#its not a holiday fic but it is

[arcanegifs]

Three CaitVi fics I've read over the holigays

be but sworn my love (E) by antant616

This fic is literally the trope of: slow burn but they're fucking the entire time. Also, CaitVi here are exes who are forced to play Romeo and Juliet in a play and ooooo the drama! I'm HOOKED.

Dear Stranger, (T) by becasbelt | tumblr

If you want to cry, read this. Absolutely beautiful canon-compliant fic. And for real, just read all of Anne's works. They're amazing ❤️

lucid dreams ‘bout you (M) by rosetattoos

Oh GOD I've never been so happy to see an update for a fic before. The last time this librarian!cait fic updated was like two years ago, and I gave up waiting for it. But lo and behold, what a GIFT for the holidays!!

[afewproblems]

The Holiday Party had gone quite smoothly, more than he was expecting if Steve was being honest with himself.

Until about halfway through, but that was pretty par for the course.

Jonathan had unearthed an old Rummoli Board from a box labeled 'Basement Misc', the Byers were still in the middle of unpacking from their move back to Hawkins, and brought it alongside a bottle of wine that Nancy had managed to smuggle from the Wheelers liquor cabinet.

Robin, who rode with Eddie and Argyle, brought pizza, the only copy of It's A Wonderful Life from Family Video, and way too much weed for just the six of them.

"It isn't a party without a little Kush Stevie," Eddie had told him, clapping his warm hand on Steve's shoulder, his thumb just high enough to rest on bare skin above the collar of his sweater.

All Steve could do was roll his eyes and take the pizzas, quickly ducking into the kitchen before Robin or, God Forbid, Eddie could comment on the pink flush that had taken over his face at the new nickname.

Robin had been insisting that Steve just tell Eddie how he felt for the last few weeks. Rip the bandaid off and come clean. What was the worst that could happen?

Which, really Robin?

Steve knows exactly what happens when someone puts themselves out there only for the other person to not feel the same way. His whole argument was currently sitting in his living room for fucks sake.

Sure, Steve and Nancy were on better terms now, but it also took two years to get there, and even still, there was a weird tension when they found themselves alone together.

So, no, telling Eddie was not an option, Robin.

Steve could keep it together. He could deal with the ache in his chest at the sight of Eddie's smile. Steve could deal with the way his heart beat quickened whenever Eddie said his name. He could deal with the heady flush that bloomed every time Eddie touched him.

He was fine, it was fine.

And, movie nights like these were nothing new in the wake of Vecnas defeat and the destruction of the Upside Down. Steve needed to keep it together if he wanted to continue to have this. Nights without the kids to look after or the adults to hide their indulgences from, these were the nights where they could truly relax.

These were Steve's favourite, and he was not going to let some Bullshit feelings stand in the way of being able to see Eddie.

This Christmas Eve found the six of them lounging on pillows and extra couch cushions from the basement to make the 'best movie watching set-up thank you very much', according to Robin, and watching It's a Wonderful Life for the umpteenth time.

"I can't believe that George Bailey would wish for something like that, when it's so obvious that people care about him," Robin scoffs at the top of her voice about halfway through the movie, prompting a irritated Shush from Nancy.

"That bro is depressed man, it's like a cry for help, and on Christmas, this shit is heavy dude," Argyle hums, lifting his fist up to Robin who shakes it with a wild grin. The two erupt into violent giggles which begin to creep into Steve and Eddie and eventually Jonathan as well. Nancy rolls her eyes but can't help the smile that takes over her face as well.

"Who would wish to never be born when you could just wish for the bank to like, not fuck you over, seems like a waste of a wish if you ask me," Eddie says as the last traces of giggles begin to finally disapate.

"Ooo, Eddie's right!" Robin says as she reaches for the remote, hitting pause on the movie. She waves her hands through the chorus of groans from everyone except Eddie who turns around to Steve with an incredulous expression on his face.

Steve shrugs as Robin continues, unable to look away from those large brown eyes until a hand darts out to smack him in the chest.

"Steve, pay attention," Robin huffs, "let's go around and share what we would wish for!"

Oh shit.

Steve turns on the couch to fully face Robin with narrowed eyes. She grins at him, lifting a single eyebrow as her blue eyes dart between Eddie and Steve.

Steve opens his mouth to argue, to insist that they just carry on with the movie, only for Eddie to drum his hands against his knees and speak.

"Oh birdie, I'm way ahead of you, this is Wayne's favorite Christmas movie so I've done a lot of thinking 'bout this".

Eddie clears his throat and lifts his hands from his knees now as though he's about to launch into a story for Hellfire, "I would personally wish for the money to be able to fund Corroded Coffin full time, get a demo done, and then be able to kiss this fucking one horse town good bye!"

Steve feels the words hit him like a bucket of cold water.

Eddie wants to leave Hawkins.

His wish, his dream, for forever from the sounds of it, is to leave them all behind.

To leave Steve behind.

The voices from the group, pitched high and low, all blend together into one as the rest of the group share their own wishes.

Steve absently feels a small hand grip his own, he looks up to see Robin staring at him, a worried frown pinched between her eyebrows. He answers her silent question with a shake of his head.

It was fine, he was fine. This was a good thing, better to know now than later when Eddie would inevitably leave him behind.

"Stevie?"

Steve startles as a ringed hand waves precariously close to his face. Eddie smiles faintly at him, one dimple on display as he speaks again.

"Kinda lost you for a second there, what about your wish?"

"Oh," he manages to say with a slight laugh in his voice, even as his brain fills with static, "um, I haven't ever really thought about it, maybe some new music or something".

Nancy and Jonathan both boo loudly from the love seat while Argyle nods with a hazy smile.

"Right on my man, sounds like Eddie'll be able to help when his band makes it big," he says before turning back to the television and slumping even more heavily into the couch.

Steve forces out another bright laugh, ignoring how much it burns his throat and crushes his chest. The only thing keeping him in his seat is the firm hold of Robin's hand on his own.

He doesn't look at Eddie as he leans forward to press play on the movie once more, letting the music and dialogue fill the room once more.

Later, as the end of the credits roll and the tape switches back to static, Nance and Jonathan are fast asleep. The pair are cuddled up on the love seat, their heads leaning against one another. It would almost be cute if not for the pang of envy that fills Steve at the sight.

Steve tries to bask in the warmth of having Robin cuddled into his side, knowing it will alleviate at least some of the ache in his chest. Robins eyes have been steadily growing heavier as she slowly falls further and further into Steves side. He smiles, reaching up to brush her hair away from her face.

At least he has Robin, and maybe for now that is enough.

***

This is a part one, let me know if anyone would like a part Two?

[thevalkyriesshadow]

Fanfic writers writing... smut?!?!

Y'all are forgetting we're reading smutty faerie books OF COURSE our favorite ships are gunna bang their sex organs together in our fics.

It's like y'all forgot your fandom roots or something.

[autisticlancemcclain]

fic rec friday 53

hello and welcome to fic rec friday! where, on friday, i rec five of my favourite fics.

Switching More Than Bayards by @bleusarcellewrites

“That would be a first,” Shiro jokes lightly with a grin and Commander Iverson chuckle. “Can’t say I’m surprised,” the older man says quietly, throwing a quick kind look towards Lance before he reaches out and pats him on the back. “I’m happy for you, Lance.” And Lance blinks. Because, woah? He’s happy Lance has a zit? Some people and their jealousy, jeez. [Or the one where Lance is a moron but Keith loves him anyways.]

this one is so FUNNY i love it so much bleusarcelle never ever missed fr. they're so dumb i want to punch them but like gently. that was a very pidge sentence but u get it

2. heaven only knows where you've been by @talkingtoangxls

Three years after his disappearance, life has gone on.

bro reunions make me teary as all fuck like thank god this ends happily bc i was well and truly weeping. fics from lance's family always ached so good

3. when you look to the sea by @akaeijis

July 28th is a circled date on their family calendar that sits by the kitchen window. A reminder on their phone. A day they schedule off of work. (Or, the Alvarez family takes a day of remembrance for their lost son.)

and another one bc i like to hurt myself. if i imagine losing my sibling but there was never any body and no answered questions...swallowing the lump in my throat

4. Space Potatoes by dendraica

Lance and Keith are assigned to work together in the castle galley as punishment for their reckless behavior, where Lance becomes strangely ecstatic about a familiar menial task.

no i get it. lance is so real in this one. if i was shot into space with Strangers and couldn't talk to my siblings...i would lose my entire shit all the time like i wouldn't be able to function

5. Supportive by @ardett

A little trans Lance duo

platonic vld is genuinely where it's at. pidge & lance are so literally parallels of each other watching them be parallels does something to my brain

that’s it for today!! i’ll see y’all back next friday for the next fic rec post!!!

[triglycercule]

horror is so BLESSED he's the only one out of the murder time trio that has actual good people trying to influence his story 💔💔 dust and killer were both driven to INSANITY because of the choices of their respective humans but horror??? every time without FAIL the polls for horrortale's plotline have always ended in a good place for aliza (either by bettering her relationships/reputation or for her to just. not DIE)

horrortale's potential alternate timelines my beLOVEd🙏🙏 they're SO lucky that we're being kind and benevolent hehe (≧ω≦) now where are the aus based off the possible different outcomes that could've happened in horrortale HUH???? (like how aliza couldve killed toriel or chosen horror's puzzle or gone with undyne to the core........)

[honeyandthunderstorms]

max’s katje

“Max,” Charles purrs. Quite literally purrs. “Hi.”

Max can’t tear his gaze away from the two pointy ears sticking straight out of the top of Charles’ head. The tufts of fur lining them are the exact same shade as his chocolate curls, blending almost seamlessly. They look real, but they have to be fake, right? Max blinks. Then he blinks again as his heart rate speeds up and his palms grow sweaty. Surely he can’t be losing his mind. There’s no way. But then he watches as the ears twitch and how Charles’ face twists into that menace of a smirk of his.

or

In a world where magic and potions are a thing, Charles decides he wants to be a cat for Halloween. Max likes it more than he thought he would.

[chasedeys]

clear eyes, full hearts collection of joemarr/bengals fics :)

Chapters: 2/? — my heart is thrilled by the still of your hand - joemarr, mature | 3.9k Tags: Other Assorted Bengals - Character, Pre-Relationship, but like really toeing the line here guys practically dancing on it insolently, Suits and Ties, The Homoeroticism of Tugging On Your Not!Lover's Tie, Banter Summary: joe wears a suit and tie for game day and has a Moment in it with ja’marr. (a very lighthearted fic of the 'nothing hurts' variety, kind of like my nipple piercings fic! featuring heavy flirting and an emotional support tee in the end for like 3 seconds)

also—joemarr pinky shake, to me:

[sirtouchstarved]

A YEAR WITHOUT SANTA CLAUS AU FOR GRAVITY FALLS. 

This was inspired by the amazing @beccadrawsstuff, and this fanart series, it’s literally so good, I had to write a fic it was eating me alive. 

Four chapters, one today, one tomorrow, and the last two on Christmas day! First time I’ve written a seasonal fic so I am pretty happy with myself! 

Happy holidays y’all,

[fortysevenswrites]

the herpes of makeup and crafting (kastle, oneshot)

So I started writing this in like… June of freaking 2020, which feels like about 800 years ago, because time is weird like that. And also explains the early-seasons Selling Sunset opinions. I was scrolling through my WIPs the other day and decided that now was finally time to finish it, apparently, because it was about 90% done. Merry Christmas and Happy Hanukkah to my friends in the Kastle fam! It’s been a minute and I hope you’re all doing well!

the herpes of makeup and crafting (oneshot) Word count: 3,384

Summary:

“I-I can’t,” she swipes a palm across her mouth, her other hand clutching the windowsill to keep her upright as she laughs and laughs and laughs so hard her belly hurts and tears leak from the corners of her eyes. “Oh my god, what happened to you?” Because it’s not just a little glitter, or some glitter, or a layer of glitter, or just enough glitter for her to notice. Frank is absolutely covered in the stuff.

Read on AO3

[gracekiins]

When you decide to spend the Christmas holidays with your uhh enemy by travelling to her time. Cometh the hour, cometh the man 🤠

Short comic inspired by a segment of Chapter 42 of Somewhere in Time by Serpent in Red (@serpentinred) (PLEASE mind the preliminary notes regarding the fic (which is in Chapter 1), AND the author’s notes which top and tail this specific chapter cuz it is NOT a continuation of the main plot). There’s just something wholesome and grin-inducing about Chapter 42 that makes my heart grow two sizes, and the enemies-to-lovers tone remains an exquisite constant throughout the fic, so if that’s your thing, you know what to do!

I also owe a massive thanks to Nerys Dax (@nerysdax) for kindly looking over the panels and providing helpful comments and feedback. I really appreciated this since it was important to me from the outset that whatever is sketched out here remains as close to the author's story as possible, and I couldn't have confidently put this forward without Nerys's input.

Lastly, if it wasn't already obvious - please go read the fic lol

[lupine-trees]

don’t hold me like you know me

“Oh, golden boy, don’t act like you were kind. You were mine, but you were awful every time.”

[ i’m going to need y’all to forgive me in advance for this one. i saw a beautiful collage earlier using the above lyrics from bleachers’ “merry christmas, please don’t call,” and, well.. here we are. i will say, it’s not all so very bad. i don’t know that it’s a happy end, but there’s a glimmer of something there. cheers! ]

drarry | angst, nonlinear, draco pov | word count: ~2.6k | rating: m | warnings: physical violence, drinking, implied mental health concerns

_ _ _

The streets are sleek with the midwinter showers, and the rain itself should have been an omen: harsh, pelting, unforgiving.

Draco’s coat is drawn tightly around him, hands tucked in the illusory warmth of his pockets. There’s a roast waiting at home (the slow cooker hopefully having worked according to the instructions), and the promise of a hearty meal is the singular motivation that has gotten him through a particularly tedious day at Gringott’s.

His focus had been diverted to this very thought— it’s the only reasonable explanation for why he didn’t see him sooner. Every other near-brush carefully avoided, every pass through the streets of Diagon painfully aware. But the rain and the roast had lulled him, dulled him, and before it can be helped, Potter has careened from the new apothecary and directly into Draco.

Draco is nearly bowled over, his feet almost coming out from beneath him entirely as his heart does a horrible scrabble in his chest. Harry catches him, of course, polite and apologetic, murmuring a quick, “Oh, I’m so—” before catching sight of Draco. His hands, gentle around Draco’s shoulders, snap swiftly away.

“Oh, Dr— uh, Malfoy,” his mouth drawing tight, his jaw a harsh tic. His gaze shifts down the street, back into the shop, then drags over Draco, his hand crumpling around his brown paper parcel as he nods at him sharply, an acknowledgment or a dismissal or something else equally inscrutable. He stalks off down the street.

It’s worse, really, than Draco had imagined it might be, seeing him again, after… well, after. He’d worried of a scene, a shouting match. That he himself would fight, or else that he’d fawn and fumble and fall back in, all forgiven.

This is worse��� the sheer nothing of it is worse.

Draco gathers himself, having stood, (how long?) too long on the street, stricken. He collects himself and walks home, where a mediocre roast is waiting.

The worst part, really, is that Draco had noticed the purple rings under his eyes, and known (too knowing) that he must still be sleeping poorly.

. . .

Potter is fucking into him, and Draco can hardly breathe, but really, that seems of little consequence in the context. He heaves a shaky breath as Harry mutters something low in the back of his throat about hating him, and Draco can only snap back, pathetic, “I hated you first.”

The fact that he doesn’t hate him now, that he can’t hate him now, is, too, of little consequence.

Harry had burned into his life like a fire, an ill-fated handjob in a pub loo that transfigured into a flurry of angry letters sent back-and-forth via Owl post, Harry showing up on his stoop, pounding on the door, then the sex, hot and biting, and Draco, the next time, dragging him through the unlocked Floo, and then just not bothering to lock it again after, an unspoken and open invitation frequently used.

A fire, yes, but the fickle sort.

. . .

Gringott’s had a required minimum on the guest list for the annual Wix Wellness Worldwide fundraising gala, and Draco had pulled one of the four short straws. He was doing his level best to blend with the wall furnishings, a firm grasp on the glass of wine he’d been nursing through the night.

Potter was here. He would be, of course, but Draco’s managed to avoid him thus far, his reflexes on high alert.

The unfair thing, though, is that it is exponentially more difficult to avoid someone who is actively looking for you. Draco had caught sight of him at the edge of the dance floor, head swiveling, gaze casting over the crowd, and had shrunk back, ducking behind a particularly ostentatious floral arrangement. Potter, though, had been an excellent Seeker for a number of reasons, and as Draco is slipping around the corner into a nearby enclave, a familiar voice stops him in his tracks.

“Funny seeing you here.”

He’s frozen, a moment, his heart a stammer beneath his suit, before he turns, expression shuttered. Guarded.

“A work engagement, I assure you. I’ll be gone soon.”

Harry’s face is more open, now, than that day on Diagon, something having softened, but he’s being careful, too.

“Not on my account, I hope. It’s a nice party. You should enjoy it.” He raises a glass to Draco, the tiniest smile flickering over his face, before he turns and melts back into the crowd.

Draco is left, again, stricken, again. The emptiness, the pointlessness of the exchange aches and claws at him, cruel perhaps, or at least preposterous, in light of all they had done, what they had been or not-quite been.

He grabs his cloak from the coat room, attendance requirement be damned, and apparates home (where a perfectly fine roast is waiting).

Never mind that he felt some relief (curses) that Harry’s eyes were clearer, his facade better-rested.

. . .

Draco doesn’t mean to be tender, but it’s hard, when Potter is the way he is.

Not always— it’s easy to fight with him when he’s itching for it, up on his high horse and merciless, caustic. Days when the past is closer and crowding, breathing heavy down his neck.

But there are the other moments, fleeting as they may be, when he goes quiet and contemplative, when he seems at ease in Draco’s bed. More at ease, anyway, than anywhere else.

“I wish, sometimes, that things had been different,” Harry murmurs, Draco curled half over him, head resting on his chest.

Draco runs a hand soft across his side, easing. “I know,” he says, feeling buoyed, foolishly, by the thought. Feeling, in turn, sunken.

The wishing, he is quickly reminded, doesn’t make it true. Makes the truth a bitter sort of thing.

“I wish—” Harry shifts from underneath him, drawing away from the covers and up, suddenly pulling on his jeans. He sits on the edge of the bed, turned away from Draco, eyes downcast. “I wish you were someone different.”

“Get out,” Draco snaps, pointless, Harry already making for the Floo, already leaving.

. . .

The bar is crowded and the kind of loud that makes it easier to be out with Blaise and Theo, catching only every other musing.

Draco is two shots and a gin & tonic deep when they spill through the front door, a cacophony all their own, elevating the soundscape. A gaggle of Gryffindors & co., Potter, naturally, at the fringe. Draco works to make his face stay something subtle, composed, and Theo rolls his eyes as Blaise says something unintelligible about ‘all the gin joints in all the world.’

He can’t leave without rousing suspicion, and he can’t stay without losing his mind. So, he orders another round of shots, and Blaise takes one graciously, and Theo takes one carefully, slanting him a glance only a little on the side of concern.

He’s moved to a gin fizz, feeling marginally less on edge, when the warm hand lands on his side, and his whole body goes to ice.

“Hello, stranger,” Harry says warmly, the faint smell of whiskey on his breath, and he slowly pulls his hand away, placing it on the bar to wave down the tender.

Draco’s world is ready to tip sideways, and his friends are on the dance floor, which may as well be a million meters away. He blanches, eyes going wide as he turns towards Harry then takes a shaky step back. He looks good, which is its own little tragedy, making Draco’s heart do a complicated pirouette.

It’s not fair, he thinks lamely, and of course it’s not, but when has it ever been?

“I like this shirt,” Harry says, tugging at the hem, an easy smile on his lips. The fabric is lightweight, a pale blue. “This color always looked nice on you.” Draco makes a mental note to burn it (or else to keep it somewhere safe).

Harry keeps his hands to himself, now, mouthing at the lager the bartender deposits before him. Distance, respectful, Draco supposes, but he still feels the lick of the flames at his heels.

He can’t think of a single thing to say, not anything worth putting into words. His throat feels dry, and he downs his drink.

“Gin?” Harry asks, knowing, preparing to wave the bartender down again.

“No,” Draco answers quickly. “Vodka, actually. And I was just leaving.” He turns, and feels a tug at his shirt again, Harry’s fingers catching.

“Draco, please, I—”

“Don’t,” Draco hisses, and it comes out just as warbly as he feels. “Potter, I’m asking you. Let go.”

Harry releases him, an unhappy look falling over his perfectly-fucking-well-rested eyes.

Draco wades onto the dance floor just long enough to tell his friends goodbye, and as he makes for the door, he does not look back.

At home, he pulls his tupperware from the fridge, picking at the leftovers of yesterday’s roast straight from the container until his stomach ceases its swilling.

. . .

He had gone to Harry’s, that last time, and it had been a mistake.

He’d been living in Grimmauld, then, and the whole place, while never exactly inviting, was even worse for wear. It had been an accident, sort of, that they wound up there— in a rush, convenient, tearing at one another’s clothes in the front hall, leaving a trail up the stairs.

It’s after, when he’s gone to the kitchen for a glass of water, that things fall apart. He can’t find a glass, what for the dirty dishes scattered on every surface, and then realizes after poking through them for one to wash that Harry doesn’t seem to have any glassware at all. He settles on a mug, which he washes with the ratty dishrag behind the sink and then fills from the tap.

Draco can’t seem to help himself, moving through the house in the quiet of night, Harry tucked in bed upstairs. He’s looking for a sign of him anywhere, though, and coming up clueless.

No photos, no trinkets, not even a magnet on the fridge or a jacket hanging in the hall. The bin is full to overflowing, and all of the furniture is old, inherited, ill-used and showing it. His cupboards are near empty, and the bookcases are so covered in dust that it’s evident none of the books within them are his. It’s eerie, a bit, but more than that, Draco simply finds it sad. Lonesome.

Draco’s own flat is nothing to write home about, sure, but it is still, in some way, his. In some way, home.

Grimmauld feels… haunted. Empty.

He pads upstairs, mug in hand, and Harry stirs as he settles back in the bed, resting upright against the pillow.

“Hello, stranger,” Harry mumbles, sleep-and-sex-slurry, rolling to Draco’s side, wrapping an arm around him.

Draco’s fingers go to his hair, curling through it, soothing, too soft for what this is.

“We should go to the grocery in the morning,” he says (softly), and Harry stills then shifts, gaze lifting, squinting up at him.

“What?”

“The grocery. I’m starving, and you’ve got nothing in the fridge. I thought we might make breakfast.”

Harry pulls back, still processing, waking, turning on his side as he fixes Draco with an unreadable look.

“Why?”

Draco, unsettled, works to walk it back, to make light.

“Fuck, Harry, I didn’t think it was a big deal. I just— I thought it couldn’t hurt. We could make some food, do some washing up. You can just say no, God.”

Harry’s brow furrows. “Wash—?” He catches sight of the mug in Draco’s hand, and a flush crawls up his throat. “Why were you in the fucking kitchen?”

Draco feels his jaw set, defensive. “What do you mean, why was I in the kitchen? I was thirsty, I got a drink.” He lifts the mug demonstratively.

Harry sits upright suddenly, rising out of bed. “You should go,” he says, low, a stormy look coming over his eyes, already dark with exhaustion.

Draco freezes, before fury slams into him like a freight train. “What the fuck?” he answers icily, clambering out of the bed. “You’re serious?”

“Yes,” Harry answers, gesturing towards the Floo.

“Why? Over groceries? Grow up,” Draco rumbles.

“I didn’t ask you to go poking around in my shit,” Harry snaps back, moving towards him across the room. “My groceries and my dishes and my life are none of your business.”

“I was trying to help,” Draco snarls, his eyes fierce on Harry’s.

“I didn’t ask for that,” Harry answers, something hot and tremulous snaking into his tone.

He reaches suddenly for Draco’s wrist, snatching it in his hand and turning it upward, the mug slipping from Draco’s grasp with the force, clattering with a crash to the ground. The inky underside of his forearm looks sickly in the dim lamplight, exposed.

“Why would I ever ask you for that?” Harry growls, his fingers digging at the Mark.

His grip is harsh, and Draco grits his teeth against the shock of pain, finding it harder, though, to guard against the jolt that rakes through his heart.

“Let go,” he seethes, and Harry, slowly, releases him, blinking at his own hands as Draco grabs his cloak from the floor.

“Draco,” Harry calls as he moves for the Floo, but he doesn’t stop. He steps through into his own living room, Harry’s voice still ringing behind him.

“Mal—”

He reaches quickly for the mantle, slicing his wand across it to lock it, to cut the connection.

The Floo goes dark.

Draco sinks to his couch, cradles his wrist (tender), and wishes he were anybody else.

. . .

Luna’s hosting the party to celebrate the sighting of pixies in her back garden, a response to her recent research and restorative efforts. Draco has nearly talked himself out of going half a dozen times.

In the end, he goes, swearing a commitment to two hours— no more, no less.

In the end, it wouldn’t have mattered how much time he committed. Any time around Potter now was, well, was… (Devastating. Painful. Unbearable.) Was too much.

Harry is late, which, initially, makes things easier. Draco makes polite conversation with Luna and Padma Patil and Hannah Abbott. They start in on the food, and Draco takes a stroll around the garden, sticking to the well-worn, specifically designated paths Luna has charted through it. He spots no pixies, but the plants throughout are lovely.

He arrives back at the house, and he ought to have been expecting it.

“This roast is really good. Who brought it?” Harry is asking.

“Oh,” Luna says with a smile, catching Draco’s eye as he slips in through the back door. “Draco did.”

Harry turns to him then, eyes wide, before he settles into something softer. “Hi.”

“Hello,” Draco answers, clicking the door shut behind himself.

“Your roast is excellent,” Harry says, casting a careful smile.

“Thank you,” Draco answers. “I’ve been working on the recipe.”

“It’s paid off,” Harry says. He points to the counter. “I brought pigs in blankets, if you’d like any. I’m gonna—” He gestures to the living room, where the rest of the guests have gathered for a presentation Luna’s prepared.

Draco feels a bit unsteady, with the casualness of the conversation, the closeness that hasn’t reached into claustrophobia.

“Sure,” he answers.

Harry tips his drink at him, juice in a compostable paper cup. “It’s good to see you.”

After he goes, Draco settles against the kitchen counter, considers the pigs in blankets.

Serves himself another helping of roast.

[jerreeeeeee]

hm. struck all of a sudden with the urge to write a candlenights fic. i don’t think i really have the time for that but its. really strong.

[supersharkgentlemen]

look up, stancesties, got a nice little splurt coming up for ya. Got inspired by holidays coming up and pop music of the past few decades. Don't want to procrastinate further on my year paper (gotta finish that shit till the end of the week, despite only having introduction n the beginnings of the first chapter. Theres money at stake, i cannot miss the deadline.), but after i finish it, expect a tasty little treat xoxo

[hellwurld]

it's a gift! for @routeriver! for the @mcytblrholidayexchange! hi, i hope you enjoy some foolish & tina shenanigans, with quite a bit of bagina and empanada in there too, because i love those girls!

ao3 link

Foolish is a fantastic friend.

Honestly, he’d say that he’s a pretty great guy all around, and frankly, he’s been keeping it all together pretty well for a guy in his situation. He got forced into a death game, and then there were all the eggs, and the duel, and the boat leaving him behind as a meteor struck. He’s cracked to pieces, he can’t see out of one eye, and he’s more shark than he’s ever been before, which doesn’t seem like a great sign.

But, comparatively to some people, like Max who died, Foolish is doing pretty well. He looks like shit, sure, but he’s doing well.

Everyone looked like shit at the end of Purgatory, it’s part of being in Purgatory, so Foolish thought everyone would be on the same page.

Tina, apparently, didn’t get the memo.

“Okay, I really don’t think that’s necessary,” Foolish says, squinting at Tina. His vision is blurry, and he knows that he’s been going a little crazy since this started, but he doesn’t think he’s gotten to the stage of hallucinating yet. This means that, unfortunately, his very close, top ten favorite, longest known friend, Tina, is actually reapplying makeup. Tina glances at him in disdain, and makes a face.

“You wouldn’t think that, would you?” She says, looking him up and down. Foolish sputters in disbelief.

“You can’t— Tina, what? Tina, I— You cannot be serious right now?” Foolish hisses, whipping his head around like someone is going to come out with a camera and TV crew and tell him he’s on Punk’d. Tina just hums in acknowledgment, pulling at her face so that she can put a pencil-looking thing to her under eye in a way that cannot be comfortable.

Listen, Foolish loves Tina. People talk, have talked for years and years, about how they seem to butt heads, how they don’t really seem to get along, but Tina and him are friends. Like, real friends. They’re weird, in their own way, but Foolish always has weird friends. He’s friends with Bad, of all people, so everyone should really start to expect his friends to be weird. But, this is where Foolish is drawing the line, because they need to leave. They needed to leave hours ago, but Foolish couldn’t find Tina anywhere.

“Tina—” Foolish tries, but Tina shushes him, waving him off.

“Shhh,” She says, shoving her hand in his face, and he just stares at her with wide eyes. He can’t believe her, this can’t be real.

“Am I— Tina, are you real? This isn’t real, I— This isn’t real, you’re pranking me, this is a prank—” Foolish rambles, collapsing to lay down in the sand, hands over his eyes. The sun is a bright, glaring red, and Foolish thinks that he is going to be the first person to ever experience what nuclear radiation does to a totem. He’s not that interested in being a scientific anomaly, but that’s just how life goes.

Tina does not seem to care much about his crisis. When he tells her that he doesn’t want to become the Federation’s grand scientific discovery, and that his life isn’t worth a Nobel Peace Prize, or any prize, she just shoots him an absent thumbs up. Her tongue sticks out in focus, and Foolish feels a little bit like he’s going to snap into pieces.

“Tina—”

“Oh my God,” Tina hisses, “I’ll be ready in a second, just wait, asshole!”

Foolish isn’t proud of this, okay? He’s a nice guy. He’s a great guy. But, and this is important, he’s known Tina long enough that he doesn’t really need to be nice to her.

So, Foolish does what he has to do. He lassos Tina, picks her up, and launches her into the ocean.

For the first few miles, Tina just floats on top of the sea, letting Foolish do all the hard work of swimming so that she can mope around. Then, Foolish decides that he would also like to breathe air for a second, and she attempts to stay under the water so she doesn’t have to talk to him.

Foolish thinks about letting her drown. He doesn’t let her, but only because she would absolutely tell everyone that he left her to die, and he really does not want to deal with that.

It’s only on hour three that she says something, and honestly he’s regretting wishing that she would talk to him at all.

“Could we not have built a boat?” She says, spitting water out of her mouth as he speeds up. He can’t maintain the speed, but it’s good to keep her on her toes. He dives under the water too, just to humble her. It’s a little petty, but Foolish is a little petty, and she’s been so put together this whole time, that he just can’t really help himself.

She starts yelling as soon as he surfaces, which he takes as a good sign that he’s succeeded in making her angry, until he realizes that it’s actually kind of awful, because he’s the one stuck with an angry Tina for the next few hours. She starts swimming faster, just to get closer so she can yell in his ear, but she can’t keep up. He doesn’t fault her for that, because Tina is wearing seven layers of clothing at any given time and Foolish is incredibly aerodynamic. Foolish is also a shark, but he thinks the aerodynamics is what really gives him the advantage.

Once Tina has finished yelling at him, and once Foolish is done trying to get her to yell more, they drift in silence. Foolish knows which direction the island is, and the wind is, thankfully, pushing the ocean that way so he doesn’t have to work as hard, so for a little while, he’s able to chill. Tina has decided to dedicate herself to dethorning the lasso around her. It was fashioned from a vine that seemed to be pretty painful for everyone that wasn’t made of precious metals with skin that isn’t as thick as a sharks. Foolish knows Tina’s durable enough to not feel the thorns, and even if she wasn’t, the many layers of clothing do a good job at protecting her.

She’s probably just bored, being alone with her thoughts. Tina’s never liked that. Foolish doesn’t mind it nearly as much as she does. Foolish likes to think, contrary to popular belief. He used to always think aloud, but once he started living around people again, he realized that talking to yourself isn’t the best trait to have. So, he tries to keep in on lock, at least when he’s thinking about things he doesn’t want to share.

Foolish shares a lot with Tina, but it’s been a long week, and Foolish has a lot to think about for himself, so he lets her struggle on her own.

There’s something itching at him. It might be all the people left behind, by the boat they couldn’t make it to, and by Foolish who couldn’t find them: Cellbit, Baghera, Etoiles, and Bad. It might be Max, who Foolish is still trying to wrap his head around because he died and he also nuked the island. It’s not that though, because it’s something smaller. He wracks his brain, trying to figure out what’s bothering him, because he knows it’s something, someone.

He thinks it has to do with Tina.

And then Tina screams, and the thought is left behind, because holy shit, who the fuck is that?

“That’s a person, oh God—” Tina starts yelling, so Foolish starts yelling because oh, God, that is a person.

There is a person, sinking in the water beneath them, and Foolish makes the split second decision of ‘I should probably help this guy’ and dives under the water, reaching blindly for the pale, thrashing person in the water. When he makes contact, the person is distinctly furry, and Foolish recognizes the bright orange vest of the workers. The worker tries to fight Foolish’s hold, but Foolish is strong enough to get a good grasp, and he doesn’t care at all if he has to knock this guy out to stop them from drowning.

So, he does that, and he ties part of the rope around them too. The worker is... weirdly buoyant, so it’s once again, just him and Tina swimming, this time with a furry mass bobbing beside them. It’s weird, and Tina hisses every time the worker floats a little too close to her, but it’s altogether pretty alright. They make small talk, but Tina always seems half-focused on watching the guy out of the corner of her eye.

Foolish can’t remember much, but Tina being wary, paranoid, doesn’t strike him as especially strange. It should, probably, because Tina has seemed fairly upbeat and positive the whole time she’s been on the island, but it doesn’t.

Foolish puts Tina into the same category as Bad. They’re weird, obviously, and Foolish knows there’s some sort of complicated history with them, but he just can’t remember. He tries not to let it bother him. Some things he can’t change, and island-induced amnesia seems to be one of those things.

She seems happy enough when they spot the beaches of the Island, but Foolish supposes that anyone would be happy at that point.

When they climb onto land, Tina detaches herself from Foolish almost instantly, ripping the rope from around her body. They drag the unconscious worker onto land, and as Foolish stabilizes the guy, Tina scrunches the water out of her hair. Agent 18 meets them, and after a small crisis where Foolish has to confirm that yes, he is alive and yes, they should probably stop having funerals for him, they’re able to escort the other worker into the Federation building. Apparently, he was not normal, and was a worker from the other island, which makes a lot more sense.

Tina seems glad to go along with them, lamenting the ways she was rejected from the Federation as an employee. Foolish isn’t really holding out hope that she’ll actually become a worker, due to her... associations. He says as much.

“I don’t think they’ll let you in,” Foolish says, and Tina frowns at him.

“Wha— Why not?” She asks incredulously, crossing her arms, “I have all the qualifications.”

“Oh yeah,” Foolish says sarcastically, “Like being a barista! So highly qualified.” She rolls her eyes, and elbows him harshly.

“Yeah, exactly,” She says, squinting up at him, challenging him, “I’ll have you know I’m incredibly skilled.”

“I’m sure you are,” Foolish placates, before pausing. He has to figure out how to say this in a way that won’t make her yell at him. He looks to Agent 18 for help, but he is studiously ignoring both of them in favor of arranging a small prison cell around the Unnamed Freaky Eye Worker. Foolish takes a deep breath, and turns to Tina.

“Based on your...” He pauses, and Tina looks like she’s about four seconds away from smacking him, “associations, they’d probably think you’re a spy.”

“My associations?” Tina asks, and now Foolish is confused, because it seems pretty obvious. Pretty cut-and-dry, if he says so himself.

“Well, y’know, you and Bagi?” Foolish says it slowly, in case Tina is concussed and needs him to speak slower than usual. She looks a little spacey, eyes wide and mildly panicked. He continues nervously, “She’s not really on great terms with the Federation, and well— like, y’know, if she’s not on their good side, then you’re not on their good side. It’s like those people who are attached to each other and can’t be separated, like twins, conjoined twins—”

Now, Foolish could’ve kept talking. He’s pretty good at it. Tina doesn’t really let him, because Tina is Tina and Tina is a freak, so she starts coughing violently in response.

Foolish immediately stops talking, rushing over panicked to Tina because if she chokes and dies now, he’s gonna be so pissed. Tina is wide-eyed, flushed, and Foolish thinks that he either majorly fucked up his perception of events or Tina is wildly more concussed than he thought she was.

“What makes you—” She coughs again, and clears her throat. “What makes you say that?” She asks. She seems normal, but Foolish knows Tina, and Foolish knows that something is very wrong. Her eyes are sharp, and her tone is frantic, and Foolish gets the sinking suspicion that he has triggered something that he’s not sure the fallout of, but he’s sure that he doesn’t want to know the fallout of.

“Nothing,” Foolish says, turning away from Tina and pretending like he can’t feel her eyes boring into his skull. Agent 18 has, conveniently, slipped out of the room, so it’s just Foolish, Tina, and an unconscious, furry cyclops sleeping like a brick in a prison cell. “It was, uh— I was just saying, y’know, because everyone knows that you and her are like— Well, It’s nothing.”

Foolish is so good at this. He should win an award. He should win ten awards.

“It’s not nothing!” She yells, obviously not caring if their prisoner wakes up, “What do you mean everyone knows—”

“I didn’t mean anything, I just said it randomly!”

“Well, I’m just randomly telling you to continue!” Tina hisses, and Foolish feels a beat of anger in his chest. It’s a little like arguing with Bad, an age old familiarity that shouldn’t attach itself to someone that he really doesn’t have any working memories about.

“Why do you care so much?” Foolish says, like an idiot, because obviously Tina would want to know why everyone thought her and Cellbit’s cool, but kinda insane, sister were involved in some sort of... deal, or whatever.

“I don’t care,” Tina says petulantly, like an even bigger idiot, because obviously, she does.

“Obviously, you do!” Foolish says, mildly hysterical because he’s the one that’s been getting yelled at for something he thought was supposed to be obvious.

“You’re the one that cares, asshole!” Foolish’s eye twitches, but Tina just kind of glares at him, her tail lashing behind her. Foolish isn’t really paying attention to it, but if he was, he’d see that it’s less of a cat tail and more of a demon’s, with a spade tip and a sharp look to it. Tina’s eyes are dark with slit pupils, but Foolish is more focused on his own show of dramatics, tossing his hands above his head as his own eyes glow in frustration. Through the cracks in his body, a totem’s glowing light can be seen, simmering under the surface in a mildly angry boil.

“Oh my god, whatever,” Foolish groans, pushing his hood down as he runs his hand through still-wet hair. He slides down the wall to sit down, energy leaving him. He was already tired, and the adrenaline of purgatory, and having to swim for his life, and then the thrilling argument with Tina had already started to leave him. He’s just kinda tired now, and he can feel the water seeping under his skin through the cracks, leaving him feeling just kind of damp. Through just a look at Tina, he can tell that she feels similarly, collapsing down to sit next to him.

She still looks pristine, Foolish notes bitterly. Her skin is clear and glowing, and her hair has light waves from the water but no knots, and from what Foolish can see, there’s not a single cut or scar or burn on her. It’s honestly kind of frustrating.

They both just breathe, for a minute or two. Foolish lets himself wind down, but Tina seems lost in thought, brow furrowing every so often as she mumbles to herself quietly. She looks up at him, at one point, and Foolish is too tired to do anything but just kinda look back, expectantly.

“The Federation thinks we have something going on?” Tina asks, whispering. It’s a stark contrast to before, and Foolish can’t help but continue to feel like he missed something.

“Yeah,” Foolish says, and once he starts, he can’t really stop. “But, I mean, It’s not just them. We all thought something was going on, and— well, like, Cellbit said he crashed some sort of date, and Bagi told you she loved you that one time—”

“She what?” Tina interrupts shrilly, almost squealing at him. Foolish doesn’t quite block his eyes, but he flinches enough that Tina grimaces in apology, repeating herself quietly. “She what?” She says again, this time in more of a stage whisper.

“Yeah,” Foolish says, mildly amused, “I thought you were just being nice about it, but, like, I guess she said it as you were leaving. It was right at the beginning, like when teams were getting picked, and then you went to your team— and, well, like, we all knew she liked you.”

Tina looks a little shell shocked, and Foolish understands why. It’s a lot to hear that some girl is in love with you when you had no idea. Foolish has had his fair share of clueless days, so he empathizes with Tina not knowing. Tina’s very pretty, and people tend to fall in love with you when you’re incredibly pretty and kind and funny. Foolish would know. So, he’s very willing to be there as Tina figures out what to do.

“It’s okay, Tina,” He says, because he’s a great, and incredibly observant friend, “It’s just that with her liking you, the Federation won’t let you join, even if you don’t like her back. It’s very unfair.”

He’s so good at this friendship stuff.

“Wait,” Tina says, and Foolish waits, because he’s great. Tina pulls back, “You think I don’t like Bagi?”

Foolish is confused. Tina is confused. They’re both just staring at each other, as Foolish tries to piece together the puzzle in his brain. Bagi likes Tina, Foolish knew this. Tina likes Bagi, and Foolish did not know this. Together, this means that—

Something clicks.

“Oh my god,” Foolish says.

“Foolish,” Tina groans, already tired of him and his revelations.

“Oh my god!”

“Foolish, it’s really not that big a deal—”

“Tina, I had no idea—”

“You’re yelling, Foolish,”

“You’re gay?”

“Yes, I like her, it’s really not—” Tina pauses. Foolish is looking at her, incredulous. “Foolish,” Tina says, completely and utterly shell-shocked, “You didn’t know I was gay?”

“No idea,” Foolish says, “You didn’t give off any of the signs.”

“Foolish, I’ve been obsessed with her since the moment she joined. I said that she made me nervous and that she was the coolest person I’d ever met, and that I desperately wanted her to like me—”

“Oh my god,” Foolish groans, and Tina cackles at him.

“You didn’t know?” She says, breathlessly, like she can’t believe it because she can’t.

“I had no idea, I thought—” He gestures aimlessly, mildly pathetic, and Tina can’t stop laughing at him.

“What did,” She interrupts herself, laughing even harder, tears welling up in the corners of her eyes, “What the fuck did you think?”

“I didn’t realize!” Foolish whines, and she doubles over, almost rolling on the ground from how hard she’s laughing. He’s embarrassed, but he’s not terribly surprised. Tina’s been obsessive over Bagi since the moment they met, but it didn’t strike him as weird or crush-y, because his mind was telling him that’s how Tina is. That’s how Tina was. Vaguely, he can grasp memories of her acting like this before, with warrior girls and tricky fairies, and he just— hadn’t thought of it.

She’s always been Tina to him, since the moment they re-met on the island. She’s indescribable, because he can’t remember anything about her, just that she is her and he’s known her and loved her for centuries. She’s his best friend, and he can’t describe her at all. Part of him is desperately, terribly sad, despite how he’s laughing with her now, because this is basic stuff. He thinks that, maybe, before the island, he would’ve known this, and he would’ve been there to meet all the girlfriends and know all the inside gossip. This time, though, he didn’t. He couldn’t remember, and then they went to Purgatory.

There’s so much about Tina that he used to know, that he should remember, and he doesn’t. It makes him a little sick, and it makes him a little sad. Mostly, it just makes him feel empty.

Foolish is a good friend, and he’s an observant guy, he really is. He can pick up on things easily, and he thinks that, maybe, in another life, he would’ve known this about Tina instantly, would’ve remembered and categorized it away in his head. The island makes things slippery, makes things harder to hold onto, both memories and objects and people.

Foolish wants to say this. Tell Tina that he’s sorry he forgot and that he misses her and that he knows her but can’t remember her and that he wants to remember.

“Congrats on coming out,” he says instead, because it’s not the time for that.

“Thanks,” Tina replies, instead of saying I know. Foolish can hear the words underneath it anyway. He wipes at the tears in his eyes, formulated from laughing so hard he almost cracked another rib, and Tina does the same, waving at her eyes with her hands, so she doesn’t mess up her makeup even further.

Oh my god, the makeup.

“Was the makeup for Bagi?” Foolish asks, and Tina stops, glancing over to him, wide-eyed.

“Um,” Tina says, “It depends. Does it look good?” Foolish groans loudly, which makes Tina flush in embarrassment, checking herself in a mirror situated on the wall to make sure it’s still good. It’s messy, from her dive in the ocean, but Tina still looks lovely, nearly sent from Heaven. The demonic influence helps, her form shifting to always look tempting and perfect compared to others, a secret invitation to Hell disguised as a welcome into Heaven, but it’s mostly her own skill and dedication to presentation.

“Looks like shit,” Foolish lies, and she smacks the side of his head with her hand.

“Oh, fuck off,” She grumbles, wiping off bits of watery mascara that have become runny due to the swim. Foolish wheezes a loud windshield-wiper laugh. Tina startles at the noise, which only causes him to laugh even louder.

There’s a grumble from the bed, and they both whip around to see the Eyeball Worker blink a bleary eye awake. This is their cue to run, and Foolish doesn’t hesitate to jump up and throw Tina over his shoulder, slamming open doors and sprinting out of the building at an unrivaled, never-seen-before speed.

“I’ll drop you at her house,” Foolish wheezes, and Tina screams in his ear as revenge.

“Put me down, asshole, I’ll find my own way home,” She says, and Foolish grins, slowing and stopping to drop her unceremoniously on her ass. He waves goodbye, as he runs in another direction, and she dazedly waves back, wobbling as she gets back on her feet.

“Fucking scumbag,” Tina says, shaking herself out, tail whipping behind her. Tina combs a hand through her hair, checking to make sure that the cat ear accessories placed over her horns are still in place, and turning around to make sure her tail is still looking like a cat tail. As she’s checking herself over, she hears a twig snap behind her somewhere, and she sighs as she fully turns to look.

“Foolish, I swear to—”

It’s Bagi. A tired, messy-looking, still kind-of-dirty Bagi, but Bagi nonetheless. It’s also a Bagi with a little girl in her arms. She’s tiny, and wide-eyed, and has tiny little horns that mimic Tina’s peeking out from under a floppy, pancake-esque hat.

“Um,” Tina says, eloquently, before her brain catches up with her and her face flares with embarrassment because, really, Tina, that’s what you say to your kind-of-girlfriend, kind-of-not that you haven’t seen for days holding a child that looks kinda like you.

“Hi,” Bagi says, like Tina’s not an idiot, and Tina falls a little bit more in love with her.

“Hi,” Tina says, because she is an idiot. She tries not to think about how bad she wants to kill herself out of embarrassment, as Bagi tries to not think about how gorgeous Tina is even with, especially with, wet hair and smudged makeup.

“Hi!” The little girl says, “I’m Empanada.” She holds out an expectant hand, and looks up at Tina with all the confidence and flair that Tina never had as a kid.

“Hello, Empanada,” Tina says, smiling softly, “I’m Tina.”

“I know,” Empanada says frankly, and Tina recoils slightly, still smiling but this time far more confusedly. Empanada clearly notices this, because she continues. “You’re my mom,” she says, “It was on my certificate. That means you can call me Em.” She rummages around in her dress pockets, squirming in Bagi’s arms before she hands Tina a carefully folded certificate that proclaims Tina as her mother, along with Bagi, Jaiden, Mouse, and Niki.

“Ah,” Tina says, “It’s lovely to meet you then, Emmy.” The nickname slips out, but Em just grins widely and holds out two arms, making grabby hands until Tina leans forward enough for her to wrap her arms tightly around Tina’s neck. She jumps out of Bagi’s arms and clings to Tina in a strong enough hug to knock her breathless.

“Hi, Eomma Tina!” Em says, head tucked over Tina’s shoulder making it so that she’s talking just loud enough for Tina’s ears to mildly ache, “It’s so, so, so nice to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you from Mamãe Bagi. She said that you were very nice and very smart, and she said you were really pretty, and she wasn’t lying, because you are!”

Tina turns to look at Bagi, who’s turning more red by the second. “Em,” Bagi says, mildly frantic and wide-eyed as she studiously does not make eye contact with Tina, but Em just barrels on.

“Honestly, I thought she was gonna be lying, because she clearly likes you, but she wasn’t, which is nice,” Em says, before pulling away to frown at Tina. “Do you like her too? Because she really likes you, and it’s not a normal like, but a like-like, and it would be cool if my moms were dating.”

Tina hums, and out of the corner of her eye she can see Bagi redden even further, which she didn’t even think was fully possible.

“Em,” Bagi chides, “Tina just got back. Let’s not overwhelm her with questions.” She takes Em from Tina’s arms, avoiding eye contact and physical contact by any means necessary.

“I don’t like Mamãe Bagi,” Tina says, lowering herself to Em’s line of vision. Em frowns, and Tina can hear Bagi’s breath hitch slightly, and she decides to take a risk. She taps Em’s nose, and when the girl scrunches her nose, Tina laughs softly.

“I love Bagi,” Tina says, and when it registers in her brain, Em beams with a huge smile, turning in Bagi’s arms to look up at Bagi. Tina hurriedly takes Em’s face in her hands, and when Em looks at her quizzically, Tina puts a finger up to her mouth in a shushing motion.

“Shh,” Tina whispers loudly, enough that Bagi can hear but quiet enough that Em thinks it’s a real whisper, “You can’t tell her before I do. It’s a secret.”

Em nods gravely, and makes a zipping motion over her mouth, before turning back into Bagi’s arms and giggling to herself. Tina rises from where she was crouched, and resolutely does not look at Bagi as she links their arms. She allows herself to grasp Bagi’s upper arm softly, as she walks so close to her that they’re knocking into each other.

“Let’s go home,” Tina says, finally looking at Bagi. Bagi doesn’t say much, just nods with a stupid smile on her face and lets Tina drag all three of them to her house, content to listen fondly as Em and Tina chatter quickly with each other.

[residenthesitant]

hey what if i wrote a passover fic

Title: Manna from Heaven Warnings: None Rating: Gen Relationships: Married Tubbo/Ranboo, Tubbo & Everyone Characters: Tubbo, Ranboo, Techno, Michael B, Foolish, assorted others Tags: Post-Canon, Domestic Fluff, Jewish Holidays, Pesach | Passover, Tubbo-Centric, Found Family Summary: One of the perks of having a rich husband, in Tubbo’s opinion, is getting to send out the fanciest, most over-the-top invitations for what is, essentially, a small dinner for friends and family. The size of the dinner does not matter. The amount of invitations being set out does not matter. The fact that Tubbo can commission a calligrapher to make ten overly-decorated and horrendously fancy cards to invite people to his home is what matters.

You are cordially invited to the Underscore-Beloved’s home on Friday at sundown for Passover. Contact Tubbo or Ranboo to RSVP.

Oh, gods.

Tubbo’s never hosted a seder before.

i wrote the world's most self-indulgent passover fic in the world for @mcyt-passover-event! read it on ao3 <333333

[noodleblade]

Swerve is hosting a human themed holiday party at swerve's and he's set a mistletoe over the door for the next unsuspecting bots of your choice who enter (very cliché) :3c

nckjsendkjsfkjef any of them bots would be good, but it has to be simpatico for you <3 its a little off topic but we get there in the end:3 also look who failed their maximum 500 words fdnksjfnkdkfv

“We’re late.”

Drift hummed unbothered, glancing up briefly from his datapad as he sat cross legged on Perceptor’s workstation. 

“Fashionably late.” He turned back to quickly type out something before adding, “We all know your social meter runs rather short so we should wait for the peak to get there.”

Perceptor…couldn’t quite argue with that logic, but he still felt the anxiety ticking through his frame, his processor tracking the kliks that passed, of the time he was missing, wasting. 

For once, he had actually planned to spend the entire night at Swerve’s Holiday Bash. He hadn’t initially when the invitation was sent to nearly every mech aboard the Lost Light over a month ago. In his servos, he held the flimsy tin pamphlet adorn with tiny, twinkly lights and glitter. Lots and lots of glitter. It promised music, drinks and “fun, Earth customs!” with a crudely drawn snowman holding a cube of energon. Perceptor was going to toss it away, ignore the social gather in favor of focusing on his work but…

His optics darted to the other half of the lab currently unoccupied. Its inhabitant was on the other side of the ship. Probably enjoying music and drinks and whatever Swerve’s best guess at Earth holiday festivities included. 

Brainstorm had been giddy when he had received the invitation. His golden optics had met Perceptor’s and casually asked if Perceptor would be going to. Any thoughts of spending the night alone had flown out the window as he gave his lab partner a single, solid nod. 

It seemed now, he was back to his usual plans. He wasn’t sure why Drift had insisted they would go together, only to keep Perceptor held up in his lab for nearly an hour, but…it felt like the cosmic forces were against him. Or maybe just Drift. Despite his neutral, calm demeanor, Perceptor felt the other mech was hiding something from him. 

“The party is going to be over before we get there,” Perceptor tried again.

Both of Drift’s optic ridges rose as he met Perceptor’s gaze. “Trust me, it won’t. Rodimus is usually the last to leave and I know for a fact he plans to spend the whole night-”

An alert sounded from Drift’s datapad. He immediately looked at it, cutting off his train of thought. A bright grin flashed across his faceplates as he jumped off the counter.

“Actually, let’s go now.”

Suspicion rose across Perceptor’s frame but…he checked his internal chronometer. Brainstorm had left with Nautica and Velocity nearly an hour ago. Perceptor didn’t want to waste anymore time, suspicions and Drift’s general weirdness aside.

“Okay,” he said, standing up quickly, hoping it didn’t come off eager. 

Judging by Drift’s widening grin, it did.

They walked in silence. Perceptor forced his pace to remain slow and even, despite wanting to rush down the halls as quickly as possible. He had been amping himself up for weeks about finally making a move and talk to Brainstorm, taking those weeks to plan out his words, gathering up the courage to cross the invisible barrier of lab partners to something more. He was ready and he didn’t want to delay it any further. He just want to get to Swerve’s, find Brainstorm and take him aside to a small, secluded booth and-

A firm hand grabbed Perceptor by the wrist, halting his pace just as the doors to Swerve’s came before them.

Perceptor couldn’t even hold back his annoyance as Drift gave him a sheepish smile.

“One more minute.”

“Why?” 

It came out blunt, almost rude. Perceptor only briefly felt bad for his callousness. 

Drift opened his mouth to explain but before he could, the doors to Swerve’s opened his optics widened. With two firm hands, Drift pushed Perceptor through the opening, an apologetic wince on his faceplates.

Perceptor stumbled. He bumped into someone and braced his hands against them for support. An apology on his lips as he turned and-

“Percy!” Brainstorm yelped. His golden optics were wide, wingtips twitching with embarrassment as he clung to Perceptor. Behind him, Chromedome stood, his arm still outstretched. “I didn’t know you were coming in! Or that you were coming at all! I thought you weren’t interested or…” the words died in Brainstorm’s intake as the jet’s optics rose up to the doorway. Embarrassment, dread and anxious desperate worry curled around his field, brushing up against Perceptor’s. “Sorry.”

Perceptor remained unmoving as he let his own optics follow Brainstorm’s, landing on a curious bundle of colored aluminum, mangled to look almost like…a flower?

Almost like…a mistletoe…

Oh.

Perceptor’s brief stint on Earth had given him a crash course on Earth and its inhabitant’s culture. Even more so, his own research had supplemented the rest. Even if the craftsmanship of the mistletoe was shoddy at best, its intent was still beyond apparent. 

“We…” Brainstorm’s intake made an audible click, “...on Earth, they have to…when humans stand under it…they have to…” the words trailed off once more, Brainstorm’s optics staring at Perceptor’s in complete and utter dismay.

Distantly, Perceptor was aware of multiple eyes on them: Swerve, at the bar, grinning bright and wide; Chromdedome, Nautica and Velocity forming a small crowd beside them; Drift surely as well behind him.

Oh. He turned his gaze from Brainstorm to throw a withering glare at Drift. Unaffected, Drift only nodded his helm back to Brainstorm, ushering with his hands for Perceptor to get on with it.

Evidentially, this had all been planned. Perceptor…didn’t have time to dwell on that. Not with Brainstorm attempting to shrink himself as small as possible while still in Perceptor’s hold.

“Kiss,” Perceptor murmured, dropping his voice low. “Traditionally, speaking.” Brainstorm’s optics were glued to Perceptor, wide and fearful. It made Perceptor’s spark drop painfully. Weeks of courage and weeks of pep talks and weeks of planning all swirling down the drain as he whispered, “We don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

Brainstorm blinked, slow and owlishly. “If…If I don’t want to?”

A sickly warmth crawled up Perceptor’s cheeks. Leave it to Brainstorm to dissect the meaning of his words now. “Yes,” Perceptor gave a faint nod, his optics closing as he added, “I am…not opposed.”

The silence was deafening. 

Perceptor began calculating the probability of socially ever being able to recover from this. It truly depended on the Rodimus and Whirl factors. If they were here and watching, the ridicule would be endless. Though with Drift watching behind him, the sting would last a bit longer. He would just have to hole up in his lab for a few weeks. Unless Brainstorm still wanted to be lab partner, then he’d have to steer clear of the labs and-

His thoughts were interrupted with a quiet hiss of depressurization. Before he could open his optics, soft, warm melt brushed against his lips. Shyly, almost timid.

Hope, horrible and all consuming hope, burst in his chest as he reached forward, one hand finding Brainstorm’s arm and the other cupping his cheek.

“Is this okay?” Brainstorm asked quietly, ringing in Perceptor’s audials.

“Yes.” Perceptor onlined his optics to meet Brainstorm’s. “Is this okay with you?”

His grin was on full display, blast mask hanging gingerly between two digits. “Absolutely, Percy.”