#but i think that would be an interesting thing to bring up! to discuss! how do you reformat prayer that's meant to take place at a specific

[pynkhues]

Poor Lestat laying in fetal position, looking so small and having dead eyes :( Armand saying he's come home was so creepy, wtf was he thinking. You know, this scene just doesn't make any sense to me, why would Lestat go out of his own will to a place that's the biggest ptsd trigger you can imagine. To punish himself I guess? Sometimes it feels like Rolin wants Lestat to have so much agency that he never allows him to be a victim. Kinda worried how they'll handle s3 wrt this. I hope they won't victim blame him for every bad thing that happened to him because 'he deserved it'.

Oh, anon, I'm sorry because this is probably not what you want to hear, but I love that Armand said that Lestat's come home by going back to the place he was turned and assaulted, because it feels really emotionally honest and true to these characters.

Claudia, Armand and Lestat are all victim-survivors, and I think the show's demonstrated that it's really curious as to what that means.

There's a school of thought that's currently becoming more understood in feminist circles that victim-survivors can often not believe each other, or diminish each other's experiences. The nature of the sort of abuse that Claudia, Armand and Lestat have all experienced is that they've had to process it to a point where they feel they are the expert of their story. They know what happeend to them, they've gone through a lot to know what happened to them, and it's a way for them to take control back of their own stories. An unfortunate side effect is that it can lead to these victim-survivors feeling they know more about your story than you.

They've survived it, so they feel they can tell who's the liar and who's the truthteller, who got off easy, who had it worse, who's stories are more than or less than, and that idea itself is a trauma response manifesting as something ugly, right? Abuse and assault are felt in so many different ways and manifest in so many diffferent forms, but this idea can take hold in victim-survivors as a means of taking control over what happened to them. If they can use - which Lestat does when he weaponises Claudia's rape against her in the train to force her to come home - undermine - which Claudia does against Lestat when she tells Louis not to take Lestat's truth as fact - or diminish - as Armand does against Lestat when he shrugs off Daniel's question about Magnus in 2.03 and talks about Lestat coming home in 2.08 - this subset of people will.

Armand is a character who has endured unimaginable sexual abuse. To divorce that from his understanding of Lestat's own trauma does both characters a huge disservice. How they navigate each other as two survivors of (very different!) forms of sexual violence is interesting, and it's unsurprising that Armand, having been groomed and assaulted by Marius, would view a maker's home as - - well, home.

And frankly regardless of that, if the show stays true to the book, Lestat will live there for a while after Magnus' death because he has no money, no one to call on, and no idea who he is now that he's been turned. Gabrielle lives with him for a while there! Magnus' tower is, in the books, a very complicated place for Lestat.

[quietwingsinthesky]

(For the game) I think the doctor should have more diverse companions. Give them more non human alien companions! Give them a companion is who fundamentally bad, who they have realize they can’t fix

strongly agree | agree | neutral | disagree | strongly disagree

yeah!!!!! oh and can i add to that! one thing i'd love to see? just like. a companion who is religious. in a way that is taken account into in the narrative and that is like. discussed? you know, how does going on time travel universe hopping adventures effect one's religious ideas. that would be fascinating to me. i think we've gotten like blanket statement things about future humans adjusting their religious beliefs or whatever but that's not what im interested in exactly. i want like. what does it do, to a modern human with modern religious ideas, to have to adjust that to aliens and shit. and how does their way of incorporating this life with the doctor reflect their character!

i think that'd be fascinating!!! and someone definitely smarter than me out there could probably write an incredible buddhist companion for the doctor and draw on the obvious cultural influences borrowed about cycles of reincarnation in constructing the doctor's whole regeneration thing to discuss shit. maybe one day. i'd love to see it.

[misskamelie]

Head in my hands, I'm doomed, this can't be going on for this long good grief. What the hell does my subconscious want to tell me. Hate the pms hormonal storm

[celestialmancer]

☀️.

[chaussetteblanche]

and they were roommates

pairing : Spencer Reid x fem!student!roommate!reader summary : you are Spencer Reid's roommate, the team finds out about you when a case brings them to the university you study at word count : 2.5k warning : canon-typical violence A/N : the university is a random one I picked in Virginia, bear with me because I don't know how US university systems work, thanks :) I think this is a part one, there may be a part two or even more, idk, but tell me what you think !

part 2, part 3, part 4

"I- I'm sorry, what university did you say?" Spencer's frantic tone was immediately noticed by his colleagues. Suddenly, he seemed hyperaware of everything in the room. The loud AC, Derek's pen-clicking and the overwhelming smell of Emily's coffee. "Mary Washington University," JJ answered swiftly, eyes narrowed as she sent Reid a confused glance. The man in question mumbled a few words under his breath and shot up, grabbing his coat and scarf. "We need to go." His tone, unusually urgent, left no space for debate or questioning. He was out the door within seconds, followed closely by Morgan and the others.

When you'd applied for Mary Washington University, you had known you would have to get an apartment. You lived too far away to even consider taking the numerous trains and buses and subways to get there. So, when you had been accepted into your first choice of universities, you'd started apartment hunting. Or roommate-hunting, to be more precise.

To say you had been unlucky would have been quite the understatement. You'd visited four apartments so far and could not even consider living in one of them for a second. The first had been full of frat boys who made your skin crawl, the second was with an old, far right-wing couple, the third had been two sisters who'd yelled at each other for the whole time you were there and the fourth had been so crowded your were certain it was neither sanitary not legal for another person to live there. With the deadline of university starting and having to move all your things, you were starting to get quite anxious. But call it chance or fate, one day you stumbled upon an advertisement for an apartment in a nice neighbourhood with one person who seemed quite normal. This person was a state-employee (which meant a stable salary and that meant you wouldn't have to compensate for rent) who travelled often for work and liked to keep mostly to themselves. Not one for big parties, they preferred a night-in and rarely had people over.

So you'd put on your big-girl pants and had walked over to what you hoped would be your last apartment visit. You hadn't been expecting such a young person to open the door because of the way the advert had been written and because of what it said. "Hi, I'm Dr. Spencer Reid." You noticed he didn't hold his hand out and mirrored his behaviour. "Hi! I'm here for a visit!" You introduced yourself somewhat shyly, feeling intimidated. This man was at the most five years older than you and he was already a doctor?

He showed you around the apartment, which you liked very much. The rooms smelled like books and tea and everything was kept very clean. On the whole, it was tidy, even if a few books or articles were stacked in some odd places. The bedroom you'd stay in was large and luminous. After the tour, he made you a cup of tea as you discussed formalities.

"Uh, so, you’re a student, right?" he'd asked politely as he added a worrying amount of sugar in his earl grey. You bit back a teasing jest. You hoped maybe one day you'd get to place where you could comment on his daily sugar intake. "Yeah, um, I'm studying English Literature and Cinema." You stirred your tea, looking around the kitchen. Even though it was painted a dark, forest green, it still seemed luminous in the afternoon sun. "Oh, that's super interesting! I’ve always found texts in Middle English particularly insightful! I- I read the Canterbury Tales when I was about 10 years old. It’s fascinating the way in which issues which were already current then are still very present today, like in the Wife of Bath’s tale, for example-“

He cut himself off, leaning back into the couch. He rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks dusted pink. “Sorry, you probably don’t want me to ramble about what you already know.” “No, I think it’s amazing that you would know that, actually. What else did you like in the Wife of Bath’s tale?” Spencer seemed to brighten up at your words and thus ensued a lengthy discussion of the avant-garde themes evoked by Geoffrey Chaucer. You were fascinated by his knowledge and found his passion especially endearing. Lots of your professors weren’t even that passionate when talking of late 14th century literature.

After discussing rent, which you would afford by waitressing at a local bar, lightly touching upon political subjects (on which you seemed to agree on), he finally told you that he was an FBI agent. "Excuse me?" you spluttered, leaning backwards in shock. "I'm a profiler with the BAU, the Behavioural Analysis Unit. I can show you my badge if you want." He stood up and reached for his bag, but you stopped him in his tracks. "No, no, that's okay, I believe you. I'm just surprised, that's all, sorry." His expansive knowledge of so many things seemed fitting for an agent of the BAU. After realising you were the first person who didn't demand his badge as proof of his profession, Spencer granted you a small smile. "You don't need to apologise. I- I know it can be a bit... off-putting." He sat back down and looked you in the eye. "Is that a problem for you, living with a federal agent?"

You thought about it for a second. As a general rule, you weren't a big fan of cops. Even more generally, you didn't believe in the structure of today's society. But that was a big topic. Plus, a profiler wasn't really a cop, was he? "No, that's not a problem for me."

You'd moved in a month and a half later. Things had been slightly awkward at first and you'd had to figure out what kind of dynamic Spencer and you had. But eventually, you’d found your rhythm.

When Spencer left for work, you took care of his plants and sent him pictures of Geoffrey. Geoffrey was the cat you’d found on the street and taken in. He was named after Geoffrey Chaucer, author of the Canterbury Tales, your first common point of interest. Spencer had been reluctant at first, but you’d taken him to the vet, where he was tested and vaccinated, and the man had finally accepted him into your shared space. Now, he loved the little creature. Sometimes, you’d call him to ask how he was doing and whether he was safe. He’d always reply that yes, he was doing fine and no, he wasn’t in any danger, don’t you worry. He’d ask how you were doing and if you were staying on top of uni work and if you’d eaten and if Geoffrey wasn't being too annoying. As an orange cat, he had his particular tendencies.

When Spencer was at home, you'd always look forward to getting back from class. There was always that sense of comfort and ease when he was around. You had found a lovely routine quite easily. You'd both work or study, then cook, eat together and afterwards maybe you'd watch a movie or something. You were at a point where you could comment on his daily sugar intake, which he's started correcting since meeting you. He loved the Big Bang Theory and though you weren't such a fan, you loved the little laughs he let out and all the corrections he'd make. In general, you liked when he talked. Even more generally, you liked him. You also liked Friends and though Ross got on Spencer's nerves, he enjoyed being able to discuss it with you afterwards. The two of you got very close without even noticing.

Sometimes, you'd remember he wasn't just your roommate, but also a man. He'd make you a cup of tea and you'd stare at his hands a little too long while he stirred the honey in. Or he'd help you reach for a cup with his impressive height, his front just skimming your back with a shiver. He'd tell you to breathe and sit down when you were upset about something. A few times, he drove you home from a night out with your friends and laid his hand on your knee. He was the only one who remembered how you'd told him you wanted to kiss him.

With you, Spencer discovered many things he had never experienced before. A healthy, comforting and peaceful routine. A supporting, non-judgemental, healthy friendship. Easy laughter in the middle of the night and tired "good morning"s at dawn. Butterflies in his stomach whenever you touched him. A budding romance which kept him awake at night.

So when that was threatened, he just about lost it.

"Oh my God." "I can't believe this." "Is this a prank?" "Did someone call 911?" "What about her parents?" "Oh, that's sick."

Voices swarmed around your head, making you dizzy. Your hand rested over your mouth as you stared at the body strewn on the lawn. Much of the student body stood next to you, just as shocked. Mary Goldman had been her name. You'd crossed her just this morning in the main hall and had exchanged small smiles. You had thought that she looked really pretty today, but hadn't told her. You regretted that now. At the moment, her mascara had run down her cheeks and dried and her lipstick and been smudged. Bruises and cuts decorated her bare arms and legs and a big red stain sat on the side of her stomach. The contrast between her dead body and the green, thriving grass beneath her was haunting.

You turned away, feeling sick. You felt your friend's hand on your shoulder, a small source of comfort anchoring you to reality. Facing the road as you turned, you were surprised to see three big black SUVs speeding towards the crowd. You'd been expecting an ambulance, or cops. Not whoever these guys were. They screeched to a stop, drawing everyone's attention. A small dozen of people stormed out, all dressed differently though they all held the same aura of importance, knowledge and authority. You turned back to your friends. "Who are these-"

You stopped mid-sentence when you heard your name being called out urgently. You'd have recognised his voice amidst a thousand others. He spoke your name like no other. You frantically looked around, pushing your way to the large vehicles. When you finally spotted him, tears started pricking your eyes. "Spencer," you breathed in a half-sob. His eyes ran you over once, twice, assessing any damage. When he saw there was no physical wound, his shoulders sank in relief. He opened his arms and you rushed inside his warm embrace almost reflexively. Neither of you noticed the numerous pair of curious eyes observing your intimate exchange.

"Oh my God, Spence- What- What are you doing here?" you'd cried into his cardigan. You buried your face into his neck, inhaling the comforting scent he always bore. He wrapped an arm around your waist and another around your shoulders, holding the back of your head in a consoling manner. "We're- We're taking this on as a case, sweets. Are you all right?" He knew it was a stupid question but all the emotions and tension were barely wearing off and he didn't know what else to say. You pulled away but he kept you at arm's length, holding your cold, shaking hands in his warm, steady ones. "I- Yeah, it's just- I- I saw her this morning! How could she- Why would someone do this to her? To- to anyone?!" Spencer cooed and pulled you into another tight hug as you continued to ramble through your tears. When you'd eventually calmed down thanks to his words of reassurance, he pulled away softly.

Spencer understood what you meant perhaps more than anyone. The sadness, the shock, the anger, the need to understand. He gently wiped away the mascara under your eyes with his thumb. "I know, I- It's- Even I don't always understand, sweetheart, so don't- Why don't you go home? I'd come with you but-" You nodded, biting your lower lip. He gave you a sad smile. "I promise I'll join you as soon as this is over. You- you can make yourself a cup of tea and process all this and pet Geoffrey, okay? Classes are going to be cancelled either way." "I don't want to-" The look in his eyes kept you from arguing further. You nodded, giving him another hug. Before you left, an older man came over to you.

"I'm sorry to bother you, miss. I'm Agent David Rossi. I just had a question-" "Rossi," interrupted Spencer with a stern tone you'd never heard before. The older Agent raised an eyebrow at him. "Just one question." He turned back to you. "At what time did you say you saw the victim?" You inhaled shakily, running a hand over your face. "Uh, it must have been around quarter to eleven. I think- Yeah, somewhere between ten thirty and eleven." "Thank you, miss." You didn't miss the glance shared between the two men before Rossi retreated.

"Who was that?" asked Emily as soon as you'd left and Spencer had joined them behind the police tape. "No one," Spencer brushed her off as he kneeled next to the victim. Strangely, he hated the idea of someone who knew you dying. It felt too close to home. "C'mon, man, you lost your shit this morning, a girl you clearly know very well runs into your arms, you snap at Rossi and you expect us to believe you?" Derek raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest. Spencer sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose before looking up at the rest of the team. All were staring at him patiently. He stood up, swallowing.

"That was my roommate." He informed the team of your name and of how you'd been living together for a few years now. "Spencer, you've been living with a woman for years and you've never told us?!" Derek was all but hysteric. Hotch reminded him that everyone was entitled to a private life. "So, are you dating or something?" Emily prodded again. Spencer hesitated a second before answering. "No." Derek scoffed, appalled. "You mean to tell me you've been living with a beautiful woman like that for years and nothing's ever happened?!" "Not everyone is like you, Morgan," Emily reminded with a teasing smirk. Derek sent her an unimpressed look. "Look, let's all grill Spencer later, we have a case to focus on right now." Rossi, ever the voice of reason, directed everyone's attention back to the corpse laying next to them.

Needless to say, the BAU team did not need to interrogate Spencer or attack him with incessant questions to find much out. They'd seen by his behaviour that very morning how much he cared about you. They'd seen how relieved he had been when he'd seen you safe and sound. They'd noticed you'd only started crying when you'd seen him, a big sign of trust. They had never heard him call another by pet names such as "sweets" or "sweetheart". They'd read both of your body languages like a children's book and translated it easily.

Love. Comfort. Peace. Ease.

[oh-no-its-bird]

Sakumo being a super popular borderline sex symbol in his era will never stop being my favorite hc, I need to see more of it

All the people his age and younger had a crush on him. It was just a Thing(tm) where 9 times out of 10, a Konoha shinobi's first crush was probably Sakumo. Even other villages young shinobi hung up his bingo book picture above their bunk and dreamed of both killing him, being killed by him (in a hot way), having a battlefield fling with him, and more. There was blackmarket fanfiction. He was incredibly popular among civilians all over fire country. Some popular romance novels had love interests very blatantly based off him.

Even before they were on a team together, Obito and Rin both had a silly kid crush on Kakashi's dad (Obito more than Rin) and he was aware of it. This did not help make him like them any more. (By the time hearing smthn positive ab his dad would have made Kakashi softer, they'd both gotten better at hiding the crush, so to Kakashi it looked like they'd gotten over Sakumo.) Even Minato had a bit of a thing for him, not really but like— strong, popular, feard and very friendly ninja who is now paying him some attention (bc hes his kids teacher) he's not immune. Kushina understands, she is also not immune. (Kakashi is going to throw a fucking fit)

Even after his failed mission, when his reputation crashes and burns within the village, he still can't completely shake his admirers— they possibly just get more disrespectful ab the attraction when it mixes with the hate. (Which tbh could make for an interesting discussion all on its own)

Kakashi is haunted by his father's insane popularity for decades after his death. He does his very best to ignore the lingering evidence of people being insane ab his father.

One day he realizes one of his favorite romance novels has a romance interest based off Sakumo and has a break down ab it and can never read the series again.

When raiding an old abandoned enemy camp w Team Ro, he finds an old, autographed photo of his dad covered in lipstick marks in the communal bathroom. He chooses to ignore it but it's quickly spotted by his teammates, who do not know who Sakumk is, and v quickly begin to remark on the poster, who this mysterious Konoha nin is, and ahaha damn he is kinda good looking, huh? (Kakashi wants to DIE)

Shisui ends up taking the poster back to Konoha with them and hangs it up in the ANBU communal quarters where it is VERY quickly recognized. And also some of the people in that room recognize it so quick bc they also used to own a similar poster. (Kakashi wants to DIE someone PLEASE kill him now)

Its only when he's given team 7 that he finally thinks he's escaped the legacy of his father as Konoha's Most Sexiest Shinobi. Only for Naruto, when being trained by Jiriyah, to find his drafts for Icha Icha very clearly inspired by his dad. Which he can never publish for multiple reasons (lingering respect for Sakumo. Also for Kakashi, who is his biggest fan and would probably never look at him again.)

Naruto somehow accidentally brings this up with Kakashi who like. Has war flashbacks and immediatley stands up and walks away as Jiryah scrambles to try to explain himself and Tsunade looks on in scorn (she will approach him later to carefully ask for the drafts while trying to seem like she's not really asking for them bc she's too proud to admit it)

Naruto and Sakura discover Kakashi-sensei's dad was a sex symbol. I don't even know how they'd react but like. Oh my god. Oh my god you guys.

Funniest option would be they accidentally revive his popularity a little bit by being so loud ab it they like, remind people ab him. + introduce another generation to the idea of him

Kakashi is crouched on the floor with his face in his hands. When will he be freed from this hell.

Sasuke does not escape tho, he goes to sound and finds a picture of Sensei's dad in Orochimaru's office (???????)

This is such a shitty sketch but the vision:

Itachi, who learned who Sakumo was from that poster thing, goes on to find a photo of him in ""Madara's"" belongings and gets super weirded out but ultimately doesn't. Super care. But also. Like. What. What.

After Itachi finds the photo, which Obito genuinley forgot he fucking had and keeps in part just bc its like one of the only belongings that remained from his Konoha days, he shoves it somewhere in Kamui to forget about.

But then in the Obito vs Kakashi Kamui fight, it fucking flutters down in the middle of the fight and Obito fucking dies of humiliation as Kakashi realizes he will truly Never Escape and that this reality is his own personal hell

Uhh endgame Kakashi becomes Hokage and accidentally retreads his father's path in becoming the new Konoha Sexy Man. Which simultaneously crushes him (he will never escape) and fills him with delight (he will now be able to impart the pain of having your father figure be lusted after by all ur friends and acquaintances onto his students)

[nymphaura777]

Your Fictional Boyfriend Exists. Stop Asking.

Let’s get one thing straight: You’re not manifesting him. He’s already yours. PERIODT.

You don’t have to "align your energy."

You don’t have to "look for signs."

You don’t have to "visualize every night before bed" or need to do any "method"

He. Is. Already. Yours. End of discussion.

The Universe Didn’t Give You This Obsession for No Reason

Like, be so for real. You think you just randomly got obsessed with this fictional man for fun? That your heart just decided to latch onto him and say, “Yep, I want THAT” and the universe was like, “Aww, too bad, he’s not real”?

Ahem ahem...no. That’s not how this works. You feel connected to him because he already exists for you.

Somewhere in this universe, he’s alive. Breathing. Existing. And thinking about YOU.

Because duhhh, how could he not? You’re literally his person.

You’re Not “Manifesting” Him. You’re Just Accepting Reality.

This isn’t about waiting. This isn’t about “doing the work.” You don’t need to repeat affirmations 50 times a day or script in your journal until your wrist falls off. You’re not convincing the universe to bring him to you, he’s already here.

Like, do you question whether the sky is blue? No. You just know.

Same energy.

You don’t need to “align” with him.

You don’t need to check for angel numbers every five minutes.

He is yours because you said so. And that’s all that matters.

He’s Already Looking for You Too

You think you’re the only one here losing your mind over this man? Nah. He’s just as obsessed with you as you are with him.

Right now, he’s existing in reality, pacing his damn room, running his hands through his hair like, "Where is she? Why haven’t I met her yet?"

He’s looking for you. He’s thinking about you. And when the moment is right, BOOM, he’s in your life like he was always meant to be.

No effort. No struggle.

You’re the Main Character. Act Like It.

Do you think the main character in a romance novel stresses about whether the love interest is coming? Nope. She just lives her life until *plot twist* he shows up.

So, that’s your job now.

Go live. Have fun. Romanticize everything. He already loves you. This thing is inevitable.

No more stressing. No more asking “when.” Just KNOW.

Your fictional man is real and is obsessed with you.

"And when he would confess????" Does main character think like this?

[dollfacefantasy]

BIRTHDAY GIRL ♡

pairing: clark kent x fem!reader

summary: your boyfriend forgot your birthday :( how ever will he make it up to you...

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, oral sex (f receiving)

a/n: happy birthday to @fearcvlt!!! one of my sweet friends who i love so so much. i hope you're having a great day bb <3 alsooo just fyi to everyone, there will be no part 2 to this.

From the moment Clark woke up today he’d been busy, busy, busy. 

Given that it was a Saturday, he hadn’t expected the influx of tasks thrown at him. However he’d never been one to complain, so instead of moaning and groaning, he handled each thing as it came. 

In the morning, he had to go into town to pick up a few things for his mom. On the way back, he had to stop by the Talon to discuss some details of a recent wall-of-weird incident with Lana. At some point later on, Lex was then calling him up and asking for his assistance on something.

He felt like he spent more time behind the wheel of his truck that day than on his own two feet with how much he was having to go back and forth across the familiar streets.

Really, every moment of Clark’s schedule over the past week had gone something like this. Packed full from dawn till dusk. He had tests to study for and essays to write. His regular responsibilities on the farm never let up as did his small circle of friends asking to do something or the other. And recently, there’d been a strange string of accidents that he felt compelled to investigate.

Last night specifically, he’d been occupied with Chloe and Pete. What was supposed to be a couple hours of research stretched into a few laps through the woods looking for a variant type of meteor rock and then a car ride to Granville and back. Once he finally got home, he passed out for a couple hours and then scraped himself out of bed to get through all of today.

Now in the evening, he finally had a moment of quiet. He sat by himself on the Torch’s computer, fingers tapping away at the keyboard as he looked into connections between all the components they’d found over the last several days. His eyes flicked across the tiny words glowing on the computer screen. Most of the time Chloe handled the research aspect of their investigations, but he felt so close to having this resolved. With a few more details, he could have this thing cracked in an hour.

The sound of footsteps approaching the door pulled his attention away from the article in front of him. He knew from the quick rhythm of them, they belonged to Chloe. His eyes flitted to the entryway as she appeared. She greeted him without any words, her usual smile and slight wave serving as enough for the two of them as she came in and set her stuff down at her desk.

“You must be really invested in this whole thing if it has you working late all alone,” she teased while shrugging off her coat.

“Something like that,” he responded as his gaze drifted back to the screen, “I’m glad you showed up. I think I really have something on this guy.”

“Oh that’s good,” she said, looking much more interested at the prospect of new information. Coming up behind him at the desk, she skimmed the article over his shoulder. “You know, I thought you’d be with your girlfriend tonight, Clark,” she added as she reached for the mouse to scroll down.

His brows furrowed at the mention of you. While he could talk about you for hours and hours, he didn’t understand the point in her bringing you up now. It felt like a joke going over his head. She’d said it with the normal dose of teasing she used towards him, but the statement as a whole sounded earnest.

“Why would you think that?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I just thought you guys might do something for her birthday. I know she’s not having a party, but I guess I assumed she’d still want to hang out with you,” she answered. The way she said it was so casual. It wasn’t meant to mock or come off as a gotcha. That was what it felt like though because in that moment Clark realized something.

He forgot his girlfriend’s birthday.

Actually, that wasn’t exactly true. He hadn’t completely spaced the event. Last weekend, he’d planned this all out in his head. He called in a reservation at your favorite restaurant, stashed away a few small things to give you, even made a note of where he was gonna buy you a cupcake from. It was just that over the past week, he’d gotten so busy and distracted that those plans faded to the back of his mind. Today, he hadn’t even looked at the date, hadn’t even put together that today was your special day.

But none of the excuses mattered. No matter how he put it, when it actually counted, he forgot your fucking birthday. And maybe he could have played it off like everything was a surprise, that he’d only been pretending to be so oblivious and inconsiderate, if not for the fact that his truck should have been in front of your house an hour ago because he told you he’d pick you up for dinner.

He shot up out of his chair so fast that it fell backwards and smacked against the floor. His hands ran through his hair as he frantically tried to think of what to do. Such a strong wave of panic washed over him that he almost burst into super-sprint right in front of Chloe.

“Clark, you didn’t,” she said, looking back at him. He didn’t even have to say the words for her to surmise the reason for his reaction, “That’s bad, even for you.”

“I know,” he agreed, blue eyes still wide and full of worry, “How could I forget? God, I thought about this. I had all of it figured out. This was the one thing I wasn’t gonna miss.”

“Well the day isn't over yet…” Chloe offered with a slanted look.

He rubbed at his brow for a second before nodding. Of course he was gonna try to make it up to you. His mind just didn’t work as fast as his body. He still had to figure out how on Earth he was going to explain this, let alone justify his absence to you. But he could do that on the way to your house. He really didn’t have any more time to waste.

“Yeah, you’re right. I’ll have to go try to make the most of how ever many hours are left,” he mumbled.

She nodded in support. “I’ll take over here. You go save the day,” she said.

As soon as Clark was out of her line of sight, he bolted. He zipped into a blur, ditching his truck in the parking lot in favor of his own speed. Later he could come back to drive it home. He didn’t have seconds to spare at red lights or finding parking as he collected the things he needed.

It took him around five minutes to pull everything together. He grabbed the pale blue gift bag from his house, picked up a cupcake from the store (the last one they had), and snatched a bouquet of flowers on his way out.

Every step of the way to you, words of apology ran through his mind, ranging from I’m so so sorry, I’m such an idiot to I swear the truck just broke down, I couldn’t get service, but I’m here now. He tried to think of something that would make this salvageable, but truly, this was his worst screw up with you so far. He’d been late to dates before. He’d forgotten important things. But standing you up on your birthday? That might be the fatal blow to your relationship.

He slid to a stop in front of your porch steps. All the windows in your house were dark. He knew your house would be empty with your parents out of town, but he couldn’t even see the glow of your small tv shining up in your room. Dread bubbled inside him as he realized you could have still gone out without him. It wasn’t like he wouldn’t deserve it, but the possibility didn’t sting any less.

Steeling himself for the possibility of no response, he walked up the wooden steps and across the floor panels to your front door. He took a moment to run his fingers through his windblown hair. With one more deep breath, he shifted the flowers to the crux of his arm and knocked on the door. The gift bag hung off of his other wrist while that hand held the small box with your cake in it.

Five seconds passed and then another several moments of silence too. He resisted the urge to knock again. You could just be taking your time.

But after another bout of quiet went by, he tapped his knuckles against the door again three times. If you didn’t answer this time after another minute, he’d have to regroup, he told himself.

That minute went by the same as the last though, and he still didn’t want to leave. He considered saying something or calling for you through the door; though, at this point in time, he wasn’t sure if his voice would be a strong selling point.

He waited another handful of seconds before raising his fist. Third time’s a charm, right? But before his fingers could make contact, he heard the lock unlatch and the knob twist in that clunky way it always did. Relief fizzled all through his body before he even saw your face.

The door cracked open. From what he could see, the interior of your house was as dark as the windows led him to believe. The nearest streetlight doused the small sliver of space in a faint glow. He could see your leg covered in fuzzy pajama pants and the side of your upper half adorned in an old oversized t-shirt. Your face appeared seconds later. At first, your expression looked neutral. Well you looked sad, but you didn’t look angry, which was what he had been afraid of.

Then your eyes lifted to look at his face, and once they registered the sight of the person before you, that fire lit up in an instant.

Immediately, you tried shutting the door, but he was quick. He stuck his foot forward, jamming his boot in the entryway to stop it from closing. The pressure didn’t really hurt, but he still winced for show.

“Baby, wait,” he pleaded, “I know you’re mad, and you have every right to be. I deserve it-”

“Save it, Clark,” you gritted through your clenched jaw.

You threw your entire body weight against the door in an attempt to shut him out. He could hear your feet scraping against the floor along with your soft grunts as you tried forcing it closed. It would probably be cute if he didn’t feel so guilty.

“Just hear me out,” he tried again, “I’m sorry for being late. I’m really sorry. There’s no excuse that would make it ok, so I won’t even try to give you one. But please, sweetheart. I brought you some stuff, and it’s still your birthday-”

“You’re more than late! Late is fifteen minutes! Late is when thirty minutes pass so you call and explain you’re stuck in traffic! Late doesn’t mean an hour goes by and you finally show up because you realize you don’t have anything better to do, so you might as well!” you cut him off.

You couldn’t have said anything worse to Clark in that moment. He never wanted you thinking this was intentional, that he chose to be anywhere else that wasn’t with you. Now he pushed back a little. He leaned into the door, using his strength to scooch you further into the house and allow himself room to slip inside. As he did, he let some grunts slip out and even took a few seconds to give the illusion that you had a fighting chance.

“I swear this wasn’t on purpose. I’d never choose to make you wait or make you think that I don’t care or something,” he continued. A hint of desperation laced his words now. “I didn’t even forget. I’ve been planning this, and I had it all laid out in my head. I just… I just lost track of time. And it’s my fault, but I can make it up to you if you let me.”

You had turned away from him once he actually made his way into the house. Your body stood stiff as a board. He couldn’t even see your face to get some kind of read on how his words were coming across. And even worse, you weren’t saying anything back. He hesitated, mentally debating whether he should proceed with his pleas or give you a second. But ultimately, the former won. Logic and Clark didn’t mix well when it came to getting in your good graces again. He would do anything to make that happen.

“Honey, I know I missed the first part of the night, but I’m here now. And you’re here, and you look beautiful like you always do. And it’s still your birthday and I have some stuff for you,” he added.

“It’s not about the stuff, Clark. It’s not about what day it is or whatever,”you responded. You turned around to face him again. In the darkness, he couldn’t really make out your features, but your voice cracked. He didn’t need any light to know how your eyes were watering right now. How your lip was wobbling in that timid pout. 

He hated that he was so familiar with your disappointment.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, though this time they came out much weaker, like the sound of a dying soldier.

You took in a shuddery breath, either in preparation to yell at him or to maintain what you had left of composure. Neither happened right away. That almost felt worse, leaving him to burn under the heat of anticipation.

“I just… I don’t understand you. You can be so sweet. So caring. You make me feel like you really love me, but then you do stuff like this,” you finally said. Your voice cracked again, but this time it nearly stopped your words from coming out. You were losing a battle of your own against your tears.

“I do really love you,” he replied without a second thought. He dropped the flowers onto the nearby end table, shoving the gift bag and small box on after it. His arms opened for you as he took a step forward. He only hoped you wouldn’t push him away.

But you didn’t. You took the same step with your own feet and let him embrace you. The warmth of his body engulfed you all at once as his big arms looped around your frame. One of his hands found your head, cradling it against his chest.

“I do love you, baby. Always. I never want you to think I don’t,” he said softly.

You sniffled and squished your face against his chest. He held you tighter against himself. It didn’t feel tight enough. It never did for Clark. He always wanted you closer, held more securely, but he had to hold back if he didn’t want to shatter your bones.

“Hey, hey. Don’t cry,” he cooed, planting a few kisses on the top of your head, “Don’t cry, babe. Please. I’m not worth it, alright? I don’t want you so sad over my stupid mistakes.”

While you weren’t saying anything, the weight of your emotions filled the air all around you. They were practically tangible to Clark - the disappointment and betrayal. The insecurity he caused. The pain he inflicted. He was almost glad you usually stayed silent while crying because he didn’t think his Kryptonian DNA would save him from being crushed by your words. At the same time, you didn’t have to speak them for him to understand the potential sentiment. He could tell from the muted nature of your sadness right now. You had gotten your hopes up. You believed that because tonight was special, it would be different. He would show up, and it wouldn’t be like countless other dates and occasions.

He stood there with you in the hall, rubbing your back and rocking back and forth with you a little. After a few minutes, he nudged your head back with the tip of his nose. “Let me see those pretty eyes, baby,” he whispered.

His own vision had adjusted to the dark by now. When you tilted your head upwards, he could see the small spheres all glossy, your lashes wet with the recent tears. He leaned in and kissed the shiny streaks running down your cheeks. The right one first, then the left. His hand cupped your face with all the care in the world.

“There’s my girl,” he murmured as he brushed the tip of his nose against yours.

You gazed back into his bright blue eyes. God, you knew you should make this harder for him. He deserved to work for your forgiveness, but nothing made you weak like Clark. One glimpse of his eyes all wide, looking at you like a scolded puppy, and any anger towards him melted away like ice left out in the summer.

He laid a few more kisses along your face, moving his lips from one feature to the next. “You’re too sweet to be crying like this on your special day,” he said.

His thumbs swiped away remaining tears while your eyes began to dry up. Warmth filled your body again, blooming up in the hollow cold left by your prior loneliness. Looking at his face pushed the sadness away. Maybe today hadn’t been totally ruined.

“I won’t let this happen again, alright?” he told you in a hushed tone despite no one else being in the house. He made sure not to promise though. “I’ll get a calendar or something. I’ll write notes for myself. I’ll write ‘em all over my body like in that movie we watched last summer.”

“The movie that you left halfway through,” you said, your voice gently teasing now.

He exhaled sharply, and a smile spread across his lips. His eyes held a degree of shame still. It felt wrong to laugh about something like that when it was a piece of the issue at hand. But he could tell you were trying to lighten the mood, and he wouldn’t make you feel bad about that.

“I still got the idea,” he defended and ducked in, giving you another long kiss.

His arms pulled you tighter against his body while his hands swept down onto your back. One stayed between your shoulder blades as the other ventured South. His fingers glided over the small of your back, coasting over the top of your ass.

“Let me make it up to you,” he said.

You bit your lip at the sensation of his roaming hands. Allowing him a few more smooches, you finally pulled back to catch your breath for a moment.

“How do you wanna do that?” you asked.

He grinned, those sharp canines peeking out near the corners of his mouth. “I have something in mind, but any way you want is fine, baby,” he murmured.

“You can try your way…” you agreed. You had an idea of what he was picturing, and it wasn’t something you felt the urge to interfere with.

“Try,” he repeated playfully before pulling you into another series of kisses.

The two of you stumbled away from the front door and your gifts left on the end table. His feet followed yours down the hallway in the direction of your bedroom. Your back bumped into the wall a few times before you both slipped through the entrance of your room and found your ways to the bed.

The backs of your thighs hit your soft mattress first. Your smooth skin rubbed against the floral sheets spread over your bed. You let yourself fall back, and Clark’s body went with yours.

You shifted around, scooting up so that your head was on one of the plush pillows near the top of the mattress. He ended up with his frame hovering above your own. Only a few seconds passed before he pressed his lips to your again. Sometimes it felt as though Clark could kiss you all night. He paid so much attention to your lips, put so much dedication into every flick of his tongue and teasing pull with his teeth.

Your hands tried to return the same amount of reverence with their touches. You rubbed them up over his broad shoulders and along the nape of his neck. Your fingertips twisted the ends of his dark hair before sliding between the strands and scratching his scalp.

A groan rumbled up from his chest. You responded with a softer moan of your own. To go with the sound, your legs rose up against his sides and pressed into his hips. You pulled him closer, subtly urged him to tend to you where you wanted him most.

He finally pulled his mouth off you a minute later. His breaths now came out in harsh pants. The warm air fanned over your face while you stared up at your boyfriend. A cute shade of pink filled his cheeks while his pupils dilated with lust for you. His lips shimmered with your saliva under the faint light of the moon beaming through the window.

“My perfect, pretty girl,” he mumbled before dropping his head to your neck.

His attention focused there now. He kissed all over the column of your throat, moving without much strategy. Most of the time, Clark was very eager for you. He explored your body based on pure desire and nothing else. It always ended up feeling good for you though. Seeing his passion was half the pleasure.

While his lips worked above, his hands groped at you below. His large palms massaged your hips and smoothed up and down your sides.  His fingers kneaded your soft flesh. The feel of it alone had him starting to fill out in his jeans.

“You deserve so much, baby. So much more than I give you. Gonna try to make you feel how much you deserve,” he muttered against your skin, lust-fueled thoughts escaping without resistance.

At your waist, his fingers hooked over the hem of your pajama bottoms and gave the fabric a shove. “Lift your hips for me, honey,” he directed.

You did so without a question, allowing him to pull the garment the rest of the way off. It was so frustrating for Clark sometimes. He had the ability to literally tear your clothes to shreds. If he wanted to, those pants could have been gone faster than you could have asked him not to rip them. But for now, he still had to play the game by normal rules.

He moved his way over to your collarbone and placed a few kisses along the neckline of your shirt before migrating South. His hands fell from your hips to your thighs. He gave them the same treatment, squeezing and grabbing. But he wasted no time in parting them.

With one palm on each, he spread you open for himself and settled between your open legs. The sight of your panties greeted him. The dainty cloth covered the precious part of you he was aching to see. He stared at the material for a moment. It wasn’t wet yet, but it was tight against your folds. He could see so much of you without really seeing anything at all.

Leaning in, he kissed your pussy over the fabric. It was chaste. Something less sinful than anything he’d done to your mouth. His thumb came next. He ran the thick digit from the bottom of your slit all the way up to your clit. He kept the pace nice and slow, teasing enough that a shudder came over you as you fought the urge to squirm.

His eyes flitted up to your face. He couldn’t get enough of how cute you were. The desperation was written all over your face.

“I’m not gonna tease, sweetheart. Not on your birthday. Not when I already made you wait too long,” he cooed.

His long index finger hooked around the seat of your panties and gave them a good tug. He worked the small scrap off of you and tossed it to the floor. They landed near the mirror. He only noticed because beside it was a dress, slung over the back of a chair. It was lacy and layered and cute. Probably the one you had on earlier. He could only imagine how sad you looked while taking it off and swapping it out for the more comfortable clothes you had on now.

He had to make this good for you.

Returning his focus to the junction of your thighs, his eyes fixating on your cunt in front of him. Your folds gleamed with the beginnings of arousal. His teasing had been just enough to get the fire started inside of you.

He looked back up at your face and brought his own that much closer. “You don’t know how lucky I feel to call this mine,” he said before kissing your clit.

A broken whine crackled out into the air. The touch was so gentle, so soft. It didn’t really feel like much. But the sight of him, the sound of his voice, his mere existence had your body reacting like a live wire right now.

Clark stuck out his tongue and dragged it up the wet expanse of your pussy. The first couple licks were exploratory, but after a few more, they became greedy. He lapped at your cunt. The tip of his tongue swirled over your entrance and danced across your sensitive bundle of nerves. His eyes fluttered shut at the taste of you.

Meanwhile, more sweet noises poured from your lips. You whined and moan, a few times only managing to choke out a breathy mewl. One of your hands clutched at his hair while the other alternated between clawing at the blankets and covering your face. It flipped back and forth between the two, trying to find the one that would bring some stability.

Nothing you do could fight off the feeling of him though. His lips spread and closed, making out with your pussy. He got louder down there. Wet noises echoed between your thighs. None of them bothered him. He was wrapped up in the task of pleasing you. Nothing else mattered.

Clark didn’t get embarrassed in moments like these. Sometimes while on top of you he could get flustered, but with your pussy like this, he couldn’t string together the thoughts that would cause actual embarrassment. All he could fathom was a craving for more of you.

In these moments, you surrounded him completely. Your thighs wrapped around his head, pressing your skin against him. Your taste flooded his mouth. Your scent filled his nose. All he could hear were your needy cries. It was heaven, absolute paradise.

Grabbing your legs tighter, he held you in place more. You hadn’t started squirming yet, but by the time you felt the urge to, you’d be pinned in place. Somehow he put more effort into this now. He boosted your hips a bit before devouring you.

His mouth worked with desperation you’d never seen from him before. You called out his name before choking out another moan and letting your head fall back. He ground his hips into the mattress below him, chasing whatever physical pleasure he could find to match the bliss he felt inside.

While on top of you, Clark could run his mouth. Endless babbles of praise and cooed praises would fall from his lips. But right now, he was fixated on using his mouth for something more important. He could feel your muscles flexing against his tongue, clenching around nothing. You were getting close.

“That’s it, baby. Feels good?” he asked when he finally pulled himself back for some air. His fingers took over his mouth's duty, rubbing your clit fast and with good pressure.

Your hips bucked as a yelp flew out of you. Despite that, you still nodded as fast as you could. “Mhm. Gonna cum,” you whimpered, as if he needed the warning.

“Go ahead, birthday girl. You can cum whenever you're ready,” he said. He smacked a kiss on your thigh before diving back in and nuzzling into your cunt. His tongue swirled with fervent admiration before lashing over your little bud.

The rapid motion flicks you right over the edge. You gasped before whining. Your hips squirmed while you closed your fingers into a fist around Clark’s hair. You grabbed the soft tresses so tightly you might have pulled a few out. He didn’t complain about any of it though. How could he? It felt like everything in the world was perfect when he had you like this.

He rolled his own hips against the mattress a few more times. You were so caught up in your own release that you didn’t hear the whimpers coming from him. You didn’t catch the vibrations from his moans reverberating against your skin. His own pleasure did nothing but spur him on to keep working you through yours.

As you started to come down, he was still going. His movements were a bit sloppier, but he didn’t have any plans of stopping. It was when you whimpered and pushed at his head that he backed off. 

He looked up at you. Despite the smirk on his face, his voice came out gentle. “No more? You too sensitive?”

You nodded. “If you can stay, we have the whole night,” you offered.

His smirk broke into a full smile, and he crawled up the mattress to peck your lips. “I can stay. It’s still your birthday after all. We got some more celebrating to do.”

“Mhm,” you agreed. You kissed him again, tasting yourself as your lips met. Your hand trailed down his body to the waistline of his jeans. Before you could even ask, his fingers wrapped around your wrist and guided your limb back up.

“I’m fine, baby,” he said with a sheepish smile, “Plus it’s your birthday. It’s supposed to be all about you.”

“Oh my god, you’re really pushing the birthday thing,” you teased.

“I’m gonna keep pushing it until midnight because it’s true,” he said back. His hands cupped your face while he looked down at you.

After the two of you messed around a little more, Clark remembered the things he had left out by the front door. Pushing himself off the bed, he headed for the door. He was quick about getting your things, but he paused on the way back.

Instead of going straight to you, he walked into your kitchen. Rummaging through some of the drawers crammed full of spare parts and random coupons, he found a half-used pack of birthday candles and a lighter.

After opening the box that held your cake, he put it on a plate and jammed a pink-striped candle into the icing of your cupcake. With a click of the lighter, he topped it off with a small flame.

He headed back to your room, walking slowly so as to not have a surprise-ruining mishap on the way. Once he appeared in the doorway, you glanced at him. Your eyes caught on the lit up cupcake, and your whole face brightened. He chuckled and walked further into the room. Seeing that made the beginning of the evening sting less.

“You’re not singing,” you teased as you sat up on your bed and watched.

“That’s because I want you to have a nice birthday,” he replied.

The words brought actual laughter out of you, but you sat there patiently waiting as he walked over with the plate. He sat down beside you and held the plate before you. The whole time he remained careful, conscious of not getting the flame too close to any part of you.

“You gotta make your wish now,” he said and kissed your cheek.

Smiling at him, you thought for a second before turning towards the small flicker of fire. You stared at it for a moment, and then blew a small stream of air. It danced under the breeze before dissolving into thin smoke. He reached over and popped the stick of wax out for you, so you could eat your treat without impediment.

“What’d you wish for?” he asked as he brought the frosting-coated end to his lips.

“You know the rules. If I tell you, it’ll never come true,” you answered and took a bite.

He rolled his eyes, giving you a little poke to the side. “What about last year? That one come true yet or is it still a secret?”

“Still a secret,” you affirmed. You extended the bitten cupcake out to him. “Want some?”

“No, I’m alright. Already had my dessert,” he teased as he got up to throw away the candle. The words earned him a whine and a smack from you along with some grumbling about him being corny. But you had a smile on your face now, and that’s all he could want.

[worstgenerationloser]

,, Indulgence. ''

Pairings: Ace, Shanks, Beckmann, and Luffy x Reader (separately!)

Summary... nsfw headcanons revolving around the topics of virginity, sex, masturbation...

A/N: This is only part one, might be split into two parts. I also wrote oneshots for each character below, but I burned out too quick, so I stored them away, but they will be posted!

Portgas D. Ace.

Ace is most definitely a virgin, not that he can't get anybody to spend the night with him, considering he's a very handsome young man. He would rather spend his time eating, sleeping, and enjoying his time in Whitebeards crew than having sex, he doesn't see it that way because he has zero clue what sex is, he's fairly educated, and he most definitely has seen a few things by pure accident in various towns, not that he made a big deal out of it, he just scurries away.

He's a virgin, and hardly masturbates, his mind is always preoccupied with other matters. That being said, what turns him on?

Ace doesn't exactly have a type, but if he were to display any sexual interest in anybody, the sense of romance would have to appear first. He's scared of hurting those he loves, so you have to be super strong to ensure that you won't die and leave him with unfulfilled dreams of love. He doesn't care what they identify as, his lover needs to have strength that could crush rookie pirates dreams.

When he masturbates, he likes to be in a dark, quiet place, he is mildly embarrassed at the fact he's touching himself sometimes, so he tries to keep quiet. Without a partner or a crush, he doesn't feel himself wanting more than just five minutes or so with his hand every other month when he feels a little bit pent up. Ace is such a sweet boy, but once he develops romantic feelings for you, he finds himself thinking of you one too many times during those few minutes alone, and eventually his romantic feelings bring wanting and longing for more than simple, sweet love.

Because he's just so sweet, he feels ashamed of his feelings for you at first. He can't stand the way he feels, it's not like he's some some pervert, right? Could he even pursue a relationship with you? He likes to think he's mature, calm, and cool, but on the inside he's still pretty immature.

If he's gonna lose his virginity, it's gonna be a while after you two start dating, he isn't with you for sex, that's for sure. Again, sex is the least of his worries, so you would have to approach the topic yourself, because, trust me, it's gonna save you a lot of time and suffering from waiting for him to make a move. He's a proper gentleman with you no matter what, and he makes up for his inexperience with his eagerness to please.

His losing his virginity is something he would have never imagined. So, who knew he would like you touching his body so much? Seriously, he finds out way too quickly that there's no way he could have achieved such a pleasure all by himself. The most physical contact he gets from others nowadays is a pat on the back from the other commanders, maybe a handshake or two, and other than that, it's just him being punched upon various other things.

To lose his virginity and indulge himself in fine dining (you) , he embodies his mature side, and decides to have a discussion with you.

Red-Haired Shanks.

Shanks? A virgin? He lost his virginity a long time ago, and that's probably why he's so confident. I don't think he has a single insecure bone left in his body by the time he's 20. He doesn't need one, anyways, the boy inherited Dark King Rayleigh's charms as if he were his son, and sometimes it's super annoying. He isn't a complete fuckboy, but he definitely got around a lot when he was a young man, but after ten years of constant hookups, be it women, men, or anybody not on the spectrum, he made the decision to settle down... Mostly because one of his old flings had a small pregnancy scare and he was horrified.

Shanks is pretty experienced, to put it simply, he knows how to put his charms to good use, how to get anybody to drop their pants after a nice long flirting session, or, if they aren't the type for casual hookups, after a sweet date.

That being said, he prefers having intercourse over masturbation, actually, I do not believe he has used his own hand to please himself in... Many years. But, as previously mentioned, even a man like him manages to settle down. Shanks, like Ace, would only manage with a lover who would be strong enough to impress his crew, that being said, if you want him to genuinely love you for anything besides your body, you have to play hard to get. (Was that term used correctly? It's 2 am)

He is a natural flirt, so charismatic it's scary. So when you reject his advances, he is very taken aback, and it fuels his sexual fantasies. He would burn through many of women, trying to get rid of this pure sexual frustration he feels every second you're near, and for a moment he was considering begging you to atleast let him see your naked body. But, after a month or two, he lays in bed, staring up at the ceiling, the smell of someone's body spray melted into his red hair, and he feels something other than lust for you. Actually, he was sure it was always there, but maybe he was too foolish to notice or see it.

Cue him asking you out, being absolutely overjoyed when he gets to call you his, wedding bells ringing in his head. (Though he is a pirate, and cannot have his marriage recognized legally)

You shortly realize he is more terribly perverse than he let on.

Shameless groping, dirty whispers, excessive nudity (though, if it was shanks, I'm sure nobody would mind👀) and lots and loootsss of advances. He is obviously willing to stop if you dislike such things, though.

Shanks never really saw himself loving someone outside of sex, but now that he is alive and loving, he just can't stop. But, of course, the pervert is itching to screw you, though he isn't purely thinking of sex, the thought pops up constantly and it makes the palm of his hand itch. He wants your first time to be special, but the longer he waits, the more he wants it, the more he dreams of it, the more he just can't help but stare at you when you straighten your back, following the curve of your spine down to your... He is very obviously staring.

During intercourse, Shanks prefers to top, but he's not a stone top by any means, he likes to switch maybe once a month, his all time favorite position? Prone bone. Watching you lay in bed on your stomach has him drooling, and he might as well be rabid because he absolutely will be plotting, asking you to stay that way while he straddles you, offering a seemingly innocent back massage... It was, in fact, not.

Benn Beckmann

Benn Beckmann is the man women and men alike dream about. He isn't a virgin, that's for sure.

I mean... He's an older man, he has quite a bit of experience, and I think, contrary to popular belief, he chases women a lot more than his captain. Beck is more often than not chatting up a pretty lady anytime the red-haired pirates dock at an island, a whole crew of whores, they are. I wouldn't be surprised if a few of the crew have screwed the same person before... Beck has a story about that involving Shanks and somebody else, and it may or may not have ended in a threesome, but that's simply what the rumors say.

He is one of the red-haired pirates, and he isn't completely devoid of sentiment or some oddly nonchalant guy, he has feelings, wants, and needs too, his mental health wouldn't keep up on the crew of partygoers if he was so uptight. Beck doesn't like to lust over people unless they show the same type of interest in him; don't get me wrong because he does find people attractive and he is not at all feeling guilty for eyeing a pretty piece of eye candy or even whistling at someone every once in a while, he doesn't want to imagine screwing every good looking person he sees is all.

He is a big man, he looks like he could snap somebody in half with a singular flex of his bicep, not to mention he's the first mate of an emperor of the sea; Beck is just as strong as Shanks, and as the red-haired pirates gain power and fame, he finds himself a little more pent up, though people flock to him so he doesn't complain much. Who doesn't want a man like him in their bed, anyways?

Though, he does please himself from time to time, of course. He opens the drawer of his desk full of magazines, takes his pick and gets straight to work, ensuring the door is locked. He's getting straight to the point, dropping his pants down to his ankles whilst leaning back in the chair he's in, closing his eyes to take in the moment. It isn't too frequent, and it's not a big deal if he can't find some time to himself, he knows somebody else will always make time for him, anyways.

Beck has a high libido, and has taken a liking to pretty ladies in particular, but that doesn't mean his taste involves one gender exclusively, of course, he's happy to take somebody to bed if they look good enough. Concerning romantic relationships, he doesn't really see any of that happening, his life is full of freedom and adventure, he's merely tied down to his crew and he prefers to keep it that way.

But... if he just so happened to develop romantic feelings for you, it would happen one of three ways. Maybe you two had a bit of a friends with benefits relationship, you being one of the red-haired pirates making it easier for you two to meet up for nightly trysts; Or maybe you happened to be a friend of Shanks, perhaps during his time on Rogers crew, maybe you were rivals, or maybe just plain old friends, a friend of his captains is a friend of his. Maybe he's fucking you nearly every day and night, and his feelings got a little out of hand one somewhere along the way... Either way, it was pretty easy for lust to turn into love and infatuation.

Beck was wary of welcoming you into his heart, but he did so, and he rushed over you like a heavy flood. He isn't acting like he was in heat, like his captain would with his significant other, he prefers to love you quietly, but of course his hand would slip lower down your back every once in a while and completely dwarf your ass as he groped you, holding his cigarette in his teeth as he exhaled the smoke from his mouth. He's definitely an ass man.

When it comes to thinking of having sex with you, he's a little nervous. He's respectful to all his hookups, and he is very confident in that aspect but he is absolutely ginormous and he doesn't wanna split you in two in the literal sense. It will hurt for sure, he knows that, you're gonna whine and cry out all night long, he knows that too, but he wants you, and he knows you want him, as your lover, he begins to discuss it with you as casually as he can, his voice smooth and maybe a little rough during the entire ordeal.

He makes his move after a sweet date, loving on you all night and kissing you all the way back to his bedroom, mostly because he hadn't taken anybody there before, and he wanted your first time with him to be special.

Monkey D. Luffy.

Luffy could not care less about nudity, and he cares even less about sex. In Alabasta, the only reason he even reacted to Nami flashing him was because Usopp was there, and Luffy really didn't mind seeing Hancock's naked body.

He has never considered jerking off a day in his life, nudity is just a part of life for him, you got your pants off? That's cool. Just for the fun of it, he's nude. Tits out? His are already out most of the time so it's no big deal. (You can tell I'm having fun with this.)

He's not sure he could fall in love, all he desires is freedom. His lover doesn't need strength, as long as they're kind and they share the same moral code as him, he's overjoyed! He probably will convince them to join his crew, despite being clueless on sex, he has a... Slight understanding of romance, he thinks.

After falling in love with you and feeling various different things with you, he very quickly realizes that he feels a different kind of heat in his body that isn't his rapidly beating heart or his stomach fluttering, which, could also be his stomach growling, but that's besides the point. He's clueless, when Dadan tried to give Ace, Sabo, and him "the talk" he was so grossed out he ran off, leaving Ace in the dust. So, all he knew was that he had a dick, and literally nothing else, so if you're afab, you have to explain stuff to him. When Luffy feels that heat creep into his skin, coursing through his veins, it all rushes to one place.

His shorts feel tight, to the point it's painful, and it's even worse when his eyes land on you. His stomach aches, well, he thinks it does, it feels weird, and that's all he knows. He actually ends up talking to Sanji, the expert in erotica... Or so he says. Now, he's got a pretty good grasp on his sexuality, and he wants to try having sex with you. He doesn't sugarcoat it, doesn't really plan something intricate, he'll walk up to you while you're doing whatever, and he's gonna blurt it out in that same casual tone he has when he says "I'm hungry" , and he might just embarrass you infront of his crew.

"Wanna have sex?" Oh boy, do you.

END.

likes and reblogs are very much appreciated! ❤️

[apersonnamedel]

Something I would like to point out while rewatching HTTYD2 that I think is very interesting and also not at all talked about is this.

HTTYD2 brings lots and I mean LOTS of parallels whether they are visual or spoken but the one I hear spoken about the most is between Hiccup and Valka and them not killing a dragon. Even the movie tries to make this seem like a parallel. They bring it up even!

“Ehh it runs in the family.” Hiccup says after the flashback scene.

But something I noticed is that it is not a parallel. Mainly because of a few key things. It’s more almost perpendicular. They head in the same direction and they have the same realization, then go in complete opposite directions.

Valka runs away. A key part of her character I’ve noticed while I’ve been writing my analysis of her is that she oozes of cowardice and willful ignorance. Now that doesn’t mean she’s a bad person, it simply means that she ran away and chose to stay away. But that’s not the main reason I brought this up.

Remember the flashback where they draw attention to how similar Hiccup and Valka are? They talk about it in a very specific way.

They bring attention to two points. Both of them looked into a dragons eye and saw themself. Then they both didn’t kill a dragon. They show this as some kind of parallel. Maybe to show that Hiccup has someone who understands him, maybe to add a bit of layering to the first movie and how he’s just like her.

But it’s not a parallel.

What’s the difference in this scene?

One dragon is tied up.

One isn’t.

It’s a matter of choice.

“You and your father nearly died that night. All because I couldn’t kill a dragon.” Quote Valka.

“300 years and I’m the first Viking who wouldn’t kill a dragon.” Quote Hiccup.

Hiccups statement STILL rings true. Valka had no choice in if she wanted to kill Cloudjumper or not. That’s why I brought up Valka’s cowardice. Valka was in a trapped house with an injured newborn and an unbound dragon 5x her size. She was in the middle of a raid with people all around. Stoick was around the corner. She simply couldn’t kill the dragon. It wasn’t a matter of would or wouldn’t.

Hiccup on the other hand was alone in a forest with a tied up dragon. He made the decision to not kill Toothless. He wouldn’t. Because he absolutely could have killed Toothless.

“I was a coward. I was weak. I wouldn’t kill a dragon.”

“You said wouldn’t that time.”

This scene (in my own opinion) is meant to show that Hiccup was never the hiccup. He was never a coward. He wasn’t weak. It’s meant to be ironic.

Hiccup let go one of the most dangerous dragons in the world and it was brave. He went against his culture, his tribe because he thought it was the right thing to do.

That’s where Valka and Hiccups story become perpendicular. Hiccup was brave. Valka was a coward.

Hiccup chose not to run away. He chose to change their minds. He thought their minds could change.

Valka ran away. She didn’t listen and didn’t think change was possible. She held this belief until Hiccup comes along.

Valka’s path is where she believes that dragons are more than they seem. Then, “This wasn’t a viscous beast, but an intelligent gentle creature whose soul, reflected my own.” She has the revelation. Then she runs away and stays away. Now she had her own reasons and I am very much phrasing this in a biased way but it’s meant to show a point. She stays away and doesn’t change much. Because she couldn’t kill a dragon.

Hiccups path is where he does not see much to dragons. He wants to kill one to be accepted into the village. He shoots down Toothless and- “Everything we know about you guys, is wrong.” Or- “I looked at him and saw myself.” Hiccup and Valka’s paths cross here. But Hiccup doesn’t run away and he changes Berk’s mind. Because he wouldn’t kill a dragon.

Anyways I think that’s about it for that topic and I think it should be discussed more! Because if you really think about it, there are almost no parallels in Valka and Hiccup. And if there are, it isn’t well executed enough that it leaves a strong impact. I definitely will talk about this more but it’s late and I crave sleep.

[starcurtain]

A Closer Look at the Phaidei Memory

I've seen so many people talking about this scene with Phainon and Mydei and making fun of how blatantly obvious Phainon is about his... respect for Mydei's... conspicuous body, but one thing I feel like a lot of people missed (or at least I haven't seen anyone discussing) is that this memory seems to come from very early on in their acquaintance.

Looking at it closely, it's clear that the two aren't particularly familiar with each other yet in this memory sequence. For one, Phainon questions things that he should easily know if he was well-acquainted with Mydei already.

First, very comically: "Do you even bathe, bro?"

And second, Phainon questions why Mydei isn't immune to the black tide:

This suggests that, up to the point of this memory, Phainon had not been in enough battles with Mydei (or at least close enough to Mydei) to see him be affected by the black tide. Apparently, this memory-Phainon-and-Mydei don't have years of rushing into battle side-by-side to defend Okhema yet.

It's also hilariously clear that the Phainon in this memory has absolutely no idea how to talk to Mydei.

Breaking this scene down, it's literally Phainon just trying really hard to strike up conversation, doing his best to try to crack the tough exterior and get Mydei to actually interact with him. He jumps around through topics rapidly--the baths, the black tide, their personal sparring--looking for anything that will catch Mydei's attention.

Meanwhile, we can tell that Mydei is not particularly familiar or comfortable with Phainon yet because his dialogue is so different from any of his other scenes in the game. Although Mydei is obviously not the game's biggest yapper, he does always have full sentences to contribute to other conversations and banters readily with Phainon whenever he's baited into it.

In this memory, he instead starts off polite but also completely aloof:

This is the exact sort of response you'd have to a vague acquaintance coming up and trying to talk to you like you're best friends. Phainon skipped at least four steps of familiarity here, and Mydei is obviously at a loss for why the conversation is even happening.

He responds by blatantly stonewalling, answering Phainon's (slightly pathetic) attempts to start an actual conversation in nothing but single word answers:

You can even see Phainon recognize how bad he's failing half way through the conversation, which prompts him to vocally declare that he's going to make a complete topic switch:

And this time, it works!

When Phainon brings up their personal duel or spar, whichever it was, finally, finally Mydei caves and engages in the conversation with him:

Which prompts Phainon to laugh (in relief? lol) and flat out crow about how he's finally cracked the code and figured out how to get Mydei to notice him:

Poor Mydei, however, did not seem to realize his slight display of interest was going to lead him into a full conversation, and he responds to Phainon's blatant invitation to keep talking with a confused:

Witness Mydei accidentally turning down Phainon's request for a date in real time.

The only thing that complicates the situation is what Phainon says late in the memory: that they've battled "all this time." However, looking at his earlier comments, this last statement may just be in a general sense, as in "two Chrysos Heirs who have been fighting the titans for years," especially as the rest of the line "How do you train? Would you consider teaching me?" once again indicates a lack of close familiarity.

(It's also possible this line is just poorly translated in English, and was actually meant to refer to their legendary ten-day-long duel: "We battled all that time, yet I never saw you fatigued." Given the rest of the lines in the memory, I think "dodgy translation" honestly makes the most sense here, and would also just have really funny implications: Phainon and Mydei didn't fall in love at first sight; they fell in comically-long-duel at first sight. Okay, maybe for Phainon it was both.)

Phainon's earlier statements in the memory make it clear that he isn't very experienced with fighting Mydei specifically, with the overall implication of the dialogue being that they've just had their first duel against each other recently:

So anyway, where I am going with all this?

I know a lot of people got distracted by Phainon's (accidental?) pass at Mydei in the first line, but I think taking a step back and looking at the scene as a whole, in context, makes it even more hilarious and off-the-cuff:

Phainon and Mydei aren't well-acquainted in this scene.

Phainon literally walked up on a guy he barely knows and the first words that fell out of his mouth were "Dan Nicky your bobbies." "I would know that body anywhere."

Even Mydei was weirded out at first!

Like, Phainon has absolute foot-in-mouth syndrome around his new "friend." He spends the whole conversation narrating his own attempts to communicate ("Ah, I see I am unwanted. Instead of leaving, I shall try another tactic. Is it working yet?" and "Yes, yes, yes, it worked!") like this is a remotely normal thing to do around a person you're not even close with yet.

You can see his puppy tail wagging. He wants to be friends with Mydei so bad.

He is actively making up excuses to try to get Mydei to spend time with him here--first the comment about "Yay, you're here!" at the baths like he expects them to bathe together, then the whole "Why don't we go somewhere and have a long conversation about the insights we gained from rolling around in the dirt together?" to finally just flat out asking Mydei to train with him.

It's so charmingly earnest, straightforward, and even a bit awkward that I think this scene is really under-rated by the fans. It's not just another example of Phainon commenting on Mydei's muscles--it's a glimpse into what they were like before they were close and just how much Phainon wanted to connect to Mydei, how willing he was to explore to discover exactly what Mydei would be interested in so that he could seize that common ground between them.

Really a masterclass in showing us fans characterization right on the cusp of changing, and for showcasing both Phainon's charming audacity and Mydei's surprisingly-reserved-around-strangers behavior.

And, since we know the future that memory-Phainon-and-Mydei are headed toward... we also know it worked! Mydei is smiling by the end of the conversation! He and Phainon are going to become vitriolic best buds--er, rivals--and Phainon is going to get all the spars he wants.

Persistence pays off!

[celestiaras]

‧₊˚✧ ❛[ bring your baby downtown (go cheerleader!) ]❜

━━━ .°˖✧ requested by anonymous ˚₊ ⊹

ft. rumi (+ jinu) x f! reader — kpop demon hunters

╰₊✧ fans think you and jinu are together, and rumi is not happy about it┊1.6k words

contains: jealousy, crazy fans, hard-launching a relationship

➤ author's note: ahhh i feel like i could have executed this better and also it's a little off prompt so sorry T-T (happy last day of pride month homophobia doesn’t exist here)

“i just don’t get why fans are shipping them!” rumi shouted in frustration as she delivered a strong kick to the face of the demon. “they sit next to each other at one event to follow the seating chart, and all of a sudden, they’re the next kpop ‘it’ couple— what’s the logic behind that?!”

“okay, but are fans really shipping them together, or did you just see someone on twitter say they would look cute together? there’s a difference.”

“no, like people are really shipping them together! they have an official ship name and everything— there’s like a thousand edits of them to love songs on tiktok and like… a couple dozen fics of them on ao3…”

“god damn it!”

perhaps having this discussion while fighting underworld creatures wasn’t the best idea, being both the wrong time and place, but the vocalist needed to get this off her chest once she found out about it. it was so preposterous and wrong in her mind that she had to do a triple take before it really sunk in what she was reading. 

it’s been exactly one week since that day when you met the black-haired leader of the saja boys at an event, only interacting because you both were following the seating charts and happened to be placed next to each other. there was nothing special or different about it compared to when you’re talking to other celebrities, yet in some way that she couldn’t even fathom, people started thinking that both of you would make the cutest pairing. 

she was at the event as well, but couldn’t quite see what the two of you were up to from a distance aside from being friendly. when the footage came out in a better quality than her eyesight, she rewatched the footage over and over again, watching like a hawk at all the little microexpressions and doing her best to read your lips to figure out where this assumed chemistry originated from, but she came to the conclusion that it just doesn’t exist and that the fans were being straight up delusional.

that man has been the bane of her existence in every way possible ever since he entered her life. first he tries to steal her fans with his industry plant boy group, then he tries to blackmail her with her biggest secret, and now he’s trying to steal away her girlfriend! she brings up the topic incessantly every time they have their secret meetings, and no matter what he swears or how often he plays innocent, she doesn’t believe for a second that he doesn’t also have feelings for you. it’s all in the little things, how he stutters and blushes red at the mention of you and how fans thought you two were the cutest— god, she hates him!

“you do realize that people think you’re jealous of her and not him, right? they noticed you staring at them the entire time the awards were being given out and think you’re all in some sort of love triangle.”

“why would they even think that? i don’t even like jinu on a base level! he’s a demon who’s clearly trying to take advantage of our unsuspecting fans— how do people think that i’m into him instead of her?! i thought it was obvious i liked girls— my instagram profile picture literally shows me wearing eyeliner in the colors of the bi flag!”

“either way, you can’t really change what the fans think. don’t let it get to you too much, she would never pick him over you.”

mira was right. you can’t be stolen away when you didn’t have an ounce of romantic interest in him and had your heart set on her, but she still can’t help but fume like a steaming kettle every time she goes on her phone to find her entire ‘for you’ page covered photos (both real and edited) of that stupid demon next to her girlfriend with hearts in the captions. 

the worst part is that you didn’t have the foggiest idea what was going on. as one of the most well-known soloists in the hemisphere, you preferred to stay away from social media and possible hate comments or crazy fans that would impact your mental health. your management took care of your social media and promotions as well as informing you about public perception, so you were fortunate enough to be able to focus on yourself, your songwriting, practicing choreography, and spending time with rumi. 

rumi, who has been acting a little strange over the past few days. she thought you wouldn’t have noticed because you were busy with the debut of a new single, but you certainly did and was confused about her sudden change in behavior. she’s more clingy and possessive, yet refuses to admit that there was something bothering her. mira and zoey also wouldn’t tell you anything, but judging by their hesitance, you suspected that she had told them not to say anything either.

with the lack of mutual friends who knew about your very private relationship, you somehow ended up meeting with jinu for coffee. you aren’t exactly sure if she let it slip to him or if he managed to figure it out on his own, but either way, he knew about it and offered an outsider's perspective on what you could do about the situation. 

little did you know, even though you both were wearing sunglasses and hoodies, there was someone who recognized you and snapped a candid photo of you two entering the cafe together. it’s only a casual outing between friends without a hint of anything romantic to get advice for your actual relationship, people took the picture and ran with it, coming up with their outlandish speculations of it being a date and believing that your latest song about finding true love was dedicated to him. 

that was the final straw for rumi, and she soon hatched a plan on how to hard-launch your relationship in a way that left no room for interpretation. there wasn’t going to be any ‘close friends’ or ‘sisters’ theories with this, they were going to know. normally, she prefers to keep these things private, but she refused to have fans misled about who you were really linked to.

“are you sure this is a good idea? it’s gonna put everyone in a frenzy.”

“right? like this is gonna be in the history books!”

“i’m sure, it’s gonna be perfect.”

this plan was bold and possibly a bit irrational, but she knew it would work out perfectly in the end. it didn’t take too long to think of, all it needed was a single action and a ton of confidence, and the perfect setting to execute it was at one of the up-and-coming annual award ceremonies for the best musicians in the nation where you were going to be announcing the winners and nominees.

she was more nervous about this secret plan than anything, evident in how she was constantly fiddling with the hem of her dress and how her posture wasn’t as completely straight as it usually was. it made the usual jitters from all the flashing cameras and mini-interviews by photographers seem like child’s play, so she was very grateful towards mira and zoey for letting her lean on them. 

out of the corner of her eye, she could see you socializing with the others in a gorgeous satin midi dress, being absolutely dazzling with that smile of yours that attracted everyone to you like bees to honey. everyone including those damn saja boys, particularly jinu who had all the cameras flashing blindingly whenever he got too close to you. the sight made her bite the inside of her cheek and pout, but she wouldn’t let it bother her even though the thought of it was pissing her off during the entire duration of the event. she’s going to keep her cool this time, and no one would be able to study her reactions and make assumptions about what she was thinking when the live recording is eventually uploaded. 

“and this year’s winner for ‘artist of the year’ goes to…” you paused dramatically for special effect, opening the golden envelope to peek inside. there wasn’t a doubt in your mind who it would be, and you couldn’t help the feeling of pride that bloomed in your heart, “rumi, zoey, and mira of huntrix!”

the crowd let out a round of applause as the trio joined you on the stage, zoey doing a little skip and dance to she received the award before doing their touching minute-long speech of a lot of thanks and gratitude to their fans and those who have helped them along the way.

as rumi stepped away from the center, she took a deep breath, and instead of stepping off like she was supposed to, she pulled you in for a kiss on the lips before drawing in close to use the microphone attached to your headset, “she’s my girlfriend, by the way!” 

a simple statement and a kiss, nothing too passionate, just something small and tender, but the entire audience gasped in surprise before erupting in chaos (the good kind of chaos, the one with cheering and people screaming various things in support). 

you were clearly confused and laughed, “of course, i am, who else’s girlfriend would i be?”

“you’re so chronically offline, i’ll tell you about it later.”

the news was like wildfire for the next few days while you both stayed away from the public eye to let it die down. most fans had jumped off the ship of you and jinu and were happily boarding the one of you and rumi, letting it sail at full speed and pouring in all of their support of your newly revealed relationship as you both quickly took the crown as kpop’s newest ‘it’ couple.

request:

May I PUHLEASE request a Jealous!Rumi x Fem!Soloist!Reader? The reader is a well-known soloist who somehow was being shipped with Jinu despite having absolutely no interaction with him at all. And of course, Rumi starts acting up, showing subtle hostility towards Jinu for another reason other than because he's a demon who clearly means harm upon their beloved fans. Mira and Zoey, along with their many fans starts to think that it was because she was jealous of the reader. But what they don't know is behind those empty stares lies hidden affection which they only lay bare when they're alone. They've been in a secret relationship for a few years now, and they've hidden it well. But after the rumors that started about the reader and Jinu where they were supposedly seen having a romantic date, and another rumor that stated that the reader's latest song was dedicated to Jinu, Rumi finally decided to take matters into her own hands. So during an awarding where idols were to gather on stage, after receiving their award, Rumi immediately marches up to the reader, and in front of everyone, she pulls her into a searing kiss then walks away like she hadn't just staked her claim and smudged the reader's perfectly applied lipstick. It ends with the reader jokingly and shyly apologizing with: "Forgive my girlfriend's behavior. It's her way of throwing a tantrum." (I apologize if this too damn long, I wanted it to be detailed for you🥲)

[deadsetobsessions]

Danny laid across his throne, legs planted across the left arm of the ornate chair and back pressed uncomfortably against the right.

"Listen," Danny started, letting his head flop to the side as he glared at a hovering Observant. "This meeting has wasted enough of my time. You all have been arguing for hours and that's without Clockwork slowing things down."

"Your Majesty, this is a matter of great importance. Belial means to overthrow and rule my-our world!"

"I am distinctly aware aware of that," Ancients, Danny couldn't wait to go home and rid himself of the formal speech he'd had to adopt in order to be taken seriously. Well, as seriously as he cared to be taken when sprawled across his throne instead of sitting on it intimidatingly or something. He slowly placed his gaze on the suddenly still demon sitting across from him. "Yet you've proposed fifteen different plans that were all unviable for whatever reasons you've cooked up. Your conclusion is that I must step in. Does your world not have heroes to take care of it?"

The demon- another lord of hell from this Belial’s universe- fell silent.

“Ah. But if they do, they would also take care of you.”

“No- no, that’s not-”

Danny allowed his voice to drop to the artic freeze he knew his core was capable of. "I opened these these doors to allow all of you to present me with reasonable concerns regarding your own universes and realms. What is not on the table for discussion is your petty politics. Do you think I am unaware of your intentions in tattling to me? That I do not know you are trying to use me to further your own position?"

"Your Majesty, I-" The demon growled out, fear slowly coating its expression.

"It no longer amuses me. You think that I am young and easy to manipulate." Danny froze the demon to its chair. It tried to break free, but Danny isn't the High King of the Infinite Realms for nothing. "Bring to me a miserable problem like this ever again, one that could be easily solved if you used even a smidgen of your intelligence, and you will find exactly how I tore Pariah Dark from his throne."

Not that Danny knew how he did it either, he just did it.

"Yes, Your Majesty. My-my apologies."

The room is dead (Danny patted himself on the back for the pun) silent. Some of the Ancients looked bored, like Clockwork who knew Danny would never hurt them, but everyone else looked close to crying. He held eye contact with the demon until it looked away.

When Danny settled back into the throne and allowed his ice to dissipate, the room let out a collective sigh of relief.

"The next item on the agenda is another demon, by the name of Trigon." Clockwork announced, the large piece of paper comically huge next to his currently toddler-like body.

"Another?"

He flicked an amused look at the previous demon, who kept his trap firmly shut.

"He is attempting to take over multiple worlds in an attempt to conquer the universe. I had thought you would be interested in this one, Your Majesty, as he plans to begin with Earth 135."

Danny stilled. That was his Earth. His haunt.

"Does he know of the Realms?"

"Vaguely, I believe."

"Then he should know the rules. I will wait to see if my Earth's heroes are capable to step to the task."

Danny would be a hypocrite if he doesn’t let the heroes of his Earth try first, even if he is one of those heroes.

"Of course," Clockwork grinned at him, fully aware of the shit Danny's about to stir back home. Ah, the wonders of being able to influence the time stream. Perhaps the young Ghost King will finally get some friends, and maybe get those pesky speedsters to stop making his jobs so hard. Cujo yipped at Danny as the King begrudgingly moved onto the next topic.

——

Raven shuddered as she watched the footage of her "brothers" laughing while steering their human "meatbags" around. She turned back to the giant circle of donated blood and herb filled candles.

“This is a nuclear option, don’t you think?” Green Arrow mumbled, clearly not against it by the half hearted way he’d said it. The Star City billionaire nursed his cracked ribs.

“No,” she floated over to where Zatanna and Constantine kneeled, trying to see if they needed help with the inscriptions. “Trigon is coming soon, and my brothers will no doubt find their way here in a moment. We are out of time.”

“Yeah. Plus, we don’t want Raven to be turned into a portal.” Garfield piped up, switching animal forms rapidly.

“No one dies.” Red Robin muttered. His wrist computer was open, monitoring the surroundings of the open field they found themselves uneasily occupying. Batman grunted in affirmation, eyeing the tree line. Every hero except the magical ones were on look out, preparing themselves for one more battle against the two demons that were trying to take Raven and force her into becoming a portal.

“Hey guys, we might want to hurrythisupbecausethey’re kind of close!” Impulse slammed into the room.

“Done.” Zatanna got up, motioning for everyone to step back. In Superman’s case, he floated back.

“Too bad you won’t get to use it,” a voice drawled, dripping with malice and the screams of a thousand souls.

“Come now, little sister. Why fight fate? Be grateful father has deigned to spare you. If not for your dirty blood being useful, you would be dead, little sister. Give up, before our patience runs out alongside the lives of your little pets.” Another, mocking, voice gleefully rumbled.

Raven would rather gouge out her own heart than to claim these two as any type of family.

“You won’t touch them.” Raven snarled, powers rising even as the marks on her body burned a painful red.

“Buy us some time!”

With that, the group of beaten and battered heroes rose to clash against just two demons, for a chance to save their world.

——

The Circle crackled. Danny felt a tug on his core. He followed the thread of the summoning. Oh. It was his haunt. Earth 135. Hm. It tasted of blood. Desperation? A hint of anticipation. Oh, an overload of fear. Could use some more hope, but Danny understood that it was rather hard to season these kinds of summonings with hope.

“Stop.” Danny commanded, straightening in his chair.

“Sire, we have more-”

“There is an issue with my haunt,” with that, he followed the summons.

——

“Ugh,” was the first thing everybody on the frozen battlefield heard. The demons had smacked away many of the heroes, but they all turned as one when the circle lit up a bright green. “Why do you people always use blood? I’m dead, I don’t need any more iron!”

A boy

Raven’s eldest brother let out a hideous rumble. “You fools tried to summon the king, and you got a dead boy. And now, you’ve doomed another.”

Constantine looked resigned, and regretful. “I am so, so sorry,” he whispered. It was just a kid. John might be a lot of things, but even he found summoning dead kids for demons to devour was just a step too far. “Shite, we got the wrong fucking-”

“Hey, man, that’s rude,” the boy snapped back, waving John off.

“Brother, kill the whelp.”

“I vote on not killing the whelp. Not killing at all, really,” the boy stepped out of the massive blood circle, wrinkling his nose at the drying stains.

“This is not one of your pesky democracies, fool.”

In response, the demons lunged at him, ignoring the screams of the surrounding heroes as they shoved their human arms through the boy’s stomach.

“So,” the boy continues, “I heard your dad was after my haunt?”

“Your haunt, whelp? This earth shall be his! And through him, ours!” Raven slammed against the demons with her power, shadows enlarging and tossing them away from the unharmed… ghost boy?

“Is it?”

——

Wow, these demons are so rude. Normally, it’d be a breath of fresh air compared to the stuffy halls of his throne room. But since they’re attacking his haunt…

“Thanks. You’re… Raven, right?”

Raven nodded, arms outstretched in concentration as she held her brothers back.

“You have to go. We’re- we’re sorry you got pulled into this, but it’s not safe here.”

“Eh. It’s cool. You don’t have to do that anymore, by the way.” Danny stepped forward once more, green skin shifting and gliding as everything about him sharpened. He flew at the demons piloting the human shells, catching them around the necks and dragging the demons out of their stolen bodies. The threw them even further away as he floated in the air, a beacon of green and white. Raven thought it looked like hope.

“My name is Phantom, the High King of the Infinite Realms,” let it be known that Danny always had an eye for dramatic entrances. He shifted into something more off, more eldritch, more kingly. The crown flared to life above his head. “You have invaded my haunt. You have challenged me. What do you plead?”

“You’re not-” they said.

“Wrong answer,” Danny flew at them once more, body contorting into something undeniably terrorizing, his maw unhinging and crunching down on the demons with a sound that made the present heroes cringe.

“Ugh,” Danny grunted, turning back and floating peacefully to the group of heroes- Tucker and Sam would be so stoked he met Wonder Woman and Batman!- and chewed rapidly. He shifted back into his normal form. “Eating demons always leaves me with indigestion. And their bones get everywhere up in my teeth!” Danny pulled out a giant femur looking bone from his mouth, despite it not logically fitting in there.

“Right. No eating demons, solid life advice.” Red Robin said.

“Right? So, you’re Raven! It’s nice to meet you! Think you can summon your dear ol’ dad for me?”

“But we summoned you to stop Trigon, not help him come here.” Superman said, frowning.

“One! That summoning circle is wack. Those things you piled up as offerings? Mid. Also, if you thought you could control me with those terribly written spells, you’re dead wrong. And yes, I am making puns about death.” Danny jabs an aggressive finger towards the shabby circle.

“Have you considered that maybe not every being that can be summoned wants a shit ton of useless blood? Like what if I wanted food? And two, how am I supposed to beat up Trigon if he’s still stuck in the prison realm?”

“I have a cup of coffee,” Nightwing offered. “Kid Flash could probably get you food, right?”

“Yep, surethinganythingyouwantyourMajesty.”

“You wouldn’t catch me alive accepting food from a speedster. You people fuck up the timelines so much,” Danny grumbled, crunching on the last of Raven’s brothers. Raven thought she should probably sit down.

“But you’re dead.” Batman said, something about his voice catching the sharp attention of his protégés who all started making cutting motions at him.

“Fair,” Danny pointed at him, grinning. “I’ll take two pizza and Nightwing’s coffee as payment for taking care of your little demon overlord problem. Raven, summon your dad.”

——

Didn’t much like the characterization of this piece but it’s been in my drafts for a while and I needed it out

[sundrop-writes]

I'm Not Angry (Anymore)

George Weasley x Slytherin!Fem!Reader

I’m not angry… anymore. (Well, sometimes I am.)

I don’t think badly of you. Well - sometimes I do.

It depends on the day, the extent of all my worthless rage… 

I'm Not Angry (Anymore).

Part One: The Lion and The Serpent

Summary:

You and George have never been friends.

You have known him for a long time, and even if your schoolyard hatred toward him turned into hesitant co-operation during the War (still paired with mild annoyance), the two of you never became friends.

You working at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes is simply out of convenience for the both of you. And even if you can't bring yourself to leave the awful job, it's certainly not because of the weird attachment you have formed with one of your bosses.

You and George Weasley are definitely not friends.

George Weasley x Slytherin!Fem!Reader. Enemies to Lovers. Pre-Smut, Heavy Plot Build-Up, Romance. Set Post War.

Word Count: 29,900

Harry Potter Masterlist | AO3 Link | Series Masterlist

Full warnings list and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: the reader character goes by she/her pronouns and has a vagina (though as with most of my fics, most of the pronouns used throughout are you/yours); this fic does use Y/N and L/N (as in Last Name); there are no descriptions of the reader’s race, weight, hair colour, eye colour, or general looks other than a few statements about George being taller than the reader (and even then, it does not say how much taller he is than her and it does not state that she is ‘tiny’ or petite) - this is based off the idea that Oliver Phelps is 6 foot 2 and most people would be shorter than that by comparison; there is descriptions of the reader wearing very hyper feminine clothing, including skirts, dresses, and high heels (and it is stated that she wears high heels on a regular basis), and it's stated that she regularly wears makeup (I had a very specific clothing aesthetic in mind for this character, I couldn't help it); the reader is a Slytherin, and this fic explores the ‘evil Slytherin’ trope because the reader used to be somewhat of a bully but she joined Dumbledore’s Army during her time at Hogwarts and joined the Order of the Phoenix when she turned 17; the reader is the same age as Fred and George and was in their year (so DA took place during her seventh year and the Battle of Hogwarts took place when she was 19 or 20); the reader is a Pureblood and comes from a family that upholds typical Pureblood values - while she used to believe in those things (or was taught to) she broke away from her family and is not a Pureblood supremacist; the reader has a father and other unnamed family members who are Death Eaters, and clearly expected her to follow in their steps; this takes place three years after the Battle of Hogwarts (so the reader character is 23 or 24 in this fic, but you can imagine her to be whatever age you want her to be) - there is some discussion/explanation of the fallout from the War; even though Fred is not the love interest character, this is a ‘Fred Lives AU’ (I can’t put George through all that); this might be slightly OOC Fred - but I do think this is genuinely how Fred would react if one of his siblings had a crush on a Slytherin (the Weasleys can be petty); mentions of canon deaths (Cedric Diggory); there is some ACAB themes - the reader is wrongfully arrested (but George helps to keep her out of prison); George has some trauma over Fred almost being killed; general themes of trauma and PTSD (because both the reader and George fought in and experienced a war); the reader has trauma because she comes from an emotionally abusive and neglectful household (though there are no mentions of her ever being physically abused at home); alcohol and drinking - in this part, only the reader character gets drunk (in a flashback), and she gets drunk with the purpose of drowning out emotional pain, but this is only a one-time thing and she does not have a drinking problem; mentions of vomiting due to drunkenness (does not happen during the fic) (also general mentions of vomit because they sell Puking Pastilles at the shop - but it doesn’t happen during the fic and there’s no detailed descriptions of it); mentions of the reader being raised with House Elves and having a specific beloved House Elf; mentions of a snake being used to scare the reader (if you have a fear of snakes, this might trigger you, but it does turn out to be a rubber toy snake and not a real one); mention of the reader having to experience Umbridge’s canon torture (writing with the blood quill to the point where it slices her hand badly); there is mentions of the reader being right handed (her right hand is her wand hand and the hand she uses to write), so if you’re left-handed, sorry; something that could be considered forcible confinement - George handcuffs himself to the reader as a joke and loses the key, leaving them stuck together; I believe that is all for this section. The next part will have smut (a lot of it) - so don’t get attached to reading this story if you don’t like smut.

A/N: I know that I said this was going to be late, and I genuinely thought it was. But I was feeling a bit better today (even though I am still mostly feeling crappy) and I wanted to get it done so that I can take a break to rest before I start work on editing the next part. And I am really excited to see what people think of this so far, so please enjoy. I am obsessed with their dynamic, and I hope you love it just as much as I do!!!

...

“Um, excuse me, Miss?” 

You were distracted away from your work when someone called for your attention - you had been opening and unpacking a new box of Screaming Yo-Yos, but you put that aside for now. You looked up and put on your best (rather fake) customer service smile, the shelf in front of you still half empty, only halfway done as you abandoned it to help the customer. 

You rose up from your back-aching kneeling position on the floor and wiped your hands on your apron - an ugly, obnoxiously bright orange one with the Weasley W on the chest, your uniform. You were allowed to wear whatever clothes you wanted with it, but the colour easily ruined whatever outfit you tried to put together. A bit of public embarrassment to go along with the forced nicety that you had to participate in while doing the job. You straightened yourself to better speak to the person - a woman in her forties who most definitely wasn’t the regular clientele for the shop. 

“Yes?” You said, your voice bright in a very forced way, your fake smile continuing to beam toward her as she responded with a grin. 

“My son absolutely loves this kind of stuff, and I was wondering if this would be a good gift for his birthday?” She asked, gesturing toward a large fireworks display behind her. 

Your eyes wandered toward the obligatory ‘must be at least sixteen years old to purchase’ sign that the twins had put on the fireworks display. One that Professor Hermione Granger had been down their throats about adding (‘in a large, legible font’ she had specified). She had been very adamant about it after multiple of her First and Second Year students had nearly taken fingers off from lighting the fireworks and then holding onto them as they exploded, despite the clear instructions on the packaging. 

“How old is your son?” You asked, trying to sound politely curious rather than cautious. 

You knew better than to scare away a potential customer. You didn’t need Fred down your throat again about how your ‘sour attitude’ was driving away business. 

“He’s ten. About to turn eleven. I wanted to get him something for his big day.” She said, clearly beaming with pride. 

“Those are a bit, uh… advanced.” You said, choosing your words very carefully. “I think I know something much better for someone his age.” 

You put a gentle hand on her shoulder and guided her over to a section of products that the twins had recently come out with - animal themed masks with animated, moving features that made genuine, loud animal sounds when the wearer put them on. The eyes also blinked in time with your own eyes, and the mouth moved in time with your own speech behind the mask. 

They were a big hit with younger kids, especially for sneaking up behind people and scaring them with a loud sound. Even if you found the display to be loud and annoying, you did have to admit that it was adorable to see smaller kids put the masks on and get so excited to become their favourite animal. 

“Morph-O-Masks.” You said, motioning toward the display with an outstretched, showy arm that felt far too familiar of your red-haired bosses. They were rubbing off on you in a painfully obvious way. “They make genuine animal sounds, have moving tongues, eyes, and ears, and we just released a Hungarian Horntail-” 

“Oh my little Gareth would love this one,” 

The woman said, clearly excited, as she picked up the classic lion mask. It had a large, furry mane and the toothy mouth that opened wide to let out a loud, realistic roar. 

“He’s been hoping to get into Gryffindor, just like his father. I didn’t go to Hogwarts myself. I’m American, you see, so I went to Salem. But I moved here when my Walter proposed. And we had sweet little Gareth a few months later. Fat little baby, he was-” 

“That is our best seller,” You commented with a nod, trying to gently cut off the woman’s irrelevant rambling. 

“Thank you so much, dear.” The woman thanked you, and much to your internal annoyance - she then pulled you in for a tight hug. 

You rolled your eyes sharply over her shoulder, your fake smile dropping into a harsh scowl where she couldn’t see. As your annoyance toiled on, you were simply thankful when the hug lasted no more than a three count (because you were most definitely counting in your head). When she pulled away, you directed her to the cash register where Fred was waiting to check out the purchase and then you got back to stocking the yo-yos. 

Your thankfulness ended the moment you turned around and found the other twin waiting for you. George was lingering behind you, a shit-eating grin plastered across his face. 

“‘That’s our best seller’,” He repeated your words, mocking you in a girlish tone that did not at all sound like you. 

“Shut up,” You griped, rolling your eyes again, shoving your hands sharply into the pockets of your apron in order to resist the urge to hit him. 

You had to force yourself to remember that it wasn’t your school days anymore, and you couldn’t afford to lose your job as much as you could afford to lose a few house points back in the day. You had to control the petty nature of your temper much more now. 

“No, really, that was great.” He continued on, still grinning with an intense aura of satisfaction. 

It made you want to slap him. Not because you didn’t like to see him smiling, but because it felt like he was mocking you. You hated the way his smile curled humiliation into your gut, and you wanted that feeling gone. 

“You’re finally settling into the job now, eh?” He added on gleefully. 

“It’s work,” You shrugged, eager to end the conversation. 

You attempted to move around him to get back to unpacking the yo-yos - but with the isles cramped so tightly together and with his body so stupidly broad, he easily blocked your way, giving you a very punchable smirk as he purposefully stood in your way. Before you could squeeze around the other way, he leaned in closer, forcing you to take a step back as he moved to grab something off the Morph-O-Mask display. 

You hated that you caught a whiff of his cologne along the way, during the moment that you were a bit too close to him as he moved toward the display and you couldn’t move away fast enough. The scent was far too strong - a cedarwood and lavender combination that you hated, and even so, his hard day’s work was causing the slightest bit of sweat to seep through. It was truly awful.

(That’s what you told yourself, anyway.) 

“I see you still haven’t sold any of the serpents yet.” He chimed, holding up a scaly bright green serpent mask from the display. “If this was a house tournament, I would say that Gryffindor is winning,” 

You knew that it was no coincidence that the original line of masks had consisted of a golden yellow lion, a green serpent, a bronze eagle, and a black and white badger. The badger let out a very terrifying snarl and had rather creepy beady red eyes - which had to be the reason you hadn’t sold many of those, not due to any lack of loyalty from Hufflepuffs. 

It wasn’t your fault that kids were more attracted to the ones that came in the secondary release than they were to a simple round-headed serpent with a flicking tongue and a very dull hissing sound. They loved the different types of dragons, a spider with snapping fangs and dozens of eyes, even the black cat that purred and flicked its ears sold out more often than the serpent. 

Typically, you wouldn’t engage in such a stupid, childish conversation with George, but something had been on your mind considering the original four for a while. Especially when you thought about how many times you had to restock the lion mask in the few short weeks that the Morph-O-Mask line had been out. 

“Did you consider the inherent bias?” You posed, tilting your head at him. “This is a shop owned by two Gryffindors, therefore you are bound to have more Gryffindor customers - especially due to the time you two spent performing grassroots marketing back at Hogwarts, which primarily took place within Gryffindor Tower,” 

George’s face knit with intense thought as you explained this, and you were glad that for once, he was pensive and actually taking in your words, rather than cutting you off with some kind of joke. 

“And even if done unconsciously, you put more care and thought into the design of the lion mask, so it did turn out to be the best one.” You hated to admit it, but it was true. 

Between the quality of the fur and the intense daring beauty of the eyes - the way it raised its mouth and let out the deep intimidating roar - it was beautiful. The serpent - which was supposed to be a fellow predator - looked dull in comparison. 

“And it’s the one you’ve used primarily for marketing,” 

You pointed to the front window, where the lion mask was on a stand advertising the new product. The one in the window was charmed to open its mouth and roar every minute or so, putting on a show to bring people in and check it out. 

“It’s like you set up the serpent to fail.” You spoke with finality. “And then you blame it on a poor stock girl for not shilling it hard enough,” 

You ground intense sarcasm into your final words, taking the green mask from his hands and tossing it back onto the shelf with the large pile of its unsold brothers, finally skirting around him as he stood there shocked into silence. He was genuinely impressed by the amount of thought you had put into it. He finally snapped out of his shock by the time you had knelt back down beside the box of yo-yos, continuing to neatly stock the shelf with them. 

Of course, George wouldn’t leave the topic well enough alone. He turned around to bother you once again, coming to hover over you like a shadow while you worked. 

“Well, perhaps next time we should consult a Slytherin for further research and development,” He said, giving you a grin. “Especially one as thoughtful and intelligent as you.” 

“Let me know when you find one who’s willing to donate her time.” You replied, brisk and cool and entirely dismissive, grabbing the finally empty cardboard box from the yo-yos and shuffling back to the storage room. You were thankful to have an excuse to finally flee away from George, escaping the conversation. 

You were behind the thick wood of the storage room door by the time that George wandered over to the front counter, visibly sulking in front of Fred. 

“That was smooth.” Fred told him, entirely sarcastic. 

“Oi, that was the longest we’ve ever gone without her insulting me. I am making progress.” George replied, determination ultimately distinct in his voice. 

“Yeah, at this point, you’ll be going on your first date in your fifties and be married by the time I have grandchildren,” Fred joked, sounding proud of himself, even standing a bit taller to compliment his words. 

“You don’t even know if Angelina wants kids,” George argued easily, eager to navigate around the subject of his pathetic crush. 

“Yeah, but at least I know she wants me.” Fred nagged, putting emphasis on the word in a way that made George roll his eyes. “At least I’m not hung up on some stone cold Slytherin bit-” 

“Hey!” 

George chastised, knowing that he was somewhat hypocritical now because he would have easily hurled that kind of language at you during your school days. He was understanding when Fred heaved a sigh and shook his head in return. 

“Maybe I like cold.” George added on dully, still trying to justify himself to his brother. 

“Then go stick your cock in the freezer.” Fred sighed. “Maybe it’ll help you get over this nonsense so you can start seeing someone who’s actually good for you.” 

George didn’t say anything further, not wanting to waste his energy and words on trying to explain it to a brother who just couldn’t understand. There was no one else for him, no one else who lived in his heart - no one else but you. 

Even if you refused to look his way - he couldn’t look at anybody else but you. 

… 

Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. 

Part of you - well, most of you - had to wonder how the hell you ended up here. 

It had been three years since The Battle of Hogwarts. Three seemingly winding and endless but so very short years since the great Harry Potter had delivered the final blow to the dark side, killing Voldemort and for the most part, killing all the festering ideas that he represented. 

And not surprisingly, the entire Wizarding World was still very much in the process of healing, even years later. 

Many of Voldemort’s followers had fled Hogwarts in the wake of his defeat, and they had quickly gone into hiding or fled the country altogether, fleeing like cockroaches from the light rather than taking a stand without him there to lead them. Some of them were still being hunted down and persecuted for their crimes; internal investigations were still ongoing at the Ministry, looking into who was responsible for such a dark wizard even having a foothold to so easily take control of the government and even Hogwarts. 

Hogwarts had been reconstructed and normal classes had resumed, but it was clear that the effects of the War were still lingering on the place that had once been a battleground. Many veteran professors had retired in the wake of what had happened, leaving positions vacant and desperate to be filled. This caused a strange kind of immaturity as freshly graduated wizards and witches stumbled along, teaching new students in subjects that they had barely mastered for themselves. 

And you - your life had turned into one big joke. Literally. You were working at a fucking joke shop, when just a few short years ago, you would have absolutely scoffed at the idea and completely dismissed it as impossible. A past version of yourself would have endlessly mocked the version of your future self who wore that embarrassing orange apron, publicly branded as a slave to two annoying pranksters that you absolutely detested during your school days. 

And one of the worst parts? 

You couldn’t even truthfully say, not even in the private of your own mind, that you hated those two annoying redheads now as much as you had in the past. Because you truly didn’t hate them as much. You weren’t even sure if you did hate them now. 

The War had softened you. You still weren’t sure if it was for the better or if it had weakened you greatly - if it had made you tired and complacent. But the whole experience had definitely softened your opinion of the Weasleys and how much you paid attention to things as petty as house rivalries. 

Yes, you were a Slytherin. Yes, you were a Pureblood. 

Yes, you had been raised in a world much different than the one you currently lived in. But it was the changes along the way that had made you the person you truly were. 

You had been raised in rich nobility, constantly catered to by House Elves, never knowing love or affection from a constantly cold father who only showed you disappointment and disdain. You had been raised to believe that you were inherently better than others because of your surname, because of your blood status, because of your family’s generations old wealth and magic. You had been trained from a very young age to think that nothing was more important than upholding the reputation of that name because of all the wealth and generational magic behind it. 

Your mother had been married to your father via a marriage contract - something not uncommon in Pureblood society, something you believed would be your fate. Though your mother had died when you were young and you had very few memories of her - one of those memories being her telling you that you shouldn’t marry young, you should go out and explore the world and ‘find your own path’, you still had been raised to believe that the ways of your family were the right ones. 

You had been raised to believe that your father’s word was as good as Merlin’s Law. For a long time, you believed that you would go to Hogwarts - not to get an education, but to carry on the tradition of Slytherin nobility, getting good grades to show off your magical prowess, and make others aware of your family’s ongoing perfect Pureblood reputation. And then, when you turned seventeen, you would be sold off in a marriage contract similar to the one that had bonded your mother to your father. And it didn’t matter if you were happy or not. That part never mattered. 

Your life never revolved around something as frivolous as joy, laughter, and pranks. 

Perhaps that was why you developed a natural contention for the Weasleys - particularly Fred and George. Because they spent so much of their lives smiling. They were always so happy, seemingly for no reason. They came from a magical family, they had Pureblood lineage, but their family didn’t represent or value the same things that yours did. They didn’t care about reputation or blood purity or upholding traditional values. They cared about happiness and love and friendship. 

You spent a lot of your days trying to believe that they were stupid and you were truly better off than they were. You spent a lot of time telling yourself that you would be better off in the long run because you studied more than they did, and you had a parent who cared about your future - someone who was setting you up for a good life. You spent a lot of your time pushing down feelings of loneliness - or telling yourself that those truly superior to their peers always end up lonely. 

While the twins spent their days surrounded by friends, smiling and joyful, you spent your days walking the halls of Hogwarts alone, swept up in your own thoughts, constantly worried about your future. To you, it seemed like they didn’t think farther than a few days ahead with the way they acted. And it bothered you. They bothered you. They were a nuisance. 

The twins spent so much time laughing - boisterously, loudly, uncaring of who heard them or who they annoyed in the process. Even when they spoke of paranoia for authority figures, even when they voiced a passing worry about their mother’s iron fist - truly, you knew that they didn’t worry about getting in trouble. Because if they did, they wouldn’t actually carry out half the things that they ended up doing. 

Meanwhile, your days were riddled with worry - cautious of everything from your posture to your hairstyle to the length of your skirt, knowing that if you made even the slightest poor impression, it would become a rumor that got back to your father. And it made you stressed - and that stress made you sour. And it was something that you easily took out on the Weasleys, especially the loud, annoying Fred and George. 

…

Any time you so much as crossed paths with Fred and George while at Hogwarts, your day was instantly ruined. All it took was a simple sighting of the two heads of bright red hair for any calm to immediately leave you. As soon as they were near, your blood pressure skyrocketed and bitter words came flying out of your mouth. 

You hated the fact that the castle was so sprawling and large and yet somehow, you kept seeing them so damn often. Part of you couldn’t think that it was simply a coincidence when you saw them. When they kept appearing in the corridors that they knew you took to class, lingering in the dungeons even when they didn’t belong there, lurking near the Slytherin table at meal times. Part of you had to believe that they kept doing these kinds of things on purpose simply to annoy the hell out of you. 

“Ugh, you two haven’t been expelled yet?” You sneered the words in their direction as you walked by, your shiny black heels clacking on the stone floor as you made your way towards Potions class. “I would say that this place has gone to the dogs, but I’ve actually had pitbulls more well behaved and more easily trained than you two idiots.” 

They were huddling close to each other, standing off to the side of the large corridor, and you were instantly suspicious of them and slightly upset that there was nothing you could immediately accuse them of. You could sense that they were up to no good, as always, and you knew that the evidence of that fact wouldn’t come to you cleanly. 

“Oh, Y/N, it’s you.” Fred gave you a feigned, sarcastic smile, and the part of you that thrived off conflict paused your stride and allowed him to keep speaking rather than passing on by. “I thought I heard all the innocent wildlife fleeing in terror.” He put a dramatic hand up to his ear, as though actually listening for this. “Careful, brother, you’ll want to avoid the large cracks when the ground opens up to swallow her back into the dark pit from which she came.” 

It was the typical kind of words he hurled at you. He believed that you were ‘pure evil’ in human form, and he prided himself on coming up with increasingly creative ways of stating that fact. 

“I’m surprised that you can hear anything with all the gunpowder and confetti in your ears.” You jested back. “How many IQ points did you lose after that last explosion? Do they have to let the two of you tag-team your exams now? I mean, if you think about it, the both of your brains added up might make it to Troll level.” 

“We do just fine. Better than most, actually. Especially if the scores were adjusted for academic favouritism from a certain greasy-haired creep.” Fred sighed harshly in return, crossing his arms firmly. 

It was something he had talked about for years, both to your face and behind your back - the idea that you were only considered to be academically gifted because teachers favoured you, especially Snape. And when asked how you achieved such good grades with professors who weren’t your Head of House, he posed another, even more ridiculous sounding theory. He genuinely believed that your father paid them off - that because you were so ‘stinking rich’, you could afford to buy your good grades. 

Notwithstanding that his older brothers certainly didn’t have the coin to buy their grades and two of them had made Head Boy in their time. And when you pointed that out to him, he only stopped off steaming mad without admitting that this fact blew huge holes in his theory. No - he would much rather go around spewing massive lies about you (that many of the other Gryffindors believed simply due to Fred’s charisma and popularity) rather than accepting the truth that you truly worked hard and studied. Rather than accepting the fact that you were genuinely smart, while he on the other hand was a lazy, dumb oaf. 

You were about to open your mouth to argue passionately against the point when George jumped into the conversation. 

“Is that a new perfume?” He added on, dramatically sniffing the air to further punctuate his point. “Or just the scent of ravaged innocent souls coming off you? It is rather lovely, I must admit.” 

Your stomach twisted in an odd way as you weren’t sure whether to interpret this as a compliment or a joking insult. He was clearly playing off his brother’s words, dancing around with the implication that you were evil - but he said that you smelled nice when Fred often said that you ‘stank of the burnt cinders off hell from miles away’. The odd feeling became even more jarring when Fred let out a bright, jeering laugh at the words and high fived his brother in response. 

As terrible confusion rusted through you, you couldn’t conjure a clever response. Your next instinct was to flee. But of course, you couldn’t let them know that you were running away - you couldn’t show anything resembling panic or fear. You couldn’t bare your neck to a pack of hungry lions. 

“Well, as delightfully immature as this is, I am afraid I don’t have the time to stand around here and compete in this stunning battle of wits,” You announced, truly grinding sarcasm into your words to drive home your point as you began to walk away. “Perhaps next time you can come a bit more prepared and actually challenge me. I have to get to Potions.” 

“Aww, how disappointing for us.” George replied, faking a whine in his voice that made you clench your jaw with annoyance. “Another time, then?” He tacked on, waving at you and giving you an oddly sincere smile as his eyes gleamed with something you couldn’t perceive as hope. 

“Say hello to Snape’s back mole for us!” Fred added on, shouting at your back. 

Even as you walked away, you knew that the twins were lingering in the corridor for a reason. Some terrible reason. They stayed in that same spot for far too long, paying far too much attention to you, their eyes glued to your every move as you crossed over the courtyard. 

By now, you knew them well enough to know that something was up, and it made you highly suspicious of everything around you - so that when something snagged your toes, you instantly paused, rather than continuing on with your usual steps. When you looked down, you let out a small huff. Of course. Your eyes followed a very thin, near-invisible tripwire to a bucket that was strung up in a tree above your head. 

You could only imagine what kind of sickening mixture was in the bucket. So you made a point of dramatically stepping over the tripwire, and you smiled to yourself when you heard the twins swearing and sighing with disappointment from their spot far off behind you. And before you finally left for class, you turned around, spotting them in a poorly concealed hiding place in one of the window-like openings around the edge of the courtyard. 

And then, just to prove a point, you blew them a kiss off the tip of your extended middle finger, wanting to show them that they truly hadn’t bested you. Your stomach made that strange twist again when George made a distinct motion of catching the kiss before he winked at you while Fred chose to flip you off in return, clearly mouthing the words ‘horrid bitch’ at you. 

You couldn’t linger too much on it, though. You had to get to class. 

… 

Back then, you thought of the Weasleys as nothing more than daily annoyances. You certainly didn’t think that they would be your future employers. You didn’t think that they would be people that you would be fighting a war alongside. 

You thought your life was perfectly planned out ahead of you. You thought that treating others poorly and being generally mean was just a reputation that naturally preceded you - something that you lived up to very well. Everything in your life was finite and decided, and you were just playing the role that had already been drawn out for you. 

Until Voldemort made his return. 

For you, it was a clear line in the sand. 

After years of walking around blind, sleeping through life - all it took was seeing Cedric Diggory’s limp, dead body in the grass to awaken you. 

You had lived your life talking about your perceived superiority over others, listening to your father talk about it near constantly. But the longer your life went on, the less you actually believed it to be true. The longer you spent away from home while at Hogwarts, the more it all felt like an act to you; one as fake as the smile you put on at the shop for the customers. 

So when it came time to take the next step - when your father urged you to scorch your arm with a Mark in loyalty to a man risen up from the dead and start killing others who were supposedly ‘lesser’ than you, and therefore undeserving of life - you just couldn’t do it. You didn’t have the true pride to back up beliefs that were never your own. 

So you turned away from your father, and you did the one thing that you could remember your mother telling you to do. You found your own path. 

You had been the only Slytherin to join Dumbledore’s Army, to much hatred and suspicion from the others at first. And even though they had attempted to exile you, it felt like the correct, obvious choice. You knew that you weren’t accustomed to such things, but it felt like the right thing to do. 

While it was the first (quiet) rebellion you made against your father’s choices for your life, it was also the most time you had spent around the twins outside of the classes that you had with them. They kept making jokes about you secretly being Umbridge’s mole within the group - which Hermione had assured them and everyone else couldn’t possibly be true, only for you to find out in the most spectacular and horrific way exactly how she had been so assured. And eventually, the twins soon became more adjusted to the idea that you truly didn’t have any ulterior motives. 

But that didn’t mean you were opposed to kicking their asses in dueling practice. 

(Or any other time.) 

… 

You had grown used to the stares and ugly looks that you received whenever you walked into a DA meeting. As much as Hermione vouched for you and assured everyone that you were not intent on betraying them to Umbridge, people had a very difficult time getting used to your presence there. They simply couldn’t adjust to the idea that a Slytherin, especially one who had a Death Eater for a father, genuinely wanted to oppose Voldemort, and was actively training to do so. 

But you weren’t going to spend your time making noble rallying speeches in order to justify yourself to them. You had your own personal reasons, and that was more than enough for you. You were sick of your father’s ways. You knew that you weren’t any better than someone like Hermione Granger simply because of the name you had been born with. And you wouldn’t stand by and watch people like her be murdered or be forced into performing the killing yourself because your father thought you didn’t have a backbone. 

You were sick of a world where you were nothing more than an ornament to him - something quiet and beautiful to help maintain his reputation until you would be married off to someone else to continue doing the same for them. Being sold into a future where you would be forced to produce babies who would be fated to carry on the terrible cycle. 

Even if you would be killed for it, you needed to stand up and fight back. 

You knew that you were likely the only one in the room, other than Harry Potter himself, who was actively thinking about the worldly consequences of these meetings. You were likely the only other person thinking about the possibility of your own untimely death. Everyone else was just showing up for their own personal satisfaction, and the fact of not falling behind in their DADA efforts while Umbridge was actively restricting their education. 

On this day when you walked into the Room of Requirement as the other DA members trickled in, you attracted only enough attention to receive a few solitary sour looks. You had to guess that people were getting a bit more accustomed to you attending the meetings by now. But you picked up on a particularly harsh conversation from a group of huddled boys. You easily recognized the twins, and you thought you knew the others as Dean and Seamus… something. You didn’t know their last names. 

“And have you seen who’s in The Inquisitorial Squad? It’s all Slytherins, it’s just a matter of time until-” Seamus whined. 

“Until that stuck up bitch, L/N, rats on us. Yeah. It was a complete mistake letting her join.” Fred easily cut him off, entirely unafraid to call you harsh names, whether you were listening or not. 

“When have you ever met a Slytherin with good intentions?” Dean posed to the small group. 

“Guys, listen, I think you might be overreacting-” Surprisingly, George tried to oppose them, but his words were swiftly cut off. 

“Seriously, who’s ever heard of a good Slytherin?” Seamus sneered. 

“Well just because I joined this group doesn’t mean I’m ‘good’.” You said, stepping between the twins and forcing yourself into the conversation. 

This caused the boys to either shamefully stare at the ground or divert their eyes off to the side as they clearly weren’t expecting to be overheard by you. George was the only one who dared to look at you, his expression clearly confused at your choice of words. 

You decided to explain yourself. 

“Just because I oppose my father’s traditional hatred of Muggleborns and I don’t believe in mass murder doesn’t mean I’m not still a heinous bitch. It doesn’t mean that I’ve stopped - what was it that you said, Fred? That I strike fear into the hearts of children and rot plantlife with my every breath?” 

“Yeah.” Fred grumbled quietly. “I may have said that.” 

“My point still stands.” Seamus griped bitterly. “There is no such thing as a good Slytherin.” 

“Then it’s irritably clear that you’ve never picked up a book in your short, useless life.” You spat back at him. 

As more confused looks were thrown your way, you dove into a stash of mental research that you had reserved for exactly this occasion, and began spouting off facts. 

“Kory Anderson, during The Great Fire of 1916 that nearly wiped out the entirety of Hogsmeade, she rescued six children from homes within the village and then cast barrier charms to contain the fire until it naturally blazed out. She was a Slytherin.” You announced confidently. 

“Yeah, but-” Dean began to speak up, and you drove right over whatever he had to say. 

“Isaac Lahesen - he invented the first wide use Pain Relief Tonic in 1756. The original recipe is still widely followed and commonly used today. He was a Slytherin. Gally Poulter - died from Ancromantula venom poisoning due to his experiments with the venom that later lead to the invention of the common Anti-Bruise Tonic. His efforts also helped to conserve the Ancromantula as a species and brought them back from the brink of extinction-” 

“Alright, jeez, we get it.” Fred sighed, finally cutting you off.

“I could go on.” You replied plainly, trying not to sound too smug. “It pays to take your head out of your arse every now and then and insert it into a library book.” 

You turned to stomp away then, and you were entirely surprised when you felt someone catch your elbow. You whipped back around to glare at the person automatically, and had to forcibly crane your neck upward to meet George’s surprisingly soft gaze. You knew it was him in an instant. 

Mostly because Fred always looked at you like you carried hellfire in your shoes wherever you went, and George most definitely did not. 

But you could also easily spot the difference between the twins because George had broken his nose during a Quidditch game against Slytherin during your third year. A game that you had been sitting in the stands for - forever banned from participating in ‘something so brutish’ by your father. It had been a nasty move from one of the Slytherin players who had swung their Bludger’s bat at his face in a fit of anger when they realized that Harry had caught the snitch and they had lost. 

The bone growth around the break gave his nose bridge a distinct bump near the top that Fred did not have. It was something you found quietly endearing, along with his soft eyes. Something you had only recently admitted to yourself in the quietest, darkest recesses of your mind. 

“What?” You snapped at him, wondering why he had stopped you and why he was touching you. 

He recoiled from the touch quickly, as if only then realizing just how long he had been holding onto your arm. 

“Sorry.” He muttered quietly. “And I’m sorry about them, too.” 

He added on, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder to point toward the spot where Fred, Dean, and Seamus were still standing - where Fred was now showing the two boys something inside a large box. Likely some of their disgusting, horrible ‘products’ - but it made the boys laugh and smile. You almost envied their care-free nature. But you definitely didn’t envy their ignorance. 

“They’re being knobheads.” George declared confidently. “I know it probably doesn’t mean much, but I never thought that you were here to spy on us. You’re actually really good. With the spells, and whatnot, I mean. You’re really talented.” 

You felt a sickly fullness - almost like an ache in your chest coming from deep within your stomach - as you looked over his expression and knew for certain that he was being sincere. As it truly hit you that this wasn’t some dumb prank where he would laugh in your face after you accepted the compliment. Still, nonetheless, as your insides squirmed, your outer shell became prickly once again in a well practiced defense mechanism. 

“Why would I care what you think?” You spat back harshly. “You can barely cast a protection charm and you waste most of your talents coming up with stupid, useless joke products anyway. I don’t need you to tell me that I’m talented in order to know my worth, Weasley.” 

It was only a moment later when the words had already left your mouth that you realized you had inadvertently complimented him in return. You became overwhelmed with a desire to smack him when he began smirking at you. That desire became almost crippling when he leaned into you, crowding tightly into your personal space before he whispered something in a low baritone that stuck to your ear terribly well as he reached into his pocket. 

“Perhaps sometime I could get you alone and show you how well I waste my other talents,” He said, forcing his hand into yours and giving you something. 

Between the strange psychological mind game of his words and the way he quickly retreated, you thought for sure whatever he had given you would be a trick - that it would blow up or poison you or something. Your eyes flickered, panicked, from the back of his head as he resumed his spot beside Fred to what he had placed in your hand, and you were eerily surprised to find a seemingly perfectly normal sweet. 

One of your favourite sweets, actually. 

It was something you would have purchased from Honeydukes for yourself - a kind of hard candy that came in many different flavours, wrapped individually in plastic. They turned your hair and eventually your skin the same colour as the candy the longer that you sucked on them - but for you, that was never the appeal. You simply enjoyed the taste. Your personal favourite was the sour green apple ones, and you almost always left Hogsmeade with a large bag of them in hand and ended up with green streaks in your hair from sucking on them throughout the days. 

It was almost as if George had known that your personal stash had just run out. 

You stashed it in your pocket, still suspicious of it, wondering if he had tampered with it somehow. He was likely waiting to laugh as your skin broke out in boils or you vomited viciously and had to beg him for the cure. And it was only when you were back in the security of your dorm that night when you found it in your pocket once again that you decided it would be safe to open it. If he had tampered with it, he wouldn’t get the satisfaction of watching you suffer from the results of his prank. 

But there wasn’t one. It had simply been a random thoughtful gift. 

When George saw you the next day with a small lingering streak of green in your hair, he smiled to himself. 

… 

The practice that you got from DA was invaluable when you fought during the Battle of Hogwarts - much to your father’s undisguised hatred, on the side of The Order of the Phoenix, as an official member. As much as he absolutely hated your new affiliations, he definitely found a way to get back at you for ‘dessamating years of carefully crafted heritage’ - as he had put it when he confronted you on that day. 

When the battle ended and everyone on the losing side began to flee, you weren’t at all surprised to find out that your father had escaped, rather than being among the dead or the few who the Order managed to capture on site. You couldn’t have been so lucky. 

Perhaps it was the karma of your younger years coming back on you - the fact that you had so harshly, thoughtlessly bullied others, tossed words around so carelessly, at one time truly believing that you were better than others simply because of the family that you came from. Now it was all coming back to you, life turning around to spit in your face, showing you what a truly rotten person you were. 

Your father went to Gringotts and cleaned out your personal vault (as well as his own), taking every single bit of gold that your mother had left you when she had died. And it soon became obvious to you that he used the money to flee the country - not because he needed it. A small sack’s worth of the gold would have supplied him on his fugitive’s journey. But he took all of it simply because he thought that you were no longer worthy of it. 

You were denying your ancestral ways, and now, you were no longer worthy of your ancestral riches. 

It was a cruel slap in the face, and it left you abandoning any plans you had to apprentice as a future Potioneer in Ireland - or even the plans you had to take a break and vacation in the Maldives for a while and recover from The War. 

Instead, fate had you dawning that stupid orange apron in London to earn a living for once in your life - taking up the first paying job that you were offered, especially after you heard what the hourly wage was. Perhaps the Weasleys were a bit stupid with money after not having much of it for most of their lives, but they were paying far above the average rate that most other jobs in the Alley did, so you had to jump at the opportunity. 

All of it was so damn ironic. 

The products that you had degraded and openly hated since the moment you had heard about them were now something that you had to proudly promote to customers. The pranksters you had called annoying with every opportune breath were now your bosses, and dictated your life every single day. Even if it felt backwards, you started to establish a new, quiet life. The twins let you live in the flat above the shop, and while you hated being constantly surrounded by everything Weasley - eventually, you got used to it. 

But even that gentle peace was disrupted. 

Only a few short months after The War, you were blindsided. Members of the newly formed Department For Internal Investigation for The Ministry of Magic, along with pre-existing Aurors, showed up at the shop with a warrant for your arrest. The grounds of said warrant? Your blood relation to a known Death Eater. You were being accused of helping your father and others flee the country, along with conspiracy against The Ministry. You were being accused of feeding them information from the inside to aid in their evasion of current law enforcement. 

It was DA all over again. Only this time, it was on a scale that could end up with you in prison for the rest of your life. 

… 

George found himself thankful for finally having a slow day at the shop. 

Now that school age kids were returning to Hogwarts, the summer rush was finally over and the hectic chaos of those three months was finally behind them. It did only leave a small breath of relaxation before the turbulence of Halloween and then eventually Christmas, very busy gift buying seasons for the Wizarding community, but at least they had the quiet of September to hold onto while they still could. 

George could have never pictured him and his brother being this successful when they were just tossing around ideas, writing things down and drawing crude diagrams on scraps of parchment while huddled together on their bedroom floor back at the Burrow. And he knew that he should never be rueful of having ‘too many customers’ - but it was nice to have a breather every once and a while, especially when the shop got as intensely busy as it did sometimes. 

Perhaps he was just getting too old, but he found himself getting sick of the chaos every now and then. His sixteen year old self likely would have beat him over the head to know that even so much as thought those words, but it was true. 

They were taking this as an opportunity to rearrange the shop, shifting around some product displays to make things look nicer and flow easier, as well as refilling inventory that had gotten wiped out during the height of busy season in Diagon Alley - those last few days that people had been scrambling to get school supplies before September First. Inevitably, hordes of young people had ended up inside the shop, getting things to bring to Hogwarts that definitely were not on their list. 

George actually felt a swell of pride to know that there had been an official amendment to the Hogwarts Code of Conduct, one that specifically banned the possession and use of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes products by any student (or professor, for that matter). It was something that had stuck around a lot longer than the ‘educational decree’ that Umbridge had made back in the day concerning the twins’ earlier products. 

McGonagall had even sent the twins a letter about it personally, kindly asking them not to sell products to any students. They had sent her back a personalized Jack-In-The-Box that featured a tattered Umbridge as the ‘Jack’, jumping out and screaming once it reached the end of its song, running away from a terrible beast that chased her from within the box, along with a note that bluntly said ‘not a chance, Professor’. And though the amendment stayed written in the Code of Conduct, it was silently agreed that they would disagree on the matter. 

It had practically tripled their sales since then, because students followed in their mischievous footsteps and loved to do something simply on the basis of being told not to do it. Banned items are the most sought after, of course. 

(Fred and George had even started putting together something that they called ‘The Hogwarts Special’ - a box full of their most popular items bundled together at a discount price, all in disguised brown paper packaging rather than the bright colorful packages that they had become known for, better to sneak into a school trunk without being caught.) 

As George heaved another large package of Skiving Snack Boxes into the middle of the floor, his eyes landed on you. 

You were working on a display for the center of the store - a combination of new products and their most popular classics, your face knit in concentration as you arranged the products in a way that you thought was most appealing on the display stand. Somehow, even wearing your slightly stained work apron with your hair in a messy but practical style and your makeup mostly smudged off from the hard day’s work, you were a truly gorgeous vision. You would always be gorgeous in his eyes. But there was something truly goddess-like about you as the midday sun poured in through the front window to brush across your skin. 

George’s eyes lingered on you for a few moments longer, trying to work up the nerve to say something. He always struggled with what to say to you. And the longer he stood there behind his large stack of boxes, the more the voice in his head screamed: she hates you. 

Well he knew that hate was a strong word. As much as he knew that’s how you might have described it, he knew that it was likely not the right word for how you truly felt. If you had been crassly annoyed with him when the two of you first met due to his pranks and the stupid house rivalry, those feelings had never developed into hate. Especially not after your time in DA together - not after fighting on the same side of a war. 

Some foolish part of him liked to think that after working side by side for so long, the two of you could actually be considered friends. But he wasn’t sure that’s how you saw it. 

When your fingers fumbled and you dropped a Screaming Yo-Yo, causing it to fall to the floor and roll away (the charmed mechanism inside of it letting out little yelps as it rolled across the floor), George bent forward and caught it as you rushed to chase it before it rolled underneath one of the shelves. His breath caught in his chest when the two of you brushed hands around the small object. 

“Oh, here.” 

“Thanks.” 

Both of your quiet voices merged in the air as he handed you the toy and you rushed back to a standing position, holding the object awkwardly and staring at it as you fiddled with the string, avoiding eye contact with him. 

“Stupid little-” You muttered out angrily, and then sighed. “I would say that it jumped out of my hands, but it’s not nearly as bad as those display fireworks,” 

You said, pointing toward a display model of one of the fireworks tubes, which was designed to constantly burn and sputter on the back end, causing it to flip around and fly on a string without ever burning out. Wrangling it onto that string in order to tie it to the display - that had been a particularly challenging time. 

“Sorry about that,” George said quietly, giving a nervous chuckle. “The magic behind it was actually quite tricky, you see-” 

His train of thought was cut off by the sound of the bell ringing above the door - he was surprised that they had customers at this time when this early in September was usually such a dry time for them. When he looked up to greet whoever it was, a frown cut into his face when he instantly realized that these weren’t clients. 

There were about five people, all dressed in formal black robes, topped off with varying kinds of very businessy headwear and stiff expressions, instantly recognizable as Ministry officials. It was quite clear that they weren’t coming into the shop looking for Puking Pastilles or fireworks - they were here for something else. 

Whatever that something was instantly worried him - George’s stomach jolted with anxiety as he wondered if all their business permits were in order (that was Fred’s job, and ordering stock was his). But surely, if it was a simple matter of paperwork, they wouldn’t send this many officials out to take care of it. 

No - this had to be something much worse. This was something big and terrible and that worried him much more. 

“Good afternoon.” George greeted them with a smile (hopefully not looking too nervous) as he forced his spine tall and proud, feigning confidence in front of people who would judge him for his appearance and his mannerisms. “How can I help you fine people today?” 

Fred craned his head up over the shelves to get a look at who it was, instantly picking up on the nervous tone in his brother’s voice where few others would. He had been deeper inside the store at the counter near the cash register, going over the inventory numbers that the three of you had counted up the night before, looking to confirm them with his superior math skills. (Of course, now he was very much distracted from that task.) 

The one leading the pack of stiff looking officials - a particularly stiff man with many wrinkles, who was wearing a black bowler hat to cover a seemingly bald head, someone that George had never seen before and did not recognize - answered George by reaching into the pocket of his robes and pulling something out, extending a piece of parchment out to show him. 

“I have a warrant here for the arrest of one Ms. Y/N L/N.” He said plainly, his tone entirely dull and official. “I was informed that she is employed here.” 

“Warrant?!” You cried out, having been staring at the parade of strangeness from beside George - in a moment your face and body went from the dull tired that came with a long day to stiff with anxiety, clearly shocked. “That can’t be right, that’s bullshit-!” 

You moved to charge toward the man, and George put a protective arm in front of you. He wasn’t quite sure if his instinct was to protect you from the group with their eyes now locked on you, hands moving to their wands, or if he was intent on protecting them from a wrath that he knew you could easily rain down upon them. (Either way, he was protecting you from your own temper, protecting you from flipping out mindlessly on law enforcement and racking up additional very real charges to add to the ones that they had on your warrant now that were - like you said - bullshit.) 

You did fall silent and hovered behind George, letting out a grunt of frustration - but still, he didn’t move his arm, clinging onto your hip beside your apron and causing you to grip his wrist in return while you scowled at the officials past him. 

“Look, we don’t know anything about this.” Fred told them - by now, he had woven his way through the shelves to stand at George’s shoulder. “She’s worked for us for a while but we don’t know anything about-” 

It appeared that he was about to claim your innocence - or at the very least, claim that he and George never knew of any criminal activities that you had partaken in. 

“What are the charges?” George gaped. “Obviously you’ve gotten this all wrong.” 

“Yes, obviously.” You added on with a hiss, tense behind George, clearly eager to fight them once again. 

“You may take a look.” The man said, prodding the paper toward George once again. “But I can assure you that I am not wrong.” 

George let out a grunt of dissatisfaction and snatched the warrant from the man, and his eyes began flickering over the words at lightning speed. You crouched in closer as you read along with him - he saw something about ‘conspiracy to commit heinous acts’ and ‘conspiracy against the Ministry of Magic’, but none of it was blatantly clear to him - nothing read as a clear, specific crime. And he knew that you hadn’t done anything wrong. 

“This is bullshit!” You cried out again. “Conspiracy? I’ve been here playing with fireworks and stupid puke sweets for the past few months and you think I’ve had time to commit conspiracy?!” 

“Can you please confirm your identity, Miss?” The man asked, his voice still deadpan and lacking any emotion. “Are you in fact Miss Y/N-?” 

“I don’t have to tell you shit.” You said, slowly backing up. 

George’s stomach sank when two of the Ministry lackeys rushed to you, more of them taking different routes to get to you as your hand went to your apron for your wand. He ached to fight them off for you, but he knew it wouldn’t end well. 

“Look, Y/N, just go with them!” Fred shouted, his tone deeply frustrated. 

You refused to listen. 

Instead, you ran toward the door, clearly looking to get to the Apparition point outside before they could catch you. 

But they were well-trained Aurors, and they were faster. One of them struck you down with a wordless curse, making you limply fall into one of the fresh displays, knocking down a spray of colourful boxes along the way. Fred heaved out a groan and smacked a hand across his face, clearly upset about the mess. George instinctively ran to your aid, only to be yanked back by Fred, a harsh grip digging into his arm that barely held him back, every single cell in his body screaming at him to help you. But he was forced to watch on in horror while they put some kind of binding curse on your wrists and took your wand out of your apron pocket, confiscating it. 

“On what grounds?!” George shouted - his body coursing with intense rage, on the verge of tears. 

He finally shook himself out of Fred’s grip, but only because his brother knew him too well, and knew that he was still in shock now and would do nothing more than witness the horrible things unfolding in front of him. He could do nothing more than watch as they lifted your limp, barely conscious body from the floor, holding you up by your shoulders. 

“What grounds do you have for this arrest?!” He screamed, clutching the warrant so hard that he began to tear holes in it with his fingernails. 

The leader nodded toward the two people who were holding you, and George couldn’t race across the shop quickly enough to catch them as they stepped out into the street and then Disapparated with you in a blur. His feet felt numb on the floor as he practically tripped over the mess, and he was left with a shaking hand on the doorknob and tears swelling in his eyes, left staring out the glass panes at the empty spot that you had left. 

Now he had nothing more than a harsh pain in his chest that made him want to scream. 

They were taking you away. They were stealing you from him. After all the work he had done to make sure that you would stay with him, that you would be safe. They were taking you away. 

“Sir, I am sorry that you hired someone of such credence without knowing it. Typically their forms of deception are-” The bowler hat man began to speak again, and George flared with anger. 

“What are the charges?” George asked again, whipping around to face the man.

George eyed Fred, who was strangely quiet, staring him down for once in all their years, with what was an unreadable look. He had to wonder why Fred wasn’t as upset about this demonstration of injustice as he was, even if he didn’t like you that much. 

“I have already given you the warrant, Sir, which is my only necessary duty under Rule 36, Section B-” 

“This is a piece of rubbish!” George yelled, cutting off the man’s rambling. “It’s so unreadable - it - it doesn’t mean anything,” He added harshly, throwing the now crumpled warrant at the man’s feet. 

The man sighed and kicked it aside. 

“I have copies.” He said under his breath, seemingly more so to himself. “The charges are Conspiracy to Commit Fraud, Conspiracy Against the Ministry of Magic, Aiding and-” 

“What does that even mean? What evidence do you have?” George pressed. “I’ve known Y/N for years, she hasn’t done anything wrong. You’ve got this all wrong, you’re mistaken.” 

The man paused, hanging a deadly silence over their heads as George stared him down and Fred stared George down, all very tense. George was seemingly the only person in the room who had absolutely no idea what was going on. He was the only one who thought it was entirely shocking that you had been arrested. 

“Is Miss L/N not related to a known Death Eater? Several, actually, if I’m not mistaken?” The man posed. 

George’s throat tightened harshly. 

They were arresting you because of what your father had done? 

That was so unfair. So grossly unfair. That was plainly unjust. It was horrible and unethical and - just stupid. It was bullshit. 

“Yes, but-” 

“Well I’m terribly sorry to break the news to you, Mr. Weasley, but typically those regrettable values are passed on in families. Nobody has seen or heard from Mr. L/N since The Battle of Hogwarts, and we have a feeling that his daughter will know exactly where to find him.” 

“She won’t.” George spat back. “She hasn’t spoken to her father in years, I know that for a fact.” 

George hated to lie, but he knew that if he did tell the truth, they wouldn’t believe him. They would never believe the fact that the last time you had seen your father, it had almost ended with you dead for your ‘betrayal’ of the Pureblood line. 

“Well Mr. Weasley, I’m afraid that the Ministry can’t simply take your word for it. We must use our own tactics and gather the information for ourselves.” 

His stomach grew sickly at the implication of what ‘tactics’ they would use, thinking that you would come back to him as a hollow shell of your former self after being tortured by Dementors for hours, destined to never give them the answers they wanted to hear. And that was only what he knew about the things they did. Merlin knows what other things he couldn’t even imagine that they might do to you. 

Before George could further argue - before he could defend you and explain that you hadn’t spoken to your father, that you hated him, that you had no idea where he was - the man left the shop and Disapparated himself as well, leaving George hurt and speechless. 

But only for a moment.  

Then, everything within George was telling him to spring into action. You hadn’t done anything wrong, and there was nothing they could truly charge you with. If they were extorting you for information about your father, they weren’t going to get it. So they needed to leave you the hell alone. 

George was going to free you. 

He stormed past Fred to the store room, grabbing his coat off the hook he had hung it on in order to lug around the boxes, and he put it on and started straightening up his appearance a bit. If he was going to the Ministry (or to Hogwarts to seek back-up first, he wasn’t quite sure yet) then he would need to look nice to ensure that he would be taken seriously. 

“What are you doing?” Fred asked, slowly trailing behind him into the storage room, entirely curious about his shift from shock and anger to determined urgency. 

“Going to get help.” George announced, as it was the only thing he was sure about. 

Help from where or who, he wasn’t quite sure. Perhaps he should go to Hogwarts and find Hermione - he could grab the crumbled warrant off the floor along the way and have her read it. She would know how to decipher the bullshit wording and find some kind of loophole within it. 

“Are you going to close up and come along or are you staying back to watch the shop?” George asked, his mind still busy with planning his next move. 

Fred gaped at George, his expression somewhere between disgust and shock. Again, George felt a strange uneasiness in the fact that he genuinely didn’t know what his brother was thinking. Perhaps he was intimidated by the idea of taking on the Ministry, or perhaps he was just hesitant to leave the shop when they had so much work to do. But George knew what had to be done when such harsh injustice had just been done right in front of his eyes. 

“You can’t be serious.” Fred breathed out quietly, almost timidly, the words leaving him like air seeping out of a balloon. 

“I am.” George easily confirmed, firm and confident now. “Maybe we can go to Dad, or-” 

“Dad’s department would have absolutely nothing to do with this.” Fred fired back, edging on rude. 

“Then I’ll go to Hermione. She’s read books about this sort of stuff - hell, she’s probably read through the laws that they are currently breaking by holding Y/N without cause, and-” 

George moved to walk around Fred, going to get the warrant so that Hermione could look it over. Much to his shock, Fred stopped him by raising a hand to the middle of his chest. 

“Georgie, slow down.” He said, using the nickname in an attempt to ground his brother from what he believed to be a small fit of insanity. “Look, I know you had a very strange, misguided, schoolboy crush on this girl once, but-” 

“That’s not what this is about.” George ground out through his teeth. 

Yes, George had confided in Fred that he fancied you - only to have Fred mock him relentlessly for it. But even if he had absolutely no romantic inclination toward you, seeing someone be arrested without cause would still truly bother him. It just wasn’t right. If it had happened to you or anyone, it wasn’t right. 

“Then what is it?” Fred pressed. George chose not to dignify this with an answer, hoping that his brother was having a momentary brain aneurysm that would soon end and that they would be back on the same page again. “As far as I’m concerned, dear brother, they just took care of our problem for us. We should be thanking them.” 

George clenched his jaw angrily. This was the first time in nearly ten years that he had genuinely wanted to hit his brother. 

“You can’t be serious.” George hurled Fred’s words back at him, harsher than Fred had originally said them, causing him to roll his eyes. 

George stepped around him and walked back out into the shop to find the crumpled up paper that he needed. 

“Come on, what’s so great about Y/N anyway?” Fred whined. “Any sense of good looks she has is easily wiped out by her horrible personality-” 

“She’s not nearly as horrible as she was.” 

George argued gently, reaching down to pluck the paper off the floor. 

“Besides, this isn’t about great or not great - this isn’t about stupid personality conflicts. This is about right and wrong. And you know it.” George told his brother firmly. “She shouldn’t go to Azkaban simply on the basis of being related to a Death Eater when she hasn’t done anything wrong. She’s shown that she’s nothing like her father, so she doesn’t deserve to be arrested for his crimes just because they’re too bloody stupid to find him.” 

George stared Fred down, and Fred looked swollen with thought for a moment, taking a heavy breath and clenching his jaw as he clearly hesitated to speak. Obviously, he wanted to argue - but he knew that George was right. 

“And might I remind you that she saved your life. And you would not even be standing here with breath in your lungs to whine and complain without that ‘horrible’ witch that you claim to hate so much.” George added on smugly, unable to resist. 

Naturally, this caused both of them to think back to The Battle of Hogwarts, when you had indeed saved Fred’s life. A Death Eater had fired off a curse that caused a ceiling to collapse above Fred’s head, and if not for your quick thinking to hurl a non-lethal stunning curse at Fred that threw his body out of the way of the debris, he would have been crushed under hundreds of pounds of falling stone and killed. 

Of course, he whined at you for days after he woke up from the minor head injury that you caused by knocking him into one of the few still-standing walls. And to this day, he had never once thanked you for saving his life. And you never brought it up, because whenever you did, all he did was whine about the scar he now had - one that was well disguised in his hairline and barely noticeable. He always said that you had ‘deliberately maimed’ him to get back at him for the years of name calling. 

The two of you couldn’t get along over anything. 

“You’re gonna keep lording that over my head, aren’t you?” Fred mumbled quietly, rolling his eyes. 

After a few moments of Fred’s mind churning hard, the thoughts clearly simmering behind his eyes, he took his wand out of his pocket and flicked it toward the front of the shop. In a few smooth movements, he closed the blinds, locked the door, and switched the sign from ‘Welcome’ to ‘Closed - Please Come Again Later’. 

“Fine.” He huffed out, clearly defeated. “I guess you’re right. But I don’t have to like it.” 

George beamed a smile at this brother. 

“We’ll go and find Hermione, then?” 

“Strangely, I think we’ll have better luck calling in a favour from our big brother.” Fred noted. “The stick up Percy’s arse might actually be useful for once.” 

George hadn’t even thought of that. But that was why he and Fred made a very great team. 

“And for the record, I still don’t like Y/N.” Fred hastily added on as they walked upstairs to leave via The Floo Network. “But I do hope that this finally gets you laid.” 

George sharply rolled his eyes at this, and chose not to reply - mostly because he knew that coming from Fred, it wasn’t entirely intended as a joke. 

… 

You were surprised by how passionately the twins defended you. They stood up as character witnesses for you in court - and had even called upon others to do the same. 

Perhaps that was why you were still ‘settling into’ a job that you continuously claimed to yourself was only temporary. 

As much as you were annoyed by the constant sounds and bright colours and the steady stream of customers, you found a certain sense of comfort in the shop. You were annoyed by the twins, but when it mattered most, they had backed you up. They had saved you. And you knew that people needed laughter now more than ever, even if you weren’t in on the joke. 

… 

You were pleased that even if your life didn’t necessarily make you happy, you had established a sense of routine that made your life relatively stress-free. 

You would wake up, make yourself a cup of tea, get dressed and put on some make-up (even though the obnoxious orange apron ruined whatever ‘look’ you typically tried to go for, you still did pride yourself in your appearance). And after eating something easy for breakfast, you would make your way downstairs to help George open the shop. 

Sometimes he would bring you a pastry as a thanks for being awake so early, which you found strange because it was quite literally part of your job. But you still found yourself accepting whatever danish or croissant he brought you - and taking his copy of the Prophet to read on your lunch time break when Fred finally stumbled out of bed to come into work. 

George was much more of a morning person, so he and Fred had an agreement that if George opened, Fred would be the one to stay later to close up when needed. 

They balanced each other out in a lot of ways. 

Fred was better with numbers, so he attended to the books. George was better with the artistic aspects, so he designed the packaging for new products. Fred was much more outgoing and easily charmed new people - so he spoke to people about getting WWW products into shops in other places around the world. And he even made business deals to get them rare and new ingredients for products that they wanted to make. And George was a better Potioneer, so he often made test batches of those new products with the new ingredients that Fred acquired. 

During your time at school, you had been one of the people who had made the mistake of believing that the twins were simply two halves of the same person. You had thought that they were truly identical, inside and out. You lumped them together in your mind so often, thinking that there weren’t any differences between them. 

But the more time you spent around them, especially while working at the shop, the more you realized that they were truly, utterly different. They worked together not because they couldn’t be separated or because they naturally came as a pair - but because they had established a friendship and a working relationship that genuinely worked well for them. They balanced each other out with their unique talents, they didn’t just have the same skill set twice over. 

In a lot of ways, you admired it. 

Even if that strong partnership had caused you to be covered in slime or paint or to be tripped and trapped in a broom closet during your days at Hogwarts far too many times. You admired them much more now that you worked with them, and not against them. 

It was seemingly just another random Monday when George took a break from whatever he had been doing and came to find you in the upstairs store room. You were going through a new batch of products and taking inventory of everything before you stocked them out on the floor. 

“How’s it going?” George asked, using his height to his advantage to peek over the pile of boxes at you. You were sitting on the floor with one of them open in front of you, counting and sorting a batch of products for their newly improved Skiving Snack Boxes. 

“Fine, I guess.” You answered dully, using your quill to jot down a number on your parchment before you forgot it. “Wasn’t Fred supposed to do this last night? Where is he, anyway?” 

“Oh, he’s gone on a trip.” George told you, leaning his folded arms on the box in front of him. “He’s visiting Angelina during her week off from Harpies’ training.” 

Angelina Johnson, Fred’s girlfriend of a few months, had been recruited for the professional Quidditch team The Holyhead Harpies. A few weeks prior, she had left to go to Berlin, where the team’s prestigious coach resided and they had a training camp set up for the team. Since then, you had overheard Fred complaining to George near constantly about how she wasn’t allowed to leave training to come and visit him and how he almost never got letters from her because she was too busy and too tired to write to him. 

You hoped that him getting laid for a week straight would mean that he came back in a better mood. Even if it meant a whole week of you having to pick up the slack and do more work while he was gone. 

“And he’s meeting with some potential investors while he’s there.” George added on, casual and conversational. “Apparently he was in communication with someone who has a line of Prank Quills that we might want to buy off them for the shop,” 

“I thought you two always made your own products?” You questioned, raising a brow at him. 

“So far that has been the case, yes.” George confirmed, obviously proud. “But it never hurts to expand our horizons and see what other mischievous minds have come up with,” 

You shrugged. It wasn’t your business to worry about. 

“I just wish that I would have been warned that I would be stuck in this dusty, spider-invested hole doing inventory.” You lamented, staring down at yourself in disgust. 

You had worn a dress that day, and a pair of rather nice black lace tights along with your usual heels. And now you were sitting on the dusty floor, with your shoes and tights getting disgustingly filthy. 

“I would have worn crappier clothes…” You mumbled the last part to yourself, heaving a small sigh as you lightly kicked one of the boxes, needing to get out some of the frustration. 

“I thought Fred mentioned this to you?” George posed, confused. “He should have warned you that you might have to pick up a few extra shifts-” 

You let out a harsh scoff, cutting off George’s words. 

“This might have escaped your attention, George, but Fred doesn’t talk to me unless it’s absolutely necessary.” You pointed out. “Beyond talking about the products, he doesn’t even say ‘hello’ to me when he comes in. I think if the building was on fire, he would ask you to tell me to evacuate.” 

George sighed, mentally conceding to your point. 

“Yeah, I think Mum got on him about that whole… ‘if you don’t have anything nice to say’, bit.” 

You rolled your eyes at this. 

You thought back to a time when Mrs. Weasley had come into the shop to bring the twins some food she had made for them, complaining about how they likely weren’t eating properly. 

But she had accidentally stumbled upon Fred calling you stupid and useless, accusing you of losing some of his inventory sheets, though the conflict was far from one-sided. You had called him blind and dumb and said that he would never be able to find a hole in his own arse even with a mirror, arguing that he had obviously lost them himself. 

But naturally, Molly had only heard the incriminating words coming from him, which quickly put a fury in her. She had put her casserole dishes on the front counter, marched around it, grabbed him by the ear, yanking him harshly toward her - she berated him for calling you such names without shame and threatened to yank his ear right off so that he and George would match. 

(She had put on a sweet voice and apologized profusely to you on his behalf before making him grunt apologies through the pain, and then she had invited you to a nice helping of cottage pie - so the day turned out wonderful for you.) 

Obviously, since then, he had been terrified to say a cross word to you, lest it somehow get back to his mother. 

“Well I understand.” You replied. “He’s never had anything nice to say to me, so he’s just stopped talking to me completely. It makes sense now.” 

“Yeah, Fred is…” George trailed off, trying to find words for it. 

To this day, George didn’t entirely understand why Fred was so petty and aggravated with you. Sure, the two of you had exchanged plenty of mean words to each other during your days at Hogwarts, but you weren’t even as quick to anger these days as he was. He was usually the one to start it. 

“I’m sorry about him.” George landed on those words, deciding that even if he didn’t understand the cause behind Fred’s petty anger toward you, he could apologize for it. “He can be a bit of a stupid git sometimes.” 

“‘Can be’ - that’s a funny way to put it.” You replied, nodding, your face breaking into a slight smile. 

George smiled. Again, he was pleased to have a conversation with you where you didn’t seem so deeply annoyed with him and didn’t try to insult him. Thus far, you didn’t even seem so eager to get away and end the conversation. 

He would even dare to say that you seemed content. That you were enjoying his presence. 

Typically, this would be the part of the conversation where he would say something like ‘I should let you get back to work now’, and then he would leave the room and leave you alone, knowing that your patience with him was thin and he shouldn’t wear it out. But this time, he decided to push things just a bit farther. He was trying to make progress with you, after all. (He knew that Fred had been joking, but he wanted to go on a real date with you before the end of the decade.) 

“Well, at least we can enjoy this week without him.” 

You were intensely curious about his use of the word ‘we’ in that sentence, but another word tripped you up far more. 

“Enjoy?” You questioned. 

You knew that sometimes Fred and George bickered with each other - running a business together could be stressful, and they didn’t constantly agree about everything. But as far as you knew, they enjoyed spending time together and they were practically inseparable. You didn’t think that George would be relieved to have time without Fred. 

You wondered why he seemed so happy not to have Fred around. 

“Yeah,” He nodded. 

George grinned at you, and you found a pang shooting through your gut. It was an odd kind of delight that you could barely acknowledge igniting inside of you as you realized that he was smiling at you, genuinely smiling at you. There was no indoor swamp or parade of water balloons to be found. You weren’t the butt of a joke in order for that smile to happen. It ignited an instinctive panic within you, but you found yourself really liking his smile. 

“We should have dinner together or something.” He chuckled brightly. “We could finally spend some time together outside of work. Have a discussion that doesn’t involve sales numbers or product displays.”

That small spark of panic flamed into a full-blown raging fire when you realized what he had meant. That the ‘we’ had been the truly important part of the sentence - ‘we can enjoy this week’ - he had meant that he wanted to spend time with you. He wanted to enjoy some time with you. 

He wanted to spend time with you outside of work? 

He wanted to be alone with you? 

He was asking you out on a date. 

No, he wasn’t - a voice inside of your brain instantly demanded. There was no way he was asking you out on a date. He didn’t like you, he never thought of you that way. There was no way he thought of you romantically. 

He was only trying to be nice because he was a decent human being. He had been raised much differently than you had. This was just his instinct toward common courtesy acting up again - the same one that had caused him to extend the job offer toward you in the first place. He thought you were pathetic and lonely and he likely knew that you spent all of your time outside of work by yourself. He was extending this offer to you due to pity. 

Absolutely alarmed with that internal panic, you forced yourself to break the horrible moment of ongoing silence by asking: 

“Is that… necessary?” You choked out, knowing that you sounded like an animal caught in a trap, hating how intimidated and unsure your voice was. 

“What?” George gaped in return, his face pressing tight with confusion. “What do you mean?” 

“Are you ordering me to have dinner with you?” You asked, doing the cowardly thing and doubling down instead of clarifying what you truly meant - asking him if he had intended it romantically, as a date. “Are you asking me as my boss or can I do what I please in my own free time?” 

George’s face shifted from bright and hopeful to downtrodden, and seeing this instantly caused something inside of you to ache. It was the first time since unnerving grief of The Battle of Hogwarts that you had felt anything other than stress and tired boredom toward life. 

“I’m asking you as a friend.” He quickly clarified, a sharp sourness popping up in his voice, barely covering up the lulling sadness that tightened his throat. “And I thought that you would be pleased to spend your free time with me, but I guess I thought wrong.” 

Friend. 

For some reason that hurt you more than any insult could have. The strange reality of a date you could have dealt with. Even if he had come in and demanded that he was taking you out on a date - your mind would have eventually adjusted to the pure bizarreness of it. 

But him calling you a friend? It hurt and it was too strange, all at once. 

You weren’t friendly. You weren’t anybody’s friend.

Perhaps it was because something inside of you screamed that you didn’t deserve the title, but you hated it. Instantly, it caused you to seethe with anger. So as he finally turned and walked away in defeat, you had to open your mouth and deliver the final blow. You pushed yourself up off the floor, barely able to see over the stack of boxes to shout your next words at him. 

“We aren’t friends!” You spat out bitterly. “I’m not your friend.” 

When he turned back to you, he had the most utterly hurt expression that you had ever seen - his gentle eyes swimming with pain and his mouth drooping into a pathetic frown, his cheeks that were usually full with laughter sagging in a horrible way that didn’t suit him at all. 

Though it made you feel sickly to see him like this - in the typical fashion that you were taught, you killed any kindness that had been shown to you. You stepped out from behind the boxes, and continued firing blows as he tried to speak. You had to make sure that this notion of ‘friends’ was truly dead.  

“Y/N-” 

“No.” You rasped, your throat slightly tight with tears that you were holding back, hating yourself for being like this. “Just because we ended up on the same side, doesn’t mean we have to like each other. Fred doesn’t like me, so why should you?” 

George’s expression grew even more painful at this, but he didn’t have anything left to say. 

“I’m your employee, that’s it.” You said, firm and finite. “We can be courteous to each other, but we don’t need to have fucking tea parties and hold hands and-” 

“I get the point.” George sighed, cutting you off. “I get it. I won’t try to be nice to you anymore.” 

With that, he stormed out, not sticking around long enough to see the bitter, angry tears that you released as you moved to get back to your work. 

After he rang up a few off-season customers in the shop and then saw them off, his mind began churning and he formed a terrible, brilliant plan. Even without Fred around, he could still make plenty of trouble on his own. 

And as George plotted his clever, mischievous little plans to get back at you, he also thought about how you came to be employed at the shop in the first place. He thought back to the whole reason that he believed the two of you were friends at all. A night that he considered two parts luck and one part clever scamming on his part - as most of his life beforehand had been. 

… 

Three days. 

It had been just three days since The Great Harry Potter, The Chosen One had defeated Lord Voldemort once and for all, truly killing the darkest wizard of all time, even leaving behind a corpse to prove it. A corpse that had been burned in the courtyard of Hogwarts to many rousing cheers from the tired crowd of onlookers. It had been three tender days since the battle had ended, leaving everyone tired, battered, bruised, and cautiously optimistic for the future. 

It had been three days filled with roaring celebrations for the Dark Lord’s defeat, and those rousing parties were finally starting to die down, leaving a breath of space in the wake of the disaster, time for funerals to bury the dead and mourn the people everyone had loved. And finally leaving mindfulness for the discovery of gruesome things that Voldemort’s followers and people within the Ministry were trying their best to cover up. Many people who had ended up on the wrong side were fleeing the country, trying not to be apprehended for their crimes. 

George had been awake for days straight, setting up some extra spells to protect the shop from looting as Diagon Alley descended into chaos with so many celebratory parties having broken out. With Fred still in the Hogwarts Hospital Wing due to the injury he had sustained during the Battle, taking the time he needed to recover, George was on his own to make sure that Fred still had a shop to come home to. He had to make sure that everything they had worked so hard for wasn’t ruined in just a few short days. As happy as he was that Voldemort had been defeated, he was glad that all the revelry seemed to be dying down now. 

Though he was bone-tired and exhausted, as he locked up the shop, he chose not to go back to the apartment - vacant of Fred and far too lonely. And he couldn’t see himself going to the Burrow either, where Mum was likely cooking a feast to over-feed everyone and fussing over injuries. (He didn’t need his head wound cleaned until it was sore and he was feeling a bit too sickly to eat.) 

He couldn’t lay down and go to sleep, because every time he closed his eyes, all he could think about was the image of Fred, his head bloody with a large cut across his forehead from where you had flung him into a wall, to save his life from tons of falling debris. But still, the sight of his limp, unconscious body on the floor as he grew more pale, unable to woken up no matter how much George shook him and called his name - it was a frightening one that shook his soul at the time. 

George had only been able to breathe again once he received the news from Madame Pomfrey that Fred was going to be okay. He would just be unconscious for a few days while the wound healed and the swelling in his head went down. 

So, like many other people on this day, whether it was for celebration or mourning or just to dull the pain, George wanted to get drunk. He was not surprised when he found The Leaky Cauldron packed, and he had to force his way in, using his height to his advantage to elbow his way up to the bar in an attempt to place his order. But before he could actually get the barmaid’s attention, any thought about drinking flew from his mind when he spotted you. 

You were leaning against the end of the bar, propped up with your face in the palm of your hand, your elbow pressed against the bartop - you looked as though the filthy, unpolished wood of the bar was the only thing supporting your entire system at the moment. 

Your dark eye make-up was smeared, and you were sitting on a long dark trench coat that you had draped over the barstool, your blouse was partially unbuttoned, revealing the dark, lacy bra that you had on underneath. Your dark stockings were torn in some places, beginning to turn into runs up your whole leg, your skirt riding up to a short length that he knew you would have deemed far too inappropriate and yanked down if you had been paying attention at all, one of your heels having fallen off to the floor. 

You were a drunken mess, that much was immediately obvious. As he shoved past more people and got closer to you, he could smell the scotch practically seeping out of your pores. 

George had to wonder how long you had been camping on that barstool, drinking away your sorrows. He wondered which loved one you were mourning - who had died that was close to you in order for you to need so much booze to drown the feelings out. He immediately felt an instinct flare up to care for you, and he knew that he wouldn’t be having his drink, and he wouldn’t be leaving the bar without you. Especially not when you were in this state. 

“Y/N.” George gently called your name as he came to stand at your side, still towering over you as you sat on the tall barstool. 

Instinctively, he put a hand on your back, feeling the need to protect you from the bustling crowd, suddenly conscious of how many men were in the bar and how vulnerable you were. He felt intensely lucky that he was the one to find you, and not some other foul git with worse things on his mind. 

Finally, after a long, delayed moment, you turned your head in response to him calling your name. Your eyes were terribly slowed by how much alcohol was in your system, and you moved in slow motion as your gaze wandered from the wall in front of you over toward him, seeming entirely surprised to find that the warm hand on your back was attached to him. 

“Weasley.” You said quietly, and then let out a small hiccup. “George. George Weasley. You’re the tall one.” 

“Yes.” George responded. 

He knew that with the bandage wrapped around his head, still supporting his very visible ear injury, (or rather, the random hole in the side of his head where his ear used to be) he was much more easily discernible from Fred. But he was still glad that you knew who he was. 

“How much have you had to drink?” He knew that it was likely a stupid question, but still, he felt the need to ask it. 

“How much have you had t-to drink?” You countered, slurring, scowling harshly at him. 

As much as he would like to pull up a stool beside yours and follow you into stupid levels of drunkenness, he knew that he had to be the responsible one. Stupid Gryffindor nobility. And he owed you, because you had saved Fred’s life just a few days ago. He would owe you for that for a long time. So it was time to start paying you back - even if getting you into a warm bed and making sure that you didn’t drown in your own vomit was small compared to saving someone’s life, it would still be a start. 

“Come on,” George insisted, wrestling your coat out from underneath you and trying to get you into it. 

Of course, you immediately started fighting him like a cranky drunk toddler as he moved to put your arm into the sleeve. 

“No!” You shouted at him, beginning to push him away, causing a few pairs of eyes in the pub to look over. “I am gonna keep drinking! B-because getting drunk is the thing to do. Drinking is the thing. It’s all that there is.” 

“Why?” George countered, pausing with your arm awkwardly halfway into your sleeve. 

You gave a long, lazy blink up at him. He thought that perhaps if you could vent your sadness to him, then you would be less inclined to drink, and you wouldn’t fight him off so that he could take you home to rest. 

Your face broke into a smile - not one of actual happiness, but a twisted one that said your mind was truly breaking under the weight of what had upset you. And then, you began laughing. A broken, harsh laugh that pierced right through George as your scotch-soaked breath puffed across his face. 

“I - I have nothing!” You cried out, sounding utterly mad. “I have no prospects, no family, no job! No future! Nothing!” 

So that’s what was upsetting you so much. The end of the war had reminded you that you and your ‘family’ had ended up on two very different sides. And the entire battle against Voldemort had disrupted your education and the Potioneer training that you had wanted to do after Hogwarts, so you weren’t sure what you wanted to do with your life now. 

It was all a very crappy situation to end up in. While George had the shop to go back to, and a very loving family to fall back on for support (his mother’s love so smothering that sometimes he dared to complain about it) - you didn’t have anything. A pang of guilt throbbed inside of him as he watched your face become distant and haunted, and even more terrible words came drifting from your drunken lips. 

“He even took Pixie.” You sniffled quietly, picking up the cup in front of you and finishing the last of your drink. “The bastard took everything… and he just had to - fuck. I can’t believe he killed Pixie.” 

“Who’s Pixie?” George wondered quietly, hating the depth of the mourning in your voice. 

He had to guess that the ‘he’ you were referring to was your father. It didn’t surprise him that he had killed someone dear to you, and that was one of the reasons you were in the bar, trying to drink yourself into unconsciousness. George wondered if Pixie was a pet of yours or something along those lines - it would be a bit of a strange name for a person. But if it was a person, he would report the murder so that your father would pay for the crime when they caught him. 

“She - she was my House Elf.” You told him with another drunken stutter. 

Oh. 

George had never been around House Elves much in his life. He knew that it was something often linked to Pureblood culture, and his parents had never liked the idea of having one around. They were much more into ‘the value of hard work’ and ‘getting stuck in’, and they had always taught the Weasley children from a young age that if you want something, you need to do it for yourself. It was likely why Fred and George had worked so hard to get the shop - making the products from scratch, getting their seed money by taking bets, filling out all the paperwork to get the lease in Diagon Alley. Even if it wasn’t exactly what their parents had envisioned for them, they had worked hard for it. 

George’s experience with House Elves was very minimal. Other than the few times he and Fred had ducked into the Hogwarts’ kitchens to hide out from a professor after a particularly epic prank, only to have dozens of beady eyes staring at them; or hearing Harry speak of Dobby as a good friend; or the few months the Weasleys had stayed at Grimmauld Place and he had tried his best to avoid Kreacher and his ramblings about ‘Blood Traitors’ - he wasn’t really sure what having a House Elf was even like. 

So he simply sat there and listened as you spoke about Pixie, your heart clearly aching for your lost beloved Elf. 

“She was m-more of a mother to me than… well my mother was dead. She took care of me more than my father did, honestly. She did everything for me. It was her job, but - it felt like family.” You choked on these words, clearly most mournful when thinking of this. “She used to wake me up, and cook for me, and do the little buttons on my jumpers. And she used to tell me ‘don’t frown, girlie, because you never know who could be falling in love with your smile’. And I know it’s stupid, but I loved her. And I was - I was gonna take her with me. I - I had no clue where I was gonna go, but I was gonna take her with me.” 

George’s insides ached as the undistilled sadness came through your voice, and he could do little more than to listen as you continued on. He knew that it was important for you to feel heard when you were at your weakest. 

“I went home. I wasn’t planning on staying, I just… he ruined everything.” You huffed, your words touched with anger even though grief was the prominent emotion. “He had burned all the pictures of my mother… and there was this jewelry box that she had given me that belonged to her grandmother. And he had smashed it. He just wants me to suffer. He’s such a bastard.” 

You looked up at George then, your eyes shining with tears, and his throat was throttled by his own unshed tears. 

“He is.” George easily confirmed. Unsure what else to do, he tried once again to get you out of the bar. “Come on, love. Come on, let’s get you cleaned up, and we can get you some water-” 

He moved onto trying to care for you, knowing that he couldn’t take away your pain. He could only try to ease it - he could only be there for you now to make sure that you didn’t make a terrible mess of yourself. He was trying to make sure that you had a safe place to land. 

“I don’t even have a reputation.” You whispered this quieter, pulling George closer by the front of his shirt to say it, as though it were a fantastic secret. “That used to be all I could think about - my reputation. I used to spend every day thinking of what other people thought of me… I mean now I know what everyone thinks of me!” 

Much to George’s alarm, you back shouting, turning to stare at everyone else in the pub as you intentionally attracted their attention. 

“They all think I was part of it! They all think I’m one of them!” You hissed out, your voice struggling to slither out of your heavy, drunken lips, not sounding nearly as intimidating as you likely wanted it to while you glared at the crowd of on-lookers. “But look! Look, everyone!” 

George had no idea why, and then suddenly, you ripped your arm out of your jacket once again, and you began waving both your arms frantically, showing off your bare arms to everyone who continued to stare. 

“Look, everyone! No Marks! I am not the person you think I am!” 

Oh. 

You were desperate to prove that you hadn’t been fighting on the wrong side. 

“Just because my father is a self-righteous arseh-” 

“Love, calm down.” George told you, gently bringing your arms back down, knowing that you would regret making a fool of yourself later. 

You let out a sputtering laugh in his direction. 

“Good idea!” You gasped, and then waved toward the barmaid. “I’ll have another-” 

“No, she’s cut off.” George said sharply, looking at the barmaid rather than trying to tell you. 

George then went back to trying to dress you, squatting down and forcing your shoe on, which wasn’t too difficult. When he came back up and kept trying to wrestle you into your coat, he found the barmaid waving a piece of parchment in his face. 

“She hasn’t paid her tab.” She said gruffly. 

By the look of the amount, you had been there all night. 

“Send it up to Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes.” George said, shoving the paper back across the bar. 

“Fine.” The woman huffed. “But I didn’t know that a couple of good boys like you associated with Death Eaters-” 

“She’s not a Death Eater.” George spat back. “She saved my brother’s life a few days ago. So you should check your facts before someone in a worse mood hears you spouting that shit,” He added on, giving a thinly veiled warning. 

George finally got you into the coat, and he kept an arm tight around your shoulders as he steered you through the crowd and out of the bar. Walking you down the cobblestone street, keeping you from tripping over yourself while you were wearing those bloody heels was certainly interesting. After a journey that felt too long, he finally got you through the shop and upstairs to the apartment above it. 

He and Fred still had a few boxes left there (more for storage purposes than anything else), and he would have to find something to make up the bed with, but it was better than nothing. Definitely better than trying to Apparate with you in this condition. 

He sat you down on the couch that they had left behind, and you sank into the soft furniture, quickly kicking off your irritating shoes as you relaxed back and closed your eyes. George went to the kitchen and got you a glass and filled it with water, bringing it over to you, knowing that something other than liquor would do you some good. 

You took it from him without a fight, and began gulping it down, finishing almost the entire thing as he smiled at you. He was glad to be taking care of you right now. Not only did it occupy his mind, but he was thankful for the company. Unlike what most people thought, you were easy to get along with. 

As you took a breath from the water, he moved toward the boxes, looking for something to make up the bed with. You gave him a curious look. 

“Is someone moving?” You slurred out, your words still weighed down by drunkenness. 

You would definitely need to sleep it off. 

“Yeah.” He answered. “Fred and I have already moved. We used to live here. But we got a better place outside of London.” 

“Oh.” You replied, giving another hiccup. “T-too bad. This place is kind of cozy.” 

He was surprised that someone like you - someone who came from riches and grew up with the ‘finer things in life’ didn’t make a comment about the apartment being small and cramped. But he supposed that you weren’t a snob like Malfoy, after all. 

“It’s nice that it’s empty. It means that nobody will care that I’m putting you up here for the night.” He told you. 

“What?” You gaped in return, seeming confused by his words. 

“You’re not Apparating while drunk.” He told you. “So you’re staying here.” 

There was a moment of comfortable silence, and then you surprised George when you spoke up again. 

“George?” 

When he turned around to face you, you were looking at him with that intense sadness in your eyes again, and it truly struck through his gut. He hated that he felt so utterly helpless. He hated that he couldn’t take your pain away. 

“What is it, love?” He asked, wondering what was on your mind now. 

“Do - do you think I’m a bad person?” You asked, your voice terribly pitiful and small. 

Just like the image of Fred bloody and unconscious, this punched a hole right through George’s chest. 

“What? No. Of course not.” George itched with the urge to reach out and sweep you into a hug, but he feared that this would make you uncomfortable. So he squeezed his hands at his sides and eventually crossed his arms over his chest as he spoke again. “You’re so far from being a bad person. You fought alongside us. You saved Fred. You’ve always been good.” 

“Not always.” You huffed quietly. 

“Well you’re certainly no Death Eater.” 

George declared, turning back and grabbing a quilt that his mother had made from one of the boxes and bringing it into the naked mattress that was still stacked on the twin frame in the bedroom. (When the shop first started, the twins had been so busy that they used to take shifts sleeping, and only needed one single bed between the two of them, so it was all the apartment had.) 

By the time he had made up the bed to be somewhat comfortable, he came back out to discover that you had fallen asleep on the couch. So he decided not to risk waking you up by levitating you, and instead he very gently lifted your feet up to join the rest of your body, tucked a small throw pillow under your head, and covered you up with the quilt. 

While he stood there, admiring how peaceful you looked in your sleep, he did have to use the deepest form of self restraint to keep himself from laying a small kiss on your forehead. He couldn’t let himself give in to that urge because that wasn’t the nature of your relationship. No - he just left you a note telling you to meet him downstairs in his office when you woke up. 

… 

When you found George in his office the next day, if you had any signs of a hangover, you certainly didn’t show them. You were carrying yourself very well - you had rubbed off your smudged make-up, tidied up your hair, straightened out your clothes, and even taken off (and presumably thrown away) your ruined stockings, giving him a rare glimpse of your bare legs. 

However, as you stared him down after knocking on the open door, he was surprised to see such a deep scowl on your face. He thought that the two of you had made progress the night before and that you would be… softer toward him. Especially after opening up to him so much. 

“Y/N-” He greeted you warmly. 

“Look, Weasley, I’m really sorry about last night. Whatever happened-” You began speaking vaguely, and he cut you off, immediately curious of something. 

“How much of it do you remember?” He asked. 

He would be mildly devastated if you didn’t remember the night before - the tender emotions of it, the way you had opened up to him. But he knew that you had certainly been drunk enough to cause memory problems, and that was likely the only reason you had opened up to him so much. He definitely wouldn’t hold it against you in the long run. 

“Excuse me?” You gaped, seeming almost insulted by the question. 

“How much of last night do you even remember?” He prodded, repeating the question. “Do you even know what you’re apologizing for?” 

You let out a huff, your whole body tense. And then, deflating like a balloon, your posture slumped for the first time in all the years he had known you, and you finally let your guard down in front of him for the first time while sober. 

“No.” You admitted hesitantly. “Go ahead, start laughing.” 

You were on the verge of tears, and George hated that you thought he might make fun of some of your most vulnerable moments. 

“I don’t think people being upset is very funny.” He told you honestly. “People freaking out because they’re covered in muck or because something jumped out at them? Yes, that’s funny. Genuine upset - that’s not funny.” 

“Thank you for the clarification.” You said, deadpan coming into your voice as you were unsure how to proceed. 

You moved to leave, and George’s next words stopped you. 

“Last night, you were complaining because you said that you have no prospects.” He told you. “Nothing planned for your future.” 

You froze up, not yet turning around - absolutely hating the vulnerability you had disclosed to him. 

“Fred is gonna be in the hospital for a while, as you know. And I’m gonna need some help around the shop while he’s gone. We’re probably gonna help around here after that anyway. We’ve been getting busier and busier.” George continued on. 

You slowly swung around, heart pounding in your chest as you processed his words. 

“I know it’s probably not glamorous - it’s gonna be a lot of hard work and some of the products can be tricky-” 

“Are you offering me a job?” You asked, trying to get clarity on the situation. 

“Yes.” George nodded. “It’s fifty Galleons a day, flat rate, no commissions. Plus, if you want, the flat above the shop is vacant. And it’s furnished.” 

“What would the rent be?” You asked, thinking that there was a catch. 

George shrugged. “It comes with the position. But you don’t have to take it if you don’t want to.” 

He remembered what you had said about going ‘home’ but not planning to stay there - you said that you had no clue where you planned to go, and he wanted to help you out with that. He truly wanted to be your soft spot to land. 

He knew that you were likely used to living in some fancy mansion, and the flat above the shop was small and shabby in comparison - but you had called it cozy. You liked it. Hopefully you would consider it a nice place to live, especially in the wake of the war that had just taken place. 

“And you want me to take the job? You want me around here? In your shop? Every day?” You questioned, motioning toward yourself. 

“I can think of nobody better qualified for the job.” George grinned at you. 

You let out a sigh. “Okay. I - I guess you have yourself a new employee, then.” 

George extended out a hand to signify that it was a done deal, and out of ingrained social queues, you took it and sealed the verbal agreement with a handshake. 

That was how you came to be employed at Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. 

… 

That had been over three years ago. 

You had truly believed that the whole thing would be temporary. And you found more and more that as the days went on, you didn’t mind working at the shop or living in the small apartment above it. 

You found that more and more - you were getting used to it. And you were even enjoying this quiet life. 

… 

You were dreading coming in after having that harsh conversation with George. Immediately after it happened, you regretted so boldly telling him that you weren’t his friend instead of simply taking him up on his offer. But it had been done, and you couldn’t simply go back and change your actions now. 

When you came into the shop that morning, you didn’t find any trace of George. Luckily, there was a set of internal stairs that led from your apartment directly into the shop, so you didn’t have to worry about needing a key for the front door in order to be let in. 

You wouldn’t be surprised if George was making you open by yourself due to his new policy about no longer being ‘nice’ to you, so you set about performing the opening duties all on your own. You swept the floor, faced the shelves, opened the curtains and made sure all the products in the display windows were working how they should be. It was lonely. You found yourself missing his usual quips about ‘barely having his eyes open’ and how he was surprised that you managed to look so awake and put together so early. 

But you had done this to yourself. So you had to accept it. When you were about to open the cash register and make sure that you had the correct amount of change to start the day, you noticed a small box sitting on the counter. A box with a label on it that signified it was from one of the nearby pastry shops in the Muggle part of London. 

It was a place that George ventured often to get baked goods, and he had brought you back pastries from there before. You eyed the box suspiciously. It was large enough to fit quite a few items, and with Fred not around, you had to assume that George had left the box on the counter, intending to share whatever he had brought back with you. He was revoking his promise awfully quickly, but you didn’t entirely mind. 

You were glad to forget about the previous day’s conversation and simply go back to the quiet, pleasant dynamic that the two of you had established. He harassed you with his niceties and you grew increasingly annoyed by it until he got the hint and left. It was simple, but it worked. 

You moved toward the box and lifted the lid, interested to see if he had picked up any of the chocolate croissants this time - 

“Fucking hell!” 

You let out a harsh scream when something jumped out of the box at you as soon as you opened the lid - a blur of green, a pair of glowing eyes and a forked tongue that leapt toward you. Instinctively, you jumped back and ended up with one of your high heels wedged between the floorboards (in a strangely large gap that you constantly whined at the twins to get fixed). This caused your entire foot to get stuck, which made you trip over yourself and fall into the display of Extendable Ear boxes that was set up behind the counter. 

You let out another undignified scream as you felt yourself falling, and you frantically looked around for whatever it was that had come out of the box, soon spotting the long, lanky body of the snake on the floor at your feet. You squirmed and screamed again, literally wiggling out of your own still-stuck shoe in order to escape it, frantically tripping over the downed boxes trying to get farther away.  

Your fright quickly turned to fury when you heard laughter. 

Laughter that was all too familiar to you. Except, it wasn’t echoed by a secondary voice that sounded like a pair to the first. It was entirely solo this time. 

You looked for the source of the laughter, craning your neck upward toward the voice. Soon you saw George descending from the second floor balcony that overlooked the main floor of the store, his face split with a wide grin as the sounds died off into a dull chuckle. You glared at him the entire time. You began to grind your teeth out of pure fury while he raised his hands and slowly began to clap. 

“My, my, that was magnificent.” He announced loudly, congratulating himself. “You dream, and you hope, but you never think it’s gonna be so satisfying.” 

“Satisfying?” You parroted back, the word coming out as an infuriated hiss. “You put a live snake in a pastry box to scare me and you-” 

“Live snake?” George quickly cut you off. “Seriously, do you think I’m that reckless?” 

He walked over to the area behind the counter, and you felt truly stupid when he picked up a very obviously rubber toy snake from beside your now empty shoe. He turned around and presented it to you with a wide, satisfied smirk - one that would have looked far more fitting on Fred. 

“It’s charmed.” He announced proudly. “Though I am flattered that you consider my work so realistic. But I suppose I had to step up my game after you critiqued my Serpent Morph-O-Mask to hell and back.” 

“Shut up.” You huffed at him, limping over with your uneven, one-heeled walk, going to retrieve your shoe. You hoped to put it back on and make up some excuse about something else that you had to do, and hopefully you would be able to avoid him for the rest of the day. 

“And you know, this wouldn’t have happened if you simply wouldn’t have assumed that anything in this box was for you.” George pointed out, motioning to the still open box of pastries on the counter, which you now noticed had a few very delicious looking croissants in it. The chocolate ones that he knew you liked. “You could have just asked me-” 

“So then I would have gotten scared by a fake snake after I asked you nicely for a pastry?” You fired back sarcastically, leaning down grabbing a hold of your shoe. 

You were soon disappointed to find that the heel was firmly wedged into the gap, and you yanking on it once, twice, did nothing to free it. You stood up and moved to grab your wand from your apron, but by then, George had knelt down and had a hand on it. He used a burly arm to pull it free with a grunt in one single motion - a show of strength that you would never admit had impressed you. 

“I don’t think you’ll ever find out what happens when you ask for things nicely, because you never do.” George told you, holding out your shoe for you as he continued to kneel, implying that he would slide it onto your foot for you. “Now, come on Cinderella.” 

His words confused you, but you stepped forward anyway, feeling exceedingly awkward about it. Especially with how unexpectedly intimate it felt to have him put a warm hand on your calf and guide you into the shoe, shoving it snugly onto your foot with his other hand. 

“What the hell is Cinderella?” You asked him quietly as you pulled your foot back, now with your shoe securely on it. 

“Oh, it’s some Muggle story that Hermione made Ron read. He was telling us about it-” He explained as he stood to his full height. “Some woman loses her shoe, and this prince-” He cut himself off abruptly. “Some ladies cut their toes off, and there’s mice. It sounds interesting, I guess.” 

You almost wanted to ask him to further explain it, mostly out of bored curiosity. But before you could, he changed the subject entirely. 

“Clean this up,” He told you, gesturing to the many boxes you had knocked over in your haste to escape the joke snake. “And then go sweep upstairs. Last night I had a mishap with some of the Instant Peruvian Darkness Powder on my way out.” He added on, speaking to you curtly like a boss typically would. 

He then took one of the croissants and closed the box before he promptly left to go open the shop’s front door for the day. 

You looked at the pile of boxes now scattered across the floor and heaved out a sigh. 

This was a horrible change of pace. Any time that the twins had pranked you in the past, they had always been the ones who had been forced to clean up afterwards. But you definitely weren’t at school anymore. They weren’t going to be forced to scrub cauldrons for detention if they did something to you. 

It was going to be a very long day. 

… 

With Fred gone, it turned out to be a grossly long week. 

Without his brother there, George was bored or something, and he turned to bothering you for entertainment. Which meant that his childish pranks only continued and grew worse as the week went on. 

The next day he brought you a cup of tea, seemingly as a peace offering to apologize because you had been so upset about the (fake) snake. You accepted it without thinking anything of it, taking a small break in between stocking shelves and sweeping the floor to drink it. 

Unknowingly, for the rest of the day, you walked around with large, bright blue feathers growing out of your head where your eyebrows were supposed to be. 

Customers gawked at you and children pointed and laughed, which you thought was run of the mill for a joke shop. You forced yourself to assume that they were enthusiastic about the products around you - not that they were laughing at you. You only thought to duck into a bathroom and check to see what was wrong after you spoke to George about a new product line and it was clear that he could barely contain his laughter through the whole conversation. That was around late afternoon. And when you finally saw what he had done to you, then you stormed upstairs, boiling angry, absolutely fuming at George for embarrassing you like that. 

Not wanting to start firing off spells so close to your face, you did the only thing that you could think to do - you trimmed the feathers down with a pair of scissors and ended up shaving your eyebrows cleanly, completely off, when you saw that there was still traces of the bright blue growing out of your roots. You ended up having to draw them back on with an eyeliner pencil, and by the time you returned, George scolded you for taking ‘such a long break’ and made you sweep cobwebs out of one of the store rooms as a punishment. 

Later that night, after consulting an article in Wonder Witch Magazine about overplucking one’s brows, you mixed up and applied the slightest dab of hair tonic to the area and managed to grow them back to the way they were, but you were still fuming angry with George. 

The rest of the week went like that. He disrupted your usual routine with childish pranks, making you angrier and angrier. Glitter bombs disguised in a package of Extendable Ears that you had to unpack, making frog sounds go off whenever you were talking to customers to disrupt you, and then escalating to releasing live frogs into the store to scare you and making you run around to catch them before they ruined the merchandise. 

Toward the end of the week, after a hard day of living in paranoia of every move he made, trying to dodge his childish antics, you went upstairs and collapsed onto your bed. You were utterly exhausted, and you couldn’t help but to think about a time when he had been kinder to you. You truly thought that without Fred around, George was a lot less lethal when it came to this ‘mischief for no good reason’ stuff. 

At least, that’s what your time at Hogwarts had led you to believe. 

… 

Umbridge was one of the worst things to ever happen to Hogwarts. 

You had seen far too many awful, unqualified professors in your time - and you could officially say that the man who turned out to secretly be a Death Eater was a better teacher than her. 

But even as you sat in a lonely, secluded, cold corridor after a long, late night detention with her - even as you clutched your bloody hand, she wasn’t the main person occupying your mind. She wasn’t the reason you were quietly sobbing to yourself while you clutched your hand to your chest, for once, not caring if you got your pristine uniform stained with your own blood. 

Being in detention with her had gotten you thinking about everything in your life. Your father, your blood status, everything that had led up to this point. And as you had written those hundreds of lines with her terrible quill, somehow scrawling in your own blood, you kept thinking about the last DA meeting that you had been to. A meeting where Harry had been teaching everyone The Patronus Charm, and you hadn’t even attempted it. 

Why not? 

Because you couldn’t come up with a single strong happy memory to focus on while casting the spell. And you were far too embarrassed to admit to anyone in the room, especially Harry. And the more you racked your brain, trying to come up with a memory that you believed could help you pull off the spell, the more you came up with: your father screaming at you, telling you that you weren’t good enough, casually tossing discontent toward you, telling you that you were stupid and emotionally immature when you were only a child. 

Your only friends being House Elves - who were nice to you, but forced to be there in order to care for you. You thought of lonely days at Hogwarts where others stared at you and whispered about your past, where the few attempts you made at friendship during your early days of school were met with children fleeing from you because they believed the rumors about your family and how ‘evil’ you must have been because of them. 

You thought of how embarrassing it would be to not be able to perform the spell in front of everyone at DA. How they would all know that you were a fraud. And the more you thought about how pathetic your life was and how embarrassing the next meeting would be, the more upset you became. 

So you wept. 

Little did you know, someone had stumbled upon you and was listening to your cries. 

Umbridge had come up with the horrifying but clever strategy of separating Fred and George for their detentions. On this night, while Fred was scrubbing cauldrons for Professor Snape while George had just finished shining the floor in the Defense Against The Dark Arts Classroom. On his way back to the Gryffindor common room, he was more than surprised when the sound of weeping in a corridor led him to you. 

At first he was terrified to approach - terrified that acknowledging you crying would get him on the wrong end of a hex. But as he lingered near the end of the secluded corridor, eventually, you looked up and spotted him on your own. 

“Oh great.” You sighed heavily, sounding entirely bothered by his presence. 

“I'm unarmed.” He said, putting up both his hands in surrender, showing you that he held no prank products and genuinely meant no harm. 

You hastily wiped your tears, an instinct to hide your vulnerability; though you knew there was no way that he hadn’t seen you crying. You were hoping naively that he would simply let the subject pass in silence - and he might have, until he spotted something on the back of your hand. A set of red welts that were bleeding freely that signified that you had just been freed from a detention with Umbridge yourself. 

“What were you in for?” George asked, gesturing to your hand, cautious not to get close enough to touch it, not wanting to unintentionally graze against the open wounds and hurt you. 

“Oh.” You sighed, glancing down at it, having been so caught up in your upsetting thoughts that you had almost forgotten about the smarting of your hand. “I must not tell lies.” You said, reciting the line now engraved into your hand that was illegible past the blood. 

You realized that you couldn’t tell him the truth - ironically, completely ignoring the directive that Umbridge had been trying so hard to drill into your head. So you quickly made up a lie about the reason you had been put into detention in the first place. 

“The awful old cunt was convinced that I was lying to her when I said I have no clue what you and Fred are planning next.” 

In actuality, she had called you in for ‘questioning’, and grown increasingly angry when you refused to drink the tea she offered you. Veritaserum was colourless, tasteless, and odorless, but because of your true talent for potions, you immediately recognized the amber tinted bottle on her desk that clearly contained it. Knowing that the stuff couldn’t be stored with any chance of light getting at it and tainting, so it had to be kept in tinted glass, you pushed the tea cup away and she immediately gave herself up with her petty reaction. 

She questioned you about what kind of ‘activities’ you got up to outside of class, only to receive boring, dead-pan answers from you about studying and sleeping, and then she moved on to asking you about why you were spending increasing amounts of time with ‘the Weasleys’, and Granger and Potter. When you went silent, she not-so-subtly threatened to Owl your father and tell him about ‘the kind of company that you were keeping, and you couldn’t help it - you grabbed a quill off her desk and slapped it down in front of her, daring her to do it. 

Which only ended with you writing lines for her. It meant that you had silently won that round. You guessed that she was actually slightly afraid of your father - or afraid of the fact that you didn’t seem all too scared of him. Not anymore. 

But you couldn’t possibly spill all of this to George now. Just because you worked on practicing spells with the DA members didn’t mean that George or any of the others cared about your personal gossip. 

Despite what Umbridge believed, it was just easier to make up a lie. 

“I don’t even know what Fred and I are planning next.” George replied honestly, light laughter on his lips. “We just use a mixture of improvisation and our knack for causing mischief.” 

“Exactly.” You said. 

“You know, I have a healing cream that works pretty well to prevent scars.” He said, reaching his hand out to show you his, where the once deep indent of ‘I shall not talk back’ was now barely visible. “Fred and I had to come up with something good after testing the early versions of our products on ourselves started to go awry.” 

You never would have guessed that they actually tested those awful products on themselves, but you had to silently admire them for being willing to do it. 

“Oh, um, thanks but - it’s not that big of a deal.” You said. “I’ll be fine.” 

Truly, the physical pain was not the thing bothering you the most. 

You moved to walk away, and George surprised himself when he dared to speak up again, shouting down the hallway after you. 

“Then why were you crying?” He asked. 

You turned back around, startled into facing him again. You hated that he had asked the one question you hoped he would avoid. 

You heaved a terrible sigh, fidgeting with the end of your skirt as you mulled in the silence, wondering if you should tell him the truth or not. He shoved his hands in his pockets and took the few steps toward you again, closing the gap because you weren’t eager to run away. 

“I -” You choked on a breath, and George waited patiently for you to speak. 

You hated to be vulnerable, but the darkness and the late night made it too easy. The fact that he was alone instead of being bracketed by Fred staring you down with his hyper critical eyes made it too easy. George - sweet George - and his damn soft eyes and his expression full of nurturing rather than judgement. He made it too easy. 

He made it all feel so safe. 

“I couldn’t stop thinking about the stupid Patronus thing from DA, okay?” You admitted hesitantly, rushing to get the words out, bracing yourself for the laughter you felt was inevitably after he heard the words. 

This confused George slightly. 

During the last DA meeting, Harry had been teaching everyone how to produce a Patronus Charm - something that was difficult, but incredibly useful against dark creatures like Dementors. Even George himself hadn't been able to produce a fully corporeal Patronus, only a shield version, which Harry still congratulated him for being able to do. George had noticed you standing back to watch everyone else, pacing around the room with your wand grasped in your hand tightly, held down by your side, and he overheard something about you ‘taking time to think’ when Harry asked you if you needed help. 

He knew that it was a very difficult spell and upon leaving the meeting, he hadn’t faulted you when he hadn’t seen you cast one. 

“What about it?” He asked, confused. 

“I wasn’t able to do it.” You said, clearly embarrassed. 

George shrugged, letting off a nervous laugh. 

“It’s a really hard spell.” He said. “I can’t conjure a full Patronus myself. Not yet. That’s the point of DA - to practice. And-” 

“No.” You heaved, the word so heavy on your breath. “That’s not what I meant.” 

Pure tragedy overtook your features, and George’s heart ached for you as he waited for you to finally speak the words. 

“I - ugh.” You sighed, scuffing your heeled shoe harshly against the stone floor, unable to look at him as you said it. “I couldn’t even try. Because I couldn’t think of a happy memory…” 

You trailed off the last words very quietly, and if George hadn’t been straining his ears to listen, he wouldn’t have actually known what you said. 

Oh. 

Oh fuck. 

George was struck with the horrible realization that not everyone’s life had been like his. He had always known that the two of you were very different, but… he had never thought about it like this. 

On that day in DA, he had struggled to begin because he had too many happy memories to choose from, and Harry theorized that he wasn’t concentrating hard enough on just one. He had memories of childhood birthday celebrations, family dinners, years at Hogwarts with friends, playing pranks with Fred, the Quidditch World Cup - all those among many memories that made him intensely happy. His life was so joyful. 

Finally, George landed on a particularly intense memory of when Bill had gifted him his first broom. It wasn’t brand new, but Bill had spent one of his first paychecks post-Hogwarts on two secondhand refurbished brooms for him and Fred on their birthday so that they could stop using the absolutely crap ones from the Hogwarts storage shed for their practices. That was the year they had both made Beater for the first time. Flying on that broom had felt like the most perfect, joyous freedom that George ever could have tasted. Especially knowing that his brother had gifted it to him. 

“It’s not like my life is terrible.” You quickly rushed to assure George. “But it’s all just - a blur. My father isn’t some vessel of affection. And I don’t remember much of my mother. And Hogwarts-” 

You quickly cut yourself off, sucking in a sharp breath as you held back more tears. 

Oh hell. What had Hogwarts been like for you? Fred and George tormenting you with pranks over some stupid house rivalry? Making your life more difficult for no reason? 

Did you even have any good friends? 

George never remembered seeing you around with anyone. At least, not with friends like he had. 

You always walked the halls alone, you always ate alone. But he thought that was how you preferred to spend your time. He always thought before this that you were simply snobbish and you never thought anybody else was good enough to be in your company. But more and more these days, he was realizing that fact simply wasn’t the case. (He supposed that Slytherins weren’t the easiest to make friends with, and Slytherins didn’t have much luck making friends outside of their house, especially not when their father was a known Death Eater.) 

Silently vowing to become your good friend from then on, George moved on to a more important matter first - helping you cast a Patronus Charm. 

“What do you remember about your mother?” He asked. 

“What?” You gaped, confused. 

“Your mother - do you have any happy memories of her?” He asked. 

You stirred in quiet thought for a moment. You hated where this was going, but with his gentle eyes still giving you that terrible sense of safety, you found yourself opening up to him once again. 

“I don’t remember much of her.” You told him quietly. “She died when I was really young - when I was only four. My father always talks about her like she was some horrid bitch. He never paints a kind picture of her, and I often wonder if I’m misremembering her because I was so young.” 

“You should disregard anything your father says as a general rule.” George told you, entirely confident in his own words as he always was. 

This was the first time that you considered, beyond his beliefs about ‘Mudbloods’ and your family’s ‘natural superiority’, that your father might have been wrong when he spoke about you. Before you could dwell on that thought, however, George spoke up again. 

“What do you remember?” He asked, stressing the word to put meaning on your own personal experiences, not the weight of someone else’s. 

He genuinely valued your opinion for once. It felt strange that someone did. 

“She was kind.” You said quietly, still reserved. “She smelled wonderful - like rising bread dough and fresh flowers. She was always smiling. She-” 

You cut yourself off, growing tearful. It had been a long time since you had allowed yourself to remember. 

“Keep going.” George encouraged you. “It's okay. You should hold onto these things.” 

The soft rumble of his voice - so much gentler than usual - made the words feel true. You tried to let yourself fall into the memories. Far off in your mind, you ran into your mother’s embrace. 

“She used to give me these little square sweets after every meal.” You said, making the small shape with your fingers as the memory truly sank in. “Different chocolates filled with things - mint and nougat and strawberry. She said that you should always have something sweet after every meal. And I would bite them in half and guess the flavour, and then I would give the other half to her and kiss her on the cheek.” 

It was something you hadn’t thought about in so long, and though it was tender, it did bring you joy. 

“Good.” George whispered, terrified to break your concentration on the memory. “Hold onto that.” 

He took his wand from his pocket, not even thinking about the fact that you casting the charm with his wand might not be as successful, if successful at all. He was simply too eager to try it out. He stepped behind you and you felt odd with the sudden closeness, wanting to run from the contact as he crowded up tight to your back and grabbed your wand arm, placing the wand in it. 

“Come on, you can do it-” 

“George, no-” 

“Just try.” He insisted, gently whispering in your ear in a way that was strangely intimate. “Just once. For me.” 

You had no clue why you went along with it, but you did. 

“What was your favourite flavour?” 

“What?” 

“What was your favourite flavour of the sweets that your mother gave you?” He asked. 

“Peanut butter.” You replied. “If it was a peanut butter one, she would let me finish the whole thing by myself. And she always laughed when I licked my fingers. Not in a mean way - she wasn’t laughing at me… but she was laughing because she was happy. Happy because she knew I was enjoying it.” 

“Now say the words.” He whispered, guiding your hand to raise the wand up into the sky. 

Strangely, you trusted him. 

“Expecto Patronum.”

Engulfed by the safety of George at your back and feeling the intensity of your mother’s love inside of you, the overwhelming magic flowed through you. In a moment, you were amazed as a bright white light came flowing out of the wand - George’s wand - not just blasting into a shield but forming into a beautiful array of moving, living beings that filled the whole corridor within seconds. The previously dark space was soon lit up by dozens of tiny bright little lights that danced so beautifully for the two of you. 

At first you thought they might be butterflies, but when you got a closer look at their wings and their size, you realized that they were moths - not as beautiful or well liked by people. How fitting. You couldn’t help but to reach out and try to catch one - and that dreamy little beam of light, that magical little white moth landed on your extended finger before it dissipated off into nothingness as the magic dissolved and the corridor darkened once again. 

“I told you you could do it.” George said cheerfully. 

You turned to George, and likely for the first time ever, you smiled at him. 

“Thank you, Weasley. I mean it.” 

When the Owl Post came the next morning, a random Tawny owl that you did not recognize dropped a poorly wrapped package into your lap and then screeched away. When you peeled it open, you were surprised to find a random jar of some cream, along with a package of peanut butter fudge. It came with a scrawled note that said ‘it would be a shame for that beautiful hand to be scarred forever’. 

You peered across to the Gryffindor table and found a certain tall redhead grinning at you, and he gave you a wink. The cream smelled vaguely of green tea, and was very soothing to apply. The marks on your hand faded within a week of use, and it never left a scar. The fudge tasted amazing, and thankfully, did not give you a fever. It reminded you of your mother - and for the first time in a long time, you actually let yourself indulge in those memories. 

You had to wonder where he had gotten the sweets on such short notice. But you supposed that was just another ‘Weasley trick’ you weren’t allowed to know about. 

That day had shown you a kinder side of George that you had never truly expected even existed. 

… 

Despite what you believed, George could be just as much trouble by himself, even when Fred wasn’t around for him to conspire with. 

The entire week culminated in an incident that you never could have predicted - one that had you mentally begging for Fred’s return. 

That afternoon, just after closing, you were tallying up the register as a part of your end-of-day duties, and George walked up to you, seeming far too ‘innocent’ for your liking. His presence now filled you with a slight sense of dread, wondering what he would do next, but you said nothing about it. You didn’t even look up at him - you continued your work, counting the money and writing down your tally while he lingered off near the edge of the counter. You hoped that if you didn’t acknowledge him, whatever prank he had planned next simply wouldn’t play out. You were far too tired for his antics now. 

“Y/N,” He called your name gently, and you still didn’t look up. 

Instead, you hummed gently in response to acknowledge him, pretending that you were far too busy to look up from your work. He let out a deep sigh, walking around the counter toward you. 

“Look, I do have to say that I’m sorry for everything. This week, I pulled a lot of immature pranks on you and it was a step backward between us,” He announced, his tone sounding oddly… insincere. 

You finally looked up from the ledger book to face him, and you found that his expression was… smug? His mouth was tight, clearly holding back a smile, and his eyes were glinting with an ardent joy that you knew had to be ill-conceived mischief. 

Your stomach churned as you wondered what he was up to, and you immediately knew that the apology was a false, a cover for whatever he was attempting. You didn’t trust him - not one bit. 

But you knew that you couldn’t call him out for it right away, otherwise he would simply try again later. And he would come back with a better set up, or simply try to catch you off guard next time. You had to figure out what he was doing first, and put a stop to it. 

So for now, you pretended to believe him.  

“Yes, it was.” You replied quietly. 

You glanced around, trying to see if he had set up any trip-wires, any hanging buckets. You looked down at the drawers in the front counter to see if any of them had moved during the quick break you had taken for a cup of tea (one that you had definitely made for yourself this time). You had to wonder if he had hidden anything inside of them that would jump out at you when you opened them. 

“Thank you for apologizing.” Your tone was dead, your mind too busy focusing on trying to figure out his next move. 

“I got you something!” He added on excitedly. 

When he reached into his pocket, you instinctively took a step back, your eyes glued to his hand as he took a few sweets out and laid them on the counter. The green sour apple candies that you loved. You were instantly suspicious of them, just like you had been the first time he had gifted you some (in the same manner of apology). But you had to guess that he wouldn’t stoop to tampering with them. 

You gave him a harsh glance, and he gave you a smile. And then, you reached your hand out to grab one. 

But that was your greatest mistake. 

The minute your arm was extended, he reached out with his arm - the one that was closest to you, his left, and before you could blink, he wrapped something cold and metal around your right wrist and tightened it. A sharp ‘click’ sounded through the air as he secured the metal around your arm, trapping you. 

He started cackling loudly - as both the hilarity and the victory of it truly overcame him, and your brain began to process what had just happened. You lifted your arm up, tugging on the metal, realizing that it was a wrist cuff attached to a chain no more than four inches long, and on the end of that chain was George Weasley. 

He had handcuffed himself to you. 

What. The. Fuck. 

He had cuffed himself into the other side and hidden it under his jacket sleeve before walking up to you, holding the cuff in his hand down by his side to hide it from you. He had planned this out. 

But what-? Why had he done this? 

Why the fuck had he chained the two of you together? 

You yanked on it again, causing his hand to flail along with yours, a sharp bite grinding against your skin as the metal tugged on your own wrist, very secure in place. The realization that the two of you were now solidly attached was truly, fully settling into your brain. 

“What the fuck?!” You yelled, shocked and slowly becoming angry as he continued to laugh and beamed a smile at you. “What the fuck is this, George?” 

“Oh come on, it’s a joke!” He replied, still grinning. “We both know that you and I could use some extra time together.” 

“I said-” You were about to remind him of your previous protests to this exact idea, but he cut you off. 

“You said that you didn’t want to spend time together because we’re not friends.” He reminded you. “And the only way for us to become friends is to spend more time together. Ironically.” 

He always had a way of making you regret your own words. 

You glared at him intensely, now absolutely fuming with annoyance and a growing rage. 

“I - I don’t care, you idiot!” You screamed in return, beginning to panic. “Get rid of it! Unlock it!” 

You continued to flail in panic, making your own wrist continue to hurt more as the short chain caused his arm to act like a dead weight against your own, preventing you from moving too far away from him. It made you feel so terribly trapped, and you hated it. 

Sure, of all the people to be trapped with, he wasn’t the worst by far. But you had already spent so much of your life feeling trapped; you had spent so long being defined by your father’s choices for you, in fear that all eyes in the world were judging you based on his reputation (which mostly turned out to be true). And just as you were barely becoming free from those chains, George had come and slapped another literal one onto your wrist. 

It caused a terrible anxiety through you, turning your muscles to putrid stone within seconds and tightening your throat as your body threatened tears. And you refused to let yourself cry in front of him, so of course, it only manifested as harsh anger toward him while your brain put up shields and tried to protect you. 

“Calm down, will you?” George replied, his face still vibrant with laughter, obviously not taking you seriously. “It’s just a joke.” 

Of course. His singular excuse for everything in life. 

“A joke!” You screamed back so harshly that your voice easily broke. “A joke?!” 

“Y/N-” 

You didn’t let him speak. 

“Everything in your life is a joke!” 

You shouted, getting closer to his face to magnify your words since you quite literally couldn’t get away. 

“You had absolutely no work ethic in school and wasted any brains you had on torturing fellow students for a few cheap laughs and now you wonder why you can’t get a girlfriend because you push away any woman in your life with immature antics and you refuse to actually reflect on anything more serious than what you ate for lunch!” 

Your throat became worn out from screaming so many words with so little breath, getting louder as you went along, but it felt nice to get some of the anger out. 

George just rolled his eyes and then smirked at you, and you became even more irritated by the fact that he didn’t seem at all phased by your words. 

“Are you done, lover?” He asked as you took a breath, still shaking with rage. “You are starting to hurt my one good ear. And it is rather precious to me, as you could understand.” He added on, using his free hand to gesture to that side of his head. 

‘Lover’?

This pet name, and the casual nature with which he spoke it, just left odd confusion mixing in with your anger. 

“Weasley, I swear to Merlin, if you don’t take this off me within the next minute-!” You began to threaten him, grabbing your wand out of your apron pocket to point it squarely at his chest. “I will singe all the hair off your body and turn your cock into something so shriveled and unrecognizable-!” 

“So you do think about my cock, eh?” He said, cutting you off, his smirk growing even more intense now. 

You let out a deep growl of frustration and pressed your wand into his throat, and then, as a warning, you began to count. 

“Ten, nine, eight, seven-” 

You weren’t sure if you were counting down to when you would start firing non-lethal curses at him, or if you were counting down to try and make your rage less potent, but you were glad when it worked. 

“Alright, alright, calm down.” George sighed in surrender, and batted your wand down from his throat with his free hand. You weren’t so easily convinced and continued to hold the weapon in his direction, glaring at him. “I’ve got the key right here. It was just a little joke, a wind up, ya know?” 

He started searching the pockets of his jacket, finally ready to give up the key and unlock you. You did feel a twinge of relief, even if you refused to show it, keeping your appearance firm and stony - a way that you hadn’t looked at him in a long time. 

However, that bit of relief was incredibly short-lived as his hand went into more of his pockets and came up empty-handed again and again, and he seemed to grow increasingly more frantic. You grew more panicked too as you noticed him doubling back and checking his pockets over again, even checking his pants, and dumping things out onto the floor - causing random sweets and crumpled pieces of parchment to fall by your feet… 

But still, no key. 

“George.” You ground out between your teeth, pressing your wand tightly against his cheek. 

“I have it here somewhere,” He mumbled hastily, giving you a nervous grin. 

“You lost the key?!” You shouted, lowering your wand now, knowing that another flash of accidental anger would end up with him on the wrong end of a jinx, and (as pissed off as you were) you didn’t want to hurt him by mistake. 

George continued frantically fingering his pockets, but his expression grew more honestly worried now. Whether it was because he was terrified of what you might do to him, or because he actually didn’t like the results of his own prank and truly didn’t want to be chained to you, you weren’t sure. You had to guess that it was the latter - being chained to you for a period of time longer than five minutes would be incredibly unpleasant for anyone. 

“It - it was an honest mistake, really.” He stuttered out nervously, still frantically looking for the key. 

However, you knew that it was just your luck that the key had gone missing - likely fallen out of his pocket somewhere and truly gone. You didn’t count on him finding it anytime soon. Still, you continued to internally panic - you weren’t prepared to spend much longer like this. 

George flinched when you waved your wand again, and you wanted to go on a rant about how you weren’t actually going to hurt him (even as much as you wanted to). But instead, you fought against his dead weight to raise the cuff attached to your wrist upward, and then you began firing off spells. 

“Alohomora!” You tried the first and most obvious one, and naturally, it did not work. “Aperta!” You tried something a bit more advanced, and still nothing. 

“Wow, I actually thought that would work-” George began. 

“Shh.” You cut him off, trying to think. 

You dug through your knowledge for something a bit more advanced - and you thought of a lock breaking spell that you had read about in a rare Japanese spell book during your time at Hogwarts. Back when you had spent most of your time studying because your social life really hadn’t been that great. 

“Hirake Kagi!” You spoke the words sharply, hoping that you remembered the pronunciation well, causing a small bright white light to fire off into the small key hole beside your wrist. 

When you tugged on the cuff - still, it was locked solidly tight, and you heaved a grand sigh of frustration. 

“Okay, well, that didn’t work, so-” George began to speak again, but you found yourself ignoring him. 

You raised your wand again, this time firing off curses toward the short chain that attached the two of you. 

“Confractus!” You fired a simple spell with the intention to break the chain, and nothing happened. 

“Reducto!” 

A large bright white beam of energy burst out of your wand, and as soon as it hit the small chain, it was deflected off the seemingly unbreakable metal and ended up hitting a nearby display of products, destroying a few of the boxes and knocking far more of them over into a heap on the floor. 

“Ignitis!” 

You moved on to fire, causing a bright orange beam to come shooting out of your wand, one that was also deflected off the metal - this time with slightly worse consequences. The ensuing fragments of energy singed up George’s arm and began to light his coat on fire, and caused you to jump back as particles of ember threatened up toward your face before sizzling out. 

“Woah, woah, stop it!” George demanded, grabbing your wand from you and putting it on the counter. 

Luckily, he had a decent amount of experience with this kind of stuff due to his and Fred’s early failures with their products, and he didn’t panic - he simply brought his free hand up and began aggressively patting out the fire until his jacket was only dully smoking, which did impress you. You liked that he could be calm among chaos. 

“You’re going to kill one of us!” He added on, sounding slightly annoyed himself. Perhaps he had a point. “And trust me, you don’t want to be chained to a dead body that you have to lug around. I am a lot heavier than I look, love.” 

The affectionate nickname gave a confusing twist in your stomach, and you glared at him. 

In the back of your mind, you did consider the fact that you didn’t want to be chained to his dead body - because it would be terribly inconvenient, and because at the end of the day, you didn’t want to see him hurt. Even if you wanted to strangle him with the chain of the cuffs to prove a point, you would have stopped before he lost consciousness. 

“Well what do you suggest, if you’re so clever?” You hissed at him. 

He grinned at you. 

“Leave it to a Slytherin to try and brute force her way out,” He said, reaching into the breast pocket of his jacket for his own wand. 

“This isn’t about Slytherin or Gryffindor, or any of that pathetic bullshit.” You griped, shaking your head. “Whatever, just - what’s your idea?” 

He raised his wand proudly and announced his spell. 

“Accio key!” 

Then, from seemingly every corner of the shop (including the pile of junk that had landed at his feet after he had emptied his pockets), with drawers opening and doors upstairs creaking open, about a dozen different keys came hurling at the two of you. You instinctively ducked down to avoid the sharp metal that would have pierced your skin and likely left harsh gashes due to his lack of foresight. The cuff tugged on your wrist as a reminder of your predicament, and you conveniently used him as a shield for the oncoming debris, hearing him let out a few grunts as some of the keys inevitably hit him. 

“Oh yes, that was clever.” You griped sarcastically. “That was downright brilliant!” 

“Okay, fine, not my best moment.” George sighed as you stepped out from behind him. “Just help me look through these and see which one is the handcuff key. And then I’ll unlock you and you can be free for the rest of the weekend.” 

He let out a tired huff as he bent down and began picking up the collection of keys off the floor, putting them on the counter to go through them. 

“And Monday.” You added on. “I’m taking Monday off because of this little stunt.” 

“Fine.” He quietly agreed. 

The more keys you looked through, the more anxious you became. You recognized each of them - a ring of keys that unlocked different doors in the shop, a key with a fuzzy dice on the end that was a spare for Ron’s Muggle car (that Fred and George maybe had permission to use), a spare key to Ron’s apartment in London in case of emergency, a spare key to the front door of the shop that Fred had lost months ago, a key to your apartment upstairs, a key to the desk in Fred and George’s office, but - 

“You’re sure that none of these is the right one?” You pressed, panicking. 

“Yes, I’m sure.” George replied, sounding slightly downtrodden about it himself. “It was a little one, a tiny small key-” He gaped, gesturing with his fingers, showing you the intended size. 

“And you lost it!” You cried out, angry and upset at the same time. “Oh, you idiot!”  

George sighed in defeat and you kicked the counter in front of you, causing all the keys laid out on the countertop to rattle, along with the change that was sitting in the open cash drawer from your still unfinished closing count. Strangely, this caused you to come up with a new idea. 

“What shop did you buy the handcuffs from?” You pressed, turning to him with a bright, relieved smile on your face. “We can just go there and buy another set for the key!” 

George’s face twisted into a sickly, nervous expression. Your smile immediately dropped, teeth clenching down so hard that your jaw began to hurt as you glared at him even stronger now. 

“What?” You demanded harshly, not even opening your mouth to grind out the word. 

He was going to kill you with stress before the night was even over. Then he was going to be the one dragging around a dead body. 

“I - I didn’t buy them.” He confessed, his voice quiet and obviously embarrassed. 

Unable to resist the urge this time, you reached up and slugged him, delivering a harsh, solid punch to his shoulder. He let out a grunt. 

“Okay, maybe I deserved that-” 

“What did you do?!” You demanded. “What the hell did you get me into?!” 

“Look, I’ll fix it, I swear-” He began to ramble out apologies, but you were more interested in something else. 

“Where are the handcuffs from?” You asked, slowly creeping into insanity, and definitely losing your patience. 

“I found them in Harry’s desk.” He rushed out the words all at once, and your mind began to spin. 

You had to guess that he meant Harry Potter. 

Which meant that you were truly fucked. 

Harry wasn’t officially an Auror, at least not yet. The Ministry had been trying their best to charm him into the program since The War had ended, and this included having him work as a freelance agent on only the most attractive and exciting criminal cases - something that he and Ron liked to talk about a lot. It meant that his name and picture could be slapped all over the Prophet whenever he brought in a high profile Death Eater that had still been on the loose. 

Because he didn’t officially work with the Ministry, he didn’t have an office at their headquarters (even as many times as they kept offering him their best, most gorgeous offices, including all the perks). He had told you once that he hated the idea of being ‘cooped up’ underground all day. Though you didn’t see how his current accommodation was much better. 

You had been to Grimmauld Place a few times during your time as a member of The Order of Phoenix, but you had only found out that it was Harry’s inheritance and current place of residence a few months after The War. Hermione had invited you over there for dinner (you did appreciate being included, even if Ron and Fred often showed their disdain for her trying to do so). Harry had proudly showed you his office and the many keepsakes within - trophies that Dumbledore or others had gifted to him, and creepy, cursed objects that he had trapped in glass cases that had come with the Black family home. 

You could only imagine what kind of ancient demonic magic was keeping the handcuffs from being destroyed. 

(Little did you know, these handcuffs were a relatively new pair of Muggle handcuffs that one of the other Aurors had modded with many intense, advanced spells and given to Harry with the purpose of keeping their perps from escaping.) 

“It’s not my fault!” George insisted with a yell. “He just left me alone in there with all that stuff! And his desk was unlocked! And I wasn’t even looking in the drawers for a pair of handcuffs, I was looking for documents with some kind of gossip! And when I found them, how was I not supposed to use them for some greater nefarious purpose? It’s entrapment!” 

“Just shut up!” You snapped. “Shut up and let me think!” 

You became breathless from screaming for a moment, and after you gulped in air, you spoke again. 

“What the hell are we gonna do?” 

It was more of a rhetorical question, speaking to yourself as you truly took in the utter horror of the situation at hand - being chained to another person with seemingly no way to escape. But naturally, George had to crack another joke. 

“I thought you wanted me to shut up so you could think,” He mumbled quietly. 

You rolled your eyes sharply. 

And strangely, it was your annoyance with him that fueled your next idea. 

“Harry’s desk…” You mumbled out. “Maybe he has another key? We have to go and talk to him.” 

George frowned again. 

“Harry is in Romania.” He said. “Apparently he’s on some top secret mission. Ron couldn’t stop blabbering on about it, so it must be really important.” 

Romania. Great. 

You clenched your fists incredibly tight, jabbing your nails harshly into your palm, trying to distract yourself from George’s presence. Not ending up in Azkaban for murder was the singular motivation that kept you grounded for a few moments as you forced yourself to take deep breaths rather than to scream. 

“So what do you suggest?” You huffed out, your voice quivering with ill-concealed rage. 

“We could try Bill?” George posed. “He works with cursed objects sometimes. He might know more about this than we do. He might know how to break us out without the key. I’ll send him an Owl?” 

You let out a breath of relief, for once, actually glad that the Weasley family was so large that they had members of such varying degrees of expertise. 

“But we have to get to the Owlery before it closes.” He added on, looking at his watch on his free hand. 

Before you could blink, he was attempting to move around the counter, dragging you with him in a sharp jolt, causing your shoulder to pain harshly. Your mind took a moment to kick in and realize that you had to walk along with him to avoid that dragged-along effect. Even if Bill could solve this, you would still be stuck close by George for the next few hours. 

Great. 

As he headed toward the door, going for the Owlery on the other side of Diagon Alley, you realized something even more terrible - he was about to parade you through the streets chained to him. It was the most foolish, embarrassing thing ever, and though it hurt your wrist, you gave a harsh yank back on the cuffs, causing him to hiss in pain quietly and stop dead in his tracks. 

“What?” He asked as he looked over his shoulder toward you, his tone now becoming ripe with annoyance. 

“I am not being paraded around as your new accessory!” You argued. “I already look foolish enough wearing this gaudy apron! I don’t want to have to explain your unique brand of stupidity to other people!” You demanded, shaking the cuffs for emphasis.

“Well, we are currently stuck together, so if I need to mail an Owl, you’re coming with me!” He shouted back, trying to pull you toward the door once again. 

Instinctively, you reached out and stomped on his foot to stop him (your wand still sitting on the counter where he had put it). Your high heeled shoe made a firm imprint in the middle of his expensive dragon-hide oxford and caused a shooting pain through his foot that had him howling and jumping back, glaring at you. 

“Okay, stop it!” George huffed at you, wagging a finger tightly in your face that you resisted the urge to reach out a bite simply to spite him. “If we’re going to be stuck like this, even if it’s only for a few hours, we have to agree not to wound each other.” 

He would never try to physically hurt you, no matter how upset he was, but he mostly wanted it to be a mutual agreement so that he would be safe from you. 

“Fine.” You sighed. He did have a point. Devolving to petty fighting would only make things worse. 

Then, you thought of something that would make going out in public a bit more bearable. 

“Give me your coat.” You demanded. 

“What?” He gaped at you, confused. 

“Just give it to me!” 

He began to remove it from his free arm, but then he realized a glaring problem - with his hand in the handcuffs, he wouldn’t be able to remove his jacket off the arm that was attached to yours. You saw this issue too and let out a huff, grabbing the fabric from him anyway - it would still work fine for your purposes. You took it as far down his arm as you could and then draped the fabric over your joined wrists, doing your best to conceal the handcuffs from any public eyes. Still feeling the chain biting into your skin as the distance tugged on your wrists, you moved to grab his hand, hating how blazen warm his skin was as you laced your fingers with his to keep him still. 

“You know if you wanted to hold my hand, you could’ve just as-” He began to say, smirking at you. 

“Shut up.” You hissed at him. “Just go.” You motioned toward the door, and the two of you finally set off. 

To the late-afternoon stragglers in Diagon Alley, the two of you would have looked like a simple couple holding hands as you walked along, too lovestick to let each other go. No one would have suspected that you were actually chained together under the fabric of George’s coat due to an ill-timed, poorly thought out ‘prank’. 

Apparently it was almost too convincing. 

George paid for some supplies at the Owlery to write his letter, and of course, he had to be the one to write it because he had conveniently set this up so that his proper, dominant hand would be the one free and anything you wrote with your non-dominant hand would be awful chicken scratch. You almost had to wonder in the back of your mind if your spells had gone so wrong because you hadn’t been using your proper wand hand. 

But you couldn’t linger on those thoughts for long, because the woman behind the counter kept eyeing the two of you heavily as your joined hands rested on top of the counter under the folded fabric of his jacket. 

“You two are just the sweetest, aren’t you?” She said, smiling at both of you past thick wrinkles, clearly endeared by a young couple. “It’s just so sweet to see a couple so in love that they run errands together - just can’t leave each other’s side, not for a moment.” 

“Oh we’re certainly attached, alright.” You replied, knowing that the woman was too rosy-eyed to pick up on the bitter sarcasm in your voice. 

“I wouldn’t trade my Y/N for anything,” George added on, giving you a fake, gooey smile. You resisted the urge to hit him again. “We’ll be back here soon mailing the wedding invitations.” 

You gave him a sharp glare for this comment, especially when the woman giggled brightly at this and started asking George more questions - wanting to know about what day your wedding was planned for and how long the two of you had been together. You were thankful when he wrapped up the conversation with her and mailed off his letter to Bill, and after some more dreadful hand holding back down the street, the two of you got back to the shop. 

He locked up behind the two of you and you both decided to wait for the reply upstairs in your apartment. You hated feeling embarrassed by the bits of mess that you had naturally left in your apartment, not knowing that anybody else would be seeing it anytime soon. Random dishes in the sink, an unfolded blanket on the couch, random magazines around. You wanted to rush to clean up, you wanted to do something - 

“We should probably sit down.” George said, pulling out one of the chairs at the small kitchen table. “It might be a while.” 

You didn’t even have the energy to respond with anger. 

You simply pulled out the chair opposite and collapsed into it, glad that you could yank off your apron over your head and throw it to the side. 

… 

You and George waited in silence for the return Owl. 

You picked up a nearby book, trying your hardest to read when his presence was so distracting, and he simply sat there, contemplating (hopefully considering his life choices and thinking about the consequences of his actions). About an hour passed before there was light tapping on the window, and you were grateful to look up and find a brown barn owl there, waiting for the two of you. George rushed up to open the window and you let out a hiss of pain as he inadvertently tugged on your wrist, still not used to being so closely attached. 

“We’re still attached, moron,” You grunted out, rushing out of your chair to follow him. 

“You know, you don’t have to call me a moron every five minutes.” George sighed. “I know that what I’ve done is stupid.” 

He opened the window and took the envelope from the owl and slipped a coin into a pouch on its leg as a tip for the delivery - clearly another Owlery owned owl. 

“If you knew that, then you wouldn’t have done it.” You replied dully. 

George didn’t reply any further, too busy ripping open the envelope to read the letter while you closed the window. You were curious, but too nervous to read over his shoulder; even when you took a glance at the paper, you found the handwriting too messy to even make-out. Though with the way George was murmuring under his breath as he read it, apparently he could understand it just fine. 

“Oh.” 

“What?” You snatched the letter from him, though you didn’t bother to read it, looking from the parchment to George’s once again nervous expression. “What?” 

“He said that he knows a good professional Ministry curse breaker that he can get us an appointment with.” George announced, forcing a grin. Clearly trying to make you feel better about the news. 

You had a feeling that there was a very large ‘but’ coming. And when you didn’t say anything - when you didn’t start celebrating, instead staring him down with an imposing look, leaving the air open for more words, George provided you with it. 

“But the next available appointment is in two or three days.” 

“Two or three days?!” You screamed, your throat becoming sore from how much you had screamed that day. “Have you stressed the exact nature of our predicament to him?” 

“Yes!” He assured you. “But these are very busy people! And they’re dealing with situations much more life-threatening than ours at present!” 

George Weasley had handcuffed himself to you, and now the two of you were stuck together.

...

Continue Reading Here: Part Two - Epoximise

A/N: I will ask you kindly - if you enjoyed this fic, please reblog it or comment something meaningful down below. I would love to have a conversation with people who enjoyed the fic and sat through the entire thing to be able to read this ending message.

Typically, with a multi-part fic, I would have some kind of reblog and comment goal at the end asking people to give the fic a certain number of comments and reblogs before I post the next part, but I have found that even this doesn't get people to meaningfully engage with fics. The last time I did this with a fic, the goal was not met, and it has been sitting there for months with enough likes to have more than doubled the goal, but people just don't give a fuck to actually comment or reblog. They just leave a like and move on without caring how much effort it actually takes to write a 30k, 40k, 50k fic.

If you're going to comment, I don't care to know if the writing quality was good or anything like that (because it doesn't really start a conversation when people go "this is so good!" it just makes me nod and throw a thumbs up - I want to have genuine conversations about my fics and what is happening in them), I do want to have a genuine discussion about the plot of the fic, the dynamic between the characters, and what you anticipate will happen in the next part - I want to talk about your experience reading it and how that experience differs from other fics. I don't just want to be praised (in fact, I don't want to be praised at all), I want to have fun talking about the characters and the universe here.

Because in case it passed your notice, writing a 50k fanfic (which, this adds up to 50k between both parts) - is a lot of work. And all I ask for in return after putting in hours and hours worth of hard, back-breaking work into a fic like this and then posting it for free, is that people take a few minutes to discuss it with me if they took the time to read it.

Also I ask for the courtesy that people please don't hound me and bother me by asking when the next part is coming out.

The next part will be posted when I am finished editing it, and that could be in 2 days or 2 weeks or 2 months, or even 2 years from now if something comes up. Stick around my blog if you want to see it, especially because I will be posting updates about the progress. And for reference, the next part will be the final part - this is not a series, this is a oneshot that has been divided in half for more convenient editing and reading.

That's all. Even if you don't comment, I hope you enjoyed it, and I hope that you have a great day. <3

[halo-chainsaw]

Shut up i'm talking patreon only 7$!!!!!

The patreon podcast is out, and I have just finished listening to it!

I decided to write down some notes for those who are interested but do not have the patreon. It's a long one, but I picked out what I thought would be important + silly moments here n there

Podcast is recorded the morning of Dream's video (I'm sorry but not to Tommyinnit)

Tommy called his mom about the situation first, discussing about how it was awful (pre reddit post)

Harry wrote the "you can call me anything but do not call me poor" LOL

Tommy didn't watch the dream stream but read a synopsis, and he said that was enough

He's spoken to Dream privately several times (starting 2023), all his friends told him that dream was taking advantage of him, but he wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt

He has told dream to change how he acts, and dream has refused. Has had conversations like this multiple times.

Told dream in a conversation he was no longer speaking to him and was no longer talking to him after he talked to his mom. Was previously ignoring him but blocked him outright.

After his dream v quackity sketch dream sent him awful and mean messages.

Jack and Tommy are pissed off about people saying to "resolve it privately". They have tried multiple times to solve things privately, but Dream will take things public.

Jack had a 2 hour long call with dream on jack's DADS BIRTHDAY??? and it was about why he didn't like dream, and about dream's allegations.

the "Jack mentions Dream" account bothers Jack since its a bunch of indirect things, and him responding to messages rather than him just bringing Dream up.

Dream says Jack spreads rumors about him.

Jack does not think dream is a p*dophile, but he finds the situation(s) he was in wildly inappropriate.

Dream showed everyone his evidence against the grooming allegations in the DreamSMP discord. Jack said he told Dream it weirded him out, because either way, he was still messaging a fan, and it pissed Dream off.

Jack flat out calls Dream "stupid".

He's very pissed about the "unfaithful" rumor, and he's very vocal about it for a minute.

Jack reiterates the editor story with the 50 quid

They point out how the Dream ignores the George and Caiti situation, along with clipping Tubbo out of context.

"I can't believe he thought he could win by just lying. Especially when you've got a reputation of lying." -Jack (paraphrased/two different sentences put together)

Tommy says the video were for him, not everyone else. Makes a jab about Dream unable to use media literacy.

Tommy says Dream knows what he's talking about when he refers to misogyny. That there's so much more behind the scenes, that it's miserable.

Tommy says he doesn't want to do any of this anymore, that it's pointless. He says Youtube doesn't make him happy, that he doesn't fit in, and he wants to be done. He will still be posting to Youtube because he loves making videos, but he doesn't want to be part of the Youtube sphere/culture. He wants to be a proper comedian.

"I might as well go down sayin' what I fuckin' mean." -Tommy

brings up the "putting others down", Tommy reiterates how he's been very kind/warm to everyone, but if someone famous is being an asshole he's gonna make a joke about it. "That's what I've done with Logan, done to you, and what I'm going to continue to do."

Tommy calls him one of the most self indulgent and exhausting people he's ever met.

Brings up Dream calling him the internet police, he says that he's just sick of the bullshit. "When I see it, say it."

Tommy reiterates he can't do this much longer, that it's all pointless. Dream is just doing what he's been doing for years. He is not proud of dream and he doesn't respect him. Tells him straight to "Fuck off".

Tommy would talk to Jack, unsure if what was happening with Dream was odd/bad or not. He's a little relieved that it's in the public eye now.

Jack talks about how everyone on the server is talking against him, that no one is defending him. They've all known he's awful.

Tommy says he felt close to Dream, so he struggled with seeing the bad actions he had done. He felt skewed/manipulated.

Tommy tells a story about back when he was 14, he would annoy people in Hypixel by lobby spamming. One day he heads into a streamer's chat that he looked up to and said hello. the streamer, who was about 20 at the time, tore into him, calling him the R slur and many other horrible things. He said he felt heartbroken and shaken up. "Shit like this just happens along the way, and it's miserable, but like- for me, I just keep remindin' myself "this isn't the first time I've done this"."

Jack tried to make his disassociation as public as possible, he had told Dream to his face (during the allegations) in the DreamSMP discord that he did not want to be associated with him anymore.

Talks about how people still group DreamSMP members with Dream, and how they think every member is bad due to Dream's actions, and he's tired of it.

He doesn't like how public everything is, but he's glad people can finally see that they don't like Dream.

Tommy, from now on, is telling everyone how he feels. He's going to be blatant. (if that's what i understood from a comment he made)

Jack is still shocked that Dream chose that moment of all things to jump in. They have made comments here and there but Dream never said anything.

Jack talks about a part in his stream where he says something along the lines of "I'd understand this type of outburst if we had been bullying im for weeks and weeks. But we haven't been. Nor would that make it okay." And then someone on twitter said "Jack just admitted that they'd been bullying Dream non stop for weeks and he's proud of it!!!!" Jack says he can't believe people's ability to misinterpret.

Tommy saw Tubbo dissecting Dream's stream for 7 hours and knew that was the point it was becoming ridiculous.

Jack blatantly calls out how Dream uses manipulation tactics in how he speaks to the public. Tommy calls it painful for him to watch because it's what Dream had done to him and others in private.

Jack goes back to Dream's stream, talking about their phone call together, about how it was disingenuous and weird to bring up publicly. He says there are things he can't talk about publicly that formed his opinion.

"I just think he's like an impossibly self-indulgent, selfish man, who thinks everyone's on his own time." -Tommy

Jack thought Dream was purposefully being negligent in the way he would speak, and while he still is, he is seeing that a lot of it also comes from Dream not being able to pick up on social cues and norms. Though, he also reiterates that it doesn't excuse his awful behavior.

"I don't get how he can't listen to anyone else." -Tommy

Both of them have talked to Dream multiple times about how he acts and he never listens. Not even just them, they say "We all have really tried", which implies more members of the SMP or other personal friends.

"He doesn't seem to feel very much empathy for the pain he's caused, and if I was in his shoes- I don't know where his guilt is." -Tommy

They talk about his inability to apologize and how they can't understand it. Tommy gets a little heated. Dream has given them empty apologies and goes to do the same things again. They talk about how he doubles down over and over until no one sides with him, that's when he apologizes.

Jack calls Dream dismissive, and how its obvious that he doesn't care.

Tommy implores the audience to not imagine these dramas as Youtubers doing it, but to imagine their friends doing these things. Youtubers are not above others, there's no difference. The only difference is responsibility.

Jack points out how it's odd that they decide to post these things. It shows that they just double down on their awful actions.

Tommy ends by saying he doesn't want to continue this, but if there are things that need to be said then they will be, but on the Patreon.

Jack says he is done as well, that he's done with all his serious points, but he will be making jokes here and there. He won't be joking about rumors, but things that actually happened.

"Anyway, back to writing!" "Guys, let's all get back to coding."

[monster-effer]

Catch Me If You Can - Sylus x reader

Summary: Confessing a long-held fantasy to Sylus resulted in you running for your life in a forest. Can you outrun the leader of Onychinus? Doubtful, but you were having the time of your life trying anyway. Content: MDNI, explicit smut, fem!reader implied, role play, primal play (chasing, being hunted), reader is held down and restrained, rough, teasing, manhandling, inappropriate use of evol, Sylus is a little mean in this, rip to the reader’s hole 🙏🏾 (3k wc) A/N: Um…idek what came over me. I had to take breaks while I wrote this tbh🫣

Current time:

Barreling ahead, you tried your best not to stumble over the fallen tree branches, rocks and debris decorating the forest floor. It felt like you had been running away from him all night.

Although you would consider yourself in shape, even fighting wanderers did not push your body to its limit as much as tonight has. Your breathing was labored to the point that you were worried you would give away your position.

Determination was the main thing keeping you focused. But if you were being brutally honest — your legs and feet were starting to ache, and your body was enveloped in a thin layer of sweat.

You’re not sure how much longer you can go on like this. That coupled with the fact that you have not caught sight or heard him yet had your nerves working overtime. Just when taking a break started to look like a real possibility — the sound of a twig snapping close by prompted you to keep moving.

You knew he was intentionally messing with you. Because, you have experienced how soundlessly he could move around when he wanted to. But, having no other choice, you shook out your wobbly legs and were off again.

Flashback:

You’ve been pacing for the past few minutes, and your stomach was in knots.

Currently, you were waiting for Sylus to show up to your apartment because you had something important to discuss with him. This topic was nothing new. You’ve tried — and failed — casually bringing up your interest in a certain kink. A kink that involved being chased, hunted, held down and dominated. Just thinking about Sylus doing any of those things to you was thrilling. But you clam up every time you try to start a discussion.

It was beyond frustrating.

To further complicate matters, you aren’t the best at explaining things. The longer your garbled explanations went on, the more you unraveled. And soon after came the overwhelmed tears. Your boyfriend, Sylus — bless his heart — has been endlessly patient with you. It’s like he instinctually knew you were trying to express something that’s deeply personal but you’re weren’t ready to yet.

He's never pushed you. But you can tell he is genuinely interested in and curious about  what you want to say. No matter what he is up to at the time, he drops everything to give you his full attention. Sylus consistently makes you feel seen, heard and loved. Which is why you wanted to share this with him, despite the embarrassment it is taking to reach your destination. And after experiencing the crushing feeling that accompanied yet another failed attempt a few days ago — you made a decision.

To improve your odds, you’ve been practicing how this conversation may go. Both by yourself and with the help of your friends Tara and Simone. You’re not entirely sure either of them will look at you the same after your practice sessions, but they were good sports about it. And as a thank you, you gifted a spooky cat themed tarot card deck to Tara and a unique weapon (to modify as she pleased) to Simone.

After agonizing over having this conversation for real this time, you decided to take the leap of faith. You were sure that Sylus wouldn’t turn you down, because he is always encouraging (begging) you to be greedy about the things you want. Whether it be obtaining material items, spending time with him, or trying new things in the bedroom. All you have to do is ask.

But asking is the step that’s giving you the most trouble. It is the only thing standing in between you and fulfilling your long-held fantasy. You’ve never felt safe enough to bring up with anyone really (besides friends of course). But you’re sick of holding this in, you need to let it out. For better or worse.

Standing still for the first time in the past hour, you audibly sighed and covered your eyes as reality hit. You’re going to discuss something incredibly vulnerable today.

You can, and have, trusted Sylus with your life but even the slim chance of being judged for your interests was putting you on edge. Before you can spiral further, a knock on the glass door of your balcony drew your attention.

Hurrying over to let him in, you try to force a smile despite your inner turmoil.

“You were going to wear away the wood flooring if I let you pace any longer.”

Ah. He was always too observant for your own good.

“Very funny,” you grumbled while rolling your eyes.

Taking one of his hands in yours, you tugged him towards your living room couch without another word. When he sits down you don’t join him. Instead, you stand in front of him, looking down as you fiddled with the hemline of your shirt.

Your nerves were shot.

And somehow the practice sessions you held with your friends have all but slipped your mind. This left you feeling like a deer caught in headlights as your mouth opened then shut without making a sound.

“I haven’t seen you this nervous before. Come here and tell me what’s on your mind. Between the two of us, I’m sure we can resolve it.”

Sylus held out a hand to you, his thick eyebrows furrowed in concern. Once you placed your hand in his, he pulled you down to sit sideways in his lap. You could feel his carmine eyes trace your face, trying to glean what was wrong without pestering you to speak before you were ready.

You closed your eyes and inhaled deeply to steel yourself. The pounding of your heart was so strong you wondered if he could hear it.

“Sylus…I wanted to ask you something.”

“Go on. You can ask me anything,” he replied in a dulcet tone that put you at ease.

Finally feeling emboldened, you asked the burning question that was on your mind.

“What do you know about primal play?”

Current time:

Tonight was anything but normal. Mainly because you were trying your hardest to evade an apex predator.

Someone who seemed to have:

No weaknesses Immeasurable amounts of strength Unbelievable movement speed Impeccable strategic skills

You’re not sure how much longer you can keep narrowly escaping capture. It’s obvious he’s toying with you, because if he really wanted to, he could catch you in an instant.

You’re begrudgingly grateful that he’s playing along though, because despite your exhausted state you don’t want this to end anytime soon. You’ve been horny since receiving your invitation yesterday.

Sy 🐦‍⬛♥️: 1.28175°N, 103.85137°E Sy 🐦‍⬛♥️: tomorrow, 10 pm

Although the entire premise of tonight was based around your fantasies — you had no idea how real it would feel to be in this situation. Your pulse was racing, your mouth was dry, and you could not stop darting your eyes around. You were practically expecting him to emerge from the shadows at any moment.

You can’t help but feel that your capture is imminent. Yet, in spite of this, you continue to push your body forward. Tonight, you’ve had the opportunity to use a few skills obtained from working at the Hunter’s Association to your advantage.

After a few minutes of aimlessly wandering around, you reached a clearing. Said clearing held a tree stump that looked like the perfect seat to rest your weary body on. You knew that letting down your guard right now was not the wisest choice. But at the same time, you did not want to collapse from fatigue before the real fun began. So, you sluggishly made your way to the stump, plopped down, and finally gave your overworked feet a brief respite.

You were mid yawn when a hand covered your mouth, smashing your lips against his palm. When you tensed up, a firm arm wrapped around your waist caging you in completely.

Your eyes popped open as you instinctively struggled against the ensnarement. Wriggling your body, twisting your head side to side, and even trying to bite the hand that was covering your mouth did not faze your captor. In the end, you only succeeded in tiring yourself out.

And during all of this, he was silent behind you. No huffs of amusement, no words uttered. Just sheer strength preventing your body from moving away from his. When you ran out of energy to fight back it was eerily silent in the forest. This not only unnerved you, but it made your heart pump harder against your chest.

All you could hear was your own heavy breathing and the sound of leaves rustling in the wind. It was nearly pitch black around you, barring the twinkling stars overhead serving as your saving grace.

Satisfied with seeing the fight leave your body, he finally spoke.

“Did you really think you could hide from me?”

Your face flushed at his mocking tone.

With your mouth still covered, you could not answer him. Instead, a muffled whimper was your only reply.

“No matter where you are, who you are with, or what you are doing. I will always be able to find you.”

Still keeping ahold of you, he leaned down then ran his nose along the column of your neck starting from where it met your shoulder all the way up to your ear. You shuddered hearing him inhale your scent like it was a delicacy, purposefully exhaling on the shell of your sensitive ear.

“Do you know why that is?”

Struggling to stay present and not succumb to the arousing sensations it took you a while to realize he was waiting for a response. You shook your head.

“Because you are mine.”

He said it so confidently, like it is a universal truth. Like you belonging to him was a fact that could not be disproven nor rendered obsolete. Which did nothing to dampen how turned on you were. Since he caught you unawares, your panties have been pasted to you. Sticky with evidence of your need.

After his declaration he removed his hand from your mouth and wasted no time pushing you off the stump.

You squealed as your hands and knees met the ground.

“W- what are you doing?” you asked breathily.

Sylus chuckled lowly without answering you. Since you met, there have been plenty of laughs shared between the two of you. But tonight, it sounded like his voice dropped an octave. And it sent a chill down your spine.

“Guess,” he purred.

You gulped as he started to strip you of your clothing. First your shoes and socks, then he rolled your athletic tights down your legs. You were left in nothing but your damp underwear, t-shirt and sports bra, practically laid bare but completely at his mercy. It made you feel vulnerable in a way that was exhilarating yet uncomfortable.

As Sylus turned away to place your clothes in a neat stack, you were on your feet once again. Running into the woods with bare feet. The crunch of fallen leaves under your soles echoed loudly in your ears.

Goosebumps broke out on your skin when his incredulous chuckle reached you. Quicker than your eyes could track, Sylus appeared in front of you, blocking your path. His right eye glowed as his gaze was intent on you, giving him insight into your deepest desires. Further stripping away any layer of protection — mental or otherwise — you had left.

You tried to juke him, but he wasn’t easily fooled, instead, you crashed right into his chest. A whoosh of air was forced out of your lungs on impact.

Tired of your games, he quickly clamped his arms around you. Your nipples pebbled in anticipation as your arms were trapped against your side and your chest was crushed against him.

“Bravo,” he murmured condescendingly.

“I thought you tired yourself out, but I suppose I was wrong.”

“And to think — I was being nice earlier. But if you want to play dirty…I will as well.”

The black and red tendrils of his evol surrounded your wrists, pulling them behind your back to act as makeshift handcuffs. Once your hands were secured, he made his way behind you. Then, he pressed down on your shoulders, making you drop to your knees. Next, he pushed on your back, encouraging you to bend over. Your cheek pressed into the ground, making you arch your underwear covered bottom towards him.

In what seemed to require as much effort as tearing a piece of paper in half — he ripped the gusset of your underwear in two to expose your sopping wet mound to the chilly nighttime air.

You trembled and held your breath as your hole winked in response to the sudden change in temperature. You were helpless, unable to do nothing but await his next move.

Sylus let out a guttural sound at the sight you made.

You were glistening between your folds under the moon light. The position you were in could not be more submissive. Watching you shake like a leaf on the forest floor made you look like an animal cowering in fear.

When you first proposed this idea Sylus was surprised to say the least. His sweet kitten requesting to be stalked, hunted and treated like an animal was never something he thought of. Admittedly your discussion gave him pause, but he agreed because he would try anything for you.

But tonight, he’s been caught off guard with how easily he stepped into this “predator” role. He hasn’t stopped bulging against the zipper of his pants since this show began.

And you…weren’t making things any easier. You performed beautifully tonight. And now that he’s restrained you, you looked like a ripe and juicy fruit, ready to be devoured.

So, he did.

When he dug his hands into the plush of your thighs, he felt you twitch in response. He used this hold to push your legs apart. Then, he leaned in to enjoy his well-earned meal.

He lapped hungrily at the seam of your mound making sure to lather plenty of saliva over your opening. He savored the sounds you made when he dipped his tongue teasingly into your hole, making your ass jiggle as you jolted forward.

You were never left unsatisfied with Sylus’ performance in the bedroom. But tonight, the way he moved, touched and tasted you was distinctly different. It’s like like he’s been possessed. The slurping and sucking sounds coming from behind you were making you blush. He was being so loud, unabashed in his pursuit of making your mind go blank.

You tried to pull away from him, but instead of a temporary reprieve, you cried out when he forcefully pulled you back onto his tongue. He pinched your clit as punishment before pulling away to gruffly say, “don’t run.”

Then he gathered some of your slick to rub your bundle of nerves, continuing to lick up your juices. The dual stimulation was sending sharp jolts of euphoria through you and before long you shattered against his face.

You felt Sylus growl against your pussy as you spasm. When you finally still and begin to relax into the dirt, his silky voice breaks through the peaceful atmosphere.

“We aren’t done.”

“I need a break, that was so much,” you protested, lacking conviction.

“Oh you don’t need a break kitten, you are perfectly ready to take me,” he said before notching himself against you then bottoming out in one push.

You keened from the struggle of adjusting to his sudden entry. It was no secret that Sylus encouraged you to take charge in and outside of the bedroom. But in contrast, seeing him indulge in his dominant side tonight made you feel hot all over. Your clit throbbed each time he bested you tonight and arrogantly exerted his control.

Sylus held onto your hips then withdrew until just his tip remained. With little pause he thrust back in — setting an unforgiving pace. Your gummy walls desperately clung to him, almost refusing to let go. His length was covered in your juices, nearly gluing his hips to your backside each time they met.

He was beyond elated to finally feel you, after watching your every move and trailing you throughout the forest. Your unrestrained moans were throwing him into a frenzy. With the last of his restraint gone, he couldn’t resist pounding you into the ground. He needed to draw more of those addicting sounds from you.

It turned him on beyond measure to see and feel how much you were enjoying this crushingly erotic experience. He could feel himself getting close, but he needed more of you.

He could never have enough.

Dissipating his evol, he pulled your torso towards him until your back met his chest. He settled his forearm around your neck to keep you in place.

Sylus did not squeeze your neck hard, but the firm presence of his veiny appendage made your breath catch in your throat. Not giving you much time to adjust to the new position, he carried on rutting into you until you saw stars.

As you approached your release, you melted against him while he continued burying himself into your aching hole. With little warning he filthily groaned into your ear before you felt him splash your insides with his essence.

Soon, you are tumbling over the edge as well — cursing as your walls convulse uncontrollably around his cock. When he pulled out, you winced as you felt the mess that was left behind.

Your body was wrung dry. And you can already feel where bruises will form tomorrow. But, in spite of it all, this was everything you could have hoped for. Your mind feels too cloudy to fully articulate how fulfilling this experience was.

“That was amazing,” you mumbled.

His gaze was fond as he helped you get dressed before picking you up.

Sylus chuckled as he rasped, “I’m glad you had fun sweetie. Let’s get you home so I can clean you up, hmm?”

As far as aftercare goes, Sylus did not skimp. After arriving to his place, he brought you a glass of water, placed you in a warm bath, fed you, then put you to both to bed.

The end ♥︎