#at this point it was you snooze you loose

[hesztia16]

Promt:

Bruce kept trackers in the people he loved. Ever since Dick was a young boy prone to get kidnapped. Some with consent, some… not so much. But it was a crime he was willing to commit, if only for the way it calmed his nerves when he looked at the little dots on his screen.

Alfred, in the kitchen, working tirelessly on lunch.

Tim, in Drake Manor (much to his annoyance, but he was working on that one), probably enjoying the weekend before school.

Dick, in Bludhaven (again, much to his annoyance) spending his day off with some friends in a coffee shop.

Barbara, in the library, helping visitors.

And the one little dot that always pained him to look at, but couldn’t bring himself to disarm, right above-

Where is it?

There.

Why in all Hell’s name was his son’s body in the hospital instead of the cemetery?

[mixingandmelting]

Secretly Admiring You Artistically

Summary: How he's expressing that you're in his mind through art

a/n: based on scenes in the comics as civilians

Dick: Doodles

He’s dying. Actively decaying in real-time. Why he brought back the notepad from his day job as an officer home or why Haley pulled it out from his bag and gave it to you, he has no idea. To make matters worse, he’s crouching on the ground with both hands covering his very-much burning face as you stand in front of him silently, flipping through each page that’s filled with doodles of you rather than work notes he should’ve been taking for the cases he’s working on.

 It isn’t an exaggeration to say his world revolves around you. He’s not ashamed or has any problem expressing how much of a simp he is for you whether it’s to you or everyone both verbally and physically, 24/7. Seriously, he can’t go a day without getting a kiss from you or telling you how much he loves you, no matter the situation. He’s constantly stuck to your side, always smiling from how you showered him with affection back, spoiling him silly to the point he’s thinking he’s the luckiest man in the world. But artistically? He drew a stick figure once during a game of Scribble. Tim was for sure that it was a basketball hanging on a fishing pole. Bruce had told him he can help him get enrolled for art classes. 

“So, did the sarge or corporal see any of this yet?”

“No…,” He manages to wheeze out. He needs the ground to swallow him up right now. He still can’t believe this is how his (poorly and very much terribly drawn) doodles of you are discovered and exposed to you of all people. When he hears the notepad being closed shut, he musters all the strength in his mind and body. “...Can I please have my notepad back now?” He knows the answer. And he knows what’s about to happen next. But maybe today he’ll be lucky he’ll get it back- 

“Nope.” The way you pop the “p” at the end of the word - of course you wouldn’t. He doesn’t even need to look at you to know the type of grin you have on your face.

With that, he gets up and yells your name as he gets up to chase after your running form. Sure, he’s dreading what exactly you might do with the doodles but his heart is filled with adoration from how he still managed to give you happiness from them. You are the most lovable person in the world to him - he can’t wait to kiss the ever living lights out of you when he gets you.

Jason: Poetry

Oh. Well. This is embarrassing.  He rubs the back of his neck, face completely dyed red. You snuggling your face into the crook of his neck while embracing his biceps is fine. In fact, he loves waking up to see you sleeping peacefully next to him. His heart always swells with affection from how you feel so warm and right in his arms while being reminded how you genuinely enjoyed and appreciate him and his presence.  The problem was the book lying open on the coffee table next to him. The book filled with romantic poems that he placed on his face after deciding to take a power nap which ended up as a snooze session.

He had been reading each poem, using a sticky note and red pen (because he’s not a heathen to ruin such beautiful and sacred text) to mark which parts or lines reminded him of you the most. Each sticky note had arrows drawn with whatever note he’d make about you, placed on the long-edge of the pages. It was obvious you had found out the contents of the book before joining him on the sofa as you had done the same, only your sticky notes were sticking out from the shorter-edge. 

“Jason… What’s wrong?” He quickly turns his head away, covering the lower half of his face. The fact you aren’t even letting go when you usually would makes things worse, your grip tightening instead of getting loose. He doesn’t turn around to know the expression you’re making, feeling you nuzzle into his side.

“...Are you telling Roy or the others about this?” 

“What? Hell no. This is only for you and me- why would I want to share it?”

With that, he topples over you and wraps himself around you like a giant, warm teddy bear. On top of relief, he’s filled with childish glee from getting to share something that’ll only be meant between you and him. It gets a chuckle from him when you laugh at how ticklish he makes you as he snuggles into you, eventually making you two fall asleep in each other’s embrace with smiles on your faces.

Tim: Photography

He’s pacing in circles in his room. Then he’s flopping onto his bed and screaming into his pillow. Pacing in the room. And again, screaming into his pillow. He’s been repeating this exact pattern for ten minutes straight now after finding the photo album on his desk. How Stephanie found out about them or why she showed them to you when you stopped by while he was out, he doesn’t know nor want to know. But he’s pretty sure  that he's doomed. Best case scenario is break up. Worst case scenario is you choosing to never see him again because you found him creepy. 

But, it’s not his fault, okay? He’s really down bad for you. Even when he’s dating you, he keeps finding himself falling for you deeper and deeper to the point he doesn't want to miss a single moment whenever he’s with you. So, every time the two of you went on dates or plainly hung out, he’d take pictures of you. You standing on a hill during a sunset, looking outside with the window down in his car, laughing in front of a bonfire with a marshmallow on a stick in your hands. He can’t imagine life without you. He needs to be with you even if it’s in a photo. 

Finally, he  gets back up and dejectedly drags his feet to the desk. Might as well put the album away before more people find out about it. Or so he thought when he suddenly freezes at the sight of a note sitting on top of it. There’s only a single sentence in your hand writing, making him do what it says. Having memorized the order of the photos in each album, he immediately finds a photo of him laughing while sitting on top of the hood of his car. It sits adjacent to a photo of you doing the same, making it look like the two of you were laughing while looking at each other. Heart skipping a beat with tears threatening to spill, he doesn’t look away when he grabs his phone and dials your number. 

“So? Are we hanging out tonight?” 

“No, we’re doing more than that. We’re going to go all out, my treat.” 

The way you chuckle does so many wonders to him. With that, he rushes to get ready. Even if he can’t give you the whole world now, he plans on making tonight the best night of your life since there’s no other way for him to express how much he loves you when words can’t cover half of them.

Duke: Notes

He’s an idiot. That’s what he mentally screams to himself when he drops the pile of handwritten notes right in front of you. Not once had he ever mentioned that he had collected all the notes you wrote to him including the ones back before the two of you even got together. All of them were written as your way to cheer him on, secretly giving them to him in every way you possibly can. It’s as if nothing could stop you from passing him a note, whether it’s during class, passing in the hallways, eating lunch, or slipping them in his school bag. There were even times you managed to place them in his textbooks, right where the assigned reading starts.

All those notes you passed to him, he found solace. He feels that he’s being mentally and emotionally supported unconditionally, no matter the circumstances . You don’t know how he cherishes the smiley faces you draw on them or the words you write. Each and every note he treats like they are a piece of you. It led him to keep a few in his pocket, pulling one and reading it to get the extra boost he needs to get through whatever he’s doing even if it’s homework or patrolling the city. 

Now here he was, caught red handed. He’s so nervous and on the verge of a mental breakdown, fearing that you might think he’s strange. Immediately he starts to ramble, spewing every excuse in the book while watching you pick the notes that dropped from his pocket off the ground. 

“They were growing into a pile inside my bag, so I was kind of in the middle of-”

“Do they work?”

He stops and blinks at you. What do you mean they work? There’s a light blush coloring your cheeks, your hands gently straightening each note to stop them from wrinkling and getting damaged further. 

“Are they making you happy?”  Oh. Oh. He pulls you into a strong hug, hoping his actions convey how he feels about you. It’s not the notes that’s making him happy- it’s you and your efforts to make sure he is that makes him the happiest man in the world.

Damian: Sketching

No. Just no. He’s so embarrassed that he can’t muster a single word right now. You were teasing him a minute ago about how he must have sketches of you when he refused to show you his notepad he carries around. Little did you know and much to his horror, you were completely right and that exactly was the reason why he didn’t want to show it to you. In fact, he had been finishing another sketch of you before your so-called attempt to sneak up on him. You being you, you kept probing him into showing his sketches and with him being so flustered, he ended up getting the notepad snatched out of his hand leading to the current situation where both of you are standing with the biggest blush to be seen from mankind. 

It’s not two sketches he’s drawn too. There’s a whole comic strip he drew in there featuring one of his favorite moments he had with you on top of all the other sketches, some being portraits, some being a compilation of various expressions you make on a daily basis. The way he’s constantly stuck about you has gotten to where Jon had gotten smug at guessing what he was thinking of when Jon found him suddenly grinning to himself. That day, the two of them got grounded by their parents once Damian started to threaten Superboy by getting kryptonite out and the other shot lasers out of his eyes as self defense. 

“They’re so beautiful.” Your muttering snaps him back to reality.

Not wasting a second, he grabs his notepad back. Pride damaged and completely panicked by showing a pathetic side to himself to you, he tries to go somewhere, anywhere, away from you. Only to stop when you grab his wrist. 

“Damian, you're absolutely talented.” 

He mentally groans. He hates how you’re sincere and genuine in these moments. You don’t know how much he treasures you because of this - being open, honest, and accepting of his every being. Worse is you not being aware or truly choosing your battles - it’s how you are; it’s part of your nature. Accepting his loss, he sits back down. He refuses to admit how affected he is by the way you smile with excitement when you pick up his sign. Letting his shoulder brush against yours, the two of you go through his drawings with you commenting on each one while he snarks back though it’s softer and filled with fondness.

[sincerelybubbles]

hotch x shy!bau!reader <3 fem content: slight age gap implied. reader is new to the team and more on the introverted side! not proof read, as is my hubris.

Tired, nerves buzzing from a night spent up and chasing sleep that was not welcoming, you throw your bag down on your desk and go off in hunt of coffee. You usually try to curb your caffeine intake, especially with the travel associated with your new job, but this morning is a happy exception to your new rule.

"Here," Emily says, watching you scan the cabinets of the kitchen. You hadn't heard her walk in, but she's offering you a mug with a sympathetic smile. "Long night?"

"Yes," you say, tone thankful, and spin to figure out the coffee machine.

"Three weeks and i haven't seen you use that once," she comments, sipping from her own warm mug and watching you settle the filter in place.

"I've stayed away. it's harder to sleep when I get back because of the jet lag, anyway, don't need to add coffee at all odd hours to the list, too."

It's the most you've said in casual conversation like this. To say you've been shy with your new team would be an understatement. You're good at your job, you were pulled from the academy early to do this for a reason. You fit well into the team, generally. You like listening to Spencer ramble, especially on the longer flights. Rossi's dry humor reminds you of one of your old professors you grew up admiring. JJ is a constant breath of fresh air, Morgan's consistent strength has built up your own moral. Garcia took no getting used to, lifting you up and settling into your life easily. Hotch is intimidating but kind under the colder-tones, long glances sometimes distracting but oterhwise comforting. Emily is easily one of your favorites on the team, friendly and whip-smart. But, at the core of it, you're shy. Painfully so, even.

The team caught onto this quick, settling into the truth that your observational nature that makes you so adept at noticing the smaller details is bound to weep into your social life as well. So, despite your comfort levels rising with the team, you find these situations hard. Do you explain your nightmares to Emily? Share that you're a diagnosed insomniac who spent the night watching FRIENDS reruns after chasing sleep that pranced beyond reach?

"You're better than me, then," Emily says, smiling over her mug. Her eyes tell you she's pleased at the little crack into your life that you've let her see. They're all like that: insufferably kind and polite with your introverted nature but greedily sipping up everything they can learn about you.

"It's a new development," you admit, clicking start on the machine and settling back against the counter facing her. Something about your sleepiness makes it easier to talk, your tongue looser, your ache to let loose around the team more profound. "I'm sure most of us are insomniacs, though."

"Not me," Emily says, chuckling. "I get home and feel like I don't wake up until I get back here."

"Ah, well, I'm sure it can feel like a curse no matter what way you fall," you say with a shrug. Emily lifts her coffee in cheers to that.

"Morning," Morgan says, turning into the kitchen and giving you a surprised smile. "Hello, sunshine, you're looking bright eyed today."

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. "I know, I know."

Emily points with her chin at you, "She's making the coffee this morning."

"Ah-ah, remaking it because you and pretty boy always get here first and finish the first pot." Morgan teases her with a slight shake of his head, grinning and opening the fridge to pull out the creamer.

"Well, you snooze you loose. Or," she sends you a smile, complete with a little nose wrinkle and a tilt of her head, "you don't snooze and still loose."

"Clever," you say, voice dry with humor, hiding your laugh by turning around as the pot finished brewing. "I'll remember this later."

"Careful, she's got teeth," Morgan warns Emily, reaching around you to grab the coffee before you can and filling his cup.

"Hey!" You call in protest, voice raising louder than usual and a pout hitting your lips. Morgan laughs, white teeth on display, eyes crinkled at the corners.

"Here, here," he says, placating, tipping the pitcher to fill your cup as well. "Any sugar or cream to placate the beast?"

Before you can answer, a laugh on the tip o your tongue, Hotch walks in and settles his watchful eyes on you, interest sparking them. You shrink, not in fear but in self-awareness, and send him a closed lip smile. Stepping away from Morgan, you turn quickly to fix your own coffee.

"Good morning," Hotch says, nodding at Emily and Morgan, answering Emily's question about Jack's recent sickness (he's recovering well, thank you) and trying to catch your eye.

You duck away, cowardly and regressing back into your shell, deciding it's time to get to work and stop indulging. You catch Morgan tease Hotch as you leave, though, "Aw, you've scared her off."

You try not to think about it as you duck away, pushing all thoughts of your boss away.

You're unsuccessful.

The problem isn't that you're afraid of him because you think he's mean or unkind in any way. He's done his best to welcome you to the team, allowing you to take investigations in your own direction and listening to your insights since day one. There was a brief moment in your first week where you felt tested, like his questions weren't to gain your insight but to see if you were up to the task, but you slipped past that easily. you have the credentials to back yourself up. you're quiet, yeah, but you're always right on track to where you need to be. pulled early from academy to jump into investigating was hard but it made this easy. a few years of experience under your belt and the job feels natural and, even with the shift in teams to join the big guns in Quantico, you feel like you're exactly where you're meant to be.

No, embarrassingly, this has nothing to do with you not liking your boss or being afraid of him. Rather, he makes you too comfortable. He ducks his head to hear you speak as you walk and talk, settling deep eyes on your face. He's sturdy, dependable, and exactly everything you're all too interested in.

You hate it, harboring a school crush on your boss like you're a teen pining over your teacher. You know it's normal, you know it's perfectly reasonable and there's absolutely nothing wrong with being attracted to him, but you still slink away from him more than the others because of that attraction.

Because it's more than physical.

He listens when you talk. Granted, so do the rest of the team - they're profilers, of course they catalogue everything everyone is saying for future reference. But, beyond that, you catch him paying attention. He complimented your new blouse earlier in the week and it caused air to catch in your throat, suffocating you. It looked new, bright white and without wrinkles, but you knew he must have been looking, noticing, to remember you not wearing it before. He's kind, remembering details about you and the team and using them to aid in everyone's comfort. He knows Spencer can't handle dairy and you've heard him reminding an intern to stock the dairy-free alternatives for creamer in the jet. He brought you a neck pillow on your second flight because you didn't have one.

That gift you accepted with stuttering thank-you's and a flushed face. It hadn't flared this crush, but it definitely aided in your ability to accept it when you finally got around to no longer avoiding how he made you feel with every kind smile and gentle good morning.

You settle down at your desk, putting your steaming mug on a pile of paperwork you really need to sort through, and try to physically push the thoughts out of your head by ranking your hands through your hair, lifting it from your forehead and squeezing your eyes shut. Today isn't the day. You're too tired, sure that the team will be flying out today, and really need to be on your A-Game.

"Everything okay?" A calm voice asks from your elbow. When you look up, you decide the universe hates you. Hotch is leaning on the desk adjacent to yours, holding his own travel cup full of fresh coffee, chin tilted down to check on you. His gaze is kind, light on your face, and his eyebrows are lifted slightly. You get the feeling that he's doing everything in his power to present himself as less imposing.

"Yes, of course," you answer automatically, heart thudding in your throat.

"You know, you shouldn't lie to profilers," he says, tone teasing, voice still low. "If you're tired, it's okay to admit it to me, too."

You're about to brush him off when something in your brain freezes before clicking into place.

He's looking at you, pleading, expression open. He's usually guarded, professional. Caring, but with a guard up. Rare are these moments of genuine asking, especially rarer so are the moment of pleading hidden behind a mask of gentle humor. You think, briefly, about how it must seem to him. He heard you, Emily, and Morgan joking in the kitchen. You haven't been here long, you're shy, but slowly thawing to everyone but him. He doesn't know your reasons, he couldn't, you've made a genuine effort to hide them, and you force yourself to see it from his perspective.

"Sorry," you say, softly, slowly. "I didn't sleep well. First nightmares and then insomnia. Hence," you gesture toward your mug. You shrug, heart beating out of your chest, eyes searching his. Nice, be nice, be open and kind and yourself. "At least I have FRIENDS reruns to keep me company."

You see something relax in him at your gentle offering of the information. He sends you a not-quite-smile, nodding once and pushing himself off of the desk he was lightly leaning against.

"Take a few minutes, I'm sure JJ will call us in soon." He scans your face for a moment before looking down at your desk. He reaches forward, slowly but with purpose, and lifts a file that has been nagging you for days. The new computer system is hard to get used to and the paperwork load is heavier than you've experienced before. "I can help you with this to ease some of your load, too."

He's walking away before you can protest, tucking the file under his arm and ducking into his office. He moves swiftly, leaving no room for argument, and you're left at your desk, mouth agape and heart in your mouth.

"Wow," Spencer says, jolting you in your chair to spin around and face him. His desk is near yours, across a walkway, and you hadn't registered him sitting there. You think he was nose-deep in a book when you walked in but you hadn't been paying attention. "I don't think I've seen him warm up to someone that fast," Spencer admits, leaning back in his seat and giving you a confused look, eyebrows lowered. "Actually, he's never offered to help me do my paperwork. Ever."

"That's because you read far too fast for it to actually help you," you offer, mind racing, words hollow as your thoughts are elsewhere.

Eyes trained on the windows of Hotch's office, you take his advice and relax for the few minutes before JJ comes to gather you all in the conference room. Coffee on your lips, you let yourself smile behind the rim of your mug. You can't imagine how you could think of anything other than that, really.

[pricegouge]

cellar door

cw: f!reader, implied skinny/fit, sorry. had to go through a window :( horror elements. you've got a live-in.

fucking tuesdays. nothing good ever happens on a tuesday.

hit snooze too many times, found the eggs had gone off only as you were making breakfast, burnt the coffee. you throw in the towel a whole twenty minutes after waking up and dump all your progress, deciding you'll risk being late for work just so you can stop by some place quick and get a breakfast that isn't actively trying to eat you back. you're checking your balance as you walk out the door, distracted by the forgotten subscription renewal that had gone through the night before. fuck, maybe you should skip breakfast after all -?

and then the car door doesn't give when you try the handle.

"oh, get bent," you hiss through gritted teeth as you try it again, futilely. head tilted back to stare up at the cold, dark sky, pulling at the handle in frustration. once for each of the pale white winter morning stars still glinting away.

it's too damn early for this.

you know yourself too well to even bother checking your coat pockets for your keys, but you do anyway out of desperation. as expected, you come out empty and for a moment you just stand there with your forehead thumped against the door frame while you picture yourself walking out the back door, nose stuck in your phone as you bypass the key holder without so much as a parting glance. you locked the door behind yourself - you know you did, but you try it anyway just to be sure. wouldn't do to pull your landlord out of bed just to have him show up and try the knob, call you an idiot before the sun's even out.

of all the stupid shit you've already pulled this morning, you wouldn't put it past yourself, honestly, but of course securing your house was the one thing you'd managed to complete successfully.

your boss is understanding when you text her. 'take your time. and stay warm!' a point you hadn't considered until she said it, the chill seeping in through the seams of your coat as you stand on your back porch, debating. if you could at least get into your car, you'd have options. potential tools you could maybe use to break in. but as it stands, you've nothing, and a call to your vaguely lecherous landlord is seeming more and more imminent. snow crunches under boot as you round the house, desperate. you'd be proud of how diligent you've been in locking windows, if not for the fact that you could really use an open one right about now. giving in, you pull your phone from your pocket again and grumble when you drop it, fingers gone numb with the chill. crouching low, you dig it out of the snow and check for pavement marks in the low light from the streetlamp across the road. except, your screen isn't the only glass the light catches - a dull glaze reflecting in the basement window before you, rickety casing looking quite promising.

your phone works well enough to use the flashlight, at least. you frown in distaste at the mess of cobwebs on the other side of the window, but between a creepy unfinished basement and an asshole landlord who spends just as much time leering at you as he does belittling your concerns, you'll try your luck with the slumbering spiders.

the panes hang crookedly. two panels, side by side. there's some concern about whether or not you'll even be able to fit through it if you can manage to get it open, but you give it a rough estimate and decide to try anyway - jimmying the first panel until it rocks forward in its soggy frame, enough so that you can squirm a stick between the two where they're latched together, loosely.

probably, you should be concerned how easy it is to knock the lock. you add it to the list of things your landlord will never fix for you.

while the soggy casing had made for an easy in, it's much harder to actually slide the window open. you grunt in effort, cold fingers cramping when you finally get enough space to slip them around the frame. the wood creaks. you worry for a moment that the pane will shatter before it gives an inch, and then nearly topple over when it opens all at once. the cobwebs beyond stretch and warp. snap, brittle with age. snow gives way before you, a small avalanche that collects on the dirt floor below. you're not overly familiar with the basement - have tried all your tenancy to avoid venturing into it - but you remember from the house tour that the north half, up near where the trap door in the front porch opens, at least boasts a cement slab. no such luck here, it seems. the frame digs into your belly when you shimmy through, feet first. there's a small moment of vertigo as you free fall and you can't help squirming in disgust when your hands trail down the slimy blocks that make up the walls. you wipe them off on your jeans as best you can before retrieving your phone from your pocket and throwing the hood of your coat up for an added layer of protection from the general grime.

your flashlight casts a tight circle, a problem seeing as you're slightly disoriented and unsure where the door to the stairway is. you aim it at the ceiling and cringe further into the protection of your coat when it reveals nothing more than a good few decade's worth of cobwebs built up between the beams.

concentrate. somewhere, there's a bare bulb with a pull chain. if you could just -

adrenaline piqued with the stress of your situation, you nearly jump out of your skin when your phone begins to vibrate with an incoming call. irrational anger mounting, you don't even spare a glance at the contact before snapping into the receiver, "Yeah?"

your frustration only builds when you're greeted by the gruff voice of your landlord, made all the more gravelly by the fact that he'd clearly just woken up. "you leave for work yet?"

"john…" the question catches you off guard, gives you pause as you stumble in your efforts to simultaneously use the flash light while also speaking with him. "pardon?"

"have you left for work yet?"

you'd take a deep, calming breath if the thought of inhaling this dank air didn't make you want to hurl, just a little. instead you take a moment to switch the call to speaker phone, move a little further into the room. "can't say i have. why do you ask?"

he grunts, sounding a little perturbed when he continues. "well. might recommend you do."

despite yourself, his presence on the line calms you down enough to brave the cobwebs and you slink forward, trying hard as you can to not process your surroundings even as you search for the door. "why's that?"

"neighbor called, love. said they just watched someone crawl through the basement window."

he gives it all the levity it deserves, but you can't help scoffing at him, nervous humor only building when you hear his jaw clenching on the other end of the line. "sorry. i don't mean to laugh." you pause to collect yourself, take a look around and find your route out. "but i wouldn't worry too much. i locked myself out and decided to try the window instead of bothering you first thing in the morning." a fairly diplomatic way of saying you'd rather navigate the saw bathroom that is your own cellar than deal with him. not too bad, all things considered.

"oh, darl', it's no trouble. climb on back outta that creepy basement and i'll be right over."

for a moment you picture him the way he must see himself: riding up in his battered yet dependable pick up just to save you from the cold. hard telling what makes your stomach turn more, him or the mud which gives under your boot, soft belly of your house. you step up onto the cement slab just as a series of thuds overhead draw your attention - heavy enough to rain dust from the rafters. panda, you imagine, her wide haunches bunching as she thunders through the house, far too heavy for a cat. you should probably put her on a diet. "your house is haunted," you accuse instead by way of reply, eager to steer the conversation away from him coming to save you and rendering your whole excursion null.

"might be," he muses. "but don't fret, love. ghost likes pretty things like you."

"right." you'd roll your eyes if you weren't so busy focusing on your footsteps, picking your way carefully lest you step on a mouse carcass or something equally heinous.

"anyway, what's your plan? the inner door on the porch will be locked too, won't it?"

the one into the dining room, he means. the one you're definitely guilty of never locking because panda likes to spend her evenings in the entry and you don't see the harm when there's a perfectly functional locked door on the enclosed porch. "it's not," you hedge, unsure if you want to be telling your landlord this considering it's his property you're putting in danger.

"darl'," john drawls, and you cut him off before he can add a good reprimand to the list of things you've had to endure this morning.

"yes, it will be locked after this, i promise. i just didn't realize how easy it would be to come in through the basement window."

"always the easiest ones to go through," he grumbles, and you think you hear his car door slam in the background of his call.

"i told you not to bother coming," you groan, kicking over a stack of old paint cans in your haste to make it to the door. like it's a race, like if you make it into the house before he can get there then he won't make you even more late for work, loitering around to check for damages to his basement window and jawing at you about home security.

the door's an old thing. thick wood gone warped and wilted with the damp. it's swollen in its frame, fights you when you try to pull it from the jamb. you grunt loud enough that you don't quite catch your landlord's response, and then zone him out altogether as the door finally yanks free and light spills in from above, the trapdoor at the top of the stairs wide open, overhead porch light glowing cheerily - unawares of the omen it brings. you shuffle back a step, another, try to hide among the shadows of the cellar even as your landlord's deep voice carries on. your fingers scrabble over the screen, smother the unit in your coat - anything to keep his commanding voice from carrying because you know. you know you didn't leave the light on, much less the trap door open.

nonsensically, your thoughts scatter, imagine panda investigating the porch, the staircase below. your head swivels behind as if to check for her even as you keep slinking sideways, skirting the ring of light until your back presses against the grit of the wall - instinctual, easily defensible.

"john," you hiss, risking the light of your phone enough to take it back out, turn off the flashlight, take him off speaker phone, call for help. keep at it even as he carries on, much too loud to hear you.

"- and who would i be if i didn't come to help, hm? can't have you -."

"john! fuck -! listen to me!" you're not even sure he hears you, quiet as you're being. he certainly doesn't stop droning on, though he stops when he hears you squeak, foot catching on something low and soft which pillows your fall when you collapse onto it, cold blankets enveloping you, damp and sweaty.

you gag as you roll, stop dead when another series of thuds echo over head. other direction now, back the way they'd come. your eyes track the path, land on the halo of light spilling through the door just as the intruder's shadow cuts across, impossibly big with the exaggerated angle. without the added light from your phone, you're plunged into relative darkness, the small circle of thin amber light ringing the door scattered by the severe contour of the man upstairs. there's nowhere to hide, really, and your only option is to keep slinking back into the recesses of the basement, too afraid to try scurrying back out the window lest he sees your legs kicking as you try to heave yourself out.

boots lumber into view first, heavy and mud-caked. instinctively, your eyes fall to the dirt you're treading over and seek out the treads. broad, huge. deep scores indicating how heavy he is, how many times he's worn a path into the ground. among them you spot tiny paw prints, almost as disturbing. panda follows after, bobbing into view as she weaves between his legs with a silent cry for attention until she detects you, golden eyes glinting ominously as she scans the basement before leading him in, making a beeline for you the moment she alights on the landing.

traitor.

he's not far behind, ducking through the door while you try to shoo your own car. you force your limbs to move and slide further along the wall, folding under the empty, built-in shelf your shoulder bumps into as you go. it's filthy, cobwebs clinging to the skin of your face as you settle, but you clamp a hand over your mouth and stifle the whimper that builds, ears strained for any movement in the darkness laid out before you.

john's still in your ear, quieter now. as if he knows something isn't right. "sweetheart?" he prompts, and you feel a tear slip down your face when you realize that despite taking him off speaker phone, you'd never turned the volume down. your thumb finds the side buttons now, clicks until john's breathing is no more than a comforting whisper, no louder than your own.

no louder than the response you risk, voice hollow, only really audible on the plosives. "john, there's someone here."

"what's that, darl'?"

your breath hitches before you can respond, the low click and hum of a bare bulb flickering to life leeching your words. it floods the room in fits and starts, turns the man's movements jagged and inhuman as he lowers his arm back to his side until finally it settles into a constant, thin and yellow. he stands directly below the bulb, the shadows of his face severe and gaunt, an odd contrast to his broad stature. for a long moment, he just lingers there, dark gaze shifting slowly around the room. you follow it, try to see what he sees, figure out if there's anything that could give you away.

you don't make it that far, eyes catching on all the accoutrement that lines the walls. bed, stool. small pile of familiar books.

a cat litter box.

disinterested in you when you're not giving her treats or pets, the moment shatters as panda returns to him, headbutting his boots cheerily and begging for pets. he crouches to pick her up and she climbs onto his shoulder with a familiarity that unsettles you further, speaks to how long he's been spending his days with her. she doesn't move when he does, enjoys her high vantage as he cuts across the room, boots squelching in the dirt. he passes by you on his way to the window and shuts it easily, warped wood barely giving him any trouble. in the muted light from the window, you see the odd shadows of his face which you'd noted before are simply the hollows of a skull motif on the balaclava he wears.

"darlin', you still there?"

but you're not, boots tearing up the mud as you scramble out from your hiding place. panda follows you, the familiar heavy thud of her paws when she jumps from her perch a comfort. she passes you on the stairs even as you take them two at a time, chest puffing with the steep incline. at the top you turn and slam the trapdoor down, the white of his mask all you can see peering up at you from the darkness before the door falls into place. there's nothing on the porch heavy enough to brace it, but you try anyway, pulling the cheap patio set closer and shepherding panda through the inner door in the same move, the little shit apparently more afraid of you and your erratic movements than she was the basement dweller with the skull mask.

you lock the inner door after you fall through it, watch in horror through the transom as the furniture heaves, a powerful quake that tosses them to the side before the door creeps open, hollow eyes checking for a trap before heavy, gloved fingers wrap around it properly, push it wide.

impossibly, he seems even bigger here, above ground, where you have a better gauge of normalcy. he eclipses the whole room, blots out the overhead light when he looms closer to the door, dark eye pressed against the pane so he can peer through a fractal in the glass, same as you'd just been. you back further into the dining room, bump against the table just as you feel his gaze on you. it distracts you from the sound of the key in the lock, the creak of the hinges what finally compels you to fucking run.

keys in hand this time, you book it out the back door and slam head first into a sturdy chest, legs flailing under you until john helps right you, fingers bruising hard on your arms as he tries to shush you into submission. he won't let you go no matter how much you shriek, just pulls you to his chest and smothers your cries there, orders you to tell him what's wrong even as he walks you back up the stairs.

somehow, between your shouting and your panting and your sobbing, he gets it: man down there; living there.

"oh, honey, that's just your ghost," he soothes, wrangling you through the screen door with a grip on your jaw which he uses to tilt your head the intruder's way, makes you watch as he lumbers closer, john's voice a low scratch of whiskers against your ear. "told you he liked you."

[thegnomelord]

yk how they cover fighting dog's eyes in order to calm them down? would that work on Hound or just rile him up more? if it'd calm him down I can imagine when/if he's "better" enough he'd start shoving his face into price or any of the other 141 to feel safer/calm, like nuzzling in between their shoulder blades/neck or if they're lying down together just pushing his head into their arms 😶‍🌫️

hmmm Price holding Hound against his chest to calm him while he claws and begs into his captain's skin for forgiveness because he acted out again, even if Price had already forgiven him🤔

if the loss of sight just makes things worse then I can see all of them always making sure Hound can know where they are, making noise when they can and maybe even dragging their feet a bit so he doesn't swivel his head around constantly to look for them😚 ignore this if u want tho reading it back is making me cringe a bit-

No, no, anon this is great! Y'all are giving me so many ideas♥️

I definitely think Price would have done that to Hound before he got captured, putting his beanie or just his hand over Hound's eyes and talking about Hound like he wasn't even there to basically calm him down. Like you know how you're a kid sitting between your parents and they're talking about you but you're snoozing or something like that. It would have just been comforting for Hound.

But Makarov soured it by using sensory deprivation as a punishment. And a pretty severe one at that, so Hound gets extremely violent when his sight is deprived.

But also like, when Hound's better, letting them cover his eyes as just this huge show of trust just melts my heart. Like:

CW:SFW just a bunch of fluff, cuddle piles

This feels. . . strange.

You're laying on top of Price, practically crushing him beneath your weight, your head and shoulders pushed beneath his loose shirt so you can lay your head on his naked chest. It's dark, and warm, the scent of musk and sweat curls in your nose as his thick chest hair tickles your face with every even breath, his heart beating so calmly beneath your ears.

It's strange. It's the best way you can describe it; a part of you is disgusted with the proximity, panic occasionally jolting through your system and lining your muscles with lead as your body expects for the hit to come any moment. Only for a calloused hand to run down your spine gently, turning your tense muscles into mush.

"You're alright lad." His voice rumbles in his chest, a type of tone that is both calming and commanding. "Just listen to my voice yeah? Good boy," A pleasant shiver runs up your spine as the praise, a low whimper escaping you as you nuzzle your head further into his pecs. Your head feels stuffed with cotton yet his low praises still reach your brain, and it feels strange to get them without any work, to be praised just for simply existing, but it's also. . . nice.

"Oi Price-" You tense immediately as the door suddenly opens, loud voices shooting lightning into your muscles. Price scruffs you through the shirt before you can react any more, calming you down to the point you don't even notice what they're talking about.

"Wh- Soap!" Price shouts.

You feel the bed dip, a disgruntled sound leaving your chest as a body shuffles under Price's shirt next to you. Soap's scent hits your nose before his head bumps into yours, "Yer like a pig in shite pup." His hair scratches your face as he makes himself comfortable on Price's other pec, and you don't need sight to know he's grinning like a fool. "Cozy in 'ere."

"How comfortable are his tits?" Ghost's voice reaches your ears, and it must be his body that lays down next to yours, supporting some of your weight that you're not crushing Price by wrapping a loose hand around your waist. His body is solid against yours, both of them are, Johnny's arm wrapping around you just bellow Simon's hand, unapologetically groping your ass.

"Boys!" Price sputters, and without sight you can only imagine how flushed his face must be, he always got red as a lobster when you'd tease him. "Can't you be decent for one day?"

"We're wearing pants aren't we?" Gaz's laugh sounds somewhere behind you, and you're pretty sure it's Gaz that lays down between your legs, using your ass as a pillow. "Oh, wow," You hear him mumble as if astonished, heat burning across your skin as you feel him nuzzle into your ass.

A low whine escapes your throat without notice, and you're not sure why, just something about the way they handle you, like you're made of glass, makes lightning crackle down your spine.

"Do you want to stop?" Price's voice is non-judgmental, his hand brushing your hair that peeked through the stretched taught neckline of his shirt.

You shut your eyes, breathing in deeply. "No." You say, your arms gripping Price's pudgy stomach even tighter.

You feel Johnny shift closer to you, his lips blindly brushing against yours. "Aye, yer fine bonnie." He grins, and pushes his head to meet your lips in a proper kiss. You can taste the aftertaste of tobacco from his cigarettes and the mints on his tongue.

This is nice. You could get used to this.

[shuaraes]

five minutes | c.sc

- he has never seen such a picturesque sight draped in morning light

oneshot | 1.3k | domestic!au | fluff

if choi seungcheol could choose one memory to keep after death, it would be the ones like this. the ones where he rises slightly early and gets to watch as you wake up to the world. for him it’s the little things: sunshine falling atop his sheets, your limbs intertwined, the pout in your voice begging him to come back to bed. though seungcheol knows for a fact, he would always hit snooze if it meant five more minutes with you.

~ pairing . choi seungcheol x gn!reader

~ content . non idol!au, early mornings with choi seungcheol, oddly sentimental moments lmaoo, fluffiest of domestic fluff, brief banter

~ tw/cw . one slightly suggestive allusion to hickeys but apart from that none at all!

~ song rec . come to me - seventeen

~ author’s note . here’s the surprise i was talking about! apologies for being so inactive, life just had to take priority for once. but i had some free time so i wrote this as a little writing exercise. also i just imagine seungcheol to be the best to wake up to lmaoo. sorry for once again proving i don’t know how to write anything that isn’t pure unfiltered yearning 😭 hope you guys enjoy anyways!

FOR ONCE, IT IS NOT THE DRONING SOUND OF AN ALARM THAT WAKES HIM

but instead the light of the morning - rousing him with its golden-honey rays. Slithers of sunlight burn against his droopy eyelids and he curses himself for forgetting to close his curtains in the evening. He wonders what the time is. With the advent of summer, guessing the time has been harder than a blinded game of Russian roulette. It could be anywhere between 5:30 (he could afford to sleep for a couple more hours) or 11:25 (he might as well not bother showing up to work).

Seungcheol rolls onto his back and cradles his skull with his palm. He drifts his eyes up towards the cream-coloured ceiling, feeling an inexplicable lightness in his chest as it rises with his every breath: ocean waves at high tide. Even though the future stresses of the working day loom at the forefront of his mind, they aren’t tormenting him like they usually do. He isn’t dreading the ring of the alarm. There’s something in his mind and soul that’s scarily at peace, a calmness he only thought he would feel in his dying hours. A sharp snore cuts his train of thought short. Feeling the warmth pressing taut against his side, he realises what the feather-weight feeling in his chest was for.

He flips over to look at you, out like a candlelight. Seungcheol swears he has never seen such a picturesque sight draped in morning light. No painting in a museum could ever come close to this sight of you. Your legs are curled into your torso and hands loosely gripping the sheets. Seungcheol’s eyes are drawn immediately towards your lips, your pillow-soft sighs drift onto the pillow where a tiny pool of salvia is. A thin sheen of sweat, illuminated by golden rays, wraps around your body like a second skin, causing you to glisten like the sun during dawnbreak.

In this moment, you are so peaceful, so calm, so vulnerable. You’re like a god to him, a statue chiselled painstakingly out of marble. Seungcheol has to hold himself back from caressing your puffy cheeks, terrified he’d wake you. You’ve been working long hours recently and today’s your only day of rest. Apart from that, something about watching you catch up on some well-deserved rest burns his heart white-hot with passion.

‘I must have been a saint in my last life to deserve this,’ Seungcheol thinks. As clearly and effortlessly as the chime of a bell of a small bookstore, you entered his life, taking him by surprise. You were like a whirlwind and Seungcheol was enraptured in the eye of your storm. Each day he was falling deeper and deeper, closer and closer to the point of no return. The way your smile and sense of humour makes him float above the clouds, almost as if is high on your presence. If he is, then you’re his favourite drug, that itch that you can never scratch enough, that song that no matter what he does cannot get out of his head.

He thinks about how much he loves you. How much he longs for you when you are not near - how much he wants to worship you until marks, the same colour as pink lemonade, pepper your chest. It almost brings him to tears: the intensity of his feelings in contrast to the softness of the morning light. You’re the most beautiful person to him - mind, body and soul.

Right now, Seungcheol feels content, not in the way you do when finishing a task or lying down with a stomach full of your favourite food. This is different. A contentedness he knows he may never be able to feel again, but the moment is so perfect that he doesn’t need to feel this way again. This morning is already more than enough.

RING-RING

Seungcheol rolls his eyes as the sound of his alarm vibrates deep through his ears. He checks the time. Fuck. He only has 35 minutes to get ready (he could have sworn he set it for earlier). He tries his best to move cautiously, trying not to wake you. But as he sees your body start to shift, he knows his attempts are in vain.

“Sorry sleepyhead,” Seungcheol coos his voice so sweet that it almost fully distracts you from the alarm's monotonous cries. You reply with a quiet 'morning' but you’re not sure if he hears: the sound being muffled by the sheets. He traces mindless patterns across your exposed skin. His fingertips leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. You squirm slightly at the ticklish feeling, trying to curl away from his touch. Seungcheol can only laugh.

“What?” He knows he’s teasing, the grin on his face ever-wide.

“Shut up…” You turn your body to face him as he sits up, a yawn escaping from the depths of his chest. “How long have you been awake for?”

“A while.” He stretches over your body to hit snooze and you hear the light crackling of his bones as he moves.

“So you’ve just been watching me drool in my sleep this entire time, weirdo.” You say mimicking his previous teasing tone. Seungcheol rolls his eyes but still helps you rub off a small string of dried salvia sitting on the corner of your lip.

“Maybe, maybe not. Though, you are a wonderful sight to behold in the morning.”

“You’re mad.”

“Madly in love with you.” You snort at his words and playfully smack his bare chest as whiny ‘it’s true’s' fall from his pink coral lips. He smiles so wide, that you catch a glimpse of it through the blinding sunlight - a look at his sweet gummy smile. So wide that you can’t help but smile as well.

If Seungcheol were to describe his personality in one word, it would be a realist, maybe a cynic at times. But when it comes to you, he’s a dreamer. You’re the painter who colours over his grey corporate days, the person that keeps him going when his 9–5 starts to feel like a 24-hour shift and it’s your smile he thinks of at the neon red stoplight when he’s racing back home (he hopes you feel the same). He realises that he would do anything for you and it doesn’t anger him in the slightest.

“After you’re off from work, we should do something. Take advantage of the good weather and longer days.” You muse, still looking up at him. With the way tiredness pulls at your eyes you resemble a baby deer. Seungcheol doesn’t even let you finish your sentence before he’s humming in agreement.

“That would be lovely. Hmm, a walk around the city seems nice, there’s this pop-up museum that I think you’d like. We could also-“

RING-RING

You both groan at the cursed sound. Reluctantly, Seungcheol attempts to rub whatever remnants of sleep are left in his eyes (it doesn’t work, he feels more tired afterwards). With a chaste kiss on your forehead, he tries to free himself from the hold of the duvet and many blankets intertwined with his limbs. If he eats breakfast quickly, he may be able to get to work on time. However, as his legs hang over the side of the bed, Seungcheol feels a vice-like grip tighten around his wrist.

“Don’t go.” Your voice sounds so tired yet commanding, as if you were a witch, forcing him into a trance.

“But lovely, work-“

“If you can shower quickly, you can spare five more minutes with me.” You whine. To Seungcheol, there is no point trying to fight it, you’ve already won.

“I suppose I could."

The light giggle that escapes your mouth seals the deal as you drag him back down to drown in the sheets. He throws an arm around your middle and pulls you impossibly closer. Seungcheol knows his alarm is going to go off again in the next five minutes, but as you melt into his embrace like candle wax and press kisses along the base of his neck, he couldn’t care less about hitting snooze again.

For you, he could spare five more minutes.

For you, he would do anything.

[qwimblenorrisstan]

Found Pt. 3 | Poly!141 & Reader

Summary: Simon chokes on bacon, talks of old friends and shopping emerge.

Word Count: ~2.6k

Warnings: choking on bacon, mentions of (abusive?) past foster parents

A/N: something about simon choking on bacon and being saved by a small child is funny to me, idk why, hope you enjoy<3

Requests are open!

Previous | Masterlist | Next

The morning wasn’t the same as yesterday. Instead of waking up at your own desired time, you were woken by the beeping of a small, black alarm that was shaped like a jelly bean, something that hadn’t been there the night before.

One of the men must’ve put it there overnight after you’d fallen asleep at some point. Judging by the bit of brown hair clinging to the plastic because of static, you knew it was either Johnny or John.

You sat up, blearily rubbing your eyes, rubbing away the crust that had gathered in the corners, before stretching your limbs. All while ignoring the incessant beeping of the alarm, which began speeding up.

It finally stopped once you grabbed it, slamming a hand on the top, just hitting the large button labeled “SNOOZE”. After picking it up, swiping some of your messy, knotted hair out of the way, cringing and imagining the mess it would be tomorrow, you examined the alarm under the light, finding a little switch to turn it off. Before it was turned off, it read “6:04 A.M.”.

You’d had other foster parents wake you up earlier. The lawyer man had gotten you up at 5 sharp every day, acting as if you were the crazy one when you began falling asleep in class. These men didn’t strike you as the type to do that, or at least you hoped they weren’t the type to do it.

You slid your legs over the bed, feet meeting the carpet that was in the room. Your backpack lay to the left of your bed, and you had half a mind to go rummaging through it for whatever semi-clean clothes you could find for whatever the day held, but instead found a pile of fresh clothes waiting on the desk. It was a neatly folded pair of grey sweatpants, a t-shirt with a loose collar, and a small graphic band design on it, a pair of socks, new underwear, and a bra.

The idea of them digging up some clothes from their past fosters made you cringe, so you chose to hope that it was new and put the pair of underwear and the bra in one of the dresser’s drawers. You would stick with your undergarments, thank you very much.

The sweatpants and shirt looked comfy, though, and you figured that it was better than nothing. They looked like hand-me-downs, and you quickly discovered that it was a bit large on you, probably since they hadn’t fostered humans before. The same clothes that would fit you at this size would fit a toddler hybrid.

But it wasn’t too bad. You slipped the socks that looked recently bought enough on, supposing that it was better than the ones you had that were growing thin on the sole area, a few holes in the fabric forming in some.

The wood floorboards creaked as you got down on your knees, bending to look for your shoes that you could’ve sworn you’d left under, finding them shoved into the corner. You must’ve moved when you slept.

You pulled them out from under the bed, sitting on the edge of it, pulling the tongue of the shoes back before pulling them on, tugging the knotted laces undone, before retying them tightly enough that they wouldn’t require any other attention during the day.

Despite the previous attention Kyle had paid to your hair the other night, it had seemingly knotted itself up overnight, now mildly resembling a bird’s nest, with small matting spread throughout the middle.

You sighed, getting off the bed and moving to your backpack, shoving a hand in it, and rummaging around until you pulled out a mini hairbrush that you’d gotten from Dollar Tree a few years back, and you split your hair down the middle, pulling the two sections over your shoulder and running the brush through it until it finally started obeying.

Sighing, you shoved it back in the backpack, walking to your door and hesitating a moment as your hand closed around the doorknob, before turning it and opening the door. There was a bit of rummaging in the kitchen, a door opening and closing, and then a bit more rummaging. It sounded like plates.

You walked down the hallway, seeing the sight of the hulking wraith bent over the sink, scrubbing dishes with his hands that faded into a black starting at his wrists, soap bubbles covering the gradient as he moved the sponge around. Sure, you’d exchanged glances with Simon in agreement, and maybe even had a one-word conversation, but it didn’t mean he wasn’t intimidating.

He was a wraith, for god's sake.

You tried not to judge anyone’s character based on what they were, but at a cellular level, it did determine some of their personality. Wolf hybrids tended to be social, staying in packs with other hybrids and often being leaders. Dragon hybrids were possessive of their things, more than ready to fight over their belongings. Bird hybrids in most forms were twitchy and very reactive to their surroundings, as most prey animals were.

But you’d never met a wraith before, or not until a few days ago, you hadn’t.

“Breakfast’s on the table.”

He grumbled out, not even looking back at you as he continued with the dishes, placing them in the dishwasher next to the sink. You glanced at the table, and surely enough, he was right. There was a singular plate with a massive serving of bacon, eggs, and buttered toast. You didn’t think you could eat that much in a week, let alone one little morning.

You picked the same chair you’d been in last night, pulling the plate over, and nibbling on a piece of bacon, letting your mind wander off as your eyes glazed over.

Right now, your old friends would probably be getting ready for school, if they weren’t already waiting for the bus to arrive. You could imagine your closest friend, Jaina, sitting on the bus, popping her old headphones she’d had for almost six years now in, turning on the playlist that you and her shared. She only lived ten minutes here, but that was driving, walking distance was maybe thirty minutes. If you managed to nab a bike from somewhere, though…that would make it easier.

If your new ‘parents’ even let you go see her, that was. They seemed territorial, at the very least. Not the type to let you go walking over to someone’s house without at least meeting the parents and family.

“Not hungry, are you?”

His voice snapped you out of your thoughts, and you shook your head quickly, glancing up at him. His hands and arms were dry, meaning he must’ve finished with the dishes at least a minute ago. How long had you been daydreaming?

You gave a little shake of your head. You’d eaten at least a few pieces of bacon by now, seemingly having nibbled on some eggs, but not much. At least, not much compared to the servings on the plate.

His eyes bore into you, brown, almost a hazel glimmer if you looked close enough. But you didn’t want to. He seemed to know that you were thinking about something, and you hadn’t even realized you were staring dead at him until a little huff escaped his mouth.

“What’s on your mind, kid?”

He eventually asked, snatching a piece of toast from your plate, and taking a crunchy bite. Despite his relaxed demeanor, you had a feeling your every move was being scrutinized under his gaze. You took a long pause, taking a bite into a chewy part of the bacon, giving you an excuse to figure out what you wanted to say before saying it. A glimmer of amusement danced in his eyes, almost going unnoticed by you.

When you swallowed, he raised both brows expectantly. You weren’t getting out of this.

“Do you think I could go visit friends?”

You kept it short and brief. You’d learned the hard way that adults tended not to like it when you nervously rambled on and on about something, and it usually did the opposite of convincing them. Tell them the least amount of information possible, and let them feel like you’re trustworthy by answering their questions.

He let out a hum, eyes narrowing as he glanced away a moment to gather his thoughts. He had an annoyingly good poker face.

“He or she?”

That was what you’d expected first.

“She.”

A pause. He might be considering it.

“Where you know ‘er from?”

“Last school.”

“Name?”

“Jaina Pendleton.”

You wouldn’t doubt that he would go looking her up later, stalking her parent’s Facebook or Twitter. You’d been guilty of the same thing with all of your friends, but mainly to collect embarrassing pictures for blackmail.

He stopped a moment, thinking, and replying to your earlier question.

“Give it a few more days to settle down. Price’ll be reluctant but I’m sure Kyle can convince the old man. Johnny will probably be fine with it.”

You tried to shove down the pang of disappointment in your gut, reminding yourself that it could’ve been ‘never’ instead of ‘wait a few more days’. It could’ve been a lot worse. Granted, you would’ve just snuck out anyway if they’d tried to ban you from seeing your friend, but still.

You wondered if sneaking out would even work here. They were hybrids, so they were bound to notice any lumps and bumps during the night, let alone you completely disappearing. You weren’t sure how it would work, but it would, so you crossed sneaking out off of the list of mental options for a mentally ill teenage girl to do when bored.

Then, it hit you. John, Kyle, Johnny. Where even were they?”

“Whe-“

“Price is out chopping wood, Kyle’s milking the goats and cows, Johnny’s herding them for Kyle.”

You hadn’t even asked the question yet. Either he was too good at reading body language for his own good, or wraiths could read minds, and you were willing to bet it was both.

Deciding to just take a moment and enjoy the relative silence, you grabbed a piece of toast, and took a bite out of it, savoring the way the butter melted on your tongue, the saltiness giving a welcome pang of flavor other than the wheat bread. Simon seemed inclined to do the same, this time grabbing a few pieces of bacon, and devouring nearly three pieces in one bite.

You nearly choked on your toast when you witnessed him perform it, before swallowing after hardly chewing at all. He got mid-swallow, before your horrified but also amazed gaze caught him, and he choked on the bacon, something bubbling out of his throat that might’ve sounded like a laugh if it hadn’t been for the meat lodged in his throat.

Though, judging the behavior of the family, or the pack dynamic between them, you wouldn’t be surprised if they all were used to having meat lodged in their throats.

He began hitting his chest, and that was when you remembered that he was choking. Well, maybe not, since you still heard noise coming from his mouth, and according to a random YouTube video you’d watched many years ago, someone was only choking if there was no sound coming out of them. Was it true? Probably not, but you chose to believe it anyway, still getting up out of your chair to help him.

You’d done a bit of babysitting a year or two back, mainly for your older foster parents who had only gotten a foster child to watch their younger kids. You’d felt obligated to learn how to stop someone from choking, at the very least, or how to help yourself if no one else was around.

Those kids had been demons, so you wouldn’t have been surprised if they’d seen you choking and ignored you for fun.

You grabbed the sleeve of his t-shirt, tugging him up, and he obeyed, probably too preoccupied with choking half to death, until you walked behind him after moving his chair out of the way, and shoved him forward with all the power you had.

He hardly moved due to the shove, but you wrapped one foot around his ankle, pulling back at the same time.

It was like watching a skyscraper fall, almost.

Slow, dramatic, and very entertaining.

His lower stomach slammed into the table as the edge of it rammed up into his stomach, and the mutilated pieces of bacon went flying from his throat.

“Fuuuck—“

He hissed, holding one hand to his stomach, pulling the chair back over, and collapsing into it as it groaned under his weight.

You stood there awkwardly, not knowing whether you’d hurt more than helped until he wheezed a,

“Thanks, kid.”

And you were about to take your seat again, before seeing the clump of bacon that had somehow landed exactly on your plate, and you couldn’t help the face of mild distaste you made. Your eyes both met again, and maybe it was the sheer ridiculousness of the situation, but you couldn’t help but smile a bit, and he huffed a little laugh, shaking his head as he let a little grin slip onto his face.

He grabbed the plate, scraping the food into a bin that wasn’t the trash can, but instead looked to be some sort of recycler. He saw the tiny hint of confusion on your face.

“For the goats.”

He explained simply, walking the plate over to the sink, giving it a quick run-over with water, and putting it in the dishwasher. He put a little cleaning pod in a specific slot, then started it up, and shut it, leaving it to run.

He pulled a little notebook out of his back pocket that you hadn’t noticed, opening it up, and squinting his eyes like an old man would until he put it away again.

“According to Price, we’ve got some shopping to get done.”

You raised a brow. He chuckled.

“Gonna need you some clothes for school, no? I think it might kill Johnny if the poor lad sees you shiverin’ again.”

Shopping didn’t sound bad. Not when you definitely needed new clothes anyway, and you couldn’t go to school in the ones you currently had.

He led the way out to the car, but before, made sure to stop at the fridge, where there was a little chart in place using Expo markers on the metal.

It had each of their names on it, and each one was filled out in their own handwriting. True to what Simon had told you earlier, John’s simply said “Wood. Barn.”, Johnny’s said “Herding” with a little smiley face next to it, the handwriting barely legible, and Kyle’s said “Milking Animals, Barn.” in the nearest little handwriting you’d ever seen.

Simon filled his out with handwriting worse than even Johnny’s, the barely legible scrawl saying “Shopping.”

He made the name section a little bit longer, making a little box, and handing you the marker. You could see the past stains of some expo which had been left too long on the refrigerator, making out a few past names, and adding your own on top. You put the same as Simon, a simple “Shopping” in your section.

As he led you out to the crunchy gravel driveway, and you crawled into the leathery seats of the Jeep Simon drove, you couldn’t help but wonder if you could ever measure up to the other children.

Tags:

@roastyyytoastyyy

@theartgremlin

@thriving-n-jiving

@simonrileysown

@angeldemon28

@purple-moonbeam

@d-oo-t

@epochal-oracle

@picklehat3r

@starandcloud

[nerdallwritey]

Three Little Words

Summary: “Well, this has been lovely,” Astarion said, making his way to the door leading back into the inn proper. “Anything else we should know before we head off to save the day?” He was already halfway out the door, not bothering to wait for an answer, clearly trying to make a stealthy exit.  You eyed Halsin, who nodded and retrieved the rogue by his arm before he could leave, closing the door behind both of them for good measure. “Let me go, you humongous imbecile!” Astarion pounded his free arm against Halsin’s chest before Halsin released him and refused to let him move a muscle towards the door. Astarion huffed and crossed his arms, turning his nose up at the rest of you. “Is he okay?” Isobel asked.  “This is relatively normal behavior from him, actually,” Karlach said. OR Astarion accidentally says something nice, then acts like an idiot for the rest of the day.

Pairing: Astarion x f!reader Rating: 18+ (no smut) Word count: 8.3k CW: lots of Act 2 exposition, Rolan is a drunk dick, Astarion's scars, sitcom antics, reader is an idiot (and a bard), so is Astarion (not a bard, just an idiot, and more so than usual), Halsin's tits Spoilers: Spoilers for Act 2 (in-game dialogue, plot points, etc.) Also posted to: AO3 FAIR WARNING: This is PART 7 in my series, "Beauty and the Bard." Find the masterlist here.

a/n: PART 7 IS ALIIIIIIIIIVE!!! Thank you for waiting so patiently for this one, I had more planned for it but decided to cut it in half since I already yap too much as it is. I wanted this chapter to be a fresh enough take on the beginning of Act 2, and I hope you all enjoy! This one gets really sitcom-y at certain points which was a blast to write and I hope you have a blast reading! Part 8 is already in the works and I'm VERY excited to share that one with you all!! There's no smut in this chapter, and for that, I apologize. If all goes according to plan, Part 8 will have you covered! (Thank you to my beta @kermitwazowski, and the wonderful @arzen9 for reading!) As a reminder, last time, you fell asleep in Astarion's arms and he realized he's in love with you...

Taglist: Moved to the comment section, since tumblr hates sharing fun with friends - please let me know if you'd like to be added to the list!

You awoke to an empty bed. 

Drearily and with a tired moan, your arm flung out to search blindly in the dark, trying to make sense of your surroundings. Slowly, it came back to you - you’d made it to an inn in the Shadow Cursed Lands. You’d shared a passionate night with Astarion. Perhaps the vampire whose arms you were sure you’d fallen asleep in had rolled off the bed in the night? You inched your body to the edge of the bed, hanging your head over the side and blinking rapidly to get your eyes to adjust to the darkness. 

Nope. No trancing elf. Just a loose floorboard from the night before. 

You flopped dramatically onto your back, staring up at the ceiling. Couldn’t vampires technically hang from ceilings? Was it possible Astarion had somehow sleep… vampired? And somehow found himself snoozing upside down on the ceiling?

No, that was stupid, of course he wasn’t on the ceiling. Though you did squint and stare above you for longer than you would ever admit to anyone. 

Exhaling quietly, you sat up on your arms to scan the rest of the room before your eyes landed on a silhouette hunched in front of the drawn curtains of the room’s large window. 

Astarion was muttering quietly, his arm bent behind his back. “I… F… or is it an E? Is it even a letter?” You heard him sigh and saw his frame straighten fractionally. “What damn language is this?”

You half smiled affectionately, sitting up fully against the pillows. 

“Need some help writing a sonnet, Volo?” You swung your legs over the side of the bed and turned to face him.

Astarion jumped. “Ah!” You heard a loud crash as you saw his darkened form trip backwards over your discarded backpack.

“Astarion!” you cried, springing up from the bed and joining him on the ground. “Are you alright?” You brushed your knuckles over his cheek as he groaned lowly.

His eyes were shut tight in mild pain, but they opened after a moment to blink up at you. When he saw the concerned look on your face, he sat up quickly and backed away from you until his back made contact with your overturned backpack.

You frowned. “What’s wrong?”

Astarion smiled awkwardly. “Oh nothing, darling.” After a second, he said your name softly. 

You narrowed your eyes and stood up, striking a match and lighting the candle on the table parallel to the bed. “I don’t believe you.”

He was staring at you in a way that gave you the sense he wasn’t listening. 

“Hello?” you asked, snapping your fingers. 

Astarion shook his head, regaining focus. “Apologies, dear, you caught me by surprise, that’s all.”

You crossed your arms and smiled. “That little spill of yours kind of gave that much away.”

Astarion rose to his feet and rubbed his backside. “Yes, well…” He held his upper arm awkwardly and avoided meeting your eye. Your brow furrowed, but he continued talking. “I’ve… been tracing the scars on my back with my fingers, trying to read them by touch, but I can’t. They may as well be written in Rashemi.” 

There was something weird about his body language. Like he was trying to hide something from you, but you decided to focus on what he was telling you. Maybe if he kept talking, you’d figure out what was wrong. 

You stepped closer, pausing when he took another step back. You spoke calmly, “Let me have a look.”

“I-” he sighed. “This isn’t your problem, you know.”

“Like hells, it isn’t,” you scoffed with a smile. “Your problems are my problems now.” You stepped forward again and took his hand. He looked you in the eye before quickly looking away. “I want to help you.” You brushed your nose against his.

A chill ran through his body, and you felt his hand tremble in yours. “Fine.”

Hesitantly, he slowly turned his back towards you. 

It was rare that Astarion would purposely show you his back. You’d run your hands along the ridges of his scars numerous times, but he was reluctant to let you look at the hacked flesh directly. You assumed it was linked to the poorly hidden shame he felt towards his past, but you never looked at the marks with anything but admiration for his bravery and a sign of his survival. 

Now, seeing the scars straight on by the light of the candle, you recognized the runes as a language you’d seen written many times in books and in school growing up; Infernal. The language of the Hells.

From what little you could make out, the language was fragmented and strange. This scar was just a piece of a larger text. 

“And?” Astarion probed, looking over his shoulder at you. “What does it say?” Embarrassment and hopeful curiosity coated his words. 

“Well, it’s certainly not a poem. In fact, from what I can tell, it might be part of a devil’s pact.”

His eyes narrowed. “Infernal pact? But not even the whole text?” He turned back to face you. “What was that bastard up to?” 

“Did you ever see Cazador write in Infernal before?”

Astarion thought for a moment. “No. I could have missed it, of course, but I doubt it. Whatever he’s carved in my flesh, it’s a mystery to me.” When he realized you didn’t have some sort of quip to add, he continued. “Cazador was only figuratively hellish - there were never any devils hanging about the crypt.” 

You snorted. “I wouldn’t think there would be. Though, can you imagine Mizora in a crypt? Or Raphael? He’d probably be repulsed.” 

Astarion stiffened visibly. “Raphael… yes…”

You attempted to get his attention back on you by squeezing his hand. “What about him?”

He looked at you briefly, a slight smirk on his lips. “If anyone’s going to know about infernal contracts, he will.”

“I mean… That makes sense, I guess.”

Astarion pointed towards you excitedly. “I knew you’d see the pragmatic side.”

You tilted your head, thinking. “But Mizora’s kind of all about infernal legalese.”

Astarion rolled his eyes. “Sure, but Raphael has more panache. And I doubt Wyll would appreciate us summoning his devilish pact-maker.”

“Good point.”

“Unfortunately, Raphael comes and goes on his own schedule, so we’ll just have to look out for any sulfurous odors or the sound of questionable poetry.” 

That got you to smile. He smiled back, and reached out to hold your elbows lightly. “You will help me, won’t you, darling?”

“Of course I will,” you said, bending up to kiss his cheek. You felt him flinch beneath your lips. “Are you sure everything is alright? You seem awfully on edge.” 

“Me? On edge? Of course not!” His voice pitched up uncharacteristically and broke at the end. “I don’t know why that came out all squeaky because really,” he cleared his throat and lowered his voice comically, “I’m fine.”

You smiled skeptically. “If you say so.”

“Don’t worry about me, dearest,” he released your arms and knelt to go through his own bag. He pulled out a fresh shirt and slipped it over his head. “I think I’ll spend some time this morning studying the art of infernal negotiations.” He kissed you swiftly before pulling away as if you’d shocked him. “I’ll…” you caught him look down at the ring still gracing your left pinky, “see you later.” 

With that, he quickly left the room, closing the door behind him and leaving you with nothing but the sound of Harpers patrolling outside and patrons sitting by the bar.

You exhaled loudly, staring at the door after him. 

Something was definitely wrong. 

Compared to last night, when he was blissed out on your tongue, and kissing your throat with fervent passion, there was no doubt something was bothering him.

But what?

You sat back on the bed, replaying the previous night over in your head. Had you done something wrong? Had you pushed him too hard to do something he didn’t want to do?

No. No, you were fairly certain he had truly enjoyed himself with you. 

But then again, you were very new to sex. And new to Astarion, for that matter. Was it possible he could still pull one over on you, even though you felt like you could read him pretty well by now?

Regardless of whatever was going on with Astarion, it was clear that it had to do with you, based purely on his hesitancy to get close to you just now. 

Sniffing your sleep shirt and feeling suddenly self conscious, you ran a warm bath and scrubbed yourself clean of whatever grime had clung to your body since entering the Shadow Cursed Lands. 

A short time later, you found yourself exiting the bedroom, your hair damp, and fresh clothes gracing your figure. You paused in the doorway, scanning the large, open room that made up most of the first floor. Immediately, your eyes fell on the gaggle of child criminals behind the bar that you’d sicced on Astarion at the Tiefling party.

Smiling to yourself, you took a step towards the bar, only to freeze when you heard the familiarly cool tone of a tiefling wizard. 

“...There’s another bottle of Arabellan dry back there,” Rolan practically spat. “Put it on the bar, then piss off and leave me alone.”

Zaki and Meli, two of the tiefling kids, exchanged glances before Zaki upturned his nose at Rolan.

“Jaheira said we should serve drinks, but that we shouldn't serve drunks.”

Slurring his words mildly, Rolan pointed an accusatory finger at the children. “Jaheira didn’t save your ragged little tail from the cultists. I did.”

You stepped forward and made eye contact with Zaki and Meli who smirked when they recognized you. You winked at them and they nodded before turning their backs on Rolan and focusing their attentions within the bar.

“Given the constant darkness, I know it’s fairly difficult to tell the time, but I’m pretty sure it’s a little too early in the day to get this sloshed.” You took a seat beside Rolan. 

He looked over at you and rolled his eyes. “Oh. It’s you.”

You pursed your lips at his tone and rested your head on your hand. “Hi Rolan.”

“Don’t you get tired of telling people how to live their lives?” He took a big swig from his stein before scowling at you and turning away. “If you’re here to save the day again, you’re a little late this time.”

You sat up straighter, suddenly aware of the absence of Cal and Lia. “What happened? Where’s-”

“Oh, sod off,” he hissed. “I’m only here because you ‘helped’ me and my family.”

“I-”

“I was ready to cut and run back at the Grove, but you had other ideas.” Rolan gestured erratically with his mug and free hand.

You leaned in fractionally, attempting to calm him down enough to tell you what was happening. “Rolan, where-”

“Cal and Lia were taken in by your crap,” he slurred. “You convinced them to play hero, and now they’re gone.” 

You bit your lip and looked around, feeling stupid when you obviously caught no sight of the siblings. “Do you know where they are?”

Rolan wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and whipped his head to look at you with a scowl. “Dead, for all I know. Or in the cult’s tower with the others who were taken.”

“Taken,” you repeated, your voice catching in your throat. You looked around frantically, taking note of the tieflings you recognized. Doing a mental headcount, it appeared that the kids were almost accounted for, minus Mol, who you knew was around here somewhere, and Arabella, who was probably with Mol, but there was a distinct lack of adults you’d met back at the Grove. You spotted Alfira sitting alone at the hearth, with Lakrissa nowhere to be seen. Zevlor was also noticeably missing. 

They must have been attacked on their way to Baldur’s Gate and taken to Moonrise. You hoped that was the worst of it, praying silently to whichever god was listening that the tieflings would be okay. 

As your eyes continued to scan the taproom, you spotted Shadowheart, Wyll, Lae’zel, and Karlach talking pointedly with Jaheira over a map spread out over her desk. Their attention was drawn away from the map for a moment when Astarion strode by them with a heavy tome from a wall of books, over to a table where Gale was reading what appeared to be a small book of poetry. It seemed as though Gale had just recently sat down without Astarion’s knowledge, because the vampire gathered up a stack of books resting on the table and rerouted to an empty one out of earshot from the wizard. 

When Astarion caught your eye, he froze momentarily and you sent him a small smile. His eyes flicked between you and Rolan, his brow furrowing ever so slightly. You shook your head minutely, causing him to turn back slowly towards his empty table and dust off the newest book you assumed was full of Infernal translations of some kind. You pretended not to notice him watching you closely.

Rolan, meanwhile, was still brooding over his ale. “Get the bottle,” he nodded at Meli, “give me the bottle - it’s not hard.”

Meli crossed his arms. “I don’t want to.”

“And I don’t want to give you a lashing,” Rolan slurred, “but I will, damn it.”

“Whoa,” you said, holding up both hands, “let’s not resort to threatening kids just because we’re angry.” 

You laid a gentle hand on Rolan’s arm, only for him to shake you off roughly. 

“How dare you tell me - me - how to live my life. After everything I’ve just said.”

Before you had a chance to respond, a flash of silver glinted before your eyes as Astarion slammed a dagger into the wood of the counter between you and Rolan. 

“Is there a problem here?” he asked, sidling up next to you, and helping himself to a bottle of red wine within reach. His books laid abandoned at his empty table not too far off.

“You gonna pay for that?” Zaki asked with a huff.

“Quiet, child whose name I’ve never cared to learn.” You crossed your arms and gave Astarion a look before he rolled his eyes and extended his neck towards you. “She’ll cover it.”

You rolled your eyes in return and reached into your pocket to hand the tiefling a gold piece. 

“I knew I liked you,” Zaki smirked before running off to show the other kids his loot. 

Astarion raised an eyebrow. “Gold, darling? Really?”

“I think we’ll survive,” you said softly before pulling the knife out of the countertop and laying it gently on its side. 

Astarion caught sight of the blade and refocused his attention on the bitter wizard beside him. “As I said, is there a problem here?” His words came out like a growl and his hand flexed as if preparing to strike, before realizing his dagger was on the counter, and instead opted for a swig of his overpriced wine.

“No problem at all,” Rolan said in mock nonchalance. “It’s only that your partner here led my siblings to their doom.” He slammed his mug on the counter, earning a few curious and annoyed looks from other patrons and passing Harpers. 

“Okay good, so no problem then,” Astarion took another swig of his wine.

“Astarion,” you hissed before turning back to Rolan. “We’ll rescue them.”

“If they’re alive,” Astarion muttered. He nearly choked when you forcefully nudged him with your elbow.

“Bullshit,” Rolan snapped. “If they’re alive, I can save them. They’re my responsibility.” He downed the rest of his drink before boldly turning to face you and Astarion head on. He puffed out his chest, attempting to look bigger. “You go save the world, or your own arse, or whatever it is you do.”

“Hey,” Astarion slammed down his own bottle and rose to his full height, “your useless siblings would be lucky to be saved by her.”

“How dare you,” Rolan moved closer to Astarion, but you weaved in-between them before either of them could get their hands on the other. Patrons were starting to stare. You even caught Jaheira turning to give you a curious raise of her eyebrow.

“Both of you, cut it out.” You placed a hand on Astarion’s chest to keep him at bay, and didn’t dare to touch Rolan again. Astarion, in turn, took your hand and brought it to his mouth for a kiss. 

“Listen here, you shoddy excuse of a wizard,” Astarion clutched your hand to his chest and refused to let it go when you attempted to pry it free, “if this woman offers her help, she means it. And based on our numbers, eight, I believe, as opposed to your, what? One?”

“Astarion-”

“I’d say you should take her up on that offer.”

Rolan scoffed. “As if your oafish party could infiltrate Moonrise unnoticed. I’ll have a much easier time sneaking in by myself.”

Astarion laughed airly. “Oh, please, darling, you set one foot outside the protective barrier on this place and the shadows will come for you. You’ll go mad and join your siblings in the great beyond.”

“Astarion, please,” you said sharply and finally pulled your hand free from his grasp.

“I don’t have to listen to this,” Rolan said flatly. He got up to leave, stumbling a bit as he headed in the direction of the entrance.

Astarion crossed his arms with a smug look of triumph on his face. He called after him with the finishing blow: “Do tell the shadows I miss their cold embrace when they swallow you whole.”

The comment made Rolan turn on his heel and march back, sidestepping you and pressing an accusatory finger into Astarion’s chest. “Why is it so important to you whether my family lives or dies? Huh? Do you get some sort of… boon? From whatever devil created a fanged freak like you?”

Your eyes darted back and forth between the tiefling and the vampire, smiling awkwardly at patrons who passed by and shrugging as if to say, “Can you believe these guys?”

Astarion laughed again. “Darling, I couldn’t care less about the fate of you, or any other refugee for that matter.”

A look of confusion passed over Rolan’s face before it morphed back into a scowl. “Then why do you care about this?”

“I don’t.”

“You do!”

You stepped forward, bringing your hands up to try and offer a showing of peace. “Come on, boys. Rolan, we’d be happy to look for your siblings and help however we can. Astarion, why don’t we leave Rolan to think about it for a bit and-”

Rolan shook his head. “Oh no, I’m going after Cal and Lia on my own, and you can’t stop me.”

Astarion rolled his eyes. “A mistake.”

“Leave me to my own choices, will you?!”

“Not when your choices are objectively stupid and illogical!” He took a step forward, causing Rolan to take an indignant step back. Astarion smirked and looked down his nose at his opponent. “Which is funny, seeing as how you tote yourself around as if you’re some big wizard prodigy.” He took another step forward and lowered his voice menacingly. “Why don’t you use that brain of yours and stay here, where you can’t bother anybody else?”

This time, Rolan stood his ground and raised his voice. “Why do you care?!”

“Because she cares and I love her!” 

Time froze. 

Astarion was locked in a stare down with Rolan, as if his declaration was the most obvious thing in the world and not something that had just changed everything.

I love her. 

The words replayed your mind like the most beautiful melody you’d ever heard. 

Astarion had a way of doing that; reciting words or sounds or phrases that quickly became your new favorite songs. 

But this time, you couldn’t quite believe what you were hearing.

“What?” Your hand reached out and brushed his softly.

Astarion jolted and slowly turned to look at you, sudden panic flashing over his features. “What?”

“You said-”

“Nothing. I said nothing.”

“No, you said-”

He raised his voice to speak over you. “I said something devastating to this wizard, rendering him absolutely shattered, isn’t that right, wizard?” He looked to Rolan for help, but Rolan’s eyes were wide with discomfort.

“Oh, this… was that the first-? While you were yelling at me? Yikes.” He began to back away slowly. 

Astarion lunged forward to grab him, but Rolan’s tipsiness worked to his advantage and somehow allowed him to bob out of the elf’s grasp. 

“Get back here!” Astarion floundered, but you caught him by the wrist. 

“You said you loved me!” You were smiling widely, your heart the fullest it had ever been. 

“No I didn’t!” Astarion snatched his hand out of yours and turned to face you while actively backing away. 

You laughed in thrilled disbelief. “Yes you did!”

“No I didn’t!” He crossed his arms in front of himself as if you were a demon coming to rip his unbeating heart out of his very ribs.

“You love me!”

“No I don’t!” He sounded almost like a child as he insisted he hadn’t just said the three little words you’d been so eager to hear. 

“Astarion, I-”

“Your move, Mol,” a sultry voice reached your ears, somehow piercing through your train of thought and what you had been about to confess. You scrunched your nose at the suddenly overpowering scent of cherries masking a fouler stench of sulfur. 

Astarion was frozen leaning away from you, but his eyes shifted towards the voice and then back to you before he darted in Raphael’s direction. 

“Astarion!” you called after him, hot on his heels.

He barely turned to respond. “Can’t hear you darling, important business must be attended to!”

“This is important business!” you countered.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, dearest!” He came to a halt in a smaller room connected to the large tap room. You stopped short behind him, nearly slamming into his back. 

Immediately you spied Raphael sitting elegantly in front of a game of lanceboard. Mol was sitting opposite from him, squinting at the pieces and analyzing her current position. 

“You trapped me,” she said, annoyed. “I didn’t even want to take this one.”

“Calimshan rules, dear,” Raphael explained, and Astarion groaned quietly next to you. “The first piece touched is the first piece moved.”

“Boring,” Astarion muttered.

Mol huffed. “That’s garbage! No matter where the knight goes, I’m gonna lose it.”

Raphael’s tone became more stern when he instructed, “Then make the sacrifice useful. Guard your Mystra, or come for my Cyric.” 

“We should really talk,” you murmured to Astarion, who cleared his throat and drew Raphael and Mol’s attention to you instead.

Mol’s face instantly lit up when she saw you. “Look who made it! For once I saved your butt out there with Jaheira, didn’t I?” 

You returned her smile, stepping closer and pretending to punch her upper arm playfully. “You sure did. Can’t thank you enough for that, Mol.”

She gave you a smug sideways smirk. “We’re square now, chief.”

“I guess we are,” you laughed. 

“Say,” she said, “do you play lanceboard by any chance? It’s my first time playing.” 

Judging by the mischievous glint in her eye, you immediately clocked that she was lying to throw off Raphael. 

“Oh, he’s laid a fine trap for you, Mol,” came Gale’s voice over your right shoulder. 

“Where did you come from?” Astarion yelped and clutched his chest from his spot on your left.

Gale opted to ignore Astarion’s dramatic display and continued, “But it looks to me like his Cyric could be dethroned.”

You nodded, thinking back to several lanceboard games you’d played with Gale over the course of this journey. You lowered your voice and nodded at the pieces in front of Mol. “Gale’s right. Put pressure on him. Attack the pieces in front of his Cyric.” 

Mol gave you and Gale an impish grin before following through with the move you both recommended. She looked immensely satisfied when she knocked the piece guarding Raphael’s God of Lies from the board. 

Raphael raised his eyebrows, looking both proud and surprised. “My, the Theskan Double Counter-gambit. Vicious.” He chuckled darkly. “Exactly what I would have done.” 

With another self satisfied smirk, Mol removed Raphael’s Cyric from the board completely. “How’s that for Calimshan rules?”

“Brava!” Raphael said, spreading his arms out wide. “Lovely work. I see I was right to make you the offer I did.” 

Your stomach dropped. “Wait, what?”

Raphael didn’t take his eyes off Mol. “You will consider it, won’t you?”

Without another word, Mol got up and you watched as she returned to the other tiefling kids behind the bar.

“What a lovely specimen she is,” Raphael said as your eyes followed her. 

The hairs on the back of your neck stood up as you turned to look back at him. 

He was standing now. “A blushing apple, begging to be plucked.” He mimed the action of pulling an apple from its spot on a branch, his eyebrows furrowed to accompany his conniving smile. 

You stepped to the side, attempting to block Mol from his view. “Leave her alone, Raphael.”

He ignored your warning and changed the subject. “The Theskan move suggestion was inspired. I had no idea you played.”

Gale chuckled. “I’ve been known to dabble.”

“He’s not talking to you, purple,” Astarion spat the last word as if it were an insult. 

Gale stared at him for a moment before shrugging. “Purple has always suited me rather nicely, thank you.”

“Why are you here, Raphael?” you asked. “To play games?”

Raphael’s expression became almost unreadable. “To play the game. The vast lanceboard of souls.”

“Well that doesn’t sound legally sanctioned by the Lanceboard Committee of Baldur’s Gate,” Gale muttered. 

Astarion rolled his eyes. “I wish you would explode.”

Raphael continued, this time his voice was overly saccharine. “Don’t you worry about Mol. It goes without saying she still has the unconditional freedom to choose the only option she has left.” 

Gale leaned over to you and whispered, “Ominous, that.”

“Quiet,” Astarion hissed, causing Raphael’s attention to turn on him. 

“Now,” Raphael said, placing a hand on his hip and pointing a lazy finger at Astarion, “let’s talk about you. I sense there’s something you want to ask me.”

“I do,” Astarion said, hunching forward as if to make himself smaller, “I have a… proposal… for you.” When you turned to glance at him with wide eyes, he corrected himself. “A proposition! A request. A… deal, I suppose, for lack of a better term.”

“A proposal,” Raphael’s eyes shifted between you two, probably knowing the exact tension that was occurring between the two of you right now. 

It wouldn’t surprise you. 

He chuckled, but didn’t press further. “If you’re hoping to taste my blood, little vampling, think again. It burns hotter than Wyvern Whiskey.”

“This is serious business,” Astarion tried to sound firm before adding, “devil.”

Raphael smirked at him, but inclined his head to encourage Astarion to continue. 

“My old - well… A long time ago, someone carved infernal runes into my back,” Astarion explained. “They are a fragment of a contract. I’d like to know what the full contract says.” 

“Hmmmmm…” Raphael dragged out the sound far longer than necessary. 

Astarion straightened himself, attempting to look bravely back at the devil, but you saw the way he absently tapped his finger against his thigh. The way he blinked a little more frequently than normal.

You turned to Raphael, annoyed. “Don’t play games, Raphael. Help him out.”

“Oh, such impatience,” Raphael said sarcastically. When neither you nor Astarion took the bait to squabble with him, he continued. “It’s something very important to your master. But is it a love letter?” He looked pointedly at you and you did your best to keep your expression even. “A warning, perhaps? Or a deed of ownership? I could give you all the gory details.”

“So do it,” you growled, feeling extremely protective of the man to your left who’d just bared part of his soul to this devil. And Gale.

“Ah ah ah,” Raphael tsked. “You’ll have to do something for me first. Let me think about it and get back to you.”

Astarion stammered and held his arms out dramatically. “You’ll ‘get back’ to me? This is important, devil!” After a moment, he sighed. “When?”

“Don’t worry,” Raphael said, the cunning smile refusing to leave his face, “I’m motivated to help you. Scars often tell such wonderful stories - I think yours might be truly exquisite.” 

Before you could interrogate him any further, Raphael vanished in a sour smelling puff of smoke.

“Good gracious, that’s foul,” Gale plugged his nose and waved his hand in front of his face.

You coughed repeatedly, shutting your eyes tight to make sure whatever residue Raphael left behind didn’t blur your vision. When you opened them again, you saw Astarion hightailing it out of the small room and across the taproom.

“Astarion!” you called. “Get back here, you heathen!”

As Astarion went to open one of the side doors of the inn to escape speaking with you, he slammed face first into Halsin’s chest.

“Oh!” Halsin exclaimed and peeled the vampire off of his tunic. “My apologies, Astarion, I was just coming inside to check on things with Moonrise Towers.”

Astarion held a hand to his forehead. “It’s like you’re made of cement.”

You caught up with him and witnessed him slump significantly. 

“Oh, hello, darling.” His tone was jovial, but his expression was one of disappointment at having been caught so easily. 

You placed your hands on your hips. “We need to talk.”

“News of Moonrise?” Halsin asked.

“No, the others are discussing that with Jaheira over there.” You pointed your thumb over your shoulder towards Jaheira’s desk, where your companions were still listening to her and hunching over a map. “No, I need to speak with Astarion in private-”

“Excellent reminder, darling,” Astarion said, straightening up and walking past you, over to Jaheira and the others. “We simply must plan out our next move!”

You turned to watch him go and stood next to Halsin, sighing heavily and pinching the bridge of your nose.

Halsin laid a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Everything alright? I hope nothing troubles the ever growing bond between you two?”

You began walking with him over to Jaheira’s desk. “He’s just being an idiot. He told me something very interesting and I want to talk to him about it more in depth.”

Halsin nodded. “You heard about the night he ran into me in bear form.”

“No, he-” You stopped short and looked at Halsin. “What?”

“There’s the fearless leader these cubs won’t stop talking about,” Jaheira said loudly, causing you to turn away from Halsin and finish taking the last few steps over to her desk. 

You approached Astarion, who stared blankly ahead and made no attempt at hiding the large step he took away from you. You rolled your eyes and stepped forward to stand between Karlach and Shadowheart, observing the map in front of you. 

“You all have been talking for quite a bit.” You noticed different markings on the map, suggesting different routes to take towards Moonrise. “Have you figured anything out?”

Wyll crossed his arms and blew out a breath. “Only that our opponent seems to be invincible, according to Jaheira.”

“So says she,” Lae’zel placed her hands on her hips and repositioned her feet to stand tall. “She has no idea how lethal we are.”

“Ketheric was a Sharran,” Shadowheart said quietly, lost in thought. “He was building an army of Dark Justiciars beneath this village.” She turned her head to look at you. “I knew my Lady Shar’s influence here was all consuming, but… Dark Justiciars?” Her voice took on a dreamlike quality, “Only the very finest proved themselves worthy of the title. They’ve been silent for years but… an entire army? That must have been a fearsome sight.”

“Yes…” Jaheira side-eyed Shadowheart skeptically. She looked at you and said, “To bring you up to speed, General Ketheric Thorm, the Absolutist leader at Moonrise is a formidable foe that myself, my Harpers, and local druids saw to depose - we witnessed him dead and buried. But he’s returned. Not only does he live again, it seems he is no longer mortal. He has become, as Wyll said, invincible.”

“Chk,” Lae’zel rolled her eyes.

“I don’t fancy his chances,” Gale joked as he integrated himself into the group, causing Astarion to jump again.

“So help me gods, you must stop doing that.”

“Supposedly, the Harpers met Ketheric on the road commanding an army of Absolutists, intent on destroying Baldur’s Gate.” Karlach half smiled, proud to be relaying a new Jaheira tale to you. “Jaheira here saw to putting a fucking arrow through his fucking eye, only to watch the bastard pluck it out.”

“‘Like a splinter,’ in her words,” Wyll added helpfully.

Halsin whistled lowly. “Sounds like quite the nasty rival.”

Jaheira nodded. “He healed right in front of me, and chased us into the shadows. Things looked hopeless, but experience has taught me that no matter how bleak things look, there’s always hope.”

“Damn right,” Karlach grinned. 

Jaheira smiled at the tiefling, then looked around at your entire party. “You are that hope.”

Astarion gagged and rolled his eyes, earning an elbow in the side from Karlach.

“We’ll try our best,” you said.

“I was telling your companions here that while protected by your artifact,” Jaheira went on, “you can infiltrate his forces at Moonrise Towers, posing as True Souls.”

“A risky, but clever move,” Lae’zel smirked. “I like it.”

“If we can find out what makes him invincible,” Wyll said, “perhaps we can strip him of his advantage.”

Jaheira nodded. “Together, we assault his tower and put a final end to this blight.”

Astarion sniffed pompously. “You want to make use of our infection.” He placed a hand on his hip and gestured around with his free hand, “Some of us, not necessarily me, of course, I’m rather enjoying the sun when it’s not currently being banished by the Mistress of the Night-”

“Watch it,” Shadowheart warned through gritted teeth.

“Some of us,” Astarion continued, “want to be cured of it.” 

Jaheira watched him carefully. “Any cure starts with understanding the disease. Whatever magic Ketheric’s using to control these tadpoles, it must be at Moonrise.”

“Well,” Gale clapped his hands together, “sounds like we should get a move on if we plan on finding that cure any time soon.”

Jaheira looked to you. “I’ve already shared what I believe to be the best route to the Towers with your friends here.” She nodded her head towards Wyll, Shadowheart, Karlach, and Lae’zel. 

“Thank you,” you said. “Ketheric’s days are numbered - I’ll make sure of it.”

The Harper met you with a sad smile. “Without a cure for your infection, your days are numbered, yet you selflessly offer to spend them fighting alongside us. I like you.”

“Isn’t she the best?” Karlach clapped you on the shoulder, grinning, before clearing her throat. “I- I mean after you, of course.” She smiled awkwardly at Jaheira. 

Jaheira laughed, then addressed all of you: “I promise I will do everything I can to make sure you survive this.” 

Your companions offered their thanks, accompanied by a dramatic eye roll from Astarion. 

“Before you go,” Jaheira said, “there’s someone else you should meet.”

“Gods,” Astarion muttered, “we’re going to be stuck here forever if we keep yammering instead of doing.”

“I’m sorry,” Jaheira raised an eyebrow, “do you wish to be consumed by shadow?”

“If we have a choice,” Wyll said, “I’d prefer not to.”

“Good man,” she smiled at the warlock before looking around at everyone again. “You’re not our only secret weapon.” She rolled up the map laid before you all and handed it off to Wyll. “Isobel - a faithful cleric of Selûne, and a light in the darkness.” 

“Selûne?” Shadowheart wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Why would a servant to the Moonmaiden be all the way out here?”

“You’re lucky she is,” Jaheira gave Shadowheart a look, as if daring her to make another comment on the matter. “She cast the moon shield around the inn. It’s the only reason we’re still alive.” She moved to her right to point at a set of stairs in the small room off the taproom where you’d been speaking to Raphael. “She’s upstairs in her chambers. Tell her I sent you and she’ll see you through the shadows safely.” 

“We already have a lantern that protects us.” Shadowheart crossed her arms. 

“And I’m sure it’s very fine,” Jaheira said. “But lanterns have a tricky habit of going out when you need them.” When Shadowheart didn’t respond, Jaheira added, “Let’s not spurn what few gifts the gods choose to give us, hm?”

You had a feeling the “gods” she was referring to wasn’t the one Shadowheart had pledged her life to. 

“Well I, for one, can’t wait to see what this Isobel has to show us!” Astarion said, suddenly cheerful, and booking it up the stairs. 

Your party watched him go.

“What’s with him?” Karlach asked. 

“Very hot and cold, no?” Gale agreed. “I mean, more so than usual.”

“He’s being an idiot about something he said,” you sighed. “And it didn’t have anything to do with bears,” you pointed at Halsin before he could say anything. 

He simply smiled and shrugged, and followed everyone up the stairs.

“Sounds about right,” Shadowheart said. 

Lae’zel narrowed her eyes. “When has Astarion ever spoken about bears?” 

“He got drunk on one once,” you laughed. “But it wasn’t about that.”

“What was it about, then?” Wyll asked. “We’ve all said silly things we regret.”

“This wasn’t some silly thing, though” you clarified. “It was kind of important.”

Astarion ran out of a room beyond the balcony looking down into the taproom. “Would you all hurry up? I think I found her.”

You approached him as quickly as you could, trying to catch him off guard and reaching for his hand, but he dodged you and slipped back into the room. 

“Astarion!” you called and sped up even more to follow after him. 

You and the rest of the party entered into a large room - sectioned off to your right was a wall with two large doorways that lead into what appeared to be a study, complete with looming bookcases, a desk, and a fireplace. The rest of the room appeared to be a bedroom, based on the large bed with its headboard resting against the back wall, and a number of wardrobes. A large door that you assumed led outside stood next to the bed.

“Fancy digs,” Karlach murmured. 

You paused when Astarion thrust open the balcony door and revealed a woman with short white hair muttering incantations under her breath, surrounded by candles and white light.

“Now there’s a cleric of Selûne if I’ve ever seen one,” Gale said.

“And just how many of those have you come across?” Shadowheart sniffed.

“Quite a lot in my studies, actually. I’ve read about this one cleric of Selûne who-”

“Stop speaking,” Lae’zel hissed as you and your party made their way onto the balcony with Isobel. 

An orb of light appeared in Isobel’s hand and she spun her hands around it, making it grow bigger and brighter with moon magic. High above your heads, a full moon somehow shown down on you, despite Shar’s curse. The eight of you remained silent as she thrust the orb upwards where it met the barrier of the moonshield and reinforced the entire thing with a burst of light. 

Isobel looked up to admire her work before coughing weakly and turning around to face you all. “I didn’t realize I had an audience.”

“Really?” Astarion crossed his arms. “I mean, with me, I can understand, but they sound like a stampede of wild gnolls.” He gestured to the rest of you. 

Isobel gave him an amused half smile. “Please,” she extended a hand back into her room, “join me inside.” 

You purposely let the others go ahead of you and grabbed Astarion’s wrist before he could slip past you again. “I have things I need to say to you,” you said quietly.

“Perhaps later,” he responded, pulling his arm from your grasp and nearly tripping back into Isobel’s chambers. 

You rolled your eyes and followed him in, only to be addressed directly by Isobel herself.

“The True Soul who’s come to save us all.” She looked you up and down and smiled. “I’m Isobel. Pleased to meet you.” She finished with a small bow.

“And you,” you returned her bow and saw Karlach mimic it out of the corner of your eye. “We’ve been told you’re the protector of this inn - the banisher of shadows.” You wiggled your fingers as if telling small children about the boogeyman.

Isobel laughed lightly. “Myself and Our Lady are doing what we can to hold the line. I hear you and your tadpole will be our offense.” 

“Show us what to slay and it shall be done,” Lae’zel offered matter-of-factly.

Isobel scanned your group thoughtfully, the black paint around her eyes making her irises look piercingly blue. “All of you… free from the Absolute’s influence, yet able to walk among cultists. It’s almost too good to be true.”

“Uh, that it is,” Halsin said. “I, myself, remain tadpole free. Though I seek to help rid this land of the shadows that dwell here.”

“Then Our Lady thanks you most graciously,” Isobel nodded towards Halsin and he looked pleased by her approval. She turned back to you. “I’d be a poor cleric indeed not to avail of a blessing when I see one.” 

“Hear that?” Karlach nudged Wyll. “We’re a blessing.”

“We’ll certainly try to earn the praise,” Wyll chuckled. 

“Let me guess,” Isobel raised her eyebrows, assessing your group again, “Jaheira sent you all to beg a protection spell off her favorite cleric.” 

“You got it,” Gale confirmed. 

“If you wouldn’t mind,” Karlach added.

“With pleasure,” Isobel laughed. 

She closed her eyes as a golden column of light overtook her entire being. Lifting an arm above her head, her entire body turned gold until the light concentrated into only the hand she had raised in the air. She brought it down and held it in front of you, palm facing outwards. 

Suddenly, you were all surrounded by the same column of golden light that enveloped Isobel, and a warm calmness overtook your senses. 

Suddenly you knew that the shadows would subside and that you all would be bathed in the peaceful light of the moon once again.

Suddenly, it felt like everything was going to be okay. 

“Tingly,” you remarked.

“Perfect,” Isobel smiled. “That spell will make you immune to the lesser effects of the shadow curse, which will get you closer to the towers.”

“Thank you,” you said, observing your limbs and noticing how they now vaguely glowed with moon magic. Your companions seemed to be doing the same.

“But,” Isobel continued, “there are places it won’t help - places where the curse is darker. Stronger.” 

“And we will destroy these stronger shadows,” Lae’zel lifted her head confidently. 

Isobel exhaled slowly. “The cultists are able to traverse even the deepest shadows, though. I don’t know how - the Harpers are trying to figure it out.”

Shadowheart, who seemed to be more interested in the glowing of her limbs than the rest of you, looked up at Isobel with a scowl. “Selûnite magic. Dark Lady forgive me.”

“Good nose,” Isobel said sarcastically. “Like a nasty little terrier.”

Lae’zel snorted. “She already proclaimed herself to be a follower of Selûne. Were you not listening?”

Shadowheart shot her a glare. 

“Well, this has been lovely,” Astarion said, making his way to the door leading back into the inn proper. “Anything else we should know before we head off to save the day?” He was already halfway out the door, not bothering to wait for an answer, clearly trying to make a stealthy exit. 

You eyed Halsin, who nodded and retrieved the rogue by his arm before he could leave, closing the door behind both of them for good measure.

“Let me go, you humongous imbecile!” Astarion pounded his free arm against Halsin’s chest before Halsin released him and refused to let him move a muscle towards the door. Astarion huffed and crossed his arms, turning his nose up at the rest of you.

“Is he okay?” Isobel asked. 

“This is relatively normal behavior from him, actually,” Karlach said. 

“But please,” you waved a hand in front of yourself, “is there anything else we should know?”

Isobel thought for a moment. “Ketheric is a frightening man. But you have something he doesn’t: allies worth having.” 

You felt a wave of pride wash over you and your companions. 

“Daw,” Karlach kicked at the floorboard under her feet. “That’s very sweet.”

Isobel gave her a small smile. “While you’re all busy at the towers, I’ll be sure to-” 

She froze. 

“Wait. Do you hear that?”

The eight of you strained to hear what she could be referring to. 

Astarion clicked his tongue loudly. “I don’t hear-”

Isobel interrupted him. “Something’s wrong.”

That’s when you finally heard it: The beating of wings followed by a man landing hard on Isobel’s balcony. He wore the uniform of a Flaming Fist, and the way his wings moved seemed new and unnatural. He stood and retracted the black, feathery abominations, before exhaling and walking into the room. 

“Hello, Isobel.”

“Marcus,” Isobel breathed, “is that you? What’s happened to you?”

Halsin leaned forward. “I take it, you know this man?”

“I’ve been blessed,” Marcus said before Isobel could answer. “You can be, too. Come with me and you can hear all about it from Ketheric himself.”

“Isobel,” you said, not taking your eyes off Marcus, “who is this man?”

“He’s a Flaming Fist!” she exclaimed. “Or was. He came with the others when we created this haven.” 

“There are more Fists here?” Wyll muttered. 

Marcus addressed Isobel, “And I thank you for your hospitality.” Then he turned towards you.

You felt the familiar squirm of your tadpole being probed. Much to your dismay, Marcus’s voice rang out inside your head. 

“True Soul, my instructions are clear: take the girl to Ketheric.”

You wrinkled your nose, hating the sensation of his unwanted presence in your brain. In an act of defiance, you needled further into his own mind. 

A haunting face swam into your mind’s eye, its instructions vivid: “nothing is more important than bringing the girl - alive.”

Isobel must have seen the sour expression on your face because she turned towards Marcus aggressively. “What’s going on? If you have something to say, say it.”

“Marcus is trying to kidnap you, Isobel” you narrowed your eyes at the Fist. You looked back at your party, all of whom were already getting into battle positions. You turned to Marcus and took one step forward, bending your knees and dropping into a fighting stance. “Looks like we’re going to have to fight our way out of this one.”

Isobel’s eyes went wide.

“Pathetic,” Marcus spat. “The Absolute sees all - your treachery will be punished!” 

“The Absolute,” Isobel repeated before scowling. “Of course.” She gave Marcus a pleading look when she said, “You can’t believe them, Marcus. Ketheric will never give you whatever it is you’ve been promised.”

Marcus chuckled darkly and spread his hideous wings. “He already has.” He looked at her dead in the eyes. “Time to go, Isobel.”

With that, he reared backwards and roared loudly, far louder than any human of his size should be able to manage. You all stood in horror as you heard screeches and roars from Winged Horrors that flew abruptly into the inn and Isobel’s room. Already, you could hear shouting and screams from down below.

Isobel lifted a hand into the air. “Moonmaiden, guide my hand!”

Before she could cast anything, Marcus let out another piercing roar, knocking you all off guard.

Gale, who’d been standing out of his range, ran forward, a spell already prepped in his hand. When his touch connected with Isobel, she vanished; invisible.

“Good thinking, Gale!” you shouted, pulling your lute off your back and strumming some inspiration in his direction. 

Karlach and Lazel were already knocking back the Winged Horrors with their weapons, while Wyll thrust his rapier towards Marcus. Halsin shifted into bear form and growled at the Fist before taking a slash at him. Shadowheart summoned a circle of Spirit Guardians and rushed into the fray.

“We need to check on the others!” you shouted above the din of the battle. “I think they’ve got it covered in here!”

Astarion twirled a dagger in his hand. “Excellent idea, my darling,” he smirked before thrusting open the doors out into the inn.

To your shock and horror, you both found Raphael standing there, nonchalantly checking his nails. 

“Ah!” he said with fake surprise when he finally acknowledged you both standing there. “Just the lovebirds I was looking for. Remember that favor I mentioned earlier?”

“Right now?!” you cried in disbelief, gesturing to the chaos around you. You witnessed Jaheira shift into a jaguar and swat a Winged Horror out of the air. 

Raphael chuckled. “Oh, I think right now is the perfect time.” He raised his hand.

You and Astarion exchanged frantic glances.

“Wait!” Astarion shouted.

Raphael snapped his fingers.

And everything went black.

[007reid]

u have absolutely no idea what 'coffee caramels' did to me omg 😭 u write spencer and his mannerisms so WELL hsbsghdbdh so i come to u with a lil request if that's okay with u !!

spencer insists on playing pretend-doctor for reader who's sick (but denying it) so he invokes his technically-a-doctor card and gives his second opinion just to take care of reader n smother them w looooove

essentially just him teasing y/n and being the stupid Cute attentive nerd he is <3

(inspired by S5E3 where he gets stuck at the bau w garcia bc he was being stubborn abt his injury)

i am never ever Normal abt this guy 😞 i look forward to reading more of ur work and losing my mind over reid with u, aine !! mwa

hiii tysm for requesting, youre so fucking sweet!! <33 drop an emoji to let me know who you are and let’s loose our mind over our fav boy together anon!!!! also sorry this took so long, i wrote like 3k but then hated it so i started over, i love this prompt sm so i feel like i had to do it justice.

pspspsp i love s5 spence so fucking much... his hair went from beautiful to ethereal to mad sexy...s5 treated us well. requests are ALWAYS appreciated !!!!!!

soup. spencer reid

spencer reid x fem!reader, 3k

you've been off it for so long, dodging virus after virus and disease after disease and just right when you thought that you are immune to sickness, you caught it. the inevitable fever.

there was no denying it, you've tried. after getting a headache, you popped a tylenol before you went to sleep, nonchalant. the next morning was when reality really came crashing down. a sore throat.

it progressively got worse throughout the day, and when you came crashing into bed after a long day at work, your nose was feeling stuffy and your were coughing, spewing sickness everywhere you went. you woke up in the middle of night sweating like you had just ran a fucking marathon and only able to breathe through one nostril unless you shift your body entirely.

you did not take to these news well. firmly in denial, you still planned to show up to work the next day.

except you didn't show up to work. sickly and delirious, the part when you press snooze then snooze again slip your mind and at one point you must've turn off your alarm entirely. drifting in and out of consciousness and slipping into dream after dream, it gets harder to tell what is real and what is not.

"y/n? y/n!"

now, it is very probable that the voice isn’t actually real, because why the hell would you be hearing spencer reid’s voice outside of work? the chances are slim to none, and despite the heat pounding at your skull you manage to smile. there is something unexplainably comforting about spencer’s voice, soft and deliberate. it would be foolish to say that under the mad spell he’d cast on you (him simply saying two words) he’s managed to melt away your headache, because he didn’t. you still feel like shit.

“y/n?”

you frown, the voice sounding too insistent and real and not matching up with the visuals of your dream. you feel a tapping on your shoulder and when you blink your eyes open you could’ve screamed.

you jump up and then backwards, huddling your blanket with you, scared for your life. because right in front of you is perhaps the most intimidating creature on the earth; spencer reid in a purple sweater vest with his face so close to yours he could breathe in your sickness, hair tucked carefully behind his ear.

“spencer?” you ask incredulously, but instead your voice comes out a rasp. you clear your throat, feeling something warm creep up your cheek. it might be a blush, but you blame it on the chills. you keep blinking, trying to regain your vision and feel instantaneous embarrassment. you look a mess, sick and dehydrated with dry lips and bad hair and you probably reek of morning breath. and spencer’s there, looking like heaven’s finest angel, smiling at you like he’s smiling at a person and not a monster. spencer has the tendency to treat and look at everyone like they’re the love of his life. you sort of hate it.

“hi y/n,” he breathes, crouching down on the floor before you on the bed. “i—“

“what are you doing here?” you’re too impatient to wait, still in shock.

now. you try not to make it obvious that you have a mad crush on spencer, because if the fact were to spill, you’re not eager cleaning up the consequences. it’s an unestablished, unspoken rule that should be common sense that no workplace dating will be allowed and usually it’s a ridiculous rule, because who the hell would want to date their coworker, like actually? work crushes are normal but they exist only in a part of your day, an eye-candy for you to stare at to get through the day, then you go home or go out and forget about them. who actually has serious work crushes, actually? actually? it’s ridiculous.

your defense is completely solid, you’d say. your number one defense is you can’t help the fact that you and spencer were meant to be friends. the moment you joined the team, you and spencer clicked together like two lego pieces, despite your clashing personalities. you find it refreshing to have someone like spencer, someone who’s soft and sweet but cunning and resourceful but thoughtful and kind, and it was equally refreshing for spencer to have someone blunt and straightforward but still patient enough to put up with him.

spencer doesn’t like physical touch but ever since your first week he made you the exception and if you could, you would parade the privilege around like a badge. what can you say, you’re proud to be spencer’s little exception, anyone would be. he makes you feel special, differently than the others do and what’s a girl to do? to have that great of a relationship with a coworker and not be work spouses and not be actually head over heels with the guy? how laughable.

it’s not something you’re proud of, however. you know it’s a lost cause, chasing after spencer. it hurts, sometimes, but you always patted yourself on the back with an ‘it is what it is.’ spencer, as sweet and vulnerable as he is, has layers behind his thinly veiled heart. he talks a lot but he never talks about himself and he never talks about the past so he doesn’t have to revive it, so all the memories are just wounds left out and neglected to burn. spencer’s trouble, definitely trouble, but it’s hard to be aware of the workload that spencer reid is when he’s rambling to you about something as innocent as halloween or knocking his knuckles on your knee during a flight trying to get your attention.

spencer blinks sheepishly, settling criss cross apple sauce on the ground, lanky legs twisting uncomfortably. “you didn’t come into work and you didn’t answer your phone,” he explains. “emily told me to go check on you.”

you nod. he’s here because emily told him to. it makes a lot more sense now. “i’ll head in the office now,” you say, making your way out of bed, wiping at your eyes. “sorry—“

“no you’re not,” spencer says immediately, not even hesitating. he places a hand on your upper chest, pressing you back down on the bed. the butterflies at the pit of your stomach throws a fit. you know he means nothing by the action—has spencer reid ever been the one knowledgeable about romance?—but knowing that doesn’t help the heat that spread up your cheeks that’s definitely not from the sickness. “you’re burning up,” he says. “i’ll get you some water. you should clean up,” he says, uncrossing his legs difficultly and then stumbling out the room, mismatched socks slipping on the hardwood floor.

you take advantage of the time that spencer’s not there and race to the bathroom, ignoring the blackout and the dizziness that threatens to make you faint from getting up too abruptly. you squirt some toothpaste onto your toothbrush and by the time you exit the bathroom, spencer is already there, waiting, except he’s by your desk, hands on a book.

typical.

he perks up when he hears your footsteps pad into the room, turning around, looking like a child who’s been caught with your book in his hands. you smile at him, albeit it’s a pathetic smile. you feel dizzy.

“you like toni morrison?”

“i love toni morrison,” spencer chirps, excitement bouncing all over his face. “especially her masterwork, beloved,” he looks back down at your red copy admiringly then sets it down. "get back in bed," he says, and you can't wrap your hand around how ridiculous the situation is. your coworker, or work crush, is at your house, checking your temperature and shooing you to bed to rest. "i bought you soup so you can eat up, i--"

“you bought me soup?” you ask, incredulous. spencer nods seriously.

“it's proven that eating soup makes people feel better, not just some stereotype. the right amount of sodium can help help relieve sore throat pains and the vitamins and minerals found in soup can play a very large part in recovery...i had a feeling you were going to be sick, it’s the weather, you know? everyone is catching the cold. you need to eat it before it gets cold, the heat helps with nasal digestion and also sinus pressure and it'll be useless if you ate it lukewarm...i’ll be right back…” and with the babbling his voice fades out as he walks back out to the living room, leaving you alone standing on the side of your bed. you look at the forgotten copy of beloved set carefully back onto your desk, smiling to yourself slightly before climbing back into bed, because spencer says so and spencer’s always right but mostly because your legs feel like they’re going to give out.

spencer is speedy, striding several steps at once with his ridiculously long legs that looks unnaturally lanky but once he reaches your room again, soup and spoon in hand you were already nodding off, head lolling and eyes slipping shut. spencer stops at your bed stand, thinking to himself for a second before balancing the plastic bowl of soup on one hand and using the other to gently nudge at your face, waking you up. he grimaces when he feels that your skin burns to the touch, a bright tint to your cheeks that he hates himself for liking because you're sick, he shouldn't be thinking that you're pretty or stuff like that.

spencer waves the thought away, determined to focus on his mission. deliver soup, make sure you're okay, and send his farewells. that's what emily told him to do, and even though derek added a "kiss her goodnight too, loverboy!" he's only going to listen to emily, because emily knows best.

yes. perfect. that's exactly what he's going to do.

"hey," he whispers, caressing his thumb across the lightly purple patch under your eye, frowning to himself. you haven't been getting good enough sleep, and he feels guiltier for waking you up, but then straightens himself up resolutely--no. emily said the soup must be delivered and consumed--just to melt again when your eyes flutter open, confused and traces of sleep still floating around your facial expression. "sorry," he mumbles, feeling oddly embarrassed. "it's just--i mean, you don't have to, jus' want you to eat something before you sleep again."

you sit up slowly, and once you're fully awake again, the smell of the soup hits you like a bucket of ice and you suddenly feel your mouth watering. you feel like a princess, sitting there with your hands crossed in your lap while you wait for spencer to unwrap the plastic utensils and tissues from its clear packaging, carefully opening up the lid of the soup on the night stand and hot steam floats around the room, engulfing both you and spencer in a bubble of tomato soup.

spencer, a planner that he is, didn't let you eat directly from the plastic take-out bowl from the restaurant and had rummaged through your kitchen for a bowl and pours half the soup into the ceramic, no spillage and perfectly clean. then he hands the soup to you, and you eat.

to say that spencer is concerned is to say the least. you're a profiler, and you're trained to pick up on this sort of thing but you only need to be a child with an undeveloped brain to work out that spencer's worried, watching your every move and monitoring that you eat enough, the crease in his brows deepen whenever you set the bowl down so you pick it up again and stuff two more spoonfuls in your mouth, to hopefully make him worry less.

the silence is awkward, the only sounds in the room is you biting down on the spoon occasionally as you drink your soup and spencer watching intently, hands on his chin and unaware of his staring problem. you and spencer rarely has these kind of silences, the silences where you scramble for things to say because the atmosphere would always be too comfortable. you sneak glances at him as you eat. since spencer's completely oblivious to the heaviness of the silence, you feel it's up to you to break it.

"i'll clock in once i'm finish eating this, don't worry," you say, trying your best to sound reassuring as you try to choke back a spoonful of soup too big. you lick your lips, and spencer is biting his, a bad habit.

"no you're not, y/n," he says, exasperated. normally, when spencer uses his 'i'm right so you should listen to me' tone like this, it means he's geared for an argument and you would be happy to challenge him, but now you can't find the energy for it. yet you muster enough up anyway.

"i'm only a bit shaken up 'cause of the weather," you say, trying to sound as convincing as possible, still in the calm before the storm of the bicker. "'m not immobile. and i already used up all my off days visiting my family--"

spencer, however, didn't bother for the peaceful offering. "you're not coming in today, y/n," he says, and he sounds a bit anxious but you know his true intent. his eyes are mirthful with confidence, and he knows he's already won the argument. despite the buzzing in your ears and the fuzziness in your brain, you can't let the bastard win. you can't.

“i can’t miss anymore days spencer, and i won’t,” you say coldly, but you slurping on the soup hungrily like it’s your last day on earth sort of ruined your cool facade. “i’m not too sick, either, it’ll be useless for me to stay home—“

spencer reaches to press his palm against your forehead, his skin cold to the touch. you close your eyes instinctively.

“you’re burning up,” he announces. “means your sick. you’re not coming in today, y/n.”

“says who?” you say defensively, feeling a bit like you’re loosing.

“says me,” spencer says cooly, cheeky smile at his lips. you should hate it more than you do. “who’s a doctor.”

you scoff. “so now you’re an actual doctor? you got a medical phd on you?”

“i have a bachelor in medicine and enough doctorates to make me slightly knowledgeable in every field,” spencer quips and you didn’t even know that he had a bachelor in medicine. how many fucking degrees does this guy even have on his resume?

“whatever,” you grumble, sounding a lot like someone who’s just got defeated. you set the bowl of soup down on the nightstand and spencer hands you a bottled water before you could think about needing water. you pluck it from his offering hands, muttering a “thanks” under your breath.

spencer laughs quietly, watching you drink patiently and putting the cap back on when you hand him back the bottle, setting it next to your soup. you feel ridiculously babied and your cheeks burn with the guilt you feel. you’re talking him off his office hours just to be here and feed you stuff and make sure you’re taking care of yourself.

spencer, the 24/7 profiler, notices. "is something wrong?" he asks innocently, round eyes blinking and oblivious. bless him. "you got redder. is it too hot? i can adjust the a/c."

“fine,” you mumble, still a little embarrassed with your realization. “little cold, actually.”

“it's the chills from your fever,” spencer informs you. “i…” he pauses, frowning again, frustrated from not being able to finish his thought. he abandons it. “do you need anything else?”

“no spence,” you laugh sort of pathetically, throat strained. “you’ve been an angel already. you can go back to the office, if you want.”

spencer thinks back to what emily had told him. soup. make sure she’s ok. leave. he’s done the past two steps. it’s time he completes his mission.

but…

“are you sure?” he prods, a little bit of him hoping that you'd say no. he doesn't know what it is; something bothering him, making him dread leaving.

you didn't get the cue. "mhmm," you shoot him a reassuring smile. as reassuring as you can manage, anyway, grimacing at the insistent throb in your head. spencer gnaws on his bottom lip, indecisive. you don't know what he was deciding between.

whatever battle it was, he wraps it up quick. "okay," he repeats. "i'll get back."

"you do that."

"remember to drink water."

"i will."

"do you need me to bring you more?"

"i'm okay."

"okay."

"okay."

the conversation feels incomplete and spencer isn't interested to complete it, booting out the door, except he lingers for a bit and awkwardly turns around, hand on the frame. you are already looking at him when he looks at you.

you and spencer are never this awkward, never this hesitant and strange. the tension that suffocates your room feels like signature first-date-tension, the kind of nervous excitement and tip-toeing blind lovers and uncertainty.

"are you sure?"

i'd rather you stay. you push the response away. "i am."

"you have medicine right?"

you do have medicine. for a brief moment, you want to lie about it; want to say that you ran out this morning and then he would run to the store for you and return and then spend more time in your insufferable, sickly presence. you brush the thought away within a second. never in a million years do you want to bother spencer, especially not with a thing as selfish as that. maybe it's because of your biased vision but spencer is looking like he's desperate to leave, practically screaming for outlet at the door. it's time you let him go and indulge in the worst sleep you'll ever have.

"yeah," you say, clearing your throat. "i do."

"okay," spencer says. "i'll go."

"thanks," you add awkwardly. "for the soup. and for coming."

"'course" spencer says absentmindedly, lingering at the door frame but not looking at you in particular, not looking at anything. he snaps back and sends you a wave. spencer has a power to him where everything he does looks unplanned, like he's doing it against his own will.

he leaves. if you had change your mind and ask for him to come back, for him to stay, he would've. no hesitation. but you didn't, and he wiggles back in his broken in converses and return back to the bau with no elevator partner.

maybe another day.

a/n: sorry for the ending, this was getting too long so i had to cut it short 😓😓but i think it's kinda fitting! lmk if you guys want a part 2 <3

[novankenn]

Imagine the Arc sisters(Harley arc family) Each pick a girl they think would be best ro date their brother while the girls look on in confusion and Jaune is just blushing in the corner. (Bonus points if none of the crazy sisters pick Pyrrha but Saffron quietly tells Pyrrha she is rooting for her. Also everyone dunking on Weiss.)

Jaune was hiding, behind the locked door of his dorm's bathroom, as the entirety of his immediate family... YES all of them... was currently having a "discussion " in the common room about his love life.

Mama (Harley Quinn) Arc: Girls... GIRLS!

The arguing voices quieted.

Mama Arc: Now we ALL know that our love-bunny-wunny has a hard time speaking to girls, and let's be honest that's because of us. I mean how can he EVER hope to find anyone as perfect for him as we are!

Arc Sisters: DAMN RIGHT!

Mama Arc: Now, be that as it may, our puddin' needs someone to watch over him, to cuddle, pamper and hold him when none of us are around... so... please present your personally chosen candidates. Jinx...

Jinx: That's me!

Mama Arc: You're first.

Jinx: the choice is simple. He needs someone chaotic and energetic. Someone that will always remind him of us so... I chose...

Nora: ME??? But I'm with Re...

Jinx: We offer explosives, pancakes and breaking stuff!

Nora: That include legs?

Jinx: Of Course!

Nora: I'm IN!

Mama Arc: Interesting choice. Tiny Tina you're next. Who do you...

Tiny Tina: SHE WAS MY CHOICE!!!! Mom Jinx took my idea!

Jinx: Snooze you loose!

Mama Arc: Girls behave! No fighting!

Jinx & Tiny Tina: Sorry.

Mama Arc: Do you have a second choice?

Tiny Tina: Well...

Ruby: ME!?!?!?

Tiny Tina: Yeppers.

Ruby: Why?

Tiny Tina: You're smart, cute, adorable, and like guns. You're almost as perfect... no on second thought you are PERECT!!

Ruby: Um... thank you?

Mama Arc: You are right she is adorably cute, and oh I can just see the GRANDBABIES!!!

Ruby: EEP!!!

Mama Arc: Saphron, you're next.

Saphron: I refuse. We have no right to be interfering in Jaune's love life, and besides we came here to SEE Jaune, not matchmake!

Mama Arc: We can do both dear, but I accept you decision.

Saphron: (Whispering) You better make your move soon red...

Pyrrha: (Whispering) What?

Saphron: (Whispering) You heard me. Make your move... I'm rooting for you.

Pyrrha: (Whispering) Ah... um... th...thank... you?

Mama Arc: Now while Saphron plots like a traitor, you're up Rebecca.

Rebecca: The girl I picked is the best! She's the strong silent type and kick ass enough to keep Jaune safe from everything, even man stealing homewrecking hussies!

Neo: 😵‍💫⁉️😵‍💫

Mama Arc: Is she okay?

Rebecca: She's... hey! Get back here!

Neo: 😝🤑😝

Mama Arc: No shooting in the hallways!!! Ah whatever. Joan...

Joan: Jeanne and I are making a joint choice for Jaune.

Jeanne: That is correct, and we expect everyone to respect and accept our... choice.

Mama Arc: You mean suggestion.

Joan & Jeanne: Choice.

Mama Arc: Okay. And who is this... choice?

Joan & Jeanne: Her!

Yang: ME?!?!?

Joan & Jeanne: Yes. You.

Yang: But I don't like VB like that!

Joan & Jeanne: VB?

Yang: It's Jaune's nickname...

Ruby & Weiss: Don't Yang!

Yang: ... Vomit Boy.

Joan: We may have made a mistake.

Jeanne: We must correct it.

Yang: Huh?

Joan: Burning at the stake?

Jeanne: It is fitting.

Jeanne and Joan each hook one of Yang's arms and start walking out of the room with her.

Yang: Hey! Unhand me! Let me go!

Mama Arc: Saphron, can you get Jaune and get a stay of execution, please dear?

Saphron: Yes, mom. Come on Red, let's get you... partner.

Mama Arc: Saphron.... any way. Utena you're next.

Utena: Jaune needs someone adventurous and exotic, and I choose her!

Blake: ME????

Utena: Yes.

Blake: But why?

Utena: Cause.

Blake: That's not a reason!

Mama Arc: Ah, Utena IF Blake is your suggestion, why are you holding Ms... Schnee's hand?

Utena: She's seen the error of her ways... but needs some more correction...

Weiss: Help me?

Mama Arc: Ah... Utena... fine. But don't break her too much. She has classes in the morning.

Weiss: Help me?

Mama Arc: Well as I have seen your choices, I shall reveal mine as well. I choose... HER!

Glynda: I... refuse! This is unacceptable!

Mama Arc: My puddin' needs a mature and motherly figure in his life. You're perfect and... this is non-negotiable...

[witch-craft-works]

So I'm in love with @yuri-is-online's Fyuuture Kid AU I've been keeping up with it for a while and since I've been watching Fairy tail recently I've come up with this:

Yes this is a AcexYuu post cause at this point the ship owns my soul. (I took some creative liberties when it came to Yuu's appearance. Yuu is referred to as a female a few times in the post hope that's ok)

(TW: Death, angst, Happy ending? sort of? You be the judge of that)

Ace laid on the ground. Everything felt numb he's wondering how he can still see as his senses dull. He looked up at the boy who stood above him.

It's a bit ironic to be defeated by someone who looks so similar to him but...those eyes...those eyes he couldn't bring himself to look at moments before...how he wanted to just rid himself of any guilt he felt...how he couldn't protect the one person in the world he cherished the most...But as soon as he peered into them a wave of Nostalgia flooded his body.

He's peered into those eyes so many times. That lovely hue of pink he's grown so fond of...

"Ace! you got collared again? what did you do?" a familiar voice questioned "hah?! why do you always assume that I did something wrong? You're so mean" Ace said childishly Yuu shook their head rolling their eyes at Ace's dramatic actions "so are you gonna come in?" Yuu asked stepping aside. Ace gladly walked in "ooo! you have pie?" Ace asked looking at the pie that had been almost fully eaten the culprit sleeping on the couch murmuring about tuna

"Yeah I was in town earlier and saw some it was 25% off" Yuu gave him a thumbs up as Ace helped himself to a slice his eyes lighting up as he spotted the cherries baked into the pie. "Hey! that's a big piece! save some for me!" Yuu exclaimed dashing forward as Ace stuck his tongue out at the Ramshackle prefect "you snooze you loose" he teased "and you call me the mean one" Yuu pouted as they playfully punched Ace in the shoulder

.

.

.

He knew he was dying...He just regrets that he never got to see them...just one more time would have been enough.

"Hey...kid...whats your name?" Ace coughed out. The young boy's eyes widened at his father's...no at the overblot's question he refused to see him as the Ace Crewel described. The Ace that his mother fell in love with.

This thing was only wearing his father's face

"E-Elias" he spoke, his voice coming out more shakier then he wanted it to be.

Ace's lips parted before forming a smile "Elias huh?...I like it..." Ace let out a shaky breath

His eyes dulled as he spoke his last words...

"I...really like it"

Yutu stood there over the now dead overblot. This thing wasn't his father...so why...why did he just want to kneel over and cry. He was only a shell of his former self so why...why did it hurt so much?

Crewel approached the young boy. He looked down at his former student. His mind flashed back to years ago. The many make up tests Ace and Deuce had to come in for, the constantly bickering coming from Ace and Grim and the many times he, Yuu and the other came out victorious after defeating an overblot and saving the dorm leader from losing themself to despair...

Crewel knelt down beside Ace and closed his eyes. It was the least he could do...if only he could have done more for him...

.

.

.

.

.

A bright light caused him to squint his eyes. He slowly opened them as a nice breeze hit his body, sitting up he found himself in a large field. Blinking a few times he looked down at himself, "I'm...normal again" he uttered when suddenly everything came flooding back. As well as the realization of what happened

"Oh..." he uttered as he looked up. Standing up he decided to explore what else was there for him to do? Before he could step forward he heard a familiar voice

"Hey! Ace!" his eyes widened as he turned around. No way...it couldn't be...right?

There she was...those familiar pink eyes he had grown to love "What are you standing around for get over here!" Yuu called once more waving her hand. "Come on! Don't keep me waiting for you!" Yuu said once more before running ahead. "And you call me a slow poke" Yuu teased crossing their arms.

"Yuu...you're here that means..." he uttered "yeah I've been here for some time. Same with Jack" Yuu said when suddenly they were pulled in for a hug. "Ace?" Yuu questioned as he burried his face in their shoulder feeling the fabric of their shirt begin to get moist.

"I'm sorry...I wasn't there...I should have been there" he uttered. "Oh Ace..." Yuu's eyes softened before patting his head. He then moved away from them before wiping his face with his sleeve "it couldn't have been helped..." Yuu said

"They didn't...hurt you right? Deuce said that his office was responsible for what happened but he couldn't get any information out of them" he said "no I was fine...if anything I'm sorry...I forgot you, no matter how hard I tried to...I just couldn't" Yuu said.

Ace frowned "hey it doesn't matter anymore" Yuu said "still...wish I could teach those guys a lesson or two...assholes" Ace grumbled "but if anything...I wish I could have been in the kids life...I..." he trailed off

"I know I saw. You weren't in your right mind none of you were. Just because we're no longer around doesn't mean we can't keep watching over him. What do you think I've been doing this whole time?" Yuu asked.

"Yeah...he's perfect you know...no doubt it's my genes shining through" he said with a shit eating smirk "of course you'd be smug about it" Yuu deadpanned "what! he's basically a mini version of me!" he exclaimed

"Yeah, yeah I hear you" Yuu said with a smile shaking their head. They'd really miss this. Being able to talk with Ace like this.

"I'm glad he's got your eyes thought. Always loved them" he said. Yuu's eyes widened before smiling "aww you're making me blush" Yuu said before stand up.

"You ready to go? Deuce is waiting for us" Yuu said "right can't keep Loosey Deucey waiting" Ace said standing up intertwining his hands with Yuu's.

Squeezing his hand Yuu pulled Ace forward.

Ace smiled. Happy to finally have them with him again.

[vintagerpg]

Azag (2021) is a neat 2-volume rule set and game setting. This is the limited edition from LFOSR. It descends, primarily, from Dungeoneer/Advanced Fighting Fantasy, which makes it a cousin of sorts to Troika. I am tempted to call it the less weird cousin, but that isn’t entirely true — it is just a different sort of weird.

Three attributes. Basic rolling is 2d6, rolling high in opposed contests, rolling low when testing your attributes. Unlike Troika, other dice can be swapped in to simulate greater ease or difficulty — climbing during a blizzard, say, might warrant 2d8 or 2d10 for a Stamina test, depending on the severity of the storm. Combat is more formally structured than Troika, but still pretty fast and loose compared to other games. There are mechanics for social encounters, too, with an ante system that spends Luck, which I really like — it is nice to have a mechanical underpinning for social stuff if you need it. Spellcasting is point-based and the player rolls for success, putting it essentially in line with the skill system. Failure invites calamity. And spellcasters can duel; in this case, casting is an opposed test, and the loser suffers calamity (rather than the cast spell effect — you’re basically dealing with raw arcane energy in a duel). Its a fun, flexible little system!

The world is nice too, cobbled thematically out of early-20th century pulp traditions, particularly Clark Ashton Smith’s stories and Lovecraft’s Dreamlands, both of which feel less explored than say, Conan. It feels a little more restrained and fuzzier at the edges than something like Hyperboria or even DCC. I loooove Logan Stahl’s art, particularly the cover of Volume 2, featuring a snoozing Tsathoggua. In game terms, the world is defined by micro fiction and random tables for encounter seeds and such. These make for an interesting approach that is atmospheric without being overly locked into specific details.

[scorchieart]

Doodles and Dust

Genre: Slice of Life

Characters: Jin Grandet, Sariel Noir

Wordcount: 700

Prompts: In the shadows, Make it...

A/N: My gift for the 2024 Ikemen Exchange over on @flash-exchange for @pathogenic. Despite them having one of my favorite friendships in the game, I don't often write these two together. So I'm very happy I got to work on this for ya, Ollie!

“Cinnamon sticks, old man— You scared the sugarcubes outta me,” Jin heaved, clutching the door with one hand and his chest with the other. It always was a shock running into him unscheduled. Doubly so in a dark attic.

Sariel did not look up from the trunk he rifled through. “If you are looking for your magazines, Prince Yves disposed of them last week,” he said.

“Magazines?” scoffed Jin. “You misunderstand. I am here for the same noble reason as yourself.” 

“How fortuitous that we both elected to use our lunch breaks productively today.” Sariel lifted his head and cobwebs swayed off his hair giving his face a ghoulish glow. “I have this area covered. Please start by searching there.” He pointed to a corner where stacks of dusty bookshelves leaned against one another in ominous invitation.

Jin groaned, masking it with a blazing grin. “You’re looking for a magazine, right?” 

The entirety of Sariel’s annoyance flashed with a single eyebrow twitch. “A notebook. Red. With my handwriting.”

“Embarrassing diary entries from your youth, eh?”

“An accelerated course is necessary to bring Belle up to speed with Rhodolite’s governance,” Sariel explained soberly. “I thought it prudent to reference study plans I developed from Prince Leon’s early tutoring days. Why reinvent the wheel?”

It was just a joke. Jin raised his arms in surrender and waddled over to the shelves, each so full to bursting, grabbing one book might topple the entire configuration.

Where to begin? 

Behind looked most stable. Plus he could hide there and snooze. Hey, this was supposed to be break time.

Jin scooted into the shadows, but something already occupied his napping spot. Carefully, carefully, he pulled out a large, ornate frame.  From first glance it looked like a typical painting of the palace grounds—lush rosebushes clearly recognizable to any Rhodolitian visitor—with seven tiny figures scattered across. Boys. But closer inspection revealed more; the boys were not in fact original subjects of the painting but crudely pasted on, torn edges revealing glimpses of different origins. On top of it all, notable blots of ink were scribbled over the scene, as though someone had once left behind harsh criticisms of the work.

“No way!” Jin exclaimed, “I thought I lost this ages ago!”

“And I thought those pieces were pilfered ages ago,” Sariel called as he joined him.

“You never asked. I never told,” Jin said, studying the collage. Long ago, this attic was his preferred place to practice quill-usage in solitude. He reverently glided his fingers over the markings. A pair of dark gloves covered the twins’ interlocked hands. A wide smile cut across Chevalier’s stoic face. Tears welling in Clavis’s eyes replaced with glittering stars. Even Sariel’s fury melted at the doodles.

To a child, the attic is an escape to worlds beyond imagination. To an adult, it is a prison of memory.

“Someone’s missing,” Sariel commented.

“Well, Luke wasn’t around yet.”

“Yes. But I meant His Majesty.”

Jin inhaled. “He wouldn’t have fit. They don’t make portraits that small for kings,” he said.

“But you left a sizable gap in the middle there.”

“As if I’d remember my muse from that long ago?”

“As well as you remembered to discard your drafts, it seems.” Sariel approached the frame and plucked a loose paper sticking out from the corner. Jin reflexively snatched it from his hands.

“Oh my. Embarrassing doodles from your youth?” Sariel asked with glee.

“Yves just missed a page,” Jin said, stuffing it into his pocket. Sariel decided not to comment on how Jin accidentally revealed his lie. Nor how he spotted the unmistakable drawing of a dark-haired boy with glasses on that paper.

“Goodness, how time flies!” Sariel announced. “I can always create a new study plan—Prince Luke requires one regardless. And speaking of recreating things for Prince Luke…” he mused, one hand stroking his chin. “It would be short notice, but I don’t believe the royal painter would mind. And gathering the princes would be beneficial for Belle to interrogate you all at once.”

The attic was indeed a place to unearth memories. Sometimes it worked well to inspire new ones, too.

Jin beamed. “Fine, but you’re standing next to me. Got it?”

Ever helpful, Rio volunteered to organize the entire event. He swiftly located and invited the royal painter from the farthest edge of the kingdom, booked and gathered the princes in the ballroom (resolving any and all inter-factional scheduling and squabbling conflicts that arose), and gallantly escorted Belle to the venue all with such efficiency, the princes invited him to join in for the painting. Neither Jin nor Sariel protested when he perched himself between them bearing the biggest smile of the bunch.

And that’s my headcanon for the story behind the 1st anniversary group portrait :)

[meydang]

an early morning

(nsfw)

Aventurine x reader

Warnings: morning wood, blowjob, sexual content

.

.

.

As you wiggle in bed trying to find a better position to continue sleeping, you turn around to find none other than your boyfriend sleeping peacefully beside you in your shared bed together.

Cute

How the sun hit his face and hair softly, it really is a sight too behold, you think.

After laying in bed for awhile (and admiring Aventurine's sleeping form), you sat up with a yawn to check the time.

5:54

Quite early, you think. Normally you would get up around 6:15 to make breakfast and wake Aventurine up at around 6:45 so you can both enjoy breakfast together before he left for work.

After considering it for a moment, you decided that there is no reason to have an early start today so why not snooze for a bit longer? As you were about to lie back down something caught your attention.

Hm?

Oh

Seems like someone's a little excited this morning, You thought as you glance toward the bulge of the blanket on Aventurine's side of the bed. Now what kind of a girlfriend would you be if you dont help him? Plus wouldn't it be fun to see his reaction?

With that thought you quickly dive under the cover and move to the space between his legs. After moving your boyfriend's pjs and boxer down to reveal his growing erection, you gently kiss the tip of his shaft before licking it and put it in your mouth slowly until it reached the back of your throat, your hands wrap around the base.

!?

"H-hah...!?" You can hear the fluster and surprise in Aventurine's voice as you peaked through the blanket to watch him jolt up from the bed with his face tinted red staring down in confusion.

"Good heavens-" he gasps out as his gaze soften when he realized it was you, "you startled me baby..." Aventurine spoke after letting out a soft chuckle.

You felt butterflies in your stomach.

As you move your head up and down his length, you can feel his orgasm getting closer and how his breath and moans would become messier as you continue your ministration on him.

"Hah... I-I'm close baby." Aventurine could barely say as sweat starts to form on his forehead, his bangs swayed to the side to cover one of his beautiful eyes that are looking right into yours, his hand goes over to tuck the loose hair out of your face. You swear you could get hypnotized by those eyes forever with no complaint.

With one last bob of your head, you gently squeeze the base of his shaft as he came undone all over your mouth and throat.

You try your best to swallow every drop of his cum and make sure he sees you doing it, Aventurine chuckles tiredly upon seeing what you're trying to do and kiss the crown of your head.

"Normally I would get up early and take care of these things myself when they happen, but it seems like you beat me up to it today darling... thank you~" he said with his smug grin plastered on his face and you smile at that. Only then do you remember to check the time again.

6:20

Whoops

"Come on lets get ready now Mr. Handsome, I still have to make breakfast for both of us and you don't wanna be late for work." you stood up from where you were and head to the bathroom which Aventurine followed with a pout on his face.

"But babe, I thought you had your breakfast already," he teases only to be answered by you smacking his arm despite the blush on your face being evident.

"Churin stop teasing!" You said annoyed to which your boyfriend only reaction was to laugh at your cuteness.

"fineee fine I'll stop," he gave you kisses all over your face and the redness on your face only become clearer.

"Love it when you blush~" your face basically become a tomato at this point.

[castlebyersafterdark]

Thanks a ton to all you amazing anons! I didn't think anyone would care enough to even read it. It was a spur-of-the-moment post, but big shoutout to Vinny for dubbing my ask as the manifesto—it definitely gave my ego a nice boost!

i am here to drop the content for those who asked for links, i apologise if i took too much time to reply back—I had to sift through my old FOAH playlist to do this properly and not like my earlier post.

SORRY FOR LONG ASS POST AGAIN . I KNOW I AM TOO MUCH! ( my apologies)

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LIP SYNC BATTLE:

https://youtu.be/CC_vymKA5zA?si=80NHAn6njvGu0Uya

My absolute favorite! At 1:10, finn kicks things off by mentioning his number 1—yep, you guessed it, NOAH. Then you have to see how he murders Gaten! It’s hilarious! Finn's humor is pure gold.

https://youtu.be/116daD8QFIo?si=bhtjuR3SWtSOe0ji

1:00 (famous foah moment) Finn literally walked all the way over to Noah in the middle of his performance! touches Noah with his butt and leaves with a little smile. I miss the old Finn!!! but he still yapps about Noah like a crazy person. still scores a win.

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MYSPACE: https://youtu.be/VnKJdvo3Yak?si=4jSpW9nJcQwhABc4

(so why am I suggesting that Finn's top 3 spots are his parents (with Noah taking the 4th position) (i was shocked when he said noah is his 4th) , for few reasons:

the interviewer himself specified: after your family , who would you pick from the cast?

MAYA said she would take out her dad from the list to make room for gaten.

TOP 8 (naturally) parents -> siblings -> boyfriend/girlfreind -> cast mates

sadie picked Noah & millie. Noah's actual BFFs are sadie and millie. not finn. finn is more like his_____you know. so finn wasn't even expecting noah to say his name, noah is his 4th and assumed that he is noah's 4th. which btw noah proved this year.....Noah crowned finn with 4th position in his wrap post for this particular reason.

So, why am I laying out these reasons? A lot of you might be tempted to jump straight to 2:45, which is fine, but if you do, you’ll miss out on why FOAH is probably the real deal.

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SAG AWARDS: https://youtu.be/xKZQXsbe6yI?si=k8QTKsDubexYm9pG

this is my reading, there may be some errors but overall this is the whole picture:

1:18 finn's gesture; give noah the damn mic millie

1:58 finn is asking millie "do you mind if i stand next to noah?" and millie says no.

4:48 finn was so smitten/impressed by noah's speech that he says this to millie "that was awesome"

its there....Finn's heart used to race for Noah. That was his little secret. not so much among the ST cast. pretty much every one knew. i dont even think it is a secret that he definitely fell for Noah first.

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NOAH's FIRST KISS:

I think Noah's first kiss was with Finn. There was a hint of romantic tension between them right from s1. Finn never did kissing rehersal with millie (Jimmy Fallon show).

Finn would subtly flirt with Noah during their lives, and you could see Millie grinning at it ! https://youtu.be/hbkzKGS6aIg?si=49ZWrTDAbXN795v_

https://youtu.be/S8dvjHDitMI?si=sP_CbONnYrlT-R3Y (snooze you loose: hard core flirting)

Noah's tiktok: he made a famous tiktok back in the day "googling how to kiss when you are 12" something like that : ST s2 filming time period. finn had a crush(clearly) and he could've made a move in s2. noah came prepared. mutual crush. two queer kids clicked. bam.

https://youtu.be/MpgxM0xZl1w?si=97mwvTZn2qKlo27y

Noah's Netflix live reaction video, when mike kisses eleven. I really wish Noah would make more videos like this! His commentary is just hilarious. If you have a chance, you definitely need to watch the whole video—Noah is the best, and his humor is on point! “EL IS SO SLOW, JUST KISS HIM, LMAO!”

bAcK tO ThE YoUtUbE vIdEo (in noah's voice) 28:36 watch Noah YAAS my prince ;)

interchanging of names: (famous tiktok analogy) https://youtu.be/owI3eiS_4uY?si=VrFPsDp1-msyJ2Rj

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honorable mentions: finn not letting go of noah

https://youtu.be/CFhbD61Vg6k?si=fCh6X57-xR9sGBoz

https://youtu.be/H7xZpQpEkHc?si=81fc9wCaUTS9IQFm

https://youtu.be/hagzu_h9T5E?si=iSNIuDnVWgclAwjq

Finn's eyes searching for Noah. He seems a bit disoriented throughout the video, but then a lady suddenly pushes Noah, and Finn gets really emotional? *Editing cut cut* 1:11. You can catch 1:05 watch caleb (wiping nose instruction). And if you look closely, Noah’s eyes show he’s feeling it too. Caleb and Gaten, in their supportive era!

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*Only read this if you think I'm full of crap*

I used to have a ton of FOAH analysis videos, but guess what? A lot of them have been taken down/hidden—looks like PR is keeping an eye on things! This is especially true for the award show ones. channels like MTV and ET, their videos are heavily edited now, which wasn't the case before. ‘ET’ (Canada, especially cough) went wild with editing the FOAH videos! Particularly those where Finn and Noah sat next to each other; those are basically all gone now.

proof: you wont ever find this video. if someone does, please do share. https://i.pinimg.com/736x/18/1c/fe/181cfe842e5df3c17b894b4123cb6ae8.jpg

if you ask me which media house knows about foah and ships it : GQ and WIRED GOOGLE SEARCH (they are so cheeky) i wish i could tell you all about it. so look out for GQ & WIRED for s5 promo. they'll do something again. ET also ships but its editing scissors are insane.

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wish I could share more theories, but I can't dive into everything.

thanks for reading guys! i know this is all tooooooo much!

WOAH 🫨 Passing this along for anyone who wants to investigate and have some things to watch in the meantime, I'll circle back to this Sunday - too busy tonight and tomorrow to dedicate a block of time to watch a bunch of videos, but I literally just refreshed and saw this second manifesto!!! Thank you anon for the compilation and all the work you put into this ask! 🫶🫶🫶

Anyone have any additional favorite or recommended interviews or segments in general on youtube - hit me up! I'm gonna start my revisit/deep dive Sunday because its a kickback day for me 😁

[spacecadet-ticklesinspace]

From this post.

“I’m sad now…”

“Why?”

"Sad because you wouldn’t let me bully you—”

“...What?!” 

(Chaos, pure chaos 😅❤️ Merry Christmas Eve if you celebrate ❤️ :))

Eddie chucked the fake snowball as hard as he could in the blonde's direction, but he ducked just in time. "Dang it!"

Buck jumped back up. "Ha-ha!"

Eddie bolted the other side and the snowball that was just thrown at him skimmed the top of Chimney's head instead.

"Hey!" The shorter firefighter exclaimed from his spot behind the table.

"Sorry," Buck apologized before chucking another one at him.

Chimney threw the two in his hand at the blonde's retreating form. "Sorry my foot!"

Once his hands were empty, Hen yanked him back down. "Great, now we're out of ammo."

From his spot behind the counter, Eddie pointed at the two. "Nuh-uh, that's cheating. There's no teams in a snowball fight."

"Since when is that a rule?" Hen asked before lobbing a surprise snowball at him.

Eddie ducked as it soared right past where his shoulder had been.

Chimney's eyebrows furrowed together. "I thought you said we were out of ammo?"

"Well, now we are."

After a pause, Chimney nailed her in the head with another one before taking off. "Now we are."

"You!" The female firefighter grabbed the ball before taking off after him.

By now, the entirety of the Nashes's house was littered with all the fake snowballs. It looked like a snowy battlefield had found its way indoors.

A second later, Bobby walked in with Athena and the two immediately froze.

"Were we really gone that long?" Athena asked her husband.

"Didn't think we were," Bobby replied.

A moment later, Eddie came running and then screeched to a halt with wide eyes when he saw them.

A fake snowball bounced off of the dark haired firefighter's head before the rest of the room fell quiet.

"Mind explaining what happened?" The older police sergeant asked.

Eddie glanced over his shoulder at the mess. "Uhh . . . Well . . ."

Bobby held out his hand. "You know we got those for the kids, right?"

Eddie reluctantly dropped the fake snowball into his outstretched hand. "I know."

Suddenly, Buck jumped around the corner. "Gotcha!"

In response, Eddie ducked to avoid the fake snowball coming toward him.

And it hit Athena right in the forehead.

The blonde's eyes went wide.

Eddie stepped back.

"Gutsy move Buckaroo," Chimney muttered.

"I--I didn't---," the blonde began.

The older police sergeant glared at the younger man as she snatched up the fake snowball. "If that's how you want to play."

"No, wait! It was an accident!" Buck took off with Athena hot on his heels. "He moved out of the way!"

Bobby sighed.

A second later, Eddie slipped another fake snowball out of his pocket. "You snooze you loose Cap."

The older fire captain barely flinched as the snowball bounced off of his chest. He then took the one in his hand and watched it sail right past the dark haired firefighter before jumping into the fray.