#friends writing challenge

[bluerosefox]

Waiting... Waiting...

So... This was inspired by listening to EPIC (FREAKING LOVE ALL THE ALBUMS, SO GOOD) and by @noxcheshire post of Tim being Odysseus reincarnated and Danny (maybe also reincarnated) being his Penelope (Here) so I had to turn it into a Dead Tired idea.

The song The Challenge is the main one here. (Cause I LOVE that song... along with Would You Fall In Love With Me Again)

So WHAT IF Danny IS the reincarnated Penelope, after becoming the Ghost King Danny's memories of his past life as Penelope returns and remembers how before dying/ or being reincarnated both Penelope and Odysseus promised to find each other in their new lives, no matter who they are, what new form they take, they will find each other.

So Danny/Penelope, just like before waits for their Odysseus to return to them, but also tries to find him in their new life (CW is laughing whenever Danny asks for hints and gets a 'In due time, just wait' answer, ugh Danny wants to smack CW for that)

However just like in his previous life with being in a high position of power, Danny is being pressured to marry/take a spouse (now its not just men/males though so its a huge headache, I head canon Ghosts don't care much for gender preference) mostly by the dang eyeballs that Danny is still trying to find a way to get rid of without upsetting the Infinite Realms delicate (but slowly healing) balance even if Danny wanted nothing more than to punch all of the suitors out.

So Danny decides to play the long game again.

And waits for their Odysseus return.

Danny's wait is over when they suddenly feel the Realms shift one day, as if welcoming someone familiar home, and the same feeling Danny had when he had been Penelope and saw the storm that was sign of Odysseus coming home, Danny decides its time to bring out The Challenge once again. (CW gifted Danny a few things from his past as Penelope as a coronation gift, like Odysseus's bow (now enchanted to be unbreakable), a painting of when he was Penelope, with Telemchus, and Odysseus, and the Marriage Bed/Olive Tree, AND the Palace Odysseus made that Danny takes to being in over being at Pariah's Keep)

-x-x-

Meanwhile

Tim Drake, aka Red Robin, always had strange dreams as a child.

War, Death, Monsters, Gods, Goddesses.

His dreams were more like nightmares, haunting him and he sometimes woke up in cold sweat.

He hated storms. Hated being in the water for to long. Hated how he felt both tense but also at home when around Greek heroes, as if he was afraid to 'disrespect' them (Cassie was the only one he didn't feel that way around, mostly cause they had been somewhat friends before their heroing since their parents knew each other) but also knew how to appease them should he insult them. He also had a strange hatred for the CoO with a burning passion because he felt like they were mocking real Owls.

The worst part of nightmares that always pop up are of what feels like should be his home is being invaded by unwanted guests (they aren't guests), how they are angry over trying to string a bow and shot an arrow through axes, of the terrible terrible things he hear them saying they were going to do to his loved ones (two names that keep getting muted out).

How it ends in bloodshed with echoing of begging, pleading, mercy, and screams.

However in those nightmares at the end. He also finds himself looking for something in them.

Or rather he always found someone waiting for him at the end of the nightmares. Calling him by the wrong name but it sounds just right coming from them.

The dream always ends with the person asking 'How long has it been?' and before he can answer he wakes up.

So yeah Tim has horrifying nightmares/dreams he could never explain.

And the urge to find someone. To go home to them.

It isn't until he and his friends from Young Justice are hit by a spell from Klarion (who may or may not had a visit from a certain chaos encouraging Time Keeper) and sent to a place called the Infinite Realms in the middle of their fight, that Tim is hit hard with déjà vu when he spots a certain Palace in the distance and overhears some of the 'people?' (they glow and float and some don't even look human?! where are they?) talk about how the 'King' has issued a new 'Challenge' for his 'suitors'.

A Challenge involving a bow, and axes.

And Tim, feels like he knows this all too well and needs to do it.

[mourningsbane]

A hypothetical of what might happen if Ryestalker met Honeyspring.

The torti molly wandered far from her clans territory. The medicine cats were looking for an herb..something bane? They described it pretty accurately to her and stressed the importance of caution.

She sees what looks like one of the flowers nearby a burrow, and she approaches curiously and cautiously. Leaving a set of three pawprints in the dust. She examines the flower when she notices movement in the burrow. Her scraggly tail bristles as she looks up.

The figure was pale, hunched over, and it seemed like their face was melting almost. She could smell the infection. The death. And..milk. This cat was a queen. What in the stars has happened to this cat? Were they alive? Surely not?

"Do you need help?" She asks immediately, taking a tentative step foreward.

Honeyspring peeks out, And upon hearing the molly sPeak, slowly tilts her head until the frail bones in her neck Pop.

How rare it is to have companY, and so honeyspring beckons ryestalker closer.

[diyasgarden]

after cutting off ties with patrick, art experienced the furtive desire to go back to the summers of their youth. the summers when patrick chose to go with him to his grandma’s house in the midwestern suburbs instead of heading back to the lonesome place he grew up in. summers filled with running around outside and planning for a shared future which no longer exists. the world doesn’t seem as bright as it did back then, and now his body has grown heavier with something far beyond age.

art wasn’t deluded enough to pretend this distance wasn’t his fault, so these feelings brought along a shame he couldn’t quell. how foolish to long for something he had destroyed? how foolish to long for something he would never have back?

(inspired by @andwordsarefutiledevicess’ post that featured the center picture of the moodboard)

[museaway]

prompt: a well-meaning lie

Dean/Cas, 100 words

--

would you still love me if—

Castiel turned his eyes from the made-for-TV romcom and focused his squint on Dean.

“What does she mean?”

“Oh, that’s a test. Does he love her enough to stay with her no matter what?”

“So she isn’t a shapeshifter.”

“No, she was speaking figuratively.”

“Ah.” Castiel went back to watching the movie. After a minute, his head canted slightly toward his shoulder. “I have another form.”

“I remember. Wings, cosmic powers, real loud voice.”

Those blue eyes met his again and narrowed in unspoken question. Inwardly, Dean sighed.

“Yes, Cas. Even if you were a worm.”

[charlesemersonwinchesteriii]

if Crozier had a nickel for every time someone close to him kept a mortal wound secret from him he'd have two nickels which isn't a lot but it's definitely enough to give him some very specific trauma for the rest of his life

[metalomagnetic]

I'm trying to write a Jegulus story. Here is the first draft:

James and Regulus are in love with each other, after they both fall prey to a curse that changes their entire personalities.

When Sirius finds out, he kills them both.

The end.

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

a fight between characters who hate each other but also secretly love and care about each other

tw: violence (not romanticizing anything, this is purely fictional)

slam their head against the wall? sure, but with a hand on the back of their head to soften the impact / make sure the other’s head don’t directly hit the wall.

hands around their throat? yes, but for some frustrating, unknown reasons, they could never actually apply the pressure.

intense gaze at the other’s eyes? why not? except the problem is that, behind all those anger and hatred, there are… some other emotions they never want the other to see, but they can never completely hide them.

panting hard, faces getting a little too close to each other they feel the other’s hot breath land on their lips? nice, but why are they unconsciously shifting their eyes until they’re looking at each other’s lips like that???

threw them across the room? lovely, though they make sure the other land on something soft instead of the hard floor

bonus, this trope;

❝ yes, they are my enemy. mine. only I can hurt them. touch them and I’ll make you pay. ❞

[milla-frenchy]

Neat

2k0 | Javier Peña x fem reader | ao3 | Masterlist

Summary: Javi broke up with you, convinced that you were too different. He regrets it and comes to your apartment one night, drunk. You "take advantage" of him. 

Warnings: 18+ mdni. dubcon (somnophilia), oral (f/m), face riding, spitting, very light rimming/anal play, piv, creampie. Javi’s pov. No age specified

a/n: thank you @iamasaddie for your writing challenge 2.0 Genre : pwp / Prompt: “I still hate you, by the way” I LOVED IT 💛 thank you @aurorawritestoescape for beta reading 💕

Mood board by @aurorawritestoescape 💕💕💕💕🫶

*********

“I hate you Javi”, were the last words he heard from you, before you slammed the door of his apartment several months ago.

Before that day, you were “his sunshine”, as he used to say. He called you ‘bebita’ (baby girl), and he had never called anyone like that before. “You’re too sweet for me”, he kept repeating. You used to think it was cute, until you understood what he meant.

Javi was a night owl, and you were not. He liked to lose himself in alcohol and smoked way too much. He told you he was dark and would eventually extinguish your flame. That he would break your heart.  And that's exactly what he did.

Since then, you were no longer in his life. Steve kept telling him that he had spared you a shitty life, but he wasn't sure anymore.

So he thought about the past. The way you too fucked. How your lips rounded around his cock as he slid into your mouth and then your throat. How your hips or your waist accepted his fingers digging into the flesh as he thrust into you, kneeled behind you, jaw clenched. How you came on his tongue, his fingers or his cock, whispering his name.

Javi.

How your pussy used to take his length, and how he loved watching where your bodies joined, his cock all creamy with your weakness. How each time he held back because he didn’t want to come yet. Wanting to feel you more. Deeper, longer. So he used to make you look down there too, while he was focused on your face so he could keep fucking you a little longer.

He thought about it in the shower every morning, while he was jerking his length.

He thought about it every night, when he spurted his load on the sheets.

The girls of the brothel couldn't help him forget you. Their hips, their asses, their hands weren’t yours. Their cunts weren’t yours.

So he drank every night, more than before. To trick his brain. To forget that if you were suffering, it was because he had broken up with you.

One night, he couldn’t resist any longer. Alcohol made him forget his principles, gave him the liquid courage, so he knocked on your door in the middle of the night and when you opened, he staggered into your apartment.

“Javi, what the fuck?” 

You raised your hands before dropping them in annoyance, and by the time you turned around, he had already collapsed on your couch.

“Unbelievable,” you mumbled and went back to bed.

When Javi woke up two hours later, it was still dark and he didn't remember why he was on a couch that wasn't his. And when his foggy mind realized that a part of him was warm, the headache hit him. The whiskey hadn’t worn off and he didn’t understand immediately where this heat came from. He straightened up slightly and looked down, his eyes now slightly accustomed to the darkness, and he couldn't believe that you were blowing him.

He called your name in a low voice but you didn’t stop, your fist slightly tight on his shaft, just above his balls. Your other hand was on his hip, your thumb rubbing his skin.

“What are you doing?” he added, putting a hand on your shoulder.

You pulled him out of your mouth, making him whimper. You licked his tip and slit, and replied “you came here to fuck me, right? What’s your problem then?”

He frowned and you took him back into your mouth. Your lips rounded around his crown before your head started bobbing up and down, your saliva running down his shaft. He rested his head on the couch, surrendering to you objectifying him like that, even if the courage that alcohol had given him the day before had already evaporated. He missed your mouth too much. The way you sucked his cock like it was the best you have ever had, like you worshiped it. Your fist, accompanying your mouth, was still around his shaft, jerking him lazily then firmly, alternating rhythms perfectly.

When you pulled him out of your mouth again, he couldn't help but moan at the loss of your warmth. He knew it made you smile. He just knew.

You ran your tongue all over his length, from his balls to his tip. Your tongue then traveled down, to his balls. His moans became grunts, when you made them roll under your tongue, lapping one then the other and licking off the light sweat under them.

“Fuck, Hermosa…” he managed to say.

So you focused there, on that thin skin beneath his balls, and you slid your finger up to his ring, rubbing the surface gently. You had taken his cock back into your mouth, and your lips and finger were starting to make him see stars. His headache was forgotten.

“Wait…you’re gonna make me come, wait”, he said almost painfully.

You sat up, sliding your tongue over his whole length, to make him moan one last time.

“Make me come,” you told him as you crawled up his body, until your pussy leveled with his face. He looked up at you, your glistening pussy, your hips, your breasts just inches from him. Your face lowered towards him. You brushed your clit against his nose and whined. Your hips moving back and forth, you were fucking yourself on his face, from your folds to your clit.

“Fuck”, you whimpered.

He let you be in charge. Let you use him however you wanted, while your scent and taste drove him crazy. He darted out his tongue and slid it between your folds just when you lingered for a few moments with your clit on his nose. Your wetness flowed down to him. He kept thinking about how much he missed it. Your taste, your pussy. You.

He grabbed your hips and pulled you against him, his impatience taking over. He pushed his tongue inside you, eager to taste you fully. He growled into your folds and you moaned louder. He rocked your hips to reach your clit, placing his lips around it and sucking on it. His tongue swirled over it, and he felt the way your body reacted, the way your thighs squeezed his temples. The way you undulated on top of him, speeding up then slowing down to play with your orgasm and it made him smile, just like before. He tightened his hands on your thighs when you came, to keep you against him a little more. He didn’t release you immediately when your spasms stopped. He pushed his tongue into your core one last time, to lap up all the wetness that hadn’t yet dripped down his chin.

He released his grip and you crawled back until you looked at each other, and he wondered if you were going to kiss him. You caressed his cheek, and said “open”. His gaze darkened and you grabbed his chin between your fingers. You let your saliva fall from your mouth to his and whispered “swallow, Javi”. And it was one of the most sensual things anyone had ever done to him in his life. “Again”, he asked and you did. Then you kissed him, tangling your tongue with his. Tasting your saliva in his mouth.

You grabbed his hands, pinning them above his head, and said “I’m gonna fuck myself on your cock. And you’re gonna let me do it.” He nodded. Of course he was much stronger than you and could have gotten away. But that didn't occur to him. When you grabbed his cock to impale yourself on it, he closed his eyes for two seconds, time to assimilate this sensation that was in his fantasies every day, that he finally was about to feel again. He opened his eyes when your pussy swallowed him entirely. You didn't move, keeping him buried in you for a few moments as if you too were getting used to that feeling again. He was struggling not to cum already. Your tight pussy was squeezing his cock so hard. 

“Not yet, Javi”, you told him. He nodded and tried to  think about something else, even though he didn't take his eyes off you. Anything that could make him forget the feeling of your pussy squeezing his cock. You started to move, and god he loved it. Your cunt. Feeling her warmth around his cock. The way your folds were slowly getting used to his size. His hands were still trapped in yours, and he loved the view of your face above him, approaching then moving away from him at regular, sensual and slow rhythms.

“God, you’re such an asshole…but I love your cock.”

He knew that you didn’t mean it, that it was your bruised heart that was speaking, not you. He was afraid to answer, to confess he missed your cunt, that he missed you.

“Spit in my mouth”, he finally said. You smirked and did it again. You knew him. You knew why he asked you that. 

“Shit Javi, I’m gonna come.” You were rubbing your clit against his lower stomach for several minutes and he knew your climax was approaching. You buried your face in his neck when you came for the second time, continuing to rub him gently, at a slower pace. He felt your pussy pulsing on his shaft and he clenched his fists.

You looked at him and said “you’re gonna fuck me now.”

“How do you want it?” he asked.

You took his hand and led him to your bedroom. 

He followed you, staring at your ass. You got on all fours on your bed, without looking at him. “Spread it for me,” he said. He wanted to see you, all of you, in the dim light. You spread your buttocks, your cheek resting on the pillow, and remained offered to him until he knelt behind, caressing the roundness of your ass.

“You’re so beautiful, Hermosa”, he said, like a million times before.

He let his saliva fall, slide from your ring to your pussy, following the curves of your body. He leaned down and licked in one stroke from your folds to your ass then positioned his cock at your entrance. He wanted to feel you again, to sink into you like a beast. He thrust and bottomed out in one go, leaving you breathless. 

But he didn't stop, he knew you didn't want him to, that you wanted to feel him roughly. He held onto your hips, fucking you hard and fast, teeth gritted. Yet it still wasn’t enough for him, and he grabbed your neck, pressing your cheek further into the pillow, thrusting ever faster and harder. He heard the headboard banging against the wall. Every time he thrust his cock in your core he told himself that he missed it. This feral fuck with you. And each thrust he became a little more angry with himself. He looked at your hips, your back, your neck. Your cheek. Your mouth. He heard your moans, louder and louder as he fucked you ever faster.  He hesitated to slow down, to keep you a little longer. But it was too late. So he kept chasing his orgasm, his fingers digging deeper into your flesh. “I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come”, he growled. A little desperately. And then he thrust one last time, staying deep inside you, showering your walls with his white spurts. He felt like it was never going to end. His hands holding your waist firmly, keeping you close to him. “Fuck”, he said. He pulled back, seeing his cock and balls covered by your wetness.

Then he lay down next to you and lit a cigarette. You took it from his fingers and took a drag. “You’re a pain in the ass with your cigarettes, Javi”, you said. He smiled.

When you opened the door for him to leave later, the sun was rising.

“I still hate you, by the way.”

“I know”, he said, before you closed the door behind him.

***************

Thank you for reading 🙏

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated ❤️

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@pascalsanctuary @littlemisspascal @survivingandenduring

[blindbeta]

I've noticed that you are interested in stories with multiple blind characters and often propose adding more blind characters to a story as a solution. I really struggle with this because it's not as simple as that -- stories don't have infinite narrative space. The idea that every story has a large cast is influenced by the prevalence of long serialized media in fandom: webcomics, TV shows, etc. But many writers (myself included) write a lot of novellas and short stories which often only have a few characters -- maybe even only 1 or 2! Even novels don't usually have huge expansive casts -- maybe 5 main characters with some additional side characters.

Considering this, I don't understand how it's realistic for every story (or even, say, 50% of stories) to have multiple blind characters (without it feeling forced). This is compounded by the fact that most blogs that talk about other forms of representation say the same! So if I write a 2-character short story and the protagonist is a blind Latino man, does the second character also have to be a blind Latino man? It just doesn't make sense! This is just a general problem I've noticed in discussions around representation -- there's an assumption that every cast will have 10+ characters and narrative space to develop those characters, even though that's not realistic for most narrative forms.

Do you have any thoughts on this?

Writing Multiple Blind Characters in Short Stories

Hi Anon! Surprise. I write short stories as well. I have experience with this. I have never felt like my blind characters were forced or unrealistic, even with having several of them in the same story. I’ll try to explain what might help you.

First, the idea that multiple blind characters is forced or unrealistic comes from ableism. Think about why you feel there is a limit on disabled characters. If you can create stories, I would hope you are creative enough to consider the possibility that multiple blind characters could exist in the same place and time. Challenging this barrier opens up more possibilities, allowing you to explore different types of blindness, different reactions to it, different upbringings, and multiple ways of living, adapting, and navigating being blind.

Second, blind characters need access to their own community. This is where they learn how to be blind. This where they get support. This is where they might find understanding and belonging. You can find more information about community here in an excellent reblog. Also, here.

As you mentioned, I often suggest adding more blind characters when writers insist upon using stereotyped portrayals. Having multiple characters with different experiences helps to make your story more realistic and nuanced, contrary to what people might implicitly believe. Having more than one blind character is something I highly recommend because it helps with not having all your representation rest on the shoulders of one character.

For example, if you are worried a main character who has cloudy eyes might reinforce the idea that all blind people have cloudy eyes, having another blind character with a different experience may help. If one of your blind characters is naive and innocent, you might have another blind character who is brash, displays a lack of trust in others, and has a lot of shocking stories. Maybe they’re in a rock band together. They met while playing blind football (aka soccer) on a middle school team. They bonded over their pet cats and sour patch kids.

Or something.

Another important thing to remember when writing is that you have control over the story. Too many writers come to me feeling stuck because they feel they cannot change their story while also wanting to incorporate my suggestions. This makes it challenging to address implicit bias or stereotypes, much less guide writers in going in different directions.

Additionally, I feel uncomfortable with the complaints about other blogs in this ask. I feel like this isn’t really about me, nor is it something I can comment on. I will say that it sounds as if a bunch of blogs dedicated to helping people write marginalized characters are mentioning some of the same things. They are probably doing so for a reason.

However, while it helps, writing multiple blind characters won’t improve every story, which I explained in my review of the book Blind. I was not impressed with this book. I did not feel that the four blind characters were very good, nor did having them help with offsetting the portrayal of blindness as a miserable experience.

Conversely, one of my favorite blind characters is Toph Beifong from Avatar: The Last Airbender. Despite being the only blind character in the show, the writers did a good job with her. Would I have liked her to meet more of her community as she travels with the Gang? Absolutely. Even though I like her, she still never had access to her community after being isolated by her parents for so long.

So, no, you don’t need to have multiple blind characters if the suggestion bothers you this much. I even provided good examples of what to do, what not to do, and times where my typical advice was not as helpful for the resulting story.

However, please consider where these feelings stem from. Consider the origins of the idea that having multiple blind characters is unrealistic. Using the example you provided in your question, I wonder, would you say the same if both your characters were white and abled? Is there any way you can challenge the fear of seeming unrealistic? What about being considered unrealistic bothers you so much?

You don’t necessarily need to have characters in the story for them to exist. Even background characters can help. I will try to give some ideas for this:

Does your blind character have family they can talk about or remember? Are any of their family members blind?

Do they have any friends? Just because the friends aren’t in the story doesn’t mean they don’t exist at all.

Does the blind character have any formative memories or flashbacks?

Does the character who isn’t blind know any blind folks?

Your characters should have lives outside of the story. They should have memories and experiences that made them who they are. This is where you can have other blind characters. Perhaps this is how your blind character can have a community.

However, I would still like to see more blind characters interacting with each other. This is what I want as a blind person. If you don’t want to go that direction, that’s fine.

I hope this helps.

[sneakywingeddude]

Was it casual when you begged me to let you legally represent you?

Was it casual when I dropped everything and stowed away to London with you?

Was it casual when I mourned your death and took up your dream and kept the physical representation of your soul at my side for year?

Was it casual when you handed me the physical representation of your broken soul because you trusted me with it more then you did yourself?

Was it casual when we crossed swords under a sunset and promised to stay in each others lives forever?

[lemonisntreal]

BLINKY BLINKY BLINKY BLINKY BLINKY BLINKY BLINKY BLI

[despazito]

Smiling friends is fun but it would be cool if zach & co were more normal about women, not that I really expected otherwise

[jesncin]

Does J'onn's beloved bartender have any relatives in Gotham that make family dinners incredibly, incredibly awkward... or is the last name just an unfortunate coincidence?

I'm pretty sure both martians would have that same doubt, but while J'onn tries to avoid the subject in order for it not to get weird, Ma'al doesn't hesitate

Jonathan Crane and Al Crane are distant cousins! Jonathan is a child of an affair, and was raised by his grandmother on his mom's side. He went by his maiden name "Keeny" until college where he switched his surname to "Crane". While they both grew up in Georgia, Al and Jonathan didn't get to actually meet each other until they both studied in Gotham College as roommates. People give them weird looks because they don't look related.

They get along! Al is one of the few family members Jonathan tolerates. Al eventually moves to Denver to be a bartender while Jonathan becomes a psychology professor in Gotham. They stay in touch. Al doesn't know anything about the Scarecrow stuff.

Ma'al jumped to an entirely different conclusion about their relationship.

[thelastharbinger]

something something something loki's love for sylvie more appropriately manifesting as platonic rather than romantic because his love for her is a lesson in healing--particularly the inner child that still holds resentment towards a lying, unaffectionate father. loki's heart breaks for sylvie because it breaks for him too. he sees her and views the version of himself that is still angry and deeply, deeply wounded. his affection stems from the empathy of understanding what it is to have had a narrative for their life controlled/manipulated for them. in their sameness, loki offers the compassion he wishes he would've gotten or would've been able to receive. and because to turn back on her would be to turn back on himself. loki allows himself to be something other than the trickster god he made himself out to be in a desperate plea at taking back control. it is mobius that tells him he can be other than what he was and offers him another mode of survival, all of it a lesson in love. sylvie teaches loki radical self-love, how to show up for himself and others, and mobius is the conduit through which loki practices this healthier way of loving.

[phoebe-delia]

Friend!! For the writing prompts… let’s see. How about……. good luck babe by chappell roan. Or if you don’t want a song prompt, how about: pool day / cookout / bank holiday weekend etc

✨💛✨💛✨💛✨💛✨ to you dear friend!

Oh, oh Elaine, @oknowkiss you know the way to my little writer's heart!! Thank you for the prompt options, my lovely friend. What a great selection! I do love a good angsty song prompt, especially one with these themes. This is Drarry gold; I'm not sure why I didn't think of it sooner, to be honest.

Based on "Good Luck Babe" by Chappell Roan. Big big thank you to my darling @basicallyahedgehog for looking this over. cw: angst, unhappy ending, implied infidelity (not really between Harry and Draco)

"I don't think this is working."

Draco's fingers freeze in their task of buttoning up his shirt. He blinks at himself in the mirror once. Twice. "I'm sorry?"

His eyes shift to Harry in the reflection. Draco feels a bit disgusted with himself at the immediate rush of affection for him; for this man with his cotton shirt and boxers, now nervously running a hand through his sleep-mussed hair.

"I've had a great time with you these past few months," Harry says. "But I don't think this will work out. I'm sorry if that's not what you want to hear, but you deserve the truth."

Draco’s speechless for a long moment before he asks, “And what is the truth, Harry?”

Harry looks away, and Draco nearly snaps at him to at least have the decency to make eye contact while breaking his heart—but he doesn’t.

“The truth is that I don’t think this will work out,” Harry says carefully. “There are certain…responsibilities and considerations I have to make—”

Draco scoffs. “Bullshit. It’s because of her, isn’t it? You’re leaving for her.”

Harry flinches. “N-no. I just…”

“You’re a lot of things, Potter,” Draco says coldly, fingers moving quickly to finish buttoning his shirt, “but a coward hasn’t been one of them. Until now.”

“Draco, please—”

"Fuck off." Draco grabs his wand and strides out of the bedroom.

He heads for the door, but Harry beats him to it, blocking his exit. “Just wait—”

“Get out of my way.”

“No, Draco, not until we talk about this.”

“What's there to talk about? You already said this isn't working. Why try to fix what you purposefully broke?” Draco spits the last word like poison, relishing the way Potter winces.

"I just want to explain."

“No! You said I deserve the truth, but the truth is, I pity Ginevra," Draco sneers. "She’ll get your name and your ring. But she’s got no idea she’ll be marrying a man who closes his eyes and fucks her while thinking of men,” Draco's sneer twists into a cruel smirk. “Of me.”

“But....I love her,” Harry whispers.

“You love her like a sister, Potter.” Draco reaches forward, using a finger to lift Harry’s chin until their eyes meet. “But she could never make you feel the way I do. No one can.”

Draco surges forward, capturing Harry’s lips in a heated kiss. Harry gives in immediately, and he barely seems to notice when Draco flips them around and presses himself against the door.

He pulls away, panting against Harry’s lips, and reaches one hand behind himself to grasp the door handle. “Have a good life, Potter. I hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for.”

With that, Draco opens the door behind himself and steps backward. He slams it shut, but the last thing he sees as the door closes is Harry, staying silent, but with one hand outstretched, reaching for him.

Send me a prompt! See the guidelines here.

[lostburgerprince]

you can't "just add a few codexes". you have to write those codexes. you have to write them in the proper voice and style and so it doesn't just fit ONE specific person's worldstate but anyone who also may have made the same decision as them. (you might even have to write multiple variations of the SAME CODEX to account for gender/race/class/romance) you have to edit them. you have to decide where those codexes are going to appear. you have to put them somewhere where people who want to read them will find them. you have to program them showing up. you have to flag it so it only shows up in sPECIFIC versions of the game. (because god forbid it doesn't and breaks someone else's immersion) you have to bug test that. you have to hope it still works when it ships.

and after all that the people complaining might still pick up said codex and close out the window immediately. or run past it entirely and complain that they made a selection in the worldstate that never paid off.

and then you've just spent all that time fleshing out something that's just a small nod to a very small percentage of players. time you could have spent on the current plot or companions. time you could have spent on making *active* decisions matter. these things can easily take up weeks or months like you wouldn't fucking believe.