#there is absolutely no rhyme reason or order

[rovermcfly]

as you might have heard, this year I'm trying to make monthly spotify playlists with songs (and podcast eps) that I particularly enjoyed that month. please enjoy this chaotic glimpse into my psyche or whatever

[vyingeyes]

Clone Squad Compositions

In the same vein as my 5-trooper-squad (and subsequent Math Consequences) spiral, I have taken the liberty of establishing guidelines for what specialized training each clone in a squad may have.

Initially Domino Squad was my primary reference for this, but I also referenced Delta Squad (and the Bad Batch, to some extent).

For my own worldbuilding consistency, squads consist of 5 troopers:

2 of these troopers are standard infantry

1 information analyst per squad

2 "specialized" troopers per squad

Infantry are the "default"; all troopers receive the same standard required physical and weapons training, but if a clone is not in a special track, he'll have a training period dedicated exclusively to advancing weapons training, formation practice, endurance training, live sims, etc.

Information analysts are the designated "brains" of a squad. If they aren't their squad's lead, they'll work with their squad lead to build and execute plans. Most information analysts will have at least a basic understanding of concepts like splicing and have an advanced understanding of factors such as land formations and native wildlife. They may be less physically imposing than other troopers (by a standard likely unnoticeable by most natborns, but that is recognizable by other troopers), because their specialized training involves little physical strain.

Specialized tracks are a broad range of potential focuses for troopers. Like the other trooper types, these are assigned upon decanting and are only changed in examples of extenuating circumstances (for example, if a squadmate fails out of their original track and is "demoted" to infantry). This category includes tracks such as heavy gunner, engineer, ordnance specialist, medic, scout, pilot, sniper, etc. There are various expectations placed on troopers in certain tracks—scouts must be good runners, snipers have to have an eye for detail, etc. If a clone is incapable of meeting the standard of his track by their third cycle (approx. 6 years old, developmentally), he is removed from his track and becomes infantry. This may also happen to information analysts. In this instance, the original infantry of their squad will be evaluated, and one of them will be inserted into an appropriate track.

For the sake of showing my work:

The Bad Batch exemplify "advanced" versions of some of these tracks. It's presumably that more clones like them would have been developed had they been viewed as "successful" experiments earlier on. Hunter is an advanced scout. Tech is an advanced information analyst. Crosshair is an advanced sniper. I actually think that Wrecker would have been an advanced heavy gunner (big, bulky, able to take a lot and dish it back without too much delay), but found more love in ordnance than rotary weaponry (although he is certainly an expert at both).

Domino Squad is a little tougher, because of how little we see of Cutup and Droidbait (my poor boy barely even died). I think Echo is likely an information analyst, which is primarily due to his technological expertise in TBB (I simply think he would have a more "typical" prosthetic hand by this point if wanted one, so I think he prefers the scomp). I think it's also in line with his characterization in Rookies. He's the one to consider liquid tibanna as a method for destroying the base, solving the problem Hevy raises. Hevy was a heavy gunner, of course. (So is Commander Thorn.) I also believe Hevy was squad lead, and I will die on that hill. Fives is a fun wild card for me. I lean infantry, because nothing else stands out as obvious to me. And also because I think that Droidbait was the other tracked member of their squad. He's clearly got a knack for getting himself into precarious positions that ended up with him having a slightly unfortunate name; I think he's had a little less active-battle training than, say, Cutup and Fives. I imagine him as perhaps a scout or engineer.

And Delta Squad. Fixer is an IA, Scorch is an ordnance specialist, and Sev is a sniper. I would peg Boss as infantry, but I think technically you could make a case for few options since he's the played character and doesn't have a lot of solid character established in the current canon. I could make an argument here reinforcing my 5-squad rule by saying commando squads wouldn't need a second infantry trooper, but this is already long winded and rambling.

Every single trooper OC in my work follows these rules. My Obsidian vault is very convoluted.

[agentmarvel]

center image by @/ave661

PART III

hitman!ghost x fat!reader (afab, fem) w/ arranged marriage

mdni - 18+; minors and ageless blogs will be blocked

rating: explicit

word count: 3,008

cw: simon simps, self-conscious!reader, implied sexual content (thoughts, not actions)

♡

Simon watches from the arched doorway that separates the foyer from his study. The movers glide across the marble floor with precision, weightlessly and without making a sound. They appear and disappear with no rhyme or reason, but the gravity of their presence is felt. It’s almost phantasmagoric. And how fitting it is that he not be the only specter in a home already so full of ghosts.

But like true eidola, he isn’t looking at them - no, no, he’s looking through. In the sea of boxes and dollies, he’s looking at you. You flit about between the manes, trying your hardest to communicate with them. You ask how you can help, what you can do, what they need, and it all goes unanswered. A residual haunting of sorts, milling about like they don’t even know you’re there, keeping strictly to the task at hand. He’d toss you a planchette, but it won’t do any good. The movers are under unflinching orders - Mrs. Riley is not to lift a finger to move her things into her new home.

The frustration is written all over your face. Your brows are furrowed, arms folded across your chest, pretty mouth set into a discontented frown. He sees you let out a sulky huff, almost petulant in nature. Quietly, he chuckles.

He understands that you’re not happy with the situation. Frankly, he can’t imagine what a whirlwind the last few months has been for you. Finding out that your father is not, in fact, an accountant, but rather one of the world’s largest arms dealers is a nasty enough shock on its own; but having a surprise marriage to an absolute stranger sprung on you adds another, more complicated layer. He doesn’t fault your displeasure in the slightest. Maybe you’ll soften up to the changes over time.

Still, your lack of beguile does nothing to temper his cruel amusement. It’s cute, the way you glare at the passers-by who won’t acknowledge you; hell, he half expected you to stick your tongue out at one of them by now. And the way you huff and roll your eyes? You’re like a child on the receiving end of a scalding scolding, temper ticking like a timebomb, and it’s absolutely adorable.

Your eyes lock with his across the room, and Simon gives you a nod of acknowledgement, well aware that you likely aren’t in the mood to chat just yet. At that, your already perturbed expression sours further. He sees a muscle in your jaw tick tighter. The tips of your fingers curl into your palm firmly. Your clenched fists remain at your sides as you storm towards him unflinchingly. The movers part accordingly.

“I want a divorce,” you announce militantly, planting yourself in front of him with a steely stare.

Simon can’t help but chuckle, shaking his head as he says, “Not an option, love.”

“Why not? It’s an option for everyone else.”

You’re remarkably even-tempered in confrontation, he’ll give you that. Even if the edges of your facade crack beneath the weight of your voice.

“Not for us.”

“Oh, come on! Don’t give me that shit! You’ve fulfilled whatever fucking weird obligation this is, and I’d like to get back to my own life.”

Despite the snarling, teeth bared like a rabid dog ready to rip him to pieces, you must not have inherited your father’s penchant for petulance. You’ve yet to stamp your foot, throw yourself on the cold floor, or start screaming bloody murder until you get your way. You’ve yet to even shed a tear, despite the waves of obvious fury coursing through you. He can see the watery waves forming in your lash line, but you’re trying your damnedest not to show any signs of weakness. Simon respects that.

When you speak again, you’re quieter, calmer. The heave of your chest subsides, a storm of rage quelled with honey instead of vinegar.

“Look, I don’t know what sort of dirt my dad has on you to force you into this, but I promise I can keep him quiet, okay? I’ll take all the blame for it; I’ll tell him you fought tooth and nail against it. I’ll - “

“He didn’t force me,” Simon responds straight away. It’s appalling, the thought that you would just assume this was entirely involuntary, like you were somehow unworthy or undeserving. He figured that your father would’ve at least told you that he chose you.

A look of bewilderment crosses your sweet face just briefly.

“What?”

“Look at me, love; you really think anyone’s going to force me to do anythin’ I don’t wanna?”

You shrink back a hair, shoulders falling from their tense, raised position.

“No, I-I suppose not…” You blink, suddenly avoidant of looking him in the eye. Anxious and notably bothered, you wrap your arms around yourself. Simon swears he can see the pieces of the puzzle slotting together behind your eyes. Gently, he tugs at the sleeve of your cardigan, jerking his head down the hall as he turns on his heel.

“C’mon, I’ll show you to your room.”

“My room?” You sound surprised.

“What, you thought I’d make you share my bed? M’not a monster, sweetheart. You’re welcome to crawl in with me any time you like, but I’m sure you’d prefer your own space for now, yeah?”

Simon swears he can feel the heat radiating off your face from behind him. You stutter out a response he doesn’t quite catch, but the way your words catch has him biting the inside of his cheek to disguise his levity. Still, a lopsided little smirk sneaks through.

You tag along at his heel, following him silently until he guides you up a flight of stairs and stops outside a closed door. He can feel your eyes burning a hole in the side of his skull. The tips of his fingers close around the knob, metal not uttering even a hint of displeasure under his grip, and he pushes the door open before stepping aside. Gesturing you forward, he waits until you’ve crossed the threshold to accompany you.

It’s one of his favorite rooms, he’ll admit. What once sat as an unused auxiliary office for the boys has been gutted, morphed into a dream. The walls went from boring beige to a deep, rich green. High ceilings were scraped of their texture and plated with antique bronze tiles, the vague tinge of oxidation complementing the hardware fixed to every piece of furniture. An espresso stained dresser matches the vanity, the latter of which has an ornate mirror affixed - one Simon prays you’ll use to learn to worship yourself the same way he intends to when you’re ready to allow him. Headboard secured to the wall with the utmost caution, a king-sized mattress sits atop a sturdy sable frame, its four ornately-carved posts hosting a silken mesh canopy. The way it hangs reminds him of the house robe he purchased for you, the very one hanging inside the closet right now. He won’t tell you it’s there, though; he’ll leave it for you to find.

The weeks worth of research and hard work that went into making the room perfect for you were well-spent, based on the look of absolute wonderment on your face.

God, you’re fucking precious. Simon wants to spit out the words on the tip of his tongue and drink down your speechlessness. You’re absolutely fucking darling in the way you take in every inch of the space, awestruck and silently appreciating his efforts as your eyes rove the intricate crown molding, fingers skating across the black satin drapes that match your sheets, sweet mouth falling open in a gasp as you find the first of many surprises he’s left for you - a large vase filled with bat orchids and black baccara roses.

“Thank you, Mr. Riley,” you say softly, a little wobble in your voice. You’re not teary-eyed, but certainly overwhelmed with an emotion he can’t identify on sound alone.

“Just Simon, love.” He hopes the correction will prompt you to repeat it. He wants to know what it sounds like when you say his name.

Instead, you offer a soft, bittersweet smile, nodding.

“Bathroom’s right through that door there.” He gestures towards the stunning en suite that affords you sufficient privacy, far more than you’d receive if you were to share his. 

Clearly that aspect was not thought through entirely; the mental image of you joining him for a shower, dripping wet in more ways than one, flashes behind his eyes. Your hair clinging to your face, pillars of steam shifting and swirling with your every forced exhale, the way your pleas and whimpers would echo through the cavernous space - it’s enough to make him start to chub up in his slacks.

He shakes his head a little and clears his throat.

“Dinner’ll be ready at 6:00 sharp. Got some work things to handle before then, so you’ll have some time to yourself. Rest, unpack, do whatever you want; we’ll go over the rules after dinner, and I’ll show you the rest of the house.”

“Rules?” That caught your attention.

“Yeah.” You prod him with a questioning look, but he doesn’t bend. He doesn’t elaborate, reiterating that he’ll answer any questions you have after dinner. When you don’t press him further, he explains that his office is just down the stairs. If you need him, come get him. Doesn’t matter what for, whether it’s something as simple as asking a question or help with moving a heavy box. Otherwise, the dining room is just off the foyer, and he’ll meet you there in a few hours.

He turns to leave, but your soft voice asking him to wait a moment draws him back.

“What is it, dove?”

You’re silent, but you look like you want to say something, teeth worrying your lower lip as you wring your hands. He cocks his head to the side, brows furrowing with a look of implore. You sigh.

“I… I’m sorry, Simon, about earlier. This is a lot, and I’m still trying to make sense of all of it. I didn’t mean to snap at you like that.”

He waves you off, shaking his head. 

“Nothin’ to apologize for,” he answers. “Lot to process, take the time to sort it out, yeah?”

You nod, a little sheepish, and he slips out the door, broad shoulders hiding the fact that he’s palming himself as he walks away.

♡

He’s just finishing his meticulous plating of dinner when you come around the corner. It’s 5:59, the clock ticking over to exactly 6:00 the moment he places the second plate on the table top.

Your tired eyes find his mid-yawn and stretch, and Simon is reduced to a puddle of a man as he takes you in.

An oversized sleep shirt hangs off one of your shoulders - one big enough to be his - obscuring your comely curves in a way that ought to be outlawed. Your tiny shorts barely peek out beneath the hem, the width of your delectable thighs concealing more fabric than exposed. He imagines your socks were pulled up past your knees when you put them on, but they’ve managed to slouch just below, an egregious error of gravity that he’d gladly get on his own knees to correct.

It’s nauseating, the way his granite form crumbles at your feet. Bones of iron melt pliable and his alkaline blood turns to liquid magma. His mouth runs dry like the Sahara, begging for a taste of you to quench the savage thirst. 

Simon is not a soft man, and yet, you’ve created a crater in his chest the size of your palm. Touch him; your fingers will slot just so in the impression. Dig a little deeper, and you’ll find a hollow cavity. The heart that couldn’t flourish there sprouted roots, planting itself in your hands. He barely knows you, but every fiber of his being reaches for you, like vines of ivy climbing towards the sun. He’s content to allow it as long as your warmth stays near.

“What’s all this?” you ask softly, a faint smile tugging at your lips.

“Cacio e pepe, chicken instead of pasta, with a nice pecorino romano risotto,” he replies coolly, gesturing to the empty seat in front of you. “Your mum told me you love Italian, so I thought it’d be a nice welcome meal.”

“That’s so sweet of you, Simon; thank you.” Your voice wobbles a little, thick with emotion. Hesitance takes hold of your hands as they wrap around the back of the chair. The muscles in your forearms twitch. Simon can see your gears turning, a battling raging on behind your eyes.

Patiently, he watches, waiting to see which side will win. Hell, he’d like to know who’s fighting to begin with.

“Oh, I-I should really go change,” you finally whisper, doubt clouding your downcast eyes. “I’m not dressed appropriately. You made such a nice dinner, and I look - ”

“Nothin’ wrong with what you’re wearing now.” It’s a challenge, daring you to argue. His expression is titanium.

With a frantic, trembling hand, you wipe a stray tear off your cheek. You look like you’re on the verge of a break, cracking under a pressure that Simon isn’t applying. He shifts around the edge of the table, moving in behind you like a mirage in the blink of an eye. His fingers curl around yours, gently prying your hands from the chair. A shudder runs through your body. The hiccup that follows gives you away. It’s a sob. And he’ll be damned if he isn’t the kintsugi to the fractures in your psyche.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, squeezing your hands. You shake your head, sniffling. “C’mon, sweetheart, look at me, yeah? Lemme see those pretty eyes.”

You make a half-turn, and Simon’s quick to release your far hand, instead settling his palm against your back to rub little circles.

“Atta girl; good job…” Soothing. Calm. “Just breathe, alright? Everything’s okay.”

That’s not what he wants to say. He wants to say that you’re safe, that he’ll fix your fragile pieces and make you whole again, that he’ll cut the tongue out of anyone who ever tries to make his wife feel inferior again. But he can’t say any of that right now, so he doesn’t.

“I’m sorry,” you sigh, pulling a hand free to swipe at your cheeks with the back of it. “I promise I’m not always like this. I’m just tired; I wasn’t thinking about my clothes, I - “

“Stop.” Firm. Gentle. “I don’t care what you wear. If you’re comfortable, you don’t need to change. Dinner together ain’t a big formal event. You haven’t eaten all day, so let’s eat before the food gets cold, yeah?”

You stare at him for a moment, face blank and eyes vacant. Unshed tears are blinked back.

“Yeah… Yeah, okay.”

But you don’t move. You don’t shy away from the way his fingertips graze your spine in spirals. You don’t look away from him, eyes locked on molten honey. His tongue twitches behind his teeth, a vicious need to devour settling into his jaw.

God, he wants to eat you alive, swallow you whole. A bright-eyed little rabbit caught in the maw of an anaconda. You’d taste so sweet, wouldn’t you? The mess between your thighs would match the shimmery streaks on your cheeks, and Simon would do nothing but make it worse. He’d not rest until you’re dripping against his open mouth, face slick with your arousal, legs shaking as they frame his head. You’d have to beg him to stop, too overwhelmed to speak properly, throat screamed raw and gripping the sheets with enough force to tear. That’s the only time he ever wants to see you cry.

Gently, Simon guides your hands from the back of the chair. He pulls it out for you to sit, and you do so unceremoniously with a whispered gratitude.

He settles across the table, unhesitant to dig into his plate. It’s better this way; keeps his mouth occupied so he doesn’t continue to salivate over his darling little wife. You take your first bite shortly after and make a noise that does nothing for his growing erection.

“Simon, this is really fucking good.” Your hand covers your mouth as you speak. It’s hushed and meek, but your sincerity is written in the delicately creasing threads at the corners of your eyes.

“Thank you,” he answers, amused. “Good to know someone appreciates my hard work.”

“You made this yourself?” You sound surprised, and Simon chuckles.

“That I did. Quite enjoy cooking for special occasions.”

“Is this a special occasion?”

He nods.

“‘Course it is.”

You’re quiet for a moment, a thoughtful expression present. The faintest smile tugs at the corner of your mouth. When your eyes meet his, though, you break contact immediately, looking back down at your plate to spear another bite with that same soft grin.

“Color me surprised,” you murmur. “I thought for sure you’d have a chef.”

Simon hums.

“Bold assumption.”

“Oh, come on! Look at your house! Is that so unreasonable?” You titter, faux exasperation lacing your tone.

“Our house,” he corrects. “And we do have a chef. I gave him the night off.”

You fall silent at that, face morphing into something unreadable, no discernable direction of affect. It worries Simon just briefly, like he’s said the wrong thing. But he’s not wrong, not really. Everything of his is yours now, too - his home, his money, his empire, his heart. It’s all yours. Truthfully, there’s nothing in this world that he wouldn’t give to you. He’s your husband now; that sort of apathy would be a dereliction of his duties.

“Our house,” you parrot, mulling over the taste. That saccharine little simper returns, and you draw your lower lip between your teeth, trying to hide a degree of mirth.

Maybe you’ll come around to all of this sooner than he thought.

Maybe you’ll fall just as hard just as fast.

part iv

[trulyumai]

Oh, Mr Mosses (Series)

Part One: (Author Note towards the end!)

Synopsis: You were fine with the job, the steps were easy enough but the secret of the D.D.D was getting harder and harder to contain. Each night a new entity would enter the building, each with its own horrific look and intentions. Just as you debate on leaving, a new resident has entered the premise; Francis Mosses who is absolutely entranced by your being. Not only that, it seems his “mimic,” is obsessed with you too.

Will you be as smitten of them as they are of you? In the end, who will you choose? Only time will tell.

Oh, Mr. Mosses I

It was simple: check the ID, match the numbers and appearance, ask them questions to form an alibi, push the red or green button. Yet, as she stared at the blood soaked neighbor, she reconsidered her options; the job at hand. He was scratched, bruised and covered with layers of dried blood.

The smell seeped through the glass somehow, spoiling her thoughts and pushing away any rhyme or reason. She gagged, carefully covered her mouth and started her task at hand. 

“Mr. Peachman,” She began, a cough flooding her senses, “The… blood, are you okay?” 

The said man did nothing but stare back, his unwavering eyes were bloodshot and wide. Finally letting a cough escape her she glanced towards the lockdown button, until a bloodied and battered hand slammed against the window in front of her. 

“I'm real,” He said. “I'm REAL, REAL REAL REAL,” 

“Mr Peachman-” “REAL, REAL REAL,”

Quickly she pushed the lockdown button, a metal screen blocked her vision from the man and she quickly slid her fingers over to the dial, calling the D.D.D as quick as her shaking hands would let her.

“Hello, yes, there's an intruder on the base floor, no, yes he is sealed, okay thank you.”

The wait was the worst part. How eerily silent everything got and then a knock. Three taps were signaled on the metal casing to let her know the job had been done, the neighbor had been confiscated. 

With a sigh she leaned forward, just until her forehead pressed against the wooden desk, scratching it lightly with each intake of breath she let in. It was hard, keeping this from the other residents. Sometimes they would ask, question why there would be random alarms, random screaming. She would start to sweat, always responding with the same thing. “Ah well we are in a busy city, afterall,” most of them would take that answer, although hesitantly. 

There was a new face amongst the regulars, he was quiet she noticed. Most of the time she wasn't on schedule when he ran through, but she would see glances of him from time to time, always leaving before her shift. In all white he had a somewhat of a thin build, his shoulders were strong, firm against the buttoned up shirt that he seemed to wear everyday. His eyes were tired, more so than hers and she wondered if that was because of his job or him. 

The night had started off bleak, a neighbor came in with sewn up eyes and a mouth, she didn't even attempt to ask it a question before shutting down the doors and calling the D.D.D. They didn't do as clear a job as they normally would, splatters of blood littered the wall in front of the main desk and she winced. She'd have to clean that up later. 

Rubbing her temples she let her eyes close, maybe within the month she could afford to quit, to move and find another job, another life. Maybe she coul-

“Mmm. Hello.” A deep and somber voice broke her out of her thoughts, with a jolt she glanced up, only to be met with tired eyes and a light frown. “Ah, hello Mr,” She glanced at the schedule

“Mosses,” he muttered. 

“Mr. Mosses, yes, it's nice to meet you, I always see you around but, it seems are schedules are always the opposite.” She was rambling, a bad habit she found when reading and comparing ID numbers. 

“Yes, it's nice to meet you.” Seeing nothing wrong she finally glanced back up to meet his gaze. 

“Everything looks in order Mr. Mosses, you're free to go!” She smiled, slotting the paper through the thinly made entrance.

“Mmm, thank you.” Without meaning to, his fingers collided with hers, his fatigue was weighing on him and he could feel his face flush with embarrassment. With his paper back in his wallet he shuffled awkwardly before returning his gaze on the woman. She was pretty, he noticed, too pretty for a place like this. Her hair perfectly framed her face, her eyes, although tired were beautiful, he couldn't stop himself from staring until a clear of her throat broke him of the trance.

“Are you okay, Mr. Mosses?” He winced, he hated that name, although it sounded pretty coming from her lips.

“Francis,” He whispered, unable to break free of her, her arms, hands, neck, jesus those-

“Francis,” She smiled. He swore he could die happily right there, in that miserable outfit with his miserable job, he could go happily as long as he could look at her. 

“Have a good night, hope to see you soon!” 

Walking away he felt shame, said nothing but nodded his head as he mashed the elevator button. All he did was stare like a freak, someone like her would never be romantically involved with him. He’s a milkman for god's sake, and yes, they're still around.  

Walking to his floor he swore right then and there, he would change his whole schedule if he could just see her for seconds at a time.

A/N:

Hi everyone, I hope you liked the first part to the series! I love this game and it’s mysterious neighbors so I wanted to take a shot and write about everyone’s favorite milkman. I’m trying to write him to be obsessed yet in love, I don’t want it to be overwhelming or weird. A quick warning this series will get more heated and violent, as the mimics do have murderous intent.

Thanks for all your support and the next part will be up soon! Much love, TrulyUmai

[vibratingskull]

Honestly, Thrawn needs to be terribly smitten to tease her about her crush like that 👀 I am here for it, I love smitten Thrawn!

Thrawn x F!reader

"You cannot play this card on top of the one I played, Commander (F/n).” Grand Admiral Thrawn tightly smiles. 

You look at him up and down incredulous, before slouching back against the shuttle wall in complete defeat. 

“Maker...” You falsely cry “I can’t understand what I can and cannot play.”

Thrawn shakes his head, rearranging his own hand. You look at the game lying on the mattress before you, trying to find the logic and pattern to play correctly. This is a Chiss card game playable alone or with partners and Thrawn was allowed to snatch a pack before his exile . 

To not become crazy right away, you imagine... 

This is a beautiful deck of cards with delicate acrylic paintings of flowers from Chiss worlds and Cheuhn written on it with a number. 

But you cannot read Cheuhn, which is a core mechanic. 

Thrawn explained the rules four times and you agreed to play without understanding a single thing so as not to drain his patience, but you went completely blind, not understanding the rhymes and reasons for each stroke. 

Thrawn appears quite amused as you pull your hair out before these cards. 

“Let me see your hand, I will guide you.” He leans towards you to get a better view of your cards. 

You look at him scandalized, pressing the carefully drawn cards against your breast to hide them from his eyes. 

“I can’t! Then you will know all my hand and obliterate me entirely!” You protest. 

His gaze meets yours as he squints, gauging you, taking back his former position without departing from his small grin. 

“I am already winning.” 

You wince, looking at your hand. There are families, orders, and classes of cards, something about which colors can go on which colors, and then there is the matter of numbers. You sigh, if only you could read Cheuhn you could offer a better combat to the Grand Admiral, but you are clueless in this language! 

“You’ll see! I will beat you!” You grumble, the smoke of deep focus evacuating via your ears. 

“I admire your tenacity, Commander.” 

You accepted to play this game to entertain and please your superior, and because playing something culturally significant for him gives you the illusion of being close to that remarkable man. 

Maybe, just maybe, you are one of the very few in the Empire who got the privilege to play this game with him... All alone in this borderline claustrophobic shuttle. 

You are back from a stealth mission and Commodore Faro almost tried to prevent him from going himself and to keep him safe behind the thick walls of the Chimaera. But like you, she knows that when he decides something, nothing will make him budge. 

Not even his personal security. 

If a mission of any nature needs him specifically, he will go as many times as needed, Grand Admiral or not! 

And you hold him in high regard for that! So many higher officers hide behind their ranks to not descend to the meatgrinder, but Grand Admiral Thrawn goes in, gets his hands dirty and the work done! You have so much respect for him! For his cunning attitude, intelligence, and of course his tactical genius! Serving under him is the highest honor and privilege of your career! 

No... 

Of your whole life! 

And the fact that he requested you among his entire crew to follow and help him in this mission flatters your ego better than any praise or medals, sending your heart into an absolute frenzy! He noticed you and your competencies and judged you trustworthy enough to help and protect his life. 

You gulp to try and calm down and pick one red flower card, but before putting it down you show it to Thrawn. He gently shakes his head. 

“Neither.” 

You sigh, your shoulders lowering, detailing your flowers trying to find the ones you can put down. 

“Do you want to start over or play an Imperial card game?” He proposes mercifully. 

“No!” You decide, “No, no, no, no, no, no! I got this, I will find the right ones and beat you!” You greet your teeth. 

This is just a stupid game! A game with flowers no less! An Imperial officer should be able to understand and play such a card game! 

“This is not an easy game, Commander. It demands elegance, culture, and tactics, it is imbued with Chiss’ rich traditions and history, you cannot master it in a single trip.” 

“Are you implying I lack culture and elegance, Grand Admiral?” You demand, raising your eyebrow at him suspiciously. 

He chuckles. 

“Absolutely not, Commander (F/n). I was simply noting that it is a game full of meaning for Chiss and you do not have the background to decode entirely.” 

Your nostril flares as your hand glides back and forth over your cards. You hesitate, until you choose one out of nowhere and slap it on the the other cards, full of determination. 

“This one!” 

Thrawn extends his neck to see the card, before nodding in approval. 

“You can play this one indeed.” 

“Yes!” You shout, excited, “I am starting to get it!” 

“You do. A little.” He grins, picks a card from his hand, and places it on the game, “But not enough to win I am afraid. But to be fair, you already play better than our first game, Commander.” 

His card doesn’t make sense with the logic flourishing in your brain, meaning you are still not understanding the rules!  

You grumble, ready to throw your cards in the air, and walk away from the game. But this is a really small shuttle, you do not even have enough space for a table and chairs, which is why you are playing on the lower mattress of the sleeping cabin, so close to your Grand Admiral, his higher body heat slowly warming up the microscopic room with waves as his heart calmly pumps blood... 

Very close. 

Dangerously close even. 

Way too close for your sanity and for you to fully focus on those game rules! How could you focus on game tactics when you are forced to be physically close to such a man? 

To your crush? 

To the dearest to your heart? 

You remember the Grand Admiral or Commodore Faro mentioning Chiss can see heat signals on someone’s face and body, and you are praying really, really hard it is a lie or that you misheard! Because if it is true... 

“Your turn, (F/n).” Thrawn calls you back to reality. 

You look down at the game where he laid a violet flower card with the number three. 

Again, no rhyme or reason found in your scrambled brain... 

“You seem unfocused.” Thrawn’s deep voice reaches your ears, flustering you even more. 

You pick a new card and show him again, trying to get a grip of yourself and not melt on the sheets at each of his suave words. 

He shakes his head, his small smile still on his lips. 

“Explain to me the logic of your tactic.” He demands softly, “I will lead you.” 

“I will be honest, at that point I just choose pretty cards and hope they can work.” You laugh at yourself. 

He squints at you, his shining red eyes providing as much light as the bulbs around the small sleeping room. But his grin remains... 

“You mean you let art guide your choice?” He demands. 

“I guess I do, Sir.” You laugh more, “I am sure you can understand me on this one!” 

“Indeed I do.” He seems to approve of your ‘tactic’, despite it making no sense, “Do you allow me a little experiment?” He inquires, his position subtly shifting. 

“Sure.” You shrug. 

“I will let you play any cards you want without telling you if it is in accordance with the rules.” 

“But... Then we are not playing anymore. This party will lose all of its meaning.” You tilt your head. 

“Please,” He gently insists, “Humor me...(Y/n).” 

You gulp. 

Grand Admiral Thrawn very rarely uses your first name and when he does it is really serious. 

“All right...” You accept, a bit on edge. 

Is that you or did he just... slightly get closer? 

Nah, it’s surely you! 

You put a new card down. 

He responds. 

You lay a second you find quite pretty and he tilts his head at it before adding one of his. 

It continues for several exchanges, your eyes focus on the paintings, trying to pair his cards with yours, making pleasant pairs of flowers like you would make a bouquet. 

You raise back your eyes to look at your Grand Admiral, tense and nervous. But he appears quite relaxed, in total control, and he responds to each card without hesitations. He harbors the exact same expression he has when hunts down your enemies, serein, focused, determined, making you melt on the spot.   

You try your best not to let your inner turmoil appear, but being so close to him is a real trial!  Again, you beg whatever superior being that might exist that Chiss can’t read heat signals because your face must be bright red in his eyes right now! 

He sits closer on the mattress, worsening your situation. 

“Fascinating.” He murmures, “Absolutely... Enlightening.” 

“What? What can you see?” You demand, feeling a peek of stress in your body and a cold, nervous sweat on the back of your neck. 

He does not answer but keeps responding to each card you put down. You keep going, wondering what he is testing. 

Or rather, you know that he is testing you, obviously, but what part of you is he analyzing like that? What can he discover through a card game? You know he can derive crazy tactics with art pieces, but can he psychoanalyze someone just with their choice of flower pictures? 

Can he psychoanalyze you? 

You feel your blood beating in your temple and rib cage, your palms getting sweaty as the rest of your body with such tension. Thrawn naturally higher body temperature doesn’t help one bit! And he is so close, his musk fills your nose and invades your lungs making you see stars... 

You internally shake your head, like he would ever look at you differently than a subaltern! Do not confuse and hurt yourself with such ‘What if?’ scenario girl! 

Focus on the cards! 

At some point, having gathered so much momentum, you both lay your cards at the same instant and your hands brush inadvertently. You take yours away right this second, but Thrawn’s hand hovers over the cards on the grounds for a second longer like he was shocked. 

You bite your lips, turning your head towards him in hopes you did not offend him but you discover his gorgeous face illuminated with a contented, cheeky smile. Your eyes round up at that sight! 

Why might he smile in such a way? He looks... Satisfied? 

At least he isn’t disgusted or offended by anything he saw in these cards. That is a relief! But why such a pleased expression? What is he seeing? 

You loom over the cards to look at them closely, trying to solve that riddle by yourself.  

“Can I see your last card?” He asks gently. 

You look down at your hand, realizing you only have one card left indeed. You look at it. It is not exactly a flower but a plant of large green leaves with blue veins, and pearly red buds on a stem. You turn the card to his sight, question in your eyes. 

His tight smile simply stretches ever so slightly and his red eyes are now shining so much his pupils are invisible in the deep red light. 

“Truly enthralling...” That is his only comment. 

“What? Will you tell me what this is all about?” You ask on the edge of your seat. 

“Maybe...” 

You pout. His satisfied expression doesn’t disappear as he unconsciously makes his last card turn between his fingers. 

“Can I see yours?” You open your palms to receive it. 

He gives it a last glance with a lopsided grin and puts it in his chest pocket, hiding it from you. 

“No.” 

“That is not fair, Sir!” You protest. 

“It is not a matter of fairness, (Y/n). But I thank you for your cooperation, I am thoroughly pleased by my discovery.” He muses, clearly pleased with himself. 

Which is quite rare. He usually keeps his mood well hidden behind the mask of professionalism. 

You gruff, pressing your knees against your chest, boots on the mattress, pouting even more! He gets to psychoanalyze you all he wants and doesn’t even explain what this is all about! 

His hand slides under your chin to gently seize it and make you turn your head towards him. 

“Do not sulk, (Y/n). It does not suit your gorgeous face.” 

Did...Did he just say that? Or is there a gas leak in the shuttle and you are in a state of delirium, hallucinating this interaction? 

“I beg your pardon... Sir?” You inquire in a breath. 

His thumb brushes your chin before caressing your lower lips, parting it slightly. You feel your heart ready to burst through your rib cage, goosebumps slowly flourishing on your thin skin. 

“This is an interesting idiom you just chose.” A faint purr emanates from his large chest and thick throat, “Begging...”  

“It-It is just a simple expression, Sir. It means nothing specific or-” 

His thumb caresses your entire lower lips before his large hand moves to grab your cheek gently, almost... Tenderly. You gulp, feeling ready to combust on the spot. 

What is going on? Why is he doing that all of a sudden?  

Is he... 

Flirting? 

With you? 

No. 

It must be another test! Grand Admiral Thrawn doesn’t ‘flirt’, he doesn’t have the time for that! He doesn’t strike you as the type to go for love stories or even simple flings. This man is focused on his work and the future and nothing else! 

Anything else is an unnecessary distraction to him. 

But his hand is still gently brushing your cheek right now and he seems to lean forward, closer and closer than your confused self. 

“I would enjoy discovering how you... ‘Beg’ in other settings.” He caresses your cheekbone, unmistakably getting closer and closer. 

“Sir?!” You gasp, out of your depths. 

He tilts his head, cheeky amusement in his burning red eyes. 

“What is the matter, (Y/n)? You seem so flustered all of a sudden, am I troubling you?” He asks, his melodious voice going even deeper than usual, with a lascivious tone. 

“Are you- Yes you are ?!” You protest, your inner temperature rising dangerously, feeling cornered like prey between the wall and his mighty body. 

“You look absolutely adorable flustered in such way. Detailing your expression is such a delight, I feel like I am admiring a masterpiece.” 

“You... Wha-why?” You can only mumble as he pushes all the cards off the bed with a large arm movement, getting closer and closer. 

You try to go back as he moves forward only for him to grip your shoulders and push you against the mattress, hovering over you completely. You feel your heart drumming almost painfully in your chest as he devours you with his red eyes. 

Eyes full of dark energies and hunger lies deep down in them. And his stern expression seems harder than usual... 

This time he is truly on the hunt. 

What the hell is going on? 

“Sir?” You let out weakly. 

One of his hands releases your shoulder to cup your cheek once again, caressing it fondly. His carnivorous expression softens for a smile to grace his lips. 

“I know, (Y/n).” He whispers with a voice so deep you feel your core contracting, making you press your legs to silence it, “I know everything.” 

“Wha-What do you know, Sir? I do not understand.” You plead for Reason to come back in this exchange. 

“Your feelings... The frenzy of your heart when you look in my direction, the warmth spreading in your body when you are in my vicinity, the tremors of your voice when you speak to me. I know since the beginning.” 

Your eyes open like saucers in sheer despair. 

“Please, tell me this is a sick joke...” You beg as your throat goes dry instantly. 

He KNOWS? 

You want to disappear in a mouse hole or for the ground to swallow you entirely! You are going to die of SHAME! 

You press your hands on your eyes with a yelp. You can’t look him in the eyes, it would kill you instantly. 

For sole response, you only hear a short snigger before feeling warm lips kissing your forehead. 

“There is no need to feel ashamed, (Y/n). This is all I ever asked for.” 

You separate two fingers to see through them, discovering his handsome face right over yours, his shiny rubies fixated on you like you were a treasure or something. 

“... What?” You ask with shameful voice. 

He shows you your last card. 

“Commitment.” He opens his chest pocket to take out his last card, reveling a pure white flower with golden veins and large delicate petals, “To cherish and adore.”  

You observe the two paintings, his translation resonating in your ears like a loud bang. You closed back your fingers, hiding from him again with a whistly breath. 

“Do you think this entire situation is an accident?” He tilts his head, amused, “I chose you for this mission according to my plan, I chose this small shuttle purposefully, we are playing this specific game by my design. I wanted... No, I needed to be sure. I needed to know for certain for whom your heart is beating for (Y/n).” He explains patiently but with an edge to his tone. 

Almost like... Pleading. 

“Look into my eyes, face me (Y/n). Do not deprive me of your gaze.” He lowers himself to softly kiss your hands still on your eyes, “Let me admire the face of the woman who ravished my heart...” 

You cower under him. 

What is he even saying? 

Was your theory about the gas leak true? 

His hand gently grabs yours to pull them out of his way, revealing your flustered visage to his hungry eyes. He lets out a sigh of contentment, kissing the tip of your nose before pressing his forehead with yours, hypnotizing you with his red sight. 

“Allow me at least to speak my truth. Whatever happens next is entirely up to you, (Y/n). I will not force you into anything, you have my words.” 

You gulp, opening your mouth to at least say something only for your words to die at the gates of your lips. 

“I love you, (Y/n). As I stopped hoping to love one day... Having you every day at my side, and having your constant loyal support helped me carry through more than you can ever imagine. Your presence helps calm down my mind and brings peace to my soul, I wish for nothing more but to live the remainder of my life with you...” He confesses, holding your hands close to his heart, “Will you allow it?” 

You blink several time, looking at him at a loss for words. 

“... Is that a dream?” You can’t help but ask. 

He gives you a lopsided snarky grin and pinches your cheek. 

“Ouchouchouch! Okay, okay!” You complain. 

He releases your cheek to caress it with his knuckles, the dark desires in his eyes melting to something softer and more... Vulnerable. 

Hope. 

“I am serious, (Y/n). I hoped to get my response during this mission and now I know for certain. But I need your consent to pursue this relationship. Do we have a future together in your heart?” 

“I...” You start before falling mute. 

Your stomach is in so many knots it is almost painful. Your entire body is tense like a bowstring you feel ready to break. 

Grand Admiral Thrawn is confessing to you? 

And this is not a dream? 

How are you even supposed to respond to that? You are beyond elated, but you did not even dare consider yourself his friend or to have any significance in his eyes and he jumps to sharing the remainder of your lives together? 

This is too much at once! You cannot wrap your head around so much at the same time! 

“Am I supposed to answer right now?” You ask a little affraid. 

He shakes his head with a comforting expression. 

“Of course not, (Y/n). You may take all the time you need to answer me, I will wait for you. For years if needs be. But I will be here, to receive and honor your response, whatever it is.” 

“All right... Then I will think about it... for a bit.” You nod slowly,  trying to pick yourself and your mind up after such a revelation. 

A chance he forced you down the mattress, you would have felt dangerously dizzy after his confession... 

“Thank you, (Y/n). This means a lot to me.” He brings one of your hands to his lips that he devoutly kisses, his eyes closed like he is savoring this instant, “Do I have your consent to embrace you?” he asks with subtle hopes in the tone. 

You consider him for several second before unintentionally sniggering. 

“You cornered me, pushed me on the bed, kissed my face and now you are asking my consent for a hug?” You cannot help but mock a little. 

“This was incredibly inappropriate and I present you my sincere excuses for my actions. This will not happen again.” He humbly admits, “I will leave you in peace and undisturbed for the rest of the trip.”  

True to his words he starts moving away to leave you in peace, but in some sort of panick you can't understand yourself you grab his shoulders to yank him back down, pressing his tall and large body against yours, crushing you under his weight. 

You only realize you actually just did that when you reopen your eyes, your head in the crook of his neck, hearing his short breath in your ears. 

“Hum...Sorry.” You giggle embarrassed, “I don’t know what came over me just now.” 

You do not release him for all that. 

“It is all right.” He hums, his arms sneaking under you delicately to hold and embrace you properly for the very first time. 

He is so warm and his skin is so smooth and soft against your cheek. You circle his neck and dive your nose in the crook of his neck to inhale his musk again. 

Maker how does he smells so good ? 

His embrace tightens slightly in response but remains incredibly gentle as you expect from such a delicate and elegant man. 

You both remain silent in this small room, holding on to each other like you were the only two tangible beings in the entire universe, until... 

“Are you... Purring, Sir?” You ask dumfounded. 

The notes of his chuckle rise like a melody in the room as he brushes his nose to your ear. 

“Yes, I am.” He admits, “Keep that fact to yourself please, no one but you needs to know that about me.” 

“All right, Sir. I will keep it a secret.” 

“Please,” He asks lovingly, “Drop the ‘Sir’ and ‘Grand Admiral’ when we are alone. I want you to refer to me as an equal, (Y/n). I want to hear my name with your voice again and again if you allow it...” and he tenderly kisses your exposed neck, sending shiver down your spine. 

You do not know where you are going with this. You do not even know how the rest of this trip will unfold between you two. 

You just know being in his embrace is the most warm and soft place in the Universe, and you do not want to leave it for a second. 

@bluechiss @thrawnalani @justanothersadperson93 @al-astakbar @thrawnspetgoose @readinglistfics @elise2174 @debonaire-princess @twilekchiss @pencil-urchin@ineedazeezee @dance-like-russia-isnt-watching @obbicrystaleo @germie2037 @leo4242564@davesrightshoe @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni

[bridenore]

HD Wireless 2024 recs

Here are some of my favorite fics from @hd-wireless 2024. Listed in alphabetical order.

Closing Time by @sweet-s0rr0w [18k]

Draco’s been invited to Neville’s stag party in Bristol, and he's confident he knows what to expect. There’ll be too many Gryffindors, for starters, plus a few humiliating team-building activities, some dodgy clubs, and a truly preposterous level of alcohol consumption. But… a drunken Harry Potter climbing into Draco's bed when he’s having a wank? No, he definitely didn't see that coming...

Heartbeat by eight_of_wands / @saxamophone [22k]

Harry hates Draco. Draco hates Harry. Only it's not hate, not even a little bit. Featuring: a cooperative independent study, golden hour on wrecked sheets, water from fountains of dubious origin, purple Mardi Gras beads, and a bird with silly legs. Also featuring: heated arguments, infidelity, unquenchable desire, and heartbreak. Over and over again.

How to Begin by @wolfpants [8k]

Harry is completely, pathetically besotted with his flatmate, Draco. Fuelled by liquid courage, he finally makes his move when he's absolutely sozzled. What could possibly go wrong?

The most he’s ever said by @fastbrother [16k]

It takes them twenty years.

Say When by @lqtraintracks [24k]

When Auror Harry Potter is sent in undercover to determine if Draco Malfoy is laundering money through his BDSM club, will he be able to keep up the ruse and close the case? Or, more to the point, will he keep from falling in love?

Too Good At Raising Hell by @the-sinking-ship [87k]

When Harry Potter walks into Draco’s nightclub looking like trouble, Draco can’t stop staring. He really ought to train his dick not to react so enthusiastically to red flags, but where would be the fun in that?

Two Houses by @tackytigerfic [11k]

Two households, both alike in... meddling Floo connections, apparently? Draco Malfoy is a highly professional and well-respected Ministry official, with a demanding schedule, a loving son, and—through no fault of his own—a faulty Floo connection that keeps regurgitating the Minister for Magic through his fireplace.

Us, infinite (unfortunately) by @thecouchsofa [77k]

It’s very fitting for how Harry’s life has gone thus far that he gets trapped in a time loop without rhyme, reason, or warning. To make matters infinitely worse, the one other person stuck on the same hellish chronological ride is Draco Malfoy, git extraordinaire.

I hope you enjoy these stories as much as I did!

[koishua]

not—𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐅𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐋𝐔𝐕 [ 𝐄𝐍𝐇𝐘𝐏𝐄𝐍 ]

what they would never, ever tell you!!

fluff. gn!reader. no warnings. like, reblog, feedback!

✧ heeseung has never told you this, but he'd actually tried sixteen times to muster up the courage to ask for your number and a date. it had taken him an entire year, sixteen tries, and five meltdowns to finally approach you and not instantly turn back around in a moment of weakness. he would never tell you that, however, because he thinks that you believe him to be a suave man. what you don't have the heart to tell heeseung is that jay had snitched on him and his various failures. you think it's adorable, so when you first teased him with this information, he'd gone pink as the cotton candies in your hands.

✧ jay will take this secret to his grave and not for reasons you may think. it had been two years into your relationship with him preparing sweet little lunch boxes for you to enjoy during your days of working and it had just occurred to you that he must have payed an honestly concerning amount of money on your groceries. when you had asked him about it, he'd laughed, shaken his head and brushed it off. this was the one thing in life he would want to do without a single payment back. he simply loves you to the moon and back, unconditionally. let him keep at least this to himself.

✧ jake was the person who'd bring stacks of well-taken and organized copies of his notes and put it under your desk back when you were at school. the mysterious, generous note giver had never revealed themselves to you for years. the writings on the papers were the biggest reason why you were so successful those years and it had crushed you not being able to thank the person properly other than stick-it notes you'd past under your desk for them to see whenever they came by. four years later when you'd reunited with jake and started a relationship with him, you realize how awfully familiar the handwriting looks.

✧ sunghoon would rather dive off a cliff than to explain what the clanging sounds in the kitchen for the past two weeks has been all about. you weren't allowed to enter it to help him with whatever he was doing, too. it would be your birthday soon and he'd fought tooth and nail to get every ingredient he'd ever need in order to make you the world's best birthday cake yet. the issue was the fact that he didn't know how to bake— not a single clue under the roof. so, he's taken it upon himself to practice making cakes every day until he could get it right. so far, every attempt has been a total failure. he still has a few days, so until then, he swears you off the kitchen.

✧ sunoo had written a few lengthy love letters to you as a child, not that he would ever tell you. he was eight years old and a hopeless romantic. he would spend hours coming up with rhymes for his poems about you and include them in the letters confessing his love for you. he was utterly smitten and charmed by your cute littles smiles (still is now). he'd never sent them to you, though, in fear of rejection, so he'd hid the notes in a box under his bedroom. ten years later, you were hanging out in the very same childhood bedroom and your feet hit a plastic box in the corner of his room. once sunoo sees the box and remembers about the contents in it, he feels absolutely mortified.

✧ jungwon was popular all throughout his childhood and teen years with many admirers, boys and girls alike. he was, however, thought to be uninterested in any romance, because he would instantly reject anyone that approached him. the small detail that no one knows about is how he'd walk the same route home a few times a day in hopes of one day catching your eyes from behind window as he'd pass by. no matter which clothes he wore or how he'd styled his hair, his subtle attempts would never work. months of hard work and the only thing that had worked was just going up to the counter with a box of juice and a small paper with a series of digits written on it.

✧ riki is a prideful boy and it would destroy his fragile ego if you knew how he'd stayed up a few nights and searched for tips on how to make someone like you on google's incognito mode. he was clueless and desperate to get you to like him as much as he liked you, so he'd scrolled through many wiki hows and blog articles. he even took a compatibility test to see how you matched and he prayed that you wouldn't ask why he was asking for your time of birth and star sign. you didn't ask, thankfully, and you did end up reciprocating his feelings in the end, but only because he'd charmed his way to your heart on his own— not because of wikihow's tips.

[sabertoothwalrus]

I am not speaking in support or opposition for the recent changes tumblr staff has made but I’m gonna be honest the way some of you complain about them sounds like you’ve never been employed before (<- not a dig at unemployed people)

like. idk the rate tumblr updates this website is sometimes extremely positive and sometimes stupid but always at a rate that feels like a group of people clock in and someone with a spreadsheet tells them what they have to work on for the day until they clock out. with absolutely no rhyme or reason for order of priority. or at the very least, a long queue that had been made months prior, and any new complaints get added to the end of the queue.

stupid and pointless in the way jobs can be. tasks given randomly to fill time and to feel “productive”.

so again, I’m not saying people are wrong or right FOR complaining. I’m just saying a lot of you that are coming from a good place sound like you have no personal experience with how stuff like this works

[wisteria-prompts]

Thank you so much for doing my request it was so cute and I absolutely loved it. If it’s okay please could I ask for the same premise but with the upper moons 💙💙💙

*-Cracks Knuckles-* This is a tall order and I’m short as hell, time to climb.

TW for: Mentions of gore (Aizetsu), murder (Douma), and blood (Aizetsu/Douma)

Upper Moons Kissing Their Crush For The First Time

Akaza

The most gentleman-like out of all of them, and the softest with you.

Probably does it right after returning from a mission, but is more likely to do it if the mission is a success.

He confesses not with words, but with a kiss.

It’s a quick one, but it leaves you feeling breathless with how he poured every ounce of his feelings for you into it. His lips are cold, but it creates a delicious contrast between you two that has you wanting more.

His hands are barely touching you, afraid of not knowing his own strength.

You could feel just from his lips alone that he cared so much for you that it hurt, and he’d do anything to keep you safe.

“No matter if you feel the same or not, I will always protect you.”

He won’t let a loved one die in his arms again.

Douma

An absolute tease, you almost have to beg him to be normal for once…

Will do it on a whim, no rhyme or reason to it. He’s equally as likely to confess and kiss you anywhere, anytime. In front of his cult, while murdering some slayers, even while attending an Upper Moon meeting…

Yeah, Muzan wouldn’t be too amused by that one. It’s up to you to kind of steer or influence when and where he does it.

A little rough with the kiss, he does it after pulling you to sit in his lap, making sure to have a good grip on your hips so you can’t escape.

Not afraid to nick your lips with his fangs, as he enjoys the sight of your blood, the taste of you on his tongue…

“Well well, seems you’ve caught my attention, little one. Mind entertaining me for a bit?”

He won’t admit it’s more than just amusement fueling his actions.

Daki

You infuriate her with how you won’t get out of her head!

It’s just as infuriating how she can’t stop staring at your lips, wondering what you’d taste like.

She does it while still disguised as an oiran, you acting as her loyal attendant, during one of her less busy hours.

Practically pulls you to her by the arm and kisses you forcefully, pouring all her frustrations into it.

It’s rough, unpracticed, and maybe a little nervous. She prides herself on her image, being poised at all times, along with the years of experience she has under her obi belt. But when it comes to you? She falls apart.

You’ve picked apart her meticulously created self, and reconstructed her into someone who needs you so much it’s laughable.

“You…You better take responsibility for this. Make up for what you’ve made me do.”

Her words may imply that you owe her for tainting that image of hers, but really, she just wants you close.

Gyutaro

Voted least likely to ever confess his feelings. He’d rather fight all 9 Hashira at once than admit he likes you.

As always, it’s fueled by his sheer amount of insecurities and envy. He can’t fathom a universe where you’re interested in him like that, and so he refrains from so much as just hinting at his feelings for you.

It comes to light when Daki has had enough of all the pining and longing stares, and calls him out on it in front of you.

He freezes, doesn’t know what to do- until you reciprocate his feelings, admitting you’d always found him kind of cute.

“I don’t know what the hell you’re on, but…I’m not going to waste this.”

His lips are chapped, he’s got your head in a death grip, and he’s so tall you have to crane your neck a little too far back than is comfortable-

But it’s good, it’s enjoyable, and now you’re his forever. He makes sure to let you know as much.

He won’t let a diamond such as you go, now that he has you in his arms.

Kokushibo

He’d thought pursuits of the romantic kind were beneath him for a long time, ever since he turned his back on his wife and children all those years ago.

But you threw him for a loop, and suddenly, he’s finding himself becoming a romantic all over again.

Almost certainly plans the confessing and first kiss, a little too much to be honest. He just needs it to be perfect, for both you and him.

You’re led through the infinity castle by an elaborate trail of flower petals and candles, ending at his room.

He gives you a rehearsed speech of how you make him feel every day, how you linger in his mind all the time, and how he craves your presence.

“There is no one else worthy…of staying by my side. The only option…Is you.”

When you accept, he seals it with a kiss.

It’s deep, slow, and feels like it burns with passion. He’s surprisingly warm, for being a demon, but it’s pleasant.

You are his moonlight, who will accompany him for all eternity.

Sekido

It happens spontaneously, during one of his fits of rage.

You’re simply a bystander, there because you just…Always are. You’re always in his vicinity, playing a part in his day that he can’t help but reminisce about when alone.

He quickly tires of the pangs inside his chest when he looks at you, becoming infuriated when you smile so kindly at him, trying to calm him down.

It’s unceremonious, how he smashes his lips to yours just then, teeth clashing as he releases all his anger and raw emotion into the kiss.

As unexpected as it is, there is no doubt in your mind what he feels for you is real and genuine. He’s not the type to do this sort of thing, so take advantage of it when you can.

“You damn human…How dare you make me feel these things! What have you done to me?!”

You’re going to have to show him how to be gentle, because you’re the only one he’ll try for.

Urogi

He has plenty of places and ways he wants to kiss you, while singing to the world of his feelings for you.

But his favorite, that he reserves the very first kiss for, is the nest he’s built up in a tree

The only people who know it even exists are you and Urogi himself. He’s given you special privileges, so don’t take it lightly.

During one of the many times he flies you up there to hang out, he seems a lot more touchy and clingy than usual…But you brush it off, assuming it’s just Urogi being Urogi.

It’s not. He’s trying to butter you up, get on your good side before-

“Hey, you know you’re important to me, right? Am I important to you, too?”

Before you can even answer, his lips are on yours. It’s an eager kiss, and he feels almost…Desperate, for you to return the sentiment. As if he’s afraid you’ll reject him.

He really wants your love, and he’ll be ruffling his feathers non-stop the moment you say, of course he’s important to you.

You’re his lovebird, after all.

Karaku

He’s been trying for months to get you to take him seriously.

Honestly, it gets a little pathetic at certain points- He’s trying so hard to convey to you how much you’re on his mind, in his heart, and everywhere else in his life but it’s just not working.

You’re so used to his flirty and provocative behavior that it just rolls right off your back. You think he’s playing the same game he’s been playing since the first time he split off from Hantengu.

He’s frustrated, understandably so, to the point that he ends up taking you by the shoulders one night and plants a kiss on your lips so passionate and heated, that there’s no choice but for you to recognize his feelings.

By the time he pulls away, he’s the one that looks flustered and taken apart at the seams.

“J-just so you know…I really meant that. I like you. No games.”

A huge wave of relief comes over him when you finally accept him as he is.

He’s a demon of pleasure, and there is no greater pleasure than being yours.

Aizetsu

Another one who wouldn’t just simply confess to you. At least not through words.

He’s bound by endless sorrow- In addition to being unable to believe you love him, he also just doesn’t want to drag you down into this dark, negative world of his.

And yet…

And yet he finds himself holding you tightly, right after slaughtering a demon slayer who came much too close to taking you away from him.

“Please don’t be mad at me.”

He says, just before giving you the softest of kisses, hands gently holding your cheeks.

It’s feather-light, slow, almost hesitant. Just like him. Yet it’s also saying everything he’s ever wanted to say, but couldn’t.

It would be an incredibly sweet scene if not for the backdrop of blood and viscera around you two.

When you return the kiss, he supposes he won’t have to be both sad and alone anymore.

[bao3bei4]

why zines? how zines?

i was on a panel at fanworks con 2023 about zines today. it was a lot of fun! i decided to turn my portion of the talk into a post for my friends who couldn’t make it to the panel. 

this post includes my thoughts on: 

why make a zine

how to generate ideas for zines

how to finish your zines

how to build an audience for your zines

so why zines? what are they? [ZEENS, rhymes with beans], pronounced that way because it’s a shortened form of the word magazine, are basically just that: self published magazines. but why make a zine over, say, a blog post? or any other piece of art. 

i have basically three reasons. the first is that making little books is cool. it’s genuinely awesome to make physical zines and have the product of your labor in your hand. it’s a great feeling to finish a project and feel a concrete reward, and a lot of times we don’t get that in our lives.

the second reason is that zines give you absolute editorial control. you can put anything you want on a page. whatever layout, whatever order, whatever fold, whatever content. you name it, you can do it. this is something other venues rarely give you. for artists, it’s phenomenal. and for the rest of us, it gives us the ability to become artists for a little bit, as we lay things out.

the third reason is that zines can be absolute shit. in fact, the more shit they are, the more diy and punk they are. they have an incredible lineage of stolen copy paper and anarchist politics. all that to say, is that there are no standards. the zine ethos is say what you wanna say. it’s tremendously freeing to go fuck polish and respectability, i’m making my project.

because of these three reasons, i want to encourage you to get started making zines by describing common challenges and worries and giving you several practical tips for each on working past them. so, in order, they’re “i don’t know what to make a zine about,” “i struggle to finish projects,” and “no one will read my zines.” let’s get into it.

first up, “i don’t know what to make a zine about.” i think this one is pretty common, even for experienced zine creators. sometimes you’re in the mood to make things but you have no clue what. a lot of people suggest to just go with random words or whatever pops into your head, but i’m picky! i find that unsatisfying! so here are some tips for people in the same boat. 

ONE: what’s distracting you? work with it. because anything can be a zine, let the things you’ve already done serve as inspiration. photos you’ve taken can be formatted into a zine. is there a game sucking up your attention? make a zine about it. the song stuck in your head can turn into a lyricbook, forgotten works in progress or sketches can be resurrected, cannibalized, or even published as incomplete zines. if you’ve been busy with real life, maybe the recipes you’ve been making—even if, especially if, they’re struggle meals, can turn into zines. interview your most interesting friend. summarize a book you read recently. even if you’ve just been doomscrolling, that’s a zine too! i got a zine last weekend called bay area newsreel which was collecting recent articles about local news from leftist perspectives gathered up into a handy volume. your attention is a gift, so look at what zine fodder it’s accumulated for you naturally. 

SECOND: add a twist. sometimes i have an idea but it isn’t quite right. it just seems too straightforward. so i try to develop along a single axis of content or form. what this means is basically go against your instincts, or rather, your first impulse. that first idea is very hard to walk away from, but doing so often gives you an idea that gets you unstuck. so for content, add a different perspective. for me this is often a theoretical approach. when i was stuck on my scum villain zine, turning it into freud zine let the words start flowing. next, on form: present it differently than your first instinct is to. if my first thought is “essay,” i try to figure out how to chunk out the information into modules or how to add interactivity or what kind of illustrations to add. if my first thought is “this could be a fic or comic,” i try turning it into an essay. saying things a different way often gives you a new perspective on the content as well. 

THIRD: copy! make your take on the same thing as someone else. it’s not stealing—well, ideally it isn’t. make your original take and give credit where credit is due and ask permission if necessary. but engage with the medium!!! making zines without reading zines is the same thing as trying to write a paper without citing sources, or a novel without reading your contemporaries. that is, you can do it, but it’s hard. zines are a genre into themselves so figure out how to situate yourself in their ongoing dialogue. an example of this from my own practice is that i own a zine about queer gods and mythological creatures from chinese history. reading it i was like. why don’t they talk about this. why don’t they talk about that. and that became the basis for my own zine, guaitai the strange and the queer which focused on queer chinese history and literature instead. different zine, same inspiration. 

all of my ideas suppose you have SOMETHING going on. what if you truly have nothing. my advice? adapted from my “how to write an essay” blog post, is to read a book. read an article. read something. and then post about it. and then turn your posts into a zine. don’t start entirely from scratch — give yourself a scaffolding. so first. read something and tell someone about it. i wasn’t lying about calling myself a consummate poster. it’s a big part of my thought process. 

second up, what if “i struggle to finish projects.” i’m no stranger to having a bunch of half finished half started projects lying around. but here are some zine-specific tips i have for addressing that.

FIRST! go smaller; go shittier. reduce the scope of your projects. make one pagers, lists. once when i was feeling stymied, i made a physical zine about movies i’d watched that month, just listing them with a couple bullet points on each film. i eventually turned it into a bigger digital zine where i listed movies i’d watched over the past several months with more thoughts on them, and nicely formatted. but that was something that came out of reducing my scope from “i need to write a manifesto on a movie i’ve watched recently” to “well i can just tell people about it” to “i can say two things about it.” and something actually got finished.

SECOND. your friends are a great tool for accountability. something i like to do is zine jams with my friends. nothing fancy, it’s just we’ll sit down for an hour and go we’re going to make something in this hour. or, for a bigger scope, we might work separately but commit to making a zine that weekend. it’s nice to have community and it’s nice to feel a little bit of a friendly deadline. i recommend this even if you DON’T have problems finishing zines. it’s a good time. 

THIRD. a lot of times if the words aren’t coming easily, it’s because i’m not trying to say the right thing. keep in mind that your zines don’t have to be “content.” this little paper zine i made about movies wasn’t made to share online; in fact, it’s not available online. i didn’t make it according to what other people would see or be interested in. you can and will burn out on making “marketable” content. corollary to this: sometimes what i have to say is something i DON’T want to share online. it might not be that it’s boring, it might be that it’s too personal. and i share a lot online, i write personal essays after all. but some projects i stall on because they’re really just for me, and i’m again, focused on making content. so this piece of advice is about rejecting the tyranny of the imaginary audience. 

and the next challenge is about embracing that audience! what if no one reads your zines, something that’s entirely possible. well there’s plenty you can do about that.

FIRST. cultivate zine community. read other people’s zines! talk to them about their zines! this greatly increases the chance that they will do the same for you. don’t go in expecting reciprocity; do it for its own sake, but it’s a great place to start. try asking people at zine fests if they’d be willing to trade with you, for instance. 

SECOND. write for yourself. it’s cheesy but it’s true. you really have to. if you’re not proud and happy with what you’re making on its own merits, what’s the point. now because this is a cop out tip, i’m not counting it as a tip on its own. 

so SECOND PART TWO. make your zines more accessible. if they’re not free, make them free—yes, you deserve to be compensated for your work, but it’s up to you to decide if you want a bigger audience first. if your zines aren’t short, make them shorter. make them short enough that you can post their entirety on social media or something else easy for your audience to consume. it’s a big ask sometimes to get someone to download your pdf! if they’re physical, hand them out to people you meet. remove all the barriers to entry.

THIRD. related to this, change medium. if you’re not making physical zines, try printing them out. if you’re not making digital zines, try digitizing them. both of these offer access to new audiences and new people who might be more interested in one form than another. 

i hope these thoughts encourage you to make a zine! if you do, please let me see it. i love reading zines. 

[glitter-stained]

Idea: for his first time coming back to Crime Alley during his revenge plot, before establishing himself as a crime lord, Jason saves a kid. The kid asks him his name then informs him that it's ridiculous, and that a fairy tale name isn't scary at all so he should change it if he wants to scare the bad guys and also that his helmet isn't even a hood so it's stupid. Jason goes home in a daze, has a crisis, and brainstorms ideas.

Here is the list he comes up with, based on the fact he's a dramatic nerd, and ranked from my personal least favourite to top favourite.

The Creature : I feel like Jason would be the type of person to scream at people who call the Creature Frankenstein, but also argues that the real monster in the story is indeed Frankenstein; that name is thus a book accurate reference, while simultaneously highlighting and rubbing in Bruce's face that he created the villain by making himself his father and then abandoning him. My issue with this is that I associate the concept of cryptid vigilant creature with Cass so much giving the name to Jason feels wrong.

Rhapsody : Rhapsody of a Windy Night (by TS Eliot ofc) is THE poem I think of when I think about Jason in relation to Crime Alley, so this is a cool looking name cementing his identity as a crime lord/ vigilante as linked to this place. Unfortunately, most people would think either music themed villain or Queen reference and nobody would get the reference which would piss Jason off.

The Dead Poet: That idea is not mine, I unfortunately lost the post that suggested it so feel free to link it if you do. I absolutely love it, 100% nerd and batman villain, only reason it's low is I like the others more.

Antigonish: That's the title of a creepy poem/nursery rhyme by Mearns about a ghost haunting a house (yesterday upon the stairs/i saw a man who wasn't there...) very leaning in the creepy, undead, haunting the narrative vibe, and I think he'd fuck with the aesthetic so much, I think he'd wage psychological warfare against Batman with references to Jason's death.

Prometheus: A classic, the curse of non consensual immortality while also being a protector and enlightener of the people, defying the authority and saying I will break your rule in the name of what I think matters more. I think he'd like the way it lets him simultaneously say fuck you to Bruce and keep in mind who he's supposed to protect. Yes, I know Prometheus is a pre existing villain and I hate him, let's just ignore that.

Chrysothemis: this one is such a smartass reference he's such a little shit I think he'd love it. A classic myth from the trojan war is Agamemnon sacrificing his daughter Iphigenia to Artemis in order to be able to go on his mission (wage war against Troy), and when he comes back from Troy, Clytemnestra kills him in revenge, and then the family hunts eachother for sports (see the Oresteia). In Sophocles's Electra, Chrysothemis is the name of the daughter of Clytemnestra who, unlike Electra, doesn't condemn/ protest against their mother for killing Agamemnon to avenge Iphigenia. I think it's particularly funny because Chrysothemis literally means "golden law". Maybe not the most badass sounding but god would it be so funny.

Lightbearer : (the title of Lucifer). Again, maybe not the most badass but Jason is a nerd and he'd fuck with it. "But isn't Jason the christic equivalent of the Bruce/Jason/Joker trinity?" I hear you ask and the answer is yes, but on a meta level, this is what the reader is allowed to see. Jason? He's read Paradise Lost and agrees Satan/Lucifer was right, projected Bruce on God, and made it his whole personality. I think Lightbearer!Jason would quote Paradise Lost/make references to it all the time during their arguments, denouncing Batman's abandonment of Crime Alley and say "I'd rather rule in hell than serve in heaven", tell him that he has no obligation to play by his rules because "just because you were here first doesn't make you the rightful ruler of this city". This also goes well with my hcs about Crime Alley being a little fucked up and loving their local crime lord/vigilant, with graffitis and nicknames treating him like the Alley's Angel/guardian angel but in a fucked up, fallen angel way, like that's our patron saint and he's made of the same shit that we are, he's not holier-than-though cause he's not holy but he's ours.

Anyway feel free to share which ones you prefer and add ideas!!!

[not-poignant]

Raphael has a very poetic and grandiose way of speaking that is absolutely not the norm for day-to-day life. How do you get in the mindset to come up with his dialogues? They're perfection and I just can't even imagine how long it would take to do one paragraph of the way he talks, but you're writing an entire story with him...

Oh I love this question because I can answer it, lol sadlkjfsda

Okay so, Raphael's character is tough for me.

Normally I do a lot of dialogue research before starting to write a character in fanfiction and original fiction, but Raphael actually gets proportionately very few lines that really show his full emotional range (compared to say, Astarion), and he's got an incredibly specific way of talking that sounds similar to Astarion but at the same time is very different.

They share enough similarities (calling people darling and dear for example) that it's easy to fall into the trap of giving them the same 'voice.'

I find Astarion's voice a lot easier to 'get' and I feel like I can hear him better when I'm writing him. But Raphael I'm taking into emotional spaces we simply never see in the game, and then I have to really guess how he'd sound (like coming up with the idea that the theatricality vanishes when Raphael is genuinely panicking).

I ended up listening to a lot of interviews with Andrew Wincott, the Voice Actor for Raphael who is an incredible actor and extremely articulate. He was very clear in one of his interviews that one of the reasons he was selected to play Raphael was because, in part, he already sounded like him. Obviously there's differences / skill in changing cadence and more, but for the most part, Andrew Wincott uses similar vocabulary and talks in a similar manner to Raphael naturally, so I had an abundance of interviews that I could then listen to in order to get a feel for Raphael's voice. I picked the things that felt more 'Raphael' and added them to my dialogue notes.

I often have to go back and edit Raphael's dialogue. Sometimes it's very simple things, I had him say 'much more' in the chapter I'm editing right now, and I edited it to 'far more' because I think he'd just phrase it like that. Sometimes I expand a sentence into an entire paragraph.

I've also leaned a lot from Korilla's transcripts in the game, which have been super useful. They really cement, more than anything, how much he loves lullabies, nursery rhymes, children's tales and more.

HOW TO DO DIALOGUE RESEARCH:-

If you're new to dialogue research, it mostly involves listening to - and watching a character and then literally taking notes of how they talk. The things you observe are:

The tone of their voice - Fast or slow. Loud or soft. Musical or flat. Theatrical or matter-of-fact. High or low. Questioning or complete statements. Considered or hedging (i.e. very well constructed sentences, or a lot of pauses, ellipses, broken sentences). Rambling or concise.

How often they talk - Some characters actually say a lot with very little. Raphael is actually a lot of observation and facial expressions and eyebrow movements in between his dialogue. Little smirks, hand gestures and more. Do they interrupt or let people finish their sentences? Are they comfortable with silence? I find Raphael oscillates between long theatrical paragraphs, single sentences or words, and then a lot of silence. He's actually not very conversational, in that you can have a conversation with him, but I doubt he'd see the point of two hours of small-talk. (At this point you might be realising that dialogue research is also character research, how a character talks tells you so much about a character.)

The words (and metaphors/subjects) they use - This is a big one and I'm going to break this down a little bit more:

How they pause if they don't know what to say. Is it 'um' 'uh' 'ah' 'hm' 'mm' 'mn' or nothing at all (or something else) because they've mastered self-control over their dialogue? If Raphael says 'ah' he does so on purpose.

Filler words. Things like characters saying 'like' in a sentence. 'He was like, 'I can't believe it'' etc. This is very similar to how they pause, but it's the things people say to get from point A to point B. People who don't do this have often had training or think very hard about what they're going to say before they say it. But people say 'like' or 'and then' or 'well' or 'i realised that' or 'i thought that' etc. to carry them on. Some are more acceptable than others (people do just have realisations for example).

Profanity. How often do they swear, and how intentional is it? Some characters only swear when they get hurt or stub their toe or get angry. Some characters swear all the time for fun. Some characters only use some swear words and not others. Be specific. Be aware that some swear words are cultural! This includes blasphemy. In Faerun they use 'gods' and 'gods damn it' more often than we use 'god' or 'oh my god.'

Vulgarity. This is useful for Raphael (and Astarion) because he's very happy to be vulgar. This is like... how comfortable are they talking about sex, about sexual subjects, being crude, being seductive, flirtatious? And if they use it, do they use vulgarity to shock, seduce, scare, threaten, or for humour?

Salutations and farewells. How do they greet people? Silence? A calm hello? (A lot of greetings are omitted in dialogue but this is still good to know). How do they say hello, goodbye. How does that change between friends and enemies and strangers?

Single word sentences. This might sound weird, but sometimes when a character hears something that shocks them, or needs to acknowledge something, they may say anything from 'huh' to 'yeah' to 'fuck' to 'okay' to 'all right' to 'sure' to 'go on' to 'indeed' to just laughing out loud. The list goes on. Raphael is team 'indeed' lmao.

Sentence structure. Raphael's sentence structure is - when he's most comfortable - gently provoking, teasing, vaguely threatening, and makes liberal use of simile, metaphor, fairy tale, rhyme, sayings, colloquialisms and more. Raphael talks like someone who knows someone could quote him at any moment lmao. But from here, how a character structures their sentences can be helpful to know. Go back to 'the tone of their voice.' Those notes will give you an idea of structure.

Emotionality. How emotional are they? Do they have rage rants? Joyful giggling dialogue? Do they infodump with little emotion? Or with sheer excitement? Does their dialogue feel fake or real? Opaque or transparent? Some people wear their hearts on their sleeves, and others will never be able to say 'I love you' in anything other than actions. Raphael's emotionality in dialogue is more present in his anger and irritation, and also when he feels triumphant and/or turned on.

The symbols, sayings, colloquialisms and metaphors themselves. Not all characters use these. But some people/characters will talk through analogies, colloquialisms. This is actually Raphael's biggest dialogue departure from Astarion, imho, aside from the fact that Astarion is a lot more emotional with his dialogue.

Take into account their culture, ethnicity, conceits, upbringing, education and the people they're close to:

This one is vital. Firstly, some people tend to 'absorb' elements of those around them. A person raised by affluent people will often 'sound affluent' and a person raised in poverty will often have dialogue that reflects this and if they don't there will be reasons for that. It might be a conceit (some people self-teach themselves different accents), it might be education, it might be training, it might be the subculture/s they've entered into, and so on.

~

When doing this research, you'll end up with a kind of master-list of actual words and probably some sentences you've written down, along with a lot of notes. You can also do this for any original characters you're making at all, you're just then making it up based on the character, and this research will also give in many ways the shape of the character.

It's a fun exercise and I highly recommend everyone tries it literally for people who don't exist and also observe your friends and family, and do a dialogue cheat sheet for some of them. It's pretty eye-opening! Even one page will teach you more than nothing at all. You can go deep and write many pages, or you can do what I do and keep it lean at 2 pages. Anyone who struggles with characterisation I suggest at least try this exercise, because anyone can put on a YouTube video and/or streaming service or even a favourite Tiktoker and start doing dialogue research! It's a way of building a character from the top down while also getting information about their foundations.

[moodymelanist]

dumb love (i love being stupid)

happy day 2 of @nessianweek everyone! I've had so much fun writing wlw!nessian that i just HAD to flip it around and do mlm!nessian too. hope you all enjoy <3 title from casual by chappell roan!

Summary: Five times Cassian didn’t realize he had a boyfriend, plus one time he finally got it. 

Word Count: 8.4k

Warnings: Smut at the end!

Read on AO3 here!

✵✵✵✵✵✵ Cassian 

1.

Cassian knew he’d put off doing his basic science requirement until the last minute, but it didn’t quite hit him just how long he’d put it off until he was standing in a biology lab surrounded by baby-faced freshmen. 

“Welcome to bio lab,” their TA greeted them at the top of the hour, taking the time to send everyone reassuring smiles. “Today we’re going to go over the syllabus, some really important safety rules, and, most importantly, how to succeed in this class. But first: assigned seating!”

Most of the assorted freshmen looked relieved at not having to figure out where to sit, but Cassian held back a groan. He was usually pretty good about finding partners or groups who were willing to do a little more of the work around his hectic club soccer schedule, but having assigned seats — and likely partners — meant he’d probably have to suck it up and put in a little more work than usual. That would be fine, though; he just needed to pass this class to graduate, and then next semester he could really let the senioritis kick in. 

There didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason behind how their seats and resulting lab partners were assigned, but Cassian had a sneaking suspicion their TA had paired him up with the only other senior in the room. Cassian had seen the eldest Archeron here or there over the years, mostly because he was pretty tight with the Vanserra brothers and Azriel was dating one of them, but he’d never been this up close and personal with the guy. 

Until now, anyway. The eldest Archeron was tall, only a few inches shorter than Cassian himself; his golden brown hair was parted to the side and pushed back from his face to reveal a pair of gray-blue eyes framed with pretty, bronze lashes. He was dressed comfortably in a white shirt and jeans, though Cassian had a sneaking suspicion those two items alone cost more than his rent, let alone the backpack that just screamed quiet luxury.

“Hey, man,” Cassian said once they were seated, doing his best not to look like he was staring. Which he absolutely wasn’t, but who could blame him? The guy had a jawline sharp enough to cut something, and those eyes were even icier up close. “I’m Cassian.”

“Earnest Nathaniel,” came the other man’s reply. He smelled really good, and it was a miracle Cassian managed to catch his full name with the way he was fighting leaning in closer to take a whiff.

“That’s kind of a mouthful,” Cassian replied jokingly. “Your parents must’ve had it out for you, huh?”

Earnest Nathaniel stared at Cassian for several long seconds, clearly unimpressed with Cassian’s joke. “Whatever nickname you’re about to come up with, I’m not interested in hearing it.”

“Whatever you say, Nes,” Cassian fired back, the nickname rolling off his tongue like it belonged there. 

“Don’t call me that.”

“EN?”

“Jesus Christ, no.”

“Nessie?”

“Do I look like the Loch Ness monster to you?”

“Didn’t peg you for a Twilight fan.”

“Didn’t peg you as such an idiot.”

“Okay, Nesbit.”

“How are these getting worse?”

“Nesseroni? Yes? No?”

“Definite no.”

“Mhmm… think I’ll stick with my first choice, then,” Cassian said with a victorious grin. “Nes.”

Whatever Nes was about to say back was cut short by their TA calling their class back to order, and Cassian sent the other man a pleased little smirk before trying his best to pay attention. He’d gone through enough sylly weeks to know the drill, but if it had the added bonus of getting under his new lab partner’s skin, then he was going to be the most model student possible.  

Still, Cassian must not have fucked up as badly as he thought he did, because Earnest Nathaniel — Nes, in Cassian’s mind — stiffly asked Cassian to grab coffee with him after class. It turned into a bit of a standing thing on Tuesdays and Thursdays, mostly to work through the bulk of their weekly lab reports, but they talked about plenty of other things too. Cassian was on the receiving end of a lot of witty one-liners, but he also learned about Nes’ sisters, about the books he liked to read, and even about the other man’s law school applications. 

Those were Cassian’s favorite coffee days, but he couldn’t exactly put his finger on why. Maybe he just liked making a new friend, or maybe it was just Nes himself. 

✵✵✵✵✵✵

2.

A week or two into October, Cassian caught a nasty cold one weekend and couldn’t shake it off by the time Tuesday's lab rolled around. He’d at least been able to email his professors and TAs to let them know he probably wouldn’t be in class this week, but he’d completely forgotten to give Nes a heads up before lab started. 

They’d exchanged numbers after that first day, and they texted here and there about anything from class to memes Cassian thought Nes would like to random soccer facts that Nes thought Cassian would care about. Still, Cassian wasn’t expecting Nes to be texting him from class when the guy was normally such a stickler for following the rules, so when his phone buzzed, he couldn’t help but be pleasantly surprised at the name on his screen when he finally discovered his phone half-buried beneath his comforter. 

Nes Archeron, 11:12 AM

????

Where are you?

Cassian didn’t have the energy to say much, and he was a little woozy from the strength of the medicine he’d taken about twenty minutes ago. He somehow managed to take a picture of him surrounded by tissues and Tylenol and typed out a short reply that he thought conveyed his predicament well enough.  

Cassian Hernández, 11:15 AM

[Attachment: 1 Image]

send help im dying

Cassian didn’t stay awake long enough to see if Nes had replied, letting the cold medicine pull him into an easy nap instead. He woke up about an hour and a half later to the sound of someone knocking on his bedroom door, and he was still too sleepy to come up with a proper sentence. “Huh?”

Azriel opened the door and poked his head around the corner, his nose wrinkling at the unpleasant sight of a sick roommate. “Your boyfriend’s here with some soup and more medicine.”

“Ha, ha,” Cassian said, sniffling very attractively. Not that it mattered; it was just Azriel, and they’d been friends for far too long for Cassian to care about what he thought. “You’re hilarious.”

“I wasn’t joking,” Azriel said back with a roll of his eyes. He opened the door fully to reveal Nes standing there with a steaming thermos in one hand and a grocery bag filled with cold medicine in the other. Once Cassian had fully processed that this was happening and Nes was very much standing outside his bedroom, Azriel turned back to Nes and said, “Good luck with him. He’s even dumber than usual right now.”

“Trust me, I’m aware,” Nes replied dryly. They exchanged a knowing glance before Azriel huffed a laugh and left them to it, disappearing down the hallway back to his own room. “You doing okay, Cassian?”

Cassian suddenly and intensely regretted not cleaning up the massive pile of tissues surrounding him. He probably didn’t smell great, either, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d brushed his teeth. So much for it not mattering. “I feel like shit.”

“Yeah, I bet you do,” Nes responded, though his tone seemed a little more sympathetic than usual. “I didn’t know what you had on hand, so I brought you some stuff. Hope that’s cool.”

“Very cool,” Cassian agreed. It was a really thoughtful thing to do, and something went a little soft and gooey and a little sad inside Cassian at the realization that he probably hadn’t been taken care of like this since he was in high school. Mostly soft and gooey, though, so he’d take it for the kind gesture that it was and leave the rest to examine probably… never. “Thanks, Nes.”

“You’re welcome,” Nes answered simply, the barest hint of a blush appearing on his cheeks. 

Instead of trying to clear Cassian’s bed, Nes had the much smarter idea of pulling over the chair from Cassian’s desk and sitting there. He put down the thermos — which smelled like chicken noodle soup, now that it was close enough for Cassian’s nose to pick up on it — and spread out his cold medicine haul across one of Cassian’s end tables. 

“What have you taken today?” Nes asked expectantly. 

Cassian wasn’t totally sure what time he’d taken his meds this morning, and he told the other man as much. “Uh…”

“Idiot,” Nes muttered, though it sounded fond. “Just try to eat a little something, and you can take some more meds when you wake up.”

Nes helped Cassian sit up so he could get a little something in his stomach, his touch firm against Cassian’s back as he shifted up on the bed. Cassian didn’t totally understand why he could still feel Nes’ hands on him long after the other man had let go, but he wasn’t going to question it. It had felt nice, and the soup was even nicer, warm and seasoned surprisingly well despite its source. 

“Don’t look so surprised,” Nes said haughtily, though he couldn’t keep up the act for very long. “I, uh… one of my sisters helped. Lucky for you, Elain actually knows what she’s doing.”

“Knew it,” Cassian said back. He managed a smirk before his nose started running again, and then Nes was taking the thermos out of his hands, offering him a clean tissue, and helping him lie back down. He didn’t even blink before holding up the trash can so Cassian could weakly toss the used tissue inside it.

“You need some more rest,” Nes informed him matter-of-factly. He put down the trash can and left it close enough to Cassian’s bed that he could throw more tissues inside it as needed. “I’ll text you when you should take some more medicine.”

“Okay,” Cassian agreed, his eyes half-closed already. He hated being sick and how much it took out of him, but it didn’t seem so bad with Nes here taking care of him for a little while. “Stay until I fall asleep?”

“Yeah, okay,” Nes promised. His voice had gone strangely soft but Cassian decided not to question it, much more focused on how good his pillow felt against his cheek. 

Before Cassian drifted off to sleep, he swore he felt Nes’ cool fingers gently pushing his hair back from his face. What a dedicated friend, Cassian thought before he was tugged completely under. 

✵✵✵✵✵✵

3.

Cassian made a full recovery by the end of that week, just in time to start prepping for fall midterms. However, the week after they’d taken their bio lecture exam, everything went to shit for several days, and Cassian had no reason why. 

He and Nes had gone for their usual post-lab coffee, and the two of them had been standing outside the library when a certain blonde friend decided to make an appearance. 

“Cassian!” 

Cassian turned from where he was talking with Nes to see Mor barreling up the walkway towards him, his arms automatically coming up to catch her as she leapt into his arms. “Hey, Mor.”

“Hey yourself,” Mor said back, a little out of breath from her short sprint. She squeezed Cassian tight before jumping out of his hold. “Where’ve you been, stranger?”

“Semester’s been kicking my ass, you know how it is,” Cassian replied apologetically. Mor had been trying to corner him for a catch-up lunch for weeks now, and while he hadn’t been intentionally avoiding her, things had just been much busier than he’d expected in his final year of college. “You know I wouldn’t ignore you on purpose.”

“Of course not, silly,” Mor told him with a little laugh. She put her hand on Cassian’s arm before adding, “You know there’d be hell to pay. I have you too well-trained.”

“Cassian,” Nes suddenly interjected before Cassian could respond, his voice as icy as his eyes. Cassian turned to see a muscle in the other man’s jaw working overtime as he stared Mor down. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your… friend?”

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry,” Cassian said sheepishly. Jesus fuck, where were his manners? “Nes, this is my friend Mor. Mor, this is Nes. We’re lab partners this semester.”

“It’s Earnest Nathaniel, actually,” Nes corrected coldly. His eyes zeroed in on where Mor’s hand was still on Cassian’s arm, and Cassian jumped out of her grip like he’d been burned. “I don’t do nicknames.”

“I’m Morrigan, then, if we’re being formal,” Mor replied with a roll of her eyes. Cassian didn’t know why things were suddenly so tense, but he’d do anything to get that blank look off of Nes’ face. “Aren’t you friends with Eris?”

“Since middle school,” Nes answered shortly. Cassian had to blink back his surprise; normally Nes was always ready to talk about how he and Eris had gone from bonding over being the two oldest sons in their respective families to being roommates all four years. He didn’t know what had changed now, but it left him feeling uneasy all the same. 

“Then we’ve definitely met before,” Mor responded. Cassian remembered that she and Eris had had a brief fling their sophomore year before Eris abruptly realized he was gay and had started dating Azriel not too long after. “We’ve probably seen each other around, at least.”

“I don’t recall,” Nes told her stiffly. He made a big show of checking his phone before sliding it back into his pocket and shouldering his backpack. “I have to go, I’m running late for something. Have fun with your friend.”

“See you… around,” Cassian finished lamley, watching helplessly as Nes’ long legs carried him halfway across the quad in record time. He turned back to Mor with a sigh. “I don’t know why he’s being like that.”

Mor stared at Cassian like he was the biggest idiot in the world for several long moments, eventually throwing her hands up with a loud scoff. “Az was right. You’re actually such a dumbass.”

“What?” Cassian said, totally thrown by Mor’s response. She just shook her head at him before she took off too, leaving him standing by himself wondering what, exactly, he’d done to piss off not one, but two people in such record time. “Thanks for the help! Not!”

Cassian still didn’t understand just what he’d done to make Nes so upset, but by the time Tuesday’s lab rolled around, he was determined to make things right. Nes hadn’t answered his texts all weekend, but after Cassian had reposted one of Mor’s Instagram stories from Friday night happy hour with her and her girlfriend, Nes was suddenly much happier to see him. 

Weird.  

✵✵✵✵✵✵

4.

October eventually turned into November, and Cassian found himself suddenly getting ready to play his last home club soccer game. It wasn’t nearly as intense as playing varsity, but he’d enjoyed having an outlet for all his restless energy over the years, and even more so getting to know the rest of the guys on the team. 

Cassian had mentioned his final home game in passing to Nes during one of their post-class coffee hangouts, but he certainly hadn’t expected to find him sitting in the bleachers on a rainy, miserable Saturday in early November. Usually the only other people at their games were close friends and family members, so it was a nice surprise to see Nes up there; none of Cassian’s other friends had been able to make it for various reasons, so he’d fully been expecting to be celebrated later. Even more surprising was that Nes wasn’t alone – Cassian could spot two other women up there with him, and judging by that familiar golden-brown hair, it could only be Elain and Feyre. 

Cassian waved happily from the field, grinning when Feyre and Elain immediately and eagerlty returned his wave while Nes’ just held up his hand in greeting. He knew how much Nes hated getting up early, especially on a weekend, and the fact that he’d dragged himself out of bed for a 10 AM game made something go warm and fuzzy in Cassian’s chest just like that day where Nes had come over to check on him. 

He didn’t have time to investigate that right now, though. He had a game to win, especially with an audience as important as this one, so he channeled all that sudden nervous energy into being the best left back he could. 

After the game — which they’d won 2-0, much to Cassian’s glee — he walked over to where Nes and his two sisters were waiting for him, having walked down from the bleachers in the time it had taken Cassian to finish up with his teammates. He couldn’t stop smiling at the fact that Nes had dragged himself down here just to watch Cassian kick a ball around. 

“What are you doing here?” Cassian asked once they were all standing together, still pleasantly surprised ninety minutes later. “I thought you didn’t believe in waking up during single digit hours.”

Nes flushed, much to his sisters’ clear amusement. “It was your last home game. Why wouldn’t I be here?”

“I don’t think I’ve seen you wake up that early since high school, Earnie,” one of Nes’ sisters teased. She looked the most like Nes, with her gray-blue eyes and high cheekbones, and she was bundled up in an oversized cream sweater and leggings. 

“How many times have I told you not to call me that, Feyre,” Nes grumbled, much to Cassian’s delight. 

“Not enough to make it stick,” Feyre retorted with a laugh. She turned back to Cassian and stuck her hand out expectantly, so he shook it and hoped she didn’t mind the grass and sweat on his hands. “It’s nice to meet you, Cassian. We’ve heard so much about you.”

“Don’t scare him off, Feyre,” Elain, Nes’ other sister, responded. She was the shortest of the three Archerons, and had warm brown eyes that crinkled around the edges when she smiled up at Cassian. “It’s nice to finally meet you, though. I promise we’ve only heard good things!”

“That doesn’t sound like Nes at all,” Cassian replied, teasing Nes just a little bit. He liked that Nes only showed his softer side to the people he cared about, and he counted himself very lucky to have somehow made it into that small group. “Lord knows I’ve given him plenty of things to complain about.”

Feyre’s eyes lit up like Christmas had come early, and even Elain couldn’t stop her smile. Cassian wondered what had been so significant about his words, though his question was quickly answered.

“Shut up, Feyre,” Nes said before Feyre could get a chance to comment.

“If you buy me lunch, I won’t say anything,” Feyre said back, “even though it’s extremely tempting to comment on this new nickname.”

Nes sighed heavily, clearly unable to resist Feyre for too long. “Fine, but nothing too crazy. I’m not made of money.”

“We literally get the same allowance, so objectively—”

“Well then, objectively, you should be able to pay for your own food for once—”

“I’m sure you’re hungry, Cassian,” Elain turned to him with a smile, clearly used to tuning out her siblings’ bickering. “You should join us!”

“Oh,” Cassian answered, touched that they’d want to invite him to their family bonding time. “Sure, I could eat.”

“Great!” Elain clapped her hands together before reaching out and yanking Feyre to her side, her grip appearing surprisingly strong for someone so small. She nudged Nes in Cassian’s direction as she said, “You two, stop your bickering so we can go get some food. Lead the way, Earn.”

Once Cassian got his gear together and changed out of his cleats, the four of them made their way to one of the fast casual places right outside of campus. Feyre and Elain were fun to hang out with, even if they asked a lot of strangely personal questions, but it was more than worth it for all the nuggets of information they gave him about Nes. It was more than a nice way to spend the rest of his afternoon, even more so when Nes paid for everyone’s food, but Cassian knew he’d pay the other man back in coffee and pastries after lab next week. 

Cassian eventually got up to use the bathroom, and as he made his way back to their table, he overheard the Archerons talking amongst themselves. 

“I really like this one, Earn,” Cassian heard Elain say. He slowed his steps to give them time for a sibling moment if they needed it, but he was strangely curious what else they’d say about him. Assuming they were talking about him, anyway. “He seems like a really good guy.”

“Yeah,” Nes replied, his voice strangely soft again. “Me too.”

Cassian wasn’t sure why hearing that put a smile on his face for the rest of the day, but he’d take it. He hadn’t known he was facing some kind of sibling friend test, but he was glad all the same that he’d passed.

✵✵✵✵✵✵

5.

The weekend before everyone went home for Thanksgiving break, Cassian got invited to an end of the semester party that one of the guys on the football team was throwing. Most of his other friends were going, so it was bound to be at least a fun enough time between that and the ridiculous amounts of alcohol that tended to be at these kinds of things. 

Cassian of course invited Nes, pleasantly surprised when the other man said he’d be there. Nes didn’t exactly strike Cassian as the party type, but maybe he wanted to let loose after a long semester just like everybody else. 

“Whose party is it, anyway?” Nes asked as they waited for their Uber. Nes had a car, but they both knew the odds of them both staying sober were slim to none, so he’d parked in the garage across from Cassian’s building so they could ride to the party together. Azriel and Eris were also going to this party, so Cassian figured Nes would maybe catch a ride back with Eris when everything was said and done and would come grab his car another time.

Cassian laughed, his breath fogging up in front of him in the brisk November air. “Now you’re asking?”

“Feyre and Elain said they might come,” Nes replied, rolling his eyes. He looked really good in a pair of dark jeans and the fur-lined leather jacket he’d stolen from Cassian’s closet, and Cassian had a hard time taking his eyes off him. “I can’t just send them in without any information.”

“Aww,” Cassian cooed. “What a good older brother.”

“Shut up, asshole,” Nes shot back without much venom. “Someone has to keep an eye on them.”

Cassian had learned just how shitty the Archeron parents were over the course of getting to know Nes, so he didn’t dare make another joke, not about that. Instead, he double-checked his group text with Rhys and Azriel for the information Nes had asked for in the first place. “Jurian’s throwing it. I think he’s one of Lucien’s friends?”

“Jurian’s alright,” Nes responded. He pulled out his phone and typed out a few quick texts before putting his hands back in his pockets, and Cassian had to stifle the insane urge to slide his hands into those pockets, too. “Besides, even if he weren’t, Lucien will help me keep an eye on them.”

“Don’t forget to have some fun for yourself, too,” Cassian told him. Nes always took himself so seriously that Cassian was almost hoping to see him let a little loose tonight, for once. 

“Don’t worry,” Nes said just as their Uber arrived. He held Cassian’s gaze for a few charged moments in which Cassian nearly forgot how to breathe. “I plan to.”

—

About an hour and a half into the party, Cassian could safely say they were both having a good time. Feyre and Elain had spent most of their time chatting with Rhys and Lucien respectively, so Nes felt comfortable enough leaving his sisters with them that he was actually drinking and laughing and generally letting loose the exact way Cassian had hoped he would. 

Cassian had a nice buzz going himself, even more so after he’d done the rounds and said hey to a lot of his own friends. He was playing some beer pong with Tarquin, one of his friends on the swim team, against Tarquin’s cousins Varian and Cresseida, and even though they were losing spectacularly he didn’t mind not one bit. Nes was still close by enough that Cassian could keep an eye on him, unable to look away as Nes laughed at something Eris had said. 

“It’s your turn, Cassian,” Tarquin pulled him back to the game, yelling to be heard properly over the music. Cassian took the ball and missed his first throw but sank his second easily, and he high-fived Tarquin as Cresseida jokingly flipped them off from across the table. “Nice!”

Their luck didn’t hold for long, however. Varian and Cresseida got their heads in the game and absolutely destroyed Cassian and Tarquin, who split the cups in half before downing one cup after the other. 

Whoever had decided to use tequila instead of beer deserved to have a perpetually warm pillow or something, Cassian thought as he finished his half of the cups. Even as big as he was, he knew drinking that much tequila in such a short time frame was only asking for trouble, so he just hoped the rest of the night would be worth it if he ended up throwing up tonight. 

Cassian really hoped he didn’t throw up tonight. He didn’t want Nes to see him like that, even though he’d definitely already seen Cassian all gross and sick earlier in the semester. Something about Nes just made Cassian want to be on his best behavior, and he was once again hoping that whatever he did would be enough to impress Nes’ high standards. 

Speaking of Nes, where had he even gone? Cassian looked around the room for almost a minute until he spotted the right head of golden-brown hair, and then he was making his way through the crowd to where Nes was still talking to Eris. He and Azriel had shown up to the party at some point during beer pong, both of them covered in hickies and Azriel’s hair way too mussed to be natural bedhead.

At the moment, though, Azriel wasn’t anywhere to be seen, and even though they were all friends, something about watching Nes laugh yet again at something Eris said made Cassian want to haul Nes away and keep him all to himself. 

Nes was still chuckling once Cassian came close enough to interrupt whatever conversation was happening, and Cassian was willing to do whatever it took to get that attention directed at him instead of Eris. 

“Heeeeey, guys,” Cassian said, casually throwing his arm around Nes’ shoulders like it was a thing they did all the time. It should be a thing they did all the time; Nes was the perfect height for Cassian to do that and a whole lot of other things that Cassian hadn’t considered until just now. “What’s going on?”

Eris looked like he wanted to laugh, but he swallowed it down. “Hey, Cassian. You having fun?”

“Yup,” Cassian answered, popping the p. “Soooo much fun.”

“You okay, Cassian?” Nes asked. He shifted his drink to his right hand so the left one could snake around Cassian’s waist, and wow was that a nice feeling. Almost as nice as hearing his name come out of Nes’ perfect mouth. “How much have you had to drink?”

“I lost beer pong,” Cassian replied, fighting the urge to turn and press his face into Nes’ hair. It was always shiny and perfectly styled and just long enough that Cassian would be able to run his fingers through it if he could, but he knew Nes spent way too much on his haircuts for that to be a reality. “Well, really it was tequila pong. They should rename it.”

“Or maybe you should be better at the game,” Nes told him, though Cassian could tell there wasn’t any real venom behind it. 

“Maybe you can be my teammate next time,” Cassian responded with a pleased little grin. What an excellent suggestion his brain had come up with. 

Nes just snorted. “Not really my thing.”

“We’ll just find something that is, then,” Cassian promised. Whatever it took to spend more time in Nes’ arms, he’d do it. “Pinky promise.”

“What are you, five?” Nes retorted, though he finished the rest of his drink and put the cup down somewhere just so he could brush his fingers against the hand Cassian had slung across his shoulders. Cassian seized the opportunity and grabbed hold of Nes’ hand before he could move too far away, interlacing their fingers and giving them a fond little squeeze. 

“Oh, thank God,” Eris said suddenly. Cassian looked away from Nes and his pretty, flushed cheeks to see that Azriel had returned to his boyfriend’s side. “They’re being disgusting.”

“Don’t be homophobic,” Nes said back with a roll of his eyes. 

“It’s PEMDAS, it cancels out,” Azriel replied with a sly little grin. That grin disappeared as he took a good, long look at Cassian, who tried not to squirm under the intense scrutiny. “Cassian, how drunk are you?”

“How drunk are you, Az?” Cassian fired back. 

Azriel rolled his eyes and turned his attention to Nes. “You should probably take him home soon. If he drinks any more he’s going to start throwing up, and nobody wants to see that.”

“Nobody’s going to throw up,” Cassian responded, frowning. He was not going to do that, especially in front of Nes. “I’m fine.”

“Sure, Cassian,” Azriel placated him. He turned back to Nes and added, “I’m going back with Eris after this, so… knock yourselves out, I guess.”

“Thanks,” Nes answered dryly. He squeezed Cassian’s hand one last time before letting go, ignoring Cassian’s pout as he pulled his phone out and started to call an Uber. “It’s time to take you home, Cassian.”

“But I don’t wanna go home yet,” Cassian said, still pouting. “Nessssss.”

“Too bad,” Nes said back. Cassian didn’t need to be looking at him to know the other man was rolling his eyes, though he liked watching Nes do it anyway. “Let’s start saying bye to your friends.”

Nes made quick work of guiding Cassian to the door while still managing to exchange goodbyes with everyone who mattered. Their driver was already waiting when they finally made it outside, and Cassian didn’t even mind sitting in the middle seat if it meant staying close to Nes. Cassian spent most of the Uber home leaning on Nes’ shoulder, thoroughly enjoying the way their thighs were pressed together in the backseat. When they got out of the car, Cassian also enjoyed the very firm grip that Nes kept on him as they walked.

Tonight had really been amazing.

“Where are your keys?” Nes asked as he corralled Cassian toward his building. Cassian mumbled out something unintelligent in response, more than ready to crash in his bed, and Nes sighed heavily. “Cassian, come on, it’s fucking freezing and you’re heavy as hell.”

“Left pocket,” Cassian eventually told him. He giggled as Nes shoved his hand in said left pocket and came up empty-handed. “No. My other left.”

“You’re even dumber when you’re drunk,” Nes grumbled, sticking his hand in Cassian’s right pocket and finally coming up with the keys. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Nes used Cassian’s key fob to get into the building and onto the elevator, apparently remembering the way well enough that he didn’t bother to ask Cassian for his floor. Cassian was far too busy trying to remain upright, finally throwing caution to the wind and slumping fully against Nes. “Mhmm. You’re warm.”

“You’re heavy,” Nes said, though he didn’t sound mad about it. He actually released a huff of laughter that tickled the side of Cassian’s ear before poking at Cassian a few times to get him moving. “Come on, let’s get you ready for bed.”

They eventually made their way down the hallway, Nes using Cassian’s keys to open the door to his and Azriel’s apartment. They managed to make it to Cassian’s room without bumping into anything despite not turning on any of the lights, though Nes turned on the lamp on Cassian’s desk so they had a little bit of light in the bedroom. While Nes busied himself with taking off his borrowed jacket, Cassian sat on the edge of the bed and fell backwards so he was comfortable.

“Don’t you dare fall asleep,” Nes said sharply once he noticed Cassian was laying on the bed. “You’re not going to sleep in all that. You’ll overheat in the middle of the night.”

“Says you,” Cassian said back, closing his eyes. Nes loudly snapped his fingers right in front of Cassian’s face, and Cassian forced his eyes back open just so he could roll them, hard. “Ugh. Whatever, Dad.”

Despite Cassian’s grumbling, he didn’t put up too much of a fight at Nes making him kick off his shoes and take off his jacket. He didn’t even mind taking off his shirt, since that’s usually how he slept anyway, but when it came time for Nes to coax him out of his pants, suddenly all bets were off. 

“Come on, Cassian,” Nes said, exasperated. He’d gotten Cassian to sit up while his other clothes had come off, and he was being really patient as he tried to unfasten Cassian’s jeans and take them off. “You can’t go to sleep in jeans.”

“No jeans for everyone,” Cassian said back with a loud laugh. He knew he was drunk and being more than a little annoying, but Nes certainly didn’t seem to mind as Cassian fumbled with the buttons on the other man’s jeans. “It’s only fair.”

“It’s not about fair, it’s about— hey!” Nes yelped as Cassian got the bright idea of suddenly yanking him forward. They overbalanced and Nes landed awkwardly on top of Cassian, who had developed a serious case of the giggles at the shocked expression on the other man’s face. “Really, Cassian?”

“Oh man,” Cassian replied, still giggling, “the look on your face.”

“Ha, ha,” Nes deadpanned. “Very funny.”

Cassian’s giggles abruptly stopped as he realized just how close he and Nes suddenly were. Cassian didn’t think they’d ever been so close before, and he found himself liking it, probably more than he should considering Nes was just trying to be a good friend and help him get ready for bed. It didn’t stop him from finally giving into the urge he’d been shoving down all night to bury his face into the side of Nes’ neck.

“Mhmmm,” Cassian said, breathing in the smell of Nes’ cologne and whatever fancy pomade he liked to use on his hair. Even underneath the smell of weed and alcohol and sweat from the party, he still smelled so goddamn good. “You smell good.”

“Thank you,” Nes said back, his voice a little strained. “Can I get up now?”

“Oh, shit, sorry,” Cassian said.

Cassian shifted underneath Nes, ready to sit them both up so they could stop fucking around and go to sleep, but it seemed the universe had other plans. As Cassian tried to sit up, he was completely unprepared for the hot stab of arousal that hit him as he realized their dicks were pressed together, and that it felt good. 

Really good.

“Fuck,” Cassian said, his dick already half-hard. He was torn between apologizing for making things weird and shifting under Nes again, but he didn’t know what to say to make either thing happen. He just laid there, his heart pounding out of his chest as he waited to see what Nes would do.  

Nes had frozen too, his full, pink lips parted in surprise. He stared down at Cassian for a few moments without saying a word, and Cassian braced himself for the worst. 

But then Nes rolled his hips against Cassian’s, thrusting against him with intention, and any and all worries Cassian had abruptly disappeared with the feeling of Nes’ very hard dick grinding against his. “Oh, fuck, you feel good.”

“Yeah?” Cassian breathed. Now that he wasn’t worried about Nes’ reaction, all that nervous energy had been replaced with pure hunger. He’d never been with another guy before, but that didn’t change the way he wanted to know what Nes looked like when he came.

“I’ve been thinking about this all fucking semester,” Nes continued, pausing briefly to yank off his shirt and kick his jeans off. Cassian could only gape at the sheer amount of skin suddenly on display, interrupted only by the dark blue boxers Nes was still wearing. “You have any lube?”

Cassian flushed as he realized why they might need that. “Um. I. No?”

“That’s fine,” Nes answered, yanking off Cassian’s jeans before climbing back on top of Cassian. “Take out your dick.”

Cassian had never moved faster in his life. He scrambled to pull his dick out through the hole in the front of his boxers, hissing a little as he touched himself. He was so hard it almost hurt, and he nearly stopped breathing as Nes reached down and wrapped his hand around Cassian’s dick.

“Oh my God,” Cassian breathed, though he was pretty sure it had come out more like a whimper. He’d earned plenty of notches on his bedpost over the years, but somehow this was the hottest thing that had ever happened to him. 

And that was before Nes started to actually move his hand. Cassian groaned when Nes began to slowly stroke him, his cock leaking like a faucet the entire time, and he couldn’t stop himself from thrusting upwards into Nes’ firm grip. “Nes, come on, please.”

Nes smirked down at Cassian for a few moments before deciding to take pity on him. He sped up a little bit, just enough to reach a nice, steady pace, and Cassian couldn’t help making helpless little noises every time Nes flicked his wrist upwards. After a few minutes of that, Nes finally pulled out his own cock and worked himself over a few times, his eyes fluttering shut at how good it must have felt, and then he was reaching for Cassian’s hand and placing it on his cock.

Cassian had thought things were intense before, but this was an entirely new level. 

“Jesus,” Cassian muttered, all of this going straight to his own dick. He’d never touched another cock before, but it wasn’t so different from touching his own. The angle and the way Nes’ cock felt in his hand were different, yeah, but that was a very welcome change. Nes wasn’t as thick as Cassian, but he certainly made up for it with the inch or two he had extra.

Once Nes had decided Cassian had done enough staring, he closed his hand around Cassian’s and started to show Cassian what he liked. Cassian was mesmerized by the slow, slick slide of their hands moving together over Nes’ admittedly very nice cock; he hadn’t stared openly at very many dicks in his life, but Cassian was more than happy to look at this one. He was even happier to look at the man it was attached to, doing his best to commit the look on Nes’ face to memory for reasons he wasn’t entirely sure of just yet.

“Yeah, just like that,” Nes groaned, his voice low. He let go of Cassian’s hand, apparently trusting him to keep the rhythm they’d set together, and reached for Cassian’s dick again. “Yeah, fuck, Cassian, that’s it.”

Cassian moaned as Nes started stroking Cassian’s dick a little faster than he’d done before, the praise and the perfect friction against Cassian’s dick absolutely doing it for him. They were both hot and slick under the other’s hand, and Cassian swore as Nes turned his focus to the very tip of Cassian’s dick. “Shit, don’t stop.”

Of course, Nes picked that exact moment to let go. “Relax, Cassian. I have a better idea.”

“It better be— oh,” Cassian cut himself off with a shocked gasp as Nes knocked Cassian’s hand out of the way so he could hold both of their cocks together in one hand. “Oh, God.”

“That’s what I thought,” Nes replied smugly. He shifted so their cocks were better lined up, and Cassian saw stars as Nes started to stroke both of their cocks together. Everything was slippery and hot and perfect, especially once they fell into rhythm that guaranteed the most friction between them, Cassian surging upward while Nes’ hips moved back, over and over and over again. Eventually Nes moved his hand out of the way so they were just grinding against each other, their cocks trapped between their bodies as Nes leaned down and completely covered Cassian’s body with his own, leaner frame. 

“Oh, fuck, don’t stop,” Cassian panted, reaching down to grab a handful of Nes’ ass so they could press together that much better. “So good, Jesus, you feel so good…”

Feeling Nes move against him was giving Cassian all sorts of ideas, mostly about what it would be like if he was fucking Cassian for real. Cassian’s rhythm turned frantic as he thought about Nes holding him down, fucking him hard, making him take it—

Cassian came with a choked off moan of Nes’ name, his come spilling across both of their cocks and setting Nes off. Nes drew it out for both of them until Cassian was squirming underneath him, not stopping the movement of his hips until Cassian was near tears and the pleasure-pain of it, and then the only sound in the room was both of their heavy breathing. 

Nes gracefully rolled off of Cassian and reached for a nearby towel, using it to wipe up their shared come as best he could before tossing it toward Cassian’s hamper. “Move over.”

Cassian didn’t even think to object, his head spinning between the tequila still in his system and the enormity of what had just happened between them. But Nes didn’t seem to be as affected; he just kicked off his wet underwear before delving under the covers. “Night, Cassian.”

Cassian guessed they would just talk about whatever that was in the morning, so he kicked off his own underwear, got under the covers, threw his arm around Nes’ waist, and let sleep take him. Nes’ feet were freezing where they were pressed between Cassian’s calves, but he didn’t mind that one bit. 

✵✵✵✵✵✵

+1

When Cassian woke up the next morning, he didn’t have the faintest clue how things were going to go. Last night had been beyond even his wildest fantasies, but the reality of Nes warming his bed was starting to creep in. 

Not that he had a lot of time to really ponder that, considering Nes was already awake and staring at him expectantly. They’d fallen asleep spooning, but they must have rolled apart during the night given Nes was now facing Cassian. 

Their legs were still tangled together, though. Maybe that counted for something.  

“Hey,” Cassian said hesitantly. He had a solid headache from last night, but he knew even that couldn’t stop this conversation from happening. “Um. Good morning.”

“Good morning,” Nes replied, his voice a little raspier and deeper than usual. It went straight to Cassian’s dick, which was not helping his creeping panic at the discussion they were about to have, though it was certainly another thing to add to his mental list of things Nes did that were incredibly attractive. 

He wasn’t even freaked out at his newfound bisexuality — he’d always thought of himself as open to experimenting, so it was nice to know that hadn’t just been a passing fantasy — it was more that he didn’t want to risk his relationship with Nes. Cassian didn’t know what he’d do without their coffee hangouts, or their text threads, or the way Nes looked at him like he was the biggest idiot on campus. 

“What are we doing?” Cassian asked hesitantly, knowing the only way forward was through. He just had to rip the band-aid off, and if that meant their friendship was done, he’d be okay. Eventually. “Are we… together now?”

“We’ve been together,” Nes said, an adorable frown appearing on his pretty face. Cassian wanted to smooth it out with his fingers. “What do you mean, what are we doing?”

“We’ve been together?” Cassian repeated. He was so, so confused, but also a not-insignificant part of him was incredibly relieved that Nes wasn’t going anywhere. “Since… when?”

“You can’t be serious,” Nes replied. When he realized Cassian wasn’t kidding, his frown morphed into a deep scowl. No smoothing that one out with his fingers. “Oh my God. You are being serious.”

“What are you talking about right now?” Cassian asked, realizing just how out of his depth he was. Had he missed something from before they’d hooked up last night? “I’m not fucking around, Nes. What’s happening?”

“I asked you out after our first lab,” Nes answered slowly, like he was talking to a little kid. “I brought you soup when you were sick, I came to your soccer game — you met my sisters, for fuck’s sake. We’ve been dating all semester, Cassian.”

“Oh,” Cassian said, unable to come up with something more eloquent as a lot of pieces suddenly fell into place. He’d chalked all of that — and the way it made him feel — up to Nes just going above and beyond in their friendship, but clearly there was so much more than that going on here. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” Nes said back, irritated. 

“Is that why you were so mad at Mor that day?” Cassian asked, a light bulb suddenly switching on in his mind. No wonder Mor had said he was being such a dumbass; he owed her a massive apology. “Holy shit, were you jealous?”

“She was touching you,” Nes hissed, that muscle in his jaw working overtime as he thought back to that fateful afternoon. “Of course I was fucking jealous, you idiot.”

“You don’t have to be jealous, Nes,” Cassian replied. He couldn’t stop smiling, and the more worked up Nes got, the wider his grin became. “Mor doesn’t even like men romantically!”

“How was I supposed to know that at the time, Cass,” Nes retorted. 

“This is such a ridiculous argument, sweetheart. Besides, you know how much I like you,” Cass said, immediately gratified at the look on Nes’ face. “Oh, wait, you like that nickname.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Nes immediately denied. Cassian knew it was bullshit from the adorable pink flush spreading across the other man’s cheeks. “Shut up.”

“Nes. Nesseroni. Earn,” Cassian said, running through all of Nes’ other names just because he could. He could do a lot of things now, apparently. “Earnest Nathaniel.”

“Just Nes is fine,” Nes grumbled. “All those other names suck.”

“Sure they do. Hey, do you want to be my boyfriend?” Cassian asked before he could lose his nerve.  

Nes sighed, but Cassian saw right through that from the pleased tilt of his mouth. “Yes. Fine. Whatever.”

“Just whatever?” Cassian repeated with a grin. He shuffled forward until their chests were pressed together and rolled them so he was on top of Nes, very much enjoying this new development. 

“Just shut up and kiss me,” Nes replied. Cassian was more than happy to follow orders, leaning in and closing the distance between their lips. Both of them had morning breath and Nes had a little bit of stubble tickling Cassian’s upper lip, but it was easily one of the best kisses he’d ever experienced. Nes’ lips were softer than Cassian had been expecting, and they parted easily so Cassian could explore with his tongue. The slick slide of their tongues immediately reminded Cassian of the way their cocks slid together the night before, but he forced himself to stay focused. They’d have plenty of time for mind-blowing sex later, if Cassian had anything to say about it. 

“Was that… okay?” Nes asked quietly after a few more minutes of kissing, his gray-blue eyes furiously searching Cassian’s hazel ones for the slightest hint of any discomfort. 

“So much better than okay,” Cassian answered. He didn’t want Nes to have even a single doubt, so he leaned in and kissed Nes again, though they were both smiling a little too much for it to count as a real kiss. “You make me so fucking crazy.”

Nes hmmed and they lazily made out for a while, though it wasn’t with any intent beyond just exploring each other’s mouths. When they eventually broke apart, Cassian just had to laugh at how much of a dumbass he’d really been all these weeks. At Nes’ confused look, Cassian said, “Don’t get mad, but… this whole time I thought you were just really invested in being my friend.”

“You’re actually one of the most ridiculous people I’ve ever met,” Nes said, though the effect was lessened given how pink his lips were from all the kissing. He pushed at Cassian, who rolled over so they were on their sides facing each other again. “Jesus Christ, how were you so oblivious?”

“I just thought you really, really liked me,” Cassian said back, still laughing at himself. God, he was such an idiot. “Platonically, though.”

Nes stared at him incredulously for several long seconds. “Should I be concerned that you thought all the things we did were totally platonic?”

“I figured it out in the end!” Cassian protested. Sure, maybe it had taken a ridiculously long time to come to what felt like a very obvious conclusion, but Cassian wouldn’t change it. Not when he got to be the one waking up next to Nes exchanging good morning kisses. 

“Yeah, after I told you to take your dick out,” Nes responded. He released a long-suffering sigh that absolutely delighted Cassian to hear. “Like I said… you’re lucky you’re cute.”

“Nah,” Cassian said, grinning. “I’m lucky you like me so much.”

His boyfriend — and wasn’t that a thought — didn’t deny it. Instead, Nes graced Cassian with a rare smile and said, “Yeah. Something like that.”

tag list: @perseusannabeth | @bookstantrash | @fieldofdaisiies | @goddess-aelin | @c-e-d-dreamer | @talkfantasytome | @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk | @sv0430 | @talibunny30 | @unlikelypersonalknight1 | @champanheandluxxury | @lilah-asteria | @burningsnowleopard | @sayosdreams | @readskk | @simpingfornestaarcheron | @bellaful08 | @readergalaxy | @podemechamardek | @pearlfortears | @nerdperson524 | @jmoonjones | @kale-theteaqueen | @autumnbabylon | @hiimheresworld | @illyrianshadowhunter | @dustjacketmusings | @live-the-fangirl-life | @that-little-red-head | @sweet-pea1 | @brieq | @queercontrarian | @jsmelodies | @afflicted-with-wanderlust

[andreal831]

Outside of Elijah/Klaus (cause there was absolutely 0 reason both of them died), which character in all of TVDU do you think had the most unnecessary/dumb death?

Honestly Klaus and Elijah aren't even in my top. Yes, both of them dying was dumb, but there are so many other death's that were more unnecessary. At least Elijah and Klaus made it to the end of TO.

Some honorable mentions: Hayley, Tyler, Gia, Josh, Enzo, Jo, Lexi, Sophie, Eve, Jesse, Aaron, Aya, Jackson, all of the hybrids, Carol, Henry, Celeste (first time), Genevie (first time and kind of second time). I'm sure there are more.

But my most unnecessary/dumb death is Cami O'Connell.

There was zero reason for her to die and it was because she wasn't meant to die. I firmly believe she was meant to be the school psychologist in Legacies. It would have made so much sense for her to be there for Hope after Hope lost so much of her family. It also would have allow a woman on the show to have a happy ending that wasn't centered around a man. Her happy ending would have been watching over Hope and helping all of the supernatural children, fulfilling her family's destiny.

Cami still had so much of a story left to tell. She was so young and full of promise. She lost her entire family due to the supernatural world and then was forced into it herself. If anyone in TO is a parallel to Elena, it is Cami. Her family legacy was so entrenched in the supernatural that it was only a matter of time before she herself was pulled into it.

Even her death made no sense. Lucien wanted to hurt Klaus for 'stealing' Aurora from him, but at that point, Lucien had the ability to kill Klaus. Sure, maybe he wanted him to suffer, so why not go after Hope? She was out in the bayou essentially unprotected (let's be honest, what could Mary have done?).

Even if we accept Lucien wanted to make it even by taking away Klaus' love, how did they not save her? Like two days later the entire Mikaelson gang is bitten and Freya just magically thinks of a way to freeze them and save them all? They couldn't have thought of that a little quicker? It's funny how they always manage to think of life saving magic when the plot/Mikaelsons require it, but there's no other options when it comes to sacrificing other characters.

Even if we accept that she died, they really didn't even make an effort to bring her back? Davina was able to be brought back from the dead after her soul was shredded. I know the other side was gone at that point, but let's not pretend the show didn't just bring back characters with very little rhyme or reason. The Mikaelsons didn't even attempt to find a way to bring her back.

And no one even say it was to help Klaus' character development. I hate when women are killed to further a man's development. It was clear in the writing that Klaus still needed Cami for his development. He was just at the brink of trying to be a better person, he was nowhere near done. We can clearly see this in the amount of scenes Hayley becomes ooc in order to be Cami for Klaus. Or Caroline coming in season 5, which made no sense, was clearly meant to be Cami.

Cami was an O'Connell and this meant something in New Orleans. People who claim her character was just a love interest were not watching. Her character was going to unite New Orleans. Not Hayley, not Hope, and definitely not the Mikaelsons. Every faction adored her. Marcel and Vincent loved her and would have done anything to keep her safe. The Mikaelsons each loved her outside of her relationship with Klaus. She would have always been a mother figure to Hope, no matter what her relationship was. Hayley loved her as well. We don't see her interact with the wolves too much but that's because they were largely forgotten in the writing. But every faction loved her and respected her. Her legacy was fixing the war in New Orleans. Which I love the writers just kind of dropped and everything magically go better when the Mikaelsons left, even though the war had been going on longer than the Mikaelsons were there.

The writers had not planned to kill her off but because of the toxicity of the fandom, they killed her off. This is just bad writing. They writers often cared more about ratings than the actual art of story telling and the show suffered because of it.

Thanks for the ask! What other deaths do you all think were unnecessary?

[underratedmurder]

The Road to Hallowskun (Fred Weasley x Reader) Part. 1

Takes place during Deathly Hallows part 1, where reader is an Auror in training. After death eaters attack the wedding at the burrow, reader and Fred escape together, on their own, they are on the run, trying to reach their destination, the Hallowskun safehouse.

Reader has a crush on Fred, unmentioned feelings and tension.

Warning for blood!

Edit: I’m sorry I know now that these are pics of George, I just wasn’t paying attention enough while scrolling on Pinterest 😭

_________________

Flash, bright blue and green light shone blindingly in your eyes. A crash sent shards of glass flying towards your face, piercing your skin and shredding it like paper. The tent was a blaze, there was absolute chaos all around you, and the burrow was under attack.

You wish you could say it was the first time you'd been at the Weasley's home as it was set on fire. But the dark lord didn't wait to strike again, you and the order found it wasn't in his nature. Not since he had sunk his fangs into the ministry, not since he had started hunting down Aurors.

You were winded, ears ringing and head banging from the pounding noise. The glass hit you fast, you hardly felt it cut you, and it sent your head sharply to the right. Your vision blurred, and you scrambled to find something, anything in front of you to hold onto. Your hands found a table, your wand still grasped in your hand, knuckles scraped and bleeding. After a breath, you could finally see again, a broken plate and rustled flowers lay before you. Your eyes followed a drop of blood as it fell onto the white tablecloth, red spindling throughout its weaving threads. You wiped your nose, suddenly aware that the skin was splayed open, cartilage exposed.

You removed your hand, red filled your palm, but there wasn't any more time to linger. A scream rang in your ear, and you spun around.

It was Luna, fighting in the arms of a death eater, head locking her, his wand pressed harshly to her temple. They both were staggering backward, as she struggled and writhed to free herself. He was about to apparate.

You couldn't let him, that would ensure her fate, and instantly your wand was in the air, swinging quickly, pointing sharply ahead. You shouted,

"Expelliarmus!"

His wand flew from his hand and shot straight towards you. You caught it just above your head, bringing it down to your foot, where you brought your heel down to snap it in half.

He scowled, almost letting Luna go as his grasp let up trying to reach for his wand. But then he stopped, tightening his grip around her as she almost wriggled free. He locked eyes with you, as his mouth quirked into a smile.

No

You leaped between the two tables in front of you to get to her, but it was too late, he had apparated, and they were both gone.

"Luna," you shuddered.

You began to look around frantically, for Luna, for anyone, she was misted into thin air and you weren't sure who else was gone.

The twins caught your eye immediately, they were by the entrance to the tent, dueling with two death eaters. They were holding their own, but a third was starting to approach, flanking them from behind.

Without rhyme or reason, you were bolting towards them. You pushed a table out of your way, striding past explosive spells that nearly knocked you off your feat. And one almost did, before you deflected it just centimeters from your already gushing bleeding face, you began to feel lightheaded again, but kept steady, reaching the Weasley boys in seconds.

"Fred, George!" waving your wand with vigor, you shot a sharp ray of red light towards the black smokey figure perusing them.

The death eater was instantly shooting through the side of the tent, ripping open a hole in the canvas. Your head was on a swivel, looking around like a jittery animal, teeth gritted, and brow furrowed furiously. You scanned your surroundings, the boys were still slashing their wands at the two death eaters, barely catching their offensive spells. Though, George had looked back to watch you, his eyes wide and panicked. You noticed his ear had started to bleed again, blood running down his neck onto the collar of his shirt.

Fred's wand flourished particularly spectacularly, bright orange sparks spiraled out of his wand and exploded into a yellow light that spun one of the death eaters in the air.

He smiled, and gasped.

"Well done, Freddie," George exclaimed, shouting to push and break through the static crowded noise.

George followed his brothers lead, and flourished his wand even more wildly, sending a bright blue light straight to the heart of the other death eater. At once, she seized up and fell to the ground.

"Better done, Georgie," the boys beamed at each other, and a part of you was inclined to smile.

You almost relaxed, until a hand abruptly came down on your shoulder from behind.

You whisked around, raising your wand, but found it was Remus, sweaty and cut up. He looked worse than you probably did, which you didn't want to think about right now. But he was a pleasant surprise. He was gasping, and in a hurry.

Before he could get to it though, his mouth fell into a horrified frown.

"God, y/n," His eyes drooped, concerned. "You need to get out of here, now,"

"I can't just leave. The others-"

"Will be fine. Take Fred with you," he exhaled.

"But George-"

"Tonks will be with him," he assured.

You relaxed a bit, feeling the calm his presence provided. You nodded at him, looking around, attempting to grasp what was about to happen.

"What about you?" you asked, horribly worried that he'd end up helping people to death if he could.

He smiled, "I'm going to the same place you are, in time," his smile faltered.

Alone, he was going alone.

He pushed you back towards the boys, "Go, now," he snapped, you locked eyes before walking back and into Fred.

You weren't sure you'd see Remus alive again.

Fred grabbed your arm, and you turned to face him, ready to grab his hand and apparate as soon as you could, but he stopped, his face turning white as he looked at you.

He was staring right at your nose and your left cheek, his eyes unwavering.

"What?" you blurted, raising your hand to touch the spot again, and you felt the blood, still wet. You understood, but said nothing, he swallowed.

"Take my hand," you shouted. But he hesitated, looking over at his brother.

"Tonks is coming, George will go with her," he looked back at you, frowning slightly, then back at his twin.

"Georgie," he called, and they nodded at one another, a glimmer in both their eyes, they were afraid of the same thing.

"Freddie," his gaze snapped to yours, "My hand," and he immediately intertwined his digits with yours, you felt the frayed ends of his suit jacket tickle your wrist.

Now, time was bending, and space flipped inside out, your skin strained under the pressure of fourth dimension defying magic. You could practically feel the muscle in your face tearing, already exposed from the attack. Freds other hand came to grasp you, fingers melding into the fabric of your clothing as he tried to pull you in tighter. You knew where to go, but also knew the death eaters would expect you all immediately, so you had to think of a starting point. Panic overtook you as the two of you spun around faster and faster, gravity pulling you together into a hot and frenzied mess. Then came the busiest, crowded, most confusing place you could think of. The London Underground.

In a second, you appeared in a station, feet stumbling backward on the tile floor as a train zoomed pass your noses, or what was left of yours.

Fred didn't let go of your hand and pulled you toward him so he could see your face.

His hands went to gently cup your cheeks, he scowled, flinching when you winced at the touch of his fingertips.

"You're still bleeding," he stammered.

"Yes, we need to keep moving," you grabbed his hand and started dragging him onto the train car.

"But, your nose," he came closer to you as you sat down in the corner, inspecting the area of your cheek.

"I'll be fine,"

"I know a charm," he blurted, his grip on his wand tightened, his knuckles white and fingers scarlet.

"There isn't enough time,"

"You're joking, you'll bleed out before we get to the safehouse," he sat next to you, bringing his wand up and focusing on your wound.

"Fred, the muggles," You whispered, noticing the few people at the other end of the car. The train was moving quickly, screeching as it turned a corner.

"They won't notice. Hardly observant, muggles," he smirked, but your vision started to blur again, and you decided to give in.

You didn't protest, letting him cup your jaw, slowly pointing his wand at your cheek, he began.

"Ferula," the word sounded like a cooling bandage, warm light radiated from his wand and onto your cheek. Your pain quickly soothed, and you could start to see clearly again.

Freds face was more defined now, his nose pointed and flaring as he watched a white bandage appear over your cheek and nose.

"Better?" his voice filled your ears, as the screeching of the train diminished.

You nodded, feeling the bandage with your fingers, the blood had stopped gushing, dried bits of it rested on your chin.

"That was risky, we're not safe yet," you readjusted in your seat, gripping your wand and surveyed the train again. There was no telling if death eaters had followed you here, but there was no sign of them yet.

"You looked horrible darling, couldn't handle looking at another gaping hole in someone's face after George," he joked, though the statement still rang true. You didn't need a mirror to know it was bad, you just couldn't stop to heal yourself yet, not if this wasn't the last of your wounds. And George, he was just attacked weeks ago, Freds eyes were glossy, his hands fidgeting with his jacket. He was worried about him.

"But I look better now, right?" you teased him a bit, trying to lift the weight of everything. He smiled at you.

"Good as new,"

You smiled back.

"George is gonna be okay,"

"I know, he always is," he sighed. You weren't sure if it was just some magical superstition, but it seemed the twins were connected, like that 'twin telepathy' people always talk about. Whenever Fred was upset about something, George was in the dumps too. You hoped whatever connection they had, was reassuring Fred that George was alive.

"Where are we love?" Fred asked, looking around and loosening his collar and tie, sweat dribbled down the side of his face.

"Muggle train system in London, I think we’ve just left Piccadilly Circus,”

He stared at you, puzzled.

“It’s a… really busy area in the city,” 

“Any idea where we’re headed? I don’t suppose you’ve got a wonderfully planned set of directions for us to get to hallowskun. Or are you just so brilliant and responsible that you do?” 

Hallowskun was the spooky name of the safe house, tucked away in the Scottish countryside. What made you laugh was it really wasn’t spooky at all. Quite cute actually.

You chuckled, “Very sweet, but no. I don’t,” you frowned, a bit disappointed in yourself. 

“Then we’re on our own,”

“Yeah,” you sighed, but Fred's hand reached for yours, and you felt a bit better, squeezing his digits.

“The bandage makes you look pretty wicked you know,” he chimes, “More badass than any of those lousy spell eating death eaters could ever hope to look,”  he beamed at you, eyes crinkled into a smile. They were brown and soft, kind. There was a cut just above his brow, red and deep. He was such a beautiful boy, you wanted to protect him. Didn’t matter if he was six feet tall, or exceptional at magic...

“Really?” you feigned surprise, he nodded.

But then, quite loudly, the train car doors slid open, and two men in all black boarded. Their boots thumped, booming as they stepped further into the cart. They were hooded, eyes barely visible but surrounded by black.

They may have very well been London punks, but the second man turning his head towards you on a swivel allerted you immediately. It was Walden Macnair, a devout follower of the Dark Lord, you remembered him from the battle at the Ministry. And it seemed he remembered you as well.

His eyes widened, and he grimaced. You squeezed Fred's hand, and he flinched, quickly looking ahead and noticing Macnair striding towards you.

“Legit?” Fred gasped, tugging on your hand.

“Yeah,” you nodded, and before Macnair threw his first spell, you were both dashing out of the cart.

_____________

Let me know if anyone is interested in a part two to this, I really enjoy the endless possibilities of the Harry Potter universe and would love to write some sweet sweet "there's only one bed" fanfiction goodness lol.

Thanks for reading!

[valentoru]

|| Limitless ||

[CHAPTER 9]

SYNOPSIS: Gojo Satoru, a big time artist, who’s known for leaving a trail of broken hearts in his wake wherever he goes. And you, the lead guitarist of an upcoming band, who’s absolutely certain that no one will ever love you. Through an accident in which you happened to kiss Gojo in a frantic state, you both decide, via convenience alone—and zero regard for both of your managers—to pull a fake dating stunt what could go wrong? Any press is good press…right?

PREVIOUS : MASTERLIST : NEXT

You arrived to fake dating Thursday late and in the foulest of moods. You had missed your alarm to wake up and nothing seemed to be going your way since opening your eyes. Your phone hadn’t charged over night. There was no instant coffee left—thank god you were about to be in a coffee shop—and you couldn’t find the words for your pitch to Geto Suguru.

You paused outside the doors of the shop. Taking a moment to breathe and organise your thoughts. You took one last deep breath and slapped on the best smile you could conjure. You needed to be at home working on your pitch, working with the band on the pitch organising stuff. Not waisting your time in a coffee shop on a coffee you didn’t particularly want with a person you most definitely didn’t want to talk to.

Ugh.

When you stepped inside the cafe Satoru was already there. He had a deep crease set between his brows, he was annoyed. You sighed and walked over to him.

“Um hi Satoru.” You we’re embarrassed at your lateness, it wasn’t like you to be this late. You’d also some how managed to startle him, you knew this as he’d gone ridged as he turned to you.

“Oh—oh hello.” His shoulders dropped and he turned his back on you to the counter as he pocketed his phone. “I was waiting for you to arrive before I ordered, what do you want?”

“Oh don’t worry I’ll order separately!”

“What? No I’m paying so I’ll order for you.”

“No no. You really don’t have to. Besides I don’t want to owe you.” You could feel beads of sweat forming at your hairline. You really would love to accept the offer but being in debt to anyone was unnecessary, especially when that “anyone” is actually Satoru Gojo.

“You won’t owe me anything, I don’t want anything in return. Seriously, Y/N, get whatever and I’ll pay.” He insisted and it seemed like he wouldn’t back down so you caved.

“Fine.” You let out an exasperated and defeated sigh.

“Get whatever I don’t mind, I’ll pay.”

You were definitely and clearly reluctant to do so at first till it clicked, you may as well use this to your advantage. After all, you’re extremely underpayed and hardly ever eat a real meal, or anything for that matter. You grinned, you knew this would give him a little bit of trouble and for some unexplainable reason, you wanted to annoy him. “I’ll have a pumpkin spice ice coffee, three pumps of cream and and one pump of cinnamon syrup please.”

He deadpanned, completely unfazed by your request. Then turned his head from you to the woman behind the counter and rhymed off your order. “Can I get a Pumpkin spice ice coffee with three pumps of cream and one pump of cinnamon syrup,” you swore you saw him roll his eyes. “And I’ll have a black coffee.”

Your jaw practically broke. He wanted a what? For some reason you were more surprised that you were so surprised by his order. He had painted you as the type of guy to not like anything with flavour in his life, it was almost like the shoe fit too well. You were even more so shocked your assumption was right.

“Typical.” You mumbled under your breath. But you almost immediately regretted it. You begged the god he hadn’t heard, and you would have made it unscathed if your face wasn’t flushed red.

“What?”

“Oh—I um said it’s typical that you would order a black coffee.” Well there was certainly no turning back now.

“What do you mean by that?”

“I don’t know. I guess the shoe just fits.”

“I get the feeling that’s not exactly a compliment.”

A part of you wished the floor would just open up and swallow you whole, or you could get out of this conversation immediately and preferably run to a corner and never be seen again. But you couldn’t do either so you opted for the only option you could conjure; not answering him.

You could sense that he was waiting for some kind of response however you had none to give, so to make it more clear that you were avoiding the conversation you pulled your phone out to check the group chat. It had been a while since you last checked out what was going on, you’d been surprisingly busy over the last few days.

You rolled your eyes and turned your phone off. Some distraction they were.

The barista called out your order and you practically leapt for the drink. You were running on about 2 hours sleep and no coffee, you were deprived. You sighed and picked up your drink taking a long sip and making a satisfied sigh. You’d needed this.

Satoru, on the other hand, was watching you with a disgusted expression. You could feel his gaze on you so you looked at him, only to be met like his nose scrunched up and his eyebrows knotted together.

“What?”

He practically gagged. “I don’t know how you drink that sugary crap.”

“You mean fall in a cup? I don’t know how you don’t drink this sugary crap.”

“Still crap.”

“Shut up, you always have to be a Debbie downer don’t you?”

He rolled his eyes. “Whatever, just keep that pumpkin spice fall barf away from me.” You could have sworn you saw the corner of his mouth jerk.

“Fine fine.”

You made your way over to a table. He followed you quickly and took the seat across from you. You pulled your phone out of your pocket and set it on the table.

You sat in an extremely awkward silence, clearly both of you were wracking your brain for any topic whatsoever to talk about. But no matter how much you searched you only ended up at a dead end. That was when it dawned on you; you and Satoru didn’t have a single thing in common. This would definitely affect fake dating Thursday from now on.

You sighed and sat back in your seat uncomfortably telling yourself that it wasn’t that bad, but you knew for a fact that it was. This was really really bad. How were you only going to spend the next few months with him every Thursday, even just for 10 minutes without a single thing to talk about. You could gossip to him but he really didn’t seem like the type of person.

Something possessed you to check the time, so you did, and almost passed out. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry I have to go like right now. Thank you for buying me the drink and I’ll see you next Thursday.” You dove for the door as his goodbye chased after you, but before it could reach you, you were already out and on your way to the conference room to meet with your producers.

TAGLIST(29/50): @bbmsxlene @lunavelha @satoryaa @tranzumaki @k-kkiana @luvkvni @lysaray @kalulakunundrum @arysbruv @r4veeen @stillnotherapy @catobsessedlady @colortheoryrocks @minzxec @dazqa @packsvlog @luvvmae @simplysm1le @mintfyi @fushigurosgirl @littlecritteryay @fackeraccount @astro-stars @lavender-hvze @miizuzu @rayrayline @kanaojacksonofc @letsmyy @serenadesvt

AN:

I know canonically Satoru likes sweet stuff but just smile and nod for me PLEASE

© valentoru all rights reserved- do not publish my work on other platforms, plagiarise or translate.