#I be making myself chortle over characters that aren’t even mine

[weebiewrites]

I write fanfic to giggle and kick my feet and that is all

[mazuwii]

Name: Sudden Meltdown You= Y/N Ackerman College AU

Fast forward two lessons and I was sitting in the stuffed cafeteria with a fat cake on my plate, trying my hardest to ignore every chaotic thing going on in the huge round hall by chewing on more than I could possibly handle.

"Uh oh, she's stuffing her mouth, why are you mad?" Pieck nudged me. I had no choice but to groan and roll my eyes. Porco and Zeke were sat in front of us, already knowing why I was irritated. "She won't shut the fuck up for one damn second," I mumbled, my gaze averted to Historia standing on the table, barking out bullshit.

Reiner and Annie let out a scoff in sync, both keeping their focus on their phones. Bertholdt laughed awkwardly and played with his fork. "It'll die down soon." He said.

"No, does she think she's some kind of main character or something? Her standing on the table and giving a speech about violence isn't going to stop Eren and Jean fighting like two petty drag queens." I rolled my eyes and continued. "If it did work then they would have stopped arguing by now."

"I'm surprised you haven't gotten used to it." Yelena sat across Pieck and I with her usually half-empty tray. "No, everyone secretly finds it cringe, I can't be the only one."

"Mmm, I don't know Y/N, it seems like you are," Zeke smirked and slightly leaned out of the way. Suddenly, students from our class clapping for her came into my already crimson view. "I just want to drop-kick her damn it." I stabbed the cake, earning a tissue rubbing against my mouth and cheeks.

"Not while looking like a baby who can't feed themselves," Pieck said, wiping the corners. All of our friends chortled as she treated me like a child. "What a supportive friend you are(!)" I sighed and took my earphones out of my backpack so I could block out the blonde's agitating voice.

Why was I getting so mad? I had no idea. Perhaps it was because her words were so repetitive and held no meaning to them. "Maybe you're jealous." Porco smugly said. I responded with a growl. "Of what?"

"I don't know, the fact that almost every guy has had a crush on her or that she's prom queen every year or you aren't as feminine as her or maybe"-

"Shut up. I get it." I grunted, stubbornly crossing my arms and glaring away from everyone. "Don't talk with your mouth open, Pocco."

"Don't tell me what to do! Peepee!"

Ignoring Pieck and Porco, my weakened glower settled on Reiner, who was boringly drinking water, leaning against the chair like a careless kid at a boring lecture. "Rei?" He suddenly stopped drinking, his eyes dragging to me creepily. He hummed with his cheeks full of liquid.

"You okay? I never see you eating nowadays." This was a better subject to start rather than that annoying short drama queen. The tall man grinned sheepishly and shook his head. "I ate too much in the morning so I don't have an appetite right now."

"I don't believe that, you aren't as beefy as you used to be," I snickered, squinting my eyes at him. "I bet Porco must be so happy now." Zeke abruptly said to himself. Our attention darted towards the bearded guy, making him look up and proceed. "He's jealous of Reiner's boobs and tries to grow his"-

"What?! Pfft no, I don't! Where d-did you get that from!?"

"Read it in your diary."

Porco began his usual rampage on privacy and why having Zeke as a roommate was like sharing with an obnoxious monkey, making us facepalm at the two. I turned towards Reiner who blushed slightly. I laughed and shook my head at how shy he could become.

By the time their argument turned into playful insults with Pieck and Yelena reacting to all their crappy comebacks, Bertholdt and Annie left the table with each other, in love as always. I got up from my seat and sat next to Reiner since the seat next to him was now empty.

"You know," He started, "You don't need to be jealous of Historia, you're just as good if not, better than her." The heat in my cheeks radiated my entire face. "At least to me," He added with a small smile, suddenly widening his eyes.

"Oh- sorry was that weird?" He laughed awkwardly. "Not at all, weirdo." I smiled at him, loving the view. How could Annie be staring at her phone when she had such perfection sitting next to her?

"Now come with me, let's both get some milk!" I snatched his hand and forced him up with me. He widened his eyes at how abrupt I was being, not having the heart to say no.

Reiner had some issues he never speaks about to people. He's amazing, the way he tries to heal his wounds by healing everyone else's. Out of all the questions I had, I'd have to ask him why. Why he covers his pain up by smiling, which technically is like adding wood to fire.

After taking a croissant and a cookie, I took him out to the benches on campus, no one really goes there now because it was raining in the morning.

Still, I threw my jacket on it and told him to sit down. Before he could decline, I pressed on his shoulders and forced him on it. The jacket was long enough for the both of us so I sat down right next to him.

"Reiner." I mumbled, biting into my cookie and shoving the croissant on his lap. "Y/N... I really"-

"Shut up and eat it, I'm sick of pretending to believe your lies."

His hand shook slightly and his lips quivered, turning his head away from me so that I wouldn't see. My heart shattered into a million pieces upon seeing him try to hide a cry.

"Rei..." I whispered, reaching for his slumped shoulder. "I'm just worried about you, we're besties aren't we?"

"Y/N... I don't deserve anything or anyone." He finally said. Despite the fact it was sad, at least he said something.

"No, please don't tell me this is how you've been thinking?" I bit my lip and remembered how he had PTSD and his room was all for himself, he had no roommate and stays in silence for the whole night, panicking with no one to help.

The silence he was giving me frustrated me more than it should, the fact that he wasn't saying anything about this. Judging by his weight loss it had been at least two weeks. "How long?" I asked carefully.

"Every night..." He finally looked at me. His usually golden, passion-filled eyes were dull with a spike of pain glistening in them. The corners bloodshot as he tried to contain the tears.

"You've been strong for too long, it's ok to cry..." I slithered my arm around his shoulders and gently laid his head against the crook of my neck. His shoulders shook and his breath was shaking as he finally let it out, sobbing into my neck.

From time to time, he'd let out a loud groan by accident, sniffling to lower his voice so that no one could hear but himself. "You matter so much to me, I swear to god, Rei." My fingers raked through his short blonde hair that had grown over time, my other hand rubbing his back.

"I want Reiner Braun. No one else." I told him, knowing why he was putting on the older brother impression all the time.

"He- He's nothing..."

"He's everything to me, why would you want to take away my everything?"

Suddenly, the sniffling stopped and the tears running down my neck halted at my sweater, soaking the collar. His face came into view when he sat up, gazing at me as if I had stated the craziest thing. His bronze pools switched from my left to my right pupil, drowning in my sincerity.

"You know how shit my days here would be without your dumb ass to flirt and make the most himbo jokes?" I giggled, my palm snaking up to his jaw and feeling his stubble gently prick my fingers as I caressed him.

Even though he hadn't said a word, I could only wish I made him feel better about himself because I had not only stated the truth, I exposed myself, my weakness. Although I don't show my appreciation as much as I should, I do need him, life would collapse without the idiot...

"Now, if you take my everything away from me, I'll despise you with every inch of my body," I said, melting when his hand laid on top of mine, leaning into my touch.

"That's not a lot of inches." He mumbled into my palm, making me lightly laugh. "Bastard." He weakly smirked at my playful insult.

"Come here." I sat on my knees so that I was higher than him and rested his head against my chest, my arms tight and secure around him.

"Mm..." I heard his muffled voice say, "Every time you hug me I feel so safe..." My heart skipped a beat, surely I wasn't supposed to hear that considering how low his voice was.

"You won't tell anyone... right?" He said, taking a deep breath in. I could sense him relaxing in my embrace, reassuring not only him but me.

"Of course not, let's just try and get you a break from school, a week should do it... right?" My hand rested on the back of his head even when he moved to face me.

"We have a lot of work for the school play though... the equipment needs building, who'll do the backstage lighting and help with props and what"-

"REI! Relax yourself, himbo. It's only a week."

"No."

"Reiiiii!" I whined, ignoring the thunder that had just struck. "Are you telling me you wouldn't want a week holiday with me?"

"I do, Y/N but we can't." He held onto my waist, careful not to squeeze my sides because he's well aware I'm ticklish there. "I can heal..."

My head unknowingly shook from side to side, "Rei you don't understand, I'm worried for you, healing by yourself... are you sure it'd work?" Silence...

Just as he was about to open his mouth, synced whistling broke our eye contact in the now heavy rain. Our gazes were met by the most annoying trio, Connie, Sasha and Jean wriggling their eyebrows at us. I heard Reiner uncomfortably sigh, cutting his breath off mid-way.

Abruptly, Jean began humming careless whisper out loud with his bothersome voice, Connie singing the lyrics with Sasha weirdly dancing in front of them as if they were in a ninja trio for matchmaking. "Tonight the music seems so LOUD! I WISH THAT WE COULD LOSE THIS CROWD! BABY! IT'S BETTER THIS WAY!"-

"You kids never shut up," We all flinched at the sudden appearance of Levi in the rain, standing proudly at his size. "First of all, it's 'maybe it's better this way', second of all your singing is so bad that the thunderstorm got worse, third of all, Braun and Ackerman, both of you get to class this is not a cheesy ass romance movie!"

Note:

Ok but Sasha Connie and Jean doing careless whisper is 100% canon, like it's too funny not to be true, I’m just chucking this into tumblr LMAO

[antigonick]

Herald.

CONTEXT : I just wanted to try my grubby paws at Herald’s mind-voice. And, uh, if you haven’t read/played Fallen Hero: Rebirth, this will basically be nonsensical. That being said, what the hell are you waiting for? It’s here, and it’s incredible, so click the link. DISCLAIMER : literally nothing here is mine, this scene (or a version of it) pops up at the end of the game, I just shifted the POV. Cheeky one-liners, lovely characters, and cool-ass world-building all belong to Malin Rydén. WHAT TO EXPECT : Danny being shit at combat, me being shit at combat description, blatant and manic disrespect for basic punctuation and adjectival rules, non-native English potentially riddled with errors, a badly-camouflaged very marshmallow bluestep.

In the mirror, the smile is radiant and familiar, that one smile, the screen smile, a tug at the jaw, a supple curve of the cheekbone, a creasing near the eyelid. Breathe in. I think it reaches the eyes, and that’s good. Freeze-frame. I stare a little too long, fixed, glazed, but—of course, I look down first, suddenly self-conscious. He is another. When I bite the inside of my cheeks, zygomaticus grate and pinch under tired flesh. 

Hands clasped on the stripped marble of the washstand, I close my eyes for a second and listen to the gala undulate around me like a gust of wind. Breathe out. The clinking of high heels, champagne glasses, camera flashes. The mingled voices and laughter from the crowd saturating the trills of the orchestra. What is it… Brahms? Rather exuberant for background music; my mother usually went for Satie, his unobtrusive minimalism, the lightness of summer and greenness. I straighten up, wash my hands, meet my own gaze again. Pull at my necktie. Hmm. Under the immaculate collar, the blue edge of my suit peeks out, supple nanomesh moving like a tremor of invulnerability, second skin, an echo of truth under the soft guise of formal wear.

Just in case. If something happened. If I need to leave in a dash. And a little bit for me, too. You get how it is—the hero suit feels much more mine than the trendy clothes they tend to select for me. More mine, and more what I want to be. God, I’m being such a spoilsport, aren’t I? When Barbara comes into the dressing room with her rolling garment rack and her joyous cackle, there’s always a kiss on my cheek, a squeeze on my arm, a flourish of blues and greys to compliment your eyes, doll. If she’s having fun, then it’s all good. I smooth the vest she ironed with obsessive fastidiousness (don’t sit, it’ll crease), and turn around. 

Showtime. 

The offensive is soft and quick. Like a flock of birds they converge around me brightly, and, docile, my body takes over. My face shifts, my voice drops. I guess it’s all about—what? Modulating, absorbing, emoting? A few pictures under the lancet arch, a string of selfies, a few handshakes, a too-personal question that I dodge with sweet nonsense. I hear myself chortle to a joke I can’t even make out. A blur, yes, but warm, filled with goodwill, right? It’s not that bad. It’s the least I can do, really. I sign two notebooks, three napkins, a very embarrassing swimsuit picture cut out from a magazine, a naked arm; I think someone asks permission to give me a kiss on the cheek and I lean down, slightly dazed with the harsh colours and moving brilliances of embroidered stones, with the heavy expensive perfumes wafting close.

When I want to make my leave, they part with a common exclamation of sympathetic regret; someone squeezes my palm heartily, another hands me a flute of champagne; waves and whispers and smiles, a few promises. They know I’ll take questions for the Rangers at the end of the night. I cross the large corridor, reflections and dark marble; and step into the golden glow of the chandeliers.

(Breathe out.)

The weight of gravity lessens, freed by the stately height of the ornamented ceilings, by the cristalline width of the glass walls. Beyond the large ogives, the night is purplish, bright, swirling under the tempting rhythm of Santa Ana. Good weather for controlled gliding and absolute freedom, and I’ll soon be drowning in it; just a few hours left. Down here, there is a heavy quality to the air, always a little too rare, always a little too thick, like caressing silk against my tongue and along my throat. They can’t imagine how transparent (how easy) breathing becomes when you soar. How water-like.

I take a step forward, scanning the crowd, looking for Ortega. He’s not far, easy to spot in dark blue, aiming a cheerful wink at a flustered waiter as he gives back his empty glass. His posture is effortlessly confident; something indefinable in the angle of his hips, the arc of his shoulders, the boldness of his tilted chin, a pervasive self-confidence that I sometimes try to imitate (don’t tell anyone) in front of the large mirrors, in the changing rooms. Although I usually end up looking like a puffed up chick, if I’m honest. 

I swallow a mouthful of champagne before I join him; the bubbles go straight to my head. 

He arches a brow when he notices I’m alone, and I rub my neck. 

“So… Angie’s gone.”

I still don’t know if she left because of the paparazzi or because she wanted to lacerate my face until I begged for mercy, but I keep that to myself. Snarls and insults are better than the silent treatment, right? At least there’s space for communication there; space for improvement. 

“The exhibit was that bad?” Ortega teases before stealing my glass. He usually does—maybe he thinks I’m underaged. I let him with a chuckle. 

“It was pretty cool, actually. They have one of your old suits, you know. Was your waist really this tiny in 2003?”

“Hey! You watch your mouth, kiddo.”

He smacks my forehead and I hold up my hands in immediate surrender, but I hear myself giggle all the same. He doesn’t go easy on me when it comes to my skinny legs, so it’s only fair.

“You should go and take a look. There’s a whole display for Sidestep.”

“Is there now?”

A half-smile tugs at his lips and, without my glass, my hands suddenly feel very empty, very itchy; I thrust them in the pockets of my slacks. Don’t ask. Slowly, instinctively, my body rocks from the balls of my feet to the tip of my heels, and I have to catch myself before I start to hover. Keep your feet on the ground, in more ways than one. And don’t ask.

“So. No date, uh?” I ask.

“No date,” he shakes his head, and I can see an amused glint of teeth now. Smart eyes pierce through me like a torchlight. Looks like I’m as easy to read as a colouring book. There’s something about Ortega’s slow, silent teasing that reminds me of Josh and hits me square in the thorax. The same smug little delight in the pupil, a youthful crinkling of the eyes, just a hair’s breadth from a snicker. I clear my throat. Is that stupid raspy laugh mine? It is. Very smooth, dude.

“What? I just wanted to make sure before I tell your fan-club that you’re available for the eve-”

CRASH.

The first detonation is deafening.

“What the…?”

The next explosions flare up amidst brittle sounds of human fear and shattered glass. 

My feet immediately lift from the ground where it cracks and trembles while Ortega spreads his arms to keep his balance; I grab his wrist tightly, to stabilize him—no, to stabilize myself. Around us, the crowd starts to scream and scramble as stucco columns tip and crash in the empty gallery above. Thick, dark smoke swells from the back corridors, a wave of heat, a stream of fog, smelling of ammonium; in the miasma and the half-light, I can hear the coughing, the stumbling—the sharp pulse of my blood in my ears. Panic vibrates around us like a rolling tide. They’re rushing toward the doors as one, a moving glittering mass of merging bodies under the flickering chandeliers. Jesus. They’ll walk over each other and hurt themselves before they even get stuck in the damage. 

Ortega’s voice cuts through the chaos.

“Daniel! Go and check the exhibition rooms for casualties, okay? I’ll take care of the crowd for now.”

“Of… of course.”

“Don’t do anything stupid. Come back as soon as you’re done.”

His face is obscured for a moment, but I can hear the sharpness of his usually golden voice, the serious downturn of his mouth, the dry glare summoned from his Marshal days. The cogs turning in his brain. Does he think I’m not capable of handling this? I… Yes. Yes, he thinks he needs to protect me as much as the civilians around us. Without Argent and Steel, he must feel—no. No, no, it’s fine. Focus. I let go of his arm with a quick nod, heart thundering. No matter. This is not the time to argue. People are in danger. And… actions speak louder than words, right? I can show him—

“Good luck,” I mumble without meeting his gaze.

I soar and dart toward the archways.

For a suspended second, in the twilight before I curve, a suspended second between shadow and light, I sense a sizzling creeping flow brush against me, a feeling of unease, a velvet-deep dizziness. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the people below come together, join, fall into step behind each other; like an obedient army, a neat row of puppets, walking in line despite their strangled screams, despite the panic that shudders on their dark mass like a breeze on a lake. I swallow, hard. Breathe… in. 

The exhibition room is a lonely tomb. I expected huddled bodies and howling pleas, I expected the foundations to shudder until they crumbled and fell, but there’s nobody here—nobody but a dark silhouette, ambivalent, fluid, moving with seamless brutality amidst the glass-stands; gripping mannequins, tearing at cloth, shattering hissing screens. Around them, the heroes of my childhood lie sprawled and discarded, ridiculous, garish, strange to my straining eyes and my shuddering brain, a parody of amputated dolls and plastic grins. 

Alien. Remote. 

In the aquatic halo of blue-green spotlights, the stranger freezes abruptly, a gleaming spectre, their back still turned to me. There’s a gasp, I think. A gasp that grows to a chuckle that swells to a laugh, verging on manic, tinged with eeriness through their vocal distorters. The beating of my heart drowns  the jarring movie soundtrack that plays on a loop in the ceiling speakers. I grit my teeth; and dive. 

The air moves with me as I gather speed and with it surges the impetus of my attack; just a split second, a clear line, an easy arc, fast, swooping down on the exposed enemy, ready to ram into them in one motion and—with dizzying ease, the silhouette steps smoothly aside at the last moment. I stifle a scream, wait!—too quick, can’t adjust my trajectory, smash into a large glass-stand, raise my arms to protect myself against the impact. Around me, the glass explodes, the wooden shelves collapse, weapon-parts shudder and fall in a loud clatter of hollow metal. The dark spectre laughs softly, then advances toward me. Snow-like grating of heavy boots on broken glass. I tense, rush, crawl, clumsy, ready to block the next blow (am I?), but—

“Outside,” they say sharply, a smile behind the helmet.

They spin around and disappear in the murky corridors of the deserted museum, movements fluid and back taut. I scramble to my feet, pushing away the gaudy hero accessories (too light—only replicas), and take off straight away. There’s a spike of frustration needling at my gut now, and shame burning my face up to the tip of my ears. Throbbing. Thank god, nobody else was here, not Ortega,  not Argent, not the cameras. A string of curses rings in my ears. My voice. Hush. Fuck, fuck, fuck. That guy eluded me like air. Effortless. I can’t fight that kind of reflexes, can’t parry so quickly, and they won’t need long to figure it out.

Maybe it’s just a matter of timing. A well-placed offensive to knock him out until the team arrives. Hopefully, they can’t fly. I haven’t seen his suit clearly enough to be sure. It’s a light thing, moving smoothly with their body. Yeah. Who am I kidding, really? There’s no way for me to know. Can’t study them closely, can’t pick apart pictures, can’t break down their weapons, not yet, not without any information, not in the dark, not in the now. The only strategy I’ve got is empiricism. Try now and think later. It’s not like I have a choice, right? I can’t wait around and let them harm innocent civilians for the thrill of it.

Ortega is going to strangle me. If the stranger doesn’t do it first.

At full speed, I burst through a still-intact window, and the violence of the collision feels like a body-slam, but, hm, that’s good. That’s what I need. Focus, wake up, go for it. I can do this. The others won’t be long now. I just need to stall the stranger for a while. Make sure they don’t attack. I’ve trained for this—more or less. 

I scan my surroundings quickly to assess the damage; the rotating lights rip through the haze, ambulances wailing and stopping a few meters away; bodies stagger and clash aimlessly under the white street lamps—rescue and escape and panic. On the asphalt, on the stretchers, on the steps, people howl and scatter and call out to each other and hysteria teems like toxic water. I close my eyes, just a second, throat tight. How many have died? How many will suffer tonight because they were in the wrong place, at the wrong time? Because a faceless monster wanted to spit on the remembrance of our heroes?

The night is purplish and red and balmy, and the villain is waiting for me in the center of a tentative circle of onlookers and journalists—their anonymous helmet tilted toward the sky, a face of darkness streaked with ascetic lines. Gracefully, they raise their armoured wrist; they beckon me with a little flick of the hand. Come. They move with elemental smoothness, feet firmly planted on the ground, limbs prompt and light, each minute movement purposeful and sharp. No useless flourish. A chilling and subtle confidence in the tilt of the head, the stance of the legs. Strike and hit. I remember their lightning-quick dodge, in the exposition room. Speed enhancers? Mods? Maybe I can match it with enough—right—you wish—no—I drift slowly, out of reach, fists clenched.

“And who are you, anyway?” I call.

Breathe in. Breathe out. I can do this.

“My name is Shadow,” they reply, waiting. Relaxed.

Oh, they already know. They know as well as me that I’m no match for them.

Something in my chest unfastens and plummets to my stomach, and I know, I know, I know I should wait for back-up, and remember Ortega’s warning, and listen to Steel’s voice whispering in my head not to engage in hand-to-hand combat, but the sirens and the screams are piercing and clawing at my brain and suddenly Shadow (Shadow, yes, armour dark, limbs supple, voice low, pulsating with this impossible half-existence that belongs only to the fog) turns toward the crowd, arms spread wide, and taunts with quiet delight:

“I feel sorry for you. Looks like your so-called hero has abandoned you.”

The impulse is as feverish as a blaze and when they make a step forward, when the reporter stumbles back with a startled jerk, when the threatening glove rises in the quivering aura of the electric lights, I throw myself forward and dart through the tepid wind, praying praying that they don’t harm anyone—that they don’t turn around—that my shove will throw them to the ground—just a minute—that the surprise will make them stagger and twist on the nearby corner of the pavement—that, that… (that Argent will materialise please and join me in quicksilver blue), praying that—

The force of my momentum would have been enough to—what momentum—what—

Torsion, swift, harsh, a clean turn—Fuck! Bending torso, agile arms, implacable grip, and nowhere to run. They lock me in a tackle, injected with my own speed, and toss me, no time to scream, no time to breathe, straight like a blade in a nearby car that slams into my back like a brick wall. Oxygen flees from me in a long shuddering convulsion, and I remain motionless, between motor and airbags and tarmac, trying to catch my breath, clutching my fist against my heart. I can hear the wheezing fraying between my teeth. Can I move? I can’t move. I have to move. I rise on one elbow. A stabbing pain fuses between my ribs and burns my lungs. I hear—I hear myself—choke like a kid in the dark—is that blood under my tongue—if I could only glide, gain some distance—but—Shadow’s heavy, shielded boot falls on my aching shoulder and I writhe reflexively, a strangled gasp. My fingers close, white and desperate, on the black stiff ankle.

“Don’t,” I pant, or think, or… beg.

They lean toward me, slow. Under the nondescript helmet, they seem to examine my face, just a little while. I wait for a word of triumph, a last torture, a last fracture, but the sigh that escapes them has the lightness of a secret, and their warning is a whisper:

“Time for a nap.”

One final shuddering thin breath when they raise their boot above my head, and—fade to black.

[xathia-89]

Head Canons: Warlords as teachers

Nobunaga Oda

“No, you’re doing it wrong,” I knew that Nobunaga meant well, but his bluntness was irritating me. I didn’t have a graceful bone in my body, but here he was teaching me dancing after a recent visit from a noble’s daughter. I couldn’t coordinate any of my limbs, but my boyfriend refused to give up. “Again,” he curtly instructed.

“No,” I stubbornly replied. “I’ve had enough for today.”

“Again, and I will make it worth your time,” his wine-red eyes stared me down, a heavily suggestive glimmer in them as his face remained straight and tapped my fan with his.

“Once more,” I grumbled, taking my position up.

His body ghosted mine as he firmly corrected my mistakes physically. He was strict in his orders and there was nothing nice to say, but I wasn’t under any illusions about what needed working on. Though I still didn’t think it was worth trying to teach me dancing, I was as graceless as Mitsuhide.

Hideyoshi Toyotomi

I had to hold my laughter in. Our son was constantly running after his dad around Azuchi and had picked up many of my husband’s habits. Now they were currently at loggerheads because Hideyori wanted to do everything his adored father did, but he simply didn’t know how to do it right.

“Let’s move this out of the way before you lose your precious tea set,” I teased Hideyoshi and made the man jump since he had clearly forgotten I was there. “And let’s not have any Mitsunari incidents, yes?” I asked brightly.

Hideyoshi frowned as I sat opposite them with a smile. Then he patiently decided to go through the steps of the ceremony, showing Hideyori the preciousness and delicate scenario that was being upheld. He would never let Hideyori have a go with this set, but I was already sourcing a new set for our son to practise with in private.

Masamune Date

I’d been desperately trying to surprise my other half for weeks now. But something always happened to keep me from doing anything in the kitchen undisturbed, and this was the furthest I’d managed to get. I had been a fairly good cook in the future, but I wasn’t used to the current range of ingredients available. My usual dishes were a few centuries away at least, as I tucked in to have a go at making copies of the usual delicacies that Masamune served up without a thought.

“Kitten?” I froze as I looked over the state of the kitchen and heard my other half’s footsteps quickly approaching. Then a stifled laughter as I hung my head, I’d been caught in the act. “So, just what were you trying?” He chuckled.

“To make a mess apparently,” I sighed in defeat. “I was trying to see about replicating any of the dishes I’m used to, but we’re a couple of centuries off the main ingredients,” I grumbled.

“Right, cooking lesson Masamune Date style coming straight up once we’ve cleaned this mess up,” he chortled broadly.

“Masamune Date style means your hands all over me and me not being able to think straight,” I snorted in response as we gathered everything together.

Much to my surprise, it was more about guiding my hands and talking low in my ear. He wouldn’t tell me the next step, he’d ask, see what I’d go to do and then correct me or steer me elsewhere. Then I smiled as I looked at the finished product.

“Not as pretty as yours, but if it’s all edible then it’s good,” I smiled.

“If you wanted lessons kitten then you just needed to say,” he grinned, kissing me briefly.

“You’d never focus on the actual lesson if I asked outright,” I pointed out, leaning back in his arms.

Ieyasu Tokugawa

Ieyasu was never going to go easy on me for any lesson. He was a ‘stick without a carrot’ kind of teacher as I tried pulling the string back for what felt like the millionth time just this afternoon. I was working on my strength, but this was just plain torture at times it felt like.

The bow was heavy and the string was taught beyond belief. But giving up now would just prove Ieyasu right about me being too weak, and that was never going to happen.

The arrow twanged widely off course, and I missed the target by miles as my teacher scoffed at me yet again.

“Feel free to give up at any point,” he blatantly stated.

“Never,” I chirped brightly. I couldn’t let him see the cracks to exploit, I was determined to get this right as my stance was corrected once more by the irritable man.

Mitsunari Ishida

Mitsunari always insisted that I sit in his lap, my fingers trailing over the paper and characters in front of us as his head leant gently against mine. His fingers would guide me, letting me lead on what I knew and to challenge me quietly on those I wasn’t certain on. His patience was boundless when I was frustrated easily.

“I’ll reward you tonight, for doing so well in your lessons,” his voice was pure innocence, but I recognised that tone instantly and sat up a little straighter in his lap with a blush on my cheeks. “But I won’t if you don’t calm down, shall we start again?” He murmured straight down my ear.

Mitsuhide Akechi

A gust of breath down my ear was trying to distract me as I kept my sights and the gun lined up. It was a heavy weapon, but I needed to learn to protect myself in this era. Mitsuhide liked having someone to play with in the subtlest of ways, a touch of my ear, twirling with a lock of my hair or correcting my stance without warning.

I felt like reminding him on occasions I was carrying a fully loaded weapon.

Then he would always reward me when I least expected it.

I had shot the target through the heart area from a considerable distance without any adjustments from the touchy snake. A kiss ghosted my cheek before I could realise what had happened, and I flushed bright red in front of my ‘classmate’ Ieyasu, who immediately scoffed and told us to get a room.

Kenshin Uesugi

“No, absolutely not,” Kenshin was steadfast in his refusal, not that it was going to deter me as I chased him around the castle.

“Why aren’t going to teach me how to defend myself?” I argued.

“Because what if I hurt you?” Uesugi replied, staring me down with his steady gaze. “I’m not chancing it.”

“I already know medicine, and you agreed to teach me once I’d learnt that,” I rebutted. “Don’t make me get the ninja involved,” I threatened.

“I’m not getting involved,” Sasuke muttered and went to disappear into the ceiling.

“Then I’m cutting off all the sake,” I boldly stated.

“My dear little Goddess,” Kenshin smiled. “I will simply override you.”

“Not if you don’t know where they are,” I smirked.

“Fine,” he caved in.

It was with wooden swords, which almost no one could believe with Kenshin. I didn’t want to learn to fight for any other sake than to allow me to protect myself and stop anyone running off with me as per usual. All of the vassals, aides and soldiers were also cleared out from the training room, Sasuke was there to supervise as he stood on standby with all of my prepared medicines for any injuries.

“No, your footwork is all wrong,” he strictly kicked my feet out from under me to show that my balance wasn’t central.

“Stop looking down at your feet,” he barked.

“You haven’t got the strength to try and just block,” he instructed, pushing me down easily. “If you haven’t got it then you can’t use it.”

“I’m just going to ask Sasuke next time,” I pretended to pout as I got back up onto my feet for what felt like the millionth time.

“Please, anyone else would be killed for teaching you,” Kenshin frowned, and then his body was framing mine. My breath hitched in my throat before I realised that he was doing it for a reason. “You’re not as tall or strong as most people you’re going to come up against,” he explained, “So you need to counteract it, you’re small enough to duck and dive,” as he fixed me into a restraining hold. “Try and get out of this,” he smiled.

It was a while before he let me go, and I hadn’t been able to squirm out of his grasp. I was starting to feel like pouting.

“Don’t try and fight clean, stoop yourself to dirty tactics,” Kenshin kissed me on the forehead. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

Shingen Takeda

“Shingen!” I gasped as he grinned wildly at me. He was meant to be teaching me woodcarving, but all it was turning into was a chance for him to tease me it felt like. “There are far too many sharp tools about for this,” I laughed.

“You look so cute when you’re busy concentrating on what I’m doing that I can’t resist you, my angel,” he crooned. “Your hands are so steady and you do everything in such a tidy manner I can’t resist.”

“Well, learn to resist, or I’m going to start doing this without you,” I threatened.

“That’s a low blow,” to see a great warlord pouting was a great thing, and it always felt like I was the only one able to make him do it.

“Yes, but I want to learn how to do this,” I laughed. “So show me again, please,” I grinned, watching carefully as Shingen picked the tools up to work on his own piece of wood.

Yukimura Sanada

“That is definitely not how you do that,” Yuki was gawping at me as I held the sword in my hand.

“Then show me,” I had to bicker and pull for every little bit of the lesson.

“Well, you’re so short and weak, so what works for me won’t work for you,” he tried to argue.

“If you don’t teach me how to spar then I will get Shingen to do it,” I promised, watching his emotions play out at the thought of his Lord being in such close proximity chances to a woman. “Now, let’s go through the whole practice and we adjust what we need to.”

He grumbled and had me move my hands on the handle of the training sword before coming in for the attack. He critiqued me constantly, pointing out where I was weak and telling me where to put my hands, feet and which way to even lean my body weight as we danced across the floor.

He was definitely holding back on his strength, he didn’t want to hurt me after all, but he kept a keen eye on what we were both doing to try and avoid me falling over. Not that it stopped him insulting me all the time as it naturally rolled off his tongue.

Sasuke Sarutobi

“No, you need to slow down,” I said, interrupting the tirade of information spilling out of Sasuke’s mouth. We were sat in his room at Kasugayama and I had stumbled on the topic of the wormholes that had brought us here together. I smiled gently at him. “Unfortunately, I’m a seamstress and fashion designer, I have no idea what you’re saying with words like ‘Godel spacetime’ or about spacetime having geometry?” I questioned.

It was adorable how passionate the usually stoic ninja acted when we started talking about such things. There was this light in his eyes that he couldn’t hide from anyone, and it endeared me to just see it. But he galavanted off very quickly and started talking many lessons ahead of my understanding.

“I’m sorry,” he looked so downhearted and crushed.

“Let’s just start from the beginning?” I asked again. “I have no idea what a wormhole is,” I grinned. “All I know is that it brought us together, and I’d love to be able to explain things to our children about how we met,” I was enticing a Sasuke.exe failure with the mention of our future together, but he resumed his explanations with paper and ink in front of us at a much slower pace.

[winchesterprincessbride]

Little Girl Lost

This was written for the BTZ Break the Zone Buddy Challenge by Ang (@Atc74) & Jen (@Winchesterprincessbride)

Characters: Claire Novak, Jody Mills, Donna Hanscum, Alex Jones, Patience Turner, Jimmy Novak, Amelia Novak, Henry, Sam and Dean Winchester (mentioned)

CLAIRE

“Dean, it’s Claire. I am tracking something, but I’m not sure what it is yet. I am in Bird Island, Minnesota, and so far, four bodies have turned up, completely drained of blood in the past two weeks.  Can you call me back, please? I think I might need your help,”  I hung up the phone and threw it on the bed in annoyance.  This wasn’t the first message I had left, either.

I disconnected the call and dialed Sam. He didn’t answer either. I decided to skip his voicemail.   It wasn’t like Dean not to call me back.  No matter how pissed off he was at me, he always returned my calls.

I was sitting in my dingy motel room, cold takeout congealing on the table next to me.  I had to figure out what I was dealing with here.  People’s lives were at stake. The most likely explanation was a vamp, but since when does a vamp completely drain their victim dry?

There was probably a nest somewhere feeding on their victims before dumping their bodies or turning them. I pulled up another map of the town, looking for buildings that would be ideal for vamp-making factories. There were a couple of promising sites, so I marked the GPS coordinates on my phone. I had learned enough not to go in blind or at night, so I’ll just have to wait until morning. Might as well test out that fake ID and hit the local bar, see if I can get any dirt from the locals.

I hadn’t been able to make any headway with the Sheriff’s office anyway. It’s like no one gave a shit that four people were missing and two had already turned up dead. I get it, it’s not like many people noticed whenever I took off, but these were people with families and jobs. And Deputy Dawg just couldn’t be bothered.  What else was new?

I grabbed my duffle, rifling through it for something suitable to wear to the bar. The black form-fitting tee, paired with the distressed jeans I was already wearing would be perfect. I touched up my hair, pulling one side back in a loose braid and added a little gloss to my lips. Shrugging on my leather jacket, I took one last look in the broken mirror. I looked damn good if I did say so myself. I locked the door behind me and made the short walk to the dive bar.

As soon as I walked in, I was assaulted by the stench of body odor, stale beer, and cigarettes. I did my best to disguise the overwhelming urge to puke. I strolled up to the bar, eyed the relatively attractive bartender and ordered a beer, sliding my fake I.D. over to him.  He barely glanced at it.   The bar was pretty dead, but it was still early, barely past eight.

The bartender returned with my beer. I passed him a twenty and when he handed me the change, his fingers brushed against mine and I jerked my hand away at the shock of it, like static electricity when you drag your feet across the carpet. He mumbled an apology and turned to wait for another patron. I moved to the corner of the bar where I could see the front door and the hall leading to the bathrooms. I pulled out my phone and tried Dean again.

“Dean, I don’t know what the hell is going on or what I did to piss you off, but…Listen, just-just call me back, okay? And if you’re mad at me, the least you could tell me what I did. I have left you three messages and you’re ignoring me.  You always said you would be there for me and y-you’re not,” I shook off the uneasy feeling I had and ended the call. Well wasn’t that just great; Dean was one of the few people I knew I could count on for anything and he just turned his back on me.

I sighed heavily before dialing again. This was not the call I wanted to make, but with the Winchesters dodging me, I had no choice. I needed a hand in this case. She picked up on the third ring.

“Hey, Claire-Bear!” her voice was cheery, always so cheery, unless she was chewing my ass.

“Hey, Jody. I-I need another hunter’s take on this case. Remember the one with the missing people, bodies turning up drained that I told you about?” I kept my voice down, not wanting to draw the attention of the other customers or the bartender.

“Yeah, thought it was vamps, right?” she recalled.

“That is what I originally thought, but now, I-I don’t know. Things just don’t fit,” I admitted to her.

“Well, isn’t that just great? Big bad hunter Claire thought she knew what she was doing. Again. What am I going to do with you?” I heard the sarcasm, her voice dripping with it.

“Jody, I asked your opinion on this before I left the house and you agreed with me. How can you say that?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

“Well, did you ever think I agreed with you just to get you out of the house? Patience, honey, I am so glad you are here. You can just take your things up to the first room on the left, okay? “Claire, when are you going to get your act together?”

“First room on the left? That is my room! Who is Patience? Are you letting a stranger sleep in my bed?” I was irate now.

“It’s not like you’re going to last long at the rate you’re going, and she needs my help. At least she wants to be here,” tears filled my eyes at the sting of Jody’s words.

“You’re always right, aren’t you? I guess I won’t be seeing you around,” I slammed my phone down, not even disconnecting the call, I was that angry.  I don’t know why I’m surprised,  everyone I care about gives up on me eventually.  First Dad, then Mom, even Gran. Castiel tried to pretend he cared, but it was just an act.  Hell, even Dean and Sam couldn’t wait to ditch me.

Clearly, there was nothing waiting at home for me anymore, so I finished my beer, left a generous tip for the hottie behind the bar and made for the restroom. I was feeling sick and wasn’t going to make it back to my room. I didn’t bother locking the door once I got in there.

My stomach spasmed and emptied itself as soon as I bent over the broken commode. Tears flooded my vision as I heaved until my stomach was empty.  I quickly splashed some water on my face and rinsed my mouth. I took several deep breaths, trying to collect myself before I walked back out.

I pulled on the door handle, but it swung too easy. The force knocked the wind out of me as I stumbled back. My vision started to darken around the edges. I could make out the face of the bartender and I swore I heard Jody’s voice screaming my name as everything went black.

I woke with a start, in a bed covered with stuffed animals.   I looked around at the mountain of pink surrounding me.  This isn’t right, I thought to myself. I don’t remember falling asleep, especially not here.  This room used to be my refuge, but now it was the stuff of my nightmares.  I haven’t seen this much pink in at least five years. The last thing I remember is calling Jody from the bar. She was downright nasty and it reminded me that I was better off on my own. I am not sure how I got here, but I knew something was very wrong.  Was I dead?

I slipped from the bed and stood in front of the mirror still hanging on the back of the door.  I looked the same, mostly. My hair was the same, but the makeup I generally forgot to remove was gone from my eyes. Not a single remnant of the smoky black liner I preferred remained.  I readied myself, not sure what lay beyond the door.

I reached for the knob and turned it slowly, easing the door open without making a sound. I slipped out into the hall and made my way down the stairs cautiously. I had no weapons and was practically defenseless against any monster I came across. I froze in surprise when a peal of laughter rang through the lower level. I knew that laugh; it was my mom.

I continued toward the sounds on shaky legs and froze at the sight in front of me. “Mom? Dad?”

“Good morning Claire-Bear! How did you sleep, honey?” my mother asked her face as fresh and beautiful as I remembered, not the shell of the woman she was the last time I saw her, right before she died in my arms.

“What is going on here?” I snapped.

‘We are just making some breakfast. Hurry up and eat so you can get dressed. It’s your first day of college; you don’t want to be late!” my dad chortled. Or was it Castiel? He looked and sounded just like Jimmy before Castiel took him as a vessel and destroyed my family.

“Um, yeah. Okay,” I sat down at the table, pouring a glass of juice. I looked around the room and took in my surroundings, making note of escape routes. If this is the house I grew up in, I knew where my mother kept the silver. Hopefully, I could find a knife to use; silver hurts most monsters. I ate a piece of toast covered in cinnamon and sugar, just like she used to make me when I was little.  It tasted the same.

My bag, at least I think it was my bag, was sitting in the chair next to me. I opened it and glanced through the contents; a new calculator, pens, pencils, highlighters and composition notebooks. Economics and math textbooks rounded out the supplies. Okay, seriously. What the hell was going on?

I finished breakfast and ran back upstairs to my room. Was it really my room? I didn’t have time to worry about that. I quickly threw on whatever clothes I could find and brushed my hair. I rushed back downstairs and said goodbye to my parents.

“Have a good first day, Claire-Bear!” my mother called out.

“Knock ‘em dead, honey!” Dad added.  “Don’t forget your keys!”

“Yep, thanks!” I respond, not able to get out of that house fast enough. If this was my hometown, I knew where everything was. I walked to the cute little car in the driveway, instinctively knowing it was mine. I drove down the street toward the college, enjoying the sun shining down on my face.

I entered the University campus and made my way straight to the library. I wasn’t sure how I knew where that was, but soon I was standing in the middle of it, books on every side. I spotted a row of computers and sat down.  Apparently, Google didn’t exist here,  so I searched for any lore books they might have. There was nothing, absolutely nothing, except fiction.  It looked like wherever the hell I was, I was on my own.  

I was trying to figure out my next move because I had no intention of sitting through any stupid classes.   I was on my way back to the car when I spotted her walking down the hall in front of me.  Alex!  I took off running.

“Alex! What the hell is going on? How are you here? Where’s Jody?” I demanded, coming to a stop in front of her.

“Are you talking to me?”  She asked.  “Do I know you?”

“Knock it off, Alex! This isn’t funny!” I snapped.

“I think you have me mistaken for someone else. My name is Annie. I don’t know any Jody, and I’ve never seen you before in my life.” She rolled her eyes at her friend, giving me a tight smile.

“Annie, come on we’re going to be late,” her friend coaxed, tugging on her arm.

“Let’s go, Patience,” Not-Alex replied then turned and started to walk away.

“Wait….Patience? You’re Patience? You stole my room! You had no right!” I was screaming at the pair of girls now, drawing the attention of everyone that was in earshot.

“Whatever, Loser.”  This Patience was everything I wasn’t.  Pretty, put-together, confident.  I see why Jody liked her. She looked like she was probably the class president AND a straight-A student AND volunteered with the homeless in her spare time.  I hated her on sight.  

The guy that was with them was handsome in a captain-of-the-football-team kind of way.  Guys like him never gave me the time of day.  I was too strange, too weird, too much of a loner.  He looked me up and down, giving me an appraising smirk that creeped me out.

“Why don’t you go back to whatever rock you crawled out from under?” He put his arm around Annie/Alex, and both girls gave me those smug, superior smiles I had seen many times before and they all sauntered away.

As I stared at their retreating backs, my feet frozen to the spot, the wrongness of everything hit me like a splash of ice-cold water and I gasped.  I stiffened as I saw several things in my head: the guy’s name was Henry, and I pictured him with razor-sharp fangs about to bite Alex while Jody and I were tied up.  Then I saw myself slice his head off with a sword in one swipe while Sam and Dean stood watching.

@skybinx-blog @percywinchester27 @a-sea-of-fandoms @dorky-and-i-know-it@tokyoghoulyz @pinknerdpanda  @atc74@jayankles  @notnaturalanahi@midnightjazzmine @moonlitskinwalker @we-are-band-sexuals@winchestergirl-love @gecko9596 @ronnie248-blog@essie1876@bohowitch@just-another-busy-fangirl@jotink78 @captainradicalpassion@keelzy2 @disneymarina @kittenofdoomage @mrswhozeewhatsis@oriona75 @frankiea1998 @akshi8278@stylinson531@valynsia @dr-dean@theoutlinez  @imweirdandobsessed @growningupgeek ��  @luciisthebest  @laurenisnot @maddieburcham1  @canadianjelly@muliermalefici @brewsthespirit-blog @ilsawasanacrobat @nanie5@weasleywinchester-blog @samisimportant @fatalcrossbow  @violetsamalamb @letmusicguideu @grantsgorgeousgirl @faegal04 @feelmyroarrrr @kay18115@milkymilky-cocopuff @mikimausiii @the-greatest-temptation @superpanicromancesummer @wh1sp3r1ng-impala @emoryhemsworth @squirrel-moose-winchester@jennifromtheblock1013 @spnbaby-67 @mogaruke @sweetmisseddreams2002 @redheadbedhead2002 @negan–is–god @spnwoman

[pr0crastination-stati0n-blog]

A Halloween Special (Drarry)

Pairing: Draco Malfoy/ Harry Potter

Words: 1,320

Characters belong to J.K. Rowling but the plot is mine.

Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/story/127946962-a-halloween-special-drarry 

Ao3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/12647160

Summary: Here's a thing I've been writing since like two weeks before Halloween ! It's late. Cheers folks.

“Harry James Potter, you know I hate surprises! Where are you taking me?” Everything in Draco’s sight was dark and he suddenly regretted every life choice he’s ever made.

He heard Harry chuckle beside him. “If you oppose to this so much why did you let me blindfold you in the first place?” Draco didn’t answer and Harry took it as an opportunity to continue. “Look, I swear it’s nothing bad. I think you’ll enjoy it!”

“You think?”

Harry ignored him. They had apparated a safe distance away from the surprise’s destination and were now walking the rest of the way. The air was chilly and the steady breeze tousled their hair. It’s not like Draco didn’t trust Harry. They’ve been together six years after the upcoming Christmas.  

It had started about two years following the war at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Draco had finally landed a job as a healer at St. Mungo’s.

Of course, being an ex Death Eater, you can imagine how hard it was at first. Even today, Draco still receives dirty looks and scowls from his community but he’s learned not to mind that much. Before Harry, it was just Draco with his mother, Pansy, and Blaise against a world that constantly discriminated against them for their mistakes; now, he’s gained a lovely boyfriend and even found himself getting along with the Weasley’s and Granger.

Before Harry, life was bland, uneventful, and obnoxiously simple. Draco liked challenge. Encouraged it even. He held his arms open to the excitement and the adrenaline rushes. So when Harry gets hit with a jinx casted by a dark wizard that he and his partner almost failed to catch, Draco pretended not to be too enthusiastic and treated Harry to the best of his ability as just another patient. Only he would know however, that it got his blood boiling in the most excellent ways.

This wasn’t the last he saw of Harry. The Gryffindor was almost always at St. Mungo’s after that. Not even because of his occupation the majority of the time. Not that Draco minded. The sudden change in ambience whenever Harry Potter arrived gave him bursts of energy. After a few weeks of these antics, Harry finally got the guts to ask Draco out for coffee and they hit it off immediately.

Remembering their first date made a smile pull at his lips as they continued walking. The crisp leaves crunched under their feet and he hummed in content when he suddenly got a whiff of what he believed was kettlecorn. “Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“Where are we?”

Harry chortled as Draco licked his lips as if he could taste the salty sweetness on them. He could hear chatter and laughter in the distance and then felt a slight tug on the cloth that had been tied around his head.

Suddenly, he could see again. He had to blink a few times for his eyes to adjust and when they did, he observed his surroundings.

“A… pumpkin patch?”

Harry scratched the back of his neck nervously. “Erm… yeah. I thought since Halloween is tomorrow, we could get some pumpkins to carve. Then maybe go back to my place and watch a film?”

Draco had become quite fond of films. Having never seen a telly before, Harry showed him how they work and every time Draco pays a visit to him they end up watching a film together. He liked those nights very much because it gave him the opportunity to cuddle with Harry and distract him with surprise kisses.

All that put aside, one question still lingered on his mind. “Carving… pumpkins?”

Harry laughed, the sound like music to Draco’s ears. “You mean to tell me that you’ve never carved a pumpkin?”

Draco hid his flushed cheeks behind his scarf in embarrassment. His voice was muffled as he said “Mother and father always told me it was a job for the house elves.”

“Of course,” Harry commented. “I forgot.” He took the blond’s hand in his, lacing their fingers together and pulled him along. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I didn’t carve one until we’d graduated. The Weasley’s were the ones who showed me how.”

The Slytherin’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “But… didn’t you grow up with Muggles?”

“Yeah, like the Dursley’s would let me join them to carve pumpkins,” He answered. “If anything, I was the one cleaning up the mess if not locked up in my bedroom.”

Draco nodded in understanding and squeezed the warm hand in his. While his right hand was nice and cozy, the rest of him was not and he pulled his coat tighter around himself with his left which immediately retreated to his pocket after.

“What do you say we get some cider first?” Harry’s voice wavered slightly as he shivered and moved closer to Draco.

He nodded once. “Yeah… yeah. That sounds good.”

-

After acquiring their cider, they began looking through the pumpkins, trying to find decent ones.

“You’d think they would have lots of good ones judging by how much they want for them,” Harry fussed, stepping over another rotting pumpkin. “Maybe this patch just isn’t doing too good this year.”

Draco thought he spotted an adequate pumpkin but as he looked closer his face twisted in disgust. It was just as bad as the others. The two of them were about to give up when they saw one little pumpkin that seemed to be disengaged from the knotty strings of stems and leaves in it’s own secluded area.

Harry picked it up reluctantly and turned it around in his hands, checking for any damage then said with a slight hint of incredulity in his tone “It’s perfect,” he then passed it to Draco who also inspected it. “If you’d like, we could just share this one? The other’s aren’t looking too good.”

-

They sat on the floor of  Harry’s lounge, old copies of the Daily Prophet strewn across the red nylon carpet. Draco watched intently as Harry used a knife to cut a hole into the top of their chosen pumpkin. Inside, the blond saw orange goop and what looked like seeds and scrunched his nose up. “What the bloody hell is that?”

Harry reached in and pulled some out. “This? It’s the guts of the pumpkin,” Draco recoiled when the other pushed the guts up to his face. “To successfully carve the pumpkin, we’re going to have to get all this out, hence why the bucket is here.” He said, pointing to a plastic bucket next to Draco’s foot.

Harry threw the handful into the bucket, chuckling when Draco moved away from it immediately. “Well. I’m assuming I’m doing this part myself.”

Draco huffed. “I’m not touching that.”

“Fair enough,” The other nodded and threw a wink the Slytherin’s way before continuing to scoop the mush out. “Wouldn’t want to get your spotless hands dirty.”

“Of course not!”

After completely emptying the contents of the pumpkin, Harry instructed Draco through the carving. They decided on an owl and when done, Draco smiled proudly at his work.

Harry retrieved an unadorned white candle and a box of matches from the kitchen counter which earned him a puzzled look. He shrugged. “I favor the Muggle ways rather than the wizarding ones.”

Draco smiled fondly and grabbed the now lit pumpkin, setting it up on the counter before taking Harry’s hand and kissing his knuckles. “It looks great.”

The Gryffindor blushed and they locked eyes. “Yeah it does.”

-

An hour or so later brought a Halloweentown marathon and cuddles. They laid together on the couch under Harry’s duvet, fingers intertwined. Draco was sprawled out across Harry’s chest and the latter leaned up and gave him a quick kiss, earning a tired smile in return.

“I love you, Scarface.”

“I love you too, Ferret,” he glanced at the clock hanging up on the wall. “Happy Halloween.”