#abilities-most-uncommon

[majestyeverlasting]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | 𝐣𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫

pairing joel miller x female reader (18+) summary it wasn’t uncommon for you to seek each other’s presence after the sun was tucked away—for company, for comfort. but there’s something more consuming about tonight [post-outbreak, fluff, soft smut, 3.3k] a/n they're in love.

⠂⠁⠈⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂

There always had been something about the night. Something singular about its ability to take the most tightly wound days and coax them undone. Like the silken ribbon of a worn bow that had grown weary of holding its shape.

For quite some time now, your nights have belonged to each other. After years of going to bed alone, even Joel realized how good it felt to end the day next to someone who reminded him just how sweet life could be. 

Everyone's deserving of good company—you’d spoken those words to him in the face of his independence. Thankfully, with time, they’d worked their way into his spirit. Like vines, like air itself. He no longer feels wrong for craving care as tender as yours, even though his hands have made ghosts out of many men. 

Earlier tonight, it was you who came to him. 

Three muffled knocks had roused him from the beginning of a light sleep. Given he didn’t have to entertain Ellie tonight, he figured he’d turn in a little earlier than usual. He’d answered the door with fluffy hair and squinted eyes. There was an undeniable softness about his rumpled pajamas and the sight of his bare feet against the hardwood. Few words were needed between you as he helped you out of your coat and led you upstairs to his bedroom. 

It’s quiet where you lay now, tucked beneath sheets that smell faintly of earthen pine. You’ve draped one arm over Joel’s waist while your nose remains tucked between his shoulder blades like it belongs there. 

During the day, while out in the commune, you remained cordial and unassuming around each other. You weren’t exactly hiding from the attention of others but were protecting the bond forming between you. 

In due time, you’d allow the familiarity and intimacy of the night to bleed over into the day, but for now, this nighttime ritual is sacred in its newness. It had been a couple of months since your patrol partner didn’t show, and Joel stepped up to take his place. 

As it turns out, spending six hours with the right person in the cold can change your life. 

Joel holds his breath on an inhale when he feels your fingers begin to toy with the hem of his shirt. They slip beneath it a moment later, almost shy as they trail along his waistline and brush through the thin hair beneath his navel. Joel’s hips tilt just so. 

He swallows around a low sound as your hand ventures up his chest with featherlight curiosity. Exploring, cataloging. Past his ribs and to his chest to graze the pads of your fingers over his nipples, making something stir low in his gut. 

Your hand then drifts back down to splay over the small pudge of his stomach as if to center him again. 

“You’re so warm,” you murmur. 

If he were braver, he’d say it was by virtue of your touch alone. Your hands had wandered over each other's bodies, but never quite like this. This time, your touch doesn’t seek to soothe or ground but to evoke. 

Joel rests his hand over yours with a hum. It covers yours whole. 

“Your hands are so big.” Your voice dips into a purr. “And strong. Capable.”

Joel chuckles a low, flustered sound. He’s not sure what to do with these compliments or if that’s what they’re meant to be. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” you then say. “Fix my mailbox.”

Of everything you could’ve mentioned, he wasn’t expecting that. It was an easy task he’d knocked out earlier this afternoon. It took him no more than fifteen minutes. 

“Nothing to it,” he assures in a low drawl. 

Except, there was something to it. The fix meant Joel had been listening when you mentioned it broke. This wasn’t the first time he’d done something for you without asking for permission. Joel Miller is a man of action. If he sees a problem or a need, he doesn't hesitate. That strong sense of initiative had yet to steer him wrong. 

It’s lovely to be seen and heard by someone like him, especially in a commune where it wasn’t hard to slip through the cracks at times.  

A half-restrained shiver rolls down Joel’s spine when you press a kiss to the nape of his neck. The hair curled there tickles the tip of your nose. 

“Thank you,” you whisper. 

“Welcome—” His voice catches when you pepper more kisses to his nape. His hand stills yours when he feels your attempt to trail your touch downward from his stomach. 

“Sweetheart,” Joel breathes, a little wary. 

“Yes?” you lilt. 

The sheets rustle as Joel turns over to face you. He can only make out a few of your features in the glow of the moonlight slipping into the room. The rest, his mind fills in. You cup his stubbled cheek with a gentle hand. 

“Makin’ me hot.” His voice is soft and honest, a little frayed around the edges. A pleasant buzz has settled beneath his skin. 

Maybe you wanted him to burn. 

You scoot that much closer to press your lips to his. When the initial surprise dissipates, they move, slow and easy, against your own. Almost tired if you didn’t know any better. But even in the shroud of the night, he’s wide awake. For this. For you. 

A low sound rises in his throat when you take his lower lip between your teeth and gently tug until you’ve fully pulled away. 

Joel hadn’t realized his hand had drifted to settle on your waist, but suddenly, it’s not enough. He needs to feel you entirely. A need rooted so deep he aches with it. There’s no more denying the swell in his pants, where the brunt of his desire has made itself known. 

Restraint looks good on Joel, but there always has been an air of allure around the notion of him surrendering. Of what it looked like for him to partake and be partaken of. It’d been some years since he’d allowed himself to open up in this way, and anyone he shared himself with in the past was long gone. You wanted to demystify it all and come to know that side of him for yourself. 

This time, when your hand begins to drift lower, he doesn’t stop you. Not when your fingers slip beneath both his waistbands. Or as you wrap them around the base of his warm, rigid length. A pleasured shudder courses through him as you pull upwards in a reverent tug. At the top, your thumb encircles the velveteen head to spread the small, wet bead of eagerness.  

Joel starts to move upright but trembles back into place when your loose grasp descends, mapping back down each snaking vein before gently massaging the rounded fullness that hangs beneath. 

“Love the feel of you already,” you murmur. Joel’s face warms as his arousal kicks up under your ministrations. 

In an unexpected display of agility, he repositions to hover above you, pushes down his pants and boxers, and braces himself as he kicks them away. His movements are so seamless that your touch isn’t disrupted for long. 

You spit into your hand as best you can and reach out for him in the dark, knowing exactly where to find him as he bobs towards his stomach. 

Joel’s more interested in gripping your pants, and you place your feet flat on the mattress to lift your hips for him to shuck them off. The cool air of the room registers against the slickness between your legs as you clench. Joel lowers a finger to trace along your entrance, spreading the moisture upwards as he circles your budded nerves. 

He continues paying careful attention to the spot, even as your hand distractedly falls from him to curl into the sheets. Your exhale is shaky when he stops. 

“Just a second,” Joel rasps. 

He braces himself further up your body, one large palm splayed near your head. As the mattress shifts, you realize he’s reaching toward the nightstand. You move your hand to play between your legs to ease the throbbing ache lazily. 

A faint click sounds, and a flame sparks to life, balanced on the crooked wick of a candle. The light casts a dim, golden radius in the room. 

“Can’t miss this,” he explains as he returns to his original position. 

“Need to see you.” In a testament to his words, his arousal kicks up on its own accord yet again. 

You selfishly take him in. His intense gaze. Broad shoulders. Thick thighs. The straining, desirous region of him that your hands had come to know before your eyes ever did. A thatch of unruly dark curls rests at the base of him. 

Joel pulls his shirt over his head to reveal his last covered portion. His arms are toned and firm. A thin dusting of hair spans over his impressive chest. New and old scars pepper the expanse of his torso. The faint indents of a v-line remain even with the pudge of his stomach from age and finally eating good meals again. 

Now it’s your turn. Joel helps you out of your shirt and tosses it aside with renewed urgency. As you finally lay bare, his dark eyes admire your chest as if this first chance is the last chance he’ll get. He extends a careful hand to cup one of your breasts, gaze flicking to your face to watch the way your brows furrow in approval. 

“Christ,” he grouses in an air of disbelief. 

You suck in a quick breath when he leans down to kiss along the side of your neck. Goosebumps arise in the wake of his lips as he continues downward like it’s a path he’s traveled before. Over your collarbones, between the valley of your breasts, straying to gently peck a pebbled nipple before returning to the centerline of your torso. 

In the process, he shifts himself further down the mattress, your legs propped like two mountains along either side of him. 

His kisses turn into toothless nips when he reaches the lower portion of your stomach. That sensation, paired with the scratch of his beard, makes your abdomen twitch and flex. It isn’t until he makes it beneath your belly button and strays toward your hip bones that your chest finally shakes with a laugh as you squirm. 

Joel stills you with a steady hand and peeks up at you with a self-satisfied smile playing on his lips. He’s cataloging every shift and sweet sound. 

As his shoulders force your thighs to splay a little wider, you bite your lip both out of anticipation and to keep your lingering smile at bay. In seconds, he’s made a live wire out of you. 

Every other breath you take catches. You find yourself swallowing more than you had all night. But suddenly, there’s no urgency about him at all. You’ve slipped into an unspoken purgatory where your release looms on hold. 

He’s drawing things out, taking his time, ignoring the throb of his own need as he tries to pick you apart. 

Joel bypasses where you’re spread open and pulsing and delivers a kiss to the inside of your thigh, mere inches from where you crave him. You shift, hoping he’ll reroute, but he pretends not to notice. 

You try again, attempting to twist and present your core as an alternative to the fluff of your thighs. 

An exasperated huff escapes you. “Just…”

You let your sentence trail off as you attempt to give him your best pleading look. It almost works. They’re the eyes he’d steal the moon for, but he wants to relish this moment a little longer. Wants to hold out on you while you’re both safe to be these needy versions of yourselves. 

“Just what, sweetheart?” he coaxes. 

Your mouth opens a couple of times. “Do something. Touch me,” you murmur, cheeks warm. 

“I am touchin’ you.” He smooths a calloused palm along your leg to prove it. 

“Like you were before,” you specify, voice smaller now. 

Your stomach flips when he starts to move back towards your hips, and flustered, premature giggles bubble up your throat because he’s got you so on edge, and you just know he’s about to do those maddening little kisses again. 

“Not that,” you whine. “C’mon Joel, I need you.” The earnestness of those words sends a jolt toward the apex of his thighs. 

You’ve got him now, so you press further. “Please? Wanna feel you.” You make your voice softer. “Been wanting to feel you all night.”

Joel caves and runs a heavy finger through your folds, then gently spreads you open to press a kiss to that small, swollen part of you. His lips are so delicate you’d think he was kissing a rose bud. A helpless mewl escapes as he replaces his lips with the firm press of his middle finger and begins drawing tight circles. 

The touch stirs faint, premature flutters that make you tilt your hips into his hand. “I gotcha,” he assures. 

He did have you, not just in this way, but in every sense of the word. He’d proven that from the day he met you, ready to be the supply to your demand when it came to all manners of your needs. Even the ones you didn’t realize you had. The thought alone makes pleasure knot in your stomach all the more. You clench around nothing but the idea of taking him. 

“Joel,” you breathe. 

His eyes lift from your core to your gaze. Your eyes sparkle with candlelit desperation. Still taking his time, he runs his finger back down and just barely breaches your entrance with a curious probe. He’s wet with your slick and knows he’d slip right in. 

“Need you,” you murmur again. It’s different this time. 

Joel withdraws his touch and crawls back up your body, muscles shadowing as they shift. You open your legs wider so he can slot himself between you, bracing a forearm near your head. He’s close enough that your chests brush. That your breaths mingle.  

He takes himself in his hand and guides the tip to the warmth of your center. The gentle touch soon turns into a glide that bumps your clit with every upward pass. You place your hands on his shoulders because your fingers are shaking, and you don’t know what else to do. 

Like a locksmith with a key, he notches at your entrance with delicate intentionality. Both of you shudder, and he briefly touches his forehead to yours. The world stills as he slowly begins to push inside of you. You welcome each new inch with the same steady, heated snugness. Not once does your body flinch or hesitate. You welcome him in even through the dullest ache until he’s burrowed.   

Your joint groans just barely register on the outskirts of your consciousness as the blinding haze of pleasure becomes one with reality. 

Joel grants you a quiet moment of acclimation before he pulls out a little and eases himself back in. A hum vibrates through your chest. This time, he pulls back a little further, then finds his way back inside the encompassing warmth of you. 

“You’re the warm one,” he counters your earlier statement. “Taking me so well,” he praises. 

He withdraws a little more each time until his thrusts become fuller, and he finds an easy rhythm. You encourage his movements with the dig of your heels at the back of his thighs. 

He tucks his head down to place open-mouthed kisses along your neck. Your fingernails dig into his shoulders and graze down his back. 

“You feel so good,” you admit in a frantic sigh. “So so good.” 

Joel nearly comes from hearing that alone. 

There is no reprieve from the pleasure, no moment that allows you two to fully gather your bearings or muster up a semblance of composure. Every sound that slips past your lips is helpless, a little gone. They join the tiny squeaks of the mattress and the sticky, rhythmic contact of skin meeting dewy skin. 

“Faster,” you breathe. Joel listens in a heartbeat, continuing to meet that dense, tender place within you that has your toes curling. “Oh god—” you choke out, a mix between a moan and a whimper. 

Before you can find your breath again, Joel cups your breasts, switching from one to the other and running his thumb along your nipples. The sound that escapes you almost sounds pained, but your face scrunches in the prettiest, rawest way. Joel’s hips drive forward in an involuntary thrust of force.

One of his hands slips between your bodies to rub over that still-pulsing part of you. A dreamy sound falls past your lips as you writhe and arch. The tightness builds. The sea swells. You squeeze your eyes shut, hoping to keep it all at bay and prolong the moment. 

“Open your eyes, angel,” Joel encourages in a rasp. 

You don’t listen and silently pray that he gives up. 

“Lemme see those pretty eyes,” he tries again. 

You whimper as his finger rubs faster circles, his thrusts remaining intense. 

Joel’s voice takes on a waver, cracking around the edges with something fragile and desperate. “C’mon, baby, please?” 

You realize then that he needs it. 

When your eyes flutter open, a few rogue tears run down the apples of your cheeks towards your ears. Joel catches them. It’s too much. The newness of it all, the warm weight of his body moving above yours, making you his. There’s a glisten on his forehead, in the divot of his sternum. The way his muscles flex with his thrusts is living art. You’ve never met a more gorgeous man or had the pleasure of knowing and becoming one with someone who made you feel this whole.

“There she is,” Joel hums. 

In an instant, your body jolts against the mattress as you come undone beneath his frame. Your walls flutter around him in strong pulses of pleasure that radiate outward and leave you floating. If it were light instead, you’d be a shining star illuminating the room. 

Joel’s seen fewer sights that have struck him at his core. 

It takes every ounce of decency and strength within him to override the recklessness of pleasure, and pull out of you in a swift drag. Away from your swollen, pulsing warmth. Away from one of the few places he could confidently say he belonged in this fallen world.  

Through dazed eyes, you watch as Joel wraps a hand around himself and begins stroking. He’s slick with you, and the veins in his forearms pop. 

He spills onto your stomach in seconds with an earnest, shuddered groan. Each pulse of his release grows duller, resulting in shorter spurts until there’s nothing more than a pearly dribble running down the sides of him. 

You reach out with a weak hand to take over and coax him through the last few waves. Joel twitches in your grasp but lets you continue. Another shudder courses through him as he grows sensitive and begins to soften. 

“That’s all of me, baby,” he says, voice low and soft just for you.

You hum in a daze as you withdraw your touch. The last thing you remember is the kiss Joel presses to your forehead, the dip of the mattress as he gets out of bed, the gentleness of his hands, and the warm towel as he cleanses you.

There’s something special about the following morning. Something soft, aglow, and singular as pale sun rays slip into Joel’s room. They coat the cozy space like a seal. It’s as if the events of last night had carried over and been made manifest into something warm, and lovely, and beautiful. 

-

Thank you so much for reading! All likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated. I promise I see them all!

JOEL MASTERLIST 

ALL MASTERLISTS

[ssapphosviolets]

Acts of Service

Sevika x gf!reader

Inspired by part of my recent work:

Sevika's job is cruel and grueling, but providing small acts of service makes her feel like a normal person at the end of the day. It's a reminder to herself that she's a lover, that she hasn't lost her way of caring, that she is more than her job. If it was up to her, her girlfriend wouldn't ever have to lift a finger again.

or; Sevika's acts of service

(lowk adhd coded reader bc samesies)

.oOo.

Sevika sighs when she steps foot into her and her partners shared closet, or should she say stepped foot onto her partners clothes. She sighs; not out of annoyance or frustration, maybe a little out of inconvenience, but she's unable to feel any real malice behind it. She's always known, even before moving in together, how forgetful and messy her partner could be.

Messy isn't Sevika's choice of words though. Her girlfriend certainly isn't dirty or slobbish. She just has a tendency to become very easily distracted, often leaving traces of her forgetfulness behind as her brain had already moved on to its next task. Maybe disorganized was a better word. But that didn't seem right either. It's not the first time Sevika has failed to capture her partner in words though.

It's not uncommon that there's forgotten clothes left behind as her girlfriend rushed to get ready for work earlier that morning. Or that there's jackets and sweaters left on the couch and the backs of chairs that had been forgotten about. Or that only Sevika's side of the bathroom sink has more than an inch of visible counter space. Or that there's a pile of laundry sitting on top of the dryer that her partner swore she would put away "tomorrow".

Sevika loves this about her partner. While at first her girlfriend was shameful of this forgetfulness, always profusely apologizing at the realization of her mess, Sevika had done more than enough to reassure her that she really doesn't mind. Sometimes to this day her partner does feel apologetic, but it's no longer from guilt or anxiety, it's more so out of frustration with herself.

Sevika appreciates that it gives her an easy service to do. For most people, coming home from work to almost tripping over a small pile of clothes would be enough to set them off. When Sevika comes home from a long day to a pile of clothes, she uses this task to allow herself a release from that hard and rough front she puts on all day at her job. It took 10 seconds to put away her girlfriend's clothes, and 10 seconds to be reminded of who she really is. She's still a human who has the ability to do no harm. Who is not only capable of loving, but also of being loved.

This mess is an indicator of her and her girlfriend's safety. She's safe, in their own home, where expectations and pressures are non-existent. Her girlfriend is safe, even feels safe enough to leave a mess in the first place. The ability to let yourself be messy around someone is something only a deep trust can bring about.

Sevika turns those 10 seconds into 30 as she chooses to fold up one of her own shirts, placing it on top of her girlfriend's side for when she gets home from work.

.oOo.

While her partner may be forgetful, Sevika always remembered. She never minded having to remember for the both of them. Though sometimes the questions of "Do you know where-?" can get quite repetitive, Sevika knows it's only asked because her girlfriend knows she has it handled. Sevika takes great pride in the underlying confidence and trust that her girlfriend has in her to take care of things.

"Do you know where my lighter is?" Sevika looks up from her place on the couch, where her eyes were buried in a book. "You have probably 10 around the house, babe. Which one?" She easily averts all of her attention towards her partner, not minding the interruption one bit. Not from her, at least.

"I don't know, just any of them?" She hears the opening and closing of drawers as she searches. Sevika sighs and shifts, her hand grasping onto the circular clipper lighter, and she gets a quick flash of pink and grey in between her fingers as she pulls it out. It's one of her girlfriend's lighters, to be exact.

"Here, Hun." She holds the lighter above her head so the girl can see it from behind the couch. She hears the immediate footsteps on the creaking wood of their living room, until the lighter is gleefully snatched from Sevika's fingers. Her partner leans over the back of the couch, pressing a kiss to the top of Sevika's head. Sevika's own hand snakes around to hold the back of her girlfriend's neck, and she tilts her head up to capture her lips before she has a chance to pull away.

"I want that one back though, it's always my backup for when you lose your other nine." Sevika teases, nothing but adoration showing through not only her eyes but her tone as well. She can't hide the smile that graces her dark tinted lips when she sees how flustered the girl gets.

.oOo.

Sevika has a love-hate relationships with mornings. She loves the quiet moments she spends with her girlfriend as they get ready together, but hates when they inevitably have to part ways for the day. So she cherishes every second of their quiet mornings.

She finally rolls out of bed when the bathroom light has remained on for a couple minutes too long, sleepily trudging through their shared bedroom to reach the light. She's met with her favorite sight: her girlfriend leaned over the sink as she does her makeup for the day.

Sevika was never one for makeup, but there was something so attractive to her about watching a partner do it. Maybe it was because she loves the femininity of it, or maybe it was the intimacy of being allowed to share such an important part of a daily routine with someone. She's too tired to really consider the "why's" at the moment.

She takes a step towards her girlfriend and presses her own front to her back, her arms wrapping around the girls waist. Sevika watches in the mirror as her girlfriend's smile grows. "Morning, Vika." Her partner mumbles tiredly, adoringly. "Morning, hun." Sevika responds in a similar tone.

She stays where she is as she watches her girlfriend brush on her mascara, before deciding she should stop being a lovesick little puppy and actually help out a bit. She pulls back only slightly, just enough to reach for the necklace laying down on the counter beside her. The necklace her girlfriend has had for years, that one piece of staple jewelry that she is never seen without.

Sevika wordlessly wraps it around her girlfriend's front, and carefully clasps it around her neck. Her girlfriend had moved on to her lipstick by the time the chain and charm rested firmly against her chest. Sevika grabs her rings next, and once she's sure her girlfriend can finish her task with a single hand, she softly grabs the other in her own.

She slides on each of the rings, knowing the exact placement of each one. She intertwines her fingers as the last ring is in place, and repeats the same process on her other hand as soon as the lipstick is set back down on the counter. Not a single word has to be spoken, but when they lock eyes in the bathroom mirror, a silent appreciation is made known.

[nocturneofrecollection]

I think mostly car culture but also the internet has irreparably stunted people’s ability and care to drive well it’s insane how many people will openly brag about being a dangerous driver like it’s fun and quirky and not something that gets people killed in the thousands every year. Some laws are unjust but i promise you distracted driving and speeding laws are there for a reason not just to make your day a teeeeny bit harder

[ghostlyferrettarot]

🍄Pick a Picture: ♡₊˚🦢・₊✧𐦍️ Which Archetype do you embody? ♡₊˚🦢・₊✧𐦍️

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🧚🍄🌳Masterlist🧚🍄🌳🧚🍄🌳Masterlist 2🧚🍄🌳

🫧˚˖🌷͙֒✧˚.🧚🏻‍♀️Pile 1: The Queen 👑 Hi Pile 1, you embody The Queen archetype. You probably feel an inner strength that drives you to take charge of your life. You're like that friend who always knows what to do in any situation, and most impressively, you trust your intuition to make decisions, even the most difficult ones. It's not that you always feel 100% confident, but you have something inside you that tells you you can do it, that you deserve the best, and that you're made for great things. Your presence may make others look at you with respect, even if you don't seek attention. You simply have something about you that projects confidence and power. People listen to you, not only because you have great ideas, but because your voice carries weight. You know your worth, and that's something you can't hide. It's not boasting; it's an inner truth. Sometimes, you love to surround yourself with beauty, with the exquisite, with what makes you feel good about yourself. Material things and luxurious experiences appeal to you, but it's not just for the pleasure they bring; you like the idea of ​​elevating your surroundings, of having the best because you know you deserve it. Don't be alarmed if you sometimes feel a little alone in your path, because being a Queen sometimes means being in a leadership position where few understand what's going on in your head. But deep down, you relish that independence. You're not one to please everyone, because you know your path is unique and you're not held back by what others think. And no, it's not about being arrogant or believing yourself superior to others. It's about being aware of your own power, your ability to create your reality, knowing that whatever you touch can be transformed into gold. And if you ever doubt yourself, remember that being a Queen also means acknowledging your vulnerability and being true to yourself. True greatness lies in accepting all that you are.

🫧˚˖🌷͙֒✧˚.🧚🏻‍♀️Pile 2: The Mystic 🦄 Hi pile 1, you embody The Mystic archetype. Perhaps you're that person who always has an incredible intuition about things. Sometimes, you don't need proof or logical reasons to know something is true. You have that sixth sense that leads you to understand people or situations without them telling you directly. And the most incredible thing is that, when you follow those hunches, you're rarely wrong. It's not uncommon for you to be drawn to topics like spirituality, astrology, tarot, or even ancient philosophies. Perhaps you enjoy meditating, seeking inner peace, or simply connecting with something bigger than yourself. The feeling of being aligned with the universe, as if the cosmos is working in your favor, is something that fulfills you. And although you sometimes struggle to explain what exactly makes you feel so connected to everything, you know in your heart that this is your truth. You're not uncomfortable with the idea of ​​being alone with your thoughts or your rituals. In fact, sometimes you prefer solitude because that's where you find clarity. People may not fully understand your concerns or the way you connect with the world, but that doesn't stop you. In your heart, you know the mystical path is yours, and it's okay that others don't understand. If you've ever had that feeling of being "in tune" with the universe, of feeling that coincidences aren't random and that everything has a purpose, perhaps you are one of the Mystics. And, of course, you don't have to have all the answers. Sometimes, the beautiful thing about being a Mystic is being comfortable with uncertainty, with the wisdom of knowing there is so much more to discover and that the truth is always evolving. You see the things others can't, you see the beauty in beyond what feels "normal"; that is really special pile 2 <3.

🫧˚˖🌷͙֒✧˚.🧚🏻‍♀️Pile 3: The Lover 💕 Hi Pile 3, you embody The Lover archetype. People see you as warm, welcoming, and empathetic. You have a natural ability to connect with others on a deep level, as if you can effortlessly see into people's souls. You're not afraid of vulnerability; on the contrary, you embrace it because you know that only when you show yourself as you are can you create true connections. In your world, authentic relationships are paramount, and you do your best to cultivate and maintain them. You live in a state of constant awe for the beauty of the world, and you're not ashamed to express what you feel, even if it means being vulnerable. Perhaps at times, you find yourself always searching for something that will ignite that spark of emotion, of intensity. You don't settle for the superficial, because you know that true magic lies deep within, in genuine connections that transcend words. And not just in relationships with others, but also in your relationship with yourself. You've realized that self-love is essential for everything else to flourish. And yes, you may sometimes feel a little lost in your emotions, as if your heart is guiding you down unpredictable paths. But that's what makes you unique: that ability to let yourself be carried away by what you feel. People often see you as someone capable of loving wholeheartedly, without fear of rejection, because you know that even in vulnerability there is strength. You're not afraid to give your best, even if it means exposing yourself to pain. And when you do, you do so with the certainty that life itself is worth living that way. This archetype is also related to sensuality,so maybe you enjoy the small pleasures: a good meal, a conversation, a walk at sunset, etc. You know how to enjoy life to the fullest, because you understand that love and enjoyment are what truly give flavor to everything. I love that pile 3 <3!

🫧˚˖🌷͙֒✧˚.🧚🏻‍♀️ Thank you for reading and let me know if it resonated!🫧˚˖🌷͙֒✧˚.🧚🏻‍♀️

[luveline]

would you do a james fainting fic 🙏🙏

—James doesn’t like you, but he’ll come to your rescue. fem, 1.5k The office is hot. 

James dabs at his neck. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Remus rubbing his eye. 

“You okay?” he asks. 

You look up from the paper on your desk. When you realise he isn’t asking you, you look away, your lips pressing into a tight line. James tries not to show he’s noticed. 

“Fine,” Remus mutters. “Fucked off ‘cos of the portal changing again. I hate these long passwords.” 

“Are you hot or is it just me?” 

You clear your throat. Usually, unless it’s Remus who’s spoken first or James has said something you find ridiculous, you won’t interrupt. “I’m really warm,” you say, “do you think I can open the window?” 

“Like you can reach it, shorts. I’ll do it.” James jumps up from his seat. Whether you’re short or not has nothing to do with it. James is taller, and he holds it against you diligently. 

He rounds your desks. The sun is worse on his skin than the heat alone. He can’t imagine how awful you must feel to have it on the side of your neck all day; in the half minute he stands there opening the window, the heat makes him queasy. 

He tugs the blinds down enough to shield you. It’ll help the entire office, he thinks. Not just you. If you thought he was doing something nice you’d only interrogate his motives until you both turned irate, and that’s the last thing anyone needs today. 

James isn’t sure how you and he ended up not liking one another. He’s never met anybody he didn’t like that wasn’t a massive wanker, and you are but you’re not, not really. When you first started he’d actually thought you were cute, and funny, if a little quiet. It didn’t matter because James is used to quiet people. But one thing turned to another, he’d used your mug without washing it, you’d left him off of the department emails for the quarter, then the snipping started. Constant nitpicking and bickering. You make it too easy, and so what if he likes how you look when you’re mad? It doesn’t hurt anybody to put your mug in the stockroom and your lunch on a different shelf. If anything, he’s keeping you vigilant. 

You don’t look vigilant. You don’t say anything as James sits back down, even though he hits his knee for the hundredth time on his desk. You usually love it. Sometimes when you’re tired he does it on purpose to give you a reason to keep going till 4:30. 

“Are you okay?” James asks finally, eyeing your face. “You look funnier than usual.” 

“I’m fine.” 

“Are you sure?” He should stop being mean. You look like you’re gonna pass out. 

Remus peeks over his computer screen. “You don’t look well,” he says. 

“I’m fine.” You roll your seat back. 

James pushes back at the same time. “Wait a second–”

You’re standing before James can stop you, but he stands up anyways, and he takes your elbow into his hand though he shouldn’t. You give him the most peculiar look, almost like you’re enjoying his touch, just for those two seconds, before your chin dips down and your eyes squeeze closed, and all of you goes slack. 

James grabs you at the precipice of a bad fall. 

You’re still as a doll in his hands. He leans back with a quick sigh, his arm curling over the small of your back and upward. Your legs aren’t holding your weight, and you begin to slip. 

James could keep you up, he doesn’t go to the gym for nothing, but Remus rushes to his aid and pushes your chair back, helping him set you down on the floor. “What do we do?” Remus asks urgently. 

James puts his hand behind your head. You’re slack. When he touches your face, your skin is as hot as the heart of a furnace. 

“Can you get some water?” he asks Remus. 

James is peculiarly calm. He knows you’re just hot, it’s not uncommon for people to faint in high temperatures, and he’s honestly confident in his ability to look after you. It’s very sad to see you unwell, of course, and his heart is beating fast as he takes in your slack mouth. 

“Hey, Y/N,” he says, cupping your cheek gently. He gives your face a little shake, reluctant to be rough with you while you’re vulnerable, even if some force would help. “Hey, can you hear me? You’re okay, can you open your eyes?” 

Nothing. He leans down a touch to listen for your breath, and it’s fine, if a tad fast. 

Remus comes back with a cup of water and Sirius, which is predictable but not super helpful. “Jesus,” Sirius says. “I’ll call an ambulance.” 

“She’ll die of embarrassment,” Remus says. 

“She’s coming around,” James says, patting your cheek, thrilled when your eyelashes twitch. “I think we should go into the break room, is it empty? We can sit her on the sofa.” 

“You don’t think we should do something a bit more drastic?” Sirius asks. 

James feels rather defensive of you. Remus is right, you would die of embarrassment if they called an ambulance, and he’s sure you’re fine. You have to be fine. “She just fainted, it’s so hot in here. Go open a window in the break room and we’ll wait for her to come around.” 

Sirius glares playfully at being told what to do, but he goes, and Remus kneels down beside James with a cup of water. Someone from the front of the office asks if you’re alright, but James misses what they’re saying as you let out a whine. 

All of a sudden, his attention is fully yours. 

“Hey,” he murmurs. 

Your eyes open slowly, lashes heavy like they’re thick with honey. You take in a deep, deep breath through your nose, and you blink, and you turn into his hand where it’s holding your cheek with all the familiarity of a lover. “James,” you mumble. 

His stomach aches. He ignores it. “You okay? Can you look at me properly? I need to make sure you’re fine.” 

“I’m fine,” you say, face pressed to his hand. 

“Just look at me. Just for a second.” 

You pull yourself with clear annoyance from his hand and open your eyes properly. He can pinpoint the moment you realise who he is, how you're touching, and he can’t explain the pang he gets when you rush up and away from his touch. “Oh, fuck,” you mumble, dropping your head, your fingers to your forehead and your thumb covering your eyes. 

“Hey, don’t move around so much.” He continues to be soft. You might have realised who it is that’s trying to look after you, and you might not want him to, but he’ll be damned if he lets your bickering stop him from making sure you’re as okay as he’d claimed to everyone else. “Are you okay?” 

“Did I…” 

“You fainted. Don’t worry, I caught you. Take it easy, okay? Have this.” 

He presses the cup of water into your hand.

Somewhere behind him, Remus has moved away, and is seemingly fending off the masses of people coming to offer assistance. 

You see them looking at you behind him and cover your face. 

James shuffles forward quickly. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m not gonna let anyone see you. I’m saving this embarrassment all for myself. Please drink your water.” 

“Did everybody see me fall?” 

“They saw us engaged in a loving cwtch. It was very romantic.” 

You sip your water. In truth, you don’t look much better for passing out, and James can’t get the feeling of your face out of his hand. He wants to touch you again, his fingers hesitating an inch from your knee. 

“Sorry.” 

“Don’t be,” he says. “You don’t control the weather. Do you?” 

“Of course I don’t.” 

“Then why are you sorry? It was alright. You have nothing to be sorry for, okay? We just want to make sure you’re okay. Sirius wanted to call an ambulance,” —you visibly baulk— “and I told him no, don’t worry. Then all the attention would be on you, and not me for my valiant rescue.” 

“Was I heavy?” you ask, your mumbling nearly friendly. 

“I can bench press two twenty.” 

“That… doesn’t mean anything to me.” 

“You’re nothing I couldn’t handle, shortcake. Do you think you can stand up? I’ll take you into the break room. You can lay down on the sofa.” 

You make a soft sound James won’t soon forget and put your hand out for his help. He doesn’t have to force you. You don’t have to ask. He helps you stand and keeps an arm behind your back, shielding you from the worried and curious gazes of your coworkers. 

You press your cheek to his chest. 

Remus looks at you both like you’ve been body-snatched, but it’s too late to wuss out now. 

[marauder-misprint]

Platonic Fred and Reader where they make everyone think their dating, but it’s all a joke to them

Hi! I know you said platonic, but this is 100% a friends-to-lovers fake dating trope ❤︎ So it started platonic...

I have no regrets. Hope y'all enjoy ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎

Friend who is a girl

Fred Weasley x fem!reader

8.6k words

cw: fluff, mutual pining, fake dating, Y/N

It wasn’t uncommon to find you doing your homework in the common room. Sure, a lot of people did their homework there, but you had the ability of getting work done while the Weasley twins and Lee planned pranks and fine-tuned products for the Weasleys’ future joke shop. You picked up this skill over the years as the trio of troublemakers decided that you would be their fourth member. Sometimes you think back to the first time they talked to you and wonder if you actually had a choice in joining their group. 

“Oi, what are you doing later?” Fred asks you, leaning over the table you’re sitting at.

“Nothing that I’m aware of,” you answer, not looking up from your book.

“Great! You’ll come watch quidditch practice then.”

You snort a laugh. “And why would I do that?”

“Because Wood’s girlfriend is going to watch and he told us to ask our girlfriends so she wouldn’t be so out of place in the stands.”

“Right… Um, two things. One, don’t you and George have a fan club or something that already goes to your practices? And two, we aren’t dating so I’m not… your girlfriend?” 

“Ah, but you’re my girl… friend. Friend who is a girl. I figure it’s close enough. And there’s no fan club. Good to know you think I’m attractive enough to warrant one though,” he says with a wink.”

You roll your eyes. Yes, Fred was attractive, but he didn’t need you to tell him that. He already had one of the biggest egos. You’re not sure if you could handle him if he was any more cocky. He’s already assuming you’ll drop your plans to do nothing to sit outside and watch him fly around on a broom. 

“Who’s George asking?” 

“Dunno. George!” His voice carries across the common room to where his twin is sitting Lee. 

The two look over at you and Fred. George immediately grins widely. 

“She say yes?” he yelled back.

Fred gives you a look before saying, “Course she did. Who’re you asking again?” 

George gets up and walks over to you and Fred, not wanting to yell across the common room. 

“Beatrice Haywood, Hufflepuff, sixth year, doesn’t give a rat’s ass about quidditch,” George says. “We figured you could explain what’s going on to them.” 

“Because I’m so knowledgeable about quidditch,” you snark.

You do know a fair bit about quidditch. How could you not with Gryffindor’s beaters and the regular match announcer as your closest friends? It was knowledge by association, proximity. Not by choice. 

“More than they do,” Fred says. “You’re coming.” 

You roll your eyes again and return to your book. But when the time came, you were walking down to the pitch with the boys. You sat between Beatrice and Oliver’s girlfriend, Gabrielle. As George predicted, you explained what was going on. More to Gabrielle than Beatrice. Thankfully, Oliver was running the Weasleys’ least favorite drills, meaning they had complained for hours on end about said drills and you actually knew what was going on. One of the more distracting parts of the practice was the group of fangirls who sat in the section behind you. Despite Fred’s denial of their existence, they were most certainly there for the twins and Harry Potter. 

After the practice ended, you waited for the twins outside the locker room with Gabrielle as she waited for Oliver. You made polite conversation with her, asking about how her classes were going and what she was looking to go into after Hogwarts. Just simple questions to ask a seventh year that you didn’t really know. Soon enough, the twins walk out. Fred throws a casual arm over your shoulder, which you immediately duck under.

“Get your sweaty arm off me,” you say mirthfully. Was his sweaty arm gross? Yes, but it wasn’t like you hadn’t hugged the twins when they were sweaty after a match before. 

“Oh, is my sweaty arm okay then?” George asks before putting his arm around your shoulders. 

Fred seizes the opportunity and returns his arm to your shoulders as well. You’re effectively trapped between the two. 

“Ugh, neither of your sweatinesses are appreciated!” you groan, causing both of them to laugh. 

They don’t remove their arms from you until you’re back inside the castle. The walk back to the common room is filled with them complaining about the drills Oliver made them do over and over again. 

“You know, if you did it correctly the first time, he wouldn’t have you do it ten times,” you say. 

“Oi, she thinks it’s easy,” George says.

“I’d love to see you try it.” 

“Ha,” you say dryly. “I will not be getting on that deathstick. No thank you.” 

“I think you need to give it a second chance. Use one of our brooms. It’ll be a step up from the shitty school brooms we used first year,” Fred says. 

“Madam Hooch said she passed me out of pity.”

“Ah, we’ll get you on a broom next time you come round the Burrow,” George says with some finality in his voice.

By then you’ve reached the Fat Lady and Fred gives her the password. You bid the boys good night and head to your dorm with the intent of showering to get their sweaty stench off of you. Alicia and Angelina are already in your dorm and doing homework when you walk in. They give you brief smiles before turning back to their work. Frankly, you’re a bit surprised that they didn’t ask about you being at practice, but you just assume that they are dead set on getting their homework done.

---

It didn’t take long for the first rumors to spread. 

“Oliver’s new girlfriend went to watch the Gryffindors’ practice. She was there, sitting with her. That probably means she’s dating one of them too.”

“I saw Fred Weasley talking to her.”

“I didn’t know they were dating.”

“Must be a new thing.”

You slam your books down on the table at lunch as you wink into your usual spot next to Fred. 

“The whispers, rumors, gossip. It’s driving me crazy, Fred. And it’s all your fault,” you say. 

“My fault?” 

“Insisting I go watch your little practice? Sit next to your captain’s girlfriend? All because being a friend who is a girl is, as you put it, close enough? Now it feels like half the school thinks we’re dating.” 

Fred just shrugs. “Let them. Who cares?”

You did. You care. Not that you’re overly sociable, but you want the freedom to flirt and be flirted with. You’re an honest person and it feels weird to not correct people that you aren’t dating Fred. His not caring attitude just feels off for the situation. But you try to brush it under the rug. You can be nonchalant about it, or at least that’s what you’re going to tell yourself. 

---

“Weasley!” Oliver calls, getting Fred’s attention as the ginger exits his last class of the day.

Fred nods to acknowledge Oliver before heading his way. 

“What’s up, capt?” 

“How would you feel about a double date?”

Fred raises his eyebrows in surprise. “A double date?” 

“Yeah, erm, Gabrielle really liked sitting with Y/N at practice. Was hoping the four of us could do something together. Hogsmeade, next weekend?”

“I’ll talk to Y/N about it…” 

“Brilliant. Gabs will be excited! You better get her to say yes, Weasley,” Oliver says before heading down the corridor. 

Fred runs a hand through his hair, partially worried about what Oliver has just roped him into. You were already feeling iffy about people thinking you two were a couple. But you would say yes, right? 

He heads to Charms, knowing it’s your last class of the day and won’t be too far. You’re chatting with Alicia when he finds you. Alicia excuses herself as soon as she spots Fred heading your way. He has a determined look on his face which she interprets as “incoming prank” and she didn’t want to be involved. 

“Hey, Y/N. How would you fancy going on a double date?”

“Have you suddenly gotten yourself a proper girlfriend? And found me a suitor at the same time?” you report.

“Hmm, well, no. It seems Gabrielle, Wood’s girl, you know,” he starts to say.

“I’m familiar,” you interrupt.

“She’s taken a liking to you. They want a double date. So, clear your schedule for next weekend.”

“So not only does the whole castle think we’re dating, but now we’re going on dates? Despite not dating?” 

“It’s one day, love. An afternoon, really. We’ll go, get drinks and chat and that’ll be all. Easy. No harm, no foul. You get free drinks and I keep my captain happy,” he says, trying to sell you on it. 

You narrow your eyes at Fred. “Fine. But you owe me.”

“Fantastic!” he says with a smile. “You’re the best, you know that/”

“I could stand to hear it more.”

“If you think about it, you’ll probably be hearing it all Saturday.”

“I will?”

“I mean, we’re leaning into this dating thing. What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t remind you how great you are?”

You roll your eyes. “Probably a shite one. But still, you could remind me, as a friend, being that I do most of your Arithmancy homework.”

“I provide you with plenty of entertainment as compensation!”

“Entertainment you would provide either way.”

“How ‘bout this: I’ll buy you some chocolate frogs while we’re in Hogsmeade.”

You cross your arms with a satisfied look on your face. “Finally, proper payment.”

---

The walk to Hogsmeade on Saturday with Fred doesn’t feel like a date. It is just two close friends going to the wizarding village. Then you meet up with Oliver and Gabrille, who are holding hands and look very couple-y. It suddenly feels like you’re third wheeling, and Fred is also third wheeling, but that’s two third wheels and that’s not how things work. Gabrielle is nice and so is Oliver, but you still feel weird being here under the guise of having a relationship with Fred. 

You and Fred both cringe as the other two lead you toward Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop. It isn’t somewhere either of you would be caught dead in any other situation. You grab Fred’s arm as Oliver and Gabrielle enter without any qualms.

“You seriously owe me, Weasley,” you hiss before shoving him toward the door. 

The shop is far too warm, too cramped and too frilly for your liking. Oliver and Gabrielle appear to have no issues with practically sitting in each other’s laps, electing to focus on each other rather than the steaming cups of tea in front of them. You sit as close as you can to the fogged-up windows. Any extra space between you and Fred would be appreciated, but despite your best efforts, his knee bumps into yours every few seconds as you both shift uncomfortably. 

Everywhere you look inside the small shop, there are couples being overly affectionate. And that’s including across the table. That leaves you with two places to look: at Fred, who you’re afraid that if you look at him for too long, he might try something to further your dating ruse, or at your tea. You stare at your cup with its swirling steam. You assume it’s an enchanted brew, given the way the steam curls into hearts. 

“Tea really that interesting?” Fred asks you in a low voice, almost as if to not bring attention to you despite there being no way that Oliver or Gabrielle are looking away from each other any time soon. 

“Don’t think I’ve ever had enchanted tea, you know? Do you think it tastes funny? Or will it make this shop any less nauseating?” you reply, voice just as low. 

“Yeah, not my first choice either. I’m guessing her choice.”

You look at Fred to ensure that he sees you rolling your eyes. 

“Maybe he secretly loves lacy table runners. Have you considered that?”

“My boy loves one thing, Y/N. And it’s quidditch.”

“If he keeps at this like he is now, he’ll have two loves soon enough.”

“Then we’ll never win the Cup!” 

“Oh no,” you say in mock horror. “What ever will we do?” 

“What if I told you it was the same as suggesting you’ll never get an O in Transfiguration?”

You gasp loudly. “No! Take that back!” 

“And now you see how dire the situation is.”

“No, that’s not fair. I actually need to do well in that class for my career. The Quidditch Cup is just bragging rights.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“Tell me, Fred. How is winning the Cup going to help you with your joke shop?” 

“Uh… Teamwork?” 

You laugh. “I think losing would teach you better teamwork. And a bit of resilience.”

“I can’t believe what I’m hearing,” Fred mutters while shaking his head.

“What? That joke product industry might be more cut-throat than you’re prepared for?”

“That you think we aren’t resilient!”

You scoff. “I know you are resilient. And there’s no one you work better with than George. You’ve already got those skills. Winning the Cup isn’t going to change that.”

“You’re ridiculous…”

“I have to agree with you on that.” 

About half an hour passes with you and Fed chatting like that while you periodically take sips of your tea. The tea doesn’t make sitting in the shop any easier as you had hoped. It’s the chatting with Fred that distracts you from the fact that Oliver and Gabrielle are essentially snogging across the table from you. When you finish your tea, you set your cup on its saucer with a sharp clink. That gets their attention.

“You ready to head out?” Fred asks them as they sheepishly separate. 

Their tea is completely untouched, yet they nod and get up. As the four of you walk around Hogsmeade, you plaster yourself to Fred’s side. Normally, you wouldn’t stand this close for so long. And normally, you wouldn’t entertain the way his hand continuously bumps into yours until he just grabs it. But you’re spending the afternoon with two people you don’t know all that well and the familiarity of Fred is necessary to get through the day. 

Fred and Oliver exchange excited looks as you come up on Spintwitches Sporting Needs.

“Do you ladies mind if we nip in for a look around?” Oliver asks.

You drop Fred’s hand and cross your arms.

“Yeah, sure. I’ll wait out here,” you say. 

“Me too” Gabrielle adds and the boys disappear into the shop with a tinkle of the door’s bell. “You and Fred are real cute together.”

“Thank you,” you choke out, certain it sounds like you’re being strangled. You, Fred and cute weren’t in a genuine statement often. 

“No, really, I mean it. You really work together.”

You shrug. “Probably because he’s my best friend.”

That makes her smile. And it’s the truth. Out of everyone at Hogwarts, you are closest with Fred, which is probably why you agreed to this charade. 

“Aw, that’s so sweet,” Gabrielle coos. “Your person should be your best friend. Oliver and I, well, we just started dating so I can’t say he’s my best friend just yet, but I think we’ll get there.”

You mentally will the boys to hurry up. Talking with Gabrielle isn’t bad. It’s the talking about your relationship with Fred. What you have with him is platonic and you really don’t want to think about “how good you work together” romantically. If you entertained that idea, being in a real romantic relationship with Fred, the consequences are all that you can think about. What would happen to your friend group? What if you broke up and it was messy? What would happen to your friends then? Nope. Fred is your best friend and that’s all he will be. 

You carefully direct the conversation to focus mainly on Gabrielle and her relationship with Oliver. You’re able to get by with not saying much about you and Fred. You try to not sigh a breath of relief when the boys walk out of the shop. 

Your next stop is Honeydukes. On the walk over, you grab Fred’s hand and give it a squeeze. Fred looks down at you with a soft look on his face, but you don’t see it. You’re too focused on getting to the sweets shop to get your promised chocolate frogs. Once inside, you’re practically dragging Fred from stand to stand. This is something he’s used to. The amount of time the twins and Lee can spend in Zonko’s is the only rival to the amount of time you’ll take to decide which sweets and how many of each you want. The amounts you spend respectively are also similar. 

After Honeydukes, Oliver and Gabrielle say they’re ready to head back, but you look at Fred and ask if he’d want to get butterbeers first. He nods and that’s where the double date ends. Despite no longer having to put on a show for Oliver and Gabrielle, you don’t let go of Fred’s hand until you’re sitting in the booth across from him. 

“Sorry, but I need something to get that tea’s flavor out of my mouth,” you say, reaching to grab a chocolate frog already.

“Oi, make sure some of those make it back to the castle!”

“I’m having one, Fred. Don’t get your knickers in a twist.” 

“And you’re thinking about my knickers? Disgusting.” 

You slap his hand that’s resting on the table and he gives you his trademark teasing grin. 

“Oh! You want to know something funny?” 

Fred gives you a look that says, ‘Really? Do you know who you’re talking to?’

“Right, of course you do,” you say flatly before continuing with more in your voice. “Gabrielle says we really work together. She called us cute.” 

Fred tilts his head in confusion. “And why is this funny?” 

“Because we’re not actually dating? It’s like, wow, shocker, two friends get along, totally weird, right?” 

“Ah.” 

“I didn’t mean it in a bad way, Fred. Just amusing to me how easily we pull off the couple look. That’s all.” 

“You’re the one who’s all worried about the castle assuming we’re dating.”

“And you’re the one adding fuel to their fire!” you exclaim before placing your head in your hands. “Oh my Merlin. I think we already bicker like a couple and this isn’t even us getting into it. Remember when you wanted to paint the Transfiguration room red and gold after you got an O on your essay?”

Fred laughs. “You wouldn’t talk to me for a week, even after I told you we weren’t going to do it.”

“It was the principle! I stand by what I did.” 

“Fucking spoke through Lee the entire time too. I think it would’ve been easier if you avoided me for the week rather than that.”

“Why?” you ask through a laugh.

“If you avoided me, you’d be avoiding George and Lee too. It wouldn’t’ve felt like it was just me, you know? But you spoke through Lee. You talked to George. It was so clearly me.” 

“Your dumb idea, your dumb punishment.” 

“So, when you say I really owe you for today…”

“It’s your price to pay. Not George’s and certainly not Lee’s.”

“Right. I figured as much.” 

After you finish your butterbeers, you walk back to the castle. You don’t think about why Fred puts his arm around your shoulders as you walk. It makes you feel a smidge warmer, which is nice since the sun’s gone down. Tired from socializing all day, you head straight to your dorm once you get back to the Gryffindor Common Room. 

You’re tired, but there’s assigned reading to get done so you recline on your bed with your Transfiguration book in front of you. You read about half the chapter when the door opens. Alicia, Angelina and Katie all come in. Katie’s got her school supplies with her so you assume it’s their Chaser Study TIme. 

“So…. Y/N, when were you going to tell us about you ‘n’ Fred?” Angelina asks as she gets her own homework out. 

“Yeah, since when did you start dating?” Alicia adds. 

“Don’t… know…” you say slowly, trying not to lose your spot. “Ask Fred.” 

You had been able to handle Gabrielle outside of the quidditch shop. You barely knew her and could parry her questions easily. These girls? After Fred, George and Lee, they are your next closest friends. You could talk about more girlier topics with them, stuff that you wouldn’t dream of talking about with the boys. 

“Seriously cute together, you know,” Alicia says. 

There’s that word again: cute.

Then she continues, “I knew you’d get with one of the twins. No way you’re that close for so long without doing one of them.”

Katie throws a pillow at her. “Don’t be so crude!”

“I’m just saying! They are fit!” She pointed at Angelina. “And it’s not just them! You remember their older brother – Charlie! Some of them Weasley genes are something else.”

Angelina snorts a laugh. “Some.”

“No, she has a point,” you say, closing your book. You know you’re not going to be able to read any more with these three in the room. “Fred, George, Charlie, dare I say Ron, they all have something that Percy seriously lacks.” 

The rest of the girls start giggling. 

“Looks, personality, charm. You name it!” Katie exclaims. 

After a few more jabs at Percy’s lack of charisma, Angelina turns to you again.

“But really, Y/N, we didn’t even know you had a crush on him. How did it happen?” 

“I… I guess I didn’t know I had a crush on him,” you say. You needed something believable. “He’s just always been my best friend. We’ve been close since first year and it… sorta just happened?” 

“Is he a good kisser?” Katie asks, leaning forward with curiosity.

You turn bright red and look away from the girls. “We, um, we haven’t kissed.”

The room is filled with a mix of gasps and shrieks.

“What do you mean you haven’t kissed?”

“Is that not how you became ‘more than friends’?” 

“I don’t believe you!” 

Their reactions are too much for you. You get off your bed and head for the door.

“I’ll be, uh, back…” you say hurriedly. 

Once the door is closed behind you, you take a deep breath. So you haven’t kissed Fred. You aren’t actually dating. You didn’t need to kiss him. Part of you, however, is wondering if maybe you should’ve lied to the girls, just said that he is a good kisser. Another part of you is wondering what he’s told his friends, what he’s told George and Lee because surely they’ve heard the rumors and knew that you were going on a double date today. Maybe they knew it was all fake – that would make you feel better if they did. 

The common room is empty. You relish the quiet atmosphere as you take a seat in front of the couch on the floor in front of the fireplace. It isn’t too big or providing much warmth, dwindling down to just embers. But it’s something to look at as you think. 

‘Let them,’ Fred had said. ‘We’re leaning into this dating thing.’ 

Right, ignore what people think. It’s your friendship with Fred. That shouldn’t be a spectacle for the whole castle. Even if it seems like Fred likes being the center of gossip.  

---

You’re not sure what possesses you on Monday, but when the twins and the rest of the quidditch team start to head to the pitch, you’re right along with them. Once Fred gets over the momentary shock of seeing you walking with them, he slings his arm around your shoulder like it was something he did every day. After having his arm around you on Saturday, it doesn’t feel so foreign. His arm stays around you until you reach the locker rooms at the pitch. 

“I’ll see you after practice,” you say, turning toward the stand.

Fred watches you until you disappear up the stairs. George and Harry had gone into the locker room without him. George gives Fred a curious look when he does join them, to which Fred just shakes his head in response. If George wanted to ask him about you, it could wait until after practice. 

You take a seat next to Gabrielle, where you had sat at the previous practice. Only this time, it’s just the two of you, no Beatrice. Even with Oliver as her boyfriend, you are still explaining most of the practice to her. You think it’s a fair assumption that she likes you because you explain quidditch in simple terms, leaving out the effects of tailwind on velocity and how much the quaffle should spin if you’re doing a drop pass. 

Your presence next to Grabrielle at practices quickly became commonplace. You both skipped out on Wednesday’s morning practice, but you were back for Thursday and Friday’s practices. Those next two practices, you walked down with Fred’s arm around you. If the rest of the team didn’t believe the dating rumors before, they certainly did now. 

After Friday’s practice, you work on your homework in the common room. There’s a match tomorrow against Hufflepuff and everyone’s been talking about how it’ll be an easy win. That means you need to get your homework done ahead of time because while you can work through your friends’ prank planning, you can’t work through a party. Lee’s sitting next to you as you work. He has his Potions essay in front of him, but with the way his head is propped up on his hand, it’s clear that he’s not working. 

George is the next to join you. Freshly showered and his own essay for Snape in hand, he plops down in the seat next to Lee, leaving one more spot at the table to your right. For Fred, you thought. But Fred doesn’t come down anytime soon after George. You hate that you’re distracted by waiting for him to appear. Instead of working on your Transfiguration assignment, your eyes keep drifting to the boys’ staircase. 

“Snape wants… how many inches again?” George groans, letting the top half of his parchment curl over itself. 

“Two feet,” Lee says. He had managed to get a little bit done with George working on the same assignment. “I’m like six inches short.”

“Ditto… Swap?” 

“Swap.”

You roll your eyes as the boys lean closer together to read each other’s essay in hopes the other has information they can use to fill the last bits of space on their parchment. You’re not judging them. You’ve done the same thing with them before. That’s why you know that it’s more beneficial for them to swap with you than each other. The three boys’ essays always read fairly similar while yours have different points. 

You’re working slower than molasses, trying to finish this one assignment before you give up. Your endless peaks toward the stairs aren’t helping. 

Then he appears. His hair is dryer than when George came down, so you can assume that he hung around his dorm for a while before deciding to grace the common room with his presence. Only when he walks toward your table, you notice that he’s not carrying homework. He’s carrying a red fabric. He sets it in front of you before taking the open seat next to you.

“What’s this?” you ask, picking it up and letting it unfurl.

It was a quidditch jersey. With Weasley and 2 across the back. 

“Girlfriends wear their boyfriend’s jersey to matches,” he says nonchalantly with a smirk. 

You lean closer to him and whisper, “Are we still doing this?”

His smirk turns into a mischievous grin. “Might as well. It’s fun, isn’t it?”

“Don’t push your luck, Weasley,” you snap, sitting up straighter. 

You quickly gather your things, including the crimson jersey, and head to your dorm. It is fun being with Fred, even if it’s just pretend. Because, well, it’s Fred. Fun is practically synonymous with him. 

That doesn’t mean that you don’t feel odd as you stare at your reflection in the morning, wearing Fred’s extra jersey and jeans. You look positively like a girlfriend. You think about everyone who’s called you and Fred cute. Do you look like his girlfriend? You turn around and then look over your shoulder to see the letters spelling his last name sprawling across your back. 

It’s a shame that your roommates are all on the team and had to be at the field early. There’s no one to tell you that you look okay, that it’s normal for a girlfriend, albeit fake, to wear her boyfriend’s jersey. That it was cute that he gave it to you without you asking. There’s no one here to pull you out of your dorm. You have to go on your own accord. Which you do. Eventually. After talking yourself up in the mirror for a few more minutes. 

The all-consuming out-of-place feeling you have remains as you make your way to the pitch. You can feel eyes on you, on the jersey, reading your back as you pass by. 

W-E-A-S-L-E-Y

You’re branded as his. And you find that you don’t think you would mind it if it wasn’t fake. 

The eyes remain as you find a spot in the stands. You swear you see Ron and Hermione whispering to each other when you pass them. You wonder what Ron thinks about seeing his last name across your back. Why did you care what he thought? 

Then Gabrielle finds you. You feel the weight of feeling out of place lift off of you. She’s wearing Oliver’s jersey. Even if they are a real couple, it’s nice to not be the only one in someone’s jersey. And then you realize why Fred gave you his jersey – Oliver must have mentioned that he was giving his to Gabrielle to wear. First it was practices, then the double date, and now game days. This was for Oliver and Gabrielle. 

Even if that is what this is, you can’t deny the look on Fred’s face when he spots you. You swore you saw him scanning the crowd, looking for you. And when he finds you, he gets the brightest smile you’ve seen from him in a while. Then there’s a yell from Oliver to get into position and Fred’s game face takes over. 

Fred plays better than you’ve ever seen. He’s everywhere and all of his hits are going exactly where he wants them to. And he still has the time to look your way. Sure, he’s looked your way during a match before, but this felt different. You know it’s because he’s pretending to be your boyfriend. The looks aren’t as platonic, if that’s possible. It’s strange that he can make miniscule changes in his expression to convey a deeper meaning that you understand from across the pitch. 

Just as predicted, Hufflepuff doesn’t stand a chance. The score is heavily in Gryffindor’s favor when Harry catches the snitch. You join the rest of the Gryffindors in storming the pitch to congratulate the team. You feel yourself being shoved toward Fred, who picks you up in a bone-crushing hug to spin you around. You let out a giddy laugh that Fred mirrors. Like usual at this point, when he sets you back down, his arm is left slung over your shoulder and your arm is loosely around his waist. Once again, you feel that if anyone was still doubting the status of your relationship with Fred, they wouldn’t now. 

You remain at Fred’s side as he talks with everyone congratulating him on the win. He’s basking in the attention and you can’t help but smile up at him. It’s nice to see your best friend so happy. You miss the knowing look that George gives Fred after seeing you like that. 

Under Fred’s arm you stay until the pitch empties out and the team starts disappearing into the locker room to put away their things before returning to the common room. 

“I’ll see you up there, love,” Fred says softly as he lets go of you.

You smile and wave to him. Just like that Monday practice, Fred watches you walk away until you’re out of sight before going into the locker room. He smiles to himself. He doesn’t even care that George sees him looking like a fool. 

You’ve chosen one of the arm chairs by the fire to sit in while you wait for the team. Can’t really have a party to celebrate their win without them. You’re just observing the other Gryffindors when you feel a hand on your shoulder.

“You must be good for him,” Percy says. “Never seen Fred play that well.”

You’re not sure if Percy’s ever actually spoken to you before, besides the occasional side note of telling you to try to keep your friends out of trouble. Like you could control them. 

“Thank you?” you say, it sounding more like a question than anything. 

He nods and walks away. Okay, weird encounter. You shake your head and turn to people-watching. 

A roar of cheers announces the team’s arrival with Oliver and Harry leading the bunch. Anyone who hadn’t gotten the chance to congratulate them on the pitch is crowding them now, clapping hands on their shoulders and backs. Somehow, through the masses, Fred spots you and makes his way toward your chair. You suddenly realize that you haven’t congratulated him yet. 

“You played really well,” you say, grinning up at him.

“I know,” he replies casually, sitting down on the couch right next to you. “Come ‘ere. Let George or Lee sit there.”

You roll your eyes but get up anyway. He grabs your waist and pulls you into his lap. You hadn’t realized that’s what he meant by “Come here.” His lap. You’d sat next to Fred during post-quidditch parties before, but never in his lap. This is new territory that you’re unable to leave because Fred’s got his arm anchored around your waist. 

When George and Lee make their way to the armchair and couch, they are both carrying two drinks. Lee hands one to you and George hands the other to Fred. 

“Thank you very much,” Fred says, enunciating each word. 

“So, Y/N, what have you been doing to him?” Lee asks.

You give him a pointed yet confused look.

“Fred’s accuracy has never been that good.”

You lean forward as much as you can with Fred’s arm holding you in place. 

“What if I told you I tampered with the bludgers?”

“Only to respond to Fred’s bat then? Georgie’s aim could’ve been better.”

“Oi!” George exclaims, looking insulted.

“He’s not wrong,” Fred says with a laugh. 

That was the joke that kept coming back for the rest of the day as your quartet lounged around. The rest of the common room was filled with louder conversation and music. Drinks were passed around and refilled. Someone at some point went to get snacks for everyone. It wasn’t the wildest party Gryffindor’s thrown but it was good. It felt nice to just sit and be held by Fred. 

And then an up-beat, high-tempo song comes. It gets the attention of several people and suddenly, the area behind the couch is filled with people dancing. 

You lean backwards to whisper into Fred’s ear, “Care to dance?” 

He nods and loosens his grip on your waist, allowing you to get up. You grab his head and lead him to where the dancing is happening. You don’t think about what you’re doing. All you know is that the music is very danceable. It’s easy to match the energy of the people around you. And it’s even easier when Fred’s hands find your hips to hold your body closer to his, moving in sync. 

For half a second, you want to take a step backwards and say, ‘Leave room for Merlin’ with a laugh. But you remember that you’re still leaning into the dating rumors. You let Fred continue to move your body, even if it made your heart pound in a way you didn’t want to think about. Song after song, you’re up against Fred. You’ve never been this close to him, never been able to feel his body, his muscles like this, never been able to smell his cologne this strongly. (Why they showered in the locker rooms after games and not practices is lost on you.)

Eventually, you tire and drag Fred back to the couch. Lee and George have disappeared elsewhere so it’s just you and him. And a few other Gryffindors but you weren’t talking to them. He sits down first and pulls you back into his lap, resuming how you were before you got up to dance. 

“You’re still in my jersey,” Fred mutters as his fingers play with the hem of it.

“I didn’t know if I should’ve changed after the game.”

“You decided correctly.”

“Gabrielle still wearing Oliver’s?”

“I’d assume so… Although I haven’t seen them in a while so she might not be anymore…” His voice trails off as he waggles his eyes.

“Oh my Godric! You did not need to go there!” 

He laughs. “But you know it’s true.”

“And you know I didn’t need to think about Oliver naked.” 

“Are you thinking about…” A mischievous glint sparkles in Fred’s eyes. “Wood’s wood?”

You slap his shoulder, which only makes him laugh louder. 

“You are disgusting, Fred Weasley.” 

“Maybe I just wanted to see you blush,” he says teasingly. 

It’s then that you realize his comment did make you blush. You hide your face in his shoulder. The arm that’s wrapped around you gives you a little squeeze. 

“Ah, come on, love. I’m just teasin’. You know that.” 

“I do,” you mumble into his shoulder. “I just don’t talk about people’s… wood with you guys.” 

Now Fred’s desperately trying to get your face out of his shoulder, moving it backwards and using his other hand to create space between your cheek and his shoulder.

“Are you saying you discuss that with not guys?” he asks with a cheeky grin. 

Your blush deepens to match the jersey you’re wearing. 

“Oh my Merlin, you do!” 

You groan loudly and attempt to hide your face again, but Fred doesn’t let you.

“Tell me, does mine come up?” 

Despite his grip on you, you rip yourself off of his lap. You did not need to tell Fred that, yes, you and your roommates had discussed what you thought each guy in your year was packing. Those were conversations that are better left in the confines of your dorm. You decide that that’s enough for the night. You’ve danced, drank and chatted. You can go to bed without anyone calling you a party pooper. 

But then Fred’s arm is around your waist again and he’s directing you to the boys’ stairs rather than the girls’.

“Weasley,” you warn quietly. 

A quick glance over your shoulder has you seeing George, Lee and their other roommate, Kenneth. Still, Fred continues to push you up the stairs and into their dorm. Your mind is spinning. What was he expecting?

He closes the door behind you and then lays down on his bed. His eyes flutter closed. You stand by the door, unmoving for a minute.

“You going to stand there all night?” he asks, not opening his eyes. 

“I… I hope you’re not… ah, expecting anything?” 

He pats the area on his bed next to him. You reluctantly sit on the edge of the bed near where he patted. You’re sitting too far away for Fred’s liking. You’d laid on his bed before. It was always his bed you laid on when the four of you hung out in their dorm. Kenneth was often banished the moment you showed up. 

“Y/N, I’m going to jump or anything,” Fred says, peeking through his eyelids to see you sitting just within arms reach. “If that’s what you’re thinking… Because of what I said downstairs…”

“Yeah…” you murmur.

Then you move more onto his bed and recline slowly. You’re both laying on your backs, shoulder to shoulder. Fred’s got his hands behind his head and you’re hugging yourself. 

After a few minutes of silence, you ask, “So why couldn’t I go to my dorm?” 

“Wasn’t done hanging out with you.” 

You snort a laugh. “Right.”

“I made a dumb comment, yeah? And then you go hide away for the rest of the night? Nah.”

“Nah,” you echo softly. “So you figure that you’ll drag me up here to what?” 

He hums. “This.”

“Stare at your canopy?”

“I guess.” He pauses before adding, “Anything really. ‘S my job to keep you from hiding in your dorm all night.”

“It’s a perfectly reasonable time to go to bed!” 

“You’d be doing homework! Reading your Transfiguration book or something.”

“And this is so much better?” 

“Yes.” 

Silence falls between you again, but it isn’t awkward or uncomfortable. Thank goodness Fred’s your best friend or you’re certain it would be uncomfortable to lay next to him like this. There’s a question that you keep turning over in your mind that you can’t bring yourself to ask. You want to know how long Fred plans on pretending to be your boyfriend. Should you be pretend-breaking it off soon so that your friend group can stay intact without being weird? Do George and Lee know it’s fake? Lee didn’t appear to know it was, but maybe he was acting earlier. But as you lay next to Fred, now doesn’t feel like the right time to ask him. 

When his breathing evens out to shallow breaths, you look over at him. He is most definitely sleeping. You smile at his peaceful form. Then you get up and quietly leave his dorm. You’re not sure what time it is, but you’re trying to be sneaky. You are leaving the boys’ dorms after a party and that could start some more rumors if you aren’t careful. You think you’ve successfully switched from the boys’ stairs to the girls’ when a hand grabs your bicep. 

“Y/N.” 

George. 

You turn and give him a polite smile. 

“Um, you know you could’ve spent the night,” he says rather sheepishly. “Me and Lee, we don’t mind. And Towler can deal.” 

So maybe George doesn’t know it was fake. 

“Thanks, George, but I think it’s too soon to be spending the night,” you say. 

He nods and lets go of your arm, like he didn’t realize he was still holding onto it. You head up the rest of the stairs. Maybe you should ask Fred at some point what he did tell George and Lee about this faux relationship. 

---

You never can ask him. You can’t bring yourself to ask Fred when this is going to end, how it’s going to end and what did he tell your friends. The moment never feels right. 

It doesn’t help that pretending to be Fred’s girlfriend gets easier with each passing day. It’s just like being best friends, but on overdrive. There are also more times when Fred leaves George and Lee behind to find you, to hang out with you. He’s even gone to the library to study with you when you needed extra books for an assignment. 

The one thing that might have had people second guessing your relationship was a lack of public kissing. There was the occasional kiss pressed to your hairline or your forehead or your cheek, but that was it. The top of the head kisses weren’t new. Fred and George had given you those over the years as you helped with pranks or various homework assignments. But the first time Fred kissed your cheek, it left you more flustered than you would ever admit. It was the most genuine affection you had ever received from a boy. It wasn’t followed by an off-hand ‘you’re the best.’ No. The kiss had been placed on your cheek right before Fred left breakfast early, having forgotten his homework in his dorm. It was a goodbye kiss that you hadn’t been expecting. A goodbye kiss that had you hiding behind your mug for the rest of breakfast, willing your blush to disappear. 

You went to Hogsmeade with Fred, George and Lee. They went into Zonko’s, leaving you to either follow them around for at least an hour in that shop or go off on your own for a bit. You chose the latter, not caring to look over the same products that they would spend another hour in their dorm later showing you. You wander around for a little bit before going into Spintwitches. You’re not exactly sure why, but you were drawn inside. You look around, thinking about how Fred really had been performing better this term.

You stop in front of the beater section of the store. In the middle of the display is a new bat that you’ve heard Fred talk about for months. He even wrote about it in his letters to you over the summer. Something about it having better grip and a special weight distribution to help with aim. You’re not really sure what made it all that special, but you’re sure that Fred wants it. You barely glance at the cost before telling the shopkeep that you’d like to buy it. 

You claim a booth in the Three Broomsticks and wait for the boys. Meeting them there after their Zonko’s visit was the usual plan and sure enough, after fifteen minutes or so, they appear. 

“Got you somethin’,” you say casually as Fred slides onto the bench next to you. 

His eyes go wide as you place the box in front of him. George has an identical look on his face, staring at the box.

“Y/N… you shouldn’t have…” 

“You’ve been eyeing it for months. Plus, isn’t this what girlfriends do? Spoil our boyfriends?” you say with a teasing lilt. 

Fred pulls you into a tight hug and whispers, “Leaning into it now, are you?”

“Mhmm,” you hum. “Now, you really owe me.”

Fred chuckles as he pulls back.

“No, really, Y/N, thank you.” 

“Wait, where’s mine?” George asks. “I want a new bat!”

“Get a girlfriend, then mate,” Lee laughs.

For the rest of the time that you’re in Hogsmeade, Fred keeps stealing glances at you. You don’t notice, nor do you notice the way that when he does look at you, it’s with the softest look, full of adoration. 

In your head, you know that Fred doesn’t owe you. If he was your real boyfriend, you would’ve bought the bat for him without a second thought. You would’ve suffered through as many Madam Puddifoot’s dates with Oliver and Gabrielle as he needed you to. You would spend the night in his dorm, rather than leave when he falls asleep. You would do anything for him. 

---

It’s about halfway through December when something changes. 

“Y/N!” Fred calls from across the corridor. He didn’t have a class last period and it looks like he’s been waiting for you. He jogs up to you. “Mum wants to know when you’ll be joining us at the Burrow.”

You look taken aback. You shake your head briefly to shake the confused look from your features.

“I didn’t know I was coming to the Burrow?”

“You’re my girlfriend. Of course you’re coming to the Burrow,” he says like it’s common knowledge. 

You grab his arm and pull into the nearest alcove, away from the students now filling the corridor. 

“Fake girlfriend. I didn’t know that this extended past the wall of Hogwarts?” 

Fred runs an anxious hand through his hair. “Well, I mean, Ginny’s written to Mum about you. I think Perc has mentioned you too.. You have to come. I think Mum would murder me if I broke up with you right before Christmas.” 

“Merlin, Fred!” you sigh exasperated, throwing your head back and reaching to run a hand through your own hair. 

“Did it get a bit out of hand? Yes. But… I mean… I’m not complaining.”

“You got a happy captain and a new bat. You have no reason to complain.” 

He huffs a laugh. “I have one reason to complain.”

“Really?” you say disbelievingly. 

You cross your arms and give Fred an expectant look.

“Yes, a happy captain is good and the new bat was a widely unexpected plus. But spending time with you and seeing you in my jersey? Fuck Y/N…” He paused momentarily, giving you the brief impression that spending time with you was his complaint. “My complaint is that you keep saying this is fake.” 

Your expression immediately scrunches into something resembling confusion. 

“Because it is? You said I’m your friend who is a girl. You called this fun.” You try to take in Fred’s unreadable expression. “Isn’t that all it’s been? Just fun to mess with people for believing a rumor? And to make Oliver happy?”

“That’s… That’s certainly how it started.”

A beat passes.

“And now?” you ask. 

“I don’t think I can go back to being just friends.”

Oh. 

“This… more than friends… I want it. I want it with you.”

Oh.

He stares into your eyes for a few seconds, searching for something, some kind of reaction beyond shock. Then he leans in quickly. The kiss is soft, gentle and barely there. But it happened. His lips touched yours and now you’re breathless. 

He takes a step back and presses his lips together for a moment. He’s still watching you. 

“Y/N… please say something,” he whispers.

Right, words. You need to say those. You open your mouth but all that comes out is a squeak. 

“Is… Is that a good noise? Bad noise? Should I be running? Groveling? Going to tell George and Lee I just ruined our group?”

“Burrow,” you manage to say.

You want to disappear on the spot. That’s the word you went with? Your brain must’ve short circuited because that didn’t answer a single one of Fred’s flurry of questions. Except he seems to understand what you meant as he sighs with a small smile playing at his lips. 

“Mum’s not expecting you to stay for the whole time. Honestly, I think she’d love to have you for one day. I’d like to have you there for a few days, but I know I kinda sprung this on you and you probably already have plans with your family.”

You nod. You don’t trust yourself to speak just yet. Not when your last attempt ended up with you saying ‘Burrow.’ Fred watches intently as you walk deeper into the alcove and sit down beneath the window. He cautiously sits next to you, unsure of what else to do. 

“How long?” you ask quietly.

“As long as you want to stay. Mum loves hosting people.”

You shake your head and take a deep breath.

“When did it stop being fake for you?” you ask, clarifying your previous question.

“Oh…” he says with a sharp breath. “When you started regularly coming to practice. 

That wasn’t long after this whole thing started, you realize. It was before he even gave you his jersey. Before you randomly gifted him a new beater’s bat. So this whole semester that you’ve been having to remind yourself that it’s fake, he’s been having to do the same thing?

“Love, can you say something?” he asks, his voice shaky and unsure. “Where do we stand?” 

“I… I kept saying it was fake to remind myself that it was, that we were doing this for fun.”

Fred waits a moment for you to say more, but when you don’t, he asks again, “So where do we stand?”

“You don’t need to tell George and Lee that you ruined the friend group. As long as you don’t break my heart.” 

tags: @navs-bhat

[melshifting]

(uncommon) talents for your DR

↳ #01 ～ Expert in claws: You know the perfect technique to always win in any casino game and claw machines, making it easy to get your desired prize - every machine works in your favor.

↳ #02 ～ Lip-reading expert: your ability to read lips with remarkable accuracy allows you to understand conversations in noisy, quiet, or silent environments, either in person or via online videos.

↳ #03 ～ Chronological mathematician: You possess an innate sense of time, accurately estimating the passage of minutes and seconds without a watch. This ability makes you the right person to time sports, games and even cooking.

↳ #04 ～ Human scale: You know how to calculate the exact weight and/or measurements of any item without resorting to a scale.

↳ #05 ～ Human GPS: you have an innate sense of direction and can navigate even the most complex and unfamiliar routes effortlessly.

↳ #06 ～ Extraordinary locksmith: Your nimble fingers and keen sense of touch allow you to effortlessly pick any lock. Although this skill must be used legally and responsibly, it can be useful in casual situations.

↳ #07 ～ Eidetic painter: you possess the ability to create detailed and realistic paintings from memory, even if you have only seen the subject once.

↳ #08 ～ Living calendar: You have an extraordinary memory for dates and events, which allows you to remember historical events, birthdays, and anniversaries effortlessly.

↳ #09 ～ The best joker: your mind is a treasure chest of puns - your ability to create witty puns worthy of a joke on the spot can brighten up any situation.

↳ #10 ～ Lost & Found magnet: You can locate lost objects with unerring accuracy, no matter how big or small.

↳ #11 ～ Professional counterfeiter: You are an expert in forgery, as you accurately imitate handwriting, signatures, and documents. Although this talent isn't intended for illegal activities, it makes you a professional expert in the details.

↳ #12 ～ Escape artist: You have a unique gift for breaking free from chains, locked rooms or difficult situations - this skill combines physical flexibility with mental dexterity.

↳ #13 ～ Color identifier: With a quick glance at an image/painting you can identify and reproduce the exact colors, as you excel at distinguishing color ranges to perfection.

[eu-nicola]

non think

summary: your friendship with Rudy began naturally and fluidly, but when his girlfriend's jealousy begins to interfere, tensions arise

warnings: nothing (?)

word counter: 5049

author's note: english is not my first language, this is fiction, don't take it seriously

From the moment you stepped onto the Outer Banks set, you felt that unmistakable energy of a team completely in sync. But even though everything seemed to click, it was Rudy Pankow who you instantly connected with. It wasn’t something you could plan—it just happened naturally.

Your role wasn’t easy. Playing Isabella Cameron, the middle Cameron sibling, meant bringing depth, charisma, and a hint of rebellion that contrasted with Sarah and Rafe but still shared a certain sensitivity with Wheezie. Even though Isabella wasn’t a Pogue like JJ, her connection with him promised to be one of the season’s most interesting twists.

On your first day on set, the nerves were real. This wasn’t your first acting gig, but something about joining a cast with such strong chemistry was intimidating. Rudy was one of the first to approach you.

“New Cameron?” he asked, with that grin of his that always seemed ready to crack a joke.

“The one and only,” you replied, trying to hide your nerves.

He burst out laughing.

“I like it. I’m Rudy, but I guess from now on we’re calling each other JJ and Isabella.”

The conversation flowed like you’d known each other forever. From that moment, it became almost a tradition for the two of you to find each other between takes to talk about scripts, crack jokes, or improvise ridiculous lines just to make the rest of the cast laugh.

One afternoon, during a scene where Isabella and JJ were supposed to argue about something involving Sarah, the directors decided to let you two improvise a bit to explore your characters' dynamic. It was a mess… in the best way possible. Your quick comebacks and Rudy’s ability to keep up with sarcastic remarks had everyone on set laughing. After calling cut, Jonas Pate, one of the show’s creators, came over.

“You two have something special. I think we’re gonna lean into that.”

It wasn’t until weeks later that you understood what he meant. In one of the season two episodes, Isabella and JJ would share an unexpected kiss—a moment that would completely shift their dynamic.

“A kiss?” you asked, stunned after reading the script.

Rudy shot you a playful look.

“What? Not excited? I’m a great kisser.”

“Uh-huh, sure.” Your sarcastic tone made him laugh, like always.

Filming that scene was… interesting. Even though you got along great off-camera, you couldn’t help feeling a little nervous. But Rudy, ever the charmer, made sure to ease your nerves before the take.

“It’s like we’re mocking the cliché, but with style,” he said, adjusting JJ’s jacket.

The scene turned out so well that the director asked to shoot it from multiple angles. After every take, Rudy would wink at you, making you smile despite yourself. The funny thing was, even though JJ and Isabella’s kiss wasn’t originally meant to happen again in the series, the on-screen chemistry between you two led to more moments like that.

Still, the main storyline for Isabella revolved around Barry, the character who was supposed to be her big love interest. Barry was different, but his relationship with Isabella brought an emotional depth that fans quickly adored.

Even so, every time you and Rudy shared a scene, the vibe on set shifted. There was something contagious about the way you interacted, both on and off camera. It wasn’t uncommon for the other cast members to watch you two during breaks and joke about your 'explosive chemistry.'

“You two would be absolute chaos if they let you,” Chase said one day, watching you rehearse a particularly intense scene.

And he wasn’t wrong. Despite Isabella clearly being paired with Barry, you couldn’t deny that working with Rudy was one of the most fun and genuine parts of the production. That connection eventually led fans to start shipping Isabella and JJ, even though the show’s narrative had other plans.

The on-screen kisses quickly became a recurring topic among the cast and crew.

Everything was going perfectly fine between you and Rudy until the fans started noticing what you and the rest of the cast already knew: your on-screen chemistry was undeniable. Comments on Instagram, TikTok, and Twitter exploded as soon as the first kiss scene between Isabella and JJ aired.

'Does anyone else think JJ and Isabella should be endgame?'

'Barry has nothing on JJ-Bella tension. Sorry, not sorry.'

'The way JJ looks at Isabella when she walks away… CHEF’S KISS. I need more of them.'

'I don’t care what anyone says, Rudy and Isabella HAVE to be together, ON and OFF screen.'

At first, the comments didn’t bother you. After all, most of them were about the characters, not you as actors. Even the more insistent ones were easy to brush off. But things changed when fan theories started crossing the line.

'Have you guys noticed how Rudy is always around her in BTS? 👀'

'I refuse to believe there’s nothing going on between them off-screen. Look at their interviews.'

'Sorry, but Rudy’s girlfriend doesn’t hold a candle to her. Stay with Y/N.'

That last comment felt like a trigger. Suddenly, the presence of Rudy’s girlfriend, whose relationship with him had been private and mostly unknown to fans, became glaringly obvious. She hadn’t been around during the first few months of filming, but now she showed up on set often, always quiet but clearly watching everything.

At first, you tried to be friendly. She wasn’t part of the cast, but you understood her wanting to be near Rudy. However, the tension started becoming noticeable when she stopped hiding her discomfort around you.

“So, this is the famous Isabella Cameron?,” she said one afternoon during a break. Her tone was sharp, even though her smile tried to mask it.

“Yeah, I guess that’s me.”You smiled, trying not to let it affect you.

“Well, I hope you don’t take everything the fans say too seriously. Rudy and I have something real, not like those fake kisses you share with him.”

You were caught off guard. It wasn’t like you cared about what she thought, but her comment made it clear she didn’t really know where the line between fiction and reality was. From that moment on, her little digs became more frequent.

One day, while scrolling through your social media, you saw a comment she left under one of your photos promoting the show. It didn’t say much, but the sarcasm was obvious:

"Wow, working with Rudy must be the highlight of your career. You must love it."

Fans, as expected, picked up on it right away. ‘Why’s Rudy’s girlfriend so passive-aggressive towards her?’ was one of the top comments on your profile. You laughed it off, but the whole thing left a bitter taste in your mouth.

The tension hit its peak during one of the more intense scenes between Isabella and JJ, where the two characters had to share an intimate moment in the middle of an argument. You and Rudy had rehearsed the scene, and everything seemed fine until you noticed his sudden change in attitude.

“Everything okay?” you asked him before shooting.

“Yeah, it’s fine.” His answer was short, distant, and not like him at all.

You couldn’t help but think his girlfriend had something to do with it. She was sitting in a corner of the set, arms crossed, watching you both. She wasn’t doing anything obvious, but her presence was enough to throw him off and, by extension, ruin the dynamic you two usually had.

After the scene ended, you confronted him.

“What’s going on with you? We never had problems before, but now it’s like you don’t even want to be around me.”

“It’s not that.” He avoided your gaze, confirming what you already suspected.

“Then what is it? Your girlfriend? Because if it’s about her, I need you to tell me now if we’re going to keep working like we used to or not.”

Rudy sighed, running a hand through his hair. You knew he didn’t want to have this conversation, but it was necessary.

“She just… doesn’t get it. And I don’t want things to get messier than they already are.”

“And what about our work?” you asked, more frustrated than you intended to sound.

He didn’t answer, but his silence was enough to tell you that, fair or not, things wouldn’t go back to the way they were.

After that, Rudy started pulling away not just from you, but from the rest of the cast too. The jokes between takes became less frequent, and the fun improvisations you both used to enjoy practically disappeared. No one said anything, but it was obvious something was wrong.

Social media wasn’t helping. Every time you posted something about the show, fans kept fueling the drama with their theories and comments.

‘Rudy’s girlfriend is definitely behind this. They’re not even in interviews together anymore.’

‘It’s so sad that JJ and Isabella have such good chemistry, but off-camera, it’s a mess.’

You tried to ignore it, but some nights you couldn’t help feeling frustrated. Not because of the comments, but because you missed how things used to be. Rudy was one of the best co-stars you’d ever had, and now it felt like you couldn’t even be friends.

And the worst part? He wasn’t doing anything to fix it.

When the fourth season rolled around, the news hit like a bomb. During a cast table read, the producers announced that JJ Maybank’s arc would come to a tragic end with a heroic death. While everyone murmured in shock, you could only look at him. Rudy sat in silence, arms crossed, eyes glued to the script, avoiding eye contact with everyone—especially you.

“What does this mean?” you asked Jonas directly.

“It was Rudy’s decision,” he replied, with a tone that made it clear he didn’t want to elaborate.

You couldn’t believe it. You’d heard rumors that Rudy wasn’t as excited about continuing on the show, but you always thought they were just that rumors. But now it was clear he’d made the most drastic choice possible.

That night, you couldn’t stay quiet. You found him outside the set, sitting on one of the service stairs, like he was waiting for someone to confront him.

“What the hell are you doing?” you blurted out. He looked up, surprised by your tone, but said nothing. He just shrugged.

“I’ve got nothing left to do here. I’m done.”

That lit a fire in you.

“Done? Are you serious? Rudy, your character is one of the fans’ favorites. JJ still has so much potential, and you’re just letting him die because… what? Because your girlfriend can’t handle us doing our jobs?”

He frowned, clearly annoyed.

“This has nothing to do with her. It’s my decision, and it’s final.”

“Of course, it has to do with her. Ever since she started coming to set, you’ve changed. You’re not the same anymore. You can’t even joke around with me like you used to. Now you’d rather run away than face things.”

Rudy stood up, defensive.

“And what do you expect me to do? Ignore everything? Pretend like I’m not losing my relationship?.”

“You’re not losing your relationship, Rudy. You’re sabotaging your career. And along the way, you’re throwing away everything we had, our friendship, all of it. Why can’t you see that?.”

“Because it’s not as simple for me as it is for you,” he said, raising his voice. There was frustration and pain in his tone.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you asked, crossing your arms.

“It means not everyone can separate things like you. Do you know how hard it’s been for me? Everyone assumes there’s something between us, like there’s more… And she sees it, the fans see it. No matter how much I deny it, someone’s always pointing it out.”

The intensity of his words caught you off guard, but you weren’t about to back down.

“So what? You’re just going to throw it all away? Let her control every decision you make? That’s not professional. It’s childish.”

He shook his head like your words couldn’t break through the wall he’d built.

“Do what you want, but don’t expect me to stay quiet while you ruin something that meant so much to all of us,” you said before turning and walking away.

From that moment on, things went downhill fast. What used to be a natural and fun connection turned into pure tension. Arguments became frequent, both on and off set. Something as simple as a rehearsal could turn into a battleground, and it wasn’t long before it started affecting the whole team.

In scenes where Isabella and JJ had to interact, the tension was so obvious that even the directors began to notice something was off. After weeks of trying, they decided to use doubles for the shots where the two of you shared the screen.

The rumor spread quickly among the crew. People whispered behind your backs, some blaming Rudy, others blaming you, but most were just confused. It wasn’t easy to explain how one of the cast’s most beloved dynamics had turned into something so unsustainable.

By the time the last scene rolled around, the atmosphere on set was heavy. That day, JJ’s final scene was being filmed—a moment that would mark the end of an era for the show and the cast. While everyone tried to keep the energy upbeat and positive, all you could feel was an overwhelming emptiness.

It wasn’t just about JJ leaving; it was because Rudy was leaving too. Even though your relationship had deteriorated to the point of being unrecognizable, you couldn’t help but remember how things had started: the laughs, the improvisations, the jokes that even got the directors to join in. Now, none of that was left.

The scene you were filming was heartbreaking, probably the most emotional one of the entire season. JJ sacrificed himself to save Isabella and the other Pogues, dying heroically. You, as Isabella, had to hold him in your arms while he said his final words.

When the director called action, you threw yourself into character completely. Isabella was desperate, her hands covered in blood as she tried to hold back tears.

“No, JJ, don’t do this to me,” you said, your voice breaking. The script called for you to cling to him, as if you could stop the inevitable.

Rudy, as JJ, looked at you with a weak smile the same one that had always defined his character, even in the darkest moments.

“Don’t cry, Bella. You always knew I’d do something stupid like this.” He coughed, mimicking the character’s weakness, but there was something else in his voice something that felt way too real.

“Don’t say that!” you screamed as Isabella, feeling a knot in your stomach that went beyond acting. Tears streamed down your face, and for a moment, you wondered if they were yours or your character’s.

“Take care of them... all of them.” He tried to laugh, but his voice faltered. JJ’s eyes closed, and the camera captured your devastated face as you hugged him one last time.

“Cut!” the director yelled.

The set erupted in applause. The crew, the cast—everyone knew they had just filmed something unforgettable. But you couldn’t move. You kept holding onto Rudy, trying to steady your breathing, because even though the scene was over, the emotions were still there.

“You were incredible,” someone said, but you didn’t register who. You barely heard Rudy mumble a “thank you” to everyone as he stood up and walked off set.

As soon as you snapped out of character, the real tears came. You weren’t one to cry in front of everyone, so you slipped away from the set and found a quiet corner where you could be alone. Sitting on one of the folding chairs, away from the lights and noise, you let the emotions take over.

“Are you okay?” Madison asked, approaching cautiously.

You looked up at her and tried to smile, but you couldn’t.

“Yeah, just... haven’t gotten much rest.”

Madison nodded and stayed quiet beside you. You knew she didn’t want to push you but was still worried. After a while, she gave your shoulder a squeeze and went back to the set, leaving you with your thoughts.

Later, when everyone was gathering to say goodbye to Rudy, you couldn’t bring yourself to go near him. You watched from a distance as he was surrounded by hugs, encouragement, and smiles. He seemed happy—or at least relieved. But to you, it all felt like a façade.

You knew you’d eventually have to face him, but you were too angry to do it now. Every time someone asked if you were going to say goodbye, you just answered, “Maybe later.”

The anger you felt toward Rudy had become constant. No matter how much you tried to justify it or make sense of it, it always led back to the same thing: he acted like none of this mattered. Like losing his friends, his job, and everything you’d built together meant nothing.

But what bothered you most wasn’t just his apparent indifference it was how, deep down, you found yourself wanting him. You hated yourself for it. You tortured yourself with thoughts that if things had been different if his girlfriend wasn’t in the picture, if he could see things the way you did—you wouldn’t be here now. But you knew he wasn’t that kind of person, which is why you’d always tried to give him the best advice, even if it hurt.

The night before Rudy officially left the set, he came to find you. You had just finished packing up your things and were walking to the parking lot when you saw him waiting by your car.

“Can we talk?” he asked, his expression unfamiliar. He looked exhausted, almost desperate.

“What for?” you shot back, crossing your arms. Sarcasm had become your go-to defense. “To have one last argument? That seems to be all we do lately.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“I don’t want to argue. I just... I need to explain myself.”

You were caught off guard by that. You hesitated for a moment before tilting your head toward the passenger seat.

“Talk.”

He leaned against your car, staring at the ground before finally speaking.

“I know you think I don’t care about any of this. That I’m just walking away because none of it matters to me. But that’s not true.”

You rolled your eyes, unable to hide your disbelief.

“Oh, really? Because it sure seems like you don’t care. You’ve distanced yourself from everyone, didn’t even try to fix things, and now you’re just leaving. What do you expect us to think?”

“It’s not that I don’t care. It’s just... I don’t know how to handle it,” he admitted, with a sincerity you hadn’t seen in him for a long time.

You stared at him, trying to figure out if he really meant it or if it was just another excuse.

“Rudy, we’ve all tried to help you. Madison, Chase, even the directors. We all wanted to help, but you wouldn’t listen to anyone. And you can’t blame us for being upset when it seems like all you care about is keeping someone happy who doesn’t even understand what you do.”

“It’s not as easy as you make it sound,” he shot back, his voice rising slightly. “She didn’t ask for this. She didn’t ask to compete with fans, theories, or with you.”

“With me?” you asked, stepping closer to him, feeling anger boil inside you again. “Are you seriously saying this is my fault?”

“No, that’s not what I meant,” he said quickly, but it was too late.

“Listen, I never tried to make you choose between your career and your relationship. In fact, I always told you that you could have both if you just took a second to put things into perspective. But you didn’t. You chose to pull away, not just from me, but from everyone. And now, you’re leaving. So tell me, what else do you want me to do?”

For a moment, he didn’t seem to have an answer. He just looked at you, his lips slightly parted, like he was searching for the right words.

“I want you to understand that this wasn’t an easy decision,” he finally said. “And I want you to know that I never wanted us to end up like this.”

You laughed, though there was nothing funny about the situation.

“Is that it? You want my forgiveness? Or are you expecting me to sit here feeling sorry for myself because you decided to throw everything away?”

He took a step toward you, but you stepped back.

“No. I’ve had enough. Do what you have to do. Go live your life, but don’t expect me to sit here waiting for you to realize you made a mistake. Because you did. Not just with me, but with everyone who cared about you here.”

His eyes darkened, but he didn’t argue. He just nodded slowly, like he was accepting your words.

“Goodbye,” he said, with a sadness he hadn’t shown before.

“Goodbye, Rudy,” you replied.”

After that night, Rudy disappeared from your life. No immediate messages, no attempts to reconnect—at least not in the first few weeks. You didn’t reach out either. You’d made everything clear that last time, and you didn’t want to go back to a cycle of arguments that never seemed to end.

But as the weeks went by and the Outer Banks team started gearing up for the promotion of the new season, something inevitable happened: contact between you two. The first time you saw a message from him, you were going through emails, looking for info about the upcoming red carpet event.

It was simple, almost casual.

Rudy: “Hey. Hope you’re doing okay. How’s everything going?”

You read it a couple of times, trying to decide if it was worth replying. You knew he’d probably written and rewritten that message several times before sending it, but you still weren’t ready to fully open that door again. Finally, you typed:

You: “All good. You?”

It took him days to reply. When he did, it was just as brief.

Rudy: “Good too. Thanks for asking.”

It didn’t seem like much, but for someone like Rudy, who always avoided uncomfortable conversations, it was something. The messages continued—spaced out, always short. He’d ask how work was going; you’d reply politely, sometimes returning the question, other times leaving the thread hanging. It didn’t feel like a conversation between friends, more like an attempt to hold onto something that wasn’t really there anymore.

When the first promotional event for the new season rolled around, you knew it was only a matter of time before you saw him. The whole cast was there—except Rudy—but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t show up. Even though he wasn’t actively part of the show anymore, his character was still important, and the producers wanted him there to honor that legacy.

The anxiety hit days before the event. Even though you’d managed to respond to some of his messages neutrally, the thought of seeing him in person made your heart race. You didn’t know how you’d react. Would you ignore him? Act like nothing happened? Talk?

The day came quicker than you’d hoped. You got ready in your hotel room, surrounded by stylists and makeup artists doing their thing while you stared at your reflection in the mirror, lost in thought. You wore a stunning dress, something that screamed strength and confidence, but inside, you felt more vulnerable than ever.

When you arrived at the event, the usual chaos of red carpets consumed you—flashes, photographers yelling, rapid-fire interviews. Everything seemed to be going as expected until you saw him. Rudy was on the other side of the carpet, talking to a group of reporters. He wore a simple but sharp suit, and while his smile was polite, there was something in his eyes you couldn’t quite figure out.

Madison, standing next to you, nudged you lightly.

“There he is,” she murmured, not needing to clarify who she meant.

“I know,” you said, trying to keep your composure.

You knew you’d eventually have to cross paths with him, but you avoided it as much as you could. There were interviews to do, group photos to take, fans to greet, and you stayed as far away from him as possible the whole time.

The red carpet premiere was everything you’d expected—flashes, shouting fans, excitement everywhere. But for you, it all felt distant. Rudy and you barely glanced at each other the entire time. It was like you were both in your own worlds, aware of the crowd but completely detached from everything else.

There was an awkward tension in the air, one you couldn’t ignore. The pain from the past months was still there, but it wasn’t something you were willing to show in public. The press team and photographers fired off quick questions, and while the flashes lit up everyone’s faces, you responded just enough, smiling when necessary. Still, Rudy’s presence, even from a distance, made you feel shaky.

Every now and then, your eyes met his—brief, almost fleeting—but always heavy with something you couldn’t name. He didn’t approach you, didn’t try to break the ice. He kept his distance, and everything between you stayed frozen, like time had stopped. The laughter and chatter around you felt mechanical, as if all your emotions were locked away in a room neither of you wanted to enter.

It wasn’t until you moved inside the venue for the screening that things shifted. The photographers were still snapping group photos, this time with the entire cast. A bunch of people surrounded you, and among them, somehow, was Rudy. You didn’t even notice when he got closer, but when one of the photographers gestured for everyone to squeeze in, Rudy slid in beside you. Without a word, he put his hand on your waist, stepping closer to position himself next to you. The move caught you off guard.

The photographer, clearly waiting for that moment, shouted instructions.

“Closer, please!” he called as flashes started going off again.

Instinctively, you leaned into Rudy, the heat of his body almost too much, a reminder of everything you’d once shared. The closeness made you uneasy, but it also surprised you how natural it felt for him. Like nothing had changed. Like everything was fine.

The flashes kept coming. Then, in the middle of it all, Rudy leaned in slightly, his voice barely audible over the chaos of the cameras.

“Just for tonight,” he murmured, with a faint but genuine smile, like he was trying to ease the tension.

You froze for a second, staring at him. Annoyance bubbled inside you, but you knew this was part of the job. It was a moment neither of you could avoid, no matter how much you wished you could.

“Just for tonight,” you repeated, more to yourself than to him, taking a deep breath as you forced a smile onto your face.

The photographer kept directing the group, asking for different poses, more smiles, more closeness. A part of you wanted to pull away, but another part knew that would only make things worse. So you went with it, doing what was expected, perfect smile, flawless posture, all while Rudy’s hand stayed on your waist, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the photographer signaled that the shoot was done. Rudy’s hand dropped from your waist, but he didn’t step away. He looked at you, his gaze holding too many unspoken words.

“You okay?” he asked softly, his voice low, meant only for you.

You looked at him, feeling the words catch in your throat. There was something ironic about that question. You knew the answer wasn’t as simple as “yes.” Everything between you two was so tangled, so complicated, that words seemed pointless.

“I’m fine,” you replied, though it didn’t feel true. The answer came out more robotic than honest, but you weren’t willing to give him more than that.

Once again, the distance between you both became tangible. Rudy didn’t push. He gave you one last look before turning back to the group, rejoining the rest of the cast. You, on the other hand, stayed there for a moment, trying to process what had just happened.

Even though you’d had to interact with him for work, the frustration lingered in your chest.

The night went on, and you knew you’d have to face him again at some point. The red carpets, the events, the interviews—it was all part of the job. But at the end of the day, all that was left between you two was the weight of a past you still didn’t know how to let go of.

[flamingpudding]

Little Snippets #8

A/N: Recently reread an older prompt thread of Danny reincarnating as Tim and remembering his previous life at nine... that inspired this...

Something was different about Tim. They all noticed as they watched the third Robin as he went through the cave like a whirlwind on fire. Collecting small gadgets and trinkets, his laptop and other things before hurrying off with some kind of excuse again. Dick arched an eyebrow and glanced at Bruce. The first Robin felt tempted to as Bruce for help to figure out if something had happened during their last mission.

While near death situation weren't uncommon in their line of work, they never before had affected the young teen the way they have right now. Dick had first thought, the kid had suffered some kind of head trauma considering how disoriented he had been when he first woke up. But this, was ridiculous, it wasn't like Tim was acting all to different from his usual self but.... Dick shock his head. Maybe he was just imaging it. The kid was still the same, tinkering with gadgets and drinking coffee or energy drink in amounts the kid was still way to young to consume the way he does. Maybe the boy hit puberty finally.

In his room Tim dropped everything he had collected from the Batcave into a pile, before quickly grabbing a notepad and scratching out bullet points as well as adding new points. The kid then proceeded to start pacing his room, counting something down with the help of his fingers as he muttered to himself.

"Okay Tim, think... I should have everything I need... I just need to remember the blueprint and then build it. It's not like I never build gadgets of my own. It something I have always done once I got into it... so it will be easy to make it and then..." His muttered continued before he plopped onto the ground, not before grabbing his little multi-tool box. His hand grabbing his notebook once again as he opened it and began scribbling down.

"If I use the parts of the stun gun.... and then the chip set from the bat mini computer.... then use the metal from one of the many batarangs..." Tim mumbled to himself, before coursing as he dropped his pen. His hand going intangible for a brief moment. His eye twitches for a second before he took a deep breath calming down, then picked up his pen again. He really needed to get started on building that Fenton bracelet.

"They just had to knock me hard enough into the head that I would remember my past life...." Tim mutters quietly, annoyed with the goons he had fought during their last mission. He took another deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment. Memories that belonged to Danny Fenton flitting across his mind. When Tim had woken up the first time he hand't remembered for a hot second that he was Tim Drake, son of Janet and Jack Drake, ward of Bruce Wayne and third Robin to Batman.

He literally thought he was Danny Fenton waking up in a strange dimension. After his initial panic calmed down Danny, or rather Tim had anaylized his situation and figured out, he was remembering his past life. It made the most sense. At first that was easy to deal with, until Tim one day fell through the floor. Thankfully neither Bruce, Alfred or Dick had noticed that incident. But to Tim, that meant he unlocked his abilities from his past life.

Which how was he going to explain that? 'Oh hey Bruce, I woke up and I don't have a meta gene but I remember my past life and now I have ghost abilities.' Yeah... that would go really well with the paranoid old man. Someone Tim was currently babysitting until that man recovered from his grief.

That brought Tim to his next dilemma. Because he remembered Danny Fenton read comics, while he mostly read comics centered around Martian Manhunter his past self thankfully had a friend that was into Batman and had discussed the comics with him. That was lucky for Tim. Because Tim wasn't stupid, he had seen other kids at school read these kind of books before. So he was aware that he was currently experiencing and living through the plot of one of these reincarnations book.

A part of him was partially sure that he could blame that on some of his ghostly friends from his past life.

Eitherway, thanks to his past life's friend. Tim had knowledge of the future, even if he didn't remember everything. Bad point, he had by now figured out in which timeline he was. Or at least Tim believed he had, which meant he was to late to prevent the fall of the second Robin, but if he calculated right either Damian was going to appear soon or he would be joining the Teen Titans which meant one step closer to going to get attacked by an enraged second Robin coming back. There were targets painted on his back. At least he wasn't at the point at time where he had another insane fruitloop obsessed with him.

Tim groaned. "I swear if this life were a novel it would be called, 'how to survive your siblings rage after awakening to your past life'."

There was a pause in the moment where Tim just let his mind wander. Before sitting straighter and getting to work onto the things he needed to suppress his ghost powers for the moment as well as making plans for the inevitable appearance of his future siblings. He just hoped he remembered the order of events correctly let alone that they were from the timeline he was in, otherwise he would be screwed.

"And that is, if I really only remembered my past life and did not taking over another kids life.... And Ancients... please don't let this be a Joker Jr. timeline...."

[plaguedogs123]

"Your exposure to the darkness has gifted you with abilities most uncommon" -------- “Spyro, as a rare purple dragon, you can wield many abilities that others cannot.”

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Magic Systems

Magic - change wrought through unnatural means

Most fantasy can be placed along a spectrum where there are 3 main points: soft magic at one end, hard magic at the other, and a middle ground between the two.

Soft Magic

Magic that is not well-defined for the reader.

Generally, we don’t understand where the magic comes from, who can use it, or what its limitations are.

Readers can see this type of magic being used.

But they can never anticipate when magic will be used in the plot because they can’t begin to guess how it works.

You can’t break a rule if the rules don’t exist!

Most stories that feature this system will have the magic users be secondary characters, allowing them to avoid explaining exactly how the magic works.

It’s also argued that without knowing everything about the magic, it tends to hold more wonder and excitement for readers.

Hard Magic

Has very rigid boundaries.

Readers know where the magic comes from, how it’s used, who uses it, and what its boundaries and limitations are.

We know the limitations of the characters and can understand why they can’t simply magic themselves out of any particular challenge.

Stories with hard magic systems do not need to avoid the main character being a magic-wielder, as they have the capacity to explain to the reader what is going on.

A lot of writers this system because it gives them very explicit guidelines to follow in their plot and creates some more satisfying pay-offs for readers.

The Middle Ground

The meeting point between the soft and hard systems.

We might understand a bit about the way the magic works, but not all our questions are answered.

While most of the content adheres to rules, these rules aren’t fully explored.

This system relies on the reader’s suspension of disbelief.

The main character can be a magic-wielder or not, and it’s up to the writer to determine when magic will be used in terms of plot.

How to Choose a System

You can and should use these guiding principles to build your magic system. Remember that you don’t have to choose one or the other. Your system can draw from aspects of both. Just stay aware of the weaknesses of the path you choose, and ensure you utilize its strengths.

Use a hard magic system if:

You are going to use magic to solve problems

Your audience is accustomed to the tropes of hard magic

You are okay with jumping through hoops to expand your system

Your magic doesn’t convey a theme

Use a soft magic system if:

You want to convey a theme through magic

You want to create a sense of wonder

You want the ability to expand easily

You want to be accessible to a broader audience

Your magic won’t regularly be used to solve problems

Branches of Magic

Like most writing processes, there isn’t really a correct place to begin designing a magic system. A common, and efficient, place to start, however, is by choosing what type of magic system(s) you wish to employ, such as:

Nature-based magic: water, earth, fire, air, and everything in between

Divination magic: see beyond sight and peer through time and space

Conjuring magic: move objects through space over any distance

Psychic magic: master the world of the mind

Life and death magic: tap into the very forces of life, death, and un-death with this surprisingly versatile collection

Animal- or creature-exclusive magic: some creatures just do it better

Magitech systems: the blurring lines of sorcery and science give magic a next-gen, high-tech flair

Eclectic magic: it doesn’t have to be “real” magic to have a real effect

Uncommon magic systems: the unsung heroes of fantasy magic

AALC Method

How to create your own magic system using the AALC (Appearance, Abilities, Limits & Cost) Method

Appearance

What the magic looks like

Makes the world feel more exotic

Can cause problems for characters but cannot solve them

Usually tied to a character arc

Abilities

What the magic does

Points calculated based on magical effect, range, number of people affected, and duration

Characters have a finite amount of fuel (mana) to use abilities

More powerful abilities require more fuel

The fuel does not have to be overt for the audience to understand

If points not overt, cannot solve conflicts unless a cost system is added

Limits

Unlimited uses of magical abilities

Abilities stratified in codified levels defined by their limits

The more the levels' abilities and limits are known by the audience, the more they can be used to solve conflicts

Focused on clever uses of abilities against stronger foes

Cost system can be added to enhance dramatic moments

Cost

Costs must be greater than or equal to abilities to make them dramatically satisfying

Costs can include time, exhaustion, materials, sanity, morality, etc.

Adds dilemma to magic by forcing characters to make choices

The greater the character's sacrifice, the more audience satisfaction at conflict resolution

Each system builds on the previous ones, so that Cost Systems use all four, while Point Systems only care about Abilities and Appearance.

Multiple systems can exist within the same story, and systems can harden over the course of the story.

The Force, for instance, has been a Soft, Point, Level, and Cost System depending on who wrote it at the time.

SOFT SYSTEMS (Appearance Only)

Window Dressing - magic for secondary characters; can instigate conflict but cannot solve it; e.g., Gandalf

Soft Villain - No explanation or upper limits needed; makes villains more powerful to make heroes greater underdogs; e.g., The Emperor

Chosen One - Unknown power keeps hero safe throughout story; can be considered plot armor unless earned through character arc

Sort Hero Incomplete - Curse or positive ability the character cannot control; hero still learning limits of ability at story's end; powers and arc continued in next adventure

Soft Hero Complete - Hero embraces ability to complete arc and solve main conflict; magic must become harder in subsequent adventures

POINT SYSTEMS (Appearance + Abilities)

Points Opaque - Non-explicit reservoir of energy fuels powers; cannot solve main problems without cost option because characters finding hidden energy reserve feels like deus ex machina

Points Hard - Both abiliites and points system must be explicit like in video games; becomes about resource management; easy to understand but takes sense of wonder out of magic

LEVEL SYSTEMS (Appearance + Abilities + Limits)

Soft Level Static - Unchanging power without upper limits; cannot solve conflicts because feels repetitive; power must be used cleverly; e.g., Wolverine's healing factor

Soft Level Advancing - Increased powers or new powers with unknown limits; cannot solve conflicts unless tied to a character arc like Soft Hero Complete, at which point "unlocks" new abilities

Hard Level Static - Unchanging abilities with clear-cut limits; can solve conflicts so long as setup is properly seeded, usually resulting in sacrifice; e.g., Genie

Hard Level Advancing - Well-established abilities with limits; can solve conflicts based upon clever uses of abilities, usually against stronger foes; e.g., Airbender

COST SYSTEMS (Appearance + Abilities + Limits + Cost)

Static Cost - Well-established cost remains consistent for each use of ability; can solve conflicts since based on personal sacrifice

Cost Fluctuating - Costs change based upon dramatic need; costs must be greater than or equal to ability; possible costs include lost time, money, sanity, health, memory, life, morality, etc.

Sources: 1 2 3 4 5 6 ⚜ Writing Notes ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs Writing Notes: Magic System ⚜ Fictional Items; Poisons ⚜ Fantasy

[jjackdawed]

The Jade Winglet

you are welcome to use my designs as long as you credit me :)

design notes:

Moon is a dark almost greenish black color, and has a silver almost diamond shape on her nose and chest. Hatching under two full moons, she has a teardrop on the back corners of her eyes as a mark of her mind reading abilities, and a smaller front teardrop as a mark of a seer. She is remarkably large for her age, a trait she got from her father, but is still one of the smaller members of her winglet.

Not much about Winter's design. He is stocky, has clusters of darker scales on his face, a darker nose, and is remarkably shiny even by IceWing standards. He continues to wear the earring from Qibli, claiming he doesn't trust Darkstalker's magic to be entirely gone without it, when in reality he secretly likes the connection to Qibli and his winglet.

Peril is very large for a SkyWing, and is the tallest of the winglet. Shes very muscular and her scales are abnormally bright and shiny in comparison to the other tribes. She is almost iredescent in the sun and practically glows. She has VERY large, unblinking eyes that are a startling shade of blue (an eye color already uncommon in the Sky Kingdom) and is known for intensely staring people down without meaning to do so. Despite being firescales she is covered in small scars from brief nicks in battle before her opponents perished.

Turtle is very short and stocky in build, and is the shortest of the winglet as he carries himself very low to the ground. Hes very freckled and alongside the golden armband he wears gold stud earrings. His horns are twisted and almost silvery, a trait he shares with every animus dragon. He bares a striking resemblance to his ancestor Fathom, however he is shorter and stockier than he was.

Qibli is lanky and awkward in appearance, with long legs and a thin, gangly body. He is unkempt in appearence, with crooked teeth and freckles and scars covering his body from his rough up bringing in The Scorpion Den (the scar from Cobra being the two slashes on the front of his nose) and is surprisingly tall, taller even than Winter, but because of their differences in posture (Winter's being perfect to a T and making himself appear much larger than he is and Qibli's being nonexistent) he appears much smaller than he really is. Like all SandWing’s, he has a darker patch under his eyes to help with seeing in intense sunlight.

Umber looks very similar to Clay in appearance, with hazel eyes and warm scales. Unlike Clay, Umber is significantly smaller and thinner in frame and is covered in large freckles. He has a lighter patch on his chest, his ears are long and hang down, he has a long scar on his snout and neck, and his right horn has a blunted tip from the battles he fought in the war.

Like Umber Carnelian shares many scars from the battles she fought in the war, most notably being the chunk missing from her left ear and the several long slashes across her face. I like to think that had Carnelian lived longer and Umber remained in the winglet the two of them would’ve become close friends, and eventually Carnelian would’ve become protective of the other dragonets in her winglet.

I struggled getting Kinkajou’s colors right; i wanted to make her bright and include her iconic pink/yellow scales, but i wanted to make her less neon and have more believable tones down hues. I also wanted to include some orange and reds to show her more fiery side.

[ranticore]

werewolves (???) for ya

these are communal pack-living humanoids who are arguably the least 'punished' of the monsters in this world. they wear the face of their old master as a mask for 27 days out of 28, and on the night of the full moon they can remove it and finally enjoy the use of their own wolfy faces (for a limited period of time). otherwise they look like this all the time.

they are pretty awkward to look at, lacking opposable thumbs and the ability to make most facial expressions, but they do have a small amount of integration with human settlements, and can often be found trading their own produce for items which require opposable thumbs to make, like thread or bowls. they usually bring unprocessed game to trade, as they are excellent hunters. they don't communicate well with humans and it's very rare for them to allow a human into their own dens in the woods/plains/etc.

Back home they can use their strong sense of smell to differentiate between what is essentially a group of identical members, but among humans they will dye their masks with natural pigments so that people can tell them apart. The best way to gain the trust of anyone is to show that you can hunt and kill the crawling beasts of the earth so it's not uncommon to see werewolves dragging their corpses into town to throw on the bonfire, as a show of solidarity.

werewolves are adaptable and not so insular that they disdain the company of others, so it's not unusual to find them working alongside other monsters, forming hunting partnerships with harpies in particular. this isn't universal and some cultures of wolfmen prefer to raid nests and steal eggs.

[llamagoddessofficial]

I can just see the Mafia boys coming by after a scuffle of sorts- wounded in various ways- and MC absolutely insisting on playing Nurse. Bonus cuteness: Nightmare is too proud to admit he’s been hurt as well, only for that same care to be overloaded onto him.

It’s the one time MC really gets him to blush after firmly, but gently caring- despite still being obviously wary

Horror... oh, Horror. He reacts to you tending to him like a wounded wild animal being comforted for the first time; confused, frozen, visibly alert. He's stiff and flinchy, hard to get to, sweating up a storm, simply because he's not used to it. It's so uncommon that he gets tended to. Sometimes, Dust will help him bandage up wounds he can't reach, but no one ever thinks the biggest guy out of all of them needs help. But he does. He really, really does. So long sorting out his own injuries has made him react to all care like he's never been touched in his life. ... Over time, he will melt into you. His love of your affection will ease him through the instinctive fear. His eyelight gets bigger, the purring starts... and then it'll be hard to tend to him for another reason entirely - he regularly loses focus on the fact that he's injured, and simply goes in for cuddles and kisses. He'll forget you're bandaging him/wiping away blood, and nuzzle the side of your head when you lean too close. And when Horror decides to move, I'm afraid nothing will stop him. You will get soft little nuzzles.

Dust, at first, simply won't allow it. When he's come home from a 'job' he won't go anywhere near you until he's cleaned himself up and sorted out his own fractures and cuts. He won't allow himself to be close to you after significant violence - you have too much to worry about as is, being the centre of the affection of so many deranged monsters. He refuses to be another thing that frightens or worries you. If you want to tend to him, you're going to have to find him yourself, bullying your way into whatever room he's hidden himself away in. It'll be very tender, with Dust. Moments alone with him often are. Unlike the others, who get caught up in how nice it is to have your full focus, Dust will actually help you treat him - he'll talk you through you how to properly bandage bones, what ointments and foods most accelerate healing. He shows you his scars... injuries that never fully healed, because monsters need positive emotions to repair themselves, and his high LV poisoned his ability to feel. Just... don't let Nightmare know how lovingly you traced his scars. It won't end well.

Killer will spend the whole time making sexy nurse jokes. He'll say how he needs kisses to feel better, it's vital you smooch him, monsters can recover HP from being around people who care about them so it's actually scientifically proven that if you give him kisses he'll feel better faster. Don't you want him to get better? ... Underneath all the jokes, though, Killer is in utter turmoil. Much like Horror, he's not accustomed to being treated with care. He's always been a particularly violent tool, and little else, a curse to be set upon some unfortunate soul who got on his boss' wrong side - he's very valuable to Nightmare but the injuries he sustained on his missions were never discussed. In fact, Killer spoke about his injuries as little as possible; they were signs of failure. A broken tool is one at risk of being replaced. And yet... here you are, worrying about him. Fussing him. Treating him not as a broken tool, but as a person. And though he'll never turn down your affection, it's beginning to stir emotions he long thought he'd killed.

Nightmare will definitely play the grouch. He'll sit there, all but pouting, complaining that it would be far faster if he just healed himself. But... he doesn't move his injuries away from you. He talks all that talk, and then he adjusts himself when you can't reach somewhere or need a better angle. He can literally teleport away at any time, yet he remains seated while you take care of him. He's clearly basking in the attention, soaking up you physically demonstrating how much you care about him. Does he need the care? Physically, not at all. But emotionally, he couldn't possibly need it more. You'd definitely end up frightening all the other skeletons without realising. At some point, Nightmare tries to get up to leave - you very gently smack his arm and tell him to sit down. He chuckles and obeys. Since you're so absorbed in making sure the bandages are neat, you don't notice how violently all the other boys flinched when you 'hit' Nightmare; nor the fact that Dust stood up, as if to rush in and grab you. The only thing you'd catch is their incredulous stares afterward... at which point, Nightmare has already given them enough cold looks to make it clear they're not to say a word.

[damnfeelings09]

Animals AU - Shadow's version

A.N: This is just my imagination going too far (honestly, I do like dark romance and the vibes of "I'd let the world burn for you") This is a ShadowxHumanReader AU. Yes, it is xReader, yes you will unfortunately have a last name made up by me, yes my characters are +22 years old.

NFSW: Stalking, blood, weapons, bad leanguage, smut, dark romance.

The AU takes place in Central City (based on New York City). Mobians and Humans live in harmony, and it is not uncommon to see interspecies couples. Mobians are taller than most humans, although it depends on their species. Despite both having the same opportunities, it is known that Mobians are stronger, faster, and more agile. Being a city heavily populated by humans, Mobians have adapted some of their customs and wear clothes, drive cars, or use public transport. The use of abilities is not forbidden, but it is highly regulated, as GUN is the governing force of the city. You study medicine at Central City University. You shared some classes with students from different programs since the university focused on training agents for GUN.

IF YOU'RE UNDER 18 I ADVICE YOU NOT TO READ

Chapters:

1. The call

2. The chase

3. The deal

4. The text

5. The break in

6. The Confession

7.

8.

9.

[lassieposting]

Been thinkin about Astarion + vampire biology so have some headcanons and the bits of game lore they're based on

Dialogue establishes that Cazador has been successfully passing himself off as a regular noble for centuries, and Astarion confirms that while he's considered a bit reclusive, he does mingle with the upper class of Baldur's Gate and has a property specifically for hosting fancy events.

Vampires are camouflage predators, whose primary hunting strategy is to blend in with their prey until the perfect time to strike. Their ecological niche is not a particularly safe or stable one - they live hidden in plain sight, usually in sizeable cities, for easy access to prey, but they know that if they are discovered they will be rooted out and killed or driven away. They are rarely able to get away with attacking in public, where city guards might rush to the aid of a screaming victim - they have to isolate their target before killing it. The ability to blend in, to be overlooked by their target, until it is too late is essential.

Cazador is, as far as we know, the only true vampire in Baldur's Gate

This is because true vampires are aggressively territorial. Like most apex predators, they eat a lot, and need substantial territories to support them - even moreso if they have a partner or spawns. Ascendant!Astarion would need to hold onto the entire city, as Cazador did, to be able to feed himself and Tav without raising suspicion.

True vampires are relatively rare, but there are more of them than there are cities, so it's not uncommon for one to set up in an occupied city and try to oust the sitting resident. The challenger usually believes himself to be as strong or stronger than the current tenant: these territorial disputes usually end in at least one death, so they're not to be entered into lightly.

Astarion is very obviously a vampire: his fangs are visible, as are his bite scars; he's so pale multiple people comment on it; his eyes are red, etc.

Astarion is not a healthy vampire.

This is a man who has been kept on the knife's edge of starvation and tortured regularly for 200 years, and to another vampire, that would be clear from the state of him: Astarion is a camouflage predator who is so malnourished he is no longer able to blend in.

Tav will get an up-close look at his transformation over the course of the game and during the years afterwards: the more healthy and well-fed Astarion becomes, as his body catches up on its immense energy deficit and begins to recover, the better he will be able to mimic a living elf. His skin will be able to bleed, or blush, or bruise, none of which he's capable of while actively starving. Hia fangs will retract until he needs them, not invisible but less obvious - having them out all the time is a response to severe deprivation; he's so hungry his body can't risk losing prey to the split second it takes Cazador to snatch a rat back, so he's permanently in bite mode, hyperaware, ready to strike. Some body functions will come online that he didn't even know he had, the ones that are supposed to help him blend in - his eyes will start producing pigment to look darker, less scarlet and more burgundy, to be more easily mistaken for brown; his lungs will make him breathe automatically even though he doesn't need it, he'll start being able to eat normal food without getting sick again, though he still won't get any nourishment from it; he'll heal faster. He'll even be able to get drunk, though he'll burn through it very quickly. As it stands, all those extra systems have been shut down by his starving body - they're useful, but nonessential, and he needs every single bit of energy funnelled into just keeping him alive and functional.

There is probably an intentional bit of psychological warfare against the spawns on Cazador's part here - him starving them strips them of their natural defences, and every time he makes them leave the mansion to hunt, they have to do so knowing that they're poorly hidden and vulnerable. But it's established that true vampires treating their spawn poorly or outright abusing them is A Thing, so it's not the only reason - he sees them as property rather than people, he keeps them weak so they won't plot against him, he's acting out his own trauma from Vellioth on them, he just wants to - but it does feed into it.

Astarion can, at one point, identify old blood as belonging to the player character. He also gets excited at another point if an enemy character runs away, stating, "Now it's a hunt."

He says that "even stale, [he'd] recognise that bouquet anywhere." This confirms a few things for us:

He has a vastly superior sense of smell capable of identifying individuals by scent and - since he can tell who the blood belongs to even after some time has passed - following scent trails.

This confirms that although city-dwelling vampires may primarily hunt via luring a victim to a secondary location before killing it, they still have the "stalk down and chase" predator instinct. Since Astarion can't lure wildlife anywhere, this is almost certainly how he's been hunting to supplement his diet when he's not using the player as his personal caprisun.

The fact that he can scent out prey before killing it means he has this ability all the time - he can smell blood while it's still safely inside the owner's body.

So scent is probably relevant to how vampires process the world. The more time each companion spends with him, the more he gets used to their scent, starts associating it more with safety and camaraderie than with a potential meal, and so he becomes more relaxed around them. As he learns to link the player's scent with love and comfort and trust, the more likely he is to retreat to their tent over his own when he's injured or afraid or having a trauma moment. When he's fond of someone, something of theirs will go conveniently missing - he's moving their scent into his little safe space, it's comforting for him. He can tell when his lover is hurt or aroused or frightened - though not which of the three applies - from a distance, because his sense of smell can pick up the spike of adrenaline rushing into their bloodstream.

But that also means that he can never feel like he's got any distance from Cazador while he's living in the mansion - even if the man isn't in the same room, the entire place reeks of him, and it makes Astarion feel like Cazador is breathing down his neck all the same. Ascendant Astarion would have a really, really hard time sticking it out in that mansion with stale Eau de Cazador all over the place. It means that he's put instantly on edge by the faint scent of one of his siblings as he walks through the lower city - when seven vicious, territorial apex predators are confined to a single small dormitory, several hours a day, seven days a week, 365 days a year, fights are going to be nasty and frequent, and although Cazador wouldn't allow them to kill each other, considering how many of his siblings refer to him as weak or a runt, Astarion probably didn't win them very often. So. Having a highkey advanced sense of smell is a mixed bag.