#i miss writing though and i miss writing fic

[thelov3lybookworm]

Belonging with them

Day 3: Belonging.

Summary: He knew where he belonged now.

•○●⛦●○•

Word Count: 1150

Warnings: azzie continues being jelly of kaden lolll

A/n: i love hazel sm yall dont get it 🥺 this fic is based on a short i saw on yt and the dad is like the biggest hunk and gave such cassian vibes and he genuinely cried 🥺 i was gonna write this fic for cassian but then i decided to give this to azzie cus he deserves to cry hehe

(if you dont know hazel and kaden, theyre from my mini series overprotective bat. it was a 2 part series which can be found on my azriel masterlist. all the fic in this week will be revolving around these two cuties hehe)

@azrielappreciationweek

ANYWAY ENJOYYYY 🥳

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"I don’t really know where I fit in anymore."

"I’ve been alive almost five and a half centuries and I’m not sure of that, either."

The day he had said those words to Feyre seemed like a lifetime away, as if experienced in a dream centuries ago when he was younger and could not differentiate between reality and what his brain had conjured up. But he knew, it had merely been five years.

The five years he had cherished the most in his life.

He loved his family. He adored the way Rhys and Cassian bickered during their annual snowball fight, the way Amren found a way to slide in a snide remark at every dinner, the way Mor would always be ready to go partying. Above all, he adored how all his family including the Archeron sisters would be ready to help him and be there for him any day. Even in the middle of the night when he did not want to wake up his wife but knew he needed someone to help him with his crying daughter.

But… they did not complete him. He loved them to bits and would readily give his life for them… before he met his now wife and decided she was the one he would spend his life with, mating bond be damned. He had lost all hopes of finding his mate back then after waiting for five centuries.

Imagine his shock when on their wedding day, he felt another thread of gold tying him to his wife.

Now as he sat watching his daughter pet a purring Nuts lounging on the low table in front of him while explaining to him how tea was made, he smiled.

He had found his place of belonging. And it was with his wife and daughter.

Of course, there had to be that boy trying to take his daughter away from him. What was his name? Kade? Kaden? Azriel thought bitterly.

He knew he was being dramatic. His daughter was barely four years at this point, no four year old was going to steal her away.

Hazel turned to Azriel, making him focus all his attention on her. He offered her a smile when she handed him a small pink cup.

"What is this?" He asked, bringing the empty toy to his lips.

She shot him an incredulous look. "It’s the tea you ordered daddy."

"Oh, yeah sorry, I was thinking about something."

She shook her head. "Stop thinking and focus, daddy. Kaden always pays attention."

Azriel stilled.

I am being compared to a four year old boy now? What has life come to.

He sighed, mumbling out an apology even though all he wanted to do was tell her to stay away from that boy.

He did not want to be forced to go apologise again.

She began fumbling with the littered toys on the desk once more, completely ignoring Azriel in favour of mumbling instructions to Nuts, as if teaching him how to cook.

As he watched her move over to the huge armchair and place a cup on it, conversing with what Azriel could only hope was not spirits of the deceased, his curiosity peaked.

Maybe it was a bad idea, but he needed to make sure that she was not getting overly friendly with Kaden.

"Hazel, this tea is amazing." He waited till she giggled before continuing. "By the way, how’s school?"

It was daycare to help her get accustomed to going to school next year, but Hazel insisted she was a big girl and attended big girl school.

"It’s fine. Miss Black gave me a gold star yesterday because I helped her." Hazel was focused on the air she was stirring in her red pot as she talked, lips pursed slightly in concentration.

"Hmm. Who’s your best friend?"

Please don’t say Kaden. Not Kaden. Please.

She turned around to glare at him, and he wondered if by any chance he had said the words aloud. But he knew he hadn’t. Azriel wouldn’t let himself speak without permission from himself.

Her brows bunched up, lips pouting and eyes narrowed, she looked as offended as an old grandma being told her grandchild was full and did not want more food.

"Daddy, it’s you. You’re my best friend." She rolled her eyes.

Azriel watched. He simply watched her return back to stirring her pot.

Cassian had been the one to teach her the eye rolling. Azriel had been amused. Seeing a child barely reaching his knees roll her eyes at him like she had lived five lives was nothing short of funny.

But right now, it felt anything but.

It’s you daddy.

His eyes were prickling, that was his first conscious thought after long moments of silence in his head. His vision was getting blurry, throat clogging. Tell tale signs of a sob session oncoming. But he could not bring himself to care as he stared at this little faeling, who did not even realise what she had done.

You’re my best friend.

Azriel simply sat back against the couch, the cushions pressing against his bare back, and let the tears have their way on his skin.

I’m her best friend.

Even despite the emotions Hazel had brought forth, somewhere in the back of his mind Azriel was rejoicing that her best friend was not Kaden.

Guess I’m never beating the territorial illyrian accusations.

The shadows settled down on his shoulders, swirling softly against his skin as they too watched Hazel play and pet Nuts occasionally. They did not inform him of his wife’s arrival in the living room. They did not have to. He simply felt when her presence was near. The all consuming feeling of love growing stronger in his chest being another indicator.

"Hazel, it’s bath time baby. Let’s go."

Hazel huffed as if what Y/n had said was the most outrageous thing ever. "Mommy, I can’t leave yet. There are customers."

Azriel practically felt his wife’s eyes narrow. "Daddy can attend to your customers."

Hazel turned to look at Azriel pleadingly, her eyes wide and placating before they filled with shock. "Daddy why are you crying!"

Y/n drew closer. "Azzie?"

Azriel blinked, smiling up at his wife before picking up his daughter. "It’s nothing. Just some dust."

Hazel turned to scowl at Nuts. "I told you to clean up properly. Now see, because of you my daddy is crying."

Azriel huffed out a laugh, pressing his lips to her round cheek.

"Let’s go shower baby. I’ll even get your toys, yeah?"

Azriel’s gaze swung to Y/n at the end of his sentence. She gave him a knowing smile.

"Can Nuts come too? Please daddy, mommy!"

"Fine, but no splashing." Y/n pointed a finger at the father-daughter duo, eyebrows raised.

Hazel had begun to whine, but even she knew not to argue when mommy was serious.

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

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[hotshotsxyz]

heart is beating heavily

(buddie) (s8 spec) (1k) several people asked for more of this town is only gonna eat you so this is that. unfortunately i am still feeling evil, so please enjoy buck's pov of the same events :) btw the title of both of these fics comes from the song bloody shirt by to kill a king, which i played on repeat while writing these cw: mass shooting / gun violence

Buck’s breath leaves him in a sharp exhale when he hits the ground. It hurts, but not—not where it should. His chest, his back, they’re on fire. His head, though, as violently as he was thrown to the ground, never makes contact with the cement.

The only thing he can see now is Eddie. Eddie, hovering above him, eyes wild. He looks—cornered. Trapped. Only he’s the one pressing Buck into the sticky floor of the arena, not the other way around, and he doesn’t understand why.

“Eds,” he tries to say, but it comes out as more of a croak.

Eddie shakes his head sharply, almost—

Panicked.

Buck takes a breath and it hurts. His thoughts feel sluggish in a way they never really are. He tries to take stock of what he knows anyway.

His body is screaming in pain.

Eddie is afraid. (Why is Eddie afraid? What could possibly—)

They’re on the floor. (Eddie pushed him to the floor. Why would he—)

The space around them is filled with a cacophonous noise that Buck can’t quite identify.

Pain. Fear. Sharp popping noises that make Buck’s ears hurt, and—

Screaming.

Oh.

Buck presses his lips together and tips his chin toward his chest in an approximation of a nod. Eddie exhales, warm against his cheek. His face does something complicated, and then—

I’m sorry, Eddie mouths, and before Buck can figure out what for, white hot pain lances through his chest.

In his mind he screams.

In reality, he bites his tongue hard enough to draw blood. They’re in danger, and he won’t—As long as he’s still breathing, Eddie won’t leave him here. Even if he should. He won’t protect himself, won’t run, won’t hide. The least Buck can do is keep from drawing attention toward them, but in the moment, it feels like the hardest thing he’s ever done.

“—so good,” Eddie breathes into his ear. “I got you; I promise.”

Buck wants to believe that almost as much as he wishes Eddie would just save himself. Every breath he takes is harder than the one before, though, and it occurs to him that soon, he might draw his last. If he has to die, Eddie’s face is a pretty incredible last thing to see. He just wishes it wasn’t twisted in pain and fear.

It takes a minute for Buck to catch up with his own thoughts. Pain. That’s—he’s seen it in Eddie’s expression enough times to know it intimately. Why is he in pain? Eddie presses his cheek to Buck’s before he can interrogate the expression further.

“Slow, steady breaths, okay? You have to breathe through it, even if it feels like you can’t.”

The scrape of Eddie’s jaw against his sends something like a shiver down Buck’s spine. There’s something—something important, but—it feels just out of reach.

“You have to, Buck, I can’t—I just need you to hold on,” Eddie whispers, quietly wrecked.

He’s trying. God is he trying. But it’s—every breath feels like pulling fire into his lungs. With every exhale, he feels a tiny bit weaker, a tiny bit worse. Eddie pulls away slightly, and Buck feels the absence like a missing rib.

“Hear that?” Eddie asks, brushing a thumb across Buck’s cheekbone.

He doesn’t—he doesn’t hear anything other than Eddie, but he’s not sure he wants to.

“We’re so close, Buck.”

Something settles in his chest at the sound of his name on Eddie’s lips, louder than before, drenched in something that sounds like relief. He blinks once, twice, slow and heavy.

“Come on, eyes on me,” Eddie says sharply. And—oh, when did he get so far away?

Eddie pulls the hem of his shirt to his teeth and—oh god. That’s not Buck’s blood. He’s—Eddie’s hurt too, but Buck can’t make his mouth work, can’t even keep his eyes open long enough to—

“No!” Eddie commands. A new pain accompanies his voice. “You’re staying right here with me, got it?”

He has to—has to tell Eddie—he doesn’t—

“That’s perfect, you’re perfect,” Eddie says, eyes shining.

A lump forms in his throat.

“Just keep—c’mon Buck, just keep fighting. I need—you have to be okay.”

He does. He does have to be okay because Eddie’s not and he’s acting like he doesn’t even know.

“Hurt,” Buck forces out.

“I know,” Eddie says, but he doesn’t! “I know it hurts, I’m sorry.”

Buck lets out a frustrated groan. He tries to shake his head, and when that fails, to lift his hand to Eddie’s abdomen.

Eddie turns away from him, and if Buck could scream now, he would.

“Alright,” he says, turning back to Buck. “I’m going to get you onto that gurney. Let me do all the work, okay?”

No! No he can’t! Buck tries to tell him again, tries to force anything through his lips that Eddie will understand. You’re—“hurt,” he manages again. He can’t even lift his hand now. He’s dying and he’s going to take Eddie with him.

Eddie says something he can’t parse, and suddenly he’s moving, being lifted dizzyingly high off the ground. He sees—

A body. A swarm of cops. Uniformed paramedics and EMTs running in every direction imaginable.

One of them, he just needs one of them to look at Eddie. He just needs one of them to see. He’s still walking, still talking. He still has time.

Eddie drops him onto what must be a gurney, and immediately it begins to roll. Buck allows his head to loll away from Eddie and towards—

An EMT! She can—she can do something. She can—

She’s not looking at him.

She’s not looking at Eddie either. She’s looking straight ahead and under any other circumstances Buck would compliment her for her pragmatic understanding of the urgency of the situation. But she’s walking too fast and Eddie’s beginning to stumble.

“Diaz, is that—” Yes, yes! Someone sees him. Someone else knows—

“—were you shot?”

Buck gets his head around just in time to watch Eddie collapse into the arms of a firefighter he doesn’t recognize.

He wants to scream, to sob, to thrash against the restraints keeping him on the gurney. He wants to—

Wants to—

Needs—

Eddie.

[avelera]

Ok so after writing my super depressing extended version of the Jayce/Viktor breakup scene in 2.02, I'm sort of have a craving to write a Jayvik fic that:

Lets me play around with their voices until I get them "right", because I actually think Jayce and Viktor are quite unusual characters who buck a lot of male stereotypes and that makes them very interesting and challenging to write (as in, I've rarely see it done "correctly")

Something a bit more "slice of life" from the good ol' days of their early partnership, because hooo boy the events of Season 2 are just really really depressing and I miss early days Viktor when he still had a spark of hope in his eyes jfc

... Shameless smut. What can I say, I have a very specific scene in mind for them and I wanna write it.

Fortunately, think I can make all three of these things work in one fic.

Unfortunately for me, but fortunately for others, I'm 3,000 words into it and they just barely made it out of the lab. My plan is to write the whole thing tonight though, just like I did with "Catch the Fire" so... expect another one-shot soon?

[platonic-soulmates-gencest]

you said send mommy dean monday headcanons and my first thought was that when they were younger, dean used to cool down sam's soup by blowing on it himself before spoonfeeding sam. he only ever did it with soup (sam had to tough out the rest) but he was still doing it past a traditionally appropriate age and the habit stopped for the same reason they always do (john made a face, dean didn't do it anymore). dean wouldn't do it afterwards unless sam was really sick and the first time jess jokingly blew on sam's soup when he had the flu at stanford he broke down crying

OH MY GOD THIS IS PERFECT

Definitely happened. I don't care what anyone says this is canon to me now!! (Thank you for enlightening my day with this!!)

Dean blowing on Sammy's spoonfuls at first because he had to and later because it had always been like this. Dean knew no other way.

I'm thinking 15 year old Sam just sitting on the table and studying, too engrossed in his reading to eat on his own. Dean doesn't mind. He likes taking care of Sam. His own soup is untouched as he concentrates on feeding Sam without spilling any soup on his books or have Sam burn himself.

John finds them like that.

Dean just greets his dad and continues feeding Sam, who hasn't taken his eyes off his books.

John just keeps staring at them, eyes wide like he's suddenly walked in another universe, like this hasn't happened a million times before.

He talks to Dean about it the next day. Dean stops doing it in front of John.

Eventually, 16 years old Sam decides they have to stop to be normal.

Dean witnesses Sam getting burn or spilling soup on himself countless times after that. He always tries to get the spoon from his brother but stops himself before Sam notices.

When Sam is at Stanford, Jess does it once when Sam is sick. It was supposed to be a romantic gesture. Sam knows that. He knows it but all he can think about was how he misses Dean in the moment. Dean always made colds feel better. And Jess was trying. Sam knew she was trying but she wasn't Dean. Nobody could ever do it like Dean.

They don't get back in the habit of Dean spoonfeeding Sam until years after they've moved to the bunker. When they stop caring about what others think.

They don't do it in front of Mary though. Dean doesn't wanna rub it in how he's always been the one taking care of Sam and not her. Sam kinda wants to show her though. He wants her to know how Dean had always been a better mother than she would ever be.

(Okay, I'm gonna stop. But I kinda want to write more about this... I should add this to my "to write" fic list. Thank you for the ask!)

[rufflebuttercup]

where we left off | will lamontagne [part one]

summary: after a messy divorce, will comes back to new orleans and comes straight to you - because there's nobody else he'd rather go to when his life is falling apart.

a/n: will come back the wife (me) and kids miss you :')

enjoy the fic, and have a fantastic day! <3 requests are open!

note(s): gn!reader & no pronouns used, little terms of endearment (sugar, darlin', etc.), reader and will obviously have accents but i'm not the best at writing them so you'll have to imagine, reader really doesn't like jj (i'm sorry)

word count: 1,773

You and Will been partners for years. You’d been best friends for years. You knew each other better than anyone else did.

At least, that was until JJ came along.

The BAU had been assisting with a case in New Orleans, and it had become very obvious very quickly that JJ and Will had become rather smitten with each other. You’d found them having a drink together in the bar during the case, and that look in Will’s eyes was one that you’d had in yours for years.

And you, with your secret little crush, were devastated. 

After Will left the department and moved to Virginia to marry JJ, you lost contact. Sure, there was the occasional message sent between the two of you, but it had been so long since you’d seen him. Perhaps it was for the best, though. It hurt far too much knowing that the man you loved unconditionally was married to another woman.

Quite honestly, you never thought you’d see him again, so it was a complete shock when he appeared at the New Orleans Police Department one random Tuesday morning. And, judging from the stuffy nose, red-rimmed eyes, and downright sour expression on his face, he wasn’t doing too good.

“Will?!”

Seeing him standing at the door to your office almost felt like some sort of fever dream. 

It had been seven years since he’d moved to Virginia to live with JJ. You couldn’t think about that thought for too long, though. It hurt a little too much. 

You got up from your desk, and after throwing all professionalism out of the window, you practically threw yourself at Will with a squeal of pure excitement, “You’re back! Oh my God, you’re actually back!”

There was a small oof sound as you threw yourself at Will, and then his surprised expression was quickly replaced by that familiar smile that you’d grown so attached to. The one that he’d only give when he was truly happy, “Well, I’ll be damned,” he chuckled, picking you up with ease and spinning you around in a small circle before setting you back down on your feet, “Damn, I missed you.”

“I missed you, too,” your response was immediate. Seven long years with barely any contact between the two of you. It wasn’t hard to admit that you’d missed him more than anything in the entire world, “It’s so good to see you. I didn’t think you’d ever come back to New Orleans.” 

At that, Will’s smile dimmed slightly, and you could’ve sworn that you saw a flash of something akin to guilt in his eyes. Out of habit, one that you’d picked up years ago, you quickly glanced down at his left hand.

His wedding ring was gone. 

There was a heavy silence before he answered, and when he did, his voice was quiet, “Things change, sugar.” 

Sugar. You loved that nickname. He’d called you it once when you’d both been a little bit too inebriated at a Christmas party a couple of years ago when you were relatively new to the NOPD. Since then, it had stuck around, and it made your heart do strange little flips inside your chest whenever he said it so casually. 

“Yeah,” you tore your eyes up from his wedding ring-less finger to meet his eyes. It was only then that you could see the lingering hints of sadness hidden in them, with the tiniest hints of resignation and anger, too, “Things change.”

You’d never wanted to pry into someone’s personal life so badly in your entire life. But, out of respect for him, you didn’t. At least, not in a way that was as forward as you would’ve liked, “How are you doing? Cause, I’ll be honest, you look like shit.”

Will let out a low chuckle at that, and you could’ve sworn that the corners of his lips turned up a little crooked grin that you knew and loved, “You’re the only one who can say I look like shit and get away with it,” that grin on his lips faded slightly, and he ran a hand through his hair as his expression became more somber, “Not exactly been the best few days, sugar.”

You hummed in response to that, rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet slightly as you pursed your lips in thought. Clearly, you weren’t going to get any more out of him, “Well, that’s no good,” and then, a hint of a smile tugged at your lips, “C’mon. You’re coming for a drink with me.”

That pulled an exasperated laugh from Will’s lips, “Of course, that’s your solution.”

“Oh, c’mon, Will. You know me. I’ll never pass up the opportunity for a good drink,” you gave him a gentle shove as you turned on your heel and headed back to your desk, “I’ll finish up, and we’ll go, hm?”

Will laughed at that. You hadn’t realized until that moment how much you’d missed his laugh, “Fine, I’m in,” he ran a hand through his unkept hair, and smiled at you, “You’re very convincing, sugar.”

You snorted at that, “It’s really not that hard to convince you of anything.”

ꨄ︎

“So, what,” you rested your chin in the palm of one hand, and you held your drink tightly with the other, “She loved him all along?!”

Will took a sip of his own drink, his eyes averting from yours as if he was ashamed. That broke your heart, “Pretty much.”

It really hadn’t taken much convincing to get Will to tell you about everything that had been going on in his life. As soon as you’d taken your usual seats at the bar, he’d practically started talking your ear off. You hadn’t even gotten a whiskey in him by that point. 

“Jesus,” you clicked your tongue against your teeth, “She’s been in love with Spencer this whole time?! I always knew she was a…” you were cut off when Will shot you a half amused/half exasperated glance, “Sorry. Just… God, I’m sorry, Will.”

Will chuckled at that, and the sadness behind it was brutal, “There ain’t much I can do about it now, is there?” he took another slow sip of his drink, and he sighed heavily, “Seven years straight down the drain.”

You hummed in response to that, fingertips tapping against your glass, “I don't get it. They've worked together for years. Why didn't she say anything before?”

Will scoffed at that, “There was this whole thing with an unsub, and she says he forced her to say it, but,” he shook his head, and it was only then that you noticed his hand clenched into a tight fist in his lap, “It's the principle. If she kept this from me, then what else did she keep from me? Are the kids even mine? I…”

“Woah. Hey. No,” you grabbed Will's hand, unfurling it so he wasn't digging his nails into his palm, though you tutted at the crescent shaped marks already left on his skin, “You'll spiral if you keep talking like that, Will. You can't afford to spiral.”

Will gave another one of those snorts, but it was a bit less bitter this time, “I'm already spirallin’, sugar,” he shifted his hand slightly so he was holding yours, “I thought we could make it work. We tried for months, but there was always this voice in the back of my head,” he took another sip of his drink, a much longer one this time, “She said she wasn't hidin’ anything else, but…”

“You don't have to explain yourself to me, Will,” despite how much you wanted to know the details, you could tell how much it hurt him to talk about it.

“No, I want to,” Will shot you a look, and he gave your hand the slightest squeeze, “You're the only one I feel like I can trust right now.”

Admittedly, that filled you with so much pride and warmth. He trusted you. You knew that he did, but hearing it made you feel even better, “Is that why you came back? Because of me?”

You hadn't meant to say that, but the words came out of your mouth before you could stop them, and you very quickly realized how desperate it sounded. 

Will scoffed out a laugh at that, but it was a much more cheerful one than you'd heard previously, “As good of a reason as any,” he let go of your hand to reach into his pocket, “Couldn't bring myself to get rid of the ring.”

You stared at the wedding ring as he placed it on the bar, and that was the first time that you actually felt emotional about the entire situation. All for Will's benefit, of course, “Oh, Will…”

He cleared his throat, and that was the first time you noticed that he was teary-eyed, “Like I said. There ain’t much I can do about it now.”

For a long moment, there was a stretch of silence. It wasn't uncomfortable, though. You and Will could happily coexist without words. But then, after finishing his drink, Will turned to face you properly, “I was wonderin’ if…” he almost looked embarrassed, “If you've still got that spare room in your apartment.”

You quirked an eyebrow at that, and the smallest of smirks tugged at the corner of your lips, “I might do.”

There was another pause. It was as if Will was waiting for you to finish his thought. When you didn't, he grumbled, but there was a hint of a smile on his face, “Don't make me sound desperate, sugar.

You laughed at that. You did want to tease him a little, if for no other reason than to make things feel a little more normal, but you couldn't take that look on his face, “Yeah, Will. You can stay with me.”

Will let out a small breath, seemingly out of relief, “Thanks,” he gave you a small smile, one that suited him much more than the sullen expression, “I owe you one.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” you gently shoved his shoulder as you downed the rest of your drink, “You say that every time.”

After seven years, a part of you thought that you'd gotten over your unrequited crush on Will, even though there was a part of you that knew you probably never would. Now, though, having Will back with you felt like some kind of dream. 

Selfishly, as you and Will left the bar and climbed into a cab, there was only one thought running through your mind: this was JJ's loss and your gain.

[badger-tales]

Partners in Crime// G.W x reader

a/n: my requests are open guys who and what i write is pinned on my account

request: George x reader and their strictly best friends, except everyone thinks their dating and they just go around messing with people to keep the joke going

(I just need platonic Twins fics 😭😭😭)

word count: 8.4k

The Gryffindor common room was alive with its usual post-dinner energy, the air filled with laughter, the crackle of the fireplace, and the clatter of chess pieces as students played games. The warm glow from the fire cast dancing shadows across the walls, making the room feel cozy and inviting. 

You were perched on the arm of a well-worn sofa, a thick book propped open in your lap. The chatter of your friends filled the air around you, but you were focused on the passage you were reading for Defense Against the Dark Arts, trying to ignore the distractions. It was a futile effort, of course, given where you were.

George Weasley’s voice cut through the noise, a familiar, teasing tone that made your heart skip a beat even as it annoyed you. He strolled over casually, his usual mischievous grin in place, and without missing a beat, he draped an arm around your shoulders, leaning in close to peer over at your book.

"What’s this, then? Some kind of romantic novel?" he teased, his breath warm against your ear. The proximity made your pulse quicken, but you kept your expression neutral.

You rolled your eyes, shoving him lightly with your free hand, though there was a smile tugging at your lips.  

"It’s for Defense Against the Dark Arts, you git," you shot back, trying to keep your tone serious, though the corner of your mouth betrayed you by curling upward.

George chuckled, unfazed, his arm still resting comfortably around you as if it belonged there.  

"Well, it’s a shame," he said with a mock sigh, "because I was hoping for some juicy plot twists."

The two of you exchanged playful banter, a dance you both knew well. George always had a way of disarming you, his easy charm and effortless humor breaking through your concentration no matter how hard you tried to focus. But what you didn’t notice was the way a group of first-year students huddled nearby, whispering behind cupped hands as they shot glances in your direction.

"I swear they’re dating, right?" one of the younger students murmured, her wide eyes darting between you and George. "They’re always like that."

"Definitely," her friend agreed, nodding vigorously. "I mean, look how comfortable they are together."

You didn’t hear their words, but you could feel the curious eyes on you. George seemed completely unfazed, still leaning against you as he pretended to be deeply interested in the contents of your textbook. He was so close you could smell the faint scent of broomstick polish and the lingering aroma of dinner on him.

"You know, if you’re going to keep pestering me, you could at least try to be useful," you quipped, closing the book with a decisive thud and turning to meet his gaze. 

George’s eyes sparkled with amusement as he shrugged, finally releasing his hold on your shoulders but not before giving them a gentle squeeze.  

"Useful? I thought I was here for moral support," he said with a mock-serious tone, pressing a hand to his chest as if deeply offended.

"Moral support, my arse," you muttered, though you couldn’t help but laugh. It was always like this with George—easy, comfortable, full of light-hearted teasing that made everything else fade away, if only for a moment.

But as you shared this lighthearted moment, the whispers around the common room grew louder. The younger students weren’t the only ones who had noticed the way George leaned into you, or the way your eyes lit up whenever he was around. A few Gryffindors near the fireplace exchanged knowing glances, nudging each other with grins that said, I told you so.

Unaware of the spreading gossip, you gathered your things, preparing to leave.  

"Alright, Weasley, if you’re not going to help, at least don’t distract me," you said, standing up and slinging your bag over your shoulder.

George gave you a mock salute, still grinning.  

"Aye, aye, captain. But you know where to find me if you need more... moral support." He winked, causing a fresh wave of giggles from the onlookers.

As you turned to head toward the girls’ dormitory, you couldn’t shake the feeling that half the room was watching your every move. You shot a quick, confused glance around the room, but everyone seemed to quickly turn back to their conversations. 

With a final wave over your shoulder, you made your way up the stairs, George’s playful words still ringing in your ears. What you didn’t realize was that, in your wake, the rumors were already beginning to spread, the whispers of a budding romance between you and George Weasley taking on a life of their own.

Because to everyone else, the way he looked at you, the way he lingered just a bit too long, was all the proof they needed.

The Gryffindor common room continued to buzz with activity, the sound of chatter and laughter blending into a comforting hum. You were halfway up the stairs when you heard a familiar voice call out to you, stopping you in your tracks. 

"Hey, wait up!" George’s voice rang out, filled with that unmistakable tone of mischief. You turned, eyebrow raised, as he strolled toward you, that all-too-familiar grin already spreading across his face.

He tilted his head slightly, leaning in closer, his eyes glinting with amusement.  

"Did you hear that?" he whispered, though not quite softly enough to be discreet. His eyes flicked toward the group of first-years who were still gathered nearby, their heads bent close as they whispered furiously. 

You smirked, already knowing exactly where this was headed. George’s mischievous grin was enough to clue you in on what he had overheard, and you couldn’t help but play along. You tilted your head, giving him a knowing look.  

"Shall we give them something to talk about?" you asked, your voice dripping with mock seriousness.

George’s grin widened, his eyes lighting up with delight. He turned slightly, his posture shifting as he leaned in even closer, his lips brushing against your ear. His voice was just loud enough for the nearby students to hear, carrying easily across the room.  

"So," he began, his tone smooth, "when are we announcing our relationship to everyone, love?"

The word "love" made your heart skip a beat, but you quickly masked it with an exaggerated, dramatic sigh, rolling your eyes for good measure.  

"Oh, George," you replied, loud enough for the eavesdroppers, "you know I can’t commit until you finally get me that pet Niffler you promised."

George chuckled, his eyes sparkling as he straightened up, clearly enjoying the performance. The group of first-year students let out a collective gasp, their eyes going wide as they turned to each other, whispering even more furiously. It was as if they’d just stumbled upon the juiciest piece of gossip in the entire castle.

You exchanged a quick glance with George, and that was all it took for the two of you to burst into laughter. As George lifted his hand, you gave him a secret high-five, the two of you trying to keep your faces straight even as you fought back laughter.

The younger students were practically vibrating with excitement, their eyes wide as they shot glances your way. They clearly couldn’t believe they’d just witnessed what they thought was the confirmation of Gryffindor’s newest romance.

George nudged you playfully with his elbow, his eyes still glinting with mischief.  

"Think they bought it?" he asked, his voice low, meant just for you.

You shrugged, smirking.  

"Oh, definitely," you said, stealing a glance at the group. They were still staring, practically on the edge of their seats. "But you do realize you’re going to have to keep this up now, right? They’re going to expect some very public displays of affection."

George sighed dramatically, placing a hand over his heart.  

"Ah, the things I do for love," he said, a mock expression of suffering on his face.

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled up inside you.  

"You’re impossible, Weasley."

"And yet, you still put up with me," he shot back, his grin widening.

You shook your head, the two of you turning back toward the common room. As you walked back together, you exchanged glances, trying to hold back your laughter while the whispers continued behind you, growing louder with each passing second. 

If they’re going to make assumptions, we might as well have some fun with it.

It wasn’t like this was anything new—people had been making comments about you and George for years. The only difference now was that you both decided to lean into it. Besides, the looks on the younger students’ faces had been priceless. And the best part? You knew George well enough to know that this was just the beginning.

As you settled back into the common room, George flopped down beside you, his arm draped casually across the back of the sofa, brushing against your shoulder. He winked at you, his expression still filled with that familiar mischief. 

"So, about that Niffler," he said, his voice teasing. "Do I actually have to track one down, or will a chocolate frog do the trick?"

You let out a groan, swatting at his arm.  

"Keep dreaming, Weasley."

But even as you rolled your eyes, you couldn’t deny the warmth that spread through your chest. There was something about George—the way he made everything feel lighter, like it was all just a big joke you could laugh your way through—that made all the rumors, all the whispers, feel a lot less daunting.

And as the fire crackled softly beside you, the two of you settled back into the couch, the rest of the common room slowly fading into the background. Whatever the rest of the castle thought, whatever assumptions they made—you didn’t really mind. Because in this moment, surrounded by warmth and laughter, there was nowhere else you’d rather be.

The dungeon classroom was dimly lit, the flickering light from the torches casting long, wavering shadows across the damp stone walls. The heavy scent of bubbling concoctions filled the air, mingling with the cool, musty smell of the underground chamber. Students were hunched over their cauldrons, trying their best to follow the complicated instructions on the blackboard while avoiding the ever-watchful gaze of Professor Snape.

You and George had been paired together for the double Potions lesson, a decision that, quite frankly, had likely been made to punish the both of you. Snape’s disapproving glare seemed to linger longer on your table, as if expecting something disastrous to happen any second.

"Darling," George said, his voice pitched loud enough for the students nearby to hear, "would you pass me the powdered asphodel?" He shot you a flirtatious grin, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

You couldn’t help but play along, feeling the amused glances from your fellow Gryffindors and the irritated stares from the Slytherins. You let out an exaggerated sigh, clasping your hands to your chest as if overwhelmed by his request.  

"Anything for you, dear," you replied, handing him the jar with a flourish, trying to suppress the giggle that bubbled up inside you.

As George began measuring the powdered asphodel into your cauldron, you heard a low, annoyed mutter from the next table.  

"Can they get a room already?" Draco Malfoy grumbled to Blaise Zabini, his voice dripping with disdain.

George’s grin widened. He leaned closer to you, his voice loud enough for the entire dungeon to hear.  

"Oh, did you hear that?" he said, winking at you. "Seems we’re making some people jealous."

A chorus of groans erupted from the Slytherin side of the room, their expressions ranging from disgusted to bored. You could see Pansy Parkinson roll her eyes dramatically, while Blaise just shook his head in exasperation. 

But George was in his element now, thoroughly enjoying the reactions. You tried to focus on your potion, but George’s infectious energy was impossible to resist. Just as he leaned in to whisper another teasing comment, the air around you seemed to drop a few degrees.

"If you two are quite finished with your nauseating display," came the unmistakable, cold drawl of Professor Snape from directly behind you. You both froze, George’s grin faltering slightly as you turned to face your Potions master. Snape’s dark eyes were narrowed into thin slits, his expression one of pure annoyance.  

"Perhaps you could focus on your potion before you turn the entire class into frogs," Snape continued, his tone dripping with disdain.

George, however, was not one to be intimidated so easily. With a mock-serious expression, he straightened up and gave Snape a cheeky salute.  

"Anything for you, Professor," he said, his voice smooth and confident. "But I must warn you, my lady here has stolen my heart, and I fear I’m distracted."

You bit down hard on your lip to keep from laughing, your shoulders shaking slightly as you tried to maintain some semblance of composure. Snape’s expression, however, was as stony as ever.  

"Ten points from Gryffindor," he said coldly, not missing a beat, before turning sharply on his heel and sweeping away like an ominous shadow.

As soon as Snape was out of earshot, George turned to you with an exaggerated look of shock, clutching his chest.  

"My, my, ten points," he said with mock horror. "Who knew our love was so costly?"

You couldn’t hold back your laughter this time, the sound escaping you in a bright burst that drew a few curious glances from your fellow Gryffindors.  

"You’re impossible," you muttered, shaking your head as you stirred your potion, trying to salvage whatever focus you had left.

The rest of the class passed in a blur of suppressed giggles and exaggerated sighs. George made a point of calling you “darling” and “love” every chance he got, much to the annoyance of the Slytherins. But despite Snape’s glares and the occasional warning, you managed to finish your potion without blowing anything up—a success, given the circumstances.

As the bell rang, signaling the end of the lesson, you gathered your things and made your way toward the door with George beside you. The dungeon was slowly emptying, students hurrying to escape Snape’s oppressive presence.

"Ten points, really?" you asked, raising an eyebrow at George as you nudged him with your elbow. "Was it worth it?"

George turned to you with that familiar, mischievous grin that made your heart do a little flip.  

"Absolutely," he replied, not missing a beat. "Besides, we’re just getting started. I have plenty more where that came from."

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head as the two of you ascended the stairs, leaving the cold, dark dungeon behind.  

"You’re going to get us both into trouble," you warned, though there was no real heat behind your words. 

"Ah, but you love it," George teased, nudging you with his shoulder as you reached the top of the stairs. The light from the corridor above was warm and inviting, a stark contrast to the gloomy dungeons below.

And you couldn’t deny it. The playful banter, the shared glances, the way George’s laughter made everything seem lighter—it was all worth it. If they were going to keep spreading rumors, you might as well enjoy yourselves in the process.

As you walked side by side, the castle alive with the sounds of students heading to their next class, you couldn’t help but feel a little thrill of excitement. Whatever was brewing between you and George—whether it was real or just an elaborate game—one thing was certain: this was only the beginning. 

And if George had anything to say about it, he’d make sure it was a story that the entire school would be talking about for weeks to come.

Hogsmeade was bustling with life, the crisp chill of the late autumn air biting at your cheeks as students wandered between shops, their breath visible in the cold air. The village was alive with laughter, the scent of fresh pastries wafting from Honeydukes, and the sound of cheerful chatter filling the cobbled streets. 

You and George had decided to take your little act outside the confines of the castle, fully committing to the role of Hogwarts' most outrageous couple. As you strolled down the main street, George’s arm was looped securely through yours, his warmth a pleasant contrast to the chilly breeze. Every now and then, he’d lean in close, murmuring playful comments that sent you into fits of laughter.

As you passed by The Three Broomsticks, you couldn’t help but notice a couple of Ravenclaw students nudging each other and pointing in your direction, their eyes wide with curiosity. George, ever the performer, turned to you with an exaggeratedly swooning expression.

"Oh, darling," he drawled dramatically, making sure his voice carried just enough to be overheard, "shall we grab a Butterbeer? My heart longs to share a drink with you."

You nodded enthusiastically, your eyes sparkling with mischief as you played along.  

"Yes, my love," you replied in a breathy tone, "but only if you promise to share it with me. You know how I adore drinking from your cup."

The Ravenclaws’ jaws practically dropped, their whispers turning into full-blown speculation. You could hear snippets of their conversation as you and George continued on your way, barely containing your giggles.

The two of you ducked into The Three Broomsticks, the warmth of the pub enveloping you instantly. George guided you to a corner table, where you ordered a single Butterbeer. When it arrived, George made a show of taking a sip before passing it to you with a flourish. 

"A sip for you, my beloved," he said, leaning back with a satisfied grin.

You took the mug, holding his gaze with a dramatic sigh.  

"Oh, George, you’re too good to me," you said, taking a long, exaggerated sip as you locked eyes with him, both of you trying not to burst into laughter.

As you left the pub, cheeks warm from the Butterbeer and the laughter, you turned the corner and nearly collided with two familiar faces: Fred Weasley and Lee Jordan. They were lingering near the entrance to Zonko’s Joke Shop, their eyes widening in surprise as they took in the sight of you and George, still walking arm in arm.

"Well, well," Fred said, raising an eyebrow with a smirk. "So, it’s official, then? Hogwarts’ newest couple?"

George’s grin widened, and without missing a beat, he threw an arm around your shoulders, pulling you in close.  

"Jealous, brother?" he teased, his tone dripping with mock arrogance. "She’s finally realized I’m the better-looking twin."

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, playing along with an exaggerated sigh as you patted George’s cheek.  

"I settled for him, Fred. Sorry," you said with a wink, earning a burst of laughter from Fred.

Lee Jordan shook his head, a grin spreading across his face.  

"You two are absolutely insufferable," he said, crossing his arms as he watched the two of you with a mix of amusement and exasperation. "But I have to admit, it’s entertaining."

George shrugged, unfazed.  

"We aim to please," he said, giving you a quick wink that sent another round of giggles through you.

Fred, ever the curious one, leaned in a bit closer, his eyes narrowing playfully.  

"So, how long is this charade going to last?" he asked, his voice low enough so that only the four of you could hear.

You and George exchanged a quick, conspiratorial glance before turning back to Fred and Lee.  

"Who says it’s a charade?" you said with a sly smile, raising an eyebrow.

George nodded in agreement, squeezing your shoulders with a grin.  

"Maybe it’s real," he said with a tone of mock seriousness that had you biting your lip to keep from laughing. "Maybe I’ve won her over with my undeniable charm."

Fred snorted, shaking his head in disbelief.  

"Well, if that’s the case, you’d better treat her right, or I’ll have to step in," he said, giving George a friendly shove.

"You wish, Fred," you teased, wagging a finger at him. "You missed your chance. I’m afraid George has stolen my heart."

Lee threw his hands up in mock surrender, his laughter blending with the sounds of the bustling village around you.  

"Alright, alright, I can’t take any more of this lovey-dovey nonsense," he said, shaking his head. "You two are a menace to society."

As you all laughed, the tension that had built up from pretending to be a couple for the entire afternoon began to ease, and you realized just how much you were enjoying this little game with George. There was a thrill in it—a spark that made your heart beat just a bit faster whenever he leaned in close or threw you one of his mischievous grins.

As Fred and Lee waved goodbye, heading off toward Honeydukes, George turned to you, his smile softening just a touch now that you were alone again. The playful act you’d been putting on all day had been fun, but there was something different in his eyes now—something that made your stomach flutter.

"So," he said, his voice low and teasing, "should we keep this up, or do you think we’ve caused enough chaos for one day?"

You pretended to think about it, tapping your chin thoughtfully.  

"Hmm, well, I suppose we could stop... but where’s the fun in that?" you replied, grinning up at him.

George’s eyes lit up, his grin turning into a full-on laugh as he leaned in closer.  

"That’s the spirit," he said, his voice a soft whisper against your ear. "Let’s see how long we can keep them guessing."

As you walked through Hogsmeade, arm in arm once more, the crisp air biting at your cheeks, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself. What had started as a silly game to mess with the rumor mill had turned into something that made your heart race in a way you hadn’t expected.

And with George by your side, you knew that the fun was only just beginning.

The Gryffindor stands were a sea of red and gold, students cheering at the top of their lungs as the players zoomed overhead. The sound of roaring chants and the blare of magical trumpets filled the air, making the crisp afternoon even more electric. The match against Ravenclaw was in full swing, and the Gryffindor team was putting on a spectacular show.

You stood near the front of the stands, a homemade banner clutched tightly in your hands. The words “GO GEORGE! ❤️” glittered in bright red and gold, the enchanted letters shimmering under the afternoon sun. You had spent hours on it, determined to make it as eye-catching as possible. After all, if you were going to commit to this act, you might as well go all out.

As George zoomed by on his broom, his eyes scanning the stands, you cupped your hands around your mouth and yelled at the top of your lungs,  

"That’s my boyfriend!"

A few students around you gasped, some even clapping in response, their eyes widening in surprise. The bold declaration seemed to send a ripple through the crowd, the whispers starting up almost immediately. You could practically feel the rumor mill turning as your voice carried over the noise of the match.

Up in the air, George turned his head toward you, a grin spreading across his face as he caught sight of your enthusiastic display. Next to him, Fred shook his head in mock exasperation, leaning closer to his twin as they dodged a speeding Bludger.

"Merlin’s sake, George," Fred called out over the roar of the crowd, "you’ve got her whipped."

George just laughed, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he shot you a wink before racing off to intercept a Ravenclaw Chaser. Your heart did a little flip, but you quickly reminded yourself that it was all part of the game—the act you two had been putting on for weeks now. Still, there was something thrilling about seeing him smile like that, knowing it was because of you.

The game continued with Gryffindor dominating the pitch, and the stands were filled with cheers when the final whistle blew. Gryffindor had won, and the entire house erupted into joyous celebration. Scarlet and gold confetti rained down from above, enchanted by some particularly enthusiastic seventh-years, and the sound of victory chants filled the air.

You were making your way down from the stands when George appeared out of nowhere, still in his Quidditch gear, his face flushed from the cold air and the thrill of victory. Without warning, he sprinted toward you, scooping you up into his arms and spinning you around.

"Anything for my biggest fan!" he shouted, his voice full of laughter as he spun you in circles. The students around you erupted into cheers and wolf whistles, only adding to the frenzy. You could hear snippets of conversations—“I knew they were together!” and “Did you see that? They’re so cute!”

As he set you down, you were both breathless from laughter. George leaned in close, his lips brushing your ear so that only you could hear him over the noise.  

"I think we’ve convinced the entire school by now," you whispered, your breath warm against his cheek.

George’s grin was wicked, his eyes gleaming with delight.  

"Oh, we’re not stopping yet," he replied, his voice a low, teasing murmur that sent a shiver down your spine. He pulled back slightly to look at you, his gaze lingering on your face longer than necessary, and for a moment, the world seemed to fall away. 

You could feel your cheeks heating up under his intense gaze, but you refused to back down, raising an eyebrow.  

"You do realize this act might come back to bite you, Weasley," you teased, unable to stop the grin that was tugging at your lips.

He shrugged, completely unfazed.  

"Worth it," he said simply, giving you that lopsided smile that always made your heart race. "Besides, if I get to see you cheering like that every match, I’d say it’s a fair trade."

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the warmth that spread through your chest.  

"Fine," you said, poking him playfully in the chest. "But don’t think this means I’m making another banner for the next match."

"We’ll see about that," George replied, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. 

The Gryffindor team began making their way off the pitch, but George stayed by your side, his arm draped casually around your shoulders as if it were the most natural thing in the world. The two of you strolled back toward the castle, the cheers and celebrations fading into the background.

You couldn’t help but steal a glance up at him, your heart doing that annoying fluttering thing again. What had started as a joke—a way to mess with the gossip mill—was starting to feel... real. But you pushed that thought aside. This was George, after all. Your best friend, your partner in crime. Surely, this was all just part of the act.

But as you walked back together, surrounded by the glow of a Gryffindor victory and the laughter of your friends, you couldn’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, there was something more to the way George was looking at you now. 

And if there wasn’t? Well, you’d cross that bridge when you got to it. For now, you were content to bask in the warmth of the moment, George’s arm around you, and the thrill of knowing that whatever came next, you’d face it together.

Because if there was one thing you were sure of, it was that with George Weasley by your side, life would never be boring.

Professor McGonagall’s office was as imposing as ever, with its high ceilings, dark wooden furniture, and the ever-present scent of parchment and ink. The sunlight streaming through the tall windows did little to soften the stern atmosphere. As you and George sat side by side in the stiff, uncomfortable chairs facing her desk, you couldn’t help but feel like two children caught with their hands in the cookie jar.

Professor McGonagall sat behind her desk, her eyes sharp as she looked over her spectacles, fixing the two of you with a gaze that could rival a hawk’s. Despite her stern demeanor, there was a flicker of something in her eyes—something that looked suspiciously like amusement.

"I’ve received multiple reports," she began, her tone clipped and no-nonsense, "that you two have been... distracting the other students."

You could feel George shift beside you, and out of the corner of your eye, you saw him lean forward, his signature grin already forming.  

"Just spreading a little love, Professor," George said with a wink, his voice smooth and confident. 

You bit back a laugh, trying to keep a straight face as McGonagall’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. But there was no stopping George once he got started. He was in his element, charming and cheeky as ever, and you could tell he was enjoying every second of this.

Not wanting to be left out of the fun, you nodded earnestly, turning your best innocent expression toward McGonagall.  

"It’s all in good fun, Professor," you chimed in, your voice as sweet as honey. "We promise we’ll behave."

McGonagall’s lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes darting between the two of you. For a moment, the silence in the room was so heavy you could practically hear the tick of the clock on her wall. But then, the corners of her mouth twitched, just the tiniest bit, as if she were fighting a smile. 

"You two," she said slowly, adjusting her spectacles, "are a menace." She let out a long, suffering sigh, but there was no mistaking the hint of amusement in her eyes now.  

"While I understand that... enthusiasm is to be expected from Gryffindors, I would appreciate it if you could channel that energy into your studies, rather than—" she paused, searching for the right word, "public displays."

George shot you a triumphant look, his grin widening.  

"See, love," he said, nudging you playfully, "even Professor McGonagall can’t resist our charm."

You rolled your eyes, nudging him back.  

"Careful, Weasley," you muttered under your breath, "or she’ll deduct even more points from Gryffindor."

McGonagall cleared her throat pointedly, drawing your attention back to her.  

"If you two are quite finished," she said, though the slight quirk of her lips betrayed her struggle to maintain her stern demeanor, "I suggest you remember that not all of your professors are as... lenient as I am."

You both nodded quickly, trying to look as repentant as possible.  

"Of course, Professor," you said, putting on your most serious face. "We’ll be on our best behavior from now on."

"Scout’s honor," George added, raising his hand in a mock salute.

McGonagall’s eyes narrowed once more, though there was a lightness to her gaze that hadn’t been there at the beginning of your little meeting. She let out a soft, almost inaudible sigh, then leaned back in her chair.

"See that you do," she said finally, her tone firm but not unkind. "I don’t want to hear any more complaints from the staff... or the students."

As she dismissed you with a wave of her hand, you and George quickly stood, practically tripping over each other in your eagerness to escape before she changed her mind. The door closed behind you with a quiet click, and the two of you exchanged a quick glance before bursting into laughter as you made your way down the corridor.

"Spreading a little love, huh?" you teased, giving George a playful shove as you walked. "I’m pretty sure McGonagall almost turned you into a toad back there."

George shrugged, his grin as wide as ever.  

"Worth it," he said with a wink. "Besides, I’m pretty sure we got her to smile. That’s a win in my book."

You laughed, shaking your head in disbelief.  

"You’re ridiculous, Weasley," you said, though the fondness in your voice was impossible to hide.

He threw an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close as you walked down the corridor together.  

"Ah, but you love it," he teased, giving you a sidelong glance. 

You didn’t deny it. Because as infuriating as George could be, there was something undeniably fun about the way he could turn even a stern lecture into a shared adventure. And as you walked back toward the Gryffindor common room, still giggling like first-years, you realized that maybe, just maybe, this little act you two had started wasn’t entirely an act anymore.

Whatever it was, it was yours, and you weren’t ready for it to end anytime soon. 

Because with George Weasley by your side, life was always an adventure—one that you were more than happy to keep going on.

The empty classroom near the dungeons was dimly lit, the dusty air carrying the faint scent of old parchment and forgotten potions. It was the perfect spot for a bit of mischief, away from the prying eyes of teachers and prefects. The corridor just outside was bustling with students heading to their next classes, and the faint echo of footsteps filled the air.

You and George stood just inside the doorway, exchanging a quick, conspiratorial glance. This was it—your most dramatic performance yet. The plan was simple but brilliant: stage a fake argument, draw in an audience, and watch the confusion unfold. It was George’s idea, naturally, but you had been more than happy to play along.

The moment you heard the sound of approaching footsteps, George leapt into action, staggering out into the corridor with all the subtlety of a theater actor in his prime.  

"How could you betray me like this?!" he bellowed, his voice carrying down the corridor. He clutched his chest dramatically and, to your utter delight, dropped to his knees as if he’d been struck by a curse.

A group of Slytherins passing by froze in their tracks, eyes wide as they turned to watch the scene unfold. You had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing, but you quickly composed yourself, crossing your arms and fixing George with a glare that could have melted ice.

"You brought this upon yourself, George," you retorted, your voice dripping with mock fury. "You never appreciated me!"

George’s eyes widened, and he raised his hands to the sky as if appealing to some higher power.  

"But, darling," he cried out, his voice filled with exaggerated despair, "after everything we’ve been through! You’re tearing my heart to pieces!"

The Slytherins exchanged bewildered looks, clearly torn between staying to watch the drama and hurrying to their next class. You could hear a few muffled snickers and even a couple of gasps as George continued his over-the-top performance, crawling a few inches closer to you on his knees.

"It’s too late, George!" you declared, turning your back on him with a dramatic flick of your hair. "You’ve made your choice. Now live with it!"

George, not missing a beat, threw himself onto the cold stone floor, reaching out toward you with one hand as if he were in some tragic love story.  

"Don’t leave me!" he shouted, his voice cracking with faux emotion. "I can change, I swear it!"

The Slytherins were now fully invested. A few had even stopped in their tracks to watch the spectacle, their eyes darting between you and George like they were watching the latest drama unfold in the Great Hall. 

But as soon as the last of the Slytherins turned the corner, their laughter and whispers fading into the distance, you and George burst into laughter, the sound echoing through the now-empty corridor. 

"Did you see their faces?" George gasped between bouts of laughter, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. "I swear I saw Blaise Zabini almost choke on his own tongue!"

You leaned against the wall for support, your sides aching from laughing so hard.  

"Honestly, George," you managed to get out, still giggling, "I think you missed your calling as a professional actor."

George grinned, standing up and brushing the dust off his knees.  

"Well, what can I say? I’m a man of many talents," he replied with a wink. 

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face.  

"If only you used your powers for good," you teased, nudging him playfully with your shoulder.

"Ah, but where’s the fun in that?" he shot back, his grin widening. He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Besides, it’s a lot more entertaining to keep them guessing, don’t you think?"

You had to admit, he had a point. Stirring up the rumor mill and playing off the assumptions everyone made about the two of you had become a game—one that you were both enjoying far more than you cared to admit.

As you both gathered yourselves, preparing to head to your next class, George reached out and grabbed your hand, giving it a quick squeeze.  

"Thanks for playing along," he said, his tone softer now, the mischief in his eyes giving way to something warmer. 

You squeezed his hand back, your smile turning genuine.  

"Always," you replied. 

The two of you walked down the corridor side by side, the sounds of the school day resuming around you. Whatever chaos and rumors you had stirred up today, it was worth it—for the laughter, the shared glances, and the unspoken connection that seemed to grow stronger with each new prank.

Because as much as it was all a game, there was a part of you that was starting to wonder if maybe, just maybe, there was something real beneath all the teasing and the jokes. 

And if George’s lingering gaze and the way his hand lingered in yours were any indication, you weren’t the only one thinking it. 

The Gryffindor common room was dimly lit, the soft glow from the dying embers in the fireplace casting a warm, flickering light over the room. Most students had already gone to bed, leaving the space quiet and peaceful. The usual hustle and bustle had faded to a comforting hush, the only sound the occasional crackle from the hearth.

You and George were sitting together on one of the overstuffed sofas, still riding the high from your latest prank in the dungeons. The two of you were talking in hushed voices, trying not to wake the stragglers dozing by the fire. It was one of those rare, calm moments where you could actually catch your breath and just enjoy each other’s company.

But that peace was short-lived. 

Fred and Lee Jordan appeared seemingly out of nowhere, their expressions a mix of exasperation and amusement. They cornered you and George like two parents about to scold their mischievous children. Fred crossed his arms over his chest, while Lee leaned casually against the back of the sofa, his eyebrows raised in mock seriousness.

"Alright, you two," Lee began, his voice low but firm. "You’ve fooled the entire school. So, are you secretly dating, or are you just completely mad?"

You exchanged a quick, mischievous glance with George, the unspoken challenge clear in both your eyes. There was no need for words between you—it was as if you could read each other’s minds. George leaned back with that trademark grin of his, looking as relaxed as ever. 

"Nope," he said, the grin spreading wider as he looked from Lee to Fred. "Just having the time of our lives."

Fred groaned, running a hand through his hair.  

"You two are absolutely ridiculous," he said, shaking his head in disbelief. "Honestly, how long do you think you can keep this up before someone catches on?"

You shrugged nonchalantly, leaning into George’s side with a grin.  

"As long as it’s fun, I suppose," you replied, shooting Fred a playful wink. "After all, why stop now when we’ve got the whole school eating out of the palm of our hands?"

Lee let out a low chuckle, clearly trying to suppress a smile.  

"I’ve got to admit," he said, shaking his head, "I didn’t think you two could keep it going for this long. But I have to know... is it really all just a game?"

George tilted his head, pretending to consider the question as he draped an arm over your shoulders, pulling you in just a little closer.  

"A game?" he echoed, his tone playful. "Maybe. Or maybe we’re just too good at keeping secrets."

The way George’s fingers absentmindedly played with the ends of your hair sent a shiver down your spine, but you refused to let it show. You had to keep up the act, even if your heart was starting to betray you with how it skipped a beat whenever George looked at you like that.

Fred narrowed his eyes, clearly not convinced.  

"You’re both mad," he declared, though there was an unmistakable note of admiration in his voice. "But I’ll admit, it’s impressive. Even McGonagall seems to be buying it."

"Ah, but that’s the beauty of it, Fred," George replied, giving his brother a cheeky grin. "Why spoil the fun by admitting anything? As long as they keep guessing, we’re winning."

You couldn’t help but laugh at that.  

"Besides," you added, looking up at George with a playful smirk, "who’s to say what’s real and what’s not? Maybe even we don’t know anymore."

The way George’s eyes softened as he looked down at you made your heart flutter, but you quickly turned your attention back to Fred and Lee. Whatever was happening between you and George, it was yours to figure out in your own time. For now, you were content to let everyone else wonder.

Lee let out a dramatic sigh, pushing himself off the back of the sofa.  

"Well, whatever this is," he said, waving a hand between the two of you, "just know that half the school is rooting for you to end up together for real."

George just shrugged, his grin never faltering.  

"Let them root," he said with a wink. "We’ve got a good thing going here, don’t we, love?"

You nodded, playing along as you leaned your head against his shoulder.  

"The best," you agreed, your voice soft but filled with genuine affection.

Fred and Lee exchanged a knowing look before turning to leave, shaking their heads with exasperated smiles.  

"Alright, you two troublemakers," Fred called over his shoulder. "Just don’t get caught by Snape. I don’t fancy losing any more points for Gryffindor because of your little... escapades."

As they disappeared up the stairs, the common room fell quiet once more. George turned to you, his playful demeanor softening as he searched your eyes. 

"So," he murmured, his voice low, just for you, "think we convinced them?"

You laughed softly, shaking your head.  

"I think they’re just as confused as the rest of the school," you replied, meeting his gaze. "But that’s part of the fun, isn’t it?"

George’s smile faded into something softer, something almost vulnerable. For a moment, the line between what was real and what was pretend seemed to blur, and you couldn’t tell if the warmth in his eyes was just part of the act. 

"Yeah," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "I guess it is."

For a heartbeat, the world seemed to narrow down to just the two of you, the flickering firelight casting dancing shadows across George’s freckled face. You could feel the unspoken question hanging between you, but neither of you was ready to answer it just yet.

Instead, you leaned into him, letting the comfortable warmth of his arm around you chase away the lingering doubts. Whatever this was—whether it was a game or something more—you were happy to keep playing along. Because for now, this felt good. This felt right.

And maybe, just maybe, you’d figure out the rest later. 

For now, you were content to let the rest of the castle wonder, while you enjoyed the comfortable closeness that came with being George Weasley’s partner in crime.

The Great Hall was buzzing with the usual morning chaos, the clatter of cutlery, the chatter of students, and the occasional hoot from the owls delivering the morning post. The long tables were filled with students eagerly digging into their breakfast, completely unaware that they were about to witness the culmination of a weeks-long prank.

You and George exchanged a conspiratorial grin as you stood near the entrance, ready to put an end to the elaborate charade that had kept the entire school guessing. With a quick nod, George took a deep breath, and with his signature grin plastered on his face, he climbed up onto the Gryffindor table, his goblet in hand.

The sound of metal clinking against glass cut through the noise, and heads turned, students pausing mid-bite to see what was happening. George cleared his throat dramatically, raising his goblet high above his head.

"Everyone! Attention, please!" he called out, his voice carrying across the hall. The usual hum of conversation quieted as every pair of eyes turned to him. You could see a mix of confusion, curiosity, and excitement on their faces as they wondered what George Weasley could possibly have up his sleeve this time.

Taking a deep breath, you joined him on the table, standing by his side as you looked out at the sea of expectant faces. The two of you had practiced this moment, and now it was time to deliver the punchline.

"We have an announcement to make!" George declared, his grin widening as he placed an arm around your shoulders. You could feel the tension in the room rising, everyone hanging on his every word. 

With a flourish, you took over, projecting your voice so everyone could hear.  

"We’re not dating," you announced, your voice carrying clearly across the hall. "It was all a prank."

For a moment, there was stunned silence. Then, the hall erupted into chaos—a mix of laughter, groans, and applause as the students realized they’d been had. Some of the Ravenclaws looked impressed, the Hufflepuffs shook their heads in disbelief, and the Slytherins wore expressions that ranged from amused to annoyed. 

Down at the Gryffindor table, Fred leaned back in his seat, clapping slowly with a grin stretching across his face.  

"Well played, you two," he called out, his voice carrying above the laughter. "Well played indeed."

Beside him, Lee Jordan was practically doubled over, clutching his stomach as he laughed.  

"You two are absolute legends," he managed to get out between gasps. 

As the applause died down, George hopped off the table and offered you his hand to help you down. The hall was still buzzing with laughter as students began to piece together all the ridiculous moments they had witnessed over the past few weeks. The way George had swooned over you, the staged arguments, the over-the-top displays of affection—it all made sense now.

As you made your way out of the Great Hall, George leaned in close, his voice low and teasing.  

"So," he said, nudging you playfully with his shoulder, "what’s our next act of chaos?"

You grinned up at him, your eyes sparkling with mischief.  

"Oh, I’ve got plenty of ideas," you replied, your voice full of promise. "Hogwarts isn’t ready for us."

George let out a laugh that was pure delight, the kind that made your heart skip a beat. He threw his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close as you walked down the corridor together.  

"That’s my girl," he said with a proud grin. "Can’t wait, partner."

As the two of you strolled through the castle, the echoes of laughter and applause still ringing in your ears, you couldn’t help but feel a warm sense of satisfaction. What had started as a prank had turned into something so much more—something that had brought the two of you closer than ever before.

And as George’s arm tightened around your shoulders, you couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, this partnership wasn’t entirely an act after all.

But that was a thought for another day. For now, you were content to enjoy the moment, knowing that whatever chaos came next, you and George would face it together—side by side, partners in crime, and maybe, just maybe, something more. 

Because with George Weasley by your side, every day was an adventure, and the best part? You were only just getting started.

[aisiedaisie]

I’m kinda living for the whole college Sirius you’ve got going. Never would’ve imagined him as a TA but Astronomy fits soooo well. (Very much looking forward to more of that) But just imagine… Tutor reader and one of the other boys is a barista on campus and they just know the readers order as soon as they walk in because it seems like they always stop by before or after work. I think that would be soooo cute!

Also saw you have designated anons can I be your ⏳ anon if that’s not taken already?

Hello hello~!!! I’m so happy you’re enjoying the college AU! I’m really loving TA!Sirius too, so that storyline will definitely continue. Now, as for your ask—when I saw ‘barista,’ my first thought was to make it a Remus-centered fic. But…I raise you social butterfly barista James Potter. With that said, I hope you enjoy my take on your idea!

Also of course you can be my ⏳anon!!!

Barista!James Potter x Fem!Reader WC: 1.1k

It's early afternoon, and the coffee shop tucked in the far corner of the quad is practically deserted. Only a few frazzled students tap furiously at their keyboards, their brows knitted in concentration, while the occasional professor unwinds after a long string of lectures. Behind the counter, two baristas are stationed, chatting as they clean and restock in leisurely rhythm, bracing for the next rush that’s sure to sweep through those double glass doors in a few hours.

When you step into the shop, just as you do nearly every day around this time, you’re greeted by the soft hum of music filtering through the speakers, barely louder than the clatter of laptop keys and the muffled murmur of conversation. Yet, the sound is familiar and comforting, blending seamlessly with the warmth of the space.

You glance toward the bar, and there he is—James, a familiar face, mid-motion as he turns from cleaning the espresso grinder. His brown eyes light up with recognition, crinkling with a smile that’s warm and easy.

"Hey, love," he greets, pushing his round glasses back up the bridge of his nose. "Your usual?"

You can’t help but mirror his smile as you nod, digging into your bag to pull out your wallet. “Yeah, thank you, James.”

At the register, the other barista, a girl with dark red hair pulled into a loose bun, rings up your order. You notice, though, that she pauses as James adds an extra drink to your total. She raises an eyebrow, casting him a questioning look. “She’s only getting one, though?” she asks, her brows furrowing.

“Just trust me, Lils,” James replies, his smile as certain as it is mysterious. With a small sigh, she relents, and you barely notice the extra charge, simply thanking her with a quiet smile before finding an empty table.

You settle in, pulling out your journal and glancing at your phone, gauging how many hours you’ll be spending in the library tonight.

As you begin jotting down notes, your mind drifts to a few concerns your students shared during the last session, the things they struggle with that you’re determined to help them understand. The scratch of your pen on the paper becomes a soothing rhythm until—

A steaming mug lands on a coaster beside your phone, pulling you from your thoughts. You look up, startled, an apology already on your lips. “Sorry,” you murmur, realizing you must’ve missed him calling your name.

James only chuckles, his smile soft yet playful. “Sorry for what, love?”

“Not coming to get my order?”

He laughs, the sound warm and familiar, filling the quiet space between you. “I didn’t even call for you.” He shakes his head, clearly amused. “When I finished with your tea, you were already writing, so I figured I’d just bring it over.”

You thank James with a grateful smile, but he just waves it off, already turning back to the espresso grinder. Lily, meanwhile, busies herself at the small refrigerator, restocking whipped cream canisters with the kind of efficiency that only comes from experience.

You open your journal once more and start drafting a few more notes, tailoring each to help your students in their upcoming sessions. First on today’s list is Evan—a top business student, though lately, he’s hit a wall with Economic History. You’re not entirely sure why. Though the subject is notoriously dry, Evan is bright and usually navigates complex material with ease.

Then again, you’ve noticed a pattern. Every time a certain psychology major sits just outside your study room door, Evan’s focus starts to drift. You’ve seen the stolen glances, the way his attention wavers whenever that familiar face appears in his line of sight.

But you don’t really mind. Evan’s a fast learner, and once he sets his mind to it, he absorbs concepts quickly. With a small smile, you jot down a few more examples, hoping to make the material click despite his latest...distractions.

After some time, you shift in your seat, feeling the strain of being hunched over for so long. You roll your shoulders, feeling a satisfying pop and release of tension. Glancing at your mug, you realize it’s now almost empty; the last bit of lemon mint tea has gone cold, a quiet signal that it’s time to pack up and move on.

You slip your book and journal back into your tote bag and stand, carrying your mug over to the return station, placing it gently in its designated spot. A quick glance at the counter shows James mid-motion, focused on another drink. You approach Lily instead, thanking her for helping out and asking if you could order a tea to-go. Lily just shakes her head, waving you off with a small smile.

“Oh?” you ask, brows furrowing in mild confusion.

Before you can answer, James turns, holding a drink carrier with two steaming cups, his expression radiating a proud, quiet satisfaction. “Figured you’d be heading to the library after this,” he says, a grin tugging at his lips. “So I added a second tea to your order.”

You let out a soft sigh, almost a laugh, and despite yourself, a fond smile tugs at your own lips. “James…”

But he’s already pressing the drinks into your hands, that familiar, mischievous glint in his eyes steady and warm.

“You got the coffee too. Honestly, you’re too good at this job,” you tease, glancing down at the carrier— your usual tea to go and an Americano for Remus at the library desk.

James’ grin widens, his gaze bright with playful pride. “Well, we have to keep our loyal customers around somehow,” he jokes. “Can’t risk you being lured away by another coffee shop on campus.”

You laugh, a soft and genuine sound, as you take the drinks from him. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about. This is my favorite spot, after all.” You give him a small, lasting smile, the comfort of this place—and maybe of him—settling around you.

“Good luck with work,” he says warmly, his voice carrying a note of encouragement.

As you make your way to the door, you catch yourself glancing back, a gentle wave accompanying the smile that lingers, soft and warm, just a little longer than you’d planned.

As soon as she steps out the door, Lily glances over at James, raising an eyebrow. “Do you think she noticed you put your number on the cup?”

James shrugs, a bit sheepish but still with a hint of a grin. “Probably. I mean, I hope so.” He leans back against the counter, his expression a mix of casual hope and quiet anticipation.

“I guess we’ll see.”

[frownyalfred]

finally had time to read eye in the sky and I cannot tell you what an amazing writer you are enough!!!! duke... I have no words to express how much I adore him in this... he's only 18 (?) and bc of that I love how you can still tell that his thoughts are very juvenile while still being intelligent. the innocence of believing saving bruce would be the obvious next course of action.. sweet boy. even wearing dick's old hoodie to prove his identity is such a childish (positive!) way to do so but so smart! I could gush more and I might just be back to do so when I re-read hehehe.

bat boy commanders........ knock me out why don't you... I love the mutual hostage situation going on with them and bruce. but obviously as per the last chapter they've been plotting in their own ways.

and now those character tags. two chapters left and 4 bat characters who have yet to be seen.. I have bet's on who might be dead or not... cass and barb you are not the lucky winners..

ahhhh just a great fic and I probably missed so much bc I sped through it!

Thank you so much! Duke is so fun to write but he's also SO hard for me, because I basically have to write a scene how I see it, and then remove like 50-75% of it because of Duke's limited POV. So he might see something and know that it's bad, but he doesn't know the context around it unless someone tells him. And I'm trying very hard to avoid outright exposition dumps, but as you can see in this last chapter, they're kind of unavoidable!

Two chapters left, yeah. I'm writing about a thousand words a day trying to wrap up this final arc, so they might be longer chapters. Work is crazy right now though, so I don't know when they'll be published. And of course, my brain keeps distracting me with scenes from other WIPs. I'm gonna do it, though -- this is a sprint I'm happy to finish up soon. Though I'm not sure everyone will be thrilled with the ending.

Next chapter we'll see Jason and Tim, which I'm very excited to write. And Kon :)

[highslover]

Maeve’s storyline but right!

I have always though the Maeve plot line didn’t made sense and recently I read a fic (spencer reid x reader) where reader was a serial killer of serial rword and I thought how much better that could’ve been.

Maeve’s plot line was weak in many ways. My biggest pet peeve is that it was that aggressive from the start and Spencer did nothing, which I don’t find in character. That meaning her stalker (Diane).

Let’s assume his first consult with Maeve was pretty normal, how could he imagine she had a stalker? But in order to keep talking to her they went through using letters first. And maybe Spencer thought it was romantic and interesting, but pseudonyms? That’s a bit much.

Spencer knew all along about her stalker, he tells Hotch that much after she goes missing. So you are telling me Spencer found out this girl he likes isn’t leaving her house, she is hot using her phone and is using letters to communicate with pseudonyms to protect herself and didn’t do something? I agree he might’ve been respecting her wishes, but by this time Spencer has been working with the FBI 9 years, he is not naive as he was, he is a social protector, it just doesn’t makes sense he let it go that far.

Again, from the beginning is crucial here because I don’t think he would’ve let it slide just like that. If it had grown progressively while they were together, yes maybe their attachment would’ve clouded his reasoning, but by the time they started talking Diane had made Maeve quit her job and broke up with her fiancé so??? It just doesn’t make sense for HIS character. I believe that at leasttt he would’ve investigated by himself.

But non of that happened so the plot just doesn’t cut it. Instead, if it would’ve been a serial killer? That’s interesting.

Point 1. A serial killer who kills men that are serial rapist is in many ways human. It’s imposible to not like as audience. And Spencer is often the one who empathizes with the criminals (lol beautiful baby 🥺).

Point 2. Her story could’ve been a great episode, we could’ve seen how smart she was (something from Meave’s character) but at the same time how traumatized she was, her story, how evil are the men she kills. She could’ve been the same age as Spence, he could’ve done the interview, connect, blah, blah, blah.

Point 3. I think they could’ve find a way were they didn’t have anything to really hold the case, victims (of the men) not pressing charges and friends who offer alibis for her. So she makes a deal with Spencer because she is also tired and she knows she cannot stop. A letter once a month because she likes his big brain.

Point 4. She is arrested but gets her letter and Spencer gets his, where she is smart and interesting and whatever. Out of nowhere they are writing themselves not just once a month. And they talk every sunday. (Again part of Maeve storyline, everything was there!!!!) (Also I think she could’ve been an assistant for a geneticist and help him with his migraines)

Point 5. And everything is good and they form a bond but Spencer would never admit he likes her and maybe even feels something more, because he is a good guy. But in this time he starts to read every philosopher that has written about good and bad (also talk it with Blake!! best part of the Maeve plot).

Point 6. After this we are only missing her dying and I wish I remember the name of the fic but something similar could happen. In the fic she scapes prison with help and goes to find Spencer because she knows of a human trafficking organization and she wants to liberate them, so she kinda kidnaps Spencer and they go there. Because she wanted to do it, deep down Spencer knows this a suicidal mission for her.

Point 7. They get there, she gets kill by local police but she saves women and children and got to spend her last day or two with Spencer, the only person that made her wished everything she did never happened and maybe she could’ve have a great life.

And ta-da! we traumatized Spencer with an interesting plot that makes sense (at least for me). And far more complex I think, something that maybe even MGG would’ve like. But who knows, is this against copaganda???

[bitletsanddrabbles]

[Fic] The Glory, the Shame

This is what happens when I try to come up with something to write at 7:00 am on Veteran's Day - you get Thomas and Peter sitting on @alex51324 's Island of the Gays philosophizing.

Not certain I'm going to include this one in the Island Sandbox, since it is now about twelve hours after I started, I am tired, and not at all certain it hits the right notes. But it's a thing and I wrote it, so here. Can be read as pre-relationship or just buddies, as you so feel moved.

Needless to say it is beta free. Also free of guppies, goldfish, loches, koi...okay, I'm going stop now before someone hurls a salmon at my head. On to the story instead.

-

Thomas sat on the bluff outside of town, a cigarette dangling in his fingers, watching the seagulls. A stiff wind was blowing, making his cheeks sting, but at least it wasn’t raining. Most of the village had decamped to the pub, intent on reducing Tully’s whisky supply to dregs. Thomas had thought about joining them, but his heart wasn’t quite in it.

A crunching noise alerted him to the fact he was about to have company. He looked up, half expecting it to be the herd of cattle they let roam the island south of the village, but it turned out to be Peter Fitzroy.

“Mind if I join you?” the one armed man asked.

“Sure,” Thomas replied. “The ground’s none too soft, though.”

“Probably better that way. Easier to dust off after.” Peter lowered himself to the ground with his usual easy cheer. “I take it the pub was a bit crowded for you?”

“Yeah.” Thomas took a drag off his cigarette. “Don’t get me wrong, I could use a pint or two about now. Maybe three or four, but there wasn’t even standing room in there.”

“I know what you mean.” Peter pulled out his own cigarettes and worked one out of the case. Even though he was perfectly capable of lighting it himself, Thomas lite it for him. Less hassle that way. For a minute the two of them just sat and smoked. Finally Peter said, “I thought it was a lovely service.”

“Yeah,” Thomas agreed. It touched on all of the key points without being soppy or condescending. Father Tim did a good job.” That was one problem with people who hadn’t actually been in the war. They could easily make it sound like they had been, like they knew exactly what the soldiers had been through when it was very clear they didn’t. It tended to lead to lofty proclamations about bravery and sacrifice that stank like the mud of the Somme, or sneering dismissal of the misery that had lead to missing limbs and haunting nightmares. Admittedly, Thomas had as little patience for the nightmares as the next person, but mostly because they interrupted his sleep and he did not like being woken up, thank you very much. He understood, but…well. His nightmares never disturbed anyone except himself.

“What did you think of the suggestion that we build our own war memorial, like villages are doing on the mainland?”

Thomas frowned at that one. “I’m not entirely certain. I wouldn’t fight it, of course. But I don’t know that it would help me any.”

The other man gave him a curious look at that. “Isn’t there anyone who’s gone that you want remembered?”

“Maybe.” Thomas took a slow drag and thought for a second before blowing out a long stream of smoke. There was Lord Flintshire’s valet, and a couple of other servants who had visited Downton frequently, but they’d been friends, not lovers. He didn’t know if anyone here would even know them. “I’m the one who didn’t know anyone in London, remember? Yeah, there were blokes I had it off with now and again, but never more than a couple of times. The people I’d really care about, well. They weren’t our sort. Seems a bit pointless to put them on there.”

“Hm. I suppose.” The other man allowed. “Then again, there are those of us who would want brothers on there, so I don’t know that it would have to be just our sort.”

“I still don’t know if any of my brothers made it through,” Thomas admitted. “I might be the last one standing.” He tried not to look at his gloved hand, but his eyes flickered to it involuntarily as he stretched his fingers.

Thankfully, the other man didn’t seem to notice. “Is there anyone you could write to find out? Or do you not want to?”

Thomas shrugged. “My sister, perhaps, if she’d write back to me. I don’t know that I’d bother, though. They might as well all be dead, as much as we pay attention to each other. Again, I don’t see that there’s anything to be gained by knowing.”

“That’s fair, I suppose.” The two of them lapsed into silence for a bit. Again, it was Peter who broke the silence. “What do you suppose Kit’s doing?”

“He planned on spending the day working on play bills for the theatre’s next production,” Thomas replied. “If he finishes that, he’ll probably read or something like that, I’d imagine. I’ve told him not to feel poorly about it, that he was well out of it, but. Well. No one likes to feel like they didn’t do their bit.”

“If they were clever they would.” Peter frowned, the expression out of place on his normally cheerful face. “I keep trying to tell Davy Hall that no one’s looking down on him for not serving, but you can tell he doesn’t believe it.”

“Davy?” Thomas looked askance at the other man. “You’re joking.” The other man shook his head. Thomas blinked, trying to wrap his head around it. “The man had rheumatic fever as a boy. The doctors expect him to drop dead of a hear attack or have his kidneys give out any day now, and he’s bemoaning the fact that he failed his physical and they wouldn’t let him go get shot at because his health might give out before the Germans got him?”

Peter gave a rueful sort of smile and a one sided shrug. “Apparently his brothers both died, so he really is the last one standing. And he’s here, so it’s not as if the line is going to continue. I think he feels as if, had he gone, one of his brothers might have survived.”

Thomas was aware of that sort of thinking, but he couldn’t imagine feeling that way about anything. He shook his head. “I’m sorry, even if I was expected to die young, I can not imagine feeling that suicidal.”

The comment earned him a sideways look that couldn’t decide whether to be fond or exasperated. “No, I can’t imagine you could. You’re too determined to live.”

His cigarette half way to his lips, Thomas froze. He slowly turned to look at the other man, gauging whether that comment had meant what he thought it did. When Peter lifted his eyebrows and shot a look at Thomas’s glove, that was a pretty clear answer. “Figured it out, have you?” Thomas replied, smiling tightly, trying to make a joke of it. He supposed if the other man was going to get him kicked off of the island, he’d have done it by now, and he didn’t seem like the sort for blackmail.

“Yeah.” Peter turned and crushed out his cigarette. “Several of us have. Me, Tully, Jessop, Rouse.”

“Dr R knows?” Thomas cringed. Oh, that couldn’t be good.

“He does.” The other man gave him a wan smile. “He doesn’t blame you, though. None of us do. If you get right down to it, you were the clever one, getting out of there rather than waiting for the Huns to drop a shell on your head.” He nodded to the glove and added, “Not to mention you could easily have died of infection. Difficult to call someone a coward when they’re doing something they know full well could kill them.”

“I wasn’t really thinking about that at the time,” Thomas admitted. It probably wasn’t the wisest thing he could do, but if Peter didn’t think poorly of him already, he doubted the truth would change that too much. “I just, I’d had it. I’d signed up to help save them that could be saved, not to die for a country that would just as soon kill me themselves. Or lock me away for two years and then let someone beat me to death when I got out, which is close enough.” He crushed out his own cigarette, then, after a moment’s thought, went to get another.

Peter shrugged. “You’re not wrong. And I still don’t blame you.” His eyebrows knit together and he asked, curiously, “Although, if I might ask, how did you manage it? It’s a difficult shot to manage yourself.”

“I didn’t manage it myself.” Thomas tucked his lighter away and blew smoke into the air. He would never understand how some people managed not to smoke. What did they do for their nerves? “I took myself out to a nice, quiet corner of the trench, lit m’self a cigarette, and then held my hand up over the wall. A German sniper took care of the rest for me.”

Oddly, that garnered a smile from the other man. “Well, that was nice of him. Did you send him a thank you note?”

“No,” Thomas scoffed, shaking his head. “I wasn’t exactly in any condition for it. Too much morphine. Who knows? By the time I was thinking clearly again, he was probably dead anyway.”

“Probably.”

They were quiet again, for a stretch. This time Thomas broke it. “How long have you known?”

“Several months now. We put it together about the time Gordon ran off.”

“Blimey.” Thomas blinked at that. “And it took this long for any of you to say something?”

Peter shrugged. “It didn’t seem important, really. After all, who decided it was cowardice? And who decided that cowardice was something to die over? A bunch of men who never left England, except on holiday? The men who wished they had the guts to do something like that?” He looked down at his own shoulder. “I may not have invited a German sniper to have a shot at me, but I wasn’t exactly crying when they told me I couldn’t carry a stretcher anymore.”

“I should think not.”

“We did our bit. Then we went home. It’s what we said we’d do.”

“Too right.”

“We’re just lucky we made it.” Peter gave a salute to the clouds. “To the Glorious Dead.”

“And the Inglorious Living,” Thomas added, giving his own salute.

The other man leaned in, resting the stump of his shoulder against Thomas’s. “Glorious or not, I’m just as glad to have you hear instead of lying under poppies in France.”

“Thanks.” Thomas smiled and looped an arm around the other mans’ back to help them both stabilise. “I could say the same.”

[sheets-of-your-own]

My favourite character is Agent Washington, so most of the really good recs I have are about him lol:

Mind over Matter by kineticallyanywhere (T, Gen, Completed, 136,261 words) - Locus and Felix force Epsilon into Wash's brain, they have to escape and end up in the wilds of Chorus.

[this is such a good fic, one of my favourites, the writing is great and the changes in colour and style in the text itself is really well done. I'm also a sucker for Epsilon&Wash soooo...]

resurrection men by glassedplanets (M, M/M, Completed, 106,903 words) - Agent Main survived sidewinder and ended up on chorus- he and wash team up to take down the rest of Project Freelancer.

[the first work in this series (P versus NP) is very Maine/Wash centric and amazing, the politics and chorus worldbuilding is really well done. the second, (no quarter) is more Locus focused, but I can't say much about it cuz I haven't read it- i trust the author for it to be good though]

For Every Action, A Reaction by Churbooseanon (M, Multi, Uncompleted, 155,224 words (last updated 2018)) -  the Director has Epsilon pulled immediately. Washington ends up closely monitored far out of the reach of his friends and partners. Things spiral out of control more slowly for Project Freelancer, and the repercussions are far harder to foresee.

(this is technically a series, but it's a lot of short fics that all are in the same plot and order- so it's basically one fic. it's North/York/Wash with some smut, I really like this one for the BAMF freelancers and alternate timeline. not quite a fix it, not not *not* a fix it. I usually don't read or recommend uncompleted fics, but the plot in this one s basically wrapped up and the uncompleted parts are the soft ending that can be taken as implied)

First Name: Agent by ToukoTai (G, Gen, Completed, 18,726 words) -Clint Barton plays nice with the other super secret agents from the other super secret organizations and don't let anyone tell you otherwise.

Avengers/Red vs Blue crossover, very funny in the beginning, and the last fic in this series is a wash & bucky fic that is just lovely- very fun short fics

Put My Guns In the Ground by saltsanford (E, M/M, Completed, 292,073 words) - Chorus cannon with extra plot and Tuckington (Tucker/Washington)

THE Tuckington fic, one of the most popular rvb fics ever, it's amazing. It has smut but it's skippable with the focus being on the political and relationship drama. Very angsty, read the tags as always, they aren't kidding or exaggerating

Miles to go by saltsanford (M, Gen, Complete, 113,292 words) - Agent Washington and his journey, as told through a series of missing moments.

Wash's perspective on different events in the cannon (epsilon integration and aftermath, after sidewinder, with the feds (this one is incomplete- the first two are complete within themselves though)) Great fics, cannon compliant- but exploring the things that happen through a more personal (and therefore angsty) way. love the way they write Wash recovering from Epsilon, this is my cannon lol

Algernon's bouquet by Vexie (T, N/A, Compete, 59,218 words) - Memory is the key. And the Director likes his past locked up tight. After all, Blood Gulch always was where he kept his broken toys, wasn't it? After unlocking a few of the secrets locked away in a theoretically empty mind, Agent Washington decides to find out. Haven't you ever wondered why they were all there to begin with?

Great fic. Mostly snippets of the backstories of the reds and blues in between a plot. Really well written and I love the idea that they were all placed there for a *reason* beyond failing out of the army.

What Makes Us Human by TwicetheTrouble (T, Gen, Complete, 83,292 words) - Delta escapes capture to stay with (past Freelancer) Caboose and has to deal with the many consequences that come after.

Amazing fic, I love the complexity this one gives Caboose, and I could scream for years about how Delta is human in all the ways that mattered and how that conflicts and mirrors Sigma- but that's beside the point. This fic is mostly cannon compliant with lots of great add-ons and sassy delta which is always a bonus

Seen This Ground Before by QueSeraAwesome (M, M/M, Complete, 20,122 words) - Wash is captured. But Wash is also pissed. Locus will try to play mind games, but he's not going to get anywhere. At least not anywhere Wash hasn't been before.

Not Quite Locus-Centric in that he is the antagonist. Great fic though, Wash, Donut, and Sarge being with the feds- but being imprisoned and tortured rather than praised- love the Wash & Reds interactions here, not-actually-unrequited-Tuckington.

cockroaches by relationshipcrimes (T, Gen, Completed, 4,254 words) - Two hours after the prisoners have been recruited from Tartarus, they find Wash with his fists covered in Sharkface’s blood. What’s left of Sharkface dangles from the tops of the cell bars. (AU where Wash went to jail at the end of season 8 and winds up on the prison ship Tartarus, where he's later recruited by Felix and Locus to wage war on Chorus against the Reds and Blues.)

Shorter than the other fics, but I love this one. There's a shortage of Merc!Wash fics- it's a great set up, not much of a greater plot- but the scenes it does have are amazing.

Just realized how few rvb fics I've read like yeah I've read every locus fic ever but practically NOTHING else, so if y'all got recs.........

[anon-drabble]

20 question-majigs for writer-whosits

tagged by my @jafndaegur (yes mine, i own my very own jaf, get your own)

AO3 username: anon_drabble

1. How many works do you have on AO3? 104

2. What’s your total AO3 word count? 200,016 (i find it funny that i have like 5x as many fics as jaf but still less total word count lol)

3. What fandoms do you write for? mysme, fire emblem, dragon age mostly... but mostly only mysme because i don't like writing fic unless i know the series backwards and forward

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

interlude - jaehee smut

the true gift - jaehee smut (i appreciate how thirsty jaehee fans are...)

danger - mafia!jumin my beloved (my first-ever multi-chapter fic, i'm so surprised to see this on my top 5 and i'm honestly touched)

sleep deeply - the mysme fandom desperately wants jumin to just take a freaking nap

doting - preggers!mc with a loving jumin

5. Do you respond to comments? most of them... i haven't lately because i haven't written so i haven't been on ao3 in months

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? oh man i have so many angst fics... maybe for the rest of her life or found and lost i think... cracks in the pillar isn't necessarily specifically a fic nor an angst ending but it's probably one of the ones i'm proudest of the angst that i put in it.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? i dunno, man. i don't like my fluff as much lol. sleep deeply? or weddings always make me cry maybe

8. Do you get hate on fics? only one, my ace!seven headcanon fic. got lots of hate for it but never regretted it lmao

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? not a lot. i've written some, obviously jaehee/f!mc smut; jumin/mc smut; zen/mc smut... more smut that are in my wips that will never see the light of day lmao.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written? i've never been much for crossovers but technically i wrote a crack star wars/pokemon crossover and jaf and i attempted a grounded/mysme crossover lol.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? who would want to steal my fics? definitely not well-known enough for that lol

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? see above. not well-known enough

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? technically one of the very first fics i ever wrote was co-writtten with my best friend at the time, it was a crack yu yu hakusho fic and to this day, i adore it because it was so much fun to write. and then the fic with jaffu.

14. What’s your all time favorite ship? um.... like that i've written or just ever? that i've written is probably obviously jumin/mc but also zen/mc, i just don't get to write zen as often. i don't even know in general. there's some tv show from my childhood that i ship hardcore, like painfully so but i always, always forget it until i re-watch and then i get the feels but then they're gone whenever i'm asked what my top ship is, lol. but the feels are intense for that one, lmao. if only i could remember what it is!

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? my gale/tav fic... or any of my bg3 fanfic ideas...

16. What are your writing strengths? probably dialogue or angst lmao. i want to believe i'm a fairly emotive writer.

17. What are your writing weaknesses? descriptions, definitely, lmao. aphantasia will do that to you...

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? what's not to love?

19. First fandom you wrote for? ...an old book series that i never finished writing and it was before the days of the internet so it died in my notebook lol.

20. Favourite fic you’ve written? oh you mean my baby, my precious fic that i poured my heart and soul into more than any other, the one that has the among the lowest stats of all my works? that one? definitely all those hearts lay open; that must sting. i worked on that more than any other fic, it's the only one of mine that has EVER been proofread and edited after writing. i researched, really pushed myself as a writer and i am proud more of myself than the fic. but i knew it would "bomb" because it was a horror fic and i wrote it for me and one other person and i liked it and that other person liked it so in that regard it was a success.

[arcticclimes]

Bonus:

[scribbling-dragon]

wild life? I'm still stuck in double life

[the-au-collector]

OK LET’S TALK ABOUT MY ABSOLUTELY FAVORITE OC, Soren Weissmann.

He’s like, a 50 year old father of 7, depressed, anxious, has PTSD, survived a facist anti-magic government (he is a magic-user, a very powerful one at that, so he was in the lower class) and he’s had plenty of jobs over his life, including:

Bartender (he was 16, Delta Lux has a lower drinking age than the US)

Singer (‘twas in a speakeasy too, since Delta Lux outlawed magizunge, or magic music, he was 17-30, twas a long career though later on it became more of a side thing)

Nanny(?) (idk what to call it really, he was a live-in caretaker for the Wrinn family, who had 3 kids, but the parents needed to work to survive so in exchange for bread and board, he would watch their kids. The Wrinns are his family now his biological one is shit except for his missing sister he worked/lived with them from 27 - 43, when he escaped Delta Lux with his own family (the Wrinns had already escaped, sans the patriarch, Lucky, who escaped with Ren))

Healer (specifically for magic-related injuries, worked under the table, side job, 30-43)

Manager at the 7-13 Bar (mid-40s - late 40s, after escaping Delta Lux an old friend of his offers him a manager position at a bar this friend owns)

High Sorcerer of Onwin (48-49, it’s a very short gig, his boss was a dick so he quit)

Head of the Glaset (which is the capital of Onwin) Branch of the Deltan Society (49-retirement, haven’t figured out when he retires officially, but basically he was volunteering at this nonprofit organization for Deltan refugees like himself and his family, and they offered him a full-time job there)

Sorcerer (side gig, he teaches his one son magic and the kids of some family members too, it’s kind of a Big Deal in the OG-verse since he’s unaffiliated with any magiorganizations (groups that magic-users typically affiliate with, especially if they make magic their career or are full-time Sorcerers/Warlocks/Mages/Masters/etc.) whatsoever)

As for the other half of the question, in the beginning he absolutely was working to live, being a lower-class citizen and all and then as a refugee from that country. His later jobs he more lives to work, though his focus is absolutely 100% on his family most of the time. The turning point is definitely the High Sorcerer position, because that and all his later jobs absolutely set him up for life. That last one is less a job and more a “if no one can do it right I’ll just do it myself” thing than an actual job. Most of my writing has him like, 45-55 years old so depending on which piece we’re talking about, he falls under both categories.

Uhhh once again I rambled but I could literally do this for majority of my OCs.

Also: Ren also exists in my KH fics and his story is mostly unchanged, except he’s a healer longer because he lives in Traverse Town after his escape and he becomes a Big Deal. Oh and he’s Sora’s uncle.

If your OC has an official job, how important is that job in their day-to-day life? Do they live to work, or work to live?

[alienhazy]

i love them so much im going to puke like literally my heart is going to explode