#I need to find someone to animate this for me

[astrxq]

Borrowed Time

modern!cregan stark x reader

words: 17.4k

notes: this was requested!!

You were in the middle of highlighting your history notes when Sara dropped into the seat across from you, that familiar mischievous glint in her eyes. Before you could even ask what she wanted, Jace appeared beside her, wearing an equally suspicious grin.

"No," you said immediately, returning to your notes. "Whatever it is, no."

"You haven't even heard what we're going to say," Jace protested, pulling out a chair and settling in. The library was quiet around you, afternoon sunlight streaming through the tall windows.

"I don't need to hear it. That look on both your faces means trouble," you said, capping your highlighter. "Last time you had that look, we ended up getting kicked out of that coffee shop on Fifth."

"That was one time," Sara waved her hand dismissively. "And the barista was totally overreacting. How were we supposed to know the chairs weren't meant to be stacked?"

"They were clearly not meant to be stacked, Sara."

"Ancient history," Jace cut in, leaning forward. "This is actually about your academic future. We're putting together a study group for Martinez's class."

You paused, eyeing them both suspiciously. "Political Science?"

"The very same," Sara nodded, her dark hair falling over her shoulder. "The one you were ranting about last week at dinner. What was it you said? Something about how the theories were, and I quote, 'slowly sucking your soul out through your eyeballs'?"

"I was being dramatic," you muttered, though you couldn't quite meet her eyes. The truth was, you'd been struggling more than you wanted to admit.

"Were you though?" Jace reached over and picked up your textbook, flipping through the rainbow of highlighted pages. "Because this looks like a cry for help. What does pink even mean?"

You snatched the book back. "Pink is for... important things."

"Everything is highlighted pink!"

"Everything is important!"

Sara tried to suppress her laugh but failed. "This is exactly why you need our study group. We've got a solid plan – twice a week, two hours max. We can share notes, discuss the readings..."

"Who else is in it?" you asked, trying to sound casual even as suspicion crept in. They were being far too enthusiastic about this.

The look Sara and Jace exchanged was quick, but you caught it. Years of friendship had taught you to recognize their silent conversations.

Sara said carefully, suddenly very interested in straightening her sleeve. "Me, Jace... and my brother."

Your stomach did an odd little flip. Cregan. Of course it would be Cregan. Sara's half-brother, Jace's best friend, and quite possibly the most intimidating person you'd ever met – not because he was mean or hostile, but because he seemed to exist in a completely different orbit than yours despite sharing the same friend group. You'd seen him plenty of times over the past year, usually deep in animated conversation with Jace or quietly sitting while the rest of you chatted. He'd never been anything but polite, but there was always this careful distance, as if he was deliberately keeping you at arm's length.

"Your brother," you repeated slowly. "The one who never speaks to me?"

"He speaks to you!" Sara protested.

"'Excuse me' and ‘can i borrow a pen’ don't count as speaking to me, Sara."

"He's just... quiet," Jace jumped in. "You know how he is. But he's got the highest grade in the class. Like, by a lot. And he actually takes good notes, unlike some people." He pointedly looked at his own notebook, which appeared to be covered in what might have been either class notes or an elaborate doodle of a dragon. It was hard to tell.

You bit your lip, considering. The idea of spending extended time with someone who seemed to find you completely uninteresting wasn't exactly appealing, but you really did need help with the course. And maybe, you thought, it wouldn't be so bad with Sara and Jace there as buffers.

"Fine," you sighed, already wondering if you'd regret this. "But if it gets weird–"

"It won't!" Sara bounced up from her chair, beaming. "First session's tomorrow at four. We'll be in study room C. It's going to be great!"

"Super great!" Jace agreed, gathering his things. "Life-changing, even. You'll thank us later."

As they walked away, you couldn't shake the feeling that they looked far too pleased with themselves.

The next afternoon, you arrived at study room C a few minutes early, half-expecting Jace and Sara to already be there, goofing off or laying out some kind of elaborate prank. But when you pushed the door open, the only person inside was Cregan.  

He looked up from his notebook, brows lifting slightly in surprise before settling back into his usual neutral expression. He was seated at the far end of the table, his laptop open, a few books stacked neatly beside him. Unlike Jace’s chaotic scrawl or Sara’s color-coded monstrosity of a planner, his notes were meticulously organized – paragraphs written in a clean, even script, highlighted sparingly.  

You hesitated in the doorway. “Am I early?”  

Cregan shook his head. “They’re late.”  

That sounded about right. You stepped inside, setting your bag down as you tried to ignore the awkward weight of silence stretching between you. Cregan didn’t offer any small talk, just went back to his notes, flipping a page with practiced ease.  

You exhaled slowly, pulling out your own notebook and flipping it open. A moment passed. Then another. The silence became unbearable.  

“So,” you said, glancing at him. “You actually volunteered for this?”  

Cregan’s lips twitched, the ghost of a smile there and gone before you could fully register it. “Not exactly.”  

You huffed a quiet laugh. “Let me guess. Sara roped you into it?”  

“She has a way of convincing people.”  

“That’s one way to put it,” you muttered, twirling your pen between your fingers. “She didn’t tell me you were basically carrying the class, though.”  

“I wouldn’t say that.”  

“She would. And Jace. Apparently, your notes are legendary.”  

He glanced at you then, a flicker of amusement in his dark eyes. “I just write things down.”  

“Unlike Jace.”  

That actually earned you a short laugh – low and warm, a sound you weren’t sure you’d ever heard from him before. Something in your chest tightened at it.  

The door banged open before you could process that feeling, and Sara and Jace tumbled in, both out of breath.  

“Sorry, sorry,” Sara panted, dropping into a chair. “There was a situation.”  

“Jace knocked over a whole display in the library cafe,” she continued as Jace groaned, dropping his head onto the table. “It was tragic.”  

“I maintain it was too close to the counter,” he mumbled into the wood.  

You caught Cregan watching his sister and best friend with what looked like fond exasperation, and for a moment, you envied how easy they all were with each other. How naturally they fit together. You'd known Jace since freshman year, and through him, Sara, but Cregan had always felt like someone just out of reach – present but never quite part of your circle.

"Right," Sara said, finally catching her breath. "Where were we? Political theory? The reading responses due next week?"

"The Weber analysis," Cregan supplied quietly, and you noticed how his voice changed when he spoke to them – looser, more familiar. It shouldn't have bothered you, but something about it sat heavy in your stomach.

"Oh right, Weber," Jace lifted his head from the table, suddenly animated. "The guy with all the bureaucracy stuff."

"That's... one way to put it," Cregan said, and you could hear the hint of amusement in his voice. He turned to a specific page in his notebook, and you watched as he easily fell into conversation with Jace about the reading, their words flowing back and forth with the ease of years of friendship.

You tried to focus on your own notes, but your attention kept drifting to the way Cregan's entire demeanor had shifted. Gone was the careful restraint from earlier – now his hands moved as he spoke, emphasizing points about social stratification and authority structures. His voice carried more inflection, and occasionally he'd even smile at Jace's terrible political theory puns.

"Hey," Sara's voice was soft beside you, making you jump slightly. You hadn't even noticed her move closer. "You okay? You're kind of staring at your blank page pretty intensely."

"What? Oh, yeah," you quickly scribbled down the date, just to look busy. "Just trying to keep up."

Sara hummed thoughtfully, her eyes darting between you and her brother. "You know," she said, keeping her voice low, "he's not actually as intimidating as he seems."

"I don't find him intimidating," you protested, perhaps a bit too quickly.

"Right," she drawled, clearly unconvinced. "That's why you've barely said two words to him in the past year."

"That's not true," you started, but she cut you off with a knowing look.

"It's okay. He's not great at... people. Well, new people," she amended, glancing at her brother who was now rolling his eyes at something Jace had said. "Just give it time."

Before you could respond, Cregan's voice cut through your whispered conversation: "If we're actually going to study, we should probably start with the main concepts."

You looked up to find him watching you and Sara, his expression unreadable once again. The warmth from his conversation with Jace had vanished, replaced by that familiar distance that made you feel like you were somehow intruding, even though you'd been invited to be there.

"Right," you said, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. "The main concepts. Of course."

As he began outlining Weber's theory of social action, you couldn't help but wonder if Sara was right about giving it time. Because right now, it felt like no amount of time would bridge whatever carefully maintained distance Cregan seemed determined to keep between you.

About halfway through the session, Jace let out a dramatic sigh, slumping back in his chair. "I can't focus. The lights in here are way too bright."

Sara snorted. "The lights are fine, you big baby."

"No, they're definitely giving me a headache," Jace insisted, throwing an arm over his eyes. "We should do this somewhere else next time. Like, I don't know..." He paused for effect. "My place?"

You raised an eyebrow. "You mean the apartment that looked like a tornado hit it last time I was there?"

"It's not that bad!"

"Jace, there was a pizza box being used as a mousepad."

A low chuckle came from across the table, and you looked over to find Cregan trying to hide his amusement behind his hand. The sound made your stomach do that weird flip again.

"See?" Jace gestured wildly. "Even Cregan agrees we should move locations. It's his apartment too, and he's much neater than me."

"That's not exactly difficult," Cregan murmured, earning another laugh from you.

"Fine, gang up on me," Jace pouted. "But seriously, these lights are killing me."

Sara rolled her eyes. "Maybe if you actually looked at your notes instead of your phone..."

As they bickered, Cregan turned his attention back to the material at hand. "So, Weber's concept of social action..." He glanced at your notes and paused, taking in the rainbow explosion of highlights and the scattered notes in the margins.

Heat crept up your neck. "I know it's a mess," you said quickly. "I just... highlight things that seem important."

"Everything seems important?" There was no judgment in his voice, just that slight hint of amusement you were starting to recognize.

"Better safe than sorry?" you offered weakly.

He nodded thoughtfully, then slid his notebook slightly closer to you. "Here," he said quietly. "This might help structure it better." His neat handwriting laid out the concepts in clear, logical progression, with key points underlined rather than highlighted.

You leaned in slightly to read, suddenly very aware of how close you were to him. His handwriting was even nicer up close, you noticed, and he'd drawn small diagrams in the margins to illustrate some of the more complex ideas.

"So the rationalization of social action," he began explaining, his voice taking on that teaching tone that made him sound impossibly smart, "can be broken down into these four types..."

You tried to focus on what he was saying, you really did. But there was something about the way he spoke, confident and clear, occasionally gesturing to emphasize a point, that made it hard to concentrate. A strand of dark hair fell across his forehead as he leaned forward to point something out, and you found yourself fighting the urge to brush it back.

"Does that make sense?" he asked, looking up at you suddenly.

"Oh! Um, yes," you stammered, hoping your face wasn't as red as it felt. "The, uh, the four types of social action. Traditional, affective, value-rational, and..." you trailed off, momentarily distracted by how his eyes seemed to catch the light.

"Instrumental-rational," he finished, his lips quirking slightly. Was he amused by your confusion? "We can go over it again if you need."

"No, no, I got it," you said quickly, even as Jace muttered something about the lights still being too bright. "Just... processing."

Cregan nodded, but you could have sworn there was something softer in his expression now, something less distant than before. But before you could be sure, he was already turning the page, moving on to the next concept, and you were left wondering if you'd imagined it.

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught Sara and Jace exchanging one of their looks – the kind that made you feel like you were missing something obvious. Sara's lips were curved in a knowing smile, while Jace waggled his eyebrows in what he probably thought was a subtle manner.

You furrowed your brows at them, a silent question, but they just smiled back innocently. Too innocently. Sara even had the audacity to wink at you before pretending to be extremely interested in her phone.

"So these social institutions," Cregan continued, completely oblivious to the silent conversation happening across the table, "they form the foundation of Weber's bureaucratic theory." His finger traced under a perfectly written line of text, and you couldn't help but notice how even his bullet points were symmetrical. Who even wrote bullet points that neatly?

You bit the inside of your cheek, trying not to feel intimidated by how effortlessly he explained complex theories that had taken you hours to barely grasp. He didn't even need to refer to the textbook – everything just seemed to flow from his mind to his lips with perfect clarity. It was almost unfair, really, how someone could be so... academically put together.

"The key thing to remember," he was saying, tapping his pen against a small diagram he'd drawn, "is how these systems of authority interconnect." His voice had that quiet confidence that came from truly understanding something, not just memorizing it.

You nodded, trying to focus on the actual words and not on how his hand moved across the page, or how he'd occasionally glance up to make sure you were following along. The worst part was that he probably thought you were struggling with the material – which you were, but not entirely for the reasons he might assume.

"Makes perfect sense," you heard yourself say, even though your mind had wandered to wondering if he color-coded his closet as meticulously as he organized his notes.

Sara cleared her throat loudly, making you jump slightly. When you looked up, she and Jace were wearing matching grins that made you want to throw your highlighter at them. Whatever they were thinking, whatever they thought they were seeing, you didn't want to hear it.

Cregan glanced between the three of you, a slight crease appearing between his brows. For a moment, you thought he might ask what was going on, but he just turned back to his notes, that familiar distance settling over him again like a shield.

You bit the inside of your cheek harder, telling yourself it didn't matter. You were here to study, not to analyze why your friends were acting weird, or why Cregan's handwriting was unreasonably perfect, or why you suddenly cared so much about either of those things.

***

The next day found you sitting on Jace and Cregan's surprisingly clean couch (at least this part of the apartment), waiting for Sara and Jace who were now twenty minutes late. You'd texted them both twice, receiving only a vague "on our way!" from Sara and a string of random emojis from Jace that made absolutely no sense.

Cregan sat in the armchair across from you, repeatedly adjusting the stack of books on the coffee table between you. First, he aligned them perfectly with the table's edge. Then he shifted them slightly to the left. Then back to center. You watched as he cleared his throat for what must have been the fifth time in as many minutes.

When you glanced up at him, he offered a quick, almost shy smile before looking away again. It was strange seeing him in his own space – he seemed both more relaxed and somehow more nervous, his usual composed demeanor slightly cracked.

The silence stretched on, not exactly uncomfortable but definitely not comfortable enough to ignore. You watched as he picked up his notebook, then put it down, then picked it up again.

"So," you finally said, desperate to break the quiet, "this is definitely cleaner than I expected."

His lips twitched. "I may have... tidied up a bit."

"A bit?"

"Jace's room is still a disaster," he admitted, and this time his smile stayed longer. "I drew the line at going in there. For my own safety."

You laughed, remembering the pizza-box mousepad. "Probably wise. I'm pretty sure I saw something move under his laundry pile last time."

"That was last week's sandwich," he said with such perfect deadpan delivery that it took you a moment to realize he was joking. When you did, you couldn't help but laugh again, and something in his posture seemed to relax slightly.

"Please tell me you're joking," you said, though you weren't entirely sure you wanted to know.

He raised an eyebrow. "Do you really want me to answer that?"

"You know what? No. No, I don't." You shook your head, still smiling. "How do you live with him? I mean, you're so..." you gestured vaguely at his perfectly organized notes.

"Neurotic?" he supplied, but there was amusement in his voice.

"I was going to say organized, but..." you teased, surprised by how easy it suddenly felt to talk to him.

He ran a hand through his hair, messing it up slightly in a way that was unfairly endearing. "It works, somehow. He's..." Cregan paused, considering his words. "He balances things out. Keeps me from getting too..."

"Neurotic?" you offered, throwing his word back at him.

That earned you another one of those rare laughs, the kind that seemed to surprise even him. "Exactly."

Your phone buzzed then, another text from Sara: Sorry!! Got held up at the library. Start without us? 

You looked up to find Cregan checking his own phone, his expression shifting into something you couldn't quite read. "Let me guess," you said. "They're 'on their way'?"

"Apparently there's a 'situation' at the library," he replied, making air quotes with his fingers.

"Of course there is." You slumped back against the couch. "They're not coming, are they?"

"Probably not," he admitted, and was it your imagination, or did he look almost... pleased about that?

"Wait," you said, frowning at your textbook, where the words had started to blur together after an hour of reading. "What's this part about instrumental rationality? I keep getting it mixed up with the other types." You chewed on your pencil, a nervous habit you'd never managed to break.

Cregan shifted closer on the couch – you'd both migrated there to share the coffee table space – and leaned in to look at where you were pointing. Your knees brushed, and neither of you moved away. The warmth of the contact made it harder to focus on the words in front of you.

"That's the one about achieving specific goals," he explained, his voice softer now that he was closer. "It's about choosing the most efficient means to an end. Like..." He paused, thinking. "Like when someone chooses their actions based purely on what will get them the best outcome."

You nodded, still worrying the pencil between your teeth. "So if I'm studying just to get a good grade rather than because I want to learn..."

"Exactly," he said, and you noticed his eyes flick down to your mouth before quickly returning to the textbook. "Or choosing a major based on job prospects rather than personal interest."

"God, you're really smart," you blurted out before you could stop yourself, immediately feeling heat rush to your face. "Like, really, really smart. How do you just... know all this stuff? It's like you don't even need to study, it's all just there in your head."

A flush crept up his neck, and he ducked his head slightly, messing with the corner of his notebook. "I just... read a lot," he said, running a hand through his hair in what you were starting to recognize as a nervous gesture. "You're probably smarter than me."

You let out a surprised laugh. "That's literally the biggest lie you've ever told, and we both know it." You gestured at your highlight-covered notes, which looked like a rainbow had exploded across them. "I'm pretty sure my brain looks like this on the inside. Just... chaos and color-coding."

"That's not–" he started, then seemed to catch himself. His expression grew serious. "Different people learn differently. It doesn't make you any less intelligent. Besides," his lips quirked up slightly, "your way seems more interesting than mine."

"Oh yeah?" you challenged, trying to ignore how his knee was still pressed against yours. "What's so interesting about my highlight explosion method?"

He actually smiled then, reaching over to tap one of your particularly colorful pages. "Well, for one thing, I'm genuinely curious about your highlighting system. Pink for important things, you said?"

"Don't make fun of my system," you groaned, but you were smiling too.

"I'm not," he insisted, and his voice had that warm undertone that you'd only heard him use with Jace and Sara before. "I'm serious. At least your notes have personality. Mine are just..."

"Perfect?" you supplied.

He huffed a laugh. "Boring."

"Are you kidding? Your notes are like... they're like art. Look at these diagrams!" You pointed to one of his careful illustrations. "Meanwhile, my attempts at drawing charts look like they were done by a drunk toddler."

"I like your charts," he said quietly, and something in his tone made you look up at him. He was closer than you'd realized, still leaning in to look at your notes. "They're... creative."

You were suddenly very aware of how little space there was between you, how his shoulder was almost brushing yours, how his knee was still pressed against yours. "Creative is a nice way of saying messy," you managed to say.

"No, I mean it. Look–" He started to say something else, but the sound of keys jingling at the door cut him off.

There was a scraping sound, followed by a quiet curse from what sounded like Jace, then more jingling. The key seemed to miss the lock at least three times before the door finally swung open.

"–telling you, they're probably just–" Sara's whispered voice drifted in, cutting off abruptly as she and Jace entered the apartment. They both stood in the doorway, staring at you and Cregan on the couch with your books spread out between you.

Sara's expression shifted from anticipation to something like disappointment, while Jace's eyebrows shot up comically high. "Have you two actually been studying this whole time?" Jace asked, sounding almost accusatory.

You and Cregan exchanged a confused look. "Why wouldn't we be?" you both asked simultaneously, then glanced at each other in surprise.

"No reason!" Sara said quickly, too quickly. "We just thought... I mean, we were gone so long, and you were alone, and..."

"That we'd what?" you prompted, narrowing your eyes at them. "Start a paper airplane competition with our notes?"

"Nothing!" Sara jumped in. "Nothing at all. Just... surprised by all the... studying."

"I mean, that paper plane competition would have been more interesting than Weber," Jace muttered, earning an elbow in the ribs from Sara.

You noticed Cregan shifting slightly beside you, putting a bit more space between your knees, and immediately missed the warmth. "We're in a study group," he said flatly, but there was a tension in his voice that hadn't been there before. "What else would we be doing?"

Sara and Jace exchanged another one of their looks – the kind that made you want to throw your thoroughly chewed pencil at them. "Right," Sara said, dragging out the word. "The study group. Anyway! What did we miss?"

"Weber's theory of rationalization," you said, trying to ignore the knowing smirks they were both wearing. "Which you'd know if you'd actually been at the library like you said."

"We were!" Jace protested, but his guilty expression said otherwise. "There was a whole... thing. With books. And... shelves. Very serious library emergency."

"Very convincing," Cregan muttered, just loud enough for you to hear. You bit back a smile, catching his eye for a moment before quickly looking away.

"Well," Sara declared, dropping into an armchair with far too much enthusiasm, "we're here now. So, instrumental rationality? Anyone? Bueller?"

You groaned, slumping back against the couch. "We literally just went over that."

"Perfect timing then," Jace grinned, sprawling across the other chair. "You can explain it to us. Since you two have been studying so diligently and all."

"Unlike some people," Cregan added dryly, and you had to bite your lip to keep from laughing at Jace's offended expression.

"I've been studying!" Jace protested. "Just... you know, in my own way."

"Is that what you call sleeping with your textbook under your pillow?" Cregan asked, and this time you couldn't hold back your laugh.

As you launched into an explanation of Weber's theories, stumbling only slightly over the terms, you couldn't help but notice how Cregan had angled himself slightly toward you, his shoulder just barely brushing yours as he added clarifying points to your explanation. And if Sara and Jace kept exchanging those irritating knowing looks, well, you decided to ignore them.

Even if you had a sneaking suspicion they might be right about... whatever it was they thought they were seeing.

The study session had stretched into hours, and despite the caffeine you'd consumed, your brain had begun to feel like mush. The terms Sara was repeating, again and again, had started to blur together, an endless loop of rationality and theory that felt more like noise than knowledge. You let your eyes drift shut for a moment, only to open them again when Jace shifted beside you, his legs still sprawled lazily across your lap.

He was mindlessly tracing patterns on the edge of his notebook, his gaze elsewhere, his usual energy faded into something more comfortable. His quiet presence was oddly soothing, though you weren’t sure if it was the weight of his legs or the fact that everything about him seemed to take on a hazy calm in this late hour. You rubbed your temples, trying to clear the fog.

Cregan, who had been quietly following the discussion, had noticed the slight slump of your shoulders, the way your attention drifted. He shifted in his seat across from you, catching your tired gaze.

“How about we take a break?” he suggested, his voice steady but with a hint of warmth you didn’t expect. “Maybe... get some food? Clear our heads a bit?”

Sara perked up at the mention of food, but Jace, still lounging with his legs across your lap, groaned dramatically. “Food sounds like a good idea,” he agreed, though the way he shifted only slightly suggested he wasn’t keen on moving.

“You’re so lazy,” Sara teased him, but it was clear she was ready to indulge.

Cregan shot you an amused look as he leaned forward, hands on his knees. “I’ll order, if you guys want.”

Your stomach had been protesting the lack of proper meals for hours, the idea of food suddenly making your body feel much more alive. "Honestly, I’m starving," you admitted, leaning back into the couch and letting Jace’s legs settle heavier over yours, the comfortable weight of them anchoring you.

Cregan had already moved toward the phone, his tall form cutting through the space between the couch and the table with purposeful strides. 

He’d barely looked at the screen when he muttered about getting “a little bit of everything”, a casual declaration that spoke volumes about his no-nonsense approach to food. You couldn’t help but appreciate the simplicity of it all; he’d just order it all. No one would be left hungry.

You had almost forgotten about Jace, whose legs were still comfortably sprawled across your lap. But now, as he shifted and poked at your side, you found his eyes focused on you, bright with mischief.

“Hey,” he said, the playful note in his voice unmistakable. “Can you come with me to get a glass of water?”

You blinked at him, incredulous. “The kitchen’s, like, five feet away,” you replied, gesturing toward the open space across the room. "You're a big boy. You can go on your own."

“I could really use your help."

You groaned, the weariness in your bones making it hard to argue. “You’re impossible,” you muttered under your breath, but already, you were pushing yourself off the couch, your hand lightly brushing against his legs as you stood. Jace’s grin widened as you walked toward the kitchen, clearly pleased with himself for getting you to move.

Behind you, Sara was still mumbling terms under her breath, her brother’s voice fading into the background as he handled the phone call. The steady murmur of the conversation didn’t even register in your mind; your focus was solely on Jace, who was trailing behind you with a slow, exaggerated shuffle.

As you entered the kitchen, you turned to face him, expecting him to move toward the cabinet or the tap for a glass. But instead, he simply stood there, looking around aimlessly, as if the very task of getting water had suddenly become an unsolvable puzzle.

You sighed, crossing your arms. “Well? What’s the holdup?”

He glanced back at you, his expression one of mock innocence.

"So..." Jace dragged out the word, leaning against the counter with exaggerated casualness. "You and Cregan..."

"Were studying," you finished flatly, already knowing where this was going. "Like we're supposed to be doing."

"Right, right. Just studying." He wiggled his eyebrows. "For two whole hours. Alone. And you didn't think about doing... anything else?"

Heat crept up your neck. "Jace!"

"What?" He held up his hands defensively, but his grin remained firmly in place. "I'm just saying, two people, empty apartment, plenty of time..."

"To study Weber's theories of social organization," you cut in, though you could feel your face burning. "Which is exactly what we did."

"Boring," he sang under his breath, then dodged the dish towel you threw at him. "Come on, you can't tell me you weren't even a little tempted to, I don't know, actually talk to him? About something other than dead sociologists?"

You busied yourself getting a glass from the cabinet, even though Jace still hadn't asked for water. "Why would I? He barely tolerates me as it is."

"What?" Jace's playful demeanor shifted into genuine confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, come on," you sighed, setting the glass down maybe a bit too forcefully. "This is literally the most he's ever spoken to me, and it's only because Sara forced him into this study group thing. He probably thinks I'm an idiot with my rainbow notes and constant questions."

Jace stared at you for a long moment, then burst out laughing. "Oh my god, you're actually serious."

"Keep your voice down!" you hissed, glancing toward the living room where you could still hear Cregan on the phone with the takeout place.

"Sorry, sorry," Jace wheezed, not looking sorry at all. "It's just... you think he finds you uninteresting? You?"

"Have you not noticed how he barely speaks to me? How he's always perfectly polite but never actually..." you waved your hands vaguely, "engages? Meanwhile, he talks to you and Sara like it's the easiest thing in the world."

"Because we've known him forever," Jace said, like it was obvious. "Trust me, he was way worse with us at first. It took me months to get more than three words out of him when we first met."

"That's different," you insisted, though something uncertain flickered in your chest. "You're his best friend, and Sara's his sister."

"And you're..." Jace trailed off, that irritating knowing look back on his face.

"His unwilling study partner," you finished. "Who he's stuck with because you and Sara keep abandoning us."

"Speaking of which," he grinned, "notice how he hasn't complained about that? Not even once?"

You opened your mouth to argue, then closed it again. Come to think of it, Cregan hadn't seemed particularly bothered by Sara and Jace's constant absences. If anything, he'd been... well, you weren't sure what he'd been, but 'annoyed' definitely wasn't it.

"That doesn't mean anything," you said finally, but your voice lacked conviction.

"Sure it doesn't." Jace pushed off from the counter, that insufferable grin still in place. "Just like it doesn't mean anything that he keeps looking over here right now, probably wondering what we're talking about."

"He is not–" you started to say, but when you glanced toward the living room, you caught Cregan quickly looking away, his phone call apparently finished. Something fluttered in your stomach.

"Told you," Jace sang quietly. Then his voice dropped lower, more serious. "Look, I know Cregan. He's... he's testing the waters. Always has been, with you."

You frowned, fidgeting with the empty glass. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know what's funny?" Jace leaned in conspiratorially, a small smile playing at his lips. "The first time you came over to hang out with me and Sara, like what, two years go? He came home, saw you sitting on the couch, and later told Sara you were really pretty." He paused, watching your reaction. "Never mentioned it again, of course. Classic Cregan. But I bet he still thinks so."

Your face felt like it was on fire. "You're making that up."

"Am I?" Jace raised an eyebrow. "Sara was so excited about it, she called me immediately. But then he just... clammed up. Wouldn't talk about you at all. Which, by the way, is exactly what he does when he's trying really hard not to show interest in something."

"That's..." you struggled to find words, your mind stuck on the idea that Cregan had ever thought about you that way. "That was years ago. He's barely spoken to me since then."

"Yeah, because he's an idiot who overthinks everything," Jace rolled his eyes. "Trust me, if he actually found you uninteresting, he definitely wouldn't have cleaned the entire apartment just because you were coming over to study."

You opened your mouth to argue, then closed it again as you remembered how suspiciously tidy the living room had been. "He said he just tidied up a bit."

"A bit?" Jace snorted. "He stress-cleaned for like two hours this morning. I found him organizing the spice rack alphabetically. We don't even cook!"

From the living room, you heard Cregan's voice: "Food's on the way. Everything okay in there?"

"Fine!" you called back, your voice higher than usual. "Just... getting Jace his water."

"Right," Jace muttered, smirking. "Just... think about it, okay? And maybe cut him some slack."

You grabbed the glass you'd taken out, filled it quickly, trying to process everything Jace had just told you. When you handed it to him back in the living room, he just smirked and set it aside without taking a single sip.

As you settled back onto the couch, you couldn't help but glance at Cregan. He was looking down at his phone, but there was a slight flush to his cheeks that hadn't been there before. You wondered if he'd heard any of your conversation, if he had any idea that Jace had just upended everything you thought you knew about how he saw you.

When he looked up and caught your eye, offering that small, almost shy smile, you felt your heart skip. Maybe Jace was right. Maybe you'd been reading this all wrong.

Halfway through your dinner, the room had settled into a comfortable sprawl. Shoes had been kicked off long ago, the air warm with the scent of food and the quiet hum of the television as Jace scrolled through endless movie options. Sara was curled up on the oversized bean bag Jace had dragged out from his (not so dirty) room, cross-legged and picking at her food between halfhearted comments about his choices. 

You had swapped your stiff button-up for one of Jace’s shirts, soft and worn, draping over your frame as you lounged against the armrest of the couch, knees pulled up. Jace sat on the floor beside you, absentmindedly leaning into the space near your legs as he continued his aimless search.

"How about The Matrix?" Jace called out from his spot on the floor, scrolling endlessly through Netflix as he had been for the past ten minutes.

"No," Cregan replied without looking up from his food.

"Lord of the Rings?"

"We're not starting a three-hour movie at this time of night."

"Fine. Ocean's Eleven?"

"No."

You pushed your noodles around with your chopsticks, barely registering their back-and-forth. Your mind was stuck in a loop, replaying your conversation with Jace in the kitchen. The food in your stomach felt heavy, but you weren't sure if it was from eating too quickly or from the weight of this new information that you had no idea what to do with.

He'd found you pretty. Two years ago, maybe, but still. Cregan Stark, who always seemed so perfectly put together, so distant, had actually noticed you before you'd even properly met. And what were you supposed to do with that knowledge? It's not like you could just bring it up casually over takeout. 'Hey, heard you thought I was pretty ages ago, still think so?'

You snuck a glance at him from the corner of your eye. He was sitting cross-legged on the floor, his takeout container balanced carefully on his knee as he systematically shot down every one of Jace's movie suggestions. The sleeves of his sweater were pushed up to his elbows, and you noticed how his forearms tensed slightly every time he reached for his drink. It really didn't help that he was unfairly attractive, all quiet intensity and careful movements.

"Indiana Jones?" Jace's voice cut through your thoughts.

"No."

"You're impossible," Jace groaned.

Sara caught your eye from across the room and smiled knowingly, making you wonder just how obvious your staring had been. What were they playing at, really? 

You'd lost count of how many times you'd asked Sara if her brother actually liked you – as a person, as a friend, as anything. "Of course he likes you!" she'd always insist. "He's just quiet at first!" But you'd never quite believed her, not when he seemed so much more animated with everyone else.

But now... now Jace had thrown everything into question. If what he said was true, if Cregan really had been interested enough to comment on you that first time... The thought made your stomach flip in a way that had nothing to do with the food.

"Inception?" Jace tried again.

"Jace."

"What? It's perfect! It's about complex theories and stuff. Very educational."

You caught yourself smiling at their bickering, only to look up and find Cregan watching you with that same unreadable expression. He quickly looked back to his food. 

You felt heat creeping up your neck. What did they expect you to do? Make the first move? You barely knew him, really knew him, beyond his perfect notes and quiet presence. 

"Fast and Furious?" Jace's voice broke through your thoughts again.

"I'm going to throw something at you," Cregan warned, but there was no real heat in his voice.

You bit back a smile, trying to focus on your food instead of the way Cregan's shoulder brushed against your leg when he reached for the soy sauce. Friends, you told yourself firmly. If anything was going to change, it would have to start there. But as you watched him hide another smile behind his hand at Jace's increasingly ridiculous movie suggestions, you couldn't help but wonder if that would be enough.

What had Jace expected you to do with that information? He found you pretty. The words echoed in your mind, each repetition adding weight. What were you supposed to do with that? Did Jace and Sara want you to do something with it? Ask Cregan out? Were they trying to set you up? Or was the plan simply to get you to talk to him more, be friends, maybe?

It made sense, right? Friends first. You weren’t exactly convinced when Sara told you time and again that Cregan was just quiet at first. But now, after talking to Jace, the whole thing felt confusing. Were you reading into things? Maybe it was easier to believe Cregan just didn’t like you at all during these past two years, rather than accept that he hadn’t been comfortable enough to show it.

He was so attractive. Very attractive. There was no denying it. You could feel the heat creeping up your neck as you watched him out of the corner of your eye. His quiet confidence, the way he carried himself… It made your stomach flutter in a way you couldn't quite explain.

You saw him shift on the couch, making himself more comfortable. He set down his now-empty takeout container and leaned back, looking like he had no interest in eating anymore. 

Still, he kept rejecting every single one of Jace’s movie suggestions, each one more absurd than the last. Sara, sensing the impasse, jumped in with her usual exasperated tone, urging them to just pick something already.

You caught Cregan’s profile as he reclined, one hand casually brushing his hair back, and the heat to your face increased. Your knees were drawn up to your chest, hoping they’d hide the way your cheeks had flushed. Your gaze flickered between the two of them, trying not to be too obvious as you studied him. 

He didn’t seem to notice, or if he did, he didn’t acknowledge it.

***

The next few days passed in a blur of highlighted notes and carefully maintained distance. Where there had been moments of warmth during that first evening in Cregan's apartment, now there was only polite efficiency. He'd explain concepts clearly when asked, his voice steady and professional, but gone were the small smiles, the quiet jokes, the moments where he seemed to let his guard down.

You tried to match his businesslike approach, taking careful notes and keeping your questions relevant and concise. But the silence between explanations felt heavy, loaded with things unsaid. You couldn't help but wonder if you'd imagined the connection from before, if Jace had been wrong about everything.

"So," Sara announced one afternoon, dropping into her usual seat at the library with suspicious enthusiasm. "I've been thinking."

"Dangerous," you muttered, not looking up from your notes.

"About our study strategy," she continued, ignoring your comment. "I think we should try something new."

That made you look up. Cregan, who had been quietly reviewing his own notes across the table, paused too, his pen hovering over the page.

"What kind of something?" you asked warily.

"Well," Sara drew out the word, exchanging a quick glance with Jace. "I was thinking we might be more effective if we split into pairs. You know, for more focused discussion."

You felt your stomach drop. "Pairs?"

"Mmhmm," she nodded, trying and failing to look casual. "Like, maybe Jace and I could work on the historical context stuff, and you two could focus on the theoretical frameworks?"

"That... doesn't make any sense," you said slowly. "You're better at theory than Jace is."

"Hey!" Jace protested, then paused. "No, wait, that's fair."

"It's not about who's better at what," Sara insisted. "It's about... different learning styles. Fresh perspectives. Right, Cregan?"

Cregan looked up from his notes, his expression carefully neutral. "If you think it would help," he said evenly, and something in your chest tightened at his apparent indifference.

"Great!" Sara beamed, already gathering her things. "Then it's settled. Jace and I will go to the coffee shop downstairs, and you two can stay here."

"Wait, now?" you asked, but they were already standing.

"No time like the present!" Jace grinned, shouldering his bag. "Have fun with..." he gestured vaguely at the textbooks, "all that."

They were gone before you could protest further, leaving you alone with Cregan and the uncomfortable silence that seemed to follow you lately. You stared at your notes, the highlighted words blurring together as you tried to think of something to say.

"We don't have to do this," Cregan said quietly, making you look up. "If you'd rather study alone–"

"No!" you said quickly, then winced at how eager it sounded. "I mean, no, it's fine. Unless you'd rather..."

"It's fine," he echoed, but you couldn't read his expression.

The silence stretched between you, broken only by the soft sound of pages turning and pens scratching against paper. You tried to focus on your reading, but your mind kept drifting to that evening in his apartment, to Jace's words in the kitchen. Had you really misread everything so badly?

"That diagram," Cregan's voice startled you out of your thoughts. "It's wrong."

You looked down at the messy chart you'd been attempting to draw. "Oh. Right. Sorry, I'm a bit..." you trailed off, not sure how to finish that sentence.

He hesitated, then shifted his chair closer, not quite touching but near enough that you could smell his cologne. "Here," he said softly, reaching for your pen. "May I?"

You nodded, trying to ignore how your heart sped up as his fingers brushed yours when he took the pen. He began redrawing the diagram, his lines neat and precise where yours had been chaotic.

"The relationship between these concepts," he explained, his voice low and close to your ear, "it's more circular than linear. See?"

You nodded again, though you were having trouble focusing on the diagram when he was this close, when you could see the way his eyelashes cast shadows on his cheeks as he looked down at the page.

"Does that make sense?" he asked, glancing at you, and for a moment, you caught something in his expression – uncertainty, maybe, or something else you couldn't quite name.

"Yeah," you managed, even as your mind raced with questions that had nothing to do with social theory. "Thanks."

He nodded, starting to pull back, but then he paused. "I'm not..." he began, then stopped, frowning slightly. "I'm not very good at this."

"The diagram looks pretty good to me," you said, trying for lightness.

"Not that," he said quietly, still frowning at the page. "This. Studying with... people."

"Oh." You weren't sure what to say to that. "You seem pretty good at it to me. Very... efficient."

He made a sound that might have been a laugh, but it held no humor. "Efficient," he repeated, like the word tasted bitter. "Right."

Before you could ask what he meant by that, he was already pulling away, the careful distance settling back into place like a wall between you. You watched as he returned to his own notes, his posture rigid, and wondered if you'd ever figure out how to bridge that gap.

Or if he even wanted you to try.

The afternoon light shifted through the library windows, casting long shadows across your textbooks. You'd been staring at the same paragraph for what felt like hours, the words swimming before your eyes. Cregan hadn't spoken since his attempt at fixing your diagram, and the silence was starting to feel suffocating.

"Maybe we should take a break," you suggested finally, your voice sounding too loud in the quiet space.

Cregan looked up, seeming almost startled, as if he'd forgotten you were there. "Oh. Yes, if you want."

You stretched, trying to work out the stiffness in your shoulders. "I think my brain is officially full. If I try to memorize one more theory, it might actually explode."

Something flickered across his face – amusement, maybe? – before it disappeared behind his usual mask of neutrality.

The next week, you arrived at the library to find a coffee cup waiting at your usual spot. Steam curled from the lid, and when you picked it up, the scent of vanilla and caramel made your stomach flutter.

"Is this…” you started, looking up to find Cregan already seated, seemingly absorbed in his textbook.

"You always order the same thing," he said without looking up, but you caught the slight upturn at the corner of his mouth.

You took a sip – perfect. Just the right amount of sweetness, exactly how you liked it. "You noticed?"

He shrugged, but there was a faint pink tinge to his ears. "It's not complicated."

But it was, wasn't it? It was complicated in all the ways that mattered – in the way he must have arrived early to get it, in the way he'd paid attention to your order all those times at the coffee shop, in the way this small gesture made your heart skip.

It became a routine after that. Every session, a coffee would be waiting, and every time you'd try not to read too much into it. But you couldn't help noticing how he'd glance at you when you took that first sip, as if checking to make sure it was right.

The silences changed too. Where they'd once been heavy with uncertainty, they grew comfortable, like a shared secret. You found yourself testing the waters, making quiet comments just to see if you could coax out one of his rare smiles.

"Weber probably needed a coffee this strong to write all this," you muttered one afternoon, earning a soft huff of amusement from across the table.

"Two sugars might have improved his view on bureaucracy," he replied, so deadpan that it took you a moment to realize he was joking back.

Weeks passed, and you fell into an easy rhythm. You learned to read the subtle shifts in his expression – the slight furrow between his brows when he was deep in thought, the way his eyes would soften when you finally understood a difficult concept.

He started anticipating your questions, sliding his perfectly organized notes toward you before you could even ask. Sometimes his fingers would brush yours in the exchange, and you'd both pretend not to notice the lingering warmth.

"Here," he'd say quietly, already pointing to the relevant section. "This connects to what you were asking about earlier."

You found yourself watching him between assignments, studying the way he'd absently run a hand through his hair when concentrating, how he'd tap his pen against his notebook in a specific rhythm when working through a complex idea. The way his shoulders would relax, just slightly, when you settled into your seat beside him.

One afternoon, you caught him watching you back. He didn't look away immediately like he used to, instead holding your gaze for a moment longer than necessary. Something warm unfurled in your chest at the sight.

"What?" you asked softly, not wanting to break whatever spell had fallen over the moment.

"Nothing," he said, but his voice had that gentle quality it got sometimes, the one that made you want to lean in closer. "Just... thinking."

"About Weber?" you teased, trying to ignore how your pulse quickened when his lips curved into a small smile.

"Not exactly."

He didn't elaborate, turning back to his notes, but something had shifted. The space between you felt charged, like the air before a storm. You found yourself hyperaware of every movement – the way his arm would brush yours when he reached for his coffee, how his knee would sometimes rest against yours under the table.

You started bringing him coffee too, placing it beside his notebook without comment. The first time you did, he stared at it for a long moment before looking up at you with an expression that made your breath catch.

"Black, two sugars," you said, echoing his words from weeks ago. "You always order the same thing."

His smile then was different – softer, more open than you'd ever seen. "Thank you," he said quietly, and you knew he meant for more than just the coffee.

The routine of studying together became something you looked forward to, not just for the help with coursework but for these small moments of connection. The way he'd lean in close to explain a concept, his voice low and just for you. How he'd sometimes forget himself and laugh at your terrible jokes, the sound warming you from the inside out.

And if you spent more time watching the way his hands moved across the page than actually reading, well... that was just part of the learning process, right?

The evening air had turned cool by the time you both packed up your things. The library had emptied out, leaving just the quiet murmur of the city outside to fill the space. You rubbed your eyes, stifling a yawn as you pushed your textbooks into your bag. The long study session had worn you out more than you'd expected, but you'd also made real progress. You couldn't remember the last time you'd felt so focused.

Cregan had gathered his things too, and for a moment, he just stood there, looking at you with that quiet intensity you had grown used to over the past weeks. Without a word, he slid his jacket from the back of his chair and held it out toward you.

"You look cold," he muttered, his voice low and a little rough, like he wasn't used to saying things like that. "Just for a bit. You can give it back tomorrow."

You glanced up at him, momentarily taken aback by the offer. But the warmth of the jacket, its familiar scent of pine and something crisp, was inviting. You hadn't realized how much the chill had crept into the air until now.

"Thanks," you said quietly, slipping your arms into the sleeves. The soft fabric immediately enveloped you, and you couldn’t help but notice how it smelled like him – comforting and calming, but also... a little more than that. 

The walk back to your place was peaceful. The streets were mostly empty, the glow from the streetlights casting long shadows on the pavement. The night felt still, like the world had paused just for you two.

"How are you feeling about everything?" Cregan asked, his voice breaking the silence as you walked side by side. There was no urgency in his tone, just a quiet curiosity, like he genuinely wanted to know.

You considered the question for a moment, taking in the city around you. It wasn’t just the study sessions that had shifted over the past few weeks, it was the way things felt between you both. The casual touches. The quiet moments. The way he noticed things about you before you even said anything.

"It's... been good," you said finally, your voice softer than usual. "Better than I expected."

He nodded, his eyes on the ground ahead. "I’m glad."

For a while, there was only the sound of your footsteps echoing in the quiet night. You tried not to focus too much on the fact that his jacket felt like a shield around you, or how it made your chest feel fuller with every step.

Then, almost as if he couldn’t stop himself, Cregan glanced at you again. His gaze lingered just a moment too long, before he quickly looked away, but not before you saw the faint flush creeping up his neck.

"You're not–" he started, then trailed off, shaking his head slightly like he'd lost the thread of his thought.

"Not what?" you prompted, a playful edge to your voice, hoping to keep things light.

He hesitated again, but then spoke, his voice quieter now. "Not… sick of me yet?"

You stopped in your tracks for a moment, staring up at him. But before you could respond, he let out a soft chuckle, clearly trying to brush it off. "Never mind. That sounded dumb."

"No," you said quickly, stepping a little closer to him. "No, it didn’t."

He stopped walking too, his eyes catching yours. There was a moment, just a fleeting second, where you both stood there, in the middle of the empty street, feeling the weight of something unspoken between you.

"I don't think I could get sick of you," you added softly, your words surprising both of you.

He gave you a small, surprised smile, his lips barely curling upward, but there was warmth in his expression, something that had been absent the first time you'd met him. "Good to know.”

"What do you mean by that?" you asked, tugging his jacket closer around you. The night air had grown cooler, but that wasn't the only reason you felt a slight shiver run through you.

Cregan ran a hand through his hair, a gesture you'd come to recognize as a sign of nervousness. "It's just... you're different with them. With Jace and Sara." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "More yourself, I guess. More... open."

"Oh." You let out a soft laugh, though it came out a bit shakier than intended. "That's because they're easy to talk to. You're..." You trailed off, suddenly very aware of how close you were standing.

"I'm what?" His voice was quiet, curious.

You took a deep breath, watching your shoes scuff against the pavement. "Intimidating," you admitted finally. "You're so... I mean, you understand everything instantly in class, and your notes are always perfect, and sometimes I feel like I'm just..." You gestured vaguely with one hand. "Fumbling around in the dark while you've got it all figured out."

He was quiet for so long that you had to look up at him. When you did, you found him staring at you with an expression you couldn't quite read – something between surprise and... was that amusement?

"You think I'm intimidating?" He let out a low laugh, the sound warming the cool night air. "That's... that's actually kind of funny."

"Why is that funny?"

"Because I've spent the last few weeks trying to figure out how to talk to you without sounding like an idiot." He shook his head, a self-deprecating smile playing at his lips. "You're always so quick with words, always know exactly what to say to make everyone laugh. And I'm..."

"Brilliant?" you offered, then immediately felt your cheeks warm.

His eyes snapped to yours, that hint of pink returning to his ears. "I'm really not," he said softly. "I just... study a lot. It's easier than..." He gestured between you two. "This."

"This?"

"Talking. Being... normal." He let out a breath that might have been another laugh. "Ask Jace, I'm terrible at it. Why do you think he does most of the talking when we're together?"

You couldn't help but smile at that. "I always thought you just preferred talking to him."

"I prefer..." he started, then stopped himself, looking away. "It's not that. I just... don't always know what to say. Especially around..." His voice got quieter. "Around you."

The admission hung in the air between you, making your heart beat a little faster. You were suddenly very aware of how alone you were on the street, how the streetlights cast soft shadows across his face, how his jacket still wrapped around you felt like a embrace.

"Well," you said, trying to keep your voice light despite the flutter in your stomach, "you seem to be doing okay right now."

He looked back at you, and this time his smile was different – slower, warmer. "Yeah," he said softly. "I guess I am."

You walked in comfortable silence for a few more steps before you couldn't help adding, "Though I still think you're brilliant. Even if you try to deny it."

He ducked his head, but not before you caught his smile widening. "And I still think you're easier to talk to than you realize."

"I don't know about that," you said, laughing softly. "The other day I tried to tell my neighbor her new haircut looked nice and somehow ended up in a twenty-minute conversation about her cat's dietary restrictions."

Cregan's quiet laugh made your chest feel warm. "How does that even happen?"

"I wish I knew. One minute I was complimenting her bangs, the next I knew everything about Mr. Whiskers' gluten sensitivity." You shook your head, remembering the increasingly awkward interaction. "I still can't look her in the eye."

His shoulder brushed against yours as he walked, and you realized you'd gradually drifted closer together. The street was wide enough for several people to walk side by side, yet here you were, barely inches apart. You thought about moving over, giving him more space, but then his pinky finger grazed your hand, and the thought evaporated.

"At least you talk to your neighbors," he said, his voice softer now. "I've lived in my apartment for eight months, and I still don't know their names. The lady next door just calls me 'dear' and leaves cookies at my doorstep sometimes."

"Free cookies sound nice," you said, very aware of how his hand kept brushing against yours with each step.

"They are. Though I'm slightly worried she thinks I'm not eating enough. The notes she leaves keep getting more concerned." His lips twitched. "Last week she wrote 'growing boys need their strength' on the container. I'm twenty-two."

You couldn't help but laugh at that, the sound echoing slightly in the quiet street. "That's adorable. She's adopted you."

"Yeah, well..." He ran his free hand through his hair, but you caught his smile. "Sara says I give off 'needs to be taken care of' energy."

"Do you?" The words slipped out before you could stop them, and you felt your cheeks warm.

He glanced at you then, and something in his expression made your breath catch. "I don't know. Do I?"

Your fingers brushed again, and this time, neither of you pulled away immediately. The contact was feather-light, barely there, but it sent tingles up your arm. You were about to respond when you realized you'd reached your building.

"This is me," you said reluctantly, stopping at the bottom of the steps. The porch light cast a warm glow around you both, and you couldn't help but notice how it caught in his eyes, making them look softer than usual.

"Right," he said, but didn't move away. His pinky was still barely touching yours, and you wondered if he could feel how your pulse had picked up. "I should..."

"Yeah," you agreed, though neither of you moved.

The night felt suspended around you, like time had slowed down just for this moment. A car passed in the distance, its headlights briefly illuminating his face, and you caught something in his expression that made your heart skip – a warmth, a hesitation, maybe even a hint of regret that the walk was over.

***

Days melted into weeks, and slowly, piece by piece, you began collecting little truths about Cregan Stark.

You learned that he always showed up exactly seven minutes early to everything – not five, not ten, but seven. When you teased him about it, he'd muttered something about traffic patterns and optimal timing that made you hide your smile behind your coffee cup.

You discovered that when he was deep in thought, he'd tap his fingers against the table in a specific rhythm – index, middle, ring, pause, repeat. Sometimes you'd catch yourself counting the beats, wondering what was running through his mind.

The way his jaw would clench slightly when he was stressed but trying not to show it. How he'd roll his shoulders back when he was tired, a gesture so subtle you wouldn't have noticed if you hadn't spent so many hours sitting beside him. The soft exhale he'd make when he finally solved a problem that had been bothering him.

There were other things too – things that made your heart do odd little flips in your chest. Like how he'd lean in close when explaining something, his voice dropping to almost a whisper even though you were the only ones there. His fingers would brush against yours as he pointed something out, lingering just a moment too long to be accidental. In those moments, time seemed to slow down, and you'd find yourself holding your breath, wondering if he could feel the electricity crackling between you.

You learned that he had a dry sense of humor that came out in unexpected moments. That he could deliver the most ridiculous puns with a completely straight face, only the slight crinkle around his eyes giving him away. That he'd fight a smile when you caught on, but his eyes would dance with amusement.

Some days, you'd catch him watching you when he thought you weren't looking. His gaze would be soft, contemplative, making your skin tingle with awareness. But every time you'd look up, he'd quickly turn away, that familiar pink tinge creeping up his ears.

You noticed how his whole demeanor would shift when you walked in, subtle but unmistakable – his shoulders would relax, his expression would soften, and sometimes, if you were lucky, you'd catch the ghost of a smile playing at his lips before he could hide it.

There were moments when he'd get so caught up in explaining something he was passionate about, his usual reserve would fall away completely. His hands would move animatedly, his eyes would light up, and you'd find yourself more fascinated by his enthusiasm than whatever he was actually talking about.

And sometimes, in quiet moments when the library was nearly empty and the evening light was turning golden, he'd look at you in a way that made your breath catch. Like you were a puzzle he was trying to solve, or maybe something he wanted to memorize. In those moments, the thought would creep in, unbidden but persistent – maybe, just maybe, he felt this too. This growing warmth, this magnetic pull, this feeling that had been building between you like a slow-burning flame.

But then he'd look away, or someone would walk by, or reality would intrude in some other way, and you'd tell yourself you were reading too much into things. That you were seeing what you wanted to see in those lingering touches and soft glances.

Still, you couldn't help but notice how he'd position himself slightly closer to you each day, how his hand would find excuses to brush against yours, how his voice would take on that gentle quality that seemed reserved just for you. And in those moments, hope would flutter in your chest, persistent and warm, refusing to be ignored.

You gathered these observations like precious stones, collecting them carefully, turning them over in your mind when you were alone. Each one was a piece of him, freely given but carefully treasured. And if sometimes you caught yourself daydreaming about what it might mean – well, that was just another secret to keep, tucked away with all the others.

"Wait, wait–" you said through barely contained laughter, "you actually convinced Jace that pigeons were government spies?"

Cregan's eyes crinkled at the corners as he tried to maintain his serious expression. "He spent three weeks avoiding eye contact with every pigeon he saw. Sara finally had to tell him the truth because he kept diving into bushes whenever they flew overhead."

You buried your face in your hands, shoulders shaking with laughter. The library's quiet atmosphere was long forgotten, your books pushed aside in favor of sharing stories. "That's terrible. You're terrible."

"He deserved it," Cregan said, but his voice was warm with affection. "He'd just spent a month convincing me that my phone was automatically translating everything into English and I was actually speaking fluent Portuguese without realizing it."

"How did he even–"

"Don't ask. It involved a very elaborate setup with his cousin who actually speaks Portuguese." He shook his head, but his smile was fond. "Jace can be... creative when he commits to something."

You propped your chin on your hand, studying him. These moments had become more frequent lately – times when his guard would drop completely, and you'd get to see the playful side of him that most people missed. "You three must have had an interesting childhood."

"Interesting is one word for it." His expression softened with nostalgia. "Sara used to organize these elaborate treasure hunts around the house. She'd spend hours making these ridiculous clues, and then get mad when Jace and I solved them too quickly." He paused, then added quietly, "It helped, you know. When I first moved in with Dad and Sara's mom. Made it feel less..."

"Overwhelming?" you offered gently when he trailed off.

He nodded, absently fiddling with his pen. "Yeah. They just... included me. No questions asked. Even when I was this awkward kid who barely talked and spent most of his time reading in corners."

"Some things never change," you teased, nudging his foot under the table.

His answering smile was warm enough to make your heart skip. "I talk more now."

"True. Now you use whole sentences instead of just grunting."

"I never grunted," he protested, but his eyes were dancing with amusement.

"Oh really? What about that first week when I asked to borrow your notes? Pretty sure all I got was 'hmph' and a nod."

He had the grace to look slightly embarrassed. "That wasn't... I was just..."

"Just what?"

"Nervous," he admitted quietly, meeting your eyes. "You make me nervous sometimes."

The confession hung in the air between you, making your pulse quicken. Before you could respond, a notification chimed on your phone – Sara asking if you wanted to grab dinner later.

"Oh," you said, glancing at the time. "We've been here for four hours."

"Really?" Cregan looked genuinely surprised, like he hadn't noticed the time slipping away. "It doesn't feel that long."

"Time flies when you're sharing embarrassing stories about Jace," you said lightly, trying to ease back from the moment of vulnerability.

He laughed softly, but his eyes stayed on you, warm and intent. "Yeah," he agreed. "Must be that."

As you both started gathering your things, you couldn't help but marvel at how different these sessions felt now. The awkward silences had been replaced by comfortable conversation, shy glances had given way to shared jokes and easy laughter. Somehow, without you really noticing, Cregan Stark had become more than just your study partner or Sara's quiet brother.

He'd become your friend.

And if sometimes, in moments like earlier when he'd admitted to being nervous around you, you felt something flutter in your chest that felt bigger than friendship – well, that was probably just your imagination.

Probably.

***

When you arrived at Cregan's apartment that afternoon, your bag heavy with books, you found him already standing in the doorway with an oddly hopeful expression.

"Before you take those out," he said, nodding at your bag, "I was thinking..." He paused, running a hand through his hair in that way that always meant he was nervous about something. "Maybe we could watch a film instead? Just... take a break?"

The suggestion surprised you – Cregan suggesting something other than studying was rare enough to make you wonder if you'd heard him correctly. But there was something almost vulnerable in the way he was looking at you, like he half-expected you to say no.

"Yeah," you said, trying not to sound too eager. "Yeah, that sounds nice."

The relief that crossed his face made your heart flutter. His apartment was exactly what you'd expected – minimalist but comfortable, with books arranged neatly on shelves and a few framed photographs on the walls. The familiar scent of pine and something crisp – the same scent from his jacket that night – filled the space.

"Make yourself comfortable," he said, gesturing to the couch while he moved to the kitchen. "Do you want anything to drink?"

You settled onto the couch, tucking your legs under you. "Whatever you're having is fine."

He returned with two mugs of tea, setting them carefully on the coffee table. When he sat down beside you, he was close enough that your knees almost touched. The couch wasn't small – there was plenty of room for him to sit further away – but he didn't, and neither of you mentioned it.

"So," you said, wrapping your hands around the warm mug, "what are we watching?"

He reached for the remote, and you noticed how his other hand rested on the couch between you, his pinky just barely touching your knee. "I thought maybe..." He scrolled through options on the screen, but you caught how his eyes kept darting to you, gauging your reaction. "There's this old film I think you'd like."

You turned to face him, your shoulder pressing against the back of the couch. "Cregan Stark, are you about to make me watch an art house film?"

His lips twitched. "Maybe." Then, more quietly, "Is that okay?"

"Depends. Are you going to explain all the metaphors to me?" You were teasing, but your breath caught when he leaned in slightly, his eyes meeting yours.

"Only if you want me to," he murmured, reaching for the remote. His arm brushed against yours as he settled back, and you noticed he didn't move it away.

The film started playing, but you found yourself more aware of how close he was sitting, how your shoulders pressed together, how his fingers occasionally brushed against your knee when he gestured while explaining something about the cinematography.

Halfway through, you shifted position, and somehow ended up with your head resting against his shoulder. You felt him tense for a moment, then slowly relax, his cheek coming to rest against your hair.

"This okay?" you whispered, not wanting to break the moment.

His response was to tentatively wrap his arm around your shoulders, pulling you slightly closer. He grunted softly, a noncommittal sound that made you smile against his shoulder.

"Oh, are we back to the grunt-only communication?" you teased quietly, feeling his chest shake with silent laughter. "And here I thought we'd made such progress."

He made another grunt, this one clearly exaggerated, and you could hear the smile in it. Your own lips curved upward – you'd learned to read his different sounds over the past weeks, could tell the difference between his annoyed grunts and his amused ones. This one was definitely amused, with maybe a touch of nervousness underneath.

"Very articulate," you whispered, shifting slightly to get more comfortable against him. "Truly, your way with words continues to astound me."

His fingers twitched against your shoulder, and when he spoke, his voice was low and a bit rough. "Didn't want to say the wrong thing."

Something warm bloomed in your chest at his admission. "Since when do you say the wrong thing?"

He was quiet for a moment, his thumb absently tracing circles on your shoulder. "Around you? More often than you'd think."

You wanted to look up at him then, but you were afraid moving might break whatever spell had fallen over you both. Instead, you stayed where you were, feeling his heartbeat against your cheek, steady but just a little faster than normal.

On screen, the film continued playing, but neither of you seemed to be paying much attention anymore.

"I find that hard to believe," you murmured, finally gathering the courage to tilt your head up to look at him. "You always seem to know exactly what to say."

When your eyes met his, your breath caught in your throat. He was already looking down at you, his expression soft and open in a way you'd never seen before. The blue light from the TV played across his features, making his eyes look darker than usual.

"That's because," he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper, "I spend about ten minutes planning every sentence before I say it to you."

You couldn't help but laugh softly at that. "Ten whole minutes? No wonder you're so quiet."

"Wouldn't want to mess it up." His eyes flickered down to your lips for just a moment before meeting your gaze again. The arm around your shoulders tightened slightly, drawing you impossibly closer.

"And what about now?" you asked, your heart thundering in your chest. "How long did you spend planning that one?"

He swallowed hard, and you watched the movement of his throat. "I didn't," he admitted. 

You shifted slightly, turning more fully towards him. His other hand came up to brush a strand of hair from your face, his fingers lingering against your cheek. The touch sent shivers down your spine.

"Cregan," you breathed, not even sure what you were going to say next.

He leaned in slowly, giving you plenty of time to pull away. But you didn't want to pull away – you found yourself moving closer, your eyes starting to flutter closed, his breath mixing with yours.

The space between you and Cregan grew smaller. His fingers, warm and steady, traced the curve of your cheek, while his other hand settled at the small of your back, holding you in place as if afraid you might slip away.

Your own hand had found its way to his thigh, fingers curling slightly against the fabric of his sweatpants. You could feel the tension in him – the way his muscles tensed under your touch, the way his breath hitched ever so slightly when your fingertips pressed just a little firmer.

His nose brushed yours, the barest whisper of contact, and your lips parted on instinct, a quiet, breathless anticipation settling between you.

You could feel his hesitation, the last remnants of restraint flickering in his gaze. One more inch and–

The front door swung open with a loud thud.

You flinched, and Cregan jerked back as if burned, his grip on your waist loosening. The spell shattered in an instant.

From the hallway, Jace’s voice rang out, casual and utterly oblivious to the moment he had just ruined.

"Honey, I'm home!” he sang, “You would not believe the day I've had – oh.”

Jace stood in the doorway, keys dangling from his hand, a slow grin spreading across his face. "Well, well, well," he drawled, looking between you two with obvious delight. "What do we have here?"

"We're watching a film," Cregan said quickly, his voice slightly hoarse. You noticed his ears had turned that telltale pink again.

"Uh-huh," Jace nodded, not even trying to hide his smirk. "And how's the film?"

You realized with a start that neither of you had any idea what was happening on screen. You'd completely lost track of the plot about the same time Cregan's arm had wrapped around you.

"It's..." you started.

"Very artistic," Cregan finished lamely.

Jace's grin widened. "I'm sure it is." He kicked off his shoes and headed toward the kitchen, calling over his shoulder, "Don't let me interrupt your... artistic appreciation."

You caught Cregan's eye and had to bite your lip to keep from laughing at his mortified expression. The moment from before was broken, but something else had taken its place – a warm, giddy feeling that made it hard to stop smiling.

"So," you whispered, once Jace was safely in the kitchen. "Ten minutes to plan your next sentence?"

Cregan groaned quietly, letting his head fall back against the couch, but you could see him fighting a smile. "Might need twenty for this one."

Jace's not-so-subtle shuffling in the kitchen made the moment feel both ridiculous and charged. Cregan's arm was still draped around you, though now it felt more awkward than intimate.

"So," you said softly, trying to break the tension, "want to pretend we were actually watching the movie?"

He let out a quiet laugh. "I don't even know what we were watching."

You glanced at the screen. Some black and white scene was playing, characters moving in what seemed like slow motion. "Art house film," you whispered dramatically. "Very deep. Very meaningful."

"Very confusing," Cregan added, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

***

The café was bustling with the usual weekend crowd when you arrived, slightly out of breath from rushing. You spotted your friends immediately – Sara's laugh carrying over the general chatter, Jace gesturing animatedly about something. But as you approached, you noticed there were only four chairs at their small table, and they'd already claimed two of them.

The remaining two seats were snug together on the opposite side, and your stomach did a little flip when you saw Cregan already there, looking up at you with that quiet intensity you'd grown familiar with.

"You made it!" Sara beamed, but there was something suspiciously innocent about her expression. "We saved you a spot."

You hesitated for just a moment before sliding into the chair next to Cregan. The table was small enough that your elbows brushed as you settled in, and you caught a hint of that now-familiar pine scent. Without looking at you, he shrugged off his jacket and draped it over the back of your chair. The gesture was casual, almost absent-minded, but it made your pulse quicken.

"I already ordered your usual," he said quietly, just for you to hear.

"Thanks," you managed, trying to ignore how Sara and Jace exchanged knowing looks across the table.

Jace was mid-rant about Luke's latest culinary disaster. "I'm telling you, there are jars of fermenting liquid everywhere. Mom thinks he's going through some kind of wellness phase, but I'm pretty sure he's just trying to turn the kitchen into a science experiment."

Sara snorted into her latte. "Isn't that how all of Luke's phases start? Remember when he decided he was going to learn woodworking?"

"Three broken chairs and one very questionable coffee table later," Jace laughed.

You felt Cregan shift beside you, and his knee pressed a little more firmly against yours. You weren't sure if it was intentional or not, but you didn't move away. Instead, you found yourself leaning slightly into him, your shoulder just barely touching his.

"What about you?" Sara turned to you. "Any wild family stories?"

Before you could answer, Cregan's hand brushed against yours under the table. A light touch, almost accidental, but definitely deliberate. You saw the corner of his mouth twitch – he was listening, waiting for your response, but that small gesture said something else entirely.

"Nothing quite as exciting as kombucha brewing," you managed, hyper-aware of how close he was sitting. "Though my aunt did go through a phase of making her own cheese. Let's just say it didn't end well."

Jace burst out laughing. "Homemade cheese? That's a new one."

"Trust me," you said, "some experiments are best left to professionals."

Cregan's hand was still close to yours. His pinky finger had somehow found its way to rest against the side of your hand, a point of contact that seemed to send electricity through your entire body. You wondered if the others could see how close you were sitting, how every movement seemed charged with something unspoken.

"More coffee?" he murmured, so quietly that only you could hear.

You turned to look at him, catching his eye. There was something in his gaze – a warmth, a softness that made your breath catch. "Please," you whispered back.

Sara was still talking, Jace still gesturing, but in that moment, the rest of the café seemed to fade away. Just you, Cregan, and that small space between your hands that felt like it was holding entire universes.

His fingers brushed yours again. This time, you were certain it was definitely not an accident.

"Remember that time Professor Martinez spent fifteen minutes talking about his cat?" Jace was saying, but you were distracted by the way Cregan's fingers drummed a quiet pattern on the table, just inches from your hand.

"Mm-hmm," you responded, though you weren't entirely sure what you were agreeing to.

You reached for your coffee at the same time Cregan moved to adjust his sleeve, and your fingers collided. The touch was brief, but it sent a jolt through you that had nothing to do with caffeine. When you glanced up at him, his ears had that telltale pink tinge, but he didn't move away.

The café had grown cooler as the evening approached – someone must have opened a window – and you found yourself unconsciously leaning into the warmth of his presence beside you. His jacket still hung behind you, and occasionally you'd catch its scent, mixing with the coffee aroma in a way that made you feel slightly dizzy.

"Cold?" he asked softly, noticing your slight shiver.

Before you could respond, he was already reaching back, adjusting his jacket so it covered your shoulders better. His fingers brushed against your back for just a moment, and you had to remind yourself to breathe normally.

"Thanks," you whispered, and he nodded, his eyes lingering on yours for a moment longer than necessary.

Across the table, Sara was telling a story about her dance partner's disastrous attempt at a lift, but you were lost in the way the evening light from the window played across Cregan's profile, how his lips curved slightly when something amused him, the comfortable weight of his jacket around your shoulders.

You told yourself it was nothing. That the way your heart raced when his hand accidentally brushed yours again was just caffeine, that the warmth in your chest when he leaned closer to murmur a quiet comment about Jace's dramatic retelling of events was just the coffee. That the way he seemed to angle his body toward yours, creating a bubble that felt separate from the bustling café around you, was just coincidence.

It had to be nothing.

But then why did it feel like everything?

As the afternoon wore on, the café slowly emptied, the hum of conversation fading into the clatter of dishes and the quiet shuffle of the barista wiping down the counter. The golden light of the setting sun streamed through the large windows, painting long shadows across the worn wooden tables. Jace was the first to leave, pushing back his chair with a knowing smirk that made you want to kick him under the table. His gaze flickered between you and Cregan, his amusement clear as he slung his jacket over one shoulder. 

"Have fun," he said lightly, though his tone held an edge of teasing that made your face warm. 

Sara followed shortly after, grabbing her bag in a rush. She leaned in for a quick hug, her lips brushing your ear as she whispered, "Text me later," in a way that sounded suspiciously like a warning. Then, with a grin thrown over her shoulder, she was gone, the bells above the door jingling in her wake. 

And then there were two.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The café felt quieter, more intimate now, the air thick with something unspoken. Cregan's fingers tapped idly against the edge of his coffee cup, his sharp eyes fixed on you in that way that made your breath hitch. You could feel the weight of the moment settling between you, the tension coiling tight like a bowstring.

You cleared your throat, forcing a casual tone. "About your jacket," you started, knowing full well you were playing a game. "I think I accidentally kept it from the other night. It's still at my apartment."

Cregan raised an eyebrow, his expression skeptical, and you knew he wasn’t buying your innocent act. The truth was, you had definitely not forgotten his jacket. You had draped it around your shoulders before leaving, only to end up deciding not to bring it. 

"Did you?" he asked, his voice low, amused. 

You nodded, far too innocently. "Mhmm. Want to come get it?"

The corner of his mouth twitched, his lips tilting in the faintest ghost of a smile. "Might as well."

The walk back to your apartment felt shorter than it should have, the minutes slipping away as your steps fell into an easy rhythm. That now-familiar tension hung between you, humming beneath the surface, stretching with every unspoken thought. Your hands brushed – once, then again. Sometimes intentionally, sometimes not. The street lights flickered overhead, casting a warm glow onto the pavement, and in the quiet, you could feel his gaze on you, steady and unreadable. Watching. Waiting.

Anticipating.

"Sorry about the elevator," you said, pressing the stairwell door open. "It's been broken for weeks. Management promises they're fixing it, but..." You gestured uselessly.

Cregan just nodded, following you into the stairwell. The space was narrow, forcing you to climb single file at first, but he quickly moved to walk beside you, his shoulder occasionally brushing yours on the tight turns.

The first flight of stairs passed in comfortable silence. By the second floor, you were both slightly out of breath.

"Remind me why we're taking the stairs?" he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Character building," you quipped, stealing a glance at him. "Also, excellent cardiovascular exercise."

His laugh was soft, barely more than a breath. "Is that what this is?"

You were acutely aware of how close he was. On the narrow staircase, your arms kept brushing, his hand sometimes grazing the small of your back as you navigated the turns. The proximity felt charged, electric.

"Almost there," you said, trying to sound casual. Your heart was racing, and you weren't sure if it was from the stairs or from him.

The third-floor landing approached, and you could feel the weight of his gaze on you. Something hung in the air between you – anticipation, possibility, a breath held just a moment too long.

You unlocked the door and stepped inside, holding it open for him. He hesitated for the briefest moment, then followed, his footsteps slow, measured. The door clicked shut behind him, muffling the distant sounds of the street outside.

Inside, the space felt smaller somehow, the air charged with something electric. The scent of vanilla and old books filled the room, mingling with the lingering traces of his cologne still clinging to the jacket draped over the back of your couch. A single lamp cast a golden glow across the walls, softening the edges of the moment, but not the weight of it.

You turned, glancing up at him. “Make yourself at home,” you said, your voice steady, though your pulse wasn’t.

Cregan’s gaze flickered over the room before settling on you. 

You reached into your closet and pulled out the perfectly folded jacket, holding it out to him with what you hoped was an innocent expression. "Here you go."

Cregan took it, something flickering in his eyes – a mix of surprise and... was that disappointment? He glanced toward the door, clearly preparing to leave, and you could almost see the moment he was about to say goodbye.

"Actually," you said quickly, "my TV's been acting up. Would you mind taking a look?"

He raised an eyebrow, a slow smile spreading across his face. It was the kind of smile that made your breath catch – part amusement, part something warmer. "Really?"

"Totally broken," you insisted, trying to look serious. "Completely non-functional."

"Completely?" Now he was definitely laughing, soft and low. "And here I thought we came up here just for the jacket."

You shrugged, feeling a blush creep up your neck. "Multi-purpose trip."

He followed you to the living room, still wearing that knowing smile. The TV sat quietly in the corner, looking suspiciously functional. But Cregan didn't call you out. Instead, he set the jacket down and moved toward the electronics, his fingers already reaching for the remote.

"Let me take a look," he said, his voice rich with barely contained amusement.

You bit back a smile. Busted – but not really.

Cregan crouched down in front of the TV, running his fingers along the back panel as he checked the cables. He moved with easy confidence, his broad shoulders flexing slightly under his shirt as he pulled one of the wires free. 

“One of these might’ve come loose,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. 

Before you could respond, he jerked his hand back slightly. A thin, red line beaded along his fingertip, stark against his skin. He barely reacted, just exhaling through his nose as he brought his hand up and – without hesitation – dragged his tongue over the small cut, as if it were nothing more than a papercut. 

You, however, were already pushing off of the couch. “Oh my god, Cregan–” 

He glanced up at you, brow raised. “It’s fine,” he said simply, his voice steady, like he hadn’t just sliced himself open on a rogue wire. “It’ll heal.” 

“It’s bleeding.” 

“Barely.” 

“That’s not the point,” you huffed, already moving toward the kitchen. “Stay there, I have bandages.” 

Cregan let out a quiet chuckle as you rummaged through a drawer, muttering something about stubborn men and their refusal to take basic medical care seriously. By the time you returned with a bandaid, he was still kneeling by the TV, watching you with open amusement. 

“Hold out your hand,” you demanded. 

“Is this really necessary?” 

“Do not test me right now, Stark.” 

His smirk deepened, but he obeyed, extending his hand toward you. His palm was warm, his fingers rough from years of use – evidence of someone who worked with his hands, who fought, who lived. You swallowed, focusing on carefully peeling the bandaid open before smoothing it over the cut. 

“There,” you said, pressing down gently. “Now you won’t die of infection.” 

Cregan flexed his fingers experimentally, shaking his head. “Didn’t realize a tiny scratch was life-threatening.” 

You shot him a look. “Mock me all you want, but you’ll thank me when your finger doesn’t fall off.” 

He laughed, low and easy, but his eyes lingered on you for a beat too long. And suddenly, the bandaid didn’t feel like the most important thing anymore.

From the bathroom, Cregan heard you call out, your voice taking on that slightly high-pitched tone he'd come to recognize as your embarrassed voice.

"Uh... so. The remote doesn't work because the battery is dead," you announced, sounding like you were hoping the floor might swallow you whole.

He emerged, drying his hands, to find you sitting on the couch looking like you'd been caught in an elaborate lie. Which, technically, you had been. The remote dangled from your hand, and you were avoiding direct eye contact.

"Shocking," he said drily, that hint of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "Who could have seen that coming?"

"Shut up," you mumbled, but there was no real heat in it.

He stepped closer, taking the remote from your hand. "Batteries?" 

You pointed to a drawer, still not looking directly at him. "Top one."

His laugh was soft, barely more than a breath. Cregan pulled open the drawer, retrieving a pair of fresh batteries with an ease that made you suspect he was enjoying this a little too much. He popped the old ones out and slid the new ones in, his movements unhurried, deliberate. When he handed the remote back to you, his fingers brushed against yours – just for a second, just long enough to send a flicker of warmth up your arm.

“Moment of truth,” he murmured, stepping back with an amused tilt of his head.

You aimed the remote at the TV, pressing the power button. The screen blinked to life instantly, the room filling with the soft glow of the home screen. You let out a quiet sigh, shoulders dropping in defeat.

Cregan crossed his arms, leaning against the back of the couch. “So, to recap: you invited me up here for a jacket you had no intention of giving back, faked a TV malfunction, and then made me bleed – all in the span of fifteen minutes.”

You huffed, tossing the remote onto the cushion beside you. “You make it sound so calculated.”

He smirked. “Wasn’t it?”

You opened your mouth, ready to deny it, but the look on his face – the teasing glint in his eyes, the slight lift of his brow – made it clear he wasn’t buying whatever excuse you were about to throw at him.

Instead, you crossed your arms and leaned back. “Fine. Maybe I just wanted you to stay a little longer.”

The smirk faded, just slightly. His gaze flickered over your face, his amusement softening into something quieter, something warmer.

“You could’ve just asked,” he said.

Your breath caught.

Then, as if sensing the weight of his own words, he straightened, rolling his shoulders like he could shake it off. 

You tried to ignore the sudden heat that rose in your cheeks, still pretending that the whole situation – your really embarrassing scheme to get him to stay – was perfectly normal.  

You shook your head, pushed the thoughts aside as you rose from the couch and walked toward him. His gaze followed you, amusement danced in his eyes as you stopped in front of him. Without thinking, your eyes flickered to his finger – still wrapped in the bright pink Hello Kitty bandaid you slapped on him earlier. The absurdity of it all hit you again, and for a moment, you felt the urge to cover your face.  

But Cregan didn't let it slide. "You know," he drawled, holding up his hand, the bandaid on full display, "I felt the care and attention here, but–” He lifted an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitched, “Hello Kitty?"  

You rolled your eyes but approached him anyway. You focused on his finger, ignored the growing warmth that spread through you as you reached out, your fingers brushed his skin as you took his hand in yours. “They were the only ones at the store,” you muttered, glancing at him briefly, expecting him to laugh it off.  

He just stared at you, his eyes narrowed slightly. “Mm-hmm. I was sure they were,” he said, his voice smooth but edged with skepticism. “Couldn’t find any grown-up band-aids, huh?”  

You snorted and held his finger a little more gently, glanced up at him now, met his gaze with a faint, nervous smile. “They were cute. I thought you might like them.”  

He tilted his head, studied you with an intensity that made it hard to keep your thoughts from scattering. “You didn’t think I’d notice?” His voice was lower now, almost a whisper, and the playful teasing was gone, replaced with something... different.  

You felt his hip brush against yours, a subtle, accidental touch that sent a spark of awareness through you. The proximity was sudden, sharp. You leaned back against the counter, the cool surface grounded you as your pulse began to race in a way you couldn’t quite control. Your focus remained on his finger, but his proximity – the weight of his gaze on you – felt heavier than anything you’d ever known.  

His eyes flickered down to your mouth, just for a split second, before returning to your eyes, and it felt like the world narrowed to just the two of you. Your hand, still holding his, trembled slightly. You tried to tell yourself it was just the oddness of the moment, the intimacy of the small gesture, but deep down you knew there was more to it than that. His fingers, warm and strong, rested in your hand, his thumb brushed over your knuckles in that unconscious way he did, and it took everything in you not to close the space between you.  

The silence stretched between you, charged with everything unsaid. His fingers were still tangled with yours, warm and steady despite the slight tremor you felt in your own hand. When you finally looked up, the intensity in his eyes made your breath catch.

"I should probably go," he whispered, but he didn't move away. If anything, he seemed to lean closer, his free hand coming to rest on the counter beside you.

"Probably," you agreed, but your other hand had somehow found its way to his chest, fingers curling slightly into the fabric of his shirt.

Time seemed to slow down. You could feel his heartbeat under your palm, fast and strong. His eyes dropped to your lips again, lingering this time.

"Tell me to go," he murmured, so close now that you could feel his breath against your skin.

Instead, you lifted your chin slightly, closing the last bit of distance between you. His lips met yours softly at first, hesitant, questioning. Then your hand slid up to the back of his neck, fingers threading through his hair, and something in him seemed to break.

He pressed closer, deepening the kiss as his hand moved from the counter to your waist, pulling you against him. Your back hit the counter, but you barely noticed, too caught up in the feeling of him – the way he tasted like coffee and something sweeter, how his thumb traced circles on your hip, how he kissed you like he'd been thinking about it for weeks.

When you finally broke apart, both breathing heavily, he rested his forehead against yours. His eyes were dark, intense, filled with something that made your heart race even faster.

"I've wanted to do that," he said roughly, "for forever."

You couldn't help but laugh softly, your fingers still playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. "Is that why you were so quiet?"

He smiled against your lips. "Partly." Then he was kissing you again, slower this time, like he had all the time in the world to learn the taste of you.

You pulled back just enough to look at him, unable to stop smiling. "You know Sara and Jace are going to be insufferable about this."

"Mmm," Cregan hummed against your lips. "They'll never let us hear the end of it." His fingers traced along your jaw, gentle and exploratory. "Sara's been dropping hints for weeks."

"Weeks?" You raised an eyebrow. "Try months."

He laughed softly, the sound vibrating through his chest where it pressed against yours. He laughed softly, the sound vibrating through his chest where it pressed against yours. Then his mouth found yours again, and this time the kiss was different – long, slow, and dizzyingly passionate. His fingers tangled in your hair, tilting your head just so, and you couldn't help but wonder if there was anything this man wasn't exceptionally good at.

When you pulled back, you toyed with the few hair strands that had fallen onto his face. He still hadn’t stepped back, still held you like he wasn’t quite ready for the night to end. And maybe you weren’t either.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The weight of it settled between you, the knowledge that this – whatever this was – had changed something, shifted it into something new, something neither of you could brush aside with an easy joke.

Cregan’s fingers brushed up your arm, slow and deliberate, his gaze flickering over your face like he was debating something.

Then, quieter this time, more serious: “Should I stay?”

Your breath hitched. It wasn’t just about tonight. You could hear it in the way he asked, in the way his fingers curled slightly at your waist.

You swallowed, your voice softer now. “Would you, if I asked?”

His grip tightened, just slightly, just enough to make your pulse stutter. “Yeah,” he admitted, “I would.”

You exhaled, your fingers tracing absentmindedly along his collarbone. He was close enough that you could see the flecks of gold in his eyes, the warmth there, the hesitation.

Then you smiled, small and knowing. “Good.”

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. But he still stayed.

taglist: @smurfelle @elliaze @sillylittlepenguin181818 @lustrz-anna @lovelyteenagebeard @misshale21 @cecestea @n4tsha @inspirationquxxn @rin588 @anoravx @bbubbllejisoo @vividxpages @bucksplum @earth4angels @mattnott @princess-of-the-fandoms @shabnam2005 @nsr-15 @reeseelise @teasweeter @ginarely-blog @bpcr3yes @creganstarkk @st6rmbrn @marg141205 @shesneverreallythere @mother-homunculus @ohhdearmargot

[steddieas-shegoes]

matches my weird

for @steddielovemonth inspired by the quote "we are all a little weird and life's a little weird, and when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall in mutual weirdness and call it love." - dr. seuss

rated t | 1069 words | no cw | tags: pre-relationship, steve has a crush on eddie, open ending but assume they're gonna kiss later

🥒🥒🥒🥒🥒🥒🥒🥒🥒🥒🥒🥒🥒

Steve knows it’s gross, which is why he never does it when someone else is around. He opens the jar of pickles and the jar of peanut butter.

He scoops out a spoonful of peanut butter because he’s not an animal. He would never risk pickle juice getting in the jar when so many people come over to his house and ransack his cabinets. God forbid Robin try to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and end up with the taste of pickle on it.

She hates pickles almost as much as she hates Vecna. Seriously.

He dips the pickle into the peanut butter and puts it up to his mouth to take a bite.

“What is happening right now?” Eddie’s voice is high pitched and Steve jumps, nearly dropping his snack.

“What are you doing here?” Steve asks. He can’t hide what he’s doing at this point, so he might as well embrace it.

“I left my jacket here last night, remember? I called and told you I would be by to get it before I went to work?”

Eddie is holding said jacket in his hands and looks…not as disgusted as he probably should be. He just looks surprised.

“Oh, right.” Steve does vaguely remember this phone call, but he was half asleep this morning when Eddie called. He can’t be blamed for forgetting.

“Are you putting peanut butter on your pickles?” Eddie asks as he steps closer.

“I obviously am,” Steve replies.

“Bread and butter?” Eddie clarifies.

Steve checks the jar to be sure. “Yeah.”

“You should try it with the dill ones.”

Steve blinks. “Huh?”

“The regular dill ones are really good in peanut butter. These ones are too, but the savory– Oh! And the sweet and sour ones! I ran out of peanut butter once and used chocolate syrup. Wasn’t as good, but got the job done,” Eddie explains as he walks over and takes a pickle from the jar to dip into the scoop of peanut butter.

���Um. What are you doing?”

“I’ve never known anyone else to do this! I did it when I was little and Wayne thought it was gross, but he always kept pickles and peanut butter in the house for me,” Eddie shrugs as he chews.

“This isn’t you just trying to make me feel like I’m not weird?” Steve doesn’t think someone would go to such lengths, especially not Eddie, but who knows.

“No. Who would do that?”

“I…dunno. I didn’t know anyone else did this. It’s kinda weird.”

“Yeah, have you met me?” Eddie laughs. “I’m a pretty weird guy. Wait until you see what I do to my hot chocolate.”

“What do you do?” Steve takes another bite.

“This is Wayne’s fault, but I usually make it with a mix of milk and cola.”

Steve makes a face, but immediately realizes that’s actually probably pretty good. He’s heard of people using cola in chocolate cake before, so why not make hot chocolate with cola?

“I should try that,” he says.

“Yeah, I can make it for you after work if you want. I only have a four hour shift today.”

“I can go get some hot chocolate packets from the store.”

“We don’t need packets if you have syrup,” Eddie says.

“I always have syrup. El and Dustin drink chocolate milk every time they’re here,” Steve sits back in his chair. “But is that really gonna make it sweet enough?”

“Trust me, Harrington.”

“I do.”

It’s a loaded sentence, and Steve recognizes almost immediately that it’s a bit heavy for a very simple discussion about hot chocolate. His face is warm as he reaches over to grab another pickle from the jar.

“So…I can be here around eight?” Eddie continues after a long pause.

“Yeah, man, sounds good.”

Eddie reaches over Steve to get another pickle from the jar. Steve holds his breath as their arms brush against each other. His heart stops for a moment.

“You know, Wayne always says I gotta find someone just as weird as me. I don’t think he meant this, but maybe it’s that simple.”

Steve blinks, staring ahead so he doesn’t do something stupid like stand up and kiss Eddie or pull him into his lap. Now’s not the time to explore the feelings he’s had simmering in his gut for months, not when Eddie has to go to work. They’ve got plans later, maybe he can be brave about it then.

“Anyways! See ya later, Steve.”

Eddie leaves. Steve waits until he hears his truck start up before he throws his head back and groans. He’s ridiculous.

The phone rings and he groans again. He’s almost positive he knows who it is, and her timing is always impeccable.

“Hello?”

“Steve. You have to hear what Keith just told a customer. We would have been fired it it was us,” Robin whispers into the phone.

“Are you calling me while Keith is next to you?”

“Obviously I am.”

Steve huffs a laugh. “What did he say?”

“He told them that if they wanted to watch kid movies as an adult, they should keep that to themselves,” Robin sounds half-crazed. “I promise it sounded more scathing when he said it. The customer left and said he’d never come back. But I always got the creeps from that guy anyway. You know the one who always asks if I turned 18 yet?”

“Gross. Hate that guy. Maybe he won’t come back,” Steve says as he closes the peanut butter jar. “Hey, you know how I have a crush on Eddie?”

“Duh,” Robin says, half-distracted.

“Think I’m gonna do something about it tonight.”

He’s met with silence.

“You there?”

“I’ve been trying to get you to do something about it for a month now. Why tonight?”

Steve looks at the jar of pickles and smiles. “Because our weird matches.”

“O…kayyyy. You’re probably right about that.” He hears Keith say something about getting off the phone. “I gotta go, but good luck with that tonight.”

“Thanks, Robs. Do you like pickles dipped in peanut butter?”

“That’s disgusting, Steve. Seriously.”

“Just checking.”

“Do you?” Robin asks, but Keith starts yelling about personal calls on the clock and she rushes to hang up the phone before he can answer.

Steve hangs up and leans his head back against the wall.

“He matches my weird,” Steve sighs, smiling to himself.

[gracie-eilish]

Could you please do something where reader is like super introverted but comfortable around billie (cuz they're dating 😛) and one day reader is just yapping so much like ranting, but then she realizes she's talking a lot and gets embarrassed and starts to apologize a bunch but billie finds it absolutely adorable when she gets passionate about things since its not too often she does it?

an: thanks for the requestttt babyyyyy:) i hope i like itttt🧡🧡🧡

Heart Eyes😍

It wasn’t often that you talked this much.

Billie knew that.

She knew you were quiet, introverted—the kind of person who preferred listening over speaking, who felt more at home in the background rather than the spotlight. She never minded. If anything, she loved it, loved the way you opened up just enough for her, how you never felt the need to fill the silence when you were together.

But sometimes… sometimes when you two were alone, you got carried away.

Like right now.

You weren’t even sure what had started it. One moment, you and Billie were curled up on the couch, her fingers lazily tracing patterns against your thigh, the two of you basking in that warm, easy silence you always fell into. And then—you started talking.

It was something small at first. Maybe a comment about a show you had been watching, something that had been bothering you about a certain character.

“I just don’t get it,” you huffed, shifting against the cushions as Billie let out a small hum of acknowledgment. “Like—why would they build up this whole storyline just to throw it away? Do they not understand how character arcs work?”

Billie smirked, eyes flicking up from where her head rested against your shoulder. “Oh no,” she teased. “Here we go.”

You shot her a playful glare, but that only encouraged her grin.

“I’m serious, Billie!” You sat up a little straighter, suddenly feeling the need to gesture as you spoke. “They spent three seasons setting this up! And then what? They just—throw it away like it’s nothing?” You scoffed, hands flying in frustration. “What was even the point? It’s lazy writing, that’s what it is. They had so much potential, and they ruined it!”

Billie watched you with an amused glint in her eyes, her lips twitching like she was holding back a smile.

“I mean, tell me I’m wrong,” you pressed, turning to her expectantly. “You know it was bad. Like, objectively bad.”

Billie finally let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “Oh, babe, I’m not about to argue with you. You’re on a roll right now.”

That only fueled you more.

“Exactly! And it’s not even just this show—writers always do this! It’s like they don’t trust the audience to appreciate a slow-burn arc anymore.” You sighed dramatically, running a hand through your hair. “Like, God forbid they actually develop their characters instead of just rushing to wrap things up in the most unsatisfying way possible.”

Billie let out another hum, her fingers absentmindedly tracing circles against your knee. “Mm, sounds like someone should just write their own show.”

You paused, considering. “Honestly? I could do a better job than half these people.”

Billie snorted. “No doubt.”

“I’m serious!” You shifted to face her more fully, your expression animated. “If I ever wrote a show, I’d actually respect my characters. I wouldn’t just throw out their development for shock value.”

Billie’s grin widened. “Oh, I believe you, baby.”

You went on, too caught up in your thoughts to notice the way she was looking at you.

“And another thing,” you continued, “it’s like they don’t even watch their own show. How do you write for characters you clearly don’t understand? How do you spend years creating something just to betray the entire foundation of what made it good?”

Billie bit her lip, watching as your hands gestured wildly, your eyes practically glowing with passion.

You barely stopped to breathe, completely wrapped up in your rant. “And don’t even get me started on how they completely sidelined the best character. Like, hello? They deserved way more screentime—”

Then, suddenly, mid-sentence—

You froze.

Your face went hot, your stomach flipping as you realized just how much you had been saying.

“Oh my god,” you breathed, your hands immediately retreating to your lap. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

You turned to Billie, half-expecting her to look overwhelmed, or maybe even a little annoyed.

Instead—

She was staring at you.

Like, full-on staring.

Her blue eyes were impossibly soft, lips slightly parted, and if you weren’t mistaken—her cheeks were a little pink.

She looked completely entranced.

“Billie?” You blinked, suddenly very aware of how quiet the room had gotten. You shifted under her gaze, ducking your head as embarrassment settled in your chest. “I was totally rambling, I—I didn’t even let you say anything. I’ll stop now.”

But then Billie melted.

Like, literally melted.

She let out the softest little sigh, her entire body going warm against you as she reached forward, cupping your face with both hands. Her thumbs brushed over your cheeks, her expression so stupidly in love that you felt even more flustered.

“Are you kidding?” she whispered, her voice dipping into something soft, something almost dazed.

You swallowed, blinking rapidly. “W-What?”

Billie’s smile was slow, her lips curling at the edges like she couldn’t contain it.

“That was adorable.”

Your stomach flipped.

Your lips parted, but before you could even think of what to say, she was already leaning in, pressing the softest, most lingering kiss to your forehead.

“Baby,” she murmured, her nose brushing against your skin as she pulled back just enough to meet your eyes. “You never talk that much, and I swear I have actual heart eyes watching you right now.”

You made a noise in protest, your face burning. “Billie—”

“No, seriously,” she insisted, grinning now, her fingers sliding down to gently cradle your jaw. “You were so passionate, I could feel how much you cared, and—ugh, you’re just so cute.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Stop.”

Billie giggled—an actual, breathless little giggle.

She pried your hands away from your face with ease, tugging them into her lap before lacing your fingers together.

“Why are you embarrassed?” she teased, tilting her head. “I loved it. Love when you talk like that.”

You chewed on your lip, still trying to process the ridiculous amount of fondness in her eyes. “…You do?”

Billie sighed dramatically, squeezing your hands. “Baby. I love everything about you.”

You exhaled slowly, the warmth in your chest growing until it was almost unbearable.

Billie beamed, looking entirely too pleased with herself. “Now—go on.”

You blinked. “What?”

She grinned. “Keep talking. I wanna hear more.”

Your heart stuttered.

You hesitated, but the way she was looking at you—the way she was practically soaking up your every word—it made the nerves melt away just enough.

So you did.

You kept talking.

And Billie listened.

She held onto your every word like it mattered, like you mattered.

And maybe, just maybe—

You’d let yourself get carried away more often.

[fumifooms]

Kabushuro

Kabru can fix Shuro I think. It’s cute how surprisingly similar they are...

Okay so they're a "we have similar issues" type of duo and the key word is performance.

1) They both treat socializing as a battleground, as a scripted dance there are right and wrong ways to act in, Kabru uses words and social relations as his weapon, especially as someone who was always disempowered otherwise in his life, and Toshiro from his noble background was raised in a very strict stifling way where rules, hierarchy and the importance of social cues were drilled into him. To kabru, being liked was what got him and continues to get him shelter at the island (his landlord even cleans his room for him) and what got and continues to get people to listen to him. To Toshiro, a right conduct is what gets him approval and what upholds the honor of not only him but his entire family and household, it's not just pressure but also his way to feel loved- which never worked with his dad. Kabru's dad left his mother when Kabru was born and Toshiro's father would never take interest in his sons, nothing they could do was grand and impressive enough, preferring instead to travel and horse around despite being a man of great import and military achievements. Community & social success are very important to Kabru and duty and societal approval are very important to Toshiro. Toshiro wants to fit into the expectations placed upon him and Kabru wants to wield social approval to better turn around and change these expectations and that pressure, work towards a society with less need to conform where more people can come to and find a safe home. Toshiro almost dreads his future role, while power couldn't come to Kabru fast enough.

2) They both repress themselves. While Kabru is a malleable tool to even himself, Toshiro's identity and demeanor is rigid, it's just not his own- but something he thought he had to replicate. They both suppress their true selves and their feelings to be more pleasing to the people around them and society and leave very little time for self-care. Neither have people they can truly be themselves with, Kabru not wanting to be vulnerable with anyone even his childhood friend Rin who went through similar trauma, and Toshiro having to be the honorable heir with everyone he interacts with, even feeling like he was betrayed by his mother figure Maizuru he loved when it turned out she also bent her spine for his (in his opinion) good-for-nothing father- he's constantly shadowed by his bodyguards, constantly monitored!!

Like the thing that gives them stress and that gives them validation is sorta the same (achievements & family expectations, understanding and playing people to get to goals) and like……………. Idk

They’re like. Parrot vs parakeet… They share the same cage and Kabru parrot is singing and playing with the enrichment puzzle toys and doing little dances meanwhile Toshiro is huddled in the corner quiet in a ball. Birds are stressed smart animals lol this makes sense to me.

Sooo they're both repressed guys who approach social relationships with a facade and hold the community & world's wellbeing above their own. They do have a lot of differences as well though, like how Kabru is so much more active than passive and paves his own path, meanwhile Toshiro has a hard time leading and tries much more to stay confined in the rigid structure of his life- again being malleable and adaptable vs rigid to a fault. They're both STRESSED and they both hate OPENING UP!

We see Kabru get Toshiro out of his shell a bit :) Though pushing Toshiro to be more active is something we see a couple people do in general, like how Namari dragged him into the "Asivia is causing problems in the party" pre-canon Laios party conversation. But where does this even go from there I hear you ask.

Well thankfully for us, Kabru likes figuring out people and Toshiro does crave some connection, as seen with Falin. Toshiro meeting someone not from the East who is still familiar with eastern customs (okonomiyaki for example), not enough to criticize Toshiro for doing things wrong but enough that Toshiro can relax around him. Knowing his intents get across. It’d be relaxing for Toshiro for sure to be around someone who like, gets social cues almost effortlessly. Kabru would seem to always read him so well even when he can’t express how he’s feeling and, even though it’d also be a bit (lot) scary in a feeling naked and you can’t hide anything from him way, it’d be soothing to know that literally like, that he doesn’t have to put up a front yes (because it'd be useless, Kabru sees A L L)- but also that he doesn’t have to even really communicate verbally almost, which he finds somewhat hard to do. They do still communicate very easily together though! Toshiro is good at picking up on things so he's not oblivious to Kabru's scheming and shrewdness, which makes their relationship easier to both work and be healthy imo.

They gain a sense of complicity pretty quick in canon. Chapter 32 my beloved. I love how he implicitly answers Toshiro's "Is that all?" later with Namari. He borderline opens up more to Toshiro that he's known for a couple days at most than he has to his own party he's known for years.

They just hang out and they tune to each other’s moods and the worries of the rest of the world around them melts a bit... Eventually. When Toshiro starts to actively notice things about Kabru back is when shit gets real on his end like oh... Oh shit…….

Reciprocity is so so interesting to think about especially with Kabru, always. It’s easy when it’s kind of like a play and attending to the other's every need and want just the right way, but then they want you to be part of the equation, what they want is you and not just what you offer them and suddenly it’s…… Not safe, or easy.

Thinking again about my theory that Shuro’s nightmare is just a barely exaggerated day at his house… The dread and suffocation and exhaustion of having eyes and all the weight of honor and behavior constantly follow him wherever he goes, pick his every movement apart. Benichidori style... But like, and how kabru doesn’t need Toshiro to tell him about that nightmare in specific to pick up on his less than ideal childhood. And kabru was in kind of a similar situation of feeling trapped at home by his parent too. Bonding, slowly but surely...

Kabru pulling the same strings he did on Dia’s boyfriend until Shuro’s a tearful mess (still barely holding them back). I do think he’d be a harder challenge, he’s way more repressed, less social and open and in touch with himself, unlike Dia’s fiance who’s all fiery I bet and seemdd to know what was the real issue bothering him… I think it’d be like enrichment for Kabru. Someone to get to know and it’s a lot of back and forth and mutual effort- Kabru’s very used to just, either pushing or receiving a ton in relationships, having people load their feelings and expectations onto him, reserved Toshiro would be refreshing I think. Someone who's not particularly interested in Kabru, and someone who wants to be focused on and looked at just as little as he does. It’s not like Laios where he has important motives to crack his mystery, the stakes are low he can just chill and enjoy trying to figure him out for the sake of genuine curiosity and a lil something in the air whenever they interact. They’re intriguing.

King of staying in his lane looking like a kicked puppy in his noble suit vs king of putting his nose in everyone’s business everywhere for the greater good getting to just have this thing that’s unprofessional and has no reason to be yet feels nice.

They should have regular meetups at the ramen joint, okonomiyaki trio ftw. A mutual letting down of walls in their offwork hours <3 It helps that he's already seen Toshiro at his worst I think. Kabru could even just hit him up sitting with him with a drink for a bit at the ending feast or something and they form a lil friendship :>

In a kabushuro timeline that adheres to post-canon would Toshiro live in Merini or would they be long-distance… Courting through letters and diplomatic travels as ambassadors…… Timeline where Kabru doesn’t become advisor and instead lives as Toshiro’s husband & like second head of the family is interesting… Although Kabru cares about using his politician status for change & greater good. I also do love Toshiro giving up on the heirdom too lowkey. See though the thing is that toshiro is ALSO about greater good, what he & traditions say is anyways, and it's stated that when he becomes the new head of the family things improve in the household- he's a better, more conscientious leader. Advisor x family leader kabushuro where Toshiro pushes for good Wa-Melini relations and an alliance... Every which way is neat

I need a fic where they just self-care and have a slow day hanging out together is the thing. They need a day at the spa (Toshiro needs a day playing in the mud actually but idk they can go to camping spa). Shuro takes a mud bath and realizes he’s entertaining himself by letting the mud drip from his fingers into a little pile on the rim. Even for small habits and stim he'd be super repressed I feel but finding subtle ways to stim king... Would kabru be good at massages? He 1000% knows how to massage out a knot in shoulders, it's a good way to get into people’s good graces... Kabru "I could help you to relax :)" especially if early on and he wants info/to have Toshiro as an ally. Shuro just melts into a puddle because he *really needed* a massage from someone (outside of the family). Didn’t feel like he’d have to continue performing. He knows human anatomy real well and stuff I bet if he tried he could even do acupuncture… Toshiro prob needs to get half-naked which makes him all 😖 but he gets over it and gets comfier the longer it goes on. Kabru’s satisfied/proud when he notices Toshiro’s discomfort get worn down over the minutes until he’s fully relaxed. Thank you @/saccharineomens for the brainstorm <3 God you just know they’d be in a situation where they’re sitting next to each other, having a real heart to heart, and kabru gently puts a comforting hand on Shuro’s leg while nodding sympathetically at him, and Shuro gets a little flustered at what appears to him to be a rather forward move lol.

Kabushuro eventually having the meanest gossip like just absolutely unleashing their pettiness together, I’d love to see it. They've got it in them I know it

The planning plotters...

[bones4thecats]

Hello, can do resquest, Poseidon, Hades, Loki and Thor x Valkyrie reader, who is the mother of all Valkyries, This is what it looks like, https://es.pinterest.com/pin/890657263798502008/

❥· Nurture vs. Nature, Multi-RoR × F! S/O

Characters: Poseidon (🔱), Hades (💀), Loki (🐍), and Thor (🌩️) A/N: This is another favorite of mine. I love this thing so much, and I hope you like it as well, @zinnia1506! ✎ Summary: After the loss of your adoptive son, Zerofuku, you made your thirteen daughters, whom were named after your title of the 13 Valkyrie Sisters. But, after the setting of Ragnarok, your relationship molds over with hatred with your oldest.

┍━━━━━━━━━━━━━☽【❖】☾━━━━━━━━━━━━━┑

Looking at the sky with an empty expression, you took each breath in slowly. You felt empty, incomplete, someone would say. But, in reality, you felt normal. This was your normal.

Each cloud moved by with each passing second. While other Gods and Goddesses would see this as useless, this was the only thing you wanted to do for your pass-time. It was quiet, peaceful.

Small footsteps behind you made your eyes open, there, standing behind you, was the young God you were in charge of watching. "Zero. Do show me, how would you draw that flower?" You asked. The young, child-like god, smiled and grabbed some nearby flowers, using them like crayons on the paper you summoned for him.

"This is how you do it, Lady Valkyrie!" He joyfully said. You watched as he used the flowers to color the pink petals, before searching for a green item for the stem and leaves. As he ran around, your eyes shimmered. For some reason, being around Zerofuku made your life feel more welcoming, open even.

Before you knew it, Zerofuku handed you the paper. You took it in your hands gently and looked over his work. Every detail was there, which surprised you. The way he highlighted the sun's rays hitting the petals to the shadows cast in opposition made your eyes widen slightly.

You breathed out and smiled gently, though it was covered by your mask. Zeroufku felt your mood lighten and he began to shake in happiness himself. "Do you like it?" He asked. "Of course. You did a wondrous job on it, child."

"Thank you!" He replied. "Would you like it back? I'm sure it would be a lovely addition in your home." You said. Zerofuku looked at you and shook his head, pushing the drawing back into your chest. "No. Go ahead and keep it! Besides, you seem to like it more than I do!"

That was when you knew it. You wanted to feel this all the time. So, you began babysitting Zerofuku more and more. But, you regretted the one day you didn't. That was the day he went to Earth and never returned.

Tears fell from your eyes as you sobbed at the same spot as you were that day. You never wanted this feeling again... you needed to find a way around this...

-

🔱 You looked at the aquatic animals swimming around. The blow-fish looked at your finger, following it as you lightly drug it across the glass keeping you separated. Poseidon observed you from behind, his trident on the ground as you observed the fish.

🔱 Poseidon sighed internally and walked up to you, and, once you heard the sound of his weapon, your branch-shaped hair moved slightly, much like the ears of an animal. You turned around and looked into the blue eyes of your husband.

🔱 "What did Zeus do this time?" You asked. He shook his head, "This was not Zeus' doing. Rather, it was your oldest, Brunhilde's." You froze, eyebrows furrowing as you questioned what he meant. After all, Brunhilde didn't speak out against the Gods that often. It was always with you when she did it.

🔱 "She declared Ragnarok. Zeus accepted and is currently scrolling through the nominees for the Gods' Team." He replied, eyes watching the octopus Göll, your youngest, affectionately named Ink. "She opposed the Gods and is fighting for Humanity, isn't she?"

🔱 "Yes." He said. Your eyes went to the floor. This was not something you wanted to happen. For years, you raised those girls to help the Gods. NOT help the humans. The humans that tore your once-beloved son from you.

🔱 "I would like to fight." Poseidon's eyes widened slightly, looking down at you with his grip tightening on his trident. "No. I will not allow it."

🔱 "Poseidon, it is my choice. I'm not fighting for the honor of the others, but for the honor of my son." You said, eyes darkening in anger. "Zeus already asked me to fight in Ragnarok. I will be taking your place. No matter the outcome, the girls will need you. Our boys will need you." He said, motioning to your five sons, Polyphemus, Triton, Orion, Theseus, and Aeolus, running around happily, unaware of the chat between their parents.

🔱 You looked back to the ground, sorrow filling your form. In the action of making your thirteen daughters out of enchanted clay, you wanted to feel the love you felt for Zerofuku, but, Brunhilde threw that away. Like a rag used up.

🔱 Just as Poseidon began walking away to grab your sons to bring inside, you grabbed his loincloth-like fabric around his waist and said, "Please. Just, don't hurt any of the girls." He looked into your eyes, blue into blue, and blinked.

🔱 "Alright." He said, leaning in and kissing your head, in a way to comfort you in this mind-racing time. "The boys and I will be inside soon."

-

💀 Your husband sat beside you in your bedroom. Tears were falling from your eyes silently. That day was horrible. You declared you weren't going to speak to your daughters until Ragnarok was over, saying you needed time to even out your situation during the battle. Hades, your husband, patted your back through everything.

💀 A letter had been delivered by Hermes to you from Brunhilde. In this letter, she declared she, and her sisters -- your other daughters -- would be performing Völundr with their assigned human fighters. You were in distress, you already lost your son, how could you lose your daughters too?!

💀 Hades leaned his head on yours, silently helping you. He could hear the first round of Ragnarok playing in the background on your holographic-television. It was when it was over, that you both heard the announcement of Lü Bu, the first human fighter, dying.

💀 The God of the Underworld's eyes widened in surprise, not at the fact that the human died, but at the fact that one of his step-daughters, that he loved just as much as you did, sacrificed herself for humanity. Were they really that amazing?

💀 "No... Randgriz... my baby..." You sobbed harder now, tears falling heavily as your hands covered your eyes. Hades' eyes began to water now. Randgriz was one of his favorite step-daughters. He loved the light and love she brought to the Underworld, to his life, and the way that she cared for everyone, no exceptions.

💀 A knock on the door alerted you, but, you made no effort to move. Hades, who wasn't crying nearly as hard as you were, stood up and answered. "Who is it?" He asked.

💀 "Papa?" A little voice said. Looking down, there stood your youngest child, Zagreus. He looked up with tears threatening to fall down his cheeks. "Is Randgriz okay?"

💀 You ran up to Zagreus, and enveloped him in a hug. Zagreus, who was surprisingly smart for a child of his age, hugged you back, understanding what was happening now.

💀 Hades frowned and kneeled in front of your both, wrapped his arms around you two and began to cry. Your sniffs pained him, as did his son's. You made those girls to help with your emotions, to keep your happiness around. Yet, you neglected the thought of losing them like how you did Zerofuku. You protected them for years, and, despite all your effort, you were losing them all over again.

-

🐍 Loki knew your daughters well. He was around, what a human would say 20s, in age when they were sculpted by your hands by enchanted clay. You asked if he could watch over them for years when you were busy, and he did so pretty well. Sometimes, it felt like your daughters were babysitting him though.

🐍 You observed as Loki played with your three children, your daughter, Hel, and your two sons, Fenrir and Jörmungandr. Loki danced around them, Fenrir shapeshifted into his single form; a large wolf, while your other son became his only form; a large serpent. Hel just wrapped her arms around her father's neck as he flew around, playing tag with them.

🐍 "Come on, Dad! You're going to high up!" Fenrir called. Loki merely laughed and told them to try harder in catching him. Jörmungandr looked at you and silently asked for help. You smiled gently and called for your husband, making him freeze and call back to you.

🐍 Just then, your sons tackled Loki, making him yell and fall down to the ground. "Gotcha!" The boy-turned-serpent yelled. You kept a smile up, but it vanished when you heard your husband's name being called from behind you.

🐍 Loki looked up and put his daughter on the ground next to her brothers. "Let me guess, little old me is up next?" He asked Thor, who was tasked by his father, Odin, to retrieve his cousin. "Yes."

🐍 Thor looked at you and nodded back to you after you motioned for him to take your three kids away. They happily jumped with Thor, on their way to sit with their Grandpa and their Uncle. You then looked at Loki and then down at the ground, asking him if he was sure about doing this. "After all," you added, "Poseidon, Heracles, Hajun, Hades, hell, even Susano'o No Mikoto now... what if you're next?"

🐍 "Love. I know you lost five of the girls, but, believe me when I say this: I will make sure I get back to you, and... hopefully keep whatever Valkyrie chosen alive." He said, his hands holding your face as he stares into your eyes.

🐍 "I'll come back." He said. "I love you."

🐍 You smiled and kissed him, he hummed happily before taking your hand and walking with you back to his room to get ready for his round.

-

🌩️ Thor cared for your daughters. He was someone you cared for deeply, and, since he wasn't biologically related to them, it comforted you that he still put effort into acting like a father. Your emotions actually came out with him, and it did make your girls proud when you married Thor and not someone like Zeus.

🌩️ You've been married for years, and for those years, he and you parented Móði and Magni, your twin boys. As you raised your two biological children, Brunhilde began to separate herself from you, leaving you feeling a hole again. And, with no other ideas, you tried to connect with her again, only to be shocked when she told you she didn't want contact again.

🌩️ Odin told you it was most likely due to 'teenage-angst', but, after hearing she proposed Ragnarok, you were heartbroken once again. You looked at her, and, when she eyes connected with yours coldly, you leaned your head onto Thor's shoulder.

🌩️ You stayed with Thor the entire time, only being away from him due to the first round. And, after it was over, you tried talking to Brunhilde, only for her to ask if you were happy with yourself.

🌩️ "What are you talking about, Brunhilde?" You replied. "You know what I'm talking about! Your husband! He just killed your own daughter! How can you pick him over us?!"

🌩️ "I'm not picking him over you, 'Hilde! Do I have to spell it out?! I made you all because I wanted you guys! I wanted children to call my own!" She scoffed and rolled her eyes. "Yeah, right. We're nothing but animated clay to you. You were never, and will never be my mother."

🌩️ Your eyes widened in shock as Brunhilde walked away. Shock was all you felt. After everything you gave her; your time, your care, you love, and she just says it was all nothing to you. Your boys just stood beside you, also shocked. You were an excellent mom, they've seen the photos and videos of you raising your girls. Why was she hating you so much?

🌩️ "Fine... have a good rest of the tournament, Brunhilde." You said, walking away with your boys trailing you. Thor, who was watching from behind a nearby pillar, was upset. He saw you care for Brunhilde and your daughters, you just struggled expressing emotions when it comes to loss. How does she not, in her millions of life with you, understand that?

🌩️ "Brunhilde." He said, causing the eldest Valkyrie to turn around and look at her step-father. "What?" She replied. "You've wanted to know why your mother made you, correct?"

🌩️ "Yes."

🌩️ "I think it's time I tell you."

┕━━━━━━━━━━━━━☽【❖】☾━━━━━━━━━━━━━┙

[mysteryanimator]

Ok so this a word ramble that I originally shared to a few folks, and then went “what the hell sure” and I’m sharing this here. Though this is more word ramble rather than structured then anything I’ve written analysis wise. The only reason why it’s less structured then what I normally do is because if I were to do this properly, I would genuinely go make a PowerPoint and multiple animatic examples to prove a point for a made up what-if 😭 I have to go be productive haha

Ok here we go

How we could have a Mizrak and Olrox intimacy scene actually work

This is hypotheticals I’m not actually trying to say it should be this way, I’m just really interested on this concept because it CAN work and it makes my brain excited. Also side point- you can also very easily achieve all of these scenes without a sexual intimacy scene as well, it’s honestly just up for can be portrayed and want needs to be conveyed to the audience. As long as the main ideas that need to be said are said!

I’ll preface beforehand too, this will be having Mizrak in particularly lean into a more positive viewpoint on it simply because I think we need more positive accepting sex scenes in animated queer scenes, especially with a repressed gay man coming to accept vampirism aka queerness. I think that’s neat in contrast to a lot of intimate scenes that aren’t so positive :D this also means a lot of it will come with my a lot of my own personal opinions!!

First of all, it would build an entirely new perspective on mizrak for us as an audience! There is so much we viewers that we do not know about him. Yet Olrox is so comfortable sharing alot of his emotional vulnerabilities to him, unlike Drolta in the graveyard scene. This type of physical intimacy literally has some baring their entire self to someone else. Nakedness is vulnerability. Mizrak is also a ‘warrior monk’ who wears armour. So you’re literally stripping him of not only his armour, we’re stripping him of the label he’s had since who knows how long. We go from warrior monk to just Mizrak. Every single scene of him in Nocturne is just defined by his monk title, never Mizrak. Which is also why it’s hard for a lot of us to imagine him in clothes other than his monk attire.

His monk attire is now however gone because drum roll. He’s a VAMPIRE. This is important I swear!

(Side tangent his ‘rebirth’ scene at the end of episode 08 when he’s revealed to be a vampire was unbelievably really fucking good)

He’s going to be dealing with a lot of self identity issues, his self image and how he feels about himself. He was already pretty repressed beforehand, and now all the walls are crashing down. Firstly as mentioned before, nakedness is a form of vulnerability. It would be such an interesting and unique way to showcase an acceptance of his identity. It’s both of his new identity of vampirism but also his identity of being queer. Almost as if having the reverse occur in the story of Genesis, where Adam and Eve become ashamed when they realised they’re naked. The opposite happening for Mizrak would be just interesting!

Another point is that we can explore Mizrak’s acceptance of vampire’s having a soul/life! I semi-explored the concept in an animatic not that long ago just because the idea just intrigues me sooooo much. I kinda want to explore it further but busy atm 😔, though I would genuinely make space and time to work on something like that regardless of what show/film it is. Emmanuel learns the concept that vampires/night creatures have souls, that they remember their lives beforehand when he turns Drolta into a night creature. It is totally up to audience interpretation if Mizrak recognises learns vampires have souls through this line:

“If you have a soul Olrox, and maybe you do, I hope it finds peace.”

However, through an intimacy scene, you could absolutely cement Mizrak learning then and there Olrox does indeed have a soul. Solely because, I’m going to get pretty NSFW here, Olrox is reacting to Mizrak, he’s reacting to what’s happening to each other BAHAHA. He’s getting emotionally invested in the moment, beyond the physicality, which could click something in Mizrak’s brain. There is a life to Olrox because that vampire is sweating and moaning HAHAHAH, which if he were to be truly soulless and lifeless, he would not be doing all of that. He’s a breathing, living person who has a soul. Ensue Mizrak accepting and giving in 🏃

Sure this probably happened between episode 3 and episode 4 in season 1, but for us to only see it now would mark an importance for Mizrak. It’s important for us as an audience to see this recognition because it will fundamentally change him and progress both their narratives. Every Mizrak and Olrox scene from episode 03 of season 1 to episode 08, something changes and something moves forward.

Speaking of life, Olrox has not been living. He’s depressed and traumatised. He’s the what-if he just killed the person who killed his lover dilemma for Dracula (thank you Tack for that!) He hasn’t lived since his lover died UNTIL Mizrak. I personally haven’t had seen so much life in him until he was fighting Drolta, saw Mizrak wounded and then started RUNNING??? It’d be really interesting conceptually to see Olrox be ‘alive’ in a much more safer private space, just between him and Mizrak!

This is also something you can very very easily achieve in 2-3 minutes, which is how long most of their scenes together are because they’re side characters. Or even less, 30 seconds it’s entirely possible to convey all of the above in little time. Power of visuals is important!!! Censoring is also not an issue too, I think you could censor this to hell and back but with smart and powerful storyboard choices from whoever gets the blessing to do it, concrete writing, you can actually have something that goes along narratively with the love theme in Nocturne and it’s positive influence on people. Mizrak’s self-acceptance and Olrox’s life reinvigorated. Of course everything beforehand has to build this up to this before it happens. Me, the brainrot person I am, recognises how hands are like a super important thing for them so it would be very cool to have that incorporated in somehow. Also, having the Olrox holding Mizrak from behind thing come up again, but with Mizrak accepting it properly and leaning back into him (or even Mizrak holding Olrox from behind) during a scene like this?? During a emotionally and physically vulnerable moment? Actual shockwaves I tell you, I think you’d have the whole fan base in tears.

There are nuances here, visual metaphors to play off, unique storytelling pathways it could go down, interesting characterisation you specific to sex and so forth!

Anyways that’s my proper ramble for the week, I hope you enjoyed my season 3 episode 6 pitch (massive joke I’m joking I’m joking, tho honestly would be so funny though if I could pitch something like because I will do my proper research, I will pull up statistics if I must and make visuals. Though I generally do understand how intimacy scenes don’t happen often, though Cativi winning an Annie award would prove to help strength the argument I’m making :D )

[fiveredlights]

under the whispering door by TJ Klune given the maxiel treatment—but i only read the blurb, the top goodreads reviews and the free kindle sample because i haven’t decided if i want to pay $10 to read the book yet

“Ah.” Daniel brings the tea up to his lips, aggressively huffing out short and sharp breaths. The steam bends in Max’s direction, like the chicanes on circuits he’s driven on throughout his whole life. Or well. The chicanes he used to drive on.

Daniel takes a sip, hissing through his front teeth, before biting down on his tongue, cursing the teacup like it personally set out on a vendetta against him. He drops the tea down, the murky brown splashing along the rim and onto the table.

It’s kind of stupid, Max thinks. To be trivialised by silly things like the temperature of tea. It’s not like he could harm himself further.

“My official title is Ferryman,” Daniel continues, looking back up and smiling at Max. He wonders if he bit hard enough if he would still bleed. Can people still bleed here?

Max raises his eyebrows. “Ferryman?”

“You know? Because we ferry people to and from realms. Like a boat.” He holds his fist and pumps it up and down two times. “Choo-choo.”

“I know what a ferry is, Daniel.” If he didn’t watch the dirt be shovelled on top of his casket, Max might’ve thought he was hallucinating. Or in a coma. Maybe both. “And trains make the choo-choo sound, not ferries. Is that how boats sound in New Zealand?”

Daniel, for his part, doesn’t bat an eye. He tilts his head, ever so slightly and leans in, resting his chin on the palm of his hand. Max almost tells him to get his elbows off the table. “You and I both know you’ve been to Australia too many times to confuse the accents for another.”

Max blinks a couple times, and Daniel just leans further in, smiling even harder. Another stupid thing, to add to the list. Something deep in his gut swirls larger every second he witnesses Daniel’s smile.

He wants to punch it off his face.

“I’m good at my job, Max,” Daniel says, with an air of almost too much confidence, considering his job is to literally just walk people into the afterlife. A dog could do it. “Best to not keep secrets from each other, hey?”

“If you knew who I was, then why ask anyway?” Max questions.

Daniel seems to seriously consider it, searching Max’s eyes for something. He doesn’t know what he’s looking for, but he’s definitely trying to find something. Maybe he’s a mind reader too.

“I think people are more complex than words on paper,” Daniel replies. Definitely not a mind reader. “I want to know who you say you are.”

Max picks up his tea, watches as Daniel tracks every minuscule movement he makes, eyes flicking down to his mouth as he mimics the two puffs of breath Daniel did minutes earlier. He didn’t need to.

The tea is uncomfortably lukewarm.

“That’s very generous of you,” Max eventually settles on. “Usually people have already decided who I am without even asking or knowing me.”

“Like I said,” Daniel finally drops his chin off his hand and the elbow off the table, leaning back in his chair. “I’m good at my job. That’s why I stay,” he says, grinning.

Most of his shiny pearlescent teeth are on display, and it feels like the grin of a wild and crazed animal trapped in its cage, baring their teeth as a method of distraction.

He would know. Max has spent a long time watching his smile transform into something that could bite. He perfected it enough to sink and burrow underneath his thick skin, so it would be easier to sink it into someone else’s.

“I thought we weren’t keeping secrets from each other?” Max asks, running his tongue on the sharp edges of his upper teeth.

It’s incredibly satisfying to witness Daniel slowly absorb what he’s saying, attempting to shutter himself up before Max can dig any further.

“No. No I guess not,” Daniel echoes, bringing his teacup up, slowly sipping the tea. There’s no slow and sharp huffs of air, just someone who is trying to pretend he hasn’t been pierced through his soul.

It’s too late.

Max has already bitten.

[pukefactory]

Hello hello! I’d love some Sprout or Cosmo headcannons! Or both if you want, up to you. (◍•ᴗ•◍)

Certainly! I wasn’t sure if you wanted x reader headcanons, so I wrote some general ones for each character instead. Apologies if this isn’t what you had in mind.

‧₊˚✩彡 ‧ DOUBLE FEATURE ₊˚✩彡๋ ࣭

✮ Summary: A compilation of headcanons about Sprout and Cosmo

✮ Character(s): Sprout Seedly (Dandy’s World), Cosmo (Dandy’s World)

✮ Genre: Headcanons, SFW

✮ Warning(s): None - Completely Safe!

✮ Image Credits: ZAPZAPPY on Open3DLab.

SPROUT SEEDLY

∇ Sprout is always up before most of the other toons, enjoying the early morning quiet. He uses this time to check the kitchen, plan his day, or make breakfast. If Cosmo isn’t awake yet, he’ll leave a small snack for him before getting to work.

∇ Despite his pushy nature, he’s surprisingly perceptive when it comes to sensing when someone needs space. He doesn’t always respect it, but he at least recognizes when something is wrong. With those he cares about, he tends to linger—watching silently until he’s sure they’re okay.

∇ He has a habit of adjusting his scarf absentmindedly when deep in thought. It’s a leftover tic from childhood, back when the scarf was too big and constantly slipped off. Even now that it fits perfectly, the habit remains.

∇ Baking is one of the few things that can completely absorb his focus. He’s methodical, precise, and refuses to cut corners. When he’s in the kitchen, he expects others to either help or stay out of his way. That said, he gets a little smug when someone compliments his pastries.

∇ He’s oddly competitive about the smallest things. Whether it’s a game, a challenge, or even a staring contest, he refuses to back down. Losing simply isn’t an option.

∇ Though brash at times, he has a strong sense of fairness. He has no patience for dishonesty, cheating, or manipulation. If he catches someone lying, he’ll call them out without hesitation, no matter how awkward it makes things.

∇ While he pretends to be indifferent to affection, he secretly enjoys it. If a friend ruffles his leaves or playfully nudges him, he won’t react much—but his blush gives him away.

∇ Sitting still for too long makes him restless. If forced into inactivity, he fidgets—tapping his fingers, shifting in place, or glancing around impatiently. He needs to feel productive.

∇ He has a soft spot for Pebble, though he’d never admit it. If the rock dog approaches him, he acts indifferent—until he thinks no one is watching. Then, he’ll subtly make sure Pebble is comfortable, maybe even sneaking him a snack.

∇ If someone he trusts asks for help, he drops everything to assist them. No matter what he is doing, if a friend needs him, he’s already on his way.

COSMO

▹ Cosmo’s pockets are always filled with snacks—cookies, candies, tiny pastries—just in case someone needs a pick-me-up. If a friend looks even slightly down, he’s already offering them something sweet before they can protest.

▹ He hums while baking, never sticking to the same tune. If he’s really focused, he starts singing to himself without realizing it.

▹ He has a soft spot for kids and lights up when teaching them how to bake. He’s endlessly patient, carefully guiding them through each step. If a child messes up a recipe, he quickly finds a way to turn it into something new so they don’t feel bad.

▹ He talks with his hands, especially when excited. If he’s explaining a recipe or sharing an idea, his gestures become so animated that he nearly knocks things over.

▹ Though he’s an incredible baker, he rarely eats his own creations. He tastes everything to ensure quality, but he’d much rather see others enjoy his food than indulge himself.

▹ He struggles in high-pressure situations. When overwhelmed, he freezes, looking to Sprout or another toon for reassurance before making a decision.

▹ Sarcasm completely goes over his head. If someone makes an exaggerated statement, he takes it at face value, blinking in confusion before realizing they were joking.

▹ He’s surprisingly meticulous about his hoodie. While it may not look fancy, he keeps it spotless. The moment he notices a stain, he’s scrubbing it clean, and if it ever got torn, he’d be devastated.

▹ Despite his anxious nature, he’s incredibly generous. If a friend admires something he owns, he offers it to them without hesitation, even if it’s something he loves. Their happiness means more to him.

▹ He keeps a small notebook in his hoodie pocket filled with recipe ideas. Some are carefully detailed, while others are scribbled notes like “rainbow star cookies??” or “marshmallow surprise??? (what’s the surprise???)”

[utilitycaster]

As someone who dropped off last year because the aimless indecision annoyed me SO MUCH: the tag being filled with people who feel entitled to a happy ending from entertainment "because the world sucks so bad right now and we need it" is making me feel some kinda way. If the world sucks so bad, maybe put half the effort into making it marginally better that you do defending a DND game? Is that a shitty take on my part, or is there some correlation between "happy ending to make me feel better" and "dooming about politics is action actually"

If it's a shitty take, it's a shitty take I share. I have long suspected a lot of the C3 defenders to be variants on Fandom Is Activism, whether it's having a blog where basically all you do is accuse anyone who has any criticism of any of Bells Hells of the form of bigotry that that character would experience; posting all kinds of tankie propaganda while probably still voting after spending months telling your followers not to; making movie lists with two films about the same group white Vietnam war protestors and four animes and then tossing on the most obvious Iranian and Holocaust films in the context of our current political moment; and whatever has led a bunch of white middle-class southern 20-somethings to decide they are the most oppressed people on earth and deeply lacking in representation on a show where half the entirely white cast is from appalachia or the south; all while talking nonstop over countless nonwhite and non-Christian people in the fandom.

I've already said that I don't find overly sweet fluff where everything works out fine despite anything you do comforting - hell, Sesame Street doesn't have that - and if people do want that, might I recommend Hallmark movies, but I suppose it's fine if you do. It's just...man I could have sworn these same people only a few weeks ago were accusing us evil C2 fans of being mad this isn't a comfort show? must have imagined that.

[nesscel]

hi nesscel, I have a question about your oc! ^_^

has ever Cyril met/interacted with Ness after getting hired into the bllk project? if he did, how was it, and how did he react to seeing him for the first time irl?

I hope the question is not too boring to answer, btw!! I was interested in knowing about the way he perceives Ness now that he has the chance to be closer to him :)

(I saw on ur post that he has his sign, how cute🥲)

they have met! there’s a few scenarios i usually imagine for them that i’ll put under read more ^_^ to make a long story short it’s like this:

for additional context: Cyril and @kaiserposting’s Tsubasa share in the same universe :) so Ness is double crashing out. Why would Lord Kaiser leave me for disgusting bug Isagi and manipulative pest Tsubasa 😡😡😡

and before anime-ntality’s sensors activate and he makes another post about hating women and yumes ruining canon: we changed some details about how project blue lock works so our characters can be there without needing to replace any of the already existing ones and so they can make more money

their first interactions were at various fansigns and on social media, Ness retweeted a picture of the Ness shrine at one point and Cyril got another picture of it signed at the next fansign… just to let Ness know who his biggest dickrider fan was. you get it. so at this point he’s obviously in love and everything is great and even though Ness has to do fanservice and be nice to everyone he’s sweet and beautiful and kind and he’s only saying those things to him ^_^🩷❤️‍🩹

i wanna dump some more backstory. he’s not an “official” bllk staff member and his first job wasn’t even related to managing the program, he was looking for photographer gigs and they hired him to take photos of all the players that they’d sell as signed prints later (let’s be real, he only got hired because he cost less than professional photographers). he offhandedly mentioned that he needed to get a job to Anri who heard “CHEAP LABOR ALERT”, so if anyone asks he’s “from the social program for people with disabilities”. so he basically just does whatever task Anri gives him, like moving crates of water and gatorade or sorting everyone’s medication into little psych ward cups or going to the store because Ego is a little hungover and wants chicken soup and electrolytes. if a beautiful woman told you to do some bullshit then praised you for doing such a good job and handed you some money once in a while you’d do it too.

anyway, this may be wishful thinking but i think Ness would find the concept of someone being that into him a little alluring… especially if Kaiser and him were having marital spats. it feels good af for a bpd to have a groupie. Cyril felt sort of weird seeking out interaction from someone he had a parasocial relationship with, but he was put in a lot of situations where it wasn’t that awkward because Tsubasa and him became basically instant besties, and if Tsubasa is somewhere then Kaiser and Ness are too, so they had a chance to actually get to know each other outside of the idol/fan or work dynamic. Cyril was a bit surprised that Ness was, for a lack of a better term, a weird crybaby theater kid, but they’re both weird freaks who want to have a good day no matter what so he was still like #NeedThat and pined over him and acted tsundere if anyone even mentioned Ness and sighed wistfully watching him from across the field (he’s on the field to take pics of everyone training. BLTV is getting a twitter!)

since i love negativity and suffering sometimes i imagine Cyril actually getting the courage to tell Ness that he likes him and Ness saying that he’s flattered/he likes him too but if he was in a relationship he’d be violating his loyalty to Kaiser and Kaiser is the most important person to him. so all Cyril can do is watch Ness pine after Kaiser and spend his every waking moment with Kaiser and cry over Kaiser and be sad and limerent. YAY!

and then there’s the other scenario where they actually start d*ting… WOJFIDKFODNTRKKFNSSI-8;!:@83);&/6;£[!,*😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮 <- this is what being in love feels like.

cyril is a real lover which is why he asks REAL questions like this ^

(ness would ask people if theyd love him if he was a worm though -_- and he’d be super serious about it 🪱)

[frozenjokes]

grub on grub violence

ao3 link

Cub closed his eyes for a long moment, silent in his thought. This was a dire moment, dangerous for Mumbo and even more so for Grian. There was no room for experimentation or error; fixing this, or at the very least bringing Mumbo to a stable position, had to be decisive.

“Has Mumbo ever killed someone before? A person, anyone, even by accident.”

“No, not to my knowledge at least. I think he’d have told me.” Grian side eyed Cub warily, but if Grian was really committed to this, then now was not the time to be edgy.

“Good. Since he’s going to, and there’s nothing that shakes you quite like the first. Everything about his condition is emotional, that’s why he’s so zeroed in on you. Fixing this is all about what he believes he’s taking away, and with you, he’s hyper aware of exactly the life you’ve made. So you need to find a replacement.”

Cub felt the car slow as Grian stopped paying attention to the speed, a hand falling loose over his mouth. “You want him to kill someone?”

Cub shrugged. “If he’s not been managing himself for multiple months, I doubt anything else will bring him down. I mean, unless you have a family pet? A cat, a bird or something? It needs to mean something, and unless Mumbo grew up being told over and over again that raccoons or whatever else were the superior species and that raccoon life should be revered and cherished above all else, some random animal isn’t going to cut it. Mumbo needs a body to destroy. If it can’t be you, then it’ll have to be someone else.”

“I- But I can’t just let him out on the streets and go ‘Mumbo Jumbo kill!’ He’s not in the right mind to carefully plan a murder, Cub.”

Cub snorted, rolling his eyes, “Of course not, are you crazy? You’re going to do it.”

“What!?”

“You asked for help. I told you how it is. Don’t shoot the messenger.”

“I think you’re a little more than a messenger, Cub!”

“Then die.”

Grian briefly released the steering wheel to pull at his hair in tight fists before his hands shot back to it, swerving to the side of the empty night road and punching on his hazards. “It’s not that simple. This isn’t- This isn’t just an easy decision for me, I’m not like you, murder means something. Not to mention, it’s a crime!! Do enough successful assassinations make you feel invincible, Cub? I sure don’t!”

“Between yourself, Mumbo, or someone innocent, would you really just let yourself die?” Cub couldn’t believe that- surely if this was a matter of survival, the choice was obvious.

“I’d kill Mumbo,” Grian returned smoothly, so instantaneous that Cub was certain he’d misheard. “Knowing what would become of him after, how many innocent people he would hurt.. I won’t let it happen. But this.. I don’t know. Maybe I just need to accept it’s over. This is the line. Because what happens after this, right?” Grian smiled, and there was no joy. His fingers trembled, but Cub could only stare, heat beginning to simmer his blood. “Would I trade a stranger’s life for Mumbo? Yes, absolutely, but where does it end? I want to. But that’s selfish, isn’t it? I.. I knew what I was signing up for if things went south. I’ve had to do it all before.”

Grian sighed, shaky, head falling back on the seat. He closed his eyes. “Fuck. I wasn’t ready for this.”

Cub unbuckled his seatbelt. Grian didn’t move. In the next moment Cub was over the divider, throttling Grian’s neck. His scream was cut off by Cub’s fingers, then hand as Cub took him by the shirt, slamming Grian against the seat, terrified and near limp in Cub’s arms. “Stupid hypocrite piece of shit-!” Cub couldn’t stop, not even with Grian’s hands clawing at his face, fingers pulling at his chapped lips. He was weak, he was pathetic, his blows to Cub’s face turning fast to desperate grabbing until he fell limp altogether, punched out whines leaving him in gasps at every impact of Cub’s rage.

But Cub got dizzy, then tired, his vision blurred and nearly darkened completely as he lost the ability to hold his head up. Almost gently, his forehead connected with Grian’s, just the place it happened to land in a desperate rest, chest heaving, eyes closed. Grian didn’t move beneath him. For a long, terrifying moment, Cub was certain he was dead. Then Grian released a breath, long and shaky, warm against Cub’s cheek. In that following moment of heightened awareness, Cub felt the whole of him trembling.

Cub lifted his head, still shaking the remnants of his dizziness. Squinting in the dark, he felt around for Grian’s seatbelt, unclicking it. “Out. Get out. I’m driving now.”

Grian blinked his eyes open, lidded and dazed, “You’re stealing my car..?”

“You’d like for that to be the case, wouldn’t you. Get in the passenger seat, you’re not getting out of this.”

“I-“ Grian shut his mouth, perhaps thinking better than to argue, or maybe it was just that struggling to get out from underneath Cub was taking all his strength.

…

It was not going well.

Cub considered just getting out of the car, but then Grian might drive away, and more importantly that would be admitting defeat, so instead Cub attempted to maneuver the both of them to a point where Grian could scramble away, pushing himself against the car door while Grian wheezed and clawed at the divider. They made it work. Eventually. Cub had to slump back in the driver’s seat once he had it to himself, fighting back surprise nausea and the darkness edging his vision. Cub closed his eyes, but sensed Grian shifting in his seat.

“Did you.. get cleared by a doctor to drive? Are you okay?”

Cub huffed through his nose, eyes stubbornly remaining closed. “When’s the last time you think I’ve seen a doctor? It’s been six months, I’m fine.”

“Mumbo’s still seeing a neurologist and a physical therapist- when is the last time you’ve seen a doctor? With the broken arm, you’re already impaired, Cub, if you’re feeling ill then why don’t I just drive? I’ll go wherever you want, I promise, I’m just trying to-”

Cub turned on him, interrupting. “Holy shit, please, god, shut the fuck up.”

Grian pursed his lips. He said no more. Cub sighed, letting his head fall back against the seat. Just a minute or two. He’d be fine. Fucking hell.

Cub’s headache did not subside in the next five minutes. He grit his teeth against it and put the car into drive.

He was rusty after eight years of sparsely sitting in the driver’s seat, though he was a frequent driver before his mother’s death, and whenever it was between Cub and Scar, Cub would not let Scar behind the wheel. Cub was a fine driver, and he knew this area well. He was just. Sick. It was fine. They made it to the forest preserve trails in one piece despite many sharp inhales from Grian. Grian. He had sense enough not to speak at the very least. He did not hold his silence after Cub parked.

“What. Are we doing.”

“We’re going to abduct someone.”

“Oh, fuck.”

“If we run into any issues, try not to shit yourself over it. You know who can take care of it, within reason. We still don’t want witnesses, but memories can be manipulated. What we really can’t do is kill this guy early, because I will stop handling it well.”

“What- What does that mean!?”

“If anyone sees us, I’ll kill them.”

“Oh god.”

“It probably won’t happen. I just don’t have all my tools with me, we have to be careful. We won’t know anything about the person we’re going after, so there are no guarantees. I’m not leaving my own problems up to chance though, if they die, I’m calling for help, and he’ll get us another body.”

“That. Can not happen.”

“No, it’s not ideal, especially when his favorite game is to have spawn kill their guardians.”

Grian sighed, head sliding into his hands. “This fucking sucks, but I.. I can make it easier. I just need a minute. Maybe.. Five. Ten minutes. I need to focus.” Grian was still for a moment, before slowly removing the not-wedding ring from his finger. “I spend most of my days at my limit, I’m sure you know it, the corruption definitely knows. I can manage it by offloading some of the burden to something physical, letting it conduct the protection alongside my own work. It doesn’t last, and it’s not nearly as strong as the raw power from the source, but with daily upkeep, I can assure Mumbo’s violence doesn’t go too far. Maintaining this body and keeping up with Mumbo has been.. damaging, but I hope if I can reabsorb the energy from my ring, I might have enough to.. put whoever we find at peace.”

Cub stared, near blankly. “Well what the fuck is that going to do.”

Grian glared, with almost enough malice to make Cub believe he could do something about it. “It will make them quiet. Calm. Hopefully enough to get them home without a fight, happy?”

“That sounds great, yeah.”

Grian’s lip curled, and he shook his head. “Good. I’m assuming we’re just going to walk down the trail and hope someone’s taking a walk at fuck ass o’ clock-“

“It’s only 8:30.”

“-so if we see anyone, don’t scare them. It’s much harder to fight a panic once it’s already started. Just. Walk next to me. Like it’s normal.”

“Right, yeah, I got that.”

“Okay, now actually be quiet.”

Cub didn’t have to be told twice, his own head aching. The dizziness hadn’t quite gone away, and while issues with balancing had been a reoccurring problem ever since the concussions, Cub was starting to worry it would be bad tonight. Sitting down was one thing, walking was another, but he wasn’t so sure he could trust Grian to go out alone, not when he was so eager to sacrifice Mumbo instead of a stranger. Stupid. If his own surge of anger didn’t immediately intensify the pounding against his skull, he might’ve turned around and taken it out on Grian.

Too soon, Grian opened his eyes, reaching for the door handle. “Come on.”

Cub watched for a moment, a brief dread halting his movement before he shook it away, pushing himself out of the car.

It was bad.

Cub felt weightless and equally heavy, unsure of his feet beneath him and having to actively imagine taking a step to move forward before completing the motion. It was as helpless as being suspended in zero gravity, leaving the crutch that was Grian’s minivan equally as terrifying as having his tether cut in the expanse of space. Cub closed his eyes, was immediately dizzied, then opened them with a short grunt. Fuck.

“What is wrong with you?” Grian hissed, circling back to meet Cub where he was clinging to the hood of Grian’s car, only for Cub to grab at him in hope of a sturdier support, which was stupid in hindsight. Grian was no Scar. But Cub had committed too hard, this was his life now.

“I can’t walk.”

Grian stumbled back, nearly sending both of them to the pavement. “What are you talking about?”

“I fucked something up. It’s over. I can’t walk.”

“You are not getting out of this, I’ll drag your ass on that trail if need be.”

“Just give me a minute.”

A minute helped a little bit. Two minutes helped a little more. Grian had soft hair, and that was nice. A little like Scar’s? Less greasy, decidedly.

“Cub.”

“What.” Cub growled, unable to help himself.

“Did you put on deodorant today.”

“Fuck you.” Cub pushed off of him, swaying a little on his feet, but steadier. Impatiently he grabbed for Grian’s hand, mood further souring when he looked up to see Grian’s smug expression. Augh, moved his head too fast..

“You should really be seeing a neurologist.”

“Let’s just go.”

Cub was still going slow, gripping Grian’s hand like a vice, but this was a manageable amount of unsteadiness, even on the uneven ground of the trail. Staring dead at the ground helped, and the smattering of lights around the park served him well enough, though there were a few times he was sure he was going down, comforted by the fact he was bringing Grian down with him.

Then Grian stilled unexpectedly, turning back on Cub to steady him despite the fact he’d been doing just fine thank you very much, but with Cub’s focus on the ground broken, he too heard the footsteps.

“Are you alright?” Grian spoke too loudly, betraying his nerves, and Cub rolled his eyes, restraining from biting his head off for being an idiot.

“Fine.”

“You’re still trembling, are you sure? You shouldn’t stand up so fast, stay seated until it passes.”

“What the fuck are you-“

“Hey!” Grian flagged down the approaching stranger, tucking his other arm under Cub’s “I’m sorry to bother you, do you have any water? My friend’s really dehydrated, he’s already nearly passed out, and I’m worried it’ll happen again before we make it back to our car.”

Cub saw the stranger approach belatedly, more focused on shoving Grian off him, unsuccessfully. He was tall, brownish-gray hair, possibly in his forties? He looked healthy. Cub didn’t get to look much longer before Grian abruptly left his side, leaving him slightly reeling.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I’m not sure-“ the stranger stopped when Grian touched his arm, eyes widening in mild discomfort, but the expression faded, replaced with a more glazed look, almost uncanny.

“It’s okay,” Grian said, holding on just a few moments longer before releasing the stranger, “But I imagine we’re both going the same way, so why don’t we walk together? Just in case something happens, I’d feel safer-“ Grian choked on the word, eyes suddenly wide and alert, near terror, “Oh, god.”

“Grian-“ Cub tried, reaching to grab him, but the man didn’t seem to understand something was wrong, like his processing has slowed to a grinding pace.

“We’re going the same way,” the man repeated, distant, and Cub might’ve been impressed with the effect Grian’s spell was having if Grian himself wasn’t beginning to hyperventilate. “Sounds just fine.” He started to walk, slow, unhurried. Grian latched on to Cub the same moment Cub lunged for him.

“Pull it together.”

“What are we doing?”

“Saving Mumbo’s sorry life, that’s what we’re doing, so fucking remember that and give me your car keys, because you are not driving home.” Cub yanked the both of them back down the trail, and he was not in a position to catch himself, but Grian managed to stumble steadily enough for the both of them, fishing uselessly in his pants pockets for the keys at Cub’s further insistence.

The entire walk back was nothing short of miserable, and it wasn’t quick either given it had taken them a while to find someone this late. It was lucky their victim seemed to continually forget the both of them were there, especially with Grian mewling like a fucking baby, tears and other fluid leaking out like busted faucet and making him a most unpleasant crutch. Cub was so desperate to stop touching him that he stumbled to the stranger, who didn’t see to care at all once Cub gave a flimsy excuse of weakness. Grian’s whining only got louder, but given the stranger only looked back every once and awhile, the slightest hints of concern tensing his face before, almost forcibly, it all melted away. Frightening.

“We’re going to drive you home,” Cub was curt once they reached the parking lot, trusting Grian to do none of the talking. “You’re not well, you shouldn’t be behind the wheel.”

“I’m not well?” The stranger asked, genuinely confused, but Cub refused to elaborate.

“Just sit tight in the backseat, relax, sleep if need be. We’ll get you right home.”

“My house is just two blocks down, I can walk?”

“No, no, you really shouldn’t. Don’t worry about it, it’s nothing. Consider it a ‘thank you’ for helping me back to my car, I feel much better now.”

“Oh.. okay..” their victim seemed wary, but did not fight anymore, only stopping briefly halfway into the backseat, staring over Cub’s shoulder. “Is he okay?”

Cub looked back.

Grian was shaking like a leaf in a windstorm, impossibly pale, wiping away blood leaking slowly from both nostrils (and possibly his ears?), and still crying.

“Dude, what the fuck.”

When Grian opened his mouth, a small trickle of blood slipped from the side of his lips. “I might be dying. And I deserve it, too.”

“Oh, for fucks sake! Get in the damn car, you’re fine. I don’t want to hear about any holy smiting falling upon you for a crime you haven’t even committed yet.”

“I overexerted my power, Cub. The cost is my body.”

“Oh. Are you actually going to die though?”

Grian rolled his bloodshot eyes, wiping another trickle of blood away with his sleeve. “I guess we’re going to find out, aren’t we.”

“You’d be more of a pain in the ass dead than alive, so you’d better hold on.”

“Whatever,” Grian slid into the car, eyes half lidded. Their victim still looked uncertain, unmoving from their place halfway into the backseat.

“Is he okay?” he asked, again.

Cub shrugged. “Grian’s just relieved I made it back without passing out, that would have been a shitshow.”

“Oh,” the man said, brow furrowing, then relaxing. After another moment, the rest of his tension dissipated. “Alright.”

Cub sighed long when their victim finally got all the way inside, getting into the driver’s seat himself, and locking all the doors. As long as Grian held it together long enough to give Cub directions, this would be the easy part. If he died.. well, Cub still had Mumbo’s address in his phone. This mission wouldn’t be a total bust, even if Mumbo would almost certainly fall under Scar’s jurisdiction. Fine. Whatever.

The drive was short, thank god. Sobbing relentlessly and bleeding from every orifice must have worn Grian out, mostly quiet now despite giving directions, and maybe this put their victim even more at ease, since by the time Cub pulled into the driveway, he was literally asleep in the backseat. Grian slipped out of the passenger’s seat wordlessly, trudging to the front door. Cub woke their sacrifice with a few gentle prods.

“Your brother called, he’s going to pick you up. You fell asleep, we couldn’t get directions from you. You can crash at our place until he gets here.”

The man blinked, eyes glazed by sleep. “I don’t have a brother..?”

“Your sister. I meant your sister.”

“I.. She’s coming all the way from out of town?”

“Yes, she’s coming, so you’d better come inside since you might be here awhile. You can sleep in the bathtub. Trust me, it’s much better than the couch. We’ll turn the lights off.”

The man stared, blank and distant like the words Cub was saying didn’t make any sense at all, but he couldn’t seem to doubt him either. Cub didn’t want to give this guy too much time to think about it, ushering him hurriedly out of the car and shutting the door behind him.

On the walk to the bathroom, Cub stole a, accent pillow and one of Grian’s shitty blankets off the couch, only to see Grian face down and unmoving against the kitchen table on a stray glance- he was probably fine. Cub focused on getting the stranger settled first, sweating a little at some slight resistance, but whatever magic Grian had cast had been powerful, and once Cub got him to lay down, everything seemed to still. Good. Great. This was it.

Cub shut the lights off and closed the door, continuing down the hall. The house was small, only one story, but Cub was still concerned about finding Mumbo’s room until he realized every door in the house was open except for one.

Cub knocked. Immediately, he realized there was no point. The door wasn’t locked. Cub went inside.

The smell hit him first, acrid misery that might’ve been nostalgic if it wasn’t so rank. Grian had clearly attempted to use some essential oils to combat the BO, but Cub was pretty sure the mingling scents combined to make something monstrously worse. Mumbo’s room was not unclean, but sort of scattered, all desks and drawers cluttered with various bits of junk, a few empty glasses, candy wrappers, etc. Too familiar a scene.

Mumbo was buried under the covers of his bed, from which Cub could hear the muffled noise of his phone. Was he pretending not to notice Cub was here? Did he even know this wasn’t Grian?

“Hey, Mumbo. It’s Cub. I heard you’ve been having a rough one.”

That got his attention, Mumbo jolting upward in stark alarm, his phone slipping out of his hands and bouncing sadly off the side of the bed. Cub’s gaze followed it to the floor until Mumbo spoke.

“Cub-? What- What are you doing here-?”

Cub thought about that for a moment. Instantly, he did not want to follow that path any longer. “There’s a stranger in your bathroom,” he said instead, voice even without effort, “He’s middle aged, a lot of life ahead of him. Got a wife, three kids, and neither of them make much money, but they do everything they can not to let the little ones know. They make do. He’s got a sister, she lives out of town, but he wishes they talked more. She’ll be wishing the same soon enough.”

Music suddenly exploded through the house, so loud it made both of them flinch, Cub hissing in irritation. What the hell-? Well, this probably meant Grian was doing okay, or at the very least not dead.

…

Was that fucking Chop Suey?

Cub sighed hard through his nose, rolling his eyes. “For whatever you want, he’s yours. Just make sure it’s quiet, and try to keep the mess contained to the bathtub.”

He left. He did not hear Mumbo move, but did not doubt he would.

Grian was still face down against the kitchen table, but besides a few schmears of blood around the surface, he looked a little less dead than he did twenty minutes ago. Cub sat down across from him.

“Should be good to go.”

“Don’t talk to me.”

Last time Cub checked, it wasn’t Christmas, but this was a gift if ever there was one. He was fucking tired. Severely unfair, given the previously mentioned four hour nap not more than two hours ago, but whatever, the depression-concussion one two punch was what it was. Maybe he could go lay down on Grian’s stupid couch? No, he wasn’t nearly desperate enough for Grian’s stupid couch, he’d rather sleep in the bathtub, but it was occupied. Mumbo’s bed wasn’t occupied. Oh god, but he probably hadn’t changed the sheets in months. Not to mention the smell. Where did Grian sleep? Was his bed as uncomfortable as his couch?

“What the fuck has my life come to.”

Well, that was Cub’s cue to leave. He scooched his chair back, but Grian shot up at the noise, pale expression venomous. “You stay right where you fucking are, you are seeing this through.”

“Is your bed as uncomfortable as your couch?”

“What? What’s wrong with my couch? That’s not-”

“Oh god, well that’s answer enough. Whatever. I’ll take my chances.” Cub moved to stand, jumping when Grian lunged halfway across the table, eyes fiery and face still coated in smeared blood.

“You sit your fucking ass right the fuck back down, you did this, and so help me god, if I want to whinge about it, you’re going to fucking listen.”

“I’d literally rather kill myself.”

“Don’t act like that’s a high bar.”

“What the fuck, man.”

“Sit down.”

If Cub thought about it too long he’d probably have just told Grian to go fuck himself and walk out the door, but his brain was foggy, the music was too loud, and somehow he was already sitting. Honestly if Grian gave himself an aneurysm losing a pissing match against Cub, then all the effort to keep Mumbo sane would be for nothing, so whatever. At the very least, he wouldn’t be here long. Mumbo wasn’t in the kind of state to take his time.

“You have no idea what it’s like to live your life around people who just- don’t think murder is wrong. This is fucking crazy. Everything about this is fucking crazy, and I know that by design you guys don’t really feel guilt over this stuff, you don’t really care at all, but the ease at which you can just say ‘Okay, Grian, we have to kill this guy now!’ and then get mad at me when I say no? You don’t even know Mumbo, and I’ve been working with him for years! Who do you think is actually going to be more upset if he dies?”

“Is it even your life?” Cub picked at his nails, uninterested in any other line of thought.

“What? What are you talking about.”

“You’re not human. Where’d you get the body? Did you steal it? Is there a different soul trapped in there, unable to control himself with you at the reins?”

Grian scoffed, “Obviously not! I’m not a ghost. I was born to human parents, similar to you, but without any need for- human reproduction. Parasitism, a little bit- well, that makes it sound weird. I guess it is a little weird.. but human bodies don’t come out of nowhere! They didn’t know the difference, they were already trying for a kid, I made sure of it. Takes a lot of effort to get a body like this, it’s even worse to move away from everything you’ve ever known just to do what you came here for. But you can’t ignore it, not when the corruption leaves its mark everywhere it goes, and there aren’t nearly enough of you out here putting themselves between it and innocent kids.” Grian sighed, letting his head fall into one of his hands.

“That’s.. It’s difficult to explain, but you don’t maintain your same intelligence outside a human form- or any above-average intelligence creature for that matter. You just Feel. Fear. Anger. This- inescapable drive to do something about it. Corruption can’t commit all these horrible acts without leaving pieces of itself behind; power, mingling with tortured human spirits, lives taken too soon. You don’t remember anything. Not even a name. But you know fear. And if you go down fighting, you don’t let that piece of corruption go, you hold on, you chunk its power like a garden pest to a field of greens. I think that must be how it was, at least. I’m so angry. I care so much. I want so fucking badly for everyone around me to live.”

“Huh. Weird.”

“That it? That’s all you have to say.”

“The human birth thing is kinda creepy. What, do you hang around in the water and wait for a woman to breathe you in, or what?”

Grian rolled his eyes, “It’s not like the way Scar gets his human form is any different, but I’d bet my life he doesn’t give two damns about whether or not the mother wants kids or not! He probably just jumps from person to person after getting aborted five times in a row until he pops out of the womb, then grows rapidly into some kind of monster!”

“Oh, man, your night just got so much worse.”

“What?” When Cub didn’t answer, Grian grew more frantic, “What??”

“Well hello there!” Scar phased through the wall, to the same effect of kicking open the front door to announce his presence, “I just happened to be in the area for no reason in particular when I heard- CUB!? Wh- What are you doing here!? And why wasn’t I invited!?”

“Grian kidnapped me.”

“Grian- What’s with all the blood? And the loud music..? Grian.. did you murder someone in the comfort of your own home and not invite me? Tsk, tsk, y’know, now I’m upset with you!”

Cub shrugged, “He also killed someone, actually. Well. Indirectly.”

“Wait, for real?”

The thump of Grian’s forehead against the kitchen table briefly caught Cub’s attention, but did not distract him for long. “Yeah. We kidnapped someone after he kidnapped me.”

“Congratulations-! Wait a minute, where’s Mumbo.”

Cub pointed down the hall.

“And the person you kidnapped?”

Cub pointed down the hall.

“Oh my gosh, what did you do? To Mumbo- to Grian? And all under my nose, hm? Or did everything crash and burn tonight- Cub! You’re going to have to tell me everything, but right now- oh, I hope I can still catch the tail end!”

“Scar.” Grian growled, lifting his head just enough that you could see his dark eyes under the mess of hair. “Leave.”

Scar turned, almost surprised looking, though everyone in the room knew better than to take him at face value. “I can’t, Grian, I’m sorry. I just can’t. You got some nice quality time without my breathing down your neck, and I can play the long game, but I know when I’m needed. You were a very good dog.”

“No.” The words came through hoarse as Grian lurched to his feet, but Cub saw his legs shake under the table, just as unsteady as Cub when he’d left the minivan at the park.

“You really did a number on yourself this time, didn’t you? Have you ever lost before, Grian, or is this your first? Did you think this could fix him?”

Grian did not answer. Scar was not satisfied.

He crossed the room in an inhuman stride and reached past Grian’s sweater and into his chest, yanking him closer, stumbling against the side of the kitchen table. Grian didn’t make a sound, as if he couldn’t even wheeze.

“You��re so close to shattering, it wouldn’t take much. I don’t want to kill you, Grian, so humor me, please? Is he your first?”

Grian opened his mouth, but no words fell from it. Scar loosened his grip, but did not let go.

“Louder.”

“No.”

“How many?”

“F..” Grian struggled over the syllable, squinting against the humiliation as drool slipped from his lips. “Five.”

“Five!? You’re old, aren’t you! How are you still alive? Surely you’ve caught someone’s notice by now, or did they just let you live? Oohh, I do like you, and what a tragic track record! Alrighty then, why don’t you just sit down.” Unkindly, Scar pushed Grian back down into his chair, holding him for a moment before pulling back, shaking out his now-freed hand of some invisible residue. Grian’s eyes remained lidded, if not slightly rolled back, and his nose started to bleed once more, slow, cruel. He did not wipe the blood away. He did not move at all, if only to bow his head. If Cub did not know Scar so well, he would have been certain Grian was dead.

Scar did not spare Cub a second glance on his way down the hall. He had a different mission now.

[urautismdiagnosis]

(Side tangent not related to ur au):

honestly i see this pop up alot but honestly the concern should actually be for kwazii and not barnacles

Alot of animals esp polar ones prefer to only go after sources of blubber,aka fat, I'm taking some artistic privileges and saying that the fat from fish and dairy is enough to fill that gap but as for my original statement,

Dogs for example are actually omnivores, sea otters can be as well,but cats are strictly a carnivorous species

In my au those diety health needs from irl aren't directly translated but rather inspired so its not really an issue for me, esp with animals like fowl, and hooved farm animals not really being sapient (aware of themselves and surroundings and have judgement instead of simply living based on instinctual impulse and sensations) makes there be less.. uh moral issues for these kinds of things

Although unless its preserved that kind of thing might be hard to have on the octopod, especially if the au has extremely realistic dietary needs like raw meats, altho I suppose freezing could work?

In my own au tho, its more like "the default is that most species can consume some form of meat, its just that some require more and some have evolved to eat it raw in a pinch"

So there are like livestock and etc :/ ofc its alot different from how ours work, like there's less not sapient species to work with, but also there's a decent amount of species whi either rarely eat meat or cant eat that much or only have specific types. The animals that are livestock aren't really that self aware tho and even then their treatment is alot more ethical because of the smaller demand.

there's no "predator prey" species in people. Its like how some cultures irl have more vegan options and others don't, and how some people are lactose intolerant and others aren't

I find the takes with more realistic animal needs very interesting,but for my au it just wouldn't make sense with how they evolved as species. Because their evolution was based on social and cultural pressures, and they do have agriculture and etc.

Like dogs. And whstever animals with big teeth and good smell aren't like that cuz of just active hunting, but because of stuff like war fare and etc. Rabbits have such good hearing and etc because it gives u a HUGE social advantage to hear EVERYTHING. In times before the technological advances of the mid 1900s and so on, this would've been an incredible advantage

Because whats worse than someone who can sniff you out? Someone who can hear your very heartbeat. 🙏

Anyways yeah this is just background lore lol

There is no "the predators are mean and scary to us poor poor things 🥺" because like... they're all still humanoid? They ALL have opposable thumbs and intelligence??? Which is way more important than anything else 💀

Also their countries are still countries, that means that there are different groups of species working under one group of leadership, and that they would have different roles to fill.

If there's anything about human and human intelligence level species is that they LOVE finding ways to work together in the worst ways possible, we love having as many options as possible and as many jobs as possible because if we didn't have different kinds of people in every society, it would be ALOT harder to solve ur specific issues!

So while specism is a thing, its not like fcking zootopia

This isn't in criticism to yall btw I do enjoy yalls stuff this is just my au 😭🙏🙏🙏

They literally just have cultural niches instead of just ones based solely on survival lol

Pokes u

Do you have Barnacles Headcanons to share with his wife (aka me)

YES also sorry for the late response lol uhhh this is mostly just stuff from my au lol and its got different world building than the show does

Ok first off some context, in my au the reasons for PEOPLE species to have different traits is more based on environmental factors and conflicts between other groups of people. 👌

There are definitely some wild species that aren't even intelligent enough to have nearly any sapience (in simple terms its self awareness) that would probably end up being food or wtv, but like going based off of irl stuff polar bears mostly need high fat diets and unless there are a TON extra of high fat food fish thatd make the arctic pretty hard to survive

Unless ofc 👀 well they are PEOPLE people so u can convince me they'd have somehow domesticated either musk or (hoofed arctic animal) or bred some other kind of milk producing animal as a source of food

All I'm saying is that he could and would and has eaten an entire wheel of cheese before

And he absolutely has a secret stash of high fat snacks because I think he might be a liiiiittttle bit self conscious about it

Because he realized that arctic animals and non arctic animals have HUGE differences in social norms and apparently most animals don't have at least 3 inches of fat minimum on their entire body???

And its not cuz hes embarrassed of the fat, its normal and healthy, he just doesn't want to go from Trustworthy and Reliable Captain of thr Octonauts to "oh my god i need like an entire cheesecake rn to feel normal" in front of everyone cuz like 😭 he is a bit of a comfort eater. Like ah yes our strong and level headed captain is eating an entire box of oreos at 2 am because he misses his sister again 😭

Ofc the others do find out but there isn't any judgement if anything kwazii would probably join him, bro has a history of having weird food habits (hm wonder why... surely nothing related to being shipwrecked on an island and having to survive) and its nice

He does like, have THE best snacks tho and he might be hoarding them just a tiny bit-

he also can feel a bit worried about coming off as too large or intimidating so thats why he's always got his hands on his hips- and his head lowered down a bit

its not that he seems like physically scary but a larger presence can be intimidating for a lot of people

Teeth and claws aren't usually seen as intimidating in most scenarios in this world because its so common and is just like a feature of the species the same way hearing or smell can be btw

so yeah someone threatening to scratch ya can be scary but so can someone being able to find you because they can hear ur heartbeat 💀🙏

Back to the main point, like all the other octonauts aren't even like medium sized animals (like wolves and whatever), there ALL very small species. So hes like way in the upper range, the highest and tallest possible species while everyone else are all smaller ones specifically

So if barnacles is Actually Mad (💀 the scenario to make him genuinely mad has to be BAD) then he will go to his FULL HEIGHT

Cuz irl polar bears got very tall strong necks and etc so I think him standing at Full Serious Height would be very startling

Also about polar bears sense of smell!

Circling back to the adaptations being related to survival pressures and social ones

Polar bears in this world, use their sense of smell for something very important in the arctic: navigation, above and below water

It prevents things like getting lost in the wintery white world, which is so so easy for others. It can help find others than might be lost, and it can tell u if they r injured or not and I think thats precious

there is one problem tho, while their sense of smell is VERY strong, stronger than bloodhounds and etc, its made for being able to detect things very far away in freezing temperatures... so they're extremely sensitive

Which wouldn't be that much of an issue if barnacles wasn't in all sorts of more tropical environments...

In thr artic all u can smell is other people, animals, and which was is home

But if he's not in the octopod or under the water,but somewhere where there's THOUSANDS of insects,hundreds of pollinating plants, and tons and tons of different creatures all at once-

I think thats be overwhelming and he's probably be allergic to sooooooo many plants poor guy 🥺

Also even tho he like trims and thins out his thick coat, and even has a little cooling pack vest sort of thing under his uniform he can still overheat pretty easily

Cuz yk, the several inches of brown fat or blubber? Someone might say "hey just adjust ur diet and whatever to lose it" but that would be VERY UNHEALTHY for him... mess with the balance of his bodys systems yk? so its really not an option;^;

So yeah he still tends to overheat and thats why having his room canoncially set to actual arctic temperatures every night helps him sleep better and feel better

Usually alot of octonauts missions happen under water or in gups or maybe they'll spend some time on an island and it'll be hot

But with extended time spent in warmer climates he has to take alot more breaks and it can be alot harder for him

Also I think that he had a period in his early 20s college years where he was like kinda lowkey depressed because he was learning more about global warming and capitalism

, it didn't last too long fortunately because yk he met professor inkling who was already developing his idea for the octonauts

and they actuslly became really good friends and it really came together as a realistic thing when tweak got wind of em

On a more depressing note global warming for polar bears in a world where they're actual people with a unique culture and heritage means some totally different stuff

Like its not even the fact they can't even engage in their own cultural traditions (cough traveling in that one arctic global warming special where they were all exhausted cuz all the melted sea ice cough)

Its also the loss of genuine homes (in my au they're kinda like ice hobbit houses 🥰since polar bears irl will dig out shallow resting spots or mama bears will have dens with a toasty 30 degrees farenheit), architectural collapses, traditional jobs that can only be done in the arctic being lost, and being forced into more southern grounds because more and more just can't rely living there anymore

And I think that'd be super depressing to see in real time, its a cultural death

Heck even irl there's so many grizzlies going north and polar going south that they've actually started to mix and start having hybrids (grolar bears). And the thing is they're so genetically compatible that their species can actually develope into their own separate identity that might totally replace most if not all polar bears sense they're just more adapt to the changing climate and have more range,with benefits from both species

And while that sounds great on paper and makes sense and is obviously fine for them to have easier lives, I think in thr context of this world it would leave barnacles with some conflicted feelings

Because the thing is there used to be concerns about polar bears having to leave their homes to live is societies and communities that just... that their jobs wouldn't fit to. That would be physically harder for them to be healthy in. That they'd have to give up so many thousands of years of traditions thatd be impossible to carry over in.

Idk its late and I've got one braincell and idk if this makes sense and im sorry if it got depressing 😭

But yeah, so there's more and more of these younger people grolar bears, that just... will never have that full connection to their heritage. And idk I think its sad and maybe I'm projecting

Also I think that if barnacles was ever sad he'd just cope by playing the accordian lol,like the one meme of the girl playing "its a mental breakdown ✨" on a kazoo 😭

Let's end this on a happier note tho, circling back to barnacles being several feet taller than his entire crew, like-

We all already know this guy emotionally adopts every living being in sight

And well, his ENTIRE CREW literally, and I mean very literally and physically, looks up to him-

Like they all gotta turn their heads up and loon at him with big hopeful eyes ready for whatever he has to say

And im gonna be honest his composure is alot stronger than mine cux I would CRY because of how adorable that is

Like he knows its probably so unprofessional and might be seen as condescending BUT DAMN IT HE CANT HELP THR CUTENESS AGRESSION!!! HE WANTS TO SQUISH THEIR TINY FACES!!!

so sometimes hell have a very Serious and Leadership-like Captain Conversation, and then thr SECOND hes out of their sight (and hopefully hearing) HE JUST HAS TO STOP HIMSELF FROM JUST CRYING-

Cuz the second hes out of sight he will LOSE ALL COMPOSURE and need a minute because he loves them so much AND THEYRE SO FCKING SMALL-

Its kinda funny tho cuz ur captain barnacles is a pretty tiny guy, wonder howd that work for u XD

Anyways gn or whatever time it is for u 🐻‍❄️✨✨✨

Also he and Bianca call at least every week for an hour and frequently send eachother updates about what they're up to

He could talk to her about anything and she's good at talking sense into him

He makes sure that natquick gets plenty of social interaction too, that man is like his father figure

(Kinda sad but I headcanon barnacles dad died when he was really young cuz of an accident where ice collapsed, probably did not help how he felt when he got stuck in an icy hole as a kid 💀🙏)

ALSO

Barnacles looking up at u vvv

Barnaclea being his lil theater kid self^

Wait~ they don't love you ✨like I love you ✨🥰

Barnacles half awake at a late night mission when everything is done and they're just driving the gup a back home

Barnacles and Bianca on a video call

[mirandasedai]

To @nightbloodraelle, on one Dutch van der Linde

(by ‘his podcast’ I do mean his own, the one he hosts)

[itsnotmourn]

i remember reading someone's talk about how scary bob's situation would be irl + another person's wondering if true crime channels in spooky month would cover bob's crimes.

that was really interesting; i liked it! not sure if streber would so i'll leave that to his fans lol

[hplonesomeart]

@scimagic Uhhh made this because I just think they’re dynamic is neat. Also completely agree with the Puzzle headcanon super fun silly and very on point. As we speak he is clinging for his dear life :))

I really enjoy seeing the illustrated storyline you have unfolding between the two and figured it would be nice to see this motorcycle sequence in motion. So tadaa here it is! In animated form! Now your obligated to make a full length written novel in-depth about their relationship /j

Sincerely though thanks for the creative inspiration and keep on being a swagger artist 👍✨

[lunarruled]

Both Rosita and Warren suddenly questioning her wanting to go through the back exit had Kyleigh's wolf feeling cornered and when that happened she got ready to spring forward with an attack. This time however Kyleigh was able to keep the animal in check, instead opting to take in a deep breath. She really didn't give a shit what that man thought, but Rosita showing some concern did bother her. Maybe she should stick with their plan on going with the truck. More of them together could be better.

Instead of shooting off her mouth and possibly ruining the entire thing Kyleigh kept quiet so she could focus on what her brunette friend was saying. Both of those routes had their pros and cons, but what she was seeing was that no one needed to go on their own. There were times to be that hero, but apparently this was not one of those.

"No shit, you were a mechanic? Me too."

It was the first time in what felt like forever that Kyleigh was able to get excited about something, even if it was just finding out she had a career in common with another person. It also let the half lycan know that she was going to have to team up with Warren, and as much as that made her want to claw her own eyes out she knew she couldn't deal with someone that panicked like Irina did just then.

"Don't worry about that guard. Just let me know which one he is and I'll make sure he won't even think about glancing in your direction." She assured Irina before turning her attention to Warren.

"That means you're with me, and since I know you don't want to go the back way we'll go that other route. It'll be easy for us to blend in. They can think that we hooked up once we got into the camp and you're showing me how they put the fences up so well or some dumb shit like that. I'll play along if anyone asks, but I highly doubt they will."

Everyone these days had a lot on their minds, so if she could play well with Warren for the time being Kyleigh was sure they would be able to blend in with the crowd and eventually make their way to the truck. "This is the time if you have any doubts or worries, you get them out and we move on. We all need to keep our heads on while we do this and we don't need any surprises out there. Do we all agree on that?"

"The back exit? Why?"

Rosita was puzzled. Why would she take the back exit if it was more than likely heavily guarded? Sure, three of them hiding inside the truck was less obvious than four of them, but there was no doubt she'd get caught trying to open that lock and escape.

Maybe she was overconfident as Rosita had feared.

Warren seemed to think alike, given his shake of the head, and the comment that he made, "If you pick the back exit, it will be the exit for your life, lady."

"No one should go alone", Rosita assured, certain that going in teams of two was the best option though if anyone had a better suggestion and a good reason for that she was happy to listen.

"This route", she said, fingers trailing over the map, "is a decent option. You should run into few people and not too many guards, but you might run into a few patrols. They might or might not question you if you're running around with a backpack. "

She went on as she began to trace the other route, "this one isn't bad either, but you'd pass through a communal area with lots of people. There are plenty of guards, though maybe the number of people could make it possible to blend in. So we have one route where we should try to remain undetected and another one where we have to blend in. The second one is a bit longer, so I guess we'd have to move quick."

Irina's expression seemed somewhat horrified, blue eyes widened and arms crossed tightly. "I can't sneak through anywhere.. And there's this one guard that always stares at me.. I swear it's like he already knows what's going through my head. What if he's there, and sees me and questions me.. What do I say?"

At her question, Rosita gave her a reassuring smile and reached to take out a small badge from her jacket pocket.

"Don't worry - I'm a military mechanic. If anyone questions me I can easily find a valid excuse as for why I'm going near the truck. So you can come with me if you want, I'm ready to back you up."

That meant Warren and Kyleigh would be a team and Rosita and Irina; in both cases the team would consist of two people who were strangers to each other. But Rosita thought that someone needed to keep Irina calm and she wasn't sure if Kyleigh or Warren were up for the task. Definitely not Warren.