My Stranger Things 4 Controversial Opinion...

Choose your fighter partner

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babygirl I know video game lore you wouldn't even care about

Book: Cacoethes

Word count: 903

Summary: Draco and Isobel find each other after the war.

Drabble, Cut Scene, or Request: Cut Scene. This was one of the original thoughts of an ending of Cacoethes

Her body is aching, and it’s far beyond what she’s afraid she can process. She knows her adrenaline hasn’t worn off yet - she’s still on edge, heart racing fast as the dark claws of panic threaten to drag her to a place she’s not sure she’ll be able to return from. Her blood is pulsing, rushing, racing through her veins and her eyes are closed tightly - head tilted back in a fashion that would have her staring at the sky. She had collapsed onto the ground as soon as she had discovered that the war was finally over.

Her moment of chaos, of reveling in everything she had had to do, of considering her panic, was interrupted by a soft touch on her shoulder. Her eyes opened to show her Neville. She swore she felt her heart start cracking the second she realized that Draco hadn’t found her. She took his hopeful expression in, letting it warm her cooling bones as he offered her a hand out of the hole she was spiraling into.

“There’s a lot of people still alive, Is. Madam Pomfrey needs help healing them. I looked everywhere to find you.” Neville blurts out, making it difficult for her to follow as his words slurred together.

He carefully slung her arm around his shoulders before his own reached out to support her around her waist. The close proximity made it easy for her to focus on his breathing, to concentrate on something other than the ache in her chest from her pessimistic thoughts. She can’t focus on losing her rock; the one thing that never deviated from her life, that never abandoned her in her time of need. 

Her body is worn out. The way she barely trudged alongside Neville shows that. She has to concentrate on her feet, focus on them moving in time with his in Order to keep his pace. She’s grateful, entirely, for him being by her side. For him finding her. It wasn’t the person she was hoping for, waiting for, but she knew that she was just as lucky to have it be her second longest friend. She couldn’t handle losing both of them. 

A part of her wondered if Neville was aware of what she was thinking - he always had that sixth sense of what was running through her head. She could tell he was trying to keep positive and she had to let his energy flow through her. The optimism was what she needed, was what all the wizarding world needed, after such a dark night.

She was starting to get so lost in her thoughts that she barely registered that her friend had pulled her to a stop. Her eyes met his in confusion, unaware of what had caused the tears in his eyes or the giant smile tugging at his lips. He didn’t have to say much. All he had to do was look straight ahead, and her eyes followed.

She swore that her heart completely stopped. Standing there, at the entrance to the castle, was her best friend. He looked worse for wear - his green eyes filled with panic, his uniform soiled by the confines of war, his hair pointing every which way. She knew without a doubt that he had been running his hands nervously through his hair, trying to find some way to ground himself to the world because she hadn’t been near him. She knows the exact moment his eyes meet hers; his posture relaxes, his eyes glimmer with tears of relief. Her whole body becomes overwhelmed with relief, her mind immediately telling her she has to go to him. She has to make sure it’s actually him.

She separates herself from Neville, throwing her body forward without even thinking of the pain she’ll be in from all the fighting. She stumbles, barely catching her balance before she almost topples over. She feels pain erupt all around her body, but she pushes it back - shoves it in some place so dark that she’ll attend to it later, after she’s made sure her best friend is alright. The paces between them were timeless, second-less, and before she knows it she’s crashing into his body.

Her arms grasp tightly around his shoulders, one of her hands even going so far as to bury itself within his ratted hair. His arms lock around her - she can tell one is around her waist, one around her back. And she doesn’t care how tightly he’s holding onto her, because she knows that she is clinging onto him like her life depends on it. His warm breath is hitting her neck, and she can tell his face is hidden there in the crook of it. She’s not sure how she managed to wrap her legs around his waist, how her tired body is so capable of clinging to him in the midst of the pain threatening to overwhelm her.

But he’s here. He’s holding her, hugging her, clinging to her. And he’s alive. He’s breathing and real and tangible and he’s crying. She knows she should pause, she should be worried - but she doesn’t. She lets her wall come crashing down. Her emotions, her pain, her suffering - it all comes down around her in waves, drowning her as she clings to her rock. She knows she still has her home and, finally, she lets herself crumble within the safety of his hold.

free my mans jake lockley

happy pride month to the gayest old men alive. love wins 💥💥

Book: Novitious

Word count: 2,191

Summary: Cedric dies. Cho wasn’t the one dating him.

Drabble, Cut Scene, or Request: Drabble! A version of this may potentially be seen in the books.

She felt like she had been sitting here for hours. The sleek wood seat underneath her rear had grown uncomfortable, so uncomfortable that no matter how much she shifted she was unable to find peace in her lower back and thighs. At this point, she was nearly ready to burst out of her own skin - her whole body was trembling in anxiousness for Cedric, her Cedric. Amos had long ago given up on trying to comfort the young girl. Instead, he had his own worry plastered across his body - shown in the way his right leg continuously brushed up and down against her left, shown in the worn fingernails he had started chewing on, shown in the way his eyes continuously raked across the hedge mass that filled what was once the Quidditch pitch. 

Cedric’s favorite sweater had been pulled over her small frame before they had left the Hufflepuff dormitories to come to the pitch. It was a little big for her, as the sleeves fell past her hands and the left shoulder had slipped down to reveal some of her bare skin. She also had his most favorite, well-worn scarf curled loosely around her neck; he had given it to her as an extra way to keep her calm. The way his scent engulfed her from the clothes did take an edge off of her consuming anxiety, but it didn’t stop her body from shaking uncontrollably. She knew that something was wrong. Her gut was continuously twisting in on itself, making her feel nauseous and light-headed. She swore her heart was beating millions of beats per minute - she almost felt sick from how hot her skin was growing. In an effort to cook herself down, she shoved the sleeves up to her elbows. Her eyes made contact with Amos as she looked at him for the billionth time in the past ten minutes alone.

“He’ll be okay.” Amos whispered, offering her a shaky smile.

She wasn’t sure if he entirely believed the words he was saying to her. His whole posture screamed unease, and the glistening in his eyes was telling her that he felt the same undeniable sense of horror bubbling very deep within his bones. She took a deep, soft breath before forcing herself to return the smile. It felt awkward and out of place on her lips; she knew now wasn’t the time for such pleasantries. She shifted once more, leaning her right side into Neville’s left. He offered her a quick squeeze of her opposing shoulder, but his eyes were transfixed on the hedge looming in front of them. She had to assume the reason she was so anxious was because of everyone around her. Her empathic tendencies were making it way worse than it needed to be. Cedric would be fine. She didn’t think Dumbledore would want to risk losing someone so kind, so good, so strong. He would want him when the war she knew was on the horizon finally collapsed upon their reality. 

Her hand found Neville’s, lacing their fingers together. She had been continuously going back and forth between holding his hand, leaning against him for comfort - and offering her own shoulder for Amos to briefly lean against as new waves of anxiety drowned over him. She had lost track of where her boyfriend was in the maze a while ago; if she was asked, she wouldn’t be able to tell how much time had passed. It felt like an eternity since he and Harry had disappeared within the misshapen claws of the final Triwizard Tournament task. 

After she had grasped his hand, trying not to hold it too tightly, she managed to steal a glance of two forms appearing outside of the maze. Her view was then obscured by the sudden movement of everyone around her; their various builds jumping to their feet in lieu of celebratory noises. The music began to play, but she couldn’t fight the panic that began to build in her chest. It bubbled quickly. It simply started around her heart as it constricted, inching down inside her before it slammed into her lungs - taking all air out of her body as her diaphragm was soon swallowed by what she could only recognize as dread. It quickly spread after, making every inch of her body feel numb. She was caught off-guard; she wasn’t sure why she was experiencing such hysteria. Another deep breath filled her lungs as she noticed Amos was trying to get through the horde that kept him stuck by his seat.

Her body went to follow, but was quickly pulled to a halt. Neville was gripping her hand in a fashion that almost hurt. She met his eyes with confusion - he was filled with an emotion she couldn’t quite place, like it was a mixture. Dumbledore was yelling at Harry in the background. Every sound made it clear to her that she had been shoved under water, that she was on the verge of drowning in something she hadn’t yet discovered. She realized, with shock, that the emotions he was showing were a mixture of fear, sorrow, and distress. He discovered something she didn’t. Her eyebrows furrowed as she went to follow Amos again and his grip tightened, preventing her from moving.

“Nev, are you crazy? Let me go,” She tugged her arm. “Cedric’s there.”

“Isobel, you can’t go down there.” He stated.

“Neville, let me go.” She pulled against him again, starting to give him a glare.

“Is…” He trailed off.

“Neville. Let. Me. Go.” She demanded. 

Her attention was drawn away from him for a split second, allowing her to see as the crowd around her paused - almost as if they were all involuntarily holding in the same exact breath. He seemed to grip even tighter on her wrist - and she cried out in response. He was trying to keep her from seeing something traumatizing, but was hurting her in the process. She could almost feel the regret of it oozing out of his body. 

“You’re hurting me.” She almost growled, starting to become hysteric as she tried to pull away from him. ”Neville, please let go.”

He refused, but it didn’t matter. In the next second, screams from Amos were filling the air - letting everyone know his anguish in something that had to do with his son. She slammed her foot against Neville’s groin without even thinking. She jerked her hand back as he doubled over in pain but she didn’t stay to make sure he was okay. Her body moved on it’s own as she shoved through the crowd, pushing and shoving to get down the stands, down to where she had briefly seen the outline of Cedric and Harry. 

Someone was calling her name. She couldn’t tell who it was in her state of pure alarm, but if she had glanced back she would have seen Neville moving to grasp Draco’s arm - to hold him back from running to her. It was difficult to get through the mass of students, almost like they were all attempting to block her from getting down to the Diggorys. She could hear the older man sobbing, and she knew that the feeling she had in her gut since she had said goodbye to him wasn’t a mistake. Something awful, terrible, wretched had happened out in the maze. 

She finally broke through the horde, and all anyone could hear was a loud, awful, gut-wrenching shriek. Laying there, in his father’s arms, was the first person she had really loved with her whole heart. And he was pale. Lifeless. His eyes stared blankly at the sheet of stars above him, his chest giving no movement. His father was clinging to him like he was the only thing still anchoring him to the world. The grief she felt yanked her forward; it made her legs collapse, her lungs stall, her eyes widened. She was caught by the rough embrace of someone - nearly taking both of them down to the ground with the blunt force of her anguish. She barely recognized that it was Harry as he pulled her into his chest. He tried to hide her from the heart-breaking sight in front of her - even though he knew it would forever be etched in her mind.

Suddenly she was seven years old again, breaking as Draco’s arms held her. Suddenly, she was back in the home she hadn’t seen in months - back in the manor that she had lost so much of her childhood to. Draco was holding her tightly, almost like he was scared she would sink through the floor and disappear if he didn’t try to hold all of her pieces together. Suddenly, it was her mother splayed out on the marble floor, her spiritless body outlined by a growing crimson puddle. She wasn’t fifteen, collapsed on the field of a Quidditch pitch in the arms of Harry. She was at home, witnessing the cruelty of her father; witnessing her world crashing down around her. She was experiencing a pain she thought nothing could ever beat. Her sobs were filling the large foyer of her father’s home, echoing throughout the empty space that was just so previously filled with screams from her mother, that was filled with Draco begging her to stay back with him. 

And it didn’t matter if she was fifteen or seven. Because her heart broke all the same. The pain in her chest was immense, vast, monumental. It engulfed her. Her heart had been seized out of her chest and thrown at the ground, just before it was stomped, crushed, pulverized underneath the cruel heel of life. She shattered as her brain filtered through a long list of everything she would never get to see through with Cedric, filtered through the myriad of things his father would never live to see, filtered through the life they one day could have had. And she was that fifteen year old collapsed on the pitch. She was the fifteen year old girl struggling to stay afloat as her grief threatened to drown her. She was the fifteen year old girl who had just lost the one thing that had seen her through her darkest moments. 

There she was, wishing the same blond-haired boy was there holding her as her whole world churned, tumbled, disintegrated. But she had a brown-haired boy instead, one with uncontrollable locks and teary eyes hidden behind crooked frames. She took what she was given, accepted that she had lost that blond-haired boy two years ago, accepted that she had Harry. She forced her hands to relieve their tight grip on his jersey before she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, leaning her forehead against his shoulder as he hugged her tightly to his shaking form. He was crying right along with her and she wanted to help him, wanted to comfort him and reassure him that everything would eventually be okay. But she didn’t want to lie to him, she couldn’t. She didn’t believe that they would be okay again. Cedric was a loss to the Wizarding World. He was a loss that she didn’t know that she could bounce back from, that anyone could bounce back from. He was a lively, beautiful soul that had offered her a safe haven - he had given so many people hope that things would turn out okay. 

Instead, Harry was here - comforting the girl who was always there for other people. It broke her even more to think of how she was failing to help those she loved, but she couldn’t calm herself down enough to help him out. Her chest was still heaving with panic and, though the tears had stopped, her shoulders still shook from the force of now silent sobs. She was terrified that he would let her go, that he would help her back to her dorm and leave her alone. She didn’t want to be left alone; she hadn’t been since she had first met Cedric, since she had moved in with Sirius. She couldn’t handle this loss. She didn’t know what would happen if she was left alone. 

“Harry, do you think you could carry her? Let’s clear the area. We’ve already got most of the audience out.” A rough, cracking voice spoke up - pulling her attention away from her screeching thoughts.

She only moved to cling more securely to Harry, squeezing her eyes closed as the owner of the voice pulled them off the ground. She didn’t want to get another glimpse of Cedric. It was already carved into her brain. It took her far too long to process that the voice belonged to Mad-Eye Moody, but she didn’t care. She was more worried that Harry would decide she was okay alone and would leave her. Even so, she was more worried about the feeling of dread growing once again in her stomach. It was almost unsaid between the two of them that they knew that Cedric’s death marked the beginning of the war. This would only be the first of many deaths that would completely alter her existence.

preliminary cover drop 😌

Loki season 2 this, I Am Groot season 2 that. When does my son Moon Knight come home from the war, huh? What about that?

Ghost Of You

Summary:

Peter Parker, a high school junior, has done his best to manage his secret identity and school work. He had a healthy system set in place that somehow, miraculously, helped him manage everything in his life. At least he did until he runs into you one night while out prowling the streets for criminals. Your hands are buzzing with electricity, and the joy spread out across your face at the mere thought of helping make the streets safer is alluring. He vows to get to know you - to know everything about you. Something inside him is telling him that you’re the one person he knows he’s not afraid to unmask himself to. In his determination to learn everything about you, he ends up discovering a fatal secret that he’s not sure he can save you from.

Chapters:

Prologue

Extra Scenes:

Inspired Works:

Song Inspiration

The amount of effort ficwriter does in order to write a fic. "nah the story doesn't need to be that accurate it's just a fic I'm not getting any money out of it" and then as they keep writing and posting their browse history is something like "moon calendar in 1981"