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theunacceptablepylades · 2 years

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Oleander Mornings, Foxglove Nights

The first thing you notice when he sweeps you into his castle is his eyes. They’re hypnotic, and you find yourself staring into them far longer than socially acceptable. You don’t even know why you feel such an impulse, but it seems almost as if there’s an answer to a question you didn’t know you’ve been asking all your life hides somewhere behind the pupils. He catches you looking and flashes a smile that’s too bright to be real. You’re so struck by the gesture you don’t pay much mind to how there’s almost too many teeth in it. Read on Ao3 here

“I hope you’ll find your stay here pleasant while you work. I know some may find the size...discomfiting. Hopefully you’ll grow to appreciate the space instead of resent it. One upon a time, this was the home of my entire family line, bustling. But now, I’m afraid there’s only me. Well. I have nieces who sometimes wander the halls, though I don’t know how often you shall see them. They’re what I believe you Englishmen would call ‘night owls.’” He chuckles, as if there was something funny about that statement, but you chalk it up to how odd the English language can be sometimes, especially to a non-native speaker. Lord knows you’ve had the same reaction often enough learning French.

“It’s a lovely estate. I’m sure I’ll have no problems during my stay. Now, if you’ll forgive me, I believe I should go get settled in. I’d like to get started first thing in the morning, and it was a long journey here.”

“Of course. I shan’t keep you. Good night, Mr. Harker.”

The way he says your name sounds dangerous, and you don’t know why. When you turn to go back to your room, the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, and you pretend you don’t notice.

You pretend not to notice a great many things while you do what is supposed to be a very routine job in a very odd manor. The country is strange and old, as is the manor, as is the master of it. He keeps odd hours, never seeming to sleep. The curtains are always drawn, though that’s not a problem with the number of candles lit in the rooms you spend the most time in. Some of the documents seem out of place. Written in strange script, languages you have never seen in all your years, accounts of historic events far too twisted to have been real, clerical paperwork filed away in an incomprehensible filing system.

Your host keeps you company through it all, a small comfort in all of this. When not working, you write letter after letter to your fiancée, telling her about your journey and everything that has happened since. You tell her of the paperwork, the emptiness of the manor, the strange journals and documents. You do not tell her how you increasingly find yourself staring after your host. How he looks at you as if figuring out how best to devour you. How you find yourself beginning to think you may never return to England.

He never seems to eat.

He shares meals with you of course and rarely misses the occasion with you and hear you chatter on about what you’ve discovered in his library or about your life back in England. But he doesn’t eat. There is only ever a place setting for you at the banquet table, and a glass of red, red wine for him. You ask him about it once, but he merely laughs at the question. Says he prefers to take his meals in solitude.

“An old habit I’ve formed, I’m afraid. One spends enough time alone and becomes self-conscious about their table manners. You must understand.”

“Of course. I simply wanted to ensure you…” The words slipped off your tongue and suddenly you’ve forgotten what it was you were trying to say. “Well. I’m not quite sure what I was trying to ensure. It seems that I’ve lost that particular thought.”

He smiles at you, and once again, there’s the flash of perfectly uniform teeth. A perfect smile overall. Nobility has all the luck in these things. Cold fingers touch your own, and you realize your friend is patting your hand. “Happens to the best of us. No shame in that. I’ve come to learn over the years that the human mind is such a fallible thing. No matter; I believe you were telling me of where you and your fiancée like to holiday.” He’s right of course, that was the topic of conversation before you trailed off. A silly thing for you to have forgotten. You think you might be spending too much time in the darkness with dusty tomes and resolve to take a walk on the castle grounds come morning.

That night, you wake to moonlight streaming over your face. At first you can’t tell what it was that woke you. You’ve always been a sound sleeper, so to wake like this leaves you disoriented as you scrub the sleep from your eyes and gaze about the room. It’s the curtains, you soon realize. You have no recollection of leaving them open, in fact as you become more alert you remember you had closed them as you came to bed, not wanting to allow the light of the full moon to keep you awake. Or at least you thought you had. As you draw the curtains closed, you realize the door is open, which you certainly closed. Though by no means a suspicious person, you prefer your privacy and thus the door remains shut overnight. How odd, then, that it would sit ajar. That too is closed and you slide back into bed and to sleep. You blame the sensation of being watched on the surprise of finding your door open and shove away the paranoia in favor of blissful oblivion.

You start locking your door after that, and for a while, you feel better about the whole thing. It’s easier, after a couple weeks, to chalk the whole thing up to a vivid dream. It hadn’t happened since, so you begin to believe your imagination was simply acting up. Your host has taken to spending more time with you in the evenings. He presses into your space, leaning against your back to pour over documents with you. Everytime, you catch a whiff of something heady, some sort of scent you can’t place, but it makes your head spin and you find yourself clutching at your pen too tightly. One night you hold too hard and find ink staining your hands.

With an exasperated sigh, you set the thing down and begin hunting in your pockets for your handkerchief, only to find black lace blocking your vision. Surprised, you look up to see a pale hand holding it out in offering.

“Oh no, I couldn’t possibly ruin your handkerchief like that. I have one of my own let me simply-”

“My dear Jonathan.” His cool voice stops your protestations dead. “It’s of no consequence to me, I have many more, and I believe I distracted you enough to cause the incident in the first place. I insist.”

His tone left no room for argument, so you reluctantly take it. The cloth, much like its owner, is odd. A strange texture, and stranger color. Briefly, you are at least thankful that the ink wouldn’t visibly stain the fabric. When you try to hand it back, he waves away your hand. “Please, keep it. And now, I believe it would be best to have dinner. Shall we?” He offers out a hand once more, and you don't hesitate to take it. When he pulls you out of your chair effortlessly, you have to bite back a small noise of surprise, but he doesn’t seem to notice. That night you write to your fiancée.

Three nights later, your door is open again, but this time you’re not alone. A redheaded woman is straddling your chest, her hair tickling your nose as she leans down, and in your sleep addled state you ask “Mina?” She lets out an unearthly hiss and it is then that the reality of the situation hits you. You try to throw her off of you, to get up, anything really, but it’s as if she’s made of lead, and she shifts to grasp your throat with one hand, crushing it with unearthly strength. You manage to shout once before she starts cutting off your air.

Spots fill your vision and you begin to wonder if this is going to be how you die. Leagues upon leagues from home in an unfriendly country with no one the wiser. Your fiancée will be beside herself. Will she ever know of the tragedy or simply be doomed to unanswered questions for the rest of your life?

The weight is gone for some reason, and you can barely register the sound of a body hitting stone above the way you’re sucking in air like a fish.

“Out!” You hear thunder. “Did I not tell you he was off limits? Did I not warn you of the consequences? Gather your sisters and get out of my sight before you learn the full extent of my wrath!”

Sitting up, you see that it’s him. Or at least, you think it is. His form seems too large, his hair wild and eyes like embers. If he was an animal, you think his hackles would be raised. On the floor, you see your would-be murderess struggling to get to her feet. In two strides, he has gripped her by the hair and raised her to her feet. “OUT!” She hisses at him, and you see a mouth full of razors glinting in the moonlight. Ice floods your veins and you realize how much danger you have been in this whole time. For a moment, you fear she will attack, but she only scurries out of the room with a dirty look.

It is only when she is gone that your savior turns to you and sits on the edge of your bed, careful to avoid touching you. He seems to be examining you, reaches out a hand hesitantly. “May I look?”

You don’t trust yourself to speak, and instead only bare your throat to allow him to inspect the damage. His fingers are a ghost’s whisper against the stinging flesh. You know it will be bruised in the morning, and you wonder how best to hide the marks. Already you know you will never speak of the attack to Mina.

“Johnathan…” You don’t know that you’ve ever seen him look hesitant. This man oozes confidence, every step is taken with surety. He looks deeply sorrowful in a way that fills you with a nameless pain. “My friend I have no words. I never imagined- I believed it safe for you here. I must apologize.”

His fingers are still at your throat, and the contrast of the gentleness now from the attack earlier is enough to make your pulse flutter in your chest. Hesitantly, you reach up a hand of your own and take his. “There is nothing to apologize for. In fact, I believe I should be thanking you for rescuing me. I truly feared the worst.”

“When I entered the room, I did as well. Be grateful you encountered the niece who prefers to play with her food.” His face darkened, an expression that didn’t belong on such marble. You’ve never been one for art, numbers have always held your heart, but in that moment, you think of how you would like to draw this moment. Having no such skill, you impulsively place a soft kiss against his knuckles.

The pair of you freeze, and you realize what it is you have just done. You part your lips to say something, but the way his eyes have darkened stops you. You blink, and in that instant he is gone.

In the morning, you pack your bags.

There are papers to be collected in the office, so you stop in to gather them. You notice your pen is still laying on the desk where you abandoned it. With a smile, you leave it alone. This one can stay here, a memory for your host. You move slowly as you work, though due to the pain that strikes when you move your head too fast or to some sense of reluctance, you don’t know. Even if you did, you wouldn’t admit it to yourself. Once everything is in order, you leave for the door. You feel guilty, wonder if you should leave a note. The attack isn’t what has you running; strangely, you feel perfectly safe after the display last night. Despite the violence, despite the threat, it would be fine. No, you simply don’t wish to stay knowing you have made your friend so deeply uncomfortable. The way the man fled last night, you would have thought the hounds of hell were baying at his feet. You regret the reaction, not the action.

At the front door, several large crates take up space in the foyer. In your confusion, you trip over your own feet. Before you can crash to the ground, a steady hand catches you.

“Oh good, you’re packed. Saves me the trouble of having to rush you.”

“Sir?” You turn to see the man you had planned to leave behind gently gripping your arm. “I don’t understand.”

His hand travels down your arm, stopping to catch your hand and raise it to his lips. “After the events of last night, I decided it was time to travel to England and finish the remainder of this house business there. I was planning to alert you to this, but it seems you are already prepared.” A shiver runs down your spine at the fangs you see behind his smile.

“What’s in the crates?”

“Earth, of course. A little something from home. Now come, I’ve already arranged for a carriage, and we still have so much left to do.”

You allow him to drag you back to the office. You know you would allow him to drag you anywhere.

#dracula #jonathan harker/dracula #jonathan harker #dracula daily #how was i supposed to know a fic i wrote in 2020 was apparently gonna start getting attention again in 2022 #cross posted on ao3

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iliveiloveiwrite · 3 years

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Long Lost Love // Part One (D.M.)

Summary: Two piles of twelve letters, hidden away in the bottom of a trunk, browning with age. Twenty-four letters in total, all addressed to him.

A/N: This is my entry into @teheharrypotter‘s two weeks of angst! I just really want to take a moment and say that I am so proud of this fic and how it has come out, like ridiculously proud of it. I would really appreciate some feedback on this - reblogs and comments are so important. There is going to be a second part where all the love letters will be compiled into one long post. However, I think not giving too much away only adds to the suspense and angst. Also, the ending... I love it and I think you’ll all hate me for it.

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Fem!Reader

Warnings: this is a lot of angst combined with hurt/comfort but there’s a lot of growth in Draco (I think?)

Word count: 5.4k

It had been fifteen years since the end of the second wizarding war; it had been fifteen years of healing and working on himself, of repenting for his family’s crimes during the war. Draco Malfoy had aged in that time; his hair had grown past his shoulders, tied back with a black leather hair tie, and there were lines on his face that had not been there when he was an eighteen year old running away from the castle he classed as his home.

He had lived a lifetime in those fifteen years. He had seen the world before training as a Healer; working his way up the ranks to become head of the emergency department of the only wizarding hospital within Britain. He had trained Healer after Healer; many of them going off to establish clinics in their own community, all of them sending cards at Christmas, regaling him of their successes.

Draco had lived a lifetime. He lost his father first. Lucius had never truly recovered from his time in Azkaban, and though Draco had tried his hardest to form some semblance of a relationship with his father, Lucius had remained cruel until the end. Truthfully, Draco doesn’t want to think about what it was that killed him in the end. Whether it was the spite that had poisoned him for years, or whether it was something else. Draco doesn’t dwell on it; instead, he leaves white roses on his father’s grave every Sunday like any loving son would.

Narcissa hadn’t lasted long after Lucius passed. She had been distraught. Whilst Lucius was not a doting father, he was a doting husband and he adored Narcissa until his very last breath on this earth. To Draco, her tears started that day and didn’t stop until she passed away in her asleep. Her heart, the coroner said. She had died of a broken heart.

A feeling Draco knew only too well.

Despite achieving so much and traveling so far, he had only ever been in love once. There had only ever been one moment in his whole life that had been filled with the kind of love read about in books, sang about in songs, and played out in films. Draco had fallen in love with you when he was sixteen years old and entering what would be the darkest period of his life. To him, you had been the light in the dark. The answer to his constantly asked question: will there ever be a happy ending?

Nothing had ever happened; nothing could happen. You were the epitome of goodness; the very incarnate of its definition, and he… he was the opposite. In those days, his self-hatred ran so deep that he would argue he was the Hades of the story. Doomed forever to the underworld only to fall in love with the Goddess of Spring and hope for retribution that would never come.

However, in this version of their well-told myth, Hades and Persephone never fall into a relationship. In this version of events, feelings were known and reciprocated, but letters that pleaded for a chance either never arrived or were never answered.

So for fifteen years, Draco Malfoy has been working hard on repairing his family’s tattered reputation whilst coping with the depth-defying grief that comes with losing both parents within the span of a year as well as never truly dealing with the heart wrenching grief that accompanies a relationship that was never given the chance to bloom.

--------

It was a bright, clear day in the middle of March when Draco decided to clean out the attic. He had woken with the urge to clean; with the urge to organise his life and start to work through the piles of his parent’s belongings. He hadn’t been able to touch them in the beginning; the most he had been able to do was relocate everything to the attic and then shove the very thought to the back of his mind where it began to fester like an open wound.

Bright and clear was the day when Draco chose to enter the long forgotten attic in the Manor. Bright and clear was the day when he had to hold a handkerchief to his face to stave off the inevitable sneezes from the dust floating in the air.

Looking around the old and dusty attic, Draco takes in the first of the mess. Trunks line the wall; some ancient – locks worn down with time, almost rusted from their exile to the attic; others are much newer such as his parent’s belongings. Their trunks remain almost new; their initials still painted onto the lids in bright gold paint.

The majority of the morning is spent creating two piles; one to be thrown away, one to be donated. Expensive gowns and suits were to be donated. Anything that reminded Draco of his allegiance in the Second Wizarding War was to be thrown.

As he goes through the belongings of not just his parent’s, but also his grandparents, Draco begins to feel conflicted. With each addition to the bin pile, he feels lighter, he feels one less burden. However, he cannot help the guilt that unfurls in his stomach as he thinks of his mother’s kind face and her forever painted red lip.

By the time Draco makes it to his mother’s final trunk, he feels as if he has been in battle once more. Weariness hangs heavy over in shoulders, settling in his bones. His body slumped, not just from the tiredness from lifting heavy trunks and boxes, but from the emotional weight of memories freshly unleashed upon him.

Draco’s movements are slower as he opens the lid to this final trunk. He thinks back to the day he filled it; piling his mother’s correspondence and personal effects in here – separate from the clothes he knew he would one day get rid of. He slides his hands over the emerald green lid – a Slytherin till the day she died, Draco thinks as he smiles to himself.

At some point, he lets a few tears fall. It’s the sight of Narcissa’s handwriting, he realises. He hadn’t seen it in so long – not having received a birthday card or a Christmas present this year due to her death. Seeing her strong cursive brought tears to his eyes; he remembers being a child, sitting by her desk, watching her write away and wondering who on earth she could be talking to. If Draco focuses hard enough, he swears he can still smell the fresh ink drying on the parchment and the melted wax being pressed with Narcissa’s signet ring.

At the bottom of the trunk, Draco notices a latch. Frowning, he flips it open to reveal a false bottom hidden away. Uneasiness spreads through him, turning his stomach to lead as he reaches inside to feel two distinct piles.

The uneasiness turns to heavy anguish when Draco realises just what he is holding in his hands.

------

Two piles of twelve letters, hidden away in the bottom of a trunk, browning with age.

Twenty-four letters in total, all addressed to him.

They now sit on his kitchen counter; the ageing paper a stark contrast to the obsidian black of his counter top. Draco leans back in his chair, huffing out a long sigh, running a hand down his face as he does so. It had been fifteen years, but he would recognise your handwriting anywhere.

It had been fifteen years and he hadn’t had any contact with you. He wondered for so long why his letters had gone unanswered to the point where he stopped writing altogether, feeling the keen sting of rejection.

Fifteen years and he now had his answer.

Hidden away in a trunk; squirreled away in the hopes that he would never find them. The hope that he would forget about you and move on. He never had; he just kept his feelings silent, caging them up in his heart along with everything else he kept from his parents.

Anger surges through him. The first emotion he has felt since he opened that damned trunk.

He lets out a choked scream; the intensity of his anger surprising him as he slams a fist onto the counter top, wincing slightly from the pain now radiating up his right arm.

How dare they, he roars. How dare they keep this from him? How dare they keep you from him? Did you not fit their ideal – a pureblood from a well off family? Did you not meet their needs visually? Your hair perfect, your face just the same.

There was no good reason he could think of. Draco pads over to the bar, tucked away in the corner of the kitchen. There, he pours himself a knuckle’s length of the amber liquid, knocking it back with a hiss. The whiskey burns as it goes down; burns just like his emotions, like his anger.

Draco’s lip curls in distaste as he hears his father’s voice: a distraction, Draco, that’s all.

Lucius Malfoy had never uttered such words in Draco’s presence, but Draco was well aware of his father’s distaste of you.

Reading over his home address once again, Draco is hit with a sense of helplessness. He doesn’t know where to go from or what to do. He reads over your home address, neatly written in the top left hand corner of the envelope.

Sighing, he runs a hand down his face, still uncertain what his next move is going to be. He runs through the options in his head once, and out loud after.

To no-one in particular, he argues:

“I could reply. I could write a letter back, apologising for the absence of replies with a brief sentence or two about meeting up after so much time has passed.”

Draco waves that option away; his tongue too tied up to even think about coherently writing a letter out now. He moves onto option two:

“I could show up. I could apparate to the address right now, knock on the door and ask to speak to them.”

He shakes his head; immediately ridding himself of the idea. For starters, what if you had moved, and he finds himself knocking on the door of an unknown family? However, what if you still live there, and you answer the door? What is Draco to say to you then after such a long time apart?

He imagines the situation; forces himself into shoes that he could possibly be wearing in the near future. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. Not a word, not a whisper, not an apology.

So he ignores option two.

Draco knows its cowardice that drives him to the third option, but to go fifteen years without a reply to a letter declaring love… it is too long of a time to expect any form of forgiveness, and he supposes that is what he is most afraid of. Draco’s terrified of not being worthy enough for your forgiveness.

So he goes with option three:

Do nothing.

------

Draco does the only thing that makes sense.

He takes the letters to work.

Draco slides the letters into his satchel, latching the buckle afterwards and taking a deep breath. Already, Draco feels the twenty four envelopes burning a hole through the soft, worn leather of his bag.

Their presence continues to haunt him: placing his bag in his locker and grabbing his lab coat, walking towards the admit desk where Martha – the head nurse – smiles at him before handing him a cup of coffee.

The emergency room is swamped. It is full to capacity with even more waiting in triage. They work as hard and as fast as they can, but it takes time to cure burns from potions and injuries from spells gone wrong.

It gets to the point where Draco needs to take a step back. He has to take a step back and re-evaluate. His personal life is shot; the love he had found at sixteen a dead end until this last weekend. His professional life is all that he has going for him, but on days like this, when he isn’t feeling entirely himself for the shock from the weekend, Draco does find himself being short with patients.

He escapes to the break room; the familiar bitter scent of coffee already relaxing the tense muscles in his shoulders. He settles into a chair at the rickety table, head in his hands as he takes a deep breath.

Draco represses the urge to cry. He pushes it down; deep, deep down inside him where he can deal with it another day. At this moment, all he wants is a hug from his mother and the age old promise that everything is going to be okay. It’s her fault’ it is Narcissa’s fault that he is like this.

That he is a husk of a man.

He feels like a therapist’s wet dream. Blaming his mother, his parents as the source of his problems, but he cannot help imagining how different his life would be if those letters had been delivered to his hands.

He would be with you. He would have given it all up for you.

His lineage; his inheritance; his name; the pureblood mania that infected his parents.

He would give it all up for you.

Fifteen years later and he would still give up every aspect of his life, every part of him that makes him him.

Draco would drop it all in a heartbeat for you.

“What’s gotten into you?” A feminine voice questions. Draco turns in his seat to see his closest friend and confidant, Alexandria Delphi, leaning against the door with a smile on her face.

He cannot help the smile that grows on his face at her presence. He shrugs, hoping he appears nonchalant, “What do you mean?”

Alexandria pushes herself off the door, coming to sit next to Draco at the old rickety table that has been at home in the break room since before time itself. She raises a perfectly shaped eyebrow at his obvious aversion. She gestures to his entire being, “I mean this. You’ve been off all day – not as attentive to patients, not your usual flirtatious self with the nurses which I know they are missing very much. What’s gotten into you, Draco?”

Draco sighs, knowing very well he could never hide anything from her. Alexandria and Draco had known each other since their first year of training; an unlikely friendship forming between them, but a friendship nonetheless. Thirteen years later, they had been working in the emergency department of St Mungo’s the longest – second only to Martha, the Head Nurse.

“I was cleaning out the attic over the weekend. Getting rid of some of my parent’s things.”

Alexandria frowns, reaching for Draco’s hand over the table. “You should have called me. I would have come and helped you; you shouldn’t have had to that alone.”

“I know,” Draco starts, running a hand down his face, “I know you would have but I think I needed to do it alone.”

Alexandria nods, releasing his hand at last and bringing it to the coffee mug sitting in front of her. Draco smiles at her before standing, opening his locker and grabbing the letters that call to him from his bag.

Sitting back down, he slides the two piles of letters in Alexandria’s direction, all the while saying, “I found these in my mother’s trunk. It had a false bottom, and they were sitting there.”

Her deep brown eyes widen, “How scandalous! They’re addressed to you?”

Draco nods, “When I was at Hogwarts, there was a girl.”

“Isn’t there always?” Alexandria quips, rolling her eyes at the dramatics of her colleague.

“Anyway,” Draco comments pointedly, “I was in love, or at least, I was as much in love as you can be when you’re sixteen years old. I still am, I think.

“Anyway, my parents didn’t approve of her; they never would so when war started brewing and I went home, I never imagined I would get letters. I never got letters. Turns out, she had been sending me letters all along and my parents had kept them hidden until now.”

“Bastards,” Alexandria spits; furious at people long dead.

“What do you think I should do?” Draco asks earnestly, his eyes never leaving the pile of letters.

“Have you read them?” Alexandria asks; her eyes fixed on the two sets of letters placed between them on the rickety table.

He shakes his head, refusing to meet Alexandria’s eyes, “I think I’m too scared.”

Alexandria smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. She sighs, “You aren’t going to know what to do until you read them. Reading the letters should give you the answer you are looking for.”

“When did you get so wise?”

“When you made me Attending,” She quips, yet there is still no heart behind it – none of her usual heat that tends to come out when Draco baits her slightly. She shakes her head, standing from her seat with her coffee in her hand, “I want to see you back out there soon. I don’t care whether you’re the head of the department.”

He raise an eyebrow at her in challenge; she simply smirks. He shakes his head at her antics, already rising from his seat, “I’m on my way.”

“Good, I have plenty of patients for you to see.”

Draco doesn’t reply, he watches her leave with a fond smile on his face.

Alexandria leaves the break room. She leaves as it is the only way that Draco will not see the sorrow and the longing reflected in her eyes. Alexandria doesn’t let him see the jealousy over the letters; the very emotion gnawing away at the ever growing pit in her stomach, only making it deeper as she replays the story of Draco’s first and only love.

She remembers when she used to look forward to coming into work; to help those in need and be a source of comfort for those she couldn’t help. Now, she struggles to make it through the door with the knowledge that she has been in love with the same man for years and nothing had happened.

That’s the thing about loving someone who doesn’t love you back – it turns you into a ghost of your former self.

------

Draco finds himself reaching for the first letter in the pile on a Friday night in the middle of April. If he had to be honest with himself, it had taken him a whole month to work up the nerve to read them. Draco had come home after the conversation with Alexandria and dropped the letters on the side table where they have taunted him ever since.

He knows he isn’t in the right frame of mind to be reading them; a bad shift with too many deaths combined with the two half full tumblers of whiskey consumed creates the equation of self-destruction. However, Draco reminds himself, he’s had fifteen years of internal self-destruction – what’s one more night when you tear yourself down so regularly despite the accolades attached to your name?

Draco hesitates, holding the first of the twenty four letters in his hand. He hesitates; unsure as to whether he is ready to read the handwriting of someone whose notes through class not only made him happy, but hopeful.

Releasing a shuddering breath, he tears open the seal and begins to read.

------

The letters are not long. They aren’t pages and pages of eloquent syntax over your feelings for the blonde haired, cocky teenager he once was. The closer he gets to the end of the pile, the less is written as if you had grown tired of such an act and not getting a reply.

Draco keeps his favourite close to him. It’s tucked away in his inner coat pocket, on the left hand side close to his heart.

The letter has been with him a month now. A month of one letter being read and reread too many times a day; to the point where Draco is reciting it in his sleep. It’s creased beyond recognition, but he still takes the risk every day to take it out and read it.

He misses you. He misses you. He misses you.

Now, Draco unfolds the paper. He unfolds the paper and reads the opening line: do you remember that night in the greenhouse? Writes your neat handwriting; the letters perfectly formed on the now browning parchment.

How could he forget? Draco closes his eyes, letting himself fall into the memory perfumed with compost and night blooming evening primrose.

*****

“Name two purposes of Valerian Root.”

“To help someone sleep as well as to ease anxiety.”

“Very good,” You laugh, moving quietly between the rows and rows of plants. You turn to him suddenly, ��What is one danger of Black Henbane?”

Draco pauses, eyes already searching for papery flower with spidery black veins. He finds it nestled towards the back of the greenhouse, hidden away from sight and away from the wandering hands of children. Draco follows you closely; remaining near you as he says, “As a member of the nightshade family, the plant can be toxic if used in large quantities.”

The sight of your smile takes his breath away. You rush to him; toothy grin and loud laughter as you nod your head. “Madame Pomfrey was right,” You splutter, “You’re going to make an incredible Healer, Draco Malfoy.”

He doesn’t need to see the blush to know it’s there; he can feel the heat creeping its way up his neck to his cheeks. “I don’t think I’ll get there if I don’t have you.”

A satisfied smile replaces the happy grin that was on your face only moments ago. It was as if you were waiting for those words to fall from his lips; the reassurance within those words spreading over your worry like a balm over a wound.

How many more nights would they get like this? How many more nights would they have together?

Somewhat foolishly, Draco hopes he has forever. He hopes he has an eternity and a day with you, but he can feel the changes in the air, and he knows it isn’t good. Draco can see the tension at home; more and more people arriving, each just as secretive as the last, and Draco suddenly knows he only has a short amount of time before he’s inducted into the same fanatic group as his parents.

He’s on limited days with you so he’ll take the nights.

He’ll take all the nights.

-------

The shoebox had remained untouched under his bed for years now. Draco had shoved it there in a fit of anger and despair and he hadn’t looked since.

Reaching for it now, Draco represses the growing anger directed at his parents. He ignores the growing resentment surrounding the fact that they hid your letters for years and never thought to whisper a word of it – not even on their death beds.

The shoebox has aged; not unlike himself, he thinks as he wipes the dust from the top. The thick layer drawing a sneeze from him before he can open the box.

It doesn’t matter how many years it has laid unwanted under his bed; it doesn’t matter how long it has remained there, untouched and not thought of – Draco, to this day, can still recount for every little thing in there.

Notes that have now turned brown with age; old photos where youthful faces glance up at him; a chocolate bar wrapper from Honeyduke’s.

They each line the bottom of the shoebox. Draco’s memories of you out there for him to finally confront, to see. He sinks down onto his childhood bed; almost blinded by the force of the wave of nostalgia washing over him, threatening to drown him with the strength of his memories.

The memories hadn’t plagued him for some time though you played on his mind constantly – even more so since the letters.

They’re silly memories, but memories, nonetheless. Ones that he adores; ones that he cherishes.

It was the letters that triggered this. The letters that have brought the ghosts back from where they had been hidden, haunting him quietly until now.

Draco runs a hand through the trinkets in the box. He smiles at them, thinking of Hogsmeade and how he had surprised you with a bar of your favourite chocolate. The grin on your face worth all the jibes from Crabbe and Goyle when he got back to the Slytherin common room that evening.

Draco falls back onto his childhood bed with a huff.

He has a decision to make, and he doesn’t know where to begin. He has a decision to make, and he doesn’t have the guidance he so desperately needs.

Draco wants to see you; he needs to see you, but what if you don’t want to see him?

----

“I heard you handed in your notice,” Draco states as a way of breaking the ice.

Her notice of leave had landed in his hands not even three hours ago. He had spent the time since in a panic; rushing about the hospital to find Alexandria and to question her, to find out why she would leave after so long.

Why she would leave him.

Alexandria nods, “I have. I leave in two weeks.”

“Why?” Draco all but demands, “You love this place.”

“You’re right,” Alexandria sighs, “I do.”

“Then why are you leaving?”

“Because I can’t do this anymore, Draco. I can’t sit here and listen to you talk about those letters and sigh dreamily, or date someone else. I can’t do it,” Her voice breaks, “So I won’t. I want a fresh start, so I’m going to get one.”

“I didn’t know.”

“Of course you didn’t.”

“If I had known…”

“What? You’d have loved me?” Alexandria laughs mirthlessly, “Love me, Draco! Love me.”

“I can’t,” He whispers; the words the death knell to any scrap of friendship remaining.

Tears fall down her face, “And that’s why I have to go.”

She presses a kiss to his cheek; lingering for longer than what was probably good for her. When she pulls away, she can see the wetness of her tears on Draco’s cheek. “I hope you find her, Draco. You deserve a love story.”

-----

The cottage is small, but it is perfect. Ivy covered walls with a neat front garden; every inch showing the love and attention being paid to it. From the red roses that makes Draco think of his beloved mother to the intense scent of lavender that reminds Draco of the perfume you wore through Hogwarts. Looking up at the cottage, Draco realises that he had never seen a house look so much like a home.

He pauses at the gate; eyes focused on the bricks of the cottage and nowhere else. He doesn’t let the hope grow; he doesn’t let himself dream of what could happen. He’s thankful he has made it this far.

That he’s made it back to you.

The black gate creaks when Draco pushes it open. He winces at the noise, praying it doesn’t give him away and that you answer the door unexpectedly.

He needs this.

He needs the time.

It’s been fifteen years and since he found your letters months ago, he thought he would be ready by the time he found you.

Now Draco is thinking, perhaps he isn’t ready.

Will he ever be ready? He asks himself. Will he ever be ready to confront the very person he has been in love with since he was sixteen years old?

Draco doesn’t know; he doesn’t think he’ll ever know until he steps through the gate.

Draco’s hands shake as he rushes down the well-worn footpath to your dark brown front door. His hands continue to shake as he raises a single fist to knock on the door, three times.

He’s about to turn away; he’s about to walk away and never enter your life again. He will go away and never think of you again; of what could have been.

But then the lock clicks, and the handle moves.

“Hello?” A sweet voice calls out; your voice calls out.

“(Y/N)…” He breathes, and suddenly his nerves are gone and so is his worry. Suddenly, Draco is back at Hogwarts, the feel of your hand in his as he presses you into walls and steals kisses behind statues. He’s back to being sixteen years old and feeling the unrelenting agony of teenage love for the first time along with the merciless fear to do with the rising tensions.

“Draco,” You whisper, bringing a hand up to your mouth. Shock reflects in your eyes; your eyes that show no signs of aging other than the lines that are now forming in the corners.

Draco can’t help himself; he runs his eyes over your body, taking in the changes that becoming an adult has brought. It means nothing; he would love you regardless, but he cannot seem to help himself from drinking it all in.

From the realisation that he in fact stood in front of you.

You are there, and he is here with you.

“How have you been?” He asks; more out of politeness than anything else.

You shift awkwardly, “I’ve been good, Draco. How have you been?”

Draco nods, “I’ve been good too. I know you’re probably wondering why I’m here.”

You laugh, tucking yourself slightly behind the door, “That did cross my mind.”

He smiles; a large grin that he hasn’t felt on his face in a long, long time. Less than five minutes with you, and you’re already bringing out a side of him that Draco had long thought was extinct. He reaches into his coat, grabbing some of the letters that he keeps there. He holds them out to you, “I’ve only just found them.”

Audibly gasping, you instinctively reach for the letters. Your fingers brush Draco’s and he swears his heart skips a beat at the small touch. “I sent these years ago.”

Draco closes his eyes, “I know, and I cannot apologise enough to you for how long it has taken. I thought a reply in person would be better.”

Tears line your eyes as your fingers brush the worn paper; the crease marks more than evident from where Draco has folded and refolded the letter to read. “I always wondered what had happened…” You trail off, lifting your gaze from the letters to meet his eyes.

“My parents,” He whispers; voice pained. He takes a moment to collect himself, but you put a hand up to stop from saying anything else.

“I understand. You don’t need to explain more, Draco.”

“Thank you,” He replies, smiling softly. Then he launches into his tale, “I was cleaning out their belongings; cleaning in general really when I found a false bottom in my mother’s trunk. When I took it out, I found your letters… and I read them and reread them. I practically memorised them. I don’t think there are enough words in the English language to convey just how sorry I am.”

“Draco…”

“No, let me say this… please,” He whispers, adding on the last word for politeness. You fall silent, your eyes begging him not to say out loud what you know he is going to confess.

“Until the last star fades and we succumb to darkness, I shall love you. I have always loved you; from being a scared teenager to being a just as scared adult. My feelings haven’t changed. I’ve thought of nothing but you for fifteen years,” He pauses, drawing in a shuddering breath, “I love you.”

Silence falls over you both. Draco’s heart pounds in his chest as he watches the emotions flicker over your face in a pace he didn’t think was humanly possible. Acceptance, happiness, relief and then finally, sadness.

He furrows his brows; surely this would be a happy event no? Draco has tracked you down after a fifteen year absence. He has found his one true love at last, and now he stands before you wondering the cause of such sadness on your face and in your eyes.

“Draco…” You trail off, holding up your left hand, “I’m married.”

******

General (HP) taglist: @chaotic-fae-queen @theweasleysredhair @harrypotter289 @kalimagik @heloisedaphnebrightmore @nebulablakemurphy @figlia--della--luna @idont-knowrn @lunalovegxxd @big-galaxy-chaos @black-lake-confessions @annasofiaearlobe @imboredandneedalife @levylovegood @mytreec @haphazardhufflepuff @teheharrypotter @chaoticgirl04 @accio-rogers @starlightweasley @dreaming-about-fanfictions @lestersglitterglue @msmimimerton @obx-beach @izzytheninja @slytherinprincess03 @bbeauttyybbx @acciotwinz @kashishwrites @slytherinsunrise @kylosleftbuttcheek @remmyswritings @they-write-once-in-a-blue-moon @ria-rests-here @superbturtlemakerathlete @inglourious-imagines @ithilwen-lionheart @now-its-time-for-a-breakdown @ilovejjmaybank @phuvioqhile @moatsnow @storyisnotover

Draco Malfoy taglist: @the--queen-of-hell @obxmxybxnk @obx-beach @sycathorn-slush @dracomalfoyswifey @kashishwrites @justmesadgirl @detroitobsessed @reaganwonders @aspiringsloth20 @just-a-belgian-girl @lahoete @minty-malfoy @fallinallinmendes @ravenclawbitch426 @ochrythum @beiahadid @gryffindors-weasley @dracosathenaeum

#Draco Malfoy #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco x reader #draco malfoy imagines

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keyofjetwolf · 3 years

Text

Pitch Me your thing!

HELLO HELLO MY SUNBEAMS. For most every category, there was an impressive turn-out for pitches, so I thought we’d utilize the weirdness of this year’s GIFTENING to give something new a try. The popular vote winner for each category will happen on the first day, but on the second, the winner will be chosen from YOUR PITCHES. Mostly those pitches will be to me. The exception is in Miscellaneous, where you’ll be pitching to my family, because what I want to do and what is most entertaining isn’t necessarily the same thing.

So! How will we do this thing? GLAD YOU ASKED. I’ll link you to a form in a minute with space for one pitch. Once you fill it out, you’ll be asked if you want to do another. There’s no limit to the number of pitches you can send in! But remember that if you submit multiple entries for the same category, you’ll basically be competing against yourself.

NOW WE’VE GOT SOME RULES FOR DOING THIS (which I mostly stole from Holligay, because I have no creativity this year). Please read them carefully! I’ll toss pitches that break any of these, and I’d rather your hard work not go to waste.

Pitch Me is open for your submissions from RIGHT NOW (22 December) through the very last day of this hellyear (31 December) at 11:59pm MT.

The thing you pitch must have come from what was nominated for THE GIFTENING 2020. (Full list of those nominations in every category below the cut on this post.)

Entries must be unsigned! I’m looking to chose based on the pitch alone, regardless of who submitted it.

The pitch itself must be 100 words or less. HAVE PITY ON ME I CAN ONLY CONSUME SO MUCH.

If you’d like to get some help, ideas, feedback, all that good stuff, the Discord is a FANTASTIC resource I encourage you to use.

HERE IS YOUR PITCH SUBMISSION LINK

And, as promised, below the cut you’ll find the list of all the nominees in every category you guys sent in this year. IT’S A LONG LIST HAVE FUN WITH THAT

Anime

A Place Further Than The Universe/Sora Yori mo Toi Basho Ace Attorney (Gyakuten Saiban) Action Heroine Cheer Fruits Aggretsuko Aho Girl Air Master Akuma No Riddle Alien Nine Angel Beats! Angelic Layer Appare-Ranman Aria Aria the Animation Arrietty/ The Secret World of Arrietty (Ghibli film) Ascendance of a Bookworm Azumamga Daioh Baccano! Beastars Black Cat Blood + (the series) Bloom Into You Blue Drop/Tenshitachino Gikyoku Bodacious Space Pirates (starting right where you left off) BOFURI: I Don't Want to Get Hurt, so I'll Max Out My Defense Boku no hero academia Bubblegum Crisis Card Captor Sakura: Clear Card Cardcaptor Sakura Castlevania the Animated Series Cells at Work Chaos; Head Chihayafuru Code Geass cowboy Bebop Cyborg 009 Death Note Death Parade Deca-Dence Demon Girl Next Door Demon Slayer (Kimetsu no Yaiba) Diebuster: Aim For the Top 2 Dog Days dorohedoro Dot Hack//SIGN Dr. Stone Elfen Lied Erased (Boku Dake Ga Inai Machi) Escaflowne Excel Saga Fantastic Children Fate/Zero Flip Flappers Fresh Precure Fruits Basket 2019 Full Metal Alchemist Brotherhood Ga rei Zero GaoGaiGar gekkan shoujo nozaki-kun Ghost in the Shell: Standalone Complex Ghost Stories (dubbed) Girls' Last Tour Great Pretender Hoseki no Kuni/ Land of the Lustrous House of Five Leaves/ Saraiya Goyou Inari konkon koi iroha Interviews with Monster Girls Inuyasha Isekai Izakaya "Nobu" Jellyfish Princess/ Kuragehime JoJo's Bizarre Adventure Part 4: Diamond is Unbreakable Kaguya-sama Love Is War Kaleido Star Kannazuki no Miko Keep Your Hands Off Eizouken! Kemono Friends Kiki's Delivery Service Kimi ni Todoke: From Me To You Kino's Journey/Kino no Tabi (2003) Land of the Lustrous (Houseki no Kuni) Little Witch Academia Lord El-Melloi II's Case Files EP0 {"A Grave Keeper") Love is Hard for an Otaku Love Live! Sunshine!! lupin the 3rd part 4 Madoka: The Rebellion Movie Magic knight rayearth Magical Girl Lyrical Nanoha March Comes in Like a Lion Mardock Scramble Master of Martial Hearts Mawaru Penguindrum Megalobox Miss Kobayashi's Dragon Maid Mob Psycho 100 Mobile Suit Gundam (1979) Monster Mushishi My Bride is a Mermaid (Seto No Hanayome) My Love Story!!! My Neighbor Totoro My Next Life As A Villainess: All Routes Lead to Doom My Roommate is a Cat NANA Naruto Natsume’s Book of Friends Neon Genesis Evangelion (hateblog) New Cutey Honey Nichijou Ōban Star-Racers One Piece Ouran High school Host club Outlaw Star Paranoia Agent Perfect Blue Please Save My Earth Pop Team Epic Pretty Cure Fresh Princess Jellyfish/ Kuragehime Princess Mononoke Princess Principal Princess Tutu Project A-Ko promised neverland (/yakusoku no neverland) Psycho-Pass Ranma 1/2 Re: Cutie Honey Re:Creators Read or Die (OAV) Red Garden relife Revolutionalry Girl Utena Rose of Versailles Ruroni Kenshin Sailor Moon Sailor Moon (viz dub) Samurai Champloo (english dub) Sarazanmai School Days School-Live! Scum's Wish Senki Zesshou Symphogear (listed as just "Symphogear" on Crunchyroll.) Serei no Moribito (Guardian of the Spirit) Shin Sekai Yori (From The New World) Shirobako Shoujo Kageki Revue Starlight Showa Genroku Rakugo Shinju Sleepy Princess in the Demon Castle Smile Pretty Cure (Japanese original)/ Glitter Force (english adaptation) Snow White with the Red Hair Sound Euphonium Strawberry Panic (yuri) Sweetness and Lightning The Devil is a Part-timer The Devil Lady The disasterous life of saiki k (saiki kusuo no Sai Nan) The End of Evangelion (movie) the Promised Neverland The Twelve Kingdoms Tiger & Bunny Tokimeki Tonight ToraDora Tsubasa Chronicle Umineko When They Cry Valkyrie Drive: Mermaid Vinland Saga Violet Evergarden Whispered Words (Sasameki Koto) With a Dog AND a Cat, Every Day is Fun Yona of the Dawn Yu Yu Hakusho Yugioh Duel Monster Yuki Yuna is a Hero Yuri Kuma Arashi Yuri On Ice!!! Zoids: Chaotic Century Zombie Land Saga

Non-Anime Animated

Adventure Time Amphibia Animainiacs (Original) Animaniacs (Reboot) Archie's Weird Mysteries As Told By Ginger Barbie Life in The Dreamhouse Batman the Animated Series Big Guy and Rusty the Boy Robot Big Mouth Bob's Burgers Bojack Horseman Bravest Warriors Captain N: the Game Master Carmen Sandiego (1994) Carmen Sandiego (2019) Castlevania (Netflix) Cats Don't Dance Coco Courage the Cowardly Dog Craig of the Creek Cyber Six Daria Darkwing Duck Dragon Booster Dragons: Riders of Berk DuckTales (2017) Exo-Squad Fern Gully Fillmore! Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends Futurama Gargoyles Glitch Techs Godzilla: The Animated Series Green Lantern the Animated Series Hedgehog in the Fog (Ёжик в тумане) Hey Arnold Hilda Infinity Train Iron Giant JEM Kim Possible Kipo and the Age of the Wonderbeasts Legend of Zelda animated series (1989) Legion of Super-Heroes Liberty Kids Magical Girl Friendship Squad Mao Mao: Heroes of Pure Heart The Legend of Korra Moominvalley Motorcity My Little Pony (Classic, NOT FiM) My Little Pony: Equestria Girls: Rainbow Rocks Onyx Equinox Over the Garden Wall Over the Moon (2020 film) Owl House Primal Rapunzel's Tangled Adventure Redwall Rise of the TMNT Roco's Modern Life Rugrats RWBY Samurai Jack Seis Manos She-Ra (1985) She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018) Sonic Boom Spartakus and the Sun Beneath the Sea Spiderman: Into the Spiderverse Star vs. the Forces of Evil Strange Magic Super Mario Brothers Super Show Superman: The Animated Series Teen Titans The 13 Ghosts of Scooby Doo The Animals of Farthing Wood The Dragon Prince The Hollow The Legend of Tarzan (TV series) The Magic School Bus (1994) The Mysterious Cities of Gold The Pirate Fairy (Disney Fairies) The Powerpuff Girls (1998) The Real Ghostbusters Thundercats (1985) Thundercats (2011) Transformers: Prime Tuca and Bertie Twelve Forever Undone Venture Bros Wakko's Wish Wakfu Wander Over Yonder We Bare Bears (TV) Winx Club Wreck-It Ralph (2012) X-Men Evolution X-Men: The Animated Series Xiaolin Showdown

Live Action

20,000 Leagues Under the Sea 28 Days Later 3rd Rock from the Sun A Series of Unfortunate Events American Horror Story: Asylum Babysitter's Club (2020) Batman (the old Adam West version) Better Call Saul Black Mirror Blackbeard's Ghost (Peter Ustinov) Boston Legal Boy Meets World Boys Over Flowers Bromance (Taiwanese tv series) Brooklyn 99 Buffy the Vampire Slayer Cadfael Cagney and Lacey Charmed (2018) Chopped Cleopatra 2525 Cloak and Dagger Clue (1985) Community Crazy Ex-Girlfriend Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance Dead Like Me Dead To Me Deadwood Death Note (Netflix) Derry Girls Dimension 20 - The Unsleeping City Doctor Who (New) Doom Patrol Dracula's Daughter (1936) Escape to the Chateau Farscape Fingersmith Galavant Godzilla (2014) Gokushufudo (2020 Japanese TV drama) Golden Girls Good Omens H20: Just Add Water (somewhere in seasons 1-2) Happy New Year Harley Quinn movie Hateblog a REALLY STRAIGHT soap opera. Haunting of Bly Manor His Dark Materials (HBO series) Holes Hot Fuzz House Inception Inside No. 9 Iron Chef America Joan of Arcadia Julie and the Phantoms Jumanji: Welcome to the Jungle Kamen Rider Build Kamen Rider Ex-Aid Kamen Rider Fourze Killing Eve Knives Out Letterkenny Leverage Little Women (2019) Lucifer Matlock Majisuka Gakuen MASH Merlin Mission Impossible Ghost Protocol Money Talks (1997 film) Motherland: Fort Salem Murder She Wrote Mythbusters Nailed It! Never Have I Ever Once Upon a Time Orphan Black Pen 15 PGSM Pi (1998) Picnic at Hanging Rock (2018) Pride and Prejudice: A New Musical Puppy Bowl Pushing Daisies Rome (hateblog) Russian Doll Sabrina Sense8 Sera Myu: Un Nouveau Voyage Shameless Sierra Burgess Smallville So Weird Star Trek: TOS (or their films) Star Trek: The Next Generation Star Trek: Deep Space Nine Star Trek: Voyager Stargate Atlantis Suckerpunch Supernatural (out of context speedrun the last three episodes) Sweetheart Switched at Birth Tall Girl Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles The Addams Family (1964) The Big Flower Fight The Booth at the End The Bride With White Hair The Crown The Fresh Prince of Bel Air The Good Place The Kissing Booth The L Word The Librarians The Magicians The Muppet Show The Pregnancy Pact The Room The Steve Harvey Show The Stranded The Untamed The Witcher The Wolfman (1941) Torchwood Twilight Zone (original) Twin Peaks Ultraman Nexus Umbrella Academy Van Helsing Warehouse 13 Warrior Nun What We Do In The Shadows (tv show) Will & Grace Wynonna Earp X-Men 2: X-Men United Xena: Warrior Princess

Miscellaneous

Alpha Flight #41-62 Anime music dance party, the logistics of which are to be determined! Ask Hot Pocket and/or Mina-pup AskSharknado: Giftening Edition Attempt to make French macaroons Commentary on old Goggles Critical Role Crowdsourced: A Black Mirror-style day where Jetty has to ask what her choices are of the audience for everything! I give you a menu, you decide what she has for dinner? What does she wear? Does she walk on the track or do the eliptical? Does she go to a movie with Doc or play a video game with Mike? Can be done alongside other stuff. Doodle Day Dramatic readings of fan fiction! Drunk History (or whatever your favorite subject would be) with Jet Wolf! Drunk Sailor Moon Exorcising Closet Ghost Fic Prompts Day Figuarts Day! (Not specifically freeing anyone, just various fun poses and such) Guess the plot of a show based on its opening Her Shim-Cheong (manhwa) House of X/Powers of X Hubby's Choice IDW Jem comics liveblog Intros Only (watch show openings, give commentary, guess what show is about, etc.) Jackbox Games Jet Wolf paints along with Bob Ross Jet and Doc go to Heaven/Hell, respectively: Jet gets to write reams of words about the awesomeness of Rei Hino and Doc has to read all of them and say ONLY NICE THINGS. Jet does Tiktok dances Jet Liveblogs Holligay: A Nature Documentary Jet Ranks Sailor Moon Image Songs Jet Reads Goosebumps Jet Reads Legion of Super-Heroes Jet redesigns the Wolf and Gay offices! Jet shows off her knitting Jet Wolf attempts to recreate scenes from Sailor Moon with Mina and Hot Pocket and/or whatever is in the house Jet Wolf reacts to Sailor Moon tiktoks (in blog form) Jet Wolf reads Love and Rockets. Jet Wolf reads the Jem comics by IDW Jet Wolf reviews her old top 100 Sailor Moon moments list Jet Wolf talks about Archie Comics Jet Wolf talks about each cel she owns and why they are so awesome. Jet Wolf writes Poetry Jet Wolf's Top 5's Jet, Hubby and/or family play board games Jetty Rants and Raves Jet Wolf tries to crack the Gravity Falls Codes Kiwi Blitz on Hiveworks Let's Play on Webtoon Liveblog: Favorite X-Men comic book arcs Livestream Pathfinder one-shot LOONA (Collection of music videos with an ongoing story/universe about GIRLS who are FRIENDS and SAVE THE UNIVERSE) Lore Olympus on Webtoon Mike regales us with "the story of your love" while you get increasingly embarrassed Mina and Hot Pocket day - liveblog like a nature documentary Mister Tsukino Does His Taxes and the Household Budget (Sailor Moon fan comic by Shadowjack) Nancy Drew: Ghost Dogs of Moon Lake Not So Shoujo Love Story on Webtoon Pitch Mishaps for Untitled Senshi Game (it is a lovely day in Juuban, and you are a Horrible Minako.) Pitching hubby's favorite media at (readers/holligay/jill/momigay) Playing with dolls (because how could 3 women not have any dolls between them) Re-Take By Studio Kimigabuchi (All Ages Version) Real or Fake Anime (people submit descriptions of anime you guess if it is an anime that actually exists or not) Reviewing succulents Scavenger hunt! Not entirely sure how it would work, maybe folks could send in asks for you to show things like your favorite Rei Hino object, or the thing that's been with you the longest, etc. sewing/knitting/baking tutorial Share or rant about a Roman history topic Sleepless Domain on Hiveworks Talking to Docholligay 2: Doc Harder (basically you talking to Doc's future womb evictee while still in there and telling them stuff like say the greatness of Rei Hino) The Monster Duchess and Contract Princess (manhwa) The Polar Bear Plunge--I take Jetty to our finest Lake Elmo in January, and she jumps in! Note: THIS IS NOT DANGEROUS, WORRYWARTS. I'll bring a life preserver, I've done it before, and I would do it with her if I weren't pregnant. The Senshi Helpline--The Senshi, taking your advice questions, here and now! The World of Moral Reversal Virtual knitting/crafting circle! Let us craft and chat with you! What-If #24 Gwen Stacy Lived Worm the web serial Write an explanation for a drawing we send you! Yuri Hell's Kitchen

#THE GIFTENING 2020 #THE GIFTENING 2020 admin stuff

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camillemontespan · 5 years

Text

the history of us [drake x camille] [part five: 20th july - i’m right here]

Part Four if you want to catch up.

Warnings: NSFW. Feelings. Angst.

@jovialyouthmusic @fromthedeskofpaisleybleakmore @pug-bitch @sirbeepsalot @moonlightgem7 @rainbowsinthestorm @stopforamoment @notoriouscs @dcbbw @burnsoslow @emceesynonymroll @i-bloody-love-drake-walker @drakewalkerisreal @iplaydrake @gardeningourmet @symonde @katedrakeohd @cordoniasmost @sawyeroakleyscowboyhat @of-course-i-went-to-hartfeld @ccolz88-blog @nomadics-stuff

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

20th July 2023

Madeleine went to the press and has done a 'tell all' interview about us. I knew she was a snake but I didn't realise she would be this awful. Is that naive? It was for the Cordonian Enquirer, which is pure trash.

Madeleine lied throughout. She said Drake is an irresponsible father who wasn't watching Lily when she broke her arm. Apparently he's too much of a brute to be a Duke which is ridiculous because he's a marshmallow.

Madeleine went on to say that in private, I spend all the tax payers money on decorating the manor and buying designer clothes. How childish can you get? I don't do anything of the sort!

Drake and I have been interviewing potential publicists to try and sort out this mess. We've both agreed that Madeleine was the bar the interviewees have to beat so I guess our standards are pretty low..

In all seriousness, we want a publicist who cares about us. Who can promote us in the way we want, to show us as the family we are. I don't want constant emails or texts telling me how I've managed to fuck something up.

I want someone to help us fix this sudden witch hunt. I know its affecting Drake because I went into his study last night to put back a book I borrowed and his computer screen was on. I didn't mean to look but the screen showed the close up photos of his face when he grabbed that photographer. I know Drake is fixating on it and I wish he wouldn't. He does really care what people think of him, despite his protests that he doesn't. Surely he should know that the only opinions that matter are mine and Lily's? And we adore him!

We're interviewing a woman called Samantha Jones today. I'm tempted to binge watch Sex and the City just to get into the spirit of interviewing. Do you think she likes cosmopolitans?

Drake stopped reading to chuckle. This was the first time reading Camille's diary that he had actually laughed.

He missed her. He missed her laughter and sense of humour. He missed her smile. Drake hadn't seen Camille since yesterday morning when she walked out.

The house felt empty without her and Lily. The TV should be on right now with a Disney film, Lily watching it in rapture. Camille should be chatting away on the phone to Hana or playing with Cheddar on the floor.

He wanted to phone her but after their talk yesterday, he didn't feel it would be welcome.

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

Camille opened the front door to greet their next interviewee. 'Hi there, you must be Samantha -'

'Jones, yes,' the tall blonde woman drawled. She was wearing a fuchsia coat and black stilettos. 'But don't compare me to that caricature of a publicist from that ridiculous TV show. I've heard enough jokes to last a lifetime.'

She shook Camille's hand strode into the foyer. Camille took her coat and hung it up, before leading her to her study where Drake was sat in one of the armchairs.

Drake stood up and shook her hand politely, gesturing for her to sit down. Camille sat on her side of the desk. Before she could speak, Samantha began to take documents out of her bag. She laid them on the table; Drake and Camille stared. The woman had made mindmaps with pictures of Drake and Camille in the web. She then started to talk.

'So it's quite a mess you've got yourselves into,' she said seriously. 'Lily in hospital, Drake grabbing a photographer and now your ex publicist is dragging your names through the mud. All in the space of about 2 weeks.'

Drake and Camille blinked. 'You don't pull any punches,' Drake commented.

Samantha shrugged. 'Why beat around the bush? Now I know what happened. Kids get into accidents all the time, they're a big responsibility which is one reason why I don't want them. Lily is four. Breaking her arm is normal.'

Camille grinned. 'Thank you -'

Samantha carried on. 'Drake, you have a restraining order set on the media which shows you care about your family and your privacy. It may not sit well with the media or the overbearing public but I understand your reasons. It does make a publicist’s job harder but I like a challenge. But grabbing a photographer wasn't a good idea but hey, it's done now. So, how do we fix it?'

Drake and Camille weren't sure if she wanted an answer. She didn't seem to mind their gawping faces. She just kept talking.

'If I was your publicist, I wouldn't have you grovel. You were doing your job as a husband and father. I can make your reputation and image sparkling after this. I can make you a DILF.'

Drake stared at her. 'DILF?'

'You are aware you are being interviewed right?' Camille asked. 'You've just told your potential boss that you can make him a DILF. Not that he isn't already but..'

Samantha let out a peal of laughter. 'Oh Camille! If you hire me, you'll get used to me. What I mean is I can show Cordonia the family man that Drake is. I can promote him in the best possible light which is as a father and husband. I can make the women of Cordonia fall in love with him.'

Camille gripped the table. 'But I don't want the women of Cordonia to fall in love with him. He's mine.'

'Exactly. He will be unattainable which is even better,' Samantha explained. 'No stuffy Duke crap, Drake. I'll show who you are in the way that you want.'

Drake couldn't resist a smile. 'I do like being a dad..' he said humbly.

‘You’re lucky Valtoria still like you,’ Samantha told them. ‘You were born commoners, which in a way is quite endearing. So, if you were to hire me, I would work on promoting you within Valtoria and work my way out. Duchy first, nation second. If you have the Valtorians in your corner, you will be fine.’

Drake cleared his throat. ‘What’s the first step?’

Samantha pointed to her mindmap. ‘I suggest throwing a garden party. A sort of welcome home to Valtoria for you. You invite the Valtorian people. It will be a family event. I want to show you both as a married couple with a kid; you may be Duke and Duchess but the thing about you both is you are no different from your duchy, other than a title. That’s the angle I want to focus on. So, I’m thinking bouncy castles, alpaca petting station, a DJ, face painting. Your duchy can have fun, talk to you in person, see you for the family you are. Those nasty rumours that Madeline is spreading about you will be dead by the time the party is over.’

Camille looked at Drake. ‘Drake, we can talk in private for a moment?’

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

27th July 2023

The garden party was going so well today. Samantha is fantastic; she may be in your face but she can do her job. She organised everything. The garden was set up with a gazibo, fairylights, a giant paddling pool for the kids, an alpaca petting station, face painting and a bouncy castle. The caterers served burgers, hot dogs, mac n cheese... American home comforts which was such a nice touch.

Drake was a little nervous this morning. I think he was feeling the pressure to look like the ultimate family man as per Samantha’s plan, but I kept telling him he is already the best family man there is. He’s so natural with Lily- I don’t understand where this insecurity comes from. Is it because his dad died and his mom left? I often think he feels he needs to make Lily’s childhood as happy as possible because of the things he missed out on growing up. I guess I’m the same; I lost my parents and I’ve always felt this gaping hole, like something was missing. Marrying Drake and having Lily is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. So if Drake overcompensates, I get his reasons. I do it too.

The party was going well until the game of Tag. I didn’t mean to get upset. I talked to him about it and I think we cleared the air. I’m still worried though.

Drake swallowed. He knew what was coming in this diary entry.

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

The garden was ready for the party. The head maid, Magda, was sweeping the paving. Lily was beside her with a miniature brush, crouching down low to sweep away stones. She liked to be helpful.

Drake was in his study. He was nervous about today. He hoped he would make a good impression and turn around public opinion of him; how much lower could it get? Quickly, he downed a glass of whiskey and cleared his throat, adjusting his shirt.

He was dressed casual today. A red and green check shirt, blue faded jeans and boots. Taking a deep breath, he left his study and went out to the living room where Camille was standing at the mirror, applying her lip balm. She gave him a mega watt smile. ‘Hey handsome.’

She was wearing a red sundress and tan sandals. On her head was a white fedora hat and gold necklaces laced around her throat. Drake felt his jeans tighten at the sight of her.

He wished nobody was coming to this party today and he could just hang out with his wife.

‘You okay? You look nervous.’

‘I’m fine,’ he lied. Camille moved towards him and placed her hands on his shoulders.

‘You’re going to be great,’ she told him. ‘You’re already the best family man. You can do this in your sleep. Besides, today will be fun! We have American food! You can eat to your hearts content! No crappy finger food!’

Drake laughed and pulled her in for a kiss. ‘Oh, I plan to!’

She giggled and turned to go out to the garden. Drake cheekily slapped her ass and Camille turned to look at him over her shoulder with a glint in her eye. Drake went back into his study to find his sunglasses. He heard the doorbell ring; their first guests.

Drake clenched then unclenched his hands, shaking out his fists in a bid to calm down. He was a good dad. He was a good husband. He didn’t need to prove anything to these people.

He still located his hip flask from his desk drawer though. He poured some whiskey inside and tightened the screw, shoving it into his jean pocket.

Liquid courage.

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

Maxwell seemed to be more excited by the alpacas than the actual children at the garden party.

‘Camille, she likes me!’ he called out, stroking one. Camille grinned and joined him to stroke the alpacas.

Olivia and Leo had rocked up an hour late. They weren’t the kind of people to attend family events. Why would they? They were together but marriage and babies were far from their minds.

‘Is there any alcohol in this joint?’ Olivia muttered, her eyes taking in with horror the fifty children running around the garden screaming and laughing. She then saw the alpacas. ‘Please tell me there’s alcohol.’

Leo stared at the children. ‘I only like one child and that’s Lily. This is too much.’

Liam joined her and Leo, laughing at the horror on both their faces. ‘You guys okay?’

‘Just wondering whether to drown ourselves in vodka or slit our wrists,’ Olivia said dryly.

Liam chuckled. ‘Sadly, there’s no alcohol at this event. I checked.’

The three of them wandered over to Drake, Camille and Maxwell. Hana was decorating Lily’s cast; she had pink and purple pens and was drawing flowers along the side, trying to make it look pretty. Lily was studying Hana’s drawing in wonder.

‘So, what’s the point of this?’ Olivia asked.

‘It’s to show that Drake is a family man and we’re happy to be home!’ Camille told her, a huge smile on her face. Olivia stepped back. ‘Camille, tone down the fake smile, please.’

Camille sighed. ‘Fine. It’s our new publicist’s idea. She wants us to be like a normal family and then the public will like us.’

‘Fucking Madeline..’ Maxwell hissed.

‘Max!’ the group cried.

‘Since when do you swear?’ Camille asked.

Maxwell sighed. ‘I’m so just annoyed at her. It’s not fair!’

‘It will blow over,’ Liam told them. ‘I promise. I’m sorry I foisted her on you. It was a bad match.’

Hana finished her drawing. Lily admired her handiwork. She then looked up at Olivia. ‘Aunt Olivia, can you sign my arm?’

Olivia took one of Hana’s pen. ‘Sure thing, kiddo.’

Lily held out her hand, stopping her. ‘But don’t touch Hana’s flowers. She made my arm pretty.’

Hana blushed. ‘It was nothing..’ she mumbled, pushing a lock of her hair behind her ear. Camille wrapped her arm around Hana’s shoulders, squeezing her. Hana was always so down on herself, for no reason.

Olivia signed the cast, making Lily jump up and down now she had acquired another signature.

‘Can we play Tag?’ she asked the adults.

‘Lily, we have alpacas here and you want to play Tag?’ Drake asked. Lily nodded, not understanding why her dad was confused. What was confusing about that?

‘You, me, mommy, Uncle Maxwell, Leo and Olivia!’ she hollered.

Olivia let out a dry laugh. ‘Good joke, babe. I don’t play Tag. I’m going to sit down and have some... lemonade.’ She said the word with such disgust.

She wandered off. Leo shrugged. ‘I’m gonna go join her. But hey, come see me later?’ he said, ruffling Lily’s hair.

Maxwell cleared his throat. ‘Right. Lily, you’re It!’

Lily raced after Maxwell, Drake and Camille. The adults were deliberately slow so she could catch them.

Drake slowed down for Lily, seeing she was approaching. ‘You’ll never get me!’ he shouted. Maxwell and Camille were beside him, thinking if they all ran slowly together, she could catch all three. Lily caught up and tugged on Drake’s egs.

The hip flask fell out of his pocket.

It landed on the grass. Lily picked it up and studied it for a moment, working out what it was, before holding it up to him. ‘Daddy, you dropped your juice carton!’

The look on Camille’s face was of pure shock. Drake never had his hip flask on him when he was with Lily. He usually reserved it for when they attended balls together as a couple and he had to endure the nobles.

This was a family event.

Lily had held his hip flask that was full of whiskey.

Drake hastily took the hip flask and shoved it in his pocket. He could feel Camille’s eyes staring at him in disbelief.

Maxwell ran a hand through his hair awkwardly. ‘Hey, Lily, let’s go see Leo!’ he suggested loudly. Lily took his hand and they skipped towards Leo, who stood up and shouted, ‘Look, I’m Leo the Lion! I’m gonna get you!’ He proceeded to chase after Lily and Maxwell.

While the families around them were laughing, eating food and talking, Drake and Camille stared at each other. It was like nobody else was there. Everyone had faded into nothing and all Camille could see was her husband looking like he wanted the ground to swallow him up. He looked ashamed.

‘Inside,’ she whispered. ‘Now.’

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

‘Why are you drinking at this?’ Camille asked after she shut the door to their bedroom. Drake sighed. ‘I don’t know. It was a dumb idea.’

‘Damn right it’s a dumb idea!’ Camille burst out. ‘Drake, this is a family event. There’s no alcohol being served because this is meant to be a party for the kids.’

‘Look, I’m sorry-’ Drake tried to say. But she cut over him.

‘Lily picked up your hip flask. She’s only four. I don’t want her finding that sort of shit.’

‘I won’t carry it with me again, okay?’ Drake said, his jaw set. ‘I just won’t. I’m sorry.’

Camille bit her lip. ‘Is there something you want to tell me? Have you been drinking more than usual?’

Drake thought back to the double measures.

‘Not any more than usual,’ he said. ‘Just today. I felt nervous.’

‘I told you that you’re already the best family man,’ she said. ‘I think you’re brilliant. So does Lily. Our opinions are all that matter. I know we’re trying to promote ourselves better but that is just because of our jobs. In reality, I only want you to care about what your family thinks. We will never judge you, Drake.’

Drake looked down at the floor. He felt like such an asshole.

‘I know you wouldn’t. I just needed liquid courage.’

Camille stepped forward and kissed him softly. ‘If you feel nervous or anxious, anything at all, just talk to me. Please. I’m the same, I get nervous about nobles and the public all the time! We’ve just got to be honest with each other. If it gets too much, we have to be able to count on each other here. Communicate openly. We have to be able to do that for Lily.’

Drake nodded and took her hands. ‘I didn’t mean to fuck up. It was a stupid idea.’

He threw the hip flask in the waste basket.

Camille smiled. ‘Let’s go back outside. Socialise. We can do it together.’

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

Drake closed the diary. Camille had been shocked when she saw the hip flask. But why had he lied about drinking more than usual? If he had just been honest..

The front door lock began to turn. Drake jumped up from the sofa, hoping it was Camille.

It was.

He felt like he hadn’t seen her in years, even though it had only been yesterday. She jumped when she saw him standing in the hallway, staring at her.

‘You’re home,’ he said. ‘You’re finally home-’

‘I’m just picking up some of my notes for my next meeting with the girls,’ she told him. ‘I’ll only be a minute.’

She began to stride to where her office was. Drake followed her. She was wearing a white trench coat, purple bodycon dress and nude heels. She was business chic today; she always dressed up for her meetings.

‘I’ve been reading your diary,’ he told her. ‘I didn’t realise you wrote in it so much. It’s amazing.’

‘Good. I’m glad you’re reading it,’ she replied, rummaging through her desk drawers. She found a folder and placed it in her bag. ‘Okay, I’m going.’

Drake caught her by the arm. ‘Camille, please. Talk to me.’

‘I told you we can talk when you’ve gone through the box-’

‘You keep saying that but you won’t tell me why!’ he protested. ‘You’re being secretive.’

‘Ha!’ she laughed bitterly. ‘Pot kettle.’

A wounded expression passed over Drake’s face. He looked down at the floor, trying to hide it, but Camille had spotted it. She gently placed the folder down on the desk.

‘Drake..’ she whispered.

He kept his eyes on the floor, trying to hold back tears. He was not going to cry again. His shoulders shook as he kept the tears in, swallowing sobs.

‘Drake..’ Camille whispered again. She reached out and placed her hands on either side of his face. She gently brought his face up to look at her. Drake’s face was wet. Camille rubbed his face softly with her hands. ‘Don’t cry,’ she said, her voice wavering. ‘Please don’t cry.’

‘I’m not crying,’ Drake replied, his voice thick.

‘You are.’

‘Just sad, that’s all. I miss you.’

There was a silence. Camille wrung her hands together before murmuring, ‘I miss you too. I miss the real Drake Walker.’

‘I’m right here,’ he told her, his hands shaking. ‘I promise, I’m right here.’

They were a mere inch apart now. Drake could smell her coconut hair and Chanel perfume. His eyes roamed her face, taking in her brown eyes with gold flecks. He settled on her lips, like rosebuds. Before he could stop himself, he pulled her towards him and their lips met.

Camille sank into him. He could taste her watermelon lipbalm. Her hands went up around his neck, pulling him in closer. Drake groaned and lifted her onto the desk, his hands reaching down to pull up the hem of her dress. Camille unbuckled his belt, his jeans falling to the floor. She pulled down his boxers, releasing his erection.

As their tongues twisted and swirled like a vortex, Drake positioned himself at her entrance. She was ready for him. He was ready for her.

Camille let out a cry as he entered her. He wasted no time in driving into her deep, wanting to fill all of her. She could feel every inch of him and she clenched his arms, digging her fingernails in as she braced herself for each hit and impact.

Drake felt desperate. He needed her. He wanted her. He needed her. He needed her back in his life. He needed her back like this. He needed to know she loved him and that they were okay. That this could be salvaged. He needed to salvage this.

‘No, Drake!’

She shoved him away. Drake stared at her as she jumped down from the desk and pulled her dress back down. Hot tears filled her eyes.

‘We can’t just fuck like this and pretend everything is okay!’ she shouted, the tears falling down her cheeks now. ‘This is making it too hard! I shouldn’t have come here, I should have just gone to my meeting without the fucking folder. But I see you looking upset and you say the real Drake is back and oh God, I wish that was true. I really want him back. But I can’t fuck you and pretend we are okay. I can’t lie to myself.’

Drake exhaled shakily. ‘I want to fix us.’

‘If you finish the diary, go through the box, we can talk,’ she told him. ‘That’s all I ask of you, Drake.’

‘I want to see Lily,’ he begged. ‘Please. Let me see my daughter.’

‘No, Drake.’

‘Why not?’ he burst out. ‘I miss her. She must miss me! She’s my girl.’

Camille closed her eyes. Her lips were shut tightly. Drake kept begging, not caring how desperate he looked.

‘I just want to see her, even for a minute, to see if she’s okay-’

‘She doesn’t want to see you, Drake!’

Drake stepped back as if he had been shot. Camille looked away from his horrified face, clenching her jaw. She couldn’t look at him. Holding her folder to her chest, she moved past him and opened the study door, leaving him reeling.

#drake walker #drake walker x mc #trr fanfic #the royal romance

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katana-no-neko · 5 years

Note

If you don’t mind 52 nalu for the prompt request?Thank you so much for your hard work and lovely writing!! I love reading all your stories!

“You really think I’m beautiful?”

I’m unsure about this one, too, but when was the last time I wasn’t, haha

Tonight was the ball in celebration of the coronation for Prince - that is, King - Laxus. They were yet in the early hours of the eve, and Natsu watched Lucy as she tittered with her fellow ladies-in-waiting.

The two had been friends for nearly five years, she being one of the servants the Princess Mirajane had brought from her manor when she’d married Laxus, and he being a knight of the kingdom and castle of Fiore.

Natsu’d been harboring feelings for her for most of that time.

She was breathtakingly beautiful tonight. If he didn’t know better, he might’ve mistaken her as one of the royals or nobles in attendance. Natsu fiddled with his collar awkwardly as he took in the sight of her. She was wearing a simple but pretty red dress, the bodice clinging to her chest and accentuating her curves, and the skirt flowing outward, a red bow pinning the layers in place at her hip. Her golden hair was piled on her head, held tight with another red ribbon.

And her face- her beautiful, grinning, radiant expression. Brown eyes wide and bright with laughter, her smile wide and dazzling, her cheeks slightly flushed from what he had to guess was the champagne in her glass.

Lucy glanced up and noticed Natsu’s gaze, flushing just a bit more, giving him a smile and a small wave, before going back to her conversation.

“When are you gonna do something about that?” Gray, a fellow knight, teased, noticing Natsu’s pink cheeks and dumbfounded look towards the blonde.

Natsu spluttered and tore his eyes away from her. “I- shut it!”

Gray laughed and rolled his eyes. “Look, I’ve told you this several times, Lucy almost certainly feels the same way about you as you, her. What she sees in you, I have no idea, but she likes you.”

Natsu grumbled something incoherent.

“Go ask her to dance,” Gray urged him.

Natsu snorted. “Oh yeah, because I can dance.”

Gray rolled his eyes again. “Then go tell her she’s pretty. Just do something because I’m sick of watching you two pine over each other without doing anything.”

Natsu mumbled under his breath again, but Gray didn’t give him the chance to argue, shoving the man towards the gaggle of girls. He tripped and stumbled into the group, them letting out a surprised yelp and then a giggle.

“Lost your footing there, Natsu?” Lucy laughed. She waved off the other women as they left to give the two room.

Natsu scratched the back of his neck sheepishly, deciding to refrain from punching Gray (who was over there laughing like a hyena over this, the ass!) in favor of talking to Lucy. “Yeah, heh, Gray shoved me.”

“Yes, I saw,” Lucy let her eyes sweep over his garb. She’d seen him in it earlier, of course, but not up close yet. She wasn’t used to him in such formal wear. Natsu oftentimes skipped out on such events, but he’d been practically dragged this time by Mirajane. “You look nice, Natsu,” she commented, gesturing to his clothing and taking another sip of her champagne.

“Eh, too stuffy. Part of the reason I hate these kinda events!”

Lucy laughed. “Oh come on, balls are fun!”

Natsu rolled his eyes. “Not really. I don’t know how to dance, I’ve never cared for champagne, and there’s better ways to spend time with my friends.”

Lucy smiled as she set her glass down on a table. Natsu’s eyes widened as she took his hands and placed one above her waist, clasping her own with the other one. “We’ll make the most of it, Natsu,” was all she said before dragging him into a waltz.

Natsu fumbled around, not sure what to do with his hands or feet. “Ah- Lucy-“

“Just do what I do!” Lucy readjusted his nervous hand at her side before moving to hold his shoulder. “The steps are fairly simple, you just have to keep time,” she told him. “One, two, three, one, two, three…”

Natsu tried to ignore the teasing looks coming from a lot of their friends as Lucy and Natsu swayed and stumbled. “Relax, Natsu!” She laughed. “How come you can do sword fighting so well, but a waltz is what defeats you?”

“Well, this is different!” he insisted with a small smile.

“How is this different!? Yes, fighting’s more rough-and-tumble, but you still have to learn all those stances and moves and be able to keep your footing in battle, right?”

“Yeah, I guess,” he replied. “Although fighting’s more fun than dancing,” he teased, sticking his tongue out at her.

Lucy laughed again. “Yes, I suppose you would think that.”

They swayed and moved easily, staying out of the way so as not to bump into anyone else, Natsu still stumbling a bit. He was almost certain they were off-tempo with the music playing, too, but he realized Lucy didn’t particularly care. She just wanted to be here with him. Lucy’s beauty and charm was that of a goddess. She could’ve danced with anyone in this room, and she chose him, a bumbling fool.

The thought had him grinning wider.

“What’s with the smile?” she teased. “I thought you didn’t like dancing.”

“You’re just so beautiful-“ he blurted out before blushing in realization of what he’d admitted.

Lucy’s face went pink, too, and it wasn’t because of the champagne this time. She looked down nervously before looking back up to him and Natsu swore she had the lights of a billion stars in her eyes.

“You really think I’m beautiful?” she finally whispered in response.

“Yeah- yeah, I do, Luce.”

Lucy smiled and looked down again to try and hide her pink cheeks, even knowing that Natsu had already seen them. Natsu took the opportunity to move his hands and hold her closer to him, only intensifying both of their blushes. Lucy could feel how hard his heart was beating in his chest.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say the word ‘beautiful’ before,” she told him. “I was beginning to think you never cared when I got all dressed up.”

“I mean, you always look beautiful. You don’t have to put on such a-“ Natsu gazed down at her dress again to try and come up with a way to describe it other than ‘pretty’ and said the first thing that came to his mind. “-tempting attire to look beautiful.”

Lucy squeaked at his adjective of choice, flushing more and pressing further against his neck and shoulder to hide it.

“Beautiful? Tempting? Why Natsu, you’re using all sorts of new words tonight,” she chuckled. “After all these years, I thought you hardly cared about the appearance of a woman.”

“Well, I don’t,” he admitted, making Lucy look up to him in surprise and confusion. “Not unless it’s you.”

Her eyes widened before another dopey grin spread across her lips. “Natsu, you’re so… You’re so… charming, in your own special way,” she told him, resting her forehead in the crook of his neck again.

“Blech, don’t use ‘charming’ to describe me. I ain’t no ‘Prince Charming’ at all.”

Lucy laughed. “No, you aren’t Prince Charming. You’re better. I wouldn’t have fallen in love with a Prince Charming…”

Natsu stumbled and then stilled, the couple no longer moving to the music and Natsu’s body tensing. It took Lucy a moment to realize why, it dawning on her what she’d just admitted.

“Uh, Natsu, I…”

“Did you mean it?” he asked softy.

“I, uh…”

“Lucy, please tell me you mean it because I love you, too.”

Lucy gasped at the admittance, moving back from his hold, staring up at him with wide eyes and a gaping mouth, struggling to find words to say.

“I…” she finally choked out. “I love you,” she said again.

Natsu’s heart was thumping wildly in his chest as his grin spread from ear to ear. He pulled her back into a dance, taking her hand above her head and spinning her like he’d seen other people doing. Lucy smiled and laughed as it happened.

“You really do?” he asked as he held her close again.

“I do. I love you, Natsu.”

Unable to contain his happiness, Natsu lifted her in the air and spun them, stealing her lips in a soft kiss. “I love you, too!” he cried in happiness.

#haleigh does a request #haleigh writes fanfiction #nalu #nalu fanfiction #monarchy au #fanfiction #natsu dragneel #lucy heartfilia #katana-no-neko #anonymous

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cumberhoe · 6 years

Text

(Draco x Reader) Prisoner: Part Two

Prisoner part two: (Draco x Reader)

-------

Part 1

Summary: A mere two months after your daring escape from Malfoy Manor is the battle of Hogwarts. You’ve survived Snatchers, Death Eaters, and tragic love. Can you survive this? Is there a future with you and Draco?

Word count: 2,231

------

You grip your borrowed wand tightly. It always feels out of reach to you, like you just can’t wield it like its previous owner wielded it. You feel its tentative embrace, still slippery but trying.

“Are you ready?” asks Colin Creevey. He clenches a galleon in his hand. Quite by accident you met up with him and his brother in the tiny village you escaped to. They were also refugees, hiding from the Snatchers. You conserved your strength and practiced magic as Colin looked tiredly on. The Trace was off of you, but Colin and Dennis were still chained to the bylaws of the Ministry.

You nod in response to Colin and apparate all three of you to Hogsmeade. He looks at the galleon hidden in his hand again. The gold glints off of the streetlamps, shining in the darkness.

You hear a dozen pops of apparation, explosions on the quiet street. You spin wildly, in a silent panic. This wasn’t supposed to happen! Colin looks at you equally as fearfully. Dennis’ eyes are wide and trembling. He seems so little compared to you and Colin. Colin grabs Dennis’ and you run. Footsteps echo behind you, but you can’t tell from who. A stunner whizzes by your ear, bright red like a firecracker. You feel the heat emanating from it like a little shooting star.

“Catch them!” a gruff voice shouts. In the darkness, you are pursued by shadows. They are creatures of your nightmares and you thank Merlin your protective spells hold up.

“There,” gasps Colin as you round a corner. He points to a dimly lit building called ‘The Hog’s Head.’ You look at it dubiously, but have no time to argue. Luckily the building has plenty of tables and a very long bar to hide behind. All three of you dive behind the bar. You take out your borrowed wand and prepare to cast a nonverbal disillusionment charm. Your wand fights you and you are forced to let go.

The doors burst open and six or so Snatchers in sinister black robes fan out.

“Search the bar,” the same voice says, “they can’t have gotten far.”

“Homo revelio,” someone else says, and you feel a faint swooping sensation in your chest.

“Three or four people,” they report. Their voice is androgynous enough to be either female or male.

“Well which is it?” a familiar voice snarls. You shudder and icy fear trickles up your spine.

“I can’t tell,” the androgynous voice replies, annoyance tinting their inflections, “all of your presences are messing this up. See, it reads ten people, not counting myself, and there are seven of us here. I can’t tell if it’s counting you, Greyback, since you’re a werewolf, and I’m not sure if it got the barkeep either or if he has company over. I subtracted the human six, but who knows about you.”

Greyback growls in return.

“Just search,” he barks.

Careless footsteps clunk closer to your bar. You pick up the wand and force it to do your bidding. You spell your best disillusionment on Colin and Dennis. Their faces fade away, Colin’s determined and Dennis’ pale and drawn. The disillusionment is shaky, but good enough to pass muster. You realize you don’t have enough time to cast a proper disillusionment on yourself, and silence Colin and Dennis as firmly as you can.

You smile sadly at the empty space, knowing you are about to be caught and probably eaten by Fenrir Greyback.

A cold feeling, like someone just poured water on your head, ran down your body and enveloped all of it. You were in a frozen second skin. You frantically look at your arm and try to peel it off, but there’s nothing there.

A head leans over the bar.

“Nothing here,” it reports. The masked head is close enough to touch.

You know what’s about to happen and focus as hard as you can on the effects of Colin and Dennis’ disillusionment. You have the power- you will it to be so.

“Finite incantatem,” the man lazily points his wand in your general direction. The cold shell doesn’t go away though, and neither does Dennis and Colin’s.

“You’re barking up the wrong tree Greyback,” the man laughs and suddenly Greyback has him pinned up against a wall, slavering in his face.

“If one more person thinks dog puns are funny, I’ll turn them into a dog,” a string of drool dribbles from Greyback’s mouth onto the man’s mask, “or rather a wolf.”

The mask nods, a jerky up and down motion inspired by fear.

“Good,” Fenrir Greyback releases him. He is the only one not wearing a mask, probably because the mask is far less scary than he could ever be.

“Move out,” the gruff voice says, “they probably escaped through the back and we’ve wasted enough time here with power plays and homo revelios.”

The sly, androgynous voice answers him.

“Well, we didn’t waste time on homo revelio nonsense, Greyback did.”

“To true,” comes the answer, this time farther away. The back door swings open and shuts.

“Homo revelio,” you whisper, straining from holding both the disillusionment on Dennis and Colin and this new spell.

Your wand reads four people. That would be you, Dennis, Colin, and the barkeep.

You relax and drop the silencing charm and the disillusionment.

“That was a close one,” a voice close to your ear mutters. You clap your hand to your mouth and manage to stifle a shriek.

You take a good look at this new, grubby looking old man.

“It’s Aberforth,” he says, “and are you here for the rebellion?”

“You mean Dumbledore’s army?” Colin asks, he and Dennis emerging from the bar.

“No, I mean the rebellion. I doubt it was ever Dumbledore’s, that old fool.”

You clasp Colin’s hand to help yourself up, and realize that you are visible again.

“Yes, we’re here for that,” you say, shooting Colin a look. He would have protested against anything against Dumbledore, but you were here for one thing and one thing only.

“Then follow me,” Aberforth says. He leads you three to a portrait which reveals a tunnel. He instructs you to walk through it, and you don’t quite know what to say. You have never met a more unsuspecting ally.

The passage opens up to reveal the Room of Requirement in all of its glory. Your eyes rove over the bright house banners, noting the missing emerald.

“(y/n)!” Padma shrieks, throwing her arms dramatically over you in a hug. You hug her in relief, watching Colin and Dennis share similar reunions in the corner of your eye.

“I’ve missed you so much,” you murmur, burying your head into her shoulder. Hot tears prick your eyes as you take her in. It’s all the little things that get to you. You haven’t seen Padma in nearly a year.

“Why was the call sent out now?” you ask.

She pulls away, you still in her arms.

“Harry Potter came back! He, Hermione, and Ron are all looking for something with Luna. I don’t know what’s happening, but the D.A. is rising up with or without them.”

“Preferably with them,” you say, making a face, “that boy has an uncanny ability to evade death.”

Padma laughs. In the next two minutes, you catch her up on major life events: being snatched, falling for Draco, escaping, and meeting up with Colin.

You are breathless by the end of it and so is she.

“Draco’s here, you know, in the castle,” she says. Your heart squeezes, thumping so rapidly you think it might burst. You’ve long given up on controlling the feelings racing through your soul.

All the same, you feel an insane high that goes along with the passion in your heart. Draco is here.

-------

Lights flash by you, lighting up the night. You don’t bother identifying them, and just assume all of them are bad for you. The corridors have splashes of nasty spells on them. Bits of rubble litters the floor, and dust clouds swirl up when you run. You are caught up in a deadly game of dodge, cast, evade, fire back, dueling a short Death Eater, who might even be someone you know. You cast aside moral dilemmas. You need to survive. You fire three low-energy stunners in quick succession hoping one will catch him.

His mask flips off when he falls to the floor and you breathe a sigh of relief. You don’t know him.

Your stunner incapacitated him, but already his glassy eyes were beginning to flicker back to life. You take a breath, and use the cutting curse to slash his throat. There was no going back.

An Avada Kedavra flew by your face and slammed into the wall. You hear a gut-wrenching scream. Apparently you just killed someone’s partner. The new Death Eater lost her mask earlier and glares at you with such hatred. A pit of gnawing guilt builds in your gut, but you shove it aside. You did what you had to do.

The new Death Eater is terrifyingly beautiful in her grief. Power floods through the room and you know you are too exhausted to withstand her. You grimly position your wand which fights you less now. It is in agreement.

You will fight to the bitter end. Her spells slash at you and you can barely block them. She casts with such speed and precision that you actually back away until your back hits the cold, stone wall. She runs on raw emotion now.

You are casting through the pain and tears blur your eyes. One of her spells breaks through your shield and slams into your stomach when her body flings to the side with an ugly crack.

You wince and there is Draco in Death Eater robes, no mask. His hair is singed and ash is smudged on his face.

“What are you doing?!” the girl yells, “I had her!” Tears streak her face and she holds her broken wand arm.

Draco silences her with a swift, powerful Petrificus Totalus. He rushes to your side.

You’re coughing blood now. Whatever that spell was, it wasn’t good. Still, you smile through blurred vision to see the man responsible for your being alive.

“No, it’s okay (y/n),” Draco whispers, throwing up a shield, “You’re going to make it.”

You lift your wand and blast a Death Eater that enters the room.

Draco is doing something, trying to heal you. You’re not coughing blood anymore, that’s good.

“Why did you come back?” he asks anguished, “why couldn’t you just stay safe?”

“Because,” you say, “I needed to.”

“You don’t owe anyone anything!” Draco runs a dirty hand through his knotted hair. You feel his frustration as if it were yours.

“I owe me something,” you tell him.

You can tell he doesn’t quite get it, and how could he? For all his life he has been expected to fight. He doesn’t know what it means to fight for yourself.

Well, you reflect as you stumble to your feet, Draco supporting you, maybe he does.

Then, Voldemort’s soft, terrifying voice blares through the halls and you breathe a sigh of relief.

He protects you the rest of the way back to the Hospital Wing where there are many injuries.

“Mr. Malfoy,” McGonagall says, “I do not believe you are welcome-”

She stops and stares at you. Draco did the best he could with your wounds, but there’s something still not right. You hack a cough and a little blood dribbles onto your chin.

McGonagall swishes and flicks and you are floating in the air.

“I will take it from here Mr. Malfoy,” McGonagall said. Draco looks like he is about to protest, but shuts his mouth.

You take a last glance at Draco as McGonagall wheels you away. He looks helpless: a snake in a menagerie of lions, badgers, and eagles.

Everything goes black when McGonagall puts you in stasis.

-------

You wake up with Draco holding onto your hand like a lifeline.

He’s haggard, but somehow brighter than before.

“Harry won,” he said, tears in his eyes.

Elation and relief swell within you. You sit up and look around at this new world. People bustle around and every bed has a patient.

“Madame Pomfrey cleared you as soon as you woke up,” Draco said, offering a hand to help you out of bed.

You are a little wobbly on your feet, but it doesn’t matter. Voldemort’s finally dead.

Then you realize something.

“What’s going to happen to you?” you ask Draco.

“I think I’ll get amnesty,” he says slowly, unsure.

You frown, not knowing if you should leave it like that, but he makes the decision for you by kissing you gently.

You move closer and bury your head in his firm shoulder. Draco pulls away and looks at you with immense tenderness.

“Breakfast?” you say.

“Lead the way,” is his response.

His step is lighter, his smile wider. His prison is shattered and now he is free. In the future you see the possibility of a life with him. You see kids and friends and jobs. But for now, nothing else matters except for Draco and his newfound freedom.

He was a stunted bird, gazing jealously upon his kin who could fly.

But now, he can go as far as anyone.

#harry potter #draco malfoy #draco x reader #tom felton #slytherin #gryffindor #mcgonagall #prisoner #part 2

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Blood Feuds and All the Feels: TorCon 2021 Highlights

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For the second year in a row, Tor Books and Den of Geek have presented TorCon, a virtual convention bringing the exciting panels and dynamic conversations of a book convention to your computer screens. This weekend built on the success of the inaugural con with over 30 authors from Tor Books, Forge Books, Tordotcom Publishing, Tor Teen, and Nightfire matching wits and being candid about their emotional, scary, and hopeful writing processes.

The weekend started off spooky, with horror trivia and thoughtful conversations from female thriller writers, then transitioned into a bevy of gay delights by way of deep dives into emotional storytelling in SFF and upcoming fall reads to make you shiver with antici…pation. Panels ran the gamut from one-on-ones (with assists from Den of Geek moderators) to panels playing games in real-time, all for your entertainment. Check out the highlights below, with links to relive the livestream fun or check out the events for the first time if you missed them live!

Visit the TorCon Bookstore here.

Catriona Ward in Conversation with Gillian Flynn

Listening to one of today’s gutsiest thriller writers Gillian Flynn (Gone Girl, Sharp Objects, Dark Places) chat with Catriona Ward, author of the highly-anticipated The Last House on Needless Street, felt like listening in on the pivotal conversation in a mystery, where everything slots into place. “No one goes from skipping along the street to becoming a monster,” Ward said, “it’s incremental. You turn around and look back at your footsteps and you don’t realize you’ve walked the path to monsterhood.” Between this empathy for the monster and their frank discussion of female culpability in horror, it’s no surprise to learn that Gone Girl‘s ending was the easiest of Flynn’s shocking conclusions to come up with.

Moderated by Den of Geek Books Editor Kayti Burt, the conversation tackled the inherent creepiness of unreliable narrators and whether the authors know their books’ dynamic twists when they first sit down to write. A sense of place is extremely important to both writers, from the eponymous house—and its Bible-reading house cat—in Ward’s forthcoming book to the themes that ground Flynn’s stories. “Whether it’s about what it’s like to grow up in extreme poverty in the ’80s with Satanic Panic and reclaim that mentality, or female aggression and violence and what it looks like cyclically,” Flynn said, “it just happens that the mystery is the way for me to attach an engine to it and give me the discipline to actually tell this story.”

Rewatch Here!

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Chaotic Storytelling—Take 2!

Last year’s most chaotic panel returned with a new batch of ambitious authors ready to pants, not plot, their way through a speculative story in front of a live audience. How do you get from Gladys the tortured mummy in Stephen King’s castle to one of Keanu Reeves’ many incarnations saving the day? By tripping over some security lasers that emit glitter, of course. Enjoy this glimpse into the minds and creative processes of J.S. Dewes (The Last Watch), Jenn Lyons (The House of Always), Christopher Buehlman (The Blacktongue Thief), Andrea Hairston (Master of Poisons), and Neil Sharpson (When the Sparrow Falls), with plot twists and surprise d20 rolls supplied by moderator Drew Broussard of LitHub.

And while most of the panelists agreed that they were unlikely to collaboratively co-write a novel—unless it was a project like Max Gladstone and Amal El-Mohtar’s This is How You Lose the Time War—they relished the opportunity to tap into their more unpredictable sides and go with the first plot ideas that popped into their heads without that self-editing voice. After all, as Lyons reflected, “sometimes fun is destroying stuff.”

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Nightfire Family *Blood* Feud

Tired: Family Feud. Wired: Gathering a temporary coven of authors from Macmillan’s newest horror imprint Nightfire to answer horror trivia submitted by the Tor staff. Guided by moderator Lee Mandelo (Summer Sons), these masters of thrills and chills had to answer burning questions such as… What’s the most common hiding spot in a slasher film? Which tropes are the most beloved? Who’s the scariest serial killer? (Spoiler: The shark from Jaws makes the list.)

In addition to guessing at their editors’ and publicists’ answers, the panelists let us into their own brains for some fascinating insights. Thomas Olde Heuvelt (HEX, Echo) once passed out while giving blood, while Cassandra Khaw (Nothing But Blackened Teeth) has a soft spot for Sophie Kinsella’s rom-coms. Gretchen Felker-Martin (Manhunt) has to purposely scare herself to get in the zone, while Silvia Moreno-Garcia (Certain Dark Things) fondly told childhood stories about a spot known as Blood Alley.

“We like to be scared because we all have our little dark sides to ourselves,” Olde Heuvelt said, with Khaw praising how the genre creates a space for people to process fears. Moreno-Garcia pointed out that horror doesn’t necessarily have to scare to be effective, that its tropes are in conversation with other genres and familiar stories retold. And Felker-Martin summed it up best: “Horror is about looking at things you don’t want to look at until you can expand your sphere of empathy enough to encompass them.”

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James Rollins in Conversation with Holly Black

Holly Black kicked off our conversation with the thrilling news that she’ll be publishing her first adult novel, Book of Night, with Tor Books! While Black is embarking on a new stage in her writing career with this series, for James Rollins it was like coming home: The thriller writer returns to epic fantasy with The Starless Crown, the first installment of the ambitious Moon Fall series in which he applies his love of scientific discovery on the fringes with a story that he carried in his head for over a decade before putting pen to paper.

With Den of Geek contributor Natalie Zutter moderating, the conversation delved into the authors’ shared love for the band Dead Can Dance as well as the appeal of liminal spaces—from the Faerie court to a twilight realm on a tidally-locked planet—and characters with a foot in two worlds at once. Both authors enjoy writing fantasy characters who fail to honor that old adage to be careful what you wish for, with magic bringing as much potential for world-ending disaster as for life-changing joy. As Black pointed out, “The difference between curses and wishes is just shading.”

Revisit the discussion for talk of non-Chosen Ones, fantasy jewelry, swamp bats we would die for, and the pop culture getting these authors through the pandemic. To that end, could there be some Lupin-esque heists in Book of Night? “Maybe” Black teased. “I hope so!”

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All the Feels: Emotional Storytelling in SFF

“With all due respect,” Becky Chambers (A Psalm for the Wild-Built) said to the more stoic authors on this panel, “if you’re not crying when writing a book, then what is the point?” Kerstin Hall (Star Eater) joked about how to “hack” readers, but quips aside, moderator TJ Klune (Under the Whispering Door) guided these authors in a soul-searching conversation about how they put themselves into the emotional highs and lows of their SFF stories. “It’s all about contrast, isn’t it?” asked T.L. Huchu (The Library of the Dead), comparing their writing to how artists work with light and darkness on the same canvas. “If you have these highs, when the really messed-up stuff happens, you’re bringing the characters down from a height, which creates a greater effect.”

From infusing the worldbuilding with feelings to constantly stepping back from the text and taking the temperature, these authors of everything from cozy sci-fi to cannibalistic family sagas never lose sight of the intense relationship on both sides of the page. Part of being a writer, as Alex Pheby (Mordew) pointed out, is letting readers meet you partway by “letting them have space in the text where they can engage their own feelings” instead of being prodded by the author to feel a certain way. Most important when writing from a place of trauma, Lucinda Roy (The Freedom Race) said, was for the author to be sure that they had come to terms with their own emotional starting point: “Have I reconciled my spirit to this trauma in such a way that I can stand back from it and write about it in a way that will be useful to others?”

Despite the name of the panel, it was still a heartstring-tugging surprise to see the panelists get emotional over their brief time together. When asked about inspiration, Roy said of her fellow authors, “Those kinds of people are my people.” Aww, right in the feels.

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Ethereal & Eerie: A Glimpse at Captivating Fall Reads

Bless all the authors on this panel for candidly saying that in most cases they would not want to live in the worlds they’ve created—especially because for many of them, like Catherynne M. Valente (The Past is Red, Comfort Me With Apples) and Lee Mandelo (Summer Sons), their books are set in a version of our present. As moderator Seanan McGuire (Where the Drowned Girls Go, Across the Green Grass Fields) pointed out, “Would I have written a book about where I am now if I wanted to stay?”

The panelists spoke about how they set the proper atmosphere for their novels, from Valente cribbing from an actual Florida HOA agreement to Freya Marske (A Marvellous Light) recreating a real manor house she visited in England. The most pressing question is which came first, the world or the characters? For Alix E. Harrow (A Spindle Splintered), it was walking out of Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse and saying, “I want to Spider-Verse a fairy tale.” While Zin E. Rocklyn (Flowers for the Sea) drew upon her “very deep respect” for the water (“that shit is scary and it’s our least explored area of the Earth”) to create the world first, her character came immediately after: “I wanted to mess with something that was catastrophic and bleak.”

What with releasing new books during spooky season, of course talk turned to tried-and-true Halloween reads and especially favorite eerie bookish characters, including We Have Always Lived in the Castle‘s narrator Mary Katherine Blackwood (Shirley Jackson sure knows how to write ’em) and the eponymous protagonist of Susanna Clarke’s Piranesi. And how do these authors get in the proper eerie mindset? Everything from Rocklyn’s Spotify playlists to Valente and Mandelo each needing to do no more than step outside into a nearby cemetery. It’s gonna be a great fall ahead.

Rewatch Here!

Charlie Jane Anders in Conversation with TJ Klune

If this were an in-person con, Charlie Jane Anders (Victories Greater Than Death) and TJ Klune (Under the Whispering Door) would have been all over the place, appearing on and/or moderating in a variety of other panels. It was such a treat, then, to see the two of them in devoted conversation, led by Kayti Burt. The two found a lot of common ground, from writing for both YA and adult readers, to debating the benefits and drawbacks of standalones versus series, to speaking candidly about trans identity and asexuality.

As Burt astutely pointed out, both authors go to great lengths to depict kindness and empathy even within their more traumatic or grim stories. That intentionality is for the readers’ sake, Klune said, speaking about his YA superhero series The Extraordinaries and the second installment Flash Fire: “Queer kids deserve to have a book about queer kids that isn’t about the angst of coming out and homophobia; queer people should be able to read about happy queers who do stupid things.” And while Anders often finds that she establishes the tone at the start of a project, she’s aware that tropes can sometimes lead the story in a darker direction and that she as the writer can choose to diverge from where a story may seem like it’s turning grim: “Most tropes aren’t the boss of me! They work for me, not the other way around!”

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Space is Gay!

With books like Everina Maxwell’s Winter’s Orbit, Charlie Jane Anders’ Victories Greater Than Death, and Ryka Aoki’s Light From Uncommon Stars, it comes as no surprise that space is becoming increasingly gay. But moderator K.M. Szpara (First, Become Ashes) keenly started off the panel by asking the authors to define what they even mean by space. For Aoki, it was the sense of needing space: “If there’s any world you sometimes need a break from, it’s the world we live in as queers.” Anders likened the genre, with its interstellar jaunts and gallivanting, to one of the very best romance tropes: “It’s like there’s only one bed, but with the entire cosmos around you.”

“There’s only one pod!” the panel chorused, and we knew this was going to be a gallivant for the ages even if we were stuck on terra firma. But it wasn’t just riffing: When asked what should be made gay after space (dinosaurs and cyberpunk came to mind), Aoki brought up the necessary point that our work in space was not done: “Don’t just make it gay,” she said, “make it queer and trans.”

This panel had some of the most sparkling witticisms of the con, with this self-appointed starship crew of authors plotting a gay space heist involving tactical ballgowns, robbing Elon Musk’s inevitable space bank, and knowing exactly where to hide a body on a space station. Even when discussing more serious topics such as the need for queer scientists and educators (in addition to sci-fi writers), Aoki had the panel and audience cheering: “Imagine Bill Nye the Science Bi!”

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Conjuring the Diaspora: Myths, Legends, and Classics Reimagined

Moderator Lily Philpott began this panel, about the intersections between the Asian diaspora and speculative storytelling, by acknowledging how vast the diaspora is, inviting the panelists to each speak about their ancestors and formative myths and legends. With these authors based on three different continents, no two people had the same perspective on identity. To wit, in discussing the disparate influences on Light From Uncommon Stars, Ryka Aoki said, “I’m not doing that to show you how many places I can be, I’m doing this to show you how many places I am.” With regard to rediscovering one link to her family history in Japan while losing another, Aoki said, “I refuse, with this book and with many of my books, to see myself as fragmented.” Whereas Nghi Vo (The Chosen and the Beautiful), whose family is Vietnamese and Hakka Chinese, said that while she appreciated the discussion of wholeness, “I have no interest in being whole. I have plenty of identity in fragment.”

As for what drew them to SFF, for Aliette de Bodard (Fireheart Tiger) it was because it’s fun! “I think on some level what I’m trying to find were these stories my grandmother would tell me as a child,” the French-Vietnamese author said, “and that sense of wonder you had when finding a dragon or turning a mountain and meeting the mountain spirit.” Interestingly, Shelley Parker-Chan’s She Who Became the Sun started out as more historical palace drama but eventually turned fantastical, especially playing with the what-if aspect by adding magic. “One of the appeals of fantasy for me is you can approach issues side-on,” said the author, who grew up in a Cantonese-speaking Malaysian-Singaporean community in Australia. “With fantasy, you can conjure up characters who evoke those same issues, like with gender, but it’s cloaked by a softening layer that makes it vague. So many true people with their own experiences can see themselves in it.”

“The experience of the diaspora is one of monsters,” Vo said. “If you start with monsters, you start in horror and SFF. When you’re operating from a place where monsters want to eat you, and realize you’re a monster as well, you have to figure out how you’re gonna eat everyone else—that’s where I’m writing from.”

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Jo Firestone in Conversation with Joe Pera

Unfortunately, this is the only TorCon event that was truly live in the sense that there isn’t a link to rewatch Adult Swim star Joe Pera (Joe Pera Talks With You) and Punderdome creator Jo Firestone dryly yes-and their way through discussing Pera’s first book A Bathroom Book for People Not Pooping or Peeing but Using the Bathroom as an Escape. A boon for socially awkward and/or overstressed readers everywhere, the book was a challenge for Pera in translating stand-up from the stage to the page, and a delight in collaborating with illustrator Joe Bennett.

Kayti Burt led the audience Q&A, featuring such pressing questions as the best wood on which to display this book in a bathroom (teak). Pera hopes that the book, intended to be read in the duration of a short but much-needed bathroom break, will be a meditative guide but not necessarily recognizable by name: “Sometimes, like with stand-up, it’s best when someone stumbles upon it and has no idea who you are,” he said, “and feels like they’ve discovered something more personal that talks to them.”

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