#and they're both about fairly personal things

[pyromaniacbibliophile]

mwahahaha doing this because literally no-one asked hehe

One was barely an adult, holding up horses on a dirt road to pay the rent. The other had just cast away his identity to join the Officers of Law, and was sent to patrol the town border. They met, both masked, shots fired. One escaped, the other made excuses to his boss. Both thought about the other for the next week.

The above kind of indicates, but since they were about 18. Beforehand they had seen each other around town, but that was the first conversation they had had.

Bandit thought Officer was too arrogant for his horse. Officer thought Bandit was nothing but a jumped up kid with a gun. Now Bandit thinks Officer is the funniest bastard ever to wear a mask, utterly stunning, and unreasonably loyal. Officer thinks Bandit is the most attentive person he's ever met, utterly stunning, and far too caring.

Due to the nature of their relationship, it would depend on who's asking. Saying that it's a friend who knows both of their identities and relationship- B would describe O as handsome, tall, and brown-eyed. He would say that O was far too devious for his profession, far too good for him, funny, charming, and happy. O would describe B as beautiful, looks incredible on a horse, eyes like the moon on the sea, like something out of a story, like a broken mirror. He would say that B was far too good at his job, confident in his self, healing, rightfully cocky, charismatic, and his love.

Personally yes. They are married, so very well. They know each other better than anyone else does, which means a lot to each of them as their respective jobs both require anomity. Their personalities fit together, and they've had chemistry since the day they met. Professionally yes but they'd both deny it, liars that they are. They're jobs require them to dislike each other, and even though they're laughing their heads off at home that afternoon, their professional characters are foes, albeit foes with far too much UST

Horses, guns, and each other. Yes to horses, especially on days off. Yes to guns, usually pointed at each other at work. and certainly yes to each other *ahem ahem*

Every day, as they are married. They usually meet in bed, in the kitchen, the living room, or at work.

Fairly well. They are rather prone to fist-fighting for a good hour or more after a disagreement, which actually works out well for both of them. Professional disagreement fights tend to lead to their bed, and then after a long sleep they've either entirely worked thing out or are in a good headspace to talk. Personal disagreement fights lead to the pub and conversations, followed by patching each other up, and moving on. It's not an advisable dynamic, i suppose, but it works out for them. At work they communicate with a made up sign language as well :)

A fairly healthy amount of Not Being Sane

One works for the law, and the other breaks it daily

Oh they absolutely are each other's foils. So much. It's basically police officer x criminal. One works day in, day out, to capture the other, and the other works as hard as he can to evade him.

So much affection. They are the worst for PDA, they will literally hang off each other when out, and it is rare you see them together not holding hands. Both are very prone to waving weapons and threats at anyone who either threatens or tries to seduce their partner. At home they cook together, read in silence curled up on armchairs, stargaze from the roof, go out drinking together.

So much. Professionally they never miss a moment to get a dig or an insult in at the other, they shittalk each other to their collegues, they threaten each other at gunpoint, pistols at dawn. death threats- you name it.

Yes and no- to become fabulously rich, build proper houses for everyone in town, retire together to the sea and run a resturant, live peacefully without juggling two identities. - no is really nuanced and i don't have the brainpower to type it right now.

Unequivalently. Completely. Without hesitation. They laugh about it but each of them would trust the other with their life. Why- because they revealed their anonymous identities to the other and they did nothing about it, because they've known each other longer and better than anyone else, because they've never betrayed the other despite having more than enough chances to.

They are not.

Yes, that of their identities and their relationship (Kinda). They don't mind it, know it's neccecary and that, but find it really fiddly not to reveal their identities by accident.

They. Are. Husbands. as permanent as it's going to get, here.

Yes. They like it how they are.

That time a few years ago on Fool's Day when no-one in the town was working, not even the police or the criminals. they dressed up in their best clothes, did their hair, looked immaculate, and went out for a walk along the river. Halfway along they got too hot, dived in, and wound up having a water fight for the majority of the afternoon, then trudged into the bar soaking wet, took their drinks home, and laid around until sunset in their underwear with their clothes drying on the roof. Oh, and their wedding.

The jagged, aching, bitter fight they had after revealing their identities to one another.

Bandit had trauma flashbacks one night. Will elaborate later.

They have many friends in town, but only one who knows who they both are- an old woman called Grandma, who fences all stolen material and sells it to the right buyers. She found out by accident, and six months later was the maid of honor/witness/best man at their secret wedding

ohohoho. See, in 'public' when their working, they act like sworn enemies. Pure, unrivalled hate. When they're not, they act like any other married couple in love. At home they're what can only be described as an Old Married Couple. They bicker relentlessly, annoy the hell out of each other, and fall asleep saying i love you.

Far too many nuances to answer at two am

They'd have a whale of a time

To the end of the world. They would die, kill, and live for each other. They would march down to Hell Orpheus-style for each other, drink poison for each other romeo and juliet-style, live when everyone else around them is dead marisette-style. Anything.

Questions about two of your original characters about their relationship. Should work for friends/lovers/coworkers/enemies/etc, maybe not so much for family, but you're welcome to try!

How did they meet?

How long have these two characters known each other?

What were their first impressions of each other? How does that compare to their impressions of each other now?

How would they describe each other if asked? Physically? In personality?

Do they get along? Why or why not?

Do they have any shared interests/hobbies? Do they ever do these hobbies together?

How often do they see each other? Where do they usually meet?

How do they communicate with each other? Are there any recurring phrases or gestures unique to their relationship?

What is one quality they have in common?

What is one major difference between them?

Does one act as a narrative foil to the other? How so?

Do they have any affection for each other? How do they show it?

Do they have any disdain/contempt for each other? How do they show it?

Do they share the same goals in life?

Do they trust each other? Why or why not?

Is one of them keeping secrets from the other? Why? How would they react if the secret was revealed?

Are they keeping a secret together? How do they feel about that?

Do they view their relationship as temporary or permanent?

Are they satisfied with their relationship? Do they wish they were closer/more distant?

What is their best memory together?

What is their worst memory together?

When were they the most vulnerable with each other?

Do they have any mutual friends? Mutual enemies?

How do these two interact with each other in public versus in private?

If a stranger saw them together, how would they describe their relationship?

How would these characters react to being stuck in a small room with each other?

How far would they go for each other? Would they risk their own lives for each other?

[subrosasteath]

Big fan of whatever the safety team in season 4 has going on actually.

We've got Suitcase, leader of safety, which is super interesting. Of course Suitcase chose to focus on safety, when so many of the people around have died extremely easily before. There's knife, whose loss is a permanent one, something she can't change and can't prevent, but who sticks beside her whenever he can anyway, and then there's balloon, who not only got threatened by cobs with a sword at the end of season 2, but is also infamously easy to pop and kill. Of course suitcase is going to be worried about safety when her number 1 worry is how to keep the rest of her friends alive.

Second, we've got paintbrush, another interesting pick, because I think one of the thing's Paintbrush is best known for is their fiery temper and the destruction it causes, as well as their friendship with another easily shatterable contestant, Lightbulb. Now, I think there's very interesting potential here for a story with Paintbrush trying to keep themselves in check to help keep others safe, as well as it's just pretty sweet and makes sense that as a close friend of a contestant whose pretty easy to kill, Paintbrush would join the ii death pact team.

EDIT: Omg I can't believe I forgot, but Paintbrush was also one of the last survivors in the season 2 finale. They saw not only Lightbulb, but Test tube, and Fan, 3 of their close team mates die in front of them. OF COURSE THEY'RE IN THE DEATH PREVENTION TEAM

Now, also of course we have Box and Life-ring. Both picks that make sense. As someone who has already had experience with death, it makes a lot of sense for Box to join the death prevention team. Not only is she going to be extremely aware of potential dangers, but she also knows the consequences of those dangers very intimately. Also, she's someone who connected with Suitcase fairly well, it makes sense they'd work together

Life-ring just makes sense. Yeah, that guy's a life guard. Yeah, he's a floaty and knows CPR. Yeah, put him on the safety team.

And then we've also got random Meeple headquater's assistant? For some reason? I'm not complaining I LOVE it, get this guy a name and some personality! Throw him on the show! Make him work for safety and death prevention lmao!

[laughatlocksmiths]

Isabella "Bella" Swan, protagonist of commercially-acclaimed YA romance series The Twilight Saga, is:

1. A fairly typical YA female lead who only exists to fall in love and gets the guy. She's literally just a girl in love, you guys, it's not that deep. Edward is her soulmate and they're going to be happy forever because that's the genre convention. It doesn't have to be something that would make sense in real life in order to be a romance novel that uses genre conventions effectively.

2. The main character in a fairly racist and misogynistic religious parable about how young (white) women should marry young, have babies (even if the pregnancy is highly dangerous and against medical advice), and join the Mormon church, because they will be rewarded for this with eternal life in paradise.

3. A complex and actually pretty tragic figure, a girl who was so profoundly lonely all her life that she jumped at the first chance she saw to become part of something greater than herself and to validate the disconnection from normal human life that she had always felt.. but in her eagerness to transcend the sad, lonely person she used to be, she made a series of increasingly desperate decisions that ended with her making exactly the same mistakes as her parents and becoming exactly what she always feared. The saddest thing about Bella Swan is that, by the end of the story, she has cut off so many parts of her self that she doesn't even realize how much she has sacrificed in exchange for a life that is ultimately too shallow to really satisfy a person's soul. But she's going to live forever, so eventually the dam will break and she'll have to come to terms with what she has done, both to herself and to the people who loved her.

4. Otherkin

All of these explanations are 100% true, by the way.

[princess-glassred]

I made another IT OC!

Clarith Eden Harper 😇☕️🍼🥧⛪️⭐️🪡🧸📿🕯📝✝️

•Clarith Eden Harper was born on July 7th 1973 as the youngest child to very strong and strict religious family, making her star sign a cancer and her freshly aged sixteen.

•She is straight and cis

•Clarith's name is unsurprisingly derived from religious words, clarith means clear or clarity, Eden is the garden of eden, and harper is a reference to an angel's harp.

•She is the youngest of eight siblings, she has two twin sisters named Charity and Chastity (age 22), an older brother named Diligence (but she just calls him Dill) (age 21), another brother named Temperance that she calls Tim (age 20), a sister named Kindness (age 19), a sister named Humility (age 18), and a slightly older sister named Patience (age 17). They are all named after the 7 heavenly virtues.

•Her family is lowkey a cult, her parents (Angelina May Harper and Elijah George Harper) are very strict and stereotypical christian nationalists that subscribe their own warped ideas of how christianity should work. They're as abusive and controlling as they come without hitting any of their kids, and they keep Clarith and all her siblings isolated with their strange beliefs. They have so many kids purely because they don't believe in things like contraceptives, as well as doctors, science, or anything that they personally don't like the sound of.

•Because of this, Clarith's only friends are her siblings. She never talks to anyone but them and they never talk to anyone but her, if she didn't have them she'd be totally alone.

•Her parents run their own shitty church and live off of the donations they get from their communion and the jobs all their kids work, Clarith herself works at a shitty small diner that Arlene Hanscom works at. Basically the moment she or her siblings make any money they take it and use it to live off of.

•Because they make so little income they live in a simple 3 bedroom tract house and make their kids share a bedroom four to one. Clarith shares her room with Patience, Humility, and Kindness since they're the youngest girls and therefore "shouldn't be sharing rooms with boys, even if you're related to them".

•The chokehold Clarith's parents have on her life is ridiculous, she doesn't buy her own clothes, go anywhere without asking, hang out with other kids, decide what she eats, watches, or wears for the day, pretty much every facet of her life is puppeted. To the point that Clarith has never felt like anything in her life has ever been "hers" really, not her room, not her food, nothing that she had felt like something she could confidently say wouldn't be ripped away from her or lorded over her head as leverage for something.

•This life style has left Clarith and her siblings emotionally stunted to such a degree Clarith doessn't think she even has a personality or interests.

•As mentioned before she works at a diner, her main job is cleaning and baking pies to put in the hotcase for people to buy, and she's quite skilled at both of those things. She's also fairly good at sewing and mending although neither of those are things she's passionate about. She enjoys them, but she wouldn't be doing them if she didn't have to. She feels lukewarm about it all.

•There is one thing she's passionate about though, and that's romance stories. Clarith LOVES to imagine fantastical stories about handsome men whisking women off their feet but she lives in a house where any book that isn't the bible might as well be smut. She's written romance stories down before in her notebook at lunch, but she keeps the notebook in her locker so no one at home risks finding out. She considered writing them down in her diary, but she soon learned her parents were reading her diary so it wouldn't have been very safe regardless.

•She has an almost uncanny natural talent for writing flowery romance stories, almost like her childhood of being deprived of that affection made her an expert on the fantasy of romance. She might not have experience, but she is well versed in what it means to want something very badly.

•Clarith's favorite food is Bananna splits and her favorite drink is chammomile tea.

•Her belief in jesus and god is kind of strained due to her upbringing, I think, in spite of her childhood, Clarith still believes in the christian god but doesn't think he's anything like most people say. In an ironic twist of fate, clarith also created her own idea of christianity like her parents did, but unlike her parents who used their idea of god to exhibit absolute control over their homes and families, Clarith uses her ideas to imagine of a kind being who will protect those who need it most and offer guidance to the lost. It turns out though that both Clarith and her parents are right in their assumptions. The greedy god who plays with humans to test their will that her parents rant and rave about IS real, and it's name is Pennywise. The kindly god who sees every child as good and kind and offers aid to the weak IS real too though, and his name is Maturin.

•Her voice claim is sissy spacek, she (and the rest of her family) has a very strong southern accent.

•Her favorite movie is the 1987 romcom Splash, she snuck out one night to go see it at the theatre because she knew her parents would never let her see a romance movie anyways. She was very glad she did, because that movie practically changed her whole damn life.

•She prefers relaxing, laid back music without lyrics over any other type of genre. Classical is too pompous, metal is too extreme, easy listening is just right.

•Her favorite book is pride and prejudice, she LOVED being assigned it for english class. She was so happy they let her keep the copy they gave her after they were done reading it.

•She also really loves school because it's one of the few places she gets to go everyday and get away from her parents.

•She likes baking, mending clothes, going to the park, talking with her siblings, reading, day dreaming about romance, sleeping in, going to school, people watching, and going on picnics.

•She dislikes loud noises, large crowds, people who smoke, dogs, people who drink, all the really gorey parts of the bible, TV, cars, bars, parties, social cliques, clubs, running, and most of the men in her life.

•Clarith is often described by others as looking almost like a ghost, she's very thin and pale, her eyes have dark circles that are sunken in, she moves very slowly, and her clothes are all something an old woman would wear.

•Her favorite color is gray.

•Clarith kind of accepted a long time ago that she'd never get to finish highschool or move out since her parents wouldn't let her. That's why charity and Chastity are 22 and still live at home, their parents straight up won't let them leave.

•She's afraid of sea monsters, aliens, demons, and quite a few animals. The way her parents described the bible and hell's army to her made her terrified of hell and all the creatures inside of it. It wasn't even the demons actions, more so the horrifying way that demons are describes as half animal half human abominations. The depiction of the devil as a cloved foot goat man immediately comes mind. Her fear of demons, the ocean, and aliens also plays into her fear of the unknown. Being raised so isolated made her terrified of how there is so much out there we don't know anything about and she constantly freaks out about that. Whether it be outer space, underwater, or hell itself, Clarith cannot stand the thought of there being powerful and unusual creatures out there that the human race cannot comprehend. This makes the fact that she lives in Derry 100x worse because she literally lives right above an ancient cosmic horror monster she couldn't even begin to comprehend. I think if Pennywise wanted to scare Clarith and attack her it'd take the form of Leviathan. A biblical half himan half sea monster that represents the sin of envy and is well known for devouring anything in it's path. She'd be just chilling at the quarry and BAM, the monster rises out of the water hungry as can be. Either that or maybe a bunch of grey aliens flying over head and coming down at night. She could be walking through a corn maze on a shortcut home and suddenly see dozens of bright lights come down one after another, only to then see in the distance a grey alien pop out of the maze and chase her.

•Buckle up now boys, cause this is where Clarith's life makes a HARD turn. Things are about to get really rough, you've been warned.

•Clarith makes an absolutely stupid mistake because of her parents constant pressure and control, one that ultimately changes the course of her life forever.

•In her house pioty and saving yourself for God was something that was put on a pedestal, but because of Clarith's lack of personal belongings she started to believe her divine virginity was basically the only the she had. After so long of being told she had to do XYZ to preserve it Clarith determined that she really just wanted to get rid of it as soon as possible so she wouldn't have to worry about it anymore. It was HER belonging, she should have a right to decide what happens with it.

•It wasn't even to just lose it though, she had to lose it in the most fucked up way, to the most fucked up person she could find so that it was as far removed from her parents teachings as it could be.

•Enter Patrick Hockstetter.

•Patrick took an immediate liking to Clarith because she was so obviously repressed and damaged by her upbringing, the same quality he found so appealing in Henry Bowers. Belch let Patrick Bower his car for the night and he took Clarith up to the quarry where they then proceeded to have sex. Patrick had a blast, but Clarith found it oddly cold and unfun. She had expected it to be magical, or at least feel like something really important, but it just wasn't. It wasn't like she was expecting it to have fireworks and confetti, she knew very well that she didn't love Patrick at all and that would probably affect how good it felt, but it didn't even feel like ANYTHING. It just felt so empty, like something you HAD to do, not something you wanted to do. It definitely didn't help that Patrick was a dick to her the whole time and laughed about how she clearly didn't know what she was doing.

•After that, Clarith was pretty content to just forget about Patrick and never think about it again. Until one day... something happened.

•On her sixteenth birthday she was on break from working at the diner when she realized her period was late. And suddenly a wave of panic flushed her mind.

•Clarith sprinted to Keene's pharmaxy to buy a pregnancy test and took it with baited breath, and unfortunately for her her worst fear came true.

•It was postive. Shit.

•Clarith was pretty shocked from that but from pretty early on she was very adament she wanted to carry it to full term. Derry didn't have an abortion clinic anyways, the closest one was in bangor and lord knows she couldn't go there on her own. She didn't know if she was gonna adopt it out or not, and she reasoned that if things went really bad she could try giving it away to a the Denbrough's since they just lost a kid and would probably take a replacement. She was very sure that she could absolutely not, under any circumstances, tell her family.

•She tried to tell Patrick about it, believe me, she really did try. She knew it was wrong to keep the father in the dark about the kid so she wanted him to know, maybe even revieve some help from his parents in taking care of it, but when she tried to tell him everything went to shit.

•When she approached the Bowers gangs lunch table they didn't even let her get a word in and immediately started making fun of her. They said clarith was nuts, the kind of clingy broad who thinks because she had one meaningless hookup that meant they were married, that Patrick had somehow tricked her into thinking they were dating. Eventually when they did calm down and finally asked her why she was talking to them, she did a total 180. She told Patrick the only reason she came over was to tell him his dick was too small for their rendavou to he enjoyable and that Belch's car is tacky.

•Later on when Patrick goes missing Clarith doesn't care at all, but she does lament that this couldn't have happened before she made the mistake of fucking him.

•She starts crying in the bathroom and throws up in the sink when she thinks she's alone, but it turns out Bev is there hiding from Gretta and overhears her complaints about morning sickness she demands to know what's going on with her. Bev and Clarith had never spoke before, mostly because Bev was wrongfully called the town slut and Clarith's parents would never let her associate with that, but Clarith sees no reason in hiding from Bev.

•Bev is floored to think Patrick has a kid brewing in her tummy, but she is symapthetic to her plight. She gets the losers involved and they all band together to get her some baby stuff she can stash away at the clubhouse. They give her their old baby clothes and toys, pile together some cash, offer her what little parenting advice they can get second hand from their parents. It's all very sweet.

•Bev becomes Clarith's first and only friend, which is so wonderfully ironic but also very fitting considering their relationship with their parents.

•Clarith also gets a helping hand from a very unusual source, that being Arlene Hanscom. When they're at work and Clarith accidentally lets it slip that she's pregnant and terrified Arlene pulls her close intona hug and gives her some advice. She says she knows how it feels to be a single mom, and how it feels to know everyone everywhere is always judging you or offering unsolicited advice. She tells her that anything that's worth having in life, money, power, love, you're gonna have to fight like hell to keep it, and if she really wants this baby she's gonna have to work her ass off to prove to every asshole that doubts her she can do it. Clarith is especially touched by this because this is the closest thing to a real mother daughter talk she's ever had. Her own mother would never give her advice like that, let alone even suggest that she COULD be strong if she tried. It makes clarith cry happy tears.

•When shit does hit the fan and Clarith's parents find out her folks immediately turn all her siblings against her as some kind of power play and it hurts her quite a bit.

•Pennywise also taunts her with dreams of a deformed hell spawn baby in a crib soaked with blood, so uh... yeah she's not doing to hot.

•in a surprising twist her parents reveal that they're willing to go against one of their core beliefs and get clarith a discreet abortion, and clarith is sickened by the hypocrisy of it all. Of course they were willing to go against their own teachings the moment it could possibly reflect poorly on them. Of course they would only bend if it meant they could take something away from her. Fuck.

•This leads to Clarith's big revelation in her bed that night, the revelation that ultimatley, this kid is the one thing she has that is hers and hers alone. It might have been an accidental thing, but she was born an accident too and at least she's going to love her kid unlike her parents. Clarith spent her whole life doing what other people want, attempting to fit a mold to gain some form of love she never got, and this baby is the first thing that's ever brought real change. She thought she was sentenced to always stay in Derry, working for her parents like some kinds extra shadow in the room they could siphon money from. For once in clariths life she feels like she has something that'll be hers, something that has brought out a strenght in her she never even knew she had-- and she is NOT going to let her parents steal that.

•In the dead of the night Clarith ran away from home with nothing but the stuff the losers got for her, the cash they'd given her, and the clothes on her back. She took one last look at Bev's apartment complex before she hopped on a bus out of derry and never looked back. She found herself a job at a different diner that was willing to let her live in the spare room at the back of the place for less pay. She worked her ass off, and although it was hard and scary it was also the happiest she'd ever been because she was free.

•She eventually gave birth to a daughter, and even though the derry disease had infected her mind and gotten rid of most of her memories, she named the baby Bev after the only friend she ever had.

•Little Bev turned out to be okay in spite of who her father was, at most a little less emotionally aware as other kids cause of who her parents were. But she was a well loved little thing, even more so because Clarith had someone to project all the affection she had pent up inside on.

•At a whim one day she sent a one of her stories she wrote to a publishing house to try and make enough money to get an apartment, and they actually published it and sent her a huge check and a request for more.

•flash forward five years and things could not be better, she has a writing job she loves, a beautiful home she bought to raise her daughter in, a fanbase that loves her, and more friends than she can count.

•When she's in her forties and accidentally runs into Beverly Marsh at a celebrity event neither of the women recognize each other, but they hit it off and Clarith even notes that it's odd her daughters name is kind of similar to hers.

•Things ultimately ended up better than anyone could have expected for her, and in the end it seemed having Bev was the thing that finally made Clarith realize her life was worth willing and she was more capable than she ever could have known. Ironically, it made her more independant in the long run because it encouraged her to fight for what she wanted.

•And Clarith was happy. :)

•The end.

And yeah, that's pretty much it for Clarith. I'm really proud of her, i think she came out really interesting tbh. I hope no one misconstrues this story as a prolife or pro christian thing, because i'm an athiest that believes very strongly in abortion. I just thought it'd be interesting to explore a female character who was raised with traditional family values, and through her own special way, becomes a force to be reckoned with through adhering to them. I also thought it'd be very thematically appropriate with IT's overarching themes of growing up, i feel like teen pregancy had to have happened at least once in Derry.

I would also like to point out that i know it's weird that all my oc's are white, but i mostly did that because my first two ocs races were randomly decided and then I felt it would be weird to make my only poc ocs Barbara and Clarith since one is a terrible person no one likes and the other is a teen mom. I try not to perpetuate stereotypes if i can. If i make another oc i promise i'll make 'em different tho, maybe i'll even make a male one.

[v-t-holmes-arts]

something something fear of being left behind something something

[lyraarylfyrefly]

something about all the ancients having a strong desire to run away and acting upon it before having to confront themselves twice is dear to me

[melvinthedepressedrobot]

it's quite funny to me that I've been on this hellsite since 2010 and it took me 14 years to have a Hit Post and then like 6 months later I had another like this is it lads my blog is goin places

[esleep]

i actually do kinda like delivering groceries on the side because it gives me such a unique cross-section of the community. i never know whose groceries im shopping for until i finish the delivery and see them/their home and it's like it adds more detail to the picture of who they are. the baby supplies going to the apartment that i know for a fact is one bedroom (they'll be moving soon - i bet they're apartment hunting, i hope they find a place). the new cat litter box, bowl, and kitten food going to the house covered in "i <3 my dog" paraphernalia (a kitten definitely showed up on the porch recently and made itself at home). the fairly healthy boring grocery order that includes an incongruous tub of candy-filled ice cream going to the home of an elderly woman with toddler toys in the yard (it's clearly for her grandkids, whom she sees often).

shopping for someone else's groceries is a fairly intimate thing. i've bought condoms and pregnancy tests, allergy medicine and nyquil, baby benadryl and teething gel, a huge pile of veggies paired with an equally huge pile of junk food, tampons and shampoo and closet organizers and ant traps and deodorizing shoe inserts and a million other little things that tell a million different stories in their endless combinations. one time someone had me buy one single green bean. i messaged them to confirm that's actually what they wanted, and they said yes - neither of them liked green beans very much, but they had a baby they were introducing to solid foods, and they wanted to let him try one to see if he liked them. another time i had someone request 50 fresh roma tomatoes - not for a restaurant, but for a person in an apartment. the kitchen behind them smelled like basil and garlic when they opened the door. another time i brought groceries to three elderly blind women who share a house. that was one of the few times i have ever broken my rule and gone inside a place i've delivered to, because they asked if i could place the grocery bags in a specific location in the kitchen for them to work on unloading and there was no way i was going to refuse helping.

i gripe about the poor tippers, but people can also be incredibly kind. one time i took shelter from a sudden vicious hailstorm inside an older lady's home in a trailer park, while i was in the middle of delivering her groceries. we both huddled just inside the door, watching in shock as golf-ball-sized hail swept through for about five minutes and then disappeared. she handed me an extra $10 bill on my way out the door.

when covid was at its deadliest, people would leave extra (often lysol-scented) cash tips and thank-you notes for me taped to the door or partially under the mat. i especially loved the clearly kid-drawn thank you notes with marker renderings of blobby people in masks, or trees, or rainbows. in summer of 2020 i delivered to a nice older couple who lived outside of town in the hills, and they insisted i take a huge double handful of extra disposable gloves and masks to wear while shopping - those were hard to find in stores at the time, but they wanted me to have some of their supply and wouldn't take no for an answer.

anyway. all this to say people are mostly good, or at least trying to be, despite my complaints.

[malcolmschmitz]

The Insider and Outsider Detectives

So there's a lot of discourse about detectives floating around, ever since 2020 shifted a lot of people's Views on the police. Everyone likes a good mystery story, but no one seems to know what to make of a detective protagonist- especially if they're a cop. And everyone who cares about this kind of thing likes to argue over whether detective stories hold up the existing order or subvert it. Are they inherently copaganda? Are they subversive commentary on the uselessness of the police?

I think they can be both. And I think there's a framework we can use to look at individual detectives, and their stories, that illuminates the space between "a show like LAPD straight-up exists to make the cops look good" and "Boy Detective is a gender to me, actually".

So. You can sort most detectives in fiction into two boxes, based on their role in society: the Insider Detective and the Outsider Detective.

The Insider Detective is a part of the society they're investigating in, and has access to at least some of the levers of power in that society. They can throw money at their problems, or call in reinforcements, and if they contact the authorities, those authorities will take them seriously. Even the people they're investigating usually treat them with respect. They're a nice normal person in a nice normal world, thank you very much; they're not particularly eccentric. You could describe them as "sensible". And crime is a threat to that normal world. It's an intrusion that they have to fight off. An Insider Detective solving a crime is restoring the way things ought to be.

Some clear-cut examples of Insider Detectives are the Hardy Boys (and their father Fenton), Soichiro "Light's Dad" Yagami, or Father Brown. Many police procedural detectives are Insider Detectives, though not all.

The Outsider Detective, in contrast, is not a part of the society they're investigating in. They're often a marginalized person- they're neurodivergent, or elderly, or foreign, or a woman in a historical setting, or a child. They don't have access to any of the levers of power in their world- the authorities may not believe them (and might harass them), the people they're investigating think they're a joke (and can often wave them off), and they're unlikely to have access to things like "a forensics lab". The Outsider Detective is not respectable, and not welcome here- and yet they persist and solve the crime anyway. A lot of the time, when an Outsider Detective solves a crime, it's less "restoring the world to its rightful state" and more "exposing the rot in the normal world, and forcing it to change."

Some clear-cut examples of Outsider Detectives are Dirk Gently, Philip Marlowe, Sammy Keyes, or Mello from Death Note.

Now, here's the catch: these aren't immutable categories, and they are almost never clear-cut. The same detective can be an Insider Detective in one setting and an Outsider Detective in another. A good writer will know this, and will balance the two to say something about power and society.

Tumblr's second-favourite detective Benoit Blanc is a great example of this. Theoretically, Mr. Blanc should be an Insider Detective- he's a world-famous detective, he collaborates with the police, he's odd but respectable. But because of the circumstances he's in- investigating the ultra-rich, who live in their own horrid little bubbles- he comes off as the Outsider Detective, exposing the rot and helping everyone get what they deserve. And that's deliberate. There is no world where a nice, slightly eccentric, mildly fruity, fairly privileged guy like Benoit Blanc should be an outsider. But the turbo-rich live in such an insular world, full of so much contempt for anyone who isn't Them, that even Benoit Blanc gets left out in the cold. It's a scathing political statement, if you think about it.

But even a writer who isn't trying to Say Something About The World will still often veer between making their detective an Insider Detective and an Outsider Detective, because you can tell different kinds of stories within those frameworks. Jessica Fletcher from Murder She Wrote is a really good example of this-- she's a respectable older lady, whose runaway success as a mystery novelist gives her access to some social cachet. Key word: some.

Within her hometown of Cabot Cove, Fletcher is an Insider Detective. She's good friends with the local sheriff, she's incredibly familiar with the town's social dynamics, she can call in a favour from basically anyone... but she's still a little old lady. The second she leaves town, she might run into someone who likes her books... but she's just as likely to run into a police officer who thinks she's crazy or a perp who thinks she's an easy target. She has the incredibly tenuous social power that belongs to a little old lady that everyone likes- and when that's gone, she's incredibly vulnerable.

This is also why a lot of Sherlock Holmes adaptations tend to be so... divisive. Holmes is all things to all people, and depending on which stories you choose to focus on, you can get a very different detective. If you focus on the stories where Holmes collaborates with the police, on the stories with that very special kind of Victorian racism, or the stories where Holmes is fighting Moriarty, you've got an Insider Detective. If you focus on the stories where Holmes is consulting for a Nice Young Lady, on the stories where Holmes' neurodivergence is most prominent, or on his addictions, you've got an Outsider Detective.

Finally, a lot of buddy detective stories have an Insider Detective and an Outsider Detective sharing the spotlight. Think Scully and Mulder, or Judy Hopps and Nick Wilde. This lets the writer play with both pieces of the thematic puzzle at the same time, without sacrificing the consistency of their detective's character.

Back to my original point: if you like detective fiction, you probably like one kind of story better than the other. I know I personally really prefer Outsider Detective Stories to Insider Detective Stories- and while I can enjoy a good Insider Detective (I'd argue that Brother Cadfael, my beloved, is one most of the time), I seek out detectives who don't quite fit into the world they live in more often than not.

And if that's the vibe you're looking for... you're not going to run into a lot of police stories. It's absolutely possible to make a story where a cop (or, even better, an FBI agent) is an Outsider Detective-- Nick Angel from Hot Fuzz was originally going to be one of my 'clear-cut examples' until I remembered that he is, in fact, legally a cop! But a cop who's an Outsider Detective is going to be spending a lot of time butting heads with local law enforcement, to the point where he doesn't particularly feel like one. He's probably going to get fired at some point, and even if his badge gets reinstated, he's going to struggle with his place in the world. And a lot of Outsider Detective stories where the detective is a cop or an FBI agent are intensely political, and not in a conservative way- they have Things To Say about small towns, clannishness, and the injustice that can happen when a Pillar Of The Community does something wrong and everyone looks the other way. (Think Twin Peaks or The Wicker Man.)

Does this mean Insider Detective Stories are Bad Copaganda and Outsider Detective Stories are Good Revolutionary Stories? No. If you take one thing away from this post, please make it that these categories are morally neutral. There are Outsider Detective stories about cops who are Outsiders because they really, really want an excuse to shoot people. There are Insider Detective stories about little old people who are trying to keep misapplied justice from hurting the kids in their community. Neither of these types of stories are good or bad on their own. They're different kinds of storytelling framework and they serve different purposes.

But, if you find yourself really gravitating to certain kinds of mysteries and really put off by other kinds, and you're trying to express why, this might be a framework that's useful for you. If your gender is Boy Detective, but you absolutely loathe cop stories? This might be why.

(PS: @anim-ttrpgs was posting about their game Eureka again, and that got me to make this post- thank them if you're happy to finally see it. Eureka is designed as an Outsider Detective simulator, and so the rules actively forbid you from playing as a cop- they're trying to make it so that you have limited resources and have to rely on your own competence. It's a fantastic looking game and I can't recommend it enough.)

(PPS: I'm probably going to come back to this once I finish Psycho-Pass with my partner, because they said I'd probably have Thoughts.)

(PPPS: Encyclopedia Brown is an Insider Detective, and that's why no one likes him. This is my most controversial detective take.)

[lilac-cat-draws]

So I decided to rework my old BSD tattoo and flower shop au

I finally decided to come back to this au after a lengthy hiatus from it, why did I suddenly come back to it? I just recently got a tattoo for myself and it reminded me of this thing I made so why not improve it since I'm bsd obsessed again.

Character lineup:

ADA (Armed Design Agency)

Additional Info:

Their shop is one of the best in their area

As intimidating as the place is, the people there are fairly welcoming

Kunikida is the only person there to make sure the place stays in top condition

The owner has strong values of sentimentality and remembrance in the form of tattoos

PM (Port Meadow)

Additional Info:

A go to spot for the best bouquets

Located across the street from the ADA

Rumours say the flower shop is a front for the owner to hide crime activity

Hirotsu and Kouyou have worked in the shop the longest and both know a lot more about the place

Miscellaneous characters (+Guild Coffee Shop)

Additional Info:

Around the block is a cozy coffee shop run by Francis

Lucy and Atsushi became friends after a scar cover up session

Poe is considered Ranpo's favourite client

Kyouka's parents are alive but they're always overseas

[steddiehyperfixation]

@steddiebingo prompts: college au + crush + bandana | 1.1k words | T |

“Steeeveennnn,” Robin complains, poking Steve's shoulder with her pencil. “This was not the deal.”

Steve blinks and startles as if shaken out of a trance and grudgingly drags his glance over to Robin. “What?”

“You're only supposed to zone out when I'm paying attention and I can only zone out when you're paying attention.” That's their standard deal for any class they share that they're both only taking to knock out some credits and isn't relevant to either of their majors.

“Okay,” he says, “so pay attention.”

“I have been, dingus,” she argues. While this semester's History of Rock course is actually kind of interesting, Robin would still appreciate being able to use some of the precious daydreaming time she’d been promised. “I've been giving you my notes for the last month, at least! It's my turn to zone out now, slacker.”

“Alright, alright. I'm paying attention.” Steve makes a big show of picking up his pencil and writing down what's on the lecture slides, even leaning forward a little to emphasize his focus. “You're free to zone out to your heart’s content.”

Robin doesn't trust him in the slightest.

She enjoys about five whole minutes of spacing out before one Eddie Munson inevitably interrupts the professor to challenge some point and any hope of Steve's ability to continue taking notes for her is lost completely. His attention is stolen the second that ringed hand goes up, focus returning undividedly to the loud, scraggly man who is now standing up in his vehemence to counter the teacher. Steve instantly becomes enraptured by this argument, though Robin doubts he’s really comprehending a single word of it. He even gets this dopey little smile on his face as he watches.

“Oh my god,” Robin groans, rolling her eyes and dropping her chin into her palm in resignation to her fate. Steve is utterly useless when he has a crush. It would be pointless, Sisyphean even, for her to keep trying to snap him out of it; no matter how many times she diverts his attention, it always rolls right back to Eddie.

Robin doesn't know what Steve sees in him. Personally, she finds Eddie kind of obnoxious and thinks he looks a bit like a stray dog that's been left outside in a thunderstorm. But for some reason he has her best friend totally captivated. Even when Eddie sits back down, conceding the tangential debate and letting the professor continue, Steve's gaze still lingers as it always does for the remainder of class, his eyes all dreamy and far away and the very epitome of yearning.

“This is getting pathetic,” Robin tells him when class is dismissed and she looks over to find him still staring. “Just go talk to him already. Make a move. I’m sick of watching you sit here and pine.”

“He might not even be queer, Rob.”

“He wears a black bandana in his back pocket.”

“So? He's all metal and shit, it could just be, like, a style thing. Doesn't mean it's hanky code.”

“Okay, so ask him.”

Steve looks at her like she's gone insane. “I can't just go up to him and ask him if he's flagging.”

“Fine, then I will.”

“What- No, Robin-!”

But Robin is already standing up and marching through the crowd of students leaving the classroom to catch up to Eddie. “Hey, are you flagging?”

Eddie stops short and turns sharply around to face her. “Excuse me?”

“That bandana you've always got in your pocket - is that just a fashion statement or are you flagging?” she repeats bluntly.

Eddie's eyes narrow, halfway between distrustful confusion and a sneer. “What's it to you?”

“Absolutely nothing,” Robin says. “I couldn't care less. I'm asking for my friend, Steve.” She points a thumb over her shoulder, fairly certain Steve isn't too far behind her. “He's the one who's been staring at you like an idiot all semester, and he's just dying to know if-”

“Oh my god-” Steve interrupts, shoulder checking her as he comes up beside her, his face flushed and slightly out of breath like he fought his way here desperately. “I’m so sorry about her.” He gives Eddie an apologetic smile and cuts Robin a sideways glare. “She was dropped on the head a few too many times as a baby and it left her incapable of comprehending boundaries.”

Robin scoffs. “Oh, like watching creepily from afar is so much more respectful,” she retorts.

“I’m not a creep-” Steve rushes to protest, looking hastily back to Eddie. “I’m not a creep. She's making it sound like I'm some sort of stalker or something. I’m not, I swear.”

Eddie laughs, and Steve looks whipped. “It's alright, I don't mind.”

Eddie's wary hostility seems to have faded into something more amused and definitely not uninterested, if the way he's looking Steve over is any indication. Robin subtly nudges Steve with her arm. Time to turn on the charm, dingus, he likes you.

“You just catch my eye, is all,” Steve recovers, regaining his composure and quickly attempting to school his flustered, lovesick expression into a smoother, more intentional smile. “You stand out, you know - in a good way. I like your style, how outspoken you are. You seem really passionate about this music stuff; it's cool to watch.”

Eddie's interest only sharpens, slow grin growing. He considers him for another moment. “Your friend says you're curious about my bandana.”

“Yeah, uh-” A little bit of that flusteredness slips out again, just enough that it could possibly be intentional (or maybe not; Robin’s really not giving him that much credit). Steve chews at his lip, eyes flicking Eddie up and down. “That too.”

Eddie's about to say something in response, but he's cut off by someone shouting his name. There's some blond guy at the end of the hall gesturing impatiently at him.

“Shit, sorry, I gotta run, my band’s got practice right now. But, um.” Eddie searches his pockets and grabs a pen out of his leather jacket. “Here.” He takes Steve's arm, scribbling a phone number onto his skin. “Why don't you call me later and we can talk more, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees. He looks mildly starstruck, smiling stupidly at the number on his arm like it's a celebrity autograph or something. “Yeah, for sure.”

Robin snickers. “Oh, he's never washing that arm again.”

“Shut up, Robin,” Steve hisses, his cheeks tingeing pink again. Eddie laughs and Steve manages a sheepish smile. “I-I’ll call you,” he confirms again as he turns to leave, grabbing Robin by the arm and dragging her with him before she can embarrass him any further.

“You better,” Eddie calls after him, and Steve looks over his shoulder just in time to catch his smirk and farewell salute before he too turns and bounds off in the opposite direction.

Robin digs her elbow into Steve’s ribs, grinning smugly at him. “You're fucking welcome,” she says.

[deconstructthesoup]

One thing I absolutely adore about Dead Boy Detectives is the immaculate costume design. Specifically, how it perfectly encapsulates who the characters are, both as a whole and who they are in the moment.

From the very first scene of the show, we know immediately that Edwin is a bookish, somewhat stuffy guy from the Edwardian era who attended a boarding school, and Charles is a punk from the 1980's who's most likely the wildcard between the two of them, just going off of the way that they're dressed. Both of them have distinct color schemes and different styles, but the general shape of their outfits is actually relatively similar---both of them have collared shirts (Edwin's dress shirt, Charles's polo), something over those shirts (Edwin's vest, Charles's suspenders), a jacket of some kind (Edwin's suit jacket, Charles's flannel thing), a longer overcoat (Edwin's traveling coat, Charles's peacoat), something around the neck (Edwin's bowtie, Charles's necklace), slacks, and nice shoes. They're distinct, yet matching, two clearly defined separate characters yet part of a set.

Edwin's prim, proper, buttoned-up personality lends itself to the way he dresses throughout the season---in the first episode, he only dresses down when he's in the office with Charles, aka his safe place and his safe person, and he doesn't really dress down like that again for a good long while after getting stuck in Port Townsend (though, if my memory serves me correctly, he does take off the suit jacket while watching TV with Niko). But in episode six, he's changed up his usual look for a cozier, casual-looking sweater and a little bit of collarbone, and in episode seven... well, he's in his nightclothes, and he's about as open, raw, and vulnerable as you can get. Edwin's color scheme is also predominately blue, which lines up nicely with his logical and practical, yet deeply sad and closed off personality, and the only time he really wears anything other than his normal blue-and-brown outfit (willingly, that is) is when he's in that green sweater in episode six. And, uh... all I can say is that it's quite telling how blue and green---or, well, teal---are the main colors of the gay/mlm flag.

Charles, by contrast, dresses down a lot, and that makes a lot of sense when you consider the fact that unlike Edwin, he feels comfortable pretty much anywhere. On any given episode, he goes from wearing his peacoat to just wearing his flannel to ditching the flannel to not even wearing the freaking polo---though, again, the latter is something that only happens when he's in the office with Edwin. Safe space, safe person. And, well, plenty of people have analyzed Charles's polo shirt going from red to burgundy to black over the course of the series, and there being a little bit of red under the collar of his coat that's only visible when Edwin fixes it, and then it goes back to burgundy, and then it's red again when Edwin's out of Hell... for good reason! It's color symbolism at its finest! Not to mention, the red and black not only perfectly contrasts Edwin's color scheme, but it also lines up with Charles's personality---he's a rebel, he's hotheaded, he's bold and brash and loud... and yes, he's angry, but he's also so, so loving.

When we first meet Crystal after she loses her memories, her outfit choices feel very deliberate. They're stylish and vaguely trendy, they're arty and a little bit witchy---pretty fitting for a psychic who's also a showbiz kid, even if she doesn't know that last part. But all of her clothes appear thrifted, or at the very least vintage, and the patterns and the general vibe all feel natural and comforting. Her makeup's always fairly simple, her hair's either down or up in a couple of cute space buns... overall, this Crystal looks like the kind of person who'd make you tea when you're in a bad mood, who'll listen when you just need to vent, and who may not always know the right thing to say but will understand what you're going through. But when we see her in the flashbacks, her clothing's flashy and prioritizes high-end trends over comfort, she's either got her hair up or has it straightened, and she not only has dramatic makeup, but acrylics. This is a girl who talks shit about you behind your back, who's bitter and cynical and wants everyone to feel the same way, who makes up for the lack of love and stability in her life via material things. It's also worth noting that Crystal's color scheme has a lot of purple, which is a color that connects to wealth and luxury, but also creativity and magic---which, yeah, fits her two conflicting sides pretty damn well.

You cannot talk about Niko Sasaki without talking about her outfits, and the meaning behind each of them has already been talked about at length. However, one thing that really stands out to me is that the reason they're so iconic isn't just because of the monochrome color schemes, but because they're out there. They're weird, they're eclectic, they're a little mismatched in style sometimes, and they're so unapologetically her. Niko wears heart-shaped sunglasses, unironically. Everything about the way she dresses speaks to how, even though she's a recovering shut-in who initially doesn't want to be perceived, she's still very sure of who she is.

Jenny's design, like Charles and Edwin's, is a design that gives you the key information you need the minute she first appears onscreen. The dark makeup, the silver jewelry, the leather apron, and the hairstyle all point to a person who's tough, doesn't take anyone's shit, and has long since given up on caring what other people think---in other words, she's a badass. But the butterfly tattoo hints at a softer side, a side that we see time and time again throughout the series as she shows that she cares about Crystal and Niko, and even the boys... eventually. Also, Jenny's design is perhaps one of the most clearly queer-coded in the series, to the point where her being a confirmed lesbian is pretty much a no-brainer.

Esther's design oozes camp, from top to bottom. The fluffy coat, the bustier, the boots and the cane and the everything, speak to a woman who's kept with the times and yet has seen it all. There's really not a lot I can fully say about her design, other than what Charles has already said: "She looks like a witch... like, kind of a sexy witch, who smokes a lot." (Or maybe I'm just tired and running out of steam at this point, idk, I love Esther's design and I can't really put it into words.) It's also pretty fitting that her color scheme has a lot of yellow in it---after all, she's always striving for more, so what better color for her than the color of gold?

Everything about the Night Nurse's design speaks to a woman who follows rules and discipline above all else, from the pantsuit to the pinned-up hairstyles to the tie to the heels. She's also the most muted out of the main cast in terms of color, dressing mostly in browns, dull greens, and duller browns---and while I don't have a lot to go into detail about there, I feel like that's kind of a symbol of her narrow-minded and bureaucratic worldview.

And the animal characters... Jesus Christ, I fully forget that they're all being played by human actors. Tragic Mick dresses like a man who's always spent his life by the sea, layered denim and all, and it's never a stretch to see this sad, bushy-bearded, baggy-clothed fisherman and imagine him as a walrus lounging on a beach. Monty, at first glance, seems to only wear black, which would be perfectly fitting for a crow, but when he's in better lighting, you see that he dresses in layers of red and blue, calling to how he envies Charles and Edwin and clearly longs for something more---and this might just be me, but I think that even though his outfits seem fairly normal at first glance, they feel kind of like a costume for Monty more than anything else, like he's trying to emulate a teenager that he's seen on TV more than someone in real life.

The Cat King fits this just as well, with all of his outfits aligning perfectly with whatever his cat form is at the time---when he's a fluffy ginger, it's always sequins and fur coats and clothing pieces that are specifically designed to take up space and call attention, and when he's a black shorthair, it's sleek styles and shiny leather and pieces that are designed to cut an intimidating yet more subtle figure. And while I could go into detail about all of those, what really stands out to me is how clearly queer everything is---more than Jenny's alt lesbian attire, more than Esther's campy coat and corset. From the very first scene he's in, he's wearing a skirt, and it looks natural. Nothing about the way the Cat King presents himself is exaggerated, nothing about the way he dresses is played for laughs---he's flamboyant and feminine and flirty, and he looks so fucking hot while he does it. It's gorgeous.

So... yeah, uh, all the awards for the Dead Boy Detectives costume designers!

[cosmic-dust-poltergeist]

Pt 3 of Danny the forever teen in the DC universe au, he gets a new hero identity and is introduced to superpowered kids.

[Pt 2 here]

The Titans and Young Justice don't interact as teams very much. Like, they see each other outside of teams fairly often, but it's only as individuals. The teams don't question the sudden combined meeting being called, though. Batman, Red Robin, and Robin were the ones to call it, and after a month of complete radio silence from the Robins, their teams are excited to see them again.

Red Robin cheerfully waves and Robin nods to their teams as they help Batman set up his briefing. It takes a minute, but the Robins flank Batman's sides once everything is ready. It's a detailed presentation of Ecto Entities and a short explanation on what exactly the JL and Bat clan has been working on.

"Any questions?" Silence. "Good. Now there is someone I would like you all to meet. He will be floating between your teams when he isn't helping the Justice League Dark and Justice League."

"Wha-? Are we getting a new babysitter??"

"Hn. In a manner of speaking."

"Nah, he's cool. He just needs to hang out with people his physical age that aren't just Bats." Red Robin waves away the babysitter allegation before looking to his left. "Don't you agree?"

A glowing young teen fades into visibility. He has white hair and green freckles dressed in black and white armor with neon green highlights and starry motifs that looks similar to Robin's, just without a cape. The black domino mask he has neon green lenses verses the usual white. "Oh! Um.. I guess so?"

The young heroes excitably shout before Batman cuts them off.

"Silence!" There's a couple mumbled apologizes as Batman waves the newcomer to stand in front of him. "Introduce yourself."

The kid makes a head movement that the Robins use to indicate they're rolling their eyes at you, even if you can't see it, while complying. "Hello, I'm Astrum. I'm the reason you just had to learn about ecto entities, as I am one. I both am and am not 14 years old."

"What do you mean?" Beast Boy asks, "About the age thing."

"Aw, well, there's 3 separate ages I can give." Astrum continues once the confused noises die down, "I'm physically 14, but I've been an ecto entity for 30, so I might count as 30, but chronologically, I'm 44. It's why I can't commit to only working with adults or children, I'm technically both and will need to interact with both to be emotionally healthy in the long run."

"That sounds confusing."

"Welcome to my life. A confusing painful disaster. I might explain more later, but unless you're about to dive into all your deepest traumas right here and now, I ain't explaining shit." Astrum grins at them, his teeth are a little too sharp for comfort.

"Language."

Astrum whips around to gape at Batman. "Langu-?? Seriously, B-man??"

"Don't bother. He still does that to 'Wing and Hood. There's no escape." Red Robin tells him. The poor guy flounders over the news.

"Hn. Meeting adjourned."

"Cool! Come meet the teams, Astrum!" Red Robin drags him towards the teens. He introduces each person with their full government name and hero identity, getting a lot of stuttering.

"Red! Why are you giving him out secret identities??" Wonder girl protests.

"Because he's Phantom! He can be trusted!" Impulse says, and Astrum jolts and starts trembling.

"Please.. please don't say that name.." Astrum looks so much smaller. "I.. there's too much trauma involving it now...."

The teens rush to reassure him they won't call him that again. If only because the Bat Clan members look a little too calculating. No one wants a pissed off Bat being petty towards them.

"Thanks... I have another name you can call me when we're hanging out outside of hero work." The teens perk up at that. "My name is Danny... just Danny."

"No lastname?" Artemis curiously frowns.

"My human lastname is irrelevant, I stopped associating with it after my birth parents vivisected me." That gets a lot of sputtering.

"We should move this to the lounge." Red Robin pipes up.

"Indeed. We plan to introduce Danny to the many movies he missed out on in the last 28 years." Robin adds. "He's more out of date than I was."

"WHAT?"

"I was being hunted. I didn't have the time or money to see movies" Astrum whines, letting himself be bodily dragged to the lounge.

"Be happy I had a PowerPoint of all the slang you needed to know to survive this." Red Robin teases.

And that's how Astrum, previously known as Danny Phantom, starts hanging out with teens and forcibly learning to be a modern teen himself. He doesn't go on many missions with them because he is too overpowered, and it can hurt the other teens' confidence. He hurts the adults who think he's a dumb kid's confidence when he goes on missions with them too, usually it's a daylight JL member. So he doesn't take it personally.

He loves working with the Flashes, Supers, Wonder Woman, and Zatana, but the Bats and John Constantine are his absolute favourites to work with. They understand how he works the best and can roll with the punches if he does something unexpected. He also lives in the Watchtower, the view of space feeding his obsession is excellent on his mental health as well. Everyone slowly adjusts to this semi-feral ghost child being under foot, doing his best to be helpful, and absolutely demolishing any supernatural threat with ease. No one realizes how powerful he actually is because he holds back and doesn't inform anyone he's the Ghost King.

[elumish]

When talking about why stories are written certain ways, I think two fairly separate ideas are often conflated: 1) the author's reasons (conscious or unconscious) for writing a specific story a specific way and 2) the systemic reasons for stories like the one you are looking at being written the way they are.

To separate out from any of the trickier subjects for a second, let's look at romantasy over the last five or so years.

If you look at a book like A Game of Love and Betrayal by Elayna R. Gallea (chosen only because I've read it and also have Thoughts on it), I can reasonably assume that the author likes or is interested in writing about vampires and magic/fae, and probably enjoys dating competition shows.

But the book also follows some very clear and direct trends in recent romantasy.

The popularity of fae in its current iteration can likely be tracked primarily to A Court of Thorns and Roses--while some earlier fantasy romance series like the Tairen Soul series by C.L. Wilson had "Fey" as an immortal, ethereally beautiful species with elemental powers, fae tended on average more towards being directly inspired by the Tuatha Dé Danann and aes sídhe of Celtic mythology that we've seen in everything from Melissa Marr's Wicked Lovely series to Karen Marie Moning's Fever series. Using fae in the manner used in the book not only draws from those ACOTAR framings but also capitalizes on its popularity.

Much of the plot mirrors Kiera Cass's The Selection, reflecting the trend of modern romantasy to throw back to or draw direct inspiration from young adult books that were popular from the mid-2000s to mid-2010s (e.g., Twilight, The Hunger Games). This is because a decent chunk of romantasy readers (especially those who are popular on Booktok and Bookstagram) are women who were teenagers during that time and read those books, then got back into reading with ACOTAR and Fourth Wing. Many popular romantasy books are a direct play on that nostalgia and familiarity.

The book is very focused on nobility and royalty. While this is not unique to romantasy, romantasy plays much more heavily on that than other fantasy genres.

We can see here that both personal preferences (assumed, in this case, because I've never spoken to the author) and systemic forces can be true at the same time. Chances are that some of those personal preferences are driven by those systemic forces, and at the same time, the popular nature of those personal preferences is what drives those systemic forces.

And someone analyzing or criticizing systemic forces doesn't necessarily mean that they're being critical of a specific person's personal preferences or motivations.

It can be true that a person is writing about a white character being attacked by a Black character because they themselves are a white person who was once attacked by a Black person, and it is still possible to analyze and be critical of the way that story reflects and exacerbates broader systemic views on Black people being a physical threat to white people.

It can be true that a person finds dubious consent or sexual coercion or controlling relationships hot in fiction but would never do it in real life, and it is still possible to analyze and be critical of the way that story reflects and exacerbates broader systemic views on sex and sexual pressures and expectations in relationships, gender roles, and sexual violence.

And sometimes it is also possible and even important to analyze and be critical of a specific person's personal preferences and motivations for writing things a certain way. When JKR, a woman writing under a male name because I guess she's the only one allowed to go by a name associated with a different gender than she was assigned at birth, writes about someone being killed for having transphobic beliefs, it is important to be critical of it not only in the context of broader transphobia but also JKR's specific history of being transphobic.

[alchemistc]

get by (with a little help from my friends)

Eddie's "Hey man." gets completely ignored when he answers the phone, which isn't entirely unusual, considering the man on the other end.

"I need you to talk me off a ledge."

Tommy sounds like he's gone three rounds already, and that's entirely possible. At this point, he's got the same steps as Buck does any time he feels like flying off the handle: phone a friend, and then another friend, and then talk to Buck about it. Eddie always likes it best when they just fucking talk to each other, but he can see the wisdom in asking for advice first. They're both reactive fucks who love each other way too much to be rational face to face, sometimes.

"Am I qualified to give advice on this subject, or is this gonna be another Spare Key Fiasco?"

Tommy chuffs from the other end of the phone. He still hates that Eddie had had a front row seat to that freakout.

"It wasn't a spare, Eddie, I had it specifically made for -."

"Yeah, that's my bad, dude, stop taking every opportunity to change the subject. What's up, man?"

There's a noise Eddie recognizes vaguely as the breathing exercises Buck had been explaining to him a few months ago. They both use them - Buck to prevent the leap to anger and defensiveness, Tommy to prevent... whatever his reactive habits are. The pair of them have been surprisingly light on details, since they got back together. Well. Surprising that Buck hasn't word vomited all of Tommy's idiosyncrasies, at some point.

It's going on a year since he's seen Tommy in person, but he can picture the exact curmudgeonly expression he's probably pulling right now. "I bought a ring, last week."

Only about a month behind Buck. They're getting better about the whole pacing thing. Eddie's been sworn to secrecy, so this is gonna be a fucking minefield to navigate.

"That's great, man. When are you gonna ask him?" Buck has a spreadsheet already. Two, actually, if you're counting the Worst Case Scenario tab Eddie'd caught a peek at when Buck shared his screen instead of ending the video call they'd been on.

That's going in the speech whether Buck likes it or not.

"You remember that ledge I was talking about?"

Of course. Of course that's what he's worried about. Of course Eddie's been dialed in to either talk him down or throw out a rope and wrangle his ass off a cliff side.

Man's stolen helicopters, evaded military and FBI and earned medals for his reckless bravery, and yet the idea of settling down with a man he loves more than the entire world and flying is rattling him enough to need backup.

"Who was your first call?"

Tommy's huff is fairly telling. Sal, then. Eddie's only met him once and he wasn't his biggest fan, but Buck loves the guy. Says sitting between the two old friends is better than watching a UFC match. He's got weird priorities, Buck does.

("They're so mean, Eddie, you'd think they were mortal enemies, but Deluca, like, gets Tommy. Do you think he'll help me with the contingency plan?")

From what Eddie can remember, they'd only reconnected about six months ago, but they'd fallen back into their aggressively combative friendship easily, according to Buck. Eddie's of the opinion that Tommy reached out to Sal Deluca specifically to combat Buck's intense positivity when he finally cottoned on to the fact that Buck considered himself a permanent fixture in Tommy's life.

"Sal told me to woman up. And swap the ring out for a leash."

Yeah. Eddie's not sold on Sal Deluca. Considering they're most likely gonna have to plan some sort of joint bachelor party across state lines sometime over the course of the next year, Eddie's going to have to woman up himself.

"Not to make everything even worse than Deluca, but what the hell are you hoping I can help with? My only proposal came about three days after the pee stick showed two lines."

Tommy blows out a breath. Not the breathing exercises, this time. Eddie can almost see the hand he's dragging down his face, nose folding and bouncing back when the hand gets to his mouth and hangs there, for a moment. "I've proposed before," he murmurs.

Well. There that is. Eddie had definitely forgotten about that little hiccup.

"I mean, it's not like you're gonna propose, sit on it for a few years, and then decide you actually don't like dick, right?"

"Your support is overwhelming," he deadpans, and the line goes quiet. For about forty seconds, Eddie stares at the time on the call tic up and up. "But no, that's not the issue."

"No offense, buddy, but I have no idea what the issue is. He's gonna say yes. It's gonna be great. He'll cry for like an hour and then for a few weeks he'll tell every random stranger he meets that his fiance is a pilot for the LAFD." If Tommy swears him to secrecy, too, he's gonna have to get creative. See if he can coordinate a joint proposal without either one of them cottoning on.

"You ever been gun shy before?" Tommy asks, in that roundabout way he has of trying to explain the thoughts inside his own head.

He tried. He failed. He hurt someone. He doesn't want to do it again.

"Yeah, but like - besides the fact that you're attracted to and in love with Buck, they're...very different people." He'd only met Abby once. Hadn't particularly cared for her, on account of the whole leaving his best friend in limbo for months, and the Making His Best Friend Act More Out Of Pocket Than Usual At A Scene.

"Both with amazing hair, though," Tommy jokes, and then groans. "I'm going to gouge my eyeballs out with a teaspoon."

"Yeah, don't do that. You think Evan Buckley's going to decipher that as 'Lets get hitched'?"

"I resent the idea that you think that I'd use those words."

"Apologies. You gonna quote a movie he's never seen?"

"It's easy to recycle when he thinks they're all my witty rejoinders."

"He knows when you're quoting something. Tommy, your whole body vibrates, and you get this deranged smile. You are many things, my friend, but subtle is not one of them."

Christ, Tommy has a type. Drawn to whatever asshole can slice him to the bone while keeping up with his brand of sardonic banter. Eddie doesn't enjoy the new knowledge that he's basically the Buck-adjacent version of Deluca.

How the hell had he ended up with the human equivalent of a socially anxious Great Dane?

There's an easy solution here. Is it a violation of the bro code to tell Tommy to just sit on it? Carry the ring around everywhere and wait til the time is right? That's not a hint, is it?

"You're trying to distract me," Tommy observes. "What do you know?"

"I know that despite the fact that the two of you could fill Michigan Stadium with your insecurities and diametrically opposed capital I issues, this is gonna work itself out in a really good way."

"Eddie."

"Tommy."

"He already bought the ring, didn't he?" There's his typical bemused sigh whenever Buck does something that he, personally, finds adorably annoying. Annoyingly adorable. Something. Eddie doesn't know; he still doesn't quite get them. They work, and that's all that really matters, at the end of the day.

Sometimes they work because Eddie, Maddie, and Sal Deluca, for some reason, can offer the right support and the right advice at the right time.

"For legal and personal reasons I'm invoking my right to remain silent."

"Are the personal reasons to do with wanting your ankles intact?"

"I might take a vow of silence, actually."

Tommy's quiet for a long, long time. Long enough that Eddie has to check and make sure the asshole hasn't hung up on him.

"Is his plan going to cause any permanent damage to county property? We've both got priors." Stealing government property, evading police and military, technically domestic terrorism. All wiped from their records because they both have main character syndrome, so exactly zero actual prior offenses.

"I don't recall saying anything about a plan."

"That vow sure has legs to stand on," Tommy muses, and Eddie has to fight the urge to blow a raspberry.

"You can ask one yes or no question that I retain the right to not answer. If it'll help you walk yourself back off that ledge."

Tommy takes long enough forming the question that Eddie gets through three of the syllabuses Chris' school is requiring him to confirm he's read. He hates this damn school, but Chris loves it.

"Should I start carrying the ring with me everywhere, or can I assume Evan will at least make it clear we have plans, when he decides he's ready?"

That's not a yes or no question.

"That's not a yes or no question."

"Should the ring be on my person at all times, yes or no?" Eddie can't tell if he's throwing the bitchy tone in for a laugh, or because he's actually annoyed. For all Eddie knows, he could still be a little prickly about the fact that he's having to seek out the competition for advice on his love life. Buck says they're over that, but sometimes Eddie's not sure.

Sometimes Buck still encourages him to lean into it a bit because apparently "The sex is mind-blowingly hot, Eddie."

"You'll probably be fine without it at work," Eddie hedges.

"Probably is not a yes or a no."

"I never told you how I was gonna answer."

Eddie hates that he knows Buck's gonna get laid tonight on the back of Tommy's frustration with Eddie.

"So. How's that cliff looking, from over there?"

Tommy's put-upon sigh is edging on overkill. "What cliff? It's plains and valleys from here."

Eddie's well aware that Tommy can dig himself trenches a mile deep just to have a ledge to jump from. He has a good feeling about this, though.

"Let him romance you, for once, dude."

That shouldn't be such a polarizing statement, for the man who's been desperate to be loved almost as much as Evan Buckley himself, but Tommy has a nasty fucking habit of shooting himself in the foot whenever Buck makes it a point to take care of Tommy back.

Tommy groans. "None of this makes it to the speech."

"Yeah, it's absolutely going in the speech, man."

[theodorenmyth]

can i request a draco x childhood friend reader where they've been obliviously pinning after eachother for years and the others are so tired of it, like for example they think they're talking normally but then one of the boys just shows up and tell them to "get a room already"

Childhood Lovers

Pairings ; Draco Malfoy x M!reader

Summary ; Draco Malfoy has been hopelessly in love with you for years, and everyone—except you—knows it. After endless pining and relentless teasing from your friends, he finally promises to confess on your birthday.

A/N ; I loved writing this so much

warnings ; none

word count ; 3.8K

You were six years old when you first met Draco.

Your parents had taken you to Malfoy Manor for some fancy pureblood gathering, one of those long, tedious events where adults talked about bloodlines while the children were expected to behave.

You had been wandering the vast halls of the manor, exploring, when you heard a frustrated huff from behind a set of large oak doors. Curious, you pushed them open to find a boy around your age sitting cross-legged on the floor, scowling at a small wooden broomstick.

His silver-blond hair was neatly combed, and his grey eyes gleamed with irritation. He looked up at you, frowning.

"What are you staring at?"

You blinked, then pointed at the broom. "What’s wrong with it?"

"It’s stupid," he muttered, poking it like it had personally offended him. "Father got it for me, but I can’t make it hover properly."

You tilted your head. "You’re doing it wrong."

His frown deepened. "I am not doing it wrong."

You stepped closer, shrugging. "Let me try."

Draco narrowed his eyes but reluctantly scooted back, watching as you grabbed the broom’s handle and focused. You had seen older kids practicing with toy brooms before, so you gave it a gentle push—and to both your surprise, it wobbled into the air for a brief second before dropping back down.

Draco gasped. "How did you—?"

You grinned. "I guess I’m better than you."

His eyes flashed. "Excuse me?"

And just like that, a rivalry—and an unbreakable bond—was born.

From that moment on, you were inseparable.

Draco dragged you into every one of his childhood games, from pretending to duel with toy wands to sneaking into the manor library to look at spellbooks you weren’t supposed to touch. He insisted that you sit next to him at every meal when your families had dinners together, and he sulked if you weren’t placed in the same group during playdates.

As you grew older, the bond only deepened.

At Hogwarts, you became Draco’s safe place, the only person he truly trusted beyond his arrogant bravado. He confided in you when things felt overwhelming, when expectations from his father weighed too heavily on his shoulders. And in return, he was fiercely protective of you, standing by your side through everything.

Looking back, maybe everyone was right.

Maybe you had been in love with Draco long before you even knew what love was.

And maybe he had been in love with you too.

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ────

The Slytherin common room is quiet, save for the occasional crackle from the fireplace and the soft scratching of quills on parchment. You’re seated on the plush emerald couch, barely paying attention to your Transfiguration textbook as your eyes start to droop. It’s been a long day, and you’re fairly certain you’re running on nothing but sheer willpower and the single cup of tea you had at breakfast.

Draco slides into the seat beside you, close enough that his knee knocks against yours. You don’t move away.

He doesn’t either.

"You look exhausted," he murmurs, grey eyes scanning your face. His voice is quieter than usual, almost gentle. "Did you even sleep last night?"

You sigh, rubbing your temple. "No, Draco, I spent the night ballroom dancing with the house elves. Of course, I slept."

Draco scowls, ignoring your sarcasm completely. "You’re a terrible liar. You have dark circles."

"You have dark circles," you shoot back, playfully nudging him with your shoulder.

He scoffs. "Mine are charming. Yours make you look like a ghost."

"You do realize you’re insulting me while simultaneously trying to care for me, right?" you point out, raising an eyebrow.

Draco clicks his tongue, unimpressed. "I’m not insulting you, I’m stating a fact. You need to take better care of yourself."

You roll your eyes but can’t help the warmth spreading through your chest. It’s a familiar routine by now—Draco nagging, you teasing, him getting even more concerned because you refuse to take things seriously.

"You’re fretting like my mother," you joke, flipping through your textbook half-heartedly. "Should I start calling you Madame Malfoy?"

Draco scoffs, crossing his arms. "Now that's just insulting."

You snicker, shaking your head. "Alright, Madame Malfoy, what’s your medical diagnosis? Should I rest? Or a kiss on the forehead will do the trick?"

For a brief moment, Draco actually falters. His lips part slightly, his usual quick-witted response caught somewhere between his throat.

Then, in classic Draco fashion, he recovers with a scoff, nudging your knee with his. "Don’t be ridiculous. You’d need at least two forehead kisses to even begin functioning properly again."

You laugh, leaning back against the couch. "Oh? So you admit a kiss would help?"

Draco rolls his eyes but doesn’t deny it.

And that’s exactly when Blaise, sitting across the room and trying very hard to focus on his essay, snaps his quill in half.

"For Merlin’s beard, will you two just kiss already?"

The common room goes silent.

You and Draco turn to Blaise in perfect unison, blinking like you’ve just been smacked with a Confundus Charm.

"What?" Draco asks, his tone defensive.

Blaise stares at you both, completely done with this entire situation. "You cannot be serious. Do you actually not hear yourselves?"

You exchange a glance with Draco, then look back at Blaise in utter confusion. "Hear what?" you ask, genuinely puzzled.

Blaise throws his hands up in defeat. "You flirt all the time. All the time. It’s unbearable."

Draco scoffs, crossing his arms. "We do not flirt."

Blaise levels him with a deadpan expression. "You’d need at least two forehead kisses to function properly." He mimics Draco’s voice mockingly. "Oh, Draco, a kiss on the forehead will do the trick, right?"

You frown. "That’s just how we talk."

"That’s just—" Blaise closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, like he’s trying to summon the patience of a saint. "Okay. Alright. Let me ask you something. Have either of you ever spoken to anyone else the way you speak to each other?"

You open your mouth, then hesitate.

Draco does the same.

Blaise smirks. "Exactly."

Draco scoffs again, but this time, there’s a slight pink tinge at the tips of his ears. "You’re being ridiculous."

"You’re being oblivious," Blaise corrects, shaking his head. "And I’m tired of it. Everyone is tired of it. You know Pansy has a bet going? She swears you’ll get together before the end of term. I said it’ll take at least another year because you’re both that dense."

Draco looks mildly offended. "A year?"

"Yes, a year, because you’re both pathetic," Blaise mutters, rubbing his temples like he’s dealing with an unsolvable Arithmancy equation.

You furrow your brows, still struggling to process the accusation. "We’re pathetic?"

Blaise gives you a look. "Painfully."

You scoff, shaking your head. "This is ridiculous. Just because Draco and I are close—"

"You don’t just ‘talk’," Blaise interrupts. "You gaze. You touch. You hover. You say things like ‘Oh, Draco, don’t worry about me, unless you want to tuck me into bed personally,’ and you don’t think that sounds romantic?"

Draco actually chokes on his own breath. "He—he what?"

Blaise sighs. "You two are a nightmare to be around."

Draco turns back to you, still somewhat flustered. "You said that?"

You hesitate, then shrug. "I mean… maybe? I don’t know, Draco, I say a lot of things."

Blaise lets out a strangled groan and buries his face in his hands. "I give up."

Draco exhales sharply, straightening his posture. "This is nonsense. We’re not—"

"Save it, Malfoy," Blaise grumbles, waving him off. "I’m done. You two can stay in your little bubble of delusion. But just know—every single person in Slytherin sees it, and we’re all so tired."

He picks up his books and stalks off, mumbling something about needing a headache potion.

Draco watches him go, frowning. "That was dramatic."

You nod in agreement. "Very dramatic."

There’s a beat of silence before you turn to Draco, smirking. "So… you’d give me at least two forehead kisses, huh?"

Draco groans, dragging a hand down his face. "Shut up."

You grin, nudging his knee with yours again. "You love me."

He scoffs. "I tolerate you."

"Sure, Madame Malfoy."

Draco throws a pillow at your head.

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ────

Walking down the hallway with Draco has always been part of your daily routine. It’s comfortable—natural. The two of you are so in sync that you don’t even realize how close you walk, your shoulders brushing, his hand occasionally hovering near yours as if he’s debating whether or not to take it.

You’re mid-argument about the best dueling strategies when Draco suddenly stops walking.

"Hold still," he mutters, stepping in front of you.

You blink in surprise as he reaches towards your face, his fingers brushing gently against your cheek. Your breath catches slightly, your mind blanking entirely.

Draco, completely oblivious to the way your heart is racing, hums in concentration as he carefully tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "There," he says with satisfaction. "It was bothering me."

You stare at him. He stares back, completely unaware of how much he just melted your brain.

"Right," you manage to say, swallowing. "Thanks."

He smirks. "You’d be lost without me."

You roll your eyes, trying to regain your composure. "I somehow survived for years before Hogwarts without your constant nitpicking, Malfoy."

"Yes, but those were dark times," Draco replies smoothly. "You’ve improved under my guidance."

Before you can argue back, a familiar voice interrupts.

"For Salazar’s sake."

You both turn to see Lorenzo standing a few feet away, looking utterly exhausted. His hands are on his hips, and he’s staring at you two like he’s debating throwing himself off the Astronomy Tower just to escape this moment.

"What?" Draco asks, frowning.

Lorenzo pinches the bridge of his nose. "I can’t do this anymore. I cannot keep watching you two act like you aren’t in love with each other."

You blink, startled. "We—what?"

"You heard me," Lorenzo deadpans. "Every single person in Slytherin—no, Hogwarts—knows you two are basically a couple except you."

Draco scoffs. "That’s ridiculous."

Lorenzo crosses his arms. "Oh really? Let’s review the evidence."

He holds up a finger. "One, you stare at each other like you’ve been separated by a tragic war and only just reunited."

Draco makes an offended noise. "We do not—"

"You do," Lorenzo says, raising a second finger. "Two, you hover around him like a lovesick puppy. If someone so much as breathes in his direction, you’re glaring at them like you’re about to duel them on the spot."

Draco narrows his eyes. "That’s just basic awareness of my surroundings."

Lorenzo doesn’t even dignify that with a response. Instead, he raises a third finger. "Three, the whole hair thing just now? What was that?"

Draco blinks. "His hair was out of place."

"You tucked it behind his ear, Draco." Lorenzo’s voice is nearly hysterical now. "Like some sort of dramatic romance novel protagonist. Do you even hear yourselves?"

You shift uncomfortably, heat creeping up your neck. "I mean, that doesn’t necessarily mean—"

Lorenzo groans loudly, running a hand down his face. "I give up. You two are a lost cause."

Draco scoffs again, crossing his arms. "Just because we’re close doesn’t mean we—"

"Get a room already," Lorenzo interrupts, exasperated.

You and Draco freeze.

The words seem to hang in the air for a long moment, and suddenly, you’re hyperaware of just how close you’re standing. Draco’s shoulder is still brushing against yours. His fingers are only inches from yours.

Your face heats up, and you quickly look away. "Lorenzo, you’re being dramatic."

"Am I?" Lorenzo raises an eyebrow. "Because I’m fairly certain if I left you two alone for five minutes, you’d just stare at each other longingly instead of actually doing something about it."

Draco rolls his eyes. "You’re being ridiculous."

Lorenzo sighs and just starts walking away, waving a hand over his shoulder. "Right. Sure. Whatever you say. But when you finally admit you’re in love, I will be collecting my ‘I told you so’ payment in full."

You and Draco watch him disappear around the corner before awkwardly glancing at each other.

Draco clears his throat. "That was... strange."

"Yeah," you agree quickly.

A beat of silence.

"So... what were we talking about?" Draco asks, as if Lorenzo hadn’t just laid out the obvious truth in front of you both.

You jump at the opportunity to ignore the conversation entirely. "Dueling strategies!"

"Right, right," Draco nods, completely dismissing the past five minutes like they never happened. "Now, as I was saying—"

And just like that, you both continue walking, completely and utterly oblivious.

From around the corner, Lorenzo watches with pure disbelief.

"They’re actually hopeless," he mutters to himself before stalking off to complain to the others.

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ────

Draco Malfoy was a disgrace.

At least, that’s what Theodore, Mattheo, and Lorenzo had decided as they sat at the Slytherin table, watching him stare at you like some tragic, love-struck fool in a romance novel.

It wasn’t just staring—no, no, that would be tolerable.

Draco was gazing at you like you were a celestial being who had graced the mortal world with your presence. His chin rested lazily on his palm, his usually sharp grey eyes softened to the point of resembling molten silver. His lips twitched with the ghost of a smile, and if one looked closely, they might even notice a dreamy sigh escape him.

And the worst part? You weren’t even talking to him.

You were sitting across the Great Hall, deep in conversation with some random Ravenclaw student. Whatever you were saying must have been interesting, because you were grinning, your eyes bright with amusement.

Draco, meanwhile, looked like a man on the verge of composing poetry.

Theodore finally snapped. He groaned, stabbing his fork into his food with unnecessary aggression. "I cannot do this anymore."

Mattheo, slouched beside him, tilted his head dramatically. "How many years has it been, exactly? Since first year?"

"Longer," Lorenzo muttered, rubbing his temples. "They grew up together. This has been happening since childhood. Childhood, Mattheo."

Mattheo let out a long whistle. "Merlin’s beard, that’s tragic."

Draco blinked, barely registering their conversation. "What are you lot muttering about?"

The three of them turned to him at once, looking at him like he was the stupidest man alive.

"You," Theodore said, pointing his fork at him. "You absolute idiot."

Draco frowned, straightening in his seat. "Excuse me?"

"Draco," Lorenzo said tiredly. "You’re staring again."

Draco scoffed, crossing his arms. "I do not stare."

"Oh, sure," Mattheo drawled, mimicking Draco’s dreamy expression. He fluttered his eyelashes dramatically. "'Oh, Y/N, your laughter is sweeter than honey. Your eyes shine like the stars, and your smile could end wars—'"

Draco kicked him under the table. "Shut up."

Theodore ignored them, leaning forward with an unimpressed stare. "You do realize you’re looking at them like they’re the last glass of wine on a stressful day, right?"

Lorenzo snorted. "More like a man lost in the desert staring at an oasis. With heart eyes."

Draco bristled, his ears turning pink. "That’s ridiculous."

Mattheo grinned. "Oh, is it? Because you practically look like you’re writing your wedding vows in your head."

Lorenzo shook his head. "No, no, he’s planning their entire future. House, marriage, family, pet names—"

Theodore gasped dramatically. "Draco Malfoy-Y/N! Has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?"

Draco choked on his pumpkin juice.

"Alright, that’s enough," he coughed, glaring.

The trio ignored his protests.

Mattheo tilted his head in mock curiosity. "What do you think their pet name would be? Darling? Love? Oh, no—starshine. That’s dramatic enough for Malfoy."

Lorenzo nodded in agreement. "I bet he writes 'Mr. and Mr. Malfoy' in his notebooks when no one’s looking."

Draco clenched his jaw. "I will hex you all."

Theodore smirked. "Oh, please. You’re too busy mentally composing Shakespearean sonnets about Y/N’s hair to actually do it."

Mattheo sighed loudly. "You know what? I can’t keep watching this. Just confess already."

Draco rolled his eyes, face still slightly pink. "Oh, don’t be absurd."

"Absurd? No, what’s absurd is that you still haven’t told them after all these years," Theodore shot back.

"You make it sound so easy," Draco muttered, suddenly very interested in his untouched food.

Lorenzo groaned. "Because it is easy! You walk up to them and say, 'Hey, Y/N, I’ve been in love with you since we were kids, let’s snog about it.'"

Draco gave him an unamused look. "Oh, very romantic, Berkshire."

Mattheo smirked. "Malfoy, I promise you, Y/N likes you back. If you don’t confess soon, someone else will, and then where will you be?"

Draco stiffened at that.

Theodore pounced on his hesitation. "Oh? Struck a nerve, have we?"

Draco exhaled sharply. "Fine. I’ll confess."

Silence.

Lorenzo blinked. "Wait, seriously?"

Draco nodded, reluctantly. "Yes."

Mattheo leaned forward eagerly. "When?"

Draco hesitated before muttering, "On their birthday."

A beat of silence.

Theodore’s jaw dropped. "Which is a week from now!"

"Yes," Draco said, as if that was a perfectly reasonable time frame.

Lorenzo groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Draco, I swear to Merlin, if you don’t go through with this—"

Mattheo threw his hands in the air. "A week, Malfoy? A whole week? That’s seven more days of you being insufferable!"

Draco glared. "It’s my confession, and I’ll do it when I want to."

Theodore shook his head, looking at the others. "Fine. One week. But if he backs out—"

"We intervene," Lorenzo finished.

Mattheo grinned. "And make it public."

Draco’s eyes widened. "You wouldn’t."

Mattheo smirked. "Try us."

Draco exhaled slowly, rubbing his temples. "Merlin, you’re all infuriating."

Theodore clapped a hand on his shoulder. "And yet, we’re still right."

As the trio continued their relentless teasing, Draco could only sigh in exasperation.

One week.

How hard could it be?

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ────

Your birthday started normally enough.

A few gifts from your dormmates, some enthusiastic birthday wishes, and an especially delicious breakfast. You had expected the day to be fun, but nothing out of the ordinary.

That was before Draco decided that today was his personal mission to spoil you into oblivion.

It started with a small, elegant box left on your bed. Inside were gloves made of the softest dragon-hide, perfectly fitted to your hands, with your initials embroidered in silver thread.

You smiled, admiring the craftsmanship, when an owl swooped into the Great Hall during breakfast, dropping another gift right onto your lap. A limited-edition enchanted quill set—one that changed ink colors with a simple touch.

"Draco," you sighed, already knowing who was behind it.

Across the table, Draco smirked, propping his chin on his hand. "What? You don’t like it?"

You rolled your eyes. "I love it, but—"

"Then it’s settled." He waved his hand dismissively. "Don’t argue with the gifts, Y/N."

You didn’t even have time to recover before lunch arrived, and with it—another present.

This time, a beautiful custom-made silver bracelet. You stared at it, mouth slightly open.

"Draco—"

"It suits you," he interrupted, his tone casual, but his eyes were anything but.

You hesitated before slipping it onto your wrist. It was perfect.

By the time dinner rolled around, everyone at the Slytherin table was blatantly watching the spectacle unfold.

Draco then slid yet another box in front of you.

"Draco Malfoy." Your voice was dangerously close to scolding.

He only smirked. "Yes, birthday star?"

You glared at him before cautiously unwrapping it. Inside was a bottle of outrageously expensive cologne, the kind you’d admired in passing but never even considered owning.

Your jaw nearly dropped. "Draco, what the fuck?"

"Language," he chided, far too smug for his own good. "I thought you’d like it."

"Like it? I love it, but this is—Draco, you’ve already given me so much!"

"Exactly." He shrugged. "And?"

You groaned. "This is too much."

slightly, voice lower. "Nothing is too much for you."

Across the table, Theodore, Mattheo, and Lorenzo watched in pure agony.

Mattheo leaned toward Theodore, whispering dramatically, "This is sickening."

Theodore nodded. "Disgusting."

Lorenzo let out a long sigh. "This has gone too far."

Blaise, who had been listening in, smirked. "Oh, now you three have had enough? After years of watching these two pine for each other?"

Pansy, sipping her pumpkin juice, casually added, "Honestly, I think it’s sweet."

Theodore turned to her with a look of betrayal. "Sweet? Pansy, Draco is out here funding their entire existence. He’s like a walking, talking sugar daddy."

Mattheo snorted. "Simp behavior."

Lorenzo crossed his arms. "If he doesn’t confess today, I swear I’m hexing him."

"You’ll have to get in line," Blaise muttered.

Astoria, rolling her eyes, chimed in. "Oh, stop being dramatic. He’ll confess."

Blaise scoffed. "When? Next year?"

Theodore suddenly smirked. "Actually, he told us he’d do it today."

Blaise raised an eyebrow. "He said that?"

"Well," Theodore mused, "technically, he said on their birthday, but we all know what that means."

Lorenzo shook his head. "He’s going to overthink it and chicken out."

Mattheo grinned mischievously. "Not if we force his hand."

They exchanged glances.

A plan was forming.

────

After dinner, Draco pulled you aside with a nervous but determined expression.

"Come with me."

You tilted your head. "Draco, what—"

"Just trust me," he murmured.

You sighed but nodded, following him through the castle.

Unbeknownst to you, every single one of your friends immediately exchanged knowing looks and followed—not very discreetly.

Draco led you to the Astronomy Tower, where the night air was crisp, and the stars shimmered above.

There, waiting for you, was another package.

You gawked at him. "Draco—"

"Last one," he promised, lips twitching.

With a sigh, you unwrapped it—and inside was the softest, most elegant velvet cloak you had ever seen. Silver-lined, perfectly tailored. It screamed Malfoy-level luxury.

You stared at it, speechless. "Draco… This must have cost a fortune."

He shrugged, a faint pink dusting his cheeks. "Only the best for you."

Your heart pounded. "Why are you doing all this?"

Draco exhaled sharply, stepping closer. "Because—I’ve been a coward."

You frowned. "What?"

He looked at you, his usual confidence slightly shaken. "I should’ve told you years ago. I’ve loved you since we were kids."

Your breath hitched.

Draco continued, voice softer now. "I tried to pretend I didn’t. But today, I just—I couldn’t hold it in anymore."

Silence.

Draco shifted nervously. "Say something?"

Instead of words, you grabbed his scarf and pulled him in.

Draco barely had time to react before your lips met his.

And then—

"AHHHHHHHHHH!"

The deafening sound of multiple voices screaming in joy startled you both.

Whipping around, you caught sight of your entire friend group stumbling out from behind a nearby wall.

Pansy jumped up and down. "I TOLD YOU HE’D DO IT!"

Mattheo fist-pumped. "ABOUT DAMN TIME!"

Lorenzo collapsed dramatically onto Blaise. "We suffered for years for this moment."

Theodore smirked at Draco. "Took you long enough."

Blaise grinned while holding Lorenzo to steady him. "So, Draco—how does it feel to finally get your head out of your—"

"I hate all of you," Draco groaned, covering his face.

You laughed, pulling him back toward you. "Ignore them."

He peeked through his fingers, still dazed. "You… kissed me."

You grinned. "Yes, Draco."

Draco swallowed. "So does this mean—"

You cut him off with another kiss, slower, deeper.

Pansy screamed. Astoria started clapping. Mattheo actually spun Theodore around in excitement.

Draco groaned, head dropping onto your shoulder. "I really hate them."

You laughed. "You love them."

Draco sighed. "Unfortunately."

And as your friends continued celebrating like you had just won the Quidditch World Cup, Draco decided that, maybe he didn’t mind.

Not when he finally had you.