#I don't think any of the rest of the prompts are anywhere near this long

[radio-writes]

I'll go with:

"You win"

"Why should I stay?"

"And what will you do? Run from me?"

It Seems the Devil and I Walked Hand in Hand

300 Followers Event

Warnings: Forced cannibalism, gore, murder, stockholm syndrome

Tags: Alastor x reader, GN reader, yandare, reader goes insane, dead dove do not eat

MDNI

A humid breeze blew through your hair, the putrid stench of Hell carried with it. Somewhere in the distance, something—whatever it may be this time—exploded, prompting usual screams of terror.

But your heart fluttered, eyes fixated on your friend next to you. You sat side by side with them, on a random hilltop the two of you stumbled upon. It was quiet, but barely out of the chaos of the main pentagram. 

"What? What is it?" They laughed as they finally called you out on your staring.

You almost swooned as their warm brown eyes met yours. "You just have the prettiest set of eyes in all of Hell, that's all."

You had been so proud of that. So happy about how smooth you were at the delivery. Giddy about the blush that crept onto your friend's face.

The same warm brown eyes—Hell's prettiest, as Alastor so kindly reminded you—stared back at you now. 

Unseeing.

Without its owner's head anywhere near.

On a plate placed before you.

Your blood felt like ice as you hung your head low. Unable to think. Unable to feel. Unable to breathe, maybe, you weren't really sure anymore.

"Afraid I might have gotten carried away, dear. I was absolutely starving since you stood me up on our lunch meeting." Alastor's tone was as bright and cheerful as it always was—you could almost argue that it was even happier now. "Of course, I did save you their eyes. I knew how much you just loved them."

He continued on, sighing and swooning about this and that. How it had been a while since he had such a satisfying meal. How it was all thanks to you for leading him to it. How he can't wait to meet more of your friends—if you ever managed to make any after the show he put on for you.

But you sat still, mind unable to comprehend what actually sat in front of you. Alastor might as well have been talking from three rooms away for all you heard from him. His voice almost sounding like it came from underwater, barely able to pierce through the fog in your head.

It was only when the demon who sat across from you stabbed a fork through an eyeball on your plate, did your senses come back. Like a flipped switch, you could hear well again, in time to hear the disgusting squish of the organ, blood and fluids spilling as it was stabbed.

"Don't let it go cold now, my dear. I went through so much trouble to get them intact and still warm for you." Alastor smiled as he sat across you.

One of his elbows rested on the table, hand cradling his cheek as you met his gaze. The gleeful, cold red eyes sickened you much more than the gore he held up. He raised the fork to you. Your friend's eye at the end of it. "Say Aaah~"

You pressed your lips together. Whether to resist the cruel torture, or to keep the bile from coming out, you were unsure. 

Like a stubborn child, you shook your head, arms pushing against the table to get up from your seat. Alastor was behind you in seconds, dissolving and rematerializing through shadows faster than you could blink.

"Nuh uh, dearest. We don't waste good food in this Hotel. What would the papers say if they find out we throw away such scarce resource?" He pressed his body against the back of your chair, securing you back at the table with an easy push.

He leaned over your shoulder, long arms reached around you. You stared as his clawed hands planted themselves on the table in front of you, caging you in, framing that horrid plate.

You felt his breath by your ear, that horribly familiar static prickled your skin, before you heard him speak. "You know, I'm starting to think you like how your friends taste."

You swallowed against your dry throat, eyes wide. Every breath you took was shallow as you tried to shake your head only to be met with a mocking laugh.

"No? Come now, why lie, my dear? It's only us here." Alastor leaned closer over you. The heat of his body inescapable. "This is the third friend this month. Even a child would have learned by now." 

"I'm all you need, darling. Everyone else is just cattle." His voice distorted as he spoke, a threat, a promise, you knew from experience that he'd deliver on.

Faintly you could feel the weight of metal around your neck. It wasn't physically there, no. After all, it's been a while since you've given him a reason to summon that chain. But it never really ever felt absent, specially at times like this.

You sighed in resignation, and braced yourself for that familiar horrible taste. Your hands clenched into fists on your lap—a sight that delighted the demon behind you.

"You win." You said softly. Numbly, you parted your lips, mind wandering away as you let Alastor slide the fork into your slack mouth. You ignored what it was you were chewing, letting your body function through the motions as you fought to keep your thoughts else were. 

You felt a large hand pat your head, bringing you back to the present in time to hear Alastor's praise. "What a good pet you make, my dear."

The plate before you was empty now, Alastor's looming figure having retreated away from your shaking one, back in his seat in front of you.

The horrible rotten taste still lingered in your mouth, but you didn't bother to ask for something to wash it away. You simply stood up, ready to run to your room and force yourself to throw up—again.

"Hm? Running from me now, are we?" Alastor's brows raised as he watched you. "Not that you can, I own you, after all." 

You suspected his words were less of a reminder for you, and more on just him loving to say them.

"And why should I stay?" Your words seemed argumentative, but your tone and the hunch of your shoulders were anything but. "I've already finished my punishment."

"I would say it was more of a treat, really. You have no idea how much I wanted to eat those." He laughed, not really minding that you just stared back blankly at him.

"Besides, you've yet to pay me back for leaving me waiting at Rosie's. So come, sit." An invitation to most, an order to you.

So sat you did. You ignored the smudges of blood on the plate still in front of you. You ignored the bitter taste the that lingered in your mouth. You ignored the growing numbness spreading from your chest to the rest of your limbs.

You ignored yourself.

Mindlessly, you nodded along to whatever gossip Alastor had, almost immediately, began sharing with you.

Alastor's hold on you had tightened in the past few months. Not only had he pulled you away from the people at the hotel—you were apparently terribly ill, contagious, but fine under his care—but he had also confiscated your phone and TV.

The window in your room was also simply magicked away. He didn't want you getting any funny ideas of leaving him again, after all.

At first you were fine with it. You had a few books in your room, anyway. But after the first two weeks, you've already finished most of them.

Still, they kept you entertained for a little longer after that; you didn't really mind rereading them—for the fourth time, you think.

But then you had that fight with Alastor. You had asked for your phone back, desperate to know what was going on outside your room. Desperate to listen to your music. Desperate to hear another voice aside from your own.

Alastor merely waved off your concern. He let you keep his radio after all. You could simply listen to him. He talked about current events, and played music, and broadcasted all sorts of screams voices. You didn't need anything else.

He didn't quite take it nicely when you had spat that it wasn't enough.

In the fray that followed, your books were lost. Torn to shreds in seconds.

But no matter, you had thought. You still had some paper, a pencil, some paint. While you weren't the best artist around, you doodled the hours away, anyway. Coloring, sketching, filling out every plain, empty gap on the papers you had.

You were quickly running out of material, though. You'd repeatedly ask Alastor to get you more paper, another pencil, even an eraser, every time he came by. But all he kept saying was that he forgot to fetch some, and that he will surely do so next time.

You were always disappointed, but knew better than to start another fight. You didn't want to risk destroying what little paint you had left, after all.

You had began to doodle on your walls. Counting the little details on the wallpaper, even each and crack along your way. You had drawn everything you ever knew existed; from characters you used to liked when you were alive to a freaking sock on the floor. 

The friends he made you eat.

Hastily covered with a drawing of a deer.

By his next visit, Alastor was appalled by the state of your room. He didn't quite appreciate your vandalism. He promptly snapped his fingers and the walls were replaced. Your drawings gone, the wallpaper gone, even the cracks were gone. It was now just a smooth red surface. 

He had taken away the paint, not that there was much left at that point. You thought it was fair anyway, considering you did draw on the walls like an irresponsible child.

You tried cleaning too, just to keep your mind going, your body moving. But no, no, no. Alastor couldn't have his dear friend, and a valued hotel guest, doing such menial labor. 

He easily cleaned the room for you, not a speck of dust left. Barely any furniture left too—he had found them tacky, apparently.

At that point all you had to look forward to were Alastor's visits. Constant, they were. He insisted he brought you your food personally, of course.

You had been suspicious about what he was feeding you, even once outright questioning what you were eating.

He had laughed. "Unless you made any new friends from this room, I can assure you, you aren't eating any sinners, my dear."

You weren't sure how much his assurance was worth, but food was one of the only two things you actually had here. You didn't feel like giving that up, too.

You hated him. Hated him for keeping you here. Hated him for ignoring all your pleas to be let out.

You hated him, but still found yourself jumping from your bed as soon as you heard the door handle rattle. 

You hated him, but him coming to visit meant you had something to do.

The radio by your bed, and Alastor's frequent visits were all you had left.

The isolation was driving you insane, broken only whenever Alastor wanted to.

Alastor was driving you insane, but without him you were completely isolated.

Your sanity felt like a candle burning at both ends, melting far too fast for you to keep it together. You didn't know anymore which torture you preferred. Alastor's presence or absence?

At least, that was a few weeks back.

Because it wasn't like you needed to choose now.

Your food had been appearing on your side table every meal time, instead of coming in carried by the familiar demon.

The radio beside you had been silent for a long while now. Not one terrified scream, not one jazzy tune, not even empty static. 

And of course, Alastor himself hadn't come in to see you in weeks.

You think it's been weeks, at least. He took the clock with him last time he cleaned.

No, there was no need to pick your poison anymore. Alastor had chosen for you.

At first, you had been bitter. How dare he ignore you—or did he forget about you? God, no, he wouldn't. Right? —how dare he not even check in to see if you were even still alive.

How dare he not visit.

And then, you were worried. It was one thing for him not to pop in on you, another thing entirely to miss his shows. He'd never miss an opportunity to broadcast fear over Pride Ring, but your radio had been quiet this whole time. What was keeping him, then? Was he hurt? Was he okay?

Then, and you think it was the worst of them all, you started to miss him. From the moment you woke from restless slumber, your eyes fixated on the door handle, begging it to turn. Your chest ached, praying to hear his silly staticy voice again, even if it was just senseless gossip.

You felt like screaming, begging, pounding on the door for him to visit you. But you knew he wouldn't like that. No, if the others in the hotel found out, Alastor would likely never visit you ever again. 

So you kept to your bed. Your days spent glaring down at the door in desperation, switching only to the radio to do the same, for hours on end. Every little shift you made, the sheets moving under you, felt so deafeningly loud in the empty room.

It was almost maddening.

"My dear, I have a task for you." Alastor's cheery voice spoke up by your ear.

Your eyes snapped open, greeted by the sight of the demon leaning over your head.

"Nothing too difficult, just a little grocery shopping." He continued on as if he hadn't left you to rot.

You didn't care, nor did you register what his words meant. No, the first thing your body jumped to, your mind went to, was that Alastor was here.

"Al!" The glee in your voice unrestricted as you pushed your sheets away and threw your arms around him. The relief, the absolute refreshment, of feeling another warm body against you again was almost heavenly.

A soft hand patted at your shoulder as he awkwardly stayed there. "Well, good morning to you too, sweetheart." He laughed.

You sat up, eyes wide as you leaned away and took him in. Unmistakably, a very welcomed sight.

He told you about the chore he needed done, truly very simple. Just a literal grocery list. But you held onto every word, every charming staticy syllable falling from his lips as if he was preaching your religion. 

You were determined to memorize it all, not just to complete the task but to simply engrave his voice in your head.

You were so thankful to finally hear something other than your creaky bed. To finally be having a conversation again. To feel human.

It hadn't even click for you that you will finally be heading out.

You were quick in getting the task done, determined to get back to Alastor as fast as you could.

You hadn't notice how your skin thawed in the outside heat compared to the icy room you've been locked in. You hadn't paid mind to everyone's greetings around you. You didn't care for all the flashing lights, and tasty smells, and loud music and laughter and screams around you as finished you little assignment.

You wanted to get things done so you could be by the familiar demon again. His presence almost felt like a drug you've been deprived off for so long, that it physically irked you to be away.

And that's how it was from then on.

You were given a new room at the hotel. Alastor had replaced all the books he destroyed because he just felt so guilty. He had also finally remembered to buy you all those papers and art supplies you asked him to get you. And he had even returned your phone and television to you.

Not that you cared for any of those. You've spent most of your time in Alastor's room anyway, unable to stand a second without hearing his voice. 

You'd cling onto every word he'd say, attentive, obsessed.

Your eye would twitch every time he'd mention someone, anyone. Part of you irritated that he had spent time with someone else other than you. Even more so that he cared enough to remember their name. To say their name.

Soon you not only clung onto his words, but onto him as well. Unable to stand that others spent time with him when you could not. You'd miss meals, miss sleep, drop whatever you were doing to follow him wherever he went. To stay by Alastor's side. 

When he forbade you from doing so, you would follow in secret, or have your own little ways to spy on him. To know what he was doing.

The few times you were away from your owner's side, you could be found standing over a dead sinner. Maybe someone who touched him, maybe someone he mentioned, maybe someone who simply glanced at him for far too long for your liking. Regardless, they were all equally deserving of death in your eyes. How dare they.

Alastor knew of these, of course. And while he was quickly growing suffocated by your constant overbearing presence, he hadn't really bothered to say much.

He still preferred this—this grotesque reflection of his own affections for you—over your defiant little attitude before.

His last straw, however, was now. When you stood over yet another sinner. The light gone from their eyes as you still, repeatedly, shot at their corpse.

The green chain appeared in his clenched fist for the first time in a long while. The collar snapped shut around your neck, but you hadn't even noticed until he gave it a harsh yank.

You were pulled to the side, stumbling over the body by your feet. You looked up, confused, to see Alastor snarling down at you.

"I needed him alive, dear." He said, his annoyance barely kept under control.

"He touched you." You merely replied, as if it was the worst offense, worst sin, in Hell.

"Because we were making a deal, you stupid pest!" Alastor hissed through his teeth, but you merely blinked at him as if you didn't see his point still.

You stood up straighter, keeping your eyes on him. Always on him.

He was so beautiful, so perfect. Everything you needed.

Why had you ever wanted to find anyone more?

"But he still held your hand."

"I'll touch who I want to touch. Do not forget who holds the leash here." His eyes narrowed, chain pulling taught between you.

You smiled at him, loving the way his voice sounded when he was getting angry. It rarely happened now considering how good you were for him, but oh, did it sound like music to you.

Your hands lifted to softly run your hands through the chain by your neck. "You do, of course. I don't question that."

"I need you, Al." You added, soft, almost loving expression on your face as your adored his furious red eyes. "And while I can't force you to stay with me, alone. I can simply just get rid of everyone else. I can be your only one, if I'm the only one left."

"So you've finally flew off the handle, dearest?" His question seemed genuine, not at all in jest.

But you laughed anyway, as if it was the funniest thing ever. "And what if I have?" You grinned at him. "What will you do? Run from me?"

Your fingers gripped the chain suddenly, yanking yourself forward, closer to him. You feel his pull against the chain as well, not to bring you close but simply to keep hold of it. To keep hold of his control over you.

Your eyes lowered, admiring him from up close now. The flicker of uncertainty in his eyes was new, and you couldn't wait to see more new things from him now that you're so devastatingly devoted to him.

"You own me, remember? I'm here forever."

[yanderes-galore]

May I request TFA Megatron with human reader with promts 43 and 59

Sure! This takes place in Season 2 where the Decepticon base is in a mountain. I assumed my prompts as there were no specific ones sent! Using Sumdac's assistant darling again because it's my favorite and an easy plot ;)

Yandere! TFA! Megatron Prompts 43 and 59

"Won't you be a good pet for me?"

"Are those friends of yours? Are they your everything?"

Pairing: Romantic/Platonic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Kidnapping, Isolation, Possessive, Degrading behavior, Manipulation, Violence, Dubious/Forced relationship, Stalking sort of, Jealousy, Cybertronian/Human pairing.

Megatron never understood human connections. Why should he concern himself with such unimportant things? He has never been one to try and see eye to eye with an organic.

Although when you have to use humans to help you... you begin to learn a bit. For example, Sumdac is the human he uses to continue being the fearsome leader of the Decepticons while staying hidden. His other human captive is you... you're different.

Megatron never went into detail with other Decepticons about you. He just said you're in important, any other questions will be silenced. In reality he sees you as close to his spark.

This is a strange feat for a human. Megatron doesn't hold many anywhere near there. Yet you managed to catch his optics as an assistant of Sumdac himself. Megatron may not be where he is now without these two humans.

He'd think you'd be grateful for him sparing you.

Taking you with him was meant to be a good thing. You'd help him and his cause. It's an honor for him to keep you as an organic assistant.

What do you do instead? You wander to the entrance of the cave and stare ahead. You purposefully avoid him and the rest of the Decepticons. You only ever pay him any mind when Sumdac calls you for help.

For some reason Megatron feels irritated by this. Does he not like your disobedience... or does he feel insulted at your silence? Megatron still can't quite accept the fact he's soft towards an organic.

Perhaps he's just upset that you manage to have such control over him but ignore the effect you have on him?

That can't possibly be it....

Your attempts to ignore him only drive the Decepticon leader into deeper annoyance. He thought driving you into compliance would be much easier than this. He thought he could make you his obedient little pet easily.

It would be nice to channel that spark within you to his advantage....

Megatron never kept his optics off you for long. He even kept the other Decepticons away if he felt it was necessary. Especially Lugnut... who offered to threaten you into worshipping Megatron. Not a bad thought... but it would only scare you.

While watching you roam the secret hideout and listening to you occasionally talk to Sumdac, he caught some wind on what was causing some issues between you. Turns out you yearned for companionship. Human companionship, not his.

The thought angered Megatron when he heard unknown names fall from your lips. You still held hopes to see your human companions. In an effort to keep that hope you've refused to give yourself to Megatron.

Fine. He can fix that.

Megatron corners you one day in private. The mountainside was originally your place to heal. Now your captor, Megatron, decides to intrude just to yell and accuse.

"Are those friends of yours? Are they your everything?"

The Decepticon sneers, looking at you with annoyance. He shows disgust towards the fact you choose some other humans compared to him, Lord Megatron. You give him a look of confusion.

"Who?"

"Don't play dumb with me, human." You feel your heart stop when he reaches out and grabs you. "I heard what you told that scientist. Those humans are close to you."

"Um... yeah, they are-" You say nervously, hoping he won't squash you in his metal hand. Megatron narrows his eyes at you. You feel like you're angering the devil himself.

"Typical... you'd pick other worthless organics over me."

His tone has hints of jealousy. You'd find it funny that Lord Megatron is jealous of a human having friends. That is... if you weren't kidnapped and being threatened with being mashed into goo.

Megatron doesn't let you go like he thought. Instead he carries you back to the cave. You squirm in his grip but it does nothing against the large Decepticon.

"I know what will get you listening to me... do you know what will make humans roll over like one of those Earth pets?" Megatron grins, glowing red optics shifting to you. "Fear. I just have to remove those other humans of yours. It'll be easy, even Lugnut could do it. With them gone... you'll listen to every word I say."

You struggle more in his grip and give him the look of a scared prey animal. Megatron laughs as he makes his way to Blitzwing and Lugnut. You begin to panic as he calls them over.

"No...."

"Blitzwing. Lugnut. I need you to get rid of some humans for me." Megatron looks at your response. "They're causing my human to act up. I want the job done, I'll give you the names."

"STOP. I'LL LISTEN, PLEASE, LEAVE THEM BE."

Megatron holds up his other hand to stop his lackeys before walking off with you. Your defiance didn't last long when you realized blood would be on your hands. As expected of an empathetic human....

"There's that behaved human I was looking for. Reminds me of when we first met in that dreaded lab." Megatron muses, you say nothing in return.

"Just leave them alone... I'll pay more attention to you."

"I knew you'd come around, humans tend to submit when you threaten those close to them."

Megatron opens his palm, allowing you to sit more comfortably in his hand. He takes a metal finger and strokes your back, watching you flinch away. This is exactly where he wanted you....

As if to drive home the idea that he compared you to a dog, he rubs your stomach. You flush and glare at him. He treated you as a toy, he "loves" you in a way... but it's nothing you'd be used to.

"See the amount of control I have over you?" Megatron taunts, watching as you feebly push at his fingers. "Only I can do this to you... any other Con or Bot touches what's mine and I'll tear out their spark and spill their Energon."

You freeze at the threatening boom in his voice. Megatron pauses to bring you up to eye level with him. You suddenly feel very small...and very alone.

Megatron simply greets your fear for him with a cocky grin.

"Won't you be a good pet for me?" The Decepticon teases, waiting for you to make the obvious answer.

[whocaresaboutdecent]

Written for the Ineffable Prompt-A-Thon by @ineffablyruined Week 4: Closed Door

Locked Out

Rated: General Audiences | Angst | Read on Ao3

After Armageddon't, Crowley feels they’re lingering on the threshold of something. Something complicated, something impossible to name, but something that has a pull too strong to ignore. Yet, there’s still this door standing between them, this door Crowley has been hovering near for … someone knows how many years. It’s a weathered, wooden door, once secured with locks that have slowly, one by one, given way over the past millennia.

The keys to unlocking them had been found in shared moments—the playful bickering over coin tosses, crêpes in Paris, a satchel of books passing between their hands, late lunches turning into wine-heavy conversations that stretched deep into the night.

And if Crowley, in his longing to bask in Aziraphale’s company, occasionally forgot to secure those locks again after their meetings—well, that wasn’t entirely his responsibility, was it?

Now, the pull from behind the door is stronger than ever. When Crowley presses his hands flat against the worn wood, an intense feeling of warmth and belonging tingles his palms. He’s no stranger to crossing lines, but even now, with all that promise just beyond, he can’t bring himself to step over the threshold, too aware of the devastating consequences a careless step beyond a boundary can have.

Instead, all Crowley dares to do is inch the door open, just a crack, offering a silent invitation, hoping for Aziraphale to accept it. Crowley is too afraid to swing the door wide open, limiting himself to reassure Aziraphale that it isn’t locked from his side – it never has been, and it never will be. He lingers there, hand resting on the doorframe, waiting for any sign that Aziraphale might be ready to step through. 

But the angel doesn’t even dare to look at what might lie beyond.

“I'll give you a lift, anywhere you want to go.”

“You go too fast for me, Crowley.”

Bang. 

Crowley yanks his hand back just in time before his fingers are jammed between the door and the frame as Aziraphale shuts the door in his face, clearly overwhelmed by what he had glimpsed behind it.

“We can go off together.”

“I don’t even like you.”

Bang.

Each time Aziraphale dares to peek through after the failed apocalypse, however, the door seems to close a little softer and more reluctantly on Crowley.

“You can stay at my place, if you like.”

“I don't think my side would like that.”

Thunk.

“I could hunker down in your place, slither over and watch you eat cake.”

“I'm afraid that would be breaking all the rules.”

A very, very reluctant click.

Yet, there are moments when Crowley feels like he's the only one standing there, staring at that door, desperate to know what's behind it, while Aziraphale remains safe on his own side.

Until, one day, the door stays ajar, until it is Aziraphale who even opens it a little wider – our car, we both get plenty of use out of it, maybe you can tell me while we dance. Crowley can almost see the Welcome-doormat rolled out just for him.

They are on the verge of stepping through, so close to finally, finally taking that leap, when Aziraphale turns away again and nothing Crowley says can lure him through.

“I would like to spend …”

“Then there’s nothing more to say.”

The door swings shut with finality, keys turning in locks that haven’t been touched in years. Crowley stands there, disbelieving, unable to take it once again.

Crash.

He is through the door before he even realises it, wood splinters as he bursts through. There are no words this time, only desperate lips and trembling fingers gripping Aziraphale by the lapels. Crowley holds on tight, trying to pull Aziraphale through, pleading without speaking. Don’t let me rush through this door alone, not after everything, please angel, don’t …

But Aziraphale holds his ground, pushing Crowley back over the threshold, resolutely staying on his own side.

“I forgive you.”

The shattered door disappears, replaced by cold, unyielding elevator doors. The hydraulic hiss as they slide shut between them echoes in Crowley’s ears, and he stares at his own distorted reflection in the metal surface, helpless. This is a door he cannot force open, no matter how hard he tries. This something he has hoped for slips away, leaving him on the wrong side of the door. 

Alone.

[junos-jrabbles]

small angry man gone!

authors note, i'm not looking for gifs on this ASS wifi ever again, so don't expect pizazz from my laptop posts... (note!! i figured out how to do a hotspot, no more fiddly wire! yahoo!) continuation to this because i waaaas going to do another prompt, but i wanted to write the average autistic shopping experience (real) anyway goodnight guys!! :) enjoy the boring read i promise ill write something fun eventually, maybe something spicyHAHA Traffic Lights pt.2, Sniper/reader, 1.2k words (again!)

“Milk, eggs, lasagna sheets–” A soft snicker sounds off next to you, and you shoot a sidelong glare in it's direction. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m not gonna feed you in a minute.” That shut him up quickly, and Sniper proceeded to turn tail and head down the liquor aisle of the gas station you had had to stop at. It wasn’t exactly your choice to stop here, quite the contrary, after your little bump in the road, (and a new felony charge to add to Sniper’s repertoire, you probably counting as an accomplice) the camper had run fine, and you had about a half hour left to get to the shop, but well, it didn’t quite go to plan.

Five minutes in, the engine had began to splutter and backfire, displeasing Sniper, and meaning you had to pull into the nearest gas station. Should be good enough, you hope. Doing the weekly shop in a gas station wasn’t ideal, so you’d have to make do with getting the bare essentials for dinner, and pray someone would be willing to go out tomorrow, probably Engineer. A minute or two of searching, and you’ve found most of what you needed, almost cocking up and dropping the eggs, but you managed to steady them, teetering in the crook of your elbow. Sniper, of course, had wandered off with the basket, when he’d made it look like he’d stick around, now you’ll have to go find him. Which you will, in a minute. Maybe. These chocolates look nice. Another minute or two and you’ve got some chocolate buttons stuffed in your pocket, and you’re trotting away, a slight, pleased smile on your face as you find Sniper, who is standing, hands on his hips, staring at a bottle of hennesy the size of your heads, combined.

“I’m not paying for that.” You say, interrupting his longing stare off with the ornate bottle, and he turns, tutting and holding the basket out to you.

“Neither am I, mate. You think those cameras are on?” He asks, a playful lilt to his voice as he plucks the chocolates from your pocket and drops them into the basket atop the rest of the things. You roll your eyes, you hadn’t been planning on stealing them.

“Needed a hand free, someone fucked off with the basket, yeah?” You wipe your hands off on your pants and take the basket from him, looking around the aisle. It’s a pretty roomy gas station, in your opinion, long, wide aisles, seeming much bigger inside, than it did outside. The shelves were pretty stocked too. You walk slowly down the aisle, looking over all the labels, different liqueurs from different countries, labelled in differing languages.

“Tav- Demo would love this.” You laugh, correcting yourself swiftly, sensing Sniper looming behind you. You glance back, and he’s not looking anywhere near you, eyes absolutely pinned onto the booze.

“Shrink a little, stretch, there’s some good stuff on the lower shelves.” With that, he’s got his hands planted on his knees, glaring at the bottom shelves in peaceful silence, asides from the occasional ooh and ah. You chortle at his antics and wander off, jostling the basket in front of you to squeeze past a few narrow points, managing to find a good jar or three of pasta sauce, and lasagna sheets, huzzah!

Quest complete, and, if your morals were any further down the drain, you’d’ve darted out of the back door you’d now settled next to, staring into the ice cream freezer to it’s side. Alas, you weren’t made for thievery. Judging by the clink, and new weight of a bottle being slid sneakily into your basket, neither was Sniper.

“I said I’m not paying for it, carry it yourself Mick.” You huff warningly as you turn, looking down at the basket first, then up to the stupid fucking puppy dog eyes staring back at you. Staring. Absolutely staring, he’s not saying a word, but he’s pulling his wallet, Australian flag adorned and all, from his pocket and giving you a tenner. You can’t seem to stop yourself from shoving it back into his hand, trying to ignore the sly smirk that sweeps onto his face.

“Stop, alright, don’t look at me like that, you strange man.” He's smiling, you're trying not to.

“‘M not a strange man, I'd be buying you a drink if that were the case. I'm a very normal man, I'd say.” He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he tucks his wallet back into his pocket.

“A very normal man, with a hankering for a very normal amount of booze, yeah?” You chuckle, rolling your eyes as you jostle the baskets handle into being comfortable in your hand, he nods, and steps to the side, allowing you past with a cordial wave of his hand.

“A very normal amount.” He affirms, snaggletooth poking out from his meek smile. He follows behind you as you walk away from the back of the store, heading towards the front counters, silently scanning over every item in the basket to make sure nothing was forgotten. He didn't want to drive back up here again, and deal with more wankers on the roads.

He'd probably still have to deal with them on the way back, sadly, that he knew, but it shouldn't be too bad, it was coming up to seven at night now, after all. He picks at the old, bloomed purple line that stripes across his thumb as you make small talk with the cashier. He's eyeing the scratchies, and he can see you eyeing the cigs on the back wall.

Swiftly, as the cashier scans the items, he's grabbed a bag off the front rack and started bagging your goodies, making sure not to put the heavy stuff on top of the soft, or crumbly stuff. Like dominoes, he thinks.

The cashier asks if you've got anything on the pumps, and Sniper pat's his pockets, checking for his keys.

“No, no, erh– should be fine without, yeah?” You look back at him, and he nods, takes the two bags he's packed, and stands there idly as you pay. The fluorescents were getting to him, the dag of a man. He shifts on his feet, weight unable to settle on one leg or the other until you're stepping around the counter, and out the door, he follows suit eagerly.

The outside air is pleasantly cold, not too much so, but you can still see the slight puffed presence of your breath linger in front of you before dissipating. You take a deep breath, and turn back, grabbing one of the bags from Sniper.

“Thaaaank you!” You chirp, slowing your swift pace to walk at his side, back to the camper. “I'll sit with the bags at my feet, I don't want them rolling about in the back.” He chuckles softly and passes you the other bag once you reach the camper, fumbling for a moment to find his key, and unlock it.

In a moments notice, you're in the camper, feet squished by the hefty bags as you're clipping yourself into the seat, adjusting the seatbelt to be comfortable.

“Got everything?” The camper rattles as he shuts his side door after him, clipping in too, rolling his window right the way down. He waits for your approval before sticking his head out the window to check behind himself, then peels out of the spot he'd parked in. “And we're off, back to base, roo!” He caws cheerfully, dialling the radio up nice and loud, Immigrant Song by Led Zeppelin on full blast of course. the end, thank u for the love <3 just imagine ye get back to base and cook a bomb ass lasagna aye

[lamardeuse]

We'll find our promised land

by lamardeuse

911 || Buck/Tommy, Buck/Eddie || Rated M || c. 2700 words

Written for @911actions thanks to the kind donation of captnvalkyrie. Hope you enjoy!

Prompt 576: Fanfiction about Buck and Eddie at their first Pride as a couple with the rest of the 118.

2006

The first time Buck goes to a Pride parade, it's a mistake.

His parents are taking him to the Whitaker Center in Harrisburg to enrol him in summer science camp because he nearly flunked science last year. It's not that he doesn't like science – he loves it, actually – but he's been forgetting a lot of stuff lately, and even though he tried to keep on top of his assignments a few slipped through. His mom read his final report card with her face all pinched and he braced himself for the inevitable lecture.

I swear I was trying my best, but I – I kept forgetting.

Well, your best simply isn't good enough, Evan. Now that Maddie is gone, you can't rely on her to be your memory any more. You have to buckle down and smarten up.

He can't remember a time when he didn't feel like he was stupid every now and then, but lately it's been a near-constant thought, mainly because there's no one around to counteract the voice in his head, a voice that sounds more and more like his mother.

He's been to this place before and liked it well enough, even picked up the brochure for their summer camps and had a look at it the last time he was here. Now, though, it feels like a punishment.

Before they reach Market Street, his father slows to a stop and mutters under his breath.

“Why is the road blocked?” his mother asks.

“No idea,” Dad says. “There shouldn't be any construction, I was just here three days ago.”

“Well, a lot can change in three days,” Mom says primly.

His father grunts unhappily, then turns down another street where he finds a parking garage that's nearly full. By the time they trudge down the stairs to the bottom – because of course the elevator's broken – the mood is tense. Well, the mood's always tense, but – tenser. Whatever.

Evan hears the thumpa thumpa of a disco beat long before they reach Market Street. There are random cheers from what sounds like a huge crowd, which is confirmed when they round the corner and come up against a sea of people.

“Oh, for Heaven's sake,” his mother says.

“What's the parade for?” Evan asks. The Fourth of July is another week away, and he doesn't see an American flag waving anywhere. No one answers him.

And then a float goes by with about a dozen guys wearing really tiny shorts and body glitter and not much else, and Evan thinks, oh.

“We can sign him up tomorrow,” his mother says. “We can come back tomorrow.”

His father's jaw twitches. “We came all this way. I just walked down six flights of stairs and I'm going to have to climb up six flights to get the car. Let's just –”

“Do you really think this is a place for children?” his mother says, a little too loudly if the glares of a couple of people around him is any indication.

“I'm not a child,” Evan protests. “I'm gonna be fourteen in –”

“Evan, be quiet,” his mother hisses.

“And lots of gay and lesbian people have kids,” he blurts out.

“Don't remind me,” his mother mutters.

“What's that supposed to mean?” Evan demands.

“Don't take that tone with your mother,” his father snaps.

“How are we going to get through this crowd?” his mother says. “The museum is across the street.”

“I don't even want to go to this camp!” Evan yells. “I'm not stupid,” he adds, more weakly because he doesn't sound convincing even to himself.

“Then don't act like it,” his father says. They stand there for a minute in silence, watching the parade. There's a car going by now, one of those huge old convertibles. There's a really tall lady in a hot pink satin evening gown and matching gloves up to her elbows sitting in the back seat and waving at the crowd. She looks right at Evan and smiles. Evan can't help but smile back. She looks so happy.

“Six flights it is,” his father mutters, turning on his heel and heading back the way they came.

read the rest at the AO3

[lnights]

Hei, could you maybe write Joonas/Niko with the

“…The only reason why I did pick up was because it’s you.”- prompt :)

I hope your writers-block will be defeated and I wish you'll have a nice day! 🥰

Thanks for the ask!🖤 I think it's helping lol

“Someone needs to check on him,” Joel fretted.

“We've all been calling him,” Tommi pointed out, “Olli is already on his way to Niko's place.”

Joonas clicked Niko's number for the seventh time that day. They were supposed to have all met up for band practice bright and early but Niko had never showed.

They knew he had gone through a bad break up, he had been pulling away from all of them ever since and Joonas absolutely hated it; he couldn't help Niko if he shut him out.

Joonas let out a frustrated grunt when the call went to voicemail again. He needed to make sure Niko was ok!

He jumped when Tommi's phone went off, it was quickly revealed to be Olli on the phone, not Niko calling them back

"Olli said he's not at home," Tommi told the rest of them, "I think we should go looking for him."

It was quickly agreed and soon they were off, Joel walking one way and Tommi the other while Joonas took his car to drive around.

He had to keep calling, even if it was clear Niko wasn't going to answer he had to at least try.

Joonas had lost count of how many times he had called when the line finally connected.

“Niko!” Joonas shouted, “Are you ok? Where are you?”

“I went for a walk, no big deal” Niko answered, his voice was hoarse and scratchy, but his words weren't slurred and he wasn't talking in that spacy way he did when he had too much to drink, so he didn't think he was drunk.

“Did you remember we had band practice today? Joonas asked.

“Oh.”

“Oh?” Joonas echoed, “oh? Niko we've been worried sick, you didn't answer any calls, you're not at home, none of us knew if you were ok! I didn't know! I've called you so many times and you just ignored me. We promised not to ever ignore each other, remember?” It was a deal they had made long ago, after Joonas had gotten lost in a city, far from home with no one answering their phones.

“…The only reason why I did pick up was because it’s you.” Niko said quietly.

Joonas sighed, his frustration already starting to seep away. “Where are you?” He asked, “I'll come get you, we don't have to have band practice today, I just don't want you out there alone.”

“Probably a good idea to skip, my voice is fucked anyway,” Niko gave a weak laugh but Joonas knew he heard a wobble in it, a clear sign Niko was near tears.

“Well, we can just get some pizza, go back to mine, and watch Titanic.” Joonas promised.

Niko was silent for a long moment, just long enough to worry Joonas that he wasn't going to do it, before he finally gave his location.

“Thank you,” he mumbled.

“Anytime,” Joonas promised, “anywhere.”

“Can you… can you just stay on the phone with me?” Niko asked, “I know you can't be far but-”

“I'm not going anywhere,” Joonas told him, emphasizing the words to try to really get him to understand them as he sped up to go get him.

He could never leave Niko.

[sxskavrp]

Hello! I'm looking for some long term rp partners for Drarry. I'm 31 F, in the EST timezone. I try to be active, definitely literate, but not a stickler on length. I'm okay playing either character, I'm okay with NSFW but it's not required. Please no ABO, mpreg, or dark characters.

I have a couple of prompts I can share to see if you're interested. If you like the idea of one but want to play the opposite character, I'm totally fine with switching it up! If you don't like any of these, we can always come up with something together!

((Prince and Knight AU))

Harry kicked at the dirt with his boot as he waited idly for the Prince to arrive. He wasn't sure how well this was going to go, based on the stories he'd heard from his fellow knights. According to them, the Prince was even more of a spoiled weakling than he appeared when on the throne, and he'd already gone through five tutors so far. This was bound to be a ^^long^^ afternoon, but Harry was going to do his best to be patient. After all, he'd trained plenty of men he'd thought were hopeless, only for them to become great warriors. Surely he could teach the Prince at least some basic moves. He glanced up when he heard footsteps approaching, the very young man he'd been thinking of walking his way, the sun gleaming off his white-blonde hair.

((8th year))

So far, coming back to Hogwarts for a make up year had been unpleasant to say the least. No one wanted Draco here besides Pansy and Blaise. Even some of the professors were giving him a wide berth because of his involvement in the war. Unfortunately, he hadn't been given a choice in the matter, as finishing his education was part of his deal to avoid Azkaban. That didn’t mean he had to be happy about it. He'd done his best to lay low, but today the universe had other plans. The new Defense professor, who clearly didn't have any idea about certain social histories between the students, had just decided to pair him with Potter of all people for a project. Of course, Draco didn't hold ill feelings towards him anymore. After all, if it wasn't for him, he would be dead or imprisoned right now. But there was no way to avoid attention when someone went anywhere near Potter, and by the way the rest of the class hushed when their names were announced together, he knew this was only going to cause problems. Reluctantly, he moved to sit next to the Gryffindor so that they could start discussing their project, feeling rather awkward as they’d barely spoken a word to each other all term.

((8th year))

Harry had mixed feelings about being back at Hogwarts. On one hand, Hogwarts was his true home, and the place where he'd had some of the best times of his life, so going back was always a comfort. But it was also where he'd experienced some of his worst memories, and was the site where so many people he knew had died. Not to mention that it wasn't the same without Dumbledore, or even Professor Snape. Yet he came anyway, because Hermione and Ron were going, and he didn't know what else to do with himself. All his plans had gone topsy-turvy when he'd actually managed to survive the war, and now he was just kind of…existing, trying to figure out his next step.

It was a few weeks into term now, and he was going between classes when he spotted a group of 6th years crowding around something. No, ^^someone^^, and they were making quite a racket. He hurried over to see what was happening when he caught a glimpse of platinum blonde hair between two sets of legs. “Hey!” Harry ripped the boys away, revealing Malfoy on the ground, bruised and bleeding. Blood boiling, he put himself between the group and Malfoy protectively. “Get back, all of you!” he snapped, pulling out his wand. He knew there were a lot of people that weren’t happy Malfoy was back at Hogwarts with them, but he hadn’t realized it was this bad.

((Professors AU))

It had taken several years and a lot of soul searching, but Harry had finally realized that he was tired of fighting for a living. It was a major shock to the world, plastered on every front page. ‘The Savior Saves No More: Potter Quits the Aurors’. But Harry stuck to his guns. He wasn't going to try and fit the world's perfect vision for him anymore, and of course his friends had been more than supportive. Turns out the timing couldn't have been better because the position of DADA professor opened up at Hogwarts a few weeks later. He was quick to put in an application, and McGonagall was even quicker to bring him on. Sometimes he wondered if maybe that was a little too coincidental. Either way, he was excited to get started. There was just one caveat; Draco Malfoy was the Potions professor.

He hadn't seen Malfoy since the trials, where they'd parted on a civil but awkward note. He had no idea how it was going to be having to work with him, seeing him every day. Could they get along or would their old rivalry rear its ugly head? Needless to say, he was anxious when September 1st came around. He had decided to take the train in, for nostalgia’s sake, and so he entered with the students, finding most of the Head Table was already full. Of course there was only one seat left. And of course it had to be next to Malfoy himself.

((6th year, TW attempted suicide))

Draco took a deep inhale of the cool night air as he leaned over the railing of the Astronomy Tower. He felt like a shell of himself, as more stress piled on top of him in the transition from winter to spring. Not that it mattered, or that anyone cared. His grades were in the shitter, he barely spoke to anyone anymore, and he had no idea if his mother was alright, trapped in the Manor with his psychotic aunt and ^^him^^. His feeble attempts to kill Dumbeldore indirectly had all been thwarted. As days passed and the end of term approached, he knew he wasn’t going to finish the Vanishing Cabinet in time. It was over. The second he stepped off that train in King’s Cross, he was a dead man. Maybe he should just let Dumbledore kill him. He’d certainly make it quick and as painless as possible compared to the likely torture he’d endure from the Dark Lord. Or maybe it would be better just to get it over with himself. He knew he didn’t have to jump from this high, but he’d always had a fondness for the Astronomy Tower, the way he could see the entire grounds and the Forbidden Forest going on for miles. He could pretend he was flying for a moment, one last time, before the ground reached up to meet him. All he had to do was tip forward just a little more…

If you're interested, like this or message me 😁 I usually rp over discord.

[sunymar]

Yes we are excited to send Lamen prompts! ʌ:(Comfort after a nightmare)

thank you for the prompt!! 🥰🥰 and sorry it took this long!! "He's okay now, Auguste, I promise. I think he just got a little overheated, but he's asleep now, I don't want to wake him up." "I know, I know, I trust you, I just—I just want to see him, please? You don't need to say a word or make any noise, just show me. Just so I can make sure."

Damen was already standing from the couch with a heavy sigh. "I know you're worried, but Laurent's not going to be happy if he finds out I filmed him for you while he was asleep. He'll think it's creepy." He started padding softly to their bedroom, despite that.

"You can tell him he can text me an 'I'm alive' at the very least next time something like this happens if he doesn't want me to worry."

"It's just a migraine, Auguste," Damen said, rolling his eyes as he turned the knob as quietly as he could. "The worst thing that happened was him having a fit when I forgot the hot water when we were showering—"

"Damen?" Shy, quiet.

Wet.

Damen shoved the door open with so much force that the knob slammed against the wall. Laurent, sitting on the bed, in the dark room, with only the remnants of daylight spilling through the thin curtains, cringed at the sound; and more tears came running down his red cheeks.

"Damen?" Auguste's panicked voice got smaller and muffled when Damen dropped his phone on the nearest surface, in his urgency to get both of his hands free, and hurried to Laurent's side. He almost tripped on the carpet when he bent down to cup Laurent's face in his hands, wiping his hot cheeks with his thumbs.

"What is it, darling? What happened? Where does it hurt?" he knew physical pain alone was not nearly enough to get Laurent like this. He brushed away a couple of damp strands of hair and pressed his lips against Laurent's forehead, he was burning up. "Did you have a nightmare?"

Laurent rested one of his hands on Damen's wrist, trembling. He was shaking his head, his eyes closed. "Is that Auguste? Can I talk to him?"

Damen was already storming halfway across the room, nodding furiously. He grabbed his phone, turned on the camera, and resisted the urge to toss it to the bed so it'd reach Laurent faster. He sat next to him gently and grabbed his hand in his so they could hold the phone together, and lifted it so Auguste could get a better angle.

"Laurent," Auguste said, in a soft whisper, thankfully not yelling like Damen had been expecting. "Oh, Laurie. What's wrong? Do you need me to come over? What's wrong, Damen? He looks awful."

Damen was rummaging through one of their drawers clumsily with his free hand. "He has a fever," he said. "It isn't just a migraine. I'll check his temperature."

Laurent was very quiet, wiping his cheeks with his hands and trying to push down his hiccups. Damen squeezed his thigh reassuringly when he finally found the thermometer and Laurent frowned at it. "Maybe he caught whatever Ancel had. But I don't think Ancel got a headache."

"I didn't make out with Ancel if that's what you're suggesting," Laurent grumbled around the thermometer, Damen hushed him and wrapped an arm around his waist to hold him close while they waited for the reading. "Maybe I did make out with Berenger."

"Laurie," Auguste hissed. Then, after a moment, "what did you dream?"

Laurent stiffened. Damen rubbed his arm soothingly, but it didn't help. "Nothing. It doesn't matter anymore."

"It surely mattered a lot two minutes ago, Laurent."

Auguste was right, Laurent looked terrible. Damen had checked on him only a half an hour ago, and he hadn't looked anywhere near this, eyes and cheeks red and swollen and damp and bottom lip bitten raw. Whatever it had been, it'd had him crying more than Damen could remember seeing before over a nightmare.

"I don't want to talk about it."

A small sigh. Auguste's eyes softened, and he shook his head softly to himself. "You are right. It doesn't matter anymore. But I'm coming over anyway, so be ready."

"Auguste—" Laurent's protest was interrupted by the beeping of the thermometer. Damen grabbed it and clicked his tongue in disapproval.

"Thirty-nine."

"That's it," Auguste said. He was moving, dizzyingly fast even for Damen's eyes. He kissed Laurent's temple and put the phone away, so they wouldn't have to look at it anymore. "I'll be there in three hours. I'll call Paschal too."

"Auguste," Laurent groaned. He dropped his head on Damen's shoulder with an annoyed huff. "It's just a cold."

"Nothing you say will stop him," Damen smiled against his hair. "Better get as much sleep as you can before he gets here." He rubbed Laurent's back, over his soaked shirt. He'd need a change of clothes first. "See you later, Auguste."

Laurent was much more cooperative this time when Damen tucked him into bed. He knew it wasn't a coincidence that he'd calmed down as soon as he'd seen Auguste. He hoped he'd feel even better once he was there.

He laid on top of the covers himself this time, and he held Laurent close. And he kept his phone close, too, in case he needed to call Auguste again.

[actiasteeth]

ASKBOX MEME 055 / BLUE EYE SAMURAI S01E01-03

All prompts taken from season one of Blue Eye Samurai (2023). Adjust as needed.

01. HAMMERSCALE

"Maybe I've been following you."

"You don't deserve my blade. You don't even deserve this blade."

"Go home."

"My whole life, I couldn't do anything right, but now I know what I'm supposed to do."

"A breeze can throw a crane off course. You are a typhoon."

"To a man lost in the dark, an ember can light the way."

"Have I defeated the undefeatable _____?"

"Think of it as an engagement gift."

"Every secret is revealed here."

"Yet an impurity in the right place is a quality."

"Are you stealing from me?"

"I do no know their names. I do know their fate. They will all die by my hand."

"You may be something shameful. You may also be strong."

"Oh, good. We get to kill you."

"A poor technique—easily learned, easily defeated."

"But... then you'll die."

"You've climbed some heights to be the prize of a miserable lot."

"You had a name for me."

"Thank you. No one has yet deserved my blade."

"Death comes for everyone. For you, today."

"Revenge is like gold. It does not rust. It will wait."

"I can never repay your kindness."

"You have spoken enough nonsense today."

"We cannot part in a lie."

"That is your burden to keep."

"You came to me as a stupid lost boy. If you insist on leaving now, it will be as a stupid lost man."

02. AN UNEXPECTED ELEMENT

"I do not want you anywhere near me. Stay away."

"I know why you think you don't want me around, but you can trust me."

"I'd never tell your secret—not ever."

"If I see you again, I will kill you and never think of you again."

"You will not find what you seek at my side."

"I am owed my revenge, and I will have it at any cost."

"My whole life has been a battle."

"Why didn't he just kill me?"

"Victory cannot come from dishonor."

"But what if he kills you this time?"

"There's no shame in making a home here and keeping your life."

"_____. Is your mind clear?"

"_____. Is your soul at rest?"

"Forgive my failure."

"This hand has taken many lives."

"We can only mind our own soul, _____."

"You do not try to change my mind this time!"

"You are not the hero of this family's story."

"Stupid girl. Too stupid to see—I am giving you an opportunity."

"Why didn't you stand up for me?"

"You think I don't know you, _____?"

"What choice do I have?"

"If we're running away, let's at least do it warm."

"I'm not even good at what I thought I was great at."

"You got somewhere better to be?"

"You have enemies now."

03. A FIXED NUMBER OF PATHS

"Killing it is a mercy. Do it already."

"Ugh—coward. I'll do it."

"Don't touch him."

"If that door opens, we die."

"You solve the problem."

"Is that an order?"

"So, if you might, my dear, dear friend—my trusted partner and clear equal, my right hand and both feet on land, fondest heart—spare a cup of concern towards our purpose... and do it your fucking self."

"If he dies, you die."

"You can barely stand, let alone hold that sword for long."

"I didn't kill you when I easily could have."

"How many days do you need before you're well enough to die?"

"You cost me my station and my honor. I'll have it all back when I return with your corpse."

"If you wanted me dead, you should've struck when you had the chance. The time to kill your enemy is when you can."

"You don't want revenge. You want a party."

"No one gets to kill you but me."

"There is no possibility this will be anything other than a trap."

"Revenge does not hesitate."

"Fight within your confines, not against them."

"I am not out here to learn a lesson."

"Count to ten, then climb out that window. Run."

"Been some time since I killed a man. I wonder if I still remember how."

"If you prefer, I can kill you now."

"You need me because you're weak."

"I can beat you with any weapon you choose."

"Oh, no. No, thank you. We're not going in that death trap."

"So if he's walking in to meet certain death, I'll be there to keep him and death from getting too friendly."

"To find out only now—you never believed in me."

"I look your way and don't even see you."

"I have no interest in money or power. I have no interest in being happy. Only satisfied."

"How do I trust you don't leave me in there to die?"

"My reasons are my own."

"What happens if I refuse?"

"Stop counting seconds till we die."

"Men like him like to talk so much they eventually tell you how to destroy them."

[fluffydavey]

a prompt thing!

davey is sick and doesn’t show up to sell (or modern au to school/work/etc)

i'm distracting myself with writing so feel free to send me any prompts and i will try my best to write them!! &lt;3

At first, they barely notice anything is wrong. Davey's back in school, but he's continued selling papes with the boys in the evenings and at the weekends. Although Davey had been a quick learner in the early days, he's becoming slower and he looks distracted.

It's brushed off with jokes, until Davey doesn't even have the energy to respond. "Sore throat," he musters, and Jack sends him home and promises to give their equal share to Les when he gets home that evening. He doesn't think much of it - the cold New York winters are harsh, especially during your first time selling in Demeber, and Davey looks like a strong gust of wind could knock him over on the best of days.

He walks Les home that night, refusing a dinner proposal again, and bids the younger boy goodbye and shouts out "make sure that brother of yours doesn't skip out on any more hard work!"

But Davey doesn't show up the next day, and neither does Les. Nor do they show up for three more days after that. Jack gets tired of waiting for the boys with no answer. He climbs up the fire escape to try and get into David's room, when he sees the outlines of tall figures looming in the background.

"He's burning up," one of the men say, leaning over Davey's bed. "Hot to the touch!"

He tries to make it through another window, when he's blocked by Sarah. "You can't be here," she says, worry dripping from every word.

"Davey?"

"They say it's scarlet fever," she says, and Jack's read too many headlines about how it's been killing children all over the world. His heart sinks, feeling utterly hopeless.

"Les?" he asks, clinging onto some hope.

"He's okay, he's with our grandparents. They wanted me to go too, but I told them I wouldn't go anywhere without Davey," she says confidently. "He'll be okay Jack."

"I..."

She places an arm on Jack's shoulder, giving him a sad, knowing look. "I know, Jack."

"What happened?"

"He came home from school, and ma caught him coughing up blood into a handkerchief. She told him to rest, but he only got worse. He was getting sick, kept complaining about pains. I've never seen him like that before Jack, it was scary. I haven't been able to see him since," she says, and Jack can tell she feels as lost without Davey as he does. "Go back Jack, they won't let you anywhere near him. I'll let you know when there's news."

Jack knows better than to argue with Sarah, so he lets himself wander off, walking back to the lodgings on autopilot. He doesn't say anything when he returns, not sure how to break the news to all of their friends who had been waiting for Jack to turn up with the Jacobs' boys behind. Instead, their eager faces begin to fall, and Jack runs straight up to the penthouse. He tells them eventually, and the lodgings don't feel the same as they used to anymore, not without the infectious laugh that follows the two wherever they go.

It's a long week, until finally Davey and Les join the line to pay for their papers. It's Crutchie who spots them first, and the boys run to crowd their friends. Les looks like he's eating up every bit of fame it takes, although Jack can see the protective grip he has on his older brother's hand.

"What? You miss me?" Davey asks, as Jack watches him smiling at the sight before him.

"Don't do that again," Race says, barging in to be the first to give Davey a hug. "You had us worried sick. I couldn't win a game of cards for days."

"I'm sorry that I through you off, your game" Davey says, as Specs is the next person to hug him, Les still holding onto him with a strong clutch. "Guys, I'm okay. I swear. Got it all out of my system."

One by one the Newsies say their hellos, and get on with their days, but before he catches up with the two, he watches Davey divide his share with Les, giving the young boy a few more papes than usual. Jack joins them then, puts his satchel around his arm, and he tells Les to run ahead to some women in the park talking.

"You really scared me Dave," Jack says, and watches as Davey's eyes wander from his excitable brother to his selling partner. "I saw you one night, when the docs were all crowded round you. And I just kept dreaming that I'd wake up and you weren't with us no more."

"Hey, hey. Jack, it's me. I'm here. I'm here and I'm okay," Davey says, grabbing Jack's hand. There's no one too close by, so Davey seemingly decides to risk such a bold move. "I'm really sorry that I scared you like that, but it's okay now."

Jack looks down at their hands, and wishes he could capture this moment with his new paint. Instead, he begins to trace the lines on Davey's hands. "I was afraid you wouldn't know just how much you mean to me."

"Jack -"

"You can't go anywhere, okay? Because I can't stop thinking about you and it's driving me crazy. I was too cowardly to say it before, but you've been it for me. And I've been crazy gone after you from the very beginning."

"Okay," Davey says, and Jack watches him.

"Okay?"

"Okay, I'll stay. Here with you, for as long as you'll let me."

Les runs up to them, dime in his hand before he looks at them both. "Gross. Come on, these papes won't sell themselves!"

Jack watches the kid run off, proud as punch, and he wraps an arm around Davey's shoulder, bumping into him. "One day I'll have you selling like him."

Davey pokes him in the side, before laughing to himself. "Oh shut up. You're the worse."

"You love it though."

"Yeah," Davey says, staring earnestly into Jack's eyes. "I really do."

[hobbit-in-kuroshitsuji]

Kuroshitcember 2022 Prompt Nr. 12

Prompt: As Christmas draws near, so does the cold, which plays hell with Tanaka’s old bones.

You can find all prompts here!

All of these will be uploaded/archived to this blog's Ao3 eventually

Summary: When Christmas Decorations go missing, Tanaka has to search through the entire manor to try and find them despite his aching bones. CW: Major spoilers for Kuroshitsuji - if you don't know about O!Ciel and R!Ciel, don't read.

The 14th of December was the twins’ birthday. At their age, they thought the entire month of December belonged to them and only them. Which meant that the Christmas decorations were not just for Christmas, but also for them. Lights, tinsel, candles and special sweets: all for them.

So when Tanaka found some had been stolen, he made it his personal mission to ensure he would find it before the twins noticed.

He searched and searched and searched, but just could not find the garlands and accompanying tinsel anywhere. The cold made his bones ache, age not being his friend most of the time but especially not during harsh winter months. Fires were lit everywhere to keep pipes from freezing shut and break – but it was still not enough to keep his joints from aching.

So the search was taking him a while, and hurting him.

Grumpy, despite the happy smile on his lips, Tanaka paused to think this through. He knew the twins had taken the decorations. So where would two 5 year olds have taken it?

A lightbulb lit up within Tanaka, and his grumpiness disappeared as he headed for the library. Vincent often spent time there whenever he had friends over, but that was the only time he was there. That meant that whenever there were no guests, it was a perfect hideout for the twins…. If they were up to mischief.

The library was tucked away in a corner of the manor. It was still beautiful, tall windows offered light where one could sit, and the many rows of bookshelves were kept safely away from sunlight. In the middle, an iron, spiral staircase led up to a small attic where artifacts of importance were stored.

It was underneath that staircase where Tanaka found the thieves. Having built a little yurt out of two blankets and some rope, Tanaka heard the two boys giggling within their hideout, unaware someone was onto them.

As quietly as he could, Tanaka attempted to sneak over despite his painful bones, and opened the makeshift door carefully –

Inside, the twins were sat huddled over the stolen garlands, braiding them together to create one thick bush. The tinsel was used to decorate the oddly shaped garland.

“What on Earth are you two doing?” Tanaka’s voice was gentle, amused even. Both boys gasped and turned so quickly Tanaka worried they might get whiplash injuries from it.

“Nothing!” In an effort to hide their mischief, Ciel sat in front of it, failing miserably at hiding the evidence. His brother, instead, offered Tanaka a scared look before tears welled up in his eyes as his bottom lip protruded.

“I can see nothing mischievous is going on here, yes,” Tanaka chuckled, offering both boys a gentle pat to the head to calm them down. “If you wanted to do Christmas crafts, you should have simply told me and I would have prepared a table-“

“We’re sorry, Tanaka,” Ciel interrupted, “but it was meant to be a surprise.”

“Oh?”

Ciel and his brother exchanged a look. Then one of them voiced: “Well… Father said the servants don’t have any decorations in your quarters, and father also said you should be resting more when it’s cold for… your bones. We didn’t understand it but if you need to rest, you shouldn’t rest without decorations!”

“You’re preparing decorations for me?” Tanaka questioned, not fully believing it.

The twins nodded their heads eagerly.

As they turned and presented their… makeshift little Christmas tree to Tanaka, no warm fire was needed to heal his bones. That gentle show of affection from his masters was more than enough to warm the soul of this old butler, and any pain was quickly forgotten so long as he could keep serving these two precious boys whatever they wished for...

__ @eemoo1o-animoo

[whumpitlikeyoumeanit]

Whumpcember 20

All of this Whumpcember is a single, long fic, with the prompts used in specific scenes, in order. See the Masterlist and AO3 link here.

((content warnings: mind control, drugging, love potion, coerced relationship, jealousy, coerced marriage kinda ))

promptspiration: @whumpcember Day 20: Drugged

Whumpee: Draco Malfoy Whumper: Harry Potter Pairing: Harry/Draco whump type: mind control / love potion (Amortentia) fic type: post-Hogwarts AU

words: ~5000

-------------------

The rain was dreary. He sat in the window, watching it distantly, not thinking about anything, not really feeling anything through the muffling grey curtain of his medicines. 

Harry surprised him when he came to join him; he didn't realise he was there before he felt a touch on his arm, and he slowly turned to look. Harry was actually almost smiling. He looked excited. 

"I have something for you to drink." He put his arm around his shoulders and squeezed, pressing a small bottle against his hand, faintly warm to the touch and containing a delicate, pearly liquid. "It took a while, but it's done." 

He picked up the bottle compliantly without giving it any consideration, but his hand slowed as it neared his face, and he found himself with his eyes closed, breathing in slow, deep breaths of the scent. It smelled of flowers, the lilies and narcissus of the gardens in spring… and the hint of orchid that clung to his mother from the flowers she arranged for the house, back when they had flowers, before the Death Eaters… and an undertone of the sugary frosting of a birthday cake, they were always far too sweet because that was what he'd liked when he was small…

A light touch on his wrist encouraged him to drink it, and he did. It tasted faintly of butterbeer and felt light and comforting going down, not like anything else he had to drink. This one didn't weigh him down or make him sick — on the contrary, it brought colour back into the world. 

He blinked up at Harry and couldn't help a bit of a smile and a flutter of his heart. "It's good, actually," he admitted, giving over the empty. 

"Yeah, you like it?"

"I do." He shifted around in the window to face him. "You don't have to work anymore, right?"

"No, now that's done I'm free." 

"Good." He laced his fingers into Harry's and let his hand hang from his.

"You want to do something?" Harry asked, with mildly bemused amusement, but he just shook his head. No, just being with him was enough. "Well, all right then. But I'm going to sit down." He stepped back, lightly pulling on Draco's hand. "You coming with me?" He nodded again, and slid out of the window to follow. 

They sat on the sofa, Harry with his book out for writing, and he just sat close to him with his head resting by Harry's shoulder. It was very nice. 

"You feel up to answering some questions for me?" Harry asked. It might have been a little bit, because then he asked, "You're still awake, right?" 

"Yes."

"I'll assume that answers both." Harry leaned his cheek against the top of his head briefly. "What did that potion smell like, to you?" he wondered curiously. 

"Don't know." Didn't seem important. 

"You don't know?"

He shrugged a little bit against Harry's shoulder. "Flowers and cake."

"Flowers and cake." Harry chuckled a little. "You try to act so hard but you're a surprisingly simple soul." 

Even that sounded like a good thing from Harry. "Why? What does it smell like to you?"

"You." Harry kissed his head and made him blush. "Do you feel okay?" 

"Yes."

"Hey." Harry nudged his side lightly so he opened his eyes. "Don't tell me any lies, okay? Do you hurt anywhere?"

He studied Harry to determine what kind of answer he wanted. The truth, maybe. "My head kind of hurts, but it's not so bad." 

"Any different from a little while ago?"

"It's a bit better. Your concoction had some effect." 

"That's good. What about your emotions?"

"What about them?" He settled back by Harry's shoulder and closed his eyes again. 

"How do you feel?" Harry held his hand on their legs. "Do you feel sad at all? …Tired?"

"No, what would I feel sad about? I feel really good." 

"Not scared?" 

He shook his head. Why would he be scared? As long as he had Harry, everything would be all right. 

"You don't have any idea how happy that makes me." Harry leaned his forehead against his head. "You have to tell me if you do get sad, or scared, or empty, okay? You have to promise." Harry was very intense; he lifted their hands together to nudge up his chin to make him meet his eyes. "Do you understand?"

"Yes." He didn't know why Harry was so insistent, but he didn't want him to be scared. He brushed the backs of his fingers over Harry's cheek. "But I can't imagine why I would be. Everything is all right." 

Harry smiled a little and kissed him slowly. Still embarrassing and a little gross, but Harry liked it, so he played along.

—-

That nice drink joined his routine. Not that he could really keep track of things like routine, but he noticed it was there and looked forward to it. It made everything nice. He could just sit with Harry and everything was okay. 

He did get sad when Harry had to leave him, though. He got mad he couldn't go with him and demanded he stay, because it was awful when he was gone. Horrible. It got so bad that Harry had to just make sure he slept the whole time, otherwise he couldn't handle it. 

But aside from that, it was really good. It was the best time of his life he could remember. As long as he could stay with Harry he didn't really have to worry about anything. He sat with him while he did research, or he mashed or chopped whatever Harry wanted him to for his brewing, or just napped against him. It was basically perfect. 

—-

"Draco…"

He lifted his head from the bed and looked. Harry was standing at the bureau, looking into the bottle cupboard. He had taken some of them out in front of him, including the horrible pink one, but now he was just looking distantly.

"Yes?" He was too sore to sit up if he didn't have to, but he watched him, running his finger down the tail of the dragon winding around his arm.

Harry continued to look at the bottles, and gradually pulled one out, looking at it in his hand. He couldn't see it through him. 

"I think I have to stop giving you this one."

What? No, he couldn't take it away. "Please, don't…" He pushed himself painfully up, holding his arms away from the burning skin of his chest so he didn't brush it and make it worse. "Why?" How could he fix it?

"It's… making you into someone else." He looked down at the bottle in his hand. "There's so much I love about you that I can't see anymore." 

He didn't like this. It was twisting up his stomach. Harry didn't love him? He left the bed and limped over to Harry without even trying to find his clothes, and held onto his arm anxiously. "Please…"

Harry looked back at him, his expression a little surprised, then turned and held onto his arm to help keep him up. He was holding the bottle with the drink that tasted like a poppy, and the relief felt like a physical thing. He almost collapsed against Harry's side, hugging him tight and resting his head against him. He'd thought he meant the little, nice-smelling one… the one that made everything better… He didn't care about the poppy one.

"I'm sorry." Harry tugged his head down gently and kissed it. "I know it helps you… believe me, I know. But it's taking away everything that makes you who you are. I love how smart you are… How quick, and sharp, and incisive — how you can see weak spots and just strike straight at them. I love your wit and your jokes and even your mockery. I love your energy, and how determined you are, and cunning and strategic, how you're just so… bright, brilliant, in every sense of the word. You shine, Draco. You're like the sun. And with this…" He looked down at it. 

He didn't even know what that one was for. He supposed it had never occurred to him to ask. "What is it?"

Harry ran his thumb over the glass bottle, and his hand ran over his hair. "You're going to be very cross with me when it's out of your system," he said. "But I did it for your own good." 

Something about that statement made him draw back a little, uncertain. He didn't like those words.

"It's for suppressing your memories." Harry pulled him closer again without seeming to notice. "It helps with your pain and your emotions, too, and I'm glad for it, but it's really for the memories. You have to understand, though. You needed it. I swear you did. I couldn't… I couldn't save you any other way."

"Save me?" He put his hand on his head, prodding the ache. 

"From yourself," he said quietly. "You hurt yourself awfully. Remember when you woke up and I took care of you until you could get out of bed? I said it was an accident, but… it wasn't. You… tried to kill yourself… it wasn't the first time…" 

That didn't make sense — he didn't want to die. That idea was frightening, he wouldn't do that. He held onto Harry's arm tightly. "Why…?"

"Because you're very sad." Harry looked into his face, and lifted a hand to cup the back of his head. "Your parents are dead, Draco, and they have been for a long time. That's the memory that keeps making you do awful things, because… they hurt you, they twisted up your mind so you feel like you can't live without them. You haven't thought about them in so long, and I love it, it's been wonderful to see you free of them, but this price… it isn't worth it." He looked back down at the bottle in his hand. "It's making you agreeable… complacent… docile and pleasant… It's basically made you a pet. I swear that isn't what I wanted." 

He frowned a bit, groping around with his mind, trying to hold onto that. "My parents died…?" 

Harry sighed. "Don't focus on it. I'm telling you now so that when the memory comes back on its own it doesn't make you too emotional. I don't want something bad to happen." Harry held his head, meeting his eyes. "But you don't need this protection anymore, right?" He set the poppy drink down. "Because you've promised you'll tell me how you feel, and I'll help you. You won't let your emotions go crazy alone and make you hurt yourself."

"No," he promised. "I won't. As long as I have you, it's all right." 

His parents were dead? It felt weird that hearing that didn't surprise him. It was like learning that this was Harry's house — it was something he knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, he just hadn't thought about it. It was sad, but it wasn't shocking, and the hurt felt old and achey, not new and sharp. He squeezed Harry's arm. "I'm all right," he repeated quietly. Harry made it okay.

"Good." Harry kissed his head again. "It might take a few days for this to wear off completely, but it'll be okay."

He believed him. He reached past Harry to bring out one of the small, nice-smelling bottles. "I can still have this one, right?"

Harry looked at what he had and smiled, wrapping his arms around him. "Of course. As much as you want."

—-

He got sick for a while — he spent so much time throwing up, in agony from the cramps of his already painful stomach, sweating without a fever, often leaking tears for no reason that he couldn't stop. The awful pink drink didn't help it — instead, he ended up not even being able to keep it down, so his cough started coming back, and that made everything so, so much worse… He just wanted to sleep through it, but it was a crapshoot whether he could keep the Sleeping Draughts down, and even when he could he woke up suddenly shortly thereafter… the Calming Draught and the Pain ones were similar, so his head hurt and his skin hurt and his emotions were all over the place, leaving him crying or raging at the unfairness of it all…

The only thing he could reliably keep from throwing right back up were the gentle, nice flowery drink, and that was the only thing that made being alive bearable. If he hadn't had those, and Harry, he didn't know what he would do. 

But Harry stayed with him the whole time, and it did, eventually, get better. Eventually there was a day when he didn't throw up at all, and he could start to eat again, and things gradually picked up from there. First he could have small doses of the pain relief, and then slowly start on the pink ones again, calming his cough and the fever that came with it. Then, finally and yet seemingly suddenly, things were completely back to normal, and it was like the sickness had never happened at all. 

He found that the memories that had apparently been suppressed were there for him, now, if he wanted them. They were there, but unconnected, isolated, and he had to actively try for them to find them. He honestly had no idea what order anything went in — and, to be honest, it didn't really seem important. He didn't dwell on them. 

Harry's fears about them seemed unfounded; he was okay.

—-

He dropped heavily onto the sofa at Harry's side, holding his stomach and holding in a groan from it. That didn't really matter, though, that was just part of being alive. "Would you like to grow my hair back out?"

"What's that?" Harry looked up from his notebook and settled his arm around him. 

"My hair." He leaned on Harry so that his elbow was propped on Harry's shoulder and he was looking at him, fingers pulling at strands of his hair. It was fine and short, maybe a little over an inch, short enough to be impossible to style, but now long enough for him to worry about it. "You liked it long enough to tie back, didn't you?"

"Oh, yeah, I do actually." Harry shifted so he could also run his fingers through his hair, looking at him. 

"And it's not as though this is doing me any favours." He gestured generally at his face. 

"It's not that bad," Harry assured him. "But you're right, it's not 'you'. All right, I'll pick up a ribbon next time—"

He lifted the ribbon he'd retrieved from his room, pinched between his thumb and only finger.

Harry laughed a bit. "You really hate that hairstyle, don't you? Okay then." He flipped his book closed and set it aside, moving about to pull his arm back and get his wand. While Harry did that, he shifted as well to face him, waiting attentively.

Harry touched him just under the jaw lightly, wand propped up near his cheek, and his fingers stroked lightly over his skin. "The shave-free charm is still holding strong."

"It is," he agreed. "And I appreciate it. Although I have been meaning to ask: did you actually mean it to affect my whole body?"

Harry shrugged a tiny bit. "That wasn't the intent, but I knew it might. I suppose I could have done more to restrict it, but I had enough trouble with your eyebrows, didn't I."

"I suppose you did. I'm used to it." He ran his hand up his freakishly smooth arm, where the sleeve was rolled up to show the bottom the dragon brand that Harry appreciated seeing. "I was just curious what it might reflect upon you. Lack of attention to detail, apparently."

"Hey, my 'attention to detail' is about to try to fix your hair." Harry waved his wand in his face.

He folded his hands politely in his lap. "Forget I said anything." 

Harry grinned, then took on a look of concentration and started growing out his hair. He wasn't capable of sitting and waiting patiently to see what Harry had done; very shortly he was feeling his hair as Harry grew it and giving him direction on the fringe that might make him look less cadaverous. 

When he was finished, or tired of his nitpicking, Harry tied the ribbon behind his neck and kissed him. "There, gorgeous." 

"You're being overly generous." Once upon a time he had been good looking, but now he just looked ill and drawn. It was still nice to hear something nice, though, even if it was just politeness. Would actually mean something if he earned it, though… He felt his hair one last time, then turned and leaned against Harry's side. "But feel free to continue."

"I'm not. You're the most beautiful Pureblood in this house."

He laughed and picked up his hand to give it a squeeze. He did appreciate that. 

—-

"You really don't care about sex, do you?" 

He had his head on Harry's knee and a book about enchanting items he was trying to read, but mostly not, lying on his chest. He tilted his head back to look up at Harry's face, displacing fingers from his hair. "Why?"

Harry laced his fingers through his lightly. "I've given you Amortentia and you still don't initiate anything." 

That made him laugh. "You absolute ass," he said fondly, squeezing his hand. "Amortentia? I can't imagine how much of your vault you've wasted. Were you trying to make me love you?" He smirked up at him.

Harry met his eyes. "Do you hate that idea?"

He shook his head faintly with a small smile. "You should have known that wouldn't work on me." 

Harry smiled softly and ran his fingers through his hair.

—-

Harry settled onto the sofa beside him, sliding his hand neatly between him and the book he was trying to read, and kissed at his neck. It was a bit annoying — the not-completely-pleasant crawling feeling of the mouth on his skin, but moreso the book. He was actually getting into the analysis of enchantment strength and didn't want to waste his rare bout of being able to focus. 

He leaned his head away and shifted the book so he could see his page. 

Harry playfully flipped the book closed — he luckily got his fingers between the pages so he wouldn't lose his place, albeit mostly on accident — and slid his hand under his shirt, a barely tolerable feeling, while trying to kiss him again.

He ducked his head away. "I really don't care about this, you know, you're right. Have I said that before?"

"Mm." Harry ran his fingers down his stomach. 

"Frankly, it's all just a bit…" Hm, how to say 'tedious' and 'gross' without Harry taking that as an insult? "Well, anyway, I think you'll find things like that aren't really necessary." He got the book between him and Harry's arm and pushed lightly to tell him to get off.

Harry laughed and clearly didn't notice his hints. "They really are."

He scoffed. "They aren't."

Harry nudged him under the chin to look in his face. "I really don't think I could live like that."

He narrowed his eyes in a sudden spike of offence that either overwhelmed or subsumed the irritation. "So why am I not enough for you?"

Harry blinked several times and went still. "What?" 

He pushed himself up to his feet, getting Harry's hand off him, and looked at him directly. "You couldn't live like that? Like this? With me." 

"I didn't say that…"

"You literally just did. You can't live without it. You would rather have that than me."

"I didn't say that!" Harry grabbed for his hand, but he yanked it back. "Why is this an either-or proposition? Where is this coming from?" 

"You're the one who said it, not me," he snapped. "I'm here, but that's not enough, you 'need' to taint everything with that." 

"'Taint everything', what?" The look on his face was uncomprehending and helpless and thoroughly irritating, like he was staring down a bludger heading for him and didn't have the sense to duck. 

He turned to pace just to get away from Harry's stupid face and entitled hands. "I'm sure you'll be absolutely shocked to learn that it's actually not that I don't 'care about' this, it's that I 'don't care for' it. I actively and aggressively dislike it. I hate it! The absolute best I can hope for is that it's terribly boring and wastes my time."

He turned back to find Harry on his feet now too, watching him with a furrowed brow. "You can't actually find making love 'boring'."

"Only when it isn't nauseating, demeaning, painful, or frightening." It was getting harder to find the right words for what he meant to say, his mind was closing in, but those simple terms even Harry should be able to understand. 

"Sex isn't any of those things!"

"No?" he retorted. "Maybe it's just you, then."

Harry slapped him hard enough he stumbled over and fell to his knees, and that wasn't a terribly surprising reaction. It just made him madder; there was a flash of fear and coil of guilt, but the anger was stronger. 

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Harry demanded as he climbed back to his feet, glaring. Harry didn't help. 

"You! I should be enough for you! You're enough for me, why am I not good enough?" There were tears pricking at his eyes and he didn't even know if they were from sadness or embarrassment or frustration or anger. 

"You are, Draco!" Harry held his arms and looked at him earnestly. "I'd never intentionally hurt you. You don't have to not like it. If you don't enjoy it, tell me and we can do something so you can. A small dose of Attraction Extraction isn't any trouble." 

He squirmed until Harry was forced to let him go, and staggered a step back. "I can't believe you would suggest…" he groped around for a word in helpless frustration until he had to give up, "something like that!" He jerked around, spotted the door, and suddenly wanted nothing more in life than to go out it.

"Where are you going?" Harry demanded, and grabbed his wrist.

He shook his hand vigorously  until he got free and yanked open the door. "Away!"

"Why are you acting like this? I thought you loved me." 

"Stop thinking you know how to manipulate people," he snapped on his way out. "You're just embarrassing yourself." And he slammed the door behind him with an unsatisfactory awkwardness.

It was difficult to storm anywhere when he had to limp along the walls and got lost between doorways, but he gave it a valiant effort anyway. He didn't mean to go to the kitchen but that was where he found himself, and that failure made him feel helplessly worse, like a failure on top of all his other failures. He couldn't even do that right. He wiped his eyes roughly as he paced around clumsily, feet aching and not quite steady, angry with himself again for how graceless he was. 

Why wasn't he good enough? He did a lot! Why did Harry need more? He kissed him a lot, or what he thought was a lot, and that wasn't for him, that was for Harry, because that was what a good… whatever they were… did. He didn't complain when Harry touched him in ways that hurt his stupid burning skin or his stupid achy bones, or that his body didn't really like, because his body wasn't Harry's responsibility. He normally didn't decline whatever Harry had in mind when they went to bed, especially if he just wanted hands. Why wasn't it enough? Why couldn't Harry just be as happy with him as he was with Harry?

Harry acted like he never did anything for him, but he did! He was just quiet about it, like one should be. He was allowed to not like something, wasn't he? 

He had been meaner than he should have been. He hadn't meant everything he said, he was just lashing out where he knew it would hurt… He shouldn't have done that…

He collapsed at the table with his hands over his head, crying a little, and soon enough exhausted. Now the anger abandoned him and it was just crushing hopelessness and guilt. Why wasn't he good…?

Harry came in — he heard it — and there was a touch on his back, and the sound of a bottle on the table. He lifted his head and saw a Calming Draught, and put his head back down. "I don't need it." 

"Okay." Harry rubbed his hand over his shoulder and pulled him against his body. He resisted for a second, then turned and hugged his waist, burying his face in his chest. 

"I didn't mean it," he said, muffled in the fabric of Harry's shirt and the muscle beneath. "You  know that, right? Sometimes you just make me crazy…"

Harry hugged him tight against him, rubbing his back. "I know exactly how you feel." 

—-

The arithmancy was simple:

Harry wanted enthusiastic sex he didn't.

Harry was gone a lot for work.

Harry Sainted Potter could pull anyone he wanted. 

He couldn't think about anything else. That collection of facts and the natural conclusion they led to were boiling in his mind, surfacing and resurfacing, mixing together, swirling and throwing themselves at him. He cried in desperate fear and loneliness, but anger came as it continued to stew and intensify. 

When he found a sandwich waiting for him by the door and he realised Harry must be home and finished, but was still ignoring him, that set him off. That was it. He was going to put a stop to this. He stalked out of the room and down the stairs, eventually. He didn't know where he was going but the frustration of being slow and not finding Harry actually fed his anger and he carried stubbornly on. 

Harry finally appeared in the hallway, like he was just coming in, still with his wand out to manage the door, and he looked up with a stupid, blank expression, looking so innocent…

"Who is it?!" he demanded. His voice was shrill, even he could hear it, but not out of control. 

Harry stared at him. "...What?"

"Who is it?" Now he was screaming. "Who do you have out there? Is it a witch? Did you go back to that fucking Weasley cunt?" 

"What?" Harry was still playing dumb and he desperately wished he had a wand, he would curse that fucking look off his face—

Harry suddenly flew back like he'd been struck or cursed, and cried out as he hit the door; he rolled off it and scrambled to yank off his shirt, panting. The skin of his back was red. "Draco!"

"You don't get to leave me!" Harry was crowded against the wall, burning door on one side and him on the other, holding his shirt out to hold him off like he thought he was going to hit him. But at least he couldn't leave. "She can't have you! You're mine!"

"Draco!" Harry grabbed him by the upper arms and pushed him a step back so he could get away from the door. "I haven't!"

"Don't lie to me!" Now he was crying too, and it was ugly and he hated looking that weak in front of Harry, but the emotions just had to get out. He clung to Harry's arms. "I know why you're always gone!" 

"I'm not." Harry wrapped his arms firmly around him — he tried to pull away, but Harry was implacable, and held him tight against his chest. In a moment, he stopped trying to resist and leaned his head on Harry's instead. 

He didn't smell of anyone else. There was just the normal, slightly acrid brewing scent clinging to him. It was reassuring.

"Shh. I'm here." Harry ran his hand down his hair. "I can see you're exhausted, come on." He half-led, half-supported him down the hall. Even the sight of the starry room didn't fix everything — it made him feel calmer, but at the same time those desperate feelings were sharper, more intense, and he clung to Harry's arm with all his strength. He thought he saw him wince. 

Harry sat on the sofa with him, pulling them apart so they could look at each other in the starlight. "You're all right." He ran his hand down his hair again, looking into his face. "Are you better now?"

"No." He clung to him and stared, unwilling to even take his eyes off him. 

"I guess not." Harry met his eyes sincerely. "Do you really believe I've gone out chasing after someone else?"

He didn't answer, because he didn't know if he believed it or not, but he was terrified of it.

Harry held his jaw. "I haven't. I wouldn't. Do you believe me?"

"I want to."

"I promise."

"A promise is just words," he said sharply. "Worthless. I don't need meaningless words, I need a vow."

Harry blinked at him. "Are you serious? Unbreakable Vow?"

"Yes." He hadn't even thought of this before, certainly not planned it, but he seized on it now. "That's the only way I'll be able to know for certain."

Harry's thumb stroked along his cheek. "Mutual?" he said. "I'll swear to you, and you'll swear to me." 

"Yes. Of course." 

"All right." Harry took his hand back and brought back out his wand. "You are going to have to let go of me for a min." 

He looked down at his hand clutched around Harry's arm and made himself let go. It felt so wrong, but at the same time he realised that his hand hurt from holding onto him.

They clasped hands, his whole one and Harry's free one, while Harry's wand propped beneath them and began to glow as he cast the spell silently. The golden light of the nascent Vow resisted the gentle starlight from above. 

"You go first," Harry murmured.

He glanced to his face and held his eyes. "Do you swear to never forsake me?"

"I swear," Harry said without hesitation, meeting his eyes without guile or reluctance. The golden light from his wand bloomed into a ribbon that stretched upward and wrapped around their hands. 

Harry spoke next to take his turn. "Do you swear you will never betray me?" 

The thought had never occurred to him. The idea made his heart hurt. "I swear." 

A second ribbon of golden magic wound its way around their hands. 

They needed a third vow for the spell to be properly completed. They should actually have had a third person, a witness, but that wasn't as integral as the three questions and three answers. He admired Harry's face lit from below with gold and above with silver, and ached at the thought of anyone else seeing it. "Do you swear you will never have anyone else but me?"

Harry smiled. "I swear. I never have wanted to." 

The final band of gold leapt up from the wand and bound their hands together. Now the light of the Vow was completely overpowering the light of the stars.

Harry kissed him, and by the time he pulled back the light of the magic had faded and they were only sat on the couch, holding hands. Harry smiled at him. "Better?"

"Yes." He held the back of Harry's head, resting their foreheads together, and for the first time in it seemed like ever the fist of fear unclenched from around his heart and he could breathe. Harry was his, no one else's, Harry could never leave him… 

Harry lifted his hand and kissed the tail of the dragon there, then turned it palm up and sat up straight with his wand out. "One last thing." He gestured at their hands, and a gold ring was conjured in his palm. 

He laughed just a little, an embarrassed sound, and turned his face. "You aren't serious." 

"Very." He picked up the ring and waited a second for him to offer his hand, then slid it on his ring finger. It fit perfectly. "Your memory problems — I don't want you to forget in the heat of the moment and get distressed. Now, if you're alone, because I'm working or anything, you can see this and remember." Harry wrapped his arms around him and kissed his head. He leaned comfortably against him and held out his hand to look at the ring in the starlight. How could his chest go from tight and cold to so full, so suddenly? 

"We're bound together forever," Harry murmured. "No one's ever taking me away from you."

[jackidy]

FFXIVWrite Prompt 1: Envoy

Pairing: Magnai Oronir/Freis Kisne (Male OC) Characters: Male OC (Viera), Magnai Oronir Warnings: Endwalker Spoilers, exes communicating Rating: T Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV

Summary: But nothing good ever lasted forever for him and Menphina seemed to take sick pleasure in his misfortune.

[AO3]

---

The gods were mocking him. 

What other explanation for this was there. Steadfast in his promise that he would follow his sister to the ends of the star post her return from a light drowned world, Freis had never expected to find him here too. 

Avoiding Magnai had been easy at first. His bitter rivalry with Sadu wasn't hard to miss, a constant noise in Camp Broken Glass that drowned out the near constant hum of ceruleum production and usage that was inescapable in the desolate snowscape. 

But nothing good ever lasted forever for him and Menphina seemed to take sick pleasure in his misfortune. 

Freis at first attempts to ignore the sudden presence beside him, the familiar smell of the steppe, the warmth that radiated off him like he was indeed descended from the sun. The fact part of him is still longing to show the former Khaghan even a slither of the affection he still regrettably held for him. 

"What?!" Anywhere else he'd have shouted but not here, a low hiss that was barely heard by any bar himself and the auri man before him. It was bad enough the entirety of the Steppe had bore witness to the explosive end to their fallacy of a romance, he didn't need the rest of Eorzea privy to it. 

Magnai doesn't move, doesn't even flinch. Freis is giving him the purest form of his vitriol and, still Magnai just stares at him like he's seeing him for the first time all over again. "Your hair… Is this normal?" 

Freis frowns before sighing heavily, blowing strands of silvery white hair from his mismatched eyes. He'd avoided Magnai so ardently the winter between their split and his sisters arrival that it was unsurprising he wouldn't know of this. 

"During winter, or when the temperature dips below a certain level, my sister and I grow winter coats." He explains simply, hoping it was enough to quench the other's curiosity of why orange and browns shed away to white and greys. "It's warmer, better for camouflage."

"Can I touch it?" 

It's asked after a moment, Freis untrusting of his voice to not shake as he nodded, thankful for at least the request as opposed to the other simply touching him.

He's thankful Magnai doesn't comment on the hair tie, the yellow cloth the Oronir had given him some years ago, bracing himself for the inevitable touch of his hand. 

Magnai is gentle, glove resting on the table beside their food as tanned fingers played with it. He's missed this, he's loath to admit, memories still fond of when he'd do this on lazy summer nights, when it was too humid for any other form of intimacy. 

Freis forgets himself, relaxing into the touch, ears dipping with relaxation as he let out a pleased hum. The memory of them has never felt so near, like it had never truly left. 

"It's like moonlight." 

Despite the affection laced words it hits like ice water, the illusion gone as the viera reacts instinctively, hand grabbing the others large wrist and yanking it away from his hair. 

He can't do this again. He cant listen to this man spin poetry about the moon whilst thinking of anyone bar him. 

Freis isn't his moon. He never was and never will be. 

"Don't…" He hates how pathetic he sounds, the anger from early melted away by gentle touches and even words that felt like knives did nothing to stoke it back to life. 

The silence between them stretches on, Freis confused whilst Magnai seemed apologetic almost, never once pulling his wrist away as he opened his mouth as if to speak only to close it again. It wasn't often he was speechless, that much Freis remembers. 

"Don't do this to me." Freis breaks the silence when Magnai doesn't, standing from his seat in the busy canteen and slowly letting go of his wrist. Like he wanted Magnai to take his hand and pull him back down, to give him hope where it didn't lay. "Don't lie to me again." 

He's not angry, just defeated, crestfallen and still very much in love with the giant au ra that broke his heart. Keep your face schooled, he tells himself, leaving the makeshift canteen and stepping out into the frozen Garlemald winds, taking deep breaths that came out shakey each time. 

He'd never have to endure Magnai Oronir again after this, he'd be free to move on from the affection he still held for a man who could never love him. 

All he had to do was leave Garlemald first. 

[artdecosupernova-writing]

Fictober '19 Prompt No. 10 — "Listen, I can't explain it, you'll have to trust me."

Category: Original WIP: Partners Rating: T Timeline: before the first book, roughly 1940-1941 CW: none Word Count: 1,102 Additional Notes: this is canon but I couldn't be bothered to figure out how it all worked chronologically lmao

***

"Oy, Reggie…are we there yet? Please tell me we're almost there."

Reagan swiped his palm across Ben's forehead, sloughing a layer of sweat from his skin. "We've only been walking for thirty minutes."

"And that's thirty minutes too long," Ben whined. He kicked an empty beer bottle down the mostly abandoned street and regretted it right away as the hard glass banged his toe up through his shoe. "This surprise had better be good."

"It's just a few more blocks. You'll forgive any and all misdeeds I've ever done after this."

"That's a hell of a promise." Ben stopped and heaved an exasperated sigh. "Can't you just tell me what it is? It's gotta be at least a hundred degrees out here, and I can still smell the bus driver even though we got off a half an hour ago. I wanna go home."

Reagan, still in his uniform from the diner, shoved his hand into the pocket of his white trousers and Ben heard a curious jingling that accompanied that move. "Listen, I can't explain it. Not right now. You'll have to trust me." He flashed a bright smile. "You do trust me, right?"

Ben didn't respond, but he knew he didn't have to.

The rest of the walk didn't take any longer than twenty minutes but it felt like an hour. They traversed a sweet little neighborhood, passing small traditional houses and perfectly manicured lawns. A woman stood out on her front walk, watering her grass, and a family across the street played ball with each other. The farther they walked, the higher up the ranks of class they seemed to climb until they were surrounded on both sides of the street by large middle-class homes that made Ben clench his teeth in a wash of envy.

"I don't get how anybody can afford a place like this," he said, throwing an arm toward the houses. "We're still sore from a depression. We know kids who still ain't got places to live. It feels…selfish."

Reagan came to a stop near a corner, having lit a cigarette, and stuck his other hand back in his pocket. "Some people worked hard and sacrificed a lot for this." He exhaled smoke away from Ben's face. "More than you'll ever know."

Ben shrugged. "I guess. Sure, then they'd deserve it. But I hate the idea of people who get money from their families and do nothin' to earn this kind of life."

Reagan stared down the road, squinting against the descending sun. "Do you think we'd deserve it?"

Ben looked at him, shielding his eyes. He noted the way Reagan idly picked at his chin, gaze sweeping everywhere, the way his Adam's apple bobbed. "What did you do?"

"I bought us a house, Benny."

"…What?!"

"It's that one down there." Reagan pointed across the street to a daffodil-yellow building with a small driveway leading to a garage in the back and a beautiful front porch large enough for two chairs. "It's less than five years old. Two levels…two bedrooms and a bathroom, and the kitchen is modest but nice. I'll have to buy a refrigerator, though, 'cause the previous owner still had an icebox. The garage is only big enough for one car but that's fine. That's all we need."

Ben couldn't gather enough intelligence at that moment to process the information, let alone voice his opinions about it. He blinked from Reagan's face to the house and back, several times, jaw hanging open. "You keep sayin' 'we,' what the hell does 'we' mean?!"

"It's your place now, too. You're movin' in with me."

"Oh I ain't movin' anywhere! What are you, stupid?" Ben dropped his hand and got directly in Reagan's line of sight, eyes wide. "Did you forget that I'm still only fourteen? You think Ma's gonna let me move in here with you when I haven't even left school yet?!"

Reagan grinned, though it more closely resembled a grimace. "We'll be closer to the city so we can start to play clubs. We should find a manager, figure out an act, that kinda thing."

"Hold your horses, Reg," Ben said, shaking his head and waving his hands. "I'm excited about all of this, too, but…buyin' a house? How long did you have to save up at the diner for that?"

Reagan went curiously silent. He took a deep breath, sans cigarette, and tapped his ashes onto the ground. He watched over Ben's shoulder with shadowed eyes as one of the neighbors put their empty milk bottles out in front of the door to be collected for the next day. The clinking of the glass echoed across the empty street.

"It's done," Reagan said, his voice soft. "You don't have to move in with me right away, but I want you to stay over sometimes. Maybe the odd weekend. You can live here when you're ready, or when Mama says you can, or when you graduate. Whichever comes first."

"What about your school?"

Reagan took a long, final drag of his cigarette and dropped it by his foot, twisting the sole of his shoe over the ember. "I'm still goin'. Don't worry about me."

And that was that. Reagan occupied the house in New York alone for an entire year, taking an hour and some change to get back to Jersey for Ben on the weekends and vice versa, until one day Reagan appeared on the front step of the Mertz house well into a Tuesday night, out of breath like he ran the entire way on foot.

Ben took a step back from the door, unprepared for the desperation on Reagan's face and the fact that he was there at all, especially so late. "…The hell's wrong with you?"

"I'm dyin' without you, kid," Reagan blurted. "I need you at the house. Please."

Something happened in Ben's chest. He'd never seen Reagan so bent out of shape, and the fact that you could barely see anything any which way down the street made the idea of him literally sprinting from the bus stop to beg for his best friend to be in his presence at nearly every moment—and the fact that he knew exactly what that felt like because hundreds of times he'd almost done the exact same thing.

"…Give me a week," Ben said. "I'll talk to Ma."

"We'll figure it out."

"We always do, bubbie."

"Okay." Reagan nodded, clarity returning into his stare. "I love you."

"I love you too..."

Before Ben could order Reagan to stay home overnight, he'd already disappeared down the street and around the corner.

[merigreenleaf]

World Building June 2018 - Day 22, Work & Education

I wasn't sure how to answer this one because I've already mentioned the economy and trade in earlier prompts. A friend suggested talking about education and how apprenticeships work in Concordia, so I'll answer this that way. The world- or at least the main continent I'm writing-- doesn't really have mass-production. It's not that this wouldn't be an option because I'm sure they have the technology, but so much emphasis is put on crafting and creating things by hand that this is cornerstone of pretty much every culture/country. I'm going to focus on my main country of Concordia where trades are divided into nine different categories: the Artisans, The Tradespeople, the Merchants, the Healers, the Performers, the Protectorates, the Docents, the Growers, and the Laborers. I talked a little about each of these in the government prompt. Everyone's education starts with Concordia's schools; classes are taught either by docents or by people taught by the docents, and there's a standard curriculum that's taught throughout the country. Many people stay in these schools until they graduate at 17, but some of the trades involve apprenticeships or additional education.

Artisans: The Artisans are the people who have art magic. When their magic develops, usually between the ages of 11 and 14, they're picked by a master who has the same kind of magic. They stop going to the regular school so that they can focus on training their magic and art, and they move in with their master and the master's family for about seven years until they reach the end of their apprenticeship. Usually a master only has one apprentice at a time (although their spouse will usually have an apprentice at the same time), but a master could take on two if there weren't enough free masters to go around at that particular time in that particular field. When the master has judged the apprentice done with their studies, they'll gift the apprentice with enough money to last a year, assuming the apprentice is frugal. This is so the now-amateur can go wherever they need to go and devote all their time to working on their graduation project. When the year's up, the amateur goes to the guildhall in the capital city and presents this to the grand masters. Generally the GMs approve of this because the young artist was trained well enough to pass. If not, an extension is given-- all do eventually pass and become masters, some just take a little longer.

More info about the Artisans and the rest under the read more link!

At this point the artist is promoted to novice, which is full adult artist status that lasts a few years until they're ready to become masters. (Adair starts the series as an amateur and becomes a novice in book 2.) In the years of being a novice, the artist is expected to experiment with their magic and try new things, as well as find the two people who will become their muses (spouses); one is usually another artist and the other is always a sentinel-intended. At some point in here the trio is thrown into a test by the docents. The trio doesn't know when it's coming, just that it is, so that this way the three respond the way they would if it was an actual risk. The test-- called the Criterion-- is the thing that causes the triad link to form. Way back in the day a test wasn't needed because life being more dangerous was enough to attach a sentinel to two artists, but now they need that boost. The test mimics something dangerous or something with a choice, but in a controlled way. Most of the time the trio passes. Once in a while they just aren't as compatible as they thought they were, in which case they'd have to find someone else or work out any problems they have, then try again. Artists are really* good at following their hearts and picking right, though, so they pass far more often than needing a do-over; it also helps that an artist's magic calls out for the balance a triad grants, so this could possible also influence them towards finding people who are compatible. At this point they have their link and are masters, which means they can start taking on apprentices; this usually happens in their mid-to-late 20s and because of that need for balance and arcane stability, it tends to happen sooner rather than later. (Fun fact: the link doesn't always need a test to form. Sometimes life is dangerous enough and the choice big enough to make it spring up on its own. Adair has this happen.) Almost all masters stay masters. The only other rank is grand master, which are people selected by members of their particular kind of art/magic to represent them and take care of any technical things that the guild might have to do.

Tradespeople: I promise the rest of these blurbs are much shorter! Tradespeople are the crafters who don't have magic, but they do apprentice similarly to the Artisans. In their case, though, they continue with the regular schooling alongside the apprenticeship. This lasts until their teacher (master? I'm not sure if “master” is a term I'm using culture-wide or not) thinks that they're ready to work entirely on their own. They have their own graduation project thing going on, too, but it's not nearly as convoluted as the whole Artisan process because they finish it, it gets approved, they're done and can work as a master.

Merchants: Also go to school, although if anyone in this culture was going to home-school out of sheer pickiness, it would be someone in this group. They take special classes after school to learn about art and trade and things. These aren't taught one-on-one and is another classroom setting, but not standard across the board, so what they learn is going to be hit-or-miss based on their teacher.

Healers and Medics: Healers are the ones with magic, medics are the healers who don't have magic. These also have an outside-school extra school, but this is also the group where you're most likely to have adults learning because people sometimes come into being medics later in life. As they progress and stick with it, they'll get tutored under a licensed healer or medic, usually spending at least some time learning under the other. (Like a healer will learn a bit from a medic, and vice a versa.) Medics tend to be all-purpose while healers often specialize, so they'll learn the more advanced stuff under someone in the same field. Some healers do skip the school step, though, because their magic may already be obvious and strong or something they've been fiddling with on their own. In this case they'll get that personal tutor immediately. (This happened to Blythe who had been living outside of Concordia and playing around with the healing magic before learning how to use it.)

Performers: You join the carnival performers by showing up and auditioning so they know you're serious, but to be honest, they'll let anyone join even if they're not very good. They figure you can always learn from other carnies on the road and all they're really looking for is enthusiasm and a willingness to cooperate. Being a carny is a lot of sharing and working as a team: setting up stages, playing music for others, prepping meals, clean-up. It's one big family and if you're willing to be a part of this, you're welcome in there. They prefer people to join who are adults and generally the only people who are under age who would join a troupe would be in Silveridge because the troupe in the capital city doesn't travel. This way the kid can still go to school and live with their family or whatnot. For the traveling troupes, education to the kids of members is going to be done by other members of the troupe or their parents. They'd be following the same curriculum as the schools, but depending on if the parents like this idea or not, sometimes troupe members with kids will live in a city or town for at least part of the kid's education.

Protectorates: They're taught in the regular schools in Silveridge. Protectorate families will live in the city until their children are a certain age, then one of the parents will be on duty again. There's almost too much education here! The kids grow up learning the regular stuff in the city school, then learning about weapons and plants from the other Protectorates, then going to some of the same classes about art as the merchants do because the Protectorates guard art and artists and this makes them have to know what it is they're trading and selling. Once a Protectorate kid is old enough, they can join the Protectorates officially. Anyone is free to join, though, and they don't have to come from a family in here-- all that's required is the training and education.

Docents: Docents are the judges, the historians, the researchers, and they're picked, not a career choice. When they're near the end of their schooling, somewhere in their mid-teens, they're approached by a docent and asked if they want to become one. This is a huge honor and most would say yes, but they don't have to if they don't want to. Docents train for about a decade in their particular field. Some non-docents study alongside them once they age out of regular school-- these don't become docents, but tend to also become historians or research scholars, just at kind of a different level. Docents are a little... strange. (Fun fact that's probably a spoiler: it isn't actually a docent that selects new ones, but the Creator ghosts who have been observing the potential new-docent and in this case are using the docent's eyes and mouth to make their choice known. Docents know this and willingly serve as these eyes. They learn how to share their body without being overwhelmed, as well as learning telepathy, which they largely use to help with law because they can see the truth.

Growers/Farmers & Laborers: The growers are often retired Protectorates. There aren't a ton of people needed for this job because technology males it easier for less to do more. This was always the case and how Concordia was able to do so well even back in the beginning of their history. Like with trades or the medics, you can go into this because you're interested, and any education on this would run alongside the standard schooling. There isn’t much to say about the laborers (I still need a better word for that) because anyone who doesn’t fit into the other 8 categories would have the regular school education, then pick up whatever job they do along the way. 

------------------------

I'll get into Galanvoth and Montglace some other time because this is already ridiculously long and I still need to work out those countries anyway. If anyone has any questions, let me know! I’m honestly amazed if anyone read this whole thing, but it’s really good info for me to have so I’m really thankful for WBJ. :) 

Tagging my world building peoples. Let me know if you want on or off this world building list (I also have a separate list for short stories/moodboards if you’d want on that one) and please please feel free to tag me in any writing thing you share. I love seeing what people are working on! <3 @ageekyreader @lynnafred @worldbuildingwren @theguildedtypewriter @toboldlywrite @wchwriter @ghostsmooches @lady-redshield-writes @bluemartlet @reeseweston @dreameronthewind @forlornraven @pen-for-sword @homesteadhorner @shadow-maker @loopyhoopydrabbles @emptymanuscript @madmooninc

Day 1 (Intro to my writing/series) / Day 2 (Geography) / Day 3 (People) / Day 4 (History)/ Day 5 (Civilization & Architecture) / Bonus: Art Theft  / Day 6 (Gender & Sexuality) / Day 7 (Economy) / Day 8 (Government) / Day 9 (Religion) / Day 10 (Holidays) / Day 12 (Elementals) / Day 11, 13, 14 (Language, Plants, Food) / Day 15 (Technology) / Day 16 (Magic)  / Day 17 (Medicine) / Day 18 (Fashion) / Day 19 & 20 (War & Weapons) / Day 21 (Fun) / Day 23 (The Sky)

[baxndaid]

#SWEETVALENTINE

characters ; KEAYA, THOMA, CHILDE, CHONGUN

prompt ; genshin boyos on valentine day ♡

notes/warnings ; gn!reader, angst in (lengthy) kaeya's part if you squint, use of childe's real name, fluff mostly!!

im so late omg but here,, valentines gift <3 the inspo with keaya's one is from jean's story quest, where we just find him sitting in the back with his drink while everybody else is having fun, poor kaeyayayayayaya

i also have no idea what im doing!! trying out a new style rn and seeing if i like it idk // enjoy xoxo

i. keaya

the cavalry captain isn't one for romance, well, not long term relationships. he normally walked around, flirting with everything that moved and called it a day

you, being a new recruitment chosen by master jean herself, had to be shown how things were done around here. and who better to do that than kaeya, the person who arguably does the least during his working hours.

you didn't exactly like the idea of him following you around and making snarky and sly comments about your way of training, you've heard stories about him from diluc, the red-headed man who you normally saw in the angel's share.

you knew better than to immediately believe all the gossip and stories people spread about your superior, but after spending around 6 minutes alone in the same room as him, the rumours began to feel a lot more believable.

the date was february 13th, a day before valentines day

you didn't know if you loved or hated valentines day, on one hand, you got to see everybody and their significant others prancing around monstat without a care in the world while you were alone for the day. on the other hand, cheap chocolate in the shops (!!)

you went out to start your day, groaning at the thought of having to deal with kaeya's remarks again. though, once you got their, you didn't manage to find the blue-headed man anywhere.

"he's probably slacking off, again"

though you didn't want to admit it, it was rather boring without keaya around. yeah he was an annoying bastard most of the time, but his company made you feel less lonely

i guess you could say you missed him, his face, his eyes, and his stupid flirty jokes that he pulls out of his ass every time he sees you

🤢🤢🤢🤢🤮

the sound of the wooden doors slamming open was enough to shake you out of your thoughts of your superior

"ah! y/n!"

you did a quick respectful nod at the woman in front of you "morning, master jean" your thoughts still resting on where the eyepatch-wearing man went off to

"if your looking for sir kaeya, you should head to the angel's share, he says it's urgent."

urgent my ass, he probably can't afford the wine and is making you pay for it (again)

you gave a quick 'thank you' to the dandelion knight and rushed off to the tavern, hoping this day could end as quickly as it started

at the tavern, it was pretty much empty, which was expected since it was still considered morning. you spotted kaeya sitting alone on the table nearest to the door, eyes half lidded, though he didn't look drunk, yet.

"care for a drink?" he looked up at you, a smirk plastered on his tanned face

"urgent, huh?" you sat down next to him, the wooden chair squeaking while you moved it out of the way "what are you doing here? and more importantly, why did you call me here?" you whisper-yelled as to not disturb anybody around you, though there was only 1 or 2 drunkards there at the moment

he sighed and looked down "training was getting rather boring, don't you think?" his voice getting more solemn, you could no longer hear the smirk in his voice "which is why i thought we could spend some time together, you and me,"

he frowned at your silence and decided to continue, "i'm going to let you in on a little secret," he looked around, to check if nobody was near and looked down again, fiddling with his thumbs "i've felt quite lonely, here in monstat. i feel as if i just don't have any friends, or anybody to lean on anymore. not only have i lost my father, but-" he looked around once more before continuing, "i've lost my brother too. i know i don't come off as a great person but i-"

"keaya." you stroked his hand with yours, making his gaze return to you. his eyes slightly watering. you never thought you would live to see the day, kaeya, the man that is overly confident, sly, and an overall douche, was shaking and venting to you in his brother's tavern. you would've laughed from how ridiculous it sounded but you held back, given the situation.

you smiled at him, still stroking his soft, pampered hands with your thumb. "i don't think your a bad person, sir. hey if anything, you make training less of a chore!" he let out a small chuckle as you continued, "and besides, if making friends and relationships are hard here, it doesn't mean you can't make them elsewhere. and hey, you'll always have me, doesn't sound too bad huh?" you nudged him, having no experience with comforting people in your life

he looked up at you, a melancholy smile imprinted onto his face.

"y'know, i asked master jean to tell you to come here so i could romantically ask you to be my valentines," he scoffed, "but it looks like it turned into something more." his last sentence sounded more like a question

you leaned over and pecked his cheek, a noticeable blush appearing on his cheeks and spreading to his ears, "how could i say no to you?" you said, still stroking his hand.

"ah well in that case, do you mind paying for my-"

"no."

ii. thoma

good lord get ready, this man will spoil the everlasting hell out of you in the month of february

oh? you have some left over chores to do? don't worry! thoma already did it for you!

oh? your hungry? thoma already made you your favourite meal!

oh? you dont have a valentines date yet? thoma already prepared a whole date for you and him!

wait what

practically dragging you to some unknown area, he bragged and laughed to himself about what a fantastic day he planed out for you and how you'll 100% fall for him after this!

though, he whispered that last bit

hand in hand, you both walked through the guarded streets of inazuma, sometimes stopping by at some shops to buy a snack or to simply browse.

you came across a small kimono and suit shop near the end of the trail, a tall, browned haired woman with a pretty pink kimono on greeted you and thoma as you entered.

"evening thoma, evening y/n, having fun on your date are we?" he smiled. how did she know that you agreed to go out with thoma? the ginger sensed your confusion and turned to you, scratching the back of his neck with a closed-eye smile.

"i migghht have toldeverybodyaboutyouacceptingtogooutwithme," his spoke quickly in hopes that you wouldn't hear, but you heard loud and clear

you sighed, putting a hand on your forehead. you never really liked public attention and liked to keep downlow and thoma knew this. "i'm sorry! i was just really excited is all," he exclaimed, two visible sweat droplets spearing on his forehead.

"thoma it's fine," you smiled at him, "it isn't a big deal" a wave of relief hit the ginger man as he returned your smile with one of his own. the shop owner, looking amused at the dispute, decided to speak up.

"now now, it wouldn't be a date if you didn't get your significant other here something pretty to wear, now would it?" she said, clearly trying to make thoma buy something.

"oh! yes, your right," he turned to you, "so, darling, see anything you like?"

darling? that's a new one alright

"well, which do you think would look nice on me?" you questioned back, your face a little flushed at the new nickname he suddenly decided to give to you. you regret ever asking him that because now your closet was filled with the kimono shop's entire stock.

iii. childe

much like thoma, this man will spoil you rotten

you loved to spend time with your boyfriend, however, his job made it quite difficult to even see him let alone spend time with him. so, most of the time, you spent time with your friends, walking around the harbour and gossiping

today, however, you couldn't do that

your friends, obviously not having boy/girlfriends that are also fatui harbingers, wanted to spend time with their significant others on valentines day, which meant you would be left alone with your thoughts, (and cheesy romance movies).

lying on the sofa while watching a horrible documentary, you stuffed on the cheap chocolates they sold near your house at a kiosk. you wrapped a soft blanket around you and hugged yourself as you closed your eyes and drifted to sleep.

"hey, honey!" a loud voice boomed in front of you, jolting you from your slumber. "ajax?" your eyes lit up and you instantly hopped off the sofa and hugged your loving boyfriend, "your here!"

"of course, i wanted to see you, especially today of all days. besides, i've brought you many gifts back from my mission in sumeru!" he pointed behind him, a literal mountain of objects flooding your house.

kissing your face all over, you groaned internally, still looking at the giant mess behind your lover.

"looks like i have some cleaning to do,"

iv. chongyun

hot nervous MESS (in the literal sense)

he couldn't count the amount of ice treats he had to consume after your little outing.

obviously, he didn't exactly do it alone, xingqiu knew about chongyun's little crush and decided to tease help his dear friend! getting xiangling to help out too, the trio sat down and decided how they would get you to accept chongun's proposition.

the plan went a little like this:

"chongyun, first you ask y/n to help you find and exile evil spirits up in the mountains, kay?"

"then! xiangling and i will pretend to be ghosts and poor y/n will get scared so you, my dear friend, have to comfort them! haha get it, wink wink, nudge nudge!" "oh yes, i see..." (he doesn't get it)

"after, you come find us and 'vanquish' us and save the day!"

"and so, you ask y/n and they'll be soo impressed with your heroic skills that they just have to say yes! a perfect story, no cliff-hangers, good romance, a little cheesy but that's okay-" "i'm hungry!"

"after we do all that let's get some lunch! i can whip something up real fast!"

however, that plan didn't really work out. you see, instead of the chef and the nerd actually doing what they were meant to do, xiangling got distracted and went out looking for wild ingredients and xingqiu, well he had no intention in actually helping, he was there to watch the train wreck of chongyun asking you out.

after 13 minutes of sitting in a awkward silence, the blue haired boy turned to you, disheartened.

"i'm sorry, i thought that i sensed some evil spirits here and thought that we could catch them together." his face red with embarrassment and shame, he pulled out an ice lolly to keep himself cool.

"yun, it's fine, really. i like spending time with you anyway!" you held his hand and looked down, a faint blush on his and your cheeks

"actually, there is something i wanted to ask you for a few days," chongyun looked at you, perplexed, "do you- do you wanna be my valentines?"

bam!

seems that he overheated and passed out, his face as red as a chilie and mouth agape as he lied motionless on the floor

though the day wasn't exactly a huge disaster, xingqiu got a few laughs out of it

NAVIGATION ♡