#and every vague thing in this writing is on purpose i promise there's a reason for all of it

[rhobi]

The Audi

Homeplanet: Aodilea (Frontier) Habitat: Temperate Coastal Lifespan: ??? Diet: Mesocarnivore (50-70% meat consumption)

Evolving from ancient oceanic odontocetes off the northwestern coastline of the Frontier supercontinent, the Audi are gentle giants and reknowned for their pride, curiosity, and hospitality. Audi have exceptional hearing and tactile awareness to offset their incredibly poor eyesight that gets worse the older (and larger) they get. They also sport a handsome melon to assist in their own form of echolocation, a frequency too low for the human ear to parse. Species with more delicate hearing have often complained of Audi cities being the one of the most audibly overstimulating experiences due to this rumble being incessantly present.

Audi lack any form of dymorphism, as every individual has the capabilities to become pregnant and induce pregnancy.

More about the Audi life cycle under the cut.

The Audi are (assumedly) the longest-living species of sentient lifeforms in the Laurelai Galaxy. It is difficult to pinpoint age in any Audi due to their complete lack of any calendar system; Audi view time as constantly moving forward instead of cyclically repeating, and age records were never anything of value.

Because of their lack of birth dates, Audi categorize their lives into phases. Their first official phase is childhood, with their lack of an 'infant' category caused by the species having two fetal incubation periods: the first organic and the second synthetic. Audi give birth incredibly prematurely due to their narrow pelvic gap, and, to prevent damage and even death to the parent, birth is induced within a two-to-three month time period. Full fetal growth is achieved at ten to eleven months, with the second incubation period done with the asisstance of advanced medical technology that simulates a natural womb. Due to this technology, Audi's infant mortality rate went from 80% down to 25% with three out of four Audi infants reaching childhood.

The second phase is adulthood. What criteria needs to be met for this phase is up to speculation, as Audi seem keen on keeping that information private. What can be assumed is that it's personal for every Audi, and every Audi reaches adulthood at different times. Height ranges anywhere from 6'8" (203cm) to 9'11" (302cm) on average, with older individuals being on the taller end due to Audi constantly (albeit slowly) growing their entire lives.

The final phase is She, a coveted example of Audi excellence and potential. Reaching the phase of She takes an impossible amount of time and physical growth. Every She, of which there are currently six, has a leadership role, ranging from cultural preservation and the arts to science and engineering, with each She taking a 'mastery' of one of these core values of Audi society. An interesting note is that every She is referred to as 'She', making it difficult for outsiders to deduce which of the six She is being referenced. She cap out the Audi height range at an even 10' (304cm), though why this is considered maximum height or how they suppress growth past this point is still being studied.

[venomous-qwille]

A NOTE REGARDING WIKIS AND LORE DOCS

I've mentioned this in Misutamojis before, but just realised there was nothing about it here so:

Please don't create public lore docs or wikis for GITM.

I totally understand that the story is already sprawling and there are a lot of characters to keep track of, but here is my reasoning behind this request:

GITM is still in its very early stages, there is so little that you concretely know about any of the characters/story that it is likely that any character bios people write will be fundamentally incorrect. Same goes for lore about the worldbuilding and the Sight. It's much easier to spread misinfo than fact, and certain stuff in fic is kept deliberately misleading/vague for fun story purposes.

GITM is not a TV show and I am not a showrunner. I am just another DCA fan on the internet who wants to chat about their OCs, I should be allowed to do that without having my every word indexed. To be clear, as I have said many many many many times in the past: people quoting what I say in discord, analysing my casual art/magmas/drabbles, or screencapping casual convos and jokes to pull them apart to dissect details from it makes me really really uncomfortable. If people started screencapping what I say to stick it on a doc for proof of XYZ thing about a character you guys haven't even met yet... I would probably stop interacting on this server point blank. Please imagine how you would feel if people were screenshotting your desktop background to read your filenames so they could theorycraft. That has happened in this server. More than once. Please stop. Your FOMO is not more important than my boundaries.

The intended reading experience for GITM is... reading GITM. Yes sometimes I share my personal headcanons and tidbits for characters, but I promise that all of this stuff will be discovered in fic. I don't want people to learn about Fool's favourite songs from a google doc. I want you to learn about it from GITM. That is why I am writing GITM: to tell you about these characters.

I would like the opportunity to make a GITM wiki myself at some point in the future.

I understand this might be frustrating, I know the lore is overwhelming as it stands. As always, if you have questions about the characters, you are welcome to ask in one of the discussion channels- I don't mind people @ ing me for that- I love talking about GITM! I am always happy to answer new FAQs at length.

[ceescedasticity]

A writeup/outline of the House of the Dragon/Song of Ice and Fire fic I worked on feverishly for a month and a half:

Premise: So, over two-four months of binging HotD fanfic before abruptly focusing on something else, I found a lot of fics with one or more Game of Thrones-era characters being reborn into the Dance era, but very few in reverse — I can only remember one, and it overwrote a canon character who I like with a HotD character I don't care about so meh. (There were a handful more with HotD characters suddenly being transported to the GoT era, but most were abandoned.)

So, the other way around — why might such a thing happen?

Well — Jace owes the Starks a Targaryen princess. The Starks seem to have felt dying cleared the debt, but they aren't the only ones who might care about oaths sworn in godswoods. So, Jace gets to be reborn until he delivers. As a girl, because he doesn't have a right to promise other Targaryen princesses. —Except his brothers. Well, sisters.

Unfortunately the Old Gods do not have free access to Targaryens; they need there to be a backdoor, so not every generation is accessible. Also they are possibly using a somewhat perverse definition of "princess".

First backdoor: Melissa Blackwood, one of the mistresses of Aegon the Unworthy. Jace and Luke are reborn as Mya and Gwenys Rivers. (Melissa's third child is a boy, and also earmarked for other purposes, so Joff sits out this round.) Even after they're legitimized they're not precisely princesses; there's no reason the Starks would want to marry them. They end up pretty preoccupied with Targaryen stuff anyway, supporting Daeron II and opposing the Blackfyre Rebellion. They go through some bad stuff. There's a whole story here, between the Blackfyre Rebellion and the frankly insane dynamics of Aegon IV's court.

(Part of the story is about their little brother, Brynden Rivers, who loves them very much and also sees who they are after a greenseer-awakening sojourn on the Isle of Faces.)

Altogether it's not an entirely unsuccessful life, but delivering Targaryen princess: Not accomplished.

You might think that Betha Blackwood would be the next backdoor! You would be wrong. Possibly Shaera was un-meddleable due to upcoming Prince that was Promises bloodlines. Possibly the Old Gods are set on only reincarnating them as questionable princesses.

The next backdoor is Jenny. Duncan and Jenny weren't planning on having children, but whoopsie-daisy, twin girls. Jenny's friend (the future Ghost of High Heart, henceforth Woman of the Forest/WotF because I don't want to keep typing that) sees some things about the babies, but not very clearly, so they end up named Junia and Layne.

Junia and Layne have a good, sheltered childhood. (Junia could definitely have been a much better and more responsible princess than Shaera, but whatever.) They're in their mid-teens when Aegon V comes up with his dragon-hatching scheme. They are 1000% on board with this. They love dragons. Targaryens without dragons is just wrong. They die at Summerhall. But — and this will be important — the WotF understands their situation enough to know they will eventually be back.

If Lyanna Stark had daughters (who didn't already have Destinies), that would have been a suitable backdoor. But, she doesn't, and her son mustn't be tampered with. And of course not much later there's a serious Targaryen shortage.

If I were writing this properly I'd introduce Jessamyn, Lucinda, and Jocelyn Flint and leave the connection vague until later, but since I'm not — their mother Mona (short for Daemona) was a Blackfyre in the female line. Their father Ronnel is the backdoor, and a younger son of House Flint of Flint's Finger who ran off to become a sellsword in Essos.

(This is the most excruciating parentage by far, because after Mya and Gwenys's experiences they really, really hate Blackfyres.) (Joff is here for the first time, and Jess and Lucy won't let Jo out of sight, mostly.)

Ronnel says they're trueborn and no one in Westeros can contradict him, but technically their parents never formally married (no godswoods available).

Mona dies and Ronnel gets sick/takes an injury that won't heal/idk something where he's dying but not immediately. Mona didn't trust her family, so Ronnel takes the girls to the North. He'll trust his brother with his daughters' safety — but not with the several chests of Essosi gold Ronnel is leaving to them. Those Ronnel entrusts to Eddard Stark, the contents to be released to his daughters only; as a compromise, they can withdraw some before they marry to help offset expenses.

Thus they are not infrequent visitors to Winterfell, not close to the Starks but quite well acquainted. Which puts them closer to 'marrying a Stark' than they've ever been, but Catelyn is very clear that they are not suitable prospects. Jessamyn Flint is a responsible girl with enough dowry for a respectable smaller house to overlook questionable origins and some personal eccentricities, but shouldn't look higher.

Also Jess has a temper — better controlled than Jace's, because Mya faced severe consequences for lashing out and Junia's family actually taught her how to manage anger, but it's still there. When it shows up at Winterfell it's usually because Theon Greyjoy, comedic genius, has reacted to Lucy's somewhat boyish behavior by persistently nicknaming her Brave Lucy Flint. This is generally agreed to be reasonable grounds for even a lady to lose her shit. (If Jess had Jace's training and muscle mass it would be all over for him.)

Cascade effect from this: Because the Brave Danny Flint thing gets brought up over and over and OVER again, tied into reality in a way the song alone won't do, Jon is much less enthusiastic about the Night's Watch. In fact, he wants to go for a knighthood first (or instead) — when he leaves Winterfell he goes to House Locke, one of the handful of Northern houses that does knighthood. And when the North goes to war, Jon rides with House Locke to the Green Fork and gets captured.

After Robb is crowned, Jess has the idea of reaching out to her father's contacts in the Company of the Rose — would any of them want to come defend an independent North, at least enough to get a good price hiring them? She also volunteers her dowry to pay for it. So, Jess and one of her Flint cousins set out to get a ship to Essos, and Lucy (with Jo) is dispatched to Winterfell to get the gold if things work out.

The three-eyed raven gives Bran a very clear and explicit warning about Theon's party approaching, with instructions on how to avert it. The castle falling would be useful to drive his successor northwards, but Brynden is not about to let Gwenys get captured by Ironborn. The attack is foiled with minimal casualties, but Theon takes out one of Lucy's eyes. (Lucy has a hysterical laughing fit before passing out.)

—After this Theon is either dispatched for the Wall and does Night's Watch things or "escapes" with "Reek" and has a very bad time.

In the course of preparing for the attack Brynden revealed through Bran that he's still alive and can communicate through weirwoods. He has to be much less cryptic in explaining why Bran needs to cross the Wall. Lucy is unconvinced and says she certainly couldn't let Bran go without her, which Brynden doesn't like at all. Fortunately for Brynden's plans Lucy is still in recovery, and she is unable to stop Bran from slipping away with the Reeds, Hodor, and also Jo. Brynden will be in so much trouble when she tells Mya.

Jess has her own problems. The safe thing to do would be to head to Essos by way of White Harbor — but starting from Riverrun that's a long way out of the way. Sneaking through the Riverlands to Saltpans should be much faster. It's a terrible idea but Jess knows the Riverlands well (or did when she was Mya) and her cousin is short on common sense. They get caught and taken to Tywin at Harrenhal. We now have Jess, Jon, Arya, and Tywin all in Harrenhal.

Which is not quite the same as it is in canon, because — remember Jenny's friend knowing Jenny's daughters would be reborn someday?

The Woman of the Forest dug up those seven dragon eggs Aegon V brought to Summerhall and buried them by the Harrenhal heart tree. They'd already been in a pyre with way more than seven people, and Harrenhal has plenty more death to offer, so when magic starts growing again — say, about when the direwolf mother came south — they hatch. Now the Harrenhal godswood has seven possibly cursed dragons. (Almost definitely cursed, really. They're most active at night and stealthier than they should be even at night; they grew quickly to a fairly small size for dragons and then stopped; they are uncannily knowing for animals.)

Cursed or not they've been very considerate for dragons — they've never attacked inside the castle. They're practically friendly with the castle smallfolk who discovered and secretly fed them. (The smallfolk called them after the major houses of Harrenhal — Hoare, Qoherys, Harroway, Towers, Strong, Lothston, and Whent.) When they started attacking Lannister raiders they did it outside the castle.

Since Jon Snow has been a prisoner, one of them has been lurking around the relevant tower more.

When Jess arrives, one breaks into her cell within a few days. (Jon is an option. They're meant for Jess.) (The one that's most for her is Strong, because of course it is.)

There's a very exciting night after which they're in control of Harrenhal and Jess and Jon have claimed dragons, to Jon's consternation. (Two more of the dragons are destined for Lucy and Jo.)

Blah blah, more stuff happens, I'm not sure how the war works out exactly but Robb marries Jess after all because she's from a good northern family and HAS A DRAGON.

They still have quite a bit to do up North even before the Others show up because in addition to the Ironborn and potential Bolton problems—

No Jon Snow means Lord Mormont gets killed by a wight, which means that the Watch started attempting to elect a new Lord Commander and deadlocked. No Great Ranging. No infiltration of Mance Rayder's wildlings by Jon or anyone else. Wherever the wildling army attacks — maybe not Castle Black if it's full of election — they're a surprise, and any wall-climbing advance guard was un-infiltrated. Mance gets through.

(Which will actually be a benefit when the Others show! Going to take a while to work that out, though.)

The Bastard Dragons will likely help with all this. (Also Brynden has to be careful with Bran or his sisters will be disappointed.)

Anyway anyway — that's only four out of seven bastard dragons spoken for, and what about the Greens?

So, considering the dragonkeepers as a quasi-religious order. They are likely to be distraught when the last dragon dies. They perhaps might want to demand vengeance — perhaps not on the current king, both because the senior Dragonstone dragonkeepers remember Aegon III as a little boy who loved Stormcloud plus, you know, he's the king. Perhaps they might instead turn to Valyrian blood magic and access to Targaryen funerary urns, and commit mass ritual murder-suicide to chain the guilty to life where they can be punished.

This doesn't work with an empty funeral urn, so they can't actually target Rhaenyra or Daemon, or Daeron. Any non-Targaryens aren't on the table at all. But Aegon II and Helaena had funerals, and Aemond's bones were dredged up with Vhagar's. (Some might question the inclusion of Helaena among the guilty, but her suicide triggered the storming of the Dragonpit.)

The curse will see them reborn, when a Hightower has a child with Targaryen blood. The curse will see their bodies warped with approximations of draconic traits, eventually killing them painfully. The curse will end when there are dragons again.

The first available "child of a Hightower, with Targaryen blood" is the youngest daughter of Rhaena and Garmund Hightower, followed by Rhaena's daughters's children. They go through a few rounds of this before some of the Hightowers figure out what's going on. They come up with a way to stall the curse, but decide that probably they should try to avoid marrying Targaryens. Rhaena's grandchildren don't bear the Hightower name, so it doesn't fall on any of them.

It does pop up when Viserys Plumm marries a Hightower. And when a Hightower fathers a child on a dragonseed whore, years after that.

(The curse doesn't specify gender, but somehow Aegon is a girl every time. He undergoes character development partially from this and partially from experiencing actual competent parenting and unconditional love.)

Fast forward. Leyna Hightower is one of Lord Leyton's daughters, and the only one to marry into a knightly house. Suppose, then, that this was a coverup after she got in trouble. Suppose she got into trouble with a descendant of one of Aegon V's sisters, and surprise, turns out that's enough to trigger the curse. Mad Maid Malora figures out what's going on fairly soon, so Agnes and Ellyn get the curse mitigation very young.

Leyna then goes on to fuck Robert at the Lannisport tourney and has Emmon. To complete the set.

Agnes, Ellyn, and Emmon are all nominally the children of Ser Jon Cupps, but Leyna and Robert weren't exactly discreet. Jon Arryn comes up with a pretense to invite Ser Cupps and family to court — he wants a closer look at white-blond Leyna and her black-haired son.

Ellyn would rather die than set foot in King's Landing, so she goes to be a companion to her cousin Margaery instead. We'll come back to her.

Lord Arryn and Stannis interrogate Leyna but leave Ser Cupps out of the loop. Emmon isn't told anything but figures it out. Agnes decides Cersei was custom-crafted by cruel gods to answer the question "what would a queen have to be like for Aegon to think better of Rhaenyra by comparison".

When Jon Arryn dies, Stannis takes Leyna and Emmon — evidence — to Dragonstone. Emmon is very unhappy about this. Agnes and Ser Cupps are left behind. Ser Cupps, still clueless, helps Ned's investigation as best he can, and is 'accidentally' killed in the chaos around Ned's arrest. The Lannisters decide Agnes isn't much of a Reach hostage, but still worth hanging onto. Agnes is very unhappy about this and makes it everyone's problem.

Back in the Reach, Ellyn doesn't care about Renly but she is fond of Margaery and Loras. She tries some of Malora's tricks to protect the encampment. It interferes enough that Renly doesn't get killed.

Emmon eventually manages to get off Dragonstone — Leyna will probably be safe there but Melisandre is making him nervous. He wants to get back to the Reach or find Renly's forces, since breaking Agnes out of King's Landing on his own is unrealistic. (As far as kings go Emmon thinks all the Baratheons are pretenders, but the Lannisters and Stannis have made themselves his enemies.) Inconveniently, he makes landfall in the Riverlands. He is captured. He is imprisoned in proximity to Jess, and both of them have to come to terms with a lot of things real fast.

So Emmon is also at Harrenhal, and also claims a dragon, and also calls dibs on two more for currently absent siblings.

Claiming of the Bastard Dragons:

Hoare, renamed Hoarwing (by Jess), renamed Hoarfrost (by Jon): Jon Snow

Qoherys, renamed Rhaenaxes because who cares about House Qoherys and Queen Rhaena was awesome: Ellyn Cupps

Harroway, renamed Harrowfyre: Agnes Cupps

Towers, renamed Towerfyre (by Jess), renamed Riverwing (by Emmon, from reasons he won't discuss): Emmon Cupps

Strong, renamed Strongwing: Jessamyn Flint

Lothston, renamed Danelleys because Mad Danelle was definitely the best Lothston: Lucinda Flint (You could therefore, if you wanted, nickname the dragon Danny Flint — or perhaps Danny Flint's Revenge)

Whent, renamed Whenthor: Jocelyn Flint

When Daenerys finally arrives, they all make terms — they insist on good terms, but they won't set dragon against dragon for the sake of any crown.

[infinitelystrangemachinex]

once again losing my mind over hotd's writing bc just when i think they finally nailed it, it turns out it's 95% okay to pretty good, and then that last 5% is absolute dogshit to the point that it threatens the entire script with utter mediocrity. every now and then an actor will talk about how much freedom they get during a scene which is great, but how does that work when the writers and showrunners seem 100% aligned with some actors in some scenes, leading to alignment with the audience as well - and sometimes, it's like the writers showrunners and actors are all living on different planets.

like you want this thing with alicent and cristy cole to be this seductive intrigue, but meanwhile the audience is still wondering how the hell we got here. we have alicent hightower who is so tradcath she couldn't imagine a worse fate for a woman than being "sullied" out of wedlock when she was a teenager, she cared for viserys but had no passion for him (had no passion for anything besides her own children and her own trauma tbh), you cannot convince me that she ever thought of sex as anything pleasurable or even remotely intriguing after the life she has led, and we're just expected to believe that she has a spicy affair with the lord commander of the kingsguard? the thing is, i could believe it. but like, you've gotta put in the work to make that happen. you have to write it down. you have to tell us how we got here. subtext doesn't just materialize out of thin air, subtext is part of writing too. there's a reason why when you read asoiaf, everyone who reads it picks up on the same subtext at the same time, because it is put there on purpose, not just assumed that everyone will come to the same conclusion about some vague noncommittal strokes.

it was bad enough that rhaenyra and daemon had hardly any dialogue in season 1 about their relationship, but they still made it work because they at least got the screentime. the worst part is that the weird close-talking alicent and cole did in season 1 was 100x more interesting than whatever is going on here. like fabien frankel correctly interpreted cole as absolutely dead inside beyond anything that has to do with rhaenyra (onto whom he projects all his embarrassment and fear), olivia cooke is doing her absolute best to keep alicent rooted, and the script is giving them absolutely nothing besides instructions to look at each other meaningfully and it's giving absolutely nothing, idk, and they don't even really do that bc they still don't show cole's face much. what is even going on here

same issues now with rhaenyra and daemon bc the showrunners say "they've got each other's backs" and we can clearly see with our eyes that daemon does not have rhaenyra's back. and rhaenyra lets him do whatever bc she can't control him and for no other reason. this is, in fact, far from the first time he has abandoned her in her hour of need, and far from the first time he has broken a promise to her. rhaenyra's dialogue is relegated to stating the obvious and telling us exactly what she is thinking at all times, while daemon's dialogue is either thin or nonexistent because since season 1, the writers have interpreted "morally gray" as "we will not write down his motivations bc you have to decide his motivations for yourself." which is not only not what morally gray means, but it's also why the audience is at best completely confused about who daemon is as a character.

[velvet-games]

intro post

I'll probably add more to/change this later; I've just needed an intro post for a while, and this is what I could think of. you should probably remind me to update it if this section is still here after like six months lol.

name/pronouns/age/gay shit~

honestly you can call me whatever, but I probably won't know you're talking about me unless you use vel/velvet.

prefer they/it; any pronouns are fine.

I'm probably non-binary I guess.

I'm an adult.

I basically just identify as queer at this point, but I'm like,, vaguely aroace-spec probably? still figuring it out. I'm actually very happy to talk about it more specifically, but I might have to sit you down for an entire day to explain it lol.

what I do/post~

I mostly post fandom stuff, and my original posts include a lot of art + occasional meta. I'm starting write fic too, so that might be a more regular thing in the future :)

other accounts~

@/velvetygames -- explicit nsfw twitter/x account, not very active

@cornerbytes -- old dragon prince account that I will probably revisit when the new season comes out

@/velvet_games -- ao3 account

nsfw~

I post occasional nsfw here (never super explicit; that's saved for my twitter); it'll be tagged #nsft.

fandoms~

current fandom: hazbin hotel

previous fandoms:

hannibal (will always have a very special place in my heart)

arcane (will revisit when the new season comes out)

ofmd (literally so happy this exists; devastated it's not getting a new season)

the dragon prince (will probably revisit when the new season comes out)

good omens

lotr (I also read like 2/3 of the hobbit and will hopefully finish it this summer lmao)

things in media that make me go insane (in a good way)~

friendship

happy endings

cannibalism

(WELL-WRITTEN) romance (THAT RESPECTS THE CHARACTERS AS INDIVIDUALS AS WELL AS WHO THEY ARE IN RELATION TO OTHERS)

surrealism

good visuals (even if everything else is shit; extra points if it's animation)

angst

fake-hating

this one's weird but I love situations where a character is really helpless; I thought I liked whump because I can be borderline sadistic about it sometimes, but whump is really not necessary at all to this concept

religious stuff, mythology, angels specifically for some reason (especially when they're terrifying and/or fallen)

gay people

requests~

you are welcome to send in ideas through comments, DMs, asks, etc., but I can't guarantee I'll draw them. if I don't, it doesn't mean that I don't like your idea; I'm probably just busy or have too many brainworms about a specific thing to draw anything but what's on my mind.

notes~

I randomly get really anxious about feedback on stuff sometimes lol, but I promise I read every single comment/tag and cherish them very deeply <33

also, like/rb spamming is totally fine and welcomed! I know some people don't like it, so I just wanted to make it clear that it's completely cool with me.

mutuals~

for a really long time, this was my pinned post, and it's still true! definitely welcome any interactions from mutuals <3

I do have a problem with randomly ghosting people though; I've been much better with it recently, but please try not to take it personally if I don't respond to DMs quickly. I'm probably just being insane and in my head about it. I'm really sorry.

misc~

this is an account that is purposely removed from my irl stuff; I'm here to have fun and relax on my mostly fandom-oriented blog.

I don't block often since I mostly meet nice people on here, but I am very happy to block accounts that make my experience on this app shitty.

I try to tag triggers when appropriate, but please let me know if you need me to tag anything I haven't.

art for me is just a hobby I use for fun and self-expression, so while I really appreciate concrit, keep in mind that my goal is ultimately to make stuff that makes me happy.

I am also very protective of young artists that get made fun of for being beginners or making unconventional art; you should never assume why someone is making art, and you especially should not assume that they are focused on becoming more skilled or making things that are beautiful to you. if they're not hurting anyone and you're not their target audience, get the fuck out.

I am of the mindset that media is not real, but that your reaction/the things you learn are. liking cannibal media does not make you a cannibal, but seeing bigoted portrayals of minorities can feed your biases (doesn't necessarily mean you can't consume it; does mean its effect on you/others irl should factor into if/how you decide to interact with it).

I'm vaguely fucked in the head. just keep that in mind.

[alexxmason]

Ambition

Paring: Edward Naston/Riddler x Ariel Herrera (OC)

Word count: 2100+ // Ao3

Warnings: mentions of drugs and alcohol use, vague mentions of violence, smoking, subtle dry humping. No beta/ disregard errors.

A/N: I have worked on this from time to time and finally finished this 😩 not totally happy w it but I missed these two so much, and just glad to have some kinda writing out.

The rain was a little refreshing on her hot skin. All the dancing and her few drinks had Ariel’s blood pumping, but she didn’t forget her purpose at the Iceberg Lounge. As she made her way out, Ariel slipped on her heavy coat and tucked her purse inside with her important intel. Her hair grew more wet and sticky as she walked towards her car just a block away in the rain.

Not a heavy rain but enough to make the roads and streets slick. The streetlights glistened as she looked up at them. Her brown eyes glanced around to a shortcut, her regular one, the alleyway that cuts through and straight to her parking space.

Ariel knew how Gotham was by now and knew which spaces were safe to navigate through, so she began trekking through the dimly lit space.

No one was out on their fire escapes, likely due to the rain, and just some vehicles parked along the walls. It’s the same scene as it always was when she passed through this alley.

Her eyes were still fixed up at the lights on in the apartment buildings. Likely families, Ariel wondered. Maybe husbands kissing their spouses, mothers reading to their children. Or fathers neglecting their families.

Or dealers, smugglers, and worse. She knew this block. Ariel grew up on it and was aware of the transgressions. It made Ariel hateful, bitter, and full of disgust that this was her home. The neglect left a deep hate inside her.

Nothing changed. This city has never changed since Thomas Wayne’s promise and his demise. While she was at The Iceberg Lounge, Ariel watched politicians enter the Below 44 club and exit high or drunk while people were on the streets, asking for a dime. And it made her sick to her stomach. How they could be with strangers while their spouses tucked in their children and their community begged for scraps.

Gotham City was still so poisonous and dark. A cancerous thing in need of a serious shift.

This place needed a drastic change. Things only get worse every year and now there was a costumed menace brutalizing people down on their luck while the rich and powerful kept partying. Ariel didn’t see what Edward did in him. But she believed in his plans to shake and reshape Gotham. Extreme measures but it would ensure change and justice. And Ariel wanted the front-row seat when it happens.

Ariel only heard her own heels clicking and splashing into each puddle as she went on down the way. Almost close to the end she heard cracks of thunder that shook the air around her and caused Ariel to jump and almost scream, but it was a hand around her right wrist that caught her full attention.

Before she could completely focus, she was pulled into a covered parking space. Only Ariel immediately relaxed and even smiled when she recognized the surprise person.

A familiar man. One that got her blood hot all over again when she caught soft green eyes behind clear lenses and Edward’s semi-wet hair sticking closely to his face from the rain.

Firm gloved hands gently held onto her covered biceps, “Did you get everything?” He almost ignores when she already tried to press into him.

Ariel still smirked and nodded, “I could’ve killed you, you know?” She was happy to see him as she always was. A hint of giddiness behind her eyes when he catches Ariel’s gaze.

“I think I was a little faster,” he huffed. His breathing was almost shaky, raspy. She had wondered where he had been but Ariel never asked. Whatever his business was, she knew it was important.

Ariel reached into her coat and retrieved a recorder and camera. A small one, one she could conceal and given to her by Edward for these reasons.

When he requested she’d head to the club, she assumed he would meet her there. Maybe they’d do this reconnaissance together, Edward didn’t have to dance with her or drink. He could just be with Ariel. Watch her.

After retrieving a cigarette and her lighter from her purse, Ariel recognized his vehicle just by them. A single car underneath an empty garage built into the building. Into the foundation and perfectly shrouding Edward’s car from the rain a bit. So she went to sit atop the hood as it peeked out from its parking while he looked through the camera. With a flick of her lighter, she inhaled deeply to ignite the cigarette between her lips and took a long drag as she sat back a little. Eyeing her man as he focused on all the intel she had gathered.

Ariel rested on her arm while she went on with her smoke, “He’s there with her. They’re all there actually. Fucking and partying.”

“I see that,” he’s almost too quiet. Edward’s voice hushed when he said, “You did well. This.. is just what I needed.”

It was enough to keep his plans on track and everything he could use for his extreme blackmail. Ariel watched his face almost brighten and his chest rises with the very thoughts of what he could do with this information. So driven, she adored that about him. His ambitions and his passion for his cause. That fire and ache for justice.

It excited her.

As it continued to drizzle, Ariel’s straightened hair curled only a little due to the humid air while she leaned a little back to obscure herself from the rain. Her fur coat now wet and heavier than before, it motivated her to shake it off a bit. Freeing her shoulders now to the crisp air. Ariel only trembled a little with the breeze. Her bare legs were exposed to elements from her short dress but she hadn’t planned on seeing Edward so soon.

It didn't go unnoticed when he finally brought his attention from his pictures to her, his soft eyes snapping up and gazing at Ariel through the fogging lens. Watching her form, every curve, and how her chest moved with each inhale of her cigarette.

Ariel wasn’t dressed extravagantly. Just something tight and maybe too short. A black dress with spaghetti straps, the leather slick from the rain. Her mascara and eyeliner only smudged some from the poor weather.

Still such a sight to him.

“You looked like you were having fun.”

“So you were there after all?” She was almost surprised when he said yes. It made Ariel smile a little while she leaned back and rested on her elbows. Propping her legs up just a bit.

“Did you have fun?” he asked his girlfriend while also reaching for the lit cigarette between her fingers. Taking a drag and inhaling deeply before releasing the smoke from his lungs and putting her cigarette back to her lips when she nodded to him.

“I did,” Ariel smiled after a drag. Her dark eyes locked on to him as she took another hit, “Did you enjoy watching me?”

After he put out the smoke and his intel-packed camera, Edward made his way to the front of the hood. Almost towering over her while he said, “I did..”

Such a simple thing to admit brought some thrill over Ariel. Her body grew warm once again watching his eyes scanned her body and met her gaze.

His sweet face was only slightly red as Ariel stared at him with such a soft smile. It was playful, taunting him even when she spread her knees apart slowly and said, “You always love to watch me.”

Edward nodded, the rain easing up but his dark coat was wet and his glasses had the same vague haze.

But even with his slick hair and the dark atmosphere, Ariel continued her teasing, “I wish you were there with me.”

He should be with her more. Edward loved Ariel and did what she wanted to keep her entertained and content, but his work lately has been keeping him occupied. She was growing more antsy. Lonesome and bored.

Edward watched her closely, his eyes locking onto hers but he shrugged, “I have a lot to do..” His reason for dismissing her lately. It was not untrue, but it did make her feel so lonely.

“But I just miss you so much,” Ariel’s dress was already riding up just a little more than it’s intended length. Her bare thighs were exposed to the cold winds but it didn't sway her. Not when she was pulling her dress up just a little more, “But I also know you’re too busy for me.”

With those small words, Ariel’s legs spread just a bit more with the leathered covered hands gently grazing her flesh.

Before Edward could entertain her, he told her maybe he should go. He had to continue his plans, whatever that meant, Ariel didn’t know what it was this time. She only knew what he allowed her to know. But she didn’t mind, she trusted him.

Unfortunately, for him, she wouldn’t be dismissed at this moment.

Edward still stood over Ariel, “I won’t be busy for much longer,” an honest answer, he only needed a bit more time. But when she sighed, rolling her eyes, Edward leaned over her. Moving more closely and putting his hands on each side of her.

Her gaze was intense as she said, “You keep saying that. But I feel so neglected and I get so… bored.”

“I hope you’re not bored of me,” he asked with a touch of curiosity in his green eyes when Ariel shook her head.

“No, I just wished you could pay attention to me more.”

When he settled on top of her, between her thighs and with his hips pressed against hers, Ariel’s eyes almost lit up with anticipation.

A smile grew on her lips and her slender hands snaked into his jacket, underneath his shirt. Her nails were already digging into his pale skin when he said, “I’ll make it up to you. You know that?” Ariel nodded and her man buried his slightly flushed face in her neck. Sighing deeply when he could feel a soft hum from her chest. Her throat vibrated against his lips when he planted the most tender kiss along her skin. Groaning quietly to himself when Ariel’s hold grew tighter, more desperate to hold her man closely.

“Why can’t you just do it already?” A fast change in her voice but not her body. Not when she was wiggling into him, her hips grinding with his own desperate movements.

“You know I can’t..” his hands held onto her shoulders, pulling her more into him when she was still so desperately moving against him, “Not yet.”

“Why not?” She asked with a firmness in her tone. Edward stopped his movements when she did, and her hands slithered from his shirt to his slick hair to gently tug his face up to hers.

“You have the means, this is what you’ve been working toward?”

“I have a plan. You know what I’m doing is to-” he couldn’t finish his sentence before his girlfriend cut him off.

“You could do it yourself. You could take them all down at once. They’re all in there, right now..” Ariel propped herself up on her elbows and glared at Edward. Her tone was harsh and stern even.

The light thunder and the hands on her thighs didn’t change her mood.

“You know I would help you. I can help you,” Ariel reminded him.

Edward had methods and was preparing for something big. She knew it, Ariel knew the plans but Edward was brilliant and strategic. He didn’t need anyone’s help like he planned.

“Ary, it’s not the plan.”

“But Edward, think about it,” a hand reached out to him, and Ariel pulled him to her again. Just as they were before, “You have the manpower, now, don’t you? You think you’re not strong enough but you are. Ed, you could take over right now.”

The sounds of the fading storm and crisp wind kept Ariel calm but she knew she was right. As much as she loved how driven Edward was and that fire inside him, she felt like he was going down his path too slowly. Waiting for someone else to join his fight even, but Ariel found it a waste of time.

He was almost embracing her now, sighing to himself when she kissed his jaw as he said, “No, we need to expose them,” he let out soft groans, “Ruin them and show everyone the truth.”

“Is that justice?” Ariel asked him with her hands still gently pulling at his hair, “Don’t give them a chance. No one ever gave you or me or anyone else a chance.”

Her hips wiggled into his some when he nodded to her words, and said with a slight breathy groan, “I know. But you’ll see. It’ll be worth it when they’re all dead..”

[marinecorvid]

Going through victory road in bw2 rn (both delightful in its winding length and a slog all at once) and so the game’s not technically over plot wise, we’ve gotten past the main plasma part so the real story’s just about done and I’m trying to find ways to merge my hcs with it to make it more compelling…. Nate (who goes by his middle name of ailbhe) in my ‘verse (which is mostly based on my adoring following of a semi-nuzlocke comic someone was doing on deviantart and never finished… TT-TT) comes across as a very mild mannered young man, very friendly; very battle competent, very thorough. takes his losses with grace. (tbh isn't this a common characterization tho........ whatever)

I started out my playthrough w the vague notion that while Nate is, on paper, going on his pokemon journey because he’s good at battling and enjoys it, he has the primary objective of figuring out What The Hell Happened To Gwyn (Hilda), the cousin he very much looked up to; he's using the excuse of adventuring to retrace her footsteps, and the goal of becoming champion-class to be able to access otherwise restricted routes and resources. (I’m almost glad in a way bw2’s plot was so bare, gives me opportunity to Go Ham (Chiquita Dave) in the sandbox of canon). I’m… not sure if I still want to go by that angle tho. I think his mom and aunt (gwyn’s mom) were very shaken by gwyn going missing, understandably, and I’d think it’s the kind of thing that would make his mom very worried about him on his journey, to the point where she’s both very excited for him to get out there but terrified something like that would happen to him, so he’d promise to stay out of trouble and focus on battling, which should’ve been easy bc team plasma’s been officially disbanded for years…. but it’s a promise he can’t keep. tying into the trend of people projecting both truth and ideals onto him as a kyurem mirror, he also struggles in that gray area for a bit; to search for gwyn or not, and whether he wants to find her, or find out what happened to her (colress poses this particular dilemma when Nate talks about the two goals interchangeably).

Another reason I think why he does what he does and gets so involved in the plasma plot despite his own promises and the danger (Hugh’s subplot notwithstanding) is that he has an encounter with zekrom before gwyn goes missing, and while I don’t mean to write every object or creature of power as some vaguely eldritch subject, zekrom and reshiram existing as someone’s literal embodiments of the desire for ideals/truth makes their presence at least a little intense, especially if you haven’t had any exposure to that level of power before. anyways what happens is gwyn goes home after beating N and ghetsis and hangs there for a while after the craziness of bw, and at some point Nate and his mom come over to visit! and Nate is told hushedly and sternly not to go near the paddock behind the barn or whatever. and he says yes of course auntie But it’s entirely possible he forgets (or his curiosity gets the better of him) and he’s wandering around the farm property at nightfall and he wanders back to that paddock and it takes him a little bit to start to understand what he’s seeing. at first it looks like just a pile of black, which isn’t normal for the the paddocks, but then it starts moving, in shapes he doesn’t understand; but then they become wings, and a tail, and then a neck and a head and eyes like red embers are looking at him, seeing him, and as the blood is rushing in his ears and at some point every hair stood up on his body and he can taste the static on his tongue he understands who he’s looking at and why he wasn’t supposed to be back here. and then zekrom looks away and curls back up to resume its nap, bc Nate is so small compared to it both physically and in purpose, and even if he was enough to be regarded with anything beyond disdainful apathy he has sort of gwyn smell like her den mother, so that means they’re kin its human’s kin are extended the grace of neutrality, and as it resumes its sleep the electricity in the air fades but Nate’s still breathing like he run a mile and it’s still hard to hear the sound of the trees rustling, but then gwyn is there and her hand is on his shoulder and she’s guiding him back around the barn, and reality snaps back in to place at some point but he’s forever a changed man bc one does not simply have an encounter with one of the legendary dragons and feel unshaken by it (unless you’re like N, in which being able to understand pokemon makes the initial weirdness easier to handle; or not, in which case N is just that weird) (or like ghetsis, who’s got enough layers of delusion going on that it doesn’t bother him too too much)

But Yeah. It’s the kind of thing one stays up late thinking about, staring at the wall at 3 in the morning, feeling slightly disconnected from everything else. Kind of guy who seems normal on the surface but inside has something deeply wrong with him except not something wrong with him he's just had an encounter with a living god-spirit-thing that has changed him in some small but irrevocably important way that he can ignore 99% of the time but when that 1% hits.

anwyays still figuring stuff out just wanted to ramble for a bit. aces

[sharpenote]

I absolutely tagged you specifically cause I'm SO curious about the status of this fic sooo.. ghost files au 👻!! Whenever you're not busy with moving stuff ���

I DIDNT FORGET ABOUT THIS I PROMISE!!!!! ghost files au stalled REAL hard because i started it without properly outlining it first (i was SO excited to actually have writing inspiration for the first time in over a decade lol). i've known the ending from the start, it's really just what order to put everything in the middle that's making me freeze up. i might also have to resign myself to not switching off POVs every chapter like i wanted to, and see if that helps at all. maybe i should stick to eddie's until he actually sees chrissy for the first time, then switch? ANYWAY. i'm leaving a lot of the mechanics of how ghosts actually work vague on purpose because it's both easier and more fun for me that way, but the important part is that they're essentially like energy vampires. chrissy gets stronger/more visible the longer she's around eddie, but eddie eventually starts to get weaker 👀 aside from having plot reasons for this, i also thought it was kind of funny that it would mimic some symptoms of carbon monoxide poisoning, which is what eddie thought was happening at first.

also, the thing that had eddie spooked so bad in the first chapter was that chrissy specifically said his name through the spirit box multiple times, possibly also mentioning corroded coffin/humming the song they played at the talent show? but i might leave that bit for when he goes back in a future chapter, haven't decided yet. and also he caught a glimpse of her in his solo segment - really clearly human-shaped, too, which is why he thought he was hallucinating, bc previously all the things steve claimed were ghosts showing up on film were like.....blobs and dust. & obv the reason his footage got corrupted is bc Real Actual Ghosts like chrissy mess with electronic stuff like that. OH SPEAKING OF WHICH, i think in this universe i want to have suzie design a lot of their equipment (with dustin as like....this definitely isnt the right term but like a "tech correspondent" who gets little segments they film back at home base where he explains everything for viewers, that they cut to during the show when steve and eddie use any of them). and any time eddie talks about the whole thing being kind of bullshit all the younger kids (who do....something lol) to be like "are you DOUBTING SUZIE??? SUZIE IS A GENIUS"

[sunriseclan-dali]

About SunriseClan

Welcome to the clan. This is a blog and archive for my own cats using the game Clangen (with assistance from Catgen, a tool used to customize cats) which of course is based on the Warriors book series. The pixel art is not my own and originates from the game and original artist. However, if I find the motivation, I may draw my own art of the cats from time to time. Similarly, the prompts and events were not thought up by me, and though I can push things in a certain direction, all the credit for creativity goes to Clangen. This blog will primarily consist of in-depth documentation on my clan, the relationships within it, and their stories. At times the events and interactions in Clangen can be a little vague, and I'll usually leave it vague so that the details can be filled in by our personal interpretations and headcanons.

To be clear, the name "SunriseClan" is not unique, so feel free to use it for your own clan if you like. This is why I add my name to the blog to distinguish from other clans that might have the same name, currently or in the future.

The rest of this post will go over the details of how I run my clan and the content you'll find in this blog...

The Basics: Clan Content, Rules, and Warnings

The game itself has a content warning for "mild descriptions of gore, violence, and animal abuse" so please be aware that if you choose to engage with Clangen content, you may encounter these themes. Death and tragedy in general is a common occurrence in the Warriors books as well as Clangen.

The game includes gay, trans, nonbinary, and polyamorous cats, and I encourage this, thus I will not tolerate any discrimination. I don't care about any potential excuses or reasons you have to reject this— if you have complaints, keep them far away. That said, as I go along I will be using whichever pronouns the character used at the time, so if one changes their gender identity, the gender displayed at the top of their pages will be edited, but I won't go back to change the pronouns used in old events.

For romance settings, I have disabled romance between former apprentices and their mentors, as well as romance between related cats. I will also try my best to restrict romance to cats who are relatively close in age, or at least situations where the older cat didn't know the younger cat when they were a kit.

How My Blog & My Clan Works

For every season (3 moons), I'll post an update of all the events as they happen. Additionally, each cat will have their own posts solely detailing their own story and their interactions with other cats, which will regularly be edited as the story continues. The easiest way to find these is through tags.

I currently have asks open. If anybody happens to be interested in Sunriseclan, you can ask questions either to me, or even to my cats! There can be aspects of an ask-blog here if anybody wants that, where I can draw my cats answering the questions you have for them.

To be completely up-front, I am not hesitant to tamper with my clan for story purposes. I won't let bias effect who lives or dies, but if a cat has great potential and their story seems to be leading somewhere, I'm not going to let them die by freak accident on a random patrol unless that could lead to something interesting. That would be like if Tigerclaw died in book two by sudden fox attack before he did anything significant, it's just bad writing. I will also do this for aesthetic purposes— I promise not to tamper with this too much, but for example if a huge handful of the clan has the same pose or the same pattern just with minor colour changes (as tends to happen), I'm going to use Catgen to modify them a little for the sake of interesting character design.

I will follow some select rules from the books, such as the rule that only warriors who have mentored an apprentice are eligible to become deputy. However I will generally be pretty loose with things and I imagine the cats will be too. For example, I don't think my clan will generally put up a fuss about warriors mentoring their own kits. These rules are pretty inconsistent within the books themselves anyway.

And that's all I have to say. Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy your time in SunriseClan.

[mothmanwarble]

Some interesting thoughts here! I hope you don’t mind me responding to this and discussing things further.

[Note: if I come off as confrontational or angry at any point, I promise that it’s not my intent!! I’m just really (inordinately) passionate about Kaos and Skylanders lore in general, and as such, my enthusiasm might come off as aggression. The last thing I wanna do is make anyone feel bad, so if my writing makes me come off as upset, please know that this isn’t the case. I’m literally just excited.]

This got way longer than expected, so I’m putting everything under a read-more. Apologies in advance.

So, knowing Kaos, it’s definitely in-character for him to exaggerate stuff for dramatic purposes. He does it all the time! However, if he was simply exaggerating when he began his monologue by saying “for centuries,” I feel like he could’ve gotten the same dramatic effect if he’d just said something vague like “for ages” instead. Due to its lack of specificity, “for ages” could mean virtually anything—whether that’s five years or five centuries. Maybe I’m taking things too literally here, but I feel like the writers were being deliberate with their choice of wording. Don’t get me wrong, the Skylanders timeline can be an absolute nightmare to try and figure out due to inconsistencies in the writing and a lack of concrete dates. Lord knows I’ve had numerous crises over it. But even so, it’s not uncommon for Skylanders lore to describe events as having happened hundreds/thousands/tens-of-thousands of years ago and actually mean it.

Let’s take SWAP Force for example. Not only does it remain consistent with the timeline it establishes for itself (as far as I recall), but it also proves that Portal Masters native to Skylands can live upwards of one hundred years.

So the game establishes that Mount Cloudbreak erupts once every century. In addition to this, the game also explains that the SWAP Force had been banished one hundred years prior to the start of the game, specifically during the previous Cloudbreak eruption. Both of these facts are further corroborated in-game during the cutscene that formally introduces Kaos’ Mother. After bragging to him about the one time she attacked the Cloudbreak Islands, Kaos responds by saying “that was a hundred years ago!” This lines up with the game’s opening cutscene, in which Eon explains that the SWAP Force got banished during the previous eruption ceremony, which was the ceremony that Kaos’ Mom disrupted. Although her face is obscured by her hood in the opening cutscene, it’s definitely her emerging from the clouds. For her to be in her early 100’s like you suggest, that would imply that she was…a toddler when she terrorized the Cloudbreak Islands? But considering that the way she looks and sounds in the opening cutscene (well, from the little bits we can see/hear of her) resembles how she looks/sounds in modern day, I think it’s safe to say that she was definitely an adult when she orchestrated her attack.

Anyways! Moving on to the Cataclysmic Mega Rift scene! You are absolutely correct about Kaos stalling there. I love that scene (i’ve even rambled about it a bit in the past too haha) and I, too, hold the firm belief that Kaos genuinely did not want to destroy Skylands in that moment. In hindsight, I feel really, really silly about how I completely neglected to mention this in my original reblog. You’re right about him trying to delay the apocalypse for as long as possible!! I got so focused on trying to fit/force that one scene into the age discussion when it really didn’t add anything. I think I just found it curious that Kaos would even suggest waiting 100-200 years at all, even if he never intended to do so himself. It had me wondering about what he’d do if The Darkness had accepted his compromise. If, for whatever reason, Kaos couldn’t back out of the deal, could he feasibly remain alive for another 2 centuries? Personally, I don’t doubt it.

oOF that was a lot. if you read all that, you deserve a gold star or a favorite treat or a new addition to your skylander collection. anyways uhhh extra special shout out to master eon who is far, far older than 500 (which is the absolute bare minimum) according to one of those trivia/guide books. and shout out to him again, but specifically in the chapter books, just cuz they never stop emphasizing how unfathomably old he is.

I just remembered this question I've had it for so long but I just remembered now and I need to ask y'all

[natperv]

hello! is it okay if i request a spin off for your fic "priorities" but without smut? basically they have a fight then reader leaves kate's house and kate tries to talk to reader and apologize or something like that. thank you in advance!

a/n: i'm better at writing angst than i am at writing smut so i hope you enjoyed this <3 (sorry it took a hot minute, i'm having a hard time catching up on requests)

priorities (v2)

fem!reader x kate bishop

genre: angst

warnings: arguing </3, vague mentions of sex but nothing serious

word count: 1.8k

you let out a bored sigh as the clock struck midnight. you have officially been waiting here for six hours, having arrived at 6pm for your designated movie night, which kate promised she’d be here for. you lounged on the sofa, staring at the ceiling and eating cold dumplings from a white container. you wish you could find it in you to be surprised, but she’s done this often enough that you would have been more shocked if she actually showed up on time. the more humiliating thing was you really did want her to be there, you held your breath the whole time, pacing around the living room, jumping off the couch at every sound that erupted from the hallway. it was two hours ago that you gave up. and you would have gone home, but you were itching for an explanation. an excuse. the part of you that had grown resentful towards kate’s treatment was searching for any reason to leave, and you were trying so badly to hold it back.

movie night had been you and kate’s favorite weekly event since you got together. the two of you longed for it, picking out a trashy romcom or a badly made horror movie and spending hours in each other’s arms, making fun of the rigid plots and ridiculous characters. tonight was different, though. you had ordered takeout for dinner and set it up in her living room, candles were bought and lit, you even wore your favorite, most revealing dress. the two of you had been dating for nearly three months, and she was yet to go any further than a heated make out session. one time, she slipped her hand up your shirt and unhooked your bra before you were, very rudely, interrupted by clint and yelena. you have to believe she’s too oblivious to actually tease and bait you on purpose, which means she’s waiting for you to make the first move. and this was it. your move.

you spent the evening daydreaming about all the things kate could do to you once you gave her the chance. she was an incredible kisser. what else could she do with that tongue? it reached the point where you started getting overly enthusiastic, creating a million different scenarios in your head, the hundreds of ways she could take you. this is what happens when you’re left to your own devices in kate’s empty, boring apartment for six hours. you didn’t want to leave. you couldn’t, not now, when you’re so close to getting what you want. the wait was starting to frustrate you in more ways than one. so, when she walked through the front door–bow on her back, her hair cascading down her shoulders like a black waterfall, you didn’t know whether to rip her clothes off or slap her across the face.

she set her keys down, unaware of your presence until you spoke, getting to your feet. “kate.” your tone was sharp. when she turns around, her eyes widen. she subconsciously lets her eyes linger down your body, your neckline was plunging, leaving very little to the imagination. the tight, black garment didn’t even make it past your knees, stopping halfway down your thighs. you clear your throat, feeling brush creep up your neck despite yourself, and cross your arms over your chest to alter her view as some kind of punishment. she blinks and for a second, it looks like she has no idea why you’re here, “ohh, oh, no, no, no,” she presses her palms together and brings them to her lips like she’s praying, “..i completely forgot about tonight.” she winces, preparing for your reaction. you scan her face, the desperation in her blue eyes. her cheeks are littered with cuts, but they’re also bandaged, which means she spent some time at clint’s before she got here.

“right, you forgot again,” you spoke, rolling you eyes, “i’m not falling for that shit.” you walk over to her coffee table and start collecting your things. “wait, wait, stop,” she walks further into the room, “okay, i was.. admittedly, a little late-” you interrupt, “six hours, kate!” she scrunches her nose, something she does when she’s trying to make up an excuse, “a lot late, but i-i–” she points towards the window at the street downstairs, “i was helping people, banks were getting robbed, children were being.. kidnapped, and vandals.. well vandals were..” she purses her lip as she searches for a word, “lurking.” you stare at her in disbelief. “you have got to be kidding me.”

“i’m not, i’m not, it’s–what, y/n, it’s a busy job, i can’t exactly take the night off,” she exhales when she says this, you can tell she’s convinced she’s done nothing wrong, “and..” she finally takes an opportunity to observe the room, the extinguished candles, half opened boxes of chinese food, “what is all this anyways, i thought we were just watching a movie?” you furrow your brows, embarrassed that you even bothered, “it was for you, asshole.” you speak, visibly unhappy, “you could have called,” you feel a sinking weight in your chest, “you could have at least canceled. but you didn’t,” you motion with your hands as you speak, “i didn’t even cross your mind, and i haven’t, for weeks you’ve been bailing on me over and over.”

something in the expression on kate’s face falters, but she holds her ground. “i understand you’re upset–i just–i don’t get why this has to be such a thing–” you pass a tense hand across your face, “because!” you grab a pillow off the sofa and throw it at her, watching her eyes widen in shock as it flops uselessly to the floor. “you’re pissing me off, kate!” you feel your voice crack at the intensity. you were tired of giving your all to someone who constantly put you second. “y/n, you’re not being fair,” she sidesteps the pillow on the floor and moves further into the room, standing closer to you as she speaks, “i can’t control when people need me, i just–i’m new to this, i’m doing the best i can,” she runs a hand through her hair. “what more do you want?”

“i wish you would pick me for once,” you look up to meet her eyes and are taken aback at how close they are, “show me you care about me.” the space between you is so little, you’re inclined to take a step backwards, but it only urges her closer. "i don’t want to pick at all, why does there have to be a choice–why does anybody have to pick anything, can’t i just want both?–” she speaks with a new severity in her tone. "--you know how important being a superhero is to me."

“oh, i know! trust me, you remind me of how important your job is everyday–” you can smell her whole night on her collarbone. remnants of her missions always stuck to her flesh and left their mark when she was done. “–more important than me, more important than our relationship–and–” her proximity to you clouds your thoughts, you have to pause between sentences to stop looking at her lips. “and, i-i get it, but i’m sick of being your last priority..” you huff, finally meeting her eyes, the reality of the situation suddenly hitting you.

everything is still and quiet for a second. she licks her lips again, “y/n–” you don’t let her finish. "no." you shove past her, feeling tears well up in your eyes. "no, kate," you pick up your coat off the sofa, your keys and phone off the coffee table, "you always do this, you always make me feel like a--like i'm a burden," you shake your head as you speak. "i'm leaving." you announce as you walk out the front door, ignoring her pleas to wait. you slam it behind you and storm down the stairs, trying to channel the pain into anger, but you were so out of energy you honestly considered just sitting there on the steps and crying it out.

it was freezing cold. the wind was vicious as it tangles itself in your hair. you feel an intense sense of regret at your choice of clothing. you shift from one foot to the other as you open the uber app, attempting to get a ride home before you get frozen to death. you hear her footsteps before you see her and your shoulders stiffen at her presence. you're not sure what to expect. you're just worn out from the arguing, from constantly trying to explain your feelings and receiving the same excuses over and over.

she approaches you cautiously, like she's worried you might run off. she stops a few feet behind you, not wanting to get too close. "i'm sorry." she breathes out, hands buried in the pockets of her coat. she sounds so small when she says it. you look to the sky momentarily, finding the words. "i'm not going to apologize." you say, pursing your lips. "why would you?" you shrug and she walks towards you, standing at your side. you keep your gaze glued straight ahead.

you suddenly feel something brush your skin, you turn to find her wrapping your scarf around your neck, the fabric warming you. you watch her, mesmerized, just like you are by everything she does. you eyes flicker away, not wanting to make contact. "thank you." you mumble it under your breath, you're not even sure she heard it. "y/n," she speaks, looking down like a child who's just gotten into trouble. "i care about you.. a lot." she says it like she's surprised. "and i-i hate the idea that i could hurt you," she brushes her knuckles against her nose, furrowing her brows softly. "so, i think, i make excuses--stupid excuses for myself and for you so i don't have to.. accept that i'm," she shuts her eyes, collecting herself, "..bad at this."

she finally looks at you, only to find that you're already watching her. "i'm sorry." she repeats, "i should have been there.. i should have--called or--anything. i should have. i'm sorry." she studies your face, scanning your expression, awaiting your reaction. "can i get a redo?" she hops softly, from the cold you presume, and you can't help but stifle a laugh. "yes? is that a yes?" she questions excitedly as you nod your head repeatedly. she scoops your up in her arms, planting kisses all over your face. her lips are warm in contrast to your frosty cheeks. she brushes her nose against yours, the both of you tinted red from the weather, "stay," she says, "stay the night, let me make it up to you." you grin, "yeah, yes, let's do it." she presses her lips to yours and you smile through the kiss.

[drawlfoy]

detention, retention, and draco malfoy being a little shit

masterlist request guidelines

pairing: draco x reader

request: no not really

summary: golden trio friend y/n y/l/n tries to extract information out of draco malfoy after being placed in detention together.

warnings: swearing, panic attack kinda stuff, just the dark war things that would come w having the task that draco does

a/n: ayo so i started this as a fic i was originally planning on writing in a week. i discontinued it bc i didn’t think anyone was that interested, but i’ve written for it on and off. it’s about 16k words right now standing, but i’m reposting this as a 2 part series. here are the first ~12k words....enjoy :) IMPORTANT: if you’re like “hey i started reading this in october why tf are you reposting the first two parts” just keep reading ok lmao i promise there’s more there’s about through part 6 in here hehe. i just wanted new readers to be able to pick up on it without being turned off by the fact that it was part 3. this will b e 2 parts and at least 20k words

word count: 11.6k

taglist: @gruffle1 @missmultifandommess @cleopatera @hahaboop @accio-rogers @geeksareunique @eltanin-malfoy @war-sword @cams-lynn @itsivyberry @ayo-cowbelly @nerd-domland @yesnerdsblog @shizarianathania @evanstanfanatic @strawberriesonsummer @hariosborn @night-ving @straightzoinked @imintoodeeptostop @naiomimoonshard @jejegu @ophelia-enthusiast @alwaysbeanunknownfan @nearly-memories @litty-dumb @callieclearwater @malfoy-wife15 @charlenasaxen @belladaises @fiantomartell

happy reading y’all

For legal purposes, the york pudding she lobbed at Pansy Parkinson’s head on Monday evening was simply meant to be a joke. She didn’t know that her aim was bad enough that it was going to get in Snape’s hair instead--honestly, it wasn’t even supposed to get past the Ravenclaw table, much less veer to the left to make a beeline for the professors--but no matter how much she tried to explain this to McGonagall, her sentence remained the same: detention every Friday. For two months.

Her life was ending for sure.

“I honestly don’t know what you were expecting,” Hermione told her as she gently wiped off the nib of her quill later that night in the common room. “Even if you had hit your mark, that’s still technically assault.”

“Did you even hear what she said to me? She told me that I looked like the type of kid that bit people in primary school,” complained Y/N. “I didn’t even think she knew what primary school was!”

Hermione snorted. “How long ago?”

“Two days. I’ve been waiting until there was something throwable on the dinner table.”

“How very analytic of you.”

“I’m going to hit you.”

“And you wonder why you’ve got detention.” Hermione tsk-ed at her, her face stone serious but her tone light hearted. “Maybe take this as an opportunity to, I don’t know, do your homework for once? So you won’t have to have a breakdown over the next Potion’s essay and beg me to write it for you?”

“I’m going to go to sleep and think terribly mean thoughts about you.”

“Have fun.”

~ 

Detention.

Something that Y/N wasn’t completely unfamiliar with--she’d done her time organizing Snape’s cabinets, just like every other Gryffindor--but it was different when it came to McGonagall. An impressive old lady, she thought that McGonagall saw something in her. She was always the first to chuckle at Y/N’s jokes and hesitated to reprimand her stupid behavior. And she never gave Y/N detention.

Until now, she supposed. 6th year was changing a lot of things--even their Potions professor--so McGonagall turning a new stone shouldn’t have been anything shocking.

At least, not as shocking as the first thing Y/N saw as she walked into her house head’s office.

“Malfoy?” she spat.

The platinum blonde didn’t even bother to look up from his desk.

“Miss Y/L/N,” Professor McGonagall chided. “I think we would all prefer if you restrained yourself from getting into any more physical altercations with Slytherins.”

She huffed, plopping down in the chair furthest away from that foul git and reaching for her satchel.

“I’ll be back in two hours,” said the elderly professor. “If I hear anything, and I mean anything, other than the sound of studying, consider your sentence doubled.”

With a swish of her robes, McGonagall was gone, leaving her with Malfoy. 

“So what’d you do to get in here, huh? Did the administration finally get a hold of that video of you licking Voldemort’s toes?”

“What the fuck does that mean?!” he snapped, whipping around to glare at her.

“‘s just a joke,” said Y/N. “Like--how everyone says your family houses him and everything--but whatever. I can tell it’s a sore spot.”

His gaze, never withering in intensity, remained trained on her face. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Apparently so. What’re you here for?”

He exhaled sharply. “If I tell you, will you shut up and let me think?”

“No promises, but maybe.”

“Late work. I forgot to turn in the Transfiguration exam last week.”

She made a tutting sound as she lazily shuffled through the crumpled parchment in her satchel. “I expected more from you. Aren’t you gonna ask me how I wound up here?”

“No. I am going to ask you to stop talking now, though.”

~

“That’s terribly unfortunate,” Hermione said over breakfast the next morning. Ron and Harry were nervously chit chatting at the other side of the table over the Saturday Quidditch game against Hufflepuff--supposedly it was supposed to be quite a high stakes match. Not like Y/N cared much, though.

“Yeah! And the worst part was that he won’t even tease anymore. Like, he just sits there all broody and woe is me. We’re all witnessing our nation’s descent into war--he’s not special!”

“Who are you talking about?” asked Harry.

“Oh, just Malfoy,” said Y/N. “We have detention together with McGonagall. He’s such a nasty little greaseball, don’t you think? I mean, look at him right now, glowering over his cereal.”

“Wait! That’s it!”

“What’s it, Harry?” Hermione asked.

“It’s genius, really,” he said. “Y/N has to spend time with him alone every week, and we know that something is up with him. Malfoy is absolutely a Death Eater and has connections to You-Know-Who, but I just need to find a way to prove it.”

“I vaguely forecast where this is going, and I hate it already.”

“Listen, Y/N. It’s not for that long, and it’s for the health of the wizarding world. If you just get to know him--”

“Ick!”

“If you just get to know him, maybe get him to trust you and find out his secrets...we’d finally have enough to turn him in and throw him out of Hogwarts for good.”

“Is that really necessary, Harry?” Ginny butted in from her seat further down next to Dean. “Malfoy’s probably just exhausted like the rest of you. 6th year is difficult, and we have no solid evidence that he’s a Death Eater. I’m sure being stuck in a room with him for 2 hours is hard enough without pretending to be nice to him.”

“But what if Harry’s right?” said Y/N. “What if he is actually a Death Eater? What if he’s an active danger to the student body?”

“Exactly!” The joy written across Harry’s face at the prospect of someone else finally agreeing was infectious. “So will you?”

“Er…” She dragged her spoon across the top layer of her porridge. “In theory, sure. In actuality, I’m not sure how I could do it. Malfoy doesn’t want anything to do with me, either.”

“Love potion?” offered Ron.

“I don’t care how much of a prat he is, I’m not roofying him.”

“I rarely agree with you, Y/N, but I think you’re right. If you want to do this, you need to get him to trust you for real.”

“Your back-handed compliment skills never disappoint, Hermione. Do you think you could help me out with a plan?”

A slow smile spread across the girl’s face as she nodded. “That’s my strong suit.”

The plan they laid out over the remainder of the day was ambitious but at least do-able. Each week was split into different subtasks, the end goal being a somewhat tentative friendship between the two. 

“If you can flirt with him and get him to have a crush on you without scaring him off, you’d be in the best possible position,” Hermione told her as they walked back from the Quidditch pitch among the screaming Gryffindor fans. They’d won--yet again. “Obviously I don’t foresee that being likely, but if you pull it off somehow he’d probably be willing to tell you anything. The fact that you’re a pureblood is going to carry you through this whole ordeal. He’ll at least be accepting of your existence in the wizarding community.”

The bitter edge in Hermione’s tone made Y/N’s blood boil. There was no reason for Malfoy to be as prejudiced as he was--he’d spent his adolescence in Hermione’s academic dust. She was obviously smarter than him. 

“You got it, ‘Mione,” she said. Her voice barely carried over the cheers of her peers as they ascended the steps to the common room. “We’ll take this little ferret down. I can’t wait.”

“Don’t get too cocky, now.”

The Gryffindor after-party was crazy...per usual. The charmed self-filling goblets, the blasted playlist of Wizpop pumping through the air, and the buzzing energy of the room was giving Y/N a giant headache. She stood with Hermione and Harry by the edge of the crowd, watching Ron get hoisted up on the shoulders of the chasers. 

“No wonder the Slytherins think we’re Neanderthals,” Y/N mused. For once, Hermione didn’t respond. “Hermione? Is everything okay?”

The second she turned away to look at her best friend, gasps and whistles filled the room. She whipped back just in time to see Lavender Brown, a sweet but slightly ditzy girl in their year, pull away from a kiss with Ron.

“Oh shi--Hermione!”

Harry and Y/N shared a glance before darting after the witch--who had impressively already made it to the door. 

“Hermione, wait!” Y/N called as they jogged after her, throwing open the common room entrance and finding her sat by the tapestry on the other side of the hall, knees to her chest.

“‘Mione, what’s wrong?” asked Harry.

“Don’t be daft, Harry,” said Y/N. “You saw exactly what the rest of us did.”

“I don’t understa--”

“Harry.” Her voice was taut. “I know you’re just trying to help, but I think that it might be best if you let us be. Go back and enjoy the party.”

He gave her a tight, grateful smile before darting back through the door. Y/N wasted no more time in walking over to Hermione and throwing her arms around her shoulders.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, hugging her tight. Hermione made no move to detach them, so she continued. “Ron is an idiot. You deserve so much better--your first kiss was Viktor fucking Krum, after all. You’re hot stuff and this place is just unfortunately running dry of men who are impressive enough for you. Once you’re out of here and working in the Ministry, you’re gonna have the time of your life with men actually in your league.”

Hermione managed a sniffly laugh as she wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “It’s just so fucking embarrassing, you know. Like, I have a crush on him because I think he understands me and I smelled him in my Amortentia and I thought he’d like me back, but…” She hiccuped. “Then he goes off and kisses Lavender Brown, of all people. There’s nothing particularly wrong with her or anything, but she’s so different...I’m so bookish, and she’s so girly and everything I’m not…”

Y/N took the opportunity to tuck a lock of Hermione’s hair behind her ear as she listened.

“And it can’t help but make me think--was I ever anything to him but a friend? If the girl he ends up choosing is the opposite of me?”

“Girly, don’t think like that,” murmured Y/N. “He’s a teenage boy. They don’t think of love the way that we do--to them it’s a game of availability, not of choice. At least for Ronald. You intimidate him, and by extension, you’re not available.”

“That shouldn’t matter!”

“You’re right. It shouldn’t.” Y/N drew a long breath. “So you should find someone who always has you as their first choice--someone who isn’t intimidated by your intellect. They’re out there. I promise.”

Hermione managed a shaky smile. “Thanks, Y/N. I mean it. Do you mind if I have some alone time? I don’t think I’m ready to go back to the party but I just want some quiet.”

“Of course. Let me know if you need me,” she said, brushing herself off and making to walk down the hall.

“You’re not going back to the party?”

“Nah. It hurts my head and I want fresh air. If I’m not back here in a half hour, assume that I’ve been kidnapped.”

With that, she started her walk. She wasn’t planning on going on a long stroll--there was a small balcony that she often went to when she needed to clear her head. It was beautiful, especially on a snowy night like this.

But the walk was creepy.

There was only one way in and out--a narrow, damp hallway that had absolutely no light fixtures. If Y/N really wanted to, she could cast a quick lumos, but she wasn’t sure if she wanted to see what lived on the walls. The stairs were steep, too, but she managed to bound up all 40 of them in record time. 

“Who’s there?”

The sudden voice ripped a scream out of Y/N’s throat as she reached the top, catching a glimpse of the shadowy figure at the edge of the balcony that spoke. She clasped her hand over her mouth and she crept forward to the opening, getting a better look at the person that was in her secret spot.

The clouds shifted in the sky to allow more moonlight to cast a soft glow on Malfoy’s face, hardened with irritation.

“Malfoy?” Y/N asked, rather dumbly.

“What stellar observational skills,” he drawled. 

She felt her cheeks grow hot. “What are you doing here? This is part of the Gryffindor tower. Shouldn’t you be...I don’t know...playing hide and seek with the sewer rats in the dungeons?”

“Very funny.” His flat tone exposed the fact that he did not, in fact, find it very funny. “There’s no rule barring me from coming up here.”

“But why? This is my spot!”

“Because I wanted to get out. Now, I was here first, so unless you want your detention extended, I suggest you leave.”

Y/N bit the fiery comebacks on the tip of her tongue as the memories of her plan with Hermione began floating back to her. 

Week 1 -- Hold one neutral, civil conversation with Malfoy.

“I’ll be quiet. You won’t even know I’m here,” Y/N decided upon. leaning up against the balcony. The rogue snowflakes that made it past the overhanging roof melted on her cheeks. 

“That isn’t a suggestion,” said Malfoy. “I’m demanding you leave.”

“Beautiful night, isn’t it?” Y/N asked, pointedly ignoring his words. “I’ve always loved the snow. It’s so quiet.”

“And it would be even quieter if you left.”

“Aren’t you the conversationalist?” said Y/N.

“If you don’t leave, I will hex you,” Malfoy told her through gritted teeth. 

“I just love how the moonlight reflects off of the snow,” continued Y/N. “It’s so...pure.”

“Please leave.”

On her walk back down the dank stairwell, she allowed herself a little smile. 

Task 1? Technically done.

~ 

The first week went largely as planned. Malfoy was cold and certainly suspicious of her, but he wasn’t completely venomous when Y/N asked where he got his quill from in Potions. It was silver, charmed to shimmer with flecks of forest green. He told her Barnaby’s in France, and that was that. She walked away from his table with all of her limbs attached. Perhaps that was all the progress she was going to make in the next few weeks, but the task at hand certainly made the prospect of her lost Friday afternoons more bearable. 

Harry was going completely batty, rambling on about how Malfoy was behind the mysterious cursed objects that had been floating about the castle without explanation. 

“And why would Malfoy bring cursed objects to Hogwarts if he has aspirations other than being expelled?” Hermione would ask over their books.

“You don’t understand, Hermione! You girls need to be careful walking around at night--especially you, Y/N. I don’t want you going missing after detention because of that slimeball.”

Y/N always gave him a laugh, berating him for his slight misogynistic commentary and turning back to whatever her task was, but the truth was that she was worried for him. The mental weight of the impending war and the fact that he couldn’t do anything about it was certainly getting too difficult for him to bear. It was heartbreaking to see the vivacious boy she’d grown up with crumble under the responsibilities of something he should never have to worry about in the first place.

Friday came much sooner than expected, and Y/N reluctantly left her friends in the common room to trek to McGonagall’s office. The walk was frigid and the wind bit at her cheeks as she rounded the last outdoor hall.

Why was this castle so dark?

A thump behind her made her jump, and Harry’s words came floating back to her. 

Remember all those cursed objects? What if there’s someone just...stalking the school grounds, waiting for someone like me to snatch?

She shivered, throwing herself at the office door and slamming it behind her.

“Miss Y/L/N,” Professor McGonagall greeted, her eyebrows raised in amusement. “Something giving you trouble?”

“No, Professor,” she answered, setting her bag down on the desk next to Malfoy. He sent her a curious look as well. “It’s just cold outside.”

She chuckled. “I need to go speak to Headmaster Dumbledore. I expect that, upon my return, you both are in one piece and alive.”

“I’m not sure if I’m the one who needs to be given that speech,” said Y/N, bored and testing the waters.

“She’s right, Professor,” added Malfoy. “There’s no projectiles here.”

McGonagall exhaled a long, shaky breath before brushing herself off. “Please. Behave yourselves.”

“You got it, boss,” she said as she watched her Professor walk out the door. “So, Malfoy. How was your week?”

“I don’t know what you’re up to, but I’d way prefer if you didn’t speak to me,” he said, refusing to make eye contact.

“I’m not up to anything! We’re in detention together and, I dunno, since I see you sometimes at balls, I thought it’d be nice to be on good terms.”

“Good terms?” He scoffed. “You’re a Gryffindor. I’d rather you be a bloody Hufflepuff.”

“How about neutral terms?”

Even though he wasn’t looking at her, she could catch a glimpse of him rolling his eyes. “If neutral terms mean you being quiet, then, yes. Please.”

“I’ll be plenty quiet. After I hear about your opinion on what happened in Potions today with Brown and Weasley. When Snape yelled at them for holding hands.”

He let out a sharp sigh. “Believe it or not, I actually have better things to do than keep up with whatever stuff your house does.”

“But…?” Y/N pressed. She may not’ve spent her time at Hogwarts as Malfoy’s best friend, but she had grown up with the boy, and she could tell when he was holding back.

He stared blankly at her.

“Come on. I’m literally the only person in my house who’ll openly admit that they’re disgusted by that dynamic. I’m begging you.”

She wasn’t sure if she was imagining it, but she thought she saw a flicker of amusement dance across his face for a moment. “Your house sounds more like a cult than a student group.”

“Oh, says the one from Slytherin,” said Y/N. 

“We only act like that because our families are close. What’s your excuse? Hormones and Quidditch culture?”

“Touché.” As much as she wanted to fight back, she bit her tongue. Whatever she was doing was making progress, and quicker progress than she was expecting. Her next task was to make him laugh, and she was emboldened by the fact that she could potentially be able to kill two birds with one stone. 

They sat in silence for a little bit, but this time, it was a comfortable silence. Malfoy wasn’t staring at the clock on the wall or rolling his eyes at her every move, so she had time to plot.

On one hand, she could make a fool of herself--drop her inkwell, say something stupid in class, fall down the stairs--but she had a sneaking suspicion that her sorry attempts at slapstick humor wouldn’t land well with Draco anymore. He’d become so serious lately, so solemn. This was the most light hearted she’d seen him, even compared with how he acted with the rest of his Slytherin lackeys. 

On the other, she could try to sell out her friends. She could confide in him how “big” Hermione’s teeth were (they weren’t even big) or tell him that Ron smelled of eggs (true, but that was a low blow). Something told her that this would be much more successful, but she wasn’t willing to turn to that so quickly--she was already a week ahead as it was. 

“What is it?” 

Malfoy’s bored drawl cut through her flurried thoughts. Her cheeks turned pink as she blinked, noticing that she’d been staring at him for far too long. “Nothing. Sorry. I just spaced out.”

“Sure,” he mumbled, giving her another suspicious look before turning back to his work. “Can you maybe space out somewhere other than my face?”

“Where’s your vanity, Malfoy?” she pressed as she leaned back in her chair, hair swinging over the back. 

“Shut up,” he snapped. She could tell that whatever connection they’d had in the fleeting moments beforehand was being burnt by the second, but her embarrassment and pride drove her forward.

“Merlin, what’s got you so wound up?” she prompted, noting how deliciously unraveled he looked at this. “Where’s my cool, collected Slytherin?”

He slammed hands on his desk at this, whipping around to glare at her. “What’s your angle, Y/L/N?”

“What?”

“Why are you bothering me?”

“Because I want to.” She beamed.

Malfoy ran his fingers through his hair, mussing up the usual neat manner in which it normally laid on his head. “Compelling. What do you want from me?”

“What do I want…?” She tilted her head at him, narrowing her eyes. “What?”

“You never talk to me,” he explained. “Obviously, I prefer it like that. I can’t help but wonder why suddenly you want to be making small talk. So, what is it you want from me?”

“Malfoy,” she said. “I think you’re a spoiled prick who thinks far too highly of himself and drives me insane. But I also think that you’re funnier than what my friends give you credit for. Granted, you’ve always been annoying, but I don’t want anything from you. I just want to, I dunno, make these next few months less insufferable.” Somehow the lie slipped through her teeth easier than any of her previous bluffs. 

He frowned, his mouth opening once before firmly screwing shut into a scowl. “Oh.”

“No offense, Malfoy, but what else can you offer me other than your dazzling personality?” she teased. “You know my family. I don’t need to blackmail you to pay for jewelry I’ve had my eye on or anything.”

He scoffed. “As if I’d say yes.”

“Exactly my point. It’d be fucking weird. Merlin, I’m not trying to butter you up to buy out Borgin & Burkes for me. Do I give off gold-digger vibes? Is that what this is about?”

“Fucking hell.” Malfoy turned to her in disbelief. “Do you ever shut up?”

“Answer my question. Or better yet, pull out your wallet. Wait, did I say that out loud?” She mimed surprise and covered her mouth. “Oh no! What will my mother say now that I’ve squandered my last chance of hitching you? There’s no way I can go home for Christmas break now.”

He rolled his eyes so hard she found herself worried for a moment that they were going to just permanently get stuck in the back of his head. “Hate to break it to you, but you didn’t really have a shot to begin with.”

Ouch.

She huffed and dramatically flopped over the back of her chair, hoping he couldn’t see that she’d flinched. “So you don’t think I’m pretty??” 

“Y/L/N,” he snapped, his voice a low warning. “Can I please just work? What is with you today?”

Y/N sent him a sour look before giving her Charms work another look. Malfoy was awfully quiet, and when she snuck any glances at him later on, he was angled to face away from her. 

Why did she feel like such shit all of a sudden? She cataloged the past events, trying to pinpoint the exact moment that her stomach dropped. It all made sense when the words “You didn’t really have a shot to begin with” echoed around her head once again. She’d failed Harry. She’d failed Hermione. There was no way that she was going to be able to get him to reveal his secrets now--it’s not like he was confiding in even his closest friends as Harry made apparent when he explained how vague his statements were to his fellow Slytherins on the train. Her only chance would’ve been to somehow get him to fall for her, and that wasn’t going...great. And it had been a pipedream to begin with.

When McGonagall swished back into the classroom to dismiss them, Y/N shot out of there without even looking at Malfoy again. It felt like something was lodged in her throat and she was not going to cry in front of him. No, no. She had to make it to Hermione to tell her what was going on. 

“Y/L/N?” 

Malfoy’s voice made her pause in her flee as she nearly rounded the corner in front of her, but she refused to look back. It was far enough away that it was possible she didn’t hear him.

“Wait!”

She was up the stairs and speed walking as fast as her legs could carry her to the Gryffindor tower before he even saw which way she went.

~

“I don’t think you understand,” Y/N wailed by the fire as Hermione rubbed her shoulders and Harry sat awkwardly perched on the couch. “I can’t do this. The only way this was going to work was if he had a crush on me, and I don’t think he ever will. I fucked it up! The one time you guys need me, I fuck it up! I let you down!”

Hermione’s left hand stopped its rubbing to rest firmly on her shoulder. “Please don’t be upset. You didn’t let us down. Plus, you’re only, what...two weeks in? You don’t need him to like you to make it work. Just getting him to trust you will be enough, and you’re good at that.”

“I don’t think so,” continued Y/N. “Harry said that he wasn’t even that open on the train when he overheard him talking to all of his friends. And those are purebloods that he likes! That he’s trusted and known for years and years! I’m a friend of you guys, and he knows it. I think he’d figure it out quick.”

“We should take every chance we can get,” said Harry from his spot a few feet away, his eyes lazy and unfocused on the fire crackling in front of them. “You won’t let us down if you can’t get anything, Y/N, you know that! But if you got anything from him, it’d be incredible. It’s a win-win. I don’t understand why you’re so upset.”

“I’m not upset,” she said, her tone becoming defensive. “I just...don’t want to mess this up. I know how much it’d mean if I succeeded.”

“So just try!” Hermione said. “There’s nothing wrong with it. I’m sorry he was kind of mean to you today, but I don’t think that should bother you too much. He should be more afraid of what you’d say if you didn’t care about being a good person.”

“Fucking right on there,” she said, wiping away the frustrated tears. “If I was honest with him, he’d leave crying. He should be grateful that I’m taking this bet so I actually have to be nice to him.”

“That’s the spirit.” Harry leaned over to smack her back like he did his Quidditch teammates after a winning match. 

After they’d parted their ways with Harry, Hermione and Y/N made their way slowly up the stairwell to the girls’ dorms. 

“Y/N?” Hermione asked, breaking the silence. 

“Yeah?”

“Do you think, er…” She paused. “Do you think you were really upset about failing us today? Or was it something else?”

“What do you mean?” Y/N furrowed her eyebrows. “I don’t see what else it would be.”

“I’m sorry,” responded the bright witch. “Forget I ever asked. It was a stupid thing to wonder about.”

“Weirdo,” she teased as she waved her a goodnight and made her way to her dorm.

The next morning, Y/N busied herself with revising her Charms essay over her breakfast--a cup of tea and a half-buttered piece of toast--while Hermione leaned over her shoulder, nodding or grimacing at the corrections she made. 

“Did you work during detention? Like, at all?”

“‘Mione,” moaned Y/N. “It’s too early for this. I don’t want a lecture. I just couldn’t focus.”

Her warm brown eyes narrowed as they bore into Y/N’s face. “Why were you distracted?”

“Oh, I, uh…” She stumbled over her words as Hermione drew closer. “Merlin, Hermione. I told you last night. I just felt like I was letting you all down.”

“Mhm,” was all she got in response before her best friend tilted her head back down to the parchment in front of her. 

Y/N sat, completely puzzled. What was Hermione on about? She’d been straightforward with what was hurting her--she didn’t want to mess up the only task the Golden Trio had ever given her--and, even if she hadn’t been, Hermione was smart enough to deduce things for herself. So what was she thinking about?

Her eyes drifted over to the Slytherin table where the usual 6th year pureblood gang loitered about, drinking black coffee and sulking--but Malfoy was not to be seen. She jumped when her eyes met Parkinson, her dark eyes burning into her soul as a deep scowl was written across her face.

“Malfoy, what the fuck do you want?” Ron’s voice pulled her back to reality to see him glaring somewhere behind her.

“I wasn’t here to talk to you,” a familiar voice drawled. 

She turned to see Malfoy standing behind her, a sneer written all across his stupidly pretty face.

“Miss me already?” asked Y/N as she raised an eyebrow and cocked her head to the side. 

“For fuck’s sake, stop doing that,” he mumbled, reaching into his pocket and throwing a box at her. “You forgot your quill. I took the liberty of properly storing it, because it seems like you lot like to just throw them in your bag. Makes me physically ill to watch.”

“Oh.” Y/N studied the intricate box in her hands before tucking it away in her knapsack. “Thanks? I guess?”

He nodded curtly, contorting his face into one last scowl to send to Ron before turning and leaving,

“So,” Hermione began, cutting her omelet at a much brisker pace, “I think we need to have a little chat. About...all of this.” 

“Why?” 

“Not right now,” she said, her voice low and her eyes flicking at Ron and Harry sitting across from them. “I don’t think it’d benefit us for them to hear.” 

“Ok?” She cautiously took a bite out of her toast and continued staring Hermione down. “You’re scaring me.”

“It’s...I don’t know. I thought I was crazy for thinking this, but it seems like we need to talk about it anyways. For this little mission of yours to work, we need to be totally open and honest with each other.”

“Sure.” Y/N took another bite. “I honestly have no clue what’s got you so on edge, though.”

“Who’s on edge?” Harry asked, leaning over the table and stealing the croissant on Y/N’s plate. 

“Hey!” she exclaimed. “Do you not see the entire plate of them over there?”

He laughed, sending her an easy grin and dunking a piece into the hot chocolate in his mug. “Finders keepers. Say, Y/N, are you busy next weekend? Ron and Lavender are going to Madame Puddingfoot’s together, and I know Hermione isn’t going to want to take a weekend off studying to go to Hogsmeade, so I thought that maybe we could go cause some trouble at the Cauldron.”

“If you stop stealing my food we can talk about it,” replied Y/N, the corners of her lips tugging up into a grin. 

“Deal.”

Hermione tugged at her arm. “I just realized I need to get something out of my room before we watch the Quidditch game. Will you come with me, Y/N?”

“Sure!” said Y/N. “Gee, I’m rolling in invitations today.”

Once they exited the dining hall, though, it immediately became evident that they were not actually heading up to the dorms. Hermione dragged her into the nearest bathroom before casting a quick silencing charm.

“Myrtle! Are you in here?” Only when she was sure silence was the only response to her question, she seemed satisfied to turn to Y/N and begin talking. “When were you going to tell me that you have a thing for Malfoy?”

“I’m sorry, what?” Y/N felt the heat that had risen to her cheeks from the last quill-encounter re-emerge.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” said Hermione. “Are you seriously going to expect me to believe that you nearly sobbed over some random pureblood git telling you you never had a chance with him because it might slow down your progress with helping us? Actually? I’ve seen you look more ecstatic about hearing that your dear granny passed away.”

“To be fair, she had really good life insurance,” Y/N cut in. “And she was an old hag. Never had a nice thing to say to me.”

“Life insurance or no life insurance...you can’t seriously expect me to believe that you were just upset about not being able to help us as much. That was ridiculous. I don’t buy it. And the way you blushed like crazy when he came over to talk to you--the way you try and pretend like you can flirt...please. Y/N, it’s clear as day. I know you, and I know you have a crush on him.”

“Hermione!” hissed Y/N. “You have no clue what you’re talking about!”

“Yes, I think I do,” she pushed. “And you need to be honest with me if you want to be of any help right now.”

Her bossiness lit a fire of rage in Y/N’s chest, but she sucked in a deep breath, shutting her eyes before releasing it. “Believe me when I say I haven’t ever acknowledged any feelings I may or may not have towards him.”

“Ok.” Her face softened. “I know it might take time, but I honestly do think I’m right. Please just...be careful. This is a really odd situation to get caught up in if you actually have feelings for the other person. You’re trying to manipulate him, for Merlin’s sake.”

“And if I have these feelings for him, I’ve done a pretty damn good job of suppressing them for however long they’ve been here.” 

Hermione sighed. “That’s true. I’m just saying that spending this much time with him is probably only going to make things worse. Will you please tell me if anything changes between the two of you?”

“Anything changes?” Y/N’s voice was dripping in disbelief. “You’re joking. Even if I was obsessed with him I don’t think there’s ever a chance of hell in anything ‘changing’ between us. He said it himself.”

“You know what I mean, Y/N,” responded Hermione. “Just promise me, ok?”

“Ok,” said Y/N. “I promise.”

That seemed to satiate Hermione as she nodded approvingly at her friend. “I think it goes without saying that Ron and Harry shouldn’t hear about this.”

“There’s nothing to hear about, but yes.” She shuffled her feet before meeting Hermione’s eyes again. “Er, I’m sorry for this being a weird question, but would you mind coming along with me and Harry to Hogsmeade? I don’t really see him like...that...and I don’t want to read into it too much and reject him if he is doing it just platonically, but just in case. Y’know.”

“Sure,” said Hermione, even though her face took on that curious expression yet again. “Anyways, you actually did forget something--you’re not wearing a single piece of Gryffindor colors for our game today. You should probably run back to your dorm before Harry and Ron notice.”

After they said their goodbyes, Y/N found herself turning over the things Hermione had said to her in her head. Did she like Malfoy? No, no fucking way. But a part of her really did think he was funny. And of course it was natural to feel rejected when anyone insinuates that they’d never consider you as a romantic interest without jest. 

Once she’d made it up to her room and grabbed a few scarves, Y/N made to put her red cloak into her satchel. Her fingers ghosted over the box that Malfoy had given her and scoffed once she saw the Malfoy crest engraved into the rich wood. 

Narcissistic snot.

Her curiosity got the better of her as she reached over to open up the elaborately decorated box. What met her was not just one quill but two--one of which was most certainly not her own. 

She took them both out, tossing the old one in a pile with her other trusty familiar white feather quills and picked up the other one. It looked familiar--identical to the quill that she’d complimented Malfoy on in Potions about a week ago. Butterflies began to flutter like crazy in her stomach as she turned it over in her hand, watching the gray and green glitter together and the magic sparkles cast a gentle light over her bed. She generally avoided dipping into her family’s pockets to get school supplies any more than she had to--it’s not like it made her friends feel good about themselves when they were reminded how rich her family was--but this might be what she could consider to be an exception. She hadn’t even liked his quill all that much when she first saw it in Potions--but it was one of those things that was so noticeable that it made sense to compliment him. 

She gave it one last look before tucking it back away into the elaborately decorated box. Perhaps she had spoken too soon when she’d told Hermione all hope was lost. 

~ 

When Monday morning Potions class with the Slytherins rolled around, Y/N wasted no time. Malfoy was alone--even his Slytherin lackeys seemed to know not to bother him. Just what she needed.

“Malfoy,” she greeted, setting her bag down on his table and looking him dead on. He raised to meet her eyes, his eyebrow raised.

“Can I help you?”

“I just wanted you to know that I also really like your immense fortune,” she said. “And your manor.”

“Well, a lot of people do,” he mumbled as he looked away to dig through something in his bag. If she didn’t know any better, she would’ve thought he was blushing.

“I’m just letting you know,” she continued. “In case you were wanting to give them away. It worked for the quill, so I thought, well, why not?”

He exhaled, a deep and annoyed sound escaping his lips as he rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. “I knew I shouldn’t have done that.”

“You really didn’t have to.”

“I was getting sick of it,” he told her. “I never can stick with one quill for too long, and I thought it’d be a shame to toss it. I thought it’d be better to be charitable--it’s not like your family could get an appointment at Barnaby’s if they tried.”

“Hey!” Y/N said indignantly. “You don’t know that!”

“I’ve heard your parents try to speak French,” he said. “If you’re anything like them, you'll be barred from ever entering the country.”

“Malfoy!” 

His lips turned up into a smile, a soft laugh escaping his lips. Y/N suppressed the urge to grin in return. Task 3? Done. “What?”

“I can’t even argue with you,” she said. “It’s tragic.”

She stared at the empty stool next to him, wondering if she should just take the leap and sit with him. Malfoy seemed unbothered by her presence as he opened up his Potions book and set it next to his cauldron. “Do you want a partner?” The words left her lips before she could stop them.

He cast her a curious look before glancing at the empty stool. “It depends. Are you going to be annoying?”

She gasped in faux-offense. “What makes you think I could ever be annoying?”

“On that note, I think you better get back to Potter.” He motioned with his head towards the side of the room where most of her Gryffindor friends were chatting. Harry was staring at her, his fists clenched by his side.

Y/N smirked and sent him a wink. 

“On that note,” she said, careful to imitate Malfoy’s drawl and sending him a smug grin, “Maybe I better sit here.”

“Hm.” He awarded her one more uninterested look before rolling up his sleeves and setting out the ingredients for the potion they were brewing--Amortentia. 

She tried not to make it too obvious that she was staring at his left arm, but there was nothing on it like Harry had told her. It was just pure, unblemished pale skin that shimmered under the light. Before he could catch her looking, she quickly sat down and started pulling out her own things. After a short pause, she decided to take out the silver quill. She’d left his box back in her room--she wouldn’t be caught dead with something that had the Malfoy crest on it--but she’d wrapped it in a pouch with her own family’s emblem on the front, shimmering in gold and red.

“Why don’t you just buy your own charmed quills?” asked Malfoy after they had chopped all of the gillweed. 

“You already know. We’re an abomination to the French. We aren’t allowed entry.”

“That’s not what I mean.” His tone was meant to read as exasperated, but his words still seemed good-natured.

“I...well.” She frowned. She’d never confessed this to anyone, but she supposed that Malfoy wasn’t going to find a way to use it against her. “I don’t like to flaunt my family wealth. I think it makes people, at least in Gryffindor, like me less. I learned that pretty early on.”

He hummed something in response before sliding all the gillweed into the cauldron, turning the clear liquid into a bubbling forest green. 

“Why are you being so nice to me all of a sudden?” she asked. 

He took his time finishing the note he was jotting down before he answered. “I’m not being nice. It’s just called being civil. You said it yourself, we see each other at balls sometimes.”

“We probably won’t anymore, though,” she mused. 

Malfoy’s eyebrows shot up, but his voice remained low and steady. “No. I suppose that we probably won’t. Is your family part of the Order?”

“Hm. Are you a Death Eater?” she asked brazenly. He had no business asking her something like that, and he knew it. Especially not with his family connections.

“What do you think?” he drawled, waving his bared left arm in front of her face.

“Bullshit. That doesn’t mean anything after we learned Glamour spells last year.”

“Guess you’ll just have to trust me, then,” he responded, focusing intently on the bubbling liquid in front of him instead of her face. 

“I guess so,” she replied. The weight of her Glamour comment began to sink in--she was right, after all. How had she not thought of it before? 

But he was right when he told her she just had to trust him. Could she? Y/N rested her chin in the palm of her propped hand as she watched him work. A piece of disobedient moonbeam blonde hair dangled over his forehead as he diced up the unicorn tail, his eyebrows furrowed in focus.

“Is this why you want to be my partner?” he finally asked after a few moments of silence. “So you can just stare at me while I do all the work?”

“There’s the vain Draco I know,” she said, grinning as she leaned over to punch his shoulder. 

He rolled his eyes again, scooting out of arm's reach before flipping back to Amortentia in his book. “You’re insufferable. And it’s Malfoy to you.”

“Fine, fine, Malfoy,” said Y/N. “What do you want me to do, then?”

He shoved his cutting board towards her, the half-diced unicorn tail staring up at her. “Finish dicing this and then stir it in. 9 times clockwise. I did almost all of the work, but it should be finished after that.”

Y/N sent him another glare before doing as he said. The glittering quill kept catching her attention from the corner of her eye, and she couldn’t help but notice that Malfoy was writing with just a plain white quill for the time being. HE really did just give it to me. 

After the final ingredients were diced, she began to stir, each rotation around the cauldron turning the potion to a different color. It began as the bubbling green, then a deep sea blue, then a royal purple, a crimson blood red, a glimmering gold--before settling into a pale silver.

“Wow. It’s beautiful,” she breathed. “It’s like...liquid starlight.”

“All thanks to me,” said Malfoy. “You didn’t even have to crush the Mandrake root.”

“You’re such a gentleman, Malfoy.” Her voice dripped in fake sincerity. “So, what do you smell?”

Y/N was expecting him to scowl at her and tell her that it wasn’t any of her business, but he actually leaned over the cauldron and shut his eyes. 

“I’ve never been good at explaining what things smell like.” 

“Fair.”

Once he leaned back, she took his place, shutting her eyes and breathing in a tendril of the beautiful potion. “Whoa.”

“What’s it for you?”

“I don’t...know,” she admitted. “It’s not something I can describe note by note. It kind of reminds me of something, though.”

“Something with Potter, I presume?” he said, casually twirling his generic white quill around his fingers.

“No,” she answered, surprised at how honest she was being. “It’s…I’m trying to think. Er, it’s very lavish. It reminds me of when I was younger and my parents would drag me to galas and balls and whatnot.” 

He stared at her in silence.

“What about you? Does it remind you of anything?”

“Yeah.” Malfoy reached forward to put a lid on the cauldron, effectively shutting out the steam from reaching either of them.

“Ooh, have you figured it out yet?” she teased, crossing her legs and turning to face him head on. “Let me guess. Is it someone like…”

She paused, a wicked smile stretching across her face. “Oh my god, is it Hermione? Or Luna? Or...help me out here!”

“No.” His voice was sour. 

“Ah, it’s Parkinson then, isn’t it? Tell her I’m sorry for throwing food at her if you ever have the chance. Make sure to add the part where I’m more sorry that I missed.” 

“Y/L/N!”

“It’s okay. I’d be a little let down, too.”

“Can you please just…” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Please just stop. I haven’t figured it out. Okay? Happy now?”

“I’ll leave you alone,” said Y/N. “Under one condition. You give me a hint. I’ve given you everything I know! This isn’t fair.”

“This doesn’t have to be fair,” he hissed.

Y/N kept the easy smile plastered on her face while she waited, her eyebrows raised in anticipation.

“You’re not going to let up until I tell you, are you?”

“You’d be right on that,” she said, sugary sweet.

“Fine. It’s something kind of floral.” 

“How descriptive,” she snorted as she slumped back in her stool, thinking hard. Where had she smelled it before? Y/N shut her eyes, leaning her head back and trying to immerse herself into the memory that had surfaced. It smelled like grandeur, like an open ballroom full of guests wearing expensive perfumes. She could feel spinning, spinning like she was with a dance partner. Who was it? She couldn’t quite remember--the last ball she’d been to had been years ago--but after she leaned forward and smelled the Amortentia once more time, she came to a conclusion.

“I had to have danced with him at a gala before,” she announced to Malfoy, who was looking quite unimpressed. “So I know it’s no one from Gryffindor.”

“Interesting,” was all he said before turning to his parchment and jotting something down.

Late that night, while Y/N was settling into bed, a strange idea struck her. Sure that the thought that was nagging her was completely fruitless, she had no trouble with reaching into her desk and pulling out the Malfoy box. She just had to check if she wanted to sleep well.

Here goes.

She closed her eyes, imagining the expensive scent of her Amortentia. Then she opened it, stuck her nose into the fabric, and breathed in.

Well, fuck. 

~

The internal debate going through Y/N the next day at the breakfast table was intense. On one hand, she really, really wanted to just tell Hermione that Malfoy had been in her Amortentia and she was completely fucked, but on the other…

She glanced at the witch next to her as she methodically sliced her toast into perfect, equivalent squares before dunking them in jam. Y/N liking Malfoy was not going to fit into her toast cubes. If she said anything, she would lose her excuse to talk to her about him. And her excuse to try and get close with him. 

Perhaps I can figure it out tomorrow. 

When tomorrow came, she still hadn’t made progress. Y/N was beginning to think that her so called “revelation” after they brewed Amortentia was truly just complete and utter bullshit. So what that his quill box smelled like it--all rich people kind of smelled the same at some points, and so did their houses. There was a reason why she couldn’t immediately pin the scent to anything--it wasn’t like she even knew what Malfoy smelled like.

But the truth remained that she was still attracted to someone who happened to be a rich Slytherin--so naturally, her mind began to wander. There’s no way it was Zabini--his mother owned a fragrance line, and she would’ve instantly recognized the cologne that she knew Mrs. Zabini made him wear--and there was absolutely no way that it was Crabbe or Goyle, so the only other Slytherin it left was...Nott? But that didn’t make sense either--she’d never spoken to him before in her life, even less than Malfoy. So perhaps it would be better if she didn’t think on it.

The next day of potion brewing came on a stormy Wednesday. Malfoy and Y/N worked silently together to brew a Draught of Dreamless Sleep. She was surprised to see how practiced his movements were--he didn’t even have to reference the book to recite the exact measurements and directions.

“Do you have bad dreams or something?” she asked, mostly as a joke. He didn’t seem to pick up on the light-heartedness and stiffened up.

“No?”

“Gee, you’re talkative today,” Y/N said, trying to ignore how her hand brushed his by accident when she added the scoop of anjelica. 

“Excuse me for not entertaining you,” he drawled. “I wasn’t expecting to have such a needy potions partner today.”

“I am not needy!” she gasped, smacking his arm. “I’ve sat in silence for a full hour!”

He rolled his eyes (he was always rolling his eyes) and gave the potion one more final stir before setting the lid on the cauldron. “Think you can do that again? It needs to simmer for that long.”

“Just because you’re so sweet to me,” crooned Y/N before pulling out a heavy book from her satchel. Her Charms exam was tomorrow, and, naturally, she had decided to save all of her revising work until the night before. The textbook stared back at her as she jotted a few notes onto a previously blank sheet of parchment. The quill in her hands was light and glided across the paper like the tears of Merlin, something that she had forgotten quills could do. All of her familiar basic quills were okay, but they were prone to skidding and breaking. This nib hadn’t worn down in the slightest, still at a smooth and defined peak.

Y/N couldn’t believe that, out of all people, the person to give her such a thoughtful gift was Draco Malfoy. She tried to sneak a glance at him then, moving her curtain of hair away from her face. It took all she had in her to not be startled at the fact that he was already looking back, a slightly concerned expression etched into his face.

“Is something wrong?” 

He snapped out of it the moment the words left her lips, his face hardening. “No.”

“Forget I ever asked,” she responded, turning away from him for good and focusing on her textbook. No, there was no way he could be what she smelled in her Amortentia. She liked to think that her subconscious wasn’t secretly a masochist.

~

Friday evening swung around again, much to Y/N’s dismay. She’d had a talk with Hermione later on in the week, confirming that no, she did not smell Malfoy in her Amortentia, and that yes, she was still abiding by the plan that Hermione had so carefully laid out for her. It did bother her a bit that she could be lying to her on both fronts--but at the end of the day, she was going to get the answers that Harry wanted, no matter what. 

She just had to get through the scary ass castle first. She’d forgotten how spooky Hogwarts was after her previous sprint to the door, and this time she was positively trembling by the time she turned another dark corner on her way to McGonagall’s office. Yet another cursed item had been found in the girl’s lavatory on the 3rd floor, right by some of the classes that she had taken earlier in the week. The fact that whoever was out there was capable of dark magic and actively wanted to hurt people terrified her, all that Gryffindor bravery be damned. 

So when she heard footsteps suddenly right beside her, it was no wonder that she jumped feet in the air.

“Fuck!” she sputtered, turning to see a very familiar blonde in Slytherin robes. He was frozen in place, curiously looking her up and down.

“Am I interrupting something?”

“Malfoy,” Y/N said, resisting the urge to melt into a puddle of relief at the sight. This wasn’t right--wasn’t he a suspected Death Eater? “You scared me.”

He scoffed, digging his hands into his pockets. “You’re supposed to be the brave ones, right?”

“Huh?”

Malfoy motioned to her Gryffindor jumper. 

“Oh.” Heat rushed to her cheeks as she realized what he meant. “I dunno. I just get jumpy around the castle at night.”

“No shit.” They’d begun to walk now, side by side. Y/N couldn’t remember ever walking with him before--she’d always been late. “Do you think I forgot the way you screamed when you saw me at the tower?”

“Shut up,” she grumbled, reaching over and giving him a healthy shove. 

They walked in silence together. Malfoy moved noticeably slower than he normally did so he wouldn’t leave Y/N’s shorter legs in tow. McGonagall seemed pleasantly surprised to see Malfoy hold the door open for her.

“I’m glad to see you two getting along,” she said, giving Y/N a hesitant nod before grabbing the stack of papers on her desk. “I’ll be back momentarily.”

After she exited the room with a swish of her deep maroon robes, Malfoy turned to her. “Are you scared of the dark or something?”

She turned, ready to send a biting retort his way, before she noticed how gray his pallor looked...and how big the circles under his eyes were. “You look like shit, Malfoy. Is everything okay?”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t change the subject.”

“Oh. Um…” Y/N pause before deciding that the little tidbit of information she was about to reveal wasn’t that important anyways. “I’m just on edge at night at Hogwarts is all. Especially with all that weird shit going on with all the cursed objects. So I kind of hate walking to and from detention.”

Malfoy let out something that sounded like a strained laugh.

“You didn’t answer my question. Is everything okay?”

“None of your business,” he snipped. “I just had a bad night.”

“Do you have trouble sleeping?” she asked, unable to keep herself from prying.

“Something like that.”

“Have you tried lavender?”

“I’m sorry?” He frowned.

“Lavender. Like the essential oil. It’s nothing magical,” she explained. “I just like to spray it in my bed sometimes before I sleep. Or I’ll use a few drops in a diffuser. I have trouble sleeping too, all the time, actually.” She shut her mouth before she had any chance to ramble further.

“It sounds a bit too floral for my taste.”

“Here.” Y/N dug around in her satchel, searching for the tiny spray bottle she kept with her at all times. “Borrow this and spritz your pillow with it before you sleep, and then tell me it’s too floral. I promise it helps.”

He glared at her. She extended her hand with the white bottle that was covered in purple decor, raising her eyebrows expectantly. “I won’t tell anyone that you have it if that’s what you’re worried about or whatever.”

“Fine,” he snapped, snatching it from her hand and dragging his fingers over her palm for just a second. “Don’t expect me to actually try it, though.”

“Just give it a sniff.” 

He huffed, but to her surprise, he actually uncapped the top and held the spray hole up to his nose, inhaling in once.

The effect was immediate. Malfoy’s face completely drained of color, becoming even grayer than he’d been when she first saw him under the light. The briefest expression of surprise fleeted over his face before he wiped it off, replacing it with something unreadable and tossing it back at her. “I’m not using this.”

“Why not?”

“Not quite my taste,” he spat.

Y/N was shocked by the sudden outburst, watching as he continued to glower at his desk. “I don’t understand. It really does help you sleep. I know it seems stupid, but I...really think you should try it. Just once, if anything.”

“Why does it matter so much to you?”

“Because I--” Y/N stopped herself before she let her mouth run without check. “I know what it’s like is all. I feel like shit if I don’t sleep. Plus, I have to spend time with you every Friday. I imagine that you’ll be slightly more tolerable if you sleep more.”

“Hm.” He sent her a particularly venomous glare. “Thanks for your concern. Consider me uninterested, though.”

“You break my heart,” she teased, pulling back her hand and placing the bottle on the corner of her desk. An idea struck her.

“And just what are you smiling about?” Draco said. His lips were turned into a sour frown. 

“Nothing, nothing,” she responded, her voice adopting a sing-song quality. All she had to do now was wait. 

He exhaled, a deep and exasperated sound. Then he turned back to whatever was in front of him.

McGonagall entered the room a few minutes later, nodding cordially at the comfortable silence the two students were in. What she didn’t know was that Y/N was waiting, just waiting for Malfoy to dig through his satchel and stop paying attention to his quill.

She got her opportunity a few minutes later, when McGonagall called him up to look over his latest Transfiguration homework.

“Mr. Malfoy, I’m happy to see that you’re taking more initiative in getting your assignments done...I have to say that you had me a bit concerned…”

While her professor kept Malfoy occupied, Y/N darted over and grabbed his quill. 

Ha.

Malfoy frowned down at his desk when he returned, giving Y/N a suspicious look.

“What is it, Malfoy?” she said, hoping her voice conveyed nothing that might hint that she took something of his.

“Nothing.”

“Hm.”

The rest of detention passed without any more discussion. Y/N was eager to run up to her dorm and set up her plan to be carried out the next morning, but she calmed her bouncing leg and forced herself to keep a straight face when McGonagall dismissed them.

“Got somewhere to be, Y/L/N?” Malfoy’s voice called after her as she sped down the hall towards the Gryffindor tower. 

“What’s it to you?” she fired back.

He didn’t respond. Instead, he picked up his pace until he was walking next to her.

“Aren’t the Slytherin dorms the other direction?” she asked.

“I don’t know. Are they?” 

She allowed herself to be amused by the way words flowed out of his mouth when he was slightly out of breath. “Why are you walking with me?”

“You said it yourself.” He kept his eyes cast on the cobblestones below them. “You don’t like walking alone at night.”

“Uh...oh.” Against her will, her feet froze and she was glued to the ground. “You’re joking, right?”

If the lighting wasn’t so dim, Y/N would have good reason to believe he was blushing with how intently he was studying his fingernails. “By all means, I can be.”

“No! No, I didn’t mean it like that,” she said, the words tumbling out of her mouth. “Er...I’d like you to. If you want to, that is.”

He shrugged, an elfish expression spreading across his face as he took in how nervous she was. “Well, come to think of it, you didn’t ask me to. I suppose I better get back to the Slytherin dorms anyways. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere near the Gryffindor Tower right now.”

“Why?” she squeaked.

“Oh, you know, I don’t think it’s a coincidence that most of the cursed things showed up on your side of the castle, yeah?”

She gulped.

“I gotta get going. Don’t want to stand around here too long. This place gives me the creeps.” With that, he turned and began walking away.

“Malfoy?” She hated how timid her voice sounded. “Consider this me asking you to walk with me.”

He slowly faced her, a sly grin plastered all over his face. “Oh? Did I hear that correctly? Do you want me to?”

“I’m only going to say this once,” she said, putting her hands on her hips and trying her best to look intimidating. “Walk with me. Please.”

“I guess I’ll take it.” Malfoy glided down the hallway to her in just a couple steps, sending her yet another smug look.

“You made up that whole ordeal about Gryffindor Tower being targeted, didn’t you?” asked Y/N as they rounded the corner to reach the staircase leading up to the common room.

“You bought it, didn’t you?” 

“Who says I didn’t just want you to walk with me?” pushed Y/N. This was as close to flirting as it would ever get for her--but it looked like, somehow, things were falling into place. The heat in her cheeks must’ve been from the excitement of making progress. 

Malfoy’s toe caught on the first stair and, if it weren’t for Y/N’s steady grip on his arm, would’ve made him go sprawling across the stone steps. 

“Merlin, Malfoy,” she said, immediately dropping her grip from his shoulder. “What’s gotten into you?”

He responded with an unceremonial snort and a withering glare. The rest of the walk was done in silence, and Y/N noted how careful his footwork became around the Gryffindor steps.

“This is me,” she finally said once they reached the tapestry for the Gryffindor dorms. He seemed surprised, and only then did it strike her that he’d probably never seen the entrance himself before. “Thanks for being such a gentleman.”

“I live to serve,” he drawled.

And just like that, he was gone.

~

Her plan was simple. She had located an extra monogrammed pouch in her cabinet, a rich mahogany color with her family crest in a vivid gold, and placed both his quill and the lavender bottle. She would corner him after breakfast or follow him out of the Great Hall and show him then.

However, it was becoming increasingly obvious that Malfoy was not coming to Saturday morning breakfast. Many people didn’t, but Y/N had never known him to miss it. His normal spot was vacant, and it certainly wasn’t a house-made decision as all of his Slytherin friends were present and accounted for. Y/N couldn’t say for sure, but she could see Parkinson turning her head to the entrance every time the doors thudded open before glancing back to Malfoy’s empty seat when it turned out to be someone else.

Where was that loser?

“Excuse me,” she said to the trio as she stood up and brushed off her skirt. “I think I’m going to go get some fresh air. I have a bitch of a headache.”

Hermione and Harry expressed their sympathies while Ron gave her a characteristic mumble through his mouthful of bread, and she was off with the pouch secured in her cloak pocket.

It was a clear November morning, clearly Mother Nature’s attempt to slowly move the world from the crisp autumn to a cold winter. The sky was clear and the sun’s rays warmed her skin at a slanted angle, casting weak shadows across the courtyard.

If I were Malfoy, where would I go to sulk?

The obvious answer was either the Slytherin common room or his own dorm, but that was without a doubt out of question for her. She wasn’t even sure if she possessed the knowledge to guess which corridor the entrance was in, much less work out the password herself. Beyond that, just getting into the common room and waiting would be...She shivered. It would be a terrible idea while she was clearly wearing a cloak in Gryffindor red and gold trim. 

As she continued her aimless wander around the castle, she heard the slightest sound from the girl’s bathroom on the second floor. It wasn’t ever really in use--no one came in there to actually use the loo unless they wanted Myrtle to materialize and tell them her supernatural troubles while they were in the middle of their personal business--but it was often the source of strange happenings. 

Like the cursed objects she thought to herself, her nails digging into her palms. But did she care about that right now? Surely cursed objects seemed somewhat...suspicious. Dark magic was difficult to hide, and to a pureblood eye that grew up around magical objects, cursed things shouldn’t be impossible to spot. 

And, plus, it was Malfoy she was looking for. None of the students had died from the curses so far, and if she was able to break through and learn something, or at the very least gain his trust, the reward to the Order would be more than worth it.

She stepped in, expecting to see an entirely empty bathroom with perhaps a ghost rattling around at the sink. Instead, a different sight awaited her.

Draco Malfoy was clutching the edge of the cracked sink basin in front of him, rocking himself back and forth and shaking. From her vantage point, she could see that he was dressed in his normal garb--a black ensemble--but his hair was unruly and messy, sticking up in the back like he’d hurriedly tugged something over his head.

A strangled gasp grounded her and halted her curious observations. Malfoy began to make these awful sobbing sounds, like he could barely manage to breathe. 

Y/N was frozen in place as she surveyed her options. If she stayed and tried to talk to him, he might react in anger or hurt her. But if she just left him, like this, all alone...She swallowed once before stepping forward.

“Malfoy? Are you okay?” Obviously he’s not, you bint said a voice deep in her brain. She pushed it aside as he swung around, his wand raised and his eyes blazing. “Whoa! I’m not going to...Put your wand down!”

He stared at her, his eyes wide with horror as he continued to shake, so much so that his wand slipped out of his hand and clattered to the floor. Without thinking, Y/N reached into her pocket and flung her wand away, holding her hands up.

“I’m not going to try anything. I promise.”

As she drew closer, she could see the remnants of tears on his wet cheeks and the way that his silver eyes were rimmed with a bloodshot red. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” he hissed, his voice weak and cracking. 

“Neither should you. This is the girl’s bathroom.”

final a/n: ok so lmk if you guys wants me to continue. i really did not edit the last half fjkdsal;f also kinda made this an au where malfoy tried to assassinate dumbledore. with more than one cursed object but dw it’ll all make sense ill clear that up 😭

[thedeadhandofseldon]

The Anti-Mercer Effect

On the Accessibility of D&D, Why Unprepared Casters is so Fun, and Why Haley Whipjack is possibly the greatest DM of our generation.

(Apologies to my mutuals who aren’t in this fandom for the length of this, but as you all know I have never in my life shut up about anything so… we’ll call it even for the number of posts about Destiel I see every day.

To fellow UC fans - I haven’t listened to arc 4 yet, I started drafting this in early August, and I promise I will write a nice post about how great Gus the Bard is once I get the chance to listen to more of his DMing).

Structure - Or, “This is not the finale, there will be more podding cast”

So, first of all, let’s just talk about how Unprepared Casters works. Because it’s kind of unusual! Most of the other big-name D&D podcasts favor this long, grand arcs; UC has about 10 hours of podcast per each arc. And that’s a major strength in a lot of ways: it makes it really accessible to new listeners, because you can just start with the current arc and understand what’s going on!

And by starting new arcs every six or seven episodes, they can explore lots of ways to play D&D! Classic dungeon delve arc! Heist arc! Epic heroes save the world arc! Sportsball arc! They can touch on all sorts of things!

And while I’m talking about that: Dragons in Dungeons, the first arc, makes it incredibly accessible as a show - because it lets the unfamiliar listener get a sense of what D&D actually is. (It’s about telling stories and making your friends feel heroic and laugh and cry, for the record). If I had to pick a way to introduce someone to the game without actually playing it with them, that arc would definitely be it.

And I’d be remise not to note one very important thing: Haley Whipjack and Gus the Bard are just very funny, very charismatic people. Look. Episode 0s tend to be about 50%(?) those two just talking to each other about their own podcast. It shouldn’t work. And yet it DOES, its one of my favorite parts, because Haley and Gus are just cool.

And a side note that doesn’t fit anywhere else: I throw my soul at him! I throw a scone at him - that’s it, that’s the vibe. The whole podcast alternates between laughing with your friends and brooding alone in a dark tavern corner - but the laughs never forced and the dark corner is never too dark for too long.

Whipjack the Great - Or, the DM is Also a Player!

I think Haley Whipjack is one of the greatest Dungeon Masters alive. The plots and characters! The mechanical shenanigans! The descriptions!

Actually, let’s start there: with the descriptions. (Both Haley and Gus do this really fucking well). As we know, Episode 0 of each arc sees the DM reading a description - of a small town, or the Up North, or the recent history of a great party. And Haley always strikes this tricky balance - one I think a lot of us who DM struggle with - between giving too much description and  worldbuilding, and not telling us anything at all. She describes people and events in just enough detail to imagine them, but never so much they seem static and unreal - just clear enough to envision, but with enough vagueness left to let your imagination begin to run wild.

While I’m thinking about arc 3’s party, let’s talk about a really bold move she made in that arc: letting the players have ongoing control of their history. Loser Lars! She didn’t try to spell out every detail of this high-level party’s history, or restrict their past to only what she decided to allow - she gave them the broad outlines, and let them embellish it. And that made for a much more alive story than any attempt to create it by herself would have - but I think it takes a lot of courage to let your players have that agency. Most Dungeon Masters (myself included) tend to struggle with being control freaks.

And the plots! Yeah, arc one is built of classic tropes - but she actually uses them, she doesn’t get caught up in subverting everything or laughing at the cliches. And it’s fun! In arc 3, there really isn’t a straight line for the players to follow, either - which makes the game much more interesting and much trickier to run. And her NPCs are fantastic and I will talk about them in the next section.

Above all, though, I think what is really impressive is how Haley balances mechanics, and rules as written, with the narrative and rule of cool - and puts both rules and story in the service of playing a fun game. And the secret to that? She’s the DM, but the DM is a player, and the DM is clearly having fun. Hope Lovejoy mechanically shouldn’t get that spellslot back, but she does, and it’s fun. The changeling merchant in Thymore doesn’t really make some Grand Artistic Narrative better, but wow is it fun. And she never tries to force it one way or the other - the story might be more dramatic if Annie didn’t manage to banish the demon from the vault, but it’s a lot cooler and a lot more fun for the players if Annie gets to be a badass instead - and the rules and the dice say that Annie managed it.

Settings feel like places, NPCs feel like people, and the narrative plot feels like a real villainous plot.

Anyway. I could go on about the various ways in which Whipjack is awesome for quite a while - she’s right, first place in D&D is when your friends laugh and super first place is when they cry - but I’m going to stop here and just. Make another post about it some other time. For now, for the record I hold her opinions about the game in higher esteem than I do several official sourcebooks; that is all.

Characters - Or, Bombyx Mori Is Not an Asshole, And That Matters

Okay, I said I would talk about characters! And I will!

Just a general place to start: the party! All of the first three parties are interesting to me, because they all care about each other. Not even necessarily in a Found Family Trope sort of way, though often that too. But they generally aren’t assholes to each other. The players create characters that actually work together, that are interesting; even when there’s internal divisions like SK-73 v. Sir Mr. Person, they aren’t just unpleasant and antagonistic all the time. Listening to the podcast, we’re “with” these people for a couple hours - and it isn’t unpleasant. That matters a lot. (To take a counter-example: I love Critical Role, but the episode when Vox Machina pranked Scanlan after he died and was resurrected wasn’t fun to listen to, it was just uncomfortable and angering and vaguely cruel).

All of the PCs are amazing, and the players in each arc did a great job. If you disagree with me about that, well, you have the right to be incorrect and I am sorry for your loss. Annie Wintersummer, for one example: tragic and sad and I want to give her a hug, but also Fuck Yeah Wintersummer, and also her familiar Charles the Owl is the cutest and funniest and I love him. And we understand what’s going on with Annie, she isn’t some infinite pool of hidden depths because this arc is 7 episodes and we don’t have time for that, but she also has enough complexity to be interesting. Same with Fey Moss: yeah, a lot of her is a silly pun about fame that carries into how she behaves, but a lot of how she behaves is also down to some good classic half-elven angst about parenthood and wanting to be known and seen and important. (Side note: if your half-elf character doesn’t have angst, well, that’s impressive and also I don’t think I believe you).

There are multiple lesbian cat-people in a 4-person party and they both have requited romantic interests who aren’t each other. This is the future liberals want and I am glad for it.

Sir Mister Person, the human fighter! Thavius, the edge lord! Even when a character is “simple,” they’re interesting, because of how they’re played as people and not action-figures. And that matters a lot.

In the same way: the NPCs. There really aren’t a lot of them! And some of them come from Patreon submissions, so uh good work gang, you’re part of the awesomeness and I’m proud of you! The point being, the NPCs work because enough of them are interesting to matter. It’s not just a servant who opens Count Michael’s door, it’s a character with a name (Oleandra!) and a personality and history. They’re interesting. Penny Lovejoy didn’t need to be interesting, the merchant outside the Laughing Mausoleum didn’t need to be interesting, but they ARE! And Haley and Gus EXCEL at making the NPCs matter, not just to the story but to us as viewers. I agree with Sir Mister Person, actually, I would die for the princesses of the kingdom. I actually care about Gem Lovejoy of all people - that wouldn’t happen in an ordinary campaign! That’s the thing that makes Unprepared Casters spectacular - and, frankly, it’s especially impressive because D&D does not tend to be good at making a lot of interesting compared to a lot of other sorts of stories.

And, just as an exemplar of all this: Bombyx Mori. Immortal, reincarnating(?), and described as the incarnation of the player’s ADHD. I expected to hate Bombyx, because as the mom friend both in and out of my friend-group’s campaigns, the chaos-causer is always exhausting to me. And yeah, Bombyx causes problems on purpose! But! She is not an asshole.

And that’s important. Bombyx goes and sits with the queen and comforts her. Bombyx gives Annie emotional support. Bombyx isn’t just a vehicle to jerk around the DM and other players; Bombyx really is a character we can care about. To compare with another case - in the first couple episodes of The Adventure Zone, the PCs are just dicks. Funny, but dicks. Bombyx holds out an arm “covered in larva” to shake with a count, and robs him of magical items, but she also cares about her friends and other people! She uses a powerful magical gem to save her fertilizer guy from death! Yeah, Bombyx is ridiculous, but she’s not just an asshole the party has to keep around for plot reasons; you can see why her party would keep her around. And one layer of meta up, she’s the perfect example of how to make a chaotic character like that while still being fun for everyone you’re playing with, which is often not the case. And I love her.

The Anti-Mercer Effect - Or, “I think we proved it can be fun, you can have a good time with your friends. And it doesn’t have to be scary, you can just work with what you know”

The Mercer Effect basically constitutes this: Matthew Mercer, Dungeon Master of Critical Role, is incredible (as are all of his players). They’re all professional story-tellers in a way, remember, and so Critical Role treats D&D like a narrative art-form, and it’s inspiring. Seeing that on Critical Role sets impossible standards - and people go into their own home games imagining that their campaigns will be like Critical Role, and the burden of that expectation tends to fall disproportionately on the DM. And the end result, I think, of the Mercer Effect is that we get discouraged or intimidated, because our game isn’t “as good as” theirs. (And I should note - Matt certainly doesn’t want that to be our reaction).

So the Anti-Mercer Effect is two things: it’s D&D treated like a game, and it’s inspiring but not intimidating. And Unprepared Casters manages both of those really freaking well. Because they play it like a game! A UC arc looks just like a good campaign in anyone’s home game. They have the vibes of 20-somethings and college students playing D&D for fun because that’s who they are (as a 20-something college student who plays a lot of D&D, watching it felt like watching my friends play an especially good campaign). They’re trying to tell a good story, sure, and they always do. But first and foremost, they’re trying to have fun, and it shows, and I love the UC cast for it.

And that’s the other half of it: it’s inspiring! It’s approachable; you can see that Haley and Gus put plenty of work into preparing the game but it also doesn’t make you feel like you need hundreds of pages of worldbuilding to run a game. Sometimes a cleric makes Haley cry and she gives them back a spell-slot from their deity! That’s fantastic! It’s just inspiring - listening to this over the summer, when my last campaign had fallen apart under the strain of graduation, is why I decided to plan and run my new one!

That quote from Haley Whipjack that I used as the title for this section? That’s the whole core of this idea, and really, I think, the core of the podcast.

The Mercer Effect is when you go “that’s really cool, I could never do that.” But Unprepared Casters makes you look at D&D and go “wow, that looks really fun. I bet I can do that!” And I love the show for it.

And I bet a lot of you do too.

[imagining-in-the-margins]

Adagio (S.R.)

Summary: Post-Prison Spencer learns to take things slow. Request: post!prison spencer with a ballet!reader, she can be very shy & blushy with him but he finds her refreshing & understanding after everything he’s been through so far, just them both overall being soft together bc he deserves happiness A/N: I wanted to write how Spencer might view the world after prison. Couple: Spencer Reid/Reader Category: Angst/Comfort Content Warning: Vague references to paranoia/prison Word Count: 600

MASTERLIST  

‘Healing takes time.’

Spencer had heard the phrase before, muttered awkwardly by well-meaning friends or leaving his own lips with what he’d hoped was a convincing show of empathy. The sage advice was also the safe advice. Everyone has heard it before. It was hard to deny, considering every scraped knee and paper cut would eventually fade into a barely noticeable scar, and those marks would weave together to create a new patchwork person, calloused and capable of withstanding deeper wounds.

But Spencer still wasn’t comfortable with taking things slow. In his experience, ‘slow’ was a bad word, an indicator of failure or laziness or greed. It was what people called him when he couldn’t live up to unrealistic expectations. When he was more human than machine or number or hired gun. Slow was the worst thing to be.

But then, he met you, and everything changed. It wasn’t like he’d expected, nor how the movies had promised him. The changes were subtle and at times frightening.

The first time he noticed it was when you two were on a simple walk. Nothing out of the ordinary happened, but he still couldn’t make himself relax. The only thing he could focus on was the movement in his peripherals. The hair standing on the back of his neck and the voices telling him to watch his back. The eyes are everywhere, and they’re all focused on him.

All but yours. Because your eyes are fixed forward any time they are not shut with a face full of warm smiles. You are not following your footprints left behind. The only thing you are stuck on is the future, which you skip towards gracefully and without regret.

Spencer envies you for a second, but then he looks down to see your hand is still holding onto his, pulling him along and away from the shadows of the past. The envy fades, and the sun’s scorching rays feel less painful with each step.

The next time things changed was at a recital. Amphitheaters are not a friend of his. Even the word makes him cringe; a reminder of the way things are made to sound too loud on purpose. And despite his love for the ‘fine arts,’ whatever that is supposed to mean, he didn’t make a habit of showing up at places like this.

But he was willing, excited, even, to see you on the stage. By the time he got to his seat, he’d started to wonder if he’d made a mistake. If he’d cornered himself in a row of people that wouldn’t understand why the stage lights reminded him of spotlights spread over a prison yard. People who would certainly notice the way he hyperventilates when their hands get too close to wrists that feel shackled against the seat.

People who seem less important when you walk out. Slowly, so slowly, in fact, that it’s almost like slow motion from the movies. Moving with a purpose that doesn’t involve running away from things that follow.

Your movements have no purpose other than to be beautiful, to bring serenity to others that have sought comfort in the warm amphitheater.

And Spencer realizes that he is glad that others are there to bear witness, to hopefully start to understand just how important it is to watch you. To learn from you. To love you, even if it’s only reasons are because you move with a purpose that is so selflessly pure.

Healing takes time, Spencer reminds himself.

Time that seems to pass a little bit faster with you.

(Tell me what you thought of this fic here!)

[bottombaron]

the high school Winterbaron au that I'll never write~

Zemo transfers to an American school. his father caught him attending a protest and he can't have him undermining the Sokovian government so now Zemo is living at his estranged mother's house in America.

his mother, being American, means Zemo has dual citizenship. her and his father are separated but not divorced. (Zemo hadn't seen her since she left them when he was four so their relationship isn't great)

Bucky is part of the large friend group of avenger characters (Steve, Tony, Bruce, Thor etc.) but he feels left out. it used to be just him, Steve, Natasha, and then later Sam. but now Steve is being pulled away by friends like Tony and girlfriend Peggy. Bucky has Sam and Natasha, but Nat is closer with Clint and Sam is naturally more outgoing and popular than Bucky is, with his own friends.

basically Bucky is feeling lonely as fuck.

due to a complex powder-keg of racism, American ignorance (on the avenger's side), and an already deep-seated resentment of the Starks' and the American forces bombing Sokovia (on Zemo's side): him and the 'avengers group' do not get along and are instantly at each other's throats

Zemo is constantly causing mayhem at school and trying to get kicked out and sent back home. everyone pretty much hates him and he's fine with that.

*vague plot hand wave* something happens, a bet between Zemo and the 'avengers' ends up with Zemo getting to take one of them out on a date and they have do what he says for the day

he chooses Bucky and everyone is thrown

Bucky hardly knows this guy and Steve and Tony thought it would be one of them. they try to refuse on his behalf but Bucky's not that bothered, '*shrug* he's like, what? 5 even?? (he's not) I could just pick him up and throw him if he tried anything (he could do that tho), i'll be fine.'

Bucky feels weird about it more because he's not a part of this fucking drama and now he feels like he's been made the center of it

Steve and Tony are fighting over his involvement in this mess (Steve is protective, Tony is dismissive) and Bucky is just tiRED

Zemo had simply noticed Bucky was being abandoned by his friends and thought he looked lonely like him. but he's also a little shit and too busy playing the villain (and having a blast thank you very much) to drop the façade

so Bucky and Zemo agree to meet at a mall for a 'date'

the mall Zemo chooses is huge and luxurious and Bucky already feels uncomfortable in it. he sits and waits in the food court where there's at least a Hot Dog on a Stick he can feel a little within his financial comforts

Zemo finds him and they're off walking the mall

they bicker, they banter, and of course Zemo is fucking weird. he's acting like they've been friends for years and excitedly showing Bucky all the window displays like Bucky isn't (technically) there against his will. but it's not uncomfortable enough that he isn't starting to catch onto Zemo's chaotic rhythm and enjoy himself a little

they start to talk in that sarcastic playfully teasing way. Bucky's dry wit and Zemo's sharp flirty replies work really well together and they're actually kind of having a good time

until Zemo reminds Bucky he has to do what he says for the day and takes him to a really fancy boutique and informs Bucky that his task is to try on some clothes with Zemo

Bucky instantly feels panic when he's in the store, it's too big and too crowded and there's actual security guards in three piece suits giving him the most judgmental looks as if he's a criminal

everyone knows he doesn't belong there and that he's small and dirty

he starts to have a panic attack

Zemo notices and pulls Bucky into a corner of the store, hands him a bottle of water and instructs him to focus on drinking the bottle up to the label. every sip of water he must take a deep breath like he's coming up for air in a pool. let it out. and take another sip. and repeat.

Zemo tells Bucky he's going to be right back and leaves to talk to someone important

Bucky doesn't notice when everyone starts to leave the shop

the doors close, the lights dim, the music stops playing current pop and plays something soft and old. when Zemo comes back Bucky is feeling a lot better

Zemo says he talked with the manager and they told him he and Bucky could have the next couple of hours by themselves in the shop, if Bucky was still willing that is

Bucky feels embarrassed but Zemo starts ranting about everything that's triggering in the store, like it was everyone else's fault and not Buckys'. it makes him feel less ashamed. 'it's these florescent lights, the doormen were assholes, that music hurt my head too, etc'. like what Bucky had just went through was perfectly normal and not something bad Bucky did on purpose or for attention like people normally make him feel.

he doesn't question how Zemo got everyone to leave and the store to soften (he actually doesn't know Zemo is rich, he never bothered to know Zemo at all. he was just the guy everyone at school hated)

the two of them spend the time running around like children with the store all to themselves, the only other person a butler-like-attendant that serves them champaign and cashews.

Bucky braces for Zemo to dress him up like he promised he would. he's expecting a trim three piece suit that Zemo was eyeing earlier or something equally uncomfortable. but with how surprisingly well Zemo had been treating him Bucky feels like he can indulge a small dress up party for the guy

he's surprised again when Zemo's wardrobe choices for him are sinfully soft cotton jeans, t-shirts, and the sexiest leather jacket he's even seen

they're clothes Bucky would have picked for himself and he feels great in them

Zemo for his part steps out of the dressing room looking like Elton John meets Cruella DeVil

the ugliest purple fur coat, heels with gold accents, and a crop top that says 'break my hole not my heart' on it

Bucky: that is the ugliest fucking outfit I've ever seen

Zemo: thank you, I love it 😎

Bucky asks why he wasn't forced to wear something more high fashion, Zemo answers that, 'while I would love to see you in a suit I know you wouldn't be comfortable in one. attractiveness is about comfort. my style isn't yours. I'm comfortable in things that you would never be in which is why I make this look good. and you look exquisite in that.'

Bucky blushes but doesn't disagree. he does however tease Zemo about his outfit. 'are you sure you actually pull that off?'

Zemo: oh hunny, I'm fuckable in anything

Bucky switches into his old clothes and whistles when he sees the price tag. 'I could never afford this' Zemo looks, 'ah yes , that is quite the ridiculous mark up.'

Zemo: which is why I was planning on stealing it ;3

and then he runs out of the store with all the clothes he picked out for Bucky, still in his gaudy outfit

Bucky is dumbfounded but quickly runs after him and they stop only after they're at the other end of the mall, out of breath

Bucky: the actual fuck, Zemo!

Zemo: *is wearing his ~who me? I've never done anything wrong in my cute little life~ face* :3

Zemo explains shoplifting is good actually fuck capitalism

and doesn't explain that the reason why they had control of the store in the first place is because his father is an investor and everything they ran out with was technically already bought the moment they touched it

but he doesn't want Bucky to feel indebted for the clothes or make him feel like he needs charity. and rebellion (even pretend rebellion) is funner

Bucky suspects everything is fine anyway because he's not an idiot but it's funner to pretend for him too

the fantasy world that they've created outside of their actual lives and drama, in this mall, on this day, is freeing

Zemo releases Bucky of their deal, the time having been completed

Bucky, instead of leaving, takes Zemo's wrist and guides him to Hot Dog on a Stick at the food court

he treats him to a $5 dinner and watches, trying not to laugh, as Zemo attempts to eat a corndog with mustard in a pair of white Versace cashmere pants

it's the best date he's ever had

[droppingartintotheinfinite]

Hello! My name is Soléna, (pronounced “soul-ANE-uh”) and I do art sometimes!

Feel free to shorten my name to just Sol. I use they/them pronouns.

My main blog is @solena2, where I reblog things and sometimes (rarely) make original posts.

My birthday is February 2nd.

I do Art Fight every year, so if you want to attack me, my account is here!

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Stuff about this blog:

- It runs on a queue! I draw a lot, so I’ve got the queue set to post twice a day. I’ll often post more than that if I’ve got a big backlog, though.

- It’s primarily an archive for my work! Though I do like attention, the primary purpose of this blog is to store my art in case I ever lose access to the original photos and/or sketchbooks. Because of this, I pretty much post everything I draw, as opposed to just the stuff I really like.

- It’s mostly my visual art, but I sometimes post my writing here as well. Most of it I just stick on ao3, though, so if you’re looking for that my username there is solena2 as well.

Interaction:

- feel free to send asks and stuff! I will respond to them! I love attention.

- I read all of the tags. If you tag my art with something nice, I will see it and I will smile very wide.

- I typically don’t respond to comments on my posts! On tumblr, you can only reply to posts with your main, and this is a sideblog, so I avoid replying to my own posts to prevent confusion. If you’d like me to respond to something you say, please put it in a reblog or an ask!

- Do you have questions about my OCs? My process? Did you see a cool rock this morning and thought I would like it? Send it to me! I cannot overstate the degree to which getting asks fills me with joy!

- Constructive criticism of my work is fine, though I don’t usually respond to it.

- Prompts are also fine, though I make no promises to actually do them!

Commissions:

- I don’t do commissions as a regular thing and don’t really consider myself to be a professional artist, so I don’t have any kind of default pricing scale for them or anything like that, but if you want to pay me to do art for you I’m probably down with that. Just send me a dm with what you want and how much you’re willing to pay for it and we can discuss from there.

- For pricing, please assume you’re paying at least minimum wage and that anything more complicated than a sketch is going to take a couple hours. Minimum wage in my state is about $15/hour.

- I might also be willing to do stuff for free or for cheap if you’re a friend or there’s some other reason I’d be willing to charge less from you, but if I do something for you for free I’m only going to put as much effort in as I feel like. You get what you pay for, you know?

- If you want a commission from me, a person who does not regularly do commissions, please assume I know jackshit about standard practice for them because that is in fact the truth.

- This section only exists because I keep getting questions about it. If I ever start doing commissions regularly, I’ll redo this to be less vague.

Other stuff:

- Feel free to use my stuff for things as long as you credit me! Whether that be using my art as a reference, directly tracing it, sticking it in a slideshow where you repeatedly call it a crime against the medium... I don’t really care! Just make sure to tag me or send it to me so I can check it out!

- Please don’t repost my stuff. If you’re adding something it’s fine, but just reposting my art with nothing extra on it is cringe. If you’re doing it on another site I don’t really care, though. Just make sure to give a link back to this blog!

- Seriously go wild

- The only situation in which I care even slightly about people doing things with my art is if it’s a commission. If it’s a commission, I don’t own it and therefore cannot grant permissions about how the image can be used. If you want to do something with a piece I did on commission, ask the person who commissioned it. All commissioned pieces on this blog are labeled, so there shouldn’t be any confusion there.

Tagging:

- The TWs I try to reliably tag are eyestrain, blood and body horror. For pretty much anything else, send me an ask about it and if it’s just a couple posts, I’ll add the tag, though if it’s like half my blog it might be a better idea to just unfollow.

- My phase tags are so I can easily find my stuff by post date, and also to make it easier for me to gauge my progress. I update the number approximately at the start of each month, though sometimes I’m a couple days off for whatever reason.

- My favorite art is tagged “fav”. Usually I go through my posts every couple months and stick the tag on a bunch of stuff, as opposed to adding it when I make the post.

- My “ballgown” tag isn’t necessarily for actual ballgowns. It’s more just fancy clothes in general. Things just worked out that way.

- Fanart is tagged “fanart” and original art is tagged “original art”. Older original art is tagged “not fanart” which I changed when I realized how tumblr’s search works.

- Posts in color are tagged “color”. If you’re looking for stuff of mine that’s more than sketches, this is probably the place to check.

- The abstract pieces I do are tagged “abstract art”. Stuff in this tag is typically what I use for my blog banners. And also my home screen.

- Every post on my blog is tagged with “art” and “sketch”. It just worked out that way.

- Digital art is tagged “digital art” and traditional art is tagged “traditional art”. Older traditional art doesn’t have its own tag, since when this blog started it was pretty much all I did so I didn’t need to differentiate.

- “old art” is the tag for really old art of mine that wasn’t posted when it was drawn. This tag typically shows up on my redraws of my old stuff.

- “Redraw” is my tag for redraws. I do them occasionally for fun.

- Posts tagged “reference” were drawn using a different image as a reference. Many of the older posts on this blog don’t credit the reference in question at all, which is a practice I’ve decided to move away from. The reason these posts stay up is because of this blog’s status as an archive.

- Comics are tagged “comic”.

- Non-art posts are tagged “not art” and “off topic”. If they’re text posts, they’re tagged “text post”. Reblogs are tagged “reblog” and/or “self reblog”, as appropriate.

- Every character who appears in a post is tagged. I do my best to use the same tag for the same character every time. Characters with ambiguous names (ie: Ghost from Hollow Knight) will usually have their fandom name included in their character tag. (ie: “hk ghost”)

- Shitposts are tagged “shitpost”

Enjoy!