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weezyweasleys-fg · 2 days ago

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Rowdy | Fred Weasley

summary: Set Callaghan. A Slytherin senior of yours at Hogwarts Uni who wouldn't leave you alone. He thinks the quickest way to a girl's heart, is by belittling her into liking him back. Your classmate and long time friend, Fred Weasley, takes notice of this and it clearly doesn't sit right with him.

cw (it's a mess I'm sorry): 1st person pov, set callaghan is a character I made solely for the purpose of this story, fred and reader shenanigans, reader is in another house other than gryffindor, violence (fred decided to become a wwe wrestler), swearing, tension between fred and reader, fluff ending, contains hurtful language, half-blood reader, set callaghan highkey being obsessed, creepy, and an asshole, fred being delicious.

w/c: 16.4k (i just couldn't stop writing, apparently.)

a/n: this piece bit me in the ass so hard, but it's finally done 😭 I hope you guys enjoy reading it! I'm also planning on doing a george one soon!

"If it isn't little miss bookworm. Still scribbling away in that little book of yours, are you? Would do you some good to look up for once and give me a bit of attention." A voice the equivalent of nails on a chalkboard sauntered up to me. The tone and the way he spoke gave away that smug grin he always wore as his eyes roamed over my notes.

I sighed. "Here we go again." I mentally noted, trying to desperately drown out his voice with the surrounding chatter that echoed throughout the walls of the Great Hall, but it seemed impossible to do so. I felt the students around me beginning to shoot us looks. Looks that made me feel especially uncomfortable.

I always knew my next few years at Hogwarts would be somewhat eventful, but I never anticipated just how much trouble one particular person could cause me. That person being none other than Set Callaghan. A Slytherin senior with a twisted perception of courtship.

His pathetic excuse to flirt with me (if you'd even call it that) in an attempt to try and gain my affections began all throughout my third year in university. I'm a fourth year now and nothing has changed. It may have only been a year, but it's still one year too plenty.

My closest confidants, Hermione and Ginny, had sympathized with me. Offering to hex the miserable dungbrain on my behalf, but I told them he wasn't worth getting into trouble for.

They compensated for the lack of action by still offering an open ear to my ranting after school, which I'm very thankful for. And without them, I probably would've gone completely insane by now.

I drew in a deep breath, shutting my eyes in an attempt to compose myself. "Piss off, Callaghan." I spat, my voice obviously irritated and uninterested. Instead of taking the memo and leaving, he sees this as an extra push to torment me even more. He threw one of his legs over the bench and sat down, straddling the seat as he's facing me.

"Now, now, darling, there's no need get so aggressive. I was just trying to brighten up your dull morning." He said, placing his elbow on the table and proceeded to lean a little closer to me, trying to invade my personal space. His voice dripped with a condescending, almost patronizing edge, as if he were speaking to a child. He always loved using the nickname 'darling' just to get under my skin.

I huffed, my eyes finally looking up from my book but not to look at him. "My morning was perfectly fine until you decided to bring you and your sorry self over here." That earned a few giggles and snickers from the students around me who found our bickering amusing. The Slytherin cast a sharp glare in the direction of the source of the irritating noise, effectively silencing them.

Set decided that he was done for now, thinking he'd gotten through to me. That sod doesn't know I've been aware of his intentions since it was made public to me by one of his "best mates". I'd rather stick my head in a Hungarian Horntail's mouth than go out with him.

He extended a hand, gently curling a strand of my hair around his fingers before letting it slide back down to join the rest of my hair. "I'm not giving up, y/n." He whispered, almost sounding like a threat. His unruly brown locks fell across his forehead, casting a shadow over his features. After tapping his palm against the table once, he rose to his feet and walked away, leaving me feeling a whole different level of irritation.

Too caught up in the heat of the moment, I didn't notice Fred who was observing the whole encounter from the Gryffindor's table this whole time. His one eyebrow cocked up in amusement when he saw how much Set was getting a kick out of taunting me the way he did. His mocking smirk sufficing the urge to burst out laughing at how that daft Slytherin thought he had done something, but he knew better than to humiliate the poor thing even more, although he really wanted to.

I sighed, closing my notes and took a hold of my cup to take a sip of water. The chilled sensation runs down my throat, seemingly doing the job at cooling off my head and putting out the flames that Set had provoked in me earlier.

"He really is a bit out of sorts, isn't he?" Hermione whispers into my ear, her eyebrows knitted together in her own little moment of dumbfoundedness. She offered to sit with me at my house table for breakfast this morning to help me with a few notes I had missed, and thank god she did.

"Don't mind him. I'm never giving in to his sad antics if he thinks that'll ever get me to swoon over him." I said, giving her shoulder a gentle push with my own earning a small chuckle from her.

"Should've smacked him upside the head while I had the chance." Ginny pipes up from beside Hermione. I let out a laugh, looking at her with a softer look in my eyes. A completely different contrast to how they looked when Set was here.

"You could've, Gin, but I don't think Hogwarts is ready for that side of you yet." I joked before Ginny shot me a face in which I returned one back, causing the three of us to laugh.

I think everyone and their nan knew of Ginny's strong and independent character that she grew beautifully into in her fifth year. Her older brothers boast of her incredible Quidditch skills when she filled in for Harry, and frankly, I agree.

Hermione? Well, we all know she's a force to be reckoned with, so I'll save her the pleasantries. Everyone already knows what she's capable of.

"Hello, ladies. Mind if I scoot in?" A familiar voice pipes in from behind me. I looked back and saw Fred's tall stature towering over us, wearing that playful smile that never seemed to stray from his face.

His eyes swept over to his younger sister, Hermione, and then finally, me. "Well? You gonna let a handsome lad stand here all day or are you gonna have him sit with you?" He asked. His gaze flicking over to my eyes then to the vacant seat next to me.

"Good Merlin, not beside me. I've had about enough of your sales talk yesterday." Ginny groaned and scooted closer to Hermione, cementing her claim of not wanting her brother next to her.

Fred snorted, waving his sister off. "Nobody wants to sit beside your stinky butt anyway, Ginnikins. Only a mental person would do something like that." Hermione, who was in fact sat beside Ginny, heard Fred's jest and shot him a glare. In return, he flashed her another cheeky smile.

I sighed, a small smile crossing my lips. I looked up at Fred, feeling in the mood to go along with his little quip. "Of course not- how rude of me. Wouldn't want those handsome legs to get tired now, don't we, Fred?" I said, expressing pretend courtesy and patted the spot beside me.

"A sound mind, a sound mind. See? (nickname) understands me better than you do, sis." Fred voices to Ginny. The youngest Weasley stuck her tongue out slightly at her brother before turning back to her notes in front of her.

Feeling content with their daily dose of sibling banter, Fred swung one of his long legs over the wooden bench, followed by the other and sat down. He propped his arms on the table and clasped his hands together, leaning forward in a relaxed yet engaged manner. His face turns towards me, his eyes holding that combination of mischief and awe I knew all too well.

Basking in the ambience of both Ginny and Fred, it brings back many memories since the day I was first invited to their home at The Burrow. I'm really thankful for the Weasley's. They offered me their home when I occasionally couldn't return to mine.

I was born from a Muggle mother and a Pure-Blood father, so I think you can guess how I've been treated my first few years here.

Hermione, being born from Muggle parents, understood what it was like and sympathized with me, even offering me her unwavering friendship, which I'm terribly grateful for.

And through her, I met Ginny. The 'seemingly timid but actually such a joy to be with' kind of girl. I've confided in her about many a thing, even my most embarrassing of problems.

And through Ginny, I met... the twins.

Fred and George Weasley.

The infamous twins whose personalities are as fiery and as passionate as the color of their hair.

Oh, I can't even begin to describe the absolute menace they've been since we've become acquainted. They've tested my patience in a way no one else has, even lecturing me how to fight off the students who decided to try their hand at insulting me. But then again, it was them who've brought the taste of rule breaking into my almost always routine life. That it was okay to bend the flow of how I've been doing things and to embrace what it meant to have fun. And of course, those had their own repercussions, but that's for another day.

Despite their flamboyant dynamic, and the fact that the whole school knows of their troublesome antics- they're decent men. Really!

And speaking of twins..

"Where's George?" I asked in a low murmur, leaning my body a bit closer to Fred while my eyebrows were knitted together in wonder at where the other tall ginger was.

Fred pursed his lips, tilting his own frame closer to mine in response. "Dad had him called to The Burrow for something. Don't know why he needed just one of us when we're practically the same people."

I chuckled and turned my face slightly towards him. This made the one corner of his mouth twitch up just a little bit higher. "Maybe your dad just needed the one who's a little more sane in the brain."

Fred gasped, putting a hand over his chest where his heart would be and inclined his torso back as if he were shot by the bullets of my seemingly painful jest.

"You wound me, woman!" He replied, his tone theatrical. "I am in fact, the most able minded person in this whole school. Save for you and that Callaghan bloke."

The moment that name slipped past his lips, I felt my own eyes darken. That godforsaken name, and that godforsaken excuse of a man. Oh, how I wished Unforgivables could be used legally nowadays.

Fred noticed my sudden shift in demeanor and took that as his cue to stop the banter. His smile dropping into a faint grin as he gently nudges my shoulder with his.

"He bothering you? That Callaghan." He asked. His eyes never straying from mine despite me looking down at the table.

I sighed and gave a nod. "Thought you would've noticed by now." I replied to him, glancing sideways to meet his view.

"I was never really around when it happens to you. A pain in the ass, he seems. Miserable thing." Fred murmured. Despite his seemingly nonchalant response, he failed to hide the slight whitening of his knuckles from clenching his hands too hard. A habit of his I've grown to notice when he'd grow a bit irritable. But I suppose all is normal when it comes to feeling that way for a friend who's getting picked on...

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

The day was finally coming to a close, with me almost having learned something from my classes.

Almost.

It's like everything I've gotten down just the hours before seem to completely vanish from my head the moment I see Set. He's a walking fight or flight for me.

I've never really thought about if my school life had always been this shitty, or my week just had a bad start- but Set Callaghan was practically outside of all my classes' classrooms. He even tried to play it off as him 'coincidentally' happening upon me as I exited the rooms.

But you know who else was in almost all of my classes this week, though?

Fred Weasley.

These past few days, each encounter he's had with Callaghan since knowing what he'd been doing to me grew more and more brutal by the next. Insults I never even knew existed come flying out of his mouth the moment his eyes land on the Slytherin.

If it's a fight or flight, it's always going to be fight for Fred.

I've always known Fred to be the more reckless twin compared to George who was a little more tame in terms of tomfoolery around the school. While I did mingle with both the twins, the reason above was also the cause on why I hung out with George a little more than his brother when we first met. I was simply afraid of standing out. I mean, Fred used to scare me, but in a good way. A way that intrigued me enough to want to get closer to him.

So I guess all those years of companionship did bloom into fruition eventually. While I still undoubtedly hung with George, Ginny, and the twins alike- me and Fred's relationship definitely improved as well. We're close enough now to be sharing a straw or a cup when we haven't enough money for drinks.

Being the last to exit my History of Magic classroom and leaving Fred inside who told me to go ahead, the golden glow of the setting sun that casted on the castle's frame greeted my eyes. Almost cleansing my mind of all the worries that plagued me the hours before.

Hogwarts at any point and time of day was truly breathtaking. I don't think I'll ever get tired of the views it's been offering me all these years.

I decided to wait for Fred since walking back to our house dormitories together had become our usual routine, with him dropping me off at my dorm first. I found a spot on the stone framing of the hallway and settled down, patiently waiting for him to appear.

I placed my books on my lap, resting my hands on either side of my thighs and began to gently swing my legs back and forth.

As I waited, I observed the hustle and bustle of campus life unfolding around me. Students moved through the corridors, chatting with friends or walking alone. Professors darted about, hurrying to their destinations, and the sounds of conversation blended with the natural soundscape. Oh, and there's Callaghan coming in this way, too.

Wait- Callaghan?

I indeed did not see wrong despite my deteriorating eyesight. There he was, walking up to me with his hands in his pockets. That same, arrogant air about him.

I took in a deep breath through my nose, closing my eyes and cursed silently in the process. I know he sees how physically and mentally done I am with him, but the fucker doesn't know when to give it up.

I don't look at him. Instead, my eyes stay glued to the History of Magic's classroom door, praying that Fred just come out already.

"There you are. What are you doing here? Waiting for your little knight in shining armor, are you? How cute." Callaghan said with a smirk, his tone conceited.

He leaned against the wall. His gaze fixed on me, trying to exude a sense of superiority. His words laced with sarcasm, clearly mocking my wait for Fred. He had his arms crossed, standing in a relaxed yet confrontational pose, waiting for my reaction.

I wasn't gonna give him the satisfaction.

"Don't you have anything better to do other than stand there and act like a proper ass, Callaghan? Do something useful with yourself for once." I said. My voice laced with equally as much annoyance as his own tone carried fragile superiority.

He scoffs and pushed himself off the wall, walking to stand a bit closer to me.

"I prefer this better than any of my pastimes, and I like a woman with a sharp tongue. Don't think that's enough to drive me away, love." He replied. Reaching a hand out to take hold of my wrist. "Now come. Why don't I walk you back to your dorm?" His tone was soft. Eerie in a sense that made my stomach churn.

A small groan escaped my mouth as I attempted to free my hand from his grasp. I quickly moved my panicked thoughts aside and stayed put despite his tugging, my eyes now locked onto his face, glaring daggers.

"Let go." I say through gritted teeth. The students going about their way now either stopped to watch or had their heads turned before continuing on. The attention was on us again. On me.

"Come on, it's just a small walk. You need your little red head to come and carry you home? What do you see in that rake anyway?" Alright. Now that struck a nerve.

I can tolerate a lot of things, even the nastiest of insults about me and my being as a whole. I'm used to it. But my closest friends and family are topics I would never brush off. He was a dead man to me this very moment.

"You-!"

Before I even got the chance to finish, a loud and all familiar voice boomed from inside the History of Magic's classroom.

"Come off it, Callaghan, you miserable sod! Why don't you choose someone your own size should you find someone!" Fred exclaims from the other side of the door, causing the passing students to jump. "You're lucky Hogwarts was kind enough to accept house elves to participate in classes. You should be damn bloody grateful!" My face flashes a look of being caught off guard at Fred's brutal combination of names. I glanced at Callaghan who's expression was far from happy.

"Thought my hearing was goin' a bit wonky and heard an Imp out here wailing about. S'just you, mate." Fred mused loudly, closing the door behind him and walked straight over to me- yanking Set's hand off my wrist and pulled me away from him.

Fred wraps an arm around my shoulder and drew me snugly by his side. My eyes subtly widened the same time I felt my heartbeat beginning to pick up. Even more so now that I've seen the small crowd of students gathered around us.

How odd. We've shared straws and drinks before, so how is this any different? My stomach that had been churning in pure disgust earlier now felt tingly.

"Shove off, Weasley, I'm talking to her, not you. Hasn't mummy taught you to stay out of other people's business?" Set spat, his annoyance at the taller man evident.

I gulped, looking up at Fred and expected to see him fuming.

But no. The man was smiling. On the brink of laughter.

"Ah, more than yours did, I'm sure." He shrugged. "And I've known her for too long, mate. What's her business is mine, now. Except for the lady stuff, of course. You interested in lady stuff too?" Fred teased, leaning closer to Set's face. His tone nauseatingly condescending as his own stature easily towered over Callaghan's. The Slytherin grimaces, clicking his tongue and turned to his side, ready to leave.

"You really enjoy pushing my buttons, don't you? But I guess you'd have nothing else to do, being so poor and all." He says, giving Fred a once over with an evident look of disgust painted on his face.

Not sure if I even had high blood pressure, but I sure as hell felt it rising. My hands itched to chuck my books straight at that bastard's nose. Fred's jaw clenched momentarily, his irritation flaring at the thought of Set bringing up his family's financial status- all the more ridiculing it. Nonetheless, he kept his composure. But I just knew he'd lunge at Set right then and there if he was given the chance.

I felt Fred squeeze my shoulder gently while his arm stayed wrapped around me, telling me not to do anything brash- which was quite unusual for Fred since normally, he'd take the initiative and pull something right about now.

Set scoffs cockily, taking Fred's silence as his victory. "You think you're so damn clever, Weasley. Just you and your ass wait." Set commented one last time before turning around and walking off, shoving the students that didn't move out of his way.

"Bastard." Fred mumbled under his breath before storming off, leaving me standing alone amidst the dispersing crowd of students.

I never saw Fred at dinner that evening.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Two days had passed since that encounter with Set outside the History of Magic's classroom. Two days since I last heard a word from him. Two days of peace I wish had lasted longer.

Following that came the long awaited Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Slytherin. A constant bloodbath, if you ask me.

Hermione and Ginny also joined the spectators, supporting their house team from their respective stands. Unfortunately, the separation meant that we weren't able to enjoy the game together as I had hoped. However, their support kept the energy high, and the game was a thrilling spectacle to witness.

Screams and jeers faded then cut into my train of thought. The same way that awkward air settled in between Fred and I after Callaghan's uncalled comment about his family's finances.

I eventually found Fred despite his reluctance to see me and tried my best at comforting him, then we never brought up that topic or talked about it ever again. It was forgotten. As if it never happened.

All the hard hours of practices, joint matches, and unaccounted injuries through the heat and rain I've seen Fred power through that led up to this day wasn't enough to calm the anxiety gnawing at the pits of my stomach. Was he mentally fit to play right now? What if I didn't talk to him well enough that night? And there's another thing, but I can't seem to put my finger on it. I don't like the feeling.

My eyes danced around the Quidditch pitch, taking everything in. The electrifying atmosphere so scarily contagious that it got my heartbeat pounding harder and harder with each passing second. Despite my anxiousness, a mix of excitement and anticipation still brewed within me knowing I get to see Fred play again. A pity I couldn't see George in on the action too, though.

Lee Jordan announces the beginning of the match through the Magical Megaphone, followed by a moment of silence before the whistle finally blew. Immediate mayhem took over the moment the high pitched ring echoed throughout the large space. Blurs of red and gold, and green and silver began shooting across the field- occupying my line of sight.

As if on muscle memory, I immediately began searching for that head of ginger hair amidst the chaos. The almost god-like speed of the players made it practically impossible for me to make out anyone's features, which says a lot because of all the other Chasers, Seekers, Keepers, and Beaters present on the field, Fred had tresses that stood out the most.

Bludgers that moved almost maniacally were flying about, causing members of both teams to get pushed and shoved in and out of the air with the occasional curse words and taunting thrown around to each other. Quite fascinating to hear what sports and adrenaline could have the human mind come up with in terms of vocabulary.

Within the first ten minutes since the game began, points were earned, and points were lost- yet I still haven't seen Fred anywhere. Not in the sky, and certainly not on the ground. It was actually pathetic how obvious it was that I hadn't been focusing on the match entirely in my attempts to find the Weasley boy.

Unease dawned on me as the reason I was so anxious before the match was now fixated on my form while he hovered on his broom before me from across the stands. Wooden club in hand with a conniving look not even his goggles could hide.

Set Callaghan was a Beater for Slytherin.

His face was strewn with blood and dirt as he threw caution to the wind, not paying any mind to the fact that a rogue Bludger could come and knock him off his broom at any moment. Though personally, I wouldn't mind that happening.

"God, Fred, where are you?" I mumbled to myself. Worry now replacing what little excitement I had left.

Ignoring the Slytherin Beater's laser-like stares, I went closer to the barricade. Placing both my hands on the railing and leaned over just enough to see below as the wind brushes my hair over my face.

Nothing.

I was almost fully convinced that Fred had gotten himself injured and was taken away, or he sat out the match in light of what happened just the days before.

And I hoped to Merlin it was the latter.

He's had injuries and a couple broken bones before but always played it off for sport. It wouldn't really be anything new for Fred if he did end up that way, but I think broken bones are the least of my worries right now.

While I was beginning to wallow in the pool of my own doubts, a mass of red and gold shot up into the sky with speed quick enough to send any poor soul into a whiplash before slowly descending to hover close to me by the stands.

Howls and cheers of support erupted even louder behind me, helping me realize who it was.

"Why so blue? Missing me already?" Fred teases me with a smile on his face. His tone carrying the usual air of playfulness as if he hadn't been worrying me just seconds before.

He looked a mess. Again, nothing new. His hair had become disheveled from the wind and rain that blessed the field during the game. Clothes dirty and in disarray, his face marked with dirt and blood from gashes that were now beginning to scab over.

It was actually maddening to me seeing the way his eyes still held the same unchanging glint even in times of inconvenience. It was one of the things I greatly admired about him. Something I still couldn't get a grasp of for myself.

"You knew I was looking for you?" I yelled at him from where I was standing. An ecstatic smile painted on my lips.

I wanted nothing more than to call him an idiot for making me worry, but the relief his presence gave me right this moment was much bigger than my need for nagging.

Looking at me speak with a look of visible relief, his eyes locked onto mine with the same intensity a Chaser would have as they hunted the Snitch.

Unwavering.

Intense.

It may or may not have always been this way, but something had changed about the way he looked at me. Almost like a hidden secret under those coquettish brown orbs waiting to be discovered. Something I couldn't quite put my finger on, but perhaps we hadn't ogled at each other long enough for me to notice before.

"You're hard to miss, you silly goose!" He exclaimed. His cheeks stretched with masked endearment as he smiled at me.

My cheeks grew warm, thinking if he saw me looking for him the whole duration of the game. "I couldn't see you! But that's not important. Callaghan's on the field, so be careful." I warned him and he followed with a scoff.

"Where d'ya think these scars came from? The git was tailing me from under the stands and tried ramming me into the planks! And besides, I'll go easier on him since I respect women!" He exclaims and flashed a toothy grin. His hands casually adjusting the grip on his broomstick.

But before I could get another word in, a yell of warning from Fred's teammate slices through the barrier between us and the progressing game behind him, putting an end to our little chat. Though realistically, now was not the best time to be having a conversation anyway.

"Oi, Weasley! Behind you!"

And as quick as he swooped in to mock me of my missing him, he reacted quickly. Snapping his head around and swung at the Bludger that was headed straight for him- countering the attack that could've easily sent him flying off of his broom.

His gaze flicked over to me one last time, breathing heavily before flying off without another word.

But now I'd seen him. Talked to him. I had my sights set and could finally watch the game without much worry. If Callaghan doesn't try anything else, that is.

In all my years of watching the twins play Quidditch, I never noticed how ruthless Fred was on the field. Not as aggressive compared to how George played, but ruthless nonetheless. Hitting Bludgers harder and harder with every opportunity presented to him, each time showing calculated intensity which sent Slytherin's players spiralling off their brooms and earning the Gryffindor team more points. He's definitely more of a skill and force kind of guy.

By force, I mean he can be a little too dedicated to the essence of Quidditch at times. That one instance where he and George retaliated using "physical" resolutions when they got a call-in from Madam Hooch for a foul... yeah. Definitely entertaining to watch from the stands, but I wouldn't want to be in the shoes of that poor guy who flagged the twins down for elbowing him.

Fred sped around the arena, practically slicing through the air with his wooden club in hand. He was in his element. Battered up, sure, but this was his standard for being in pristine condition for a good game. Means you're doing it right, he told me.

"What's Quidditch without a few broken bones?" Fred's voice echoed in my head. I recalled him telling me that when the twins first introduced me to the game. Ginny and Hermione did the rest of the explaining after. I used to think it was absolutely barbaric, and I kind of still do to be honest.

But just as Fred was about to catch up to the opposing teams' Beater, Callaghan tallies in right beside him. Not colliding, just merely brushing shoulders. But this is Set I'm looking at. He wouldn't settle for mere shoulder brushing.

A couple of seconds later, Fred noticeably outbalances from his broom earning gasps from me and the whole pitch as Lee Jordan emphasizes on the situation through his commentary.

He quickly grabs onto the body of the broom in an attempt to stabilize himself, but Callaghan doesn't seem to let down just yet.

He was pulling maneuvers to take Fred's broom straight from under him.

Fred managed to avert himself away from Callaghan's nasty schemes, but ended up losing control and began spiralling down onto the sandy field- landing with an audible thud earning choruses of "ooh's" And "ouches" from the students around me.

"Shit!" I yelled, wasting no time and pushed through the compact groups of people to quickly descend the platform where I watched from.

I ran out onto the soaking field where both Gryffindor and Slytherin's players alike stood on opposite sides of each other to get a grasp on what had happened. A heated debate began to ensue between Oliver Wood and Marcus Flint on whose to blame for the Gryffindor Beater's sudden fall from grace. Madam Hooch stood in between as the referee.

Fred's eyes widened momentarily as he takes in the sight of me rushing towards him with concern etched on my face.

"Fred!" I exclaimed. Carrying my now wet shoes through the mud and wet grass- pushing past the members of Slytherin's team before falling to my knees beside Fred who was sat up on the sand. His broom only a couple meters away from him.

It definitely took him a while to regain his composure after that mishap. Beneath his layers of clothing laid skin that was bruised and battered from the hard landing. The sand beneath him was damp and uncomfortable, sticking to his skin and clothes. The wet grains dug into my flesh as I scampered to get closer to him.

"Are you okay?" I asked, my hands frozen and hovering in front of me not knowing what to do. My eyes scanning his face and body for anything bad or possibly broken.

Usually, most people would have immediately complied and pointed out the area where they were hurt. But this was Fred Weasley. The man never takes anything seriously.

"Hey, hey, relax. There's just one of me, I'm not going anywhere." He managed to chuckle in between ragged breaths. His eyes glimmered with amusement at my frantic state as he studied me. Even smiling pained the scars on his cheeks, but it was impossible for him not to do so in this moment.

"Well, he deserved it!" Callaghan's scream thundered from behind us. The arena's whispers getting louder and louder at the unknown circumstances happening below the stands.

I rolled my eyes, returning my gaze back to the injured Weasley in front of me after coolly glancing at Set who was stood over my shoulder. Thankfully, his attention was on Madam Hooch who was giving him an earful.

Fred, observing the situation around him, attempted to laugh at the predicament Set got himself into, only to be plunged into a coughing fit before wincing from the pain jolting through his torso.

"Damn. A real wrench, this one." He groaned, rubbing his ribcage gently with a slight frown on his dirtied lips.

It took a couple of seconds, but Fred's facial expression turned from one of pain, to one of aggravation. "Scrawny git!" He exclaimed out of the blue. Tilting his body to get a better view of the Slytherin behind me. "That the best you could do, eh?! Your nan could do better than that-!"

I quickly cut him off by slapping my hand over his mouth as more muffled profanities sputtered out from behind it. Thankfully, they weren't understandable anymore.

I scoffed. "You're unbelievable. I don't think you'd like detention on top of your injuries, yeah?" He shook his head while his eyes kept on mine. "Where does it hurt?" I asked.

He paused for a moment after I cautiously lowered my hand from his mouth. An idea visibly flashes in his mind, making his eyebrows twitch up quickly. Barely noticeable if I didn't look hard enough.

He tugged at the pant sleeve of his Quidditch bottoms until it rode up just enough to point at a spot on his upper thigh that was perfectly unscathed.

"Here, miss. Oh, Merlin..." He feigned being in pain, letting out a melodramatic groan. I carefully examined the area in question, searching for any signs of injury, but there was nothing amiss. Catching on to his antics, I rolled my eyes and shook my head, recognizing his dramatic behavior for what it was.

A smirk curled at the corners of my lips as I decided to amuse myself by playing along with his act. I knew he wasn't truly injured, but it was entertaining to see how far he would go with this performance. "Goodness. It does look really painful." I cooed, placing my hand over said injury. His skin grew hotter under my cool palm.

"Yeah.. they might have to chop it. Poor little ol' me. Legless. In my prime." He muttered, mocking his younger brother Ron the one time his own leg got given to him by a Whomping Willow.

"Oh, come off it, you ginger clot! If George were here, I'd have him take care of you instead." I retorted, smacking the area where his supposed painful affliction was, drawing a pained chuckle out of him.

The jests slowly faded, eventually dying down. Both of us silent and unmoving, just looking into each other's eyes with our breaths meshing together as we tried to catch ourselves. The loud and chaotic atmosphere seemed to disappear until all I could see was him and him alone. I could practically feel my heart lodged in my throat.

Fred glanced behind me for a moment, breaking the almost intimate moment between us. His expression seemingly confounded before leaning in closer to me.

"Bugger's coming this way and I have an idea. Do you trust me?" He mumbled. His breath tickling the apple of my cheek.

"What?" I whispered as I looked at him puzzled. My eyebrows knitted together to express my confusion, but I nodded nonetheless.

"You can give me a proper lecturing with my Beater later."

I'm not sure what he meant or what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn't the part that happened next. It made me really think about whether this was a new beginning, or a continuation of a foundation we had built all those years ago.

With a sudden, almost involuntary gesture, he wrapped an arm around the back of my neck, pulling us closer together. He leaned in, the soft curve of his mouth hovering just above my own. His lips parted as a slight twitch lifted the corners of his mouth, and I drew in a sharp breath as the space between us evaporated- replaced by the softness and warmth of his mouth covering mine. The kiss was like a blanket, a heady mix of warm earth and something strangely metallic, enveloping my senses entirely.

For a moment, Fred didn't know what to do. He was frozen, almost taken aback by the kiss himself, and I could say the same for my part, too. But I knew Callaghan was watching from behind. With this being my chance to finally get him off my back, I had to play it well.

I wrapped my hand over Fred's wrist after gathering the courage to move our lips together. For a brief moment, it seemed like he was taken aback by my sudden show of initiative. But almost as quickly, his surprise melted away. He soon relaxed and matched my rhythm, reciprocating the intensity of the kiss.

It felt almost effortlessly perfect, the way our mouths pieced together. The kiss was unexpectedly tender. Could be because of Fred's vulnerable condition, but it was a stark contrast to the usual feverish intensity he was always known for.

I stole a glance at Fred, only to find him doing the same. I noticed the way his gaze darted over my shoulder, and the suppressed chuckle that escaped his lips against mine. There was a hint of reluctance in the way he held onto me, not quite willing to break the kiss just yet. And I couldn't deny the same desire stirring within me- to hold onto this moment and prolong the newfound intimacy for just a little bit longer.

Suddenly, reality came crashing back in and I remembered the setting and our unexpected audience. Quickly pushing Fred away by his chest and standing up, I turned to face Callaghan whose scowl made it clear he was not pleased with the scene he had witnessed. Our gaze locked in a silent stand-off.

Then I stole a quick glance at Fred, who was awkwardly attempting to stand, before turning away, feeling utterly mortified. With a heavy heart and flushed cheeks, I walked off, leaving behind the tense scene and the complicated emotions swirling through the air.

Not long after, Fred appears at my side. Struggling to walk, but kept up with my pace.

"Callaghan, I want you in my office. Weasley! Get to Madam Pomfrey this instant or I shall drag you there myself!" Madam Hooch's voice echoed behind us. Fred yells back a quick response before averting his attention back to me.

"You should've seen their bloody faces when we kissed-" he cackled, only to change the subject when he noticed my less than lively expression. "Hey, I was trying my bestest to be gentle with you and all, but you went ahead and pulled whatever that was. But I mean, I can't blame you if you're totally in love with me-" Fred rambled as he ran his hand along the length of his arm with a foxy grin plastered on his face. He usually did that when he was in the mood to pull a nerve of mine.

"Nip it, Fred." I mumbled, slapping the same arm he had been rubbing. A loud smack reverberated around us from the impact.

"Yeowch! So cruel..." He said in pretend pity, immediately admitting defeat and went to soothe the area.

Shouldn't forget how he and George were the ones who showed me how fighting worked back in our earlier days as students. That slapping technique was also taught by the older twin himself. Wonder how he felt about it being used against him.

But luckily, Fred's disposition was much lighter now than how it was earlier. I don't know if I should be relieved or worried, though.

"Weren't you complaining about your hurting? You seem quite the jolly chap now." I commented as we turned in to the dressing rooms- taking refuge in between the cubbies filled with other players belongings. I could never get used to the smell.

Fred stood in front of me, his back hunched a bit as he balanced his weight on one foot. The blood on his cheek had dried, and so did the mud. His tresses looked like an earthquake went through them and left him with that tousled mess you call hair.

"Your kiss probably did all the healing work so I wouldn't have to go see Madam Pomfrey." He ribbed casually, causing my cheeks to heat up.

I turned my body away and crossed my arms before he could see the effect he so easily placed on me. He was so unconsciously charming it made me want to sock him in the face. It was irritating at the best of times.

"Don't be ridiculous." I said, returning my body back to face him. "Well I best get you to the Hospital Wing now, don't I? Wouldn't want our beloved Weasley to wither away." I mocked him, causing his already visible grin to grow wider. He always consider it a job well done for himself when I snapped back with my own witty remarks.

I walked a slight ways out of the cubbies and looked back to see if he was following behind me. Instead, he was just stood there looking at me. Hand on his hip and all. Like he was expecting me to do something.

"What? You want to make out again?" I joked.

"You're a cheeky one, l/n." He said, his voice slightly strained with a faint smile playing on his lips. "Can't keep your hands off me now, can you?"

I let out a deep sigh and rolled my eyes before striding over and linked my arm with his. He reciprocated by tightening his grasp, drawing me even closer. The physical closeness was familiar, but the sensation that grew within me, spreading from deep within my gut to the very tips of my fingers, felt strange and utterly unfamiliar. It was something I couldn't quite put my finger on just yet.

"They really might chop it." He whispered into my ear as we staggered off to Madam Pomfrey.

His arm didn't see the end of the techniques he'd taught me on the way there, that's for sure.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Fred got sent into detention.

Am I surprised? No.

Was it something related to Callaghan again? Yes.

Even after the scolding handed to him by Madam Hooch, Set didn't listen. But then again, does he ever?

The week after the games, Fred was finally in high spirits again. All healed up and ready to take on the school with all the antics he had up his sleeves. Even more so now that George was finally back from The Burrow.

The moment he was sent away by Madam Pomfrey, the first person he wanted to prank was none other than my creepy and vexing "admirer" himself.

He knew he had a job to entertain Hogwarts' fellow students, but one, and one thing only was on his mind.

Set Callaghan.

It all started when I was at the Astronomy Tower getting my stargazing in for my classes. That son of a banshee thought it was funny to corner me and yank a piece of my hair, pummel me with his pathetic insults, and end it with a nauseatingly flirty comment.

Little did I know that Fred had been behind one of the pillars- peeking at us and waiting for the perfect moment to set off a few Filibuster Fireworks he and George had gotten their hands on a few days before to prank one of our professors. He thought this would be enough to send Callaghan away for good.

As the firework burst into a familiar and infamous twinkle, it flickered and died out far too quickly, leaving behind a fleeting glow.

Just as Fred began to wonder about the sudden malfunction, a shadow loomed over behind him. He remained crouched. Still, and unmoving. He looked up and over his shoulder, seeing Professor Umbridge with her infuriating smile- looking down at him with her wand she used to put the firework out.

"As I have made abundantly clear, Mr. Weasley, I am an exceptionally tolerant woman. I believe you are well aware of the consequences for misbehaving at this time of night." She says, her voice remaining unwaveringly calm and deceptively sweet, though there is an undercurrent of menace to her words anybody would catch on to. She leans closer, her gaze fixed on him. "Detention. In my office."

Defiant yet complied anyway, Fred slowly got up on his feet and was ready to follow Umbridge into her office to serve his time. That was, until one of the fireworks actually sets off, whistling and swirled speedily into Set Callaghan's rear with a loud crack, not really giving the Slytherin any time to react.

Word going around from Madam Pomfrey said his left buttock was never the same again.

Now me, George, Ginny, and Harry- who so graciously lent us his Invisibility Cloak- tagged along for our impromptu late night rescue mission.

"Right. So you wear this, get in there, and snag 'im." George repeats the plan again as I draped the cloak over my shoulders, leaving me with a head that looked as if it were floating.

"Why do I have to do this again?" I asked, shooting uneasy glances at the trio before me.

"Well, better you than George. I say they'd be in there longer if he tried to bust Fred out." Ginny commented, earning a nod of agreement from Harry before leaning in to whisper to me. "Also, with what happened out in the field a week ago, mum couldn't be happier for you and Fred. Said he finally got his act together and would love to have you over again for Christmas."

Uh, okay. Definitely not something I'd like to linger on right when I'm about to face danger head on in just a few seconds. Got his act together? What did Molly even mean? Someone must've told her about me and Fred's kiss.

"She should be asleep now. Go." Harry said, to which I inclined my head one more time before fully engulfing myself in the heavy fabric.

"Save me poor Gred, miss!" George whispered in a low voice from behind me. "He's innocent!"

After giving him a nervous thumbs up, I slowly opened the heavy wooden door. With light steps, I walked inside only to be met with the view of Fred's back facing me as he was sat on a table- writing something down quietly.

I remained cautious. Glancing over to see the woman clad in pink fast asleep with her teacup dangling just by her index finger.

Slowly, now.

Slowly..

Sloooowly...

And before I knew it, I was finally beside Fred's table where he was jotting multiple things down on a piece of parchment- a certain authoritarian sounding phrase most likely instructed by Umbridge for him to write over and over. Poor thing.

Without wasting a second more, I skillfully threw the excess fabric over Fred without causing much noise. I grabbed his arm and pulled him out of his seat, so we were now chest-to-chest and facing each other. His posture ducked down slightly to accommodate my height.

He was surprised, that much was for certain. But it didn't take him long enough to recognize that it was me under the cloak with with him.

"Oh, hello, you." He purred. That smirk of his evident in the way he sounded. "Have you come to rescue me, or are you that eager for another kiss?"

If his teasing weren't enough- his breath fanning over my lips just made this all the more worse for me. It's actually humiliating how quickly I'd lose my composure over his wit nowadays.

"Stop messing about, Fred." I whispered, checking on Umbridge again. "We're here to break you out... Callaghan deserved what he got."

Fred lets out a quiet chuckle. "I may have been a bad influence on you. But you're sure you don't want another kiss?" He asked. "If only you knew the things the girls around here would do for a chance with me, and here you are rejecting such a generous offer. How ungrateful." He declared, putting on his little act to rouse a reaction from me again. I responded with a quick and lighthearted scoff.

"Are you seriously pouting over this, Weasley?"

"A bit."

"But Callaghan's not here. There's no reason for us to."

"Doesn't matter if he's here or not. Atleast he knows I kiss you better than he ever will. Not that he'd ever get a chance to anyways."

Suddenly... the air felt a bit heavier. Almost suffocating like it was weighing down on my shoulders. My heart rate began picking up, drumming against my ears.

I felt something envelop one of my hands. My fingers intertwining with another set of cool digits. Funnily enough, only Fred and I's hands turned cold when we were nervous. And from all the years I've known him, he's the kind of guy that rarely gets nervous or hesitates in whatever he does.

I stuttered. My tone wavering despite my best efforts. "Well.. your plan didn't really work out though, did it? Your kiss. He's still after me like a damn dog."

Fred snorted. "Callaghan probably thought I hit my head too hard after that fall and went mental. Or it was some kind of freak accident where we both just magically ended up snogging in the middle of the field."

"You know, a few people definitely think we're going out now because of you. More or less sleeping together with how we looked out there." I admitted awkwardly, unconsciously playing with his fingers.

He returned the gesture back by caressing my own, moving along with my touches. The odd feeling in my stomach before wasn't so subtle anymore. It was eating away at the thoughts I'd been trying to brush off these past few weeks.

"Definitely could make that happen. Although your kiss was passable at best, I for one, have never gotten a bad review." He said and I playfully slapped his arm in retaliation. I knew, but never used to care about the other women he'd kissed before. Now, it felt... wrong. That his lips had touched others that weren't my own. Did he kiss them with the same care? Did he look at them the way he did to me when we pulled away? It was those thoughts that kept me up and ate away at my crumbling resolve.

And I'm thinking all of this when I don't even know how he truly feels about me. Smart, aren't I?

The tension was building at a painfully unavoidable rate. A rate where I'm able to savour the suspense a bit better compared to the hasty stunt we pulled in the middle of that Quidditch field that one rainy afternoon. Our bodies were so close I could hear Fred's own heartbeat beating even louder over mine. But surely it was just the adrenaline of having the woman equivalent of a demon snoring away just a couple meters away from us.

I bit my lip, hesitating a bit before tugging at his hand gently. "Make it quick." I whispered.

"What?"

"Your kiss."

"You don't seem too happy, though. Will I be slapped again after this?"

"Depends on what you do."

Because of Fred's usually boisterous nature, I expected another hasty and clumsy kiss. But no. It actually took him quite a while to do anything. As if he were thinking of the best way to approach this. To approach me.

In my mind, Fred knew that I was his closest friend, second to George. A long-time buddy and family friend, and maybe that's all I'll ever be to him. But even with his rowdy self did he know that overwhelming me was crossing a boundary he never dared to do.

With one of our hands occupied and entangled with one another's, he reached up with his free one- cupping my chin with his thumb and index finger. And instead of reeling me in to finally kiss me, he tilted my face slightly to the side. The gentle gesture surprising me quite a bit.

And then finally, his mouth met mine. Only, not exactly. He kissed me on the corner of my lips. And then he moves to the other side, planting another tender kiss there. I felt my chest just about ready to burst.

His hands were cold, but his warm lips provided an almost endearing contrast to him. I never know what he's thinking most of the time, but it was traits like these that help me understand him a bit more.

"Only the corners? Pathetic." I breathed, teasing him when he pulled away.

"You didn't punch me, though. That's a win."

"Only because Umbridge could wake from your infernal yelling."

If only I'd gotten my hands on Hermione's Time Turner. I would have used it to go back in time and smack some sense into both me and Fred to stop dallying around before "Umbrage" woke up.

In short, we were caught.

The Invisibility Cloak was stripped from both me and Fred, revealing us to everyone in an embarrassingly intimate position, still wrapped in each other's arms, and the door to Umbridge's office swung open, showing the other three affiliates to this less than grand operation, posed like a bunch of deer caught in headlights.

"Merlin's lacy knickers, you got him!" George exclaimed, completely disregarding the situation and rejoiced at the "rescue" of his brother.

I could see Ginny and Harry mentally facepalming themselves, it was almost comical.

If it weren't for Professor McGonagall, the five of us would've been kept in detention until dawn. Instead, she had managed to successfully persuade Professor Umbridge into giving us a lighter sentence. Writing "I must behave" back to back on parchment. Well, for the other three atleast.

She had me and Fred do "I will keep my hands to myself" instead.

Absolutely horrific.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Never thought I'd see the day where I start second guessing my own emotions. Especially for one of my own friends.

I've been restless, just lingering on these feelings that have sprung from soil which I thought was barren this whole time.

I tried coming up with excuses to tell myself what I've been feeling was all just a misunderstanding my brain managed to mix something else up with.

Like, we're friends. We've always been friends, and that's all we'll ever be. That's all I'll ever be at least.

I'm talking nonsense now, aren't I?

It couldn't be because of the way I always see him protecting me. Defending me in ways no one man ever has. Albeit, he does it in a few vulgar ways, but my point still stands. But even then, I've been taking care of myself before he came along so it couldn't be that.

Maybe it was the way we always joked together?

Or was it the way he looked at me?

Kissed me..?

Jumping gargoyles, someone take my heart away from me. I'm in love with Fred Weasley and it's scaring me more than anything.

"God, just please do me a favor and one of you kill me now." I groaned, running my hands over my face before slamming my head down onto the table.

Me, Hermione, and Ginny had a bit of free time in between our respective classes and decided to head over to the Study Hall to do a bit of light reading together.

It's been a while since we did something together like this, so it did lift my spirits a bit. However, when the subject of me and Fred came up, I lost my own mouth's restraint and ended up confiding in the girls about my conflicting feelings for him.

Surprisingly, they took it pretty well.

"I thought you both were already dating, though. I'm quite surprised." Hermione commented, removing her attention from her opened book to look at me and began fidgeting with the quill entangled loosely in her fingers.

"It was pretty obvious." Ginny said, following Hermione.

"What was?" I asked, my face contorting in mental agony as I raised my head slightly from the table's cold surface. A faint red mark was visible on my forehead, a result of hitting it against the cold wood.

"The feelings between the both of you."

I sat up, rubbing my hand over my head and feeling the messy hair that now resembled a bird's nest. "He was merely protecting a friend. There's nothing more to it." I argued.

Hermione reached out and gently untangled the knots I had caused. Her gesture a sisterly and comforting one that I wished I had experienced earlier on in life.

Ginny piped into the conversation with a hushed tone, the last words barely more than a whisper. "And I believe Fred would think otherwise." There was an implication in her words, as if she knew something I did not.

"He would never see us as anything more than good mates. He probably only did it out of pity. " I said. My cheeks heating up at a few memories that were resurfacing, causing the change in subject. "You should've seen that stupid grin on his face. He just couldn't resist getting his jokes in every time he scared Callaghan away. He loved it so much."

Ginny and Hermione exchanged a knowing look. When they turned back to me, it was clear that the conversation had shifted to another topic.

"If denial were a person, it would definitely be you." Hermione says. "And besides, friends don't just 'casually' snog each other." She added, closing her book and resting her cheek against her hand. A smug smile on her beautifully shaped lips.

"Not once." Ginny pipes in.

"Or twice." Hermione said, finishing their duo act. Harry ended up telling her about me and Fred's awkward predicament back in Professor Umbridge's office. I'll get him back for that, later. Sorry, Ginny.

"What if I'm just misunderstanding the whole thing? Misunderstanding him? I mean, he's like that with nearly everybody." I said, leaning my arms against the table. My eyebrows furrowed, and my expression pensive.

"You know," Ginny said thoughtfully, placing her hand on my forearm. I shifted my gaze to meet hers. "Growing up with Fred and George taught me anything's possible as long as you've got nerve." I sighed and gave a couple of nods.

"As their sister however, it's important to me that they don't lead anyone on, especially one of my best friends. If that's the case, Fred and I are going to have a 'niiice' and a 'friendly' chat. Don't worry, y/n." Ginny ended her statement with a sincere smile, and I found myself agreeing with her sentiment. For Harry's sake, I hoped he never found himself on the wrong side of Ginny's wrath. Guess the Weasley's just had a knack for these kinds of things.

"Don't mean to interrupt, but dungbrain's heading this way and he looks like he's on a mission." Hermione whispered, looking at someone from a distance across our table. Me and Ginny turned our heads to the indicated direction and saw Set walking over to us with newfound fervor in his strides.

"Oh hell no." I muttered, hurriedly gathering all my stuff and shutting my book. I was determined not to stick around for Set's arrival.

"Welp- that's my cue. Thank you Hermione, Gin, for always helping a girl in need and I love you both. See you later, ladies!" I said, bidding my frantic farewell and practially leapt over my seat, barely tripping over my own robes in my rush to leave.

I powerwalked to the door, adrenaline pumping through my veins as I heard Set's footsteps gaining ground behind me. If he caught me, who knows what he would say or do this time.

"Don't try anything, Callaghan, or you'll be having slugs in your knickers tonight!" Ginny yells after the Slytherin, only to get ignored. But he definitely heard her.

Shit, shit, shit, shit. How do I get away? Where do I go?What would Fred and George do? Oh, to Godric's grave with it!

Keeping my pace hasty, I tried my hand at fooling him and made a quick feint to the left as if I was headed in that direction. Thinking it worked, I looked behind me. He didn't fall for it. He was still very much tailing me, the rat bastard.

"Y/n!" He yelled out to me. My face wincing at the way my name rolled off his tongue. I tightly shut my eyes, curseing quietly into the wind. "Why is it always me!?"

I knew it wasn't allowed, but it was the only thing I could think of seeing as I had no real plan at all.

As Callaghan chased me through the corridors, I quickly took out and flicked my wand, casting the Confundus Charm in his direction. The spell hit him square in the chest, causing him to stumble and lose his bearings. He staggered, momentarily disoriented, as the charm worked its magic on his mind.

Taking advantage of the brief window I'd created, I darted towards the nearby library, pushing open the heavy oak doors and slipping inside just as Set shook off the charm and realized I was gone.

Checking behind me a second time to see if he wasn't there anymore, I sighed in relief when I was right.

Thankfully, not a lot of people were in the library at this hour. Just a few students reading, grabbing books for whatever they needed them for, and a couple more that were doing schoolwork with their tutors.

I briskly walked down the middle aisle, passing by shelves of neatly arranged books and the carts filled with them. I didn't have a specific destination in mind, but I was determined to find a place where Set wouldn't find me.

As I scanned the area for a suitable hiding spot, I paused after passing by a familiar figure bent over a table, casually immersed in a book. The figure's presence provided a moment of distraction from my current predicament.

I took a few steps backward until I came to a halt in front of that certain aisle. The sight I saw, or rather whom I saw, caught my attention almost immediately. It was a student I was very familiar with.

"Fred?" I called out to him. My chest heaving from all the speed walking.

He looked up from the book he was reading, his slightly messy hair adding to his charm. A warm smile spreads across his features as he observed me, greeting me with a gentle cock of his head.

"Ah, my favorite (Hogwarts house)." He says, straightening up from his previous position. His tone carried the usual air of playfulness. "Care to keep a lonely, good-looking man company?"

He looked at me expectantly, waiting for my reply. The signs of exhaustion were evident in his eyes, suggesting that he had been absorbed in his reading for quite some time. I wondered how long he had been tucked away in this secluded spot, engrossed in whatever was written on those pages.

"Do I have a choice?" I asked. Adjusting the belongings I was carrying in my arms.

"Nope." He replied and pulled out the seat beside him, pretending to dust it off for me.

I couldn't help but let out a soft chuckle as I made my way over to the table, carefully placing my belongings on top of it. Fred's focus shifted from the book in front of him to me, his eyes intently fixed on my every movement. There was a certain curiosity in his gaze as he observed me.

"So, what're you in here for? Is your new punishment being made to read for hours on end now?" I inquired, resting my arms on the table and locking eyes with him.

He reaches into his pant pocket and pulled out a recognizable pair of glasses. He slides them on with practiced ease and takes the book he was reading into his one of his hands.

"Studying."

"You study?"

"Is your name y/n?"

"Aren't those Harry's glasses?"

"Well, yeah. But he doesn't need to know."

I couldn't help but smile, feeling a lift in my mood as I reached over and took the glasses from his face, carefully placing them in the pocket of my skirt. "Can't have you straining your eyes any more than you already have." I said, gesturing towards the book in his other hand, before looking back up at his face. His gaze now unshielded, he gave an amused grin.

"I'll return these to him for you." I said, patting my now occupied pocket.

"Now I can't see."

"You've got perfectly good eyesight, Frederick. And besides, Harry's the one that can't see now because of you."

"Always going to be the reasonable one, aren't you?"

We spent a good half hour chatting and talking just like we always do. Spending time with Fred and George was often synonymous with chaos, but it also brought me a sense of clarity and comfort. It was a nice break from the complexities of life, and for a moment, I was able to forget about the feelings I had for Fred and just relax in his company. The simplicity of our interactions was a welcome change, and I found myself feeling more at ease than I had in quite some time.

I really didn't want to think about anything right now. Basking in his company and laughing with him is enough.

Behind the scenes however, Callaghan entered the library. His eyes scanned the rows of shelves, searching for me before finally spotting me tucked away in a secluded aisle. He began to walk towards me, his movements slow and deliberate, like a predator closing in on its prey.

Me and Fred were fully engrossed in our conversation to really notice anything going on around us. But in that split second where I looked away from Fred's eyes did I notice Set approaching.

Ignoring the presence of others, including Fred who was literally beside me, Set continued on with a sly look on his face. Fred noticed my attention was just completely off of him at that point and observed my sudden change in demeanor. He looks to where my eyes were planted and saw the Slytherin towering over beside him.

Fred stood up from his seat, easily overcoming the height and air of superiority Callaghan was trying to exude over him.

"A little lost, are you? Librarian's over there." Fred spoke nonchalantly, growing tired of Callaghan's persistent schemes at this point. His tone flat as his head gestured to the direction towards the librarian's desk and attempted to dismiss Set quickly. But Set was not so easily deterred, and pressed on, even if it meant getting his hands dirty in the process.

"Oh, I know where the librarian is," he replied smoothly, his gaze never leaving me. "But I'm not here to borrow a book, Weasley. I'm here for something much more valuable."

I got up from my chair and stood behind Fred's tall stature. Not to hide, but to try and avoid him from lunging at Callaghan out of nowhere. My hand goes up to instinctively grab a hold of Fred's vest as his eyes narrowed at Set's cryptic words.

"I've been watching you for a while now," Set continued, his voice low while he directs his words to me. "And I told you I wouldn't give up now, did I?"

Fred audibly snorted at the Slytherin's words. "Look, just give it up, mate." Fred says, trying to keep the situation lighthearted despite the growing tension. "She's not interested."

Callaghan rolled his eyes at Fred's dismissal, his demeanor turning more aggressive. "Oh, please. What does she see in you anyway? You're nothing special." He looked Fred up and down, his tone dripping with disdain. "You deserve so much better than this oaf. Why waste your time on him when you could have someone like me, someone who can give you everything you need and more."

"What can you possibly offer me, you daft dimbo? All you've ever given me is grief!" I snapped back from behind Fred. I stepped slightly forward, positioning myself so that I could look him directly in the eye. The sight of his face brought back memories of all the grievances I held against him.

He scoffed at my words, his arrogance unshaken by my outburst. "Oh, here comes the fiery damsel in distress," he sneered. "Finally showing some backbone, eh?"

He was really pushing it now. Set's disgusting display of behavior nipped away at Fred's patience, which was growing thinner and thinner by the second. His insults weren't making anything better. Just kept added more fuel to the fire. That fire being Fred Weasley himself.

"I'd watch that mouth of yours if I were you, man." Fred warned, his voice losing that carefree tone he tried desperately to maintain this whole time. He quickly pushed me back behind him, creating a physical barrier between me and Set. The move was swift and protective, as if he could physically shield me from whatever Set intended. My back hit the bookshelf, the spines of several books digging into my rear. Fred's body was rigid, poised to prevent Set from getting any closer to me. Set noticed the gesture and a smirk played on his lips. "Trying to protect her, eh, Weasley?"

Concern and fear for Fred's safety began setting off alarms in my mind. Set moved closer, getting all up in Fred's face. "You gonna hit me, Fred? Play one of your little pranks? I'd like to see you try. You don't scare me. Not one bit."

Fred's jaw clenched momentarily before his stature visibly loosens up. Rolling his shoulders casually as he looked down at Callaghan, making him look more relaxed.

"Aw, bless him." Fred says with a scarily laid back smirk, turning behind him to look at me briefly.

"Fred, don't-" I warned, and with a swift, well-aimed punch, Fred's fist connected firmly with Set's face, cutting me off. The sound of flesh against bone resounding through the library.

Set stumbled back, taken completely off guard by Fred's unexpected retaliation.

"You bloody bastard!" Set yelled, cradling his jaw where the impact left a red mark. "You just assaulted me!" But Fred was unrepentant, his eyes burning with a mixture of anger and amusement as he stood protectively in front of me.

"Ouch." Fred whispered, trying to ease the stinging pain from his fist by shaking it away. "Sturdy bone structure, mate, but you had it coming."

After the initial punch, the tension in the library escalated quickly as Set and Fred engaged in a heated fight. Books and shelves toppled over as they exchanged blows, their voices rising in anger. Students gathered around to watch the scene go down as I was tucked away in the corner, yelling desperately for them to stop. I attempting to get in between them before, only to be pushed back by Fred and told me to stay out of it.

The two men had continued to trade insults, their voices growing louder and their tempers flaring.

As the situation spiraled out of control, it didn't take long for the commotion to attract the attention of Madam Pince, the strict librarian who did not abide by such disturbances.

"You two!" She snapped, her voice cutting through the argument like a knife. "What in the world is going on here? The library is for reading, not brawling!"

Fred and Set begrudgingly turned their attention to Madam Pince, their angry gazes still simmering with hostility as they stayed with their hands still grabbing onto each other's uniforms.

By some miracle, she finally managed to break the two apart. With their clothes now in disorder, hairs sticking up in every direction, with blood, sweat, and bruises littering their faces, Madam Pince prepared to escort them out of the library to take them straight to Professor McGonagall.

Still scolding them for their behavior, Fred caught sight of me watching them leave. His expression softened for a moment, his anger dissipating as his gaze met mine. Before he walked out the door, he mouthed a quiet "Are you alright?"

I jogged closer to Fred, getting a good look at his face causing mumurs from the students around us to grow louder. "Weasley!" Madam Pince's voice rings from outside of the library door, noticing his absence. Fred briefly looked towards the exit before returning his gaze back to me. His complexion bruised and upper lip bloodied. My hands itched to reach out and touch him, but I ended up hesitating because I was too scared. Scared that I'd hurt him or make things even worse.

"You didn't have to." I whispered. My eyes danced around his face, completely distraught he'd gotten himself injured again and it was all my fault.

"You didn't have to go that far, Fred. Now you're hurt." I repeated. My tone quivering as my emotions began to well up inside of me.

"I wanted to," he replied, seemingly stuttering to say the next words. "Because-"

"Because?" I echoed quickly, remembering Madam Pince's urgency.

"Because..." Fred sighed, taking a moment to look away from me, biting his partially swollen bottom lip. "What are we?" He asked, returning his eyes back to me.

I looked away. I didn't feel the air Fred would usually carry around with him at this moment. He was the most serious I'd ever seen him.

"Mr. Weasley!" The librarian's voice rang out again, growing more agitated by the second.

The abruptness of Fred's question caught me off guard, and my heart plummeted to the pits of my stomach as the words left his mouth. I knew I had a limited window before Madam Pince comes back to take him away, and I had to answer hastily before the moment slipped through my fingers.

My mind and heart were battling against each other on who's to confess first- but the guilt inside me was far too overwhelming to be making any kind of decisions right now.

I looked at him again- his eyes lighting up when our gazes meet once more. My lips part, my heart pounding.

"We're... friends."

A mixture of emotions flickered across Fred's face as he took in my words. Blinking a few times to process if he'd heard me right. There was a hint of disappointment in his eyes, as if he had wanted to hear something different. But he quickly masked it with a smile, nodding in agreement.

"Friends," he repeated, the word sounding strangely bittersweet on his tongue.

He shoved his hands in his pockets. "Just friends, yeah?"

I couldn't reply any more after that. I kept silent, my bottom lip quivering as my knees were about to give way.

Madam Pince storms back in, taking Fred by his sleeve. "Come along now, Mr. Weasley. You and Mr. Callaghan caused enough trouble today as is." Our gazes linger just a few seconds more before he finally turns away, leaving me in a room full of onlookers whose whispers were quieter than my own heartbeat.

George, Ginny, and Hermione rushed to my side after they'd heard of a fight that broke out in the library, and both me and Fred happened to be a part of it.

I don't know what's going to happen to me and him after this. I don't even know if my heart could take any more.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Getting my friend punished over an issue that wasn't his to shoulder in the first place was not on my bucket list for this school year.

Three and a half weeks passed since Fred and Callaghan's fight in the library.

Three and a half weeks since I last saw Fred around the school.

He got suspended and served his time back at The Burrow. Callaghan was sent away for a longer period for starting the whole dispute.

George, whose thankfully not angry with me and told me it was all completely normal for them as troublemaking twins to get into things like that, told me all about Fred's situation after he'd been sent home. It was mostly about the extra rounds of scoldings he got from Molly.

Hermione and Ginny have also been reassuring me ever since that day, telling me it was completely out of my hands and that Callaghan really did have it coming for him sooner or later. But was it really out of my control, though? Surely there was something I could've done differently so Fred didn't have become someone's punching bag.

The guilt ate away at me like a damn parasite, starting from the inside, out.

I've lost my appetite, my sleep schedule's fucked, and all that strain began showing physically, too. My dark circles became more and more visible each day. Couldn't even focus on my classes and almost burnt off Roger Davies' eyebrows off during Potions.

Hermione decided enough was enough, and that my current condition wasn't ideal to be participating in any kind of school activities, so she dragged me to Professor McGonaggal's office to opt me out of classes and extracurriculars for the time being.

Even though it's been three days since Fred's supposed return from his suspension, I haven't seen him around at all. Not in the corridors, not in the Great Hall, and not even in the classrooms where we were supposed to have schedules together. And to be frank, life's been a little too quiet without him around.

His constantly loud and contagious laughter that echoed throughout any room he was in, the jokes and pranks he and George would do to pass the time, and the small, intimate moments him and I shared. I missed it all. I missed him. But remembering how our last conversation went, I doubt it would be the same ever again.

Seeing as I've been cooped up in my room the majority of my scholastic leave, I decided to finally venture out. The day had finally come to a close and the cool early evening breeze from the oncoming autumn was rolling into the castle grounds.

I got up from my bed and threw on a jumper that Mrs. Weasley had gifted me on my last Christmas with her family. It was very comfortable and I could tell she put a lot of love and thought into picking out the design and colors for me.

After brushing my hair and giving myself a final once over by the full length mirror, I was somehow satisfied with the way I looked, though my complexion has seen better days.

I didn't really know where I wanted to go, but I just had to get out of my room. It was beginning to feel like a mini Azkaban in there after so long.

The moment I left my common room, the chilly air immediately hits my cheeks. I shivered and crossed my arms over my chest, burying my hands under my arms to try and keep them warm.

I walked the nearly empty halls of Hogwarts. The torches mounted against the walls provided a warm contrast to the blue hues painting both the sky and castle.

My feet grew heavier the more I wandered. The hollow feeling coming back inside my chest as memories of me and Fred walking down these very halls together came flooding back. The sight of us laughing side by side- practically stumbling in our steps as we trudged onto our next classes, remembering the way he looked at me, the way he touched me so gently..

All those reminders made me feel sick to my stomach. Not in disgust, but rather of a love I still had for him... and I didn't know what to do with it. It was a love I was certain, had nowhere to go.

I sighed, closing my eyes and shook my head as if to restart my own thoughts. All that reminiscing completely distracting me from the directions I was heading in.

One minute I was aimlessly walking, and before I knew it, I was in front of the library's entrance.

I felt a bit apprehensive about returning to the place it all went down, but it was only a couple of hours before curfew, so why not.

Upon entering, the usual cozy vibe I'd get from visiting this place was gone. I observed a few students and professors that were still present, just going about their business as I passed by the multiple shelves and aisles. I caught a few couples snogging, but that was nothing out of the ordinary when it came to sundown at Hogwarts.

My feet ended up taking me to the same aisle the fight happened in. My breathing deepens as I stepped in, my eyes looking around until they eventually landed on one of the tables. Specifically the one me and Fred sat in.

The signs of their intense altercation were evident on the surface of the once-polished wood. Several shallow scratches and fragments of chipped edges marred the table's finish. A streak of dried up blood patiently waits for me to notice it just a few centimeters to the right. They probably missed a spot when they cleaned the place up.

I bit my lip as I looked at the dried and dark liquid. It didn't matter anymore whether it was Fred's or Callaghan's. Things shouldn't have ended the way it did.

I pulled a chair out and sat down, resting my arms on the table's cold surface while I ran my fingers over the blood with melancholy painted on my face.

"Merlin, Fred." I whispered, burying my face into my arms. "I'm so fucking sorry."

I stayed that way for god knows how long. I'm pretty sure I nearly fell asleep while listening to the sounds of the library around me. It nearly had me forgetting the concept of time.

"I somehow knew you'd be here." A voice suddenly cuts through the silence.

I froze, processing whether I was hallucinating or just plain mad at this point. I wanted to believe that I was imagining it, that I was hearing things. But deep down, a part of me knew it was him.

Slowly, cautiously, I lifted my head from my arms to look at the direction where the voice came from.

And there he was, actually standing before me, and not just as a figment of my imagination. His familiar figure was silhouetted by the soft moonlight streaming through the windows. His hands were shoved into his pockets as if he was trying to appear casual, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed him.

A moment of silence passes between us as we looked at each other. Fred opens his mouth to speak again.

"Wow, you look terrible." He comments, attempting to lighten the uneasy atmosphere with a joke. A small smile reached his lips, but not as genuine as the ones he'd flash me before. It looked a bit.. robotic?

I broke our gaze briefly, scanning the area around us before returning back to him. "...Thanks."

The silence grew longer between us, and the tension in the air thickened. Fred's casual, easygoing demeanor had dropped, replaced by an almost awkward stiffness. He stood there, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he tried to find the right words to say.

"Mind if I, uh..?" he finally managed to utter, his voice sounding a little strained as he gestured to the seat beside me.

I gave him a small shrug. "Yeah. It's not my seat."

Fred nodded silently in acknowledgement before sliding in next to me, the sound of the chair scraping against the floor seemed to echo in the otherwise quiet library. He sat down, his body close but not quite touching mine. He fidgeted with the sleeves of his shirt, his fingers picking at the fabric as his eyes kept darting towards me, trying to gauge my expression but I kept my gaze fixed on the table.

The silence between us both was deafening. The air thick with unspoken words and tension.

The situation in itself was absolutely painful.

There he was, finally sitting beside me and within reach. The time we spent apart was absolute torture and I wanted nothing more but to embrace him and feel his warmth wrapped around me again. But I knew I couldn't just casually reach out and do that anymore.

"Y/n.." He muttered, pausing as if to wait for me to look at him. The silence that hung in the air telling me to do something.

I took a moment to compose myself before turning my head to look at him. Our eyes locked, making my breath hitch slightly under my chest from how intensely he was holding our gaze. And being this close finally gave me a better look at him.

Despite his joke upon first seeing my face, he didn't look like he was doing too well, either. Circles that were equally, if not darker than mine, a few gashes that have healed over, his upper lip now had a small scar, and his knuckles were also littered with wounds that have long recovered.

"I know what you're gonna say." I interjected. "I understand if you don't want to be friends anymore. In fact- I actually deserve it." I began to ramble. I don't know if I'd be able to stop myself now.

"Y/n, wait-" Fred attempted to interrupt, but I was too adamant on getting my point through to him.

"I was absolutely selfish. I felt like I asked too much from you without even knowing it, and I feel like I could've done so many things differently so everything didn't have to end the way it did. I mean, you shouldn't have offered to do this for me anyways. I shouldn't have allowed or agreed to it in the first place. I could've handled Callaghan by myself. I just didn't understand why you went so far for a friend you pitied." I said, adjusting my seat so my body was now tilted and facing him. He looked at me with an expression so utterly unreadable. "So after the fight, I didn't know what to do, or what to think, like, I was in total shock from what happened. I was so worried about you, and when you asked that question I just answered without really thinking. When I found out you got suspended, I was absolutely miserable."

My disposition was completely in shambles at this point. It was now or never. Words just came spilling out of my mouth like vomit as Fred continued to stay silent, allowing me to get everything out. "While you were gone, I found my thoughts constantly coming back to you. I kept remembering everything we'd done together and I was so scared I'd lost you, Fred." I continued, anxiously fidgeting with my fingers. "Then I began missing you... your absence absolutely tore at me. I yearned for your company so much that even if we really wouldn't be friends anymore, just seeing you around school would've been enough."

"Y/n..." He whispered.

"What I'm trying to say is... during our time together when Callaghan was still around, seeing the way you protected me, the feeling I got when you touched me with so much care, and kissed me in a way that was so innocent yet held purpose.. it all made me grow odd feelings for you. Feelings I thought long and hard about, it even confused me." I said, just about ready to have the floor swallow me whole. "I only said I saw us as friends because I was scared, and confused. But now, I'm fully ready to accept whatever comes out of this. Promise."

By the time I finished talking, I was out of breath. Fred didn't respond immediately. His eyes studied my face, visibly softer now as he searched for any sign of me being uncertain. But all he saw was vulnerability.

Finally, he spoke, his voice low and hoarse with suppressed emotion. "Do you have any idea..." he trailed, leaning in closer to me. Not enough to touch, but he was close enough for me to see just how serious he was. "How many nights I've stayed up after what you said, really wondering if being "friends" was all we really were? The amount of times your name, and your laugh echoes inside my head when I try to sleep?"

My heartbeat began to quicken. My lips felt uncomfortably dry as they parted to take in air. The anxiety of it all made it hard to breathe.

What was he trying to say?

"I didn't help you because I pitied you. I mean, we are friends, but my intentions ran a bit deeper than that, I'm afraid." He said. "I felt I needed to prove myself to you. I saw the way you took care of yourself, but I didn't want you to just see me as Fred Weasley, the student who played pranks and always got into trouble. I hoped you'd see me as someone who'd also protect you, you know. I was even more of an idiot thinking you'd see me as a choice."

Hearing the words leave his lips felt unreal. Almost like I'd just imagined the whole thing and was now waiting for a wake up call.

The boy I had known for years with a reputation for being mischievous and carefree, and someone who never really seemed to take anything seriously was now sat before me. So raw and vulnerable, it was nearly petrifying.

"I love you, y/n. All of you. You drive me bloody mad."

Call it relief or immense joy, but it was in this moment where it all turned into a blur. My body acted completely on its own, reaching out to wrap my arms around his neck- crashing my body against Fred's on his seat sending both of us toppling over and falling backwards. The impact of us and the chair hitting the floor reverberated throughout the deafeningly silent library, which was now nearing its closing for the night.

Fred groaned, his hands placed loosely on my waist. The wind was knocked out of his lungs when he hit the hard floor. "Merlin, woman, are you trying to murder me a second time? There are better places to hug me than on the library floor, you know."

"I'd rather try and murder you over anyone else." I murmured into his shoulder, unable to clearly express the overwhelming relief I felt because I hadn't lost him.

I wrapped my arms tighter around his neck, fearing that if I loosened my grip even just a little, he'd slip away from me again.

Fred noticing the way my embrace had this air of anxiousness to it, he returned his own way of reassurance by slowly holding me just as tightly, getting both of us off of the floor and sitting up.

I was nestled in between his legs, still clutching onto him while he sat back- supporting his weight with one arm behind him, and the other wrapped tightly around my mid section.

Fred eventually pulled away to look at me, but I was too embarrassed to do the same. I kept my face turned away to avoid his intense gaze.

"Let me look at you." He mumbled, voice soft as he brushes a stray piece of hair behind my ear. My skin flushes under his fingertips.

"I can't." I replied, the corners of my mouth twitching.

"And why's that?"

"Because I'm afraid that if I did, I wouldn't be able to control myself and kiss you."

Fred chuckled, his hand moved upwards to gently pinch my cheeks together, creating a slightly distorted expression on my face. However, instead of turning me to face him directly, he adjusted his position and bent his head to the side, adjusting to meet my gaze instead. The distance between our mouths was mere inches, and I could feel the heat of his breath on my skin.

"I knew you couldn't resist me." He says, his voice low.

"Shut up." I attempted to mutter through lips resembling that of a fish's.

His small grin stayed fixed on his face as his gaze flickered back and forth between my eyes. It was as if he was trying to decipher something hidden deep within me, searching for a glimpse of my innermost thoughts and secrets. Each time his gaze shifted from one eye to the other, I felt as if he was peering straight into my soul, unveiling layers only he, and he alone gets to see.

With my face still cupped in his hand, he pulled me closer, closing the distance between us. This kiss, so long overdue, was different from the ones before it. There was no pretense, no facade to maintain. It was just the two of us, caught in a moment of raw vulnerability and unspoken need.

Both of us let out a soft, satisfied sigh. He let go of my cheeks, his fingers traced along my jawline until his hand settled beneath my ear. His touch was gentle. A stark contrast to his usual playful demeanor, and it left me wanting more each time.

His lips moved against my own in a gentle but insistent rhythm. His kiss was tender, a certain feeling of longing hiding just underneath. His hand then moved from my jaw to the back of my neck, his fingers tangling in the soft hairs there as he pulled me a little closer, his other arm wrapping around my waist with a firm grip.

I reciprocated the gesture, reaching up to weave my fingers through the hair at the back of his head, holding him in place. In that moment, we were intertwined physically and emotionally, both of us reluctant to let go.

As we finally pulled away for air, Fred let out a soft chuckle. He was slightly breathless, his chest heaving slightly from the intensity of the kiss. The distance created in between us just enough for him to look at me as the corners of his lips curved into a playful smirk.

"You know," he said, giving my hair a playful tug. "If this is how you respond after almost murdering me, I might have to invest in some padding for my back."

I snorted, a smirk crossing my lips as I pulled his hair back in return. "You're a madman, Fred Weasley."

"And I'm the richest bloody man alive right now, too." I responded with a soft smile, untangling my fingers from his hair to rest them lightly on his shoulders. He unwound his own fingers from the tousled hairs at the nape of my neck, allowing them to laze gently on my hips.

"Hey, you know what'd make this whole school thing even more bearable?" He paused, his words carrying the familiar lilt he was known for.

"Less schoolwork?" I replied.

"If you agreed to be my girlfriend."

"What?"

"You're starting to sound like me, hah!"

"Fred-"

"What do you say? wanna be stuck with me for the rest of the year and all the years after that?"

"Honestly, I thought you'd never ask." I replied, laughing at his whole proposal.

Unable to control his own overflowing happiness, he kissed me again. "You're telling me I could've had special snogging priviledges with you if we'd just talked about this before?"

And then he kissed me again,

And again

And again.

"So what now?" I asked, breathing heavily from the limited breaks in between our lip-to-lip encounters.

"Now," Fred murmured, a roguish glint in his eyes. His lips slightly swollen from the kisses we shared. "I can think of a few things I'd like to do with my brand-new, quite willing prisoner."

His arms wrapped tightly around my waist, pulling my body closer to him. His lips were millimeters from my ear as he spoke in a hushed tone.

"Starting with more of these special snogging sessions."

With those words, Fred pulled me back into another kiss, this one deeper and more urgent than the ones before. His arms wrapped around me again, holding me tightly against his body as he kissed me thoroughly, pouring all his longing and desire into it. It was as if we tried to fit all those years we missed out on having each other into one whole moment.

And by not really paying much attention to the time, both of us ended up getting scolded by Madam Pince once again for still being in the library during its closing. But we didn't care. For once, the rules didn't matter to me anymore, and definitely not to Fred.

The future that lied ahead of us was uncertain, but we're sure as hell happy knowing we'd be facing it together from now on.

Fin.

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fictionadventurer · 1 year ago

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Potential April Reading:

The Weight of Glory by C.S. Lewis

St. Francis of Assisi by G.K. Chesterton

A middle-grade book

A book of poetry

Something related to Theology of the Body

A classic novel (pre-1900)

Light early-twentieth-century (pre-1960) fiction

#monthly reading lists #not stretching myself this month #going solely for relaxing springtime mood #and enjoying being able to download free ebooks again (which i gave up for lent)#the last option is to cover several light-fiction dean-street-press type author's i've had the urge to read lately #without nailing myself down to a particular one #which could ruin the relaxing intent behind adding that to the list

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absolutebl · 2 months ago

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This Week in BL - I'm Back (Did Ya Miss Me?)

Organized, in each category, with ones I'm enjoying most at the top.

May 2025 Catch Up

Buckle up beeaches, we got a lot to cover.

Ongoing Series - Thai

Knock Out (Fri WeTV ) ep 1 of 12 - I called this one (via the trailer) "a low quality less fun/funny version of Wandee Goodday" and I am thoroughly ashamed of myself.

It's GREAT.

Harsh but i like it. And the fighting is quite good. Thun has a very Lan Wangji aspect to him. Protective, monosyllabic, powerful seemingly disengaged... still waters fuck run deep and all that. Poor Keen is downtrodden, clever, and adorable. It's a great dynamic, I like this a whole lot more than I expected. The pacing is even good. I'm so pleased with this BL! Damnit why did WeTV have to win this crop of new offerings?

My Stubborn (Sun iQIYI) eps 3-4 of 10 - of course it's stupid high heat nonsense, that always ranks higher than it should for me.

3 Sorn just treats Jun like a living doll meets boyfriend and I'm kinda into the kink of it. Jun is treating him like a first time dildo so what's good for the top is good for the bottom, I guess? Also i got my bites so I'm pleased. I like that Jun is a snarky tsundere who knows how to stand up for himself. Refreshing take on the archetype.

4 I’m not opposed to this style office whipping boy in this particular show. No idea why. I just like it with these characters. I think it’s cause Sorn is so clearly in love, and literally has no idea what to do except bully the boy. Life's tough for a tsundere seme with a mad crush on an easygoing sunshine uke.

Top Form (Thurs WeTV) eps 7-9 of 10 - Yet another installment of get that boy a therapist not a boyfriend. How many is that now? Countless.

7 I like how they chose to translate the pronouns (jao et al) from old-fashioned Thai into old-fashioned English (thee/thou et al)! It worked really well. I've been waiting for someone clever to do this. Well done Khun Translator! We likie!

I have to talk about how good Boom is after having seen him in his previous (not good) BL. (Where he played the seme character with a completely different screen energy.) He really is a stellar actor.

8 Way to get your fetish shoe-horned in their Japan, even when you’re being adapted. I’ve got to say that these two not only have decent chemistry, they’re really great at kissing for camera. They seem to be very aware of where the lens is and making sure their angles are good. It’s an unusual skill. It’s rare for both parties to be this aware as well simultaneously good at execution.

PROPS! They got sasaeng motivation down! Someone did their research.

9 DOOM ep!!!

Boys in Love (Sun iQIYI ) ep 3-4 of 12 -

3 I identify with Shane so much, re-organizing for avoidance is exactly what I do when emotional. Now that there’s an element of angst, I’m enjoying this show a little bit more, it feels more high school and less sappy.

4 They are EXTREMELY cute! This has a kind of modern Lovesick vibe to it, which I guess they’re going for? But it’s really hard to nail that without a bit of edge (which GMMTV rarely does. Still, I’m liking this better than I did at first.

The Next Prince (Sat iQIYI) eps 1-3 of 14 - Hotly anticipated 3 yr production featuring ZeeNewNu in a fantasy/historical where Zee plays a knight bodyguard and Nu a prince fighting for his right to inherit.

1 Okay Princess Diaries BL, let's do this thing! It's all very fancy and it would like us to very-much know how fancy it is. Zee is still hot. The fight scenes are still not. I don’t know where this is going. But the chemistry is good so *shrug*. I am in ecstasies over how incredibly not-British that supposedly British party was.

2 This show is wildly bad. But the wildly part is fun. Absolutely nothing makes sense, you could ride a motorcycle through those plot holes. No one behaves logically, unless you assume it is a straight up fairytale. Secondary couple is giving TulHin vibes and I am IINTO IT. You know I love a good whipping boy.

3 So they are misogynistic but not homophobic? That doesn’t make sense. Are we in a Hellenistic cultural model or something? Oh no, I’m applying logic again. Must turn off brain-meats. That gold crown looks exactly like a hot cross bun.

Could we please get onto the secondary couple at this juncture? They look so cute and I’m mad that we haven’t seen anything substantial with them yet.

Pit Babe 2 (Fri iQIYI) eps 1-3 of 13 - More conspiracy and struggles but less omegaverse.

I have to admit to reservations upfront. It took me days to finally watch the first episode. Historically I’m not a big fan of second seasons in BL. And while I enjoyed Pit Babe OG at the time, it’s not my favorite chaos BL. I convinced myself to watch the new installment by simply saying it would be all right if they messed with any of the other couples, so long as they left AlanJeff alone. And now. The chaos.

1 Of course I love Willy. Hot & creepy = my kryptonite. Nice to see Nut again, even nicer to hear that beautiful voice of his.

2 Okay whatever. Just don't break up Alan & Jeff.

3 I said not to mess with AlanJeff, didn't I? Argh. Meanwhile Kenta remains my favorite precious peanut. Also his arm muscles have returned in force, I see. Excellent.

Honestly, I rarely watch BTS footage, except for this show. The cast just seem to be having so much fun. I think I like the BTS better than the actual show.

I am so happy to have them back on my screen.

My Sweetheart Jom (Fri YT) ep 1 of 12 - I admit I wasn't sold on this one from the trailer but Saint is back and I'm disposed to be intrigued by the kind of script that would pull him in. So far it feels a bit Tale of Thousand Stars lite.

I love the 3 kids = one brain cell side kicks. I also like the personalities of the main characters. They are both noble and caring in their own way. I enjoy that aspect. it remains to be seen what their chemistry as like as a couple. But I’m enjoying this more than I thought I would.

The BangkokBoy (Sat Gaga) eps 2-4 of 12 -

2 Now we know how everything went down. I fast-forward through a lot of the fighting in prison. I think as our leads still haven’t met we can assume that this is not quite a BL. I think there’s also a chance that this one might not end happy. If my spidey sense goes off within the next three episodes I might drop it until I know for sure.

3 I’m going to ban Thailand and Vietnam from using flashbacks until episode six of any given show. You can’t use filler so early on in a series! Just take a shorter run time. It would be great if the main couple actually met at some point in this damn show.

4 Oh dear. More triggers. Everyone in the show is either a psychopath or utterly broken. At least our boys finally had a date. Prat fall kiss was not necessary in this style of show.

Loy Kaew First Love (Fri YT) ep 1 of 6 - I said I wasn’t gonna watch this one, but then it just dropped into my YouTube feed and who am I to resist? It’s a pretty simple story about two boys falling in love in a remote village where that just isn't a thing so everyone is against them. The scenery and the culture is interesting and different from what we are used to. It's got slightly better production values than I was expecting, and the chemistry is good. So a surprise continue for me, but I will warn you that this style of BL from Thailand only ends happily about 50% of the time, so I may drop it if I feel it's gonna head south.

Sweet Tooth Good Dentist (Fri iQIYI) eps 6-8 of 12 - When they are a couple, they’re an extremely cute couple. But it starts and ends there.

6 The most ridiculous love triangle ever. As is often the case with me and love triangles could we not just have the lead and the secondary get together instead? Jimmy & Mark have great chemistry.

7 Oh i don't know. And frankly I don’t think they do either.

8 Finally all of Sant’s trauma and background come out. Also they're good kissers. But I'm not warming to this show for some reason.

Eye Contact (Weds WeTV) ep 1 of 12 - Uni BL about a boy and a very hot campus star. Oh goodie. Something new and different for us.

It’s about what i expected. Not good but the actors are seasoned. (I already miss PokeTongue.) The production is truly awful - the sound being particularly bad and inconsistent. But frankly, I've seen worse. It's very "ordinary bottom trope" (Japan's term not mine) with 2 hot guys chasing/bullying our nerd for no apparent reason. Plot twist! Our ordinary is not so ordinary at all! And I kind of like that bit. Oh it’s still truly bad, but am I gonna keep watching it anyway? Hell yes.

Mission to the Moon (YT) 1-6 of 12 - Short form BL airing on YT, historical reincarnation romance combined with my ghost bf trope. Not sure how this one will end happy, but it's so low impact I'm watching it anyway. So far it's... fine.

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

Sweetheart Service (Korea Fri YT) eps 1-2 of 12 - After being pressured by his family to get married, Min U asks Yu Ha to pretend to be his fiancé.

1 I’m enjoying it. Although Strongberry seems to have dropped in quality to the level of that other Korean company that’s airing short form on YouTube these days. In other words, it doesn’t really have its signature style anymore.

2 Despite my reservations around the directing and filming, I'm enjoying this show. They know where it’s at. There hitting all their marks for and old-school BL this time around. Carry on, I trust you.

Fight for You (Taiwan Fri Gaga) eps 7-9 of 12 -

7 They are awfully cute. I am starting to be scared of all the lies tho.

8 Pretty much the same as last week. Honestly, not a lot is changing each episode. This one doesn’t seem to be progressing much.

9 Finally the DOOM ep. Cry babies, CRY.

It Finished, I'm Mildly Annoyed

Business as Usual (Korea) Final thoughts - An office reunion romance about college boyfriends meeting each other again in the workplace. Korea doing its bog standard miscommunication for the sake of plot + catlike tsundere uke but with surprise! sex out the gate. This one was mostly frustrating although the chemistry was decent and the love triangle wasn't really (yay!). It's fine. 8/10

Something Is Not Right (Korea) Final thoughts - Look, this is essentially a story of unrequited love out of willful unwillingness to believe the truth when it is staring you in the face AND told directly to you clearly. One boy confesses and then refuses to take the yes that came after it as a yes. (Like a reverse Mr Collins.) As a consequence this ended up being one of the most frustrating KBLs I've seen in a long time. Quality and performance-wise this is probably an 8/10 BL, but out of pure annoyance I gave it a 7/10. You’re pissing me off, Korea.

Stand By Me (Vietnam YT) Final thoughts - I binge watched this on my travels. 2 young boys form a bond in childhood but are parted. They reunite later in high school (the older is college age). The older one us very puppy fixated and the younger very cat tsundere. It's fine. Stuff kinda happens. There are other characters. Who do... stuff. 6/10

Last Meal Universe (Thai) 8 eps - An alien who has come to destroy earth instead falls in love with Thai food and then the Thai boy who cooks it - realistic, actually. It's done, should I bother?

Lost in the Woods (Gaga) 7 eps - Not my thing, dropped at ep 2. All signs point to no change to that opinion so I won't be reviewing.

It's airing but......

Sashes and Hearts (Pinoy YT) 13 eps - Philippines is doing Drop Dead Gorgeous only all gay boys queening their asses off. Doesn't interest me, not sure if it's BL.

Secret Ghost (Thai Sat Viu) ?? eps - The trailer dropped and it looks so bad.

My Golden Blood (Weds iQIYI) 12 eps - dropped at ep 5.

In other news

Bain of Kpop group JUST B comes out - pretty historic for the industry, actually.

Yes, Viki was down for a bit mid week. It's back up again.

I rewatched while traveling

Light on Me - of course it’s still great, this is one of my few 10/10s for a reason.

My School President - I actually thought the pacing was better on a rewatch, during the original I got a little bored, this time I could simply ff through all of the stuff to do with music. It increased my enjoyment of it even more. Still a favorite.

La Pluie - I still hold with the first half being excellent, it's the second half where it loses itself (and me). Still a solid show with good core concepts an interesting things to say about major tropes. The rewatch didn’t change my opinion at all.

Cosmetic Play Lover - what can I say, I love this stupid show.

Tokyo in April is... - still a big sad for me, but a lot easier to take now that I know exactly what happens (and happened). This time around, I appreciated the performances more. Since I wasn’t as caught up in the story, I could really evaluate their nuances. It’s a great show. If you don’t mind your BL dark.

Next Week Looks Like This: Frigay is BACK!

Still Coming in May

5/18 Season of Love in Shimane AKA Ai no Kisetsu: The Season of Love (Thai) - Sequel to Kiseki Chapter 2 which I intensely disliked. I won't be watching this.

5/19 I Promise I Will Come Back (Thai Mon WeTV) 10 eps - A Thai Taiwanese colab. Stars two Thai actors and Taiwanese identical twins from H3. However the lead and co-producer Tontae is actually a very good actor, so this could be good unless it's oen of those mostly intended to be a tourism advert for the Thai countryside. We shall see!

5/22 The Ex-Morning (Thai Thurs YT?) 10 eps - trailer Y This is an original script written just for the OG, direct by Lit (SOTUS) about a news reporter plagued by scandal who must work with his PR ex-boyfriend to rebuild his reputation. A reunion romance that's hitting pretty close to the IRL pair branded mark. It's no secret that (much as I make room for SOTUS because of it's significance) I don't love this pair, but we shall see what we get. Of course I'm gonna watch it. I have some standards to uphold - even if they don't.

Also: if GMMTV brought Ohm T on board simply to use him as everybody’s incredibly hot ex bf who turns up at opportune times, I’m actually really happy with that decision.

2025 Line Up

BL Announced for 2025 - PART 1

BL Announced for 2025 - PART 2

20 BLs Announced for 2025 That I'm Really Excited About

GMMTV 2025 Line Up - My Totally Biased and Wildly Flawed Feels

THIS WEEK’S MONTH'S BEST MOMENTS (SO FAR)

He is SO CUTE. You know me and dimples.

This moment felt so honestly high school. (both Boys in Love)

Oh he's so damn proud of himself. (My Stubborn)

I just can't with these two, they are such good kissers. (Top Form)

If evil why so hot? (PIt Babe 2)

(last 3 weeks ago)

The tag BLigade: @doorajar @solitaryandwandering @my-rose-tinted-glasses @babymbbatinygirl @babymbbatinygirl @isisanna-blog @mmastertheone @pickletrip @aliceisathome @urikawa-miyuki @tokillamonger @sunflower-positiiivity @rocketturtle4 @blglplus @anythinggoesintheshire @everlightly @renafire @mestizashinrin @bl-bam-beyond @small-dark-and-delicious @saezurumurmurs

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suzukiblu · 4 months ago

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Day four of “Kon meets pink kryptonite and decides to fuck Tim and his boyfriend about it” behind the cut. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

Kon melts like goddamn butter, and Tim draws his fingers through his hair twice, long and slow, and then reaches over to the nightstand with his free hand to pick up a fork off the tray and stick it in one of the waffle quarters on his own plate. He keeps petting through Kon’s hair with the other hand, and Kon kind of just . . .

If Tim’s going to keep petting him like that, he doesn’t wanna do anything that’d make him stop, so he just sort of . . . settles in, and rolls his tongue up flat and tight against the other’s cock and does the best he can to shift into the right angle to slide the shaft as far into his throat as he can, and only has to use his TTK a little for it. Just–takes as much of Tim as he can, but doesn’t try to bob his head or leave Tim the space to fuck his mouth, really.

Technically, Kon can literally pin a baseline human down like this. Like, even without the TTK, he’s more than strong enough to pin any baseline human like this. And Tim said he could keep his cock ‘til he was done eating, so Kon definitely wants to get to keep it that long. He wants to have it as long as Tim’ll let him have it.

So until Tim tells him otherwise, he’s just . . . gonna do that, yeah, Kon thinks, and snakes an arm around between the headboard and the small of Tim’s back and makes sure he’s pinned right there, and swallows slow and tight around his cock without giving him any space to pull away. Tim hums; scritches his nails against Kon’s scalp and takes a bite of waffle.

“You know, babe, for some reason I feel like you’re not gonna be appreciating those waffles like you could be right now,” Bernard teases with a snicker. “Though I’m impressed with your restraint on not pouring caramel in your lap before you poured your boy into it, because I would not have been able to resist that particular temptation myself.”

“The temptation of having to scrub caramel out of my pubes later, you mean?” Tim says dryly.

“I mean, the dude did ask for flavored condoms,” Bernard reminds him reasonably. “So I think finding out what he’d think of getting to try one would be worth it, personally?”

“. . . ngh,” Tim mutters very, very quietly, his fingers curling briefly in Kon’s hair. Kon maybe purrs about it. Like . . . just a little, probably, but . . . definitely he purrs about it, yeah.

And maybe also a little bit about the caramel idea, he’s not gonna lie.

“Jesus,” Bernard says under his breath. “Do I even wanna know what that feels like around your dick?”

“Like I’ve got an overclocked Sybian in my lap,” Tim replies frankly, then takes a real careful bite of his waffle and draws his fingers through Kon’s hair again just as careful. Kon’s not really sure why Tim feels like being careful? Like . . . why that’s a thing, he means?

Maybe he’s just still doing the gentle thing, Kon guesses, and feels warm about the thought. And about the hand in his hair, and the cock in his mouth–the cock down his throat–and the way it feels to hold Tim like this, when Tim knows exactly how easily he could snap his spine or crush his hips with a completely effortless or even accidental squeeze. Tim knows that better than anyone, after that fucking awful–after he broke his arm, and–

Kon’s gut twists uncomfortably, and then Tim draws his fingers through his hair a little heavier, and Kon just–he sinks into that feeling, and not the shitty thoughts that’re trying to drag him down into them instead. That’s–that isn’t what Tim would want, he knows. Definitely isn’t what Tim would want right now.

Tim knows better than anyone how much he could hurt him, and he still wants him here. That’s the only thing that matters, far as Kon gives a fuck. All he cares about is Tim letting him have this, thinking he deserves this, and how good it feels to get it.

How good this all feels.

Tim’s heartbeat is accelerated and spiking here and there, not held down into something too-steady, like all it’s doing is responding to the way it feels to have his cock inside something hot and wet and tight that really wants it there. Which–Kon very, very much wants Tim inside him right now, yeah. Any kind of inside him, really, but . . .

It just feels really good to just keep his head in Tim’s lap like this; to just suck and swallow around his cock and not really move or anything; not really have to give up anything. To listen to Tim’s heart skip a beat or two, and feel Tim’s fingers in his hair, and feel Tim’s body under his body and the warm, smooth leather of his own jacket where it’s hanging down Tim’s back and pinned against the inside of his bare arm. Kon had really liked waking up and seeing Tim hadn’t thought of a reason to take it off.

Or, maybe, waking up and seeing Tim might’ve come up with a reason not to take it off.

Kon really likes that idea.

“Do they make meta-grade Sybians, you think?” Bernard asks, and Kon hears Tim laugh and feels him smile in obvious amusement; feels him smile fondly in obvious amusement, the exact same way he smiles when he’s texting or talking to Bernard on the phone. The exact same way, except for how this time Kon can feel Bernard smiling back.

It’s really–it’s really nice, being able to feel that. Both sides of it. He thinks he was thinking about that before, but . . . yeah. It’s really nice, same as the way Tim and Bernard’s heartbeats sound together. Just–nice.

He’s probably thought that before too.

“I mean, probably,” Tim replies with a casual shrug. “Meta-grade sex toys, at least. Somebody must be by now.”

“I find it very hard to believe you don’t know for sure either way,” Bernard says, snickering again. Tim shrugs again too, lightly twisting Kon’s curls around his fingers, and Kon wants to be exactly that easy for him to control.

“Why?” he asks. “I don’t need anything meta-grade and neither do you.”

“I mean, I feel like you do currently have something ‘meta-grade’ purring like a fucking motorcyle engine around your cock,” Bernard points out practically. “Like I do very much feel like that’s a thing. And also c’mon, Backup-Plan Wonder, you seriously never looked into the possibility? Not even once?”

“I didn’t know anybody I thought would like them,” Tim says, twisting another one of Kon’s curls through his fingers, and Kon’s gut flashes hot. That is . . . definitely a choice of phrasing that Tim just made, considering.

“Okay, well, given what somebody may or may not’ve said to Power Girl in cold, un-kryptonited blood, is that actually true?” Bernard teases. “Especially if your boy ever does wanna get pegged after this.”

Kon’s whole body flashes hot, and he tightens the arm he has around Tim’s back without even thinking about it, feeling his skin prickle and face burn. That–that’s–

“Like, he already wants the piercings, right?” Bernard shrugs easily, reaching out and sliding a hand up Kon’s exposed spine, which is suddenly feeling even more exposed than it already was. “Finding the dude a nice hard toy to ride every now and then would definitely have less effect on his sex life than helping him pierce his tits would, gotta say, much less helping him pierce his dick. Although maybe if you got him a strap to pack for his next date . . .?”

“Not even the kinkiest introvert alive would count a four-day threesome with a radioactive mineral as a date, Ber,” Tim snorts at the exact same moment Kon makes an embarrassing sound around the other’s cock, and then Tim . . . pauses, and curls his fingers in just a little bit tighter against his scalp. Kon’s face burns with worse embarrassment and–just–he tenses a little, maybe, but–

But Bernard said “next” date, like he was thinking of this as a date. And then, like–then–

It isn’t a date. Like, Tim is in no way wrong about this not being a date. Like–obviously. Unless the “date” is Tim and Bernard doing an activity together, which like, Kon kind of is an “activity” in bed, he knows, so just–

He knows it’s not a date, but–but he felt really weird, when Tim said that like it was–stupid, or . . .

It is stupid, so Kon doesn’t know why he felt that way. Kind of–feels–

Kon tries to duck his head, which would definitely work better without a dick in his throat, and then he just tries to, like–to not–

“Oh,” Tim murmurs, his voice sounding a little–tight, now, and Kon doesn’t–he–

Tim tugs light at Kon’s jaw and Kon follows the tug awkwardly and shifts back just enough to let the other’s cock slip out of his mouth, still feeling embarrassed; ducks his head after all and feels–weird, still. Way, way too weird.

Dammit, he thinks, and then just hopes Tim doesn’t know what he was thinki–

“You know you’re not a joke to me, Kon,” Tim says quietly, cupping Kon’s face in his hands, and Kon hates being so fucking obvious and–and too weird, he–he–“You’re never a joke to me.”

Kon tries to say something back, tries to tell him he does know, he’s just being stupid, he’s–but he’s just–he’s so fucking embarrassed, still, and the floaty feeling that was slipping through his head starts feeling like–like vertigo, he guesses. Like, when he was capable of getting vertigo. He is not actually capable of getting vertigo anymore, but it’s a very distinct feeling and not exactly mistakable for anything else, so it’s not like he’s forgotten it.

Just–he felt floaty, and now he feels–weird, instead.

“Kon,” Tim says even quieter; quiet enough to count as soft.

#timberkon #konbern #timkon #timbern #kon el #conner kent #bernard dowd #tim drake #superboy #dc robin #wip: think pink #dom/sub

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froggiequarium · 5 months ago

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1k words; rafayel making nail art... for you (working on this when i'm supposed to be working on a new fic for main oops.... raf invaded my mind what can i say?)

rafayel noticed your little habit of constantly switching out your press-on nails every couple of weeks. infact, you often began asking him his opinions on which to use next after catching his curious eyes glued to you as you prepped your nails for the newly decided set, and he'd confidently point out the one he thought would suit the season or occasion better.

one day, after showing him the new sets you'd bought during a sale and oogling at the cute art and charms they were decorated with, he offhandedly asked if they were difficult to make.

"hm? well, i've seen videos that make it easy, but usually things look easier than when you actually try it yourself, so i just stick to buying them," you sheepishly point out with a little laugh.

and suddenly, rafayel has an idea.

in the next week or so, when its around the time to switch out your nails once more, rafayel calls you and tells you to meet him at his studio, that he has a surprise waiting for you.

curious and excited, you immediately make your way there, having no other plans for the day, mentally going through special days to make sure you're not forgetting any occasion.

though, it wasn't likely, given rafayel's nature of spoiling you with surprise gifts for no particular reason.

you make your way inside of his studio and find him in the living area, just finishing arranging some things before his gaze flits up to yours.

"well hello, miss bodyguard. you got here quick."

you take slow steps towards him, grinning.

"a certain fishy said they had something for me, i couldn't just keep him waiting."

he grins back.

when you close the distance and are standing right before him, he holds his hands out, palms facing up.

"give me your hands," he coaxes.

you do as you're told, sliding your hands over his, and he grips them gently, inspecting your hands— you don't have a new set on yet, just as he expected.

perfect.

"why don't i do your nails for you this time?"

you tilt your head.

"is this your surprise?"

"part of it."

"are you sure? i didn't think you'd be interested, and i'm used to doing it myself...."

"nonsense, let me decorate your hands for you this time, cutie."

you raise an eyebrow, suspicious at his insistence, but allow yourself to be dragged to the couch and seated next to him as he reaches for the utensils that you use to prep your nails.

"why did you have everything ready? were you that confident i'd let you do my nails for me?"

he holds up the nail clippers, moving close to begin snipping down your nails.

"its already been a couple of weeks since your last set, so i knew you'd be working on another one sooner or later."

something about the attention to detail rafayel pays when it comes to you makes your heart thump a little faster in your chest.

"right..."

he's finished trimming and filing your nails quickly before he grabs a spikier tool to push your cuticles back, trimming some as he sees fit. afterward, he's grabbing another tool and begins gently buffing the surface of each nail. when he reaches for a small alcohol wipe to drag over each nail bed, you speak up again, realizing something.

"wait, what set are you even going to put on? did you decide without me?"

he cleans the last finger, setting the wipe down beside him before reaching for the nail glue to have ready.

"give me a second."

he reaches for a little box that was hidden in plain sight behind a cup of paintbrushes on the nearby table. its a pretty blue and wrapped in a little purple ribbon. he hands it to you, and you slowly take it from him.

"this is the real surprise," he smiles, gesturing for you to open it.

you look up at him before pulling at one of the ends of the ribbon, gently unraveling it and popping the lid off of the box. you can't help the little gasp that escapes you at the sight within.

it's a new set of nails, pristine and pretty, looking like the ones that are on the pricier end of the websites you buy from.

they're a mix of pearly white and ocean blue, different images from seashells and little fish to a seahorse being painted on a few of them, embellished with small colored-pearl looking charms and some shiny gold glitter for highlight. even more, the shape of them is exactly your preference.

you're looking at them for a long time in silence due to the awe of the detail and beauty of them. rafayel watches you marvel at them, but grows too eager to hear your thoughts.

"do you like them?"

rafayel's voice breaks you from your trance and you finally manage to tear your gaze away from the nails to meet his eyes.

"did you.... make these?"

rafayel only shrugs in response.

"i decided to try it out. it wasn't the easiest thing, but it was simple enough, and i got the hang of it easily. still, i think my back is still hurting from the weird angle i had to be at to paint on such a tiny canvas," he whines, rubbing his lower back for emphasis.

you breathe out a laugh, pushing yourself forward and kissing the pout off of his lips.

"these are the prettiest nails i've ever had, raf. thank you," you beam.

his ears are bright red.

"its not that big a deal," he looks to the side, shy. the volume of his voice is lower at his next words. "besides, there's more where that came from, so its nothing..."

you nod, making a note to ask to watch him at work later. for now, you hold the box out to him, gaze expectant.

"well, i'm ready for my new nails, mister nail artist~"

he's back to his normal self at your words, pleased expression crossing his face as he snatches the box from you before picking up the glue.

"leave it to me!"

needless to say, you received the most compliments on this set than you had from the other sets you wore, everyone hounding you for which new nail place you went to this time for such a beautifully effortless result.

you were all too satisfied to turn to each of them and proudly reveal the secret nail tech, the curious gazes immediately growing stunned.

"my boyfriend!"

you cant convince me he wouldn't be good at nail art.... inspired by the next press-on set im going to use looking cutely painted (not ocean themed though) & it made me think ab how rafayel would definitely make you your own sets.... nail tech raf anyone???

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lassify · 6 months ago

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Twilight's Guilt

*Spoilers for Spy x Family Chapter 107*

I haven't seen anyone talking about this yet, but I just can't get it out of my head.

Chapter 107 is a real goldmine for Twilight The Spy. All these amazing connections! All this potential intelligence! He can finally feel like he is extracting what he can from Anya's hard-won connections at Eden, and he is fully using every opportunity possible to squeeze what he can for Operation Strix.

And then Jeeves had to go ahead and say this:

Jeeves really hits the nail on the head here.

He probably knows about the responsibilities and expectations that are put on the Eden kids by all of their parents - of which he understands Damian's position the most intimately - but at this point in time, Jeeves (likely) has no idea of the extra burden that has been put on one child in particular.

That is, Twilight's burden on Anya.

Not just the burden of becoming an Imperial Scholar, and doing well in her tests, and making friends with the right people: only Twilight knows about the burden of being a fake family, of having to complete a mission, and dispose of her when it's over.

"How I hope that these children are to remain forever unburdened by the statures and standpoints of their parents..."

This is what I love about Endo's storytelling so much: so much is said with so few words and gestures.

Because after Jeeves says his piece, we get a look from Twilight. It's interesting - he almost looks bored, but the lack of response is by itself so telling, even when the other parents express their remorse.

To me, he looks exhausted. This pretence must be so exhausting.

Then his gaze turns towards Anya.

And: he's guilty.

Twilight knows that Jeeves is right; that by taking up a fatherly role for this child, he has automatically burdened her with his own goals and expectations.

Which then leads us to this panel:

I love this panel so much. I honestly felt myself tearing up looking at it.

The first thing that the reader notices is the vast expanse of negative space: everything and everyone else has faded away, and now it is only them. Without the bustling festival and rowdy kids and background characters, suddenly the reader is so aware of the distance between Twilight and Anya. We know that this distance is emotional as well as physical; because Twilight has put himself in the position of the 'onlooker', he is separating his emotions and keeping himself distant from Anya as a person.

I also couldn't help but notice that this panel, unlike every other one on this spread, did not have a border. Endo intended the negative space around them to be endless and borderless, to show that the guilt has the potential to swallow Twilight entirely.

Finally, the size difference between them: while we can interpret this as distance, I also see their physical forms as an illustration of their difference in power. In that sense, one could say that Twilight is larger in this panel, because he overwhelms Anya in the power that he holds over her. He is her 'father'; the man who took her away from the orphanage; and the man who could put her back without a second's notice. Twilight is fully aware of all of this.

(Despite his ignorance of Anya's telepathic power, the scale is still very much in Twilight's favour.)

We even see this side of Anya as though from Twilight's perspective: suddenly, Anya is just a child that caught up in something so much bigger. With our view just of Twilight's back, we can imagine the weight that this must have on his shoulders, bearing a burden that only he is aware of.

And yet, here you are, Twilight...

Despite the attention paid to Twilight's guilt in this double-page spread, Twilight is still very much back to 'business as usual' within the next couple of pages after this. After all, he has a mission to complete. As a spy, he should be adept at compartmentalising his emotions by now...

... Or perhaps, his only option is to keep squashing his guilt down, before he drowns in it.

#spy x family #sxf #sxf manga spoilers #spy x family spoilers #sxf manga #spy x family analysis #loid forger #twilight #agent twilight #sxf twilight #sxf analysis #anya forger #another panel that made me tear up #i swear loid forger can only be a good father when twilight retires #otherwise he will always put his expectations and goals on her #even if he doesnt mean to #anya will never be free until twilight is no more

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queenofmoons67 · 1 month ago

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Shades of Blue: A Warriors Meets the Chain Fic

Summary: Captain Link has an arrow to the thigh when he falls through a portal to another world.

Word Count: 6403

WARNINGS for blood and injury.

Written for @legendoflinkficfight. Many thanks to my beta, @bookdancerfics, and one of the prompters, @savimatteo2810 (the other prompter was myself, lol).

Link stumbles through the forest the best he can with an iron arrow shaft clean through his thigh. Dizziness from blood loss makes the earth tilt and sway beneath him, while every step shoots lightning up his spine and down to his toes, feeding a headache and blurring his vision.

Link grits his teeth and clenches his hands, but that just digs his nails into his palms with tiny pinpricks of pain. He wishes he had his scarf around his neck, warm and comforting and perfect for clenching, but he wrapped it around the arrow and his thigh to stabilize the former and stop the bleeding.

Not that he thinks the scarf is accomplishing either goal. Each step shifts the arrow and widens the wound, letting the arrow shift more on the next step in an endless cycle, while hot wet blood leaks into the makeshift bandage. The fabric is heavy, uncomfortable, and soaking his entire lower leg in blood.

Even though leaving the arrow in isn’t stemming the bleeding as much as Link likes, he knows he’s dead without it, just as he knows each step is slowly killing him. And yet, he has no choice but to keep moving, keep shifting the arrow and widening the wound and letting more blood spill from his body.

He can’t stop. Even as it kills him, moving gives him a chance at finding help; stopping would leave him dead.

Plunging into the trees seemed like a good idea at the time. In the aftermath of the war, Zelda ordered him to investigate different forts, figure out the combat level of the loyal soldiers who survived, and give the physical forts a look over for damage.

This particular fort failed spectacularly: The main gate is one good blow from collapsing and the soldiers somehow missed the roving, remnant band of Ganon’s monsters hauling around a battering ram until the band was nearly at their doorstep.

Most of the monsters, Link left to the fort and her commanders. The battering ram-wielding hinox he lured into the forest to draw it further and further away from the vulnerable fort.

That was when the bokoblin archer hiding behind the hinox’s head revealed itself with an arrow to Link’s thigh.

Link grimaces when his wound throbs, then squints. Is his vision really so bad that the air has started to swirl in front of him?

Link takes another step, and the swirling air caves in around him as he falls. The effect is nauseating but familiar, and Link swallows down the bile rising in his throat. The last thing he needs is to throw up in a nebulous portal all over his open wound. That would guarantee infection for sure.

In a few seconds, the swirling stops, but Link only manages to stay upright for another moment. Then his feet hit the earth, the impact vibrating up his legs and spasming around his injury till he can’t help but crash to the ground.

Link lays there, dazed, before the pain strikes again. It courses through his body in one giant, all-consuming flare and he brings his injured leg up, curling around it and digging his hands into the bloody scarf in an attempt to bring relief. A broken sob falls from his lips.

When he was still walking, he had a plan. A goal. The determination to save himself didn’t keep the pain away, but he thought he had a chance.

Now that he lays on the ground in the fetal position, not knowing where the portal dropped him or if he has the strength to stand again, there’s nothing to distract from the fact he’s likely dying.

That scares him. The idea he could survive an entire war, Cia stalking him, countless assassination attempts, and Ganon himself, only to die now… now, when the war is finally over, Hylia knows how far from his queen and the fort and anyone at all, with no guarantee anyone will ever find his body.

All of Link’s rationality flees. He digs his hands deeper into his scarf and screams. He screams until his throat hurts and his voice breaks and the tears come, blurring his vision past what the pain had managed alone and painting his tongue with the taste of salt.

It’s been a long time since Link let himself break down. Too many responsibilities, too many lives relying on him as a captain to even think about wasting the time; too many expectations and the need to save face as the hero to ever show weakness; two little brothers hoarding his space, never giving him privacy, looking to him as their big brother for care he would never deny them.

All the tears Link held back during the war flood out now, and they only slow when voices sound in the distance. Link can’t make out what they’re saying yet or whether the words came from monsters.

He forces himself to still, tears still trailing down his cheeks, before using one hand to wipe his eyes and the other to draw a knife from his boot. He has no sword; it’s still stuck through the hinox’s skull—not that it would be much use now anyway, when he doubts he has the strength left to wield it.

“—tellin’ you,” a voice says, suddenly loud enough for Link to make out the words. “I heard somethin’.”

Not monsters. Link sucks in a breath to call out—then hesitates. These people aren’t ‘blins or hinoxes, but what if they’re traitors? The war taught him well that monsters could be Hylian, too.

“Maybe it was Legend’s stomach,” someone else says. The words end with a laugh, then a yelp, and Link’s breath hitches.

“Maybe it was Mask’s snoring,” Tune teased with a laugh, then yelped when the younger boy tackled him to the ground.

That’s Tune’s voice. Link is—the portal took him to—

“Tune,” Link gasps. His voice comes out quiet, his throat torn up and nose clogged from crying, so he coughs, then tries again. “Tune!”

“Y’all heard that, right?” the first voice asks. “Hey—Wind! Time!”

Link doesn’t know why the person is yelling about the wind and time, and he doesn’t care. Instead, he focuses on the cracking of branches underfoot and the rustling of leaves being brushed aside.

Tune is coming. His younger brother is just meters away and within yelling distance for the first time in months.

Link presses his forehead to his good knee and drags in ragged breaths, close to breaking down again. Not in despair, but in relief, because he’s finally found someone—but his entire body trembles as the adrenaline rush of fighting, running, and crying leaves him, and as he trembles, he realizes he also feels faint.

Dehydration. Blood loss. Pain. It would be easier to identify what isn’t wrong with him than to name all the things that are.

But he has to stay focused. If he somehow made it all the way to his little brother just to die in front of him, he’ll never forgive himself.

Groaning, Link lifts his head from his knee just in time to see Tune and a man in full plate armor fall to their knees beside his prone body.

The armored man has a blue eye the same cobalt shade as Mask, and markings the same as the Fierce Deity on a face thirty years Mask’s senior.

“‘M hallucinating,” Link mutters.

Heart falling, he turns his eyes to Tune. The older of his two boys looks so familiar, he’d have believed Tune was really there if not for Mask’s weird visage.

“‘M…”

“Hyrule!” Tune shrieks, making Link grimace. Tune’s voice is definitely the same; it hasn’t broken yet.

The armored man’s brows furrow as he looks Link over—and then he reaches for the scarf and starts unwinding it. Link’s fingers clench and unclench around his knife, but his arm feels like jelly, and he can’t stop the man. Instead, he can only close his eyes and shake his head, grass scraping against his cheek.

“No, no—” he moans. This isn’t possible. If he’s hallucinating, how is the man moving the scarf? If the man is really there, why does he look so much like Mask?

“It’s okay, Captain,” Tune soothes.

A hand touches his free one, and Link opens his eyes to stare at where Tune’s sun-tanned fingers thread together with his own war-callused ones.

“You’re gonna be okay,” Tune continues. His voice breaks on the last word, his hand squeezes tight around Link’s, and he smiles, mouth wobbling. “We’re not lettin’ you go again.”

We.

Link’s gaze flits from Tune to the stranger and back again, before his vision blurs when the unwinding of the scarf jolts the arrow. Overwhelmed by questions and pain, Link can hold on no longer.

His eyes close.

“Captain,” Wind says frantically. He squeezes the hand in his impossibly tighter, but there’s no response. “Time—!”

“I know,” Time says. His voice is terse, and he doesn’t look up from the wound. “This is bad, Sailor, I won’t lie. He—”

The undergrowth around them bursts open, spitting out the other Links who trailed them. Wind could have wept from relief.

“Hyrule!” he calls. “Heal him, please, please —”

Arms settle around him, bringing the distinct smell of Twilight’s wolf pelt, and Wind half-turns in his brother’s hold, careful not to let go of the Captain’s hand even as he buries his face deep in the fur that covers Twilight’s chest.

From the corner of his eye, he can see Hyrule’s hands hovering over the wound, his face screwed up in concentration. Four takes hold of the arrow shaft to carefully remove it, and Legend pins a large ruby broach inset in gold to Hyrule’s chest. Time backs out of their way, still holding onto the Captain’s scarf.

The last time Wind saw the scarf, it was clean and beloved, glistening golden hems and royal blue fabric wrapped with care around his brother’s neck. Now, Wind can’t see the gold for all the blood. The scarf is soaked in it.

“He has to live,” he whispers.

Twilight ducks his chin, presses his cheek to the top of Wind’s head, and hums.

“He’s our brother, Twi. He has to live! We only just got him back!”

Wind’s voice rises to a near wail, but he can’t help it. He feels how Twilight’s humming jumps at the word “brother,” and he sees the spray of blood that arcs away from the Captain’s leg when Four finishes removing the arrow, and that’s his brother. His first brother. The one person Wind lets himself act like a kid around, because the Captain needs someone to care for to distract himself and because he doesn’t look down on Wind while doing it.

But Wind left him alone, and now the Captain is bleeding out.

“He can’t die,” Wind sobs. “He can’t die, he can’t die!”

“Rulie’s got him,” Sky soothes. The first knight kneels beside Twilight and reaches out, hand carefully brushing Wind’s bangs away. “Legend gave Rulie a magical boost. Wild’s ready with red potions. They’re doing all they can, Wind, I promise.”

“He’s a Link,” Twilight says, chest rumbling under Wind’s head. “The Sailor and the Old Man know him already, Sky.”

“I gathered.” Sky smiles, but the expression is wan. The first knight never can hide his emotions. “He’s lost a lot of blood, I won’t deny that. Time thinks the arrow nicked an artery, and only leaving the shaft in stayed the bleeding. But Wind—” Sky tucks a knuckle under Wind’s chin and tilts it up till they make eye contact “—Hylia wouldn’t have brought him to us just so he could die. She brought him here so we could save him.”

“You believe that?” Wind asks, breath hiccuping as he speaks.

“I do.”

Wind nods. His cheek wipes against Twilight’s pelt, scrubbing tears away, and he turns his eyes back to the Captain.

The first Link he’s ever known besides himself lays on his back in the grass. Someone has tucked a blanket roll under his head, propping it up, and his hair has been brushed away from his face. Most of his right pant leg is gone, cut away for better access to the arrow and the wound—though Wind himself can’t see it with all the brothers tending to it and blocking his line of sight.

Wind sniffs and sits up. His cheeks burn, and not just from the crying: His brothers just witnessed a breakdown the likes of which proves they’re right to treat him like a kid. The Captain lays dying, and has he done anything useful? No. He’s just cried and made Twilight and Sky take care of him.

“I met the Captain on my second journey,” Wind says. His voice shakes and his lips wobble, his body ready to break down again, but he forges on. He can’t help his brothers medically, but he can give the Captain a decent introduction.

Legend’s body aches. They walked all day through Twilight’s world, trying to reach Castle Town before dark, and the arthritis in his joints didn’t enjoy it one bit. He refuses to let his hand tremble, though. Not when it covers a magic storage broach, steadily infusing it with his own magic in preparation for when Hyrule needs it. Not when Hyrule will need it soon to prevent their newest brother from bleeding out into the very dirt they found him in.

None of that prevents his gaze from turning to Wind at the boy’s words.

“I thought this was your second adventure?”

Wind shrugs. “Cap always said the war was no adventure.”

“War?” Sky’s voice rises, which is more generous than Legend’s heart, skipping a beat at the thought of any of his brothers in a war zone, let alone young Wind. Seeing the normally beaming boy break down crying at this captain’s side… Legend can’t imagine him surrounded by death.

“The War of Eras,” Time cuts in, distracting Legend from his thoughts. The old man sits down on Sky’s other side and reaches out with one hand to pat Wind’s knee. “It was always more the Captain’s journey than ours, anyway.”

“Doesn’t feel right to claim it,” Wind agrees. “We were companions, not heroes.”

Legend doesn’t fully understand that. If they were there and fought side by side, how were they not heroes? How is it different from their current quest, full of so many Links they threaten to spill out of each other’s homes?

But any words Legend might say are cut off by a sudden pull under his fingers. Looking down, he sees the ruby begin to glow. Each drop of magic he sank into the broach is pulled into Hyrule’s body before the magic can settle, and from there pushed into Hyrule’s spell. The healer’s eyes are closed, fingers clenched tight on either side of the captain’s injury—but the injury itself, a circular wound the size of a rupee, finally begins to close.

Legend’s breath leaves him in a rush. Across from him, Sky smiles and, laughing giddily, nudges Wind.

“Look!” the chosen hero says. “I told you he’d be ok.”

The smile Wind offers in return isn’t as big as Sky’s, but it’s there. Their youngest collapses back into Twilight’s chest, fingers still tight around the captain’s.

Legend bites the inside of his lip and shares a worried look with Time. Just because the wound has closed doesn’t mean Link will be okay.

They have a long way to go still.

Link’s body rocks in a familiar motion, back and forth and side to side, even while he himself lies flat. His head lolls, chin to chest, and his eyelashes flutter against his cheeks as he fights to see what’s around him.

Last he remembers, he was lost in the woods and near death. Dying, in all likelihood, when Tune and Mask visited him—or, he realizes with a pang, they didn’t. Their odd visages were probably the result of wanting to see his brothers again and being found by someone else, people whose faces were overlaid by that of his brothers.

The question is, are they ally or foe?

Link fights again to open his eyes and groans when he finally succeeds, the light piercing right through him. Squinting blearily into it, determined to know his current circumstances, Link makes out a fur pelt overhead. It flaps against a strong, broad back, occasionally wafting a cooling breeze over Link’s face.

The stranger’s arms flex, each hand lifting a long, horizontal pole higher while he adjusts his grip, and Link’s head raises at the same time, rocking his view and making him nauseous. He squeezes his eyes shut and balls his hands into what feels like a blanket wrapped around him.

He knows now why the rocking motion is familiar: It’s the same motion he learned during the War when he was carried off the battlefield, too injured to walk on his own, and laid instead on a stretcher stinking of other men’s blood.

He learned the motion on the opposite side, too; gripped the stretcher handles with all the strength left in him after hours of battle and refused to let go till all of his injured soldiers were off the battlefield and his hands were raw from broken blisters.

That Link is on a stretcher now is a good sign, but the stranger bears no emblem. Link can’t be sure he’s safe yet.

Groaning, he once again opens his eyes. He hasn’t seen who holds the other end of the stretcher yet. They might—

A strange face looms into view. The person is Hylian, long ears pointing out from under tight brown curls, and a smile splits his face when his eyes meet Link’s.

“You’re awake!” he exclaims. “That’s great, Wind and Time have been so worried—”

Link doesn’t know who Wind and Time are, and he doesn’t care. All of his attention is on the old-fashioned sigil of Hyrule on the clasp holding the man’s white cape in place.

Most traitors look like any other soldiers. They come out of nowhere, either suddenly possessed by Ganon’s magic or having been hiding their true intentions.

But some traitors boast of it. They come to court and petition the queen to have Link punished, by whip or exile or death. They have dinner with other nobles, plying them with expensive gifts to try and turn them.

Almost always, these traitors wear old sigils of Hyrule to signal the country was better in ages past and that she will be again once the queen is their puppet.

Sigils just like the one this white-caped stranger bears.

Link doesn’t have the breath to shout. Instead, he rolls with the rocking motion and tumbles right off the stretcher. He tries to catch himself on his hands and knees, but his thigh screams when he hits the dirt and he sprawls forward instead, desperate to take the pressure off.

Then he rolls again, trying to give himself distance from the steel-capped boots around him. The traitors are all yelling, but Link can’t tell what they’re saying; he’s too busy fighting the pain in his thigh and his once again nauseous stomach, digging his fingers into the harsh bark of the tree next to him and heaving himself to his feet—

Link’s hand slips.

A traitor with Tune’s ocean-blue eyes catches him.

Link’s chest heaves, fighting for breath while the rest of him rests frozen in the traitor’s hold. Then the arms encircling him tense, pulling him closer to the traitor, and Link snaps out of it.

“No!” He thrashes and shoves against the Tune lookalike with open-palmed hands, fingers bent inwards for max power and protection, but his arms are like chuchus and the traitor barely rocks on his feet.

“Captain! It’s okay, Captain!” The voice comes from Link’s blindspot, gruff and commanding, but Link doesn’t listen.

“Traitor!” he hisses instead. He goes limp in the Tune lookalike’s arms, hoping to drag them both down, but his plan backfires: The traitor tightens his grip.

“Let’s get you back on the stretcher, okay?” Hylia above, the traitor even sounds like Tune. Just like the boy he imagined before he passed out.

“You dare?” Link tries to sound threatening, but his voice catches, and he barely manages to rasp the last word.

All the screaming and crying has torn his throat to shreds. Still, he fights on, outrage burning like wildfire in his chest.

“You dare? Use his face? His—his eyes?” Link claws at the visage above him. The traitor jerks back, and voices rise around them.

“Okay, that’s enough!” Hands grab him by the shoulders and haul him around, tossing him to the ground. Link’s heart rises in his throat, expecting a rough landing, but other hands catch him, then lay him on a soft surface—the stretcher, he realizes. He’s right back where he started.

“And stay there!” the same voice snarls. Hands press Link down at the shoulders and ankles, burning like brands instead of the shackles they are. Even without testing their grip, he knows he’s stuck; the first escape attempt sapped all the strength he’d had. His breath comes in gasps, now, and he can only weakly twitch in protest.

“Was that really necessary, Vet?” someone asks. His voice comes in a drawl, exasperated, and he leans over Link’s head while he talks.

Link has only seen this man from the back before, but he sees the pelt clasped around the man’s throat and knows he’s one of the traitors who was carrying him. It’s strange; Link would expect the manual labor to be ordered to underlings, soldiers instead of nobles—an expectation supported by this traitor’s farm clothing—but he has no problem questioning someone else.

“He attacked Wind,” Vet says. “Was I supposed to just let the sailor get his eyes clawed out?”

“Hey, I’d look cool in an eye patch.”

“That is so not the point.”

“Hey,” Wolf Pelt says. His voice is soft, blue eyes on Link’s. “You good, buddy?” He raises his voice. “How’s his leg look?”

Cloth rustles, then Link’s leg burns. He cries out, a garbled, no-words sound, and panicked strength rushes through him. Jolting against Wolf Pelt’s heavy hold, he reaches for his thigh, only to be intercepted by a traitor grabbing his hands.

“You attack Rulie, and I really will put you down,” Vet warns.

“Ledge,” Wolf Pelt says.

“What? I’m giving him fair warning.” Link is too distracted to catch their next words. Despite the Vet’s harsh tone, he hasn’t let go of Link’s hands. In fact, he squeezes them intermittently, in time with each throb of Rulie inspecting Link’s wound. Tune’s lookalike has come up beside him, too, a worried look on his face.

Worried for who? His traitorous companions? Their plan? Link assumes they have one; most traitors aim to eliminate Link in some way, to separate him from the queen or kill him outright. This… caring for a wound they didn’t even cause, kidnapping him, it’s all new territory. They must need him alive for some reason, but why? Will they ransom him? Hold him captive as a bargaining chip?

“He’ll live,” a new voice says, pulling Link from his thoughts. “As long as he stays off the leg. He’s lucky it didn’t break open when he hit the ground.”

“Thanks, Rule,” the gruff voice from before says. “Twi, Sky—you have him?”

“He’s not goin’ anywhere,” Wolf Pelt confirms.

A beat passes, and then two familiar faces appear over Link. They’re on the opposite side of him as Rulie—Rule? The first sounds like a more familial name—and Vet. Between the four of them and the two holding him down, they have Link surrounded. But even if they let up on the restraints and he regained his strength, he couldn’t move.

Once upon a time, Link knew the new faces staring down at him better than he knew his own. Those ocean-blue eyes and sun-bleached hair, cheeks plump with baby fat and lips chapped from salt-spray; a cobalt eye older than the face it belongs to and red markings that last longer and longer every time.

The traitors have done their research, Link will give them that. But not enough. Somewhere, somehow, they missed a key factor: Tune is still a pre-teen. He hasn’t yet gained the muscle this teenager has, or the scar that snakes across his collarbone. And Mask… dear Mask is just a boy. Hip-height at best, small enough that Link used to carry him piggyback on long campaign treks, not like this tall, armor-clad stranger who resembles the Fierce Deity more than Mask.

Link grins at them. The expression is small and still takes all his strength, but it settles something inside him, like putting on a mask of his own. It’s not the one he wears in court, put-on accent of a noble and make-up to cover his scars, and it’s not the one he wears on the battlefield, back so straight it hurts and scarf a banner across his shoulders. The grin is bared teeth and sneer, tear tracks and defiance.

“So what’s the plan?” he rasps. “Zelda didn’t cave to Cia, and you think—you think she’ll listen to you? Some two-bit traitors who have—have captured a hero no longer needed? I’m—” Link coughs, then forces out, “—I’m out of date. Expendable. Hylia, I’m a mere captain. Good luck getting anything for me.”

No one says anything. Link thinks they might look shocked, faces drained of blood and eyes wide. He relaxes back into the stretcher, tirade done and feeling faint again, even as a smug pride fills him at their expressions.

Then Vet speaks. “And I thought I had issues.” Something contracts around Link’s hands and he looks down, surprised. The traitor is still holding them. “Link, we’re not traitors. We’re—” he makes a face “—ugh, we’re heroes. You know Wind and Time, right? You recognize them?”

Link snorts. “If they got hit by a wizzrobe, maybe.”

“What?” someone mutters. It’s a new voice, outside of the circle, and Link’s heart spasms. There’s more of them?

Tune’s lookalike jerks, though, eyes widening, and he elbows the traitor impersonating Mask. “It’s your fault,” he says, then, “Capt’n, I swear it’s us. Mask just grew thirty years in one.”

“Sense, Wind,” Vet mutters. “What the fuck does that mean?”

Mask’s lookalike shakes his head, but his voice is gentle when he says, “It’s been years for me, Captain. Decades. But I’m still me. I’m still that same boy you taught how to meditate and find calm after battle.”

“How am I supposed to believe you?”

“I—” the traitor hesitates. “Remember when it was just you and me? Before Tune arrived, before you had guards on your tent? And I—I had trouble sleeping during the full moon. You taught me a lullaby. You said Proxi taught you, when you’d just been promoted.”

Link’s eyes are wide by the time Mask’s lookalike finishes. No one knew that. He hadn’t even told Proxi he’d taught Mask, and when Tune joined them, Mask was too embarrassed to use the lullaby in front of the other boy.

“Okay,” he says, and this time the rasp has nothing to do with his torn-up throat and everything to do with the potential staring down at him with ocean-blue and cobalt eyes. “Say—” he coughs “—say you are them. Why are you with traitors? Are you in danger? What—”

Link coughs again, and this time, he can’t stop. His chest shakes and he curls into himself as best he can, stomach aching and thigh throbbing, but though the hands holding him down loosen, they don’t let go.

“You’re fine,” Rule soothes. A hand pets his side. “Breathe, Link. It’ll pass.”

Link tries to follow the instructions, but it’s hard. Each breath scrapes against his raw throat, agitating it, and tears sting his eyes as the shake of his body worsens the ache and throb until they’re all encompassing.

“Sit him up,” a distant voice says. “Slow down for me, Link, slow down. One breath at a time.”

“What’s happening?” another voice says. Young. Panicked. Tune. No—the imposter.

“He’s exhausted,” the first voice says, as hands grasp Link under the armpits and heave him upright. “It—his body is just reacting, but he can’t control it. This is too much.”

Control, Link thinks dizzily. Can’t lose control. Can’t let loose with his battle magic, or he’ll hurt his comrades. He has to be strong. In command. Can’t let Cia see his fear, can’t let the generals or the soldiers or Zelda or his brothers.

Brothers. Are the lookalikes imposters? Or are they his brothers, forced to watch him succumb to his own body?

Light dancing across Link’s vision is the last thing he sees before he passes out.

“Captain?” Wind asks. He fists his hands by the Captain’s side, leaning forward desperately to try and catch his eye. “Captain!”

“He’s out,” Legend reports. He switches his hold and lays two fingers across Link’s wrist, right at his pulse point.

“His breathin’ is evenin’ out, though,” Twilight says. “Might’ve been for the best.” He pauses, then adds, “Why’d he think we were traitors, anyway? Just cause ya’ll look different?”

Time shakes his head. “He tried to escape after seeing Sky, not us.”

All eyes turn to the chosen hero, who holds his hands up and backs away. He stayed out of the way during the whole kerfuffle, no doubt not wanting to set the Captain off again, but Wind narrows his eyes now and wonders if something else was behind the decision.

“Do you know him?” he demands.

“What? No!” Sky says. “I’ve never seen him before today.”

“Maybe it was just his first thought?” Four suggests. He and Wild stand behind Hyrule and Legend, not enough room in the circle for the whole group, but now that the Captain isn’t trying to get away, they’ve edged forwards.

“Has he had run-ins with traitors before?” Wild signs.

Time and Wind grimace.

“More like who hasn’t been a traitor,” Wind mutters angrily. “The War was full of ‘em, and every single one wanted to assassinate Cap.”

“Well, I dunno about you all,” Legend says, “but if I was alone and dying in the woods, didn’t know my rescuers, and Sky’s face was the first one I saw, I’d probably run too.”

“Hey!” Sky squawks, but Wind’s shoulders relax when he snorts and Time heaves a sigh, breathing settling.

“Yeah, yeah, Sky’s terrifyin’,” Twilight nods sagely. “Shouldn’t we move while we can, though?” He’s pulled his hands back from Link’s shoulders, one now resting on his head and the other already holding one pole of the stretcher—well, stretcher is a kind word for it. Wild pulled his paraglider from the slate and they repurposed it, for lack of anything better and not wanting to waste time hunting for suitable branches.

“You both good to keep carrying?” Time looks between Twilight and Legend. The rancher grins and flexes, and the vet readjusts his power bracelets.

“I could carry any of you all day,” Legend says.

“And it’s much appreciated,” Hyrule replies sweetly, patting his now blushing predecessor on the shoulder while the others grin.

Wind’s not quite ready to laugh yet. He’s too worried about the Captain, the image of his oldest brother trying to push him away and escape, injured leg and blood loss be damned burned into his memory right next to Link’s narrowed, angry eyes.

He tries to comfort himself with the reminder the Captain was angry for him. Link thought someone was tarnishing his legacy.

“Ready?” Twilight says. “On three. One, two, three—” He and Legend lift the stretcher with ease, Hyrule and Time keeping Link steady.

“I’ll take point again,” Four offers.

“I’m rear guard,” Wild signs.

Wind starts toward his position to Link’s right, but stops when his boot kicks soft fabric instead of leaves. He looks down, then stoops immediately, grabbing the Captain’s scarf off the forest floor. It must have fallen when Link made his escape attempt.

Brushing it clean—or at least, as clean as he can, when it’s still stiff from dried blood—Wind hurries after his brothers. It’s time they got the Captain to a town and a proper doctor.

Legend watches the captain while he walks, taking careful note of each finger twitch. Link surprised them last time; Legend won’t let it happen again. Wind nearly got hurt physically, and they all got hurt emotionally, having to restrain one of their own and then watch as he verbally tore into Wind and Time.

Just because Legend is willing to do whatever it takes to keep everyone safe doesn’t mean he enjoys it, no matter what his companions think. No—he’d much rather not be in that situation at all. Especially not when it caused Link to panic.

Legend grimaces. Sure, Link couldn’t control the coughing attack. But he knows the imagined traitors didn’t help. If he was in the captain’s shoes, badly injured and surrounded by knights…

Legend shakes his head. The only knights around him are his brothers, and they would sooner stand with him than let him be arrested. He’s sure this new Link will be the same way once he knows who they are, overprotective and self-sacrificing, even when he doesn’t need to be. Link’s words sure said he would be. What was it he said, when he thought Wind and Time might be telling the truth?

‘Are you in danger?’

Lying on a stretcher, still close to death and surrounded by people he thought wished him harm, the captain’s first instinct was to find out if his brothers needed help.

He’ll fit in fine, Legend thinks—then his eyes spot royal blue, just slits under the captain’s eyelids but still betrayed by the setting sun catching them just right.

“Oi, Wind,” he calls, eyes never leaving Link’s. “Want to reassure the good captain we’re the good guys?”

Link’s eyes widen, staring openly at Legend now, but he doesn’t try to move more than that. Learned his lesson about moving too fast too soon, Legend hopes. Last thing he wants is to have to pin him to the stretcher again.

Then Wind collides with the side of the stretcher, and Legend curses.

“Hey!” he snaps. “Careful!”

Wind ignores him. All the boy’s focus is on the captain—not that Legend can blame him.

“Link!” Wind gasps. “You’re awake! How do you feel? Do you still think we’re traitors? We’re not, I promise—look, I even grabbed your scarf!” He grabs the fabric he’d lain over the captain’s prone body earlier, holding it up like the fact they hadn’t left it behind is proof they’re trustworthy.

Link opens his mouth—

Then Hyrule cuts in from where he’s been walking alongside the stretcher, holding a water skin to Link’s mouth and ordering, “Drink. It’ll soothe your throat; no more coughing fits like the last one, okay?”

The look the captain gives the water skin is the same one he gave Time earlier, distrust written into every furrow of his brow and the tilt of his mouth.

“Oh, drink it,” Legend snaps. “If we wanted you dead, we’d have just left you in the dirt.”

“There are other advantages to poison,” Link rasps, but he drinks, so Legend will call it a win.

Even if it did earn him a scandalized look from Time, who joined them just in time to overhear.

“Say you are them,” Link says. His eyes are on Time and Wind now, still distrustful, but voice stronger and body relaxed. “Are we safe? Who—” his voice lowers “—the man in the white cloak. Who is he?”

Twilight stops, then grunts when Legend accidentally rams the stretcher into his back.

“Wait, wait wait,” Twilight says, craning his head around. “All that was about Sky?”

“He wears the traitor’s sigil,” Link says. “Who is he?”

Time looks mystified. “The traitors have a sigil now?”

“Of old Hyrule,” Link confirms.

“You’re joking, right?” Wind asks. “You—oh, for fuck’s sake. Okay. Hey, Sky? Bring the Master Sword over here.”

It’s a sign of how serious everyone is that no one rebukes Wind for cursing. Instead, they all close in again.

Sky doesn’t wait till he gets to them. The Master Sword rings out when he draws her, and Legend thinks she might understand her current purpose when warm magic brushes through his hair, as soothing as his uncle’s hand, before washing over the captain with a shimmer.

Legend thought Link was relaxed before, but under the Master Sword’s protective blanket, the last bit of tension finally eases away and he melts into the stretcher.

“Will you let her tell us your hero name?” Sky asks. He holds the sword out hilt first, gloved hands gripping her blade.

It would be the work of moments for Link to grab the hilt and shove the blade back at Sky. He might even do it fast enough to push through the pain of the Master Sword burning him for turning her against her first wielder, fast enough to wound someone he believes is a traitor and then run, leaving the Chain scrambling around Sky.

The possibility flits through Legend’s mind in the second it takes the captain to reach out, grasp the Master Sword’s hilt in a practiced grip, and close his eyes. Together, Legend and Link breathe out.

“Warriors,” the captain says. “I’m the hero of Warriors.” Opening his eyes, he smiles at them.

It’s the first time Legend has seen his new brother smile. Warriors’ face is covered in bloody smears cut through with tear tracks, his skin wan from blood loss and tight with pain, but when the worry disappears and he smiles, Legend feels like he’s seeing him for the first time. Not bleeding out in the dirt, Wind crying and Time fighting to stay calm. Not splayed out on the stretcher, believing himself a captive.

Here. Now. Letting the Master Sword go without a thought and folding his arms around Wind when the boy tugs him into a hug, wheezing a laugh when Time pulls them both close.

He doesn’t know it yet, but he’s with family.

#legend of link fic fight #linked universe #legend of zelda #lu warriors #lu wind #lu time #lu legend #legend of zelda fic #linked universe fic #fanfic #prompt fill

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joeys-babe · 1 year ago

Text

Joey B Blurbs: Hickey

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Summary: You prank Joe by using makeup to create a fake hickey on your neck.

Warnings: Fluff, slight sexual tension, unserious/funny, pranks!

Pairing: Joe Burrow x reader

Imagine Universe: Into The Mystic

A/N: Part 1 of Blurb Night! (Sneak Peak)

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No particular date for this blurb!

Joe and I were currently cuddled up in bed. The twins were already asleep, and they had been for hours. I lay restless due to the baby doing somersaults in my stomach.

“Gah-lee!” - Joe

“Did you feel that?” - you

“Yes! She's not letting up at all, baby.” - Joe

“It’s your fault! You make me sit in the living room and watch UFC with you, she’s probably reenacting everything you commentate to my stomach!” - you

“Aye, let's not point fingers!” - Joe

I rolled my eyes, which Joe didn't like a bit.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me.” - Joe

“You’re not the boss of me.” - you

Joe leaned forward, his lips just barely hovering over mine but not quite touching them.

“I think you’re forgetting who’s in control here, mama. Need a reminder, maybe?” - Joe

His blue eyes flashed darkly as Joe trailed his hand down my arm, over to my belly, and down.

Just as his lips were about to meet mine, the baby kicked as hard as she had all night.

Joe groaned as he pulled away and flopped onto his back.

“You just got cockblocked.” - you laughed

“Probably for the better. Baby girl knew I needed to get ahold of myself since we aren't doing anything like that while you're pregnant.” - Joe

I rolled onto my side and placed my hand on his bare lower stomach, some of my hand covering the waistband of his boxers.

“I don't care to get you off, Joe. All you gotta do is ask.” - you

“You know I can’t do that. I can't just let you pleasure me, and you get nothing in return.” - Joe

My eyes were glued to Joe’s hand as he reached down and rearranged his forming hard-on. God, I wanted him so bad.

“I- I'm gonna splash some cold water on my face…” - you

Joe mumbled a ‘k’ as I quite literally rolled out of bed. I went into the bathroom and shut the door behind me.

After splashing some water on my face, I took a few deep breaths in an attempt to calm my raging hormones.

Why does Joe have to be so sexy without trying? I asked myself in a whisper.

I pulled my phone out to check my notifications because there's nothing less sexy than business emails.

That's when I got the idea to prank Joe. It'll be a way to calm us both down and kill some time since there's no way baby girl is settling down anytime soon.

After scrolling through my saved videos, I found the perfect one.

——

“You okay? You were in there for a while.” - Joe

“I’m fine. Just needed to cool down.” - you

“Sorry, guess that's my fault for getting worked up.” - Joe

I got into bed and rolled over into Joe’s chest, scratching my nails over his back.

“Don’t be sorry.” - you

Joe sighed out of contentment and began running his fingers through my hair. He knew I hated it when my hair touched my neck, so Joe began moving my hair away from my neck.

“I love you.” - you

The sentiment made him smile, his eyes still focused on his fingers running through my hair.

His mouth opened, about to say the statement back, but the only thing that squeaked out was a gasp.

“Joe?” - you

“Did you burn yourself curling your hair yesterday?“- Joe

“No… why?” - you

“There's a huge mark on your neck.” - Joe

“Oh.” - you

I reached up and pulled my hair to cover the mark back up. My heart fluttered at the realization that Joe didn't have the same reaction to the prank as most other partners have.

“What is that then? Did you hit your neck on something?” - Joe

Letting him stew over the options for a little bit, I couldn't help but bust out laughing after a few minutes of silence.

“Why are you laughing? That looks like that hurts, baby. Why didn't you tell me? Do you need ice… or ointment?” - Joe

“Joe…” - you laughed

“What?!” - Joe

“It's a prank! It’s supposed to be a hickey.” - you

He stared at me dumbfounded, confused more than anything.

“How is that a prank? I'm the only person giving you a hickey, so if you had one, I would know about it.” - Joe

“You were supposed to think another guy gave it to me, but I think it's sweet your mind didn't go there.” - you smiled

“Oh! No, I never would’ve guessed that. I know I'm the only guy you have eyes on.” - Joe

I rested my hand on Joe’s bare chest, and we lay face to face, just looking into each other’s eyes. It was a sweet moment, and just as Joe began leaning in to kiss me…

The baby kicked again. Joe jumped back and groaned out of annoyance, but I was laughing my head off.

“Damn it!” - Joe

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Authors note: Can y’all tell that I'm ovulating 💀

This idea came from some TikToks I've seen!

Hope you enjoyed! 💕

#joe burrow #bengals #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow x reader #joey b #cincinnati bengals #joe burrow fan fic #blurb night

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imperator-kahlo · 19 days ago

Note

hi! anon of the Visages/Renoir analogue question.

firstly, yes those were the two I was thinking about.

secondly, I am actually just as unsure as you are about it. I kinda think there's solid evidence for either read, and now I am also really curious if the Hauler had an analogue in it or not and what either that might say about the Dessendre's. it's difficult to try to piece together the out of Canvas family dynamics b/c it's pretty much entirely told to us through implication, unreliable narration and the twisted lens that is the aftermath of the worst day of their lives and the absolute wreckage it made of them.

I suppose it's possible that that's the reason Visages doesn't have a helper: Verso's dead. Renoir can't be there for him anymore in any way, shape or form b/c Verso's not here. Renoir can't help him, Renoir can't be with him, and even in this painted parable, he can't imagine himself in any sort of support role with respect to Verso b/c he can't escape the belief that he wasn't there at the moment when Verso really, truly needed him the most and wow, I just made myself really sad.

kinda ended this on a depressing note, but I hope it gives you more to chew on! love to hear your thoughts on it

yay, you're back!

And you made me sad, too :(

But also, you made me very excited to rant about the Dessendres for a while.

I think you're onto something with Renoir and his missing analogue in Visages. The Fading Man repeats twice that "I would have traded my years for his." He'd have given anything, done anything, to keep his son alive, and yet he couldn't help him. And he says that Verso "paid the price for our hubris." That whole conversation is drenched in guilt: that Renoir (and more importantly Aline and the Painters' Council, I assume) first provoked the Writers and then failed to protect Verso from them. Couldn't even be there to die in his place.

I so agree about the Dessendres, as well. Each of them is so individually complex! How can we really deduce anything about Renoir unless we understand his artistic philosophy and what that suggests about the clues he leaves behind in the Canvas... but how can we understand his artistic philosophy without first knowing something about the man? And then, as you say, we're looking at the shattered wreckage of the family and trying to extrapolate back into normality.

But the family dynamics. I'm fascinated. I don't hang out in the tags very much at the moment so I might be mischaracterising the Discourse, but my sense is there's some consensus the Dessendres were an incredibly close, loving family. There's lots of evidence for that, all over the game and the soundtrack.

But I don't know. I like the idea that the family was struggling a bit. That there was a lot of love, but also fractures. Partly just because that satisfies my own particular taste for angst: I think losing a deeply loved person at a moment when the relationship is damaged is uniquely tragic. To be cheated out of the opportunity to reconcile and always wonder if they even knew you still loved them. Awful. And if that was the case, it only increases Renoir's desperation to save Aline's life, because they've been fighting for decades in this Canvas. What if she, too, slips away before he can save her? Before he can make things right between them?

But I do think there's some actual textual (or at least subtextual) support for some very complicated family dynamics, though. I haven't nailed down a Unified Theory of the Dessendre Family, but here's some speculation about the possible fault lines and what evidence there might be for them.

Artistic sensibilities

We know for a fact there's conflict between the Writers and the Painters. And I've really latched on to the idea that, in a world where artists can literally create and destroy worlds through their art, one's preferred art form becomes really salient to one's identity, politics, and spiritual/philosophical beliefs. I've yammered on at length about Verso's musicianship as it relates to his personality and his relationship with Renoir, but I'm toying with the idea that this extends to the rest of the family, too.

The manor is full of instruments, books, and sculptures, not just paintings. And these are scattered through the house; Alicia's isn't the only large collection of books, Verso's isn't the only room with an instrument. It's pretty clear the Dessendre family appreciated other forms of art than painting, and probably all of them practiced other arts. But we know Verso's greatest passion was music, Alicia's literature. I think we can infer some preferences for the rest of the family and speculate from there.

Both Aline's tremendous skill and her former leadership of the Painters' political organisation suggest she devoted herself primarily to painting. I can't think of any particular evidence, but I suspect Renoir's primarily a painter, too. I think his love of Aline and their shared creative work are all bound up together. He and Aline are a unit, and that unit paints.

That leaves Clea, the only Paintress skilled enough to paint over somebody else's creation. But we know she also sculpts, and I can't remember if it's canon, fanon, or somebody's headcanon but somewhere along the line I've become convinced that sculpting is her preferred mode. (Maybe I got that idea from this post, which doesn't actually claim its her favourite, by @linka-from-captain-planet who has pretty much singlehandedly shaped my thinking about Clea).

So to wildly speculate! I'd draw a loose fracture line down the middle of the family with Verso and Alicia on one side, Renoir, Aline and Clea on the other. Literature isn't a performance, which I think is an important difference between music and painting when it comes to Verso and Renoir's relationship. But it is, like music and theatre, an unfolding narrative that you experience over time in a manner determined by the artist. The writer guides you through a story, concealing and revealing information as they choose. And at the end of the story, some part of the storyworld has changed. By contrast, painting—and sculpture—capture images, moments, static representations of beauty that you can gaze at however you like.

I've combed through my likes looking for this post and can't find it, so apologies to whoever I'm stealing this idea from: somebody speculated that while the Painters create worlds, the Writers' powers might have more to do with manifesting events within their own worlds. I'm not sure I have a strong opinion on what the Writers' special powers actually look like, but I do like the idea that these sorts of differences in the experience of creating and consuming art have very fundamental implications for how the different artistic factions see the world and each other. And how the individual Dessendres do.

Of course, there's plenty of arguments against this reading or for a version of this reading that puts the fault line somewhere else. Clea potentially throws a fairly large wrench in the works, but that's another post.

Aline and Renoir

Love affair for the ages, absolutely. But the Fading Man on Sirène's island makes me think perhaps there was something happening before Verso's loss. He wonders

"What I missed… that might have changed things. What is it that I didn't see? That I couldn't make myself see? ... When did she start pulling away…"

This might just mean he regrets not seeing how much Aline was drowning in her grief, but unless several months or more passed between Verso's death and Aline's retreat to the canvas, it sounds more to me like regret for a gradual pulling away without a clear inciting incident.

(I think he has to be talking about Aline, here, given the location. But maybe "she" is Alicia? And he regrets not seeing a change in Alicia, a drift towards the Writers that would set the stage for the catastrophe that befell the family. I don't think this is the case, but everything in this game is so ambiguous, it's such a fun sandbox to play in.)

Parents and Children

Painted Verso and Maelle quibble a little during the Reacher over whether Clea or Alicia was Renoir's favourite; Verso's name isn't even thrown in the ring.

So did Renoir have a favourite? I think perhaps he was closest to Clea, if only because she was the most like him and she loved to challenge him (thank you @athenas-only-daughter for assembling the Clea post from which I'm stealing this point!). But maybe challenge is something he loved about Verso, too: that in spite of their different ideas and difficulties understanding one another, Verso presented him with new ideas, new understandings of art, new ways of being.

But then again, Renoir's analogue is hard at work building Alicia's wings; there's no Renoir analogue with Verso's axon and we don't know about Clea's, before its death. I tend to think Renoir didn’t have a favourite, but you could make the case for any of them.

I think Aline did have a favourite. And it definitely wasn't Alicia.

Because what the fuck, Aline.

When we meet Aline in the monolith, she believes (or is trying to convince herself) that Maelle is not Alicia but a painted version made by Renoir. But even if she believes Alicia is safe at home, it's wild to me that she was able to watch someone who looks just like her daughter suffer in a fire, just as her daughter had, by her own hand. Presumably, she was willing to watch that someone die in that fire, because she makes no move to douse it until painted Verso puts himself at risk of the flames.

Yes, painted Verso is now the only Verso; maybe that matters here (not to me!). But she knows he's painted and she knows he's immortal. And while she'll watch Maelle suffer and die, she can't bear to relive Verso's death.

I'm not arguing that Aline is evil or a terrible mother. I think it's quite possible that her anger at Alicia is to some degree justified; we have no idea of the details of Verso's death. Even so, Aline's journal entry suggests that she knows its unfair to blame Alicia for Verso's death; maybe part of her motivation for clinging to the Canvas is that she doesn't want Alicia to have to live with a mother who cannot forgive her. @obibail posits in this post that Painters would have to develop some mental distance from their creations, and so perhaps Aline, despite living for some time with the humans she created in this world, skews more towards Clea on the question of their personhood. Perhaps all the humans of the canvas, even painted Verso, are just shadows to her, a poor facsimile of her real life, only worth enduring because even a poor facsimile of Verso is worth having.

I don't know. I'm the sort of person who cannot make the evil or mean choice in video games because I can't bear to hurt the little pixel people's feelings. I find it difficult to understand, even given that paragraph of justification, Aline's indifference to Maelle's pain or that she gave her own painted Alicia the scarred face or damaged throat. The only way it makes any emotional sense to me is if Verso was her favourite and something was already wrong in her relationship with Alicia.

(Sidebar: Just proofreading this and then definitely hitting post before my dogs spontaneously combust because I've been ignoring them so long. But I went back to check the Fading Man dialogue for the paragraph way up top about Visages. I hadn't quite twigged until now that, at least from Renoir's perspective, the Painters either started or renewed the conflict with the Writers. Another datapoint RE Aline placing sooo much blame on Alicia but I realllllly have to wrap up!

Perfection

There something here that means something about the family, but I'm not sure what. The word perfection is constantly coming up: Clea seeks perfection, Renoir counsels her against it, Verso fails to achieve it, but Clea is perhaps, still jealous of him? Perfection is Painted Verso's battle mechanic; Maelle's fighting style is precise and graceful—perfect. Can art be perfect? Should it be perfect, or is there beauty in imperfection?

Whew. I don't know.

OP, it's been four hours since I sat down to answer you and I am forcing myself to stop here. I've cut paragraphs upon paragraphs of tangents, started a couple of drafts and added points to a few more that have been languishing a while.

Which is to say, thank you so much. Both of your asks have given me tons to chew on AND gotten me to sit down and do the writing part, without which my thoughts are an incoherent jumble. Come chat about this game anytime!

(Edit, fifteen minutes later, remembering to FINISH the proofread I began: added some transition sentences, fixed a couple typos.)

#clair obscur: expedition 33 #clair obscur spoilers #expedition 33 spoilers #THIS GAME #dessendre family #Unified Theory of the Dessendre Family #(that last tag is rather more aspirational than descriptive)#expedition 33 meta

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theposhsworld · 3 months ago

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Queen Power moves: Don’t avoid conflict. Don’t be a nice feminine pick me who adjusts to others and NEVER apologize unless you actually hurt someone. Power dynamic advice : If you act like you are at the bottom of the social dominance hierarchy no one will like or respect you and YOU WILL BE TREATED LIKE RUBBISH.

Be like Jordan Peterson & NEVER apologize when the mob calls for your head, when people demand an apology.. double down.

Ghetto/village girls go out there and start fights for no reason with everyone because they have no chill and come across as insecure.

If you try to be liked, no one will like you because no one will respect you.

Follow Pearl Notes and me for power moves if you want to date rich men without being eaten.

The person at the bottom of the social dominance hierarchy adjusts to others. As soon as you are caught doing that in the middle of an interaction with a person you are cooked, finished.

Of course if we are new to an environment we adjust to it to have options. If I do drag queen makeup and a neon mini tape dress with cleavage with sky high heels and too much oversized cheap crystal jewelry, I will be not be allowed into a private members club because I don’t vibe. I do have to read up and be interesting to affluent men as a group and adjust myself to be a prize this group of men fights for. Even though I am married my husband wants me to be competitive so I am his arm candy or why pay my bills.

See elite add value, attract and then negotiate the best deal.

There is no value in being a pick me, which puts you at the bottom of the social dominance hierarchy.

On dates men try to manipulate women to be lower in the social dominance hierarchy so they can “f-close” or bang and run but as soon as they do that, they get a natural disgust.

So men try to make you apologize for yourself and audition and the moment you do, they lose respect for you. It’s the male nature to test women’s boundaries and see the one that doesn’t fall for their power games as wife material.

So if someone points out something artificial like “I see filter in your photos “ say “only ugly people have filter derangement syndrome” and make him audition.

If he says what do bring to the table or “nice nails, are they real” walk away. If he says you would look better with the opposite hair colour say “then date a girl with the opposite hair colour, you are obviously not for me.” If he wants you to adjust while dating, he is manipulating you to get the power in a relationship. And when he thinks you are lower status he won’t respect you.

Both Pickmeishas & feminists are stupid in their own way. Feminists never cater, and pickmeishas cater to particular men in dating.

Both are stupid.

The smart way is to cater to the gender and class so that you add enough value that the men fight over you, but NEVER cater to an individual. I like to be my prettiest because I am a competitive pageant princess. My husband doesn’t always see me all done up like in my videos every day. Sure when we dated but he sees the two hours of hair and makeup and it’s a once or twice a week thing because I have a video to film and he takes me out somewhere nice. Daily I take out my Dyson/Shark, throw on some mascara, maybe eyeliner, lipstick maybe and I am decent.

My facial routine daily is super high maintenance because I like to stay young.

I don’t look like this picture every day. Just a couple times a week. Daily I look cute and respectable if anyone bumps into me, but 2-3 hours of hair and makeup is not my every day routine. Twice a week maybe three max as a wife unless on vacation lol 🤣 Then often for photos

Sometimes I feel like full glam 5 days in a row because I got hooked on YouTube and TikTok tutorials.

Feminists decenter men. Pickmeishas center men and lose value and Queens center themselves.

Pickmeishas hate Queens like me because they think they are so smart debasing themselves then wonder why things don’t work for them and “bad b+tches” like me get everything from men and they don’t. Men respect me & not them because as an autistic woman of colour abroad I had to study power dynamics for survival.

I put myself first. I DON’T apologize for myself and if people hate me.. it’s not my business because my market sees my value and I could care less what those who will never buy think. My market, my tribe will never put me down and ask me to apologize when I didn’t go out there to hurt someone.

When social justice warriors yell at you when you are minding your own business, “you are trans-cat-gender-fluid-phobic” they do this as a power move to make you their slave. I completely disagree with Trump on tariffs and the trade war but he does the correct thing on double down and hit back instead of apologize. More people vote for him when McCain & nice Republicans who apologized against progressives did poorly because apologizing for existing puts you at the bottom of the social dominance hierarchy.

Don’t audition, don’t apologize for existing. By standing his ground Jordan Peterson went from one of many boring professors to a multi millionaire celebrity admired by millions. Those who apologized to the mob had their lives ruined because they went from human to slave status.

On dates men try to pull the social justice warrior trick to make you apologize and audition for free kitty. 🐈‍⬛. Don’t fall for it.

Don’t EVER adjust your behaviour in front of others. Either they see the value you add or they don’t. It’s too late when you are in the room. When someone DEMANDS you adjust to them, leave, be assertive and they will respect you more. I asked one of the most successful parliamentary assistants how she did it. She said,

“My boss would give me unrealistic workload as usual “

I laughed in recognition. She said

“I prioritize myself not to burn out. He tells me he wants me to finish three files on top of managing the office in 48 hours. I tell him, “pick a file and I will finish it in a week.” He says “all 3 in 48 hours “ I say “I will pick one for you and have it done in a week. You can fire me & have someone do a botched job on three files in 48 hours. It’s not realistic for a human to do a quality job on three serious jobs in one week on top of the rest of our tasks.”

She said that the pickmeishas who do what the boss says stay late at work, burn out, end up doing a bad job and get fired for no longer producing high quality work. That is how she lasted decades in that high stress environment, being assertive, adding value and not adjusting to the boss. She works on the elite principle of adding value and if he fires her his enemy hires her and has a weapon against him.

Have a strong core, adjust yourself to the environment and role but not the person and put yourself first.

Be unapologetic!

Only apologize when you feel you messed up. No because people are demanding you apologize when you did nothing wrong or for being yourself.

If you hurt a person’s feelings and don’t apologize, and they communicated it clearly and appropriately, high value people will cut you off. Let’s say I said something I didn’t know someone felt was racist and I am not from their background. If they demand an apology and demand I kiss the ring, I know it is a power game and tell them I meant well and their overreaction isn’t my problem, speak to me politely with respect and then I can apologize otherwise if you are rude I don’t care about your feelings until you care about mine.

If someone told me I hurt their feelings because in their culture what I said has another meaning and is actually racist and offensive, I would say “I am sorry sorry, I didn’t know and didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.” - This way I maintain my status because they didn’t demand I apologize and it came from my initiative.

When a man hurts you, don’t demand he apologize, don’t argue but withdraw. Let him ask what is wrong. Say you feel hurt, focus on the problem not the person. This lets my come up with the apology himself and maintains his dignity so he is at your level as a high value man and not your slave.

The problem with feminists & social justice warriors is that they demand men to be slaves below their feet as social justice warriors but then they don’t respect them if men listen to feminist woke women and lower themselves in the social dominance hierarchy.

Credit Maria Al Masani

#spoiled gf #feminine #hypergamy #dating

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broodwoof · 28 days ago

Note

I love that Veilguard nails the "We're just a bunch of people trying our best in a bad situation (which is in no small part my fault)" that made the series what it is, sharing cooking and cleaning duties and chatting in the library. We're not chosen ones, we're weirdos, we're misfits, we're experts, we're all deeply flawed in our own ways, and we're running low on onions again.

I love being able to see myself in the thousand-thought-a-second ramblings of Bellara, the easily misread pokerface that masks Taash's passionate obsessions, the struggles of a baby queer who didn't know that was an option, walking the balance between being afraid of what this means and wanting to shout from the rooftops a declaration of self.

I love the world design, three playthroughs in I still stop to smell the flowers as it were when wandering around every map, listening to passers by and merchants hawking their wares in the market while watching the sky. The cinematography is spectacular, three playthroughs in I still sit back and say "Wow..." out loud in several cut scenes, at the most fleeting of facial expressions.

I love that you can see them looking at how they did things in earlier games and one-upping it, with Weisshaupt and Final Gambit in particular nailing the feel of being stretched thin under siege and all the connections you've made coming to fruition because you can't do this alone.

I love that instead of "rogues (except Zevran) can pick locks, warriors can kick down walls" etc everyone has their own unique thing they bring to the table. Same goes for their combat abilities, there's no "this is a mage so give them good mage equipment and the optimum mage build", they are them and unique in that. I was more than halfway through my first playthrough when I realised Bellara was classed as a mage, because it's much harder to pigeonhole companions between the three classes when they're just themselves.

I love listening them get to know one another better, hearing what different companions talk to one another about, arguing about the ethics of assassins or the squick of undead, comparing notes on speaking in dead languages and speaking to dead people, watching them fall in love one step at a time.

I love that every class feels fun to play in distinct ways, that every origin comes up in conversations and banter. The feeling that who you are matters, and the people who helped you come this far have your back, even if they might not be thrilled to see you back.

I love the mundane things that make the world feel lived in. Anderfelsian cheese. Emmrich's exasperation at the idea of charging crystals by moonlight. Buskers, beggars, cats and dogs. Seedy bars, cosy pubs, waterfront cafés, street fishmongers and stuck-up restaurants.

I've played the full series through several times - four Wardens, five Hawkes, six Inquisitors, but this is the first DA game I've finished and immediately started over again and played all the way through again without burning out on it. And when I finished the second playthrough I started my third.

Happy birthday, I fucking love this game.

yes yes yesss!!

i love how much the vg crew just feel like people. they're on mission, of course, and the mission is enormous, but they're also just people. they have a book club! plan who makes dinner! take note of each other! multiple characters get a lack of sleep pointed out, it's just lovely and thoughtful and these small touches make it feel so grounded

the way you describe both bellara and taash...! yes! practically as soon as i met taash, i was honestly very envious of how straightforward they were. how they wouldn't take anyone's shit, and cut it off preemptively. and the more i learned about them - and the more they learned about themselves! - the more pieces slid into place. i liked their character from the outset, but watching it make sense was an incredible experience

and you are so right, this game is absolutely, unbelievably beautiful. i find myself just wandering around it sometimes, doing nothing more than looking, it's all so beautiful. different kinds of beauty, to be sure, but beautiful nonetheless

yes! they really got that sense of urgency down perfectly, and how it scaled and escalated the deeper into the story we get. i've still only played through the entire game once, but i was so blown away by each part, absolutely taken in and guided by the way the plot wove around me as a player and pulled me into it

i love that too! like ofc the typical rpg mechanics are solid and reliable and familiar, but it was so nice, so refreshing, to see something with such a fundamental difference in approach. and how you weren't even leveling the companions up! they're already experts, they won't really improve by fighting people or whatever, but they'll give more to this mission the more they believe in rook, and the more rook believes in them. that's so poignant, and used as a mechanic, carries a huge narrative weight!

yes!!!! i feel like i'm just yelling yes at the start of everything bc i keep scrolling back up to read your next point but! honestly, yes! i love all the companions. i love their various dynamics with rook, and i'm excited to see more dynamics. but i love that they have these deep relationships - including romantic! - with one another. i love that we get to see it evolve, but that we still see it like a friend would see two friends falling in love with each other. a lot of the moments are not shown, but shared with us otherwise, like they would be with a friend. that approach is something i find really compelling and, again, very grounded, smth that feels very real

yessss 🥺 the origins mattering...! being trans mattering...! rook being who they are mattering...! and u are so right about the classes! played rogue all the way through and now i'm playing a mage, and i'm not always into playing mages, but i absolutely love it in veilguard. so fun! i want to play a warrior, too, and i'm just as excited about that, where usually i'm just content to stick with my rogue

y e s ! literally, all these little touches make things feel so much more vast than what could possibly be depicted in a single videogame. the strong implication that there is a world just beyond what we can see and experience in the game, that if we were to step beyond a gate that will never open, there'd be something to find. just because the world feels that fleshed out, that rich and deep

that is so lovely 🥺 and it's incredibly nice to hear from another long-time fan who loves veilguard!!!! i grew up with these games. played each when it was new - the only games i can say that about - and i have fallen so in love with each and every single one. and now i've fallen in love with veilguard, and i couldn't be happier about it

thank you so much 💖 obviously i'm responding soooo late, but this fandom has been amazing and i have received an astonishing number of these birthday positivity messages. i feel so lucky to be sharing this joy with all of you 💖

#da4 #davg #brood loves veilguard #brood bday

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mumms-the-word · 1 month ago

Text

Midnight Snack

Characters: Alistair x Warden Cousland Summary: Alistair insinuates that he's got plans for him and Sorina as they share a proper bed for the first time since they began traveling together. At first it's not entirely what Sorina had in mind, but she's not complaining. A/N: Wrote this for the super duper talented @alsoika (who also sketched this art of their warden, Sorina, which lowkey inspired this fic in the first place) for their birthday! Check out their other DA and BG3 art, you won't be disappointed! Happy birthday, friend, I hope this little scene made you smile :D

It was far too late in the day, well into the night, by the time Sorina and her companions finished discussing their next moves with Teagan and a newly-awakened Arl Eamon. For a man weakened from being poisoned and then forced into a magical coma, Eamon was nevertheless a logistical and political force to be reckoned with, and he refused to rest until they had a plan nailed down.

But some of his plans and proposals were…ambitious. The first was necessary—continue gathering armies for the inevitable battles ahead. They were doing that anyway, so Sorina didn’t mind the reminder. But the second…was to make Alistair the king of Ferelden.

Sorina had never considered it a legitimate possibility before. She knew he was Maric’s son, but he was illegitimate and clearly disinterested in kingship. Yet Eamon was determined. Contrarily, for every ounce of determination Eamon possessed about the idea, Alistair possessed as much, if not more, resistance.

Sorina wasn’t yet sure of her own opinion on the matter. All she knew, watching Teagan help a still-weak Eamon return to his room, was that it sounded like there were some impossible choices to make in the not-so-distant future.

A hand on her shoulder broke through her thoughts, and she turned to see Alistair looking at her expectantly.

“Come on,” he said. “We should get some rest. I’ll take you to our room.”

Sorina arched an eyebrow. “Our room?”

The last time they had spent a night in Redcliffe Castle, they’d had separate rooms, simple ones that could be prepared with whatever staff had been left over from the undead attacks. She assumed they would be returning to those rooms now.

But Alistair’s face had a light flush as he rubbed the back of his neck, trying to look casual. “Yeah. I mean—with Eamon awake and the castle safe and everything, more people have returned to the castle, so the rooms got changed up. I told Teagan we could share, so…”

“Oh? How…proactive of you,” Sorina said, smirking. She could spot where his mind was headed from a mile away. It was no surprise, considering they’d spent every night sharing a tent since the night she’d cornered him and asked him if he was interested in a little late-night “sparring.” One-on-one. Without clothing. He eventually got the hint. So, yeah, why not share a room?

“Yeah, well, it happens on occasion,” he muttered. He shook his head and reached for her hand. “Come on, let’s just go, shall we?”

“Eager, aren’t we?” she teased.

“Ohoho, yes, we’re all laughing. Keep that up and I’ll have to find myself a nice corner to cry in and none of us will have any fun.”

But despite his sarcasm, he didn’t let go of her hand as he led her up the stairs and into the guest wing of the castle. As they passed through the hallway, she saw some of the doors open, with their companions milling about inside. Zevran in particular looked keenly interested in a locked jewelry case on the vanity of his room, but Alistair pulled them away before either of them could see whether Zevran would attempt to pick the locks.

The room next door was spacious and clean, better than anything Sorina had slept in since becoming a Warden, but not quite so good as home. A pang of nostalgia and sorrow threatened to pierce her heart as she eyed the wall hangings and furniture, all typical Ferelden style but reserved for a more wealthy class of folk. It wasn’t that different from the guest rooms at her home in Highever, though the heraldry here was all Redcliffe rather than the laurel wreath on a field of blue, the heraldry of the Couslands.

She wondered whether there was anything left of her home now. The last she’d seen of Castle Cousland, it was swarming with Howe’s soldiers. She had no way of knowing if it was even still standing, or if Howe had razed it to the ground.

Alistair seemed oblivious to her sudden quiet. He pulled off the majority of his armor and wasted no time flopping backward onto the bed with a big, contented sigh.

“I can’t remember the last time I slept in a bed this nice,” he said, stretching out across the width of it, his armored legs and feet hanging over the side. “It’s been nothing but bedrolls, bad bunks, and bed bugs for the last year or more.”

Sorina reached for the buckles of her own armor, smiling a little, grateful for the distraction. “Even when you were at the monastery?”

“Especially then. Nothing but bad bunks all the way through.” He paused. “Now that I think about it, maybe I’ve never had the luxury of a bed this nice.”

He propped himself up on one elbow and shot Sorina a sly grin. “I know for a fact I’ve never shared a bed with company as charming and gorgeous as you, though. Lucky me.”

Sorina rolled her eyes, unbuckling the last of her armor straps and pulling the plate metal away from her body. “Say that again when I’m not in a silverite case of heavy armor. Maybe I’ll believe you.”

“I think you look gorgeous in and out of the armor, honestly.”

The compliment was disarming in its easy, genuine quality, more so than in its speed. There was a hint of warmth and flirtatiousness in his tone, a mischievous glint in his eye, but he was sincere. He was always sincere when he was dishing out compliments like that.

Sorina couldn’t help but soften. She went over to the bed, gesturing for him to sit up, and bent to kiss him. “You’re sweet,” she murmured, drawing away. She took a couple of steps back and started working on removing the greaves and bracers of her armor, raising her eyebrows playfully at his pouting expression. “Saving all your spice for later?”

He grinned. “Oh, just you wait, I have plans for tonight that would make a bard blush.”

“Oh?” Sorina cocked her head to one side. She didn’t fully believe him. “Zevran wouldn’t have happened to help you with any of those plans, would he? I overheard him attempting to give you advice the other day.”

The grin disappeared, replaced with an offended flush. “No! Well—” He paused and then quickly shook his head. “No, that doesn’t count. No. I don’t need advice from Zevran, thanks.”

She crossed her arms, smirking. “You sure? He has the experience and plenty of good ideas. He’s right next door if you want me to ask hi—”

Alistair grimaced and held up a hand. “Please, let’s not bring Zevran between us. Physically or metaphorically. My heart can’t take it.”

Sorina grinned. “Physically? Or metaphorically?”

“Both.”

“What if I’m between you and Zevran instead?”

“That’s—not—” He stammered and then cut himself off, pinching the bridge of his nose. Sorina just laughed. “You are the worst.”

“But you love me,” she said simply, returning to the bed now clad in nothing but her shirt and trousers. She climbed onto the mattress and pulled his hand away from his face, then took his chin and turned him toward her for another kiss. “Don’t you.” It wasn’t a question.

He relented easily with a soft little sigh. “That I do,” he murmured. He turned and pressed in closer for a deeper, longer kiss before, at last, a little breathless, Sorina pressed a hand on his chest to put space between them.

“So what are these plans, then?” she asked.

“Well…” Alistair gave her an impish smile. “Since we’re here and Eamon is better, we should take advantage of his goodwill. We have this nice, big bed, you know, and we could…” He trailed off, eyeing her to make sure she was still keeping up, still curious.

She played along, skimming her fingers up the taut muscle of his arm. “We could…?”

“We could…raid the larder for some midnight snacks.” He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “I know where they keep the good cheese.”

She blinked, utterly not expecting that answer, and then burst into quick laughter. She ought to have known.

The tension in his body from her earlier teasing relaxed in an instant, a ready smile on his lips at her laughter. Despite his several talents, this man was never more at ease, never more contented, than when he was making someone else smile.

“Okay,” she said. “But what about the good wine? Good cheese deserves good wine, yeah?”

“I’m sure we can manage that. I thought I spied Leliana and Zevran earlier with a couple bottles each, which means the wine cellar locks have probably already been picked.” He bent to remove the armor from his legs, tossing the pieces haphazardly on the floor. “Any other requests, my lady?”

She leaned back on one hand, an amused smile playing on her lips. “Some fruit would be nice. Are we eating it here?”

“You don’t mind, do you?”

She shook her head. “Nah. It’ll be like a date. Sort of.”

He straightened with a grin, all of his armor officially scattered about the room. “Exactly! Look at you, so smart. That’s why you’re in charge.”

“Alistair.” She patted his cheek, a bit like she would pat her mabari. “Wine. Cheese. Sometime before I fall asleep, please?”

He stood up instantly. “You got it. I’ll see what I can do.” He gave her a salute, the standard closed fist over his chest that Ferelden soldiers and Chantry templars tended to use. “One wine-and-cheese plate coming right up. Don’t go anywhere.”

She shook her head as he disappeared back out into the corridor, then flopped back onto the bed herself. It was a good, soft bed…

A half hour later, they were both in the bed, Sorina at the head propped up against a mountain of pillows, her legs curled comfortably in front of her, and Alistair stretched out at the foot, kicking one foot idly over the edge of the mattress. Between and beside them, Alistair had prepared a few plates of cheese, fruit, and bread. He had managed to snag a bottle of wine marked with a decent year, which was now half empty as it sat with Sorina’s topped-off wineglass on the nightstand. Alistair’s glass was safely on the floor, where he could easily reach it.

Sorina had to admit, this was…unexpectedly nice. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d just curled up in bed with some snacks and someone to talk to. Camp didn’t count. A conversation while sitting watch just wasn’t the same, and the food wasn’t nearly so good as what an Arl kept stocked for his family, even in the middle of a crisis. And with Alistair, everything was easy. The conversation, the relaxation, enjoying the food and the wine…for a moment, she could pretend that everything could be like this forever.

But Eamon’s remarks earlier still troubled her, and she couldn’t put a finger on why.

“You know,” Alistair said, “when I was a kid, this sort of thing was something I’d dream about.”

Sorina lifted an eyebrow. “Eating cheese in bed? Seriously?”

“What can I say, I’m a simple man,” he said, grinning. “But no, I meant…having a room to myself, for one. I slept in the stables mostly while I was growing up here. Getting to eat whenever I wanted, whatever I wanted, for another. Having someone to talk to at night, when I couldn’t sleep. That’s…that’s more of what I meant.”

Sorina said nothing. Despite the harsh training she had put herself through since youth, constantly striving to be better, stronger, tougher, to beat her older brother in combat and earn a place fighting at her father’s side, even if it was just to fight off bandits on their land, she couldn’t deny her childhood was idyllic compared to his. At the very least, she’d never spent a full night in a stable while growing up. She’d never had to question whether she’d eat that day.

Alistair shifted so that he was on his back, one arm bent and tucked beneath his head. “This is nice. Peaceful. Makes you think there isn’t a whole world of darkspawn out there waiting for us.” He picked up a crumble of cheese and held it up, examining it idly, though she could tell he wasn’t really looking at it. “It would be nice to have more nights like this, instead of…you know…”

“Sleeping on the cold, hard ground in the middle of nowhere?” Sorina offered.

“Yeah.” After another second of thought, he popped the crumble of cheese in his mouth and went back to staring at the ceiling, arms crossed behind his head, one foot gently swinging off the edge of the bed.

Sorina reached for her glass and took a slow sip of wine. She debated whether she should say anything related to this idea, but then decided, why not? It wasn’t like they’d make these decisions tomorrow.

She set the glass back on the nightstand. “You could have plenty of nights like this…if you were king.” He paused mid-chew and shot her a baffled look, but she just shrugged. “Eamon wants you to be king. It’s not a bad idea.”

“Uh, yeah, it kind of is,” he said. He swallowed his bite of cheese and sat up. “I’d be a terrible king, and we both know it.”

“You don’t know that, actually, and besides,” she pointed out, “you’d have complete access to the best bed ever and plenty of snacks for midnight picnics in bed. Who’s going to tell you no?”

That made him chuckle. “All right, fair point, but all the rest…” He shook his head. “And besides, this wouldn’t be nearly as fun with anyone else. You think I’d steal the good cheese for Leliana? Or Zevran?”

“Wouldn’t be stealing if you own it as king,” she said, popping a couple of grapes into her mouth.

“You are so missing the point here.” He set his plate, nearly empty now, on the floor beside his wine glass and scooted a bit closer to her. “It wouldn’t be the same if it were anyone other than you. You’re what makes all of this special, Sorina.”

She continued to pick nonchalantly at the food on her plate, carefully selecting her next bite. “Well, I’ll just have to find ways to visit your royal bedroom, then.”

He scoffed. “Visit? Like you’re just a guest? No way, if I’m king, then half of that castle is yours by default.”

“Oh, am I to be Queen of Ferelden, then?” She snorted. “Bit of a stretch.”

Her, a queen? Wearing all those dresses? She’d love to see how a royal crown would look on her shorn head. The court at Denerim would hate her, probably. And she wasn’t much fond of them, either.

But Alistair didn’t seem to share her view. He shrugged. “Sure, why not be queen? I’m sure you marrying me and taking over as queen would make everyone happy. The crown would look better on you anyway.”

She doubted it, but she couldn’t resist teasing, “Alistair, is that a proposal I hear? Are you hiding a ring in your pockets anywhere?”

He blanched. “Wha—no, of course not, that—that was a joke, I was joking, please don’t take that seriously. You can marry anyone in Thedas easily, you can do far better than me, I’m sure.”

She grinned and leaned her weight on one hand. “I don’t know…better than the king of Ferelden?”

He groaned. “I don’t actually want to be—all right, fine, I walked right into that one.” He crossed his legs and leaned in, leveling a dry look at her. “I’m serious, Sorina. You’re impressive and, frankly, intimidating enough to win the hand of any monarch in Thedas. No one is going to tell you no.” Then, suddenly, with a grin, he added, “In fact, you know, I hear Empress Celene is still single.”

She wrinkled her nose. “No. That—” she emphasized the word by pressing her foot into his shoulder and pushing him back, “is the kind of anti-Ferelden sentiment that gets you put on Loghain’s hit list, Alistair. An Orlesian, really?”

He rubbed his shoulder where her heel had dug in. “We were on Loghain’s hit list already. Or did you forget how we met Zevran?”

“Mm, true.” She tossed one last bite of bread and cheese into her mouth before setting her plate on the nightstand and dusting off her hands. As she chewed, she muttered, “…can’t believe you’d sell me off to Celene before marrying me yourself…”

He grimaced. “Whoa, hey, I never said—I was kidding!” He paused, studying her as she picked little nearly-invisible crumbs from her shirt and tossed them away. “Although…I dunno. Would you…want to…marry me? Not now, of course,” he rushed to add, putting up his hands. “In the future, maybe. Hypothetically. Assuming we survive everything and…you haven’t tired of me by the end of it all.”

She looked up, surprised. There was that sincerity again, rather than his usual humor and sarcasm. He looked like he’d be sick, waiting for her answer, his tentatively casual tone belying the tension in his shoulders.

She wished she had an answer for him. She’d spent the last couple of years dodging questions about her marriage entirely, from her parents, from Howe of all people, from others. It wasn’t something that interested her. She wanted to be a warrior, someone who stayed active, on the go, always where the action was. Not somebody’s stay-at-home wife.

But then again, the situation had changed. Marrying Alistair, assuming they both survived, would look very different than marrying any other noble boy. If he were king, she’d be queen—and frankly, that was terrifying—but if he wasn’t, and they were just Wardens…

“Hmm.” She gave it another few seconds of thought before allowing a tiny smile to pass over her lips. She shrugged as nonchalantly as she could. “I dunno. Ask me again when this is all over.”

He stared at her. “Ask you…again.”

“Ask me again,” she repeated. It wasn’t a yes. And it wasn’t a no. He was smart. He’d figure it out.

It took him a second, but then a slow, hopeful grin lit up his features. Then he cleared his throat, clearly trying to rein it all in and stay focused. “Right. Noted. I won’t forget.”

“Good. Now…” She took hold of his shirt and pulled her to him, leaning back against the pillows and forcing him to shift so that he was no longer sitting in front of her, but hovering over her, his knees on either side of her body. She grinned up at him, enjoying the flush on his cheeks from their new, close proximity. “Tell me about these actual plans of yours…and I’ll see what I can do about them.”

He gave a slightly nervous chuckle and then cleared his throat again. “Well…I was hoping to have you as dessert, if that tells you anything.” He grinned, waiting for her to get it.

She paused. She got it, but…all that, the cheese, the wine, the midnight picnic idea…was a lead-up to a punchline? She sighed and shook her head, smirking, far too fond of her ridiculous Warden lover. He was, affectionately, an idiot, and she couldn’t help but love him.

She settled into the pillows, reaching for the hem of his shirt to take it off him. “It’s a start. Now tell me more.”

#i just like writing alistair okay #he's a dork and I love him #dragon age #dragon age origins #dao #alistair theirin #alistair x warden #alistair x cousland #my fic #dao fic #da fic

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