#that was just the easiest way to express what i meant! when i say 'love' i mean positivity/respect/happiness. etc. i just used that word bc

[mossy-aro]

ultimately i think my insistence on aro positivity honestly is as much a political stance as a personal one.

when i say aro positivity is crucial and that i dislike doomer-ist posts that express sentiments like 'I hate being aro so much I wish I was dead instead’ it's not because I don’t think there can and should be a space for negativity and acknowledging self-hate, or the many ways being aromantic can really suck sometimes. i find that to be very important!

that being said. there is smth here about how self-hate posts are sometimes just arophobia that we inflict on ourselves. and when we put that out into the ether it (intentionally or not) can become arophobia that we inflict on other members of the community. i think there absolutely needs to be a place for negativity and the expression of anger and frustration and self loathing even - these are all good things to talk about because these are things that we experience. that being said, it can also be genuinely upsetting and triggering to people to have what is essentially arophobia shown to them and then have that be validated by other aspec people. your personal thoughts can affect your wider community on a level you may not anticipate. and i understand it i truly do! it took me so long to be able to recover from accepting being aroace - it threw my entire world off kilter and made me question everything about my place in the world.

but my insistence on aro joy and positivity is because ultimately i do believe that building is at the core essence of it all. that ultimately discussions and the purpose of community should be about construction, not destruction. and this is both a personal and a political stance. talking about how much you hate yourself and cultivating online discussions/spaces where negativity about aspec identity is the main and only theme is destructive - if that’s where we let the conversation end. these thoughts can and should be used as a vehicle to look for a path forward!

joy and positivity create a space where the focus can become on forging a path forward, on construction, on community building instead of tearing ourselves and others down with negative thoughts. it’s not productive or healthy when it stops at a place of negativity - it becomes actively destructive to the essence of community.

and i do think that this is especially poignant considering the fact that being any kind of queer, but especially aromantic (and/or asexual) means forging a path for yourself and making your own happiness where there is no obvious way forward. our communities exist mostly online (right now, anyway), there is little recognition of our existence in the real world, the effects of amatonormativity are both pervasive and actively dehumanising, and there are legal, economic and social structures in place actively making our lives more difficult. yes that all sucks! it’s good to acknowledge that. we need to in order to change it. but more importantly, that’s not the end. we are still here and our happiness, our future is for us to determine. even if we can’t change the laws or society, loving yourself and understanding aromanticism as a political identity (as well as personal), as a radical worldview, and as a protest against amatonormativity is essential for both community and personal well being. the personal is political.

tldr. i guess my point is that as a community, we should focus on building, improving, and nurturing ourselves and each other (construction) as opposed to destruction. we should recognise aromanticism and asexuality as political identities as well as personal ones and rely on community and self-love in the absence of anything else as a form of protest and political power. destruction (the recognition of everything that is wrong) is essential as a starting point - but where do we go from there? we rebuild.

[amazinglyashy]

hi! Can I request (if u don’t mind) smth abt the LND charecters when they’re feeling depressed and how the mc conforts and takes care of them? If u don’t want to it’s fine

Been super tired lately, so this was both a chore and a help to write! :'D Hope you enjoy, it helped me start breaking through my own funk!

LaDS men feeling down, and how you cheer them up-

Sylus -

Sylus's work is quite… mentally taxing, to say the least. Even with how used to it he's become, some days it definitely takes a bigger toll on his psychic.

He's capable of evil actions, but he's nowhere near cruel in his heart. No matter what he tries to make others believe, you know best just what he's feeling on the inside.

The best way you've found to help him clear his head, is asking him to take you out for a ride.

It works the best in the evening, when he's the most awake and the N109 zone is more quiet.

Something about the way you grip around his waist, your arms wrapped tightly around him as you press your helmet against his upper back- it did more to drive away the fog than the speeds that would flash across the speedometer on your drive together.

It was never a cure all, but it was a start.

And you were more than willing to spend a night or two here and there, if it meant helping to cheer Sylus up.

Rafayel -

It's easy to tell when he's depressed.

After all, the canvas is still blank, and the paint cups of water are still clear and unmuddled.

That, and he's pouting severely.

It's just as easy to help him slowly out of a funk, though.

After some protests and rude remarks, you can usually coax him outside for a walk along the beach- more severe cases call for a picnic, which you're happy to cater if it means helping to cheer up his tired mind.

It's sweet, watching him close his eyes as the two of you sit in the sand, his expression unreadable as his hair blows lightly around his face from the breeze.

It doesn't always help give him a big leg up out of a depressive episode, but sometimes it's enough to help give him the inspiration he needs to keep going without burning out.

And sometimes, that's more than enough.

Xavier -

He's tricky- he can be quite thick-headed on occasion. Especially if either of you has a lot of work that you need to get done.

He's the worst at resting when he needs it, and even more horrible at giving himself a break when he's finally reached the point where a break is actually extremely necessary, so he's sure to bicker with you lightly when you insist on taking him somewhere to help cheer him up.

He'd rather stay home and sleep, honestly.

But he's a bit more willing to cave, when you hand him a jar of tokens and drag him towards the claw machines.

It's not his favorite activity per se, but it's something that the two of you started doing together. It was your thing, together, and the chaos and banter that came from it- no matter how tired he was- was enough to help start breaking down the walls of his burn out.

Even just a little bit.

Zayne -

He's hard to read, it's a wonder if you're able to tell when he's down, especially if you already have a lot on your own plate to deal with.

It's not that you don't care, or can't read him, it's more- he keeps his feelings so closely hidden, that it's difficult for even someone as close as you are to him to see what he's truly feeling.

You manage, though.

It's easiest to cheer him up on the fly- he's always loved the little things with you, so finding a starting point and winging it from there seems to be the best course of action whenever you need to pull him out of a spiral.

And you've found that a good starting point is a restaurant or bakery tucked away on a list in your phone just in case this sort of situation arises, picking one randomly to take him too or make him drive the both of you to, without telling him.

Usually the surprise itself is enough to make him smile, but if it's not, you have plenty of time.

Plenty of time.

[weasleyreidstyles]

Serendipity

chapter seventeen

summary: it was only meant to be a purely transactional relationship. he would help her strengthen her abilities in return for her getting his friends out of his father's nasty path. he didn't mean to fall for her, but loving her was the easiest thing in his dark world.

no use of y/n, but your general nickname is Meadow. all characters are aged up to be over 18.

pairings: mattheo riddle x fem!ravenclaw reader; platonic!slytherins x fem!reader; platonic!golden trio x fem!reader

warning(s): mentions of death (its a funeral), some fluff but it's mainly angst

series masterlist; previous part; next part

In the week following Dumbledore's death, the school had emptied out almost immediately – students were leaving via the Hogwarts Express almost daily and some parents would even apparate into Hogsmeade and meet their children at the gate to escort them home themselves.

No one trusted that Hogwarts was safe for their children anymore. Nowhere was truly safe. Not without the safety that Albus Dumbledore had always provided.

The hallways were desolate by the time two weeks had passed.

Your parents had met you and Hermione at the gates to the castle on they day of Dumbledore's funeral, pulling you both into tight hugs; unwilling to let you go. Molly Weasley had praised your efforts of saving her eldest son from Greyback, not taking into account how worried your parents would become upon not knowing if you were truly alright. Your father, a healer working at St Mungo's had demanded to know whether you should still be in the Hospital Wing recovering, but you'd assured him, and your mother, that you were only left with a few ugly scars.

Scars that you abhorred, but there was nothing you could do about the way they littered the skin of your abdomen. Mattheo had done his best to rid you of those insecurities, pressing lingering kisses to the marred skin whenever the opportunity arose. But the feelings still lingered when you examined the jagged silver lines in your bathroom mirror and in your nightmares where you don't save Bill, but end up worse off.

Hermione too, had assured your parents that she had come out of the battle virtually unscathed after they had turned to her with the same brutal enthusiasm for her safety. But the worry was still apparent in their eyes. You doubted that it would disappear any time soon. Not now that they are in the Order, and know just what you've been up to this year.

A few days after the battle, Hermione and Ron had found you while you sat in the library, enjoying a moment of solitude. They'd sat in the two seats opposite you and were looking at you with nervous expressions on their faces.

"Where's Harry?" you ask without looking up from your book. He was noticeably absent, probably grieving in his own way. Ron coughs awkwardly as Hermione shuffles in her seat.

"He doesn't know we're here, but we need your insight on something." she says and you finally look up at them, both as weathered by the battle as you are, dark circles stain their eyes just as badly as they do on your own face.

"What do you need?" You ask, voice quiet, so you don't draw any unnecessary attention. Ron reaches into his pocket and pulls out a crumpled piece of parchment, which looks old and worn.

"Can you read this, and tell us what you think?" he asks as he places it on the table infront of you.

Hesitantly, you unfold the intricate little thing which reveals the neatest scroll of penmanship you'd ever seen.

To the Dark Lord, I know I will be dead long before you read this, but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret. I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can. I face death in the hope that when you meet your match, you will be mortal once more – R.A.B

"What the hell does this mean?" You ask, looking up at them with the same confusion mirrored in their eyes. You give Hermione a look and she nods imperceptibly, prompting you to see into her recent memories. You look at them with wide eyes. "The horcrux was a fake?"

"And whoever this R.A.B person is, has the real one." Hermione mumbles with a nod. Ron looks between the two of you before shaking his head and taking the note to examine it for the thousandth time.

You sit back in your seat, disbelief marring your features. Had Dumbledore died for nothing?

~∞~

The actual funeral service was a long, arduous process. But it was truly beautiful, despite the reason for such a large gathering.

The sun shined brightly, even as it began its slow descent in the sky, sending ripples of dazzling sunlight across the surface of the lake, and it was so warm. Warm enough that you had to wear a sundress that had been stuffed right at the bottom of your trunk since you'd returned to school after the Christmas holidays.

It was held on the school grounds, near the Whomping Willow, surrounded by the cascading violet of the wisteria trees that surrounded the banks of the Black Lake, resembling an almost life-like watercolour painting from where you were sat. It seemed that every entity on the grounds, from the people to the flora and fauna, had felt the impact of Dumbledore's death and mourned it on that balmy June evening. Some of the plants were dull where they used to be vibrant; even the birds weren't singing as joyfully.

The atmosphere surrounding the crowd was taut, ripe with with the whispers of conversations that drifted across the assortment of seating like a strange, lulling birdsong. The attendees varied from young students to old scholars, most of which you don't recognise. But you can see members of The Order dotted about the rows sporadically, eying certain rows and glancing conspiratorially between eachother; you understand why when you see Delores Umbridge (and Cornelius Fudge) waltz up the centre aisle into one of the rows near where other Ministry officials, including Rufus Scrimgeour sat, dressed in a vibrant fuchsia pink cloak, a 'grieving' expression painted on her ugly face. They're followed closely by Rita Skeeter, her enchanted pen and pad at hand. The Order members around their row are tense and alert.

You took a seat closer the back of the crowd, beside your parents, dressed in a deep green sundress with embroidered vines of the deepest sepia winding up the skirt in intricate patterns with little bluebells climbing up the stems, to combat the stifling heat of summer, and your wand is tucked into a thin, onyx holster on your waist.

Ron had clearly forgiven you to some extent, evident in the way he'd willingly sought you out in the library over a week ago, but he was still wary of the Slytherins you surrounded yourself with; Harry seemed content with bypassing your existence entirely. It was probably wise to sit further away from them, especially because it was obvious that Harry blamed your friends for Dumbledore's death. You can see the back of Ginny's head, where she's sat with the Golden Trio about five rows ahead of you. Even from where you are, you can see how she grips onto Harry's hand for dear life.

You can even feel Mattheo's eyes on you from his seat at the very back of the procession.

Can feel the way his magic calls to your's.

He's sat with Pansy to his left, Theo to his right and Enzo and Blaise are beside them.

Draco is nowhere to be seen.

The five of them have received a multitude of looks from those surrounding them, and you would be stupid not to see the amount of Aurors and Order members who had ended up seated near them.

Just thinking about the fact that they were surrounded as if they were a guild of threatening wizards, when they were still students at this very school, made your blood boil.

They still were not trusted, despite Remus vouching for them personally. Only a few members: the twins, Andromeda Tonks and her husband, Ted, seemed to acknowledge the risk that your friends were taking by just being at the school. Even your own parents were wary. Especially now. Voldemort was actively gathering more support and wreaking havoc across the country – wizard and muggle world alike.

Despite all the eyes on him, Mattheo appears to be surprisingly relaxed. But that's only because you are in his eye line. Dressed in a pretty sundress, with your hair cascading down your back and shoulders in delightful curls that he has the urge to tug on. Only you and his friends know just how tense he truly was, surrounded by people he didn't trust; people who didn't trust him.

You look lovely. You smile at the warmth in his voice, body thrumming with the heat of his gaze from a few rows behind you. Discreetly, so you don't attract your parents' attention, you turn to face Mattheo, who has a smirk widening on his face as he takes in the flush that dusts your cheeks, despite the tension that sits on his broad shoulders.

So do you. You reply, catching your bottom lip with your teeth instinctively as your eyes trail the length of his body. What you can see of it, at least.

He's dressed in a suit of all black – no ounce of colour aside from the singular indigo bluebell in the breast pocket of his suit jacket, one that he'd conjured when he noticed the patterns on your dress. His hair is unruly as always, blowing wildly in the soft breeze.

Stop looking at me like that, darling. It's inappropriate. His handsome smirk widens with his smugness.

I can't help it. Especially when you look at me like that.

He narrows his onyx eyes playfully at you and you turn around before anyone can notice your brief interaction, exhaling a breathy laugh as you shake your head. His own laughter reverberates through your mind like a gentle caress, igniting a spark in your core.

Strangely, you can feel his magic like its your very own, even two weeks after it had initially exploded around you.

Neither you or Mattheo have an answer for it. And neither of you are in a hurry to share the discovery, for it felt far too intimate to involve anyone else.

~∞~

As the service began the merfolk, who had gathered at the bank of the lake, had begun a sorrowful tune, their pallid skin glistening in the sun, wirey hair spreading about the murky waters. As they sang their song of loss and despair, Hagrid had started to walk down the central aisle, his face blotchy and red with tears that fell heavily from his eyes. He was cradling something in his arms, or rather someone, wrapped in velvet fabric of the deepest purple, spangled with glittering golden stars. A cloak that many students had deemed as Professor Dumbledore's personal favourite over the years, as it was his most frequently worn one.

It was becoming harder to swallow as a sob crawled its way up your throat at the sight. You gripped your father's hand in your's tightly and he squeezed back.

At that moment, it seemed like all the warmth from the sun was sucked from the atmosphere, as a cold shiver ran down your spine. You couldn't feel the powerful allure of his magical core anymore. His covered body looked so small and frail in Hagrid's arms and you finally let out a muffled sob as he makes his way past your row.

You feel a wave of love, sorrow and care caress your mind, which lets you know that, despite the indifference he holds towards his Headmaster, Mattheo was also feeling the devastation that their safety blanket; the one who was supposed to help defeat great evil, was gone.

When Hagrid was near the front, you could hardly see what was happening due to the amount of heads that obscured your view, but you can hear the distinct sound of hooves on stone as a herd of centaurs make their presence known, but they did not move from the trees and their shadows. They were stood preternaturally still as they observed with their bows and weapons laying limply at their sides.

Dumbledore's body had been gently placed onto a table of pure white quartzite, that made the colours of his cloak shine vibrantly in the steadily setting sun. The tune from the merfolk reached a slow end and from what you could make out, a small Ministry official, dressed in plain black robes stood beside the table, where a small stand had been erected.

From your seats, you and your parents could hardly hear what was said in Dumbledore's honour and when he stopped speaking and took his seat again, a palpable silence swept over the crowd when no one else got up to pay their respects. It was like a brutal finality had swept over the courtyard.

Albus Dumbledore was never coming back. You were on your own in this battle.

Suddenly, bright white flames errupted around the quartzite table and Dumbledore's body, growing higher and higher, spiralling in pretty patterns as a pheonix flew amongst the inferno joyfully as if rising from the ashes, before disappearing with an abrupt flash of golden light. The white fire, too, had vanished with the pheonix, leaving a white marble tomb in it's place.

More cries of shock are let out as a shower of arrows soared through the air, falling like dangerous silver-tipped raindrops into a clearing far away from the crowd. The centaurs turned and disappeared without a trace once they'd paid their tribute; the merfolk sunk below the surface of the Black Lake promptly after them.

~∞~

"Well...that was depressing." Theo's voice was low, sarcasm etched in his tone. Blaise and Enzo rolled their eyes as Pansy openly gaped at him as passers by gave him looks of disgust.

"Don't disrespect the dead, Teddy." You admonish with a scathing look, that he only bats away with shrug of his shoulders.

"Oh lighten up, tesoro. We all know he wouldn't have cared for all this seriousness." He says, bringing you into a side along hug, ruffling your carefully done hair with calloused hands. You bat them away with an irritated huff.

As soon as you were able to, you'd made a beeline for your friends, wrapping a sniffling Pansy into a hug, comforting eachother in silence as you sent words of affection mind to mind.

Now the six of you are stood off to the side, ostracised from where many of Dumbledore's Army are stood, sharing recollections of Dumbledore's life. Harry, Ron and Hermione are nowhere to be seen.

Mattheo is a silent, imposing wall of stoicism. He doesn't take part in you're friend's untimely banter, and hardly reacts to the scathing, untrustworthy looks that are sent his way.

You send a wave of your emotions to him, love pooling over the anxiety, which causes his stiff muscles to loosen as you reach over to take his hand in your's. Unashamedly you press kisses to his scarred knuckles, running a careful hand across his arm, and thread your fingers with his.

His onyx eyes are alight with gratitude, as the two of you listen to Theo and Enzo bicker.

Suddenly your isolation is cut off by a woman who looks exactly like the one who subjected you to the cruciatus curse a year ago. Her presence makes you startle on instinct, but that feeling is overcome with guilt as Andromeda Tonks, strong-willed, beautiful, stoic and regal; a good friend to your mother and Remus, stands before you with warm, russett eyes.

"Hello Meadow." She greets you, her voice soft and low, matching the slight hauty expression that matched Sirius' with haunting accuracy.

"Hi Andy." You reply, your brows crease in confusion when her husband is nowhere to be found. "Where's Ted?"

"Talking to your father and Remus, I believe." She says, a gentle look overtaking her features that makes her appear youthful and stress free, but that look is gone in a split second when her dark eyes trail to Mattheo's hand, still in your grasp and up to his carefully guarded face.

"You look scarily like your father." She says and you feel the way Mattheo imperceptibly flinches at her observation. The boys and Pansy stop their conversation to form a solid wall of mistrust behind the two of you, faces resigned and stony.

She must sense their growing hostility because she relaxes the harshness from her face, replacing it with apology.

"I mean no offfence." She says slowly, face twisting with regret. "We cannot help who are parents are, after all."

Mattheo doesn't relax, but he knows that you clearly trust her. Andromeda turns to face you instead, that soft look that painted her aristocratic face when she first saw you, appearing again.

"I've come to offer an olive branch of sorts." She tells you. "Remus vouched for the all of you and my nephew during a previous meeting and I'm inclined to agree with him."

"Nephew?" Blaise questions and you turn to see that they all look equally as confused.

"This is Andromeda Tonks, previously Andromeda Black." You introduce her formally with a light smile on your face, and the recognition lights up on your friends' faces when you do. "Draco's Aunt."

"I do wish I was meeting your friends under different circumstances, Meadow." She says.

"What's this olive branch you mentioned?" You ask curiously, steering the conversation back in the direction it had been going in before being sidetracked.

"I'm offering my home as a safe house for you all." Andromeda replies, casting her eyes on your Slytherin friends again.

"What's the catch?" Mattheo asks, his voice filled with suspicion, his grip on your hand tightening with his growing paranoia. You sooth him unconsciously with a stroke of your fingers against his knuckles. Andromeda's careful eyes catch the moment almost immediately.

"We know you're already inducted into your father's regime, unwillingly." She says quietly, wary of Mattheo untrusting stance. "With Severus gone, it is imperative that we know what we're dealing with."

"You need spies." Theo says with certainty, his face twisting with barely restrained contempt.

Andromeda only nods once.

Theo, Enzo and Mattheo seem to have a three way conversation mentally before they come to a decision and it's Enzo who speaks up first.

"Who else besides Professor Lupin, know about this?"

"Meadow's parents, Kingsley Shacklebolt and Alastor Moody."

You stare up at Mattheo with uncertainty. Would they really put their lives at risk for an organisation that barely trusts them?

"Are there any other conditions?" Mattheo asks, stepping towards Andromeda slightly, but not in any threatening way.

"Gather as much information as you can, as safely as you can. And get my nephew and my sister out of that Manor."

"What about after the war?" Pansy asks, having been silent throughout the whole exchange. "Like you said, they're already inducted. If the war goes in Potter's favour, will they be pardoned?"

Andromeda seems to still at that, as if she didn't know the answer and suddenly every single one of you are on edge as you consider the possibility that, if the boys help, they could be thrown right into Azkaban to rot, simply for carrying the burden of the Dark Mark.

"After the war," Andromeda whispers, "there will be justice. But I cannot predict the outcome, and we won't win without your help. I know how Voldemort's court works, for I was part of it for much of my youth before I got out. What you're doing already is proof enough that you are inherently good, even if most people don't see it."

"But what if-" Pansy replies but Andromeda holds out one of her slim, pale hands to gently silence her trail of thought.

"Thinking of that now will not help you during this. You mustn't for it will dull your hope for a better future. Take the offer, my house is in a quiet muggle town. No one will bother you there and it's delightfully warm this time of year."

You each exchange silent but definitive looks before Mattheo nods towards her once and immediately the six of you are given the image of a quaint cottage that sits on the edge of a seaside town, seemingly in the middle of nowhere.

"Ted and I will visit occasionally, to make sure our house is not in disarray. Remus or Alastor will deliver your assignments on a biweekly basis."

"Where will you stay, if we're taking up your space?" You ask and Andromeda offers you a friendly smile.

"With your parents in a safe house of our own. With them working high profile jobs in the Ministry and St Mungo's and being 'suspected' members of the Order, they can't be living somewhere anyone can find them."

You blink back your surprise emotions at the implications of her statement. It dawns on you then. The severity of everything happening around you.

Their need for an insider means that The Order weren't as prepared as they wanted people to believe.

They were willing to send your friends to the snake pit so they would have a chance to save themselves.

~∞~

The cottage stands at the end of a winding lane in Falmouth, Cornwall. It's all cobblestoned streets and thatch roofed houses, surrounded by idyllic fields and the most stunning views of beach for as far as the eye could see.

It was certainly out of the way – the nearest village was about a thirty minute walk away.

The perfect place to erect a safe house.

The six of you are stood infront of the picket fenced gate, bags in hand as your parents, Andromeda, Ted and Remus finish putting up the final protective enchantments.

It's been a week since the funeral. In that week, you spent every possible second with your parents, who seemed reluctant to let you stay here. All week, they'd been asking you to join them in their own safe house; one accidental peak in their minds told you all you needed to know for the reason why.

They didn't trust your friends. They especially didn't trust Mattheo.

Now, you stand beside him, tucked into his side as Remus gives you a debrief of instructions for the boys' first task.

"When is the next meeting?" He asks Mattheo, head tilting as you all stand in the cramped kitchen of the cottage, your parents and the Tonks couple nowhere to be seen.

Mattheo opens his mouth to answer, but grimaces as the Mark on his forearm burns in earnest, warning him...daring him to answer. You feel his pain in the very depths of your soul, scrunching your face at the feeling that brushes over you, even as you squeeze his hand in your's.

No one seems to notice other than Remus, who stares between you and Mattheo almost too quickly that you could have missed it.

"I see." He nods to himself as Mattheo runs his hand against his agitated forearm. "Does this happen whenever you try and disclose information."

"Only with the more top secret things." Enzo says from beside Pansy, who has already found where the mugs are as she sips on a steaming cup of tea.

Remus is silent for a moment, as if contemplating whether or not this would even work, before he speaks again.

"At the next meeting, try and gather as much information as possible. Even if it seems meaningless – but only if it doesn't pain you." He says gently. Remus knows pain, and he knows how detrimental it can be for a person.

He doesn't want to see this group of young adults go through what he did, but he knows it's futile, and hypocritical of him to wish, for he's the one sending them into the snake pit.

"How's 'meaningless' information going to help the Order?" Theo asks with skeptical eyes.

"We need to buy Harry time." Remus says, but he doesn't divulge any further.

"Why?" You ask from Mattheo's side and Remus' gaze turns to you.

"You know why, Meadow." He says and your face twists in confusion before realisation sets in.

"He's going to hunt horcruxes instead of returning to Hogwarts, isn't he." It's not a question and in the way that Remus tenses, you know you're right.

"Yes, Meadow. But I'm afraid what they found wasn't a real one."

This, you already knew of course.

"What do you mean, it wasn't real?" Mattheo sounds like he doesn't believe a word Remus says, and one look up at his face confirms the disbelief in his tone.

"It was a fake. Something transfigured into a replica of the Locket." Remus pulls out a polaroid photo from his pocket. In the centre of the blurred image, sits a locket with a similar insignia to the ring that Dumbledore had handed to you in the Hospital Wing at the start of the year.

"That's not possible." Mattheo snarls and you take it upon yourself to push him into one of the chairs at the dining table, lest he try and launch himself at your old Professor.

"It is very possible." Remus says without a blink. "You see, in the first war, we had a spy. Only few of us knew of his identity but he told us that he'd discovered something. He'd found out about horcruxes and was going to singlehandedly destroy them himself.

One day he was scheduled to come to a meeting, to discuss any progress with his discovery, and to also give us more information on who was on Voldemort's side, but he didn't show up.

Three days later, his house elf, Kreacher showed up in my flat. He didn't even get a funeral."

Remus' voice was soft and desolate as he told you this information, eyes foggy as he relives one of the most traumatic times of his life. Your eyes are alight with realisation almost as soon as he's finished speaking.

"Kreature? Isn't that-"

"Sirius' family house elf? Yeah he is." Remus replied, his eyes glassy.

"Sirius had a brother-" you whisper, your voice betraying your sadness at the thought of the eccentric man.

"Yes. His name was Regulus Black."

~∞~

omg she's finally posted!😱😱

a few things...first of all i have 1000 followers!?! wtf!! thankyou with my whole heart 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼

secondly...i've been revamping the layout of my posts but theres an issue with a couple of them (cough...chapter 16....cough) and it wont let me edit those posts but thats fine😶😶😶😶

anyway hope you enjoyed this one....the cliffhanger wasn't planned but then i liked how it flowed to the start of chapter 18 so hehehehe

taglist:

(striked out users are ones that i couldn't tag)

@camille-1019 @lovelyygirl8 @xluansstuff @babeylover

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[violetsteve]

If you prefer, this is also posted on AO3

After the almost end of the world, Steve decides he’s going to put the moves on Eddie Munson.

Robin may or may not laugh in his face when he announces it.

The thing is, despite Robin almost laughing him out of the building, the thing is Steve is still figuring out his sexuality. He knows he likes girls, he’s always liked girls, but then Robin pointed out that maybe he couldn’t figure out what he wanted because he wasn’t looking in the right place and Steve realized she was right . Sure, Robin had meant more of a ‘ stop going after girls who are traditionally pretty and from well off families and try going out with girls whose company you actually enjoy’ and not a ‘ hey, dudes are kinda hot, too, right? It was real weird how transfixed you seemed to be on Eddie Munsons lips while we were actively fighting demon monsters,’ but Steve has always been good at reading in between the lines. Or, more like inserting what he wants in the gaps of what people leave unsaid.

So, no, Robin did not tell Steve to open his eyes and realize that straight guys don’t exactly think about how another guys lips will look slick with spit, how they’ll feel under the pressure of his thumb, what the sweet satisfaction of them partying so readily under his will feel like, but she did tell him to broaden his horizons and honestly, they were basically the same thing.

Which is why Steve feels like she should be more supportive of his plans to woo Eddie Munson onto his couch—and maybe, if he’s feeling ambitious, eventually into his bed.

“Robin, come on . I’m serious!” Steve will never admit, even under Russian torture again, that he whines it. He’s coming to Robin as a sounding board, not so she can make fun of him. If he wants someone to make fun of his lack of prowess, he would go talk to Dustin. 

Or, yeah on second thought no. He’s not actually sure his ego could take that much of a hit at the moment.

“Sorry, sorry,” she gasps, gripping the—newly rebuilt and polished—family video counter in front of her. “I just—Steve, that’s-that’s so ambitious . You literally just came out to me less than a week ago and you’re already talking about getting with a boy. And Eddie Munson at that.”

Steve scowls at her, crossing his arms over his chest in a way that he knows looks bitchy, but he can’t help it because—

“Don’t say his name like that. He literally almost died to save us all. He’s not fucking dirty .”

Robin immediately sobers, a guilty, but irritated look on her face. “That’s not how I meant it, Steve, and you know it. Don’t get bitchy at me just because you’re feeling sensitive about your feelings for a boy.”

And that’s the crux of it, isn’t it? Steve isn’t really angry at her for laughing—Robin makes fun of him at least 7 times a day, Steve would be more concerned if she didn’t make at least one joke about this—and he isn’t even mad at her for putting a weird emphasis on Eddie’s name. No, he’s all twisted up about his feelings and he’s never been good at expressing them, let alone talking about them. He’s feeling self conscious and his skin is prickling with embarrassment and the easiest thing to do is lash out about it.

“That’s not—“ Steve cuts himself off, looking away from Robin as his shoulders slump. “You’re right,” he mumbles. “Sorry. I just. I wanna fucking kiss him so bad , Rob, and that freaks me out a little.” Steve untucks one of his arms to scrub a hand over his face, leaving the other one tucked around his waist to protect his vulnerable bits.

“Hey,” Robin murmurs, closing the distance between them so she can settle her hands on his shoulders. “I get it. Do you think I acted like a sane person the first time I realized I wanna kiss girls? I think I cried for a week. Kerry the stuffed Koala had to go to therapy because of all of my crying. It was a serious time in the Buckley house.”

Steve smiles behind his hand. He loves her so much. She’s really his best friend. He’s so thankful for her.

“You still cry about kissing girls,” Steve says, rather than admitting any of that. She already knows she’s smart, Steve doesn’t need to add any more to her ego. It just gives her more brain to bully him with.

He drops the hand covering his face to look at her. “Only now it’s more of a,” Steve puts on a high pitched, whiny voice, “‘why do I have to go to work when I could be spending all day making out with my girlfriend.’” He brings both of his hands up to clasp in front of his chest, batting his eyelashes at her in a fake-coy way.

Robin shoves at him, catches him off guard and he goes stumbling backwards into the counter, laughing the whole way. 

“Shut up , you absolute dickhead, ” she all but screeches, reaching out to give his chest another shove for good measure. “You literally have no room to talk considering you started this shift by announcing your intentions to, quite literally, crawl into Eddie’s lap and kiss him stupid . That’s almost verbatim what you said, Steve.”

Steve’s still chuckling as he rights his position a little, leaning back against the counter more comfortably. “Yeah, I did say that.” He sucks his bottom lip in between his teeth before he continues with, “I really, really wanna sit on his lap and kiss him until he can’t focus, Rob.”

Robin rolls her eyes, but it’s more fond than annoyed. Steve can tell—he’s been on the receiving end of about 90 percent of Robin’s eye rolls, he’s getting good at distinguishing the emotions behind each one.

“I still can’t believe you have a crush on Eddie Munson of all people. He’s so weird ,” She laughs, but Steve can tell that that, too, is fond. Robin and Eddie have a weird friendship. They geek out over obscure instruments and the nuance of tacky movies together. Steve doesn’t get it, but he enjoys watching how expressive both of them can be. He once watched Eddie climb onto a table while arguing with Robin about one of their movies. Robin followed him up shortly after, though, so Steve isn’t sure why she thinks the weird is limited to Eddie.

“Yeah,” Steve sighs, and he’s man enough to admit that it sounds dreamy . God, he’s pathetic over Eddie. It scares the shit out of him. “You know, the other day he gave me a rock. It wasn’t even, like, a cool rock. It was literally just a rock. When I asked him why he just shrugged and was like ‘I dunno, it made me think of you.’”

Robin’s grin grows. “Oh my God. What did you do with the rock?”

Steve shoots her a disgruntled look. “What do you think I did with the rock? I put in my pocket and then brought it home and set it on my nightstand. Eddie gave it to me, I wasn’t just going to throw it on the ground again. That’s rude.”

Robin absolutely cackles at this, there’s no other way to describe it. She’s awash in glee as she claps her hands together a few times. “ Jesus , Steve. You’ve got it so bad for this man.”

“God,” Steve mutters, running a hand over his face again. “That’s not even the worst part, Rob. He like. He grabs his utensils with his whole fist when he eats. It’s so weird, and it’s so messy . It makes fuck all sense. He doesn't even grab a pencil that way. Just his fucking eating utensils . 

“And he walks so chaotic. He just randomly breaks into a sprint. Just starts fucking running out of nowhere. And he bounces. As if the random running wasn’t enough, he just fucking starts jumping. Sometimes he jumps at me, and it’s all I can do to actually catch him before he eats dirt. Or- or he’ll just. Spin. Just twirl in the middle of the sidewalk while still carrying on a conversation.” Steve slumps, his back getting slightly scraped against the counter as he sinks to his butt.

“The man has zero regard for personal space and he always makes way too intense of eye contact. Sometimes he’ll use one of his character voices in the middle of an otherwise totally normal conversation, and he’s always climbing on things. He’s loud and he’s weird and I wanna wrap my fingers around the collar of his shirt, shove him against a wall and then shove my tongue down his throat , jesus christ. ” Steve buries his face in his knees, his mind playing an endless loop of Eddie smiling with those stupid lips that are always cherry red and raw from his constant gnawing. Steve wants to bite them for him.

“Oh, my God, Steve.” Robing sinks down to sit across from him. “This is pathetic . I, like, knew you had a crush on Eddie but this is like. Dangerous territory. Like, the next step might be the L word level territory.”

Steve makes a small squeaking noise, his face still buried in his knees. Robin’s words hint at something that Steve is so not ready to admit to himself yet. She’s hitting way too close to something Steve has been avoiding actively and vehemently since he realized the attraction he feels for boys is decidedly not of the straight variety.

For a moment, neither of them say anything. Then, like the angel she so clearly is, Robin says, “So, wanna tell me about operation ‘crawl into Eddie’s lap and makeout with him?’”

Steve laughs, the tightness in his chest slowly easing. He lifts his head, and then spills his guts.

***

The plan starts simply. First, he needs to get Eddie alone . No annoying tagalongs to potentially interrupt.

It’s easier said than done. For two days straight, Steve asks Eddie to hang out and, somehow, one of the kids manages to weasel into their plans.

It’s driving Steve nuts.  

He casually asks Eddie to watch a movie, give him a proper education like him and Robin are always going on about, and Dustin overhears and invites himself.

He asks Eddie to go for a walk, makes an excuse about it being gorgeous outside while he plots ways for the walk to end right outside his house, isn’t that neat, but Lucas and Max overhear and suddenly it’s a group affair.

He asks Eddie to get milkshakes, plans to lure him back to his house with the promise of complete control of Steve’s record player, but El overhears and asks if she can tag along and Steve just can’t look into her big, earnest eyes and tell her no. He’s not a monster.

So they get milkshakes with El, and it’s fun . Of course it’s fun, but Steve is getting desperate . It’s been a little over a week since he hatched his mad plan with Robin and he’s about to start climbing the walls with anticipation.

It doesn’t help that Eddie has a mother fucking oral fixation. At every opportunity he’s either putting stuff in his mouth or chewing on something. It’s fucking rude, is what it is. It’s like he doesn’t even realize Steve is suffering.

It all finally comes to a head a full week and four days after his conversation with Robin on the floor of Family Video. He’s stopping by Eddie’s house to grab something Dustin left behind because Dustin asked and he’s nice . It’s maybe also because it’s a great excuse to see Eddie, but Dustin sure as shit doesn’t need to know that that’s the sole reason Steve said he will.

Eddie is slightly bent over, riffling through his Dungeons and Dorks stuff, and Steve is trying so hard to pretend like he’s not entirely focusing on his ass and the line of exposed skin above his belt. If Eddie turns around right now, he’s busted for sure.

Eddie’s just mentioned some kind of dragon when he lets out a triumphant noise, his story coming to an abrupt halt as he spins on his heel to face Steve.

“Aha!” He exclaims, thrusting a notebook in Steve's direction. 

Steve automatically reaches out to take it, his fingers brushing over the backs of Eddie’s in the switch over. Eddie bites his bottom lip at the contact, avoiding Steve’s gaze, and suddenly all Steve is thinking about is his mouth.

Steve debates with himself for a moment. This isn’t really how he planned to seduce his way into Eddie Munson’s lap, but he’s adaptable. If the years of almost apocalypses have taught Steve anything, it’s that sometimes you have to make do with what you have.

And what Steve has is an empty trailer save the two of them, and a couch less than ten feet away. He’s got the object of his affections standing in front of him, and Steve decides to adapt.

He wets his own lips, stepping towards Eddie. His hand is still holding Eddie’s hostage over the notebook.

“Thanks, Eddie,” Steve murmurs, ducking his head so he can look up through his lashes.

Steve watches Eddie’s breath catch, watches him stutter over his next sentence.

“Y-yeah,” he breathes out, his eyes flicking between Steve’s eyes and his mouth at a rapid speed. “Of c-course. I mean, it happens. Kids forget things. I’m sure Dustin just wanted to, like, go over the last session's notes for anything he missed.”

“Of course,” Steve agrees, taking another step into Eddie’s space. He’s aware that he’s primarily staring at Eddie’s lips, which is probably rude, but he can’t help it. They’re wet and shiny and Steve has been thinking about them an obsessive amount for the last week and a half.

“We’re, um, I-I mean they’re going against a red dragon,” Eddie continues. Steve’s aware of this. It’s what Eddie had been telling him when he’d found the notebook. “They’re very powerful, almost impossible to defeat.”

“Are they?” Steve’s only half following the conversation, but that’s not saying much. He has a hard time keeping up with the DnD talk on a regular day.

“Oh yeah,” Eddie says, and then he’s off. He starts spitting words so fast Steve wouldn’t be able to keep up even if he were paying complete attention.

“Eddie,” Steve says, but Eddie is still talking, still mumbling along about the red dragon.

“Eddie,” Steve tries again, but it’s like he’s shouting in an empty room. He knows Eddie knows he’s talking to him, can tell by how wide Eddie’s eyes are, how he’s not even trying to not slur his rapidfire words together. If Eddie was talking about dragons for the hell of it, he’d be gesticulating and probably climbing on things. As it were, he’s got his gaze fixed on Steve, eyes comically wide as his words rush together—barely getting one out before the next slew rush into it in a truly amusing word traffic jam.

Eddie’s nervous , and fuck if that doesn’t thrill Steve to his core. Steve takes the final step towards him to completely close the distance and—

Eddie takes a step back, his words stuttering along with Steve’s heart in his chest. He wasn’t expecting that, wasn’t expecting Eddie to back away from him so quickly. Steve has half a second to be hurt, to mentally kick himself because get a fucking clue , Harrington, before he catches Eddie’s eyes darting down to his lips, his tongue unconsciously swiping along his lower lip before his gaze skitters back up to Steve’s.

And, oh, yeah , Steve has him exactly where he wants him. Eddie isn’t stepping back because he doesn’t want Steve. No, he’s stepping back because he’s prey . Steve is stalking towards him with a single minded focus and Eddie is skittering backwards like a scared rabbit—bouncing back step by step as Steve approaches until his back collides with the wall. That, finally, seems to knock all their air out of Eddie. The dragon conversation dies on his lips as Steve finally—fucking finally —closes the remaining distance between them. He reaches out, cupping Eddie's cheek in one hand, his jaw in the other, all while pressing up against Eddie from hip to chest.

“ Eddie, ” Steve murmurs, his eyes hooding. This time, Steve feels Eddie’s breath catch, feels the way a tremor works its way through Eddie’s body. He’s staring up at Steve with wide, wild eyes. He looks like a deer caught in a trap—ready to break his leg trying to get away if he needs to.

Steve isn’t sure why that makes him feel a little wild, but it does.

He stretches his thumb out to swipe across Eddie's bottom lip—already bitten and red from Eddie’s nervous chewing. God , it drives Steve crazy . He has a half-hysterical thought about offering his own up for Eddie to chew on when he’s nervous. Eddie makes him crazy .

Steve licks at his own lips as he watches the way his thumb catches and drags and the swollen skin of Eddie’s bottom lip. Eddie’s trembling in earnest now, and Steve feels his pulse thundering in his ears. He wants to kiss Eddie so bad his fucking toes are curling with the anticipation.

He flicks his gaze up, away from Eddie’s lips up to his eyes and he has to fight back a groan. Eddie looks fucking wrecked and Steve hasn’t even kissed him yet. His eyes are wide and wild, his pupils blown and there’s a scarlet flush in his cheeks. He’s fucking panting against Steve’s face and he can’t take it any more. He really, really can’t. He has to kiss him—screw anticipation, screw driving Eddie past the brink. He needs and he needs now.

“ Eddie, ” Steve practically gasps . “Eddie, please.” Steve squeezes his eyes shut as his body unconsciously rocks forward, seeking even more of Eddie out. “Wanna kiss you so bad, please say I can, please—”

And before Steve can get another plea out, Eddie’s slamming his head forward with enough force to knock their teeth together in an uncomfortable clack ; enough force that their noses knock together in a painful way.

But Steve doesn't care . He doesn’t care because Eddie’s lips are on his and he feels like there’s liquid fire coursing through his veins. He feels lit up from the inside out as Eddie finally, finally touches him back. He fists a hand in the back of Steve’s shirt, the other winding through Steve’s hair and fuck it’s finally happening. After night upon night of imagining what kissing Eddie Munson would be like, Steve’s finally doing it.

And goddamn is he doing it. Eddie’s lips are slick against his, hot and encouraging . They slide together in a way that has Steve’s mind going blissfully blank, his only thoughts being hotwetyesmore.  

He kisses him messy, lips moving together in a too fast pace that neither of them can keep track of; bruising force in the way their lips slide, spit sliping from their parted lips in a slow trickle that has Steve’s fingers curling against Eddie’s jaw.

He uses that hand to tilt Eddie’s head up slightly, angling it enough that Steve can get his bottom lip between his own and suck slightly. The first slid of Eddie’s lip between Steve’s own has him seeing fucking stars . 

A punched out groan breaks free from Eddie’s throat and he rocks forward into Steve, seeking more . The hand in the middle of his back pulls and Steve is helpless to do anything but push Eddie more firmly into the wall. He knows it has to hurt, has to be restricting Eddie’s breathing with how tightly they’re pressed together, but he can’t take enough focus away from Eddie’s mouth to care . Plus, if Eddie minds that much he wouldn’t be pulling Steve closer .

Eddie breathes a wet gasp into Steve’s mouth when he takes his teeth to the lip still tucked between his own, and Steve can’t help but let out a gasp of his own. Eddie tastes fucking phenomenal. He can taste the lingering tobacco on his tongue, the salty tang of the popcorn he must have had earlier, and just the overwhelming taste of Eddie. Hot, sweet, fucking sublime. Steve‘s never been a particularly religious man, but he feels like he’s drinking heaven straight from Eddie’s mouth. With every gasp, every moan, every brush of Eddie’s tongue, he feels one step closer to absolution. It’s addicting .

God , he wants more. He wants Eddie’s hands all over him, on bare skin. He wants those deft musicians fingers to snake into his hair, tug a bit. He wants Eddie over him and under him and—

He stills suddenly, a thought occurring to him. The line that had triggered this whole thing—his announcement to Robin back in Family Video—and suddenly there’s a burning need in Steve’s gut. God, he needs to sit in Eddie’s lap right now. Needs to feel his strong thighs under him, needs Eddie’s hands on his ass and his tongue in his mouth.

“ Fuck, ” Steve bites out when he pulls back. Tearing his mouth away from Eddie’s is so much harder than it has any right to be.

Eddie’s staring at Steve with glassy eyes, his lips shiny and red and oh fuck even his chin is glistening with their spit. Steve wants to devour him.

“Go sit on the couch,” Steve says, and is pleasantly surprised that his voice only sounds a little rough, a little shaky.

“What?” Eddie croaks out, staring at Steve for a beat. Then, miracle of miracles, he does it. He stares at Steve the whole time, the glassy look getting a little clearer, and Steve thinks that simply will not do.

The minute Eddie is seated, Steve’s crawling his way into his lap. He wedges his knees into the crease at the back of the couch, shuffling as far forward as he can so their chests are pressing together, their clothed crotches aligning. Then, without giving Eddie a chance to adjust, he drops down, pressing the full weight of his ass into Eddie’s thighs and, by proximity, his dick.

“ Jesus Christ ,” Eddie swears, his hands shooting out to grab at Steve’s ass on instinct. Steve almost giggles . It’s exactly what he wants.

“You can just call me Steve,” he mutters, and before Eddie can reply, he’s sweeping in and claiming Eddie’s lips again. Eddie huffs against his mouth, but let’s Steve have the last word. Steve’s glad because he has plans .

Plans that start with Steve winding those thick curls around his fingers as he slides his lips against Eddie’s. Eddie pushes his head back into Steve’s hands like a cat, and it makes Steve smile into their kiss, which makes Eddie smile into the kiss. It’s like a domino effect—once Steve feels Eddie’s smile against his, he starts giggling like a schoolgirl. He can’t help it, this feels unreal in the best possible way.

Then Eddie’s off, giggling back into Steve’s mouth. They’re both just sitting there giggling at each other, eyes squinted and happy . God, Steve feels euphoric in this moment, perched in Eddie’s lap like it’s his throne, with Eddie’s hands on his ass.

Eddie pulls back after a moment, when their smiles are too wide to actually kiss. He brings a hand up to gently brush a strand of hair away from Steve’s eyes, tucking the long lock behind his ear before putting his hand back on Steve’s ass. 

“You’re unbelievable, Steve Harrington,” Eddie whispers, eyes so full of affection that Steve feels his insides turn to mush. He squirms in Eddie’s laps, ducking his head to mouth at Eddie’s neck because if he stares into his eyes any longer he’s going to do something stupid . Stupid like admit that he’s pretty fucking sure he’s in love with Eddie, has been since he gave him that dumb rock for no decernable reason other than he wanted to, because he was thinking of Steve.

Steve tongues at the tendon in Eddie’s neck that’s stretched taunt, rubs his nose along his jaw and up to the hollow under his ear. Eddie laughs, tilting his head sideways to give Steve easier access.

“Oh, now you’re gonna be shy? After you practically pounced on me earli—”

Eddie’s words cut off in a choked groan as Steve bites, hard , at the tendon he was just showing attention to.

“ Steve, ” Eddie gasps, but Steve doesn’t let him do any other talking. No, he’s not going to let Eddie derail him again. So, he dives back for Eddie’s mouth, licking into it, not slowing down and not giving Eddie a chance to catch up. He smooths his tongue alongside Eddie’s, lets Eddie push back against it with his own for a millisecond, before he’s switching tactics—licking behind the top row of Eddie’s teeth, sliding his tongue over Eddie’s bottom lip. 

Eddie squeezes his ass at the sudden onslaught, and Steve can’t help the small jerk his body gives at that. He grinds down, a gasp trapped in the humid air between them as sharp waves of pleasure shoot up his spine. He’s trapped in between Eddie’s lips and his hands and he feels like he’s high with it.

He’s enjoying himself so much.

He slides his tongue along Eddie’s again, enjoys the way it's slightly rough and gloriously slick against his own. Enjoys the way it makes his pulse thrum a little faster, his fingers grip a little tighter where they’re fisted in Eddie’s hair—the way it makes Eddie squeeze a little tighter, which makes Steve grind down a little harder.

Steve feels the evidence of Eddie’s interest, has been feeling it, and knows Eddie has to be aware of Steve’s own. And Steve’s fantasized about Eddie’s lips for so long that he’s tried to keep it to just that—tried to focus on the heady drag of lips on lips—but it’s hard to ignore the way Steve’s own hips are twisting down, seeking as much of Eddie as possible. Hard to ignore the way Eddie has his own feet planted on the floor, meeting Steve’s hips with firm thrusts of his own.

They’re sharing humid air and sharp gasps, their lips swollen and honestly sore . Steve’s lips ache in the best way he’s ever felt, and Steve doesn’t want to stop. Wants to sit right here on Eddie’s strong thighs, wants to feel Eddie’s teeth nipping at the too sensitive skin of his mouth, wants to kiss Eddie for the rest of his life .

They kiss and kiss and kiss, and Steve has never just kissed someone like this. He’s never kissed just to feel, kissed just for the pleasure of it with no expectations for what’s to follow. He feels intoxicated. He’s utterly, wholly blissed out on Eddie Munson’s mouth and he never wants it to end.

They kiss for so long that Steve has honestly started to lose feeling in his lips. It’s weird feeling them so sore, so numb. But they are, so he slowly, so slowly pulls back. Leaning down for a few lingering pecks as he puts a little distance between their mouths.

Eddie’s mouth is bright red, spit slick and so tempting. Steve watches with fascination as a single string of spit connects their lips, stretching until he’s put enough distance between them that it breaks.

Steve bites his lip on a moan, thinks that’s one of the hottest things he’s ever seen.

He meets Eddie’s gaze. His eyes are wild, pupils blown out. His hair is an absolute disaster from the way Steve’s been running his fingers through it, and his cheeks are flushed so prettily. Steve can’t resist sneaking one more kiss in, lingering around afterwards to rub their noses together.

“Hi,” Steve finally murmurs and fuck, is that his voice? Jesus, he sounds wrecked.

“Hi,” Eddie says back, his smile verging on loopy. “Did you know that some corvids can understand physics?”

Steve stares at him for a beat, a little stunned and a lot confused by the abrupt topic switch. Eddie stares back, a look on his face that Steve can only take for regret, his already pink face is turning positively crimson. 

It’s dead quiet for a moment, then Steve bursts into laughter. His chest absolutely swells with affection, with, fuck it, love. God damn , he can’t deny it any longer. The love he feels for this boy sitting under him is overwhelming at the best of times, and it feels like it’s just bursting out of him at this moment. He’s coming apart at the seams with his feelings for Eddie, and he’s done trying to pretend that they’re anything but that.

“Oh my God, ” Eddie mutters, bringing his hands up to hide his face. It’s so endearing. Steve is endeared. “Sorry, fuck. I don’t know why I just said that.”

“Jesus Christ, dude.” Steve’s still grinning down at Eddie, moving his hands to clasp around Eddie’s wrists, trying to pry his hands away. He never wants to not be looking at Eddie. He’s so fucking weird and Steve likes him so much. “I like you so fucking much .”

Eddie lets Steve pull his hands away, and he…there’s no other word for it, Eddie just absolutely lights up. It’s like Steve’s staring directly at the sun. Eddie is beaming up at him, his smile so wide that his eyes are basically closed. He has laugh lines, and Steve is already obsessed with them, already thinking of ways to make Eddie smile this wide, this radiant all the time.

“Yeah?” Eddie asks.

“Oh, yeah,” Steve confirms. “Just ask Robin. I’ve been whining about it for weeks .”

Eddie laughs again, his grin not dimming in the slightest, and Steve just has to taste it—has to get his mouth around Eddie’s happiness. So, he swoops back in, feels Eddie’s laughter transfer to him via their connected mouths, feels a piece of himself that’s long been looking for a home finally slot into place.

[irndad]

how about ❝  i don’t sleep a lot either these days.  we can be insomniacs together.  ❞ or ❝  you don’t have to pretend to be fine,  if you need me to stay i will.  ❞ with whoever you want to write (i have absolutely no guesses as to who this may be (cough cough spencer))

a/n: teeny tiny fic!!! so little. so little content.

prompt list // ask// wc: 530

He actually usually doesn’t like to be touched when he’s injured. It’s all overwhelming, the pain of it, how he can never take the medication anymore. The added stimuli of touch- it can all be a little overwhelming. 

Still, she doesn’t feel that way.

He’s laying on the couch in the office, and it’s embarrassing. She looks so lovely, leaning over him. She’s a vision, as beautiful as he’s ever seen her, even with that scratch above her brow. 

She’s wiping a gash on his forehead, and he can’t stop looking at her. She bites at her lower lip, her brow fixed into an adorably focused expression.

“Thank you,” he says, “For doing this.”

He lives for that smile, the one she offers him. It’s all kindness, completely unguarded and open. It’s the kind of affection Spencer would like to know more, love to drown in. He smiles back at her. 

“No problem, Spence.” Her voice is warm and sweet as honey, and he is keenly aware of the fact that she’s touching him. There’s not really a lot of times that he gets to. She sometimes falls asleep on his shoulder, on the jet. It’s the most still he’s ever been in his life. 

Everyone else has gone home, and she’s still here, still leaning over him. He’d refused to go to the hospital, and it really was just a couple of scrapes, but she’d insisted on staying. On cleaning him up, just a little. 

He’s been having nightmares.

Of course, he always has them. But lately, they’ve been so bad that closing his eyes seems like a recipe for terror in and of itself. And the fucked up thing of it all, is the only person who’s able to help him isn’t even someone he can call. She’s a friend. 

She doesn’t respond, at least not verbally. But she does pause her movements, then mover her delicate finger to brush the side of his cheek. He’s in so much pain he lets himself lean into it, eyes fluttering open and shut at the feeling of it.

“Spence,” she repeats the nickname in a way that’s drenched in tenderness, in a way he wants to hear over, and over again. He wants her to say his name like that forever. 

“You don’t have to pretend to be fine. If you need me to stay I will.” Her voice is kind and doting, and she- she doesn’t know. She has no idea what that would even mean to him. How he wants her to stay. 

“I-“ his voice comes out shaky and unguarded. She is still touching him, he realizes. 

“I know that it’s not the easiest thing for you, to say you need it.”

If it was anyone else, he realizes, he’d probably snap at them. Because he doesn’t like to admit that he needs help. Sometimes, though, help is being held by the woman that makes him feel the closest to clean. To worthy. 

He can’t decide what he’s meant to say here, if there’s something that he’s meant to say.

“I want it,” he settles on. “I’d like that very much, actually. If you stayed with me.”

[merbear25]

Hi friend! Congrats on the follows. I was wondering if I could put in an event request please? Sanji x female reader number 9. Thank you and congratulations again!

Hey, hey! Hope you've been well. Thank you for requesting this for our hopeless romantic Sanji! I hope you like what I've written for you 💜💜

Made with love

CW: SFW, fem!reader, fluff

Over your time traveling with the Strawhats, there was one who stood out to you more than the others―Sanji. He had been the one you went to share fun stories or just to chitchat, and when you needed someone to lean on, he was more than willing to be that person for you. Needless to say, you'd grown quite attached to him. How could you not have? He did so much for you without expecting anything in return.

Someone as kind-hearted as him deserved to be shown just how much he meant to you. There were so many ways you'd been wanting to properly show your gratitude to him, yet your skills and surroundings hindered your abilities to go all out. Perhaps, something simple would work, something that you made by yourself which you could pour your heart into―a cake.

This would have seemed to be the easiest idea to bring to life, although Sanji was the sole cook on board the Sunny, meaning you'd have to find a way to get him out of the kitchen for long enough to bake an entire cake. Realizing that you wouldn't be able to pull this off entirely on your own, you turned to Robin and Nami and let them in on what you were up to―hoping they'd be williing to keep him distracted long enough.

Without a second thought they were happy to oblige, both of them being touched by your sweet gesture. Reassuring you that you could count on them, they slipped in words of encouragement, which gave you faith that everything was going to go off without a hitch.

However, the limited time you had to prepare the cake came with higher chances of errors: miss measuring, a stray fragment of eggshell finding its way into the batter. Although you were able to bypass those, your worries of leaving any evidence behind gave you the incentive to clean as you went, causing you to lose track of time and leaving you with an overdone cake.

Hurrying off to your room to allow the cake to cool, you tried your best to convince yourself that it wasn't that overbaked. While you were preoccupied filling your head with fabrications, it cooled nicely and was ready to frost.

You were imagining a lovely buttercream frosting with a short phrase expressing just how appreciative you were to have him in your life which would be spelt out in a gorgeous crimson. Unfortunately, you hadn't quite considered how much space was necessary to write your message, leaving the last few words disproportionately smaller than the others―the red morphing together in a way that looked like droplets of a less than delectable imagry.

Disheartened was the first word to come to mind when you looked down at your lack luster attempt at gift giving. However, you considered it to be irresponsible to waste products by throwing it away and thought it was possible you were simply being overly self-critical. Twiddling your thumbs, you settled on the decision to give it him.

Searching for him, he was doing exactly as you expected: swooning over his crew mates. Once laying his eyes on you, his heart felt as if it'd burst, "How lucky am I to have three of the most beautiful ladies in my presence?"

Despite this being in his common nature, you couldn't supress the blush creeping on your face. "Sanji," you gently took his hand, "I have something to show you." Leading him to the kitchen, you anxiously showed the cake to him.

Watching his facial expression for any signs of dissatisfaction, his features remained neutral. "You made this for me?"

Nodding, you explained that you wanted it to be a surprise, and that you hoped it tasted much better than it looked.

Eyeing him as he took a bite, you nervously awaited his feedback. Before he had a chance to give any, you had already started apologizing for the quality, "I really hope it's not burnt. I was cleaning up while it was in the oven, and I worry that I left it in for too long. And, I know the writing isn't ideal."

"It's perfect."

Dazed by his praise, you had a hard time accepting it as the truth.

"Don't be so hard on yourself."

"I just think you deserve the best, and sometimes I doubt I can give that to you."

Gently caressing your hand, he rubbed his thumb on the top of it. Though you were trying to hide your face from him, he still attempted to sneak a peek at your delicate features. "To me you are perfect."

A wave of emotions was bubbling up within you, letting the positive ones take the lead this time around. Meeting his gaze, you smiled and thanked him for everything.

[shotanzz]

I think it would be great if you share your thoughts about placements as a post like venus signs, mars signs etc 🫶🏻

SHOSHO’S VENUS SUMMARIES

reminder this is based on my own knowledge/observations of these placements, if it doesn’t completely resonate with you remember other placements, aspects and factors could change how your venus manifests itself and these are meant to be general

Aries Venus: Very affection to your face lovers. There’s emphasis on the effort and excitement of the early stages of initiating relationships which is why it’s said they love the “chase” They’re more impulsive in romance so sometimes they can start/end things VERY quickly or they’re quick when deciding if they’re attracted to/like someone or not. Sometimes if they don’t have placements to stabilize the impulsive energy they can move too fast or expect too much too early. NO aries venus making fun of your crush is NOT the easiest way to express your feelings pls. Enjoys being alone but seethes at couples post. Despite having detached feelings they definitely can be possessive. Need relationships that makes them stop and smell the roses but still feel their autonomy.

Taurus Venus: They love to provide wellness and stability in their relationships. Taurus Venus women are absolutely sweethearts omg they’re such givers and want people they love to be comfortable and taken care of. Taurus Venus being possessive is relatively true but how far they’ll take it depends on other placements/aspects. Taurus Venus is definitely hedonistic, their venus is home at the planet of pleasures. Pretty traditional in relationships (believes in roles, courting, etc) They’re also prone to prefer more steady changing relationships rather than something fast paced and overly intense. They hate when their feelings and relationships are rushed or don’t move at a natural safe pace. Taurus Venus men tend to make very reliable bfs imo unless they have placements that make them stingy/unavailable.

Gemini Venus: Their ideal types, love languages, and what they’re into can change often since they can be easily influenced by information or new things they learn/see about people and relationships. To have them interested you must have them feel intrigued/mentally stimulated. They find intelligence attractive and are the type to be into quirky nerds or people that have wittt humor. They are written off as cheaters since they like variety/versatility but imo they just lose interest quickly if they feel bored or limited, whether they cheat or not is based on their own personhood and other aspects. Their flirt game is super proficient since they have a natural way with words. They tend to crush on people that they admire for their intellect. Their types are almost always never solid unless they have placements that says otherwise.

Cancer Venus: Super sweet and romantic when they don’t have much negative tension from other placements. Similar to Taurus they can be a bit old school or have more traditional relationship ideals. They love emotional intimacy. Very sappy and need a sense of safety within all relationships. They can however get their hearts broken or disappointed because they’ll have high hopes in the people that they date/are interests in but don’t get the energy they give out returned. They can become cold and wall themselves up during times of heartbreak. For cancer venus/mars men their parents/mothers relationship can def impact how they view relationships. If they allow themselves to be vulnerable that’s how you know you got them. Very sentimental and sincere in their relationships and even somewhat emo? I think of beach dates at night when I see them.

Leo Venus: Loves giving/receiving praises and compliments from their crushes, words of affirmation are a big love language trait. Leo venus women have solid standards imo. Wants to brighten up or bring more fun and ease into the lives of people they love, wants to serve a generous purpose to their partners. Very aware of how they feel and whether or not a relationship is satisfying them; they’re also very aware on whether or not their family or friends approve of the person they’re with. Big fans of creative impactful romantic gestures. They can sometimes view their lovers as an extension of themselves and are big on their partners being someone they can have pride in. Ngl their crushes can be celebs that are out of reach 😭. If/when they’re jealous it’s honestly..funny like omg you lost the idgaf war. HATE being embarrassed romantically.

Virgo Venus: So cautious in love but has a big desire to connect to someone. Pretty reliable or purposeful partners. Very big on the idea of pure intentions. Pretty picky or have very particular ideals for their crushes. They are lowkey attracted to people that are out the way or don’t bring too much attention on themselves. Not fond of relationship drama and extras that aren’t practical or of substance/usefulness (similar to cap venus). Gets actual butterflies in their stomach bc their anxieties go straight to their digestive 😭. They almost always have a significant relationship experience, example or idea that they model and develop relationships after. Virgo venus people lowkey have to be careful of someone taking advantage of their want to do good by their partner. Can accidentally self sabotage by their anxieties and idealisms towards relationships.

Libra Venus: Secretly strategic in their love life and pursuits like they PLOT on people. Daydreams about their crush’s face or stares at posts of it. Pretty accommodating in relationships. Needs a sense of reciprocation. Romantic in the ways that you see in the media, like if they could live in a romcom they would. They -love- love and the feeling of admiring someone. Can be very fickle with their interest however. Libra Venus girls who are interested in men DEF love pretty boys. Similar to cancer venus they can also be let down when the energy isn’t matched. Their ideal types are pretty open or versatile but they’re still into attractive/photogenic people (placements can affect this). However they hate a pretty face without a personality or talents. SOOO susceptible to falling into situationships or relationships without solid titles pls BE CAREFULL WITH THAT.

Scorpio Venus: Very intentional lovers. Secretly attracted to the loser bf trope 😭. Has very all or nothing views on relationships. Tries to be in control of how their crush perceives them. Needs honesty and transparency from their partner to function in relationships. Very intuitive partners !!Highly observant of the people they love. Stalks their crushes socials tbh. People think they’re all sexual deviants but tbh no a lot of them are highly protective of their intimacy. Desperately needs someone to match their freak, not sexually !! so hard for them to find someone who wants the same things as them. Some scorpio venus men like being ordered/told what to do . Can be prone/susceptible to relationships that are tumultuous or has extremes and can have a power imbalance within it. Sometimes into people who aren’t obvious in their interest towards them.

Sag Venus: Chronically looking for Mr/Mrs.right 🙂‍↕️. Can’t stand relationships with extreme power imbalances. Let’s their s/o do ANYTHINGGG like genuine favoritism towards their spouses 😭. They try to not allow their feelings to become too complicated. Are actually ok with being single for a while. Attracted to people who are devoted to something whether it is a cause, morals, set of principles, hobby, lifestyle, or religion. Also people with diff backgrounds, cultures and povs. Very comfortable in their sexuality also a lot of sag venus people are…fruity LOL. Hard for them to be mad at their lovers for a long time I’ve noticed ? SOMETIMES they can be hypocritical in relationships 😭. Very generous lovers both the men and women. If not interested in foreigners they’re very into people who have major experience within life that can teach them something.

Capricorn Venus: Why are we the love police like actually LMFAOO. Sacrificial and willing to endure for the people they adore. A part of us dies of embarrassment when disappointed with the people we like. Secretly geeks out abt whoever’s caught their eye in the confines of their room. Hyper realistic when it comes to love ideals. HATEs the dramatics, extras and games. Tries so hard to balance their goals with a love life. Likes people who are self sufficient. Similar to scorpio with all or nothing thinking in relationships. Will phase out of existence when the feelings get too complicated. No guys we can’t plan/imagine the future everytime we are in love with someone. Swear there’s always age difference stuff happening. You can tell how much a cap venus likes you by how much they’re willing to share/give you of anything that’s theirs. Silent pining.

Aqua Venus: Relatively unorthodox lovers. Goated at the friends to lovers trope (honestly anything to lovers). Covert hopeless romantics. Needs a relationship balance where they have time and space to themselves. Quietly protective over their spouses. Never dates or is attracted to the same type of person everytime, there’s always something distinct about them. Secretly strict lovers, yes do as you please but don’t disappoint them. Manages to know you better than anyone else. Also needs someone to match their freak. Studies the person they like so they can be an efficient partner. Hey so like no it’s not normal that everything gives you the ick. They love deep talks or someone who’s observant. Dislikes when a relationship moves too fast. Aqua venus men either hate hookup culture or loves it no in between.

Pisces Venus: If they could build a partner from scratch they would 😭. Highly accepting of their partners flaws despite that however. Loves and acknowledges even the smallest most little detail about their partners. Extremely forgiving TOO forgiving almost. Living proof that true adornment can exist. Needs to be careful of confusing admiration with romantic feelings. Can also allow themselves to be single for a pretty long time. Admires their crushes from afar. Also plots on the people they like. Will defend their s/o to the endddd of the earth if need be. Love language depends on the day, time, hour, and what song they recently listened to. Quietly goes insane when in love but tries to be chill about it (they fail). Don’t think I forgot you it’s not normal that anything can give you the ick either pisces venus !

[thoughtfullyrainynightmare]

Hi um ask I ask for Nobel as a father. Like what would he name his kids/ how many kids and just how he would be as a father. If it’s not to much to ask please and thank you. Ps I love your work

Hiya~

I know that this is a very recent ask, but I was in the mood for some soft family/dad vibes (maybe or maybe not because of a Tumblr mutual and their fave), so this just inspired me.

Contains: Papa!Nozel, he's being protective, caring, and protective. Includes 3 small snippets at the end after a general description of Nozel as a father Snippets: Nozel x reader (implied f!reader) Other warnings: none

--------

Nozel as a father would be a combination of stern, highly protective, and somewhat easily guilt-tripped by his kids.

He wouldn't exactly coddle his kids, but they would be short of anything. He has certain expectations and wants his kids to try and become strong and capable, and he is a very solution oriented father, because he is still unsure of how to express a lot of his feelings. Despite having grown better at it over the years.

If his kids have a problem with something, he'd try to find a solution and very concretely fix a problem. For him questions that have to do with mana are the easiest, because his affinity is very difficult to control, and he had to hone it a lot, since he was, in terms of affinities, the underdog as well. As long as it is a problem involving an information topic, he most likely has a solution, or knows from where to look. It is a way for him to show love, since he didn't receive that kind of support himself after Acier's passing, and he knows how it feels to have to do such things by oneself.

He would have zero tolerance against someone insulting or hurting his children or spouse, which stem from his past and his former wrongdoings. These cause him to jump to rescue perhaps too early, and this time his anger and harsh words would be directed towards the perpetrator, because he doesn't want to be the person he was anymore and is trying to desperately to shake it off. Or push it away. Even if it was long in the past, it does tend to surface when he feels strongly. He would stand between whatever it is and his kids, rather than let them be hurt in any shape or form. He has lost too much, caused too much, and while he meant well in the past, he doesn't want to repeat his former actions. So, he does the opposite.

And because of that, he can also be guilt-tripped easily by his kids. If one of them even insinuates that "dad is mean!" he would stop in his tracks and do any damage control he can in that moment. Essentially, his kids would pretty easily be able to wrap him around their finger.

He is also a very present father. From the very beginning of the children's lives.

The names he would give his children would be soft, renowned and prestigious. And they'd be of french or latin origin, starting with the letters L, N or M.

He'd like to have a few kids. Maybe 3 or 4 ideally. But that would be negotiable.

---

You make your way to the nursery, yawning, your steps wobbling ever so slightly.

The room is just behind the door to your grand bedroom, to keep the baby close, and yet, sometimes, it feels so far. Which makes you think about just having the crib next to your bed, but people say that the baby has their own room. The magical device, telling your if the baby is crying, should suffice.

But still... as you wrap your arms around your body, as if hugging yourself, trying to comfort yourself, you can't help but think about how much you'd like to just keep them close. Next to your bed. Even if it meant going against recommendations.

Your hand lands onto the cool metal handle of the door, and you enter into the room, expecting it to be empty.

But... it isn't.

You stop. And look at the figure standing next to the crib.

Moonlight makes his silver hair glimmer, and his head turns ever so slightly at the sound of you entering, but not enough to turn his eyes away from the crib.

"Was the baby crying?" You ask, as if a whisper. Not sure why, but it seems to make sense in the moment. Why else would he be there, as if comforting, guarding, being ... present.

"No," he replies with a whisper of his own as his hand rests on the edge of the crib. "I just... needed to be sure."

"Sure of what?" You ask with a slight frown as you start making your way closer to him.

"That... everything is okay..." he admits with a hushed tone. But in that tone there is something mixed into it that you've... heard maybe once or twice before.

It is something that doesn't quite fit into his mouth. Something that seems so out of place when it comes from him.

And that something was fear.

He sounded like he was afraid. Afraid of walking in and finding... that he wasn't there when he was needed, by his family, by those for whom he'd gladly give his life. Those that meant the world to him.

----

"No, we're not getting a cat," he said before taking a sip of his coffee at the breakfast table.

"But daaa-aaad!" The little girl with silver hair whined, looking imploringly at her father.

"No buts," he stated. "Pets are a distraction. And furthermore felines are more in accordance with the House of Vermillion. Which we are not. Once you grow older, we can discuss falconry."

"You're so mean!" She shouted with a pout and crossed her arms as traces of tears rose into her eyes.

A few quiet sobs broke through the air as the only sound.

The little girl, no older than five, was looking straight ahead of herself, not seeing the breakfast on her plate.

Until the silence was broken by a different kind of a sound. "What kind of a cat were you thinking about?" He asked with a small sigh, as a barely audible giggle escaped from you.

----

"No one disrespects my family," his tone like ice and daggers combined as he peered down his nose in a manner that only royalty can. "Not even you," he said, words laced with disgust as Damnatio simply sat there.

"I am only telling you what I hear," he stated blankly. "She could use more tutoring with her writing."

"Her penmanship is perfectly satisfactory," Nozel stated as the little girl stood behind her father's back.

"It is fitting for her age group," Damnatio agreed. "But it isn't remarkable either," he added.

"If you were not the legislative representative of the royal houses, I would sue you."

Damnatio's expression stayed the same. "Unfortunately I am," he sighed.

-----

casually tagging: @kalolasfantasyworld @koneko-pi

[nahoney22]

Fluff prompt numero 11 with Wrecker, m! reader too! I really like your writing 🥰🙏 congrats on 4.5k followers!!!

The Easiest Thing 🌊

🫧 Pairings: Wrecker X Male!Reader (can be read as GN)

word count: 1.2k words

prompt:

• “I don’t think I will ever love anyone as much as I love you.”

When you and Wrecker have some time alone together, Wrecker can’t help but lay his feelings out on the line.

warnings: Safe for Work, male reader but can be read as GN, tooth rotting fluff, friends to lovers, love confessions, kisses.

A/N: sorry for the wait @wra1thh00 ! Enjoy 🩵

Please reblog to support fellow writers and creators and give us a big Wrecker filled hug.

The day had been long and chaotic, as they often were when you ran with the Batch.

But finally, after what felt like an eternity, you and Wrecker had some time to yourselves. The rest of the squad was busy either tinkering with equipment or gathering intel, which left you and Wrecker with a rare opportunity to escape for a little while.

"Hey, wanna go check out the village?" Wrecker asked, his tone eager and bright, "Tech said they got some kinda festival goin' on."

You nodded, unable to hide your smile. If that meant you got out of folding clothes and cleaning weapons, you definitely were not going to decline the offer.

It was impossible not to feel a little lighter around Wrecker. After all, you had been harbouring feelings for him since… well, since the moment you met him. His enthusiasm was contagious, he was kind-hearted, good looking and always seemed to know how to cheer you up on your low days. He was the perfect guy for you.

So, it was safe to say you were definitely eager and looking forward to spending some time alone with him. "Yeah, let's go!” you replied happily, grabbing your gear and following him out of the Marauder.

It was a short walk and the weather was beautiful and as you got to the village, you were both happy to see how alive with activity it was. Multi-coloured lanterns hung between buildings, casting a bright, vibrant glow over the streets. The sound of music and laughter filled the air, and vendors lined the main square, offering a variety of goods and treats. Wrecker’s eyes lit up at the sight, and you couldn’t help but chuckle at his wonder as he pointed to everything the two of you should check out.

You spent the next couple of hours wandering through the village, checking out the stalls and watching some of the local performers when there was a moment when the two of you.

Watching an incredible musician that had you both stunned into silence and both standing side by side, you inhaled a sharp breath as his fingers just briefly moved across your own but nothing more. You wondered if Wrecker had noticed but he didn’t seem to make much of a reaction. And when the musician had finished, he smiled down at you and led the way to the next spot.

“Hey Wreck, look over there.” You grin, pointing to a particular game that was right up his street.

“Haha! Shall I show these boys whose boss?” He gleamed, flexing his muscles and cracking his back with a roll of his shoulders to prepare himself.

“Go do your thing.” You encourage as you both approach the game where participants had to swing a heavy hammer to ring a bell. Standing back, you watched in awe and total amusement as he effortlessly sent the bell clanging to the top, drawing cheers and applause from the crowd.

Your heart swells as he gushes over the praise from the others, not particularly used to the high praise about his abnormal brute strength. “That was awesome!” Wrecker grinned as he jogs back over to you. There’s a shy look on his face suddenly as he hands you a small prize he’d won—a simple, carved wooden figure of a sweet little clone trooper. “For you,”

You took it, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. “Thanks,” you said softly, your heart skipping a beat at the way he looked at you, his expression tender.

As the evening wore on, the two of you grabbed some food from one of the vendors—a couple of skewers loaded with a mix of savory, spiced meat and roasted veg. You found a quiet spot near the edge of the village to sit and eat, watching as the sky turned shades of orange and pink. The conversation flowed easily, as it always did, and you couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of contentment. It was almost like… no, you shook the thought away, not wanting to get your hopes up. But it really did feel like a date.

The sun had long since dipped below the horizon by the time you decided to head back. The walk back to the Marauder was peaceful, the night air cool and crisp. You were lost in thought, reflecting on the day, when Wrecker suddenly stopped in front of you.

“Hey, uh, can I… can I tell you somethin’?” His voice was uncharacteristically nervous, and he shifted from foot to foot, not quite meeting your eyes.

You frowned slightly, your heart rate quickening. “Of course. What’s on your mind?” Great. This is where he drops you into the dreaded friend zone and you have to act totally fine about it.

He took a deep breath, as if steeling himself, before finally looking at you. “It’s just… you make me feel somethin’, ya know? Like, I’ve always been happy hangin’ out with the squad, but with you… it’s different. Better, even. Like today, it was just us, and it felt… right. Like, I didn’t want it to end.”

Your breath caught in your throat as he continued, his words coming out in a rush, as if he was afraid of losing his nerve.

“You’re always lookin’ out for me, even when you don’t have to. And I—I love how you laugh, and how you get all serious when you’re fixin’ stuff, and how you never treat me like I’m dumb, even when I mess up. You’re really attracted too so I’ll just say it. I… I don’t think I’ll ever love anyone as much as I love you.”

For a moment, you were silent, your mind struggling to catch up with what he’d just said. Wrecker looked at you anxiously, clearly worried about your lack of response. You just couldn’t find the right words.

“I feel the same way,” you say after a few moments, finally finding your voice but with your voice barely above a whisper. “Wrecker, I—” You paused, searching for the right words as fireworks erupt in your stomach. “I love you, too. More than I ever thought I could love anyone.”

Wrecker’s face lit up with a mixture of relief and joy. He reached out, his large hand hesitating just inches from your face. “Can I kiss you?”

You smiled, your heart pounding in your chest. “Yes, Wrecker. You don’t have to even ask.”

He didn’t need any more encouragement. Wrecker closed the distance between you, his lips meeting yours in a gentle, tentative kiss. It was soft, almost delicate—so different from the rough, tough exterior he usually presented to the galaxy. You melted into him, feeling his warmth, his strength, and most of all, his love. Your hand cupped his scarred cheek, fingers brushing over the texture as he hums against your lips in soft appreciation.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathless, but there was no mistaking the happiness in Wrecker’s eyes. Or your eyes for that matter.

“I don’t ever wanna be without you,” he said quietly, his forehead resting down against yours.

“You won’t be,” you promised, your hand finding his and squeezing it tightly. “I’m right here. Always.”

And as you walked back to the Marauder, hand in hand, you knew that this was just the beginning of something pretty great.

Masterlist is pinned 🌊

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[taeloke]

Overanalyzing 4KOTA Chapter 142 instead of just waiting for more info (2/2)

Part 1

This is the part where I talk about King and no one else. Also, this is more ramble than analysis by the end, and I'm making myself not worry about length this time, so...you have been warned :) As for Mertyl, I'll definitely talk about him again over the next chapter, though I might not say as much as I did the first time.

Firstly, look at this face. Remember all those seasons ago, when everything was peaceful for like a single week? How sweet and thoughtful this little guy was, especially against his own personal wishes?

This is King--regardless of how he's like on the outside.

Elaine herself described him as someone who tries to act tough but is really a crybaby. He's someone who can't seem to stop wearing his heart on his sleeve. He always tries to hide his feelings to keep everyone else from worrying, but try as he might, anyone will see through his "tough act" if they're around him for long enough. Awakened or not, he's not King if he's not a highly emotional character like that. He's just a lot better at putting a cover over those feelings now. He's grown up for real.

If you read these last few 4KOTA chapters without remembering the original Seven Deadly Sins story, it only makes sense to look at him more like an ass of a father right now. There's a lot to his perspective that we just haven't gotten to witness yet, and one of the easiest conclusions to make from all of that unknown space is "King loves Nasiens more than the adopted son he raised." For crying out loud, he's giving an immensely scarce cure-all to a young man who introduced himself as a human without an explanation for why Myrtel hasn't received it yet. We don't even know for sure if he's tried using the Drug of Yore to treat Myrtel's condition in the past right now.

There's just one problem about that conclusion: King isn't like that at all. It only looks like he is because this family drama is fatally poisoned with tension and misunderstandings at this point. It's starting to explode.

Remember how way back in the series, King first thought Diane without her memories of him would be better off without him at all?

I think that's a lot similar to what he's thinking with Nasiens right now. If King didn't play a part in their present happiness, then what right does he have to want their love? He'd label that as too greedy or selfish in a way that he can't allow himself to be. He thinks he knows his place, and that place is somewhere forever distanced from his first-born kid.

But he can't just do nothing for Nasiens. Maybe just one totally subtle yet significant expression of love can slide, right? What could he, seemingly as nothing more than a ruler, possibly give to Nasiens to make him happy? Maybe if he gives Nasiens just one perfect gift, Harlequin will feel like he was good for his son at least once. He'll feel like he's finally atoned for losing Nasiens for too long and failing him as a father, and then he can let that "sin" go. Surely, Nasiens wouldn't be happy knowing the truth anyway. He'll be better off never learning about his true relations, since he's built his life without it already. Assuming that "logic" is what King's going through, a lot of his actions make sense to me.

And yet he still almost slipped up and spilled the beans.

Nice save, King, but if you gave Nasiens more time to think he would have realized what you really meant. Tioreh gave him time to realize she believed he's a fairy and his initial freeze then was the exact same.

None of this is easy for King. It isn't easy for any of them. In some ways, those past 2 years must have felt like forever to him. Precious time to have his first-born kid around that he'll never get back. And after 2 years of keeping distance...

"Sorry, I couldn't help but follow you."

"I just wanted to help you out, in any way I could."

King can't keep his distance anymore. His true feelings are starting to break free.

"Hee hee... Don't be shy, now. I just want to be of assistance."

Sure, King. Saying it like that totally doesn't make it sound like there's more to this, even with your confident/amused chuckle.

Of all the gifts he could give Nasiens, I'm sure King believed this was the one thing Nasiens couldn't refuse to accept from him. A powerful healing drug that he advertised as one-of-a-kind and a once-in-a-millennium opportunity. With it presented not only as that, but also as something that might bring Percival back, how could Nasiens reject such a gift? Right?

...And then Nasiens rejects the gift. Immediately, King gets so nervous that he breaks character.

He immediately started sweating too. King prepared everything up to this moment, and he has no excuse as Nasiens questions him and calls him out.

And Nasiens is right to call him out because of how this looks.

Nasiens, just like us, doesn't yet know what the truth here is. He's right to be suspicious and King needs to realize that plans in how the changeling duo is handled need to change right now. Ready or not--telling the truth is the only way to save what's actively starting to cave in.

But the sad thing is...I have a feeling that it's too late already.

Things are only going to get worse from here... I don't know how, and in a way that makes this feel more awful.

Sixtus should tell King that Mertyl saw him offer the Drug of Yore to Nasiens. There's no doubt in my mind that King will realize the problem once he has that information and try to do whatever he can to make things right. PLEASE don't make him too late again. At least give him a chance to talk to Mertyl before things fall apart if that's where all of this is headed.

[porcelain-feather]

Why bother with mortal souls at all? This question frequently appears in circles of newer witchlings, especially those nearing the end of their first century, and it makes sense at a passing glance. Mortals are such fleeting things filled with so many desires and emotions that it doesn't seem to make sense to use them for the crafting of Dolls. Dolls are meant to Serve, to Obey, and when not following orders, to be Still. Would it not make more sense to use clockwork? Or perhaps carefully crafted spells, precise and calculated things with known function? The most common answer is not in words, but in methodology. Nod your head along and say "Well, that sounds quite reasonable. Why don't you try doing things that way?" They will get eager and excited (a darling quality of the younger witchlings) and take off to go execute their plan. Make a mark on your calendar the day that this conversation happened for future reference, and then wait two or three years for things to follow their natural course. When the witchling returns to you, crying real tears like the mortals she so recently scorned, give her a hug and ask what's wrong. Yes, the situation is grave enough to warrant such a display. Be genuine here. This is one of the most important lessons a witchling learns along her road to becoming a true witch.

My home is so cold, and the fire cannot warm it. Every day things are as silent as the grave but without any of the peace. Have I been cursed? What is happening? The witchling has just learned the important difference between simple automata* (both mechanical and arcane) and things that are animated with a soul: the former are incapable of love and attraction, while the latter offer it freely. If there is an abundance of mortals who will gladly put their soul in your hand and ask, nay, beg you to chisel away the parts they hate, the flesh they loathe, their imperfections and flaws and weaknesses, why wouldn't a witch use this plentiful resource to make something beautiful? We need love to survive, to stay sane against the heavy toll time tries to take from us, and this is the easiest and most reliable place to get it. When you have explained this to the witchling, she will understand the reason why we use mortals. If she is particularly keen, she will use this experience to guide her hands as she picks up her next mortal soul to fashion into a proper Doll. Remind her that the alternative to needing love is to walk the path of the Lich, and if such a thought tempts you, just remember this: When was the last time you saw a Lich filled with anything besides hatred, resentment, and loathing? More importantly, when was the last time you saw one wearing something that could be charitably described as pretty?

*It should be noted here that these lessons are specific to simple automata, not automata in general. More advanced creations are completely capable of expressing and feeling emotions, even to the level of or exceeding the most finely crafted Dolls. Many of them are in fact considered Dolls due to their equivalence! But these creations are not the sort that a young witchling will craft so early on in her life, save for the most extraordinary cases, and those that do manage such a feat quite clearly do not need to learn the lesson detailed above.

A. Hawthorn, 'Lessons for Young Witchlings'

[girafficparka]

Untitled WIP I’ve been working on off and on to help with writers block for a different fic. I kinda really liked it so here ya go!

Inspiration: mass effect 3 owes me a decent shep/garrus/kaiden love triangle, and I plan to collect.

~~~

“I don’t know what you’re in the mood for tonight, Shepard. But Vega insists that we watch something called…Hard Death?” Garrus was saying as he entered her cabin. He was reviewing the title of the vid on his omni-tool. “Scratch that. Die Hard. He said it was a traditional human holiday vid, so I thought…Shepard?”

He stopped short when he looked up and caught Shepard staring at him, silently, from her couch. Humans weren’t exactly the easiest species to read - they were expressive, but often he could never figure out what each of their hundred of expressions meant - but he’d like to think he knew Shepard pretty well. She looked…stricken.

“Shepard?” he repeated, fully entering her cabin and approaching her. He went to sit next to her but she held up a hand to stop him. He paused at an awkward angle, halfway between standing leaning down to sit next to her. She stood up, standing in front of him with her hands fidgeting before her. He had never seen her look so…nervous.

“Shepard,” he repeated, for the third time, his voice soft. Confused. “Talk to me.”

“I…I have something to tell you and I don’t…want to.”

Well this was new. Shepard wasn’t afraid of anything, least of that being talking.

Thoroughly confused, he asked, “Ok?”

Shepard stared up at him and pulled her lower lip into her mouth, biting it. He’d seen her do that before, in a very different circumstance. Here it was just further proof that she was worrying. Panicking. “You are starting to freak me out a little bit here, Shepard.”

Shepard released her lip with a POP and raised a hand, running it through her fringe - er, hair. Judging by how it was sticking up she had been doing that for awhile.

“Are you hur-” he started, reaching out a hand to touch her face.

“Kaiden came by. A little bit ago.” Garrus’ hand froze. He didn’t know why, but the way she had said it…made him feel cold. He waited for her to continue, dropping his hand. Shepard’s green gaze followed it’s movement before she dropped her own hand from her hair. Her eye flicked between his for a moment before she let out a harsh breath, turning away from him to pace.

“He…said he wants to try again. After that bullshit he pulled I almost threw him out. But…he seemed…sincere. He kept bringing up Ilium and the SR1 and…uggh.”

Garrus remained silent, and frozen, where he had paused near the couch.

“I didn’t tell him yes. But I did…agree to a date. One date. We never got closure after…I died. Not really. And I wasn’t sure if we - you and I I mean - were still, I mean you’ve been back no the Normandy for a month and we haven’t even talked about…oh my god, I’m rambling. I never ramble.” Shepard stopped her pacing, turning to look at Garrus. “If you tell me not to go I won’t go.”

That pulled him out of stasis. “What? Why is that my decision?”

And it was an easy decision.

No.

Don’t go on a date with Kaiden spirits fucking forsaken Alenko. He had his shot, and he blew it. It was Garrus’ turn now. But what had he been doing with ‘his turn’? (and how pissed would Shepard be if she could read his thoughts right now). Movie nights, quips across the battle field, platonic if lingering touches as they hung out in the battery. She was right, he’d been back on board the Normandy for a month and he had nothing to show for it. He’d had a chance - a hundred chances - to bring up how he felt about her but he hadn’t. She’d always seemed so stressed, so harried. He hadn’t wanted to burden her, to pressure her. He’d let her take the lead on their reconnection. She’d been friendly, so he’d been friendly. And every two minutes there was some damn crisis - a dalatrass to bribe, a galaxy-changing medical marvel to facilitate. He’d wanted to be the calm at the center of her numerous storms. And now it sounded like she’d been waiting for him to-

“We were, you know, together recently. So I thought-”

“Seven months ago.” Garrus clarified, unsure why he was bringing up the time frame.

“Huh?”

“We were together seven months ago. And we thought we were going to die.” What was he talking about? Why was he saying this?

Why did he sound so cold?

His tone tripped Shepard up. She suddenly looked less frantic. She stopped wringing her hands, and was looking at him with an expression he could not even begin to interpret. “You’re right. We didn’t make any promises to each other. You aren’t…responsible for me, nor I you. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked you about this. I guess I just…wanted to make sure you and I are…good. If I do this - the date with Kaiden, I mean.”

Garrus needed to swing by the medbay - there was a pain in his gut that had to be from something physical - a bullet wound his medi-gel had somehow missed?

Tell her to not go out with him. Fucking idiot, tell her!

“We are good Shep. You go on that date - or not! Whatever…whatever you want. We are good.” Shep? Where the hell had that come from. “If that’s all, I got to go - guns to calibrate, you know-” Garrus began making his way back through the door. He paused at the doorway just as Shepard called.

“What were you…saying about a movie?”

“Uh, oh that? Nothing. I’ll tell you later. See you in the morning, Shepard.” And before he could say something embarrassing, or pitiful, he left.

As he made his way to the elevator he stumbled. He felt off-balance - like the artificial gravity had abruptly been turned off. What had just happened? What the hell had just happened? He felt a sick, heavy feeling rolling along his veins, originating from somewhere deep in his gut. As the doors slid open on the crew deck, Garrus had had the chance to examine the sensation coursing through his body, finally setting in his chest like a heavy weight.

Jealousy.

~~~fin, for now~~~

[whillywisp]

Stardust. Hard not to love what you know.

Summary: You hadn't lived a single day of your life without the sea or Finnick, even after he was reaped, even after he was turned into a ruthless killer and then the Capitol's most prized possession, trapped behind it's gilded bars like a songbird. Only instead of a song crying for help, he just spoke the words that came to him the easiest and you took them and caged them in your skin, turned yourself into a gallery for his art.

Or.

Writer Finnick who's love language is writing on his lover's skin, the only place he allows himself to be free.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

'I see a little bit of me in everyone. Stardust. hard not to love what you know. we are all the universe in drag.'

On the surface, everyone knew Finnick Odair as he presented himself, like his life is a theatre performance and he only really took the most perfect, untainted, beautifully crafted parts of himself out into the spotlight but left the more ugly, broken and vulnerable parts of him behind the velvet red curtains before show time.

But most people didn't know that he didn't just leave the parts of himself most beautiful just floating mid air when they weren't needed but rather imprinted on your skin in the form of words and ink. Because that was only meant for you to see.

For your whole life, it had always been you, the sea and Finnick, from the day you had grabbed the small golden haired boy's little finger at the beach and asked him to be your friend over the sound of the waves, your hair covered in sand and cold pebbles as winter air made you both shiver. You hadn't lived a single day of your life without the other two, even after he was reaped, even after he was turned into a ruthless killer and then the Capitol's most prized possession, trapped behind it's gilded bars like a songbird. Only instead of a song crying for help, he just spoke the words that came to him the easiest and you took them and caged them in your skin, turned yourself into a gallery for his art.

The world will never see him in peaceful moments like this, his head in your lap, no responsibilities or unwanted touches making his shoulders slump under the weight of them as he scribbles words into the delicate, scarred skin of your forearm, words that you know you'll take to Delilah, the only tattoo artist in District 4 and make them yours forever. The world will never see his concentrated frown as he thinks slowly and makes sure the words express exactly how he feels in that moment, caging the moment in them forever.

You stroke his hair gently with your free hand, your own whipping around in the cool night breeze, watching his pen glide against your skin and the way the ink smudges on the uneven surface, broken by old scars that told a story of their own. He looked too adorable like this, entirely engrossed in his work that you can't help but press a gentle kiss to the frown between his eyebrows, making green eyes the colour of the sea lapping against the shores in front of you look up at you in surprise and barely concealed adoration.

"What?" His voice is gentle above the sound of the waves and you smile, shaking your head, your hair fall forward to make a protective curtain around the two of you.

"Nothing, you just look precious like this. All concentrated and lost in thought." You lean down again, this time pressing a kiss to his lips. You feel his lips stretch into a smile against your own and his green eyes just seem brighter than the full moon shining overhead.

"Adorable huh? I have a reputation to maintain, darling. Don't go around ruining it," he teased, his eyes crinkled at the corners as he grins up at you. You laugh, pulling your hand away from his grip and the tip of his pen, to gently stroke his cheek with your finger tips.

"No one could touch your reputation even if they tried." You say with a chuckle and it's true. No one could destroy the reputation he had crafted so perfectly over the years as the Capitol's darling and in some ways, you wished you could burn them down to ashes and let the world see your beautiful boy but you knew you were too selfish, too greedy for him to be yours and yours alone to ever let that happen. Almost as if he heard your thoughts, he smiles up at you, and shook his head.

"You could. You could if you wanted to, and I'd let you, happily. If my downfall does have to come someday, I hope you bring it upon me." Your heart squeezes painfully in your chest at that and you shake your head, pressing another kiss to his lips. This was devotion and you always wondered what it was you did that made you worthy of it. "I could never hurt you, in any way. You are my everything."

His eyes flutter close at that and he smiles, his voice soft as if he didn't even want the sea to listen in on his confession. "And you are mine."

A peaceful silence falls over you both and you can't help but remember the words he was scribbling onto your arm earlier and you look down at him again, a small smile on your face. "Can I see what you wrote today?" Finnick never wanted you to read incomplete words, and you never tried to. He always clapped his hand down on your skin or closed his notebook when you asked him and he told you they weren't ready to be seen. Even when they were in plain sight, like now, you averted your gaze, because you'd never break his trust. Not like this.

He smiles up at you sheepishly and looks away, his hands fidgeting with his pen. "They're not mine today, not originally anyways. But everytime i think of them, they remind me of you."

You raise an eyebrow, your fingers gently turn his face to look back at you. "Oh? Just a poem then, from another writer?" He nods slowly, his hand coming up to cradle yours against his cheek. "Something like that. You can read it."

You smile and raise your forearm to your eyelevel, squinting through the now smudged ink and trying to look at it with the full moon light.

'What I feel for you cannot be conveyed in phrasal combinations, it either screams out loud or it stays painfully silent but I promise you — it beats words. It beats worlds.'

You blink before looking down at him, his green eyes wide as he looks up at you and you lean down to kiss his lips again, properly now. He responds in kind, his hand coming up to cradle your face like you're something precious and you fall a few feet deeper into him. "That's so beautiful."

He smiles against your lips, looking up at you with his boyish grin. "Isn't it? Everytime i think of it, all i can think of in relation is you." Every bit of grief in your body melts away at that, and you can't help the intense wave of emotions for the precious boy in your lap that washes over you.

"I love you," the words tumble from your lips like a prayer. "I love you. More than the years you or i live, more than the beats our combined hearts beat, i love you."

He smiles, moving away to sit up and then tug you into his lap, his eyes soft as he peers at your glossy eyes. He gently leans his forehead against yours and closes his eyes, his arms tight around you.

"I love you too, more than any amount of words I write. Thank you for taking these...parts of me and making them yours. Even the parts the rest of the world would resent."

You shake your head and smile, kissing him again. "Every part of you is mine, just like everything that makes me is yours. Hard not to love what you know. And the truest thing you can know is yourself."

A sigh of content escapes him and his arms just tighten around, "I love me then? The me in you? The me that melds with you?" His voice soft, as if slowly coming to accept these parts of him as something to love, to cherish like he loved and cherished you.

The smile you give him is blinding, just like the one you had given him all those years ago with missing teeth and wild hair, marking the start of the most beautiful moment in your life. "Yes. Yes you do."

And in that moment you forget there's a world outside this beautiful boy you've made home in.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

A/N: I've always wanted to explore writter Finnick because i think we all moved on from that way, way too quickly. written literally right now, as fresh as Peeta's bread out of the oven. With words of Nizar Qubbani and other little bits that make me scattered in along with this one quote that i can't get out of my head, i give you 'Stardust. Hard not to love what you know'. (I threw the sad one shot into my wips list and decided this was more important. I barely ever write for the public and this is actually my first full length one shot so please be gentle and dont break my poor heart xo. And i promise I'm working on young god hehe.)

[gentlelass]

🌚 - Miss Misery - 🌝

A Lackadaisy fanfic by GentleLass

Prelude

It was a splendid morning. Wind gently blew, leaves slowly swayed and the sun shone up in the Italian sky. A wonderfully blue sky, that wonderful sky underneath which Marjorie had grown up and that she had loved so much. Just like she had oh so loved the green and blooming prairies, among which she now ran, happy, thoughtless as ever, without a worry in the world. She was just a five-year-old, her dress was but a white lace, and the only accessory she was forced to drag along herself were her golden eyes that perfectly reflected the fervent sun of her motherland. No shoes, corsets, girdles, bows or hats to hinder and weighten her movement. She was free, absolutely free to run and jump and sme and play, by her own rules. And indeed she ran and laughed in the flowers, sprinting like bats out of hell. To her right, a flock of swallows crossed the soft clouds, returning after a long winter to flee from another; to her left, hares jumped fast towards North, almost as if challenging her to a race. And Marjorie of all people certainly wouldn’t have backed from a challenge, so she started running towards their direction, faster and faster. But the closer she got, the more the sound of their jumps became loud, louder, loudest, deafening. Until she got so close she started to feel the ground shaking underneath her feet to the rythm of their furious jumping…

… the Ford Model T roughly steered again thanks to the rough driving of Nicodeme, and the dream ended. Marjorie returned to her 30 something years of age (you don’t ask that to a lady!) , she returned to the corset that was twisting her guts along the cars’ brusque movements, to the shoes that squished her feet and to the skirts hindering her movement. The sky, as blue as it had been, turned grey and threatening, and the clouds returned to thicken into dark hoards of smoke. The sound of footsteps on grass was replaced by squealing and derailing of wheels on wet mud, and the girl’s laugh were soon covered by the flurry of water. Ah, Missouri. The land of humidity and swamps and just… wet.

Wet, Marjorie thought with a grimace of displeasure. That wouldn’t get along well with her heels, if not for the length of them, then the cost. She didn’t do that often - no, not wearing costly shoes in the least likely of occasions, that’s something she always did, if only for some twisted form of sadomasochism, subconscious and mostly unknown even to herself, but very evidently much explored - I meant, grimacing. Changing expressions, or just emoting. Her mind and soul weren’t empty, just… mostly unknown, as said, and as such she knew her looks where the easiest way to get her own - ‘with a smile you’ll get to the world’s heart when you yourself don’t even own one’, her father used to say. And she took those words to her… whatever is it that beats inside her chest (Marjorie drunkenly laughed “Bolero’s the only percussion inside me!” more than once), wearing a smile like you wear an accessory, an accessory like any other, interchangeable, replaceable, and most of all, material and meaningless when it came down to what truly matters. And indeed, when she thought nobody could see her she let it down like it mattered nothing to her, because it didn’t. When she thought nobody could see her… Marjorie snapped her gaze in a violent way that clashed with the fluffy fluttering of eyelashes, immediately baring her fangs as if out of instinct - whether a violent one or something else, it’s up to you to decide: the smile of Marjorie Ford can be as much that sewed shut of a doll, as it can be that cackling and threatening of a hyena. She smiled, and for a second she believed that the person who could see the smile would think the same thing and smile back, too, and the interaction would be just that easy and would go down just that smoothly. Just two people politely smiling at each other, no commitment, just smiling for the sake of smiling.

But alas, it couldn’t. We don’t always get what we want, much to Marjorie’s dismay. The eyes that looked at her now were anything but polite; they didn’t have the sparkle of amusement and kindness that should accompany a smile, they were cold. They were unyielding. They were all that were Marjorie’s own and more, but they didn’t match hers. She saw it. She knew he was seeing it too. She felt it. He didn’t smile back. He didn’t. His face remained a mask of pure indifference. It seemed to mock her, mocking her with its icy, hard eyes, mocking her as his lips never curved into a smile. The smile that was so obviously forced on her own lips froze, and it faded reluctantly, slowly, trembling, and the collapse was much more natural and spontaneous than the raise of it. Mocking her, mocking her, mocking her with his lips that never rose from the stern line - no, no Sir, with those serious and even respectable looks, the ostentatious diligence he dedicated to his work, the spontainety of his frown, while she was constantly fooled by her own decievment and the illusion of beauty surrounding it, and it made her angry. And anger’s the ugliest feeling of them all, and Marjorie’s supposed to be the most beautiful of them all, because what else did she have to offer? No friends, no family, no prospects. Certainly not a husband. She was alone with her feelings and desires. No friends, no family, no prospects. That’s how it is, isn’t it? You’re alone, Marjorie, and alone you stay - the truth that is so deeply engraved deep inside your bones, like iron bars of a rib-cage around… whatever it is that beats inside your chest (“Samba and Rumba!”). So Marjorie smiled and it felt like a sneer instead, but she didn’t stop smiling. She kept the expression frozen as the car’s brakes screamed in surprise and the tires screeched and the wheels hit the ground, until the other person fell for it, or just got tired of watching her, and looked away.

Tired of her, tired of her, tired of her— —no, NOT again. It’s just not worth so much worry. Marjorie took a big breath, realising she had been holding it all the while, and sighed. Rolling her eyes and abandoning her head against the window, and letting the usual numbness overtake her, her natural state of mind just as vague, and dull, and bleak as the view outside opaqued by the rain.

Boredom is the most sublime of all feelings, as it afflicts only those with a sensible and refined soul, too selective to be swayed by small flashes of petty emotion.

Souls that inevitably end up disheartening and brutalising: out of boredom, in fact, one can commit actions that are vile and dangerous, or degrading and not very sensible. Marjorie knew a bit too much of it for comfort, on both accounts. She knew too much of the evils caused by human greed and the pleasures provided by selfishness. She knew enough, really. Enough to know she has no reason to expect anything better from life, enough to know that she has no need for any better, and the world will provide her everything, and everything only if there is no resistance on her part.

That’s why she didn’t say anything when she recieved that hard, and frankly uncalled for, stare, from the man sitting as distantly from her as he could in the relatively crampled space of the Ford Model T, just as intent as she was in drowning out the cackling and growling voices of the two hijackers on the front seats.

And to think he could have even made for an acceptable partner in crime, at least compared to those other two… animals… currently fighting for the steering the wheel… if only hadn’t he been so… so…

So Heller.

The bland interest aroused by Mordecai’s manner waned in a matter of seconds as Marjorie’s probing eyes lingered on the strict and austere mien, observing with a certain disgust the blatant disdain and unpleasant disposition he shamelessly displayed against all manner of common courtesy and efficiency in work interaction.

Not that she minded him being rude in the slightest; he was, after all, a fellow employee, and therefore beneath contempt, for the sake of her own making things easier and less committed for herself if anything. No. No, it was because she could see, she knew - the glint in the other’s eyes, the stiffness of his posture and the rigidness of his features, the scowl he bestowed upon her after the first glance, after the first few sentences - this man didn’t like her. At all. No, he probably disdained her as much as she disdained him, in fact. And she didn’t like it - Marjorie didn’t like the taste of her own medicine, but yet again, nobody does. That was something completely beyond her control, a reason more to not like it.

But also a reason to ignore it: again, this game was just not worth the candle. It doesn’t mean anything, because it never does. It was was a game. Life is just a game. A game of pretend and lies, a game she played over and over and over again, trying to fill her stomach with a fake satisfaction and a fake smile, hoping that it might fool someone into giving her whatever it is would actually satisfy her - what exactly, not even she knew.

WOAHHH hey there!!! I’m just publishing this prelude to my Lackadaisy fanfic - Miss Misery - here, because I frankly can’t be bothered to learn how to properly operate AO3. AS ALWAYS I lingered a little *too much* on whatever it is that is happening inside this madwoman’s head… I hope it isn’t too boring, and I swear I’m trying to put a little more action into the other chapters. Hope it gave a little insight into this PUZZLE of a woman’s thought process behind her chaotic and seemingly irrational way of acting and aroused your interest to soon read more.

Comments and constructive critique are more than welcome!

[the-nerds-in-black]

If you don't mind me asking, what inspired your designs for the LiB human forms? Why did you give them the looks that you did?

I love this question!! I'll explain a bit of my design process. (Be prepared, it is a long explanation!)

First and foremost, I wanted to retain their color schemes, but sort of "normalize" them in a sense. The lords dress very bright and wacky, and I wanted to keep that but also make them look like someone you could just pass on the street. So, the first thing I did was assign them natural hair colors. A more natural blonde for Tinky, ginger for Wiggly (because I found it funny), etc etc..

I also tried to make their clothes more "believable". You dont really see a lot of people walk around in shiny, brightly saturated, monochromatic outfits in everyday life. Personally, I think we should normalize that, but whatever. So, I broke up and spread the color throughout their outfits. Pokey still has blue, but its only in his pants and tie. Tinky still has orange and a little bit of red, but he doesnt have those neon yellow matching jacket and pants combo like in canon. Basically the first step in designing them was making them look.. kinda normal!

Then the second part! Relating them to my pre existing lords designs!

Disclaimer!! These are old designs from months ago, and Ive been slowly redesigning them so they aren't exactly accurate to how I envision the Lords!

But anyway, then comes the easy part, making them look like my interpretations of the lords! Face shape, nose type, hair texture, body type, etc etc. I did accidentally make Tinky less husky as a nerd, which wasnt intentional, so when I draw him later he will be a bit stockier!

As for exact design choices for each of the Nerds In Black, this is how I designed them!

Pokey

His outfit is meant to resemble Paul's outfit by the end of tgwdlm. Its pure irony and I am a sucker for that! It also feels like something Pokey would wear casually: formal but not too formal. The little heels are purely for show. In the future I'd probably draw him with chunkier heels. The little streak in his hair comes in a later chapter!

Tinky

I really channeled nerd energy into his design. The short sleeved button down over a t-shirt speaks to me. Also gave him a watch because I felt it was the easiest way to allude to who he is. Plus, it matched the shape language of his glasses! (Which alludes to his goggles in canon) When I draw him in the future I am drawing him a bit chubbier and with messier hair. Also, ive never written about it or drawn it, but Tinky still has an overbite!

Wiggly

He is actually pictured in an outfit that will show up in the next few chapters! It's a dressier outfit than what he woke up in. The inspiration comes from a funny place actually: Grace's outfit. White shirt, cardigan vest, a little ascot resembling tentacles, its just a slightly more masculine (and green) version of her outfit. And this serves a purpose! For now, I'll say that Grace and Wiggly have a surprising amount of things in common, and they are sort of like foils to each other. It was also important to make him look non threatening, including his lanky frame and freckles. Basically, i wanted to emphasize his insecurities, the parts of himself that he believes make him weak, so that he can't avoid facing them head on!

Nibbly

I went a little silly for this one. PERSONALLY, and this is my opinion, I dont.. really care for Nibbly's outfit in canon, but I tried to keep the skirt, pigtails, and overall feminine expression. I feel like the dark sweater contrasted well with the skirt and peppermint inspired accents. Honestly, im not sure if this one is one of my favorites and I may rework it a little, but I still think its cute! Plus he has a little gap between his teeth! Also, the corset was a fun idea I had, and I think he will get it in a later chapter. The strings on the corset are supposed to resemble sharp teeth too.

Blinky

Being fr I have no idea what i was thinking with the polka dots on the hoodie. Maybe like.. eyes? Definitely going to rework that. Anyway, I wanted Blinky to be dressed very modestly. Its sort of meant to represent that he prefers to watch and not be watched. The face mask also serves that purpose, plus obscuring his mouth. I also kept his glasses, but made them a necessity. Its an added weakness, and worse, its a weakness that was once his strength.

In conclusion...

Overall, I think Pokey, Wiggly, and Tinky are my strongest designs that have a lot of thought into him! I will be changing a feel small things in the future, but for now I think they are fine.

And that's my design thought process! Thanks for asking about it :3

[oh-nostalgiaa]

hi, @flyfreeskylark, it's me, your secret santa! you asked for an undercover mission after scarif where everybody lives and nobody dies (with a handful of smut sprinkled in for flavor). sadly, i was sick during both november AND December (and the less we talk about how much i hate my job, the better), but i managed to pull myself together long enough to get this written for you. i do hope it's to your liking! merry christmas and happy belated new year! please enjoy.

(you can also find this fic on ao3.)

in this world (it's just us)

The event is not exactly to Jyn’s tastes. 

The crowd is the easiest for her to navigate - she’s undeniably skilled at moving through them stealthily. Unfortunately, that is the opposite of what she’s meant to do here, so she makes a concentrated effort to take her time, to blend in so that she doesn’t bring any undue attention to herself.

She doesn’t miss a single detail as she lets her eyes drift over the room and its inhabitants, only silently reminding herself to keep an interested expression rather than her normal impassive default. 

She knows that she’s meant to be titillated by the sights and sounds surrounding her. She’s gone through the debriefs, been informed of exactly what will be expected of her - and Cassian has even - nonchalantly - tried to give her an out if she had even the slightest inkling that she could not do what’s expected of her. 

Luckily, he’s got the hardest task. She is, for all intents and purposes, just an observer.

(Besides that, she’s no quitter. He should know that just about better than anyone.)

Behind the scenes, she’s got a more detailed job to do. Monitoring communications, for one. Helping Cassian prepare, for another. 

Obviously, he’s showered by himself - he doesn’t require her help with everything, no matter how many times she may or may not have caught herself daydreaming about such things. He’d dried off, dressed in flimsy, flowy trousers that leave just about nothing to the imagination … 

Not that she’d peeked. 

Jyn hopes that her nervousness isn’t easily discernible, but she also knows that Cassian is probably the most observant person she’s ever met, and while he might not ever bring it up, the obviousness of the pause she takes while slowly exhaling and inhaling, steeling her nerves, the gentle brush of fingers against skin as she placed and smoothed out bacta patches designed to cover scars and other identifying marks is more than enough clue that she’s feeling … something.

Maybe it shouldn’t take as much concentration as she gives in order to ensure the edges of the patches aren’t easily visible through his semi-sheer tunic, but this is an important recon mission - they can’t return to base without information in hand. With another Death Star lurking somewhere out there, it’s not an exaggeration to say that this may be a matter of life and death. 

It’s always a matter of life and death. 

And it’s not fair for her to burden Cassian with her feelings, especially when she’s not sure that he feels the same - if he could ever feel the same. It’s selfish of her to think about love when the fate of the entire galaxy is at stake. So they inhabit this nebulous space where they’re not quite just colleagues and not quite just friends and oh, how she aches to pull him aside and let go of all her wants and fears in a torrent of words she hasn’t found enough courage to set free into the universe and it’s - 

It hurts.

But Jyn tucks that pain away and hides it where she keeps all of her others - in a dark place deep inside that’s carefully locked down, never to see the light of day again. 

It’s better that way. 

Through the mass of writhing bodies, she catches sight of Cassian and his contact, disappearing into one of the few tents set up to offer some semblance of privacy, hand in hand. Jealousy stokes the fire in her belly and momentarily, at least, her expression reflects exactly how she feels inside, darkly desperate, devastated that it’s not her that gets to touch him or see him so unguarded and free - even if it is just a facade, another skill Cassian’s perfected in his years gathering information for the Rebellion. 

Even if it was fake … at least she could pretend for a little while that he actually wants her like she wants him. And that’s got to be better than nothing. 

She breathes a quick sigh of relief when Cassian pokes his head from the tent and quickly slips back into the crowd, not looking any worse for wear than when he’d entered. Seamlessly and sinuously, he weaves his way toward her, and she doesn’t have to be a lipreader to know what he’s promising some of the partygoers he passes on the way. 

That sly little smile and those teasing winks are more than enough clue to know that he’s being propositioned and far from agreeing to take a detour from his current trajectory, he’s non-comittally suggesting that maybe they’ll find time to steal away later for a little fun. 

Because that’s what this whole thing is all about, isn’t it? The decadence and debauchery of a free use ball, where the male guests especially are little more than party favors. And while Cassian isn’t hers to keep all to herself, the thought of all of those eager hands trying to get a piece of him makes her stomach roil.

He dodges the minefield that is interested partygoers and finally reaches Jyn’s side, leaning in for what looks like a peck on the cheek in greeting, but what really is the whispered assurance that he’s got what they’re here for. She knows, though. He hadn’t entered the tent with the same chain around his neck that he’d left with. And tucked safely underneath what passes for a shirt is a pendant with a data stick hidden within for safekeeping. 

Jyn’s lips part as she gears up to ask if they’ve made enough of an appearance yet, if they can slip away without being noticed, but the words die on the tip of her tongue as, out of seemingly nowhere, they are joined by the party’s hostess, tall and handsomely severe, her keen eyes drifting over the pair as though to study them, to determine what they’ve been up to while the other guests are all wrapped up in each other. 

“My dear Imri, you’ve not partaken in the feast. Is there nothing to your liking - ?”, she purrs, her sultry tone enough to set Jyn’s nerves on edge. “Or are you too wrapped up in your lovely pet to pay attention to anyone else?”

Cassian ducks his head demurely then, exactly the behavior of a man that is more toy than anything else, a man that’s been taught exclusively that his only use in life is to please another. 

And Jyn is grateful for the chance to gather her words.

“My superiors would be quite disappointed if I were so rude”, she replies, her voice a teasing lilt. “On the contrary, I like what I see, Lady Eline. It’s choosing what I want to sample that is proving difficult.”

The tall older woman suddenly erupts into laughter and Jyn’s smile slowly widens (as though she’s actually pleased to have amused the monster standing next to her, like it doesn’t make her physically ill to see firsthand how easy it is for her - and for people like her - to use people for their own pleasure). 

“Please, darling, take your fill of what you want. And come back for more later”, Lady Eline offers, her gaze flitting to settle on Cassian, her eyes grazing him from head to foot and back again. “You absolutely can’t leave until I’ve had a taste of your lovely Amel.”

Jyn curls her hand into a fist, her fingernails biting into her own palm as she fights to maintain composure. So disgusting, the way Lady Eline can look at Cassian as though he isn’t a person with his own agency. 

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Their host takes that as her cue to dramatically turn and focus her attention elsewhere, allowing Jyn to catch Cassian’s eye and wordlessly gesturing toward the double doors of the grand ballroom, their only way out. 

He doesn’t have to say anything, the very slight furrowing of his brow speaks volumes. Now that they know they’ve got eyes on them, they can’t just walk right out. The already delicate operation has just become all the more fragile. 

This isn’t something that they’ve practiced - although the possibility has been discussed. If they don’t want to raise suspicion … they’ll need to act. So Cassian rocks back on his heel and Jyn pushes forward, directly into his personal space, crowding him against the wall, like he’s a prey animal and she’s the predator, finally cornering him right where she wants him. 

There is no room for hesitation here. 

They must keep cover by any means necessary.

Imri is supposed to be offering Amel to any and all interested parties. Jyn wants to do anything but. 

Outside of these walls, Cassian isn’t hers. But right here, right now, she has every intention of staking her claim, for however long it will last. 

‘Mine’, she thinks, tipping her chin up to catch Cassian’s lips in a haphazard kiss, surprised by the startled noise he makes in response, a gift for her ears only. And if it’s not the sweetest sound in the entire universe, Jyn doesn’t know what would be. 

It’s a little instinct, a little like a dance, and a little planning on the fly, which is obviously what they’re best at. It’s the clash of teeth and tongues and the thrill of hands slipping inside clothes to touch each other’s skin and - 

Oh. 

Oh.

Jyn takes a moment to press her face in the space between Cassian’s shoulder and neck, savoring the feel of his pulse hammering against his skin, beating out the same staccato rhythm as hers, pounding against her ribs, filling her ears. 

It’s not real, but it feels like the culmination of months spent pining after the man she’s got pinned to the wall, craving a glance, a touch, accidental or not, anything that hints that he might feel the same. 

And now his fingers are teasing her nipples and she’s barely gotten her fingers around his cock but she’s absolutely feeling him come to life and it’s everything she’s ever wanted and more, but stars, does her heart ache at the underlying knowledge that it’s all she’ll ever get. 

As if he hears her thoughts - and maybe he does, how is Jyn to know if he’s got some sort of latent telepathy - he breathlessly speaks, just low enough for her to hear through all the ambient noise. 

“Don’t think, just do.”

And she does. 

She feeds off of the groans and whimpers he gifts her with and she lets the stuttering rocking of his hips guide her hand, faster, tighter, not yet, oh, wait, wait, wait and she ignores everything around them - including their voyeuristic audience and just works to slowly move them closer to the exit. 

From the wall to a nearby couch, where she pushes Cassian down and relishes his flushed cheeks and dark eyes as she straddles his lap and relentlessly grinds against his shameless erection, his hands clutching her hips and helping her move, until the world seems to explode in a shower of blinding light, and if this is how they’re going to die, at least it’s together in a blaze of glory. 

There’s not much time to rest, though, and none at all to feel embarrassed about making such a mess of themselves, and once their shaky legs can hold their weight, Jyn takes Cassian’s hand and forcefully drags him the rest of the way through the doors and toward (relative) freedom.

There’s no reason to return to their suite now that Cassian’s got the precious datastick in hand and it’s easy enough to scramble the cameras monitoring their movements as they enter the lift that will bring them closer to the hangar and their nondescript ship. The chunky bracelet Jyn’s wearing hides the technology that will take care of that. All she needs to do is press a button and trust that it’ll take care of the rest. 

There is a bit of a prolonged, awkward silence between them as the lift descends, but suddenly Jyn finds the air being knocked from her lungs as Cassian’s fingers tighten around hers and pull her flush to his chest, all the more caught off guard when he leans down to nip sharply at her bottom lip before pulling away, his lips twisting up into a smile. 

“We’ll finish this later.”

To say it’s odd to feel so exhilarated in so many different ways is an understatement, but for Jyn, it’s not unpleasant, and for once, the thought doesn’t terrify her.

It just is.

But for the first time, she doesn’t feel like anything will be coming to an end anytime soon. 

Rather, it feels like a brand new beginning.