#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."

[venomhound]

Hazbin Hotel - Dumb Lucifer Scenario Dump

Here are just a bunch of like random scenarios that popped into my head; usually when I was half asleep or hadn't slept for several days. Im not going to do anything with these beyond this post so if someone wants to like turn these into a short story or comic, feel free. Just link back and give me credit for the idea please ~<3

WARNING: Actual brainrot below the cut. Not beta read we die like men -ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Who Needs Magic Anyway? ₊˚ ‿︵୨୧

(Little bit of context; this idea came about because I was talking to @writteninlunarlight-years about the whole 'there is only one bed trope thing)

Lucifer and reader are both drinking together. They both get so plastered that the reader cant go home on their own and Lucifer cant make a decent portal. (The portals keep fizzing out, going to the wrong places.... Point is he cant do it right atm).

So Lucifer offers to have the reader stay with him for the night. Even in their drunkin state, the reader side-eyes Lucifer at his offer and the guy just keeps digging his hole deeper Saying stuff like:

Lucifer: I-I meant we can sleep together as friends. Reader: *blinks* Lucifer: WAIT-

Lucifer even offers to make you one of those stupid pillow walls in between you two if your really that uncomfortable. What a gentleman

Anyway, you both eventually end up in his bedroom and Lucifer changes into duck pajamas (because of course thats what he has. what else would the guy have really). Then you both look at each other awkwardly as you both realize you… don't exactly have anything comfortable to sleep in.

Lucifer quickly says that its fine! He will just magic you up some pjs! Easy! Well. The problem is when he does this, his alcohol infused brain defaulted the entire concept of sleepwear to mean 'Lucifer’s sleepwear.' So when he zaps you, you end up with a perfectly matching set of ducky nightshirt and pants to Lucifer’s very own.

Lucifer immediately wants to die.

Bonus: This entire thing has now made me headcanon that Lucifer cannot control his magic when he is drunk

✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿‿✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿‿✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿

Playing the Hero ₊˚ ‿︵୨୧

NOTE: I used a spider here, but really it can be any bug. Or whatever you want. I just did a spider because fuck spiders, and the idea of Lucifer cowering at a mini Angel Dust was very funny to me

Its late at night and as usual Lucifer cannot sleep. Lucifer is suddenly disturbed however, by the reader in their adorable pajamas. They are looking around nervously, with their hands hidden in their sleeves.

The man is immediately ready to do anything they ask cause they are just so darn cute.

The reader sheepishly asks him if he can kill a giant spider that has decided to make itself at home in their room. Lucifer, ever the sin of pride, (and maaayyybe wanting to impress them a little), excitedly says that of course he can! Completely pushing away the fact that, he too, is afraid of spiders.

They both go to the reader's room and as soon as Lucifer sees the spider he panics a little. (”Oh god, that is actually a big spider.”, ”Why are its legs so long??”)

Wanting to play the hero but also not wanting to go anywhere near the accursed thing, Lucifer thinks itll be a great idea to just- zap it.

Well, the thing is Lucifer’s hands are very shaky at the moment, due to a combination of having all the reader's attention on him and the fear of holyshitspider. So when he tries to zap the thing he completely fucking misses like an idiot.

The spider goes flying toward the two of them, resulting in both of them bursting out of the room screaming bloody murder and waking up the rest of the hotel.

✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿‿✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿‿✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿

Don't Overthink It ₊˚ ‿︵୨୧

(Again, inspired by @writteninlunarlight-years specifically her post about Making Flower Crowns for the Hazbin Men. This prompt takes place during Valentines Day, but you can easily modify it to be during a different holiday. Can be platonic or romantic.

Valentines Day comes around, and you decide to gift one to the infamous King of Hell. Because youll be sending it anonymously, you decide to go all out. You get him a super nice duck themed gift, handwrite him a card, as well as get him a stunning bouquet.

What you didn't anticipate however, was Lucifer completely losing it when he receives the gift. Apparently its been decades/centuries since he last received a Valentine, let alone one as nice as the one you gave him.

He was the King of Hell after all. You assumed he got a million Valentines automatically because of his position. I mean, Alastor got piles of them so why WOULDNT the King of Hell?

Because of its anonymous nature, Lucifer's ever romantic heart gets obsessed with the Valentine. You love bombed the poor guy on complete accident. Lucifer starts trying to do his own little 'investigations' to figure out who made it for him, like comparing different handwritings to the one on the card and such. Lucifer even starts daydreaming about who it could be and imagining what they are like.

(if its romantic) Your afraid to tell him you did it because you don't want to complicate your friendship with Charlie. A part of you also feels guilty that you somehow managed to put yourself on such a high pedestal in Lucifer's eyes when... your just you.

(if its platonic) You don't want to break Lucifer's heart and tell him that you just wanted to do something nice. You feel guilty for getting his hopes up for something/someone that doesn't exist.

BONUS: At some point in the story, the reader walks by a trashcan/dumpster full of Valentines meant for Alastor that he clearly just trashed right away. Alastor hates Valentines day because everyone wont. Stop. BUGGING. HIM.

[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.

[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.

[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

[reddevil-xiv]

Prompt #29: Building Patience

Prompt 29: Fuse - FFXIV Write 2022  Characters: Talia, various mentions of: Arafel, Edarien, Seviere (@thedarknesssings), Louvel (@louvel-roche), Idristan (@roses-and-grimoires), Inwa (@blisteringstar), Ivan (@ivanxemear), SV, and Priarch.  Notes: A follow up to this story.

Mismatched eyes stared at the security footage from the Oubliette for the umpteenth time over the last few days. Arafel was awake. In his cell, and awake. The first time Talia had viewed the footage, she’d hurled her phone and nearly broken it against a wall. 

Idristan had fetched it for her and had to spend at least a bell calming her down. She hadn’t expected this quick and sudden of a rage to stir at the mere sight of him. It had taken hands down her arms, and a lot of quiet murmuring to soothe the fox.

The second time Talia viewed the footage, she was possessed of a calmer head and did her utmost not to show any reaction at all. It had resulted in the opposite problem from before, she’d gone cold as she did when sniping, and was fairly certain that she’d frightened some of the workshop staff when she’d gone from her office down towards the stairs leading to the Oubliette. 

This time she made it as far as the elevator that led down to the Oubliette and had slumped back against a wall, taking in sharp, shallow breaths while she fought the simultaneous urge for retributive justice, and a persistent blind panic. She didn’t make it further than the elevator, turning and heading back into her office just off the workshop. She should review the footage again, just to be certain. She should do anything but actually go down there.

The third time Talia viewed the footage of Arafel awakening in his cell, she was more careful. She was prepared, and she made certain she was distracted during the entire process. Cleaning the black pistol that had been a gift from one husband, while speaking with the other via her linkpearl, to make sure she maintained her calm.

This time she was more composed, her fuse taking longer and longer to burn to the end. She thought she had it together enough, at last. Her patience was holding, practicality winning out over the firespark quickness of her anger. Once they were done with him, she’d hopefully never have to see-or think-of him again. 

And she was inclined to listen to Inwa and Edarien’s good advice. See what he needed, and then get him the hells out of her building. She wouldn’t let Seraphim’s Rest turn into another Priarch situation. Not again. Never again. 

“Tonight,” she said at last to the voice on the other end of her call as she pushed herself to stand from her desk and shoved the gun she’d been working on into the holster on her back. The linkpearl in her ear brought Idristan's voice

“We’ll question him tonight. I’ll shoot a text to Louvel and Seviere, see if they’re ready. It’s been a couple of days. Arafel’s stayed in my facility long enough, and I want answers, and then I want him gone.” Her tomestone was palmed up as she exited her office, letting the door close behind her and seal with its usual click.

"I'll be there in a bell or two, Talia. Don't start without me." Came the voice in her ear. Her quiet voice of reason. Or maybe he just wanted to be sure nothing bad happened to her a second time. He didn't trust Arafel anywhere near his wife. But then, he also wasn't sure he trusted her temper around the vampire.

Still, she gave him her quiet agreement and then told him to travel safe and cut the linkpearl call short. Texts went out as quickly as she could type out each of the messages and subsequently hit send.

To Louvel for him and Seviere to make sure they could be there in a few bells; Arafel had finally woken up and she knew they wanted answers before she kicked the vampire to the curb.

To Ivan to make sure he was notified and could be present; she hoped to get answers about their music box, and maybe something of their voidsent issue as well.

To Inwa to ask if he wanted to be there; this might be one of their last chances to question Arafel at all, especially if something went wrong and he ended up dead by the end of the evening.

She headed for the front area of Seraphim's Rest, to wait for the others to arrive for the night. And maybe beg Lakoko for a cup of the lalafellin woman's best spiked coffee. She was definitely going to need the fortification for the night.

[bumblerhizal-art]

Find the Word

Thanks for the tag @heniareth and also the second tag today that reminded me i left this on the backburner! This was a lot of fun, and for some of the words, forced me to actually work on the fics enough to make them presentable (although don't take that to mean these are anywhere near their final forms). Somehow, i did manage to scrounge together an already-written bit for each! It's a good thing Google Docs lets you search across all files at once is what i'll say lol

I've listed next to each excerpt which wip they come from and a quick few words about each because the day i get to the point immediately is the day i die

Going to tag you back in turn Heniareth as well as @wild-houseplant @badartxd @heapster-45 and @shadowkat678 to find the words drink, lie, warm, and/or cold! No pressure tho!

Follow (from Hidden - a still unanswered Tumblr prompt)

Novhen said, "Why don't you come sit with me while I wait for my strength to come back? There's still space for another."

Kieran cautiously stepped forward. As he turned the corner of the bench, he kept his eyes fixed on Griffon. Novhen followed his line of sight.

"Don't worry yourself about him," he said. "He's a smart dog. Wouldn't hurt a hair on your head."

Griffon huffed as though any other possibility would have been completely absurd.

Kieran sat down slowly. He now stared off into the distance, refusing to look Novhen or Griffon in the eye.

Stay (from The Diaries of Novhen Tabris - a translation of the personal journals of the Hero of Ferelden centuries after he lived, this excerpt is immediately post GoA and Witch Hunt)

17. Wintermarch 9:32 Dragon

Received a summons from the First Warden which Mistress Woolsey tells me must be acted on immediately. That's fine. I didn't need rest anyway.

In the time I've been gone, Soris apparently announced his engagement to a blackhaller's daughter. Shockingly, nobody took well to this. He's gone and eloped to Maker-knows-where. I've found a few letters on my desk from him dated to before his disappearance. He must think I've abandoned him.

This isn't going to mean well for the alienage either. Once the dust settles, we'll be without a bann or hahren. I'm going to arrange to speak with Alistair after I return from Weisshaupt, but until then, I have to assume management will return to the Arl of Denerim. If I try to stop through the city on the way, who knows how long they'll get me to stay for. Best to depart directly from Amaranthine and wait to deal with this until I get back, so they can keep me for however many months they demand.

Fish (from Rites of Passage - the retelling of Novhen's prologue)

Soris handed the sword, the shield, the bow, and the quiver one by one into Novhen's hands, and Novhen tucked them away one by one behind the folds of the fabric. 

“If anyone asks, you're delivering refreshments to Vaughan's quarters.” Adwen evaluated the cart, “This still looks like a one man job though. Soris, come here."

Soris looked up from where he was handing off Duncan's quiver. Adwen was walking towards a two tier pie with fish heads sticking out of the edges. He shimmied it off of the kitchen table, and Soris jogged over to take it off his hands. With bending knees and heavy breathing, the massive dessert was laid into Soris's arms.

"Say it needed extra care."

"We've already spent too much time on this. Let's go," Novhen gripped the cart’s handle. "Thank you, Adwen, more than I can say."

Light (from Gathering Frays - between Origins and Awakening)

He tried to listen to them through the walls and floors. He couldn’t tell exactly where they had run off to after tossing him in this room. It was possible they were interrogating [Alistair/Loghain] first. He tried to listen to their voices, but they were far too distant. It would be futile to try to make out their words even if they were speaking the Trade tongue, which, now that Novhen thought about it, seemed unlikely. A pod of Orlesians Wardens discussing top-secret matters in Ferelden were going to be speaking Orlesian. Maybe some of the older generation could speak it, but Novhen certainly could not.

The indistinct voices dissipated. A moment later, footsteps drew closer. A single person. Lighter step than most. Up the stairs and towards this room. Novhen straightened his posture and rose. The door creaked open.

It was the elf, Andras.

"Good morning, son. Would you please take a seat?" he spoke gently and with an Orlesian accent.

"Of course, ser."

The thought briefly passed his mind to take the seat at the head of the desk, but he shot it down. This was hardly the time to pull stunts. He carefully sat himself in the oak chair in front of the desk while Andras took the seat behind it.

[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.