#whenever I draw them it’s always silly scribbles enjoy

[1driedpersimmon]

Safety first!

[naffeclipse]

I don't know when I'll ever write this, but I've had this AU in the back of my mind ever since Bendy and the Dark Revival came out, and it's best to get it out of my head before it festers and rots.

More or less, it's BatDR and the DCA smashed into one. The premise is that you are an animator at Fazbear Studios and Sun and Moon are humans who go by Cyrus and Mani respectively, employed as voice actors. (First AU with human Sun and Moon whoo! don't get attached though) Vanessa is a janitor who is a bit odd, mostly keeping to herself though sometimes you feel like she's starting at your back when you're alone.

Cyrus and Mani perform as extras in the Fazbear cartoon, adding supporting voices for side characters and miscellaneous lines. Cyrus often supplies humorous, wacky, and surreal voices to his performances. Mani tends to get villainous or spooky characters with his deeper, raspier voice. They both enjoy what they do and love that they can work together as brothers.

You can't help but notice Cyrus and Mani. You admire their skill, their passion, and their smiles, and you sometimes even work up the courage to wave at Cyrus or Mani whenever one of the brothers happens to pass by your work desk.

They inspire you—not just with their work, but with their small acts of care. You find coffee on your desk when you return from a meeting with the other animators with a little smiling sun doodled on the cup. Sometimes, Cyrus asks you to join him on a walk since it's your lunch break and you could really use some sunshine and a chance to stretch your legs. When it gets far too late and you're burning the midnight oil, Mani is somehow always there, doing a funny voice to surprise you with a little reminder that it's past your bedtime. He leaves you little treats in blue wrappers, hidden in places on your desk, among your ink and papers.

It's not a surprise that you start drawing a character for them in your rare off hours when you still have the energy to hold a pencil. The Fazbear cartoon could add a new, permanent character. A robotic jester, lanky and tall, but with two forms for the day and night, funny and sweet and mischievous. Cyrus and Mani could both voice him!

That's silly, however. Fazbear Studios does not want your chaotic and half-brained scribbles nor do you dare show the brothers what they inspired—they might hate it. You keep your little jester character tucked away, along with a small doodle of a minor, nobody, gray character who may or may not be a tag along to the main act that is the jester. Your sketches and concept art are hidden away, far from where the light of day or the shine of night will ever see.

It goes missing one day. You're upset and asking everyone who went through your desk. No one confesses. Cyrus tells you that it'll be okay, he'll help you find it. Mani suggests that you keep locks on your drawers from now on.

It's never found, not that you wanted either of them to stumble upon it. Yet, they stay late with you after everyone has gone home, looking for your precious and secretive sketchbook through the many departments of the studio.

Somewhere along the way, Cyrus disappears, promising to return with your sketchbook. You lose Mani in the audio department before, oh, there's Vanessa. She tells you to come to the basement with her—she found your notebook. You're relieved but a little put off by Vanessa and reluctantly follow her down into the dark.

You don't find your sketchbook, but you do find Cyrus slumped against the wall, blood trickling down his temple, and a strange collection of shrines to one of the studio's cartoon characters.

Before you can rush to his side, pain explodes in your skull, cracking white across your vision. You fall to the ground, dazed, as Vanessa gives a cryptic promise to return with the last sacrifice. You manage to crawl across the floor in your pitiful state to reach Cyrus and attempt to revive him, but by then, Mani is walking in. His shock overtakes him but he dodges a swipe of Vanessa's wrench and starts struggling against her. You try desperately to drag Cyrus somewhere safe as he murmurs for you to get out of here, but in the middle of Vanessa's and Mani's fight, she flips a switch and ink begins filling the room.

The black flood sweeps Cyrus away from you. Pages spill out from the inside of Vanessa's vest, dozens of sketches of your jester character. You cry out. Mani looks to you. Vanessa at last shoves Mani into the surge of onyx liquid beside Cyrus, and you watch both of them go under together. You scream their names. She turns to you, grinning.

The last thing you remember is Vanessa shoving your head into the ink.

Then it's the only thing you remember. You're vaguely aware that your jet-black hands are strange and shiny, and that you don't know where you are in this sepia-colored studio, but you know something's not right. You're missing someone, and someone else. You're scared.

You wander around for a bit until you're attacked by monsters emerging from the ink, shrieking and wailing in gluey dark forms until a wonderful and terrifying automaton arrives. He destroys such a creature about to tear you apart. He stands so tall, detailed with sharp teeth and even sharper sun rays around his large, flat face, but you think you recognize those yellow eyes—a living cartoon.

He helps you calm down and asks for your name in a loud and funny voice that rings like a bell in your mind but you can't name the tune. You don't remember your name. He doesn't remember his either. He leads you away from the harsher spaces of the studio, somewhere 'safer'. You don't know if there is anything as safe, but you feel better with him.

You're startled when after a time, in the middle of talking to this sunshine character, he melts and morphs and bubbles until a crescent moon face emerges and a new grin. You panic before a darker, raspier voice, like a cartoon villain, tells you it's alright. He's here, too. He's not sure what's going on but he, and the other 'him', and you are gonna make it out of here, somehow.

You don't have hope anywhere else but in this unique robot jester, and he seems to want you to stay close to him. So it's you two, the last sane partnership in the crazed and dripping studios, fighting off ink creatures and surviving other bizarre characters. You learn how to wield a gent pipe and the jester is strong on his own, often able to tear things apart or toss monsters off of you before they can do worse. He has claws and teeth and he uses them well.

Vanny is a lady rabbit and a constant threat. She's smart and cunning, unlike the other mostly senseless attackers. She keeps tracking the two of you down and spouting off the religious rhetoric of Inktrap, promising that your sacrifices will be well worth the pain. You had to be introduced to the cycle. The ink has corrupted you perfectly. You are part of this place. You are never leaving and will give in to Inktrap.

You and he avoid Inktrap at all costs. You've only caught glimpses of the shadowy, pitch-black beast, but that's all you need to see as you both hide and hold your breaths until the danger just barely passes by.

You start to call the daytime jester Sun, and he seems to respond to it. The nighttime joker is Moon, and he neither hates nor loves it, but he answers when you call. He has a name for you, too, or rather names. Peach, bird, thrill, calico, and sweetheart. He gets creative and goofy. You think he's being mean sometimes but he tells you he's not, he means it, and you don't know how to take that before you two have to focus on escaping this part of the studio and getting into safer areas. You protect his back and he protects yours, and together, you make this living, unending nightmare bearable. Sharing bacon soup, falling asleep in Moon's lap, and patching up any drips in Sun's inky form becomes something like a life.

It just never stops, repeating over and over. The jester deserves better than this, whatever happened to him. You know you both do.

You become determined to learn how the cycle works and how to prevent it from going on. There's a funny feeling you have that, somehow, you're going to have to go through Vanny and the Inkdemon. One day, you will get the jester and yourself free.

You need to see his and your happy ending.

[kanene-yaaay]

Hi it's me, the anon with the sending hcs ask! I finally got to finish reading the last book rn and like.... was anyone gonna tell me that WWX canonically reaches out to tickle below LWJ's chin several times???

And yes ofc LWJ doesn't react but still-

Anyway now I can't stop thinking about it, about how LWJ might react to it if he let's go of his self-control enough to let himself act on that knee-jerk impulse (which would be easiest for him when drunk, in canon, but also hear me out.... what if incredibly sleep-deprived LWJ who just doesn't care about controlling his facial expressions anymore if only his husband will finally deign to stop bouncing around and come to bed)

I think WWX would probably suffer a heart attack if the habitual little tease of reaching out to tickle LWJ under his chin would result in LWJ shivering and tucking his chin down and swaying back slightly with the corners of his mouth quivering. Especially if, flustered by his own "inappropriately unrestrained" reaction, LWJ refused to meet WWX's eyes and respond to his teasing beyond quiet hums like that'd hide his pink ears or the way his chin keeps twitching down whenever WWX starts to reach out towards his face. WWX would have a field day with the knowledge that he can make his husband struggle to keep his composure with such a small, innocent touch - especially once he discovers that drawing his fingertips up and over LWJ blush-warm ears actually makes his perfect posture falter because he can't help but twitch away from the horribly soft tickle,,

If you can't tell I'm going insane and I'm having to hold myself back from writing a whole essay on this in your askbox - I hope you enjoy my little brainstorm session though :D!

I ALMOST SCREAMED WHEN I DISCOVERED ABOUT THAT LIL TICKLE UNDER THE CHIN like aaaa!! Can you imagine? The very own HuangJun, quiet, controlled and calm being undone by a few tickles?

I love the idea you just brought with extremely tired Lan Zhan feeling comfortable enough to just let go around his dear husband and Wei Wuxian, being the GREMLIN he is, using that to his favor to tease and push (lovely) his buttons, going for that usual lil tickle and not expecting much, except that this time his lover's eyes get wider and a quiet huff escape his lips before he can stop it and now Wei Wuxian is looking at him with playfully dangerous gaze. He just got a taste of the melodious, beautiful laughter of his husband and he wants to listen to it again. Cue the usual shenanigans between these two being silly and so much in love.

Tickling Lan Zhan, I imagine, is always an unclear adventure. You never know if in the next second it will be him snickering and laughing under palyful fingers or you being lost in laughter and joy as he decides to end thsi game. Wei Wuxian is always more than happy to take this gamble, tho.

Also!!!!! YOU ARE! SO! FREAKING RIGHT!!!! Gosh, look, look. Those blushy ears are the cutest thing ever! All I can imagine is WWX getting absolutely endeared by how red Lan Zhan's ears are and then he decided to ATTACK this very spot with all the light traces and soft scribbles and loving kisses and playful nibbles, which only makes them redder, of course, which makes WWX want to tickle them more, which makes them red-

You get it.

Besides! How adorable that Lan Zhan can't hide both his ears and smile at the same time so Wei Wuxian takes turns in teasing him about both of them and snickering when that makes Lan Zhan falter and try to decide which one he must hide now. To imagine he getting all smiley and quiet (this part of him answering his husband with hums when he teases him is EVERYTHING TO ME) and Wei Wuxian just having so much fun and they both enjoying each other and being sweet and cute auuugh, my heart can't take it

[kaleiidoskope]

you have given me too much power, windy /silly

i might actually put this in sections because there’s several things i wanna talk about in no specific order… rubs hands together mischievously

-> FAVOURITE SHAPES!

yes yes! weirdly enough i do have favourite shapes- and a list of them too!! in my mind i have an idea on how they’d act and stuff… i don’t even know why i have favourite shapes since i’m the only person that i know has that type of stuff…

1. STARS!!! stars are so pretty and so pointy!! they can be delicate in the night sky or sharp like a throwing star, so many shapes and sizes!! i personally prefer 5-pointed stars but others are pretty neat too, whenever i draw and add scribbles in my background one of the first things i think of are stars! they’re very fun do draw and make me happy :DD

2. TRIANGLES!! triangles can come in so many shapes and sizes as well, they’ve even got names depending on their angles, isn’t that neat? (excuse me if this isn’t correct- i went to a french school so i learnt the french math n stuff… les angles) they really help bring out certain parts and add sharpness to a design, you can even mish-mash a bunch of them together to look like things!!

3. DIAMONDS! diamonds are very royal and proper shapes, they’re easily recognizable and are really fun to draw, you can stick a bunch of them together to look like flowers too! they’re really a fun thing to incorporate into designs!!! especially on clothing and jewelry :]

^ in addition all of these are pretty much everywhere in my sketchbooks / stray papers lying around ^

-> CATS!!

my favourite animal! ever! (along with sharks, i have soooo many shark things in my room) ever since i was in like. second grade (a.k.a. when i started truly drawing a lot!!) i drew them a lot and still do! i know a lot of species and things about them so i like telling people cat facts (did you know the largest cat breed is a maine coon? reaching one meter long from nose to tail) plus i’ve had cats ever since i was young, cats just have a very special place in my heart because they’re all just so silly,,,

-> COLOURS!!!

i have a lot of favourite colors! no specific order to those either…

maroon, pastel (?) lime green, light blue, reddish orange idk i forgot the name

i really just enjoy talking about colours a lot since they’re pretty interesting to me, especially colour theory and all that jazz, it’s a topic that’s very interesting when you look at it further because of how pigments function and how our eyes could perceive light and the entire history of the camera with how people worked to replicate colours- it’s very fascinating to me! i’d watch hour-long videos about that if i had enough spare time hehe

-> PLUSHIES!

i’m aware i sound childish talking about this but idc i kinda just am- PLUSHIES PLUSHIES! every shape and form in a little (or big) huggable ball of cotton and fur! i have waaay too many to count but that doesn’t matter, i love plushies a lot since i’ve kept some pretty much my whole life, i always bring small ones with me when i’m going somewhere new (or for medical appointments n stuff… needles scare me) since it’s kinda like a small huggable friend i keep for comfort. since i care a lot about objects n stuff i’ve kinda given personalities to all of them, or, well, most… i love just being able to look to my side and see a friend i can talk to and hug for comfort y’know? (hard to phrase this in a way that doesn’t make me sound all kiddy or crazy :sob:…)

anyways rambling over, i also go on side tangents a lot when talking to people so if you do talk to me you might hear about other stuff i didn’t mention-

THANKS FOR LETTING ME DUMP THIS HERE I HAD A LONG DAY YESTERDAY </3 (i was phighting <- PHIGHTING MENTIONED?!?! i’m so sorry lol /silly /hj the urge to colour code everything in these paragraphs but i’ve got other stuff to do so-)

Y'all should reblog this and tell me your favorite like- Anything and why it's your favorite. Doesn't matter what it is: Favorite game, favorite color, favorite toy, favorite food or whatever! Just tell me your favorite anything and it would brighten my day <3

[mercy-burning]

Fake Fiancée - Part 3

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: Reader and Spencer write letters back and forth, both of them slowly starting to fall in deeper. Category: Smut (18+) Content Warnings: Strong language, sexual themes, masturbation (male and female), sexting, face sitting Word Count: 6.3k

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4

MASTERLIST

NOTE: Hello!! Sorry this has been so long in the making, but for a while my inspiration for this story absolutely disappeared, and then I tried to think of how to bridge the previous chapters to the final one with absolutely no luck. And then I re-read Part 2 and got stuck on the letter, thus this chapter was born! I didn’t want to drag this miniseries out any longer than 4 parts, and the letter format combined with other inner monologuing and description really allowed me to do that in an interesting way that hopefully doesn’t feel rushed! 

It was so much fun and very refreshing to write. I hope you like how it turned out!

Thank you all for being so patient while I get my shit together 😅 Love you guys! Enjoy 🥰

***

We've been sending letters back and forth for about a month now.

If I'm being honest, it took me about two weeks to decide whether or not I actually wanted to send one back, but could you blame me?

Here was this guy I couldn't stop thinking about after a one-night stand, only for him to catch me—months later at the same exact bar we'd met in—flirting with his friend. And then after our sexual encounter that night, all the things we said, the connection I thought we had, all of it...

He left it all behind the next morning, only to send me a letter in the mail.

I was pissed.

Sure, it was a nice letter, but the fact that he'd reduced what we had down to a piece of paper and scribbled ink had made me angrier than I cared to admit.

In retrospect, I may have overreacted.

Over time I started re-reading his words, and the more I thought about it all, the more I started to regret my anger. And more than anything, I just wanted to see him again. I couldn't stay mad at him, not when all I could picture was his pouty face and nervous hands. His sunbeam of a smile peeked through the clouds of my anger here and there, and the longer it settled, the more it bathed me in a warm light that should have made me happy. But all it did was make me long for him.

Once I'd actually started writing that first letter back, I wondered why I hadn't jumped on the opportunity in the first place. I mean, after all the cliché shit we'd experienced in our short relationship thus far, adding love letters to the mix was just as perfect as you could get, right?

Spencer,

I'm sorry it's taken me this long to finally write you back. Truthfully I wasn't sure I wanted to write you at all, but your letter kept drawing me back in. I couldn't stop re-reading it, imagining you sitting down somewhere and contemplating every word as you wrote them down. I wondered if you'd thrown out hundreds of pieces of paper after messing up when you could have just as well typed out a letter without wasting them.

And then by that point, all I could think about was just you.

I always pictured what your living room looks like, or your kitchen table, or your office, or wherever you sit down to write. I wondered if you looked like one of those hopeless writers in the movies that have a scruffy face, coffee stains on their white tee shirts, and messy hair that hasn't been washed in days due to lack of inspiration.

But in the end, the image that won out over all the others was just you as I remember.

I'm not going to lie, that image most of the time was your body above mine while I held my hand to your throat, but for the sake of romance I guess I should probably tell you what it was every other time— the outfit you were wearing the first time we met.

When I think of you, I think of your hand nervously clutching that beer bottle for dear life and the other one occasionally pushing your glasses up your nose. I think of your eyes every time they'd look away from me, probably to keep yourself from staring too long.

But the thing that always gets me the most is your smile— even when it comes in little flashes, after you've said something you probably thought was lame. You covered it up with that perfect smile.

I've dreamt of that smile nearly every night since I met you, and I wouldn't be opposed to seeing it in person again.

I'd love to meet you for dinner some time.

But since you did manage to "more or less abandon me twice now", I think it's only fair that you make it up to me first.

Make the next letter a good one, and we'll see what happens.

Yours, Y/N

P.S. I hope my handwriting is as pretty as you hoped. I'd hate to disappoint.

***

Y/N,

I'm incredibly grateful that you've given me a chance to redeem myself. Every night since I last saw you has also been spent wondering what your house looks like on the inside... What you looked like reading my letter (perhaps at your kitchen table?)

And this might sound silly, but I've also wondered what your bedroom looks like. You may be laughing at me, because I've been in your bedroom, but in my defense I was a bit preoccupied to really take notice of my surroundings— I was simply surrounded by you.

But since I've been to your home, I figured it was only fair that I invite you to mine, possibly for dinner. I don't know how to cook much— in fact I'm pretty awful at making anything that's not a can of Spaghetti-Os... But one of my co-workers is an excellent chef, and with a recipe from him and some practice under my belt, I'm sure I can pull it off.

But by "some" practice, I mean probably weeks or months of practice. So hopefully that gives you ample time to mull it over.

Perhaps in the meantime we can get to know each other through our letters. And who's to say, it might spare us the awkward "getting to know each other" stage of a first date. Though, pretty much every stage of every date is awkward for me, so it might not help at all.

Regardless, I'm very much looking forward to hearing from you again.

I do get called away for work quite often, however. So I apologize in advance if I can't get back to you as soon as I'd like.

But in any instance, you're still welcome to text message or call me. I know it isn't as romantic or personal as handwritten letters, but it's certainly practical.

Yours, Spencer.

P.S. Your handwriting is just as beautiful as I'd imagined it would be. And you could never disappoint me.

That being said, if you somehow decide that this letter wasn't up to your standards and reject my offer, I may just find myself in the deepest despair imaginable.

***

I was definitely way too in my head about this.

It was just a text. Sure, it was a risky text to send, but I had no doubt in my mind that it would be fine in the end.

So why was my stomach churning just thinking about sending it?

Some might have chalked it up to my fat ol' crush on Spencer, but I knew it ran deeper. It had to do at least a little with my history with Patrick... The man stood me up and sent divorce papers to my place of work rather than to my face... And as much as I liked to think I was completely over it, we'd been together for years, and it really did a number on me.

I didn't want to ruin this new thing with Spencer so badly that I was overthinking everything.

So even though I could see his face opening the text, my heart doing jumps at the mere thought of it, a bigger part of me worried that it would be a step too far in the wrong direction. I didn't want him to think I was only in this for... sexual reasons. Which, don't get me wrong, have been pretty damn great so far, but I really did want to get to know him and see where this went.

In the end I decided to hold off. I settled for something a little lighter.

Spencer,

Don't feel too bad about your cooking skills. I've been through my fair share of burnt frozen pizzas to know how you're feeling. So the fact that you've given yourself the opportunity to practice and learn a recipe just for me is extremely romantic, and I appreciate the thought.

I won't stop you from following through, though I'm telling you now that no amount of slaving away in the kitchen will make me change my mind about you. We could probably eat stale crackers on the floor and I'd still find you utterly fascinating.

Maybe that's a bit too extreme, but I hope you get my point.

Anyway, I'd love to come over for dinner some time. Whenever you think you're ready to show me those improved cooking skills, you just let me know and I'll happily make my way over.

In the meantime, I'm thinking of sending more with my letters. I don't want to give away too much, but I will say that I'm very crafty. And don't feel like you need to send anything in return, though I'll let you know if I ever change my mind.

Yours,

Y/N

***

In the bottom right corner of the letter, right next to her signature, was a red lipstick stain in the shape of... well, her lips. It was common sense to know that they were hers and no one else's, not just a stamp or a drawing, and rather her actual lip stain... But even without it, I would have been able to tell by their shape.

Was that pathetic?

I could hear her, picture her in front of me, hovering above me with red-painted lips in the shape of a smirk, visibly cooing as she called me names... I could feel the ghost of her fingertips trailing up my throat and tilting my chin up to look at her as she rocked her hips teasingly into mine...

The whine I let out truly was pathetic.

You pathetic, needy little thing, I could hear her say...

My hands clutched the paper so tightly I thought I'd tear it, but it didn't matter when all I could see while staring at it was her luscious, red lips... Her voice was right there in my ear, like she was really beside me, watching me...

Oh, God, what would she do if she saw me right now? Staring at her lipstick stained paper and subconsciously grinding down into my chair...

You pathetic, needy little thing...

My hips jolted with a small, broken shout of her name, and in no time the front of my pants were flooded with warmth. I felt her eyes burning into me from the void, sparking to life with amusement as her voice crept into the deep corners of my brain and whispered praises to me.

Ohh, what a good little whore... Getting off to the thought of me... That's it, sweet boy... Come for me...

By now my eyes had squeezed shut and the letter was crumpled in my hand, the other reaching down to add much-appreciated burning friction to my crotch as I rode out my orgasm. My whole body tensed and shuddered at every sensation, from Y/N's image behind my eyes to the sweet warmth that pooled in my underwear and soaked through onto my hand.

Holy mother of—

The next time I saw her, I was screwed. I wouldn't be able to keep a straight face. I'd surely go red the second I laid eyes on her, and she'd know right away what I was thinking and feeling.

Simply put, it scared and excited me at the same time.

She'd utterly and thoroughly wrecked me, and if she didn't already know it, she certainly would soon.

Y/N,

I'm not sure what you intend to send in addition to your letters, but if it's anything near the sentiment of your lip stain, then you might have to refrain in favor of my poor, fragile heart.

See, it aches for you. It's bad enough I think of you always, but the moment I saw the shape of your lips on that letter, my heart almost shot straight out of my chest. Maybe it was the familiar shape of your lips or the implications of its place next to your name, signed after the word 'yours', that sent me into a tailspin, but whatever the case...

I'm pretty sure I've completely fallen under your spell.

I suppose I should also tell you that my heart wasn't the only part of my body that came to life at your added signature. I assure you, it took no time at all for me to come undone at the thought of your lips pressing gently against the paper, imagining that they were instead pressing to my skin... I didn't even have to touch myself, really. It just happened. Because of you and you alone.

I hope that wasn't too forward, but I felt it necessary that you know just how much of an effect you have on me.

If I could see you again in a millisecond, it wouldn't be soon enough.

That being said, I am determined to spend as much time as possible to perfect this dish for our dinner. Because you deserve nothing but the best, even if you insist that you could settle for less.

It's the least I can do.

Yours, Spencer.

And a week and a half later, when I didn't get a letter back on time, I was sure I'd messed up for good.

My mind was racing a mile a minute, yelling at myself for even thinking for a second of being that detailed in a letter without any consent. Sure, she'd taken it a step up by signing off her letter with a kiss, but I'd been absolutely idiotic in telling her that I got off to it.

I was honestly well and truly prepared to show up at her house with a big bouquet of flowers and an apology so wordy and probably too long for anyone's liking, in hopes that she'd forgive me for making this huge mistake.

Thankfully, though, it wasn't needed.

My phone chimed as I was pacing, my lip near bloody with how hard I'd been chewing at it, and I saw an unknown number attached to a text message and photo attachment.

The photo wouldn't load (I would have to plug it into my laptop and transfer the image there to see it— a fact which always irked Penelope to the core), but with the sentences I saw above the file, I almost knew exactly what I'd find when I had the means to see it.

There. Now we're even... Who says text messages can't be romantic and personal? XXX, Y/N

I felt like Bambi as I scrambled to my laptop three rooms over, stumbling over weak legs with my phone clutched tightly in my hand. My heart raced faster than it ever had as I started everything up and retrieved the right cord for my phone. With a few shakes and stumbles here and there, I briefly entertained the idea of upgrading my phone.

I probably would have left the apartment to do it immediately after seeing her photo attachment, but the moment it loaded up on my screen, my brain and body lost all ability to function properly.

A familiar burn coursed through the lower half of my body and tightened my chest at the sight of her, open and exposed and... wet.

My laptop screen was completely taken over by the image of Y/N's pussy, visibly glistening and aroused. A manicured hand—her hand— was in frame as well, middle finger resting snugly between the supple skin of her wet lips.

The fact that I only tasted her once felt downright cruel.

I tried to imagine it again— my face buried between the softness of her thighs. As much as I wanted to lay her down and indulge myself as long as possible, taking all the time in the world to slowly devour her and truly explore her for myself, what ran through my mind then was something more in the vein of our dynamic thus far.

My mind wandered, specifically to a place where I was the one laying down as she sat down directly onto my face and gave me what she thought I deserved. My hands were tied to the bed, maybe handcuffed. All I knew was that I couldn't touch her, and it bothered me. So I whined, and every time the sound left my mouth, she would let up, lifting further out of reach and causing me to instinctively reach my head up to chase her.

You greedy little slut... Take what I give you...

Desperately seeking her approval, I told her I'd be good and rejoiced when she lowered herself down to me again, allowing me to me completely wrapped up in her once more. My tongue lapped and lapped, gathering as much of her as I could before she'd inevitably leave again.

But she never did.

Somehow I kept my quiet, even though it was extremely difficult, and ate her out like my life depended on it. She glided smoothly over my face, coating more than just my lips in her arousal, and it thrilled me to my very core.

Every time I breathed in I could smell her, every time she groaned out my name my stomach fluttered, and it wasn't long before she was clutching my hair, shaking above me while I drank her in and repressed my whines.

My hips were uncontrollable though, bucking up into nothing and begging for any type of stimulation.

But then suddenly it was there— Her hand, firmly wrapping around my dick and gliding over it beautifully with a slickness that she must have transferred from her pussy. I could still taste her as I cried out her name, her movements quickening with every second until—

I didn't even realize I was actually alone until my eyes opened, cum coating my hand, my heartbeat heavy and loud, and the laptop screen in front of me a shade darker signaling a long period of inactivity.

I'd done it again...

And now we most certainly were not even.

I glanced over at my phone—plugged into the laptop—and then down at my lap, and my stomach knotted as my next move rang clear as day.

***

I woke up the next morning to texts from Spencer, and my heart picked up speed, a gentle warmth blooming through my chest at the sight.

I thought maybe he'd thank me for the photo I'd sent. Maybe he'd return it with an influx of messages along the lines of Oh my god, Holy fuck I miss you, and the like.

But what I wasn't expecting was to see a photo in return, of his hand that I'd dreamt of nearly nightly, wrapped firmly around his cock and all of it completely covered in cum.

Below the photo were three messages in a row, and each one gave me more butterflies than the last.

Sorry for low quality. No smartphone.

Also sorry we're not even anymore.

But I'm not sorry I did it- you're too perfect to resist.

***

Dearest Y/N,

I'm sorry you haven't gotten a letter from me in a while. And I know we've kept in touch through texting and calling while I was swamped at work, though now that I have some time off, I'd love to write you again. As much as I enjoy our virtual conversations, I still find sending letters to be my preferred method of communication (only second to speaking with you in person, that is).

Which brings me to the main point I'm trying to make.

I want to see you again. In person. I'm not completely confident in my cooking ability yet, but if you wouldn't mind the potential of it tasting awful, I'd love to have you over. I promise you nothing but the best, and I know that's a high promise, especially considering I probably haven't sold you on the meal, but it's true.

I'd do anything to please you.

And I really do mean 'anything', I hope you understand that.

Yours, Spencer.

***

The thought of seeing him in person again after so long made my hands way shakier than I would have liked. It made no sense the longer I thought about it, because it was obvious that we liked each other, and seeing each other in person wouldn't be a problem. Because it'd never been a problem before.

It irked me.

Still, I knocked on his door and physically shook out my hands, praying I could keep my cool when he finally opened the door.

But I should have known better.

One second I was staring at a large plank of wood, and the next I was staring into frantic eyes, golden and sparkling just as I remembered, but with an added glimmer of fear that matched the shakiness of my hands.

I don't know how long we stood there, just staring at each other, but the longer we did, the more we relaxed. His fear was gone, and the shaking in my hands turned into a dull hum that longed to reach out for him.

Still, I refrained, settling on a simple, "Hey, pen pal..."

By the way he looked at me, silent as ever, I started to wonder if that was a stupid thing to lead with. So I opened my mouth to apologize, to say anything else, but he beat me to it.

"Y/N... I... H—Hi, you look... incredible."

"O—Oh, thanks... Thank you, yeah, I um... figured I should... dress up a little. I know we're not going out anywhere, but I thought it might be nice."

He doesn't need to know that, Y/N, stop talking!

I gave him a small smile and a nervous laugh in an attempt to stop myself, hating how I was so nervous around him.

Spencer didn't seem to mind, though. He let me in and closed the door behind me as I quickly glanced around his apartment. It was littered with greens and browns, books everywhere, and I'd never felt more at home.

"Is it, uh... What you expected?"

"Hmm?" I turned to meet him, his soft voice pulling me from my wandering eyes.

"My apartment."

"Oh! Yeah, it's very you... I love it."

The compliment had his cheeks turning pink, and there was nothing I wanted to do more than kiss them over and over again.

And just like that, once again we were caught just staring at each other. I didn't know what he was thinking, and honestly, I didn't know what I was thinking either. All I knew in that moment was that Spencer Reid was standing right in front of me, close enough to touch, and I wanted to give in.

I was so wrapped up in the idea of feeling him that I almost didn't hear him speak. I wouldn't have heard him at all had it not been for his lips moving.

"I'm sorry, I haven't started dinner yet..."

"That's okay," I reassured. Or, at least I tried to. Really, though, I think it sounded more like I was uninterested in what he was saying, my voice flat and lifeless as I continued to stare at him.

Suddenly we were closer, and I had to look up higher to see his face, butterflies swarming in my stomach at the way he looked down at me.

"You're sure?"

"Mhm."

"I can start it now if you're getting hungry."

Food isn't what I'm hungry for, is what I thought. I almost said it, too, because he was even closer now, his hands coming out to touch mine. If they were humming before, they were certainly blaring with life now, growing hot under his light touch. And it took everything I had not to look down, because it had been too damn long since I'd seen his hands in person, and I wanted them on me immediately.

He could tell, too. He could sense my urgency, feel the longing radiating off my presence, and I knew this because I could feel his, too. His eyes practically dared me to say what I was thinking, and so I did.

"Don't you dare."

It was hard to tell who moved in first, but it really didn't matter.

I was here, in his apartment, feeling his lips glide over mine with reckless abandon, and that's all that mattered.

His hands gripped my waist so tightly I would have thought he was trying to hold me in place, to make sure I wasn't ever going to leave his sight again. And if that was the case, I would have let him hold me there forever.

My hands, meanwhile, clutched at his hair, forcing myself closer and closer to him with every sharp tug. I reveled in the way he whined into my mouth with every little thing I did, whether it was a tug of the hair or a roll forward of the hips, or even a swipe of my tongue over his.

He was putty in my hands yet again, and just like every time before, it turned me into a fucking goner.

Being with Spencer wasn't like anything I'd ever known. And the only other thing I'd known was Patrick. He didn't want me, not really, and even though he was good to me in the beginning, it was never like this.

I didn't come over to his apartment with shaking hands. I didn't send him fucking love letters almost weekly, and I certainly didn't get kissed like this...

Spencer was drunk on me, and I wasn't any sober myself.

"That picture you sent me..." I mumbled over his lips, still keeping myself as close as I could while I got out what I needed to say. "Where did you take that?"

We kissed for a few more seconds, unable to stay apart, before he answered, his voice just as breathy and brimming with desperation as mine. "My office. Just down the hall."

I kissed him again, hard, and then pulled back to look him in the eyes. They widened when I said, "Show me."

He dragged me through the apartment on rushed legs, and I almost laughed at the urgency, only stopped by the realization that I was just as urgent. It occurred to me that perhaps my laughing at his urgency might just be a slight turn on for him, given our history with my playful degradation, but still I pulled back— Tonight felt... different.

It didn't feel like we were headed in the direction of me calling him my dirty little whore throughout the night, and it was something I was more than okay with. In fact, I welcomed it, excited to see where this new night would take us.

We ended up in his office, which remained more or less the same aesthetic as the rest of his place. In the middle sat a small desk with a laptop and some papers scattered about on it, accompanied by a tall floor lamp and a rolling desk chair.

"Where were you exactly?" I mused, gripping his hand tightly and buzzing at the way his fingers flexed against my own.

"In the chair... I pulled the photo up on my laptop."

"Right. No smartphone."

Spencer hummed in confirmation before dragging me along to the chair, and I fucking giggled as he plopped down and practically pulled me right on top of him, the chair rolling back a foot or two. I went down for a bright, messy kiss that ended with his hands clutching my ass over my skirt and my own cradling his face.

His growing bulge nudged right up into my inner thigh, and I groaned lightly in his mouth, my fingers dragging softly down his jaw and neck until I reached his shoulders.

"What were you thinking about?"

He raised his eyebrow, and I rocked my hips forward with a sly grin, hoping to get my point across. "When you were looking at my picture, in this very chair, what were you thinking about?"

Seeing his eyelids stutter and his tongue dart out at my movements sent a rush through me, and I moved my hips once more to emphasize my urgency.

"I... I thought about you... riding my face. You tied my hands..."

"Oh?" I sighed, rocking forward again and humming into his neck. "Well, that can definitely be arranged if you want it bad enough..."

"Please, Y/N, yes... Please..."

The need dripping from every syllable made it near impossible to breathe, and I was suddenly very inclined to give him everything he wanted. With or without the begging.

So I reluctantly peeled away from him and stood up on weak legs. Staring at Spencer as he sat there, leaning back in the chair with disheveled hair and obvious desire in his eyes, made it all the better when I took my panties off from under my skirt and motioned for him to come forward. "On your knees?"

I would have demanded it in any other situation, but I was feeling a bit more sweet this time around.

And he seemed grateful for it, sliding the chair back further and getting down in front of me. I reached out and played with his hair, trying my hardest to commit his beautiful face to memory. I wanted it burned there for the rest of time.

"Hands?"

Spencer offered his hands to me, and I hummed happily, doing my best to tie his hands together with a makeshift knot from my panties. It wasn't really tight or secure, but it was enough for him to whine as he set them in his lap.

He watched intently as I dropped my skirt—a bit redundant now, but I thought it'd be a nice way to get him more excited. Plus I wanted to see his face (or at lease what I could see of it while it was buried between my legs).

I stepped forward then, looking down at him with a smile while my hands reached out to comb through his hair. "You ready?"

"Uh huh."

The look in his eyes right before I came forward and hovered over his face almost made my come on the spot.

But as fun as that would have been, I was glad for the way my body held off and settled for a beautiful, burning increase of pleasure that dragged out the longer he swiped his tongue through my folds. Actually, I forgot for a moment that I was supposed to be moving, riding his face like he'd thought about.

I willed my eyes open and clutched Spencer's soft locks of hair beneath me, gently rolling my hips and grinding down further on his face.  The groan he let out not only felt good against my skin, but it sounded like pure bliss, eliciting a small whimper of my own as I tightened my grip in his hair and rocked faster.

"God, I missed having your mouth on me, baby... You're... so good..."

The longer I spoke the more breathless I became, not because the words didn't come easily, but because I truly believed them to be true.

Spencer really was so fucking good, his tongue the most delicate, divine object of the universe as it drew out every ounce of delight from my body. I may have been the one above him, calling the shots and directing him where and how to please me, but he was the one who clung to my soul like static and politely guided me towards damnation.

I wasn't even sure of my surroundings to tell you the truth. As my body tensed and took me through one of the most blinding pleasures I'd experienced in weeks, My eyes were squeezed so tightly it's like I saw the universe. All I knew was Spencer's lips sucking my clit and my hands deeply rooted in his hair as I shouted incoherently, stars swirling around behind my eyelids.

Truly, for all I knew, we could have been in space. It wouldn't have made any difference.

But eventually it came to be too much. I was reaching a limit I didn't want to get to so quickly, and so I flashed my eyes open and tried to adjust to this brand new atmosphere, unweaving my fingers through pretty brown waves of hair and stepping back to assess the situation.

What I found was the most beautiful man I'd ever known, panting like he'd just ran a marathon and yet harboring the most intense joy and desire a person could hold. He was on his knees, bound hands writhing in his lap as he awaited further instruction and licked up as much of myself on his face as he could before I stopped him.

Under normal circumstances, I would have wanted to absolutely ruin him. That adoring, desperate look in his eye would have spurred me to more devious endeavors, but all I wanted in this moment was to make sure he was satisfied. I wanted to take care of him, to let him know that I longed to make him feel as worshipped and adored as he'd made me feel.

I got down to Spencer's level, quickly removing the fabric from his wrists and hauling him to his feet, where he now towered over me, still waiting for words to address and instruct him.

Instead, I leaned up with soft hands upon his cheeks and pulled him down to meet my lips in a kiss that changed the tone entirely. It was erotic still, of course, what with my arousal infiltrating my taste buds and eliciting a soft sigh from the both of us, but our urgency manifested in sweeter ways... Softer lips, gentle touches of the face, and an exchanging of breath that was so smooth and seamless it felt like we were floating on air.

I was finding it hard to breathe again, but it wasn't an issue in the slightest. In fact, there was nowhere else I'd rather have been than right there, kissing Spencer Reid like we had all the time in the world.

When the breathlessness was a little too much to bear, we pulled away, though only leaving just enough space to breathe. Our lips stayed briefly connected while we caught up, and his hands found their way to the sides of my face. The way they practically engulfed my whole head brought a brief smile to my lips as I finally gave him the words he was looking for.

"I'm so glad I met you," I whispered.

"Funny, I was just thinking the same thing."

We kissed each other again, naturally and with so much ease that I wondered how I had ever lived without him.

And then, as my hands slid gently down his chest, I felt it.

Something that felt very much like a ring attached to a necklace sat right where his heartbeat resided, and I knew exactly which ring it was.

"W—" I pulled back and circled the shape of it with my finger through the shirt, then looked up at him. "Is that what I think it is?"

Spencer looked briefly panicked, pulling away a little and fishing down the front of his shirt for the chain. "Oh... Um, yeah. I, um... I forgot to take it off, I'm sorry. I..."

"You... kept it?"

I observed the diamond as it laid flat on my palm, still attached to the chain and around his neck. Honestly, after all this time I figured he'd never found it or gotten rid of it, seeing as he never brought it up. And yet there it was, glittering in the palm of my hand as my other one presses firmly against Spencer's rapidly beating heart.

"Y—Yeah... It um... It was really the only physical thing I had to remember you—Well, at least until we started sending letters... And I guess I just... W—Wearing it has become such a habit that I forgot to take it off."

"You never take it off?"

I could tell he was nervous, and rightfully so given I wasn't really letting on how I was feeling about the whole thing.

Still, he answered my short question in such a small whisper I'd have thought he was trying not to get in trouble.

"No."

"Why?"

My words certainly weren't helping ease his anxieties, so I remained close, dropping the ring and focusing rather on his eyes. I softened the look in my own and glided my hands down to hold his. His fingers flexed against mine, squeezing them for dear life as he sighed out in relief and flashed me a soft smile.

"Because... I wanted you close to my heart."

With a smile that mirrored his eyes, full of enchantment and pure adoration for the person in front of me, I didn't use my brain and instead focused on what my heart was telling me, consequences be damned.

"I think I might love you..."

Spencer squeezed my hands tighter, that relief spreading out to all his features and brightening that beautiful smile.

"Funny... I was just thinking the same thing."

Our lips met once more, and I swear it was like nothing bad was ever going to happen for the rest of time.

I'd never felt that way. Not once with Patrick did my heart feel settled into place, even during the great parts of our relationship.

And now here I was, with a man who sent me love letters and kept every physical reminder of my existence, who kissed me like I was the most precious thing in the world and slowly mended my wounded heart.

He held me close the whole way to his bedroom and never let me go until the morning. Though, even then his arms outstretched towards me and his fingers flexed, needing to grab onto any part of me that he could find.

And as I was sure I always would, I welcomed him with open arms.

***

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[mcyt-imagines]

hi hi ! first off, just a tip if you'd like more requests/asks in general you should prob turn on anon since this is like the only time i've sent a non-anon ask. but anyways, i'm assuming requests are open and i'd like to ask if you would write either just ranboo fluff in general or something like the tommy confession headcanons but w ranboo :D what you've posted so far is great <3

Thank you so much for letting me know! I thought I had anon turned on already, but it’s 100% turned on now! Regarding your request I got a little carried away and wrote both some general fluff and some confession headcanons for Ranboo so this post is a little long... Hope you enjoy! :D

(It’s important to note that these headcanons are a combination of ones pertaining to his Minecraft character in the dsmp and him outside of the dsmp roleplay!)

General Ranboo Fluff

- Dreamsmp Ranboo -

The first time Ranboo cries in front of you is when you confess to him and he is so happy and relieved that you reciprocate his feelings. He even smiles through the pain of his tears as you panic to cover the skin beneath his eyes, so your hands catch his tears to stop the pain.

Ranboo likes to ask if you need any resources from time to time and once you finally give in and answer, he spends the rest of his day trying to collect as much of it as he can. This has led to a few incidents in which you came back to your shared indent in the snowy mountain to find a chest stacked full with polished stone and countless ores. You’ve scolded him but the way he responds with big puppy dog eyes wishing to “just be helpful.” Sets the butterflies caged in your chest free every damn time.

Ranboo in addition to asking you for want you want he is also very observant in noticing what you need. Any tools close to breaking? Brilliant, he’s already got three more of the same tools ready for you to grab when you need it. He also names them using the anvil to some silly super cheesy pet names.

One of his favourite things to do with you is stargaze. You both travel to the top of your snowy mountain and clear out a space free of snow to lie down and simply hold each other. Ranboo has started asking Techno (on the nights you are away) to point out the stars and tell him their corresponding stories. He happily relays all of this information to you in exaggerated detail, looking at you in awe as your expressions change with the twinkling lights above.

Ranboo almost always carries a little umbrella around with him in case it begins to rain. Most of his friends notice and all start to buy him some. He now has a full collection that line his wall just next to the door. It’s those small things that allows him to remember who his real friends are.

Ranboo LOVES having his hair played with. He will fall asleep within minutes of you beginning to tousle his hair as he rests his head in your lap. He may make soft enderman noises, but you don’t dare tell him. Content on keeping that little secret to yourself.

Ranboo has to be kinda careful around snow considering that if it melts it will hurt him. Meaning he has to sit out on any snowball fights that occur. And they occur more frequently than you would think. It usually starts with Phil throwing a rogue snowball at Techno when Phil notices him slumping his shoulders. Which means it doesn’t take long until it’s a full-blown war. You usually find yourself smack bang in the middle of it and have to dive down to avoid getting pummelled in the crossfire. Ranboo will call you over to hide behind Techno’s house. As the onslaught continues between the two. you giggle and commentate over the fierce battle together.

- Outside of Dreamsmp Ranboo - 

Ranboo enjoys watching you whenever you are focused on something. He’s incredibly observant and finds himself mimicking the small little nuances he sees you exhibit. He gets incredibly flustered whenever you notice that he’s picked up on them, but he doesn’t bother to deny it.

Ranboo finds himself staring at you a lot. He doesn’t mean to but he can’t help it. You catch him frequently, “Watching me real closely, hm?” He tries to stutter out an answer to defend himself, but you just smile and tell him it’s okay.

Ranboo finds a lot of comfort in doing ‘domestic’ activities with you. However, one of his personal favourites is when the two of you go out to get groceries together. His mum will give him a small list and he’ll try his best to dawdle around the store whilst swinging your intertwined hands to make the visit as long as possible. It makes him think of a future in which the two of you get to do this every single week and that alone warms his heart.

Ranboo always has to be near you, he doesn’t have to be physically touching you but he prefers to just be stupidly close to you. It always makes you laugh when he sits just close enough to you that you don’t touch, so now he has to do it forever.

Your laugh is one of his favourite sounds. To the point that if you giggle or laugh at something, he will just keep doing it over and over again for as long as you keep laughing at it. Which eventually leads to the both of you red-faced and gasping for air.

Ranboo is a terrible cook. But he tries so hard to follow recipes and they always flop. He also for some reason, cannot attempt cooking without making an utter mess of himself. Whether it’s spilling flour all over himself, getting egg yolk splatter somehow in his hair or just spilling copious amounts of milk on the floor so that he slips. This boy is a walking, talking kitchen DISASTER. So now he can only cook with you supervising him. Which turns out, wasn’t as much of a punishment as it should have been. As your tutelage seems to have slightly improved his cooking skills. However, now you also get flour spilt all over you as well.

Ranboo Confession Headcanons

- Realising he likes you - 

Ranboo denies he has feelings for you at first. Believing that you’re just a good friend whose company he really enjoys. But the more he focuses on your friendship the quicker he realises he would prefer if you were more to him than that.

This thought alone sends him into a little bit of a spiral for a few days. Grappling with the thought of rejection and the guilt he would feel if he ever hurt you.

He spends most of the time grappling with his feelings he continues to try and act as normal as possible around you. You finding out would be his worst nightmare.

Ranboo realises he has absolutely no history in the dating department and desperately needs some guidance. He may ask Phil on a whim who would try his best to give the poor panicked boy some words of wisdom. Ranboo takes the advice to heart immediately, promising Phil he will update him on how his feelings for you turn out.

Ranboo finds himself writing about you in one of his many journals. He finds putting words on the page seems to help clear his mind. He tries to script his confession a few times. Desperately floundering to find the right words, but he always seems to fall short. He usually ends up scribbling all over those pages until you can barely tell someone had even written on them. Hoping to somehow erase the thoughts in the process.  

He even tries drawing you a few times when he finds himself with enough spare time. He doesn’t think they’re any good though. Sure, the sketches look like you, but they don’t make him feel the way you do. When he looks at the page his chest doesn’t tighten because of your beauty, but instead because of the way you’ve made him feel. Which he comes to the sad conclusion is something he simply cannot capture in his words or his drawings. He has to show it through his actions. Not exactly his strong suit. But he’s determined to do right by you. So, he devises a plan.

- Confessing to you - 

This boy plans the whole day down to a t, he has multiple back-up plans just in case his first one falls short.

Ranboo invites you over for lunch. Arriving at his place you notice how clean it is. He spent the last few days cleaning it top to bottom.

You spend a few minutes in the house chatting. You notice Ranboo is on edge almost immediately. Shoulders a pinch too tight, his smiles a little too wide and none of them reach his eyes.

You ask what you’re going to be having for lunch and he reveals a wicker basket from his kitchen. “A picnic!” Your heart warms, “I would’ve brought something if you’d told me beforehand.” He smiles at that, “Exactly. I even cooked without you, you should be proud.” 

He shuffles on his feet a little, wishing to be praised, “We’ll see how the food tastes first, maybe then I’ll tell you how proud I am.” You tease, moving to elbow him lightly. You notice the way his face flushes as you move into his space. His mother appears from upstairs, “Are you two leaving? I could drive you, y’know!” “No thanks mom!!” He is quick to grab your hand and practically drag you out of the house and away from his all knowing mom.

The bus ride is on the longer side and you find yourself feeling brave enough to scoot a little closer to Ranboo. “Hey, is it okay if I?” You gesture between your head and his shoulder, the cute, shocked expression he sends you causes you to grin. “Uh s-sure!” 

You softly press your head against his shoulder, “Thanks, pretty comfy shoulder you got here should’ve asked you to share it sooner.” You tease, nuzzling his shoulder lightly just for a reaction. And you get one alright, his skin goes such a lovely shade of red all the way up to the tips of his ears. You giggle softly, trying your best to hold it in and failing miserably.

You even manage to fall asleep despite your own heartbeat quickening at Ranboo’s closeness. You are tapped awake by him, “Hmm?” You rub one of your eyes knowingly appearing adorable and the way he looks at you makes it all worth it. “It’s our stop soon, we gotta get up.” 

You nod and lazily stand and he follows suit. Only for the bus to brake abruptly, promptly shoving you into his chest. He wraps his arms around you quickly to steady you whilst you desperately cling to the wicker basket, “You okay?” You both mumble to each other before laughing it off and nodding. “Oh crap.” Ranboo grabs your free hand and you both scramble to get to the front of the bus to hop off. Sparks fly up your arm at the extended contact, even as you jump off the bus.

Ranboo happily leads you to a spot he had picked out earlier in the month. A soft patch of grass below a large willow tree that now sways softly in the warm breeze. You set up your carefully packaged feast with haste now that your stomachs are grumbling.

Ranboo forcefully tries to make himself relax knowing you’ve probably noticed his tense state by now. But you choose not to push him on it, taking an educated guess on why he’s so stressed.

You are quick to compliment his cooking skills when he divvies out a freshly baked quiche.  Even though you know his mom for sure did most of the work. It’s the thought that counts. You hope that may snap him out of the stupor he seems to be in. However, no such luck.

“Hey Ranboo, do you want to talk about something?” Ranboo goes into full panic mode. He did not have a plan for you asking something like this. He thought you weren’t confrontational!! You watch as his expression changes rapidly. You look away, “You don’t have to tell me, it’s okay. I just thought you might want to-“ 

He takes one of your hands in his. Why is he doing this??? This isn’t part of the plan at all! “I…” His throat goes dry. All those hours obsessing over what he was going to say to you are sent out the window when he finally meets your eyes.

“I think I like you.” He hasn’t realised he’s even said it until its waaaaaay too late. Your eyes widen, you didn’t think he’d actually admit it to you. You squeeze his hand as you watch his eyes seem to lose focus, “I like you too.” He is silent for several long moments until he starts blinking rapidly, “Huh!?” The look of utter surprise on his face causes you to burst out laughing.

“Wait, wait, wait you’re serious?” He grabs your arm as a grin slowly starts to creep onto his face. “Sure am.” And as you meet his gaze you realise that his grin actually reached his eyes, for the first time in a long while. 

“So, you gonna kiss me now or what?” You tease as his face shines a dark red. “W-well I, uh-“ His stuttering only allows for you to sneak closer and press a firm kiss to his cheek. Somehow, he grows even redder and you sigh pleasantly. “My heart definitely made the right choice with you Ranboo.”

Meanwhile Ranboo is too busy freaking out over the fact that you weren’t even meant to find out he liked you until you were stargazing together later tonight. His plans are utterly ruined! But as you squeeze his hand again to bring his thoughts back into the present, he wonders that perhaps spontaneity isn’t such a bad thing sometimes.

~My ask box is always open if you’ve got any requests or just want to vent about the dreamsmp lore!~

[rainbowbutterfrosting]

The Revived - Chapter 22: Preparations

This is chapter 22 of the Dream SMP multichapter fic @dramaticsnakes​ and I wrote together! I hope you’ll enjoy!

AO3

Read in order (on Tumblr)

Characters in this chapter: Wilbur, Ghostbur

Word count: 3,093

Cw: pain, brief loneliness, implied derealization

Fic summary: Wilbur was alive, and it was such a magnificent feeling, that made his mind spark with anticipation. It didn’t take long, however, for Wilbur to realize that this new breath of life, was not just his own. An echo-y voice hides in the back of his mind, and before he knows it, the transparent version of him he saw at the endless train station, is a lot more ingrained than he’d expected him to be.

And Wilbur really shouldn’t care. Because he’d be damned, if he spent the life he’d awaited for so long, babysitting a lost cause of a ghost, stuck in the very same limbo Wilbur spent so long in. It was an even exchange, and one Wilbur wasn’t going to mess with. Why exactly he ends up setting out to get the ghost out of his mind, in order to save the both of them, however, is beyond him. And perhaps Wilbur’s past isn’t as easy to leave behind, as he’d hoped it would be.

Wilbur was somewhat thankful that the early morning interaction had been disheveled enough, for Wilbur not to have been asked to leave. It was kind of funny really, that even though Wilbur had been caught trespassing where he shouldn’t, the young boy had been far too distracted to kick him out. Far too confused and awkward. It seemed to be a general trend whenever Ranboo was talking to him.

Though perhaps Wilbur couldn’t act as if he was above that awkwardness, as he hadn’t even gotten around to asking exactly what kind of party it was. He assumed however, for natural reasons, that if it was a party for a toddler, presents for said toddler would be involved. Regardless, Wilbur didn’t think giving a present to a child would be looked down upon in any case. If anything, it might repair what he previously damaged. Even if it was an infinitesimal amount, it could still help.

“Oh oh oh! What should we get him?” Ghostbur asked excitedly, “What does he like? Red, gold, nether things, books…” He chuckled as he jokingly added, “Us! We could wrap ourselves in a present.”

Wilbur chuckled despite himself. “We could,” he said with a smile, feeling a bit of exhaustion dragging at him, but finding it easier and easier to ignore. “Let’s see if there’s anything we can use in these chests.”

Wilbur rummaged through them for a while, only managing to find four gold ingots that could perhaps interest the child. He briskly crafted them into a pair of gold boots that he figured would suit Michael’s size. He narrated the action to Ghostbur as he did it.

“They’re like rubber boots!” Ghostbur had commented excitedly.

“Mhm.”

“Oh, I have an idea!” 

“Shoot,” a smile lingered in his voice as he grabbed a dark gray satchel nearby. It was light-weight and durable. Perfect for a gift or two. He carefully put the golden boots inside it as Ghostbur rambled on cheerfully.

“So, hear me out. I’ve got the best idea ever in the whole universe. We should make him a card! He can hold and look at it, and you can be nice in it too!”

Wilbur walked downstairs, grabbing some sugar cane from the farm as he quickly pressed it into paper. A quill sat nearby as he picked it up. “Alright, so a simple message…” Wilbur’s voice trailed off.

“Okay, how about, ‘Oh, Michael, you are the most amazing person to exist and I hope you continue existing forever.’”  

Wilbur looked into the air as if he was on The Office. “Or we could go with something more general.”

“I gotcha! We can do ‘You are the most amazing person to exist and you are so cool that I hope you continue existing forever.’”

“First of all, I thought I said more general, not less.”

“I did make it more general! I removed Michael’s name from it.”

Wilbur facepalmed gently so it wouldn’t hurt Ghostbur. “I meant for it to be less… emotional? I don’t think that’s the right word, but I want the card to be neutral.”

Ghostbur hummed in agreement. “Okay. We can say ‘I feel neutral about your existence, but I do agree that you chose to exist at this current time, and by the way, you are also very cool.’”

Wilbur sighed, “I’ll take over the writing.” He narrated the words on the paper, “Dear Michael, The world will be at your feet someday! But for now, it's just these gold boots.” A smile slipped on his face at the words replaying in his mind in company with Ghostbur’s noises of approval.

“Oh can we do a drawing at the bottom? Michael likes drawings.”

Wilbur nodded, “Yeah, that’s a good idea.”

Ghostbur excitedly squealed, “Can we- oh my, I have so many good ideas.”

Wilbur chuckled, pleased to hear the ghost being his typical self again. “I can start with drawing Michael?”

Ghostbur clapped, “Yeah! And- and holding hands with him?”

“Sure, just give me one second.” He might have been a leader of a nation and a general for many soldiers, but Wilbur certainly was not an artist. He tried genuinely drawing a face, only for him to scratch it out and get a new paper out and transfer his original message onto it. Instead, he imitated Michael’s drawing style- stick figures. 

He drew playful lines across the bottom of the paper. He eventually formed a small stick person with little pig ears, a big smile, and black boots. He would have colored them, but he didn’t want to risk Michael eating the paper as he did just days ago. 

Next to Michael, he drew a slightly bigger person. Curly hair at the top and a rough trenchcoat around the body. He hesitantly finished the picture with a small smile on his own face. It felt a bit silly to draw like that. To be making a card for a child after everything, drawing handholding and smiles. Yet Ghostbur’s excitement was strangely infectious. It was sort of relieving in a sense, even if Wilbur wasn’t the type to fall for such bright positivity.

“Alright, the drawings are finished.” 

He was about to fold the paper into his pocket when Ghostbur called out, “Wait, did you put any stars on there?”

“No?”

“What kind of drawing is it if there’s no stars?!”

Wilbur sighed quietly as he quickly scribbled some stars in the corners. “Alright, I’m putting it away now-”

“Wait! Did you sign it?”

Wilbur furrowed his brow, “I’m giving it to him. He knows it’s from me.”

Ghostbur pleaded, “But cards always look better if they’re signed. Just a quick, ‘Love, Wilbur and Ghostbur’ makes the card a thousand times better! No- a billion!”

Wilbur sighed as he remained frozen in place before the words settled in. His mind easily processed the ridiculous request, but not the fact that Ghostbur wanted to be signed on the card too. Wilbur should have probably assumed it, but the idea didn’t fully settle with him. “Alright.” The words were quiet as he quickly wrote down, ‘Sincerely, Uncle Wilbur’.

"Is there anything else I need to add?"

"Hmm, I don't think so."

Wilbur gently placed the card in the satchel as he quickly ran up to see the clock once more, but he slightly frowned to see the hour hand still lingering between the four and five. He brushed it off though. He could easily occupy himself anyway. His eyes glazed over the books on the table before he internally groaned at the thought of hitting the books once again. 

He walked over to the table, placing the satchel onto it, before grabbing one of the books before Ghostbur spoke, "Oh, we're reading again?" His voice sounded slightly dismayed.

Wilbur shook his head, "Nah, I'm just putting away some books." Ghostbur made a pleased sound  as Wilbur quietly pushed the leather-bound book back into its spot. 

He sighed quietly at the odd silence of the room. He focused on the ticking of the clock. It

was a nice sound to focus on. It was a constant reminder he was still alive. Even if he wasn't

the happiest in his position, he was alive. 

An alive man that was going to attend a toddler's party with a homemade card that had poorly drawn stickmen inside.

He exhaled sharply through his nose, as he finished putting some of the books away. Most of them held no useful information anyhow, and perhaps leaving them out would appear suspicious, should Tubbo return.

He wondered for a brief moment if Ranboo intended on telling Tubbo about Wilbur’s presence in the bunker. He imagined Tubbo insisting on having a talk as soon as Wilbur arrived. Prime, Wilbur despised talks. He just hoped the awkwardness of the interaction, and Ranboo’s apparent secrecy, was enough for Ranboo to leave it out.

Wilbur walked downstairs, finding that his leg had almost healed during his days in the bunker. He was going to harvest some watermelon, simply to pass the time. As he was about to do so, his eyes fell upon something dusty, peeking out of a chest he hadn’t bothered looking much at before. He knew what it was. He closed his eyes momentarily, to get a hold of his thoughts, before walking to the chest, and taking out a dusty mirror. 

He rubbed the shiny end of it with his sleeve. The mirror was still vaguely cloudy, but it still showed him nonetheless. Well- not exactly him, but rather his body. The man who stared back was nearly unrecognizable with gray bruises scattered along his face that easily complemented the bags under his eyes.

Complement was a rather strong word as all of his features seemed off-putting to him. His greasy hair hung close to his pale-ish skin. He squished his face with one of his hands, truly making sure that his reflection was his own. Of course, the mirror version moved along with him, but he strangely wished it didn’t. 

His mind drifted back to his encounter with Ranboo. Had they really intended on inviting Wilbur to the party in the first place? Or had that been done out of pity?

The only good thing about his reflection was that he couldn’t see the burns along his chin anymore. He touched it gently, finding the skin to be a little softer than before. 

He automatically put the mirror down as he headed towards the shower that laid in the bunker. He stopped two steps away as Ghostbur chimed in, “What time is it over there?”

“Oh… I don’t know.” He was pulled out of his thoughts quite easily as he stayed frozen in place.

Confusion laced Ghostbur’s voice, “You can’t check?”

Wilbur shut his eyes tightly for a moment before taking a sharp breath, “I could, but I have to ask you something.”

Wilbur despised the cheeriness in Ghostbur’s response. “Ask away!”

Images of Wilbur’s face flashed through his own mind as he hesitantly asked, “Alright, Ghostie, there’s not an easy way to bring this up.” Ghostbur hummed in acknowledgement, not wanting to interrupt Wilbur. Despite Wilbur not wanting to continue on, he forced the words out of him, “So- do you know what a shower is?”

“Yeah! It’s one of those plants on the ground with pretty petals.”

A dry chuckle left Wilbur, “No, that’s a flower.”

“Oh. Is it what Tubbo uses in baking?”

Wilbur sighed this time, “No, that’s wheat flour.” As Ghostbur was about to give another guess, Wilbur cut him off, “I’ll just tell you.”

Ghostbur sounded slightly dismayed at his refused answers, “Alright.”

“Alright. Alright,” the words were quiet in his mind as he forced himself back on track. “A shower is something people do to get clean. They use soap and… water to do this.”

“Aww, I was about to guess that too.”

“Right.” It was now or never. “I think I need to take a shower.”

“Okay!”

Wilbur furrowed his brow, “You’re… okay with me taking a shower? You know it’s going to require water, right?”

Ghostbur’s breath hitched at the realization. “Ah. I thought you meant soap or water.”

Wilbur exhaled, the tension flowing through his body. “Yeah.”

“So why do you need to take one? I know people in general do it, but you can explain to him that water hurts me.”

Wilbur shook his head, “He can’t know about you.”

Child-like curiosity filled Ghostbur’s voice, but it was slightly dimmer than what it should have been, “Why?”

Wilbur pursed his lips. It was too risky to describe in words. With how little trust Tubbo had in Wilbur, it would most likely foil their plans of Ghostbur’s escape. The suspicion and worry in Tubbo’s eyes wouldn’t temporarily go away at a joke. There wouldn’t be a moment alone with his thoughts as everyone whispered about the mind of his. They wouldn’t say anything bad either, just harsh truths that hurt more than he’d like to imagine. The truths he thought he could escape by finishing his unfinished symphony. 

Wilbur’s failed nation transitioned to a mind that couldn’t go a day without the desperate need to talk to someone again. The need for someone to reassure him he was alive and he wasn’t imagining something in the train station again. He was quite imaginative in there. He made fantasy worlds with so many new people, but at the end of the day, he imagined Tommy by his side laughing or cooking breakfast with Tubbo again. 

On the rougher days, he would imagine Fundy there. Sometimes he talked about his problems to him, only to cry harder when he remembered his son wasn’t actually there. Or he would imagine Niki running a hand through his hair, telling him all the things he needed. He’d been without that real warm touch for thirteen years that holding himself made a shaky sob leave. It had been pathetic of him to imagine such things, but the silence got to you after a few years, after he had spent a long time growing bitter. No one could see him anyway, so maybe it hadn’t counted at all, as he thought about those potential blissful moments.

The moments he never got. Perhaps he was still at the train station after all, the slight buzz of the lights being the only noise he could hear. No one laughed with him when he came back. The most he got was a dry chuckle that he happened to witness. There was no one to hold or listen to him. Not a single person smiled at his return. He was alone in the train station he thought he escaped days ago.

Tears blurred his vision as he wrapped his arms around himself. He pushed his body against a wall as he slid down it. The gray wall that accompanied the gray floors and flickering fluorescent lights. The tunnel that didn’t stop seemed to stop his mind. It blocked him in every direction that led to happiness before his murmuring thoughts entered.

It took a moment to realize it wasn’t his thoughts, but rather an echoy version of them. “Wilbur? Is everything okay?”

Wilbur swallowed back a cry. “Yeah,” his voice shook for a moment as he tried to breathe normally. “Sorry I spaced out for a second.” There wasn’t a train station. He wasn’t back there. He was in the bunker. “What were you saying?”

Ghostbur quietly answered, “Nothing. Oh- earlier you said you wanted to take a shower?”

The words brought Wilbur back to a more tangible reality. “Right…” he said with a nod, pushing himself up from the ground, his posture wavering slightly. He swallowed something in his throat. “Are you… Are you okay with that?” he quickly added, “I’ll make it as brisk as I can I promise! It’ll mostly be to wash my hair, and to look and smell just a little more presentable.”

Ghostbur had very little reason to trust him. Wilbur was incredibly aware of that at this point, his promises losing all meaning at his forgetfulness, or plain dishonesty. “Of course. Just- Just don’t take too long please.”

“I won’t,” Wilbur said. “I promise,” he repeated, trying to add as much weight to the words as he could. Engrave them, so his mind wouldn’t drift away from it. To keep his mind from drifting away in general.

Gently he put his clothes aside, placing the familiar old trenchcoat and blouse in a little pile. He had associated the outfit with himself for so long, that looking at it apart from him, was almost surreal. Slowly, he walked into the shower. He put the temperature to be as cold as he could, unsure if there would even be hot water in a bunker like this. It would serve as a good reminder that he should make this quick. “I am going to turn it on now. It’ll… It’ll probably reach my entire body.” 

“Okay…” Ghostbur said. Wilbur caught himself missing the excitement from when they were making the card together. Frivolous. 

He placed his hand on the shower knob and turned it, careful not to let his hand too much under the water. It proved to be a rather needless endeavor though, as his face and body were immediately drenched in cold water. He immediately shivered from the feeling as he felt his movements become jittery and robotic. He heard hurried breaths from his mind, and whimpers of pain, though it was surprisingly silent this time around.

Wilbur let his hand through his hair, massaging his scalp. He grasped some soap next to the shower, and mixed some into his hair and on his body, quickly using the water to wash it off. His heart was beating fast, as he rushed to turn the knob once more, some soap still lingering on a few strands of hair. He bolted to the other side of the room, to dry all the remaining water off with a towel, almost as if the uncomfortably cold water was burning him too. The second he could no longer find a drop he let out a few breaths. “There we go. Done.”

Ghostbur took a moment before he replied, his own breathing calming down as well. “Okay… Okay, that’s good! T-thank you.”

Wilbur cringed slightly at the gratitude, not entirely certain what he was being thanked for. “Of course,” he said quietly, his breathing quite obvious and echo-y in the empty room. He suddenly realized that he missed the ticking of the clock. He shook his head, and put on his clothes again, unsure if the warmth they brought was comfort or something that settled heavier in his chest. He didn’t have time to dwell on it.

He walked out of the room, grabbing the satchel with Michael’s present in it. He glanced at the clock once more, finding that it was only around 5:30am. He stood in the middle of the bunker for a good minute, closing his eyes tightly, and holding on to the sound of the clock. When he opened his eyes once more, they settled on the potions he brewed over the past few days. There weren’t many, but they comforted him nonetheless. He absent-mindedly packed three strength potions into the satchel, perhaps planning on giving some to Tubbo and Ranboo as a gift. 

Then, with determined steps he started walking towards the exit. It felt as if a weight was slightly lifted as he walked out the bunker, though he had grown so used to the weight that he wasn’t sure if that was comforting to him or not. Once he found himself in Pogtopia, he decided to focus on the ground beneath his feet, rather than the buttons lining the walls.

When the sun reached Wilbur’s face, the rays seemed to make his vision less blurry in a sense. The darkness that was so welcoming before, and still called to him, was shoved away in favor of the sunrise.

He remembered right then, when he had declared the first sunrise he saw when he returned, his sunrise. A reminder of life, and opportunity. He stared at the bright sky for a little while. Gently, he placed the satchel on the ground, the glass bottles quietly clinging against each other, and sat down in the grass next to it. He breathed the air into his lungs, as his shoulders untensed. He watched the sunrise intently, as he waited for the party to approach.

[sunflowersseemhappy]

Hey there! Could you do Arcana main 6 finding and reacting to MC's sketchbook full of cute little drawings of them? only if you feel like it !

This feels a bit messy but as I’ve been moving I’m probably just too tired to notice! Now I want to draw these sketches tho...

REQUESTS ARE CLOSED, but in the meantime here is my Masterlist

Thank you for the request, I hope you enjoy!

Asra

A leather-bound book falls to Asra’s feet from the stack he’s putting away onto the shelves.

He hadn’t really noticed it until now, among all the knickknacks of the shop it seems like any ordinary notebook but he’s struck by familiarity. 

It’s like the book and its contents are calling to him, like a long-forgotten memory.

Kneeling, Asra hesitantly turns the open book over and there is… a drawing of him. Sitting slouched against a table as his hand hovers over an image of Faust looking for his affection. 

He remembers now, you drew like this before the plague but he had searched for that sketchbook and never found it after you were gone. He knew you had taken it with you to the Lazaret and it had burned with you.

This is a different book, in a different life almost but your careful sketch is just the same.

Asra is almost in disbelief as he flicks through the book, there are sketches of Faust snuggled up to the crook of his neck, Selasi the baker and Asra with armfuls of Pumpkin bread, Asra walking the streets of Vesuvia, there are more sketches of him than he can count.

He can’t believe he never noticed you drawing, but truth be told he never expected to see your drawings again. He thought your abilities with a pencil and paper were forgotten with your memories.

He should have known better…

As Asra reaches the last page he shakes his head in disbelief at the soft sketch of his sleeping form, perfectly drawn by your hand. Just as he remembers the pages in your old book looked like.

That in itself gives him hope that maybe your memories aren’t as lost as he thought.

 Nadia

Nadia has noticed that you’ve been very engrossed in that little notebook of late, spending the late nights and early mornings scribbling on the pages.

Although Nadia doesn’t make a habit of prying into other people’s (even yours) business, she is starting to wonder what’s so important about that book.

And why you keep glancing at her as you write in it.

Oh, how she tries to resist but its just sitting on the bed and she plucks it up and flicks to the latest page.

Her gaze stares back at her, why it’s a drawing of her!

Nadia is intrigued, she recognises this particular moment from earlier in the day when the council meeting had run late.

In this book Nadia has the same aspirated expression as she stares at her tea rather than drawing her attention to the talks.

She flicks backward through the book and there they are, more sketches of her face, serene and placid.

She’s impressed, dare she say it they are better than many of her portraits. Nothing is left to the imagination, they’re just her as you see her.

Scratching Chandra feathers with a soft smile on her face, tools in her hands and oil and grease on her fingers as she makes a little invention, hair drawn back and laughing as she gallops on her horse.

Clear cut and real, smoothing her fingers against the page Nadia mulls over an image of her with wet hair with just her robe on.

How you manage to catch these moments and put them down on paper like this she’s always wonder but she’ll let you know how flattered she is that you enjoy drawing her so.

 Julian

Another late night at the desk it seems, Julian’s had a few of late but even he is starting to feel the hours catch up to him.

Retiring to bed where you are already softly snoring, Julian takes immediate notice to your little book you’re always carrying around lying in his space.

Usually he would just move it and go to bed, but as he draws close, he notices a face drawn on the page.

Scooping it up Julian almost thinks his eye is deceiving him in the darkness and sleepless haze, is that a drawing of him?

Slipping into bed with the book in hand Julian takes of his eye-patch to get a better look, it is him! Leaning over his desk with a concentrated gaze over the papers in his hands.

He can’t help but give a sly smile to your sleeping form, so this was what you got up to when he wasn’t looking.

He thought he was an alright artist, but you? Wow, he’s speechless over how much care has been taken to get the curve of his nose and the curl of his hair just right.

So as not to wake you Julian takes quiet care as he leaf’s through the pages, most of them have drawings of him and he marvels over them all.

There’s a drawing of Malak preening Julian’s hair (his comical wince obvious), hugging his little sister as if his life depended on it, holding up a pint of salty bitters with that roguishly silly smirk he does.

If he didn’t know any better than he’d think you like him!

Next time he’ll definitely make sure to pose!

But for now, he’ll settle on returning the secret favour by getting his own book and drawing you whenever he can.

Who knows? Maybe you’ll be able to give him some pointers.

Muriel

It’s a lazy morning for Muriel, a rare treat? He’s still getting used to sharing the chores and not having to do as much as he used to.

You’ve gone to work the shop leaving him and Inanna alone for the day, but before he can even begin to guess what to do Inanna plops a familiar looking book next to him.

Your notebook, he’s seen you writing in it all the time and you never go anywhere with out it, he wouldn’t admit it but right now it’s the only excuse he has to go see you.

Picking it up and calling for Inanna to follow the two make their way to Vesuvia, book in hand.

Whatever is in it seems important…

Muriel can’t ever remember looking inside it though, he’s not usually that curious but before he’s even thinking about it, he opens it as he’s walking and halts in his tracks.

There’s a carefully crafted drawing of him, sitting by the fire as Inanna lays at his side whilst he whittles away at a little figurine.

He snaps the book shut a red blush racing against his cheeks, whatever he’s feeling it’s new and he doesn’t know if he’s embarrassed or happy that you’ve drawn him.

Now curiosity has completely taken over and he hesitantly flicks to the first page, that one is Asra but as he progresses, he sees Inanna, the hut, your favourite tree, and that doe with her fawn.

His cheeks get redder every time he crosses a drawing of himself, most have tense gazes but between them he sees in each face his soft smiles and almost unnatural gentleness in his eyes.

Is that how you see him? Soft? Gentle? He’s never seen himself that way before, but the drawings don’t feel fake, they’re almost too real.

He sees his hand buried in Inanna’s fur as he cradles an ill chicken, weaving his braids in the morning, standing bare chested in the evening as he cooks dinner. Scars mirrored in the pencil work.

He takes your sketch book to you with a knowing smile.

 Portia

One of the few day’s she gets off from working the palace and she can’t spend it with you.

Apparently the shop has been so busy you’ve had a que going out the door. Portia is disappointed but in times like this it can’t be helped so she decides to indulge in some light reading.

Browsing her small shelves Portia almost doesn’t notice the small book with bits of paper sticking out of it.

But she notices it there, it reminds her of the journal’s Julian kept on medical procedures and stuff, maybe he accidentally left it here or she picked it up from his?

But there on the spine are your initials, plucking it from the shelf Portia turns to a random page and…

There she is on the paper, a drawing! She’s sitting with a blanket on her lap and a needle and thread in her hand as she works at the patchwork quilt she’s been making.

Ooh, she’s never seen such a pretty drawing of her and its not long before she’s jumped on her bed and is flicking through the book.

She’s awing over the drawings and they’re almost too amazing for her to believe. 

There are so many; sitting on the beach, dancing with Pepi in her arms, munching on that delicious cupcake from last week! Oh, she misses that cupcake.

She’s squealing in excitement over the drawings, she has such a talented and cute partner. 

Lucio

Lucio’s been without you for all but an hour and he’s already bored, how did he ever entertain himself without you?

He’s never been a willing reader but soon enough he finds himself browsing the shelves out of pure boredom.

Then he spots it, small leather-bound book with one of Camio’s gorgeous feathers peeking out from the top. How did that get there when Camio has the same aversion to books Lucio does?

Disinterested Lucio plucks it from the shelf and turns to the page where Camio’s feather sits and wow…

There’s a wonderful drawing of Camio sitting proudly on the back of a chair as Lucio pets the bird. Sure, it’s only pencil but its better than the painting he had done of the bird.

And there’s more, as he flicks the page, he finds himself. Standing bare-chested with the dogs and giving them a fuss, he remembers that. Last week if he’s right.

As he flicks through the rest of the carefully crafted sketch book Lucio can only guess this is your work, how busy you’ve been drawing him...

He is absolutely flattered; you draw him much better than the portrait artists (maybe because it actually looks like him).

There he is applying his makeup, chasing the dogs after they stole his prosthetic, Camio sitting on his head with proudly puffed up feathers.

He’s enthralled that you draw him so well, maybe he’ll commission you to do some portraits but for now he’ll enjoy the ones in the book.

Maybe he’ll do a cheeky pose for you when you’re back!

[residentanchor-writes]

Downside Ch. 3

Summary: The consequences of Deceit’s actions... <<Chapter 2 Watch the animatic here. Check out the Downside au @robinsdownside!

Checking into the hotel had been almost too easy. He had learned quickly that if you just went about as if you knew what you were doing, people wouldn’t question you. He even enjoyed acting calm about the whole thing, despite how crazy his heart was racing. After signing the papers to check in and getting the card key, he brought his suitcase up to his room and locked the door behind him, letting out a sigh. 

“Finally…” Clyde carried his bag to his bed and picked it up, slowly unzipping it and checking the inside. He pushed his old clothes out of the way until he saw the familiar plastic bag sitting underneath. The stolen money he had taken from the bank sat inside the unassuming cheap bag. Both the best and worst thing that’s happened to him over the past 24 hours.

Taking the money was the most stressful and exhilarating thing he had ever experienced. The new scale on his left forearm was easily worth it. Why didn’t Remy see that? Imagine what they could do together. This was only just the beginning! With their powers combined, they could do so much more, be an unstoppable duo.

“He’ll change his mind eventually,” Clyde mumbled to himself. He knew his own powers didn’t work on himself and there’s no way he’d believe his own lies. Even still, he hoped Remy would understand him sooner or later. He hoped everyone would see what he was trying to do. Especially Virgil, whom he didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye to properly. He wasn’t even sure when he would see his little brother again, but he hoped it would be sooner rather than later.

---

Two Years Later

---

Middle school was the literal worst for Virgil. He could see people looking his way and laughing at him, judging him and whispering amongst themselves about who knows what. People had come up to him all nice , probably to ask him questions before they used it against him. That’s just what people do. His older brother had taught him that years ago.

That wasn’t even the worst of it. The worst thing was all of the lies. ‘I wouldn’t do that to you, Virgil’ or ‘you can trust us’ before the inevitable stab to the back. He had more than enough of it. It hurt and made him second guess everything and, worst of all, it made him think of his brother more and more. Clyde would lie, sure, but it was always jokes or something silly or unimportant. He never lied to hurt Virgil! It had been two years since his parents had kicked Clyde out. Two whole years without his big brother he always looked up to. Two years of not knowing what had happened to him and never knowing if he would see him again. 

His parents had tried to throw out all of Clyde’s things. Virgil was able to hold on to a few knickknacks here and there. The big one, though, was Clyde’s pet snake. His parents planned on bringing him back to the pet store or giving him away, but Virgil would have none of it. The snake was innocent and Virgil cared for it just as much as his brother so it was just as much as his pet in his eyes. So, after a few arguments, they had agreed to let Virgil take over caring for the snake completely. Virgil went and did a lot of research on the ball python that he could. While he wouldn’t realize why his brother decided to name the python Monty of all things for another few years, Virgil loved that snake since it was the last real thing he had to remember his brother by. As he grew older, he tried wearing a lot of Clyde’s old clothes as well. His parents were less than okay with that decision. They kept trying to take him out clothes shopping and removing the old outfits, but Virgil wouldn’t budge. There wasn’t a lot that still fit him, but black went with a lot of things and Virgil knew he could get away with wearing that at least until he fully grew into everything else. 

With Clyde gone, his parents being unusually cold to him lately and Monty now his only friend, Virgil grew bored rather quickly. Home felt more like a box he was forced to sit in than a place of comfort it had once been.

After one of his lamps for Monty’s tank died out, Virgil decided to fiddle with it and fix the problem to avoid telling his parents. He knew he shouldn’t be afraid to ask but knowing their distaste for the creature, he didn’t want to risk somehow losing Monty. Virgil unplugged everything and handled the bulb carefully, inspecting it. A change of bulb had done nothing and the old bulb still seemed to be in working order. After a short while, he was able to figure out that there was a loose wire in the plug that just needed a bit of adjusting. It was something so minor and so easy to fix, but being able to take care of it on his own made him swell with pride.

It had piqued his interest and only grew after that. He began to look for more things that needed fixing. He started taking simple things apart and putting them back together to see how they worked. While Clyde had a silver tongue and could get himself out of most situations, it seemed like Virgil was able to create. It only seemed logical that he had decided to build the one thing he wanted most.

His first batch of, erm, ‘friends’ didn’t come out the best. LED lights for an eye and awkward limbs, he went back to the drawing board multiple times to simplify the design. His brain wanted them to look cool and flashy, but he started making them simple and building up from there.

His new talent for tinkering still had a lot to be desired. Most of his new toys were more like puppets he still had to control and move around and were barely able to do that. They were stiff and lifeless but Virgil was determined to work on them for as long as it takes to bring his vision to life. 

Whenever Virgil had any spare time at school, he took out some paper and tried figuring out what to do next. The next thing he’d have to learn and what he wanted to do. He tried ignoring the bullies the best he could no matter what, speed walking through the halls and making himself look as small as possible to avoid any trouble. But sometimes…

“Hey!” Virgil had been too busy looking down at his feet as he marched through the halls to his next class to realize someone was talking to him. “Wait a second!”

Virgil felt someone grab his arm and tug him backward, stopping him in place. He turned around and saw a kid, taller than him, slightly out of breath from running through the crowded hall to catch up to him. “You dropped this,” the kid held out some papers Virgil had scribbled some ideas on in his last class. In a flurry of embarrassment, Virgil reached out and grabbed the papers before rushing down the hallway to his next class. “Hey! At least say thank you!” He heard the other kid call out to him. Virgil ignored it as he turned into his classroom to hide away and hope to forget the whole thing ever happened.  ----- Chapter 4>> TBA

[staycult]

highschool!hyunjin as your boyfriend

pairing — gender neutral reader x hyunjin

genre — fluff / bullet scenario

word count — idk maybe 600-700

enjoy!

ok so

u both met bcs of the same class

since u were a new student, he got assigned to tour you around the campus

bcs he's a goody two shoes

"hyunjin, by the way." he said as he gave u a light smile,

you being a shy bean u are, just gave him a nod

he took the hint and started to walk with you following him behind

he opened a big door for you and motioned u to go inside

the smell of old books and the sound of typing devoured your senses

"this is the library, quite old but still does it's job" he said while looking around

you love libraries a lot

"it's nice" you finally spoke, fiddling w/ ur fingers a bit

"[y/n], sorry i didnt answer you earlier"

he smiled at your sudden burst of bubble

"so that's basically it for the facilities" he said while stopping infront of you

the bell rang and a whole lot of students went out of their rooms

"hey you should go with us for lunch" he said half confidently

"if you want to, that's what i meant" he added.

since you dont have that much friends, you decided to go along

you entered the cafeteria and was greeted with hyunjin's friends

7 other boys greeted you with a smile as well as 5 other girls. you have grown close with them in a matter of minutes especially the girls. as it was to go home, hyunjin offered to walk you home. the awkward tension between you two disappeared. it became a routine for the both of you to walk home together since he lives a block away from you.

finals came in and you were cramming your eyes off in the library

as you were looking for the book you needed, you stumbled upon yeji and hyunjin

who were facing each other while studying

not gonna lie it was an eye sore to see

yeji is one of your closest friends so you shrugged it off because they had always been close

but this time, it felt different

like you were hurt?

you picked up your book and turned around to find your own seat

"pst! hey [y/n]!" a familiar voice called out

"come sit with us!" yeji whisper-shouted

so u did

it felt awkward for some reason and you rlly didnt know why

you guys had always been close, why now?

yeji had this smirk on her face

while hyunjin was side eyeing her

she let out a snort "hey i have a class in 5 see you both later at lunch!" she said waving off

he cleared his throat and turned his attention towards you

"so, i found this cool coffee shop where you can write in the walls, do you want to come after finals?" he asked

you felt a butterfly run wild in your stomach

what is this feeling?

"i would love to" you smiled

both of you ordered a large smoothie each in the coffee shop and bought markers before hand. hyunjin was scribbling all over the walls. the coffee shop was full of names and quotes written by customers. you brought out your marker and wrote, [y/n] was here <3 in different colors. "jinnie, why are you drawing circles?" you chuckled.

"i-uh im making a puzzle." he said while closing his marker cap. "really? let me see!" you exlaimed. he took in a deep breath and showed you the puzzles. "all you have to do is to make a sentence out of the circled words or symbols" he explained. "words that was written by other customers you mean?" you snorted. he rolled his eyes, "just do it!"

you have gathered the a "👍🏼", "👁" and a "you"

confusion took over you as you observed the circled words. "i like you?" you asked hyunjin. "i like you too." he replied. it took you a while to realize what it meant. "for real?"

"for real." he replied seriously. a blush crept up to your face, did he really just confess? "oh god im sorry" he panicked. "it's okay if you dont like me back i shouldnt have listened to yeji let's forget this happened-"

you cut him off by giving him a hug. he went stiff at your sudden skinship but eventually hugged you back. "you silly, of course i like you too." you said as you burried your head into is chest. "for REAL real." u chuckled.

"i thought you liked yeji" you said in a low voice as you pulled away. "what? she's like my sister from another mother." he said, grossed out. "she helped me out into confessing.." he added while ruffling his hair.

"well, it worked." you claimed as he pulled you in for another hug.

boyfriend hyunjin claims that he's not clingy

well that's a lie

he's not much into pda

but he loves holding your hand whenever he has the chance

like below the tables during class

or in the library while studying

you guys are lowkey, but not a secret

coffee shop dates!

any kind of date really

he loves taking pictures of you

and posting it on his insta

back hugs and sleeping on your lap kind of love

being successful together in terms of career and school is his number 1 goal

he's very supportive!!! will literally shout whenever it's your turn in debates

"PERIOD! that's my baby!" he would clap loudly even though by now youre embarrased as hell

will give you flowers everytime u meet u go on a date

love notes!!!!!

kisses are passionate and loves to rub your back while doing so

he would get very shy after

LOVES TO PLAY WITH YOUR HAIR

never forgets to reassure you whenever you doubt yourself

"im here baby, always."

"i love you, i'll always will."

needless to say, he is the best boyfriend out there.

[airi-p4]

Thursday

Inspired by the song “Jueves” from La Oreja de Van Gogh. 

Pairing: Lukanette

Warning: Major Character Death, Tragedy, Terrorism

AO3

_______________________________________

Since the school course started, Marinette forced her daily schedule to change. She started waking up earlier, despite her usual bad sleeping habits, never failing to ride the same metro every morning.

Being earlier than rush hour gave her the freedom to take a seat and look at her surroundings. Not that there was much to see outside, being inside dark tunnels, but her eyes enjoyed much better the vision she usually had in front of her, across the carriage: the boy with blue hair and summer sky colored eyes that had stolen her heart at first sight.

Everything was for a boy. An unknown boy. And if it had never been easy for Marinette to control her feelings when it came to her crushes: how was she supposed to talk to a stranger she knew almost nothing about? Only one thing was certain: how she felt was perfectly real.

Eventually, from staring at him daily and secretly observing and studying the little pieces of information she could get, she learned little by little a bit more about him. His name: Luka. His major: music. His destination: one station before hers. His prefered seat: the one in front of hers, across the carriage but that faced backwards instead of sideways. He seemed to be protective of the seat facing his in front of him, as he didn't let anyone take as long as there were other available ones.

In his seat, he would usually yawn at the glass window, sleepy, with his earphones on and humming a song Marinette couldn't recognize. His guitar case laid between his partly-opened legs, protecting it, and he usually closed his eyes, probably to focus on the music, Marinette assumed. Marinette loved the sight of his profile when he faced straight: his strong manly features, his sharp eyes, his thick brows, his pierced ears and his colorful untied shoes.. The tattoo on his arm never failed to catch her attention either. He was glowing in Marinette’s eyes.

She usually found herself staring, and reminded herself she had to hide her obvious looks, not to be found out (not so) secretly admiring his beauty. But she kept failing to talk to him.

'Maybe If I was prettier or clever, or if I was special or magazine worthy, I could draw the courage to talk to him' she usually thought in a deep sigh.

There were times when they exchanged looks, and it felt like time stopped for an instant as her heart skipped a beat. Whenever that happened, embarrassment always made her look away, sinking between her shoulders, and the second after his gaze was already looking somewhere else. Marinette felt her heart rate unavoidably intensifying every time he blinked or directed her a short gaze, forced to look away to hide the embarrassment projected in the redness on her cheeks. ‘He must think I'm weird or silly…' she usually thought.

There were times when the boy scribbled on his notebook. Marinette liked to look at his focused face and to peek at his handwriting, but she also enjoyed looking at his long fingers and black painted nails holding the cheap blue inkjet pen that he spun on his fingers when it stopped writing. She loved how his hands got tainted in blue from running them over the paper and it made Marinette emphatically smile. 'Cute'

When she was feeling down or inspired, it was her turn to scribble on her sketchbook. The sight of the boy whom she dreamt about daily activated her creativity for new designs. Sometimes, she even lost track of time while drawing and cursed later in regret for another missed chance to talk to him.

The conclusion she reached everyday was the same: the ride was too short. 'Eleven minutes of heaven', her best friend Alya teased her.

What would he think if he knew she always wore her makeup and her most beautiful clothes just for him?, she wondered. Did he notice her little makeup and hair styling changes? Or her now black painted nails? Or how she wore a necklace with her name on it in wish he would call it for her someday?  

All her courage and efforts to catch his attention wasted by her shyness. No progress ever made. No words ever exchanged- only silences between them.

Just like this, the days repeated, every day on the same metro train. Station to station, like seasonal migrating birds, the seasons passed by… And now it was almost Spring- the blooming season: perfect for love.

And now it's Thursday, March 11th, and Marinette has set her determination: 'Today I'm talking to him. Today I'm making him notice me!'

That Thursday she woke up even earlier than usual. She put on her prettiest skirt and some natural makeup and walked to the metro station near her house. She could have ridden at least two of the previous metro trains, but those weren’t the ones she wanted to ride. She would wait until the boy of his dreams appeared. And after a few minutes, he was there: earlier than usual, just like her, as if destiny was telling her: ‘today is the day’. There was something special in the air, she could sense.

Looking at the boy from afar, Marinette could see how he sat down and stared at his phone, probably checking the time. A metro arrived shortly after, calling for his attention.

Marinette’s body was stiff. ‘Good thing I came earlier, I wouldn’t have met him otherwise’ she thought, ready to get in the first car. But, surprisingly, he didn’t move an inch, and just as it came, the metro train left. ‘Why didn’t he get on it?’ she wondered, seeing how he had clearly missed it on purpose.

As she stared, she noticed how he was discreetly looking at his surroundings, as if he was looking for somebody, waiting. The thought of him possibly having a partner saddened her, but she hadn’t woken up early just to give up yet.

In what seemed an instant, the next metro to arrive was the one both of them always rode. This time, he stepped on it leaving a resigned sigh. He moved to the usual platform and got in the car they always shared. Marinette got in from another platform and rode another car. She could see through the glass door between cars how he had sat at his usual seat, while the one in front of him and her usual one across the aisle remained empty, along with some other seats closer to the door. Another sigh left his mouth and his aura seemed to have changed to a colder color. When he connected his earphones to his phone, Marinette knew it was her time to move. After a little shake from the moving vehicle, she armed herself with determination, and moved to Luka’s car to sit in front of him, looking at the floor. She knew where to sit when she noticed his unique untied sneakers and the designs she had already studied so much. “Excuse me” she mumbled while sitting down.

The closeness of the seats made Luka instantly notice her. And if she hadn’t been looking down in embarrassment, she would have seen the relieved smile on his face, as he went back to humming at the glass, happier.

The girl’s eyes continued gazing at the floor, flustered for her unusual boldness and noticing his eyes on her, making her feel smaller, her tiny body trembling like a newborn puppy.

Wanting him to notice her, she bravely made a first attempt and moved the tip of her flat shoe to slightly touch the tip of his high shoe and waited for his reaction- a reaction that never came. His foot stayed immobile, as if he hadn’t noticed her touch.

Disappointed, Marinette tried a bolder move. She then moved her other foot to touch his, this time touching it from the side and waited again for his reaction. Nothing. Then, she used her other foot to catch his in between them and waited. With no answer coming from him, she wondered what was making him so distracted and finally looked up at his face.

He was staring at her, eyes opened in surprise. Luka was clearly noticing her touches, she realized, yet he didn't react. Was it on purpose or because he didn't know how to act, that was yet another mystery.

Marinette jolted in surprise and broke eye contact immediately, retiring her feet and placing them under the seat, temperature increasing as her cheeks turned deep pink.

‘What are you doing Marinette? Talk to him. He noticed you! It’s your chance. Call his name’

The metro vibrated as it reached the first of the three stations before his final destination and Marinette had to use her feet to keep her balance in place, stretching them a little in front of her. Luka had done the same and one of their feet crashed, resulting in Marinette partly stepping on him.

“I’m sorry!” she panicked, moving her foot away and covering her face with her hands.

“It’s ok”, he answered, offering her an emphatic smile.

It was the first time she heard his voice properly and it sounded just like she thought it would. Deep and kind, quiet and magical. She could melt at his sound.

‘Now’s your chance, Marinette’ she told herself. And somehow, she managed to gather the courage to take the opportunity the sudden stop had granted her to try to speak again. But her bravery vanished the instant the doors opened and an unexpected loud crowd got into the car- tourists.

Marinette sighed in defeat and looked at her feet again.

Moving his gaze to look at his unusual surroundings, Luka noticed an old couple standing next to the door. Being the gentleman he was, he called for their attention and offered them his seat, which they thanked him in some foreign language.

Noticing his actions, Marinette also stood up to offer her seat to the old couple, and she was thanked too.

The train was packed and the loud youngest tourists weren’t especially careful about their surroundings, pushing people to gain some personal space or move through the car. Being small as she was, Marinette was close to being crushed between the back of the seats, the door, and a group of young large immature men.

Marinette closed her eyes, scared, as one man was jokingly pushed towards her. But, to her surprise, he didn’t bump on her- Luka stepped in the way to protect her, and she was now secured between his body and the space between the door and the seats.

“Stop being rude, where are your manners?” Luka coldly glared at them.

“Sorry, dude”, the young man said, and he got angry at his playful friends, who kept stupidly laughing.

The fear in Marinette’s eyes became surprise and shyness at noticing her position and how close the man of her dreams was to her. She could smell his ocean scented cologne and her eyes couldn’t stop staring at his beautiful face features from close up, as he angrily glared at the rude youngsters.

“Are you ok?” he asked again, taking one step back, to leave her some space to breathe.

“Yes!” she jumped at the question. “Thank you...”

“You’re welcome” he smiled.

The redness on her face became more vivid and she looked back at her feet again to hide it. When the men finally took their leave, Luka tried to take another step back to give her more personal space. But something stopped him: Marinette finally drew the courage to shyly grab his jacket.

“Lu-” another jolt marked the arrival to the second station. The agitation of the train made both of them lose their balance, holding onto each other to keep their steadiness. Marinette’s face was buried in his chest as he used one of his arms to keep her safe and the other hand grabbed one of the pole stands.

“Are you ok?” he asked again, releasing her from his hold.

Surprised, she grabbed his jacket once again “Yes” she finally said, whispering his name, stuttering. "Lu- Lu- Luka…"

Her eyes were strongly shut, and she was trembling, but she was refusing to let go of his denim jacket no matter how embarrassed she was. After a two seconds of silence, he called her with a relieved sigh.

“Marinette”

Her startle was felt by him through his jacket as she raised her face up to stare at his eyes. Both of them had glowing pupils, filled with a hope that didn’t come unnoticed by Luka- an emotion that determined and secured his next steps. He moved his hand to hold hers and she let go of his clothing to squeeze his fingers instead. “Marinette” he repeated. And her heart skipped a beat, rhythm intensifying, melting in his blue eyes now fixated on her.

The doors closed again and the metro resumed its march. One station left.

“You noticed me…” Luka whispered, caressing her hands with his thumb. His face showed a relieved smile that made Marinette understand at last. She squeezed his hand stronger, confirming his words.

“You noticed me…?” she returned his words back to him, with a shy smile and expectation on her face.

“Always. I don't know you, but I already missed you” he replied, smiling softly. “Everyday, ever since I first saw you, I've been riding this train, wishing to see you every morning, despite my bike being cheaper and faster”

Marinette’s eyes glowed in awe and joy. “I’ve been waking up earlier every morning so I could ride this train and see you, even if this means I have to wait for 20 minutes in front of the school gates…” she confessed.

Luka's smile widened and left out a sigh. “What have we been doing all this time?” he asked rhetorically, moving a lock of Marinette's hair to take a better look at her face. The girl awkwardly giggled, embarrassed for not having been able to tell him her feelings and encountering this happiness earlier.

“I like you” he finally said, taking one of her hands close to his lips so he could kiss her knuckles while staring at her eyes.

Marinette smiled and brought out all her determination to stand on her tip-toes and give him a soft kiss on his cheek. “I like you too”.

Another turbulence marked the final destination arrival as they hugged again to keep their feet on the floor. The train finally stopped, and its doors opened.

Not wanting to separate, they exchanged sad looks and he moved his head down to give her one final last kiss on her lips. An action she quickly mimicked when he started to pull apart, causing him to smile widely.

“See you tomorrow” he whispered, reluctantly crossing the door. Marinette nodded shyly and stayed by the door, cheeks red and waving at him with a soft smile on her face, one he also had for her in return.

“I can’t wait for tomorrow...” she whispered, trying to process everything that happened. ‘He likes me back! I’m so happy I could die’ she thought, internally squealing.

And that's exactly what happened.

The deadliest terrorist attack in the city. A cataclysm that wiped all traces of life of the metro passengers on the next station- Marinette's destination.

Irremediably, Marinette was one of the hundreds of fatal victims. But her soul was happy, because before she died, she had given Luka everything she had: her first and last kiss, her last blush, her last sigh, and the last thought on her mind. Instant death with the sweetest sensations.

_______________________________________________

AN: The song "Jueves" is a tribute to the victims of Madrid's terrorist attacks from March 11th, 2004.

[ieattaperecorders]

Something's Different About You Lately - Chapter Seven: Carrying On

A challenging work environment proves to be too stressful for some.

Read on Ao3

Jon missed the tape recorders. He wanted something to talk into, a way to externalize his thoughts. Before the institute he'd write things down – not notes, really, just lists and scribbles he'd use to map his thinking, then discard. Couldn't do that anymore, though. Not without Elias seeing him plan.

He had a notebook and pen in front of him at the moment, and he was using them to draw the same simple pictogram, over and over. A horizontal oval, a smaller circle inside it, and a black dot in the center – which was immediately scratched out until it was no longer recognizable.

The idea had come from Gertrude. Her crates of eyeless dolls, magazines with the eyes cut from every face, they had felt like wards. He wasn't sure how effective they were against Elias, but doing something with his hands helped him think. He'd been at it for a few hours and had managed to fill most of a notebook with crossed-out eyes.

Melanie was being difficult. It was his own fault, really. He'd made the mistake of trying to discourage her from following the incident with Sara Baldwin, and only led her to feel dismissed and disbelieved.

She'd stormed out and he'd run after her, catching up outside the Institute and all but pleading with her. He confessed his fears and repeated what he'd told the others about the paranormal being dangerous. She wasn't pleased, still indignant that he'd take it on himself to decide what was best for her. But she did soften a bit. Made it clear she had every intention of continuing her investigations, but agreed to keep working with him. That was something.

It wouldn't save her, though. Not if she was determined to keep throwing herself at sites of blood and violence.

There was a knock at the door, and Jon flipped the notebook shut.

"Come in."

His door – unpainted wood, bright brass handle – opened a crack and Martin's head poked through the gap. He was still hesitating, taking stock of how busy he was before entering. Jon smiled and he took it as the invitation it was, shouldering his way in and closing the door behind him.

"Brought you some tea," he said, setting down the red and green mug Tim had bought ages ago. "Thought you might be needing a break."

"Not sure if I've earned one. But thank you."

". . . Been quiet today, huh?" Martin's tone was aimless, talking largely as an excuse to linger. "No weird surprises?"

"Not today, no. Would you like to count the doors?"

"Um. Wouldn't take long, would it? Just the one."

Jon smiled, closed his eyes and took a sip of tea. He used to take it black. He'd just defaulted to it naturally, always, until one afternoon when Martin brought him a cup made the way he took his – with too much sugar and just a little milk. Jon had taken a sip of it and realized that he liked he tea sweet. That he'd denied himself that little pleasure for years, for no real reason but habit.

That was before, of course. The Martin who brought him that tea was the one in his memories, not the one standing in front of him. This Martin thought that Jon had always taken his tea with sugar.

"No sign of Michael, then?"

"Still nothing. Maybe it's gotten bored, found someone else to harass."

"Doesn't it bother you? Knowing he's out there, trapping people in those hallways?"

"I don't know." Jon set the mug down, looking at his hands. "Obviously, yes, it bothers me. But I suppose I'm not sure what I could do about it."

"D'you think – maybe this is too easy, but – d'you think you could just smash it with an axe? The door, if it appeared? I know it's supernatural and all, but it's still wood, right?"

"I think we can be quite sure it isn't wood, actually."

"Still thought. Might be worth keeping a fire axe around? Could at least chop through a wall if you got trapped like before."

"Chopping a hole through evil architecture – strangely practical, blunt, and a little bit violent." Jon observed. He couldn't help thinking that Adelard Dekkar would be proud. "If anyone could do it, it would be you."

"Oh –"

"But no one can," he finished. "It's impossible and it would be foolish to try."

"All right, all right. I get it." Martin rolled his eyes. "Suppose I'll let you get back to it, then . . . ."

Jon stood, the scrape of his chair against the floor loud enough to make Martin turn. He hesitated, standing awkwardly by his desk.

"Ah. Hey. H-How are you holding up?" he asked.

Martin blinked. "What?"

"It's been a difficult few months," he continued, hesitant. "There's everything with Prentiss, and even if you didn't encounter Michael yourself, everything I said . . . it's a lot to take in?"

"Oh . . . well, um. Not much to say about Prentiss, I guess. You know I've been settled back home for a while. Still go a little spray-crazy whenever I see an ant, but, um. I know she's dead, so," he shrugged. "Thanks, by the way. For the, um, jar."

"I know it was a bit weird. I just thought it might, um . . . closure and all?" He tapped the edge of his desk, looking down. "Someone did something similar for me once, and, ah, it helped."

"Yeah. I mean. It is sort of weird, but it's nice." Martin rubbed at the back of his neck. "Also uh – y'know. Appreciate all the phone calls. I'm sure you're sick to death of them."

It had taken a little encouragement, but Martin had been phoning him at night for a few months. First hesitantly and infrequently, then with something approaching regularity. He'd call when he wasn't able to sleep, or wakened by vivid nightmares, and in need of another voice to settle him. No singing, thankfully. It seemed that danger was in the past.

Mostly when he mentioned nightmares, they were about the worms. But Jon suspected there were other things behind some of those calls. He remembered one occasion when Martin didn't say why he'd phoned, barely said anything at all. Just rang Jon up and asked him to please, talk to him about something, anything. He sounded like he'd been crying, and it had taken all of Jon's willpower to not ask why. He'd fumbled around until he found a book on naval history that had been left beside his bed, opened it and began reading out loud. It was all that he could think to do.

It wasn't usually so fraught as that, though. Usually Martin just needed to get his mind off things, long enough to calm down and rest. They'd reached a point where it was a pattern, a quiet little ritual of their own. A moment at the beginning talking through it, then a shift to something easy – books they'd read, movies they liked, silly things that had happened at work.

Sometimes when Martin didn't feel safe in his flat, Jon offered to come over and look over it with him. He always declined, and Jon promised himself that he wouldn't push the issue. Not unless he believed Martin was in real danger, which fortunately never seemed to be the case.

"I've actually come to enjoy our little late night chats," he said. "I'm learning a lot about independent film."

"I know I'm waking you up a lot."

"Sometimes. I still keep odd hours, though. Really there's nothing you could do to my sleep schedule that hasn't already been done." He paused, glancing back at Martin. "Ah . . . what about the other thing? What I said about Elias? We haven't . . . well, we never really talked about it?"

"It's . . . augh, I don't know." Martin shifted from one foot to the other. "Okay, would you explain something to me?"

"Of course."

"So you said that Elias is spying on us, with some supernatural clairvoyance. And he was probably doing it when you told us that, meaning he knows the secret's out, right?"

"Almost definitely. I can't be sure when he's watching and when he isn't, but I would be very surprised if he doesn't know."

"Then why hasn't he done anything?"

"Why would he?" Jon shrugged. "What could he gain from addressing it? Look at it this way – if you all think I've lost it, then he has every reason to keep you thinking that. Even if you believe me, if there's room for doubt at all he's still better off acting normal. He has no reason to discard the facade until it stops being useful."

"I suppose . . ."

"Look, its – it's all right if you don't believe me. I know it's a hell of a claim to make, and I don't have any proof. But don't trust him. Even if you can't trust me, don't trust Elias either. He doesn't have our best interests at heart."

"I didn't say I didn't trust you . . . ."

Jon blinked, startled. "Then you do trust me?"

"Wh – That's not what –" Martin shook his head. "I mean . . . yes? I guess? I don't think you're lying about this. It's just a lot, I guess."

"Have you tried quitting yet? That's probably the closest thing to proof I can offer."

"Nah." Martin shrugged. "Don't see the point, really. Either I try and I can't, so no reason to bother, or I can and I'd be leaving you all to deal with the monsters, so . . . ."

He shrugged again. So. So he wouldn't leave even if he could. Jon shook his head and sighed, smiling.

"For what it's worth, I'm glad you're here. That is – obviously I'm not glad you're trapped here, I don't, ah, I don't want that. But just . . . in general."

A surprised huff came out of Martin. He looked down and smiled, leaning towards the praise like a plant to sunlight. "Ah, y'know. Even without supernatural compulsion, I'd probably be stuck here anyway. Don't think my job prospects are that impressive."

"That's not true," Jon frowned. "You've been here, what, over ten years? That shows reliability. Then there's experience, familiarity with the catalog systems . . . you'd have an impressive resume even without any—"

Shit. He cut himself off as he realized what he'd nearly referred to. Unfortunately Martin noticed the abrupt stop, furrowing his brow.

"Without any what?"

"Hmm? Nothing." Jon looked hard at the wall, trying not to betray the tension he'd created in himself. "Was thinking of something else for a moment."

Stupid, stupid. He wasn't supposed to know about the fake degree. Martin hadn't told him about it, or he had but not this Martin, not this time, couldn't he keep the two straight in his mind? He tried to think of a direction to turn the subject towards. Martin was giving him a searching look and he knew damn well he needed to stop looking so caught, he'd said almost nothing, and if he could just act casual there would be no reason at all to assume –

"Oh . . . oh." Slow realization built on Martin's face. "Shit."

"It doesn't matter," Jon blurted out. "Forget I said anything, please."

". . . Did Tim tell you?"

"No. It's a long story and – and it doesn't matter anyway, does it?" He shrugged, a sad smile on his face. "None of our resumes mean anything here. You can't lose this job however much you might want to, and Elias already knows, so . . . ."

"Wait, what? Elias too?"

"He's known from the beginning. I suspect he's enjoyed having something to hold over you."

A conflicted look passed over Martin, and Jon saw him rubbing his thumb and forefinger together.

"God, that . . . that actually makes a lot of sense." He let out a frustrated sigh. "I used to think maybe, with some of the things he'd say . . . but I thought I was just being paranoid."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said."

"No, no," Martin exhaled, tension still fixing his features. "I'd rather know. Thanks for telling me, I guess. Even if it was, you know, an accident."

The thumb and forefinger again, moving back and forth at his side. Jon had noticed him doing that in the time they'd spent in Daisy's cabin. It was a habit that would come up sometimes when they talked about Peter, or Elias. It was hard to pinpoint exactly what it was . . . tension, rumination? More that anything else, Jon had come to liken it to the repetitive movement of a tiger pacing a cage.

". . . Are you all right?"

"Yes! No!" Martin dragged a hand over his face. "God, I don't know! It's such a stupid thing to get worked up over. I mean, if anything it's good news, right? One less thing to worry about . . . ."

"The revelation that a man you've known for the majority of your adult life has been deliberately letting you sweat over a harmless lie for a decade?" Jon shook his head. "No, I wouldn't say that qualifies as good news."

"Right!? It's messed up, isn't it?" He threw his arms out to the sides. "I just . . . now I'm thinking about these comments he'd make? Never anything where I could say for sure, but he'd mention someone else not being qualified for their job and look right at me. Or ask weird, pointed questions about the university I didn't go to so I'd have to make up something on the spot and –" his hands shook as he gestured, "– and he was laughing at me the whole time. Wasn't he?"

"It's what he does. It's what he is," Jon said darkly. "He watches other people squirm."

And you'd know all about that, wouldn't you? He could almost hear the smug bastard's voice in the back of his mind, but he shook it off. That wasn't the point. He looked over at Martin, who had gone quiet, and wondered if it would be inappropriate to put a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry," Jon continued, staying where he was. "You have every reason to feel . . . I don't know. Angry? Betrayed? Used?"

". . . The whole ‘no quitting' thing. I saw people come and go in the library a lot. It doesn't apply there, does it?"

"No. Just the archive."

"He knew about that too. Didn't he?"

"He did. That's something we have in common," Jon said softly. "I brought Tim and Sasha into this – that's my unfortunate role in it all. But you and I were placed here by someone who knew exactly what he was doing to us."

". . . Fuck."

"Agreed."

"Well, I sure as hell don't trust him now." Martin let out a long breath, straightening up, releasing a little of the tension he seemed to be holding. "I guess this means everyone knows? Except Sasha . . . ."

"I'm sure Sasha knows too. Do you really think we have any secrets from her?" Jon shook his head. "The other day I made an offhand comment about the trouble with statements coming from criminals, and she started needling me about the time I spent in juvenile court."

That seemed to startle Martin enough to shake his mood. "Wait, what? Back up. You've got a criminal past?"

"Nothing so dramatic," Jon huffed, waving his hand "it was all incredibly minor offenses, childish things, you know."

"Sorry, I – I'm just having trouble imagining you as a juvenile delinquent."

"Whatever you are imagining, it wasn't that." He leaned stiffly on the desk behind him. "I was a fairly troublesome child. I was bored easily, and I liked to explore. Sometimes I found myself on one side of a fence that I . . . simply needed to see the other side of. A number of authority figures took issue with this."

"Huh," an amused smile crossed Martin's face. "That's . . . honestly kind of adorable."

"My grandmother did not share your opinion. The point is, Sasha didn't learn that through me. She's probably dug into all of our backgrounds."

"Ugh. Probably." Martin shook his head. "We really ought to have a talk with her about that . . . it's getting less and less like a quirk and more like a serious privacy concern? I swear she sees even the monster stuff as a mystery for her to solve."

"At least she's taking it well."

"Yeah . . . not like Tim."

Not like Tim, no. He wasn't the bitter, broken man in Jon's memories. He still smiled and joked around, and he wasn't isolating himself. But the revelation about this place had reached something deep and wounded in him. He got into somber moods, and his humor had taken on a noticeably harsh edge. Even his more playful moments seemed worrying -- he was impulsive in a way he hadn't been before, like he was desperately trying to cover it all with cheer. They were still talking at least, Jon hadn't ruined that line of connection yet. But seeing Tim's pain poke its head above the surface made him fearful. He knew that it ran deep. It was hard not to be skittish around him now.

"No," Jon said. "He puts on a brave front but I know it's hit him hard."

"Have you talked to him about it at all?"

"Not really. The other day I tried to ask how he was handling things and he just . . . slowly shook his head at me. So, ah, I –" hid in my office like a coward until everyone had left "– thought it best to drop the subject. You?"

"Mostly the same. I mean, I know it's bothering him, and I've tried bringing it up. But he always brushes it off with a joke, or just tells me to leave it. I think he talks to Sasha more."

"Yes . . . I'm glad he has her here," Jon sighed. "She seems to keep him grounded."

"And Sasha seems to manage on her own. So they're okay, more or less." Martin glanced pointedly at him. "What about you, though? Who's keeping you grounded?"

He asked as if the answer wasn't obvious, but Jon supposed it wasn't. Not to him.

"I could ask you the same," he smiled. "You're always checking in on us. Reminding Sasha to eat, nudging Tim, seeing that I don't waste away in here. Who's checking in on you?"

"Oh. You know," he shrugged, "I-- I'm pretty good at taking care of myself."

"Maybe," Jon said softly. "But you could still let somebody take care of you."

Surprised, Martin blinked and looked away with a nervous little laugh. His voice cracked slightly as he spoke – easy to miss, even easier to ignore, a quiet and ordinary pain.

"Well, unless you know someone who's likely to volunteer, I don't think –"

Jon's feet moved without his permission, one step forward, two, until he was close enough to put a hand on Martin's arm. Enough to stop his waving hand, to quiet the gesture of brushing away concern. He stilled immediately.

"You deserve to be cared for, Martin."

He knew right away it was too much, it was far too much. He'd crossed a line that he should be leaving alone, the words were too honest and too intimate and too close. You deserve to be cared for. If he'd said it from across the room in a different tone of voice, it would be possible to hear as advice – something about self-care or accepting help or something more removed. But not there, not standing so close. Nothing about this was removed.

"Oh," Martin's eyes were wide and staring. "Um. Oh."

He didn't pull back, but he was stiff under Jon's hand so he let go. If – if Martin was just startled, frozen like a deer in headlights, he didn't want to box him in. Unmoored, his hand hovered as if it had forgotten where it belonged.

". . . I would like to take care of you," he let it out in a breath. It felt like he'd been holding it forever. "If you would let me."

Martin breathed in sharply, but didn't speak. Jon spoke, words spilling out faster than he could hold onto them.

"I've felt this way for a while," he said. "I . . . I want to be there when you're afraid, or when you're lonely. I just. Want to be with you."

Something shattered when he said that, and Martin took a step backwards. He placed a hand over his mouth, stifling what might have been a laugh and might have been a sob, shoulders shaking, gaze cast down and away. There were tears in his eyes and Jon knew he'd made a mistake. It was too much, too close, too soon, and he'd hurt him and he couldn't take it back and he'd ruined it all –

"Oh, Jon . . ." Martin looked at him, eyes still shining with tears. "I've been in love with you since we ran from Prentiss together."

Carefully, Jon reached forward. Martin didn't freeze and he didn't step back, he moved towards him like a miracle. Jon's hand remembered where it belonged, it ran itself along Martin's cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin, smoothing the hair at his temple. Martin closed his eyes and leaned into the touch, and it was a gift, a prayer answered. He moved closer and then there were Martin's arms encircling him, Martin's head resting on his shoulder, Martin's breath against his ear. It was like coming home, like remembering himself. Nothing was certain and nothing was safe and none of that mattered at all, because finally, finally, he was back where he belonged. They were back in each other's arms.

"I love you," Jon said. "I'm so, so scared, but you give me a reason to be brave. You make me want to be human."

"I'm scared too," Martin whispered. "All the time."

"I know . . . God, I know," he whispered back. "I want us to have each other. I want to just – just take you places. To cook for you and show you things that I like. To do all the simple, normal things we could never do before."

"I want that too. I want to walk in the rain with you, and hold your hand, and read you my poetry."

"I want to fuss about my appearance, because I know I'm going to see you later," Jon laughed, "I want to worry about harmless, little things like that."

A contented sigh came from Martin, and he pulled back, taking Jon's hands in both of his.

"You know what I really want to do, though?" he asked, "more than anything in the world?"

"Gouge our eyes out, murder Elias, and flee the country together?"

Martin grinned. "You read my mind."

"I didn't have to!" Jon said, grinning back.

* * *

"Jon? Jon. Are you all right?"

"Hmm?" Jon blinked, pulling himself back to reality. The edge of his desk still pressed against his back. "Sorry, what?"

"We were talking about Tim?" Martin frowned. "Then you just sort of stared into the distance for a minute."

"Right. Yes. Sorry," he cleared his throat, glancing away. "Low blood sugar."

"Oh. When did you last eat? I could grab something from the break room, if you–"

"S'fine. Really." Jon pulled himself back behind his desk. "I'm sure the tea will help. I should get back to work."

"Oh. Okay." Martin hesitated, glancing back. "Don't work to hard, all right? We worry about you, you know."

The door closed behind him and Jon slumped in his seat, sighing. When his own lovesick daydreams veered into self-mockery, it was probably a bad sign. He picked up the mug, letting it warm his hands, sipping slowly.

Martin had been attentive since he came back from the Distortion's door – checking in, bringing him tea, prodding him to come out for lunch. It was . . . well, it was familiar. And nice. God, it was nice. But did it mean anything? Martin was drawn to taking care of people. Fussing like this, it meant that he was worried about him, and that thought alone made something in his chest ache sweetly. But he wasn't sure if it meant anything else.

He knew Martin had feelings for him long before he himself had noticed, but where those feelings had begun, he didn't know. He absolutely didn't know how his actions might have changed things, might continue to change them. That left him guessing, and he had never been good at guessing such things. He'd admired Georgie for a while before gathering the courage to ask her out. When he had she'd been surprised – apparently she'd been flirting with him without him noticing or responding to it. By contrast, he'd been awkward around Tim for almost a week after misinterpreting a few comments he'd made and not knowing how to feel about them. (Tim had rather kindly, if embarrassingly, put an end to it by pointedly saying Jon was ‘nice, but not his type' within earshot.)

Still. He didn't need to know how Martin felt about him. He could take a risk. Risks were something he was always taking.

Things still weren't that simple.

His feelings for Martin weren't small. They had a weight that he didn't always know how to carry. He looked at him and saw someone who'd kept vigil at his hospital bed until the pain of waiting had worn him down. Someone he'd pleaded with in the cold, deep heart of the Lonely, who'd clung to him as they walked through the fog. Someone he'd been with during the last peaceful weeks the world had ever had. Someone who gave him hope when all was hopeless.

How was he supposed to make that seem like anything that had developed in the time they'd known each other? At best he'd seem over-invested in a relationship that hadn't begun. More likely he'd come off as an obsessive stalker. And if he shared his feelings with Martin, he wasn't sure he could keep a lid on everything else. It wasn't just the end of the world. There were so many things.

How's the poetry going, Martin? What's that? How did I know you wrote poetry? Well, I assure you I found out through entirely non-invasive means that require no follow-up questions.

Say Martin, how is your relationship with your mother? Any pressing emotional difficulties you'd really like to have closure on there? Why yes, these are extremely strange and inappropriate questions for me to ask considering you've never talked to me about her! Unrelated, but if I knew the date of her impending death do you think it would be crueler to tell you, or to let it be a devastating surprise?

While we're on the subject of things I know, M artin, have you ever wondered what it's like to be digested alive? Or to be an unwilling spectator trapped in you own body as it stalks and kills everyone you love? Because I can describe both of those experiences in intimate, firsthand detail if you're curious! Ah, you appear to be backing away slowly. What a reasonable reaction.

Time was passing intolerably slowly, yet it still felt preciously short. And while he waited, hesitated and worried, he was running out of time for himself.

The Unknowing would fail, but the circus was still coming for him. And perhaps he should just let them have him? He'd survived it once, after all, and there was reason to assume things would play out as before. If he tried to struggle, tried to change things, it might go badly. They might decide he was too much trouble to hold for a month and flay him as soon as he was caught. Or someone else might be grabbed alongside him, even killed outright. To say the circus was unpredictable was an understatement that bordered on comical. The safest, most practical option was to play through his period of captivity again.

But . . . God, he didn't want to. He hated to admit it - wished there was another reason, some danger, some unacceptable risk. But the simple truth was that he didn't want to live through that month again.

He was being childish. It wasn't as if they would actually take his skin in the end. He wouldn't die or lose anything permanent, he just had to spend a month in their hands. It was only a month. He'd seen worse. He'd caused worse. Every time he thought about it his hands shook, he felt sick and couldn't eat.

Circus aside, he'd at least learned something useful after his failure to save Helen. He'd done some snooping behind Rosie's desk and found that Elias had ordered a cab for her, just as he had done originally. Meaning he was still trying to mark him. But surely, he was marked already – psychological scars had been enough the first time, and he had the full compliment there. If Elias didn't know that, that was some reassurance.

Jon was fully marked, but he was not yet suffused with the Eye's power. So the world was safe from him, for now. All he had to do was stay human. That was it. He could surely manage that, couldn't he?

Except . . . there were still other things.

The table had shaken him. He'd kept out of the archive on the day it was to arrive, not wanting to encounter Breekon and Hope. But when he returned, nothing had come. He waited, he checked and triple checked artifact storage, asked around to see if anyone had signed for it. There was nothing. After a month he accepted that it simply wasn't coming. But why? Nothing he'd done could have caused this. It was new. A change that came from something other than him.

The spiders were becoming more noticeable as well. Everywhere he went, he saw cobwebs clinging to the corners, or spotted something skittering in the outskirts of his vision. It was worst in his flat – he'd destroy any webs he found on sight, only to find they'd respun themselves hours later. They appeared in odd places – in cabinets, drawers, strung across his pillow. Sometimes he'd wake to feel something crawling on his neck, that vanished when he tried to grab at it.

They gave him peace now and then, leave him just long enough for desperate hope to leak in. Then he'd catch himself in the mirror and swear, swear he noticed a dark little leg vanish into the crevice of his ear.

All that was nothing against what happened a week ago, however.

A woman had come to give a statement, someone he didn't recognize. She wouldn't take the form. She insisted he hear her speak, said he had to know her story, that it had to be him. He protested and tried to pull away. But then she started talking. And he started listening.

He didn't want to. He tried to interrupt, stop her, walk out of the room, but he just . . . couldn't. It felt different. He remembered what being dependent on statements was like – after reading out loud became automatic, after listening was a physical need. This was something else. He wasn't in control of his body, couldn't put his hands over his ears, couldn't force his thoughts away from the rapt attention he was giving her.

It was a spider one. Of course it was.

She'd succumbed to a mysterious malaise that was making her grow slowly weaker. Not an illness, no – the doctors were no help at all, sending her back with a shrug about chronic fatigue. But it wasn't just the tiredness. Her thoughts were foggy, her emotions were both heightened and muddled. It felt like being drugged, but she was on no medications and took nothing that was recreational, so it couldn't be some previously unseen side effect. It wasn't likely anything in her environment, either. Her partner had no symptoms, and they lived together and shared most of their meals.

Of course, her partner was the one who prepared all their meals. She loved her partner, trusted them, and yet . . . it would be too easy, wouldn't it? To slip a little something into her plate every time. Just a few drops of liquid, a few granules of powder, carefully dissolved into a heavily seasoned sauce, undetectable under everything else? Her partner always did spice things so heavily, enough to disguise anything. Paranoia became hostility, and the relationship fell apart. But even after they moved out, that hazy, lulled feeling got worse. She had dizzy spells, lost time, she never felt quite herself. Her suspicions broadened. Was her food being contaminated at the store? It wouldn't be difficult to slide a needle through the loose, plastic packaging. Could it be one of her neighbors? She slept so heavily at night, any of them could slip in with an eyedropper to hold over her sleeping lips.

That last notion is what prompted her to place a camera over her bed.

When she played back the footage it recorded, she got an answer of sorts. She watched herself get into bed, toss and turn for a while before falling still. Then she watched as the blanket covering her sleeping form shuddered, as something dark began to spread from under it, out over her body. A swarm of tiny black spiders crawled over her, covering every inch of skin, biting her just hard enough to inject a tiny drop of venom. They withdrew a moment later, vanishing under the blanket and leaving no marks behind. She slept through it all.

None of the frantic investigations she made of her bedclothes revealed any sign of infestation. She burned the blankets and replaced the mattress, but the process repeated itself the next night, and the night after that, and the night after that. Even leaving her apartment didn't make a difference. Wherever she slept, they came. The watchful eye of the camera captured the same image – a thousand thousand bodies swarming over her, poisoning her, without waking her.

Each day, she grew weaker. But thanks to the camera, she knew now that there was no escape.

He'd stood frozen afterwards, whether overwhelmed by the horrors he'd been force-fed or stilled by some other hand, he didn't know, but by the time he came back to himself she was long gone. He tried asking after her – Rosie hadn't spoken to the woman much, but she did sign her in as a visitor and pointed the name out to him: Hazel Rutter. It was all he could do not to scream.

The Web had led him to the end of the world as surely as Elias had, keeping its hand in everything. And he was still dancing on its strings. Had sending his memories back been what it intended all along? Was he keeping himself free of the Beholding only so the Web could come pouring in? Would he be made into a destroyer again, remaking the world in the image of a power that had held him in its threads since childhood?

He was afraid of being taken again by the circus, but there was another fear behind that. That this time he would escape would come not through a deceitful door, but because of a lock clogged with cobwebs, a captor bloated with venom, a path to safety marked by pale, silk threads. If his salvation came at a puppeteer's hands, what would he do then?

He didn't have an answer. He spent most of his time hiding in his office, turning over these things in his mind, and he knew that he wasn't doing well.

The more he agonized, the more confining the walls began to seem. He stood to move to the door, but stumbled and hit the floor instead. He felt lightheaded. Rather than trying to stand again, he pressed his back against the wall, pulling his knees to his chest. Motes of dust swam in his vision as he tried, desperately, to get his breathing under control.

There was a noise somewhere near him, and the room was flooded with light.

* * *

Someday, Tim was going to get it through his head that knocking on a door while opening it was basically the same as not knocking. Today wasn't that day, though.

At first he thought he'd caught Jon out of his office and had been about to leave the papers he'd brought on his desk. But then he heard something shift against the wall and his fight or flight switched right on. He should probably have wondered why, like a teen in a horror movie, his instinct was to go towards the mysterious noise in the creepy, dimly-lit room. But this time it didn't matter because it wasn't an army of worms, or a soul-stealing clown. Just Jon. Sitting on the floor, breathing erratically, with a thousand yard stare on his face.

Tim hesitated, glancing quickly around to confirm that whatever Jon was spooked by wasn't still in there with them. Then he took another step forward, carefully.

". . . You okay, boss?" he asked.

Jon turned towards him and stared, his mouth moving in an unsuccessful attempt to reply. After a moment, he managed a shaky inhale and a nod.

"Yes," his voice was tight, barely above a whisper. "Yes, I'm fine."

Tim nodded. He wouldn't dignify that one with an eye roll or a sarcastic reply. He stood there for a little while, thinking.

There were options. He could drop the papers on the desk and leave, do a casual ‘well, see you later' as if there was nothing noteworthy about coming across your coworker having a panic attack on the floor. It was embarrassing, being found like this, and Jon would probably rather have privacy. Tim could walk right out and pretend this never happened. Or he could tap his shoulder later, after he'd pulled himself together, ask what it had been about then. If he did that, of course, Jon would no doubt say it was just a bit of stress and thank you for your concern but there's no need, and so on.

And maybe that was all right. Maybe that was all either of them needed.

Tim still remembered the early days, back before he'd gotten comfortable at the Institute. Back when Danny was too fresh and raw a wound, before the pain had dulled enough for his dazzlingly charming personality to come back. When he was quieter and much more short tempered, and the only person who tolerated him for long was a prickly nerd that most people found just as irritating as him.

There had been a lot of late nights in the library back then. Jon catching up or getting ahead on whatever bullshit they were supposed to be working on, Tim obsessing over his own work, looking for anything he could find about circuses and hidden theaters and place that take the people you love. They didn't talk that much, certainly not about the important things. There was some small talk, complaints about other people in research, arrangements to go in on takeout together. Mostly there was silence.

Sometimes Tim would take a bathroom break that lasted far too long and come back with his eyes red and puffy. But Jon never, ever commented on Tim's absence or on the state of his face. He'd sit quietly at the table across from him, occasionally remarking on something unimportant, certainly not asking what he'd been crying about. And maybe – hell, probably – Jon just genuinely didn't notice, because that was how Jon was. It didn't really matter either way.

Later, he would get comfortable. Later his laughter would come back, people would warm up to him and he'd warm up to them. And later, everyone would wonder how two people as different as himself and Jon could end up being friends. But during those late nights, Jon had been what Tim had needed. More than anything.

Maybe that was what Jon needed now. Someone to not notice his pain.

". . .You sure about that?" Tim asked.

Jon nodded again, whispering. "Come back later."

It was what he was asking for. No surprise there. He'd been secretive and edgy and weird for ages, and Tim hated it. But still he couldn't leave. It was that face – tear—trails drying on his cheeks, but not crying. Eyes glazed, expression distant, as if he was nowhere near his body at all. It rung against Tim's core, like a familiar tune. Like tucking someone into bed on his couch and finding them gone the next morning.

He closed the door behind him and sat on the floor, putting an arm around Jon's shoulders.

"Nah," he said. "Not gonna do that."

Jon stiffened for a moment, shaking his head. "I – really, I don't need –"

Tim squeezed just the tiniest bit, and he would never hear what Jon thought he didn't need. Words dissolved, shoulders dropped.

He knew Jon's secret. He didn't come off as the touchy sort – not like Tim, who was all side-hugs and handshakes and high-fives with everyone. Jon kept a careful bubble around him, but the second that bubble was popped-- the second someone else initiated contact, that was it. He tightened his hold, and Jon let himself be pulled closer, bringing a hand up to grip Tim's arm. He took it as silent confirmation that a tighter hug was right, brought his other arm around the front and squeezed.

They sat that way a while - Tim holding Jon in place, not looking at him, focusing instead on the opposite wall. On the stacked boxes and itchy-looking olive green coat that hung on the hook. What material was that thing made of? It didn't look comfortable, and was probably a nightmare when it got wet. Tim didn't know what a head archivist got paid, but it had to be enough to afford better outerwear than that. He contemplated this as Jon shuddered against him, muffled noises coming from him in the quiet. If at any point Tim felt tears through the fabric of his shirt, he would never, ever, ever admit it.

Gradually, the shaking died down. As Jon slowly relaxed, Tim felt a small, quiet tension melt out of him as well. When it felt right he loosened his grip enough for Jon to pull away. He did, taking his weight off and sitting a little straighter. He kept close, though, and didn't try to shake the arm off his shoulders. The bubble was popped.

"I-- forgive me," Jon's voice was hoarse from crying, but it sounded better than the strained crack he'd been speaking through before. "I don't know what came over me. Stress, I suppose. Getting to me a little."

"Yeah," Tim sighed, making a point to keep his tone casual. As if this was small talk, as if nothing worth commenting on had just happened. "It's been a heck of a year, huh?"

Jon let out a weak laugh, wiping his face with the end of his sleeve. "It certainly has. Hah. Exceptionally so."

"Not the cushy academic careers we were promised, huh?"

"Not in the least." Jon's face was grim. "I'm – I'm sorry. For dragging you into it."

"You didn't know about the not quitting thing. S'not your fault."

"You don't . . . ah – You don't think so?"

"Don't mistake it. I fucking hate that I'm here," he smiled without really feeling it. "If I could go back in time and make you absolutely hate me, so you never wanted to see me again, so you'd ask for anyone else, I'd do it. But it's not your fault. Just . . . rotten luck."

Slowly, Jon nodded. He looked surprised. This had probably been on his mind a while, then.

"Can't do that, though. So this is it," Tim sighed. "Just got to make the most of what we still have. Until something out there gets close enough to take it from us."

". . . I won't let that happen." Jon's response was immediate, reflexive, even. Sharp, quick, and absolutely meaningless.

"So what?" Tim asked. "You think you need to let it happen for it to happen? That monsters are only going to get in here with your permission?"

"No . . . no, you're right," he drew a breath. "It's not as simple as that."

"I'm not saying not to fight, though. If anything comes for me, I for one plan to go down swinging."

That quieted Jon. He looked down at his folded hands, frowning, for a while.

"Just don't be too eager for it," he said eventually. His tone was strange, careful, uneasy. "Things might not always be this way. It might – might be worth staying alive a while longer."

Tim raised an eyebrow. "You know something you're not telling me?"

". . . More than you can imagine," he sighed, leaning back against the wall and letting Tim's arm slide off him. "But I can't explain. It's . . . complicated."

He could practically hear Sasha's voice in his mind, begging him to press for more. But Sasha wasn't here, and he honestly wasn't sure if he wanted to know whatever secrets Jon was holding back.

"All right, Captain Cryptic," he nudged him with an elbow. "I won't push it. Just promise me there aren't any more worm queens hiding in the walls."

"I certainly hope not. I've had enough of worms for –" Jon laughed once, to himself, looking down at his hands "—more than one lifetime."

"I'd drink to that. Now if only I had a flask to pull out here. Then you could say--" he shifted his tone, imitating Jon's voice "'Tim, I hardly think that's an appropriate thing to have in the workplace.' And I'd remind you we work in a building of pure nightmares, and tell you to stuff it."

"Honestly, if you pulled out a flask right now I'd be inclined to join you."

"Scandalous. And here I thought you were supposed to set a good example for us."

"It's become abundantly clear to me that no one should be following my example."

Tim paused for a moment, then smiled. "You know what? Fuck it. I don't have a flask, but there's a bar a few blocks down." He elbowed him again, putting more weight into it and actually knocking him back a little. "Let's get shitfaced at eleven on a Tuesday morning. Not like they can fire us for it."

"Oh. Uh." Jon bit his lip, tension slipping back into him. "I'm not sure if it's a good idea for me to go outside right now . . ."

"Mmm." Nope. Tim wasn't going to let him get away that easily, and he was pretty sure he knew more than one of his secrets. "Not even if I rope Martin into coming?"

"I-- ah," Jon's gaze was suddenly on the coat that had captured Tim's attention earlier. Small world. "I don't really see how that would be relevant--"

"Would you swallow your damn pride and ask him out already? It's getting hard to watch."

A slightly choked noise came out of Jon, and his back went ramrod straight. And it was satisfying, so satisfying to see that even with the danger and the fear and the cloud hanging over them all, Tim could still get him worked up over something like this.

"I don't know what-- I think you've misinterpreted. . . ."

"Have I, then? Sorry for making assumptions."

"Yes, well," he was going to bore a hole through that thing if he stared any harder at it. "You ought to be."

"In that case, guess I've got the all clear." Tim pulled a leg up, leaning casually back. "If you don't want to play hooky with me, maybe I'll see if Martin wants to get drinks. Just the two of us."

"—Don't."

"Ha!" Tim grinned as Jon looked away again, diving wholeheartedly into friendly sadism. "Goodness. Who would have thought our beloved leader was the jealous type?"

"I'm no- - that isn't- -" He frowned, shoulders hunched, quietly radiating pique. "Martin is - - he's free to do as he likes. I don't - -" he glanced back anxiously. "But you were just saying that to provoke me, weren't you?"

"Seriously? Ask him out. Worst thing is he says no. And if you haven't got the guts to ask yourself, you've really no business getting riled up at the idea of someone else doing it."

"I know, I know. . . it's just - -" Jon sighed and looked back at his hands, having apparently given up on denials. "It isn't that simple."

"Right. ‘Cause you're his boss."

"Ah . . . ." Jon blinked. "Yes, that is an issue, isn't it?"

"But really, what're you going to do? Fire him if he says no? Don't think the chain of command really means much at this point. No offense."

"Mmn."

"So. I'm going to get Sasha, and we're going to use peer pressure on him, which we all know he's helpless against. Then the three of us are going to hit the bar, because fuck this place. You joining us?"

He hesitated, conflicted. "I . . . I shouldn't."

Tim shrugged. It was disappointing, but if Jon was determined to crawl back under his desk and hide, that was his choice. He stood and headed for the door.

"Suit yourself," he said. "But don't lean to hard into the whole ‘fearless leader' thing, huh?"

"Wait –"

He paused, hand hovering over the doorknob. Jon stood uncertainly in the middle of the room.

"I, ah . . . come to think of it, I--" he glanced at the clock. "Twenty minutes? I'll meet you there."

Tim smiled. "Sounds good, boss."

[spinelwritings]

What about something with Spinel meeting her s/o who has freckles dotted across their cheeks/nose? Sometimes, her s/o would sit in their room for awhile and then come out later with little flowers or dots of color on the freckles, lookin like a starry snack—

I changed it up a bit, I hope that’s okay with you! Enjoy!

----------------------------------------------------

Spinel thought you were the prettiest person on the whole planet. No, the whole galaxy! Everything about you was perfect, even the little things like when you scrunched your nose when you laughed or the way the stars shone in your eyes or even the way you snored when you slept. But one of the things she liked the most about was the different freckles that dotted your body like stars. 

She had spent thousands of years with nothing to do but watch the stars. She memorized them, watch them change, some dying and others bursting to life. She studied the freckles on your body with even more intensity, liked to stare when you weren’t looking, mapping out your skin and making her own constellations. Every time you caught her staring she would blush hard, turning a dark pink and quickly looking away. You would always smile or give a little giggle. You thought it was cute, especially after spending most of your life being a bit self-conscious about having so many freckles.

You were half asleep, splayed out on the couch as you attempted to take a nap. You were only faintly aware of soft footsteps approaching you from elsewhere in the house, stopping by the couch. There was a quiet hum as whoever it was thought, then a giggle. The footsteps moved away to the connected kitchen and you heard shuffling through one of the drawers.  

Your face scrunched up at the noise and you huffed in irritation, shifting to a more comfortable position and trying to go back to sleep. The noise stopped when you moved, but once you were settled once more you heard it continue. No doubt it was Spinel, searching for God-knows-what. You did your best to ignore it.

And soon the sound stopped, the gem giving a happy little sound when she finally found what she had been searching for so intently. You heard the drawer closed and footsteps tiptoeing back over to the couch where you had decided that nap wasn’t going to happen after all. But you kept your eyes closed, too curious to see what mischief the gem was up too. It seemed like she was always up to something new.

For a moment, nothing happened. You could almost feel Spinel’s presence, hovering nearby and watching you “sleep”. Finally, you heard her shifting about close to the end of the couch where your head was.

It took everything in you not to flinch when you felt something cold pressed onto the skin of your shoulder and it took you longer than it probably should have to realize that she was drawing on you. It took several seconds before the smell of the sharpie hit you and instead of being angry that she was using permanent markers like you were sure you would be with absolutely anyone else, you wondered if it would at least look cool. You didn’t even think about stopping her. 

As Spinel drew she started humming a song you didn’t recognize, no doubt something she was making up as she went. She only scribbled for a bit before you heard her cap the marker and taking the lid off what was probably a different one. She worked her way down your arm, being terribly gentle and moving you as little as possible. She clearly thought you were still sleeping and you warmed your heart and made it flutter.

When she got to your hand she held it in hers ever so gingerly, her thumb rubbing circles onto your skin. She leaned in and you could feel her breath against her face just before she kissed your cheek, the feeling of her lips lingering long after.

She gave your hand a few more scribbles before trying to gently put it back to where it had just been resting. For a moment everything was quiet. Then you heard Spinel give a muffled giggle and you suddenly regretted not “waking up” before she could draw on you. 

Spinel made a little gasping sound as if an idea hit her and you heard her take the lid off her marker once more. You couldn’t help the twitch of your eye as she pressed the marker against your cheek, gently drawing a few lines and dots but nearly as much as your arm.

She let out another cute little giggle as the marker left your face. You decided now was a good time to start stirring before any more damage was done. When you shifted slightly you heard the gem go silent for a moment, as if gaging to see if you were about to wake up. When you didn’t move again, at least right away, she shuffled about and you heard her footsteps leaving, not quite as quiet as before. You heard the footsteps on the kitchen tile and a drawer opening and closing. 

Only once you heard the drawer close did you open your eyes, squinting at the world around. You shoved yourself into a sitting position, rubbing at your face and turning to look into the kitchen. You could see Spinel in there standing in front of the junk drawer, looking rather guilty. You just chuckled and stretched your arms above your head, sighing as they fell into your lap.

“What’re you up to?” You asked, smirking at the gem. 

She bounced out of the kitchen and to your side, a smile on her face as she sat on the couch next to you.

“Nothin~” She said in a sing-song voice, leaning closer to you, eyes sparkling. You squinted, giving her a suspicious look. You got off the couch and went to the bathroom, the gem giggling behind you.

You stared into the mirror in surprise. You had expected to see some silly doodles. Instead, it looked like your arm was covered in constellations, connecting the dots of your freckles. They were drawn in blues and purples, some spots filled in with other colors and made to look like shining stars. There was another small constellation on your cheek as well.

Spinel popped up from behind you, looking at you in the mirror with a big proud smile on her face. It made you smile, too.

“Doesn’t it look nice?” She asked, kissing your cheek. “Now everyone can see the same stars I see whenever I look at you!”

Oh wow, if that wasn’t the sweetest thing! You giggled happily, giving the gem the biggest hug you could manage. She hugged you back instantly, her arms wrapping around you and her face nuzzling into your shoulder. You really did love this gem and you had no idea how you had gotten so lucky.

[cassandrium360]

A Million Miles Away

So I've always loved royalty stories, but one thing that's always bothered me is that the 'reluctant ruler' always ends up taking the throne. Well... what if they just weren't right for the role, and couldn't take the pressure? That's how this story was born.

Varian is a prince here, but his heart isn't in it, and Cass is his guard who's only been given the role because he fought for her. Hope you enjoy! Also, to be clear,  Varian is near nineteen here!!

--

Varian slowly let out a breath he had kept locked in his chest far too long. He squeezed his eyes shut, focusing all his attention on the slow drawl of his breaths. One after the other, in a rhythmic sort of way. He let the cool darkness relax him for a moment. Here, he could almost pretend he was alone. Like things were normal. Free.

A thud sounded from the room he stood in all too quickly, bringing him back to where he stood surrounded by servants. He glanced over to where one of them was busy picking up a tray of pins they had knocked over in their hasty preparations. In all honesty, Varian didn’t know why they were working so fervently, after all, the ball wouldn’t be for hours, right?

He was drawn from his thoughts once more by the soft clearing of a throat, the man standing to his right motioning for him to lift his arm to the side. Varian did as he was told, sighing as he felt the quick motions of the needle putting the finishing pieces onto his outfit. His gaze flicked over to the window, and not for the first time he wished someone would open it.

The room felt suffocatingly hot, and him having stood in place for the batter part of an hour did nothing to satiate that. The dull sunlight of late afternoon lazily flickering through the sparse tops of some rich pine trees. These were the times when he envied the guards and servants. True, they may not have had as much freedom as most, but it was still leagues more than him. They were free to walk the grounds unattended whenever they pleased, to chase any dream that called out to them without a thought back.

The girl who had knocked over the tray then stepped in front of him, obscuring his view of the outside world entirely. She began working on his hair, no doubt trying to tame the unruly mess he knew it to be. He watched as she pulled out a few sizes of combs, continuing her musings.

He vaguely heard the snap of the thread being broken, signalling the end of the incessant work on his suit. He rested his aching arm back down at his side, smiling slightly as his appearance was finally deemed acceptable.

He offered them all a smile on their way out, it falling from his face the minute the deep oak door thudded shut. He was finally alone, which seemed an increasingly rare occurrence these days. He moved slightly towards his bed, considering just throwing himself onto it. He slowly let out a bated breath, thinking better of damaging the appearance the castle’s servants had worked so hard to create.

Varian let his eyes run aimlessly around the large room, finally allowing them to rest on the mirror standing in the corner. He carefully made his way over to it, frown deepening as he took in the sight painted before him. The suit was grand, his hair was perfect.... but the person he saw standing before him was entirely unknown to him. His gaze widened as his eyes traced up the length of the stiff fabric to his hair.

His hairstripe. They had pinned it back, or more specifically, beneath the other ‘normal’ parts of his hair. The one thing about his appearance he thought no one could change, try as they might to hide it.

Varian’s shoulders lowered, his eyes moving to the ground, noticing nothing as they landed there. He was a fraud. They wanted a prince who would love these customs. Who would stand as tall as they asked him to. Who didn’t need to be hidden beneath layers of delicately crafted lies to be impressive.

He clenched his fists, pushing back the soft tears that nodded at the back of his eyes, unwilling to let them fall. “I’m sorry father,” he whispered to himself, bringing his arms to wrap around his torso. Why couldn’t he just be the strong leader his people deserved? He didn’t even know why he was crying! Over a hairstyle? Over a little annoyance like having to be dressed? The king would shake his head in shame if he could see him like this. And for good reason too, Varian deserved his father’s disapproval. His heart wasn’t in this, and the kingdom, his father, knew it. After all, his words from a few weeks awhile still rang true...

——

Varian coughed slightly, waving away the small cloud of smoke that has resulted from an overheated test tube before him. “Alright,” he spoke to himself, “Lower the temperature... maybe a little less sulphur?” he breathed, hastily scribbling those thoughts into his notebook.

The spark of the flame as a new test tube was rested above it reflected in his eyes as he carefully lifted a cut slice of the metal to add to his experiment. He moved his face back as he released the chemical, mentally crossing his fingers that it wouldn’t trigger an explosion this time; the last thing he needed was the guards he knew lurked just beyond the door to burst in here.

He pumped his fist in the air as the metal easily dissolved, the colour moving to a slightly darker one as it did. “Finally!” He said, excitedly marking the experiment as a success on the long worn paper. He couldn’t contain the smile on his face, eyes sparkling with new ideas to test with his compound with as he moved to his shelf, eyes scanning the labels for what he needed.

The door opened suddenly, the noise startling Varian slightly, pulling him from his plans for a second. “Oh, father,” he said, his smile leaching into his voice. “You wouldn’t believe it! The compound I’ve been trying to crack for weeks, it finally progressed! Turns out all I needed was a little more...” his ramblings were cut off by a raise of the king’s hand.

Varian dropped his hands to his sides at his father’s disinterest, looking up at the older man for what he had to say that was important enough for him to come down to Varian’s lab in the middle of the day. He could count the times his father had had entered there on his hands, despite him spending countless hours there since he had been a small child.

“Son, you’re eighteen now. In a few years you’ll be ready to take the throne.” He began, voice leaving no room for questioning. Something Varian guessed would prove useful as king. “The guard informed me of some... accidents that happened down here.”

Varian opened his mouth to assure his father they were nothing, but was cut off once again by his father’s outstretched hand. “You’re far too reckless, Varian. Don’t you think our people deserve a king who dedicates his time to learning ways to help them rather than silly projects like this?” he said, gesturing slightly to the room before him.

“But that’s the thing, dad! These experiments can help your people! If you would just give me a little more time to...” he said, all excitement ended by his father heavily resting his hand on the younger boy’s shoulder. Varian drew his eyes nervously up to meet his father’s stern gaze, fearing the disappointment he knew he would find there.

“I’ve allowed you far too much time out into this already. It’s time for you to grow up; take your future seriously, and our peoples’ future as well. No more distractions.” Quirin finished, turning to make his way back out of the room.

——

Varian remembered the feeling that had clawed at his chest at those words. He hadn’t cried. He knew he didn’t deserve to. What his father said felt like a knife shoved into his side, but he couldn’t debate the truth they wielded.

He remembered falling to the floor, world spinning, as the words slammed through his mind over and over again. His chest had shaken, but no tears came, and for that he had been glad. What his father said had opened a wound he had fought so long to ignore, and one that he hadn’t been able to since.

He would be a terrible king. The people deserved someone who would rule them with fairness and passion. Someone who deserved the life of luxury handed to him. Someone entirely like his father, and just the opposite of him. Yet here he was, sculpted into the image of a perfect prince that he would never have been able to attain on his own. He was a fraud.

A knock sounded at his door, the firm rasp bringing him from his thoughts quickly. “Sir, the guests are waiting on your entrance.” Came an unfamiliar voice from beyond his sight.

Varian quickly scrubbed any remaining fragments of tears from his eyes, “Just a moment,” he said, voice wavering despite his best efforts to steady it. He stole one last glance into the mirror, taking in his red eyes and perfect clothes. “Come on Var, be the king they deserve.”

He strode confidently, or as close of a semblance as he could muster, over towards the edge of his room. He could do this. Despite how much it hurt, he could put aside his passions for his people. He could study hard, work with his father, become worthy of the crown he would soon be handed. One step at a time.

If he repeated those words long enough, maybe they’d somehow come true.

——

Sooner than he would’ve liked, Varian found himself standing before the entrance to the ballroom. He had been here dozens of times before; the elaborate oak doors would be pushed aside, and he would come in at the top of a grand set of stairs at the head of the room.

He knew exactly what to expect, yet he still found himself trying to slow the breaths that always seemed to speed up before events like this. He knew that hundreds of eyes would fall on him alone the second that barrier was removed, it should have gotten easier by now, but perhaps it would be something he’d never adjust to.

Varian allowed himself to shut his eyes for a moment, steeling himself for the night ahead as he heard the announcer introduce him. This was it; too late to run. He forced himself to draw in a deep breath, however hasty it may have been. He was meant to be a model of confidence, reassuring to all in attendance... yeah, right. He just had to get past the entrance.

The doors were pushed aside by men in suits much more simple than the one he wore, and he took a shaky step forward, the light of the party pouring out over his thin frame as he came to the top of the stairs. He opened his eyes, all noise ceasing as the nobility crowding the room turned to face him.

Varian felt his heart begin to quicken, breaths clawing to get out his chest, yet only shallow ones would come. He pulled at the edge of his jacket nervously, forcing his vision to remain steady despite the hundreds of colours blurring indistinguishably together. He could feel the hundreds of eyes rested upon him, boring into him as he stood there.

His mind screamed at him, a mix of fears and rules slamming together in a wave of thoughts that he couldn’t think enough to understand at the moment. He had to do something. He urged himself to take a step forward, towards the crowd, but he found his feet unmoving. His eyes darted around the room at such a speed he couldn’t process anything he was seeing, until finally, they landed on the familiar face of his father towards the edge of the crowd.

Guilt crashed into his chest, knocking any breath that had been held there previously far away from his grasp. Not knowing what else to do, Varian ran.

He turned, ignoring the protests of the doormen, running as fast as his burning legs and aching chest would carry him back down the dark corridor. He ran through the halls at a speed he hadn’t known he was able to, finding himself unable to breathe within the suffocating walls of the palace.

He noticed a large glass door, shoving it out of his way with as much force as he could, relishing in the sudden cool of the night air pressing against his skin.

He took in a deep breath of the air that was far from stuffy, leaning into the rail of the balcony he had stepped on to. His head pounded as he stood there, looking out at the palace grounds below. He looked over to the palace wall; the walls in which he had lived his life, and felt tears come to his eyes much more quickly than they had before.

The hot tears poured down his face, shaking his chest with the silent sobs as they did. His ribs pressed hard against the carved stone. He couldn’t do this. Live this lie that he had convinced himself he was cut out for. He couldn’t pretend he was what the people wanted - needed -, couldn’t force himself to become what his father wanted. He wanted freedom. From the guards, the servants, from the pressure he couldn’t bear any longer.

He rested for a moment, revelling in the still night air surrounding him, gently rustling his still styled hair. He felt his heart rate slow as he stood there, his sobs softening into streams of tears which he didn’t care to control. Varian watched as they dripped onto his hands, gripping the railing as if it were a lifeline.

He heard the door hit lightly against the wall as someone stepped out onto the balcony, no doubt sent to return him to the ball. His blurry gaze remained on his hands as he heard soft footsteps trailing closer to him.

“Evening, your royal highness,” she said lightly, moving to stand next to him, “That was some entrance you made back there.”

“Cassie.” His shoulders released an unknown tension as he realized it was her, rather than some other guard. His frown only deepened however, “Have you ever...” he began, shaking his head to cut himself off. He wasn’t sure he had words to describe what he was feeling anyway.

“Have I ever...?” She prompted, lightly bumping her shoulder against his as she waited for him to speak. Varian would never be able to express his gratitude to her for their friendship. She didn’t treat him as if he were leagues away from her as the other workers in the palace did, and she never pushed him to speak quickly as his father did. She simply let him... exist. Whatever way he wanted to.

“Have you ever felt... trapped?” He said, teary voice breaking on the last word. He watched her pause for a moment at that, and almost regretted saying it. It was dumb, she wasn’t held by pressures the same way he was, he should never have even asked. But he trusted her opinion, and couldn’t bring himself to retract it.

“I did. For a long time. Until you changed that,” she said, glancing towards the star dotted sky hanging high above them. “You fought for my place here. No one would... I was trapped by their expectations of me; of what I should be - not exactly the lady everyone hoped for - and because of that, they thought they knew who I was, what I could do.” She said, breathing out a heavy sigh at that. “You changed all of that. Heck, I’m surprised you didn’t get disowned, stepping out of place like that, demanding the guard give me a shot… I’m not sure how many people see who I really am, but at least one scrawny scientist does.”

She turned to face him at that, a soft smile pulling at her lips as she swiftly pulled the pins out of his hair, blue stripe falling in front of his eyes in one motion.

Varian couldn’t help but let out a breathy laugh at that, tight smile on his lips too as he lifted his eyes to finally meet hers. A scientist. He never thought being called something other than what he was could feel so... freeing. His heart leapt at the thought of what could be possible if it were true, if he wasn’t destined to be prince.

That thought didn’t last long though as he saw another set of guards pass by the open door, the harsh light of the hallway spilling out into the night, “Thank you, I’m just- I can’t...” he trailed off, voice breaking as he spoke. He couldn’t do this any longer. Tonight he would leave. Leave the castle, leave this life, everything. For good.

Cass simply squeezed his shoulder, offering him a reassuring smile, “I better get back to the party before they notice I’m missing; take your time coming back,” she said, slowly turning back towards the palace.

“Goodbye, Cassie,” he whispered, and if she faltered slightly at that, Varian didn’t notice.

——

Varian’s vision was blurred, tears trailing down his face. His chest shook slightly, refusing to fully give in to the sobs that threatened to overtake him. The teardrops fell onto his shaking hands as he quickly shoved some clothes into a cloth bag.

This decision was the only one he had ever been sure of. He should feel relieved, he would be passing his duties as prince off to someone who would do them justice, would be able to help the people better than he could ever dream of. But he felt only fear moving through his veins with each slam of his heart against his chest.

He didn't have a plan. Didn't know where to go, what to say. The rational part of his brain told him to wait, to bother thinking this through. But Varian quickly shoved that notion aside. He couldn't stand the pressure the crown pushed against his head for another day. Leaving it behind would be the best for everyone.

He set down the shirt he held in his grasp. “I’m doing the right thing,” he whispered, tears slowing at the words. Not an ounce of him doubted it, which was strange for an over thinker like him. He let his breathing flow back to normal as he paused for a moment. He was finally free of the lie he had worn for so long.

His eyes shot open at the sound of his door handle clicking, Varian furiously rubbing the trails of tears in a desperate vie to make them disappear as he whirled around to face the noise. His heart spiked for a moment as he subconsciously stepped in front of the bag he had been packing, belongings strewn about beside it.

“Where are you going?” Cass said, voice less confused than Varian had expected as she spoke. She gestured to the mess behind him, eyes concerned as they ran over his reddened face.

He shouldn't have been surprised it was her; it was always her. That, and the fact that no one else would dare step into his room without being invited first. He had always been glad that she ignored formalities when everyone else had their gaze turned. It made him feel like he could break free of the string that held him back.

Varian shook his head, quickly jumping back into the conversation at hand. “Cass! Uh- nowhere. Just, y’know, a bit of cleaning!” He motioned to the science supplies set gently on his silk pillow, “Getting rid of this stuff, focusing more, just like dad said!”

He pursed his lips at the way his sentences had all rushed together, words stumbling into each other in a clumsy manner. He glanced up at her, the expression highlighted by her raised brows confirming his suspicions that she had seen right through him. Maybe he had just gotten used to letting her see past his front.

“You’re a horrible liar, hairstripe,” she said, crossing the space between them. The slight smile dropped off her face as she continued, “So that’s what this is about? Your dad?”

He shut his eyes, turning his head away from her. The room fell silent for a long moment, the only sound being Varian’s heartbeat, which overwhelmed his ears the longer he stood.

“I can’t.” His voice cracked at the small truth, tears slowly growing behind his eyelids. “I’m, I’m just not cut out to be king. I’m wrong for this- all of it! I can’t just stay here locked in this… this cage-” His eyes all too quickly flew open as he threw his arm out to the room in front of him, “-until I screw up so badly it can’t be fixed.”

A beat passed as Cass rested her hand on his shoulder gently. “I don't want this life. It isn’t me,” he said, voice lowering into a whisper as he finally dragged his light blue eyes up to meet hers.

She took a step back from him, moving over to cast a glance out the large window across the room. Varian wiped at his eyes once again, the space next to him feeling cold in her absence. His heart skipped as he watched her, hoping she wasn't about to stop his plan before it began. A small part of him nagged he could trust her more than that, but his tired mind couldn't focus on that in the moment.

“The ball’s ending, guards are still posted outside,” she said, carefully pushing the thick red curtain aside as she peered down to the courtyard below. “They’ll be off duty just before dawn, we’ll leave then,” she said definitively, finally moving to face him.

“We?” he asked, mind still racing to piece together her words.

She smiled towards him, “You think I’m going to let you go on this adventure without me?”

Varian’s heart swelled at her words. He allowed himself to breathe in the relief at the prospect of not taking this journey alone for a second, before quickly snapping back into the present. He forcefully shook the thought from his mind, guilt already piling onto him for considering it. “I can’t let you do this, Cassie,” he said, voice too quiet. He let out a shaky breath, “You have a whole life here, you can’t just throw that away.” He cut himself off before the ‘for me” could slip past his lips.

She rolled her eyes at that, the usual commitment behind the action missing. “I’m barely a low ranking guard. Even the new recruits get more responsibilities than me. They only…” she trailed off, eyes shining as she shook her head. She turned her attention to her glove, tugging at the edge of the dark fabric as she gathered her next sentence. “Wherever we end up, I’ll find a guard that lets me earn my place.”

Varian could feel his resolve crumbling as she spoke, guilt dripping away as quickly as it had appeared. She wanted this too. Maybe they were more similar than he had thought before tonight. “But your dad-” he started weakly, digging the toe of his boot into the carpet beneath it.

“-Will be fine,” she finished, “I’ll explain in a note, he’ll be glad I’m chasing my destiny. Besides,” She stepped closer to him, “There’s no rule saying we can’t eventually come back. Who knows where our path’ll lead.”

Varian smiled up at her, this one genuine as it poured into his eyes, moving in the place tears had been not long before. This would be a new beginning. One both of them had been waiting years for.

“Now finish packing. I’ll meet you back here at first light,” she said, taking a step towards the still open door, flickering torch light signalling the way.

“Cassie?” he said, causing her to pause for a breath. “Thank you.” He pressed a quick kiss to her cheek, nervous smile still more genuine than he had worn in as long as either of them could remember. Their eyes remained connected for longer than either fully realized, both wordlessly sharing dreams of their new path, glad to have someone to travel it with.

“Any time, your highness.” Her lips wore a soft smile as she slipped back down the hallway.

[cozy-possum]

How I Became Yours: Prologue

Summary: A re-write of the classic How I Became Yours, Zutara comic

This can also be read over at my Ao3 account

The war is over. The war is over. You can rest. You can rest. Aang sighs draping himself against the bench he’d found outside of the council meeting. He tries to brush off Roku and the rest of the avatars humming in his head.

Aang, you need rest. Rest. The war is over. Aang swats out with his hand trying to shove his past lives from the room but ends up smacking Zuko in the face.

Aang “You need rest.”

“Zuko..” Aang looks horrified; he knows he’d hit the scar, the way the skin under it had felt, almost like dragon scales.

“Stop waxing poetic about it; I can hear you thinking.” Zuko laughs a little, a small chuckle and Aang looks nervous but releases the breath he was holding.

“We have a lot to do.”

“Yes; for the moment we all need to be together; to plan our next moves; to pull my nation’s ruling back to its own shores.”

“So you’re saying we’re all going on a trip around the nations? Like old times.”

“It was two weeks ago Aang.” Zuko’s face is back to his usual neutral expression, the faintest hint of a smile on his face.

“Yes; we do need to; mostly the Earth kingdom; Agni knows my people have destroyed much of it.”

“The water tribes?”

“Later; they; the North was able to resist us, Katara and Sokka would be better suited as go betweens.” Zuko gestures to them as they walk up, Toph following with Iroh who drags them all back from the council meetings to the garden for tea.

“Not the Avatar?” Aang looks a little hurt and resigns himself to quietly sip his tea.

“You and Toph need to help the Earth Nations that were devastated by mine. Suki would also be a good ally to have; anyone who knows Earth kingdom traditions, and anyone who can soften the blow of what’s to come.”

“What’s to come?” Sokka furrows his brow.

“The lies and manipulation in Ba Sing Se need to be destroyed if we want to rebuild peace.” Zuko states drawing his gaze to his Uncle who narrows his eyes back at him.

“While I’ll be your council I am not one to rebuild a city I tried to lay siege to.”

“I’m not asking that; I’m simply reminding you how traditional tea brewing is vital to Ba Sing Se; there’s a tea shop that needs it’s owner back.

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”I kissed Katara” Aang’s nervous about leaving; Zuko can tell just from how he shifts on his feet, let alone the fact Aang is giving him a recount of the only two days that had passed while they hadn’t been constantly together in the palace.

“Did you like it?” Zuko shrugs a little curling inward unsure of how Aang wants him to react.

“No; it was like kissing you.” Aang laughs; Zuko knows he must have looked offended.

“Sorry; I’m sure you’re a wonderful kisser; but it wasn’t anything I thought it was; we’re friends, we’re meant to be that way I think...” Aang chuckles to himself and Zuko shakes his head fondly.

“I’m wounded, Avatar Aang; I thought us two were meant to be together!! Two halves of the same whole; two nations able to restore peace!” Zuko offers a half smile and a wink; throwing his arms up and dramatically twisting around in front of the ornate mirror in his bedroom. He can hear Sokka laughing and he tenses up; knowing that if Sokka is around not only will Katara be but so will his advisors. He wonders how relieved they’re feeling to be leaving the Firelord's den. Zuko had asked Sokka and Hakoda to step in on advising; besides his Uncle’s council he wasn’t sure how trustworthy many of the generals' words were. His lingering suspicion of them from before the war made him uncertain; he never knew if they would advise something to unheedingly sacrifice more lives to make him look bad. With the war over they didn’t have to worry much about fights or keeping control of colonies; but Zuko was most concerned about releasing the varying prisoners and some of the towns that were being destroyed under the Fire Nations rule right away.

He knew there was a long way to go but with everyone having discussed plans and the smaller changes he’d already been able to make he knew it wouldn’t be long before they would all see each other again.

With Toph and Aang agreeing to work with the Earth king, and Katara and Sokka agreeing to work with their father to bridge the north and south tribes; Zuko relaxes a little. Enough to assure his Uncle that he can return to running the Jasmine Dragon. Iroh seems reluctant to leave but Zuko refuses to let him stay, even threatening him with making all of his tea. Iroh rebuttals he’d happily put up with it if it meant being near him and Zuko shakes his head reassuring him that he’ll be visiting as often as he can.

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Aang writes letters every week; at first Zuko had gotten swarmed with three days worth of mail, small half scribbled updates of everything Aang and Toph were doing; the poor messenger hawks he’d given them were exhausted; and after a refueling and two day rest did he respond, in one multi-page letter, requesting they do the same; if not to spare the poor hawks, to spare his servants from thinking something was wrong if the Avatar was sending in seventeen letters a day.

Aang responds later that week two tubes on the messenger hawk’s back detailing everything that had been happening that week; which was to say Appa had eaten at least five new fruits, and that Momo stole someone’s hat. That Toph was improving her sandbending, using it to clean up towns that the Fire Nation had tried to dam and redirect rivers from. She’d also been working on her metal bending, all of the factory pieces and parts that the Fire Nation wasn’t bothered with retrieving was giving her plenty of practice with sculpting tools and other items for the villages and towns to trade and use in rebuilding. 

They’d met up with Suki and Sokka, who were travelling to the north pole with Katara, although Katara had trailed behind checking up on a river town they’d helped before.

Zuko knows it’s silly but he writes each of them letters; well he tries; he combines Aang’s and Toph’s as they’re travelling together, as well as Sokka and Suki’s; they’re a couple anyways is how he justifies it. Which means he has to write a letter just to Katara, it's a good excuse for the first few letters which cover at least three months of travel. He doesn’t blame anyone; he’d been swamped with his Firelord duties as well as trying to rekindle his relationship with Mai, something he was nervous about, now that he was the firelord, and he’d abandoned her to his sister, he’s not sure how she’ll feel about him. By the time he figures out she forgives him; that she’s more than happy to be by his side, although she hates the meetings and council members that drag him away; their false pretenses of peace and caring for the firelord annoy her; she discusses this with Zuko more than often and he’ll laugh it off, assuring her no one but her knows the best ways to take care of him. He’s not sure why he dreams of a soft blue light and a cool touch that night. 

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Mai always laughs when he reads Aang and Toph’s letters aloud. They’ve moved on from the earth kingdom villages; they’re working at restoring some parts of the air temples and improving the structures that hold them upright. Which means Toph is flying most of the time to reach them and Aang details her reactions to returning to the earth. This usually involves her covering herself in a layer of rocks and then letting Aang use them as target practice for his air or firebending. Toph notes he’s gotten better at his control; she’s able to make nail sized pieces of rock that he can hit and splinter without damage to anything around it and only a few misses compared to the disaster he’d used to be when it came to targets. Sometimes they’ll do it while they’re flying, an excuse for practice they both know they don’t really need anymore with the war finished. It’s a good distraction for Toph, while her dislike of flying never changes, having earth to focus on helps .Aang comments in the letters that she’ll often warp the meteorite bracelet when she gets nervous which is usually whenever they’re flying. While the restorations are underway; increasing the structural integrity is a slow delicate progres that calls for carefully fortifying the pillars and rock structures from the inside; Toph has developed a side project. Her quest to create Toph statue’s in every place they visit. So far they’ve been small palm sized sculptures of her, as she didn’t want to bother the townsfolk or scare any of the wildlife. Since the air temples are uninhabited by humans for now Aang assured her she could make them bigger; they’d visited each temple deciding that the Western one was in need of the most repair and help. Moving the debris and damage that was caused from combustion man was a surprisingly easy task; most of the pillars were scattered around the temple and very little of it had fallen from the cliff face below. Aang knows the restoration isn’t as simple as that; that Toph can really only help with the structural things; that the artwork and murals might not be things she can construct; he wonders if he’ll be able to find everything to mix the paint with.

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He grows to enjoy Suki’s updates, matter of fact reports that hold very little personal information. Just details about the towns they visited and rankings and tallies of which ones appear to need the most help. Which towns need which supplies. Areas that need the fire nation troops to stay; their influence part of the economic growth and removal could cause worse devastation than leaving them. He’ll often interspersing these reports with Sokka’s humour. Trying to avoid the overwhelming darkness that his family has caused dragging him down. Most of Sokka’s attempts at humor were jokes that reminded him of Uncle and Zuko would try to return the joke with one of his own; or borrow yet another half remembered joke from Iroh. Sokka also includes a string of training and sparring ideas for both of them; they’d been trading tips and tricks after both finding out they’d studied under Master Piandao, Sokka offering moves he would use his boomerang for or fighting moves he’d seen earthbenders repeat. Zuko offered firebending stances and the meditation he would use; as well as the training he’d use for his broad swords. Sometimes he would find Suki’s handwriting in the margins, adding tips from her use of fans or noting some things Sokka was saying were things she had taught him. Both Sokka and Suki were enjoying the weather, the clear skies and fresh air proving to be good for training and practicing sparring with their weapons of choice. Sokka also includes drawings of what Zuko assumes are the animal’s or scenery they’ve been seeing. It was mostly various hills and the occasional house; but he’s tried to draw what Zuko guesses is a gilacorn.

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Katara are his favourite updates; he claims it's due to her discussions as a budding diplomat, as well as the doodles of waterbending forms she includes; things he can relate to being the firelord and moves he can try to incorporate into his fire bending when he spars. He explains to her that the palace staff is slowly warming up to him; they’re less stiff and he’d even managed to avoid a reaction of terror when he called one of the older chefs by name. He tells her that the turtle ducks have returned to the pond, not that they ever left but they had been hibernating and he includes a crude drawing of a turtleducking with a note in case she’s never seen one. He sends a second letter scrambling after he’d sent the first one; realizing that she’d spent plenty of time around the pond, practicing her waterbending. Mai rolls her eyes lovingly as he grumbles about the mistake of sending the letter too early and making a mistake; she laughs a little, chiding him about using the royal scribes.

Katara  writes back almost instantly, the turtleduck drawing he’d done is included, but there’s another one beside it, obviously drawn by her, Zuko keeps it folded in his robes to laugh at. Her drawing is almost real life, his is a little more impressive than Sokka’s. A doodle he gets weeks later, Katara having no doubt shown him Zuko’s attempt.  Her actual letter is just as impressive, Zuko’s a little amazed Hakoda hasn’t named her chief successor; and then he’s panic stricken that he doesn’t actually know any watertribe customs.  He resolves to brush up on their traditions when they meet next. She is slowly working on teaching some of the northern waterbenders the other styles of water bending, mostly the bending of water in plants; while they’re surrounded by snow and ice she worries one day they won’t and she’d never want any of them to feel cut off from their bending.

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He doesn’t receive letters for another few months; then it becomes a solid year. He finds out when a swarm of messenger hawks show up that the birds had been through a storm and had gotten turned around twice before finding their way back to the original senders, and once they’d been refed, they’d made their way to him.

He replies to each letter individually; it takes him three days to get through them all; and before Mai can drag him to bed, he’s offered a meal and a seat in the Council for the weekly meeting they have. He gets through the meeting and falls asleep the minute he curls under the tree by the turtleduck pond.

The letters continue for the next two years; a comforting back and forth habit for all of them to keep in touch. It doesn’t replace actually seeing them; and while he has Mai most of the servants and palace staff still avoid him in a social context. The letters stop for a full week. Zuko asks some of his staff to be on the lookout for the messenger hawks.

They bring him one a day later; he pulls an invitation out; obviously done by Hakoda, but the doodle signature is Sokka’s, he grins, laughing a little but responds immediately.

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Hakoda is bringing everyone back together in Ba Sing Se for Sokka and Katara's announcement as councilpersons for the water tribes. He also includes a note about the celebration of Aang's achievement in the complete restoration in the Western Air Temple. Sokka has added a note about it being Katara’s birthday as well, and that Zuko will need to get her a present. This information brings the resurgence in his lack of knowledge about water tribe customs. He knows a few earth kingdom ones but assumes those don't translate and he resists the urge to send a frantic letter to Sokka or even their father and settles for researching everything in the library and asking any of the palace staff to inquire about water tribe customs for an eighteenth birthday celebration.

He finds the water tribe scrolls on his desk the next morning, and three pirates in the jail awaiting sentencing. He also finds one of the scribe's notes about necklace making, and he reads over them, noting that apparently hand crafted items are the biggest compliment to pay to someone you admire; and a necklace is the ultimate expression of that. He stores that idea content that the water tribe scrolls and bending formations will be good enough as a gift. He thanks his servants and makes sure everything is prepared for his trip to Ba Sing Se. Mai declines to come and he assures her he won’t be long; she assures him she’ll survive without him; he knows it’s as good as her saying she’ll miss him. They share a kiss before he leaves on his trip. He didn’t tell his Uncle he was coming, hoping to surprise him, it had been two years since they’d seen each other.

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When Zuko gets to the entrance to Ba Sing Se he’s not really sure where to go; his feet try to make him return to the house he’d lived in with his Uncle but the carriage he’s riding in brings him to a sprawling house in the uppermost ring; the avatars home; the guide tells him.

He’s not surprised that Sokka is the first one to hug him; Aang follows, slightly taller than the last time he’d seen him. Toph offers him the usual shoulder punch and he sweeps her into a hug, carefully keeping her feet on the ground so she doesn’t lose her bearings. Suki grins pulling him into a hug twisting her face so she doesn’t smudge her warrior face paint.

“Do you have a mission?” he smiles a little and she grins back.

“Of course; I’m in charge of security.” She laughs and Zuko shakes his head. She leads him back into the house; where he greets Katara; surprised by the hug she gives him.

“Missed me that much then?” He grins at her and watches as she looks away slightly. She looks older; he’s sure they all do; but her hair hasn’t changed; it's down a natural wave to it, save for the bun and looping strands that frame her face. He wonders how different he looks. He knows his hair has grown out more; it’s not the length he had it when he was banished but it’s long enough where he no longer has to force it into a barely long enough ribbon.

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“Now before the party later today we have to stop at this wonderful tea shop we never got the chance to visit.” Toph grins as the rest of the group move to follow. Zuko leads the way, they’ve all chosen to walk and he’s surprised how many people seem amicable to him, he reasons it’s because of who he’s walking with but he jerks slightly when Katara nudges him forward when a few people call his attention.

“Yes?” He’s grateful he’s been able to master the neutral expression because he wants to frown when they bow to him. He resists the urge to bow back; his advisors had informed him it was unheard of; still he inclines his head smiling when they gasp a little.

“Firelord Zuko; it’s so wonderful to see you out in our city.”

“Well it is home to one of the best tea shops in any of the nations; the Jasmine Dragon.” He grins when they look excited and nod.

“We’ve been there; the service is wonderful.” He laughs a little recognising one of the older members as one of the guards he had served. They make it to the Jasmine Dragon uninterrupted. Zuko figures he deserves to be childish as he hides behind the rest of them, making shushing noises as they enter the tea shop.

“Welcome to the Jasmine Dragon.” Zuko swears he can feel his Uncle looking for him; how his voice waivers at the word dragon; Toph leaves the group first moving to hug Iroh; Zuko can feel the ground shifting slightly and he rushes past while his Uncle’s eyes are closed. Grinning as his apron is still on the hook after these years. He ties it automatically and can’t keep the smile from his face as he stands to the side watching the group finish greeting him

“Uncle- um Iroh.” Katara nods to the empty seat and he shakes his head.

“Please; we insist. Excuse us.” Katara waves her hand as she pulls Iroh into the seat. Iroh looks amused and Katara smiles at him saying something Zuko doesn’t hear beyond the blood rushing in his ears.

“Welcome to the Jasmine Dragon; I’m Li, your server-” He’s surprised he got that far before his Uncle hugged him. He gets them all their tea; he’s about to let his uncle make it when Katara shakes her head offering him her seat as she assures him she'll supervise Zuko.

The tea tastes almost exactly like when his Uncle makes it and it’s enough to make Zuko sigh in relief. 

Zuko serves everyone and settles into the seat between his uncle ant Katara. He’s watching Katara as she flicks her wrist; he knows most of the table misses it. He knows his uncle didn’t but when he complements the mixing her face lights up.

“If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were spoiling him.”

“So what if I am? The man who freed Ba Sing Se deserves his tea made exactly how he likes it.”

“Ohhh, and here I thought;” he holds his hands up with a sly smile creeping on his face, it drops for a second when Katara makes eye contact with him, her eyes shimmering at whatever comment he’s going to add.

“I see what you’re doing; making us depend on you for our tea first; and then what; it’ll never end Ms. Water nation diplomat; pretty soon we’ll be having trade routes and intermingling of cultures.” Zuko chuckles.

“Conspiring with the Dragon of the West himself! Truly a stroke of genius.” Zuko’s chuckles fade nervously at Katara’s now unreadable face.

“Sorry. Was that inappropriate?” Zuko curls inward slightly.

“Oh no; it just wasn’t funny.” Katara’s smile and Sokka’s bark of laughter make him grin, until he feels the flick of cold tea against his neck and finds that the tea in his cup has turned to ice.

“And here I thought teaching those kids waterbending would have improved your sense of humour from being around them for years.”

“But I wasn’t with Sokka?” That makes him laugh again and Katara smiles back at him, hiding her continued laughter by turning to check on everyone else, she starts to ask about some diplomacy meeting and Sokka jerks her chair.

“No working on your birthday missy!” Sokka grins, Katara scowls and Zuko nods along with Aang who has a solemn look on his face.

“Yeah, listen to your brother; you can’t work on your birthday; save that for tomorrow, when he’s passed out from a hangover.” Aang laughs at Zuko’s joke so Zuko counts it as a win.

“Oh I was wondering where I should bring the present I have for you.”

“Present?” He can see Katara’s eyes turning towards Sokka and narrowing.

“Uh yeah; it’s your birthday; you get presents on that day; I mean in the fire nation you do.” The terror strikes through him as he realizes Sokka may have been joking about the gift.

“That’s really sweet Zuko; thank you; I guess I’ll have to open it later?”

“You can open it whenever we get back to the house; it’s there with all my things.” He can see Sokka narrowing his eyes at him and he shifts slightly backwards in his seat.

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”They were in the library I thought you would have more use for them; and they’re yours by right anyways; this doesn’t seem like a very good gift now that I think about it…” Zuko hangs his head slightly; Katara doesn’t seem to hear him; she’s focusing on the scrolls, waterbending forms and movements he’s assuming she’d seen before but with how delicately she’s holding the scrolls he thinks maybe she hasn’t.

“If it’s stuff you’ve…” he trails off looking confused when Katara grabs Sokka’s hand and pushes him towards the scrolls she’s holding.

“That’s..” He doesn’t finish instead pushing Katara aside slightly to just stare at a corner of the page. He cranes his neck, noticing they’re looking at the notes written in the margins. He hadn’t bothered reading the waterbending notes; he barely opened the scrolls themselves just to check they weren’t anything cruel on them. He reads it now; understanding dawning and his throat tightening in empathy, he tries to swallow it away but the thought of finding something his mother had left just for him; is suffocating. He understands why both her and Sokka are tearing up. He’s struck with a sinking feeling as well; these must have come from the raid; from the day she was killed. Zuko feels a little sick but brushes it aside for now; his friend's happiness comes first. In addition to the fact he has a party to attend in a few hours and refusing would be seen as rude at the least and an act of war at the very worst.

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This Is How It Feels (number five x reader)

A/N: i made it into a fic,, like a highschool au,, hope you enjoy like,, idk, u know them typical fics where its like ‘i dare you to graft them’ or ‘pretend to date’ and then then end up liking each other or,, i dunno. I got pure carried away sorry.(ok so i made some names up for people so, your best friend is: Beth and Beths older brother is: Dante) i havent proof read sorry :(

spazclaiire said: hii could i request headcanons or a fix of excuses five has used to hold your hand or ‘four times five had an excuse to hold your hand and the one time he went for it’ please? thank youu

words:3350

Books weighed down your arms as they spilled over the threshold of your carrying limits, they were heavy, a mix of ring binders and oversized textbooks were making you sway like a drunk man. People barging past in steady streams didn’t help your balancing act either, stumbling every few seconds hoping that the library got closer quicker. 

Swinging open the door to the library your eyes scan the room for the table you and your friends usually sit at and by ‘usually’ you actually mean every single break you get, whether its just for 5 minuets or the full hour you get for lunch or free periods. The table in question even had all your names written on the underside along with other random scribblings and doodles. You make eye contact with a few people on your table as you get closer.

“Y/n, I’ve got some tea to spill, and it involves you!” Beth excitably suggests. Beth always had some new tea to spill, she was a see all hear all person, it also helped that her older brother was in the year above and in the group of the schools self proclaimed ‘bad boys’. She always knows what they’re planning, the who, what, why and where, she had it down to a T.

Speaking of ‘T’, any tea involving you wasn’t good, there had been drama circulating about you before and it took long enough for that to die down. You sigh, hoping it’s got nothing to do with the group of ‘bad boys’. “Go on then, spill.”

“Five Hargreeves has his eyes on you.” Of course, Five was the year above and one of the smartest students in the entire school. The only reason he even knew who you were is because his best friend is Beth’s brother and you were in his AP physics. He was also classed as the fittest boy in school with the worst reputation yet the cleanest slate. 

“For god’s sake, why?” The last thing you wanted was for Five to actually care about who you were, he was a heart breaker, something that you just didn’t need.

“I’m not too sure, I haven’t heard much about the plan, but there is a plan so just be cautious. He’s probably after you because you’re fit.” You smile at her words. “Are you in the art building for lunch again?” You just nod in response.

You had been spending an increasing amount of time in the art buildings, it was just a soft and aesthetically pleasing environment to be in and it meant you’d actually get your work done. You could sit and draw for hours but with how hectic life was the art buildings was a safe getaway. So at lunchtime that’s where you found yourself, aimlessly painting the view out of the window, fields and trees and streams filled the canvas. You were in your own world, minding your own business. 

“Your painting is really pretty, but not as pretty as you.” There it was, not only half a day after being warned about Five Hargreeves he was already trying to chat you up. He was leant against a wall behind you, scanning your figure and the painting. “And I was here thinking you were just a brain and a pretty face.” It was a pitiful, low effort attempt and a half-arsed compliment.

“What do you want, Hargreeves?” It may of sounded harsh but you didn’t want to deal with his bad attempts at flirting.

“Harsh much,” He jokingly placed a hand over his heart. “Listen I need a favour, all you have to do is walk out of this building holding my hand and pretend to date me for about 2 days maybe.” A shockingly fake smile spread across his face as he held his hand out.

“So let me guess,” You tapped your finger on your chin, mockingly thinking. “I’ll pretend to date you, you’ll win some sort of bet and then the best part is when you tell everyone we shagged then you dumped me right after!” You returned his bittersweet fake smile. “I’m going to have to pass Hargreeves, I’d rather not be apart of one of your silly little games.” 

With a tut, he turned around to leave the block not before having the last word. “You’ll fall in love with me eventually y/n, they always do.” You could help but to scoff as he walked out of the room, he was too cocky, all the years he always had any girl he ever wanted to drop at his feet but not you.

Time ticked away slowly until it came to AP Physics, it was a brutal way to end the day often ending with being completely worn out. You were concentrating on rearranging the equations that needed to be used, it was going well until a piece of scrunched paper landed where you were writing. You simply brush it to the side and continue with your work, you had a faint idea who it was from seen as Five sat on the opposite side of your table of 4, ideal, you know.

“y/n.”  His foot playfully tapped yours, causing you to roll your eyes. “Open it.” 

So you did, only to be met with the more than classy words ‘my offer still stands ;)’ You couldn’t believe it, looking him in the eyes you pretended to ponder his decision, swiftly followed by tearing the note up and sliding it back over to him. Fives mouth hung open, you smugly go back to what you were working on. 

Five was relatively quite for the rest of the class, resulting in it going much quicker than it normally would. He would sometimes answer questions but other than that there was no more chew from Five. In a blink of an eye it was time to go home to rest and recuperate from a long day of lessons, to prepare for the exact same the next day, the same as you do every day.

Five paced around his room, he hadn’t lost a bet yet and he wasn’t going to start losing them now. It was a simple bet, make y/n fall for him. Five didn’t particularly want to follow through with this bet, it wasn’t fair on y/n seen as she hadn’t done anything wrong to Five. Dante had only made Five do the bet as he knew Five used to have a slight thing for y/n, it was almost comedically convenient that Dante’s younger sister was best friends with y/n, Dante couldn’t help himself whenever y/n was around his house with Beth to make a comment about it. But despite all this, he couldn’t lose the bet.

The next day, Five had a plan, he knew that in AP Physics the teacher was about to set a new project to be completed in pairs, so naturally he went straight to the teacher. “Sir, for that paired project I really think I should work with y/n, we’d work so well together.” He practically begged his teacher.

“I’ll think about it Five, but if I do place you together, please make an effort to improve your behaviour. It’s your last year and you have such great potential, don’t waste it.” The spiel was met by a roll of Fives eyes followed by a muttered ‘sure’. Five regularly got this talk all the time, everyone says that he needs to focus his academic knowledge into something, anything, but he’s just not motivated by anything. Everything had either been invented or is being invented so there was just no point in trying.

The weekend drew closer with every ticking minuet, teasing you with every small movement of the hands, counting down like a ticking time bomb waiting to explode. You were sat in your last lesson, AP Physics, took your seat and took out your supplies. You lazily observed as the rest of your class walked in, you gave and received a few smiles to and from various classmates until last person the last person in, Five Hargreeves, he waltzed into the room with confidence oozing from him. 

Before Five had a chance to speak the teacher was already up and writing the title on the board ‘electromagnetism’. As soon as the words appeared on the board a collective groan of despair was heard throughout the room. 

“So,” The teacher started, clearly enjoying the sudden drop in mood. “I know how much you all love electromagnetism, so what were going to do is work in pairs to create a powerpoint and a poster covering all the aspects of electromagnetism!” The room livened up a bit at the prospect of working with a friend, that was until the teacher continued. “I have put you in pairs, so listen in as I call the pairs out and then move next to your new physics partner.”

People moved about the room to sit next to their project partner, you listened closely to hear who you’d be partnered with this time. “Y/n?” “Sir.” “You’re with Five Hargreeves.” You see Fives face light up as he slides his books across the desk the the seat next to yours, the smug grin never leaving his face once. 

You begin to write down what you had to do for the presentation, feeling Fives eyes stare into the side of your head. “So over the weekend can you do as much research on magnetic flux, flux density and field strength and I’ll cover BH curves and permeability, does that sound good?”  

“Why don’t we just meet up over the weekend and make a start together?” He nudged your elbow, your pen run up your page, ruining the word you were writing.

“Can’t. I’m working all weekend.” Which was met with a small ‘o’ from Five, he turns way and messily scribbles on a sheet of paper and then slides it back over to you. 

“Well if you can’t meet up this weekend then at least have my number.” You slightly smile and fold the piece of paper up and slip it into your notebook. Before Five could slip in another word the bell rang, signalling the end of the day. You say your goodbyes and begin the walk home, it was a fairly long walk home maybe reaching around 30 minuets but it was always a pretty sight to walk through the woods during the spring, pink petals from the cherry blossoms littered the ground, colouring the dull world waking up from winter.

Once home you stared at the crumpled paper with Fives number on it, also noticing the smaller scribbled snapchat username. It felt like a smarter decision just to add him on snap for now but save his number in your contacts, just in case. As soon as you added him he accepted within a matter of seconds, followed by a picture message ‘hey x’ it read. You simply send a picture back of your blank wall and place your phone down, you let a small laugh as your phone buzzes again. 

Sitting at your desk, you pulled out your books and your laptop to make a start on the physics work. You just couldn’t help but check what Five had responded, clicking his name you were met with his face in a pout. You respond with a picture of you sticking your tongue out, which got a response quickly. This stream of photos carried on until the early hours of the morning not even realising the time and that in a mere 6 hours you had to go to work, you send ‘night’ to Five and place your phone on the side, a small smile on your face as you drifted to sleep.

Five laid awake, considering calling the bet off all together. Hours of talking to y/n only felt like minuets, Five wanted to get to know y/n on his own terms not on the terms of a bet. He shouldn’t of accepted the bet to begin with, his competitiveness got the best of him. 

The weekend went far to quickly for your liking, mixed with work and school work. Five was also non-stop messaging you throughout the weekend, he found a way to talk to you about everything and anything, often sending long video messages of him walking round his giant house, you could always hear the shouts of his siblings in the background.

Monday nights were the one night of the week that you enjoyed, Monday was movie night at Beth’s house. The night usually went that straight after school you’d take over the living room, bringing out the blankets and extra pillows, you would both then decide what films to watch and what food to get. Once that was all done you’d both bunker down and start the movies, getting ready for a long night.

About halfway through the first movie Five and Dante slowly made their way into the main room, stealing some of your pizza before sitting down on the sofa to join you. Five took a seat next to you while Dante sat on an armchair, Five pulled your blanket so it was covering both of you, leaning back into the sofa you could feel physically how close he was to you and it was driving you mad.

Beth caught your eyes and wiggled her eyebrows, you responded by sending a cheeky wink with a joking smile. As the night moved on and the movies continued, you and Five slowly moved closer throughout the movie marathon, it couldn’t of been helped, you were both like two magnets. 

The final scene in The Breakfast Club was playing, both Beth and Dante had already fallen asleep, you felt Fives hand touch the side of yours. You slightly push your hand back against his, welcoming the warmth as his touch, your reaction invited him to link his fingers with yours. Light from the TV bounced off the features of his face, defining his angled lines of his face, you couldn’t deny that he was handsome, very handsome. 

The screen of the TV turned dark as you used the remote to switch it off, a dim glow of the moon shone through the open windows, the moment was romantic, overly romantic but it was the sleepiness making you ignore the voice that was screaming that he didn’t mean it, he had an end game and you couldn’t forget that. 

You pulled your hand from Five and lean over to Beth and lightly shake her shoulders. “Beth, its 20 past 1, I think it’s time to go to bed.” She responds by making some unclear noises and began to sit up, you smile and stand up pulling her with you. You spare a glance back at Five before continuing upstairs, unable to stop the tingling feeling in your hand.

Eventually, you had to meet up with Five to work on the physics project, you both hadn’t spoken since Monday night. Well not exactly, Five had been messaging you a lot but you just hadn’t been responding because all you could think about was if he had a possible end game. You didn’t want to get played by Five.

You heard soft steps getting closer, you look up to meet Fives eyes. “Hey.” He spoke in a soft voice in the quiet library. He pulled a chair out from besides you and sat down, pulling his textbooks out of his bag. You both made small talk during your work, it was a nice atmosphere in the library, a nice atmosphere between you and Five with no looming pressure after what happened Monday night.

A breeze drifted through the large room, causing you to break out in goosebumps and shiver. You decided that morning that you could just wear a T-shirt with no jacket as the sun was out, how wrong you were when dark clouds swarmed over. 

“Do you want to borrow my hoodie?” Five asked, but he was already taking it off to give to you.

“Oh no Five it’s okay, it’s my own fault I forgot my jacket. Anyways what would you wear?” Despite how cold you were you really didn’t want to borrow Fives hoodie, he would be just as cold as you were.

“No please y/n, take it. I’ve got an extra jacket in my locker anyways.” He pushed his hoodie into your hands. You could tell he was probably lying about it but you sheepishly took his hoodie and put it on, it was warm and you couldn’t help but smile a little bit. 

You mutter your thanks, a warm flush coming over your face as you continue to work on your project until your next lesson. Once the bell rang, you both left to opposite directions, you completely forgot that you had Fives hoodie on until you sat next to Beth in english to be passed a scrap piece of paper with scribbled writing ‘That’s not your hoodie???’ you smile at the sheet and just write back ‘Five’s’ 

You didn’t see Five for the rest of the day until you got a message during the last lesson. ‘meet me near math class at the end of the day x’ It wasn’t a question, he was telling you. You send an ‘ok’ and continue with your lesson, constantly distracted by the ticking arms of the clock, counting down it’s last minuets.

As the clock strikes 3 you make your way to the math department, you were fighting against the tide as everyone rushed to get out of school. As the crowed begun to thin you saw Five standing outside the maths classroom, standing hoodie-less. He made his way towards you, smile present on his face.

“Where’s this jacket that was meant to be in your locker?” He just laughs and shrugs his shoulders.

“I mean my hoodie looks better on you than it did on me so I don’t mind.” You smile at him and begin your decent through the school. “So I was thinking we could just like, go for a walk? It’s just nice spending time with you.”

You both aimlessly wandered around town until finding a small cafe to reside in when the weather started to turn, Five had a black coffee and you had a hot chocolate. The room was filled with noise from others in the cafe and also from the outside world that couldn’t reach you in your own little world.

“Five, not to sound daft or anything but are you still trying to do this for the bet or are you being genuine?” You didn’t want to sound harsh but you were still unsure if this was genuine or just an oscar winning act.

“y/n,” He reached over and took your hand. “I called the bet off just before Monday night, as soon as I came to the school and saw you I knew straight away I wanted to be with you.” He ran his thumb gently over your knuckles. “I know you wont trust me right away but I want to make you trust me, I want you to feel the same way about me as I do for you.”

“Okay.”

All it took was that one word to kickstart your time with Five. It started small, handholding any chance he got, he seemed to always need to be close, holding and hugging you. He was so affectionate and almost touched starved, begging like a stray puppy. Five slowly gained your trust and love for him, he had an infinite amount of hoodies and oversized T-shirts, truth be told you were pretty sure Five just loved to see you in his clothes.

You and Five were cuddled up on your bed, he was running his fingers through your hair as light cut through the curtains, lighting the room in a heavenly glow. Five placed a kiss on the side on your head, pulling you closer as he did. 

“Y/n, I think I’m in love with you.” You smile and lean into his embrace.

“I think I’m in love with you too, Five.”