#ff: TO fix-it

[eriyu]

Petition for Spanish Translation of Final Fantasy XIV

a quick search didn't reveal any tumblr posts about it, so i'll just gonna throw this link out for anybody who would benefit from it! the tweet i found this from has almost 2k likes, but the forum post itself only has about 250, and that's what matters, so uhhhhh let's make up the difference.

[littledragondork]

Bethesda continuing to update Skyrim is like those people who fight to keep their 17 year old, raggedy lap dog alive against the vet's recommendation

[aurantiumred]

fuck it i would give you a 10 page essay on how Waving Through A Window is jason coded but YOU'RE NOT READY FOR THAT CONVERSATION!

[kessilover]

Mergana AU (Part 1 maybe):

After healing her with the help of the Great Dragon, Morgana wakes up thinking that she is married to Merlin.

[kohhomaru]

Portrait practice

[book-lover85]

I've said this before but god Ro could be so good if she wasn't just an obnoxious sokeefe shipper

[msphagime]

Drawing shirtless men/merwaine/merleon in my lectures has blessed me with an aced midterm, I think

By god, I should draw Leon shirtless more often

[icarusredwings]

A love with no need for words.

Chapter 3

A sfw young Cherik fic

Art at the end <3

Special thanks to

@joykai

@stucky-just-stucky

and

@capusciara

After struggling to almost drag Charles up the steps, who was giggling far too much to properly concentrate and fooling around, the poor man ended up tripping.

“Tch- Charles come on.”

“I'm sorry! What can I say? I'm just too weak, I'm afraid.” He says, dramatically falling faint against the steps.

“Oh you are not! Now stop acting like a fool. You'd kill me if I let anyone see you like this.” he grumbled, pulling him up again only for Charles to dead weight, forcing Erik down with him.

The color of his face was lovely, perhaps that's what the color of the new carpet would be.

“Charles! What would your sister say about this?”

“My sister..? Raven? Oh, I love Raven, my darling girl.”

Grunting, The stern eyes that stared at him became his new favorite color, staring at him with such an innocent smile.

“She's sleeping. And you should be too it seems. Get up, let's go.” Pulling him by the arms, he manages to get him upright, holding his arm tight so as not to fall a third time.

You should carry me

“Why would I carry you- A-and I told you to stay out of there!” Oh and there was that shade again. The one he adored. The one Charles wished to take him to the carpet seller and show them directly what color he wished to have, and if there wasn't one he would have one made.

“Because that's what team mates do. What if I got hurt and needed you to carry me to safety?”

“Oh like you can carry me..”

“I could, if I wanted. But what if I have no metal on me, Erik? What if I'm wearing nothing at all?!” He says, a little louder then Erik would have prefered.

“C-charles!! Shhhhh!”

Ah goodness, Now look there. A perfect shade of dark rose, the smoothest of petals and sharpest of thorns. The prettiest of blood dripping from the hands that held them tightly like this. Oh how he wanted to plant a rose bush out front, in perfect view of his window, water it with the tears he cried when he felt alone, gift him the personally grown bouquets and then, one day, on a GOOD day, he'd come by and Charles wouldn't be afraid to tell him that he looked insanely pretty. If it wasn't for the fear of Erik laughing or stuffing them in the bin with the garbage? He would.

Finally picking him up, He was quick to wrap his arms around him, gasping, shocked from the sudden movement. “Don't drop me!”

“I won't! J-just stop moving!” The sound of struggle in his voice at first made Charles question his weight. But with these? These strong shoulders that his hand gripped for dear life? No. He was struggling for a different reason. But what was it?

As Erik carried him up the steps, He swallows, trying his best to be careful. He'd never forgive himself if he dropped him and he got injured. Imagine trying to explain that to Hank. ‘Sorry, I broke our team leaders back on the stairs last night-’ Ugh, just the thought riled him up. He prayed to whatever god was up there that Charles wasn't listening, how embarrassing would that be?

“...I wanna buy you pretty little things and never ever lie to you”

“Oh-.. uhm. Okay? Thank you?” He says with a nervous chuckle, but in reality he's not realizing the seriousness in his tone, only noticing how quiet he was after that. How silent the chatty man has become.

Glancing down, He was taken aback to see he was staring up at him with that soft grin. The one that said he was up to something. Blinking, he looks away, suddenly sweating bullets. When he looks back, He's still staring.

“W-what? Something on my face?”

Charles shakes his head; eyes never leaving him.

“Then what are you looking at me for?”

“..You look perfect.. Heh.. pretty boy..”

Coughing a bit, Erik pauses in the hall upstairs. “C-charles, I’m not ‘pretty’! Stop that. Why are you acting so… Different??”

“Hmm??” He hums.

“What are you thinking about? Huh?” He give him a small shake to keep him awake, feeling him melt into his chest. “Are you still wondering about that girl from the party?” He could only hope, it was the easiest explanation, and he feared what would happen to their friendship if he said no.

How delusional do you have to be to hear ‘pretty boy’ and ask about a woman? Very. Unfortunately Erik passed that line weeks ago.

“...Wonder is the most purest form of understanding..”

“What?”

“But I don't wonder about our indifference…We're so different but all the same..”

“Uh- huh…. Okay.. uhm. Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“You're quite groovy, Erik.” He speaks softly, as if whispering drunken secrets to him.

Blinking, his head tilts a bit only to roll his eyes. God he was wasted. He was so going to tease him about this in the morning, thinking now that Charles must be spewing nonsense now… right?

“Pft. Oh yeah?” He laughs, nervous.

Charles nods, not a crumb of hesitance.

“Oh….Well..uh..Thanks.. I guess? Come on. Let's get you to bed..”

‘It's just the gin talking.’ He convinced himself. ‘He's had too much. He thinks i'm someone else’ Anything to save his dignity so he wouldn't have to admit what he hoped was true.

“No, it's true. You're my Achilles heel…My

Philtatos..” Charles whispers, leaning against him, limp and if you were passing the hall right about now, you would think Charles was dead asleep against his shoulder.

For a moment, when helping him into his room, Erik smiled, chuckling quietly as he thought about how sleepy he was only to pause, He thought about what this meant. Why must he always speak in riddles?

Laying him down, Erik shakes his head.

‘I should have known. The only other person like me and he's mad. What was I thinking?’

“Goodnight, Charles.”

Sighing, disappointed, Erik began to make his way back into the hall, not wanting Charles to become sober and accuse him of something sinister. Something he could never take back.

You still owe me a game.

His brows furrow, doing a 180 as he stomped his way back to that massive mattress, the kind only rich assholes had. The kind that looked like a single sleep in it would cure all of his problems.

“Charles. Francis. Xavier! How many times-”

“Your move.” He says, sitting upright, a perfectly set up chess board in front of him, a single white pawn moved forward. The man shrugs, guiltily, knowing Erik became frustrated with each time he invaded his mind, but god the way he flushed and the color his ears got was so worth it. Besides..

I could never be afraid of you, my dear friend. Please don't ever think that.

‘How the fuck did he set that up so quick!?’ He thought.

And that is how Erik Lehnsherr ended up in his bed, sitting on the edge with a nervous demeanor.

‘Oh god, oh god, oh god, why? Why!? Why didn't I just leave? Why is he staring at me like that!?’ Glancing at him to see if he was still staring, he sure as hell was, those eyes glazed and sparkling with the water that filled them, his neck and face completely red. He could only imagine how dark his chest was by now.

‘Oh for fucks sake! He's going to hear this and think I'm a massive creep!’

A giggle came from across the board, looking at him so dearly, shifting to lay on his stomach, his feet in the air.

“Your move, Erik.” He purrs, holding a spare piece in his hand, playing with it, fidgeting.

‘I have to go. This is getting out of hand.’ Taking a breath, Erik sits up, straightening his back as he turns to him.

“Charles-” He starts.

“I could get used to this.. having a friend..”

‘Ah come on! Shit shit shit!’ He couldn't leave now… could he? No.. he couldn't..

Clearing his throat, his eyes softened.

“W-what… what do you mean?”

“I don't have any friends, Erik..” He whispers, frowning as he looks down at the piece in his hand.

“Sure you do, you know you do.” He tries to reassure him, but the emotional man shook his head softly. “No… None that know me like you..you water down what I call being grateful.” l

“What?”

“You weaken my intensity of gratitude, make it the standard of all who call themselves a friend of mine… now if only they were like you. Maybe then I could keep them..”

He swallows again, looking up at the ceiling with a sigh of defeat. No.. he couldn't leave him like this.. it was simply cruel. Even if he is just a spoiled rich kid. That's all he is.

“Alright… but just one game. Understand?”

“And another drink.” He says, stretching out with A smug grin because here he was, getting his way- again.

Erik scoffed, laughing through his nose as he shook his head, knowing exactly what he was doing. Stalling so he couldn't go to bed, like a child at a sleepover who wished for it not to end. Like a brat. A kid child throwing a tantrum when not given a toy they wanted.. and here Erik was.. being that toy.

“Fine.. And another drink.. but if I win you have to tell me your plan from earlier. Deal?”

“What plan?” He asks, innocently laying His cheek in his arms.

“Of course… Nevermind.”

And so- Charles gets his tea, Sitting up once again as he sits close to him, cross legged and patient, holding his cup in both hands.

“Wow…You're Incredible.” Charles whispers, watching as Erik casually uses his mutation to put just the right amount of sugar into his second cup of tea, swirling the spoon around as if it were something he did daily. So effortlessly and thoughtful.

“I would say the same for you but I doubt you'd accept the compliment.” He mutters, pushing a piece on the board with a single finger.

“Oh yeah? Like what?” He asks, Moving another piece directly after as if he had anticipated that move. Erik was predictable in times like these. Perhaps it's why it brought Charles a sense of calm serenity.

“Oh, As if you'd actually accept it. Besides.. nevermind.”

“How about this. You go first and then I'll say something. That's fair.. right?” He questions as if he truly was asking him if it was equal.

‘Yeah right, so you can tease me more And make fun of me in the morning?’ He thinks, Shaking his head, moving A piece a 2nd time. “I suppose… But how will I know if you're telling the truth? For all I know you're just laying down charm on me that's complete nonsense”

“Opinions simply can not be truth without evidence behind it… in which case makes the truth and opinion both factually correct.” He mutters, moving his bishop.

Another sigh comes from Erik, who honestly wasn't sure how he can be so drunk but still such a wise prick. Even with his ears red like this he still was getting lectured.

“Your mind is truly something worth being studied.” He says to him, complimenting what everyone says about him, adding his own personal twist. “And by that I mean cut open and dissected to see what causes such insanity.”

Charles, mid sip, spit out his tea, coughing a little over the silk sheets only to burst out laughter, throwing his head back and giggling his little heart out. He was smiling so wide that almost all his teeth shown, his eyes bright with stars despite being so full with joy. His already dark crimson cheeks lighting up as if he successfully just told him a pick up line, similar to the girl from the party.

Staring, Eriks eyes widened, seeing what joy he got from such dark humor. Contagious like the plague Or perhaps scarlet fever, His laugh harmonized with his, chuckling at how ridiculous this was, I mean come on, he wasn't supposed to find fondness in this terrible joke but here he was, losing his breath over it.

The warmth that he felt ran deep in his stomach, the harder he had to press down on the pillow in his lap, the sparks that run up his spine like that of a vintage lighter trying its hardest to light a flame.

‘Be still my foolish heart don't ruin this for me.’ He thinks, feeling the hard quickened beats knocking on his ribcage, trying to escape its captive cell.

“What else?” He asks through attempts to re catch his breath and small giggles that lingered.

“Oh.. uhm.. I wouldn't know where to start..” Erik starts, stricken from his spell of laughter so hard that he had already forgotten the deal of it being Charles’ turn to compliment him now, the words trying their best to form in his head but instead fell off his tongue, past his teeth and out into the open air.

He thought about what he should say.

‘The very thought of you banishes my blues. Your voice Is like music playing, leading me from the dark. I got along just fine without you-Or at least I thought so before those baby blues came into my life. Like A colorblind man who hadn't known what he was missing until he saw you.’ He thinks. ‘Ah but that's all too corny isn't it?’

Oh no, not at all.

He thought, hearing each and every word.

“Your laugh alone is music that constantly rings in my ears.. like a favorite song you can't seem to get out of your head.… is that your doing? Are you putting that song in there?” He asks, laughing nervously, but Charles dosn't laugh.

He just… stares …with those massive wet eyes. Once he wished he could ethically scoop out and give back to him as a gift, what more beautiful things could he possibly give him?

“No..not purposely.” He whispers, slowly as he blinks, watching Erik tug at his collar and swallow, fearing he's said too much.

“...what else?”

“Hey isn't it your tur-”

“Tell me what you want, Erik…”

"I wish I'd had a chance to walk with you to parties. You would wear that dress shirt, and I would say, "I'm sorry" for something, I don't know what but you'd say, "it’s okay" and smile at me. You always smile at me. I want you to smile at me. Even when I say things that upset you, you smile at me. I wanna sit around and watch you do your hair. I want to watch you write. I want to watch your lectures. I want to watch you get dressed And compliment your godly expensive taste even though you would look just as nice in something much simpler.. or nothing at all."

Blinking, It was as if time had skipped, like dozing off and waking up seconds later.

“I-... I'm sorry.. I seem to have forgotten myself.” He says, sweating as he watches Charles start to make his way closer.

“Y-you should lie down. It's already quite late, it seems I'm getting tired myself, a-and I believe you have a lecture tomorrow so you need a good sleep for that-” he blurts out, becoming more and more nervous, hands pressing into the pillow that stayed on his lap.

Charles was mindful of the board, careful not to ruin their little game as he crawled over, slowly pulling his hands away, intertwining them as he sat up on his knees.

Oh Erik..

..My good lookin’ boy

He kisses him.

He on the edge of the bed he bouta fall off :0

Not finishing this btw :)

[c-starstuff-man0]

Do y'all think acotar is a book where villan(s) or bad guys gaslight themselves into believing they are the good people and us reader are just supposed to go ‘i applaud your ability to think so!’

[foldingfittedsheets]

I sent you an ask about my new boy Oliver a few weeks ago and figure you'd like an update.

This is, mostly, an excuse to show off my baby but hes also gotten insanely sweet! Hes cuddly, purrful, playful, goofy and stupid smart. Hes awesome and i love him so much.

As a bonus, have a picture of my older cat Sagest, who blessed me with that image upon looking up from doing my nails today 💛

He’s so fluffyyyyy I love him.

[bellessimaa]

No but hear me out, Kanthony in India could be quite the story.

Anthony Bridgerton in a kurta! Him seeing Kate in a saree or lehenga because lets face it, the man will lose whatever braincells he had left and simply disintegrate.

The only problem with the writers trying to send Kanthony away to India is the timing of it. Edwina is already married and Kate is with child. After the trauma of Hyacinth’s birth, nothing on earth can convince me that Anthony Bridgerton would willingly let his wife take a hazardous six month journey back to India. Tha just doesn’t make sense.

Another thing that does not make sense woth the timeline is that, if Edwina made a match in India, it must have been while Kate and Anthony were on their honeymoon and I’m sorry but how on earth do you expect me to believe that Kate would miss her little sister’s wedding?

It is all tempting me to write again, something like a fix it where Kate and Anthony embark on a journey to India, because Edwina is supposed to get married, maybe to someone from the maharaja’s court because why not?

Kate leaves for India, but with her endearing, besotted husband who worships the grounds she walks on. They come to India and they do all the things that we are craving to see on screen (Anthony in Kurta? Another sneaky, playful haldi ceremony in the privacy of their rooms? Another mehendi ceremony because ofcourse Kate will have Anthony’s name sneakily written on her hands in hindi? Vexing one another? Potentially some old suitors of Kate, just to make Anthony sweat? Her taking him to all the spots of her childhood, just the way he did in Aubrey hall? Babymaking? Recieving the happy news firsthand?)

Anyway this list will never end. I dont know if we would get a spin off or not, but I might just get around to writing this.

[winters-rose-daughterofcain]

I've been trying to phrase things eloquently and I really can't so here you go. Part two really felt like it was trying have its cake and eat it as well in a lot of ways, and it really didn't work.

You give Cressida a whole redemption arc and friendship and put her in an impossible situation and humanise and make you sympathise with her, then want me to hate her again?

You show how Pen uses LW as a coping mechanism and how it's not good for her or those around her and not have her drop it?

You want LW revealed to the ton but no real consequences?

You double down on how Pens family treat her only to have them all come together and be forgiven at the end?

You sideline Colin in his own damn season and butcher Penelope so badly I almost wanted less of her as well?

You can't have everything. Not in such a short time span at least, and it really suffer from it. If you wanted to give Cressida more depth and expend on her role why was she tossed away like nothing at the end? Why did Eloise abandon her? Why was she treated as awful in part two after being put in an actual horror show of a situation? I know they needed the blackmail plot but you can't just give her depth, make her the antagonist and then drop her storyline in the drain that's not how that works. That's not complexity that's laziness, and laziness they created mind you.

They didn't have to write Cressida the way they did this season, if they wanted to make it easy they could have had her marry off screen between seasons to a rich man, they could have had Eloise befriending her be a mistake and had a different arc there, they could have had her LW claim be for any number of reasons, and her blackmail because she still has it out for Penelope. They added this to the story, and as much as I was sceptical at first (I have seen far too many botched bully redemptions) I was glad they did it aded a lot of depth and character interaction, it created some interesting parallels between Cressida and Penelope and seeing Eloise in a different, less intimate friendship with someone who, ironically, is a lot more open with her was interesting. Incomplete, but interesting. It was good, or it could have been. But you can't just turn like that and have it still work. You can't just have Eloise abandon her and have it treated as the right thing to do. You can't leave her with that ending and consider it a happy one. You can't have your cake and eat it too. You didn't create a complex antagonist, you created a scared lost girl who was cruel because she was taught to be and you left her to burn.

You could have had Penelope and Cressida talk to each other, could have explored the ways the mirror and the ways they differ. You could have had Penelope struggle, but untimely empathise with Cressida and help her out, she could have forgiven her for her years of torment because she of all people understands why she did it. You could have had her forgiveness mirror Colin and Eloise forgiving her for LW. You could have looked at how Cressida's openness helped her friendship with Eloise and how Penelope might start to incorporate it. About how by nature of Cressida's openness Eloise is learning to see other perspectives and listen more even if she still has work. You could have done so much with female friendship and camaraderie and empathy and you just... didn't.

The Lady Whistledown this season was just... I think I have a thesis which is most of my thoughts on Polin.

Whistledown was meant to be the subplot to the Polin storyline, not the other way around.

Putting aside my own wishes to have her end Whistledown for her character and for her and Colins relationship, and her love of Colin, her continuing it isn't unexpected I was afraid of this and thought it might happen even if it's lazy. If that was it and if it was handled better I think I could begrudgingly live with it. But it's not. Not only was it handled so so poorly it was the whole second part and for what? Part one was Polin. Part two was Lady Whistledown drama with some cute Polin moments sprinkled in-between with some mandatory angst. Tell me the resolution to Colins arc now. Quickly. You can't he didn't have one, we barley even saw him through Episode seven and eight. There is so much romance in your purpose being the person you love, IF and only IF, it's reciprocal. Penelope literally says in season two, when she has been Whistledown for over a bloody year that she hasn't found her purpose yet. They were meant to find each other. To both have their writing as their passion and creativity and fulfilment, not Whistledown, but her manuscripts, his stories from around the word their joint and secret words. But their centre, their purpose, their guiding light was always meant to be each other. It's what kept Penelope sitting at that window, it's what draw Colin to her at every ball. They had all the potential and set up to be the most beautiful, genuine, heartfelt relationship. But no.

Colin deserved to be angry. The woman he loves has lied, has hurt him, has his from him after all the times he was venerable with her and so, so much more. They deserved to argue. Penelope deserved to be more upset over this than crying in the moment and walking past him later. That's the man she loves, who she thinks hates her, who she know if he did hate her she would deserve it and she wouldn't blame him for a second. They deserved time and space and Colin deserved explanations and apologies. They deserved a later, happier wedding, they both deserved to have their feelings heard and said and listened too. Is that not the core of their relationship? Listening to and seeing each other? Would that not lay the groundwork for some really good well earned conflict and a really rewording resolution? The groundwork was all there that's what's killing me. The set up was all there for something so good which is why I was excited. I know screen time is limited, I know there is only so many emotional conversations you can have on screen, but Bridgerton primarily just people talking on conversations, when it's there bloody season surely they can space out the conversations that need to happen in a way that works with pacing. And to be honest, the screen time defence only works when the screen time that they did have was allocated well. And I'm not taking subplots. Even if I think a few could have been trimmed, the screen time Polin did get was just used so so badly. Colin got dust and that didn't even feel like Penelope had the time, just a mouth piece for the writers.

Rapid fire stuff because I need to expand on the above in more detail later lol.

The acting was flawless give everyone on that set their flowers.

I really like the Mondrich's and seem to be the only one who likes seeing them lol, their sweet and always a good time they just need a better storyline, or you know, one that actually has a resolution.

Not what I would have done for Benedict and I still want to see him look at art again but let's hope season 4 is better lol.

Don't like the way Penelope's family stuff was done, specifically Portia but it is what I thought would happen. Disappointed but not surprised. I'm biased tho so I won't speak on it too much. I lose too much objectivity.

Hate hate hate the baby thing tho, it was fine as a subplot with her sisters but her having the boy was predictable and also dear god the girls nineteen for fucks sake. No. Hated that.

Francesca the absolute love of my life. I adore her and John, I liked the conflicted with Violet, loved everything about her storyline this season she was perfect, my favourite part honestly lol. Also Michaela Stirling get behind me NOW. Sapphic Bridgerton fans truly are the bravest soldiers cause istg. Also I don't trust this fandom with any actor or actresses period but especially not a Black actress who's "ruining" your favourite storyline. So I will be greatly enjoying everything I see of all three of them Francesca John and Michaela, while watching with a sharp eye for any bullshit.

Kate, also the love of my life it was so lovely to have her back even if just for a bit. Wish they did more with Anthony especially him and Colin tho, but again, wasn't expecting much more. I do wish they would write them out with a bit more subtly tho it's getting almost funny how obvious it is.

The Violet, Marcus, Lady Danbury plot I didn't actually mind. Could have been trimmed a bit but it was good seeing the adults in more depth, I haven't watched queen Charlotte tho so I kinda feel like I missed some things.

Overall, I liked certain parts of this season I really did, especially if I fully ignore the context, and I'm happy for everyone who enjoyed it truly, but it was have an entirely different ending in my head. I'll definitely write about at some point but who knows if anyone wants to see that lol.

[eriyu]

ARR through Stormblood patches complete! Shadowbringers script time!!!!!!

[gummyyummyjam]

I'm home alone (you're God-knows-where)

In the shadow of Harry Potter’s endless departures and promises, Draco Malfoy learns the cost of loving someone who may never learn to stay.

The Slytherin common room was eerily quiet tonight. The greenish glow from the lake’s waters reflected through the windows, casting an otherworldly light on the plush furniture. It was a silence Draco Malfoy had grown accustomed to, though not one he particularly liked. His fingers toyed with the edges of a well-worn book on his lap, though he hadn’t turned a page in over twenty minutes. His thoughts were elsewhere, circling back to a certain messy-haired Gryffindor who had, once again, disappeared without explanation.

Harry bloody Potter.

Draco’s lips twitched into a wry smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He’d never imagined himself in this position: pining for the Golden Boy, waiting for scraps of his attention like some lovesick fool. It was ironic, really. He’d spent years hating Potter, envying him, and now… well, now he’d give anything for Harry to stay.

But Harry never stayed. Not really.

“The games you played were never fun,” Draco muttered to himself, voice low and bitter. The memory of Harry’s last departure lingered in his mind. The half-hearted promises, the fleeting kiss goodbye, and then… nothing. Days would pass, sometimes weeks, before Harry resurfaced, acting as though everything was fine, as though Draco wasn’t left behind to pick up the pieces.

Draco’s knuckles tightened around the book. He was tired of it. Tired of giving Harry what he wanted, of trying to be what Harry said he needed, only to be left torn apart when the Gryffindor inevitably walked away. It wasn’t fair, was it? No, Draco thought bitterly, it wasn’t fair at all.

The first time they’d kissed had been in the aftermath of a duel. A heated exchange of spells in an abandoned classroom had spiraled into something else entirely. The room had smelled of burnt parchment and dust, the air still crackling with residual magic. Draco could still remember the way Harry had looked at him—eyes blazing, cheeks flushed, and then, suddenly, lips pressed against his in a kiss that was more fire than finesse. It had been exhilarating, intoxicating, and utterly confusing.

Draco had pushed Harry away at first, his heart hammering in his chest. “What the hell was that?” he’d demanded, though the answer was clear in Harry’s eyes. Those damn green eyes… they always seemed to hold the truth Draco wasn’t ready to face.

Harry had shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips. “Does it matter?”

And at the time, it hadn’t. The heat of the moment, the thrill of breaking every unspoken rule… it had been enough. But now, months later, it mattered more than Draco cared to admit. He’d fallen into something he couldn’t control, and the weight of it was starting to crush him.

Draco sighed and set the book aside, leaning back against the couch. His gaze drifted to the window, where he could just make out the faint outline of the squid gliding past. The room felt too big, too empty. “I don’t want any settled scores,” he whispered to the empty room. “I just want you to set me free.”

But Harry never did. He kept coming back, weaving himself into Draco’s life with a charm that was impossible to resist. And every time, Draco let him. He let Harry in, knowing full well that he’d leave again. Knowing that every return carried a ticking clock, counting down to the moment Harry would slip away once more.

It wasn’t that Draco was afraid of being alone. He’d faced more than his fair share of solitude over the years. It had been his constant companion in the shadowed corners of Malfoy Manor, during sleepless nights spent dreading his father’s wrath, and in the quiet moments when the weight of the war threatened to break him. But with Harry, it was different. With Harry, he’d tasted something he hadn’t realized he craved: a connection, a bond that felt real, even if it was fleeting.

“What makes you so sure you’re all I need?” Draco asked the empty room, his voice cracking slightly. He hated how vulnerable he felt, hated the way Harry’s absence left him feeling hollow and restless. It was like trying to breathe with half his lungs missing.

Draco's breath hitched as he stared into the flickering flames of the Slytherin common room’s hearth, his hands trembling ever so slightly. The quiet crackle of the fire was the only sound, but in his mind, Harry’s voice was loud, echoing with words that should have been comforting but had cut him instead.

“You knew what this was,” Harry had said. His tone had been even, almost apologetic, but not enough to disguise the indifference beneath. “Don’t make it more than it is, Draco.”

The words replayed in a loop, each iteration stabbing deeper into the fragile walls Draco had tried to build around his heart. He’d given everything to Harry, more than he thought he was capable of. And yet, it was never enough.

When Harry finally returned, it was well past midnight. Draco heard the telltale creak of the common room door and the soft shuffle of footsteps. The sound was almost tentative, as though Harry knew he wasn’t welcome, he was sneaking inside the supposed-to-be-enemy’s territory for Merlin’s sake, but hoped he might be forgiven anyway. Draco didn’t bother to turn around. Let Harry come to him for once.

“Good. You’re still awake,” Harry said softly, his voice laced with guilt.

Draco let out a humorless laugh. “What gave it away? The fact that I’m sitting here, wide-eyed, in the middle of the night? Yeah, it’s good too that no one hexed me yet, I could still brood and all.”

Harry winced and moved closer, perching on the armrest of the couch. He looked tired, his hair messier than usual, and there was a smudge of dirt on his cheek. Wherever he’d been, it hadn’t been easy. But Draco didn’t care. Not tonight.

“I’m sorry,” Harry murmured, reaching out to touch Draco’s shoulder. But Draco shrugged him off, his body stiff with tension.

“Sorry doesn’t cut it, Potter,” Draco snapped. His silver eyes burned with anger and something deeper, something more painful. “You can’t just… disappear and expect me to wait around like some loyal lapdog. I’m tired of it. I’m tired of you.”

Harry’s face fell, and for a moment, Draco thought he’d finally gotten through to him. But then Harry’s expression hardened. “You don’t mean that,” he said quietly.

“Don’t I?” Draco challenged, standing up and glaring at Harry. His hands trembled at his sides, but he clenched them into fists, willing himself to stay strong. “You’re teaching me to live without you, Potter. And guess what? I’m getting good at it.”

The words hung in the air like a curse, heavy and unforgiving. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Harry stood, his jaw clenched. “If that’s how you feel, maybe I should go.”

Draco’s heart clenched, but he refused to let it show. “Maybe you should.”

Harry left, slamming the door behind him, and Draco sank back onto the couch. He’d gotten what he wanted, hadn’t he? He was free. Free from the endless cycle of hope and disappointment. Free from Harry’s games.

So why did it feel like he’d just lost the only thing that had ever truly mattered?

The minutes stretched into hours, the silence growing heavier with each passing moment. Draco stared at the window, his reflection blurry in the glass. “I’m not afraid anymore,” he whispered, though the words felt hollow. “I’m not afraid.”

But as the night dragged on, and the first rays of dawn began to filter through the windows, Draco realized something he’d been avoiding for months.

He wasn’t afraid of being alone.

He was afraid of a life without Harry.

The days following Harry’s departure blurred together in a haze of monotony. Draco carried on, as one does, slipping into the carefully curated routines that masked his unraveling. Breakfast in the Great Hall, potions with Slughorn, study sessions in the library—each task performed with meticulous precision, each interaction scripted to perfection.

But the truth was glaring beneath the surface.

He was hollow.

The Slytherin common room, once a sanctuary of cold comfort, now felt suffocating. The greenish light of the lake had lost its hypnotic quality, replaced by a dull reminder of isolation. Even his dormitory, always a reprieve from the world, felt heavy with Harry’s absence. The spaces between Draco’s breaths were no longer filled with Harry’s reckless laughter, the way his presence seemed to electrify even the most mundane moments.

Draco had told himself he was teaching his heart to forget. But forgetting was harder than he’d anticipated.

A flashback, an unbidden memory, tugged at the corners of Draco's mind like a relentless tide. It was from the beginning, a long way before Harry had first kissed him, and their meetings—because of their so-called truce or friendship or whatever Harry was indicating— were still wrapped in the thrill of secrecy.  

It had been a rainy afternoon in the library, the sound of raindrops against the ancient windows a soothing backdrop. Harry had appeared out of nowhere, his tie loose, his hair damp, and that maddening smirk on his face.

“Can’t stay away, can you?” Harry had teased, leaning over Draco’s shoulder as if they were the closest of friends.

Draco had scowled, though the heat in his cheeks betrayed him. “Don’t flatter yourself, Potter. Some of us actually are here to study.”

But Harry had laughed, that low, infectious chuckle that made Draco’s stomach twist in ways he refused to acknowledge. He’d sat down across from Draco, close enough that their knees brushed under the table. It had been infuriating and intoxicating all at once. And so, he’d ignored Harry after that, burying himself in his work. But Harry’s presence was impossible to ignore. He lingered, leaning against the bookshelf, tossing casual remarks that disrupted Draco’s concentration.

“You’re so bloody predictable,” Harry had remarked again, his green eyes dancing. “Always pretending you’re above it all.”

Draco’s cheeks had burned, and his pride stung. He snapped his book shut, glaring, his voice rising despite the glares from Madam Pince. “And you’re insufferable. Why don’t you go bother someone else?”

Harry’s smile had faded, replaced by something unreadable. He leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Because I don’t want someone else.”

The air had shifted, charged, and heavy. Draco had frozen, his quill poised mid-air. He’d wanted to retort, to cut Harry down with words, but his throat had tightened. By the time he’d found his voice, Harry had suddenly walked away, leaving Draco with a swirl of confusion and an ache he couldn’t name. And for that moment, Draco had allowed himself to believe and believe, that maybe, just maybe, Harry meant it. 

One night, three days after Harry had walked out, Draco found himself back in the Astronomy Tower. He hadn’t intended to come here, but his feet had carried him almost of their own accord. The cool night air bit at his skin, and the stars above seemed distant and indifferent, much like Draco himself often pretended to be.

And then another memory rose up, it wasn’t nearly as soft. It came with the sharp sting of betrayal. It had been during one of those clandestine meetings in the Astronomy Tower, where they’d carved out a fragile world of their own . 

Harry had arrived late, his hair damp from the rain, his robes askew. Draco had paced the length of the tower, his frustration boiling over as soon as Harry entered.

“Do you think I have nothing better to do than wait for you?” Draco had hissed, his voice sharp enough to cut.

Harry had run a hand through his hair, looking both guilty and defensive. “I’m sorry, okay? Things got… complicated.”

“They’re always complicated with you,” Draco shot back, his silver eyes blazing. “You say you want this—us—but then you disappear for days, weeks. Do you even care?”

Harry’s face had darkened, his jaw tightening. “Of course, I care! But it’s not that simple, Draco. It’s not always easy to get away. You know that! You don’t understand—”

“Do I? No, I don’t understand!” Draco had interrupted, his voice cracking. “Because you won’t let me. You keep me at arm’s length like I’m some dirty little secret you’re ashamed of. And yet, all I know is that I’m always here, waiting, while you—” He’d paused, swallowing the lump in his throat. “While you treat me like an afterthought! Is that all I am to you?”

Harry had stepped closer, his expression softening. “That’s not fair.”

“What’s not fair is giving you everything,” Draco had whispered, his voice trembling, “and getting nothing in return.”

Harry’s silence had been damning. He’d reached out, his hand hovering near Draco’s shoulder, but Draco had stepped back, his heart splintering.

“Don’t,” Draco had whispered, his voice trembling. “Don’t touch me if you don’t mean it.”

Harry had dropped his hand, his expression a mixture of regret and frustration. 

“I never asked you to…” Harry had muttered, his voice barely audible.

The words had hit Draco harder than any curse. He’d turned away, unwilling to let Harry see the tears that threatened to spill. And then, he felt Harry turned away too, and left without another word, leaving Draco alone in the cold, the wind biting at his skin.

Draco closed his eyes, the memory cutting sharper than any blade. He’d hated how Harry had made him feel so out of control, yet he’d craved it too. That wild, unpredictable spark that Harry carried—it had been intoxicating.

Now, it was a phantom pain.

Over and over, he tried to pinpoint the exact moment everything had unraveled. It wasn’t that Draco wanted Harry to suffer; that wasn’t it at all. What he wanted—what he had always wanted—was for Harry to understand. To see the cracks beneath the surface, the scars Draco carried from years of trying and failing to be enough. Enough for his family, enough for his housemates, and now, enough for Harry. But how could he make Harry see when he himself didn’t have the words?

But not all their moments were filled with pain. There were flashes of happiness, fleeting but bright enough to sear into Draco’s memory, as whatever the thing between them kept happening.

One winter evening, they’d found themselves in the Room of Requirement, where the fire crackled warmly, and the snow fell softly outside the enchanted windows as if the fiendfyre and its aftermath didn’t happen at all. They’d been arguing—as they always did—but it had dissolved into laughter when Harry had tripped over a pile of cushions and landed in an undignified heap.

Draco had smirked, leaning against the armrest of the couch. “Graceful as ever, Potter.”

Harry had thrown a cushion at him, his laughter infectious. “Shut up, Malfoy.”

Before Draco could respond, Harry had tackled him, pinning him to the couch. Their faces had been inches apart, their breaths mingling in the warm air.

“You’re insufferable,” Draco had muttered, though his voice lacked venom.

Harry had grinned, his eyes alight with mischief. “I already know that. What else?”

Draco had rolled his eyes, but he hadn’t pushed Harry away and instead pulled him closer. They stared deeply into each other’s eyes, their lips almost touching but not, and the tension between them had been soft and slow and filled with unspoken promises.

And another memory escaped, shifting the moments into something vile.

“Why do you always have to push me away?” Harry had asked, his voice raw.

Draco had laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “That’s rich, coming from you.”

Harry had looked at him then, really looked at him, and for a moment, Draco had thought he saw something real, something vulnerable in those emerald eyes. Harry had stepped closer, his hands framing Draco’s face.

“I’m trying,” Harry had whispered, his forehead resting against Draco’s. “I just… I don’t know how to do this.”

Draco had wanted to believe him. Merlin, he’d wanted to. And for a little while, he guessed he had.

As he sat alone in that tower, Draco closed his eyes against the sting of the memories, but they came anyway, brighter and more vivid than the firelight in his mind like a cruel montage. The good, the bad, the in-between—all of it a reminder of what he’d lost and what he still yearned for. Harry had been a storm in his life, unpredictable and consuming. And he’d loved Harry with a desperation that scared him, a love that he’d worn like armor even as it left him vulnerable. He’d have caught a grenade for Harry and jumped in front of the Killing Curse if it meant saving him. But Harry…

Harry had never been willing to do the same.

And now, in his absence, Draco was left with the quiet aftermath, wondering if he’d ever feel whole again.

One evening, as the common room grew colder with the approaching winter, Draco sat with his knees drawn up to his chest, staring into the fireplace. The flames flickered weakly, casting long shadows across the room. The embers reminded him of Harry—of the fire in his eyes, the warmth he carried even in his most infuriating moments.

“Why do you do this to yourself?” Pansy’s voice broke through the quiet, startling him. She stood in the doorway, arms crossed, her expression soft but tinged with frustration. She had always been perceptive, too much so for Draco’s comfort.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Draco said, though his voice lacked conviction.

Pansy sighed and sat down beside him, her presence steady and grounding. “You’re miserable, Draco. And we both know why.”

Draco didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. The weight of her words settled over him, heavy and unyielding.

“He’s not worth this,” Pansy said gently, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You’re tearing yourself apart for someone who doesn’t even see it.”

Draco flinched at her words, though he knew she wasn’t trying to hurt him. “It’s not that simple,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “He does see it. I think… I think that’s the problem.”

Pansy frowned, her brow furrowing in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Draco stared into the fire, searching for the right words. “Harry… he’s afraid of what this means. What we mean. Every time he gets close, he panics. He pulls away, and I—” He broke off, his throat tightening. “I let him.”

“Why?” Pansy’s voice was sharp now, demanding an answer.

“Because,” Draco said, his voice trembling, “I’d rather have pieces of him than nothing at all.”

The admission hung in the air, raw and unguarded. Pansy’s expression softened, and she squeezed his shoulder. “Draco, you deserve more than that. You deserve someone who stays.”

Draco didn’t respond. Deep down, he knew she was right. But knowing and believing were two entirely different things. He felt the weight of it all pressing down on him. He’d given Harry his heart, his soul, every piece of himself he could offer. But Harry had only ever taken, leaving Draco to pick up the shattered remains.

“I would have died for you,” Draco whispered into the empty room, his voice breaking. “But you wouldn’t even stay for me.”

The fire crackled on, indifferent to his pain, as Draco’s tears finally fell, silent and unrelenting.

The seventh day brought a letter.

It was tucked beneath Draco’s Charms textbook, folded haphazardly, as though whoever had delivered it hadn’t cared whether it reached him at all. Draco stared at the unfamiliar parchment for a long time, his pulse hammering in his ears. He didn’t need to see the messy handwriting to know it was from Harry.

His fingers trembled as he unfolded it.

Draco,

I don’t know how to start this. I never do. Words have never been my strong suit, not when it comes to this… to us. But I’ll try because you deserve that much.

Draco’s breath hitched.

I��ve always been rubbish at staying. I think you know that better than anyone. It’s not that I don’t care—it’s that I care too much. And sometimes that scares me. Being with you… it makes me feel things I don’t know how to handle. Like I’m standing on the edge of something I can’t see, and one wrong move will send me over.

Draco’s vision blurred, and he blinked furiously.

But walking away doesn’t make it easier. It doesn’t stop me from missing you, from wanting you. I thought if I left, I’d be doing us both a favor. That maybe you’d be better off without me. But now… I’m not so sure.

I’m sorry for the way I’ve treated you. For making you feel like you’re not enough when the truth is, you’re more than I ever deserved.

I want to fix this. If you’ll let me.

-Harry

Draco sat there for what felt like hours, the letter clutched tightly in his hands. He read it over and over, dissecting every word, every pause, every sentiment. It was messy and flawed and painfully honest—just like Harry.

He wanted to scream, to cry, to storm into Gryffindor Tower and hex Harry for being so infuriating. But more than that, he wanted to believe again .

Believe that Harry meant it. Again .

That this time would be different. Again .

The knock on the Slytherin common room door came late that night. Draco knew it was Harry before he even opened it. He could feel his presence, like a storm brewing just beyond the threshold.

When Draco finally pulled the door open, Harry stood there, looking as disheveled as ever. His eyes were shadowed with exhaustion, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He looked like a man ready to beg for redemption.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” Draco said quietly, his voice devoid of the sharp edges it usually carried.

Harry shrugged, his gaze flicking to the floor. “I had to try... and... I never really wanted to...  leave... you..."

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Then, finally, Draco stepped aside, allowing Harry to enter.

They sat by the fire, the warmth casting flickering shadows across their faces. Draco didn’t say a word as Harry poured out his heart—his fears, his regrets, his desperate hope for another chance.

“I know I’ve hurt you,” Harry admitted, his voice hoarse. But in Draco’s mind, You hurt me constantly, in every subtle and deliberate way imaginable.

“And I can’t promise I won’t mess up again. But I want to try, Draco. I want to be better—for you, for us.”

Draco studied him, his silver eyes unreadable. He wanted to believe Harry, all over again. But trust wasn’t something that could be rebuilt overnight.

“You’ve left me so many times,” Draco said, his voice barely above a whisper. “How do I know you won’t do it again?”

Harry’s gaze was steady, unwavering. “You don’t. All I can do is prove to you that I’m not going anywhere this time.”

“Why do you always leave, Harry?” Draco’s voice cracked, the words tumbling out before he could stop them.

Harry hesitated, running a hand through his messy hair. “Because I’m scared,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m scared of what this means. Of what we could be.”

Draco’s chest tightened a mixture of anger and hope warring within him because he was right about Harry’s thoughts in the first place. “Do you think you’re the only one who’s scared?” he demanded. “Do you think I don’t feel the same way? But I’m here, Harry. I’m here, and you… you keep running.”

Harry moved closer, his expression filled with regret. “I know,” he said softly. “And I hate myself for it. But I can’t lose you, Draco. I can’t.”

Draco laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “You already have, Harry. Every time you walk away, you lose me a little more.”

For a moment, they sat in silence, the weight of unspoken truths pressing down on them. Then Harry did something Draco hadn’t expected. He dropped to his knees in front of him, his hands trembling as he reached for Draco’s.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Harry said, his voice firm despite the tears glistening in his eyes. “Not this time. I swear.��

Draco stared at him, searching his face for any sign of deception. But all he saw was sincerity, raw and unfiltered. Draco’s heart ached with the weight of it all. The love, the pain, the hope that had been buried beneath the rubble of their broken relationship. Even if it kills him—whether from the pain Harry causes or simply because he’s Harry Potter—Draco will always forgive and choose him, over and over again. Slowly, tentatively, he reaches out, his hand brushing against Harry’s.

“You’d better not,” Draco said quietly, his voice steady but his heart racing. “Because if you do, Harry, I won’t be here when you come back.” If you do it again, Harry, well fuck that because I will still be here, waiting… 

Harry nodded, his grip on Draco’s hands tightening. “I won’t leave. Not again.”

“Don’t make me regret this,” Draco said softly. Don’t make me choose you only to be hurt again in the end.

Harry’s fingers shifted, capturing Draco’s jaw with a trembling certainty, tilting his face upward until their eyes locked, the depth of emotion—a spark of something fragile and hopeful igniting between them.

“I won’t,” Harry promised.

Draco allowed himself to believe him, all over again . 

okayy, so this was a one-shot i posted in Ao3. I just wanna share it LOL. btw, FLASHBACKS are in Italics! and yep, this is somehow based on Billie Eilish's song BORED x Bruno Mars' GRENADE! honestly, idk what timeline in the book suit this plot, and so i thought maybe a post-war hogwarts timeline. but then, you could just imagine any timeline, which is which, cause honestly this is just a bit of draco's perspective when it comes to harry & their push and pull dynamics, and not about what's happening around them, whether they're in the same room or not.

[wrenhyperfixates]

making another dottore post because someone was rude on the last one 🥰

Imagine Dottore who’s obsessed with cuddles. He probably didn’t give or receive any physical affection for a very long period of his life so when he fell for you, he would show it with little touches here and there. Then when you start dating this man gets even more clingy. He will constantly be holding you and nuzzling into your neck. Yes, he’ll take his mask off just to be able to do it. He probably especially likes physical affection because he’s not too good with lovey-dovey words, but he can show you how much he loves you with his cuddles <3

[miragee19]