#i mean never say never so Very Rarely will i draw his whole back. and standing ajerlkvjalkj

[xxplastic-cubexx]

charlies turn for the reference sheet beam

[simpingforheros]

Lover Man

Pairing: Roy Harper X Single Mom! Female! Reader

Summary: Roy Harper gave up on love after his relationship with Cheshire never went anywhere other than creating his bundle of joy that was Lian Harper. That was until she came knocking on his door.

Warnings: 18+, Minors Do Not Interact, Female Reader/Female Pronouns/ Female Anatomy, Fluff eventually turning into Smut, Strangers to Lovers, Close Proximity, Mentions of Drug Addiction, Implied Abuse, Heavy Make-Out Session, Dry Humping, Implied Breeding Kink, Roy Harper being our Gentle King ((only this time)).

A/N: Soooo I had another Roy fanfic written completely in the drafts…and I hated it 💀. So I rewrote it and here it is. It’s a wee bit longer than my normal fanfics and I wanted to add more fluff and more descriptive detail instead of just smut. Please leave me some comments if you like this or if you don’t lol. Thank you.

A/N: I got my own ginger so it makes me wanna write about my second favorite ginger since I hardly see writing for him outside of him being a throuple with Jason. Roy Harper is just as hot as Jason because man’s literally got himself out of a bad place just for his daughter 😭🥹. Our responsibility king. Also Lian is aged up to 7 years old in this.

Dividers >>>> @cafekitsune

Roy Harper was a hardworking man. He slaves over his small mercenary missions with the occasional events of saving the city in the mix of raising a 4 foot ball of energy all on his own. He felt exhausted most the time, but that exhaustion keeps him out of trouble. It also gets him out of any venture for a personal life.

Sure, Roy had the Outlaws who would swing by after missions just to hangout and drink, and the Titans make a rare appearance to visit their favorite niece. Even Ollie and Dinah would occasionally come by to visit. But, after Jade came and left him high and dry, his heart was hollow…

Lian was his whole world and stars. He never thought he could love someone as much as he loved his little girl. He dragged himself out of his drug addiction just so he can take care of her, and she should be enough to make the backbreaking labor enough.

However, he notices how the doodled Mother’s Day cards that used to litter the fridge for Jade began to dwindle as her eyes began to look longingly at the other parents who had two parents and a pair or two of siblings. Lian says she’s happy to live with her Dad, who was her bestest friend in the world, but the occasional crayon drawings say otherwise.

The stick figures of Lian and Roy with a faceless woman and another stick figure child making it very clear that Lian wanted a mother figure, or at least a sibling.

Maybe one day Roy can give it to her…but right now he was too tired.

“What do you mean you forgot??” Roy yells into the phone as he speed walks back to his apartment complex.

He should have known better than to ask Garfield to wait at his apartment for Lian to come home and babysit for a couple of hours while he went grocery shopping. This week has been hell on him. He’s been dealing with some of Black Mask’s crew trying to expand to Star City and when he would try to get some sleep, the noise of some new neighbors moving in woke him up constantly. This was really his only chance to go do anything and Beast Boy forgot to come.

“I asked you to do one thing, Gar! Be here and watch Lian until I got back. How can forget to watch a 7 year old girl?” Roy seethes as he walks into the main lobby and bolting up the stairs.

His heart was pounding with all the possible scenarios. He knows he’s overreacting, that she was just probably sitting by the locked door either entertaining herself or crying. But he also couldn’t help but be paranoid that she strayed off to go find him or someone snatched her up.

His worst fear coming to reality as he walks onto his floor and sees no one. He quickly gets to his door and jiggles the nob, feeling the secured lock.

Just as Roy was about to scream at Garfield again to relieve the unrelenting anxiety, the sound of a door opening behind him catches his attention as a familiar ring fills the static.

“Daddy!” Lian yells as Roy turns around, relief filling his body as he kneels down to greet the girl.

“Oh fuck, you scared me.” He says, as he sighs in relief. His strong arms holding the small girl tight to his chest.

“I’m sorry,” the girl mumbles with sympathy pooling in her dark eyes. “I was walking Wren and she wanted me to see her new room.”

‘Wren? Who’s Wren?’ Roy thought as he quirks his eyebrow just as movement catches his eyes again to the door.

Another little girl was standing in the door way to the apartment. She looked the same age as Lian with colorful ribbons in her hair and the matching Star Academy uniform on as Lian.

‘Another Star Academy student? There isn’t any other student living here…’

Then the realization that this was one of the new neighbors hits him as a taller figure appears behind Wren. Her voice throwing Roy in a trance as she scolds the girl.

“Wren, I told you to not stare. Especially at strangers.” Her voice gently but protective as she kept her eyes on Roy. Her hand already on her daughter’s shoulder as her daughter apologizes.

“I’m sorry, Mama. I wanted to see Lian’s Dad and see if I can come over…”

The woman was the same age as him from what he can tell. Healthy, glowing skin despite the dark bags under her eyes. Her hair glowed like a halo in the fluorescent light of the hallway despite the messy frizz of what he thought used to be a protective hairstyle that her work day destroyed. Her boxy scrubs doing noting to hide her figure as the familiar logo of Star City General Hospital shined brightly.

“Dad.” Lian’s inpatient voice cuts through his daze as he looks to his daughter.

“Huh?” He says as his daughter giggles.

“I said, can I show Wren my room? I wanna show her all my Bluey toys.” She says excitedly.

His eyes briefly flickering over to the other excited little girl before stating gently, “I have no problem with it, but did you ask Wren’s mom if she can.”

“Yea! Miss (L/N) said it was alright.” She says happily.

‘Miss? I guess she’s not married…’ he thought as he handed Lian his keys with a joking quip, “Don’r throw a party while I’m over here talking to Miss (L/N).”

The girls giggle before running over to Roy’s apartment and entering. Roy stands up to his full height as he gives the mother a smile. She returns it with her own as she says,

“Normally Wren is pretty shy, so I was happy to see she made friends with a good kid.” She says as she pushes some stray hair out of her face before offering him her hand. “I’m (Y/N) by the way.”

“Roy. Roy Harper.” He introduces himself as he shakes her hand. He couldn’t help but smile brighter as they pulled their hands away, proud that his daughter helped out a new kid.

“Lian doesn’t have much of a shy side to her. I blame it on her mom’s genetics.” He jokes with a soft chuckle.

“You and your wife must be proud.” She says softly as she props her hip against the doorframe.

“Oh no, I’m not married.” He corrects her as he nervously stuffs his hands in his pocket as he felt a pang of gloom over his heart. “It’s just me and Lian.”

Her eyes dropped as she crosses her arms over her chest as she mumbles, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to assume…”

“No, youre alright.” He assures her with a shrug. “Honestly, I should be apologizing for your first impression of me being my kid locked out of my apartment.”

She giggles as she waves him off as she says, “Lian told me that her normal babysitters weren’t in town and that ‘Uncle Gar’ was suppose to be here.”

“Yeaaa.” He groans as he defends himself. “I promise that i’m normally on top of the babysitting situation since I normally work nights.”

She nods as she says, “I understand. I have to find my own babysitter now that I moved across the country. I work days at the hospital.”

The idea seeming to strike them at the same time as both their little girls scream in delight as they play in the apartment over.

A compromise between two single parents.

The deal was easy and benefited both of them. Since she had to work 12 hour shifts on a 3 on, two off basis, (Y/N) would drop the girls off at school on her way to work, and Roy adjusted his “work” time so he can be home when they come home from school and babysit until Wren’s mom gets off from work.

When (Y/N) was off and Roy is working, She will keep both girls at her apartment and gets them ready for school in the mornings before they tag off.

During the rare occurrence that Roy had to go away on a “business trip”, the girls would just be with (Y/N) full time with Roy’s promise that it will only be a week and he will watch them when the weekend comes so she can rest.

This has been the routine for three months, and Roy enjoyed it more than he should. It felt great knowing that Lian was in capable, non vigilante hands when he was away and she had a female role model to who doesn’t fight crime in spandex.

Roy also adored Wren. She took a minute to break out of her shell, but she reminded him a lot of Jason. A quiet type who surprised him with her temper and mischief. He can see why (Y/N) is the kind of parent she is and how she easily keeps Wren and Lian in line.

Over the weeks, Wren and Lian became the dynamic duo of Star Academy. They did everything together and would cry if they couldn’t. The two even begged their respective parents for matching Bluey backpacks and sparkly shoes so they can match all the time. They even developed a cute habit of leaving colored drawings under the apartment doors for the other to find. The friendship was very heart warming and helped form the bond between their parents.

The two had a lot in common too. More than they expected.

“Wanna beer?” Roy offered as he stood up from the couch.

“No thank you.” She answers as she focuses on wrapping the present infront of her.

Tomorrow was Wren’s birthday, and while the girls are having a sleep over in Lian’s room, Roy and (Y/N) prepped for her birthday party.

“You sure, doll?” He says as he grabs a couple beers. He sits beside her and holds his open bottle near her as he jokes. “You gonna let me drink alone, and make me look depressed?”

Her eyes darken as she scoots away from him. The air turning cold as she snaps on him. “I said No, Roy.”

Roy immediately freezes before frowning in concern. He puts the beer on the coffee table as he whispers to her. “Hey, I’m sorry…”

Her eyes relax as her shoulders slump. She sighs softly as she mumbles. “No, I’m sorry…”

She reaches into her pocket a pulls out a familiar looking token and hands it to him. A 5 year sobriety coin. His brows shoot up as he looks at her in shock.

She giggles somberly as she says, “it’s not mine. It’s my Dad’s.”

She pulls her knees to her chest as she looks to the wall around the muted tv. Pictures lining the wall of Lian and Roy with some of just them or with friends. She smiles softly as she recounts.

“My dad was a bad alcoholic, but a good dad. He would take me with him everywhere he could and it would be like everyday was a good day. I was too young to realize he drank too much or he yelled at my mom a little too harshly.” She says as she picks at the material of her socked covered feet.

“It wasn’t until I got pregnant with Wren that he realized he had to sober up. He managed to stay clean for almost 6 years until a drunk driver hit him.” She chuckles sadly as she sees the irony in her dad’s death. “He even help me leave my ex who was also a bad drinker. I guess seeing my dad doing it my whole life, I thought it was normal…”

Her arms wrapping around herself before finally looking back at Roy. Her eyes meeting his green ones, her gaze watery as she wipes the tears away.

“I’m sorry, that was too much to put on you..” she said as her voice wavers a bit. “You can drink though I don’t-“

Roy gets up and takes his beers to the kitchen. Confused by his abruptness, she follows him, only to see him dumping out his open beer and starting to dump out the other one. She looks at him confused as he finishes dumping the liquid out before he pulls out his wallet and pulls out a coin.

He hands both coins to her as she reads the one he pulled out of his wallet. 7 years sobriety.

“You were…?” She mumbles is disbelief before he answers.

“Yep, former heroine addict…” he says as he leans back against the counter. His arms flexing as he crosses his arms over his chest. His eyes shining with seriousness as he says,

“I understand why your dad got help. I did the same thing when I found out about Lian, and I don’t ever wanna do anything that can jeopardize giving her a better life than I had…”

An emotion crosses his face that makes her nervous but excited as he admits.

“And I don’t want to do anything that would drive you out of mine.”

“Please, (Y/N)!” Lian begs as Wren stands behind her with her puppy dog eyes shining behind her.

Those were the famous last words that were said when Lian and Wren convinced her to allow them to go to a slumber party while Roy was out of town. (Y/N) didn’t see the harm since it was Friday night and the girls had been good. Besides, Roy was supposed to be home late tonight so he can enjoy his Saturday morning resting.

It was a good idea. Or at least that’s what she thought before she got mugged on her way home from dropping off the girls.

The woman didn’t see it coming when she was snatched off the street and pinned to an alley wall as a disgust voice coos at her.

“Easy, Babygirl.” The masked man purrs as his dirty finger nails digged into her arms. “Just give me your purse and we can both walk away happy.”

“Fuck off!” She says as she tries to yank away from him .

“Now don’t be such a-!” His growl interrupted as the swoop of air shoots between them. She looks to where it lands and sees a red arrow buried into the wall behind them. The mugger was the first to look back to where it came from before gasping,

“Arsenal? What’s he doing here?” He curses as he pulls (Y/N) in front of him, making the struggling woman a human shield. “I’m armed, and I’m not afraid to hurt the bitch!” He says as he pulls out a knife and holds it to her neck.

(Y/N) only heard about the vigilante through the news. Apparently he used to be Green Arrow’s sidekick before he went solo for some reason and he was a rough guy. He works with the Red Hood who was known for killing criminals so she understood why the man was scared as a figure dropped down from a rooftop with his bow ready to shoot.

Her panic setting in as the bite of the blade was pressed hard to her neck, the anxious blade knicking her. Her panic eyes were set on the archer as she watches him slowly approach.

He looked…familiar. His height and built was impressive despite him being more on the leaner side and his features not obstructed by his sunglasses and hat reminded her of Roy…

“Let the girl go.” Arsenal warns the burglar. His voice was deep, but it didn’t sound natural. It was like he was trying to make his voice sound different. “You’re just pissing me off more and I’m gonna end up breaking your eye socket in.”

The criminal trembles before deciding the best escape plan. He grabs ahold of her purse before throwing her in Arsenal’s direction. Unprepared to the violent shove, (Y/N) falls to the ground before the vigilante can catch her. Her yelp filling space as the hero kneels down beside her to make sure she wasn’t stabbed.

“Hey, you alright?” He says as he scans her body for any serious injury.

She pushes herself up, cringes as her wrist throbs. His large gloved hands on her back and shoulder as he helps her stand when she notices his exposed arm. A familiar faded green tattoo visible on his bicep as the pieces fall together.

“Roy?…” She asks as she looks up Arsenal. Despite his eyes being covered, she can tell he was looking at her in a panic that she figured him out.

“Yea…” He confirms before looking behind her as he realizes the motherfucker stole her purse. He pulls his aviators down to the bridge of his nose, his eyes shining in concern as he mumbles to her.

“Go home. I’ll meet you there so we can talk about it.”

The look in his eyes and the pounding adrenaline makes her fear melt away as she nods her head.

“Okay.”

The throbbing pain in her wrist didn’t stop when she finally made it back to her apartment building, acting as her anchor as the revelation that Roy’s secret night job was him being a Robin Hood copycat.

Thinking back on it, she should have figured he wasn’t a normal guy. Constant bruises, noticeable limps, and stolen ibuprofen were a routine in their life.

The thought made her stop for a second in the stair way.

Their life. The one they shared for months basically together. At first it was just two single parents helping each other out while their daughters bonded. Then her and Roy began to get close, close enough to where they were constant in each other’s apartments as the other child was.

Now he saved her life…maybe he already did that the first day in the city and she babysat a kid she didn’t know…

As she reaches the arch way between the two apartments, her hands searches her pockets for her keys when disappointment answers her.

The keys were in her purse.

With a sigh, she decides to sit on the ground besides Roy’s door as she waits. (Y/N) curls herself into a ball with her knees to her chest as she felt the familiar feeling of exhaustion nipping her eyelashes.

(Y/N) was a hard working woman. When she wasn’t working herself like a dog in the Emergency Room, she was handling a 4 foot ball of attitude. She didn’t have time for any ventures outside of that. She loves Wren with all her heart, but that doesn’t help the hollow part of her heart from throbbing…maybe someday she can give Wren a father who’s worth something. But right now, she was too damn tired.

The door opens behind her as she jumps awake. The woman didn’t even realize she almost fell asleep, but a warm hand opens in front of her as she looks up.

Roy was standing in front of her now. A grey zip up was pulled over his shoulders to cover his costume as her purse hanged on his arm. His soft smile made her stomach flutter as he breaks the silence.

“I guess I got some explaining to do…”

She doesn’t respond right away. Instead she gives him her hand and stands up with his help. Her injured wrist cradled to her chest as they enter the apartment. The movement still felt natural despite the circumstances. Roy didn’t even have to ask about her arm to know she needed first aid on her wrist.

He tended to her sprained wrist as he tells her his life story. She already knew about the general events of his childhood and his life with Oliver Queen, but didn’t know he was a sidekick turned mercenary. The whole story made her head spin as she thought about the man tending to her as a boy wearing yellow and red spandex and managing to attract a female assassin who was Lian’s actual mother…

“So…” Roy says as he expects some sort of reaction out of her.

“So… You are a vigilante…Ollie and Dinah are too.” She recounts as she rubs her bandaged wrists. “And your ex is an assassin…”

(Y/N) sighs before looking at the nervous ginger fidgeting in his seat. His nerves were haywire.

‘What if she leaves?’

‘What if she doesn’t want anything to do with me or Lian anymore?”

‘Is she gonna keep Wren from Lian and Me?’

“Okay”

The phrase makes Roy’s neck snap was he blinks wildly at her. His heart pounding as he scans her completely calm face with a soft smile on her face as she giggles at his baffled expression.

“Okay? That’s all you gotta say?”

“I mean sure I’m not a fan of the whole putting yourself in danger shtick, but if that’s the only downside to you, then I’m okay with it.” She says calmly before giving him a serious glare. “Just as long as the girls are never endangered.”

Roy couldn’t help but fall out of his chair and on his knees infront of her as he laughs. His hands pulling her into his lap as he enjoys the chill of relief as his body yearns for the reassurance of her touch. It wasn’t until he cupped her face that he realized just how intimate their position was.

Definitely not something friends should be doing….

But are they just friends?

“Roy…” She mumbles. Her eyes speaking to his soul as the exhaustion and months of connecting and yearning reach the apex. Or maybe it was the reflection of his own feelings bubbling up as he moves her hair away from her face.

“I promise I’ll never let anything happen to you or our girls…I can’t afford to lose them…or us.”

The first move wasn’t clear. The blur of teeth and tongue distracting him as their hands held the pair close. His hands adjusting her to straddle his lap as hers ran through his hair and over his strong shoulders. His mouth trailing down her jawline and caresses her throat as her hips began to grind into his.

“Aw, poor thing…” Roy coos as his hips rolled to meet hers. His eyes shining with adoration as he marks her smooth skin. “How long has it been since anyone took care of you?”

She rolls her eyes at his teasing before pulling his head back by his hair. “When was the last time you got took care of, Red?”

He glares playfully with a smirk as he says, “Don’t call me Red.”

She giggles as she presses a soft kiss to his cheek before trailing along his jawline. Her breath burning his soul as she whispers, “Then how about…baby?”

He rips her back away by her nape before crashing his lips onto hers. The desperation dewing the walls around them as their soft moans and movement of clothes made their company.

His hands hungry as he finally pulls away from her long enough to push off her sweatshirt. A groan of appreciation fills the space as he admires her body. Every visible scar, freckle, mole, stretch mark, and roll made him want to explore every story that lead her to his arms. But that’s for another time.

His mouth watered as he looks back up at her.

“So pretty, Ma…”

His prayer is followed by his mouth devouring her skin as he kisses her collarbone. Her feathery moans filling the space while his hands caresses her exposed torso. He trails down to the valley of her breasts before pushing the offending bra up so they spill out. Roy couldn’t resist kissing around her sensitive skin, teasing her as her hands tangle in the mess of ginger on his head.

“Baby please…” she whines as her hips roll impulsively on his.

Her underwear was impossibly uncomfortable. Her body burning like iron as her intimate parts tried to cool down. The friction of her jean covered core against the rough tackle gear of his suit did not help as his hand began to grope her other breast.

His chuckle vibrates against the globe of fat as his fingers pinch the stiffening nub.

“Can’t wait to get me in bed? My, you certainly are a romantic.”

Before she can shoot back at him, he withdraws completely from her chest and his hands roughly cup her thighs. In a swift motion, Roy picks her up as he stands up from the floor. The pair share a soft laugh as her brief shock and his amusement leads them to his bedroom.

Once he places her on the bed, (Y/N) sheds off her sweatshirt and bra as Roy whistles in appreciation.

“I love when you strip for me.” He jokes as lust clouded his vision. “Can you do that again but slower?”

She glares at him as she leans back onto her hands as she tilts her head. Mischief fills her eyes as she examines him up and down with her lip between her teeth.

“Then how about you put a show on for me since you want one?” She teases.

His smirk widens as he decides to follow her suggestion. Roy rolls his shoulders back before reaching to slowly unzip the jacket covering his suit. Making a show of pulling it off his arms before twirling it over his head and tossing it.

Laughing follows his movements as he slowly strips off his gear as her hungry and amused eyes followed every rolling muscle exposed to her.

“Damn…” She whispers as a nearly nude Roy begins to crawl on the bed towards her. His prominent bones straining against his boxers as she continues. “And I wondered why you didn’t have a girlfriend…”

He laughs as he cages her in his arms. His ginger hair acting as a curtain over his forehead as he shrugs above her. “Maybe I was waiting on the right one.”

Their lips meet again as their hands began to map out each other. Soon all the rest of the clothes joined the floor.

His erection bobbing between them as his eyes remains trained on hers. His fingers trailing down to her exposed sex, groaning as he runs a finger between her folds.

“Already wet? And without foreplay?” He asks as faux sympathy plays on his face. “My darling clearly neglected that she gets wet from a few kisses…”

“I’m not neglected…” She protests before she whimpers as the bite from his finger entering her unused cunt hits her.

“I wasn’t talking body you directly, baby.” He corrects as his finger thrusts softly along her fleshy walls. The lewd sounds of her moans mixed with her wet sex made him melt as she begs,

“Fuck…quit teasing already, you bastard…”

He decides to oblige by adding another finger to speed up his pace. The thumb on the other hand joining the fun as it rubbed patterns into her puffy clit.

“I got get you all nice and ready..” Roy mumbles as he leans down to press soft kisses on her stomach up to her breasts. The mixture of gentle pecks mixed with the harsh stimulation below driving his lover insane as her hips arched to meet his hands.

“You deserve all that I can give for being such a good mom .” He praises her as he feels her walls clench around his knuckles when he finds the spongy mass he was searching for.

He contradicts himself by abusing that with archer like precision as the coil roughly tightens in her gut. (Y/N)’s gasps and cries desperate for the climax as she grips the hard flesh of his back. Just as she was reaching the peak, he stops.

“Asshole!” She curses at him as he pulls out of her. He chuckles before licking the tip of his soiled finger. Her eyes burning onto his mouth as he groans at the taste.

“Sweet as I thought..” he praises as he uses the hand to pump his cock. He climbs on top of her as he continues. “I’m gonna have to have a better taste next time, but I need you too bad right now…”

She calms her raging breaths as she smiles softly. “Next time?”

Roy pulls her legs up to her chest as he hooks her ankles on his shoulders. His red hot tip played with her clit as he rubs it through her soaked folds. He chuckles at her hopeful voice as he leans down to press a soft peck to her lips.

“Of course,” Roy whispers as his tip catches the entrance. “I don’t think I can go back to being friends after this..”

He slowly pushes into her as her hands shoot onto him as best she could. With her legs pinned to her chest, she can only grasp his bicep and his lower back as she is forced to endure the painful stretch of her neglected cunt welcoming him.

A groan ripping in his throat as he finally seats himself fully into her before peppering kisses on her face.

“Was gonna ask you out on a nice date without the kids around…gonna see if we would be a good fit.” He mutters as his mind seems to run on blanks. His hips rolling to gain some friction in the tight confines of her walls.

Her little breathless moans encouraging him as Roy begins to thrust shallowly to work her open before he pulls out almost completely. He slams back into her befor continuing his non coherent comment.

“But fuck…I don’t regret this. God, if I knew you would look so fucking hot in my bed…” He groans as his head dips to bite along her neck. “And your pussy is so tight…It’s driving me crazy. I wonder how a sweet thing like you could like me…”

His cock messaging all the right nerves in her as (Y/N)’s nails clawed into him. Her moans turning to incoherent shrieks as his tip abuses her spot, remembering exactly where it was when he found it earlier. Her guts twisting at both the words and his abusing pace. The denied orgasm from earlier building back up as her desperation grew wilder.

“God, Roy…So full…so good.”

Fuck she looked pretty. Her lips wet with tears and sip as she cries. Her eyes blown out in addictive lust and watery tears. Roy couldn’t help but cup her jaw in his hand and kisses her. The now familiar taste of mint and nicotine making her more addicted as his tongue claimed every inch of hers. He pulls away as his groans start matching her whines as his hand snakes between them to rub her clit.

“Honey, I may have to fuck a baby into you…” He mumbles as he buries his face in her neck. Her walls responding in a vice grip as he roughens his pace to meet their impending climax. “You like that, pretty girl? Want me to knock you up and give Wren and Lian a little sibling? Give you a nice big family with a white picket fence? God, you’re such a sweet thing that I wouldn’t mind keeping you as my pretty little girlfriend…”

“Roy!” She whines as her body shakes. Her walls closing in on him as she finally reaches her peak. Her eyes rolling back as stars cross her vision before Roy slams into her one more time as his hot cum fills her welcoming womb.

The pair remain still for a moment as soft pecks were exchange. Roy gently pulls out before he helps his love stretch back out. His hands massaging her thighs before grabbing his abandoned jacket to wipe her thighs and himself clean.

“You wanna go out tomorrow?” Her cracked voice catching the archer off guard before he smiles.

“With or without children?”

“Without. They are at a sleep over and gonna go to the zoo tomorrow with their friends.”

“Then it’s a date.”

A/N: Okay I didn’t know how to end this because Ngl I was tired on working on this tbh. I hope y’all enjoyed reading this and let me know what you think. Comments and reblogs are encouraged.

@simpingforheros fanfic. I DO NOT CONDONE MY WORKS TO BE STOLEN, PLAGIARIZED, COPIED, REPOSTED, OR TRANSFERRED ONTO OTHER BLOGS, ACCOUNTS, AND WEBSITES.

[rinneverse]

࿐ ♡ ˚ . 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 — honkai star rail hcs ˒ ⊹

— synopsis: random hc’s about the ways the hsr men love you.

— characters: dan heng, blade, jing yuan, && gepard.

— warnings: lots of emotions and love and sappy words!!, f!reader, praise, pet names (baby, good girl), p in v penetration, mating press (blade). very soft and fluffy, i think. :-)

— notes: i did not mean to disappear for like 3 months LMFAOOOO ,, but hi! i’m back and the honkai star rail brainrot is STRONG. i hope i did them justice !!

MINORS DNI - 18+ CONTENT BELOW THE CUT.

✧˚ · . 𝐃𝐀𝐍 𝐇𝐄𝐍𝐆. ༉‧₊˚.**

→ dan heng is cautious, at first, when it comes to the relationship budding between the two of you. he’s deeply afraid of hurting you, losing you, driving you away.

→ he’s afraid of the intensity in which he loves you—a fire that consumes his very being. his every thought is plagued with you, and it’s something that scares him. but he wants to brave it. for you.

→ your smile, the tilt of your head, the way you carry yourself; he finds himself falling for you harder every day. like he’s been thrown off of a cliff, left to freefall, but the ground is nowhere to be seen.

→ and when he finally gets his hands on you, it’s like a supernova in his chest, an explosion spreading stardust across the whole galaxy. it’s ridiculous, really, how it’s like a giant weight has been lifted off of his shoulders as he holds you in his arms, his lips melding against yours. it’s perfect; two pieces of a puzzle slotting perfectly together.

→ and when he takes you for the first time, in the comfort of your silken sheets, hands intertwined with yours, he finds himself complete—like he doesn’t have to run anymore.

♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡

“baby,” dan heng groans into the crook of your neck. his hips stutter a little as he bottoms out, and the feeling of your heat surrounding him sends a violent shiver down his spine. you lay there below him, staring up at him with nothing but adoration in your eyes, and dan heng thinks to himself that he’s never seen anything more ethereal.

“heng,” you sigh, legs wrapping around his lean waist. “you feel so good.”

he can feel his heart hammering in his ribcage, pressing impossibly closer to you as you whisper sweet praises in his ear. he needs you. he needs all of you, and in return, he’ll give you all of him.

when he pulls out, the drag of his heavy cock against your walls has you keening, breath hitching in your throat as just the blunt head is left—and then he’s slamming back in, and you feel like you’re falling, head light and spinning with pleasure as dan heng sets a steady pace.

“please, please, please,” you plead with a sob of his name. dan heng can feel his cock throb with desire at the sound of his name falling from your lips.

“again,” he grunts, rolling his hips so deliciously that it has your lips parting in a silent moan. “say my name again.”

“dan—dan heng!”

he slips a hand between your sweaty bodies, quickly seeking out your aching clit. the moment he’s touching you there, your back is arching and you think that you’re seeing stars behind your eyelids. you cum with another cry of his name and that sends him right along with you, hastily jerking his hips away as his cum spurts all over your navel.

and as he lays there with you, coming down from his high, he thinks that he’s finally found a place he can call home.

✧˚ · . 𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐃𝐄. ༉‧₊˚.

→ it’s not often you draw verbal affirmations of love from blade. in fact, it’s scarce, and something you’ve come to terms with. rarely do you ever hear the man utter the words, ‘i love you.’

→ instead, you’ve learned to read between the lines with him—the gentle way in which he treats you, the softening of his gaze as it lands on you, the way he protects you with every ounce of his being.

→ blade is not a man who speaks reverent poems, love songs, or otherwise to you. he shows his love through his actions, through his subtle body language, and especially through the way he worships your body. not one inch is left untouched by him, and you are left trembling and dizzy and full of the love that drifts unsaid between the two of you.

→ even as he ravages your body on those rougher nights, you still feel the adoration that overflows from him, in the way he leaves a blazing trail of kisses down the length of your spine, grunts and groans spilling from his lips as he pulls you ever closer.

♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡

“blade, wait— please, s’too much,” you sob as blade pistons into you mercilessly. he’s got you folded in half, his mouth hot on the sensitive flesh of your neck as he bites—ripping a sob from deep in your chest.

he doesn’t respond, even as your hands tug at the silky length of his hair—pulling a guttural groan from him. and as he lifts his head to look down at you, tears streaking down your cheeks and drool forming at the corner of your lips; something animalistic, something feral glints in his eyes.

“oh, fuck. you like this, yeah? you like when i use you like this? you’re clenching so good around me. takin’ me so good.” he’s breathless as he speaks, lips swooping down to capture yours in a heated kiss. he’s right—you’re clenching so tightly around him, toes curling as he hits just the right spot inside of you.

you’re floating, weightless and utterly exhausted by the time he’s done with you. blade lays beside you, an arm wrapped around your waist as the two of you take a minute to catch your breath.

“… stay here. i’ll be right back.”

you suppress a laugh as blade rolls out of your bed—as if you were going to move anywhere anytime soon. after a few moments of silence, you hear the bathtub faucet start running. a warm feeling blossoms in your chest as blade returns.

he doesn’t say anything as he scoops you up in his arms. you sluggishly throw your arms around him and plant a wet kiss on his cheek.

“love you, bladie. ♡”

✧˚ · . 𝐉𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐔𝐀𝐍. ༉‧₊˚.

→ jing yuan is confident. sly. a renowned general of the cloud knights.

→ so why is it that he’s reduced to a fumbling mess around you? he doesn’t understand. it’s something he struggles to wrap his head around—how one second, he’s thinking of all the ways he’d like to woo you, and the next, he’s flushing, stuttering dumbly as you stare up at him with those damned eyes of yours.

→ maybe that was it. the way your eyes seem to pierce through the essence of his very being; if he didn’t know any better, he’d think you one of fu xuan’s assistants in the divination commission. but he does know better, and it’s something that he’s grateful for—he’s not sure how you would view him had you been under fu xuan’s influence. maybe as a scoundrel, since she’s so insistent on viewing him as one.

→ but enough of that. he’s sick of the way he seems to lose all his swagger around you, so one day he sucks it up, puts his big boy general pants on, and asks you out on a dinner date. the way you tilt your head at him has his heart seizing in his chest—until you laugh so gently, a smile gracing your lips as you nod your head.

→ a melodic sound: that’s what your laugh was to him. he’d like to hear that over and over and over again. perhaps he’d like to draw other melodies out of you, play you like an instrument—but for now, he’s content with this.

♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡

there’s electricity in the air, a tension on the verge of snapping as jing yuan guides you to your bed. hickeys litter the vast expanse of your neck and collar, something that makes his chest swell with pride. with desire.

he’s the one doing this to you—the one causing that foggy daze in your eyes as you look at him with such adoration, pupils blown wide. he can feel the lust in your gaze; he’s returning it tenfold with his own golden ones. he grins down at you.

“baby,” he says. “spread your legs for me. there you go—good girl.”

he hums, pleased, as you listen obediently. he flips up the fabric of your skirt, pausing at the sight of the lacy white panties you wore. his tongue flicks out to wet his lips.

oh, he was going to devour you. whole.

you thread a hand through his soft hair as he lowers himself to the apex of your thighs, breath ghosting over the most sensitive part of you—you’re so worked up that even the fabric in between barely does anything to separate you from him.

“sweetheart,” jing yuan speaks lowly. his voice is a deep rumble, and your thighs would’ve clenched together if it weren’t for his strong hands holding you open.

“i want to absolutely ruin you.”

✧˚ · . 𝐆𝐄𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐃. ༉‧₊˚.

→ gepard’s large stature is juxtaposed by the gentle way he treats you. as if you were fragile glass, or perhaps a beautiful statue made of ice, his every touch is.. not quite hesitant, but calculated, made to only treat you with reverence. he worships you, your very soul, everything that you are. he adores you.

→ he is a protector at his core. he would do anything for you. he is always sure to take care of you before himself - your pleasure comes first. in fact, he thinks that he gets off when he makes you feel good. it makes his chest swell with pride and his cock twitch with desire.

→ often, he’s occupied on the frontlines, protecting belobog with all of his might. that just makes the time spent together with you even more precious. it’s not something he takes for granted—whatever time you get together, you best believe all of his attention is on you.

→ he’s treating you to a candlelit dinner, buying you flowers, taking you shopping, the whole package. he’s got a captain’s salary, after all—and he’s using it all to spoil you. he buys you promise rings and a necklace with his initial on it, pretty earrings and bracelets and other trinkets to remind you of him when he’s away. he leaves you his clothes, sprayed with his cologne, when he knows he’ll be gone for longer than he wants to be.

♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡

“gepard,” you say gently, running a hand through his hair as he holds your hips tight. you straddle him, plush thighs pressed against his stronger ones as he ruts up against you. “slow down, baby, we have time..”

time. time was something that was becoming increasingly more scarce—more precious. he’d like to spend all his time with you, but duty calls; and so he treats this time he can spend with you as sacred, and he’d like to not waste a single second.

“i know, i know,” he says, voice strained with want. “it’s been so long. i need you.”

you’re not used to gepard being so forward like this—but it wasn’t something you were particularly against, either; the way he guides your hips down against his cock has a soft moan bubbling up in your throat.

“let me show you how much i love you.” he says, running strong hands along your sides. it sends a shiver up your spine, your heart hammering in your chest as he pulls you close.

you nod your head, heart full with adoration and want and everything that is gepard. “please.”

and he does, undressing you carefully and unravelling you at the core. and when he deems you ready, he’s sliding his heavy cock along your folds, drawing a whine from your throat. he only smiles as you desperately rut your hips to no avail, held down by his large hands.

he doesn’t tease for long, though—he never does, not when he values your pleasure above everything else. you let out a sob of relief as you feel him slowly slide in, cunt spasming around his thick girth as he inches in slowly. he’s always so careful with you—knows that he’s bigger than average, so he has to take his time. he doesn’t mind; never once has.

he holds you close as he makes love to you, bodies melding together perfectly. if the warmth and love between you two was something physical, he thinks that it could melt the eternal freeze that plagues belobog.

please don't repost on other platforms. rbs and comments are super appreciated ♡ !!

[brain-rot-central]

Up In Smoke

A/N: Basically he smokes weed and has a really good orgasm. That's the whole fic. Very self-indulgent, but whatever. Hope you all enjoy!

Rating: light E Word count: 3.5k Pairing: Spawn Astarion x Fem!Tav Warnings: 18+, dubcon for being under the influence, drug use, alcohol mention, breeding kink, praise kink, male masturbation, mutual pining, trauma mention, intimacy issues

Summary: The gang finally reaches Baldur's Gate. Astarion isn't handling it so well, knowing he's so close to Cazador again. Tav makes an innocent suggestion that he go down to the shops and find something that can help relieve some of his pent up anxiety.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he leans over to further inspect the small clear jar within his hands. Inside, a dried cluster of pungent flowers resides. Their faint smell lingers about the small tavern suite. He shakes the jar slightly, following how each bud bounces between the glass.

They've finally made it to Baldur's Gate, and gods what a relief. Not to say he didn't enjoy getting his hands messy, but there was never quite enough he could do to dig out the dirt caked within his nails. He dreamed of soaking in a hot bath for weeks.

Yet, being back in Baldur's Gate also means something more sinister.

It means he’s closer to confronting him.

His old master.

Cazador.

He panics the night before, screaming whenever he'd slip into trance. Horrid memories play behind his eyes. He feels paralyzed within them – the feeling of a hand closing around his neck, a dagger slicing into his back, shackles around his arms and legs, unable to move within the confines of the coffin he lay in for a year.

Tav wakes him eventually, holding him close within their warm embrace. She lulls him back to sleep until he slips into a more peaceful trance. When they awake the next morning, Tav proposes he go down to the shops and look for a sleep aid, or something that could potentially help quell the overwhelming sense of anticipation building within him.

“I only wish for you to be at peace,” she suggests. “You deserve it. Especially now.”

So, he does exactly that.

Perusing the various carts and shops, Astarion inevitably finds an apothecary. He's been to this one before; many, many years ago. He doesn't quite remember the shopkeeper, but feels as if it's the same woman, just now older. 

She's nice enough, giving a warm greeting as he enters the store. The smell of patchouli incense fills his nostrils and almost instantaneously Astarion feels some of the tension melt off his shoulders. 

He explains, in very vague terms, what it is he's experiencing to the shopkeeper. She holds out a glass jar filled with herbs. When he raises a questioning eyebrow, she clarifies, “This is known to help calm even the most fussy of ogres.” She smiles, nudging the jar closer to him. “Go on, take it. You won't regret it.”

With a quick nod of his head, Astarion pays for the herbs and dips out of the shop, stashing the small jar within a pocket of his armor. He reconvenes with Tav and the others; they're to address some sort of problem with a wizard prodigy at Sorcerous Sundries. He sighs audibly as Gale rambles on about the various tomes and wealths of knowledge the store holds. Gale rarely ever lets up when this sort of mood takes him. He briefly wishes he had a scroll of Silence to cast over the wizard.

With the pompous brat slain, the crew returns to the Elfsong Tavern to share a hot meal. Astarion nurses a glass of wine while the others share various plates of grilled meats, vegetables, and fish. Lae’zel offers him the drippings of her steak; he politely declines, though the smell causes his stomach to rumble. He simply chases the sensation away with more wine.

They return to their shared suite within the tavern. The party makes a joint decision that Astarion and Tav share the private room. They aren't the only two having relations, but they are the more… rambunctious couple. Both retire to the bedroom, Tav drawing a bath for herself while Astarion rests on the edge of the bed, as he is now, studying the small glass jar. 

He dares a quick whiff of the herbs, bringing the jar to his face. His face screws up tight, wincing at the offensive odor. “Smells like a godsdamned skunk,” he scoffs. He stares into the jar again.

Fool’s Tongue. 

He’s partaken before at the behest of a client. It was an important brokerage between Cazador and some far-off noble. There wasn’t much choice in the matter for Astarion. But yet, this encounter was a touch better than the others. To this day, Astarion is unsure if it was due to the drug or the man himself. He recalls the comforting embrace of the nobleman with slight fondness. At least the man tried. Not many others did.

Astarion reaches into the small satchel on his hip and pulls out a wooden pipe. He lifted it from Halsin earlier in the evening at dinner. The wood elf becomes soft once drink is involved, making him all the more easy to target. He’ll return it by morning, Astarion promises himself. He may even leave the druid a small token of appreciation for letting him borrow it, should this all work out.

Placing the pipe down onto the comforter, Astarion begins to unlatch his cloak. He lays the jar of herbs down next to the pipe and stands, letting his cape fall to the floor. He works on his armor next, until he’s down to his underthings. Bending down, he begins rummaging through his pack on the floor for his camp clothing. He slips them on, leaving his shirt untucked, and sits back down on the bed.

Astarion picks up the pipe and lays it between pressed-together thighs. It acts as a makeshift support, allowing him to open the glass jar of herbs and retrieve a single nugget. Closing the jar, he places it back down onto the bed, and begins breaking the herbs into smaller pieces to fill Halsin's pipe.

Raising the pipe to his lips, Astarion summons a small flame to the tip of his finger. He stares down the length of the pipe, mustering the resolve to continue. He hears Tav’s voice in his head, as well as that of the old shopkeeper. With a sigh, he brings his finger to the herb, pulling gently on the pipe until it begins to burn.

Smoke fills his lungs a bit too quickly, and he rips the pipe from his mouth. He coughs loudly and a bit dramatically, before finally taking a gasping breath in.

“Astarion!” Tav calls from the washroom. He can hear the sound of water sloshing around in a tub. “Are you okay?”

“I'm fine, darling!” he calls back. “Not to worry,” he adds in a mumble under his breath, mostly to himself. He surveys the contents of the pipe, bringing the mouthpiece to his lips once more. Again he summons a small flame to the herb, inhaling more shallowly this time as to not scorch the back of his throat.

He holds in the hit, leaning back onto the bed. Outstretching his arms he lets the pipe rest gently on the bed as he blows out the smoke. He coughs softly – better than the first time.

A few moments pass without so much as a sound. Astarion begins to wonder if perhaps the herbs are stale. It isn't until he rolls over that he notices the first sign.

The bed is soft. Inviting. Astarion is acutely aware of how the pillow top envelopes his form. He lays flat on his back again, sighing. His eyes slip closed. An unusual warmth rushes over him, tickling his skin. It feels like he's laying in the sun and suddenly he's transported back to the forest. To the morning after.

He remembers waking up to the morning sunlight bathing his skin. He wakes up slowly, slipping back into his leathers. Tav still sleeps; he moves as swiftly as possible to not wake her. She was beautiful, even then. Naive, yes. He didn't have the best of intentions. But, she was beautiful. And infuriatingly pragmatic.

Another sensation begins to light. Astarion doesn't recognize the feeling right away. He opens his eyes and stares at the ceiling, a surge of heat rushing to his face. He swears his chest thumps with the beating of his undead heart. He stares into the lines of the ceiling, tracing the patterns of wood lining the wall. His eyes fall upon a knot; they slip closed again.

Tav straddles his lap while he lays out on the ground. Astarion’s hands hold her thighs, guiding her hips as she rocks back and forth over him. He travels up the expanse of her abdomen, passing over her navel and up to her swaying breasts. Her hair cascades down her shoulders in loose curls, his gaze continuing upward toward her face. Redded by the blush running across the bridge of her nose, her mouth hangs open in a silent gasp. She meets his gaze through heavy lids.

Astarion feels the flitter of a dormant ember ignite within his lower belly. His back arches off the bed as a gasp slips past his lips. This can’t be what he thinks it is… could it? No, certainly not. He’s surely lost the ability to feel this way without necessity. Without a performance. Without it being a bargaining chip of some kind.

A pulling behind his navel has his hips twitching in response and he feels warmth begin to pool between his legs. Gods, is he…

Aroused?

Is this truly unprovoked arousal that he feels? Astarion sees visions of Tav glistening after a bath; droplets of water sliding down tanned, freckled skin. He moans aloud and again his hips buck. His cock is beginning to stir, each rub against the confines of his leathers having him sliding his hands closer and closer to their waistband. He turns his head toward the direction of the washroom.

Astarion groans as his hand runs over the bulge in his pants and it dawns on him momentarily that it is, indeed his cock hardening at the thought of Tav naked. Her skin flushed from the warm water of the bath, hair wet, nipples pert, hips, thighs, cunt-

He's pulling his pants down quicker than he can manage, letting them pool around his ankles on the floor. He hisses as his fingertips brush the swollen length of his arousal, and he dares a quick glance between his legs. His cock has a reddish hue, similar to after he sups of Tav. It pulsates against his lower abdomen and he cautiously wraps a hand around his shaft.

It's not often he performs acts of pleasure upon himself. Usually his mind cages him off – scolds and berates him until he's too ashamed to continue. But with the influence of the Fool’s Tongue swimming within his consciousness, the voice is silent. The only thing Astarion feels is pleasure. Lust. Want. And openly; he openly wants to pleasure himself. And by the Gods, does it feel good.

He pulls up his shirt with the opposite hand to expose more of his abdomen and takes a few experimental jerks of his length. They're soft and slow; unhurried movements as he bathes in the pleasure rushing over his body. His eyes slip closed as he gives himself over to the sensation, hips bucking up each time his thumb passes his frenulum. Behind his closed lids he sees Tav again, kneeling between his legs, ready to take him within her inviting mouth. He moans wantonly as he focuses for a moment on his tip, trying to replicate the feeling of her suckling the head of him.

The door to the washroom opens, jolting Astarion from his thoughts. He makes no effort to cover himself, but instead waits patiently on the bed for Tav to discover the scene awaiting her. She exits the bathroom, running a towel through her hair, seemingly unaware of what has been occurring during her absence.

“I was thinking maybe we could mingle a bit with the others before calling it a night,” Tav suggests. She stands before the room's mirror, running a hand through her dampened locks. “How does that sound, Astar-” The rest of her sentence dies back in her throat as she observes him laying on the bed. “Oh,” is all she manages; a soft, strangled sound rising up from her chest.

He pants as he looks her over; she's wearing a simple, short beige dress. No brassiere, so her breasts fill the top of the dress naturally. It cinches at the waist with two drawstrings, while the rest flares out. The hem of the dress comes to right above her mid thighs, and Astarion swallows the sudden uptake in saliva pooling within his mouth. His cock twitches in his palm. “Y-you suggested I go to the shops,” he tries to explain. “Find something to help ease my trepidation.”

“I guess it was a success.” Tav replies, stepping closer. “I don't think I've ever seen you like this.”

Astarion catches a true blush rising to her cheeks as she studies him. As she stands before him, the scent of her arousal dances below his nose, and he groans. “It was, very,” he answers. “That d-dress is… nice,” he adds.

Tav smiles, stepping before him. “Is it?” she asks in a sultry tone. She grabs the hem of the dress and begins slowly pulling it up her thighs. “What about it do you like?”

Visions of her riding his lap flood his mind's eye. Astarion tosses his head back as he envisions taking her from behind, against the wall, on the floor – animalistic mating rituals between them both; rough, hard, fast. He can't help but suck in a sharp breath as he opens his eyes again to meet Tav’s gaze. He tries to answer her but no sound comes out.

With a smirk, she climbs onto the bed over him, hovering just above his cock. “What about the dress do you like, Astarion?” Tav reiterates. She's sure to leave her hips as far away from his hand as possible; she's aware of his intimacy issues, how delicate this situation is. She leans over him to place chaste kisses over his forehead. She smiles against his skin as he resumes tugging at himself with soft jerks of his hand.

“The convenience,” Astarion replies in a whisper. His desire is mounting, threatening to burn out of control unless release finds him soon. Tav laughs, and briefly drops her hips over the hand pumping his cock. They both moan as his knuckles brush between her slick, sending Astarion's mind reeling. “You're… you're n-not wearing-”

Tav nips gently at the pale elf’s ears, reveling in the instinctive bucking of his hips into her core. “No, I'm not,” she teases. She feels Astarion shudder beneath her and she licks the shell of his ear, moving quickly down to kiss the underside of his jaw. Tav brushes her center over his fingers again, this time deliberately passing over the tip of him.

He swallows thickly as a gasp escapes his parted lips. As hot as the thought of Tav riding his cock makes him, the shackles of his subconscious are threatening to yank his chain. “I can't, not all the way,” he pleads. Ghastly hands are threatening to enclose around the column of his throat. “Just this, please.”

Tav pulls away from him momentarily, her brow knit in concern. She studies his eyes – ruby red gems hooded over in lust. She nods, placing a gentle kiss to his forehead. “Just this, then,” she says reassuringly.

Astarion sighs in relief and continues stroking himself in earnest, knuckles brushing now and again against her sex. He groans as her arousal mingles with his, slickening the palm of his hand to create a luscious glide. “Gods, how I wish I could,” he groans out.

“Could what?” Tav teases. Her breasts are pushing against his chest as it heaves with labored breath. She returns attention back to his ears, licking along its shell to nip gently at the tip.

Astarion's eyes roll to the back of his head as his body convulses in pleasure. “T-take you,” he admits through a shuddered breath. He twists his hand over the head of his cock in a specific rhythm, pulling a guttural groan from the back of his throat. “I think about it often.”

“Do you?” Tav raises a hand to cup the back of his head. She leans over, bringing her mouth close to his ear. “So do I,” she whispers. “It's not fair, you know. Having experienced you prior. Only to be cut off and denied any more.”

“You're one to talk,” he replies. He stares up at Tav, his mouth hanging agape. “D-do you think it's any easier for me? To want so carnally, only to have to deny myself?” He slides a hand up her thigh to hold her waist, guiding her down onto his core. They both sigh at the sensation as he takes the same hand and now threads it through her hair, pushing their foreheads together. “To see how the others look at you, knowing I cannot yet claim you for myself. It's… maddening,” he breathes against her lips.

Tav sighs. “Yet, here I am… in your lap. And not theirs.” She captures his lips in a chaste kiss, though Astarion surges forward. She slackens her jaw to allow him better access; like a man starved he explores the warm cavern of her mouth, tongue intertwining with hers.

He breaks the kiss with a pull of her bottom lip. “I promise that one day I will,” he speaks against her lips. Astarion pumps himself faster, feeling the coil behind his navel wind tighter. “And when I do, you’re not to leave my bed for days.”

Tav pulls her head back, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “Days?” she reiterates, feigning innocence. “Do you wish to mate me, Astarion?” 

His back suddenly arches off the bed, a gasp slipping past his lips. His knuckles brush against her sex again. “Yes,” he hisses through clenched teeth. “Fully, properly, lavishly.” He's babbling now. Logic escaping him, replaced by a tempting carpet of depraved carnal lust that threatens to unravel at the seams.

Tav kisses him gently again. “Should I tell you a little secret?” she asks. She doesn't wait for a response before continuing. Sliding her face again to Astarion’s ear, she says quietly, “What if I were to tell you that you already have me?”

He blinks up at her in bewilderment. “H-how would that be?” he stammers. “I've barely done anything. I can hardly touch you without-”

“Because it's you,” Tav explains. “It's you I think of when I'm alone.” She shakes her head. “No one else.”

Astarion rushes forward again, capturing his lips in a desperate kiss. “...The Gods truly made you just to ruin me,” he says, pulling away with a huff. He closes his eyes as he twists his wrist over the swollen tip of his length again, a soft sigh falling from his lips.

“Are you close?” She speaks softly to him, rubbing the pad of her thumb over his cheek. “Would telling you how good you are to me help?”

The coil winds tighter in his lower belly at her praise. He hums, cock twitching in his palm, pre-fluid now gathering at his tip. “A-almost,” Astarion stammers again. “M-my ears, touch them again, please.”

With a giggle, Tav dips her head into the crook of his neck, kissing along his skin leading up to his ear. She rubs at his other with her opposite hand, lavishing delicate attention to each of their tips. “Have I ever told you how handsome you are when you reach your peak, Astarion?” she pants into his ear. “The way your mouth hangs open in a silent gasp, how your eyes roll to the back of your head.” She watches him throw his head back, his hand picking up speed as he strokes himself. Tav dips her head again to his neck, nipping gently at the exposed column of skin.

“I'm going… if you keep, a-ah,” Astarion insists, breathing ragged. His chest is heaving, the influence of the Fool’s Tongue and overwhelming lust threatening to consume him. He's on the edge, right at the precipice, almost there, just a touch more-

Tav drops her hips over him again and he seizes, hips bucking wilding up to meet her. She latches onto his neck and sucks, hard enough that he knows a mark will be present by morning. Suddenly Astarion is falling over the cliff, mouth dropping open in a drawn out groan. His vision blanks, thick ropes of his release paint his lower belly as he jerks himself through the last of his orgasm.

She kisses the tip of his nose as she climbs off, picking her towel up from off the floor. Astarion lay on the bed panting, the room still spinning around him. As he comes to, he opens his eyes to meet Tav, who holds out the towel to him. “Did that feel good?” she asks, curiously.

He nods before replying, “Quite. I've used Fool’s Tongue before, but it was nothing like this.”

“Hmm,” she hums as he takes the towel from her. “Perhaps I should join you, next time?”

He huffs a quick laugh as he wipes the release of his belly, giving Tav a genuine smile. “That would certainly be something.”

[eden-writes-stuff]

Tags: smut, NSFW, spoken consent, virginity loss, virgin Remus, anal sex, oral sex, drunk sex

"Truth or dare?", Sirius asked. "Truth", Remus decided. "Uh... Who was your first time?" "That's a stupid question." "No, it's not."

Remus looked around the room, biting down on his lip. "I... I didn't have a first time." "What is that supposed to mean?" "Bloody hell, it means that I've never had sex." "But you have a girlfriend!" "I had. We broke up last week. And we... just never got there"

For a moment no one knew what to say. "Why are you all being so weird about it? There is absolutely nothing wrong about not having had sex at 17", Lily finally said. Remus simply shrugged. "Whatever. Don't worry, Lil. I think I'm going to bed. Unlike some of you, I would like to study tomorrow." And with that, he disappeared up the stairs and into their dorm.

All eyes shifted to Sirius, who looked back in disbelief. "What? I didn't know that. Why is everyone blaming me?" Mary lifted an eyebrow. With a sigh, Sirius gave in. This wasn't worth making the girls angry. He survived their wrath once; he doubted he would survive it again. "Fine, I'll apologize."

So, Sirius trotted up the stairs, slower than usual, unsure of what to do. He honestly hadn't wanted to hurt Moony, but was it really his fault? Carefully he knocked on the door. "Who is it?", Remus answered after a long moment. "I'm Sirius" "Bullshit. Sirius is never serious." With a sigh and a simple flick of his wand, Remus opened the door.

Sirius poked his head through the opening and grinned innocently. "I wouldn't say never, but very rarely... You okay?" Remus shrugged. "Do you want an apology?" "For what?" Sirius looked down at his shoes. He liked those shoes. Black Converse. A birthday present from Mary. "I don't know. For being rude I guess? I didn't want to... out you like that." "I'm not mad at you", Remus said calmly. Sirius knew he was lying. Or at least he wasn't fully telling the truth.

"No more Anne then?", he asked, leaning in the doorframe. "Nope." "She was nice. Everyone thought you'd be great together." "Everyone except you." Oh yeah. Sirius hated her - although, she never made it easy.

"Okay then, different question: what would you like your first time to be like?" "Sirius..." "You chose truth, Moony, so tell me the truth." Remus sighed, knowing there was no point in arguing. "I'd like it to be with someone who knows me. Someone who I can trust and who I know will take care of me, who won't use me." Sirius bit his lip. There was a reason the Sorting Hat had sent him to Gryffindor. "Do you trust me, Remus?", he asked quietly as he carefully approached him, stopping only inches before him.

Remus looked shocked, almost scared. But definitely not repulsed. "I do." Sirius lifted a hand to run his fingers through the golden-brown curls. "Do you want me to take care of you?" Without thinking too much his hands slid up Sirius' beautiful thighs. Softly he pulled him into his lap. Sirius almost melted against him as he felt Remus' body against his own. "I do."

And with that, Sirus' mouth was on his, hands in his hair. Remus tasted of chocolate, and mint toothpaste and alcohol. His lips were addictive and a little rough because he always chewed on them, but fuck if it isn't the best thing Sirius had ever tasted.

The whole world seemed to fade away when he was with Remus. Everything was better, he wasn't nearly as anxious about anything as long as Moony was there. Their bodies seemed to melt together, Remus pulling Sirius closer and closer, one hand landing on his ass, gently gripping the soft flesh.

Sirius gasped, a little surprised. He hadn't expected Remus to be so active. It wasn't bad - far from it - but the little reaction had been enough to make Remus draw back, looking up at him with those beautiful brown eyes, that were barely visible around the black of his pupiles. "Did I do something wrong?", he asked carefully. Sirius immediately shook his head.

"How drunk are you?", Sirius asked. "Two butterbeers and half a glass of firewhiskey. You?" "One shot of green fairy and that other half of that firewhiskey. Are you sure about this? We can wait. I don't want you to do anything you'll regret becau-" Before he could finish Remus pressed the bulge in his trousers against Sirius' ass, almost making him moan. "How about you? Are you sure?" He stopped speaking, as he felt Sirius' erection rubbing against his. "Oh fuck! Okay..."

All hesitation gone, he kissed him again, pulling him closer. Gently he pushed Remus back onto the bed, holding himself up with one arm. "We can always stop. No matter when. If you need a break or want to stop completely, that is always fine, okay?", Sirius assured him quietly, looking up once to make sure he understood. Remus started kissing his neck, softly biting into the flesh. "I don't want to stop. Please don't stop", he murmured.

He was infinitely thankful that Remus wanted to keep going. He wasn't even sure if he could stop with Remus' lips being so criminally soft, his breath so warm against his own skin.

But the best part was to hear Remus say it. Hearing him admit that he wanted him. That he wanted to do this with him. He wouldn't dream of denying him anything he wanted.

"Tell me how you want it." He let a hand slide under Remus' jumper. His skin was warm and soft between the scars. "With your mouth." Sirius lifted an eyebrow. "Never had a blowjob either?" Remus shook his head. "Shit... Poor you", he teased, smiling softly. He pulled the jumper over his head, revealing Remus' chest. "Anything else?" "Ca- can I be... be in you? Fuck. How do you say that without sounding weird?"

His heart skipped a beat. "You can definitely do that", Sirius grinned, biting into the soft skin of Remus' neck. Sirius had always known that Remus was beautiful, having seen him change almost every day for six years, but he had never seen him this close, never had he had the opportunity to really... see him.

He kissed every scar, every mark on his body. He would worship him for hours and hours, but since this was Remus' first time, and Sirius was sure to come into his pants if they kept looking at each other like this for much longer, he decided to act. He started unbuckling Remus' belt and unzipping his trousers. Remus aided him by lifting his hips and soon the only thing left on him was Sirius.

"Merlin! Do you have any idea how fucking gorgeous you are?" Sirius looked up at him while carefully kissing along his v-line. Had he been just a little more drunk, he might have started drowling.

His gaze lifted to meet Remus'. The boy was blushing like a bloody tomato and looking unfairly attractive. Sirius would never get tired of this sight. His kisses wandered lower and lower, but his gaze stayed fixed on Remus.

He stroked his dick a few times, softly kissing the tip, before taking him in.

He started off slow and steady, enjoying the look of pleasure on Remus' face. It all went to hell when he heard Remus moan for the first time. He had always loved Remus' voice, but hearing him curse under his breath and- oh fuck! Sirius knew he was absolutely, positively fucked when he heard his name escape Remus' lips. At that point, nothing could hold him back. He sucked his dick as if his life depended on it. Everything to hear him moan again and again.

At some point, Remus started moving his hips upward, making Sirius take him deeper. He gagged but didn't complain. He would let him go on like this forever. But, inexperienced as he was, Remus didn't last long. Luckily, Sirius had enough experience for the both of them and knew to stop before Remus could finish.

As soon as his lips had left him, Remus pulled Sirius up to him, claiming his lips so greedily that Sirius was sure he'd faint.  Eventually, he turned them both around, pressing Sirius into the bed with his weight. He was so gone. His hands found their way into Remus' soft curls, while the taller boy gripped his hips possesively.

Sirius forced himself to break the kiss after a good few minutes. "How much do you know from theory?", Sirius asked, still out of breath. Remus needed a few seconds before he could form a proper sentence. "Only what I read in books." Surprised, Sirius lifted an eyebrow. "Where did you read about gay sex in school books?" Remus grinned. "Who said anything about school books!" Sirius could only laugh before Remus kissed him again.

"Moony", he protested quietly, growing weaker and weaker with each brush of their lips. "Hm?", the other boy answered, kisses growing sloppy. Merlin, there couldn't be anything hotter in this world. "If you wanna continue you have to let me get up for a moment." Remus grumbled in protest, but eventually pushed himself up.

After taking a few seconds to regain his motor functions,  Sirius pushed himself up to grab the condoms and lube from the drawer of his nightstand. "For protection and easy access", he explained, "with guys, it's easier because there's only one hole, so you can't get that wrong", Sirius continued and handed both items to Remus.

He was about to undo his belt when he felt Remus' firm grip around his wrist. He couldn't help but stare as the other boy's elegant fingers worked to get him out of his trousers. "I know that it's important to prepare and stretch before." Sirius nodded slowly. He could feel his throat go dry.

"Had to learn that the hard way. It's best if you start with your fingers." Remus smiled and kissed his stomach, sending butterflies through his entire body. "And then it's just in and out?" "Basically. You can vary with how hard and how fast you like it. And of course different positions, but let's keep it simple for the first time." His voice grew more and more shaky as Remus freed him of his underwear and let it drop to his ankles.

"And you say I'm gorgeous", Remus whispered, biting his lip. Sirius couldn't help but smile. "Well, you are. And you probably don't get to hear it nearly enough." He watched as Remus unwrapped the condom and put it on.

"You ready?" Sirius nodded and turned with his bare butt facing Remus. He could hear the sound of the bottle clicking open and not long after felt the cool wetness on his skin. "Do I just push them in?", Remus asked carefully. "Yeah. Try to get some of it everywhere. It feels a little strange at first, but you get used to it."

When he felt Remus' fingers pressing against him, he bit down on his lip, letting his head roll back. "Shit. Did I hurt you?" "Only a little, but that's normal. Just keep going. It'll get better", he assured him. So Remus kept pushing forward. His other hand started gently stroking over Srius' lower back, helping him relax.

It didn't take long for Sirius to start sighing and quietly moaning. "I'm ready. I'm ready for you, Moony." Remus' hands left him for a few moments before gripping onto Sirius' sides to hold him in place as he gently slid into him.

They both moaned in unison and took a minute to cope with the feeling. Remus was wonderfully big. Sirius didn't think he could fall any more for him but was proven awfully wrong when Remus started moving. He was careful, to not slip out when he drew back for the first time before pushing himself all the way in again; slow and steady.

Remus felt even greater than he'd imagined. And that was just during his first time. The things he might do to him with more experience... If this was something that would ever be repeated. No! No sad thoughts. Just focusing on how fucking hot the guy behind him was.

He couldn't help but let out a quiet whimper at the thought. Remus immediately paused "What's wrong? Did I-" "No", he interrupted, "Just keep going. Fuck, please don't stop."

Merlin, how he loved hearing him beg like this. Unable to even think about it, Remus started thrusting into him again; quicker this time. A row of nonsensical curses left his lips. His hands gripped Sirius' waist to keep them both steady and to have something to hold onto. With every single movement, he grew more and more frantic.

It only took Remus a few, way too short minutes to reach the edge. As was to be expected. At least he warned Sirius -different to other experiences he had made over the years. "Fuck- Sirius! I can't- I need to-" "Come! Just let go. It's alright." Sirius shifted his weight to move one hand to his own cock, which was already dripping with precum.

Remus' hips stuttered a bit before he stilled completely, emptying himself into the condom. Sirius moved between him and his hand a few times before finishing himself. Unsure what to do, and unable to do much else, Remus fell back onto the bed, catching his breath.

Sirius took a second as well before he turned toward him, inspecting him carefully. "Everything alright?" Remus just nodded. Smiling, Sirius got up and disappeared into the bathroom from which he reemerged with a glass of water a few seconds later. Carefully he helped him sit up, leaning both of them against the headboard, pulling the blanket over them. Remus drank while Sirius softly stroked his thigh.

"So... Who was your first time?", Sirius grinned.

[charmed-quill]

Burrow Bound// B.W x Reader Chapter 9

Authors note at end.

originally requested by @littlegreenteacup

summary: Y/N, an American half-blood witch newly arrived in Muggle London, stumbles into the warmth of the Weasley brothers after a serendipitous meeting in Diagon Alley. Drawn into their world, she finds herself at the Burrow more often than not. Meanwhile, Bill Weasley is learning to navigate life as a single father, relying on his mother’s help to care for Victoire. Though their worlds orbit each other, Y/N and Bill’s paths never seem to align—until one evening when fate finally draws them together. Will it be the start of a love story, or will they be left with nothing but heartache?

Next Chapter

Last Chapter

word count: 2.2k

The late afternoon sun cast warm, golden light over the yard as Y/N sat cross-legged on the grass, surrounded by Victoire and her assortment of new birthday gifts. The little girl was gleefully sorting her dragon figurines into their new treasure chest, her curls bouncing as she moved from one pile to another.

“Look, Y/N!” Victoire said, holding up a sparkling purple dragon. “This one’s guarding the treasure because it’s the bravest!”

Y/N grinned, leaning closer. “A very wise choice. Every treasure hoard needs a brave protector.”

Victoire beamed and carefully placed the dragon at the center of her makeshift scene. Y/N glanced over her shoulder to see Bill and George in the distance, gathering discarded plates and cups from the party. George was talking animatedly, while Bill appeared to be listening with an expression somewhere between amusement and exasperation.

“Alright, darling,” Y/N said, brushing some grass from her jeans. “You keep sorting your treasures. I’m going to grab some water. Be right back, okay?”

Victoire nodded seriously, fully engrossed in her task.

Y/N headed toward the house, passing George, who gave her a sly grin as she went by. She caught the tail end of his comment to Bill

“I’m just saying, mate, she’s brilliant.”

Bill groaned audibly, his shoulders tensing. “Not you too, George. What is it with everyone today?”

George raised his eyebrows, feigning innocence. “What’s what?”

“You know exactly what I mean,” Bill replied, tossing a crumpled napkin into a trash bag with more force than necessary. “Charlie, Mum, Ginny, and now you. It’s like the whole family’s conspiring against me.”

George held up his hands, mock-surprised. “Conspiring? Against you? That’s a bit dramatic, even for you, big brother.”

Bill stopped and turned to face him, arms crossed. “You’ve all been dropping hints about Y/N since she showed up. It’s not subtle.”

“Hints?” George said, smirking. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m just making observations.”

“Observations,” Bill repeated flatly, narrowing his eyes. “About how great she is? How wonderful she is with Victoire? How I should, what, sweep her off her feet?”

George laughed, leaning on the table he’d just cleared. “Well, I wasn’t going to say it, but now that you mention it…”

“George.” Bill’s voice carried a warning, but there was no real heat behind it.

George straightened up, his expression softening. 

“Look, no one’s trying to meddle, okay maybe Mum is, but the rest of us? We just really like her. She’s... different.”

Bill frowned, picking up a few discarded cups and stacking them absently. “Different how?”

“Different like... she fits,” George said simply. “She’s been around for a few months now, and it feels like she’s always been part of things. She’s kind, funny, doesn’t take herself too seriously. And let’s not forget how she handled the Canary Cream incident. That’s rare.”

Bill let out a short laugh despite himself, shaking his head. “So, what, you think I should, what did Charlie say, ‘open the door’? Let her in?”

George shrugged. “I’m not saying you have to do anything. But I am saying that if you don’t at least consider it, you might regret it later. She’s a good friend, Bill. One of the best I’ve ever seen.”

“That’s not enough of a reason,” Bill muttered, though his voice had lost its edge.

“No,” George agreed, leaning in slightly. “But maybe the way she makes Victoire laugh is. Or the fact that she genuinely listens when someone talks, like she actually cares. Or how, even after a whole day at the party, she’s still out there playing dragons with Victoire like it’s the best part of her day.”

Bill followed George’s gaze back to the yard, where Y/N was now pretending to be a treasure-stealing knight, much to Victoire’s delight. The little girl was squealing with laughter, waving her stuffed dragon in the air as Y/N “surrendered” dramatically.

“She’s great with her,” Bill admitted quietly, his expression softening as he watched them.

“Yeah, she is,” George said, clapping him on the back. “And maybe, just maybe, she could be great with you too.”

Bill sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re relentless, you know that?”

“Part of my charm,” George said with a grin, grabbing the trash bag and hoisting it over his shoulder. “But seriously, mate. Don’t overthink it. Sometimes good things are just... good. You don’t have to question everything.”

As George headed toward the house, Bill stood there for a moment, his gaze lingering on Y/N. The awkward tension he’d felt all day was still there, but now, it was tinged with something else, something warmer, quieter, and far harder to ignore.

���

The kitchen was quiet now, the echoes of the party long faded. Bill sat alone at the table, staring at the dregs of his tea. The steam had stopped rising ages ago, the mug gone cold in his hands. The silence pressed in around him, but his mind was far from still.

Through the window, he could see Y/N in the garden. She was sitting cross-legged on the grass with Victoire, helping her arrange the little treasures she’d collected from her party: tiny dragon figurines, a shimmering plastic tiara, and the little treasure box Y/N had given her. Victoire’s giggles floated faintly through the open window, and every so often, Y/N’s soft laugh joined hers.

Bill closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. The familiar battle in his chest raged again, stronger this time. He’d been so careful to keep his distance, to stay guarded. Letting someone in, even someone like Y/N, felt like opening a door he’d worked so hard to keep shut.

She’s just a friend. She’s good with Victoire, that’s all.

The thought was sharp, a desperate attempt to keep the walls he’d built intact. But it felt hollow, even as he repeated it to himself. Because the truth was harder to ignore now. He wasn’t just watching Y/N because she was good with Victoire. He was watching her because he couldn’t seem to stop.

Her laugh, her kindness, the way she looked at Victoire like she was the most important person in the world, it had all woven itself into his mind, tugging at the edges of his carefully guarded heart. And that scared him more than he cared to admit.

What are you doing?

The question echoed in his head, heavy with doubt. 

What do you think is going to happen? That she’ll just, what? Fall into your life and fix everything?

He shook his head, huffing a quiet laugh at himself. 

Ridiculous.

And yet…

He glanced out the window again. Y/N was leaning forward now, her hands gesturing animatedly as she told Victoire a story. Whatever she was saying had his daughter in stitches, her high-pitched laughter ringing out like a bell. Y/N’s own laugh followed, softer but just as bright, and Bill felt the corners of his mouth tug upward despite himself.

She fits, a small voice whispered in the back of his mind. She fits here. With Victoire. With you.

He clenched his jaw, forcing the thought away. It’s too soon. Too complicated. What if it doesn’t work? What if I let her in and it all falls apart again?

But then another voice, quieter but stronger, crept in. 

What if it doesn’t?

Bill exhaled sharply, the weight of the question pressing against his chest. He had spent so long being cautious, so long holding everything together on his own, that the idea of letting someone else in felt almost impossible. But Y/N wasn’t just anyone. She was kind and patient, and she didn’t seem to shy away from the chaos that came with his life.

Victoire adores her. Mum adores her. Hell, even Charlie’s been dropping hints left and right.

But none of that mattered if he couldn’t take the first step. If he couldn’t get past the fear that kept him rooted to this chair, staring out the window like a coward.

He ran a hand over his face, frustration building. 

You’ve faced dragons. Curses. Death Eaters. And yet, here you are, too scared to walk outside and ask someone to dinner.

The thought stung, cutting through the haze of his doubt. Slowly, his hand dropped from his face, and he sat up straighter, his gaze locking onto Y/N through the window. She glanced up just then, her eyes meeting his, and she smiled, a simple, warm smile that made his chest tighten.

Maybe it’s worth it, he thought, the tiniest flicker of hope breaking through the fear. Maybe she’s worth it.

But as quickly as the thought came, the doubt followed. 

And if she’s not? If this ends like before? Can you handle that? Can Victoire?

His fists clenched against the table, the tension in his shoulders growing unbearable. He didn’t know if he could do it. If he could risk the fragile balance he’d built for himself and Victoire. If he could let himself hope for something more.

But as he sat there, torn between fear and possibility, one thought lingered above the rest, soft but insistent:

You’ll never know unless you try.

—

The house was quiet as Y/N and Bill reached the door, the soft creak of the floorboards beneath their feet the only sound breaking the stillness. Y/N turned to face him, adjusting the strap of her bag over her shoulder. Her expression was warm, but Bill could feel the nerves simmering just beneath his skin.

“Thanks for inviting me today,” she said with a small smile. “Victoire had such a great time.”

“She’s been talking about it nonstop,” Bill replied, his hands buried deep in his pockets. He paused for a moment, his throat tightening as he glanced at her. “And I’m glad you came. It wouldn’t have been the same without you.”

The words felt heavier than he intended, but he pressed on, his pulse quickening. The moment stretched between them, and for once, the silence felt unbearable. 

Just ask her. It’s not that hard.

Clearing his throat, he tried to sound more casual than he felt. “Y/N, I was wondering… would you like to have dinner with me next Saturday? Just the two of us.”

The words were out, hanging in the air like a fragile thread. For a second, Y/N froze, her eyes widening in surprise. She blinked at him, clearly caught off guard, and her lips parted as if to respond, but no sound came out.

Bill’s chest tightened, the silence hitting him like a blow. 

Oh no. 

This was a mistake. 

You’ve just made it awkward. 

His mind spiraled, each second of hesitation fueling his doubt.

Of course, she doesn’t feel the same. Why would she? She’s kind, smart, and beautiful. What could she possibly see in someone like me, a single dad who barely has time to sleep, let alone offer her what she deserves?

As Y/N stammered slightly, searching for words, Bill felt his stomach drop further. 

She’s trying to find a nice way to let you down. Merlin, why did you think this was a good idea?

He stepped back slightly, forcing a small, tight smile as he glanced down at the floor. “It’s fine if you don’t want to,” he said quickly, the words rushing out in a weak attempt to save face. “I just thought I’d ask. No pressure.”

His heart was pounding now, his breath shallow as the embarrassment curled hot in his chest. He’d overstepped. He’d ruined the easy, friendly connection they’d shared, and now he’d have to watch her walk out the door, knowing he’d made things awkward.

“Bill, no,” Y/N said, her voice breaking through his spiraling thoughts. She shook her head quickly, stepping forward. “It’s not that at all. I was just surprised.”

Her words made him pause, his eyes flicking up to meet hers. The warmth in her expression was unmistakable, a faint pink tinge coloring her cheeks. “I’d love to have dinner with you, Bill,” she said softly, her smile returning. “Saturday sounds great.”

For a moment, he couldn’t quite process her words. “Really?” he asked, his voice hesitant, as though he didn’t quite believe it.

“Really,” Y/N said, her smile widening, her tone steady.

Relief hit him like a wave, the tension in his shoulders easing as her words settled over him. The earlier turmoil in his chest dissipated, replaced by a cautious but undeniable flicker of hope.

As Y/N adjusted her bag and reached for the door handle, she glanced back at him. “I’ll see you then,” she said gently.

“Yeah,” Bill replied, his voice softer now. “See you.”

She stepped outside, the door clicking softly behind her, leaving Bill standing there in the quiet hallway. The air felt lighter somehow, and yet his heart was still racing. He let out a shaky breath, his lips curving into a faint, disbelieving smile.

She said yes.

The doubt still lingered, a quiet voice whispering that he might not be enough, but for now, it was drowned out by the simple truth of her answer. And as he turned back toward the kitchen, a small, hopeful spark settled in his chest, glowing brighter with every step.

tagged: @navs-bhat @neenieweenie @buendiabebeta

a/n: OH MY GOD GUYS!!!!!!! from here on out its just fluff i fear. i know the orginal request asked for some angst and i will definatly try to add that in, but i'll make it more internally.

[the-raindeer-king]

SELKIE👏SOAP👏 big brain stuff. Don't get me wrong, the Dullahan is my favorite of all mythological creature. I have a whole figurine a foot tall of one on my shelf. But Selkie Soap hits so hard. He'd so be the type to leave his coat out at your house all the time after dating and knowing you're his person. 'Oh, whoops Soap left his weirdly heavy and thick coat here again', 'Oh look, he's calling asking if you can bring him his coat' after a while he gives up and just throws it on you tbh. Let him be yours, damnit!

If selkies are always cold without the pelt, I wonder how important warmth is so Soap. You cuddled up and comment how warm he is, or how warm and cozy it is under the blanket(and pelt cause ofc) with you? Absolute heart eyes. You probably just said the equivalent of something so serious and loving and he's fawning

Big brain shit

AND BEAR SHIFTER PRICE the rumbles the RUMBLESSS takes 'bear hug' to a whole new meaning. Yes he adds honey to his tea, he will bite if you comment on it (if you're not one of the very few he really trusts and cares for that is. If it's say, his wonderful partner, they'll get smothered with a kiss an' a cuddle and maybe a nip at most. Gotta take care of his lil' love after all.) Supreme den to sleep in. Dark room, probably painted like a dark brown or something so it's really dark dark once the sun goes down. California King size bed, so many blankets, heavy ones he can shift around into certain ways. Pillows everywhere, AC cranked LOW low so he can cuddle his sweet partner so so close without them overheating, leaving them clinging to him in their sleep bc he's so warm. Probably loves smelling your scent, and scenting you so others smell him and know to leave you be

ELDRITCH GHOST THO!

He's always there. Haunting those he hunts and those he loves and it's such a rare thing to be so vehemently focused on tbh. As his enemy, it's an endless looking sense. The dark is too dark in certain spaces but not all of them. The quiet is too quiet when they step into a specific spot but take two steps away and they can hear their brain thinking again. On the flip side, you never feel like you're alone. There's always something right around the corner, right behind you that you can't see. Yes, Ghost is there physically, and his body almost feels like there's soft layers and hollow inside. But when hes not there, it's like he is still. A drink on the counter when you wake, a towel on the sink when you shower, the blankets moving and being tucked around you as you settle to sleep, even if you not moving, especially when it's dark.

And 100% I don't see Gaz as a harpy. I think you're on with a Naga though. Notoriously hard to kill (as we've seen with all the shit Gaz gets into (cough cough, helicopter, cough cough)) ruthless on the job but Amicable unless disrespected off the job (usually used as guards in mythology) and I'd go a step farther and say I could see him as either a Boomslang(one of the 10 fastest snakes, cause Gaz isn't super bulky but he's light and quick and snaps to where he needs to go yk?) also a beautiful black/green combo and slimmer species that I feel would fit him well, highly venomous and hang out in trees, idk if that's fitting just a fun fact.

Oooh just imagine going to pick him up after a rough mission. He's still on guard, alert, serious, and once he sees you he's snapping to you, already holding you close, the midsection of his tail winding up to press against the back of your legs, pressing you closer. Mumbling quiet words with a light hiss to them as he draws you in, seeping up your warmth. He's a cold blooded creature, can't you help him warm back up? 🥺

Anon, you and I are on the same wavelength and I love you (platonic).

[noneorother]

The art director & the Good Omens book cover tier list of doom, part 3

Part 1 l Part 2 l Part 3

I am your resident Art Director/Good Omens enthusiast, and welcome to my completely meta-free book cover tier list. Listen, making a book cover is HARD. I should know. But while we salute these artists for their hard work and time, I think we can all admit that once in a while, the vision is just not on. And on very rare occasions, publishers seemed to have managed to commission the cover art directly from hell... here's where we left off last time:

21. Labas zīmes, Latvian cover

Our boys are back! And they are so ready to join the Dead Boy Detective agency. I would say that Latvians don't wear much tartan, so Argyle might seem like a similar print, but it just seems so... not Good Omens. Much like Crowley's flying purple people eater tail and Aziraphale's Conan the Barbarian sword, we're straying into niche AU fan fiction territory here. I mean, it's not *wrong*, but it certainly ain't right, either.

Tier: Does the Job

22. Bons Augùrios, Portuguese

Let me start by saying this cover is so close to being in the blessed category. The layout and spacing are divine, the imagery is simple and whimsical, it reflects the humour inside the gravitas to give you an idea of the *feeling* of reading Good Omens. So few of these covers have gotten this aspect of good design right. Honestly, I would slow clap if it wasn't for that random FLAME JIZZ stuck to the bottom right hand corner of the book. Who's idea was that? Dagon's?

Tier: Great

23. Semne Bune, Romanian cover

I admire two things about this cover: 1) Their utter commitment to a clean 3-colour palette and comprehensible layout. 2) Symbolic demon giving a principality head joke RIGHT ON THE FRONT COVER. This designer had balls. cotillion-sized balls. Now, does Aziraphale's sword have a sentient rooster tassel that watches said head-giving in horror? I sure hope not, but I don't see how that could be allegorical so, I'm torn. I feel like this goes in two categories for completely different reasons. And seeing as I'm in charge around here...

Tier: Great & Not so Good (Omens)

23. Semne Bune, Romanian cover cont.

Compared to the last cover's gigantic double-entendre, this feels so tame and logical. The text is centred and balanced. There's breathing room, and we have wing symbolism! I've never seen a cover try to split Terry and Neil's names like that, which is a fun twist but BY GOD that center line is not straight near the right end of the feathers and it is sending this cover straight down to Does the Job. It's grounded there forever.

Tier: Does the Job

25. HYVIÄ ENTEITÄ, Finnish cover

In this list, having something actually *relevant* to the main plot of the book and not mangling and main characters really puts you in rarefied air. All the motorcycles are book accurate which means somebody read something! Would I have ever picked the empty parking lot of Famine's restaurant as a subject worth a cover? Absolutely not. But the sick 80s lightning tips it into "fine" territory. The text is yellow. It's pretty.

Tier: Does the Job

26. Head ended, Estonian cover.

My face after staring at this cover for ten minutes and finally realizing that this is Hastur and Ligur waiting around for Crowley to pull up:

The artist's face after watching me do that:

Do I even need to rate this? It's called HEAD ENDED. I don't know how to be funnier than that.

Tier: WTF

27. Dobry Omen, Polish cover

Some good points for trying to be original with the layout of the title by drawing a custom pitchfork "Y", but the heinous kerning and the fact the whole text block is not even centred kind of makes me take all the points back. I feel like we're pretty heavy on the demonic, extremely light on the angelic in this take. Maybe it's because on his death bed the lead guitarist of White Snake will finally admit to having designed this cover in his spare time.

Tier: Not so Good (Omens)

28. Good Omens, Hungarian cover

If I told you this designer did not read the book, and instead just watched the trailer of The Omen (the movie) and vibed this heinous brown carpet swatch into existence, you would one hundred percent believe me. I can't even talk about the faux belle-époque font right now. I am irrationally angry.

Tier: WTF

29. Good Omens, Bulgarian cover

WHO. IS. DADDY. WIZARD?? Is all I can think when I look at this cover. Aziraphale & Grommet are recognizable enough, and you could make the case for telescope monkey being Adam, but I need to find this cover designer and shake them until they tell me who this deranged Gargamel is supposed to be. I must know.

Tier: Bad

30. BELAS MALDIÇÕES, Portuguese cover

After all we've been through on this list so far, this truly sucks. It's not even weird. It's just puce text layered atop text to create a great yawn of a cover. Shout out to the designer of the Diablo PC game font, I hope you got paid.

Tier: Bad

Part 3 roundup:

[dragomfry]

Artistic Analysis of Saezuru’s Covers (Vol 1-9)

What I’ve always loved about Yoneda Kou’s writing and art style is her subtlety and attention to detail. Compared to other BL styles, her style is not as exaggerated in its emotions. The characters’ emotions are consistently written and drawn very down-to-earth, realistic, and/or nuanced/subtle (besides the exaggerations in comedic moments). Her art style is simple yet detailed just enough to be very pleasing to the eye.

All of her cover illustrations are clever and rife with detail. In this post, I’ll be examining my interpretation on the meaning of each cover’s design up to volume 9.

Volume 1

The first cover is simply iconic. On a surface level, it shows exactly what type of story you expect you’re getting into, so it draws in its audience. But artistic nuances show that there’s a twist to this story.

Yashiro is caught in a compromising position, arms behind his back, resting his head on some man’s bare foot, which indicates his submissiveness. And that man could be any man, not just Doumeki (or the love interest). This emphasizes the impersonal aspect of sex to Yashiro, which shows that this isn’t going to be your typical romantic BL between two partners. We also learn that Yashiro is in control of all these sexual encounters. In traditional BL manga, the partner that takes the bottom or uke position is typically seen as the “weaker/more timid” individual (which, for some reason, are commonly interpreted as being more “feminine” traits), but clearly this isn’t the case with this story. Therefore, the cover is empowering. At this point, Yashiro is confident and has reclaimed a sense of control over his sexuality.

Volume 2

This cover is bold, in a quiet way.

It deviates completely from the first one, making the whole environment the focus and not the main character. This type of cover design is especially rare for manga, which typically grab your attention with the character(s) front and center. The style of characters being enlarged and shown on the cover is commonly used, as, obviously, it’s very marketable. It easily draws the attention of potential readers (weren’t you captivated by Yashiro on that first cover?). However, the 2nd cover is extremely subtle, and it’s truly the mark of an artist who cares about the story she is telling, not just the hot scenes. It’s admirable. I will never stop respecting Yoneda-sensei for being so confident in challenging established tropes and themes.

This cover forces you to look closer at the details. It’s saying, “Hey, this story isn’t just about lust, but something deeper and more mature.” Upon closer inspection, we see Yashiro standing alone, completely out in the open, soaking in a full suit in the rain. It shows just how little he cares for his own well-being, and the pessimistic desire to not do anything about it. He has been deeply affected by tragedy. He feels empty and insignificant, like a drop in the ocean, which the cover reflects by depicting him as just another person in the background.

The full cover reveals even more details. Others have already talked extensively about the beautiful symbolism of the rain and umbrellas (inspired by kyrieren’s Rain and Aiai Gasa posts). Doumeki rushes from the right, carrying an umbrella to shield Yashiro from the rain, or his semi self-imposed misery. Doumeki bringing the umbrella to Yashiro is symbolic of how he cares for Yashiro’s wellbeing, which Yashiro doesn’t “see” or fully notice the depth of at this point. The theme of seeing and not seeing is established from this point forward.

Volume 3

The body language is everything.

Their position, especially Yashiro’s position with his arms up and feet made bare, reflects a sexual one. This indicates how their relationship is becoming more intimate. But Doumeki still being in his shoes implies that they aren’t that far into it yet. It can also signify how Yashiro and/or Doumeki himself will not let him take off his shoes, or display his full vulnerability. Despite the bareness of Yashiro’s soles, which could imply openness, Yashiro pushes back with his legs and does not look Doumeki back in the eyes. Perhaps he’s, in fact, willfully being “blind” to Doumeki’s feelings and closing off his own. So Yashiro’s position, rather than reflect growing trust and openness, actually reflects how he wants to reduce their budding relationship to a purely physical one (like all his other sexual relationships). In contrast, Doumeki is staring intently at Yashiro, with his arms grasping Yashiro’s hands and pulling down the pants on his leg, keeping him in place. His intent is clear: to make Yashiro his. The way they’re both locked in place almost resembles a dance with its rhythm and balance. They’re both stuck in a position of their own makings, yet in a harmonious way. This cover masterfully conveys the psychological conflict and erotic situation between the characters.

Volume 4

Doumeki is staring determinedly, at whom? The audience, Yashiro, or both?

The cover of the extra story “A Flame in the Distance” makes it clear that Yashiro is not looking back at Doumeki, tying back into how Yashiro is willfully ignoring Doumeki’s and his own feelings.

It’s no secret that Yoneda-sensei puts great care into her symbolism. Both characters being placed in a field of wheat is likely very symbolic, but I could only find a few sources so far to explain the potential connections. According to those few sources, wheat symbolizes life, strength, and rebirth. In this case the wheat or the cover in general could symbolize Doumeki (because his name’s 力 means strength, power, force, etc). With this interpretation, volume 4 could act as Doumeki’s mindset in the story, and volume 2 would be Yashiro’s. In comparison to Yashiro’s gloomy, entrenched, and rainy attitude, Doumeki’s attitude is more cautiously optimistic and determined. The rebirth aspect of the wheat can also explain why they are both in the field; it’s because both have caused immense changes in each other. The brighter colors in the cover show how both have been the light in each other’s lives. Overall, the cover has an ominous or auspicious feel to it, but one thing is implied for sure: things are about to change. Doumeki and Yashiro are becoming extremely close.

Volume 5

Volume 5: the turning point of the series.

The cover’s design is simple, but everything is deliberately placed. We are put into the perspective of Doumeki, which makes the cover very intimate. Doumeki is on top and caresses Yashiro, who is undressed. Yashiro now looks directly up at Doumeki. This time, he cannot look away from his feelings. The last thing to mention is how Yashiro is almost positioned upside down, which indicates how everything is about to change. This all signals what we know is going to happen between them. They’re going to push the relationship to the farthest it’s ever been… and the result will be heartbreaking. A consistent theme among sources I found showed that the color white is symbolic of physical and spiritual purity as well as mourning and funerals. In this case, the white clothing symbolizes the tragedy of how Yashiro has been defiled by Doumeki, and how Doumeki is no longer pure in Yashiro’s eyes. The death of Yashiro’s sadomasochistic facade can also be symbolized with the white, because Doumeki has irrevocably changed Yashiro. Doumeki has made Yashiro fully realize things he never knew he so desperately wanted before: gentle touch, and most of all, genuine loving affection. Simultaneously, this volume has them both experience their best and worst moment.

Volume 6

While being less intimate than volume 5, volume 6’s cover still conveys a sense of closeness. Most of all, it conveys a sense of nostalgia and slight sadness.

Both are walking together in the night illuminated by city lights, Doumeki innocently following behind Yashiro, like how their relationship used to be. The cover’s cleverness comes from how it juxtaposes with the actual content of the volume, in which Yashiro is desperately trying and eventually succeeds in pushing Doumeki away from him now that they’ve gone so far. Volume 6’s cover is a swan song that pays homage to the romantic simplicity and gentle affection of their relationship, before everything changes…

Volume 7 and 8

By themselves, the covers seem unremarkable. But put side by side, the meaning and meta commentary become clear.

Doumeki and Yashiro have become physically separated. Both have grown up and matured. Doumeki is no longer the baby bird we remember. He looks more mature, dresses more seriously, has many scars on his face, and is wearing and surrounded by dark colors. This all reflects his mental growth and descent into darkness, or the yakuza. He is also turned away from Yashiro. Volume 7 is the complete opposite to volume 8. Yashiro dresses in and is surrounded by lighter colors. This reflects how he’s become more of a civilian and how he was actually never been as suited for the yakuza lifestyle as Doumeki. Yashiro has a contemplative expression, turning his head and body in a way to look directly at Doumeki. Now, Yashiro is aware of his feelings more than ever before, but Doumeki is not reciprocating so openly this time. *Forgot to mention, Doumeki is shown pulling off his glove with his mouth, his jacket is hanging loosely on him, and he’s taken off his shoe. He is much more comfortable in his sexuality now. On the other hand, Yashiro is shown to be covered more in his jacket and both of his shoes are still on, which could indicate his newfound impotence. Doumeki’s position is also more open than Yashiro’s more closed off one, showing their differences in confidence. In many ways, their roles have been reversed this arc.

Volume 9

Finally, we have the latest cover. Yashiro and Doumeki are working to re-establish a sense of closeness, but that warmth they possessed with their early relationship has not (yet?) resurfaced.

Doumeki once again looks directly at Yashiro. He is now trying to express his feelings for Yashiro, but at a distance because his hand is still gloved (or his mask of indifference is still on). It seems as if Yashiro is not looking directly at Doumeki, but that doesn’t mean he’s avoiding his feelings like in the previous covers. Rather, he is now trying to hide them. Still, Yashiro not looking at Doumeki shows that he tragically cannot “see” Doumeki’s feelings for him now. There is deliberate ambiguity with how Yashiro grasps Doumeki’s gloved hand, as evidenced by how Yoneda-sensei revealed other drafts with variations of Yashiro’s hand placement. Is Yashiro pulling Doumeki towards him, keeping him in place, or pushing him away from him? This ambiguity reflects Yashiro’s inner conflict and contradictions. Their winter clothing and the desaturated color scheme all symbolizes the emotional coldness of their current relationship. Both desperately want to express their feelings for each other, but both can’t yet, due to each other’s unwillingness to drop their masks.

And that’s where we left off.

[mutilatemyheart]

Summary: Mij hasn't known a moment of peace while Fixer has been in the bacta tank, but the commando is finally awake, and it's time to find out how much he heard you say. Warnings: I don't think any. Attempts at flirtation. Not edited. Pairing: Fixer x fem!reader Word Count: 1098

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4

Mij Gilamar is many things. He’s a Mandalorian, a surgeon, a sergeant in the GAR, a damn good Sabacc player, and your newest friend. He’s kept you updated on Fixer’s condition for the past several days. He informed you early on that Fixer’s condition wasn’t quite as critical as Sev had made it out to be. You knew the Deltas were shaken seeing Fixer injured that badly. They weren’t used to having to send someone home to the medbay. The games of Sabacc helped to keep your mind off the fact that the other Deltas were now off as a three-man team in the middle of a firefight. Sure, General Jusik had gone with them, but you know it has to be difficult not having their brother with them.

The medbay doors slide open in front of you, and you’re instantly greeted by the smiling face of the Mandalorian doctor. You’re grateful they asked him to come back on as a trainer. You’re not sure that the other doctors here would view the critically injured clones as worthy of being saved. Your anger at how your friends and the other troopers are treated by the Republic grows every day, but it gives you hope to know there are some out there who truly do care about what happens to them.

“How are you today, ad’ika?” Mij asks as you make your way over to him.

“Good. Even better now,” you say with a smile. “How are you?”

“Fine, but I know you’re not here for me.” He throws a glance over his shoulder. “Fixer! You have a visitor.”

Your heart stutters at the sight of the commando sitting on the edge of the hospital bed in his blacks with a datapad in hand. He doesn’t look injured or tired anymore. He looks whole, and the smile on his face when his eyes meet yours is worth all the days of stress and heartache you’ve endured. It takes every ounce of self-control not to throw your arms around him.

“I didn’t believe him when he said you’d been by every day,” Fixer says, setting the datapad to the side and focusing his attention on you.

You turn to shoot your best evil eye at Mij, but he’s already made his exit to give you two some privacy. What else had he told Fixer. You shift your weight from one foot to the other. Does he remember what you told him that first night he was brought in?

“Of course I did. I was pestering Mij about your condition every chance I got.” You don’t trust yourself to look him in the eyes for too long, so you focus your gaze on the way his hand rests on the edge of the mattress. His fingers lightly press into the foam, and you wonder briefly what they would feel like on your skin. “I was so worried about you.”

“I didn’t mean to worry you. Though, I have to admit that it’s nice to know that someone would care if I didn’t make it…especially when that someone is you.”

“Me?” You don’t try to hide you smile when you look back up at him.

He nods. “You. It’s rare for us to meet someone who handles Scorch’s humor and Sev’s…everything as well as you have. Boss joked about making you an honorary Delta just to try to keep those two in line, but I shut that down quickly.”

You heart sinks. The chances of you ever going on a mission with them is slim to non-existent but knowing that Fixer wouldn’t want you there even if you could be stings. Maybe his brothers were wrong. Maybe he just wanted you to leave them all alone.

“Not that it wouldn’t be nice to see you more,” he continues, drawing you out of your thoughts. “But I’d never be able to focus. You’re very distracting.”

“Aren’t soldiers supposed to be able to tune out distractions?”

He tilts his head to the side and narrows his eyes slightly like he’s debating his answer. “Absolutely. I can tune out most background noise like the sound of voices or nature and put my attention where it needs to be, but I can’t get you out of my mind when you’re not around. It would be impossible if you were close by.”

Your feet move on their own until you’re just a breath away from his body. The rise and fall of his chest and the deep brown of his eyes are like stepping out into fresh air after breathing in the recycled air on a ship for weeks. He’s beautiful and alive and he thinks about you when he’s gone.

“We need to celebrate your recovery.”

You run your fingers along the new scar above his jawline.

His eyes flutter shut at your touch, and you want to kiss him. You want to taste the life on his lips and feel his breath against your skin.

“You did say we could go anywhere I wanted,” he smirks.

So, he had heard you. His eyes open and search your face for any clue you regret what you had told him all those nights ago.

“I did say that, and I meant it. All of it.”

Your words seem to be confirmation enough for him as his hands find your waist and pull you closer to him. You're so close that you can count the shades of brown in his eyes. Your heart thrums in your throat as you lean forward.

“Am I interrupting?” a voice asks from somewhere behind you.

You jump away from Fixer and fight to keep the string of curse words in your mind from spilling out of your mouth. So close. You were so close to finally kissing him. You turn toward the owner of the voice, ready to tell him that yes, he was interrupting. But the words die on your tongue as a tall figure in all black armor approaches. A six-legged creature who looks like a wrinkled mass of skin stares up at you and sniffs the air curiously.

“Sergeant Vau.”

Fixer’s voice is back to its usual serious, no-nonsense tone. Any hint of the playful, flirty tone that had laced it before is gone. The tension in the air is almost suffocating.

“You should go,” Fixer says to you. His eyes don’t meet yours.

“Yeah, uhm…good night.” You throw one final glance at him before you step around Vau and make your way to the door. You almost miss the sad, quiet ‘good night’ that slips past Fixer’s lips.

[trekbait]

Kirk's most unbelievable log entries!

Kirk’s logs while in command of the Enterprise are considered some of the wildest and most outlandish entries submitted to Starfleet. They have been the most queried of any set of logs but given Kirk’s status as a hero they were rarely challenged. Yet many today question the authenticity of his records. Some outright wonder if he was high on snakeleaf at the time or was covering up other activities. 

What we can say for certain is that he was not following protocol and recording his records at the time, but filling in gaps much later and backdating them. For example, listen to this: "Captain's Log, Stardate 1672.1. Specimen-gathering mission on planet Alfa 177. Unknown to any of us during this time, a duplicate of me, some strange alter ego, had been created by the transporter malfunction." I’m sorry, if no one knew about it at this time, how are you recording a log about it, Kirk? Clearly, he slipped up there. Do you think this is an isolated case? Let’s jump to 1704.2: "Captain's Log, supplemental. Our orbit, tightening. Our need for efficiency – critical. But unknown to us, a totally new and unusual disease has been brought aboard." 

So let’s go through and see which of Kirk’s bizarre log entries are most likely to be stretching the bounds of plausibility.

They stole his what?

Alien women overpowered the Enterprise crew by unknown means (that happens a lot, it sounds like a security failure being passed off as “there were 20 guys! No, 50! Big ones! 100 big guys with guns!”) and “stole Spock’s brain” to be their new supercomputer. Kirk chases down the thieves with Spock walking like a toy drone. 

McCoy manages to use alien knowledge to “put Spock’s brain back in” as if nothing had happened (perhaps nothing did happen?). Conveniently, McCoy promptly forgets all this knowledge and the whole process hasn’t so much as ruffled Spock’s hairdo. What?? I’m sorry, where are the receipts for all this.

Greek gods?

Kirk claims that a “giant green hand” in space grabbed the ship then an image of the “ancient Greek god Apollo” appeared. This god could crush his ship, call lighting from the sky and grow to an immense size. In the end, he just wanted a girl and worshipers (Lt Palamas weirdly throws her Starfleet training to the wind to accommodate the first). 

Now sure, we’ve encountered a lot of powerful aliens before, but are you seriously just expecting us to have you rewrite a huge chunk of history without so much as some pottery shards to elaborate? What about the other pantheon of gods? Or Klingon gods? Did one of your officers really sell out humanity that fast? Don’t leave us hanging!

Abraham Lincoln in space?

Kirk claims the Excalbians sent a giant vision of “Abraham Lincoln floating in space”, and then to walk around and chat on the ship, for the sole purpose of asking him to beam down to the planet. Why the convoluted form of invite? Kirk never really elaborates. It’s almost as if he’s making the log up as he goes along. 

Once on the planet, Kirk explains, they meet another recreation, this time of “Surak”. The Excalbians don’t seem to have a concept of good and evil and want to test it (is the emotionless logic that Surak brings the most effective example of this?). Ample philosophical literature in the Enterprise’s databanks that would be very insightful is not suggested. Instead, a battle to the death. Drawing from Kirk’s knowledge the Excalbians have them fight “representations of evil”: Colonel Green (legit), Kahless the Unforgettable (racist much?), Zora of Tiburon (niche choice, Kirk. I had to look her up), and Genghis Khan (a rather reductive assessment of his legacy). This sounds more like a scattergun of names from the library databanks than a judgement on the representation of evil.

Prescription strip club?

First up, let’s talk about how Kirk claims that the reason they were found in a strip club was that Lt Commander Scott “became a misogynist” because a female engineer “caused an accident”. McCoy then “prescribed” a visit to sex workers (which also needed the Captain to attend for emotional support) to “cure” him of his misogyny. As if encouraging your chief engineer to view his female staff as sexual objects would help in that regard.

Given this log was recorded immediately after Scott was found over the body of a murdered sex worker with a bloody knife in his hands, I guess A for effort on rapidly coming up with your cover story, Kirk! But then for it to turn out that this whole murder was because Scott was possessed by “the spirit of Jack the Ripper”. Well, that’s one way to keep Starfleet’s reputation clean. And yet again the only evidence that any of this happened was scattered across space while Kirk gets credit for “solving” multiple cold cases.

A planet of Nazis?

Kirk’s “logs” here say that the planet of Ekos had become a “duplicate” of Earth’s Germany under the rule of the totalitarian "Nazis". Apparently, Dr John Gill violated the prime directive to “help” the fragmented planet and drew on Nazi Germany as an example of the “most efficient state Earth ever knew.” Now someone like Dr Gill would know that Nazi Germany had resources and prison labour but was far from an example of “efficiency”. Certainly not if you intended to do it ethically. And why the costumes? The race purity? Sounds more like Kirk spinning a tale based on his very fragmented understanding of that era of history. Does Kirk just get bored reporting planetary survey reports and wants to spice them up; or is this the best cover story he had for why Dr Gill returned home in a photon tube? How did Gill really die?

Prime Time Rome?

Ekos wasn’t an isolated case, but at least that was externally influenced. Planet 892-IV is one of many “alternate Earth’s” (which are, oddly, rarely encountered by any other ship). This planet not only had a copy of Earth’s Roman Empire, but its 20th century US TV culture and Human Christianity. But at least they weren’t “reciting the US Constitution” like they supposedly did on Omega IV. Does Kirk just have a spinning picker wheel of Earth history to pick from when he’s making up these logs? What’s next, a planet of 1920s Chicago gangsters? Oh, wait…

The devil is just a cool guy?

On stardate 1254.4, while exploring the centre of the galaxy to see a matter-energy vortex (sorry, I thought we went there more recently and found god?), the Enterprise was thrown into another dimension which they discovered runs on the principles of “magic”. It was from here that “witches” on Earth came from. 

Their number apparently includes the mythological figure of the “devil”, Lucifer, who Kirk describes as charming and affable. Lucifer aided the crew while on “trial” by the witches for the crimes of humanity in their persecution of their people. Kirk later takes credit for “saving” the devil. While future visitors became welcome, no one has been able to corroborate any of these reports on subsequent surveys (including Kirk it seems).

---

Have you ever lied in your duty logs? Let us know in the comments why and if you got away with it.

[the-crazy-echidna-lady]

do you have some major/big echidnas hcs?? -sits politely- i really love the way you designed their clothessss, also i've read you've mentioned you've made your own echidna clan so im gonna point at it, i wanna know :]]]]]]] /nf!!!

First of all, ty ty ty <3 clothes are hard for me to draw so that means a lot XD I'll list headcanons first because the Cosmos Clan needs more description yk. But I warn, this is... a lot. because I'm fucking insane about echidnas for no damn reason. Some of these aren't big, but things i just really like. Echidna men are the ones who hold their children in pouches since they have no tops to cover up said pouches. Women have pouches as well, they just don't use them. (fair, after carrying the egg for 4 months.) Leads onto next headcanon, but this is kinda mobians as a whole in my au. Pregnancy only lasts 5 months, unless you're an egg layer. Mobians who lay eggs only carry for 4 months, the 5th month is the bebe finishing developing in the egg. That being said, echidna dads do carry their egg in their pouch until the egg hatches. Pachcamac wasn't a pos from the beginning. Definitely not defending his canonical counterpart, but in my au he got VERY fucking pissed about his mother's death to say the least and just decided to never not be pissed ever since. (Causing him to seek revenge) Bc the tribe's timeline is so much closer to the normal timeline in my au, GUN 'borrowed' their eggs for biological experimentation. (Creating Project Jade, the project before Shadow) Which is why 'Grandma' dies. Normally peaceful, but you don't kidnap her people's children and tear their murals off sacred grounds without a fight. Not long before the tribe's fall (6 years) the whole tribe contracted an illness because of people from elsewhere exploring Mystic Ruins (which what is Angel Island now, was still a part of) and it killed a shit ton of their population. Even before Chaos, they were on a steady decline. (They get medicine eventually, but it's what kills Mona/Knuckles' mom.) Pachacamac kills his kid for disagreeing with him one too many times and not having the shield of "priestess" to guard himself from violence. lmfao (just really wanted to insert this LKDSFJ) There's other misc tribes, one being the Nocturnus Clan, another being the Cosmos Clan (the 2nd being made by me, both nocturnal clans) Days before the tribe's fall, a GUN drone is found stalking a mother and child and she runs back with her kid and tries her best to describe it. Obelisk and a few other guys go to check it out, beat the shit out of it, and bring it back to Pachacamac. And that's where he's pissed enough to take the chaos emeralds to go after humans with them. (And hours later Obelisk dies bc he's like "This is really stupid") --- Random, Knuckles' real name is Coba. In my AU, you'll sometimes see Tikal or Pai refer to him as that still. Knuckles was nicknamed to him by Sonic when they first met, and he couldn't help but feel a little pride that he's the face of his own clan now, even if that's not what Sonic meant. Random 2, Knuckles' gloves are a gift from Amy. When they meet, she had noticed bruises on his- knuckles. So when she came back to visit one time, she brought him custom made gloves to protect his hands. ---

Cosmos Clan

Okay so the Cosmos Clan is similar to the Nocturnus Clan, but way less technilogically enhanced. Their technology is more on par with the Knuckles Clan. But they're still nocturnal, and even have bioluminescence so they can locate eachother in the dark. The less pigment in certain areas, the brighter it glows in the dark. Everyone has a star shape on their forehead, but said star is unique, like a fingerprint. They also tend to be in pink or purple shades for their full body coat colors. A rare dark blue sometimes. Also rather small compared to other echidnas. Citlalin (As well as Julie-Su, who's his niece) is from this clan, and being a scribe, he wanted to converse with the Knuckles Clan. He wanted to learn about them and document things about them. His main hope was to somehow form a treaty for both tribes to sign as peace. He was met with aggression by Pachacamac and Obelisk, but Tikal being the kind soul he is protested against murking him on the spot and ends up showing him things he wanted to see/learn. Pachacamac is obviously pissed, bro's always pissed, but Obelisk surprisingly is too just because afraid Citlalin gonna be a simp (he was) and Tikal's his baby sister so like. He's got a weird complex about 'protecting' her even though she's fully capable of doing so herself. (she can knock Obelisk on his ass if she wanted to) Then Tikal and Citlalin wed in secret bc Tikal's a priestess and can do that LMAO. Obelisk forces himself to get over it at that point. His sister's clearly happy, so he's happy for her. Plus, Citlalin isn't too bad to get along with (He ends up becoming buddies with him and acting like he didn't glare him to sleep every night lmfao) But him marrying Tikal makes him officially also part of the Knuckles Clan. Which actually forces both tribes to be- neutral towards eachother. So, not according to plan, but the peace treaty worked! Kinda XD Bonus, the part where Tikal reveals Pai to Obelisk and he's "When tf did this even happen-" The Cosmos Clan is where Citlalin is told to retreat to with Knuckles and Pai by Obelisk, and then Citlalin realizes he needs to try to get women and children to come as well, so tells Knuckles to get there, and he'll be right behind them. But Chaos rips Angel Island out of the ground before Knuckles can get there, trapping him up there. End bonus; Yes, Knuckles runs back, scared, and gets to see everyone dead. :) That took forever, so please read this part of my draft from 3AM

I hope any of this was coherent LMAO if you need clarification feel free to send another ask! ^^

[ashton-sano]

Food Wars! Shokugeki no Souma in: Going Grocery Shopping

(Char. Involved: Sōma Yukihira, Akira Hayama, Takumi Aldini, Eishi Tsukasa)

(Thank you so much for 40 notes! Here's another one for you guys. Sorry i couldn't do a short story for these but take some headcanons my dears.)

Sōma Yukihira

-Usually you cant take him anywhere because he causes an issue in which you have to be asked to leave (much to your despair)

-The grocery store is probably the only place you two can go without much problems

-May or may not be sneaking ingredients that werent on your list into the shopping cart

"Oh? What do you mean there werent any Rice crackers and Salmon in the cart before? I'm certain you put them in."

-Will asked to be pushed in the cart around the aisles

-If he ever gets lost, find him in the Frozen Dessert aisle, he loves it there for whatever reason

"C'mon Babeeee. Just one more tub of Ice cream.....Yes i know we already have 4 tubs already. Your point is?"

-However if you were shopping for a food war/cooking practice, he'd be very helpful

-Recommending ingredients, telling you the best flavor combinations from his experience, and slipping in a few personal items

-Overall, hes a massive child in the store so please hold his hand so he doesn't run off

Akira Hayama

-A rollercoaster of emotions

-Its like stepping into a whole other world when you food shop with him

-He tends to find the items in the store "Sub par" and "Second rate" but always picks the best ones with his well trained sense of smell

"Why bother buying from these cheap stores when i have fresh spices and blends at home?"

-He'd swear he hates shopping with you but secretly enjoys the time he spends with you (Good luck getting him to admit it though)

-May subtly tease and feign ignorance when you need help reaching something at a higher shelf

"Hm? Cant you reach it on your own from down there?” -pause- “Whats that look on your face for?"

-On rare occasions, he'll hold your hand when you go together

-He swears its just so that you dont get lost but you know better

-To be honest, its just less of a arduous task if you just go by yourself

Takumi Aldini

-One of the most normal ones on this list if we're being honest

-Its just a calming and sweet time through and through

-He's usually the one to ask you to go with him but will flush when you ask why

"Dont be silly, I just thought you'd want to pick up some things for your upcoming food war, thats all."

-Will never leave you on your own in the store since he loves spending time with you more than he'll admit (his face gives him away)

-He'll push the cart and carry your bags like a gentleman

"How could you even say that, Il mio amore? As if id let you carry them when you already paid."

-An absolute god at picking vegatables for some reason

-His background in the restaurant business definitely plays a part

-In the top 3 (And not three) guys you should always bring when you're shopping

(New!) Eishi Tsukasa

-A walking beige flag when it comes to shopping

-You either love it or want to rip every single hair from your body with tweezers

-Hes not loud or causing a disturbance but hes micro managing and nitpickjng everything

"Thats the one you chose?" "Uhp, I wouldnt go with that one."

-Its better to just let him do everything because he'll make you feel stupid no matter what move you make (even though thats not his intention)

-He means well but lets be honest, you just arent on the same page very often in terms of shopping

"I apologize dear but you know im particular. I dont mean to hover."

-If you have no filter and tell him to cut it out, he'll immeidiently draw back into himself at your blantant rejection

-His more awkward side will show and he will mumble endless strings of apologies

-Just be ready to put up with this weird snowflake

[abitofboth]

even more owen carvour hcs because I’ve got brain worms or something

he got his ears pierced when he was younger, and even though he rarely wears them now, he’ll put studs in every now and then just so the holes won’t close up.

he’s a bit of an insomniac. sleep doesn’t come easy to him and he can spend hours just tossing and turning. half the time he’ll just give up and find something else to do- read a book, go over mission plans, sit at the window with a cigarette and watch the world go by.

a shakespeare snob through and through. he has a quote ready to go for every single situation possible and he doesn’t care how many eyes roll every time he whips one out.

he’s semi-decent at drawing. not the best, but he does have a sketchbook he uses in his downtime that he’ll draw whatever’s in front of him in.

he learnt how to hot wire cars when he was bumming around as a kid. every time he gets the chance to steal a car on a mission it’s like he’s 13 all over again, filled with the thrill of not getting caught.

he thinks mrs mega is maybe the best woman alive. her and her antics entertain him endlessly and he adores how much she loves curt. he hasn’t met her many times, but every time he gets the pleasure of staying at the safe house he finds himself wishing he had a mum like her.

he has a soft spot for barb. every time curt makes a mean passing remark about her he’ll smack him across the arm.

he’s thought about (more often than he’d like to admit) running away with curt. taking them both far from the danger and secrets and living life quietly as just the two of them. (and a cat. his fantasy definitely involves him being with curt and owning a cat. he has two hands for a reason!!)

he never got to meet tatiana before he was in his cunty villain era, but if curt and owen would have found her before the fall in their prime time I just KNOW that they would have been the ultimate team (I literally drew it hehe). owen and tati would have been bitchy best friends and I don’t even doubt it for a second.

he and curt have had so many “romantic” patching up sessions after missions. before they were officially together, there were so many uncertain gentle touches and lingering caresses where they both wish they could say and do more. the moments when there’s been some serious blood loss and things that would normally remain unsaid start slipping out are the moments when the two start realising that they might just feel the same way about each other. (I also literally wrote this hehe :P)

in a similarly trope-y way, there have been so many ‘Whoops! Only One Bed!’ situations. before they got together owen loved being able to sleep curled up right next to his crush (he hates the term ‘crush’ btw), and then after they got together it just gave him an excuse to spoon him all night long.

curt snores. owen hates it.

he can ride motorbikes and he can do it well. he loves when curt rides behind him and clings onto him with his arms around his waist. he drives extra fast to sate curt’s adrenaline junkie tendencies (and he loves the way curt laughs out of pure joy right next to his ear).

if he finds himself being tortured, as spies do, his go to is pretty much get so cocky and smarmy until it pisses off the torturer so much that owen can find an opportunity to overpower them and fight back. works like a charm.

once, he was captured and had his head forced underwater and was threatened with being drowned to death. the whole experience fucked him up for a good while.

regularly gets curt to light his cigarette for him while he’s holding it in his mouth.

every injury the fall gave him is a painful reminder of curt. even years down the line, every time a scar smarts or his knee plays up he’s filled with too many emotions to name.

he doesn’t actually remember a whole lot of the actual fall happening, it’s all very patchy, but he has vivid memories of curt’s horrified face getting further and further away from him as he got closer to the floor.

he learnt how to play an old family violin when he was a kid, and he’s gotten a little rusty over the years but he can still play a pretty tune on one.

he loves late night walks through cities. he thinks it’s the best way to really get to know a place. plus, it’s like he can hide in the shadows for a few hours and be someone other than owen carvour.

he’s a bit of a lightweight when it comes to booze. it doesn’t take many drinks to get him tipsy, and he’ll be full on drunk before you know it. curt can handle alcohol much better than him and has had to drag him away from bars more times than he can count.

he’ll frequently stop to fix curt’s tie and collar if they’re in disguise. everything needs to be perfectly in place or he thinks curt’ll look sloppy and give them away.

when they’re more into their relationship, owen starts buying in coffee to keep in his flat, and curt starts taking tea bags back to america with him every time he visits the uk.

spicy, be warned

post fall he tried sleeping with someone else but he could literally think of nothing but curt the entire time. he was never eager to try again.

if he’s in a submissive mood, he will go nuts if you call him a ‘good boy’. ‘my good boy’ is even better.

if he’s pent up he’ll just unashamedly jerk off in the shower whether he’s alone in there or not.

if he’s feeling particularly decadent and has the time, he’ll touch himself with a cigarette in his mouth and a bottle of wine in his hand.

shotgunning. he’ll take a drag and kiss it into curt’s mouth. they both think it’s hot as fuck.

if truth serum is something at their disposal, he's definitely used it during sex.

[hermannsthumb]

Please please please more "Fake Dating for Funding"! I haven't read much PR stuff in the last few years and your newest piece jerked me right back to that old standby hyperfixation. It's so cute!!

answering this sooooo late, OOPS SORRY, but here's a little ficlet as i try to get myself back in the writing groove.... the original fake dating for funding fic is right here, but i was thinking over plot concepts earlier and this one made me laugh, LMAO

------------------------------------------------------

"I have a favor to ask of you," Hermann says one morning.

Typical of Hermann, it's blunt and to the point, no show of bartering or sweetening Newt up with dessert or anything like that. In theory Newt should be annoyed, but Hermann indebts himself to Newt so rarely (and never willingly) that Newt’s actually kind of interested to see where this goes. He pushes up his work goggles and strips off his gloves without a second thought.

Hermann is standing directly over Newt’s side of the yellow line, one hand balled into a fist while the other white-knuckles his cane, his shoulders hunched over. He looks extremely uncomfortable. On the other hand Hermann rarely looks comfortable, so this isn’t anything new, or something to draw immediate conclusions from.

“Okay,” Newt says. “Lay it on me.”

“I would not blame you if you found yourself thinking less of me,” Hermann says, “or outright rejecting the proposition. I’m aware it is far more than one typically asks of a…” He swallows. “Colleague.”

The word hangs awkwardly in the air between them. It’s not that it’s an inaccurate descriptor, but it doesn’t completely encompass the, uh, reality of things, being that they were a litttttle more than colleagues up until two months ago. (Not that they called themselves anything other than colleagues for the duration of that whole—indiscretion. It was a little confusing.)

Still, Hermann’s groveling, and Newt’s interested. “Oh, sweet,” he says, maybe a little too casually. Just two bros having a normal conversation about how they're nothing more than colleagues. “I’m totally in. What are we doing? Is it illegal or something?”

He could actually use Hermann’s mad computer hacker skills for something in the near future—Newt wants unrestricted card access to the typically very restricted hazardous materials storage in the jaeger bay for reasons he’s not going to disclose—and doing something illegal for the guy would be a great way to get him to do something illegal for Newt in return. In a favor-for-favor way more than a blackmail way, because Newt mostly isn't a dick. And anyway, maybe doing some platonic fun k-science bonding time will be good for them. Make things a little less tense. Newt’s been working on that really hard lately, mostly because his multiple Shatterdome transfer requests have been outright denied by the Marshal and he seems to be out of alternatives.

“No,” Hermann says.

He looks at his shoes. He’s about two unlucky inches away from stepping on a piece of kaiju spleen Newt dropped earlier and forgot about, and the fact that he’s not taking any precautions to shield his precious ugly wingtips tells Newt he means business. “Perhaps a little…morally questionable.”

“Oooh, Hermann, you’re such a tease,” Newt says. He tosses his nasty gloves in the trash can and scoots Hermann towards the cluster of their desks with a hand to the small of his back, ignoring the way Hermann bristles and digs the end of his cane halfheartedly into the floor. “Come on, come on, I’ll make coffee, stop looking so depressed.”

He does make himself a coffee but brews a quick cup of black tea for Hermann, which turns out to be kind of a waste of his time, since Hermann blatantly ignores the mug Newt slides in front of him. He’s gone from looking like the most emo librarian in the world to looking vaguely nauseous. If circumstances weren’t as they are, Newt might say it was making him look exceptionally alluring—that whole sickly Victorian lad thing really gets him going. “If you’ve forgotten,” Hermann says, “we’ve another of those foolish PPDC fundraisers soon, at the end of the month.”

“Oh.” Newt leans back in his chair, a little disappointed. “Is that it?”

“Yes,” Hermann says. “No.” He shakes his head gravely. He’s so dramatic sometimes, it’s kinda cute. “It is the root of the problem, but not the entirety of it. You’ll recall, I presume, how badly in need of funding we are, myself in particular for the Breach-mapping software I am attempting to develop.”

Newt does recall, because yeah, he is also in need of funding real bad. Can’t make awesome, ground-breaking advancements in the field of kaiju biology without any kaiju bits to study the biology of. That spleen currently threatening to ooze over the yellow tape line represents approximately sixty percent of Newt's remaining currently viable samples. “Uh, yeah?”

“I have,” Hermann makes a face, “a working theory, so to speak. You’ll further recall the similar PPDC event we attended in August of last year?”

“Yeah?”

“And the one we attended this year, in the week following our—”

“Yeah, Hermann, I remember.”

“Right,” Hermann says.

Newt remembers the second one more clearly than he likes, because having to make nice with Hermann to present a united front six days after a very, very stupid argument about Newt maaaaybe stealing half of Hermann’s sandwich—which ultimately led to a mutual and spur of the moment decision to dissolve the whole weird lab partners-with-benefits thing they had going on—was one of the more uncomfortable experiences of his career. Still, he made as nice as he could, because his supply of work gloves and Keurig pods were running dangerously low and he didn’t feel like shelling out the money from his own abysmally small paycheck for any.

He doesn’t know what was so significant about the other one they went to though, the one last August. It was humid. Newt remembers being so hot he had to take off his tie, and he lost it somewhere in the convention center afterwards. He misses that tie. Hermann hated it, which makes him culprit number one in its disappearance.

“We drew in significantly more donations in August than we did two months ago,” Hermann says, and opens the top drawer of his desk to produce a neat stack of papers, which he spreads in front of Newt to reveal a series of color-coded spreadsheets.

Newt’s eyes glaze over a little at the sight. He doesn’t bother extending the effort to confirm Hermann’s data—as much as he hates to admit it, the guy is thorough with his numbers and rarely wrong about stuff like this. He flips through it anyway to appease him. And, honestly, he thinks Hermann’s feelings would be hurt if he didn’t, and Newt really is committed to being a good labmate (y’know, for the very brief time being). “And prior to August,” Hermann continues, “you’ll note that the average sum total of donations we received per event was significantly lower. August was an anomaly.”

“Sure,” Newt says. “So what?”

Hermann slides the spreadsheet back into his desk, pulls his dorky glasses off, and exhales slowly: he’s getting to the point. Newt has a hunch what that point might be, but Hermann always looks funny when he gets into lecture mode, and Newt doesn’t want to interrupt it.

“I believe,” Hermann says, “that our—relationship status, which was significantly different on that occasion as compared to the rest—might possibly have had no small influence, for one reason or another. We certainly behaved more, er, affectionately, or tenderly around each other, and perhaps others took note and found it charming. Or some such thing. Of course I can't draw any conclusions from a single point of data, but I believe if we were to... Well, it's a bit silly, hearing myself now.”

“You want me to be your fake b-f so we can trick people into giving a shit about us and shake them down easier,” Newt says.

The tips of Hermann’s generous ears go red. “I’m aware it’s an unusual request,” he says, “especially considering… recent certain developments in our working relationship.”

It’s not exactly the fun platonic bonding time Newt anticipated, but he has a hunch Hermann might be on to something—the whole doomed romance, give us money so our love has a fighting chance of surviving the apocalypse thing, which they were apparently already inadvertently playing up. He’s willing to give it a shot. Making a joke out of it might actually help Newt let go of his last lingering nostalgia for that super brief period of time he and Hermann got up to after-hours hijinks and were almost amicable with each other. And, you know, on the other hand, if that doesn’t work, he could totally do the opposite of moving on and revel in the opportunity to do couple-y tender things with Hermann again.

“Yeah, sure,” Newt says. Real chill about it. He’s so chill, man.

Hermann blinks at him owlishly, clearly taken aback, but says nothing.

“It’ll be fun,” Newt adds. “It’s a good plan, great idea, it’ll totally work. Nothing has to be weird, right? I mean, it’s not like we were really even dating before or anything. There’s no reason for it to be weird. It’s definitely not for me. Is it for you?”

“No, er, of course not,” Hermann says. “It was my idea, wasn’t it?”

They’re totally over each other, but they can also totally pretend they’re not for a night or two, no sweat. “Cool,” Newt says, and repeats, maybe to convince himself, “It’ll be fun. We can dress up all fancy and wear matching ties or something and talk about how tragic we are. I’ll grab your ass in front of people and you can brag about how cool and smart and sexy I am.”

“You are not doing that,” Hermann says, “and I am not doing that. When have I ever—oh, nevermind. I am not averse to the neckties, however, especially if it means you’re at least attempting to look somewhat professional for our prospective—”

“Dude, come on, you totally just think I look hot in a suit.”

The splotchy red flush spreads from Hermann’s ears to his neck as he scowls at Newt. He doesn’t bother denying it: Newt’s sure they both vividly remember the most recent annual k-science research symposium when Newt finally let himself be talked into renting a fancy blazer, to look, uh, like the expert in your field you are, Newton, and Hermann had such a hard time keeping his hands off Newt in increasingly unchaste ways that they had to duck out early. I like when you look put-together and competent, Hermann said, or something along those lines, there was a lot of kissing going on and Newt wasn’t exactly paying attention to specifics. He ended up losing the deposit on the suit—which is why he stole the sandwich in the first place, actually. Very petty revenge. Full circle.

“Piss off,” Hermann grumbles.

“We’re gonna have to put in for just one hotel room if we wanna sell it, you know,” Newt says, the realization suddenly hitting him. “Maybe even one bed. It’ll look totally suspicious if we don’t, right?”

Hermann meets his eyes for a few awkward, quiet seconds, and then they both quickly look away from each other. Newt stands up and makes a show of gathering their untouched mugs, both of which have gone extremely cold. Hermann slips his glasses back on and opens up his desk drawer to shuffle through his immaculate spreadsheets again, pretending to look for errors that they both know aren't there.

“We’ve,” Hermann finally says, and then clears his throat. “We’ve survived worse. I'm sure we can manage. It’s only for two nights, after all.”

“Yeah, totally,” Newt says.

[themummersfolly]

Nonverbal Art

alt. title: Art Nerd's Origin Story

Anyone else ever wonder why Thrawn's interest in art focuses so heavily on sussing out the backstory of the artist? Yeah.

I have no idea how pediatric therapy works in real life.

-----

Vurawn doesn’t need a doctor to tell him he’s different.

There’s the whole talking thing, for example. Vurawn doesn’t remember learning to talk, even though he remembers Vurika and Mom says he didn’t start talking until after that. A lot of people still think he can’t talk, apparently, because he doesn’t do it very often. He’s not sure what the point is. He understands just fine, and besides, half the time when he does talk people get mad or start acting funny.

A lot of grownups think that not talking means he doesn’t hear either; even Mom and Dad forget sometimes. He overhears them talking about him. For a long time Mom thought he was stupid. It seemed to make her happy, for some reason. He doesn’t feel stupid; but then, he’s not sure if stupid and smart are things you can feel like. Vurika was smart, and they took her away and Mom was sad. Maybe if he’s stupid, he’ll get to stay and make Mom happy.

The army man said he was smart, when he gave everybody that test-thingy at school. But then he got into a fight with Teni the next day and afterward everybody said he was stupid. At least until the teacher made them stop.

No, he doesn’t need a doctor to tell him he’s weird, but here he is anyway.

He kicks his feet back and forth under the chair while he waits and thinks about the marker set Dad said he’ll get if he’s good for the doctor. He hopes there’s lots of orange markers. Orange is his favorite color right now. At school, there are fourteen different kinds of orange marker in the marker bin; he knows because he counted. First he lined them all up in order, then he put them in groups of markers from the same set and lined those up in order. Or he tried to, before the teacher yelled at him for hogging the orange markers.

He hopes he can be good enough to get the markers. Even when he tries to be good, he always does something wrong without meaning to.

“Kivu’raw’nuru?”

That’s his name. He hops out of his seat and follows Mom into the back office.

He likes going to this doctor, honestly. She never gives him shots or gets mad when he does the thing with his hands to feel better. There are toys, and neat pictures to look at, and lots and lots of markers.

He wanders around the room, looking at the toys while Mom talks to the doctor.

“-test scores are high, but the teacher says he’s behind in his social development. He rarely talks, he never looks me in the eyes-”

Dad thinks Mom wants there to be something wrong with him, at least he said so last night. Vurawn doesn’t know why everyone wants him to look at their eyes; it makes him as uncomfortable as when he has to not fidget.

The grownups finish talking and the doctor comes over to where he is.

“Good morning, Vurawn.”

It takes him a moment, but he remembers there’s something he’s supposed to do when people greet him.

“Hi.”

The doctor asks him questions; he’s supposed to answer with his big kid words, and he does. The doctor is happy, he’s doing it right. Maybe he will get that marker set.

“Vurawn, I’d like you to draw your family for me. Will you do that now, please?”

He’s not sure why she needs him to do that, but then he’s not sure why she asked all those questions, either. He does like to color, though.

It doesn’t take him long to draw everyone who’s important to him. When he’s done, the doctor sits down next to him.

“Tell me about your picture. Who’s that?” She points at the picture that is pretty obviously Mom. One by one, she points to each figure he drew and asks about it. Mom. Dad. Himself. The neighbor’s tooka. Vurika. He doesn’t know why she wants him to talk about them; most of the time when he talks about things he likes, people act like he’s doing something wrong and he doesn't know why. But the doctor lets him talk, so he does. It feels good to talk about things he likes.

When he’s told her all about his drawing, she picks it up and takes it over to Mom. He listens to them talk, and with no one to tell him not to, dumps out the markers and begins sorting them.

“-normal cognitive development for a child his age. But I think part of the issue is he misses his sister.”

That gets Vurawn’s attention. He’s not supposed to talk about Vurika; whenever he does, Mom gets sad and all the other grownups tell him he should be happy she gets to serve the Ascendancy. The doctor keeps talking.

“You see how much detail he put into her portrait; he clearly still remembers her, and remembers her well. Even as young as he was, her removal had a profound effect on him. That might be why he’s having difficulty adjusting socially.”

She can tell all that from his drawing?

“And here- this is your neighbor’s pet. She turns up in a number of drawings he’s done for me, so she’s clearly an important figure in his life. He may benefit from a therapy animal. If you can’t have one where you live, there are programs you can sign him up for-”

Every time he talks about Flower the Tooka, people look at him like he’s crazy! But the doctor had looked at his picture and understood immediately. Is that the secret? Can he really get people to understand him by drawing pictures for them?

And if it works that way, maybe it works the other way around, too. Maybe if he looks at pictures other people draw, they’ll seem less weird. Maybe the world makes sense if you draw it.

It’s like he’s spent his whole life in a dark, scary hallway, and suddenly, someone in a room nearby turns on a light. He decides to move toward it.

“Mom, I’d like you to draw a picture for me. Will you do that for me now, please?”

He’s been good all day, not just at the doctor. When Dad comes home, he has the marker set in hand, and the first thing Vurawn does is take it over to Mom.

She looks surprised, and he’s not sure she’ll go along with it. But then she takes the markers and flimsi and starts drawing. To keep himself busy, Vurawn picks up the pieces of the gadget she was working on and starts arranging them in order. They’re all very different, and it’s hard to figure out what order they should go in. Vurawn likes puzzles like this.

He’s just figured out where the big shiny piece should go when Mom slaps a marker down hard, puts her face into her hands, and starts shaking. Vurawn jumps. At first he thinks she’s mad at him for playing with her project. Then he sees that she’s crying.

“I’m sorry, Vurawn- it’s ok. I just can’t. You’re ok.” She doesn’t look up from her hands. Vurawn stands on his chair to look across the table at what she’s drawn.

It’s a grownup kind of drawing, much more complicated than his sensible stick figures. The face that stares out from the page is that of a little girl, about his age. It’s unfinished; Mom put the marker down before she colored it in.

“I’m sorry I got upset, Vurawn, I don’t know why I did that.” Mom wipes her eyes. Vurawn is still looking at the picture.

“It’s cause you miss Vurika.”

Mom freezes. He’s not sure if that means she understands, so he tries again.

“You’re sad cause Vurika had to go away. You’re scared that I might have to go away, too. But if I’m stupid, I get to stay with you, cause stupid people don’t have to serve the Ascen’a’cy.” He frowns at the tabletop, choosing his next words. “I can be stupid for you, Mom.”

He expects her to be happy at the offer, but instead she starts crying even harder. Vurawn feels the panic start to well up in his chest. He’s done something wrong again. Mom is upset, and Dad will be mad, and he doesn’t know how to fix it because he doesn’t even know what he did wrong-

Mom leans over and scoops him up in a hug.

“You’re not stupid, you’re a brilliant, brilliant little boy. I love you so much!” Her tears are getting his shirt wet, and now they’re both crying. “Don’t ever let anyone tell you you’re stupid! I just- I just want what’s best for you, even if you have to go away. My brilliant little boy!” She takes his face in her hands and makes him look at her. “If they chose you- I need you to remember. I love you so much, I’m so proud of you, and I don’t want you to ever look back.”

Vurawn doesn’t understand, but he nods his head because Mom needs him to. Then he leans into her shoulder and cries.