Tomarrymort Dynamics...for ME

you thought it would be all sweetness??? nooo u got to have a little miscommunication angst before anyone gets any hickies. but they will. in time >:) part one. part two. this is a part three :)

Steve blames it all on the clock.

That stupid cuckoo clock on the wall of the Munson trailer. It's an absolute horror of interior design that would make Steve’s mom shiver if she ever laid eyes on it. It’s probably why Eddie loves it — and the god-awful cuckoo! noise it makes when it goes off.

Because the moment Eddie utters that delightful question, asking for a hickie, the nerve of him, Steve loves it — and Steve is more than ready to oblige him — the stupid clock goes off.

It gives them both a fright, Steve more than Eddie. He gives a whole-body twitch that shifts them both, his head snapping to the wall, a breath forced out of his lungs at the sight of the mustard-coloured bird. Shit. Stupid fuckin’ clock, Steve thinks.

But it seems to break the trance over the room. The sweet tension of their shared closeness is sucked out of the room in an instant. Steve is suddenly aware of the time the popping out bird is announcing. It’s late. Far later than Steve intended to stay over, especially considering work tomorrow.

Without meaning to, the prickle under Steve’s skin rolls through his body. It steals away the comfort that he usually feels with Eddie, tenseness filling his body. Steve hates it — hates how he can’t stop himself from tensing up beneath Eddie.

Eddie notices. He's quick to to retract himself from Steve, pushing up and back, giving Steve his space. He sits beside Steve on the couch, still close. Not close enough to touch.

It helps. The rigidness of Steve's body relaxes just a bit but Steve doesn’t want that. He wants Eddie back on him. Wants his hands gripping Steve’s side. His breath fanning over Steve’s face, cheeks cherry red and pupils blown wide. Steve doesn’t say any of that and he sure is shit isn't brave enough to ask for it.

Instead, he croaks, “It’s late.”

Steve reluctantly pushes himself up from his slumped position, eyes already searching for his scattered shoes. He misses the way Eddie’s face falls, the way he tries to tug his hair in front of his face to hide the hurt. It takes another second to school his expression.

Steve hears a cough and then Eddie agrees with a murmur. “Yeah, sure.”

The words ache. No part of Steve is relieved to have Eddie agree with him. He’s not sure what he wanted; for Eddie to egg him to stay just a little while longer? To prove that their kisses hadn’t been a heat of the moment impulsivity? There's nothing to prove they weren't.

No, it was Steve who said he had to go. It is late. But then again maybe, Eddie wanted him to leave. But, no— Eddie just asked for a hickie, he wouldn’t—

“Don’t you have work early tomorrow?” Steve’s spiral cuts short at Eddie’s voice, tinged with… irritation?

O-kay. Now Steve’s not sure what to think. What had been the source of immense joy because Steve had asked for a kiss and Eddie said yes is suddenly… tilted.

The beginnings of embarrassment begin to cling to Steve like a thick fog. He’s done it again. Been overly eager. Asked for too much, too soon— fuck, that had been Eddie’s first kiss too.

“Yeah,” Steve replies, standing and shoving his foot into the one shoe he can find. He spies the other one under the table and wiggles it out with his toe. He can’t find in it to look at Eddie, not just yet. “Yeah, uh, I should get going.”

It’s all wrong. Steve shouldn’t be leaving — not on these terms. Not when he can’t look at Eddie for fear of what he’ll find. Regret? Steve’s not sure if he could face Eddie again, not if there’s even a trace of it on his face. It would feel like Halloween all over again, a bludgeon on Steve’s too-soft heart. It’ll crumble, he just knows it.

Steve wants to stay. He really wants to. He wants to ask for another kiss, ask for a dozen more kisses. Wants to give the hickie Eddie asked so nicely for and receive one back; matching love bites, like a gentler version of their matching twisted scars adorning their sides.

But he’s always asking for more. Steve always needs more. It’s greedy. It’s embarrassing how much he wants it, how he’s already gotten patient touches from Eddie but it’s not enough. Eddie had sounded a pinch annoyed — even aggravated at Steve.

It doesn't cross his mind that it might be for any other reason. Really, Steve thinks he’s doing Eddie a favour.

“Um,” Steve clears his throat, takes the wobble out of his words. Nods to himself and chances a glimpse at Eddie. The older is staring down at his lap, locks of hair trapped between twitchy fingers. They should talk about it. Steve’s not brave enough to risk his heart tonight.

“Well, g’night.” He says quietly, letting himself out the trailer door. He closes it behind him gently, shoes tapping against the stairs on the way down. It feels wrong, it feels wrong — but it would be selfish to turn back.

He repeats the sentiment over and over, raspy whispers beneath his breath as he climbs into his car. It would be selfish. The engine turns over and he hesitates for just a moment, hoping to catch a silhouette in the kitchen window. It’s empty. Of course, it’s empty.

Of course, Eddie is not chancing for a glance at him on his way out because Steve just asked for more and more and more, and he took Eddie’s first kiss and then— He whispers it to himself again. It would be selfish to turn back.

When he thinks about it on the drive home, Steve’s sure it all comes back to that stupid fucking clock.

-

Eddie stares in the mirror.

He’s not sure why he was so convinced there would be some radical change in him upon popping his make-out cherry but… well, here he was. Staring in the mirror like he had this morning. Except 10 hours earlier, he had been unkissed.

Tonight, the difference shows. His lips are rosier than usual, a swell to them given by hasty sweet kisses. It’s the only evidence of his spit-sharing moment of passion with Steve on the couch. The rosy colour is already beginning to fade.

Eddie sinks his teeth in. He doesn’t want the only physical proof that he even got to kiss Steve to be gone so soon. Even if that fact seems terribly bitter now.

“What the shit did you do, Munson?” He murmurs to himself in the tiny bathroom mirror.

It’s got toothpaste specks splayed across it. Eddie stares past them. Stares into his own face, reading every change in his features as emotions inside him churn. It’s heading for a distraught expression, the upturn of his brows and quiver in his lips giving him away. He always was a crier. Eddie really wishes he wasn’t.

“Idiot!” He pairs the word with a bang on the wall beside the mirror, frustration leaking out. The toothbrush on the sink shudders in its cup with a clink.

Eddie hates the welling in his eyes. He hates that he ruined the first fuckin’ good thing to happen to him in this town. Loathes that he drives away the first person who actually knows him and still wants to kiss him.

Well, wanted to kiss him.

Eddie’s pretty sure Steve scampering out of the trailer is more than a big enough sign. It’s a blazingly bright neon sign — light up words that say ‘This was a mistake!’

Except, it hadn’t felt at all like a mistake to Eddie. It had felt wonderful, better than anything he had thought, the soft curve of Steve’s lips, the grip on his hands on Eddie’s face, the heat in his face, the— Eddie growls, wiping his hand down his face to shake the thoughts. Too good to be true was what it was.

It’s because of what he said. Of what he asked for. It had to be that. But— but Steve had looked eager and almost excited and then the stupid clock had gone off, scaring the shit out of them both. Maybe it was then that Eddie’s words had sunk in and Steve realised what he’d gotten into— and who he’d gotten into it with.

“You had to ask for more, huh?” Eddie scolds himself angrily, wiping his cheeks harshly when a tear streaks free. Another follows, just as fast. Eddie wipes roughly at his face to clear them. Doesn’t care about the streaks of red he leaves on his cheeks. Another trembling reprimand comes out. “You just had to push it, huh? You fuckin’ idiot.”

Eddie can’t stand his reflection anymore. He tears his gaze away as he spins and heads straight for his room.

The button on his stereo is sticky and it takes a few forceful clicks to turn it on, but when he does, he cranks it. It’s loud enough he’ll surely wake some neighbours. Eddie can’t find it in him to care, not even when the neighbours dog starts off with its incessant barking. Anything to stop hearing himself cry.

-

“Something’s up with Eddie.” is the first thing Robin says when she comes in the front door.

Steve’s mid-yawn when she does, a result of a night of tossing and turning, and he somehow manages a strange choke at her words. In a haste to shut his mouth, he chomps on his fingers covering his mouth — then hisses, pulling it away from his face. He ignores Robin’s perplexed expression, shoving the hand deep in his pocket. His ears feel a tad hotter.

“What? Why? What makes you think that?” Steve asks the questions in rapid succession. Very chill, he chides himself. At this rate, Robin would have him all figured out 10 minutes into their shift.

And it’s not like— well, Robin’s advice is usually great. A bit cut-throat, sure. She doesn’t have a problem trodding on his feelings on her way to tell him the hard truth. Usually, it’s fine. Steve could probably do with a bit of ego-bruising.

Today, he’s… It’s different. That’s what Steve tells himself. This thing with Eddie, he wants to fix it himself. And with too much meddling from Robin’s advice, even if it was with the best intentions, might mix things up too much. It’s hard enough keeping his half-baked apology that’s been brewing since last night in proper order in his mind.

Thankfully, Robin doesn’t comment on his odd demeanor. She just bustles into the back room — there are a couple sounds of her dumping her stuff. When she comes back out the front, she’s fixing her Family Video vest. It looks perfectly straight to Steve.

He checks his own — it’s sitting askew, part of the collar flipped over. He hastily fixes it, running his hands down the front to smooth it a bit.

“Just,” Robin starts, talking as she sits in front of the computer, beginning to take a crack at the admin she managed. She likes doing things as she talks, Steve knows. Helps keep her from letting words run away from her.

Steve’s thankful for it now because she isn’t looking at him when she says, “I think he might have had a bad nightmare last night, or something of that sort. I don’t know. Maybe I’m way off — you know how I am with trying to read people, Steve. I’m not good at it! But when I saw him, he just seemed…”

Robin seems to take an extra moment to deliberate her word choice. Steve’s really glad she’s still facing the computer so she can’t see the myriad of emotions that show on his face.

“…Off.” is the word she decides on.

Which means bad. Steve feels like he’s swallowed a stone. It sinks deep into his stomach. It burns, sour and scorned, twisting up his gut. It means Eddie is bad — it means disappointment, means he regretted it. That Steve had been right; that he’d been too eager, too soon. Too much.

Right. Of course, this happens again. Really, Steve had brought it on himself by asking for so much. It had been one thing to ask for a hug — who actually has to do that? — and then to expect he might get Eddie to kiss him too? What a overstep. Christ, he's an idiot.

“That’s not…” He hears himself say, still lost in his thoughts. It's only when Robin turns on the stool, brows raised, that Steve realises he hasn’t finished his sentence. “Good. That’s not good. To hear.”

Steve turns and starts shuffling around the films on the returns cart, picking them up at random. He stares at a copy of ‘The Princess Bride’ in his hands, a new release, and forces out a causal question.

“What made you think that?” He asks, shoving the film into an empty slot, like he was arranging them. He’s relieved when Robin’s clicking on the keyboard resumes, along with a dramatic sigh.

“I don’t know. I don’t know if I can be trusted to read anyone’s emotions correctly at any given time, honestly. Remember that old lady? I thought she was being sweet that whole time and then you told me she was being rude! And I couldn’t even tell…”

Robin’s ramble is comforting and helpful to Steve in a way he didn’t know they could be. He presses the cart out, finally getting a move on with it, but delivers a quick nod to Robin when she’s looking to let her know he’s still tuned in. He listens to her get distracted by another topic and leaves Eddie’s name in the dust. It’s a silent relief.

It’s a task to multi-task, listening and devising a plan, but Steve has all shift to find the balance. It’s sometime between finishing re-stocking the action section and starting the romance that Steve decides he should apologise. He should go over today and apologise.

Eddie’s a big boy but Steve’s fairly certain now, if he regretted it, Eddie had probably felt obliged to kiss him back. Probably hadn’t minded the first kiss but- but— Something sticks in his brain; it was Eddie’s first kiss.

It makes Steve feel worse. It doesn’t matter, really, Steve should say sorry for all of it. God, he’s such an idiot.

By the time he’s clocked out, it’s all set in place. He’s got a dozen different apologies running in a loop in his head, reciting the words in time with his anxious tapping on the steering wheel. It’s not a long drive out to Forest Hills Trailer Park. The drive is well-known now. Steve tries hard not to wallow in what he might be losing today. What he lost because he’d been too greedy with want.

The sight of a brown van parked roadside yanks him from his thoughts. Eddie’s van. Steve’s stomach turns, nerves gnawing faster. He slows, trying to catch eye of the other boy as he rolls to a stop behind the van. The sun is beginning to dip closer to the horizon, the temperature going with it.

At the same time, they see each other; Eddie’s head popping around the raised raised to see who had stopped, right as Steve pops his door. Eddie retreats in an instant. Steve's chest grows a bit tighter.

Gravel crunches underfoot as Steve takes a few wary steps closer. It doesn’t take more than a couple before Eddie calls out. He doesn’t bother poking his head out again.

“Go away, Steve.”

Steve swallows thickly. Yeah, okay, he deserves that. He deserves probably worse than that. But more importantly than that, Eddie deserves to hear this. And Steve... needs to not lose Eddie.

“Can I… can we talk?” Steve asks, taking a couple steps closer. A car whizzes by on the road, hidden from Steve's view behind the van. He still keeps his distance, hovering. His hands clench nervously at his sides. Steve shoves them deep in his jean pockets, wiping the sweat off them as he goes.

“What part of ‘Go away’ isn’t clear enough for you?” Eddie snarks back. He still doesn't stick his head out, still won’t look at Steve. It stings.

“I know, I’m sorry,” Steve starts, another instinctive step forward taken. “I-I just, I shouldn’t have left like I did last night. I wanted to apologise.”

There’s a clattering from behind the hood like Eddie’s dropped a tool. He swears. Steve wants to take another step, wants to see Eddie — wants to read every emotion and apologise for causing any of the ugly ones.

“Well, apology accepted,” Eddie responds. There’s a bite in his words. His next words are grumblier, quieter. “And message fuckin’ received.”

What? “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That—” Finally, Eddie steps away from the van, rounding the hood to march up to Steve. His arms cross over his chest, a wrinkle set between his brows that pull his face into a glare. Robin was right; he is off. This isn’t normal Eddie. Fuck, Steve had fucked up bad.

“That means message received, Steve.” Eddie seethes. He uncrosses his arms to gesture wildly. Steve misses the wobble in his bottom lip. “Message received loud and clear! I get it!”

And all Steve wants to ask is: get what? He doesn’t ask that. He should know what. That would be an idiotic question, would make Eddie more irritated. Lord knows, Steve has been enough of a fool in the last day. So, he doesn’t ask.

“Look, I just…” Steve starts, words a bit weak. They die in his throat as he tries to recall a single apology he had practiced all day and comes up empty. “I’m just- I just wanted—look, I’m sorry I took your first kiss!”

It’s not exactly what he means to say, but Steve certainly is sorry for it. Eddie’s expression wavers, some anger slipping away. Confusion takes its place.

“What?” Eddie says with a tone of bafflement. “What are you talking about?”

“And I’m sorry I kept… kept asking for more.” Steve continues on, pulling on the thread inside him, connected to the terrible stone he swallowed earlier. He tugs it. Hopes pulling it will unravel the guilt sitting heavy in his stomach.

Steve scrunches his eyes shut and rubs the bridge of his nose. “I know, okay? I know that I can be a lot.” He sighs and drops his hands.

“But I didn’t mean to… shit,” He wrenches his eyes open. Eddie’s a bit wide-eyed now, brown eyes watching him intently. Steve doesn’t know what expression he’s wearing, can’t tell if it’s good or worse. He continues, soft words scraping out his throat.

“I didn’t mean to be like that with you.”

Eddie searches Steve’s face, eyes darting and wild. He licks his lips. His hands are in motion, fingers twisting rings, quick and fast. It’s a nervous action.

“What do you mean by ‘like that?’” Eddie asks, voice gentler. It's lost its snarl from before.

Steve blinks, a scrape of teeth worrying his bottom lip. He murmurs his admittance lowly, just one word, “Selfish.”

Eddie doesn’t try to hide his surprise; it ripples across his face in a wave. Confusion melts away into something closer to, Steve hopes desperately, relief. Steve can feel his own heart thudding hard inside his chest — can feel the beat it skips when Eddie steps closer.

“Steve?” Eddie says, sounding unlike himself. Steve’s never heard his voice that small. He nods, wordlessly. Eddie searches his face once more — wide brown eyes scanning and devouring. Steve can’t help but do the same.

He drinks in the details of Eddie’s face; the soft scruff along his top lip, the darkness of his lashes and the way they kiss in the corner that Steve adores. The pink of his lips. The familiar ache to kiss Eddie surges up within him, still as violent and strong as it had been the night before.

Steve should really stop looking at Eddie’s lips. He’s supposed to be apologising. He drags his eyes up and meets Eddie’s gaze full-on, prepared for whatever he might say. Except, he’s not expecting him at all to say;

“Can I... try this again?” It comes out a ragged breath, Eddie's scared eyes conveying the weight behind his words.

And this time Steve doesn't even need to ask what because he knows. Because Eddie's hands are reaching up and holding either side of Steve's face so gently. Steve can't recall a time he's ever been held so softly. His own hands come up slowly, draping around Eddie's wrists to hold them, to keep them there.

Eddie's thumb traces. It draws a sweet line of that familiar fire beneath Steve's skin along til it's settled on Steve's bottom lip, resting. The blood under Eddie's thumb thrums, gloriously warm, aching with want. Yes. Steve thinks. Yes, yes, yes.

"Yes, please." Steve breathes, so sincere the words comes out as a kiss against Eddie's thumb.

So, Eddie kisses him.

tags below! sry if i tagged u and u didn't want it just tagging everyone who replied <3 @they-reap-what-we-sow @impeachy @anaibis @resident-gay-bitch @ediewentmissing @newtstabber @original-cypher @invisibleflame812 @hunterbow04 @leather-and-freckles @dracoswifeandlokispet @foolofentirelytoomanyfandoms @lfaewrites @sundead @call-me-big-eyes @the-redthread @goblinmanifesto @etaka @bishopextractions @ketterfuck @persephone13 @beckkthewreck @maya-custodios-dionach @autumnal-dawn @yourstrulyjoko @gleefully-macabre @princess-eddie @savory-babby

The Paladin♥️, the Bard♣️, the Cleric♦️, and the Ranger♠️

He Michaels on my Shelley til I Spiral.

listen st4 ROBBED us of so so so much, but really I think the the biggest travesty is the fact that we never got platonic Harringham. Like, of course, platonic Stobin is so perfect in every way- i worship it really- and i don’t mean to minimize that AT ALL but like.

Steve and Chrissy absolutely LOSING THEIR SHIT at a football game.

Steve and Chrissy having a crush on the same baseball player and arguing over which pants his ass looks better in.

Steve and Chrissy giving each other the same ??? look when Robin or Eddie say something nerdy.

Steve and Chrissy going to the gym together and losing track of whose basketball shorts are whose.

Steve and Chrissy bonding over the fact that their mothers hate them.

Steve teaching Chrissy to cook and slowly helping her get over her eating disorder.

Steve and Chrissy sharing tips for sore muscles and collapsing on the couch together with bags of frozen peas and corn after going a little too hard.

Steve and Chrissy going for runs at dawn together and getting back long before Robin or Eddie would ever dream of being awake.

Steve and Chrissy throwing the biggest super bowl party ever and screaming and grabbing each other’s arms every time there’s a touchdown.

Steve, who’s been having migraines since his first concussion, helping Chrissy out, who’s started getting headaches since Vecna fucked with her head.

Chrissy offering to drive Lucas to and from basketball because she’s going to the school for cheer anyway, and it’s one less thing he has to worry about.

Steve and Chrissy sitting in on a DnD game, getting bored a few hours in and going out to the driveway to play Horse (Chrissy has never won- she wants the challenge so she never lets Steve go easy on her and he respects her enough not to)

Steve and Chrissy side-eyeing each other when someone has the AUDACITY to say they like the Colts, knowing full well that they’re going to have to dish on the person the second they get in the car (They know the Colts are Indiana’s team. The Steelers are just… better.)

Steve protecting Chrissy from creepy ex-boyfriends who just want to take advantage of her, and Chrissy protecting Steve from creepy ex-girlfriends who just want to take advantage of him.

Chrissy convincing Steve to get back into swim, and him agreeing as long as she gets back into dance.

Chrissy wearing her whole cheer uniform to his meets and sitting on the edge of the bleachers every time he’s in the pool, palms sweating as he flies through the water- Robin and Eddie went to go get McDonald’s an hour ago- eyes darting from his silhouette to the clock and back again, muttering under her breathe, “Come on, Steve, come on!”

Chrissy screaming when he wins, running to the edge of the pool to grab him, even though he’s soaking wet and she spent so long on her hair and “Holy shit, you did amazing!”

Steve making his own sort of cheer uniform to wear to her competitions, always driving her to them so he can hype her up in the car on the way. Calling “You’re a god, you can crush ‘em with your thighs!” as they split up so she can go to the dressing rooms backstage.

Steve leaping to his feet in the audience to clap the second she’s finished, whether it’s a team dance or a solo, or a duo-She’s the only one worth watching- whistling and cheering for her so loud, it would be a phenomenon if she didn’t hear him.

idk

just let Steve have another bisexual jock bestie who won’t make fun of his interests. Who knows how much he wants this, who knows how hard it is.

idk.

So, how we feeling about that finale

wip, 4k , tomarry (accidental baby acquisition)

(or) Harry just wants to be taken care of, for someone to take the weight of the world off his shoulders and raise his child in peace.

There was a child running through the store.

Actually, there was a toddler running on their pink onesie through the Herbology store, touching plants and big petals with a care and gentleness people in double digits could not even begin to fathom.

Most peculiar of all, their hair was mostly green, matching perfectly with some of the plants they so softly touched with a chubby hand, except for two strands up front that stood jet black against their honey colored skin.

Finally, they seemed to run out of fuel as they bumped into Tom.

Two big green eyes looked up at him with slow blinks, mouth opening and closing like they were about to speak. Then, two chubby arms reached up, demanding to be lifted.

Tom stared incredulous at the small child. Where were their parents? Why were they free roaming the store full of plants that could be potentially harmful to such a small kid? And why in the world did they have green hair of all things?

Said kid patted his legs where he could reach, before extending their arms up again.

Tom looked one way, then the other, hoping the parent would appear out of the woods, but no luck.

Finally, he reached down to take the toddler into his arms.

Two big green eyes stared at him intently now that they were face to face. A small button nose stood between two soft full cheeks, small lips pursed as they scrutinized Tom with intent.

Then the imposible happened.

Magic rippled across the toddler's skin like waves on a calm lake. It left Tom's arms feeling electrified.

Their eyes changed, from deep forest green to dark ocean blue, an exact match to his. His skin paled, and his hair grew a tiny bit and turned to a dark chocolate full of tight curls. His button nose stayed, as did the small round face full of chubby cheeks.

A metamorphmagus.

A baby Metamorphmagus.

The baby seemed satisfied with the turn of events, and proceeded to lay their head on his shoulder with a content sigh, small thumb on their mouth.

Tom stood deadly still for fear any wrong movement would startle the child.

The baby sighed again, and nuzzled into his chest and promptly seemed to fall asleep.

Tom blinked.

Then, from around the far corner of the store a harried looking man with the biggest, most familiar green eyes appeared. His eyes were searching the room, somewhere low to the floor like he expected a baby to run from between the legs of the exhibition tables. It wouldn't be far from the truth.

Finally, and without Tom needing to put any input, the man locked eyes on him.

He startled half a step, eyes horrified and cautious all in one. His posture changed from concerned parent to an aggressive stance, defensive almost.

His wand didn't appear on his hand, but Tom feared he wouldn't need it.

He looked half a step away from punching Tom in the face, and the only thing stopping him was the baby asleep in his hold.

"Give me my baby back," he said, voice strangled somewhere between anger and concern "please" he added, almost as an afterthought.

Tom didn't have any reason to hold onto the child.

And yet.

The man before him was beautiful. Tan skin scattered with freakles and moles like galaxies. His hair was long, pushed away from his face on a bun held together with a long wand. His eyes were two green emeralds.

He had the biggest eye bags Tom had ever seen on his life. Deep, purple and dark, pulling down at the skin around his eyes like living weights, sucking his deep green eyes like a vortex. Despite the tan of his skin there was a green parlor to it that spoke of sickness.

His stance remained guarded, but his shoulders were tense and slumped forward, like they couldn't hold the weight of his body properly.

"My baby" he repeated, and his voice trembled somewhere between anger and tiredness.

Tom rolled his shoulders back and squared his spine.

"Why did you let your child run around the store? Are you aware of how many dangerous plants are within reach of their small hands?"

The man bristled at the jab, even as his bottom lip trembled.

"I didn't—" he sputtered, "I set him down for one second to pay and—it's non of your business!" He approached them cautiously and reached his hands out to the child. Tom turned, contrite.

"And how do I know this child is yours?"

"What do you care? Give him back." He reached again, this time slapping away one of Tom's hands with his own.

The moment their skin touched a tingle went down his back, powerful and insistent. The world came to focus for one second, colors brightening in a way they hadn't since he—.

The child was out of his arms before he could regain his wits.

"Teddy, you shouldn't go running like this. What if a bad man grabbed you?" He glared at Tom from above the child's head, green eyes narrowed. Teddy sighed deeply as he snuggled into the man's coat.

He turned, leaving Tom standing alone in the middle of the Herbology store between plants that watched on like gossiping ladies amongs themselves with the shake of their leaves.

Working Borgin and Burke's was both a blessing and a curse.

The owners left Tom mostly alone at the store, a fact for which he was greatful, as he could stand neither man for more than a glance.

The heavy feeling of the dark artifacts nestled into every nook and cranny of the store soothed something in him like a balm, something that had broken and become jaded when he tore his soul open.

He arrived early and went home late, looking to hold onto the heavy darkness of the magic settling in the store for as long as he could.

The man and his little child walked in a random Friday, two weeks after he had first encountered them at the Herbology store.

The child was strapped to the man's chest with a long navy cloth filled with small stars embroidered in silver. There was a green onesie on him this time.

Tom watched the man walk between the shelves in the section where they kept most of their books, a skinny hand running across the spines of several of them without the fear of a curse sticking to his skin. Most of his regulars knew better than to touch.

The child's green eyes were fixated on Tom, a curious look about him.

Tom smiled a bit, and let the magic around his own eyes fall like a veil, dark blue eyes durning a burgundy red like wine.

The child squeaked in delight, arms and legs moving up and down excitedly. His own eyes switched from green to red in a single blink, small mouth stretching into a toothless smile.

The man glanced down at his child with a frown. He found two red eyes gazing up at him.

His mouth opened in surprise, before accusing eyes rose to throw daggers in Tom's direction.

"Don't encourage him! Do you know how hard it is to keep them one singular color?"

"And why would you force him to stay a certain way?"

"People ask questions."

"Oh?" He walked around the counter, steps slow and measured. The man's shoulders slouched, arms coming around the baby. Tom took in the sight of them together, huddled in his store. The man looked as tired as he had the last time they had crossed paths.

Surely a metamorphmagus would not be a cause for concern from the general public.

Then it clicked.

There was only one family, at least in Britain, to be associated with this type of magic.

The House of Black.

If the man was trying to keep his child away from them it meant he had possibly already pulled their interest.

To say Tom abhorred the House would be an understatement.

He had been classmates with both Orion and Lucretia Black for seven years, sorted into the same House, frequented the same circles. And yet.

Yet, after they graduated they had left him behind in the dust.

They strode around Knockturn Alley sometimes, and they looked down at Tom from beneath their noses like he owed them something.

And this man had unwillingly attracted their attention.

He could work around this, if only to get close enough to him to feel alive again.

"You shouldn't have to hide beneath a smoke screen to feel safe," he said, smile gentle and eyes concerned.

The man narrowed his eyes at him, suspicious. What good instincts, Tom though, to not be deceived by a kind face in between the darkness, and rather looked at him like the snake that had been provoked and ready to bite.

Tom was willing to lend a hand, however.

"What are you looking for? Maybe I can be of assistance."

The man hesitated, looking down at his child. He pulled at his bottom lip, before sighing and meeting Tom's eyes.

"A book on baby werewolves" he muttered, arms protectively wrapped around his child and eyes averted. Like he waited for a storm to blow over.

Tom's eyes widened, looking down at the toddler with new eyes. There was nothing about him that could call to attention, other than the obvious magic that settled on his skin like a well worn coat.

A baby werewolf.

"You won't find any here" the man's eyes snapped up to him, face pinched. "Britain is notorious for their dislike of dark creatures, and the Ministry has been on a war path to burn any and all books they get their hands on since Grindelwald fell." Tom watched as despair settled around the man, mouth pulling down and eyes closing in resignation.

Then he looked down at their clothes, pristine and well pressed, of a good quality and well fitted. The man was clearly well-off, if alone, going by the tiredness around his whole being.

"There are countries," he started, tentatively "that don't hold the same teachings. Romania. Bulgaria. Hungary, to name a few."

"I don't even—how do you go about—and I only speak English—" the man stammered, thoughts going a mile a minute.

Tom watched the thought sink in.

Going to a new contry where he wouldn't be questioned about his child. The possibility of finding a community of dark creatures where he could blend in and help his kid.

Anonymity. Security. Community.

"I can be of help," Tom insisted. The man's head snapped up to him, suspicion settled into every fine line of his skin. "I speak several languages. It wouldn't be a problem."

"Of course you do" the man muttered. He took a deep breath and let it go, eyes settling once more on his child, where he snuggled into his chest with a stubborn hand on his mouth. The good seemed to outweigh the bad, the suspicion on his shoulders giving away to hope. Finally, his green eyes settled on red. "And what do you get out of it?" Good man.

"I get out of here."

The man's mouth opened in surprise, eyes disbelieving. Then his expression gentled somewhat, an understanding settling deep within his bones.

Like calls to like, after all.

"Okay."

"I'm Tom. Tom Riddle."

"Harry" he said. And left it at that.

There was a tiredness to Harry that spoke of something greater than a simple case of lack of sleep.

His eyes turned vacant sometimes, far away and lifeless as he stared into a void somewhere off to the side. The green tint to his skin didn't leave, and the hollowness to his face stayed no matter how much food Tom tried to pile onto his plate.

His appetite was little and scattered, pulling food in small bits and often taken from Teddy's own plate when he couldn't seem to stomach more solids, still preferring a bottle of sweet milk.

Little by little, as days turned to weeks of filing papers and paying people to forge documents, Harry seemed more and more willing to leave Teddy in his vicinity.

Teddy was fascinated with Tom.

Finally, after three weeks of sharing space and looking for all the possible ways and contries they could land in and would be welcomed with open arms with a werewolf cub between them, Harry fell asleep in his presence.

They were sat together on the same loveseat, and Teddy sat by their feet on the floor, playing with a unicorn plushie Harry had unearthed from the mokeskin pouch he held around his neck.

Tom was bent forward, reading through paper clippings and letters from people he had contacted on several countries, looking for properties away from the main cities and where the largest communities of dark creatures lived.

Before, he'd had no motivation to leave Britain. Nothing to bring back the feeling of being alive and not regretting each step he took, nothing to hold dear to him and make him look at the world with anything less than contempt, grey and dark and dull.

Now, Harry sat by his side, head dropping from time to time as he fought to stay awake, sleep and exhaustion threatening to pull him under.

Finally, his head landed softly on Tom's shoulder, cushioned by layers of soft clothing that had once long ago been gifted by Tom's knights.

Tom stayed as still as he could, flipping pages and letters and letting the cold magic that clung to Harry seep deep beneath his own skin.

Teddy, at some point, grew bored of playing and stood on unsteady legs to reach for Tom.

It was the work of a simple wave of his hand to wrap a warm spell around the toddler and bring him up into his lap, letting the little cub snuggle into his chest and fall asleep as he kept sorting through the mountains of papers.

Harry woke some time later, groggy and heavy but with the quickness of his breath that said he had walked away from a nightmare. His eyes looked through the floor, searching for Teddy, before settling on Tom's form beside him, where his child stood snuggled into his sweater.

He let out a shaky breath, the urgency banishing slowly from his eyes as he took in the sight. Finally, green eyes settled on red.

"Sleep some more, darling" he couldn't help the slip of tongue even if he tried. When he went to protest, he added, "those maternity books of yours say you should sleep when your baby does."

An offended look crossed Harry's features, a pout pulling at his lips, before his eyes settled on the baby so soundly asleep on Tom. A resignated huff left his mouth, as he brought his legs up on the loveseat, and snuggled into the cushions.

His green eyes were heavy as they locked gazes, pupils blown and eyelashes long as they brushed his tan cheeks. Finally they closed, and his body relaxed beside him.

If anyone where to ask, they were a family traveling home.

Harry spoke little to any Official that would ask, seeking the refuge of Tom's shadow and charms to nestle himself and Teddy in. After all, their forged papers could only do so much if the story they had made up fell apart on their faces.

The story went something like this:

Tom was a romanian man who had married Harry, a man of british origins. They had been dislodged by war and famine, but were finally coming home and looking to settle down with their son, Teddy.

They had lived in England for a time, believing they would be safe from Grindewald's war in the home country of the only wizard who had been able to match him. But now.

Now, they wanted a home.

The Officials ate the story up with kind, concerned eyes. After all, they had heard similar stories countless of times.

There was no reason to look any deeper. Not when the two of them looked like a lovesick couple, huddling close in the line of people seeking to enter the country. Not when they stood protectively around a son that could only be theirs, a perfect mix of his parents with a pale face and green, green eyes.

They were let in the Contry and out of the Romanian Ministry faster than they could blink, with a pamphlet that held information on where to exchange local money and get necessities for the first days in the Country. Another piece of paper, smaller, had been slipped into their hands too.

A man with yellow eyes standing guard at the entrence of the Department that held all newcomers had taken one long sniff at their son and had given Tom a piece of paper with the name of a street and a number. He told them to come once they were settled, the yellow around his eyes glowing like a halo.

Their stay at the house they were directed to by the werewolf was brief, but informative.

They were given toys charmed to last through the teething process, clothes that would not rip once the claws came in, charms to hide any unwanted signs that the child was anything but human to the public eye. They were given books upon books that held knowledge both trivial and necessary. From a balanced baby diet to how the phases of the moon would affect his moods.

The witch upfront had been firm but kind as she told them everything they needed to know, things to expect now that they were moving and how the change would affect the baby.

When they told her they where not planning to stay in the city, and were interested in finding a home somewhere close to a forest and away from the main magical communities, she had been delighted.

She had taken the time to explain all the little communities of dark creatures (and not all exclusively werewolves) that lingered in various villages. Where magic was strongest and what forest lest dangerous for a small cub.

Harry had looked on with a gleam on his eye that said nothing short of his death would stop him from acquiring a cottege at the edge of a forest for his small child to live a happy, healthy life away from anything that would want him dead.

Tom smiled and stood closer to them, his front against Harry's back, a familiar touch between them that had began as a necessity to keep unwanted attention on them. Tom could feel the magic between them like a creature alive, so full and warm and protective, making the world around him sharper, more colourful.

He didn't need the darkness of dark artifacts to sate the hunger that had been left behind by the Horcrux. He didn't need to soak himself in the depths of black magic to feel alive again.

He needed only to stand by Harry and let the world come into focus.

He slept.

He slept, and as such, he remembered.

The nightmare pulled him under with sinking claws, unforgiving and hurtful as they clung to his skin.

The War had come to an end.

By the time all was set and done, Harry was about dead on his feet.

People kept trying to talk to him, to reach him, touch him, faces exhilarated and happy with a joy he couldn't feel.

He grabbed the wand that wasn't his and apparated away.

Andromeda's little house on the hill waited for him, mostly nestled between tall trees and round bushes. Wild flowers had been steadily growing out in the front garden, left unattended and now that it was something closer to summer they were full of little insects flying about.

Andromeda herself sat on a rocking chair out front.

She took one look at him, silver eyes sad and piercing. She stood from the chair with a small bundle in her arms.

There was a tiredness to her face that spoke of the hours without sleep, pulling down bags around her eyes and on her mouth.

She knew.

Her husband was dead. Her daughter was dead.

Now all she had was a child she couldn't care for, and the remains of another child at her doorstep.

She ushered him inside, steps slow and magic sluggish.

Harry could feel her fading even from where he stood on the porch.

He took big steps inside, strides long and determined.

"Give him to me, 'Dromeda." He said, gently, hands reaching for the child in her arms. "It'll be okay."

"You need to shower. And sleep. You cannot hold him like this." The specter of a smile reached her face. She had said those words countless of times in the last month.

"Andromeda. Give me the child." His hands reached insistently for the bundle of blankets.

"I don't have him." Her smile was painful now, sad and revolting all in one. She was turning more and more transparent by the minute.

Harry, alamarmed, pushed past her.

He couldn't be dead.

It hadn't been more thank a fair few hours since anyone not his grandmother saw to him and—there she lay.

She was forever asleep on her day bed, on her side and hand reaching towards the bassinet by her. Inside he could hear babbling sounds and sighs of who could only be Teddy.

"You need to shower. And sleep. You cannot hold him like this." She repeated, like she couldn't help herself.

A new ghost to haunt another house. Perhaps she would pass on properly once Harry got the wits about him to take Teddy.

Perhaps.

He nodded once, assured she would get him with whatever little she could say if Teddy was in trouble.

He took the fastest shower he could manage while trying to scrub all the dirt and blood from his body.

He had died.

He had died on the forest floor before the most powerful wizard alive.

Then he had killed him.

And now Andromeda too was dead.

And he had a child not a month old to care for.

He feed and changed Teddy, burped him and rocket him to sleep in between the spaces of the living room, and when the baby finally succumbed to the world of darkness, Harry set him down gently on his bassinet.

Then he sat by his side and sobbed.

Burying Andromeda, with the amount of cooling bodies in the afterneath would be near impossible. Instead, Harry dug a shallow grave by hand by the altar she had placed for her husband in her garden.

She did not have his body, and therefore could not bury him in the proper way, but she had built a small thing out of wood and magic.

It was where the wildflowers grew the most.

Digging her grave by magic felt improper, too impersonal. So, he transfigured a chair into a shovel and started to dig.

Teddy had been placed in the shadow of a tree nearby, close enough to hear if he cried and far out of the house and the body that was starting to smell, no matter the amount of cooling and preservation charms he wrapped around.

He laid Andromeda Tonks on a bed of flowers, right by her husband's altar, and took it upon himself to build her one too.

He was sweating and crying by the time he finished, the afternoon sun unforgiving on his back.

Teddy had not cried once, content to watch the leaves flutter in the wind. Butterflies had come and gone around him, and each time one touched his skin his hair changed color to match the wings.

He took Teddy with him when he finally rose from his kneeling position by the grave, ready for another shower and sleep.

Flowers bloomed at his back, wild and in all the possible colors of the rainbow to match the grave by it's side.

Showering with a baby was challenging.

He had to leave Teddy close enough to hear if he cried but far enough so he wouldn't get swallowed up by the steam of the water, so he compromised.

It wouldn't be the first time he showered with cold water, anyways.

Teddy was a peaceful child, all in all.

He only cried if his nappy had been dirty for too long, or if his tummy hurt.

If he had any say about it, Teddy would never go hungry, or cold. He would never grow unloved or shoved in the spaces between the walls where he didn't belong.

Letters upon letters started banging on the windows, owls upon owls lining up to drop them at his feet.

Harry took an entire day to raise wards upon wards around the house to keep them out. To keep anyone out.

Most of the time he spent walking through the woods with Teddy in arms, pointing out plants and animals and watching the small baby take in the world like it was magical and full of life.

His eyes changed from yellow to green to silver often enough for Harry to expect it now.

Often enough when Harry rocked him to sleep, slow and steady while they locked eyes they would remain as green as the forests outside. Just his exact shade too.

Two months of solitude with only Kretcher's help around the kitchen to get the necessary supplies and Teddy's constant cuteness was enough for Harry to reach a decision.

He had sat one day with all the letters to read them one by one.

His friends, for one, were worried about him. After all he had disappeared right after the battle and so far no one had been able to reach him.

The Ministry, of course, demanded his presence in any and all of his capabilities. The first letters had been congratulating him, the tone praising like he was a god amongst men. Informing him he had been accepted in the Auror Academy should he wanted, there was an Order of Merlin Medal with his name on it and a date for a ceremony that would take place just for him alone. The Hero.

And when no news or confirmation or thanks had left his lips, then. Then they turned angry. They demanded his presence, and to know where exactly had Harry sequestered himself, what he was thinking disappearing from the eye of the public when they most needed him—then they accused him of trying to amass power, the next coming of a Dark Lord and. And Harry was so done.

(No one seemed to remember Teddy).

Harry sat and cried most nights.

The night he read the letters he sat in cold stone silence, Teddy's breathing his only company.

He wanted to get away.

Away from any people he knew, away from anyone who viewed him as a weapon first and a teen second, away from the public and their demands, away from the Ministry and their hypocrisy.

He stayed long enough to save Draco Malfoy's head from rolling on the ground, the witches and wizards proceeding his case dead silent when he strode up the Chamber, green eyes blazing.

They stood silent as Harry laid down the facts. Draco Malfoy had helped him and his friends escape the clutches of the Death Eaters, of Voldemort.

And when the sentencing turned on his favour, he walked right back out.

He dissapeared beneath the cloth of his father's cloak, of Death's cloak, never to be seen again.

He got on the train with Teddy in his arms, the cloak at his back, wand on his pocket and stone around his neck.

He felt hollow.

Like a piece of himself had been ripped apart with bloody hands and all that was left was the shadow of who Harry could have been, once.

His magic begged to be reunited with that which had been his for sixteen years.

So he boarded the train.

Maybe if he was a little less fuckable we wouldn’t be in this mess

MY BEAUTIFUL UGLY KING 🫡⭐️💫

okay done crying my eyes out. btw have u ever thought about how dokja's trauma from his father carries through all of orv without ever being the main focus of it? it truly did all begin with a young boy being abused, but the story doesn't focus on the abuser. it focuses on love and sacrifice and the ways in which we survive and find others in a ruined world. even when the dokkaebi king takes on his father's shape, its short-lived - almost as a nod to what a reader would "expect" of the plot, to wrap everything up in a neat bow that calls back on the 'real' evil of the story. but the evil in orv is never any one being. its the world that made a young boy lose his mother to the prison system and that made him feel isolated and objectified by the media. the traumas that dokja actively struggles with are those tied in with love. his mother, his protagonist, his writer, his children- the point is that evil is boring and ordinary and always here, apocalypse or not. it's love and its flawed, human presentations that make us who we are and that permeate our every action and decision. and that's okay. that's love.

Soldiers after the great boop war (31/10/24 colourised)