#I hope that this passes the mood. The right sort of impression‚ the right sort of emotion. A feeling.

[magnusbae]

“..someone believes I am a human being, not a name merely. And these are the only indications that I am a whole person, not merely a knot of nerves, without identity. I'm lost.” –Sylvia Plath

[thebowieconstricker]

Hello! I saw you wanted requests for Lucifer, and I would love any sort of angst where Lucifer ends up comforting the reader, like maybe something happened to the reader, or the reader is just really stressed and just breaks down

Ease My Mind

(Lucifer Morningstar x reader)

AN: To this request: yes yes yes yes YES I just KNOW that he gives the best hugs and is so ready to comfort the people he loves. For this fic, I decided the angst is a little of everything, job struggles, moral dilemmas, and some self-doubt, so I hope I delivered. This isn’t proofread so please alert me to any errors! Thank you for your request! <333

Summary: You have a bad day at work and it triggers a breakdown. Luckily, your big bad boyfriend is here to help.

Tags: Gender neutral reader, could be read as platonic if you reeeeally squint but it’s implied romantic, heavy on the angst, a dash of fluff, Lucifer is trying his best, you guys are precious.

Warnings: Reader is afraid they’re being used by the people around them and they have lots of thoughts about being useless and others not liking them.

Also, the title is inspired by the song “Ease My Mind” by Ben Platt, go listen to it! Enjoy ya heathens!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You’ve been used by others for your entire life.

And now you were stuck in that same cycle in death.

As a young, naive, alive-person, you were desperate for some one to love you. Growing up in an environment where compassion was scare, you decided that the only way to get people to notice you was by offering to help them in some way. A favor, a ride, somewhere to crash, and, for one specific person, a place to hide the bodies. In life, you had gotten so deep into your desire to please others that you had latched onto the first person to give you the time of day. Unfortunately for you, that individual happened to have a thing for serial killing.

Looking back on it now as you miserably walked back to the hotel, tears threatening to fall down your face, you couldn’t think about anything other than how stupid and useless you were. It was your fault that they were found out, your fault that the innocents were dead in the first place, your fault you were stuck in hell and that fucker was still out there.

How much time had passed on Earth? How many more had they killed?

On most days, you could compartmentalize, putting the bad thoughts in a little box and shoving it in the back of your brain, but work had broken you today. You worked for the Vees, specifically Velvette, and it was no secret how they overworked and abused their staff. You were stuck picking up Velvette’s leftover energy drinks for as long as she had control of your soul.

And yet. You thought maybe someday, someday you might make a connection. You might impress her, or surprise her, or something, and maybe she would give you a break.

But no. Today you had been an hour late for the first time and Velvette had screeched at you, calling out all of your flaws and insecurities and bringing all of the horrible memories that you had oh-so-carefully stowed away to light. But you held back tears and did your fucking job, the emotions boiling all day and the hectic office space doing nothing to calm it.

You had needed this cry for a long time, and now there was no stopping it.

Walking along the brimstone pathways, you finally made your way to the rickety Hazbin Hotel. Its incomprehensible height only worsened your now growing headache as you walked up to the doors, grabbing the handles and swinging the heavy iron frame and red-stained glass open.

You immediately started towards your room, but you were blocked by the obnoxiously cheery Princess of Hell herself, Charlie.

Charlie’s not obnoxious, you’re so vile for thinking that.

Shit, the thoughts were getting worse and you could not do this right now.

Charlie, oblivious to your mood, smiled brightly. “There you are! How was work? I’ve got someone here who’s been waiting-“

You shoved past her, bumping her harshly.

“Not in the mood.”

Charlie frowned in confusion behind you.

“But, wait, hey-“ You ignored her pleas and- ah shit, now Angel’s in front of you.

“Hey, babe, you might wanna hang around for a sec-“

You shut your eyes tightly and moved your hands towards his chest, your fight or flight kicking in as you pushed him.

“ANGEL, leave me alone.”

Why would you yell at Angel like that? He’s just being nice.

Shut up shut up SHUT UP

Everything was only getting worse. You bolted to the grand staircase and raced up the steps. As you sped down the seemingly infinite hallways, the tears you had been fighting back for the last millennia finally fell. With a choked sob, you finally spotted your bedroom and lurched for the doorknob, swinging the door open and slamming it behind you as you bursted into your room. You ran to your bed and grabbed a pillow, hugging it tightly as you loudly cried.

Charlie only keeps you here because she needs the guests, you know. She hates you. They all hate you. They wish you weren’t here. You’re just lying there, crying, why would they want you?

The hateful thoughts were all you could hear in your mind. As you pulled your knees to your arms holding your pillow, you wanted nothing more than to disappear. To just pop out of existence and finally be free of the burden of yourself.

Then, suddenly, three knocks at the door.

“GO AWAY.” You screamed, throat on fire from your sobbing.

A voice came from outside. A smooth, relaxed, kind male voice.

“It’s me, hon.”

You froze, terrified. Quickly you climbed to the floor on the left side of your bed, blocking your body from the view of the door. You took several deep breaths, trying to steady your nerves.

“Come in.” You said shakily.

You heard the door creek open, then footsteps.

“Where ya hiding these days?” He awkwardly chuckled, clearly trying to lighten up the mood you were in.

“Just- stay over there.” You were still holding your pillow, and you gave it an extra squeeze.

“I’m a mess right now.” You sniffled.

He paused, like he was thinking. “Well, if that’s what you want, but I hope you know by now that I’m always happy to see you. Even when you’re a mess.”

You felt the bed shift. He was sitting on the opposite side.

Like a child looking for a secret, you turned around to look at the back of his head. His hat was gone, probably left downstairs, and all you saw was his sweep of blond hair.

He made a ‘hm’ sound. “Bad day?”

You nodded. Then, realizing he couldn’t see you. “Y-yeah.”

You watched him nod. “I’m sorry about that.” He fiddled with his cane, his hands tightening and loosening around it. “Would you… like to talk about it?”

You paused.

Lucifer had been a confidant of yours since you first arrived in Hell. He was the one to tell you what was going on right after you died, calming you down and offering you a place to stay. Sure, you didn’t know that he was literally the Devil, but everything about him made you feel at peace. Like you could deal with the hand you were dealt.

Secretly, though, you were waiting.

Waiting for the moment when he would reveal that he only kept you around because he needed you to do something for him.

No one was that kind, or caring, or wonderful.

He wants something from you. Why else would he keep coming back?

You had yet to answer his question. Lucifer sighed.

“You don’t have to tell me anything. I just want you to know that I’m here for you, okay?”

The voices were still wringing in your head, you were still crying, and you felt pathetic.

“I- I don’t- fuck, would you please stop acting like you care?” You knew your words were harsh but they were begging to be said.

His posture straightened in surprise.

“I do care! What makes you think I don’t care?” He sounded hurt.

Nice going, you hurt his feelings.

You bent forward, hands covering your face in frustration. A fresh wave of tears rises through your body and you loudly cried out, too scared and angry and sad to hide it anymore.

“Woah, woah, hey, it’s okay, hon.” Lucifer’s voice was nearing your form on the ground, and he was quickly at your side. You could feel his presence beside you.

He sighed in exhaustion. “Listen, I’m not- I’m not the greatest at this, but I’m gonna ask so I don’t upset you. Do you want a hug? Or a hand on your shoulder-“

Your arms were wrapped around him before he could finish his question, clinging to his waist and biting your face in his neck.

“WOAH there- well hey, sweetheart, there you are.” You could hear him smiling as he gently brought his hand to rub your back.

“I’m sorry. I- I’ve just had a shitty day at work and I’m worried about a lot of things and- I don’t want to take it out on you.” You were shaking, but he held you steadily.

“What kinda things are worrying you?” He asked.

And so you told him. In the comfort of his embrace you were able to somewhat coherently explain all the things that had been freaking you out. Velvette’s torture at work, your own moral dilemmas about your life on Earth, and you were just getting into your feelings about others using you when you felt Lucifer’s breath hitch.

He leaned away from you to look you in the eyes and gently put a finger to your chin.

“Honey, I want you to know that I know for a fact that the people here really care about you. Not because you’re an extra pair of hands, but because you’re you. You’re wonderful to be around. People like you.”

He looked at you with a warm smile and leaned towards you, giving you a small kiss on the forehead.

“I like you. I care about you because you’re worth caring about.”

You stared at him in awe, your mind finally at ease after such a chaotic day. Smiling, you leaned back into him to rest your head on his chest.

“Thank you, Luci.” You reached out and took one of his hands, holding it tightly in an effort to show him how grateful you truly were for his words of assurance.

He tightened his fingers around yours and grinned down at you.

“Always, love. Now, let’s get you on the bed, okay?”

You nodded and he gracefully picked you up, gently placing you on the bed. With a snap, you were in comfortable clothing with a warm blanket around you and plenty of soft pillows.

“You want me to hang out for a bit?” He looked at you through half-lidded eyes, clearly sleepy.

“If you don’t have anything else going on…” You offered, already half dozing off.

“Even if I did, I would love nothing more.” With an affectionate grin he curled up beside you, and you immediately went to lay your head back on his chest. As you drifted away, listening to the King of Hell’s heartbeat, you took a deep breath.

He was right. Things were gonna be okay.

You had friends.

You were loved.

[clementine-thedestroyer]

Kinktober day 9/10: Shoe humping + D/s dynamics - Arlecchino x reader

Warnings/tags: fem reader (because Arlecchino likes cute/soft girls and you can’t change my mind), you’re called doll and good girl. Shoe humping, service, dominant Arlecchino. Yeah, this one’s a bit intense.

You’ve done well today, Arlecchino decides you can have a reward.

Arlecchino lounged on the dark velvet wingback chair, her legs crossed as she absentmindedly swirled the drink you had brought her. You bit your lip as the clinking of ice against crystal filled the room- anxiously awaiting her verdict on the quality of your service.

When Arlecchino spoke, she spoke in a cold, almost irritated tone, as if she was annoyed she couldn’t find any imperfections to punish you over. “Color me impressed, you actually managed to do a good job today, doll.”

At her words, you nearly sighed in relief, your posture relaxing slightly. The danger had passed, you’d done well.

“On your knees.” Arlecchino commanded, her cold gaze following you as you scrambled to get on your knees before her.

Arlecchino looked down at you from her velvet throne with a slight look of disdain at how you had nearly stumbled over yourself in your rush to obey her order. But as she looked at you like the scum off her shoe, you watched her with wide, begging eyes. You had been so good, you had worked so hard to live up to her impossibly high standards, and you finally received her approval. You knew you had earned yourself a reward, and you were buzzing at the thought of finally receiving Arlecchino’s touch.

Except, Arlecchino didn’t touch you. She scoffed at your hopeful expression, shoving her heeled boot between your legs and bringing her drink to her lips.

“You have until I finish my drink.”

You didn’t move, staring up at Arlecchino in plain confusion.

She rolled her eyes, nudging at your crotch with her foot and speaking in a commanding tone. “Hump it, doll. You’re looking up at me like you expect a reward for doing the bare minimum, and it’s ticking me off. You’re lucky I’m not in any sort of mood to be disciplining you tonight.”

Arlecchino’s words echo in your head as your features freezes in shock and you realize what she’s telling you to do.

Hump it. Like a dog.

You can’t move, mortified at the thought. Your mouth is nearly hanging open in shock and you can feel the warm burn of a dark blush simmering beneath your skin. You look up pleadingly, ready to beg Arlecchino to choose something else, anything else. But when you meet her glare, you can’t help but flinch and cower, like a kicked puppy.

“Are you deaf? I said hump. It.”

She’s getting impatient. You can tell. This is probably your last chance to obey.

You take a deep, shaky breath. Closing your eyes and looking towards the floor in shame, you adjust the skirt of your dress so it’s out of the way, appalled that you’re actually going to do this. You lean forward, brushing your fingers against Arlecchino’s pant leg before thinking better of it, instead placing your hands palm down on the floor and leaning into them.

Lifting your hips, you situated yourself on top of Arlecchino’s shoe, cringing as the damp fabric of your underwear did nothing to insulate you against the cold, black leather of the boot. If anything, it make it worse, making you abruptly curl in on yourself, a pitiful whine escaping your throat as you waited for the leather to warm against your skin.

Your clit was nestled right up against the instep of her boot, and with a simple shift of your weight, you can’t help the soft, breathy moan that escapes you.

Your eyes are clenched shut in shame as you try to establish a rhythm. You move your hips back and forth, a tension slowly building in your gut as pitiful noises fall from your mouth.

You look up, searching Arlecchino’s eyes for any hint of approval. You were doing good, right? You did what she said, isn’t she proud? But Arlecchino’s gaze is stern as ever, and you can’t help how you wilt beneath it.

But you’re too far gone at this point, on the brink of release, and all it takes is one good grind down into the vamp of the boot before you’re whining and sobbing. You grind down, warm pleasure spreading through you as you ride out your orgasm.

Your sobs turn to pitiful choked-off wines and soft, wet hiccups as you come down, your head resting against Arlecchino’s leg as you chase the aftershocks of your high.

After a moment, Arlecchino nudges you- a reminder of her presence and your place- tilting her foot up, and making you whimper at the pressure against your sore cunt.

You look up at her through teary lashes, unable to stop the fresh wave of tears as you notice the empty glass of her drink discarded. You couldn’t help the fear that seized in your chest. You had gone over your time limit, and from the look of the melted ice in the bottom of the glass, you had gone over by a lot.

A surprisingly kind hand runs through your hair, tilting your head up to meet Arlecchino’s warm gaze.

She slides her hands under your arms, lifting you up and setting you on your feet. She stands in front of you and straightens your dress, running her hands over the fabric to smooth out the wrinkles, adjusting the collar so it sits correctly, and fixing your displaced undergarments. She does all of this paying no mind to how you shake with weak knees from the emotional roller coaster of the last few minutes.

“Good girl. We’ll work on your time, but you did good.”

Kinktober 2023 Masterlist

[byhees]

loveberry taste.

엔하이픈 형선 ・ female reader + word count 1500 genre fluff high school au different tropes including bestfriends2lovers, fake dating, neighbours2lovers, academicrivals2lovers warnings not proof-read kissing skinship light profanity mention of death — more

a/n. dream dumping!

best friends to lovers | heeseung

at this very point, he probably knows more about your coffee orders than you do; after all, you both have been practically inseparable since elementary— sort of like two peas in a pod. however, it’s only recent that he has started noticing the little things about you; like the way your eyes light up when you’re talking about something you’re passionate about, or the way you play with a strand of your hair whenever you’re nervous, twirling the lock in your fingers.

and sure, at times when you lean a tad too close to him, or when you get on your tiptoes to wipe off a food smudge by the corners of his lips, he does fluster a little bit— but isn’t that completely normal? and sure, when your parents constantly singsong about how adorable you two would look together, mood all giddy, he can’t help but to flush a little— but that has to be normal..!

it truly only hits him, then and there, when you both are in the midst of a slow dance; it’s a passing joke amongst you both that if you two wind up date-less for prom, you’d just go with one another. and so, here you both are, a hand of his resting on the dip of your waist, and your own perched on his shoulder; the song’s pretty— melodic and just the right pace.

it’s only when you both sway gently to the rhythm of the piece, that he realises a little something; surely, that surreal glow to your face isn’t just due to the soft, dim lighting of the hall— you look really pretty. and especially now, when you both are in such close proximity with each other, you strike him as so, so attractive.

when you accidentally slip on air and stumble a tad, he catches you, holding you with a firm and steady grip; and oh my god, you look stunning, even whilst collecting yourself from the momentary stagger; his heart’s thumping so quickly against his chest, and he can feel his cheeks heating up from your mere gaze— could he be in love?

fake dating | jongseong

it’s out of a whim that he proposes you two are dating; after all, he’s practically being cornered right there, and the only way out is to, don’t know, point at the bulletin board behind him, and hope his finger doesn’t land on someone who’s already romantically involved— “oh yeah, uhm, this is her..! yn…!”

he knows it’s extremely sudden to burst into your classroom in this extreme flurry, but he’s got to make establish some form of common standing point with his clueless counterpart; and so, a little deal had been struck in the midst of the stairwell— he’d help you out with maths, and you’d help him with this whole fake dating scheme!

it had been relatively smooth-sailing near the start— of course, it’s inevitable to have those very awkward interactions and close encounters, but soon after, you both had gotten pretty accustomed to the idea of them; it’s the stereotypical ‘here is the contract with things we shouldn’t do, and things we should’ situation, and he’d reckon that you both are doing well in this two-way plan.

and it’s only a little after that he realises a little change; hell, surely it’s not normal to giggle so incredibly hard at every single text message your fake girlfriend sends you.. but here he is, tossing and turning in his bed, his phone clutched in his hands. it’s strange, for sure, to feel genuine euphoria whenever you pull him in for a quick kiss, explaining that a person was right round the corner, to personally come over to pick you up for hangouts every other day, making sure that he’s dressed to the nines to, maybe, impress you.

he is well aware, alright, that he’s now excusing every single sweet gesture as a ‘we gotta make it believable, am i right?’ thing; well, he can’t exactly break it to you that he now wishes upon every shooting star that this were real, that you’d feel the same as him after every kiss, that you’d, maybe, feel the same every time you both linger a second too long after a hug.

it’s only when he’s pulling away from a particularly drawled out kiss, that he notices the way your eyes have gone wide, how your cheeks have been tinted with that one shade of pink, and how your lips are just slightly parted. and my god, you’re gorgeous. it only hits him then that there’s truly no where else he’d rather be at— he’s falling for you, for real this time.

neighbours to lovers | jaeyun

well, first impressions are really important to him, so when you first showed up by his doorstep, a little plate with chocolate chip cookies piled atop, he knew that he could not afford to mess this up; after all, you’re literally living right across his home, and if he were to completely embarrass himself, he’d probably never step foot outside his cute little residence…!

and it’s as though you two happened to be reunited soulmates or something, because he hit it off with you almost instantly; your bubbly personality, paired with your strikingly similar humour, just clicked perfectly with his own.

regular hangouts becoming a you-two thing now; daring each other to do the most ridiculous things and actually doing it— using a really really bad pick up line on a stranger, and scrambling away in embarrassment; getting ice cream for the other on really humid days— just knowing what flavour they’d prefer; him being comfortable enough with you to share his personal belongings— his shirts are your shirts now!

him now finding every excuse to talk to you again; the deliveryman keeps mixing up your packages with his, and even though he’d return them to you the following day, he now orders a bunch of random things online just to see you once more; him unknowingly admiring you for seconds longer than usual, and absolutely faltering when you catch him in the act— the heaps of reasons slipping past his lips are mortifyingly bad, at best.

okay, maybe he just wants to be in your presence for a little longer; can’t blame him though, he just finds you so incredibly likable… and funny, and pretty, and smart… and— oh. is he catching feelings…?

academic rivals to lovers | sunghoon

it’s quite ironic actually, how horribly dissimilar you both are when it comes to virtually anything, well, anything besides academics— hard workers, complete devotion, and absolutely ruthless when it comes to topping the finals.

well, what’s also ironic is that you’ve turned to him for some tutoring help after falling terribly behind on one of your classes; very much contrary to the grimace written all over your face, there’s this humongous, beaming smile glued onto his— it’s very much because of this little academic hold he has over you; one point to him, zero to you!

oh, and what a coincidence, because you both have been paired together on some partner project that’s apparently forty percent worth your entire grade! well, it’s only out of pure concern over his own grade weightage, that he reaches out to you, offering to cover your portions of the presentation after spotting the dark bags under your eyes, and the pale, rugged look to your face— “god, you looked like death warmed over. just give the cards to me, i’ll do it. and no, don’t misunderstand. i’m only doing this so my grade doesn’t suffer from your screw up. this means nothing”.

even though he tells himself that, he can’t help but to poke around and to occasionally check in on you— not verbally, or up front, of course; he’d, very casually, toss a little sandwich over at your direction, mentioning something along the lines of ‘they gave me an extra for free’; he can’t let you know that he’s doing so because he’s genuinely worried about your health— oh, he meant to say, because he’s bored out of his wits from not having you around to tease. so don’t fall ill again, if not he’ll probably combust from pure ennui.

he can’t even pinpoint the exact reason as to why he’s being so nice to you; you’re supposed to be his arch nemesis, the perfect example of intolerable, absolutely insufferable, so why is it that you’re actually kind of fun to talk to? in fact, he’s actively pausing in his spot, two cups of coffee in hand— one for you, the other for him— thinking about this.

getting flustered by actions that used to be despicable to him; he can feel the tips of his ears heating up every time you lean close to jut a finger at him, brows furrowing with complete disbelief at how he’s just called you ‘babe’ in front of a teacher— he has always used that term playfully, so why is it that his heart’s skipping multiple beats now? could it be that… he’s in love with you?

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[markscherz]

i'm curious, when people ask you to identify frogs based on a picture, do you just look at it and immediately know which frog it is and the scientific name for it? or do your thoughts go through some sort of flow chart/process of elimination where you consider different aspects of the frog (colour, size, etc.) until you arrive at a conclusion? or is it a mix of both depending on how distinct the frog is (i'm assuming some are easier to identify than others, yeah?). and do you ever have to look it up to double check? either way, i'm very very impressed by your vast expanse of frowledge (frog knowledge) and i'm learning a lot from your blog!

It is a mixture. The first thing you do is see the whole animal, but get few details on the first pass. That can sometimes be enough. Some frogs are pretty instantly identifiable, even without any other information. But after that, things get a bit more deductive. Here, location is key. Knowing where a frog was seen is incredible helpful in narrowing down among the possibilities. Frogs are typically very range-restricted, so location helps me get to a list of possibilities.

Then there are a few more super obvious characters to look for. The 'habitus', i.e. how the frog sits, is important. The relative eye size. The length of the limbs. The fingers and toes, and the presence of webbing between them. Toads are almost always instantly identifiable by the parotid glands. Knowing these kinds of family-features makes things easier.

Colour is tricksy. It is very tempting to rely on colour to get to an ID, but frog colouration is IMMENSELY variable, and some species change dramatically by mood, or time of day, or ambient illumination. People like to use dorsal stripes to identify species, but they are almost always polymorphic (i.e. there are almost always individuals in the population without them). So, beware of colour.

To your last point, I almost always double check. Firstly, it is embarrassing to be wrong, and I hope that I lack the hubris to assume I am always right when it comes to these identifications (not least because I am really specialised on Madagascar, and the rest of the world's frogs are still comparatively unfamiliar to me). Secondly, I may have a rather broad overview of frog diversity, but I am far from a global expert, and there is always a chance that there are frogs that could be confused with a given one, of which I am not aware. I really want to fight the misinformation, so I try to only give species identifications if I can do so confidently, or otherwise couch my identification with caveats.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hi! For the family day event, I'm thinking of Papa Zigvolt and Trey? Trey just sees Sebek dragging this older gentleman who looks a lot like a more smiley, softer version of himself looking very confused before stopping right in front of him before saying " CLOVER THIS IS MY FATHER THE DENIST" and then Trey is just so excited to talk teeth

THEY'RE MEAN THEY'RE LEAN AND THEY'RE GREEN just like the vegetables L*ona refuses to eat--

I'm sorry if I'm getting these NRC Family Day interactions out sort of slowly!! I've been working on a few substantially larger/longer fics on the side (one of which I hope to get out within the next few days to pay homage to The Little Mermaid). Until then, enjoy the green hair duo :3c

Family means Nobody is Left Behind or Forgotten.

"Wow, Sebek! Your school's so big and fancy. You really go to such an amazing place to learn? I always knew you were really talented, but now I'm even more impressed! You're such a cool kid, I can't believe I get to call you my son."

Sebek grunted, only half acknowledging whatever nonsense his father was now spouting. Mr. Zigvolt had been at it since he passed through the NRC gates, gushing about every little thing he laid his eyes on and praising his child in that mild-mannered way only a normal, unremarkably bland human could.

Sebek supposed that it was only natural that the weak-minded were blown away by that which laid beyond their grasp, and yet his entire face still warmed. (He had insisted its source was annoyance, but Lilia begged to differ. "Aw, you're so cute when you're embarrassed, Sebek. Excited for your father to pay you a visit, hmm?")

“That’s enough talk out of you,” Sebek snapped, his volume revving up. He was ahead of his father by several brisk paces. “Stop dragging your feet and gawking!! If you’re going to behave like a common tourist, then I will have no qualms about leaving you in my dust!!"

Mr. Zigvolt blinked, adjusting his glasses. The lenses were grimy, smeared with traces of oil from his fingers. "Ah, is your blood sugar low? It's about lunch time, and I know we've been walking around the campus all day... You must be hungry."

"Wh-What!! No, that's not what I..."

Mr. Zigvolt stuffed his hands into his pockets and rifled around. He produced a ball of hard sugar in colorful polka dot wrapping paper and held it out to his son. "Here, have a piece of candy to tide you over. We can get you something more filling at the cafeteria later."

“NO, I DO NOT WANT A PIECE OF CANDY!!” Sebek boomed.

His voice carried through the entire courtyard, drawing attention from passing families. ("Mama, why's the big forehead guy shouting?" a little kid asked of their parent. "Shhh, don't make eye contact with him!" their mother hissed.)

"I am no longer a child! I am 16 years of age, and a young man at that!! I'm not to be subjected to this juvenile treatment!" Sebek insisted loudly, batting away his father's hand.

"Oh..." Mr. Zigvolt replaced the candy in his pocket and offered a sheepish grin. "Well, you can always ask me if the mood ever strikes."

He was so plain, so even-mannered and inoffensive. So... dull. His father was nothing like his mother--powerful, commanding, and boisterous, every bit as proud as her fae bloodline. How was he possible descended from such a man?!

"Gnnkgh!" A hand flew to Sebek's temple, and he let out a groan. "You can be so... infuriating!"

A voice so similar to his father's in tone met him. "I'd know that thundering voice anywhere. So it was you after all, Sebek."

The first year froze, his words catching in his throat. "Y-Y-You are...!!"

Mr. Zigvolt raised his eyebrows at the boy approaching from across the lawn. He bore thick black spectacles and a red vest, a club painted below his right eye. "Who's that, Sebek? Friend of yours?"

"H-He is no such thing!!" Sebek latched onto his father's arm and tugged hard, suddenly frantic to escape the scene. "C-Come then, make haste! We have many more esteemed faculty members to speak with!!"

"Hold on, Sebek. Don't go running away from me now. I promise I won't bite."

"G-Gah!!"

Sebek nearly fell backward when Trey popped up to his right. He had just been a few yards away seconds ago—how had he manifested so suddenly?

The freshman grappled at what remained of his composure, mustering a haughty response. "For a mere human, you managed to catch up to us rather quickly."

“It’s kind of hard to not notice you shouting from across the courtyard," Trey pointed out. “And I wouldn’t call myself speedy, but I guess that comes from playing soccer and whipping up cupcakes as a kid.

"But hey, that's enough about me. I'm glad I caught you. I wanted to say thanks for helping Ace and Deuce with their homework the other day. They just barely scraped by getting beheaded for failing thanks to the points from that assignment."

"Hmph! Their collective incompetence was an eyesore for the entire library, that's all! Moreover, their loud dawdling was disturbing my own studies!!" Sebek smirked (not realizing the irony in him complaining about other people's loudness). "As vice dorm leader, you should be ashamed that you have not properly disciplined your card soldiers!!"

"Er... sorry? Still, I appreciate that you helped out your fellow freshmen. It saved me a lot of trouble in the long run."

"I didn't do it for YOU!! And besides that, you shouldn't be relying on others to fulfill your duties for you!!"

Mr. Zigvolt observed their interaction with rapt awe. It took Trey a few moments, but at last he took notice of the unassuming man standing beside Sebek.

"Excuse me. You are...?"

"N-NO ONE OF REAL IMPORTANCE!!" Sebek interjected, hastily wedging himself between his father and the upperclassman. At the same time, Mr. Zigvolt said, "I'm Sebek's dad."

Though the son most certainly drowned out his father, it was Mr. Zigvolt's statement that Trey honed in on. His yellow grape eyes widened with realization.

"Mr. Zigvolt? THE Mr. Zigvolt?!" Trey asked, a new sparkle set to his irises. He excitedly clasped the older man's hands. "You're him?! The dentist? Sebek's told me so much about you!

“I’m Trey Clover, a third year student. It's a dream come true to finally meet you, sir."

"Oh, he has?" Mr. Zigvolt brightened too. "It’s so good to know that Sebek has made new friends at school! He's only ever played with Silver back home, I was worried he wouldn't branch out of his comfort zone.”

“F-Father…!! Do not converse with him!! And Clover, you WILL refrain from this conversation!!”

"You have to tell me more about your dental practice!" Trey begged, ignoring Sebek. "I heard that you deal with a wide range of clientele. Since there are so many different species of fae, their teeth must be extremely different as well.

“You must have so much knowledge and experience under your belt. I’d love to be able to learn more from you.”

“Ah, it’s so rare to find people your age who take an interest in dentistry!”

"H-HEY, ARE EITHER OF YOU HUMANS LISTENING TO ME?!"

“Not now, Sebek! I’m listening to your dad,” Trey said dismissively. His attention returned to Mr. Zigvolt. “I’m just a hobbyist myself! I have spare oral hygiene supplies lying around, and I use a unique shape of toothbrush for the different areas of my mouth—but I’m sure that pales in comparison to the tools at your disposal, sir.”

“It depends! Sometimes it takes a little extra elbow grease or modifications to my current tools. For example, my wife and children all have slightly curved, conical incisors. Think like the teeth of a crocodile. They need a good, thorough flossing, and an extraction tool that conforms well to that curved shape.

"In nature, that flossing would be done by plover birds. Have you heard of them? They pick out leftover food from inbetween the teeth of crocodiles. It’s a symbiotic relationship.”

“In fact, I have! It’s very different than what we do. Some of my students don’t even brush their teeth twice a day… It’d take a load off my back knowing that birds could swoop down and clean their teeth for them in their sleep.

“My younger siblings have the same issue. It’s pretty bad for them and my dorm members alike since they all readily have access to sweets. There’s no shortage of cake in the family bakery or at Heartslabyul’s unbirthday parties.”

“That’s the trouble with kids sometimes, they don’t always realize the importance of dental hygiene. I’ve never had an issue with Sebek though. He’s always been good about cleaning his teeth.”

“Really! So diligent. I mean, Sebek’s diligent in his studies too, but I didn’t think it extended to oral care too.”

“Yes, that’s my Sebek! Very serious in everything he does.”

Mr. Zigvolt chuckled as he counted off the memories. “He’d pretend to slay monsters with his toothbrush. One of his favorite ones was this neon design. It would play a little jingle when you pressed a button on it. He’d tell me and his mother that he wanted to have a pristine smile for his prin—”

“THAT’S ENOUGH, FATHER!!” This time, nostrils flaring, Sebek barreled at his dad and completely walled him off. It was simple feat, given the first year’s imposing stature. With a scathing glare lobbed at Trey, he began to herd Mr. Zigvolt off. “We can’t be late for a very important date to speak with the instructors!!”

“Huh, did we lose track of the time…?”

“Ahahahah…” Trey’s awkward laugh cut the tension like a knife. “I think your son’s just being bashful.”

“ME, BASHFUL?!” Sebek looked as though his soul had been sucked right out of his body. He fought to maintain a frown and his staunch stance. “P-PREPOSTEROUS!!”

Sebek’s instant denial only made Trey’s mouth twist. “You think so?”

But the fact is that, despite all his protesting, he still let us talk. Mr. Zigvolt was so happy to talk about his profession, and about his son. Deep down, there must be a part of Sebek that wants to understand his dad’s love for him too. Maybe that’s why he…

“What’s with that smug look on your face, human?!” Sebek challenged, rattling Trey from his thoughts. “I don’t like it!!”

“Aaaah, Sebek! Please, let’s not fight with your friend! He’s such a nice young man, please don’t yell at each other.”

“We are NOT friends!!”

Trey curiously inclined his head to one side. “… Sebek, your dad’s a great guy. I hope you realize that.”

“Wh-What!! I…” Sebek faltered, then doubled down. “Do not presume to tell me how to think!! My father is… he is…”

A human. Someone he could never hope to understand—but someone who loved him regardless. Never angry, always patient.

Sebek hesitated, and the statement was left unfinished.

“… Sebek,” Mr. Zigvolt said gently, “it’s okay. I think we’d better get going. I held us up, and your teachers are still waiting to hear from us, right?”

Sebek clenched his teeth, a muscle in his jaw ticking. “… Yes,” he said very stiffly. “Let’s go. I would not wish to stain the young master’s good name by being tardy for an arrangement.”

“Well, good luck then,” Trey offered. “It was nice meeting you, Mr. Zigvolt.”

“It was nice meeting you too, Trey-kun.” Mr. Zigvolt smiled softly. It was the smile of the average man, not particularly outstanding or beautiful--but it was full of tenderness like a sweet that melted upon contact with the tongue. "Thank you for supporting my son."

[akutasoda]

HEY HI HELLO!!

May I request a fic (or headcanons if you want^^) with Ranpo and s/o that is sometimes taking his sweets or even stealing 'em? (To eat it ofcc) I thought that his reaction might be kinda funny because cmonn we all know Ranpo🥲

Anyways how are youuu, doing good?

(I think its my shortest ever request I have written for you woahh)

sweet tooth

synopsis - you both had quite the sweet tooth, maybe you couldn't help but steal a few sweets from him

includes - ranpo

warnings - gn!reader, fluff, slight crack, more fluff, wc - 1.1k

a/n: HIII! im doing well! hope you're doing well as well? hmm pretty sure this is the shortes but it's still an absolutely amazing idea

ranpo knew you had a sweet tooth like him, afterall it was one of your qualities he admired. initially, he always noted on the sweets you would often bring into the office or buy when out and about with him. as that way he could buy them as gifts for you when you started feeling down or unwell.

and it went both ways. the both of you could recite the others favourite sweets for each mood perfectly. so it was safe to say most of the time both sweet stocks never were empty - including the pile of sweets that were dedicated to sharing because that way it discouraged stealing from each other.

but sometimes exceptions happen. and one of those exceptions could involve you underestimating how much you had leftover in your pile. so it did come as a shock when you realised you had none left and ranpo could practically feel your dejection from his side of the agency.

he wasn't that bothered at skipping work for a quick snack run so he offered to run down to the local store and buy some to tide you over intil the end of the day - plus he could get some for him. and so you let him.

but for some reason it felt like he was taking longer than usual and your sweet tooth was all you could focus on. and as you glanced over at your lover empty desk all you could wonder was, he wouldn't mind right? surely he could sympathise with your situation and you were sure he'd do the same.

ranpo returned fairly quickly afterwards and immediately made his way to your desk. he set down a rather impressive bag filled with all your favourites and you thanked him and gave him a quick peck to his cheek before he retreated to his own desk with an equally impressive bag of goodies.

but ever since he sat down he couldn't helo but feel something was off, like something had happened while he was gone but quickly dismissed it as he thought that whatever it was most likely was insignificant and wouldn't be a major issue.

and days soon began passing as normal. everyday was practically the same routine with a few changes each time but nothing too taxing. but ranpo had developed a sort of itch in the back of his mind, something that started bothering him. and that was due to the fact that most tiimes he left his desk, he felt as if something went missing or something disappeared from his locker.

his conclusion came to something to do with you, but he didn't think it was and you always said you had no clue. but really you were feigning innocence. ever since you took one sweet from ranpo, you had started building a habit of nabbing one or two everytime you walked past his locker or desk that wasn't occupied.

you really meant nothing by it, it's just that your sweet tooth demanded you satisfy it. and if you were being honest you really thought he would've caught you by now so a part of it was wondering how far could you go before he caught you. and unsurprisingly it didn't take much longer.

ranpo had now knew that someone was taking his sweets and he really didn't have to think hard to pin it down to one person. you were the only one who had a sweet tooth that rivaled his and you knew the combination to his secret stash. but he felt so betrayed and he thought a suiting comeback would be to catch you in the act, rather than just mentioning it.

and so he plotted his attack. he started by waltzing toward your desk and acting as he normally did. dramatically expressing his boredom and whining about the amount of paperwork he had stacked on his desk while you continued yours but still paying full attention to his words. he eventually stopped slumping on your desk and got up telling you he was going to cure his boredom.

you waited a while, to make sure he was truly gone before you even looked in the direction of his desk. you could only sigh to yourself and think of what a distrustful habit you had picked up. but even that couldn't stop you from getting up and going along with your habits. but what you didn't know was that ranpo was ready and waiting by the door.

he was going to catch you this time. he waited until you reached his desk and began looking before he jumped out. he attracted the attention of many agency members and nearly gave you a heart attack. you knew you were going to never hear the end of this.

he marched over to you and whined about how betrayed he was, how deeply distraught he had become eith this information. you apologized profusely, saying it was only meant to be a one off but you just couldn't help yourself. but he only huffed at your answer and pushed you back to your desk.

you could only sigh yourself as you sat down and watched him sit at his desk, before looking back at you and sticking his tongue out. you then proceeded to grab something under your desk before walking back over to his desk and hiding it behind your back.

but as you reached his desk he swung round in his chair to face the other way. now you had to hold back your laughter. so instead you sighed pulling out the item behind your back and saying how you were going to hand him it as an apology but now you might keep it for yourself.

this caught ranpo's attention back and he glanced out the corner of his eye. turns out during your break you had went down to a favourite balery of his and brought their new limited item to hand him after work. but now you were using it as a barganing chip.

he swing all the way back around and tried snatching it off you but you pulled it away and told him the only way he could get it was to accept your apology.

he really couldn't be mad at you for long, especially with such an apology gift waiting for him. so he accepted it and received the second part of his reward. he thanked you and started scolding you saying next time he wont forgive you. you justt laughed and said you'd keep that in mind but the both of you knew the other would forgive for something like this.

[candied-boys]

Second Chances

Leon Dompteur x gn! Reader

No tags. A little drabble for @leonscape ♥️

“No.”

“WHAT?!” Yves screeches and spills piping hot tea all over his pants.

Even Licht’s usually calm demeanor cracks, his cookie missing his mouth entirely as it slips through his fingers and tumbles to the floor.

“Yeah, they said no.”

“What the hell did you do?” Jin asks, shuffling his knees out of Yves way so the poor creature can escape the sofa to find a towel.

“I have no idea! That's the thing!”

“I thought you two were… you know, a done deal…” Licht mumbles, rubies flitting across the floor for the cookie.

“Uh… yeah. That's what I thought too. I mean, we've been dating forever. I never got the impression they didn't want to get married.”

“I got the impression they were pretty excited about your upcoming anniversary last we spoke,” Yves replies, yanking a cloth from between a pile of books and papers that scatter across the floor.

“Exactly! I wouldn't have asked if I thought there would be any hesitation. I don't want to put any pressure on them. I really thought… I dunno… the answer would be yes… Was I expecting too much?”

The soft sound of cotton rubbing across silk and the crumble of a cookie under a boot fills the long silence.

It ends with a loud crunch as Jin cracks his lolly and counters, “You must've done something wrong. There's no way us three could get an enthusiastic yes from each of our lovers but the king couldn't.”

“Remind me, how did you propose again?”

“In bed during post sex cuddles. How else? Good feels, skin contact, afterglow, emotional intimacy — it's a guaranteed yes… What are you all looking at me like that for?!!”

“Right. Yves, what did you do?”

“Baked all their favourite desserts, revelled in our shared collection of precious memories, told them all the ways they make me a better person and how I could never live without them, showered them in affection and praise. I tried to just be true to ourselves. What did you do?”

“We had a lovely, romantic tea party. There was a bit of a kerfuffle I sorted out, but after everything calmed down I took them out to the balcony to look over the cityscape and I proposed there.”

Jin narrows his eyes and cocks his head. “You had… a tea party?”

“Yeah, we love having tea together. It's one of my favourite ways to relax together.”

“Was it a fancy tea party? Did you bake all the treats yourself and hand craft them with love and affection?”

“Yves, that's you not me.”

“That's almost as bad as the guy who got his girlfriend a manicure, lied that it was a gift so the woman wouldn't be upset about the cost, used a friend to pass on the gift certificate instead of doing it personally — all hoping she'd come home and be in a good mood — then lit some candles and just popped the question.”

“What's wrong with that?”

“She was super busy and stressed that day with deadlines. He wasn't honest about the price so she just got the most basic manicure ever. Then, he didn't even cook dinner or do anything that says he's thoughtful or reliable. He just dropped the question at home with some candles like the answer was guaranteed!”

“I don't get it, Yves. That sounds decent to me…”

“If he was going to spend that much, he could at least have bought her something she would actually enjoy like yarn for knitting or a couples massage or go on a getaway! It's like he doesn't know her at all!!”

“That was almost me…” Licht mumbles from the corner.

“I didn't mean for you to take my advice literally and follow every step! I meant it as inspiration!! If you're lover doesn't like manicures, you should know that! Not me!!” Yves squeaks in protest.

“What did you do instead?”

“He took them horseback riding out to the meadow. I made the picnic basket because, obviously, Licht in the kitchen is almost as bad as Clavis. He set the ring in a pretty little holder and tucked that into the dessert. You didn't actually ask, did you?”

“No,” Licht answers quietly, cheeks stained red and shoulders rounded shyly. “Didn't have to… They understood… That's why we got married after all…”

“I still don't see how my proposal is that bad… You know all how much that view of the city means to me. They do too.”

Unwrapping another lollipop Jin queries, “Yeah, but did you talk about that with them or just use it as a backdrop?”

“Oh… hmmm…”

“Did you set the mood by saying how much you cherish the little moments together, like having tea and such?” Yves asks and retakes his seat in the centre of the sofa.

“You're much more verbal than I am. You at least asked them directly, right?”

“Okay, okay. I fucked everything up! I didn't think about what would make them feel loved as much as what would put me at ease to ask such a nerve-wracking question! I've been so stressed since becoming king that we spend less time together, and I just wanted to relax together like before…”

“I think if you told them that, walked them through how much you need them as your pillar of strength, told them all the ways you need them by your side as you bear this new role, hold them close and explain what they really mean to you, they'd say yes. Seriously! Why are y'all looking at me like that!!”

“Jin has a point. Even if you want to keep the event itself low-key, you have to make sure you're not so exhausted that you can't express the emotions the proposal depends on. I'm sure this isn't about them not loving you. Quite the opposite. They just want to share that vulnerability and take a moment to appreciate the constant that is your love for one another.”

Through a mouthful of cookie Licht concurs with his two older brothers, “Mhm.”

“Do you think if I tried again they would say yes?”

“If you make sure you have the emotional capacity to express yourself fully this time, then yes,” Yves answers and pours himself more tea.

“I suggest being a bit more romantic this time though. At least have a candlelit dinner on the balcony if you're adamant about proposing there. I still think bedtime snuggles— What did I say now?!”

“Thanks guys. I'll think about it. I'm sure there's something I can do that will really feel like us.”

[eddies-sweethearts]

nightshade [2]

part 1 [here]

"you two really deserve each other, you know that?" the words seethe out between thin lips. "the freak and the witch".

eddie x y/n

follows the events of s4. multichapter.

tw:parental death, bullying, show level violence/horror/paranormal, cursing, smoking and drug use. dont smoke cigarettes kids, its gross.

y/n uses she/her pronouns but is otherwise description free except for clothing aesthetics. minors dni.

🌙 taglist (let me know if you want to be added!): @peachysink

You'd never been to the high school after hours before. You're not really one to hang around for extra-curriculars or put your nonexistent school spirit on display if it's not mandated. The halls have an out of place sense of calm as you walk farther away from the packed gym. Screams and the sound of the buzzer fades as you wander the dimly lit halls. It's almost enjoyable without all the jostling and angst that usually fills the space. The only sound coming from your fingers flipping locks as you let your hand drag against rows of lockers.

You'd planned to go straight home after talking with Eddie. You really weren't interested in joining his weird little club, but, the idea of sitting at home waiting for Chrissy made your stomach knot. You spent as much time as you could wandering around town. Eventually you sat behind the hardware store, smoking the joint you'd pinched from Eddie, letting the high soothe you as you eyed a faded missing poster crumpled on the asphalt. You couldn't tell who it was for, most of the details were scratched out and you supposed with a town so riddled with missing kids and odd deaths as Hawkins, it could be anyone. Could even be the one you'd made for your mom all those years ago, before she had been found.

The joint was finished, the high lingering, but, without any other way to fill up the space between then and Chrissy, your nerves started to twist again. You traced your steps back towards the school, the masses funneling into the gymnasium just as you'd gotten passed the front gate. You took a hard right away from them, searching for the distraction that'd been promised to you. Even so, you found yourself hoping the drama room would be empty as you stood outside it. There was a half hour left until the time Eddie had shouted at you and Hellfire just didn't strike you as the kind of club where promptness was all that important. Though, Eddie also didn't strike you as the kind of person who would run an after-school club so maybe you had the wrong idea about him and his friends altogether.

You enter from the back of the theatre and muse at the scene in front of you. Meandering between aisles of ripped and broken seats, the elaborate scene set on top of the stage becomes clearer. The heavy red curtains are pulled back as if a play was about to begin, and at center stage is a long table with miniature figures spread across it. Mis-matched chairs are gathered around, with one that looks like a throne seated at the head. Candles are lit, casting an eerie, intimate mood.

“Wow,” you breathe, genuinely impressed by the display. You take the steps up to the stage, fingers gliding over the table once you come to it. You pick up one of the figurines, an elf painted in greens and browns, bow strapped to his plastic back.

Without warning Eddie emerges from stage right, holding a broken cardboard box. “Y/N!” he exclaims, clearly shocked to see you.

That familiar tightness thrums through your body, screaming about how unwanted you are. It tells you that coming here was a mistake. It was just a pity invite, despite the way Eddie is looking at you.

He drops the box down on the throne seat, lips pulling into a smile larger than you'd ever seen. “I can't believe you actually came.”

You shrug, urging yourself not to smile back. “Did you make all this?” you say, mustering as much nonchalance as you can.

“Kind of, sort of. I painted them,” he says, hands holding his elbows self-consciously, which wasn’t a word you’d normally use to describe Eddie Munson.

You smile at the figurine, placing it back with care in the exact spot Eddie had put it originally. “You never disappoint, Munson.”

“I aim to please,” he bows at you, still grinning ear to ear before turning back to his box. You watch as he rummages, eyes flicking to one of the metal seats at the right hand of the throne, unsure if you should sit or make an excuse to turn and leave just as abruptly as you'd entered. You're still a whole basketball game away from when you have to be home.

“Here,” Eddie interrupts your internal debate. He's shoving a piece of paper under your nose. “Made you a character sheet.”

"Oh no, I-" you try to refuse it but Eddie is insistent, shaking it with such vigor that air wisps around your hair. “Morgana?” you remark at the name scrawled in Eddie's handwriting at the top of the sheet as you reluctantly take it into your hands. You read what you can make out, his dreadful handwriting plus your complete lack of understanding about Dungeons & Dragons making it all look like gibberish. The numbers and stats mean nothing to you but you can read that he's made you a level 6 human sorceress.

“I thought it was fitting. Oh look, these are the spells you can use.” Eddie slides around you to look over your shoulder. His hair brushes against your cheek as he points to a section of the sheet. You zone out to his enthusiasm as he explains spell slots. His energy is infectious and has you nodding along even though you don't have a clue what he is talking about. Suddenly you're aware of the hairs on his forearms, the veins that flex faintly beneath his skin when he moves to point at the sheet, and the way the stage lights above you glint off of his rings. The urge to pull out a cigarette hits you as an unfamiliar heat rises up your neck, blushing across your cheeks. You can't quite make yourself pull away. The faintest hint of aftershave and cologne surrounds you. You don't remember him smelling like that earlier.

A booming voice shouts "HELLFIIIIIIIIRE", followed by an exceptional belch. The spell breaks and you move away from Eddie as you both turn to see his friends spill into the room. With glee, Eddie runs to high-five his friends as if he hadn’t just spent the entire school day with them.

“You guys know Y/N, right?” Eddie gestures to you.

Jeff is the first to greet you, holding his hand out to shake yours. “Epic showdown during lunch today.” You nod in silence, almost tersely, unsure of what to say.

“What's um…what's she doing here Ed?” Gareth asks from the side of his mouth, brows coming together with concern

“I asked her to come, thought she could fill in for Sinclair.”

They begin to laugh as if it was the most hilarious joke they'd ever heard. Your heart sinks again in that old familiar way. You want to brush it off so you do the only thing you really can, fold your arms across your chest and give them an empty stare that you've perfected, one that makes you look disinterested but also like the last person in the room that anyone would want to piss off.

Eddie's friend, the one who's name you don't know, chokes on his laugh, looking to Eddie for help. “No offense," he adds on hurriedly, as Eddie turns his back to take his seat at the head of the table. "I just didn't think you played. Or had ever even heard of D&D.”

You nod, almost in agreement. "I don't," you say, definitively, as you step towards Eddie to hand the sheet back to him. Eddie's eyes slide to you, ignoring that paper even as you wiggle it much like he had done to you earlier. "C'mon, I'm not playing this game, I don't even like playing Monopoly."

"Too bad," Eddie grins. He looks devilish beneath the dim candlelight, with his hands clasped just beneath his chin, eyelids heavy and commanding. It's enchanting.

Your protest is interrupted as the door flies open once more. Mike and Dustin flank the sides of a girl you'd never seen before wrapped in an American flag. Eddie's expression drops immediately as he takes in the sight before him. "Absolutely not," he says, half laughing as if he'd caught the boys trying outwit him. "This is Hellfire club, not babysitting club."

You learned the girl was Lucas Sinclair's little sister from the grilling Eddie gave her. She didn't flinch for even a second under Eddie's foreboding stance, giving back every ounce of derision he tried to throw at her. "Welcome to Hellfire," he smirks, hand coming out to shake Erica's much smaller palm.

When they break apart, you pin your character sheet against Eddie's chest. "Looks like you got your extra player." A soft smile settles onto your features, one you don't immediately shake away.

"You can stay," Eddie reaches, but you're already backing away. The demonic, commanding Dungeon Master veil shifting away for just a moment.

You respond with a stiff wave before leaving out the stage door, the darkened hallway on the other side swallowing you.

××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××

There were more cigarette butts than you'd like to admit littering the patches of grass closest to you. You had smoked them all as you sat on the front porch, waiting for Chrissy. When she finally arrived neither of you said much to the other, both waiting with held breaths until the car that dropped her off turns the corner away from your street to finally utter your cautious hellos. When you escort her into your empty home she's confronted with how familiar it all is to her. “Where's your dad?” Chrissy inquires, filling the always present silence that you've grown accustomed to.

“Working a double. Probably won't get home until tomorrow morning.” She nods an acknowledgment, a barely audible “oh”, as you rummage around the room in a haphazard attempt to tidy up.

“You want a drink or something?” you shout as you head into the bedroom, your arms full with a pile of clutter that you dump unceremoniously onto your unmade bed. On a small bookshelf in your room is the tarot deck. It had been your mother's and some of the cards are frayed but whenever you use it you felt like you were with her again.

“I'm okay,” Chrissy answers, taking a seat at the small dining table that was rarely used. You ate most of your meals alone on the couch where you could at least watch TV and fill the room with the noise and company you missed.

Sitting across from her, you begin to shuffle the deck, your hands moving smoothly as if without any thought. Her eyes flit around the room nervously like she's expecting something to pop out at her. “You sure you want to do this?” you ask her, cutting the deck in half.

Chrissy nods wordlessly, eyes following the movement of your hands, mesmerized. “I don't think it's evil,” she declares, looking up to meet your gaze. “I never thought it, or you, were either. I'm sorry that my parents freaked out that day. And then after your mom's accident…I should've spoken up when people started saying things. I'm sorry I never did.”

That was unexpected. Chrissy’s words ruminate in your mind, making you forget the cards for a moment. You straighten up, resuming your work with the deck. “It's okay,” you answer with sincerity. “It wasn't your job to stop it. People always need a freak, someone they can point to as being so fucked up that their own demented lives seem perfect. Just the way it is.”

“Yeah, but, you didn't deserve that. No one does.”

Chrissy relaxes, for the first time that day, her shoulders falling as she watches you cut the deck one last time. “Is there any particular questions you want answered? Any intention you want to set?” you ask her.

Chrissy spreads her fingers across the table, taking in a deep breath. “I just…I want to know if I'm safe. If…I'm going to be okay.”

You try not to look at her with too much concern, concentrating on her words as you pull the first card from the deck. “Ten of wands.”

“What does that mean?” she questions, sounding almost breathless.

“You're suffering, or are about to suffer, some awful burden. It's a struggle, but you know, it doesn't mean you won't come out the other end of whatever is going on.”

Chrissy stares at the image on the card, a boy with his back turned, struggling to hold up ten logs. You take her silence as permission to continue and pull the next card.

“The hanged man,” you announce, laying this card next to the first one. “You're in an uncomfortable situation, and fighting won't help you. You just have to accept whatever is coming and let it happen…but when this is paired with the wands sometimes that means you have to like have a change in careers or something. Did you pick a college yet? Maybe you should pick a different one,” you add quickly, trying to interpret the cards in the most positive light. But Chrissy just shakes her head, pointer finger running over the edge of the hanged man.

“He's going to win,” she whispers.

You're about to ask who, but the last card takes all the words from you. “The devil,” Chrissy reads before you have a chance to say anything. “You don't have to explain that one.”

“I-it doesn't always mean that,” you say, your voice stilted. It's a dark stack of cards, foreboding, but more than that, the lights in your house feel dimmer, the air heavy and sticking to your lungs. Something is wrong. “The devil represents someone or something that is toxic to you, like a bad relationship that you should reconsider. Honestly altogether, I would read this as it's time to make a big change. Jason is kind of an asshole you know, maybe you should dump him!”

The words tumble out of you quickly but Chrissy doesn't react. She doesn't seem to hear you at all. Hands spread in front of her across the table, her head is tilted up towards the ceiling, eyes clouding with white.

“Chrissy?” you say, waving your hand in front of her. “Chrissy!” you reach over, grabbing at her hand and pulling but she doesn't move.

All at once she's lifting from her seat, floating up to your ceiling and you would let out a scream if all the air hadn't been sucked out of your lungs. You're helpless, staring up at her, and at the first sound of her bones snapping you throw yourself out of the chair. On the floor, shaking as tears well up, you refuse to look back at the girl on your ceiling. Hearing the way her bones snap forces you to cover your ears and tuck into yourself. It's as if the whole house is shaking from an earthquake, lights flickering between bright brilliant white and darkness. “Stop! Stop!” you scream to no one, eyes clenching shut. A loud thump and then everything is silent. You uncurl yourself, trembling as you glance towards the table. It's toppled over, tarot cards everywhere, and Chrissy's lifeless, twisted body beside it.

You're on your feet and running out the door. You pick up your bike from where it'd been cast aside on the lawn. Throwing yourself on it, you peddle so fast your thighs and calves ache but you don't notice it. Tears blur your eyesight as you bike through backwoods and empty streets, no clear idea of where you are going, only that it is away from where you were. You're flying down an empty road when your wheel hits a pothole you hadn't seen. Tossed over the handlebars you skid against asphalt, dirt and rocks that raw your skin. Leaving your dented bike in the road you limp forward, barely making out the welcome sign at the end in front of you.

Forest Hills.

××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××

You knock at the screen door frantically. Your leg is shaking from the fall, and how fast you'd pedaled, and a throbbing pain is pushing against your head. You want to throw up and cry and be swallowed into the dirt all at the same time.

Eddie pulls the door open, still wearing his Hellfire shirt, his hair disheveled and stuck to one side of his face. His sleep laden eyes take a minute to adjust and fully recognize you. His eyes round in surprise. “Y/N?”

You hadn't thought of what to say, in fact all you'd thought was that you knew Eddie was here and that maybe you can trust him. So you knocked. You stare up into his face as his dark eyes sweep across you.

“You okay?” he surveys you, gentle as he takes your arm and pulls you into the trailer.

“Eddie, I-I…I…” you stammer, throat constricting as you choke back tears. He closes the door behind you then moves quickly to the kitchen sink where he fills a glass of water. You only realize how much you're shaking when you try to take a sip, having to hold the glass with both hands just to make it to your chapped lips.

“Is it the joint you took from me? Shit, if Rick's stash was bad--”

You shake your head, stopping Eddie mid thought. Aided by the humming glow of the kitchen light, Eddie can't stop assessing the state you're in. There is dirt smeared across your forehead, a scrape that broke the skin of your palm, and the ripped fabric at your thigh is splotched with blood. He walks passed you, turning into the bathroom to dig through a cabinet and turn on the faucet. He pokes his head back out into the small hallway. “C'mere,” he beckons and you listen, leaving the half drunk glass behind.

Taking a seat on the toilet of the cramped bathroom you let Eddie take your hand. He perches over you, half-standing, half-sitting on the edge of the sink. You stare at a piece of peeling wallpaper, numb to the sensation of the warm, wet cloth Eddie is kneading over your scraped palm. You hardly hear the sound of ripping paper as Eddie peels open a bandage. He spits out the excess paper, pulling out the bandage with his teeth, his left hand refusing to let go of yours. All you can do is stare at the peeling paper, trying desperately to control your breathing, afraid that if you let your eyes stray you'll see Chrissy stuck to the ceiling like a specter. Eddie runs his thumb across the bandage, making sure it's in place before moving to kneel in front of you.

With the same wet cloth in hand he examines the cut at your thigh. He sweeps it over your exposed skin with as much tenderness as he had shown your hand. You inhale sharply, pulling your leg back when he makes contact. “Sorry,” he murmurs, placing his hand on your calf to draw your leg back towards him. “You really banged yourself up, L/N,” he frets, cleaning the area as slowly and carefully as he can. The way he touches you is so kind that it makes you break, and you clap a hand to your mouth to keep yourself from screaming as the sobs finally burst forth.

“Hey, hey,” Eddie reaches up, rubbing at your forearm as you retreat further into your hands. Moon-shaped indents mark your forehead where your nails dig into the skin. You have half a mind to claw your skin off, to cause as much pain on the outside as you're feeling inside. The washcloth discarded, Eddie wraps his fingers around your wrists, coaxing you to release your grip. You blink at him through the tears, gulping for air through your tears. Eddie shifts, reaching behind to pull out his black bandana. He brushes it across your cheeks, wiping the tears away with one hand while the other rubs soft circles against your wrist. “Do you want to tell me what's going on?” he pleads quietly.

You sigh, wiping the remnants of snot and tears with the back of your hand. “I wish I could,” you finally say, voice quivering. “You'd never believe me.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Yeah,” you sniff, letting your head fall back to the wall behind you. “That bad. But I-I swear Eddie, I didn't do it. It'll be impossible to believe but I really fucking swear I didn't.”

Eddie grabs a roll of gauze from the open first aid kit he'd been working from. Carefully, he wraps the fabric around your thigh, fastening it with a piece of tape he rips off with his teeth. After he stands back up Eddie rinses out the used washcloth, wringing out the excess water before handing it over to you. You wash the dirt and tears from your face, steadying your breathes with each wipe. When you finally stand he's looking at you from where he's posted up against the doorway.

“I have to get away from here,” you say, knowing it's the truth. There's no way the cops aren't going to pin Chrissy's death on you, and in a town that already hates you, you don't see the hope of a jury of your peers coming to any other conclusion than your guilt. Your only chance is to keep running. “Do you have any cash? Enough for a bus ticket out of here?”

“Y/N…” His says your name desperately. “Whatever it is, it can't be bad enough that you have to skip town.”

“You'll find out soon enough. And then you'll hate me…probably hate yourself too for even helping me this much.” You move passed him, heading for the front door.

“Wait,” Eddie follow, putting his hand out to pull yours away from the tearing the door open. “Maybe there's something else I can do.”

Eddie usually drives like a maniac but he's taking every turn with the utmost caution. Sitting in the passenger seat, your body is beginning to give into the exhaustion. You struggle to stay awake. As you drift in and out of sleep you lose track of which direction Eddie is driving. The van is uncharacteristically quiet without Eddie's music screeching through the speakers.

“We're here,” his voice pulls you from uneasy sleep. You realize through the fog that he's parked the van in front of a house out by Lover's Lake. You've never really hung around this area so it's unfamiliar and hidden in the night's darkness. When Eddie opens the door all you hear is frogs and crickets croaking through the quiet. Your feet hit the dirt as you look around, bewildered. “Reefer Rick's,” Eddie answers your unasked question. “He's locked up, so I figured if you were worried anyone was going to come looking for you, this would be the last place they'd think to search.”

You stay rooted to your spot, watching as Eddie walks up to the front door, kicking up the welcome mat to pull out a key. He waves it at you with an accomplished smile, and you follow him as he walks down the path to the boat shed.

“It's not exactly cozy, but it's a good place to stay low while we figure out what to do next.”

“Eddie…” you start but he's putting a finger up to you, signaling for you to wait as he walks back to the van. Your voice trails as you take it all in. The soft sound of water lapping around the boat tied up in the middle soothes you. You draw yourself towards a corner, looking out the small dirty window into the darkness. Eddie re-enters, a pile of blankets in his arms.

“Here, this should be good for now,” he lays them out like a bed.

He lingers at the door, halfway between leaving and staying. “Maybe you shouldn’t be alone tonight…I can stay.”

Yes, you think while simultaneously shaking your head no. You can’t tell if the look on his face is disappointment or relief. “You’ve done so much for me already.”

“Okay, well, just don’t disappear on me okay? I’ll come back in the morning with some food, fresh bandages and stuff. I can stop over at your place if you want me to pick up clothes or I don’t know, girl stuff you might need.”

You shake your head fervently, the idea of anyone stepping foot in that house to find what’s there filling you with dread. Your poor father…the thought of him coming home, exhausted and overworked to find a dead girl, and you missing. Your eyes start to blur and you pull into yourself, gliding down the wall to sit atop Eddie’s blankets. “I’m f-fine,” you try to hide the shake in your voice, not being strong enough to look at Eddie to see if he notices. If you look at him, you’re sure to burst, again. “Thank you.”

Pulling the blankets around you and turning to your side, you miss the way Eddie’s eyes linger on you. When he finally pulls the door closed, the click of the lock causes a tightness in your chest. The dark surrounds you, nothing but the soft water, somberly lapping against the boat to interrupt your thoughts. The exhaustion fully consumes you, eventually, and you fade into sleep.

[that-salty-ghost]

As Above, So Below | Chapter 18 [Bonus Chpt]: Picked Apart [Viktor POV] | Viktor [Arcane] // Male Reader | Rating: M Throughout

A/N: So, this is more of a bonus chapter. I’m trying out Viktor’s POV(-ish) for this one since it’s just him and Sky. I honestly love them and wanted them to share some sort of comradery while they try to achieve the same goal. I was almost going to write this as a short drabble, but it actually fit into the story pretty well so this is where it landed. Hope you enjoy!

// 🎧 Mood Music: Casanova by San Fermin (for Sky <3) 🎧 \\

While lunch wasn’t exactly something he was craving, catching up with Sky was. How long had it been? Five years? Six now? Viktor had lost track of the last time the two of them actually got together to talk.

Sure, they’d run into each other in passing. Exchanged the usuals like “how’ve you been, any word on requirements for admissions” and the like.

Small talk.

But nothing like the handful of times they got to play together as kids—building forts out of whatever they could get their hands on or trying to catch frogs and other critters in the runoff. He wasn’t really sure how they had grown apart, or even that it was intentional at all.

When it came down to it, she already had a close group of friends before they met. And he was often off the grid, learning from his mentor while he helped take care of Rio…until he couldn’t anymore.

He never really did see things quite the same way after that. Maybe she noticed?

The memories grew more distant each day that passed. And while he still had a few stops to make for finding a lab space, Viktor wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity to finally catch up with an old friend.

…even if that meant trying to consume more food after eating one of the biggest meals he’s had in years.

“You’ve barely touched your plate, are you sure you’re feeling alright?”

Sky’s attention to detail was always something Viktor admired. He was glad to see that hadn’t faltered after all these years, even if he now had to come up with an excuse since you took off without mentioning how much you cooked just over an hour ago… a coincidence he was sure…

“Yes, of course.” A breathy chuckle followed his words to lighten the mood as he reached for the bread in front of him. “But catch me up on how you’ve been. You look to be doing well.”

Viktor manages to take a bite and moves his fork around his plate to space the food out—an attempt to give the illusion that he’s consumed more than he actually has.

She eyes his plate suspiciously before answering. “I am! Everything’s been panning out for the most part. Just moved into my own place last year and have been an assistant at one of the labs topside a few days a week.”

“That’s great, I’m not surprised in the slightest.” Viktor’s voice was beaming with how genuinely impressed he was with her successes. His excitement and praise made it impossible for Sky to hide the smile etching its way onto her face. “Will you continue that work while you’re at Sylas’s?”

Her nose crinkled while she shrugged. “As much as I would like to, I just don’t think I’ll have the time anymore.”

“I would assume that commute isn’t the fastest.”

“It’s not. And the elevators aren’t always easy to access either.” Sky’s voice sounds strained, like this was a frequent occurrence that constantly plagued her punctuality and Viktor fails to keep his small chuckle to himself.

She chuckles back and he takes another bite of bread to cover up the sound.

“I’m serious! You wouldn’t believe how many apology coffees I’ve had to buy for the scientists up there.”

“Well, if you’re late to any of our progress check-ins—[Y/n] is a talented barista. He might be able to help.”

Sky’s expression shifted as she thought on that. This morning proved to be particularly taxing for her. She had been stressed about finding the right location to set up her temporary lab and thought she had found it. While the space was perfect, she still felt bad about Sylas going off the rails in front of her friend.

“That’s good to know…I didn’t take him for a barista.”

Viktor’s eyes move down to his plate, still picking around and moving the food under his fork. “I didn’t either…although technically he’s only a bartender now.” He flashed his teeth in an exaggerated grimace when he thought about Syd firing you at your own home. “But I have a feeling there’s more to him than he lets on.”

Sky’s eyebrow slowly raises at his hypothesis. “What do you mean?”

He inhales through his mouth when he looks up at Sky. As much as he knew he could confide in her, he gave his word that he wouldn’t talk about anything he learned the day she visited.

The first time she arrived, she came alone. Viktor’s parents asked him to go play while they talked and he was happy to find Sky skipping stones on the water outside. He loved watching how the rocks created more and more ripples as they traveled further and further out and was relieved that he didn’t have to be by himself that day.

“Hey Viktor!” Her smile was wide when she held her hand out for him to join.

“You’re really good at that.” He picked a rock up from her hand and tried to copy her technique, only to find himself disappointed when his stone sunk as soon as it hit the water.

“Here, like this.” She repositioned his hand so his palm faced up and handed off another stone. “Now try.”

That was all it took for the two of them to send stones into the distance together until Sky had to go back home. It was a small pocket of time that has stuck with him for years.

“What are you doing out here today anyway?” She asked before she turned to leave.

“There’s someone visiting my parents. I don’t think I’m supposed to hear what they’re saying.”

“…And you’re not going to spy on them?”

“…”

“Good luck!”

As much as it felt like a bad idea, Viktor’s parents never kept him away like that before. Whatever they were talking about had to be good. And even though he wished Sky could’ve come with him while he snooped, he thought he could at least fill her in on the conversation later…

Fast-forward to nearly 10 years later—even with her sitting right in front of him…he still couldn’t talk about it.  

He almost got lost in his thoughts and shook his head when he tried to answer Sky’s question—looking from her back down to his plate while he resorted to other curiosities he’s noticed.

“It’s hard to explain...”

“I can keep up.”

“Heh. Yes, I’m well aware of that.”

She doesn’t say anything, only raises her brows as she waits for him to go into more detail.

“The way he moves is…” He pursed his lips together tight enough to cause him to squint while he tried to explain his thoughts. “Very fluid. I’ve seen him jump over a couple of high-top bars and he barely makes a sound when he lands.”

He shrugs while he wondered if that’s just a quirk, but then looks up at the ceiling with a sigh. “And when I met him, he kind of…” He chuckles before finishing his sentence. “Ehh…fell into a scrap pile.”

“That sounds like a rough day.” She laughed, but Viktor looked even more baffled when he nodded.

“It should’ve been, but the way he sprung up looked like he’s had practice recovering quickly.” He shook his head, grappling with if what he was saying even made sense as he looked back down at his plate.

That’s when his mind started to wander.

From catching a glimpse of the muscles lining your arms while you were putting chairs up at The Last Drop to feeling how strong your chest and back were when he held you to keep you from falling over. Even how solid your forearm felt when he used it for some extra leverage at the coffeehouse…

It was night and day from what you looked like in your baggy clothes.

The illusion of you appearing smaller in your loose-fitting attire mirrored the deceitful amount of food picked apart on Viktor’s plate and he couldn’t help but wonder if that was also intentional on your part.

His mind had traveled a bit too far as he tried to shake away how you felt pressed up against him—the fear of color rising to his cheeks in front of Sky becoming all too real.

He tried not to think about how badly he wanted to kiss you—so much so that he even leaned in to see if you would meet him halfway, but refrained once you looked down and away so quickly.

“Did you just call me…Vik?” It was strange to hear—he’d never had a nickname before and almost missed it entirely after he found himself flush against your chest when you stumbled into him. This moniker sounded decidedly better than “two-ski brewski” from earlier and he couldn’t ignore how softly your breath lingered on the final consonant when you said it.

“Did I? I probably…forgot how to pronounce the rest of your name.”

Given the circumstances, he was dangerously close to being in a similar state.

The smell of alcohol mixed with smoke and some sort of earthy, herbal scent—which he later found out was tobacco—was completely intoxicating. The way your thumb leisurely rolled circles over his bruised hip had him tightening his grip around you with each small movement. The inability to trace whose heartbeat was whose as your chest rose against his own made him all but forget how to pronounce his own name as well.

“Two syllables got you tongue tied?”

You felt positively divine in his arms. His disheveled hair just barely feathering against your forehead, drifting lightly with each staggered breath. Your nose nearly brushed his when you looked up and he had to force his grip on the bar to loosen while his chest tightened. His eyes scanned yours, unsure of whether he should release his hold or pull you even closer.

…until he watched your gaze shift from his eyes down to his lips.

He felt his expression soften, his stomach drop, and his fingertips take the lead on the bar top as he leaned forward, wanting nothing more than to close the mere inches that kept your lips from his…until your gaze quickly dropped to the floor.

“Sorry for butchering your name.”

He wondered how he misread that situation. He wondered if you even noticed. He wondered if he had even been too bold holding your hand at The Last Drop…which only raised another query for him to voice.

“And his hands are so rough, I don’t think he can get callouses like that with a coffee mach—”

Viktor cut himself off once he brought his eyes down to face Sky. He got too lost in his analysis and slipped up. A knot formed in his chest when he anticipated what she was about to say as she moved her glasses back up the bridge of her nose.

“How do you know his hands are rough?” Her smirk ate through his thought process at a rate that made it difficult to sift for a reasonable explanation.

“I…was helping him repair a distiller.” He couldn’t look her in the if he wasn’t being completely honest. “I noticed when he handed me some…saddles.”

Sky’s eyebrows were both raised with disbelief while she nodded with a muted “Mmhm.”

“…”

“…”

Viktor shifts his gaze back to her and exhales slowly when he realizes that she wasn’t buying it. She saw right through him and he knew it.

“You look happy around him.” Her tone just barely betrays her, the slightest twinge of sadness striking her statement. She pretended to clear her throat to make it sound unintentional.

Viktor has been nothing but kind and supportive of all of her achievements, supporting him now was something she wanted to…no, needed to do. Both for him, and for herself if he was seeing someone.

It wasn’t a question, but he nods in response anyway. “I am.” A small grin tugs at his lips when he realizes that Landon said the same thing about you this morning when you and Remy were out back.

“Good. You deserve someone who makes you feel that way.” She meant every word. Even if it hurt that it wasn’t her that could do it, she was glad that he found someone who did.

                                                                        -

After saying their goodbyes, good lucks, and good to see you’s, Viktor played the conversation back in his head while he walked to the next potential space that he could set up for his work.

“S’pose I owe you my thanks young man.”

“For what?”

“You must be what’s got [Y/n] back in the kitchen here. I haven’t seen him smilin’ like that in years.”

“I’m not sure I follow…”

“That kid doesn’t cook for just anyone. Only does it for folks he cares about and he doesn’t let too many get that close to begin with.”

“You think he…cares about me?”

“Hah, the way he looks at you? I think it’s more than ‘care’ he’s feelin’.”

“How are you so sure?”

“I watched him grow up. Boy…what he done come from...ain’t right.” Landon shook his head but continued without adding more to that statement.“But he’s had to pick up quick—always knows exactly what he’s doin’, keeps his cards close to his chest, and could haggle with the devil himself if he wanted to…then you walk down here and I see him buckle for the first time in my life. Couldn’t even finish his damn sentence.”

—"Not another WORD about the FUCKING EGGS, Rem!”

“Speak of that devil. I didn’t say anything about any of this—including the spicy jam that you need to try, y’hear?”

“I hear.”

“Good lad. And you let me know when you come back so I can eat good again.”

Viktor managed a laugh before Landon pretended to tell him a story about you. He had no idea if it was even true or not, but admired how swift the man’s mind moved to fly under the radar regardless.

“—So we find the poor little fella stuck up in that tree all by his lonesome. Wouldn’t call for help from nobody for hours, just sat up there like gravity was going to give up at any moment…”

It was a quick conversation, maybe three minutes max. And while it didn’t settle his uncertainty about what happened last night, it did provide just enough information for him to take a chance on asking you out one more time and for him to learn two important things.

1. To his surprise, Landon was right about you.

2. He might be the one person that knows you better than you even know yourself.

----------

A/N: There's a pinned post on my page with even more homosexuality 😌

[shaelashaela]

The King's Curse, ch. 3

[reading time] 5 mins.

Overhead, the sun beat down upon me, making for a strange combination of sensations. As I travelled east, the air all about me grew colder, and the grass crunched under my boots. But the sunlight was harsh and burned my skin. Knowing the weather would be chill, I brought a heavy cloak with me, but I constantly took it off and put it back on again as my body temperature oscillated. I hadn’t even made it to the Queen’s court yet, and annoyance already soured my mood.

I shielded my eyes with my hand and lifted my face towards the mountain. Throughout the day it had steadily grown closer to me as I moved east, and now that I was nearly at its foot, I could see it was not as tall as I imagined. Still, it was impressive and solitary among the fields of snow. It felt unnatural to me.

Thirty-seven, I counted, passing by a small stone stump. Worn with age, they were possibly some sort of road marker at one point. What exact pictograms or letters they once bore was unclear, but they led me in the right direction, fulfilling their ancient purpose as landmarks.

Most of the journey crossed a vast plain, but now as I entered the mountain’s shadow, the path cut through rock, hemmed in on either side. Twists and turns obscured my line of sight. From here on out, I would be quite vulnerable to ambush. I didn’t like it one bit, and my breath shortened. What might go wrong in there? If I ran into some random dark elf, would they kill me before I even reached my destination?

For a long time, I stood on the road, unable to urge myself forward. Wintervale suddenly felt far more inhospitable than it had that same morning.

Clip, clop. Clip, clop.

I heard but could not see. My breath caught in my throat, and I froze in place. Where were they?

Clip, clop. Clip, clop.

My head turned every which way, desperate to find the source.

Clip, clop. Clip, clop.

Before my very eyes, shadow coalesced and gave form to a black stallion, its hooves clacking on the rough cobblestones. Slowly, the darkness gathered, rising like smoke, and before long, the horse gained a rider. At first I saw only his greaves of black metal, twisted and bent like some great hand crushed them on to his body. Then his breastplate appeared in a similar gruesome fashion. Finally, his face, ashen and stern, came to rest upon his shoulders. Pale blond hair draped over his shoulders, wild and clumped together with sweat.

His steely eyes lanced my very soul. “State thy business,” he said plainly, his voice deep and even. The rider’s dialect was strange to me, unlike any Elvish variant I’d ever heard.

Nothing in the world could have compelled me to move or speak in that moment. My legs shook, and I feared my body would fail me completely.

“State thy business,” he repeated. “Or begone.”

Knowing that he didn’t intend to murder me right away returned some of my senses to me. I managed a soft reply. “The Queen has summoned me.”

His demeanour was inscrutable. “Thou art the one known as Sylvie Shaestari?”

I nodded dumbly.

Clip, clop. Clip, clop. The fearsome black stallion stepped closer to me, and his rider leaned forward, offering me a gauntleted hand. “Allow me to escort thee.”

Not knowing what else to do, I took his hand, and he hoisted me up so that I could climb into the saddle behind him. Once I was in place, I quickly withdrew my hand from his grip. My skin burned.

“Ow! Are you wearing iron?”

He urged his steed to turn and head eastward. “My apologies. ’Tis my burden.”

I dared not ask what he meant by that.

“My name is Nepenthe. I am bound to Queen Morrigan, and I will bring thee before her.”

“You have my gratitude.”

It was a genuine thanks, as I didn’t want to proceed deep into Wintervale without an escort. Still, his demeanour confused me. I looked down and noticed he carried a whip as his weapon—a long, coiled snake at his hip crafted from a series of vertebrae. I shuddered and hoped they weren’t elf bones.

The horse carried us deeper into the mountain pass, all featureless and grey. There was so little sign of life here. “Where is everyone?”

“We shall come upon a settlement anon. My men also ride with us.”

His men? I looked around, but saw nothing. They must also know whatever magic he used to remain completely invisible. I shuddered again. I didn’t like the thought of people watching me when I couldn’t see them myself.

Nepenthe’s steed jostled me, and I tried my best to hold on without touching the rider’s armour. I felt odd in that moment, as never did I imagine I might one day ride through Wintervale while having a perfectly civil conversation with a dark elf. Actually, I had to ask myself at that point: was he a dark elf? I narrowed my eyes and scrutinized him, but to my surprise, he had no aura of magic about him at all! What could that mean? Was he disconnected from the land entirely?

“Something troubles thee, m’lady.”

I jumped. How did he know? I was behind him. “I realize now that I know so little of the Winter Court. All my life I was told it was the domain of lunatics and hedonists. My one and only experience with dark elves before today reinforced that.”

He must’ve smiled. I could hear it in his voice. “Do I disappoint, m’lady?”

“Sorry, I meant no offence.”

“Thou didst not offend. In truth, thou remindest me of mine own daughter. She was quite inquisitive.”

“Oh? Maybe I could meet her.”

“Nay, m’lady. She is dead two centuries.”

I pursed my lips together and cursed myself for walking into a sensitive topic. I briefly considered apologizing, but decided it would be better if we completed the ride in silence.

My curiosity got the better of me, though. Something didn’t add up. “How… how old are you?”

“Over four hundred winters, m’lady. Forgive me, but I cannot recall with precision.”

What? I never heard of an elf living past two hundred fifty, save for the monarchs. How quickly I learned that I knew far less about my own home and people than I realized.

Deeper into the east we rode, and it felt to me an eternity. The sun sank lower behind us, though there was still some daylight left. My escort wasn’t overly chatty, but he did point out some landmarks to me along the way. True to his word, we also passed through a city, or a town, I wasn’t quite sure. Dozens of little grey houses flanked the road, but the populous ducked into their doorways as we wandered through. I couldn’t get a good feel for how many elves lived there.

“Why do they hide?”

Nepenthe paused briefly before answering, the first time he hesitated in our conversations. “They considereth me an ill omen, m’lady. I cannot fault them. I am the Queen’s hound, after a fashion. A demon to them.”

“Oh? You seem perfectly polite to me.”

“Thou art kind for saying so, m’lady. Let us hope thou remainest in Her Majesty’s good graces. I would loathe to hunt thee.”

Now I regretted asking. I still did not know what to expect of Queen Morrigan, and I had no doubt that if Nepenthe put his mind to it, he could end my existence without breaking a sweat. He was far too serious and straightforward to take lightly.

We reached the edge of the town, and the road ended at the foot of a hill. Stone steps ascended it to the top, where I could see a series of magnificent marble columns, but no roof. Halfway up, green grass gave way to powdery snow. Was this where the Queen held court? Out in the open?

My escort brought his steed to a full stop. “This is where we part ways, m’lady. The Queen awaits thee at the apex.”

He dismounted first with little effort despite his heavy iron armour. Then he reached up and took me by the waist, setting me gently on the ground. It felt weird to be handled like a princess, but I was thankful that I did not need to touch his gauntleted hand again.

I bowed slightly at the waist. “Thank you, sir knight.”

He took his horse by the reins and headed back the way we came. “I am no knight, m’lady. Remember that.”

What an odd set of parting words. I felt pity for him, though I couldn’t say why. Despite his even tone, he sounded sad to me. Perhaps he was also a victim of the Queen? Either way, I shook those thoughts from my head and turned to look up the multitude of stairs that were now the only thing between me and destiny. Briefly, I prayed I would see Rayna again someday before planting my foot on the first step.

[thesinglesjukebox]

BRAINFREEZE - "DEBUT"

Michael takes us from IRL to URL with this Chinese internet collective...

[6.27]

Michael Hong: The last few years have been difficult for physical connection in China; it's only logical that groups like the collective Shopping Mood and the four-piece BRAINFREEZE have formed from the Internet. Their debut EP attempts to crib the stylings of what they believe to be "hyperpop," a term that has become a sort of catch-all in the country -- as evidenced by "idol" artist Deng Dian, whose label, Sony Music China, cites hyperpop influences on one of his last projects, despite it being only a bit uptempo. But "Debut" is too clean to completely fall within the lineage of hyperpop. It's pretty girl music, music you put on in the background as you shit-talk and sweet-talk with your friends on a Friday night. BRAINFREEZE points the swirling lyric "trust this dream" at one another as if in promise of connection, whether that's physical or something more, and deepen it with a final tossed-out "baby, please don't feel like you are useless." Over pretty synths, each member is painted golden. Something's endearing about their broken English; they reject outside voices, but the syrupiness of the song makes their middle-finger salutes lack any bite. And they tie themselves together with the promise of jumping off the roof, a sweet sentiment for how it's so non-adventurous. A lot of my favourite songs this year -- María José Llergo's "Tencontrao," Subsonic Eye's "Yearning," Leah Dou's "Monday," Pasocom Music Club & Mei Takahashi's "Day After Day" -- take a circular phrase, verse, melody, or even just a motif and twist it into a spiral. Llergo's "look at me and tell me you love me" on its own is impactful, but it's the repetition, the demand for reassurance, that feels like love. "Day After Day" reframes the circular movement of its undercurrent with one line, "but I realized / those small, boring moments / can also shine / so bright that it melts my heart," as if regarding each passing flicker of the sun and moon with a contented sigh. I get a similar feeling from the hook of "Debut." That pitch-shifted "trust this dream" is woven in a graceful circle, as if in realization that this is not a dream but reality, and also in understanding that there's more beautiful work to come. It's no accident that the music video for "Debut" starts with BRAINFREEZE in a physical embrace. The song is the corporeal manifestation of their digital bond, a helpless spiral into a deeper affection. [9]

Taylor Alatorre: The title of "DEBUT," as well as the "trust this dream" refrain and the synthetic twee motifs, suggest a hopeful yet halting first step in the direction of new encounters. This perhaps explains why its most palpable signs of urgency and its willingness to risk offending the listener are shunted off to the final 30 seconds, by which point an ambivalent first impression has already been made. Never mind the dream for now -- the song doesn't seem to trust itself. [5]

John S. Quinn-Puerta: It's frenetic without being completely overstuffed, stimulating if not a tad bit unintelligible. I think I trust it. Maybe. [6]

Nortey Dowuona: I think it's kinda telling all the lyrics are in English. They think we're a damn lick. They're right. [8]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: Exactly the kind of clumsy single that I'll always be charmed by. All the voices, and all the ideas they're clamoring to express, spill out of "Debut" with such a feverish glee that I can forgive the slight feeling that there's about a minute too much song. It helps that the core vocals-and-synth hook is sturdy enough to withstand the chaos that gradually envelops the track. [7]

Joshua Minsoo Kim: A bit too Spotify Playlist-core for me, but any modishness on display is offset by how easy it all goes down. [6]

Ian Mathers: This is a lot more chill than I expected from a band called BRAINFREEZE: a perverse statement on multiple levels. Not least because I like the floatiest bits the best. [6]

Crystal Leww: BRAINFREEZE's EP is like a sampler through what "hyperpop" has evolved into in the last 24 or so months, in sometimes horrifying ways, but "Debut" gets it right by letting the girls set the tone so that the boys can be soft and pretty, too. I want to bury myself in the chest of the "get away, get away, get away...", which seems to drift off into a tucked-away dimension. By the time that the track snaps into something more harsh in the final section, I'm already in the clouds. [7]

Will Adams: It's got that Porter Robinson vibe: hyperpop swaddled in gauze and delivered with a face-holding-back-tears-emoji smile. "Debut" is pretty to listen to, ephemeral once it ends. [6]

Katherine St Asaph: Finally, hyperpop gets its own Owl City. [4]

Micha Cavaseno: Listening to stuff like this makes me think that PM Dawn were perhaps too many decades too early (and too many levels un-Good) to be able to achieve their dreams. "Debut" is a perfect slight of disposable sugarfeather. I couldn't tell you what any of the vocalists do or try that's worth mentioning, and the production is a nice crochet of nostalgic pastels that isn't strong enough to support the weight of scrutiny. Oh well, perhaps next time! [5]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox ]

[kylesvariouslistsandstuff]

Lots of scuttlebutt on WISH's early critical reception. What's it at on that... Errr... Moldy Potatoes website? A little above Moldy?

Whatever.

Rotten Tomatoes, one must realize, is merely an aggregate. Should WISH land somewhere in the low-to-high 60s, it simply means that that's the percentage of critics that gave the picture a passing grade. A movie could have a 100% on there, and all the reviews would be at B-... It really doesn't mean anything.

And chances are, you might be part of the lower percentage that actually likes the picture... And this applies to everything, not just WISH. It's why I wince at all these anti-critics screeds, all this harping on critics as being these snobs who look down on us, when that really isn't the case. You do get some real doozies every now and then, but that's more of a reflection of the individual critic than the world of film criticism as a whole. Like that putz who whined that THE MARVELS was a movie made for tween girls.

Anyways, I'm indifferent on WISH for the most part. I will see it soon, all I hope is that I get something entertaining out of it. That it'll have at least one thing I'll take home with me after seeing it. If I don't like it, no big deal, I'll just wait and see what the next WDAS movie is. They count 62 films as part of their little "canon", obviously not every single one is going to work for a person.

And maybe all that centennial stuff and "a story a CENTURY in the making" fluff was all so silly in the end, because a big tribute and tons of Easter eggs to all Disney classics made over the course of DECADES in one movie does not equal a movie everyone will love... It does not equal the "ultimate Disney film", because there's an "ultimate Disney film" for everyone. For me, it's probably FANTASIA, but that depends on my mood. On another day I say, "Nah, it's actually DUMBO" or I'll be like "You know what? PINOCCHIO. Just, near-perfect."

But this movie will likely mean something to some random 8-year-old out there, and that's pretty cool honestly.

One of the lowest-percentage Disney animated movies on Rotten is 2003's BROTHER BEAR. Below the 40s. That's very, very low. Near-tied with CHICKEN LITTLE. At age 11-12, I was *all over* that film... And then went through a phase where I agreed with everyone that it was an extremely flawed Disney animated effort... Now I'm like, "There's a lot of stuff I love in this movie, and that's all that matters." If I find gold nuggets in a mud puddle, I'm satisfied.

For me, if I'm not really into WISH, it'll just be another movie that I saw. I own - on physical media, look at me go! - all the WDAS films made from 2007 (MEET THE ROBINSONS) to now, so... That's impressive. I can't tell Jennifer Lee or WDAS filmmakers what to do, really. There might be things I'd personally love to see come from their recent movies, but I don't want to act all entitled. To me, the studio has become a "legacy" brand of sorts, and that their movies are really being made for the families that streamed ENCANTO, MOANA, and the FROZEN movies a gazillion times. I hear they test screen these movies for little kids and hold back on bite, which I'm not really a fan of, myself... But clearly it's working for someone! I'll just look elsewhere. But even then, I still find things of merit in films like STRANGE WORLD and ENCANTO and RAYA, so that's nice!

Like, where does FROZEN stand right now on Rotten Tomatoes? What's the percentage of critic that gave that film a good grade?

It has a 90%...

Fun fact about me: I'm really not all that big of a fan of FROZEN. I must have a cold, cold heart in needed of melting.

And I lived the FROZEN fever of 2014. How it was touted as the greatest Disney film ever! The most progressive! That it took everything about the studio's past fairy tale adaptations and turned them all on their heads! How it was just the ultimate Disney film!

I didn't think so. And this was back when it came out, not after the hype gave way to backlash. I don't think it's a bad film, nowhere near.

I just thought that it was alright, it has some standout stuff in it and some great songs. I always liked TANGLED, WRECK-IT RALPH, and BIG HERO 6 more, myself. Heck, I like the much-contested FROZEN II more than FROZEN! Basically, the critical response doesn't matter to me in the long run. I always like to listen to what people have to say about movies, even if it's in contrast to how I feel! So long as it's well-founded and backed by something valid. And not half of the uninformed, reductionist hyperbole that was showered on FROZEN.

So... Yeah... I may love WISH, I may outright despise it. I may like it or dislike it. Not an animated film, but a recent film I saw that had pretty good critical reception, over 80 on Rotten, and did excellently at the box office... That I personally borderline HATED... Was SMILE. But I'm one person, and lots of other folks dug that movie, sooooo... Again, the scores and the overall reception/consensus is meaningless to me. It's often meaningless to audiences, too. THE SUPER MARIO BROS. MOVIE got very mixed reviews all across the board, but it made a killing at the box office. ELEMENTAL's generally positive reception and passing reviews couldn't stop it from having the best legs for a Pixar film since TOY STORY... Yep, since TOY STORY. CARS, long thought to be a Pixar dud, seems to be rehabilitated as a bona fide classic of the studio's early lineup. I always loved it, myself.

Anyways, yeah. All meaningless. I'll be seeing it as soon as I can. Ditto TROLLS BAND TOGETHER, and all three of those movies don't have the best scores, either.

[anthonybialy]

Active Living by Maurita Tam

Maurita Tam was a month into her career and 22 years into her life.  A recent college graduate who had already succeeded as a human looked to have countless possibilities ahead.  But she seized every chance that came her way in the time she had.  She shined while radiating elation to those around her, which is the most anyone could hope with however many days are available.

She thrived in a city that was hers.  True New Yorker Maurita was born in Manhattan before going on to graduate from Stuyvesant High School, which is one of the system’s most prestigious.  The sort of impressive student universities dream of could have gone to any number of them.  Amherst College was the lucky one. The fortunate host to the talented enrollee granted her an earned economics degree in May 2001.

The conclusion of her collegiate career in Massachusetts meant heading back home.  Maurita was just getting started at her livelihood as an executive assistant for the Aon Corporation, a professional services and management consulting firm.  The position served as a solid career opener that undoubtedly would have led to further terrific advancement.  She was near the top literally while working on the 99th floor of the World Trade Center’s Tower 2.

Maurita appreciated where she was in multiple senses.  As a sharer of thoughts online in an era when doing so involved more complications than heading to social media apps using a glowing pocket screen, she posted on September 10 from her college community’s blogging system about seeing a rainbow over Manhattan from her floor in the sort of treasured moment that illustrated her exuberance in living while taking on tremendous significance soon afterward.

Her company alone suffered incomprehensibly horrible loss: Maurita was one of 176 Aon employees murdered on September 11, 2001.  They contributed much at work during the course of living their lives.  She was also one of three Amherst alumni lost after pursuing goals following time spent learning.

Everything had seemed to be coming into place for someone who dedicated herself to maximizing her numerous gifts.  A feasible journey to southern Manhattan worked out both before and after graduation.  Maurita commuted to high school then her job from the New Springville neighborhood of Staten Island near the borough’s center.  The Tams made it their home after settling there in 1984.  She was living with her family as she began her career.

It’s a blessing to see someone excel in multiple facets of multiple areas.  Her activities outside of the classroom sound like a scriptwriter was overenthusiastic about creating a well-rounded gifted student character, yet they were all real.  Maurita spoke six languages while holding a yellow belt in taekwondo.  And she spread music, too.  A college singer who also played piano and clarinet, she was a member of the Concert Choir and Women’s Chorus at Amherst.  Maurita spent summer 2001 on a European tour with the former before embarking on her professional life as she saw a continent while singing within it.

A busy human is at rest in Kensico Cemetery in Valhalla, which is in Westchester County north of New York City. You can additionally find her honored name on Panel S-53 of the South Pool alongside her uncle Wai Ching Chung, who also perished that morning and shares ground in the same cemetery.

Her personality remains in memories of those graced by her presence.  Maurita passed along ebullience just by being herself.  So many people who were fortunate enough to spend time with her cherish having had the chance.  Maurita exuded happiness in an infectious manner.  Her intermediate school classmate Jennifer Rajewski summed her up in an online guestbook by noting “I never saw her in a bad mood ever.”  What could be a more heartening approach?  Displaying an admirable manner is the most anyone can do when given the opportunity.

Maurita did life right no matter how many years it featured.  She achieved a tremendous amount in and out of class along with in and out of school.  Her record in subjects remains as impeccable as it is in extracurriculars.  A notably capable person’s most notable triumph was spreading joy. Those in her orbit posses fond remembrances of someone with tremendous potential who leaves a legacy of wonderful actuality.  She will always have graced innumerable lives during her short and amazing time.

It’s easy to speak in platitudes about living to the fullest because we don’t know when life will end.  But Maurita actually did so by exhibiting joie de vivre in the everyday.  She lived with uncommon zeal we should try to make common in her honor.  Maurita’s accomplishments merely begin by listing her hobbies.

[thearchivistsjournal]

Day 81,

We’ll be getting back to Siren Overlook in a couple of hours.  

We spent the morning packing up and moving things down to the boarding archway.  We’ve replaced the food we brought with us with an equivalent volume of books and documents.  And that doll from Priscilla’s room.  We wanted to bring some of those unhung paintings, but we couldn’t figure out a good way to get them through all the overgrowth on the trail without getting them torn up.  We left what food and water was remaining in the house for Maiko when she makes her return trip.  It’s not much since we had to dump things on the way out of the Village and I don’t know how long it will keep, but hopefully it’ll be better than nothing.

Feeling bad for closing the chickens out of their home/shelter with the rainy season coming in a month or so, we left one of the tents pitched on the veranda and nailed to the floor so it wouldn’t blow away.  Maybe not the best idea, but the best we could come up with on impulse.

Not much to do now but watch as we start cutting across over the southern tip of the main island.  

It is a bit strange though that the island’s circuit breaks the pattern here by both cutting across land instead of staying over water, and dock on a southwest-facing cliff instead of a southern-facing one.

*******

Well, I’d hoped to get back to the house today, but I’m sleeping in the archive again.

We arrived to find a small crowd waiting for us at Siren Overlook, Vernon at the head.  There was some cheering and helping us move things off the island before it took off again and load them onto a cart that was properly hooked to a capy this time around.

Vernon apologized for the fanfare, saying he’d tried to talk people out of it, but at least a few people had insisted.  He warned us that there’d be a large crowd once we got back to the Village proper.  Like he said before about the supply donations, everyone wants to feel like they’re a part of the novel happenings, if even in a small way.

He did manage to pull me aside and ask about Maiko while Lin and Cass were reuniting with their respective family members who’d shown up to greet them.  I hastily explained as well as I could in a few seconds while trying to keep onlookers from hearing.  He seemed relieved, both that nothing bad had happened and that he hadn’t accidentally brought a crowd to gawk at her.  

From a few snickers I heard afterwards, I suspect some of the villagers might have gotten the impression Vernon was flirting or being intimate with me in some way.  That’s a headache I don’t want to deal with unpacking right now.

But anyway, we were borne back to the Village, the market forum in particular, were Pat gave a small informal speech welcoming us back and we spent the rest of the afternoon and evening in a sort of street party that had been set up repeatedly recounting the details of the trip to the succession of villagers coming up and asking about it.  I was afraid initially that they were going to call upon me as Archivist to stand up and give a telling of the expedition to the crowd, but apparently that’s usually reserved more for “stories” and not “recountings”.  The upcoming Equinox Festival in a few weeks however, that I would be expected to go up on stage and perform for.

So, yeah, that was news to me.  I think I might have dropped some of my food when Vernon mentioned it offhand like he assumed I knew about it.  Next big thing to stress about and plan for I guess.  According to Vernon, this evening’s party was as much about people being in a festive mood already in anticipation and wanting an excuse for an outlet as it was about us.  I find that strangely comforting.

The rest of the evening passed without any more surprises.  Lin’s got back to her house with her father and Cass is staying at Norman and Marva’s with both of her parents.  I guess they left the second oldest in charge of the farm for the day.  Laios I think his name was?Huh, it occurs to me that I never did get the chance to ask Vernon whatever happened with that capy right before we left.  Tomorrow perhaps.

<==Previous          Next==>

[reidsnose]

doodles

overview: reader doodles on her hands a lot and spencer has to give into the temptation of coloring it in

genre: flufffffff

a/n: sorry ive havent posted a fic in like a week, ive been in quite a slump but i had this idea well after midnight but i just had to write it so lmk what u guys think of this one :)

masterlist

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doodling on your hands: a once nervous habit that had seeped into your everyday life and now is just a regular habit. nearly everyday you would come to work with clean hands and get home with a mini art gallery on your non dominant one.

Spencer admired this from the moment he noticed it. at first he thought you had a tattoo but when you came back the next day with it completely gone, he was a tad confused, only to catch you doodling on that very same hand a couple hours later on the jet. he thought maybe it was an occasional thing, a habit you'd quit once you got better situated into the team, but after nearly a year you still left work almost everyday with some cutesy sketches drawn on your hand.

Spencer found himself looking forward to your doodles, imagining in his head what you might draw each day, and thinking of all the colors you would add if you had the time. being the great profiler that he is, he noticed a pattern: you subconsciously correlated your doodles with your mood.

after especially hard cases or just bad days you always drew roses.

when you were very happy you drew all sorts of fruits.

anxiousness bore little swampy creatures and lily pads.

tired days filled your hands with random, intricate designs that you didn't even have to try hard to make.

and content was anything else.

he was so impressed and absolutely adored your little coping mechanism. watching you concentrate on making those teeny pieces of art simply for your own pleasure was definitely a sight to see. the way your eyebrows furrowed and tongue poked out a bit was absolutely positively adorable. and soon he had noticed that he was looking forward less to the doodles and more to watching you draw them. and after that he began looking forward to just you.

you were sat on the jet with your back to the corner of the last seat on the plane, creating a pattern of roses on the back of your hand. Spencer plopped down in the seat next to you, growing tired of watching from so far away.

"that bad, huh?" he asked, noticing the type of flower you were gracing your hand with.

"hm?" you looked up, confused.

"you only doodle roses on bad days." he explained, pointing to your hand.

"what? no i don't!" you defended, " i just think roses are neat."

to be fair, you were having a bad day but he could've profiled that without the doodle. he cant be right, can he? there was no way you had a mood system for your doodles! unless there was.

"repetitive strokes are therapeutic, so roses being rough days make sense. the spiral in the middle followed by however many layered petals you want is a perfectly repetitive while still interesting enough to doodle."

"if i didn't know any better i'd say you've been spying on me, Dr. Reid," you teased, enjoying the slight rouge that appeared on his cheeks.

"what! no! i'm- i'm a profiler i notice patterns! i just- spying sounds creepy." he stammered.

"ok. how about admiring." you jabbed, turning a little red yourself.

"fine. but you know coloring helps too." he flipped back to the old topic of conversation.

"unfortunately i only have the standard blue, black and red ink."

"roses are red." he chuckled.

"interesting point," you bent down and reached into your bag, pulling out a red pen and handing it to him, "knock yourself out."

"what?" he looked at you slightly bewildered.

"coloring is therapeutic, you said it yourself. and you and i both know that you need something to relax you after a case like that. we all do." you explained, trying to be as nonchalant as you could knowing his skin would touch yours.

he grabbed the pen and clicked it open, coloring smoothly and slowly inside the lines you had already made in black, careful not to go over them and smudge the ink. you and him both tried your best to ignore the warmth shooting through your bodies from every place your hands touched. his fingertips lightly grazing your knuckles as he worked.you worked your way up your arm, giving you both space to work and by the time you landed, you had a half sleeve garden of surprisingly well colored (and somehow shaded) red roses.

you went home that night and bought a pack of colorful (washable) pens, hoping this little rose garden with him wasn't a one time thing. and even if it was, you would want to add your own pop of color to your doodles.

thankfully it wasn't.

you and Spencer found yourselves drawing and coloring on your hand a lot. he would catch you doing it and pop in over your shoulder just to add a touch of color where he thought it fit. and you began to feel sad washing off what the two of you had created that day, feeling nostalgic for time that has hardly passed.

and sometimes on the jet you would get tired of your own skin, so you would draw little doodles on his hand, often times leaving a little heart at the base of his thumb. these little hearts he avoided washing off for as long as he possibly could because they felt like a part of you was always with him. he started doing the same thing to your hand, a sort of signature the two of you shared.

most days, the doodles on your hands were pretty much fully colored in.

but now Spencer began to worry. what if you get ink poisoning because of his coloring? sure, the risk was statistically low, improbable even; but never zero. so one night after work he went out and bought a little sketchbook and on the front he scrawled,

"y/n's super duper special sketchbook"

upon receiving it, after giving him a hug he never wanted to let go of, you took a sharpie and started editing the title he had given it. so it now read:

"y/n and Spencer's super duper special sketchbook"

the two of you used up a whole page that day, front and back filled with all types of fruits. Spencer smiled to himself, knowing this had made you very happy. you took a second to take a step back and admire him doing the very thing he admired you for. and you understood why; he just looked so precious and you suddenly realized you craved the feeling of his hand touching yours. so you leaned over and drew a little black heart at the base of his thumb. he looked up at you, smiling widely before returning a red heart to the base of your thumb.

and you guys tore through that book, using a page a day and filling it cover to cover in no time. your own personal handmade coloring book. it turned out to be both of your most prized possessions, a pang of sadness filling your chests as you finished the last page.

you felt bad taking it home with you that night, wondering if maybe Spencer wanted to keep it. maybe you should keep it at work so you can both have it. thats the fair thing to do. you looked down, smiling sadly at the little red heart on your hand.

he did want to keep it. but he had a better idea in mind. he looked down, smiling excitedly at the little black heart on his hand.

the next day when you arrived to work all your worries were solved. on your desk laid a new sketch book entitled:

"y/n and Spencer's super duper special sketchbook: volume ii"

you laughed as you read a small lilac post it note that said, "i want to keep this one please" signed with a little red heart in the corner.

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ultra mega super cool taglist:

@mac99martin @imhreid @spencersmagic @hollydaisy23 @raelady1184 @a-broken-pact @padfootswife @hey-there-angels @star-stuff-in-the-cosmos @sonnydoesrandomshit @coffeereid-deactivated20210303 @averyhotchner @laurakirsten0502 @reidyoulikeabook @rem-ariiana @spencerreid9 @vampire-overlord @takeyourleap-of-faith @s1utformgg @violetspoetic