#I still haven’t gotten over the fact that their ship name is

[withasideofshakespeare]

Transfemme Ferdinand (The Tempest) NOW

[petrichorium]

the merman is back.

it’s a little weird how used to him you’ve gotten. he’d only shown up for the first time a few months ago, but when you’re largely alone out on the boat or in your oceanfront lab there’s no shortage of ways for him to visit with nobody around.

he’s yet to tell you a name, but after the first few weeks of silence he suddenly revealed a passable understanding of english; when he speaks it's rudimentary, but he clearly understands everything you say, even if he doesn’t listen half the time.

you haven’t gotten the nerve to get in the water with him. in fact, you haven’t gotten in the water at all since he arrived, even when your colleagues are around and he’s notably not. he’s massive, his tail alone being well over two meters long and possessing the torso of a man who would tower over you on dry land (a handsome man, you're begrudged to admit, with those broad shoulders and blood red eyes and that ash blond hair that somehow looks good immediately coming out of the water). he’s assured you in his blunt, curt way that of course he doesn’t want to eat you but you still have anxieties about getting out into the open water you’ve always loved and being pulled under by a fucking sea monster.

he’s getting bolder, though. when you take the boat out today, he follows it, like the dolphins used to back when you operated out of the keys; that sleek black body would be terrifying just from the size, like seeing a fully grown orca bump up against the hull.

and when you weigh anchor, almost immediately, the boat keels aftward when he pulls himself onto the deck.

you shriek and he immediately pins you with a steely glare. he’s never done that before. it’s fucking terrifying, though he’s not managed to drag his whole body up and you’re a little comforted by that. it’s just his arms—two massive, heavily muscled things that are flexed and crossed in front of him, holding his head, shoulders, and much of his human-like torso up out of the water with ease. that enormous tail trails behind him and it’s still terrifying to see, your heart skipping a beat every time the shimmering orange markings catch your eye.

you don’t know what you’ll do if he decides to come all the way onto the boat. he wouldn’t be able to maneuver that well, but where the fuck would you go? into the damn water?

“fucking christ!” you yelp. “don’t just do that, motherfucker!”

“calm,” he snaps as he rolls his eyes.

the urge to flip him the bird is overshadowed by the knowledge that he wouldn’t understand, and you’re too frazzled to explain what go fuck yourself means. instead, you turn back around to clean up the cabin that he’s managed to mess up.

“oi, human, come.”

you huff, shouting your name at him and pointedly refusing to turn away from your task. he’s clearly annoyed at that, and you belatedly realize that perhaps if you’re really that terrified of him coming onto the boat you shouldn’t provoke him. luckily, rather than heaving himself up, he jerks the entire hull.

it’s a smooth motion for him, gripping the stern and rolling his tail so that the boat moves with him. it’s like being out in a storm, and though you’re well aware that it’s just your needy visitor, your sea-hardened stomach still lurches at the familiar feeling.

you stumble out of the cabin, careful not to be thrown over the edge. “i’m out! holy shit, i have a damn job you know, i can’t spend all my time catering to your whims.”

he stops as soon as you get back on deck. “calm,” he tells you again, and you're really starting to hate the word, “too loud.”

“who’s fucking fault is that? don’t rock my damn ship.”

“sit,” he demands rather than apologizing.

there are a plethora of reasons not to. you won’t be able to get away quickly if you need to, you shouldn’t be encouraging his demands by obliging immediately, you really do have a job to do instead of… whatever this is—instead of listening to any one of those reasons, you ease yourself down with your legs crossed a little ways away from where he’s holding himself.

he snarls, baring a mouthful of sharp teeth. “closer.”

“no,” you snap. “not if you’re threatening me.”

his mouth shuts immediately, brow furrowed and lips pouting in an expression that’s less pleading or apologetic and more contemplative.

“not a threat,” he seems to settle on saying.

you roll your own eyes. “yeah. okay.”

“come here.”

“why?”

“wanna feel you.”

that throws you for a loop. what could he mean by that? you realize that perhaps he’s as fascinated by you as you are by him.

you’ve caught him staring at your body in the past. he’s never reacted like you’d expect—if you’d caught a human looking at you like that and then turning away when you caught his eye, he’d have been checking you out. but when it’s an apex predator of a different species, there’s an entirely different context, one you’re even less enthused about.

you’re standing before you’ve fully thought it through, fully freaked and ready for him to go. you barely get to uncross your legs, however, before he lunges.

it’s far faster than your not-normally-hunted-because-you’re-a-modern-person mind can follow. a cold, clawed hand snaps out to latch around your ankle and yanks you downward, slamming your back into the boat’s coarse deck and then dragging you towards the edge. there’s not even time for you to shriek.

this is it, you think. he’s going to eat you now; he’ll drag you under and rip you apart, or maybe he’ll drown you first as a mercy. you hope he doesn’t want to play with you further, drag you into the water and let go to make you swim because he wants a chase.

the moment your ankle hits the water he stops.

you’re breathing heavily, free leg still braced on the deck, arms finding purchase on a pole nearby. his whole body is underwater aside from his eyes and the very top of his head, but you can still see that massive dark shadow—only little flashes of that pretty orange-gold patterning visible as his scales glint beneath the sun—and it sends a thrill through you. he’s so ungodly enormous.

that hand is still around your ankle, but it’s looser now. his mouth is beneath the waves so he doesn’t speak, but his eyes are soft and almost regretful as he regards you.

“okay…” you move slowly, getting to a better position. it pulls your captive ankle from the water and the movement causes his grip to tighten as if he’s reluctant to remove it—he doesn’t stop you, but he doesn’t let you go. you’re forced to sit on the edge of the deck with your feet dangling over the side.

“let me feel you,” he tries again, as if he’s giving you a choice.

“ask,” you decide upon demanding. his words have made you realize, with a burst of shame and a promise to never tell anyone in the future, that you’re not entirely opposed to the strange rude merman feeling you.

you’re gifted a growl, not unlike the snarl from before but lacking the teeth. he’s learning, you realize, not only in not baring those terrifying weapons at you but also in removing his hand from your ankle.

“can i… touch you,” he spits out, like the words and your request are insulting.

and again you think there are far too many reasons to give in just like that. you’ve been around enough children to know that rewarding problematic behavior is hardly the way forward, but there’s a certain part of your brain that’s in control right now and it’s not particularly interested in breaking him of his demanding attitude (quite the contrary, to your chagrin, this very annoying part of your brain is enjoying it).

“are you sure you’re not going to eat me?”

“no eating.” he huffs, wrinkling his nose.

“what, i smell bad or something.”

he regards you, approaching a little closer, and you resist the urge to pull your legs up to hold your knees to your chest.

“smell good,” he says, “not like food.”

all right.

“fine, then. if you’re not going to take a bite out of my calf, then… sure. feel me, i guess.”

he’s just as fast as before, not even waiting for you to finish your sentence before he’s lashing out and grabbing your leg again. this time, he’s not looking at your face; he’s focused entirely on your feet, those big hands inspecting them thoroughly.

it’s rough, and you’re a little glad because if he’d been gentle it would have likely been too ticklish. he’s still careful with his massive claws; you’re sure they’re sharp enough to pierce your skin with ease, and he’s clearly skilled enough to avoid it. you’re more than thankful, because you’ve seen how he hunts with them (he’s dropped disemboweled fish in front of you before as strange gifts) and you don’t want your legs to end up like his prey even if he doesn’t eat you.

he moves on from your feet, both hands latching onto one calf and almost massaging it in reverence. his face is even closer now; you really ought to be more worried by the proximity of those teeth to your skin, but the fascination on his face is so enthralling.

by the time he reaches the back of your knee, you're tensing. while before he’d been mostly in the water, he’s very nearly at your height now, holding himself up by his grip on you and an awkward hold on the deck with his spare hand.

and then he’s at your thigh, and your breath is heavy.

because he’s basically laid out on your lap, one arm wrapped entirely around your upper leg such that his large palm rests flush, fingers spread, against the plush flesh of your inner thigh. and he’s no less fascinated, expression no less sincere, as he pulls further up to get closer.

“warm,” he says, more to himself than you. he blinks, as if shaking away a daze, and his eyes jump up from your thighs to look at your stomach. “soft…”

his head drops. you jump, caught up in the strange haze he's brought with him but snapping out of it as he lays his head on your lap. your heart thumps erratically, your breath long bated. he’s not looking at your thigh anymore, and not your face either—he’s locked on your stomach, your loose t-shirt having ridden up slightly to reveal more bare skin.

you ought to see it coming, really, but when that big, cold hand moves from your thigh to your torso, sliding smoothly beneath your shirt and running up your bare stomach, you yelp and jolt back.

he startles, and then he’s gone, slipping back off you and disappearing down into the murky water. you’re left panting, with nothing but a very wet body and the ghost of his touch on your legs…

and the heat of your face at the knowledge that, while you’d been surprised, you kind of wanted him to go further.

[tgmsunmontue]

It's not who you know 3/4

YEAR 3 - Non-angsty Nepo!Baby Bradley and his years at the USNA and his head-in-the-sand approach to the nepotism and the fact that he ends up being known as the guy with the two hot dads instead...

YEAR THREE - 2003 - PART 3

                Bradley’s time in San Diego is now numbered in days rather than weeks and Tom helps him pack for his first extended stay on a cruiser. Tom wonders if his name was even put into a hat for a place on a submarine; unlike his relationship with Man and him, it’s no secret that Bradley wants to fly. If a carrier had been an option he’s pretty sure Bradley would have gotten that. He’s seen Bradley’s report though, knows he’s excelling in all areas, clearly determined to succeed and he’s so proud. Of course, Bradley still needs to take part in the standard summer activities, despite having grown up and having them happening around him constantly, getting dragged across the country to attend various things in his shadow.

                “You know I’ll be visiting the USS Princeton while you’re onboard.”

                “Yeah yeah, I promise not to have to be thrown overboard for insubordination.”

                “No, that wasn’t… I was more thinking that you might find yourself hearing things about me which are going to make you want to pop someone in the nose.”

                “Like what?”

                “Oh god, all sorts of shit. People think I don’t know what they say behind my back but trust me, I know.”

                “I haven’t heard anything!”

                “You’ve not done any active service yet. Fresh greenie not even a proper upperclassman yet. You’ll hear stuff.”

                The expression on Bradley’s face is equally angry and annoyed and Tom holds back a groan.

                “Bradley, I’m serious. You’re really going to have to hold back if you get angry. Don’t worry about my honor okay. You’ve spent the last couple of years pretending you don’t know me and Mav at all, don’t blow your cover over something stupid that doesn’t matter. You understand?”

                “Yeah. Thanks Ice. And thanks for going along with this whole thing, I know it probably feels a bit stupid some days, but it’s really nice knowing that the friends I’ve made are my friends because of me you know, not because of what connections I might have.”

                “Yeah kid, I get it. Fair warning they might feel pretty pissed when they do find out though.”

                “Nah, I’ve picked good friends. I reckon they’ll understand.”

                “Okay. Now did you need anything else? I know Mav has been riding you hard about your flight hours…”

                Mav of course has made the most of whatever spare time they’ve had and ensured Bradley built up his flight hours again so his license doesn’t lapse. Tom doesn’t think there are going to be very many other upperclassman with as much flight experience as Bradley. Talk about being overqualified. However he also knows it makes for a damn strong application so he’s supported Mav in his undertaking.

                They say goodbye to Bradley on the porch, tell him they’ll see him onboard when he’s mixing with the enlisted personnel and Tom wishes they could watch him board, feels like it’s another milestone he’s going to miss. Reminds himself firmly that he’ll see him again onboard the same damn ship and he’ll have plenty of opportunities in the future to wave Bradley off on deployment.

…             …             …

                He doesn’t punch anyone, didn’t even need the warning, wonders what Ice thinks people say about him. He’d heard them talk, but nothing more than him being brass and being very cool-headed in times of crisis. It’s all been pretty benign stuff really, and no-one had stopped talking when he entered a room or anything.

                For the first time ever he puts up a photo of Ice and Mav beside his bed. It’s weird, but he can see why people don’t see Admiral Kazansky. He’s got a few copies of the photo, Slider having printed him off a bunch in thanks for forwarding him the electronic file and that is probably going to come back and bite him in the ass at some stage. Now he’s back in Bancroft, preparing to help with Plebe Summer, this time older and not being expected to have to deal with people yelling in his face while not reacting. It’s going to be a cake-walk in comparison to two years ago and he’s looking forward to it.

                “You’re not meant to be in here,” Bradley says, seeing Natasha at the end of his dorm bed.

                “I was sent to collect you, I have permission,” she says, hand waving away his concerns. “Let me look at that photo. Holy shit… I thought your first dad was hot, but your other dad? I mean… wow. I know I told you I like girls more than boys, but these are the type of boys that I prefer…” she says, tapping the photo. “Huh. Maybe it’s just men and women, because to be honest I don’t find anyone here very attractive.”

                “Gross,” Bradley states, because he’s very firmly kept the company of his own hand when he’s been on base. His summers are probably a lot wilder than Mav or Ice think they are, but he tries to make use of every night he has home once they’re

                “To you maybe… pretty sure you’d find my brother hot.”

                “If I did, I wouldn’t tell you!”

                “That’s because you’re repressed.”

                “Rather be repressed than find either of my dads hot thanks!”

                “Okay. That’s fair. And you probably won’t be too ugly once you grow into your face…”

                “Wow, you really know how to flatter a guy…”

…             …             …

                Plebe Summer starts and Bradley throws himself into being the best role model he can. He knows that in the future some of these people will be his peers, maybe even be his superior, but right now they have to get through what he still considers the hardest summer of their life. Of course hardly anyone drops out, the selection criteria is far too difficult and physically rigorous to make it something someone would easily just drop-out from without serious consideration first. There’s friendly competition and even friendlier encouragement, the brigades working together.

                There’s one guy that keeps catching his eye and he’s not sure if it’s deliberate on the guy’s part, somehow magically putting himself nearly always in Bradley’s line of sight. Or whether he’s only got himself to blame, eyes just drifting to watch. Either way he’s really fucking horny and the guy is hot. Not that he will do anything, but it doesn’t stop him thinking about it.

                “Now there is a guy who doesn’t need to grow into his looks…”

                He silently agrees.

                God what he wouldn’t do to get his hands on him.

                Ah well. His own hands on his own body and his mind on another it is.

…             …             …

                “Do I have a sign on me that says to tell me if you’re gay? Or a lesbian? Or bisexual?”

                “Um… not literally. But there is the common knowledge that you have smoking hot dads and therefor okay with the gay.”

                Bradley groans.

                “I had another guy come out to me today. No reason. Just to tell me. Also he said he thinks we’re cute together.”

                “Ew.”

                “I just nodded and smiled.”

…             …             …

                Michael Williams sighs. It’s the second… complaint? Notification? Information? Tips? Regardless, they’re both about Bradley Bradshaw’s relationship with Natasha Trace. They’ve been spied coming out of rooms together, otherwise small, dark, empty rooms like the store rooms. Fraternization. Actions unbecoming. Fuck. The kid wants to be treated like all the other kids, he’d be getting pulled into Mack’s office for a dressing down, short and sharp. Both of them would be.

                Part of him wants to, still a little ticked off at the whole stunt Bradshaw is pulling. He’s not familiar with him outside of watching him last year, seeing a whole raft of his superior officers watch as Admiral Kazansky toured the campus dressed as a civilian. But also Bradshaw is good. He does everything well, more than well. And he’s cheerful and helpful and encourages the underclassmen and there had been no fault in any of his behavior.

                Until now.

                He walks down the corridor to Admiral Kerner’s office, nervous as he knocks on the open door.

                “Sir. Do you have a moment?”

                “Of course, come in.”

                He does, closes the door behind him and notes the eyebrow raise and the lean back in the chair. He has his full attention.

                “Sir. I need you to do a favor and make a call to your friend Kazansky.”

                “Why, what’s happened?”

                “I’ve got two instances of fraternization for Bradley Bradshaw and Natasha Trace.”

                “And you want to do what? Tattle on him to his uncle?”

                “No, I was actually after guidance on how I should proceed. I would pull them both into my office and give them a stern talking to, and a warning. Is that appropriate?”

                “Bradshaw and Trace are the same rank Captain, it’s not exactly forbidden, just heavily frowned upon. The fact you have had two complaints tells me that this is more likely a case of sour grapes on whoever is complaining, so I’d be having a talk with them as well. But let me see if I can get Ice on the blower…”

                Michael will never understand naval aviators and their call signs, but he stands and waits as Admiral Kerner dials, then asks to be put through. Obviously whoever it is on the other end knows not to mess with one Admiral ringing another. He listens to the one-sided conversation and watches Admiral Kerner’s face with interest.

                “Hey Ice, it’s Sli. Yes, well, I didn’t think I’d be speaking to you today either. Look. Yeah. This is about Bradley. Did you talk to him about behavior?” Face curious, openly contemplative.

                “Okay, so you covered that with him. Then why are we looking at two instances of fraternization?” Eyes narrowed and considering.

                “No, it’s with a fellow midshipman. Also an upperclassman.” Serious.

                “Yes, I’m aware it’s not actual fraternization.” An eyeroll.

                “Yes, it is.” Face back to curious, speculative.

                “Oh. Huh.” Surprise.

                “I did think it was maybe a case of sour grapes, jealousy at his general capabilities and the fact that he’s generally well liked amongst his peers. Except by a couple apparently.”

                “Yes well, he’ll be fine. We’ll pull them in and give them a heads up. Both of them. Midshipman Trace is equally talented and capable.”

                “Yeah, was nice talking to you too. Will have to have a proper catchup when it’s not about work.”

…             …             …

                Jake isn’t sure what he has to do to get the guys sole undivided attention, but he’s not going to give up trying. He’s so good at everything, competent in this easy way that turns him on in ways he’s never thought were possible, and he’s a teenager and being horny is pretty much a permanent state for him. Except when he’s too tired to even think, which unfortunately for his first year at USNA is a whole lot of the time. Either it gets easier or people just learn how to cope with everything better because Midshipman Bradshaw makes it look easy.

…             …             …

                “Oh god, it was horrible. I can’t do it again. How do they do it?”

                “What are you talking about?”

                “Submarines! Going under the water…”

                “Uh…” Tom exchanges a look with Pete and opens his mouth. Closes it again. Bradley is back home for part of summer, having just experienced his first dive and he’s at a bit of a loss.

                “Bradley. Buddy. Uh. You realize you’re in the Navy right? And that has, uh, a lot to do with the water?” Mav says.

                “But I’m going to fly planes!”

                “Maybe he should have joined the airforce,” Tom muses.

                “You wash your mouth out right now!”

…             …             …

                “Seriously, if I was going to fuck around I’d do it somewhere far less obvious than the fucking storeroom!”

                Tom winces, because clearly Pete has heard the rumors about Bradley and Natasha Trace. God he loves the rumor mill of the US Navy, bunch of gossipers the lot of them. He hadn’t bothered mentioning anything, because he knew nothing was happening. Mav is of course mentioning it. In the worst possible way. Clearly having forgotten that Bradley came out as gay several years ago and that Natasha Trace is a woman. He’s going to need a coffee.

                “Bradley! What do you mean Bradley? Don’t walk away from me young man!”

                “You said we leave our ranks at the door with our shoes, so this conversation is over! And I said if!”

                “I know what if means in this house, and it definitely means something definitely happened!”

…             …             …

                “Do I even want to know?” Tom asks, taking a quiet sip of coffee.

                “Mav’s scared I might be having sex.”

                Tom raises an eyebrow, he’s fully aware Bradley’s been sneaking out for the last couple of years. He guesses Bradley’s now feeling mature enough to talk about it. Good.

                “Are you being safe?”

                “Yes.”

                “Good enough for me. Don’t get caught.”

                Bradley scoffs.

                “I learnt from the best remember!”

                “He got caught plenty of times,” Tom says dryly.

                “I meant you Ice.”

                “Oh.”

                It’s been a long time since he’s blushed.

PART FOUR

[domxmarvel]

Truth

Masterlist

Pairing: Loid x Female!Reader x Yor

Prompt: 6 I've heard of a love that comes once in a lifetime And I'm pretty sure that you are that love of mine

This week felt like it refused to end,you kept getting mission after mission. You were exhausted and felt you haven't spent any time with Yor and Loid or Anya,it made you feel sad to lose time with them. You had gotten so attached to them and wanted to spend as much time as you could with them,in fact your new life with them made you realize how much time you wasted working,but you couldn’t exactly stop now. All you could do was try to finish up as quickly as you could and get back to your family.

***

The mission was simple: take out the CEO of some company,you didn’t care to ask questions as long as you were getting paid. You had gotten your hand on info that told you he’d be meeting someone at a warehouse on the harbor late at night. Turns out that info was right,since you saw his car pull up next to one of the warehouses. You snuck in and hid behind one of the massive shipping crates,but it turns out you weren’t the only one. Across from you you saw a man who was knocked out and tied up. You soon hear a man talking to your target,you assume this man must’ve been the one to knock out the man in front of you. Staying hidden you listened in on their conversation,but something about that man's voice sounded familiar. You peaked out to get a better look,he didn’t look familiar but you swore you knew that voice. And when he spoke again you realized

“Loid” You whispered his name without realizing the shock paralyzing you,causing you to take a step back but you ended up knocking into something,making a lot of noise. Suddenly your target pulled out a gun,aiming it at Loid.��

“I told you to show up alone!” He yelled,your instinct kicked in and you sprinted to protect him,not thinking about yourself. You ended up getting shot twice in your arm and shoulder,but you managed to shoot him in the leg. You were aiming higher but you couldn’t lift your arm further. Thankfully Loid caught you before you fell to the ground,taking your gun but he was stopped by Yor.

“Keep an eye on her,I’ll take care of him” She ran off,leaving you there with Loid holding you. He took off his mask and for once you saw fear on his face.

“What are you doing here? Why did you do that?” He tried to stop your bleeding,but he was clearly panicking.

“Because I couldn’t let you get hurt” He just sighed before putting his hand on your cheek,it was a moment when he let his walls down but only for a moment. They came back up just as quickly, as he focused on your wounds. 

“You shouldn’t have done that”

“I’d do it a hundred times over for you,Yor and Anya” His walls crumbled back down in seconds and he kissed you. You could hear the sound of Yor’s heels clacking against the ground,the sound getting louder as she got closer. 

“Y/N,are you okay?” She didn’t let you answer before turning to Loid “Loid is she going to be okay?”

“She’ll be fine,we need to get home. I have the stuff I need in my room,but we need to hurry” Loid picked you up,holding you close to him. 

***

You didn’t really spend much time in Loid’s room,it was organized but void of personality. You were sitting on his bed,your back facing him as he patched you up. Yor was waiting outside,making sure Anya didn’t find out. Once he was done,you turned to face him. He took off his glasses and set them aside,he still looked worried but he suddenly said.

“So you’re an assassin?”

“So you’re a spy?” You asked back,you sighed “Listen I did what I had to survive,but this is what I’m good at”

“It was the only thing I was good at too” Yor had walked in without you hearing her.

“So were all lying to each other” Loid added

“Not exactly” They both looked at you confused “I wasn’t lying about how much I love both of you,and I want to be with both of you despite you being a spy” You turned to Loid and then to Yor “And you being an assassin” Suddenly Loid hugged you,he wasn’t very physically affectionate so you were caught off guard but Yor quickly joined you. “Loid,Yor I love you both so much” Yor kissed you on the cheek. 

“We love you too”

[autumnslance]

Hey there! I saw there were entries on the Ivalice raid locations— are there any more interesting Dalmasca tidbits from them that we haven’t gotten before?

Hihi! And there's not really too much new on Dalmasca; they clarify that Noah van Gabranth ordered the aerial bombardment of Rabanastre in response to the liberation of Doma and Ala Mhigo, to thwart the rebellion factions still loyal to the B'nargin dynasty who were inspired to rise up once again. It was a drastic measure, and the few survivors of the city's destruction fled to oases scattered across the desert.

Nothing new on Lessalia, just summary of "the Lexentales and adventurers found it and fought Lucavi."

Ridorana Lighthouse they go a little more into its construction. The Dalmascans operated the main lighthouse part to warn ships away from the cataract, but 30 years of Garlean occupation has seen the lighthouse abandoned. There's water drawn up the tower and then its downward movement back to the sea powers things...somehow, but no one's quite sure how it works.

It was the WoL's party who figured out how to get to the floating islands and upper reaches, to the ruins of Goug. Wind Crystals were utilized to create the landmasses, and arrays of vanes to harness wind power for the city are all over, as opposed to the water-based power below.

For Orbonne and Mullonde, they go a bit more into the legend of Ajora, a hero who claimed to be the son of gods, who led rebellions against the corrupted officials in the later years of the Holy Ydoran Empire. Mullonde was destroyed when Ajora, in desperation for victory, performed a forbidden summoning and the being called forth unleashed devastation. Jenomis cen Lexentale's The Zodiac Brave Story is mentioned, as a telling of those myths and Ramza Beoulve's victory over Ultima, but he admits it's a fiction not in line with facts.

Of The High Seraph herself, the text for her claims she was simply a force of pure ruination at first; it was the terror people held of her shifting to a reverent fear that eventually affected her enough to quicken self-awareness. How much of that is true given what's learned in Pandaemonium later is debatable. Once again, the lorebook leaves a lot open to interpretation given they are "set" in times where the transcribers don't have all the facts, allowing things to change in later plotlines.

And since they're related...

There's a nice picture of Bozja before the disaster, all local brown stone and geometric decorative patterns; both the nation and its capital shared the name, and they detail a little more the devastation it suffered, the crater of the "Firelight Coffin," the previous site of the Lunar Transmitter tower and the center of the city, the crystallization waves covering the rest of the buildings.

The fortress of Alermuc to the north of the city, and the buildings near it, survived the disaster. Alermuc means "Eagle" in the Bozjan tongue, and it was mostly abandoned by Basch van Gabranth. His son Noah, however, used it, and renamed it Castrum Lacus Litore (lakeside) as it also is at the side of Igalj Kelo, the region's largest salt water lake.

Not really anything new about Delubrum Reginae, the old royal palace of the Queens, mostly summarizing the battle to get through the tempered and transformed Gunnhildr's Blades to try to stop the primal Queen.

Zadnor in the northeast was chosen because of the ancient Allagan armaments thought to be buried there. A little about the construct Saunion, whose fusion of a traditional ceruleum engine with a unique crystal reactor to manipulate aether is said to be an example of the IVth's independent research and innovations. The Diablo Armament is thought to be a vessel for a Diablo-class voidsent gifted to Emperor Xande by the Cloud of Darkness back during their partnership, and would have been used against the ancient Bozjans, until the Fourth Umbral Calamity buried the thing.

So it's mostly a clarification and compilation of little bits we got in game, some new ways of presenting it, some placement of geography and where things are in relation to one another. It's mostly summary of the WoL's adventure in the region, though there are new, small tidbits like those outlined above, which is handy for those who haven't done the content nor unearthed every little secret lore tidbit scattered between the instances and zones and NPC lore dumps.

[ragingbookdragon]

A Sailor With Nothing

Vasco x De Sardet

Word Count: 1.4K Warnings: None

Author's Note: Hi, I started playing GF again and I'm back on my Vasco whoring shit. -Thorne

**********************************************************************

Vasco wakes slowly, like the waves that crash against the hull of the ship when they’re docked at port; it does sound unusually quiet on the ship though and something tells him to get up and go see what his men are doing lazing about, but he can’t find it in himself to rise. Sun streams through the window in his cabin as he shifts in the bed, arching his lower back as he digs his face further into the pillow. The warmth bleeds along his back and he lets out a long sigh as he begins to lull deeper into sleep once more. That is until the scent of cinnamon and leather reaches his senses, and he cracks a single golden eye open, taking in the crimson walls and unfamiliar portraits on the walls.

He realizes all at once that he is in fact, not aboard his ship nor is he in his bed in his captain’s quarters, but in an unfamiliar yet very familiar bed. He lifts his head, blinking blearily around the room, then he turns to his side where he sees De Sardet quietly flicking through a few documents that Petrus wanted him to review from the night before.

“You snore like an old dog when you’re completely exhausted,” he says without moving his sharp eyes from the pages. “Did you know that?”

Vasco blinks again, flopping over onto his side to lazily stare at De Sardet. “How long have you been awake?”

“A few hours, give or take a couple minutes.”

“You should’ve woken me,” Vasco mutters, rolling onto his back, though he inconspicuously shifts closer to De Sardet’s side. “I’m sure the others are wondering why we haven’t set out yet.”

“And yet, none have come up here to tell me that they want to, so I think we’re in the clear.” De Sardet absentmindedly curls his arm around Vasco’s head, palm flat along his toned and tan chest, thumb brushing circles in his skin. “How are you feeling?”

“Not as sore as I assumed I would be.”

“I can’t help but wonder if perhaps that is a good thing because I was thorough on preparation or if it is a bad thing because I didn’t perform well. The latter would severely damage my pride.”

Vasco can’t help but snicker and he turns his head, lips brushing against De Sardet’s hand as he replies, “Preparation was good, and you were even better.”

“Well, now I feel like you’re just stroking my ego.”

“I am, but don’t let it go to your head,” he murmurs, turning back to face him. “It’s in fact, quite large.”

De Sardet still hasn’t looked at him, and Vasco hopes that the next words that come from the Legate’s mouth after this aren’t what his worst fears are. Because he’s slept with nobles before but he also knows that this might be the last time he ever does.

He clears his throat quietly, gazing out the window as he repeats aloud, “Those who fear the waters should stay within the shore’s sight. Those who fear the pain that love procures, should shun the flames when love endures. And both shall be safe from founder and blight.” His fingers dig into his ribs in hesitation. “That’s the next part of the poem. De Sardet…are you afraid of sinking?”

“Hmm…”

It’s a quick and clean grunt that severs every muscle in Vasco’s young and fiery heart. A flame so carefully tended suddenly snuffed out, deprived of life. And it hurts. It hurts worse than the first time he’d ever gotten his heart broken.

“I understand,” he murmurs, trying not to let his heart fall out of his throat, tears in his eyes as he slips from the warmth of the noble beside him, feet touching the cold floor that causes the second break in reality as it really comes to life that De Sardet didn’t want him like he did. How could he be so foolish as to offer a noble his heart? Him, a man with nothing to his name, nothing to offer De Sardet in terms of equality. A single sailor with nothing. “I swear I won’t let this affect our work. I’ll see to it that—”

“For if water could quench loves dying embers, your love that burns and pain and severs, I would douse this fire with the sea of all my tears.”

Vasco stops dead in his tracks, staring up at De Sardet in shock, fingers stilling from where he was tying his pant laces. Did he just—

“Such an impatient lover I have,” he notes, finally looking up over the documents; his eyes pierce the very depths of Vasco’s soul as he adds, almost chastising, “You are not the only one who has read that poem more times than he cares to admit in order to one day speak it to the one he loves.”

“You…you feel the same?”

De Sardet merely raises a hand, crooks a finger in a beckoning motion that books no room for any other answer than to obey; and Vasco obeys, crawling back onto the bed as he watches the Legate set the documents on the table followed by the glasses he’d been wearing, and Vasco has half a mind to make a joke about him being hard of sight and that’s why his accuracy is terrible.

He pulls Vasco down atop him, wrapping his arms around the Naut’s bare back, one arm secured tightly around his middle, the other hand firmly at the back of his neck, thumb brushing the base of his skull.

“I thought you didn’t feel the same as I.”

“Now we know to wait before we jump to conclusions, Captain Vasco,” he retorts, tugging at a caramel strand; he sighs wistfully, hugging the sailor impossibly close as he buries his nose in Vasco’s hair, breathing in the scent of gunpowder and sea salt. “I would follow you to the ends of the earth if it meant I would be with you forever, Vasco,” he murmurs, hand shifting from the back of his neck to cup his chin, tilting the sailor’s face to look at him; he gently caresses the cheek of his lover and confesses, “I love you.”

Vasco’s entire body feels as light as the sail catching a breeze and he smiles at De Sardet. “We shall set sail on the bitter seas together, my Tempest.”

The man’s expression softens in a way that Vasco has never seen before and suddenly knows that it is only for him; he lays his head back down on De Sardet’s chest, eyes slipping shut as he breathes in deeply, all negative feelings leaving his body.

And as much as he doesn’t want to say it, he does. “And we should begin to get ready. We can’t waste daylight. We’ve too much to do.”

De Sardet lets out a long and whiney sounding groan, wallowing against the bedsheets as Vasco laughs. “I do not want to move. I want to stay here all day.”

I want to stay here all day with you. Is the unspoken that has goosebumps rising all over Vasco’s body and he rises slightly, shimmying up De Sardet’s body until he can bury his face in the noble’s neck. “We can spend one more hour here.”

“I am the Legate of the Congregation of Merchants. If I so choose to stay in bed all day with my lover then I shall.”

It makes Vasco giddy to hear him be called De Sardet’s lover. “One hour.”

“You’re no fun.”

“Someone has to keep you accountable.”

“Then in turn, someone must also keep me satisfied,” De Sardet purrs, and it takes all of one intake of breath before Vasco is staring dazedly up at the Legate who is wearing a rather hungry look. “Well, well, well, look what we have here. I seem to have found my source of satisfaction.”

Vasco squirms under De Sardet’s heavy grip, suddenly very aware of how close their hips are, practically slotted together. “De Sardet…” he starts. “We don’t have enough time for this.”

“Oh, we have enough,” he replies, dipping down to take the sailor’s lips in a searing kiss that has Vasco panting when they part, body set aflame with desire; De Sardet nudges their noses. “I love you,” he murmurs, fingers tracing at the black-inked tattoos along Vasco’s chest and abdomen.

The Naut swallows thickly, unable to fight the fluttering in his chest as he breathes softly, “I love you, my Tempest.”

[mrs-monaghan]

Disclaimer: if read this and think I hate Tae then that’s a you problem not a me problem

I don’t hate Tae, I really don’t, he is the reason I’m into BTS in the first place, but it is mind blowing to me how Tkkers try to be so oblivious to everything Tae does. They will sit around all day calling JM the fanservice King but will hype up anytime Tae mentions JK in his 5 min livestreams. Yet completely ignore how JK does a 1hr or more for livestreams and barely (if at all) utter Tae’s name. Now I’m not comparing bonds, because they all are different from one another. Tkkers could talk about how Jikook is so one sided but purposefully ignore the fact that with Jikook it has always been mutual. Tkkers also completely ignore how Tae throws himself at all the members but mostly Jin and Hobi. They be like Jikook onstage moments are fanservice but then you have Tae flirting with every member, again mostly Jin and Hobi. They lost their minds when they saw TKK standing together in the photos they took. Went on about how Jikook were not next to each so that meant that Jikook did not speak to each other and then bomb. Bang tan Bomb was released and showed them otherwise. The insecurity quickly comes and goes with every Jikook and TKK moment that happens. I try not to pay attention to them over the small things but I draw the line at them accusing JM of horrible things.

This is why I think a lot of Tkkers don’t actually ship Taekook but only want them together not only for their visuals but for their fantasies. There is just no way Tkkers can get all this stuff from TKK and still be so pissed over a hug that JK basically melting into. It is so obvious that a good portion of Tkkers a clearly scared of Jikook possibly being real and are even more scared that JK might actually care and love JM, not as a romantic partner but just in general.

Now down to what pisses me off more than Tkkers…Armys or shall I say “Armys”. Tkkers have been saying that JM is SA-ing JK, h****ssing JK, A wording JK and R wording JK but what do “Armys” do? Well, Jkkers and Tkkers are like sibling, Jkkers call Tae an attention seeker (this is mostly based off of a specific tweet, where an “army” did compare Jkkers and JM solo Stan’s calling Tae an attention seekers to Tkkers calling JM a h****sser). Like this is why Tkkers are getting away with so much stuff, from h****ssing jewelry brands to models to members and “Armys” do nothing about it. There response to to everything is “ignore them and they will go away” or “I don’t wanna get involved in a fanwar”. This ain’t a fanwar and ignoring them is exactly why they have gotten so much worse. Making up horrible accusations is not something that should be taken lightly. If media outlets pick those accusations up (so glad they haven’t yet) it would be so bad for BTS. Also Armys are so quick to come at Blinks for all the horrible stuff they say about JM but can’t do the same thing towards Tkkers? What??!!! Is it because Blinks don’t just target JM they target all of BTS? But if that was the case than doesn’t that mean they should go after Tkkers as well? Tkkers token Stan Jin, Hobi and Yoongi mainly and that gets them dragged by JM solo Stan’s. So, it’s obvious that alot of “Armys” are Tkkers as well and share the same thoughts (JM is bothering JK and JK hates JM) as Tkkers do. This is why I say “if you think/act like a Tkker than I’m gonna say you are a Tkker”. Like there is no reason why we have been dealing with the same stuff since 2017. GCFT must’ve really bothered them a lot, especially since every time it the anniversary for GCFT, they lose their minds about how it was suppose to be a Vminkook trip.

I think anon the biggest problem is that they are scary. People are scared of them so they don't call them out..

Capable of so much evil

I don't need to list the shit they've done. We all know. From photoshopping Jimin with bangpd to throwing shit at him in LV with the intent to harm him. They are dangerous. True ot7 accounts can't post about Jikook because they get attacked. Jimin fucking scares them and I don't know why.

The vermin are also OT1. They are V solos point black period. Because when JK dotes on Jimin and ignores V they go for the jugular. On the one half of their ship. I mean, the fact that they call Jikook FS is already super disrespectful to JK but they don't care about that. I honestly dk why V has the shittiest fans.

Look around, you will a find a Suga biased army, who is a Jkkr. You will find a Jin biased army who is a Jkkr, you will find a Hobi biased army who is a Jkkr. RM too. But you know what you will NEVER find? A V biased army who is a Jkkr. It boggles my mind. Truly. But I blame Taekook_lives and any other vermin with a YT channel or a TT. I blame big twitter accounts that hate on Jimin. Because they're the ones who watch original content and decide to spread lies. It in turn causes this chain reaction. They know tkkrs are not going to watch original content. Because they hate to see JK and Jimin all over each other. So they take advantage of it.

I am sad that members have to enlist. But I am looking forward to seeing what will happen to this group of people when they only have 5 year old content to work with for 2 years. Because lets face it, the good stuff was before JK and V fell out. When they still used to be close. Taekook are better now, but it ain't the same. Hopefully we can shed this dead weight when members are gone.

[theyhaveacavetroll]

Tagged by @pazithigallifreya. Thanks, I love doing these!

Tagging @partiallypearl, @imfunnyandrude, and anyone else that wants to!

1 How many works do you have on AO3? 90 works

2. What’s your total AO3 word count? 585,148

3. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Cure for Sorrow

Cup of Their Deserving

As a Stranger Give it Welcome

Reclamation

To the Upper Air

Obligatory disclaimer: I'm only proud of three out of these five, but I'm glad that people are still getting something out of the other two. Cure for Sorrow and As a Stranger were written when I was a different person and well before the finale of Black Sails. 'Nough said.

4. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I try to, yes. I sometimes run out of time and energy because I work a full-time job where I'm out of my apartment 12.5 hours a day during the week.

5. What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

I don't write fics with angsty endings. Battle Raven comes the closest and even that isn't angst, it's just not sunshine and roses. If you want dark fic or real angst, I'm not your girl.

6. What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

I think most of my fics have happy endings. If I had to pick a "and then they all lived happily ever after" fic it's probably most of the stuff in my Fate The Winx Saga works.

7. Do you write crossovers?

Yes, when the idea occurs to me! I'm particularly fond of You Steele Know My Name, which I WILL finish, I swear.

8. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Not hate. I've received weird comments and "when will you update" no other feedback given comments, but nothing truly mean.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Yep! I've written kink and what I'd consider vanilla, or at least nothing to write home about. I've gotten better at it over the years.

10. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I'm aware of and that is NOT a challenge.

11. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Again, not that I'm aware of.

12. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yep! I have quite a few co-written fics with various people.

13. What’s your all-time favorite ship?

In terms of what rewrote my DNA? Probably Flinthamilton but in terms of a ship that I always come back to where I have no negative fandom associations and endless, endless need to fix canon? Bagginshield.

14. What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

And the Sea With Its Deepness, aka the Black Sails fic where I faked everyone out with the first chapter specifically to enjoy the screams of "wait, that's WHO that got nabbed?!!" I want to come back to it but... yeesh, the fandom. I left for a Reason, and then there's the fact that I just can't with writing a certain character anymore.

15. What are your writing strengths?

Plot and dialogue. I'm one of the best damn mimics of character voices you'll ever meet and that's just facts.

16. What are your writing weaknesses?

Action scenes. Action scenes are the bane of my existence, and I have a tendency to end paragraphs on an em dash too often that I've been trying to curb. A few is fine but there is such a thing as excess.

17. What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I like to do it but only in short bursts and for languages I can be confident I'm getting right.

18. What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Probably Star Wars when I was very, very, VERY young indeed.

19. What’s a fandom/ship you haven’t written for yet but want to?

Does it count if I have an unpublished WIP already? If so, then Downton Abbey and The Hobbit. If not, then honestly I have no idea.

20. What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

Ironically, arguably my favorite is one none of you have even seen and might not because I have no idea if I'll ever finish it. It's long, it's sprawling, and I've worked absurdly hard on it but it's just. so. much. As to finished fics, though - probably Reclamation. It's got Themes and everything.

[tridentqueen]

https://www.tumblr.com/emilykaldwen/746022370680176640/ask-game-for-fanfic-writers?source=share

The answer to every single question would interest me, but i've picked some out if you are ready to answer them :)): question 2, 11, 17, 29, 49, 51, 52, 55, 62, 69, 70, 71, 73, 91

Still a lot but at least not 100!

Hi! Thank you for this ❤️ I’ve combined 2 & 29 at the end since the answer to 2 contains a spoiler.

I reblogged the linked post if anyone else wants to send in a number.

11. what’s something neat you’ve learned while doing research for something you were writing? also, how much do you worry about doing research in general?

I watched a few videos on how to ride a horse for research so I could (hopefully) describe it accurately in the fic, so that was pretty cool! In the process of doing that, I learned about the necessary equipment and their names (bridle, bit, tack, etc.). I wouldn’t say I worry about doing research, but I do like to include things from the universe to give it a more realistic feel, if that makes sense.

The rest under the cut 😊

17. what is your favorite line you’ve ever written?

This is more than one line, sorry. But they go together.

It was horrible. It was wonderful. It made her feel wicked. It made her feel alive.

49. do you want to be published some day?

Maybe one day! I think that would be really cool.

51. share the synopsis of a story you work on that you haven’t published yet

This is a rough synopsis based on an anon request I got that I’m slowly but surely making progress on (anon, I promise I’ll finish it one day!)

At ten, Aegon develops a small crush on the daughter of one of the castle maids. As they grow older, the crush morphs into a friendship. But maybe it could be something more.

52. how many unfinished ideas/stories are you working on at the same time?

I tend to bounce around 2-3, but mentally I work on every single one of them every day

55. do you have any abandoned WIP’s? What made you abandon them?

I don’t (at least not yet)

62. what’s the weirdest reason you’ve ever shipped something?

This isn't weird, but I am not immune to being persuaded based on content I see on the dash

69. how do you write emotional scenes? do you ever feel what the characters feel?

I try my best to put myself in the place of that character – what would they think in this moment, how would they feel, what would they do? Things like that. I haven’t felt it like it was happening to me, but I do carry the emotion with me while I’m writing.

70. are you very critical of your own writing? how much do you find yourself editing (either during the writing or after the fact)?

Yes. I edit a little bit while I’m writing, but I primarily do that after the chapter is drafted. My main goal when writing is to just get everything on the page and then go back and fix it.

71. how do you balance writing and life? do you ever feel overwhelmed by the amount of writing you have to do?

I don’t push myself too hard to write on weeknights if I’ve had a long day and just want to lay on the couch, but sometimes I use writing to unwind. I also tend to write more on the weekends since I have more time. Sometimes I feel overwhelmed, but I remind myself to just take it one word at a time.

73. how do you visualize scenes? do you see it like a movie in your head, or do the words just flow?

I do see it like a movie! Which is great, but then in editing I have to go back and add more detail because sometimes when I’m writing I’ll put something like “x does this, then this.”

91. how has your writing style changed over the years?

I’m still a pretty new writer, but I would say that in the course of the past year I have gotten more confident in my own style

2. talk about a notable time a narrative or character has looked you dead in the eyes and said “fuck your plan, here’s what we’re actually doing.” AND 29. give us a spoiler for one of your stories.

When Aly and Aegon got together! The ballooning word count is what made me first begin to rethink it, but I also think that it just seemed to make sense for it to happen when it did. Originally they didn’t get together until after Helaena was pregnant with Maelor (who will exist in this story).

[alteredphoenix]

So it’s been two years since I made That Post (which I’ve since deleted quite a while back) and kinda showed my ass to W*Wblr...but that’s to be expected when you make a critical (and not anti) piece.

I still think about it sometimes. I think about how, if this was any other popular F/F pairing (crack or canon) in another fandom and I did a crit piece like that but with the ship names swapped out, I’d probably get fucking butchered. Even now, I’m surprised I didn’t get doxxed or gotten death threats right then and there over what was basically me asking questions in good faith. It’s why I don’t play Fuck Around And Find Out with the more extreme shippers anymore, because I really did think, back then when I made That Post, I kicked more than just a hornet’s nest and was in some serious, deep shit. As in, If I said this in another fandom somebody will come after me IRL for it. (And honestly, the fact I haven’t gotten shit for not liking - not hating - L*oM*che at all in my current fandom is surprising in and of itself - but then again, that just goes to show how ideologically different people in two different fandoms from two different IPs are what beliefs draw them in).

Kind of weird looking back on it now, too, as I’m kind of-sort of-but not really in the fandom anymore; it just got to be too much to handle. I’ve said some stupid shit over the years (and I think about that other user on W*Wblr who mentioned me unnamed in one of her inbox responses to another person and mocked some comment I made about *rth*s and misandry - which, again, if you look through my blog, you might find it buried away; it’s pretty old) and I’ll probably keep end up saying stuff that’ll come out looking stupid in the future. Usually when I reflect on things like that that I put on the blog, and at the fact that no matter what the Internet will never let you Live It Down, I think to myself I guess I’m not allowed to make mistakes, huh? and just kind of. Accept it. Because that’s how people can be sometimes, and for me that’s what makes interacting with fandoms so daunting.

I suppose there’s something more to be said about discourse, but. Well. This got longer than it should have lol Just wanted to put some thoughts out there into Ye Olde Void. Have at you then :V

[gatorbites-imagines]

Riduur

Boba Fett x Mandalorian Male reader X Din Djarin

Two uploads in a day, as a treat .3.

The reader is Mandalorian, because I love mandos. I have ideas for their armor colour, but you can always imagine something else. The reader’s armor is Grey (Mourning a lost love or family member), Black (Justice) and Brown (Valor). I imagine he is taller and buffer than both Boba and Din, something like Paz :)

I haven’t watched a book of boba Fett yet, so I’m going off of what I’ve learned from other writing :P

I didn’t feel like really using a lot of Mandalorian in this one.

The paragraphs became super long in this, i apologise.

Requests are open, especially if its star wars. I write for a good chunk of male characters, but my all time favorite of are any mandos and the clones :).

Translation for the little mando I used

Riduur – life partner, romantic partner, spouse

Beroya – Bountyhunter

Beskar´gam – Mandalorian armor

Buy´ce – helmet

Vod – brother, sister, comrade

Buir – parent

Beskar – a precious metal to mandalorians

Cyara – beloved

Life had gotten much more manageable for (Y/N) in the past three years or so. He didn’t have a covert to look out for anymore, which still caused horrible pain in his chest to think about, but he had a stable job and place to call home. He even had two riduur, whom he had met not long after leaving his covert on his last trip as beroya.

It started with him getting a message from contacts that mandalorians were setting up on Tatooine of all places. He had promised his armorer to search out other mandalorians, so he decided to land and meet them. If they were deathwatch appearing again, it would be bad. But when he landed, he was greeted not by the blue of deathwatch, but by someone in a green beskar´gam and one in unpainted beskar´gam.

They seemed very weary until you stepped out of your one-man ship. The one in the unpainted armor seemed to relax maginally after seeing your own armor, in its black and brown colours. Yet the shorter of the two still seemed tense as you approached. You called out a greeting in your native tongue, and the silver Mandalorian met you half way, clasping your hands in a greeting.

He introduced himself as Mando, explaining that his covert believed in keeping their names and face secret from any outsiders. You nodded in understanding. You had covert members who were the same. After the purging it was best to stay hidden, they said. That your secrecy was your best weapon.

You nodded, introducing yourself in return. You were grinning under your buy´ce, filled with excitement at meeting another Mandalorian who in returned looked as excited as yourself. The green wearing mando, who had been slowly untensing, tensed back up at the mention of your last name. After talking with Mando, he brought you over to his friend, who you assumed was his riduur but you decided not to comment on it.

His name was Boba Fett, and of course you knew who he was. He was legendary amongst beroya, and you almost wanted to dance on the spot at the fact that you got to meet him. You happily introduced yourself again, but he seemed almost cold in reply. Even as you were invited inside, Boba seemed on edge with you, or weary in some way, as he would never truly take his eyes off of you.

The two mandalorians invited you to join them for dinner, which you happily accepted. You had wanted to offer helping in cooking the meal, but apparently Boba had someone to do it for him, so the three of you ended up sitting around the table swapping stories. Well, it was mainly you as Mando didn’t seem to be much of a talker, and Boba was still giving you a chilly shoulder.

It was in these stories Mando learned you were from a covert too, and the two of you started talking in earnest, going over how you were raised, your vod, and how you were both beroya. It was then you learned Din had lost his covert, and the pain in his voice made your own heart ache. You tried your best in comforting him, letting him know that they were not dead, simply marching onwards. Din appeared thankful, but spoke little for a good while, which you understood greatly. Boba seemed to become less and less tense as you spoke of your covert, like he was realizing something.

As food arrived, you pulled your buy´ce off, placing it on a clear spot on the table. Din seemed shocked as you revealed your face, whilst Boba just seemed interested in taking in your features. You became flustered, asking if you had been impolite in removing it so. Boba laughed slightly, letting you know that no, you hadn’t been rude, it was simply that Mando never removed his own helmet because of how he was raised amongst the covert.

You tried to apologize to Mando, not wanting to have made him uncomfortable. He waved it off, letting you know he had gotten used to seeing other mandalorians without helmets. As you ate you ended up talking with Boba, who asked about your clan. You were ashamed to say you didn’t know much about it. Just that they had been true Mandalorians, and most had fallen in the battle of Galidraan. Only few lived, and they had been lost in the purging. Leaving only, you and your buir.

Boba seemed to relax fully at that. He ended up telling you about his father, and how he thought your clan had left everyone else behind in the end, as the clan had been one of the largest and most powerful back in the day. Din and yourself both muttered a small prayer at the thought of all those lost. As the gloomy air lifted slightly, the conversation switched to something else and the three of you started talking about all and everything. You found out you had much in common, and similar opinions on many things.

When the morning came you were sad to go, but they passed you their comm numbers, and you passed them your own. With one last goodbye, you were on your way. During the ride back to your covert you did you best to stomp down the bubbling warmth in your chest as thoughts of the two mandalorians flooded your mind. It wasn’t right, to feel for two who you were sure were already together, especially when they had not expressed interest in a third.

Time passed as it normally did. You continued your bounty hunting, and kept in contact with the two intriguing mandalorians who had started to take up major space in your heart. Along the way you learned that Mandos name was Din. Din Djarin. You learned he had a foundling named Grogu, who had jedi magic and was learning how to control his powers. You learned much from Boba aswell, from his life story to how he survived a sarlacc, and somehow the two of you ended up talking about his aches and pains he dealt with. As a joke you shipped in a gel from one of the planets you visited, that apparently would cure said aches.

It was on one of these days that you returned to your covert only to see it up in smoke. It was ransacked and the few people you could see around were dead. Beroya training overtook your mind, and you went around taking down the people who had attacked the covert. Some had already left, but these were still around. They didn’t seem to be with the remnants of the empire, or the new republic, not even pirates as they hadn’t taken the beskar that bodies were still wearing.

You were in shock for a long time. Putting out the fires and saving what few items you could. The few things you could save were mainly items made from Beskar or other metals. You took the armor from the few covert members who ever gained it, and put it away for the future generation as you had been taught to do. You spent days burying them, and paying your respect. You went above and beyond to make sure the area looked unlived in, making sure no one knew mandalorians had lived here. No one could know, our secrecy is our safety as your armorer would say.

After weeks of this, you had finally finished and found yourself on your now packed ship. You didn’t even really pay attention where you set the navigation of the ship too, as you started sobbing in your seat after ripping your buy´ce off. You cried for what felt like hours, and finally passed out after days of zero sleep.

When you finally came too, it was because someone was softly shaking your shoulder. The beroya training in the back of your mind was screaming to get up and fight the threat, but you were too exhausted and wrung out. You were finally pulled to your feet and pulled out of the ship, the bright sun of Tatooine meeting you and the wind carrying sand around striking your face. You must have set the coordinates to the one place you felt you could go.

Glancing over you saw Din supporting your dead weight, as he brought you inside of Boba’s palace. The place was much cleaner and organized since your last visit. It now looked like it was Boba’s and not just a place he had stolen from the last sucker that ran it. It seemed today was slow, as Boba appeared bored out of his mind on his throne. When Din entered the room, supporting your large frame as you yourself couldn’t walk, the ruler of Tatooine was quick on his feet though you knew it must have hurt his knees and back.

From his expression you know you must have been a mess, spending the last few weeks digging through ash and dirt to access what was left of your covert, your family. Boba rushed over and supported your other side, the shortest of your bunch shooting a look at Din as if to ask what happened. As they took you back to their part of the castle, you saw Fennec take over in Boba’s stead.

The two mandalorians brought you back to the room you had borrowed the night you stayed there. It didn’t look much like a guest room anymore, as you saw books and trinkets that you had mentioned you enjoyed in some of your many talks. “What happened?” Din finally asked, taking in you soot, and dirt covered beskar, and the puffy redness around your eyes from your crying. Boba nodded, as if he wanted to know the same.

Your eyes landed on your hands that were in your lap, words not wanting to form. It bubbled up inside of you, but you didn’t know how to express it, you couldn’t form any sentences that could explain your pain and grief. Seeing your troubles, Boba was the first to sit down beside you and wrap his arm around you, Din soon following leading to a hug from the both of them. In their arms you finally sobbed, the gut wrenching noise escaping you as you grasped at your hair, choking out what you had seen, what you’d been doing for the past two weeks and how lost you felt.

The pained noise from Din made it known he also knew how you felt, losing your family and only home. It took much time, but when you had finished your story and stopped crying, Boba made it clear you were allowed to stay as long as you wished, that they had made this room specifically for you and that they cared for you. Din nodded along, grasping your hand to ground you as he explained it had helped him in his grief to have someone with him.

Time passed and you stayed with the duo, the three of you growing closer and closer. In the beginning your grief was too heavy to feel anything else. But as it lessened you started to notice the fluttering in your chest return. It was when Boba brought you a tin of grey paint for your beskar´gam, that you could finally understand what the feeling was. You spent the rest of the night painting your beskar´gam, thinking about these feelings and how it wasn’t just for one, but both of them.

At some point you were feeling good enough to continue bounty hunting. First it had just been on Tatooine, but soon it spread to the rest of the outer rim. You had found a home on Tatooine, meaning you always had somewhere to return too. It made you feel warm and whole at the knowledge that the two mandos expected you to return to them. It only made it better that they had started to become more and more openly affectionate with you. Of course it was mainly Boba, as Din himself was quite shy with physical affection and alike, but he made up with it in how much he cared. The three of you had never sat down and talked about your relationship, and that was fine with you, even though it left an empty ache in your heart.

After one of your many beroya trips, you had gotten shot in a dangerous area, and almost blown up. You did your best to patch yourself up on the way back to Tatooine as you didn’t want Din or Boba to worry. When you finally landed on the sand planet, you were seeing black spots from blood loss.

You staggered into the castle through one of the back doors, stumbling towards your room in hopes of sleeping off the pain. It was then that you passed out, the clunk of your beskar´gam striking the floor the only sound in the hallway, as a small puddle of blood gathered around you.

That was how Din found you, who quickly dragged you off to the castles medbay, where one of the medical trained people took care of you. When Boba heard news of what happened, he wrapped up his work for the day and made his way to the medbay.

There the two sat, nervous and uncomfortable at the situation you had put yourself in. When night fell, the medical staff had left, leaving only Boba and Din by your side. Finally, you woke up, your brows scrunching together at the painful headache you were assaulted by. Forcing your eyes open, you saw a roof and as you turned your head the two men you had fallen in love with.

Boba seemed to be the only one awake, as he was sitting and reading a book, as Din was slumped against the wall behind him. When he saw you were awake he shut the book with a snap, causing Din to wake up. As you forced yourself up you apologized for the trouble, making Boba scoff. “Your wellbeing isn’t trouble (Y/N)” he grumbled, placing the book down on a nearby table.

“You need to take better care of yourself (Y/N)” Din said, getting to his feet and walking over to stand near you. “We don’t want to lose you” he followed up, reaching down to take your hand. You felt hot in the face and Boba followed, standing on your other side and taking your other hand. “We want you to come back to us cyara” Boba said, his voice soft and full of soft emotions that made your heart race.

As you fumbled for words, the older leaned down and pressed a kiss to your lips. You stuttered as he pulled back, not noticing Din remove his helmet. It was first when the taller of the two kissed you as well, that you realized what happened. You wanted to bury your face in the blankets, but the two just laughed and pulled it away as they, mainly Din, peppered you with kisses and Boba said the gooiest sweetest words.

The next morning the three of you sat in your personal kitchen. You had spoken the marriage vow the night before after talking for long about your feelings, and their feelings for you. You exhaled a breath and relaxed back in your seat, as Boba cooked breakfast and Din was polishing his buy´ce. You kept looking at him, taking in his face and adding it to your memory forever. When he looked up at you, you grinned at him which caused him to blush faintly. Boba soon joined the two of you, placing the food in the middle of the table and leaning over to kiss Din and yourself. “Dig in. We have a lot planned for today” he chuckled, his smirk growing as Din sputtered at the thoughts that went through his head. Maybe this married life wasn’t so bad.

[just-being-leonest]

Live thoughts about season 2 episode 1

I am exhausted mentally so have fun deciphering what I’m saying

Transition from 0;48-0;49 was abrupt

why haven’t we heard about siblings before?

“cease this bitch crying” the curse is unneeded. it doesn’t fit with the kingly vibe of the character. he’s an asshole father yes but hes also supposed to be a regal king. you don’t need a curse there, it breaks character.

the circus bit with just blitz and fizz seems... kinda dumb and nonsensical? maybe something is just flying over my head but that scene feels empty and not in a good way

hold up... so i havent finished the episode yet (at 5;21) but did stolas’s family fucking own blitz? if so that makes stoliz even worse of a ship and even if they didnt that power dynamic is so fucking off. 

the balloon animal scene is... interesting

blitz having an abusive and manipulative father doesn’t excuse the fact he is now an asshole that ignores boundaries and uses people. a great example of this is bojack horseman

why hasn’t it been mentioned that they fucking know each other from childhood before? 

“I’m so good at daddy-ing” the only funny quote from helluva boss

“The living world” so are... demons and imps and shit not alive or smthing?

yeah no hes not a good boss. 

imma be honest, maybe it’s me being aromantic and not understanding love and shit, but if the person i liked as a kid came over and stole a bunch of shit from me, tricking me into helping them, 25 years later i wouldn’t still like that kid.

OKAY DOES STELLA FUCKING LIVE THERE OR NOT

LIKE SERIOUSLY EPISODE SEVEN

STOLAS SAID OCTAVIA WAS AT HER MOTHERS

IT WAS LATE AT NIGHT

WE CAN ASSUME SHE LEFT WITH OCTAVIA

SO DOES STELLA FUCKING LIVE THERE OR N O T

edit: apparently this was a flashback which. wasn’t made clear. at all

edit edit: SHE STILL FUCKING LIVES THERE????

also is no one gonna stop and think that Stella was also forced into this marriage?

like oh no shes an asshole kid

so is blitz

okay nitpick but the glass was empty when she threw it against the window why did it leave a red stain. 13;37

WAIT THIS ISNT PRESENT DAY

TF YOU COULDVE MADE THAT MORE CLEAR

Also the power imbalance here isnt sexy its disgusting

✨manipulation✨ and ✨power imbalance✨

“i barely remember your name” bitch why tf you lusting after him still-

sex repulsed ace just became more sex repulsed 

i skipped through the... i dont want to call it foreplay. ive read better foreplay in smut fanfiction written by virgin 12 year olds.

“thats the sound of a fucking divorce” SO WHY IS SHE TRYING TO KILL HIM

calling anti depressants happy pills is classy. stay classy viv. 

im not listening to the song i have no energy nor time for that bs i have an episode of welcome to demon school iruma-kun that’s begging to be watched after this

DOES

STELLA

FUCKING

LIVE 

THERE

OR

NOT

OKAY THANK YOU FOR THE ANSWER

Can you not kick her out

or just 

idk

fucking

move

YOU HAVENT GOTTEN THE DIVORCE YET

also random thoughth but yes i do consider stella abusive

funny how all the female characters in helluva boss with any sense of story purpose are either dicks (or framed as such in the case of Verosika) or are just there as props to give the male characters some semblance of a character

all in all

episode was confusing

and characters werent v realistic

3/10

[calyssmarviss]

To me (and i think at least a few others in the fandom) it’s the opposite. They’re not joking about it because it’s not a joke. Their friends and co-workers are not joking about it because they know it’s not a joke. If they have suspicions they want them to get there on their own.

There has been a couple “jokes” actually in season 2. Like Buck thinking Maddie was referring to Eddie when she told him she tought Chimney was cute, her calling him on his “boy crush” for Eddie and the comments on the stream on that call with the girl with worms in her face.

The fact that we had none of that in later seasons even though they’ve gotten closer and their relationship more intense… yeah, no, i really think it shows that the writers are taking their relationship seriously and have done so ever since the end of season 2 where they were trying something new and testing the waters.

And i don’t believe buddie is queerbaiting. Queerbaiting is about using a ship in promotional material and tptb promising stuff that they have no intention of delivering on. They haven’t done that (except for a few occasions on social media i think where the ship name was used by people that have no authority on what happens on the show) and the show isn’t even over so even if they had implied stuff was going to happen you can’t say that they lied yet.

Right now all we have is heavy queercoding, which is vastly different from queerbaiting and not a bad thing and wouldn’t be even if the ship never was made “canon” because queer relationships come in many flavors and unfulfilled feelings/attraction don’t cease to exist because they’re unfulfilled and not having an on screen happily ever after doesn’t mean the love wasn’t there.

Buck and Eddie are a family. They are co-parents. They do love each other. And them never fucking or even kissing or saying that they love each other out loud will never take that away.

Sure I’d be over the moon if all of that happened (I’ve had dreams about it lmao) but however their story ends, tptb never promised me anything (and i hope for their sake and mine they never do) so I still wouldn’t be calling it queerbaiting because whatever is going on with them is still pretty damn queer to me.

How has the Gay Joke not been made yet?

So it is currently one in the morning while I am writing this, so don't come at me for how bad this is going to be, but I just need to ask: How has nobody made the gay joke yet for Buck and Eddie?

Now listen, I am aware that the gay jokes for guys and girls are vastly different. Like two girls hang around each other all the time and they are just best friends. If two boys hang around each other all the time (eh hem, Buck and Eddie) then it is irregular and therefore gay/bromance.

We all know that Buck and Eddie are pushing the line when it comes to just bromance, so why has the joke not been made?

We have had a few instances of the fourth wall almost being broken---especially by Maddie---as a means to jab at the readers. (Personally, I will never get over the "Are we the last ones to have kids?" like come on.) We have gotten moments like those, but we have yet to get a literal gay joke.

What I mean by a literal gay joke is like someone saying, "You two are basically married, you may as well date." or "Oh my god just kiss already." etc. Now correct me if I am wrong but I can't think of a single moment like that.

Now I know that with my own friends, these jokes are always being made. They are never serious, and they are never meant to be. So it is just so weird that nobody has commented yet.

I saw a post on here that speculated how much of Buck and Eddie's canon relationship the other characters actually know about. Like do they know about the will? Do they know about the constant hanging out outside of work? Because if not that could explain it, but we don't see a lot of what happens in these characters' everyday lives so could we assume that they already know?

Because if they do, where are the jokes from Hen and Chimney? The two are never afraid to tease and laugh at others' expense.

I feel like this whole situation just plays further into my narrative that the writers are queerbaiting. Because sure, they will make small jokes every once in a while, but they haven't made a full gay joke.

If they made a full gay joke the accusations of queerbaiting would go from accusations to facts. So I am saying, the day that we finally get some Buck and Eddie gay jokes in the show I will be expecting Buck and Eddie to go canon.

So yeah, my conclusion is that they haven't made the joke yet because they are too scared to get accused of queerbaiting already.

A/N: Hey guys, thought I would make this super quick to get back into Tumblr! I know it's not much and it's super thrown together, but I kind of like it. But seriously the day I see a super gay joke about Eddie and Buck it is on like donkey kong. I'm gonna immediately assume they are getting together soon. Let me know if yall have any hot takes about Buddie I can comment on because it is like my favorite thing to do! Oh on that note, please don't put any hot takes about the actors, I am not comfortable talking about that. The only thing I would consider doing is "How much of Buddie is the actors and how much is the script?" Something mundane like that. So yeah let me know if you enjoyed please, and have a good night because it is literally one in the morning right now help me god.

[panda-noosh]

the game {draco x reader}

  masterlist

---

 you’ve been tormenting the malfoy family for what feels like forever.

   it’s become a kind of game at this point, a game everyone is involved in. the malfoys pretend they don’t expect your presence, and you pretend you are tormenting them because you don’t like them. it’s back and forth, back and forth, and you’ve been doing it too long to back out now.

   it starts the same way every time - the gate is open, and they pretend it’s because they forgot to close it. nobody mentions the fact that lucius malfoy hasn’t forgotten a single thing in his entire life. nobody mentions draco’s blonde head peaking out from behind the living room curtains, waiting for the arrival of a person he claims to despise. 

   you stroll in with the ease of someone who owns the place, smiling and waving at the white peacocks that have become so familiar with your presence by now that they don’t even make a noise upon seeing you. they lift their graceful heads, and then they bow them again - it’s as simple as that.

    you knock on the door, grinning even wider when you hear narcissa’s faux exclamation of, “who could that possibly be?” you know for a fact that draco has warned her of your presence already, that all three of them have been expecting your arrival since they woke up this morning. 

   and then the door opens, and narcissa stands there in all her glory. such a tall, graceful woman, and you tell her that on a daily basis, making her blush because you  are her favourite little Mudblood, and she lets you get away with things like that.

    you lean against the door frame, spinning your wand between your ringed fingers. narcissa glares at you without speaking, her jaw working as she inspects you.

    “evening,” you drawl. “how are you today, my dear?”

   her nostrils flare. “how many times have we told you to stay away from our home?”

    “oh, plenty of times. i’ve quite lost count.” you straighten, craning your neck to see over her tall frame, into the hallway beyond. standing in the foyer, just as you predicted, just as he always does, is draco. you give him a wave before turning back to face his mother. “is he alright? i haven’t seen him much at school recently.”

    “my sons wellbeing is none of your business.”

   draco appears at his mothers elbow. “you can tell professor snape i’ve been feeling ill.”

   you smile - draco giving you orders is moreso his way of answering your questions without looking like he gives a shit. you appreciate it, this code you two speak in, because in all truth, you do worry about the malfoy boy quite a bit.

   you met him in school, your very first year at hogwarts. you were crushed beneath adrenaline, having found out about your powers only a few weeks before being shipped off to this strange and wonderful new school. you had a wand, and a robe, and there was a giant man ushering you into a tiny boat, ready to take you to the future. 

   and then draco appeared, and he knew who you were. he must have looked through the first year list, must have looked you up and realised you were a muggle-born. he did his research, and that was the first point of respect he earned off you.

    “let them in, mother,” draco says now. “the elves made too much food anyway; might as well put them to use whilst they’re here.”

    you give a mock bow. “much appreciated, malfoy.”

   he snarls, before mother and son turn on their heels and lead you into the home you have become so familiar with these past few years. you’ve traced these walls with your fingers a thousand times before, and you do the same now. upstairs, you hear the elves marching around, putting stuff back where they belong, chuntering amongst themselves; silently, you wonder where lucius is. 

    draco and narcissa lead you to the kitchen, where stacks upon stacks of food are set up along the grand dining table. draco hands you a glass of water before gesturing to the plates and saying, “dig in. and be grateful we haven’t got the ministry involved.”

    “the ministry?” you raise a brow, taking a long, loud sip of your water before continuing. “draco, what would the ministry possibly do? you’ve been letting me into your home for years - it’s starting to get a little old hearing you say you don’t want me here.”

    draco blinks, startled. 

   narcissa steps in, grabbing the water from your hand and slamming it upon the table. “we don’t want you here. the last thing we need is some filthy mudblood knocking on our door at all hours of the morning.”

    the word doesn’t even sting any more - it’s a wound that has been closed long enough now to no longer hurt. so instead, you smile and say, “very true, narcissa. i’ll have my water back now, if you please.”

    narcissa growls, turns and walks out of the kitchen. she always does this. it’s become part of the routine.  

   you grab the water yourself and take another sip. draco continues staring at you, a habit he adopted only recently. you remember the first time he did it, the first time it was more than a glance, more than an accidental brush of eye contact between you; he was standing on the opposite side of the kitchen, those slim fingers tapping a rhythm against the expensive granite. you and lucius were chatting, lucius asking - yet again - why you’re here, why you can never leave them alone, why you aren’t at school. you were going to answer, but draco’s gaze was burning a hole into the side of your face, and you truly felt as if you had no choice but to pack it in early and go home, just to recuperate. 

    you’ve gotten better with it. you don’t have any plans of storming out any time soon, though his gaze still makes your face heat up and your stomach squirm.

    “so, you’ve been ill, have you?” you begin. “i won’t lie, draco, you look pretty spritely to me.”

    “i wouldn’t expect you to understand,” draco shoots back. “you should just mind your business.”

    “i never asked you what was wrong. i was just saying - seems like you’re looking for a muggle excuse to get out of going to school.”

   draco glares, though the expression has less effect now that he’s taken to never taking his eyes off you, no matter what his emotions towards you are in the moment. “i’ve told you not to call me that.”

   “didn’t call you anything.”

   “you called me a muggle.”

   you narrow your eyes in faux confusion. “i said your excuse was muggle. don’t blow it out of proportion, mate.”

   he throws his hands up, turning away for what feels like the first time since he laid eyes on you. “why are you here this time, y/n? what could you possibly want from us now?”

    “i’ve never wanted anything from you.” you inspect the endless plates on the table. “although i will pinch a scotch egg, if you don’t mind.”

    draco watches as you reach across the table, picking at the assortment of foods. you don’t break the eye contact, because that’s what he wants you to do. he wants you to show some sign of intimidation, some sign that he has wriggled beneath your nerves in the same way he manages with everyone else. you’re determined to show him you’re not afraid of the malfoys, have never been afraid of the malfoys, and that’s exactly why you’re here. you wanted something, and you were willing to go to the highest rank to get it.

    “you know, if my father finds out about what you get up to, you’ll be sent to azkaban with a life sentence.”

    you freeze, scotch egg halfway to your mouth. “so you’re bringing that up now, are you?”

    “i’m just warning you.” draco shrugs, the sleeves of his black blazer stretching against the motion. “one day you’re going to walk in here, and he’s going to know. he’s going to see it in your eyes that you’re guilty.”

   “he’s going to figure me out.” you scoff. “you really think the sun shines out of your father’s arse, don’t you? he’s not as smart as he likes everyone to think, draco. i’ve been running circles around that man for years now, and he’s none the wiser.”

    “and what if i tell him?”

   the room falls silent. your heartbeat rings in your ears. you hate talking about this with draco, because you never know whether or not to take his threats seriously. 

    he folds his arms over his chest. “you’re lucky i haven’t blabbed yet.”

   “are you threatening me, malfoy?” you lean forward, lowering your voice to a purr. “why don’t you tell me the real reason you’ve taken two weeks out of school, hm? then we’ll both have stories to tattle to the ministry.”

    draco pales. he glares at you for a moment longer before the kitchen door opens, and narcissa malfoy strolls inside once again. you straighten up, schooling your expression into one of immediate calm, like not a single thing is wrong. you pop the remaining scotch egg in your mouth and say, “i should get out of your hair now.”

    narcissa simply scowls.

    you give her a grin, nod at draco once before walking out the door, trying to ignore that blue-eyed gaze still burning into the back of your head.

   ----

    it gets easier over time.

    all of it does, really. the guilt becomes non-existent, and the act itself becomes second nature after a few good attempts. you’ve nearly been caught a handful of times, and you know if your actions were to come to light, you would be expelled from hogwarts in a heartbeat; not even dumbledore could show you mercy, no matter how much he likes you.

    it’s easiest when the streets are full. muggles are so careless, clumped together with wallets jingling in their pockets, unprotected. they don’t even think about what might go wrong, don’t even think a wizard may be lurking amongst them, ready to snatch their belongings right from their person.

    you don’t need it, of course. muggle money means nothing where you come from, but there’s some wizards and witches who would pay hundreds of galleons in trade for the things collected off muggles. it’s a black market kind of situation.

   tonight, you are dressed in a black hoodie and jeans, wand stowed in your back pocket. you don’t need it; you’ve mastered the magic-free manoeuvres of sneaking things from people, and you use such skills to your advantage tonight. a man by the name of richard carpol has put in a request for a muggle passport - an irish one, preferably, but he’ll take anything you can get your hands on.

    you search for what feels like hours before zoning in on the dark red booklet peaking out of a teenagers jacket pocket. their source of ID, you assume, and you feel no guilt whatsoever when you stroll past them and pluck the book free. you stuff it in your hoodie pocket before picking up your pace, ducking into a dark alleyway.

    you flip it open - it’s a british passport, but richard will still pay. he’s not a picky customer, which makes your night ten times easier.

   you make your way back to hogwarts, waving at people in hogsmeade before you disappear for the night. you sneak into the slytherin dormitory with no problems, stuffing the passport beneath your mattress. you wriggle beneath the sheets, ignoring pansy’s insistant questions about where you have been, if you’ve seen draco, how you managed to sneak past filch - she asks this every night, and you have never replied. you just fall asleep, another day successful.

  ----   

   “he’s back.”

   like he’s some kind of god. you nearly roll your eyes, the whispers repeated over and over again throughout morning breakfast. all around you, the slytherin table is alive with anticipation, waiting for draco malfoy to stroll in through the double doors, head held high in that way it always is.

   you knew draco was returning before anyone else did, as he told you the night before in a fit of faux rage at the sight of you in his bedroom, yet again. you had offered to leave, leaned casually against his mahogany wardrobe, and it could almost be considered hasty the speed at which he rushed for his door to close it, uttering a quiet, “no, you’re here now, so you might as well stay.”

    but now he’s back in school, and you’re sick of him. you haven’t even seen his face once, but the whispers and the praise from your house mates is enough to set your teeth on edge. it reminds you that there is indeed a draco living outside of the malfoy manor, a draco you cannot tease and torment as easily.

    “i saw him in the common room this morning putting his robes on. i think his parents got him new ones,” a fellow slytherin whispers. “and his hair has been cut a little shorter - he looks so grown up!”

   you snicker into your porridge, smothering the noise to no avail. the slytherin girl singing draco’s praises shoots you a glare before noticing who you are; her glare folds in on itself, and she quickly retaliates by pretending she didn’t hear your snicker in the first place.

    breakfast ticks by, and it’s only near the end does draco finally decide to grace the dining hall with his presence. the double doors open, and the chatter amongst the slytherins falls short almost immediately. you’re ashamed to admit that even you look up at the speed of light, catching one of the first glimpses of draco malfoy as he returns from what many people assumed was the dead.

    his fangirl certainly wasn’t lying, you notice; his hair has been cut shorter, and he does look plenty grown up. he walks with a fresh confidence that makes you want to roll your eyes - it’s not like he needed a further confidence boost. his robes are clean, brushing the floor. his eyes are trained on the head table, though they linger there for only moments before snapping to where you are seated.

   you raise a curious brow. he blushes, looks away, and takes his seat next to crabbe and goyle, both of whom clap him on the back like he’s just returned from war.

    you ignore him the rest of breakfast, which is a rare action for you. you used to revel in tormenting him, coming face to face with him at every corner just to give another snide remark; it was a game back then, back when the two of you were younger and felt as if you could get away with it. 

    breakfast ends shortly thereafter, and you hurry to gather your things. swinging your bag over one shoulder, you duck your head down and escape into the crowded corridors, losing yourself amongst the sea of black clad students. 

   but you’re a fool to ever think you - of all people - could escape draco’s magnificent return to school. his cold fingers wrap around your wrist before you have a chance to turn the corridor to your next class, stopping you in your tracks. part of you wants to spin around and punch him, just floor him in front of everyone, show him that you’re not just some silly person showing up on his front doorstep every other night.

    instead, you slowly turn and give him a smile, one of your big ones to let him know you don’t mean it, that you’re being hostile.

    his face is set in stone, that frown so perfect and soft looking it makes you want to sob. 

    “where are you off to in such a hurry?” he asks, keeping his voice low because god forbid anyone catch him speaking to you.

    “class,” you reply. “so kindly let go of me, malfoy.”

   “not until you tell me where richard got another muggle passport to sell.”

    you freeze, though you knew this would be coming eventually. richard is one of your best customers, but he’s not very bright; he’s never understood the concept of subtlety when it comes to the trading of muggle artefacts. 

    “he has a new one, does he?” you say. “good for him. his collection must be getting awfully big by now.”

   draco scowls. “my father is starting to get very suspicious, y/n, and i don’t know how much longer i’ll be willing to cover for you.”

    you pry your hand out of his grip, nearly stumbling from the momentum. “is that a threat?”

    “it’s a warning,” he says. “i might not like you, but i don’t need you going down for something like this. people know we’re familiar with each other, and i don’t want you tarnishing my family name.”

    you scoff. “your family name has been tarnished since you-know-who was in power.”

    “shut up. don’t talk on things you don’t understand.”

    “all i need to do is pick up a history book.”

   draco scowls, those blues eyes ablaze. you’ve seen this look on him when he’s speaking to those gryffindors he hates so much, when a teacher takes someone else’s side over his own. you’ve seen this look on him plenty of times, but never aimed at you; for some reason, his expression is always so soft around the edges when trained on you.

    “i’m trying to do you a favour,” draco mumbles. “because i’m serious when i say my father will snap you in half if he finds out you’re the one providing these artefacts to the dark market.”

    “i’m not afraid of lucius,” you reply. “and i think you’re kind of forgetting the fact that your father actually likes me. at least a little bit.”

    draco’s eyebrows fly up in amusement. “what’s given you that idea?”

   “the fact that i’m still allowed in your house after all these years.” you grin, basking in the way draco’s own smile fades at the realisation you have indeed recognised this behaviour within his family. “yes, malfoy. you all try so hard to convince me i’m the scum of the earth, but the truth is, you appreciate my company. the truth is, you make me tea every time i visit. the truth is, you’re all a little fond of me, whether you want to admit it or not.”

    his face pales even more, a feat you didn’t think possible until seeing it with your own two eyes. it’s a delicious win, a point for you in a competition you didn’t even realise you had entered.

    “you’re delusional,” he mumbles. “you say you picked up a history book, then you must know how my family feel about your kind.”

   “my kind?” you raise a brow, feigning ignorance just to annoy him. he hates outstretched conversations, especially with you. “are you talking about half-bloods, or pickpockets? oh! or people who can run circles around you without fear?”

    you don’t give him a chance to reply, because quite frankly, you’re done with this conversation. you’re done with him for today. you prefer it when you’re in control of your daily draco interactions. 

    you turn on your heel and leave, rushing for your next class even as he calls your name. you can’t believe the nerve of him, approaching you like that, telling you to quit the job that’s gotten you off the streets, that’s helped you fund an education for yourself. these robes you’re wearing, the books you read in class, the wand that is an extension of your arm by now - all of it was funded by you, from your own pocket. just because the business is ruthless, not some posh, clean dealing that malfoy is used to, doesn’t mean it’s any less important.

   you want to shove that explanation down his throat, just so he’ll finally look past his own privileged little bubble. you hate admitting it, but the truth is, draco wouldn’t be so bad if he wasn’t so blinded by his upbringing. he knows how to be nice - you’ve seen it before, experienced it before, though you never talk about those experiences with anyone. there have been a few times where draco has seen you walking past his house, soaked to the bone from the rain, and he’s let you in, warmed you up by the fire, placed a hot chocolate in your hand. he’ll insult you and call you stupid and claim he wants you out of his house as soon as possible, but he was still the man who made the move to get you out of the rain.

    your feelings for draco are a jenga tower. built up to full form, but slowly, pieces get chipped away until the entire thing is falling, and you have to rebuild it and try again. 

    you don’t know why you keep rebuilding it after so many disasters, but as he calls your name at your retreating back, you can feel yourself already putting those blocks back together.

   ----

     charms class really is a pain.

   flitwick is nice enough. he’s patient, which is good, and very much needed when it comes to your skills in the classroom. you’re an intelligent person, always studying because you want to be the best. you love seeing the look on draco’s face when he looks over and sees you’ve got a higher grade than him. it gives you such a thrill.

   but charms is your downfall, because nothing makes any sense. flitwick explains the spell, and the hand movements, and he leaves you to your own devices, and you always somehow end up messing everything up.

   today, all you’re doing is tossing a pillow to the other side of the room. it’s a simple spell, a simple gesture, and yet you still manage to smash a window in the process. flitwick merely sighs, explains the charm again, and gets you to repeat the process until you’ve got it right.

   it takes a while. you don’t like it when things take a while.

    by the half hour mark, sweat is running down your face, and your teeth have been gritted for so long it’s starting to hurt. you throw your wand down on the table, rake your hands through your hair and say, “i’m taking a break.”

   “please do,” flitwick grumbles, rubbing the spot on his head where a vase smashed into his skull, thanks to your handiwork.

   you slump down on one of the pillows you have failed to charm and run a hand along your brow. it’s actually disgusting how much energy gets taken out of you from doing such a simple thing. it’s also very confusing, considering you’re able to master the most difficult spells in defence against the dark arts without so much as a second thought. why tossing a pillow to the other side of the room is getting to you is both a joke and a mystery.

    as you pull yourself together, savouring your moment of rest, someone slumps down next to you. you glance over, an eyebrow raised at bailey o’boyle, a boy you’ve done business with a few times in the past. he was only dabbling in the black market at the time, too young to understand what it was actually all about, but you weren’t going to be the one to ward him off, not when he had a good few galleons with your name on it.

    he looks at you now with a smile, big and dopey, just as it always is.

   “can i help you?” you ask. 

    “yes.”

   you wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t. he just keeps staring at you.

    you grit your teeth. “with what?”

    “i need an electric scooter.”

    you raise a brow. already the word ‘electric’ has got your attention, because that’s not something the wizard world is very familiar with. what bailey is doing right now is forming a business deal. you’re not usually a fan of bargaining in the middle of class, but since you have nothing better to do. . .

   you turn, ducking your head and lowering your voice. “what the fuck do you need an electric scooter for?”

    “to sell,” he replies. “i’ve got a man who collects them. he’s willing to pay big money, y/n. big, big money.”

    you like the sound of that.

   “i’m a pickpocket, you know,” you say. “it’s not going to be easy pickpocketing an entire scooter from a muggle.”

    bailey shrugs. “i said i’d see what you could do. but if you’re not up to it. . .”

   your eye twitches; you hate that phrase. realistically, you know this is far beyond your expertise. you steal wallets, and passports, and house keys, tiny things you can sneak away without detection. trying to get something like an electric scooter from a muggle without being caught is close enough to impossible that even the lure of galleons isn’t enough to convince you to do it.

   still, of course you’re going to think about it. there are many different side streets in muggle london that you could go down, and if you do it at night, the shadows could be used to your advantage. nobody would even bat an eye if you wore-

    draco grabs your wrist and pulls you from the floor.

   you yelp, stumbling into his chest. he lifts you like you weigh nothing, and you’re more surprised at his strength than you are at his actions.

    bailey’s eyes widen. he stutters, trying to feign innocence, but neither you nor draco are interested in him any more. you whirl on malfoy, shoving him away.

   “what the hell?”

    “what the hell, is right.” he grabs your arm. “come with me.”

   you struggle against his grip, but truth to be told, you’re not really putting up much of a fight. you’re still in shock at how easily he was able to lift you, at the feel of his fingers around your upper arm. 

    he drags you from the classroom. flitwick being flitwick doesn’t even bat an eye; he’s probably relieved that’s two more students he doesn’t need to worry about.

    in the hallway, draco finally lets go of you. you jerk away so fast your back hits against the wall. draco raises a brow, but he still looks furious. his nostrils are flared, his face is pale, and god, he keeps clenching his fists like he wants to wrap his hands around your throat.

    god help you, you kind of want him to. just to know what it feels like.

    “again,” you say. “what the hell?”

   “i knew you were stupid, y/n, but that’s bad even for you.”

    “excuse me?”

   “you do realise blaise was listening to every word you and bailey were saying in there?” he shakes his head, jaw clenched. “i was trying to talk over you, but your loud mouth is quite difficult to ignore.”

    you blink. firstly, wow. bargaining in class really isn’t a good idea, and you really should have known better.

   but also, wow, draco actually tried helping you out.

   you swallow and fold your arms over your chest. “i had it under control. blaise isn’t gonna do shit.”

    draco laughs. “blaise’s dad is in the ministry, idiot.”

   “stop calling me that. i’m smarter than you!”

    “do you understand what i’m telling you, y/n? if blaise says a word about what he heard to his dad, that’s you done. there’s no getting out of that.”

    a chill runs down your spine. draco glimpses the movement, and you swear his features soften slightly.

    “i just can’t believe you were so careless.”

   “why do you even care?” your voice is quiet, barely above a whisper. you kind of hope draco doesn’t hear it, but his eyebrows shoot up, and his cheeks gain a tiny red tint that lets you know he doesn’t really know the answer to that question. 

   you swallow, looking up to meet his eyes. “why do you care, draco?”

   “because.” his throat bobs. there is a moment of hesitation where you think he’s going to tell the truth. maybe he’s going to shock the world and just tell the god damn truth, but then he clears his throat, pulls his shoulders back and says, “i’ve already told you, y/n; if you go down, you’ll tarnish my family name. i can’t have that.”

    your insides wilt like his words are acid being poured down your throat. you laugh a little too loudly, a bark more than anything close to amusement. it’s so vicious, so filled with hatred that draco actually flinches away. in that moment, you want to give him a real reason to flinch, a real reason to be afraid.

    but you don’t, because he’s the boy who pulled you out of the rain.

   instead, you shake your head and say, “tell flitwick i’m ill. and don’t bother talking to me ever again. let me handle my own business, thanks.” and without another word, you rush down the hallway to the dorm rooms, refusing to look back at him. this time, he doesn’t call your name, doesn’t chase after you in that hopelessly stupid way you want him to. of course he wouldn’t. 

    you throw your robes off the minute you burst through the doors of your dorm. it’s empty besides a fellow slytherin’s cat laying on the bed. the black and white feline lifts its head at the sound of you, and you ignore it’s confused little mews as you scramble into your own bed, pull the privacy curtain over and bury your head in your pillow.

   you hate him. you really, really hate him, and that’s not even an exaggeration. he’s the worst person you’ve ever met. he’s this tormented little shit who thinks he has every right to throw his anger at everyone else, just because he isn’t tough enough to stand up to mummy and daddy. he’s so desperate to stay in line with everything his parents say, and it’s ridiculous. it’s embarrassing. it’s a cowards move.

    there are so many things you wished you said to him before storming off, but there’s always that moment of hesitation when it comes to anything you want to say to draco. you either have to check it’s not too nice, and even when it’s mean, you have to check it’s not going to actually upset him, because you don’t want to do that either. you don’t know why. you should spit in his face for the shit he puts you through, the confusion he makes you feel. and he doesn’t even care. he just carries on being a little prick, like nothing is wrong in the world.

   but surprise, surprise, draco. not everyone can live a lavish life, worry free. 

   --- 

    you manage to ignore draco for the rest of the day. it’s easily done, considering draco doesn’t like to make a big deal out of the fact that you two actually have history; he likes to pretend he associates only with people of the purest blood, the most talented wizards, ones that come from the old families.

    but he can’t keep his eyes off you.

    he knows he’s hit a nerve. the way his eyes follow every movement you make, the way his jaw ticks when you don’t even give him the time of day - he’s not a stupid boy, as much as you like to tell him he is. he can see when he’s upset you. 

    classes drag in the rest of the day, and it’s a massive relief when you’re finally released from the confines of lessons, free to do whatever you want. after stealing a bit of food from the dining hall, you head up to the slytherin dormitory; you like it best when it’s empty, when you can just sit with your own thoughts for a while. you need it today, because today you actually let yourself be a normal teenager, and you hate it. you hate the feeling of hormones and overreactions, but sometimes it’s hard to help it. sometimes you need to let yourself feel emotional.

    alone in the dorms, you reach under your bed and pull out your handy box of trinkets. most of the contents are just things you’ve stolen that never found a home - a penny from a london sidewalk, an old napkin with a mystery person’s phone number scribbled on it, a black and white photo of a couple standing in front of the ocean. however, tucked away amongst those simple, boring things is a green emerald - one you stole from the malfoy manor a few years ago.

    you got it from draco’s room, because you weren’t meant to be in there, and you wanted to let him know that you had, in fact, been in there. the emerald was stitched into the collar of one of his shirts, all expensive looking and wasted. you nearly scoffed at the sight of it - when would draco ever get to wear something so glamorous anyway? plus, the emerald looked far too heavy to be confined to a shirts collar; it would be very uncomfortable, you assumed.

   that’s why you grabbed a knife and cut the stitching to shreds, plucking the emerald from it to claim as your own. you tossed the shredded shirt back into draco’s wardrobe, tucked the emerald into your pocket and then walked out, content with the knowledge that draco would be yelling at you in due time once he noticed his missing jewel.

   but the yelling never came.

   draco knew you had stolen it. again, he isn’t stupid. his shirt was shredded, and the jewel was missing, and it was obvious who had done it - the known pickpocket who was strolling through his house every other night. 

   he just never said anything, like he wanted you to keep it, like he didn’t mind it was in your hands now.

   you stare at it, legs crossed beneath you. you’ve always prided yourself on how little you care for expensive things - you don’t complain that you haven’t got much, that you grew up poor, never able to afford the grand things draco has. but you still handle this emerald with so much care, flipping it round in your fingers, looking at every curve and delicate groove in it’s cut. 

    the dormitory door opens. you trust it’s just someone who’s eaten too much and wants an early night, so you don’t panic or falter. you listen to their footsteps patter across the room, the thump of their robes hitting the floor, followed closely by their shoes. you listen to their privacy curtain screeching open, their sigh of annoyance at something you can’t see-

   and then draco pops his head round your privacy curtain.

   you yelp, fumbling with the emerald. it slips from your fingers, however, and crashes to the floor at draco’s bare feet. he stares at it as you curse, an eyebrow raising, and you don’t even try and hide it. you just let him stare, arms folded over your chest, annoyance brewing in your stomach just at the sight of him. 

    finally, he slowly looks up. “mine, i take it?”

   “good guess, rich boy. can i have it back?”

   he picks it up and tosses it into your lap. you’re pleasantly surprised at his cooperation, but still keep that frown on your face.

   “what do you want?” you ask, violently stuffing all your belongings back into the cardboard box. 

    “you weren’t at dinner,” draco replies. “i wanted to make sure you weren’t causing any more trouble.”

    you scoff. “oh, trouble, yes. tarnishing the malfoy name. the end goal for us all.”

    draco stares at you, lips pursed. his gaze is always so warm, a physical thing that makes your skin crawl. “that comment bothered you, did it?”

    “nothing you say bothers me, draco. it just baffles me how you can be so dense sometimes.”

    “ouch. that one hurt.”

   you roll your eyes. “why are you here? i have nothing to say to you.”

   “you don’t have to say anything. i just wanted to make sure you’re alive.”

   “not like you care, though, is it?”

    draco’s nostrils flare. his throat bobs, eyes tracing the length of your throat like he’s a hungry vampire. his lower lip slips between his teeth, the expression startling you. he looks like he’s trying to reel himself back, like some unwanted emotion is fighting for dominance in his brain.

    “you’re really stubborn, aren’t you?” he asks after a moment.

   “you think?”

    “i still don’t know what i did to piss you off so much.”

   you bark out a laugh. “no, of course you don’t. god forbid a malfoy is self-aware for once.”

    he groans. “can you not just make things simple? why do we have to go around in circles like this? it’s a waste of time!”

    “is that meant to be an apology?”

   “how can i apologise when i don’t even know what i did?” he’s starting to sound desperate, like this conversation is taking the life from him. 

    you lean back, pulling the box into your lap protectively. in truth, you don’t even know how to word why you’re so upset - it makes sense in your head, but articulating it to someone else is just going to make you sound stupid, maybe even a little delusional. you should know draco by now, people will say. you should know what he’s like, that he cares for no one besides himself. getting upset over him showing his true colours is stupid, a waste of time and energy.

   but you look into his blue eyes right now, wanting nothing more than for him to just understand. understand what, you don’t even want to admit, not to yourself or anyone else. 

   “you hurt my feelings,” you mumble. 

   draco inhales sharply. “i didn’t think i could do that. i never thought you’d let me.”

    “well, you did. congratulations.”   

   “jesus, y/n, it’s not like i wanted to. what did i even say?”

   you stare at him. he stares back. the ball will drop eventually, you know, because draco is smart, smarter than you’ve ever given him credit for. he examines your expression, and you watch the moment his eyebrows start to relax in realisation, the frown form on his face. it makes anxiety coil in the pit of your stomach, because maybe this is just a little too vulnerable. maybe letting draco figure this out on his own was a bad idea.

    but it’s too late now. he draws back slowly, hands curled around the privacy curtain until the fabric is creasing and knotted in his fingers. “wait. . .”

    “go, draco,” you demand. “i have shit to do. business to take care of.”

    “y/n-”

   “go, draco!”

    he stares at you a moment longer before running a hand through his hair and walking out the room. you wait till the door is closed, and then you wait till his footsteps can no longer be heard, and then you throw the box of trinkets to the ground, watching the emerald slip across the wooden floor.

    ---

     the streets of london always look a little different when you’re angry. a little more violent. a little more real.

   muggle london in itself has always felt like a very hostile place to you, but when you’re angry, things get clearer. you notice the vomit stain on the curb, the neglected baby pram in the bush, the beer bottles smashed beneath window sills. it becomes a different place - it just depends on how you’re feeling.

    tonight, you are angry, and everything around you is angry, too.

    you just want a set of car keys, not the actual car. muggle car keys sell at a good price, depending on who you’re dealing with. nobody has requested them, and usually you don’t go out unless asked to do so by a client, but tonight, you just want to be out. you want to be away from the wizarding world. you want to cause havoc with your fingers in the best way you know how.

    it’s busy. it always is. you can guarantee that almost everyone around you has car keys in their pocket - that’s why global warming is so bad. some of them even wear them around their neck, dangling from multicoloured chains with little souvenirs banging against their chests. those would be so easy to just rip off and run away, but you’ve decided to be subtle, which means your eyes are trained on the bulges in people’s coat pockets. so many of them, so careless. 

    a man in a tracksuit seems like the best option. you follow him for ten minutes, keeping your head down, before he finally breaks away from his group of drunken friends. he laughs to himself, stumbling just the perfect amount - he’s drunk, but not drunk enough to be falling over himself, which makes slipping your hand into his pocket a pretty easy deal.

   you go for the kill, quickening your pace, dipping your hand into his pocket-

   he grabs your wrist, and before you even have a chance to blink, you’re on the ground.

    a gasp is ripped from your throat at both the shock and the pain that spears up your spine. the guy is yelling, stumbling back, and holy shit, if he doesn’t shut up right now, the whole of london is going to be on you.

   gathering as much strength as you can, you roll onto your side and push yourself to your knees. “hey man, calm down. sorry. i thought you were my friend.”

    “did you just try and rob me?” he yells.

   “no! no, of course-”

    “you psycho bitch!” he lunges for you, all drunken vowels and grabby hands. you have no idea what to make of his intentions, you just know you’ve fucked up, and you need to get out of here.

    his hands slam into your shoulders, knocking you on your ass. a cry escapes you, but not from the pain. a tiny snap sounds from your back pocket, and you know without having to look that your wand has just broken in half - yet again. dumbledore is going to start getting very suspicious.

    “son of a bitch,” you growl, before raising your hands. “listen, hey. i’m sorry. i’ve said that already. you need to calm down before-”

    “before what?” he howls. “you kill me? are you threatening me?”

    your eyes widen. “no! would you just-”

    the man opens his mouth to say something else, but his words are sucked back in when a hand wraps around his arm and yanks him back. you wince at the sound of his head cracking against the tarmac, but you don’t get a chance to comment before draco is kneeling beside you, one hand cradling your head, the other resting on your knee. his touch alone is enough to spread warmth through your previously frozen limbs, and you hate that. you hate it so much.

    you tug your knee from his grip. “what the hell are you doing here?”

   “are you bleeding?” he runs his thumb along your bottom lip. when he pulls away, his fingertip glows with a red liquid. 

   “oh. i guess i am.”

   “christ, y/n. do you ever just...” he closes his eyes, taking a moment to redirect his anger. it’s an amusing sight, and you almost smile until you remember you’re mad at him. forever mad at him.

   you jerk your head out of his grip, too. “i’m fine. stop worrying.”

    “clearly i have to, or else you’re going to get yourself killed.” he glances over his shoulder, where the drunken man is struggling to sit up, still slurring protestations. “by a muggle.”

    “he wouldn’t have killed me,” you grumble. “although my wand is broke, so maybe he would have.”

   draco’s eyes widen. you wave him off before he has a chance to chastise you again - in truth, you just want to get out of here, car keys be damned. hastily, you push yourself to your feet, wobbling only slightly, but draco must see this tiny action as a full-on collapse risk, as he wraps an arm around your waist and tugs you close, grumbling curses under his breath. you’re such a pain in the arse, apparently, and god, he wishes he wasn’t stuck with you all the time, and he’s so baffled by the fact you’re still alive, it’s probably all thanks to him, blah, blah, blah.

   you listen to him rant the entire way back to malfoy manor. you don’t argue his choice of location, because you can see narcissa standing in the doorway, hand over her mouth, eyebrows raised in genuine surprise, and you already know she’s got a cup of tea waiting for you in the sitting room. you almost smile, but that would ruin the effect.

    she rushes out to meet you and draco halfway, immediately grabbing your face and tilting your head back and forth. you can taste blood on your teeth.

    “what happened?” she breathes, but doesn’t give you a chance to reply. “draco, take them into the lounge.”

   “oh, the lounge,” you coo. “you are spoiling me!”

    “be quiet,” draco hisses, doing as his mother says. he tosses you unceremoniously onto the plush sofa, and you have to ignore the inappropriate thrill that shoots up your body. 

   narcissa appears not ten seconds later, a steaming cup of tea in her hand. you give her a grin, which she rolls her eyes at, even as she sits beside you and brushes your hair away from your face. you take a sip of the tea, smile in thanks, and then lean your head back.

   “sorry about this.”

   narcissa sighs. her breath tickles your cheek, smelling oddly of incense. “i don’t know what we’re going to do with you, y/n.”

   “put me down.” you make a stabbing gesture into your arm and mouth lethal injection at draco. he purses his lips, clearly not taking the joke in stride. “i didn’t mean to worry you so much.”

    “you’re always worrying us,” draco hisses, which earns him a sharp look from narcissa. he meets his mothers eyes and his shoulders deflate. he runs his hands down his face. “you’re just . . . always doing something.”

    “i know,” you mumble. “sorry.”

    “draco, don’t stress them out,” says narcissa, which surprises you; you’ve always known narcissa has a secret soft spot for you, but she’s always tried her hardest to keep it just that - a secret. yet here she is, combing your hair back, giving you a cup of tea, telling her son to treat you nicely. it’s like you’ve entered a different world. “i’m gonna go and make some calls. keep them comfortable, okay?”

   draco nods, lips still pursed, forever displeased. you used to laugh at that expression on his face, but now it just makes you feel bad. 

   narcissa leaves the room, and then it’s just you and draco. you watch as he watches you, eyes never wavering, shoulders never relaxing. he’s got his arms folded over his chest like he’s keeping guard. 

    “i meant it, you know,” you say. “i didn’t mean to worry you. i thought it would be an easy job.”

    “who are you doing business with now? bailey again?”

    “no.” you look down, surprisingly shameful. “it was just for myself. i needed out of the castle, and. . .” you shrug. “you know me. i can’t do anything easy.”

   he scoffs. “yeah, i know.”

   “so i’m sorry.”

   draco closes his eyes and rubs his temples. the rings on his fingers glisten beneath the fancy lights. his knuckles pop, the veins in his arms protruding. “please stop apologising.”

   you blink. “alright.”

    “you act like i don’t understand why you’re doing all this, but i do.” he looks at you, hands dropping to his sides. “just because i don’t have to do it myself, doesn’t mean i don’t understand. why else do you think i haven’t stopped you?”

    your breath catches. you raise a brow, tilting your head cruelly. “you wouldn’t have been able to stop me. you think i’d listen to you?”

    “yeah. i think you would.”

   you reel back, jaw dropping open. “excuse-”

    “you always act like you hate me, but you forget you’ve been coming to my house for years. you forget i’ve known you since we were eleven. you forget that i don’t just put up with anyone. i’ve had time to figure you out, y/n, no matter how much you like to pretend i haven’t.” he folds his arms and leans against the door. his hair is rumpled, along with his shirt and jeans. so casual, so unlike himself. “but earlier on, in the dorms. . . you surprised me with that one.”

    your stomach curls. oh, good god, he’s bringing that up now. you’re sat here with a busted chin and a potential criminal charge, and he’s bringing this up. you could headbutt him.

    despite your glare, he continues. “i knew you didn’t hate me, but i never thought. . . i never thought you liked me, you know? especially not-”

   “don’t say it.”

   his lips twist. “i have to.”

   “no you don’t.”

    “do you love me?”

    your heart falls into the pit of your stomach, which is answer enough for you. love is such a strong word, and you could easily say no, that what you feel for draco is nothing more than a little crush. he’s got the nice blue eyes, and the money, and the perfect hair. he’s got a smile that lights up rooms. it’s a crush. you fancy him, and that’s all there is to it.

    but love sounds pretty accurate. more accurate, actually.

    you swallow. draco watches the bob of your throat, and you watch his. above your head, the massive clock ticks, ticks, ticks. 

     slowly, he reaches forward and swipes his thumb over your chin. it stings just a little, but you’ve felt worse pain, so you let him do it without jerking away. 

     “cat got your tongue?” he whispers.

    you shiver. “i don’t. . . i don’t know what you want me to say.”

    “it’s not about what i want. i was asking a simple question. just give me the truth.”

    “you want the truth?”

   he inhales, hesitates, and then nods.

    “yeah, draco,” you whisper. “i think i love you.”

     slowly, draco draws away. his eyes never leave your own, that frosty blue colour reminding you of the winter sky, or a cold december morning. you remember all those christmas’s at hogwarts when draco would stay at the castle, waking him up because you thought it would annoy him to have your face be the first thing he sees. you always commented on the dreary smile that played on his lips when you did that, and he would always say, “i thought you were someone else.”

    but that dreary smile is returning, pulling across his face, and it doesn’t falter. right now, there is no mistake. his eyes are on you, and he knows it is you, the person who has apparently made his life a living hell for so many years. you’re the ache in his spine, the one he can’t wait to get rid of.

    but you’re also the one he rescued from the rain. 

    you’re the one who cursed hermione granger when she punched him in the nose.

   you’re the one who’s just confessed your love to him.

   shit.

   “don’t look at me like that,” you say, voice hoarse. “don’t pretend you didn’t know.”

   “i didn’t know,” he says immediately, like he’s desperate for you to know he was clueless. “did you know?”

    “kind of. i wanted to ignore it-”

    draco shakes his head, waving a dismissive hand. “no, no. did you know that i love you, too?”

    you open your mouth, but no words come out. your brain just short circuits, taking a second to catch on to what he’s said. that dreary smile is still playing at his lips, and you’re waiting for the moment it turns into a sneer, a mocking little smirk.

    it doesn’t.

   “oh right,” you mumble. “no. i had no idea.” you pause. “are you taking the piss out of me?”

    he laughs, a rare and pleasant sound. he approaches you, kneels at your side on the sofa and cups your head in his hands. you melt into him, even though every instinct in your body is telling you to pull away, to run away, because this is nothing more than false hope. he’s playing a trick on you. you’ve annoyed him to breaking point, and now he’s found the perfect chance for revenge.

    but his hands are so warm, and nice, and your cheek dips into his palm so easily, like it belongs there.

    “you’ve always been kind of not smart in my eyes,” he says.

   your eyes widen. “hey!”

   “kidding. i’m kidding.” he chuckles, running his thumb along your lower lip. “but you’re not doing your intelligence any justice right now. i thought i was making my feelings pretty clear.”

   you glare; he knows full well he hasn’t made his feelings clear. neither of you have. you’ve spent the past seven years pretending to hate each other.

   he grins. “okay, maybe i didn’t make it so easy. but you didn’t make it easy for me, either.”

   “i still don’t believe you.”

   he raises a brow. “why?”

   you shrug. “it just doesn’t seem possible that someone like you could fall in love with someone like me.”

    his eyes soften. “wow. maybe you are not very smart.” 

   before you have a chance to protest, he kisses you. just like that, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, or maybe like it’s an action he’s been waiting to do for years, and now he’s finally got the chance. that’s what it’s like for you, this coil unravelling in your gut after years and years and years of ignoring it’s existence.

   you run your hands through his hair, tugging on those pesky strands at the back that always stick up because he refuses to wear anything other than collared shirts. he growls into your mouth, pulling you closer, closer, closer, until your legs are tangled with his, and his fingers are tracing a line down the centre of your throat. he stops at the hollow, just to feel the bob of your throat as nerves spiral through you. he grins against your mouth, pulling away to see the shock in your eyes.

    he’s so proud of himself. he’s made you a mess.

    you smile awkwardly, trying to regain some amount of composure. he watches you, heavy lidded, one hand still clutching your knee as the other curls around your throat, just where your neck and shoulders meet. the way he stares at you, it’s like he doesn’t even realise he’s doing it. 

     “so,” you begin. “you’re worry wasn’t actually just for your family name, was it?”

   draco sighs, plonking his forehead against your own. “no, y/n, it wasn’t. my worry was losing you. which i very nearly did tonight.”

   “don’t be so dramatic. i wouldn’t have died.”

   “you could have.”

   “but i wouldn’t have, because that guy was drunk, and a muggle, and-”

   “are you two arguing again?”

   you and draco jump apart as narcissa storms into the lounge, wand clutched to her chest. her narrowed eyes are firm on draco. 

   “i told you to keep them comfortable!” she exclaims. “can you not put your differences aside for ten minutes?”

    you grin, teasingly running a finger along draco’s spine. “yeah draco. listen to mummy.”

    he growls, but turns to narcissa and says, “sorry, mother. you know how y/n gets.”

   “yes, i know,” narcissa mumbles. “but they’re injured. now, let me take this phone call, and then we’ll set up the guest bedroom. can i leave you alone for ten more minutes?”

   “yes,” you and draco both reply immediately. narcissa hums, and walks out.

   draco immediately spins, grabs your wrist and pulls you to him, slamming his lips to yours. you laugh against his mouth, melting into the embrace for only a second before pulling away and saying, “she’s trusting us to behave for ten more minutes, draco. this isn’t behaving.”

    “oh, fuck that,” he scoffs. “come here.”

   you let him pull you closer, closer than you have ever been with him before, because you’ve always been so convinced he never wanted you more than a few feet away from him. suddenly, everything draco has ever said to you is reconstructed in your mind, every action, every little look. 

   you wonder if he’s doing the same. 

[aressss1]

The Siren’s Song

(Technoblade x Reader)

Read me on AO3!

| Next Chapter > (Soon)

A/N: Mentions of drowning

~~~~~~

Death was the taste of sea salt on his tongue, lungs filled to the brim with water, and nothing but the crashing waves violently tossing to and fro around him. His body felt sluggish, as he fought to drift up to the top. The sunlight hit the water, and that was his goal, to reach with his bound hands toward the glistening water that looked oh so inviting. Maybe if he had tried harder, he could have gotten there. But the sea… It wasn’t merciful, it didn’t have ears that he could sweet talk. No eyes that he could use his good looks on to charm. The sea was far more powerful than any mere man or woman. But the sea, cannot control those who live in it.

 An enemy, and a feared one to be sure… Just happened upon the scene, wrinkling your nose in disdain at the hybrid in your territory. A tune emitting from your throat, as you circled his body. Long pink hair flowed around his form, acting as a curtain to hide his face from you. You pushed his hair from his face, your eyes meeting the most beautiful dull and lifeless golden eyes. His battle worn face told you tales, and you cupped both sides of his face, your thumbs running over past scars. He had seen many battles… Only for the sea to claim him. It was a shame really.

Oh, what fun the two of you could have had… Would he have been prone to crash his ship at the sound of your song? Questions flew through your mind, and before you knew it… You had your arms around his waist hoisting him to the surface of the very sea who had extinguished his flame. The curiosity was too much. The waves did not favor your actions, as if Poseidon himself made his thoughts clear to you. There wasn’t any sort of land near here, just ocean rocks that jutted up toward the sky. One of those would have to do. You dragged his body to the flattest rock you could find.

 You lean over his body, tilting his face to get a good view of him. You had seen the process to saving a drowned man, when you had successfully charmed a ship captain and his crew. You just push on the chest and give him a kiss… Right…? Thoughts about the kiss had you humming in nervousness, the sound echoing around you.

 Your hands snaked up to his chest, one hand over the other and you pushed on his chest repeatedly. Until it came time to give him the “kiss”. You hesitated over his face, lips just inches from his. Your necklace hanging down from your neck pooling at his chest. You were about to press your lips to his, unsure if this was helping. You could have sworn that you were doing everything right, just like the humans from before. You felt his chest seize up making you back away unsure of what was happening, and he sputtered up water. He was coughing… He was coughing! The action making a joyful note rise from you. You had done it!

 He turned on his side, coughing up everything from his lungs. You watched him curiously, as he regained consciousness. His eyes searched the sky, before they fell upon you. He watched you in a daze, eyes studying your every feature. He was surprisingly calm.

 “I see you’re no angel,” His voice was raspy, as he used his bound hands to push himself up into a sitting position, “So tell me demon, what have I done to be put in this fresh hell with you.” His words were cold, and you found yourself laughing. He was going to be so much fun.

 “Strong words for someone who just saved your life.” Your smirk irritated him, as he used the sharp rock to break the bonds around his wrists. He rubbed at the red marks irritating his skin once he was done.

 “I don’t appreciate a temptress playing with her food.” His voice was gruff, as he took a handful of his hair and started ringing it out the water splattering on the rock below. An amused hum rang out, and you reveled in the look he gave you, his eyes softened at the sound of your voice, and he leaned forward toward you. As soon as your hum stopped his face, contorted into a sneer. “The only reason I haven’t killed you yet, is because you brought me here.” His words sparked something in your chest, “Don’t push it.”

 You fiddled with your necklace, it was just an ordinary shell, but it was something your own mother had given you before she turned into seafoam. He watched you like a hawk, as he got his bearings.

 “You should leave,” His monotone voice sounded out, “my kindness for you saving me, is me not killing you like the monster you are.” His tone was a warning, one you didn’t listen to. Your song came forth as you leaned forward. This was just a little test. A test to see what he would do, how he would fare against your song. There was that look of adoration in his eyes, masking his real thoughts. Your hand cupped his face as you sang to him. He definitely struggled. You didn’t want it to end… Wishing he would look at you like that when you didn’t sing…

 You other hand slipped into his pocket, grabbing his compass. Nothing but a momento, to remember this hybrid by. Hoping your paths would cross once more, you hold the compass close to your heart, as you stop your song.

 “Give that back.” He sounded angry once he regained his own thoughts. His hand swiped at you, catching your necklace. It was too late… You launched yourself backward into the sea, watching the necklace snap and fall away from you. You had his compass, and he had your necklace… You felt the familiarity of the ocean around you and you looked up at the rock where he lay, only to see him peering down at you, necklace still in his hand.

 You had to get that necklace back at all costs. You grit your teeth and you settled for waiting him out, until he slept. He had no way off of the rock he was currently on. It was nothing but a barren piece of stone. You took a look at his golden compass, on it was a rough engravement of the name Philza. You could tell it was enchanted, probably bound with another compass, made sense seeing as it didn’t point north, and it fluctuated here and there. Enchanted items like these weren’t easy to get so you knew he would be looking to get it back.

 You waited for him to fall asleep… But the only trouble was that… He never fell asleep. When the world grew dark and the waves seemed to calm you broke through the water, your eyes watching him. You could sing to him until you got your necklace back. When you tried… You found he had torn a piece of his clothing, making earplugs… When he noticed you, he stood, just staring you down. He held out your necklace in a taunting manner, challenging you with his eyes. You knew better than to challenge a man who stood on any type of land… No… Your best bet was to charm him into the sea. Into your own territory. It’s what you did best… You know… When they didn’t have earplugs.

 You figured he had to sleep at some point, he couldn’t keep going like this. So, you watched him, as he fought to keep himself upright in his sitting position, fighting crashing waves that tried to carry him off to sea when the ocean was being relentless. He went for three days, no food, no sleep, no water. He stayed in the blistering sun, made it through the cold nights. You knew he wasn’t exactly human. So… What was he?

 “Soon may the Wellerman come, to bring us sugar and tea and rum. One day, when the tonguing is done, we'll take our leave and go.” He sung on the third night, you wished to rise and sing with him, not to charm him or anything… But you never had anyone to sing with… That seemed to be the sirens curse. The curse of never finding someone to sing your song with.

 You watched him play with your necklace, his exhausted eyes looking over the shell… His eyes scanning the horizon, possibly for a ship… Or maybe just to look for you. You hoped it was the latter. He leaned his head back upon the rock, his eyes fluttering shut. You waited a few minutes, watching his still form. The necklace still in his hand. Now could be your chance! You swam as quickly and quietly as you could to the edge of the rock, reaching for the necklace in his hand.

 “Aren’t you a brave one?” His sudden voice made a surprised hum rip from your throat. He pulled the necklace back. “I’ll tell you what… Give me the compass and I’ll give you your necklace.” You thought about it… That necklace was everything to you… But if you gave him the compass back… Well then… The game would be over. What fun was that?

 “You thought it was just going to be that easy?” You taunted, a playful sound echoed around you, not that it affected him. It annoyed you that all he had to do was muffle your song, and he wouldn’t be affected.

 “I could just break it…” His hold on the shell tightened. You shot him a dirty look. “Shells break really easily; all I would have to do is squeeze…” You found yourself reaching for the necklace before you could stop yourself. His hand caught your wrist. Luckily, you let the compass sink into the water before he pulled you up, you landed on his chest, his hold on you didn’t falter. “Or I could just break you. I bet you would break just as easily, demon.” You scrambled away from him, his hold still on your wrist.

 “Let me go,” Your song sounded from your throat in a menacing manner.

 “Not until, you give me the compass back.” He grit his teeth, as his hold on you got tighter.

 “It’s at the bottom of the ocean, you’re more than welcome to go get it.” You taunted him, tugging at your arm to no avail.

 “What do you even want with a compass?” He hissed through his teeth, he looked like he was done playing your games. You didn’t answer him, the feeling of his skin on yours was too much to bear. He dismissed your silence, his eyes meeting yours. “I do not forget, the faces of those who have helped me, and that is still the only reason why you haven’t turned into seafoam.”

 “Or is it just the fact that your strength is leaving your body by the moment.” You hissed; your other hand snaked around the hand on your wrist. You cursed the fact that he had hybrid strength over you. Pulling humans into the sea was definitely easier. “Or…” You had an idea… “Is it something else?” You gave him a sultry look, as the end of your tail flipped to and fro. Your hand caressed up his arm up to his shoulder, face inching forward, threatening to capture him in a kiss.

 “What-” You didn’t give him time to finish his sentence, you pressed forward, slotting your lips with his. Happy hums emitted from you; this was the most whole you had felt in a long time. Your hand came to cup his cheek, when you felt him relax into the kiss is when you took your shot. You grabbed at the piece of cloth in his ear, effectively enrapturing him in your low hums. His hands now roamed your body, and if you weren’t so preoccupied with Techno… Maybe you would have seen the ship with the crew searching for the very man you were kissing, behind you.

 ~~

 “Ready the harpoons, we’re going fishing tonight boys.” Philza, one of the more well-known pirate captains to sail the seas, spotted the two of you through his spyglass. Signaling the crew to put in their earplugs, he looked back through the spy glass once more. They just had to get closer. What Phil wanted to find out was why Techno was grabbing a siren by the wrist, and not killing the demon. What had happened here? When their ship had gotten closer, he saw you kiss Techno, and he knew he had to act now, or Techno would be lost.

 ~~

 It wasn’t long before you heard an anchor lowering in the distance. You broke away from his kiss, turning your face toward the boat you were met with the sight of a blond man with wings standing on the bow of a ship… A harpoon in his hand… You grabbed ahold of the hybrid’s shirt pulling him back toward the water with you. Unluckily for you, pain erupted in your shoulder, as his harpoon was launched into your back, causing you to screech in pain. The man in front of you took a second to come out his daze.

 You didn’t wait around to be impaled again. You launched yourself back into the water, evading the bullets that the crew shot into the water. The water turned red as you swam as fast as you could to the ocean floor. They wouldn’t follow you that deep… But now… Your mission to get your necklace back had failed, you miserably patched yourself up. Cursing the fact that you got too carried away… Your thoughts resting on the compass… If you could find that compass, you could get your necklace back that way… Assuming he still had it.

 Searching the ocean floor seemed to take forever, seeing as you were still wounded. But when you finally found it, you let out a hum of happiness, clutching it to your chest. You were going to get your necklace back no matter what, you kept telling yourself that anyway… There was no way you were just excited to see that handsome hybrid again… You shook your head at the thought as your eyes studied the arrow on the compass as it moved ever so slightly. You made your way back to the surface, your eyes scanning the horizon for his ship. Your heartbeat faster, when you saw him leaning on the back railing of the ship as it sailed away, watching the place he had been for the past three days. Maybe… It wasn’t all for the necklace…

 ~~

 He had seen you as you watched him leave, how could he have not? An unbelievable ache in his chest begged him to go back to you. Maybe it was the desire that your song brought on, still playing tricks on his mind. Your song, though beautiful, was sad… Lonely… He wanted to be over it, and yet he couldn’t. He saw your head duck below the waves, and he found himself unconsciously reaching for you… The action, causing him to sigh. He knew better than to give in to a temptress… But here he was, longing for your touch, to feel your skin under the pads of his fingertips again.

 “Techno? Mate?” Phil knocked him from his thoughts, “let’s go talk about this in the captain’s quarters.” Knowing better than to argue, he followed Phil. Two meals have been prepared for the two of them, just waiting. He had been a starved man for the past three days, but he craved your touch more than any ounce of food. “You must be hungry…” Phil sat at his desk, motioning toward the food. Techno could only grunt as he took a seat. “Techno, what happened to you?” Phil asked as Techno took a bite out of the potato he was eating.

 “Well, you saw me board that blasted ship, Phil.” Techno shrugged taking another bite, chuckling at Philza’s tired expression. “They swarmed me, tied me up and put me in their brig. When they were safe from you and your cannons, they made me walk the plank.” Phil could see the far away look in Techno’s eyes. “I think I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for…”

 “For?” Phil’s eyebrows shot up as he leaned forward clasping his hands together so he could rest his chin on his fingers.

 “Nevermind that, I’m here now, that’s all that matters…” Techno busied himself with his plate.

 “A toast to that mate.” Phil raised his glass, causing Techno to do the same. The creaking of wood as the ship rocked back and forth was deafening. Phil’s eyes spied his compass sitting on his desk… The compass bound to Techno’s… The arrow moved, fluctuating. Phil wasn’t stupid by any means, nor did he want to see his friend die to a siren… But Techno was acting different, something needed to be done, and he would give Techno that choice. When Phil was done with his supper, he stood, walking to where Techno was seated. Silently he left the compass next to Techno. “Techno, I’m taking a few days to myself. You’ll need to lead the crew while I’m gone. But you can’t do that without a compass.”

 Techno gave a salute to his captain and oldest friend. A bracelet, with a shell hanging off of it, graced his wrist. Phil gave him a smirk and left the captains quarters. Leaving Techno alone to his thoughts. He could swear he could hear faint whispers of your song being carried over the wind. He sighed closing his eyes, tilting his head as if that would help him hear it. He knew he was being idiotic… But whether it was sound of the notes you made or the taste of your lips that made him crave your very being… He was going to find you… He was going to make sure of that.

[pillage-and-lute]

Prompt: fake realtionahip/marriage, whoever you like!

Ooohoho! This has been chilling as a draft for ages, now I have completed it. *mildly evil laughter*

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The funny thing about Geralt, Jaskier thought as he did up the buttons on his best doublet, was that he really didn’t lie. He said things that weren’t true, but they were usually things he believed, or thought he believed because he was tired or grumpy. Sometimes he told half truths. He didn’t lie though.

It wasn’t even as if he didn’t have a poker face, Geralt’s face was all poker face, he just hated lying. Normally it wasn’t an issue, but tonight, Jaskier reflected, it wouldn’t be ideal.

Jaskier had heard through some whispered words at a pub that a bunch of Nilfgaardian nobles were having a gala, and the temptation of finding out what political secrets they could was two strong for their odd little family. So Geralt and Jaskier were going undercover.

There had been quite a bit of debate about that. Jaskier was obviously going. He’d grown his hair longer and had a bit of scruff going, and to be frank, all a bard really needed to disguise themselves was a new name, people saw the clothing and heard the music, but rarely remembered the face. Yennefer would have been the ideal partner in crime except for a crucial thing.

When Yennefer had been changed by magic, her eyes had been left the same. Somehow, the transformation had solidified them, and no spell would change them. Her eyes were too distinctive, and so she would stay behind with Ciri. That left Geralt, and since the ball was only for the nobility, he would be the fiance of Julian Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove.

Damn.

See, Geralt didn’t lie, and that was bad enough. Jaskier wouldn’t be able to rely on Yennefer’s in-depth knowledge of the nobility and that was worse. Worst of all though, was the fact that Jaskier would have to spend a night full of wine and dancing pretending to be in love with, and engaged to, Geralt. Who he loved.

And who had, not three months ago, blamed Jaskier for every bad thing in life.

Since then Geralt had caught up with him half-way down the mountain and there had been some grumbled words about how Jaskier ‘wasn’t actually, exactly, a total curse’. Not a glowing review, but then Cintra had fallen, and they had Cirilla and they’d found a wounded Yennefer and it had all gotten so very busy.

Jaskier cast a last look in the mirror as the door to his room creaked open. He turned, expecting Geralt, but it was Yennefer.

“I suppose,” she said, eyeing him. “That this is as good as you get.” It could have been said cruelly. A year ago it would have been. Now, though, the words were fond. 

“I like the kohl, it goes well with the wrinkles at your eyes,” she winked. He smiled. There were no more wrinkles now than had been twenty years ago, and they both knew it.

“I wasn’t sure about the eyeliner,” Jaskier said, trying to sound haughty. “Overdramatic eye looks are your thing.”

Yennefer chuckled and sat on the end of the bed. “A tiny smudge of eyeliner is hardly overdramatic.” She studied him approvingly, then looked at him. Her expression was frighteningly soft.

“Have you told him that you love him?”

“Never,” Jaskier said, fiving his cravat in the mirror.

“Why ever not?”

“It would only be the mountain all over again,” Jaskier sighed. “I tried, you know. I spent years trying, and then on the mountain, I thought I was being clear...”

“What did you say?”

“I asked him to leave it all, just for a little while, with me. I thought we could go to the coast.”

“The coast,” Yennefer said from her spot on the bed. “As in Lettenhove? You wanted to show him where you grew up?”

“Partially. I could explain the immortality business easier if he met my sister, but mostly I just thought it would be peaceful.”

Yennefer snorted. “With Geralt? Peaceful? He’d spend the whole time fighting drowners and telling you not to write about mermaids because they’re vicious.”

Jaskier smiled wanly. “That’s pretty peaceful for him.”

“But he said no?”

“He didn’t say anything,” Jaskier said. “Then he, well, you know, he spent the night in your tent.”

“Ah,” Yennefer said. “For what it’s worth, I hate that it happened too.”

“He doesn’t though!” Jaskier cried, whirling around to face her. “He wants it to happen again! And you! You don’t want him but he wants you while I want him!” The frustration of the whole situation and nerves for what was to come were overwhelming. “And you’re here, trying to help me,” he said more quietly. “Why?”

“Because I like you,” Yennefer said, simply, standing from the bed. “And I like him. I also never, ever want to kiss him again. The djinn is sitting, somewhere in my chest, telling me I love him, but the feeling is...sick. It feels like love, as well as I can remember, but it’s poisoned and twisted and I want no part in it.”

Her purple eyes pinned Jaskier to the floor.

“And that poison pales in comparison to how much you love him. He deserves that.”

She swept out the door, tossing a “Sort it out,” over her shoulder.

Well.

The next knock at the door was Geralt, Ciri in tow. Jaskier hoped the witcher hadn’t heard any part of his and Yennefer’s conversation, but he suspected that no one overheard conversations that Yen didn’t want them too. 

“Dandelion!” Ciri said, leaping at him and using the name she’d first met him under. “You look nice! Like a prince in one of your stories!”

Jaskier blushed and thanked her quietly as he scooped her up and tossed her, laughing, onto the bed. 

He looked at Geralt for his opinion.

Oh he looked so good too. Yennefer had charmed him so that anyone else would see a different man in Geralt’s place, but to Jaskier he looked just the same. But he was wearing white. 

A white chemise, the collar and cuffs with fine red embroidery, with a cream colored cape, half length so it fell just to Geralt’s hips. It was embroidered too, green and pink and so many other colors, despite being overall still mostly cream. The pants were the same creamy fabric with a stripe down each side. Dark boots and a wide, decorative, dark belt completed the look.

“Wow,” Jaskier said.

“Rivian traditional clothing,” Geralt muttered. 

“I thought you’d hardly actually been to Rivia,” Jaskier said,.It was a better choice than the other thoughts in his head, which were half-formed screams about how absolutely skin tight those pants were.

“I haven’t been, but my...character is.”

“Right,” Jaskier said, dragging his eyes above Geralt’s shoulders. “My fiance, Ludomir of Rivia.”

Geralt said nothing.

Jaskier kicked himself for mentioning the fiance thing.

“We should go,” he said.

And they went.

The lord’s castle was small, as castles go, and the guards at the gate didn’t even bother to check their invitations. With all the other lords and ladies streaming past, no one would guess that the pair were out of place. Jaskier and Geralt enterred the ballroom and Jaskier felt his stomach drop straight through to his shoes.

The walls were positively lined with Nilfgaardian soldiers. Geralt’s shoulders stiffened too, but they steered themselves to a feast table as if nothing was wrong.

It took them almost a full circle of the tables to find the two little cards for ‘Viscount de Lettenhove’ and ‘Guest’. Getting onto the guest list had been laughably easy, and Jaskier just sent up a silent prayer of thanks that the stupid title was finally useful for something.

They sat in their places and guests populated the seats around them. There was a lady next to Jaskier who already smelled of the strongly alcoholic sherry that was being served. Her hair, probably a wig towered, and was strung all over with so many pearls and little tiny golden ornaments that when she stepped outside she must surely be attacked by magpies.

“My lady,” Jaskier said, as chivalrous as he could around a mouthful of her rose perfume. “I’m afraid we haven’t had a chance to be introduced.”

“Oooh,” she giggled, “You’re sweet, I’m Dame Au’Vigne, and I can see by your card that you are the Viscount de Lettenhove, I knew your father.”

Yes, Jaskier thought. I remember, he turned down your proposal. Jaskier had been a lad then, barely eight years old, but he remembered through a child’s eyes a mountain of lace and perfume who had offered to marry his father while actually at his mother’s funeral.

“It’s a pleasure,” he said. Heinous bitch, he thought. He remembered rumors too, which are always a bard’s stock and trade, that Dame Au’Vigne’s husbands were always wealthy, usually handsome, and all of them had shockingly short lifespans. 

Rumor also had it that she was backing Nilfgaard financially and had been playing the shipping stock with insider knowledge of their movements. A very good person to be seated next to tonight. 

“May I introduce my fiance, Ludomir of Rivia,” Jaskier said, gesturing to Geralt. Geralt nodded and hummed, somewhat politely.

“How handsome,” Dame Au’Vigne stage whispered. “Where ever did you find him?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Jaskier said.

The lord of the castle stood up and gave a droning speech. It was full of euphemisms about ‘upholding standards’ and ‘fostering strong relations’ that boiled down to ‘I’m an untrustworthy bastard who believes that allowing the deaths of my people en masse is fine so long as I make money.’ It was depressing, too, as Jaskier looked around the ballroom to see so many people nodding in agreement. 

Traitors and bastards, the lot of them.

Geralt’s face hadn’t changed even an inch.

“So,” Dame Au’Vigne said as the appetizer course was served. “You two aren’t exactly in a honeymoon phase, are you?”

And she was right, for a couple, newly engaged, Jaskier and Geralt hadn’t acted the part yet at all.

“I’m afraid,” Jaskier said, inventing wildly. “That we’re both just a touch nervous, the engagement is so new, you see, and this is our first event,” he took Geralt’s hand, above the table, so Dame Au’Vigne could see. “As a couple.”

“Oh how sweet,” she said airily. “You know, they’ll have dancing between the courses, it’ll be a great way for you to wet your social feet. Sir Erdin and the lady in the lavender dress,” she pointed across the ballroom. “They’re newly engaged as well.” She lowered her voice.

“Sir Erdin is very supportive of the cause, word has it he’s in with the very inner circle,” Dame Au’Vigne giggled, as if being in the inner circle of a murderous group of intruders was as delightful as a recent engagement.

“How interesting!” Jaskier said, affecting a jealous and impressed tone. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Geralt’s eyebrow twitch, the way it did when he was listening hard.

“Oh yes,” Dame Au’Vigne said. “And Lord Snapcase, in the corner, he...” and she went on, was the marvelous thing, she couldn’t seem to help herself but gossip about everyone. And she had all these details about how they were helping ‘the cause’. Destiny must have finally decided to throw Jaskier and Geralt a bone.

Then the appetizer course was finished and Jaskier felt much less lucky. Dame Au’Vigne was ushering him and Geralt out of their seats to dance. It wasn’t one of the quick, hopping around, switching partners dances either. No, the band seemed insistent on only slow, romantic music. 

Awkwardly, Geralt slid one large hand around Jaskier’s waist and they turned in slow circles on the dance floor. The witcher’s face looked like a thunderclap.

“Try and look like you’re having fun, darling,” Jaskier said. Please don’t look at me as though holding me is torture, his inner self begged.

“Hmmm,” Geralt said. Jaskier leaned in.

“Really dear heart,” he leaned in even closer, lips almost touching Geralt’s ear. “People are going to suspect something,” he said in the barest of whispers.

“Let them,” Geralt hissed back in the same fashion. “We’ve got the information, we can leave.” 

Jaskier, keeping up appearances, tossed his head back and let out a delighted shriek of laughter, as if Geralt had just told him a joke or, perhaps, made a wonderfully indecent proposal.

“Later, perhaps,” he said, stage-whispering for the sake of those around them. Leaning in again he whispered for real, “We can’t leave until the party’s over, no one else will, they’d send some of those soldiers after us for sure.”

The music changed, and Geralt and Jaskier’s slow circles changed speed with it. 

Geralt hissed in his ear again, “I don’t see why I had to be your,” this close Jaskier could see Geralt’s jaw working with distaste. “Lover.”

“Fiance,” Jaskier said, trying not to let his heart sink. It couldn’t possibly go any lower. “There’s a difference.”

They said no more to each other, and after the second dance, declined the third to sit back at their seats and await the arrival of the soup course.

The man sat beside Geralt was some old military man, mostly mustache and the rest of him was a rather musty and very old fashioned uniform. It had gold braid and a colonel’s insignia. The hat that sat next to his chair had a plume. 

He leaned over to Geralt and said, rather loudly, in a voice that implied tone deafness, to both volume and social situations, “Just marrying him for the money, eh?”

People to both sides of Jaskier and Geralt looked around. Dame Au’Vigne looked at them askance.

“Hmmm,” Geralt said. It was a negative answer to the colonel’s question, but the man didn’t take it as such.

“Often is the way,” the man nearly bellowed. “My missus hated me right up to the day she died.”

Jaskier curled in on himself. The role of Viscount wasn’t a big one, mostly administrative and, these days, completed by his sister Rowena, who was better at sitting behind a desk. Still, argued a battered part of his long ago but still proper upbringing. The name of Pankratz was being dragged through the mud. Lots of these people would know the name too, these sour, vindictive, unpleasant, murderous people. And they’d know the gossip, would have taken part in the gossip about ‘Young Julian running off to be a bard,’ (this generally said with the same tone as is usually leant to slave trader) and how ‘he’ll never find a good marriage now,’ how he was ‘a disgrace to the name.’ 

And here was their long awaited confirmation. Jaskier-Julian, couldn’t find a good marriage, was being wed only for his money. Of course, more than half the pairings here were only in it for the money, but to have it said, so loudly too, and before the wedding had even happened, it was social condemnation.

Jaskier looked down at the table cloth, his face hot. He’d faced social condemnation before, of course, he’d survive. What hurt was that Geralt wasn’t really protesting, Geralt couldn’t even pretend to like Jaskier, not for a single evening. Twenty years he’d done a good enough job of acting to convince even Jaskier, mostly, apart from the punches and the insults and...maybe Jaskier had been a little blind to the truth but still. 

It was ruining their cover though, so he protested quietly. “Not just for the money,” he said, patting Geralt’s hand where one fist wrapped around his goblet. “My fiance is just shy, that’s all.”

The damage was already done, but the old colonel hiccupped. “Well lad,” he said, giving Geralt a slap on the back. “This ale’s pretty good so drink up. Got me through three years of happy marriage, strong ale did.” The man took a slug of his own drink. “And fourty seven more unhappy years.” He guffawed hugely and unpleasantly, little drops of ale flinging from his mustache. 

Wherever the soul of the unpleasant man’s dead wife was, Jaskier felt sure she was happy to be away from this miserable old drunk.

Geralt, however, was looking at Jaskier. Their eyes met. Jaskier knew he probably looked as hunted as he felt, and his cheeks were probably still burning from the embarassment. Still, it seemed as though Geralt was about to say something. His golden eyes were full of emotion, but Jaskier couldn’t parse out what kind. 

Whatever kind it was, it caused Geralt to take the colonel’s advice and drink like there was no tomorrow. 

Great. Jaskier had driven his companion to drinking. 

He felt a little like doing so himself. 

The soup course was good, hot and savory, but underspiced. Geralt slurped it up gratefully. Jaskier knew that rich food was usually too much for his senses if it was spiced to Jaskier’s taste.

More dancing. Jaskier didn’t stand, at first, assuming that Geralt would rather sit and drink more. There were some snickers as people judged him. Geralt stood though, and he offered a hand and led Jaskier to the dance floor.

“You need to act drunk,” Jaskier whispered in his ear. “If you were a normal man you would be.”

“I am acting,” Geralt rumbled.

“You’re very steady for a drunk,” Jaskier sniffed.

“You said I was shy, now I’m less shy,” Geralt whispered. “And I’ve been drinking. So...drunk.” It was torture, being held like this, having that voice in Jaskier’s ear. That hand, so warm cupping his own. He wanted to cry.

A couple whirled past them. It was the Dame Au’Vigne, gossiping to some new dance partner. A snippet of her words caught them.

“-de Lettenhove. Entirely loveless of course. Unlovable, his father said once, of course as a bard-” then the tide of conversation and other dancers stole the rest of the words.

Jaskier sagged. His father hadn’t been a nice man, and unlovable wasn’t the worst of what he’d been called in his life, but now, with Geralt so close and so disgusted by the prospect...well, it hit a little close to home. 

“Laugh,” Geralt whispered in his ear.

“What?” Jaskier hissed.

“Like before, laugh like before, but...more so. Pretend I said a dirty joke.”

Jaskier did, heads turned as he pretended to laugh, half scandalized and half delighted at something Geralt said.

Geralt even chuckled along with him. Then his hand crept down Jaskier’s back to his hip. It wasn’t dirty. It was just so,so spine tinglingly close to dirty.

It was almost worse. If Geralt had gripped his ass that would have been bad, but this, Jaskier was left to speculate. He had a very active imagination. The couples next to them were giggling and tittering, scandalized, but not too much, at the pair.

They danced all three dances. During the second dance Geralt spun Jaskier out and then back in flashily, dipping him over one arm like a dainty maiden. Jaskier, who was no dainty maiden, knew the strength that elaborate dip must have taken and his head spun. The third dance was slow, and once again they simply held one another and turned in slow circles. Except Geralt pressed their cheeks together in a way that was so intimate that Jaskier finally gave in. Just tonight he had Geralt, all of him, his attention, his warmth. 

There was only so much a bard could take, and Jaskier gave in to the fantasy.

“I wonder how Yennefer is,” Geralt whispered. “And Ciri.”

It was like having cold water poured all over him. Jaskier’s fantasy shattered as soon as it had formed. Of course Geralt wasn’t enjoying this, of course his mind was elsewhere. He had a beautiful sorceress to think of, even if they weren’t sleeping together. Geralt and Yennefer and Ciri made the perfect, happy family. Where did Jaskier fit in to that?

He pulled back a little, already missing the warmth of Geralt’s cheek against his own. They finished the dance stiffly.

Back at the table, squished between Dame Au’Vigne and the colonel, the main course was awful. Jaskier couldn’t judge it on the food, which he barely tasted. Dame Au’Vigne and the colonel, however, had apparently come to the conclusion that Geralt or, Ludomir, rather, was marrying Jaskier for the money and the sex. They tittered, loudly and drunkely, to those around, and Geralt leaned in.

“Surely we can leave after this course,” he whispered.

Desperate to be rid of the charade, Jaskier thought. To not have to be engaged to me. “Can’t,” he whispered. “Have to stay for dessert and more dancing, else it looks suspect.”

“Hmmm.” It was a displeased hum.

“And, there will be small talk, with dessert. You need to say something, people will think you’re mute.”

“You two twitter into one another’s ears all the time,” Dame Au’Vigne said loudly. She was fully drunk off the sherry and very loud. “But not one kiss,” she lowered her voice, as if trying to be discreet. It didn’t work. “Is it truly as loveless as they say? I know you aren’t waiting until marriage.”

As who say? Jaskier thought. The only person quite that invested seems to be you.

“Not loveless,” Jaskier said. It seemed weak even to his ears.

“Surely you’ll join the dancing again, then,” Dame Au’Vigne said. 

“No,” Jaskier said, fiddling with his napkin. “I’m feeling quite too full to dance, ate too fast, I’m afraid.” He hoped she was too drunk to notice he’d picked at his plate. It seemed she was.

“Lovely little veranda, get some air there,” said a man who, according to Dame Au’Vigne, was shipping weapons to Nilfgaard behind the backs of multiple heads of state.

Jaskier nodded,stood, bowed, and made his escape. He sighed, but wasn’t surprised to find that Geralt had followed along behind. Of course he wanted to escape the party too, but Jaskier wanted to escape...him.

To his shame and surprise, he found tears in his eyes. The pressure of sitting in a room chock full of people who wanted to kill him, combined with the fact that every last one of them reminded him of being bullied in school, and add to that that he was supposed to be fake engaged to Geralt...it was too much. Fake engaged and even in their fake engagement Geralt didn’t like Jaskier. 

Jaskier’s rational brain knew that Geralt did like him, mostly. He just didn’t love him.

Jaskier leaned his elbows on the railing, overlooking some moonlit gardens, and felt the tears roll down his face.

“They think I don’t like you,” Geralt said quietly.

“Yes,” Jaskier said. He knew Geralt could smell the salt of his tears or whatever, but still turned his face away so the witcher couldn’t see.

“I danced with you though.”

Jaskier chuckled wetly. “Nobles dance with people they hate all the time.”

Geralt was quiet for a minute then, very gently, he took one of Jaskier’s hands. “I don’t hate you.”

It was too much, Jaskier started crying in earnest, sobbing.

“C’mon, Jaskier, I like you. A lot.” Geralt was, for him, panicking clearly. Jaskier almost smiled. He was so bad at dealing with other people’s emotion. And his own.

“You’re my friend,” Geralt said, a little stuntedly. “You know I’m not a good liar.”

Too much. Twenty-two years and he finally said the word ‘friends’ and Jaskier wanted more. He whipped around to face Geralt.

“Tell me the truth, then, Geralt. Tell me you love me, it doesn’t have to be the truth for forever, but can you love me just for a night? Can you make it the truth for tonight?” Jaskier’s tears were ugly and blobby and drying up fast but he continued.

“Because I’ve loved you so long I don’t know any other truth,” He leaned forward and planted his forhead on Geralt’s collarbone and sniffled through the last of his tears, curling one, shaking fist into Geralt’s lovely pale cape as he cried. “Just this one night, Geralt, love me back.”

He hadn’t meant to say any of it, was half expecting Geralt to toss him off the low balcony into the bushes below. 

Instead Jaskier was lifted by two strong arms and sat down on the railing. Warm, delightful lips pressed against his and suddenly he was being kissed within an inch of his life. 

“The truth, you want,” Geralt said, pulling back and panting. “Is the only one I can give. I can’t pretend to love you.” Here Geralt looked into Jaskier’s eyes, like being struck by lightning. “I only love you, no pretending, I swear it.”

“But-” Jaskier was cut off.

“They think I don’t like you,” Geralt said, furiously. “I think you think I don’t like you, Jaskier I like you, I love you so much I don’t know what to do and I’m...I’m not good with words. Or emotions.” Geralt’s shoulders dropped a little. “I just am, and the way I am is... The way I am is better with you.” 

Geralt’s face screwed up with anguish. “And I’m the reason you think I don’t like you, it’s my fault and that feels so...so bad. Yennefer’s been working with me on the feelings thing and always says ‘bad isn’t a feeling’ but I can’t tell you what all the feeling is.”

Jaskier was staring, mouth open, as frustrated, stilted, fumbling words left Geralt’s mouth. They sounded angry, but only at himself. Geralt was looking up at him as if seeking benediction.

“Tell me you love me again,” Jaskier said.

“I love you.”

“Again.”

“I love you.”

“Again.”

Jaskier giggled as Geralt lifted him and spun him around before tucking him in close and kissing his forehead.

“I,” he said.

A kiss to Jaskier’s nose. “Love.”

A deep, breathtaking kiss to his lips. “You.”

There was nothing left for Jaskier to say except, “wow.”

Geralt smiled, that lovely warm little smile he saved for special times and offered his arm to Jaskier. “Shall we?”

They paraded back into the ballroom and danced the final dance of the set. Geralt whispered a suggestion of what he’d really like for dessert and this time Jaskier didn’t have to fake the scandalized giggle. “Back home, perhaps,” he said.

Dessert meant more conversation with Dame Au’Vigne, which was of course unbearable. There was plenty of Champagne though, which was pretty good, and the bubbles seemed to fill Jaskier all the way up. He took pleasure in picturing the downfall of all these horrible people when Nilfgaard was finally defeated for good.

He especially enjoyed sticking it to her gossip when he fed Geralt a strawberry with cream from his fingertips and recieved a kiss in thanks. Geralt was clearly enjoying himself too. He had a sweet tooth, and that certainly helped, but his hand that never left Jaskier’s under the table was a much better clue.

They walked back to the inn, flushed and warm in the cool night air, bidding farewell to the other drunken lords and ladies all filtering to finer inns or grand coaches. 

Then they were alone on their path back, Geralt’s witcher senses confirming their isolation. Then, Geralt, who never told lies, whispered sweet nothings into Jaskier’s ear the entire way home. Jaskier believed every single one.

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It’s done, this one’s quite long and I loved writing it. Geralt is useless at playing pretend, but very good at loving Jaskier in his own way. I imagine his emotion lessons with Yennefer must have been rather intense.