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twothpaste · 2 months

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m3 post-canon worldbuilding thoughts

🌏🐉🌞👷👇

🐲 the dark dragon is a real flesh and blood island-sized beast, but also a symbolic embodiment of the earth's love. she cherishes all living things, including humanity. she wept in her sleep when humans destroyed the world. once awakened, she circles the globe, slowly bleeding love and life and magic back into the soil.

🌱 the dark dragon's powers were overstated. though the message of sheer hope saving the earth works beautifully in the context of a video game ending - if we're breakin into post-canon fanworks, "magic will instantly solve the climate crisis & systemic political rot & grant us a clean slate" doesn't cut it for me. though the dragon grants them a second chance, humanity's still gotta spend the next several generations helping her restore the world. planting seeds, rebuilding from the wreckage of old cities, inventing sustainable tech and systems of self-governance, the whole nine yards.

🌊 when she came outta the ground, the dragon broke nowhere into pieces. it's now a sprawling archipelago of at least 100 islands. a lot of familiar locations remain mostly intact, but some places close to the needles (like osohe castle and the chimera lab) have been submerged and destroyed. much of the first few years postgame are spent mapping out the new landscape, and discovering new ways to navigate it. (kinda like how coming out of a traumatic living situation & grappling with ptsd involves re-contextualizing old memories & spaces, learning to navigate the world all over again, etc 🥲)

🏠 tazmily's got a big cliffside carved down the middle of town square, and a few broken chunks severed off, with steep ocean drops between 'em. the community comes together to restore their town with a web of stairways and bridges. though it looks like a shabby disaster zone at first, it takes on a charming and well-loved vibe over the years. maybe one day i'll find the time to sketch some scenes.

🚣‍♀️ the best way to get around the new nowhere is by boat. kayaks, canoes, and sailboats become quite popular. incidentally, most tazmilians had experience with ship-building & seafaring (that's naturally how they made it to nowhere on a big white ship). they'd locked this knowledge away with their memories, fearing what'd happen if they took to the sea again and discovered their dark history. as they gradually regain their traumatic memories, they also regain their capacity to engage with the present world.

🫠 without porky's influence, the folks he brought to nowhere are also slowly regaining memories & coming to their senses. these people find themselves stranded in a distant future, utterly misled, with no hope of returning home. most of 'em settle initially into tazmily, helping the villagers rebuild the only settlement left on planet fucking earth, whether out of the goodness of their hearts or sheer need to survive. it's an awkward adjustment. most everyone understands the state of mutual dependence they're all stuck in, and some folks (perhaps inspired by lucas) offer tremendous kindness to strangers. but others are reluctant to trust ex-pigmasks, and vice versa. others still lash out or self-isolate in vain frustration at the hopelessness of their situation, separated irrevocably from their homes and families. it takes several years for the last humans alive to really come to terms, and truly come together.

🐽 there's a splinter branch of ex-pigmasks who fuck off to the ruined highway islets where thunder tower used to be, declaring their ongoing loyalty to porky. they build a new settlement called "the pigpen." their poorly-organized isolationist stint lasts less than a decade, caving to a lack of supplies & the utmost generosity from tazmilians offering aid. the pigpen ultimately becomes a wholly benign settlement. some folks even move there for a change of pace. the vibe of the place starts leanin' toward punk culture, with post-apocalyptic garage rock bands and outcasts helpin' each other get by. (i think kuma & her wife live here. it's probably dcmc's home base too.)

🌫️ porky himself resides in the crumbled wreckage of new pork city, slowly sinking into the ocean over the course of 20 years. sometimes tazmilians come to salvage technology & supplies, but they learn to steer clear of the king's capsule. he's got nothing worthwhile left to offer humanity, and vice versa… (i've written 2 fics set here. i'm very normal and not at all sick in the head about the symbolic weight of this concept.)

🌲 lucas & isaac start a "ranger service" organization that preserves natural wildlife and manages chimeras. much of their work involves relocating troublesome chimeras to more suitable environments, dismantling their excessive weaponry, providing veterinary care & mechanical repairs. after some initial debate, it's accepted as a law of the land that all things have a right to live - even the most inconvenient of porky's lab experiments.

☀️ dr andonuts leads the charge in developing new sustainable technology, starting with a foundation of green energy tech that exists today. tazmily's powered by wind & solar farms (built mostly by ex-pigmasks, as an earnest show of repentance and solidarity). i think there's some carbon capture tech going on, tryin to reverse the lingering effects of climate change. i have a crystal clear image in my head of these funny clunky solar powered trucks they use for moving equipment, and i swear one of these days i'm gonna draw claus with one, trucker hat n' all, lookin' peak redneck in the driver's seat.

🚢 a few years postgame, a "world ship" is constructed - a vessel that can carry brave travelers to the old world's abandoned continents. they find no survivors out there. just lifeless ruins, and swaths of parched wilderness. lucas & pals take annual trips to salvage for precious scraps of history, survey the state of natural environemnts across the world, and help restore said environments through ecological work. i've written little snippets of this in a few fics… would love to write somethin wholly set within one of these expeditions one day, if i can come up with a solid story premise.

🏝️ another settlement crops up on the japanese island of kyushu (the nearest major landmass to nowhere). it's plainly dubbed "kyushu-two." much of the island's been submerged due to rising sea levels, but nowhere-folk are by this point used to a waterlogged seafaring lifestyle. a lotta non-tazmilians eagerly move here, itching to be "anywhere but nowhere." it develops a laidback and kinda artsy culture.

🤝 with only a few hundred people left on earth, a necessity to share resources, and a damning lesson learned from traditional systems of government, tazmily & other settlements become more or less anarcho-communist. though there are leadership roles, no one person is in charge of anything, and major decisions are made collectively by community members. i don't think they keep using currency, at least not for long. unlearning systems of hierarchy & authority is a challenge for many - even including some tazmilians, once they've regained their memories. call it a utopian fantasy, but they make the effort willingly, humbled by all that's transpired.

✨ new psychics are born at a higher rate than usual on postgame nowhere. (whatever "usual" is. i assume it's always been pretty exceptionally rare.) kumatora takes up the mantle of teachin' 'em how to use their powers, and passing down history the magifolk taught her. her worldly expeditions often involve seeking evidence of PSI in ancient societies - she's bringin' back stuff like PSI teleport and lore from dalaam & scaraba. she sees it as her duty to keep this knowledge alive, cuz she's the only one who can. (and to ensure future psychics don't have to feel lost & alone like lucas did, or like she did when her family disappeared 🥲)

🥼 claus has their eco-lab in the mothafuckin' arizona desert wasteland, developing new chimeras to repair ecosystems, y'all know the deal. it's kinda sad to think they probably won't live to see the full impact of their efforts - but then again, no one else will in this world, it's all a multi-generational effort. sweet to imagine in the long run there'll be lotsa silly & wonderful new organisms out there making the earth a greener, livelier place. i think they might even do some projects to revive species that went extinct when the world was destroyed. or at least, creating chimeras that can fulfill their likenesses and ecological niches.

🏃 a bunch of the characters travel around constantly i think. like lucas' home is tazmily, but he probably spends like 75% of his time elsewhere - expeditions, visiting loved ones, ranger work & odd jobs, etc. likewise for claus, kuma, duster, nana probably. dcmc tours on a big sailboat. flint might be one of the only major characters who mostly stays put. he gets sad if he leaves hinawa by her lonesome for too long.....

#into the 2thpasteverse #2thtalks #long

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moutainrusing · 3 months

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carefree

Sirius took a deep breath as the breath of the wind ruffled his curtains, and slowly tugged them open. He was up earlier than the others.

James was still sprawled on his bed in his Quidditch kit, having not bothered to change, shower, or even just close his curtains as a courtesy to Sirius’s now-traumatised eyes, because he’d been up so late sitting about on a wooden pole with splinters stuck on one end. (Sirius actually loved racing on brooms, except James’s love was an unhealthy infatuation and needed discouraging.) Peter was snoring behind his curtains to the tune of ‘Bat Out of Hell’ by Meat Loaf (surprisingly, Peter actually did have talents, just all of them were bizarre and obscure). And Remus’s hand had slipped out of his curtain, still loosely holding the book he’d been reading before he fell asleep.

Sirius smiled to himself, and carefully placed the book on Remus’s bedside table, because he’d kill everyone and then himself if any of the pages got bent, ripped, creased, anything. Remus was very overprotective like that. And so stubborn, because Sirius had told him so many times not to stay up so late reading, especially after a full moon. And then he had the audacity to go and be cute while being an adamant, possessive prick, meaning Sirius didn’t stand a chance winning any of their arguments.

Sirius sighed, knowing he’d just confirmed it yet another time: he was well and truly bent (for Moony). And today, he was going to tell his best mates. Just the bent bit, obviously. He went to the bathroom, and when he came back, James had awoken, with a grimace as he sat up in bed. He winced, stretched, and looked incredibly relieved to see Sirius awake.

“Padfoot!” He beamed. “Could you do me a favour and massage my back? It’s killing me.”

Sirius wondered if James would still let Sirius touch him if he knew Sirius was gay, before realising he’d soon find out anyway, and throwing him the middle finger. “Shower first.”

James scrunched his nose. “I’m in pain!”

“Should’ve considered that before you went and did however many hours of Quidditch drills.”

James pouted. “Help me out of bed?”

Sirius grumbled to himself, grabbing James’s arm and lifting him off the bed, dumping him next to the bathroom door.

“Ouch,” James whined ungratefully.

Sirius raised a brow. “You’re lucky I don’t go in there and start washing the sweat from your jersey off my hands.”

James rolled his eyes, and took his cue to take his turn in the bathroom.

Peter woke up next. Sirius could tell, because the snoring of ‘Bat Out of Hell’ became singing, which was possibly worse than the snoring. “Good morning!” Peter grinned as he opened his curtains.

Sirius snorted, half in amusement and half in derision. “Morning, Wormy.”

Peter hummed happily, “I had a good dream last night.”

“Yeah?”

“Yup, I went on tour with Meat Loaf! He said my singing was amazing!”

Sirius deadpanned, “I’m proud of you, Wormtail. But don’t start singing now. You need to save that amazing voice for when your dreams come true.”

Peter beamed. “That’s a good point!”

Then James stumbled out of the bathroom, while Peter took his turn. James plopped straight onto Sirius’s bed, and looked at him expectantly. Sirius sighed, sat behind him, and began to knead his back.

“Thanks, Pads.”

“I would say no problem, Prongs, but this really is a problem.”

Then Remus woke up, at the exact moment Peter exited the bathroom, because his body was just in tune like that. He smiled at them before going to take his turn. Sirius prepared himself to say the irrevocable words, because he’d need to get them out as soon as Remus re-entered and they were all in the room together. He ignored James and Peter’s conversation as he breathed slowly, closing his eyes as he repetitively kneaded with his hands.

In fact, he only realised Remus’s return by deeply inhaling the warm, fresh smell of woodsy pine trees, the one he wore just after showering. Remus had many smells, of which Sirius could recognise all of them and could never decide which he loved most. He opened his eyes, and shuffled away from James.

James frowned, “Why—”

“I have to tell you guys something.”

“Okay…” James trailed off, motioning him to go on. Remus just raised an eyebrow, and Peter still looked like he was on cloud nine, smiling at Sirius like he was about to declare, ‘Yo, Wormy, we should start a band together!!’

Sirius was not about to say that, ever. Instead, he said, “I’m gay.”

James shrugged, “Cool. Now please get back to that massage.” Sirius obliged purely out of shock.

Peter grinned at him eagerly, “Freddie Mercury also likes boys! We could form a band like—”

“Thanks, Worms, but no thanks,” Sirius shut him down, feeling a smile creep across his face. “Actually,” he glanced at Peter, realising just how good cloud nine felt. “Maybe one day.”

Peter began clapping in excitement. Sirius really thought the boy was going to wet himself.

But then he saw Remus frowning slightly, and his smile immediately vanished like Remus had cast ‘Evanesco’ on it.

He froze, and dug his nails into James’s shoulders. “Ow!” James cried petulantly, turning to face Sirius, then following his gaze to Remus. With two sets of expectant eyes on him, Remus seemed to shake out of his angered or disappointed or hateful stupor, and smile at Sirius softly.

“Not that I’m not happy for you, it’s just, you said you ‘have’ to tell us. But that’s not true, Pads, you don’t have to feel forced to tell us anything. It doesn’t matter, I don’t care whatever you are.”

Sirius knew he should be happy at this response. He smiled back, and hoped it didn’t look as forced as it felt. But the thing was, he wanted Remus to care. He wanted Remus to feel that spark of delight realising Sirius might fancy him, wanted Remus to be happy that he stood a chance with Sirius, because that was how he’d feel if Remus told them he liked boys. But no, Remus didn’t care. In fact, Remus was upset that Sirius felt ‘forced’ to tell them, because he didn’t even want to know. It didn’t affect him in the slightest.

It was kind of hypocritical, because James and Peter didn’t care either, and he loved that reaction from them, but when it was Remus’s reaction, he hated it. Remus seemed to sense this, because he fidgeted with his hands for a bit, before mumbling, “So, I’ma head down for breakfast. See you later, boys.”

He left. “Padfoot,” James said. “You can stop trying to puncture my skin now.”

Sirius immediately let go, and slid off his bed. “Sorry,” he muttered.

James looked at him curiously. “Do you fancy Moony?”

Peter actually gave them his full, solemn attention at this.

Sirius shrugged. “Well. Can you blame me?”

James burst out laughing. Peter smiled to himself, “The band’s gonna have two Freddie Mercurys…”

Sirius snorted. “Wormtail, firstly, we don’t know if Moons is queer, and secondly, not all queer men are Freddie Mercury. I’m pretty sure the only queer man who is Freddie Mercury is Freddie Mercury himself.”

Peter nodded thoughtfully. “That’s a good point.”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “Yes, I tend to offer you a lot of good points. Now, I’m gonna head down,” he walked to the door.

“Woah, woah,” James pulled him back. “We need to discuss your,” and then he smiled evilly, “Crush.”

“We don’t.”

James sighed, “Fine. But for the record, I think I get why you like him. He’s very nice, innit? And he was so sweet, all he cared about was you feeling obligated to tell us.”

Sirius grumbled, “He didn’t care at all,” and then, louder, he warned, “Careful, keep talking like that, and you’ll sound like the one hopelessly pining.”

James grinned, “Ooh, you’re hopelessly pining? Tell me more.”

“No,” Sirius stated firmly. “Now, we can’t leave Moony, let’s go down.”

James swooned into Peter, crooning, “Ah, young love; did you hear? He can’t leave Moony.”

Peter laughed and chased after Sirius to the Great Hall, leaving James to natter on about how none of them were romantic enough.

“You know,” Peter said to Sirius. “I don’t think I’m romantic at all.”

Sirius raised a brow. But Peter didn’t elaborate. So he pressed, “What do you mean?”

Peter turned to face him with a surprised expression. “I mean what I said? I don’t think I’d do anything romantic ever.”

“But what about with… your partner?”

Peter blinked in confusion. “I don’t want a partner?”

“Oh, you’re aromantic?”

Peter blinked at him. “No… I’m not a romantic, I’m… unromantic.”

Sirius laughed, “No, aromantic is a label for people who don’t feel romantic attraction.”

Peter didn’t laugh. “Oh. Well, I don’t care about labels, I just know how I feel.”

Another person who didn’t care. There Peter was, casually revealing his orientation, and he himself did not give a shit. On the other hand, Sirius was practically shitting himself about his own orientation. He couldn’t help but feel a little resentful at this. “Why don’t you care?”

Peter shrugged. “I don’t need to. I once told Moony I didn’t understand all this romance stuff, and he told me not to worry about it, just go with how I’m feeling. And so I go with how I’m feeling. I don’t want a label, I just want to feel.”

“So this is all Moony’s influence? He’s the one telling everyone not to care?”

Peter looked offended. “No. Well. Maybe. He just said it doesn’t matter. Feel what you like, mate. Anyway, I only told you this ‘cause I wanted to, not ‘cause I had to.”

“Oh, let me guess, Moony told you that too?” Sirius drawled.

Peter grinned, unable to detect the tone of Sirius’s voice. “Yeah! Moony is very clever; I see why you like him! If I were attracted to someone, I’d have to choose either Moony, you, or Prongs, but I’m not, so… maybe I can call it a squish? It’s not a crush, but I still really like you all!”

“Uh, Peter,” Sirius said awkwardly, “I don’t—”

Peter looked crestfallen. “You don’t see me as your best mate?”

“No, I do—”

“Yes! We’re best mates! Love you, Padfoot!” Peter jumped for joy, and skipped down the Great Hall to where Remus was sitting at the Gryffindor table, loudly proclaiming his love for Remus, who smiled and replied with something that made Peter beam even harder.

Sirius shook his head fondly and walked over to them, sitting next to Remus while Peter sat opposite them. “You’re a great best mate, Wormy,” Sirius nodded, serving himself some bacon. Peter looked like he was going to explode.

Then James arrived, loudly chatting to Marlene about Quidditch while Lily and Mary trailed behind them, Lily looking thoroughly annoyed and Mary thoroughly entertained. Upon seeing them, Sirius, Remus and Peter burst into laughter, because, presumably thanks to Lily, James was now sporting long, thick pigtails, each tied with little baby blue ribbons.

“He looks like Moaning Myrtle,” Remus commented, managing to rein in his laughter first.

However, this only made Sirius laugh even harder, because that was actually an accurate observation, how hadn’t they seen it before?

James sat next to Peter, and dopily murmured, “Evans is so smart, look at what she did to my hair, she’s so talented, I’m gonna keep it like this forever… so pretty…”

Sirius almost choked on his pumpkin juice. He then went ahead and relentlessly teased James for looking like Moaning Myrtle. He continued, “Doesn’t she flirt with you? And don’t you flirt back? Prongs, is your ego really that huge that you’re flirting with yourself?”

Lily looked over at a flustered and in denial James, from her seat on the other side of Remus. “You flirt with Myrtle?”

James grew even more flustered. “Not really! Only so she lets us brew potions in there! Evans, you’re the only one for me!”

Lily raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “You’re brewing potions in the bathrooms? I might have to deduct points for that…”

James stuttered. “No! Nothing bad!” He began stuttering even more, trying to convince Lily how he was a complete rule-abider, desperately in love with her. The whole table was laughing together, but eventually, everyone calmed down.

Sirius took his opportunity, turning to the girls. “So, I have— Ow!”

Remus had kicked him, and was now looking at him pointedly. Oh. Sirius rolled his eyes. “Okay, I want to tell you something.”

Remus smiled at him approvingly, and Sirius kicked him back, because he could really do whatever he wanted. Although Remus was the one who told him to do what he wanted, so by doing that, wasn’t he really doing what Remus wanted? So then his wants became Remus’s wants and Remus’s wants were his wants, and actually, that sounded very heart-warming and loving and affectionate—

“Sirius?” Mary asked. “You want to tell us something?”

“Oh! Yeah! I’m gay.”

Marlene clicked her tongue and pointed at him, “Join the club, mate.” Mary and Lily grinned at him simultaneously before shovelling cereal into their mouths in sync. They didn’t care either. Sirius was beginning to wonder if he yelled it to the whole school, would anyone care?

He was also beginning to get mad at Remus. Because it was because of Remus. Remus was making people not care. He was diminishing how it felt to discover yourself as queer, how that was part of your identity, he was throwing out all the labels and calling them unnecessary, even though they helped Sirius know who he was. Remus was saying it wasn’t a big deal, shrugging Sirius’s sexuality crisis off, but it was a crisis, and it was a journey, and Remus was part of that journey, and how could he not care?

He felt Remus stand up beside him, to tell them all he was heading to the library, and Sirius got up to follow him.

James whistled, “Yes! Go get your man!”

Sirius didn’t even look back as he threw up the middle finger and chased after Remus.

“Oh, hi,” Remus said as Sirius fell into pace beside him.

Sirius jabbed a rough finger to his chest, “What do you think you’re doing?”

Remus’s eyes went wide and he frowned in confusion, but before he could stammer his excuses, Sirius continued, “What’re you telling Wormtail, that his sexuality doesn’t matter? You know he’s easily-influenced, and now you’re just shrugging off the struggle like, no big deal, it’s not important? Because it is important! Why don’t you care? And you’re telling us all, oh, you don’t have to say what your sexuality is, but guess what? Society is heteronormative! So I do have to! And you’re dismissing labels like they don’t exist to make people comfortable, and you’re—”

Remus placed a hand on Sirius’s shoulder. “Calm down, Pads,” he said gently.

“What, so you’re not even—”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I do understand that society is heteronormative, and I’m aware that it’s hard for people to figure out their sexuality. I was just trying to make it easier for Wormtail, because you know how Prongs is obsessed with love, so Worms was upset, and I told him to feel how he wants to feel to cheer him up. I told him it didn’t matter what he felt, because he’ll always be Peter regardless.”

Sirius stopped narrowing his eyes, and Remus smiled, squeezing his shoulder slightly before explaining, “Personally, I believe sexuality isn’t important. I know discovering yourself is important, and who you are is important, but whichever orientation you have isn’t; it’s not your personality. You can be a good person and be queer, you could be a bad person and be queer, you could be a good person and not be queer, you could be a bad person and not be queer.”

“That makes sense,” Sirius sighed. “But I like labels, and there you are saying they’re pointless—”

Remus shrugged. “Maybe they are.”

Sirius raised a brow. “Don’t call them pointless. They exist to make people comfortable, and so if they’re not doing that for you, just don’t use them. You don’t have to, they’re only there because sometimes they help people. And to me, it’s helpful. For you, they’re not. Either way is fine, right?”

Remus smiled. “Right.” And then he added, “You know… if you ever do want to tell me about your sexuality struggles, I’m always here, Padfoot. And… I can relate. I mean, I don’t like boys, but I do like a boy, if you understand? I don’t see why I should say ‘I like boys,’ or ‘I like girls’, when right now I only like one boy, and previously I only liked one girl. I don’t like every single boy and every single girl.”

Sirius laughed, feeling his chest lighten. “Yeah, true. When I say ‘I like boys’, I’m not suddenly after every boy on the planet. Right now, I also only like one boy.” He looked at Remus, who was looking at him. They’d stopped walking now, standing in the middle of an empty corridor, and Sirius was highly aware of the fact that they were right in front of a broom closet, where… intimate activities occur.

“So… you wanna talk about it?”

Sirius looked at Remus, who always tried to be soft-spoken and kind, and felt the strong urge to just tell him that he was so… “Moons, you’re really lovely, you know?”

Remus looked baffled. “I’m really not. If anyone’s lovely, it’s gotta be you.”

“So my lovely Moony, are you saying that out of every single person on this planet, I’m the loveliest to you?”

Remus hesitated. “…Yeah.”

Sirius took a breath and simply blurted. “Well, I think you’re the loveliest. You’re warm and you’re sweet and calm, but then you’re passionate about what you like, and you can be stubborn and argumentative, but even then, you stand up for what you think, and, can you really blame me for having a sexuality crisis when you exist?”

Remus blinked at him slowly, opening his mouth like a fish, but unable to communicate like a human. Sirius half-smiled, because he was half-hopeful: Remus did say that he thought Sirius was the loveliest. But then again, it could always be in a different way. “Please don’t blame me,” he added. “Yeah, discovering I was queer was a struggle, because I looked at you and realised I wanted you that way, but, I’m only telling you because, well, you’re awesome, and you said I could—”

Remus coughed slightly, bowing his head to stare at the floor. “Um. I like a boy,” he mumbled.

“Yeah, I know. I don’t care who it is, or that you don’t like me that way, and I just want to stay friends with you; I promise I won’t be a creep or make any moves on you. Just know that you’re an amazing person, okay?”

“You’re amazing, too,” Remus whispered, looking up to meet Sirius’s eyes. Sirius’s breath hitched. He was sure that the way Remus said that and the intensity of his gaze was not the way friends behave with each other. It was the way… a couple would act, maybe.

“You’re really brave, Padfoot,” Remus confided. “You go for things uncaring of the consequences because you believe it’s right, and most of the time, you are right. You’re loyal and good, and you make me think. And I love thinking. So I… also, well. I also love you,” he whispered, in a voice so quiet that Sirius had to strain his ears to hear. And as soon as he did hear, he tugged Remus into the broom closet behind them.

“Wait,” Remus said, pulling his hand away, and Sirius looked at him in confusion, the dark casting shadows over their features.

“Are you— Do you…?” Sirius hesitated, wondering if Remus was the type to kiss, and then if Remus didn’t like kissing, Sirius didn’t mind, because he just wanted Remus. “Do you want to be with me? We don’t have to kiss…”

He heard Remus let out a huff of laughter, and then say, “You’re so…” But he didn’t finish, because he shook his head and said, “I’m— I told you that because you deserve to know, Pads, that you’re incredible, but— I can’t. Even though I… like you… we— We can’t be together.”

Sirius frowned. “Why not? I like you and you like me.”

“But what if it doesn’t work out? What if, after, we can’t go back to being friends? What if this is how we lose each other? ‘Cause I want you forever.”

“I want you forever, so—”

“And it’ll only be hard for us, ‘cause we’re both boys, and I’m a werewolf—”

“Well, I don’t care! I don’t care if we’re both boys and you’re a werewolf, because you’re still Remus. And you’re the one who told me this. You’re the one who said it shouldn’t matter what we feel and what we are, ‘cause all that’s important is personality. And I love your personality.”

“But I care. I’ll make it hard for you, and I don’t—”

“I don’t care if you ruin my fucking life Remus, I just want you in it. So stop caring.” It was kind of funny, because moments ago, Sirius was pissed at Remus for not caring, but now, all he wanted was for Remus to throw caution to the wind so Sirius could hold him forever.

Remus sighed. “You’re so carefree.”

“So are you, sometimes.”

Remus laughed. “Okay. But if this goes to shit—”

“I won’t care. We’ll be carefree together. Now, we’re in this broom closet, and we’re not—”

Remus kissed him.

#wolfstar #remus x sirius #sirius black #remus lupin #marauders #microfiction #fanfic #peter pettigrew #sexuality #labels #no labels #pride month

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training4theapocalypse · 7 months

Text

Finders Keepers Ch 17. (Cormac McLaggen x fem!reader)

Rating: Explicit 18+

Word Count: 5.3k

Warnings: SMUT, PIV, a little bit rough but, like, in a romantic way, author once again refusing to acknowledge she has a hand covering mouth during sex kink

Summary: At Seafarer's Beacon you feel stuck in limbo. McLaggen is determined to do something to give you purpose again.

A/N: I'm sorry I teased a little subby moment with McLaggen at the end of the last chapter but this chapter took so many rewrites because it turns out I don't have a dominant bone in my body so you'll need to pretend it happened off-screen. Anyway...

Masterlist

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Chapter 17: Purpose

You spot a tiny white spatter on the t-shirt you’re wearing as you finish brushing your teeth before bed in the bathroom. It’s clean. Or at least was until your spearmint toothpaste marked it. Freshly laundered so it doesn’t smell like him in the way you’d prefer. The shoulders are too broad. The seams hang loosely around your arms. But the old Gryffindor Qudditch training top fits you like you’re wearing a piece of his soul.

“I’ve got toothpaste on your top,” you remark absently to McLaggen next door in the bedroom.

It’s not like you’ve said something profound but when McLaggen doesn’t reply it sticks out like a splinter. You often bat snippets of unremarkable things to each other, like two beaters at bludger practice. If he finds something useful from a book from his uncle’s collection, he just reads it aloud and says “I should remember that,” instead of writing it down. As if imprinting the words on you means he’ll commit it to memory.

But when he doesn’t fire something back, you open the bathroom door. He’s sitting shirtless in his plaid pyjama bottoms. Even though it’s the coldest Christmas Eve that you ever remember experiencing, your bedroom at the top of the lighthouse is warm. Heat from the hearth in the kitchen on the bottom floor rises the whole way through Seafarers Beacon, making everything feel warm and cosy. You tilt your head, waiting for him to lower the copy of this morning’s Daily Prophet but he doesn’t notice you standing in the doorway - he’s holding it so high that it’s covering his face.

“Are you still reading that?”

“Oh. Yeah.”

You glance at the white, frosty landscape outside the window as you wander over and climb into bed beside him, reading over his shoulder. The development he’s reading about isn’t significant - a short paragraph assuring the wizarding community that repairs to Azkaban are ongoing - but there’s a tiny quote from his dad that he read out to you this morning. And he’s been reading and re-reading all day, ever since his eyes first landed on it on the kitchen table while the rest of you were talking and buttering toast.

“I’m sorry you can’t see your mum and dad tomorrow.”

It’s not that you’ve been having an unpleasant time at Seafarer’s Beacon. But Christmas here has felt like a strained effort to replicate Christmas at home, or even, to some extent, Christmas at Hogwarts. Marietta has spent the past few days decorating the kitchen at the bottom landing of the lighthouse. Paper snowflakes whirl around the empty space in the middle of the empty space between the staircase spiralling around the outer walls and up the seven floors.

“It’s fine,” McLaggen says and clears his throat. “I’m okay.”

“It’s not fine.” You rest your hand on his arm and he lets the Daily Prophet fall to his lap, still staring at the small paragraph with his dad’s words. “I wish I could see my mum and dad too - it’s okay for us to be sad about it.”

He nods. “I know - I miss them. Especially after reading about Dad today. But this time of year makes me… I - I dunno. It’s complicated. I still haven’t really forgiven him for handing you over.”

“Cormac -” you hesitate. “- your dad… he did what he had to do. I forgive him for choosing to save you and your family over me - someone who’s practically a stranger. I mean, if I was in his position…?”

He presses his palms hard into his eyes. Usually so bright and green, tonight they’re bloodshot. “You’d really make a choice like that?”

“All I know is that right now, I’d do whatever it takes to keep us safe.”

“All of us,” he affirms, sitting up properly.

“Well… yes -” You say slowly. “But if it comes to it, what I meant was you and I.”

“Don’t talk like that. We’re all in this together.”

“Cormac, you had to choose between me and Eddie when you had to get one of us out of Azkaban -”

“That was different.”

“Every single time we’re faced with a difficult decision it’s different. It was different for you. Different for your dad. We’re in the middle of a war and that’s how war is.”

McLaggen tosses the newspaper aside. “I just wish we could do something. Something to win the war. I feel useless stuck in here.”

“I don’t think there is.”

Because you’ve already racked your brains. You and McLaggen have had this conversation several times already.

Both breakouts from Azkaban have rendered you almost completely isolated from the outside world. Now that Marietta and McLaggen are both assumed kidnapped, your insider knowledge of the Ministry has been shut off. With Krum and Davies here, you’ve got no idea what’s happening internationally. The only real source of information you have that isn’t Ministry propaganda is Potterwatch, and aside from reporting deaths and other swathes of bad news, they don’t seem to have much more information than you do holed up here.

“What about the snatchers they mentioned on Potterwatch? Couldn’t we go after them?” he asks.

“And what are we supposed to do with them? We can’t hand them in to the aurors. It’s not like they’re doing anything illegally - this is all Ministry sanctioned,” you remind him.

“I was more thinking along the lines of teaching them a lesson.”

“What? Like, kill them?” you raise an eyebrow.

“Nah just scare them - rough them up a little.”

“Cormac, we’re not gonna start dealing out vigilante justice. And especially not when half of us are Undesirables. It could go seriously wrong.” You tilt your head, feeling slightly worried that being so cooped up, being away from his parents and the rest of the outside world is making him want to behave recklessly. “And you’re supposed to be kidnapped, remember? If you’re seen outside again people will get suspicious. All we can do is wait,” you say softly, touching your lips against his bare shoulder. “Wait here and stay safe.”

He shakes his head. “We should be training. Like when Potter was in charge of Dumbledore’s Army. Duelling. Practising defensive spells. If we’re prepared then maybe, just maybe, none of us will have to make a difficult choice about who to save.”

You nod and rest your head on your white down pillow, looking at him as you lie on your side. “Let’s start the day after tomorrow. First thing on Boxing Day.”

“Yeah?” He cocks an eyebrow as if he was worried you’d think it was another bad idea.

“Yeah, it’ll give us something useful to do - I’m kind of sick of doing nothing.” You sigh. “Being here has made me realise how slowly time passes without Quidditch… I wish there was enough room to fly properly.”

Cormac rests his head on the pillow too, lying on his back and looking up at the curved, coral ceiling thoughtfully. His brow is slightly furrowed in concentration.

“I could try to work out how to extend the perimeter of the Fidelius Charm?”

“You can do that?” You blink. Your heart soars at the idea that you might be able to feel the wind in your hair again.

“I mean, it definitely won’t be easy but - yeah, I think so. I’ll get it sorted if it’d make you happy. Who knows how long this war will last? You might as well have someplace to fly.”

God, he’s so sweet.

You don’t say anything else. You don’t need to. Instead you curl into the crook of his arm and you both drift off. You, wrapped in his arms as your dreams take you to the sky once more.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Training breathes new life into Seafarer’s Beacon. Everyone is invigorated by the opportunity to do something that isn’t just lounging around, existing. You’re Dumbledore’s Army, after all. You’re part of the resistance.

McLaggen and Eddie spend days working out how to do an extremely complex piece of magic to extend the perimeter of the Fideleus charm so you have space to fly. You think you could cry when you get onto your broom and fly properly for the first time since your mission to Azkaban.

Marietta gets to work transfiguring a scarecrow into a working duelling dummy and creating so many duplicates you feel like you’re facing a small army when you step into the garden one spring afternoon.

Cho scours the Daily Prophet - her curious intellect and keen eye for detail help her read between the lines to make sense of what’s really happening. She sends coded letters with her theories to Lee Jordan so he can confirm them with his contacts and inform Potterwatch listeners. You all huddle around the radio every other night and you squeeze her hand when Lee’s reporting follows her leads.

Katie and Leanne find that there’s more than just fiction in McLaggen’s uncle’s old bookcase and find an extensive collection of defensive spells and healing potions that can be used in combat. They forage herbs in the lighthouse’s magical garden and order rarer potion ingredients by owl post.

You, Krum and Davies, put everyone through flying drills until even Marietta is confident on a broom. Everyone practises casting curses while flying - it’s much harder to keep balance than it looks. When Krum finds out just how talented a Seeker Cho is, you can practically see little hearts forming in his eyes. When you toss an apple her way one day in the kitchen and she catches it one-handed without even looking, you think Krum might propose to her then and there.

Even as the months slip by, the Ministry is taking your threat about breaking into Azkaban again seriously. There have been no more Muggleborns sent to prison. And you tell yourself that as long as you’re here, and the Ministry knows you’ll retaliate, you’re doing something to help win this war.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“See anything?” asks McLaggen, one late May evening as the two of you finish clearing up the garden after duelling practice. You can hear the others in the kitchen having final cups of tea before bed except for Cho who had to run upstairs to wash her hair after you sent such a powerful disarming spell your way that she’d ended up flat on her back in the rather muddy vegetable patch.

“I think something might have cracked a window pane on the greenhouse?” You suggest as you wave your wand over a heavily battered and burned duelling dummy. “Reparo!”

“On it,” says McLaggen, wandering over to assess the damage. “...I can’t see anything” He calls from behind the greenhouse.

“I definitely heard something smash,” you say, frowning at a slightly squashed courgette in the vegetable patch and making a mental note to cast a protective charm over them next time you’re practising in the garden. “I hope it’s not one of the lighthouse windows.”

You follow the garden path around past the greenhouse to find McLaggen standing at the other side of Seafarer’s Beacon, pointing his wand at a window. Beautiful, warm light cascades across his handsome face. It’s late evening but the sun still hasn’t set.

“Found it. It was a window. Easily fixed though,” he says, lowering his wand and turning to face you. “You’re getting much better at duelling by the way. That last one with Cho was pretty evenly matched.”

“I’m just glad I’m not the worst anymore. I think I’m better than Marietta now. Maybe Eddie too - on a good day.”

“Not everything has to be a competition,” laughs McLaggen before kissing the top of your head and pulling you into his chest.

“That’s easy for you to say when you’re winning. You’re the best at duelling,” you grumble, although you’re not jealous. The thought is a comforting one, you think as you close your eyes and inhale his dark, spicy scent.

“No, I think Krum is probably the best,” says McLaggen thoughtfully.

You look up at him. “Y’know when I first met you, I don’t think you’d ever have admitted someone was better than you at something,” you tease.

He chuckles softly. The garden hums with the sounds of nature as McLaggen holds you to his chest and stares out at the amber sky as the sun sets over the sea, interrupted only by the distant echo of laughter from the kitchen from inside - the unmistakable noises of the others joking together before they retire to bed.

“Thank you for doing all this,” you tell him. Just being on a broom has - ironically - grounded you. It’s made everything feel alright again. And now that you’re spending every day outside in the fresh air and every night insight surrounded by your new found family, the shadows of Azkaban have long left your face.

“It wasn’t just me. Eddie helped with the Fidelius Charm -”

“Not just the Fidelius Charm. For giving us all purpose again. And somewhere safe to stay.”

“It’s my Uncle’s house -”

"You know -" you cut across him, " - when you volunteered to apparate home with Mary Cattermole, I was furious with you because I was scared." Your eyes meet his green ones, finding the warmth and strength that’s become so familiar. "But I should have expected it from you. You always go way beyond what any ordinary person would do in that sort of situation. And I mean, for goodness sake, who else out there can say their boyfriend got them out of Azkaban?"

McLaggen exhales in an embarrassed sort of way and turns his head back from the window. “It’s not - I mean when you say it like that it sounds much more impressive than it is. I’m just doing what anyone else would do. ”

"Most people would save their own skin.” You put your hand directly above his heart, feeling it beating through his chest. "That fact we’re all still alive isn’t because of this lighthouse. It's because of who you are,” you tell him fiercely.

You look up at him, bathed in the warm light from the sun against the backdrop of the whitewashed lighthouse. He looks down at you with an oddly reminiscent look on his face.

“You’re more like yourself again.”

You nod. The past few months have made you feel like you’re the Ravenclaw Quidditch Captain again. You love getting to fly with Cho and Davies again. It’s just like old times. But you never dreamed you’d be flying with Viktor Krum, never mind have him actually take direction from you when you yell mid-air about flying formations for combat.

Cormac curls a finger under your chin and kisses you. You link your arms around his neck, pulling yourself close to him. Everything slots together perfectly. Well, almost perfectly - you need to stand on your tiptoes but to you, that just makes him more perfect. Like he’s your missing piece of a puzzle.

He parts his lips and your tongue finds his. Your fingers become entwined in Cormac’s messy curls as you press your hips into his. The world outside the Fidelius Charm might be chaotic, fraught with fear and devastation and death but in this pretty, seaside garden where the evening light warms your back as you kiss Cormac, you have the sanctuary of each other.

Cormac’s large hands roam the curve of your waist under your t-shirt and you feel callouses on his palms and fingertips from so much flying and duelling. And you know he believes if you all train enough none of you will ever fall in the war. He trains so hard because he thinks that if he does when the time comes, he can protect everyone. Save everyone.

And you hope beyond hope that you’ll never need to put your training to use. But you’ve been listening to Potterwatch every night. The tone has been subtly shifting since your giggled huddling and listening back before Christmas. You know things are getting worse out there. Something in the air tells you that you’re going to have to act - and soon.

But not right now.

Right now all you want to think about is each other.

“You know, you don’t have to be so selfless all the time,” you say, unfastening Cormac’s belt and getting to your knees on the grass in front of him. Fuck, he looks even taller like this.

He wastes no time helping you and pulls his cock out from his boxers. You blink up at him, taking a shuddering breath when you see him - already thick and hard and ready for you. Even after all this time together, your stomach flips when you’re reminded that his cock is just as beautiful as he is. You take him in your hands and place tiny kisses along the underside of his length.

“You can let me do things too,” you whisper, his tip just brushing your lips as you breathe the words. Cormac leans his head back against the curved exterior wall.

You can’t take your eyes off him as you slowly wrap your lips around his head and circle it with your warm, hot tongue. The light makes every hair visible on the small strip of skin on his lower abdomen, shining and golden. The tiny freckles on his arms are getting darker now the early summer sun has been cascading down on you while you’ve been training in the garden.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty,” he tells you, threading his hands through your hair. He’s messing it up but the ache between your legs is pulsing too pleasantly for you to care. It would almost be distracting if you weren’t so preoccupied with sucking and swirling your tongue around him. “My pretty girl.”

You stare up at him with wide eyes as he swallows thickly and leans his head back. His adam’s apple is visible as he swallows back a steadying breath. Just seeing him enjoying the feel of your hot, wet mouth makes you moan around him. The vibrations make his eyes snap back towards you just in time for him to watch you swallow his entire length down your throat. His grip tightens in your hair when he bottoms out and lets out a groan.

You don’t hold back. You press your head down as much as you can, blocking your own airways and feeling saliva dripping down your chin as his cock fills your mouth up. Cormac gently pulls back, letting you briefly take a gulp of air but the way you eagerly take him again makes him pant harder, his shoulders rising and falling with his breathing as you work your mouth.

“Fuck, let me fuck you.” You detach from him with a gasp and shake your head, blinking back tears. His grip tightens. “I don’t want to cum. Not yet.”

“Be selfish for once. Finish here. Please,” you say through laboured pants as you jerk him off in your hand and present your tongue. You go to take him in your mouth again but he grabs your upper arm.

“I am being selfish.” Cormac hoists you to your feet. Before you know it, you’re being spun around and pressed up against the wall. You feel the bumpy whitewash paint under your palms when he whispers in your ear from behind. “You think I want to fuck you as a favour to you or something?”

His hands unbutton your jeans and he pulls them and your underwear down over your ass. You’re able to turn your head just enough to see him casting his eyes over your body with that appraising smirk that makes you fold every fucking time you see it. It’s been over a year and a half since that stupidly gorgeous dimpled smile made you feel butterflies in a way you hadn’t expected. Just that look is still enough to make you feel like you’ve been knocked off your broom.

And to him, the way you look right this second - dishevelled and pouting because you’re not getting your own way - is equally captivating. Everyone thinks you’re the loud, domineering one in the relationship and that it’s him who goes along with whatever you say. But Cormac doesn’t care what they think because he knows the truth of it. Even when you take the reins, climbing on top of him or setting the pace, all it takes is a single whispered word from him, or his hand gently guiding you at your lower back that keeps your dynamic exactly how he likes it.

And here you are once again, as malleable as if he’s used a softening charm on you.

Before you realise what’s happening Cormac’s tongue sucks your earlobe as he presses your body between his and the wall. You open your mouth to argue but instead take a sharp inhale when he slaps your ass, followed quickly by his hands groping and massaging all over your body - going from squeezing your backside to groping your tits and back again like he doesn’t have enough hands to touch you everywhere he wants to at once.

“I - I wanted to make you cum with my mouth,” you complain as he pushes your bra up to pinch your nipple between two fingers but you don’t protest any further - you’re too turned on to care. From how flush he’s pressed against you, you can feel his hard cock pressed up against your backside, wet with your saliva and his precum.

You’d think after a hard day of training, Cormac would be exhausted - that he’d have no testosterone left in his body. But you know from experience over the past few months that this isn’t the case. You’re not sure whether it’s seeing you fight that turns him on or if his ego is slightly bruised from having Krum as fierce duelling competition - either way, he comes to bed most evenings murmuring sweet things in your ear and slipping his Gryffindor training tshirt off our your body before you’ve barely had a chance to wear it.

This evening is only different because he can’t wait until you’re back in your bedroom to have you. He kisses your neck and draws the tips of his fingers along your slit, dragging your wetness over your clit.

“I couldn’t let that happen. Not when all I can think about is how wet this cunt is for me,”

You let out a low, shaky breath. Fuck, you love it when he gets in this mood. He’s so filthy. Talking to you like how you sort of expected he would when you first met him. Before you found out how sweet and soft he is.

Usually.

Fuck.

Your legs twitch involuntarily when Cormac drags the pad of his middle finger across your clit and dips it through your sopping-wet folds. You can’t move much but you can’t stop your hips from grinding with his fingers, chasing the feeling of him toying with you.

“Yes. Ah fuck - yes,” you squeal as he draws the words from you with his touch.

“Shh, shh, shh…” He soothes, tutting gently. He pulls his wet fingers back over your clit, swirling in circles around the throbbing clutch of nerves. “The others are through the wall. You need to be quiet.”

As if testing you, his wet strokes over your clit pick up pace - his calloused fingers feel so deliciously wet and rough all at once. You whine pathetically.

“Can’t you - oh, god, can’t you cast a sound-dampening charm?” you whimper, your fingers searching for something to grip. Your palms just claw helplessly against the surface of the exterior wall as his chest presses into your back.

“I don’t think so. I think you need to show me you can be good.”

You squirm but there’s nowhere you can move while you’re pressed between him and the wall. “I will. I’ll do whatever you say,” you pant. The pads of Cormac’s fingers continue pressing circles the pressure building inside you as your walls clamp around nothing. You need him - you need his fingers, his cock - fuck, anything inside you. “Just fuck me. Please, Cormac.”

You know the drill. You know he loves hearing his name. Having you beg for his cock. And you’re running out of time - your twitching and convulsing is picking up pace. “Q-q-quick, please, I want to cum on your cock.”

Cormac’s hands leave your body so he can take his cock and tease you between your folds. You feel the tip of his cock at your entrance and whine. Fuck, you need to cum. You bring your hand between your legs to start rubbing yourself in his absence but he moves your hand out of the way.

“Keep your hands where they were.”

You place your palms flat against the wall, splaying your fingers, and feel your knees buckle when Cormac sheathes himself into you with one forceful roll of his hips.

He curls one arm around your chest and the other slips down your body to play with your clit as he jerks his hips up, each thrust sends his hips smacking against your skin.

The burning ache in your pelvis crackles and fizzes inside you while Cormac fucks you. Your hands scrabble against the wall and you feel chalky, white paint crumbling under your fingernails as the walls of your cunt spasm, grateful for Cormac’s long, thick cock to grip onto.

“Fuckfuckfuck-” The curse tumbles from your lips. You’re so boxed in that your cheek presses against the rough surface of the wall. All you can do is close your eyes and fucking take the way that Cormac is brutally slamming himself into your tight heat while his hand dances perfect, rhythmic circles over your clit.

You seize up and cry out and the arm that Cormac had wrapped around your chest claps over your mouth, pulling your head back and dampening your wailing. “Let it all out for me - quietly,” he growls in your ear.

There’s a drop like when you descend in the air on your broom too quickly - your body reacting after your brain. Your core plummets and everything implodes as you sob against his palm, melting into his touch.

“Good - that’s it, baby,” he says, more softly this time as your orgasm, blinding hot, makes your cunt convulse and clamp around him.

You cum so hard that you think your legs give way - you can’t tell because his strong body pushing yours against the wall keeps you upright. Tingles spasm from your core right down the backs of your thighs.

Cormac groans too. He moves his hand from your mouth so he can push his hips against your ass and shove his twitching cock as far as it can go inside you. When you whisper his name shakily and tell him you love him, he’s done for. Warmth floods your insides as he cums, filling you up as he grunts into the column of your throat against your racing pulse.

Even as you’re pressed up against the wall with his cum leaking out of you, you feel like he belongs here with you. Not in the lighthouse - or against the lighthouse - necessarily. Just here. Inside you. With nothing but the sounds of your heaving breathing and waves crashing against the cliffs in the distance to interrupt you.

Eventually, his mouth breaks into a smile against your skin and his laugh tickles your neck.

“What’s so funny?” you ask.

“We’ve got a perfectly good bed upstairs and we’re still sneaking around like we used to do under the Quidditch stands at school.”

He pulls out of you carefully and offers you his t-shirt to clean up the mess. You decide it’d be less conspicuous to wash your jeans and underwear in the laundry tomorrow morning than for McLaggen to return back inside suddenly missing a t-shirt.

“We never did that under the Quidditch stands,” you say, turning around and leaning your back against the wall so you can button up your jeans. “We’d have been expelled if we were caught.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m sure Madam Hooch would have been totally fine if she caught us just doing hand stuff,” he grins.

“Well, we were stupid back then,” you laugh.

“It was fun though. I kind of miss those Quidditch stands.”

“Even when we’re old and married and I’m winning the Quidditch World Cup. I’ll want to meet you under the stands afterwards to celebrate.”

“Yeah, right. If I wait for Scotland to win the Quidditch World Cup for our next fumble under the stands, I’ll die without ever doing it again.”

“You really think I won’t go out of my way to win the Quidditch World Cup just to prove you wrong?”

“Anyone else? No. But you? I’m counting on it.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When you quietly come back inside the back door to the empty kitchen, you insist on making a cup of tea for yourself and a cup of coffee for McLaggen while he goes upstairs - you insisted that he needs to let you do something for him for once. That beautiful post-sex warmth nestles into your chest and makes between your legs ache pleasantly. Nothing can go wrong when you feel like this. You boil the kettle and set to finding yours and McLaggen’s favourite mugs in the cupboard when a yell from upstairs makes you nearly jump out of your skin.

“Cho?!” It’s McLaggen’s voice. The urgency in his voice makes the hair stand up on the back of your arms.

You run to the bottom of the spiral staircase and skid to a halt, looking up at all the seven floors winding above you. You crane your neck upwards to see McLaggen on the topmost floor looking over the bannister - a small, gold something glints in his hand. A galleon?

“Cormac? Did you see?” Katie’s head appears diagonally across from McLaggen on the floor below. She looks down at you standing in the middle of the kitchen and then up to McLaggen at the top of the lighthouse.

“Whazgoin’on?” yawns Davies, coming out of his bedroom opposite Katie’s. “Are the others back from Puddlemere?”

“Not yet. But they’re about to be.” Leanne pads out onto the landing directly above you in her pyjamas, closely examining a galleon in the palm of her hand. “Merlin’s pants…”

“Mine just came through too!” Marietta too appears outside her bedroom door, followed by a bleary-eyed Carmichael. She looks up at Katie, Davies and McLaggen.

“Guys, this is it,” says Cho leaning over the bannister across from McLaggen. Krum curiously joins her, looking equally as puzzled as you are.

“Can someone please explain what is going on!?” you bellow from the bottom of the staircase as if calling everyone to attention in Quidditch practice.

“It’s our coins from when we were in the D.A. The old D.A., I mean,” says Marietta. “It’s what we used to find out when the next meetings were.”

“And? What do they say?”

“It’s Neville Longbottom. He says they’re getting ready to fight at Hogwarts and that we’ve to join them,” says Cho.

“Fight?” Your stomach drops. “Fight who? Why?”

“Only one way to find out,” McLaggen replies as you look up at him in disbelief.

He nods at you reassuringly and you take a deep breath. This is what you’ve been preparing for after all, right? It’s not just pretend. You’re simultaneously more and less prepared than when you broke into Azkaban. You’re much better in combat now but god, you need a plan. More details. Something you can control.

You nod. “Alright. Well, we’ll get some rest and meet up first thing tomorrow with Wood and the others so we can come up with -”

“No,” says McLaggen. “Now. They’re fighting now. We need to leave. Right now.”

You look up at him. Absurdly, all you can think now is that you really need to change your jeans.

Chapter 18: Calling

#cormac mclaggen x female reader #cormac mclaggen #cormac mclaggen x reader #ravenclaw #ravenclaw fanfiction #smut #fanfic #harry potter and the half blood prince #harry potter fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter #freddie stroma #deathly hallows #harry potter and the deathly hallows

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megamindsupremacy · 1 year

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Do you have any Spiderman fic recs? (Preferably not MCU but. I'm not picky)

YES ofc. Let me dig through my bookmarks for some. Warning- most of them will be Team Red fics because that’s where I interacted most with the Marvel fandom back in the day. Also, coming back after making this, unfortunately most are at least a little bit MCU influenced but I tried to stay away from the tropier/irondad/ooc fics

Inimitable by deniigiq

“Peter, is it supposed to be doing that?” One of his students asked him. He looked up to see the industrial-strength magnets he’d collected for this lab trying to crack through the glass between them to be reunited. The glass splintered.

“Yeah, no. That’s totally fine,” he lied. Then he inconspicuously chased everyone to the corner of the lab, donned a glove, and smashed the glass so that it wouldn’t splinter and stab someone in the eye in its explosion.

His students cheered.

He needed a drink.

(Peter gets called back to the city at the age of 25 to help mitigate the rapidly increasing crime rate. He's in way over his head, so he sets out to re-establish Team Red.)

(Classic Team Red fic, this author got me into the fandom years ago and I’ve been stuck since)

Say You Will, Say You Won’t by Traincat

Johnny Storm found him on a Friday afternoon, wearing the kind of beseeching look that filled Peter with dread.

“I need to ask you a favor,” he said.

“No,” Peter said, swinging away.

Peter and Johnny get married, really-not-really.

(A classic Spidertorch fic, absolutely hilarious and not even a little bit MCU-touched)

Peter Parker: Legend of Empire State by Popjeckdoom

There was a dorm room, at the end of the third floor hallway on the male side of student housing, that was a mystery to all the students of Empire State. #339, Peter Parker.

The dorm itself wasn’t strange. It wasn’t haunted or cursed in any way, or as far as anyone knew. The door looked like everyone else’s; a doodle of Spidey on the whiteboard, a random scratch at the bottom left corner of the door, likely from someone moving in, etc. What made this ordinary room into a legend was it’s mysterious inhabitant, whom many believed did not even exist.

Peter Parker. The Criptid of Empire State.

(Technically incomplete, but it’s a series of oneshots so do with that what you will)

Dumpster Fires Verse by deniigiq

Peter and May receive a notice to vacate.

The other guys on Team Red have been there before, they offer a bit of advice.

(Another deniigiq classic, it’s a series of interconnected fics that don’t need to be read together to make sense)

Can you hear the drumming? (there’s a revolution coming) by Crescent_Blues

"You know how to throw a punch?"

Peter stops fidgeting and his heartbeat slows as he breathes deep and forces it to calm. The endorphins aren't quite there yet but he can almost taste the excitement, the hopefulness. Like carmel, like yellow, like tacky sweetness.

"Don't tuck your thumb into your hand and keep your wrist and arm straight?"

He has the basics.

That's a good start.

Right?

(Matt accidentally acquires one Peter Parker at the ripe old age of eleven and becomes the mentor he never wanted to be)

(This one comes courtesy of my friend Moon, who will kill me if he knew I was reccing his fic, but the writing style and quality is top notch so I refuse to stop. Also incomplete, but there’s 160k words before you get to the end so there’s a lot to read)

Peter Parker’s Home for the Wayward Villain by BeanieBaby

A really long redemption story.

(Another classic, Peter buys a house and adopts+reforms like 90% of the Marvel villains)

Roundabout by Gruoch

“Are you being killed right now?” Tony asks. “Am I listening to your final moments?”

“Maybe,” Peter chokes out, weakly pedaling his legs in the air while he futilely scrambles to pry the hand away from his throat.

Tony releases a sharp huff, irritated. “You are absolutely not allowed to die right now. Your graduation is a month away. Pepper’s moved around all her meetings to be free that day, and I’ve already given the deposit to the catering company for your party. I can’t get it back if I have to cancel now because of your untimely demise.”

***

In which Peter attempts to survive long enough to graduate, Tony moonlights as a semi-professional party planner, and absolutely nothing goes according to plan.

(This one is just. Peter Parker’s terrible horrible no good very bad day but in the best way)

Spider Season by selador

Peter Parker is Ben Urich's intern at the Bulletin. He's alright, as far as interns go. Bad coffee, but he fights crime bosses who want Ben dead. That wins a lot of points with Ben, that's for sure.

(Mostly follows the plot of DD s1 but still a great fic)

WHAT sugar daddy(s)??? By o1nm

"I've never really thought about it," Peter sniffs, gazing sadly into his mostly empty cup. "Maybe uh... maybe somebody who buys me milkshakes whenever I want? I don't know."

MJ's eyebrows twitch minutely. "Really?"

"Yup," Peter says lightly, "really," despite the fact that he feels like he just signed some sort of demonic treaty. "Hey, do you think we could circle back and -"

"I'll go get you another," MJ tells him as she snatches his previous milkshake, dropping it in a trashcan on her way as she sashays back to the ice-cream store.

...Weird.

(*slaps roof of Peter* this boi can fit so much autism in him. But honestly he’s so oblivious throughout, it’s amazing)

Always Glad You Came by aloneintherain

Spider-Man is a relatively new, controversial vigilante, and Johnny has a crush the size of the Empire Building. The Four - operating under the assumption that Spidey is an adult - do not approve.

“I just happen to think Spider-Man's cool,” Johnny says, matter-of-factly. “A hero can think another hero is cool without making it weird. I admire his aloofness. And his badass-ness.”

“His aloofness,” Ben repeats, chuckling into his mug of beer. It’s roughly the size of Johnny’s head. “Yeah, sure, I bet that’s all your admire, right?”

(Another Spideytorch classic, with So Many Misunderstandings it’s amazing they can walk straight)

#fic recs #i should make an ask tag #posting this one on mobile please ignore any weird formatting until I fix it on the computer later #irondad fandom my beloathed but there’s still some good fics out there that include Tony that don’t make me feral w rage #also! there’s more in my bookmarks (linked in pinned post I think?) if you sort by Peter Parker. these are just my top ten absolute faves #marvel fic recs #marvel fic rec List #fic rec List #hey autocorrect why did you capitalize the L in List are you trying to tell me something?

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primewritessmut · 8 months

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7, 11, 17, 18, 19 distracting you despite it being against my best interests

The way this post was for everyone but you. 💀

7. Favorite Character To Write?

This is probably going to sound weird and very niche, but my favorite character to write is Gwen from every star for you. I was re-reading it today (bc it's bot infested and I had to go comment deleting) and I love an unapologetic, mean, awful woman that fucks. For this same reason, I also really enjoy writing Harley Quinn (even though I don't do it very often) and most of my original work has some flavor of unlikeable woman in it.

11. Have Any Sneak Peeks Of A Current WIP?

You are insatiable. And I even told you that story about my awful cat terrorizing the neighborhood in the middle of the night! But, since I wrote 1500 words on my cat!Loki wip yesterday... I'll give you some of that.

Very little of what Loki had learned about the TVA before deciding to come here had prepared him for seeing his own face on a screen. Parts of his own life, fast-forwarded and rewound like just another movie committed to celluloid film. The idea that all the choices he’s ever made are simply steps on a predetermined path. Or that there’s been someone walking those steps with him the entire time. At least a little.

He arches his back and yawns, stretching his legs out as far as he can until one paw lands lightly on Mobius’s back.

“Sorry,” he mumbles in his sleep, scooting further away from Loki’s sprawl across the surprisingly luxurious mattress.

Loki rolls over and stretches again, pressing both front paws harder against Mobius’s spine. The analyst scoots away a second time, giving Loki all the room a feral little cat might need, and falling off the edge of the bed with a heavy thud in the process.

“Ow. Shit.” Mobius rustles around on the floor for a minute, then exhales loudly. “I guess I can just sleep down here?”

Loki slinks up to the head of the bed and burrows into the soft down of both pillows, flopping onto his back and flicking his tail side to side since it’s the closest he can get to laughing.

17. Your Favorite Writing Conditions?

I assume we're talking ideal writing conditions? Not just the wet rag I manage to wring out every day?

My favorite place I've ever written was in a cabin on a cliff overlooking the ocean (spirit box vibes) in a place with shitty wifi and phone service. I've gotten to do this TWICE and it's incredible. I stayed there for three days making sure I always had drinks in multiples of three and bounced around between writing, napping, hiking, and doing other hobbies.

So those are my ideal conditions, I guess. A few days to decompress from life, then a few more days alone in a cabin where the paint has been worn thin by wind and sun and salt water, and I can just write whenever I want and I don't have to give a shit about anyone but me.

My headphones are probably there, too.

18. Favorite Writing Style To Read?

Ugh. I'm a simple lad and I like simple fair. I like books that are irreverent and show an author's sense of humor even if it doesn't seem like the genre for it. I also think my tastes run toward... bubblegum is the best word I can think of for it. I don't want to have to bring a machete into a book with me just to be able to understand a third of the plot.

And there's also a soft spot in my heart for author's that take you by the hand and walk you through the book, showing you the sights as you read and when you get to the end and you're looking at the sunset, they shove you off a cliff. Love a good "fuck you, bye", truly.

19. Last Thing You Read?

The actual last thing I read was the third chapter of spirit box as you know. Which I love every time I get to read it. 🚨 FIC REC ALERT EVERYONE 🚨

The last book I read was I Who Have Never Known Men by Jacqueline Harpman which is sort of stuck in my brain like a splinter. It's one of those books where you read it and you're like, "Huh. I guess that's over." and then six days later you're in the shower and it hits you again and you feel like you're going to cry or throw up. It's really bleak and really human, and I think I'll be thinking about it a lot.

I have a couple books that are in the "just started" phase that I think I might DNF so I'm not mentioning them. But I'll probably tell you later so you don't waste your time.

#ask game #good questions dude #very distracting #i have not written a single thing but the answers to these questions

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wtf-a-psychoanalysis · 2 years

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Leosagi x2 Calm, cool and collected 2…

That's what the older Leonardo had to be after being trusted back into the “new normal” Casey Jr. and the rest of the Hamatos had created. He’s now in uncharted territory and all he expects is gone, battles he strategized, systems he followed, dates of death honored, all of it had never happened, only to him and Casey Jr. But Casey didn’t appear to dwell on the past, like it never even happened.

While the older was processing his existence the younger Leonardo called over a waiter. The bunny was the same height as Leo-kun bar the ears and his earthy red eyes shown a familiar sparkle. Leonardo-san dug into his mind trying to remember his name, “Yukichi?”

“Wow, is my handwriting really that bad?” The rabbit said inspecting his nametag, in a sort of disappointed tone. Leo-kun quickly slid over stumbling over to save the day and said to the rabbit “Don’t mind him, Pops here forgot his reading glasses at home. You know how old people are. The names Leonardo Hamato”

Rubbing the rib the younger Leo re-bruised, Leo-sensei responded “Don’t Push it Jr. you're the one who wanted to come here in a hurry” Casey on the back turned his head towards the conversation, Leo-san turned to him correcting himself “Not you Case, your doing great.”

“ I’m Yuichi Usagi,” the young rabbit introduced himself, “I’m guessing your dad is Leonardo Hamato Sr.”

There was an awkward silence for a moment before Leonardo Sensei gave an exasperated “Yeah” after ordering his first non rat filled meal, everything went smoothly, though Leo-kun decided to chat with the waiter a bit more. Looking at them conversing was a surreal moment for him. Leonardo-san never would have imagined seeing himself flirt with someone and actually getting a response. After the Kraang invasion romance was put in the basement of his mind, to the point it took a whole year to process that his Raph and Cassandra got together and another to process “Why”.

Then a wave of sadness washed over him, he could have had something like this but the Kraang ruined it, he ruined it. Ruminating in this feeling, the older Leonardo failed to see another rabbit approaching him, then again he was very small. The older rabbit was no bigger than Casey Jr, not including the ears, he wore a light blue kimono with a crest with three dots and a dark blue hakama. Below the long running scar on his forehead was a set of golden and determined eyes.

“Dad.. what are you doing here? You were supposed to be talking to Hueso-san” called out Yuichi. The older Leonardo was able to translate that into “Dad, don’t be here you’ll embarrass me” and this gave him an idea. He then put on the smuggest grin and said “Oh, it's fine, us dads can chat over here while you have your own conversation. Say Mr Usagi want to know the time my boy here got himself stuck between a baby gate when he thought a plate noodles were a bunch of snakes.”

This made both rabbits chuckle and Leo-kun a brighter shade of red. Now it was Mr. Usagi’s turn “Sure, I will share with you the time my “son” got an entire grape stuck in his nose for a whole year.” and this cracked the whole table up. The two younger yokai now had the same thought in their mind, revenge but before expressing it Hueso had called Yuichi over to wait more tables. Leaving Miyamoto with the Hamatos.

“ My name is Miyamoto Usagi, I am a yojimbo looking for a job but I couldn’t help but notice that you weren’t as into the festivities as the rest of your family Kappa-san.” He said. Leonardo-sensei was about to introduce himself when Splinter decided to do it for him.

“His name its Hamato Leonardo, not Kappa. I know how to name my sons.” the rat said in an irritated tone, “I don’t know how you managed to raise such an upstanding boy while working as a yojimbo.” Draxum, the sheep yokai, placed a hand on the rat mutant's shoulder to silently say, “Shut up”. Though Splinter's word did get to the ronin, with his ears lowering a bit “That's because I didn’t raise him, I have had bad luck with my sons.” He said.

Sons, that word was what caught the older turtle’s attention, and to keep the conversation flowing he made the mistake of asking, “Who is your other son?”

“His name was Jotaro, the last time I saw him was before the attack.” the rabbit sighed, “You must understand what it's like, putting on such a brave face for your children. Is the arm modeled in her memory.”

This dug a deep hole none of the table can get out, how can they explain time travel to this poor rabbit, who lost his son recently. Leos felt even more guilty, “ I was the reason you lost your son, I’m the reason Yuichi lost his brother.” They thought, and wanting to provide sympathy they went along with Miyamoto's assumptions.

“Her name was Madonna,” The older Leo fibbed, then pointed to Raph, with her mask tied in a bow, who was shakily drinking her water, “My eldest inherited her looks,” Then he pointed at Donnie who was reaching over the table for the bread sticks with his mechanical arms. “My second youngest her brains,” then to Michaelangelo, who was texting on his phone, “My youngest, her spirit. ” Lastly pointing to his younger self “This one inherited my ugly mug”

“I think you are quite handsome, Leonardo-san. Yuichi seems to agree in regards to your son” Miyamoto said. This left the two red-ear sliders flattered, especially since it was the first time they felt handsome after the Kraang Invasion. “I hope we can keep in touch, here's the address where I’m staying at, I would like to see more of what Madonna saw in you.” Miyamoto hands Leonardo-san a napkin with an address before rather hastily departing. He makes a b-line to Yuichi, who was waiting a table, before dragging him out of the store too.

Outside, the older rabbit asks “How committed are you to dating that young turtle.” This left Yuichi flabbergasted, then he responded, “Very committed knowing-” However before he could finish, Miyamoto said, “Because I think I accidentally asked his father out”

#rottmnt #leosagi #leosagi x2 #calm cool and collected #Miyamoto Usagi #yuichi usagi #usagi yuichi #miyamoto usagi #future leonardo #leoichi #katanashipping #future leo #future leo x Miyamoto Usagi #leo x yuichi #rottmnt movie spoilers #rottmnt movie

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transizzyhands · 1 year

Text

hey look it's the first 2,000 words or so of this post-El Camino fic ive been working on

After 26 years in the desert, the first big adjustment was coping with the cold. Sure, it got cold in New Mexico, but it was nothing compared to Alaska's bitter freezes. Back when Alaska was just an idea in his head, he thought he could handle it. Oversized hoodies and beanies pulled low over his ears had been his wardrobe since he was a teenager, after all—they should have served him well up north.

Not so much. Less than a week after he arrived, after a night of shivering himself awake next to the wood stove, he got into the truck and headed into town.

It was a small town, vastly different from Albuquerque's busy streets and sprawling neighborhoods. Most of the vehicles around here were old trucks and Jeeps, bodies half-rusted away, with the occasional Subaru or SUV parked along the street. Small cars didn't fare well in the snow. Before the next big snowfall, he'd have to get chains. First things first, though: more layers.

A storefront called SNOWBUSTER'S EMPORIUM caught his eye. In the windows, a headless mannequin modeled a fur-lined parka and matching trousers, with a scarf around its neck and sturdy boots. He cut the engine halfway down the street and headed inside.

The bell over the door rang out, punctuating the classic rock playing softly over hidden speakers. “Hey, Joe!” came a woman's voice, but he couldn't see anyone.

“Uh. Not Joe. Sorry,” he said.

A head poked up from behind a rack of sweaters. “Oh! Nope, definitely not.” The woman, dark-haired and dark-eyed, shot him a mischievous grin. “Sorry about that.” She stepped out from behind the rack and approached him. “I'm Ness. New in Haines?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, let me know if I can help you find anything, okay?” She looked friendly enough, in her early forties with her dark hair in twin braids and a light-green flannel shirt buttoned high. “Passing through or staying?”

“Haven't decided,” he said. That, at least, wasn't a lie.

“This is a nice town. We always welcome a friendly face. How long have you been here?”

“Few days.”

“How do you like it so far?” As Ness spoke, she moved around the store, straightening displays or re-folding scarves.

“Not bad. A little cold at night.”

She hummed in agreement. “Staying warm at night is tricky. I always recommend getting a dog for that. But if you're allergic to dogs or you're not interested in getting one, there's always long johns! Back here.”

After a brief hesitation, he followed her to the back of the store and she gestured to a rickety shelf stacked with folded long johns. “Take a look back here, and if you don't find something you like, we can always special order something for you. It'll take a couple weeks to get in, but it's worth it. Welcome to town.” She stuck out her hand.

He shook it. “Thanks. Lucas,” he added.

Her smile widened. “Nice to meet you, Lucas. If you need me, I'll be up at the register. Just holler.” She went back to the front, leaving him to stare at the woolen clothing in silence.

But his attention just shifted right back to the shelves. They were splintering, half-eaten away, and looked like they were a rough sneeze away from falling apart. Flimsy plywood held together with wood glue and prayers. Before he could stop himself, he called over, “Where'd you get these shelves?”

Ness propped herself up on her elbows, leaning against the front case. “Why?”

“Hope you didn't pay too much for 'em, or I'd say you got ripped off.”

An eyebrow went up along with a small smile. “And how much would be too much?”

He scanned the rest of the store, eyeing the shelves in the walls. “Fifty bucks.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Yeah.” A horrible thought struck him. “You didn't make 'em yourself, did you?”

“No, I didn't make them.”

“Oh. Okay.” His heart rate started to return to normal.

“My brother did,” Ness finished as the bell above the door chimed out again.

“Your brother did what?” asked the man who'd pushed open the door. He wasn't particularly tall, maybe three inches taller than him, but his wide build, grown-out beard, and intense stare all immediately indicated that he was not someone to be messed with.

“Apparently, my brother is a piss-poor carpenter.”

“No, wait—that's not what I said,” he protested, silently kicking himself. He'd been in town less than a week, in this store less than five minutes, and he was already making an ass of himself. How the fuck was he supposed to keep himself out of trouble when he couldn't last a day with regular people?

“Lucas, this is Joe, my brother. We own the store.”

“I'm... sorry,” he mumbled, starting to skirt around the edge of the store toward the other door. His first, panicked reaction was to go for the gun in his waistband—the gun he didn't have on him. “I have this bad habit, I talk too much—look, I'll just leave and I won't bother you again.”

“That one doesn't open,” Joe said, his beard twitching.

“Ah.” He couldn't get a read on Joe's expression, but he didn't want to look too closely at him, either. “Are you gonna let me go?”

The siblings exchanged a look and then Joe stepped away from the door.

He took the opening presented and bolted before they could change their minds.

The snow crunched under his stiff boots, heavier on his feet than he was used to. Discomfort came from unexpected angles, from the cold against his scalp and the tug of still-healing scars when he talked, to tight new boots that hadn't broken in yet and an ache that went bone-deep when he bent his left knee. He focused on that to keep from panicking, focused on the key digging into his palm as he finally drew level with the truck.

The engine hadn't cooled much, so the air that blasted him was still warm. He fumbled through his unfamiliar pockets until he found his cigarettes and lighter. Maybe one day he'd quit, but right now, he didn't care. There was no guarantee he'd even make it to 30 anyway.

He needed a drink to calm himself down, but the idea of drinking alone after spending the better part of a year alone was enough to drive him crazy on its own. So going to a bar was the best option.

Fortunately, he didn't have to drive far. Barely a block away, he pulled into a practically-empty parking lot and went inside. It wasn't the sleaziest dive he'd been to, but it was up there. The dim lighting inside obscured anything farther than ten feet away. In some dark corner, only the quiet click of pool balls cracking together indicated a game of billiards. Despite the NO SMOKING sign behind the bar, an old-timer sat at a far table with a fat cigar burning. He went up to the bar, vacant aside from one bleary-eyed patron, and flagged down the bartender. “Jack and Coke.”

“ID.”

He slid his license across the bar top. The bartender's eyes scanned the name, the photo, the birthdate. “Sure thing, Mr. Driscoll. Five bucks.” She slid it back to him.

“Isn't it ten?” he asked, pointing to the prices listed above the bar.

“Happy Hour started at four. Jeez,” the bartender added. “Never heard a guy complain about a cheap drink before.” She pulled out a glass and started pouring, then nodded at someone over his head.

Before he could turn around to look, another body was in his space, sliding onto the stool next to his. “Just put it on my tab, Ruthie.”

“Sure thing. Anything for you? Get you your usual?”

“Nah, I'll just be a minute.” Leather creaked as weight shifted. “Never did get a chance to properly make your acquaintance. Joseph Parker. Everyone calls me Joe. Nella said you're Lucas?”

He swallowed and forced himself to look at Joe. “Yeah. Luke is good too.” It brought Luke Skywalker to mind. Badger and Skinny Pete were Trekkies if anything, but he'd always preferred Star Wars.

“Luke.” It looked like Joe was grinning, but it was hard to tell for sure.

“Yeah. Luke. My last name's Driscoll, though. Not anything cool, like Skywalker.”

Joe laughed, a big and genuine laugh, and Luke took a swig of his Jack and Coke to hide his sigh of relief.

“So, like... what are you doing here? You didn't follow me here just to buy me a drink, did you?”

Joe nodded slowly and lightly tapped his pinkie and ring fingers on the slick wood of the bar top. “You're right. I just wanted to—look, are you okay? When you left the store, you looked like you were about to pass out.”

“Huh?”

“What you said? 'You gonna let me go?' You were shaking like a Chihuahua.”

“But your sister said—”

Joe waved dismissively. “Ness was messing with me, that's all. That's what she does. I know those shelves're garbage. They've been like that for ten years. We fight about them all the time.”

“So why don't you just replace them?”

“You'll have to ask her that. Sometimes it feels like the only way they'll get fixed is if someone does it overnight.” He propped himself by his elbow. “Bah, it's not that important. Listen, there's no hard feelings, Luke. You gave a fair and moreover honest assessment of my work. It don't bother me any. Besides, if you keep talking to Ness about it, you might be able to help me convince her to replace them.” Joe got to his feet and held out his hand. “Come on back sometime and we'll take care of you.”

He shook Joe's hand. “Yeah, for sure. I'll be back.”

“Cool. See you around, Luke.” He stepped away, his hand lingering a fraction of a second longer in Luke's, and Luke swore his heart missed a beat but by the time he processed it, Joe was out the door.

He swirled his drink for a moment and then took another swig, grimacing slightly at the burning tang of whiskey.

“Well, since Joe's paying, want another?” Ruthie asked.

“He's really not gonna kick my ass?”

“Who, Joe? He's a big cuddly kitty-cat. Besides, I wouldn't offer if it was gonna be a problem. So how 'bout it?”

He stared into the glass for a few seconds and then finished it off. “Yeah, sure.”

“Great.” She mixed up another and swapped out the glasses. “Here. So, I'm gathering that you're new around Haines. Makes sense, I've never seen you before. You hanging around?”

“Haven't decided. I haven't unpacked yet, if that's what you mean.”

“Well, why not?”

“I don't know.”

“Think you could stay for, say, a month?”

That wasn't what he expected. “For what?”

“Well, if I'm being honest, it's a little boring. Everyone knows everyone. Kind of a relief to get some fresh blood in here.”

Something about that comment put him on-edge. “You're not... uh, vampires, are you?”

Ruthie laughed so hard she cried. Neither of the other two bar patrons even looked over at them.

“I'm guessing that means no.”

Her giggles slowly subsiding, she wiped her eyes with the back of her wrists. “No, no vampires in this town that I know of.”

“Werewolves?”

Ruthie looked like she was going to lose it again. “Luke, I need your help to get Joe a date. This isn't a monster movie. Not to imply the two are mutually exclusive or anything.”

“Why do you need my help?”

“Because you're exciting, you're bright, shiny, and new, and you're probably looking for new friends of your own anyway, right? So it's a win-win.”

“Sure. So what's your angle in this?”

“What makes you think I have one?”

“Just seems a little weird, you know? Asking a stranger for help setting up your friend.”

“What? Come on, I bet you're a great wingman. But listen, hey. He's a good guy. He just needs to shake it up a bit. Stranger from out of town sounds like the perfect way to do that. But, hey, if you're not interested, no problem.”

There was only one right answer to this, and the wrong answer felt dangerous. But there was a tug in his chest, something telling him to stay. So he compromised. “I'll think about it, okay?”

Ruthie nodded appreciatively. “That's more than I can rightly ask a stranger.”

#brba fanfiction #jesse pinkman #el camino spoilers

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ceebit · 2 years

Text

tears dry on their own

content • loosely based off the amy winehouse song. featuring han jisung, heartbreak, tears, reader wears a dress and mascara. around 770 words of what could have been.

another tear slides down your cheek in frustration. another empty chair splinters your heart in two. another pitied look from the server marks five within the last month—five dates gone wrong somehow, and if you’re being honest, you’re not sure why you keep trying.

you thought this one would be it for you. they were nice, courteous, even, and laughed at your jokes and stories. they even seemed genuinely interested in you, if the kiss after your first hangout meant anything. it was just right, with the sun setting in the background.

you should have known, honestly. good things never lasted with you.

tipping the server and paying for the meal you picked at for the past hour or so, you stumble out of the restaurant with a ugly sob brewing in your chest. shaking hands pull out your phone and dial the one constant you’ve had since disaster date number one, and like always, he picks up after the first ring.

“hello?”

you never knew how much warmth one word could bring.

sniffling quietly, your answering hi is enough to have his full attention, gentle shuffling on the other end meaning he’s at full alert. you don’t have to tell him much for him to already know, and before long, you hear keys and the sound of his door clicking shut.

“send me your pin. i’ll be there in a few.”

your thanks is shaky, ending the call before sending him your location, and sink against the stone stairs in defeat. you’ve long since put the embarrassment of having your best friend pick you up after each failed date behind you, but a tiny part of you can’t help but gnaw at the lingering shame. it was pathetic, wasn’t it? going on date after date only for them to flop each time—either they stood you up or simply ghosted you after ‘not finding what they needed’.

it hurt, more than anything. not being able to find someone that stuck. you suppose you’ll end your search after tonight, you reason, blinking back tears as you see a familiar car pull up. battered tennis shoes slowly stop in front of you, and when he squats, familiar brown eyes search yours with concern. never pity, not once, and you reach out for him without a second thought.

jisung helps you up once again. leading you to his car, he pulls the hem of your dress down over your legs once you’re settled in the passenger seat and drapes his jacket over your thighs. caring, is what your mother called him, looking out for you since you were kids, and you knew. you knew it better than anyone how much he cared.

too bad he already had someone, though.

jealousy stirs its ugly head once more, grinning sickly as your head falls to rest on the window. he settles in the driver’s seat and places a hand behind your seat to back out of the parking space—and effectively sends your heart into overdrive. you shouldn’t be feeling this way. you shouldn’t.

he’s the reason you’ve been going out on these dates, your inner voice helpfully supplies. you squash it and tear your gaze away from his side profile.

home is his apartment—your apartment, shared after your lease went up and everyone felt it made sense for you to move in with him—but tonight, it’s daunting. going back to shared mugs and blankets even though he doesn’t know why your dates keeps ruining. he doesn’t know that it’s partly your fault, too.

they’re not him, that voice pipes up gleefully. you sniffle quietly and ignore it again.

instead of climbing out, he turns the engine off and turns to you, gaze searching. in all the years you’ve known him, it’s his silence that spurs you, unknowingly weighing on your shoulders like a blanket. it makes you turn to him, dried mascara under your eyes, and you hold your breath.

waiting. hoping for something you know won’t happen.

he seems to hesitate, hand hovering in the space between you two, but his words are always left unsaid. and it really isn’t good for your health, to want something you can’t possibly have, proved blatantly so by his phone screen lighting up.

you watch his lips curve up at the sight and regret settles like a stone in your stomach.

“actually,” you voice croaks without the use, and he looks up quickly. “can you drop me off at minho’s?”

you chose not to see the way his face falls at your request. he nods once, silent, and put the car in drive again. another tear slides down your cheek.

back home ⟡ the archive ⟡ join my taglist ⟡ last post

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fuck-you-upmusicbracket · 1 year

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If the World was Ending (JP Saxe)

I know, you know, we know/We weren't meant for each other and it's fine/But if the world was ending/You'd come over, right/You'd come over and you'd stay the night

"I think this song tapped into our innate desire for connection esp in this turbulent time, in a very down to earth way. The song start by describing a man stuck in traffic and thinking about his ex when he realized there's an earthquake. During the pandemic, I suddenly realized that there are many friends and loved ones whom I have gone out of touch with, along with the sudden realization that I might never see them again. This song encapsulates that mood, along with the idea of not wishing to let go of a friend or lover even when you've already parted."

Late Night Thoughts (Yungtown)

Critique should only be from those people you trust/Now a days opinions hit you from all angles/If you start chasing approval you brain will re-construct/Even right now as I'm thinking of releasing this song/I keep wondering what people will think of it, ugh/I'm defeated when I finally read what someone thinks/Can someone please bring me the tweezers for once/Cause the negative words, are splinters, can they ever be cured/Once they've entered you

"Okay, so quick background, Yungtown used to make parody raps based on video games and a fair amount of them got very popular. One of them was even noticed by Nintendo of America, which praised the song. But he stopped making music and just left the internet for a few years and when he finally came back, it was with this song. This song, Late Night Thoughts, is a retrospective of his past on the internet. It’s his journey of his self-discovery, of who he is and what he’s been doing and what it means to not just him, but other people. It’s a very emotional song for him that he worked a long time on and god. Man. The lyrics. I can’t relate cuz I’m not like, an online figure, I’m just a guy, but I can FEEL the emotion and feeling of the song. It hits me HARD."

#fuck you up bracket #tournament #polls #jp saxe #yungtown

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omniblades-and-stars · 6 months

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Also also entering atmo and blossoms on the water for the WIP game please 🥺👉👈

Oh hell yeah these two are so different it's bananas!

Entering Atmo:

Ok, so here's the skinny on this: I reference it all the time, but for the first time in probably ever, I had a hypomanic episode last year that was a wellspring of creativity instead of just sucking really hard. During that time, I came up with an idea for a story that was going to start out seeming like it was a buddy cop adventure with Shepard and Garrus. But then it was going to veer really hard into a drama/conspiracy thriller with an assassin who kept showing up, an explosion that ruins Shepard's life and causes her to just DIP on everything, and eventually it was going to culminate in some sort of revenge. It was out of control. You may have noticed that "Entering Atmo" and "Burning on Re-Entry" have similar themes for names. That's because the mania told me I should keep plucking at a plot that made no sense. Once that calmed down to a more sustainable, reasonable beast, I decided to do a much smaller story, and splinter all of my other ideas into better, smaller stories (my Wicked Game series eventually came out of this decision, though it changed a lot). It starts with Jane leaving the Alliance for mysterious reasons and joining C-Sec, and alludes to injuries and scars that she keeps hidden.

Here's a couple of little tastes of it:

The cold, clinical white of his entirely too bare office wasn’t helping matters at all. White arches, on either side of the room, cut through the wide open space and somehow made the lines and angles of the open floor plan feel oppressive and like the high ceiling was paradoxically pressing down on her. Shepard felt out of place in this room, as she often did anywhere on the Citadel. It wasn’t built with humans in mind at all, Jane often felt herself hunching forward, or leaning to a side to accommodate for the strange, sloping architecture. It didn't really make sense, turians and salarians were generally taller than humans, but something about the artificial curvature on absolutely everything made her spine feel like it was bent in the wrong direction. She often wondered if asari felt the same way, considering their bodies were by far the closest analogues to her own. But she figured that they did not, they seemed to feel right at home anywhere, like their long-lived sense of superiority was always welcome no matter where they were. Of the alien species with long lives, Shepard preferred the krogan. She understood the bulking rage, the feeling that the universe had used her up and spit her back out and expected her to just saddle up and keep taking it. Not to say that she thought the asari were entirely undeserving of their heightened status in the galaxy, but she just didn’t feel any sort of kinship with that. Blood, bullets, battle, and probably a few more B-words that could be assigned to a soldier of her one-time status and the krogan … bombs or bastards, maybe … those things she understood.

And poor Jane just having a real bad time:

Life at home was a shambles. There were empty soup cans all over her countertops, cracker crumbs stuck to all of her casual clothes, and laundry all over the floor. Sparky lay forgotten on his dock, another sock stuck in the roller brush. Jane didn’t even have the wherewithal to go harass Garrus about fixing the thing she absolutely knew how to fix herself (or fix it herself for that matter). Her days ended with her laying on her couch, staring up at the ceiling, eating stale crackers, sometimes crying, sometimes not. The only place in her tiny little apartment that didn’t look like some sort of sticky, crumby tornado had gone through it was her bedroom, and that was simply because she passed out every night on her couch, box of crackers still tucked between her body and the cushions.

Blossoms on the Water:

So awhile ago, I wrote a little Shrios oneshot called Under the Rays of the Autumn Sun (which can be read here.) And like I frequently do, I couldn't put down the subject, Eden Shepard. I wanted to explore her backstory a little bit, and also use Thane's beliefs about an afterlife to do something I'm very uncomfortable with: thinking too long about death and mortality. Blossoms on the Water is a little experimental. Eden is led through some of her foundational memories by Kalahira so that her soul will be light enough to float to the distant shores. It's just sooo very angsty in a lot of what I've got so far, but that's how we do around here.

Here's a taste:

Chilled water laps gently around her ankles, as the water recedes back towards the sea, it leaves tendrils running down her toes to the rough sand beneath them. Small bubbles create a marker along the shore, a memory in foam of where the tide washes up to cover her feet once more. She can barely hear the sounds of the waters over the wind whipping around her. Hair flies over her face, stinging in her eyes, and it tugs at the edges of her yellow sundress, pulling the light fabric against her knees. She remembers this dress. The pale yellow fabric is embroidered at the edges with little white flowers. It was stolen. She wore it the first time she ever went to the beach, when she was a teenager. Strange, she doesn’t remember putting it on. The wind whips against her, hard again, and she has the strangest feeling, like fingers tugging at the hem of her skirt. Leading her somewhere, further down the barren beach. Looking at it now, it seems like the coastline goes on forever, flat and nearly featureless. When she looks behind her, she sees that this stretch of sand somehow has the ocean lapping at the other side. Like she’s standing in a mirror. The wind pulls again, quietly beckoning her to move. There’s comfort in this guidance. As she puts one timid foot in front of the other, marveling as she walks at the soft indentations they leave behind, she grows warmer. When she stops, the chill raises goosebumps on her arms once more. She follows nature’s gentle command, eager to feel some warmth. A wave crests, small, nonthreatening, and water spills over her feet, climbing up to her shins. As it slowly draws back, something small and white is left behind. Eden bends down to pick it up. It’s a small, narrow blossom, with a strong, sweet smell. She breathes it in deeply as the breeze wraps around her. It is a gentle caress and it begs her to remember.

#daisy screaming in to the void #this is my ask game tag now #sorry this ended up a lot longer than i intended but i'm feeling chatty

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skylarmoon71 · 2 years

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Leonardo (Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles) Oneshot

Books are the language he spoke.

For Leo, he’d always gravitated towards them. That’s how they’d pass time when he was growing up. Splinter taught them the importance of knowledge. They were all gifted in their own way, and it was thanks to the many readings they’d indulged in. Although as they got older, Raph preferred punching bags, Donnie liked computers and Mikey could get lost in his video games for hours. Leo still appreciated the mystery that came with each and every book he touched. That’s why when he met someone just as invested as he was, it felt nice.

You just loved books.

Of course you hated school, like most. There was a big difference between finding a good book, and being forced to read some boring text on how screwed up history was.

Despite that, you took pleasure in reading. Leo remembered you educating him on a particular one that was pretty special to him. He lost count on how many times he’d read it.

“Hey, is that Kuno’s sword?”

Leo looked pleasantly surprised that you’d recognize not just the text, but the Japanese translation on the display cover.

“It is, have you read it?”

“Sure have.” You jumped over the back of the couch, landing right next to him with a grin.

“I read it my freshman year of high school. Did you know the story is a love letter?” Leo is completely invested now. You shift closer.

“But it’s a manual on martial arts. How could it be a love letter?”

“Well, the author was an upcoming writer in his hometown. He fell in love with a priestess. They met at a mixed martial arts school. She was teaching the class, and he was writing a paper for his university assignment.”

Leo’s eyes are filled with wonder. Then he re-reads an earlier sentence that he’d been stuck on. In the past he’d assume that some of the errors he’d spotted were due to a misprinted typo. Possibly a rip off of the original book. They didn’t exactly have the best access to exclusive items. Now that he’s looking at it, some of the words go together. His eyes shift through the pages before hurriedly, and you laugh.

“You just noticed the hidden text.”

Leo is in awe.

“This is incredible..”

You nod, reciting the current page as you point them out.

“Fierce like a sword.”

Each area that your finger lands, Leo takes in the text.

“Every bit of this was a gift he made for her. Truth is he wanted to marry this woman, but her father didn’t approve. He was a novice writer, and Kuno’s father wanted her to be with someone strong who could protect her. Provide for her. But they were in love, so Kuno ran away with him, despite her father’s opinion. They were married a few years later. Kuno and her lover had two boys who ironically became national champions in Judo. The author was well known for his insightful perspective of the art of fighting. His book teaches discipline, control, love and courage. It’s an inspiration that demonstrates fighting for what you care about.”

He couldn’t have phrased it any better. This was the first book Splinter had given to him. He always wondered why he liked it so much. There were life lessons embedded in the book he had never truly noticed until now.

“How did you figure it out?” Leo can’t help but ask.

You’re smiling proudly.

“Well the first time I read it, I kept seeing the errors. I thought I just bought a bootleg version, so I reviewed the original online. When I put them together I started to see the little notes in between, so I researched the author. I was surprised it took me so long, I’m a sucker for romance. It just made me love it more. Writers have a way of putting a bit of truth in whatever they write. Whether it be fiction, fantasy or comedy. Our desires are easy to spot in the words we write. As a striving writer myself I know first hand."

You always looked so passionate when you talk about books.

"Writing is how we speak to the people around us. It’s our own personal love letters.”

That’s what you’d said to him that day.

Leo had seen a few of the pieces you wrote. You were great at poems, and short stories. Most were action packed, or fantasy driven. You were never shy to display them. That’s why he’d found it strange that for the last couple days, you were being a bit secretive. He caught you a few times typing away, but when he brought up the topic, you’d hastily close your laptop and change the subject. At first, he brushed it off. Maybe you just weren’t ready for anyone to read it.

One particular evening he was in the dojo practicing with his brothers. You were at the side with your back to the wall as you threw words to make them smile every now and then, typing away on your ipad. Training continued for another couple hours until everyone called it quits. Raph and Donnie were arguing about who should get the last juice box. You’d raced Mikey to the fridge to snag a few poptarts.

Leo stayed behind to meditate. At least he tried. Five minutes in and he heard a ding. His eyes popped open, and he saw the glowing of your ipad screen. He tilted his head. You never went anywhere without it. Leo smiled, standing.

“If I want to get anything done, this needs to go.”

He’d gotten used to the insistent ring of notifications. Who knows how many more would go off. Moving to the wall, he picked up the device.

“(Y/N), you forgot your ipad.” He called. There wasn’t a response, so he moved to head around the corner, but the words printed on the open document caught his eyes. He couldn’t help himself. He knew it was intrusive to snoop, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. His eyes ran over the screen.

“Lee’s arms were strong, he lifted her so effortlessly off the floor. Every look he’d sent was like an impulse he couldn’t stop. Despite being a warrior trained by his father to protect his brothers, he deserved love. The two swords he carried around were like the guard he needed. But she saw through it.”

This felt fairly familiar.

“Every time she saw him, her heart would give a healthy thump. Those sapphire gems that always pierced her heart. He was everything she wanted in a man. Strong, smart, honorable, kind. He’d laid his life down for the people of the village. Fighting alongside his brothers, Rain, Dion, and Mike.”

Wait a second..he was definitely spotting a pattern.

Leo scrolled forward, accidentally moving to the next page.

“She’d known for a long time how she loved him. Possibly from the very first day that he’d saved her from drowning in that river.”

The river..

“Leo did you hear what I said, Mikey’s going to eat all the pop tarts if you don’t hurry.” You skated around the corner with joyful laughter. All of that seemed to halt when you saw him. Leo’s gaze lifted, and when you saw the item in his hand, your heart dropped. You snatched the ipad out of his hand viciously.

“W-Why would you go through my stuff!” You sent him an accusing look, and Leo stammered.

“I-I didn’t mean to, I was just bringing it to you but I..” He wasn’t sure what to ask first. All the questions ran right out of his head when he saw the way your eyes began to well up with tears. You pulled your bag from the floor, shoving your ipad in as you stormed off.

“(Y/N) wait I’m-”

“Leave me alone!!!” You disappeared around the corner.

Leo wanted nothing more than to chase after you. But the judgy looks of his brothers made him halt.

“Whatcha do this time fearless?” Raph asked mockingly.

“I didn’t do anything, I was just..” How could he explain that? He just sighed, turning around as he headed for his room. You may have had a head start on him, but he wasn’t going to let this hang in the air. He grabbed his swords, heading after you.

You’d jumped into the first taxi you saw when you got to the surface. When you were back in the safe confines of your apartment, you deflated, dropping your bag on the couch.

“I can’t believe he saw!”

You’d been so good at hiding it.

“Darn online blog.”

This was all their fault. In the article it said that finding alternative outlets would help. You figured that if you could never voice your feelings for Leo, then you’d do what you did best. You portray it in a story. A safe, healthy way of embracing your creativity and dealing with the conflict. You run a hand over your face as you move to your bedroom, shutting the door behind you. You were pacing in the room.

How could you face him after this? Leo was smart, so of course he must have figured it out. You did use different names though. So maybe you were in the clear.

“That’s right, he might not have figured it out. I freaked out for nothing.”

“I’m not an idiot, you know.” You screeched, and Leo couldn’t help but chuckle as he jumped through the window, closing it upon entrance.

“W-What kind of psycho sits silently in a girl’s bedroom window!!? “

“You should be grateful it’s just me. How many times have I told you to be more careful? You shouldn’t leave your window open.”

Classic Leo giving you lectures on safety.

“I’m pretty sure no one is that committed to climbing up ten stories just to attack me.”

“You can never be too sure.”

You almost forgot about the whole ordeal, but it creeped back up, and you suddenly felt painfully vulnerable.

“It’s rude to snoop through people’s things.” You were upset. Because he invaded your privacy.

“I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to. I fully intended to bring it to you. But then I saw the text and I couldn’t stop myself. It’s not an excuse. But I need you to know that I would never intentionally go through your personal belongings.” You knew that. This whole situation was just too embarrassing.

“Regardless of what happened, (Y/N) I need to know. Was that story..about me?”

The very question you were hoping to avoid.

Tugging at your shirt, you look away. No reply is given, but you can feel Leo’s eyes on you. He takes a step forward, and you take one back.

“I’m sorry..”

A tentative whisper. You won’t look at him.

“I never wanted you to find out. I thought if I wrote down how I felt and invented characters to play out the love that I wanted it would be easier to face you everyday and pretend that..that I didn’t have feelings for you.”

He realizes that this was not supposed to be discovered.

“Our own personal love letters, right.” He whispers. You look up, and Leo inches closer. Every step is taken cautiously.

“All this time you’ve been in love with me?”

Your lips quiver.

“I’m sorry.”

Leo shakes his head, gently tilting your chin up.

“Stop apologizing."

When his lips meet your own, you feel your heart soar. Your brows knit in confusion, and you reach out, hands pressing to his chest. You aren’t really sure what’s going on. This is crazy. Did you bump your head on the way in and now you’re playing out this fantasy. Leo’s hand moves your waist and he pulls you in closer. You let out a soft hum, hands balling into fists. Leo grins against your lips. It’s clear that this has taken you by surprise. He pulls back for a second, licking his lips, and you’re adorably dazed.

“I guess I should have been honest too. It’s not always easy for me to be honest about how I feel. But I love talking to you. Comparing. Making discoveries on hidden text in good books. So don’t you ever apologize for how you feel.”

Even if your feelings had been one-sided, there was no way he would shun you for it. You see that now. It was just a bit nerve wracking feeling so much without knowing.

“You’re like a real life prince Leo..”

It’s a little mumble, and he chuckles. Even you couldn’t write a character this good.

“Since I’m a prince, I guess that makes you the princess.” You squeak when he leans down, picking you up. He begins moving to the window.

“W-Where are we going?”

“Not sure, but we’ll figure it out.”

He just looks at you with those pretty blue eyes. At that moment you know there’s nowhere you wouldn’t go with him. So you smile, leaning your head on his chest as you enjoy the ride.

#TMNT love #leonardo #care #feelings #love #michelangelo #donatello #books #writer #leo x reader #cute #funny #mutual attraction #confession

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