#will that ever get made? depends on how far i get in wayward sparks itself.

[cybertron-after-dark]

I SEE YOUR VISION 😭😭💜

Dinobot is that perfect shade of tragic that makes you want to force him to recover in the most painful way possible. Especially because there ain't no therapy on prehistoric earth 🥲

(Also not to shill for my silly little au again but I've had a Vision for an alternate version of beast wars happening in wayward sparks postcanon where dinobot lives Specifically because wheeljack accidentally fucked with the timeline a little.)

[noir-renard]

Title: So Long We Become the Flowers (on AO3)

Author: @noir-renard​ (Cielle_Noire on AO3)

Length: 100k

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Drarry

Tags/warnings: No archive warnings apply, Non-linear narrative, Alternate Universe, Original AU, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, flower symbolism, Romance, Eventual Happy Ending, Unreliable Narrator, POV Draco Malfoy, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Dissociation, Anxiety, flangst, the ending is very fluffy, Hogwarts Era

Summary:

Harry is a Red Charge, creator of storms and fire. Draco is a Green Charge, a designer of flowers. If they’d followed The Rules, they would never have met. But they hadn’t, and so they did. Mistrust gives way to curiosity gives way to understanding and, against all odds, love. They should never have met, but they did. If they want to stay together, they must take an ultimate test of devotion: becoming mortal. If they succeed, they will prove their love to the Patrons who would forbid their bond. If they fail, they lose the right to exist.

If Draco and Harry can make it work as Charges of two Patrons as opposite as can be, why not Malfoy and Potter?

Excerpt below the cut:

The Newcomer was unlike anything Draco had ever seen before, and the only word he could use to describe them was beautiful. Draco knew a lot about beautiful; it was his job to make beautiful flowers. But he did not think he could have crafted that which lay before him.

He watched for longer than he should have; he shouldn’t have watched at all. He should have turned around and left, and not spent any more energy thinking about it. He shouldn't have ever come here in the first place, but here he was, and this was the consequence: Uncertainty, novelty, and an ache to know what it all meant.

He shouldn't be here, yes, but here he was, frozen with indecision. If he left and immediately got to behaving as a dutiful Charge should, he'd never get answers. And he'd already, after a fashion, infringed upon the Rules, had he not? If he got caught, there were no degrees of infractions of Rule-Breaking to be considered. Wrong was Wrong, and he'd come this far. If he got caught now or after sating his curiosity, his punishment would be the same.

Thus, after too-long-to-be-decent but not-long-enough to come up with a better plan, he made a decision.

He stepped out of the shaded ether and cleared his throat to announce his presence.

The Other Charge sat up, eyes flying open as they scrambled to summon their uniform and cover them self with it. The chiton uniform was crimson in colour—no, it was closer to carmine, rich and lovely. It swirled around them like thick, lazy smoke, crackling dangerously with fleeting sparks where it folded across itself. Draco's uniform was longer than theirs, sweeping down to his ankles like a waterfall, but the Other's was only thigh length and apparently cut for ease of movement, leaving much of their body exposed.

Admiration of the colour and essence of the uniform brought understanding of its significance: the Charge’s Patron was Red. Draco's heart sank like a stone, all the more striking in contrast to how it had soared before. Green and Red did not get along. Their Charges did not interact, did not cooperate on projects. There was no goodwill between them, or appreciation of each other’s merits. He did not even know what Red Charges did, so estranged were their spectrums.

Draco wished he could hide his own ivy uniform, climbing vines, and delicate silvery petals. But then he would be the nude one, and he doubted that would improve the situation. His cheeks stung with frost at the very thought of that particular humiliation.

The Red Charge straightened out his Carmine Uniform—as much as smoke could ever be straightened—and focused on Draco. “Ah, Patrons, I'm sorry you, uh, had to see that. I didn't, er. See you. There. Here. Um.” In his embarrassment, it seemed the Red Charge had yet to notice that Draco was a Green Charge.

“Not surprising,” Draco replied coolly, though he felt anything but cool in this situation. “Your eyes were closed, after all.”

The Red Charge winced and rubbed the back of his head, mussing his already dreadfully delightfully messy hair. His cheeks flushed nearly the same colour as his uniform, and Draco found himself wondering what it would feel like to touch them. Would they be frosty, like Draco’s? Surely not, with Red as his Patron, nature as opposite to Green as could be.

But Draco couldn’t even begin to imagine what the opposite of cold might feel like.

“No one ever comes over here,” the Red Charge continued, oblivious to Draco's inner turmoil, “I thought I was safe to...er. Unwind?”

Draco sniffed at that, deciding to focus on his irritation at finding his spot occupied rather than his disconcerting wayward admiration of the colour and feel of another Charge’s cheeks. “Do you come here often?”

“Every day,” the Charge replied easily, previous embarrassment seemingly forgotten. He squinted slightly, eyes roving over and cataloguing the colour of Draco's uniforms. “Have done for ages. I’d definitely remember if I’d seen you here before.”

“I’ve been coming here for more cycles than I can count,” Draco bit back.

The Red Charge smirked; eyes gleaming. "Well, that could be a lot, I suppose, depending on how high you can count."

Draco scowled. Crossed his arms. Uncrossed them. Irritation was coming more easily now. It was jarring to think he’d unknowingly been sharing his private meadow with someone he did not know, someone who should have been different from him in every way. But said someone had found this place too, just like Draco. Had come here frequently, just like Draco.

Draco didn't want to share traits with a Charge from the opposite end of the spectrum, if not literally than in every way that mattered. He didn’t even want to think about it, for if Draco were in any way like a Red Charge, what did that say about his adequacy as a Green Charge? Better to deflect blame elsewhere.

“I've never seen anyone else here before you," he said, raising an eyebrow, "Why have we never crossed paths if, as you say, you’ve been coming here for 'ages'?”

The Red Charge narrowed his eyes, carefree posture straightening to rigid. The air around him seemed to snap with bright fleeting light, threatening and sharp. “Are you calling me a liar?”

It was an intriguing display, to be sure, but any beauty Draco had seen was rapidly being replaced with more irritation and—though loath to admit it—fear. “Merely stating facts. Why? Feeling defensive?”

The Red Charge muttered something about ‘Green gits’ under his breath, but Draco decided, magnanimously, to ignore anything not said to him directly.

That, and the Red Charge was crackling louder and more sporadically now, dark clouds swirling above them and blotting out the mid-morning sky. The hairs on Draco's neck were standing at attention, telling him to run.

But he stood his ground, stubborn to the last.

“Not that it’s any of your business," The Red Charge growled, "but I got a new schedule today. I’m normally here in the afternoon.”

"Afternoon?" Draco echoed. It was a mortal expression, one he understood but which had little meaning outside the mortal realm.

Draco didn't get the chance to ask about it though—not that he wished to prolong their discourse—as the Red Charge said, “I was just leaving, anyway. Storms to brew, you understand. Wouldn't want to disturb your delicate sensibilities.”

And then he left. Without even giving his name, the heathen.

Then again, Draco hadn't asked. Or offered his own name...Well, it was of little import. Draco would probably never see the Red Charge again, now that whoever-he-was knew this abandoned meadow wasn't as abandoned as he'd thought. The dark clouds dispelled, and the sun returned to wipe away any lingering darkness wrought by the Red Charge.

When Draco returned the next Cycle and the Red Charge was there already—again—Draco didn't know what to think.

“Oh, it's you,” the Red Charge said with a teasing if not lazy smile.

“You again?” Draco sighed.

"I'm surprised to see you came back," he continued as though Draco hadn't spoken. He didn't sound surprised. "I thought I'd scared you off with my, ah, display yesterday.” In spite of his bravado, his cheeks were flushed a dusky pink. Perhaps the Red Charge was not as nonchalant about it all as he seemed. And he’d used a mortal time expression again. Why? Was it a Red Charge mannerism, or something else?

Draco decided he'd already thought too much about it.

“It takes more than that to scare me,” Draco sniffed, examining his nails to hide his fascination discomfiture. “I didn't think you'd return after getting caught in flagrante delicto yesterday.” Seven Spectrums, using the mortal time expressions was catching, wasn't it? Patrons help him. “Last Cycle, that is. I see you aren't displaying anything today.”

He regretted saying it the moment the words left his mouth. Patrons, what was wrong with him?

“Not that I wanted to see it again or anything. Er, see you again. I mean, obviously.” Draco willed himself to stop talking before he made it worse.

He had a sinking feeling it couldn’t have been any worse. If the Red Charge's smirk were any measure of Draco's remaining grace, he had none. The damage was done.

“I got all my displaying over and done with already, but if you're that disappointed—”

It was sheer stubbornness alone that kept Draco from cutting his losses and leaving his perfect spot forever. “Don't flatter yourself.”

“I don't need to flatter myself with you around.”

Draco, graciously, decided to ignore whatever the Red Charge was implying, and instead decided to point out, “It’s against The Rules to leave your Sector."

“Oh, is it?” The Red Charge’s lips quirked in amusement. “Forgive me, I didn’t realize I was dealing with such a discerning Rule Follower.”

Draco tsked under his breath. Was he being mocked? He was, wasn’t he? This situation was annoying enough as it was without adding sarcasm to the mix. Completely unnecessary. “I could report you, you know.”

The Red Charge shook his head in mock disappointment. “Ah, but you don’t know who I am. My name, my lineage, my palette. What are you going to tell your supervisor? That you saw a Red Charge out in an abandoned sector? Even if you didn’t get in trouble for the exact same infraction, Red would throw out the accusation on principle as soon as they learned it came from the Green Sector.”

“But the Rules—”

“You underestimate Red’s spite and pettiness, especially when it comes to Green.” He slunk lower against the pillar he was leaned upon, as if heavy thoughts weighed him down. A hint of something dark crept into his face, his eyes stormy and introspective. Draco wasn’t entirely sure what it meant, but it didn’t seem directed at him. Curious.

The Red Charge pushed off the pillar with a force that belied his blasé attitude, the ruins flashing a streak of weak red light like fingers trying to hold on to wind. Draco himself had never touched the pillars, still preferring the grass, but he found the reaction curious. They always had a dim glow of light, but he'd never known they could react to the spectrum of a Charge.

"I could report you, too, you know," the Red Charge continued, brushing past Draco at an arm's distance and distracting him from inquiries about the nature of the pillar. Not that Draco would have asked. "My superiors wouldn't mind overlooking an infraction of the Rules if it were to the detriment of Green."

"You wouldn't," Draco growled, cheeks stinging with angry frost.

The Red Charge shrugged, and continued walking, calling back over his shoulder, "Guess you'll only know if you show up tomorrow."

"Is that a threat?"

The Red Charge didn't respond, disappearing into the dark ether separating the Light Sectors.

"I won't abandon my meadow!" Draco shouted after him. He wasn't sure if the Red Charge could still hear him, but he felt is should be said it on principle. "I found this place."

He had the distinct impression he was being laughed at from beyond the boundary, as if to say challenge accepted.

Challenge, indeed.