Hi! I've been binge reading your Fae! series again and I had an idea that I just had to share with you.
Fae!Gary who is trying to ensnare a fantasy writer/editor darling who is constantly foiling his plans by accident.
He gifts them a book that he said reminded him of them? they hand him a book they just knew he'd love.
He gives them flowers to brighten up the office? she gives him a knowledge dump on what the bouquet means based on the language of flowers.
thanks for taking the time to read this! don't forget to get some water and a snack <3
Oh my God ROACH, the forgotten son. Chaos boy, gremlin man, low danger sense and impossible to kill. Yeah you can have a little Roach as a treat. I've tweaked this prompt a little for a librarian!reader, also with a few of my personal Roach headcanons.
It's always a slow day when he comes in. Always with a mask on and earbuds in. You smile and wave him over. He hardly needs the prompting, making his way quickly but purposefully to stand in front of your cart. He tugs an earbud free, and holds out a book to you. Hard canvas bound with yellowed pages, the front is painted with laurels of heather and honeysuckle. It's not one of the library's collection.
"Where's the book you took out?" You frown, glancing to see if he has any bags or is holding anything else. He shoves the book under his arm and digs through his pocket to pull out a notebook and nubby pencil. You wait for him to finish scribbling and show you.
"Already returned," He turns the page and keeps writing.
"So then this is...?" You're really just filling dead air, you assume he's going to tell you what it is. He has this preternatural ability to think conversations an extra sentence ahead.
"A present for you," He holds up the notebook, and you smile a little at the doodle in the corner. A little square with a bow on top.
"I have something for you too!" You grin, clapping your hands together. His brows draw together with a frown. "We were going through the books that we're going to sell soon and I saw this, made me think of you." You hold up a finger to tell him to wait and rush behind the front desk.
It takes a moment of digging to get the old book free but it's well worth it. You hold it up with an excited 'ta-da' and hurry back to your cart. He never tries to disguise his interest in your trades, and you can see the exact moment his eyes light up with excitement reading the cover.
"It's super out of date these days, but I thought-" He cuts you off with a few rapid hand movements. Ones you recognize easily.
"No, no, I love it." He signs, trading your gift for his. He eagerly cracks open the ancient entomology hardback. You feel your heart squeeze a little watching him trace his finger over a colorful illustration of a beetle. You finally look away to see what book he's brought you. It's a collection of old love stories from the region. Your heart squeezes a little tighter.
"You know it's silly, um," You start, not sure how to phrase what is so average for most people, "You keep coming in, and I feel like I know so much about you, but I don't know-" He looks up from the book, there's something colder in his eyes, something that warns against the question on your tongue, "-your name." You finish.
The look in his eyes makes you wish you could take it back, makes you feel like you've shattered whatever isle of peace you two had carved out for yourself. He looks back at the page he'd been reading and snaps the book closed. The sound makes you flinch. He balances his notebook against the hardback and scribbles something before opening the entomology book again. His eyes scan the pages as he flips through, before he finds what he's looking for, and turns both books for your approval.
The page is opened to a Roach, and the notebook reads "it's a nickname." You nod.
"Sorry I asked," You tell him. He shrugs. Then blinks, seeming to realize something. He glances down at his chest and scratches it, strangely you get the urge to itch as well. He can hardly get his notebook set up fast enough, and you jump to catch the entomology book when it slips from his grip. The notebook is shoved in your face almost as quickly as you can hold the book out to him.
"Do you like your book?"
"Oh! Yes!" You're realizing you haven't given his gift the attention it deserves. You grab the book off the cart and flip through it, skimming your finger over the table of contents. You recognize most of the stories, the classics, but not all of them. The paper is just a hair thicker than modern books, with filigree at the top and bottom edges speaking to its age. You wonder where he found something so beautiful. When you look up at him again his eyes are soft, brows drawn together in an expression you'd almost call lovesick.
"Would you want to get dinner some time?" You surprise both of you with the ask. Roach seems to light up all at once again, nodding excitedly. "Ok, um," You grab his pencil and lean to jot down your number on his notebook, he watches you like a hawk the whole time, "I have to get back to work, but text me when you're free and I'll-" He's leaned so close to you, solid and warm, his fingers cover yours as he takes his pencil back, making your brain stall a little. You don't know how you were going to finish that sentence.
"Ok," He says, and his voice is so low you hardly think you heard him at all.
"Ok," You agree. His eyes scrunch happily, and you return the smile. This is good. You have a good feeling about this.
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whatever you do, don't think about how lana saw herself in edgeworth, ok? don't think about how she wanted to distance herself from him the moment they met because he could possibly see through the sl-9 plan and ruin everything, but she couldn't because he was kind, if not a little awkward, to her terrified sister in a case where everyone else's only concern was securing a conviction. don't think about how she brought ema to the prosecutor's office (because she damn well wasn't going to let her sister face this alone) with her hackles raised and her defences bolstered because she'd heard about the "demon prosecutor" and his ways just to realise he's nothing but a young man, trying his best to survive under the weight of his mentor's shadow and ensure justice is served by whatever means he can. don't think about how she felt later, when she was under gant's thumb and knew for a fact that all those rumours surrounding von karma's perfect record were, in fact, true and that he was using edgeworth's faith in him to fulfill his own goals. don't think about how she felt when she had to begin doing the same. or what must have gone through her head when she entered her office one morning to find a case approval form waiting for her on her desk: the state v. miles edgeworth. don't think about how she knew, once she saw the name of the prosecutor assigned to his case, that she was signing his death warrant. don't imagine what she rehearsed saying to his sister or her realisation, after his miraculous survival, why he had been so understanding of her own. don't wonder, as she did, ineffectually, if it was his competence or her fondness for him that led to his car and knife being chosen to cover goodman's murder — a second attempt at his permanent removal — and whether it was affection or guilt that made her stand by the corpse, waiting readily to be caught in his stead. don't think about how she finds out, eventually, that he is gone, in a jail cell so far from remorse, gratitude and closure that she can only sit and turn in her head distorted thoughts about luck and fortuitous third chances. don't.
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