#hellsmusing

Charlie was wearing one of her typical more casual dresses, though today she seemed a bit more anxious than usual. She clearly had something on her mind she wanted to talk about.

⛧ — send a number for me to talk about one of the following topics!

24. your first RPC

My Life As A Teenage Robot.

Allow me to strong-arm you down memory lane with me. Beware cringey child behavior.

How long had he been waiting in this sleazy bar for, nursing the same glass of whiskey and listening to the same shitty song on repeat? It could’ve been an hour. Or maybe even two. Time sure flew when you were having fun, didn’t it? A thought that had Leon’s lips thinning into a straight line.

Was she seriously going to stand him up? Surely after being the one to text first out of the blue — Leon still hadn’t the faintest idea how she’d found his number, not that he was complaining — she at least owed him the courtesy of showing her face. But this was Ada Wong he was talking about. The clearest epitome of unpredictability in the form of a woman. For all Leon knew? She could’ve been messing with him. What was new there?

Gaze fixated on his drink as he swirled the golden liquid around, ice cubes clinking gently against the glass, he almost missed the sound of heels tapping until the sound of Ada’s sultry tone accompanied them, causing Leon’s head to turn, piercing blues finding Miss Wong herself.

“Not too long, no.” His tone was coated with sarcasm, though any irritation he may have felt melted away— lips now twitching with the tiniest hint of a smirk. If there was one thing Ada was good at other than deceiving, it was buttering him up without even having to try. “Being on time isn’t really your style, is it? Or maybe you just wanted to keep me on my toes.” He was lucky she was even there at all, he knew.

" I was never good at waiting, " the big man muses, a hint of reflection in it all. " But I don't think I would have ended up anywhere at all if I had just waited. " He sighs, though, letting his gaze trail. " I was born to a fisherman, you know. That's what my father was, and my father's father, and they had never wanted to be anything else. But I did, and so did everything I could to make people see me. "

@hellsmusing asked: ❝ if i asked you to stay, would you? ❞ from lune

It's another late night for them. It was not uncommon for Rook and Lune to lose track of time as they traded information, a feedback loop of curiosity keeping them awake until they noticed it was late or someone grumbled at them from where they were sleeping. The latter interruption was easily solved by the pair wandering a little from the campfire, sitting near the pond, books and chroma journals around them.

Rook had inherited Varric's love of writing and drawing on paper, journals protected by a picto that kept water and lightning damage from destroying them. He'd even let Lune read Varric's journal, his most prized possession, a deep sign of trust.

He finally, finally noticed the time when Rook took a moment to stretch out a little, back a little sore from hunching over to read. "Fuck, we lost track of time again," he spoke with a small chuckle, sighing as he started to put away his books. "Should probably get some sleep."

And he starts to rise but then Lune spoke and Rook froze for a moment before settling back down. There's a roll of nervousness through him that surprises him. He may be unpracticed around others but he's not entirely stupid nor blind, so he takes Lune's hand in his own, bringing it to his lips to press a soft kiss to her knuckles. His cheeks are so very red, lacking past experience only with men, not entirely sure how to flirt with a woman earnestly.

So here's the thing.

Pineapple was kind of a status fruit in the 1800s-1910s because that meant you had enough money to refrigerate the damn thing all the way from the tropics.

There's something in him that feels like he's telling on himself if he answers truthfully, but —— he's also trying to not hold everything so close to his chest. " —— awhile, " he admits after a moment, voice quiet in this narrow space between them. He smiles, though, faint and brief, and rolls over to brush the backs of fingers across her arm.