#does this count as a microfic?

[losrsmoony]

Sign

Remus Lupin, who's hard of hearing but can't afford hearing aids always has to ask people to slow down or write what they're saying because most students don't know sign language.

Regulus Black, who's selectively mute and communicates mostly with sign language.

Regulus is going down to the medical wing to get a potion for Evan. He froze, seeing Remus, talking(?) to Pomfrey in sign language. Remus notices him, standing there frozen. He speaks up, “You alright there, mate?”

Regulus blinks, snapping out of his trance and nods, crossing over to Pomfrey, and signing, “I need a Pepperup for Evan”

“Of course, dear. One moment.” Pomfrey responds, walking off to get the potion.

Once she is out of view, Remus turns around to face Regulus, then signs to him, “You know sign?”

Regulus nods, “Yes, I do.” he signs in reply.

And that is how their friendship started.

[frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe]

one chance

111 words | T | for @steddiemicrofic's july challenge "one"

here's the text! without the names/usernames, it's 111 words exactly!

Your Local Freak™ @/edmunsn what i would give for one (1) chance with king steve.. pls.. i promise id blow your muind chris c. @/86theham uhmmm.. chris c. @/86theham eddie, sweetie, this isn’t your priv Your Local Freak™ @/edmunsn can you come over and kill me dead? It’ll only take a sec… ok cool. thanks

Your Local Freak™ @/edmunsn what i would give for one (1) chance with king steve.. pls.. i promise id blow your muind Robert M. Buckley III @/bobin 👀 Robert M. Buckley III @/bobin @/steveharrington Your Local Freak™ @/edmunsn i hate you

Your Local Freak™ @/edmunsn what i would give for one (1) chance with king steve.. pls.. i promise id blow your muind steeb @/steveharrington open my dm munson Your Local Freak™ @/edmunsn no steeb @/steveharrington fine. be there in 5 Your Local Freak™ @/edmunsn ???!!!

Your Local Freak™ @/edmunsn what i would give for one (1) chance with king steve.. pls.. i promise id blow your muind Your Local Freak™ @/edmunsn update:

[ecstarry]

@rosekillermicrofic / heart / 342 words tw: mature language and mention of murder / for @star4daisy

“What happens now?” Evan asked. 

“Well, we leave.” Barty stared at him, waiting for a response, but Evan couldn’t speak. He still couldn’t understand how he had ended up here, with bodies under his feet, unable to tell if the blood on his right boot was from the same person as the blood on his shirt or jacket.

“Do you regret it?” 

Evan allowed himself to process everything for the first time. Memories of everyone he once considered important came rushing back—a broken attempt at love and a life that never quite made sense. He had thought about leaving; life seemed utterly boring. It was passing him by, and whether it continued or stopped, it all felt the same to Evan.

Then he met Barty. Suddenly, he began to care. He became aware of every second of every day because each one was a second with or without Barty. He now had desires. All the organs he once thought worthless had become vital. He needed his eyes to see Barty, his hands to touch him, his nose to smell him, his skin to feel him, and his cock to fuck him. He even needed his heart too.

“Evan-”

“Don’t. I made my choice.” Barty nodded in understanding but kept his distance.

For someone who had slaughtered a record number of people with just guitar strings, Barty had the most loving eyes, and it was all for Evan. He glanced down at his hands; Evan couldn’t tell how much time had passed, but the blood on his skin was starting to dry. They needed to go.

Barty cleared his throat and lifted his hand, gesturing for Evan to come closer. Evan obeyed, as he always did, stopping just a few inches away. Barty grabbed him by the nape of his neck and pressed their foreheads together. Their breathing instantly synched. 

“It’s just us now,” Barty whispered in relief. “Just you and me.”

Evan’s heart, the once useless heart, grew fonder with Barty’s words. “Do you promise?”

“I do. It’s you and me, love.”

[atmilliways]

Preview

@steddiemicrofic

written for ‘Pine’ | wc: 508 | rated: T Kind of a time travel fic, kind of a future fic. Established relationship, but also not. With a whiff of mutual pining.

Eddie is cold. He’s so fucking cold, clutched in Henderson’s arms. 

And then he isn’t. 

He’s hot, dripping sweat instead of blood. Standing, feet aching like he’s been on them all day. Everything is light and heat and noise, the clanging of metal and the sizzle and smell of things cooking, people bustling. He sways on his feet, and—

“You okay, chef?”

It’s too much. Eddie’s eyes roll back, gone before he even falls.

He wakes in a soft bed, softer than he’s ever felt in his entire life. It smells of pine-scented laundry detergent, weed smoke, and comfort. 

“Eds?” Steve Harrington leans over him with concern and relief in his eyes, and something warm that chases the last of the cold from Eddie’s blood. He’s clasping Eddie’s hand in both of his.

Something’s off, though. Steve looks . . . older. And damn good in glasses, but since when did Steve Harrington need glasses?

“You passed out at work, babe.”

Babe.

Babe.

“King Steve holding my hand,” Eddie mumbles. “I’m either dreaming or dead.”

“. . . Oh.” Steve’s grip tightens, reminding Eddie that, oh yeah, he can hear him. Maybe not a dream, if he doesn’t get to have his privacy when thinking out loud. “Okay, so this is happening. Uh. . . . What year do you think it is?”

Eddie frowns. It’s 1986, but. . . . When he looks down at himself there are scars and unfamiliar tattoos and, weirdly, a distinct lack of one nipple on his own chest. Why is he shirtless?

His silence seems answer enough, because Steve nods. “Okay. You told me this was going to happen, just weren’t sure when. The last thing you remember is the Upside Down, right? Bats?”

The bats. Eddie shudders with his entire body. 

“Okay,” Steve says again, smoothing his thumbs over the knuckles and palm of Eddie’s hand. “You’re going to be fine, Eds. This is just a blip.” He offers an awkward smile. “But you’re going to go back, and it’s going to really hurt for a while but you’re going to be fine. Just do your stretches, I remember how much you hated that shit but it’s important.”

Eddie can’t wrap his head around what Steve is saying. His voice is small when he asks, “Will I still be able to play?”

The smile firms up, genuine. “Yeah. Not quite as good as before, we all know how important your left nipple was for that, but. You have guitars all over the damn place, really clutters up our apartment.”

“Our?” Eddie croaks. 

Another squeeze of his hand. “Yeah. Don’t leave me hanging too long when you get back, okay?”

He wants to ask more, but sleep is tugging at him and the bed is so soft. 

He wakes up in a hospital bed, and the Steve Harrington he knows is asleep in the visitor’s chair, hand on the sheet next to Eddie’s. 

And Eddie, not wanting to leave him hanging, breathes through the pain as he reaches to hold it.

(also on Ao3)

[thoughtsaboutbats]

Red Robin runs out of his silly little disk things to throw at a criminal trying to run. He makes the split second decision to use the blade in his bo, and throws it like a spear. The criminal is fine, it only hits his leg and misses the major artery. But damn, was that a bad way to reveal the blade to his family.

[honeydukesheroine]

April 18th: Stop

It's been a couple days, @hinnymicrofic but I'm back! Trying new tenses and everything.

Prompt 18: Stop 🏆

“You’re sure you’re ready to stop playing professionally?” Harry asks. 

She doesn’t answer at first. She’s leaning on the edge of his desk, staring at the framed article from her first interview with Quidditch Times in 1999. 

He’s leaning back in his chair, feet propped up. She feels him studying her like he does James under suspicions of fibbing.

“Yes, I’m sure. It’s too much with both of them on top of the training. And returning has been… different this time,” she says. 

Overcoming challenges of being a Harpy give her a self-assurance that she holds like a trophy in her heart. After the war, the daily flying and training was healing. There are flashes of memories - circling the pitch under bright lights, victory parties with the team, breaking the season record for number of assists. In earlier years, she used to savor moments to challenge her awed disbelief, saying: This is where I am.

The pressure now to restore peak training shape has been tediously exhausting. She knows that she can do it, but isn’t sure she wants to anymore. 

“I can’t keep leaving them with Mum for away matches when you’re on long missions,” she turns to him but he’s looking down at his hands. “Besides, I’m getting too famous.” He half smirks at the tired joke.

“What’re you worried about, that you won’t have a fit wife anymore?” She teases. He stands, rounds the desk and wraps his arms around her shoulders. 

“I could put in a request for less away missions … They’d probably only approve it if I was promoted to Head, but…” he shrugs.

“No, I’m sure,” she says, wrapping her arms around his waist, pulling him closer. She winks up at him and says, “But you should do that anyway.” 

They stay like that for a time, soaking in her decision. “Okay,” Harry finally says, kissing the top of her head and pressing his cheek into her hair.

“I’ve actually made peace with it,” she says. “Like I’m starting something new.” Ginny leans her head into his chest, takes a deep satisfying breath, and thinks: This is where I am.

[siriusblack-the-third]

"REMUS– bloody buggering fuck!"

James scrambles for the towel, a panicked squeak slipping from his lips. A loud sound echoes through the bathroom when Lily slaps her hand over her eyes and turns her head away, and James feels red hot heat crawl into his cheeks as he wraps the fluffy white cloth around his waist.

"Evans," he hisses, "what are you doing here?"

Lily makes a high pitched sound that seems like she's embarrassed, but her signature firetruck blush is missing. "Why are you naked?"

James gapes at her.

"Do you think I bathe fully clothed?" he asks incredulously.

[ala-baguette]

Day 19 of @remadoramicrofics - Sick

Summary: A peek inside the mind of a strong, brave, clever, funny, generous, badass woman at a time when she didn't much feel like a strong, brave, clever, funny, generous, badass woman. Rating: T 660 words | Read it here or on AO3

I didn’t recognise her.   I merely stood there and stared at her, and she stared right back.  There was no more recognition in her gaze than I felt.  I raised my hand to rub my face.  So did the girl— Was she a girl?  She somehow looked like a small, lost child and a wizened, old crone all at once. My skin felt waxy beneath my fingers.  Worry lines marred my forehead, and my nails reflexively picked at a blemish on my chin.  There was once a time I would have merely wished these away with barely a passing thought.  Bowing my head, my fingers travelled back to run through my hair.  It fell back, greasy and lank against my face—too long to be a pixie, too short to be a bob.  Vaguely, I wondered if I should get a haircut.  An odd thought, as I’d never had a haircut before—Never needed one.  No, I couldn’t be bothered.  Just let it grow. I raised my eyes again to the girl-crone and studied her.  She studied me back.  Still, I didn’t recognise her.  Over the years, I had transformed into a grey-bearded man, a pigtailed blond girl, an old stooped woman, a bucktoothed boy, a hag…  I had changed every aspect of my appearance one way or another, and still I had always been able to look in the mirror and recognise myself.  But this girl… This girl I didn’t know at all. I studied her colourless ash hair, the prominent chin, the pale skin, the too-thin lips, the dark circles under her eyes.  If this was my natural appearance, why did it feel so unnatural? I glanced at the clock.  I was due at the Ministry.  Robards would be cross if I was late again.  Kingsley would be worried.  Proudfoot would be impatient to go over the Hogsmeade security measures we were supposed to be working on together.  I knew all this should trouble me.  But I couldn’t be bothered to feel troubled.  I couldn’t be bothered to feel anything.  All I felt was empty.  How could ‘empty’ feel this heavy? I drew in a deep breath through my nose, trying to inflate my lungs and break the bonds that constricted them, but it accomplished little.  My muscles ached.  My head was light.  My shoulders weighty.  Everything hurt.  But it was a hurt that wasn’t real.  The people around me saw it and yet they didn’t. I thought of the time I was in Saint Mungo’s after the Department of Mysteries fiasco— Friends and coworkers had visited, had brought flowers and get-well-soon cards.  I thought of the time I’d gotten the flu last year— I’d been sent home from work with instructions to rest.  A delivery of Pepperup Potion and chicken soup had followed. There would be no flowers this time.  No cards nor potions nor soups nor kind urgings of rest.  Because this sickness wasn’t real.  They saw it.  I could see it in their glances, in the way they kept their distance as though fearing I was catching.  But it wasn’t real.  Why, then, did it hurt so much? There was once a time I had thought myself strong.  I’d thought myself brave and clever and funny and generous.  I’d thought myself a fucking badass bitch.  Never in my wildest dreams had I imagined that a man might be able to take all those things away.  Through the emptiness, shame tugged at me.  Was I so weak that I could lose it all so easily?  So completely?  Because of a man? Was this sickness all because he didn’t love me?  Or, more frightening still, was it because he did? A tear ran down the cheek of the girl-crone in the mirror.  I turned my back on her.  She wasn’t me.  Shedding my clothes, I stepped into the shower.  Because I was strong and brave and clever and funny and generous.  Because I was a fucking badass bitch.  And I was due at the Ministry.

[thenicestthingiveseen]

prompt 27: fast

everybody lives au/muggle au/cw: cursing [80 words]

written for @hinnymicrofic

James Potter regretted showing his son the movie “Ferris Bueller's Day Off” because when he picked him and his girlfriend up from the police station and asked him how he could possibly get into this much trouble on a school day, all the little shit did was smirk and say, “life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.”

Ginny at least had the decency to pretend to be embarrassed.

[noxturn-alley]

Kiss

thump thump

"So I see you are leaving again"

Remus turned form packing to find sad green eyes and a mop of red hair staring at him "Yeah"

"You got here yesterday"

"I know," Remus turned away from Lily "you know how missions are."

"Does he even know you are home?"

thump thump

Remus closed his eyes, fighting back tears. "Not sure"

"We all miss yo-"

"Why do you all keep pretending like I am the only one leaving all the time, we all are. It's a war. Dumbledore said not to talk about our missions. Do you even know where James is right now?" He began shoving things in his bag.

"No, but-"

"But what? He's with Sirius? But he isn't a werewolf? "

"I never said that"

thump thump "I have to go, Lils" He zipped up his bag, turning to the door and began walking past his best friend when she reached to grab his forearm.

"I'm pregnant"

thump thump

Remus sighed and turned to look at her. "I know"

She nodded and let go of his arm. Remus leaned down to give her a kiss on the cheek, then turned to walk out the door.

@wolfstarmicrofic (198 words)

[my-castles-crumbling]

meet - Jegulus - November 20th - @stag-microfic - word count: 332

"Dad?"

James looked up from his book to see his sixteen-year old son standing awkwardly in the doorway, looking like he wanted to be anywhere but there. "What's up, Haz?" he asked gently, placing the hardcover down on the table and patting the empty space on the couch.

Harry sat down gingerly and frowned, green eyes troubled. "Don't laugh, alright?"

"Of course," James nodded, frowning. "What is it?"

"Remember when you used to read me stories, when I was little? About people who would go out and meet 'the one' and fall in love at first sight, and everything ended happily ever after?" Harry asked, still looking uncomfortable.

James nodded, not understanding. "Yes...why?"

"What if it's...not like that?" Harry mumbled, looking down at his hands and shifting awkwardly. "Does that mean it's not right?"

Dawning comprehension flooded through James and he tried to answer without seeming too eager. He didn't want to embarrass Harry, after all. "Prongslet, those were stories. You know that your Pa and I didn't fall in love at first sight, right? I mean...he bloody hated me!"

Harry chuckled at that and met his eyes for a moment before again frowning. "But you were an obnoxious arse," he pointed out.

"I was," James nodded, suppressing a laugh.

"And I was a stuck-up twat."

Both Harry and James turned to see Regulus in the doorway, a smile on his face. The shorter man joined the two on the couch and spoke again.

"Harry, love isn't like the stories. It doesn't always fall into place. But if you both want it and work at it, then it's usually worth it," Regulus said, looking over Harry's shoulder to give James a small smile.

Harry nodded and sighed. "Alright. Thanks."

James couldn't resist. "Is he a Slytherin, then?" He asked knowingly.

Green eyes shot up to meet his, a shocked look on his son's face. "How'd you know?" Harry demanded.

It was Regulus who burst out laughing. "Like father, like son," he chortled.

[estrellami-1]

Steddie Microfic

March prompt: pin

Word count: 388

No warnings apply

Rated G

@steddiemicrofic

“Tammy Thompson,” Robin chokes out.

It’s quiet enough that, if Steve had a pin and dropped it, he wouldn’t just hear it hit the ground; he’d hear the slightest whisper as it parts the air.

“Oh,” he whispers dumbly, trying to process. Why would she- when he-

He realizes, distantly, that oh isn’t really an answer, and Robin would probably really appreciate the reassurance that he’s not going to hate her, so he blurts out, “But she sounds like a muppet!”

He immediately regrets it, then regrets it a little less when she laughs, half-offended. “She does not!”

“Does too!” He argues, and proceeds to demonstrate, warbling out an excerpt from Bonnie Tyler.

He ends up scooting under the stall divider because legs are still just a concept and he needs her to know something immediately, needs to see her face when he tells her. “I didn’t notice,” he says nonsensically, since the conversation has well and truly moved on at this point. At her furrowed brows, he clarifies, “I didn’t notice her looking at me.” He takes Robin’s hands in his, squeezes gently. “Because I was always looking at him.”

Robin’s a genius, so she gets it a lot faster than he did the first time around. Her eyes are saucer-wide as she gasps out, “Who?”

Steve bites his lip, feels oddly shy as he confesses. “Eddie Munson.”

Her jaw drops. “Munson? You’re telling me you were ragging on Tammy Thompson when you have a thing for Munson?”

“Yeah, and?” Steve argues back.

“He’s a total nerd! That’s, like, the opposite of you!”

“And?”

“And he stepped in my lunch!”

Steve opens his mouth, realizes he has no rebuttal, and shuts it. “Sorry?” He offers.

She snorts out a laugh and drops her head to his shoulder. “You are never allowed to tease me about my preference when you’re crushing on Eddie Munson.”

Since Steve’s brain only works about forty-eight percent of the time, he mindlessly blurts out, “I’m not crushing on him.”

“You’re not? You just can’t keep your eyes off of him? How’s that any different?”

Steve nibbles his lip again, mutters to himself, “I’m in for a hell of an apology,” then sighs and goes for it. “I’m not crushing on Eddie because I’m dating him.”

“Oh,” Robin says, and Steve laughs.

“Yeah. Oh.”

[messessentialist]

JANUARY MICROFIC - Fixation

@steddiemicrofic | PROMPT: hole | WORD COUNT: 404 | RATED: T | CW: none

---

They're hiding from the heat in Eddie's bedroom when it happens.

Eddie is draped across the bed, t-shirt rucked up under his armpits to let the window unit cool his tacky skin. Steve, in turn, is sprawled in the rickety chair, making slow work of shuffling through the contents of Eddie's desk drawers.

"Has anyone ever told you you're kind of a hoarder?" He asks, casual, and rattles an Altoids tin full of loose screws and washers in Eddie's direction. It's one of three such tins he's discovered so far.

"S'been said, yeah," Eddie sighs. "Mostly by people invading my privacy and smoking my weed."

"Shut up."

Eddie snaps off a lazy salute, but makes no further reply.

Steve is searching the back of the bottom drawer for further Sin Tins when his eye catches on something red. It's the curled edge of a notebook, crushed into the corner and forgotten. He tugs it loose, bending it back into shape before flipping it open.

"Oh, holy shit."

Eddie cracks one eye open, and then sits bolt upright on the bed.

"Steve, give me that. Right now."

Steve does not respond. He continues paging through the notebook, eyes impossibly wide.

It's…dicks. Every square inch of space on every page is covered in drawings of dicks. And not the lazy teenage graffiti type of dicks, either. There's an enormous variety of styles, from cartoonish doodles to hyper-realistic portraits, complete with intricately-scrolled frames. They're mostly in ballpoint blue or sketchy graphite gray, though some look like there might have been colored pencils or even markers involved.

"Dude," Steve breathes, holding the book out in front of himself and rotating it for a better angle on something, "some of these are…really good."

Eddie lunges for the book, but Steve easily snaps it out of his reach. He flops back onto the bed, heaving a defeated sigh.

"I'll have to kill you now."

Steve ignores him, flipping to another page and continuing his perusal.

"I mean, this one is crazy detailed. Did this dude, like…model for you, or something?" He brings it closer to his face, brows scrunching. "Is that…a piercing?"

"Prince Albert," Eddie groans from the bed. "If it's the one I think."

Steve's face has gone scarlet, voice weak. "People do that? Put a hole in their dick?"

And suddenly, Eddie has the upper hand again.

"They sure do, Harrington," he coos, saccharine. "Wanna see the original?"

[bri-cheeses]

Jersey vs. Hoodies - Part 1

| Rosekiller microfic | Word count: 799 | I wrote this a while ago and am finally deciding to post it so be thankful lol |

-

“Is that Potter’s jersey?”

Regulus looks up, startled, as Evan drops his books onto the table between them. The sunlight filtering in through the library window swirls dust motes around, lighting Regulus’s curls as he replies.

“Excuse me?”

“I said,” Evan reiterates, sliding easily into the booth, “is that Potter’s jersey?”

Regulus’s stills.

“No.”

Evan looks at him pointedly. “You sure about that?”

“Yes.”

“It’s a Gryffindor jersey, Reg.”

“What an astute observation. Now if you don’t mind, I’m trying to get work done, so I would appreciate it if you could leave me alone.”

With that, Regulus dips his quill into his ink pot and starts writing again. Evan just stares at him as the scratching of the quill on paper fills the air.

But based on the way Regulus glances up sharply a few moments later, he acutely feels Evan’s gaze on him. And he is not pleased.

“What is it?” His voice is tight and impatient.

“Is that Potter’s jersey?” Evan asks again, somewhat stupidly.

“Is that Barty’s hoodie?” Regulus snaps nastily.

Evan’s face flushes with the humiliation and anger that comes from that simple, incredibly cruel remark. It wouldn’t be as bad if Regulus hadn’t known exactly what he was doing by saying something like that—after all, Evan had filled him in on everything just last week.

Evan stands up with a clenched jaw, beginning to stuff his books into his bag with more force than strictly necessary.

A series of vivid images flashes through his mind as he does so: Barty stumbling into the dorm late one night, slightly drunk after attending a notorious Hufflepuff-style party. Evan looking up and laughing at the state Barty was in. Barty coming closer and telling Evan that he had the prettiest laugh he had ever heard, and Evan swallowing thickly.

Barty’s lips on his, mouths tangling together in a single glorious, catastrophic mistake.

One thing had led to another, and Evan had landed himself in what he privately thought was the worst yet best choice of his life. Being friends with benefits with Barty was terrible, but it was also more than Evan could’ve ever asked for from Barty. So he had taken it.

And now here he was, having stolen Barty’s hoodie, which had been haphazardly thrown onto the floor by his bed—probably by Evan himself, if he’s being honest—and wearing it around just so he can pretend to actually have something of Barty’s.

But the point is, Evan hadn’t told Regulus about all of that just for him to be able to hurt Evan whenever he feels like it.

And so Evan starts to walk away, teeth clenched in anger and face still flushed red. He’s breathing entirely too hard, too—he can feel it, but he had had a terrible day before even coming in here, and he just doesn’t have the effort to calm himself down.

Then, from behind him, he hears Regulus call out, “Evan, wait—”

Evan whirls around to find Regulus looking at him with concern in his eyes. The pity he finds there does nothing to smooth out Evan’s boiling temper.

“That was a shitty thing to say and you know it, and I can leave if I want. And I do,” Evan adds with an air of finality, about to turn back around when Regulus’s voice fills the space between them.

“No, no, you’re right.”

Evan stops.

“I shouldn’t have gone there,” Regulus continues, starting to anxiously twist a strand of hair around his fingers. “It’s just that I get defensive and… well, I say stupid things. But yeah, it—it is James’s jersey.”

Evan just looks at him silently. He’s still mad at Regulus, but… Regulus has wanted this for a long time. And Regulus is one of Evan’s best friends, even if he does say some out of line things sometimes.

“I’m happy for you,” Evan tells him.

Regulus smiles softly, a faint blush making its way to his cheeks.

Evan smiles a little in response and shifts the strap of his bag from where it’s digging into his shoulder. Regulus eyes the action, an unimpressed look appearing on his face.

“You can come sit back down now, you know. If you’re not still mad at me.”

His familiar, slightly sarcastic tone is comforting, and Evan’s anger eases a bit more as he walks towards where Regulus is sitting.

“For the record,” Regulus murmurs as Evan sits down again, “I hope Barty gets his act together soon.”

Evan feels his stomach flip at the mention of Barty, but he can’t deny that it makes him happy that Reg is rooting for them as well.

“Off the record… me too, ” Evan admits.

Then he slowly gets out his books again, and he and Regulus begin to study in companionable silence.

-

(Part 2 is here)

[courfee]

@jegulus-microfic | july 11 - essential | wc 519

“I think I’m a bad person.” James looks at his hands, fingers knitted together, untangling, pinching the skin of his palms, tangling together again. Red spots, white knuckles.

The silence stretches on for too long. He doesn’t dare look up when he tries again. The silence should be answer enough anyway. “Do you think I’m a bad person?”

“James...”

“Do you?”

Regulus sighs, a small disturbance of the windless night. James wishes he could feel it. The air is too still, holding him too tight. Motionless.

“You do...” James answers for Regulus. Of course he does. If James thinks it, Regulus must too.

“You should talk to the others again.”

“I don’t know how.” It hurts. It also doesn’t feel like anything. Just a hole in his chest, quietness like the darkness around him. “I don’t know how to be a person right now. I don’t know how to be around them.” He’s failing them all. He’s supposed to be there with them, supposed to be a good friend, but he’s not even being a good person right now. Barely a person at all.

“They won’t mind, you know they won’t. They don’t expect you to always be the perfect friend, sometimes it’s enough to just be there. It’s what you tell Sirius all the time.”

“It’s different for me. It doesn’t count when it’s me.”

A quiet laugh from Regulus. “Still so self absorbed that you think the same rules don’t apply to you?”

It’s for James to be silent. He doesn’t want to think about it.

When Regulus breaks the silence again all traces of his humour are gone. “You need to get out of this, James. You need to talk to someone.”

“I’m talking to you.”

“I don’t count.”

James flinches. “Don’t say that.”

“James.” His voice is gentle. “You know I don’t count.”

James shakes his head vehemently. He doesn’t want to hear it. Doesn’t believe it. Refuses to believe it. It’s the one essential thing he’s ignored for ... he doesn’t think about it.

“Ignoring it won’t change it.”

“I don’t care.”

Silence.

“I don’t care,” James repeats desperately.

More silence, until finally, “I do think you’re a bad person.” It’s a whisper. The quiet movement of words through the air. This time James thinks he can feel it, a coldness caressing his bare skin, biting on his bones. “You’re hurting them.”

“I’m trying not to, I’m trying.”

“That’s how you’re hurting them.” James thinks he can hear Regulus move away from him. He still refuses to look up. “You need to talk to them.”

“Regulus...”

“You need to talk to someone who’s not me.”

“Don’t do this to me, please.” He tries not to look up, tries to keep his eyes on his hands where he doesn’t have to see the way Regulus looks right now.

“James,” Regulus says, and this time James knows he can feel it. It moves the night, strong enough it tears the air out of his lungs. A finality. “You need to stop talking to yourself.”

When he looks up the wind slowly pushes a cloud over the stars.

[fredtheemoplant]

June 1 Pride — @jegulus-microfic — word count: 553

“Sorry, what was that, love?” James taunts, tilting his head to the side and leaning closer. A delicious spill of red covers Regulus’ cheeks, which he tries to hide by turing his head away. Now, James will not be having that.

James moves one of his hands, both of which were planted firmly next Regulus’ head on either side, and drifts it over to Reg’s cheek, using that hand to urge him to look back at James. Regulus does, because he’s so good.

Regulus wants so badly to kiss James, James can see it in his eyes, in the way he turns even redder, in Regulus sticking his tongue out to coat his dry lips. But James won’t kiss him, won’t let Regulus lean in to do it himself. If Regulus wants to kiss him, he’ll have to set aside his pride and ask.

They got into another row because Regulus said James doesn’t actually like him, and he just wants someone to fuck, so, here James is, abstaining himself from this beautiful boy, to prove a point. It’s fine, because he really does love Regulus for more than what he can do, he really, really does.

“Reg, I do not like you for your body. I don’t. I like your body and I like you. Simultaneously. We could never have sex again and I would still stay with you. I would never have sex with you again, or kiss you again, or touch you again if you didn’t want me to. I would still come to this room, and talk to you, and come to your games, and spend time with you, and just be near you, so long as you want me to be,” James says. At some point in the rant, James has stepped away. It’s all spilling out, word-vomit style, and he means every word of it. Merlin, help him, he means it. “Regulus Black, you are my number one. I love you more than I love the planet we live on. You deserve the world and I would happily provide that for you. I would collect the earth, with the moon, and the sun, and all the planets and stars, if you asked me to. And I’d do it all just to see that beautiful smile of yours. Don’t ever doubt that, and, if you do, come back to me. I’ll remind you.”

Regulus looks awe-struck. His mouth has fallen open and his eyes are welling up with tears. What? James’ brain is in uproar. What’s wrong, love? is all James can think. His head is a loop of sirens and ‘Reg? Reg, why are you sad, Regulus?’ and James thinks there may be someone screaming in the background.

Regulus swallowing thickly is what snaps him out of his daze. James steps back and replaces his hand on Regulus’ cheek. “Baby, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?” James asks gently.

“James. Kiss me. Right now,” Regulus demands, but he fists a hand in James’ hair and pulls him in before James can react. Plus, hey, Regulus did as James wanted, so he doesn’t fight it.

It’s not until much later that James realizes why Regulus was so adamant to be kissed so urgently. Apparently, James managed to let slip the three-words-eight-letters he’d been feeling for so long now.