#bloke disaster

[thirgperson]

gah! all my finest blokes! encased in ice! what will i do now?

[tomatette]

Alice & Jack

[evanhereonearth]

Wild how some blokes think women only go for the most boring, generic, triangular trust fund men when meanwhile, over in the Dragon Age fandom, we are absolutely feral for this parade of glorious mess

(I did Origins but am limited to ten images…but I see you, Alistair “Swooping is Bad” Theirin and Zevran, defo assassin defo farthest thing from a virgin Antivan Crow disaster bisexual. We also go feral for them.)

[mywhisperingwords]

never will be | fred g. weasley

summary: if one more person called fred your boyfriend, you were going to hex them—and then probably yourself for wishing it were true word count: 5.8k masterlist

“Seriously, though,” Angelina said, leaning against the Gryffindor common room sofa with a sly grin, “when are you two finally going to admit it?”

“Admit what?” Fred asked, looking up from the deck of Exploding Snap cards he was shuffling.

“That you’re dating,” George chimed in from across the room, tossing a chocolate frog wrapper into the fire.

You rolled your eyes so hard it almost hurt. “For the hundredth time, we’re not dating.”

“Not yet, at least,” Angelina muttered, smirking at you.

Fred laughed, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. “Don’t listen to them. They’re just bored and trying to start drama.”

George snorted. “Says the bloke who can’t go two hours without dragging her off to help with one of his pranks.”

“That’s because she’s got steady hands,” Fred argued, flashing you a grin that made your stomach flip. “Best partner-in-crime I could ask for.”

“Mm-hmm,” George said, exchanging a knowing look with Angelina.

You felt the heat rise in your cheeks but forced a casual laugh. “Exactly. Partners-in-crime. Nothing more.”

Fred’s grin widened, oblivious to the way your voice faltered on the last words.

Later that evening, as you sat in your usual spot in the common room, Fred plopped down beside you, his long legs stretching out in front of him.

George and Angelina had finally left you alone, their laughter about your so-called “relationship” fading into the background.

Fred tossed a bright green bean into the air, catching it in his mouth. “Honestly, they’re relentless. Next thing you know, they’ll be planning our wedding.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Oh, definitely. George would insist on fireworks during the vows.”

“And Angelina would probably hex the cake to explode in my face,” Fred added, grinning.

“Not that you wouldn’t deserve it,” you teased, nudging him with your shoulder.

Fred gasped dramatically. “Me? Deserve it? Please, I’d be the perfect groom. You, on the other hand…”

You raised an eyebrow. “What about me?”

Fred smirked, leaning back in his chair. “You’d probably spend the entire ceremony arguing with me about the flowers or the seating arrangements.”

“Only because you’d insist on something ridiculous, like having a Quidditch match instead of a reception,” you shot back, laughing.

“See? Proves my point,” Fred said, throwing another bean into his mouth.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the grin tugging at your lips. The conversation was silly, but it sent a pang through your chest all the same. For a moment, you wondered—what if it weren’t so ridiculous? What if you weren’t just friends?

“Guess it’s a good thing we’d never actually be a couple,” you said lightly, testing the waters.

Fred snorted, not catching the slight hesitation in your voice. “You’ve got that right. Can you imagine? We’d probably kill each other within a week.”

Your smile faltered for a split second, but you quickly recovered, laughing along with him. “True. It would be a disaster.”

“An entertaining one, though,” Fred added, grinning at you.

You laughed again, but the ache in your chest lingered as his words played over in your mind. A disaster.

Fred, oblivious, tossed the box of beans onto the table and stretched his arms over his head. “Anyway, who needs all that relationship nonsense? We’re better off just being us.”

“Right,” you said softly, your smile not quite reaching your eyes. “Just us.”

But as you watched Fred lean back, his expression carefree and content, you made a silent decision.

It was time to stop hoping for something that would never happen. It was time to move on.

A couple days later, Fred dropped into the seat next to you in the common room, his typical big grin directed at you. “Fancy sneaking out to the kitchens? I was thinking a snack, but maybe we could even go for a full-course meal if the house-elves are feeling generous.”

You didn’t look up from your book, keeping your voice steady. “Can’t. I’ve got plans tonight.”

Fred tilted his head, frowning. “Plans? With who?”

“Just plans,” you said vaguely, flipping a page.

Fred narrowed his eyes, studying you for a moment, but you didn’t elaborate. Eventually, he shrugged, leaning back in his chair. “Your loss. More food for me.”

You hummed noncommittally, keeping your gaze fixed on the words in front of you.

Later that evening, Fred was sprawled on the sofa near the fire, George and Lee arguing over a card game beside him. Angelina sauntered in, her hair tied back in a loose ponytail.

“Oi, Ang,” Fred called, waving her over. “What’s she up to tonight?”

Angelina raised an eyebrow. “Who?”

“You know who. She said she had plans.”

Angelina hesitated for half a second before smirking. “She’s got a date.”

Fred blinked, the words not registering immediately. “A date?”

“Yeah,” Angelina said, sitting on the arm of the sofa. “With that bloke from Ravenclaw—what’s his name? Aaron? Aiden?”

“Andrew,” George supplied helpfully, grinning.

“Right. Andrew,” Angelina said, crossing her arms. “Apparently, he’s been asking her out for ages, and she finally said yes.”

Fred frowned, a strange tightness forming in his chest. “Huh.”

George glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “Something wrong, Fred?”

“No,” Fred said quickly, shaking his head. “Why would there be?”

George exchanged a look with Lee, who raised an amused eyebrow. But neither of them said anything, much to Fred’s relief.

Meanwhile you were trying your best to focus on Andrew as he told you about his latest Quidditch practice. He was charming, handsome, and undeniably kind. Exactly the type of person you should be going out with.

But as much as you tried to stay engaged, your mind kept wandering. His laugh wasn’t quite as infectious. His jokes weren’t quite as sharp. And when he leaned in slightly to brush his hand against yours, your chest didn’t flutter the way you wanted it to.

You forced a smile, reminding yourself why you were here. Andrew had always been good to you, and after Fred’s clear rejection, it was time to stop holding onto something that wasn’t going to happen.

“Are you alright?” Andrew asked, his voice soft as he studied your face.

“Yes,” you said quickly, sitting up straighter. “Sorry, just a bit distracted. It’s been a long week.”

Andrew smiled, his eyes warm. “I get it. I’m glad you said yes, though. I’ve been wanting to do this for a while.”

You felt a pang of guilt but managed another smile. “Me too.”

It wasn’t entirely a lie. Andrew deserved a chance, and you were determined to give it to him.

Still, as the evening wore on, you couldn’t help but wonder what Fred was doing. And no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shake the thought that you wished he were sitting across from you instead.

You had done your best to steer clear of Fred over the past few days. You weren’t sure why, if someone dared to ask. Maybe you wanted to avoid telling him about your date or maybe talking to Fred would force you to acknowledge that moving on was harder than you thought.

It wasn’t easy, avoiding Fred, considering he had a knack for showing up everywhere you didn’t want him to be.

And, naturally, today was no exception.

“Oi!” Fred’s voice rang out from behind you as you made your way down the hallway after class. “Wait up!”

You considered pretending not to hear him, but the sound of his footsteps catching up told you there was no escaping this time.

“Hey,” he said, falling into step beside you. His usual grin was in place, though there was a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. “Haven’t seen much of you lately. Been avoiding me or something?”

You gave a half-hearted laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous. Just… busy.”

Fred raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Busy with what? Or should I say who?”

Your stomach twisted at the question, but you forced yourself to keep your expression neutral. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Angelina mentioned you went on a date,” Fred said, his tone light and teasing, though his eyes flickered with something you couldn’t quite place. “Figured you’d be too busy swooning over this Andrew bloke to hang out with your real friends.”

You rolled your eyes, gripping the strap of your bag a little tighter. “It was just a date, Fred. No swooning involved.”

Fred tilted his head, studying you. “Come on. Spill. What’s he like? Is he as funny as me? Doubt it.”

You hesitated, your heart hammering as you searched his face for any hint of jealousy, any sign that this conversation bothered him. But Fred’s grin was firmly in place, his tone casual and carefree.

“He’s nice,” you said finally, keeping your voice even. “Really nice.”

Fred’s smile faltered for the briefest of moments before returning. “Nice, huh? That’s a glowing review.”

You shrugged, refusing to meet his eyes. “What else do you want me to say?”

“I dunno,” Fred said, scratching the back of his neck. “Maybe that he’s secretly boring or has terrible taste in music. Something I can mock him for.”

You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped you, but it quickly faded as the tension in your chest tightened.

Fred shoved his hands into his pockets, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. “Well, if he’s so bloody great, maybe we should invite him to hang out with us sometime.”

Your head snapped toward him, your eyes narrowing. “Are you serious?”

Fred shrugged, his grin turning lopsided. “Why not? He could use a proper Weasley test. See if he can keep up.”

You shook your head, muttering under your breath. “You’re impossible.”

Fred watched you closely, his grin slipping just enough to reveal the confusion beneath it. He didn’t know why the thought of you with Andrew left a sour taste in his mouth, but he was determined to ignore it.

Maybe it was just because he didn’t know the guy. Or because he didn’t want to lose his favorite partner-in-crime to some bloke from Ravenclaw. That had to be it.

Definitely not because he cared more than he should.

&

The common room buzzed with its usual post-dinner chaos. Fred was in his element, loudly challenging George to an Exploding Snap rematch after a questionable loss earlier, when you walked in with Andrew.

Fred’s laughter faltered for half a second, but he quickly covered it up with a grin. “Well, well, look who decided to join us. Ravenclaw royalty.”

“Hi, Fred,” you said, your voice neutral but carrying an edge of warning.

Andrew smiled politely, clearly unfazed. “Hey. I thought I’d take you up on your offer to hang out.”

“Brave of you,” Fred quipped, gesturing to the chaos around him. “We’re not exactly Ravenclaw standards of refined.”

Andrew chuckled. “I can handle it.”

George appeared beside Fred, grinning broadly. “Andrew, right? You’re the Quidditch guy. Chaser, yeah?”

“That’s me,” Andrew said, looking pleasantly surprised.

“Always nice to have another flyer in the group,” George said, clapping him on the back. “Ignore Fred if he gets too annoying.”

“Oi!” Fred protested, but George was already leading Andrew to the sofa, chatting about brooms and game strategies.

You sighed, crossing your arms. “Play nice,” you muttered as you passed Fred, taking a seat near Angelina and Lee.

Fred watched as Andrew settled into the group, answering questions and laughing at everyone’s jokes with ease. His jaw tightened when Angelina leaned over to whisper, “He’s charming, isn’t he?”

“Sure,” Fred said, his voice flat.

An hour later, everyone seemed to be getting along swimmingly—except Fred.

He wasn’t outright rude to Andrew, but his usual teasing had a sharper edge tonight. Every time Andrew spoke, Fred had a quick quip or an exaggerated eye roll.

When Andrew mentioned his house winning the latest match, Fred chimed in with, “Ravenclaw’s strategy, isn’t it? Win the game, lose the fun.”

George elbowed Fred, but Andrew only laughed. “We take Quidditch seriously. Some of us, at least.”

Fred grinned tightly. “Right. Because fun has no place in sports.”

“Okay,” you interjected, cutting through the growing tension. “Who wants snacks? I’ll get some from the kitchens.”

“I’ll help,” Andrew offered, standing up.

You hesitated, glancing briefly at Fred before nodding. “Sure. Let’s go.”

After you and Andrew left the common room, Fred slumped back into his chair, muttering something under his breath.

“What’s your problem?” George asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Problem? I don’t have a problem,” Fred said quickly.

“Sure you don’t,” Angelina said, smirking as she leaned against the armrest. “You’re only acting like a jealous git.”

Fred scoffed. “Jealous? Please. I just think he’s boring.”

George chuckled. “Yeah, he’s awful. Friendly, charming, loves Quidditch—how dare he?”

Fred scowled but didn’t reply, his gaze fixed on the door you’d just walked through.

When you and Andrew returned, the evening had mostly calmed down. Fred kept to himself, though his eyes followed you whenever you weren’t looking.

As the group began to disband for the night, Andrew turned to you, his smile warm and easy. “I had a great time the other night. Do you think you’d want to do it again? Soon?”

Fred’s head snapped up at Andrew’s words, but he quickly looked away, pretending to fidget with his deck of cards.

You hesitated, your gaze flickering to Fred for just a moment. His usual grin was gone, replaced by a furrowed brow and averted eyes. Ignoring him and the little voice in the back of your mind, you turned back to Andrew.

“Sure,” you said with a smile. “I’d like that.”

Andrew’s grin widened. “Great. I’ll find you tomorrow to figure out the details.”

You nodded, and as Andrew left, you glanced back at Fred one last time. He was shuffling his cards with unnecessary force, avoiding your gaze entirely. Weird.

Over the next couple of weeks, your relationship with Andrew began to take shape. Slowly but surely, he worked his way into your life.

He wasn’t overly pushy or demanding, which you appreciated, and he had a way of making you laugh—though not quite as effortlessly as Fred could.

Still, it felt nice to have someone show genuine interest in you, even if the spark you were hoping for wasn’t quite there yet.

Of course, Andrew didn’t just win you over—he charmed everyone.

“Well, he’s bloody polite,” George said one evening after Andrew left the common room. “And he brought snacks. Can’t argue with that.”

Angelina nodded in agreement. “He’s sweet. You picked a good one.”

“Of course she did,” Fred muttered, slumping lower in his chair.

Lee gave Fred a side-eye. “You alright, mate? You’ve been acting off lately.”

“I’m fine,” Fred said quickly, grabbing a deck of cards and shuffling them with unnecessary vigor. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Lee raised an eyebrow but didn’t press further.

The thing was, Fred wasn’t fine.

He didn’t know what it was about Andrew that rubbed him the wrong way. Maybe it was how the bloke always seemed to be around now, sitting beside you in the common room or leaning in too close when you laughed at one of his jokes.

Fred told himself it was just the newness of it all. You’d always been his person—his partner-in-crime, his go-to for pranks, his late-night snack accomplice. And now Andrew was stealing you away.

It was irritating.

But Fred wasn’t jealous. Definitely not.

One afternoon, the group decided to head down to the lake to take advantage of the rare sunny weather.

Andrew and George carried the food, Angelina and Lee brought the blankets, and you walked ahead with Fred, your pace slowing as you chatted.

“So,” Fred said casually, kicking a stone along the path, “how’s Prince Charming?”

You gave him a look. “He has a name, you know.”

“Right. Andy.”

“Andrew,” you corrected, rolling your eyes.

“Same thing,” Fred said with a shrug.

You sighed. “He’s fine. Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” Fred said, though his tone was anything but casual. “Just wondering how long he plans to stick around.”

“Why? You planning to scare him off?” you asked, your voice teasing but laced with curiosity.

Fred grinned, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Before you could respond, Andrew called your name from behind, jogging to catch up with you.

Fred fell silent, his jaw tightening as Andrew slipped into step beside you, his hand brushing yours as he walked.

By the time you reached the lake, Fred was thoroughly annoyed.

As everyone settled on the blankets, Andrew took the spot beside you, leaning close to whisper something that made you laugh. Fred sat across from you, stabbing at his sandwich with unnecessary force.

“You alright there, Fred?” Angelina asked, nudging him with her foot.

“Fine,” Fred said tightly, taking an aggressive bite.

George smirked. “You know, for someone who doesn’t care, you’re awfully bothered.”

Fred glared at his twin but said nothing.

As the sun began to set, Andrew offered to walk you back to the castle, and you accepted with a smile. Fred watched the two of you leave, his chest tightening as your laughter faded into the distance.

“Mate,” George said, clapping Fred on the shoulder. “You’ve got it bad.”

Fred scowled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t,” George said with a knowing grin.

If there was one thing Fred Weasley prided himself on, it was his ability to remain unshakable. Cool under pressure. Steady in the face of chaos.

Except, apparently, when Andrew was around.

“I’m just saying,” Fred declared loudly, leaning back in his chair with the kind of dramatic flair that immediately drew everyone’s attention, “no one is that nice. It’s suspicious.”

“Suspicious?” Angelina repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“Absolutely,” Fred said, gesturing wildly as if this were common knowledge. “No one can laugh at every single joke. Even George’s bad ones.”

“Oi!” George protested, though he was grinning. “My jokes are masterpieces.”

Andrew, seated comfortably next to you, chuckled. “I don’t know, George. That one about the Blast-Ended Skrewts last week was a bit of a stretch.”

Fred’s eyes narrowed. “See? Right there. He’s even polite when he’s being critical. Who does that?”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped you. “Fred, are you really mad because Andrew is nice?”

“I’m not mad!” Fred insisted, though his tone suggested otherwise. “I’m just… observant. He’s too nice. It’s unnatural.”

“Fred,” Lee said, struggling to keep a straight face, “I think you might be allergic to decent human behavior.”

The group erupted in laughter, and for a moment, even you couldn’t hide your amusement. But Fred wasn’t done yet.

“Mark my words,” Fred continued, pointing dramatically at Andrew, “this whole ‘charming and perfect’ act is going to crack one day. And when it does—”

Andrew held up his hands, laughing lightly. “Alright, you’ve got me. I’ll admit it: I burned toast once. Twice, actually. Sometimes I even leave the cap off the toothpaste.”

“Oh, the horror,” Lee said, clutching his chest mockingly. “Fred, are you sure we’re safe in his presence?”

Fred scowled, muttering something under his breath.

You shot him a look, your patience wearing thin. “Fred, if you’re so bothered by something, maybe you should do something about it.”

Fred blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in your tone. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You shrugged, standing to grab a glass of water. “Exactly what it sounds like.”

Fred watched you leave the room, the weight of your words settling uncomfortably in his chest.

“What’s her problem?” he muttered, glancing at the others.

Angelina snorted. “You’re joking, right?”

Fred frowned. “What?”

George exchanged a look with Lee, barely containing his laughter. “Oh, nothing,” George said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I’m sure it has nothing to do with you acting like a jealous prat every time Andrew breathes in her direction.”

“I’m not jealous!” Fred shot back, his voice a little too loud.

“Sure you’re not,” Lee said, patting him on the shoulder.

Angelina leaned forward, her smirk practically glowing. “Fred, has it ever occurred to you that you’re not mad at Andrew? You’re mad because he’s with her, and you’re not.”

Fred opened his mouth to argue, but no words came out. He shut it again, glaring at the lot of them as they burst into laughter.

“Honestly,” George said, shaking his head. “I’ve seen Blast-Ended Skrewts with more self-awareness.”

Fred groaned, burying his face in his hands. “You’re all useless,” he muttered.

“Hey, we’re just here to point out the obvious,” Lee said with a grin. “The rest is up to you, lover boy.”

&

The Three Broomsticks was warm and bustling with chatter, the kind of lively atmosphere that could distract anyone from their troubles.

Fred leaned back in his chair, nursing a mug of butterbeer, and let the noise wash over him.

It had been weeks since he’d felt this at ease. For once, he wasn’t thinking about Andrew or the way he seemed to occupy every spare moment of your time.

Because, for the first time in a long while, it was just the group—George, Lee, Angelina, you, and him—laughing, joking, and bickering like always. And with you sitting across from him, grinning over the rim of your butterbeer as you teased George about his latest failed prank, Fred felt… content.

Comfortable. Like everything was back to normal.

But then the door to the pub opened, letting in a gust of cold air and a familiar figure.

Fred’s stomach twisted the moment he saw Andrew.

“Hey, everyone,” Andrew said, his smile easy and confident as he approached the table.

Fred tried to focus on his drink, on George cracking a joke, on literally anything else—but then Andrew leaned down, his hand brushing your shoulder, and kissed you.

It wasn’t long, just a brief, casual kiss on the lips, but it might as well have been a Bludger to Fred’s chest.

The laughter at the table carried on, the others welcoming Andrew like they always did, but Fred barely heard a word. His mind was spinning, his heart racing, and for the first time, he couldn’t keep up the denial.

It wasn’t just irritation. It wasn’t just protectiveness.

It was jealousy.

Pure, undeniable jealousy.

And it wasn’t just because Andrew had you—it was because Fred wanted you.

The realization hit him like a brick wall. Every time you laughed at Andrew’s jokes, every time you brushed his hand with yours, every time you smiled at him with that soft, affectionate look in your eyes—it burned.

Because Fred wanted to be the one making you laugh, holding your hand, earning your smiles.

But it wasn’t him. And now, sitting here, watching Andrew slide into the seat beside you, his arm draped casually over the back of your chair, Fred finally understood why it hurt so much.

&

Fred paced the length of the Gryffindor common room like a man possessed, his hands raking through his hair as George, Angelina, and Lee lounged on the sofa, watching with varying degrees of amusement.

“She kissed him,” Fred muttered for the fiftieth time, his voice tinged with both disbelief and frustration.

“Yes, Fred,” Angelina said patiently, not bothering to hide her smirk. “We were all there. You don’t need to recap.”

“But—” Fred turned on his heel, his expression wild. “How did I not see it before? How did none of you tell me?”

George snorted. “Mate, we’ve been dropping hints for years. You’re just thick.”

“Excuse me?” Fred stopped pacing long enough to glare at his twin.

Lee chimed in, grinning. “He’s right, you know. It’s been painfully obvious to everyone but you. Honestly, we were starting to think you’d never figure it out.”

Fred groaned, collapsing into a chair and burying his face in his hands. “What am I supposed to do now? She’s happy with Andrew. I can’t just…” He trailed off, shaking his head.

“You could do nothing,” Angelina suggested, crossing her arms. “Let her be happy. Maybe keep your mouth shut for once in your life.”

Fred glared at her. “Thanks for the support, Ang. Really helpful.”

“I’m just saying,” Angelina continued, shrugging. “If you care about her, maybe you don’t ruin things for her. It’s not about you, Fred.”

George tilted his head. “Or—and hear me out—you could tell her how you feel and let her decide.”

Lee grinned. “Or—and this is my favorite option—you stage an elaborate prank to scare off Andrew, then swoop in as the knight in shining armor.”

Fred groaned again, throwing his head back against the chair. “You’re all useless.”

“Hey, I’m giving you options,” Lee said defensively.

“Yeah,” George added. “And Angelina’s just saying what she’d do if she were you. Personally, I think you should grow a pair and tell her the truth.”

Fred shot him a look. “It’s not that simple.”

“It never is,” Angelina said, her tone softer now. “But you’ve got to figure it out, Fred. Otherwise, you’re just going to keep driving yourself—and the rest of us—mad.”

The sound of the portrait hole opening drew their attention, and there you were, stepping inside with your bag slung over one shoulder and a slight frown on your face.

Fred’s heart skipped a beat, and he immediately sat up straighter, trying to look normal—which, of course, only made him look even more suspicious.

“Everything okay?” you asked, glancing between the group and Fred’s suspiciously guilty expression.

“Fine!” Fred said quickly, his voice a little too loud.

You raised an eyebrow but didn’t push, instead walking over to your usual spot by the fire. You dropped your bag on the floor and pulled out a stack of parchment, rifling through it with a small, frustrated sigh.

Fred couldn’t take his eyes off you. It wasn’t anything special—just you being you—but the way your hair caught the firelight, the tiny furrow in your brow as you concentrated, the way you bit your lip when something didn’t go right…

In that moment, Fred knew.

Knew that no one else would ever make him feel the way you did. Knew that no one else would ever measure up to you. Knew that he couldn’t keep this to himself anymore.

Now he just had to figure out how to tell you.

“Merlin, he’s gone,” George muttered, nudging Angelina. “Look at him.”

Fred ignored them, his mind racing as he tried to think of something—anything—to say. But for once in his life, words failed him.

Fred had never been one to overthink things. Usually, he went with his gut, said whatever was on his mind, and dealt with the consequences later. But when it came to you, every plan he came up with seemed doomed from the start.

The first time he tried, it was on the way to Charms. He’d spotted you walking ahead, your bag slung over one shoulder and your hair bouncing as you moved. His heart did that stupid thing where it sped up, and before he could stop himself, he called your name.

“Hey,” you said, slowing to let him catch up.

“Hey,” he replied, suddenly feeling like his tongue had turned to lead.

You smiled at him, that warm, easy smile that made his chest ache. “What’s up?”

Fred opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say anything, Andrew appeared from the other direction.

“There you are,” Andrew said, grinning as he slipped an arm around your waist.

Fred’s jaw clenched, but he forced a smile. “Right. See you in class,” he mumbled, walking off before either of you could reply.

The second attempt came during a group study session in the library.

Fred had been unusually quiet, his eyes darting to you every few seconds. You were sitting across from him, absently twirling your quill as you read over your notes.

“Hey,” he said suddenly, leaning forward.

You looked up, tilting your head. “Yeah?”

“I—”

“Shh!” Madam Pince hissed from across the room, glaring at Fred like he’d just set one of her precious books on fire.

Fred sighed, leaning back in his chair as George smirked beside him. “Smooth,” George muttered under his breath.

The third time wasn’t even his fault.

He’d waited until you were alone in the common room, curled up in your usual chair by the fire. It was late, and most of the others had gone to bed, leaving the room quiet and cozy.

Fred took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair as he approached. “Hey, can we talk?”

You looked up at him, your expression soft but curious. “Sure. What’s on your mind?”

Fred hesitated, the words hanging on the tip of his tongue. This was it. He just had to say it.

But before he could, Lee burst into the room, laughing loudly about something George had apparently done. The noise startled both of you, and whatever fragile moment had been building between you vanished in an instant.

Fred sighed, watching as you smiled politely at Lee’s antics before heading upstairs to your dorm.

Meanwhile, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.

Andrew was as kind and attentive as ever, but your heart wasn’t fully in it. You caught yourself zoning out during conversations, your mind drifting to memories of late-night laughs and pranks with Fred.

Andrew noticed.

“You’ve been a bit distant lately,” he said one evening as you sat together by the lake. His tone was calm but serious, his eyes searching yours.

“I’m sorry,” you said quickly, though you weren’t sure what you were apologizing for.

Andrew smiled faintly, shaking his head. “We should talk. Really talk.”

You nodded, your stomach twisting with unease and the underlying feeling of already knowing what was about to come.

&

The rain fell steadily, soaking through your cloak and chilling you to the bone, but you didn’t care. After your conversation with Andrew, you’d needed space to think, to feel, to breathe.

That was why you stayed in the same spot he left you in, even when it began to pour.

But tonight, the storm wasn’t just inside.

The sound of footsteps on the dock pulled you from your thoughts, and you turned to see Fred, his red hair plastered to his forehead and water dripping from his clothes.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, your voice carrying over the rain.

Fred shoved his hands into his pockets, looking equal parts frustrated and relieved. “I could ask you the same thing.”

You shrugged, turning your gaze back to the water. “Needed to think.”

Fred hesitated, then stepped closer, the wood creaking under his weight. “And you couldn’t think inside? Where it’s dry?”

You huffed a laugh, though there wasn’t much humor in it. “Guess not.”

An awkward silence stretched between you as the rain continued to fall. Fred shifted on his feet, clearly trying to work up the courage to say something.

He hadn’t planned this, hadn’t thought through what he wanted to say.

“You’re really something, you know that?” he blurted finally, the words spilling out before he could stop them. “You’re out here in the rain, and I’m the idiot who followed you, and… Merlin, I don’t even know where to start.”

You raised an eyebrow, your expression guarded. “Then don’t.”

Fred shook his head. “No, I have to. Because—because you drive me mad. You’re all I can think about, and it’s infuriating because I don’t even know when it started, but it’s just… there. All the time.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the raw honesty in his voice.

“You know, Andrew is… perfect, really. Kind, understanding. Says all the right things. And he’s right. He’s everything I should want.”

Fred’s jaw tightened, but he kept his voice steady. “If he’s so perfect, then why are you out here? With me?”

The words hit like a punch to the gut, and you blinked, suddenly unable to meet his gaze.

“Why, if Andrew’s so perfect, are you standing out here in the rain with me instead of him?” Fred pressed, his voice soft but insistent.

Your chest ached, and before you could stop yourself, the truth spilled out. “Because he’s not you, Fred! He never was.”

Fred stared at you, his breath hitching as your words sank in.

You laughed bitterly, swiping at your wet face. “Andrew is kind and caring and everything I should want. But it doesn’t matter, because he’s not you. And that’s why we ended things. He knows he’s not the one I want to be with.”

Fred didn’t move for a moment, as though your words had stunned him. His wide eyes searched yours, raindrops slipping down his face, mingling with the uncertainty you saw flicker there.

But then, something shifted. Determination sparked in his gaze, and in one swift motion, he stepped forward, closing the distance between you. His hands, rough yet gentle, cupped your face, his thumbs brushing against your rain-damp cheeks.

The kiss came like a thunderclap—fierce, overwhelming, impossible to ignore. His lips claimed yours with a desperation that stole the breath from your lungs, as though this was the only way he could make you understand everything he couldn’t say.

The rain blurred everything around you—the trees, the lake, the world itself—but Fred’s warmth anchored you. His hands trembled slightly against your skin, betraying the vulnerability beneath his boldness.

A soft gasp escaped you as your fingers curled into the fabric of his soaked shirt, pulling him closer instinctively. The rain had drenched you both, but Fred’s heat seeped through the layers, making you feel like nothing else mattered.

His lips moved against yours, earnest and unrelenting, as though he feared you might slip away if he didn’t hold on tightly enough. And yet, there was no demand in his kiss, only a raw, aching need that left you dizzy.

When you finally broke apart, gasping for air, Fred rested his forehead against yours, his breath ragged. His hands stayed on your face, as if letting go would break the fragile moment between you.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice hoarse but firm, his thumb brushing away the rain—or was it a tear?—from your cheek. “Forgive me?”

The rain continued to fall, cold and relentless, but it didn’t matter. Fred’s eyes searched yours, unguarded and full of something that made your chest ache.

“Always,” you whispered, your voice trembling but resolute.

Fred’s lips curved into the faintest smile before he kissed you again, softer this time but no less consuming.

From a distance, George and Lee watched from the cover of a nearby tree, Angelina holding an umbrella over them with a triumphant smirk.

“Told you,” George said smugly.

“Yeah, yeah,” Lee muttered, crossing his arms, but not before handing George the bag. “I still say it’s weird to bet on your brother’s love life.”

“Not when it’s this predictable,” Angelina chimed in, snatching a Galleon from the bag. “You’re welcome, by the way. I made this happen.”

“You did nothing,” George said, rolling his eyes. “They’re just idiots. Idiots in love.”

[the-kr8tor]

You stay the night at Hobie's for the first time

Pairing: Hobie Brown x gn! Reader/ Spider-Punk x gn! Reader

Word count: 1.6k

Synopsis: You sleepover at Hobie's houseboat.

Tags: no use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, established relationship, FLUFF, smut implied.

My Masterlist

Inspired by this post

*I don't consent to having my work translated/published on other platforms*

Obsessing over the pimple on your forehead, you try to pop it in between your forefinger and thumb. 

"Ughh" you grimace while staring at your reflection on Hobie's grimey mirror. 

You glimpse at your form, you're wearing one of Hobie's numerous band shirts, after you accidentally spilled mouthwash on your pajama shirt, you asked to borrow one. You're giddy that you smell like him.

He joked that you spilled mouthwash on it on purpose just to wear his shirt. 

"Stop it, you're gonna make it worse" Hobie says as he watches the disaster in front of him. He's lounging on his bed, arms tucked under his head. His dark jumper rides up a bit showing his toned stomach. His legs are properly tucked under the patchwork comforter.

"But it's bothering meee" you kick your legs like your throwing a tantrum.

"It doesn't even look that bad," Hobie pats the open space beside him "come to bed, lovey" 

"Says the man who has clear skin even though you wash your face with the same soap you use on your body" You turn to face him, ignoring his exposed skin. 

You've never seen him this relaxed before. He's a pretty laid back guy already, but this? His half-lidded eyes looking at you, paired with him in his comfortable non-spiky clothes– maybe you should come to bed.

"It's genetics, all natural, baby" 

"It's actually au naturel" you cross your arms on your chest, hiding your uneven breathing.

"No, it's not" 

"Yes, it is" you step forward.

"Nuh uh" 

"Yea uh" 

You stare at each other for a second.

"...C'mere" Hobie concedes defeat or else you would be at it all night. He takes his left arm from under him to reach towards you. 

"Fine" you head towards the bed, your sea legs swaying when a small wave hits the houseboat. You crawl under the covers. 

"Why are you so far, get over 'ere" he grabs the cover under you to drag you towards him, closing the already small distance. He's been waiting for this the entire day. He feels elated, he couldn't wait to finally cuddle with you, 

You hoped he didn't notice the small distance you made, but alas he's a perceptive one who doesn't like admitting he likes cuddles. Truth be told, you're actually nervous spending the night with him for the first time, you're not expecting for something to happen tonight, but if something did happen you're prepared for it, kind of, sorta, maybe?

Not to mention, the houseboat is a little intimidating, like what if you get sea sick and puke all over his carpet, well you're floating on a river, but nonetheless the rocking motion could still give you motion sickness. Or what if you kick him off the bed while asleep, or you sleep walk and you fall overboard. Or what if–

Hobie pinches your nose, keeping his fingers around it. "Oi, where did you go?" 

"Nuhn of yhor bhismes" you swat at his hand. 

"Your eyes went glossy for a second, thought I lost you" 

"I was actually thinking about your houseboat" 

"And here I thought you were thinking 'bout me" he holds his arm out behind you, unsure if you're okay with the action. 

Noticing his uncertainty, you swallow your shyness, you lean against his arm placing your head softly on his shoulder. Any doubt from Hobie is quickly washed away by your reaction. He pushes you closer to his warmth with the hand around your shoulder.

"What about the houseboat?" He stares at you while you play with a loose thread on his jumper.

"Like.. how'd you get it?" You absentmindedly twirl the thread around your fingers.

"Bought it off a bloke"

"That's it? No crazy or wacky story behind it?" You stare up at him suspiciously.

"Yes, there's no wacky story behind it" he mocks your word choice by copying your voice. "I needed a place, my friend's cousin's friend sold it at a cheap price. That's it, nothing madcap 'bout it" 

"Hmm, Do you even know how to drive, wait no sail? Is it called sailing when it doesn't have sails? Nevermind you get what I'm talking about, do you know how to do that?" You ramble, he finds it adorable.

"Yes, how do you think I brought it here from Amsterdam?" He's now curious whether it's sail or drive.

You gasp, sitting up "See! There IS a wacky story behind it" you poke his chest playfully.

Hobie grabs your finger to stop you "There IS nothing wacky about it. Well-" he remembers something, you perk up "we had to dodge the coast guard, but that's about it" 

"THE COAST GUARD?!" A huge grin blooming on your face.

"All right calm your beans" Hobie pushes your head back down lightly.

"How long did it take you to get back?" You snuggle closer to him.

"It would've just taken us 6-7 hours, but we had to hide from the coast guard so it took us about 10 hours" 

"Who were you with?" You fight a yawn.

"Why? You jealous?" Hobie shakes you lightly, he wants to talk to you more.

"Why would I be jealous of your friend's cousin's friend?" You rub one of his unruly eyebrows, shaping the strands back into place.

Hobie chuckles. He wants to stay like this with you, sleep be damned.

"What do you want for breakfast?" A yawn escaping you. You situate yourself on his chest.

"You gonna cook for me?" Hobie holds on to you tighter.

"Hmm, if you're nice to me in the morning, yeah" 

"What do you mean? I'm always nice to you" 

"You say that as you're staring at my pimple" you start to close your eyes. 

"Well, gorgeous, I'm not staring directly at it, I'm looking at you, you wear my shirt really well" 

"Well, handsome," you tease him back "anything looks better when I wear it" you feel sleep taking you.

"You're right," Hobie whispers against your hair "I like my eggs sunny side up by the way" 

"Hmm" a soft smile on your face.

Since you're wearing socks, with a sly smirk on Hobie's face, he slowly lifts up the leg hem of your pajama pants with his cold foot, once there's enough space, he quickly lays his ice cold foot on your leg. 

"Ack! What- Hobie!" You shoot up from your position. 

Hobie laughs loudly, you feel the houseboat shake lightly.

You playfully slap his chest.

"You!" Slap "Menace!" Slap

In one swift movement, he grabs your slapping hand, then he flips himself over you, his legs on your sides, caging you in.

You gasp at the weight above you, a wide smile blooming on your face.

"Hobie! You're too heavy!" Drowsiness is now completely gone.

He half kneels on your sides so he doesn't completely crush you.

"You're not allowed to sleep" Hobie leans slightly towards you, you can see his playful smirk illuminated by the moonlight.

"What do you mean I'm not allowed?! You invited me to a SLEEPOVER, you dork!" You gasp out as he's a few inches away from your face.

"Lemme guess you're the kind of person who falls asleep first in a sleepover? you're the dork here, sweets" he leans closer his lips ghosting over yours. 

You close your eyes in anticipation. Instead of a kiss, you feel Hobie blow raspberries on your jaw.

"Ack! HAHAHAHAHAHA" your legs kicking up trying to stop him from tickling you.

Hobie pulls back breathlessly.

"Oh you're ticklish? Got it" he smirks devilishly. "Wonder where else you're ticklish?" Hobie tilts his head.

"No! Don't you dare, Hobart!" Your eyes widen when he winds up his arms to tickle your stomach, despite the threat you can't help but grin.

"Oh using my government name now, huh" Hobie tickles your sides relentlessly, your laughs echoing throughout the space. 

"Okay! Okay! I'll stay up!" You say in between laughs.

He finally stops his attack, letting you breathe. 

"Yeah?" He takes his tickling stance again.

"Yes" you giggle "please stop or I might piss my pants" 

"Ooh kinky" he squeezes your cheeks together as you glare at him. 

"Can you please kiss me already so we can properly cuddle like you wanted" you say with your squished lips.

Hobie chuckles "saw right through me, huh" he leans down finally giving your most awaited kiss.

He eases up from squishing your cheeks so you could kiss him back properly, you hold on to the back of his neck, grounding you. 

Hobie pulls away, he stares at your wide eyes lovingly. You lift yourself up using his neck as leverage, quickly peppering his face with kisses, until he laughs with every peck.

You pull back, taking in his lovesick stricken face, his smile lopsided, eyes basically shaped like hearts. You're sure you mirror his expression. 

"I should invite you more often" he lays back down next to you, arm wrapped around your torso, half of his body staying on top of you, his legs splayed over yours. Hobie relaxes immediately.

You crane your neck "yeah you should. I really love your home, babe" you rub his arm soothingly.

"Really? You're not sea sick?" 

"I gotta be honest with you, I took a kwells tablet beforehand," you laugh.

"That's pretty smart" Hobie fights a yawn "you're really smart, love" he rubs the side of your neck.

"You're only saying that so I'll make you breakfast" you whisper, once you notice his eyes slowly close. 

"No, you're really smart, and lovely, and a bloody good cook" he parks his head on the crook of your neck with a sigh.

You chuckle softly, pulling the covers up to his chin, you lay your head just above his. 

You both fall asleep listening to each other's steady breathing with the houseboat rocking you both rhythmically.

A/n: I'm sorry that my last fic made y'all cry lmao, here's some fluff. As always thank you for reading! Likes and reblogs are appreciated ❤️

*picture above is from pinterest*

[gigglesandfreckles-hp]

hey, for your spotify wrapped prompts can I ask for 22, please and thank you <3

"I'm still fallin' out of love with you And I'm headin' for the door Not sure if I'll go through" Autumn's Song by Stephen Day

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“You’re forgetting one very important thing, Potter.”

Seeing that she’s stopped walking, James halts too, folding his arms over his chest. “And what’s that?”

She stands up on her tip-toes, straightening his Head Boy badge. “I’m very, very good at everything I do.” She flashes him a cat-like grin—so close, too close—, then rocks back down to the balls of her feet, and pats his shoulder. “There.” She takes a breath and shrugs her shoulder. “Anyway, I think the pumpkin carving competition is a good idea. For house unity and all that shit.”

James snorts, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “McGonagall will love it.”

“I just think you should keep in mind how very multi-talented I am,” she adds, her grin widening mischievously.

“You rarely let me forget it,” he says, smiling despite himself. “But I think it’s worth noting that I did say participants could work in pairs.”

Her eyebrow arches, her green eyes glinting with mischief. “Do you know of someone looking for a partner?”

His fingers twitch in his pockets as he fights the instinct to fidget, desperate to not give away every single implication of that particular question. “I might do.”

“What’s he like?”

“Yay-high.” James holds his hand up to his forehead, smirking. “Specs. Lots of hair. Bit of a disaster.”

“Fit?” she asks, tilting her head like she’s genuinely curious.

“Reasonably so.”

“Ah,” she says. “That’s disappointing.”

His eyebrow quirks. “You have something against reasonably fit blokes, Evans?”

She sighs lightly. “No, I was just hoping you were referring to yourself.”

James blinks, and then laughs, the sound more nervous than he’d like. “I’m not even reasonably fit?”

She looks up at him like he’s said something particularly daft. “Oh, fuck off with that, Potter.”

Her reaction only confuses him further, and his laugh tumbles out harder. “What? You just said—”

“Ego!” she cries, pointing at him.

“Ego?” He gapes at her, then freezes mid-laugh, his mouth still open. “Hang on.”

She takes off walking down the corridor. “No.”

“Hang on, Evans,” he says, easily catching up to her, “are you—”

She rolls her eyes, but the faintest smile plays on her lips. “Like you don’t know.”

Feeling inexplicably emboldened, he grins, leaning slightly toward her. “So if we’re looking at a spectrum, just how far above ‘reasonably’ would you place me on the ‘fit bloke’ scale?”

Attention from Lily has always affected him like this. Even when the attention was negative—sharp words or icy glares—he felt it deep in his chest. But now that they’re friends—now that her compliments and smiles are freely given, and frequently intended for him—his heart goes into a completely different fucking dimension.

“All I’m saying,” she says, turning back toward him, her grin cheeky, “is that just because I’m not in the queue of besotted girls clambering for a James Potter snog—I’ve got eyes, don’t I?”

She flashes him a wink, and just like that, she’s off, striding down the corridor with her usual confidence, her laughter echoing faintly behind her.

James stares after her, his heart lodged somewhere between his ribs and his throat. It’s difficult, trying to fall out of love with someone who can so effortlessly inflate and crush his heart in the span of a single moment. 

He takes a practised breath, shoves his hands deeper into his pockets, and forces himself to follow after her—like it’s normal to constantly be in free fall.

[madhatterbri]

Loyalty Lies | W.O.

Summary: Will. Smut. American Revolution AU.

Happy birthday to my favoritest, magicalest fart. ❤️ May you have many dreams with a boy band, Will Ospreay, for the rest of your days. @magicalbuttertarts . Thank you for always being there and being so supportive and laughing at my shitty jokes. Please check her masterlist out here.

Will Ospreay Masterlist

AEW Masterlist

Taglist: @theworldofotps @smallestsnarkestgirl @hodgepodge-musings @magicalbuttertarts @99hook

Will stood in the dark away from the shine of the moonlight that peered through the windows. Anyone who happened to find him in the house would spell disaster for him and the lady of the house. A British soldier in the home of a single woman. He would be hanged before the sun rose from the east.

Footsteps made him hold his breath. His heart pounded in his chest. He hoped and prayed that his love would be coming through those doors. Not taking any chances, he grabbed his pistol and pointed to the door.

Y/N walked through the door, humming happily. Tonight was a success. She managed to get more Intel from the drunks at the tavern. Drinks made even the most noble men betray their secrets. Men were too easy.

A satchel rested on her table. She grabbed the letters from under her skirts and kissed them. It had been months since she last saw Will. They were playing a dangerous game, and his absence was excused. The letters were then placed in the satchel. By morning, they would be hidden in a hole in a tree to be picked up by a British soldier.

"What does a bloke have to do to get a kiss like that?" Will asked.

She jumped at the sudden interruption of silence. Her hands placed over her chest as she tried to calm down. After regaining her wits, she looked towards his direction. A smile tugged at her lips. "I don't see any war here to stop him from getting one."

Will had been sneaking to her house for months whenever the war drew him back to New York. One night, he foraged around her isolated cabin for food. The rations were low, but his need for food was high. She caught him and told him to come inside. That night, she made him stew. They formed a friendship which then blossomed into a relationship.

Their night started with a simple kiss, followed by another, and another. Soon, clothes were stripped and left forgotten on the floor in a trail to her bed. Kisses went further and further south. His face buried between her legs. She bit her lip and gripped the pillow. Her other hand gripped his blonde locks. Will's tongue and fingers explored what no man had ever done before. His name fell from her lips like a prayer.

Nights like these didn't happen often, but when they did, they made the most of it. Satisfied with pleasing his woman, he kissed back up to her lips. Her moans muffled by his lips when he thrusted inside of her. His thrusts were slow and steady. He always took his time. A part of him was lost in the notion that this could last forever if he went slower. The two of them in a cabin in the woods together forever.

Her fingernails scratched his back as he hissed against her. Her legs wrapped around his waist. Fingers snaked through his hair. His thrusts picked up as he felt their end near. His hips hesitated slightly when he wasn't sure where to finish.

"Inside," she told him after feeling his hesitation.

"Are you... are you sure?" He stammered. A woman getting pregnant without a man would be a major scandal. Her getting pregnant by a British soldier would be disastrous.

She hummed in response. A few more thrusts and he stilled inside of her. Her body tensed around him as they reached the peak of their orgasm. Will pulled out of her. She moved to the side lazily as he lay next to her. He enveloped her in his muscular arms.

They stared into each other's eyes. Their tones hushed as they talked about their future after the war. A little place such as hers filled with the pitter patter of the tiny feet of their children. He often remembered their talks whenever he found himself on the battlefield. They always helped push him through.

She was the first to fall asleep. Her head nestled into his chest. His fingers traced lazy shapes into her shoulder. Will laid on his back as he stared at the ceiling. His eyes suddenly started to close. The only clue of a war going on outside rested on a table a few feet away from them.

The secrets of top rebel military officials left on the wooden table. Secrets obtained by a woman betraying her country for her British soldier with their hopes that the war would come to an end.

[kayrma]

See You At the Next Stop

Lily Evans meets a posh-looking bloke with messy hair on the way back to London, and for once in her life she actually enjoys a train ride. Maybe having a spontaneous seat partner isn't that bad after all.

Read on AO3 (2.9k words)

happy birthday, lily evans-potter! didn't have enough time to finish my punk!lily fic but i realized i never actually posted this fic from two years ago to tumblr so this is my contribution for today <3

Lily stared down the document in front of her, willing her brain to start writing words again. She had been on the train for nearly two hours now, travelling from Edinburgh to London. Visiting home had been yet another disaster, with Petunia continuing to judge Lily for moving to London after school and finding an inner-city job.  Her sister liked to say that Lily was wasting her money trying to live on her own (which was a lie, Lily had a lovely roommate named Mary), and that she’d be better off staying home and finding a husband. Sometimes, Lily thought Petunia was stuck in the nineteenth century, but she blamed most of that on her horrendous boyfriend Vernon, who worked for a drilling company or something else of the sort – it seemed far too boring to keep track of. 

Really, Lily had only gone home to visit their mum, following the two-year anniversary of her father’s death. His death had hit their family hard, despite them all knowing it was coming. Her father had suffered from cancer in his final years, but it still hurt knowing he was gone. Mr. Evans was Lily’s biggest supporter, encouraging her to attend Cambridge despite the monetary toll it would put on their family. He had helped her search for scholarships, and she ended up going to university for much lower than she ever could have expected without her father’s help. He was the one who helped her move to London, being there to help her move into her tiny flat despite him slowly growing weaker. She missed him every day, and she missed her mum, but she needed to be back in the city for work tomorrow.

Snapping out of her painful memories, Lily looked back at the half-empty document, with only a title and an introduction on it, not even in Times New Roman yet. She switched the font, the Arial irritating her, and leaned back into her seat. Even though she was on the high-speed rail, the train ride had felt impossibly long. She was seated next to some messy-haired Indian bloke, his glasses on top of his head and earbuds plugged in as he typed away on his own laptop. The man was gorgeous, to say the least, especially since he had unbuttoned the top collar of his dress shirt, and was wearing Converse with his slacks. Really, she couldn’t not admire him. Lily had a personal policy of not sitting next to men if she could avoid it, but he looked around her age and seemed relatively unassuming when he got on at Newcastle about an hour after her, and Lily found herself unable to say no. A part of Lily had wanted to ask him for his name, to know more about him, but he seemed to be a little bit of a mess as he got on the train. All he offered her was an apologetic smile as he struggled to shove his duffel into the overhead compartment as the train started moving. She smiled back at him, perhaps a little too eagerly in comparison to his semi-grimace. He had rolled up his sleeves as he sat down, and what was Lily supposed to do but stare at his well-defined tan forearms? He probably worked in some posh company, considering his attire (not that Lily could judge, she was still wearing business casual as well). Any time she peeked over at his laptop, he was typing furiously into some form of sheets that she truly could not decipher no matter how much she wanted to try. Looking away from him and turning her attention back to her own laptop, her brain felt like it was about to melt. 

Deciding to take a break, Lily closed her laptop, ridding her mind of thoughts about her struggling article. She pulled out her phone, and seeing that her plan was about to run out for the month, she started to play some silly game that didn’t require any data. At that moment, the messy-haired bloke looked over, saying “Oh, I love that game!”

He had said it extremely loud, presumably because he was blasting music in his earbuds, but Lily laughed and turned towards him.

“Really? All my mates make fun of me for playing it – what level are you on?”

“Oh, don’t worry, my mates do the same. They say it’s because I still act like a ‘bloody child’ but I think I just enjoy a bit of mindless fun, y’know?”

Lily nodded, glad to see that she had something in common with the gorgeous bloke. He hadn’t told her what level he was on, but his smile and enthusiasm more than made up for it.

“Regardless, I’ll let you get back to the game, this project might be the death of me.”

She slumped back as gracefully as she could, disappointed that he was busy, but she shot him another smile and went back to playing her silly little game. After exhausting her thumbs, she genuinely felt like she had lost brain cells, choosing to just put away her phone and relax with some music. Putting her head against the seat, she closed her eyes and tried to stop thinking entirely. However, no matter how much she tried to empty her mind, the bloke next to her kept popping into her mind. She ended up just embracing it, allowing her mind to fill with thoughts of who he could possibly be as she felt herself drifting off into sleep. 

Lily had no idea when she woke up, but she felt an impossible crick in her neck as she opened up her eyes. Quickly checking her watch for the time, she realized she had only been asleep for a little over half an hour, and sighed in relief – she’d still have time to try and work on her article again. However, as she tried to get up, she realized there was a weight on top of her head. Glancing upwards, she realized she had fallen asleep on the bloke’s shoulder, and he was leaning back on top of her head as his hands were stilled on his laptop. His shoulders were sturdy and broad, and Lily thought that she wouldn’t mind staying there forever. Not wanting to disturb him as he seemed utterly relaxed, Lily stayed put, hoping he’d wake up soon. 

After a few minutes (that felt like a lovely forever), his head lifted off of hers, and she took the opportunity to escape. Before she could even look at him, she heard the sound of his neck cracking as he stretched it, and Lily’s jaw dropped wide open. 

“That sounded like it hurt,” she commented discreetly, hoping he wouldn’t take it the wrong way. 

He smiled at her, glasses almost slipping off his nose now, rather than tangled in his messy hair. Shaking his head, he said “I always do it to wake myself up, it feels rather good actually.” The bloke proceeded to crack each one of his knuckles, and then his wrist. Lily grimaced at the noise, but couldn’t help herself from laughing. She figured she should probably apologize to him for falling asleep on him, even though she didn’t know how she ended up on his shoulder. 

“I’m Lily, by the way. Sorry I fell asleep on you. I’ve been working on an article and my brain genuinely felt like it might have melted if I hadn’t taken a break.”

“No worries Lily, it’s lovely to meet you,” he stuck out his hand, “Potter. James Potter.”

“Bond-like, are we?” Lily took his hand and gave him a firm handshake, trying to put on as serious of a face as she could in order to mirror his own expression. 

“Of course, milady Evans. What takes you to London this fine weekend?”

“Why Mr. Potter, I’m heading back to work. I visited my mum in Edinburgh, and I’ve got a roommate and a flat and a job to get back to tomorrow.”

“Is that so?” James flashed a smirk that would have brought her to her knees if she hadn’t already been sitting down. “Well Evans, I’ve just done the same, except that I visited my mum and dad in Newcastle, and am heading back to the flat I share with my brother and our friends, and a job as well.”

Lily giggled, of all things, and looked down to realize that their hands were still intertwined from when he had reached out to shake them. She dropped it before she could get too flustered, and tried not to notice the disappointed look on James’ face. 

“Right then, Potter, where do you work? I’d bet it’s somewhere posh, with the clothing you’re wearing and those sheets you were typing away on.”

Clearly surprised she had noticed, James’ quick reaction gave away that she seemed to have gotten everything right.

“Stalking me already Evans? And then falling asleep on me? Have you got some sort of ploy going on here, an evil scheme or whatnot?”

“Oh of course, I’m a journalist for The Daily Prophet, you see, and you’re the subject of my next story. James Potter: The Posh Bloke with Messy Hair and Unfinished Work.”

James let out a loud laugh at that, startling the other people in the full cabin. They all seemed to glare at him, despite his laugh being perfectly beautiful in her opinion.  He raised a thick eyebrow, questioning her with just that one expression.

“Alright, well you’re not the subject of my next article Potter, sorry to disappoint. But I do really work for The Daily Prophet, and I’m afraid I’m the one with unfinished work seeing as my article’s barely hit a page yet.”

“And you’re sure it can’t be about me? My messy hair just won’t do for The Prophet?”

“Afraid not, sorry, unless you’ve got a secret as to how you manage to keep it that messy. You’ve run your hands through it more than I can count in just the time we’ve been talking, and it’s not shown a single sign of being tamed.”

“Well Evans, I suppose I’ll let you in on a secret then.” He leaned in close to her, his lips almost brushing her ear as his breath made her shudder. “My dad’s actually the creator of Sleakeazy’s Hair Products, and I refuse to use it out of principle.”

Lily’s head snapped around so quickly it nearly gave her whiplash. She looked at James with an incredulous look on her face – there was no way he was telling the truth. But his face looked so earnest, completely devoid of his teasing demeanor, and Lily ended up just staring at him in bafflement. He snickered as she continued to stare him down, and his hands went right back up to muss up his hair.

“Yeah, I know. My brother ended up with the good hair genes, considering Sleakeazy’s has never really been able to do much for me anyways. Well, he’s not really my brother, we took him in after he ran away from his shitty family, but he’s my brother in everything but blood.”

James seemed like he was about to continue rambling, almost like his mouth was moving quicker than his brain. Lily reached out to put her hand on his wrist, but whether she did it to calm him down or for her own benefit, she didn’t quite know. 

“That’s really sweet of you and your family, James,” she gave him a small smile, “You’re clearly of the good sort. Maybe I will write my article about you after all. James Potter: A Bloke with Messy Hair and a Penchant for Being a Good Person.”

“All that from a bit of rambling, eh, Evans?” He was evidently smug, happy with the perception he’d given of himself. Something about his smirk made Lily want to wipe it clean off his face with a kiss, but it was far too early and far too public of an area to do that. Instead, she humored him with a laugh, and pulled her laptop out of her bag. 

Opening a new document, she enlarged the font into the awful old-Gothic newspaper style that came preloaded, and wrote up all the silly titles she’d come up with today. James reached for it slowly, wordlessly asking permission to take her laptop. She nodded and passed it to him, curious to see what he’d possibly type. He deleted all the words she’d put in, and changed the font to fucking Lobster, of all things, and then turned the laptop away from her. James seemed to be taking his time to think about what he was about to type, mussing up his hair yet again. After a minute or so of anticipation, he turned the laptop back to her, and it read: “James Potter: A Bloke with Messy Hair Who’d Like to Take One Lily Evans on a Date.”

Lily gave him what might have been the goofiest grin of all time, snatched back her laptop, changed the font to a respectable Times, enlarged it, and wrote in “Yes” so that it would fill up the page. James smiled back at her with the same reckless abandon, and leaned over to hold her hand. And then the computer nearly slipped off her lap.

They both reached for it, knocking heads in the process, but managed to save it from a horrific death on the train (she was a journalist, she needed to make use of her sensationalizing skills sometimes), and they both started laughing. They kept going even as she quickly put her laptop back in its bag. The passengers around them were definitely staring at them with irritation now, but that meant nothing to her if it meant seeing James’ smile. She leaned back into him and grabbed his hand to hold it properly this time, looking up at him like she could ravish him right there. He stared back at her with the same dark look in her eyes, and kissed her forehead and her nose. 

God, this boy and his ability to make her giggle. She whispered, “If you’d like to kiss me, you can just do it, y’know?”

He leaned in for a chaste kiss, “Right, but if I kissed you like I wanted to right now, we’d probably get a complaint for public indecency. Besides, it’s just another half hour to London, and my flat’s not too far from the station.” And then he winked at her. Lily gaped at him with an open mouth, and James pushed it back closed after a beat, saying “Don’t catch any flies in there, love.” Truly, James Potter was an enigma she could write an article on. 

“Well, I suppose I’ll get back to writing my article then. It seems I might be busy after we get off this train.” 

James stared her down as she pulled her laptop back out of its back, tied up her hair, and for extra flair, picked his glasses off his head and put them on. 

“Fuck, nevermind, you’re blind as a bat, Potter,” Lily blinked furiously, and shoved them back onto his face. James ruffled his hair (of course he did), and reopened his own work. Before he started working though, he reached over and pulled her closer to him, so much so that she was nearly on his lap, and then took his arm right back away once she was squished into him. Embracing the position, Lily opened a new document, abandoning the pages she had previously written, deciding that her next article would just have to be about something more lighthearted than the current foreign affairs of the UK government; her boss Minerva could probably appreciate some good news anyway. Pulling up the notes of an old interview she had done. Finally finding a rhythm as she typed away, Lily was startled by the “London, next stop!” that blared over the train’s PA system. She glanced over at James, who seemed just as rattled, and they both put their things away in unison. As everyone else on the trains stood from their seats to take their luggage, James immediately bumped his head as he got up.

“Bloody hell, these have no right being so low,” He grumbled as he stretched out and reached for his duffel.

“Sure you won’t need help with your bag this time, Potter?” Lily felt the need to tease him, just to humble him with her first impression of him from when he boarded the train. As if to prove a point, James swiped her bag off the overhead carry bin as well, and held on to both of them as the cabin started to clear out. Lily did a final check of their seats, and lightly jogged to follow him out.

“Well Potter, I recall you saying your flat wasn’t too far from the station. Are you planning on making good on that?”

“Of course Evans, what kind of man do you take me for? I’ll have you know I don’t put out on the first date though, I’ll be making you food since my flat’s got a stellar kitchen.” She raised an eyebrow at him, willing him to continue, because she wanted to know what he could possibly be making for her. “My mum’s aloo tikki recipe, I think you’ll like it.”

“This feels like a dig at me for being half-Irish, but I never mentioned that, so I’ll accept it. I look forward to seeing your cooking skills since you’ve got the sort of hair that would catch on fire in a kitchen.”

James gave her that stunning smile again, and grabbed her hand as they walked out of the station, and on the way to his flat. Lily had a good feeling about this bloke with messy hair and enough charm to create a whole new world.

[sitp-recs]

oh fuck you’re right that trope is unparalleled. do you have any fics that fit that “it isn’t like this with other people” feeling? for drarry 🥺

I know!!! Such a delicious Drarry trope 🤌🏼 I got a couple recs but am sure there are more out there and I need all of them!

The Things They Never Say by @bixgirl1 (E, 9k)

Harry and Draco don't know how to talk. So they do other things instead.

Five Weddings and a Potions Accident by lauren3210 (E, 19k)

In which Harry thinks he’s a playboy, everyone else knows better, and Hermione will kill Seamus if Ron tries to collect on that bet.

Famous by @fw00shy (E, 24k)

It's a couple of years after the war, and Harry's bored of models now, the same way he's bored of Ron's constant nagging, bored of his Weasley monogram knitwear, bored of the same fucking grin that greets him when he hands his fire-truck red Bugatti over to the valet every night. He wants to find—well, he isn't sure what he wants. Anything but models. Harry is in the mood for...messy. And Draco Malfoy's looking like a walking disaster in the making.

I Bet That You Look Good on the Dancefloor by birdsofshore (E, 28k)

Harry felt lit up from inside as soon as he entered the bar. There were blokes dancing together, their bodies close to one another, not keeping a wary distance as Harry was always careful to do when he was near another man. God, he wanted this – wanted it so much he could taste it, a metallic tang of heat and desire. He suspected nothing would ever be the same again – especially when he saw who else was in the room.

Embers by @shiftylinguini (E, 41k)

Werewolf Alphas aren't meant to be alone, or to suppress their ruts indefinitely like Draco has been since he was bitten eight years ago. He needs company, companionship, to knot ― he needs an Omega Heat Companion. At least, that’s what the Healers say, and even Draco can admit contacting the person they’ve referred him to might be nice. Of course it turns out to be bloody Potter.

In The Red by bixgirl1 (E, 45k)

When Harry goes looking for a vampire at a Creature club, the second-to-last thing Harry expects is to find Malfoy working there. The last thing he expects is to fall in love with him.

Harry Potter Gives a Shit by talithan (E, 58k)

“Where are you headed?” “No place special,” Draco fumbled, and flushed further. But then: “I can change that,” said Harry Potter.

We Are Young (I'll Carry You Home Tonight) by Femme (E, 70k)

Harry and Draco have been falling into bed on and off again since the last election five years ago, much to the amusement--and financial gain--of their circle of friends. But when Harry agrees to work with Draco to put Kingsley Shacklebolt into the Minister's office, they can't work side-by-side again every day and sleep together; that would be courting disaster. Wouldn't it?

Grounds for Divorce by Tepre (E, 122k)

Malfoy finds a coin. Harry finds a letter. A story about histories, a story about families. A story about a lemon tree somewhere in Upper Egypt.

A Secondary Education by Thunderbird587 (E, 234k)

Fleeing the aftermath of his recent divorce, Draco Malfoy takes up a post as the new Potions Master at Hogwarts. At first he believes his hopes for a fresh start are dashed when he sees that a certain boyhood rival is on staff there as well. But Harry Potter is being weirdly nice to him, leaving Draco no choice but to play along.

[read-write-thrive]

part 1

“Waiting for the other shoe to drop”, while pessimistic, seemed to be a running theme in Charles Rowland’s life. It wasn’t really a phrase he heard when he was alive, to be fair, but at some point he’d come across it (probably hanging out with too many Americans, but can’t remember for sure) and it felt a little too much accurate. His dad’s come home angry again? Time to wait for the fallout. He’d gotten written up at school for not paying attention? Just a disaster waiting to happen. He goes against his best mate’s advice? There he goes, literally torn from Charles’s arms and back to hell, just as he’d said. Maybe the last one was a little dramatic, but that’s the gist.

The looming anxiety of it all usually slid off of him for the minor stuff, and was otherwise bottled up and shoved far away for the heavier stuff, but regardless he didn’t let it show. Have to keep up appearances and all. He’d only had one real instance of all those emotions blowing up (and he still blames the Night Nurse for all that mess) so he thought he was doing a bang-up job keeping himself together.

That was until his dad died. Yeah, it was rough, and he ended up berating the old man on his death bed, which probably was a shitty thing to do. And yeah, he’d needed a bit of a cry afterwards. So what? Blokes cried sometimes, and he was man enough to admit to his emotions and all that. The girls had done a good job of emphasising that he (and, mostly, Edwin) needed to express their emotions more. That it was healthier to let it out than bottle it all up. Not sure if they still needed healthy habits as ghosts, but it wasn’t hurting anyone. Just a little uncomfortable.

All that to say, it felt like his friends had been treading on eggshells around him ever since his dad died. Which was infuriating, yeah, but also didn’t make sense to him. Especially after he’d already cried—did they expect him to get angry again? To blow up over a dead man? He thought he’d gotten it out of his system just fine, so getting these weird vibes was starting to stress him out more than anything. He’d resolved to bring it up on their next movie night and ask why they were acting funny—didn’t want to mess up a case, after all.

However, he didn’t get the chance before it all came crashing down on his head. Ultimately, Edwin was the messenger.

“Charles, I—“ he took an unnecessary breath, “Have you checked on your mother lately?”

His undead heart went cold, but his default smiley ways were still stuck on, “Not really, why?”

Edwin’s eyes were sad, which was never good. He didn’t emote unless it was serious, “I think you need to visit her. She’s not faring well.”

And so they went. Turns out everyone hadn’t been waiting for Charles to blow up, but rather for his mother to pass and then for him to break down all over again. Edwin had been checking on her daily since his father’s passing, deducing correctly that Charles would be too swept up in the emotions around his dad dying to remember that his mum wasn’t getting any younger.

The girls weren’t free until the evening, but they promised to stay in touch and maybe visit later if they could (particularly if they could figure out how to visit the Hospice without rousing suspicion). And so Edwin and Charles were on their own.

Charles had rushed into the room, as if running at the issue would evade the emotions of it, or as if getting there quickly would reveal it was all a lie—neither of which were true.

Instead, he was face to face with a dying woman with some resemblance to the photo on the mantle in the house he grew up in—his grandmother, or maybe his great grandmother, or some favourite aunt, he couldn’t remember anymore— hair gone fully white, pulled back into a tight bun so as to keep her curls controlled, keeping her gaunt, sleeping face exposed. Unlike that photo, this woman was in a hospital gown, tucked into sterile sheets, with a tube under her nose to help her breathe. Gone were her usually loud and ornate earrings, her bare fingernails stained from years of colour. There was a singular blanket laid across her lap, on top of the sheets, that almost looked more familiar than the woman it covered. It was her, but apparently he hadn’t stopped to just look at her any time recently, if ever. It felt too much like looking at a ghost, as ironic as that felt.

She was awake, but halfway to dozing. There was someone at her side, adjusting the blanket and murmuring reassurances in what was definitely Punjabi. It had been so long since he’d heard it, added to having never properly learned anything besides English under the threat of his father, that he couldn’t make out the words. That realisation left a stinging feeling in his chest.

“A relation of yours?” Edwin asked at a whisper, coming up to stand beside Charles, almost entirely copying his position from that fateful hospital room. It didn’t seem as if either of the room’s living occupants had noticed them.

Charles blindly reached for Edwin’s hand for comfort, not looking away from the scene in front of him and matching his partner’s volume, “No idea. Don’t think I’ve seen them before.”

Edwin hummed, “Perhaps a little too young to have met you. Or someone your mother reconnected with recently—“

“I’m not really in the mood for deductions, love.” Charles said, not unkindly. Everything felt too fragile to be picked apart like that.

“Right. Apologies.” Edwin squeezed his hand and went quiet.

Charles squeezed his hand back in forgiveness, joining in the silence. He kept going back to what the stranger was saying, familiar consonants both soothing and devastating. What kind of a son was he, failing to comfort his dying mother, unable to speak her mother tongue, a stranger to his relatives? His tears were thankfully silent.

It took much longer for his mother to see them than his father. Several days passed, with the mystery relative coming and going more days than not, and the usual nurses and caregivers administering various care. Over time, the boys (the girls couldn’t figure out how to enter the space, but were supportive from their distance) had learned that the stranger’s name was Sangeeta, and she was a niece of his mother’s who’d noticed her steady decline and was the one to take her to hospital and then to hospice care. Charles’s mother had apparently stopped taking care of herself after her husband’s death, and she had refused other care, so at this point all they could do was make her comfortable. Charles spent a whole morning ranting to Edwin about it, how unfair it was that her life was so tied up in his asshole father’s that she wasn’t even trying to live after he was gone. Edwin, the deeply kind person he was, had let Charles rant until he ran out of steam, then gently pointed out that she’d been under the thumb of his father for far longer than Charles was, and that she’d now had to mourn her husband and her only child, which presumably takes a toll. Charles had started crying before Edwin had even finished talking, and Edwin had held him close on the plush sofa for the rest of the day.

It was hard to tell if it was a comfort or not when she finally saw them, but Charles decided that wasn’t important to think about right now, if ever. Right now, his mother could see him for the first time in forty years, and they didn’t know for how much longer. And yet, with all this time to prepare, he still found himself speechless when the time finally came.

“Mere laal,” She beat him to the punch, eyes glazed over but clearly locked on Charles, “I am glad to see you again, beta. It’s been so long.”

Charles let out a shakey breath, “Hi, mum. It’s—well— it’s been longer for you. I’ve visited a few times, over the years.”

She reached out a sinewy hand on a bone-thin arm, and Charles flew to the seat by her side, keeping his focus to make sure his hand stayed solid in her grasp. He vaguely noticed Edwin taking the seat beside him.

“Such a handsome boy. You were so young.” Tears welled up in her eyes.

Charles, all anxious energy and nerves, tears of his own threatening to spill, was quick to respond, “It’s alright, mum, I’m alright. No need to cry over me.”

She huffed, “Nonsense. You were the light of my life. Who else should I cry over?”

They were both crying at this point, tears streaming as they sniffled in turns. Edwin laid a careful hand on Charles’s back in a show of comfort.

However, that seemed to give Charles an idea, “No, really mum, it’s okay! See the bloke next to me? His name’s Edwin, and he’s been by my side all these years! He’s the one who first found me, and we’ve been helping people ever since. It’s been aces. Not sad one bit.”

Edwin stiffened at the mention, then all but froze when her eyes turned to him. He knew he looked night and day from Charles, and if he started talking she was bound to find him as abrasive as everyone always did, so why had Charles pointed him out!? If ghosts could sweat, Edwin would be drowning in his nerves.

Her gaze stayed on him for a long moment before she broke the silence, “He’s been good to you? Not like those other boys.”

Edwin wasn’t sure what to do with that, but thankfully Charles was quick on the uptake, “Not like them at all. He’s— he’s the best, mum. None of those tossers could even compare.”

“Because the boys— the ones who—“

Charles gripped her hand, “I know, I know. He’s a genuinely good person, Edwin. I was bad at picking friends in life, but thankfully I chose well with this one.”

His attempt at joking was overlooked completely by her, “Those boys, how could they do that? I knew their families, John Parish’s mother went to your funeral… Such cruel boys…”

“I’m alright, mum, I’m okay.” Charles kept going, smiling even as the tears continued, “It’s all in the past.”

“I should’ve fought harder for you… kept you close… mere laal, taken from me…” She was sobbing, her whole frame shaking with hiccoughs.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Charles took a steadying breath, “You know I couldn’t have stayed in that house, mum. And no one could’ve known those lads would go that far…”

Her sobs were worse for a moment, then stilled suddenly as she fought for oxygen. She coughed weakly.

At that, Charles’s crying intensified, despite all he did to keep himself together. He could tell. He knew what was coming. It was still devastating to see. Edwin pulled him in for a proper side hug, taking care not to jostle his grip on his mum.

This did not go unnoticed, and the dying woman suddenly smiled, as if the devastation was forgotten with the oxygen. She looked back to her son, “I am glad you have been happy, beta. You deserved happiness.”

“I’m happy, I’ve been so happy mum, I promise,” Charles tried to calm himself down, stuck in his reassuring her.

“Mere laal, light of my life, darling boy,” She breathed with difficulty, smile dropping, “Can you forgive me? I failed you…”

Charles’s frame shook with his vigorous nodding, “I forgive you, mum, you did the best you could, I love you so much—“

Her weak smile returned, glinting in the lamplight of the evening room, “Thank you, beta. You were too good for me, for this world…”

“All because of you, I swear it, all thanks to you—“

“Charles.”

“I love you, I’m sorry I wasn’t a better son, I’m could’ve been better, gotten you out of that house—“

“Charles, darling.”

“You deserved better, I love you, I forgive you—“

“My love, the light—“

Edwin was right, a deep blue light had filled the space, illuminating the still body of his mother. Her face was pulled into a slight smile, eyes closed, as if she was having a pleasant dream, even as the tear tracks dried on her cheeks.

“No, no I’m not ready—“ Charles immediately started to protest, gripping onto her hand like a lifeline.

“Charles—“

“I only just got to see her! She only just got free of him! No, no, I won’t—“

Edwin gently but solidly grabbed under Charles’s arms, “I’m sorry my love but we should go—“

Charles was nothing but hysterics by this point, head thudding onto the sheets for a moment before Edwin fully pulled him away. He said more, but Charles was too overwhelmed to process it properly, buzzing in his ears and headache behind his eyes making him feel alive in all the worst ways. Maybe it was just the first time he had cried this hard in his afterlife, or maybe being this close to an active death did something to their physiology—

Everything was a blur as they returned to the flat, Edwin all but carrying him through the mirror so that he wouldn’t get lost on the way. They collapsed onto the sofa, extra large cushions taken up by their ghostly presences. The girls were already there, and joined into the cuddle pile without another word (or perhaps with a few, Charles still wasn’t all there yet). Edwin jostled them all slightly to better position everyone before settling in again, making sure Charles was properly surrounded.

Charles sobbed for a while longer. He wasn’t quite sure for how long, or what day it was, or if he was bothering his friends by taking up their time and space like this. His devastation had seemed to take over his entire being. But, when he did breathe a little easier, when he was finally able to sit up, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief. His mom was dead, yes, but so was he, and dying had granted them both freedom from that man, from that house, from the cruelties of the world. And in his death he was surrounded by people who loved him, people who were there for him when he needed them and would still be there for him tomorrow, and the next, and the next. The other shoe had dropped, and it certainly hurt, but thankfully he had people around him to help him through it. He was truly lucky to have them.

~

hope you enjoyed this impromptu series exploring Charles and his parents and grief and loss and all those lovely things. this was inspired by the complicated emotions I have / had after my grandparents passing, and I heavily encourage you to do something similar if you’re ever struggling with these big emotions—therapists and such will say that journaling is where it’s at, but sometimes it’s easier to project onto fictional characters and that’s ok !!! and, just to drive the point home, I want to reiterate that you are loved, and there are people around you who are there to support you, I promise ❤️

also, just to make it abundantly clear, I’m a v white midwestern american and as such have vvv limited knowledge of cultural aspects of Charles’s mom—I did research and tried my best, but if I screwed anything up PLEASE let me know so I can fix it!!!!! same goes for Britishisms ig but mostly looking for feedback on her Punjabi and her various cultural elements :)

[peotego]

Unconditionally | James Potter

Pairing: James Potter x fem!Black!reader

Summary: Three times when you realised you are in love with your brother’s best friend and one time when it all suddenly made sense.

Warnings: some swear words, my English? (since it’s not my first language)

Words: 4k

Masterlist

James' POV

*~*~*

Whenever I tried to think back to the time when it all started, I couldn’t exactly pinpoint the moment when I realised I loved James Potter.

He was my brother’s best friend, for Merlin’s sake!

I remember I hated him when we first met. Maybe it was because he was a Potter and my father told us to never befriend a Potter? I was, after all, a daddy’s girl at that time. Sirius loved the idea of going against our father’s orders but me? Not really. I was a good girl.

I stopped being the favourite child of the Black family when I was sorted to Gryffindor alongside my twin brother. It caused a lot of arguing back at home. Sirius was proud to be a Gryffindor. Me? Not so much. Imagine being the favourite child spoiled with compliments only to become a black sheep. I couldn’t bear it. But maybe it was good because it helped me to bond with my brother more? I was even more furious when Regulus was sorted to Slytherin the year after that and took my rightful place on the pedestal. Finally, I understood how my brothers have always felt.

At that time Sirius was a great friend. He helped me get through all the bad feelings I had about myself for something that wasn’t really my fault. Finally, I was okay with all that had happened.

But back to James Potter. The thorn in my side.

Everybody knew he loved Lily Evans, he wasn’t very discreet about his big, awful crush on her. The whole bloody Hogwarts knew about his infatuation with the redhead girl. I used to tease him about it alongside Sirius, Remus, and Peter.

Maybe it was in our 6th year? When I realised?

We were all sitting in Potions classes when Slughorn decided we should work in pairs. I turned to Lily because we usually partnered up.

“Oh, no, no, no,” said Slughron with a big smile on his face “We should mix things up a bit. I’m going to assign your partners”

All of the students present growled at his revelation. I feared I would end up with some Slytherin bloke. However, Slughorn had other plans.

And in that way, Sirius ended up working with Peter (a disaster indeed), Remus was assigned to some Slytherin girl (poor Remus), Lily with Severus Snape (well, they were still friends at that point), Dorcas with a shy girl from Gryffindor, I believed her name was Lucy (Lucy was good at Potions so Dorcas won a partners lottery), Marlene and Mary together (they worked good together), and that left me with James Potter.

I smiled at him but inside I was screaming. Everybody knew Potter was good at every single class but he rarely paid attention to the instructions. I knew I would end up doing all the work myself and constantly reminding him to focus. What I didn’t anticipate was that we would be working on an Amortentia potion. Slughorn first called us to see what the potion should look like and, of course, he asked us what we could smell.

When I tried to concentrate, I recognised the smell of old books, my favourite candy from Honeydukes, Andromeda’s famous pumpkin pie, and something I couldn’t quite recognise.

That’s when the revelation came and I was hit in the face with the smell of James’ cologne. I thought he was standing too close to me but when I looked around he was actually close to Lily Evans bothering her.

The whole class was a nightmare only because I now knew that somehow James Potter’s smell was in MY Amortentia potion. His constant questions about what I could smell didn’t help either. He was too curious for his own good.

“Just drop it, Potter”

“You probably smelled a wet rat”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night”

“I couldn’t sleep if I knew you fancied Wormtail”

“Stop, Potter, or I’m going to hex you”

“Always a charmer, Black”

He tried to touch my shoulder but I was still too scared from the moments before when I smelled him in the potion so I shuffled a little so as not to be touched by the boy. James looked confused and his smile dropped a little but I paid no attention to it, too preoccupied with my own conflicting thoughts.

When the class ended, I quickly packed my bags and left the classroom.

We never talked about it again.

*~*~*

Maybe it was at a party after Gryffindor won with Slytherin? We were all having a blast till the very end. I danced with my friends, drank a lot, and flirted with some boys who tried to get my attention. It wasn’t until our little group of friends were the only ones that stayed in the common room. Marlene had a genius plan to play Spin the Bottle. You had to kiss the person it landed on.

“I’m not going to kiss my sister, McKinnon,” said Sirius. I pretended to vomit at the mere thought of it.

“He’s right, Marlene, what are we supposed to do if it lands on one of us? I know Blacks have a tradition of marrying within the family but I really do not wish to continue this madness”

“Okay, if you don’t want to kiss someone, you need to answer a question truthfully and drink”

We all agreed to that.

Now I see it was stupid.

Remus spun the bottle first and it landed on Peter.

“Truth, please,” said Lupin and we all laughed.

“Okay, Remus, who was your first real kiss?” asked Mary. Remus looked uncomfortable, and so did I because I knew the truth.

“Um, I don’t know if she wants her identity to be revealed” Remus tried to dodge the question.

“Shut up, Moony, you agreed to play the game!” Sirius gave him a shot of firewhiskey which he needed to drink after answering the question.

“Okay” Remus sighed “It was (Y/N)”

“You kissed my sister?!”

“You wanted me to tell the truth!”

“I think I made myself very clear when I said that my sister is off-limits for you idiots!”

“Well, brother, that’s why the kiss was so good” I tried defending Remus but probably made it worse “Because it was forbidden” I winked at Remus who quickly emptied his glass and blushed like crazy.

“This conversation isn’t over” Sirius pointed at his friend “Are you going to tell me you snogged Prongs and Wormtail too?” he asked me.

“You’ll never know, brother”

Peter spinned the bottle next and it landed on Mary. It was a quick kiss.

Mary needed then to kiss Marlene.

Marlene kissed my brother who then kissed Lily.

Lily spun the bottle and I saw that James wanted really badly for it to land on him. His dreams were crushed when it stopped at Dorcas.

Then Dorcas kissed Remus.

But when Remus spun again it landed on me.

“Come here, Remus, for old times’ sake”

Sirius screamed something I couldn’t understand. The kiss with Remus was sweet and quick, just like I remembered our first one. I smiled reassuringly at him after but I knew my brother would talk his ears off later on.

I took the bottle and spun it. I prayed it wouldn’t land on Sirius.

Well.

The bottle landed on James Potter instead.

“Two out of three. Better get ready Peter” I said with a smirk but inside I was actually stressed. I still remembered his smell in amortentia.

James slowly made his way to me never once breaking the eye contact. He sat in front of me, staring intensely. He put his hand on my cheek when his lips met mine. I shut my eyes closed and kissed him back. His lips were soft and, Merlin, he knew what he was doing when he pushed his tongue inside my mouth. I grasped his shirt bringing him closer to me and biting on his lower lip. He moaned a little trying to kiss me even harder but he had too much strength and it ended up with us falling to the ground, James on top of me.

“That’s enough, Prongs, it’s my sister” Sirius helped James get up and then gave me a hand.

I don’t remember much from that party after that.

My mind was still fixated on that little moan.

James Potter’s kiss made my legs weak.

It was mind-blowing.

*~*~*

The party was long forgotten when next day James declared his undying love for Lily Evans to the whole school during breakfast. I tried to squish my little crush when I still had the chance to move on.

At the end of our 6th year, I knew I was fucked. I noticed every single little thing about James Potter. I liked the way those little wrinkles appeared at the corners of his eyes when he was laughing. I loved his jokes. I adored how much he cared for his friends and family, how he could do absolutely everything in his power to cheer Remus up after a full moon, how he got out of his way to tell Sirius and me that our family name didn’t define us as people, how he would defend Peter when Sirius was making fun of him.

I was even mad at Lily for not seeing how wonderful he was. I was furious when she was still rejecting him, making fun of him. He didn’t deserve that. He deserved to be loved unconditionally. He deserved someone who would fall madly, truly, deeply in love with him, who would know all his quirks and bad sides and even though still love him for who he was.

James Potter was loud and obnoxious and he did strut a little but he was also devoted to his friends, funny, caring, and good-hearted. And if Lily Evans didn’t see that, it was my personal mission to make James realise that he deserved better.

Sirius and I spent the summer at the Potters. My brother went there for almost every school break but it was maybe my third time there. I didn’t want to leave Reggie alone with our parents but turned out he was more than okay with their way of treating me. That was when I sent an owl to Sirius and he told me to pack my bags and go to the Potters.

We had a lot of fun together. We laughed, we played quidditch, we talked a lot, and I even helped them plan their next prank for the beginning of our last year at Hogwarts. Euphemia Potter was a sweet lady who welcomed me to her house with open arms. I helped her a lot around the house and talked to her about every little thing I couldn’t talk about with my mother. She was great, she made me realise that maybe I had a mother but I never had a mom.

Fleamont Potter was just like James but older. He made a lot of jokes, gave us candy when his wife wasn’t looking, he even asked me if I could marry his son once.

”You see, (Y/N), I believe you would be a great match for my son. I see how he looks at you, how his smile is wider whenever you are near. He talks about his mystery girl a lot but he could never tell us when we would be able to meet the love of his life, as he likes to call her. Now I see why. Sirius is always around and I’m not sure he would be okay with his best friend dating his sister”

”Oh, Mr Potter, I think you have it all wrong. I appreciate the vote of confidence but I am not James’ mystery girl. Her name is Lily and she’s my friend”

”We’ll see about that, (Y/N)”

During one evening Sirius went to bed earlier because he didn’t feel good and that left me and James alone in his backyard, lying on the grass and looking up at the night sky.

”Jamie, your father wants me to marry you”

”What?!”

”Yeah, crazy, right? He thinks I’m your mystery girl”

”Oh, and what did you tell him?”

”That it’s definitely not me. That I know the girl you have a crush on and he said that we’ll see”

”I have no idea why he said that I’m very sorry”

”No big deal, Potter”

After a moment of silence, I decided it was time to talk to James about Lily. I was nervous and a little scared that the conversation would ruin our friendship.

”James”

”(Y/N)”

”I’ve been thinking about you and Lily for a while”

”Oh?”

”Yeah” I took a deep breath before continuing,” I think she doesn’t deserve you”

”How so?”

”You see, Jamie, you’ve been trying to get the girl since we were thirteen years old and she’s still not even slightly interested in going on a date with you. She’s always laughing at you, turning you down. I don’t think that’s very good for you. I get that you’re in love with her but maybe you should start thinking about yourself a little bit?”

James was quiet for a moment.

”What do you mean?”

”You deserve the world, James Potter. You deserve a girl who will be madly in love with you. You deserve a girl who will love you unconditionally. You are a good guy. Sure, you have your faults. We all have them. But you should be loved the way you love other people - wholeheartedly. I don’t think Lily is the right girl for you. I’m also not saying you should do whatever I’m telling you right now. I just believe you should think about it a little bit and decide if it’s even worth it. Because you, James Potter, are definitely worth it and it’s her loss if she cannot see that”

”Wow, Black, do you have a crush on me or something?” He chuckled making my heart hurt a little bit.

”You’re also an idiot” I slapped his shoulder but laughed with him too. Despite my smile, my heart was breaking a little bit just because the thought of me having a crush on James only made him laugh. ”I’m your friend, I just hate to see you struggling so much”

”You are a good mate, (Y/N). Thank you for always looking out for me” James took my hand in his and interceded our fingers. He softly caressed my hand with his thumb.

”Always”

*~*~*

During our 7th year, everything changed. James Potter suddenly stopped being interested in Lily Evans anymore. And that was a big, juicy gossip at Hogwarts. How could it have happened that James Potter just stopped loving Lily Evans? Could he have another girl? Maybe he had a secret girlfriend?

There was a lot of gossip about his possible girlfriend going around the school. I was just glad that he finally realised that he was worth much more than what Lily was giving him all those years.

That was also when I noticed that he paid a lot more attention to me. He always sat next to me, he wanted to be partners in every class which made Sirius mad, he helped me with my homework, and he walked me to my classes even when it meant that he would be late to his. It was really weird but I wouldn’t dare to hope he suddenly had a crush on me. I wasn’t stupid.

Until that one fateful night in October when I helped the boys with the prank we planned together. A Ravenclaw prefect was patrolling the corridors. He spotted us near the kitchens and shouted something.

”Run!” Shouted Peter. We all started to run but we were a big group so it would be easy to eventually catch us.

”We need to scatter,” said Remus out of breath. Peter immediately turned the corner and turned into a rat. What a team player.

”(Y/N), here” James took my hand and made me run with him in the opposite direction from Remus and Sirius. He found an empty broom closet and quickly closed the doors behind us. There wasn’t a lot of space so we were very close, our noses were practically touching. James put his fingers on my lips so I was quiet. His other hand was still holding mine and squeezing it reassuringly. After a while, when we were sure the Ravenclaw boy wasn’t coming in this direction, James moved his hand to my waist.

He was staring at me very intensely.

”What?” I whispered to him ”Do I have something on my face? Why are you looking at me like that, Potter?”

”Remember what my dad told you? About my mystery girl?”

”Yeah?” I was confused. Why bringing it up now?

”He was right, you know? It never was Evans. I like her, sure, but as a friend”

”What? Then why were you running after her like a lost puppy all those years?”

”Remember when we first met?”

”Of course, I do, James. I hated you.” He chuckled at that.

”I thought you were a stuck-up rich girl but you proved me wrong, (Y/N). I had this big crush on you in our first year”

I looked at him as if he had three heads. What was he talking about? I put my hand on his forehead to check if he wasn’t sick. He rolled his eyes at me.

”I told Sirius about that. He was my best friend so I thought that he would give me some advice. What I didn’t anticipate though was that he would be overprotective of his sister. He screamed at me almost all night, he said that if I ever try to fancy you again he will personally beat the living shit out of me. I get him, you know? You are his precious little sister…”

”He’s only two minutes and three seconds older”

”…and he wants to protect you from all the bad guys out there even if his best friend is one of them. So I tried to never talk about that again. But Sirius knew. In our third year, he came up with a rule which he then proudly told us about. We are friends and friends don’t fancy each other's siblings. If we ever dare to break the rule, that means we were never friends in the first place. I was scared, you know? I didn’t want to lose both of you so I told him later that he has nothing to worry about because I don’t fancy you anymore, that there is another girl I have my eyes on. He asked me who it was and I panicked. Lily Evans was the first one to come to my mind because you two were always together. So as not to lose my best friend I tried to persuade him that I love Lily Evans”

”You were quite good at that”

”Shut up, Black, I’m not finished. Then you mentioned the conversation with my father and told me to look for someone who deserves me. Love, the problem is I never felt good enough for you but your words made me think. If not now then when? Am I supposed to watch you fall in love with some idiot? Am I supposed to stand in the crowd at your wedding even though I want to be the one waiting at the altar for you? Am I supposed to let the girl of my dreams slip through my fingers because I’m too scared of what my best friend will say about this? You said a lot of nice things about me that night so let me return the favor. You are incredibly smart and witty, (Y/N) Black. I love it when you get so preoccupied with your book that you’re not really paying attention to the world around you. You bite your lip a lot when you’re focused on the books you like. I adore the way you always come up with a sarcastic comment about everything stupid we say. I like to watch you cheer for me and your brother at quidditch matches. I love the way you care for your friends and family, even when some of them obviously don’t deserve that. You are stunning, (Y/N) Black, in and out and I am madly in love with you”

”Remember that one class last year when we were making amortentia? You asked me what I smelled and I didn’t want to tell you”

”I remember”

”That’s because I smelled you and it scared the living shit out of me”

”You smelled me?” James was surprised but he had a small smile on his face.

”Yes” I looked down because I knew I just blushed like crazy and was a little embarrassed about that ”Later on there was this big party after you guys crushed Slytherins at quidditch and Marlene suggested spin the bottle game”

”I really wished that damn bottle would point at me. I might have used a spell to be sure actually”

”You what?”

”That kiss was totally worth it. I still think about it”

”You used magic to kiss me? You’re a fool, James Potter” I laughed a little but couldn’t help myself and grinned happily. ”You didn’t have to do that”

”And why is that?” James smiled at me and let go of my hand. He cupped my cheek instead and waited patiently for my answer. That little bastard. I stared at his lips for longer than I would like to admit it. But, Merlin, how much I wanted to taste those soft lips again, to hear him moan in my mouth.

”Because,” I said getting closer to him. He still looked me in the eyes, our lips brushed when I said the next part ”I am madly in love with you too, James Potter”

He didn’t wait for another second. He pushed his lips against mine and kissed me hard. I put my arms around his neck trying to bring him closer to me. One of his hands wandered behind my back and under my shirt while the other tangled itself in my hair. I bit his lower lip again hoping that I would get the reaction I wanted.

And I did.

He moaned into my lips and put his tongue in my mouth. I remember that at one point we knocked a broom over but we didn’t care much about that.

I felt happy, over the moon happy. James made me feel all of the emotions at once: excitement, love, happiness. I felt as if I was made just for him and he for me. When our lips met it was like fireworks on New Year’s Eve, as cheesy as it sounds. But James Potter made me into one of those giggly girls who wouldn’t shut up about their boyfriends. And the worst part is, I didn’t mind.

When we finally broke apart to get some air, James was grinning like crazy and still holding me close to him. I wondered if he could feel the way my heart was beating so fast.

In that small broom closet, I felt like the luckiest girl in the entire world.

James suddenly became very serious and there was a wrinkle on his forehead as if he was worried about something. He hid his head on my shoulder and hugged me tightly.

”James?”

”Merlin, how am I going to tell that to Padfoot”

”That’s something we should worry about tomorrow”

”Can you kiss it better?”

”You’re not hurt?”

”But I will be tomorrow”

[bitletsanddrabbles]

Island of the Procrastinating Brain

I swear, my brain is actively trying to drive me insane.

Back in 2022 it came up with a plot for @alex51324 's "Island of the Gays" where the Duke of Crowborough comes to the Island because, well, by this point the man's less of a human being than he is a walking bundle of neurosis. I got through a couple of scenes before my brain got tired and stalled out, but I still have a good frame work. Every once in awhile, I come back and poke at it and get out a few more sentences. Maybe even a paragraph or two.

Yeah, have I mentioned I'm not a fast writer?

And Phillip does NOT want to deal with his issues and Thomas does NOT want to deal with Phillip, which, okay, FAIR, but that's kinda the point of the whole thing. But in the meantime my brain still wants to write Phillip on the Island, so what's it done?

Come up with a sequel, naturally!

And it really, really wants to write this sequel despite the fact I can't do it properly until I've written the first piece, which neither my brain or my characters seems interested in, because they are all PUNKS, but my brain will NOT stop thinking about this hypothetical sequel which, at this point, will never be written.

So I'm just going to write out the summary for the thing here, in case anyone's curious and wants a laugh, because I can and maybe it'll galvanize the lump of grey cells in my skull to be productive. Maybe. Not holding my breath.

Things you need to know before going into this:

Random.org has decided that Thomas is married to Peter Fitzroy for this one, which is kinda important for Thomas's characterization.

Phillip only kinda counts as human at this point, but he's actively trying to fix that. The results are mixed.

It was inspired by a couple of polls I ran when I was trying to figure out where I was taking the first piece (hey! I have the last scene written!) and the suggestions that Phillip might like working in some sort of architectural field (believe that was from @o-rchidae) and that he wind up married with an older working class bloke who would not take his shit.

Right then. Let's go.

-

Okay, so, this takes place a couple of years after the Walking Disaster of Crowborough arrived. At one point he was tapped to help with building or repairs or some such and he realized he liked it, so he's taken to studying books on building and architecture and has joined up with the local work crew. The problem is, he's basically teaching himself out of books and then applying it to real life, so he keeps getting ideas about "Say, why don't we do this thing THIS way?" and while it'll seem like a reasonable idea, there is, in fact, a very good reason NOT to do it that way, but because a) he's a Duke and b) a bunch of people hate him, on general principle if nothing else, everyone just goes "Oh, okay, sure" and the do it that way and…it fails. And the people who hate him laugh and it's obvious that EVERYONE knew it was a bad idea and he gets frustrated, but he wont' say it, because a) Duke and b) boys don't cry.

And this goes on for awhile.

After a bit, though, a new guy shows up who has lots of experience building things. It was kinda his job before he got here. He is educated in the ways of Building Things and knows what's up. He's also at least ten years Phillip's senior and has limited patience for upper class twits, so when he joins the crew and is informed there's this know-it-all-Duke who's always demanding they do things his way (by which we mean 'making suggestions that everyone just goes along with'), even though it's stupid and wastes time and resources, this guy goes "Pff, not on MY watch!"

And sure enough, the next time Phillip makes one of his suggestions, instead of "Yeah, sure, okay" he gets "We're not doing that." Why? "'Cause it's a stupid idea that won't work." WHY? "Because (insert full explanation of why the thing wouldn't work)." And Phillip stops asking and the rest of the crew cheers and laughs at how the old guy sure showed him and they anticipate an end to the questions.

THIS TOTALLY BACKFIRES.

Instead Phillip, who had actually been kinda slowing down on the suggestions over time, is making ALL of the suggestions, ALL of the times, and arguing every last aspect of the suggestion with Old Timer before giving up. The crew can't put up a fence without an argument. Old Timer starts calling Phillip 'Phil'. Rather than tell him to stop, Phillip just starts calling Old Timer by a similar nickname, which Old Timer ignores, because not giving in to his own trick, oh no. There's talk of starting a police department in case they murder each other.

After this has gone on for awhile there is a Big Dramatic Plot Twist and the Old Timer goes out into the woods for something and…doesn't come back in a timely manner. He stays gone long enough for people to get worried and mount a search. To everyone's shock, Phillip wants to come. He's quite insistent on the point. They finally agree to put him in Thomas's party because he and Thomas "get along now" (read: Thomas has spent enough time with Peter talking him down that he can tolerate Phillip's presence under the right circumstances as long as he doesn't say anything). The parties go out and before long, Thomas and Phillip's party has the good luck to find Old Timer. He's accidentally been injured badly enough he can't walk and crawling through the woods is not easy going. The manner of this accident wasn't a super obvious bad idea, but that could maybe have been avoided with a bit more thought, perhaps, with luck. Most of the party just nods and goes "Yeah, sounds about right, could have happened to anyone."

…Phillip flips straight out and starts screaming at Old Timer for being an idiot who could have got himself killed. And then storms off a ways into the woods, back toward the village, leaving everyone else wondering a) the best way to get the injured man back home and b) what the heck just happened with the prissy little Duke. Thomas gets deputized to go find out what Phillip's problem is. There is protesting involved, but he finally gives in because he'd like to be home by dinner, thank you very much.

Phillip has, by this point, stopped to have a smoke, which both gives Thomas an opportunity to catch up and, thankfully, a scent to find him by. Thomas asks him why on earth he's so upset that Old Timer is hurt since the two of them hate each other and everyone figured Phillip would LOVE it if the other man died…

And that's when he finds out that everyone's had that relationship all backwards. Phillip doesn't hate the Old Timer, oh no! He loves being called 'Phil'. He absolutely adores the fact that when he asks "Why don't we do this?", rather than just go "Yeah, okay" and waste time and resources doing something HE KNOWS WON'T WORK, the Old Timer says 'no' and, over the course of the argument, actually EXPLAINS why not, which means Phillip ACTUALLY LEARNS THINGS. The more he argues, the better he becomes at building things and he doesn't have to try and decipher what some book is telling him or guess what the book might be leaving out and he LOVES IT and if the Old Timer had died, how would he learn things then? When Thomas points out that he'd learn just as much - maybe more - if he just asked the Old Timer to teach him things rather than argue, Phillip low key panics because what if he figures out Phillip WANTS to learn and stops talking to him or refuses because he doesn't like him at all?

By this point Thomas is a) trying to remember if he was ever THIS paranoid, and praying he wasn't and b) wondering what on earth to do with a Duke who is clearly in love with a crusty old working class codger, but hasn't figured it out yet.

He decides to tell Rouse and make it HIS mess to deal with.

Phillip and the Old Timer eventually get married and get a cottage of their own and Phillip about dies happy at the idea of a home that he actually owns instead of something that he's the custodian of for the next generation who will be the custodians for the generation after that and so on.

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

MORNING NEWS WITH ASMI! 12 Oct '24

GOOD MORNING MAGGOTS ONCE MORE IT IS NOT MORNING (WELL, IT'S MORNING IN CALIFORNIA AND THAT'LL DO)!

JERRY, HOW ARE WE FEELING?

JERRY WHO TOTALLY EXISTS: WONDERFUL, ASMI! OUR VIEWERS ARE UP BRIGHT AND EARLY AND IT'S TIME FOR THE NEWS!

WELL SAID JERRY WHO TOTALLY EXISTS!

THE NEWS:

REDDIT THE BIRD FLEW AWAY WHEN I WAS TRYING TO GET IT DOWNSTAIRS TO AN ANIMAL RESCUE BLOKE. IT FLEW PRETTY HIGH RATHER THAN JUST HOPPING AWAY (THE WAY IT USUALLY DID IF MY SHOULDER GOT TOO WOBBLY) SO I THINK IT REALLY WANTED TO LEAVE.

WE FOUND OUT LATER THAT IT BELONGS TO THE CONSTRUCTION WORKERS NEXT DOOR AND THEY SPENT ALL NIGHT LOOKING FOR IT, WHICH IS SAD, BUT AT LEAST IT WAS SAFE? AND I HOPE IT DECIDES TO DO WHATEVER IT WANTS, GO BACK TO HUMANS OR LIVE HOWEVER.

I HAVE NOT YET FOUND A RICH TWINK HUSBAND TO LIVE MY TROPHY HUSBAND DREAMS WITH.

I DREW A LOT OF GAY PEOPLE.

THE WORLD CONTINUES TO BURN IN INTOLERANCE AND POOR INFRASTRUCTURE AND NATURAL DISASTER AND CRIME AND WAR AND WARCRIMES.

I AM GAY.

OBAMA SAID A LOT OF BLACK MEN NEEDED TO DO BETTER BECAUSE THEY WERE VOTING FOR TRUMP JUST BECAUSE HARRIS IS A WOMAN.

YOU ARE SO LOVED, ACTUALLY.

ALRIGHT NOW JEFFERY WHO EXISTS WITH THE WEATHER!

TOTALLY-JEFFERY: THE WEATHER (I WILL NOT FORGET EUROPE THIS TIME LIKE ASMI DID HAHA!)

SHUT UP JEFFERY JUST GIVE US THE FORECAST.

ASIA: CLOUDY WITH THE OPPRESSIVE HEAT OF THE DARK SIDE OF TRADITIONS.

AFRICA: WET. VERY WET. (NOT /AO3)

SOUTH AMERICA: GETTIN' WARMER BBGS.

ANTARCTICA: GREEN. FUCKIN' GREEN.

NORTH AMERICA: STORMY WITH A HINT OF POLITICAL DISARRAY

EUROPE: PUMPKIN SPICE LATTES.

THE ANSWERS TO YESTERDAY'S CROSSWORD:

YOU GOTTA GIRD THESE FUCKERS: LOINS

ANOTHER WORD FOR SOMEONE WHO IS CHERISHED/OF WORTH: YOU

HOW DO YOU ___ LIKE YOU'RE RUNNING OUT OF TIME: WRITE

DIFFICULTY PROCESSING NUMBER BASED INFORMATION AND MATH: DYSCALCULIA

WHAT DOES THE BRAIN SAY BEFORE THE EXAM? I'M ___: NERVOUS

AND TODAY'S BELOW THE CUT:

(OR HERE'S THE LINK IF YOU PREFER)

FAREWELL FROM JEFFERY AND ME I LOVE YOU HAVE A WONDERFUL DAY

[kaely1916]

Edwin has been trying to date someone—maybe the Cat King, maybe even a client who was flirting with him. Edwin thought, "Sure, why not..."

The point is, Charles is watching from the front row as his best mate, the person who is supposed to be in love with him, openly goes on dates. Charles has been racking his brains for months, trying to figure out if he's in love with Edwin, and guess what? He fucking is.

He's so head over heels for Edwin that it seems stupid how oblivious he was before. But now he is certain that he’s in love. Which would be great, if not for the fact that he’s damn late, because apparently Edwin has already moved on.

On the other side, Edwin firmly believes that Charles doesn’t love him and never will—not in the way Edwin craves, at least. Why? Because of the response Charles gave him to his confession. Here’s the thing: Charles doesn’t take time to think. He didn’t say things like, "We have eternity to figure it out." He acts in the moment, living in the present with his impulsive behavior and reckless attitude.

So yes, Charles just said something to avoid hurting Edwin’s feelings because he’s that good and kind. And that’s totally okay; Edwin didn’t want a straightforward rejection. He knows how to read between the lines, so he’s doing one of the few things he can: dating as many men as possible and praying that, with time, he’ll be able to forget his feelings. (The plan, so far, has been a disaster, if you're wondering.)

This situation keeps repeating until one day, Charles decides he’s had enough and confronts Edwin regarding this topic in a very mature and professional way, of course. (Spoiler: He has a complete meltdown, panicking and crying.)

“Y-you don't... don't l-love me anymore?”

“What?”

“You've been d-dating these blokes and... and...”

“C-Charles... I... I know. I'm really trying, okay? I just need some time... I promise.”

“W-what do you mean?”

“I... These dates... they’re supposed to help me...”

“Help you?”

“Yes, to forget you.”

“W-what?... Are they working?”

“Well...”

“Edwin, are they working? Have you forgotten me?”

“I... I promise that I’m doing my level best. I just need some more time, and I will get o-over you... eventually.”

“NO!”

“What?”

“I don’t want you to forget me!”

“I... What? Charles... what are you saying?”

“D-do you still love me?”

“Of course. I always will.”

“But... are you still... in love with me?”

“...”

“Edwin, please.”

“... yes, yes I am.”

“... Are you sure?”

“Charles, honestly... I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget you... I deeply apologi—”

Edwin’s quick apology is interrupted by Charles’s lips on his own, silencing him with a gentle and warm kiss. They explain everything with a lot of tears and little kisses shared between breaths.

[annerbhp]

them apples.

Here's Ginny and Harry attending a big old party Tilly holds as a grand opening for her shop soon after their relationship hits the press.

A big bloke approaches them.

Ginny grabs his shoulder, forcing the giant down so she can give him a kiss on the cheek. He accepts this with patience and a vague sense of being bullied.

Ginny tugs him around to face Harry. “You know Harry?”

“I know of him,” he says, holding out a hand. “Tristram Bassenthwaite.”

Harry shakes his hand, remembering him well enough. “Hi.” He pauses, looking around. “Nice party.”

Bassenthwaite laughs. “Yeah. Amazing. Tilly and I really appreciate you coming though. It’ll definitely help with with the press and all.”

“We’re happy to do it,” Harry says, mostly because it seems the right thing to say. And he had agreed to it, as mental as it seems now.

Ginny’s the one who gives Bassenthwaite a narrow-eyed look. “And how’d Tilly rope you into coming?” she asks.

Bassenthwaite grimaces, pulling a face. “She said if we were going to be partners, it was all or nothing. She also threatened to invite my parents over for dinner if I didn’t.”

Ginny mock shudders. “That would do it.” She glances around the room, at least a dozen people turning away just as she looks at them. “How unbearable is everyone being?”

Harry wonders if he’s imagining the wide swath of space around Bassenthwaite. At first Harry thought everyone was staring at him. But maybe it’s something else entirely? These are all Bassenthwaite’s friends, aren’t they? And he is the owner of this shop.

Bassenthwaite waves a giant hand dismissively. “Oh, those who actually deign to speak with me are all full of pity, concern, and vapid excuses for not visiting me a single time in the last two years. The others are still just firmly pretending I died.”

Ginny’s face takes on the sort of icy determination that heralds both disaster and probably something Harry will find devastatingly attractive. She glances at Harry. “Will you be alright for a bit, Harry? Because I need to remind some assholes just whose bloody booze they are drinking.”

Harry nods, not completely certain he’s actually going to be okay in this blood thirsty crowd of peacocks, but he’s certainly not going to admit that to Ginny.

He thinks she sees a bit of it anyway, considering she lifts up and kisses him, right there in front of everyone before taking Bassenthwaite’s arm and dragging him off.

Harry can vaguely hear him asking if they really have to do this and Ginny saying that yes they bloody well have to before they step out onto the dance floor together. Harry takes a moment to admire the way Ginny’s dress shimmers in the light as she moves.

Around Harry, people are definitely talking about what Ginny’s doing, but after a while, Harry feels more and more eyes on him. Like he’s supposed to care that Ginny is dancing with Bassenthwaite?

Only then he realizes it’s something else entirely.

“Potter.”

Harry turns, and looks up at Sean Thompson, the git having the gall to have a few inches on him. “Thompson,” he says, voice even.

Harry bites back a rather sarcastic reposte about who exactly is having fantasies now, but everyone is clearly watching, waiting for something exciting to happen, and Ginny isn’t something to be fought over. She makes her own decisions.

“How’s the broom business?” Harry tries, wondering how much longer this stupid song Ginny’s dancing to can last.  

Thompson gives him a look like he’s completely mental. “Did you wonder if it was true?”

“What?” Harry asks, startled by his tone as much as the blunt question.

“What the papers said.”

About Thompson and Ginny, Harry realizes. Their supposed torrid affair right under Harry's nose.

“No,” Harry says. “Not even for a second.”

It’s cruel to say maybe, but it’s also the truth.

Only Thompson doesn’t bristle. Instead, he just nods. “Good. Because if you had, you don’t deserve her.”

Harry blinks, aware of Ginny joining them then, slipping in next to Harry, her hand tucking into his elbow.

They all talk for a while, about brooms. Or whatever. It’s all very calm and polite and drags on long enough for most people to grow bored waiting for a scene that clearly isn’t going to happen. Harry can see Ginny’s done this on purpose too and he’s exhausted just thinking about all the things she’s doing at once to manage this party that feels more and more like a battle.

Once Thompson finally fucks off, Ginny smiles up at Harry. “Are we having fun yet?”

Harry can’t help but laugh. “Yeah,” he says, turning his face to press into the top of her head. “Loads.”

[siide-4-my-sliide]

SO I CRAVE ANGST AND WHUMP Or fic recommendations if anyone got any but- CW: amputation / amputee!Prowl

Also these are half-baked, I need them in the world in hopes someone else could get infected by the worms...

So I've been thinking of a scenario where Prowl loses his door wings. It could be for a small period of time or a longer one (the intention that he does get them retrieved/fixed/or replaced but it will take a very long time to get there, so for a couple of weeks he'd need to learn how to function without them)

There are moments of Prowl struggling to stand and walk after he's been 'discharged'. Ratchet recommends at least another two weeks at the hospital, but to Prowl, even if severely injured, work doesn't rest- so neither will he. So he treads on, slowly of course, but the lack of weight on his back makes him stumble and he constantly has a numb buzzing where his wings would've sense for him. He's struggling to stand, his data pads seemingly just too heavy for him to carry at times, but he's determined that this will not deter him from doing his job.

It doesn't help that at the office, no one have been trying to reach out to him, the most is they give him space, because for some twisted reasoning, a lot of Prowl's coworkers are quite pleased with this outcome. Prowl puts them under a lot of pressure, he yells and scolds them for the smallest of things, so when Prowl comes back to work in a more 'vulnerable state' a lot of the Autobots are a bit relished from his constant scolding. They aren't cruel, they won't let him struggle to stand if he's fallen, but they won't carry his datapads, claiming that they will if he asks (which, by note, he does not- Prowl is a disaster of a mech with a superiority complex and I'm all up for it). They give him space in the hallways for travel, but man, does it feel good to them to have him retreat to his office for long hours, way too exhausted and aching to have him yell at them.

and because my heart bleeds for them, I'm throwing in JazzProwl. So out of desperate measures, especially after he heard how Prowl is being treated at his office after an entire week, Ratchet has assigned Jazz to help Prowl and keep an eye on him, at least until the replacements could be re-welded and connected.

There's more to be thought of, of course, but this is just an idea!

((this is highly inspired by a fanfic I just finished reading, a fanart doodle I saw, and the fact that to travel with my Blokees Prowl I had taken off his door wings to protect them))