#so he might err on the side of caution

[oacest]

I wonder if Liam now sometimes screenshots his tweets and sends them to Noel to show him how hilarious he is, particularly when it’s about him ha

probably lmao

[purplesaline]

Doctor offers to make your handicapped placard permanent instead of a yearly renewal: Yay!

Realizing this means the doctor doesn't think you'll improve to a point you won't need the placard: Boo!

[sunni-stuff]

Standing outside your apartment, Simon tightened his grip around the wooden toy train, the corners of the box digging slightly into his palm. His heart thrummed uncomfortably in his chest—a sensation far too foreign for someone who’d faced down worse odds than this. He was used to calculating risks, taking them head-on, but this? This wasn’t a battlefield; it was something infinitely more terrifying. He was meeting his daughter.

He cast a glance at the train in his hand, a sturdy, well-crafted toy he and Johnny had spent hours picking out earlier that day. The shopkeeper’s amused expression still lingered in his mind—two grown men scrutinizing toy trains as though the fate of the world rested on their choice. You hadn’t been specific, just a train, no frills, nothing cartoonish. And so Simon had chosen the simplest one, figuring it was better to err on the side of practicality.

Beside him, Johnny leaned casually against the wall, spinning a plastic-cased mermaid Barbie in his hands. The vibrant teal-and-pink packaging clashed starkly with the air of seriousness Simon carried.

Simon scowled, his gaze darting to the doll. “I told you, no dolls. She said no dolls.” His voice was low and rough, almost a growl, though it carried more nervous energy than actual anger.

Johnny raised an eyebrow, smirking as he turned the Barbie over in his hands. “What kid doesn’t like a Barbie? Eh? You’re overthinking this, big man.” His Scottish accent lent an irreverent edge to his words. “Besides, it’s just a backup. If she doesn’t like the train—which, let’s face it, is a bloody long shot—I’ve got something she’s bound to love.”

Simon shot him a sharp look. “It’s not about the toy,” he muttered, shifting his weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “It’s about… makin’ an impression. Proper one.”

Johnny’s smirk softened, his usual teasing tone giving way to something closer to sincerity. “And you think that’s all ridin’ on a train? C’mon, mate, it’s you she’s meeting, not just some toy. Kids aren’t daft—they know when someone’s tryin’.” He tilted his head toward the toy in Simon’s hand. “But, for what it’s worth, that train’s not bad. Proper classic. No gimmicks.”

Simon grunted in response, his attention flicking back to the apartment door. It was a quiet, unassuming building, but the pressure of what lay beyond that door was immense. You were in there with her—Adira. His daughter. The thought still felt surreal, even after the days he’d spent turning it over in his mind. He’d seen her before, from a distance, but that was different. This was too personal in a way he wasn’t sure he was prepared for.

“I should’ve brought the others,” Simon muttered under his breath, more to himself than Johnny.

Johnny’s eyes twinkled with humor. “Aye, because showin’ up with the whole bloody team wouldn’t be overwhelming at all, eh? ‘Here’s yer dad, and here’s his army of uncles.’ Real subtle.”

Simon huffed a dry laugh despite himself, the tension in his shoulders loosening just a fraction. Johnny always had a knack for cutting through his nerves, even when Simon wasn’t in the mood for it.

The sound of footsteps on the other side of the door snapped Simon’s attention back to the moment. His pulse quickened as the lock turned, and the door creaked open to reveal you standing there, a mixture of caution and curiosity etched into your expression. You didn’t say anything right away, your gaze darting between Simon, Johnny, and the toys in their hands.

“Hi,” Simon managed, his voice quieter than he’d intended. He cleared his throat, adjusting his grip on the train. “Uh… thought I’d bring somethin’ she might like.”

You glanced at the train, then at Johnny’s Barbie, raising an eyebrow. “I see Johnny didn’t listen,” you comment dryly, though there was a hint of amusement in your tone.

Johnny grinned, unbothered. “Insurance, lass. Always good to have a backup plan.”

Stepping aside, you gestured for them to come in. “Well, let’s see how this goes. She’s in the living room.”

Simon felt the air grow heavier as he crossed the threshold, each step bringing him closer to something he’d been equal parts dreading and hoping for. The sound of quiet giggles and the rustle of toys came from the living room, and he stopped short in the hallway, his hand tightening instinctively around the train.

“You okay?” you asked curiously, your question laced with something he couldn’t quite place—concern? Reassurance?

He nodded stiffly, though he wasn’t entirely sure who he was convincing. “Yeah,” he said, masking his unease. This wasn’t the time to let emotions run wild, not when his daughter was just a few steps away. He needed to reel everything, keep composed.. “Just… takin’ a moment.”

Johnny clapped him on the shoulder, his grin unfaltering. “You’ve got this, mate. And if all else fails—” he held up the Barbie with a dramatic flourish—“I’ve got you covered.”

Simon rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the faint smile that tugged at his lips. “Thanks for that,” he muttered dryly.

He took a grounding breath, then stepped into the living room. The sight that greeted him stopped him in his tracks—Adira, sitting cross-legged on the floor, a miniature train set spread out before her. Her dark hair fell in delicate curls around her face, and her eyes, so startlingly like his own, lit up with delight as she guided a tiny train along the tracks.

The world seemed to narrow, every noise fading into the background except for the sound of her soft laughter. This was his daughter, and for the first time, he wasn’t just watching from afar—he was here.

Adira looked up, her curious gaze locking onto him. Simon’s heart leapt into his throat as she tilted her head, studying him with a mix of curiosity and caution. Before he could speak, Johnny stepped forward, a grin plastered across his face as he crouched beside her.

"Hey, bonnie lass," Johnny greeted, bringing in  warmth and cheerfulness. He held out the mermaid Barbie, its plastic casing shimmering in the soft light. “Look what I got for ye.”

Adira blinked at him, her small head tilting to the side in the same assessing way she’d done with Simon. Then, in a voice as sweet as it was blunt, she said, “Ugee.”

Simon held back a laugh, but Johnny froze, his grin faltering. Did she just call me ugly again? he thought, momentarily stunned before recovering with a sheepish laugh.

“Oh, come on, lass. That’s no way to treat yer Uncle Johnny,” he teased, though his pride was clearly bruised. He pushed the doll a little closer, his voice softening. “It’s for you. Look—she’s got a shiny tail and everything.”

Adira’s expression shifted, her curiosity piqued as she finally reached for the doll. Johnny’s face lit up with relief, and he turned to you and Simon with a victorious smirk. “Told ya,” he mouthed, his tone smug.

Simon raised an eyebrow, unimpressed, while you merely crossed your arms, waiting for what you knew was coming.

The sound of plastic ripping shattered Johnny’s moment of triumph. His head whipped around just in time to see Adira pull the doll free from its packaging with surprising efficiency. She studied it for a moment, her tiny fingers gripping the head and the body. And then—pop—the doll’s head came clean off.

Johnny’s jaw dropped as he watched Adira inspect the decapitated doll with silent satisfaction. She set the head down beside her, then held up the now-headless body, apparently contemplating her next move.

Simon let out a chuckle, unable to hide his amusement as Johnny gawked at the scene, his earlier smugness entirely gone. “Well,” Simon drawled, unable to hide his dry humor. “Guess she wasn’t a fan after all.”

Johnny turned back to you and Simon, his expression caught between disbelief and betrayal. “What… what kind of kid just does that?!” he demanded, gesturing wildly at the scene behind him.

You shrugged, biting back a laugh. “I warned you about the dolls.”

Johnny shook his head, still reeling as he muttered under his breath, “She’s Sid from Toy Story incarnate, I swear.”

Adira, seemingly unbothered by the fuss, returned her focus to her trains, contentedly adding the doll’s head to a makeshift pile of "cargo." Johnny looked ready to protest further, but Simon stepped forward, crouching to her level and holding out the wooden train.

“Hi,” he spoke softly, his voice steady despite the lingering laughter in his chest. “I brought you somethin’. Thought you might like it.”

Adira didn’t respond right away, her eyes bouncing between him and the toy. Then, slowly, she reached out, her small fingers brushing against the train before taking it from his hands. Unlike the Barbie, she carefully opened the box, her movements deliberate and methodical. She removed the wooden train gently, inspecting it for a moment. Without a word, she added it to the tracks, her attention already back on her play as if nothing else in the world mattered.

Simon stayed crouched, watching her intently. A flicker of relief crossed his face at her acceptance of the gift. The room, heavy with unspoken tension just moments before, now felt lighter, though Simon could feel the enormity of the moment pressing against his chest.

You appeared at his side, crouching slightly to meet his eye, a small grin on your lips. “That’s a good sign,” you murmured, keeping your voice low. “She doesn’t usually let people touch her trains.”

Simon exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. His gaze flickered back to Adira, watching as she carefully positioned the new train car alongside the others, her focus unwavering. It wasn’t much—just a small gesture—but it felt monumental. A start.

“She’s got good taste,” Simon adds, a touch of pride in his tongue as he nodded toward the tracks. “Knows quality when she sees it.”

You chuckled, the sound easing the edges of Simon’s nerves. “It’s not just that,” you replied, your eyes lightening as you watched Adira. “Trains are her world. If she’s letting you into it, even a little…” You trailed off, leaving the implication hanging in the air.

Simon nodded, his throat tightening with a mix of emotions he wasn’t used to confronting. For a moment, he allowed himself to simply watch her, the curve of her cheek, the determined set of her brow as she pushed the train forward, creating a soft click-clack noise against the wooden tracks. He thought of all the moments he’d missed, all the firsts that had come and gone without him. But now, sitting there on the floor of your apartment, watching his little girl play, he felt something unfamiliar: hope.

“It’s a start,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. And for now, that was enough.

Johnny hung back near the doorway, arms crossed over his chest as he watched the tender scene unfold. Simon, a man he’d always seen as unshakable and stoic, was crouched beside Adira, his usually guarded expression diminished by a rare, genuine grin. Johnny didn’t dare interrupt—this wasn’t his moment. He was just a spectator, standing on the sidelines as a long-standing divide finally began to close.

The warmth in the room tugged at Johnny’s own heart, and though he wasn’t one for sentimentality, the sight was too good to pass up. Without a word, he slipped his phone from his pocket, angling it just right to snap a quick picture. Simon’s grin, lopsided and proud, was illuminated by the soft glow of the lamp, his large frame almost comically dwarfed by the tiny train set and the little girl at its center.

Satisfied with the shot, Johnny smirked to himself as he typed out a caption: “Big man, small trains. Heart officially melted. ” He hit send, the photo shooting off to the group chat where the lads were bound to have a field day with it.

Moments later, his phone buzzed with a flurry of responses:

Roach: “Never thought I’d see Ghost look so human.”

Gaz: “He’s got the ‘Dad Look’ down already. Almost feel bad making fun of him.”

Price: “I don’t. Send more pics.”

Stifling a snicker, Johnny shoved his phone back into his pocket. He glanced back at Simon, who was completely absorbed in Adira’s world, watching as she pushed the new train along the tracks with the utmost concentration. The sheer joy and focus on her face seemed to draw Simon further into her orbit, as if nothing else existed but the tiny, clacking train set.

Johnny shook his head fondly. Big, scary Ghost, he thought, brought to his knees by a wee lass and a wooden train. It was a sight he’d never forget.

Johnny slipped out of the apartment with a quiet click of the door, leaving the two of you in a silence that felt both comfortable and weighty. His absence left the air clearer, yet filled with the unspoken. As Adira remained engrossed in her trains, her murmurs creating a gentle rhythm in the background, you found your mind racing with a single, unrelenting question:

What now?

Giving her toys was one thing. Simon showing up, physically present, was a start. But the path ahead of you wasn’t so simple. Building a connection took more than gifts and fleeting moments. Adira was too young to truly grasp the gravity of this shift in her world. Telling her outright that Simon was her father didn’t feel right—not now. That conversation would be better left for a day when she could fully understand it.

You rose from your position near him, brushing off your knees as you took a real long look at her. There it was, in her little mannerisms, her sharp focus, the way her brow furrowed just slightly as she concentrated—it was him. So much of him. And the way Simon’s gaze relaxed as he watched her? You could see it, plain as day. He wanted to be there for her.

And you wanted her to be happy.

The realization hit you with clarity: the best way to make this transition smooth was to let Simon find his place naturally. He couldn’t make up for all the firsts he’d missed, but there was still time for so many more moments.

“So…” you began, your voice quiet but heavy, the word hanging between you like an unspoken question. You turned to face Simon, watching him carefully as he sat cross-legged on the floor, his broad frame surprisingly small in this intimate space. He was still holding that wooden train, his fingers gently brushing over the smooth surface like it was something sacred.

Simon looked up at you, his eyes catching yours, and he shifted slightly, his posture relaxed, but there was something else—something vulnerable yet determined. "So," he echoed, his voice unshakable, though you could hear the undertone of apprehension, a slight tremor of uncertainty beneath his calm façade. He wanted to be open, to show you he was ready for whatever was coming next, even if he wasn’t entirely sure what that was.

You crossed your arms, not out of defiance but out of the need to ground yourself. It was a physical gesture, a way to hold yourself steady in the face of everything that had led to this moment. “This isn’t going to be easy,” you said, the words a simple statement, but they carried meaning.

“I didn’t expect it to be,” Simon replied, his voice firm, the same way it would sound in the midst of a mission, when the stakes were high. The seriousness in his tone wasn’t lost on you. But there was more than just the soldier in him now—there was a father. "But I’m here. I want to try. For her." His eyes darted to Adira, his gaze lingering on her as she lined up her train set with careful precision. It was a look filled with fierce, almost protective determination, and it tugged at your chest.

“For her,” you agreed, your heart swelling with the truth of it. “She deserves that. But it’s not just about showing up with toys. It’s about showing up for her. Being there when she needs you, even if it’s hard. Even if she pushes you away at first.”

Simon’s jaw tightened as you spoke, and you saw the muscles in his neck flex, as though he was fighting against something—maybe the grandness of what this all meant, maybe his own doubts. “I can do that,” he said after a pause, his voice low but resolute. “I will.”

“You’ll have to.” Your tone tender, but you still held that edge of playful taunting. It was your way of testing the waters, of gauging if he was truly prepared for what this would take. “She’s stubborn. Wonder where she gets that from.”

Simon huffed a quiet laugh, and a faint smirk forming on his mouth. For a brief moment, the walls he’d built around himself seemed to weaken, just a little. “Aye, can’t imagine,” he replied, the humor easing some of the tension in the room.

There was a pause, the room settling into a calm that hadn’t been there before. You watched as Simon glanced back at Adira, his eyes lingering on her as she placed another train down, her little brow furrowed in concentration. The sight was almost too much for him—this was his flesh and blood, sitting right there in front of him, in this quiet, domestic world he hadn’t been a part of.

“First things first—likes and dislikes.”

The words hung in the air for a moment, but you didn’t wait for him to respond. You turned on your heel and slipped into the kitchen, the quiet tension that had settled between you both diminishing. Simon, sitting cross-legged on the floor near Adira, was still absorbing the weight of everything unfolding. His gaze followed you as you disappeared into the next room, the brief silence stretching between the two of you.

When you returned, you were holding a file—nothing flashy, just a plain folder. You approached him and handed it over, watching as he hesitated, the weight of the paper in his hands heavier than it appeared.

The sight inside that greeted him threw him off guard—pages upon pages of meticulously written details. At first glance, it looked like a detailed report, every section filled with information about Adira’s daily routine, preferences, and even the smallest of habits. Her favorite snacks, the way she liked her sandwiches cut in triangles. Each page was packed with specifics: her reactions to certain foods, her favorite colors, how she responded to certain sounds and even what she liked to do on rainy days—took him completely off guard.

Simon blinked at it, flipping through the pages as if trying to find a sense of grounding in the flood of information. It was overwhelming, but what struck him the most was how thorough it was—how much you had put into it. Everything about her, everything you alone learned over the years, all laid out for him to see.

The file was thick, packed with details. The more he flipped through, the more surprised he became. Notes jotted in neat handwriting with labeled sections.There wasn’t just filled with cold, clinical notes. It also contained moments of tenderness, small anecdotes about how Adira reacted to certain situations or things that made her smile. You had carefully noted the songs she liked to sing along with, how she would curl up on the couch when she was feeling down, the exact way she liked her bedtime story read.

Simon looked up at you, his expression one of confusion and curiosity. “What is all this?” he asked quietly, his voice tinged with surprise.

You offered him a faint smile, though there was no real humor in it. “Before you think I’m crazy or paranoid,” you began, raising your hands slightly in defense, “I work at the daycare around the corner, and Adira comes with me. It’s policy to keep these records—just in case. You know, since some kids have allergies, or there are specific things we need to be aware of.”

He nodded, still flipping through the file, as if seeing this list of Adira’s little quirks and habits for the first time made her seem more real. More like a child who had to be cared for, understood, and loved in ways that went far beyond simply showing up with a toy.

“I didn’t know you’d been keeping track of all of this,” A look of genuine surprise crossed his face. “I didn’t know… I didn’t know you’d been doing so much.”

You shrugged slightly, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “It’s nothing. Just making sure she’s okay.” There was an edge of vulnerability to your words, as if you were downplaying the emotional weight of it all.

Simon’s fingers lingered on the pages, his gaze skimming the words as if trying to understand the depth of the commitment you had for Adira. It wasn’t just about her well-being, it was about every little thing that made her, her.

“You really do know everything about her, don’t you?” he said, his voice tinged with awe.

You nodded, feeling a warmth spread through you at his reaction. It wasn’t about control or being overprotective—it was about ensuring that every part of Adira’s world was in order, even when you weren’t looking.

“I know what she likes, what she dislikes. I know how she reacts when she’s tired or overstimulated. I know what makes her laugh and what makes her cry. It’s not about keeping tabs, it’s about making sure she feels safe. Especially with everything changing right now.”

Simon absorbed your words quietly, the weight of the file heavy in his hands. The realization hit him like a punch in the gut. You had been doing this alone for so long—carrying the weight of all these little details, managing the complexity of motherhood without the support he should’ve been offering.

“She’s lucky,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “You’ve done more than I can even imagine.”

You didn’t say anything at first. The simplicity of his words caught you off guard, making you feel a bit exposed. “It’s just what you do for them,” you replied, your voice softer now, more vulnerable. “You do what you can to make sure they’re okay.”

Simon closed the file slowly, processing what it meant. He felt a surge of something—guilt, maybe, or a quiet ache—as he realized just how much he’d missed. He’d been absent for so many of the small, seemingly insignificant moments that made up Adira’s life. And now, looking at the file, he could feel the weight of his absence more than ever.

“I want to know it all,” Simon said quietly, his voice full of resolve. “Every little thing. I don’t care how small it seems. I want to learn everything about her.”

Your heart skipped at his words, and for the first time, you felt a sense of stability knowing he’d be around to lift some of the hardship off your shoulders. For once, it wouldn’t just be you anymore.

“Good,” Your voice filled with quiet approval. “Because it’s going to take time. And you’ll need to be patient.”

“I can do that,” he replied, his jaw set with determination. “I’m not going anywhere.”

By 6 AM sharp, there he was—a solid, familiar figure standing at your door with his sleeves rolled up and a faint, hesitant smile. He never asked if you needed help; he simply showed up, ready to lend a hand. Simon didn’t just want to be in your life—he wanted to belong in it. Every visit to your apartment wasn’t just about showing up; it was about figuring out how to bridge the gap between her world and his. You had been Adira's anchor, her everything. Simon understood that, respected it, but he was intent on creating his own place in her little universe—one small gesture at a time.

At first, his kitchen skills left a lot to be desired. You insisted you could handle breakfast on your own, but Simon waved you off, determined to prove himself. Adira sat in her highchair, small fingers clutching a slice of strawberry as she watched her father with wide, curious eyes. He wrestled with the stovetop like it was an enemy combatant, flipping pancakes that somehow always ended up sticking or splattering in every direction. A particularly ambitious flip sent batter flying, splattering across his shirt and the counter.

Adira paused mid-chew, her sharp little eyes zeroing in on the mess. "Messy man," she mumbled around the strawberry, her tone matter-of-fact but laced with childish amusement.

Simon froze, mid-swipe with a paper towel, and glanced at her, eyebrows shooting up. “What’d you call me?”

"Messy man," she repeated, a little more confidently this time, giggling as she pointed at the batter streaked across his chest.

You couldn’t help but laugh as Simon groaned, shaking his head with mock exasperation. “I’ll remember that,” he muttered, though there was no hiding the faint smile that tugged at his lips.

Despite the mishaps, he never gave up. Day by day, the kitchen disasters became fewer. He learned that Adira liked her pancakes shaped like stars if you had the time and that a dollop of whipped cream on top made her clap her hands with delight. He discovered she preferred her strawberries sliced thin, not chunky, and that she hated the crusts on toast but loved when it was cut into neat little triangles.

More importantly, while you were around, Adira began to interact with him in ways you hadn’t expected. She would babble at him as he cooked, her little hands waving animatedly as though she was offering advice. He listened as if she were telling him the most important secrets in the world, nodding solemnly and responding in his deep, rumbling voice.

One morning, as he handed her a plate with her favorite star-shaped pancakes, she looked up at him with a toothy smile, “Thank you, messy man.”

Simon froze, his grip tightening on the plate for just a second before he crouched down to her level. “You’re welcome, love,” The endearing nickname left his lips with ease, carrying an edge of something raw and tender.

You stood in the doorway, watching the scene unfold with a lump in your throat. This wasn’t just about breakfast. It was about Simon trying—every single day—to show her that he was there, that he wasn’t going anywhere. It was clumsy and imperfect, but it was real. And you couldn’t help but feel the faint stirrings of something like hope, watching the way Adira’s small world seemed to expand to make room for him.

After some time of this new, unspoken pattern settling in—one that felt like a quiet, gradual understanding—Adira seemed to begin warming up to Simon. It wasn’t as deep or instantaneous as it had been with you, but it was enough. Enough for her to sit at the table, nibbling on the pancakes he’d made. Enough to sit near him and listen to his voice without the immediate urge to run to you. And, perhaps most telling, enough for her to offer him a strawberry one morning before daycare.

Still, there were unspoken boundaries. She wouldn’t let him touch her trains, a sacred realm of hers he dared not trespass. And after a while of him being nearby, she’d often wander back to you, clutching at your leg or climbing into your lap, needing the reassurance of your proximity. 

You saw it in Simon’s eyes sometimes, the flicker of hurt that he quickly masked, brushing it off like it didn’t matter. But it did. You could tell. Adira was studying him from the safety of her bubble, keeping her distance as if trying to figure him out. You couldn’t blame her. Adira had lived her life with you as the constant; Simon was a new element in her world, one she wasn’t sure how to integrate yet.

But you couldn’t help but wonder: Did she need just a little nudge? A chance to have a moment with him—just the two of them—without you hovering nearby to catch her if she fell?

That opportunity came one morning when the daycare announced they would be closing down the toddler classrooms for renovations. Since Adira’s classroom was off-limits, she couldn’t come with you, leaving a gap in her schedule for at least a day or two. It was the perfect chance for Simon to step in and watch her alone, just the two of them.

That morning, Simon arrived as usual, but the atmosphere was different. You were already dressed for work, and Adira sat on the couch, her little frame wrapped in her favorite onesie—a fuzzy lavender number with tiny clouds on the sleeves. Her attention was fixed on the cartoon playing on the screen, her pillow hugged tightly to her chest.

You had considered this moment for a while, weighing the risks and the benefits. You knew how much it would mean to Simon if Adira let him in just a little bit more. But it was still a leap. You couldn’t help but feel the protective instinct rising in you, a sharp edge of caution in your chest. If anything went wrong, if Adira seemed uncomfortable or the situation felt off, you’d be home in a heartbeat. It was your job to protect her, to put her needs above all else—even Simon’s. As much as he was trying, as much as he cared, she was still your child, and her safety and happiness mattered most.

Simon raised an eyebrow as he noticed your state of dress and Adira’s lounging figure. “So, it’s just me and her today?”

You nodded, grabbing your keys. “her classroom is closed for renovations. Figured this would be a good chance for you two to spend some time together.”

He didn’t respond right away, instead Simon seemed to take everything in stride, breathing in deeply, knowing his moment was now.

You couldn’t help but study him for a moment longer, as if reading him for any sign that he was second-guessing himself. But then he smiled at you, it was genuine—reassuring. You had to trust him. You had to let him try.

Walking over to Adira, you knelt beside her, smoothing her hair as you spoke. “Sweetheart, you’re gonna hang out with Simon today, okay? I’ll be back soon.” 

Adira’s brows furrowed, her lips pressing into a tiny pout. “You go?”

“Just for a little while,” you reassured her. “Simon’s going to stay with you, and you’ll have lots of fun. Won’t you?”

Adira looked up at you with those wide, dark eyes, not fully understanding the implications, but offering you a small, shy nod. She then returned her attention to the TV, her little fingers absentmindedly squeezing the fabric of her pillow.

“She’s had her bath, so no worries there,” you swiftly explained, slipping into your role as her mother. “She’s in her onesie because it’s raining today, and for some reason, she loves wearing it on rainy days—I don't understand it but as long as she's happy. There’s food in the fridge, but after a couple of hours, I’d suggest cutting the TV off. Let her color, read, or maybe play with her trains. It gives her eyes a break from the screen. Oh, and rainy days mean pizza. Her favorite place is ‘Mario’s,’ and the number’s on the fridge. She’ll ask for the stuffed crust and extra cheese, light on the sauce.”

Simon absorbed the instructions like a soldier receiving a mission briefing, nodding along as you spoke. His eyes flicked to Adira, who was now idly kicking her feet as she watched the TV, and then back to you. “Got it. Anything else?”

You hesitated for a moment, then let it subside. “Just… be patient with her. She’s still figuring this out. You’re doing great, Simon.”

His lips twitched into a small, almost shy smile. “Thanks.”

You gave him one last glance, scanning for any signs of hesitation or doubt, but his steady demeanor gave you confidence. With a final goodbye to Adira, who waved absently, you headed for the door. With that, you left, the door clicking shut behind you. Your chest felt tight, your every nerve on edge as you walked to work. This was Simon’s test, sure, but it was yours too—trusting someone else with the most precious thing in your life. Only time would tell how it would go.

The door clicked shut behind you, leaving Simon standing awkwardly in the quiet apartment. Adira stayed exactly where she was, her little form cocooned on the couch, eyes glued to the animated animals bouncing across the TV screen. Simon exhaled through his nose, rubbing the back of his neck as he took in the moment. This was it. His chance.

He crossed the room and sat down next to her, careful not to invade her space. For a moment, the silence stretched between them, thick and uncertain. Adira didn’t so much as glance his way, her focus unwavering as the characters on the screen launched into a cheerful song.

Simon cleared his throat, the sound cutting through the air like an awkward ripple. "So, uh," he started, his voice low and unsure, "you like it when it rains?"

Adira finally looked up at him, her big, curious eyes meeting his. She blinked a couple of times, processing his question, before giving a small, shy nod.

"Yeah?" he pressed, a soft smile creeping onto his face. "What’s your favorite thing about it? The sound? Jumping in puddles?"

Her lips twitched, almost forming a smile, but she didn’t say anything. Instead, she shifted on the couch, pulling her pillow closer as if using it as a shield. Simon waited, giving her time, not wanting to push. Then, as if finding the courage, she mumbled, “The sound.”

“The sound, huh? Me too,” he said, leaning back a bit to ease the tension. “Kinda peaceful, isn’t it? Makes everything... quiet.”

Adira nodded again, this time a little more confidently. Her tiny fingers started to drum on the pillow in her lap, the rhythm mimicking the pitter-patter of raindrops. Simon caught it and grinned.

“You know,” he said, lowering his voice conspiratorially, “I used to watch the rain all the time when I was little. Sometimes I’d sit by the window for hours, just listening. My mum always said I’d get stuck there.”

Adira tilted her head at him, her curiosity evident now. “Why?” she asked, her voice soft and a little unsure, as though she wasn’t entirely ready to start talking freely.

Simon chuckled, scratching his chin. “Dunno. Maybe I thought if I stayed there long enough, I’d see something special, like... I dunno, maybe the rain would make magic happen.”

Her eyes widened slightly at the word magic, and Simon felt a small victory bloom in his chest.

“Magic?” she echoed, her tone a mix of skepticism and interest.

“Oh, yeah,” he replied, leaning in just a little, like he was about to share a secret. “The kind that only shows up when you’re really, really patient. You gotta look close, though.”

Adira’s gaze darted back to the TV for a moment before returning to him, her guard lowering inch by inch. She hugged her pillow tighter but didn’t turn away.

“Maybe,” she murmured, almost too quietly for him to hear, “maybe I’ll see magic too.”

Simon’s chest tightened, a warmth spreading there that he hadn’t felt in years. For the first time, he wasn’t just a stranger in her world; he was someone she was starting to let in.

“Maybe you will,” he said softly, leaning back into the couch. He let the quiet fill the space again, content to sit beside her, waiting for the rain—or the magic—to come.

After a few minutes, Adira reached over to the side table where her sippy cup rested. She grabbed it, then paused, her hand hovering. Slowly, she stretched it out toward him. “Drink?” she offered, her voice small but steady.

Simon blinked, caught off guard by the gesture. It wasn’t much—just a sippy cup of watered-down juice—but it felt monumental. “Thanks, but that’s yours,” he said gently, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

She pulled it back and took a sip herself, nodding like she’d made a grand decision.

Simon chuckled softly. “Fair enough.”

It wasn’t much, but it was something. A small step, a tiny opening, and Simon took it as the win it was.

The hours slipped by quietly, the sound of the TV buzzing in the background, and before Simon knew it, the three-hour mark had passed. He glanced at the clock, then at the screen, and with a deep breath, he reached over and clicked the power button.

Adira's eyes widened in shock, her little fingers frozen mid-air as she pointed at the now-black screen. "Why?" she asked, her voice a mix of confusion and mild frustration. "I wanna watch..." Her words trailed off, her pout deepening as she looked back at him, like she couldn’t quite understand why he’d taken it away.

Simon bit his lip, fighting a chuckle. "You’ve been watchin' for a while now, kiddo," he said, trying to sound casual, but there was a slight hesitation in his voice. "Time to do somethin’ else, yeah?"

Adira stared at him for a long moment, her little brow furrowed as she processed what he’d said. She didn’t seem convinced at first, her gaze darting back to the black screen as if willing it to come back to life. When it didn’t, she crossed her arms over her chest, her lower lip poking out in a full pout.

“I don’t wanna,” she muttered, voice small but firm. It was clear she wasn’t happy with the decision, but Simon had a feeling it was more about the principle of the matter than the TV itself.

“C’mon now,” Simon said softly, trying to soften the blow. “We can do somethin’ fun. How ‘bout we build somethin' together? Or read a book?”

Her little frown deepened, and Simon almost felt bad for turning the TV off. But this was the first time he’d gotten a moment alone with her, and he knew it was important to break the habit, to show her there were other things to do in the world besides the screen.

She hesitated, her gaze flicking between him and the quiet living room. Then, with a small sigh, she uncrossed her arms and stood up, shuffling toward the toy box with little steps, only to find nothing that interested her.

"Books?" she asked, her voice still laced with uncertainty but tinged with the smallest bit of curiosity.

Simon smiled, feeling a wave of relief. “Books it is,” he said, standing up to join her. “I bet we can find somethin’ that’ll be just as fun as that TV show.”

Adira didn’t answer, but the way she grabbed a book off the shelf made Simon’s heart flutter with a tiny spark of victory. 

Adira returned to Simon’s side, holding a colorful book with a soft, focused expression on her face. The cover was bright, featuring two foxes—one with a bushy tail and the other a smaller, more timid-looking one. The title, No Matter What, was written in bold letters above them. She climbed up beside him and, without a word, placed the book in his lap, her small hands brushing gently against it as if offering him a treasure.

Simon looked down at the book, caught off guard by her quiet gesture. He glanced at her for a moment, meeting her eyes. She looked at him with a silent kind of expectation, waiting.

Slowly, he picked up the book, holding it carefully as if it were something precious. “What’s this?” he asked softly, though it was clear he already had an inkling.

“Foxes,” Adira replied simply, her voice soft but firm. “Mama read it. It’s ‘bout love.”

Simon’s heart tugged at the mention of you. He could imagine the way you’d read to her, the soothing cadence of your voice, the way Adira had probably snuggled up beside you during the bedtime ritual. But there was something in Adira’s face now, something that felt like an invitation—a little piece of trust she was offering him, too.

“Well, alright then,” Simon said, his voice soft as he began to flip open the book. Adira sat close beside him, her tiny hands still on the cover, watching his every move with an intense focus. She didn’t rush him. The silence between them felt comforting.

He began to read aloud, slowly at first, as if still gauging her reaction. “No matter what, the foxes knew that they would always be together, through the rain or the snow, through the darkest nights and the brightest days.”

Adira shifted beside him, her little legs crossing as she settled into his side. Her small hand reached for the page as he turned it, her fingers brushing over the illustrations. She didn’t interrupt, just quietly absorbed the words.

As Simon read on, his voice grew more confident, and the warmth of the moment started to settle between them. For a fleeting moment, it felt like they had bridged a gap, one word at a time, one page at a time. It wasn’t much, but it was something—something to build on.

Adira’s gaze remained fixed on the book, but her body had relaxed against Simon’s, the way a child does when they feel safe. As the last pages of the book came into view, she snuggled closer, her head resting against his shoulder.

When Simon finished reading, he let the book fall softly onto his lap. He looked down at her, her eyes half-closed, but still aware and trusting. She looked up at him again, her tiny voice soft as she spoke. “Foxes love each other... no matter what.”

Simon’s heart thudded in his chest, the simplicity of her words hitting him harder than he expected. He wasn’t quite sure what it all meant yet, but in that moment, it was enough to see her so close, so willing to share something so personal. A bond had begun to form—fragile, yes, but it was there.

“Yeah,” Simon said, his voice barely above a whisper, “no matter what.”

With the last of the kids sent off and the staff beginning to clean up, you closed up shop, ready to call it a day. But just as you were locking up, a loud clap of thunder rattled the building, causing you to jump in shock. Your heart raced for a moment, the suddenness of it making you freeze in place.

“Jesus, if Adira was here, she’d lose it,” you muttered to yourself, trying to laugh off the shock. But then, your words hit you like a ton of bricks.

If Adira was here.

A chill ran through you as it dawned on you just how careless you’d been. Shit. Shit. Shit. You had completely forgotten to tell Simon about her fear of thunderstorms. She hated them. Hated the loud crashes of thunder, the flashes of lightning. You’d seen her curl up in a ball, her hands over her ears, eyes wide with terror when the storms hit.

The sound of the storm outside was only getting louder, the thunder now booming and crackling as it came closer. You could imagine Adira, sitting there with Simon, eyes wide and full of fear, clutching whatever comfort she could find, and Simon… God, Simon probably didn’t know what to do. He wouldn’t have any idea how to handle it.

Without thinking twice, you dropped everything—your bag, your jacket, anything that wasn’t crucial to getting home. You shot a quick look toward the staff, offering a hasty explanation and apology. Then, without another word, you bolted through the doors, past the remaining parents who were still talking in the lobby, and into the rain.

The rain beat down on you as you sprinted through the streets, the cold droplets stinging your skin as the thunder rumbled overhead. You couldn’t focus on anything but getting home. Adira needs me. Adira needs me.The mantra repeated in your head with each pounding step. Your feet splashed through puddles, the air heavy with the scent of wet pavement and the growing tension in your chest.

It felt like forever as you raced through the downpour, but at last, you reached the building, heart hammering in your chest. You fumbled with your keys, every second feeling like an eternity as the thunder rumbled louder, closer. Hurry, you told yourself, voice shaky as you turned the key and shoved the door open.

The apartment was quiet. Too quiet.

The air felt thick, and as you stepped inside, your eyes instantly darted to the living room.  

On the couch, Simon was sitting with Adira curled up in his side, wrapped tightly in her favorite blanket. Her little body was nestled against his, her small form practically hidden in the folds of the soft fabric. On the coffee table in front of them were the remnants of their quiet afternoon—plastic plates with pizza stains, her sippy cup placed haphazardly next to the mess. Around them, the stack of books you always read to her was scattered across the table: I Love You to the Moon and Back, The Koala Who Could, What Color is a Kiss?—books that had been a staple in your bedtime routine for as long as you could remember.

The sight of them—Adira calm, safe, resting against Simon—caught you off guard. You’d expected panic, chaos, something more… uncertain. But instead, the two of them looked peaceful. Simon’s hand was gently resting on her back, his other arm loosely around her as she drifted in and out of sleep, her head nestled against his chest. She was calm. And that... that made your heart ache in ways you hadn’t expected.

You hadn’t expected Simon to be so… natural with her. He’d stepped up in a way you didn’t think was possible, at least not this soon. Maybe you had underestimated him. Maybe—no, you knew—you had underestimated this. 

Simon, with Adira, was something real.

Hi so, this took a while, wanted to make this really long for yall. For me as im writing this, it's 5 AM! I've been working on this since 1 PM yesterday. Long Fics are not my strongpoint, I had so much trouble with this because I'm a perfectionist and my tiny brain often repeats words ALOT. I'm working on it and the best way to improve is to keep writing.

As things currently go, I may write shorter things for this family, I want to develop Adira and Simon's relationship more just not with super long stuff like this. I'd also would love to answer any questions or talk about headcanons anyone has about them. Feel free to send asks!

Anyways, I hope you all enjoyed and by the time this goes up I'm sure I'll still be asleep!

P.S can someone tell me if I do tags wrong, like ive noticed sometimes when I tag it doesn't have the little underline so I keep thinking it doesn't go through </3

BIG ASS TAGLIST: @notsochillnerd @xanvasy @nightunite @reyy001 @liliemb04 @doodle-cat16 @wwe1rdc0re @multy-fandom-lover @skylarmitchell @athenianharpy @mxtokko @watu2ka @gifted-aurora @sapphire-jelly26 @janeety @lem-hhn @natdu @honey-teaaaaaaaa @gg-trini @kawaiivanilla-chan @despairinglakepasta @gaida-511 @jayjkay @watersquirtpewpewboomm @nikt-wazny-y @dragon-bubs @thisishwrworld @prettygirlwhoreadsatnite @illusionistlover @just-pure-trash @theliqouricebtch @sullyoung @me-llyssa @drewsuncrustables @phosphoracat @sabrina-senpai @shadowdark00 @imttryi @brokenxintroverted @eevily @aiyaaayei @coffeeandtealol @codcosplayer @scaleniusrm @momoewn @classaysstuff @fancymilkshakewitch @tessakate @a-lil-bit-nuts @beautifuleaglealpaca @vickieesstuff @captainchrisstan @alyyaanna @kaeyasfuturewife @huehuehuehuehehe @allllium @the-number7 @idfkimhereforsmut @katzarantos @tamayakii @7haze @k-bakuhoe @armycaratlover @thecoolestastrophile @montenegroisr @little-b33 @pantheonofbeauty @oooof-ifellforyou @ang3lc @littleracco0n @dravenskye @supaturtl3 @maciswack @carebear209 @bassandlace @3ndar @bespectacledhuman @xshellchenx-blog @astro-stars @avavie @vexillum-moeru @nina-from-317 @gazsluckyhat @1-800-g00ber @yukisdelusional @styx-eclipsed @mellowstatesmanhandsempath @nommingonfood @idkwhattodosooo @noheadcanons-juststories @zaqnette @fluffysmiko @aliciamorov @mageknight-anya @athaliw @princessloveweird @lucypaulette @hikotaru @julesjunimos @xqhro @blushingskulls @foodisbaepinterestislife @thecursebreaker @harperdoodle @taygirl24 @alfie2401 @devoetee @kodokunarisu-blog @lovealwaysserena

[hussyknee]

This ruling is non-binding (not sure how it would be enforced even if it was considering Israel's chief protector is the U.S., which doesn't recognise the International Criminal Court and keeps trying to punish it for this kind of thing), but there's support for it across the board except from the US and its new vassal state, the UK. The Tory government has backed the US in ignoring every ICJ ruling on Palestine thus far and Starmer has been avoiding the issue but reinstated funding for UNRWA a few hours after the latest one. Starmer is a spineless Zionist maggot and as much of a US shill has the Tories however, so which way his government tips will probably depends on the strength of the US's reaction.

If you still want to vote for that death-worshipping lurching corpse in November and maybe claim back some of the voters who've decided they can't endorse this bloodthirsty maniac, now is the time to take to the streets and threaten to withhold your vote unless he fucking complies. Don't worry, the same amount of you will vote for him anyway since genocide is not a red line for you, but the DNC is jumpy enough now that they might want to err on the side of caution. Please try and stop your precious democracy from massacring any more children, even if only to save your own skins.

[cosmichorrorsarestillnicerthanme]

Might I ask for the Phantom Thief Girls with an S/O who flips a coin to make decisions? Yes, this idea came from that Rune Factory 5 post from @genshingorlsrevengeance however, I am ninety percent sure that if any more asks are added to his inbox it will collapse into a singularity and devour him. Also, I want to see your twist on it since you and him are two of my faves when it comes to character x reader writing.

Thank you for the kind words, however I am sure Chris could have done this better than I, even if he had to do so from the void after his Inbox ate him, nonetheless, I still gave it my best try and I hope you enjoy.

The temptation I had to make Baofu/Kaoru Saga jokes and references throughout all of writing this was immense.

Also, Two-Face wants his gimmick back.

Now! Your Wish Is My Command!

Ann found the coin to be… interesting.

The loud Ting when you flipped it always caught her attention.

Heads or Tails?

Black or Red?

Yes or No?

On one hand it was irritating when she lost.

On the other, the tension of making a split second decision of what to call when the coin goes up was exhilarating.

Especially when she called the right side.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

The coin hung in the air for a split second as you opened your palm to catch it.

Ann’s eyes were firmly on the coin, as were yours.

It was time to make the decision.

Heads?

Tails?

What to choose?

“Heads!” Ann exclaimed excitedly.

“Tails!” you exclaimed with a grin as the coin began to fall and land in your palm.

Ann let out a cheer.

You chuckled and gave a mental apology to your wallet as you rolled the coin into the space between your fingers and then over your knuckles before tossing it to your other hand and then placing it into your pocket.

The coin landed on heads, the red side that depicted a smiling Jester's mask in gold.

“It’s decided! You’ll be taking me out to get as many sweets as I want!” Ann exclaimed with a mischievous smile.

Don’t worry, she won’t bankrupt you.

Probably.

Makoto was not a huge fan of the coin.

Sure, it added some flair to day to day life.

However, Makoto was not a big fan of leaving things to fate.

Especially when it comes to important decisions.

That said… It did help her when she was indecisive about something.

When she hesitated to act or did not know what choice to make, she would always see the glint of the coin in her vision and the sound of the Ting it made when you flipped it.

She knew what the answers were.

Heads or Tails.

Yes or No.

It forced her to make a decision.

Will she take the leap?

Or will she err on the side of caution.

No matter what side the coin landed on, she knew what her answer was.

And you know that too.

So, no matter how much she pestered you about the answer the coin gave you, you would never tell.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

“Tell me.” Makoto demanded with a rather petulant whine as the two of you sat on the couch, watching TV and awaiting for Sae to return.

“Hmmm… I think not.” you said with a mockingly thoughtful face.

“Then flip the coin!” Makoto exclaimed, the outcome of the previous toss eating at her like nothing else.

You smirked before teasingly asking “I thought you disliked the coin toss?”

This earned you a solid wallop to the shoulder.

“Ow! Okay! Okay! Yeesh! I’m going to tell Sae about this domestic abuse when she gets back.” you muttered as you pulled the coin out from behind Makoto’s ear with a simple bit of sleight of hand.

“If you do, you know she’s going to side with me, right?” Makoto asked as you rolled the coin over your knuckles and into place over your thumb.

“We’ll see.” you said with a grin and then flipped the coin, sending it flying.

“Heads!” Makoto exclaimed.

“Tails!” you stated with a smile.

The coin came down and into your hand.

Makoto promptly grabbed you by the shoulders and screamed into your chest.

It landed on the black side, tails, with a frowning golden jester's mask facing up.

Futaba was sure you were cheating somehow with your tosses.

She could do the math that told her the outcome of the toss in her head with ease.

And yet, with every toss, it almost never went the way she expected.

Every time she would smugly declare her choice, confident in her answer, it would land on the opposite side.

She had no idea how you were doing it, but you HAD to be cheating.

She was tempted to try and strangle the answer out of you.

Alas, she was afflicted with the most terrible of curses.

Weak Nerd Arms.

So, she had to try different means.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Futaba turned the coin over in her hand, examining it closely at her desk while you smugly watched her doing so as you sat on her bed.

Futaba was getting irritated.

There were no imperfections on the coin, nothing that could skew the results that her math gave her.

She had even examined how you did it!

No sleight of hand, no tricks, nothing!

Futaba placed the coin atop her thumb and flipped high into the air with a solid Ting reverberating through the room, already doing the math in her head.

“Heads!” you declared with a smile.

“Tails!” Futaba exclaimed confidently.

Half a second later, Futaba threw the coin at you as fast and hard as she could.

You caught the pathetically weak lob with ease as Futaba slammed her head into her desk.

“Life Is Not Daijoubu.” Futaba muttered.

“Aww, I love you too.” you said smugly before walking over to kiss the top of her head.

Haru absolutely loved the coin.

Every second of her life had been planned out before she met you.

But now?

Things were random, left to chance.

It was exhilarating!

Why, it almost brought her as much joy as hearing the Shadows beg for mercy!

Not to mention the antics the coin could cause.

Several yes’s in a row and then a no to change it all.

The solid Ting The coin made whenever it was sent to the sky never failed to send a tingle down her spine.

Random chance leads to strange occurrences, strange occurrences leads to interesting decisions.

It was the path that following the coin always led down.

It was a truly interesting show to watch and partake in.

Especially when she was the one putting you on the back foot.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

“Dear, what is a “Sadist”, the others had me take a test and it said I was one?” Haru asked rather innocently despite her, admittedly, somewhat evil intentions.

She had to fight the urge to giggle when you looked at her as if a day you had been dreading for all your life had finally arrived before turning your back to her and flipping the coin.

Your shoulders promptly slumped and you looked to the heavens, seemingly trying to ask god “Why?”.

You then turned to her, looked her dead in the eyes with the most broken expression she had ever seen and proceeded to explain what a sadist was.

This was truly the most entertaining event to ever occur from the coin yet.

Sumire was intrigued by your habit of tossing the coin.

Leaving everything to fate, hedging all your bets on a 50/50 gamble.

You and Joker would probably get along.

That and probably correct her on the actual chances being something like 51/49 or something to that effect.

Nonetheless, the Ting of the coin never failed to grab her attention.

The questions you left to the coin always ranged wildly.

From what food you were going to eat for lunch to if you were going to randomly carry Sumiere around like a bride.

Your whims were always decided by the coin and Sumiere was always excited to see what the answer would be.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

“Uhh… Yoshizawa?” Ryuji asked as he peered out the window of Ren’s room.

“Yes?” Sumire answered while turning to the blonde.

“Is that your spouse down there?” the blonde asked.

Sumire flushed red before exclaiming for the thousandth time since you pulled that stunt.

“WE’RE NOT MARRIED!!!”

She had to bite the inside of her mouth to avoid adding on the “Yet” to the end of that sentence.

“Yeah, yeah whatever-” Ryuji began to say before the bell rang and the voice of The Boss rang out.

“Hey there! Yoshizawa’s upstairs with the kid and the others.”

“Thanks Boss! Would you mind going ahead and making me something to drink while I head up there?” you asked.

“No problem, the usual?” Sojiro asked.

The sound of the coin being flipped rang out.

“Dealers choice today, Boss.” you stated before the sound of someone walking up the stairs hit everyone's ears.

“Hello everyone!” you greeted before walking over to Sumiere.

You then proceed to gently place your hand on the side of her face, and kiss her on the lips.

After a few moments, you pulled away with a smile before saying “Goodbye everyone, it was nice seeing you all!” and then walking away and back down the stairs to grab and pay for your drink, leaving Sumiere blushing as red as her hair and a dazed look in her eyes.

“You’d think she’d have gotten used to them coming by just to kiss her by now.” Ann said as she flipped through her magazine.

“Yeah, then again, the coin does leave everything to chance.” Ren said before taking a sip of his coffee.

[smallnico]

durge desensitizes to casual positive affection and friendship compilation

also known as real feline durge hours. esper's companions look at them and say Is Anyone Gonna Manhandle That Murderous Twink and then not wait for an answer. contexts/explanations under readmore for the curious

lae'zel and esper do morning exercises and meditation together. most of the time they pass the time in silence, but sometimes they're joined by the local wildlife. esper is a great fan of showing their friends things they might find interesting as a form of affection instead of words, especially with lae'zel, since they have a common discomfort with small talk.

esper doesn't like looking at themself in the mirror, so their makeup is always ancient and haphazardly applied, a fact that distresses the more image-conscientious shadowheart. she and esper have a sibling-like relationship fuelled by mutual amnesia and goth solidarity, among other things, but sometimes a sister has to take it upon herself to fix her stinky sibling's wings.

i already expanded on wyll and esper's dynamic a bit in this piece and i didn't feel like drawing the same thing twice, but suffice it to say, they have absolutely no idea how to talk to each other, but still look out for each other. the joke here is about how i've done a couple of long rests in-game with just alcohol i've found. hey 5 camp supplies is 5 camp supplies

jaheira unearths esper's forgotten mother issues. no real things to add here. no thoughts only cub.

gale said way back in act 1 that esper reminded him of tara, and esper isn't leaning into that on purpose per se, but as i said for lae'zel, they like getting their friends things those friends might enjoy. they also love chaos. show your evocation wizard some love by bringing him extremely destructive spells to play with. show your durge some love by casting chain lightning and letting them watch

i have no justification for this one lmao. esper isn't a Huge fan of being picked up and hefted around like a sack of oats, but maybe they should've thought of that before being small and scoop-uppable. socially, esper and halsin don't click especially well, but esper is fundamentally a creature, and therefore pretty easy for halsin to understand. obviously they don't mind that much :J

esper and karlach voted two most touch-starved nerds in faerun, they help each other cope by sleeping in a cuddle pile like cats. karlach runs warm even after getting her engine tuned up, but esper doesn't mind. she's cozy

astarion is by far the person esper is the most verbal with, probably because he's the only one who really thinks the durgeisms that slip out are funny and #relatable. everyone else errs on the side of caution with esper, but astarion knows he's allowed to take liberties with them, and he does. they have the same sense of humour. these two freaks are completely insufferable together because they're vibing so hard on a level incomprehensible to everyone around them, but astarion can put a stop to esper's self-destructive internal stress engine, and esper can drag him into helping and working hard. the others have no choice but to tolerate them as a couple because no matter how unhinged they are as a unit, they're so much worse for society on the whole as individuals. do not separate them

if you read all this, hope you enjoyed this illumination of esper's party dynamics, i love you <3 enjoy

[rainbowsky]

Anonymous asked:

Big fan of your posts! What do you think of Huang Ziteng's [redacted]

Love to hear your thoughts!

Hi Anon. Thanks so much for your kind words, I am glad you're enjoying my blog! ☺️

I suppose you must be a bit surprised to see your name come up as anonymous, since your question was not submitted anonymously. It is because this particular ask put me in a bit of a dilemma and I decided to err on the side of caution. I don't want anyone getting offended by what I have to say about things like this.

The material in question

The content that you shared with me was indeed video footage of Huang Ziteng speaking on a livestream about GG and DD. I asked a dear friend who is fluent in Chinese to give me a rough overview since there was no translation, and this is what Shufu is saying:

They've been together for 6 years.

DD was the one who was more outward in the pursuit, but GG was expressing his love with his eyes, and it's impossible to say who was attracted first.

A bit of background about The Untamed, saying that an actor with the last name of Ma was already cast as Wei WuXian and only needed to sign the contract, but Ma was in a series that was popular at the time and decided he wanted more compensation. The production couldn't afford it, and switched to GG.

Turtles will have a lifetime of candies.

This video is also not new (based on other copies found online, it's at least as old as October of last year), and apparently this isn't the first time he's spoken fairly openly about them in a livestream.

My thoughts

I have somewhat mixed feelings about this, and I want to dig into a couple of issues because this really touches upon some of the core considerations of being a turtle.

1 ] Supporting closeted couples

GG and DD are closeted, at least when it comes to being in the public eye*. This isn't just because of their queerness, but it is also because they are celebrities and as such they're required to appear single.

*It is obvious they are out among their friends and close colleagues, but that is very different from being publicly out.

We need to consider audience expectations and the pressures of investors, brands and productions to be able to market stars on the perception of romantic availability. This is why stars in that industry tend to hide their relationships and even families and children.

As celebrities GG and DD are not able to be publicly out.

Being queer is undoubtedly also a complication. Even though many Chinese citizens are tolerant of homosexuality, especially the younger generation, many are only tolerant of it as long as it is not seen or discussed. It's highly likely coming out would result in a lot of backlash among audiences, even from people who aren't fans that dream of one day marrying them.

Chinese audiences can be absolutely savage towards anyone who takes up a certain type of public airspace. Anyone who sticks their head up too far for any reason stands a chance of having it chewed off.

That's quite apart from the political implications for them. The current government has had a very anti LGBTQ approach. GG and DD are not at liberty to be open about their sexual orientation if they want to be able to continue to enjoy a top spot in this heavily government-regulated industry, where they are frequently put in the position of being role models and ambassadors.

If they were to come out publicly about their relationship, or even just about being queer, it's very likely that a lot of queer people and queer allies would be inspired and emboldened by them.

While that might sound like a good thing to our Western ears, it's likely not so in the eyes of the government. This government treats LGBTQ people as potential political dissidents, which is why they crack down so much on opportunities for queer people to gather. Night clubs are shut down, queer organizations and agencies are shut down, Pride marches are no longer allowed.

The last thing they would want is for two of the top celebrities in the country to become poster boys for the queer rights movement. And this could easily happen whether GG and DD wanted it or not.

If they were seen as in any way leading or even just inspiring a politically subversive movement (as any movement that is critical of government policy is treated), it would not be good for them.

There is another, in some ways potentially more serious issue. This government has repeatedly characterized queer people as having a corrupting influence on youth. GG, and especially DD, are extremely popular among young people. If they were to come out about their relationship or about being queer, there is a possibility that in the eyes of the government they would instantly become 'corruptors of the youth', with all of the outcomes that one can imagine for such a corrupter.

In other words, it could be very unpleasant indeed.

Make no mistake about it, the government knows they are a couple. This government knows. But GG and DD are allowed to play the roles they play in the industry because they are useful to the government, because they are mouthpieces for political messaging, and because they keep a low profile with regard to their personal lives.

There's also the personal side to this.

As queer people, our identities and our personal lives frequently become a source of controversy and friction. Therefore our personal stories absolutely must be under our own control. We must always be the ones deciding how much about us is known, and who knows it.

All of this to say, this is not Huang Ziteng's story to tell, and as somebody who knows them personally and is publicly associated with them - having worked with them in the past - outing them like this to fans is extremely not okay. Unless he has their permission, he is seriously violating their privacy and potentially putting them at risk.

For this reason, I find it extremely difficult to imagine that GG in particular would have given him permission to speak openly about their relationship. He would have understood that it could make Huang Ziteng look bad, as there's no way for him to say or prove that he has their permission to discuss these things.

All other considerations aside, I just don't see GG being okay with that.

2 ] The issue of veracity

Turtles love Shufu. Of course we do. He gives us candy, and we all love candy. There are many turtles who starve and suffer without candy. Some of our favorite candies came directly from him. What's not to love?

The problem here is, there's absolutely no evidence or proof of anything that he says beyond what we already know as turtles. He isn't giving us any new evidence or proof of their relationship (and that's probably really good thing given what I just talked at length about above), and most crucially he has not given any fresh insight into them as a couple. Nothing that might show he really has an inside perspective on them.

There's absolutely nothing to say that he isn't simply parroting everything we say back to us, telling us what we want to hear.

For what purpose? Well, people can be a bit strange, especially when it comes to fame and attention and popularity. I've actually seen this with my own eyes IRL. Humans can behave in puzzling ways when in the proximity of people who are very famous and popular.

Personal opportunism aside, the world can be very cold and lonely, and people will often go to great lengths to feel special, to feel powerful and to feel loved.

I just finished talking about how much turtles tend to love Shufu. That alone is something that should give all of us pause when it comes to a situation like this. We are vulnerable to being taken advantage of by somebody in his position. We need to proceed with caution and understand the possibility that he could be just saying these things for his own purposes.

This actually happened with Cheng Yi. Remember she used to share a lot of cartoons and candies and other things related to GG and DD. It turns out that she tried to profit from impressionable c-turtles a while back, in ways that made them uncomfortable. We all need to be very careful who we trust. And I say this as someone who has a chronic problem with being too trusting and naive.

I am by no means saying that Huang Ziteng is lying, or that he is setting out to take advantage of turtles, I'm simply pointing out that we do not know where he's coming from or why he's doing what he's doing, and there are a lot of legitimate reasons to be concerned. We don't even know what his current relationship with them is, or if he actually has any recent information about them.

So I know a lot of turtles are going to be extremely excited about the idea that someone who knows them personally is openly confirming their relationship. However, I would urge caution on this.

The way I see it there are three possibilities:

He is directly aware of their relationship, and was sharing this information with their permission. Of course anything is possible, but given all of the issues I just discussed above, I find it highly, highly unlikely. They already have the fake rumor house and their own social media accounts and various other ways of feeding us. I find it unlikely that they would authorize friends and colleagues to out them publicly.

He is saying all of this without their permission, and doing so for his own reasons, whether that be emotional validation or personal gain or some other purpose. Unfortunately we have to accept that this is a very real possibility.

He is a turtle himself, whether he has direct knowledge about their relationship or not, and is excited to talk about them with other turtles, and everything he is saying is just the ramblings of any turtle - without any actual validation, just like any other turtle.

Which of these possibilities am I leaning toward? For now I'm sitting somewhere between option two and option three - much more leaning to two. I'm going to reserve judgment for now, but I'm starting to look a little bit more carefully at past candies from him and thinking they might need to be reevaluated.

In other words, I'm starting to have doubts about him and his motives, although I am keeping an open mind. I will need more information before I can really make a decision on where I stand.

I would like to conclude by saying to everyone - don't be cynical, don't view everyone as a grifter or an opportunist, but also don't be naive and gullible. Things are rarely what we assume, whether we are assuming well or ill.

The truth usually falls somewhere between, in the grey area between the extremes.

Maybe one day we will get the answers to some of these questions, but for now we really don't have much information to go on. It's up to each turtle to chart their own path, I just hope we will all exercise critical thinking and discernment.

Final thoughts

Someone like this coming along and saying a bunch of stuff does not change a single thing for me as a turtle. I have no way of knowing whether he is speaking based on his own personal experience and close relationship with them, or whether he is speaking as a turtle who has been at some remove from them since filming.

I long ago stopped needing any validation of GG and DD's relationship. I trust my own judgment, so this kind of confirmation isn't really something I seek out or feel any kind of way about at all. I already believe BJYXSZD.

I feel like that insulates me somewhat from being swept away by something like this, and makes it possible for me to look at it with a skeptical eye.

If we analyze what he's saying, he sounds like somebody who has been watching the BTS. This is exactly the sort of thing I've seen many turtles say over the years. And if you examine his statements, for example, "It's impossible to say who was attracted first," a comment like that makes my spidey senses tingle.

If he was close enough to them to know the details of their relationship, and especially if he was close enough to be given permission to share those details, surely he would have some insight into such things, or at least some personal flourish to add.

So for reasons I already stated, I'm not able to take this at face value and just trust he is acting in good faith and out of complete honesty as someone who is in their close inner circle. If anything this throws everything he's previously shared into doubt for me, and makes me wary of his motives.

Like I said, every turtle has to chart their own path, and develop our own perspectives based on the available information.

It's not like we have to decide one way or the other, either. It's always an interesting thought exercise to explore a variety of different perspectives and possibilities, and keep our minds open. Since we are unlikely to ever get confirmation one way or the other, there's no point in jumping to conclusions.

In any case, I will be keeping my eye on him.

My friend said the most interesting thing about this livestream is what he says about GG and the role of WWX. I have to agree. Production talked during promo about GG being first choice for WWX, so this statement from Huang Ziteng is very interesting (and likely impossible to verify).

Standard disclaimer: this is my personal opinion based on my own experience and perspective. There may be people who will disagree with what I have to say and that is their right, but I won't tolerate any hostility. We can agree or disagree on friendly terms. Anyone who is unable to be friendly and civil in their disagreement is asked not to respond to this post.

[loveroftoomanyfandoms]

Sweet on You, Chapter 6

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Story Summary: HERE

Warnings/Tags: Sugar Daddy!Matt Murdock, Idiots to Lovers, No Age Gap, Alternating PoV, No Use of Y/N

Word Count: ~3700

A/N: Guess who's back, back again? Matty's back, tell a friend...

After months of fucking off to who-knows-where, Matt finally sauntered back into the writing room in my head with a smirk on his face and the DDBA trailer in tow, so expect updates to all of my Matt fics to start back up!

As always, many thanks to @realfernmayo for the divider!!!

Tag List: @danzer8705 @capylore @shouldbestudying41 @atemydadforbreakfast @peachy-flxwr @sleepysleepymom @fishinsuits @milkbummm @lazyxsquirrel @beezusvreeland @caughtthefever @bohemianrhapsody86 @yarrystyleeza @indestructeible @pepperthebi-spy @kezibear

“I need you to stay late,” Mr. DiStefano said the following evening as you prepared to leave the office.

You paused in the middle of unlocking your desk drawer to retrieve your purse. “Wait, what? Why?”

“Harrison just called, he wants to completely redo the condos we're designing for him so he's coming in for an emergency meeting. I need you here to take notes.”

You frowned. Harrison Coco was the head of the Coco Corporation, one of the largest and most prestigious development companies in New York. “He’s coming in tonight ?”

Mr. DiStefano shook his head. “I don't like it either, but he's our biggest client. I don't want to run the risk of losing his account.”

“Can't it at least wait until tomorrow? I had plans this evening.”

“Oh, well, if whatever it is you had planned is more important than your job , then…” Mr. DiStefano trailed off, his meaning evident.

You sighed. You had been looking forward to a quiet dinner with Matt after an already hectic day. “No, sir. It's fine, I can see if I can reschedule for another day.”

“Good. Make a pot of coffee, would you? We're going to need it.”

You pulled out your phone as Mr. DiStefano walked back to his office, sighing once again as you texted Matt. I'm really sorry, but I can't make it to dinner tonight.

Your phone immediately chimed with a response. Everything okay?

Yeah, an important client is coming in so my boss is making me work late. 

Ah. I see. 

“He probably doesn't believe me,” you muttered to yourself. Would you mind taking a raincheck for this weekend? Or I can even do an extra dinner next week if that's preferable.

You chewed on your lip in anticipation, hoping that Matt didn't consider you already in breach of your contract and tell you to just forget about the whole thing.

Would tomorrow work for you? 6 PM at the restaurant instead of 7?

You huffed out a relieved breath. Yes, that should work. Again, I'm so sorry, my boss literally just sprang this on me.

That's quite alright, I have some things I needed to finish up tonight at the office anyway. I'll see you tomorrow.

See you tomorrow.

You put your phone away and headed to the kitchen to brew the requested pot of coffee. Design meetings typically ran for several hours as it was, but meetings with Harrison were always even longer and more detailed.  Might as well make extra since I'll probably be here until midnight. 

You measured out the coffee grounds then added water to the reservoir, wondering if you'd have the time and energy to at least scarf down the leftover baked chicken you had made the previous evening before needing to get ready for bed or if you should order something to eat at the office for dinner.

You pressed the start button on the coffee machine, deciding to err on the side of caution and order in something.

You headed back to Mr. DiStefano’s office. “I'm going to grab something for dinner, do you want anything?”

Mr. DiStefano nodded. “Yeah, actually. What were you getting?”

“I was thinking maybe that ramen bar down the street.” It was relatively inexpensive and close enough to the office to where you could just run and pick it up rather than having to wait on delivery.

Mr. DiStefano nodded. “That sounds good. Give me a minute and I'll let you know what I want.”

“Okay.”

You went back to the kitchen to pour the coffee you had made into a carafe to keep warm, then brought the carafe into the meeting room and set it on a table against the wall along with some cups, a caddy full of various sweeteners and creamers, and several bottles of water. Okay, I think that's everything.

You walked back into Mr. DiStefano's office. “Decide what you want, sir?”

Mr. DiStefano nodded. “Yeah, get me the black tonkotsu with a side of takoyaki.”

You pulled your phone out to place your orders. “Okay, not a problem.”

Mr. DiStefano pulled his wallet out of his pocket and took out some cash. “Here, this should cover mine.”

You took the money and stuck it in your pocket. “I’ll let you know when I leave to go pick it up. What time will Mr. Coco be arriving?”

“Around 6:30 or so. He just got back into town from a business trip and will be on his way shortly.”

You nodded. At least that would give you enough time to eat. “I’ve got coffee and water set up in the meeting room. Do you need anything else?”

Mr. DiStefano shook his head. “No, I think that’s it for now.”

You went back to your desk and responded to a few emails from clients that you had originally left to answer the next morning, then stopped by Mr. DiStefano's office once again in order to let him know that you were leaving to go pick up dinner. 

At least Abbott and Williams have already left for the day so I don't have to worry about having to deal with them too , you thought as you locked the office door behind you. 

You walked the three blocks to the restaurant and picked up your order, then headed back.

“Mr. DiStefano, I'm back,” you announced as you unlocked the door and stepped back inside. “They had initially forgotten your okonomiyaki sauce, but I made sure to get them to put extra in the bag for you.”

“Okay, thanks,” Mr. DiStefano said as he came into the lobby. “Before Harrison gets here I need you to pull the current renderings for the condos as well as the designs for the Baker, Hawkins, and Guiducci accounts. Hopefully we can convince him to stick with the original design or at the very least go with something similar to what we've done before.” 

There goes my time to actually sit and enjoy my dinner , you thought . It was already 6:00 and it would take you at least 15 minutes to find and pull the requested designs. “Yes, sir.”

You handed him his order and put your own on your desk before going to pull the designs. While most architectural firms were utilizing digital-only designs, DiStefano and Associates still used mostly hand-drawn renderings depending on the needs of the client. “Digital renderings may be faster,” Mr. DiStefano had once put it when you had asked him about it, “but a computer can't give you the warmth and depth of a space that hand-drawn designs can.”

Apparently the architecture world agreed, because DiStefano and Associates had been named one of Architecture Today ’s top firms for the past 5 years straight.

You found the requested plans and brought them to the meeting room then returned to your desk to hurriedly eat your (now cold) dinner.

You had just finished when you heard a tap on the front door. Perfect timing.

You hurriedly threw your take-out container in the trashcan next to your desk and walked over to unlock the door. “Mr. Coco, it's good to see you,” you said with false-but-professional pleasantness as you opened it.

You honestly didn't have anything against him personally -- he was a tall, medium-built, good-looking man around your age with dark hair and piercing blue eyes -- but you couldn't help but be annoyed that he had (unknowingly) caused you to have to cancel your dinner plans for the evening.

“Same to you,” he replied. “And I've asked you before, please call me Harrison. Mr. Coco is my father.”

You stepped out of the doorway to let him inside. “Come on in.”

You locked the door behind him and led him to the meeting room. “I'll let Mr. DiStefano know that you're here.”

Harrison nodded. “Thanks.”

You walked back to Mr. DiStefano's office. “Mr. Coco is waiting for you in the meeting room, sir.”

Mr. DiStefano nodded. “Okay, thanks. I'll be right there.”

You passed by your desk to grab your notebook and returned to the meeting room. “Mr. DiStefano will be with you in a moment. In the meantime, there's fresh coffee and bottled water if you'd like anything to drink, or I can bring you a cup of tea if you'd prefer.”

Harrison looked over at the coffee station, then back at you. “Actually, a cup of tea would be nice.” 

You nodded. “We have English Breakfast, green tea, Chai, Earl Grey, honey-chamomile, and herbal peppermint. Which would you prefer?”

Harrison thought for a moment. “Let's do the Chai.”

“Okay, I'll be right back with that.”

You went to the kitchen and brewed a cup of hot water then placed a tea bag in it before returning once again to the meeting room. “Here you are.”

Harrison nodded as you handed him the cup. “Appreciate it. So, how have you been?”

“Fine, thanks.” Harrison was one of the few clients who always took the time to actually speak to you and made you feel seen and not like furniture. “How about you? Mr. DiStefano said you just got back from a trip?”

Harrison nodded. “Actually, yeah, which is why I --”

“Harrison, hello!” Mr. DiStefano's voice boomed as he walked into the meeting room. “It's good to see you.”

Harrison turned to shake Mr. DiStefano's hand. “John, thanks for meeting with me so quickly.”

Mr. DiStefano shook his head. “Not a problem. Please, have a seat.”

You sat in your usual chair in the corner of the room as the two men sat at the table.

“So tell me,” Mr. DiStefano said. “What's the issue with the condo design? I thought you said you loved it.”

Harrison sighed. “I did, I did, it's just that upon looking at it again I realized it looks like every other condo building in New York. I want something different, something that makes Coco Corp stand out. I need something… inviting .”

You wrote down different and inviting as Mr. DiStefano nodded. “Okay, I can absolutely see that. I've pulled a few comps for you to check out.”

You refrained from rolling your eyes. You knew you were just Mr. DiStefano's office assistant, but the least he could do was to say he’d had his assistant pull the blueprints rather than act like he had actually taken the time to do it himself.

Mr. DiStefano reached over and unrolled the first rendering. “Here's one we did for the Taylor Group --”

Harrison shook his head. “No, you don't understand me, John. It's gotta be a completely original design, unlike anything else in New York. I want people to look at it and see something unique, not just another high-rise taking up space where there used to be a park. And I want it to be as environmentally friendly as possible.”

Environmentally friendly, you added to your notes.

Mr. DiStefano sat back and scratched at his chin. “Well, going back to the drawing board and starting over completely from scratch is going to cost you, Harrison. I mean I've already put a lot of time and effort into the original design…”

“I don't care how much it costs. I'll pay you triple your usual hourly rate, I just need a completely new, unique design by Monday morning. I have to get the new plans over to City Hall for approval before I leave for Taiwan Monday afternoon.”

Mr. DiStefano nodded. “It'll require me to work through the weekend, but considering it's an emergency and it's for you, I'll do it.”

Harrison grinned. “Great. Let's get started then.”

You sighed to yourself. You'd been hoping that Harrison would like one of the other designs with just a few tweaks being made to make it part of his signature style, but to completely start the design process over?

It was going to be a long night.

“Walk me through step-by-step what happened when you arrived on scene,” Matt's voice said on the recording of his interview with Officer Stanton from earlier that day.

Officer Stanton had sighed. “The housekeeper answered the door and let us in, then led us to Senator and Mrs. Thompson’s bodies.”

“She was the one who discovered the victims, right?” Matt had listened to her original deposition that morning and already knew that she had arrived at the Thompson residence around 8 AM to start her workday only to discover Senator and Mrs. Thompson dead in the foyer, but he'd wanted to confirm it with Officer Stanton.

“Yeah.”

“Was anyone else at the residence?”

“No, but Mrs. Thompson’s sister arrived shortly thereafter.”

“Ah, yes, Ms…” Matt had paused to check his notes. “Stafford.”

“Yeah, that's right.”

“The Thompson’s deaths hadn't yet been made public and no next of kin had been contacted at the time, correct?”

“Right.”

 “So her reason for being there?”

“She said she had made plans with Mrs. Thompson to go shopping and to have lunch.”

“And she was the one who first mentioned that my client had argued with Mrs. Thompson the previous day?”

Officer Stanton had shifted in his seat. “Yeah.”

“Yet you testified in court that it was Ms. Davies who initially mentioned the argument.”

There was a rustle of clothing as Officer Stanton had shrugged. “I got mixed up. Ms. Stafford mentioned it to us then Ms. Davies confirmed it during questioning.”

“How did Ms. Davies know about the argument?”

“She overheard Mrs. Thompson telling Ms. Stafford about it during tea at the Thompson residence.”

“Did either one know what the argument was about?”

“No.”

“Had anyone else other than my client ever been considered a suspect?”

“I don't know, you'd have to ask Detective Fraser. He was the lead on the case, I was just the first officer on the scene.”

“I will. That's all the questions I have for you, thank you for your time.”

Matt turned off the recording and took out his earbuds. He needed to talk to Detective Fraser, but he was pretty sure the police had never looked beyond Conrad -- who was clearly innocent -- for suspects. 

He sighed. There wasn't anything else he could do on Conrad's case that night and he had already wrapped up his other tasks earlier in the day in anticipation of his scheduled dinner with you.

Matt had admittedly been disappointed when you had texted him to cancel and initially thought that maybe you had changed your mind about your arrangement, but had believed your explanation of having to work late, especially after you had offered to make it up to him.

He checked the time as his stomach rumbled. 11:34 PM. Shit, I should call it a night. Probably should eat something, too, since I skipped lunch.

There was a deli nearby that was open until midnight, so he gathered his belongings and headed out of the office, locking the door behind him.

He unfolded his cane and headed down the sidewalk, the smell of freshly-baked bread and sliced meat becoming stronger and more enticing the further he got down the street.

His brow furrowed as he picked up the sound of your voice. Your office was about a half a block from the deli and you had said that you'd had to work late, but Matt definitely hadn't expected you to be working this late.

“Goodnight, Mr. DiStefano,” you were saying. “See you in the morning.”

Matt frowned. He presumed that you would be walking home since cabs were scarce at this hour, but even with his efforts as Daredevil the streets weren't 100% safe. I should make sure she gets home okay.

He bypassed the deli and kept walking, reaching your office right as you were finishing locking up behind you.

You double-checked that the door was locked tight then turned towards him. “Matt?”

Matt said your name in what he hoped was a believably surprised tone. “Hi. Wow, are you just now getting off of work?”

“Yeah, design meetings always take forever, especially meetings with this particular client.” You paused. “What about you? Are you just now getting off too?”

Matt nodded. “Yeah, I lost track of time working on this one particular case and totally skipped dinner, so I just left the office and was heading to Raoul’s to grab a sandwich to eat at home.”

“Oh, um, you passed it. It's about half a block back the way you came.”

Matt made a fake grimace. “Oh shit, did I? Damn, it's late and I'm tired, I must've miscounted the steps.”

“Want me to escort you there?”

“You don't mind?”

“Of course not.” You moved to stand next to him and offered him your arm. “Come on, it's right down here.”

Matt took your arm and allowed you to guide him back down the street to Raoul's. “Thanks, by the way.”

“No problem.” You slowed to a stop as the two of you reached the deli. “Here it is.”

Matt nodded. “Thanks again.”

You huffed out a light laugh. “Part of the service, remember?”

Matt grinned. “Right, right.”

“I'll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah.” Matt bit his lip. “...Unless you don't mind waiting a few minutes for me to get my sandwich then letting me walk you home?”

He could feel you relax as you shook your head. “No, I don't mind. I'd actually really appreciate it.”

“Okay, great.”

The two of you headed inside and walked up to the counter. 

“Welcome to Raoul's, what can I get you folks?” the clerk said.

“Ah, yeah, can I get turkey and ham on a sub, hold the mustard?” Matt turned towards you. “Would you like anything?”

“Oh, no thank you,” you replied. “I had dinner at the office earlier.”

You were telling the truth, so Matt just nodded. “Okay. That'll be all, thanks.”

He paid for his sandwich then the two of you moved to the other end of the counter to wait for it.

“So do you work late often?” Matt asked.

“No, not really,” you answered. “And even when I do it's usually never this late. We just had a very important client insist on meeting tonight about an emergency redesign on a project my boss is doing for him and I had to be there to take notes.”

You paused briefly before continuing. “I shouldn't need to cancel dinner so last-minute again.”

Matt shook his head. “Honestly, it's fine. I might have to do the same on occasion.”

“Also, thank you for agreeing to reschedule. I was afraid you'd tell me to just forget the whole deal.”

Matt's brow furrowed. “Why would I do that?”

He heard the ruffle of your coat as you shrugged. “I dunno,” you hedged. “I thought that maybe you wouldn't believe that I was working late and that I was actually seeing another S&S client or something.”

The thought had never crossed Matt's mind, but now that you mentioned it... “ Do you have other clients?”

“No, you're my only one right now. But what about you? I know you said you're single, but you could still have a friend with benefits… with actual benefits.”

Matt shook his head. “No, there's no one in my life in that capacity right now either.”

He chewed on his lip as he thought for a moment. “How about for both our peace of mind we add an addendum to our contract? Something along the lines of ‘Neither party shall seek out or participate in other companionship or romantic entanglements while joined under the terms of this contract’.”

You let out a breath. “Agreed. I mean, since we're going to be letting people believe that we're legitimately dating it makes sense for both of us to be otherwise unattached.”

Matt nodded. “I'll write it up and we can sign it tomorrow before dinner. And now that I'm thinking about it, I probably should increase your monthly stipend since I'm preventing you from taking on other clients.”

You hesitated briefly before answering. “I appreciate that, but it's not necessary. You're already paying me more than enough as it is.”

“Are you sure? Because I don't mind increasing it.”

“I'm sure. But thanks for the offer.”

“Okay then.”

“Do you still want to meet at the restaurant? Or would you rather meet at your office to sign the addendum?”

“Restaurant is fine. It's just one extra clause so it's only one page.”

“Okay, that sounds good then.”

Your conversation halted as Matt's order was called. “You folks have a good night,” the deli clerk said as he handed Matt a plastic bag containing his sandwich. 

“Thanks, you too,” Matt replied.

“You as well,” you added before the two of you headed outside.

Matt unfolded his cane and took your elbow. “Alright, which way are we heading?”

You turned back towards your office. “This way.”

The two of you walked silently, each lost in your own thoughts.

“By the way --” Matt began.

“Hey, thank you again --” you started to say at the same time.

Matt chuckled. “You go first.”

You took a breath. “I was just gonna say thank you again for walking me home. I really do appreciate it.”

Matt nodded. “It's not a problem.”

“So what were you going to say?”

“Oh, just that Foggy and Karen want to meet you.”

“Oh, okay. That's not a problem, just let me know when and where.”

“I told them maybe in a couple of weeks once we see how things go.” Matt grinned. “I want us to be comfortable with each other before I subject you to the rest of Nelson, Murdock and Page for cross-examination.”

You huffed out a light laugh. “I'll be sure to prepare, counselor.”

Matt felt you slow down as you reached your apartment building. “Well, this is me. Thanks again for walking me home.”

Matt smiled and gave you a slight nod. “Usually I'm embarrassed when I accidentally pass up places I'm trying to get to, but tonight it worked out. I'm glad I ran into you.”

“Me too. Do you need directions back to your place?”

Matt shook his head. “Nah. I can use the GPS on my phone.”

“Okay.” You gave his arm a light squeeze. “I'll see you tomorrow evening then?”

Matt nodded. “See you tomorrow evening.”

He waited as you went inside your building then turned and headed towards home, his mind going back and forth from Conrad's case to Matt's contract with you. There was something he was definitely missing in order to definitively prove Conrad's innocence, but he couldn't quite figure out what.

He shook his head. He needed to eat, shower, and sleep. He'd work on proving Conrad's innocence and writing up the addendum to his and your contract tomorrow.

[ninyard]

hello I would like the kevallison smut ?? Please

The promised kevallison headcanons (aka how the two of them figure out what the other person is into + how they might go about doing it)

When they start hooking up it’s all pretty standard stuff. Allison gets him off after a game. Kevin eats her out if there’s ten minutes free in between classes and an empty dorm room. They’re a booty call before, during or after a night out, or a no-strings-attached way to get some frustration off their chest. Their friends-with-benefits situation is more often than not just a quick fuck when they’re bored. But it's kind of just… that? It's just fucking. It's a handful of different positions, in a handful of different places, but nothing more than fucking, finishing, and leaving. They don’t feel a need to bring it any further though, in some ways hesitant that the other will catch feelings if it gets too intimate. But from the get-go their agreement is clear - if either starts to get attached, or jealous, or even thinks that it might be worth pursuing, they stop. It doesn’t happen, of course, but in the beginning they really try to err on the side of caution until they know that for certain.

There’s one of two ways that their casual hook ups becomes more... interesting every now and again: one) accidentally. two) intentionally.

If it is accidental, I think they stumble upon the other’s kinks by the Grace of God. It's a quick fuck that turns into something more because one of them picks up on how the other's demeanor changes and they realise oh. oh. That did something for them. The moment when it happens is so intoxicating and sexually charged; So intense at the realisation of how turned on the other person is, that they’re just waiting for someone in the dorm room over, or outside the bathroom at a party, or in the almost-empty parking lot to ask did anyone hear Allison and Kevin fucking last night? For either of them, single and used to quick fucks with strangers that don't mean anything nor have the longevity for experimenting with, getting to dip into their fantasies is unparalleled pleasure.

If it’s accidental, it’s a pleasant surprise for them both, and Kevin and Allison have that in common - they are both incredibly, heavily turned on by their fuck-buddies feeling satisfied. It happens, where sometimes Kevin just wants to be blown without returning the gesture, or where Allison wants to come without having to put in the effort it takes to give back. More often than not, though, whether it be with each other or with other people, they're most satisfied when the other person is satisfied, too. So when the topic of kinks and turn ons is broached, or accidentally revealed, it doesn't matter that it's Kevin, or that it's Allison. When they've been fucking for long enough that they find themselves discovering these things, they're comfortable enough with each other to not feel embarrassed about what happens when they have sex. If it makes her wet, and it keeps him hard, then it doesn't matter. They don't talk about their sex lives outside of when or where it happens - a kink or two isn't going to change that.

For Kevin, sweet submissive baby boy who just lives to be praised - oh, when Allison finds out, it opens this door for changing their dynamics that she hadn't even realised existed. Kevin gets so turned on that he practically melts, and Allison eats it up like it's the hottest thing she's ever laid eyes on.

They've found themselves standing up against a wall in a bathroom at a party somewhere, too many suggestive looks across the room leading to a desperately desired handjob or two, and Kevin is fumbling with the buckle of his belt. He struggles with it for a second, before pulling the black leather out from it's square frame and Allison offhandedly says good job with a laugh as she trails kisses up his neck and her fingers down his stomach. She feels his reaction to her words before she notices how his eyes glaze over with the thoughts in his head; how he stills at her words, how he's yearning through his sigh when she follows with a knowing whisper of oh, you want me to tell you how good you're being?

Him in her hand, the long acrylic nails of her free hand dragging lines down his neck, Allison feels how needy he is and softly purrs in his ear to tell her how much he wants it. It's not lost on him how she plays with him like putty between her tender fingers, but still he looks into her eyes with his eyebrows knitted into each other, too close to argue; The please that escapes his lips trapped in between a gasp and a moan is rebutted with her sultry say it again. I want to hear that pretty voice beg. It takes the stalling of the rhythm in her working hand before he finds the ability to whimper out his desperate please, please, please. She's using her free hand to hold his face still, their eyes locked together, while he can barely keep himself in one piece. Her thumb is soft over his lips, brushing over little gasps and short breaths, holding him while she whispers a question and he falls apart in her hands.

If Kevin loves to be topped by strong women, Allison loves to hear a man moan. And she’s never heard him like this before, his lips drawn apart just inches from hers, one hand steadying himself against the wall and the other tugging and pawing at the skin of the small of her back. She doesn't let him look away as she guides him to climax with her soft words of gentle praise. How pretty he looks when he's trying his hardest to be quiet, how well he's doing at keeping himself composed.

Allsion doesn't care that she's accidentally unlocked this submissive side of Kevin; firstly, he's hot as hell when he's this desperate, and it's not as if she's going to be leaving that bathroom and calling him a good boy on the court, because that's not how this works. She's fucked him angry and she's fucked him needy - the passion of fulfilled fantasy only working on a different level to anything else.

(When he's caught his breath and started to clean himself up, she washes her hands and admires her work; his rosy cheeks burning up as she watches him in the mirror. She pushes herself up onto the vanity, and when he can finally bare to look at her again, she says I'm proud of you with a playful smile. Kevin covers his face to laugh in semi-embarrassment, his head shaking as he finds himself in between her legs. They don't talk about it too much before he returns the favour.)

Then there's, Allison, sweet Allison, who's interests work in harmony like a perfect composed song. We knows she loves to hear the men she sleeps with, but there's two things that really get her going that more often than not go hand in hand - rough sex, and loud sex. Living in dorms, it's hard to indulge, especially the second, but usually she'll just pull him close, with his lips to her ear or hers to his. Allison gets off on hearing the person she's fucking, and Kevin is not an exception to that.

They've somehow had a stroke of luck - an empty house in Columbia and some time to kill. Kevin is on the edge of the bed, and Allison is facing Kevin while sitting on his lap, her knees resting on either side of him, in a skirt that is already so short that it's barely even there. They're making out, and Kevin isn't really thinking, but he slaps her ass - something he'd done once or twice before, but never that hard, never that loud. Allison sits back, hands on his shoulders with her mouth open wide. She doesn't get the chance to finish her questioning what are you doing? Before his mischievous smile curls around, what, this? as he laughs and does it again. When she stands up off of him in a half-protest, shaking her finger at how close he was getting to really getting her going, he follows her up. He stands in front of her with feigned apologies for his boldness. She leans into his kiss, with arms wrapped tight around her waist, but instead of pouting his lips, he picks her up and throws her back onto the bed while she scream-laughs.

Body over body, on top of her then, a hand finds it's way in between strands of shiny blonde. A hand that she takes into hers, guiding his fist to grasp a handful of her hair. When he doesn't hold it hard enough she tugs it gently, keeping his fist closed with her hand around it. Looking down at her, he purses his lips with an oh that pauses his other hand while it pushes up her skirt to touch her over her panties. Reading him while waiting for the laugh that never comes is agonisingly long, as she braces herself for the mortifying conversation that he was not going to be entertaining it. Instead he waits for her hand to trail away before pulling her head, hard, back into the bed. And when she shuts her eyes and parts her lips in pleasure, he is quick to bring his hand up to her chin, tilting her head back. The two smallest of his fingers fingers tuck themselves neatly behind her ear, the other two tight between her jawline and her cheekbone. The ball of his thumb is resting on her chin. She doesn't stop him when his thumb trails down from her cupid's bow and into her mouth. She doesn't stop him when he takes it out hold it around her throat, either. Kevin is careful to scatter wet bruises down her chest where they won't be seen. When he's standing back to take off his pants and she’s lifting her top over her head, he asks, you want it hard? and she responds do you even fucking have to ask?

Her skirt is up over her hips and her thong down her thighs. He’s on his knees with her legs over his thighs, maybe he’s pinning her hands down above her head with one big hand over her little wrists. Headboard banging, unrestrained volume, handprints on ass cheeks and scratches across spines. Allison gets sex-drunk when he manhandles her. It’s sloppy, it’s messy, it’s loud, it’s so hot that it’s on fire. It’s eye-rolling, being in a daze afterwards type of fucking. It’s mascara running down cheeks, how the fuck am I supposed to look anyone in the eye after having that done to me type of fucking. It’s needing to have a shower immediately afterwards type of sweaty, messy fucking.

(It’s probably one of the only times they almost/kind of get caught. Not because of the noise, or the sex itself but because of the aftermath. Andrew and Neil clock INSTANTLY the missing and changed details when they regroup - how Kevin’s hair is freshly washed, how Allison has taken her heavy makeup off leaving only a fresh coat of mascara and some lipgloss remaining. How they can barely look at each other in case it reminds them of what has just happened. Their puffy lips, their general daze. Yeah, they fly a little too close to the sun that time - not enough time afterwards to recuperate from an absolutely dirty, filthy, fucking.)

If it's an intentional thing, a discussion about what they're into, and they know before getting into it/it's a conscious choice/it's intentional/some sort of discussion/WHATEVER? There's a few ways I could potentially see it possibly coming up.

A game of Never Have I Ever or some other drinking game with the group and the discussions of kinks come up; Kevin drinks when somebody mentions a praise kink, or being dominated. Allison drinks when somebody mentions liking it rough. Their looks to each other are quick but knowing, Kevin's raised eyebrows when Allison drinks to say she doesn't mind being degraded, the flick of her eyes when he drinks to say he doesn't mind begging for it.

They don't hang around after hooking up, usually. Clean up, get dressed, and leave. That's the routine. But they're talking afterwards for a little while, and the subject of fantasies comes up, and while shes fixing her makeup and tying up her hair she asks him what's the one thing he'd go crazy for. he considers it for a little bit but then gets embarrassed because it's a way harder thing to talk about when you're not actively turned on or drunk. They offer each other tiny pieces as they joke about it, starting tame before they eventually just say it out straight. (she calls him princess when she's leaving and he calls her a slut before she shuts the door.)

They ask each other outright. Kinda similar to accidentally figuring it out but they ask each other for it instead of the other person just doing something and stumbling upon it. Maybe Kevin asks her to tell him how good he feels and she asks why, are you into that? and they like. talk through it . Do you like it when I ask you this? Can I call you this? Do you like it when I tell you you're doing such a good job? Talking through sex can be so hot and even hearing the questions out loud sets the imagination off on a fucking marathon. Maybe Allison asks can you choke me? and he asks her how she likes it before agreeing. Do you like it when I hold you like this? Do you want me to spit in your mouth? Do you want to shut the fuck up and listen to what you do to me? It's a much more thorough discussion than them simply going oh, i think the other person has [blank] kink, so i'm just gonna go ahead and do that. It's a request, instead. Both of them knowing what they want and knowing how to ask for it? Yeaaaahhhh

[aziraphales-library]

hi! i don't know if this ask has been done before but do you have any comedy fic recs? i've had enough of angst for a bit and i just want to read aziracrow bicker and laugh out loud :))

Hey. We have #humour, #humor, #crack, and #bickering tags, for all your laughing needs. Here are more to add...

Seamstress of Soho by GayDemonicDisaster (M)

Season 2 spoilers! When Mrs. Sandwich spots a suspicious new guy apparently lurking on her turf, the misunderstanding leads to an unlikely friendship between the ‘seamstress’ and a demon. So in episode 6 we see that Mrs. Sandwich is clearly at ease with Crowley and he with her, enough to share a joke together. Combine that with the curious sign on her door which might just be referring to Crowley, and we have a little buddy comedy in the making. I decided to explore the backstory of how they came to know one another between season 1 and the beginning of season 2. While this little comedy is about sex workers, there is NO sex in it, and rated M solely for oblique references to things like contraceptive devices and so on - honestly it could get away with a “teen and up” rating but I like to err on the side of caution.

Pass the Remote, Angel by Mrs_Cake_Is_Here (M)

Aziraphale has returned to Heaven, leaving Crowley a tv binge-watching wreck. However, healing can come from the most unlikeliest of places. While Muriel has been instructed to provide daily reports of the demon’s emotional state, they find that sharing time together, even by watching a scary show, can be the catalyst that builds friendships. And they’d probably both be couch potatoes by now if the Supreme Archangel hadn’t just gone missing.

Christmas Lights by FuzzyGoblin (T)

Christmas Lights is on the agenda at the monthly meeting of the Whickber Street Shopkeepers and Traders Association, but it's not the only thing on Mr Brown's, of Brown's World of Carpets, mind. As he pines for the mysterious bookseller, his efforts are thwarted by the tall ginger goth.

The Book Thieves by ThingsJustHappenSometimes (T)

“Did they steal it? Professional book thieves, probably going around in their car stealing books.” Be careful what you tell an adolescent antichrist who has the ability to warp reality, he might just make things real. - - - Featuring: A confused ineffable duo in ridiculous costumes, a presumed relationship, overpowered magical books, meddling humans, multiple chase scenes, and a generally all around silly action-packed time. - - - [If you like 1920s Costumes, Indiana Jones, Isekai Vibes, and/or That-One-Auction-Heist-Scene from Uncharted 4, you’ll like this story.]

Rattle Those Pots & Pans by Mackaley (M)

“My instructions…” He parted his mouth as he searched for a word. “Instruct that I just get right into it. You all have been brought here tonight because you have one thing in common: you’re all being blackmailed.” A tense hush fell through the room. “You’re all paying what you can afford - in some cases I’m sure more than you can afford - to prevent your secrets from being exposed. And none of you know who is currently blackmailing you.” Gabriel scoffed. “This is ridiculous. I’m an upstanding member of the international finance community - what could I possibly have done to be blackmailed about?” “You’re a member of the international finance community,” Crowley drawled. ----- A Good Omens Clue (1985) AU

through the tides by viperinz (T)

With that thought, Aziraphale takes to asking experts if his feelings are something more or just love for his dearest, most sweetest friend. If he wasn’t sure himself, then surely the experts on the internet will have something for him. Which brings him to the front of his computer, ready to search something up on the search engine he has pulled up. He’s not one to ask too many questions, but he supposes it won’t hurt. He starts typing, and is satisfied with his search of "Am I in love with my best friend?" Straight to the point, and very concise. Aziraphale has no doubt he’ll find what he’s looking for. He presses enter on the keyboard, and a bunch of results flood in. “Oh, dear,” he gasps at the mass amount of answers. Where is he supposed to start?

Aziraphale discovers the wonderful world of online love quizzes and WikiHow, all in the process of wooing and confessing his love to Crowley.

- Mod D

[celestial-toys]

Observation Duty

“You said your eyes are everywhere, huh?”

Your question is met with silence.

Now, if you had been looking down at him instead of facing the ceiling, you’d have caught the brief image of your living room security cam footage as it flashed across the screen of his faceplate. You’d have seen the moment you tripped playing on a sped up loop over and over, your knee hitting the table’s corner, your body hitting the floor, laundry falling and dog food scattering just to rise back up unnaturally as the footage plays again in reverse.

You weren’t looking down though, you weren’t looking anywhere at all- and so you missed it completely, thinking nothing of his silence and continuing to talk to the ceiling.

“So… what, you just enjoy watching me do chores?”

- - -

Seeking distraction from the work weighing on your mind, you start a little play-argument with the tetchy automaton currently hogging your couch. It soon evolves into a verbal dance, skirting around some heavier topics that threaten to trip up the both of you as your conversation moves too quickly for this listless afternoon.

As usual, he takes all of your antics in stride. Well… mostly. Kinda.

Look- he’s trying, okay?

Pairing: Sun x Moon x Reader - GN!Reader

Word Count: 4,934

Contains: [AU - Real World] [argument] [feelings] [implied past trauma] [intimidation] [lack of communication] [minor injuries] [obsessive behavior] [sentient AI] [size difference] [surveillance] [tension] [touching (not sexual but the consent is still dubious)] [tsundere/yandere Sun] [unsettling]

A/Ns: Once again, the above CW's probably make it sound worse than it is, but I like to err on the side of caution.

This fic is part of my AU "[Not] Made by Design", the full series can be found here.

The light of the screen in front of you burns into your tired eyes. Your focus is waning, your mind preferring to wander instead to how badly you’re craving an afternoon coffee. Sighing, you push yourself away from your desk, leaning back into the chair as its wheels roll with the momentum. Bumping into the wall behind you with a soft thud, you slump in your seat, staring with unfocused eyes at nothing in particular.

A few deep breaths and a short-lived moment of empty-headed bliss later, you remove your glasses and rub your eyes with the knuckles of your curled fingers. Digging your heels into the floor and dragging your chair forward again, you place your glasses on the desk, and note the time. You’ve been in the office for several hours at this point, and if you stay much longer you’re willing to bet a certain Sun-themed bot will be beating down your door demanding that you take a break. So, after double-checking that your work is saved, you put your PC to sleep. Standing and reaching for the ceiling as you stretch, you grimace at the cracks from your back and shoulders.

Making your way out of the room and down the hall, you round a corner, entering the living room. The blackout shades are down, all lights off save for the soft yellow glow coming from a small lamp in the corner. The bright afternoon sun is peeking its way through the edges of the windows that the shades don’t quite cover.

Moon would likely complain about how “dark and sad” it looks if he were in here, but you don’t see him. You figure he might be in the kitchen, or outside charging, maybe. Regardless, if he isn’t here to bother Sun about his “depressing” lighting choices, you will in his stead.

The robot has situated himself across the length of your couch, which is quite a feat considering the thing is honestly just a glorified loveseat and even you can’t lay on it comfortably. For being as large as they are, their flexibility makes up for it, allowing Sun and Moon to be genuinely impressive in their ability to fit into relatively small spaces. You try not to mentally pat yourself on the back for the role you played in that ability.

This isn’t about you anymore.

The soft white glow coming from his screen is enough to illuminate the pages of the book in his hands, and from what you can see of it you think you recognize the cover as being the one you were telling them both about last night as you were falling asleep.

…Cute.

You smile, leaning against the wall as you speak up.

“Y’know, my parents used to always nag me about my bad habit of reading in the dark. It seems I’ve somehow passed that trait along to you.”

Sun hums, tone soft and dismissive, and doesn’t pull his gaze away from the book when he speaks.

“It’s not dark, the lamp’s on.”

One black silicone fingertip lifts the corner of the right page, gently pulling it across and splaying his hand out to flatten the book down again. You note how the width of his fingers span beyond both edges of the book. It almost looks too small in his hands, but then again… most things do.

“Besides, I can see just fine in the dark. The lamp is for you.”

Well, he’s not wrong.

There’s humor in your voice, speaking as you push up off the wall and make your way across the room towards him. “Yes, and I do appreciate you leaving me enough light to get around by.”

You cautiously perch behind him on the right arm of the couch, careful not to get your loose clothes caught on any of his protruding rays. You’re aware that in his eyes, you’re clumsy enough even with the lights on, let alone trying to navigate in the almost-dark. Given that, you aren’t sure if it’s truly his disdain for bright lights, or simply his desire to see you struggle that drives him to keep the areas he occupies dimly lit.

Looking down at the coffee table, a recent memory surfaces and you frown.

“Speaking of navigating in the dark… my knee still hurts from slamming it into the corner of the coffee table last week, you know?”

From your position behind him you can’t see how his display shifts from its soft, blank white, his digital approximation of facial features materializing only to shift into a grimace. You do hear the shift in his tone of voice, although you can’t quite name what it is. Exasperation? Or… concern?

“I know. I’m surprised it didn’t bruise.”

“Well, you know me, I have to take quite a hard hit for my skin to really show it.” You think for a moment, and add onto the statement, muttering mostly to yourself but his hearing catches it all the same. “Which has always been odd to me considering how easily my skin scars…”

He hums a little bit in acknowledgment, trying not to think too hard about your various scars and how you got them. “Well, from the sound you made when it happened I thought you’d really injured yourself.”

Your voice takes on a playful tone of offense. “I am injured! It hurt!” You reach down and gently press over the spot that hurts the most, unable to resist the urge to poke the non-existent bruise through the plush fabric of your lounge pants. You murmur to yourself as much as to Sun, “...and it’s still sore...”

His body releases air in semblance of a sigh, lowering the book to his lap. Still looking down at it while he speaks, his tone is a mixture of teasing and I-told-you-so. “While it may have been semi-dark in here when it happened- I’m not taking the blame for it. Things like that just happen when you run around doing three things at once.”

A small surprised laugh escapes you. “How do you know what I was doing, huh?” You reach out and carefully run a fingertip along the edge of his top ray. “You weren’t even in the room, silly.”

His rays twitch slightly but he doesn’t retract them much as his faceplate slowly tilts back, stopping at an impossible angle for any human and finally making eye contact with you, albeit upside-down. “My eyes are everywhere, doll.”

His tone is something you’d call playfully threatening and you hold his steady gaze for a long moment before eventually blinking and glancing away, conceding to a contest you could never win.

It’s cute when he tries to be scary.

A half-smile on your face, you dismiss his attempt to unsettle you. Halloween is next month. “Mhm. I’m sure they are.”

From your peripheral vision you watch his expression falter, his yellow eyes flickering to red just briefly before he speaks. “You were carrying a bowl filled with dog food in your left hand, fresh laundry from the dryer was hanging off both of your shoulders, and you were wiping down the coffee table with your favorite brown towel in your right hand. All at once. While cursing.”

You throw a confused look at him that he ignores in favor of continuing to reprimand your past actions. “You’re incapable of doing one thing at a time, aren’t you? Truly reckless behavior, you know. That’s how people get hurt.”

You let out a put-upon sigh. He’s not wrong, but you don’t want to admit it yet.

Time for a diversion, then.

“Hey, I can multitask! I built both of you at the same time and it turned out alright, didn’t it?”

For a moment, the room is absolutely silent as you both process what you just let slip. You’re about to rush to correct yourself when Sun beats you to it, speaking up.

He laughs at first, soft and a little dismissive.

“Not quite the same thing, sunshine.”

Alright, well… it seems he’s less bothered by the reminder than you thought he’d be. That, or he’s getting better at hiding his true feelings, which is a whole other issue you’ll have to tackle if that’s the case.

You cock your head to the side. Might as well play into it, then.

“No? How so?”

His eyes flicker to red, and this time they stay that way as his faceplate turns, click-click-clicking and stopping when it’s done a 180 so he can look at you properly.

Oh. He’s not smiling.

On second thought, maybe you shouldn’t push the topic.

“You designed us, doll. You didn’t build us, and you didn’t do it alone. You had a whole team behind you.”

Not breaking eye contact with you, Sun’s left hand that had been cradling the open book in his lap closes in an instant. A sudden, sharp clap resounds in the room as a result of the book folding closed so harshly in his grip. You internally grimace at the way it makes you flinch.

Your eyes flick from the book held tight in his grip, to his faceplate, watching his expression fade until his display is completely black. Any attempts at appearing somewhat humanoid thrown out the window, he releases a breath of hot air through his vents as you stare into the void of his screen. You know he’ll likely elaborate if you give him the space to do so, so you take a deep breath of your own, and wait.

It’s always somehow so much more unnerving to hear him speak when his “face” is gone, but you hang onto his every word regardless. You’re not gonna look away from something- someone you made.

“Besides, let’s not forget that even with a whole team of humans, you still managed to fuck up some… aspects… of the project.” Having dropped the comforting illusion of his false eyes, his faceplate tilts, a small, sudden, sharp movement so his ocular sensor can stare directly at you. “Didn’t you?”

Your stomach drops at the realization of what he’s referencing. At least… you think you know. Honestly, there’s an entire list of things that happened back in the facility that they have every right to resent you for.

You’re not sure what to say anymore. There really aren’t any magic words that can make it better. You hurt them. You all did. End of argument.

The realization must be obvious on your face, because his screen soon switches back to his default expression and he seems quite pleased with himself for about ten whole seconds. Then as quickly as it came, the expression he wears shifts into one of hesitation, frustration, and then finally- worry? Maybe? At this point it’s getting hard to tell what the hell he’s feeling, if you ever could.

“Sun… I… I don’t-”

You manage to hold his gaze as you stumble in search of the right words, watching his expression morph from one emotion to the next until his right hand moves, and your eyes immediately flick towards the motion. Your gaze drags up his arm as slowly, his shoulder joint rotates enough to allow him to reach all the way behind him- towards you- hand reaching out to gently cup your right cheek.

You don’t lean away. You won’t.

You dig your nails into the fabric of the couch. His thumb slips under the edge of your jaw as his fingers splay across the side of your head, and you can feel the slight pressure as his thumb lays against your carotid artery.

He doesn’t speak at all this time but from past experience, your mind easily fills in the words he usually says to you as he does this.

Deep breath in. Hold it. Let it out slowly.

You know what he’s doing, and you let him. It’s far from the first time he’s done it.

His mixed expression doesn’t change, his hand doesn’t move, and the silence drags on until you can’t take it anymore. Your voice shakes but you push past it to get the words out.

“I… I swear to god- Sun- like I’ve said before, if I’d’ve had any clue that you two were alive back then-”

You’re forced to squint as his entire screen suddenly flashes, solid white, red, black, repeating several times. His grip on your cheek tightens just slightly. A warning of sorts, if you had to guess. It shuts you up fast and he hisses out an irritated “Don’t.”

Confusion is written on your face and without thinking, you open your mouth to insist on your apology.

His thumb immediately slips under your chin, pressing your mouth closed with such a slow, gentle motion contradicting his current demeanor that it practically gives you whiplash. As soon as your mouth is closed his thumb slips right back to its prior position over your pounding pulse, and his display fades back down to solid black.

“Stop talking. It fucks up my readings when you speak.”

Your brow furrows in frustration at first, but you do what he asked, and what you’re good at. You sit there with him in the quiet and focus on your breathing as the sounds of his cooling system kick up a notch.

The seconds feel like they drag on for ages due to the way you focus on them, but in reality it’s only about three minutes later that he finally seems satisfied with the readings he took as he slowly retracts his hand from your head. The black void of his faceplate slowly lights up again, albeit he’s replaced his default expression with something more akin to a… dynamic wallpaper- yellow smoke billowing across a dark screen.

Whatever suits him, you suppose.

Folding his hands together over the book in his lap, he finally speaks, his tone low and unhappy but not angry, really.

“Your HRV is low and your RHR is high.”

Your response comes out sounding more dismissive than you mean for it to.

“Yeah, they usually are. Nothing new, unfortunately.”

Sun’s body tenses a bit and his rays retract slightly in response. He releases another hot breath through the vent at the base of his neck and you can feel the warmth on your thigh through the fabric of your pants. He speaks again, voice slightly strained.

“That’s my point. You need to relax, and talking about the past isn’t helping you do that right now. So just… drop it.”

You want to point out that he could stand to take his own advice, but you bite your tongue instead. He’s right, after all. You do need to relax. You both do, what with the two of you walking around ready to snap most of the time. In spite of that though, he’s doing his best to deescalate the situation and you ought to follow suit.

The lack of Moon’s calming presence is painfully obvious during times like these, but the two of you ought to be able to make it through one damn conversation without needing his assistance. You laugh a little to yourself, unamused but wearing half a smile nonetheless, shaking your head at the thought. As much as he’d hate to admit it, even Sun knows that the three of you work best when you’re all together, balancing each other out.

You sigh, and let yourself flop against the back of the couch, stretching your right arm out across the length of it. Sun’s invisible gaze follows you as his faceplate tilts on its axis and rotates to remain facing you. You note the way he’s letting his neck gently rest against your right thigh.

Leaning your own head back and closing your eyes in defeat, you speak towards the ceiling.

“Okay, fine, you’re right. I’ll drop it.”

You drum your fingertips along the fabric of the couch in thought, before adding, “...And… maybe... I was doing too much at once, when I hurt my knee on the coffee table last week.”

He lets out a little hum of agreement.

Still, if he thinks he’s fully won this silly little argument he’s got another thing coming. You’ve definitely still got a counterpoint. Counter… question? Whatever.

“You said your eyes are everywhere, huh?”

Your question is met with silence.

Now, if you had been looking down at him instead of facing the ceiling, you’d have caught the brief image of your living room security cam footage as it flashed across the screen of his faceplate. You’d have seen the moment you tripped playing on a sped up loop over and over, your knee hitting the table’s corner, your body hitting the floor, laundry falling and dog food scattering just to rise back up unnaturally as the footage plays again in reverse.

You weren’t looking down though, you weren’t looking anywhere at all- and so you missed it completely, thinking nothing of his silence and continuing to talk to the ceiling.

“So… what, you just enjoy watching me do chores?”

He chuckles in response, and the vibrations from the sound tickle your outer thigh, causing the muscles there to twitch involuntarily. You cringe at your body’s sensitivity, but Sun thankfully doesn’t react.

Begrudgingly, you open your eyes and crane your head back up, bringing your right hand up off the couch to lean on. You pull your left leg up towards yourself at the same time, heel propping up on the arm of the couch. Curling toward your right, you realize you’ve inadvertently wrapped your body around his head, which is all but resting in your lap at this point. His rays are mostly retracted by now and the display on his faceplate has shifted once again, yellow clouds still billowing across black but he’s allowed parts of his expression to return, pale white eyes emerging from the smoke.

His face is otherwise unreadable as he finally responds to you. “My priority is keeping you safe. How can I do that if I can’t see you?”

You can’t help but scoff a little at that. “Safe? You were- apparently- watching me, and still let me trip on one of Zero’s toys and slam my knee into the table.”

At that, his mouth returns and he frowns at your tone, and so do you, realizing that you came across a bit more accusatory than you meant to. A beat passes where you both just stare at each other, and his voice is a lot softer when he speaks again.

“Was I not by your side within seconds after the fall, checking you for injuries?”

He was, and you know it. He was on you inhumanly fast, cradling your head like you’d fallen off a ladder or something and not just tripped and fell to your hands and knees on plush carpet. He’s a worrier and you know it damn well, even if he’d rather be decommissioned than admit to it.

Unfortunately, you never learned how to let yourself accept help, nor how to stop being stubborn in a stupid argument that you started yourself. “...Yeah. I guess. But you still could have offered to help before I tripped.”

He rolls his eyes before they land back on you, fixing you with a look that’s unexpectedly soft. In stark contrast, his voice comes out strained. “I was trying not to hover, sunshine.”

Your eyes flick away from his, always unable to maintain the sustained contact once things got a little too serious.

He keeps talking regardless.

“I know you. You would have been like- ‘Oh, no, I’ve got it! Don’t even worry about it!’ and wouldn’t have let me help even if I did offer.”

You scoff before leveling him with an unamused stare. “Oh, I do not sound like that. Shut it.”

He’s wearing a neutral expression but you notice as it shifts slightly, a hint of satisfaction at having gotten under your skin beginning to make itself known. You watch the hint of emotion begin to alter his digital features, as well as his voice.

“Regardless. ‘No lesson is as powerful as the lesson learned on one’s own.’ Besides, I knew you’d be fine.”

You blink down at him for a moment as you process his statement, and fail to contain your exasperated huff of annoyance when you realize where you’ve heard some of those words before.

“Don’t quote Night Vale at me right now, Sun.”

If you hadn’t been watching him so closely, you’d have missed the way his eyes turned upwards a bit, seemingly pleased with himself.

You continue, in spite of his attempts to deflect your words.

“You didn’t sound so self assured when you were rushing over to me on the floor with those big red “eyes” of yours blown wide. You were all like- ‘Where does it hurt? Show me. Where. How bad? You didn’t hit your head, right? Forget about the dog food- look at me.’ and all that.”

His eyes shift from crescent moons to flat lines, and his voice returns to his typical deadpan tone.

“You do a terrible impression of me.”

You scoff.

“Like yours is better?”

He nods, his faceplate shifting up and down within the limited range of motion he’s allowed, given your current position.

“I can literally mimic your voice. Mine is objectively superior.”

Thoughts of The Mimic flash in your mind, and it takes all you’ve got to not crack some sort of half-baked joke about the Ruin DLC. The smile on your face does little to hide the temptation, though.

“Debatable.”

Sun doesn’t press you for more, seeming less than eager to hear whatever joke he’s sure you’ve got sitting on the tip of your tongue.

“It’s not up for debate. If you wanna debate with someone go find Moon.”

He sighs heavily, breathing out his next words in an impressive display of realism given that his speech and breathing functions aren’t connected at all.

“I've run out of conversation juice.”

He shifts to sit back up, faceplate rotating, returning his body to its original position facing away from you. You huff and uncurl yourself from your perch on the couch. Moving to stand, you make your way around to the other end where his long legs cause his feet to jut out comically far past the armrest. You reach down, gently grabbing him by the ankles and begin to maneuver his legs out of the way, muttering to yourself as you do so.

“Wish I was a robot so I could lie and say my system has run out of something I don’t even have in the first place…”

He puts up no resistance as you fold his legs away accordion style, watching you in what almost seems like thoughtful silence. Once you’ve made room for yourself, you perch once again on the other arm of the couch, your feet resting on the far left cushion and your left side leaning against the backrest. He finally speaks once it seems that you’re settled.

“Alright. How would you rather I put it?”

You quirk an eyebrow up, slightly surprised at the sincere tone of his question. Shaking your head, you're quick to convey that you were only joking.

“No, no I didn't say to change it. I like ‘conversation juice', I think it’s funny.”

He tilts his head a bit, slow and analyzing. Half a smile slowly curls across his face and both of his eyes take on a soft, pale yellow. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was tired. He's looking at you with such a gentle gaze. It's almost… sad, if you look closely enough.

“Funny? Hm. Well, I suppose I am nothing if not a clown.��

His attention drifts back down to his book, cracking it open and flipping through to return to the page he left off on in no particular hurry.

You know his deadpan tone likely isn’t meant to sound so self deprecating but your heart still hurts at the thought that he only sees himself as some sort of… novelty toy. A joke. A mechanical clown for you to play with when you’re bored. A comedic horror character brought to life.

He can only make so many jokes about himself before they start to sound less like jokes and more like a way for him to vent his insecurities. You understand that type of “humor” far too well to just sit back and watch him do it to himself.

You struggle to resist the urge to remind him that there is much, much more to him than being modeled after that character from that game. You consider reaching out and curling the tip of a finger under the bottom edge of his face plate. You think about gently tilting his face away from the book and back up at you. You want to look him in the eye while you tell him all of the things that you love about him, and how much he means to you, and that he is so much more than a clown.

But you know he handles comfort and praise just about as well as a cat handles falling into a bathtub, so… you resist the urge. For now.

Eventually, one day, likely far from now, you hope to get him used to the amount of love you have to give, and you’ll smother him with it like you want to. But if you lay it all on him like that right now, he would probably overheat and shut down. Both metaphorically and literally.

You really don’t want that to happen again. Scared the hell out of you last time. Even knowing that it’s a safety measure to ensure that he doesn’t sustain damage from overheating- it looks an awful lot like he’s dying when it happens and you’d like to not have to see it again.

So, you opt to keep things lighthearted. You smile as you reach out to pat him on the knee.

“And an excellent clown you are, dear.”

There’s more sugar in your tone than you intended to let out, but if he knew everything you really wanted to say, he’d realize that you’re actually being very reserved right now.

You’re being very normal about it all, you think, as you silently praise yourself.

When you finally get out of your thoughts and back into your body, you realize that you’re being eyed by the man on your couch in such a way that indicates he knows you were caught up in your head again. You spent too long in silence before you responded to him and now he’s likely aware that you were wanting to say something else.

A lot else, actually.

So, before he can potentially ask you what you’re thinking about, you attempt to change the topic. Laughing a bit to yourself, you stretch and shift to make your sudden and hopefully casual retreat from the couch and the awkward air you’ve clouded around it. Twisting around and planting your feet on the floor, there’s forced humor in your voice as you wonder aloud where his other half is.

“Speaking of clowns, what’s Moon been up to while I was working?”

Sun’s expression is unreadable as he spares you one last moment of his visual attention before angling his monitor back down toward the book. You know he’s perfectly capable of taking in visual information while outputting completely separate verbal communication, and can give both tasks his full attention simultaneously in the way no human truly could. Still, in spite of that knowledge, you doubt he’s really paying much attention to the words on the pages before him as he speaks to you right now.

“You know that sad, sad little plant that’s been fighting for its life on your kitchen windowsill for the last… thirty-seven days?”

You cringe a bit at the reminder of the succulent you impulse-purchased recently- well, a tad longer than recently if Sun’s count is accurate, which you know it is. You’ve been meaning to re-pot the poor thing and find a different place for it where it’ll receive better light, but… you’ve been meaning to do a lot of things.

“...Yeah…”

“Last I saw, he took it outside through the back door. He was muttering something about ‘saving’ it.”

Your eyebrows knit as your gaze casts across the floor.

“Saving it... okay.”

As far as you’re aware, you don’t have any potting soil on hand, so you struggle to feature what he’s out there doing with it.

It’s right around this time that you notice the silence of the house amidst your quiet consideration.

You raise another question.

“I assume Zero followed him out there?”

Sun’s true focus seems to be gradually shifting away from you and back into the book, if his display’s shift back to blank, soft white and his neutral-toned yet concise reply are anything to go off of.

“Mhm.”

You suck in a breath and pat your legs before easing yourself up off of the couch.

“I'm gonna go see what they’re up to, then.”

You’re so bold as to lay a gentle hand briefly on his shoulder as you pass him by, lingering just long enough to let something sincere slip.

“I hope you enjoy the book.”

He kicks his folded legs back out, crossing them as they come to rest on the opposite armrest once again.

“Don’t spoil it for me.”

You smile at his avoidance of your sentimentality, laughing a bit as you cross the room, headed for the back door, your tone playful.

“I make no promises!”

A/N: Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed! You can find my (lengthy) commentary on this fic in the end notes right here on Ao3. Links to the playlist and moodboard for [N]MbD can be found on this blog's pinned post, as well as in the series notes on Ao3. Header Image Source: x

[ask-the-badman]

RP/Ask blog for Johnny Slaughter/Sawyer from TCM the game.

Uh, first time doing a roleplay type blog, but figured it would be fun to mess around with. So ask BadManJohnny anything, and I do mean anything~

This will be an 18+ RP blog, it will deal with blood, gore, violence, drugs, alcohol, and sexual themes/content. All intended for a MATURE audience, much like the game and the movie(s) it is based on. Seems I need to emphasis on the 18+ part. If you are below this age please do not follow or leave asks, I'm not in any mood to be falsely labelled a P word just because you can't follow the rules. And yes, I will be checking profiles and blocking accordingly.

And with that, this RP Blog is for fun, so let's have fun and keep it drama free pretty please~♥

About Johnny Slaughter/Sawyer

Age: 25

Height: 6'2"

Weight: 200lbs

Year of Birth: 1948

Occupation: Farm Hand/Mechanic (self taught)

Setting: Early 70s, around '72/early '73, before the first movie

BadManJohnny can be both soft and sweet (to lure victims in) or sadistic and monstrous when he needs to be. Err on the side of caution when you ask him anything or you might end up in one of his fridges in the Cold Room. Or maybe sharing a cold one in his shack~ ♥

-Mood bar gone until I can get my art program back :(-

Currently: Feeling better now, Johnny ain't holed up in his shack on his couch anymore. Though achy from all the sneezing and coughing, he's back to his regular old self again.

(Update: So got my computer awhile back, just been too busy with the holiday season and work to remember to update on that. Oops.. But updating now, I lost my Clip Studio Paint Key so the mood bar is stuck where it is until I can get another one.. heck. Anyways, excited to see what the new year brings with this RP blog and just wanna say thanks again to all of you who have made this a fun journey of BADMAN Johnny RP. Hope you all had a wonderful new year ♥) Under the cut will have rps that are at least one month old, give or take, linking back to the last post with the name of who Johnny was with and a short snippet. Will also have 18+ warnings if they are NSFW.

RWJohnny/Bridgette - Rush Week Johnny hunting a Sorority Girl Johnny/Lee - Pec Petting

(If you feel like you need a break just say as much and I'll put it here for future use ♥)

[vividiana]

come along with me (and put your mind at ease)

pairing: Astarion x f!Dark Urge

rating: M for canon-typical Durge thoughts, mild gore, and sexually suggestive language

word count: 11k

summary: flirting seems hard enough even without a voice in your head urging you to eviscerate anyone who gets too close. so when Astarion approaches Eve with a proposition, she's... a bit frazzled, to say the least. but despite what she promises herself, she can’t seem to stay away from him.

a/n: hi! I usually only post on ao3, but a couple of you seemed to really enjoy the wip snippets I've been sharing of this piece, so I decided to post it on tumblr as well. hope you enjoy!

the title is from "a little less conversation" by elvis presley

read on ao3

________________

Alright, perhaps they didn’t have to kill Gandrel. How much of a threat was a monster hunter who couldn’t even recognize his own prey? He was clearly clueless, so they could have just left him to stumble around in that desolate bog, and they might have never crossed paths again.

But Eve recalls vividly the sinking feeling that gripped at her heart the moment the man revealed his intentions, how she feared for Astarion’s safety, how enraged she was by the mere thought that someone was setting out to hurt him. Surely, she would have reacted the same way if this concerned any of her other companions… She had simply started to grow protective over her group. That’s all there was to it. 

And who knows—if Astarion’s suspicions were correct and if the man really was sent out by his former master, then surely it was better to err on the side of caution (and violence.) Perhaps Gandrel recognized Astarion when he saw him, but realized he had lost the element of surprise and was outnumbered. Perhaps instead of attacking right there and then, he decided to track them later and capture Astarion under the veil of night. 

Of course none of these considerations occurred to her at the moment, but they did help Eve justify her decision later. Even with all the mental acrobatics involved, that was still easier than admitting to herself that perhaps she was starting to care about Astarion more than she would like to.

It’s been two days since that encounter and two things have been bothering her ever since. First, Astarion had grown strangely quiet, which was quite alarming. He of course still delighted the group with a snarky quip and a healthy dose of complaining every now and then, but most of the time, he seemed absent and lost in thought. He also seemed to be staring at her a lot, though perhaps that was just Eve seeing what she wanted to see.

The second thing, far more unnerving, is that the murderous voice in her mind has been particularly active, very pleased with the Gur blood she spilled. Her head has been pounding, far worse than usual, and overall she’s been… well, a mess.

And it is while Eve is in that disheveled state that Astarion decides to approach her and start perhaps their most bizarre conversation as of yet.

Eve is crouched by a hyena’s corpse, working to cut off both of its ears—which, as Gale reminded her earlier today, were quite valuable alchemical ingredients. As she slices through the animal’s flesh with her hunting knife, the voice in her head won’t shut up about how beautiful the whole bloody image is.

“There you are.”

Astarion’s voice comes from right behind her, and Eve jumps, the clean cut she was working on now jagged. 

Child’s work. The voice reprimands her. You can do better than that. 

Astarion crouches beside her, strangely close, then puts his hand on hers, the one gripping at the knife. The sensation sends a shiver down her spine and Eve realizes that this is the first time he’s ever touched her outside of drinking her blood or being caught in the whirlwind of battle (and that one time he ambushed her, of course.) She stares at his hand on hers, dazed by the novelty of it.

“May I?” 

Eve nods, letting go of the knife and watches him take over and cut off the remaining parts with one skilled flick of his wrist.

“There you go.” He hands her the ear and she stashes it away into her alchemical pouch. 

They both rise to their feet and look around this stretch of the Risen Road, scattered with corpses and wrecked carriages with lost merchandise. Wyll and Karlach are still nowhere to be found—the two decided to scope out the path to the northwest as Eve and Astarion stayed behind to loot whatever they deemed useful.

But Astarion doesn’t seem to be in a rush to return to his task, instead looking at her with a strange intensity, as if pondering something.

“You’ve been quiet,” Eve notes as she picks some pieces of gnoll entrails off her clothing. “It’s unlike you.”

“I’ve been thinking.”

“About?” She stops and looks up at him, realizing how close he is standing.

His lips curl up into that annoyingly delightful smirk when he says:

“About you. About the time we’ve spent together, the moments we shared… And I don’t just mean that lovely neck of yours.”

The sudden shift in tone takes her aback at first, but Eve can’t deny that she isn’t captivated by the way his voice lowers, eyes narrowing dangerously as they glide down her body before meeting her gaze again.

“I’m growing to like the whole package, honestly,” he continues. “And you clearly like me too, so…” 

“So…?” Heat kindles just below her skin, and Eve curses herself for blushing so easily.

“So, I think it might be time to turn some fantasies into reality—we’ve been waiting long enough.”

As if activated by a keyword, the voice in her mind returns, dripping with excitement and bloodlust as it echoes in her mind:

Yes. Don’t keep your beautiful fantasies to yourself. The world needs to see what you’re capable of. 

“Oh. Um. What– what do you mean?” Eve asks, partly to stall so she can collect her thoughts, partly because all of this seems too absurd to actually be happening.

“Oh, don’t be coy,” Astarion drawls and leans in to whisper directly into her ear: “Your body has already given you away.”

He knows. He knows about the twisted, bloodied visions birthed by your brilliant mind.

“Umm.” Eve swallows hard, warmth blossoming in her chest at his proximity, at the way his voice vibrates on her skin. “Has it?”

“Oh yes,” Astarion chuckles as he leans away, now reaching out to trace a finger down the column of her throat. “I could feel it when I was getting lost in your neck. Your little… shakes of excitement. You enjoyed it, didn’t you?”

How excitingly he would shake beneath you once you wrap your hands around that pretty pallid neck. How sweetly he would scream.

Eve chuckles nervously, taking half a step away, not sure what to do with her eyes. 

“Oh, I think that’s just… one of the symptoms of blood loss, you know?”

“Mhm…” Astarion steps closer, his gaze unwavering. “So you’re telling me that all those nights I’ve held your squirming body, pressed my lips to your flushed skin… Not once did you wish for something… more? Because I certainly did.”

Yes. Yes. Something more. Something filthier. Something more vile.

Eve just stares at him, trapped between his words and the incessant, pestering thoughts. 

Astarion seems to lose his patience, dropping his seductive cadence for a moment when he says:

“I do mean sex, to be clear. Are you familiar with the concept? Or is that another thing you’ve forgotten about?”

At that, the voice in her head finally falls silent and Eve is left with the intensity of Astarion’s stare and the warmth rising up to her cheeks.

“Sex,” she repeats blankly. “With me?”

The moment the question leaves her mouth, she mentally rolls her eyes at herself. Fuck, why am I like this? 

Astarion blinks, his mouth slightly agape. 

“No,” he says, visibly exasperated. “I’m just practicing my seductive spiel on you before asking out our resident gith.”

Eve finds herself smiling involuntarily now that her mind has quieted down, and Astarion’s snarky self has returned.

“I applaud your courage, then. Let me know how that works out for you.”

“Thank you,” he says with a chuckle. “Honestly, I can’t say that the thought has never crossed my mind. I think I would either end up murdered or have the best sex of my life, there’s really no in-between with that woman– Nevermind.” 

Astarion drops the subject with a shake of his head. He presses his fingers together and closes his eyes for a second, as if praying for patience. Finally, he opens his eyes and continues, gesturing animatedly between them: 

“Let me put this as plainly as I can. I like you. I have reasons to believe you like me. Come tomorrow, we might be dead or sprouting tentacles. Might as well… indulge a little, while we can.”

Eve stares at him for a second, not fully believing that this is happening.

“And you chose to tell me all of this over a dead hyena while we’re both covered in its blood?”

Astarion looks down at the corpse by their feet and clicks his tongue disapprovingly.

“Well, yes, perhaps the scenery is… subpar. But I think you underestimate how enticing you look when you kick and punch your way through a horde of gnolls twice your size. Plus, red is your color,” he adds with a smirk.

“You’re ridiculous,” she laughs.

“Perhaps I am. But I also have impeccable taste, so don’t question it.”

To be honest, Eve gets it. She can’t deny the fact that witnessing him in battle also does something to her—how he blends into the shadows and takes down enemy after enemy with arrows that seemingly come from nowhere. How he flips his dagger before striking, in a way that clearly offers no practical benefit but rather, an opportunity to show off his dexterity. Her appreciation for his stealth and finesse is entirely benign of course, just like one’s appreciation for fine art or craftsmanship, and it is definitely not distracting, and it certainly does not leave her wondering what else he can do with those–

“Now,” Astarion continues, mercifully snapping Eve out of her thoughts that have only served to deepen the pink shade of her cheeks, “if you have any doubts about my prowess, I assure you, you needn’t worry. I will make it worth your time. Satisfaction guaranteed, as they say.”

Eve scoffs, attempting to play it cool, a task which is somewhat complicated by her now obvious blushing. 

“You seem very confident in your abilities. I can’t say I’m not curious.”

“Oh, the confidence is warranted, trust me. You’ve… trusted me before, haven’t you? Have I given you a reason to regret it?"

Eve smiles weakly as she thinks back to the night he first asked to feed on her.

Could you trust me… a little further?

Her mind remains blissfully silent and she can actually, properly think about this. She knows Astarion is right—they could be dead tomorrow. And she can’t lie to herself that she hasn’t felt strangely drawn to him, wondering what it might feel like to–

The words spill from her lips before she can think of a reason to say no.

“I trust you. Come find me tonight.”

“Excellent,” he drawls, the edge of his lips curled up.

“And just so you know, you have set the expectations unreasonably high,” she laughs.

“Good. I don’t think your standards will ever be the same again. I’m afraid you will find any future lover an utter disappointment.”

“We’ll see about that.”

“OI!” Karlach’s voice echoes off the rocky ravine and they both turn to see her and Wyll waving at them from a distance. “Stop flirting and get over here! We have a shit show on our hands.”

“Ugh. Let’s hope it’s not another poor wretch that needs saving,” Astarion groans as they collect their belongings and start to head over.

But his hopes are shattered the moment they catch up to the rest of the group and notice a building in the distance, a thick column of smoke rising from its red tile roof.

“Come on, let’s get cracking!” Karlach orders as she starts heading in the direction of whatever misfortune has befallen the area.

“And this is our problem how, exactly?” Astarion scoffs, dragging behind.

“Astarion, if you are so allergic to altruism, perhaps you would rather go back to camp and help Gale with dinner?” Wyll asks sweetly.

Astarion just rolls his eyes in lieu of a response.

“Fire means dead bodies,” Eve says, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Dead bodies mean loot. Does that help?”

At the mention of loot, Astarion’s ears perk up and he dons his signature smirk.

“Now, there’s an idea. I do love the way your mind works.”

“That makes one of us,” Eve mutters under her breath as she turns to follow Karlach.

The next hour passes in a blur of smoke and revelations. The woman they rescue from the burning inn seems to be someone important and she knows Wyll and his father, who was apparently captured by the drow and goblins who wreaked havoc in this place.

Ulder Ravengard. The name should mean something to Eve, as it does to the others. But instead, her mind is blank and she is once again reminded of how little she remembers of this world.

What matters is you know which arteries to slice. Nobility or not, they all bleed the same.

As Karlach and Astarion flood Wyll with questions about his upbringing, Eve detaches herself from the group and crouches beside one of the dead drow aggressors. She retrieves the skull-adorned amulet from her pack in hopes that she might get some information out of the corpse about the Duke’s whereabouts. Ready to cast the spell, she assesses the drow’s face, frozen in a final expression of horror, his long white hair stained with crimson–

Before she can utter the incantation, she is hit with a vision of Astarion’s face instead of the drow’s, his silvery locks covered in blood. Blood that she spilled. His eyes are two open wounds, his chest and stomach massacred in a repulsive recreation of what she did to Alfira. 

Eve doesn’t register her mouth stretching into a wide grin as a wretched thought sprouts from the wasteland of her mind:

You can make it happen. He would be the prettiest corpse you’ve ever had.

She straightens up suddenly, the gory vision slipping away, leaving behind naught but the drow’s cold body. Her chest tightens as the words echo in her mind, petrifying, nauseating. What in the Hells does that me– 

Eve shakes her head. Given the few glimpses she’s caught of her past, she figures that some questions are better left unanswered.

But the voice is incessant as it whispers:

Trust your instincts. It’s time to stop giving him your precious blood and spill his instead.

Shards of ice splinter in her stomach, her vision blurry as she turns the words in her mind over and over and—

Eve jumps when she feels a hand on her shoulder.

“Apologies,” Wyll says, a hint of concern in his eyes when she turns to face him. “I didn’t mean to scare you. We should start heading back now if we want to make it to camp before dusk falls... Are you alright?” 

“Yes,” she replies a touch too hastily to sound genuine. She grabs her pack off the ground and swings it over one arm, nodding decidedly. “Let’s go.”

Eve turns and starts heading for the gate, every lively step helping to ease the tightness in her chest, if only slightly.

She doesn’t get far before Astarion catches up to her.

“My, my, why the rush?” he drawls, walking beside her. “You seem awfully eager to return to camp. Do you have any plans for the evening you’d hate to miss?”

Gods damn it, not now.

“I’m not feeling well,” she blurts out, picking up the pace.

Astarion makes a curious noise but doesn’t press the matter. 

After a few minutes of walking in silence, Karlach gets bored and starts questioning Astarion about the logistics of the “invitation only” rule for vampires entering private property, presenting him with increasingly specific hypotheticals.

“Say if I’m renting—would you need an invitation from me or my landlord?” 

Much to Eve’s relief, this line of questioning keeps Astarion occupied and away from her. Not to mention that it offers a much needed distraction from the mess of her mind.

“If you wanted to go into a stable, would you need to talk to the horse or the horse’s owner? It’s the horse’s house after all, isn’t it?”

When they finally make it to camp, they convene for dinner as Wyll catches the rest of the group up on all of today’s revelations. As they’re finishing up, Eve makes some poorly-veiled excuse and heads to her tent much earlier than usual.

Once inside, she buries her face in her hands and closes her eyes for just a moment–

The second she does that, the bloody visions flash before her, ever so vivid, and she groans in frustration as she opens her eyes. 

She fetches the first book she can find and tries to occupy herself with it, but the words on the page melt into an incomprehensible mass of ink. It might as well be written in Celestial, for all she knows.

Eventually she tosses the tome aside and stares at the ceiling, failing to calm her racing heart.

She listens as the conversations outside slowly die down.

In the sole company of darkness and her fractured mind, Eve decides she can’t trust herself enough to go through with it. Being alone with Astarion away from everyone… It’s simply too risky.

If he comes to her first, she might not have the volition to decline him. She needs to tell him now, lest she gets any second thoughts with potentially lethal consequences.

It can’t happen. 

Not for her.

With a heavy heart, she gets up and tries to remind herself that this is the right thing to do, all while wishing that she didn’t have to worry about what is right, but rather just what feels right.

As soon as she exits the tent, she bumps right into Astarion and loses her balance. 

His hands immediately grasp at her waist to steady her, and she prays he did not notice how her heart skipped a beat at the contact. Though who is she kidding? He has supernatural senses and her chest is pressed up right against his. Gods, he really is so close, close enough for the sunny hints of bergamot to hit her nostrils, close enough to see the laugh lines around his lips and eyes despite the dim light–

“Not wasting any time, are we?” Astarion asks, his mouth curling up. 

Focus.

Against every nerve in her body, Eve takes a step back, her skin already mourning the loss of his touch. She clears her throat, suddenly unsure of what to do with her hands.

“Hi,” she blurts out.

“Hello, darling,” Astarion says, clearly amused by her nervousness.

“How are you doing?”

“Is this your idea of foreplay?” he chuckles. “Trust me, there are more exciting ways to spend our time than exchanging pleasantries. On that note: I’ve found a lovely little spot out in the woods—perfect for two people who would like to… indulge in one another.”

There it is again: that sultry tone that makes her feel like he is undressing her with his voice alone. She wants nothing more than to take his hand and follow him, but instead she shifts uneasily, remembering her decision.

“Right, umm… about that. I… I don’t think we should do that, actually.”

Astarion suddenly drops all pretense, sounding genuinely dumbfounded when he says:

“Excuse me?!” He shakes his head and manages to compose himself slightly. “Well, this is a first. Are you feeling okay?” He presses his cool palm against her forehead as if checking for a fever. “Is this early ceremorphosis or have you finally lost your mind?” 

“I’m fine,” she says, swatting his hand away. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea, given…” 

But the words catch in her throat when she realizes she isn’t ready to explain it all to him yet. Astarion looks at her inquisitively, and Eve sighs, before finally deciding:

“Look, it’s not because of anything you did. I meant what I said earlier today, I just– Can you please not take it personally?”

Astarion seems to have regained his footing because he leans in and says in that familiar, low tone:

“Listen, you don’t have to explain yourself. It’s your loss after all. Just so you know, you will come crawling back and I will greatly enjoy watching you when you do.”

Eve lets out a frustrated groan and says:

“Fine. Just. Are we…” She clears her throat and continues in a softer voice: “Are we okay?” 

Astarion’s eyes widen and he gestures vaguely around them.

“Darling, we sleep on the ground and have mindflayer parasites in our heads. ‘Okay’ is probably the last word I would use to describe our circumstances.”

“Yes, thank you for the recap. I meant: are things okay between the two of us?” 

Astarion scoffs and Eve tenses at the sound, bemoaning the turn the evening has taken. 

“Why? Are you worried that I will resent you for not wanting to sleep with me? Is that the kind of person you take me to be?”

“No, I just–” She stutters, wishing she could just tell him the truth, but the words don’t come. “I don’t know.”

“Let me know once you do.”

And then it looks like he might say more, but instead, Astarion shakes his head and bids her goodnight before heading for his tent.

“Wait,” Eve blurts out and it makes him stop in his tracks, turning half-way to look at her. “You can still drink my blood if you would like. This doesn’t change anything.”

Astarion seems to consider this for a moment, his expression indecipherable in the dim firelight. His tone is detached when he finally responds:

“That’s sweet. But I’m not really hungry.”

“We both know that’s not true,” she insists.

Astarion chuckles dryly before continuing the walk towards his tent.

“That we do. Goodnight, dear.”

Eve slumps as she stares at the fabric of the tent falling shut behind him, before the familiar, wicked voice snaps her out of it:

Missed opportunity. But there will be other ones.

The visions of Astarion’s mangled body come back to haunt her and Eve knows she won’t be able to fall asleep any time soon, so she heads to retrieve some logs to keep the campfire going. 

The voice eventually quiets down, but as Eve keeps watch, she tries and fails to push away thoughts of a much different nature—of the arms that would have held her, of how soft his hair would have felt under her touch. 

But her broken mind seems to have a different definition of carnal pleasures, and Eve resigns herself to a solitary night of wondering what could have been, had there not been something deeply, fundamentally wrong with her. 

Over the next couple of days, Eve’s mind had blissfully quieted down and she began to wonder, rather selfishly, whether what she denied herself might actually be possible. It was foolish, she knew, but be that as it may, there was not much she could do about the pull she was feeling towards Astarion, about the way her heartbeat quickened in his presence.

As she predicted, Astarion was unable to not take it personally and he suddenly seemed very cautious, as if he didn’t really know how to act around her. It’s like he couldn’t quite comprehend how she could be both attracted to him and choosing not to sleep with him, the elements of the puzzle not adding up to a cohesive whole.

Eve tried her best to act normal, or as normal as someone of her proclivities could reasonably be. She strove to show him that she still valued his company, that she meant it when she said her decision was not about anything he had done.

They were just two people who were both acutely aware of their mutual attraction and determined not to do anything about it. That seemed like the responsible thing to do. And definitely sustainable in the long run. Right?

And so they engaged in this awkward dance around each other, neither of them willing to bring up the obviously touchy subject. At some point, Eve had begun to lose hope that things would ever be the way they had been before.

Until one night when Astarion came to her with another proposition, albeit much more innocuous.

The camp is quiet save the distant chirp of crickets and the crackling of the fire. Everyone has retired to their tents, readying themselves for another day of chaos—everyone except for Eve, who, for the last two hours, has been fighting an unfair battle against her own hair, and she is done. She spent the better part of that time picking out pieces of goblin brain from it, and now, when it is washed and finally dry, she can still smell that heavy, metallic scent of blood. She snaps a twig off a nearby bush and is trying to get it to hold her hair up in a bun, when she hears a familiar voice.

“So this is what you do when you volunteer to keep watch? I feel safer already.”

“What?” She turns towards Astarion, hands in her hair, trying desperately to pin it in place. “Oh, it’s you.”

“Try to contain your excitement.”

“Sorry, I’m just–” she stops, pretty sure she finally got it right, but then her hair falls over her shoulders again. “Gods damn it!” She yanks the twig out and tosses it into the underbrush.

“This is quite painful to watch,”  he says, crossing his arms over his chest. “Would you please let me help you?”

“What exactly do you mean by helping me?”

“Well, what exactly are you trying to achieve?”

“I just want my damn hair to not stick to my face all the time and not smell like goblin insides,” she huffs.

“Get up.”

“What?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Would you please do me the honor of getting up?” he rephrases, his tone theatrically proper. He walks up and reaches his hand out to her, bowing.

Eve rolls her eyes, attempting to draw attention away from the flush in her cheeks as his cold hand closes around hers. Astarion helps her up and gestures towards the campfire.

“After you.”

She walks over, unsure of what to think, wondering if this is one of his little games, and trying to decide whether she would mind that. Astarion heads into his tent to grab a small ornamental rug, then places it in front of one of the logs by the campfire. 

“It’s not exactly luxurious, but I suppose this is the best we can do, given the circumstances.”

He sits on the log, looking at her expectantly.

“Well?”

Eve settles on the rug hesitantly, her back towards him. She suddenly becomes very aware of his legs on either side of her body and she finds this position oddly vulnerable, dreading the possibility of any of their companions getting out of their tents and seeing the two of them like this.

“I don’t see any goblin brains left. You did quite well on that front.” 

“Why, thank you.” 

Astarion gives her hair a hesitant stroke, then halts.

“Is this alright?” he asks and it catches her off-guard.

“Yes?”

“I would rather make sure,” he says, his tone surprisingly earnest. 

Why is this man, sometimes outright insufferable in his flirtatiousness, who manages to turn nearly everything into an innuendo, suddenly so careful about touching her? Eve considers asking him, but then bites her tongue and chalks it up to the recent shift in the energy between them.

Astarion clears his throat, sounding almost embarrassed, and continues to comb through her hair with his fingers, his movements gentle, almost caring. Eve fails to remember the last time anyone touched her like this.

“Hm.”

“What?” 

“So much wasted potential,” he sighs.

“Excuse me?” she asks, turning to face him.

“See, the color is fabulous and your hair has a nice thickness to it, but you choose to leave it at the mercy of the elements and then you’re surprised when it collects all sorts of grime. And it always seems to get in your face when you fight. It’s neither practical nor beautiful, but it could easily be both if you just showed it enough care.”

Eve can’t tell if she’s supposed to feel offended or flattered. She waits for the snide punchline, but it does not come. She shifts uneasily in her seat, trying not to think too much about Astarion staring at her hair mid-combat.

“Alright, so what do you suggest?”

“Well, I’ve always been partial to a braid or two. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. You said it smelled of goblin brain?”

“I did.”

She hears Astarion shift in his seat and inhale deeply.

“Did you just sniff me?” she asks, her cheeks burning hot.

“Yes.”

“Um, okay. And?”

“It’s not that bad.”

She can’t help but laugh.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t get me wrong, it’s not great, but I have something that might help. Hold on.”

He gets up and heads into his tent. Eve’s gaze follows him there, eyes gliding over his form, and she smiles softly when she sees the points of his ears peeking out from the carefully orchestrated disarray of silver curls. Once he emerges from the tent, he meets her eyes and smirks. Her stomach flutters and she turns away, suddenly very focused on the fire.

Astarion returns to his seat behind her and places something on the ground. Eve turns to see a small, unmarked bottle and an ivory comb with intricate floral carvings on the handle. She picks up the comb, cool to the touch, and holds it up to the fire to admire the design.

“Where did you get this?”

“I snatched it from Kagha’s room.”

Eve turns towards him, wide-eyed.

“You did what? When?”

“Well, we’ve only been there once, haven’t we? So it must have been more or less when she was threatening that tiefling girl with a viper… Oh, don’t look at me like that! I knew you were going to handle it, I didn’t feel the need to get involved. So, I was just looking around and, while everyone was distracted with a child in mortal peril, I helped myself to this pretty little thing.”

“You’re unbelievable,” she says, shaking her head and turning back towards the fire.

“Yes, thank you.”

“Like a magpie, you just see a shiny thing and you can’t help yourself.”

“Again, thank you. I like to surround myself with beauty. It makes sleeping on the ground just a tad more bearable.”

“And what’s in the bottle?”

“A little concoction I crafted to hide my… condition. A mixture of bergamot, rosemary, and a hint of aged brandy. The perfect olfactory disguise for a corpse. It can certainly help with the smell of goblin viscera, plus rosemary oil can do wonders to your hair. But enough talking.” He reaches for the comb. “Shall we?”

"Go ahead.”

He catches her hair mid-length and starts working on the ends with the comb. Despite the many knots she knows must be there, it seems that he tries his best not to snag at her hair, to cause her the least discomfort possible. Once he is done with the ends, he runs the comb through the whole length, massaging her scalp. They don’t speak and she focuses on the sensation, eyes fixed on the fire.  

Eventually, Astarion puts the comb away and reaches for the bottle. As the cork pops off, the familiar scent fills her nostrils. It is unmistakably his, the scent she first smelled that day after the nautiloid crash, when he put a dagger to her throat. He dabs a tiny bit onto his fingers and works it into her scalp, and she can’t help but think about the implications of her hair smelling like him. Would the other companions notice? Would Shadowheart smell it as she tended to Eve’s wounds after a battle? What would she make of it? She doubts anyone would be surprised, seeing as Astarion was so blatant in his efforts of seduction, so unabashedly convinced she would say yes. Admittedly, there is not much to gossip about at camp and she is almost certain people have already assumed that the two of them had slept together.

She decides that’s a problem for another time and she focuses on the feeling of his fingers against her scalp, gentle yet focused. She relishes the unfamiliar sensation of being cared for, pampered even, and she does not notice the moment her eyelids flutter shut, her head falling to the side to rest against his thigh.

“Are you about to start purring?”

Eve’s eyes snap open and she sits up, moving away from him hastily as if his touch burned.

“Sorry, I–”

“No need to apologize, dear, I tend to have that effect on people. Just try not to think about all the bliss these fingers could bring you.”

That familiar silky tone makes Eve’s stomach tighten, heat rising to her cheeks, and for a moment she considers letting her guard down, a flirty response forming at the tip of her tongue. But then she remembers why she said no to Astarion’s advances in the first place. 

Why this can never happen.

She contemplates getting up and leaving, cutting this short, but her legs don’t seem to follow as she remains seated in front of him. Though the pragmatic side of her is determined to decline him, the reckless, selfish part just wants to enjoy this. And truth be told, her pragmatic side rarely won these disputes.

This is harmless, she tells herself and almost believes it.

She scoffs, rolling her shoulders back, and Astarion takes it as an invitation to resume his work.

“You are aware that if you tell someone not to think about something, you make them think about it, right? Just so we’re clear.”

“Oh really?” he gasps, voice dripping with self-contentment. “How inconvenient for you then. I’m sorry dear, I had no idea”

“Of course you didn’t,” she says with a smile. “Your confidence is quite enviable, you know.”

“How so?” he asks, amused, as he reaches for the comb. 

“It seems you’re under the impression that anyone in their right mind would want to sleep with you the first chance they get.”

Astarion chuckles as he parts her hair down the middle and begins to braid one side.

“It’s not an impression, darling, it’s the truth. With centuries of experience to back it up.” 

His tone is light, but there is a tinge of bitterness to his words and Eve realizes that he’s not bragging—he’s admitting something he’d rather not be true.

“I see. Well, we have talked about this.”

“Oh, I know, and I respect your decision, however baffling it is. But that doesn’t mean I can’t… entertain the idea from time to time, hm?”

“Right.” She nods, warmth spreading down her chest to her stomach. “So, do you entertain that idea often?”

“A gentleman never tells,” he responds as he finishes the braid and ties it off, the ends brushing softly against Eve’s shoulders. He moves to the other side, gently tugging on her hair.

“It’s quite bold of you to call yourself a gentleman. Bold, or just delusional.”

“You hurt me, dear,” he gasps. “What did I ever do that made you think of me otherwise?”

“The list is quite long.”

“We have time.”

“For one, you snuck up on me in the middle of the night to bite me.”

“Touché. Not my proudest moment.”

“Not sure why you thought having teeth in my neck wouldn’t wake me up. But alright. Let’s see… you also ambushed me and threatened me with a dagger.”

“I did apologize for that one.” 

“Oh, and you also insisted on opening the door to that godsdamned barn and now that image will forever be burned into my memory.”

“Don’t pretend that wasn’t funny, though.”

“Yes, all of these encounters were quite exhilarating. It’s impossible to be bored when you’re around, I’ll give you that.”

“The feeling is mutual,” he responds, and suddenly Eve is not sure if it is an innocuous comment or a more earnest admission. His words settle heavily in the pit of her stomach, but before she can overthink them, Astarion ties off the braid and declares:

“I think we’re done.” 

Eve reaches up, her fingers tracing the weave of the braid, trying to decipher its shape. It feels taut, but not uncomfortably so.

“Look at me,” he says and she turns to face him. He assesses the hairstyle, cocking his head. “Come.” 

Eve follows him towards the outside of his tent, where an ornate mirror rests on top of a small table. He guides her to stand with her back towards it, then hands her a small mirror, the same one she saw him stare into just a few nights ago. An odd thought occurs to her and she voices it before catching herself:

“Why do you have so many mirrors lying about?” 

It’s an obvious question, but one she doubts has a simple answer. Eve assumes the others might see it as Astarion trying to uphold a certain image of himself, one of confidence and vanity, even if the mirrors are just useless props to him. But she knows it must mean more. 

There was an undeniable sense of longing to him that night when she saw him looking into the mirror, when he confessed to her that he did not recall what his face looked like before it grew fangs and his eyes turned red. He asked her to be his mirror then and it was one of the first times she felt she was actually seeing the real him. 

While she has never cared much about her reflection, she cannot imagine being unable to see it. As indifferent as she was about the face staring back at her, she did appreciate being able to confirm that she was still herself, that despite all of the chaos in her mind, there was a sense of physical continuity that grounded her. She reckons that not being able to do this would be hard for just about anyone, but perhaps especially for a man of Astarion’s background.

She has heard stories about high elves and their complicated self-care rituals, how they could spend hours tending to their appearance. On multiple evenings now, she has seen Astarion mend the elaborate embroidery on his clothes, something that the others might have deemed as vain and impractical, but that was so obviously important to him, so imperative to him remaining himself throughout all this madness. She wonders if that’s partially why he misses his reflection so much, how he can no longer see the result of all these efforts.

But of course, why would she expect a real answer?

“I like to intimidate my interlocutors,” he says, not skipping a beat, as if he had a practiced response at the ready. “Whoever approaches my tent must first be met with their own reflection, before seeing all this.” He gestures theatrically to his body. “It tends to bring people down a peg.” 

“Sure,” Eve says with a hesitant smile. She has come to accept that the scarce moments of Astarion’s genuineness never come up as requested, always catching her off guard instead. 

“In all honesty though,” he begins, and her stomach dips at the prospect of learning something real about him. “I have changed so much these past few tendays. I can walk in the sun, wade through rivers, enter homes uninvited…” he trails off, gaze fixed on something far beyond her. “I wonder if maybe one of these days, as I walk back to my tent, I might catch my reflection. Who knows what the tadpole has in store for me?” 

He chuckles at the end there, but it is a solemn sort of laugh, one that does not hide whatever longing is raking his undead heart.

Eve thinks about all he has lost. All he has gained. How the parasite, a source of great distress to their companions, has been nothing but liberating for him. They were so hell-bent on finding a cure, but who knows where that would leave him?

“Now, will you please admire my work?” he asks impatiently, tilting the mirror in her hand so she can see the back of her head.

It is neatly parted down the middle, two braids at either side finishing off in short ponytails. She touches it again, not sure if her hair was ever this contained, this deliberate.

“You should see it from the front,” he says, taking the small mirror away and guiding her towards the large one resting on the table.

Her reflection startles her. Eve is not sure when she last saw her face so clearly, not distorted in a river or puddle, all its imperfections clearly visible. She takes a step forward, taking in each and every one of her freckles, the scar running down the side of her face, the faint tattoo of a dagger lining her throat. 

There is something unsettling in her reflection, something bare and shameless. For a brief moment, she sees her lips twist into a grin, and it’s as if the part of her she had longed to keep hidden, the part that relished the feeling of the bard’s warm blood trickling down her arms, is staring straight at her. It lasts a mere moment and she can’t tell if she had imagined it or not.

“I–” she stutters, taking a step back. “My face seems so bare now,” is all she manages to say and it is not a lie as much as it is not the whole truth. “I’m not sure I like it that way.”

“Well, you’re objectively wrong,” he scoffs, and the closeness of his voice startles her. She glances back and sees Astarion standing right behind her, but in the mirror it’s just her reflection staring back. “But, if it makes you feel better, you could always do this.” 

He reaches his hand around her head and gently pulls out a strand of hair from each of the braids. Eve observes the reflection in silence, mesmerized as her hair seems to magically free itself, falling to frame her face. She likes the look of it—neat, but not too proper.

“That should help,” he continues. “But if it bothers you at any point, you could always tuck it behind your ear.”

Astarion hesitates for a moment, but then reaches out to do just that. It’s such a light touch, his fingertips grazing the shell of her ear for a mere second, but it still feels like an electric current sparking down her chest, lighting up every inch of her skin. 

It strikes her then that there is no getting over him. And as much as she tried to ignore her attraction to Astarion, it only seemed to intensify. 

“Like that.” His soft voice brings her back down to the Material Plane.

She turns to face him then, her chest tightening when she finds him standing closer than expected.

“Thank you, I– I appreciate this.”

“You are very welcome,” he says, taking a step back. “I prefer it when my allies can see whom they’re punching. Plus, it will make drinking from you that much easier, not having your hair stick to my face.”

“Sure, sure,” she chuckles. “Gods forbid you do a nice thing just for the sake of being nice.”

“Exactly, that doesn’t sound like me.”

“Well, thank you again.” And then, before she can do something foolish: “Goodnight, Astarion.” 

She turns and starts heading towards her tent.

“Eve–”

Her name sounds so odd coming from his mouth that she can’t tell if he has ever uttered it before, usually opting for some unfoundedly affectionate pet name instead. 

She stops and turns back to face him. Astarion opens his mouth and if Eve didn’t know any better she would swear it looked like he was about to tell her something important. But instead he clears his throat and says:

“Just try not to mess it up. It should hold for about two days if you don’t do anything too extreme. Goodnight.”

Astarion turns around and goes into his tent. Eve’s eyes follow his movement and a hint of disappointment sinks into her chest when he doesn’t turn to look at her again.

Two nights later, as Eve is distilling some potions of speed, Astarion approaches her, comb in hand.

“Darling, the state of your hair leaves a lot to be desired.”

She rolls her eyes and goes to sit in the same spot as last time, waiting for him to follow.

“You know, I could do this myself if you showed me how,” she says once he’s settled behind her. Not because she would actually prefer to do it herself, but because she is curious about his response. “I’m sure you have better things to do with your time.”

“Ha! Fishing for compliments, are we now?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Eve replies, shifting uneasily in her seat. She’s not sure what response she was expecting, but certainly not this. 

“Oh, please. You’re waiting for me to tell you how much I enjoy your company, how I look forward to this brief shared moment with you, how the rush of ecstasy when my dagger stops a beating heart is nothing compared to the feel of your hair slipping through my fingers?” There it is: his theatrical cadence that she knows all too well. She bids farewell to the hope of any genuine revelation from him.

“That’s not what I–”

“I thought I made it abundantly clear that I am fond of your company. If you’re concerned that this is part of some ploy to bed you, rest assured that I can tell where I’m not wanted. Now, do you have any more asinine comments to make, or can I get to work?”

Eve tenses at his words. It’s not that he is not wanted. She considers telling him the truth about that night, revealing more than she ever has, but she decides it might not be the best moment. Instead, she just replies: 

“No, that’s all.” 

“Wonderful,” he replies, as his fingers start guiding the comb.

It becomes an odd sort of routine, but not an unwelcome one.

The tieflings sure know how to party. Whether it’s their general disposition or just the elation that comes with escaping the inescapable. The sheer joy of surviving another day when all the cards were dealt against you.

Either way, there is not a sober soul in sight. Eve is caught in a whirlwind of hugs, toasts, and dancing, and she is high on this victory, high on people calling her a hero—it’s not a word she would ever use for herself, but she doesn’t mind playing the part, indulging in the fantasy for one night.

Her mind is currently free of the insidious voice, and it feels like she finally proved it wrong. She can be good. She has a choice.

The alcohol is flowing, the music is captivating, and everyone’s inhibitions are lowering by the minute. Even Lae’zel, who initially ignored everyone and proceeded to sharpen her sword (be it out of duty or an attempt to drown out the music with the piercing sound of her grindstone,) was eventually convinced to join the festivities. A couple drinks in, she managed to drag Wyll onto the dancefloor despite his earlier sullen demeanor, and later challenged Halsin to an arm-wrestling match, which gathered quite the audience despite the current stalemate.

The only person who’s missing the frey is Astarion, who watches everyone from a distance, drinking wine by himself in front of his tent. Eve keeps feeling his eyes on her as she meanders through the crowd, realizing she doesn’t exactly mind it.

Quite the opposite, actually.

She is sitting at a makeshift table with Karlach, who pours them another round of beers and looks out onto the colorful crowd with a wide smile on her face.

“We did one Hell of a good job, mate.”

She goes to pat Eve on the back but stops midway, groaning in frustration as she takes her hand away.

“Fuck, sorry. I forget sometimes.” She runs her fingers through her hair and says: “Ahh, we are celebrating, I should be able to hug you all, I should be able to…”

“I’m sorry, Karlach,” Eve says, unsure of how to comfort her.

She takes another sip and watches as Karlach stares off into the middle distance, as if contemplating something. Eventually she turns to Eve and says:

“Do you think Gale could teach me how to cast Mage Hand before the night is over? You know, to help a girl out.”

Eve spits her drink out as she laughs, Karlach joining in.

“What? I’m serious!”

Eve clears her throat and wipes the beer off her chin.

“Oh I know you are and I totally get it. You should definitely ask him, even if just to see his reaction.”

“Oh my gods, I bet he would be so cute about it!” She straightens in her seat and dons a serious expression, lowering her voice to impersonate the wizard: “Why Karlach, I thought you’d never ask! May I inquire why the sudden interest in handling the Weave?” In her regular voice, she adds: “He would turn red in an instant, the poor bloke.” She sighs before taking another sip. “Well, at least one of us is getting some action tonight. Good for you, soldier.”

Eve stares at her blankly for a moment.

“What are you talking about?”

Karlach mirrors her gaze, looking genuinely dumbfounded by the question.

“That brooding prick over there!” she exclaims way too loudly as she points towards Astarion’s tent. “Who else? You two are not exactly subtle about it!”

Eve locks eyes with Astarion across camp and a flush blooms on her face the moment his lips turn up into that stupid, smug smirk.

“Gods damn it, stop yelling!” she pleads, shifting in her seat so she doesn’t have to look at him. In a hushed tone she adds: “We’re not sleeping together.”

“But–” Karlach’s eyes widen as she points to Eve’s neck. “But your neck is always bruised. You’re telling me he drinks your blood every night–”

“It’s not every night…”

“Eve, be for fucking real. It’s most nights.”

“Yeah, okay.” Eve shrugs, resigned. “It’s most nights.”

“And I’m supposed to believe nothing ever happens? I thought that was the whole point of the biting, that it was some weird fetish thing–”

“It’s not some weird fetish thing,” Eve insists, feeling her face grow even hotter. “It’s literally just food for him. There’s nothing sexual about it.”

But Karlach just throws her head back in laughter.

“Sounds like you’re in denial, babe. He is biting your neck, not your bloody elbow! That’s erotic as fuck.”

“Oh gods,” Eve sighs as she buries her face in her hands.

“So do you do it sitting up or lying down or what?”

“Well, the first time he sort of awkwardly hovered over me,” Eve says, gesturing vaguely. “But now usually I sit up and he sits behind me.”

“Oh, so he’s all up in there.”

“All up in where?!”

“Your space. You’re, like, pressed against each other and he’s biting your neck. And you’re telling me that’s not sexy? Snap out of it, mate.”

Eve takes a significant gulp of her drink so she doesn’t have to respond. But Karlach is relentless when she asks:

“So, what does it feel like?”

“Huh?”

“The bite. What does it feel like?”

“Well, it’s this sharp sting at first and then it’s sort of numb and… cool and…” She waves her hand, struggling to find the right words. “Almost pleasant.”

“Almost pleasant. Mhm.” Karlach pauses for a moment, then adds: “Does it get you all hot and bothered?”

Eve’s face gets even hotter, though she’s not sure how that’s possible.

“Wha– I–” she stutters and curses herself for it.

“HA! It does, it totally fucking does. I told ya.”

“Gods, fine. Yes, it does feel good, but I don’t do it to feel good, I do it to–”

“Yeah I know, you do it to help him out. I’m not doubting that, I’m really not! But it’s not wrong to enjoy it while you’re at it. What are you, Ilmater? You’re allowed to have some fun, for fuck’s sake.”

Eve stares at her for a moment, considering her words. 

“What? Oh, come on! If not for this infernal piece of junk,” she says, fist pounding at her chest, “I would happily ride that man to the Feywild and back. He’s fine as all Hells. And you’re obviously into each other—who are you kidding?”

“Fine, yes, he is really hot.” Tongue loosened with ale, she just keeps going: “And funny. And smart. And thoughtful when he wants to be.”

“Oh.” Karlach’s eyes widen as she puts her hands up, and Eve realizes she said too much. “Oh girl. So you like him.”

“Well, yeah, I like all of you…” Eve says, unconvincingly.

“No, I mean you like like him.”

“Whatever.” She waves her hand dismissively. “I think you’re reading into it too much.”

“And I think you should stop being so godsdamn stubborn and just go talk to him. Come on, live a little! I’m not saying you have to marry the guy but at least see what that mouth can do, other than whine all the time.”

A loud cheer erupts from the crowd gathered around Lae’zel and Halsin, though from her position, Eve can’t see who is winning.

“Look,” Karlach continues. “All teasing aside, I know you’re not this clueless. I know you know you like him, and we don’t have to talk about it anymore, but I just thought… Well, this might be all new to you, what with your memory stuff and all that, but trust me, there is nothing bad or shameful about feeling this way. It’s perfectly normal! Liking someone is so much fun actually, just allow yourself to feel it!”

A weak voice from the back of Eve’s mind chimes in—not the blood-dripping one, but rather, the closest thing she has to a conscience.

Not shameful, no—just wrong. Selfish and dangerous to let anyone get too close to you when you’re–

But it gets drowned out by the pleasant buzz of alcohol, by the music and merriment around her, by the weight of Astarion’s gaze still piercing holes into her skin.

Maybe it doesn’t have to be this complicated?

“You’re right, I’ll talk to him. Can you just top me off first?” Eve asks, nodding to the wooden keg behind Karlach.

“Nah, mate. I think you might wanna start sobering up for this.”

Eve groans and stands up, leaving the mug on the table.

“I guess. Thanks for the pep talk.”

“Hey, you can always talk to Mama K. Now quit stalling!”

Eve leaves hesitantly and tries to make conversation with some tieflings on the way, but eventually she gives up the charade and just heads straight to Astarion.

With every step she takes, she feels the weight of his gaze, its intensity akin to that of a predator stalking its prey. But that doesn’t seem quite right, does it? Not when she comes to him so willingly, against her better instincts. Not when she is… well, herself.

Seeking relief from his piercing eyes, she looks down at the ruffles around his collar, at the deep cut of his neckline, never tied correctly, revealing way too much of his pale chest and she wonders how cold it would feel against her heated skin if they–

“My eyes are up here,” Astarion says, not without amusement, and the proximity of his voice snaps Eve out of her thoughts.

She shuffles awkwardly, taking half a step back once she realizes how close she’s standing.

“The lacing on your shirt is all messed up.” She points to his neckline, trying to distract from her not-so-subtle gawking. But Astarion doesn’t take the bait, eyes not leaving hers for a second when he asks:

“And that bothers you because…?”

“It doesn’t. It just seems like something that would bother you, but you might not be aware of it since…” She bites her tongue, the unspoken words hanging between them.

Since you can’t see your reflection.

“Here, let me,” she rushes to fill the silence and to her own surprise, steps up to reach for the leather laces. 

Astarion flinches ever so noticeably the moment her fingers brush against his skin as she pulls the string out of the eyelets. But then he rolls his shoulders back, a familiar smirk blooming on his lips when he says:

“Any excuse to get your hands on me, I see.”

“Glad I could inflate your ego. You don’t do it nearly enough yourself.”

Eve takes her time as she threads the laces anew, making sure it’s all symmetrical, as Astarion watches her every move in silence. Her heart is pounding, his scent filling her nostrils, that godsdamned scent that has become hers, too, ever since he showed her how to care for her hair and gave her a spare bottle of the scented oils he always carried. The combination is alluring but strangely comforting, one she would not mind waking up to every–

Oh girl. So you like him. 

“There, that’s better,” she says, taking a step back, and she is both relieved and disappointed by the distance that creates between them. Desperate to change the subject, she asks: “So, why are you sulking over here in the corner instead of joining the party? Is it not up to your standards, Magistrate Astarion?”

Astarion scoffs, but there is no real edge to it.

“It’s Magistrate Ancunín, actually. Or, was.”

“Ancunín,” Eve repeats, enjoying how the word rolls off her tongue. “All this time traveling together and I finally learn your last name. Maybe in three months I’ll know your favorite color.”

Astarion chuckles in a way he rarely does—every time Eve takes it as a small victory.

“Don’t get greedy.”

“So, can I convince you to join the party?” she asks, hoping he will say no. She’d much rather stay right here.

“I suppose it’s not much of a party, is it? Just a couple of hellspawn drunkenly twirling about, and all they have to serve is this vinegar.” 

He raises the bottle in his hand with a scowl, and without much thinking, Eve grabs it from him.

“Excuse you–” he drawls with feigned offense, but makes no effort to stop her.

They lock eyes as Eve brings the bottle up to her lips and takes a sip. She lets her eyelids flutter shut, enjoying how the rich vintage blossoms on her tongue.

“The wine is fine,” she declares, placing the bottle on the small table that houses all of Astarion’s mirrors. “I think you just like to complain.”

“Well, I think no one here knows how to have fun.”

“And you do? It doesn’t look like it.”

��Fun can take on many forms, darling. This,” he says, gesturing to the drunken crowd behind her, “is just not my… personal preference.”

“And what is?” she asks, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible—an increasingly difficult endeavor.

“Well, sex, for one. A night of passion. Alas, the only person I would deem suitable for the task has already indicated her lack of interest. And now she has decided to come over here and taunt me.”

An opening. A snap decision, before she can overthink it.

“You never know—people change their minds.”

Astarion’s eyes glint curiously in the low light as he leans closer.

“Interesting. Have you? Changed your mind, that is.”

“I might…” Words spill out of her before she thinks them through: “If you say please.”

Bleeding Hells, I did not just say that outloud.

Astarion’s eyes widen with a delightful mixture of shock and amusement.

“What?” he drawls, voice hushed.

Well, there is no backing out now, is there?

“You heard me,” she says, crossing her arms for emphasis.

“I should say please?” He puts his hand to his still heart. “You’re the one crawling back just like I predicted.”

“Fine.” Eve shrugs, her lips turning up in what she hopes to be an easygoing smile.

Against every nerve in her body, she turns on her heel and starts to walk away. It only takes two steps before she hears Astarion’s voice from behind her:

“Please.”

Heat rushes to her cheeks, but then she takes a deep breath and tries to remain calm when she turns and looks him up and down.

“Good boy. I’ll see you later.”

Astarion laughs, a rare genuineness to it.

“Cheeky,” he says, the word near-sinful coming from his lips. “There is a clearing in the woods just five minutes north from here. Come find me there once the party dies down.”

“I might,” Eve says, but her attempt at nonchalance is instantly foiled by Astarion’s insistence:

“You will.”

“Fine, I will,” she blurts out. “BYE NOW.”

Astarion chuckles and says:

“See you later… lover.”

Eve walks away hastily, a part of her wanting to giggle with glee, the other horrified by the consequences of her actions. To keep herself from overthinking the whole affair, she heads to the sizeable crowd and pushes through to the front row of the arm-wrestling match that is still in full swing. 

In the low light, Eve can see the faintest glint of sweat on Halsin’s forehead, while Lae’zel, half his size, seems thoroughly unbothered, her eyes narrowed in determination. Eve follows the firm lines of their flexing muscles up to their clenched fists that remain firmly above the center of the table.

“They’ve been like this for the past half hour,” Guex whispers to her, his eyes wide with awe.

“Perhaps it would be wise to acknowledge both of our strengths and proclaim this a draw,” Halsin suggests in his usual calm tone, though Eve senses it is taking him considerable effort to keep his voice steady.

“I didn’t take you for a coward, druid,” Lae’zel says through gritted teeth. “I don’t do draws,” she spits the last word out as if it were the most heinous insult. “I win. Or I die.”

“Well, that seems awfully dramatic,” Halsin says, a hint of a smile on his face that is otherwise tense with effort. “But I respect it.”

Eventually Halsin’s grip falters for a split second and Lae’zel doesn’t hesitate. Their fists slam against the table as the crowd erupts with applause. 

“You bested me, Lae’zel of Crèche K’liir,” Halsin admits solemnly as he bows before the woman in question. Through the curtain of brown hair that falls around his face, Eve sees a flash of a smirk and suspects that Halsin just wanted to be done.

The crowd disperses, and Eve gets dragged out onto the dancefloor by Zevlor of all people, who looks relaxed for the first time since they’ve met him. To a collective delight, Gale and Rolan join forces and paint the sky with sparkling cascades of dancing lights. 

In that moment, jumping to the music, magic glimmering above her, Eve senses this overwhelming gut feeling that everything might turn out alright. 

In the crowd of people she helped, she doesn’t feel like an outlier, but rather, a part of something greater than herself. All this time she’d been worried about letting people get close to her, but maybe it is precisely because she has grown closer to them all that she has been able to fight her instincts and make her own decisions. Perhaps a solitary life is not the “responsible choice.” Perhaps what she needs is the exact opposite.

Eve follows Karlach’s advice and does not drink any further. She has some water and food and she feels herself sobering up as the party slowly begins to quiet down and Astarion disappears somewhere in the forest. 

With this newly gained mental clarity comes a wave of second thoughts, and among them, a realization that she is not even sure if she’s ever had sex. Though if she had, she is grateful that she doesn’t remember the details, given the few gory glimpses she’s gotten into other aspects of her past life. 

Would she even be good at it? Can you be bad at it? If she has done it before, will instincts and muscle memory just take over?

No, nothing taking over, no thank you.

She supposes that if all else fails, she can just make up for her lack of experience with enthusiasm.

Fuck, what was I thinking?!

Astarion certainly seems like he knows what he’s doing. Maybe she can just let him take the lead and hope she doesn’t embarrass herself.

Gods fucking damn it.

Eve takes a deep breath, the chilly evening air grounding as it fills her lungs. 

It’s fine. It will be fine.

She doesn’t want to back out this time. 

Thoughts of Astarion have been flooding her mind for longer than she cares to admit. And perhaps this is an opportunity to finally stop wondering what his chest would feel like pressed against her, what his fingers would feel like digging into her hips–

Surely she will sate her curiosity and then she will be able to focus on more important matters.

After all, they’re both adults. They could be dead tomorrow. That’s all there is to it. This doesn’t have to mean anything… right?

A single thought reverberates through her mind as she heads towards the treeline:

Just this once.

________________

thank you for reading! if you enjoyed, I have a whole series about these two, because as you might have guessed, it was not "just this once" :)

tag not-quite-list: @roguishcat 💕 (lmk if you'd like to be added!)

[oimliette]

my best is yours

Pairing: Gale/Durge reader

Tags: angst, guilt, hurt/comfort, love confessions

Warnings: it’s durge so you know… violence and gore, but not too explicit. suicidal thoughts as well.

Words: 3.3k

“I don’t want you to die,” You say, voice weak and shaking. You hate how it sounds. “I would never forgive you.”

There is a pause, like he’s taking you in.

“I don’t need you to forgive me. I just need you to be alive.” He says. He says, so softly in the face of your rage, like he’s trying not to break your heart.

His mind is set.

read on ao3

It’s colder than you expected. Halsin didn’t mention that. You knew that the land was cursed, that the shadows were alive and sap both your sanity and strength. You were ready for it. You didn’t think about the temperature.

There’s a chill here like something was breathing down your neck. You still haven’t gotten used to it.

You glance at your companions after fighting against a horde of necrotic plant creatures. Whatever they were, they were clearly not alive, with the glow of the rot-magic emanating from their vines.

It’s only your second day in this cursed place and your party doesn’t look any better than they did yesterday. Astarion looks wary and miserable. He probably hates this place for the same reason he didn’t enjoy the Underdark: there is no trace of sunlight here. The only light comes from your torches and the Blood of Lathander Shadowheart is wielding, casting a soft glow on your surroundings. Shadowheart, on the other hand, looks—distracted, fascinated with the darkness enveloping your party on all sides. You’re concerned, but before you can think more of it, Gale meets your eyes, like he was seeking you out.

You’ve come to rely on Gale over the course of this adventure you were all forced into. Most nights, he is the reason you have warm food in your bellies. He’s a human with a lot of knowledge to dispense, and he takes every opportunity to do that, even to the point of sounding arrogant. Everyone does their part to keep the camp, but it would be particularly difficult to imagine the journey without Gale by your side.

Gale gives you a worried look, one he’d been giving to you more and more often. You pretend not to notice and hurriedly face the other way. You feel tired all of a sudden.

You think to yourself that the fact Gale hasn’t brutally mutilated an innocent girl in their sleep is a pretty good point too.

Sometimes you wonder if it’d be better that he’d have been the one to lead your motley crew instead. He certainly has the makings for it. He’s a reliable man, usually level-headed and preferring to err on the side of caution where you might be stubbornly facing in one direction. He insists on compromise, insistent on working together even though he confessed to you, one night, that he hardly has anyone he can call a friend outside of his tressym.

“I find that hard to believe,” you said. You took the first watch, though not everyone was asleep yet. From beside Gale’s tent, you idly watched Wyll fiddling with a broken lute he found on the road. Gale can talk like he’s used to speaking to himself, expressing himself in full-bodied words more common in academia than in casual talk, but he is unendingly curious, something that, to you at least, was something that endeared you to the wizard.

“I’m glad to hear that. I thought my time spent wallowing at my tower alone had rusted my social skills.” He laughed in relief.

It had, you nearly said out loud. There are instances where it’s obvious, but you decide to keep the comfortable, shared silence.

The flaps of his tent closed after he bid you goodnight. The air was cold, but you ran hot so you didn’t mind. You thought about Gale, as you often do, these days.

He was good at that. Making you feel comfortable in his presence. Like you could trust him. He has some secrets, but who in your camp doesn’t? Every one of them has their own story half-uncovered. You didn’t even know yours, your memory extending as far as waking up on the nautiloid, and the fight to get out of it in one piece.

But the battered state of your mind makes you uneasy. The random pulses of pain and the violent thoughts were symptoms you would have attributed to the parasite, but none of your companions have experienced anything like that. It’s just you. And even in this camp, the gathering of the infected and the hunted, you were the odd one out.

You listened to the wind rustling the leaves overhead. You wondered what your mind knew that you didn't.

Ever since you awoke on the nautiloid, your memory has been spotty. Trying to separate what happened in the first tenday of your adventure from your last is a useless activity.

There is an emptiness inside you that has been there as far as your memory will allow you to remember. Nothing feels real. Almost as if you’d wake from this any moment now, to whatever life you used to live. And this would all be a dream hastily forgotten.

But it’s not a dream. You know that.

The sticky feeling of blood in your hands felt real. The smell of it, sticking to you for days. The red crust under your fingernails that never seemed to disappear.

You are a person that rings hollow, and you are terrified one of these days your companions will see you for what you are: a monster.

You don’t understand why they believe you can lead the way to salvation. You don’t know where you’re going. You can’t even see past today.

But you try anyway. To atone, if not for anything else.

Tonight is no different. Tonight, the camp is tucked into an area you guessed was a less harsh patch of the hostile environment. It felt like picking which area of the mouth of an owlbear would be better to lean your head in. You don’t know why they trust you to know.

You don’t know why they still trust you at all. They’ve never seen you the same after what happened with Alfira.

Your offering of gore, the blood drying in your hands, damning you with each second as you waited for them to wake up, one by one. You didn’t even try to hide it or wash it away. What difference would it have made?

There was still a corpse there, right in your camp. The bard, trusting and sweet, was still dead.

Was she awake when you did the horrible deed? Was she breathing when you painted the ground with her innards? When you burst her eyeballs in her skull? You could almost feel it burst under your thumbs, the sensation familiar, deep in the recesses of your mind.

The gnawing headache at your brain grows. Pulsing, pounding.

Their tolerance of you is a reflection of everyone’s desperation, willing to let you stay because they cannot afford to be picky with company now. No one in the camp’s hands were clean but you doubt they’ve ever been this stained.

She didn’t die immediately. You know this, somewhere in your broken mind. It makes you sick that you’ve never felt more alive than the morning after.

You’ve been doing good. No murders in the night since then. But you’d be lying if you said there aren’t nights when you wake up with a start, afraid to see where or who your knife-hand has fallen on.

You wonder if they’re suspicious of you, still.

You set up camp, because you are tired and Astarion is whining about the trek and Shadowheart seems absolutely taken with the curse wrapping around all of your necks, threatening to invade and twist and unmake and Gale—well. His gaze is filled with determination, though his posture betrays his exhaustion. There’s something he wants to say, you’re sure, but unfortunately for him, it’ll have to wait until camp is set.

The headache persists. Your head throbs.

After a while, you sit by yourself in front of the campfire. On any other occasion you’d prefer to have been standing to the side, away from the comings and goings of the people in camp trying to get food or putting and taking from the chest. But that was before.

In these lands, the very ground itself seems malicious, trying to lick at the skin of your boots. The light provides some comfort against the oppressive dark.

Gale sits himself beside you. You don’t acknowledge his presence but you let him sit so close your knees touch. The point of contact is nice. Comfortable.

The fire is warm, but more importantly it is bright. Already you begin to feel better. Less like your soul is being syphoned away.

Gale calls your name, staring at you with sincere eyes you cannot meet.

This is a fragile alliance. A party brought by circumstance and tied together by desperate need to live, despite it all. They are all so wildly different, each with their own goals to accomplish—but this is what you have in common. This is what brings you together: you want to live.

“It’s alright, Gale. I’m not hungry,” you say first. That is not what he wants to speak about. You know that.

You surprised yourself with how furious you became at Gale’s pathetic acceptance of the fate thrust upon him by his goddess. How could he not thrash around, rebel at the circumstance! His plan to take this with hands behind his back and his head bowed down as the blade dropped on his neck made your blood boil, made your teeth ache with the urge to tear.

Good fucking gods, every single day you’ve though about killing yourself, each method more gruesome than the next. Driving a knife through your own heart. Bathing in acid. One by one removing your senses until you die of blood loss. Eyes are the last to go, so you can see what you’ve made of yourself.

It’s a common fantasy, a permanent solution to your problem: you. But no one is supposed to die. You don’t succumb to the urge because you have people to lead. Sins to atone for. You of all people don’t get to have a break from your torturous mind. That’s your fucking burden to bear and you will bear it as long as you are able.

It’s your job to save them from this. They trust you, when they really shouldn’t, and godsdamned if you’ll let one of them get killed because some fucking prissy goddess can’t fix a problem herself.

Lot of good all these deities have done in Faerun, you curse as you look at the darkness surrounding you from all sides. You can barely see anything past it, even with darkvision. Just more twisting trees and the glowing rot leaking from the land like pus from a wound.

“You’ve been reckless lately. More so than usual—alarmingly so. Make no mistake, I am not here to complain about the efficiency of dealing with our enemies. I am most appreciative of that fact. But I do get concerned with how you tend to act after.”

“What do you mean, Gale?” You ask. He has this habit of beating around the bush and though you’d usually find his wordiness endearing, today has been long.

It weighs on your shoulders, every time you leave camp, every night you set it up again. Another day. Food. Loot. Trade. Kill. Day in and day out. Live live live. Another step in front of the other. Every day, asking you to live longer.

The light at the end of the tunnel is getting ever farther as you walk closer, but you keep these thoughts to yourself.

Your companions deserve to be alive. They deserve to hope. Just because you lost yours doesn’t mean you’re about to break their morale. You know they’ll make it.

But you? No. You don’t even deserve to see it.

“Yes, you’re right. Well, truth be told, I worry about you…” Then he says your name again, so gently, like his tongue was cradling the syllables in his mouth. “Not as our leader. As you.”

“You don’t have to.” You interrupt, uncomfortable with the sincerity. You can take care of yourself. Whoever he thinks he’s fussing over—it’s not you. You don’t need the concern, cloying and all too sweet. All too easy to use. He doesn’t know you, doesn’t understand the wickedness in your head and your heart.

“Ah, you’ll find that I want to.” He flashes a charming smile. “Clearly, you aren’t looking after yourself, so someone has to.” He points to himself.

Your headache pulses. You imagine in a world without these urges, the charm might have worked. Maybe you’d be brave enough to look him in the eye, tell him honeyed words that you have so desperately wanted to. If you were just normal, someone unburdened by the blood singing under your skin, this would go differently.

Oh, yeah? You imagine yourself saying. Do it then.

But this isn’t that world, so instead you scoff, because Gale is orchestrating his own death in two different ways and if you think about it too much you might drive yourself insane. Isn’t that fucking hilarious, that the first person you let inch into your heart is going to die, either by your foul hand or a deity that thinks him so invaluable she would ask him to kill himself for the sake of the world?

This sweet, trusting man. Arrogant and unbearable. You want to kill him yourself. You want to save him. From Mystra. From you.

He looks embarrassed with his attempt at flirting and hurt at your reaction. You want to tear your heart open. You want to atone. For this. Fuck, for everything. Maybe you’ve already doomed him by letting his affection get to you. Does he know how close he is to your heart?

You just swallow the lump in your throat. You can see some people in the camp pass a glance at the both of you, and you sigh. “Can we go to your tent?”

For once, Gale shuts his mouth and nods. He sits down after you enter the tent, quiet still. You bite your tongue. Think, if only for a few moments.

“I don’t need your help.”

“I think you’ve made that clear.” He replies curtly.

“I—“ you grit your teeth. “You can barely take care of yourself. And now you want to save me—“

“I never mentioned saving! And my apologies for daring to care about you—”

“You’re a hypocrite, Gale. You know how tough this journey’s been. You say you’ve been watching me. You know my mind is broken, possibly beyond repair. But I’m not dead! That’s my choice, every godsdamned day to put one foot in front of the other and hope that I at least get to do the one good deed of saving you before I go. My choice to stay in this godforsaken place because you’re my people.

You continue, “Did you think no one would care? That we would all proceed like normal, go about our daily lives saying thank fucking Mystra, good on her to tell Gale to kill himself and like a stupid little dog he followed through with it. You’re not on her leash anymore, so act like you have a choice, damn it!”

Your chest is heaving. There is prickling behind your eyes.

You realise you would do anything to keep him alive. You would raze down hordes of innocent hundreds by yourself if it meant the poison in his veins were cured. It would be adding to your tally of sins. It would weigh on your heart. But aren’t you already damned?

Aren’t you both?

“I don’t want you to die,” You say, voice weak and shaking. You hate how it sounds. “I would never forgive you.”

There is a pause, like he’s taking you in.

“I don’t need you to forgive me. I just need you to be alive.” He says. He says, so softly in the face of your rage, like he’s trying not to break your heart.

His mind is set. This is how it will be: you will live and he will die.

The irony of it is not lost on you. You, who have been begging for death. You, who have been trudging through this journey to lead them to a future you could not imagine being a part of.

Gale has so many reasons to live. His mother. His tressym, Tara. His brilliant mind, which would do much more good in the world if it was lent to research than here, fighting for their lives every day. This is not the life Gale should have lived. This is not how he’s supposed to go out.

He’s supposed to be back home in Waterdeep. He’s supposed to live a full life, passing on after making great contributions to the world, remembered for who he was: an intelligent, kind man, brilliant in both the head and heart. You ache to imagine yourself with him.

You don’t deserve it.

“I love you,” your shaky voice whispers. You had all the intention to keep it unspoken until you were in your grave, but Gale needs to know how much of a hold he has on you. That the thought of him makes every day a little easier.

That, selfishly, he needs to stay for you.

He wipes the wetness from your cheeks. You lean into his hand, despite yourself, and you can’t stop crying now that you’ve started. You idly watch the slow drops on the ground, even as your eyesight blurs. You can’t face him.

You want to have this. To have him. You place your hand above his, intertwining them as they rest on your cheek. You bring it to your lips and kiss the back of his hand.

Your blood gnashes in your veins, protesting the vulnerability without violence.

You’re so tired of atoning.

His arms wrap around you, wordlessly, and your head rests on his shoulder. Away from his gaze, you speak up, voice still soft. “You deserve to live.”

“So do you.” He replies. You shake your head.

“You’ve seen what I can do. There is something wicked in my heart that I cannot cure. Every day I—“ You breathe out, shaky. You’ve never admitted this to anyone, didn’t even want to acknowledge the event to others in the fear they realise you’re a foul creature and cast you out. Remove your reason for being alive: your clan. “Every day I wake up and check my hands for blood. I don’t deserve you. I don’t even deserve to live.” You remember how blood feels. Sticky. Sweet. Familiar.

“You do.” He insists. Places his hand on the back of your head, cradling you. He treats you so gently, like you haven’t mauled and killed and lied. “Because I say so. I want you to live. I want you to have a good life, even beyond the tadpoles and the Absolute. Beyond me.”

“Then we’ve hit an impasse.” You remove yourself from him, looking him in the eye now. “You won’t die and I won’t.”

He grins in a way you can feel work into your heart.

You’re going to have to face the inevitability of each other’s deaths someday. Your adventure is a perilous one. You’ve already had many close calls, least of which the danger that you yourself pose to the others.

“I want to show you something, soon,” Gale says. You can feel his voice vibrate in his chest. You hum in response, your eyes already closed. The day has been long, taxing both emotionally and physically, and it’s only now catching up to you. “I don’t have nearly enough energy right now,” Gale chuckles. “But know that the depths of my feelings… You’ll see it. I promise.”

You trust him. Gods, you really do believe him.

You cling to his words: you deserve to live because I say so.

What makes mortal conviction any less powerful than a god? If Gale thinks you should live, then you will.

Maybe it can be that simple.

Perhaps you do deserve a slow, painful death. You know, somewhere in your broken mind, that Alfira wasn't the only victim of your cruelty. Maybe that would be the just thing to do, to wipe you off Fae’rûn. To rip this rare-found peace away from you.

Tomorrow will be another day. Another fight. One foot in front of the other. Live live live.

Your past will catch up to you someday. Your hands have committed countless unforgivable atrocities.

But tonight, your hands cover Gale in an embrace.

[p1nkshield]

Estranged Uncle AU! Part 2

"Oh nope! No you don't!" Tim said as he reinforced the computer's defenses. This was slowly moving from being a fun little challenge to being concerning. Who ever this was was really close to fully breaching the batcomputer. Good thing Tim is so good at his job; whoever it was finally got the hint. Tim took a sip of his coffee and went back to the latest case he was looking at.

Tucker took a bite of his beef jerky in triumph. "Too fine foley has done it again!"

His little strategy worked. He would come in front and center with all the fanfare and popups of a hacker with a big ego while his program would sweep dirt in from the back door. While whoever was on the other side focused on his obvious, ham-fisted hacking. Sure Tucker got a little carried away but he was having fun until he was nearly uno reversed. Tucker really didn’t feel like being fully roped into whatever weird billionaire crime "Brucie Wayne" was probably knee deep in. Speaking of Tucker should probably take a look at what he managed to skim.

Now this was weird. Weapons schematics? Info on Gotham's biggest criminals and their whereabouts? Oh no no. This is not good. He really needed to warn Danny.

Danny was blearily enjoying a stack of delicious, stationary pancakes when his phone buzzed.

'RED ALERT DUDE'

'???' Danny replied.

'Bro is a weapons dealer! To like, all the baddies in Gotham!'

Tucker then sent a bunch of screenshots of the small bit of evidence he found. There was even a machine gun flamethrower combo! That one however had a note saying 'sorry jaylad, I’m vetoing this one'.

'so many questions. Who is Jaylad Danny? If you find out tell me so I can avoid them!'

"I knew it!" Danny said loudly.

"What?!? Knew what?!? What do you know?!" Clark said suddenly, dropping his fork.

"My uh history test came back.”

“Oh.”

Poor Clark might be in too deep. To err on the side of caution Danny decided he needs to find out just how deep. Time to deploy his secret weapon.

After Clark left for work Danny immediately booked it to Jazz.

“So, I didn’t like Brucie’s vibe and had Tucker look into him.”

"Danny! Try not to project your experience with one specific rich person onto every rich person you come across!"

"You say that but both times I was right about my hunch!"

Jazz frustratedly looked through the evidence until her face was pale.

"We will unpack your fear of billionaires later, first we need to save our uncle."

Clark returned from work and was met with the gentlest interrogation he’s ever experienced.

"Would you mind if I asked why Bruce was in your house?"

Oh no. Why was she asking that? She seems smart and Clark knows he's a terrible liar. Think Clark. Think.

"He uh, was there for an interview!"

Jazz just nodded. Does that mean it worked? Was that the right thing to say?

"Does Bruce usually make house calls for his interviews?"

What kind of question is that? When in doubt double down on the Brucie Wayne cover.

"I think he finds me entertaining so he kinda just does that. He's pretty eccentric but all of my most popular articles are about him so... what are you gonna do?" Clark added a shrug for good measure.

Jazz nodded again.

"We need to get him away from Clark as soon as possible."

"I was right!"

"you were right."

Part one

[mycenalucentipes]

I'd like to request fred and george weasley head cannons! Specifically how they would go about dealing with their feelings and asking out a crush in each house. So how fred would deal with realizing he likes a girl in Slytherin/Hufflepuff/Ravenclaw/gryffindor and how he would ask them out. Same with george.

(Bonus points if you wanna do for Ron weasley, harry Potter, and/or draco Malfoy too)

a/n: This seems fun, so I’ll give it a shot! I think I’ll do Hufflepuff and Slytherin for Fred and then Ravenclaw and Gryffindor for George. Sorry to split it up, but I get pretty carried away with writing^^’. These headcanons might be more like one shots, I apologise.  

a/n after writing some more: I’m sorry, these are definitely more like one shots. Umm, I'm not so good at headcanon stuff, so I hope you're not too disappointed! Also will try to get around to doing a Draco version of this over the next week???

Summary: Headcannons(err more like oneshots) on how Fred and George Weasley deal with falling head-over-heels for their crush! 

Warnings: Fluff I guess? A couple swears here and there, Fred and George and maybe you confessing your ever growing young love for each other

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Fred Weasley x Hufflepuff!Reader

1.1k words

You were just a typical shy, kind hearted Hufflepuff girl. You wouldn’t throw an insult in anyone’s direction. Though you weren’t afraid to hex or charm someone. You tended to stay out of people’s way, ducking through the crowd and avoiding as many shoves as possible to get to your next class through the busy halls. 

It was in a 5th year Hufflepuff/Gryffindor Charms class that you shared with the Weasley twins. Professor Flitwick paired you and Fred up for an essay on your  two most recently learned charms. The Severing and Colour Change charms. 

It was during this duo effort that he found himself falling hard for you after an incident during the essay. 

You both decided to work in the Gryffindor common room one evening. Practising the charm as well as writing about the two. He cast the Severing Charm with too little caution or regard for his surroundings. 

Let’s just say, you ended up with a new haircut that night and were not too happy. Without skipping a beat after it happened, you shot the Colour Change Charm at him, turning his hair a bright indigo blue.

Fred didn’t even care that his hair was blue(well at that minute). He stared at you, awestruck that you had retaliated. Up until then, you were just the Hufflepuff that stayed out of everyone’s way. Never cursed or gossiped. Of course, Fred profusely apologised, all while laughing his head off. 

“You know, love. I must say, you look quite cute with that new haircut of yours.” He gave a cheeky smile before running away from your wand pointed at him, not wanting to see what else you might cast at him. 

Fred didn’t know why he never noticed you before. He wishes he would’ve. He loved seeing this new side of you and desperately wanted to get to know you more. 

Every Charms class, he would start sitting next to you, and distract you from lectures. He would write jokes to you on scraps of paper, or just nudge your arm or leg endlessly until you jokingly kicked him back. One time, you accidentally knocked him in the shin a little too hard that he yelped quite loudly in class. 

“Mr. Weasley, do you have something to share with the class?” Flitwick asked with a little bit of irritation in his voice.

“N-no sir, sorry!” He squeaked out, rubbing his shin under the desk. You shot him an apologetic look, then went back to listening to Flitwick continue on. 

George would tease him endlessly about his new little crush on the Hufflepuff girl. He noticed the lovesick daze his twin would be in during meals in the Great Hall. Fred would sometimes just get lost in staring at you while you joked around with your housemates. 

Occasionally, you would catch him staring, then smile a bit. He loved the way your eyes sparkled when he caught his gaze. Or how your smile would instantly brighten his whole world. 

Even after the project ended, he made every effort to try and hang out with you. Whether it be plopping himself next to you during meals or even following you to the library to study. Which, didn’t actually include much studying when he was around. He was far more fond of staring at you and joking around. 

You quickly grew accustomed to his constant attention, flirting, and shenanigans. You loved it all, but you would never dare be the first one to confess. So you quietly went along with him, watching and admiring, not having the confidence to believe he would like you back. Boy were you wrong. This man was whipped. For you. 

One abnormally normal Thursday, you sat through the regular same old charms class, ate the same meals, talked to the same friends, Fred pulled you outside to the courtyard after class was let out. He gently led you by holding your small hand in his larger one.

“Fred? Are you alright? Where are we going?” You asked, growing more concerned as Fred’s pace picked up. In all honesty, Fred was a tad nervous. Sure girls flirted with him here and there and he would sometimes reciprocate that. He was a charming guy, what can you say? 

Fred would not say a thing on the way to the courtyard. Heck, you still had no idea where this boy was taking you. You could sense a nervousness about Fred, which was quite odd to you. You’d never known him to be nervous about anything. Even in potions when Snape would drill him and Fred would just joke and laugh about it. So why was he so worked up today?

You both sat down at one of the corridors’s archways that bordered the school’s courtyard. You could finally see his face. He looked just the slightest bit flustered with a light pink dusting his cheeks. This is new. You thought nervously. Fred fiddled with your hand a bit, refusing to look into your eyes.

“Freddie, what is it? You’re scaring me…” You whispered out to him. He finally looked you straight in the eyes, guilt flashing through them. 

“Oh! No, please don’t be scared. Merlin, I’m so sorry, love, haha,” Fred apologized while grabbing your other hand now and facing directly towards you, “ Just a tad nervous, but I have to tell you now, I can’t wait any longer.” He began rambling on about how much you meant to him and how he couldn’t take his mind off of you. You lived rent free in this man’s head and he didn’t know how to contain his feelings any longer. 

“Fred, what are you on about?” You smiled, feeling giddy already. You had a suspicion of where this might be going. He stopped rambling, feeling his full confidence and charm return.

“Y/n, I was wondering if you would like to go to Hogsmeade with me this weekend? I quite fancy you. I really, really like you a lot!” He beamed with a wide grin. Even though you felt this might be what was happening, your face still turned into one of shock. Fred’s smile faltered for a second, but not for long. 

You flung yourself into him, giving him the warmest, sweetest bear hug you could manage. As you dove into him, he let out a small “oomf!” before returning the hug. 

“Yes, of course I’d love to go to Hogsmeade with you!” You happily cheered. “And I like you too!” Fred couldn’t have been more happy with the outcome. He was completely, utterly head over heels for you. 

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Fred x Slytherin!Reader

877 words

I think even if the reader was a Slytherin, Fred would still be pretty outgoing and wouldn’t shy away from her. He also wouldn’t hesitate too much to finally confess his feelings. I feel that he wouldn’t be able to keep his feelings to himself for very long. Here’s another scenario of Fred slowly realising his ever growing crush on you. It hits him like a slap to the face and he can’t contain these feelings to himself anymore.

Fred wasn’t really sure how his crush started. Maybe back in his third year, whenever you cheered on one of his and George’s pranks? He was amazed he was able to catch your attention, because the whole “Gryffindors and Slytherins will never mesh” thing. Since then, he never really saw a reason to totally resist all Slytherins. You were different. 

You weren’t snobbish or all high and mighty about being a pureblood Slytherin. You never bullied anyone. Except for Pansy occasionally. She usually deserved it though as she often picked on some poor Hufflepuff girl or a non pureblood Slytherin. You also never put up with Draco’s shit. So you and Malfoy ended up with a mutual understanding that neither of you would mess with each other.

Another part to add to his growing feelings was 4th year, watching you stand up to Professor Snape after he picked on George a bit too harshly. Of course, the twins could’ve stood up for themselves, they could care less about Snape and that class. Something in you had just snapped that day. It cost you 20 Slytherin house points, but you couldn’t bear to see Snape bullying any more students that day. 

Now to the part we are at today, 5th year. You both became friends over the past couple years. You were currently in the middle of pulling off some prank with Fred and George. Fred and George had a plan that involved you since you had an in with the Slytherins. 

You were to “accidentally” trip and fall into Pansy. In the process you “accidentally” slop some Out to Lunch Fake Moustache lotion on Pansy’s face. While you had her distracted, Fred and George would slip some Dungbombs into Crabbe and Goyle’s robe pockets. 

The plan went off without a hitch. Pansy was screaming bloody murder when she started growing facial hair. She only found out when Draco started cackling at her as she approached the Slytherin table for lunch. The laughter didn’t laugh long whenever Crabbe and Goyle entered. Nearly everyone evacuated the Great Hall after this. 

The three of you made a run for it. Filch was close on your tails, too close. George sacrificed himself so you and Fred could get away together. He winked at Fred with a salute, then turned around and grinned at Filch, not a glint of fear in his face. Just pure humour and amusement. 

The two of you slipped into one of Hogwarts’ secret passageways that led all the way to Hogsmeade. You and Fred laughed the whole way there. 

“Man, I gotta thank your brother later for taking one for the team.” You laughed, nearly out of breath from your workout.

Fred laughed along too, excited to finally have you alone. As you both made your way to The Three Broomsticks, he grew a little nervous. What if you didn’t like him like that? What if you fancied George? Or didn’t even want to date a Gryffindor? Man, he needed to calm down. 

After sitting down at a table in the corner with your butterbeers, he noticed you looked a bit flushed. “Y/n, are you alright? Pansy didn’t hurt you, did she? Are you fevered?” His mouth rushed with questions.

“N-no! Silly, I’m good. I just… Fred, I need to tell you something.” You replied. A look of concern spread over his features, fearing for the worst. He was so in love that his mind was a little wonky about this. He would lose all sense of reality when he stared into your beautiful eyes. His mind and heart would race when you would accidentally brush hands or place a hand onto his forearm. 

Finally, you stared into his eyes, “I like you!!!” You loudly declared, standing up to further prove your point. You startled quite a few patrons surrounding you. Fred slightly startled too, eyes going wide as he was not expecting this. He didn’t think you would confess to him. You stood there breathing heavily, waiting for his response.

“Love, I really, really like you as well!” He exclaimed as he too stood up. He pulled you close and brought your faces close to each other. “May I?” You nodded a little shyly, closing the gap between your lips. Once again, you shocked him. It took a second for him to lean into the kiss. 

When you did break away you confessed, “I’ve fancied you since year two, Fred.” His eyes widened. “Year two!?” You giggled bashfully and nodded while looking away. Fred gently used his hand to guide your face to turn back to him. 

“I really should’ve realised sooner. I think I only realised a month back if I’m being honest.” He said, a blush clear on his cheeks and ears. “Although, I’ve always been quite fond of you. You’re my little snake now.” 

You laughed and hugged him once more. You were finally his, and him, yours.

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George Weasley x Gryffindor!Reader

1.3k words

Now, I think George would try to be more subtle about it? It might take a bit more prodding from Fred to finally tell you directly. 

Though George never really took notice of you until third year of Hogwarts. You were mostly lost in your thoughts to yourself a lot and weren’t the most bold student. You were 11-13 though, that’s fair enough. 

It wasn’t until you made friends with the Golden Trio. Ron Weasley specifically. You and Ron became best buds in your third year and his first, like a sibling relationship. You met all three of them on the train. You had noticed Harry and Ron in one of the train compartments and asked if you could join them. Mostly because you figured the red head would be the Weasley’s younger brother! 

Ever since then you had been helping Ron with homework, attend quidditch matches with him, and even sneak him out to Hogsmeade. After a year of knowing them, during your 4th year, Ron invited you over to stay with them for winter break! So of course you had to go! 

It was wonderful there, with everyone, the atmosphere was warm, cosy, and overall felt like another home. 

When Ron introduced you to everyone, you definitely caught the attention of George Weasley, he was stunned to silence by your character and beauty. He thought you were the most beautiful thing to cross his path. He just had to get to know you better. Also because you meshed so well with his family! 

He was in awe at how much Ron looked up to you and how smart you were. You always helped Ron with his homework. Maybe you would help him too with his! Merlin knows he didn’t care much about his homework. Whenever meal times came around, you were always first to volunteer yourself to helping Mrs. Weasley out in the kitchen. You also could talk for hours on end about the muggle world with Mr. Weasley, being a half-blood yourself. You definitely had some information to share with him.

At some point during your stay, you decided you would try to befriend the Weasley twins. They were in your grade, so why not get to know them? George was elated by this. Falling in love was new to him and made him a little shy when it came to you.

Over the next week of break, you and the twins got very close. Often playing wizards chess, quidditch, or just pulling pranks on the others. You did accidentally give them both pig ears and pig tails with a prank formula gone wrong. They both found it hilarious and decided to try and make more of whatever it was you did.  

Since it would get cold, George would let you borrow his jumpers. He thought you looked absolutely adorable with how oversized they looked. He loved that they were his that you were wearing as well. You often would go to George and ask for a jumper to borrow when it would get cold. It was often rare to see you not wearing one of his jumpers around the house anymore.

Some nights, everyone would sit down by the fireplace and just share stories or jokes. You also situated yourself next to George, even leaning against him a few times (all of the time). His heart would flutter every time he felt your presence lean against him. He loved it, absolutely adored it. 

A couple times, you would fall asleep against him. He knew as soon as your weight would sink into him further along with the sound of your gentle breathing. He would then gently prod you awake once it got late enough and everyone had gone up to bed, leaving just the two of you. 

“Hmm…oh, hey George? Where did everyone go?” You pondered as you slowly sat up.

“Oh, they left for Ireland, said they’re not coming back for a couple days.” He shrugged as you gave him a look of ‘wtf’. He burst out laughing, “Kidding, kidding, I swear, they all went to bed. It’s past 11:00pm.”

You playfully smacked his arm, “Oh, you! Sorry for dozing off on you. Why didn’t you wake me?”

“You looked so enchanting in your sleep. I couldn’t bear to disturb your peaceful slumber, so why wake a pretty face?”

“Y-you don’t mean that. How can I look beautiful while sleeping? I know for a fact that I sleep-talk and drool occasionally!” You giggled while leaning back into his side, resting your head onto his chest.

“Okay, so maybe you drool, but it doesn’t take away from your cuteness!” 

No matter how you looked, George would always slip in a compliment to you. He would even spin your self doubts into compliments. 

Eventually, it was time to go back to school! It was a couple months before George came to terms with his feelings for you.

Whenever George realised his crush on you though, he would try to subtly flirt with you. He would always flatter you, never missing an opportunity, oftentimes he would or if you were walking down the hallways together, he would playfully nudge or bump shoulders with you during your odd conversations. 

You often talked about really random things. Like, what a chair’s scream might sound like if a desk chair suddenly gained sentience. Or what if frogs harmonised their croaks and ribbits to mate? 

If you both were through a crowded hallway, he would grab your hand or wrap an arm around your shoulders to keep you close and not be swept away by the bustling students. 

Whenever you got excited over something, for example, you aced your potions exam, you would run to George after class and throw your arms around him. He would instantly hug back. 

He loved the way your hair smelled, how it felt when you hugged him, how your laughter would ring through his ears. He loved it all, couldn’t get enough of it. 

He also loved when you would attend the quidditch matches and cheer him on. So he decided he would confess to you after a match one day.

“Hey Y/n, meet me after the quidditch match today!” 

“Why do you even ask,” You replied with a laugh, “I always do that anyways.” George just shrugs and runs off to catch up with his teammates.

Gryffindor vs. Hufflepuff. Of course, Gryffindor came out on top! The Gryffindor stands cheered wildly, you included. You rushed down the stands to meet George. 

When things calmed down, he took you somewhere a little more private. 

“Y/n… I wanted to tell you that meeting you has been the most wonderful moment in my life. Hanging out with you has been an even more wonderful time.  You captivate my mind everyday. I can’t help but admire you!” 

“George, what are you on about?” You looked up at him questioningly. He sighed with a smile and ran his hand through his hair.

“God dammit Y/n, haha. What I suppose I’m trying to say is that these feelings have transformed into something more than just…friendship.” Oh. You blushed heavily, finally getting the hint. “I like you, like, like-like you, Y/n!” 

“Oh George! I like you too! I feel the same way! I-I never knew you felt this way.” You mumbled into his chest. As soon as he had confessed, you had thrown yourself into a hug with him. 

“I noticed,” He chuckled while hugging you back.

“I guess, looking back, a lot of our interactions like that make sense now.” You laughed at your own obliviousness. 

George would be so flustered and over the moon that you two were finally a thing, that he would forget to ask you out on a date. He sincerely meant to do so. So on your way back to the dorms, he would suddenly spin towards you and ask you to go out with him for lunch/dinner whatever you prefer! 

====================================

George Weasley x Ravenclaw!Reader

I profusely apologise for these becoming so long and like..kind of not headcanons again.

1.4k words

As a Ravenclaw, George would be drawn to your wit, sharp mind, and creativeness. You weren’t just a typical bookworm. No, you put your intellectual prowess to use. Often to cause mischief or shoot back sarcastic comebacks to any rude students or professors. 

At age 14, you became an animagus, a pine marten! You might be more of a shy and withdrawn Ravencalw, but people just seemed to gravitate towards you. You never had any problems getting along with people. (Minus a few Slytherins…) 

You and George had Transfiguration class together.  This was 5th year charms, so you were learning some vanishing spells as well as more of turning animals into inanimate objects. McGonagall had paired the two of you up for an essay presentation. You looked over to him with a small grin, and he of course, returned the gesture. 

You two would meet during evenings either right before dinner, or nights after dinner whenever George didn’t have quidditch practice. 

He always looked forward to these meetings. Conversing with you was so easy, it just felt so natural to him. He loved how well spoken you sounded. You were always researching something about a different charm or spell. You were always experimenting with some new charm or spell to get different reactions out of it.

A couple times you tried testing it out on him as you both worked together. You hadn’t meant for as many mishaps as you had, but George enjoyed them nonetheless. 

One time, you were attempting to give shoes a pair of wings. After hearing this fun fact, George offered up a pair of his shoes. Your spell went just a tad awry, giving his shoes a rat tail, ears, and four legs. His shoes scurried away down some drainage. They’re still wandering around the undergrounds of the castle to this day…

Another time, you were practising a transfiguration spell with George. This time it was actually for your project and not just some random experiment you conjured up. You turned him into a ferret. A bloody ferret. You were casting the spell, when someone knocked into your wand hand, thus redirecting the spell towards George instead of the wooden box that sat on the table in front of you. 

You had no clue what to do. You hurriedly picked him up and ran to McGonagall. She just sighed and turned him back as soon as you explained why in the world you came running to her with a ferret in your hands. 

“George, I am so so sorry!” You blushed while frantically apologising to him. He laughed and just said, “It’s all good love. No harm done!” You both ended up bonding over these little mishaps. George ended up loving so many of them he had you help implement some of your random charms into the Weasley twin tricks and sweets. 

Finally, the night before, you both finished the project. You just wrote about the importance of casting transfiguration spells correctly. As well as incorporating the charms that would turn people into animals. (Yes, he begged you to include the time you transformed into a ferret). Though you now knew how to undo that spell. You had to beg McGonagall for that one.

“Hey Y/n, wanna turn me into a ferret again?” George kept pestering you that night to do so. He wanted to show off your skills in class tomorrow. At first you heavily protested. What if you couldn't do it right again? (“That's the point of practice, silly!” George would retaliate. He loved getting you worked up. He also felt honoured that you cared so deeply for his safety.) 

You eventually caved, figuring it could be fun. You still had yet to show him your animagus form. Martens and ferrets happened to be of the same family, so why not? You sighed, casting the spell, and watched as he quickly shrank to the form of a ferret. He ran right up to your legs, running around in circles. You giggled at his playfulness and then transformed into your pine marten form. 

His little ferret form gave you a shocked face as if to say, “Wtf!? You’re an animagus!? Bloody hell that’s amazing!” He loved this. So. So. Much.

Your presentation went very well! A few times, you had to nudge George in the arm to keep speaking, he’d get lost in your words, listening to your voice. Once he got speaking though, he really did take over a lot. 

After this, he, like Fred, would insist that you keep hanging out. You would often join him for meals or trips to Hogsmeade, along with some other Gryffindor friends. 

George wanted to form a strong friendship bond with you. He did so, without even realising he fell for you, until Fred’s words hit him deep one time. 

He would always make sure to hold your hand and buy you a couple treats at Honeydukes. He knew all of your favourite candies by now. 

If it was cold, he would lend you his scarf and hold your hand inside his coat pocket. He rarely would leave your side for anything. 

Everytime your hand was in his, his heart would skip a beat. Or if you weren’t beside him, he found himself longing for your presence.

Fred would make fun of him endlessly, but lovingly, for how whipped he was for you. 

He would often sneak into your dorm/common room late at night and pester you to cast the ferret spell again, and have you run around with him in your pine marten form. He loved roaming the halls with you as a little animal. You wouldn’t get caught near as much unless McGonagall was roaming for some reason. It was much easier to hide away from authority. 

It was one fateful night, you both scurried your way up to the astronomy tower in your animal forms. Once you reached the top, you transformed back into your human form, and undid the ferret spell on George. You were both panting heavily, large grins spread across your faces, as Mrs. Norris had almost caught the two of you.

George stared into your eyes, admiring the starlight that reflected so beautifully in them. He could never get enough of your beauty. Taking a deep breath, he cleared his throat and summoned the courage to speak. “Y/n, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you for a little while now,” he began, a little shaky, but full of sincerity. 

You looked towards him, a blush rising to your ears already, “What is it, Georgie?” He smiled at the use of his nickname from you.

He grasped both of your hands, intertwining both of yours and his fingers together. “Well, ever since I’ve gotten to know you from our project, I’ve really come to appreciate and admire your brilliance, scheming, creativity, and the special feelings of the moments we spend together.” He confessed, a blush now covering his face.

“Oh really now?” A large smile grew on your face as you brought one of your hands up to softly caress the side of his face and into his hair. As if to urge him to continue.

“I-I’ve realised that my feelings for you are more than just friends. I really want to be something more than just good ol’ pals, y’know? You just, light up my whole world, brighten every day!” He paused as he was getting really excited. “I’ve fallen for you Y/n, and I cannot get up. I would really love for you, if you would take me as your boyfriend?” His face almost matched his hair colour. He was bright red, his heart was pounding twice as fast, waiting for your reply.

“Oh, Georgie, of course I would!” Your voice responded, full of love and tenderness. “You don’t know how much I’ve wanted to hear something like that from you. Your humour and kindness, how you see me for who I really am, it’s been amazing getting to spend time with you. So of course! As long as you’ll have me as your girlfriend!” You both laughed. He picked you up into a hug and spun you around. 

When he set you back down, you stayed in each other’s warm embrace for a while. Breathing in each other’s scents, you both appreciated the peacefulness and love that surrounded your atmosphere now.  

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End a/n: I really hope this last one made sense xD. I lost my mind a little trying to write it out. Hope you enjoyed!