#I do think continuing in rogue makes sense for her

[hazelcephalopod]

Third level into rogue for Fearne as an Arcane Trickster -even though her int is, not good for it. (Tbh just let her use wisdom maybe? Who cares? Or she can just be weak. It’s ok.) good choice, is more spells to manage though. I wish her the best. It’s a neat choice, don’t see it often.

#critical role #cr spoilers #critical role spoilers #I do think continuing in rogue makes sense for her #Though musing partial and full caster can… even I don’t remember how it works I’m pretty sure it’s not simple? #I could be wrong tho

[achaoticeternal]

Could you please write a fic where Rhaenyra’s strongdaughter gets into an argument with her mother because her mother won’t let her marry Aemond and she calls her mother a hypocrite for calling Aemond unfit to be a husband when her own husband got exiled twice. (Please also write Daemon reacting to it)

I looooove this idea! To me, it would be such a funny argument and of course, Daemon couldn't take it seriously - its just so lol enjoy this little blurb!

submit your own blurb/ headcanon requests HERE! read part two of this blurb HERE!

Targaryen Traditions

AEMOND TARGARYEN x VELARYON(STRONG)! READER word count: 900 - blurb summary: read request a/n: should I do a little continuation?

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Rhaenyra moved gracefully down the halls of Dragonstone, despite the unamused look that graced her face. It had barely been a full day since the daily had returned from an eventful visit in King’s Landing. Despite the typical quarrels, it now seemed her own daughter had been bewitched by one of her half-siblings… Prince Aemond Targaryen…

“Mother, I don’t understand!” You whined, following her into the great foyer of Dragonstone. 

“You will understand in time that I am right,” Rhaenyra spoke simply while crossing toward the fireplace, a hand over her belly.

“I wish to understand now because this makes no sense to me!” You quickly rebutted, “A year ago, you suggested to the Queen that I be betrothed to Aegon, who has since married Helaena. Now Aemond wishes for my hand and you deny me marrying a prince.”

“The point was never to have you simply marry a prince. If I wanted to see you married off to a man that holds such a title, I could have sent you to Dorne or Essos. To marry Aegon would have done a great many things, but most importantly keep you close to me,” Rhaenyra gazed toward you with motherly affection, “However, it seems Alicent only cares for Targaryen tradition when it serves her needs. You will not marry a second son.”

Daemon soon entered, freshly clean from the travels of the previous days. Though you respected and even somewhat cared for your stepfather, he did not replace the man that you first called father, Ser Laenor. When he entered, both you and your mother turned to him, silently begging that he pick a side. It was wishful thinking on your part since Daemon was not over fond of his nephew. Seemed to be a recurring theme…

The Rogue Prince had a smirk playing on his lips. Rhaenyra’s words were not lost on him, and even caused a chuckle from the man, “What is wrong with second sons?”

At such playful teasing, Rhaenyra rolled her eyes at the antics of her husband, “Nothing, husband. Except my daughter wishes to marry the Queen’s spiteful, second son.”

“Aemond?” He asked as he approached the princess. She nodded to his question, and then his gaze turned to you, “Aemond?”

Eagerly, you nodded. The thought crossed your mind of possibly being able to convince Daemon that your betrothal should be set with Aemond so that he could push Rhaenyra to be more willing to the idea. 

“You wish to marry to One-Eye prince?”

Of course, Daemon would tease you with such a question. As if your brothers had yet to torment you over the idea. Neither Jacaerys nor Lucerys liked the proposed betrothal between their uncle and sister. 

“It would be fulfilling my duty to the family and the realm,” You began to explain, “Jace shall sit on the throne one day, and I will be his heir until Baela gives him a child.”

Rhaenyra’s face soured at your words. She did not like how your education fueled your argument but was also proud of seeing such diplomacy from her daughter. The double-edged sword that all mothers must face with their children.

When she did not speak, you began again, “If I marry Aemond, I will also live in the Keep. I can assist Alicent and the maesters in taking care of my grandsire. You and Daemon always voice your concern for the King, so it might put you at ease.”

“You are a princess, not a caretaker—”

“Says who? You?” You were sharp with your tongue, growing tired of playing this game with your mother, “You say a princess is not a caretaker, yet you are a mother. You say I should not marry a second son, yet you did…”

“My dear, the circumstances are different,” Rhaenyra’s voice grew more stern at your pointed argument, “Aemond is your uncle!”

At such a comment, a boisterous laugh escaped your lips. It was quite out of fashion, but you could not keep it together. You looked back to your mother with a look of disbelief, gazing between Rhaenyra and Daemon, “Have you looked in a mirror recently?”

Confused by your statement, Rhenyra looked to Daemon. He chuckled while taking her hand within his own, intertwining their fingers, “I believe she means to call you a hypocrite.”

Rhaenya pursed her lips, looking at her husband than her daughter. Her eyes glanced over your frame, taking in all the likeness you shared. She then thought about how she acted at your age… She had married Laenor when she was just a year younger than you are now. But she would resent seeing you leave Dragonstone, no matter who the man was. 

“I’m flying to King’s Landing in two days' time on dragon back due to a previous agreement. You shall join me… and I will consider the proposition of a marriage to Aemond,” Rhaenyra spoke with a sigh.

A great smile spread across your face, elated that she would now at least consider Aemond as a suitor, “Thank you, mother! Thank you, thank you!”

“But I do not wish to hear any more of this or anything related to Aemond before our departure. Am I clear?”

“Yes, of course, mother,” You replied with a light giggle.

With a slight nod of her head, Rhaenyra dismissed you to do as you pleased. Relief washed over both of you. With quick steps, you took your leave to write a scroll to Aemond of your small successes.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

should I continue this/ make a part two?

#aemond targaryen #mattie writes #ask mattie #anon request #aemond targaryen x reader #house of the dragon aemond #house of the dragon #hotd x reader #prince aemond targaryen #aemond x fem!reader #strong!reader #Rhaenyra's daughter reader #rhaenyra x reader #rhaenyra targaryen #hotd headcanon #hotd imagine #aemond targaryen imagine #ch: aemond targaryen #sub: hotd #targcest #aemond targaryen x niece!reader

[leighsartworks216]

Your Rogue

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

I'm not 100% happy with the ending but I also didn't really know where to take it. Not proofread

I play with one of my hcs for post-game Astarion that he could become a jewelry maker. I know embroidery is his whole thing and so a tailor would make more sense and I was *going* to go with that, but I just love the idea of Astarion making earrings and necklaces and rings and giving the best to Tav and yeahhhh (I also just didn't know what a Karen would go into a tailor shop to complain about)

Warnings: swearing, Karen, so many italics

Word Count: 673

Main Masterlist

First Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist - Second Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

Astarion is stretched out, legs reaching out along the length of the bed as he lay on his belly. His arms wrapped around your lower back, and his face was pressed into your stomach. This was one of his favorite ways to cuddle with you.

Your legs were stretched out beside him. Sometimes you’d bend your knees and cage him in further, or squeeze him with your thighs - which always made him smile, if not chuckle outright. Your fingers massaged his shoulders and upper back. He nearly purred when you’d run them through his hair, detangling his mess of curls and scratching lightly at his scalp. It was utter heaven, and he got to experience it all with you.

After a while of silence, he finally spoke.

“I had the worst customer in today,” he grumbled against you, nuzzling his nose further into you and grinning mischievously when you giggled.

“Really?” You brushed his hair out of his face. “What happened?”

He huffed. “Some lady came in, looked around, called me over. Asked if the jewels were real, because Gods forbid she buys fake rubies.” He sighed as he flipped himself over. With his head resting on your thigh, he got a full view of your face peering down at him. One of his hands stayed at your lower back, rubbing circles mindlessly into your spine, while the other trailed along your leg and rested under your knee.

He rolls his eyes as he continues, “But she doesn’t believe me, because it’s not like I’m the one who made the damn earrings. So she makes a whole fuss about it, and leaves. And I think that’s the last of it. Darling,” he scowls, “she came back with a fucking miner.”

“Oh no.”

“Yes!” His hands leave you to gesture frustratedly. “She tells him - and of course he’s a Dwarf. She tells him to appraise the ruby earrings. And she looks all smug and righteous, and I’m doing my best to keep my fangs out of her horrid little neck.”

“Was anybody else in the shop?”

“Oh, only five other people, all rubbernecking and holding their breaths, clutching at their pearls to know if the jewels are fake or not.” He growls, annoyed. “It takes five fucking minutes before the Dwarf finally tells her they’re real. But oh, oh-ho-ho, you should have seen her face fall! Ha! She flushed like a tomato and ran out of there. The Dwarf ended up buying the earrings!”

His eyes are so round and vibrant. He looks so alive and spirited like this, basking in your reactions and laughing. He’s gorgeous. You can’t stop yourself from leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead. His hand automatically finds the back of your neck, long fingers tangling loosely in your hair to keep you close.

“And were they real?”

He smirks deviously. “The Dwarf said they were, so surely they must be, hm?” You’re both chuckling when he pulls you in for a proper kiss, tilting his head back so you’re not straining. He hums, pleased, when you run your fingers lightly over his throat. You kiss his nose when you pull away. He watches you with eyes full of fondness and adoration.

“Try to stay out of trouble,” you tell him, but there’s nothing serious in your voice. Besides, even if you told him to and meant it, he’d find some way to jump right back into the thick of it.

“Of course, my love. As soon as you procure the funds for real gems to work with, I’ll stay far, far away from any run-ins with the law.”

“You’d find a loophole, anyway.”

“I already have one.” His fangs appear as he grins. “Nowhere in my shop does it say they’re real. It’s the customer’s faults if they assume they’re real.”

You kissed his forehead. “Ever the rogue.”

He pulls you down a bit further to kiss your forehead in return. “Your rogue, dear.”

You kiss him properly again, sighing softly into his mouth. “My rogue.”

---

Tag List:

@satelliteapotheosis @hypopxia @flsalazar @beverlybeav @angelofthorr @emiemiemiii @marina-and-the-memes @aurasyn @furblrwurblr @cappsikle @mjmygd @thegirlsadventuresinwonderland @kindadolly @bloopthebat @pandimoostuff @chesb0red @black-star1472 @sessils @puppyg1rl666 @maruichio @cyber-dump-171 @katharynmarie @twinkliker3000 @cherifrog @catching-fire-in-the-wind @phantoms-fandom-blog @thespectacularspaceace @lynnlovesthestars @sylverqueencosplay @tototini @ashrio20 @bambamwolf87 @astarion-imagine-archive @thistrashisreadytobash @rosxtinted @bongwaterflavoredgatorade @the-lake-is-calling @nyxmainex @squid-killer

#fanfic #fanfiction #astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #baldur's gate astarion #baldur's gate tav #baldurs gate astarion #baldurs gate tav #bg3 astarion #bg3 tav #gn reader #x gn reader #gender neutral reader #x gender neutral reader #fluff

[avecra]

Her

summary: When Bucky's anger gets the best of him during a debriefing meeting, your touch is the one thing that can ground him.

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

word count: 1.6k

warnings: injury, lil angst, hurt/comfort, angry!bucky is just protective!bucky

Bucky Barnes was seething.

Anger coursed through his body, streaming through nerves and coming off him in waves. The tension in the debriefing room was thick as he sat with his arms crossed over his chest, his posture rigid as stone. Grey eyes bored into the two agents that sat across from him.

“Buck, could you please explain what went wrong during the infiltration. Calmly.” Steve asked and took a seat next to you. Bucky’s eyes flickered over to you for a moment, the blues of his irises pushed through the grey, for a moment, until they glanced down at the sling that held your casted wrist.

A humorless laugh escaped through his lips and he rolled his eyes before leaning his forearms against the glass table, staring at the agent who wore a smug smirk on his face.

“Well, I was guarding the corridor so that Y/n could safely retrieve the file from the office. Once she obtained the file, we began to make our way out, but Agents Miller and Cruz decided it would be best to track our positions and call it through the radio, not the comms which led to them giving away our position to enemy dealers and laughing about it,” Bucky gritted out. “They should have called out through the communications link.”

Miller scoffed and Cruz leaned further back into his chair, shifting uneasy under Bucky’s stare. Steve shifted through his notes and glanced over to you for confirmation. You nodded.

“What happened after you were made?” Steve continued on.

“After our position was revealed, we made our way to the nearest stairwell, but once inside a rogue dealer got the drop on me and shoved Y/n down the stairs, which she came out with a fractured wrist. I managed to knock him out before he could turn around and we made it to the jet safely where I triaged her until we got back.”

Steve flipped through the pages of the mission report, scribbling his signature before he looked over at you, softly whispering your name. “Y/n?”

You turned your head and nodded. Then, he spoke again. “Agent Miller, Agent Cruz, is this true?”

The agents scoffed and Miller rolled his eyes, he began to fidget under Steve’s firm stare until he let out a grunt. “Yes, Captain. But I can assure you-”

“Are you aware of the protocols during field missions?” Bucky cut him off sharply, anger laced through his voice. He slammed his fists on the glass and pushed up from his chair. “For being such highly skilled agents, you clearly don’t have a lot of common sense. If I hadn’t reacted when I did, Y/n or myself could have gotten gravely injured or worse.”

“Buck,” Steve’s voice did not touch Bucky’s ears in the slightest.

Instead, Bucky pushed further. “You would have the deaths of two Avengers on your hands. All for what? So you two idiotic assholes would think it’s funny to do a prank during the middle of a mission with dangerous hostiles?”

“Bucky.” Steve’s voice was firmer, but Bucky did not relent. Not when you sat with your arm in a cast, with scratches littered over the soft skin of your cheeks and forehead. Over the perfect curve of your nose. Over the perfect plump of your lips.

“You probably thought it would be a funny to pull a trick on the big, bad Winter Soldier, to catch SHIELD’s biggest traitor off guard and make him look stupid,” Your hand gripped Steve’s forearm and sent him a worried glance. “You could have gotten Y/n killed, and I can promise you, nothing would have stopped me from tearing the both of you apart.”

“Bucky, enough!” Steve yelled, and only then did Bucky shoot up from the table and angrily stepped away so that his back was pressed against the glass, placing his hands upon his head, his fingers dug into the short brown wisps of hair.

You tried to catch his gaze, but he refused to look at you. In the years that you had been with Bucky, you had never once seen him lose his anger like he had a couple moments ago. He always kept himself composed and calm, especially in front of you.

Red flared over his face, angry grey eyes boring into the two agents, his vibranium fist clenched so hard, it would probably snap if not for the indestructible material.

“Agents Miller and Cruz will face three weeks suspension, once said suspension is up they will be required to redo their training on field missions, until Agent Romanoff has given the all clear. These terms are non negotiable.” Steve said as he closed the file and slid it across the table.

Three week suspension. Three weeks for slipping up that could have cost my girl her life.

Anger boiled in Bucky and a humorless laugh escaped his lips. He roughly hit his head back against the wall so hard that it shook the glass. Bucky knew it wasn’t directly Steve who came to the decision, but it still infuriated him.

Because at the end of the day, if he ever made the littlest mistake, a small slip-up while in the field, his suspension would be longer, by a couple of months.

But two agents who consciously exposed the exact location in front of the enemy deserved just three weeks.

Bucky watched your shoulders sag in defeat, you reached out and adjusted your casted arm and winced lightly. You caught his eye and sent him a gentle smile, through the scratches and cuts.

He pushed himself off the wall and made his way to the door. “If I ever get the displeasure of seeing you two assholes in the field again, maybe I’ll partake in one of your childish pranks. Then we can see how funny it is.”

With that, he slammed the door and retreated down the hall. His footsteps echoed so loudly that you and Steve could both still hear them. The captain cleared his throat and looked at the two agents.

“Desk duty begins immediately. Tomorrow, eight sharp. Dismissed.”

You watched as the two men sent an annoyed glare your way, but you ignored it. Instead, you waited until they vacated the room before you turned to Steve.

“Only three weeks?” you asked for confirmation, unsure if you wished they had been given a more lengthy punishment. “My arm will take almost seven weeks to heal.”

Steve sighed and nodded. “It’s above me, Y/n. I wish it was longer, but this is what has been decided. Best we can do is just make sure to never pair the four of you up again.” he said, gathering up the files. “Why don’t you go check on him and get some rest. I’d imagine you’re tired.”

You nodded and hugged Steve’s arm before you followed the steps to Bucky’s bedroom, where you knew he’d be.

Sitting on the bed with his head in his hands, Bucky sat hunched over, his shoulders rose and fell with every harsh breath. As gently as you could, you closed the door softly and made your way over to him.

The brush of your nails against his scalp made him look up at you. You were expecting dark eyes filled with annoyance, but instead you found soft blue ones filled with remorse. They flickered to the sling that held your arm and he sighed defeatedly.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t mean to lose my anger in front of you,” Bucky said, his voice softer now.

You stood in front of him, your free hand carded through the short locks of hair and Bucky rested his head on your chest, his arms wrapped around your waist. He fisted the fabric of your sweater in his hands.

“It’s okay, honey,” you whispered against his forehead.

But Bucky shook his head and held you tighter. “I should have acted quicker. I-I should have checked the stairwell before pushing you ahead. I should have been more alert, but instead I let that prick shove you and I did nothing.”

Flashes of the enemy dealer that roughly grabbed you by the back of your shirt engulfed your mind, the sudden pain of the stone steps pushed into every muscle of your body and it wasn’t long before you felt a grinding sensation in your wrist followed by pain.

Grunts and whimpers passed through your lips and you curled your arm towards your body, moving to sit against the stone wall. You could faintly see Bucky hold the dealer by the neck before slamming him into the wall.

You held him tighter and wrapped your arm around his neck and pulled him to your chest, pressing delicate kisses to the crown of his head.

“You and I both know that’s not true,” you whispered against his skin. You pulled back from him and traced your fingertips down the side of his cheek, across his tear rimmed eyes, over the bridge of his nose. “You got me out of there didn’t you? You got me safely to the jet and bandaged me until we got back home. That’s not nothing, honey.”

You remembered his gentle hands as he leaned you against him, arm wrapped around your waist as he pulled you from the stairwell and to the jet, how he gently created a makeshift sling for your arm.

Bucky looked up at you and a tear slipped down his cheek, but you quickly wiped it away. “You always have my back, and I appreciate you so much for that. There is nobody I feel safer than with you, love.”

Blue eyes gazed into yours and Bucky leaned up and pressed a kiss to your lips, a quick, chaste but still left you with butterflies in your stomach.

“I love you.” He pressed a kiss against your collarbone and held you tighter.

Your free hand found itself stroking the back of Bucky’s neck and you leaned your forehead against his, lowering yourself gently onto his lap. His hold tightened on your waist.

“I love you, too.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes drabble

[wolfjackle-creates]

Bring Me Home: Chapter 2 Part 2

It's Wednesday! Time for another WIP Wednesday. No Ghost!Robin today. I've been focusing more on this fic. I think I'm going to try and start alternating weeks, but there's no set schedule or plan and it's liable to change at a moment's notice.

Fic Summary: Tim and Danny are both neglected by parents who care more about their work than their families. They deal with this by spending too much time online and find each other playing MMORPGs. They keep up their friendship as Tim becomes Robin and Danny becomes Phantom and don't bother keeping secrets from each other.

First, Previous

1.3k words

----------

Cassie hissed, “What the fuck, Tim!”

“I know!” whispered Tim back. “Danny mentioned home security, but I had no idea it was like that!”

Bart shook his head. “Want help with that kidnapping scheme? I’ll join you on your road to villainy.”

“That’s the problem with Tim,” agreed Conner. “He makes the road to evil look like it’s really the best option. Count me in, too.”

Cassie groaned. “Damn it, you guys are right. I’m in.”

Before Tim could do more than flip them off, Danny was back. “The pop express has returned!”

Cassie was closest to the door and Danny passed over her drink first. Only to freeze as their fingers brushed.

“Oh,” said Danny who looked at their hands then up at Cassie and back to their hands. “Huh.”

“What’s wrong?” asked Cassie and Tim started to get a bad feeling.

Which was only worsened by Danny looking at him with a grin forming on his face. “Sooooo, Tim—”

“No!” Tim shook a finger at him. “You’d better not tell me what I think you’re about to tell me! You’re OP enough! No more!”

Danny raised an eyebrow. “You done?”

Tim sighed and decided to just collapse backwards onto Danny’s bed. He stared at the ceiling and waved a hand in the air. “Yeah. Go ahead.”

Danny, apparently, loved making him suffer and continued passing out the drinks without telling him what he discovered. Then the mattress dipped next to him and Danny was above him with a grin that wouldn’t melt butter.

“So, Tii-iim,” Danny sing-songed.

“Daaan-ny,” replied Tim in the same tone.

“Apparently I can sense metas. And aliens. Which is so cool. They feel so different to humans! I knew about my ghost sense, but didn’t realize that applied to other species.”

Tim just sighed and closed his eyes. “Of course you can.”

“Conner!” The mattress shifted again as Danny moved. “You feel like warm sunshine and it’s so cool. Bart, you feel like static. Which… little awkward for me, but it’ll be good. I should try and get over my fear of electricity. Cassie, you also feel like static, but in a totally different way. Can’t explain it any better than that.”

“Why is static a problem?” asked Bart.

At the same time, Tim said, “I’ll add it to the list. And the descriptions.” He cracked one eye open to look at Danny. “Will you promise to stop developing more powers for me?”

Danny laughed and nudged his knee. “No promises.”

Cassie looked between them. “Does this mean you know?” she asked Danny.

“Wonder Girl, right? And Superboy and Impulse?”

Cassie nodded. “And Tim told us about you.”

“My lips are sealed,” Danny promised.

Tim rolled his eyes and pushed himself up. “Just gimme my water and fix my phone.”

“Wow, Tim,” said Cassie. “Rude much?”

“No. Look, you’ve no idea how ridiculously OP Danny is. Almost every week he calls me saying he discovered something else he can do.”

“If you think that was rude,” added Danny with a laugh, “you should’ve seen the things he said to me when I got him killed in Elf Night.”

“Ugh,” Tim feigned annoyance. “Don’t remind me. Honestly, what were you thinking? You were a rogue! Why did you attack the boss head on like a barbarian? We lost weeks of game progress! Weeks, Danny!”

Danny just laughed and threw the water bottle at his face. Tim caught it easily.

“Just give me your phone, Slim-Slam.”

“Slim-Slam?” asked Conner.

“He tried to object to Tim-Tam. I made him regret it.”

Tim shook his head. “This was a mistake. Why the hell did I ever think it’d be a good idea to let you guys meet.” To hopefully get them to change the subject, he shoved his phone in Danny’s direction. “What do you need to do to this anyway?”

“We just need to make it compatible with ectoplasm. There’s enough ambient ecto in Amity that waiting a few weeks allows it to happen naturally, but that’s not an option for you guys. Tuck and I went through, like, fifty devices figuring out the exact quantities and locations to add ectoplasm to force the process without destroying the device. It took us ages, but we figured it out. Now Tuck and I get extra money from the tech geeks in town who don’t want to wait the month or so it usually takes for new devices to start working.”

“Speaking of Tucker, will I be able to meet him? And Sam? You’re meeting my friends, I want to meet yours.”

Danny shrugged. “Sure. I’ll text them to meet us at Nasty Burger in forty minutes.” He sat at his desk and set down Tim’s phone to do so. Then, he opened a drawer and pulled out a set of micropipettes and disposable tips in a variety of sizes along with an empty glass beaker. Then came out an electronics tool kit. Tim had a similar one, though Danny’s looked like it had been obtained piecemeal as nothing matched. Finally, he opened a different drawer and pulled out a vial of a glowing green liquid.

Tim pushed himself off the bed and moved to stand over Danny’s shoulder. His friends joined him.

Bart asked, “So what will you be doing? What’s that green stuff?”

“It’s ectoplasm. The stuff ghosts and their dimension are made of. Ectoplasm is… complicated. This is unshaped ectoplasm, also called pure ectoplasm. A ghost or sentient creature can impose their will on it and make it function in a specific way. Since I’ve died, I have an easier time shaping it than most humans. I’ll send ‘tech’ vibes at it to get it to fuse to the phone more easily and apply carefully determined quantities to the different parts of the phone.”

“‘Tech vibes.’” Tim couldn’t hold back the groan. “It’s like magic. I hate it.”

Cassie bumped her shoulder against his. “You get that from Bruce.”

“Damn right, I do.”

Tim watched as Danny popped out the sim card. “First thing I’ll do is add a hundred microliters to the sim card. Then I’ll take the screen off and get to work on the innards. Do you guys want new batteries, by the way? Tuck’s got a bunch of ecto-batteries. Could have him bring them along when we meet up. You’d never have to charge your phone again.”

“Hell yeah!” said Conner. “Sign me right up.”

Tim shook his head, but couldn’t hold back the smile. “What do you mean by never have to charge it again?”

“I mean an ecto-battery will power the phone longer than the computer in the phone will last. I’ve switched over all my electronics. Nothing in this house is hooked up to the electricity grid anymore. I haven’t used a wall plug in four months. Not since Tucker and I fixed the batteries my parents designed.”

Tim didn’t like the sound of that. “Two questions. First, if the battery outlasts the phone, how should we dispose of it. And two, more importantly, ‘fixed’? What the hell does that mean?”

Danny had finished with the sim card and discarded the pipette tip in the beaker. Then he set about removing the screen from the phone. “Just bring the phones back to me when you’re done with them. I’ll upgrade your new ones, too. And their designs were liable to explode, overload the device, or bring it to life so it attacked. But Tuck and I took care of all that. Now devices only attack if Technus manages to get through the portal.”

Tim could sense Conner trying to look at him, but he resolutely refused to look away from Danny’s hands. He was removing the cameras and adding more ectoplasm to them, though much less than the sim card needed.

Unable to get Tim’s attention, Conner asked, “Who’s Technus?”

Danny shrugged. “One of my rogues. Tuck thinks he’s the ghost of Nikolai Tesla. He’s interested in controlling all technology and will make himself a giant mechasuit cannibalized from any electronic he can find in, like, a half mile radius. Super annoying.”

---------

Next

So I've decided which episode of the show this will take place during! It's mid season 1, so Jazz knows about Danny but Danny doesn't know she knows. I don't think that contradicts anything I've written (need to reread it), but if it does, no it doesn't. I dunno if most of you know what micropipettes look like, but if there's any interest I can take pics at work tomorrow and post them so you can see what I mean when I talk about the tips and stuff. I meant to do that today and then I didn't.

Tag List

@gremlin-bot, @bonebrokebuddy, @britcision, @lady-time-lord-, @welcometosasakiworld, @akikkobara, @phoenixdemonqueen, @dolfay, @skulld3mort-1fan, @we-ezer, @markus209, @sjrose1216, @onyxlightdragon, @dragonsrequiem, @jesus-camp-the-sequel, @spidey29phangirl, @kyrianclawraith, @evilminji, @introvert-even-on-the-internet, @emergentpanda-blog, @lexdamo, @v-inari, @idontgetpaidenoughforthisshit, @longlivethefallen, @undead-essence, @xye-chan, @liandrin, @seraphinedemort, @kisatamao, @schalensitzbucket, @caelestisdreamer, @runfromthemedic, @nutcase8691, @channajen, @tonicmii, @ambiguouslyominous, @vythika96, @addie-lover-of-stories, @ironicvixen, @violetfox2, @pickleking8, @mysticalcomputerdetective, @ark12, @mygood-bitch99, @squirrel-wolf

Getting close to the point where I'll have to split the tag list in two! (I'll still add anyone who is interested.)

#dpxdc #danny fenton #tim drake #cassie sandsmark #conner kent #bart allen #dead tired #danny gets a new power #tim is done #tim is going to drag everyone with him if he goes evil #he just makes it make sense

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

I’m new here so I’m sorry if I missed an FAQ about rec lists instead of general fic locate requests. If you do regular rev lists on your fave fics but can you do a list of your favorite Stackson Brotp fics? Like it’s still endgame Sterek but still has a healthy dose of Stackson brotp please. I’d really appreciate it

joonniverse asked:

Hey there ! Would you happen to have any fic recs where Jackson and Stiles are/become really close? Any Stiles centric pairing is fine

AND

Anonymous asked:

May i get some fic recs for Jackson and stiles friendship? Either childhood friends or became friends post Canon or anything in between. If stackson happens that is also ok as is any other ship.

Alright friends. It took me a minute but here's some of my favorite Stiles and Jackson friendship fics. (alternatively this could be renamed " A list of mostly isthatbloodonyourshirt fics")

So When Do I Get To Pledge My Loyalty To The Mob? by RedRidingStiles

(1/1 I 10,146 I Mature I Sterek)

“Are you my sugar daddy?” Stiles blurts out, slapping a hand over his mouth when his brain catches up to his mouth.

The man lets out a soft laugh, making his way around the couch till he’s standing just feet away from Stiles.

Stiles can smell his cologne from here, it smells heavenly, Stiles kinda wants to bury his face into the guy's chest so he can figure out exactly what it is.

“If that’s what you’d like to call it.” The man smiles.

Stiles doesn’t think he should be allowed to smile like that. All soft and gorgeous and way too pretty to be legal.

He’s still not convinced any of this is real.

Stiles loses his wallet, someone returns it along with $5,000. Shit keeps coming, Stiles life doesn't make any sense anymore, he's just going with it.

Quack (Stiles Stop Calling It That) by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

(1/1 I 15,980 I Teen I Sterek)

“Stiles, I’m serious, I need a favour.”

“That sounds like a trap,” Stiles Stilinski muttered sleepily into both his pillows. “You know,” he continued when the man in his room made no move to leave, “you’d think I’d be used to this. My dad, coming into my room, smacking my ass to get me out of bed, waking me up at the ass crack of dawn—”

“It’s almost one.”

“—waking me up at the ass crack of one,” Stiles continued without missing a beat, “and asking for a favour. Given my life growing up with you, you’d think I’d be used to this by now. I think the reason this hits so hard now is that I specifically bought my own apartment so that you couldn’t wake me up at the ass crack of dawn—”

“Stiles, it’s almost one.”

“—so that you couldn’t wake me up at the ass crack of one.”

Everyone Needs a Little Mischief in Their Life by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

(1/1 I 17,984 I Teen I Sterek)

Finally, against his better judgement, and having gone in circles for much too long, he blurted out, “Who is my soulmate?”

The Witch looked disappointed, like he’d fucked up. Like he’d fucked up bad.

But she answered anyway.

“Mischief.”

Derek stared at her, not understanding, because what? “That’s not a name,” he insisted.

“Not exactly, no.” She offered him a small smile.

“I don’t understand.”

“You will.”

Sweet Buns by skoosiepants

(1/1 I 17,935 I Teen I Sterek)

Stiles hasn’t seen Derek Hale this close up for over a decade. He looks almost exactly the same, except somehow he seems even bigger and broodier—criminally handsome, with soft-looking dark scruff, heavy brows, light hazel eyes. His gaze zeros in on Stiles almost immediately, and his scowl lightens minutely in what looks like surprise.

Stiles is acutely aware that he has melted butter and cinnamon all over his face, and tries to surreptitiously wipe it with the ends of his sweater-sleeve.

I've Lived A Better Day by HelloWhyTheFuckAmIHere

(18/18 I 32,819 I Not Rated I Sterek)

When Stiles comes across a rogue Alpha during his first year at Berkeley, the ensuing fight doesn't exactly go his way. He calls an unlikely ally to help him with his transition, and finds out his new pack isn't quite who he might have thought it would be.

Stiles is now left with the task of trying to figure out how his old life will fit in with his new, but that is not without its challenges.

Stilinski's Home for Wayward Wolves by owlpostagain

(1/1 I 35,197 I Teen I Sterek)

“At least your puppies knock first,” Stiles snorts. “Here I thought their alpha raised them to be well-mannered.”

“There’s a sign,” Derek responds stiffly.

Stiles, whose curiosity outweighs even his hardest of grudges, abandons his chilly façade of nonchalance in a heartbeat. He jumps right up and all but pushes Derek out of the way in his effort to get to the window, and sure enough when he leans outside there’s a laminated strip of cardstock duct taped to the vinyl siding:

DON’T FORGET TO KNOCK Stiles gets cranky when we scare him

---

Or, in which Stiles Stilinski moves to Beacon Hills for his junior year of high school and accidentally adopts a pack of teenage werewolves.

There’s No Escape for the Potato Man by isthatbloodonhisshirt

(1/1 I 53,977 I Teen I Sterek)

“Who is this? Where’s Erica?”

“Wrong number, asshole!”

“Stop calling me an asshole,” the man on the other end snapped aggressively.

Stiles could understand. He’d be pretty aggressive too if he’d murdered someone and texted a wrong number to ask for help burying the body. This guy obviously failed How To Be a Serial Killer 101.

“What kind of idiot thinks I murdered someone?”

“The kind of idiot who got your text messages, you fucking dumbass!” he retorted hotly. “Maybe double check your contacts before sending a random stranger details on your nefarious plans to dispose of a freshly cut up body!”

“What?!” the guy on the other end demanded, crossed between horrendously confused and livid.

Have You Met Me? by Niecy8

(23/23 I 60,462 I Mature I Steter)

Derek’s eyes widened as his mouth contorted. “Good luck with that. First of all, he has sworn off alphas. Second of all, he will never ever agree to fake date and third of all, he’s just as stubborn as you.”

Oh, this idea of his was becoming more of a challenge. Peter certainly doesn’t want to back down now. “Please Derek. I am Peter Hale. I am charismatic as fuck. I can steal candy from a baby. Stiles will be no match for me.” And he was an omega. Despite what his nephew said, he could definitely turn on his alpha charm and the boy will be putty in his hand. It would be a slam dunk in his book.

Laughing through a wheeze which was rude by the way, Derek caught his breath. “Please tell me when you go to his place so I can video when he slams the door in your face.”

Later, there would be a door slammed in his face. Yet the boy did take the flowers Peter brought over as an ice breaker before doing so because Peter can be warming and Derek was not there smirking at him so he called it win.

Yep, challenged accepted. He would most certainly convince a certain omega to fake date him for a week.

What Fresh Twilight Bullshit Is This? by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

(7/7 I 196,137 I Explicit I Sterek)

“I am not Bella!” he insisted, shaking his fist angrily at Jackson, as if he’d been the one to suggest he was. “I am not Bella! I am, like, a Jacob, at least!”

Lydia made a noise of debate from his right and he whipped around to look at her.

“What?! What was that sound?!”

“You’re more of a Mike,” she insisted, shrugging neatly and flipping some curls over her shoulder.

“Wha—” Stiles had never been so offended in his life! “I am not! No way! I am a solid Jacob!”

“Mike,” she argued.

“Who’s Mike?” Scott asked.

“Shut up, Scott!” Stiles insisted, pointing a finger at him but still glaring at Lydia.

AND

@lovesouthernsweettea and @harriet-wimsey suggested this one!

stuck in reverse by crazyassmurdererwall (smartalli)

(1/1 I 66,656 I Explicit I Sterek)

Look, Derek is the worst. Everyone knows that. Their fearless leader is a total and complete failwolf.

Which means the rest of them? Are kind of the worst too. They’re a ramshackle, slap dashed, sorry excuse for a pack that’s about a half second away from getting one of them killed. And this is a problem, because Stiles would really like to survive high school. Thanks.

Still, nobody deserves what Derek has gone through. Nobody.

And it’s about time somebody told him that.

AND

@midnightwinterhawk suggested these!

stuck in reverse by crazyassmurdererwall (smartalli)

(1/1 I 65,656 I Explicit I Sterek)

Look, Derek is the worst. Everyone knows that. Their fearless leader is a total and complete failwolf.

Which means the rest of them? Are kind of the worst too. They’re a ramshackle, slap dashed, sorry excuse for a pack that’s about a half second away from getting one of them killed. And this is a problem, because Stiles would really like to survive high school. Thanks.

Still, nobody deserves what Derek has gone through. Nobody.

And it’s about time somebody told him that.

Shovels and Dirt by bellefire

(15/15 I 88,628 I Mature I Sterek)

The nogitsune’s power doesn’t leave Stiles after the spirit is defeated. No, it seems Stiles was changing and knowing what that darkness did to his friends he refuses to put them in danger again. He leaves without a word. Now in a new city with not quite new friends Stiles realizes no one can run forever. Because family doesn’t back down and also, yeah, that fuckin’ tree really is talking to him.

AND

@nolanfa suggested this one!

See You on the Other Side by damnitgreenberg

(18/18 I 146,077 I Mature I Sterek)

Stiles isn't doing so well on the ‘dealing with life’ front. He'll admit to that freely, okay? But he quickly discovers he isn't the only one, and that person’s inability to adapt and roll with the punches may cost Stiles his own life.

AND

@ah-lone-drah suggested this one!

Derek's Person by ash_mcj

(3/? I 3,916 I General i Sterek)

Derek didn’t like people—they set him on edge in a way that nobody quite seemed to understand, much to his vexation. They always invited themselves into his space, like they somehow had a right to be there. They touched his clothes, his books, his skin—leaving their scents clinging to things that were supposed to smell like himself. They expected him to talk to them, and never managed to wrap their heads around the notion that he just couldn’t. Words were difficult for him to use most of the time, and despite all efforts to communicate in other ways, people just didn’t understand. But it didn’t matter anyway, because Derek didn’t like people and had no inclination to socialize with them.

But Stiles was…different, somehow. He did everything that Derek hated, and more. He intruded into Derek’s space, he rambled constantly, loudly, with flailing arms and fidgeting fingers—and his presence should have driven Derek up the wall, but it didn’t. Stiles didn’t set him on edge, like everyone else did. And maybe most surprising of all, he understood him.

[or: reclusive, feral-risk derek hale finds solace in a wild child, much to his pack’s surprise]

#teen wolf #sterek #stiles stilinski #derek hale #stiles and jackson #anastasia review #submission

[utilitycaster]

Level 10!

You may or may not know the drill:

Corrections about actually wrong items or major omissions are welcome. "Um, actually"-ing because I did not list every single spell or feat available or speculate the exact same things you did is not.

Because the cast usually does a brief video shortly before the episode for level-ups now (as they did today!), rather than announcing it at the end of an episode, this includes speculation and a bit of editorializing on my thoughts for the next few levels. This isn't necessarily meant to be accurate to what the cast will do, so don't quote me on it - it's just my thoughts on what I think might make sense or will be interesting. Those thoughts may very well change significantly as the story continues.

Anyway, level 10: it's a subclass-centric level for most of the players.

Chetney: His rogue level means he's blood hunter 9, which means Grim Psychometry, the coolest ability, which grants advantage on knowledge checks surrounding tragic or dark histories, with the potential for the DM to grant visions. Looking forward: assuming Chet keeps moving forward with blood hunter, L10 is a big one for him, as his speed increases by 5 feet, he gets another blood curse, and he gains a +3 (INT modifier) to all physical saves.

Laudna: She took a level in sorcerer, so she gets another sorcery point and another spell, this time up to 4th level; I drafted this post a while back and forgot to check the spell list for sorcerer so you're invited go nuts on your spell thoughts in the notes! Looking forward: Look. I've covered my mechanical concerns about this multiclass. Personally, had I been playing a character with this build from level 3 in a party with another sorcerer, I'd have stopped at 3 sorcerer levels and leveled exclusively in warlock. However, she's now 7 levels into sorcerer and so stopping that to go warlock will probably hamstring her mechanically, especially since the 6th level Undead feature is not terribly impressive. I think one last warlock level might be good for the ASI and the known spell, since warlocks have a more interesting spell list, and it makes narrative sense at this point now that Delilah is reawakened, but then I'd probably continue to take the rest in sorcerer. I AM very interested in how Laudna will deal with Delilah since I don't see her getting another undead patron to replace her, but that's so speculative that I'll hold off until something changes.

FCG: FCG gets a new cantrip, a new 5th level spell slot, and the ability to roll for divine intervention, which promises to be a fucking trip (complimentary). Looking forward: 6th level cleric spells, which he'll get at level 11, have a lot of bangers, but I am personally most invested in FCG's Heroes' Feast.

Fearne: with a 9th level in druid she gets access to 5th level spells, and her circle spells are Mass Cure Wounds and Flame Strike, both of which are excellent. As always for druid levels, Little Mister's HP goes up by 5. Looking forward: I'm assuming Fearne's continuing with druid levels, and if so, the level 10 feature of Cauterizing Flames allows her to use the death of a creature (enemy, ally, or bystander) to create a spectral flame that can either heal or harm others who enter that space. This is amazing and I'm excited.

Imogen: At level 10, she gains another cantrip and another metamagic option. I personally think subtle spell is the best one (and given the Vanguard's tendency to collar mages they dislike, could be huge if they come into conflict), but quickened, which Laudna has, can also be clutch. Looking forward: Chain Lightning does seem like an apt spell for her to take, but personally I'd love True Seeing as more interesting and higher utility while still thematic.

Orym: At level 10, he learns two more maneuvers, and his superiority dice become d10s. There are a ton of maneuvers and I will freely admit I don't know them all, but I do like the idea of Commander's Strike (let Ashton and Chet do more damage), Distracting Strike, or Maneuvering attack. Looking forward: Level 11 grants Orym three attacks per turn, which is really the most fun fighter feature.

Ashton: Level 10 is a path feature level, and we don't know the details of their subclass, so it's up in the air! I'm excited to see what it is. Looking forward: level 11 grants relentless rage; if he drops to 0 HP while raging (for the record Ashton has only gone out 3 times; two were during the Otohan fight and one in the Ratanish fight) he can make a con save to remain conscious.

#bells hells #critical role

[clangenrising]

Month 14 - Newleaf

As usual, rumors spread through camp like a wildfire in greenleaf. When Sagetooth got back from tending the garlic patches, she immediately overheard Ospreymask and Branchbark whispering about something scandalous. 

“It’s just ironic, isn’t it?” Ospreymask was saying. “Like, he’s always getting on me for being too chummy with Pebblefall or whoever and then he goes and has kits with a rogue.” 

“Yeah,” agreed Branchbark, tail twitching. “I honestly don’t think it’s that big a deal, but it’s a little funny that it’s him. Like, I guess now he’ll get a taste of his own medicine.” 

“Who will?” snapped Sagetooth. Both warriors flinched, fur brushing up, and turned to look at her like they had been caught eating prey on patrol. 

Ospreymask recovered quickly, though. “Russetfrond,” she whispered conspiratorially. “He got Mystique pregnant.” 

Sagetooth sighed heavily. “That fool boy. What was he thinking?”

“Who knows,” Branchbark huffed. “Maybe he thinks the rules don’t apply to him now that he’s deputy.” Sagetooth wasn’t listening anymore. She stalked off towards her den, rehearsing the scolding she was going to give Russetfrond when she saw him next. 

She couldn’t believe it! She knew that the world was going insane these days - both Stormwhisper and Blazingbrush having broken the code and had kits - but if there had been anyone she had expected to stick to tradition, it would have been Russetfrond. He’d always had more sense than his mother. Honestly, Sagetooth liked the boy. It was that small affection that was feeding her massive disappointment now. 

She wasn’t expecting to see him in her den. He was talking with Oddstripe and both of them looked up when she entered. Russetfrond’s ears slid backwards in shame. 

“There you are,” she said, scowling at him. 

“Sagetooth,” Oddstripe started, surely about to counsel her to go easy on him, but Russetfrond raised his tail to stop the other healer. 

“It’s alright, Oddstripe,” he said grimly. “Would you give us a moment?” 

Oddstripe hesitated but nodded, lips pursed. “Alright.” Ears back against his skull, he slank out of the den, leaving them alone. 

“I can't believe you,” Sagetooth said. “How could you be so foolish?” 

“I don’t know,” he sighed, looking down at his paws. “I’m sorry Sagetooth. This never should have happened.” 

“Damn right!” she huffed, stomping past him to deposit her garlic in the herb stores. “Goldenstar has always had trouble respecting Clan tradition so I would have expected this from someone like her but you? You must have known this wasn’t acceptable behavior!” She sat down and turned to look at him, making her disapproval clear on her face. 

“I did,” he said, and Sagetooth was surprised by his melancholy. “I knew the whole time that it was wrong and I still did it. I thought it would be fine if I kept it a secret, as if StarClan didn’t already know. I’m lucky they didn’t pick a harsher punishment.” Despite herself, Sagetooth felt her heart soften. 

“Yes, you are,” she said firmly. “I’m glad you at least seem to understand what you did wrong.” 

“I do,” he nodded, meeting her eyes with a hollow, hopeless gaze. That broke her heart. That expression didn’t belong on his powerful face. 

“Tch, come here,” she sighed, spreading her tail to invite him close. He obediently approached and settled down against her flank, leaning down into her despite his superior height. Sagetooth stretched up to give him a few licks around the ears. 

“What’s done is done, kit,” she continued. “All that’s left is how you make it right. You’ve told Goldenstar?”

“Yes,” he huffed sullenly. “She said it wasn’t going to be a problem. I hate how accepting she’s being about it.” 

“It’s her way,” scowled Sagetooth. She pushed down the complaints she had that were begging to be voiced. Her duty now was to guide Russetfrond, not gripe about Goldenstar. “Have you tried convincing the kittypet to join the Clan?” 

“Yes,” he sighed. “She’s not going to cooperate. It was all I could do to keep her from taking the kits back to her twolegs.” Sagetooth growled lowly. Kittypets…

“Well, good on you,” she said definitively. “Once they’re born they’ll need a strong paw to raise them up. I’m sure you’ll be able to foster their loyalties properly and turn them into excellent warriors.” 

“Thank you, Sagetooth.” Russetfrond closed his eyes and leaned into her. She wrapped her tail around him and purred reassuringly. 

“It’s going to be alright,” she said into his forehead. “The Clan will be there for you. StarClan is forgiving. This is a blessing in disguise, mark my words.” Russetfrond grunted tiredly. The two of them sat there for a good long while, Sagetooth letting him take comfort in her presence. It was good, she thought, to feel like her guidance was needed again. 

She closed her eyes and sent a silent prayer to StarClan. Let him learn his lesson, she prayed. Let these kits be loyal warriors. Let their mother cause no problems. 

After a few more long, quiet moments, Russetfrond gathered himself and stood up with a deep, slow breath. “I should get back to work,” he said. “Sparrowpaw has a lot of training to do before he gets his warrior name.” 

“Good,” Sagetooth nodded. “Devote yourself to your Clan. It will make these next few months easier.” He nodded dutifully, looking a little less defeated. “And don’t be afraid to come to me if you need advice. It’s what I’m here for.”

“I will,” he said. “Thank you, Sagetooth.” 

“StarClan guide you, kit,” she dipped her head and he returned the gesture.

#clan gen #clangen #warrior cats #warriors #warrior cats oc #warriors oc #clangen oc #clan gen oc #Sagetooth #Ospreymask #Branchbark #Russetfrond #Oddstripe #Newleaf #clangenrising

[lokisgoodgirl]

Bow to Me [Avenger!Loki x Fem.Reader]

Part of the Hostile F*cks Collection A link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: (15) Reveals and eroticism are rife at Stark's Renaissance Faire. (w/c 4.2k) Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Smuttish. Language.

The veil fastened to your forehead by a simple gold band billowed around your shoulders. Heavy skirts fluttered around your ankles, an approaching banner of war. Thor’s eyes grew wide with alarm, seeing your determined stride through a maze of colourful bunting. There would be no escape this time. He threw a fresh candy apple to the side mid-bite, taking off with a comical run to the nearest high topped tent. It was thirty minutes into Stark’s annual family fun-day. The theme this year? Renaissance Faire. And you were already prepared to go medieval on pretty much everybody in attendance.

Several wide-eyed children looked up at you in awe as you strode between them, the heavy folds of your skirts swishing purposefully on your way to confront the cowardly god. “Fhor is afwaid of her.” one of the children lisped, to a chorus of hushed woww’s that followed you like a breeze. You smirked, lifting the luxurious panel of the costume tent to reveal a cowering Thor trying frantically to conceal himself with ye olde dust sheet. “Desist, woman!” he whined dramatically, stretching out a hand with the sheet hanging limply, the other shielding his eyes. “Do not tempt me with your corseted bosom and coquettish wiles, I beg of you. You know not what you do!" You folded your arms, trying not to laugh. “I’m not trying to make you break the Oath of Most Ass-yoor-red Recompense, idiot - your dick is safe as far as I’m concerned.” you said, watching Thor’s eye squint between parted fingers. “You know of this?” he mumbled warily. “Oh, I know of this.” you smirked. His arms fell to his sides, a look of bamboozled relief on his face. “Thank the gods.” he murmured. “I thought for sure when I saw your fiery demeanour out yonder that you had finally come to your senses and decided you must have me.” he looked at you with sudden panic. “Not that I would-I wouldn’t...oh, do not tell my broth-” You raised a hand, his words fumbling to a merciful stop. “I need to ask you something.” you said slowly, hoping he could sense the need for some semblance of sincerity. Thor's brow furrowed. “Loki said I needed to speak to you, it’s weird – so, well he can see...he says- um, flashes of things in my head and I wondered…” you trailed off, feeling suddenly foolish under Thor’s blank stare. “Go on.” he gestured expectantly, arms folded. His brows were raised, as if you had said nothing of any note at all. It was your turn to frown. “Well, what the fuck is up with that? It’s rude.” you snapped. Thor chuckled. “You are in love with him. Obviously.” he scoffed, turning over his shoulder to glance at himself in the mirror. He smoothed a rogue blonde strand, pouting. “Why do people keep saying that?” you huffed, brushing the front of your dress as heat rose in your cheeks. “Everyone knows I can’t stand him so I don’t know why you’re both obsessed with-”

“Mother used to do it to me all the time…” he continued, ignoring you as he re-adjusted the short velvet cape clasped to his shoulders. He had dressed as a king for today’s festivities. Because of course he had.

“I understand your misgivings. It is rather inconvenient. For instance, if you wish to conceal that it was you who mistakenly defecated in the pantry and your mother asks you who defecated in the pantry and you are trying to think of anything but defac-” “-OK, Thor.” you cut him off with a snap, heart thundering. “...But in my defence” he continued unwaveringly, straightening his garish plastic crown. “I was a mere five hundred at the time. Just discovered ale, you see.” he said, turning with an innocent grin which faltered when he saw your steely stare. You frowned as Thor cleared his throat. “Even you mortals have an innate barrier to the invasive sight of others, something you enact as easily as breathing.” he said, traces of mirth ebbing. “When a person feels love, that barrier falters – and recipients of that love who are gifted with magic can, you know...” “See into their thoughts?” you finished. Thor shook his head. “Read their emotions, things that make them feel. Like empathy, as overrated as is it. Or guilt – such as the guilt one may feel over allegedly defecating in a pantry.” You rolled your eyes. “Well it’s bullshit. I can’t love him – he’s awful.” Thor nodded sagely, straightening his velvet tunic. “My brother likely shares your disquiet, in all honesty.” he muttered, adjusting his crown. “In truth, I thought he would be more unbearable when this eventually happened, but he has maintained a surprising amount of decorum. You should thank him.” “Thank him?!" you snorted incredulously. "I don’t think so.” Thor preened, as moments passed in silence. “Wait…” you said slowly. “He’s never been able to do this before?” Thor shrugged, swishing his cape theatrically across his chest. He looked at you blankly as your eyes widened in disbelief. “You mean...no one’s ever loved him? How is that possible?” you whispered, hearing Thor chuckle. “You speak of love often for someone who is not, in fact, in love.” he said, raising a bushy eyebrow. “In answer to your question...those who may have developed those feelings for him became...distracted.” Thor shuffled on his feet, gaze drawn back to himself in the mirror. “Distracted?” you murmured curiously. “Yes.” he replied. “By me. An unfortunate consequence of being the unquestionable biological jewel of the family, one cannot blame them really.” You suddenly remembered the conversation which sparked their sword-fight in the training hall last month. ‘Since when did you respect the Covenant of the First Seed, brother?’ Loki had spat with fire. You remembered the casual indifference painted on Thor’s brow, radiating a confidence that was severely lacking in his present state. ‘I see not how it is my fault that you could not satisfy your lovers, Loki.’ the blonde in front of you had said. “You fucked his girlfriends? Thor, that’s sick.” you hissed, shaking your head. Thor chuckled again. “They came to me, my Lady. In their glances across the dining hall with red jewels in their hair. Flashing garters a deep shade of maroon that would make Borr himself weak. The Ordinance of the Colours is no trifle. You know yourself the power of my seductive prowess. How could they resist?”

You grimaced. “Well, I did.” you sniped, folding your arms. “Yes…” Thor conceded thoughtfully, before flicking his hair back. “But you are also in love with my brother so your unnatural tastes cannot be accounted for.”

Your mind was suddenly flooded with memories of the rage in Loki’s hands and teeth as he tore the red dress from your body the night of the shareholders party. The venom in his eyes as he watched it explode in the air in a burst of green light. The way his stare hardened at the sight of your cleavage cupped in crimson lingerie, the ancient sword conjured as deathly sharp as his cheekbones to set his brother away from you. It wasn’t Asgardian bullshit. It was more than that. And for the first time, you felt something stronger than anger. Guilt. You swallowed, chin raised defiantly as Thor’s smug gaze trawled your features. It wasn’t often he found himself on the stronger side of a debate. You ran a finger nonchalantly along a rail of cloaks hanging to your side, before inspecting the tip for non-existent dust. “Not that he does but I mean theoretically if he loved me, just you know...out of interest...I should be able to hear his thoughts, right?” “No.” Thor scoffed disbelievingly. “That is a ridiculous notion. You are not gifted.” “Right.” you said, lips hardening in a tight line. Thor sighed theatrically. “If it alleviates your malaise, I have never seen him show so much hostility towards someone he has not slaughtered moments later.” “Why would that alleviate my malaise?” you sneered, feeling your stomach flutter. “And I don’t have ‘malaise’ for god’s sake” you spat, unconvincingly, fidgeting with the loose belt at your waist. “Its not like I want him to love me I was just you know, checking.” Thor looked up coyly beneath pale lashes, a smug glint in his eye that he had doubtless learned from his infuriating brother. “My lady, if my observation does not betray his heart, then truly I do not know what does.” You stared at him mutely. He sighed again. “It is nuanced, I grant you. My brother is a frustrating creature. Believe me, I empathise.” He turned back to the mirror, admiring himself. “Rogers gave me a book this yuletide, regarding your 'Love Languages' by some alleged scholar or other. Well, my brother’s love language is... hostility.” he announced, pleased with his assessment. You rolled your eyes, fully aware the butterflies in your stomach had become a flock of sparrows. “Did you read the book?” you said flatly, hoping Thor didn’t catch the twitch of your jaw as you tried to contain the twist of nerves in your chest. “Well, no.” he said incredulously, face softening before he gave a knowing wink. “But that does not mean I am wrong.” You heard the quick succession of approaching footsteps outside the tent. “Thor! Come!” a familiar voice roared, thick and rich. “Preparations for the joust are a disaster. They intend to use horses, of all things – allegedly there are no flighting moose...on Midga-” Loki bristled, one arm frozen in drawing back the tent’s curtain.

Thor straightened the lapel of his obscenely luxurious padded tunic, tilting his toy crown askew. “What think you of my regalia, brother?” he drawled regally, spreading his hands wide to the sides. “I think there cannot be two kings.” Loki snarled bitterly, resting a hand on the hilt of a sword slung by his hip. A dull one, you hoped.

He too was dressed in costumed finery; a lapel of ermine cupping his chin above a perfectly fitted tunic of such rich green it was almost black. An ornate golden chain hung in a semi-circle around his shoulders, making a crescent on his broad chest. You ran your eyes down his long body, a pair of pale hose snug to his endlessly muscled legs. He was positively poured into them, the opaque fabric smoothing the raw animalistic power hidden beneath their cover. They ran down to a ridiculous pair of heeled, buckled shoes. Green, naturally. Loki shifted his stance, feet pointed to the exit. You watched the bulge of his thighs ripple, femurs outlined exquisite against the sinful tights which clung to carved limbs like a second skin. Your eyes lingered on his bulge, the lower curve just visible beneath the hem of the tunic. Saliva evaporated on your tongue. You tried to swallow - begging yourself to forget every historical sex scene you had ever rewound as your fingers pulsed on your clit. The god’s hair fell in luscious waves, set against the white fur tucked beneath his jaw like black paint on snow. He was beautiful. And he too, was wearing a crown. Because of course he was. “You are correct brother, there cannot be two kings at this revelry – but by a happy accident I only see one present.” Thor winked at you again. Loki’s eyes narrowed. “Is that a flirtation I observe, brother?” Thor paled. “No, he’s fine.” you said quickly, feeling your cheeks heat beneath Loki’s glare. He hadn’t spoken a word to you since your last tense encounter in the Snack Shack six days ago, every raise of your hand during meetings causing a mighty roll of his eyes akin to the old days. The weight of your interrupted conversation hung heavily in the air. Wafting like cigar smoke. Stifling.

Suddenly Thor barged towards his brother and turned sideways to exit the tent, the width of his ridiculous puffed sleeves causing him to shuffle awkwardly past his stoic sibling. Loki shot you a cold glare, nodding expectantly towards the exit for you to follow him. You sauntered casually towards the gap, taking no mind of the smouldering gaze rolling appraisingly over your medieval dress like treacle. Loki held the curtain of the tent high, his arm stoically positioned above your head as you finally felt the waft of a fresh breeze on your heated cheeks. “Agent.” he murmured in unnecessary greeting as you passed, making you pause. The scent of him invaded alongside the breath you didn’t know you had been holding. Wood smoked leather and dusky sandalwood. Pine. It clung to his onyx curls; hanging like a un-repentant traitor on every stitch of gold thread wound into the tight tunic snug against his torso. You could feel his eyeline trail down the valley of your cleavage as easily as if it was his tongue. “You’ve been ignoring me.” you said quietly, eyes fixed on Thor standing ahead; hoisting up his hoes with an exaggerated squat. People were staring. “Have I, Agent?” Loki purred, craning down from his position. His lips grazed the tip of your cheekbone as he spoke. Was he smelling your hair? “I didn’t think you would notice. Considering how little you think of our interactions.” he murmured. You could hear a snarl behind his teeth, barely masked venom blossoming on the cusp of each word like brewing tea.

You tilted your chin, the space between two pairs of parted lips excruciatingly small. Raising your eyes to meet his, you found no warmth there. No playfulness. Not today. And to be honest, after what Thor had told you, you didn’t blame him. Loki’s eyes narrowed, readjusting his grip on the fabric panel held aside above your head. “If you have nothing further to say, Agent…” he sneered sarcastically against your ear. His body curved away from you, ensuring that not a single part of his achingly erotic form touched yours. Loki’s haughty condescension sliced through the melting desire in your core, a weirdly comforting irritation usurping it. The thick golden chain hanging against his collarbone glinted in the afternoon sun, vying for your attention. Self-centred, presumptive arsehole, you flamed, feeling renewed warmth seep across your skin. Does he expect me to tell him I fucking ‘love’ him while his brother is rummaging around his crotch twenty feet away? Your gaze locked onto the sight of Thor’s face twisted in confusion as he tried to arrange himself covertly beneath the hose. Loki’s conceited confidence made you boil, a confusion of emotions competing in your addled brain making you feel nauseous. “You’re wrong.” you managed to say, voice strained. Loki chuckled mirthlessly beside you. “We’ll see.” he replied ominously, as you began to walk forward. You didn’t know why you had stopped in the first place. The chiffon headdress fluttered around your chin. Now that the adrenaline of searching for Thor had dissipated, you could finally take in the surroundings of Stark’s much anticipated event. A calculated distraction, you would admit. Swathes of bygone-era dressed guests moved in groups from stall to stall. The faint pluck of a lute troupe audible over the buzz of the crowd, humming like birds in the rustling waves of trees surrounding the clearing. Stationary wagons holding every manner of historical food and beverage you could think of were dotted about. Tony had really spunked the budget this year. Silently, you walked sandwiched between two simmering gods towards the only group of familiar faces; hovering by the food carts.

“What were the three of you doing in the costume tent?” Wanda said coyly, wriggling her eyebrows. You shook your head subtly. Loki frowned. “I think the better query is why Lang is sporting that counterfeit phallus.” he drawled, drawing his eyes judgementally over the protrusion from Scott’s hose-clad hips. The subject of his jibe’s eyes widened, a gargantuan roasted turkey leg covering the lower half of his face. “Wha-?” he mouthed, meat flicking into the air and hitting Nat on the forehead. Scott swallowed with difficulty, gesturing at his crotch with a free hand. “Hello?! It’s a Ren faire! Cod-pieces galore am I right? Everyone’s got em. You’ve got one for god’s sa-” He stopped mid-sentence, gaze lingering once more on the draw of Loki’s hypnotic groin outlined perfectly beneath the tights. You traced the curves of your sometime-lover’s bulge covetously, remembering the smack of the shutters against your lower back as he railed into you like a furious, feral animal; fucking for survival. God, had it only been a week? It felt like years. Loki shifted his stance, folding his arms as he widened his hips. “We both know that I do not require such auspicious modifications, Lang.” he said slowly, a smile tugging his lips as Scott’s cheeks flushed.

“Please tell me we’re not talking about Laufeyson’s ding-dong again…” Steve whined over your shoulder, making you jump. He sashed into the centre of the circle, hands folded together beneath the long brown draping of his sleeves. A wooden cross hung around his neck, a thick rope of cream tied to his waist. Gone was the shock of radiant blonde hair, and in its place a questionable skullcap complete with dark bowel-cut. Friar Rogers. You lowered your eyes to the ground, feeling your chest begin to contract with laughter. For a moment, you saw Loki’s feet shuffle closer; just a little. Steve’s blue eyes widened pleadingly, every inch a man of the cloth. “Can we please try to keep lewdness to a minim-” “-I think what Tuck Shop is trying to say is that there are children, children.” Tony chided with amusement, as he sauntered out of nowhere to take his place beside the good Friar. Deep lines on his forehead danced with barely contained mirth. Or maybe he’d just been at the mead. A resplendent crown sat jauntily on his head, a tunic of red tinselled satin and silver thread replacing his trademark t-shirt and jeans. In one hand, he held a ridiculously large steak on a stick. In the other, a tankard. He took a sip, as Steve glanced around, flinching as a juggler appeared out of nowhere and disappeared into the crowd. Tony burped, before posturing thoughtfully. “Although, I think collectively we can agree we’re all obsessed with Laufeyson’s ‘ding-dong’.” he quipped, raising an eyebrow around the circle. “I mean...it’s worth its not un-sizeable weight in free PR, for one thing.” Steve flushed an alarming shade of crimson, cut off comically at the base of his skullcap. Loki sighed with theatrical exasperation. “Stark, you declared that I was to be the King in today’s farcical proceedings.” he said petulantly, with no attempt to hide his irritation. “Did I?” Tony gasped, pressing a palm to his chest. Thor snorted. “I think not, brother.” he scoffed. “The crown should fall in direct lineage to those who are worthy. I would be willing to concede my post as King of this fete if you would but grant me your renewed Oath of Most Assured Recompense in return?” he goaded, making Loki’s jaw clench. You heard him inhale sharply- “-No more Oaths!” you snapped, making both brothers jump. “This is ridiculous. You can both be kings, no one cares.” There were murmurs of agreement from the rest of the group. Tony raised his hand incredulously while Loki and Thor let out a simultaneous derisive snort. “Both?!” the blonde boomed, shaking his head. “My, my it truly would never have worked between us.” he said wistfully. Loki rolled his eyes as Rogers backed slowly out the circle, seeming to glide glacially with tiny steps beneath the sway of his shit-coloured robes. “Well then one of you change.” Nat growled, as you started to feel the antsy crawl of awkward tension tingle up your arms again. Thor laughed. “There is not one garment in the tent from whence we came that would fit over one of my mighty calves, Romanoff. Tis’ my brother who shall have to concede.” “Did they really think I’d give anyone else the King job at my own damn party?” you heard Tony scoff loudly to no-one. “Asgardians, I’m tellin ya…” You saw the muscle in Loki’s cheek bob as he ground his teeth. Tony bit into the speared steak in his hand, enjoying it all immensely. The dark god’s eyes flashed, a glimmer of something sparking heat between your legs.

“Fine.” Loki snapped, “As it happens I came prepared for such traitorous shenanigans. A lifetime of dealing with you, brother, has taught me to always save my best for when you show your hand.” he smirked, eyes flickering between you and a sceptical Thor. “Besides…” he purred slowly, stalking his gaze in your direction. “I have found that people are quite willing to bow to me... even without a crown.”

He grasped one of the golden tips with his thumb and forefinger, thrusting the ornament to the ground at Thor’s feet with a flick of his wrist. You saw a green glow lap at Loki’s feet, moving slowly upwards. He could do this in a millisecond if he wanted, but he was putting on a show. His twee buckled shoes melted to thick black leather, rolling up his calves like armour. Edges appeared below the knees, shifting inward to coat his carved thighs in matching trousers which, somehow, gave the illusion of being even snugger than the cream tights. You swallowed, unable to tear your eyes away as a wave of wild fur blossomed around his torso; bear or fox or- “-Wolf.” Loki purred rakishly in your direction, his tongue taking its time over the syllable like a seductive bark. “Urgh, I love it when he does that.” Wanda cooed huskily, giving her face a dramatic fan. You rolled your eyes, shuffling with your arms folded. Suddenly your corset felt tight. Very tight. In the seconds your gaze had been averted, a thick leather belt had appeared around Loki’s midriff, cinching the fur. Heavy pendants hung from his neck, glinting in the afternoon sun against bare skin. The wolf fur ran in a deep V to his naval, every inch a slutty medieval bandit. Christ, you thought. I’m fucked.

“This will suit my new posting for the festivities all the better, anyway.” Loki sneered towards his brother as Tony took another gulp of mead. He flicked his hair over his shoulders, the haughty slice of his jaw making you flinch as it pointed to you. “I find that women prefer characters’ with a little more...depth. Isn’t that right, Agent?” Wanda elbowed you in the ribs playfully as Thor squinted; bamboozled. “What does that mean?” he scoffed. “I thought you on greeting duty, of all things…over yonder.” He tilted his head towards the line of families queued at the entrance, excited children jumping up and down. You saw a young girl burst into tears as a manically grinning Friar Steve loomed over her, draped sleeves hanging from arms stretched in greeting before her mother snatched her away. Loki smirked. “I have been re-assigned.” he said, glinting eyes making a flutter shuffle in your belly. His thumbs hooked into the thick leather belt, tugging downward. What you wouldn’t give to feel the smart of that leather whip across your ass as he took you against a tree in the wilderness beyond the faire’s boundary. Maybe he will, you thought as a thrill flooded soared beneath the anachronistic lace panties you were wearing. Loki’s lashes fluttered upwards, his lip curling before those ethereal features hardened again. He had been colder than usual this past week, and you had a feeling that today would be no different, given the circumstances.

“Yah – he’s on the archery range now.” Tony interjected casually, breaking the stare you didn’t know you were burning into the profile of Loki’s jawline.

Nat shook her head. “What the fuck? Where’s Clint?” she said, glancing around the bustling thoroughfare. Tony shrugged, talking through a mouthful of ye olde steak. “Said he didn’t feel like it today, his voice sounded a little hoarse on the phone.” Nat’s brow arched, swinging her eyes suspiciously towards Loki. The god rocked on his heels, a tiny shrug making his shoulders bounce as he tried to contain the smile pressing at his dimples. “I didn’t know you could shoot.” you scoffed, fidgeting with the veil hanging by your collarbone. “You never asked, Agent.” he drawled innocently, running a hand through his perfectly waved hair. “But truly...are you surprised?” Nat suddenly yanked you to the side of the group. She cast a quick glance back to the circle closing in on Loki, admiring his new outfit. Scott was rubbing a palm repeatedly down his pelted chest while the god smirked, pleased with himself. “He’s done something with Clint.” she hissed over your shoulder. You frowned, leaning back incredulously to see the concern etched plainly on her face. “He wouldn’t…” you whispered, glancing at a resplendent, wolf fur clad Loki stretching his ridiculously long arms to Scott's unbridled awe. “Whatever the fuck is going on with you guys, I don’t give a shit.” Nat said quietly. “Go with Laufeyson, find out where he’s put him. Barton could be passed out enchanted off his nuts in a port-a-potty and we’d never find him.”

You narrowed your eyes, trying to read her face. “Nat I…” you started, fully intending to stand your ground. Suddenly there was a low whistle. Both of you twisted around, seeing Loki drawn to his full height; hair flowing over the puffed collar of his furs with his thumb and forefinger slotted in his mouth. The curve of his ass in the aged leather trousers was obscene, thick thighs creasing the material as it fought against its master. Christ, how you wanted to sink your teeth into them as you buried yourself between his achingly long legs. There were screams from the crowd before it parted, a panicked flurry of feathered hats and veils and skirts flying in all directions as citizens fell over themselves. A beautiful black steed cantered through the fray, completely un-phased. It was absolutely huge, the massive muscles of it's broad chest flexing with each long step. It’s smooth coat gleamed, rich tones of deepest blue flashing amongst the inky hairs as it trotted over and stopped with its nose pressed against Loki’s palm. “Shall we, Agent?” Loki purred knowingly snapping his fingers and making a vibrant caparison unfurl on the waiting stallion. The luxurious material fell in folds, dark emerald and vibrant gold with Loki's insignia woven through the fabric. A saddle and reins manifested snug to the huge horse, who whinnied in approval. Words failed you, seeing an ornate curved bow appear in Loki's grip through a wash of flickering magic. He slung it casually over his shoulder, palm stretched toward you expectantly. You vaguely heard Scott’s murmurs of besotted admiration as a sharp nudge from Natasha in the kidneys made you stumble forwards, automatically grasping towards his hand. Before you could protest, the air was knocked out of you as Loki’s fingers gripped around your waist, throwing you up. Your ass landed sideways on the saddle with a soft thump. You scrambled to grip the reigns, steadying yourself. With a graceful bound, Loki swung himself up behind, winding arms encasing you before his nimble fingers caressed the leather reigns from your grasp.

The disbelieving stares of the gathered Avengers crawled in your periphery as his forearms tightened around your ribs. Loki's elaborately constructed garment did nothing to disguise the hardness of the muscle beneath, thick ropes of pure power shifting as he settled. You could feel the slide of traitorous arousal leaking between your thighs, desperately wet and needy for the infuriatingly smug god steadying you against his spread leathered femurs. “You can be my first student, won’t that be fun?” he smouldered darkly, the whisper of his sweet breath skating over the delicate skin beneath your ear. He chuckled softly against your cheek. "Someone has to break me in before I am unleashed on the unsuspecting public, surely." You sighed, a quiver of anticipation betraying the roar of desire between your legs as you pressed them together, hanging off the side of his steed. The horse stamped once. Impatient, like his master. “And Agent…?” Loki murmured through a smirk, the deep baritones making you squeeze your shoulder-blades together against the expanse of rippling masculinity beneath the wolf-pelt. “I have quite the lesson in mind.”

Continued in Bow to Me: Quivering Part of the Hostile F*cks Collection

Tags @meowmeow-motherfucker @muddyorbsblr @imalovernotahater @avengersalways @littledark11 @lokikissesmyforehead @simplyholl @mischief2sarawr @loopsisloops @michelleleewise @loveroflokiforpoeticjustice @123forgottherest @holdmytesseract @joyful-enchantress @sititran @jaidenhawke @silverfire475 @vbecker10 @imalovernotahater @thomase1 @lovelysizzlingbluebird @fictional-hooman @filthyhiddles @maple-seed @pineappleandro @goblingirlsarah @ozymdias @peaches1958 @your-taste-on-my-lips @wolfmoonmusic @justjoanne242 @peachyjinx @praq123 @trickster-maiden @astridstark13 @lokisgoodboy @coldnique @holymultiplefandomsbatman @lady-rose-moon @nine-leafclover @springdandelixn @littlespaceyelf @ladyofthestayingpower @soldeloki @liminalpebble @psychospore

#loki x reader #loki x female reader #hostile f*cks collection #loki laufeyson #loki laufesyon x reader #loki x yn #loki x you #loki imagine #loki laufeyson fanfic #loki smut #loki fic #loki fanfiction #loki odinson x reader #loki marvel #loki gif

[boobav]

Seaside Blue

Neuvillette x Reader

content: pure fluff, I honestly wanna write so much more for him but I'm gonna wait for the archon quests to continue...

word count: 1.3k

also on my ao3!

A canvas of purple and pink paints the sky as the sun gradually falls beneath the sea, leaving you and the land to settle into cool darkness. The sea reflects that range of colour whilst also maintaining that pure blue that the nation of Hydro commonly emitted, and clouds were splattered up above in picturesque perfection. Besides the lapping of waves and peaceful chirp of birds, there was silence all around. 

Teyvat's evenings were consistently beautiful. The colours of the bright sky varied from nation to nation, but always, they were stunning.   

You shift to get comfortable, leaning back on your palms whilst sat on a hill by the Fontaine waters. There was a light drizzle falling, enhancing the overall melancholy that joined you this evening. It wasn't an uncommon emotion, not for you nor anyone else, but it was certainly enhanced by quiet, lonely days that ended like this. It's strange how you tend to end up sad when surrounded by such magnificent nature. It made you wonder- were melancholy and content really such juxtaposing emotions? In times like these, they seemed to fuse, just like the colours in the sky came together to form a blue darkness.  

You sighed, and laid back in the grass.   

Lumine and Paimon were waiting, you knew. They were waiting for you at a hotel in Fontaine, deciding to splurge a bit instead of spending the night camping as you three usually did. You'd been in Fontaine for about two months, and not much progress had been made in regard to talking with Furina... You weren't surprised, not after seeing her personality on show during all these trials, but it was frustrating nonetheless. It felt like this journey was simply your group running in circles, witnessing history that you never intended to be a part of, over and over in an endless cycle. You could sense the frustration building in Lumine too, despite the pure kindness she housed within her heart. In the end, all you could do was keep moving forward. Such a thought should be comforting... But the prospect of doing this forever was not very appealing. Camping endlessly, never settling down, getting involved in root-deep schemes from the Fatui... It was certainly not an easy life. 

Footsteps from behind make your ears perk up. Treasure hoarders? Fatui? Every possible threat passes your mind as you pull yourself to your feet, eyes narrowed, sword in hand- but no, instead of danger, a few meters from you stands the Iudex of Fontaine, the Chief Justice himself.   

"Monsieur Neuvillette?" Your voice comes out meek, but pleased; he stops in his tracks, and there's a moment of silence as he finds the right words to say.  

"I'm sorry for approaching unannounced." He clears his throat. "May I sit with you?"  

"Oh, sure, no need to apologise..." You chuck your weapon back to the ground and return to the floor, patting the spot next to you. He appears hesitant for a moment, as if he hadn't expected you to say yes, but soon strides over. "Any court cases today? I didn't have time to read the Steambird."  

"Only one, but I had a great amount of work to get through, so that's for the better." A soft sound leaves him as he settles on the ground, looking rather out of place in his fancy court garb. His hair is so long it settles partially on the grass, and you wonder, does he have to brush it himself in the morning? Does he have some kind of assistant to help with his daily life? The thought causes a rogue pang of jealousy in your heart. "What did you do today? If you don't mind me asking." His words pull you back to reality.  

"Well..." You start, glancing away from his curious gaze, "I joined Lumine and Paimon for some adventuring. Didn't find much besides confirmation that this nation has stunning scenery, but still, I think Liyue can't be beat in that category." You lean back once more and stare out at the sky as its colours drain to a dark blue; the waves continue to lap in your ears as the trees darken against the skyline, shadows of their former bright selves. You want to say something more, something deeper that'll bring the two of you closer- but you don't.  

You never do, and neither does he.   

"I'm glad you're enjoying yourself. The nation has certainly gotten livelier since you three arrived." His voice is composed and has a tinge of coldness as usual; you can almost feel it in the air- the heaviness of words left unsaid. You hum in agreement, and turn to see his eyes have yet to leave you. Neuvillette sits stiffly as if he has no clue what to do in this casual setting, too used to standing and sitting straight as a board. It's amusing, really.  

"Are you comfortable in that suit?" You ask, because clearly, he wasn't. You reach over to the button on his ornate waistcoat and pop it open- the choking noise he stifles is not lost on you. "Take your coat off, it's warm anyway."   

Your glance meets his, faces much too close as he shrugs his jacket off. It never ceases to amaze you how absolutely ethereal his eyes are; they're every shade of blue in one, finer than the sky and deeper than the ocean. The words spill softly from your lips, barely louder than a breath, "Your eyes are beautiful." And he looks away abashedly, like he doesn't know how to react to a compliment.   

For a while, the two of you sit together in deep silence, too distracted to focus on neither the sea nor each other. Despite knowing his hard exterior is easier to crack than porcelain, you still find it difficult to find the right words. Though, Neuvillette doesn't seem to mind. He browses the scenery he's viewed a thousand times before with curiosity and awe, his lips unmoving as if words would simply get in the way. He has made his intentions clear by simply coming to see you all these evenings, in his mind. You find that soon, a dull sleepiness washes over your eyes, inviting them to close; you end up leaning your head against his shoulder without even realising it. He tenses, for a brief moment, before all stress leaves his body in a gentle exhale.   

"What do you think love is?" He asks, seemingly out of the blue, and your eyes re-open with effort. You look up, and smile at the curious expression your companion has. Curious, but not unhappy with his lack of understanding.   

"I think..." you start, "I think love is when you really feel alive. You feel emotions deeper than before, without even understanding why. Colours appear richer than before, trees look somehow more real against the sky." Neuvillette's hand hovers over the small of your back, hesitant, before wrapping around your waist. You carefully move his silky hair out of the way, and press up close to him. "Love is just viewing life in a new lens. Those amazing sights were there before... But sometimes you need help to notice them, I suppose."   

His gaze is soft now, not as piercing as usual. He brushes a stray strand of hair from your face, then looks away, back towards the sea.   

"It's an emotion that has eluded me up until recent history." He says, "Not to say I have never felt love. But listening to you explain it is like listening to poetry. Humans have a way of making even the most mundane things sound wonderfully exciting." His cerulean eyes come back to you, and a small, distant smile is present on his lips.   

"I think you're giving us too much credit." You say, but really, he was right. Maybe because only one lifetime is guaranteed, humans tend to find ways to make that short while an adventure, no matter how mundane it truly is.   

"Perhaps." His hand comes to cup your face, and you lean into it. "If it's not too much to ask, would you continue helping me learn what love is?"   

And with a soft, tired smile, you nod. You kiss his palm and feel human love at its highest peak. 

...You weren't quite sure when the rain had stopped.

#genshin x reader #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette x you #genshin impact x reader #genshin fluff

[dulcewrites]

Fool Me Once (part 7)

Summary: Time at Dragonstone leads to tense encounters. (Wc: 5k)

Paring: Aemond Targaryen x reader (y’all know the drill tho)

A/N: we are finally in dragonstone! Yay??? Lmao it’s about to get a little bumpy for reader now that she’s in the dragon’s den if you will. But I’m excited to explore team black’s dynamic. Or at least I think the dynamic would be since we really did not get that in the show. Also as our fab five (the nickname I have for fmo reader, Aemond, Aegon, Helaena, and quinton) are separated, I will be going back and forth between dragonstone and king’s landing. So we are gonna get lots of different povs which is fun

Fmo masterlist

But at last, the year of 129 AC would be one of great change for the House of the Dragon. Marked with death, triumph, and long simmering tensions boiling to the surface.

Many say the first turning of the tide was the departure of Prince Aemond Targaryen’s lady wife to Dragonstone… without him at her side. Speculation stirred around why she left; tongues ever wagging in court. Some say that it was an innocent as the young, and sprite Daella Targaryen insisting to see her ancestral home. Others had a more salacious take.

Gossip about a rift in the family swirled. One of the more of the inappropriate rumors was that youngest child of Prince Aemond was not actually his, but instead the illegitimate child of his lady wife and his brother Prince Aegon. Mushroom tells a story of the kind Queen Alicent sending away her good daughter in a fit of rage after finding out the truth. Many disputed this, nonetheless. Some claim the departure to Dragonstone was of Prince Daemon‘s demand. Court alight with the drivel of the Rogue Prince’s sexual proclivities. Talk of him and the Princess taking a special liking to Aemond’s lady wife. In more ways than one.

A more likely explanation came from Setpton Eustace. He emphasizes the smart and cunning nature of the family Aemond’s lady wife came from. Recounting that getting close to Princess Rhaenyra was just one step in a plan to landing marriage prospects for the little princess and princeling. It was said by Eustace that this angered Prince Aemond. His ire towards his sister and her family well documented.

Regardless of why she left, it was clear that family dynamics were bound to change. Whispers of a weakened house beginning to mount across the small folk. One prophet pushed the notion of the House of the Dragon being in grave trouble.

What would come in the follow years could only be explained by the Targaryen house words - Fire and Blood.

Eventually you get used to the smell of Dragonstone. In a way, it is no worse than the one that inhabits the Red Keep; just different. If you think about the smell too much, it makes you long for home. Your real one. The one that is clean, and warm. Nothing like the places you find yourself in now. At least at the Red Keep, you could facilitate a sense of domesticity with redecorating. At the Dragonstone, you are forced to stare at grey walls, and squint through dim lighting no matter how many candles are lit.

The stories you heard of Dragonstone were overflowing with fondness and reverence. Viserys was open about his love for place. You don’t know if it is the lack of Targaryen blood or if it really is just an ugly old castle.

Despite your feelings towards it, Daella had made her peace with everything. She is adaptable in the way most children are, wholly excited to be doing something different while somewhere different. Her interest in dragons only growing stronger. The high Valyrian lessons continuing. It was hard to complain if she was happy. Though her fascination with Daemon makes you pause.

You try not to think too much into it. She is at the age where everyone is interesting, including the new dragon riders around her. He must pick up on your skepticism. The head tilt and wry grin he gives you when you insist on sitting in on anything that involves her.

Quinton sticks to your side with heavy proclivity. The only time you can get away from everyone at Dragonstone was walks on the beach. It was your favorite part of the Island. The salty water of the Blackwater Bay cleared your head.

A close second of places your frequent being the Sept. There was something haunting about it. While the one in the Red Keep and in King’s Landing were grand and open. The one on Dragonstone was closed in. Just you and the statues of the Faith. Many say it is bad luck to stare at the statues of the Stranger for too long. Looking at the face of death apparently bringing bad luck. But all you can do is stare. The masts sculpture looks more animal than man.

You have accepted your fate by now. Those who go against the grain must be prepared for every option. You try to make the Stranger a familiar friend rather than foe. You memorize his face and pray for the day it does not scare you.

Helaena’s ears may be just as good as her eyes. Listening is a special trait, her mother would say.

It was supposed to be helpful. A teasing remark to help Helaena feel more comfortable about her dreams; the ones that her mother will never understand. It only made Helaena feel more isolated. Aegon would roll his eyes at the remark, and Aemond would just look curiously. Like the way she looks at her bugs. Trying to inspect and take in everything while knowing she will never truly know what it means to be them.

But Helaena does see and hear all. With the other personalities that inhabit the Red Keep, her family, it is easy to slip into the background. Easy to observe and wait till she knows what she wants to say. Your introduction into Helaena’s life had forced her to be seen. You weren’t there for anyone else, at least not in the beginning; just for Helaena. She soaked up that attention in a way that makes her crazy sometimes. The spiraling feeling, she got when she first met you reentering while you are away. She is back to being silent… invisible. A little mad.

She wonders if you would ever forgive her if you found out she was the one that brought up the prospect of you marrying Aemond. It was good thought in theory. Helaena saw how anxious you became over your parents’ insistence to start taking marriage offers seriously. At least if you were at the Red Keep, the two of you would be together. You would a part of the most powerful family in the Seven Kingdoms, and mother to dragon riders. It seemed like a no brainer to hint at it to her grandsire, who later convinced her mother.

She could delude herself into thinking it would work.

Daughters always secretly fear becoming their mothers. Following in cycles that feel like they will never be broken. She never felt more like Alicent when she watched you get married. She woke up that morning with the same floaty feeling she gets before a dream, except the dream did not come that day. But feeling lingered the whole day, and into the feast that night.

The dream finally comes years later. Dark hair, green eyes, red lips pulled into an attractive smile. She never told you; she never told anyone about that initial vision. Finding the words for what she sees has always been difficult. Even after moons of experiencing them, she still cannot predict how bad everything can be till it is going to shit in front of her. It makes her extra cautious to speak on them.

Perhaps it would have been better for you to be long away from the Red Keep married to some lord. Helaena likes to think she is better than Aegon and Aemond, and she is in many ways. But one thing they all share is their ability to be selfish when they want something. Love transforms that into an even nastier ordeal.

It is why Helaena is not surprised when Aegon began to follow you around like a kitten that wants its mother. She knew it was a matter of time before Aegon grew painfully attached to someone. Deepest of feelings often sprout from aching, wounds inside.

Though the reciprocation of feelings, whatever they may be on your part, did make Helaena pause. It was too easy to see what everything was in beginning. Men will always bend to the whims of their desires. And being desirable is a trait you wield so simply. But time has passed, masks have been dropped, and now the visions become blurred.

Helaena is not sure of your endgame anymore. She’s not sure even you know. If it was to send her and her siblings into a state of uneasiness, then you had succeeded wonderfully.

One day, she finds Aegon laying flat on his back on the balcony of the room they share. Eyes shut, and limbs laid out like a starfish. It was a rare, blindly sunny day in King’s Landing. The bright lighting only made his bags more pronounce. She was sure he had been laying there since the morning, right after the letter from you came in. The single letter for Helaena. She noticed how Aegon’s face fell.

She doesn’t see Aemond these days. Flashes of hair and leather catching her eye as he goes to his chambers or to the dragon pit. And when he is around, he is short and curt. More distant than normal. A claim she did not think was possible.

Oddly enough, the only person not on edge is their mother. Alicent seems to be floating around. Lighter than Helaena had seen her in years. She knows it is because of her half-sister. Alicent had scurried away, half smile on her face when a letter came for her.

Watching her mother in pain and sadness twisted parts in Helaena that she did know existed. Seeing Alicent happy, even in all its ephemeral glory, was worth taking and pushing down the floaty feeling in Helaena’s head.

She fears the dream will be too late again. Something is coming, and none of them are ready. They never are.

Before you left, Otto had given you a list of things to accomplish while at Dragonstone. Some things more realistic than others.

Get close to Rhaenyra.

You would be lying if you didn’t admit that she was a fascinating figure. A looming presence over everyone at King’s Landing despite never being around.

You have watched Helaena’s face fall when Viserys calls her Rhaenyra. Or notice Aegon’s eyes glaze over when Otto reprimands him about acting like a proper prince. You have helped Aemond remove the sapphire from his eye socket more times than you’d like to. Alicent’s whole demeanor changes at the sound of her name. All paths lead back Viserys’s first born.

And the most interesting part is that you do not think she even notices. It makes sense; of course, a princess and named heir would not fret over being the center of attention. She was born and bred to think she was important. More important than others.

“I thought you would like some water,” you bring out a pitcher to the outdoor area.

Rhaenyra’s head was leaning back against the chair, eyes shut, and one hand on her protruding belly. She opens her eyes softly, deep Iris saturated in calmness. Fresh air was always nice during this stage in the pregnancy. Took the mind off the uncomfortable feeling that begins to mount.

As you sit beside her, you notice the dark speck flying in the distance. Just based off the slightly bigger body of the dragon, you assume it is Jace on Vermax.

“Despite the invitation,” she begins softly. “I was worried about you coming here. Well, more worried about what you may have heard about me.”

Rhaenyra takes a sip of the water, and you notice the slight beads of sweat on her forehead.

“What do you mean Princess?”

Rhaenyra smiles, strained. “I am sure Aemond had mentioned me, mentioned my children in a less than glowing light. He still blames me for their mistake.”

You open your mouth, then close it. Often you felt like people expected you to speak on what happened to Aemond. A traumatic event that happened before your family even came to the Red Keep. While Aegon, Alicent, and Helaena recount the story in distaste and anger on Aemond’s behalf. Rhaenyra seems to brush it off as a moment of bad judgement by her son. The truth lies somewhere in the middle.

“Excuse my bluntness, but Aemond does not speak of you,” it was the truth. He was the one directly changed by whole ordeal, and you could tell by the way he avoided mentioning his sister at all costs.

Rhaenyra nods slowly. She seems not to believe you.

“But I am glad that I am here,” you try to shift the conversation. “Daella enjoys being here as well.”

While Daella had embraced the new scenery, Alaric’s attitude seemed to shift. A normally quiet baby seemingly on the verge of tears at every moment.

“I saw the egg she brought with her; it hasn’t hatched yet?”

The question takes you by surprise. Aemond had been adamant about both kids getting eggs in their cradle, the way he never did. You shake your head no. The deep green egg of Daella’s remained intact.

“I’m sure it will happen soon, or perhaps she will be like her father and claim one,” she says reassuringly. Except you do not need that reassurance. It sounds horrible, but a new dragon is the last thing you want to be worried about right now. But there is a sense that her not having one soon would be some sort of inditement on her.

You have seen the way Rhaena frets over it and have heard about the way Aemond did. You would hate to think your daughter felt like her worth was affected over a dragon. That having an unruly creature on her side will make her more valuable.

“But will it change anything,” you question. “Whether she does or does not any time soon. I know dragons are supposed to symbolize being closer to the Gods but does it really. Especially as a young girl?”

Rhaenyra’s brown furrow, pretty face pulled into deep thought. It is something she has thought about.

“No, I guess not,” she begins to pick at her rings. “At least not for me. I used to think that having Syrax meant that I was special, and because of that I would be valued more. Even compared to certain men in my life. That being named heir meant I would not have to go through certain things. In a way, I did not; my life has been different from other noble women. It will be different from other women. But I am also aware that nothing I do will ever make up for what is between my legs. Having a dragon does not change that for me. It unfortunately will not for Daella.”

Her candidness takes you by surprise. You can tell it is something that haunts her so deeply. For the first time, you feel sad for Rhaenyra. She is trapped in the same cycle you all are. Getting entangled in the same game but being the ones punished for it. The only difference is that she may eventually have the power to change it. If she will be is up for debate.

“It does not change the way the men in your family look at you, even the ones closest to you,” the words tumble out of your mouth. The flood gates that seem to open with Rhaenyra shut quickly.

The slight accusation towards Daemon or Viserys makes her back stiff. You must bite your tongue to say the next thing you are thinking. Even Targaryen women must fear those around them. The system will never be even.

———

Group dinners had become a necessary annoyance while being at Dragonstone. Some nights were you able to eat earlier when the younger kids do. Daella and you locked away in the apartments. But most nights you were all but obligated to entertain the drivel that Daemon and Rhaenyra could come up with.

After your tense conversation with Rhaenyra, you felt even more anxious about breaking bread. If there the tension was noticeable, Daemon did nothing to try and make dinner as peaceful as possible.

“Perhaps our guest can give the girls some advice on married life,” Daemon finally pipes up. Slick smile on his face, as looks around the table. “What to do… what not to do.”

Cunt.

Your eyes drift to Rhaenyra, who sits at his side silent; lilac eyes on the plate in front of her. She seems to do that a lot whenever Daemon takes over a conversation. Either goes along with whatever point Daemon is trying to make or shrinks into herself in the worst way. It is nothing like you have seen from Rhaenyra when she is outside of this dynamic.

“You have been married three times; I am sure you have ample experience to help your daughters.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes flicker up at that, eyeing her husband. The table is silent before Daemon lets out a bark of laughter. Head thrown back as if it is the funniest thing he has ever heard. Rhaena shifts in her seat next to you, clearly uncomfortable by the scene in front of her.

Baela looks pissed, while Jace looks embarrassed by the whole ordeal. Funnily enough, the only person who can meet your eyes is Lucerys. A curious look in his big eyes. A warning in his eyes.

“And wit to match,” Daemon grins, a deep glimmer in his eyes.

It is the same amused look that Daemon gave Aemond at dinner moons ago. Daemon, who wants to be constantly entertained, would find Aemond what said and did, thrilling. Dispute the fact that the targets of Aemond’s ire were now his sons. Men like Daemon never truly settle down, and they never put their needs above others. They seek out the gallant behavior in others that they can no longer drum up themselves.

Aemond is all the youth and virility that comes with Targaryen blood. Daemon would find him compelling. More compelling than he has found a member of his family in a long time.

Rhaenyra has been sobered by motherhood, and the pending passing of the throne. The weight of the world changing the way she looks at everything. Gone is the young girl with little care in the world. Gone is the flush of youth that more than likely endured her to not only Daemon, but to others.

Daemon is someone is who thrives off making everyone else in the room pause. The Rogue Prince who wants all to stop and wonder what his next move will be. To let Daemon catch you on the back foot is a sign of weakness. He talks the way he spars. Fluid yet full of surprises.

Rhaenyra looks at her husband with an incredulous look. Then looks back at you with a scowl.

“I am tired,” she mutters, working her way out of seat slowly. Daemon makes little effort to help his pregnant wife. Jace instead gets up to help. Seeing it as an out - Luke, Baela, and Rhaena all get up as well.

Daemon and you stay seated for a moment. He gives you that same grin you have come accustomed to by now.

“You know I think I might have judged you prematurely.”

You raise a brow in efforts to get him to explain what he means by that, but it never comes. He gets up from the table leaving you alone. Rhaenyra’s frown plays in your head. At least you can see that your marriage is not the only fragile one.

It did not take you long to see something is deeply wrong with Lucerys Velaryon. Every thought you had about him was based on the less than promising things you had heard during your time in the Red Keep. And of course, the constant reminder on Aemond’s face.

The skepticism was right, but not for the reasons you assumed it would be. Luke, at a horribly young age, picked up a knife and did something that even the most morbid and seasoned of warriors would hesitate to do. Something is wrong with him the way something is wrong with Aemond.

There is something invisible holding everyone together, and you are sure that imaginary thing broke in Aemond and Lucerys that night at Driftmark. While Aemond was fine leaving the damage on floor till it crept up on him, Luke seems to be spending his life desperately trying to pick up those pieces. But it won’t happen without true remorse. Healing without an apology is not possible. So now, two broken people exist in constant fear.

It makes him dangerous in a way you did not expect. A flighty, anxious eye taker. The irony.

———

“Harrenhal is said to be a cursed place.”

The voice sends a bit of a chills down Luke’s spine. He turns to see you leaning against the study door, wine in hand. Bright eyes full of mirth. You point to the book in his hand.

“We have that book back at the castle,” you point at the one in his hand, as you walk into the room. “An… interesting read.”

The two of you had not been in the same room alone before; it sends Luke’s brain into overdrive. He has to remind himself that he had no reason to be nervous. You were here as a reprieve, at least that is what his mother said. And he always trusts his mother. Even when she has given them reason not to. Under all the splendor and false hope, he knows she means well.

Baela and Rhaena have fully embraced you being at Dragonstone, and Luke trusts them as well. His brother gets embarrassing moony eyed when you are around. He tries to be respectful of his betrothed, but Baela seems to pay it no mind. In fact, Luke believes she is relieved your presence takes attention away from the decision made at the Red Keep. He understands her apprehension.

But Luke has always followed Jace’s lead; he tries to do the same now with you.

“She is harmless, brother.”

Luke highly doubts that. This family does not toil with the feelings or thoughts of those seen as harmless. Harmless people get crushed under the weight of it all. Those to be feared or micromanaged get invited in. Told to sink or swim.

He wakes up every day and reminds himself he has no reason to be worried about the future. He is a Targaryen. He will not be casted out. He will not be crushed.

You lean over him to get a better view of the book, and he gets a whiff of helichrysum and sage. One hand on the table, the other on the back of his chair. Luke blinks rapidly at the page, not daring to look away from the book.

“Blood mixed into the mortar,” you whisper. “I wonder if the horrors within towers and walls truly haunt the houses who stake claim to it.”

Luke feels like he might throw up.

He finally dared to turn, and he sees the side of your face illuminated by the fire the room. Your face as calm as it is unsettling. Like the silver and red spiders that inhabit Dragonstone. The first time they all came back there, after his mother and Daemon had married, he thinks back to finding one on the lapel of his red suit coat. The scream he let out was blood curdling. He remembers the strange look Daemon gave to him. He gives that look a lot. Perplexed and annoyed.

Luke was sure Daemon disliked him for the same reasons Daemon dislikes a lot of people. He does not live up to the expectations Daemon has. Or maybe Daemon had no expectations, the dissatisfaction lies in Luke showing him exactly what he anticipated

But no man would marry his daughter off to someone he saw no use in…. right?

“I heard you like to draw,” you change the subject easily.

Like nods slowly, feeling embarrassed that Rhaena or her mother probably brought it up to you. They tend to gush about the most minute things to make him feel comfortable.

“I am so envious of people who have artistic talent,” you sigh wistfully. “Maybe you can teach me?”

Being alone with you is the last thing Luke wanted, but even then, he finds himself nodding again a bit entranced by the whole situation happened before him. You smile bright before turning to leave.

Luke lays his head down on the cool table to let out a shaky breath. Gods be good.

When Quinton joined the kingsgaurd, his mother cried.

Full on chest sobs, and hyperventilation. The whole scene was… a lot.

In beginning he was sure it was out of fear, now all of her children were away. Both of her sons, taking of a lifelong oath and her only daughter married and far from her family. It was not till her mother calmed down that he realized it was because she expected grandchildren from them. He had laughed at that being the thing she was most heartbroken about. They had joined the most honored spots in Seven Kingdoms, and the pitter patter of feet is what she wanted.

He never thought about children. He has accepted kids were not going to be a part of his life, for better or for worse. That was until he became your protector.

Life is funny in that way. Never letting someone find solid ground. Once you are sure of something, it will be taken away. Your introduction in his life flipped things upside down. Protecting the family was ironically easier to do what real emotions were not involved. When he did not have to question ever person met with, and how they could harm you.

Now he at a dragon castle, utterly confused. Why would any want to harm you begin with?

“I need my own master of whisperers while here,” you said lowkey as you bounced a babbling Alaric in your arms. “People who have been at Dragonstone for longer than us.”

All Quinton can do is give you a look. You know it well. It says it that really a good idea. You roll your eyes in response.

“Loyalties can be tested and broken, just look at Jayne,” you say sourly. “Not everyone here will be completely loyal to Rhaenyra or Daemon, and perhaps they will know something that can help us. Someone unassuming.”

You make a funny face at Alaric, whispering things in a baby voice at him.

“And I know exactly who can help.”

Your eyes go from Alaric, and they flash to the corner of the large room. A young boy with shaggy blonde hair, and a freckled face stands awkwardly in the corner.

“He is just a boy,” Quinton says confused. You grin at him slyly.

“Exactly,” you go to stand up, shifting Alaric in your arms. “Hold him for me.”

Before he can oppose, you place your child in his arms. Quinton just sat there stiffly. Alaric squirms, and he fears that the crying will start again. He tries to bounce him the way you do but he is sure it is no use. Nothing is compares to the embrace of a mother.

As much as the name gesture warmed him heart, being around kids is something he had to get used to. He often had to remind himself that they were half you.

Half spawn of Aemond, but also half you. The prayer is that the good part you instilled in them will outweigh whatever part their useless father put in them. Plus raising children is hard. His mother used to say that it was like cooking. Sometimes your stew would come out perfect. Other times you would just have grimace and eat through the bad taste. Not the best comparison for a young boy to hear, but he understood.

Quinton looks up to see you laughing at something the young boy said. His big blue eyes staring at you in slight awe. It is clear the young lad doesn’t speak to women outside his mother, the wife of a lord her at Dragonstone, often.

The effect you have on people is easy to see, and lately Quinton sees how quickly you are to use it. He supposes he can’t blame you for exploiting the nature of those around you. He can only hope that the side you show him is the full one.

Daella runs into the great hall area to you, an exhausted maidservant following behind. Daella’s short legs can barely keep up with herself. He watches you pick her up watching amused as she explains something exuberantly. Alaric begins to whine. Big lilac eyes filling with tears. This place disturbs him he thinks.

This place disturbs Quinton too.

———

As sun begins to set on over the mountains and castle, a soft breeze carries in the wind through each crevice and dip.

Inside the dragonmount, a low grumble spreads through the walls. Large tan wings spread out to their full, and withered yellow eyes blink into the darkness. A familiar warmth spreading through the large dragon.

The Bronze Fury feeling a presence he has not in years.

I’ve been seriously slacking on the Taglist so I’m sorry for that but here are people I remembered asking. Sorry if I miss anyone: @voniikg @afro-hispwriter @florent1s @crispmarshmallow @tremendouswolfsaladranch @strawbrryquinn @widemiffyhappy @msmarvel-19 @dc-marvel-girl96 @xkennobi @fanfics4ever @hydrationqueensworld @lyra689 @blazzlynch @httyd-marauders @bregarc @b00kdiary @grey-water-colors @mercedesdecorazon @flowerpotmage @bstorn @poisonedsultana @papery-maniac @its-sam-allgood @yu3kkii @hvx @leoramage @neenieweenie @stargaryenx @rey26 @lazypinkpig @blackravena @s0urmarvel @elleclairez @rebelfleur22 @inpraizeof @luvremlu @clora95 @blacpiink @let-love-bleeds-red @iwanttohitmyself @alastorhazbin @kitkat-writes-stuff @carriellie @aloneatpeace @ensolleildelune @landlockedmermaid77

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x oc #hotd imagine #aemond targaryen angst #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x you #aemond fic #aemond imagine #aemond x reader #aemond x fem!oc #prince aemond targaryen

[kittlesandbugs]

As much as I love having the Dark Urge as a customizable player character background because Nox is my babygirl sugarplum mass murderer, I think it would have been fucking incredible to have them be a companion. You wake up on the beach and find a heavily amnesiac person also suffering a tadpole infestation. But they're pretty likeable and seem a capable fighter. Really capable. Better take them along.

They're a little weird though. Twitchy as you pull Gale out of the portal. Looking at Astarion oddly. A little too into being covered in blood. Dude seriously, you want to eat the bbq dwarf??? Anyway.

Maybe you gain their trust and they admit that they dream of unspeakable violence and have urges to commit them when awake. Maybe you take them seriously. Maybe you brush it off like everyone else. Maybe you never learn about this. But then one morning you wake up and your amnesiac is standing over a fresh desecrated dead bard.

Well fuck. Maybe you expel them from camp, wash your hands of this nightmare. But on the other hand, they're a super great fighter and you do enjoy their company. Maybe this is a one off and you can help them try to control this inexplicable urge. Maybe you think you can harness and guide this urge to suit your own purposes. So you keep them around.

Where'd they get that sweet invisibility cape? Don't worry about it. You have bigger fish to fry.

And then you get that Last Light. Will they admit to wanting to kill Isobel? I guess that depends on how much they trust you. Maybe if they don't trust you, they'll go rogue in the fight and kill her without telling you. Maybe they'll admit to it and you have a choice. Is the prize they said they're promised worth Last Light sight unseen? Or will you encourage them to not kill Isobel? Maybe they listen to you. Maybe they don't. But if they do... you might wake up with a knife at your throat. Or find them pinning down another companion. Maybe you'll convince them to resist. Maybe you can't and a companion dies.

Regardless of Isobel or potential companion murder, you have a choice to make. Are they worth keeping around? They're clearly dangerous, and it can't entirely be controlled. But it mostly worked out okay this time, right? And you do really like their personality when they aren't behaving rabidly. And if they have it, that giant monster form is sure to come in handy later when you start taking on bigger foes, right?

So you keep them and then you get to Baldur's Gate and what the fuck do you mean Gortash was besties with them and made the whole Absolute scheme together? What the fuck do you mean that pasty weird shapeshifter girl is your "sister"? What the fuck do you mean you're the scion of Bhaal, the God of Murder. I mean it makes perfect sense but... What the fuck man.

They don't know, they're as clueless as you are. They have no idea how things should proceed. So they continue to defer to you and assist as needed. Things just keep getting weirder but honestly everyone traveling with you has their own special nightmare that needs resolved so. Keep trucking.

And then you reach the temple of Bhaal. Hoo boy. Are they going to reject Bhaal after the showdown with their sister? Well, I guess that depends on your actions so far. Have you gained their trust? Did you refrain from slaughtering the Grove? Have you helped them resist the Urge at Last Light/companion problems? Then yeah, they'll reject Bhaal and everything will be fine. Congrats, they're (mostly) normal now after Withers resurrects them. The game continues normally.

But maybe you didn't do those things. Maybe they don't trust you. Or maybe you've been encouraging them this whole time in a bid to use their violence to your gains. They swear themself to Bhaal as Chosen. Jaheira tries to convince you how bad a choice this is. Maybe you finally agree this is a problem that needs to be nipped in the bud and help her kill them. Or maybe you're just that sure of yourself that you have them properly harnessed despite their fealty to Bhaal. And you help them slay Jaheira to keep everyone else in line.

And then maybe when all is said and done... They kill you and the Emperor, and take control of the Brain in the name of their Father. Because you were too blind to see that their Father was pulling the strings all along, and you were unknowingly the puppet of your own demise.

#bg3 #The dark urge #Rambling? As if #This post was brought to you by the countless hours of me thinking about how nox would be as a companion lol #Anyway larian i think you missed a real opportunity to make your players insane on their first runs

[cognacandlilac]

To the Depths - Part Six - NSFW

(Pirate!Silco x F!Reader) Promises and Pomegranates

AO3 - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3.1 - Part 3.2 - Part 4 - Part 5

Rating: Explicit/MDNI Chapter Summary: You come face to face against an impossible creature and it royally screws with your understanding of reality. Will Silco help you? Chapter Warnings/Tags: this chapter is SFW. Don't you worry, more smut is coming <3 A/N: Not beta'd because I'm trying to feed my momentum monster. She's starving and she's mean.

You stand in place, still staring up at the towering monster of living water. A part of your mind understands that it is about to snap at the ship like a wild animal but the thought is simply too impossible to comprehend. 

“Torches!” Sevika shouts sharply enough to drag your attention back to the deck and crew. You are not the only one frozen with fear and disbelief. Most of the crew cannot seem to believe their eyes either. 

“Torches!” Sevika snarls and shoves the nearest crewmember. This sends them scurrying off to illuminate the ship as much as possible. Your gaze drags back up the column of water to the beastly head and glowing eyes. Its neck reminds you somewhat of a snake, coiled to strike. 

When its head darts forward toward the deck, you at least have the good sense to brace yourself. The beast thuds against the ship as though it is made of pure, solid matter. You are knocked clean off your feet, unable to stop yourself from colliding with the railing. Breath leaves your lungs in a sharp gust just in time for a rush of water to slam against your body. 

Gasping, sputtering, and dazed, the only thing you can think to do is look for Silco but you don’t see him. An unexpected stab of pain blooms in your chest that has nothing to do with the physical blows your body just experienced. 

He left you to fend for yourself. 

You should not be surprised. Why would you expect anything different? So what if he danced with you and briefly participated in a conversation that didn’t consist of throwing insults at each other? That does not change the fact that you are a prisoner. Less than that, even. You’re a stolen commodity. 

A lump rises in your throat and you tell yourself it’s because the pain in your right side is growing more intense by the moment. No other reason. 

You know why you are here. You know where you stand. 

The water creature lets out another shrill roar as its glowing eyes scan the deck. Your eyes follow the serpentine curve of its neck to where its body meets the deck and continues, rising over the railing, not unlike the way a snake’s body slides over a branch. Yet, as water pours off of its form, it never changes size. 

It strikes again, aiming at Locke who manages to dive out of the way. Like before, the brace of its impact rocks the ship. This time, you are able to see the way water bursts from its body and rolls across the deck the way a rogue wave would roll across a calm sea. 

What in the hell is it? 

“Princess, you either need to get moving or get fighting. I don’t care which one you do. Just don’t get in the way.” Sevika brushes by you with a vicious look in her eyes as she attaches what looks to be some kind of miniature harpoon to the end of her mechanical arm. 

You nod, though Sevika has already moved her attention back to the water creature. 

“Bring its head down!” She barks at whoever is within earshot. 

You try to make yourself move in any direction for any purpose but you simply can’t. Your mind is racing and grappling with the reality in front of you, leaving your body stuck in a state of awe and terror. It is only when a crewmate, the same one who nearly came to blows with Locke, crashes against the deck in front of you. 

“Fuckin’ waterwyrms,” he grumbles as he scrambles to his feet just in time to avoid another wave rolling off the body of the beast.

A waterwyrm. An apt name that scratches along the outer edge of your frazzled memory. You cannot chase after it just now. 

The clatter of metal pulls your attention and you realize a thick dagger has fallen from the belt of the swearing crewmate. You call out for him, realizing too late that you never learned his name. Not that it matters. You can’t see him anymore. 

You reach for the dagger, figuring it’s better to arm yourself in one way or another while you decide what you’re going to do. 

The storm the other day was frightening but familiar. You’d sailed through storms before. You knew what to do, to an extent and if you didn’t, the crew was there to set you right. But that isn’t the case now. 

Only a handful of the crewmates crisscrossing the deck seem to know what they’re dealing with. The rest wear expressions you imagine are similar to the one on your face right now. You are not the only one out of your depth with this. 

The dagger is heavier than you expected and, truth be told, you do not know how to wield it. The closest thing you’ve held to this is an engraved letter opener that you keep on your bedside table at home, just in case. 

You struggle to decide whether or not to keep the dagger or discard it but you cannot remain rooted in place like this. You are completely unprotected. Once you find a bit of shelter, you can organize your thoughts, and pull yourself together. 

A flickering instinct tugs at your mind. It whispers to you, urging you to find Captain Silco. He’s supposed to keep you from harm until you are returned safely to your father and fiance. That was the agreement. 

A cruel stab of logic reminds you that not even Silco could offer absolute protection against a creature of myth and magic, especially not one that is determined to flood the ship with its watery form. Besides, Silco did not hesitate to abandon you once the waterwyrm rose from the black sea. 

Another flash of hurt sears into your chest and you quickly replace the hurt with anger, unwilling to allow your ego to be bruised by that man more than it already has. Enough is enough. The familiar clarity of anger awakens the part of your mind that had gone hazy with shock at the sight of the waterwyrm. 

You need to get to a safe place. Quickly. You flee, heading toward the stern, nearly tripping with every step as you do so. As much as you do not want to look at it, you keep your eyes fixed on the waterwyrm. Perhaps, if you were seeing it in a painting or sketch, you would find it beautiful but not here. Not when it’s real and dangerous and hell-bent on fracturing your reality. Things like this only exist in stories. 

Then again, you thought Silco only existed in stories, and look how that has panned out for you. 

With a soft groan, you keep moving forward. Even in the most dire of situations, the Captain still manages to snake his way to the forefront of your mind. The thought stokes your anger and you cling to it as you navigate around the scrambling crewmates and thrashing waterwyrm. It has slithered around to the port side of the ship, an equal distance from the bow and stern. This would be a good thing if you didn’t feel a spray of water coming from behind you. You look over your shoulder to see its watery, snake-like tail rising on the opposite side of the ship. 

You’ve seen plenty of sketches of mythical krakens wrapping their tentacles around ships to squeeze them into splitters. Could a waterwyrm do such a thing? 

The tail swings like a whip, heading right toward you. You dive forward, evading the tail but you’ve realized you’re now scrambling to find your footing right beside the great neck of the beast. You gaze up, tipping your face all the way back to look at its head. Its attention is drawn elsewhere, for the moment. Instead of moving away, you feel the weight of the dagger in your hand. 

You look at the rippling, translucent body of the waterwyrm. Surely, if it is solid enough to perch on the deck as it wreaks havoc, it is solid enough to feel the pierce of a blade. Without thinking twice, you lift the dagger and stab it into the side of the waterwyrm. The dagger pieces its watery hide like a hot knife through butter.

It does…nothing. 

No, that isn’t true. It’s done something. It’s gotten the beast's attention. The waterwyrm’s serpentine neck swivels and bends, bringing its head down until it is looking you right in the eye. Those blue orbs glow and shine like fire. It has no pupils but you know it’s looking right at you, into you. 

With a low, gurgling hiss, it opens its mouth. 

The anger that propelled you forward evaporates, leaving you with nothing but a cold, hollow sense of fear. You cannot move. You are vaguely aware that the dagger has slipped from your hand and has clattered onto the deck. 

Every inch of your skin, every drop of blood, every bone screams at you to run but you can’t. You can’t look away from the waterwyrm’s eyes. Now you see the beauty of such a creature, though the notion is far from soothing. 

You will be swallowed up by its hungry maw. 

You wonder if it will kill you by drowning or if its teeth are more solid than they appear. You wonder which you’d prefer. Probably the latter. You’ve never seen someone drown, but enough of your father’s men have had close enough brushes with such a watery death that you know it’s unpleasant.

It occurs to you that this is the first time you’ve pondered your own death. It always seemed like such a faraway thing. An inevitable thing, like a candle blowing out. You would be here and then you would be gone. You never gave much thought to what happened in between. The act of dying itself. 

A crack rings out and it doesn’t fully register with you that something has happened before the waterwyrm’s head reels back. It snarls and snaps, howling with rage. Something bright and sparkling falls in front of your face. 

“Yes!” Jinx’s delighted laugh is out of place with everything happening around you as she appears by your side. She scoops up the bright, shining thing. With a slow blink, you realize it’s one of the waterwyrm’s eyes. She slips it into her pocket. Its glow is so intense it shines through the fabric of her pants. 

“You should probably move,” Jinx says, putting a hand on your shoulder and tugging you back toward the weather deck. “I just made that thing really angry and I still need the other eye.”

She turns you a little and gives you a small shove in the direction of the weather deck. There, at the top of the steps, you see Silco with a rifle in hand. As always, he looks eerily still amongst the chaos. His ocean eye is bright and focused as he watches the waterwyrm.

You dart forward and start to climb the stairs, but your legs have gone wobbly. You stumble near the top, reaching out and catching yourself on his leg to keep yourself from sliding down the steep steps. 

“You’re alright, treasure.” You feel a large, gentle hand on the back of your head. “Stay right there. This will be over and done with soon.”

Several words leap into your mouth but none of them make it past your tongue. You find that you can do nothing but cling to his leg and hope his words ring true. 

“Line it up for me, minnow,” Silco orders. You see a flash of blue as Jinx scrambles up the nearest mast and begins to wave and shout at the waterwyrm. The half-blind beast whips its head around, teeth bared and snarling with fury. You close your eyes, not wanting to look upon it anymore but that is worse. The moment you close your eyes, all you see is the waterwyrm bearing down on you, ready to devour you. Your eyes snap back open just as the waterwyrm strikes at Jinx. Its head moves into the perfect position for Silco to take the shot, and he does. Another crack rings out, shooting right into your bones. The second glowing eye comes loose. This time, Jinx is able to catch it before it hits the deck. 

And then, you aren’t fully sure what happens. The waterwyrm moans weakly, its head swaying as it struggles to keep itself upright. It begins to collapse, as though it’s been mortally wounded rather than blinded. You cling harder to Silco’s leg, bracing for an impact that could be severe enough to damage the ship. Just before the waterwyrm’s limp body hits the deck, it melts into water. Thick droplets of seawater smash into the surface of the deck like a vicious rain, but that’s all that happens. 

Your brow furrows with confusion before you look up at Silco. He sets the rifle aside before reaching down to help you to your feet. Around you, the crew checks for damage to the ship. Some look exhausted and annoyed. Most look as confused as you feel. Sevika looks as though she’s just eaten a whole lemon. You briefly wonder what she must have seen in her life for something like the waterwyrm to be considered little more than an inconvenience. 

“Those glowing stones gave life to the water,” Silco explains, his voice gentle and filled with patience that makes something hurt inside of your chest. “Remove the stones, remove the problem. The stones are very valuable as well, as you can probably imagine.”

You nod, though it’s a jerky, automatic response to his words. You hear them. You know what you saw. But your mind just refuses to accept that something like that can exist in your world. 

“Are you hurt?” Silco keeps speaking to you in that low, gentle voice. You hate it. You don’t want to see that softness in him. You don’t want it to steady you or soothe you. 

“I’m fine,” you manage, though you’re not certain that’s the truth. You feel like you are going to keel over at any second. 

“You’re bleeding.” Jinx glides up to your side, ever the helpful little wraith, and lightly touches your arm. Sure enough, there is a gash stretching nearly from elbow to wrist on the underside of your forearm. You can’t even feel it, though you decide that’s a good thing for now. 

“Get her down to the doctor, minnow.” Silco’s good eye fills with something you refuse to acknowledge as regret, possibly even worry, when he looks at the wound on your arm. 

“So much for not allowing damage to your cargo,” you mutter as you let Jinx lead you below deck. She takes you to the bottom level of the ship. You pass dozens of hammocks strung up and layered over each other as well as an assortment of trunks and personal belongings. 

“Do you sleep down here?” You ask her. 

“I bunk on my own,” Jinx explains, but does not offer more details.  

You pass three iron cells, each fitted with several pairs of shackles. They are all empty and, thankfully, look as though they’ve been empty for a while. You briefly wonder if you were meant to occupy one of the cells. Why did Silco insist on watching over you so closely when he could have thrown you down here and been done with it?

Just past the cells is a solid wall made from spare bits of wood. Though it looks sturdy enough, it’s quite slapdash. Gaps between planks allow you to see glimpses into the room beyond. The wood bulges and indents in strange ways. With a small start, you realize the wall is made of pieces of other ships. Perhaps, ships the Zaun’s Revenge attacked and scuttled while looking for goods.

There are two crude doors set into the makeshift wall. 

“I sleep there.” Jinx points to one of the doors. Its placement against the wall implies that it’s the smaller of the two rooms. She points to the other door. “That leads to the laboratory. It’s best if you wait for me or the Captain to bring you down here if you ever have a need to see the doctor.”

“Oh?”

“He’s nice, usually,” Jinx shrugs. “But he gets very annoyed if his work is interrupted. He’ll always help you if you need it, though.”

Jinx raps her knuckles against the door. Through the gaps in the slats, you see warm candlelight but also some kind of glowing, purplish light you cannot envision a source for. There is no answer from inside the laboratory but that doesn’t stop Jinx from pushing in. 

The room is small, though the curved hull of the ship that makes up one wall allows for a little extra space. All manner of indistinguishable items have been cleverly stored where the room comes together to form the underside of the bow.

Tucked against the curved wall is a desk cast in shadow by a tall, thin figure whose black coat seems to eat the light around him. Shelves fitted to the curve of the hull contain jar after jar of that strange purple powder. The jars glow faintly in the darkness of the room. 

The man does not look up from his desk nor does he acknowledge the presence of two new people in the cramped space. 

“This is where I work on projects.” Jinx taps a cluttered workbench stocked to the point of overflowing with metal bits and bobs, screws, nuts, bolts, and plenty more objects that you can’t identify. The walls around her workbench are covered in sketches and schematics, designs of a mechanical nature. You spot a page with the words ‘MAGNETIC CANNONBALL’ scrawled across the top in big, messy letters surrounded by complex equations you can’t ever hope to untangle. The sight makes you smile a little. 

“Mr. Doctor, we are in need of your assistance,” Jinx chirps and taps on the bony shoulder of the man. He glances back at her with a foggy look that is somehow both dazed and focused. He wears a cloth tied around the lower half of his face in some kind of makeshift mask. 

“Hm,” he grunts softly before turning around to face you fully. You bite the inside of your cheek so you do not react to the severe burns covering the previously hidden side of his face. His other eye is surrounded by scar tissue so thick he can barely open it, which doesn’t seem to matter since the eye itself is a pale, milky color. Despite that, you can still make out dark hollows under both of his eyes. 

His functional eye quickly examines your body, spotting the laceration on your arm. 

“What happened there?”

You open your mouth to explain, but you aren’t actually sure how you injured yourself. “I’m not sure. I fell a few times during the waterwyrm’s attack.”

The doctor’s nonexistent eyebrows shift upward. “Waterwyrm?” 

“Yes, one just gave us a hell of a fight.” Jinx’s eyes spark with pride. “Nothing we couldn’t handle though. It looks like everything held up in here just fine.”

She looks toward the shelves and she’s right. Despite the viciousness of the waterwyrm’s attack, not even a single pen looks as if it’s rolled out of place. 

“Good, good,” he nods, taking a step forward on spindly legs. “Come into the light, please.”

You do as you are asked, holding out your arm for him to examine. His long fingers wrap around your wrist and put the icy grip of the reaper to shame with their coldness. 

“You truly did not notice that the ship was under attack Mr…Doctor?” 

“I have learned how to maintain focus in even the most unlikely situations. Besides, the Captain and crew are more than capable of handling any dangers the sea flings at us.” He chuckles softly, the sound reminiscent of scraping bones, before speaking again. “Singed. Only the little one calls me Mr. Doctor.”

Singed. Surely, that is not his true name. You find yourself staring at the ruin of his face until you remember yourself and force your eyes down. 

“It’s quite alright,” Singed says as he moves to one of the heavily stocked shelves and retrieves squares of pristine white cloth and two glass vials each the size of your thumb. “For all of my faults, vanity was never one of them.” 

He holds up the first vial filled with clear liquid. “Clean your wound with this first and wait for the bleeding to stop.” He holds up the second vial, half filled with liquid the same vibrant purple as the powder. “This will encourage healing. I suggest you ask the Captain for assistance. It is most potent in its liquid form.”

“But what is it?” You ask softly, taking both of the vials as well as the scraps of clean cloth. 

“Have you received advanced education in biology, chemistry, anatomy, pathology, and alchemy?”

Your eyes widen. “I have not.”

“Then all you need to know is that this is something that will help you.” There is a slightly condescending tone in the doctor’s voice but you don’t have the energy to let it pinch your pride.

“We call it shimmer,” Jinx says with a helpful smile. 

“You call it shimmer,” Singed corrects, turning his attention back to his desk. “That is an inaccurate and purely cosmetic name.” 

“It’s catching on with the crew so you should get used to it,” Jinx shrugs before ushering you out of the cramped laboratory. 

“Thank you,” you call over your shoulder but Singed is already engrossed in his work once more. You follow Jinx above deck, staring at the little vial of glowing purple liquid. The crew has largely recovered from dealing with the waterwyrm. Considering the violence of the attack, it did little damage to the ship.

“Oh, rats!” Jinx groans softly, lightly placing her fingers over the glowing stones in her pocket. “I forgot to give these to Mr. Doctor.” She hurries back below deck, leaving you alone. You aren’t sure if you’re grateful for the solitude or not. 

Your mind still feels caught, stretched thin over the gap between what you thought you knew and what you now know to be true. You move toward the Captain’s cabin without thinking about it.  

There are stones that somehow bring water to life. You grew up listening to myths and legends from all corners of the world. While many were soaked in magic and impossibility, you also knew the ocean still held many secrets and mysteries. You just didn’t think the secrets would be so close to the myths. 

Desperate for something to occupy your mind, you dig through your memories for scraps of any myth containing the waterwyrm. Nothing comes to mind. Frustrated, you push into the Captain’s cabin to find it empty. Both relief and disappointment settle like stones on your chest. You toss the stone of disappointment away and will yourself to be happy for a moment to tend to your wounds alone. 

While the bed looks welcoming, you choose to perch on the desk instead. You briefly consider sitting in Silco’s chair but you can’t bring yourself to do it. 

It’s…his. Somehow, sitting in that chair feels more intimate than sharing a bed. 

You place the vials and the cloth on an empty part of the desk. 

Heat rushes to your cheeks as the image of your hands intertwined with his, bent over the desk, as he took you from behind fills your mind. Something tugs low in your belly as the need for a distraction attempts to disguise itself as desire. 

Your upper lip curls in forced disgust, but you cannot summon any anger behind the motion. You call your anger over and over, wishing to wrap yourself in it to shield yourself from the strange feelings fighting to form within you. It does not come. 

With a slow, deep breath, you turn your attention to the clean cloth squares and the first vial of clear liquid. You open it and take a sniff. It’s nothing more than a simple disinfectant if your nose is to be trusted. 

Singed instructed you to ask the Captain for help with the shimmer. Even if the idea of asking Silco for help was palatable, you aren’t sure you want to put shimmer anywhere near an open wound without a better understanding of what it is. 

You soak one of the cloths in a small amount of disinfectant and brace yourself as you press it to your wound. The stinging pain rips through you, far worse than the pain of the injury itself. 

Tears prick at the backs of your eyes and you go stone still, keeping the cloth pressed to your wound. The threat of tears has allowed a tiny spark of anger to rise. You clutch those sparks hard and throw them against the feeling your tears wish to bring forth. The sting grows until you can’t stand it anymore. 

Just as you remove the cloth from your wound with a small sound of frustration and anguish, the cabin door opens. 

“There you are.” Silco steps into the room and lets the door swing shut behind him. He locks it with mindless movements as his eye focuses on the sight of you sitting on the edge of his desk. Worry flickers behind his ocean eye. “What are you doing?”

“The kind doctor gave me something to patch myself up with.” You hold up the cloth as though it’s obvious. “The experience has been less than pleasant.”

“Have you ever had to tend to a wound like that before?” He asks, that horrible softness returning to his voice as he approaches you. 

“I think you know the answer to that.” You try to put a little bite in your voice but fail to do so. 

“Perhaps, but I’ve learned several times now that underestimating you is a foolish thing to do.” He takes the cloth from your hand without a word and frowns. “Did you dilute this at all?”

Your cheeks feel hot. “The doctor didn’t mention that I’d need to do so.”

Silco removes the seal on the water pitcher near the vanity and wets the cloth before adding a drop or two of the disinfectant. “This will get the job done and sting far, far less.”

You hold out your hand to take the cloth but he ignores it. He moves close once more and holds your injured arm in his free hand before gently cleaning the rest of the gash. The sting is still there, but its bite is far less vicious. You find that you are able to breathe with some normalcy again, though something heavy still sits on your chest. 

“Ah,” Silco murmurs as he spots the vial of shimmer. “Excellent.”

“I don’t want…whatever that is,” you say quickly. 

“It’s perfectly safe when administered correctly, I assure you.” He opens the vial and the cabin is soon filled with a sweet, medicinal scent that makes your nose tingle. “I use it every day.”

You tilt your head. “You do?”

He meets your gaze before bringing his fingertips to the scars around his ruined eye. “It is the only thing that keeps the infection from progressing. It dulls the pain as well. I wouldn’t be fit to man a rowboat let alone captain a vessel without it.”

“Oh.” Your gaze dips to the vial in his hand before falling silent. 

Silco leans forward, bending down a little so his face is level with yours. “What, no quips? Surely, you can think of some remark to make about such a substance turning me inhuman.”

You say nothing. 

“Not even a little jab at my charming personality and wonderful temperament?” There is a teasing lilt to his voice but that softness still remains. 

You shake your head. You aren’t in the mood to trade barbed remarks, not that your mind would cooperate with you if you were. 

Silco sighs softly and returns his attention to the shimmer vial. He moves away from you for a moment to fish something out of one of the desk drawers. You hear something clinking and glance over from the corner of your eye. He holds a small glass eyedropper, which he cleans thoroughly with the remaining disinfectant. 

“This will make it easier,” he explains. “You really won’t need more than a drop or two.”

“Will…?” You start to ask but you swallow your question down, hoping he’ll be gracious enough to pretend you hadn’t spoken at all. 

“Will what, treasure?” He finishes cleaning the eyedropper and dries it off before giving you an expectant look. 

“Will it hurt?” The sting of the disinfectant nearly brought you to tears. Another strike of pain would be too much for you to fight through and you were not going to cry. Certainly, not in front of Silco. 

“Yes, but it’s an unusual sort of pain,” he explains. “It’s intense, but it’s quick. A bit like someone flashing a bright light in your eyes unexpectedly. Your senses will feel scrambled but, like I said, it’s quick.”

He loads up the eyedropper with just two drops of the violent purple liquid and takes hold of your arm once more. He looks at you, waiting for permission. You nod. 

A single shining drop falls from the end of the eyedropper onto your wound. You feel a tingling sensation for a fraction of a moment before something unlike anything you’ve ever felt before wracks through your body. Too much air is crammed into your lungs yet it also feels as though the wind has been knocked from your chest. Your veins feel as though they widening and narrowing, wriggling beneath your skin. It’s unbearable. 

And then it’s gone. 

You gasp hard and brace on the desk. 

“Easy, treasure,” Silco’s voice tethers you to reality. 

Your mind scrambles to right itself. You feel exposed, vulnerable. Your anger has failed you so you fight to call forth anything else that will shield you from the terrible weight on your chest and the tightness in your throat.

His quick hands wrap your forearm in soft, clean bandages before you have a chance to see what your wound looks like now. Already, you note the absence of physical pain. 

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” His hand comes to rest in the middle of your back. You feel the warmth of his skin through the fabric of your shirt. Tears spring forth but you quickly scoot off the desk to stand in the middle of the room, out of his reach. 

“I’m rather tired.” You keep your back to him as you blink and blink and blink. 

“I imagine so.” His boots thud against the wooden floor as he moves to stand behind you but he does not try to touch you again. “You’ve had quite a fright.”

Once again, you feel a tiny spark of your anger ignite but it’s not enough to catch fire and burn away the terrible feeling that creeps in around you. You are not yet in control of your emotions enough to speak, to deny his words. 

“Most of the crew is in the same boat as you are, so to speak,” he says. “Waterwyrms are incredibly rare. I’ve only seen three, myself. Seeing something like that for the first time can be rattling.”

“I am not rattled,” you hiss. You clench your hands into fists to hide how much they shake as you move toward the bed. You sit down and fumble with the lacings of your boots until you’re able to shuck them off. “I’m tired.” 

For a moment, Silco looks as though he’s going to press the matter. A small part of you, one that you’d like to squash beneath your heel, wishes he would. 

He takes a half step back and nods. “Get some sleep, then. You’ve earned it.”

He takes a seat at his desk and goes through the motions of clipping and lighting a fresh cigar. The warm, spiced smell of it banishes the lingering scent of disinfectant and shimmer from the cabin. Something in your chest loosens, but you’re not sure if it’s a good thing. 

You slip out of your breeches and crawl under the covers, pressing yourself as close to the wall as you can with your back to Silco. The only sounds in the room are the faint scratching of his pen across parchment and his soft exhales whenever he takes a puff of his cigar. It’s not enough to hold your focus. 

Your mind begins to spin again. Your heart slams against your ribs but you tell yourself it’s nothing more than your body responding to the shimmer. 

You are not rattled. You are not frightened. You can handle this. You have handled everything life has flung cruelly into your path and you will continue to do so. You will remain in control, just as you always have. 

But you know that’s not true. The words float through your mind like a lullaby despite the threat they pose to your quickly fracturing resolve. It’s never been true. 

It becomes harder to keep your breathing slow and even. That horrible feeling continues to tighten its grip around your throat, growing stronger and stronger until you fear you won’t be able to break loose. You won’t be able to keep it at bay. You’ll have to feel it and know the truth of it. 

You are not rattled. You are not frightened. 

You’re terrified. 

And the moment you let yourself feel that terror, you’ll be lost.

Fear claws at your throat and sits on your chest, prepared to suffocate you. Already, you can feel it seeping through your skin and stealing your breath. 

Fear has come for you before, but you fought it off. It pounced on you the day your mother died but you evaded it, letting grief shield you. It tried to ambush you again the day your father abandoned you at the family estate but your anger was so great and so fierce that fear could not touch you. 

Now, your grief was a quiet, content creature resting near your heart alongside the memory of your mother. And your anger…where was it? How could it have abandoned you and left you so vulnerable?

There had to be something you could do. Fear would not reach you this time. It never had and it never will. 

Not true. Not true. Not true. The words skitter across your brain, less gentle than they were before. 

You fight the urge to scream, choosing to bite the inside of your cheek instead. It's no use. The truth has started to seep through the cracks of your mind and you have nowhere left to run. No place to hide.   

How close will you allow yourself to come to madness for the sake of clinging to such a fragile illusion? 

You only believed yourself to be capable because you had never faced a true challenge. Now that you had, now that you stared the waterwyrm in the eyes and saw death, you can no longer hide from what you are. A small, scared, stupid girl who doesn’t know a single thing about the world. 

You do not have the strength or skills to survive on your own without your father’s money and protection. If you fled your engagement, you might as well forfeit your life. If you allowed yourself to be caged within the gilded bars of marriage and societal expectations, you would never feel alive again. 

One way or another, death surrounds you. It does not matter if it’s a death of your body or a death of your spirit. Both are equally devastating in your eyes. There is no escape. 

You bite the inside of your cheek hard enough to taste blood as you keep fighting the cold sense of fear that tries to wrap you in its embrace. You can’t give in to it. You can’t allow yourself to feel it. You’d never be able to pull yourself out if you did. You don’t bother trying to call on your anger to help you keep fear at bay. You realize now that it did not abandon you. You’ve simply burned it all up. 

Only the faintest scrap of pride allows you to hold yourself together. If you are going to fall apart, it will not be on this damn ship surrounded by these damn pirates. 

You are so caught up in your own mind that you do not realize Silco has moved until you feel the bed shift beside you. You stay still, pretending to be asleep, not that it matters. Aside from your failed attempt to bring yourself some relief last night, Silco keeps his distance from you in bed. 

He shifts and rolls a bit before he seems to settle. Thinking he has fallen asleep, you allow your mind to resume its heavy task of stopping your fears from consuming you. 

A hand presses against your back. Your breath catches in your throat and it takes every bit of your frayed self-control to keep up the act of pretending to sleep. 

“Brave girl,” comes Silco’s soft whisper, so quiet you are unsure if you were meant to hear those words or not. 

Warmth spreads across your back, radiating from his palm. If you focus, you can feel the shape of every long, thin finger. It may be exhaustion, the shimmer, or the fact that you had your toe over the line of madness just a moment ago but you swear you feel him pressing against your back with every breath you take. His movements, if he’s moving at all, are slow and faint. When you feel him press, you extend your exhale. When he lightens the pressure, you inhale. Over and over until your breathing slows and your heart calms.

The urge to check if he’s awake or say his name gently pulls at you, but you let it pass. The peace of this moment is a fragile, hard-won thing that you aren’t ready to give up. Besides, if he actually is asleep and this is all in your head, you’d rather keep that to yourself. You continue to breathe slowly, focused on the way his hand feels against your back, and eventually allow sleep to take you. 

********

When you wake, you roll over to find an empty bed. You open your eyes, expecting to see Silco sitting at his desk like he usually does but he isn’t there. A small amount of relief fills you. You’re spared from confronting him after…whatever that was last night. 

Maybe you sent yourself into such a deep state of distress that you imagined it. But then that means that you imagined him for comfort, which might be worse. 

Your mind still feels clouded and sluggish as you dress and leave the cabin. Above deck, the air is still and there is not a cloud in the sky. The Zaun’s Revenge bobs gently on a calm sea. To the west, you spot a strip of land but no distinguishing landmarks that might tell you where you are. Your eyes scan the deck for Silco, but you do not see him. There does not seem to be any work to be done so you head below deck to the galley.

Arlo has already started preparing for the evening meal, causing you to realize just how late you’ve slept in. You offer to help, he accepts. Soon, you are chopping onions. Your eyes burn and your mincing skills leave much to be desired, but your mind is occupied. Plus, you are learning something new. That always makes you feel better, more in control of yourself. 

“You seem a bit out of sorts,” Arlo says. “Something on your mind?”

“That waterwyrm has rudely forced me to reexamine my understanding of the world and my place in it,” you answer. “It’s been horribly inconvenient.” “Oh, I see. That happened to me the first time I saw something like that. It wasn’t a waterwyrm, though. The carcass of an ushkya floated to the surface. I couldn’t believe my eyes.”

“A what?” You hope you won’t regret asking. 

“An ushkya. Merfolk use them similar to the way humans use horses. They’re actually quite gentle by nature. I’ve seen a few wild ones before. Their fangs make them look scarier than they are. I’d go as far as to say they’re more docile than horses.”

Your mouth drops open. You regret asking. “I am not in a position to take in that information.”

“Fair. How are you getting along with those onions?”

“Badly, I’m afraid.” You dab at your onion tears with the back of your hand. “I hope you like a bit of a rough chop.”

“It’ll do just fine. You aren’t cooking for the Council,” he chuckles and rests an affirming hand on your shoulder. “Keep at it. I have plenty of work for you when you’re done.”

Time ticks by in the kitchen as you and Arlo take turns teaching each other things. It will be a while before he can read properly, but he knows how certain words look written down, which is an excellent start. The two of you make a plan to redo all of the labels in the scullery. Having a plan like that makes you smile. It’ll keep you occupied during the days and will hopefully make your imprisonment pass quicker. 

“Ah, so is this where I can expect to find you when you vanish from the cabin?” At the sound of Silco’s voice, you are flooded with memories of his hand on your back. You can feel the pressure between your shoulders as you turn around to face him. 

“If I say yes, does that mean the longboats will be left unattended?” You fire back.   

“Glad to see the stress of last night has not dulled your wit. You’re going to need it.”

“Why?”

“We’re going ashore. I have to meet with an associate of mine and I know better than to leave you to your own devices.” A small smirk twitches in the corner of his mouth but it is not accompanied by the usual mean glint in his eye. 

“Scared I’ll ambush you with another oar attack, pirate?” You say, moving out of the kitchen with an indifferent look though you are glad to be back in the familiar territory of banter and quick remarks. 

“If I remember correctly, I was the one who snuck up on you,” he says. 

“But my first instinct was still to give you a good whack,” you point out, earning a quiet chuckle from him. 

“True.”

Silco starts to lead you out of the galley but you pause and look over your shoulder. 

“Will you get on without me, Arlo?” you ask. 

“I’ll be fine. We can start our labeling project when you return if you’re up for it.” Arlo’s gaze darts to Silco and his face pales a little bit. “With the Captain’s permission, of course.”

You turn your head and look up at Silco, arching a brow. 

“Hm,” he mutters before ushering you above deck. He lowers his head so his mouth is close to your ear. “Should I be concerned by how well you are ingratiating yourself with my crew?”

“Probably,” you shrug. “Do I need to put on that beloved harlot costume again?”

“Beloved indeed,” he chuckles lowly. “But no. Port Squawkfeather is not quite as…colorful as Port Fairna. You are perfectly fine as you are. Unless, of course, you secretly liked playing the harlot and wish to do so again.”

“Hold your breath and find out.” You smile sweetly before turning your attention to the port in question. 

“Ever the charmer.” Silco stands by your side as the Zaun’s Revenge docks and the gangplank is lowered.

Despite its unusual name, Port Squawkfeather looks orderly and clean for a pirate haven. From what you can see, there is some form of authority patrolling the docks and the shore. They bear a discreet insignia that looks strikingly similar to a waterwyrm.

The small port town is clustered on a spit of land between a narrow, pebbly beach and sandstone rock formations that vary in height. A few structures stand on plateaus scattered across the cliff faces, but most of the buildings appear to be concentrated around the mouth of the port. 

“What business do you have here?” You ask, glancing at Silco from the corner of your eye. You don’t expect an answer but you can’t help but ask. Silco is certainly making quite a few stops for someone with a valuable hostage underfoot. 

“I’m sure you recall the blue stones that served as the waterwyrm’s eyes. I plan to sell them. They are extremely valuable,” he replies. “Even more valuable than you.”

“I am worth less than a pair of glowing rocks?” You scoff. 

“These are not just rocks. The power they contain is unlike anything else in the world. Those stones contain pure arcane energy.”

“And you would sell them to the highest bidder?” You arch a brow. 

“Of course. I do not have the resources to harness their power myself so I may as well make a profit from them.”

He offers his arm, which you take, and the two of you disembark. 

“Are you going to make me sit in your lap in a dingy tavern again?” You ask. 

“No,” he replies. “You aren’t wearing a skirt. I won’t be able to have any fun.”

His words bring a hot blush to your cheeks. You fix your gaze straight ahead and hope he does not notice. Once more, you feel the ghost of his hand on your back, guiding you through your breaths. 

The entrance of the docks feeds into a well-maintained dirt road that leads right to a lively market. Instead of walking down that road, Silco cuts to the left and walks along the shore for a time.

“I hope you can handle a small climb, treasure,” he says before turning off the path onto a thin trail that snakes up the side of a sandstone formation. “I won’t carry you if you feel faint.”

“I’d rather be left in the dust than rely on you to carry me,” you reply, though a touch of worry reaches your heart. You nibbled on a few things while assisting Arlo, but you haven’t had a proper meal since last night’s dinner. 

The trail isn’t steep but it snakes back and forth along the side of the cliff, carrying you higher and higher with each twist. The trail dips into a valley dotted with scraggly bushes before traveling up the side of another sandstone formation. 

Sweat breaks out across your forehead and your throat feels scratchy and dry, but you don’t say anything. Silco doesn’t seem to be any worse for wear. It’s unlikely he has anything on his person that can relieve your discomfort so there is no point in opening yourself up to ridicule, especially after he saw you in such a vulnerable state last night. 

It is a hot day and the air is dry. Your legs ache from walking at an incline for so long. As much as you want to ask Silco for a moment to stop and catch your breath, you push onward.

Each step gives you a frail sense of reassurance. 

You aren’t weak. You aren’t helpless. You’re capable. 

Even as your lungs burn and sparks tease the corners of your vision, you take comfort in your ability to keep pushing. 

You are resilient. 

The panic brought on by the waterwyrm was a fluke. A perfectly reasonable lapse in judgment, all things considered. 

You are fine. You have always been fine. You will continue to be fine. 

Is there not something better than fine? That wicked little voice whispers to you but you shut it out. Now is not the time. You must focus all of your energy on not collapsing on this forsaken trail.

“Steady now, treasure. Our destination is atop the plateau, just there.” Silco seems a little out of breath himself when he gestures to where the path curves just up ahead. 

“I’m perfectly fine,” you reply, ignoring the slight wheeze in your voice as you speak. If Silco noticed, he has enough grace to refrain from commenting on it. 

You round the bend and the land flattens. Straight ahead, the path extends into a flat stretch that overlooks the port below and the ocean beyond. To the left, there is a small, slapdash house that looks to be made of driftwood, thatch, and other salvaged materials but that isn’t what captures your attention. The trees surrounding the home are filled with brilliant-colored parrots. Their feathers are a deep ruby shade that almost seems unnatural. They chitter and squawk as you and Silco approach. They fix you in their beady gazes but do nothing. 

Now you know how Port Squawkfeather got its name.

“Who, exactly, are we meeting?” You ask, moving a little closer to Silco. 

“An old associate of mine,” Silco says. 

Just before he knocks on the door, another parrot flutters over and perches on a specially-made stand near the door. Unlike the others, this parrot is a deep azure, blue as the sea. 

“Oooh, visitors!” It screeches as it flaps its wings. “Get your ass out here, ya drunk!”

“Good heavens,” you chuckle softly at the bird. “I wonder where he learned to say such a thing.”

“You’re about to find out, treasure.”

The door to the driftwood cabin flings open and in the doorway stands the oddest man you have ever seen. Spindly legs support a bloated belly that leads to narrow shoulders and skinny arms. He wears a shirt of bold coral splashed with an assortment of random, vibrant colors that resemble tropical blooms. A hat of woven straw sits atop his head, blocking the sun from a leathery face and brilliant blue eyes that are almost white. He also wears trousers shorn choppily to knee-length. On his feet are sandals that look to be made of the same material as his hat. 

“Captain Jimmy,” Silco says with a sense of familiarity and a warm smile. “You haven’t aged a day.”

“Damn right, I haven’t!” The man cackles. When Silco extends his hand for a shake, Captain Jimmy pulls him into a tight hug. “Glad to see you aren’t dead, my lad!” 

You bite back a laugh at the display. Silco looks like a cat that has just been doused with cold water. 

“I could say the same to you.” His discomfort is palpable and you see no reason to intervene. The azure parrot makes a squawking noise that sounds like a human chuckle. You glance at the bird with a fond smile. It gazes back at you as if it can read your thoughts. Its gaze is so intense that you find yourself looking away. 

Silco has managed to extract himself from the eccentric man’s embrace. “I’m not here on a social call, I’m afraid. I have something for you.”

“Oh?” Captain Jimmy raises a bushy grey brow before sliding his gaze over to you. “Well, she’s pretty but I don’t deal in that sort of trade. You know that.”

“Oh! No,” Silco shakes his head and stammers. “Not her. She’s a different sort of investment.”

You huff with indignation at his choice of words but say nothing. 

“I’d prefer to discuss this inside,” Silco presses. 

“Shady deal! Shady deal!” The azure parrot screeches. 

“Hush now, Barnaby!” Captain Jimmy snaps. “I know damn well Captain Silco brings me nothing but shady deals. You needn’t insult me by stating the obvious.”

The parrot looks abashed. You did not know a parrot could convey such an expression. 

“Come in,” Captain Jimmy steps to the side and ushers you and Silco into his home. 

The inside of the small home reminds you of Silco’s cabin. It is crammed to the gills with interesting baubles, trinkets, and artifacts. 

You try to hide your surprise when Captain Jimmy waits for the blue parrot, Barnaby, to fly into the sitting room. The parrot settles on a perch in the corner of the room. 

“You look thirsty, lass,” Captain Jimmy says to you. “May I offer you a refreshment?”

“That would be lovely, thank you,” you say, summoning your most charming smile. Once Captain Jimmy has moved out of sight, you turn to Silco. “You should take notes in regards to manners.”

“Oh, I think I’ve been more than generous with you, treasure,” he murmurs with a glimmer in his eye. “At least, that’s the impression I got when you screamed my name-”

“Hush!” You snap just before Captain Jimmy returns carrying two hollowed-out coconuts. 

“One for you and one for me, lass,” he grins, showing off several missing teeth. 

“You’re too kind,” you say as you take in the fruity fragrances of the drink he offered. You take a sip and can’t help but sigh at the sensation of sweet flavors exploding on your tongue. “Oh, this is lovely! What is it?”

“A carefully curated and blended assortment of fruit juices from the surrounding land. Though it looks rather barren, this place is a treasure trove of natural wonder.” “Oh, I’m sure,” you nod as you take another deep sip of the delicious juice. “I can’t imagine those parrots would stick around otherwise.” Through the window, you can see clusters of ruby-red parrots chirping at each other and fluttering their striking wings. 

“True enough!” Captain Jimmy cackles. “Shame I can’t get rid of this one.” He jerks a thumb toward Barnaby, who fluffs up his feathers as though he’s heard every word. 

“Old bastard,” Barnaby croaks. 

“Waste of poultry,” Captain Jimmy fires back. 

Before you can comment on the odd exchange, Silco speaks up. 

“As much as I’d like to chat, I am here for a reason.” He reaches into his coat pocket and produces a pouch. You recognize the faint blue glow bleeding through the fabric. “What sort of trouble have you brought me now?” Captain Jimmy grumbles as he sets down his hollow coconut. You sip at your drink while Silco spills the two glowing blue stones into his palm. 

“We ran into a waterwyrm and got these for our trouble,” he says. “Any chance you can give me gold in exchange for them?”

Captain Jimmy thinks for a moment before shaking his head. “No gold but I have a decent trade, I believe. Let me see.” He gets to his feet and walks toward an empty wall before pulling down a sheet of canvas covered in writing. There is so much information and you struggle to understand what you read. 

You see a list of creatures listed out in a neat collum, the waterwyrm among them. When it is all laid out in front of you, you understand. The night in the tavern at Port Fairna, you believed Silco and his associates to be speaking in code. Now, you realize you were mistaken. Every mythical creature you heard mentioned that night is plastered on the canvas in front of you. If the waterwyrm is real, you cannot deny that the others must be real, too. 

So, what does that make Silco? Is he a pirate? Does he poach creatures of myth for money? Is he more than that? Is he less than that?

“They’re all real?” You murmur softly, more to yourself than either of the men as you take another refreshing sip of the sweet juice. 

“All these?” Captain Jimmy responds, rapping his bony knuckles against the canvas sheet. “Of course!” He shoots Silco a withering look. “Have you taught her nothing?”

“She has a talent for learning things on her own,” Silco replies.

You are too caught up in reading the list of creatures to throw a verbal barb back at Silco. At first, you’re pleased that you recognize most of the creatures listed from studying various mythologies but you quickly withdraw your enthusiasm. 

After witnessing the waterwyrm, nothing should give you much of a shock but seeing just how many fairytales are actually true makes you feel uneasy. That horrible feeling of uncertainty and imbalance squeezes at your throat again. Your breath comes a little quicker but you hide it by taking quick sips of your drink. You feel lightheaded but you are determined to breathe through it. 

“Would you like another drink, lass?” Captain Jimmy offers. 

“Yes, thank you,” you say. “It is quite a trek to get to your hidden abode.”

Captain Jimmy takes your hollow coconut to refill it. When he’s out of sight, Silco places his hand over yours. 

“Are you alright?” He asks. 

“Just tired. Out of breath. I’m not used to walking over such challenging terrain,” you say. Silco’s good eye narrows just a touch and you can tell he doesn’t fully believe you. Before he can press the matter, Captain Jimmy returns. 

“Here you are, lass. Careful now,” he cautions. “Few can handle more than three servings of my juice.”

“Why is that?” You ask before taking a long sip, allowing the sweetness to settle your nerves. 

“Well, I mix it with the most potent rum found west of Ionia,” he replies. “It’s not for the faint of heart nor drink.”

You swallow your last swig and summon a smile. “Is that so? I can’t taste anything other than fruit juice.”

“That’s the trick of it,” Captain Jimmy lets out a wheezing laugh. “It sneaks up on you.”

“May we return to business, please?” Silco cuts in, a soft snarl in his voice. You fall silent, more than happy to let the attention move away from you. 

Barnaby flutters over, his wings creating small gusts that send your loose hair flying. 

“Drink up, pretty one,” he chitters. “Drink up!”

“You are a very clever bird,” you murmur to him. “Do you like to be pet?”

“Pretty lady pet pretty bird.”

“Oh, I see,” you chuckle softly and run a fingertip over Barnaby’s sapphire head. He rumbles softly as you lavish affection upon him.

“I don’t have enough gold to buy a mermaid’s wish, but I can arrange a trade.”

At the word mermaid, you return your attention to the conversation between Captain Jimmy and Silco. Silco’s upper lip twitches as he shakes his head. 

“I need gold, Jimmy. I can’t go through the trouble of trade after trade,” he says. 

Captain Jimmy frowns. “Then I can’t help you today, old friend. I can check up on some old contacts but you know that will take time.”

Silco goes silent for a moment. He looks at his hands as he appears to be lost in thought. After a while, he looks up. “No trades, but I will leave one wish with you and see if I can’t put the other to use.”

“Wish?” You blurt without thinking. 

Silco turns to you with an expression of annoyance. “I’ll explain it later, treasure. Finish your drink. There is no reason to linger here.”

“Are you sure?” Captain Jimmy says. “You look like you could use a drink, Silco.”

“You aren’t wrong, but now that you’ve given my companion two servings of your special juice, I need to ensure she gets back to the ship safely.”

“I’m fine!” You protest with a frown. 

“Oh? Stand up for me,” Silco challenges.

With a haughty sigh, you do as he asks. The moment you are standing tall, the world spins. You wobble and make several futile attempts to right yourself before Silco reaches out to steady you. 

You are thoroughly drunk. That damn juice was more deceptive than your captor. 

“What is it with pirates and their inability to offer any drinks that aren’t spiked with something or other?” You grumble as you finish off the last of your drink. You’re already sauced. There is no sense in letting it go to waste. You do not wish to be a rude guest. 

“Why do you keep drinking things without checking to see what’s in them? That seems like the better question from where I stand,” Silco says. 

“I never had to think about that until now,” you huff. 

“She’s a bit of a mess, isn’t she?” Barnaby asks, looking at Captain Jimmy with an almost human level of intelligence. 

“What did that bird just say?” you whisper to Silco. The rum obviously had more of an effect on you than you realized.

“You’re a mess,” the blue parrot repeats.

“Now, see here-”

“Treasure, you do realize you’re about to argue with a parrot, right?” Silco gently takes hold of your chin and redirects your gaze so you are looking into his eyes. 

“Right,” you stammer, giving your head a little shake. “You’re right. I apologize.”

“You’re fine, lass. The rum is strong and Barnaby likes to provoke,” Captain Jimmy says before turning to Silco. “I’ll contact you if I get any gold for your mermaid’s wish. Don’t hold your breath, though. Very few have that kind of gold.”

“You know me, Jimmy. I always have to try,” Silco says. “Besides, I still have the other one. I can make something of this.”

“If anyone can, it’s you. Heading out, I suppose?”

“I should get this one to a place where she can’t get into trouble,” Silco says, giving you a gentle nudge. 

“Let the pretty mess stay,” Barnaby squawks before landing close to you. You reach out and gently pet his head. He blinks slowly and leans into your touch. 

“We have to catch the tide,” Silco says. “I’ll be in touch, Captain.” 

“Of course!”

Captain Jimmy waves you off with a flourish as Silco helps you down the trail leading away from the slapdash homestead. 

“Is it just me or is something off about that parrot?” You whisper as you lean on Silco, allowing him to guide you. 

He looks over his shoulder and takes a few more steps before whispering back to you, “just between you and me, I think Barnaby is a man trapped in a parrot’s body.”

You look up at him with wide eyes. “You’re joking, surely.”

“He’s always been more vocal than the other parrots and he doesn’t seem to mimic phrases. Captain Jimmy specializes in trading rare goods. A parrot with the intelligence of a man would fall into that category.”

“Oh, that makes me uneasy.” 

The sandstone landscape pitches and you cling to Silco to keep yourself upright. “Why didn’t you warn me about the juice?”

“Honestly? I figured you needed a drink after your ordeal last night. I didn’t think you’d gulp it down and asked for seconds. That’s not very heiress-like of you.”

“I was parched after the trek up here!” You protest. “Of course, I was thirsty.”

Silco chuckles and shakes his head. “You’re right. I miscalculated. I should have said something. But how do you feel?”

You go still and pay attention to your body. Your limbs feel loose and your mind is pleasantly fuzzy. You know there are many things you should feel stressed about but you can’t bring yourself to care. 

“This is a nice respite from coherent thought, I won’t lie,” you admit. 

It is later in the day that you initially realized. The late afternoon sun has broken through a thin patch of clouds and now shines on the ocean, turning the water into liquid gold. You move toward the light, forcing Silco to follow you. You do not even notice the edge of the plateau until he prevents you from moving forward and pulls you closer to him. 

“I would prefer it if you didn’t fall to your death, treasure,” he says, his voice low and velvety. 

“How gallant,” you murmur back. Your gaze settles on the dark silhouette of the Zaun’s Revenge, bobbing peacefully against the dock. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Are you sure? Last time I brought up this particular subject I’m certain you envisioned all the ways you could end my life.”

“Now you’ve made me truly curious. Out with it.”

What you thought was a confident question evaporates on your tongue and you’re left scrambling for words through a fruity rum haze.

“The life you’ve given Jinx is a life I would kill to have. You, and those serving on your ship, have the freedom that so many dream of. Why would you work against that in search of what you think is a real home?”

Silco stiffens at your words and you worry you’ve pinched a nerve but he eventually lets out a long sigh. 

“Why do you think we are free?” He asks.

“I spent many years at sea with my father. During those years, I felt the most free. I felt like my true self.”

“But during those years, did you not have an estate you could return to whenever you pleased?”

“Well, yes,” you answer. “But I do not like the family estate.”

“Whether you like it or not is irrelevant.” A sharp edge sneaks into his voice. “When you played at being a seafarer, there was always a safe option. You could return to a plush home filled with luxuries.”

“But I didn’t want to,” you reiterate.

“But you were also never in real danger,” Silco points out. “Jinx has no other home. She has nowhere to flee if things become too dangerous. If something happens to me, no one will go out of their way to make sure she’s okay. We need to have a place away from the ship, away from everything we do. I need to give her a home that can never be taken from her, even if something happens to me.”

A horrible sense of guilt fills you. Shame colors your cheeks as you watch the golden water dance. 

“I didn’t think of it that way. I’m sorry,” you say. When Silco says nothing for a long while, a horrible feeling makes your stomach twist up in knots. “It’s good of you to want Jinx to have a safe haven to flee to. Will my ransom go toward that?”

Your question seems to catch him off guard. 

“In a way,” he answers. “There are some debts to be paid and some investments to be made, but yes. Your ransom will put us closer to a safe home.”

“And the stone eye from the waterwyrm? What will that do for you?” You ask. 

“Eventually, Captain Jimmy will find someone prepared to pay its worth in gold. I expect that will take months, even years. But those profits will go towards making a safe haven for me and mine.”

“But there are two stones. What will you do with the other one?”

Silco looks down at you with a faint smile. “I think you’ve had a little bit too much rum to worry about my trade. We need to head back to the ship. We already docked far later in the day than I would have liked.”

“You’re avoiding my question.”

“Yes, I am,” he grins as he guides you back down the trail. He keeps you close as you navigate the winding path, hugging the sandstone formation. You wobble and trip over your own feet often but he never gives you grief for it. At most, he chuckles and tucks you under his arm more securely. 

“Why did you call those glowing stones mermaid’s wishes?” You ask. 

“Just focus on putting one foot in front of the other, treasure,” Silco urges. “I can’t have you tumbling down a canyon. It’s bad enough you were injured when the waterwyrm made its appearance.” 

“Oh, do you care about me, pirate?” You taunt.

“If I have to trek through a valley to find you when you fall victim to your carelessness, I’ll have to carry you back to the ship. If I have to do that, I’ll miss the opportunity to scope the market. That’s bad for business. I dislike practices that are bad for business.” 

“Lucky for you, I enjoy exploring markets more than I enjoy falling into valleys,” you say, though you need his constant support as you navigate the thin trail toward Port Squawkfeather.

The sun is just barely kissing the horizon when you and Silco reach the market. He browses silently with a look of deep concentration nestled between his furrowed brows. You stay quiet, not wishing to interrupt him as you take in your surroundings.

As you pass a table filled with exotic fruits, Silco stops. He picks up a pomegranate and inspects it as though he were assessing a diamond. 

“One crate, please,” he says to the shopkeeper, who looks both shocked and delighted at such a request. They quickly set about packaging an entire crate of pomegranates while you stare at the one Silco holds in his hand. 

Pomegranates are your favorite. Your rum-addled mind can’t conjure a more enticing prize. 

“Here, treasure.” Silco tosses the pomegranate to you and you manage to catch it. You bring it to your chest like some greedy little scavenger as he gives the vendor the information they need. 

You marvel at the color of the fruit like it’s some kind of precious jewel. You are so absorbed in your examination that your mind barely registers the flash of pink in the corner of your eye. 

You go still. You lift your gaze. You turn your head slowly until you spot someone familiar.

Violet. Captain Vander’s first mate. You recognize her hair and her steely demeanor. She does not face you directly, but she is clearly searching the market for signs of you. She must have seen the Zaun’s Revenge docked and idle. 

Beside her is a slender young woman with a shiny sheet of deep blue hair. She clutches a pristine rifle in her hands as she scans the market with sharp eyes. 

For a split second, you prepare to call out to them. They can take you back to Vander, back to your father. But the words get stuck in your throat. 

You look at Silco as he arranges for the crate of pomegranates to be delivered to his ship. You hear his words about wanting a safe place for Jinx echo through your mind. Your ransom will help with that. 

“Captain,” you murmur softly. Your tongue feels like lead as you tug on his sleeve. 

“Treasure?” He looks at you, arching a brow. 

“I…feel ill from that juice. I’d like to return to the ship, please.”

His ocean eye fills with sympathy before he gives you a quick nod. He gives instructions to the fruit seller before tucking you under his arm and guiding you back toward the docks.

“I shouldn’t have let you have that second drink,” he says quietly. 

“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” you say. “Perhaps Arlo can funnel some solid food into my system and give me some water.”

“I’m sure he can,” Silco nods.

You are returned to the ship and quickly disappear below deck. You flee to the galley under the guise of helping Arlo, as you promised. You do just that, but as you work on making new labels for everything in the scullery, you can’t help but wonder if you made a mistake not seizing your chance to escape. Worse than that, you wonder why you didn’t want to seize such a chance in the first place. 

#silco #arcane #silco x reader #arcane silco #silco arcane #silco fanfic #pirate!silco #silco fic #to the depths #silco smut

[mastermindmiko]

Potions Partners (Part 16)

Pairing: Draco Malfoy + Potter!Fem!reader

Word count: 4575

Warnings: hexing, cheating, feeling of uncomfortableness, kissing, kinda smut, angsty, voldy

Hey! If you think this didn't completely suck, feel free to check out my masterlist

part 17

requests are open

an: I can't believe that we're so close to being done with series, it's so sad.

Valentine’s day was in two weeks, and she wasn’t sure about what was going to happen that day. It thankfully fell on a Hogsmeade weekend which meant that she would be able to go out on a date. Draco hadn’t asked her to do anything that day, she felt disappointed at the thought. 

It had only been a week since their reconciliation, but Draco’s been making up for their breakup every second. He’s already sent her several bouquets of flowers, and small gifts. They arrive each day at the mail, she could sense that Draco’s owl was getting tired from sending gifts. It wasn’t Draco’s usual owl, so no one would get suspicious. 

The gifts were beautiful and every time she opened one on the breakfast table, she would smile and look at him to find him smiling at her. The first time she received a gift, Harry looked at it suspiciously and he stopped her from touching it, assuming that it was hexed. She simply rolled her eyes, and opened the tiny box to find a small silver bracelet. 

The next day, she received a bouquet of tulips and she smiled, knowing that they were her favorites and that he remembered. Harry asked her who was sending the gifts, and she simply shrugged her shoulders in reply. 

The third day, Harry got fed up by whomever was trying to pursue his sister, and stood up on his seat. He pressed his wand to his throat, amplifying his voice. He looked at every male in the room with narrow eyes, shouting, “Will the guy who’s sending my sister gifts stop it? Because if you don’t, I will find you, and you’ll have to take a trip to the hospital wing once I’m done with you.” 

He was then scolded by Professor McGonagall for his threats, but he didn’t care, sitting down, satisfied with the scared looks on the boys’ faces. All she did was roll her eyes at her brother and whisper to him, “What makes you think it’s a boy?” 

Harry’s eyes widened as Ron snorted at his friend's looks. Harry then sent him a glare. Ron clamped his mouth shut and continued to eat. Harry fumed, and scanned the Great Hall for anyone that looked like they were interested in his sister. 

By the time that a week passed, Harry was the most on edge he’s ever been. Nothing related to Voldemort ever made him feel this way. He was hexing anyone in sight. She handed Theo a pencil during History of magic and Theo’s hand got turned into double its size. Terry boot held her up to prevent her from falling when she tripped on a rogue pot in Herbology and he grew a tail. 

Not even Ron was safe, in fact, he was the least safe of them all. Ron’s gotten hexed nine times since the start of the week, but thankfully, nothing too serious, considering that Harry wouldn’t want to maim his best friend. Ron’s relationship with Lavender was over, well almost over, and he hasn’t been having the best week. The hexes are only making it worse. 

Ron’s had blue hair, green hair, a pig’s nose, a big tongue and many other unpleasant features lately. When Harry turned Ron’s tongue into twice it’s size, Ron said, “C-thould you turn my thongue back?” 

“Why could you kiss my sister better?” Harry seethed at his best friend. She patted Ron’s head sympathetically and raised her wand to his tongue. She reversed the spell, and She glared at her brother who had his arms folded in front of his chest. She grinded her teeth over each other and asked, angrily, “could you stop being such an idiot?” 

“I’m trying to protect you.” Harry says, rolling his eyes. She repeats the action, and she clenches her jaw. Harry couldn’t be more annoying and so she says, “I don’t need you to protect me, and stop being so mean to Ron, he hasn’t done anything wrong. Besides, what are you so afraid of anyway?” 

“I don’t want you two kissing each other!” Harry shouts, and Ron’s cheeks flush at the action. Hermione rolls her eyes at her friends’ antics, she continues to read her book, she didn’t have time for this. She stared at her brother in disbelief. She flings her arms up in frustration then brings them back to her sides. Without a thought in her head, she screams, “Well, you don’t have to be worried about that anymore!” 

She grabs Ron’s chin and plants a quick peck on his lips. She stands back up again to find her brother with wide eyes and his mouth open. Ron’s face has turned a darker shade of red than his hair. Hermione had a surprised look on her face, unblinking. She thinks that Hermione might be mad at her before Hermione blinks a few times before bursting out laughing. 

Harry doesn’t move an inch while Ron sinks into his chair. She leans to ask Ron, “Are you okay?” He nods his head, quickly, but his eyes don’t move from Harry, expecting him to pounce at any moment. Hermione clutches her sides, watching the scene unfold. 

She takes advantage of her brother’s near paralyzed state and she says, “Just so you know, I already have a boyfriend.” She hopes her confession would help Harry stop interrogating every boy in Hogwarts. She feels her heart stutter as she processes the fact that she’s kissed another boy that is not her boyfriend. She starts to exit the common room to head to said boyfriend. 

She doesn’t have to look at her brother to know that he’s probably shooting daggers at Ron, and so she lifts her arm up, and shouts, “Not him!” 

She exits the common room, and leans against the wall. She waits till she can’t see anyone, and she brings the crimson stone from her pocket and taps it. She gets transported to Draco’s room. He’s sitting on his bed, reading a book that she’s never seen before. He notices her appearance and smiles at the sight of her. 

“I kissed Ron.” She blurts out. She sucks in a deep breath in anticipation of his reaction. She studies his face and all his body with lots of attention to find out how he feels about this. He closes the book, and slides it under his pillow. 

He stands up, and she bites her lip. He takes a step closer to her and she sucks in a deep breath. He clears her throat and opens his mouth to say something before she cuts him off, “I’m sorry. I came as soon as I did it. Harry’s been giving him so much shit, and I thought it would help, but I didn’t think it through. I know that I technically cheated on you, and that you’re probably so mad right now. It doesn’t help either that I told Harry that I’ve got a boyfriend-” 

“Shh, love, calm down.” He says, reassuringly. Her wide eyes follow his finger as it moves to her lips, effectively silencing her. He puts his hand over her jaw, and she studies his face to see if he’s mad. He doesn’t have any trace of emotion on his face, and it worries her. Draco purses his lips, and she could see his jaw clench. He whispers something that she doesn’t hear, and so, she asks, “What?” 

“Is he a better kisser than me?” He asks, and she looks at him in disbelief. That’s the first question he asks? That’s the first thing that he says? She opens her mouth then closes it again in shock. She opens it again and after a few seconds she goes, “What?” 

“You kissed him. Is he a better kisser than me?” Draco asked, looking into her eyes deeply. He was serious, very serious about this in fact. He didn’t seem angry, but she couldn’t be sure. She answers, “I don’t know- it was just a peck.” 

A deep growl erupts from his throat that’s harsh and contrasts the soft circles his drawing over her neck. The noise sends a shiver down her spine, and her eyes widen. He lets out a deep dark chuckle, “Wrong answer.” 

“I think you need a reminder…” he whispers and she notices just how close he’s gotten. The familiar possessive nature makes butterflies erupt in her stomach. They haven’t kissed since Draco apologized in the hallway. They’ve met everyday since then, of course, but she just didn’t feel comfortable with the action, having it being so intimate to her. 

Draco hasn’t rushed her at all, and she’s grateful, but she can tell from the way he looks that he’s been yearning for her lips. The feeling of her heart hammering against her chest tells her that she wants him too. He looks away from her lips and into her eyes, asking for permission. She nods before he slams her lips onto hers. 

It sucks all the air out of her lungs, as he presses his lips to hers even harder. She feels the way his hands clutch her waist tightly, pulling her closer and closer to him. The familiar feeling brings a nervous tick in her heart and sirens start in her head. She ignores the negative feeling and the worry, and focuses on the way his lips move against hers in a soothing rhythm. 

She lifts her shaking hands to his shoulder and grips them tightly. Her body feels tense against his own, and she doesn’t know how to relax. He opens his mouth and pushes his tongue in her mouth. She focuses on the feeling of him all over her, but she can’t help but entertain the nagging thoughts in the back of her head telling her, ‘enjoy it, it might be your last time.’ 

She presses her lips tightly against his and bites his lip, hoping that the action would bring attention away from her head. He slowly slips one hand underneath the material of her shirt and she feels her body go rigid and her chest constrict. She moves away from him in one quick step. 

He opens his eyes, and looks at her in confusion at the abrupt movement. She’s avoiding her gaze, and she’s panting. He lifts his hands to hold her own, and he asks, “Are you okay?” 

“I’m sorry- I just…” she starts and he looks at her attentively, waiting for her to continue speaking. She notices the way his eyes glimmer with concern and something else that she foolishly hopes is love. She shakily lets out, “I just cheated on you and you don’t hate me and you still want me while I can’t even kiss you because all I can think about is you leaving me…”

“It’s okay, and I’m not mad about you kissing Weasley.” He says but something in the way he’s standing, acting makes her believe otherwise. “I’m sorry that you feel like I’ll leave you because I won’t. I promise that nothing will ever make me break up with you. Not even at the end of the year. Not until you feel like what we have is over.” 

She nods her head at his words, and the words bring some comfort. Slowly, he brings her into a hug, and she wraps her arms around his back to reciprocate it. She inhales his familiar, calming smell and it makes her heart beat slow down. 

Seconds later he asks, “You told your brother about me?” She shuffles closer to his chest, not ready for the conversation her brother will have with her when she returns to the common room. She says, words muffled by the fabric of his chest, “Not technically. I just told him that I have a boyfriend.” 

He hums and he starts to stroke her hair, from the top of her head to the bottom of her hair. It brings a great sense of relief in her chest. It makes her wrap her arms around him more tightly. She whispers, “He’s gonna have my head when I get back.” 

“Then don’t go back…stay here.” he whispers against her hair, and she contemplates the thought, it would be the first time she’s stayed the night in a while. He adds after a while, “Only if you’re comfortable, of course, if you’re not then it’s fine.” 

“No, no, it’s fine. I’ll stay.” She says and she doesn’t see the wide smile that takes over his face. He presses a kiss on her head, and god, she could tear up because of how much she’s missed this. As if reading her head, he says, “I’ve missed this so much.” 

“Me too…” She whispers. She sighs against his chest, and she tilts her head so she can hear the steady heartbeat of his chest. It reassures her, and she taps on his shoulder at the same pace of his heart. Her feet start to ache after a bit and she pulls away from him, noticing the small whimper that he let out at the loss of contact. 

Nevertheless, he grabs her hand and presses a kiss there. It brings a small blush to her cheeks. He notices the silver bracelet that he’s got her, and he plays with it with his fingers. She smiles at the gesture and she says, “Thank you for the gifts.” 

“It was my pleasure really, I’m glad you liked them.” Draco says in reply and after a few moments his face turns into a cheeky grin. He adds, “It was also funny to see the havoc that your brother caused over Hogwarts’ population.” 

She lets out a small giggle when he chuckles. She goes to sit down on his bed, feet hurting her. She says, “I think you should stop sending them, Harry might actually find out who’s sending them.”

He nods his head, but his lips are slightly turned down at the thought. He goes to sit down next to her. He holds her hand and places their intertwined hands on his thigh. He rubs her hand with his thumb, and it makes her head fall onto his shoulder. She shuffles closer to him, and he presses another kiss to her head. 

“Valentine’s day is in two weeks…” she starts and waits, hoping for him to get the hint. He does, she finds that out when he lets out a chuckle. He pulls her closer to him, and says, regretfully, “As much as I would love to go to Hogsmeade with you and I really would, we can’t. It’ll be too busy, and too many people will be there-” 

“It’s okay. I didn’t think about that.” She cuts him off with a lie. She thought about it, quite frequently, actually. She hates the secrecy of their relationship while the excitement of sneaking around was fun, now it’s faded into a pure wanting of a normal relationship. To sit next to him during breakfast, hold his hand (above the table) during class, kiss him whenever she wanted to, to go out on dates without hiding. 

“I’m sorry.” he whispers and she lifts her head off his shoulder to look at him. She looks at him and says, “No, don’t be. Do I wish that we could have a normal relationship? Yes, but it doesn’t matter because I can still be with you, and that's enough.” 

He smiles at her words and she reciprocates the gesture. He looks at the clock over his desk and notices how late it is. He stands up and says, “We should get ready, it’s late.” 

“I don’t have any of my things.” She says, after standing up to move beside him. He moves to his closet and brings out one of his pajamas and hands it to her. He says, “You can have this.” 

“Would you mind…if I moved some of my stuff here?” she asks, shyly. A smile breaks out on his face and he tries to hide it in fear of him looking like a maniac and freaking her out. He rushes, “No, no, of course not, I would love that.” 

***

The vanishing cabinet was beyond repair. That’s what he concluded. It’s been there for years on years, but it does not work. Every spell, incantation or potion hasn’t worked. Snape helped him into the restricted section, and he went through the books one by one, none of them fixed the cabinet. 

He’s becoming more frustrated by the second, he’s been working on the cabinet for months now, and nothing was mended. He spent every free moment of his working on it. If he wasn’t in class or with her, he’d be in the room of requirement. He was getting more desperate by the second. 

Once, in the head of the moment, he had shouted ‘bombarda’ aiming at the cabinet when his most promising incantation didn’t work. Fear had struck and then coursed through him at the idea of the cabinet exploding. The dark lord would’ve killed his mother right then and there. Fortunately, the spell ricocheted and hit some unimportant object behind him. 

He’s been on edge whenever the Dark Lord sends him a letter asking for his progress which was none. Dumbledore was still alive and the cabinet was still broken. But what he was most anxious about was that the Dark Lord had found out about her. That he’s back with her. 

Draco knew very well that the threats he’s received were very serious, that the Dark Lord won’t hesitate in killing her or his mother if given the incentive. The thought sent shivers down his spine and tears down his cheeks. The dark mark was burning his arms. It always did, but it burned him more fiercely. 

It made him ache and it was all he could think about at times. His skin is red from where it is, not from the mark, but from how he’s been scratching his skin. In his head, if he scratched the surface of his skin off, then the mark would be off too, and he’d be free.

It didn’t work and it only made the mark irritate him more. The disillusionment charm he’s used on the mark covers up the black ink, but not the cut skin. It looks red, but his sleeves cover it up well enough. The redness has been fading, but if someone looked closely enough, they’d be able to notice it well. 

A part of him felt that the Dark Lord already knew and that he was punishing him with him not knowing. It would explain the way the Dark mark burned whenever he was near her, the Dark Lord was taking away the best part of his life. The worst part was the way she’d lift a hand to her shoulder in pain any time he was near then the pain would fade, she was hurting too, and that’s what hurt him the most.

The other part of him still had hope, that he still stood a chance. That the Dark Lord didn’t know, and that Draco had a chance to throw him off his tracks. To be able to convince him, that if he had found out that their relationship was useful, and that it wasn’t a distraction. He felt guilty about lying to her and using her, but it was better than her ending up dead, right? 

That’s the reason why he’s let her go with Weasley. To throw the Dark Lord off his tracks. To confuse him, and make him believe that he wasn’t with her. The memory of it still makes him fist his hands, angrily, but he remembers that it was for the best. They were lying in bed yesterday when she asked him. 

“Tomorrow’s Valentine’s day…” she had begun and his eyes snapped from their intertwined fingers to her eyes. They had their palms in the air, and they played with each other's fingers. It brought him comfort. He opens his mouth to dismiss the idea, when she interrupts him with a shy voice, “I know that we can’t go together, that’s not what I wanted to talk about.” 

“Then what is it?” He says and holds her hand tightly, giving her enough comfort and strength to say whatever she wants to talk about. She smiles at the gesture then she hesitates for a second before blurting out, “Ron and Hermione are fighting, so we can’t go all go out for a group Valentine’s day, so Harry’s going with Hermione and- it won’t be a date, just a friendly outing-” 

“You want to go to Hogsmeade with Weasley?” He asks with the corners of his lips turned down, slightly. She looks at his expression and sighs, “I don't want to go with him- but yeah…” 

He doesn’t say anything, thinking it through. His initial instinct was to say no, but it could be beneficial. To lower suspicions anyone (the Dark Lord) had about their relationship. He forces a smile and goes, “sure, you can go with him.” 

She smiles that same smile that causes his heart to beat out his chest, and reminds him that she’s worth all the pain. Her eyes glimmer, and she exclaims, “I promise I won’t kiss him or anything!” 

He laughs at her words, knowing that she wouldn’t do that. It was simply a lapse in judgement the last time. She shuffles closer to him, and presses a quick peck on his lips. It paints his cheeks a shade of red. She’s gotten more comfortable with their relationship again. They’ve been snogging more often, but nothing else. 

It didn’t bother him, really. He understood where she was coming from. The only issue was that they’d be in a heated snogging session and she’d climb on top of him by then he would be incredibly hard. She’d stop as soon as she felt his hard-on, and she’d leave to go back to her dorm. He didn’t rush her, but he would be lying if he said that he didn’t spend some time daily thinking of her. 

“Are you going with anyone?” she asks, bringing him out of his daydream. He’s going to be spending the day, trying to fix the cabinet, or planning how to kill Dumbledore. He shakes his head, and he explains, “Theo and Blaise had got dates.” 

“Won’t you get lonely?” she frowns at the thought of him spending the day alone. He resists the urge to let out a bitter laugh at her words, he’s been lonely his whole life, and even more so this year. He forces a kind smile and shakes his head. She continues, “If you want me to stay, I will. I’ll just leave Harry to fend for himself with both of them.” 

“No, you don’t have to do that. I trust you.” He says, and she leans her head on his chest. He wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her closer to him. Nothing could bring him the comfort he felt when he was in her arms. She sighed, “you’re the best boyfriend ever.” 

Her last words had sent him into a guilty spiral for the rest of the night. He couldn’t sleep well the whole night, and he woke up at dawn. He usually woke up a bit earlier than her to use the disillusionment charm which disappears when he falls asleep. 

He could only imagine what she and Weasley were doing at that moment. Were they sharing a stray drinking a milkshake? Were they in between couples in love in Madam Puddifoot’s tea shop? He trusted her, he just didn’t trust the romantic atmosphere. He pushed the thoughts out of his head, and he focused on his tasks. 

Tomorrow there was another Hogsmeade trip in which he could go buy mead which he could poison. He didn’t know how he could buy the alcohol, he wasn’t of age yet. He remembers their first date where he met Madame Rosmerta, she didn’t seem too fond of him, but maybe she’d be willing to help. 

If she refused, he’d have to use the imperious curse. Shivers were sent down his spine at the thought of the curse, remembering how he used it on Katie Bell, how she was still in the hospital wing because of him. Tears prick his eyes, and he decides that he’s had enough of the room of requirement. 

He walks out the room, and he can hear the slight chatter of students, alerting him that it was almost afternoon. People have started to return to the castle. He walks the halls avoiding people’s curious gaze and the couples in intimate positions. He hopes that she is back. 

He rushes into his common room, ignoring Blaise and Pansy on top of each other on the sofa, he resists the urge to barf at their obscene noises. He runs a hand over his face and then through his hair. He enters his room, and the lights are closed. 

He closes the door behind him and leans against the wood. He lets out a deep sigh, and he inhales deeply, hoping that it would soothe the guilt that he felt in his chest. A soft voice called out his name and he turned around quickly, switching on the lights with his wand. 

And there she was, lying on his bed, looking at him with those eyes. But that wasn’t what caught his attention. His eyes trailed down to look at her body which was almost bare, except for the emerald green lace fabric that covered only the most intimate parts of her body. 

His breath gets caught in his throat and his eyes widen. He can already feel himself harden as he continues to look at her body. The lingerie shows her body off in gorgeous ways, accentuating her curves, and making him want her more, if possible. And Merlin, it was green, his green, the green that matched his tie, his bed and his ring on her finger. 

“Happy Valentine’s Day.” she says, in a sultry voice that goes straight to his cock. He takes a few steps towards her till he’s right in front of the bed. He meets her eyes, and says, incredulously, “you’re incredible.” 

She lets out a shy giggle as her cheeks turn pink. He continues to marvel at her. He leans down on the bed, and moves towards her. He takes her chin with her fingers, and he smiles at her, “you’re so fucking beautiful.” 

He presses a sweet kiss to her lips, and she sighs against his lips. It’s so soft and loving and sweet, it makes her heart want to burst out of her chest. He presses a small kiss to her cheek then jaw, but he can tell she wants more from the way that she’s rubbing her thighs together in hope of getting some relief. She sighs, “Draco.” 

He hums and she trails her hands to his neck, down to his tie. She pulls him closer, and then she loosens his tie a bit. He’s nearly lying flat against her, with only his elbows supporting him above her. She lifts her hips to meet his own and his breath hitches. His eyes slam shut as she moves against him. She moans at the feeling. 

She sets her hips back down on the mattress, and he opens her eyes, they are much darker than before. She lifts her hand to his face, and whispers, “Draco, take me.” 

Taglist:

@urbansaint @love-me-satoru @angelofasgard16

#harrypotterimagine #hogwarts #harry potter #harrypotter #fanfiction #fluff #gryffindor #harryjamespotter #harrypotterfluff #draco fic #draco malfoy #draco angst #draco fanfiction #draco fluff #draco imagine #draco malfoy angst #draco malfoy fanfic #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy fluff #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy one shot #draco malfoy smut #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy x you #draco one shot #draco smut #draco x female reader #draco x reader #draco x y/n

[probablyintensemuses]

INCOMING: A DESPERATE COLLEGE STUDENTS OATHBOUND PREDICTIONS!!!!

CC @mageofspace__ on IG

TRACY!! I JUST FELL TO MY KNEES IN THE MIDDLE OF WALMART! THE WHOLE GANG!! I’m so happy to see Valec, Alice, Will, & Mariah in the flesh like wtf! But while we are here, I want to talk about some of my Oathbound predictions…because I can. ❤️⚔️💙

P.S. IF YOU HAVEN’T READ LB OR BM I SUGGEST YOU DO NOT CONTINUE! Spoilers ahead!

• Okay first, I truly believe that Bree has had her squire and kingsmage all along, Nick and Sel. I mean just with the relationships between those three, there is no way it goes any other way.

also, Alice will wake from her coma and have somehow inherited powers from Will as she was LITERALLY breathing his aether signature in. Like I’m not 100% sure how that would work, but we’ve seen it in media before, take Monica Rambeau and Wanda’s hex for an example! Maybe that interaction with magic will awaken Alice's own unique magic too, or maybe it's closely related to Bree again how the Mesmer did too in LB.

Regardless, when she awakens I think bby girl will be given an even more important role in the finale of this series. Maybe like being Will's squire...

• it’s going to come out that not only is shadow daddy, IYKYK not spoiling for potential new readers who have no sense of self-preservation and are reading this anyways, is not only Sel's father but VALECHEZ’s! Like not only would that be pure comedy considering how they were at each other's NECKS in BM, but it makes sense as to why Sel was succumbing to his demonia so fast, faster than others, maybe because a little more demon than others…

•I think this new magic system that Tracy is cooking up is going to tap into Natasia and Faye’s relationship a bit more and even Sel and Bree’s.

I also think it’s going to be the solution to not only Sel’s demonia, but Bree’s bloodmark, and even abatement and all these fucking legendborn oaths. I mean think about the word OATH, practically meaning something one HAS to abide by. Vera took an oath of sorts with the blood mark “one daughter at a time for all time.” The legend born and their oath of service and all this, as I call it, greedy magic which shortens their life spans, the Merlins too! What if, just what if, Faye and Natasia found a way to combine both their forms of magic (root + aether + blood craft) and created something entirely new? Something so potent and powerful, defying these “oaths” or what you could call them, curses, to cure all these things…and what if since Bree is from Faye’s lineage, sel from Natasia, what if they can do it together too.

• I think we will learn more about the Morgaine. More on Nick….hmm. A lot of LB fans keep calling him boring, but with his mom's disappearance, and the fact that Tracy is too good of an author to simply leave his arc hanging, I don't trust it. Maybe he will even go rogue, I'm not too sure ATP, but don't sleep on Nick!

• Lastly for my final predictions…more like a pipe dream. I really, for the life of me, need Bree to pull a Wanda from episodes 8-9 of WandaVision with Shadow Daddy.

We know Bree is smart and clever, this ain’t new! So, I need her to take what she has learned from shadow daddy, and then pull a clean uno reverse, and get out of there! EXPEDITIOUSLY!

Then from there, I need her to find Sel and Nastia (preferably in some cute cabin in the woods, and Natasia needs to be a MILF) this revelation of Bree's survival prompts Natasia to discuss the above ^^^ She and Bree get to work! Sel is now cured and they can get these oaths removed!!! Once these oaths are removed, the REGENTS ARE TOAST, TOR TOO! Then we get to work on Camlann in book 4! Cuz that’s how tf Tracy does it! Period!!

THESE ARE JUST MY PREDICTIONS, NONE OF THESE ARE CANON!! All I have to say is I'm fucking so excited about this book and even though it's still two years out I'm trusting Tracy's expertise to bring us something DE-LI-CIOUS! Also is it too much to ask that if this is adapted for television to have it animated, we know how much Tracy loves and takes influence from anime... it's only fair, and I feel can make for a more accurate and dynamic visual medium.

That's all for now. PEACE.

#legendborn3 #legendborn #bloodmarked #tracy deonn #legenbornpredictions #legendborn cycle #bree matthews #kingbree

[swearingcactus]

some stuff my boyfriend said as i answered some of his cyberpee questions and went full pepe silvia in explaining some of the lore he missed:

(about Johnny) "I like him but he's so stupid."

(after seeing a picture of default V(incent) and stunned into silence) "not gonna lie, i'm not gay, BUT--"

"Wait, Johnny didn't have a thing with Rogue, right? Weren't they just friends?" ("What, no, she was his ex. He cheated on her. Why do you think she was trying to kick him out when he tried to ask for help?") "Oh. Ohhhh. Oh that makes so much more sense. Oh... and you LIKE this guy?"

(showing factions and gangs in Night City) "V's just a guy he can't count as a faction." ("That's the Valentinos.") "OH."

"I went all in on physical points because i believe in always having a Plan B. The B stands for brute strength."

"Goro's really funny. I like him :) He's like a tourist." (pray for him, he's gonna continue to the parade tomorrow)

(about Panam) "I read a guide to romance her. She's like, a tsundere."

"I hate that big VDB guy." ("Placide?") "Yeah, fuck him." (this was unprompted in the middle of our lunch)

"Who's Rache Bartmoss?"

(about Corpo V) "Wow, I wanna play an asshole but not THIS kind of asshole!"

"It was a DND game?!"

"If someone casted Keanu Reeves as a character I've made I'd let him run with it."

(about Kerry) "What's a power bottom?"

(re: Johnny's cyberpsychosis in the books) "So like, V gets to talk to Johnny like how Johnny used to talk to his hand?"

"Is Morgan Blackhand important?"

#last question very real actually #*shakes CDPR's gates* IS HE??? IS HE?!?! #cyberpunk 2077