#sorry long post but this had to be written

[selenelion-rain]

Some books to get into if you're struggling after only reading fanfiction for so long, they're bound to be personal to me, but they're what helped. So if I can help someone else that's like me, it's worth it.

Something all of these have in common is a very casual prose, and usually an emotion driven story/characters. They can read very similarly to the way fanfiction reads, but are all original, standalone works. Hopefully ones that can get you into reading more! (If Audiobooks work better for you, listen to them!! Local Libraries and Libby offer free audiobooks, YouTube will sometimes have Audiobooks of public domain works, and Spotify has many included with its premium if you're already listening to songs and podcasts, but don't can't/want to pay for another subscription/app.)

Light Novels. Light novels generally have a faster, fluid pace. Often very casually toned writing in my experience. Many animes and Donghuas have light novels! They essentially read like Manga, but without the pictures. The prose is very much filled with emotion. I binge read 'Heaven Official's Blessing' as the books came out in English. It was the most I had read in a long time. About a god who has ascended to heaven for the third time, after getting kicked out twice before.

Terry Pratchett. Terry Pratchett has been reccomended to death, but it's very good. It has a casual, comedic tone and very very good writing. My reccomendation for starting books:

Going Postal: A con-man criminal gets himself off death row, but in exchange, he's forced to work as 'Post Master General' of the neglected city Post Office.

Mort: A boy who's not really quite sure what to do with his life goes out to seek his life path in an apprenticeship and becomes the Apprentice of... Death. Death himself.

Spell Bound by F. T. Lukens: About a teen who wants to learn magic, but is unable to. He gets into an illegal apprenticeship with a Witch who doesn't like to live by the restrictive rules of the authorities.

Howl's Moving Castle by Diana Wynne Jones: The eldest sister of three gets cursed to look like an old woman, and ends up enlisting 'Evil' Wizard Howl into helping her.

Dealing With Dragons by Patricia Wrede: A princess wholly uninterested in being a princess sets out to get captured by dragon so that she doesn't have to marry an annoying prince.

Sorry if this is disorganized, it's like 5am for me and im typing and formating on my phone lol I don't mean to take away from the point of the post, I just thought that some people might get stuck on the point of "Well now that I wanna read a book instead of fanfiction, how do I start when books are written totally differently than I'm familiar with?"

fascinating that when you tell people "you have to learn the rules to break them" when talking about drawing/painting etc everyone nods and agrees but the second you say "you have to read books if you want to write better" there's a horde of contrarians begging to be the wrongest people ever all of a sudden

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Someday my prince will come

Written for day 30 of the @steddieholidaydrabbles and the 12 Days of Christmas bonus card of the @steddiebingo

Prompts: Sing & Movies

Rated: G

Tags: Post-Vecna; Pre-Steddie; Everybody lives; Injured Eddie; Hospitals; Eddie has a crush on Steve; Accidental love confessions

Notes: I wrote this, then googled the release date of the VHS and realized it didn't come out until 1994. Shut up, this is an AU now. 🤣

A high-pitched trill pierces through Steve’s foggy mind. He jerks awake and almost topples from his chair, hands grasping for his nail bat, for his ax, for anything. It’s the goddamn bats again, or police sirens, come to take Eddie away. He won’t let them, they’ll need to kill him before-

It’s not the bats or the police. 

Someone is singing.  

The realisation leaves him floundering and confused, even as the adrenaline slowly seeps from his body. Why is there a random woman singing operas in Eddie’s hospital room in the middle of the night? 

It takes him a few seconds until he makes out the source of the music: the television set in the corner of the room. 

The hospital doesn’t have video recorders, usually, but it quickly turned out that Eddie liked having noise and lights around, even during the first few days, when they weren’t sure he’d ever wake up. They tried the local stations at first, but the news are still full of Eddie’s face and murder allegations, and Robin needed to pry the remote from Steve’s fist before he could crush it. So Dustin brought in the video recorder, and everybody pitched in with their favorite movies, so that the hospital room never needed to be quiet. 

Right now, Snow White is singing to the seven dwarfs about how her prince will come someday. 

Who the hell picked that kitschy shit?

Steve cringes as she hits another ear-piercing note and turns to the nightstand to find the remote. 

And that’s when he sees that Eddie is awake and watching the screen. His pupils are large and unfocussed, but he’s smiling. It’s small and hesitant - a mere ghost of the bright, bold thing from before - but it’s the first smile Steve has seen on him since they brought him out of the coma. 

The song continues.

“I love this one,” Eddie says after a second or two. “We have it at home.” 

“Oh,” Steve says, realization slowly trickling in. This probably is the very copy Eddie is talking about. Wayne must’ve brought it. Must’ve dug through the rubble and debris that used to be his home to unearth this tape for his nephew. 

Eddie just keeps watching the movie and humming along with the song. It comes out raspy through his shredded throat.

“Haven’t watched it in a long while,” he whispers. “Thought I was too grown up for it. And ‘sides, fairytales never come true, right? No Prince Charming for me.” 

“Eddie,” Steve says before he can stop himself. The hand that was just reaching for the remote grasps for Eddie’s fingers instead. Eddie’s eyes shift over to him and that smile goes a little wider. It makes one of his dimples appear. 

“But now you're here,” he says. His voice is getting slurred from using it so much. “What took you so long, huh?”

Steve blinks. Oh God, is Eddie mistaking him for the stupid prince from the stupid movie? He looks a little bit like him, he guesses - if you’re high on pain meds and stuck in a dark hospital room, that is. He opens his mouth to tell him the truth, but Eddie tilts his head in the pillows, eyes stupidly large and dark, and the words die on his tongue.

“Sorry,” he shrugs, ignoring the red-hot blush that’s rapidly overtaking his face. “Got a bit delayed. You know how it is.” 

“‘s okay,” Eddie nods graciously, then frowns. “Where’s your horse? ‘s it not allowed in the hospital?” 

Steve quickly disguises his snort of laughter as a cough. Eddie’s brow wrinkles. 

“Um, yeah,” he says. “Had to leave it outside in the parking lot. Stupid hospital rules, right?” 

“Right,” Eddie agrees, and tries to lean in for a conspirational whisper. He’s still too weak, so Steve ends up bending down until his ear is nearly at his lips. “This place sucks. Stupid nurses won’t even let me have a smoke, can you believe it?” 

They both laugh, only that Eddie’s turns into a cough real quick. 

“Don’t worry,” Steve says, squeezing his fingers gently. “We’ll get you out of here in no time. You can stay at my place for a bit, I have it all figured out.”

Eddie freezes. 

“Oh,” he says, and suddenly he sounds all dejected and fearful. “That’s right. I need to’ tell ya somethin’.”

“Huh?” Steve says, resisting the urge to sweep a stray curl out of Eddie’s face. “What’s that?” 

Eddie sighs. It turns into a yawn halfway through. “You took so long to show up and … I wanted t’ wait for you, I really did, but … There’s someone else. Sorry.” 

Steve feels his frown melt into a smile, even as his heart gives a little tug. 

“Hey, that’s okay,” he says. “Are they good to you?”

Eddie bobs his head up and down, motions jerky and uncoordinated. Steve can tell he’s about to fall back asleep. 

“He’s brilliant, man. S’much more than I gave’m credit for. Kind and generous and brave and strong. Carried me outta that shithole all by ‘mself. And the way he tore that bat apart with his teeth? Holy moooh-... “ He yawns again, long and drawn-out. “-ley.” 

Steve doesn’t say anything. He thinks Snow White has finished her song by now, but he can’t be sure. The rush of his own blood in his ears is too loud. 

“Eddie, I-” he croaks after what seems like an eternity, but the only reply he gets is a long, hearty snore.

It’s okay, he guesses, brushing Eddie’s hair from his face before leaning back in his chair and focussing back on the movie. He’ll tell him some other time, when he’s feeling better and more clear in the head. It may still take a while, but until then, he can be patient. 

He’ll make it worth the wait for both of them. 

More holiday drabbles

More Steddie bingo

[starvu]

My Heart Won't Start Anymore || s. reid

where you were always, always there for spencer, but after what happened with maeve you couldn't handle it anymore, you felt betrayed

pairing: spencer reid x bau member!gn!reader

genre: fluff, angst/hurt

content warnings: mention of spencer's addiction, mention of his being shot in the knee, reader was once shot in the stomach, mentions of blood, fairly graphic description of maeve's death, maeve wasn't spencer's girlfriend, but they had feelings, that's for sure, bitter ending (inspired by "you're losing me" ts)

word count: 9,1k

a/n: i described the whole line from s2 to s8 here, i didn't even know i could write that much lol. and i haven't written that much yet, it was a bit of a weird concept and i couldn't put everything into words, but I wanted to write it so much (i suck at dialogue, sorry). i spent like nine hours today only in notes app and writing this, im kinda insane. i won't be posting any more work this year, so i hope your new year will be happy 😽

~

You would never have thought it would end like this. No, no... no. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

No.

You were always each other's support, comfort, comfort. When you joined the BAU, you were just a young girl, full of ambition and hope, joyful and smiling with sprinkles in your eyes, but also a lost girl. Lost in a new environment and new circumstances.

No need to mention that you were a people pleaser who only wanted to be noticed... right?

Of course, you were prepared for such a job, but damn, you didn't expect this. What they learned in training and at the academy was nothing compared to what you had been working on since day one. Theory was just a sliver of practice, yes, it was brutal, but in real work, the same theory seemed like a sugar-coated story with sprinkles. It didn't connect in any way.

But Spencer wanted to help you. He really, genuinely wanted to help you. He wasn't that much older, well, no, you were the same age, actually. He wasn't overly effusive or outgoing, but he wanted you to settle in, and you appreciated that. He was awkward, very awkward, more interested in facts than people, and not really good at social interactions, and your good attitude made him a little intimidated when he first saw you and you eagerly greeted him, introducing yourself.

He wasn't sure what you would find nice and was afraid of imposing, so he did little things like bring you fresh coffee from that not-so-great coffee machine, sometimes gave you little tips about team members, sometimes helped you when your casework was limited to sifting through tedious piles of files tied with string, the letters already shimmering before your eyes and blurring into black spots.

That's why when he went through his own hell, held captive by Tobias Hankel and drugged, you felt the need to help him. You couldn't explain it, but... no, you could actually explain it. You always wanted to help everyone and spread your smile. A smile that didn't fit the job, a smile that was the opposite of the brutality you saw in the job, and only that smile allowed you to keep your sanity.

Hey, do you know that you'll even lose your spark and the twinkle in your eyes?

You felt plain, simple, and human sympathy for him. His addiction problem was one of those ignored ones. You all swept it under the rug, almost like the whole team suddenly had blinkers on and lived in a conspiracy of silence, even if you didn't state it out loud. That just hadn't happened in the history of this team, even if you had noticed Spencer's daily highs. There was nothing wrong with the young genius's mind, after all. More or less.

You hadn't known him very long, but you knew it had little to do with his everyday behavior. Even if you only knew him for a few months before, he couldn't act like this and you noticed that everyone outside the team noticed his behavior as well, which Hotch could always justify because 'Dr. Reid isn't at his best right now'.

Funny how reputation and lack of complications from the people above were more important than Reid's well-being.

Funny how Reid's well-being has become more important to you than your own.

You acted somewhat on your own, you tried to help Spencer, even if he rejected help, he was elusive. He closed himself off, he practically dismissed his problem on his own. And maybe you were a little intrusive, yes, you were aware of it, but how else were you supposed to act in such a situation?

And surprisingly, you succeeded. He didn't look kindly on your actions, but he stopped dismissing you coldly. Your actions were happening behind the team's back, you didn't want to expose yourself as a newbie to something that wouldn't be approved of. If this whole situation is going on behind the backs of the people at the top, why couldn't you go behind the backs of the team?

You took care of him, at least as much as he allowed you. You didn't want to overdo it, but you tried. You didn't force him to do anything, but you still tried everything that could replace the dilaudid, you spent more time with him than was appropriate just to distract him from needing another dose. and when he stopped taking the drug, you were there to help him through the withdrawal symptoms, although withdrawal was the hardest. You were understanding and respected him despite everything, even if it was a difficult and overwhelming experience. You could say that it left a mark on you, however you wouldn't admit it. You just piled on the stress and nerves. It wasn't easy by any means, but you didn't have the heart to leave him.

You never had the heart to leave him.

Or at least that's what you thought.

Anyway, you were there for him.

~

He also felt a spark of sympathy for you when you cared so much for him, because you didn't let up or ignore the problem. He finally felt a little different, other than a drugged-up piece of trash. Someone really wanted to be with him, to suffer especially for him and at some point with him.

You knew that a spark of understanding was being born between you over the years. A spark of something warm, like friendship. Your friendship was close, there was something special and magical about it. He trusted you. He trusted you and opened up to you, he felt exposed to his emotions but he didn't feel bad about it. It wasn't often that he felt this way about anyone, you were important to him.

Sometimes Penelope joked that you were glued together, because wherever Spencer was, you were too, within a radius of a few meters and no further. If you think about it, the sweet, sweet technical analyst wasn't wrong at all, in fact, she was right. Likewise, Derek, who would laugh and sometimes tease you about your glued hips, you dismissed it as bullshit.

You were sitting in her darkened computer lab, your seat was a little lower, so you rested your head on the desk. The quiet hum of computers came from the computer lab. You didn't have much work, so you sat together and talked about things that helped you forget about the hardships and darkness of work for a while. You matched each other with your rather cheerful personalities. You were sipping from plastic cups through colorful straws some overly sweet tea that Penelope had brought earlier. You weren't even sure what kind of tea it was, some brewed herbs with a lavender aftertaste. In any case, it was tasty.

You laughed. "Pen no. There's no match here..."

She stared at you with clear disappointment and determination, she interrupted you suddenly. "Listen, it's in the stars. I beg you, can't you feel it?"

You shook your head slightly. "Penelope. I really love you and appreciate you, but this is a bunch of bullshit. What kind of match in the stars? Just because you, as a fetus, decided to be born on this day and not another, doesn't mean you have a fantastic love match with anyone." You took a sip of tea, but you were still staring at the blonde analyst.

"I'm not just talking about the stars here. It's the whole match, similar vibes, agreement and..." She continued to justify herself when Spencer suddenly entered the computer room with two warm coffees.

"Garcia, there's extra foam and vanilla syrup for you." He put the coffee on the desk. "Here." He looked at you. "They didn't have any almond milk, so I got lactose-free." He put down the second coffee and looked at you apologetically. "Is it okay?"

You just nodded slightly with a warm smile. "Yes, thank you."

Garcia watched your interaction, then took a sip of coffee, she finished her tea earlier. "It's still warm!" She interrupted enthusiastically, and Spencer nodded with her lips pressed into a line, a sign of confirmation.

After a moment he was gone from the computer room, leaving he made his awkward gesture waving at you with his hand, or rather sticking it out motionlessly, and you followed him with your eyes to the door.

On Penelope's face there was an incomprehensible, slightly too wide smile, she looked at you with excitement. "Oh God, it's look of love! Real look of love!"

You sighed. "No, it's not."

"Yes, it is." She continued to chatter happily, not straying from this topic even for a moment.

Penelope believed in the emotional tension between you, personality matching, and other such endearing things that you didn't quite believe in. You hated breaking the worldview of your favorite glitter and pink analyst.

~

When Spencer was shot in the knee and temporarily annihilated, you also tried to help him, although you were more likely to scold him then. What kind of brainless person wanted to ignore all doctor's orders just to fly with the rest of the team to the crime scenes. Second opinion? More like mindless, idiotic and stupid chatter. You wanted to hit him in the back of the head every time he tried to figure out how to avoid being grounded any longer, and even his doctorate couldn’t convince you to implement gentler measures. You didn't have the strength to fight him and you wanted to shoot him in the knee again, but it was out of concern, as strange as it might sound.

But despite his thoughtlessness, you were there for him then too.

~

You could say that you spent a lot of time together, often aimlessly, you could sit up all night and talk nonsense and in the end Spencer would let you drink coffee from his mug, and after difficult cases he was the one who tried to comfort you, your radiance and optimism could not be eternal and unwavering, and you baked his favorite cookies with brown sugar and sea salt. It was as if his worries suddenly disappeared, he spoke freely about whatever interested him without being suddenly silenced or dismissed, and strangest of all, even his aversion to germs was then a secondary matter.

You didn't see anything special about it, unlike anyone else around you. Yeah, you were a bit blinded by each other and sometimes the rest of the team felt like they were just getting in the way when they were around you. They felt like they were intruding on your little moments, your exchanges of glances and incomprehensible gestures.

They all felt that something happening, except you two.

And did it bother anyone? It was fine as it was.

Four years just flew by and you changed, not for the worse, change doesn't have to be bad... or something. You couldn't have peace. Day by day you felt more and more strange, not like usual, definitely not like usual, something was wrong, why were you suddenly stressed by his presence, and why did your nerves almost always get the better of you? You didn't show it, but this feeling started to annoy you. And you were a bit excluded, because there was one thought you didn't even consider, it didn't get into your tangle of thoughts, it just didn't. Or maybe it got into the center of your thoughts, and you cleverly avoided it with full awareness? Either way, when one day at work you were staring at him with your chin resting on your hand, probably looking at him from every possible and potential angle, a sudden realization finally hit you.

Oh.

oh.

It was a little different from friendship. Okay, maybe it was very different from friendship. You missed him faster than you thought, you almost felt anxious when he wasn't around and and you felt those nerves when he appeared next to you and you wanted his unwavering attention and you tried to justify it in every way, as friendship, friendly concern, natural nervous reaction towards loved ones, friendly... blah, blah, blah.

You felt attached to Spencer Reid and infatuated with him. To the same Specter who supported you from the beginning, he remembered what your favorite coffee was, he remembered the little details that made you you, showed you care in the same way you showed him care, he wasn't tired of you usually being full of energy and a little too emotional and were your precious friends. You couldn't say you expected it, but you couldn't say you didn't either.

You were in trouble.

Technically, you didn't have to tell him, but on the other hand you had a hard time keeping your mouth shut. You had to work up the courage to tell him. For God's sake, for half a year you'd felt like throwing up just thinking about that conversation. This could be good, or you could have ruined everything. You couldn't be sure he felt the same way, maybe he was just nice (and the fact that your stomach was tingling and your throat was dry and you just wanted to grab his stupid face and kiss it until you couldn't breathe was a side effect). Too nice. Being nice was never a bad thing, but it made you unable to fully read his intentions.

With shame in your mind, you admitted to yourself that you were observing him much more closely than usual, to investigate his behavior, no matter how stupid it seemed. This case really made an idiot out of you.

One night you were staring at the ceiling in your not too big bedroom and exchanging meaningless conversations, as he carefully ran his long fingers through your hair and occasionally glanced at you. There was a lamp on the nightstand, which gave off a rather shady, flickering light. You should have replaced that bulb. The rest of the light coming into the bedroom was the moonlight, carefully trying to get in through the window, thanks to the open curtains and blinds. The bright moonlight was more shy, though.

You finally, with heavy heart decided to talk to him about it.

This wasn't a good idea, trust me.

You tried to play it cool, even as you swallowed hard and your shaking hands were hidden only by the dim light of your bedroom.

"Umm... Spence." The usual certainty suddenly disappeared from your voice. “You know, there’s this thing.”

He immediately turned his head towards you, now in addition to his unwavering attention you had his gaze as well. "Did something serious happen?" He wasn't the best at talking about emotions, but, as befits a profiler, he read them well.

"Not really. I mean, yes, but no." You swallowed hard. "Depends."

He didn't want to rush you, force you to talk or annoy you. "Okay, no rush." Despite that, he felt a growing curiosity and a bit of stress. You rarely took that tone.

Suddenly you felt his hand no longer in your hair. Instead, he squeezed your hand gently in his, assuring you that everything was okay. The gesture, combined with your nerves, made you feel like you might as well cry. It was a gesture that you had considered nice and didn’t object to, but now it was confusing you even more.

It was now or never.

“I think I love you. No, it's not 'I think', I’m convince. Yeah, I'm convince."

Pretty nice, but you won't be the only one saying it.

He didn’t answer right away, only because he always had the feeling he’d ruin everything the moment he started talking about feelings. But he squeezed your hand tighter and didn’t take his eyes off you, his hazel, puppy eyes fixed on you. His voice lacked confidence, he hesitated for a moment, he asked quietly. "Can I?" You nodded slightly, almost imperceptibly.

After a moment, you felt his lips on yours. It was soft, tender and sweet. You had waited so long for this, and his absolute gentleness and feelings melted your heart without the slightest problem. You felt like you were the only people in the world, especially since everything around you was quiet and calm that night, practically intimate without the actual intimacy. Life just happened and you were somewhere in between, not in a rush. You always had to be rushing somewhere after all.

The conclusion from his actions was one. He felt the same way. You thanked all the gods and heavens for that. You didn't even want to think about the disaster that would happen if he didn't reciprocate your feelings and you had to keep working together, not to mention the tragic ending of your friendship. But at that moment, besides your still shaking hands, something else was hiding in the darkness - a smile on your face.

Maybe everything wasn't supposed to be so bad.

Oh sweet child, what a stupid impression.

~

It wasn't until you became a couple that you realized how little had changed in your relationship. You weren't sure if it was just too romantic before or too platonic now, but it was pretty much the same thing, with the added bonus of showing affection. Your relationship was built on all these little things and there was never a moment when your heart stopped feeling warm. You were really, really happy with the way things were.

For a short moment you regained some of the sparkle in your eyes, take advantage of it.

If Derek had talked about having your hips glued together before, it was hard to say what it could be called now. It wasn't that you were blabbing about your relationship left and right, in fact the fact that your relationship had even happened had stayed between you for a few weeks. You spent a few evenings off from work wondering what to do with the new label of this relationship. Telling Hotch was one option, and keeping it a secret and hiding it in every way possible was another. Both had their pros and cons, because in theory, a relationship between agents wasn't necessarily indicated, so it was more reasonable to admit it than to have him find out later on his own. Hiding it was also reasonable, considering the nature of your work, the dangerous nature, the possibility that someone might use it someday. Well, you didn't come up with a solution right away.

The fact that Spencer would bring you coffee every morning, or the exchange of small smiles, and the fact that you would sit on the edge of his desk while you talked wasn't anything out of the ordinary. It had happened even before there was anything like a relationship between you.

After a few weeks, you decided and went to Hotch to sort it out and not expose yourselves to any unpleasantness related to your new relationship - a relationship between two agents. Potential risk? Hard to say. But maybe it was better to explain it to him honestly, like adults. After all, it was inadvisable, but not forbidden either.

Spencer squeezed your hand in comfort and leaned towards you. "It'll be okay." The warmth of his hand helped a little and brought you back to earth.

"I take you for granted. And you better be right." You turned to face him for a moment. That sounded like one of your joking threats to Spencer. It wasn't the least bit funny to you at the time.

You entered Hotch's office first, with Spencer right behind you. He was on the phone, but quickly put it away. You took a breath. When his gaze landed on you, you still wanted to turn around, run away, hide and hide. But it was too late. You turned your head slightly towards Spencer. And then you wandered with your gaze wherever you could.

To your surprise, the conversation with Hotch was so... ordinary. You felt quite surprised by this turn of events. None of your theories had panned out. Besides, they had no chance of panning out, it was impossible. You loved to imagine a million versions of a single event in your head, and mostly the worst versions. It clashed with your optimism.

Or maybe that optimism was fading anyway.

You noticed out of the corner of your eye through the window of Hotch's office that Derek, with an expression of obvious defeat written on his face, was giving Penelope a twenty dollar bill as soon as they noticed you two. Penelope had just won a bet of sorts and you felt disbelief, but at the same time a smile was also trying to creep up on your lips. You squeezed Spencer's hand imperceptibly tighter. For a moment you were distracted and focused on Morgan and Garcia. You didn't bring it up, it was just a little stupidity between them, one of many

Your relationship wasn't a big obstacle as long as it didn't affect the team's work, your cooperation in the field, or involve showing romantic feelings at work. 'And no intimate contact!' He even emphasized that a few times, but in an even more professional way. Not that you had any plans and you were an adult, so you shouldn't have been nervous, yet your cheeks and nose suddenly became more rosy. It ended with a few signatures and sending you out of the office with nothing. Overall he said that as long as you are happy, it's good. He went back to talking on the phone and reporting, which were more important to him at the time than such problems with agents.

You and Spencer were there for each other.

~

Everything seemed pretty fine until the headache and sleep problems came. And after it another headache and another headache. Sleep problems were nothing new, they happened every once in a while, but then they became more frequent. You thought it was temporary, caused by stress and fatigue, maybe not drinking enough water and being slightly dehydrated, but it only got worse. Often and routinely. The medication didn't help much, and the tests, head and brain scans showed nothing.

Spencer was almost going crazy thinking that this was early schizophrenia, some stage of the disease and he would end up like his own mother, which was his biggest nightmare. The knowledge that in a dozen or so years he might not remember anything, only have flashes of what he knew, become useless. He wanted to use his full potential. He was supposed to be a genius, to come up with something that would help slow down the progression of his mother's disease, not a useless piece of crap whose life would slip through his fingers because of the cavities in his head.

It had nothing to do with schizophrenia at the end of the day, but it was problematic enough. They were migraines, strong and painful migraines. They didn't seem dangerous in a long run, were not comparable in terms of potential danger to anything related to the disorder he suspected, however they were difficult for Spencer and he was clearly suffering, the sight that broke your heart.

You didn't want to see him like this, you wanted to do everything to make him feel better. You weren't an expert in medicine, but you used the comforting methods you knew to make him feel at least a little better, a little more mundane than the medical ones. You stayed at his apartment a lot more often, slept there a lot more often, to be completely sure about his pain, to help him through sleepless nights, to provide him with some peace. At one point, you practically lived there. Despite your sincere efforts, compresses, warm teas, kisses on the head and careful massaging of his temples, it wasn't enough, maybe it just helped slightly. You really tried and he knew it too, sometimes he even thought and mentioned, that he didn't deserve you.

You wanted to find someone who knew about these kinds of conditions. You knew that Spencer had more contacts and connections because he was in the scientific community, so he could do more, he could take care of himself, but you wanted to do something too. You spent your nights just to find a doctor, a scientist, anyone. This situation wasn't good for you either. Almost every time you worried about Spencer, it took its toll on you. The nerves and helplessness became overwhelming. You yourself experienced headaches, but you just clenched your teeth. It was from exhaustion and you wouldn't admit it. Spencer thought you didn't have to do it, to sacrifice and worry so much, he always reminded you of that.

You were there for him, nothing new.

Wait, sweetheart.

You know you weren't the only one anymore? Really, no one told you?

You were about to give up, thinking that there was no point in searching any longer. More frustration than concern flowed through you. Mostly frustration with yourself. But you found it. You had it. You found a geneticist who could help. You felt enlightened and filled with hope. You hadn't felt this kind of hope in a long time.

There she was.

Dr. Maeve Donovan

You felt convinced, you had a feeling she would be the solution to Spencer's problems. He had no doubts when you suggested that Maeve look at the scans. You sent them by email, but you didn't go into why that was the right way for her. It wasn't your business after all. She had reviewed Spencer's MRI scans of brain, partly to help, partly out of pure scientific interest, he was a brilliant mind after all. Unlike other doctors, she saw the solution in these headaches and sleeping problems. After a few weeks of analysis, she wrote everything down, including recommendations and a prescription for some medications that you knew a little about because of how immersed you were in the whole topic of migraines, insomnia, and even paranoid schizophrenia, despite everything, Spencer knew more about these meds.

~

Months passed. I guess. You were losing count. Something was wrong and you knew it. Not with Spencer, he was slowly getting better and was in less and less pain, he didn't wake up at night as often and he wasn't in more pain during the day. You were relieved to see your beloved getting better, the meds were working, and he was regaining his nerdy drive and commitment to everything. It was a precious sight you had been waiting for.

So you should have been happy, it was wiser not to dig anything up. You didn't have a habit of behaving like that. Since Soencer was acting strange at least, you had to find out what was going on and why he wasn't telling you. He always trusted you, he told you everything, and if he didn't say something, he still mentioned the situation. Now he was avoiding anything that could be related to his behavior. He was nervous, as if stressed, sometimes he would suddenly disappear at Sundays and come back after a few minutes without a word. Later he was a bit concerned, but he tried to get back to reality. And later he would even sneak out during work, when you were with the team in the field. Sometimes you'd see notes and a pen left around his apartment, like he was writing letters. You never tried to read them, but you felt a pang in your heart.

Your intuition wasn't some great mechanism, but it wasn't stupid either. You saw him get even more worked up one afternoon. That was when Maeve told him she loved him. But you were so blissfully unaware that you were in that position. Spencer wasn't a cheater, that much was for sure. He froze for a moment after hearing those words, but he didn't answer her. He thought about what to do with this new awareness, he thought a lot.

When, during one of the cases, after Spencer had a quick conversation with Blake, she gave him a ride somewhere, you felt like something was happening completely behind your back. At least Alex already knew what was going on after she confronted him near the telephone booth. And so she promised him she wouldn't tell anyone, so you remained in unconsciousness. Unconsciousness that was no longer blissful.

And then you saw a book wrapped carefully in ribbon in Spencer's apartment, even if Spencer wasn't particularly artistic. You didn't look in there. You didn't know if it would calm down or if you'd find out something you didn't want to know. He didn't even noticed you'd noticed the book, he was behaving the same way as last time. A little nervous, but pretending to be normal. You were also a profiler, he couldn't hide it from you, even if you didn't make a habit of profiling your loved ones, it didn't agree with your morals. Well, you made plenty of exceptions for Spencer, so why should this be any different?

You loved this living room 'cause of the light. As you stood by the bookshelf, staring at the spines of old, yellowed books whose arrangement you already knew by heart, Spencer came up behind you, a slightly sheepish smile on his face. You knew that look on his face. You often cut his hair because he wasn't very comfortable with having a barber do it. He didn't like the feeling of a stranger messing with his hair, it wasn't pleasant in any way, even if most of society disagreed.

“Umm… I’m starting to think I look weird.” He began uncertainly, referring to his hair. “It’s a little too long, I think.”

You stared at him for a moment, your gaze darting between his face and his hair, you smiled. You had thought about proposing a haircut to him a few days ago, but in the end you didn't. The request seemed rather sudden. Finally, you reached out and touched his hair, and he leaned slightly into your touch. He found it a pleasant experience.

"I don't know, I like it. It's not too long yet." You admitted as you focused on his hair and kept running your fingers through it, trying to style it.

"You think so?"

You didn't know why he was so determined about it, or why he cared so much at that time. As if there were already too many strange things happening that you couldn't explain, another one was just happening.

"Yeah, it's fine. Trust me, Spence."

“Okay.” He leaned down and kissed your forehead. This kiss was warm and sincere, as always, but it had a slightly different tone than what he usually gave, more... apologizing? What the hell did he have to apologize for?

You didn't bring up the subject of hair again. You didn't know, but Alex had told him that his hair was fine the way it was and it wouldn't affect what Maeve thought. It would be funny if you were the one who cut his hair to meet her. And your eyes kept returning to the white cover and the ribbon - The narrative of John Smith

You thought you were stupid, that you were really just making up a story to yourself because you were too bored, that it was just your stupid overthinking and nothing was happening, you were drawing too many conclusions and adding a story to everything. You thought you were crazy, that something was wrong with you. You should have been happy that Spencer was no longer suffering and in pain, not making up events that you had no idea about.

What if you were right?

~

While at work one day that seemed as normal as any other, except for the constant doubts in the back of your mind, you saw Spencer briskly walk to Hotch's office without a word. He was there longer than you expected, which certainly didn't comfort you. And then you were all in the bullpen, around Spencer, whose voice was breaking.

"... He thinks he'll get away with this and he might." He stared at the floor and didn't look up. "I have a wealth of knowledge I should be applying to this case. Behavioral patterns of violent stalkers, tactical recovery strategies, victim survival odds. But right now I can't focus on anything for more than four seconds at a time, which makes me the dumbest person in the room." All eyes were fixed on him, it was an unexpected situation. "So... please help me. Help me find her."

Sometimes you felt small glances at you. You clenched your hand on the edge of the desk. You weren't even mad. You felt your stomach drop. Maeve, same Maeve. How could all this be happening so close to you and you were so stupid? You didn't say anything, just like everyone else. The difference was that the others were taken aback, surprised, but you were just numb.

After a moment, Hotch spoke up, even his tone of voice was a little different than usual. "We don't know if we have a case. So we'll be working on personal time. Does anybody want to leave?"

Silence.

You swallowed hard, but did nothing. You didn't leave, you stood there, leaning against the desk. It seemed impossible. This was all a bad dream. If nothing happened, then you weren't betrayed, right? Still, your heart ached. Your heart ached for another reason. You couldn't even feel angry because you were more concerned with his trembling, cracking voice. What the hell was wrong with you. What was even worse was that Spencer didn't have the courage to look at you. His gaze wandered, staring at the floor, his gaze meeting everything and everyone but you.

"Good. Let's get to work."

Soon, you were sitting at the same round table as always. All of their letters in front of you. The same written pages that you had seen in Spencer's apartment, but that you had never touched. You hadn't spoken to him since his confession and plea for help. You should have occupied yourself with the fact that this was about the life of an innocent woman, approached it professionally, but you couldn't. Looking at these letters, holding them in your hands and reading them, you pressed your lips into a line. You didn't share your thoughts or observations. In fact, you didn't have any, because all the letters merged into one, and you weren't able to think deeper.

Spencer was clearly taking it, looking worse than he had during any stressful case, worse than he had during any other stressful event. And you wanted to help him, or take him aside and talk to him. But he didn't seem to have a clear head to talk. What were you supposed to do anyway? Comfort him? You were the first loved one, it wasn't fair to you. Who said feelings were fair? Were you supposed to yell at him? In his condition, it wouldn't do any good anyway, and you'd only say too many words because of how you felt now.

He was angry, he didn't behave rationally, he stretched all possible theories. You had never seen Spencer like this, so emotional.

And you thought he was emotional when you were shot in the stomach during one of the cases five, maybe four years ago.

You remember his panic, your hot, scarlet blood on his hands, the pressure of his hand on your stomach where the bullet was and the tears in his eyes. And you smiled slightly at him, you don't know why, but you weren't even scared. You didn't feel any pain, because of the adrenaline in your body. You lost so much blood at the same time that you started to feel blissful, maybe that's why you weren't afraid. He acted like a hothead, and you thought there was no need to panic.

He sat in the hospital all night, right under the operating room, when you were being operated on. For several days he sat in the hospital almost constantly, slept on those uncomfortable chairs and showed you the greatest care. He was the first person you saw after waking up. The team and the nurses practically had to drag him away from the room and the hospital.

He brought you everything that could help you recover faster and smuggled in some snacks when you made pretty eyes, although according to the regulations he shouldn't do that. He explained that he wasn't doing it because it was your whim, but because after losing so much blood you should eat chocolate to normalize. You knew that wasn't his intention, but you appreciated the clever excuse.

It doesn't change the fact that you lost a part of yourself back then.

But his behavior back then was nothing like what he was now. A nervous wreck. He wanted to do everything in his power to save Maeve. How could you have known they were in touch? You thought that after the meds were prescribed, it was over. But no, she had sent him a letter praising his article on psychology. You tried to work on it, like everyone else, you really did, but you felt like shit. Maybe she was what he had always been looking for? They were interested in similar things, had similar topics and knowledge in different areas. Maybe you were just too stupid for the long term, didn't have that much to offer.

Weren't you his love by any chance?

Anyway, you didn't even talk. You didn't bring yourself to talk, you didn't look at him. The team's hard work had paid off, even if the atmosphere was tense and heavy. You were supposed to find Maeve, find out where Diane was holding her. Diane had already killed Bobby, Donovan's ex-fiancé. After her efforts, Garcia discovered where both women could be. Hotch absolutely forbade Spencer from showing up at the scene, but Spencer clearly protested. He wanted to pretend to Diane what he felt for Maeve - love.

After those words, you really felt like nothing.

You no longer showed him the same sweet support you always did, you couldn't, but by not giving up on your help you also made it clear that you wouldn't just abandon him. Despite the lack of contact between you, you devoted your nights to this matter, you slept worse than usual and drank more coffee. Don't kid yourself, you didn't really sleep because you were thinking about your relationship. Was it real or was it your imagination? You weren't working, you were consumed by thoughts and you were losing all of yourself in it.

So you were there for him, well, more for his cause, but for him.

~

Outskirts of town. Spencer entered the old, abandoned building first. None of you thought it was a good idea, but you didn't stop him. You felt the pain in this whole situation, and you were even more afraid of something happening to him. Well, it was because you loved him. You didn't know if he loved you the same anymore. You couldn't even think about 'no'. You were exhausted for the past few days.

You waited there impatiently, not knowing what was going on inside. At least you didn't see that fake kiss between Diane and Spencer. You knew it would be wiser to step in there, so that's what you did. They tried to keep you at a distance, to the side, so you wouldn't do anything stupid under the influence of emotions. Spencer tried to negotiate with Diane, who was holding a terrified Maeve, while with her other hand she was holding a gun to her own temple. You kept your cool, just like Spencer, but you could see his nervousness.

"He's the one thing you can never take from us." You heard Maeve's last, quiet words, and then a noise.

A bang, a screech in your ears, and a large, spreading stain of blood on the floor. Both women lying on the cold floor, their hair in dark blood, and a gun nearby. You looked at Spencer, who was rooted to the ground, with tears in his eyes. He quickly approached the lying, still warm Maeve. The bullet flew through the head of one and stopped in the head of the other. There was nothing left to save from the shot brain. Spencer's beloved was currently bleeding out in his arms, his hands were completely covered in sticky blood, and tears were running down his cheeks, staining her pale skin and face, from which the life had gone.

Everyone was in shock, no one made a move or said anything. Tears welled up in your own eyes. Partly because of how Spencer felt, how tragic his condition was, partly because you only just realized what was happening. He was crying hard over the body of another woman, whispering quiet words to her, hoping she would hear them, even though it was a foolish hope. He was too stunned to do anything at that point, so you walked up to them, her blood was also on your hands, you thought you could still save her yourself, even though there was no chance of that.

~

He helped her parents bury her. He was there until the end... in fact, he was there even longer. Everyone else had gone, and he was left at the grave. No, he wasn't there alone. He was there with you. You helped him in everything. You loved him and watched him bury and mourn his beloved woman. He hadn't slept in many nights, his eyes were red and his face was drawn and sunken, and he had probably lost weight. He didn't remember much of the ceremony, he was numb and had been on sedatives for several days.

Days passed, and attempts to contact Spencer were in vain, he wasn't at work, he didn't answer his phone. You went to the staircase of his apartment, to the tenement house where he lived. You'd sometimes pass JJ or Blake going up or down the same stairs. You knew the stairs by heart by now, and every time you went on the second floor up them it only got worse. Penelope left more baskets of food and necessary things by his door. Eventually they disappeared, he had to take them when no one was there, he had to survive somehow, not leaving the apartment.

You couldn't handle it, but you tried not to show it. Despite that, the rest seemed to notice your suffering. They certainly did, knowing how close you were. Suddenly you felt betrayed, rejected. What the fuck was that? You were always there for him, always, you loved him, he seemed to love you sincerely too. And in the end, he suffered because of the loss of another woman. How did she achieve this so quickly? You wanted to be understanding, but you didn't know how. You had the right to hate him, but you didn't do that either. You were left empty.

Without optimism, without a spark in the eyes, without what you started with.

You knocked on his door again, even though you had a feeling it wouldn't make much difference. Your voice was loud enough to be heard, but tired.

"You know Spencer, it's me again." You started uncertainly, having to think about every word so as not to say something stupid. It was a delicate situation. After a moment, you continued. "I just want to know how you're holding up." You leaned toward the dark, wooden door with a small plaque with the number 23.

You heard faint movements and rustling on the other side of the door, but no response. You sighed quietly. "Maybe you don't want to talk to anyone. Okay, I'm not forcing you. I think I look a little stupid talking to the door, though."

Suddenly you heard the sound of the lock turning in the door. The door opened slowly, as if he was wondering if he wanted to open it. Finally you saw him in the doorway, dressed in a thick sweater, deep in mourning. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair uncombed. The curtains in the apartment were drawn, and it was a general mess, which you could only see because of what you could see behind him, in the back of the apartment. "Hey." He was barely holding on.

You wanted to help him, to be there for him again, but you no longer felt entitled to do so. He stepped aside, wordlessly inviting you into the apartment. You immediately opened one of the windows, not much, just enough so that the fresh air would make him feel better. You repeated your previous question. You were standing close to him, but at a safe distance. "How are you feeling?" You asked in a soft voice with your typical concern.

"Not so well." He answered shortly, he didn't have the strength to talk.

You didn't push. Hell, you couldn't even talk to him. It was almost like you were standing there with a stranger, not with the man, you loved so much. The light you loved so much was gone from this room. It was almost completely dark. The air was thick with lose and indecision.

He walked over to you, more tears flowing from his eyes. Suddenly you were his support again. He hadn't really cried in days, he just didn't have the strength anymore. Seeing you made him realize everything he had done. He clung to you like you were his last lifeline, he clung to no one else but you. You heard his sobbing and some quiet words, you didn't even understand what they were, there were tears in your eyes too, but you didn't hug him like you usually did.

On the corner of the table, the same book was lying again, this time without the brown ribbon. You were lucky you didn't see the dedication inside. It would have destroyed you even more. Love is our true destiny. We do not find the meaning of life by ourselves alone; we find it with another.

He cried on your shoulder, and you pressed your lips together to keep from falling apart. Why did he even feel entitled to this, why did he keep leaning on you? You felt like screaming. You really wanted to scold him, but it probably wasn't appropriate at the time.

Again you were there for him, it was always you at the end of the day.

~

The atmosphere at work was tense, heavy. Everyone seemed to be behaving normally, but it wasn't like usual. No one talked to you about the incident anymore, except maybe Penelope, who as always tried to talk to you, to make you feel a little relieved, brought you those herbal, sweet teas with syrups that you loved. She didn't delve into the subject, so as not to drag out your own pain, she skirted the subject all the time. Basically, everyone was tiptoeing around you, which irritated you. Damn, you didn't want any forced pity.

A few weeks passed, Spencer went back to work, but you didn't talk more than necessary and everyone noticed the changes between you. You became colder, distant. After all, your relationship wasn't supposed to affect the team's work. But was it even a relationship anymore?

You bit your nails, picked at the cuticles around your nails, scratched off the polish. You clenched your fists, dug your nails into your palms, leaving indentations in the shape of half moons on the palms of your hands. Every morning you looked at him with a storm in your eyes, and he didn't notice the signals you were sending him.

You had to talk to him, there was no other way. He had avoided you during Maeve's case and the funeral, and after that you had only had this one, harmless conversation because you didn't want to overwhelm him with more things right away. But now you were the one who was overwhelmed. You cared about his well-being, but not your own. It had always been like that, you were mainly concerned about him, even if it was ultimately overwhelming for you.

Was it worth it? Because I don't think so.

Having a free moment, you approached him and approached him. You wondered if you should do it or just back off, but your tongue got the better of you and the words came out. "We should talk."

He immediately turned to you. He knew this conversation would come, but somehow he wasn't ready for it. But he also knew how much worry and pain he had caused you, he couldn't put it off forever and keep running away. Grief wasn't an excuse. "Fine."

You found a spot in the hallway, a little more private, far enough away so you wouldn't be conspicuous through the glass doors. No one in the bullpen needed to hear your conversation or see what you did. You didn't promise predictability.

You could see he wanted to start calmly, like it always was between you, but you started abruptly first. "Spencer, what was that all about?"

He wasn't looking at you again, suddenly the floor seemed much more interesting. "What does that mean?"

"Don't suddenly act stupid, you're not stupid and unintelligent. What was wrong with our relationship?" You play brave, tough. You play because you don't feel that way.

He looked up, his lips pressed into a line. “Nothing. Everything was fine.” His answers were distant.

You shook your head slightly. “Spencer, talk to me, I don’t want any half-spells. You know what, I would expect this from anyone, anyone, but you."

He let you down, he let you down and that hurt him the most. He wasn't what you deserved. "I'm sorry." You could feel the shame in his voice but you didn't want shame or an apology because there was nothing left to save.

"I don't want your sorry. I gave you all my best me's, my endless empathy. I didn't expect anything in return, not even though I got your feelings in return, I'm not saying I didn't, I won't lie. But how did you replace me so easily?" And your bravery quickly crumbled, and tears appeared in your eyes, you blinked a few times.

Silence.

"Do something, say something! You won't lose anything anyway." You were starting to get angry. This was the first time you had been angry at him like this and you had allowed yourself to be angry. "Because what else can you lose?" Maybe you should have kept your mouth shut and not said that. It sucks, it happens.

He swallowed hard. "You. I could lose you." He knew those words wouldn't do much now, but he tried anyway.

"Oh, you're just now thinking about this? And where, excuse me, were you earlier?! Sorry I forgot, in a phone booth. And you didn't see my gray face, how sick we've become, and if you noticed, you wouldn't admit it." You didn't mince your words, you deserved to be genuinely mad.

"I..."

You should have let him talk, you should have, but you didn't. "No, listen to me! You acted like the biggest, selfish asshole and I don't know what you were thinking!" He had never seen you so upset with him, but he didn't interrupt. "What did you miss, what did I miss?"

He deserved those words, he knew he deserved them. He didn't even try to argue, he accepted the harsh words. It hurt him more when he heard your question. "No, no, you didn't lack anything. It's my fault and I'm really sorry. You were so good and sweet to me, it's all my fault." He didn't want to lose you too, but he worked for it.

"You can't change anything, beating yourself up now won't change anything... Spence." You hesitated to address him that way at all. You weren't as loud as you had been a few seconds ago, but I guess he preferred it that way. It was easier for him to accept your anger and the hurling of insults than the disappointment in your voice. And that was exactly what was in your voice - disappointment.

He looked almost like a beaten puppy. "I know, I realize that." He thought for a moment; he wasn't in the habit of swearing. "I screwed up."

"Yes, and I don't deny it. I really thought you'd be honest. I wish I had known from the beginning, maybe it would have been easier." You had tears in your eyes, but you couldn't be stupid enough to cry. "I thought it was honest. My own pain was such an imposition."

He reached out and ran his hand through the hair on top of your head. He didn't want to scare you, to do something you wouldn't like, he held his hand there for a moment. "It wasn't an imposition, don't think like that. And you shouldn't have known this from the start, in fact I shouldn't have done it at the first."

You wanted to ask what Maeve had that you didn't, but you didn't even have the courage. You pulled his hand away from your hair. "Those are nice words, but we both know you can't take back your actions, which said something completely different." You bit the inside of your cheek until you finally spoke again. "You're losing me."

He didn't blame you for rejecting his hand, he understood that perfectly well, you had every right to avoid him, but he still felt a pang. He shook his head slightly. "No, don't say that, please."

"But it's over, Spence. You kind of decided that yourself. I'm really sorry she's gone, but helping with a case like hers is one thing, and love is another. I know you and I saw, well... that." You didn't want to bring up the brutal murder directly. "That's what love looked like."

For a moment you stood in silence, he couldn't deny it and you didn't know what to say. Without a word you turned around and started walking down the hallway towards the glass doors, a few tears in your eyes balanced between your lash line and the corners of your eyes.

Spencer lost something again, but you were no longer there for him.

See? I told you so.

You know what they all say, you don't know what you got until it's gone.

[hugsandchaos]

Regarding this post

How would Frostbite react to Danny having a panic attack like that? How does he respond to it? Is he able to help Danny calm down?

I don't know, just a thought- I'm a sucker for the father/son bond it made me think of when you mentioned it.

Frostdad

You wouldn’t believe how much I actually struggled with the panic attack scene, it was insane. I had to do it over and over again, but I’m proud of it! The ending was a little rushed, so it might not be as good as my usual work, but I plan to add more if I can because I’m starting to like the ideas I got from it! I just had to give you what I already had written down, I think you’ll like it! I’m sorry if it’s shorter than you were expecting. I got way too carried away with possible scenarios and ended up with a bunch of vague notes instead of actual writing 😆

——————————————————————

First Encounter

Frostbite could still hardly believe it. The Great One, Savior of the Ghost Zone, right here! In the same room as him! If the chief wasn’t so focused on the core readings in front of him, he’d be practicing what to even say to him in preparation for when he woke up. He very briefly glanced over to the bed where he was resting before turning back to the screen. The warrior was exactly as other ghosts had described. At least, at first.

He was small, about the same height as a two hundred or three hundred year old, and had very little fur aside from the rather big patch on his head that covered some of his face. His eyes were opened briefly a while ago to make sure they weren’t damaged or that he didn’t have a severe head injury, and they were indeed the same green as the ectoplasm that flowed through them all.

His limbs didn’t look like they have much muscle, but Frostbite knew from the stories that they weren’t as weak as they seem, but they were as injured.

Yes, the Great One was discovered when an unknown ghost entered their borders and triggers the sensors. By the time Galeforce had gotten there with Frostbite by her side, the Great One was already unconscious and bleeding out into the snow, staining it green. He was brought into the hospital immediately, and many odd things were discovered.

For instance, it became clear during core scans that the Great One’s core wasn’t done maturing. It hadn’t even finished developing its ice powers! This meant that he wasn’t a ghost for very long, and it was frankly concerning. They’d heard that he wasn’t a full ghost and was half human. From the limited information they had, they knew that humans couldn’t handle the extreme cold very much.

The room had been raised to a high enough temperature that the he’d survive and hopefully be comfortable. It wasn’t something the doctors couldn’t handle, though. Building tolerance to a warmer room was practically a requirement in certain fields of medicine in the Far Frozen.

Frostbite was getting pretty warm, however. He looked at the clock. It had been 45 minutes since he came in. He’d need to take a break in the next 20 to 30 minutes if he didn’t want to begin experiencing problems.

A high pitched beep from the computer snatched Frostbite’s attention away from the clock and forced him back to looking at the monitor. The Great One’s core was picking up in vibrations and becoming more active, and the strange rhythmic thumping known as a “heartbeat” had picked up as well. The strange waves from his head were changing as well.

A small groan came from the bed. The chief snapped his head to the side. He was waking up.

The Great One was waking up!

Without thinking about the others wanting to see this, Frostbite rose from his seat and walked towards the bed, both out of excitement and concern for his patient.

The Great One turned his head and made an expression that Frostbite had seen before in patients waking up from an incident. It seemed almost like a struggle, but once they were open, they drifted around the room lost until they landed on Frostbite. Frostbite composed himself and bared his teeth in a smile. He reminded himself to keep his voice down since he had just woken up.

“Hello, Great One. It is an honor to—“

Frostbite was cut off by a scream.

The monitor beeped loudly from a jump in the core vibrations, and the other machines began to follow as they picked up on a sudden increase in ectoplasm pressure, and breathing rate. The veins in the Great One’s body flashed a bright green glow as ectoplasm rushed to the surface to harden it. It became so hard and taunt that little crevices were glowing along the skin. It almost looked as if the skin was going to break apart.

The Great One started reaching for the IV, but couldn’t grab it. He tried again and again, but his hands were shaking too hard to fully grasp it. Frostbite reached out to grab his wrists once he realized that the ghost was trying to pull out the IV. The Great One’s breathing rapidly picked up and grew shallower.

“Hey, hey, don’t pull that out!” Frostbite exclaimed. He was pulled out of trying to impress the Great One and back to acting the way he does with other patients, which suddenly felt like an obvious choice.

It seemed to have only made the problem worse as the Great One began fighting back, tugging his arms and made noises of distress. Frostbite is a doctor, but he is also a chief who takes his people’s protection very seriously, so it was no struggle to keep his hands around the Great One’s wrist. Then it was as if he was speaking another language, but if it was, it was nothing like Frostbite had heard. His injured core was practically screaming to be released, to run away and escape the danger.

“What’s going on?!” A voice shouted from outside the room. Frostbite turned around to see SwiftIce run into the room.

“I think he’s having a panic attack.” Frostbite said. He had to restrain from shouting, but the urgency was in his voice.”Get the diazepam, now.” He said. He turned back to the ghost and tried to put on a friendly expression.”Hey, hey, it’s alright.” He said calmly. He knew those words alone wouldn’t work, but it was a place to start.

The Great One pulled harder on his arms and began to move around as he struggled and failed to get his hands free. His eyes squeezed shut from the strain.

“Look at me.” Frostbite said gently. He lowered his head and knelt down so he’d be closer to the young one’s height.

The halfa opened his mouth and repeated the phrase from earlier, then repeated it again, but with extra “words”. It might be whatever it was that humans spoke. It would make sense for his first language to be a living one since Frostbite knew that some ghosts were humans before becoming ghosts. This wouldn’t be a bad thing if they had a translator.

“Please, look at me.” The chief repeated. This time, a little bit more sternly in hopes that the child would listen.”Get something to calm his core and muscles!” He called out, very briefly turning his head before looking back to the halfa.

Green eyes filled with terror opened up and looked at Frostbite, but only for a split second before looking beside him. Tears threatened to spill as he doubled his efforts to escape. Now, he was kicking as well. He cried out when he moved his left leg, which was still wrapped in bandages stained with green and a hint of red.

“I said let me go!!” The Great One screamed. His eyes glowed brightly as he shot a glare at Frostbite and bared his teeth, which as previously stated, were small and not very threatening. Frostbite noticed SwiftIce out of the corner of his eyes admitting the sedatives to the IV. The young one would be calmer soon, but he needed to breathe.

Frostbite took one of the halfa’s hands and placed it against his chest, ignoring the tugs and noises of protest.”Listen. In…”

The chief took in a deep breath.

“Out…” He exhaled. He took in another breath, and when he began taking in his third, the halfa had started to copy him. It was a struggle at first. His first breath was shaky and hitched, and he exhaled a little too quickly, desperate for the next one.

Frostbite continued and watched as the Great One’s breathing slowly evened out and became deeper. It seemed he was coming out of the panic attack as he took one without suddenly gasped for air or shaking. Once the sedatives he was given kicked in, the bright glow in his eyes and veins died down. The strength in his tugging slowly became less and less intense until he stopped fighting all together.

His shoulders slumped and he started leaning back against the pillow and bed frame, his eyes only barely glowing now and starting to look tired. Once Frostbite was sure he was calm enough, he spoke again.”Can you hear me?” He asked, just to be extra sure.

His patient nodded.

“I’m going to let go, but I need you to stop trying to remove your IV. If you can’t, we will have to strap you down for your own safety.” Frostbite said. He spoke sternly, putting a heavy emphasis on the “stop”, but not without understanding.“I understand that you’re scared, and I will explain everything as long as you don’t try to remove anything, fight, or run, okay?” Frostbite said.

The halfa nodded again.

Frostbite slowly released his grip on the Great One’s wrist and stepped back to give him a little space. The Great One didn’t reach for the IV again. Instead, he held both hands close to himself. He held the hand Frostbite had pressed against his chest. Frostbite hoped he hadn’t accidentally hurt him. He was sure he was gentle enough.

“My name is Frostbite. You are at the hospital in my village. You were brought here after you were found unconscious and bleeding into the snow at the edge of our borders.” He explained.

The young halfa stared at him blankly for a moment, likely processing what he heard. His eyes soon shifted away from Frostbite to look around the room. They landed on the IV next to him for a moment before he looked back to Frostbite.

“What did you give me?” He asked. His voice was much quieter than before, and Frostbite was sure that if it wasn’t for the meds, he’d be either snappy or still terrified.

“Diazepam, amrix, and gailen.” Frostbite responded.

The halfa raised an eyebrow and made a funny face in confusion.“Gailen??” He questioned. He almost didn’t finish the word before opening his mouth wider and yawning. Frostbite could barely see any fangs and wondered if he even had any.

The chief nodded.“It helps soothe your core and prevent it from buzzing too much.” He explained.

His patient didn’t quite look like he was paying attention as he sunk further against the bed, but his eyes still looked focused. Well, as focused as they could be. He stared at Frostbite for a while, which was to be expected, and he smiled at the young halfa.”I understand if you don’t trust me, but please know that we aren’t your enemies. If we wanted to hurt you, we’d have done it by now.” Frostbite said.

His patient slowly blinked. He opened his mouth, but only the strange noises came out again and it was quiet.“What was that?” Frostbite asked. He leaned closer.

“Where...?” The halfa muttered. His eyes fluttered closed, but after a short while, they opened again. Just barely, though.

“You’re in the Far Frozen.” Frostbite responded. The Great One’s eyes drifted shut again, but the chief continued.”You’ll likely still be healing when you wake up, but don’t worry, we have our best doctors and nurses helping you.” He said. The only response he got was the machines monitoring his patient’s heartbeat and core vibrations slowing down.

Frostbite soon sat down and took a moment to think about what had just happened. In hindsight, he should’ve expected some form of surprise or wariness when the Great One woke up. He’d been unconscious when he was found, so he didn’t know that he was brought to a hospital. They’ve never met, either, and there were just as many bad ghosts as there were good.

A full on panic attack, however, was not something Frostbite would have expected even if he realized the chances of the halfa reacting negatively to the new environment sooner. Not only that, but hearing his voice made Frostbite realize something that was frankly terrifying.

It was clear that his core wasn’t fully matured yet, so he was a child by ghost standards, but Frostbite had hoped that he was at least an adult by human standards. Despite never having met a human before, Frostbite thought that he looked rather young. Then again, some adults look young. He held onto these assumptions because surely, a child didn’t attempt to fight Pariah Dark and win, right?

However, after what just happened and hearing his voice, a sense of horror was creeping its way into the chief’s mind. It was almost certain that the Great One was indeed a child.

The next time the Great One awoke, he didn’t freak out as much as last time, however he was startled about Frostbite as he woke up with his bandages being changed and yanked his arm away. After staring at Frostbite for a short while, he held his arm back out to let him finish. He winced a little during the process, but other than that, he had good self control.

“You said your name is Frostbite, right?” The young halfa asked. His core buzzed anxiously as he stared at the bigger ghost.

Frostbite was nearly done with the bandages and didn’t look up from his current task.“Yes. May I know yours?” He asked calmly. This time, he was more mentally prepared to talk to the halfa.

When he finished, the Great One held his arm and looked at the bandages. He turned his arm as if inspecting them before he turned to Frostbite.”Danny.” He responded.“Thanks for the help, but I need to go.” He said. He began to move around in the bed that was too big for him to try to swing his legs over the edge, but realized that the bed was bigger than he thought and resorted to trying to stand up.

“What? But you’re not properly healed yet!” Frostbite exclaimed. He lifted a paw to try to lightly push Danny back down. The halfa nearly fell over fairly easily and exclaimed something in human speak, but he grabbed onto Frostbite’s paw and began trying to squirm his way out from underneath.

“Hey, let go! I seriously need to head back home before something happens!” He said. He was able to escape fairly easily on account of his size and Frostbite’s loose grip. He flew up a little too fast and hit his head on the ceiling. He let out a noise of pain and looked down at Frostbite.“Wait, how long have I been here?” He asked.

The chief raised a paw up to try to gently grab the halfa. Unlike most ghosts, Frostbite’s people were surprisingly incapable of flight after spending so much time on the ground.“About a week, but you must--”

Frostbite was cut off by Danny letting out a noise of surprise in Human Speak.“Thank you so much for helping me, but I really need to find my way home! ‘Kay, thanks, bye!” He said quickly. Before Frostbite could say anything, he was gone.

Reunion

The day had gone by as usual. Work got done and things were running smoothly, and there was still no sign of the Great One. It had been two weeks since Frostbite saw him, since anyone saw him, and the chief was wondering if he was alright. He had no doubts that the Great One was powerful. He had defeated Pariah Dark, for Ancients’ sake!

Yet every time Frostbite thought back to their conversations, for lack of a better word, he couldn’t help but worry. The fact that the Great One was so young left him with a heavy weight in his core. Where were his parents? Where were his mentors? Why didn’t they help?

Frostbite stood at the edge of of one the islands and looked out towards the distant parts of the ghost zone. The entire sky, including the pieces that stretched below the islands, had almost turned dark. The last few ships between other nearby floating islands were just now landing and unloading their passengers. Soon, Frostbite would need to return home.

He continued to watch the sky grow dimmer for a while before he noticed something in the dark green. He squinted his eyes and leaned forward a little. It looked like a ship. As it came closer, he realized it didn’t look like one of his own. Not only that, but there was something smaller flying beside it.

The thing beside the ship picked up in speed and started heading right for Frostbite. The chief growled and readied himself for a fight. Why weren’t the defenses up? Where was everyone? If their ships were already turned off, he’d need to handle this threat by himself for a while. That won’t be a problem, though. The ship and the thing next to it were small. He could--

The thing next to the ship stretched an arm out and waved. The white glove contrasted against the black sleeves, and the green eyes that the chief could see more clearly now looked more lively than last he saw them. The half-ghost picked up in speed and flew a little lower, possibly coming in for a landing.

Frostbite’s shoulders relaxed as a smile began to stretch across his maw. The Great One was back!

The Great One landed a distance away from Frostbite and waved the ship down to land next to him. Once it was down, he looked over his shoulder and directly at Frostbite.

The chief began making his way over to the young halfa. He wanted to say many things. He wanted to greet him, he wanted to ask where he went, he wanted to ask why he’d returned, but all that came out was a worried “Are you alright?”.

The Great One smiled. It looked a little strange without a longer maw, but he couldn’t help that and shouldn’t be judged for it.”Yeah, I’m alright. The injuries healed a while ago.” He replied. It was almost strange seeing how calm he is now. Before, he seemed absolutely terrified, but now, he seems more confident. Perhaps it’s the fact that he wasn’t alone, or maybe it’s the simple change in scenery. He turned to the ship and called out to whoever was inside. A few seconds later, a small door opened and two humans stepped out.

They were both wearing large coats and pants lined with white fur. One of them shivered and hugged themselves, then said something to Danny. The Great One spoke back and all their gazes were directed to Frostbite.“This is Sam and Tucker. They’re my best friends and wanted to come with me to say thank you!” The Great One said.

One of the humans waved their hand, which was covered in a glove thicker than Danny’s. Frostbite knelt down to be more at eye level and extended both hands.“It is an honor to meet you both!” He said.

Danny turned to them and spoke in the human language. He most likely translated what he said to his friends, who took both hands and shook them.

Well, it was more like they placed a hand against his palm. Their hands were significantly smaller than his own and he had to be careful not to crush them. Frostbite turned to Danny.

“I’m honored that you have returned to thank us. It was no trouble at all helping you. It’s getting dark, so I insist you stay the night before returning home.” Frostbite said.

The Great One looked surprised.”Uh-- Sorry, but no. Not this time. We have to head home soon or people will start to notice we’re gone. I just really wanted to say thanks for all the help and ask why.” He said. Frostbite’s eyes widened a little. One of the humans, one with black hair and purple eyes, held his paw as if interested in his claws. The chief paid little attention to this.

“Why? Why wouldn’t we? Great One, you defeated the ghost king! You prevented him from rising up again! The entire ghost zone should be in your debt for what you’ve done for us. Helping you recover was the very least we could do.” He said.

The Great One stammered, then let out a small laugh.”Great One? I-I mean, I did put that guy back in the box, yeah, but I doubt I’m all that great.” He said.

The human holding Frostbite’s paw turned to the halfa and asked him something, to which he replied with a shrug and a string of noises. Suddenly, there was a blaring noise coming from the ship. The third human rushed inside to investigate. He poked his head out moments later and shouted something.

Danny turned to Frostbite.”Sorry to cut it short, but Tucker says that the ship is already starting to freeze. It’s not meant for cold temperatures.” He said. The other human rushed inside.

As disappointed the chief was by this news, he knew it couldn’t be helped. He could offer to bring the ship to the engineers and they could improve its tolerance to the cold, but the humans would need a warm place to stay. Plus, it wasn’t hard to tell that Danny was eager to return home, although it seemed more that he was worried about something than disliking the Far Frozen.

Frostbite put on a smile.“Very well, but know this; If you are ever in need of assistance or are feeling unwell, you are welcome in the Far Frozen any time. You and your friends.” He promised.

The ship hovered up into the air. Danny jumped off the ground and flew up into the air.”I’ll… remember that. Thanks again for the help. See you again sometime?” He said. The ship circled around and flew off the way it came.

“Of course. Safe travels, Great One!” Frostbite said.

“You can just call me Danny!” The Great One called out as he rushed to catch up.

[eternaltempest]

Not A Fighter (Oneshot)

Roboute Guilliman x Fem Reader

A/N: Heyo, I've never written publicly before, I've written to myself just never posted on public forums. A friend encouraged me to post so I'm giving it a whirl. I'm also really lost when it comes to tags so *shrugs* So sorry if it's rough around the edges, but here goes! Hope ya'll enjoy -3-

S: You were recruited by Guilliman himself as a personal chef/secretary, strictly professional. But lbr it didn't stay that way for long. He works too much for his own good so you drop by to provide him some... nourishment

fluff? add a little bit of spice

Macragge's Honour glides silently through a starlit abyss. On the flagship, in a dimly lit room, a certain blue Primarch clad in his robes haunches over his desk, surrounded by the soft glow of dataslates and servo skulls. Scouring over countless documents and scrolls relating to only the Emperor knows what. It is silent, the peace half broken by the shuffling of papers and the scribble of ink on paper. Just the way he liked it.

His ridiculously long desk is in the middle of an office that dwarves a typical administrative room. Its style is a mirror of the rest of the flagship but decorated with shelves upon shelves of books, scrolls, and tomes. It boasts a ceiling of incredible height which would put to shame any chapel or imperial temple. Necessary on account of the Primarch’s stature when compared to a normal person. Or at least a normal Space Marine. 

You knock at the towering double doors and it shakes him from his concentration. He shoots the quickest glare at them before he goes straight back to his tasks. He hates being interrupted.

“Enter.” 

The right door opens and you push your way through it, dressed in a robe of light amaranth. The cloth contouring just enough of your figure to demand a second glance, yet still leaving much to the imagination. Half of your hair let down, and the other half held up by adorning laurels of shimmering gold. You enter, pushing a metal cart with a cloche and pitcher of hot water. 

“Good evening, Lord Guilliman.” 

His focus remains unbroken but he takes note of the soft voice that issues its greeting.

“What brings you here?” 

He responds sharply, preferring to keep whatever business this is brief. 

The sound of wheels on the marble white floor cuts across the room until you stop just to the right of his desk. 

“It is evening, my lord. You have been working tirelessly for some time.” 

“Leave it. It is of no consequence.” He mutters without even bothering to look up. 

You stay silent and remain at your spot next to the cart. The lack of response finally breaks his gaze on his work and up to you, only to immediately be pulled back down as he commands. 

“I will not repeat myself.” 

“Oh you needn't, your Excellency. I understand you are quite enthralled with your work. I, however, seem to find myself with an abundance of time.” 

The scribble of the pen stops followed by a moment of silence. He looks up, this time his eyes meet yours in a solemn defiance. He sighs deeply, too text weary to argue and too exhausted to fight the insistence. 

“What is it that you have brought me?”

You quickly open the cloche; revealing a set of chalices alongside an assortment of small dishes and what seem to be agri berries.

“A variety of berries and fruits to nourish and hydrate you. The berries have been soaked in a solution to enhance not only their flavor but also vitamin intake. I prepared samples of amino-porridge packed with sauteed caba nuts. Then we have a helping of triglyceride gel that I have seasoned with spices from the agri-world of-” 

You continue on, attempting to keep it short but informative. Guilliman eyes you closely, taking note of your form and graceful movements while you serve him. 

He had conscripted you to serve as Mistress of the Imperial Refectorium directly under him. 

He did so not only for your uncanny talent at gastronomy but also for your capabilities as an administrative assistant. You not only taught Refectorial serfs to make delectable food but also handled the logistics of the kitchens on Macragge and onboard the various imperial flagships. But only ever accompanying him. Always with him.

“Your Excellency? Are you listening?” 

A barely-visible frown tugs at his lips as you begin organizing his paperwork to clear a space for his meal. 

“Do not call me that. I loathe when you call me that.” 

You let out a polite huff as you draw nearer to him. There is no wasted movement when you serve the plates neatly in front of him. Your locks cascade in front of him, their sheen is reflected by the light of the candles and data slates. He can't help but be tempted to reach out to them, but your sharp retort brings him out of the momentary trance. 

“And I loathe when I am ignored.”

You sneak a glance at the documents sprawled before you. 

“Besides, I'm sure these old scrolls can wait a few brief moments while you eat?” 

“No. I have much to do. I’ve no time for frivolities.”

Your face falls, and you bite your bottom lip in silent disappointment. But you quietly turn to look at him, you trace the crevices of his face that dance with the candle light. You love how they adorn him, like scars after years of being bombarded by the Astra Administratum and Militarum alike. His strong hands glide across paper, the pull of his muscles stretching up his forearms and ending at his rock solid arms. His bicep alone dwarfed your head. By the Emperor, he was radiant.

It had been a long time since he had donned the Armor of Fate after he was attempting to wean himself of it. 

Much to your delight. Even if it once was keeping him alive, you were glad he was able to go longer periods without it. He looked appealing with the armor on but all the more so when it wasn't obscuring his magnificent form.

You cast one last lingering look before an idea forms in your head. Keeping his dismissive remark in mind, you start packing your collection of dishes back on the cart.

The sudden clatter steals his attention and he double takes when he notes your curt repacking.

“What are you-”

“You're absolutely right, my lord. You have no time for such things. That's why I am going to make time.” you snap, not letting him finish his question.

“What?” 

“I am going to help you. That way you will have some time to eat something. Frivolous as it may be.” 

“Wait I-” 

You blatantly ignore him and start moving the towers of papers, surrounding yourself with them and making a spot for yourself on the desk. Your head darts to and fro, searching for an extra pen flimsy. 

“I said wait!” He says with more urgency than he intended. He grabs your arm, freezing you in place. 

You look down at the sudden contact. Then your eyes find his, slowly, and perhaps more intimately than they should. Yet you say nothing.

“Stop, I…” 

He lets out a barely audible exhale, softly placing his other hand around the small of your back. 

“I was only… ” 

He flicks his gaze down to his paperwork. He truly did not want you to go. Although he knew he would outlive you for many more millennia, you were one of the very few people he learned to appreciate. He had known many in his expansive life but they treated him as he was. A leader, a Primarch, commander of the Imperium. Second only to the Emperor himself. Which was not out of the realm of expectation, but he hated that too few treated him as you did. As a person. A friend. 

“Only what? …Roboute.” You cock your head in an attempt to peer into his eyes once again.

You didn't care for title or rank and you spoke plainly. He adored the bluntness. After years of service, and essentially taking care of him, he came to care for you in turn. 

Primarchs had no time or drive for frivolities like interpersonal relationships. But your frankness and jovial attitude grew on him. And soon something of a partnership had formed. A companionship, only occasionally taking a page out of Fulgrim’s book in considering you anything like a consort. 

Of course… The latter was known only to the two of you. A Primarch does not have time for the sweeter pleasures in life- especially not the Commander and Lord Regent of the Imperium. At least not much time. This, however, he had decided was one of those times.

His hand snakes around your waist and he pulls, yet she does not budge. 

“... Roboute.” you protest, a low warning in your voice as you put a hand on his arm that rests on your waist. 

Your gaze goes from him to the door. 

“There's no need to worry about unwanted distractions, I made sure to secure the locks.”

He grabs your hand and holds it in his. He peers into your eyes, a warmth enveloping the two. You can no longer resist a tender smile and you slide your hand onto his cheek. He's cold to the touch, a stark contrast to the heat of your hand and he inadvertently nestles into it.

A soft chuckle escapes your lips “Are you aware you have very little resistance when it comes to these things, Roboute? You don't put up much of a fight.”

He peeks open a single eye and responds curtly “It is widely known that I am not a fighter. I excel more as a tactician, an administrator.” 

“Hah! That's the understatement of the millennia.” You say with a toothy grin as you shoot a look back down at the mountain of documents on his desk. 

Though he is sitting and you remain standing, you still have to tilt your head up to match his gaze. His titanic stature truly makes you feel minuscule in your 5 foot something body. But behind his size you know there is a sadness, a weariness from the overwhelming weight he has on his shoulders. 

He notices you peering at him and tries another tug at your waist.

“You do not need to do anything. Just stay here. With me.” He whispers in a low voice. 

A grin tugs at the corner of your mouth. You pull up the hem of your dress, cautiously sliding onto his broad lap. As you do, you plant a silent, tender kiss on his cool cheek. He brings you both closer to his desk and he goes straight back to working. 

A brief moment passes before you realize that his attention has once again focused on the matters at hand. Irked at how quickly he delves back into his boundless work, you have a sudden idea. You throw your arms around his neck and bring your lips up to his ears. 

“Ro…” you whisper, your breath caressing his ear. 

A shiver creeps down his spine and he lets out a stifled groan.

“Do not distract me, woman.” 

His reaction drives your mischievous mood and you rest your head on his unarmored shoulder. 

“Distracting am I?” You nuzzle into his neck and purposely talk into his skin. The reverberations of your voice sending another synapse of sparks through him.

Another strained breath slips from him “Stop, ngh, teasing. This is important.” 

You giggle, the sound an angelic hum in his ears, but nevertheless distorting his focus. 

“I'm not teasing. I'm relaxing you.” 

Before continuing, you reach back toward your cart. You clutch one of the succulent agri-berries and silently pops it into your mouth whole. 

You reach over and pull at his chin, tearing his sight from the desk below. 

His brows cross in momentary disasperation, a hue of pink teasing at his cheeks. 

“My laurel, I-”

You cut him off by bringing your lips together delicately, before pushing the berry into his mouth with your tongue.

“Mrgh!” 

He breaks the kiss, taking your shoulders in his hands and mutters between full cheeks. “I had asked you to keep me company, not beguile me.” He protested. 

“I am keeping you company, my lord. Would you like me to do so again?” you coyly asked with a bemused smile 

He narrowed his eyes and grumbled, promptly returning to his scribbling. 

Your brows furrowed in annoyance and you huffed while you set your chin back on his shoulders. Glancing at his now red hot ear, you gain yet another sly idea. 

You lift your head cautiously, making sure he does not stir from your movement. The glint of your incisors reflect the light of the surrounding candles as you abruptly bite down on his lower earlobe. 

The sudden stab of pain draws him to a pause, his voice resounding with both curiosity and agitation.

“Was that a bite?” 

You leave little time for him to properly react further before you sink your teeth into his neck. You bite down, tender enough to not draw blood, but firm enough to leave a throbbing imprint. You finish it off by dragging your tongue across the fresh mark and replying playfully- Somewhere in the reply, a hint of provocation.

“I can do a lot more, Roboute”

[baccarry]

The Scarlet Ribbon

Summary: Boromir, heir of Gondor, journeys to a small village on the borders of Rohan, where the winter silence hides a warmth he hasn't felt in a long time. What draws him to this snowy corner? A humble goods shop, or a girl with a scarlet ribbon in her hands, who becomes something far greater to him? The mysteries of the Yule festival, the game of "snow shadows," and moments that change destinies—all await in this tale of seeking a bond stronger than duty and the winter's chill. Fandom: The Lord of the Rings (crossover) Pairing: Boromir x Reader Rating: G Note: While writing this text, I fully embraced the Christmas vibe, and the story seemed to come together on its own. Let it become a cozy episode for a winter evening. Yes, I know I’m a little late for Catholic Christmas, but better late than never, right? All parts are written and will be published weekly. Sorry, but English is not my native language, so if you notice any mistakes, please correct them. I would also appreciate beta reading services. 4152 Words.

***

Boromir was heading north, toward the border of Rohan and Gondor. Officially, his journey was motivated by the need to inspect the condition of the border posts and ensure that caravans passing through these lands encountered no delays. Yet, for months now, he had been finding new excuses to return to this small village nestled among the hills.

The road was winding and coated in slushy snow, marked only by the rare passage of carts and horses’ hooves. The further north he traveled, the colder the air became, biting at his face and hands. A light frost clung to his chainmail and traveling cloak, but he paid it no mind. His thoughts were occupied elsewhere—on the village where Torken's shop stood.

This shop seemed ordinary enough, like many others in Gondor or Rohan: shelves stocked with fabrics, furs, dried herbs, and other goods. Yet, for him, it had become something more. It wasn’t the wares that had imprinted on his memory but the person behind the counter. Over the past months, he had devised countless reasons to visit again and again: to inspect the quality of fabrics for the garrison or to purchase rare furs, supposedly needed in Gondor. And, of course, to see you.

Each time he entered the shop, he found himself freezing momentarily when his gaze met yours. Your smile, bright and simple as it was, filled him with a warmth he seldom felt during his arduous campaigns. If your father happened to be away and you were the one assisting customers, Boromir always found a reason to linger just a little longer, watching the deftness of your hands, and perhaps, accidentally brushing against your fingers as you handed him a pouch tied with a silver cord.

Now, as he approached the village, he felt a familiar mix of anticipation and joy. The closer he drew, the more pronounced was the sense that this snow-covered corner of Rohan held something special for him. Here, there were no marble arches or broad streets like in Minas Tirith, but there was something more genuine: a simplicity and comfort he hadn’t known in a long time.

The village appeared as a tiny oasis amid the white hills. Wooden houses with thatched roofs were lightly dusted with snow. The streets were quiet, with only a few figures moving between the buildings, cloaked against the chill. Thin tendrils of smoke curled up from chimneys, carrying the scent of burning wood, and faint glimmers of light shone from some of the windows.

Torken's shop stood at the corner of the central square, as unassuming as ever. Its entrance was shielded by a rough fabric to block the wind, and wooden crates filled with straw and furs surrounded the doorway. Everything here was simple, yet somehow this simplicity drew him more powerfully than the grandeur of Gondor.

He pulled on the reins, halting his horse. For a few moments, he simply sat there, letting the cold sting his face. His gaze swept slowly over the village. Everything looked different from Gondor. The houses were modest but inviting, their thatched roofs now blanketed with soft snow. Though the streets were deserted, they felt lived-in: faint boot prints marked some doorsteps, left just moments ago. On one window hung a small wooden sun-shaped amulet adorned with snowy rowan branches. Outside another house, overturned barrels were draped with fur coverings, as if someone had recently set them out to air.

His attention was drawn to the evergreen wreaths adorning several doors. Some were simple, made of branches and pinecones, while others were more elaborate, with ribbons or berries. It was a detail unfamiliar to his eyes: in Minas Tirith, ordinary homes were rarely decorated, save for special occasions. Yet here, it seemed natural, a part of life imbued with warmth and care.

His gaze stopped on the shop. The door creaked slightly as it opened, and a figure slipped inside. Boromir leaned forward, trying to discern who it was. Moments later, the figure reappeared: it was you, standing in the doorway with a wreath in your hands. The wreath was neatly woven from fir branches and adorned with small pinecones, though it looked rather austere.

He watched as you lifted something, realizing it was a ribbon. Bright red, vivid like a drop of blood on the snow. You began to skillfully weave it into the wreath. Your movements were quick yet precise. Knot by knot, you wrapped the branches, unfazed by the sharp needles occasionally catching on your fingers. Your concentration was so complete that it seemed the rest of the world had ceased to exist.

You murmured something under your breath as you adjusted the ribbon, and Boromir noticed your glance briefly flicker toward the doorway. Perhaps you were thinking of your father’s recent remark: “The wreath is fine, but it’s too somber. A festival calls for brightness. Here, take this.” He had handed you the ribbon—a rarity in such a place, but surprisingly beautiful.

You worked with such focus that you hadn’t noticed him yet. And he, feeling that he was overstepping all bounds of propriety, continued to watch, unable to tear his eyes away.

The impropriety, of course, wasn’t in the act of observing you. It was in the fact that he, heir of Gondor, had once again found an excuse to be here. That he lingered too long on the sight of your hands, and that questions crept into his thoughts: “Who are you to me? Why do you command my attention every time I’m here?”

Boromir finally dismounted. He knew he shouldn’t. Perhaps even his mere presence at your door could be misconstrued. But something in your absorbed movements compelled him to draw nearer, so quietly that even the snow beneath his boots seemed complicit.

He stopped a few steps away, but you still hadn’t noticed him, so engrossed were you in your task. He thought he heard you softly humming to yourself, checking how the ribbon lay.

A sudden gust of wind rose, swirling snowflakes from the roof and spinning them around you, as if inviting you to dance. Your hair was slightly tousled, and you instinctively tucked a loose strand behind your ear, never breaking your focus on the wreath. In that moment, the sun broke through the heavy clouds, and the red ribbon in your hands blazed like living fire against the cold snow.

And then you saw him. Your fingers froze, still clutching the wreath, and your eyes widened in surprise. The red ribbon you had been weaving slipped from your fingers, swaying gently in the air as if hesitating.

“My lord,” you said softly, your voice trembling. Your hands, sticky with resin and covered in tiny scratches from the fir needles, trembled slightly before you quickly hid them behind your back. The wreath wobbled, a reminder of your task. You hadn’t expected to see him here, amidst the quiet and simplicity that seemed to shield you from the world. “You weren’t supposed to be here…”

For a moment, silence reigned, broken only by the whisper of the wind through the trees.

“But I am,” he said quietly. His voice was low but warm, as if this moment had been long anticipated. He stepped closer, his fingers brushing lightly against your hand, tentative, as if afraid to shatter the fragility of the moment. You felt the warmth he made no effort to conceal.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his question catching you off guard.

You looked at him, allowing a light, almost shy smile to touch your lips. Your eyes sparkled with gentle surprise but not embarrassment. You didn’t falter, though something inside you beat faster than usual.

“Decorating for the Winterwood Festival,” you answered calmly, lifting the wreath slightly as if to justify your activity.

Boromir’s eyebrows rose. He tilted his head slightly, as if scrutinizing either you or the wreath—or perhaps both.

“The Winterwood Festival?” he repeated, as though hearing the name for the first time. “We don’t have such a thing in Gondor. What is it?”

You squinted slightly, as if pondering whether he truly didn’t know or simply wanted to hear your explanation. His tone was sincere, and you decided to tell him.

“It’s an old tradition of ours. We welcome winter to honor it and remind ourselves that spring will always come. We decorate our homes with fir branches to protect them and add bright colors to show winter that she’s a welcome guest—but only for a time.” You nodded toward the red ribbon. “Red symbolizes life, warmth, and joy. Without it, everything else would be too bleak.”

Boromir thoughtfully ran his fingers along a fir branch, oblivious as a few needles fell onto the snow. His gaze was fixed on your hands still holding the wreath. He couldn’t understand why this simple ritual stirred such a strange mix of warm longing and curiosity within him. The ribbon in your hands seemed to be a connection between your world and something unattainable for him. He wanted to ask more, to hear just a few more words from your lips, but at that moment, your father’s voice rang out from the shop:

“Well, how much longer? How long does it take to weave a ribbon into a wreath?! Night’s coming, and we’ve got plenty to do!”

You flinched as if snapped out of a trance. Quickly tying off the end of the ribbon, you grabbed the wreath and tossed it over your shoulder.

“Come to the lake at midnight,” you said without meeting his gaze, then disappeared into the shop, leaving him alone.

The day in the village was lively. Festivities began as the sun dipped toward the horizon. Villagers spilled into the streets despite the snow and cold. The village came alive: children played in the snow, laughing loudly, while adults bustled around the fires, setting up large cauldrons with steaming drinks. The air was filled with the scent of freshly baked bread, smoke, and herbs.

By evening, large bonfires were lit in the central square. People gathered around to sing old songs, leap over flames, and dance in circles. Every villager seemed to find their place in the celebration: some danced, others stood aside, quietly chatting, but all were swept up in the festive spirit.

Closer to midnight, things became particularly intriguing. This hour marked a special ritual, where those seeking connection could gather by the lake, hidden from prying eyes by trees and a light mist. There were no large bonfires or bright lights here—only the faint glow of lanterns and the shimmer of stars on the dark water.

It was believed to be a time for hearts searching for bonds. Girls and boys gathered by the lake to leap over small fires together, join in dances, or simply talk in the semi-shadowy light. Anonymity was part of the ritual: faces were barely discernible in the flickering firelight, voices were hushed, and time seemed to stand still. This ritual allowed those who were shy or afraid to confess their feelings to be closer, even if only briefly.

When midnight arrived, Boromir made his way to the lake. The path leading there was narrow and covered in snow, but he knew he would find you waiting. Remembering your voice, he quickened his pace, feeling the cold air fill his lungs and his heart beat faster with anticipation.

As Boromir approached the lake, he saw the dark water reflecting the glittering stars. The faint glimmer of firelight from a bonfire on the shore illuminated the trees and the faces of those already gathered. He was cautious: the celebration, filled with laughter and merriment, felt like something unusual for his austere world. Yet, drawn by your invitation, he had come.

But you found him first.

Hiding among the trees, you watched as he approached the firelight, then deftly slipped behind him, stepping so silently that even his keen ears didn’t catch your steps. When he stopped, you moved closer and gently touched his shoulder.

“By Eru Almighty!” he started, spinning around and instinctively reaching for his belt, as if grasping for a weapon. “I could have harmed you by mistake!”

You laughed softly, lifting your head slightly so he could better see your face, hidden behind a mask. Like the other girls, your mask was made of thin bark and adorned with fir branches and snow patterns. It gave you an air of mystery, and even the faint firelight didn’t allow him to see you clearly.

“It’s not so easy to scare me, my lord,” you replied, raising a hand to stop him as he reached to remove the mask. “No. Tonight, you must earn it.”

You smiled and handed him a simple men’s mask made of dark cloth. Its decoration was minimal—a few embroidered threads and a sprig of fir, to distinguish it from the women’s masks.

“Do you see the bonfire?” You pointed to the fire at the very edge of the lake, where pairs were beginning to gather.

He nodded, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly, though his gaze remained wary.

“That’s the center of the game. The girls hide among the trees at the edge,” you began to explain, slowly adjusting the ribbon on your waist. “Their goal is to escape and remain unseen for as long as possible.”

You paused to let him grasp the idea, then continued, watching his reaction:

“The boys, in turn, try to catch us—‘snow shadows.’ If you touch my ribbon—on my waist or wrist—I’ll be considered caught and must return to the bonfire with you.”

Boromir raised an eyebrow, thoughtfully running a hand over his mask.

“And then? Caught—then what?”

You smirked, tilting your head slightly.

“It’s not that simple. At the bonfire, you can try to guess the girl’s name or offer to exchange gifts. Usually, these are ribbons, nuts, or small carvings.” You paused, letting the words hang in the air for a moment. “But if you guess correctly… you can ask for anything you want.”

“Anything they want?” he repeated, a light smile in his voice, which might have seemed mocking if not for the warm gleam in his eyes.

“Anything,” you confirmed with a subtle nod, but your gaze was steady. You knew what “anything” usually implied: a quick kiss in the shadows, a granted wish, or something that pairs already close to each other might allow themselves on such an evening. “You must be careful, my lord; all our girls are swift. Don’t be fooled by their delicacy.”

You laughed, stepped back, and with a graceful wave of your hand, disappeared among the trees, leaving him standing by the fire with the mask in his hands. The wind once again swirled snowflakes, and as he watched your retreating figure, he realized this game would be more than just an amusement.

“I don’t need ‘all,’ I need one,” he said softly, almost to himself, a faint, almost imperceptible warmth curling his lips into a smile. His fingers brushed the fabric of the mask before raising it to his face. The mask fit perfectly, concealing his features and leaving only his eyes visible—attentive and now slightly cunning.

Boromir joined the group of young men standing across the fire from the girls. They laughed loudly, tossing quick remarks to each other and shifting impatiently. Some adjusted their masks, fiddled with ribbons tied to their wrists or belts, or nudged each other playfully. Boromir stood quietly among them, remaining in the shadows, and scanned their partially hidden faces.

His gaze swept across the fire and found you. You stood slightly apart, rocking lightly on your toes as if preparing to dash away. You wore a simple but warm dress of deep green, belted with a thin leather strap to which a crimson ribbon was tied. Over your shoulders was a fur cloak for protection against the cold. Your mask, adorned with snow patterns and fir branches, concealed half your face, but he would recognize you among a thousand.

You looked directly at him, and a soft, teasing smile played on your lips. That gaze was a challenge—it seemed to say he would have to earn every second spent near you. Boromir smirked to himself, feeling a spark of excitement ignite within him.

The bonfire flared brighter, as if heralding the start of the game. One of the young men shouted a signal, and the girls simultaneously darted away like a flock of birds taking flight. You were no exception, slipping gracefully into the depths of the forest. The young men followed, their loud footsteps and laughter echoing through the clearing.

Boromir didn’t rush. He waited, watching as the crowd dispersed among the trees, keeping his eyes fixed on you. You moved confidently, your crimson ribbon flashing briefly among the shadows of the trees before vanishing from view.

He followed, stepping carefully to avoid revealing himself too soon. The forest was dark, but occasional glimmers of light from the bonfire or the moon illuminated the path. The air smelled of pine and frost, and around him, he could hear footsteps, laughter, and whispers. In the distance, he noticed one of the young men catching a girl and pulling the ribbon from her wrist before the two headed back toward the fire.

But not everyone was in a hurry. Venturing deeper into the forest, Boromir suddenly spotted two figures near a tree. In the faint light, he discerned a young man and a woman. She was leaning against the trunk, and he was bent over her, cradling her face in his hands. Their lips were pressed together hungrily and passionately, as if the rest of the world had ceased to exist. It was a sight he rarely witnessed in Gondor, where strict morals dictated restraint and decorum. There, emotions were concealed behind polite glances and cautious gestures. But here, in the forest, this couple kissed as if every moment could be their last.

Boromir paused momentarily, turning away to grant them their privacy. Something in that scene stirred a strange feeling within him: a mix of envy and wonder. Perhaps this festival allowed people to shed the masks they wore in daily life. He wasn’t sure, but he understood one thing—tonight was different from his world. And this evening might change not only those playing “snow shadows” but him as well.

He continued onward, catching a glimpse of the crimson ribbon flitting ahead. You were still out there, and he decided he wouldn’t let himself be distracted again.

She moved like a flicker of flame among the trees, and he immediately gave chase, certain it was you. His steps were confident, his gaze focused. He was accustomed to pursuit, to tracking a target—it was part of his life. But this wasn’t a battle; it was a game, and he realized there was something special, almost sweet, about this hunt.

He quickened his pace, the distance between you closing, and soon the ribbon was within his reach. Boromir reached out and grasped the edge. The girl stopped abruptly and turned.

“Was it so easy?” she said, laughing. Her mask hid her face, but the voice was unfamiliar. It wasn’t you.

He froze, slightly bewildered, then released the ribbon without a word. The girl simply smiled and, turning, headed back toward the bonfire.

“I thought you were more attentive, my lord,” came a teasing voice suddenly behind him. He turned to see you standing by a tree, your head tilted slightly as if assessing him. In your masked eyes, mischief sparkled.

He didn’t hesitate. He took a step forward, but you immediately darted away with a grace that could rival any dancer.

“Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be?” he muttered with a smirk, starting the chase.

You wove through the trees as if the forest were your home. Your figure flitted here and there, the crimson ribbon catching his eye like a beacon. You laughed, glancing over your shoulder, and that laugh sounded like a challenge.

Boromir knew he could catch you at any moment. His height, stamina, and trained body—everything suggested he needed only to quicken his pace, take a few long strides, and you would be in his grasp. But he didn’t. He let you slip away, savoring the game. Your breathing grew faster, your laughter more breathless, yet you didn’t stop.

You hid behind a tree, peeking out and casting quick, teasing glances. He drew closer, each step louder than your light movements. You laughed again, trying to wrap yourself around the tree trunk to escape to the other side. But this time, he was closer than you thought. His hand suddenly appeared from the opposite side of the tree, deftly catching your wrist.

“Tired?” he whispered, his voice low but warm. You felt his fingers, strong and warm, tighten gently around your hand, preventing you from breaking free.

You feigned a scoff, tilting your head.

“Never, my lord.” And boldly meeting his gaze, you slipped out of his grasp, sliding down into the snow and dashing off again.

Boromir laughed, his laughter echoing among the trees. He took another step forward, his hand carefully brushing against the crimson ribbon at your waist. His fingers, strong and warm, grazed the fabric, lingering for a moment. You were breathing heavily, your unsteady rhythm mirrored in the trembling shadows cast by the moonlight on the snow.

“Do I need to guess your name?” his voice was low, with a hint of amusement, but his eyes carried a flicker of something else—curiosity, expectation.

You shook your head, barely noticeably, and licked your lips, dry from the cold and the chase.

“No,” you whispered, your voice trembling but filled with such confidence that it almost sounded like a challenge. “You may claim your prize.”

You stepped back slightly, and your back touched a tree. There was nowhere left to run, but you didn’t intend to. Your gaze never left his face, almost entirely hidden behind the mask. Slowly, without breaking eye contact, you raised your hands and let him approach, so close that your fingers brushed the tree’s bark behind you.

“What do you want, my lord?” you whispered, your voice quiet but full of meaning.

He didn’t answer immediately. His gaze traveled slowly from your eyes to the mask you wore, then back again. With one hand, he gently lifted the edge of your mask, barely touching your skin, as if afraid to disturb this fragile moment. Your mask slipped away, and the moonlight illuminated your face.

He froze for a moment, captivated by the way the moonlight caressed your face, creating a delicate interplay of light and shadow on your cheekbones, as if outlining each feature with the precision of an artist painting the most beautiful portrait. In this silvery glow, your skin appeared almost translucent, your eyes sparkling as they reflected the starry sky. His fingers, barely grazing your chin as if to lift your face, trembled slightly. In his gaze, there was not merely admiration—there was something much deeper, more sacred than fleeting infatuation or the thrill of the chase. Something that made his heart pound faster.

He leaned closer, so near that his breath brushed your lips. The deep look in his eyes, no longer hidden by the mask, revealed a whirlwind of emotions—admiration, doubt, desire, but above all, a reverence for this moment that seemed eternal.

“I…” he began, but the words seemed caught in his throat. Everything he wanted to say couldn’t express what he felt inside. Instead, his lips parted as if to continue, but he only held your gaze.

A distant horn sounded, echoing deep and long through the forest. It signaled the end of the game, but it seemed so far away as to be irrelevant. In this moment, nothing existed but the two of you. His fingers tightened gently around your chin, still tenderly, and he hesitated for the briefest instant, as if seeking permission, before closing the remaining distance.

You felt the warmth of his lips before they touched yours. It was a light contact, almost imperceptible, like the first snowy kiss of winter’s wind. But behind this gentleness lay strength—not the force of passion, but a deep, almost instinctive recognition that this moment meant far more than just a game.

The wind rustled the branches above, lifting a few snowflakes and swirling them around you. The previously noisy and lively forest seemed to hold its breath, bearing witness to this encounter.

P.S.

I genuinely believe that the people of Gondor, with their refinement and formality, are likely more restrained and calculated in matters of "romantic pursuits." Gondor, which may draw inspiration from Byzantium, likely shares similar characteristics. Their festivals, if they exist, are probably more centered on revering the Valar and observing rituals rather than expressing "human emotions."

The Rohirrim, on the other hand, are more open and sincere in their approach to love and relationships. They honor traditions, but their lives are enriched by simple joys that they weave into their customs. Their festivals, like their entire culture, are more grounded, reflecting the joy of the seasons, fertility, or prosperity. The Rohirrim likely see love as a manifestation of strength, sincerity, and courage. Their rituals are simple yet rich in symbolism—songs, dances, and ceremonies by the fire that allow people to open up to one another, breaking down social barriers. This brings their way of life closer to nature and human emotions than that of Gondor's reserved and grandiose society.

[skzdust]

Cinderella in Mary Janes

This fic was written for the @mirohs-aurora-society secret Santa event! My secret Santa was @dinossaurz ! You requested fluff so I really hope you like this! It contains just a bit of angst/drama but it has a very happy ending :)

This is also the first fic I’ve made a playlist for so I hope you like that too!! It contains a healthy mix of emo music and romantic pop!

Side note: as I am an emo music enjoyer I included three references to emo bands/brands in this fic! If you’re familiar with the genre see if you can find them ;)

Enjoy!!

Summary: when emo Wooyoung sits next to you in class, it leads to an unexpected romance. But rumors fly, as they often do… (featuring a few skz boys as friends!)

Pairing: emo! Wooyoung x cutesy! Reader

Includes: college au, emo music/clothing references, cutesy reader, a little Cinderella reference bc that’s my fav movie, watching movies together, Chan, Minho, Hyunjin, and Felix as reader’s besties, rumors and reactions, coffee and study dates

Word count: 3.8k

Taglist (Comment on a post/send an ask if you'd like to be added): @weirdowithaphone , @caught-in-the-afterglow , @palindrome969 , @skzstan12345 , @katsukis1wife , @tsunderelino, @hyunjinsjeans , @somethingkindazainy , @silverstarburst , @atzlordz , @breadpuddingboys

Networks: @mirohs-aurora-society

Reblogs, likes, comments all appreciated!!

Masterlist

——-

You held back a sigh as you walked into the lecture hall. You did not want to take this biology class, but the requirement had to be fulfilled, especially since you were in your last year of school.

“I don’t get why a film major has to take a science class.” You grumbled to yourself, setting your white frilly bag on the desk in front of you and sitting down.

“I know.”

You jumped as you looked over your shoulder. A boy with long, dark hair was setting his messenger bag down beside you. He was dressed in a black T-shirt with the Your Organic Hatred band logo on it and light-wash jeans, and his jacket was covered in patches and pins. “Oh my God, you scared me.”

He smiled. “I have that effect on people sometimes.”

“I— you just startled me, that’s all.” You sat down, wondering why he’d chosen to sit next to you in the nearly empty lecture hall. You were dressed as opposite to him as you probably could’ve been: a blush-colored top with a white cardigan and a frilly pink miniskirt.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to.” He sat down, too. “I just wanted to say I love your outfit.”

“Oh… thank you.” You looked down, turning the same color as your top. “I am not looking forward to this class.”

“Me neither.” He said as he pulled out his laptop. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop on your conversation with yourself, but I’m a film major, too.”

You giggled. “That was a very private conversation, you had no right to listen.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, miss…” He trailed off, waiting for your name.

“Y/n.” You said, a little shyly.

“Miss y/n. I will be more considerate of your privacy going forward.”

“I appreciate that, Mister…” You raised your eyebrows.

“Wooyoung.” He grinned, and you noticed an eyebrow piercing. You swallowed. It was hot.

“Mister Wooyoung.” You tried to regain your composure. “So, you’re a film major, too? What’s your concentration?”

“Visual effects. How about you?”

“Screenwriting. I’m taking an editing class this semester though.”

Wooyoung perked up. “Which one?”

“Color correction.”

“440? With Dr. Dewey?”

“Yes!”

“We’re in it together, then.” Wooyoung smiled. “That’s cool.”

“Yeah!” You smiled back. “I hear Dewey can be tough, but he’s ultimately a good professor.”

“Yeah, I had him for editing techniques last semester.” Wooyoung nodded. “He definitely pushes you, but I learned a lot.”

“Well, now I know who to go to when I need help.” You leaned down to your bag to get your notebook out.

“I’d be more than willing to help.” Wooyoung said, and you were glad your face was away from him, because you were furiously blushing again.

You continued to talk with him about classes and professors and the film program until the Biology 110 professor walked in and started the class. Even then, you couldn’t get your mind off Wooyoung, doodling little flowers in the margins as the professor went on about course expectations. You were a good student, you’d read the syllabus already. You only paid attention when she mentioned a homework assignment due in a couple days. You groaned, homework during the first week of classes wasn’t unusual by any means but it was still annoying.

When the fifty minutes were up and the class was over, you packed up your things and stood up. “It was so nice to meet you, Wooyoung… could I get your number?”

Wooyoung’s grin was wide. “I’d love that.”

You handed him your phone with an empty contact open. He filled in his information and handed it back to you. He’d included his birthday, November 26.

You laughed. “Why’d you put your birthday in?”

He shrugged. “I always give people my birthday. I like getting happy birthday texts.”

That’s so cute, you thought, but you said, “Maybe I should start doing that, too.”

“You should. It says a lot about a person, who they send happy birthday texts to.” He nodded sagely.

“I’m sure it does.” You laughed.

“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow for color correction.” He grinned. “I’ll find you.”

“Sounds good.” You said, going red again.

He laughed and walked out. You finished zipping up your bag and left, off to your next class.

—

That evening, you were at your best friend’s apartment with a few of your other friends. Minho was cooking dinner, and the rest of you were crowded into the small living room.

“So, first day of classes.” Hyunjin said. “How’d it go?”

“Oh my God, I met the cutest guy.” You gushed. “In my biology class, of all places. He’s also a film major, maybe you know him… Wooyoung?”

“Wooyoung?” Felix’s eyes widened. “I just know he’s in a band that plays at Ross’s sometimes, he’s the drummer.”

“I’ve heard he’s a bit of a playboy.” Chan hummed. “Be cautious, y/n.”

“He seemed so sweet.” You mumbled.

“Campus rumors aren’t always true.” Felix put his arm around you. “And drummers are hot. You should go for it. Did he seem interested in you?”

“I mean, I got his number.”

“Text him! Oh my God, text him!” Felix bounced in place. “Ask him on a date!”

“That seems a little presumptuous.” You smiled at his excitement. “But I’ll see if he wants to hang out or something.”

You opened your phone and started a text to Wooyoung, grinning that he’d put a little smiley face emoticon next to his name: “Wooyoung :)”.

“Hey, Wooyoung, it’s y/n.” You mumbled aloud as you composed the text. “Do you want to work on the bio homework together tomorrow, maybe after color correction?”

“You’re in a second class together?” Felix smiled. “Oh, this is meant to be.”

You rolled your eyes and sent the text.

Hyunjin had started to tell you about his painting class when your phone buzzed. You picked it up immediately. “Wooyoung :)” had texted back.

“Hi y/n! I’d love to. I’m free after color correction so we can totally go to the student center or something!” You read, a smile spreading across your face.

“Victory!” Felix pumped his fist in the air. “Date scheduled!”

“It is not a date.” You laughed. “We’re just doing homework.”

“Maybe right now it is.” Hyunjin smiled. “But it could become something more.”

“Exactly!” Felix chimed in.

You looked at Hyunjin. “Oh, not you chiming in.”

He smiled innocently. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, yes, you do.” You shook your head, smiling. “I’ll let you all know how my not-date goes, okay?”

—

When you had color correction the next day, you walked into the class looking for Wooyoung. He must not have arrived yet, though, so you sat by some girls you knew from a film class a couple semesters ago. You didn’t remember any of their names, so you hoped you wouldn’t need to address them.

“Hey!” One of them greeted you. “It’s been a while! How are you?”

“Good!” You said absently, still looking around for Wooyoung.

“Who are you looking for?” One of the others said, twisting around in her seat.

“Do you know Wooyoung?” You said quietly.

“Drummer for Ateez Wooyoung?” The first one said. “You’re looking for him?”

You smiled. “Yeah.”

“Careful with him.” One of them said. “He’s super cute, and he knows it.”

That made two people who’d warned you against him. You bit your lip. “He seems so nice, though.”

“He is nice!” The first one said. “That’s the issue. He’s so nice, and then suddenly he’s talking to some other girl, and doesn’t even worry about you anymore.”

“You’re talking from experience, Ella.” One of them nudged Ella’s shoulder, and she rolled her eyes.

You didn’t like these girls. You’d sat near them in your last class, but they’d always seemed a bit mean to you.

You stood up. “I think I’m gonna sit near the front so I can get the notes better.”

“Okay.” Ella nodded. “Cool.”

You gave her a tight-lipped smile and picked up your bag, moving to the front of the room.

As if on cue, Wooyoung walked in the door, waving at you and walking over to sit beside you. Today he was in a black hoodie with a red and black design on it from Open Destruction, and black jeans. A tiny calculator hung from his belt.

“What’s that for?” You nodded at it.

He grinned. “Math, of course.”

“Oh, of course. Just in case.”

“Just in case.” He agreed. “How are you today?”

“I’m good.” You said. “I’m kind of dreading the bio homework, but it has to happen.” You sighed dramatically.

“It does.”

Before you could respond, Dr. Dewey walked into the room. “Hello, everyone! My name is Dr. Dewey, and welcome to color corrections.”

—

After class, you and Wooyoung walked to the student center together. “So, what’s the homework?”

“I think we read the textbook chapter and do the online quiz.” You said. “It shouldn’t be too bad, but I haven’t taken a biology class in a very long time, so I thought having someone to work with would be good.”

“I’m not very good at bio, but maybe if we put our heads together we can come up with something that makes sense.” He smiled.

You got to the student center and set up. Wooyoung went to get a coffee from the coffee shop, and you pulled out your phone.

11:56am, September 4

You: Just got to the student center :)

Felix: OMG YAAAAY

You: Don’t celebrate just yet lol, we’re just hanging out

Hyunjin: Sure. Remember to use a condom, y/n.

You: STOP IT HYUNE

Wooyoung returned with two cups in hand, and you put your phone away. “I didn’t know your coffee order, but you seemed like a caramel latte girl.”

You smiled, taking it. “I am! I love caramel lattes. Thank you, Wooyoung, I really appreciate it.”

He sat down across from you. “Of course.”

You both opened your laptops, navigating to the course page. “Ugh, I’ve said this before, but I hate biology.”

“Me too, but it’s a necessary evil.” Wooyoung said. “Gotta get the science credit.”

“Yeah.” You opened the textbook and began to read the first chapter. It all made sense so far, except for some information about the chemical makeup of microbes.

“I can’t quite get this. Page thirty four.” You said to him.

“Oh. I think I got that.” He began to explain it to you. It was all clear when he said it, and it wasn’t just because he was incredibly attractive as he described it. You stopped him after a couple minutes.

“Okay, I get it now. Thanks! You know, you’re not bad at bio.”

“I guess.” Wooyoung shifted in his seat. “I just don’t like it, so I don’t think I’m great.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, you’re smart, Wooyoung.”

“Thanks.” He smiled at you. “Do you want to move on to the quiz?”

“Yeah.”

You did the quiz together, and both of you got a 90% on it. This was mostly due to Wooyoung’s biology smarts, but you helped on a lot of the questions, too.

“Perfect.” You smiled, closing your laptop. “This was great.”

“It was. You know… you should come to my place sometime. We can watch a movie or something.”

You were suddenly on high alert, the warnings from Chan and Ella echoing in your ears. “That sounds great!” You said anyway. You hadn’t known Wooyoung for long, but you liked him, and you didn’t want to keep your distance.

“I’ll text you.” He said, finishing packing his things.

You walked out together, separating as you walked one direction towards your apartment, and he walked the other. “I’ll see you later?”

“Yes, for sure.” Wooyoung winked. “See you!”

“Bye!” You waved, hoping he couldn’t see your blush at his wink.

��

On Friday, you smoothed out your short white skirt as you stood in front of Wooyoung’s door, taking a breath before knocking.

Someone who was very tall and very not Wooyoung answered the door. “Hello?” He said, smiling and tilting his head. “Um, can I help you?”

“I’m— Wooyoung invited me over.” You stammered.

“Oh!” He leaned inside. “Woo! Your date’s here!”

“Coming!” Wooyoung’s voice said, and the way he didn’t deny you were his date made you go red. He appeared behind the other boy a minute later. “Come on in, y/n!”

“Thanks.” You said softly, stepping inside.

The other boy closed the door behind you, and you followed Wooyoung up the stairs.

His bedroom had a lot of stuff in it, but it was neat. The walls were decorated with band posters, and a drum kit sat in the corner. Trinkets sat on every available surface, and a TV was on the wall.

He switched it on, hopping on the bed. You gingerly sat on the edge, looking at the TV.

“You can get comfy, if you want.” He smiled.

“Okay.” You smiled and took off your shoes, then sat next to Wooyoung on the bed. “Oh, your bed is so comfortable.”

“I know.” He laughed. “I don’t like waking up early.”

“I can see why.”

Wooyoung queued up a movie on the TV, a comedy you’d never seen but wanted to. “I really like this one, if you want to watch a comedy?”

“I’d love to.” You smiled.

He started the movie, and you reclined back onto the pillows beside him.

You didn’t touch, but it already felt intimate to be so close to him. The movie was good, and hearing him laugh so much was adorable. You chatted as you watched, too, talking about the jokes, the characters, other movies you liked, classes, and music. You barely noticed when the movie ended, you were so caught up in your conversation.

Eventually you lay down with him, looking into each others’s eyes as you continued to talk. You began to notice his eyes drifting to your lips, then snapping back to your eyes when you said something. It was clear what he was thinking about.

There was a pause in conversation, and you smiled, just looking at him.

“Can I kiss you?” Wooyoung asked softly.

The alarm bells rang, deafening.

Chan. I’ve heard he’s a bit of a playboy. Be cautious, y/n. Ella. He’s so nice, and then suddenly he’s talking to some other girl, and doesn’t even worry about you anymore.

I’m just another girl to him.

You got up quickly, tears gathering in your eyes.

“It’s okay if not, y/n, I didn’t mean to freak you out or anything.” Wooyoung said, a note of distress in his voice.

“Don’t play around with me, Wooyoung.” You said, your words wavering.

“What? I’m not playing around with— I’m sorry for asking so soon!”

“I’m not just another girl.” You got one shoe on fully and slid the other half-on, ready to get out of there as fast as you could. All he wanted from you was a kiss, or more, and then he’d be done with you. You’d thought you were moving towards something deeper with him, but you should’ve listened to the people you knew.

Sometimes, campus rumors were true.

You ran down the stairs, one of your Mary Janes sliding off on the stairs. You didn’t even worry about it, running out of the house and back to your car. You locked the doors and took a few deep, shuddering breaths, holding back your tears.

Wooyoung hadn’t followed you outside, and you were glad for it. You got yourself together as best you could and turned on your car. Instead of going home, you went to Chan’s apartment.

He answered the door. “Y/n? What happened, are you okay?”

“Wooyoung asked if he could kiss me.” You sobbed.

Chan just looked at you for a second. “Okay, come inside.”

You told Chan and Minho, who was over hanging out, about what had happened. “I was just another girl to him, he was just using me.”

They looked at each other for a long moment. “I’m sorry I told you that, y/n.” Chan said.

“Huh?” You looked at him.

“I heard that from a friend of Ella’s. It sounds like he really does like you. He got you coffee, he invited you over, and you talked for hours. That all sounds like someone who’s actually interested in you.”

“Really?” You hiccuped.

“Yes.” Chan nodded. “And as for Ella, well… she doesn’t sound like the most reliable source, if Wooyoung broke up with her.”

“Yeah, I don’t like her all that much.” You said with a rueful smile. “She talked about her exes all the time when I was in that other class with her.” You tried to remember if one of them had been named Wooyoung, but you couldn’t exactly recall.

“Sounds like someone might be a little bitter.” Minho noted. He looked down. “You’re missing a shoe.”

“Yeah, my Mary Jane fell off on Wooyoung’s stairs.” You held back another wave of tears.

“So, you have to see him to get it back.” Chan said quietly.

“I have to see him in a couple days for class, anyway.” You sighed. “Can I spend the night here? I don’t want to drive.”

“Of course. The couch is all yours.”

“Perfect, thank you, Chan.”

He rubbed your back. “Of course, y/n.”

Minho left a little later, and Chan got some blankets for you. You fell asleep fitfully, even on Chan’s famously comfortable couch.

You woke up the next morning disoriented. You felt like you hadn’t gotten any rest at all. Chan was already up, making eggs on the stove.

“Morning, sleepy. It’s 10.” Chan shoved the eggs around with a spatula. “I thought the smell of breakfast might wake you up.”

“It did.” You smiled. “Thank you for everything.”

“Of course.”

You looked at your phone.

One text from “Wooyoung :)”.

“Hey, I’m sorry about last night. I have your shoe, if you want to meet somewhere and I can give it back.” You read to Chan.

“He apologized.” Chan said. “I think that’s a good sign. If he was trying to use you I don’t know that he’d care enough to try to rebuild the relationship.”

“I guess.” You sighed. “I’ll get the shoe back and hear what he has to say.”

“I think that’s a good idea. But first, eggs.”

—

You gave Wooyoung Chan’s address. Chan had to leave to meet his sister for lunch, leaving you to meet him alone.

“Just give it a chance, okay?” Chan smiled at you, taking his keys off the hook by the door. “And if he’s a dick, we’ll all cut him off forever, okay?”

You smiled back. “Sounds good.”

Chan walked out, and you collapsed onto the couch, trying to prepare for what you’d say to Wooyoung, but all you could think about was yesterday on his bed, looking at each other and talking about anything and everything and smiling at each other.

You wanted to give him another chance, but you didn’t want to get played.

There was a knock at the door. You unlocked it with shaking hands.

Wooyoung was standing there with your pink Mary Jane in one hand and a bouquet of beautiful white and pink flowers in the other. “Hey, I got you these because I thought you’d like the colors, and, um, to apologize, I didn’t mean to freak you out moving so fast.” He said in a rush.

You felt yourself tearing up again, and you stepped aside to make space. “Come on in.”

“Is this your apartment?” He asked, looking around.

“No, it’s my friend Chan’s. I came here last night after, um… what happened, and I ended up sleeping on the couch, partially because I only had one shoe.”

“Well, I can help with that.” Wooyoung held it up.

You took the flowers from him, pushing your face into them and inhaling the beautiful scent. “Woo, these are beautiful.”

“I’m glad you like them.” His smile was tentative, like he was… nervous.

You set them on the counter and went to sit on the couch, holding out your leg.

Wooyoung slipped the shoe on, looking at you. You could see him biting the inside of his cheek.

“I’m sorry about yesterday.” You sighed. “I heard all these people telling me you were kinda a… a playboy, and I freaked out.”

Wooyoung closed his eyes. “Yeah, those rumors have been following me around since me and Ella broke up. She can be really nasty when she’s angry, which is part of why we… you know, broke up.”

You felt a flicker of hope. “So… you actually do like me?”

He laughed. “Of course I like you, y/n. I really did just want to kiss you.”

You patted the couch beside you. Wooyoung sat.

“Can I kiss you?” You asked.

His eyes widened. “Do you really want to?”

“Yes.” You said breathlessly.

He gently moved one hand up to your hair, combing through it with his fingers. “You’re so pretty, y/n. Yes, I’d love to kiss you.” And with that, he moved forward, closing the gap between you and pressing his lips to yours.

It wasn’t anything rough or demanding, rather, sweet and affectionate. Wooyoung was gentle and sweet and he tasted like mint, like he’d just brushed his teeth or had been chewing gum or something.

When you both pulled away, you bit your tingling lip. “You’re not mad?”

“No.” He shrugged. “You were just doing what you thought was best with the information you had. I don’t blame you for that.”

You smiled. “Can we go on another date then?”

He smiled back. “Of course. I know emo music isn’t entirely your style, but there’s this band I really like that’s coming into town in a couple days, and I have an extra ticket, if you’d like to come.”

Your eyes widened. “Actually, I really love emo music.”

“Really? You have about the most opposite style to emo I’ve ever seen.” He laughed.

“Hey, just because I don’t commit to the look doesn’t mean I can’t like the music!”

He raised his hands in surrender. “My bad, my bad! But, um, you want to do the concert, then?”

“Here, um, you’ve got…” You brushed a stray piece of hair away from his face. “I’d love to go to the show. What band?”

“Climb In, Girl. They’re one of my favorites.” You could see him light up as he mentioned them.

“That works out, I love them too!” You beamed.

“Perfect.” Wooyoung took your hand, squeezing it. “I’m so excited.”

“Me too.”

You just smiled at each other for a moment before Wooyoung leaned in to kiss you again.

[1toreyouapart]

What It Cost

****THIS IS A FICTIONAL STORY BASED ON REAL PEOPLE. 18+ ONLY. I DO NOT OWN THE RIGHTS TO THE PEOPLE OR MUSIC MENTIONED IN THIS STORY OUTSIDE OF LILITH AND SADIE AND MAYBE A COUPLE OTHERS. DO NOT READ IF YOU’RE NOT UP FOR FANFIC INVOLVING REAL PEOPLE***

Terrible summary: Five years since she last spoke to him. Since she last saw him. Now his face and his voice is everywhere. She can't escape him.

Five years ago Noah destroyed her and the life they had built. Now he’s back and seeking to make amends. As much as she wants to say that it's too little too late, is it?

CW/TW: Angst, mention of addiction, cheating. Mention of character death. Language. Smut (later on). PinV, unprotected PinV (wrap it before you tap it, friends), oral (f&m receiving). All smutty warnings happen later on, so I’ll update TW/CW warning labels as those parts are written and posted. If I forget anything, please let me know so I can fix it! Thank you!

A/N: Currently unedited. Sorry. 😬 Read at your own risk, I guess. 😅

13-Noah

The scent of enchilada sauce filled the air. Lily had always spent so long on enchilada sauce, always insisting on it being authentic, that he almost grew to hate when she made enchiladas. At least while they were together. Here, right now? Watching her as she cooked? He was enthralled. She had her own dance she did in the kitchen. It was graceful. The way she chopped and diced, blended and simmered. Every little movement was like going to the ballet. Every movement flowing into the next. Her own little private dance.

A large part of him regretted not appreciating the moments like this when they were together. Everything she did was so seamless. So perfectly timed. It felt like watching poetry in motion. How could he have missed this as it was happening in front of him? How the fuck had he been so caught up in his own head that he had missed all of this? Yes, it had been a chore helping make sure she had everything. And yes, it took a while. But what the fuck had been his problem with it?

Memories of the last time he had been allowed to witness her in the kitchen flooded his mind. How she had been so excited to show him what she had done when he walked in the door. How broken she was when he barely looked at it before disappearing into his home studio for hours. The way she physically shrunk when he barely said a word.

Noah watched her down a third glass of wine, and did his best to fight the inner judgement. He was the one doing the sober thing. Not her. And here she was, cooking for him for the first time in years, likely remembering the last time she had cooked for him. If his own sanity wasn’t so dependent on him staying sober, he would likely be drinking right along with her.

Sobriety had become more difficult now that she was around again. Through no fault of her own. It was his own hang ups. His own inner turmoil that kept pushing him to that brink. All she was doing was existing as she was. Or rather, the version of her he had created.

“Noah. Dance with me!” She interrupted his thoughts, setting her empty glass on the island in front of him.

“Or, maybe…” he trailed off, taking in the way she was looking at him in that moment.

It was the same as when they had first met. Like her world started and ended with him. The memory of when they first met threatened to overtake everything. Images of her soft eyes as she looked up at him, the way she had teased him over a shot of vodka. The lilt of her voice as she told him all about the history of the pinky swear. All of these flashed at the edges of his mind, serving only to remind him of everything he had thrown away.

“You keep doing what you’re doing,” he finished, pulling back.

Lily’s pout almost had him hook line and sinker. He leaned in closer, a smirk playing at his lips. There was no better way than this to get her back on track with what she was doing,

“Don’t you need to stir your sauce?”

“Uh. No. I literally just stirred it.”

Fuck. He hadn’t timed that right.

“Noah?” she asked, voice so innocent he was drawn right back in. Not like it would ever take much, anyway. He would do anything for her.

“I miss you,” she continued, brow furrowed as she frowned. “I shouldn’t. But I do.”

Noah watched as she turned away, going back to the stove. What was he supposed to say? What could he even say to that?

His heart all but seized in his chest. Did she know how much it was killing him to not just hold her again? To stop himself from pulling her in tight and never letting go again?

“I miss you.” His voice was just barely loud enough for her to hear. “I miss everything about you.”

He watched silently as she moved about, rolling up enchiladas. Watched helplessly as she pretended not to hear him for a minute. How was he supposed to fix this? She couldn’t even tell him. He was at a loss. All he knew was he wanted her back. Needed her back.

“Then fucking do something, Noah.”

Her voice was so quiet he almost didn’t hear her.

“Lily.”

No response.

“Baby,” he tried again. Still no response.

“Bambi.” Last ditch attempt. Anything to get her attention.

Noah watched as she paused. Hesitated. Her hands faltered just enough for him to pick it up. He took a steadying breath, wiping his now sweaty palms on his pants.

“Lily! It smells like heaven in here!”

Noah froze. Sadie was home. Any chance of explaining to Lily how he felt had flown out the window. Not that she would remember it anyway. He looked on as she poured another glass of wine. The Lily he had known didn’t drink like this. One glass of wine and she was crawling into bed for the night. On the rare occasion she had gotten to two? She was done before she finished the second glass. But not this new Lily.

“You know what, Noah? If you’re gonna say you want to make things better and then sit there, like a goddamn lump, then why even bother? Jesus Christ, dude! A full day of making out and you still haven’t done a goddamn thing!”

Sadie gasped, her hands covering her mouth. Fuck. She hadn’t known they had spent any real time together, had she? Panicked he opened his mouth, unsure of what would come out.

“I asked you what to do!”

Lily dropped everything in her hands. And Noah was helpless, again, as he watched her turn and walk out of the room. Mortified he grabbed his jacket off the back of the chair, slipping it on.

“Don’t leave.” Sadie damn near shouted, her eyes on the bottle of wine before she turned to him. “Look. I don’t know what’s going on. I just know…” she trailed off, looking anywhere but at him. “I still hate you for what you did. But don’t leave. Go up there and fix this.”

“Sadie, I don’t fucking know how. She won’t tell me how!”

“Are you fucking stupid, dude? I mean, clearly you are or you wouldn’t have fumbled her. You stupid ass fucking prick.”

Noah seethed, wanting nothing more than to tell Sadie to mind her own business for once. Wanted to tell her that she needed to keep her goddamn nose out of it. But, he was desperate.

“Look. I think it’s a bad idea, but she’s more herself lately. And I think it’s because of you. Go fix this. But I swear to God, Noah. You break her again? I will ruin you.”

Noah stopped in his tracks. What the fuck was Sadie saying?

“Noah. Get your ass upstairs. Do that and I’ll stay out of your way.”

Tags: @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard @alwaysfightforwhoyouare

[laura1633]

I don't normally answer asks like this because I feel that it is unnecessarily rude. I normally just block. I have taken a screen shot and answered like this as it still gives me the option to block.

I can't really work out what you are going on about anon. I am assuming it relates to the poll I put up to decide which of the prompts I am going to write next. However, I quite clearly stated on that post that the prompts I am writing are not limited to those five and that I am going to get around to as many as possible. I also quite clearly stated on the request for prompts that they were going to be written between December and March, we are still in December!! I also clearly stated that I can't promise I will get around to all of them but I will get through as many as possible in that time. I am not going to rush them out and not be happy with the result, what would be the point of that?! I would prefer to get through 10 and give them the time they deserve rather than rush through 20 of them!. Also, ideas are never wasted, people can send them to other authors who are requesting prompts or write them themselves if they think I am taking too long, I am not gatekeeping people's ideas!

I'm not sure if you are aware but I write for fun. I have a full time job and a life away from this. I opened prompts because I thought it would be nice to write a handful of them for people. I didn't do it 'to get people's attention' or to 'get compliments'.

I can't work out if this is related to one of the other asks I have received questioning why there is no bottom Charles in that poll. Maybe that is what you are getting at as it sounds like this is a follow up to another ask?

The poll specifically did not have any obvious bottom Charles in it because I thought it would turn into a bottom Charles v bottom Max vote. This was just one poll to help me choose the next one to finish!

Anyway, thanks for making sure that this was the first message I woke up to this morning! I am going to continue writing the prompts over winter break as promised because people have sent in some lovely prompts that I can tell they have taken time over but things like this only make me want to delete my ao3 and Tumblr and never write another word again. Although maybe I am just saying that for 'attention' and 'compliments.'

Sorry to everyone else who had to read my rant 😂 I did the poll because I am struggling a lot with my adhd at the moment and I hoped it would give me a little direction and something to focus on to get me back on the right track with my writing! <3 <3

[midsummersky]

In het bleke licht van zijn eenvoudige plafondlamp zag ik alles. De planten die hij goed bedoeld water bleef geven, ook al sloegen de onderste bladeren geel uit. Het zilveren septumringetje dat net gedraaid door zijn kraakbeen stak. De net te kort geknipte nagels aan zijn vingers. Het katoenen koord om zijn nek waar twee oordoppen aan zwierden, alleen voor zijn oren gemaakt. De hard geworden laag hars die de snaren van zijn cello omsloot.

In onze Chinese kommen lag Italiaanse rigatone, pootje badend in tomatensaus, gepaard met gebakken ui, knoflook en champignons. We dronken koud water uit theeglazen, de rest kwam vanzelf. Zinnen liepen naadloos in elkaar over, we hielden elkaar in stand als trapper en wiel. Terwijl ik zijn geharste strijkstok over de snaren liet glijden, in een poging tot de eerste tonen van Bachs Cello suite 1 in G, sloeg hij dunne spijkertjes in de muur om een gebreide cape op te hangen. Hing een tikje naar rechts, merkte ik op. Speel maar rustig aan, sprak hij aanmoedigend.

Ongemerkt was de zon er tussenuit geglipt. De cello stond weer, verhuld in een goedkope beschermhoes, vervaarlijk tegen de rand van zijn bureau. Zelf was hij op de rand van zijn bed gaan zitten en ik op de soepel draaiende bureaukruk tegenover hem. Ik hoopte dat zijn blik, waar hij dan ook keek, mijn gezicht zou kruisen. Zijn boeken die in ongesorteerde stapeltjes op zij bureau lagen, nam ik liefdevol onder de loep. Een gedichtenbundel geschreven door een zweverige collega met persoonlijke inscriptie. Een fors naslagwerk over alle zeevogels die op dat moment op het strand sliepen. Een grote vierkante gids van eetbare planten en paddenstoelen in de nabije natuur. Nauwelijks fictie, maar wel commentaar op Year Of The Monkey. Te pretentieus. Teveel feiten aangelengd met fictie. Ik wierp er tegenin dat ik juist van literatuur hield. 

Uit alle hoekjes rondom zijn bed toverde hij vervolgens muziekinstrumenten tevoorschijn. Twee metalen fluiten waar hij een kale melodie poogde. Ik herkende het als In Dreams, hij wist alleen dat het uit Lord Of The Rings kwam.

In de minuten dat hij met zijn handen op de dierenhuiden van zijn trommels sloeg keek ik toe, zwijgend en verwonderd. Woordloze momenten waarin ik de geconcentreerde frons die op zijn hoofdhoofd verscheen, de plukjes bruin beenhaar die onder zijn opgerolde broekspijpen uitstaken en, wederom, zijn te kort geknipte nagels gadesloeg. In dit licht zag ik alles, gedachten droogden op en ik dacht aan niets behalve hem. Ik wilde hem aanraken. Hem zachtjes in zijn stompige vingers knijpen en de huid op zijn palm voelen. Met mijn hand over zijn blote rug strijken, over de wonden en littekens van opengekrabte puistjes waar hij maanden eerder over had verteld. Zeggen dat het niet gaf dat de dingen die hij zei als hij over zijn gevoelens praatte, mensen soms confuus achterlieten. Dat ik hem, als hij met mij zou willen zijn, precies het soort tegengas kon geven dat hij eerder had gemist. Dat ik het niet erg zou vinden om gekruld in zijn armen op zijn éénpersoonsbed te liggen, terwijl hij de eerste twee uur wakker niet zou kunnen slapen. In mijn gedachten aan hem kon hij in zijn gedachten weer aan mij denken.

Intuïtieve gedachten en primitive gevoelens, beide laten ze hun wortels kruipen en in mijn brein aarden. Ongewild, zonder vergunning, alleen maar uit op het afsteken van vuurwerk te midden van een stil weiland; hij zou er nooit iets van merken.

[markscherz]

tumblrs being transphobic, with the ceo himself starting an actual harassment campaign against a transfem & also banning transfems who post abt it.

Oh shit, I had not heard about that.

I would like to say I don’t understand why this shit keeps happening, but I actually do understand it way too well. It just makes me so sad and angry. Especially on a site where people find and make their communities.

So much of this is about ego, and the people with power wielding that power to protect themselves and failing to protect others with it. A mere hint of negative sentiment towards them is harassment that is dealt with immediately and harshly, but a dozen complaints about discrimination or threats or bullying take ages to process and frequently come to unsatisfactory moderation decisions.

Whatever the sentiments of the people running this hellsite, you are always welcome in my corner of the internet, wherever you find it. You are all wonderful, and we all deserve to feel that part of this space belongs to us and those to whom we can connect.

Transphobia has no place on tumblr, period. Or anywhere else in society for that matter. It is that which should be being rooted out.

[abnomi]

EVERY REASON (that i can think of) AS TO WHY TURBO/KING CANDY IS NEURODIVERGENT 💥💥

i would like to make a disclaimer first and foremost about the obvious, being that Turbo/King Candy is heavily implied to have narcissistic personality disorder (NPD) and antisocial personality disorder (ASPD). Very often, characters with these disorders are portrayed as villains, and Turbo is no exception to this. There's nothing wrong with antagonistic characters having said disorders, per se, but when the only representation available for people with these conditions are found in characters you're not supposed to root for, it can be really disheartening. i won't be erasing these parts of him because i feel it would be in poor taste to gloss over those core elements of who he is, but plz keep in mind that having any kind of personality disorder doesn't make anyone inherently evil!!!🌞 your ACTIONS make you, not your brain

Also if anyone has any suggestions or other ideas for his neurodiversity, i would love to hear them! please do share!! I LOVE PSYCHOANALYZING CHARACTERS AND HEARING OTHER PEOPLE PSYCHOANALYZE THEM !!!! YAY🎉 if u agree or disagree with any of my points I'd love to discuss them further :-]

without further ado... click read more to find out…😈 be ready for a lot of reaches

💥 ADHD 💥

STIMMING

Turbo's constantly moving around in some way; he's a very expressive character! even as King Candy, he can't seem to conceal his frequent giggling. it's a big habit of his; he seems to do it involuntarily to regulate himself, including when he's nervous or uncomfortable.

he seems to display other repetitive behaviors as well, like doing his iconic thumbs-up pose, sticking out his tongue, or hopping around gleefully. he is but a jovial court jester..

i personally like to think that his phrases, "Turbo-tastic!" and "Have some candy!" are vocal stims of his, although i equally really love the interpretation that these (and the aforementioned stims) are tics :-]

another headcanon; i think it would make a lot of sense for him to have an oral fixation of some sort (ignoring the whole sigmund freud part of the term ermm...); just lots of biting, chewing, needing to have something in his mouth. It would align with the whole idea that he smokes, too

HYPERACTIVITY

we can clearly see throughout the film that Turbo has a lot of energy, made abundantly clear by his mannerisms and general behavior. he's constantly moving, using exaggerated expressions and gestures to communicate + express himself. He's one of the most animated and bouncy characters in the movie, next to Vanellope! it's silly how a character not very grounded in reality is such a threat, but i suppose that's what makes him so threatening in the first place...

another factor in this is how he is very adrenaline-seeking, craving activities that give him a rush (sugar rush...😂😂). more on that in a bit!!

HYPERFIXATION

Turbo's fixation with winning is all-consuming for him; it's an obsession. he doesn't appear to care about much else, if anything besides it. this could be interpreted as a hyperfixation for him (or special interest if ur all about that autism lifestyle), as it overtakes all of his focus and impedes every process of his mind.

it's clear that racing is much more than a passion for him, and while that fact is due to how he was programmed, it's a major character trait of his regardless that could be correlated to neurodivergence.

HYPERFOCUS

There seems to be a big theme of "all or nothing" when it comes to Turbo. he will either be fully dedicated to something or brush it aside without a second thought. it can't be denied that he fully wraps himself up in what he wants, whether it's a conflict he can't let go of or a new pursuit he's hungrily chasing after. 

ultimately, his dedication varies depending on if it is relevant to him and his interests or not, but this aspect of him still shares patterns with neurodivergent thought processes.

INSTANT GRATIFICATION

Seeing as he has a tendency to cheat in his use of code to spawn in whatever his heart desires, it can be assumed that this could do with Turbo wanting instant gratification to fill that bitter, empty void inside of him. while this could simply be brushed aside as greed and his belief that he is obligated to have access to whatever he wants, this trait is consistent with his generally dopamine-seeking behavior and wanting to be instantly rewarded by his actions. His obsession with needing to feel good directly relates to his need for another buzz, constantly after the next rush. (a sugar rush if you will☺☺☺)

ADRENALINE-SEEKING

Closely related to the previous speculation, Turbo always seems to be chasing his next high. he loves the thrill of action and being surrounded by crowds of people below him. it's why his big thing is racing! people cheer him on, he can do whatever he wants, he can go really fast and look cool..

it's possible that a big aspect of why he does this is to distract himself from any kind of pain, because pain = vulnerability. bro does NOT know how to independently cope with his own problems.. HE MAD AS HELLLLL!!! 😂😂

STRUGGLE WITH SELF CARE

(i know this is reaching but bear with me... 🐻) going off of his appearance and tendency to make poor decisions, it can be gathered that this man lacks skill in the self care department. his yellowing teeth and sunken eyes not only serve to complement his design, but also give way to the idea that he neglects himself in favor for whatever weird scheme he's up to.

of course, Turbo does prioritize himself above everyone else, but he doesn't strike me as the type to care much about how others think he smells. him being a bother to anyone isn't a concern of his. he cares about whatever gets him the most praise and attention from as many people as possible, which is winning and racing. Who cares about how clean he is when he's up on a podium holding a shiny, golden trophy, anyway?

It's likely that he had to step his game up when he went under disguise as king candy, which is why he looks well-groomed in comparison to his more corpse-like appearance. Ugly hoe. it can also be assumed that he's had more time to focus on himself because everyone loves him without question... Well, except for Vanellope, but who cares about her, right?

also, i know he makes a condescending comment to Ralph about how bad his breath smells, but it's made abundantly clear that Turbo is a massive hypocrite. his comment doesn't erase the possibility that he has suffered from such "halitosis" as well.

💥 ANXIETY 💥

GENERAL ANXIOUS BEHAVIOR

i know, i know, this could technically be chalked up to be "Turbo is nervously giggling and shit because he's scared of getting caught," but guys. g

even in the flashback scene, we can see how easily stressed he can become in an alarmingly short period of time. he is extremely insecure, therefore i am led to believe he is not only emotionally dysregulated, but also by extension, anxiety ridden.

yes, this is purely speculative, but who's to say that he wasn't like this before? being high-strung and intense are significant facets of his personality consistently portrayed throughout the film. as long as he is getting exactly what he wants, he is happy; the moment he loses even a blip of control, however, he immediately grows extremely tense.

if Turbo wasn't anxious about his disguise as King Candy before, he was anxious about how much attention he was receiving on a given day. if not that, then he'd be anxious over how he presents himself. He hates how he can't control how other people perceive him, which is why he is constantly trying to act like he's better than he is.

its why he justifies his behavior to himself, proudly making others refer to him as the "rightful ruler" of sugar rush and relishing in the attention of his countless underlings. Any secure and stable person would NOT ACT LIKE THIS!!!!😭😭😭

FIGHT OR FLIGHT

As we can see a handful of times on screen, Turbo's instinct to protect himself is very easily activated.

 his fear manifests in anger and aggression. we can see at multiple points how easy it is to upset him or fluster him; his anger is one side of the same coin, the opposite end being his fear and paranoia.

Going off of this point, have you noticed that Turbo is either satisfied or furious without much of an in-between? how the second something isn't under his manipulation, he lashes out and fights back? I'm led to believe that this is how he responds to fear (AAUAAYAUUUUGGHHH 🐡🐡🐡🐡🐡🐡🐡). This guy is so against the idea of being vulnerable, that even when afraid, he will utilize violence to regain his dominance over the situation at hand.

CONTROL + PARANOIA

Turbo's always trying to writhe or fight his way out of uncomfortable situations, unable to exist outside of his comfort zone for seconds at a time.

his defensive, paranoid, and controlling behavior are all reflections of how deeply insecure this man is. He feels such an intense need for everything to go exactly how he expects it to go that the moment he senses any kind of threat, he instantly jumps to defend himself and what he feels that he has "earned," regardless of whether there truly is a threat or not.

this could potentially be a coping mechanism for his anxiety and sense of stability; can't forget to mention how territorial he is!! he jumps to conclusions about what others' intentions are before they even get a chance to reply, as seen with his first encounter with Ralph in the movie. 

the racer is so internally discombobulated that he seeks any sense of stability on his environment, including on those around him. his sense of self is so warped that he copes with constant distraction; being under the spotlight, being actively racing, having to be showered with attention, having others make him feel good because he doesn't know how to do it for himself. he needs to feel like everything is under control, lest everything falls apart.

"...if there's ONE thing I can't abide, it's ANYTHING out of order!"

💥 NPD 💥

INFLATED SENSE OF SELF IMPORTANCE

Turbo's most in-your-face trait above all else. It's made more than crystal clear in every scene he's in that his arrogance is a determining factor in how he interacts with others. This is exactly what drives him to desperately crave admiration, to chase after others he's envious of because he thinks he is obligated to take what they have.

he seems to genuinely think he is entitled to get whatever he wants, just because he is inherently "special" or "better" than everyone else. Why else would he have made himself a king, a step above princess?

EXCESSIVE NEED FOR ADMIRATION

Turbo's self worth is COMPLETELY dependent on the opinions of children and teenagers. I think i don't need to say any more than that, but i will. (Evil).

As cartoonishly massive as his ego is, i think that it's fair to assume that Turbo has a very unstable sense of self, distorting his perception of his own worth down with it. his near-constant flaunting and need to be the best is a dead giveaway to his deeply-ridden self-doubt. The foundation of his stability is built around how "good" he is (at racing and winning), how powerful he is, whether or not he is being prioritized above everyone else, whether or not he is the absolute best, etc. etc.

The racer outright manipulates others to shower him with admiration and undeserved appreciation. He is incapable of forming a true sense of internal value, instead heavily and codependently relying on others to form it for him. if he isn't the best, he may as well just be nothing.

INTENSE JEALOUSY

He reacts so severely to what he perceives as others taking away what is rightfully his that it only goes to solidify my previous points even further. the second someone else is getting more attention than him, Turbo will bend over backwards to rip back the praise he believes he so rightly deserves.

being extremely competitive, he will one-up against anyone he thinks of as a threat, dedicating himself to taking them down to the best of his ability, and making sure they STAY down to top it all off.

INABILITY TO HANDLE CRITICISM

if we really dissect the entire one-off joke with Turbo insisting that his stolen pink castle is actually "salmon," along with all of his other domineering behaviors, we can garner that he is very persistent in how he wants others to view him. i wholeheartedly believe that this would translate into him not only being defensive over his supposed "ownership" of Sugar Rush, but also over himself and his own insecurities.

He needs to feel good about himself or else he will die and quite literally try to kill everyone.

LACK OF EMPATHY

He appears to have a fondness for making jokes in very poor taste. Turbo has a big sense of humor, but it's always at the expense of others. Be it a pun about a "fungeon," or jumping to protect himself with a joke about "hitting a guy with glasses," he has a tendency to take serious situations very lightly. It's not that he's unaware of the weight of it; he simply doesn't take it Seriously.

its admittedly impressive how he was able to feign empathy so well for Ralph; it goes to show how he is very capable of understanding that what he's doing is wrong, but ultimately does nothing to change his behavior because it doesn't impact him personally. 

i would like to honor this part of him, because even in the possible alternate path of a redemption arc, his struggle with empathy can be explored in a variety of interesting ways :-] he can understand complicated emotions and situations on an analytical level, but he doesn't feel for them unless it has to do with him specifically. (this obviously doesn't make him inherently evil, his ACTIONS make him evil)

💥 ASPD 💥

LACK OF REMORSE/GUILT

One of Turbo's core characteristics is just how far he is willing to go for his own self-interest with lack of regard for how it impacts everyone else. he has absolutely no concern for how anyone else feels besides himself, willing to go so far as to attempt to mutilate a 9-year-old to achieve his petty goals.

Turbo is shameless when it comes to how he goes about getting his way. While I'd like to believe he isn't fully incapable of feeling regret, he doesn't showcase feeling it in the movie itself. The most regret he'll feel is when he slips up and exposes himself. anything else is the fault of everyone else; he is untouchable in his eyes.

DECEITFUL TENDENCIES + LYING

Where do i even start with this one.

well, first of all, let's acknowledge the... erm, horse? in the room? 🐎😅(Please someone help me there is a horse in my room help helphel) being that Turbo went under disguise as King Candy for at least a decade. Even before this, there's a good chance that he's already had plenty of experience with lies and manipulation. i'd be willing to bet on this!!

one of his specialties is being proficient in manipulation, be it the code of games or the minds of people. theyre basically the same thing to him, anyway... I'm sure you all know the scene where he uses 16 manipulation tactics against Ralph and wins. this was Obviously not the first time he'd done this.

REPETITION OF HARMFUL BEHAVIORS

Time and time again, Turbo can't seem to help himself when it comes to poor decision-making. he never internalizes that his bad choices aren't JUST bad for others, but also for himself, continuing to escalate further and further into very dangerous behaviors until he literally dies.

Here's a list of bad decisions he has made! (at least, that we know of)

Pinning himself above his peers

Harassment + stalking

Carelessly charging through GCS with his car, endangering countless civilians

Attempting to take over a game that isn't his x2

Vehicular manslaughter

Implied mass murder + attempted murder, attempted mutilation

Mass endangerment

Breaking and entering, theft, usurpation, plagiarism

and more!!!!!!!

AND HE LEARNS FROM ABSOLUTELY NONE OF THIS!!! with some of the items listed here, he's attempted to do multiple times! Absolute buffoon.

RECKLESS DISREGARD FOR SAFETY OF SELF AND OTHERS

Considering how he was willing to charge into a game that wasn't his own with the awareness that it could permanently kill him, going as far as to recklessly crash into another car (albeit it's possible this was unintentional), it's easy to gather that he doesn't seem to consider anyone's safety at all in the spur of the moment.

IMPULSITIVITY

his impulsivity and disregard for safety both go hand-in-hand. When it gets to a certain point, Turbo's emotions will boil over and blow up in a cold rage, thus causing him to spiral and act on impulse, becoming a detrimental force to himself as well as everyone around him.

What's interesting is how much restraint he is capable of; he typically is very strategic in how he orchestrates his plans! but once he reaches his breaking point, he snaps and leaves all of his hard work behind in favor of something that calls for his immediate attention.

💥 ETC. 💥

extra tidbits i didnt have enough energy to fully delve into :-]

BPD

Fear of abandonment

Blurry sense of identity

Feelings of emptiness

Self destructive tendencies

Emotional instability

Explosive anger

ODD (oppositional defiant disorder)

He seems so infatuated with his own autonomy that he gets to the point of being resistant and defiant

Resisting against the rules of the world that he directly caused as a result of his own actions, being that one shouldn't "go Turbo."

Enjoys upsetting/getting a rise out of others. this is more speculative as i am going off of the assumption that he thinks pissing people off is funny, based on his other behavioral patterns. (cruel sense of humor, wanting to feel above others via control & manipulation, enjoyment of inflicting pain onto others)

Forcefully defends himself and refuses any kind of criticism

Lashes out when he feels slighted

Excessive persistence despite all odds, whether it's beneficial to him or not

ok bye!! thank you if you managed to read this far ^^ peace and love take care of yourself! all in all turbo is so neurodivergent ok please Okay <3 get this thing his meds

[smytherines]

One thing that I keep coming back to with this (sorry thought I was done but I wasn't) is that fire really is the perfect motif/metaphor/whatever for Owen, as an elemental force that both sustains and destroys people

In one of the tinlightenment streams Joey Richter made a joke about how post-fall Owen was in a full body cast and thought about how much he hated Curt and flexed every muscle in his body until the casts burst off of him like The Rock in The Fast and the Furious. Which is silly, but I think there's a pretty interesting nugget of truth there. That the hatred, the sense of betrayal and grief and anger, motivated him at his absolute lowest. Enabled him to be useful enough to be worth saving, gave him a place at Chimera, something to live for, a sense of purpose-- a way to replace the identity that he lost

So to Owen, that figurative fire was his salvation. It sustained him. It helped him survive the horror of staying alive. And fire is like that-- fundamental to human survival. Necessary for warmth and light, cooking and forging and so on. But if it isn't carefully tended, if it isn't kept in check, fire spreads. It consumes. It grows hotter and fiercer, scorching the earth, turning structures into embers, killing indiscriminately

While that fire of anger was initially his salvation, it ultimately becomes his destruction too. In a way that sort of feels like his survival was an accident and fate is simply setting things right again. Whether literal or figurative, his path always ends with being burned alive

there's this little scene I've had written for a long time where Curt asks why Owen does this job, and Owen responds with "You're either the one doing the bombing, or the one being bombed, and I've already done the latter"

So it's both about taking the thing that hurt you and wielding it as a weapon so it cannot hurt you again, and becoming so consumed with it that it burns you away from the inside out. About Owen convincing himself that he has turned this horrifying situation to his benefit, once again become the master of his own fate, being so blinded by the light and smoke that he can't see the devastation. Being so fiercely protective of the spark that saved him that he can't understand how it is turning him to ash

Idk man, he's an interesting guy

do you ever think about how wild it is for a man who was almost certainly burned in a silo explosion to claim that he has invented fire?

[somegrumpynerd]

Cross has trouble getting to sleep alone in his room and goes looking for a distraction, but ends up finding a solution for both of them

[doomedclockworkdotmp3]

heeyyy gaaanggg

the pose and the background of the album version (left) are based on oingo boingos only a lad album art. not cause i think he has anything to do with it but just cause ive been wantin to draw that pose for like. weeks and i didnt know who to put there. so why not my latest bug man.

[vellichorsdesire]

your f/o(s) keeping in mind the most seemingly littlest things you mention just cause you’re that important to them… whenever they see your favorite color, thing or a heavy interest of yours they can’t help but be reminded of you immediately and want you to know about it, telling you immediately the next you meet orr taking a picture and sending it to you. them even trying to understand your interests though they know nothing about it or even if they wouldn’t seem interested about it!!! and then keeping the information they learn from you to use in conversation later on with you again, or even learning more about it when you two are away to surprise you