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maelstrom007 · 1 year ago

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Me right now:

Ghoul with this fic you have thoroughly stolen my heart, you continue to write Mal so good it’s like you’re in my brain pulling on threads god it’s so fucking good. They’re in such good hands 😭

Literally when I read this I had the most dorky stupid grin on you have no idea. Absolutely could not keep my cool. I think I’ve read this at least three times now.

And now for the play by play of my reactions:

Haaaahahahahahahaha Ghost finally learns his fucking lesson, no aparating in the shop dammit!

Mal and Witch’s back and forth is literally so choice *chefs kiss*

Hehehe why is Mal making lace huh Witch? 👀👀👀 Wouldn’t be for a certain Fae man huh?

Lmao the pin to Ghosts shoulder genuinely made me gasp in shock that was funny as hell

“You don’t like the seer?” “Your chalk is burning my floor” Lmao Mal is god tier at deflecting

‘Oh my god, you completely skipped over asking about the Union’ honestly MOOD witch I do the same thing all the time

If there’s one thing Mal loves other than crafting…it’s gossip

‘Plus it could be funny’ Hehehehe gotta get entertainment from SOMEWHERE, why not from local relationship drama?

“I like Gaz” “He tried to wipe me” “Oh, yeah banned” Damn straight, it takes a bit to get close to Mal but once you do it’s ride or DIE

The three agreeing that Soap gives them the ick and preemptively banning him is hilarious

Hehehehehe god I love Mal’s wards so much, very much me projecting my wish to be able to just say aight bye and end social interactions

‘It’s been a while since you hosted them’ Dinner at Witch’s let’s goooooooo!!!!!!!! *air horn*

Hehe all your boys are creeps Price, laugh at their dumbasses and straighten them out will you?

Ghoul you are a national treasure and this fic was such a treat. I look forward to dinner at Witch’s if you ever feel inspired to do so ( with a little cameo of Price with his new beanie? 👀👀👀) hehe no I shouldn’t be feeding you new ideas after this behemoth.

I think the shop keeps need to unionize. The Fae boys are just too rambunctious and trouble makers (thinking wayyy way back to when König first got kicked out of Lieblings shop). They need to have a united front against these boys!

Maelstrom I love you so much and have written entirely too much for you. Writing Mal and the Witch's interactions is just so fucking fun.

Witch does some magic for Mal, and they enlist Liebling to form a shop keep union. Also some Price pining at the end.

Mal and their shop belong to @maelstrom007

You sit on Mal’s store counter, a heavy pendulum hanging under your hand. It swings lazily, the ring hardly moving from where it’s settled around your finger. You like coming to Mal’s, it’s cozy. The wards all buzz pleasantly, familiar and comfortable, and all the various knits and bundles give the place a warmth you don’t get anywhere else. Plus the company is good.

“He really shouldn’t be able to just pop in,” You hum, studying the brass sphere as it moves in small circles.

“And yet he continues to,” Mal replies, flipping through their ledger. You hum again, watching the pendulum go from its soft circling to a swaying back and forth as the shop door opens. You snap your wrist up and the chain jerks the sphere into your hand. “Not him,” Mal informs you, you let the pendulum drop back down.

You ignore the pickup conversation happening next to you, focusing on the shop’s wards. You can feel them fitting together like puzzle pieces. They’re snug, and shouldn't have any room for anything to slip through. Your instrument isn’t catching on any holes in the magic either. It would be nice if wild magic wasn’t so personal. You wince, thinking of the unfriendly magic you’d experienced recently. You’d never felt your wards do something like that. Maybe Mal needed something similar. The shop door opens and closes as you press the heel of your hand against your forehead.

“Maybe we need shopkeeper protections,” You mumble without thinking. Mal looks up from notating their list.

“What happened?”

“Customer recently tried to wipe me,” You swallow, shake your head, let your hand drop back to your lap. Mal’s brows are furrowed with concern.

“Are you still-”

“No it’s all out now, but it was-”

Both of you jump as a mass of smoke and shadows collect and pop in the middle of the shop. It feels like a small vacuum being filled all at once. You stare at dark eyes behind a skull mask, smell smoke, that man is too damn big to be appearing like that in here. Mal is clutching their heart, fingers tight on the counter. The pendulum under your open palm swings frantically in all directions.

“You!” You point your free hand at the man. He points at himself questioningly. “How’d you do that?”

“What?” He asks. You look at Mal who is slowly pulling themselves together again.

“Apparate,” They supply helpfully.

“Apparate,” You tell the man.

“Who’s asking?” His voice is gruff, in a way you’re sure someone else might find charming. You, however, find it to be avoiding the question. You fish a small chunk of smoky quartz from your pocket and chuck it at him. He catches it out of the air before it can hit him. Focus stuck.

“C’mere a second,” You wave him over. His eyes narrow behind the mask, flick to your pendulum and then the floor. He points at the chalk circle you’d drawn around the counter.

“You’re a witch.”

“Correct.” He looks at Mal.

“You hired a witch?”

“Hired is a strong word,” Mal glares at him, “She volunteered.”

“They’re making some lace for me.” You explain. The man gives you a “who asked” look. Rude. You jerk your pendulum up into your hand and stuff it into your pocket, pulling a strip of vellum and a pen free. You start transcribing runes and sigils on it, waving the man towards the counter again. After a moment’s hesitation he sighs and walks forward. “So how’s the apparating work? Is it a displacement? Are you filling a void? Slipping through a crack? What is it?”

“Can I pick up my order?” He’s ignoring you. That’s fine, you can feel the wisps of his magic in the circle without him explaining it. It almost reminds you of Price’s magic, the loose threads of it airy and shifting. You try to hone in on the vacuum feeling from earlier, drawing a circle around a few runes. Your magic plucks at his inquisitively, protected enough by the circle to be curious.

Mal marks the pickup down in their book and reaches under the counter for the neatly folded parcel. You glance at the bundle, try to feel the intention behind it.

“You know you can use the front door,” Mal grumbles.

“Where’s the fun in that?” The man unfolds the pink knit fabric and sighs, “Dammit Love.” Despite the tone you can see his fingers rubbing one of the little bunny ears on the onesie fondly. You wonder if he’s got a baby at home. Then you’re stuck wondering who the hell would give this man a baby. You fix your intentions and get back to your work.

You finish your scribbling as he hands Mal payment. You read over your makeshift ward digging through your pockets. You thought you had some tape in here somewhere. No dice. You shrug and reach for a pin off the cushion on the counter, stabbing it through the top of your vellum strip.You’re just as quick to stab it into the shoulder of the masked man next to you.

“What the fu-” He pops out of the shop as the wards kick in. Mal blinks at the previously occupied space.

“Huh,” They settle the stack of gold coins on the counter, “Can I get a few more of those?”

You shake your head, “that's one of a kind sorry, but I think I’ve got how he’s slipping the wards. I’ll tweak them so he can’t pop in anymore.” You hop off the counter and scuff out the chalk circle to start your work.

“Maybe we do need shopkeeper protections.” You glance over your shoulder, watching Mal grab a broom to clean up the rest of the chalk now that it’s inert.

“What, like a union?”

“Or like the mafia,” Mal shrugs. You don’t think either of you would make a very good Don, but it’s a good idea.

“I think we’d need more than just the two of us,” You move one of the hanging knit samples aside to chalk in a few extra sigils on the wall.

“There’s the red bar nearby, and that flower shop,” Mal counts off.

“Plus the craft store,” You tap your chalk against the wall, “Do we just- What? Distribute fliers?”

“Unless you have a better idea.”

“I gotta go to the flower shop later, I’ll ask the owner.” Mal hums, you think it’s their annoyed hum. “You don’t like the seer?”

“Your chalk is trying to burn my floor,” They tell you instead. You nearly snap your neck turning to see what they’re talking about. Sure enough the remains of your circle are sparking angrily at something.

“Shit, what now?” You ask the chalk, hurrying to see what’s catching your magic before it does any permanent harm.

König is coming out of the shop as you make your way towards it. You give him a wide berth, not eager to get caught in his wake. You can feel the snap of magic at his heels, sparking against the shop’s threshold. He hardly pays you any mind, singularly focused on whatever is driving him out. You slip into the shop and take a full breath of the floral air. The shopkeeper is sort of dazedly picking through a bowl of rings.

“Where’s your guard dog going?” You ask, not used to the big guy being outside of the shop. You honestly thought he might be living in the back room.

“I don’t know, we had a fight,” She sighs before shaking her head and giving you a confused look, “Sorry, dog?”

“Oh is he- is he not this place’s guard?” You glance around the shop, it doesn’t have any wards, you assumed the big fae was the ward.

“He’s my boyfriend?” She frowns, scrunching her face up. You think maybe you’re not close enough friends to have asked in the first place.

“Ah, well that makes sense I suppose.” It doesn’t. You don’t know how the fuck she could be dating that thing. You thought she was a seer, does she not- You know what, it’s not your circus.

“Can I help you with something?” There’s a polite level of snark in her tone, enough you could brush off if you weren’t paying attention. Right, you forgot how prickly this seer is.

“I ordered a bundle of poppies,” You don’t really know how to pitch the union thing. You wish you had business cards. You often wish you had business cards.

“Don’t suppose you put a name to that order,” She grumbles, flipping through her ledger.

“Nope,” You pop the ‘p’, “might be under Witch? Or some variation of that.” This is why you like shopping at fae-adjacent businesses, the magical consideration. You don’t get nameless orders at the usual human shops. She taps the order line and goes to pull a bunch of flowers from one of the nearby cases.

“You’ve been here a few times, yeah?” She asks, setting the bouquet on the counter as you fish your wallet out of your overstuffed spell bag.

“You remember me!” She nods.

“Yeah your, uh,” She frowns, squints at you, or around you, “magic, I guess, is sort of… recognizable.” You bite your tongue to keep from asking what that means, what it looks like. You try not to be jealous of seers, but…

You hold out your hand, “I’m- Well, actually Witch works, that’s what the others call me.” You can almost hear the dial-up tone coming from the seer as she stares at your hand.

“I never know what to introduce myself as,” She says, taking your hand, “One of my friends calls me Lieb?” You shrug and release her hand after a quick shake.

“I can call you whatever you want, since we’ll be seeing more of each other you might as well be comfortable.” You tug your credit card free of your wallet, when you look back at her she’s staring at you, confused.

“Why would we be seeing more of each other?” Oh my God, you completely skipped over asking about the union.

“I’m- well me and Mal,” You stop, “Do you know Mal?”

“I pickup König’s orders from them sometimes.”

“Great,” You nod, “Mal and I thought it would be smart to have a little shopkeepers group.”

“Like a book club?” She frowns.

“Or a Union? What’s with you people?” You shake your head, doesn’t matter, “We can standardize rules, put some shop protections down-”

“Enforce bans,” Lieb mumbles, thinking aloud.

“Yeah, if you need to ban someone, sure.” You’ve never had to ban anyone from your place, although that might be changing quickly. You wonder if Mal’s ever had to ban anyone.

“Ok, I’m down.”

“That’s it?” You ask in disbelief. She shrugs.

“Sure,” She reaches to pull a few rings from the bowl on the counter, you’d recognize the scent of iron anywhere, “I could use some protections now that my dog is banned.”

"I think that just about does it for cross shop policies," you tap your pen against your notebook, reading over the various rules you three have been working on all evening. "Anything else we need to cover?"

"What to do with banned patrons," Lieb says. Despite her thorns you've found her proposed rules to be surprisingly reasonable.

"Did you ban someone?" Mal asks, tipping their head curiously. Lieb nods and holds up her phone with a crudely drawn face on it. At least you think it's a face. "König? What did he do?"

"Is that important?"

"It's good gossip," Mal shrugs, "what do you want us to do about your ban? Ban him from our shops too?"

Lieb's eyes sparkle, her smile devious. "Would you?"

You and Mal look at each other. You're not likely to see the big guy in your house, but you know Mal's work when you see it. A ban from Mal might hurt as much or more than a ban from his girlfriend. Plus it could be funny. You both seem to come to that conclusion at the same time.

"If I banned Ghost would you ban Ghost?" Mal leans forward, clearly interested.

"Sure.” Lieb shrugs.

"I wanna ban Gaz," you chime in. Mal gives you a look.

"I like Gaz."

"He tried to wipe me."

"Oh," Mal nods, "yeah, banned."

"Anyone else?" You ask the group. Mal and Lieb both think for a moment.

"Soap?" Lieb asks hesitantly, "I think that's his name: spooky, kinda electric, hangs around artsy folks?"

“Doesn’t come in my shop,” You tell her, since the description doesn’t ring a bell.

“Mine neither,” Mal agrees, “But he can be banned.”

You jot down the names in your notebook with short descriptions. A banned list is smart, easier to keep track of if there’s more than one shop keeping an eye out for them. It’s a tidy list, four fae that should be easily convinced to follow the rules. You can ask Price later about how to enforce the list, there’s probably a trick to it.

“Do we need time limits on the bans? I can’t imagine you’re going to keep your boyfriend banned forever,” You catch Lieb’s attention from where she’s typing rapidly on her phone.

“A month?” She proposes, “At least for the less personal bans. I’ll let you both know when I unban König.”

“I can do a month,” Mal looks at you and you nod. A month is fine. Mal stands from their seat and pats their legs, “Cool, well, if that’s everything, I wanna close up.”

You glance at the walls, feeling the wards wrap around you. You’re glad to feel they’re working properly, especially with the new changes to them. Lieb scrunches her shoulders up to her ears, apparently less happy with the constricting wards. It’s always felt like a too tight hug to you, but it’s your magic. You expect it’s drastically less pleasant for others.

You usher Lieb out to let Mal close up, and offer your friend the promise of a meal soon. After all, it’s been a while since you hosted them.

Price stares at your list with an unreadable expression. He’s leaning against your wall, as is his wont, his elbows propping him up as you sit on the brick beside him. You’re stripping herbs into a little clay bowl, picking the leaves off and waiting for him to finish his thoughts. Your rules already have Mal’s fae stamp of approval, but Price is the one that’s best at bending them. If anything has too glaring a loophole, he’ll find it.

You’d planned on telling him about Gaz’s ban after he read over everything but it had spilled out of you as soon as you saw him. Luckily he’d fully agreed. He seemed almost relieved to hear it, you thought he’d be upset at having one of his friends banned. It’s an unexpected treat to hear Price take your side. You’ve been smiling to yourself about it since you handed him your rules list.

“These apply to me now too?” He asks, breaking the comfortable silence between you. You finish plucking the leaves off a sprig of rosemary and settle the bowl next to you so you can wipe your tired fingers on your apron.

“You’re not a customer,” You tell him. Price’s eyes sparkle with some fond mischief, you’re sure it should make you wary, but you’ve put a lot of thought into this. He isn’t a customer, and has never made himself out to be. If anything you’re trade partners, passing goods back and forth over your fence.

“Smart girl,” His praise never fails to make your stomach flip. He turns your list of rules over, his eyes sliding over the banned names on the back. “What’s this?” You can see the hint of a smile starting to form on his lips.

“Banned customers,” You lean to read over the short list. Price glances at you, or part of you. His gaze flicks to your chest before he clears his throat and pushes off the wall to stand upright. He keeps his eyes fixed on the paper in his hand. “I thought you might be able to help with how to enforce it.”

You look up at him through your lashes, and he’s sure you know how sweet you look asking for his help. He’d grab you off the wall and take you home if he didn’t think you’d put up a hell of a fight. Price understands all too well why the fae steal pretty things like you. If you weren’t so well guarded he might’ve already had you hidden away. It would be easier like that. Another fairytale for the books, another fae without a care in the world taking what it wants when it wants to.

If he didn’t know you it would all be easier. He might’ve been satisfied just stealing you then.

He keeps his eyes on your list. Pretends to think it over so he doesn’t have to look at you. Perfect, maddening, you. Honestly, if it were anyone but you handing him this list he might laugh, hell he still might. His whole team banned from three shops in one stroke, and him desperately glad not to follow the rules. “No touching” how could he ever survive that?

#oc: witch #oc: liebling #captain john price #captain price x oc #oc: mal #ghouljams fae au #1fae1 #ghoul you treat me so good #i love you most ardently #finally Mal can have some peace now that ghost can’t aparate into the shop #we’ll see how long that lasts #seriously though if Mal is making Witch lacy lengerie I’m gonna laugh so hard #you go girl get that man #shopkeep mafia would’ve been funny af #Mal’s not even trying to be rude when they kick people out #it’s just like yeah alright cool shows over everyone go home #and making sure that actually happens in a timely manner #Gaz might be on Mal’s shit list now considering he tried to wipe Witch #very shoot first ask questions later of him #which Mal potentially could have understood #if it weren’t for the fact that Witch was the victim #their current favorite human

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sorawritesstuff · 3 months ago

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𝙸 𝙻𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚈𝚘𝚞, 𝙼𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝙰𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚢

Chapter One

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.

Well, good thing times had changed, because if Jason had to choose a wife from the people he knew, he’d be dead. A second time.

None of the Batfamily were at all viable options; Cass maybe came closest, but he’d probably pass out on all the karaoke dates Steph was sure to drag him on. Out of the Outlaws, Kori was far too optimistic for real life, and Artemis, well, he’d already messed up with her enough. There wasn’t anyone outside of vigilante work that he knew well enough to even consider briefly—to put it gently, Jason wasn’t exactly the best at making friends. He could probably marry Roy, but then that wouldn’t be a wife, right? Or maybe a malewife counted?

Whatever. It wasn’t like he had to marry anyone just cause Austen said so. And even if he did, at least no one could be worse than her.

Her, erroneously labeled “Charmer”, in her all bright, bubbly glory. All that sparkly white kevlar and disgusting optimism and playful dalliance and—well, he didn’t actually know what she looked like under that eye-searingly pink mask she always wore, but he bet she would be knockout gorgeous just to piss him off, too.

Oh, what an absolute pain. Apparently fate was simply determined that anyone by the name Jason Todd could never catch a single break. As if dying wasn’t already enough.

He’d known from the moment she sauntered into Arkham Asylum with a glossy smile and a swing of her hips that she would be the end of him. The second one, anyway. If he wasn’t stupid as well as foolhardy, Jason would have said he’d take a couple bullets instead of spend another minute in her presence.

Yeah.

Batman had brought her on the case for her…emotional prowess at dealing with interrogations, since the latest addition to the Rogues Gallery at the time had been a new unknown villain named The Sphinx. As if Jason wasn’t good at getting information out of criminals? He smelled B.S.

“You don’t have any technique for it,” Bruce had explained flatly, eyes on the monitor screen in front of him.

“Sure I do,” Jason had retorted with crossed arms. “I implement the technique of punching until they talk, or don’t have teeth left.”

His mentor figure had grunted in response.

At least that was over and done with. It’d been a couple months ago, and now that Sphinx whoever was safely in the Arkham Asylum (not that anyone ever stayed there long), Charmer was well out of the picture and he finally regained whatever shred of peace he had in his pastiche of a second life.

It wasn’t much, but Jason knew just how hideously life could treat him firsthand. For now, he’d be content with the crappy patch up job he’d received.

At any rate, if you looked at things the way Steph might—optimistically, that was—things weren’t all bad. The Joker had been dormant for some time, Charmer was gone, and he could focus back on college just the way he wanted to for his sophomore year.

Which brought him to the current scenario—sitting in a chair less comfortable than family dinners at Wayne Manor, attending a seminar on 19th Century British Literature, idly spinning a pen through his fingers as the professor rambled on and on about Elizabeth Bennet’s romantic appeal.

“Despite her flaws and oddities, as being a female bookworm of the times must have been, Lizzie still manages to snag the most eligible bachelor in Hertfordshire. See, one of Austen’s most radical ideas at this point of the century is that everyone can find love.”

Clack.

His pen hit the ground, and Jason swore as quietly as he could. Was this scholar an idiot, or what? And now he couldn’t even reach his pen.

Grunting, Jason lurched forward in his precarious plastic seat, giving up on his aims when somebody down the row shot him a questionable look. What was he supposed to do now? He needed to take notes, and that was his sole writing utensil. Swallowing his ego, he bit back a groan and tapped on the student before him.

She turned, a pretty Asian girl in a cream beige sweater and a ribbon up her hair, and Jason’s mouth dried up.

This was worse than having to go on patrol when Mr. Freeze was around.

“Is this yours?”

She smiled, lips glossy, offering the pen to him with an open palm, and for a moment Jason wondered if life was going to give him a break for once and let him have something good—something normal. Not that she was anything normal, seeing as most girls who looked like they’d stepped out of a magazine for successful trust fund babies fresh out of private school didn’t give a second glance to guys like him, but still. Relationships were normal even for vigilantes, as long as you weren’t someone like him—someone cursed to only ever kiss people he punched or punch people he kissed.

This was his chance to prove that he was indeed not the member of the Batfamily who pulled the least.

But obviously life wasn’t going to let him do that.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, causing the girl to instantly snap back to attention lest the professor pointed them out, and Jason cursed under his breath at the notification.

Really, B? Now?

He squinted at the screen, calloused fingers fumbling with the lockscreen login. Did every father figure enjoy interrupting at the worst possible moments?

Then the message appeared, and all thoughts of normal flew out the door.

‘Sphinx is missing. Come to Batcave. Now.’

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kzlychee · 17 days ago

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๑Superficial Love. Goldenratio (Ratio x Aventurine). WC: 1.2k [to note: not proofread !]

Aventurine wasn't one to actively express what he was feeling. Think of it like a kaleidoscope, converting sunrays into different shapes and colors to distract you and bring your focus away from the source. In his case it was always much easier to showcase various different emotions and wear them like a mask. When he needs people to pity him he'll craft a perfectly pathetic face one to easily deceive. When he needs to get on someone's nerves a small quirk of his lips into a smug smirk is all it really took. So he didn't see the need for expressing himself when he can easily shift into something that'll cater to the other party, like a masked man raising the stakes of the game every time just for the player to realize that he had nothing but a bad hand. A master of deception who knows how and when to use it. It took years of practice to get him where he is now, years of observing people from the shadows, analyzing facial expressions when he'd play poker, and mimicking them perfectly to suit the facade he was trying to build. So imagine his surprise when all of it comes crumbling down the moment he becomes tangled with the esteemed Dr. Veritas Ratio. When face to face with another masked fool it was easy to tell, like a predator realizing that it's one of their own, alike to the point where the mask becomes undone for a split second; a moment of vulnerability. But a split second will stay a second. It was a barely there crack in one's facade, one that can't be seen by the naked eye unless up close.

"you're deflecting." Bored. Casual. But there was something, a small pinprick of emotion—that barely there crack and Aventurine was ready to hammer it down.

"responding to that serves quite difficult Veritas." He could see the small pinch in the others fine brow, an indication of annoyance, he always hated when Aventurine called him that. A small tell being the way the others jaw would tighten only for it to be forced into a relaxed state.

"with a mind like yours. It shouldn't be." Treat it as a yes or no question and you'll find yourself more likely to pick none. Except the question proposed was far more complex, sticky with emotions that Aventurine has spent years trying to bury deep in the alcoves of his soul, never to be felt again.

"you said I love you." Aventurine repeats as if saying it again makes it more digestible, more fathomable, more like a test instead of a declaration. It did no such thing, If anything saying those three words made his tongue numb and his head ache. He maintained his calm exterior, mirroring Ratio's own one.

"I did" his words mechanical, Aventurine almost found it comical. From gathered information one could easily tell this was probably the shittiest confession ever, in movies confessions are usually done over the pouring rain preferably with tears spilling from their eyes and voices screamed raw. There was no screaming, there were no tears, even the weather outside his apartment seemed cheerful.

"well thank you" that was dumb even Aventurine had to admit it. What's even worse than a shitty confession was an equally shitty answer. You say thank you when a gentleman opens the door for you, or when you receive a glass of water from the waiter, not when the supposed love of your life (Aventurine is still debating if that's the right term for Ratio) is confessing their unyielding feelings for you with a stone cold face.

"thank you?" The quirk in Ratio's brow was the only indication of his amusement. Aventurine could feel the steam of heat rush to his cheeks. That mask he so cleverly designed now getting dismantled with ease. This wasn't fair. Ratio was doing this on purpose .

"thank you for your confession. It must've taken a lot of courage to say that." Aventurine can't save himself now but he could at least try to play it out. In the game of feelings (at least with Ratio) the only loser is the one that folds.

"quite. I had an entire speech planned." Aventurine choked on his spit, he imagined it: Ratio hunched over his work desk trying to find the perfect synonyms for beautiful.

"the effort is admirable" only for the speech to be reduced to three simple words. Yet those words tangled deep within his heart strings, tugging and knotting itself orchestrating the loud thump thump thump in his chest. Honestly he'd prefer the grandeur speech instead, he'd rather Ratio go on and on about how his hair looked sun spun and how his eyes reassembled those irritatingly bright graffiti stencils on brick walls.

Ratio didn't even try to speak. His eyes said it all: 'deflecting' and a small hidden part of them seemed to say 'say it back, I'm begging you'

Aventurine laughs his tone a bit pitched—panic. "Such a thoughtful confession deserves time and thought put into it" he needs time. He needs time. He needs time. He needs time.

He can't do this right now and so he allowed himself a calculated slip up, a moment of vulnerability all for the sake of buying himself more time.

A slow blink was Ratios reply as if it just occurred to him that not everything is warranted an immediate answer, an immediate solution. Aventurine could see a small crack, ruining his flawless porcelain facade—shame perhaps?

A speck of guilt. He knew the agony of waiting for an answer to something the type of feeling that roots itself inside of your brain to fester doubt and insecurity. But if he knew Ratio (and he did) he wouldn't allow things as feeble as that cloud his focus, he'd snip every single one in a heartbeat. If anything he would warrant Aventurine as much time as he needed because Ratio was a sensible (albeit emotionally constipated at times), meticulous man. He wouldn't want a rushed answer let alone a forced one.

Aventurines assumption was confirmed when he felt gentle hands envelope his own ones. He couldn't help the small flinch he let out at the contact, something he wasn't used to despite hanging around the scholar almost everyday. His gaze met Ratios and he was surprised to find them warm and sincere, eyes like honeycomb encased in amber. He didn't like the look of sincerity in the others face.

He watched as Ratio slowly brought his two hands to his lips, kissing his knuckles with the devotion that would bring preachers to shame. He didn't expect to spark such a reaction, he didn't know what mask to put on. A miffed look crossed Aventurines face.

"take all the time you need. I won't go anywhere." Ratio mutters softly, it was out of character, it was unusual, it was making Aventurines heart malfunction and his mind muddled.

"you-"

"I'm sorry" what why

"I don't want you to answer for my sake." Ratio explained, another kiss to his hands. Aventurine remains silent, shocked. This was Ratio. The person behind the porcelain mask. Raw and vulnerable and so utterly smitten.

For me? Aventurine swallows thickly but he could feel that small panic from earlier thawing. An indiscernible feeling replacing it.

"Aventurine, anaticula. I love you." Ratio says and this time it wasn't to demand an answer, it was to inform, it was to declare, it was the type to be whispered under shared sheets in the dead of night.

Honestly Aventurine wouldn't mind that thought.

The blonde sighs softly with a small smile drawn on his lips "what am I going to do with you Veritas" he mutters, moving so that his forehead could rest against Ratios, his brows scrunch a bit as the words repeated in his head.

I love you

AN: gonna separate my writings actually. Fanfics for my OTPS will be here, x readers on the other account + Anyways take this ratiorine drabble that I wrote on a whim (so sorry if it's messy) because I'm so high on both of them + Fun fact: anaticula translates to 'little duckling' AND IK ITS LIKE KINDA CRINGE AND SHIT BUT IDC LALALALALA + They're both emotionally intelligent but constipated when it comes to each other me thinks. I honestly love this ship so much (it hurts) and I'd definitely write for them more.

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