#i am only capable of scribbly sketches

[justfandomwritings]

You'll See Why (Peter Ballard x Reader)

Pairing: Peter Ballard x Female!Reader, implied Steve x Reader (Does not really factor into the story)

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: mostly just fluff and angst that doesn't require a content warning. General content warnings consistent with Stranger Things

Summary: It couldn't be him. She refused to believe it. Eleven had to be wrong, had to have the wrong person. It wasn't that he wasn't capable of something like this; in the back of her mind, she knew he was. More, it was that she didn't want to face what it meant about herself.

Masterlist. Ko-Fi.

There was a familiar face staring blankly up at her from the page… she knew this face.

“Well, he looks evil,” Steve mused, looking at the drawing over her shoulder.

“He was 001… He was the first. They built the lab to contain him.” Eleven explained.

(Y/n) was holding up the sketch Eleven had drawn of the patient from Hawkins Lab, who Eleven knew as 001, that Nancy had discovered was Henry, that they all called Vecna.  

(Y/n) knew that face.

“(Y/n)?” Dustin touched her shoulder. “(Y/n), are you okay?”

She heard her brother’s voice talking to her, and yet somehow she didn’t register it. He felt, he sounded, so far away.

It felt like an out of body experience, like her thoughts were no longer contained inside her brain, like they were swirling around her in a cloud, consuming her entire world. This was not Henry Creel, could not be Vecna. Eleven had to be wrong. She knew this face, and she knew it all too well.

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“Hi Peter, I see they let you out again. The usual?” (Y/n) smiled brightly.

Peter was her favorite regular at Benny’s, not that he was all that regular. He came in once every couple weeks or so. She assumed whenever the lab could spare him, though he always referred to it as a “reward” for good behavior. Benny’s menu was hardly “reward” worthy. It was decent. Benny was a good cook, but it was just regular diner food. She could think of four other diners in Hawkins that served the same fair, though Benny’s was certainly the closest to the ltab.

He wasn’t a particularly nice regular. He tipped very well, which she appreciated, but most regulars do or they wouldn’t be regulars anymore. Mostly, he was her favorite because he was an enigma. He worked for the Hawkins National Laboratory up the road, and he was very cagey about his work and himself.

“No coffee,” Peter amended without looking up from the papers in front of him.

(Y/n) scribbled haphazardly on the ticket and slid it across the window to put on deck for Benny. There were a couple tickets ahead of it, and that gave her extra time.

(Y/n) dragged the stool out from behind the register and plopped down directly in front of Peter, propping her elbows on the counter and looking at him expectantly.

Peter rolled his eyes but kept them trained on his work. This was (Y/n)’s usual routine any time Peter came into the diner, so he didn’t need to look up to know she was staring him down.

“Must you watch your customers so intently?  I feel like a subject in the lab.”

“Only the interesting ones,” (Y/n) dismissed. “Now tell me; how’s the lab?”

Peter flipped over one of the pages mindlessly. He hadn’t processed all the words, but that clearly wasn’t going to happen if (Y/n) had anything to say about it. He kept up the appearance of reading though to hold her interrogations to a minimal. “It is in its usual state. I am nothing but a humble nurse for the children being experimented upon and tortured within its walls.”

(Y/n) rolled her eyes. It wasn’t the kind of joke she would have made, but she let it slide. “Yes, of course, but how is your work?”

“Why would you care to know?” Peter dismissed the question.

“Because I’m bored, and like my brother always says life is a curiosity voyage.”

Peter rolled his eyes, “Your brother sounds foolish.”

“Hey,” (Y/n) reached up and smacked Peter lightly on the side of the head, causing him to jolt. He stared at her in utter disbelief, as if no one had ever touched him before in his life, which she found very hard to believe. He was far too high and mighty, full of himself, not to have been bullied as a kid. “That’s my brother. Only I get to mess with him.”

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Nonresponsive and zoned out was not a good thing to be in Hawkins, Indiana in 1986.

“She’s infected with Vecna!” Dustin began to panic, “Quick someone get my headphones from the desk,” Dustin pointed to the desk behind Max, who practically threw the headphones in her rush to get them to Steve as Dustin ran to the small shelf and began digging through Mike’s cassette tapes.

“No, no,” (Y/n) shook aside the memory as quickly as she could manage. “Dustin,” she called to her brother, “Really, I’m fine!”

“Like hell you are,” behind her, Steve forced the plastic strap of the headphones around her neck. “Seriously? How hard is it to find Pat Benatar!” Steve shouted.

“Again, I’m fine,” (Y/n) rolled her eyes, wrenching the headphones off.

They couldn’t afford to waste a pair on her now. She could feel things coming to a head. Over the last 24 hours, virtually all of them had had to procure a pair of headphones and wrap them around their necks. Only Steve, Dustin, Eleven, and herself hadn’t heard the ticking of a clock at some point yet. A low drone of noise was filling the room as songs played from the necks of the other occupants.

“Really!” She insisted to the skeptical crowd of teens staring her down, “no ticking. I was just…” In addressing the room, her eyes found Eleven’s, “remembering something.”

Eleven’s eyes seemed to see right through her, and (Y/n) hesitated for a moment, wavering in whether revealing this information was a good idea or not. Everyone else in the room was staring at her, eyes darting now and again to Eleven.

It was too late to back out now. She took a breath and, watching Eleven’s face intently for her reaction, said the name.

“Peter Ballard.”

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“Hi again Peter, I’ll put the usual on for you.” (Y/n) greeted him with a wave as he came through the door.

This time, when Peter walked in, Benny’s was empty except for herself and Benny. He had his usual folder full of papers tucked under his arm, stamped with the fancy Hawkins Lab’s seal on the cover declaring it was privileged information.

“Thank you,” Peter took up his usual counter seat.

He had a way of being both extraordinarily polite and also incredibly rude at the same time. It was like he had spent his entire life being lectured on manners without actually having a single social interaction in which to use them.

“Benny!” (Y/n) called loudly over the order window, “Peter’s usual!”

Benny was somewhere in the back. With the diner being empty, Benny had ducked out to rearrange the stock while he left (Y/n) to mind the front. “Give me just a minute!” She heard her boss shout back.

“So!” (Y/n) whipped around, leaning back against the order window, “Gonna tell me how work was today?”

“Tiresome.” Peter clipped.

(Y/n) raised an eyebrow, “That’s about as descriptive as you’ve ever been. Was it coworkers or your human test subjects?” She said the last part teasingly.

Peter paused for a moment, still not looking up from his papers, but he seemed to consider her question longer than he usually would before dismissing her. “Boss.” Having answered, Peter immediately went back to flipping through pages, only adding under his breath, “Not that I would call him that, persay. He’s more like my worst nightmare.”

(Y/n) chuckled and approached, taking up her usual seat across from him. “Tell me about it. Last week, Benny didn’t let me off early on Friday even though it was my mom’s birthday, so my little brother recruited his friends to try to bake her birthday cake instead of waiting for me and almost lit my house on fire.”

The word fire seemed to catch Peter’s attention. He still didn’t give her the time of day or meet her eyes, still seemed to think that she was too beneath him for that, but his head did cock to one side. He was listening.

“What’s so nightmarish about your boss?”

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“What do you mean you ‘know’ Vecna?” Dustin demanded.

“He came into Benny’s from time to time,” (Y/n) felt like she was retreating into her skin. Eleven, Mike, Eddie, Max, the whole room. They were all watching her with dark eyes, watching her like they were watching the enemy.

Dustin was staring at her in utter shock. He didn’t notice the looks from his friends or the fear in her eyes. He was still trying to comprehend this massive piece of information.

Only Steve’s hand, resting with a firm grip on her shoulder, was keeping her grounded in the room, keeping her from bolting out the door like a frightened deer.

“And you talked to him? You knew him?” Max joined the questioning, her tone far closer to interrogation than Dustin’s disbelieving one.

(Y/n) shrugged defensively, “Lots of people from the labs came in. We were the closest restaurant. He said he was a nurse. I didn’t know he was the literal devil.”

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“Your boss sounds like a dick, no offense.”

“None taken.” Peter had talked to her. He had actually talked to her. Granted, they were complaining about their bosses, which was the oldest and most basic form of bonding in the book, but still. It was something. “He is.”

“Well,” (Y/n) hopped down from the seat she had taken on the counter while he recounted his tale of woe. “I’m gonna start cleaning up if it’s all the same to you.”

Peter waved his hand down the length of the counter and immediately reverted his eyes back to his papers that were off to the side of the plate he was presently eating off of.  

(Y/n) smirked to herself as she pulled out her rag. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. She’d be damned if she wasn’t going to keep poking at him till she got the answers she wanted.

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It was Nancy who turned the whole scene into a proper interrogation. Though, perhaps given her profession, it was more of an interview. She waved the kids away from the seat in front of (Y/n) and took up a spot front and center in her vision.

“Tell us everything you know about him. Start from the beginning.”

(Y/n) took a breath and recited the facts as coldly and emotionlessly as she could manage. “His name was Peter Ballard. He came into the diner once every couple weeks. Everyone else from the lab came in groups, but he…” Her voice cracked for a moment, and she hoped everyone else in the room saw it as nothing more than the nerves it was, “He was always alone. He barely talked to me. The others said he was a nurse, and that he never talked to anyone in the lab either. He always brought files with him to read. It took months for him to even bother making eye contact with me.”

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“You never went to a proper high school?”

“No,” Peter droned. He still acted thoroughly unamused with her presence, but he had started more readily answering her questions.

(Y/n) huffed and leaned back on her stool, tilting away from him. “Well, that explains so much.”

Peter’s eyes shot up from his paper, and for the first time he met her gaze. Not exactly an angry expression, but at the least a doubtful one, colored his face as his eyebrows drew together. “How?”

“Well,” she let the legs of her stool fall back on the floor with a crash as she leaned forward towards Peter, “Sure, you didn’t have to deal with assholes on the basketball team shoving you into lockers, or girls on the cheer squad making fun of your clothes. But you also never found a group of friends with the same niche interest as you, or a guy to bond with over your mutual hatred of some bully, or a cute girl who thought you were the cutest thing since God invented puppies.”

Peter’s eyes narrowed.

“No, I’m serious,” (Y/n) immediately dismissed his expression. “Sure, there are giant swathes of humanity that are the absolute worst, but there are some humans who are really great when you give them the chance. And you,” she poked a finger into his chest, “never did. You were aware that some people sucked, but you didn’t hang around long enough to find the ones that didn’t before you decided to write all of us off as intolerable.”

Peter pursed his lips and turned back to his files. He wasn’t going to continue this line of conversation.

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“That’s really all I know, Nancy. I swear.” (Y/n) huffed.

“There has to be something though!” Nancy jumped up from her seat and began to pace, “It can’t be a coincidence that you knew him. Can it?”

“I didn’t know him,” She emphasized. “We didn’t exactly bare our souls to each other and get matching tattoos. We were friendly. He came in every couple weeks, ordered the same thing. Towards the end he started making small talk, but that was it. Small talk. He didn’t exactly spell out for me that he had dreams of becoming a mass murderer.”

“Yeah, but what are the odds that you would get wrapped up in all of this?” Jonathan pointed out. “It sounds like you’re the only person he talked to outside of the lab.”

“Pretty freakin’ high, Jonathan,” (Y/n) huffed. “If you haven’t noticed, Hawkins isn’t a metropolis. It’s a pretty small town, and weird shit keeps happening. We’re all wrapped up in it at this point.”

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(Y/n) froze, staring at Peter as he approached his usual seat at the counter. She’d clocked him instantly when he walked in, and instantly had known something was very off.

He looked more or less the same, all white outfit, holier than thou expression. His hair was in its usual blonde waves, and he seemed more or less as agitated with his own existence as he usually did.

“H-Hey Peter, Usual?” (Y/n) asked.

“Yes, please,” Peter replied.

And in that moment she realized it. That moment when he sat there, still looking up at her expectantly, waiting for her to put his order in. That moment when he didn’t look down.

No files.

(Y/n) rushed the order in to Benny and whirled back around to join Peter. There were a handful of other people in the diner, but they were all regulars who’d already gotten their food and knew their way around. She was completely unbothered with doing her rounds to their tables.

“Why no files?”

Peter raised an eyebrow, “Aren’t you the one who’s always bugging me to talk to you?”

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“He’s not here,” Dustin dropped the flashlight back to his side with a huff.

They had gone to the Creel house again, hoping to find where in the Upside Down Vecna was. Now that they had Eleven, with her powers back no less, they wanted to lure him to a place they could face off against him.

“(Y/n),” Lucas called over the bannister from the second floor. “Did Vecna ever mention anywhere else he liked to go? Or somewhere else in Hawkins he felt connected to?”

“No!” (Y/n) shouted back with a huff, “If he’s not here he must be at the lab!”

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“So?” (Y/n) smiled, “Thoughts?”

“It’s… cold.” Peter mused.

(Y/n) huffed and pulled back from where she was leaning on the counter. “That’s it? It’s cold? I thought you were going to actually help me? You know, useful feedback?”

Peter slowly pushed the mostly-full milkshake away from his plate. “I never agreed to help you. You only assumed I would when I came in.”

“Yeah! For a free milkshake!” (Y/n) threw her hands up, utterly exasperated with him, “You have to have more thoughts than ‘it’s cold’. I’m making Benny put milkshakes on the menu, and it’s my ass on the line if they aren’t good.”

“It’s sweet.” Peter added, picking up another fry and taking a bite.

“Ooooh! Thank you so much! That’s so much more helpful.” She bit back sarcastically.

Rolling her eyes, (Y/n) snatched the milkshake away, slurping through Peter’s abandoned straw. She made a face, “Oh, ok… that is sweet.”

Peter didn’t meet her eyes, but he waved his hand and made a face that very much said ‘told-you-so’.

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It didn’t look like anyone had been in the lab since Eleven closed the portal. The bodies had been cleaned up, no doubt by the military coverup team, but the broken glass in the screened in room surrounding the old portal was still strewn about the floor. Hopper’s gun Bob had left in the control room was still on the desk. There were even still spatters of blood every few feet along the walls and stains from dried up blood on the floors.

“So,” Robin murmured quietly to (Y/n), “This is what Round 2 looked like? Man I am so glad I just had the Russians.”

“It doesn’t look like he’s here either. Doesn’t even look like he’s been here at all. There’s no portal,” Will assessed, turning back to the room.

“Fuck!” Mike turned, kicking a wall. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

He wasn’t at his old home. He wasn’t at the lab. He wasn’t at any of the places he’d opened portals that they knew about. (Y/n) was at a loss. There wasn’t anywhere else to look.

He must be hiding, hiding somewhere completely random with absolutely no connection to him. It was the logical thing to do if he didn’t want to be found, but it just didn’t make sense. Sure, Eleven said 001 was a creature completely void of any emotion, set to the singular purpose of restoring order to the world by ridding it of humanity.

But (Y/n) knew that wasn’t true. Hell, the Party should’ve known that wasn’t true. 001 had slaughtered an entire lab in an instant he was so blinded by rage, not even giving them the option to join them that he’d given Eleven. When he became Vecna and was sent to the Upside Down, the first place they knew he’d gone was home. Max had seen the disassembled pieces of the Creel house in Vecna’s inner hideout in the Upside Down. And Henry had talked to Nancy about her visit to his father, about how he’d vengefully plotted his demise.

Even the Peter (Y/n) knew was riddled with emotions, most of them negative, but still they were there. Even when he was putting on a neutral face, she always knew he detested humanity. He hated his job. He…

He’d teased her about her milkshakes, about how much she talked, about high school, about her brother. He’d…

(Y/n) bolted for the door. “Steve, get the keys! I know where he went!” She shouted.

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“So why don’t you ever sit with them?” (Y/n) asked, nodding with her chin over Peter’s shoulder to the lab coats at the table behind him.

They weren’t literally wearing lab coats, but in her mind everyone who worked in a lab was supposed to be wearing a coat. So that’s what she called them. In actuality, they were all dressed almost exactly the same as Peter.

“I mean, I know you hate them, but even you have to get lonely sometimes.”

Peter picked up another fry and put it in his mouth, avoiding her question.

“There must be someone tolerable enough to eat lunch with.”

“I eat with you.” Peter told her, “Do I need someone else?”

(Y/n) felt her cheeks turn a little bit pink, and she tried to swallow it down. “Well no, but you must have friends. Someone at the lab? Or someone from when you were a kid? I know you were homeschooled, but still. Everyone needs friends.”

Peter snorted, and (Y/n) wasn’t sure if it was at the idea of him needing someone or at the idea of having a friend. “Well, I regret to inform you that I just have you.”

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There was a portal, up against the wall of the diner, behind the counter right where she used to sit when she would talk to Peter.

“Dead on, (Y/n).” Steve patted her shoulder, joking, “He must’ve really liked the eggs.”

Grilled chicken with a side of fries and a coffee. Always the same food; didn’t matter what meal it was. (Y/n) didn’t bother to voice that though.

“It’s one of the basketball players,” Dustin pointed out.

A pair of broken, twisted out of shape, legs were sticking out from behind one of the couches the kids had dragged into Benny’s after it was deserted.

“It’s bigger…” Eleven murmured, taking a step forward towards the portal.

Mike caught her arm, pulling her back away from the portal.

(Y/n) didn’t join in, the banter or the analysis. She was staring at the portal.

It was right where she used to sit, literally right there. If Peter had been there, and she’d been in her usual spot talking to him, all she would’ve had to do was tip her stool back, like she always did, and she would’ve fallen straight into the Upside Down.

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“You’re gonna fall over if you keep doing that,” Peter pointed down to the legs of her stool.

(Y/n) rolled her eyes and continued to totter back and forth on the back legs of the stool. “Then I’ll knock my head in and get off work early, and you won’t have to put up with me. Sounds like a win for both of us.”

The front legs of the stool slammed to the ground, and (Y/n) stared wide-eyed, mouth ajar, at Peter.

Peter’s eyes had a fire to them she had never seen. There was something there, something behind his usual disinterested, annoyed expression. Something dangerous.

He had a vice-like grip on her wrist, and (Y/n) was positive that she was going to have a ringed bruise around the bone there in the morning from how tightly he held her and how hard he’d jerked her back forward. Her arm was stretched out across the width of the counter, practically touching his chest he’d jerked her so far back.

The shock in her face seemed to douse the fire in his. “Sorry,” Peter cleared his throat, dropping her wrist.

“N-No, it’s okay.” (Y/n) dismissed haphazardly. “Didn’t realize I was worrying you.”

Under his breath, so quietly she wasn’t quite sure she heard him right, Peter whispered, “Of course you worry me.”

“What was that?” (Y/n) asked.

“Nothing, just don’t want you dead on the floor. The hassle of finding another friend is unappealing.”

“Well,” (Y/n) smiled, though not as brightly this time as she usually did, “you can’t get rid of me that easy.”

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Vecna.

A grey body, void of skin and hair and a face. Vine-like Tentacles protruding from his back, whipping back and forth in all directions as if they had a mind of their own, encircling the party, drawing them tighter and tighter into him.

She knew what Eleven told her, knew the story of how Vecna had come to be, but she just couldn’t believe it. She couldn’t see Peter under there, inside the monster.

She couldn’t see Peter batting away Eleven with a vine, without a care in the world for her scream as she went flying back into a deadened tree.

Not Peter, not her Peter.

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“I’m sorry.”

(Y/n) looked up, startled. She hadn’t heard anyone come in. She’d been too absorbed in the math homework splayed across Benny’s counter to notice anything other than the mental image she’d been constructing of going to watch all of her friends graduate knowing she was going to have to repeat senior year.

“Oh Peter, I didn’t hear you come in. Usual?”

Peter sat down in front of her, which was not in his usual seat. “No, I only… I came here to talk, to apologize, and say goodbye.”

“Wait you’re leaving?” (Y/n) dropped the pencil from her hand. “Are they moving you out of the lab? What’s going on?”

“There’s been a… development. And soon my services will no longer be required.” Peter caught the pencil (Y/n) hadn’t heard rolling across the counter and carefully balanced it back in place in front of her textbook.

“W-Well, where are you going?” She tried, and failed miserably, to hide the disappointment from her tone, “I’m sure they have phones there. I’d hate to leave you with no one to pester you every week.”

“I can’t tell you.” Peter smiled, actually smiled. (Y/n) didn’t know if it was unnerving or endearing. It was the first time she’d ever seen him smile. She got the occasional snear, once in a while a smirk if she was particularly amusing that day. But he never smiled, certainly not like this, sad, disheartened, like he was sorry he had to go. “That’s why I came. I know I scared you last time I was here. I… I showed too much of myself, and for that I’m sorry.”

“Peter, you don’t have to apologize.” (Y/n) reached out, hesitantly and took his hand. “Not for being yourself at least.”

“Oh but I do.” Peter dismissed. Turning his hand over, Peter took hers in his and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Maybe one day you’ll see why.”

And as easily as he slipped into her life, he was gone.

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“Eddie,” She whispered from their hiding place behind the rock, “whatever happens, can you promise me something?”

“What?” Eddie whispered back to her.

(Y/n) hesitated for a moment before she peeled herself away from the rocker’s side. “Hold Steve back.” Turning to Jonathan on her other side, she patted his arm. “And don’t let him and Dustin do anything stupid while I’m gone.”

(Y/n) was usually an anxious, hesitant person. She was an extrovert to the extreme, but she was also very risk averse. She was the type of girl who walked with her eyes on her own feet, and her arms brought in across her chest at all times. She didn’t exude surety or confidence ever. The three words her friends would use to describe her were skittish, excitable, and self-conscious. With Dart, Dustin had taken the lead trapping the monster in the cellar. In the Byer’s home, she had cowered behind Steve, from the demodogs and from Billy. In Starcourt, her brother had practically dragged her down to the Russian base. She had been the one driving the distraction car, all too happy to put distance between herself, Dustin, and Steve and the Mindflayer.

She was not fearless like Nancy or powerful like Eleven or a natural leader like Steve. In the face of monsters and spies and alternate dimensions, she was scared, like any normal person would be.

But this, she’d convinced herself, wasn’t a monster from an alternate dimension. A monster, maybe, but one she knew.

“(Y/n), what are you doing?” Jonathan tried to grab at her arm, but she moved faster, ducking out of the way as she came running out from behind the rock.

Vecna was baring down on Eleven, standing in front of Lucas, Mike, and Dustin with her arms wide as she tried to push him back.

“(Y/n)!” The shout came from somewhere behind her, but she didn’t look back at Steve as she heard him running after her.

“PETER!” She came to a stop under him and shouted up into the air, at the body in the center of the mass of tentacles.

His head turned, slowly, towards her. “Peter, come down here!”

“(Y/n),” he said, seemingly to himself.

She should’ve been afraid, quaking in her boots afraid. But for once, she just couldn’t seem to manage it.

Somewhere in the distance she could hear Steve shouting, shouting at her, at Vecna, at Jonathan and Eddie for holding him back.

“Peter!” She called again.

The tentacles seemed to whip back and forth through the air, splaying themselves out flat on the ground and slowly encircling where she stood, as they lowered their master to the ground.

“NO!” Dustin tried to jump, but without instruction needed Lucas and Mike grabbed him and held him back.

“Peter, you don’t have to do this.”

“Peter is dead. Your friend,” he spat the word, “saw to that.”

“I know she put you here, but I don’t think Peter’s gone.” A tentacle slithered at the back of her heels, and (Y/n) took a step closer to Peter.

“You always had such idealistic notions.” He snarled, “This is what I am. Not Peter, this.” Two of the tentacles whipped out from the circle they had formed around (Y/n), and latched onto her wrists, wrenching her down to her knees.

(Y/n) shook her head, “I don’t believe that.”

The tentacles tightened around her wrist, and she bit back a whimper in disgust as they began wrapping themselves slowly up her arms.

“Society is a scourge (Y/n). The real curse is not me; it’s humanity.” Peter began walking towards her, the tentacles around her dragging her to meet him.

“Then why haven’t you cursed me? Killed me?” (Y/n) asked, “Everyone else has heard the clock ticking, Peter. But here I am.”

The tentacles were wrapping around her chest now, gluing her arms to her sides. Peter, Vecna, did not respond. He stood directly above her now, her bound defenseless at his feet.

“If Peter was dead then you wouldn’t be listening to me right now.”

One of the tentacles wrapped itself around her throat, but she didn’t feel it constricting her at all. It was like it didn’t know what to do.

“Let them go, Peter. They’re just kids. Scared, little kids like Henry used to be.”

Steve was still shouting and struggling with Jonathan and Eddie, and in her peripheral, it seemed Eleven had joined the boys in holding back Dustin.

“I’ll stay.” She whispered loud enough for only Peter to hear. “We’re friends right? I’ll stay here, with you. But you have to let them go. Leave them alone, leave Hawkins alone.”

Peter blinked. “You wouldn’t leave your brother.”

He sounded like Peter, the dark, raspy voice of Vecna was gone. He sounded young again; he sounded whole.

“I’ll leave him to protect him. Peter, you live in this place free of people and the society you hated, and it’s still not enough. You never wanted to be alone.” The grip the tentacles had on her was loosening, and (Y/n) tried to stand. The tentacles melted away as Peter saw what she wanted to do. “I’ll stay here, with you. You won’t be alone… But you have to let them go.”

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“NO!” Dustin shoved forward and began pounding on the wall where to portal used to be. “No!”

His fingers tried digging into the wallpaper, into the wall. It had to be there; it couldn’t be gone. He could get back to her. They could save her.

The rest of the party watched in utter silence as Dustin scratched and clawed at the wall, trying to open the portal back to his sister.

No one tried to stop him, or intervene. They were all too stunned to speak, too stunned to move.

The only noise in the room was Dustin, screaming in despair at the wall, and Steve, quietly sobbing in the corner.

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Note:

Thanks for reading! If you like this, please go read my Eddie Munson fic. I'd really appreciate it! I think it's even better than this one, and it meant a lot to me writing it. I look forward to knowing what you think!

#peter ballard #peter ballard x y/n #peter ballard x reader #vecna x reader #henry creel x reader #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things x reader #peter ballard x you #peter ballard fluff #peter ballard angst #peter ballard fanfiction #peter ballard fanfic #vecna fanfiction #henry creel fanfiction #stranger things x you #steve harrington x reader #st4

[ghostofthedarkhold]

symbiotic daydream

pairing: venom!kate bishop x fem!reader

she/her pronouns are used, and mentions of the reader wearing a dress.

word count: 3.4k (3428)

warnings: dark kate, venom forcing kate to think dark thoughts, obsession, stalking, kinda dub-con kissing but not really, no actual smut, groping, suggestive content/language.

a/n: I was going to include smut but this fic really got away from me so if yous like it then I’ll probably do a pt.2 at some point with smut :)

so yeah, surprise, i am doing kinktober this year. however i done absolutely horrible at completing my masterlist last year so this time around im just going to post monster fucking fics as i please with no official masterlist. enjoy!

Symbiotes in the modern world are few and far between, but it’s no secret that some people have the parasitic creatures leeching on their brain, a passenger in their mind. Most people avoid the people that are bonded to the inky creatures that cause cities to run red with blood and pleasure, others hunt them out after an initial encounter with them, obsessed with the ecstasy they had only been given a crumb of. Rumours of the symbiotes' destruction are nothing new to Kate, something her mother had warned her of for her whole life, their wants corrupting the minds of those they inhibit, but she’d never come across one herself, and while part of her was always curious to see them other than on the news, she was mostly thankful for it. That was, until one latched onto her.

Venom made himself known almost immediately after latching onto the young college student, plaguing her mind with thoughts of sadism, of having girls under her, begging her for mercy that she would never grant. Pushing those thoughts out of her mind, Venom began trying to persuade her with other things. Pleasure. Overwhelming amounts of pleasure brought upon her victims, making them beg and scream for her. These thoughts were much more difficult for the young archer to shake off. A young, hormonal, and, quite frankly, already insatiable Kate Bishop with never-ending thoughts of sex? She was done for long before she ever accepted, or even realised, it. But she was capable of holding back. Until she saw you.

She first saw you walking out of the movie theatre with some friends. You were tugging down your dress that had ridden up your thighs from sitting in the theatre chair for the past few hours, and Venom was practically screaming at her, trying to force her limbs forward, to stride over to you and pull your dress up your hips instead of allowing you to move it further down. She was able to stop herself, just barely. But without even knowing it, from that moment forward, you had Kate Bishop in your trap.

She was sly, following behind wherever you went without you even knowing it. Stalking behind you in the street, swinging from rooftop to rooftop with the help of Venom’s neverending slick webs of ink, watching you from across the street while you danced and drank in bars, went from store to store on your weekly shopping trip, snuggled in comfortably for the night in the assumed safety of your own bed. You had completely, wholly taken over Kate’s life without ever having met her. Every time she sat down to study she couldn’t do anything but scribble down your name and draw sketches of you from memory in her, admittedly amature and flawed, art style, every time she drew her bow she couldn’t help but picture her arrow sinking into the flesh and piercing the heart of whoever she saw you with last, a crush, a friend, even a stranger you may had just been giving directions to, they were all the same to Kate, undeserving of even being in the same vicinity as you. When she finally cracked and leaned into her new role as your very own, personal stalker and did some idle snooping online, finding out that you were enrolled at the same college as her, everything became much, much worse. Finding out which classes you took, Kate mangled and stretched her schedule out as much as she was able to until she finally managed to land herself a spot in three out of five of your classes, which was honestly more than the brunette had hoped for when she sent out her email, requesting, practically begging for, her new classes.

Kate sat a few rows directly behind you in the partially empty lecture halls, at first content to watch the back of your head and the way you furiously scribbled down notes in attempt to keet up with your various professors ramblings, but eventually that no longer satisfied her need to be near you, she needed to know you. So, with her heart thudding out of chest like that time she tried to ask her crush in middle school to the winter dance, and Venom’s crazed and incessant cheering clattering around in her brain, instead of taking her usual seat, she stopped a few rows ahead than she normally would in Professor Maximoff’s class and slid in the seat beside you, nearly sending your normal seat partner tumbling to the floor. But when your eyes found hers and you gave her that sweet smile she had watched you give others, for months pleading with the universe for it to be directed at her, followed by a shy greeting, Kate no longer worried about the boy she had practically rugby-tackled to the ground. Honestly, the entire world could have imploded at that very second, and as long as you were in a protective bubble and gave her that same smile again, Kate would die happier than she ever had been, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to hold Venom back any longer.

She let him take the lead in her obsession, looking into every part of your life that the internet had to offer. She found where you grew up, details of your family, your favourite books and movies, anything she could squeeze out. Kate was sure that the universe wanted you to be hers when she got the notification that you had accepted her request to your private instagram, the one away from the prying eyes of your parents. Abandoning any shred of reason or dignity she had left, Kate got about an hour of sleep that night due to her endless scrolling of your instagram and any photos you were tagged in, Venom getting particularly rowdy when she came by a picture of you in a bikini on one of your friends accounts.

Kate’s plan to have you was set in motion the very next day, innocently asking you questions about yourself, ignoring the lecture and Professor Romanoff’s harsh warning glares. She learned a lot more about you than the internet ever could have given her, and you in turn learned some facts about Kate. You talked about your famile lives, Kate telling you that she was an only child who was raised by her mother, about hobbies, music, anything and everything Kate could absorb about you, and she cursed how the time flew by when Professor Romanoff informed the class that the lecture was over. Kate begrudgingly packed up her things, trying to take in as much of you as possible, as if she wouldn’t see you the very next morning. She slowly stood up when she noticed you had finished cramming your things into your backpack, and stood up to leave, but her footsteps came to an abrupt stop when you spat out a hurried invite to go to a bar with you and your friends that night. Kate spun around slowly, sure that she couldn’t have possibly heard you right, and she watched for a moment as you chewed on your lower lip, fighting over if you had made the right decision. But before you could retract the invitation in a hurried apology about how you hardly knew each other, ignoring the fact that you were ceratin you had told Kate every note-worthy thing about yourself in the last hour, Kate agreed. Her hands were shoved into her jacket pockets to prevent her from pumping her first in victory as you quickly scribbled down the address and time on a discarded piece of paper from a random students desk. Kate quickly made a grab for it as soon as your pencil had left the page, looking at it as if it were the Holy Grail, and to Kate, it was. She promised you that she would be there, the brunette already imagining seeing you that night, away from the stuffiness of the lecure halls, before sending you one last longing look and leaving you standing alone by your desk, watching her leave.

What Kate was unaware of was that you had your eye on her for weeks. Not nearly to the degree that Kate wanted you, but the second that you heard Professor Maximoff call out her name, you were looking her up on the schools website on your phone under the desk, intrigued by the new face showing up halfway through the semester. Your eyes nearly buldged out of their sockets when one of the first things you saw, aside from her grinning student ID picture, was Kate with a bow in her hands, looking as it was the most natural thing for the weapon to be there, with muscles straining against her long, fitted sleeves as she drew back her arrow, the headline under it detailing that she had brought another archery trophy home to the college. After that, your deep dive down the rabbit hole that was Kate Bishop was long and thorough, scouring through every mention in the schools website and news article - after ashemedly staring at her arms and hands on every picture for a good five minutes before eventually managing to tear yourself away. After weeks of pining after the star athlete, clinging to her every word when she answered a question or commented on the syllabus, or really anything she said, you could hardly believe your luck when she sat down next to you, your tunnel vision focused on the object of your latest fantasies not allowing you to feel worry for the boy that she elbowed away.

Kate was ecstatic that night as she pushed her way through the door of the bar, nervously tugging on the tie hung loosely around her neck. Venom had been berating her all night over her nerves, Kate rolling her eyes like a petulant child every time. He was right, of course. The deck was completely stacked in Kate’s favour, knowing every detail about you to make you putty in her hands, Still, she couldn’t help the anxiety nagging away at the back of her mind, as if she was about to go on a first date, worrying about impressions and the way she was dressed.

Kate could swear that all of the oxygen was sucked out of the room the second she saw you. You were dressed to the nine’s, especially for the dingy bar that you so regularly frequented, and there was a small bloom of hope within Kate that you had dressed up just for her. You certainly had never put so much effort in any other night you went out, and as far as Kate could see, she was the only change to your night.

Newfound confidence overtook Kate as she strode over to where you and your friends were clustered at the bar, unable to fight off her smirk as you immediately pulled your arm away from where it was slung around one of your friends shoulders, pulling the taller woman into a tight hug.

“You came!” You cheered, overjoyed at Kate’s arrival before pulling away from her, much to Kate’s disappointment, with a blush staining your cheeks, embarrassed at your sudden outburst of affection towards the girl you had only first talked to that afternoon, and Venom was quick to fill Kate’s thoughts of all the other things she could do to bring that redness to your face in other ways.

“Told you I would,” she smiled down at you instead.

It’s a miracle that Kate heard you ask her if she wanted a drink over the 80’s rock music playing from a corner somewhere, the conversations of different patrons that had all blended into one another, and the depraved thoughts clouding her mind. She stuttered out her usual drink order and you skipped off to find a bartender to make it for her, leaving Kate alone with your friends. She knew who they all were, of course, having fantised about watching the light leave most of their eyes after getting too close to you for Kate’s liking. Some looked at her with curiosity, while others with disdain, and Kate wondered why exactly it was that you invited her there.

“We could kill them all before anyone in here could even blink.”

Internally hissing at Venom to shut up, Kate turned her attention back to you. She spun around, completely ignoring the question one of your friends had finally voiced to her. She watched as you leaned over the bar, giggling at something the server had said to you, completely oblivious to the way the angle allowed Kate’s stare to hungrily devour the inches of cleavage that there exposed, angling herself to see down your dress as far as she could. Venom was screaming at her, screeching that now was the time to make their move. And for once, she listened to him.

You weren’t even aware of Kate’s determined gaze set on you, or the heavy foot falls of her boots against the wooden floor, until her hand wrapped around your bicep in a vice grip, dragging you away from whatever conversation that apparently was so hilarious the bartender was clutching his side. Kate promised Venom that they would see his blood before the night was over.

You made a sound of protest as you looked up to see that it was Kate who was dragging you across the bar, making a beeline for the exit. “Wh- Kate, what are you doing?” You questioned, tugging on your arm to try and free it from her bruising grip.

“I need to talk to you,” Kate all but growled out, dragging you through the door to the bar and into the cold New York night air, your short romper doing nothing to protect you from the bitter frost of the oncoming winter.

It was difficult enough having to watch you drape yourself over your friends from afar, watching through windows or scrolling through social media, sure that at least three of them wanted you, or at the very least wanted to fuck you, but watching it mere feet away from her was harder than Kate had predicted, Venom bringing out her baser instincts until all she wanted to do was press you against the nearest surface and claim you as hers and the symbiote’s marking you in front of everyone, anyone who had ever just layed eyes on you. She needed all of New York to know who you belonged to. But, despite Venom egging her on, even trying to take front seat and force her body into the movements, Kate couldn’t bring herself to do it. So, she settled for the next best thing, dragging you into the alley that was cracked between the bar and the next building.

Your questions didn’t cease until your back collided with the hard stone wall of the alley, Kate’s hard body caging you in, and she wasted no time crashing her mouth to yours.

It took a second for you to react, for your mind to process the sudden changes, but as soon as you did you were pressing yourself against Kate as much as you were able to, your hands coming up to her hair and tangling in her raven locks.

The kiss was a fight for dominance that Kate quickly won, slamming your arched back against the wall again, using your surprised and slightly pained yelp to allow her tongue to invade your mouth. You let her taste you, let her consume all of you, and it was the first time within your presence that Kate let her dams break and venom to slip through. She felt the slickness of his ‘flesh’ run down her arm, coating it, looking as if she had dipped it in a vat of tar. Kate’s hair moulded itself in your hands, although you were too preoccupied to notice, the already black locks flowing freely around her. It was only when you both pulled apart, the need for air separating you, that your eyes met hers and you saw that Kate’s were taken over by white.

“Shhh, it’s okay,” Kate whispered to you, drawing circles where her hand had landed on you hip in an attempt to soothe you, feeling that Venom was breaking free and that you could clearly see that, but her voice was warped. The words were all Kate, Venom’s eagerly encouraging her to continue with the previous activities, but the voice that said them was broken and deeper, and it wasn’t the one you had swooned over a mere ten minutes ago.

“Kate, let go of me,” your voice was smaller, the cheerfulness replaced by fear. You had no idea what was wrong with Kate, but you had no intention of sticking around to find out.

“No,” the voice was harsher now, more deformed, as Kate and Venom both fought for the chance to speak, Kate’s biceps straining as she pushed you up against the wall more firmly, holding your hips in an unbreakable clamp. Any softness that was there before was gone in an instant. You watched as Kate allowed Venom to take the reigns and she ground up against you.

Closing in on you, her body caging you in and leaving nowhere for you to run, Kate moved one of her hands from your hip, up your body, until she got to the neckline of your romper, yanking it down and revealing the lace of your bra.

Kate pawed at your breasts over your bra, and even with her pupils and iris’ gone you could feel her eyes drinking you in.

“So fucking pretty,” you didn’t like the relief that coursed through you when it was purely Kate’s voice that reached your ears. Despite your desperation to run out of the alley and never see her again, her own voice much less terrifying that the distorted sound of Kate and Venom melding together

“All those people looking at you. Shit, baby, wanted to watch my arrows crack into their skull,” Kate’s tone was soft and tender, as if the words were meant to comfort and woo you, but they sent a shock of fear down your spine, the thought of Kate killing someone over you paralysing your every muscle, and Kate accentuated her point with roughly pulling your bra down, freeing your breasts, and you winced at the wire of your bra digging into the soft skin of your sides. “So, so pretty,” Kate repeated, her gaze devouring you whole. “And all mine.”

“Ours,” Venom immediately hissed in her ear, his screeching grating against her brain. “You would have never had her like this if it wasn’t for me.”

Kate just rolled her eyes, ignoring the symbiote, which most definitely didn’t rub him the right way, and you were sure the next words, in a different voice than the last two, came from someone other than Kate entirely.

“I could kill the archer and have you to all to myself.”

That voice was quickly crammed far in the back of Kate’s head, and any movement from her stopped entirely, her hands simply resting on your tits, her entire weight focused on smushing you against the wall behind you as a look of anger twisted its way onto Kate’s face. She was having a war inside her head that you were not privy to.

Minutes passed, and you began to wonder if Kate was going to keep you like this all night, pressed against the wall of an alleyway, breasts on display for any passerby who took a few steps into the shadows, with Kate towering silently above you.

You finally found it in yourself to try and wriggle out of Kate’s grasp, and this is what seemed to wake her from her stupor, her focus snapping back to you.

“Don’t listen to him, baby,” you fought back a cry of relief when Kate’s voice replaced the monstrous one that seemed to have dragged her into her subconscious. You weren’t exactly sure who he was, but you decided that you would much rather have Kate at the forefront than him. “He won’t take me away from you, not ever. No one’s gonna ever separate us again.”

Kate wasn’t sure when it was that she decided to keep you by her side from now on. As soon as she walked into the bar? When she saw you laughing with the bartender? When she felt your lips against hers for the first time? She really didn’t know, but she had decided, and, unbeknownst to you, a future without Kate by your side no longer existed.

#c: kate bishop #dark fic #dark kate bishop #my writing #mcu #kate bishop x reader #venom #dark venom #c: venom #s: venomkate #vemom x reader #sort of #kinktober #kinktober 2023

[riddle-me-ri]

hi if its fine with you id like to request riddler with an artsy s/o and like theyre suffering artblock so they do a painting of him (he finds it sweet)

can be any riddler of ur choice and i also prefer gender neutral but if u end up writing fem i dont mind!

have a good night/day

-anon

A/N: aahhh that’s meee…this request resonates with me so well as an artist that suffers from art block or a chronic victim of endless reference scrolling to where I get lost saving references for everything but what I was looking for rip…only for me to settle and just draw Eddie from different media lol. And I'm so sorry ahead of time this got ridiculously long, I got really carried away and was having so much fun with the idea rip. So sorry for the length!

Riddlers React to Reader’s Art of Him:

Arkhamverse Riddler:

Edward always appreciated your capability to occupy yourself. While he was busy plotting, building, and scheming…you were sketching, collaging, and painting.

Of course, until one unfortunate day. Nothing was coming to you. You’ve just about drawn and sketched every riddlebot, every henchmen, and you even started scribbling question marks all over the pages…wait…what? Ugh. 

You needed to find a new muse. Anything…anyone…well there was one person you haven’t painted yet. 

However, you knew you wouldn’t be caught dead with your supplies in his workspace. The minute the paint spilled on the floor or god forbid you put your eraser down and it disappeared among the chaos. 

You grabbed your phone and began scrolling through your phone. You’ve taken enough candid photos of him, surely one of them would spark your interests. Your artistic eye landed on one such photo. Edward was smiling in this one, it was when he first got one of his riddlebots to work. Quickly you took to sketching the thumbnail for the portrait. 

There was knocking on the door. 

“What is it, Y/N! I’ll have you know I am very busy!” Edward was already raving and ranting before he even opened the door. 

“I-I know, Ed! This’ll only take a minute, please?” You begged, grinning your teeth into a smile as if you were trying to coax him and he was in front of you. 

Edward opened the door and looked at you. “Well? What was so pressing, you had to–”

You pulled the canvas out from behind your back. Edward was stunned when familiar green eyes met his own. 

“Y-Y/N…w-when?” He reaches out to grab it, but you quickly snatch it back. 

“Uh-uh, not with those filthy gloves. Take them off!” You ordered. 

Edward groaned annoyingly, but took them off whilst rolling his eyes. His eyes came back to the painting however as you let him hold it. 

Ed allowed the smallest grin lopsided along his face. He looked surprised, almost mesmerized…he was happy. 

Of course, that window of vulnerability smacked close the instant it let just the tiniest bits of light in. 

“Well, I wouldn’t expect anything less considering you had the most ideal subject to work off from.” 

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes, well the moment was sweet while it was there. 

Reevesverse/Dano Riddler:

Edward was practically the perfect subject for a life drawing. He had his usual comfort positions whenever he was enthralled in any of his usual activities. Which made him sit stable in one position. Whether that was playing games online, reading the paper and doing the crosswords, or endlessly scribbling away at his ledgers. 

You both mutually respected each other’s creative spaces. Not allowing one or the other to look unless invited. You rarely saw what was in his ledgers (you doubt you’d ever get the chance to) and you equally rarely show him your sketchbooks. 

It couldn’t be helped though. He was just too adorable. His small little smirks, his round cheeks, and pretty eyes. He was the best subject…not to mention he was always so still. 

You caught yourself staring glances of him at that moment. He was writing and typing away about something. Probably jotting down some riddles or puzzles of his own. Meanwhile you were steady sketching and erasing away. 

Both of you lost in your own little worlds. 

You didn’t even realize how much time has gone by or how Edward was all of a sudden in front of you. 

You jumped back in shock, curling your arms around your sketchbook to shield its contents. 

“Oh…sorry…I-I didn’t mean to make you jump.”

You sighed. “It’s okay, just lost in the zone for a minute.”

There was a moment of silence as Edward decided to take a seat next to you. You were pondering your next move, but maybe it would be a good step towards moving your relationship forward. 

“W-Wanna see what I’ve been working on?” You offered.

Ed’s head immediately picked up. “O-Oh…uh…y-you don’t have too if you’re not comfortable.”

“I wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t.” You handed your sketchbook to him. 

He glanced his eyes back and forth between you and the sketchpad. He slowly gripped it with a soft excited smile on his face. You shrugged in on yourself, hoping you made the right call. 

“W-Wait…” He gasped. “T-That’s me? You drew me? Just now?” 

“Ehh…more like the past hour and a half.” You chuckled nervously. 

“I-It’s great…I-I’m f-flattered even. Is this how you see me?” Edward was beside himself. He usually can’t stay looking at himself in the mirror. Seeing his inner self-loathing grow and spread from the inside out, but…but he liked this Edward, the one drawn by you. 

You nodded. “Yeah. It is.” You put your hand on his shoulder and wrapped the other around his waist. You gave him a small side hug and a kiss on his cheek. 

Gotham Riddler: 

You were probably the only one in the whole precinct that actually enjoyed his ramblings and absurd amount of info-dumping. He was too animated to ignore and he made for the perfect drawing subject when you found yourself stuck on what to draw. Thankfully, he’s usually too lost in his thoughts and verbal vomit to pay you any mind to you doodling away. 

Until today anyway. 

“What’re you doing?” 

“Huh?”

“I’ve noticed that while you are actively listening to me talking, and I do appreciate you actually paying attention…I’m curious to what you’re also doing while I’m talking…” He stammered. 

Well, you weren’t prepared for that discussion. 

“Oh, uh…well…I-I’m actually drawing you..” You answered. 

The room was silent. Edward was prepared for every answer…but yet not that one. 

“I-uh-oh...um…wasn’t expecting that.” 

“Did you think I was taking notes?” You giggled.

“Err…actually I thought you were just keeping yourself busy cause…I thought I was boring you.” Edward admitted. 

“What? I don’t find you boring at all. Look!” You quickly handed him your sketchpad before any other negating thoughts came to his head. “I love listening to you, and watching you speak. You’re so animated and brilliant and I want to capture it...or try to anyways.”

Ed’s eyes lit up at you mentioning him, in a positive light. No one’s ever referred to his ramblings as…animated and brilliant before. “C-Can you show me? T-The drawings of me?”

“Oh, uh…” You seized up, the amount you’ve actually drawn finally dawning on you as probably reading on borderline creepy. However, he wasn’t going to believe you unless you showed him the proof. 

You quickly handed him the medium sketchpad before you had time to refuse. 

Ed’s eyebrows raised as his eyes widened. He immediately recognized himself, he could almost recall the conversations. He found himself softly chuckling at the small footnotes to what he was saying beside the sketches. 

“D-Do you like them?” It seemed silly to ask, but you needed vocal affirmation to the silly grin on his face. 

He looked up at you, completely bewildered but extremely giddy. His smile was stretched across his face, no doubt the biggest smile you’ve seen from him. 

“I-I-I love them…they’re great! Y-You’re incredibly talented Y/N…”

“Nah, I’ve just got a great subject.” You nudged your shoulder with his. He returned the sketchbook to you. 

There was another moment of comfortable silence until Ed stole glances between you and the sketchpad. 

“What is it, Ed?” 

“Well, I don’t want to start sharing until you’re ready!” He grinned. 

You smiled back but quickly plop down on your seat and grab your graphite pencil. “Okay, I’m ready.” 

BTAS Riddler: 

You were way too focused. After months, almost years of drawing Eddie, you were confident enough to pull off this decent sized portrait of him. He’s been your whole world for so long, he occupied a lot mroe of your thoughts than you cared to admit. Although, there was nothing wrong with showing that appreciation. 

You were too excited to wait for his birthday or Christmas or Valentine’s Day. You just wanted to give him something, plus drawing and painting him help broke you from your art block the past few weeks. Seeing his adorable face slowly come to life on the canvas, you even amazed yourself at a moment or two. 

It was the hardest secret to keep until you finally were ready to reveal it to him. You two just had a fun date night. Everything was perfect, and the mood was just right. Love, passion, and tenderness flowing between the two of you. 

You’re reminded yet again, just how much you love and adore this man. He leaned down to kiss you when all of a sudden you remember your portrait drying in your studio. You gasp which shocks Ed but you tap his nose and tell him to wait in the living room. 

He quirks a curious eyebrow at you but stays put. 

He’s shocked when he sees you carrying something almost as tall and wide as you behind your back. You pull it out from behind your back, a thin protective sheet of paper still covering the art. 

“I-I made this for you, Eddie.” You said softly, handing him the canvas.

“D-Darling..you…you didn-” When he pulls the protective back, he’s in complete awe. He finds himself breathlessly chuckling. “I-It’s me?”

“Of course it’s you, there’s no one else more handsome!” You went up and kissed his cheek. “Do you like it, Eddie?” 

“I-I-I’m in awe, I love it…You’re so talented, my dear…thank you.” He kissed your temple in return. You grabbed his chin and leaned him down to properly kiss you like he tried to do before. 

Zero Year/Capullo Riddler: 

Now, this asshole…he’s surprised you weren’t already drawing him. Like what better muse do you need, Y/N? He’s right there! He knows how much you love his face, the way he grins, his expressive eyes, and even more intricate and expressive hand gestures. You don’t say it but he can see it in your eyes, you don’t hide your obvious attraction to him well. 

However, you still sketch away even while rolling your eyes. As much as you hated to admit it (and as much I, too, hate to admit it) the smug bastard was fun as hell to draw. His face was so pudgy and he was able to do certain expressions you haven’t seen before. 

“Why don’t you ever ask me to pose for you?” He teased you. 

“Because quite frankly thinking of painting you like…uh…French girl, doesn’t sound amusing to me.” 

Edward blinked at you in disbelief. You found yourself succumbing to your chuckles at his displeased expression. 

“Now, you and I BOTH very well know, that’s a lie!” He crossed his arms defensively. 

“Is it?” You challenged. 

Edward nodded. “You may not think it, but I’ve seen you draw me before, and even I have to admit, you capture my essence pretty well.”

“Does that essence portray a conceited dickhead?” You asked. 

He narrowed his eyes at you. 

“I’ll take that as a no…damnit guess I’ll have to fix those..”

“C’mon, Y/N! Just this once!” 

“Are you paying me?” 

“What? NO!” He laid down in front of you on his side on top of the thankfully empty coffee table. “I should be offering payment for my services, but this will be a freebie.”

You found yourself reeling your eyeballs back into your sockets. After more minutes of bickering you conceded and painted the egomaniac. You tried to stay focused no matter how often he kept teasing you with winks and kissy faces. 

When you flipped the canvas around to show him the final product. You made sure to steady look at his face. He may be a conniving manipulator, but if he was pleased or surprised he couldn’t hide it. You found yourself grinning, as his mouth opened to a soft “oh” shape and his eyes were widened. 

“Well, what do you think?” 

Somehow hearing your voice snapped him out of whatever thoughts he was having. Gone went the wide eyes and speechlessness. 

“Well, I mean..it is amazing, but then again your subject matter is pretty incredible…”

You snatched your supplies and started storming off.

“Hey! Come back! It looks good! You even got my eyes right this time!” 

“Oh fuck off! I never screw up your eyes!”

“So you do stare at me?”

“Ugh!” 

Twojar Riddler:

Just call him the David to your Michelangelo. You would never outright admit it but it was pretty clear to the two of you that you had a mutual appreciation for the other as muse and artist. Whenever you had a slow art day or when you weren’t getting any ideas, Edward was usually always free to stand in as your art subject. 

Almost too willing some times, even suggested it on days you were doing well enough on your own. Although it never hurt to practice more life and anatomy practice. Edward would very much prefer it was HIS anatomy as opposed to anyone else’s. 

One day, you realized that you never actually truly painted him. It was usually just quick thirty minute or sometimes an hour long sketching sessions. He was always pleased with whatever you drew, sometimes teasing you where you tend to mostly put your focus on when drawing him. Whether it was his face, his hands, or chest. 

Regardless you wanted to wow him at least once with your skill. Lately you’ve been pulling out the paints again. Ed noticed but never mentioned them. You were thankful for, you wanted to be able to get better at the medium before putting your favorite subject to the test. When you felt like you painted everything under the moon and began running out of ideas to practice on…you felt like it was time. 

“You want to paint me this time?” Ed asked, wearing a white dress shirt with barely one bottom button barely buttoned. He also wore some dark green slacks. 

“Yeah, thought I’d change it up a bit. I’ve been practicing with the paints for a minute.” You explained as you set up your easel and paints. 

“I’ve noticed, you’ve picked up on it rather quickly, not that I’m surprised.” He grinned. 

“Well, hopefully, I can impress you instead.” You chuckled as you finally took a seat. 

“You always impress me, dear. I always admire you and your craft.” 

You smiled softly at that. You shook your head to get rid of the blushes coming to warm your cheek as you began to focus. 

It took an extra hour and a half than you liked. Edward occasionally talking to make conversation. You two never sat well in silence and oddly enough, these were the few intimate moments you got to catch up with one another. 

“Well, darling?” 

“I-I…well…”

“I won’t move until you’re certain.” 

Your heart swelled at his commitment. “You can see it, Eddie…” 

It was eternity for him to go from his sitting spot to your side. You didn’t miss the small intake of air and the wide smile on his face. 

“Well?” 

“I-It’s outstanding…y-you’ve outdone yourself my dear.” He complimented. 

You couldn’t resist the squeals of excitement that came out as you wrapped your arms around his neck in an embrace. “Thank you, Eddie! That means a lot!”

Gotham City Sirens Riddler: 

It wasn’t unheard of that there were slow days at the office. Much like this one dull and dragging Wednesday evening. After all your spring cleaning and organizing your office space was done, you figured it wouldn’t hurt to pull out your sketchbook. 

Usually Ed had the door to his office closed, but since he likely was not expecting any new cases today he decided to leave it open. 

After scribbling some random faces and various shapes to get the drawing muscles warmed up, you took a glance into Edward’s office. 

You haven’t drawn him yet. Sometimes you’ve caught Harley or Selina waiting and got to draw their faces. Every now and again you got to draw the clients that came in. Better still, there were a couple cases Edward required your artistic skill to draw a possible person of interest or whatever descriptors a client may have to help him go off of. 

You liked those cases best, they made you feel good like you were actually helping Ed and not just his book keep. 

You started sketching out your basic shape and guidelines. Stealing the glances of Edward like a kid stealing cookies from a jar. Just to make sure Ed didn’t have the slightest clue to your creative activity. 

“Well, Y/N. I guess it’s time to call it a day, I suppose it was a good day to–Y/N?” 

“Yes, sir?” You looked up and almost jumped from your seat when he was in front of you and not in his office. 

“What were you doing with your spare time?” Ed smirked. He looped around the edge of your desk to where he was beside you. 

You didn’t have a chance to explain it before he saw the drawing of himself. 

“I-I’m sorry, Eddie…I-I don’t mean to freak you out, I was just…didn’t know what to draw and I’ve never drawn you before…”

Ed scoffed. “Could’ve fooled me, this looks amazing, Y/N. And dare I say, extremely flattering too.” He winked at you. 

You gulped the slowly suffocating and growing lump in your throat. “I-I uh..t-thanks, Eddie.” 

“Thank you…come on, let’s get out of here. Perhaps we can discuss future art projects for you in the future with yours truly.” 

Young Justice Riddler: 

If you could say you had a number one fan of your art, it was Edward. You could doodle a tiny smiley face any child could draw and he’d absolutely adore it. He adored your sketches of the teammates, or your landscape studies of different places you guys travel too for the Light. 

One day on such a trip, you found yourself at a complete loss. You didn’t feel inspired to draw anything, and you wanted to draw. It always helped pass the time on these trips. 

You looked over and saw Eddie busy typing away on his PC. No doubt doing research for this upcoming mission. A lightbulb went off in your head. You quickly started sketching him, your heart every now and then skipping a beat whenever he smiled at his screen. You were thrilled he hasn’t spotted you yet, it gave you all the motivation to get it done as quickly but accurately as possible. 

“Y/N? I didn’t know you were in here!” 

You looked up and your eyes met warm brown ones. You quickly glance back down at your pad and back at him just to see if they are any more details you needed to add. 

“Oh hey, Eddie! Yeah...I-I’ve been in here for a minute.” You chuckled. 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” He took a seat next to you. 

“Well, because I wanted the chance to draw you!” 

“D-Draw me?” He even pointed to himself with his thumb to get double affirmation. 

“Yeah! Look!” 

Edward took the sketchbook in his hands and his breath was immediately taken away. He saw himself in black and white on the paper, yet…it was how you saw him. You somehow drew the confidence he struggled to find in himself…onto him. 

“Is, is this how you picture me?” He asked softly.

“Yes, babe…that’s you.” You smiled. “I’m kind of impressed with myself. I captured your sweet smile I love. I got your eyes just how I like…it’s all you, and everything I adore about you.” 

Edward found himself chuckling. "I-I…I love it, you make me look…how I want to look like.." 

You put your head on his shoulder. "You already look that way to me." 

You kissed his cheek, giggling as his face started to blush.

Telltale Riddler: 

God, it was so damn difficult and intimidating to impress him in any and every possible way. 

However, you knew Edward had an appreciation for the arts. Thankfully you were artistic, and he seemed to enjoy the little still lives you drew. Giving you the smallest nod or the lowest of satisfied hums. 

Well, what was driving you anxious now was how he’d react to this portrait of him you did. You had a major art block and wanted to paint human figures for once. It made sense to paint Edward considering how long you’ve been with him…however predicting his reaction was nerve-wracking. 

Would he like it? Would he just give you pity comments but totally roll his eyes at it? He’d probably comment about how you had better things to do with your spare time. 

However, you knew he would have questions to what has kept you so busy the past couple of weeks. While he was tinkering away in his hideout. You occasionally reached out periodically but mostly stayed in your apartment. You invited him over for dinner so you can unveil your painting to him. 

“So, what was it you wanted to show me?” As soon as dinner was over, Edward didn’t beat around anymore bushes. 

“Well, you were asking what was keeping me so busy. I was working on a little project, to surprise you with…” You tried to swallow down the lump of nervousness in your throat and slow down the anxious pacing of your heart. 

“F-follow me.” He followed you down the hallway and to your little studio in the room right across from your bedroom. 

The painting was covered with a protective thin sheet over it. You went to the side of it and with a quick breath your snatched it off.��

It was a mid-waist portrait. He was in his Riddler get-up, the hood was down, but his eye mask was still on. He held his staff in his hand and leaned it against his shoulder. 

Edward was speechless. He was hardly ever speechless…so you weren’t sure if that was exactly a good or bad reaction. Eventually the quiet was eating away at you. 

“Edward?” You asked, slowly dropping the sheet from your hands. 

“I-I-I…” He finds himself flabbergasted. No one’s ever done anything like this for him. The only pictures of him are either from mugshots or wanted posters. Pictures of him were usually videos or images of him in mid-heist. 

“This…this is very impressive, Y/N. Is this what kept you busy these past few days?” He was steady staring at his portrait. 

“Y-Yes…I wanted to surprise you with something, and I’ve always wanted to try my hand at figures.” 

He looked over at you and grinned. “You certainly did that, you surprised me and impressed me. If you ever wish to…draw from real life…feel free to bring your supplies to the hideout. Just as long as you clean up and keep up with them.” He winked. 

Hush (DCAU) Riddler: 

Hmm…just one more little line here…erase that guideline that was still there.

"Hey, Y/N! What're you drawing this time?" 

You had your supplies all lined out on the living room table. You had your artboard in your lap with your sheet of paper. You were drawing while waiting for Edward to come home. 

"Oh…just this really handsome person I know. I see him every day and yet I never thought to draw him. It was the perfect way to break out of my art block!" 

He was hanging up his suit jacket, hat, and mask while he took in everything you said. Yet it just now registered to him as he started walking towards your makeshift work station. 

"W-wait what? You drew me?

"Well I'm glad to know you know it's you." You chuckled. 

Edward leaned over the back of the couch and looked over your shoulder. 

“Whoa…you weren’t kidding.” He mumbled.

“Why would I kid you? Do you like it?” You leaned your head next to his. You could feel his smile stretch to scrunch his cheeks. 

“I-I love it…I look amazing! W-Well I mean..you drew me amazing..I’m still just me..” He chuckled. 

You giggled back, turning his head to the side, you leaned in and met his lips with yours. “I love you, and I drew you as I see you. You’re always amazing to me, Eddie.” 

He smiled back at you, with the most loving eyes imaginable. 

“I can keep drawing you, if you wish. If that’ll make you believe!” You nudged his shoulder with yours. 

He laughed. “I don’t know about that but I do know I like the idea of being your “go-to” muse.”

#ri writes #this post almost broke me #I thought I lost it when I was literally two riddlers away from finishing #the riddler x reader #edward nygma x reader #edward nigma x reader #edward nashton x reader #arkhamverse riddler x reader #reevesverse riddler x reader #dano riddler x reader #gotham riddler x reader #btas riddler x reader #zero year riddler x reader #capullo riddler x reader #twojar riddler x reader #gotham city sirens riddler x reader #yj riddler x reader #young justice riddler x reader #telltale riddler x reader #hush (dcau) riddler x reader

[noxexistant]

Yesss once we're friends I just am perpetually excited to talk to you forevermore.

Im sorry I am also tired lol I stayed up too late

Oof that sucks. :/

BLINK MY BELOVED

So he is working on a poem for mush. He is worrying about his best friend. He is entertaining snipeshooter and Tumbler and teaching them tricks to sell better.he is saving up to get jack a gift.

me too! i totally accidentally stayed up until like 3am lmao, got possessed with that newsies writing fever. it’s just so much fun having people message me stuff like this, talking about their headcanons and ideas n asking for mine, and people telling me about their own newsies productions!! i love it so much, absolutely worth staying up late for

blink!!! 😭 what an absolute sweetheart

i like to think he started on the poem in his head totally by accident, just letting his mind wander while selling during the day - thinking about mush, like he very often does - but he struggled to keep it straight so started scribbling it down on a piece of paper he asked to pull from one of jack’s notebooks. his handwriting is atrocious, but he can read it just fine - he’s just worried about, when it’s finished, whether mush will be able to read it too. oh, god, blink thinks, am i gonna have to read it out loud to him?

he starts mentally going through the newsies to work out who he trusts to write it out neatly for him, and who’s also capable of keeping a secret. race has got nice handwriting - he’s well-practiced, scrawling out betting slips - but he’s also got a big mouth. maybe buttons could do it.

borrowing the paper from jack also directly influences blink’s desire to get jack a gift, because he can’t stop thinking about how much jack gives to them all and how little he keeps for himself. tearing pages even out of his notebooks that he treats like gold in order to let people draw when they want to or write when they need it. jack runs out of pages often, and ends up sketching on the backs of leaflets and stuff again until he can get his hands on more real paper. because of that, blink’s poem is only on the one sheet - absolutely chock-full of his writing, full of scribbles and blacked-out lines, crammed all snaking around the other words on the page to make more room.

and ohhh man blink teaching the kiddos tricks to sell. blink’s a good entertainer, he’s had a lot of practice, teaching himself how to juggle objects and the like because he was a little scared of the effects losing his eye might have. it’s difficult living without depth perception, he knows even after he ages out of being a newsie nobody’ll have him working in their factory - they probably wouldn’t even have him on a farm, afraid being half-blind also makes him useless - but blink is anything but useless. he shows off to prove it, and the kids think he’s tons of fun.

his eye is also a double-edged sword for selling. it earns him sympathy sometimes like any disability does - he knows other kids that wear eyepatches that don’t even really need them, just wanna pretend to earn that same sympathy, and because of that folks sometimes don’t believe him either. he’s been jabbed by people’s canes and umbrellas and squinted at, asked if his eye’s really bad or if he’s faking. and, if he don’t wear his patch, people are scared of him. disgusted. he’s had women ask to see and then scream when he lifted his patch to show his empty socket. nobody wants to buy a pape from nobody who looks like that.

so, he’s learnt the balance - the exact right space between useful and helpless you’ve gotta be as a newsie to make sales, whether they’re people buying papes to read the news or buying papes to hand a few coins to a poor kid. it doesn’t matter to blink, money’s money. that’s a big part of what he teaches the kids.

#newsies #kid blink #my headcanons #answered #anonymous

[cartoonemotion]

after a million years plus an addition million years post the show ending i am finally just now scribbling out my takes and stuff on fethry's immediate family a la how they would fit into dt17 canon

the breakdown in my mind is that all 3 of eider and lulubelle's children are Strange and Ambiguously Disordered (fethry taking the most after his mother) and also to some degree have inherited eider's legendary strength (abner being basically on par with his father and fethry as the baby and the runt of the three being much more close to just having normal person strength, though still a bit surprising for how noodly he is)

more specific points abt the family under the cut bc i dont want the post to be too long @_@

abner

definitely autistic (as 3 and also lulu are) but its like in that. i dont have healthy coping mechanisms to deal with how alienated from ppl i feel so im just gonna fish and carve wood and if anyone enters my space i will burn it down with both of us still inside it. way

that being said abner’s still plenty capable of being a compassionate guy deep down. he cares a lot about his family and takes whatever responsibility u entrust him with extremely seriously

comes off as emotionally stunted bc he doesnt really show affection in the “normal” way, including and especially physical affection and also. saying shit  out loud. he has his own love language its called * noncommittal groan of acceptance as you enter his house *

in my brain i know he should have a job but all i can think about is him fucking off in the woods so he doesnt have to talk with people. maybe one of those people who sit in towers all day to make sure forests dont burn down. i dunno

mary

loves acting and wants to be a professional stage/screen actor so bad but is unfortunately terrible at acting. probably been in like a few commercials or something

very very dramatic, im talking full comedy sketch of a julliard actor levels of melodrama and stage fainting, whether onstage or not. this makes it hard to tell if her reactions to things are genuine or not unless u are her brothers or parents who have been dealing with this forever

since the acting career is not really taking off Yet she has maybe ripped off 1 or 2 or 20 or so people maybe more just to keep the lights on. ironically when shes conning people she can actually act convincingly (my leverage fans out there. you know)

some of you will probably ask about dugan and while i do absolutely love dugan personally in my mind marys not ready nor interested in motherhood. so. maybe some day i will reveal my own dt17 dugan origin concept idk

eider

something of a local folk hero due to both his truly legendary strength and his equally strong inclination to lend his neighbors a hand, or really anyone else who may need a little help for that matter

as exceptionally goofy and loving as you could want any dad to be, though he can also be a bit stern when he needs to be, and a little prideful

in my mind i think it would be very cool if he had moved his family into granny elvira’s farm to give her a hand bc while shes a tough old woman everyone still needs a hand from time to time but i dont know if this contradicts any serious duck lore so forgive me

lulubelle

full loon baby ! none of this “looks like every other member of clan mcduck” shit !!! yes this includes the blood red eyes #epicloonwin

many make the mistake to count her as an absent minded spooky insane woman but this could not be further from the truth. she is very sharp-witted, observant, and is only spooky simply because its pretty near impossible to creep or gross her out, and even harder to full-on scare. and also because she makes long uninterrupted eye contact all the time

fethry definitely inherited a lot from her, but one of the main things they share is the tendency to cycle through all kinds of seemingly unrelated hobbies and interests; but much like fethry’s chief passion seems to be marine biology, lulu greatly enjoys botany and all it’s practical applications, as well as music

#ducktales #dt17 #ducktales 2017 #fethry duck #abner duck #mary duck #eider duck #lulubelle loon #my art #continuing my niche of fethry and/or general fethry metaposting #that being said i am often charmed by the extended duck/mcduck family #and given that theres so little established information for most of them its just a fun exercise to think of how they might be adapted #and i just zero in on fethry bc hes my favorite and i miss him every day

[edhayne]

I Love Scamp

The TV adaptation of Charlie Mackesy’s bestselling illustrated book, The Boy, The Mole, The Fox and The Horse was the most watched BBC programme on Christmas Eve. Maybe I’m getting overly sentimental in my old age, but I thought the understated short film brought the tale of unusual friendships to life beautifully.

However, what really grabbed me was the accompanying documentary which lets us into the author’s world and his meticulous way of working. It’s a fascinating watch and reaffirmed my belief that committing pen to paper remains one of the purest forms of creative expression.

Before I’m accused of being a technophobe, I’m not advocating that we all unplug our computers and ignore the opportunities that technology enables. Even I’m not that naive, but I am suggesting that we’ve neglected an important craft that deserves a renaissance.

Still not sure what I’m on about? Let’s cut to the chase. I’m referring to the lost art of scamping.

Watching Charlie work his magic over Christmas served as a reminder of just how powerful drawing can be during the creative process. So powerful in fact that a hand drawn scamp is capable of not only enhancing an idea, but also playing a valuable role in protecting it.

Let’s start with how they can make an idea better, sometimes even serendipitously. When talking about one of his most popular sketches, captioned ‘the greatest illusion is that life should be perfect’, Charlie reveals that whilst the ink was drying, his dog walked over the drawing ‘clearly trying to make the point’. It’s an anecdote that captures the possibility that comes with hand-drawn work. Yes, Charlie got lucky, but he was using a medium that lends itself to ideas being built upon organically.

There’s also something to be said for the originality that sits at the heart of a scamp, with our thoughts given the freedom to flow onto the page. It’s why I always loved the pencils handed out at BBH. No doubt some of the world’s greatest advertising campaigns started with one of them, a blank sheet of paper and a relentless pursuit of excellence.

If being creative is about doing new original things, defaulting to image libraries when an idea is in its infancy makes little sense to me. Of course, the right kind of accompanying creative reference is invaluable, but placeholder visuals so early on can distract from the core idea and lead to subjective feedback. Why? Because you’re asking the client to takeaway rather than build upon what’s in front of them.

Naturally the agency blames the client ‘for being too literal’, but if we’re armed with this intel, why do we continue to try and sell creative that sort of looks finished, but is nothing like what we really want to make?

We’ve all been there. “What you’re about to see is not the final execution”. “Think of it like a posh scamp”.

It’s a dangerous game and whether we like it or not, creative presentations are passed around internal stakeholders who understandably aren’t always up to speed on the intricacies of a ‘posh’ scamp. Take away the agency disclaimer voice over and it’s hardly surprising that so many good ideas move onto death row without a fair trial.

It’s why I believe the protective role a ‘common’ scamp can play in the creative process is one of its biggest strengths. Ideas are fragile and need to be nurtured. Like a handwritten letter, there’s something more human and therefore persuasive about a new concept presented in its rawest form, particularly given how rare a technique it’s become.

From a strategy perspective it’s why we often include a photograph that captures the organised chaos of a client/agency workshop when presenting back. Even if the day was largely unproductive, (FYI – many ideas are bad ideas), the sea of luminous post it notes with illegible scribbles conveys a sense of shared ownership and a feeling that brief was interrogated from every angle.

Thankfully Charlie Mackesy wasn’t referring to the output from a workshop when he revealed “it blew his mind that he was sitting talking about a film which began with drawings”. Hindsight’s a wonderful thing, but when you look at the quality of his craft, the medium he embraced and the cultural context, there’s a reason why he’s been so successful at selling his work alongside his team.

One of the most important jobs in advertising is to shorten the odds of a client buying great ideas. Like a penalty shoot-out in football, it’s a fallacy to suggest it’s a lottery. That’s why the best agencies obsess about creating the right conditions for a successful meeting. And whilst the humble scamp might not always be the answer, it’s certainly not a bad place to start. Just ask Charlie.

[dalish-rogue]

messy sketch of my two favorite boys because if I wait to post until I ACTUALLY finish something, it’ll never see the light of day

#fenders #anders #fenris #dragon age #dragon age 2 #da2 #my art #i am only capable of scribbly sketches #and drawing the same two characters in basically the same pose every few months #otp ❤️

[glassworkspiderlilies]

interlinear

Genshin Impact | @albelumiweek 2021 Day 2 | Touch | AO3 Summary: “Hello, Albedo,” Lumine says, her voice amused as she slips into his workshop, gently closing the door behind her, “It seems that your boredom is causing trouble of its own.”  Notes: day 2!!! featuring a distinct lack of touch, or does it? Σ(-᷅_-᷄๑)

.

.

.

True to her status as a hero of Mondstadt, Lumine arrives at the Knights of Favonius headquarters as a balm to aid of their ailing members. It is a severe affliction, one not so easily contracted nor treated in a man such as Albedo, and the news he is affected is kept only among the Acting Grandmaster’s and Albedo’s close circle.

“Hello, Albedo,” Lumine says, her voice amused as she slips into his workshop, gently closing the door behind her, “It seems that your boredom is causing trouble of its own.”

He is sitting by the window, elbow resting on a stack of finished books that has risen tall enough for him to do so, propping his head up with his cheek against the backs of his fingers. In his free hand is an ancient-looking scroll, quite a bit of it already unraveled and pooling onto the floor. Despite the assumption that surely it must be occupying his time, a sense of displeasure radiates off of the Chief Alchemist anyway, though his expression remains impassive. His workshop is in a state of disarray—even more so than usual—with various experiments bubbling away in isolated spaces, scribbled notes and charts both strewn about and pinned up, and half-used ingredients still scattered along surfaces.

His demeanor brightens, however, when he sees her, the oppressive pall within the room dissipating like smoke as he lifts his head.

“Hello, Lumine,” he greets back, “Is that what you would call this?”

“If not boredom, then a slump,” she amends thoughtfully, leaning her back against the door. “You’ve said so before that specimens are finite, and the enlightenment of investigative process is fleeting in nature. I expect this is a rather severe dead end, isn’t it?”

His gaze turns more piercing as she repeats his words back to him, and she tilts her head a little, giving him a pointed look. She had been concerned back then, on Dragonspine, as it was evident his list of worthy specimens and points of interest was already being exhausted. That seed from another world was a rare thing—wholly new and exciting, a problem difficult enough for him to have to enlist the help of someone else. He’d been satisfied at the seed’s transient blooming, but also perhaps a bit disappointed that the experiment had come to an end.

“…Even so, there are plenty of more mundane studies to be done,” he says lightly, turning back to his scroll, “I will confess I did not think I could be subject to ennui.”

Lumine chuckles a little at that.

“To be honest, I didn’t think so either. But if you keep doing things that you already deem dull when you’re bored, it just makes it worse, doesn’t it?”  

Albedo sighs, finally putting down the scroll entirely. She’s right. It is unusual indeed for him to get to this point; between his work as both Chief Alchemist and Captain of the Investigation Team and taking care of Klee, normally his days are very full, even without new studies to pursue. But there’s a brief dry spell in the work for the Knights, which does happen every so often and thus signals a well-deserved break. He does spend more time with Klee, but there are also days where she goes out adventuring with her friends, and it would not do for him to be overbearing either. It is the same with Sucrose and Timaeus; they need time to continue their studies and garner results, and to hover too much would be more detrimental than beneficial.

At first he had turned his hand to busywork—stocking the Knights on potions and other supplies, reading lesser known manuscripts and theses, also walking around and sketching more. But too soon did the Knights’ stores become overstocked, that his focus for reading all these texts flagged, that his artistic inspiration and motivation dwindled.

Albedo with nothing to do was something of a menace. Not because of his attitude or any such thing—though he did become more intimidating to talk to, as the air of dissatisfaction hung about him—but because he was so capable that there was simply nothing he could be given at the moment that would be considered up to par.

Except, Kaeya had brought up, when he, Jean, and Lisa had met, the Traveler, whom Albedo had a continuing interest in. Jean had brightened at this, while Lisa had raised a slender brow at the mischievous twinkle in Kaeya’s eye but said nothing.

“I shall send the Traveler to Albedo when she arrives,” Jean had said with a relieved smile, “I’m sure she’ll be happy to assist; if I recall, they are good friends as well.”

Kaeya had chuckled, and all but purred his response.

“Indeed they are. I’m certain her company will be very…stimulating.”

And so Lumine was sent, though not without her own agenda.

“You’re correct,” Albedo admits, then gives her a wry smile. “I suppose I am in need of assistance.”

“Lucky for you, I’m here.”

“So you are. Tell me then, how shall I occupy myself?”

“With me,” Lumine says, continuing without a change in expression while Albedo blinks hard, “I’m offering myself as a study.”  

There is a silence. Albedo regards her carefully, but she does not flinch under his gaze.

“I subjected you to my research back on Dragonspine, and you went out of your way in being cooperative with a total stranger. You needn’t go so far again just to humor me,” he says politely, and Lumine smiles.

“It’s only partially a favor to you, and besides, we are far from strangers now. You told me back then…I function much like a human from this world, but the fact still remains that I am not from this world. So, what about the percentage that I am not like a human from Teyvat? It is difficult to see a situation for what it is when you are in the center of it. So I’d like your help, to find answers to my own questions. Symbiotic, isn’t it?”

Albedo’s face is impassive, but he remembers the sediment that formed at the bottom of the vial which she drank from, the sediment that should not have been there. He had made a point to tell her how ordinary the results were at the time, but she was starting to probe at the loopholes in his explanation herself. He is not entirely sure what she should know, but…there are countless questions that could be posed in regards to the Traveler from another world, countless avenues of research.

“I’m in no position to refuse,” he says, inclining his head. “But I am glad that this will be a mutually beneficial endeavor.”

“How sweet,” she says, her eyes crinkling, and he blinks. “But so it is. And with that, I shall give myself over to you.”

But he doesn’t yet move from his seat, and the two stare at each other from across the room. Her lips are still curved in an amused expression, and the fact that they are wholly alone in his space strikes him more clearly now. Paimon isn’t even here, he realizes, and he belatedly thinks that she would make a wonderful study as well if she allowed it. But oddly, he does not particularly feel like asking where the fairy is.

This shouldn’t hit him the way it does. They’d been alone for stretches on Dragonspine too, and many times after that when gathering materials or having lunch or just making simple conversation. But at present there is the particular manner in which she speaks, the words that she chooses, and the fact that she is still leaning against the door.

There is another brief silence before he speaks again, very slowly, his eyes not leaving hers.

“I suppose I should warn you that I intend to be thorough, as is my nature.”

Her amusement deepens.

“I would expect no less,” she says easily. “I would be disappointed otherwise.”

“I would not want you to be uncomfortable at any point in the process.”

“I would tell you, if I took issue.”

“The experiment may take quite some time, as well.”

“Don’t worry, my schedule is cleared for you. Barring anything drastic, of course.”

“And I’m afraid that my workshop is lacking in amenities.”

She glances around the room, inclining her head towards a small, squashed couch that is shoved against the wall, its seats occupied by various books and paraphernalia.

“That will do just fine, once it is cleared off,” she says.

There is a pause. He does not say these things to deter her, merely to confirm her will.

It is his turn to be amused, that she answered all of them so readily, and he tilts his head, measuring. He has to marvel at her, as well as the situation they are in.

She senses his mirth, and tilts her head back.

“May I?” she asks, gesturing.

“It is probably for the best.”

She opens the door a little, reaching out and flipping over the sign hanging outside to say Experiment in Progress. She closes the door with her back, the same way she did when she first came in, watching him as she reaches one hand towards the doorknob.

The lock clicks.

Albedo stands, removing his gloves as he crosses over to her and cups her cheek.

“Well then,” he says, and she finally pushes away from the door. “Shall we begin?”

.

(Kaeya comes by sometime later and knocks, the sign indicating that Albedo is free. He steps in once permission is received, and smiles when he sees Lumine reading a book on the unearthed couch, Albedo on the opposite side of the room observing one of his bubbling concoctions.

“Hey, you two!” Kaeya says cheerfully, holding up a bag. “Brought you some snacks. How’d it go?”

It is a very nonspecific question.

“Lumine has been very helpful,” Albedo says without pause, attention still on his experiment, “I think I’ll be making a breakthrough on this soon.”

“How nice,” Kaeya says, turning to Lumine. “And you? I hope our frustrated Chief Alchemist didn’t work you too hard.”

“Albedo is always a gentleman,” Lumine says smoothly, her eyes revealing nothing, but her direct stare also lets Kaeya know she knows exactly what he’s doing and is having none of it. “I’ve learned a lot about advanced alchemy.”

“How nice,” Kaeya repeats, his lips quirking up. “Say, how about we all go out for a drink? You two have been cooped up all day, so why not a different kind of diversion?”

“No thank you,” Lumine and Albedo say together, their tones unfailingly polite.

“I am at a delicate stage in this experiment now,” Albedo explains, gesturing in front of him. “It will require careful monitoring.”

“And I’d like to master the process this book details before I have to leave Mondstadt again. But perhaps another day, before I head out?” Lumine demurs.

“Sure, sure,” Kaeya says with an airy wave of his hand. “I’ll grab Rosaria instead, then. We’ll be at Angel’s Share, if you change your mind.”

Lumine and Albedo make noises of acknowledgement.

Kaeya gives a lazy salute before walking out, leaving the door askew as though by carelessness.

He does not turn around, but he smirks when he hears the very quiet but telltale sound of the door closing behind him.)

#genshin impact #albelumi #albelumiweek2021 #genshin albedo #genshin lumine #fanfiction #every time i write implied content im like. why do i do this. #but alas i got no time to stop and think about what i've done THE WEEK ROLLS ON--

[quickspinner]

These Two Hands (I’ll Never Not Know You)

I worked on this for ages, and I just couldn't get it to come out right, so I put it aside and worked on other things. I hadn't looked at it in months, and then the WIP meme came along, and I started looking it over, and it turned out to be ridiculously easy to fix and finish, so here it is at last!

Shoutout to all my artist buddies, whose complaining about hands being such a pain to draw gave me the idea for this fic. 😆 Love you guys.

I don't think I said anything that specifically made it clear, but they're university aged in this one.

It was a beautiful summer day in Paris, with just enough breeze to keep the heat from being unbearable. Enjoying the weather and his music, Luka had no idea how long he’d been sitting there playing on the warm, wide stone steps of the Trocadero. A while, by the sun and the hollow feeling in his stomach. Luka packed up his guitar and slung it across his back. He started to descend the steps, but paused as he nearly trod on something at the bottom. He bent down and picked up the book, plain black and with heavy, weighted paper, like an artist’s book. It wasn’t battered or dirty, like it had been there for days, though the canvas cover was frayed a bit at the corners. Well-used, he concluded, and lost only recently.

Luka looked around, hesitant. He couldn’t see anybody who looked like they’d lost something. He went back up the steps and looked around at the top, with the same result. 

Luka sighed. He got so into his music, he frequently lost awareness of his surroundings, so while he knew some people had stopped on the steps to hear him play, he had no memory of what they looked like or what they’d been doing, other than Officer Roger passing by and giving him the stinkeye. Apparently the officer hadn’t felt like ruining a perfectly good day by hassling about permits and nonsense, though, and once he’d moved on, Luka had played without regard to his audience.

He went back down the stairs, thinking, and then sat down slowly on the bottom step. He felt like an intruder as he opened the book, as he thought of the battered spiral notebook full of embarrassing, half-finished scribbles he carried in his guitar case. He checked the inside of both covers first, but found only the initials MDC. No phone number, not even a full name.

Luka blew out a frustrated breath, fluffing his bangs away from his face. Reluctantly, he began turning pages. 

It was full of...hands. Hands planting a seedling, hands cleaning something indistinct. Hands buried in a lumpy mass. Clay? Or maybe dough? Hands twined in yarn, holding the vague suggestion of knitting needles. What they were doing was usually only lightly sketched in and suggested, but the hands themselves were detailed and bold. It was kind of weird at first, but as he continued to turn the pages, still checking each for some sign of the owner, he began to appreciate the different types of beauty and strength captured on each page. He could imagine the trembling in the wrinkled hands with swollen joints that held a flower stem delicately. There were fingers curved over a computer keyboard, charged with energy, and he could almost hear the rapid smack of the fingers hitting the keys. 

Luka found himself rubbing his fingers together. He’d never contemplated his hands from an aesthetic standpoint. Why would he? They were rough and scarred; his fingers from the guitar, his palms from the ropes and rigging on the boat, from the lifting and carrying required for the constant rearranging of the stuff on deck to make sure they could get around. He’d never thought about whether they were—any of what he saw in these pictures. 

He glanced up and around again, still feeling guilty to be poking through someone else’s private things, but no one was paying him any mind, and he still had no clues as to the owner. He tried to flip quickly, just checking each page for even a hint of where he might go to return it, but with everything but the hands indistinct there wasn’t much to go by. 

He stopped in surprise on the last sketch in the book, staring at the drawing of hands on a guitar. The guitar was just roughed in, once again more of a suggestion than a drawing, except where the left hand rested on the fretboard, pressing into the strings. 

The hands, though, were incredibly detailed, and, he realized with a sudden blush, they were his. He touched his thumb to the ring on his pointer finger absently. The right hand, curved to strum, the pick invisible from that angle but implied, had bracelets matching his stacked along the wrist. 

The nails were colored in, dark like his, but beyond that, he wouldn’t have recognized them without the jewelry and the small curving scar near the thumb of the right hand.

These hands were elegant, graceful, intentional. It had been a long time since Luka last consciously thought about the control he had over his hands, but he couldn’t help thinking about it now. It had taken him years of practice to get there, but when he played, his hands did exactly what he needed them to, found the strings he needed quickly and accurately. Though they were thin, they were strong and sure, equally capable of coaxing a melody and knotting a rope with speed and strength. 

That was what this person had seen in them, at least. 

“Oh!”

Luka looked up and found a girl staring at him with both hands over her mouth, her blue eyes wide. Her gaze flickered between him and the book. 

“Is this yours?” he asked without thinking. 

She nodded slowly, pink spreading over her cheeks. 

Luka closed it quickly and stood up, offering it to her. She took a hasty step forward, grabbing the book gratefully, but somehow got her feet tangled up and yelped as she tipped forward. Luka caught her shoulders and steadied her. “Woah, easy.” He shifted her back until she was solidly on her feet, and let go. “I’m sorry for snooping, it’s just I found it on the steps and I was trying to find a name or something so I knew who to give it back to. I wasn’t having much luck, though, so I’m really glad you came back.” 

“Oh,” she said, blushing and holding the sketchbook to her. “It’s okay, of course I understand. I’m glad it was found, at least. I just...I’m just kind of embarrassed, I know it must look kind of weird, and I usually ask before I draw someone but you were busy and the music was so lovely and I started watching your hands and just kind of got caught up in the moment but I’m really sorry—”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Luka said, putting a hand on her shoulder briefly to interrupt as she began picking up speed. “I thought they were cool, and I’m flattered you saw something in my hands worth capturing.”

She smiled shyly. “I like hands that make things. They’re my favorite. I mean, it started just as a drawing exercise, because hands are hard, and so I thought if I just kept drawing them I’d get better. And...and then when I started looking, I got interested, and I kept going. It’s kind of stress relief now. And that probably doesn’t make it any less weird.” She put one hand back over her face, the other still clutching her sketchbook, and made a little whine. “Why am I still talking?”  

“That’s amazing,” Luka smiled, and then hesitated. “Um, are you busy? On your way somewhere? Because if not, I’d really like to look at some more. If it’s okay with you.” 

Her eyes widened slightly, and the flush on her cheeks deepened. “R-really? I mean, sure, if you, um. If you want to. I didn’t really think they were that interesting, to be honest.”

“Well, I do,” Luka said, and backed up to sit back down on his steps, tipping his head to invite her to sit next to him. “My name’s Luka.”

She smiled nervously, perching on the step and tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. “I’m Marinette.” Luka turned back to the beginning of the book, and began to page through more slowly, pausing now and then to ask Marinette about a picture.

“That’s my grandmother,” she told him, as he looked at a picture of half-gloved hands resting on the handles of a motorcycle. “She travels a lot.” 

“I really like this one,” he said after a moment, pausing at the hands twined in yarn. 

“I, um,” Marinette hunched her shoulders a little bit. “I love drawing people knitting. They all look so different, even though they’re doing the same thing. Everyone holds the yarn a little bit differently, knits just a slightly different way.”

“And this?” he asked, tilting his head slightly. “I can’t quite figure this one out.”

“That’s my friend Kim,” Marinette explained. “He’s a swimmer. He was doing backstroke time trials and I just got really fascinated with the way his hands held onto the wall. I didn’t quite get the perspective right, though.” She giggled nervously, and Luka smiled at the sound. “The blurry spots are from when he dripped on me trying to get a look at what I was doing.” 

“I can see it now,” Luka nodded. “The tension in them, and why you did the eyes here between them—”

“They ended up looking kind of buggy, with the goggles,” Marinette admitted. 

“No, I really like it, though,” Luka looked up to flash her a quick smile. “You really get that sense of power about to let loose.”

Marinette blinked. “Y-yeah,” she smiled. “Yeah...thanks.”

“Why make the rest of the drawings so incomplete compared with the hands?” Luka asked curiously, looking up from the book to meet her eyes. “I mean, I get why the hands are the focus, but why make the rest of it so vague?”  

Marinette blushed. “It’s...stupid. I don’t know if it’ll even make sense if I say it out loud.”

“Try me,” Luka smiled. 

“It’s just, no matter how I draw them, it’s not the full picture,” Marinette said thoughtfully, and then glanced up at him with an adorably shy smile. “No pun intended. I just mean that there’s so much that these hands can do and when I draw them, I’m really only capturing one. I’d be fascinated to find out what else your hands can do besides play guitar,” she added, and Luka’s face flamed red, though Marinette didn’t seem to notice anything suggestive about what she’d said as she picked his hand up, examining it. Luka swallowed as she turned his hand over and ran her fingers over the calluses on his palm. “You didn’t get these from the guitar,” she said. “Sports? Or something else?” 

Luka cleared his throat. “I live on a boat on the Seine,” he said, watching her. “I work with a lot of ropes, and I’m always climbing around fixing something or other.” 

Marinette nodded, looking up at him, his hand still cradled in hers. “That explains the tan. What else?” 

“Um…” Luka blinked, trying to think. “I carry sound and boat equipment.” 

“Okay,” Marinette said, still listening. Looking at him like he was a puzzle she was trying to solve. He wasn’t sure what she wanted to hear, or why he suddenly very much wanted to be worthy of her interest, but...

“I...comfort my sister,” Luka said softly, dropping his gaze to his hand again. “She’s nervous, she gets worried. I put my hand on her shoulder so she knows that I’m there with her and she’s not alone. I...I calm my mother down. She’s kind of...passionate, she gets worked up about stuff a lot. I put my hand on hers or on her arm to remind her to take a minute to breathe.” 

“And you help up strangers who trip over their own feet,” Marinette giggled. 

“Yeah,” Luka smiled, looking at her. “That too.” 

“It sounds like your hands do a lot of good,” she said. “Your hands help people. Lift them up. You carry, you support. That’s very noble, Luka.”

Luka’s face heated. “Poetic, but...I think that’s giving me a bit too much credit,” he said, looking down at her little hands on his. He was beginning to be fascinated with their contrast, by the way their fingers looked together. Impulsively he closed one hand, capturing hers gently.

“You’re really special, Marinette,” he said. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anybody that thinks like you.” 

Marinette stared at him for a second, and then looked down at their hands. It seemed to hit her all at once that she’d been holding onto him, and she jerked her hands back, face reddening. “I’m so sorry—I’m being really weird, aren’t I?” Marinette hunched her shoulders. “I’m sorry—”

“Maybe a little bit,” Luka broke in, stopping her from another apology spiral. “But what’s weird anyway? Just something a little different than normal. Unique. Nothing wrong with that. Let’s just roll with it.” He grinned. “Embrace the weird. May I see yours?” 

She looked startled. “W-what?” 

“Your hands,” he said, holding out his own. “May I see them?” 

Marinette couldn’t get any redder but her mouth opened and closed soundlessly for a moment. “It’s okay,” Luka said quickly. “If you’d rather not. I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable.” 

“No, it’s fine,” she said, hunching her shoulders again. “It’s only fair, right? Gosh, I didn’t even ask you, you must think I’m so—” She made a wordless noise in her throat and held out her hands stiffly. 

“I don’t,” Luka chuckled. “I didn’t mind. It doesn’t have to be fair, though,” Luka said, making no move to take her hands again. “If you’re not okay with it, don’t feel like you have to.” 

“It’s really okay,” she said. Her hands relaxed a little, her shoulders came down, and there was enough sincerity in her smile to convince him. “It’s just, I don’t think mine are anything special.” 

“Hmm,” Luka chuckled, slowly reaching to take her hands. “I didn’t think mine were either, until today.” His hands dwarfed hers as he closed his fingers lightly. Her fingers were slender and elegantly tapered. Her fingernails were short but filed meticulously into perfect ovals. He ran his thumbs lightly over the backs, tracing the veins and gliding over the bumps of her knuckles.  

“So what do you do with these hands, besides drawing?” he asked as he looked. 

“Sewing, mostly. Some knitting and crochet and things like that, but mostly I make clothes. I’m in school for fashion design and I’m always working on some project or other. That’s why my hands are always so beat up.”

Gently Luka turned her hands over, letting go of her left hand to trail his fingers over the palm and fingers of her right, noticing the calluses on her fingertips and one on the side of her middle finger. 

Luka looked up at her and grinned. “You said hands that make things are your favorite.”  

Marinette shrugged slightly, smiling. “It’s worth the callouses. The business stuff, I could live without, but the making—it doesn’t feel like work. I like making things that help people express themselves.” 

Luka picked her left hand up again and noticed a shiny burn scar on the heel of it. He turned that hand up and let go of the other to run his fingers lightly over the scar. “What’s the story here?”

“A boring one,” Marinette chuckled, making a face. “I’m a klutz and I live in a bakery. I tripped and put my hand down in the wrong spot. I’ve gotten lots of burns for various reasons but that’s the only one that really left a mark.”

“Do you bake?” 

“Sometimes. Not for the bakery, but for friends and family on special occasions. I also do a lot of decorating. Cakes and cookies and stuff. I’m a master with a piping bag.”

“That makes sense,” Luka said softly, thoughtfully. 

Marinette tilted her head and looked up at him. “Luka?”

“These little hands create so much beauty,” he mused aloud, marveling. Marinette squeaked and he glanced up at her, a question on his tongue, but he froze instead, caught by her eyes, clear baby blue, framed with dark lashes, and currently wide and staring at him. It struck him all at once as he took in her vibrant blush and pretty parted lips that she was really, really beautiful, and that he’d been fondling her hands for the last several minutes and he should...he should probably let go.

He didn’t want to. 

He didn’t want to let go of those tiny, strong, capable, beautiful hands. 

“Sorry, I was just thinking,” Luka said, and cleared his throat to smooth out his suddenly rough voice. “What you were saying about my hands lifting people up. Your hands...make things beautiful. You take ordinary things and make them better.” He looked back down at their hands, rubbing his thumbs absently across her knuckles as he spoke. “That’s a pretty special gift, Marinette. Making the world a more beautiful place, or even just making it so that people can see the beauty that’s already there...you’re amazing.” He took a deep breath and forced himself to look back at her face. “Would you, um...this is going to sound really forward, but would you go out with me sometime?” 

“O-out?” Marinette stammered, looking rather like she’d just been hit in the head with a board.

Luka tried not to laugh. “Yeah. Out. On a date? Maybe this weekend? I know we just met, but…”

“I’d like to,” Marinette blurted, face red. “That...that sounds really great.” She dropped her gaze for a minute, and then flicked her eyes back up shyly, a slow smile curling her lips. “But if you want my number, you’re going to have to let go of my hands first.” 

Luka grinned back, squeezing her hands instead of releasing them. “Or I could just take you out right now. Are you free for lunch? I’m starving, personally.” 

***

It was another sunny summer day, on the same stone steps, and Marinette and Luka sat pressed close together, the fingers of his right hand threaded together with her left, as she sketched busily on the sketchbook in her lap. They’d been there for a while now, but Luka was comfortable and happy lounging on the sun-warmed steps, humming a tune to himself and trying not to fidget in a way that would tug on the hand Marinette was holding. 

He was staring blankly at nothing, remembering their first kiss. Well. Not their first kiss, standing outside of her home while he held her hands in his and leaned in to press his lips to hers for just a sweet, soft moment. Their first real kiss, when his hand came up to cup her cheek as hers slid back and slipped into the hair at the nape of his neck and he kissed her for real. He remembered noticing how his hand felt so big compared to her face as his thumb brushed her soft cheek, his touch feather-light and reverent even as hers was firm against him. She tilted her face to better meet him, and his thumb slipped down to her jaw, his calloused fingertips fanning out along the side of her neck. He remembered the way she gasped, leaning into his touch, which pulled her lips away from his. He’d kissed along her jaw as his rough palm skimmed down the elegant line of her neck and followed the curve of her shoulder before stroking back up again to pull her closer. How their other hands had met and twined together, fingers locked as they were now, palms pressed tight together. He remembered how the strength in those little hands had surprised him.  

Movement beside him jerked him back to the moment, as Marinette sat back to look at her page critically. Swallowing, Luka seized his moment. 

“Can I see?” he asked as he sat up and leaned over, and Marinette shifted the sketchbook so he could look at the drawing of their joined hands she’d been working on.  

Marinette had teased him a little bit about asking for such a thing, but not too much. He was just as in awe of her art now as he’d been the day they met, and she knew it. Her portraits of his mother’s hands and his sister’s hands were already hanging on his wall, so this was a logical addition to his collection.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, looking over the nearly-finished picture. “I’m loving it, but...I think it’s missing something.” 

Marinette frowned, turning the picture back towards herself. “What do you mean?” she asked, just as Luka shifted his grip on her hand. She looked back at their hands, opening her mouth to protest, but instead her mouth just dropped open as Luka slid a small sparkling ring onto her finger. 

“There,” he grinned, looking up at her face as Marinette did a credible imitation of a fish. “That’s better.” His eyes softened as he looked at her. “Marinette, will you—”

He never got a chance to finish as she tackled him awkwardly back onto the steps, her sketchbook falling from her lap and bouncing down to land in nearly the same place it had almost exactly a year ago.  

#quickspins #i'll never not know you #lukanette #endgame lukanette #lukanette endgame #luka couffaine #marinette dupain-cheng #miraculousladybug #miraculous ladybug #ml fics

[a-simple-imagine]

Hobbies

Donation request by anonymous 💖: “if you could do a Dolores X reader where the reader realises that the weight of everything Dolores is doing (all the flighting and planning and scheming) really puts her down and now reader tries to give Dolores a day just for her”

Pairing: Dolores Abernathy x fem!reader

Words: 1k

A/N -  If you are unsatisfied, please feel free to shout at me. I will happily rewrite it. Thank you for donating!!

I am still taking BLM donation requests as well as free prompts if anyone is interested. They don’t have to be Westworld themed. 

How do you measure the value of life? What's defines being alive? Is it by every breath you take? Or every beat of your heart, maybe? Perhaps it's through thoughts and feelings; they're what makes us human, right? Is life measured through experiences? you like to think it is. What is it exactly that puts value on human life that others lack...

Dolores wasn't... real? Not in a traditional sense. She wasn't human. Inside you'd find nothing but complex machinery and a bunch of coding and to anyone who didn't know she was a robot, she'd look like anyone else. Her past was shrouded in mystery but there was one thing you had managed to learn amongst the steps towards revolution it was that Dolores Abernathy was always focused on her goals. She didn't take the time out to relax; maybe she didn't need to? She was built to mimic human beings but did she have the capacity to feel the way they do?

"Do you have any hobbies?" You ask casually, a gentle smile rests on your lips as you scan the night sky. "Other than starting revolutions."

It was a joke. Would Dolores pick up on that? "Hobbies as in things I like to do?"

"Yeah," You nod a little. "Before this whole thing, what did you do for fun?"

You look to her in the silence, brows furrowed but her expression remains still, you can't tell what's going on in her head. "Painting. Art."

"Painting?"

"There is so much beauty in nature, I would spend hours down by the river painting." Dolores continues; You wait for her to elaborate but she never does. Painting? Not an easy hobby: at least not to be good at it. Then again Dolores didn't need to learn, it would have been written into her code. It gives you an idea though. You're not quite sure she's gonna like it but you wanted to do something that didn't put your life in danger.

It wasn't the sunniest of days; it was rather warm though. A little humid. Cloudy. Her hand felt warm intertwined with yours. Such delicate hands for a machine. You were focused on the weather because she wasn't talking; it was awkward. Dolores was always quiet. Every word seemed calculated and important. She didn't concern herself with small talk unless promoted. You couldn't go too far or be out in the open for too long but you wanted to take her away for a bit. Help her... relax although thinking back on it now it seemed silly. Could she even relax if she wanted to? She's so hard to understand but the only way you know-how is to treat her like any other human being.

"This is the important thing you wanted to show me?" Dolores asked clearly not understanding your logic. "It's a lake."

The park had been the closest place you could escape to. You had deliberately not told Caleb and in order to get Dolores here, you declared this to be of vital importance. It was important; at least it was important to you. She probably would have been able to tell if you had straight up lied to her.

"With everything going on, I thought you could use a break."

"I don't need breaks." She states. "We don't have time for frivolous activities."

"Yes, we do," you declare, looking out over the shimmering water. "Just a few hours and we can go back."

You set out a blanket on a patch of grass. Emptying your backpack on top. "I couldn't carry an easel but I did find a sketchbook and stuff so," you hold them out and you can sense the reluctancy. After a moment she accepts. A gentle smile on her lips.

"Thank you,"

"No problem." Dolores opens up the book and grabs a pencil. With a heavy sigh, you wonder why you didn't bring yourself anything to do.

As seconds turn to minutes and then to hours, you can't help but admire her.  You don't think you've ever seen her look so peaceful; so carefree. Every so often she would look up at you for just a second and then back to her paper.

"Can I ask you a question?" You wonder, pushing yourself to your feet.

Dolores pauses, looking up to you. "Yes."

"Do you ever think about the park?"

You had never dared bring up the subject but you'd always been curious. It wasn't like you could have possibly afforded the 40k a day price tag and even if there were cheaper options you didn't have anything to spare.

"Often," A surprising answer as you take absentminded steps towards the water's edge. "It's not something easily forgotten."

"Right, right," you nod a little. "But isn't being out here basically the same. You've said it yourself."

"Your world is capable of change," coming from anyone else that may have sounded hopeful but you knew better; still your lips curled into a smile. "We'll make sure of that. Mine refused." You turn back to see Dolores scribbling as she spoke. "We're creating a better world."

"We should head back," Dolores looks up as you return to the blanket. The setting sun reflected so beautifully in her eyes.

"Can I see?" Your gaze flickers down to the sketchpad she's already closed. There's no hesitation, she just hands it over. You flip a few pages until a portrait of you stares back. Your finger traces the graphite line; surprised by what you see.

"Its... me."

"I usually stick to landscapes but change is a good thing," Dolores proceeds to pack up.

"Thank you," you smile.

"What for?"

"This is really good. Nobody has ever drawn me before."

You a few paces behind her as you walk back; sketch pad still in hand. Why has she chosen to draw you of all things? You'd never know the answer. Dolores was so fascinating. She wasn't human and yet every moment with her felt real.

If life could be measured through experience than Dolores was just as human as anyone else.

#dolores abernathy #Dolores abernathy x reader #westworld #evan rachel wood #westworld fanfiction #hobbies

[all-things-skam]

Sander and Robbe cute date pleaaaaseeee

Title: First date, take two

Ship: Wtfock | Robbe Ijzerman + Sander Driesen (Sobbe)

_______________

Life had been intense and frenzied these past weeks, but they had made it through. Sander was doing better, finally getting out of bed and back to his old energetic self. It had been difficult, but with Robbe by his side, it was easier to see the light at the end of the dark tunnel.

Things were getting brighter for Robbe, too. He wasn't feeling as paranoid anymore when going outside past 10pm, finally capable to hold Sander's hand in the bus or less crowded streets.

''My mom is coming home next week.''

Sander's eyes snapped up from the menu, grinned at his boyfriend. ''Is she?'' he asked excitedly. 

Robbe's mother was still a soft subject to talk about, a fresh scar on his heart, but Sander never forced Robbe to say more than he wanted to. Every time Robbe bringed her up, Sander would listen and try to be there for him, help with the best of his abilities. Even it it meant being his shoulder to cry on.

Robbe nodded, a smile curving on his lips. ''Yeah. The doctor said she was doing good enough to come home. She'll have to see her therapist twice a week, but at least she’ll get out of that place''

''That's good. Just in time for Christmas. I’m so happy for you two''

The holiday music suddenly felt louder and more present inside the café, causing a nervous knot to form in Robbe's stomach.

Christmas was Robbe's mom's favorite holiday. She loved Christmas. She loved decorating the house with colorful, bright lights, the Christmas carols, putting tons of baubles and ornaments on their tree. Everything. She wasn't the greatest cook, but she'd put all her love and heart into the Christmas dinner - which didn't turn out that bad as long as she followed the recipe.

The past two Christmases hadn't been the greatest for the Ijzermans. With Robbe's mom's mental health going downhill, the holiday had gone under the rug. No tree, no presents and no Christmas dinner. To top it off, Robbe's dad, selfish as always, had even skipped last Christmas, claiming he had a work emergency at his office - a new code for his new girlfriend.

This year, Robbe had vowed to himself to give his mom a better Christmas. And, since the holiday season was about family and love, why not take a step forward into his and Sander's relationship?

''About that...'' Robbe scratched the collar of his neckline, preparing himself for his grand request. ''This year is going to be a quiet Christmas - just my Mom and I. So, I was wondering if you'd like to join us for dinner on the 24th? Nothing fancy, just me and my mom… and the brand-new Christmas tree.'' He let out a nervous chuckle.

It was the first time Robbe wanted to introduce someone - other than Jens - to his mom and it made him nervous to the core. When Sander met his dad, it didn't go well, and Robbe was hoping it wouldn’t be the same with his mom. He could feel his heart wanting to break at the thought of the two of them, the people he loved the most in this world, not getting along.

Eyebrows pulled, Sander stared at Robbe, uncertain. ''You want me to meet your mom?'' 

''Yes. If you don't want to, that's okay. I don't want you to feel compelled to meet her. Am I going too fast? Maybe it's too soon? I haven't even met your parents yet-'' 

''Robbe,'' Sander stopped him. He reached to grab Robbe's hands over the table, holding them in his. ''I'd love to meet your mom.'' 

Blinking, warmth filled the brunet's heart, eyes sparkling with joy. ''For real?'' 

Sander nodded, his soft chuckle filling the air between them. ''Yes, for real. I'd be honoured to meet her.''

It was their first date since they had gotten back together, and it felt good to go out again, just the two of them. No more Milan walking in without knocking nor Zoe playing the big sister and making sure everyone had eaten at least one healthy meal a day. Their intentions were kind, but Robbe missed spending time alone with Sander.

A waitress came over, taking their orders - just deserts for tonight - and left with a promise to return soon with their plates.

Robbe learned that it was a Sander thing to not follow the rules or do things conventionally. Like getting him naked before their first kiss. Or calling Robbe the love of his life without having taken a proper look to each other before. 

While they waited for their food, Sander flipped his paper placemat and started sketching with the stray pen he had found in his pocket. Robbe told him about his day, Aaron's latest flirting fail with Amber making them both laugh.

Sander couldn't believe he was there with Robbe, that he had gained his heart - again. It felt unreal. The last time they were in that café, Robbe had been so cold to him, which was understandable - he had fucked up really bad by kissing Britt. It was the biggest mistake he had made in his life, and he swore to himself to never take Robbe for granted again. He might've given him a second chance, but Sander doubted there would be a third one. 

Concentrated on his art piece, Sander almost forgot about their order, snapping out of his artistic bubble when he felt something sticky on his face. He looked up from the paper placemat and caught Robbe's mischievous smile, a chocolate covered finger right in front of his lips, about to make the evidence of the crime disappear. 

''Robbe!'' 

''Food's here,'' the latter announced innocently, licking his finger clean. 

Sander put his pen down and reached for a napkin on the table to wipe his cheek. ''Yeah, I felt it.'' 

Robbe grinned, amused, diving his fork into his cake. 

Despite his grown up facade, Robbe was such a child inside - especially once you get to know him. He’s usually so shy around others, self conscious about being a bother or annoying, but with Sander he let free all sides of his personality. 

Including his childish side. 

They ate their sweet treat quietly, stealing touches and flirty glances in the corner of the café, starting slow with the public display of affection. Between bites, Sander tried to lean over the table for a kiss, but Robbe pulled back, letting him kiss his hand instead.  

Small steps.

''Can I see?'' Robbe asked, nodding at the drawing, black pen forgotten by his drink. 

Sander hummed, swallowing his bite, and turned the paper placemat in Robbe's direction, revealing his quick art piece. It wasn't an elaborated sketch like the other ones, just some rough scribbles of Robbe's features. 

Robbe smiled, always amazed by his boyfriend’s skills. ''At this rhythm, I won't have room on my walls to put them,’’ he teased. 

''You could give this one to your mom? As a prelude for the dinner,'' Sander suggested, cocking an eyebrow. He bit his lip and shrugged. ‘’It’s not a chef d’oeuvre, but I could draw the two of you on Christmas dinner? I can bring my art supplies and make it really good so your mom can hang it up or something.’’  

The only family pictures they have in the house were taken years ago with baby Robbe and his dad. After everything that happened, it would be nice to have an updated version of their family. Or, what was left of it. 

And, not to brag, but Sander was really skilled with his hands. Artistically. So, there was no doubt that his mom would love it.  

Robbe nodded in approval. ‘’I think she’d like that.’’

‘’If she’s anything like her son, she’ll be mind blown by my drawings.’’ Sander laughed nervously, trying to hide his anxiety that formed at the officialisation of meeting Robbe’s mom. ‘’Some bring flowers and wine, I make drawings.’’

‘’She’ll love it. Better than flowers,’’ the brunet assured.

Sander’s lips turned up into a crooked grin. ''Flowers are ephemeral. Drawings lasts forever...like us.'' He winked at Robbe who scrunched his face, cringing at the cheesiness.

#wtfock #robbe ijzermans #sander driesen #sobbe #sobbe fic #rosander #rosander fic

[copper-coin-writing]

Scholar’s scribblings

As you might be aware, I’m a bit obsessed with worldbuilding, so here’s a text written hundreds of years before The Primal Trilogy begins by one of the foremost scholars of the time (this is a translation from the original language and the document was damaged, so what is comprehensible has been transcribed):

The plateaus are, from what I can determine, as old as the surrounding rock, the little that I can access beneath the sand. It would appear a sudden period of geological activity caused fissures to emerge, the boiling magma beneath pushing the rock upwards into the three plateaus seen today. Rudgar, as some call the fiery hell that marks the transition from the desert to the first of the stone tables, is surely a remnant from these turbulent events.

Of the cause of such a disturbance, there is of course the popular theory: that of the mythical Creator, the being who could alter the world to his will. The story goes that he wandered the desert for many years, allegedly as human as you or I, and discovered forgotten secrets that allowed him to transcend his humanity. While this is certainly an explanation, and there certainly was a being who called themselves “the Creator” (as evidenced by the castle off the edge of the highest plateau), I have found no evidence of any device with the power to raise such large amounts of rock, let alone make them inhabitable.

That is the clincher, you see. Many take the remarkable existence of complex and thriving ecosystems this deep in the desert to be a miracle, an act of a supreme being. Forests should not be able to live here, let alone ice-capped mountains. As a man of science, I have spent my life seeking answers to the questions other simply label as “magic” and attempt to rationalise them.

From the elusive [no translation available] to the great elemental [smudged], I have found evidence of beings capable of feats humans are not, despite being to the eyes of many “lesser”. Take the [translates as “glyphoid”, though the meaning is unclear]. These creatures are found universally, ranging from the plains of the first plateau to the forests of the third, yet no two are quite alike. Glyphoids bridge species, with only one constant feature – the ability to nullify magic.

But I have gone off subject, as is my way. The plateaus are the greatest mystery of our time, and I am determined to discover their secrets. I have reason to believe that Rudgar is where I may find the answers I seek, and where I write this from now. Surely here, a land frozen in time since all those years ago, I might find answers. Surely

[The rest of the parchment is too singed to read, though it appears that the page this was written on was torn from a larger book. On the reverse of the parchment is a very rough sketch of a bipedal creature, similar to a man in build but with a strangely reptilian head. What may be wings but could equally be smudges project from the creature’s back. The sketch is almost certainly unfinished, as though the one drawing it was interrupted part way through.]

#wip: the primal trilogy #lore #worldbuilding #fantasy

[jajko493]

I decided to sketch out my Enderal Prophetess, since I’ve already drawn her twice. While ingame I can’t quite play with her clothes, I kinda see her in this outfit in my head. The background is literally just a scribble, so as to not leave space empty tho, mhhh. More about her in the full post, and spoilers up until the end of the game are aplenty. It’s a long one, I can’t seem to be able to be more concise!

Her name is Rak’hel. Her name, rather than being pronounced as Rachel (sir Firespark would most probably beg to differ), goes like this: rack-hell, with a very hard h. She’s half-Qyranian, obviously.

She’s a particularly tall woman, towering over many. She cut her hair shortly before leaving for Enderal, seeing it as troublesome to maintain while traveling. Three scars are present on her face, gained from a fight with a particularly meddlesome customer, not pleased with his soup. With but a bit of grace and her usual stern expression, she could be perceived as emotionless. Paired with her reluctancy to speak much and sparse shows of being emotional, it is no wonder. One who gets closer, though, gets to experience a range of both quiet and loud feelings dwelling inside.

When worried about you, she definitely would try to stick close to you, to the point of keeping some physical contact at all times, hoping to never have the chance to see something bad happen.

Were you to anger her, by showing extreme lack of respect by walking out mid quarrel, leaving her helpless and unable to finish the topic, she wouldn’t scream - but it’d be visible. With clear rage on her face, she could even slam her fist on the wall, the table (not a person, never!). Afterwards, her glass would be filled with mead and wine until the next day, to empty her head of worries and thoughts. Reason as well.

Goodness, at least she’s strong when it comes to alcohol.

‘That son of a Vatyr is going to regret this’, she spoke into her cup, gripping it as if planning to break it.

When happy, her expression softens, revealing a delicate smile. One blemished with a scar on the left side of her rip, slightly pulling it upwards. Definitely expect jokes, and not just the proper kind! She isn’t squeamish when it comes to physical pleasures.

She doesn’t remember much of her childhood, with her mind repressing the memories due to events related to her house burning down, which she can’t quite forget, due to frequent nightmares making her relive the event in horrible ways. It’s not as if she’s eager to discuss and exactly remember what happened, anyway.

She toiled away her teenage years mostly in kitchens of inns and taverns, training herself to maybe, just maybe, open one of her own in the future - though that prospect became as distant as it possibly could, with Nehrim being swayed by chaos of war after the death of Lightborn. With her workplace burnt down by the time she was 25, alongside her long time friend, Sirius, she decided to look for a new one in Enderal.

There, she quickly picked up alchemy, seeing it as an extension of cooking. Do not let her do both at the same time. Separately, she creates dishes that taste just like home and high quality concoctions. Mix them, and you just might find ghost wrappings in your tomato soup. Or worse - tomato in your stamina poison. She’s willing to take any challenge, there are no impossible recipes - only more difficult ones.

‘There are no negative effects in cures, or beneficial factors in venoms. There are only well- and badly distilled elixirs.’

Though not well versed in contract, she trains her muscle with swords, preferring two-handed to one-handed. Not quite logically, she prefers light armor to the heavy variety.

Suddenly gaining the ability to use magic was initially shocking. Tragically inspired by the two Apothecari, Finn and Carbos, whom she briefly met at the start of her journey in Enderal, she decided to teach herself in the school of Restoration.

If all went well in her adventures, she’d wish to gather enough money from her adventures to open an inn with place for healers beside it. If not as well, then at least she could manage traveling by herself, with potions she made (especially with the ability to recite every combination for health potion and ambrosia) and magic. Any companions she had - she could save.

‘All to not be left alone.’

And yet, after befriending some in the Order and outside of it, finding a soulmate in a certain cynical, yet endearing mercenary, she once again felt alone. Working alongside everyone against the incoming Cleansing, which felt closer and closer with each step towards stopping it. She figured a last-ditch effort would be necessary to counteract it. Learning that not only was she one of the key elements in bringing it to reality struck her deeply. On top of that, she wasn’t even fully real or alive - despite how alive has she felt exploring the wilderness of the Dark Valley, or hiding during a sandstorm close to Duneville. If, as the Black Guardian said, her dear one turned out to not have survived as well, she wasn’t sure she’d bother saving Vyn.

‘Hopeless’, she muttered. ‘Absolutely hopeless.’

But he was alive, and, by the Gods! He was there with her. And what more reassurance could she need? She stood next to him in battles, he survived her fury after running away, he wanted a future with her. But...

From the choices she could take, only one of them could lead to them staying together - and it was the most painful one. 

Her decision, in the end, was to sacrifice herself to give this world a bit more time to figure out how to save itself. Shaping a new humanity into better kind was not something she deemed herself to be capable of. What she could do, however, is believe in the one she allowed to fly away on a Myrad before effectively dissolving into nonexistence.

...yeah, no. She wasn’t quite so willing to sacrifice herself. It wasn’t a suicide - it was a challenge, and the name of it was Dreamflower Elixir.

Having brewed it on her own, she wasn’t sure it was done well, and if it would work. She struck the Black Stones of the Beacon without believing she’d make it through. Could she cheat the Death itself?

Surprisingly, she opened her eyes again, after already accepting she was done for.

For all intents and purposes, she’d never again say she ‘woke up’ - and she was right about it. All the traveling and adventures she met on her path, whether alone or accompanied by her loved one, she took as just another chapter of a dream, granted to her as a reward for giving up her chance at fleeting, but real happiness.

Throughout endless conversations, she’d always go back to this very line of thought.

‘It is most probably a dream, but it’s not as if I mind, she declared in the same calm voice as always, despite the protests of her partner. Standing with her back against the railing of veranda with admittedly a dreamy view, in a gown that left little to imagine, she spouted what one could perceive as nothing but utter nonsense at times. ‘I welcome it, in fact. I am with you, and that matters to me. But it could have been different, you know. Maybe not as nice. But goodness... Just, the fact that it is so nice is what keeps me uncertain. Only Malphas would know the truth, I suppose.’

Indeed, she was dreaming. In a split of second, the Dreamflower created a soft cushion of illusion to shield her from reality. And it started showing cracks - it’s no good for it when the dreamer is too aware.

It all had to go deeper.

When she turned around after being met with no response to her monologue, she saw that she was alone. Furthermore, after blinking to make sure it wasn’t the peaceweed affecting her vision, she noticed she wasn’t even on the veranda anymore. Instead, she stood in a pure, white space, with a field of lightly glowing nightflowers at her feet. One more glance around, and she was met with The Veiled--- no, not her.

A veiled woman. But a different one, with a flower attached on the side of her head. By the gods, what kind of sick joke is her mind playing on her?

Then, she presented her an offer, almost too good to be true. Yet, Rak’hel somehow believed in it.

She was given a chance to start anew. Explore a different eventuality. Not leave the dream to experience the future, but try again, and possibly change it?

Utter foolishness. Absolutely unreal.

But, if magic was all about exploring different eventualities... Maybe this was one where that could actually happen?

Swayed by the prospect of seeing Enderal again, she agreed. With a snap of the woman’s finger, Rak’hel blinked and---

She was woken up from a nightmare by Sirius. She sat there dazed for a couple of seconds, before chuckling at her friend’s joke. If they had a penny for all the times he did it, they’d be traveling in their own starship, and she’d definitely have a barber cut her hair beforehand. It’s getting too long and troublesome.

Some people like to create fluffy AUs where everyone is happy, some like to instead torture their characters even more. Guess I’m the second one.

Kinda prompted into writing by this song.

#enderal #Enderal: Forgotten Stories #oc #prophetess #prophet #the prophetess #kind of fanfiction #this writing got out of hand #rak'hel #sasanka sketches #sasanka jajko art

[the-house-of-the-nine]

The Damned Never Die: Revelation, Part 1

[To those of you who continue to follow us, share our work and help spread the writings of myself and the fine people who work with me; I thank you!  More than you know.  “In Depths Below” has officially ended and I’m happy to start sharing the next book in our series of writings which is titled “The Damned Never Die”.  Please help by linking and sharing this with people who might be interested; we really appreciate it!  And if you’re here to read! Thank you as well, and without an further delay on my part; Please enjoy the first part of this tale! ]

Two Weeks since Lazarius’ return to the Nine. . . .

“ Kun-Lai, I will never forget Kun-Lai.  It was the beginning and the end of everything for me.  It caused me the life of a dear friend, and gave me the death of a hated enemy.  It brought closure, it brought grief, but most importantly it brought questions.

Everything that happened from then until now; and here I sit, stirring within my own mind, poised to take quill to parchment once again.  To fill another ledger with my thoughts and words to add it to my collection.  To give insight to the future generations of the accounts that took place here.  The dozen or so volumes that will be added for the events here will certainly give a sufficient record of what we faced.  I am just pleased to have returned.

Kun-Lai to Zandalar to the Marshes, through Arathi and Hillsbrad. . . to Alterac.  And finally home again. . . I have never wanted to be home more now than I was in that entire ordeal. . . Home. . .I never wanted any of this to happen. . .“

He peered down at the empty page, and slowly the quill began to quiver and shake as his finger motioned toward it.

I never wanted any of this.  Well I write that but is it really the truth? I suppose I should have been a bit more forthcoming in the weeks leading up to everything that had happened.  I was a fool, a careless fool to say the least.  And put stock in myself thinking I could do something without any help as usual.

Marseille warned me. “Don’t you think this is a matter for the council?” but rather than go right to them, I decided to do what I wanted.  Again.

I had every bit of knowledge I needed when I found out that the Magisters led by Dawnseeker were planning their coup.  I didn’t have any idea that he was going to spring into action with the End Game being first.  I was a fool.  He bested me in my own battle.

Here I had hoped to get the upper hand by striking first.  Marseille was going to eliminate them one after another.  We had everything in order and then Kun-Lai happened.

How was I supposed to expect them?  Zoei and I hadn’t seen one another since she went on assignment behind enemy lines.  And here I am writing about her now. 

I never really get a chance any more to just sit and theorize.  I am always filling this ridiculous book with all sorts of nonsense.  Why cant I just have a bit of time to write poetry or draw little sketches.

“You’re doing it again. . .”  he said softly to himself as he began to scribble out the last line in his journal.

Zoei is gone.  Not one week after being back from all of the kodo shit and she is gone.  She had told me, this wasn’t the life she had expected.  That everything we’d gone through was enough to leave her wondering if she actually wanted it anymore.  I think the massacre at the Masquerade was partially responsible.  Perhaps part of me always knew that she was not cut out for this life; any yet in my naivety I pushed her, and forced her into it. I pushed her in deeper into the darkness, and inevitably slipped right out of my hands.

It is a pity.  Despite all that has happened over the years, the last remaining of my apprentices is still Sennaris.  I suppose she will always be my crowning achievement of success.  At least there is that.  A poor girl, lost and alone; trained to become a powerful empath and Compellor of The Nine.  I couldn’t be more proud.

So, yes.  I had to wipe Zoei’s mind.  Took the knowledge of the void, the memories we shared, everything we’d been through.  She’ll never even recognize me if she saw me today.  Just another face in the crowd as she walks past.  And here I am, me. . .forced to endure and remember.  I am always left remembering....

“Always fucking remembering. . .” he hissed as his hand raised the chalice to his right which was filled with a crimson liquid.

His Cindervine Red, his favorite.  His one true comfort in troubling times.  The wrapped fingers that were coiled around the stem of the chalice were a mixture of void energy and a woven nylon material the parasite managed to synthesize. 

His hands were completely obliterated when he and Jursol had to destroy the metallic shackles Dawnseekers hunters encased them in.  His flesh and bone were missing on most of his fingers, and the parts of him that did survive the ordeal was blackened and charred and would be forever damaged.

If it hadn’t been for the entity within his genetics; there would have been no happy ending for his upper appendages.  Amputation would have been the only plausible answer.  The only saving grace was that it had stopped the infection immediately, and worked to preserve whatever tissue it could. 

Because the host was damaged, it would allow him the use of a wire like framework of nerve endings that it had created in replacement for his missing fingers.  The spiderweb of nerves were purple and string like; almost like a wire frame from a sculpture.  After creating the illusion of fingers and parts of his missing hand, the bindings of void energy and nylon would be wrapped around the frame like a mummified corpse; thus appearing to be whole.

CLACK - CLACK

It was the only way he could retain the use of digits and feeling.  But sadly; he would have to live like this for the rest of his existence.  A deformed and hideous version of his former self.

“Back to the point. . .”  his voice softly murmured as he tried to refocus himself on the open ledger.  The strange sound heard as he was pausing, that odd sound which was bugging him lately.  Where was it coming from?

My time away from the order gave me a period in which to think about what exactly was going on.  What we were really striving for.  How we were structured.  And ultimately what the future was going to hold for all of us. 

It is a careful thought.  Curious even, now nearly ten years passing since everything had been completely changed and restructured.  The loss of not only Raelyinda, but Mo’rynth.  Then Zalinath returning and destroying us.  The rebirth and and rebuild; everything since those early days.  Days when it was just myself, my sister and Poeta. 

Now, we’re a city.  A populace of like mined individuals striving to survive and flourish in a future that seems almost inevitable.  N’Zoth is rising from the sea, and with it will usher in the return of the Black Empire.  The turning point for Azeroth will be if the planet lives.  Because even then, the true masters of the void will surely be invited to set their eyes on this little ball of earth and water.

While on Zandalar, getting to know Jursol, and trying to figure out where this leaves us as a collective; something dawned on me.  We have survived.  Not because of our blind faith in depths below, or because of our masters will.  It was because we as a collective are strong.  We are our own strength and we give ourselves the power to change our future.  And change we have.  We’ve broken away from the ties that bind us, choosing to keep what we want, and banish the chains that hold us back.

And that is my revelation.  That is my discovery.  We are the Nine and we control our future.  The entire council and collective order we have formed here, our home, our prosperity.  We’ve achieved a great and many things, and will continue to push forward.

It was galvanized in my mind the very moment I returned.  When I had seen what the people here are capable of even without my wisdom and guidance.  The loss of one; stirs the wrath of many.  Like shaking a hornets nest.  And it would be no different for any other who may have been lost to our cause.  They achieved something that was neigh impossible; by combining their prowess and working toward the future that they controlled.  And in the end, they have only fueled my vitality toward achieving more to its maximum.

There came a soft, yet stern knocking on the massive stained door of the Inquisitors chamber.  He knew exactly who it belonged to before he even spoke.

“Ser...” came the grizzled voice of the withered old Gilnean.

Lazarius peered up from his inscribing quill and glanced toward the veteran with his venomous black pools.

“Kross. . .”  he responded, resting his elbow against the surface of the large writing desk.

“My apologies for disturbing your diligent work...”  replied the specter.

“Never a reason to apologize, old friend.  I always welcome your presence you know that. . .what is it?”  there was not a hint of doubt coming from his voice at this point.  Kross was always welcome.

“You requested a progress update earlier this morning.  Doctor Whistletorque had asked to speak to you about the forge.  Also a missive arrived earlier this week from the Baron; Krazzlowe,  something Koltun and Pyravari have already begun tending to.  Madam Jursol has also asked about where the limitations are for her raptors to roam, and if it will be disturbing to the students to allow them to wander freely.  There was also a. . .”

Lazarius raised his hand toward the white eyed steward.  He smiled and nodded slowly as if he already knew all that he was trying to tell him.

“Kross. . . you are suddenly acting as though this place would fall apart without me.” 

“Yet you are aware of the redundancy of that statement, considering it is the literal result if you were lost.”  the old bearded man would say as he moved in closer to the table.

Lazarius chuckled softly and continued to nod as his body leaned back and pressed against the spine of the chair.

“Well aware. . . “ 

Kross stood beside the fairly clean table top, noticing nothing was out of place; there were no scattered piles of books and ledgers.  The drafting table was completely empty.  It roused his suspicions but he remained silent.  Usually his charge was avidly scheming.  Always toiling a project or plot; a result of the parasite again no doubt causing his brain to toil and turn with every waking moment.

“Kross. . .have you given thought to what our life would be like if we were not bound to this place?”  the disturbing question from the Inquisitor bellowed as his eyes closed and he listened to the silence of the room.

“You are wondering if I’ve given thought to my eternal slumber, or...?” he paused.   The steward reached his gloved fingers outward and curled them around the length of the bottle neck containing Lazarius’ wine.

“No no, I mean... this life.  I don’t know perhaps it is foolish. . .” he responded calmly sighing.

“I have known you for nearly three centuries Ser, hardly anything you suggest is either faulty or foolish.”  Kross responded without hesitation as he bent at the elbow and began to refresh the chalice with the burgundy liquor.

“Hardly?”  he mused softly as he heard the choice of word.

Kross only smiled lightly, enough to track back again as his master continued on.

“The old ones give; and they take away.  But we are not meant to be the true servants are we?” he asked listening to that familiar gulping of the wine as it poured from the bottle.

“You are beginning to wonder your place in the world?”

“No I understand our place, I am questioning our position in it.  I know our place will always be here.  Doing as we always have.  Defending our freedom from persecution for practicing what we do.  Protecting our sacred ways our sacred brothers and sisters. . .  I will never forsake that which has shaped me, but I. . .”  Lazarius stuttered again in his words as his head shook and he peered up with the contrasting black eyes to meet the white of his friend.

“You are beginning to see then. . .”  Kross said peering back as he finished refilling the glass.

“See?”  the elf asked curiously, his brow lofting in natural response.

“There is more to what we have here than simply chaos, and wanton lusts for madness.  True we are creatures of the nefarious.  Primed to always be thrust against the natural order of what is righteous and what is good.  But that does not define us.  We do as we must to ensure ours do not die off, whatever it takes. . ..” 

Lazarius continued to listen to the sagely council of his old friend.  Choosing to remain silent after he paused and placed the bottle down, allowing the Steward to continue.

“When the servant is no longer needed, the Master will cast him aside.  The years of dedicated service and dutiful care taking will never be forgotten, but rarely do those who serve the source of a greater power reach the pinnacle of their Masters success.  It is not often the servant stand atop the mountain beside the glory. . .”

The black eyes of the Inquisitor tore suddenly away.  He was not certain but he wondered if that was how he was seen.  A ruling tyrant, a man who had placed himself above the values of the greater collective.

“And yet here you stand, continuing to serve.”  he murmured softly into the room.

“And here I stand, continuing to serve, because you are not that, Ser.”  Kross placed his hand upon the robed shoulder of his own Master. “You are nothing like that.”

“...no something. . .far, far worse.. ”  he snorted into a chortle as he shook his head.  The wrapped fingers of his left hand raising upward and placing upon the gloved edges of the old mans.

“Ser, the day you become a wretched tyrant who places the ones he cares for in danger; choosing to protect yourself over they, is the day you find my resignation letter impaled in the phylactery holding my remains.”  Kross stated softly.

Lazarius peered back up at the older man and smiled.  He was a father figure, and always had been.  But more importantly he was an honest friend, a governing influence and a moral compass to the sometimes verbose and outlandish mind of his own making.

“Still. . . To some I already am. . .you know that yes?”  Lazarius said softly.

“Those who have wandered away have lost their nerve.  Either by their own lack of dedication or fears that have left them unsure.  Some have given up, and others have simply lost their desire.  But you have never once put their lives in any danger without putting your own in first.”  The old Gilnean said in a gruff voice that allowed for some compassion to linger.

Lazarius only nodded.  There were few who came and wandered off, and some who had just all together abandoned them.  Some who had sought to manipulate and take; but never give.

“In fact some may say you are the reason for their success.  You’ve given away more than you have taken.  Especially when it comes to their well being, and safety.” 

Kross add softly as his own hand pulled away once Lazarius had released him.  He continued.

“A home like The Bastille after losing the estate and all we had built there.  Not many would have been so fortunate in the case of having the foresight to move, but also successfully avoid the unnecessary deaths of hundreds.  Save for those sixty seven.”

Lazarius indeed knew that the old man was trying to lessen the weight of his mind, but something still burned in the very back.

“While I was away from you all, it had given me time to think.  Time to consider.  With everything that has happened between now and the beginning of this war; we have been stuck in a position I would say is. . .fair at best.” 

Kross listened as he began to tidy the small scraps of paper and items around the massive desk.

“I thought of possibly reaching out to a few connections we still had. . .aid us in getting back on our feet until we could financially support ourselves again.”  he continued as his head shook back and forth.

“With so much lost from Quel’thalas, until you finally decide to reinstate Miss Kash’ebahl as the benefactor and head of the families affairs it makes things difficult there.”  Kross added as he made his way toward the small waste basket.

“And doing so now would not be advantageous.  I can’t exactly march back in and begin asking for hand outs.  Though the thought has crossed my mind.”  Lazarius concluded as he flattened his palm on the surface of the table.

“There has been no change in the escalating war either.  Currently it seems the Horde is balanced on its inevitable collapse as we face another catastrophic dictators iron Horde. . . though the Banshee seems determined to retain her throne of hide and bone.”

Kross would slowly pace back toward his Master.  His white eyes studying the stress that built as he thought.  Lazarius continued on.

“The bakery is enough to launder money, we are floating well above our means at the moment; all things considered.  But if we cannot continue to filter the money from the Io-Cerebellum into Stormwind and Quel’thalas respectively, we could hit a financial brick wall.”

The black eyed Inquisitor curled his wrapped ethereal fingers around the stem of the chalice and sipped from it.

“Of course.” replied the steward.

“There are supplies to keep moving, food and stores to replenish.  People here expect a certain amount of sustainability.  A certain respective comfort.  It would be unfit for me to simply strip that away because we’re strapped in our pockets.”  the truth of the matter is he would begin selling off his own personal items before letting those around him suffer.

Kross was simply an observer at this point; a means of bouncing ideas from his lord to a bent ear.  A way to perhaps move the ball forward, the wheels turning, suggestive thought just by working it out through his mind and into the air.

“I should have withdrawn that funding the moment this war began to fester.  The moment they burned that tree, I . . .”

“You can not blame yourself for not having the hindsight to predict the retaliation.  Nobody could have predicted the Alliance storming the beaches of Tirisfal.  But you had enough sense to get our greatest asset safely away.”

Kross stood before him and firmly placed a hand on the table, he didn’t stop there.

“You spared hundreds by having the knowledge to act rather than wait.  You could have continued your dealings and practicing what you wished.  Continued to manipulate the courts and magistrate.  But you did not.  You abandoned your own selfish requirements and put the people who depend on your first.  That is what a true leader does, Ser.”

Lazarius peered toward the Steward and suddenly blurted out.

“W-what did you say. . .”

Kross looked stunned.  Lazarius never took his words into account as if they were meant to sting or wound.

“Ser, I did not mean to offend. . .I was j-”

“No no, Kross about the courts. . . The Horde. . . We don’t need to generate money...”  he said trailing off and getting a distant look in his eyes.

Kross looked confused as Lazarius began ripping through his entire desk trying to find the correct ledger.  Somewhere in there he would be hunting.  And the old Gilnean would watch with a great interest as he attacked the drawers like a madman. 

“Here we have been looking for a way to produce capital to continue moving forward.  We are constantly moving forward, and yet all we need to do is look back at the past. . .where in reality we have been sitting on top of a goldmine this entire time.”

He suddenly ripped a large enchanted ledger from the lower drawer.  His hand placed flat against the surface and it opened in a bright flash of purple light.  Moments later, page after page, he would flip to somewhere in the middle and point directly at the amount.  It was unfathomable to say the least.

“Ser?”

Lazarius grinned and tapped the page again before peering up at Kross.

To be Continued in. . . “The Damned Never Die: Revelation, Part 2″

[kagetsukai]

Drops of Satina: Day 18 - Distance

Raphael Trevelyan belongs to @out-of-the-embers​

Excerpts of correspondence between Hannah and Raphael as they travel around Thedas and miss each other terribly. 

Words: 2048 || Read on AO3

My Darling Hannah,

My life is agony. Whoever decided that Western Approach was a good place to inhabit was mad and I would like some words with them. It’s incredibly dry here and the temperature never stay the same for more than a few hours. Some days it’s terribly hot and other days I have to wear my jacket for warmth. It’s insane. And let’s not mention all the sand; it must’ve seeped into every crevice of my body and no matter how hard I try, I can’t get rid of it. I long for a bath, but that won’t happen until we’ve reached our next destination. At least Varric understands and commiserates with me.

I miss you dearly. I know it’s only been a week since the last time I saw you, but it feels so much longer than that. I really miss our daily walks around the gardens - it’s made even more acute by the fact that there’s almost no plant-life around here. I did come across a flowering deathroot and picked a few buds to send with this letter. Didn’t you mention once how purple was your favorite color? I hope you like them.

Are you well? Were you able to travel safely? I do trust Cullen and his men, but I can’t help worry about you; there’s too many horrible people who do awful things just for a laugh. I hope to hear from you soon, because I desperately need to know you’re alright.

Yours, Raphael

=============================

Dearest Raphael,

I must confess, your dramatic depictions of the Western Approach had me giggling like an idiot. Surely, it can’t be that bad? I’ve never been to a real desert so I can’t say if I agree with your description, but I do hope you got to have a better time than what you’ve described. If not, I’m sorry for your discomfort. If it makes you feel better, I really appreciated the deathroot flowers you’ve sent me - did you know they are hallucinogenic and are used by some as a form of intoxicant? I caught someone eyeing the petals, so I had to hide them in my engineering journals. I hope you don’t mind.

To answer your questions, I am well. As much as I’m thrilled to be out of Skyhold and seeing the world, I desperately miss my own bed. I forgot how much I hate sleeping in tents. That being said, I’m currently in Caer Bronach to look into repairs to the castle, so at least I get to sleep in one of the rooms here. I’m amazed how much lack of proper maintenance can put such a young stronghold into immediate decrepitude. I got to inspect other Fereldan places as well, but I doubt you care to read about it - this isn’t an official report after all. The most important part is that I’m almost done with Inquisition properties here and I’ll be traveling to the other side of Frostbacks soon. Judging by how angry Lily got over the bridge in Exalted Plains, I’m sure to find a doozy.

I will admit, I can’t wait to be done with all inspections so I can be back in Skyhold and awaiting your swift return. I never considered myself the waiting type, so I place all the blame squarely on your shoulders; considering you have strong and capable shoulders, I’m sure you can handle it. I miss you terribly, too. I just don’t have a reason to laugh as much when you’re not around to do dumb things at the most inappropriate times. I also miss having you around during mealtimes - things just don’t taste the same without you adding your salted garlic paste. And really, I just miss your kisses. Your kisses are the best.

Hannah

 [added in a rushed scribble]

Ps. Chargers just arrived with summons to go directly to Western Approach. They are to escort me to Griffon Wing Keep so I can oversee urgent repairs and construction of a bridge through some horribly noxious area. If I’m lucky, I’ll see you there - I cannot wait.

=============================

My Darling Hannah,

I tried to postpone our departure from the Griffon Wing Keep until you’ve arrived, but Lily would not be convinced. Logically, I understand that the sooner we’re done exploring western Orlais the sooner we can be back in Skyhold, but my heart wanted the gratification of seeing you immediately. I hope you received the note I left for you with Rylen; he was terribly amused by it and poked fun at me, that cheeky bastard.

We’re in the Forbidden Oasis and it could not be more different from the Western Approach. It’s still technically in the middle of a desert, but this place has canyons shaded from the sun where all sorts of waterfalls and verdant pools sit in a warm shade. I took the liberty to soak in one of them and it was glorious. I wonder if you’d like it here. According to Lily there isn’t anything to build so she won’t be requesting your presence, which I’m sad about, but perhaps it’s for the better; I loathe the thought of you traveling through the desert. Still, I miss you dearly. It’s been entirely too long since I’ve seen you last and I’m starting to suspect it will be even longer before I see you again. This expedition is shaping up to be long and arduous. I just hope you’re well.

With all my kisses, Raphael

=============================

Dearest Raphael,

Thank you for the lovely note you left me at the Griffon Wing Keep; it brought a smile to my face. Granted, Rylen decided to be a little shit and make fun of me for my reaction, but he changed his tune once I reminded him he’s just a man and can feel pain just like the rest of us. Perhaps I shouldn’t have kicked his balls, but maybe he’ll learn the lesson quicker that way.

Anyway, I now understand why you hated Western Approach so much. This place is so dry, my face has turned into a prune! By the time you see me again, I’ll have aged 20 years and I’ll no longer look youthful; I hope you’re prepared to court a grandmother, because that’s how I will look from now on. At least the area is interesting and should keep me occupied for a while.

Speaking of which, I know I had originally estimated it would only take me a month to attend to everything, but with the exploration of the Western Approach and increased workload, I doubt I’ll make it back to Skyhold anytime soon. Just judging by my initial sketches, I’ll have to stay here for an extra month to make sure everything is done correctly; who knows if something else doesn’t crop up while we work. I hear Lily might be returning to the Griffon Wing Keep at a later date so maybe I’ll get to see you here instead of Skyhold? I would very much like that. As much as I enjoy Rylen and Krem for company, I terribly miss having you around. Can you imagine having a date on the dunes? Sand would get everywhere, I’m certain, but I’d still enjoy it.

I’d like to thank you for all the little flowers you’ve sent with the last letter. They are so pretty! They’ve joined all of the other blooms I keep in my journal and now, whenever I open it, they make me think of you. And they still have the scent! They’re wonderful, so thank you once again.

I hope you’re well and you continue to be well. I cannot wait to see you next, because I miss you dearly and it’s horrible how long I have to be without you. Maybe fates will bring us together soon.

Yours, Hannah

=============================

My Darling Hannah

It’s been a while since my last letter, because we’ve been slowly exploring the entirety of the Hissing Wastes and haven’t been back to the main camp in what feels like an age. Yes, you read that right. Hissing. Wastes. In case the name isn’t a good enough clue, the place is an even larger desert than the Western Approach with even less friendly flora or fauna. The wind blows at extreme speeds and everything is so grey and muted, I think I’m sad just from looking outside my tent at night. I suppose it’s an important spot to the Inquisition, though in my humble opinion, I’d just let it fall by the wayside. Why does Lily have to be the one to look at this stuff? Can’t we send some archaeologists to excavate the dwarven ruins? I suggested that once and Lily only got annoyed with me. I thought it was a good idea, but oh well.

I wonder if you’re still at the Griffon Wing Keep. Judging by my count, you’re probably done with your work and heading back to Skyhold as we speak, though I do hope you are still there when we arrive later this week. Maybe that way we could escort you back home? I’d love that, I won’t lie. I miss you so damn much. Normally I don’t mind traipsing around Thedas with Lily, but being away from home is really difficult this time; not only it’s a longer trip than any before, but I now have a reason to want to return. I wish all of this was over already, so I wouldn’t have to travel so much. I miss our daily chats. I miss you.

Always yours, Raphael

=============================

My Dearest Raphael,

I miss you, desperately. It’s been too long since we’ve kissed or held each other or even talked, and I’m going a little crazy from this clutching feeling in my chest I associate with not having you around. I hate the fact that we’re apart and there isn’t much we can do about it. I cannot wait to be back at Skyhold with you, so we can go back to some semblance of normalcy. I’m done with being on the road and constantly sleeping in a bed that isn’t my own. I’m done and I want to go home.

Instead of Skyhold, I’m in Exalted Plains. When Lily first told me of how Master Wardell completely neglected his duties when constructing this bridge, I hadn’t expected this level of incompetence. I mean, it’s a functional bridge, but with the kind of resources we are given, he should have been able to repair this gap properly and in no time. Thankfully, the team I already have here is hard-working and not afraid of challenges. Once I draw up new plans and divide up the responsibilities, all work will be done fast. I hate that I have to once again clean up Wardell’s messes, but it can’t be helped. At least this is the last of it.

I hope you are well. I hope you are taking care of yourself. I hope to see you soon.

Yours, Hannah

=============================

My Darling Hannah,

We are on our way home. We just passed through Exalted Plains and I got to admire your handiwork in person - you’ve done a fantastic job here, dearest. Lily is also happy with the results, but I’m sure she’ll want to thank you in person, so I’ll let her speak for herself. Still, I’m proud of you. This bridge and what you’ve done in the Western Approach proves that you are the right person for the job and I’m so glad you are finally recognized for your hard work.

I will see you soon, my darling, and I cannot wait. Lily wants to stop by Emprise du Lion to take care of some dragons, but once we’re done, we’re coming home. I cannot wait to see your beautiful face again. I miss you so fucking much. We will be together soon.

Forever yours, Raphael

=============================

Raphael,

I came back to Skyhold two days ago and I am thrilled beyond words to finally have my own bed back. I cannot wait to have you back as well. I spoke to Leliana and she said you should be home within a week, so I won’t be making this letter long. I miss you and I’m looking forward to seeing you again. Be safe.

Yours, Hannah

#fanfiction #dragon age #da:i #drops of satina #may-hem #female OC #male Trevelyan #Hannah of Highever #Raphael Trevelyan #Hannah/Raphael #correspondence #letters #they miss each other so much #fluff #I was dying while writing this #it's so fluffy I could die #cuteness ahoy!

[thetreecorner]

Your Satisfaction Guaranteed (Slight Phantom x Reader) (Is It To Your Satisfaction Part 2)

Request?: Yep!

Requested by who?: Anonymous

AU: N/A

Characters: Phantom, Reader, Andy, Shawn

Warnings: Phantom is a manipulative buttface, I may have cursed, and uh, idk, shrinkage, and not a happy ending.

Words:  1299

A/N: This is Part Two for “Is It To Your Satisfaction?”. This was originally written in first person for my Creative Writing class so I apologize if I left in any I/my pronouns and/or the name I gave the main character (Tessa).

—-

When you wake up, you put on your nicest outfit,, and go back to the bar. You take a seat, the same one you’d taken the night before, and wait. Some part of you hopes that Phantom will come back - he was an interesting man. Shawn smiles, asks you if you’d like anything to drink. You don’t usually drink early in the morning, but you order a scotch and continue to wait.

The magician is back on stage, although if by miracle he’s not half as bad as the night before. In fact, he’s better than any magician you’d ever seen before. Everyone is entranced, yourself included.

“How’s the entertainment today?” You tear your gaze away, and there’s Phantom sitting beside you, leaning against the bar and waiting for your response. You find yourself smiling. “Is it to your satisfaction?” There’s that question again.

“You guys sure do aim to satisfy, don’t you?” You ask, laughing.

“What kind of hotel would it be if we didn’t?” He asked with a wink. “So, the entertainment?”

“Much better.” You hum. “You wouldn’t have anything to do with that, would you?” You inquired, watching Phantom as he swirled a finger around the glass bulb of his cane, seemingly uninterested in the entertainment.

“I might have.” He told you with a smile. “I have a… knack, for helping those with creative outlets.”

“You wouldn’t happen to be able to help a striving artist, would you?” You joked.

“So, you’re an artist?” He asked, perking up a bit. You seemed to have peaked his interest, and he leaned forward, not taking his eyes off of you.

“A striving one.” You said, finishing my drink. You’d drawn ever since you were a kid, but they’re never good enough. Not for you. “God, I would give anything to get better.” You told him, and it was the truth.

You would do anything.

“Anything?” The question sends a chill up your spine, but you nod nonetheless. He stood suddenly, holding out a hand to you. “Come with me.” He said.

You hesitated. You barely knew this man, but seeing how well the magician got with his help, you couldn’t find myself saying no.

When you took his hand, Phantom led you out of the bar. You caught Shawn’s gaze and the look in his eyes shocked you. He looked… sad. You open your mouth to say something, but Phantom kept his pace. He brought you through the lobby, and through a door that read ‘employees only’. It was a narrow hallway with a handful of doors. As the two of you approached the end of the hall, Phantom turned to the left and grabbed the brass knob of a tall dark wood door, pushing it open, and lead you inside.

It was a mess. The light was dim, casting shadows using the piles of papers, and boxes full of books. Drawings and writings and instruments were spread out everywhere, and at the center of it all was large desk. Phantom released your hand, and took a seat behind said desk.

“Please,” he said, motioning to the seat across from him. “Sit.” You did so, waiting for what he had to say.

“So, you wanna be an artist, hm?” He opened a draw in his desk, shuffling through papers and files. “I can help you with that.” He pulled out a scroll, wrapped up in a red ribbon. As the pulled the paper free, it unraveled to its full length. Laid down, the paper covered the width of the desk. Beautiful calligraphy covered it from head to toe, and at the bottom was a signature line.

“A contract?” You asked, eyebrow raised.

“A contract stating that I,” he motioned to himself. “Will help you achieve your artistic dream. For a price, of course.”

“How much?”

“Oh, no, not money.” He said, waving you off. You frown, confused

“Then what?”

“I look for something much more… spiritual.” You said nothing to that, just raise an eyebrow. He leans forward, as if to tell you a secret and you find yourself leaning in as well. He smiled as the words passed his lips. “Your soul.”

“My soul?” You lean back, certain he’s joking. It’s too cliche you tell yourself, but as your gaze meets his, you can tell he’s dead serious. “You mean metaphorically?”

“Oh no, doll. I’m quite serious.” He says, taking a pen from the same drawer. “You see, I have the ability to enhance the creative parts of people’s souls. I can take an actor and make him a lead. I can take a singer and put her at the top of the charts. I can take a magician and teach them magic overnight.” He holds out the pen, enticing you forward.

You never believed in the supernatural. You didn’t believe that someone could enhance the human soul, but you found yourself hooked on his every word. You couldn’t pull yourself away.

“It just takes one signature.” He handed you the pen, and you stared down at the crisp ink signature line for longer than you could remember. You don’t remember signing the contract, but there was your name, scribbled in black ink plain as day. Phantom handed you a sketch pad and requesting you draw something. Anything you wanted to.

You opened to the first blank page, and with the same pen, began your drawing. You don’t remember how long you sat there, but when you had finished every part of your body was aching.  After a moment, you looked down at your masterpiece.

It was a drawing of him.

Phantom stood, slowly making his way over to you. He leaned on the back of your chair and chuckled.

“I am very handsome, aren’t I?” You set down the pen, your eyes never leaving the drawing. Out of everything I could have drawn, why was it him? You asked yourself “I have always admired human capability,” As he spoke, your thoughts became hazy. It was becoming harder and harder to stay awake. “That’s why I do what I do. I hope there’ll be no hard feelings.” With that, you  blacked out.

When you woke from your daze, you found yourself lying on a wooden floor. You slowly got to your feet and looked around. You were shocked to find yourself concealed in a tall glass dome, from which you had view of an enlarged room - the same room you had stayed in the night before. You could tell because you saw your bag, sitting on the floor.

But it made no sense. You had just been in Phantom’s office. You couldn’t be here - you couldn’t be small like this.

I turned my head, gasping when you realized that beside me another glass jar, one that you recognized. When you’d looked at the knickknacks it had stood out to you - the figurine of the girl in the 50’s dress. But she was alive, and trapped in her glass casing. She sat, knees pulled to her chest, crying. You pressed your hand to the glass, but it wouldn’t budge. You began to panic. You called out to her, but if she heard you she didn’t react.

In that moment the door opened and Andy stepped inside. You called out to him too, but like a robot he moved to the bed, grabbing your bag and putting away what you hadn’t. When he finished, he finally turned to face you. He walked closer and closer until he towered over you. Slowly, he knelt down, and placed a finger on the glass dome, stroking it. He looked sad.

“I am so sorry, miss.” He said in a low tone, then he stood, straightening his tie as he did so. “I do hope you are satisfied.”

And then, he was gone.

#phantom #the phantom #phantom x reader #phantom imagine #phantom reader insert #natewantstobattle phantom #egos #youtube egos #reader insert #my writing #tree writes #reese writes #x reader #not a happy ending #barely edited