn't exactly seem like you've fallen victim to toxic masculinity." He very maturely stuck his tongue out at Remus as he took out his phone to check the time. He glanced down, and then again with disbelief. Shit. He'd spent way too much time bickering with his brother, and now he was running late. 

"If I'm not back by midnight, don't come looking for me," Roman winked. It was an old joke- they used to say that to each other every time they snuck out of the house for a date or to hang out with friends. 

"Aha! So you admit it's a date!" Remus cheered, leaning forward for effect. Roman simply slammed the door in his face and began his trek to the restaurant. 

The restaurant was bustling. Friday nights were the busiest for all of the restaurants in the area, especially the nice ones. Roman had picked the place, although the reason he would choose such a nice place for a friendly gathering was beyond Logan.

As per usual, Logan had arrived early and seated himself in a booth near the back of the restaurant. Today, however, he was regretting his punctuality for multiple reasons. First of all, the restaurant's dim lighting, supplied by fake candles and an overly gaudy chandelier, called back to other times he had waited on Roman at some fancy restaurant for date night, and the longer he waited, the harder it was to suppress those memories. Second, the more time passed, the more self-conscious Logan got. After seeing all the men in nice suits and ties pass by, he was starting to regret letting Virgil mess up his hair instead of sticking with the neat slicked-back look he wore on a daily basis. 

And third, Logan had been waiting for so long he was beginning to suspect Roman had backed out on him. Just as he was promising himself he'd leave after another five minutes, he saw a man in a red shirt and tight black skirt squeeze his way through the restaurant. 

"Hi, I'm sorry I'm so late!" Roman rushed out. His expression went from apologetic to annoyed in a second as he said, rolling his eyes: "Problems with my brother, he can be a real bitch sometimes."

The explanation startled a laugh out of Logan. Roman's exasperation looked so genuine that Logan couldn't doubt him, and… it was nice to see that Roman hadn't changed after all this time. He waved off Roman's worry, who smiled with relief before sitting down and picking up a menu. "Wine?" 

Roman giggled as Logan pushed him against his car. Okay, so maybe after a bottle of wine it was… more or less a date.

Logan's hands pulled at Roman's shirt, unbuttoning it and pushing his hands under the fabric. It had been so long since they'd kissed like this- far too long since Logan had kissed anyone, really, and Ethan had never used to kiss Roman like this, like he was the center of his universe. 

Logan ran his hands over Roman's stomach, accidently pressing on the fresh bruise. Roman winced and pulled away, pushing at Logan's hands.

Logan backed away immediately. "What's wrong?" he asked seriously, brown eyes wide and sparkling down at Roman with concern. Roman chuckled and pulled up his shirt, showing off the now red and blue bruise.

"Remus," he sighed wearily. "You know how he is." He leaned back in and connected his lips to Logan's, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and dragging him down in a much less heated kiss.

"Can we go back to yours?" Roman asked quietly. This was really what he needed after things ended badly with Dee. Even if they could just snuggle like they used to, it'd make everything seem okay again. 

Logan shook his head. "I can't," he winced regretfully. "I have a child now, Ro, and Virgil's still there with us…" He trailed off, fiddling with his glasses. Roman smiled softly and nodded- not pushing, not asking for more. They'd just have to wait. 

"I could give you a ride back to Remus' if you'd like," Logan offered instead. "Making you walk home after, ah, that, seems rude." He laughed a little awkwardly, his smile a little strained, but Roman only nodded and pulled open the passenger door he was pushed up against only moments before. 

When Roman returned home just before 1 am, it was to find Remus lying dead on the kitchen floor, a golden mask with a deep frown adorning his face. Just like how he'd found Thomas…

The murder in the dressing room taglist:

@cataclysm-al @theteenagetrickster @intrurality-fusion @katie-the-noble-fangirl @whizzie72 @grayson-22 @i-have-n0-idea-what-im-d0ing 'm-d0ing @winterwonderland7669 @missieluvsmurder @sign-from-god-complex @dragonindigo245 @angryfanboyscreaming @ninja-wizard101 @sombraookami @crystalistrappedintheinternet @imtooaromanticforthis @why-should-i-tell-youu2 @dragon-hair @satanblessi @spookilyfingergunsoutofexistence @skruffy901 @selectivereality

[professordrarry]

I'm sorry to just ask out of the blue, but I'd love if you wrote some drunk Draco. Might help me feel better.

You know, Anon, I feel that to my core. I’m sorry that this is…not great. I hope you feel better independently of my slightly tortured pre-Drarry. Draco is also not as funny as he normally is when I write him drunk and for that, I can only blame my own slightly weird mood. Sorry friend ❤️ ❤️

Harry jolted awake to a large crash, wand in hand and alert. It had been a decade and a half, yet noises in the night still freaked him out. He bolted upright and realised right away why he’d heard the sound; he was not in his highly-Warded and unplottable flat above the cauldron shop of Hogsmeade. Instead, he was haphazardly sprawled on the very nasty sofa in the staff lounge.

He took a few seconds to reorient himself, trying to work out why it was that he hadn’t made it home. The details shuffled through his mind slowly. Grading papers now so that if he finished on this random Thursday evening, if he caught up on the many hours of marking he’d put off, he could go to Ottery St. Catchpole at the weekend. Visit Molly. Play with the kids. Sneak in a few seeker games with Ginny.

Reoriented and no longer afraid in the safety of the castle, Harry was focused on the soft curse words from the small kitchenette around the corner that now made him chuckle. He casually wandered over, smoothing out his rumpled robes as best he could.

“Buggering fuckery fucking nitwit,” the quiet voice was whispering from the floor, surrounded by tins and boxes that had clearly just been wrenched from various cupboards.

“Need any help?” Harry asked.

The figure jumped slightly, then leaned back from a cross-legged position until it was lying with its back on the floor, revealing a very crumpled Draco Malfoy.

“Oh, of bloody fucking course it’s you,” he cursed, letting his legs fall to the floor too so that he was now completely prone and staring at Harry upside down. “Why in Salazar’s name are you in the lounge at…wait, is it still three?”

Harry glanced at his watch, then nodded, considering Malfoy’s slant and slur, his general dishevelled nature. “Um. Are you…no. Never mind.” “Drunk?” Draco sighed, closing his eyes. “Indeed.” “And you’re looking for…tea?”Draco giggled, the sound positively unnerving given who it was coming from. “Hid some biscuits in here last week. Ran out of snacks upstairs in my room.”

“Biscuits?” Harry repeated.

“Hungry.”

Draco didn’t explain further. Instead, his upside-down smile turned predatory, his eyes sweeping up and down Harry’s body; even from this unusual position, Harry flushed at the scrutiny. Draco’s face was always an open book, and the expression they’d landed on now seemed to be lust. Harry was flustered. It didn’t help that Draco looked like he’d been through a trial. His hair was a mess, the remains of black eye makeup smudged at the corners of his bright grey eyes, his clothes were wrinkled and stretched. He wore a tight, dark blue t-shirt with a deep vee that let his sharp collar bones escape. Black jeans and high boots added to the come hither outfit.

Harry cleared his throat.

Draco looked away. “You sleep here now?” Bit pathetic, even for you.” He reached his hands up into the air. “Help me up?”

Without a second thought, Harry walked around the boxes and gripped Draco’s hand, dragging him up. He faltered and stumbled a moment before regaining balance, laughing the whole time. The sound was carefree and out of place.

“Grab this,” he demanded with a violent poke of his wand that sent the box flying. Harry caught it deftly and sent the other boxes back into the cupboard with his own wand before following after Draco as he seemed to tumble and bounce from the room.

When they reached the second-floor staircase that led to the staff quarters, Draco stared at them a moment like they were the tallest of mountains and then giggled as he sat heavily on the bottom step and leaned his head against the rail.

“What’s the plan, Malfoy?” Harry teased. It earned him a glare that he appreciated more than was decent. It also forced Draco up again.

“Gonna ask me what happened?” he asked with a glimmer in his eye,

Harry smirked, offering an arm that Draco clung to instantly as they set off up the stairs. “No offence, clever clogs, but this isn’t really that hard to work out, even for a failed Auror like myself. It’s Thursday… Pub night. I’m guessing blue drinks, based on your…nevermind… I also have a feeling I can blame Professor Perkins, but that one will take more evidence.”

“Yeah, but you don’t know why I was in the lounge,” Draco tried to retort vehemently. He tripped instead, ending up against Harry and jabbing him with a finger in the chest that may or may not have been intentional. They carried on upwards in silence, Harry wrapping an arm around Draco’s back when he stumbled next.

“Thank you for walking me home, Mr Potter,” Draco sneered as they reached the top of the stairs. “Very chivalrous. You should be happy you aren’t…someone else.”

“Why?” Harry asked boldly.

“Might try to kiss you — Ooh!” Draco interrupted himself, looking more excited and alert than he had for the past five minutes. “Let’s go to the Potion’s classroom!”

Harry laughed and shook his head, extracting himself from Draco’s grasp and holding out the tea box, which Draco ignored. “I think you should probably avoid brewing for the next few hours, Professor Malfoy.”

“You’re no fun,” Draco pouted. “You used to be fun. I remember that. It’s why I hated you.”

Not waiting for a reply, Draco smiled broadly and whirled around in a flamboyant and extremely unsteady spin. “Do what you want, I am going to make some Felix Felicis.”

Harry started to protest but was disrupted by Draco halting in his path and turning around, smile still glued to his face.

“Did I look like Snape?” he giggled. “With the whirling and the dramatics?” He looked expectantly at Harry, who burst out laughing and grinned despite himself.

“You might have,” he agreed eventually. “But you aren’t wearing robes.”

“I know,” Draco scowled, looking down at himself and then planting his hands on his hips with an exaggerated pout. “I’m quite annoyed at this shirt, you know. I always pull in this shirt. This is my Pub Shirt. My Pirt! No, don’t say that. I never said that.”

“Right.”

“Right?!” Draco continued unhindered. “It’s very…purple-y, this shirt. And —”

“It’s blue,” Harry interjected.

“Ugh, no, don’t. It’s purple. Trust me. I’m not having this argument with you. It’s purple and it’s pretty and I look very fucking hot in it and I should, at this very minute, be making regrettable choices where I’m probably no longer wearing it.”

“I mean, that seems like a lot to expect of a shirt,” Harry teased.

“And instead,” Draco continued, “I’m in a school corridor with you at half three in the morning, arguing about purple. Because life is very unfair, even when you drink.”

Draco dropped his hands and waltzed back to where Harry stood, in front of the large portrait that presumably led to his quarters.

“Look,” he insisted, stepping very close and drawing up the hem of his shirt for Harry’s inspection.

Harry meant to look. He really did. He was ready and willing to look at the shirt, and then argue it’s blue-ness no matter what he colour he found there. He had a whole plan. But, when he lifted his eyes to examine the fabric before him, he instead found three things that simultaneously made him stop breathing. First, he discovered that Draco’s fingers were perfect and lithe, delicate and manicured where they gripped the fabric and held it aloft. Second, he realised that Draco’s eyelashes were incredibly long, but were so blonde that he’d never noticed (a part of Harry’s brain did realise that it might be weird that it was one of the few things he hadn’t noticed about Draco Malfoy).

And third, Harry noticed that Draco’s stomach, so pale it was almost blue, was soft. The rest of him was so defined, from chiselled jaw to sinewy forearms, that Harry had possibly been expecting abs. But instead, there was a softness to his stomach that existed nowhere else on Malfoy and Harry had to know what it felt like. He reached forward to trail his fingers down the skin before his brain caught up to him and he froze. They stared at each other in silent dare for a moment.

“I could be your regrettable choices,” Harry whispered finally.

Draco hesitated only a moment, Harry’s fingers still sitting on his stomach, before he leaned forward and made contact, mouth so full of whiskey that Harry felt like he’d taken a shot.

“You could be,” Draco muttered against his lips a moment later. “So regrettable. But no. Not like this. Not tonight. Please…regrettable choices should be things you won’t mind regretting.”

He pulled away and gently took the tea from Harry’s hand, turning on a still very uncoordinated heel.

“Serenade,” he whispered to the portrait behind him, causing it to swing open.

“Wait,” Harry protested, ignoring Draco’s slight flinch and wince when he turned back to face Harry. “One thing. Are there really biscuits in there?” he asked, gesturing to the box.

Draco snorted. “Guess you’ll never know. Goodnight…Harry."