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sirenologyyy · 5 months

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RIGHT SIDE OF MY NECK!

neteyam x fem!metkayina reader

✧ summary : a certain sully boy can't admit he's smitten by one of the daughters of the olo'eyktan, but why would he? he's calculated and discerning and she's everything he wished he was.

✧ warnings : swearing (that's pretty much it LMAO)

✧ author's note : neteyam's 15, reader is older than tsireya by a year or so, some much needed lo'ak and neteyam brotherly bonding (after the trauma inducing hellscape that was atwow), lo'ak talking like a regular teenage boy, and in honor of it being December again, may i present to you, a neteyam fic that has been rotting in my drafts since April 🤩

A gravelly groan escapes your lips as your hands managed to shield your face, almost to hide yourself from the undisputable truth that you, along with your Tsireya, and your older brother Ao'nung had been roped into the evident mess that was to teach the children of Toruk Makto the ways of the Metkayina.

You weren't as prejudiced as Ao'nung, sneering at the Sully children whenever he'd run into them, so meticulously influenced by your mother's dislike towards Skypeople, let alone the Omaticaya.

You weren't as welcoming as your younger sister, who had greeted them with big grins that only further accentuated her dimples and her devout willingness to help Toruk Makto's family in any way she could. While you had resorted to mirthless smiles and polite nods whenever you'd come across one of them, it was unnatural, yes, Ao'nung was quite unfair with his treatment towards them, yes, but Tsireya's overall cheer and joviality was something you could not for the life of you reciprocate.

You were fine with them being here, although you couldn't say the same for most of your people.

The only real thorn in your side was the oldest.

Neteyam.

Oh how your blood boiled whenever you'd spot him in the crowd. Always so eager to help, so eager to please, so perfect, so good, it made you want to punch the living daylights out of him... Well, only slightly, that may be an exaggeration. Your hate for him might be particularly irrational but valid in all the worst ways.

"Can't you tell them I've been bitten by something?"

"No" Tsireya snorts.

"I've slipped collecting coconuts and dislocated my ankle"

"Stop moving so much sister, or I will mess up your hair"

It was like he was so anxious about keeping up the golden boy facade, what a show off, you thought. Going out of his way to help any way he could, helping carry baskets of dried fish across the village, pushing heavy boats off to sea, weaving baskets, seeing to the ilus, even the tsuraks at one point. It infuriated you. What did he had to gain?

If there was one thing you despised, it was try-hards.

And Neteyam Sully was the bane of your existence.

"Oh!" You had exclaimed, snapping your fingers. "You can tell them I have fallen off my ilu and got ripped apart by an akula"

Tsireya laughed. "Yes, like they would believe me"

With another scoff, you stare st your sister through the mirror, so engrossed in the braiding technique you'd requested for her to do on your hair. "I don't see why you're bringing me into your affairs sister, it is clear as day you only want to help out the Forest People because you like the way that boy kept looking at you yesterday"

Tsireya tugs at your half-finished braid, making you swear and rub at your head, bringing Tsireya some amusement out of this. "Now, be quiet, be still, let me do my job"

With a sour mood, you allow Tsireya to thread the shells you requested she put in, sitting up straighter. "Your job in being an absolute bitch?"

Tsireya sighs again, feeling her slump in frustration behind you. "Do you think it is so easy a job for me to constantly deal with your attitude?"

A smirk comes to your face as Tsireya knots your braid off. "Don't worry, all your efforts will be seen by Eywa, she might even make the boy tell you your hair looks nice today"

"Enough, Y/N" Tsireya says, standing up from her seat.

You stood as well, hooking your arm around Tsireya's as you left your pod. "Oh let me have my fun"

A dozen morbid thoughts suddenly flood Tsireya's mind. "If we do that I am afraid there will be nothing left of Awa'atlu when you are finished"

When you arrive, you immediately spot both the brothers sitting on the edge of the woven platform, their long legs dangling just above the water. They looked to be so immersed in a conversation that neither of them noticed you or Tsireya approach them, only when they were about 4 feet apart was when you clicked your tongue against the roof of your mouth.

"Oh great mother, is it just the two of you?" Says you, making both the boys stand up like springs.

"No, our sisters are coming, they aren't exactly good at being early to things" says the younger one, his eyes flicking to Tsireya every now and then, making you dizzy trying to hold eye contact with the boy.

"Hey Tsireya" He finally says, nodding at her sister who laughs again. It took everything in you not to start dry-heaving in front of them.

"Why do you sound so disappointed?" Neteyam wonders, another smirk playing at his thin lips as he looks at you.

Your forehead creases. "I am nothing of the sort, what about you? What has gotten you so chipper?"

"Nothing all that special, really" He replied, not even convincing himself.

You heftily exhaled through your nose, moving away from the group and walking up on the platform, taking one of the seaweed bands on your arm to bunch your hair up just to get it out of your face. Once you'd pull your hair through the band the final time, you turned around just to see Neteyam's head turn away, almost like it was a chain reaction.

You placed your hands over the dip of your hips, facing the odd group. "Now, where has our dear brother wandered off to? It's almost noon and he is nowhere in sight"

This makes the rest of them look around for Ao'nung, even the two brothers who you'd assumed wanted nothing to do with him after your brother had showed his blatant contempt towards them after he'd ridiculed them during their arrival.

"He must still be with Rotxo and the others, we must be patient" says Tsireya.

Your mind remained closed, throwing your hands up in the air only for them to land on her hips with a thwack. "We both know Ao'nung does not move like the tide, he is too stubborn, too hard in the head " you found yourself saying, prodding a finger at your forehead.

"Patience, sister" Tsireya admonishes calmly, making her way towards you as you placed your hands on the identation of your woven skirt. "We must not rush things, we allow things to come to us at their own pace"

"Alright, alright" you tell her half-heartedly.

"Hey! Sorry, are we late?"

You turn her head to spot the two Sully sisters jogging up to the beach, the youngest out of all of them went straight for Neteyam, watching as he scooped her up with no hesitation. "Where in Eywa's name were you two?" Neteyam wonders, eyeing his sisters curiously.

The older girl rolled her eyes, pointing her chin at the youngest. "Couldn't decide on which skirt she wanted to wear"

The little girl pouts. "I didn't know which one I wanted!" She protested, her ears drooping down.

"She had two to choose from" the older sister groaned. Eyes finding yours as her grin widens, you chuckle to yourselves, having sisters was never a dull moment.

You two had bonded over that when you first helped her with her chores, although she seemed reluctant at first she accepted. Neither of you got anything done as you both found that snacking on dried seaweed and exchanging stories about your lives proved to be more fun.

"Maybe he isn't coming" says Neteyam's younger brother, subtly inching towards Tsireya while keeping everyone under the impression that he was trying to find Ao'nung just like she was, but in truth, all he wanted was to stand beside her. Tsireya didn't pick up on it at all, being the oblivious person she was, but Neteyam did, quietly chuckling to himself as he puts Tuk down, watching as she sprints towards the sand at full speed.

You shook your head at the sound of Tsireya's giggles and walks off the diving platform as well, making your way towards the beach to stretch your legs, walking along the coastline trying to kill time. That is until something tugs at your skirt, you turned around to see who it was but then looks down to see Neteyam's youngest sister, proudly holding a small conch shell in her hands, beaming up at you.

"They look just like the ones in your hair!" She exclaimed, a gigantic grin spreading across her face as you crouched to her level, taking the shell from her hands to study it. "It's a light purple, you don't have any purple shells yet"

"You're right, I don't have any purple shells in my hair yet do I?" You say in genuine amazement, holding it up against the sun, feeling the little girl scoot closer to you, but the shell had suddenly started to sprout 6 legs and you dropped it, startled by the animal and by the little girl's scream, you watch as it scurries back into the water, gone forever.

You turned back to the little girl who was visibly upset, another frown slowly forming on her face before you placed your hands on the little girl's shoulders. "Hey, we'll find another one around here somewhere, don't be upset"

She huffed, her shoulders rising and falling. "I didn't know there was something inside it, I really didn't"

You shook your head. "Neither did I, we both didn't know" you assured the younger girl, cupping her round face as her frown slowly started to shift into a smile. "Look, if we need to do this properly and find shells for my hair, I'm gunna need to know your name"

"Tuk!" She says. "My name's Tuk!"

"It's very nice to meet you Tuk"

"Really?" She giggled as you nodded. "What about you? What's your name?"

You beckoned her closer with a simple gesture of your fingers as you whispered your name into her ear.

"You've got a very pretty name" Tuk whispers as well, hiding her face behind her hands as she giggled.

"So do you" You had whispered all the same.

Tuk then looks back at the diving platform, and then back at you. "Y'know I think my brother is staring at you"

"Oh yeah? Why do you think that is so?"

The little girl scratches her head. "I don't know, he only stares at things he thinks looks nice or looks weird"

You grinned. "Does your brother think I look nice or weird?"

Tuk blinks. "I don't think you look weird"

"Would he think that?" Ka'leia emphasized.

"Probably" Tuk replies honestly, looking back at the diving platform again. "Why else does he keep staring at you?"

It made you think, it made your mind spiral into the bottomless void of memories in which you had caught a pair of warm amber eyes catch yours, and every time you did it made your heart stutter, however unfortunate it may be. "I'm not so sure either"

"Neteyam's weird" Tuk deduced.

You snort. "Yeah, he's weird"

Silence settles between you, but not for long as Tuk takes your hand and pulls you up. "Can we go and find shells now? Then we can put them in your hair! Then you'll look pretty!"

"Am I not pretty now?"

"No, not really" says Tuk, swinging your interlocked arms back and forth as her wide eyes scanned the sand.

"No?" You wonder almost scandalised, "alright " you nod.

You and Tuk spent a good couple of minutes digging holes on the beach to fish out the shells that had been buried underneath the sand, conch shells, shards of shells, fossils, rocks, bits and pieces of coral, if it was pretty enough for Tuk's standards she's adding it to her pile.

5 minutes later you're following her around with an armful of tiny shells, half the beach full of holes from Tuk and her makeshift shovel that had originally been a branch, with her screaming in delight when she's spotted another one, hurriedly running to you to add it in with the rest.

Lo'ak abruptly places his hands on Neteyam's shoulders, purposefully trying to scare him but Neteyam does not flinch at all. "Yo bro, you got a staring problem or something?" He wonders in English, stepping beside Neteyam to look out into the beach too.

"You done flirting with Tsireya?" Neteyam shot back.

Lo'ak huffed. "Pfft, me? Tsireya?"

"I know your tell, your tail's a dead giveaway"

Lo'ak laughs, punching Neteyam's shoulder, finally making the older boy turn to face him. "Yo! Shut your ass up!"

Neteyam chuckles. "No one else here understands English bro, we're fine!"

Lo'ak shook his head. "I'm not worried about the Metkayina, I'm worried about that devil right there" He says, pointing at the beach.

Neteyam looks at the direction where Lo'ak was pointing. "Who? Tuk?

"She's got spot on hearing, incredible memory," Lo'ak listed. "If I'd have known how much of a tattletail she'd be I'd have abandoned her in the forest when she was a baby"

Neteyam frowns, laughing. "Yes, and when I'd get home I'd find your extra finger in my stew"

Lo'ak grimaces, almost gagging as Neteyam wiggles one of his fingers at him. "Disgusting!"

Neteyam cackles loudly, watching as Lo'ak covered his mouth. "You're overreacting!" He tells him.

"Nah bro, you don't get to fill my mind with those kinda thoughts" Lo'ak says.

Neteyam places a hand on his back. "Face it baby bro, i'm in your head"

Lo'ak pushes it away, chuckling. "Lay off!"

"Will you two ever go a day without fighting eachother?" Kiri asks, giving them a look.

"Not sure" says Lo'ak. "But I wouldn't hold my breath"

Kiri rolled her eyes and Lo'ak turns to Neteyam again. "If Ao'nung isn't coming then we might as well fetch him, if you catch my drift"

Neteyam shakes his head, his braids swishing from side to side. "No, we will do no such thing"

Lo'ak half shrugs, already moving away. "Fine, if you won't then I will"

Neteyam grabs his arm, stopping his brother in his tracks. "Hey, what did dad say?"

He pretends to think. "Not sure, something about you being the next poster boy of the clan?"

Neteyam flicks a finger on Lo'ak's forehead, making the younger boy hiss. "No, you skxawng, he wants us to be on our best behavior, and I don't want to be stopping you from pulling another shitty stunt that'll get you in trouble"

"Fine" Lo'ak says. "I'll go check up on Tuk," He tells Neteyam unconvincingly, scratching the side of his head. "What's up with you and wanting to stay on the beach?"

Neteyam's jaw tightens. "There's nothing that's keeping me here except my promise to dad"

"Uh-huh" Lo'ak nods, eyes flicking to you and Tuk. "Nothing or no one?"

"I don't know what you're talking about"

Lo'ak frowns, pretending he understood. "She's pretty hot"

Neteyam pays him no mind, only scoffing.

"She still avoiding you?" Lo'ak asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Yes, and I can't seem to find the reason why" Neteyam huffed.

Lo'ak snickers. "Maybe it's cuz you're coming off a little too strong"

"I don't know how else I can get her to talk to me without her insulting every fibre of my being or making up some excuse to leave, I've tried everything" He replies desperately, causing Lo'ak's eyes to go wide, a whistle leaving his mouth. "Damn that bad??? What the hell did you do to her to make you hate her this much?"

Neteyam rakes his face with dread. "I don't know baby bro, but you have no idea what I would do to find out the reason why"

His brother was too down-bad to be saved, Lo'ak knew that much, looking across the beach as he studies you with his little sister. Neteyam looks at his brother, his eyes seemingly trained on you as it flicks up and down, he slaps his brother's arm. "It's rude to stare"

"Yeah, go tell that to them" Says Lo'ak, pointing at a handful of Metkayin boys passing by, giving you stolen glances as they talked amongst themselves, chuckling and hooting.

Neteyam's eyes narrow into slits. "They're irrelevant, we must not let ourselves become like them"

Lo'ak glances at him, clearly unconvinced. "Yeah, okay, so stop looking"

"Fine, I won't" Neteyam replies quickly, watching Lo'ak turn around and walk to the edge of the platform. But he dosen't stop looking, he hated himself for it for it and the way that it was practically eating himself alive.

Wasn't it such a simple task? To turn his head around and look somewhere else? Well it should be, but Neteyam couldn't bring himself to pry his eyes away from you, you, oh Eywa. Your eyes were the colour of the sea, your hair shiny and black, your smile making his stomach twist itself into knots, your laugh making shivers run up his back, the way you dressed alone would make people turn heads, but your attitude was what drew Neteyam in.

You didn't feel the need to keep up this respectful facade, treat him like a guest because it was expected of you as the daughter of the Olo'eyktan, no, you treated him the way you thought of him.

You were rude, you were impolite, and you were blunt, because you didn't like him. You didn't feel inclined to tolerate him just like what was expected of you. He wished he was that brave.

"'Teyam! 'Teyam look what I got!" Tuk squealed as the pair of you walked up the diving platform carrying mountains of shells on your palms. "Y/N told me she and 'Reya could put these in my hair after diving lessons! Isn't that cool?!?"

"Oh Tuk, you didn't force her into braiding your hair did you?"

Tuk looks back at you for moral support. "But she said she would-"

"-Neteyam let her be, if she wants me to braid her hair then I'd be happy to" you had jumped in, siding with Tuk whose ears flicked upwards at her statement. "I hope it isn't too infuriating that I favour your sisters over you"

Neteyam wanted to scoff, but instead stifles it with a tight smile. "Nonsense, my sisters have that effect on everyone" He tells her, looking at Tuk. "Don't you?"

Tuk simply gives him a giggle, a swift nod, and then runs to Kiri, shouting her name over and over again before the older girl groans in acknowledgement. "Here," you say, handing him a conch shell with yellow and brown patterns ruminating on its surface.

"What's this for?" He wonders.

"Your sister practically dug up the entire beach, you deserve at least one" you chuckled.

Oh. He stares at the shell in your hands, then looks back at your face. "If I take this does this mean we'll be friends?" He asks, a sly smile breaking on his face.

"Oh you wish" You reply, smirking as you narrow your eyss at the boy. "Taking this won't change anything"

"Yes it does," He replies as a matter of factly. "this is the longest conversation we've ever had without you leaving or insulting me"

"No it dosen't" You shook your head, insistent. "I'll still hate you after this"

He hums. "I think I can live with that," He smiled. "I did get a gift from the daughter of the Olo'eyktan after all" He laughs when he hears you scoff.

You leave right after he takes it and right before he could say thank you. Walking off to find a basket to store more of Tuk's shells in.

Neteyam looks at the shell in his hands, about 2 and a half inches long, smooth, shiny, perfect, it was perfect. He loves it. He closes his fist, a smile breaking on his face before he could even relent it, a light purple tinting his cheeks as he places the shell in one of his pockets.

#avatar the way of water #neteyam sully x reader #neteyam sully x y/n #neteyam sully #neteyam x reader #neteyam x you #atwow neteyam #neteyam x metkayina!reader

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moonlightspencie · 9 months

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isn’t it?

Description: Years after the battle at Hogwarts, reader runs into an unlikely old friend. A simple invitation to tea leads to much more.

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x fem!Reader

Warnings: alcohol consumption, slow burn babyyy, draco talking about traumatic events in the hp series, me being an american writing about folks in the UK (do not come for me),

Word Count: 10k

A/N: im a draco apologist, what about it. anyways, he gets a redemption arc in this. they’re like 20-23 in this. also had to make my own gif cause most malfoy girlies are 14 year olds from tiktok & don’t appreciate tom in his 20s. logging off forever now

check out the playlist!

Winter was one of my least favorite times of the year because of how horrifically frigid it got. I was never a fan of the cold months. At least not when it was so cold that my fingers would be numb from standing outside for a couple of minutes.

But, it could also one of my most favorite times for the days like this one.

I stepped into the bookstore, glancing around in the soft lighting at all of the cheery decor. They hadn’t yet taken down their Christmas decorations, so twinkling lights were still wrapped around the bookshelves. Snow fell gently outside, making the warmth inside that much more cozy.

I walked around the small shop, looking up and down various shelves until I found the section I was looking for. I started sorting through the various history books, picking out a few that piqued my interest. I slid down a little further, stopping only when I saw that I was encroaching on a stranger’s space.

I turned my head, making sure I hadn’t already gotten too close, when I saw a familiar, bright, blonde head of hair.

“Malfoy,” I breathed out.

His head turned quickly, wide eyes searching for the person who had accidentally called his name. They somehow widened even more when he recognized me and muttered my name, more to himself rather than as a greeting. I found myself walking towards him almost on instinct.

The last time we’d seen each other was years prior. His father had called his name from across the ruins of Hogwarts to join them. He’d stood still and unmoving, up until the point his mother’s voice finally convinced him. He glanced at me briefly before he walked away from the rest of us, and I had assumed I’d never see him again.

We always had a complicated relationship. Even more, it seemed Draco had very complicated feelings about me.

We were friends, for all intents and purposes, but it was a secretive kind of friendship. He was a Slytherin, from a very prejudiced family, and was quite frankly a bully much of the time. I was a Gryffindor, friends with Potter, and though I was a half-blood, I didn’t care for the idea that blood purity had any say in the value of a wizard. That had caused some tension early in our friendship before I knocked a little sense into him. Though, it still caused some problems for us. Especially after his parents heartily disapproved of me in our fifth year.

We’d been friends for nearly a year at that point. He had, rather foolishly, decided to introduce me to his parents over holiday, assuming they would also be willing to love me despite my disdain for blood-purity ideals. We’d left in uncomfortable silence, and, soon after, Draco had explained that his father had instructed him to stay away from me.

Of course, he hadn’t listened.

We still spent time together when we could, even when I’d begun to notice his increasingly tired eyes and gaunt state of being in sixth year. He never let me find out what the matter was until it was too late, however.

I hadn’t seen him after the night Dumbledore was killed until the battle at Hogwarts. Now, I was seeing him in a bookshop in London. A muggle bookshop.

“What…” I started, unsure what to say now. “Wow. It’s good to see you.”

He was silent, staring back at me in shock.

“I’m sorry, um, how’ve you been?” I asked.

He cleared his throat. “I’ve, uh— Fine. I’m fine.”

“What are you doing here? In London, I mean?”

“Searching for something to read,” he said, the ghost of a chuckle leaving him.

“In a muggle shop?”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, I know, it’s probably strange to see me here.”

“It’s strange to see you anywhere. It’s been…”

“… A long time.”

I nodded in agreement. He looked down at the books in my hands.

“I see you’re still interested in muggle affairs.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, looking at my books. “After leaving Hogwarts I wasn’t really interested in becoming an auror anymore, so I started writing. I do a lot of writing for wizards interested in muggle history. I generally write a lot of magazine pieces, and I’m working on a book now.”

“Wow,” he said with brows raised. “That’s incredible.”

“Thanks. Are you doing anything… I don’t know. Like, for a job?”

“No. That was never really on the table for me, anyways, with my family’s—“ he sighed. “You know. All of that.”

“Right,” I nodded with half a smile. He’d always been raised with the idea that he’d be living off of the generational wealth. “What are you looking at here?”

“I still need hobbies, so I’ve taken up a lot of reading. Muggle fiction books have been particularly interesting to me lately.”

“Huh. Never expected that to come out of your mouth.”

He raised his brows quickly, nodding along slowly. He looked back to the book in his hands.

“They tend to think that witches are evil, mythical creatures. They also don’t believe that giants or dragons or werewolves exist. They’re all viewed as freaks to the muggles,” he said, looking back at me. “Most of the time, we’re all seen as the villain in their stories.”

I shrugged. “Yeah. Everyone sees things differently. Usually the hatred comes in when they don’t care to learn about people who aren’t like them.”

He swallowed, looking down once again.

“I’m beginning to realize that much more, now.”

We both went quiet for a few seconds as a question was formulating in my head.

“Would you like to come over to mine for some tea?”

His eyes snapped to mine. He furrowed his brow, obviously not expecting the invitation.

“Really?”

I nodded. “Of course.”

He just stood there, unmoving like I was going to burst out laughing at him at any moment. He watched me with wary eyes, not responding.

“If you want to,” I added at last. “I don’t want to pressure you.”

“Uh, that would be nice. Yes.”

“Okay. Um, I’m going to go buy these now.”

I held up my books, then turned for the register. I finished after a few minutes, lingering near the door until he followed after with his own bag.

“So, where you do you live?” he asked as we walked out into the cold.

“Guildford. In Surrey.”

“How do you usually—“

“Take my hand,” I said, holding out my free hand.

He switched his bag over to the opposite hand, putting his cold one in mine. In a flash we were on my street. He looked up at the street lamps that were starting to turn on as the sky dimmed slowly. I let him take in his surroundings for a moment.

“Ready?” I asked after a beat.

He looked at me, snow sticking to his eyelashes.

“Ready,” he confirmed.

We started forward on the sidewalk, heading in the direction of my building.

“Are you still in Wiltshire with your parents?”

He nodded. “Yes. Though, I don’t see them much anymore. I’m usually out for most of the day if I can help it.”

“You don’t get along much anymore?”

He shrugged. “They disagree with a lot of my choices.”

“I see.”

We stepped into the foyer of my building, walking up to the third floor and wandering through the hall until we got to the door of my flat. I suddenly turned, his brows raising slightly as I looked at him.

“I feel like I need to tell you that I don’t live anywhere particularly… Special.”

“I don’t mind,” he shrugged.

I nodded, a small smile on my face as I unlocked the door.

It felt strange to have anyone in my flat, let alone someone I hadn’t seen for years after they’d betrayed my friends and myself. Usually, I only had over a few very close friends every few weeks. I wasn’t exactly prepared for company, and I felt that it showed as I pulled down two mismatched mugs. He lingered in the kitchen with me, looking entirely uncomfortable, his hands repeatedly clenching and releasing as if it would relieve whatever anxieties he was facing. I gave him a soft smile after setting the mugs on the counter near him.

“This cabinet here,” I started, pointing at the one next to the oven, “has all the teas. You can choose whichever one you’d like.”

He nodded, moving forward towards the cabinet as I filled the kettle with water. I set it on the stovetop, turning it on. He nervously looked through the various tea flavors for a few more seconds, then turned to me.

“Which one would you like?”

I looked at him, noticing that he hadn’t picked for himself yet.

“Are you asking in earnest, or do you need a recommendation?”

His cheeks flushed slightly as he gave me a small smile.

“Both.”

“I’d love an earl grey. I’ve got one that has some lavender in it as well, and it is delightful.”

He nodded quickly, pulling down two tea bags.

“That sounds nice.”

I smiled to myself, a little out of sorts at how polite he’d become. We waited in a strange kind of silence until I heard the water beginning to bubble in the kettle. I pulled it off the heat, filling the mugs Draco had popped the bags into earlier. He looked at me curiously.

“You know,” he began, pulling my attention to his amused face, “you’re supposed to wait until the kettle whistles.”

I shrugged. “I prefer to get to it before it starts up. I’m almost never too busy to have to listen to that horrible whistling.”

He laughed softly, nodding his head in understanding. I led him to the small table in my kitchen, and much to my surprise, he took the seat next to me rather than across the way. It was quiet for a minute or two, neither of us really sure what we were doing in my kitchen together.

“Can I ask something?” he blurted out.

“Sure,” I replied with a nod.

“Why did you invite me here?”

I shrugged. “I thought it might be nice to talk. It’s been a long time.”

“But I haven’t spoken to you since… You know. What’s the use in trying to talk to me now?”

“You agreed, didn’t you?”

He smirked, but it was a more gentle kind than what he would usually pull back in the day. Not full of cocky disdain for others, and more a way to tell me that I’d bested him with the simple phrase. It was nice.

We sat quietly for a few more minutes, each sipping our tea. I suddenly realized, only after inviting him into my home, that I had no clue what to talk to him about. I let out a soft breath, looking at him to find him already looking in my direction. I gave him a soft smile that he returned. Though, it quickly fell, and the both of us tilted our heads down again.

“I’m sorry,” he said suddenly, “for leaving that day. When my mother called me over.”

I looked at him in surprise, staring up from my teacup.

He continued, “I should’ve stayed with you. With all of you. I was just in so deep at that point, and I couldn’t say no to her. And I know that isn’t an excuse, but I didn’t know what to do anymore. I was sure that the second something went sideways again, after all that I’d done, I would probably be the first one to die. I don’t know why nobody killed me in the meantime before V-Voldemort and the others came back with Potter.”

“Where did you go? After the room of requirement was set on fire?”

“I hid,” he mumbled, looking down at his tea. “I’ve always been a coward. I think I’ve deserved everything that’s happened to me after all of that.”

We sat after that, sipping our tea like nothing had been said to begin with. I looked back at him. He’d changed so much in the few years he’d been gone, and yet he was so different. He looked practically the same. Maybe a little healthier. He acted like a new person, though. All of that youthful bravado was gone, and what was left was quiet and remorseful and entirely not like the Draco I’d known in school. It shocked me more and more the longer we sat.

I sighed softly. “Draco?”

He looked at me with wide eyes.

“You haven’t called me that in forever.”

“I haven’t seen you in as long.”

He nodded. “I know.”

“Can I tell you something?”

“Yeah. I suppose so.”

I took in a breath, watching him a few seconds longer before I spoke.

“You know it’s never too late to change things, right? I know that you and your mother both made some decisions we never would’ve expected you to at the end, there. Harry told me.”

“That means nothing. I’ve always despised Potter. I was cruel to him every day, but he still saved my life. You all fought. You were all brave. Not giving him up one time was nothing compared to what all of the rest of you did.”

“You can still change things now, Draco.”

He shook his head.

“It’ll never be enough. I walked away from all of you when we thought Potter had died. I know you saw me doing it, too, and I know you were disappointed in me for it. Probably hated me,” he said, a humorless chuckle leaving him for a moment. “You were standing there by Granger and Weasley, and I looked at you right before I started across the courtyard, and you were already looking back at me. Looked like you could’ve killed me yourself.”

I swallowed, not taking my eyes off of him the entire time he spoke.

“I wanted better for you. I’d always hoped you would really, sincerely change for the better at some point, and it just never seemed to come,” I mentioned with a half-hearted shrug. “When I saw you walking out just in front of Luna, I hoped it meant you would stay with us. That you’d changed sides after Harry had gotten you out of the fire. Watching you leave after that…”

“I know. I’m shocked you even spoke to me in the bookshop.”

“I was shocked to see you at all. Especially in a muggle bookstore. I know you’d gotten off the hook after the war because of what you did for Harry, but honestly, I never thought you’d change. Not really, anyways.”

He nodded, looking away from me again. He only glanced back up once I continued speaking.

“But you have, now. That much is clear. You’re kinder now.”

“I don’t think I am.”

“You agreed to have tea with me. You willingly had a conversation with me in that bookstore rather than walking away from me. I thought for sure that you would when I saw you there.”

He shook his head. “I might have if it was anyone else. I wouldn’t do that to you, though. You were the only person who was kind to me in school. You’re the only one who really cared or noticed something was wrong in sixth year.”

“Do you really not see it?” I asked, laughing incredulously.

He furrowed his brow. “What?”

“You never would have told me any of this before. Draco, I know that you had done some horrible things, but it’s not too late to be different. And you’re already so different.”

He merely stared for a moment or two.

“I think I should go,” he said quietly. “Thank you for inviting me.”

He stood abruptly, walking off towards the kitchen door. I followed after him, just barely reaching him as we reached my entry way. I reached out, grabbing his wrist. His eyes were wide as he turned his head towards me, casting his gaze towards where my hand held him from going any further.

“Just…” I sighed, putting on a smile. “Don’t be afraid to send an owl sometime.”

He nodded, his voice small, “Okay.”

I finally let him go, watching him take his coat and bag of of books, and walk out the door.

A few weeks later I sat at my desk at home, unable to get past a terrible bout of writer’s block. I hadn’t considered when writing a book that it wasn’t simply writing a long article. I had to craft each chapter in a meaningful way, and unfortunately, that meant that I had to get anything at all on paper. I sighed hard, needing an outlet for my dramatics. Suddenly, an unfamiliar owl was at my window. I opened it up, and the owl dropped a letter right on my window, staring almost curiously at me.

You requested that I send an owl sometime. I hope that you meant it, otherwise you can feel free to ignore this letter. Assuming you did mean it, I’d like to invite you to lunch on the thirteenth of February. I hope you’re well.

Draco

I looked up at the owl on my windowsill.

“Just a moment,” I said to it.

It chirped lightly in response. I quickly picked up some new parchment and a quill, scribbling out a response before I folded it and put it in an envelope. I reached into my bottom desk drawer, giving the owl a treat before handing off the letter.

“Thank you. Go home, now.”

The owl flew off into the sky, leaving me with a smile and an even emptier brain.

The date he’d suggested was less than a week out from when he’d sent his letter, and it arrived much sooner than I was expecting. He’d sent another letter soon after mine had arrived, telling me the time and location, and soon enough I was pulling on my shoes in order to leave.

I showed up outside of the café. Surprisingly, another muggle location. I walked inside, being greeted by a hostess.

“Hi, I’m supposed to be meeting someone here, um…”

“She’s with me,” Draco said, coming up near the hostess stand.

I smiled at him gratefully, my demeanor obviously edging on discomfort. He led me back to our table, pulling out my seat for me.

“Thank you,” I said, scooting in a little closer. “So, why this place?”

“Easier to make reservations and avoid judgements eating at muggle restaurants. They’re not exactly familiar with the Malfoy name.”

“Ah,” I nodded in understanding. “Makes sense. Well, it’s nice here.”

“It is. They have great soup.”

I laughed, looking down at the menu.

“What?” he asked with a smile.

“It’s just weird. Being here with you, and… talking about soup.”

“We could talk about sandwiches if you’d like.”

I laughed again, finding him doing the same. The afternoon ended up delightfully strange. We finished our food, and found ourselves on a walk around town, chatting about what we’d been doing in the years since we’d last seen one another.

In the final moments, I’d convinced him to visit another bookstore with me the following week.

It started to become a bit of a habit, really. We’d keep finding new places to bring one another to, and, for me, new excuses to keep seeing him. I didn’t necessarily have feelings for him, but I couldn’t deny that I found myself enjoying his company much more than I had as a teenager.

One chilly night in March, I’d come home from dinner with a friend absolutely wiped. I was more than ready to head off to bed after sitting around on my couch for a rerun of an old favorite show.

Though, halfway through the episode, there was a knock on my door. I walked over the front door, wand in hand as I wasn’t expecting any visitors at night. I looked through the peephole, hiding away the wand when I recognized the face outside the door. I opened it right afterwards.

“Hey,” he greeted, standing just outside my door.

My brows raised on instinct as he looked a little inebriated.

“Hi,” I said mindlessly. “What are you doing here?”

He looked down to the floor, shrugging a little. He rubbed at his face before he looked back at me.

“I might’ve been at the pub down the street. I thought about you there,” he swallowed. “Thought it might be nice to see you.”

“Do you want to come in?”

He nodded silently, stepping past me into my apartment. I shut and locked the door, turning to see him looking around the space. He looked back at me after a moment, a confused pout coming across his face as his eyes dropped to my outfit.

“Were you busy?”

I shook my head. “No, I just got home a bit ago.”

“Where’d you go?” he asked, toeing his shoes off to leave them near mine.

“Got dinner with Luna Lovegood.”

“Oh,” he nodded. “She still… Herself?”

“Draco,” I scolded.

“Sorry.”

I helped him take his coat off as he started struggling with the sleeves.

“Luna’s still an absolute sweetheart, as she’s always been,” I mentioned as I draped his jacket on a coat hook.

He wore a sage green sweater under the jacket, and it brought the slightest smile to my face that he still preferred his house colors when he wasn’t decked out in all black. He started wandering into my flat, looking around the living room.

“I like your home,” he said at last.

“Thank you,” I replied with a small laugh. “I’m going to go get you some water. Probably some ibuprofen too. It might help prevent a massive headache tomorrow.”

He nodded, not quite paying attention as he started walking around again. Once I gathered the cup of water and the medicine, I was at a loss. He’d escaped the living room. I walked around, checking the bathroom first, before finding my bedroom lamp on. I stepped into the room, finding him plopped down on my bed. This time, I couldn’t help but laugh fully.

He lifted his head with a quirked brow.

“What?”

“You. Laying there like you’ve just had your very first drink.”

“You’ve got a comfortable bed.”

“I’m aware,” I nodded, kneeling on the mattress next to him. “Come and drink some water, now.”

He sat up with a groan, accepting the ibuprofen and the cup from me. He drank down the water quickly, letting out a sigh as he handed back the empty cup.

“Thank you,” he mumbled, dropping back down.

He was quiet for a few seconds as I set down the empty cup on my nightstand, just staring at the ceiling.

“Is it okay that I came here?”

I furrowed my brow, laying on my back next to him.

“I’m happy you showed up here rather than going and causing trouble someplace else.”

“You’ve always been a good person,” he said with a sigh. “Why were you ever friends with me? I was awful.”

“Seemed like you needed someone good in your life. You were surrounded by some truly terrible people,” I mentioned with a chuckle. “When we ended up seated next to one another in potions and you actually laughed at jokes I made that weren’t at the expense of another person, I realized you might not be totally hopeless.”

He laughed. No— he giggled, covering his face with his hands.

“You know, my other friends hated you,” he said, voice muffled.

I reached over, pulling his hands away from his face. He smiled softly as I did, watching me as he continued talking.

“They all thought I went crazy for being friends with you. Blaise told me I was going to get kicked out of Slytherin if I kept it up, and Parkinson was really upset because she wasn’t the only girl around me anymore.”

“I always thought she had a crush on you.”

He hummed. “Yeah, I think so. It was kind of annoying, to be honest. At first I liked the attention, but it got old very quickly.”

“I can imagine.”

“You know what I always thought?”

I shrugged. “No clue.”

“I thought for forever that Potter had it bad for you. Up until he started crushing on the Weasley girl, I was convinced.”

“Really?”

“Mhm,” he nodded, looking back at the ceiling. “Either him or Longbottom. They were always around you.”

“Because we were friends,” I said with a laugh. “I still see them sometimes, you know?”

“You do?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow. I haven’t seen my school friends since, well, everything happened.”

“You’ve seen me, at least.”

He smiled a little.

“That’s true. Nobody else, though. Maybe that’s a good thing.”

“I think it probably is.”

A silence fell over us for a few moments. I stared at the sheets in between us, brushing my fingers across them.

“Why are you so nice to me?” he asked, voice just above a whisper.

“Why would I be cruel?”

He sighed dejectedly. “I deserve it. I was— I’ve done terrible things.”

I sighed softly. “I know what you’ve done, Draco. I was kind of there for much of it.”

A smile tugged at his lips, though he shoved it away just as quickly as it appeared.

“There’s still a lot you don’t know,” he said at last. “You wouldn’t stick around if you did.”

“I would.”

“No, you wouldn’t.”

I fell silent again for a minute or so, milling over what to say next in my head. I heard him let out a soft breath, and turned my eyes to watch him. His hair was messier than usual, with his natural waves sneaking their way out of the gelled constraints they were usually stuck in. His skin glowed in the soft lighting of my bedroom, especially now that the constant dark circles he’d worn for the past few years were gradually fading away with time.

He called my name in question. I hummed in response, turning my body to face him, listening as he started speaking again.

“I just,” he sighed, taking a moment. “I wonder if things would’ve been different if I told you back then. Or anyone.”

“It might have changed things a little, but at that point, do you think you would’ve been able to avoid what you had to do?”

He shook his head. “No. It just might have been nice for someone to know.“

“I think you would be too stubborn to tell anyone, though,” I said with half a smile.

He smiled back, looking down at the mattress as he nodded.

“I definitely would’ve been. That’s part of the reason I never told you in the first place.”

I raised a brow. “What was the other part?”

He swallowed, looking at me again.

“I was worried you might put yourself in danger.”

“How?”

He snorted a laugh. “If you think I was stubborn, you have got to know that you were much worse. You probably would’ve tried helping me at the worst possible moment and gotten yourself killed.”

I scoffed. “I’m not that dumb.”

“You could act like it sometimes.”

My eyes widened as he hid a smile.

“Oh, so you do still like to make fun of me, huh?”

“Old habits are hard to beat.”

“You still secretly like dancing?”

His smile fell a bit as he thought it over.

“I haven’t really had a reason to since… Everything.”

Whatever came over me in that moment to drive my actions could possibly be instinct to comfort an old friend. It could’ve been the need to reach out to someone clearly in pain. It could’ve just been that I wanted to touch him. I scooted closer, resting my head on his chest. My hand rested on his stomach, and I felt him sigh softly through it. He didn’t say anything, but I did feel him go a bit rigid.

I lifted my head up when I noticed the stiffness in his body.

“I-I’m sorry, I should’ve asked first,” I rushed out, “Is this okay?”

His cheeks turned slowly pink as he stared back at me, nodding.

“I, um,” he let out a quick breath, “Yes. I just don’t really ever—“

Understanding dawned on me. “Oh. Well, it’s just like a hug.”

He stared back once again, unmoving for a few moments. I furrowed my brow in question as he looked away from my face.

“The only person, um, who ever really hugs me is… mum.”

I watched him quietly, unsure what to say. It had always been evident that he never had a shot at a normal childhood, but I hadn’t considered how much of that normalcy was completely stripped from his life. He closed his eyes.

“I don’t know why I said that,” he said quietly. “That’s so humiliating.”

“No, no,” I said, brushing some of his hair from his face before quickly pulling away. “Not at all. That isn’t your fault.”

“If I wasn’t such a horrible child…”

“It may have helped to make real friends, but you were raised in an echo chamber of hatred. For the longest time you didn’t know how to be anything but mean. Clearly, if your own father didn’t even hug you as a child.”

He bit the inside of his cheek, nodding slowly.

“Plus,” I added, “things are so different now. I saw you starting to change a little back then. I wasn’t the only one to notice either, you should’ve seen my friends’ faces when you smiled at me in passing on the way to classes the first time. Since then, things have changed tenfold. Why not lean into that?”

He nodded again, giving me the faintest smile imaginable. I settled back against his chest, finally feeling his arms carefully wrapping around me. They just barely rested over top of me, not dissimilar to how an adult would try to hug a toddler. I let one arm stretch across his torso, holding him tightly, and, eventually, he held me just as tight.

I opened my eyes to sun-washed sheets, and a breathing pillow under my head. I tilted my head up, seeing him still absolutely passed out. His breathing came soft and steady, and he looked utterly at peace. I only looked away from his sleeping form when he started stirring. He let out a soft little groan, his arms tightening around me slightly. Only after he gave a sigh did I have the nerve to look back at his face.

“Good morning,” I said.

He smiled softly. “Morning. M’sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep here.”

“That’s okay. I don’t mind,” I looked down at our clothes. “Just a bit unfortunate we fell asleep in these clothes. Not the most comfortable.”

He laughed. “Yes. Maybe next time it would be better not to be wearing trousers. I think I’d personally prefer some flannel pajamas.”

“I’m partial to sleep shorts.”

He let out another small laugh, as did I. His cheeks were tinged pink as he looked back at me, though I can’t say I didn’t feel the heat rising in my face as well.

“How are you feeling?”

He shrugged lightly. “Surprisingly fine. Thanks for taking care of me last night.”

“Any time, Malfoy.”

I reluctantly pulled myself out of his arms, sitting up in the bed. I stretched out my arms above my head, then turned to him once again to announce I’d be back in a moment. I found myself doing my usual bathroom duties in a kind of haze. There was a smile stuck to my face that I couldn’t quite get rid of. I chose not to look into it too much, especially as I reentered the bedroom to find him rubbing at his sleep-ridden eyes.

“There’s an extra toothbrush I left in the bathroom for you. It should be the yellow one next to mine,” I mentioned.

He gave me a small smile, nodding his head.

“Thanks.”

I hummed in response. “I’ll be in the kitchen. Tea and toast sound okay?”

“You don’t have to do that,” he said, standing up.

I merely raised a brow at him as he drew closer. He silently conceded, following me out of the bedroom in order for each of us to get to what we needed to. I filled the kettle, put the bread in the toaster, and somehow managed to spill my entire cup of water all over the floor after setting out the mugs. I grumbled to myself, getting down with a towel to clean up my mess.

“Clumsy one, aren’t you?” he asked with a laugh as he found me crouched down on the floor.

I looked up to where he stood near the sink, feigning annoyance at his cheery state. I stood up, crossing over to wring the towel out.

“Wait,” he exclaimed, though too late.

I stepped forward, not seeing the bit of spilled water I hadn’t cleaned up. I slipped and, in an attempt not to tumble to the floor, grabbed onto his arms. He laughed at me as I regained my balance, earning him a furrowed brow and a hidden smile of my own.

“Don’t laugh at me.”

“It was funny,” he defended. “You should’ve seen your face.”

I squeezed his forearms briefly before beginning to drop my hands. Though, the way his face dropped as I did so kept me from completely breaking contact.

“Are you okay?”

He swallowed. “Yeah, I’m— It’s fine.”

I quirked a brow, unbelieving.

“I’m not buying that. What’s wrong?”

He looked down, his eyes quickly darting to where my hand was placed on his left arm. I took in a breath.

“Oh,” I said quietly. “Do you… It’s still there, isn’t it?”

He nodded slowly. “Yes.”

I firmed my hold on his arms again, gently rubbing my thumbs against the fabric of his sweater.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s my own fault.”

“I’m still sorry. I’ve never thought about the fact you’d always have to hide it.”

He breathed out slowly, shakily, still looking down.

“Is there any way to rid yourself of it?” I asked after a beat.

“No,” he shook his head. “There are some charms I can use temporarily to hide it if I need to, but nothing permanent works. It’s forever.”

I nodded, looking back at his face until he met my eye. He cleared his throat, pulling his arms from out of my grasp.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin the mood.”

“I’m used to it. I haven’t forgotten your little attitude every time you spotted me with Harry or one of the others.”

I reached down to grab the towel I had dropped.

He rolled his eyes playfully. “I couldn’t help it. You were so likable, and they were just...”

“My friends. So watch it, Malfoy,” I scolded with a smirk.

“Right,” he nodded, fighting a smile himself. “Everyone has their flaws.”

I scoffed out a laugh, lightly slapping his shoulder with the back of my hand. He laughed, leaning against the counter.

“Right then, you can pour your own tea,” I noted as I wrung out the towel.

“You’ll still get the toast though?”

I furrowed my brow as I tossed the towel down, turning to him.

“Only because you don’t know where I keep the plates or else you’d be on your own.”

He gave me a knowing smirk, taking the kettle just before it began whistling to fill both of our mugs. I took down the plates, setting the toast on each of them before getting the butter and jam set out. We set to work, side by side, on preparing our breakfast. It felt oddly normally as we went about our business, putting everything away before we sat at the kitchen table.

We found ourselves laughing over nothing in particular before we knew it, and, eventually, it was dark outside once again. The surprise on his face told me all that I needed to know as he looked out the window and declared that he should probably be going on his way. I walked him to the door, watching as he gathered his things again, and as he apparated away.

Our owls were sent back and forth over the next few weeks, and though we saw each other frequently, I couldn’t help but let my mind wander on the days we didn’t have much communication. Frankly, it wandered a great deal even when we were together. Usually to his eyes. The way he’d look at me when we’d stop talking. Or the way he’d smile when we did some silly activity together. Or his laugh when I’d make a stupid jokes. Or his hands.

May came quickly, and with it came warmer weather. It was nice to have my windows open whenever it wasn’t raining, and it was absolutely wonderful to have lakeside picnics or nighttime strolls through the nearby park as the month bled into June. Those little outdoor escapades started to become a habit. A way of being out in the world together with nobody else around.

Not that alone time was necessarily important to us. It certainly didn’t make my cheeks flush with heat every time we sat completely by ourselves on a picnic blanket with favorite snacks of mine that he’d somehow remembered and brought along when he showed up at my door. I most definitely hadn’t made a habit to lie to myself about the entire ordeal.

“Walk?” he asked after we’d finished playing a game of wizard chess.

I nodded. “Of course. It’s a gorgeous night, we may as well enjoy it, right?”

He smiled, standing and taking my hands to help me off the ground near my coffee table. We pulled on our shoes, and headed out. It was warm, and the most gentle breeze went through the new leaves on the trees as we passed them. He made silly conversation with me as we kept on, so much so that we’d lost track of the time. I could only tell it had been a while when my legs started growing a bit tired.

We sat on a bench nearby after our walk through the park, relishing in the warm night air of the summertime.

“The moon looks beautiful tonight,” I commented.

He hummed in agreement.

“It does,” he said, suddenly putting on a small smile. “That’s one benefit to me staying out all hours of the night with you.”

I laughed. “Oh dear. You may just have to stay over again. How horrible. It’s not like you can apparate home at any moment.”

“This is your fault, you know? You just have to live so far away,” he said in feigned annoyance, ignoring the last sentence I’d spoken. “Maybe I should just make friends elsewhere.”

“Yet, you still accept every time I suggest some kind of activity for us to do rather than finding new friends. Why’s that?”

“You’re… Different,” he whispered, like it was some miraculous secret.

“How?”

He sighed softly. “People back home, what I grew up with— It’s nothing like this. Everyone is cold. They all care so much about the wrong things.”

“You think I care about the right things?”

He smiled softly. “You care about me. That’s enough.”

“Who would’ve guessed Malfoy would become such a softie,” I mentioned with a smirk. “Oh, how things change.”

“Some things don’t,” he said with a shrug. “You still somehow choose to be my friend.”

“All that childhood bullying and teenage depression captivated me.”

He furrowed his brows, an unbelieving laugh passing his lips. We sat in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, looking around at the park as it was washed in moonlight. I felt his fingers brush against my hand, and I willingly opened my palm to him. He slid his hand into mine, lacing our fingers together and giving a gentle squeeze.

“Look up,” he said quietly, and I obliged. He pointed up at the stars in the clear sky. “There’s a constellation there. Just between the… It’s right by ursa major, the plough constellation.”

“Mhm,” I hummed along.

“Right along here,” he traced a line of stars in my vision. “Do you know what that constellation is called?”

“Can’t say that I do, no.”

“Draco. It was called that because it kind of resembles a dragon. I don’t know for sure if my parents named me because of the constellation, but I like to think so.”

I smiled, glancing at him rather than the stars. He looked at peace as he stared up into the sky, his thumb gently rubbing against my hand. He looked at me out of the corner of his eye after a minute, at which point I looked back into the night. The stars really were beautiful that night. They looked brighter than normal, and the constellation patters I did recognize were easy to spot. Now, there was a new one I wouldn’t soon forget.

I heard him sigh next to me after a few minutes, and turned my head slightly to find he was already looking at me. This time, neither of us looked away.

“You’re my best friend,” he said, almost too quietly to hear.

Unsure of what to say in that moment, and wanting to do more than offer a smile, I leaned my head against his shoulder. He let out another soft breath, dropping his head against mine. I brought our connected hands up, pressing a soft kiss to the back of his.

“When was the last time you were in Hogsmeade?” I asked quietly.

He gave a soft chuckle to that.

We walked down the street the next day in the afternoon, everything looking quite different now that the weather was quite warm.

“It’s strange not being here in the wintertime,” I noted.

He nodded. “It is. I haven’t been in years.”

We walked up to a familiar building, and I reached out to him. I grabbed his hand, pulling him into the pub. We were offered a seat, but not before receiving several stares.

“You might not want to be holding my hand in front of everyone here,” Draco leaned in to whisper.

“I’m not terribly worried about being seen with you, you know?” I whispered back in reply. “Anyone who knows me is already aware that we used to be friends.”

We sat at the table, placed our orders, and were left alone once again. He let out a breath, looking a bit uncomfortable.

“Seriously, don’t worry about all of them,” I said, leaning on the table. “Half of everyone in here were secretly on the wrong side anyways. They just fly under the radar because they don’t come from a powerful family.”

“Still. I don’t want to drag you down with me.”

“You aren’t. Besides, I’m used to people judging me for being around you.”

He deadpanned. “That doesn’t make me feel better.”

“My point is that I don’t care about being seen with you. Okay?”

He swallowed, sighing softly.

“You make it terribly difficult to try and protect you.”

“Probably because I don’t need to be protected. Stop worrying about me so much,” I stated with a laugh.

“Can’t help it,” he replied, a small smirk on his face.

Our drinks were brought to the table, along with some assorted appetizers.

“Just don’t tell your parents that we’re friends this time,” I joked, hoping that wouldn’t strike a chord.

He snorted. “I already have.”

I straightened in surprise, looking at him with curious eyes. He glanced at me, a partial smile on his face when he saw my shock.

“And you’re still allowed to live with them?”

“It’s been a long time since they’ve tried to make decisions for me like that. After practically forcing me to become a, uh—“

“Yep.”

He nodded, thankful he didn’t have to say it.

“After that happened, my father laid off. Mother still worries for me, but she knows now that at least I’m safe. That’s all that’s ever really mattered to her.”

“They still hate me, though?”

“Pretty much,” he said with a curt nod.

I smiled to myself, sipping at my drink. He shook his head.

“You look pleased with yourself.”

“I’m sorry to say, but I don’t really feel too terrible that they don’t like me.”

“I know,” he said.

I looked back up to see a small smile on his face as well.

“Also, most of that smile is because I haven’t had a butterbeer in a terribly long time.”

Two months flew by after our visit to Hogsmeade. Though, it was filled with almost daily visits with one another. Usually, he’d just show up and keep me company as I wrote. Sometimes, he’d even give input when I asked for it, or let me read him chapters to see how it sounded. His sleepovers even became more frequent, and part of me had to wonder what on earth anyone would think of it if they knew.

I’d told my friends bits and pieces of what had been taking up so much of my time over the last eight months, but not quite the whole story. Luckily, they hadn’t been too angry with me for it. Most of them were rather indifferent, especially after I’d told them about how he’d changed. I never expected them to forgive him, though. I wouldn’t believe how different things had become if I hadn’t seen how he’d changed for myself.

But he truly did. And it was incredible.

During the breaks I’d take from writing, he was usually excited to tell me about the muggle books he’d been reading. Sometimes out of surprise at the content, and sometimes just because he appreciated the writing.

The icing on top was being with him and running into Ron and Hermione. The looks on their faces when he was gentle and kind in their interaction was absolutely priceless. She’d written me days later to ask if I’d found his long-lost twin, not quite believing that he was capable of being anything but who he used to be. But, as I’d repeatedly told Draco himself: it’s not only possible for people to change for the good, it’s probable for those who care to.

So, our days passed comfortably. He only became more kind and, frankly, affectionate, as time went on.

It was on a beautiful August evening when he knocked on my door, our plans already set in place.

I tugged the door open at the sound and took him in, my brows raised slightly. He was in a white button-down and a black sweater vest. There was a messenger back slung across his chest, one hand with a silver ring adorning it held the strap. His cheeks were slightly pink from the weather outside, and he practically glowed. For lack of a better word, he just looked pretty.

He furrowed his brow, looking back at me.

“Everything alright?”

I nodded fast. “Yeah. You just look really nice today.”

“Oh,” he replied, cheeks suddenly flushed. “You also look nice. I like your blouse.”

“Thanks.”

“I brought something,” he said, giving me a shy smile.

“Okay,” I said curiously. “Are you going to at least take off your shoes?”

He shook his head. “No. In fact, you should probably put yours on.”

I furrowed my brow, though I listened anyways. I started pulling on my shoes.

“I thought we were going to have dinner here first, and then go to the cinema.”

“Change of plans,” he shrugged.

“Alright,” I laughed, still unsure.

He pulled a small object out of the bag he carried, unfolding the cloth around it to reveal a small stone statue. I quirked a brow, looking down at the little object.

“What’s this?”

“Do you trust me?”

“Of course.”

“On the count of three, reach out to it and hold on.”

“Draco, is this a portkey?”

“One…”

“Is this one even legal?”

“Two…”

“You’re insane.”

“Three.”

We both held onto the small statue, and in an instant we were in some alleyway. I took in a sudden breath, feeling out of sorts from the transport.

“Where did you get that?”

“My family has had it forever,” he said, wrapping it back up and tucking it into his bag.

“Where are we?”

He smiled at me, taking my hand. I followed him along blindly, until he lead me into a building. I looked around at the tall ceilings and the beautiful chandelier that hung in the middle.

“Wow,” I said, mostly to myself.

He walked us up to the front desk, greeting the clerk in French. My eyes widened as they continued a conversation, ending only when he took a key from her. He then began leading me towards the elevator, still not loosening his grip on my hand.

“I didn’t know you spoke French.”

He smirked as he pressed the elevator button.

“I brought a few things with in my bag, but I didn’t bring any clothes. I thought we could get whatever else we needed here.”

I quirked a brow as we stepped into the elevator. He hit the button for the right floor.

“How long were you planning on staying?” I asked with a laugh.

“Just tonight and daytime tomorrow. We could stay longer if you want to?”

“No, that’s plenty,” I replied, a smile stuck to my face. “This is crazy.”

“Is it?”

“Practically clinically insane.”

He laughed, pulling me out into the hall. He walked us down the hallway, opening the right door when we arrived, and letting me walk in ahead of him. The room was huge. It had a beautiful sitting area, and judging by the height of the curtains, I was sure the windows would be gorgeous. He called me over as he entered the bedroom through large double doors, and I took it all in. He dropped his bag and flopped down onto the huge mattress.

“Whoa,” I said finally, shaking my head. “I don’t know what else to say.”

I fell down next to him on the bed, smiling over at him when he turned his head to me.

“You like it?”

“This is too much, Draco. Really,” I began. “But, it’s amazing.”

“I have one more thing to show you before we get dinner.”

“What else could there possibly be?”

“You’ve seen the eiffel tower before?”

I shook my head. “Only in pictures.”

He stood quickly, and I sat, watching him circle the bed. He grabbed the tall curtains, pulling them apart with force. I stilled before scrambling to my feet and meeting him at the window. I looked out the practically-floor-to-ceiling windows to see the tower glittering against the night sky. I sighed, absolutely wonderstruck.

“Beautiful, isn’t it? One thing I’m sure the muggles got right.”

I laughed, unbelieving, turning to throw my arms around his middle. He held me against him, resting his head on top of mine as we looked out the window again.

“We’ll have all night to stare out the window if you’d like to, but I don’t think the restaurant we’re eating at will wait as long.”

I looked at him, a smile still stuck to my face. He smiled back, just as gently, tucking some hair behind my ear. I felt my heart beat a little faster then, especially as he didn’t look away from me this time. Usually at this point, one of us would have come up with some clever distraction from whatever tension laid between us. It was silent, but not uncomfortable. There was almost a whisper of ‘tell the truth’ floating there, but I couldn’t quite bring myself to open my mouth to speak. He moved forward the slightest bit, though before anything could happen, he did speak.

“We really should go,” he said as a whisper. “Our reservation is in five minutes, and I’d feel horrible if we missed it.”

He gave a boyish smile, one that I couldn’t help but to return, even if I’d secretly hoped for a different outcome. I nodded silently, accepting his hand again once we walked to the door. We apparated near a relatively quiet street, stepping out onto the sidewalk in order to integrate into the other pedestrians. We walked into a small restaurant hidden through a wall. I hadn’t expected him to take me to a wizards-only restaurant, but especially not one that had me forcefully closing my jaw after it had involuntarily dropped.

“Dray, this is incredible, but it might be a little above my pay grade,” I mentioned, leaning in a bit to speak quietly.

He hummed. “That’s why instead of splitting the bill how you like, I’m just going to pay for it.”

I rolled my eyes. “That’s not fair.”

“Just let me be nice,” he said, turning the tables to scold me for once.

“Are you sure I’m not underdressed?”

“You look beautiful. Quit worrying.”

I attempted to drop my hand from his as he spoke with the hostess, though his grip only tightened a bit. I felt my cheeks flush a little when he flashed me a knowing smirk and the raise of a brow. We started walking back into the restaurant behind the waitress after a moment.

I spoke quietly as we went, “What, are you trying to romance me now, Malfoy?”

He gave my hand a gentle squeeze.

“Maybe I am. Are you opposed?”

I hid a smile. “No.”

“Thank Merlin for that,” he muttered under his breath, earning a laugh from me.

Dinner was beautiful, and wildly delicious. It definitely helped that I wasn’t terribly worried about the bill. I also can’t say I hated the idea of his family’s money going towards the meal of a wizard who was against practically everything they stood for. It felt like a small victory. Though, it was a bit strange to be surrounded by wizards who weren’t preoccupied with staring at us.

We stepped out of the restaurant, and rather than zipping someplace else, he was determined to walk to our next destination. He held my hand in his like he was afraid he’d lose me if he didn’t, swinging our arms along without a care.

“You seem happy,” I commented.

“I am,” he affirmed, bumping into me slightly. “I’m with you, for one. Plus, we haven’t received a single sideways glance from anyone around here. It’s nice that you’re the only person who knows me.”

I smiled to myself at that, letting him start swinging our arms again. He grinned over at me as we walked past crowds of people that grew increasingly larger. We probably looked ridiculous, but I certainly didn’t care. Not when I’d never seen him happier.

“So, I’ve got a question for you,” I said.

“Go on, then.”

“Why did you bring me to Paris?”

He glanced at me again, eyes a little wider. I raised one brow in question. He cleared his throat.

“Uh, I don’t know if you remember, but we were in some class. I don’t know which one, I think it was in second or third year,” he shrugged with a slight laugh.

“Oh,” I said, drawing his attention away.

We both looked up, suddenly seeing the peak of the tower come over a building. He made a decision to table my question, instead opting to tug me along as he started running ahead. We bolted forward, avoiding tons of people as we came up on the glittering structure, out of breath from both the run and the laughter at how silly we’d become over a hunk of metal. We walked the rest of the way until we were close enough to really look up at it. I held onto his arm with my free hand, resting my head against his shoulder.

“Wow.”

He let out a heavy breath. “Yeah.”

We stood quietly for a few moments, just to take it all in. The only thing I could really hear was the beat of my own heart and indecipherable conversation being had by the other people nearby. I finally looked back at him, and somehow he was still more gorgeous than everything else I’d seen that night.

He looked at me, a glimmer in his eye as that same old sweet smile showed on his face.

“So, what was the rest of that story?” I asked.

“Ah,” he said with a curt nod. “Well, in that class, someone had asked about portkeys. But before the professor had started to explain it, they called on you to pick anywhere in the world you’d like to go. I guess to demonstrate that a portkey could be enchanted in order to get to that place. You said you’d want to go to Paris and see the Eiffel tower.”

“You remembered that?”

He merely nodded. I tilted my head.

“How did you possibly keep that in mind after all this time?” I asked.

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve… I just remember when it comes to you.”

“That’s crazy,” I laughed. “I don’t understand how you could remember something that happened in a class almost ten years ago. We weren’t even friends then.”

“Well, I,” he began, eyes going starry and somehow prettier than they’d ever been, “I suppose I’ve always loved you.”

I fell completely quiet, about one billion thoughts speeding through my head. Only one rose above the others: I love you. But I still wasn’t saying it. Why wasn’t I saying it? Why wasn’t I saying anything at all?

“Sorry, that was too much to—”

I interrupted what would surely be a lively rambling session from him, and threw myself at him, our lips finally connecting for the first time. As soon as the shock wore off for him, he kissed me back. His lips were soft and careful against mine, his arms wrapping around my middle to pull me in closer, and my hands pressed against his chest. I smiled into the kiss, leaving a few lingering pecks against his lips before we broke apart.

I looked at him, taking in everything that I could about that moment. I sighed.

“You’re so pretty,” I said softly.

That definitely wasn’t what I meant to say.

He laughed. “Yeah?”

“Sorry,” I groaned with a laugh of my own, leaning my forehead against his chest.

He lifted my face with one hand under my chin, pressing one more soft kiss to my lips.

“I love you, is what I meant to say,” I noted.

“I knew this trip was a good idea.”

“So this was the plan from the start, hm?”

He smirked. “Not the plan. Just a hope.”

We went back the hotel room, thought not without my genius idea to grab a cheap bottle of wine first.

It felt more fitting than champagne given that we’d spend the rest of the night staring out of the window and laying lazy kisses on one another.

We found ourselves back at my flat a week later, almost as if nothing had changed. But really, everything had changed. Completely and totally.

We sat on my couch, our tea cold from sitting without any attention on the coffee table in front of us. He talked to me about nothing for hours, and there’s nothing else I’d wanted to be doing than wasting away the day with him. It had quickly become my favorite activity.

“You know,” he started, “inviting me over for tea that day after I’d made quite the reputation for myself was probably a stupid idea.”

“But?” I prodded.

“But,” he said, pressing a kiss to my lips before continuing, “I am utterly thankful you did.”

“Aww. My pretty boy,” I cooed, earning a groan from him.

“You can’t keep calling me that.”

He grabbed my hand as I reached to pinch at his cheeks, kissing my knuckles softly.

“Yes, I can. You secretly love it.”

He blushed. “I love you. There’s a difference.”

I sighed, cuddling into his side. “Does this mean you’re going to take me home and introduce me to your parents as your girlfriend, now?”

“I’m pretty certain I’ll have to.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well, I’m going to inherit the manor one day.”

“And?” I questioned, laughing.

He kissed me again, speaking quietly against my lips.

“You won’t be my girlfriend forever,” he said with a smirk. “Gotta make sure you’ll like the place.”

#draco malfoy #oh kill me already #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy fic #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy fluff #draco malfoy oneshot #draco malfoy angst #harry potter #hp #hp fanfic #luna still hates jk

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powdermelonkeg · 3 months

Text

First drawing of Crowdsourced Durge, aka Daggerroot. It's been AWHILE since I last picked up a tablet in proper, but I think this is a decent drawing to start with (also thank you to @too-many-blorbos for helping me with posing)

Details below the cut:

In-game appearance

Crowd-decided details:

I am romancing Gale

This is a Resisting Dark Urge playthrough

They're a middle-aged, nonbinary, deep gnome Way of Shadows monk

On top of their Durge skills (Intimidation/Medicine), they're also proficient in Insight and Stealth

Chaotic Neutral-Good Alignment: Impulsive, acts in the interest of friends only, can be easily persuaded to do the right thing by said friends, but seldom ever the wrong thing. Doesn't care what friends get up to unless it negatively impacts other friends. Strong sense of wanting to rectify past mistakes, but refuses to be told the "correct" way to do so. Thinks stealing from/killing/spiting evil characters is justified because "they deserved it."

Flaws: Blunt/has no filter, contrary for the sake of being contrary, weirdly prejudiced against elves (due to repressed Ketheric spite)

Good Qualities: Loves animals, unfailingly loyal, good at bartering and haggling

Quirks: Takes a trophy from each memorable kill, incredibly horny, will try anything (potions, strange food, licking the spider, Loviatar's blessing) at least once

Memory Loss Side Effects: Thinks everyone else has the Urge but Durge is just bad at controlling it, doesn't know cannibalism isn't normal, doesn't know what sex is

STR 9/DEX 17/CON 12/INT 10/WIS 12/CHA 15

Imposed rule: Short rest after every fight, and long rest when out of short rests

Additional fun facts:

Their name is Daggerroot. They picked their name as they were combing the beach for supplies, recognized a single sprig of it, and the lore around it came to mind: "Known as 'the executioner's garnish', this herb flourishes in blood-fed soil and has flavoured countless final meals." For some reason, the description brought them amusement. Both "Dagger" and "Root" are acceptable nicknames, though most people tend towards the former.

They're the group medic. This is why they're in charge. Because they have such a good medical knowledge due to struck out Dark Urge memories, they've assumed "surgeon" was their profession before being tadpoled. And, I mean, they're not wrong...

There's something just not-quite-right about them, visually. They LOOK a lot like a deep gnome, and to someone who doesn't know deep gnomes well, they are one. But to deep gnomes, they have a very uncanny valley effect to them.

Their dream guardian is identical to them. This is going to do LEAGUES for their trust in this person, with a fair share of existential crises on top of it. "If you're not what's causing the urges...that means I am. I'll listen to whatever you say, because you're clearly my better half."

Monk class backstory:

They killed their foster family as a young child before Sceleritas found them. Because they were out of control then, and now had the eyes of everyone in the Bhaal temple on them, they adopted monastic tendencies (gifted kid + fear)

That deep-seated fear of loss of control still persists in current form Durge (based on the canon origin monologue: "Injured beyond repair, I know nothing besides this: I must resist the Dark Urge, lest is consume my mind.") and leads to sticking with Monk as their class at the start of BG3

Bonus points, they gained admiration from peers in the temple for killing people bare-handed

#why are they barefoot? because they hate shoes #the guardian reveal is going to GUT them #also this ruleset for behavior is going to be fantastic for storycrafting #it is my sincere hope that i have enough spoons to draw dagger more often. and to improve while doing so #there's a hint to their identity in their outfit; i took a tiny bit of liberties #also i gave them bloody plum dye because default does not vibe thank you very much #vitiligo is hard to draw. i need to get better at it. practice makes perfect #bg3 #crowdsourced durge #daggerroot durge #the dark urge #also screw hands #i think the next thing I'll practice is expressions. both for the expressions themselves and to practice getting their face right #my art #real coffee hours #holy shit it's 4 am

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rose-tinted-vision · 3 months

Text

Tales from Tianji Manor

Relationship: Fang Duobing/Li Lianhua/Di Feisheng

part 8/read it on ao3/next

“What do you think of Di Feisheng?” her husband asks her that night.

“A-Fei is a good kid,” she replies firmly, giving her husband a look. He may be a little prejudiced, but she trusted that Fang Zeshi was a good judge of character, and only wanted the best for their son, “He treats Xiaobao and Xiaohua well, and he is just trying his best to live, like the rest of us.”

Fang Zeshi frowns, considering her reply.

She takes his hand in hers, gently urging him to look at her. She had chosen him because he had been sincere in wooing her back then, had treated everyone around him with the due respect that they deserved, regardless of their social rank. She trusts that he would extend the same treatment to Xiaobao’s chosen people too.

“Just watch, and you will see what I mean,” she says.

—

Her husband stays for the week, the Emperor having given him the week to spend with his family.

And so they watch.

They watch how A-Fei silently carries a mountain of blankets from Xiaobao’s room across the courtyard to where the Lotus Tower is parked, gently tucking them around Xiaobao and Xiaohua who have fallen asleep in their home.

They watch as A-Fei chops up the chives that Xiaobao hands to him, expertly handling the knife with the air of someone who has been handed the same task multiple times, setting them back next to Xiaobao, who shoos Xiaohua away from the kitchen with a wooden ladle.

They watch as A-Fei tags along with both of his boyfriends to the market, trailing behind them as they return with his arms full of bags of all sizes, occasionally stealing a bite from Xiaobao’s scallion pancake.

Fang Zeshi smiles at the sight of his son and his boyfriends, happy and content with each other and at peace, despite himself.

—

“He treats Xiaobao well,” her husband admits, as they retire to bed, “but does he trest you and Xiaofeng well too?”

She knows that he bears no ill will towards A-Fei, not after he had gained her husband's recognition, that he was simply looking out for her, looking out for the peace of the family that they had built, and so she nods patiently.

“He remembers my favourite dishes, what I am allergic to, and respects the house rules.”

It is the truth, as Fang Zeshi would witness the following day.

A-Fei shows up for breakfast with a sleepy Xiaohua and Xiaobao trailing behind, settling in his usual seat at Xiaohua’s left side. He snatches up the soy sauce before Xiaobao dumps too much into his bowl in his half-awake state, adding just the right amount for him instead, and offers to pour her tea.

He Xiaohui accepts the cup of tea with a smile, which he awkwardly bows his head at.

His posture is more tense than usual, she notes- likely due to the presence of her husband, someone who A-Fei did not know how to act around, someone who he had only interacted with a couple of times.

Her husband, for his part, was watching A-Fei with a contemplative expression. Not open distrust, like the last time they ate together, but not quite acceptance yet.

Xiaobao, still sleepy as he was, had noticed A-Fei's discomfort, and drew his father's attention away from him with the topic of the Emperor’s latest policies following Shan Gudao’s attempted coup.

—

“Our Xiaobao really loves them,” is Fang Zeshi’s conclusion that night, expression exasperated yet fond, as they watch Xiaobao spar with A-Fei. Their nightly spars draw quite the audience, a dance so graceful that it has the servants halting in their duties to watch.

“He does,” He Xiaohui replies. Her Xiaobao had never been one to hide his feelings well- if he liked someone, it was plain for all to see. If he hated someone, anyone within a five meter radius could tell.

Like mother like son, her husband had once remarked.

“Li Xiangyi…really does not plan on returning to the jianghu?”

He Xiaohui straightens at the question, a familiar protectiveness rearing its head as she sizes up her husband, “is that Minister Fang asking, or Fang Zeshi asking?”

Fang Zeshi, to his credit, does not flinch under her glare.

“I think you know the answer yourself,” He Xiaohui sighs, casting her gaze to the man sitting with Zhan Yunfei, both men equally riveted by the duel before them.

“Li Lianhua,” she stresses, which Fang Zeshi looks properly chastised by, “really just wants a quiet life with his partners. You can tell the Emperor that.”

“Okay,” her husband sighs, “okay.”

Not quite acceptance, but not outright disapproval either.

Half the battle won, like she had once told Xiaobao

#minister fang means well #but well...some dads dont really know how to express it #anyway he xiaohui remains best mom!#mysterious lotus casebook #difanghua #fanghua #feihua #difang #rose writes

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tea-with-evan-and-me · 10 months

Note

The fact that Evan dated Frances I think was random, I don't think it means that he's been looking for young girls with a magnifying glass because it doesn't even seem to be a pattern, like in the case of Leonardo Dicaprio for example. I mean it's possible that some men at some point in their life have dated someone 10 years younger and it's not always because there's a frivolous reason or some sort of fetish behind that, and I'll give as an example another actor who I'm also a fan of, Tom Hiddleston in 2016 dated Taylor Swift eight years apart, Tom at the time was 35 and Taylor was 26 (same situation with Haley and Evan for those who think Haley is too junior for Evan) the point is that Tom didn't date Taylor because he was after someone younger, they met casually and apparently at least on Tom's part he seemed to have a real interest in that relationship. Now regarding saying that Evan is single at 36 from a somewhat negative connotation, here I will also make an example of Tom because after the relationship with Taylor, he was single until his 38th birthday, it was in late 2019 that he started dating his co-star who is currently his fiancée, he got engaged at his 40th birthday, he is four years older than his fiancée and last year they had their first child and mind you I am not saying the same way it will happen with Evan, maybe as expected in a while we will see him with someone or dating someone else before he meets his end game or maybe the opposite will happen and he will decide to be alone for a good while, whatever it is. My point is that making these prejudiced comments regarding a certain age in someone, if it's offensive to us as women to have these ageist comments about women like "they are better when they are younger" or "if they are not married or single at a certain age it's because of this and that" then why make these comments with men or all people in general? Why speculate on age and say "if you are single at this age it's because maybe you are not good at intimacy or you are not good at this or that"? Simply someone can be single by choice or because they can't find someone special. I think the important thing for everyone should be to be able to be happy regardless of whether we have a partner or not, and whatever age we decide to have a partner, there are people who settle down later in life, we don't all have to get married in our 20's.

i think it’s fair to say that it’s still to be seen whether evan dating much younger will be a trend. quite literally, only time will tell. but i mean, to be fair.. since emma, all of his girlfriends have been at least 8 years younger 🙃 halsey, frances, haley.. while they are old enough that it is not creepy, that’s not exactly the conversation we are having. it’s more so about men in general preferring younger women. there is a reason no one bats an eye at men dating women half their age but if a woman does it, it’s a huge deal. but i agree there’s no reason to start assuming negative things because someone is single at 36, or any age for that matter. everyone’s trajectory is different and not everyone will want the same things out of life. the concept of needing to be settled with a family by a certain age is an antiquated way of thinking.

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luverofralts · 1 year

Text

Arkhelios University

“That’s the king of Strangetown! What is he doing here? Does Roman or Abe know him?”

Jorah watched the crowd starting to form intently. It was hard to believe that he was standing in the same area as the famous faces he saw on the international tv channels and that Roman and Abe’s wedding was big enough to draw foreign royalty to it.This event was much bigger than just a wedding between two Arkhelios citizens; it was a chance for the international community to show Twikkii Island that they weren’t responsible for the attack that had suddenly left Maura the throne. No one had claimed responsibility for the attack, but rumours were beginning to fly and fingers were being pointed. No one wanted to be accused of the crime, so foreign governments were going out of their way to show Queen Maura their sympathies.

“Look at her dress,” Jorah gushed as more people walked by. “It’s probably more expensive than our house.”

Valerian laughed at his husband’s enthusiasm. Out of all the Arkhelios guests at the wedding, Jorah had to be the only one who knew about foreign celebrities and customs. Growing up relatively sheltered in tiny Arkhelios, reading about the rest of the world was his escape. At night he’d dreamt of exploring the stars with Lucy and during the day, he’d fantasized about visiting the remarkable things he’d read about in books. The world was a huge, mysterious place and Arkhelios was only a small sliver of it. There was so much to see of it and Jorah wanted to see it all.

“Are you going to keep out of trouble during the ceremony? You can’t ruin this for your brother no matter how much he frustrates you.”

Cindra was trying to remain firm with Nathan in order to keep an international incident from occurring. She could see the the resentment on his face and knew from experience that nothing good ever came from that look. She hadn’t approved of his “antics” with Kaeileen, but what was done was done. All she could do was encourage Nathan to act better in the future.

Nathan shrugged and shot Cindra what looked to be a genuine smile.

“I’ll do my best, for your sake,” he promised. “Not that Abe deserves all of this. He’s marrying a monster. I know that whenever they do find the people responsible for the yacht explosion, it’s going to be demons. It’s always demons. They feed on death and pain and-”

“Shush!” Cindra commanded irritably. “There’s already enough paranoid people here, you don’t need to fan the flames. The demon Lucy’s dating seems to be perfectly fine. You’re just being prejudiced.”

“She’s dating her boss, the head of the soul stealing department!” Nathan gasped. “How on earth is he fine? Oriana is going to die before her natural time because of them! It’s unnatural!”

“She seems happy to me,” Cindra replied, with an indifferent shrug. “She’s married to her lost teenage love and they have a family. Would you rather she be miserable and alone until her “natural time” comes? You might want to re-think your priorities in life, Nathan. You don’t seem to be very happy yourself. The only one complaining here is you.”

Nathan rolled his eyes and murmured something under his breath that Cindra couldn’t quite hear. It was probably for the best she didn’t hear whatever it was anyway.

“Look how happy your sister is. No one else is stewing in negativity like you are,” she stated flatly. “And she’s probably not even dating that guy anymore. She looks pretty interested in some of the guests, so you may not even have to worry about a demonic brother in law.”

Maura watched the crowd vigilantly for any sign of danger. The intricately carved wooden throne she sat on felt hard and uncomfortable to her. It had always been her grandmother’s seat that she was forbidden to touch. Even now, she half expected her grandmother to suddenly jump out from behind a tree to scream at her. She still flinched when the staff addressed her as “Your Majesty”. She was apparently the queen of Twikkii Island, though the title still seemed foreign to her. Hopefully over time she’d get used to it.

She watched the other royal families carefully as they waited for the grooms to arrive. King Liam of Crystal Cove had been the first to arrive with his heir Princess Theodosia. Maura had been warned to watch him closely by her advisors. His youngest daughter had been killed in the attack on the yacht, and while his government hadn’t yet blamed Twikkii Island for their loss, it was always possible. Their nation had a sizable army, a coven of powerful witches and strong ties with Strangetown and Pleasantview. They weren’t the biggest threat to Maura, but she’d been warned to watch them all the same.

Fortunately for Maura, her close friend and cousin Claudia was the head of the strongest, most feared country. Pleasantview was absolutely ancient with populations of magic users and demons and who knew what else that had grown over the centuries into a force that historically crushed anyone who opposed them. With Claudia’s support, Maura could probably present enough of a threat to keep the other nations at bay, even if Crystal Cove retaliated against them.

Beside Claudia, the king of Strangetown, King Charlie, and his heir, Princess Anneken, seemed to have the same idea as Maura. She saw their eyes darting around, sizing up the political scene for themselves. Despite Strangetown’s physical closeness to Twikkii Island, Maura didn’t know much about their royal family. Her mother’s half-sister was once the crown princess before her tragic death and the current king had just had a mild heart attack according to her advisors. Her grandmother had been the one with a connection to Strangetown, while Maura struggled to remember the names of any of the other Strangetown royals. Claudia seemed friendly with the family, so Maura was relying heavily on her relationship with Claudia to keep Strangetown friendly towards her home. That’s why she found it so nerve wracking to see her cousin and Roman Bellamy flirting the way they did. If he left Abe for Claudia, Maura would have to renegotiate her relationship with her cousin, and if she disapproved of Maura’s reaction or Ulyssa said something wrong, Maura’s home could lose the protection it currently enjoyed. Roman Bellamy could cost the nation she was now in charge of protecting absolutely everything. She didn’t know how her grandmother coped with the pressure of the crown without breaking. Every day seemed to add some new complication that she’d never encountered before and the pressure to keep everything together was becoming crushing.

At least one third of the Chun siblings were under control from what Maura could see. Nathan seemed to be scowling, but otherwise he looked non-threatening. Lucy had disappeared entirely, but Ulyssa was seated beside her wife, so the damage Lucy could do seemed limited. Even the kids seemed well behaved. Theo was standing quietly, waiting for his chance to perform his ring bearer duties and his sisters were calm beside him. As troubled as he’d been as a toddler, Theo had really begun to mature over the past few years. He still had his slip ups, but after receiving the proper support for his abilities, he was doing well in school and being a supportive older brother. His parents might sometimes disagree with her assessment, but to Maura at least, Theo was growing into a smart, compassionate young boy with a bright future. Adrian’s daughters were just as promising and Maura couldn’t wait for them to show more of their personalities as they aged. Without an heir of her own, those girls could be the future of her family and would need to be guided if she and Ulyssa struggled to start their family.

It’s funny how much of my life depends on the whims of an unstable demon hybrid. When did that happen?

To Maura’s relief, music began to play, indicating that the grooms were ready to start the ceremony. So far, no one had bolted from the altar or started a fight. Maybe this wedding might not be troubled after all.

#sims 2 #arkhelios #arkhelios university #Ulyssa Durant #sim: Maura Siew #Theo Bellamy #sim: theo bellamy #durant family #Cindra Durant #Jorah Durant #nathan chun #lucy chun #sim: theodosia alioto #sim: Claudia Goldman #sims 2 pictures #sim: anneken toyonaga

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shadowydreamlandwonderland · 1 year

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The Rulers who Bargained with Death - CHAPTER 10

Excerpt:

In that moment, he realized that he really was as lousy a brother as Aberforth had always claimed. He understood, now, why his brother did not want anything to do with him. Why would he?

Only half aware of what he was doing, Albus slowly turned his eyes over to Gellert and simply looked at him for several seconds, until he finally gained back the energy to continue the conversation and return Bathilda Bagshot's soft and worried gaze.

"So the rumors were true?", he asked, quietly, and Bathilda nodded swiftly in response. Almost hurriedly she spoke: "They were. To be fully honest with you, I didn't expect them to be. When I first heard it, I thought it was just some cruel lie some Muggle had come up with - you two should know how bored and prejudiced they are, always longing for something to blab about - but of course I should have asked the girl's family what was going on. These things are always so unpredictable. You can be however careful - and still there's no guarantee of anything. Aberforth himself thought that she must have gotten pregnant some time in July."

Before Albus had the chance to say anything else, Gellert spoke slowly: "While it's fascinating to hear about Aberforth's love life, I don't quite understand how it's our problem, Auntie. What do you expect us to do about it?"

"I was just coming to that, dear", Bathilda was quick to reply, leaning back in the comfortable armchair and gazing intelty into Albus' eyes. "Albus, your brother is really badly taken by all of this. He has dropped out of school for good, he doesn't have any money and he refuses to accept mine. He's depressed, half apathethic from poor Arianas' death, and he needs his brother."

"Aberforth's feelings are no problem of ours", Gellert answered coldly, his hand coming to rest like a protective, comforting weight against Albus' upper back as he spoke. "Albus has been through enough with him, and so have I."

"Gellert dear, I know that you only wish to protect Albus, but this can't be anyone's decision but his own. The only thing I'm asking of you, Albus, is to contact your brother - through letter or in person - and quite simply be there for him. I'm aware of the fact that neither of you are great fans of him right now, but-"

"'Not great fans'?", Gellert repeated loudly; his voice almost wavering in emotion as he spoke. "Auntie, are you even aware of why the duel started that night in the first place? I don't believe you are. My guess is that Aberforth very conveniently left all of that out when he spoke to you, because he wants to blame everything on me and Albus."

Bathilda simply gazed at them in silence for a few long moments, her pale face once again completely unreadable, impervious before she finally spoke again. "I wasn't planning on having this conversation with you just yet, but since you still insist on bringing it up... Aberforth hasn't told me a thing. To be completely honest, he has hardly spoken to me at all..."

Quickly, Albus and Gellert glanced at each other; hurried, rushed glances that betrayed both surprise and nervousness. Albus knew what Gellert was thinking; knew it without the slighest doubt - and placed a gentle hand against his thigh in response. He allowed it to linger there for a couple of seconds, meanwhile effortlessly diving into his mind - closed, impenetrable to anyone but him - and said softly: I'm not going to tell her. He saw how his lover smiled gratefully in response; a smile so quick it might well have gone unnoticed, but still Bathilda saw it.

"Don't flatter yourselves by thinking that I don't notice how you two secretly communicate with each other. I don't understand why you ever wasted time writing each other letters", she said, slightly coldly, and raised a light eyebrow. "Well? Are you going to tell me what happened?"

- -

So I finally posted chapter 10!! I love these two so much it's indescribable😭❤️ https://archiveofourown.org/works/46108756/chapters/116071705

#grindeldore #albus dumbledore #dumbledore x grindelwald #gellert grindelwald #young albus dumbledore #young gellert grindelwald #albus x gellert #alternate universe #dark grindeldore #fanfiction #archive of our own

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notsp1derman · 1 year

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a pensive review of "the bell jar", by sylvia plath

[may contain spoilers]

“To the person in the bell jar, blank and stopped as a dead baby, the world itself is a bad dream.”

Everybody knows some woman in their family that had some sort of episode, a bout of depression, some histerical reaction; that succumbed to the societal expectations that surround us all. If it isn't some woman from your family, it's a friend, it's yourself. And that's why, despite all of her shortcomings and many, many flaws, Esther Greenwood's life invokes something visceral in any woman that reads it.

That's not to say men can't enjoy it; gender roles are stupid anyways so I believe this can be a valuable experience to anyone. But the ways history has pressed and tormented women can't be ignored so easily, and this book is the epitome of the helplessness we feel when thrusted into the unforgiving capitalist world.

Esther's slow fall from grace and into the cold arms of depression is gut wrenching to read, and even the uncertain but hopeful ending is shadowed by the reality of Sylvia Plath's suicide. And while many might think her words too exaggerated, her case an exception in many others, it resonated deep within me, just as with many other young women, I'm sure.

The poorly placed expectations, the deceptions of love and friendship, the alienation from other human beings, and the gradual but constant urge to give up even on your dearest dreams. Each of these themes reminded me of times I've already been through, and filled me with fear of returning to this dark place. I finished The Bell Jar with a small but simmering despair, the urge to live my life before all my figs rotted and fell to the ground, and the irrational feeling of pity for the help Plath should've got but never did, in a time where mental disorders were still mostly seen as plain insanity.

I get why some don't like this book. Some parts really do scream "white girl problem" at times, and Esther's opinions and actions can be very retrograde and prejudiced. One time she rants about never bending her head for a man, showing some sort of feminist ideology, and the next she's degrading her female friends for something minimal. But for me this just adds another layer of complexity to this already fragmented and confused character.

Her time in the hospice is filled with an unsettling void that never quite goes away, even as she supposedly gets better. The incident with her best friend just serves to emphasize how fragile this new state of apathy truly is, how easy it is to fall back to the black hole of instability, to loose the last shreds of will to live. The descriptions are terrifying at times, stated so plainly and unemotionally that makes everything even worse to get through.

In the end, this book is a vicious reminder played as a plain story; the lives of million people reflected in the half coherent ramblings of a young white girl, more privileged than so many others but still a victim of a cruel system tht still afflict us to this day. There is still hope for a better future, there will always be, but there are days when my only company is this same old despair. In these days, I can only do as Sylvia Plath says: take a deep breath and listen to the old brag of my heart. I am. I am. I am.

★★★★☆

#booklr #the bell jar #sylvia plath #yas reviews books #the fact that i created a tumblr acc again just to post this #and its just a depressing ramble lmao #some things never change ig

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irarelypostanything · 2 years

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Why I Enjoyed Ice Queendom More Than The Original RWBY

*Spoilers*

Last time we were here, I wrote a summary of a popular YouTube video called “RWBY is disappointing and here’s why,” which was roasted pretty hard by some user named rwalrus. He cussed at me a lot and insulted me a lot, but his points were valid:

*It’s not really fair to say that RWBY dropped the plot point of stealing dust in season one - it’s implied that this helped them with their weapons and explosives in season two (I’m going to say “season” instead of “volume” and no one can stop me)

*Ruby is a designer and made her own weapon, but that’s not unique - a bunch of characters designed their own weapons

*Criticizing the plot structure of season two is a waste of time

I guess my opinion overall is that the fanbase is kind of split into two halves right now: The half that loves everything about RWBY and still watches it, and the half that is highly critical of RWBY but still watches it.

Anyway, what follows is just going to be my personal opinions. It’s just that, and not everyone will agree:

1. It takes advantage of its animation team and budget

The way they released season one of RWBY, it was not very coherent - the episodes were not the same length, the animation was not as good as it was in season two and after, and the trailers varied quite a bit in tone. In Ice Queendom, the white and black trailers are integrated into the episode. It doesn’t include the red and yellow trailers because these don’t completely fit into the new story, but they arguably don’t have to be - we get a revealing shot of both Ruby and Yang visiting their mother’s grave

2. The character motivations are clearer

It takes a little while to get invested into the RWBY characters because it doesn’t really dive into character flaws until later. Ruby is young - but she’s also some sort of powerhouse who has a fairly easy time transitioning into leadership. Weiss is prejudiced, then changes her mind and isn’t. Ruby’s feelings of her mother do not really appear until seasons two and seven, and Weiss’ family dynamics are not really explored until season four.

The new series explores these things with brief flashes:

*Ruby mentions her insecurity at probably not being accepted into Beacon; she expresses it to her supposedly dead mother

*All of Weiss’ family dynamics, including her relationship to her butler, are revealed in a matter of minutes; somehow they also manage to cover the White trailer in this time

*The story is told from Weiss’ point of view, so the viewer has more sympathy for her distrust of Ruby - who falls asleep in class and doesn’t seem to work as hard

*It seems to be hinting at one of the aforementioned YouTube video’s biggest complaints: That Weiss gets over her hatred fairly easily. It seems like this conflict will be more fleshed out here

Nitpicks

-I kind of wanted to actually see Roman fight in the semi-finale, instead of just kind of running off like he actually does

-When Weiss challenges the decision to make Ruby leader, the response is that the other teachers trust Ozpin absolutely - they would trust him with their lives. I think this is a way more interesting response than what she gets in this series, which is that she throws too many tantrums

Anyway, I think everyone is pretty happy with this AU semi-remake - but I guess I’ll wait and see if anyone has critical comments for me.

#rwby #rwby ice queendom #15-minute freewrite

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menalez · 8 months

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Hello Mena! I was hoping if you can maybe help me with confusion about my ethnicity. I am from post-ussr country and so interact in english spaces less and not sure about few things. I am mixed ethnicity, various slavic and central asian ethnicity. But I am not half and half, rather from what I learned about my family tree I am a bit more then 1/3 central asian. But, as you can imagine, with woc women marrying into men of dominant culture, I was able to find only very little of my asian female ancestors. I mostly seen myself as white, but the genes of my asian female ancestors show on my face. I did not know about any of these when I was teen, I was just sure I am 'ugly'. I spend great deal of time trying to make myself 'pretty', which was kinda white washing myself. If I bleach my hair, shave my eyebrows, avoid sun like plague and paint my face I can be quite white passing, just with weird nose and small and dark eyes and wide face. I also struggled with people being very prejudiced towards me through my whole life, like they start right away acting as if I'm stupid and a bit slow. I have been wondering for my whole life if maybe I am weird or slow indeed in a ways I am not aware. I would never know if that is because of my face or not. But when I moved to less white region, it has been long time and no one acted towards me that dismissive. I also stopped worrying about my nose and keeping skin as white as possible, bc I don't stick out so much anymore. Hairdressers sometimes still try to convince me to bleach my hear, because I would look good, but I reject it. The thing is, if I talk about these in english speaking places while only mentioning my location, women (I suppose mostly white, who do that) try to convince me I am just a bit mentally unwell, imagined prejudice where it did not happen, obsess over my looks etc. If I mention my ethnic compound, they revert to blanket validation, which is also weird to me, bc it's so overt and suddenly they take me seriously. When they do it, I honestly feel like impostor. Or I guess before that they imagined slavic blonde like stereotypically shown? (It's actually wrong stereotype, but it's another topic.) My question is, I don't really I can call myself woc, I would be imposing on woc with actual problems. If I was say half and half with equal connection to both cultures, it would be another matter. But I also treasure my asian ancestry and what I could find of it, the genes of my asian grandmothers are seen in my face, and I think it is not fair to them if I don't mention that. Maybe you have some advice on that, on how can I indicate my ancestry better without imposing on others who deal with actual oppression unlike me? Sorry it turned out a bit long.

hi anon!! first of all, i feel like you’re questioning your perception & intelligence and just so you know, you don’t seem stupid at all to me. at least based on this message, you seem to be an introspective and well-spoken woman, albeit with clear confidence issues.

in terms of how you can accurately describe your ancestry, i’m also mixed but not 50/50 as it is intergenerational, so i understand how it can be difficult to describe ur experiences. i simply state im mixed & if ppl assume it means i’m half black and half MENA, i correct them and state that is inaccurate to my reality. you could say the same, basically calling urself mixed white + central asian or just mixed. even the term biracial does not necessarily mean half & half although some people assume that to be the case, so u could use that too. u could even say ur white-passing biracial (although im not sure if white-passing describes u accurately? since u said u feel like u look more similar to central asians when u live among them). u could also say ur white with asian ancestry if u feel like being white defines ur experiences more prominently

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skyburialatnight · 2 years

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What's the gay zombie show?

In the Flesh! It was a really interesting take on the Zombie Apocalypse and geez its almost 10 years old. It's 2 seasons, 9 episodes. I feel like it I gotta state it's gay but its angst drama gay not comedy lighthearted gay.

The basic premise is that there was a cure found for Zombieism and people who were zombies return in half state (brain state is human, appearance is still partially zombified) and slowly reintegrate into society. One of the big things is that there is quite of a lot of prejudice against Partially Deceased Syndrome (PDS) suffers, or 'rotters' (that's a like a slur in that world), especially from those who had loved ones killed, or have PTSD from being in anti-zombie militias while they were still risen.

The main character, Kieren, is a PDS sufferer, and returns home after being treated. The rough thing is, he committed suicide a couple of years ago, and the family life is Tense, especially with his now-older, younger sister Jem, who was part of the anti-zombie militia during the apocalypse and took his death hard.

The other major part of season one was his best friend and lover, Rick, who died on a tour of Afghanistan, coming back to the village, and who is in denial of being a PDS sufferer. Doesn't help his father is Incredibly Prejudiced against both PDS sufferers, and his son's relationship with Kieran.

Also I cannot forget Amy, love of my life, another PDS-sufferer who becomes Kieran's best friend, and helps him becoming more accepting of himself.

The second season introduces Simon (in the post), who is high up in the Undead Liberation Army, a group that supports PDS sufferers through following the teachings of the Undead Prophet to find the 'First Risen' or the first PDS sufferer whose body is becoming human again. Kieran is torn between liking Simon, and being wary of the radical teachings of the Undead Prophet and Simon's pride in being undead (Kieran covers up his face with makeup to hide his undead look, Simon does not). Someone's uploaded all their scenes on youtube if you wanna just watch those (spoilers of course!).

The series isn't without it's flaws (and content warnings, please check it out on doesthedogdie.com) but it made 19 year old Ashley very happy.

#in the flesh #we were robbed of season 3 i tell you! robbed!!

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thejudgingtrash · 4 years

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Annabeth is a good person,but not a nice or pleasant one,IMO.

YES.

That’s it. That’s the post. Pack it up everybody, we just cracked the case and cleared up one of the most compelling fights in the PJO fandom since forever. Good job everybody, clap it out and there’s the door! Don’t forget ordering the drinks at Starbucks, Mitch! They’re on me!

Okay, but on a more serious note: YES. YES EXACTLY.

And before some of you roll your eyes or grab your pitchforks – put your biases aside and hear me out for once. I like Annabeth. She’s my in my top three characters only second to Percy himself. I love Percabeth. It’s my favorite ship in the entire series and to be frank, the only ship that I care about PJO wise. Hell, I spend my time creating my own headcanons or writing my own fanfics with Percabeth being the star in them.

But that is not to say that I’m unable to see how certain things have developed over the years or where they stand now in regard to Annabeth. I’m not here to ignore things that have been said and/or done due to or in the name of Annabeth and I’m not here to vilify anyone that doesn’t like her. And I’m here to admit that I’m guilty of some of the things that may be addressed in this meta essay that you will read in just a second. However, I try my best to assure you, that I’m for once able to recognize my own bias.

Warning: a monster essay lies right upon you.

This should count as a paper of its own.

Back to the statement on top: I would go out even further to reframe your claim, anon:

Annabeth Chase is a good character but not a nice or pleasant person.

Annabeth is a wonderful character but she isn’t a nice one. Or at least not nice to everyone. She is (construction wise if I dare say) the best character out of the series. She has her positive traits (she’s caring, she’s emotional, she’s encouraged and volunteers, she fights for what she believes in, she forgives (even if doing so begrudgingly)) but she also has her negative traits (she’s stubborn, she’s brash, changing her mind takes forever, she is prejudiced, she baits others). That balances things out. She is branded as the intelligent kid but does irrational things (like I’ve just said a) she’s a kid and b) she’s not a robot). She should probably know better, but we all make mistakes and hopefully grow and learn from them. The clouds in the sky do blur and cover our visions sometimes.

Annabeth had clashes with other characters or was about to have fights due to her stubbornness or jealousy (Rachel, Reyna, etc.) and has of course her problems with the mortal world and her family but she also found new friends, some things cleared up throughout the narration and she was/is quite popular in Camp Half-Blood.

The thing is: she doesn’t have to be nice or pleasant (as a character). Or at least not all the time. Her character is humanized. That is what or who she is. Human. She does stand out as a character, not just because she’s the (future) love interest. She feels like someone you could meet in real life and either adore from the top to the bottom or declare as your biggest enemy. And that’s totally okay if you lean either way – liking or disliking her. Or even feeling indifferent about her. Also great!

To say that she has been the best character that Riordan has crafted is easy to say, because she has been sculpted after Riordan’s wife. He had a model he could rub some of real-life events or traits on. That’s not the problem. The problem truly doesn’t lie on Riordan’s side for the most part for once.

The problem is inherently on the fandom’s side. What the fandom does, how it acts and how it treats Annabeth as a character is the problem. The problems vary but it’s mostly the mischaracterization of Annabeth, starting fights and fan/ship wars, internalized misogyny (in some cases) and how some of the Annabeth stans lash out (ha, got firsthand experience in that field among many of my friends and mutuals!). There is a reason why many people are wary of people that have Annabeth or Percabeth related URLs.

The fact that we see Annabeth mostly through Percy’s lens and (until the Heroes of Olympus saga hits) we never really see her in chill everyday situations is essentially Riordan leaving the back door of the house open, ready for all of you asshats to rob his mansion in Boston. Because a frame on a character means that we don’t get to see the character in its entirety (unlike we do with Percy in PJO for the most part). That means a bunch of stuff is left open for interpretation which is the reason why Annabeth gets so many polarized headcanon and opinions tossed around. I think that is one of the true appeals of Annabeth. You can add on stuff and it necessarily doesn’t have to contradict itself.

We have people calling her abusive due to a (n admittedly stupid and unnecessary) judo flip and we have people that act like she’s never done anything wrong. People sorta use this excuse to form and shape Annabeth however they want and distort her characterization.

People in the fandom act like Annabeth is some weird prized possession. We perceive Annabeth mostly through the eyes of others (Percy, Apollo, etc.) and when we had some sort of insight in her ways (MOA, HOH) it felt… weird? Somewhat? Like Riordan left two bullet points of her characterization and told the ghostwriter: aight, fuck it up, gringo, see you on Tuesday and greet Fred the next time you see him for me.

There have been many posts lately (by Tharini, Simi, Sawasawako, Jewishpercy and Annie I believe?) that HOO Percabeth felt weird. That they felt weirdly constructed, that there was no conflict, no growth. It felt stagnating, like we’re turning back. We had five books prior where we had Annabeth and Percy slowly shifting from disliking to liking and crushing each other. True development. And when we finally got the cake it felt… dissatisfying. Like the cheap box stuff and not the delicious exquisite taste that we were promised.

I said it previously in my Percabeth ship roast, but let me repeat myself: many Percabeth related things are straight up fanon. Some of it is very old fanon so that’s been unable to distinguish unless you’ve read the books recently and subtract nearly 99,9% of things you see on Tumblr (and occasionally the other shitty parts of the fandom like Reddit, IG, Twitter. Although they mostly steal and recycle tumblr stuff oh well. But back to the topic).

The way people treat Annabeth is so strange. She’s either an innocent fluffy smush baby that’s never harmed a fly and all that she wants for Christmas is being Percy’s lapdog or she’s the devil incarnate, broke into your house, killed your parents Batman style, kicked your puppy and didn’t flush the toilet on the way out. I think this is what mostly makes people hate her or the ship Percabeth. And both extremes are wrong and right at the same time? She is multifaceted so both stereotypes are true and untrue and sorta cancel each other out in the same way.

The true reason why people dislike Annabeth is because the stans are doing the most. (The haters as well, don’t get me wrong, but oh boy. Piss of a stan and you’ll know what I mean). That isn’t inherently new. Are you guys old enough to remember the ship wars that have happened cross platform? Perachel vs. Percabeth? Oh boy, oh boy. I saw some kids on tumblr a few months ago trying to infiltrate both tags and start shit (and also fail). The fact that Rachel still gets used as the bitchy (ex) girlfriend in fanfics? It’s 2020 guys. I know this apocalyptic year is far from perfect and over but I think we can let this trope die, right? Right? I thought we’ve established that Rachel is a pretty chill charcter by now… right?

If you posted your stuff on FFN back in 2010-2013 and it wasn’t the typical cutesy Percabeth story (Goode High, the gods read TLT, punk/prep Percabeth, college AU, etc.) people would’ve come for your fucking throat. Not because the story or the narration was shit. But because the pairing wasn’t Annabeth and Percy (in the sense that Annabeth had to be paired with Percy. I mean Percy gets shipped with everyone and their mother but for Annabeth it was strictly Percy. As annoying as this whole Connabeth thing is – the people behind it actually had a point. She never had a different love interest unless it’s a Percy centered story and he goes off dating Athena, Artemis and Zoe at the same time for some odd reason. Yeah, FFN Percy ships are something). Or it wasn’t the action filled canon compliant story or it wasn’t an AU that was popular.

People were really stubborn, snobbish and wanted their stuff in the four five boxes that were the most popular ones and that’s it. People have been bullied off the site in many fandoms, so it’s not a PJO-only thing but it’s still sad that it happened. (Off-note: most of these FFN tropes are still alive and well and thriving on AO3. Don’t be so snobbish and pretend that every piece you’d find there is a holy grail. There’s a lot of trash you have to waddle through. Same with Wattpad, Tumblr or anywhere else where fanfics get posted. Also had this discussion with Annabeth stans. Sigh).

And Tumblr back then? Forget it, wasn’t much better.

That view has sorta changed (at least for people that have been in the fandom for several years or have managed to find a way to navigate through it) but some of the negative sentiment from back in the day has survived. Be it by new fans coming in or from old fans that never let their stance die. The aggression feels differently and somewhat not. (I don’t know if the anon function had been abused that much back in the day. I was an observer not a participant in the fandom).

Crack a joke at Annabeth’s expense (Kal’s famous “Annabeth is a Republican” post or Dee Dee’s and many others “Annabeth has the education of a second grader, chill with the college plans, girlie” stance) and you have people insulting you, making callout posts, unfollowing and blocking you (based on only that? Okay, honey), making aggressive counter-posts, etc. in a minute. If you respond with “It’s a joke, it’s not real” you have a 50/50 chance of either getting blown off or embarrassing them so that they apologize for once.

This isn’t just about jokes. You can make a headcanon that’s not the cozy cute convenient mainstream saga and people would react the same way. Or art piece (no, not including the whole Tannabeth Blackchase shtick done by Viria and others) or fanfics.

People project so much onto the unfinished canvas that is Annabeth Chase that any form of negative sentiment as little as someone not liking her to straight up criticism, regardless of how tiny it may be, seems like an affront. Like an invitation to a fight. Like an insult to them, their character, everything they believe in. Let me state something:

You are NOT Annabeth Chase. Annabeth Chase IS NOT you. Annabeth Chase is NOT real. Her feeling cannot be hurt. Someone criticizing, disliking, joking about her or even insulting her will not bother her. Someone making a statement about her is not an insult to YOU.

Let me repeat that:

Annabeth Chase isn’t real. Annabeth Chase isn’t you.

So think a little before you act? I get it when you’re a kid and new to fandoms or haven’t been up with fan cultures in the past and are back in the scene. But if you’re in your late teens or even older as an adult and you’re unable to understand that you aren’t what you like – you aren’t the extension of a fictional character – I feel incredibly sorry for you. Because that’s just incredibly sad. Someone disliking something you like isn’t an attack of your character. It shows you that you are you and the other person is a human just like you. That they just have different taste. Disliking something you like isn’t a crime, you know? But me feeling sorry for the way some of y’all act won’t mean that that’s even remotely okay. Especially if you’re no longer in the intended audience for PJO age wise and should know better.

This isn’t a “white stans” only thing. I’ve seen and witnessed firsthand how people of color, mainly women of color, act the same or not even worse when it comes to her character. People have projected their problems and real-life occurring events into her character (I’m sure that she isn’t the only character nor that this is the only fandom where this is happening) and in some cases like I’ve said cannot separate their own personality from the fictional world. Fights with woc happened because of Annabeth fucking Chase. So many things have happened in the fandom the past few months, mostly due to people being forced staying at home because of the quarantine but I’d say it’s 10% on quarantine and 90% on people for acting up like this.

So here’s a little story: There was the act of Riordan blowing the fandom up because of his own stupidity and being unable to apologize for his mischaracterization and lack of research (the whole Piper fiasco) back in June (?) and admits the upset fandom, people on Twitter, Tumblr and Discord legit thought that none of that mattered and that the outcry was destroying Annabeth Chase’s birthday. That’s right. People thought that Annabeth Chase’s non-existing birthday because she’s a fictional character had a higher priority than the rupture and prevalent racism in the fandom. Okay. This isn’t a great look, Annabeth stans. And this of course pissed a lot of people off. I made a post about it and someone not only berated three other people on said post but no, we had a mighty argument which had disrupted many friendships in our circle which haven’t recovered until this very day. We both had our parts in it and no one is innocent. But the cause of this still remains Annabeth Chase or how people prioritize her non-existing well-being. Anyway. I’m getting agitated just thinking about it.

Let’s go back to the characterization thing with Annabeth. Let me remind you:

Annabeth Chase is an asshole. There I’ve said it in a post ages ago (too lazy to look it up, sorry) and I’ll say it again. And that’s not me insulting her. That’s me actually loving that about her. Annabeth is one of the very few unapologetic female characters that really showed all young readers across the world that you can be a girl, a badass, smart, strong, standing up for yourself and what you believe in. You don’t have to be nice. You don’t have to hide your feelings. You don’t need a man in all cases but it’s also okay to accept help and defeat.

A large reason why I think she’s an incredibly important character in children’s literature/YA because many other novels (mostly (sadly)) have the “Oh, I’m a white skinny dark-haired girl that likes unconventional things like READING. I’m not like the other girls, that take care of themselves and pamper themselves by enjoying shopping and wearing make-up. No, I’d rather be one of the boys but a sweet cute little boy and not the jock fuck that drank vodka shots out of a filthy shoe once. Despite me calling myself hideous every man in a 10-kilometer radius falls in love with me and tells me I’m oh so sexy and by the way I’m only 16 years old” shit going on for no goddamn reason.

Yes, I do blame Twilight for this mostly in recent years, but this trope isn’t by any means knew. Pretty sure that you could even use classics as Pride and Prejudice and dissect them in the same manner (Bold statement: Lizzy Bennet is the OG Bella Swan. There. Go fight somewhere in the corner, people). The new wave of YA focuses on girls belittling themselves and only starting to believe in themselves because someone else (mostly the male love interest) tells them they’re worth it. And these books hit the mainstream because they’re incredibly bland and picture perfect white.

With Annabeth it’s different. She shows up for the job and is done with it. (Brie Larson would probably be the perfect in real life version of her. You either like or dislike her. Or you really don’t care). That is what is so refreshing about her. Her unapologetic nature. Can it be off-putting? Yes. Is it annoying? Yes! Hell, every time I read The Lightning Thief, I want to rip her goddamn head off. And it’s just so well written. Her shift from mistrusting Percy but secretly still believing in him to her opening up. Wow, Riordan did something right there.

Annabeth Chase isn’t a young character. She has existed along with PJO for 15 years. She’s on her way to the second decade. I’m pretty sure that with the success of Percy Jackson (and Harry Potter) many lives have been warped and shaped.

But when I say the problem lies mostly in the fandom, it doesn’t mean that Riordan’s completely innocent. The only problem that I have with Annabeth lies not truly with her but the fact that Riordan is only able to produce three variations of female characters:

The sweetheart (Hazel, Silena, Calypso, Hestia)

The strong feminist (Annabeth, Piper, Thalia, Reyna, Artemis)

The bitch (Drew, nearly every female goddess in the goddamn Riordanverse next to every female monster)

And these female characters only know three endings:

End up married with a mortgage, three kids, two dogs and a cat somewhere in Connecticut by the age of twelve

Get dumped into the hunt

Chill on Mount Olympus and only come down to be a nuisance and/or give a cryptic message before going back and doing a godly rave party or something

We know Annabeth as the badass strong female first (or the bitchy character we’re supposed to actually like. Choose your approach), the blueprint so to speak, so some of the other characters feel almost pale in comparison and almost not needed? Doesn’t mean that other characters can’t behave similarly, but it feels kind of redundant especially if their character arcs end in a rather anticlimactic way (Thalia, Reyna). The new additions are the much needed woc as the main story with PJO was inherently white (anyway stan black!Percy and Grover, folks). So it’s not to bash on the new characters, it’s more Riordan’s fault more than anything.

Since Riordan only knows three female character arcs it feels like he tried to copy the formula several ways with different nuances. Some more or less successful. This is where fandom actually comes in handy and helps create more distinguished and fleshed out characters in form of headcanons or fanfiction.

But even in these cases people still make it about Annabeth when it’s time for characters of colors to shine. Remember that whole spiel and discussion that broke out when people (Kal, diver-up, Caitlyn, Bee, reynaisalesbian, etc.) joked about or criticized that Annabeth thinks that she’s having it harder because she’s a blonde? In front of Hazel and Piper? If she would’ve been a real person that’s an invitation for getting decked. And then all hell broke loose because Annabeth stans couldn’t accept the fact that in the real world and/or in fictional worlds the woc/coc have it harder? That the white woman wasn’t the victim that needed the coddling? Yeah, that was mad pathetic.

I hope you people get my point?

Well fuck. I wrote so many things and have the feeling I’ve said nothing. Anyway, I hope I made sense. This is way too long.

TLDR: Chill about Annabeth please. She’s an important character but that doesn’t mean that everyone has to like her, regardless of being a character in the books or a reader/fan of PJO in real life. She isn’t nice or a sweetheart all the time. She also isn’t the monstrous asshole that some try to make out of her.

Peace out.

#Mel answers #pjo #percy jackson #Annabeth chase #percy jackson and the olympians #Percabeth #pjo Meta #Heroes of olympus #hoo #trials of apollo #toa #hazel levesque #piper mclean #reyna avila ramirez arellano #rachel elizabeth dare #pjo fandom #coc #rick riordan #riordanverse

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bellshells · 4 years

Text

Nobody Can Know

REQUEST: Maybe something with George Weasley and a slytherin reader? He has a crush on her and Fred teases him for it, they start dating in secret but Fred tells their siblings and they all disapprove because they think she's evil (maybe because she's friends with Draco,Blaise etc) but she's actually quite nice but still a proud slytherin and fits all their attributes? If you even write for George that is?:)

For @hinagiku0 x

Summary: This one got away from me. Reader and George enter a secret relationship that threatens the relationships of everybody close to them. Warnings: Language, Fluff, Angst, Smut, slight praisekink!George. Everyone is of age. If the smut isn’t your thing, just stop reading at the bold text :)

Pairing: George Weasley x Slytherin Fem!Reader Word Count: 9k+ Part Two

This is my first reader insert, and I hope you enjoy it. Requests are open!<3

“That pathetic Weasley is staring at you again, (Y/N),” Draco whispered from his seat next to you. You whipped your head round in the direction that Draco was looking and saw the usual gaggle of Gryffindor girls fawning around the infamous Weasley twins as they tried to eat their breakfast. Although Fred was clearly enjoying the attention, balancing his spoon on his nose and earning laughs from his adoring crowd; George sat quietly by his brother’s side. His attention fixed quite intently towards the Slytherin table to where you sat sandwiched between Draco and Blaise, the latter’s interest quite firmly placed in conversation with Pansy Parkinson- but Draco noticed, and so did you. You offered George a small smile and tucked a lock of hair behind your ear as, with pink cheeks, George returned your smile. Draco looked incredulously between the two of you. “Are you mad, (Y/N)? What do you think you’re doing?” He pinched your arm and you rubbed it with a groan. “What?” You snapped, “I was just being friendly, a quality you clearly don’t possess.” Draco rolled his eyes and returned to his breakfast in silence, you continued to rub your arm as you shifted your gaze to once more meet with George’s. He was still smiling as Fred tapped him on the shoulder to leave, he stood and gave you a small wave. You were accustomed to feeling butterflies in your stomach whenever you looked at George Weasley and they fluttered with gay abandon as you watched him shoulder to shoulder with Fred leave the Great Hall with long strides.

Nobody knew the way you felt about him and in truth, you had tried to tell yourself otherwise also. You knew if you were to tell any of your friends, your pureblood Slytherin friends that is, you would be met with nothing but disdain and you feared being lonely. The thought of being excluded from your friendship group was enough to keep your secret longing for George just that, a secret. Whilst you were a proud Slytherin and proud of your heritage and family name; the way your friends; especially Draco spoke about your classmates made you feel uncomfortable. You didn’t see anything wrong with being friends with half-bloods and muggleborns, hell, you wouldn’t be averse to being friends with a muggle themself if they were a nice person. But that too, you kept to yourself. You hoped that this prejudiced front Draco and the like portrayed was something he would grow out of, you knew that alone, he really was quite lovely. Having spent summer after summer visiting the Malfoy estate with your parents as a child, you came to realise that Draco’s parents buried him under a lot of pressure. The Malfoy name was weighted enough, and you knew Draco weathered his days carrying around his privilege like a heavy burden, terrified of putting one foot wrong. It was easier for him to act the part of willing crusader for the purification of wizard blood, than to actually think about the alternative. Your parents had instilled in you as you entered your third year that it was important for you to look out for Draco, keep him on the straight and narrow so to speak. That being said, you took silent solace in the time away from him. You were two years older than Draco and cherished your classes away from your childhood friend. But as the years had gone, you now in your seventh-year, and Draco in his fifth, you still felt compelled to stand by your promise to your parents. But being away from him meant you could interact with whomever you wished to, and for the most part that was George Weasley.

You wondered whether he could hear your heart thundering in your chest as you took your usual seat next to him in Transfiguration. Professor McGonagall in her genius had chosen to separate Fred and George during their OWLs, so the seat next to George at the back of the classroom was always free, and you always took it. You reached into your bag for your parchment and a quill for George as he produced an ink pot and placed it in between the two of you. Another of your unspoken rituals, George never had a quill and in return for your consistent generosity, he shared his ink. He smiled in thanks as he took it from you, his fingers barely grazing yours in the exchange, yet it was enough to make your skin burn under his slight touch. You swallowed and shrugged your robes from around your shoulders, suddenly feeling very warm.

Throughout the lesson, you exchanged few words with George. He knew you were struggling with retaining everything McGonagall was whizzing through, and you were grateful that he tried not to distract you. You were so worried about passing your NEWTs and you felt supremely out of your depth. With an exasperated sigh, you threw your wand onto the desk and thrust your head into your hands. You could feel George’s eyes on you and sure enough as you peeked through your fingers, he was frowning sympathetically as he poured a glass of water from the pitcher he had transfigured from a large leather bound book. A similar book sat on the desk in front of you, un-transfigured and mocking you.

“Are you okay (Y/N)?” George asked softly. He offered you the glass of water and sat back in his chair. “I’m never going to be able to do this.” You moaned and took the glass from George’s hand and took a tentative sip. “Tastes like Shakespeare.” “Well that’s no good, it was bloody Marlowe!” He joked and picked up your wand and passed it to you. Begrudgingly you took it, but George didn’t remove his hand. Instead he placed it on top of yours and slowly guided your hand in the correct moment. You couldn’t keep your eyes from his face as he faltered in his slightly as his breath hitched in his throat. “Well, something like that anyway.” George whispered, there was barely any space between you, and you were painfully aware of how close his body was to yours. You could feel the heat his embrace would offer if you were to lean back only slightly. Your chest heaved quickly as George’s gaze left your eyes and flickered down to your lips. You licked them subconsciously and George’s frown appeared again as he swiftly brought a hand to the back of his head with an exclamation of pain. You tore your gaze away from George as you both looked to the front of the classroom as Fred sat with a bag of boiled sweets, his arm raised above his head ready to launch another in your direction. “Mr. Weasley!” A stern Scottish voice from somewhere near the front of the classroom brought every head in the room to attention. Professor McGonagall emerged from behind her desk and with a swish of her wand summoned the bag of sweets from Fred’s hand and clasped it in her own. “If you have transfigured your book into a pitcher, you can change it back again.” Fred groaned as he turned his back to you and George but not before shooting a wink in his brothers’ direction. George muttered under his breath as he relieved his grip on your wand and shuffled away from you. You could feel your cheeks warm as you took another sip of George’s water. After a few minutes of silence and you trying and failing to transfigure your book, George cleared his throat. “(Y/N),” He began, “Would you like to meet me in the library before dinner and I can help you with transfiguration?” “You want to help me?” You asked, he looked at you expectantly and nodded. “More like I just want to put you out of your misery.” You giggled and gave him a wide smile. “That would be wonderful, thank you George.” “Shall we say five?” “Sounds perfect.” “Okay, brill.” “Yeah, cool.”

You paced back and forth in the Slytherin common room at quarter to five. Pansy eyed you suspiciously over a copy of The Daily Prophet and as you clocked her gaze as you paced towards the fireplace, she snapped it shut and threw it to the side. “What’s the matter with you?” She muttered as she examined her fingernails. “Nothing,” You replied checking your watch for the umpteenth time. “Just need to be somewhere soon.” “Well piss off then, you’re doing my head in.” You threw Pansy a sarcastic grimace and picked up your discarded bag and made your way from the dungeons up the stairs towards the library.

You were out of breath when you reached the large wooden doors and checked your watch, five minutes to spare. You looked at your reflection in the panes of glass and straightened your green and silver tie. You knew you were pretty, but at that moment you couldn’t help but pick out features of your complexion that suddenly filled you with loathing. You hoped George wouldn’t notice the spot forming on your chin, or the tuna you had for lunch, or the fact you had forgotten to run a brush through your hair before you left. You were too busy pacing. You pushed the heavy door open and began to search between the long lines of shelves to find a suitable place to meet with George. You began to move down a row of book lined shelves when you spotted two redheaded boys conversing in hushed tones. You inched closer towards them, careful to not let yourself be seen.

“I’m just saying Georgie, of all the girls in school you had to pick her.” Fred whispered, George scowled and shook his head. “You don’t understand, she’s different-” “She’s a Slytherin, mate. And if that wasn’t bad enough, I swear she’s best pals with Malfoy!” “Grow up, Fred. You don’t know anything about her!” “And you do?” Fred countered coolly, he frowned at his brother and stood. “All I’m doing is asking you to consider all your options before you make any big decisions. Imagine what mum would say.” With that, Fred clasped George on the shoulder and went to leave, he caught your eye as you peered around the corner of the bookshelf and your heart froze as you knew you’d been caught. “Alright (Y/L/N)?” Fred said cheerfully as he sauntered passed you. “Fred.” You nodded in acknowledgment, your cheeks burning with shame. George pursed his lips as you approached him. He drew his fingers though his hair with a sigh as you perched on the edge of a nearby table. A heavy silence fell between the two of you as you waited to see if George would break it. You bit down on your lip. You shouldn’t have heard what you did, and you felt an immense guilt wash through you, but deep in the pit of your stomach was a little fire fuelled by hope. Does this mean George feels the same way you do?

“George-” “Did you hear much of that-” You and George said at the same time, you gave him a weak smile and he chuckled softly. “(Y/N),” George began, he moved swiftly to sit alongside you on the table. His brown eyes searched your face intently. “I’m sorry if you heard- I mean, what Fred said…it’s just…” He fiddled with the frayed edge of his jumper; you had never seen George like this before. He was flustered and bashful and it made your heart swell. “I don’t really know how to say what it is I want to say.” He said finally. George stood and walked towards the big window that overlooked the courtyard. He placed an arm on the windowpane and leaned into it, his head flopped forward. You wondered whether you should say something, it didn’t seem like George was finished and in truth, you weren’t sure whether you would be able to articulate anything.

“If I tell you something, will you promise you wont laugh at me?” George said, his shoulders slumped forward. “I thought you loved to make people laugh?” You said casually, his head twisted in your direction a sly smirk nestled on his lips. He sighed once more and turned to face you. “Yes obviously,” George said sarcastically, “But just for this one time, I need you to listen and not laugh. Okay?” “Okay.” You agreed. George took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. “I like you. A lot.”

You felt like you had had the wind knocked out of you. George looked at you sheepishly, his hands once again finding the hem of his jumper. You blinked slowly, surely you were dreaming. You would wake up at any minute, the familiar sight of the green canopy around your bed would greet you and you would desperately try to return to your dream. And yet, you didn’t. No abrupt awakening, no fade to black, just George, lovely George waiting for you to say something. “(Y/N?)” “Yes. Lovely. Thank you.” You managed, you instantly cringed as the words left your mouth. Why did you say that? You had waited for as long as you could remember to get to this point with George, and instead of telling him you were completely in love with him, you thanked him. George’s hesitant smile began to fall, and your heart ached. “What I mean- George, is I-” “No, it’s okay. Cheers for letting me say that.” George replied, he rolled the sleeves of his jumper up over his arms and stepped past you widely, his back to you in two short steps. Panicking, you grasped onto his wrist and stopped him short. “Wait! Please wait!” You pleaded; George looked from your face down to your grip of his wrist. You let go immediately but moved rapidly to meet him. “I hadn’t finished.” George shifted his weight awkwardly from foot to foot, he crossed his arms over his chest in anticipation. “You really like me?” You asked softly, you hoped your face did not betray the sheer pandemonium happening inside your mind. George scoffed. “Don’t take the piss out of me, (Y/N).” “I’m not!” You protested. “I’m just a bit shocked George, that’s all-” “I don’t think I could have made it any more obvious, and, not forgetting the fact I just said the words out loud. To your face.” He snapped. “George, can I get a bloody word out please? Merlin, you can be so frustrating when you want to be.” You sighed; George raised his eyebrows. “It’s quite lucky that you like me really, because it turns out that I…like you…too.” You bit down on your lip, slightly anxious as to what George would say. The taller boy just stared at you, unblinking. “Sorry, what?” “I…like you, George? And I’m happy that you like me?” “Right…well, okay then.”

A laugh of pure elation fell from your lips as George’s bewildered look turned into one of joy. He embraced you in an instant, his hands found your hips as he pulled you close into him. The contact surprised you, it took you a moment to react, but soon enough you brought your arms up around his broad shoulders, reaching up on your tip toes. You couldn’t supress the grin that was so wide it made your cheeks tingle as George surrounded every part of you. His arms tight around your back and his chin brought down to rest against your head. You didn’t want to pull away, but the sound of a throat being cleared somewhere behind you caused the pair of you to spring apart. Madame Pince removed a book from a far-away shelf and raised a knowing eyebrow in your direction. You covered your mouth with your hand to conceal an involuntary giggle. George flashed you a brilliant smile and exhaled jubilantly. “So, I suppose it’s time for the cheesy bit.” George smiled, his hand found yours with ease and he entwined his fingers with yours. “(Y/N), would you like to be my girlfriend?”

“I would genuinely like nothing more, it’s just…” You averted your gaze, your cheeks growing warm once again. You contemplated your options, the boy you were absolutely mad for had just asked you to be his girlfriend and you were happy, of course you were. But you couldn’t shake the lump that appeared in your chest when you thought about having to tell your friends that you were with a Weasley. Not only that, the conversation you had overheard between Fred and George signalled that perhaps his friends held the same apprehensions. “What?” George asked earnestly, he rubbed your knuckles with his thumb. You smiled at his touch and swept your eyes over his sweet features. “I don’t think people would be very accepting of our relationship, George.” You said quietly, unable to disguise the trepidation in your voice. George smiled sadly and gestured for you to return to your perch on the table. “I hate to say this, but I have to agree with you.” He said. “Not that I have anything against Slyth-” “No, I understand. Believe me, I do.” You recalled all the tedious conversations with your Slytherin peers about the blood traitors that were the Weasleys. You shook your head to free yourself from the memory and sighed. “What do we do?” “Well, I do have an idea…” George whispered, he wiggled his eyebrows at you suggestively and you laughed heartily at him.

George held your hand as you walked briskly down the seventh-floor corridor, you threw a look behind you to see if you were still being pursued. Professor Umbridge stalked your trail, followed by members of the Inquisitorial Squad namely Crabbe and Goyle. Draco had begged you to join his fifth year friends in becoming member of Umbridge’s little crusade, but you couldn’t find it in your heart to agree. You had bullshitted an excuse about needing whatever spare time you had to study for your NEWTs and Draco, although suspicious, had accepted it. George tugged on your hand as he quickened his pace, your robes flapped behind you and you couldn’t supress your grin as you once more looked behind your shoulder. Professor Umbridge raised her hand and opened her mouth to speak just as George whipped you round a corner and shoved you into an empty classroom. You laughed headily as he pointed his wand at the door and locked it with a muttered spell. You smoothed your hands over your skirt and waited for George to approach you.

“We really must stop meeting like this, Mr. Weasley.” You smiled, George wrapped his arms around you tightly and lowered his lips to meet yours. It had been three months since he had asked you to be his, and yet you still weren’t accustomed to his touch. It still sent electric pulses coursing throughout your body with every deft movement of his fingertips, and you shuddered as he moved his hand over your rump and gave it a hearty squeeze. George, who was always the more dominant one out of the pair of you nearly always arranged your meetings. While it had been three months since you commenced your relationship, it had been three months of scurrying around in secret and lying to your friends, and in George’s case, lying to his family. George deepened the kiss, his tongue pressed against your lips requesting entry, which of course you granted. Your hands found their way to George’s soft hair and you pulled on it slightly, eliciting a groan from him. You smirked into the kiss as George walked you backwards and hoisted you up onto a vacant desk, you wrapped your legs around him instinctively and he pushed his hips into you. He pulled away from the kiss breathlessly and grasped either side of your face in his hands. He studied you intently as he rubbed his thumbs over your cheeks. “I love you, (Y/N). You know that, don’t you?” You pulled him into you again and ravished his neck with feverish kisses. That was the first time those words had fallen from his lips, you felt like you could melt at the sound of this boy telling you he loved you over and over again. You nipped at the skin there, feeling emboldened by his declaration of love. You didn’t know whether it was the excitement of getting caught or whether you were running on sheer elation, but you couldn’t get your fill of George. “Georgie,” You whispered into his shoulder as his hands gripped onto your thighs tightly as he pushed his groin against your core. “You make me so happy.” “I want to make you feel more than happy.” George winked as he grabbed a fistful of your hair and pulled your face towards his and crushed his lips against yours.

“George! What the fuck?!”

A voice from behind you startled the pair of you as you immediately pulled away from George, instantly missing the contact. Fred stood agape in the open doorway flanked by Ginny and Ron each looking equally shocked. You looked at George who had flushed scarlet and had his gaze trained intently on the floor. Ginny let out a stunned gasp and turned on her heel and exited swiftly out of the room. Ron shook his head sadly at his older brother and followed Ginny, calling after her as he went. Fred remained still, his hands balled into fists and his knuckles white with fury. “I thought we agreed, George.” Fred spat. He made a step towards his brother and squared up to him, their faces inches apart. “No. We didn’t.” “You lied to me. You said nothing was going on.” “Fuck off then if you don’t like it. I don’t care anymore, Fred.” You watched in horror as George pushed Fred away by his chest, but quick as a flash, Fred caught George’s hands in his own and pushed him back harder. “You’re a mug.” Fred muttered as he rolled his sleeves up and looked you up and down before chuckling darkly to himself and leaving, slamming the door behind him. A heavy silence descended onto the room as you shuffled down from the desk and chewed on your lip. You couldn’t help but feel guilty as you watched George sigh and run his hands over his face. You bent down to retrieve your bag and haphazardly threw it over your shoulder, you felt your stomach flip on itself as George looked at you tearfully. There was nothing you could do. George said that he didn’t care, you knew it wasn’t true. You were a Slytherin, a pureblood from a long line of wizards with dubious intentions and had long been affiliated with controversial families. There was nothing you could do in this situation to make it any better for you, or for George. You took George’s shaking hand in yours and gave it a tight squeeze before you let it fall back to his side. You quietly made your way out of the room and descended the many stairs towards your common room, the quiet of your dormitory offered you a much-needed solace. George made no attempt to speak or to come after you, and you were glad that he didn’t. He needed to speak to his family, he needed to speak to Fred.

You tried not to worry about him, but that was easier said than done. You hadn’t told him you loved him when he had said it to you, but it seemed inappropriate to say it now. You hoped he already knew.

Draco was waiting for you when you entered the common room. He stood with his arms folded over his chest with an impatient tapping of his foot, he reminded you of his mother. Narcissa was always scolding you as children for dilly-dallying, and with Draco’s long features, he looked just like her. “Where have you been?” He snapped. You tried to move passed him, you averted your eyes to the floor. Draco caught your arm and pulled you backwards. “Where have you been?” He demanded, “And don’t lie.” “Why? Are you spying on me now?” You countered, you shrugged out of his grasp and narrowed your eyes. He looked at you dumbfounded. “Spying on you! I’m looking out for you, (Y/N). Or had you forgotten that we’re supposed to be friends?” Draco thundered, he inched closer to you, his grey eyes alight with anger. “Friends don’t ambush friends when they’ve had a really shitty day.” You spat, you tried once more to move round Draco, but he blocked your path. “Goyle saw you with the weasel, holding his hand. Do you not have any shame?” Draco paused as he tried to gauge your reaction. He hesitantly placed his hands on your shoulders. “(Y/N),” He said softly, “Tell me you’re not seeing him.” “Move aside, Draco.” “(Y/N) please, this is for your own good. I’m trying to-” “Move aside.” “I shall not. I demand you tell me everything that’s happened between you and that horrid muggle-loving traitor-” You snatched your wand from your robes and held it up to Draco’s throat, his eyes widened in fear as he instinctively took a step back. “Not a single person in my family has ever taken orders from a Malfoy, and I don’t expect to start doing so now.” You said venomously. “I asked you politely to move aside, yet you feel compelled to irk me further on a day when you really don’t want to piss me off.” You stood unwavering, wand raised and watched unblinking as a bead of sweat trickled down Draco’s forehead. “Now, fuck off.”

Draco nearly fell over his feet as he scurried into the shadows of the dark room. You continued your journey into your dormitory and pulled your jumper over your head as you flopped backwards onto your bed. Thankfully, the room was empty. You rolled onto your side and pulled your knees up to your chest. You felt peculiar, like you needed to cry and yet no tears came. Instead, you stared blankly off into the middle-distance, replaying the moment you were found by George’s siblings in your mind. The looks of abject horror etched on their faces. You wanted to find them, to try and persuade them that you weren’t the person that they thought you were. That with each passing day spent with George made you feel lighter and unburdened, that you thought that you maybe had a chance at real happiness. Not tainted with the pressure set upon you by your parents to find a nice Slytherin boy, maybe someone who graduated a few years ago and now has an up and coming job in the Ministry. His family name would be one rolled around with mentions of the Dark Lord, of course, and you didn’t want that. You were a proud Slytherin yes, you were cunning and ambitious and every other cliché; but your ambition wasn’t to marry a boring man who would more than likely be sent to Azkaban; your ambition was a tall redheaded boy from Devon who made you laugh and filled your days with joy. You wanted lots of little George’s running around in a house with an abundance of windows that the sun could shine through. You wanted a large, comfy sofa that you could curl up after a hard day and know that the arms surrounding you belonged to him. You wanted a bed that could be the setting for endless nights of pleasure and a dining table scratched and wonky, that the family you made could sit and talk freely, not even sparing a thought as to who might be listening.

You didn’t know you had fallen asleep until you were awoken by the sound of your dormitory door opening, and the two girls you shared with piling in after dinner. Almost comically, your stomach grumbled as you sat and rubbed your eyes wearily. You exchanged polite pleasantries with your dormmates as they started to change from their uniforms. You threw your cloak over your shoulders and pulled the hood up over your head. You ignored anybody that tried to accost you as you left the common room and crept to the kitchens. You had only done this a handful of times, you didn’t know the names of the House Elves that worked tirelessly in the kitchens, but you were always polite, and they seemed to appreciate that. You had tried to ask where the bread was kept so you could make yourself a sandwich, but with a few protestations from you, the little creatures had prepared a lovely supper for you. You wrapped your sandwiches and slice of Victoria sponge securely in a piece of delicate cloth, cradling the pear they had forced you to take in the crook of your arm. You thanked them warmly and hurried through the now darkening corridors. You knew if you were to be caught by Filch or Umbridge, it could spell a horrendous amount of trouble for you. Thankfully, you arrived back to your dormitory unscathed and now ravenous. You got into bed and closed the curtains that surrounded the frame and settled in.

It was difficult for you to relax. You continued through the motions almost on autopilot, you undressed for bed and shuffled to the loo to brush your teeth before climbing heavily into bed. You scrunched your eyes closed and willed sleep to come, the steady breathing of your dormmates tormented you as you tossed and turned. Your concern for George was like a dripping tap, it vibrated in your head with every breath you took. You had waited so long to reach the steady happiness you had with him, and in one afternoon it had potentially been taken away. You tried not to be selfish, you tried not to think about your loss; the way Fred had looked at you both was an image you knew you wouldn’t forget in a hurry. But, you wished for nothing more than to be with George. You wanted to feel his sturdy embrace, his gentle kisses against your head and to hear his heart beating rhythmically in his chest. You simply wished for things to be different.

Three days. Three days it took to receive word from George. The weekend trundled by slowly, with Professor Umbridge’s ever increasing list of banned activities; there wasn’t much left to do. You spent much of your time in your dorm reading, you emerged for mealtimes but kept to yourself, ensuring you were seated far away from Draco. Your seventh-year friends pleased that you had managed to shake off the younger boy. Embarrassed to speak to Draco after you had pulled out your wand and embarrassed that he knew about you and George, you were grateful for the space. You always kept your eyes on your plate or on whomever was speaking to you in the Great Hall, not daring to look over to the Gryffindor table, no matter how much you wished to. You could feel George watching you, it was almost like you had a sixth sense, you were constantly aware of his presence in any room you shared. But you didn’t look. Monday night, after a disastrous day and a near silent Transfiguration lesson, George slipped you a note as you went to leave.

(Y/N),

Please meet me after Quidditch practise this evening. I think it would be good to have a chat.

George

So, that was it. Three days of radio silence for twenty words. You tried not to be annoyed, and quite successfully really, as your annoyance gave way to anxiety as you imagined the inevitable conversation that you would have with George. You couldn’t blame him for choosing his familial relationships over the one he shared with you, but you had began to think that if the time ever came for you to ever make that decision; you would perhaps choose the opposite. You loved him. But you wouldn’t be a point of contention. You prepared your gracious acceptance for his words, confident that he was going to end the relationship. Making it anymore difficult than it needed to be was the last thing you wanted to do, you craved a little normality. The only trouble was that George had become your new normal.

You cursed to yourself as you wrapped your scarf around your neck as you made your way to the quidditch pitch. The Gryffindor practise was just about to finish, and silently you waited on the other side of the players entrance, partially concealed by a tall beam of timber. You chewed absentmindedly on the inside of your cheek, it was cold, and you felt very conflicted. One by one the players descended from dizzying heights and dismounted their brooms. Angelina Johnson gestured for her team to leave the pitch and you tried to hide further behind the beam until you could get George on his own. The redheaded twins were the last to pass you by, they spoke brightly to one another. You strained to hear what they were saying.

“…promise you.” George said to his brother. “…not going to regret this.” The boys moved swiftly through the covered walkway and you hurried after them, your steps muffled by the grass underfoot. “…must be amazing, eh Georgie?” Fred joked and wiggled his eyebrows, George threw his head back in laughter and out of the corner of his eye, caught sight of you. “(Y/N)!” He exclaimed; George flung his broom over to Fred as he rushed to meet you. He seemed to struggle with what to do with his hands, they had reached out to you on impulse, but you stood unwavering. George’s arms dropped back to his sides. He cleared his throat, his brown eyes seared into yours. “Can you come with us, (Y/N)?” George gestured to Fred and he pointed through the players entrance into the direction of the changing rooms. “Why?” You scrunched your face in confusion, “I’m not that kind of girl, George.” George’s face turned a very flattering shade of beetroot and Fred snickered, he reached for your arm and tucked it into the crook of his elbow. “Merlin, no. Nothing like that.” George snapped; you fell into step with the twins as Fred pushed open the door to the male changing room. Inside, like a frightening family portrait sat Ron and Ginny, both stone-faced and waiting. You froze as you took in the scene, Fred moved to sit next to Ginny and Ron shuffled in his seat. George placed a hand on the small of your back and ushered you into the room, closing the door behind you.

You stood awkwardly, every pair of eyes burned into each inch of your skin and you felt like you were on fire. “Right.” George began, he offered you a quick smile as he pulled up two stools for the pair of you to sit on, opposite where the other three sat. “My brothers and sister have agreed to have a chat with you- with us, I mean, so they can see what you’re- I mean, we’re like. Together.” He gave you a pained expression, and you could see his pulse throb in his neck. He was nervous. Why was he nervous? “Why don’t they just ask me?” You stated, your resolve hardening as you knew they were here to interrogate you, not to get to know their brother’s girlfriend. “I’ve never known Slytherins to be that forthcoming.” Ginny said raising an eyebrow. “Maybe you’re not asking the right questions.” You countered and the younger girl scoffed, she crossed her arms over her chest and eyed you suspiciously. “I don’t think we need to ask any questions at all,” Ron said quietly, “Slytherin, friends with Malfoy in this day and age, all these rumours of dark wizards in well-known families coming out of hiding…says it all really. What else could we possibly need to know?” “You know nothing about me and what? You assume I’m a Death Eater because of my house and my family name?” You spat, you stood to leave but George grasped hold of the sleeve of your robe and pulled you back to your seat. “I’m asking you to please just get to know (Y/N). I’m not asking you to be best mates with her, none of us like Fleur, but we all just get on with our lives.” George tried to level, Ginny just rolled her eyes and Ron tapped his foot impatiently. “(Y/N), why don’t you tell them one thing about yourself, that they might be surprised to hear.” He put an arm around your shoulders and brought his lips to your ear and whispered; “Please darling, I really want this to work. It’s taken me ages to get them to agree to do this.” He paused. “I don’t want to hide anymore.” The earnest look in his eyes made your heart flutter and you sighed deeply. You nodded. “Um. I’m crap at Transfiguration.” You murmured half-heartedly and Fred chuckled, smacking his knee with his hand. “That’s no secret, (Y/N). Tell us something we don’t know.” He said boisterously. You racked your brain for anything you could say that might endear you to them. They didn’t have to like you, just tolerate you. “My parents want me to marry as soon as I leave school. They’ve already started looking for potential suitors for me.” You said quietly, you felt George stiffen beside you and his arm tightened around your shoulders. “Is that true?” He said softly, “Why didn’t you tell me?” “I don’t like thinking about it.” You shrugged. Ginny leaned forward in her seat; her hand covered her mouth concealing any emotion she might be feeling. “Why are you friends with Malfoy?” Ron probed; George hastened to shut his brother up when you placed an arm on his. “No, it’s fine. I can answer, it’s fine.” Ron looked smugly at George before he returned his attention back to you. “My parents asked me to look out for him when he started school. I know he’s a bit of a knobhead, but when he’s by himself he’s actually quite sweet.” “Bollocks!” Ron exclaimed loudly. “He called Hermione a m-” “I know.” You interrupted, there was no need to be reminded of the awful words Draco had used toward Hermione Granger. You had heard all about it after the first time it had happened, and you didn’t speak to him for a week afterward. You hoped it might help him re-evaluate some of his choices, but alas, it did not. “I was really annoyed with him about it, and please understand, I would never use a slur like that.”

Ron smiled at that. You had often wondered whether Draco perhaps held a deeper interest in Hermione Granger, of course he would vehemently deny it whenever the idea was brought up. Ron Weasley on the other hand, made his feelings abundantly clear. If not to himself, but to everybody else. “Why should we believe you?” Ginny pressed, “Why should we think that you’d be a good match for George?” “You don’t have to believe anything, Ginny.” You said softly, your gaze drifted to where George sat at your side. You felt tears prickle your eyes as you thought about how much he meant to you; how much you were willing to sacrifice for him. “I don’t have any ulterior motives for wanting to be with George. I’m actually endangering the standing I have within my family by being with anyone other than a pureblood Slytherin,” Fred winced at your words. “But it doesn’t matter to me. I hope you come to realise that I’m much more than my house. I’ve long lived by the mandate of if you’re nice to me, I’ll be nice to you; it’s really as simple as that.” The three siblings seemed to take in your words in silence, George gave your shoulder a squeeze and gave your cheek a chaste kiss. You frowned as you looked between the Weasleys, your heart pounded in your chest. Fred crossed his arms and sat back in his seat. “Do you love him, (Y/N)?” He asked, it felt like the air had been sucked out of the room as Ron and Ginny inched forward in anticipation of your reply. “With all my heart.” You answered and placed your hand on George’s thigh. “I love you, George.” You said with the most earnest look you could muster, George beamed at you.

“Well isn’t this something…” You turned your head in the direction of the voice which came from behind you, Draco stood in the doorway of the changing rooms flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. The badges for the Inquisitorial Squad glistened at their breasts, the three Slytherins raised their wands slowly and pointed them in your direction. You stood immediately and faced the intruders with a hateful glare, removing your own wand from inside your robes and aiming in their direction. “Following me again, Goyle? Crabbe?” You snapped at the two idiots, they exchanged uneasy glances and looked to Draco for reassurance. Draco only smirked at you; he extended his hand to you. “(Y/N) come, you don’t need to be here when Professor Umbridge arrives.” Draco said slyly, you felt George tense next to you. “No thank you, Draco. I’m quite happy here.” You levelled; you kept your wand trained intently onto Draco. The blonde boy scoffed and stretched his fingers out as though to reach for you. “I’ll not ask you again, (Y/N), come here.” His smile appeared strained as once again he offered his hand. You looked between your housemates and George and his family and knew what you needed to do. “I have no idea who you think you’re talking to, Malfoy. It certainly appears like you’re trying to command the last daughter of the (Y/L/N)’s, and I know you’re not that brave. Your pathetic little family means nothing to me, no matter how much money your spineless father throws around. So no, I will not go anywhere with you and your mindless goons.” You were breathless. You heard Ron behind you mutter a bloody hell and Draco’s face contorted into one of rage. “Crabbe, Goyle.” Draco ordered, with a nod the two idiots lurched towards you. “Impedimenta!” You cried with a flourish of your wand, like a shot Crabbe and Goyle were knocked off their feet with groans of pain as they hit the stone floor. George was by your side in an instant, wand raised toward Draco. “Expelliarmus.” George disarmed Draco with ease and caught Draco’s wand in his free hand as it flew through the air. Goyle stood unsteadily on his feet and caught Crabbe by his robes and hoisted the smaller boy to his feet. They scurried out of the room and dragged Draco with them, the blonde-haired boy’s startling grey eyes didn’t leave yours.

When the room was still and the sound of heavy footsteps disappeared, you turned to face Fred, Ron and Ginny. George’s arm snaked around your hip as you stood and bit your lip. Ginny was the first to step forward, she looked at you sadly and put her arms around your shoulders and pulled you in for a tight hug. You were surprised by the contact and it took a moment before you wrapped your arms around her back and embraced the hug. Ginny pulled back after a moment and turned to face Ron, who smiled at you and gave your shoulder an awkward squeeze. “Bloody hell, (Y/N). I’ve never seen anyone stand up to Malfoy like that.” Ron said and looked between you and George. “That can’t have been easy.” Ginny added, “We should leave though, if Umbridge is coming that is.” It was unanimously agreed to return into the main body of the castle, Ginny and Ron left first, you remained where you were. George still held fast to your waist and Fred stared at the floor. “So? Freddie?” George whispered. “Come on mate, don’t tease me like this.” “You were right.” Fred said, he brought his gaze slowly from the floor until it settled on your face. “She is different. And I’m happy for you.” George beamed brightly at his brother as he gave his consent. You couldn’t help but exhale and grin at the twins, George pulled Fred closer to the pair of you and pulled you both in for a crushing hug. You laughed as you were thrown about by George’s jubilant swaying, George kissed the top of your head and then kissed the top of Fred’s. “Oh look, my two-favourite people in the whole world.” George laughed, Fred pulled away and offered his hand to you. You shook it with a smile. “Suppose I best send an owl to mum, get her to knit another Christmas jumper.” Fred winked at you before he shook his head and exited the changing room. You looked up at George’s face with a confused expression and he simply shook his head. He turned you to face him and clasped your face in his hands. “You love me then?” He said, his gaze dancing from your lips up to your eyes and back down again. “I always have,” You answered, closing the distance between you and brought your lips to meet George’s. He accepted your kiss hungrily, not wasting any time in exploring your mouth with his tongue. “I love you so much, (Y/N). The air I breathe wouldn’t matter to me if you weren’t by my side.” His hands drifted down your back and travelled under your skirt, taking firm hold of your bum. He squeezed it and gave it a playful slap; you felt a stirring deep in your stomach as George’s hands roamed over your body. Your hands tangled in his hair as you kissed along George’s jawline and down his neck. Feeling brave, you moved your hands under George’s quidditch robes and pushed them from his shoulders. He shrugged his arms free and let his robes fall to the floor with a thud, your robe was next, it joined George’s on the floor as he tugged at your jumper. You pulled it over your head quickly and connected your mouth with George’s for another searing kiss. “I could be homeless,” You said kissing George’s neck, “Penniless,” Another kiss, “Hungry,” A bite, “And cold.” You trailed your tongue along his bottom lip. “But none of that would matter as long as you were mine.” He growled as he kissed you passionately, he pushed his hips into yours and you groaned.

George broke the kiss suddenly; you were panting and the heat in your knickers was becoming to powerful to ignore. “Fancy a shower?” He asked devilishly.

The water ran hot over your shoulders as you kissed George desperately. He palmed at your breasts as you ran your hands down his shoulder blades, your fingernails scraped their way down his back, and he shuddered under your touch. His mouth kissed down your chest as he took your nipple in his mouth, he rolled his tongue over your stiffened peak and grazed it with his teeth. You moaned at the sensation and rubbed your thighs together, desperate for relief. His hand wandered down from your breast and fluttered over your core, your head rolled back as you whispered his name. “God, I want to touch you so badly.” George growled, you smirked down at him. His hair now sopping from the water and fell into his eyes, you deftly moved the heavy red locks out of his face. “Then touch me.” That was all George needed. He dropped to his knees in front of you, kissing down your chest and your stomach as he pushed you backwards until your back hit the cold tiled shower wall. George had charmed the door of the changing rooms and the communal showers now acted as your own sanctuary, you watched as he lifted one of your legs over his shoulder and buried his face into you.

He licked your clit gently, and you hissed at the much-needed contact. His hands found their way around your thighs and held you steadily in place. He suckled on your raised nub and waves of pleasure coursed through you. You bucked your hips against George’s mouth, and he gave a throaty laugh which vibrated through you deliciously. He flattened his tongue against you and shook his head, the friction on your sex was almost more than you could bear, but George continued relentlessly. He pulled you even closer into him, his tongue following the shape of your folds until ultimately, it was inside you. He fucked you with his tongue as his nose brushed against your clit, he quickened his pace to match the gyrating of your hips and hummed into your centre as he worshipped you. You guided his head with your hands, sticking it in place as you felt your orgasm build. “Georgie,” You breathed, “You’re going to make me cum.” He didn’t respond, he just continued in his devotion of your cunt. Pulse after pulse of pleasure electrified your body as you came hard and loud. George lapped at you like he couldn’t get his fill, allowing you to rub yourself on his face as you rode out your high. When he stood, you were unsteady on your feet and George grasped hold of your waist and grounded you. You lazily swept your gaze over his lean form; he was surprisingly muscly, and his toned abs glistened under the running water. George was painfully hard, you could see his cock twitching, like it begged to be played with. He kissed you then, full of the same hunger as before and you returned his desire by taking hold of his member in your hand and giving it a hard squeeze. George spluttered and thrust his hips forward into your hand. You looked up at him innocently as you smirked at him, his eyes half closed. “Would you like to fuck me, Georgie?”

He moaned into your shoulder as he lifted you up by your legs and wrapped them around his waist. George again pushed your back against the wall as he lined himself up with your centre. He looked into your eyes and gave you a gentle smile before you nodded, and he pushed himself into you. You both let out moans of pleasure at the sensation of him filling you to the hilt, George’s legs threatened to buckle as you adjusted to his length. This wasn’t the first time that you had been intimate with George, but this time felt different. He gazed into your eyes as he thrust into you, his brow furrowed as you moaned. He felt so good inside you, he filled you to the brim and then some and there was pain, but the pain was so delectable that you cherished it. “Such a good girl,” George cooed as he thrust into you. “Such a good girl taking my cock.” With each delicious thrust from George, you could feel him as he bruised your cervix, he rutted into you shamelessly, a string of curses fell from his lips as he tried to silence himself by biting down on your shoulder. “Oh God George, I love you.” You whined, you felt like you were on fire. “I love you; I love you; I love you.” You eyes fluttered closed as you bounced on his cock, you felt that same stirring in your stomach start to build, George could sense it too as his thrusts became more desperate. “The way you stood up to Malfoy really turned me on.” He grunted. “Such a good girl standing up for your man.” He suckled on your neck, no doubt marking you. “Good girls get rewarded.” His hands around your thighs would leave marks, you knew, but you didn’t care. Your orgasm built steadily, the sound of skin slapping against skin filled the space and echoed around you, wet and hot. You came at the same time, he moaned loudly as his cock twitched inside you and filled you deep with his hot load. Your walls tightened around him with your orgasm, milking him to utter completion. George breathed heavily as he gently set you down. You captured his lips for a kiss, different than before, more tender.

You dressed hurriedly and scurried through the castle careful to not be seen by Filch or anybody else. He walked you down the steps to the dungeons, stopping only when you came to the entrance to the Slytherin common room. Elated, you threw your arms around his shoulders and kissed hm deeply. George chuckled and pulled back to look at you, his thumbs stroking your cheeks. “Goodnight darling, I hope you dream of me.” He said softly, in the near blackness of the dungeons you could barely make out his features. You pecked his lips once more and turned to enter the common room, you stopped just before you stepped over the threshold and turned back. “George?” You whispered into the darkness, you hoped he was still there. “Yes?” His unmistakable voice replied. “I love you. You mean everything to me. I know there’s nothing that we can’t do if we’re together.” You whispered, you could feel a tear threaten to fall as you thought of all the people that were going to find out about your relationship and what you had to tell them, what you stood to lose. “Exactly my darling, I’ll be there by your side. Forever, I promise.” You heard him chuckle, “Well, maybe not in your Transfiguration exam. You’re on your own with that one, I’m afraid.” You rolled your eyes and took one last look into the blackness, just about to make out his figure. “Goodnight then, I love you.” “Goodnight, (Y/N). I love you too.”

#george weasley #george weasley x reader #george weasley x y/n #george weasley x slytherin!reader #fred weasley #Ron Weasley #ginny weasley #draco malfoy #reader insert #slytherin reader #order of the phoenix #Harry Potter #harry potter reader insert #requests #nobody can know

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belettewrites · 3 years

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Listen to the melody

In which Jaskier finds a puppy, immediately adopts him, and Geralt becomes the “dad didn’t want a dog//dad and the dog” meme. Oh, and some self-esteem issues from a certain white-haired witcher that lead to some hurt until they finally talk to each other.

cw: the dog gets hurt but I promise he’s fine.

Around 8k words, link to AO3 here!

And a big thank you to @potatofu-art for giving the dog his name! Go check their blog, you won’t regret it (no seriously, do it, trust me)

Geralt and Jaskier had met again when the cold breeze had been replaced by a warmer one, when trees were starting to wear bright green leaves again and fields were blooming with small and fragile flowers.

A few months had past, spring leaving in favor of a warm summer, and they had not parted ways yet. It was something that they usually did, because sometimes Jaskier needed to go to a bardic competition that took place where Geralt would never be able to find a contract, or because Jaskier was requested to play somewhere Geralt would never be able to follow. It wasn’t really parting ways, actually it was more Jaskier leaving, but Geralt told himself that it was something he was fine with. The bard did find him again after, or Geralt did, and they would start traveling together again, Jaskier sharing gossips that Geralt pretended to care about.

He was… fond of Jaskier, and that was why when the bard stopped following the path that would lead straight to the village they had planned to spend the night in, Geralt stopped to wait for him.

The sun hadn’t set yet and wouldn’t for at least an hour, but cicadas were already singing around them, the luminosity dim even though night hadn’t fallen yet. They were just at the edge of the town, and so they had time.

Geralt turned around to see what Jaskier was doing; surely the bard had found a flower that he deemed worth picking, and-

Jaskier wasn’t on the road anymore. He had jumped in the ditch by the side of the road, and was currently cooing at something. Now that Geralt thought of it, he could hear two heartbeats in that ditch.

“Jaskier?”

He didn’t draw his sword – there was no need – but readied himself for whatever he would find. He walked closer to the ditch, trusting Roach not to run away; the mare snorted but didn’t move.

“I’m fine, don’t worry, it’s just – can you hold him for me while I get out of here?”

Geralt looked down. The ditch was quite deep, Jaskier would no doubt stain his doublet to get out of it, as he had his boots when he had jumped in it: a layer of mud covered the bottom of the ditch. But that was not the part that interested Geralt at the moment; not, what made him pause was what Jaskier was currently cradling to his chest – a puppy.

It was not a small one; his legs, covered in mud as the rest of his fur, showed that he would grow into a big dog, the kind that kept herds of sheep in the mountains – not the kind that was left alone in a ditch by the side of the road.

“Geralt?” Jaskier asked, his tone impatient, and Geralt reached out without thinking about it, taking the puppy in his hands.

It squirmed a little but let itself be carried. Geralt put it on the ground next to him, and helped Jaskier to get out of the ditch.

“Thank you, dear,” Jaskier smiled, before his attention returned to the dog. He squatted down to take it in his arms. “The poor thing wasn’t even making a noise,” he said, his smile turning sad, “and he’s shaking. He must have been in here for hours – why would anyone do that?”

Geralt looked at the puppy. His long brown and black fur was in a poor state, hairs matted together by the mud.

“He’s missing a leg,” he stated, and Jaskier frowned.

“And?”

“And people don’t want dogs with only three legs,” Geralt shrugged. It was stupid, but humans often were.

Jaskier’s eyes somehow got even sadder, and Geralt felt helpless. He didn’t want Jaskier to be sad, but there wasn’t anything that he could do to make humans stop being prejudiced against things that weren’t how they expected them to be.

Then determination shone in Jaskier’s eyes and Geralt suddenly felt afraid of what he would say next.

“We’re keeping Butterscotch.”

“We are not keeping him- you gave him a name?”

Jaskier scratched the dog behind his ears, and the puppy closed his eyes.

“Well it’s not as if anyone was going to,” the bard replied, and Geralt suddenly felt extremely tired. “Besides, I found him. I get to name him.”

“We can’t keep him,” Geralt said again, because it was something that Jaskier needed to understand.

“But he’s helpless,” Jaskier almost pouted, “and you said it yourself: people won’t want him. I am not going to leave him here all alone, ready to be eaten by wolves.”

There weren’t any wolves in the area, but Geralt decided against saying it. And of course they wouldn’t abandon him like that.

“His previous humans didn’t want him,” he said instead, “we can find him another family.”

The puppy yawned, which was the most noise he had made since they had found him, and tried to lick Jaskier’s chin. The bard smiled at him, a fond thing, and Geralt suddenly couldn’t tell Jaskier that a young dog wouldn’t survive on the path for long and that they couldn’t exactly afford to feed a puppy on top of their needs.

“No,” Jaskier said, still holding the puppy in his arms. Fuck, but he was cute. The dog – Butterscotch – tried to lick him again, and Jaskier laughed.

Fuck.

They were now doing what he had no choice but to call puppy eyes at him.

This was a bad idea. There were so many reasons why this was a bad idea – a dog would need care and attention, and Jaskier’s life was chaotic enough as it was. And of course, dogs didn’t exactly like Geralt. Neither did other pets; cats avoided him like the plague. He didn’t want an animal to be near him all the time – that would cause it distress, and Geralt knew that Jaskier would choose to leave sooner than he usually did.

But one important thing that Geralt couldn’t push aside was that what he wanted most was Jaskier to be happy, be it by his side or on his own.

“He can stay,” he finally conceded, trying not to let it show that at this point there was nothing he would be able to refuse Jaskier. “For now,” he warned pointlessly, acutely aware that the dog would be with him on the path until Jaskier decided that he had had enough of following a witcher around.

He turned away, warmed up by the smile that was currently lighting up Jaskier’s face. He tried to hold onto that happiness when the thought that Jaskier would leave inevitably came. They started walking again, Geralt leading, Jaskier right next to him.

“We’re going to have so many adventures together,” the bard said to the dog that he was still holding in his arms, “and we’ll have a fantastic time. But for now, Butterscotch, let’s go back to the inn and get you a bath. I’m sorry to tell you, you poor thing, but you absolutely need it.”

***

Traveling with a dog wasn’t that much different. Butterscotch was a silent one, never barking at birds or other dogs, which was a relief; the last thing Geralt needed was a small animal broadcasting their location to every single monster around. Even if Butterscotch wasn’t exactly small anymore.

They had found another town and had decided to stay there; Jaskier had performed at the tavern, earning a fair amount of coin, and they had retired for the night when his set had been over.

Geralt was already under the covers, watching with half-opened eyes as Jaskier was getting ready to go to bed. His boots were already by the bed, his doublet folded nicely on the table.

Butterscotch put his front leg on the bed, near Geralt’s face, and currently sniffed him. His whiskers were tickling Geralt’s nose, and he glared at the dog, who – tried to lick Geralt’s face. The witcher resisted the urge of hiding himself behind the cover.

"He's not sleeping on the bed,” he warned.

“Of course he is sleeping on the bed, we'll need the extra heat. And he's adorable, Geralt, how can you say no?”

The so-called adorable dog was currently making puppy eyes at Geralt, as if he had understood what was going on and was trying to convince him too.

“Because he'll get fur everywhere, and my pants and armor are already covered in them.”

Because that sounded petulant, he added.

“The inn will charge us double.”

Jaskier sighed, but Geralt knew he had to win this one. If he didn’t, then the dog would just take a bad habit, and they would end up regretting it when he would be fully grown. The puppy was already bigger than when Jaskier had got him and it seemed that he was not going to stop. He looked like a shepherd dog, and Geralt wondered how the fuck he had ended up in the small town in which they had found him.

In which Jaskier had found him. Butterscotch was Jaskier’s dog, not theirs.

“But he’ll get cold, and lonely, and he’ll think I don’t love him-”

“Jaskier,” Geralt interrupted his friend before it turned into a proper lamentation and it was too late, “the d- Butterscotch loves you already, he follows you everywhere. He won’t mind sleeping on the ground, especially since dogs like him are used to sleeping outside.”

“You’re- you’re right. And we’re right here, it’s not as if he’ll miss us!”

It’s not as if he’ll miss you, Geralt thought. I don’t think he cares much about me.

It was already a miracle that the dog could stand being near him. They usually ran the other way, but this one was surely soothed by Jaskier’s calming presence, always here to talk to him or pet him, or even carry him – Geralt had told Jaskier that he would regret it when the dog would be older, but the other man had ignored him.

“Hear that, Butterscotch? No sleeping on the bed for you. But you’ll be fine, you’ll see.”

He heard Jaskier whispering to the dog for a few minutes, and let himself smile, knowing that the other man would never see it. It was nice to see Jaskier so happy; Geralt had given him some coins so he would be able to buy a brush for the puppy, and the way Jaskier had smiled still haunted him.

He heard more than he saw Jaskier slipping under the cover, yawning.

“Goodnight, Geralt,” he whispered, and Geralt hummed his reply.

He discovered in the morning that Butterscotch had slept on his bag, successfully shedding fur everywhere. Jaskier had gone downstairs to get them breakfast, so he allowed himself to say to the dog:

“You’re a menace, little one.”

Butterscotch wagged its tail and nudged Geralt’s hand. Well. You couldn’t win them all.

***

The wind was howling outside, the sky was getting darker, and people were hurrying to get inside before the night fully settled. However, Geralt and Jaskier were too busy arguing to notice that.

“I’m telling you, Jaskier, you have to stay here for this one. It’s too dangerous.”

They had been arguing – calmly discussing – for a good ten minutes about Geralt’s next hunt; the witcher didn’t want Jaskier to come with him because it was too dangerous, while the bard absolutely wanted to come because it would “make a great song”. Geralt tended to disagree – he couldn’t exactly see the appeal of songs describing him fighting against monsters.

Plus, the fight would take place in a forest, at night, so it wasn’t very likely that Jaskier would be able to see anything, and extremely likely that Geralt would have to end up running for his bard’s life, because the other man was too busy taking notes to notice his surroundings. Though the night would prevent him from taking any notes, as would the rain that the dark clouds were announcing. There really was no point for Jaskier to come with him.

“Well what I am telling you is that-”

Butterscotch whined, effectively interrupting Jaskier in whatever he was going to reply.

They both looked down at the dog who was laying at their feet, his ears back on his head. Jaskier squatted down to take him in his arms.

“You’re going to regret that when he’ll be older,” Geralt warned, as he did every time Jaskier went to hold the puppy. Jaskier was strong, but not strong enough to hold the eighty pounds that the puppy would one day weigh. Somehow, Geralt knew that he was going to have to hold the dog when he would want to, and the thought itself was enough to tire him.

“We’ll see,” Jaskier replied like he did every time. “He doesn’t like when we’re fighting,” he added, showing the puppy to Geralt, who barely resisted the urge to pet him. Butterscotch’s ears had perked up now that Jaskier was holding him, and he and the bard made quite an adorable sight, not that Geralt was ever going to say that out loud.

It didn’t seem like Jaskier was going to change his mind soon, if the way he was frowning was a good indication of it. If the wind, the rain threatening to fall, and his possible demise weren’t enough to deter Jaskier from following him, it was time to change tactics. Jaskier might be the bard between the two of them but Geralt too knew how to wield words, though he didn’t choose to do it often.

“We can’t let him here,” he said, shoulders open as a proof of sincerity. Because he did mean it.

“I’m sorry?”

“Butterscotch. You can’t leave him here all alone. He’s still… young, it’s too dangerous.”

Jaskier raised an eyebrow at Geralt, who felt like he needed to go on if he wanted Jaskier to actually yield.

“He might get injured, I won’t be able to defend the both of you.”

And between you and him, I would choose you. Even if you’d hate me for not saving your dog.

Jaskier’s face seemed to fall, but he nodded, reaffirming his hold on the dog.

“You’re- yes, it would be safer for him.”

“For you,” Geralt insisted, because it was something that he needed to say. Butterscotch was a means to an end here, a way for him to make Jaskier stay in their room instead of running to his doom. And if it meant protecting the puppy, well. It was as they said, with the birds and the stone.

Geralt clumsily patted Jaskier on the shoulder before turning around to check if he had all he needed. It was easier than to see how his friend was looking now, his eyes too sad for Geralt’s liking. But it was something that he would do again – Jaskier’s safety was more important to him than what the bard actually thought about him.

He glanced at his things, quickly scanning what was in his bag: potions, a shirt that Jaskier had insisted had to be there, the stick that Butterscotch had given to him – wait.

He took the stick out of his bag, deciding against throwing it away, not because it was something that Butterscotch had given to him, but because… because. He could feel his swords against his back, their light weight a reassurance that everything was going to be okay – that even if he didn’t make it for a reason or another, Jaskier and Butterscotch would be safe here.

“I’ll go now,” he said to Jaskier, who had put the puppy back on the ground and was currently taking his lute out of its case. “Don’t wait for me.”

“Be careful, dear,” Jaskier replied, barely taking his eyes away from his lute.

Butterscotch tried to follow Geralt as he walked towards the door, and the witcher had to quickly close it to prevent the dog from escaping. He heard a whine coming from inside the room and Jaskier’s soothing voice who tried to calm him.

Shaking his head, Geralt walked downstairs, ignoring the way hearing how sad the puppy was made his heart clench.

Jaskier was reading when Geralt came back, thankfully uninjured, though damp because of the rain that had finally started to fall. The bard was already under the covers, his lute safe in its case, papers safely tucked away in his bag. A single candle was lighting the room, and Geralt was left once again to wonder about Jaskier’s powers. Could he see in the dark? Maybe that was why he had wanted to come with him despite the night.

“You’re back,” Jaskier smiled at him, not closing his book. “Do you need help with anything?”

“No,” Geralt grunted, putting his bag and swords down. He had already cleaned them, knowing that Jaskier would already be in bed and not wanting to disturb him.

He started to unbuckle his armor, only to stop dead in his tracks when he saw what was currently sleeping on his side of the bed.

“Is Butterscotch-”

“Sleeping on the bed? Yes, I think he is. He’s cute, isn’t he?”

Geralt sighed.

“I thought we had agreed not to let him sleep on the bed.”

“I know it’s going to teach him terrible habits, but you were away and he was looking so sad-”

“It’s unsanitary,” Geralt said, finally getting out of his armor. Quickly changing into a new shirt – one that wasn’t full of fur –, he woke the dog up by petting his head. “Hey,” he murmured, trying not to think too much about why he was so gentle with him, “get off the bed.”

Butterscotch slowly stood up, stretching and yawning, but finally jumped off the bed in one smooth motion. He immediately went near Geralt’s bag, curled up into a ball, and promptly fell back asleep.

“Hmm.”

“See? He listens, he’s well-educated,” Jaskier said, closing his book and putting it away.

“He was afraid of what I might do to him,” Geralt retorted while getting under the cover. “I don’t think that counts as listening.”

Jaskier blinked a few times, his face growing serious.

“Butterscotch isn’t afraid of you, Geralt.”

“He obeys me because he sees me as a predator. He’s afraid.”

“Is that- Geralt, that couldn’t be further from the truth. Didn’t you hear him when you left? He was sad because you were leaving without him.”

“You’re disillusioned, bard,” Geralt snarled before blowing out the candle. To think that a dog – that anyone, really – would miss him when he was gone was beyond stupid.

Jaskier stayed silent, the only sound in the room the deep breaths of the dog.

“Goodnight, Geralt,” he finally said, his voice small.

Geralt didn’t reply, too busy hating himself to notice how Jaskier’s breaths became more irregular, how the air suddenly smelled like salt instead of them.

Butterscotch kept on sleeping, undisturbed.

***

Geralt hadn’t known how to apologize about that incident so he didn’t, and they kept on moving across the continent for a few weeks, Butterscotch still proudly walking beside them, following Jaskier or staying near Roach who, the traitor, seemed to like the dog just find, never minding when he walked near her.

Jaskier hadn’t mentioned the incident either, so Geralt simply thought that it had been forgotten. He hadn’t made any other remarks after that, and Jaskier hadn’t tried to pretend that the dog loved them both equally when they both knew it was a lie.

It didn’t stop Geralt from thinking back about that night and the day that had followed, how Jaskier had talked but not really talked, how it had seemed more like a defense mechanism than a true desire to share every thought that came across his mind.

Butterscotch hadn’t been allowed to sleep on the bed again after that night though he kept on trying, and Geralt was left to wonder how exactly the presence of a dog had changed their dynamics so much. Or maybe, he thought as he watched Jaskier braiding a flower into Roach’s mane, maybe it didn’t change them as much as it revealed that they had already changed. Jaskier was getting older, and though it didn’t show, Geralt knew that the time for him to finally settle down somewhere would come.

He had mentioned the coast, once, how he would have liked to go there when he would be older, and Geralt knew that it was only a matter of time before Jaskier would leave him, taking Butterscotch and all the happiness in Geralt’s life with him.

But it was not something Geralt had control over; still, he couldn’t help but think about it, about when Jaskier would eventually leave, when he would be all alone on the path once again. He had forgotten how it was to truly be alone. Even when he and Jaskier got separated during the year, he knew they would find each other again. But to know that Jaskier wouldn’t be waiting for him anymore would change the colors of the path from bright and lively to dull.

It was difficult not to think about it right now. They were sleeping outside, in the woods, because the weather was nice and they were too far away from any villages anyway. They had set camp early and the night had just fallen on them. Jaskier and Butterscotch had left for a walk, as they always did on evenings, and Geralt had stayed behind, as he always – no. That was not true. He should stop thinking like that.

He added another log to the fire, and sighed. He could hear them still, Jaskier walking on twigs and Butterscotch running around, but he felt… lonely. Which was ridiculous. He never used to feel like that before.

They were coming back, just in time to eat the rabbits that Geralt had been cooking. He had made sure to add spices to Jaskier’s part.

Butterscotch ran straight to him, his lack of a front leg not deterring him. He stopped right by him, and Geralt petted his head. The dog had surely smelled the rabbits, which would explain why he was letting Geralt pet him. Or maybe – but no. Dogs didn’t like him.

“He whines when you’re not here, you know,” Jaskier said as he sat down next to Geralt. “Which was cute when he was small, but now – I swear, he’s always silent when you’re near but when you’re gone? Gods, the only way to soothe him is to give him one of your shirts.”

That would explain why he kept on having dog hair on his stuff even when they had been safely packed away in his bag.

"Hmm," he replied, trying to ignore the way the dog wagged his tail as he pet him. It meant nothing.

He stopped petting Butterscotch to take the rabbits out of the fire, and the dog nudged his arm.

“He didn’t like how you stopped petting him,” Jaskier remarked, an amused smile on his lips that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Hmm,” Geralt said, but resumed his previous task. Butterscotch sat down and put his head on Geralt’s tight, who tried his best to refrain the wave of affection that overtook him. Maybe – maybe the dog trusted him, after all. Maybe Jaskier had been right, the other night, when –

He quickly glanced at his friend, who looked the other way when their eyes met. Great.

Geralt hated it, hated the way they were right now – but he couldn’t say anything. It was too late. He should have apologized right after his outburst. But Jaskier had acted as if everything was fine the next morning and it had been too easy to follow his lead, to not think about what he had said, how it might have hurt him.

“We should eat,” he said, if only to break the silence. “And maybe – you must have a song or two, for after,” he added hesitantly.

Jaskier’s face cleared up, a sparkle of mischief lighting up in his eyes. It made Geralt want to smile.

Instead, what he did was take his share of the food and eat it slowly, giving as discreetly as possible pieces of it to the dog that hadn’t left his side. If Jaskier saw him, he didn’t say anything; he was talking about the latest gossip in a court whose name Geralt had forgotten.

Listening to his laugh as he recounted the misfortune of some nobles made it a bit easier to forget that this, that them being together and sharing a meal, was not something that was meant to last. Jaskier played soft tunes that Butterscotch fell asleep to, laying down at Geralt’s side, and Geralt closed his eyes. He never wanted the moment to end.

***

The day had been nice; the weather had been kind to them, the sun warming the streets of the town they had decided to stay in because Geralt had taken a contract there and because the inn looked “just perfect for me to perform in, Geralt”. So they had rented a room, Jaskier had given the innkeeper his word that the big fluffy dog that was with them wouldn’t hurt anyone and would keep silent, and they had spent the rest of the day preparing for their respective evening activities.

The fight wasn’t one Geralt was worried about, and it went without much problems. Jaskier and Butterscotch had stayed behind, as they did most of the time now, and Geralt had tried not to think about it too much. Because that was what he had wanted, right? But he couldn’t help but feel as if it were a sign of Jaskier’s soon departure, a proof that Jaskier wasn’t interested in staying with him anymore. It scared him, and the fact that it scared him scared him even more.

He managed to refrain from sighing wearily as he opened the door. He was ready to eat whatever was left of supper and to go to bed, because hopefully his dreams wouldn’t be plagued by thoughts of Jaskier and Butterscotch leaving him.

“Geralt!”

His name, said with so much angst and worry, made Geralt almost drop everything he had been carrying – namely, his swords and his bag of potions. Eyes wide open, suddenly perfectly awake, he all but ran to Jaskier, worried out of his mind. The last time he had seen him, Jaskier had been working at the table of the room, happily humming, the dog laying at his feet, playing with one of Geralt's shirts.

Now Jaskier was standing beside the door, eyes full of tears, while Butterscotch was nowhere to be seen.

“Jaskier, breathe,” he said, as gently as he could manage. “What's going on?”

Jaskier grasped Geralt's arm, his grip almost painful.

“I- it's Butterscotch. He's- he's not doing well, I brought him to the town's apothecary and they said to come back with payment, but I don't think I have enough coins and I don't even know if he'll be okay and-”

Geralt put his bag down and gathered his friend into his arms – to ground him.

“-and I don't usually panic but you were late and- oh, Geralt, what if something happens to him?”

That was exactly why Geralt hadn't wanted the dog to stay with them. Not because he was a liability and another way to waste coin – but because this exact situation could happen. Because loving a being as fragile as Butterscotch was the best way to end up hurt. He tried not to think about Roach, and the Roach that had been there before.

That also was why he had tried his best not to attach himself to Jaskier. Because the bard would die one day, and it was easier not to have friends than to have to face the pain of losing them. Though that line of thought had been cut short when Jaskier had casually said that he couldn't exactly die, and though Geralt didn't exactly know how that particular thing had happened, he couldn't say that he didn't like it. Now the only thing that would stop him from being with Jaskier – as a friend − was the bard deciding that Geralt wasn't worth his time and affection anymore, which would hurt too, but Geralt comforted himself by thinking that at least Jaskier would be alive.

“I have money,” he said at last, not knowing how to comfort Jaskier who was crying in his arms. “We should go there, and listen to what they say.”

He had no idea what had happened to their dog, but it must have been bad if Jaskier was in such a state. The bard loved so freely, it was sometimes worrying.

“Yes,” Jaskier nodded, “Yes. Do you think- do you think we should bring him his shirt?” he added tentatively, sniffing.

“I don't know when my shirt became his, but yes,” Geralt tried to joke just to make Jaskier smile, to bring back the spark in his blue eyes.

It worked, somehow, Jaskier smiling thinly, eyes still brimmed with red. How long had he been crying, alone?

“Come on, Jask. No need to stay here when they need us there. I have enough money, take the shirt, and we'll see how our dog is doing. I'm sure he'll be fine.”

Jaskier nodded, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.

“Yes, you're right, yes, I- I'll tell you what happened on the way.”

They left the room without looking back, and Geralt, worried about Jaskier and about the dog that had somehow forged a way into his heart, let Jaskier take his hand. He needed the comfort, Geralt thought, and it wasn't hurting anyone. And there was nothing that he could really refuse Jaskier – the mere presence of Butterscotch into their life was proof of that.

Their brown and black dog was in a poor state, his breaths laborious and his eyes glassy.

“I gave him something against the pain”, the apothecary explained, “but it's going to take a few more days until he'll be fine again.”

Geralt felt Jaskier squeeze his hand.

“But he is?” the bard asked, his voice hoarse, “Going to be fine, I mean.”

The apothecary smiled.

“Yes, worry not,” they assured. “Make sure he doesn't eat anything like this again, though.”

As Jaskier had explained to Geralt on the way to the edge of the village where the shop was, he had taken Butterscotch outside for a walk right before the night had fallen, because he had planned to spend the evening playing for the townsfolk and the day was just too beautiful to resist a short stroll.

Since the dog didn't need a leash, Jaskier had let him wander around, keeping an eye on him but not worried. Nothing bad had happened, but right as they were going back into their room, Butterscotch had eaten something that had been left right in front of their door, and had started whining soon after. Jaskier had dropped everything to run to the town’s apothecary, Butterscotch in his arms, worried out of his mind and not even thinking about who could have done it.

It made Geralt's blood boil with rage. He could understand people being prejudiced against him, not liking him and fearing him. But to think that someone had willingly tried to poison his dog – it made him feel furious and guilty. What if they had decided to hurt Jaskier instead?

“We brought him something,” Jaskier said, taking out the black shirt that was covered in fur, “Can he have it?”

The apothecary sent a knowing look Geralt's way but smiled at them. Jaskier hadn't let Geralt's hand go.

“Of course. I can keep him here for a few days, if that's alright with you.”

Geralt could feel Jaskier's hesitation, though he didn't know what caused it.

“I have coin”, Geralt told them, and he felt Jaskier relax next to him. “It's not going to be a problem. Please just... make sure he doesn't suffer too much?”

Jaskier squeezed his hand again, and Geralt squeezed back to let him know that everything was going to be alright.

“I will,” they promised, “He's lucky to have people as loving as you two are.”

“He's... good,” Geralt said, not really knowing how to answer that. He glanced at Jaskier, only to find that the bard was already looking at him.

“Thank you for taking care of him so late in the evening,” Jaskier yawned, and oh, right, it was well into the night at this point. Geralt hadn't even realized. “We'll be on our way,” Jaskier added, and Geralt took it as his cue to give the apothecary the amount of money they had asked for. “Thank you for taking care of Butterscotch, we'll be back tomorrow to visit him.”

They bid their goodbyes and walked back to their room. Jaskier was silent on their way back to the inn, which was weird but understandable; he seemed to be thinking about something, his scent betraying his sadness and his anxiousness. And if Jaskier's hand found Geralt's again, well, neither of them was going to comment on that.

***

“It's weird, not having to tell him not to climb on the bed,” Geralt remarked a little while later, as they were both trying to sleep, candles blown out a few minutes ago.

When Jaskier didn't reply, he opened his eyes to look at him. Jaskier avoided his eyes, and Geralt frowned.

“I'm worried about him too,” he said, “but they said he was going to be okay. You should try to sleep, Jaskier. It won’t change anything if you stay awake.”

Jaskier sighed, a sigh so sad and so full of anguish that hearing it made Geralt's chest hurt.

“I know, it's just- you aren't going to leave him here, right? After he's well again? Because I know we're both just liabilities to you,” Jaskier went on without caring about Geralt's stunned silence, “But this was my fault and he shouldn't be punished like this – because between you and him I don't know which one I would be able to choose, because choosing you would mean losing him and I think I would hate you for that, but choosing him would mean losing you and I- I can't afford to lose you, Geralt.”

To say that Geralt didn't know what to fucking say would be an understatement; he went for the thing he was the most familiar with.

“What?”

Jaskier sat up and so did he. He cast Igni absentmindedly, thinking that it was a conversation for which they needed to see each other clearly and not in the darkness of an unlit room. It was a mistake, though, because seeing Jaskier's desperate look in the light made Geralt feel... he didn't know what the feeling was, but it was not a good one.

“I mean,” he tried again, “Why the fuck would I leave him here? He's our- I mean, your dog, and you love him, why would I- I would never do that, Jaskier, I-”

A thought occurred to him.

“Wait, what do you mean you're both liabilities?”

“What I mean,” Jaskier said, “and don't you dare deny it, is that I know I don't bring much to you, and that Butterscotch at best amuses you sometimes. And-”

“I love him, Jask,” Geralt interrupted. And I love you, he didn't add.

“Oh,” Jaskier replied, clearly not expecting such an answer. “Well, that's-”

“And you’re not liabilities,” Geralt went on, because that was something that he needed to say, that he apparently should have said sooner if Jaskier was able to say it with so much confidence.

“Geralt, you need to feed him, I’m useless in a fight, and I mostly make you end in problems which you would have been able to stay away from if you had been alone.”

That was… true. Not that Geralt cared.

“Jaskier, you don’t- I was alone. And you decided to be my – friend,” he managed to say, trying not to show how much it scared him to say it out loud, lest Jaskier denied it, “and I don’t mind paying for your dog, or for our food, it’s- it’s how I can take care of you. So. I don’t mind.”

He was the one trying to avoid Jaskier’s gaze, now. The mutations made sure he wasn’t able to blush, but boy did he feel like he was. Eyes cast to the side, he tried to say the last thing he had on his mind, because it felt like it mattered.

“And I- I’m happy that you’re here. On the path with me, I mean. And you’ll be welcome for as long as you want. But you don’t have to feel- obliged to stay,” he choked out, because now that it had been said, Jaskier would surely leave, no matter what he had told before. Geralt thought of the coast, of a blue-eyed man laughing on a beach, throwing a stick for his dog to fetch. “I know you’ll want to leave, and when that time comes I’ll make sure to bring you to safety, not because I don’t think you couldn’t handle yourself but because I know I- I know I would want to- to travel with you one last time.”

Silence fell on the room, but not the right kind of silence. It was not a comforting one, not the kind of soothing silence that seemed to wrap you in a hug, the kind that felt like balm gently applied to a burn; no, it was an burning one, a silence so loud that it hurt, and Geralt found that it was hard for him to breathe. He had said his piece, and now Jaskier knew.

The flame flickered and shadows danced around them, and he found himself wishing that it had been a windy night, because at least that sound would have filled the silence that was suffocating him. Geralt was still waiting for Jaskier to reply something, anything, to yell at him or to let out a relieved smile that would mean Yes, finally, I am free, but Jaskier’s face was completely blank and Geralt didn’t know what that meant.

“Or- or if you don’t want that,” he scrambled to say, suddenly understanding why Jaskier was always talking to fill the silence, “I wouldn’t accompany you, I don’t want you to-”

“Is that why you’ve been so odd lately?” Jaskier interrupted him, frowning, his blue eyes clear despite the low luminosity. “Because you think I want to leave?”

“Yes,” Geralt admitted, not daring to speak too much when Jaskier was finally saying something – and wasn’t that ironic.

“Geralt,” Jaskier started, and the seriousness in his voice almost made Geralt shiver of anxiousness, “the only reason I would leave would be if I wasn’t wanted anymore. Which, if I’m being honest” he added, lips stretched in a bitter smile, “was what I was thinking was happening.”

Jaskier closed his eyes, and to Geralt’s horror he saw tears making their way down his face. He ached to tenderly wipe them out, but knew he couldn’t.

“Jaskier-” he said, suddenly desperate to get the words out, to make this right, to make them right again, “about the other night- when I snapped at you because you said that Butterscotch liked me- I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

His friend sighed. It was a tired sigh, a weary one.

“That’s the thing, Geralt – you never mean it,” he smiled, but his smile was as happy as his sigh had been. “But whether you mean it or not, your words, the very few of them that I’m blessed enough to hear – they hurt.”

Geralt could only stare helplessly as Jaskier went on, tears still streaming down his face.

“You are my most precious friend, Geralt, and that’s why I have- why I didn’t say anything. Because you mean well, you’re a good person, and just being around you makes me – it makes me happy, Geralt, to be able to care for you, to give you the few things I have, because with you everything is just – better. And in the end,” he added, wiping out his tears with the back of his hand, “in the end the way I feel when I’m near you is worth the pain your words put me through. You are worth – everything, Geralt of Rivia.”

How had they arrived here? How, after years spent traveling together, could Geralt have been so blind about how he made Jaskier feel?

To learn that he had caused so much anguish and pain to the person he loved the most was making Geralt ache. His first reaction was to dismiss what Jaskier had just said about him, but that was part of the problem, wasn’t it?

“I-,” Geralt tried, tried to be honest and to show more than just aggression for once, “I don’t think of myself that way, so it’s difficult for me to- to think that anyone would. Especially-” he gulped, fighting to get the words out because it felt like if he didn’t, he would lose Jaskier for good, “Especially someone as- as- perfect as you. And it was easier to just dismiss it and push you away than to think about how much – how much I care about you. Because caring about people is – dangerous. Gives them power over you, gives your enemies something to use against you.”

Jaskier was looking at him, hands on his tights; he wasn’t crying anymore, but tears were threatening to fall once again. Geralt hopped, prayed, that it wasn’t because he was hurting him again.

“But you have to know that-,” he started, then stopped because he didn’t know how to say it. “I- I don’t know how to tell you,” he finally admitted. “It’s- like- despite how dangerous it is, I- I let myself care about you, and I- I don’t regret it. I will never regret it, Jaskier, because you are – a blessing. You are a beautiful, perfect thing that my hands don’t know how to touch without breaking it.”

He ached to reach out, to take one the hand that he had been holding earlier.

“So it’s- it’s easier to-”

He had no choice but to say it, hadn’t he? He couldn’t lie to Jaskier anymore, he wouldn’t lie to Jaskier anymore – though was it a lie, to keep the truth silent? He was being a coward and he knew it, but being Jaskier’s friend was better than to confess and to lose his warmth entirely. Though he had been a bad friend to the bard, and – well.

“It was easier to act as if it meant nothing than to admit that I love you,” he mumbled rapidly, afraid that his courage would fail him.

Now that the truth was out in the air, he didn’t dare to glance at Jaskier. What would the look on his face be? Disgust? Pity? Or, somehow worse, just a blank look, synonym of the doom of their already fragile relationship?

“Geralt,” Jaskier breathed out, and his voice sounded teary but the sadness from earlier had disappeared. “Is that how you’re thinking? That love is a – liability? That loving me is a liability?”

“That’s how I used to think,” Geralt corrected him, “before I realized that I was wrong. And that’s why – that’s why Butterscotch scares me. Because he’s young, but he will die, and I know that it’ll hurt and-”

“Darling,” Jaskier interrupted, moving on the bed to be sitting next to Geralt, their tights pressed together. Geralt could hear his heartbeat, knew that the other man was nervous, but the closeness felt like acceptance and maybe, maybe, requited love. A hand found his, and Geralt squeezed it without thinking. “Geralt,” Jaskier sighed, “Why do you focus so much on what is going to happen? It prevents you from enjoying life, darling. Butterscotch will die one day, yes, and I know that it will bring me pain, that it will hurt us both. But is that all that you’re thinking about when you see him playing in the dirt? When he sleeps soundly next to you? When you hear a song, darling, do you think about its last notes or do you listen to its melody?”

“I-”

“I’d be a hypocrite,” Jaskier’s voice dropped lower as if he was sharing a secret, “if I didn’t admit that when we meet up in spring, I can’t help but think about the day we’ll go on our separate ways, because it might be the last time I’ll see you. But then I- I force myself not to think about it, because at least six months of the year will be spent next to you, next to the man I love, and-”

“You love me?” Geralt interrupted him, turning his head to look at Jaskier. His red-rimmed blue eyes had never looked more beautiful.

“Of course I do, Geralt, how could I not?”

Jaskier dropped his head on Geralt's shoulder. Geralt didn’t know where their conversation was going, didn’t understand what had just happened – he had been this close to losing Jaskier, had felt the bard closing off, and now they were next to one another, Jaskier’s hair tickling his cheek.

“So that means I- you- forgive me?”

Jaskier stayed silent, but didn’t draw away.

“Yes,” he finally replied, and Geralt frowned slightly.

“I’m not sure I deserve your forgiveness,” he started, squeezing Jaskier’s hand when he felt that the other man was about to say something, “but I will do my best to deserve it. I will – I will be more careful with you, Julek,” he swore.

They stayed silent for a bit, but this time Geralt didn’t feel as though he couldn’t breathe. The room around them felt more welcoming, the orange light from the candle warmer than it had been earlier.

“What does that mean for us?” Jaskier asked, and he sounded – hesitant, but hopeful. It was a question easy for Geralt to answer, because he had always been better at acts than at words.

“It means that we’ll stay as long as Butterscotch needs us to, and then we’ll go on with our travels. Maybe we’ll stay near the coast, there are always villages that are in need of witchers there. Butterscotch will go play in the water and I’ll complain when he’ll shake himself, but I’ll give him treats when you won’t be looking.”

A pause, then.

“But he still won’t be allowed to sleep on the bed.”

Jaskier snorted, and Geralt felt relieved beyond measure.

“For now, though,” Geralt added, “I think we should sleep. I did just come back from a hunt, after all, and it is quite late in the night.”

“My poor, dear witcher,” Jaskier smiled, and Geralt tried not to let it show how much it pleased him to be called Jaskier’s until he remembered that actually showing how he felt was important, “you must be exhausted. No kiss for you, then, only resting.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow at Jaskier who was looking at him, mirth lighting up his eyes.

“I’m not that tired,” he objected, and Jaskier chuckled.

“Aren’t you? Then I guess I could be convinced to kiss you goodnight.”

Their kiss wasn’t mind-blowing. It just – was. Jaskier’s cheeks were still damp from his crying and their kiss tasted a bit like salt and the angle was weird, but Jaskier sighed in his mouth, a happy sigh, and Geralt found out that he couldn’t wait to do that for the rest of their lives.

Soon they would leave this place and travel, and Geralt would get more injuries and Jaskier would write more songs; but he tried not to think about it, and found it not so difficult to focus on the moment when Jaskier kissed him again.

It was a short kiss, a chaste one; it was a promise for more to come, for sunny days spent in laughter and gloomy evenings spent next to each other, for arguments and reconciliations, and for a life in each other’s company. Just him, Jaskier, and their dog – and Roach.

#Geraskier #The Witcher #geralt x jaskier #geralt of rivia #Jaskier #no beta we die like cpge students #so this was NOT the fic I was planning to post first #but turns out what's even better than writing to avoid studying #is writing DURING your mock exams #as in #why write about Hobbes when you can write about Geraskier

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savethelastdan · 3 years

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Yashahime Is Over Party: Contribution #2

“All right, all right!”

The crowd of villagers quieted (some with a wince) as the high-pitched shout rang around the village entrance. Ten-year-old Moroha gave them one last warning glare for good measure.

With, as her Great-Grandpa on the other side of the Well would say, “more gusto than should be necessary”, she then leapt upon the nearest height-offering surface - one of the tourists’ suitcases, emblazoned a dozen times on every side with “FRAGILE” - and began her welcome speech.

“Shut your mouths and hold onto your butts, folks, because this is a real treat! The coolest village ever to exist in any timeline, on a sunny day! Since my big brother is at kitsune academy today, you all have the honor of yours truly acting as escort around this prime piece of feudal real estate!”

Dramatic pause for emphasis. (Yes, she’d taken some liberties with the script that Shippo had left, and she didn’t quite know what ‘prime piece of real estate’ actually meant, but her cousin Towa agreed that it sounded fancy and fancy always worked with humans.)

A soft-faced young woman glanced around the crowd self-consciously before raising a hand. “You mean, this is the village where priestess Kikyo - “

“Ahem!” Moroha held up the wooden sign hanging from her neck, tapping the carved-in letters spelling ‘Village Tour Guide #2” with one nail. “Are you wearin’ the sign?”

“Oh. Uh, sorry.” The woman blushed.

After a moment, Moroha cleared her throat. “Okay, yeah, it is. But there’s a bunch of other super-cool people here, too! If you wanna meet them - follow me!” With that, she jumped from the suitcase to land solidly in the dirt. A few tourists reared back from the cloud of disturbed dust, putting them at the back of the moving crowd.

“First up, the sister of the blah-dee-blah-famed-priestess-blah-dee-blah Kikyo - Lady Kaedeeeeee!” She swung both arms in a dramatic half-circle towards the healer woman’s hut; the crowd ooh-ed and ah-ed appropriately. “On days like these, she’s either healing a sick patient, birthin’ a new baby, or taking a long nap! Since she’s awfully old, the napping’s more frequent.” Hooking an arm around a teenage tourist’s shoulder, she hissed in a spooky tone, “Some say she’ll live forever, getting older and older until she’s like a living zombie-”

“I heard that.” With a cross expression, Kaede leaned out of the window.“Don’t think I won’t curse you for those bad manners.”

Moroha waved the group on with a nervous chuckle.

“And this is the home of the most famous demon slayer known to womankind - Sango!” Cupping both hands around her mouth like a bullhorn, Moroha drew out the last syllable of the woman’s name to emphasize her coolness. Several of the humans perked up with excitement; it wasn’t hard to imagine that they had themselves benefited from some of the woman’s work.

“Her husband Miroku lives here too. He used to be a monk, but now he’s a family guy! My papa says -” She straightened, putting on a deep, gruff tone - “it’s a damn miracle -” Dropping the tone, she grinned cheerily at the group - “nobody will tell me why!”

As if on cue, the door to the house opened to reveal a group of tall, bickering young adults. The loudest were two women with matching features, the only visible difference to a stranger being that one’s slayer outfit was trimmed in pink and the other’s in green. Behind them trotted a younger boy, also wearing a slayer outfit in red.

“I’m taking the kusarigama, you’re taking the wakizashi!” The green-outfitted slayer said, ignoring her sister’s attempts to talk over her. “Otherwise you and Mom will have two long-range weapons, and that makes no sense!”

“Plus that’s Uncle Kohaku’s specialty!” Their brother piped up; he dodged the twin elbows that swung back at him as easily as if they’d warned him. “She wants to impress him with it so he’ll take her on his trip to the mountains with Rin this summer!”

Through the left-open door, came the sweet smell of treats baking - one of the many hobbies Miroku had taken up with his time, now that he wasn’t going to up and die (Moroha knew she wasn’t technically supposed to know about that. Or probably phrase it like that… But if her godfather Koga said it that way, why was it any different for her?)

The group of slayers stopped short upon seeing the crowd; with awkward bows, they quickly skirted their way around the gaping tourists.

““That’s Sango’s kids; every one of ‘em demon slayer prodigies.” Slinging her arm around the same teen from earlier, Moroha shook her head with a dramatic sigh. “Makes me almost want another sibling. Except then I’d have to share my room, nooooo thank you!”

“Excuse me.” A mustached man in the middle of the group raised one arm curiously. “I heard one of those women mention Rin - is that the human who died twice and was resurrected by the sword Tenseiga?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah. That’s Rin.” Moroha tapped her own head thoughtfully and muttered under her breath, “Was it really only twice…”

“Does she still live here?” The man’s mustache drooped in a frown. “Or did she go to live with that dog demon?”

“Dog demon? Ohhh, you mean Uncle Sesshomaru!” A smile stretched across her face. “I almost forgot about him! Nah, after she got married she decided to stay in town -”

“Married?!” The group erupted in murmurs of horror. One kerchiefed mother clapped her hands over the ears of her daughter; the mustached man turned green.

Moroha’s face fell. “Well, yeah. She wanted to keep taking healer lessons from Kaede, and even though he travels a lot, she wanted to stay by Kohaku’s side when he comes home. Be a team, and all that.”

“Ohhhh, so she’s Kohaku’s wife!” The human mother’s shoulders slumped with a sigh. “How lovely and age-appropriate.”

Moroha wasn’t sure what that meant, but if it made the negative energy go away then she was all for it! “Rin’s super cool, anyway. She knows how to heal demons, not just humans, and she tells really good ghost stories, and she’s actually really good at arm-wrestling -”

Suddenly she ducked her head to whisper, “She’s probably my favorite cousin, if I’m bein’ honest with ya.”

“Do you have other cousins?” A man who appeared to look a thousand years old squinted in her direction. Perhaps in confusion, but it was hard to tell with all the wrinkles. “I doubt a full-blooded dog demon like that Sesshomaru fella would leave his legacy in the hands of a human girl.”

“My mom would say that’s prejudiced,” Moroha said helpfully, causing the old man to blanche. “But Rin’s got two little sisters, who you can see riiiiiiight now!”

With a dramatic twist, she whirled around to point in the opposite direction with both hands, adding a low growl that was meant to mimic the roar of an excited crowd.

The moment was slightly underwhelmed by the confused looks of the tourists as they took a moment to figure out where exactly to look. That’s okay; she’d work on it.

Down the road, her twin cousins leaned against the wall of a house (Moroha’s house, which she was saving for last because you always save the best for last). Towa was smiling and pointing out something up in the sky, while Setsuna wore a very predictable scowl. From this far away, the red streaks in their hair were little more than smudges.

The extremely old man with an attitude problem made a weird hacking noise, most likely in surprise.

“Did he adopt them like your other cousin?” asked a teenage girl.

“Kinda!” Both hands landed on her hips; Moroha then modeled her expression on her Uncle - stoic, dismissive, oh-so-cool. “On a cool spring night, Uncle Sesshomaru walked into the darkest, deepest forest on the planet, waved his sword over a really old and creepy tree, and when he cut it open - there they were. Two lil’ hanyou babies.”

Dramatic pause.

“Just kiddin’.” Laughing loud enough to bring back the wincing from the group, Moroha slapped her knee. “They’re full demons. I can still take either of ‘em in a fight, though. Oh!” She pointed up in the air with a wide, excited smile. “There’s their mom right now!”

Murmurs of confusion filled the air as the tourists moved their heads this way, that way; only when a chilling breeze morphed into flesh and bone, right before their eyes, did the group exclaim in collective understanding.

Moroha waved. “Hi, Auntie Kagura!”

“Yo.” Clearly taken aback by the crowd, the wind demon gave a tiny salute. The side of her neck bore a half-moon symbol tattooed on the skin; Moroha thought it was neat, even if her dad thought it was a dumb, archaic wedding ritual. “Do your parents know you’re doing this?”

“Uh, duh!” She held up the sign with a cheeky grin.

“Fair enough.” Upon spying her daughters across the way, Kagura’s expression softened a bit. “Well, I’ll see you later.”

“No, wait! We’re actually heading the same way.” Gesturing to the not-moving crowd, Moroha repeated, “The same way. Meaning the best part of the tour - come on, folks, work with me here -”

Kagura snorted, walking quickly as though to avoid the gawking humans and their nosy questions about how she had been resurrected or could still live now that Naraku was dead or got Sesshomaru to admit he had feelings much less have kids with her. A curt “none of your business” was all they’d get, no matter how much Moroha tugged on her sleeve and whined about “giving people their money’s worth.”

Luckily, once they reached Moroha’s house, it was easy to escape. After all, a much more awe-inspiring attraction awaited the group of lucky, lucky tourists.

“And now! The Greatest Love Story Of Our Time!” With a winning grin, Moroha landed a kick on the door, sending it slamming open.

“Oh.” Kagome blinked at the group from where she sat on a futon in the middle of the house, surrounded by magical artifacts. A scroll marked with ink rolled from her lap all the way to one side of the room. Behind her, halfway through helping her put her hair in a bun, Inuyasha froze “Uh, hello?”

“My parents! Dumdedumdummmmm!” The warmth of her pride felt like it was going to burst in her chest. It was the absolute best to come home to people who loved her! Whether it was tickle fights before bed, or her dad taking her and Shippo out on demon-tracking trips, or her mom humming a lullaby if she felt sick on the full moon night, Moroha was certain her family was the best of anybody’s anywhere. “One fell through time, and one fell -- fell, uh, for her -- sorry, I’ll work on it.”

Inuyasha huffed in the way that meant he was going to complain later. Kagome just chuckled and waved.

For once, the humans reacted exactly the way Moroha wanted them to - smiling, clapping, appreciating the wonder of her super-beautiful-and-also-hella-powerful mom and grumpy-but-still-amazingly-brave papa. She launched into the story she knew by heart, of how they had come to be together and saved the whole world while they were at it. Some parts were probably missing or misrepresented, from the laughter in her mom’s eyes, but she had enough of it right that half the tourist group was in near tears by the time she was done.

“And now, they have one more accomplishment to add to the long list - parenting the greatest warrior this world has ever seen. Moro-uh, Beniyasha!” Swirling the ends of her fire-rat robe, she twirled. “The Crimson Slayer!”

“Slayer of my patience, maybe,” Inuyasha snapped, though he was unable to hide his smile as he marched over to grab her by the collar. “Come ‘ere, kid. You’ve got chores to do!”

Tossing her over his shoulder, he waved dismissively at the group of humans. “Sorry folks, the show ends here. Yeesh...”

Moroha cupped both hands around her mouth, screeching to be heard over her parent’s laughter before the door shut.

“Make sure to leave your comment cards in the box at the entrance!”

#moroha #setsuna #towa #kagome #inuyasha #miroku #sango #kinu #gyokuto #hisui #sesshomaru #rin #kohaku #kagura #yashahimeisoverparty #hnyisoverparty #yashahime #shespitsfire #savethelastdan

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