#I have. no attention span for this. the guy just reads the textbook and occasionally goes on rants about how it’s So Important

[sweet-as-kiwis]

International business is officially the Podcast Class

[wearywinchester]

Something Old and Something New — Part Four

Mechanic!Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: When life takes a turn and you take an unexpected break from college in Stanford with your best friend Sam, you return home to your job at your family’s co-owned garage. You return home to work alongside the guy you thought you hated—Dean Winchester.

Word Count: 4.9k

Warnings: angst, swearing, guilt, arguing, light fluff

Your grip on the wheel was tight as you parked along the curb, the pressure behind your eyes having been near unbearable as your eyes glossed over with new tears. Tears of complete and utter frustration as your heart hammered in your chest. You put your car in park and got out, slamming the door behind you. Your footfalls were hurried and you paid no mind to the way you’d jammed your keys in the door, twisting the knob before pushing it open.

You drew a startled look from Sam who’d been sitting on the living room couch, textbook in his lap and his hand running through his hair. He sat up straighter, brows furrowed in an instant as he looked at you. Angry, frustrated you.

“Everything okay?” He asked, though he finds the question pointless the second it leaves his lips because it’s very clear what the answer is. “What happened?”

“Your brother’s an idiot, Sam,” you huff, lip quivering despite the anger in your words.

The crease between his brows deepens at your words, confusion in his expression as he thinks it over just what Dean could have done now. He knew his brother had a way of getting on your nerves, of pushing your buttons in a way Dean Winchester did—but he’s never seen you this upset from any of that, never seen you this worked up.

You saw the way he’d opened and closed his mouth a couple times over, trying to figure out just what to ask first, where to even start. But you spoke up before he did.

“I think,” you start, heaving a sigh as you settle your racing heart a little more, easing the anger in your tone for Sam’s sake. It wasn’t his fault after all. “I think I need to be alone for a little while.”

He nods then, gaze on you as he watches the emotions flicker across your face, exhaling a sigh of his own as he watches you turn on your heel and leave. You disappear around the corner and toss your keys on the kitchen table, headed straight for the door to the back porch.

You sat in your usual seat, tucked in the corner of the porch as cover yourself with the blanket you’d snagged on your way out the door. It’d been quiet out there, peaceful despite the noise in your mind, the events that happened not even half an hour earlier having been caught in your thoughts in a loop.

You thought it’d been obvious, with the way you’d grown closer to the older Winchester over the last few weeks. You found yourself realizing you hated him less than you thought you did for a long while, and maybe you didn’t hate him at all. It took coming back home to see that maybe there was something there between you for longer than the time you’d been back home.

You thought it was obvious, thought so the moment you realized things were different between you two.

But apparently it hadn’t been, not with the way jealousy had wrapped around his every feeling, the way anger had been a close second that day. Never mind the fact that he almost kissed you at Benny’s barbecue, or the way he seemed to enjoy your company.

He was too oblivious to see it the way you felt, too jealous to think rationally about it.

Meanwhile, Dean remained at the garage, simmering in his overflowing frustration. His mind was stuck on the words he’d spoken to you, taunting and woven with anger. He’d told you to go ahead and leave, he encouraged it even. He paid no mind to the hurt so clear in your eyes because he was jealous when he shouldn’t have been, so wound up in the overwhelming idea that he had feelings for you, true feelings that he’d gone and pushed you away.

The idea terrified him, to genuinely care for something, to enjoy their presence, to seek them out and to miss them when they’re gone. The thought of the feelings he had for you, vulnerable and fond, it scared the life out of him. So, he did what he always did and found a way to sabotage it.

He truly did feel as though you had fond feelings for his brother, there was no reason for you not to. But now, as he stands there by himself with his hands dragging down his face, standing with a mess of tools having been splayed and scattered across the concrete of the garage, he’s starting to think that maybe he was wrong.

He’d gone and let his temper get the very best of him, his mind running a mile a minute with thoughts all revolving around you. But he found they always did, they always did for a long while and he knows it.

He’d hovered over the idea of calling you at least a dozen times that night, deciding against it each and every time.

You don’t know just how much time had passed as you sat there on that porch, the sun dipping deeper and deeper into the horizon. The lightning bugs had flickered across the lawn, crickets chirping and filling the quiet in the evening air.

But soon they’d been accompanied by something else, by something more familiar as your heart skipped a beat.

You heard that engine, could tell just who it belonged to from a mile away. You heard it rumble and roar as it approached your apartment. Heard it continue to rattle lowly as it sat there for a minute or two. Your heart hammered as you sat in your chair, the inside of your cheek between your teeth.

He knew exactly where you’d be, knew you were on that porch without even seeing you. It was a place you always went to when you were stressed or upset, sitting in that chair for a good while until you felt better. Now it was him that was the cause and he hated it, he hated that feeling more than anything.

He sat there for another brief minute before you heard that rumble once more, before you heard that ever familiar roar as he pulled away and drove down your street. Your jaw tensed as you felt the tears burn and gloss over your eyes once more, a huff puffing out through your nose.

Instead, he’d gone back to the garage, gone back to clean up the mess he made despite the fact that he knew he should have cleaned up the mess he made with you.

You stayed out there in your usual seat, stayed until the sun had gone down completely and the drowsiness crept up. Stayed until fatigue weighed heavy on your eyelids until they fell closed, and stayed until Sam had come to check on you, finding you fast asleep in the chair. His shoulders slumped at the sight and a sigh left his lips, lips that purse for a moment at the sight of his best friend having looked so miserable.

He scooped you up, blanket and all, and put you to bed for the night before disappearing into his room.

You had one day left at the garage, one day before you left. The past week had been just as you’d imagined, the tension thicker than ever with each passing shift and it became harder and harder to bear.

You hadn’t spoken more than a handful of words to Dean, not more than that outside of work talk anyway. The tension set the tone for the entire garage—for Benny, for Bobby, for the customers who’d been lucky enough to come in when Dean was in close proximity to you.

There wasn’t much of any small talk, the days having gone by with just the noise of the radio and the occasional string of curses from Dean when something went wrong on a car. It drove you nearly crazy to be so close, close enough that it had your heart aching and your jaw tensing in an attempt not to cry, in an attempt not to shout at the older Winchester for breaking it.

You should have known better, you should have known better than to let yourself fall for him. He was stubborn as ever and there was no changing that but you knew it’d be a long while before you got over it.

It was a week full of lingering stares and long pauses as one tried to fill the silence with some sort of conversation before the other left with the excuse of having something else to do. It’d been a week of angry huffs and a week of Benny driving you crazy with the suggestion of talking to each other in a way that wasn’t so much of a struggle.

It was your last day of it, and you can’t decide if you’re relieved or dreadful, or both.

You sat in your chair at the front desk, head leaning on your hand as you rested your elbow on the counter. Nobody had said a word in the past hour and a half, the rest of your lunch having gone cold until you’d called it quits and dumped it in the trash.

Now, you were sat at your desk with your book cracked open, having very obviously been stuck on the same page for the last fifteen or twenty minutes because you were too busy thinking about green eyes over there. It was bad enough he knew you hadn’t actually been reading. He knew it because his gaze wandered over to you and lingered more than a few times in that span of time.

It almost got him in trouble, almost having him cut his palm with his inability to pay attention to the task at hand, grabbing the wrench he had clasped between his teeth and putting it to use as he tried to keep his mind on his work.

It was another few minutes until he spoke up.

“Would you mind giving me a hand over here?” You lifted your head from your palm, gaze shifting over to him as you narrowed your gaze slightly. He could sense your hesitation. “Benny and Bobby left and it’d be easier if I had an extra set of hands.”

You breathe out a huff after a moment and close your unread book, standing from your chair. When you stood just a mere foot away he held out his hand, the lug nuts to the last tire he had to rotate having been in it. You opened your hand with a sigh and he dropped them in your palm.

“You did the other three by yourself, why can’t you do this one?” You ask, brow raised and lips pursed.

He chuckles then, humorless as he shakes his head. “Like I said, easier with an extra set of hands.”

You roll your eyes and watch as he squats down, lifting the tire with ease as his jaw tenses under his weight. You give him the first one when he’s ready for it, and you try your hardest to ignore the way his hand brushes against yours. You try to ignore the way your skin feels like it’s been set on fire in the wake of his touch no matter how brief it’d been.

You turned your head and looked away for a moment as he worked, swallowing thickly as the radio did its best to ease the quiet tension.

He took it upon himself to grab the next one from your palm when he saw you hadn’t been paying attention, the tips of his fingers brushing against your skin. You straightened your stance and had the rest at the ready after that, desperate to avoid those moments of contact otherwise your heart just might burst with agony.

He grabs his impact drill from the workbench and tightens them in place, securing the tire once more. He spins the wheel for good measure, giving it a pat or two before he snags the rag from his pocket, swiping it across his forehead and the back of his neck and wiping away the sweat.

“Thank you, Y/n,” he says.

You notice the way his words falter for a moment, unaware that sweetheart was on the very tip of his tongue just ready to be spoken until he’d caught himself.

You simply nod and his jaw tenses when you walk away, his hand running through his hair before dragging down his face. You barely make it halfway to your desk before he’s speaking up.

“You want me to drive you home?” He calls after you.

He’d driven you this morning, something he offered when the battery to your own car had died. He’d stopped by to drop something off, something trivial and he knew it was stupid. He knew it was far-fetched but he found he just wanted to see you, even if he was being that stubborn idiot he knew himself to be right now.

But he gave you a ride this morning, a quiet drive filled with side glances to the other and the radio put on low, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he drove the two of you to work that morning.

You thought it over for a few fleeting moments, your gaze on your feet before it lifted to him. “Sam’s picking me up.”

You look away just as quickly as you walk behind your desk, stuffing your things in your bag as you grab your sweater from the back of your chair. You fail to see his nod and the way his jaw tenses, you fail to see the way he swallowed thickly as he bites the inside of his cheek. He’s angry at himself and he’s the one to blame for it, he knows that and that blame simmers in the forefront of his mind.

His gaze lingers on you as you sling your bag over your shoulder, pushing the door open and walking out. He looks at the space you once stood in, watching as the door closes behind you with a click.

You hadn’t been there for six days, nearly a week. It was your last day in Kansas and he knew it. He knew it and he wouldn’t let himself forget it no matter how hard he tried to. The very thought of you leaving had weighed heavy on his mind, heavier with each passing minute, hour, day.

He couldn’t let you leave, didn’t want to, but he doesn’t know if he can find the words to say.

It’s noticeable when you’re gone, more than obvious. The garage is dull and quiet, no matter how loud he played Zeppelin on that radio. It didn’t have your smile and it didn’t have your laugh to remind him to lighten up when a tough repair had him frustrated. It didn’t have the sound of your voice whether it’d been you throwing lighthearted jests and quips his way, or if it was when you answered the phone with that smile that makes him forget what he’s doing for a few fleeting moments.

There wasn’t the sound of your voice when you sang along to the songs on the radio under your breath as you sat with your feet up on your desk, your book in your lap when things were slow. Or the way you patched him up when he busted up his hands when he wasn’t paying attention to what he was doing because he was too distracted with you. The way you know your way around a car and make him look like a fool sometimes when he’s working on a repair he can’t quite figure out.

It’s far beyond noticeable that you’re not here, it’s always been noticeable when you’re gone and he can’t think of anything worse of a feeling than looking over to that front desk and finding it empty. Each and every time he looks over there it’s always the same and every time it has his jaw tensing.

He tries his hardest not to fall for anyone, not to get attached for this very reason. He feels like if it were anyone else it wouldn’t be half as bad, but you’re not just anyone. You’re so much more than that and damn does this hurt.

“Dean,” Benny calls out for the third time, his brows furrowed at him.

Dean looks to him from where he stands hovered over the hood of the car he’s working on, the crease between his brows returning. He clears his throat as he stands up straight, brushing his hands off.

“What’s up?”

“I’ve been callin’ your name for that past two minutes,” Benny says, brow raised in curiosity.

“Oh,” he says, nodding his head as a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth in hopes to stave off the brunette’s curious gaze, shrugging his shoulders. “Guess I didn’t hear you.”

He nodded, lips puckering in thought as he eyes the older Winchester with a squint.

“Guess not.” His gaze remained on Dean as he looked back at the task at hand, the one he hadn’t been paying attention to for that last who knows how long. “Darryl called. You got an inspection appointment tomorrow for his truck.”

“Great,” Dean says, tone indifferent and on the cusp of being distracted as he wipes down the bit of oil he spilled.

Benny’s lips pursed, his eyes lingering on Dean for a moment as he took in his expression. Dean could feel his stare, knew full well that Benny caught on to the way he was acting. To the way he was too distracted for his own good. It’s not like it wasn’t painfully obvious, he was sure that anyone in the world who looked at him could tell his mind was elsewhere.

Benny knew and that much was obvious, but Dean had been hoping he’d drop it, had been holding his breath in hopes that he’d leave it at that and move onto something else.

A wave of relief went through him when he’d seen Benny turn and walk away out of the corner of his eye, huffing out a quiet sigh through his nose. It was something that was short lived though, because after a few beats of silence he turned back on his heel with the words on the tip of his tongue, questions just ready to be asked.

“What’s going on with you?” He asked, Dean’s eyes closing as he leaned his hand on the edge of the front end.

He can’t say he didn’t see this coming, he saw it from a mile away. He dipped his head down a fraction as his tongue swiped over his lip, taking it between his teeth for a moment as he squeezed his eyes shut tighter.

“Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, Benny,” he says, turning his head to spare him a glance with pursed lips.

Benny tilted his head to the side and gave him a look, his arms crossing over his chest and Dean mirrored it. “It’s taken you an hour to finish a twenty minute job, Winchester. That ain’t like you.”

“Every car is different, it’s not gonna be a piece of cake every time. Stuff goes wrong sometimes,” he shrugs, irritation simmering in his tone.

“I know damn well that’s not the case.”

“Do you, Benny?” Deans asks, voice raising a fraction as he tosses his wrench on the workbench to his left.

He’s quiet for a moment then, heaving a sigh as he looks at the green eyed mechanic with a squinted look. He sees how touchy Dean is, how easy it is to get under his skin. He’s been like that the past week and a half, nearly two. He’s known him for a long time, knows him better than he thinks and he knows exactly what’s for him acting so differently.

He knows.

“It’s Y/n, isn’t it?” He asks, straight to the point and it has Dean stiffening, has him tensing at your name.

“What?” He asks, and his defensiveness is clear as day.

“Don’t play dumb with me, boy,” he starts, watching Dean’s jaw clench, watching the crease between his brows stiffen. “I saw you two that night, I saw you by the fire and it doesn’t take a genius to know that there’s something there. You can lie to me all you want and act like you don’t have a clue what I’m talking about but I know she’s on your mind.”

Dean rolls his eyes now, a humorless laugh leaving his lips as the anger bubbles in the pit of his stomach. He cares about Benny, he does, but right now all he’s doing is pushing his buttons in a way that’s fueling his frustration.

“You know what, Benny? You can go right ahead and think what you want, that’s fine by me. But it’s not really your business. You’re wrong,” Dean says, finger pointed at him before his hand drops to his side.

“She told me what happened, Dean.”

He freezes in his spot, jaw more tense than ever as he swallows thickly. His stare is narrowed on Benny, hard and angry as his fists clench and relax and he finds he has to look away otherwise he just might crack.

So he does. He turns away from him and runs a hand down his face, thoughts of you flashing through his mind as if they hadn’t done so all day every day for the past who knows how long. He doesn’t need that lecture right now, doesn’t need to be told of the colossal mistake he knows he’s made because it’ll only light the fuse and make everything worse. It’ll only deepen the anger and regret he’s got searing within him till he bursts.

“You miss her, don’t you?” He asks, voice quieter than before.

Dean laughs again to himself, quiet and bitter as his hands stay planted on the workbench. He swallows as the question taunts him, replaying in his mind in a loop. He misses you more than anything, hell, he missed you since the moment you walked out that door that day.

But he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t say a single word as he turns in his heel, laying down the stand to the car’s hood before letting it fall closed with a slam. He can hear Benny’s chuckle, one in response to just how stupid he’s being, to just how stubborn he really is. He can’t say he’s surprised, he’s been this strong willed and stubborn for as long as he can remember. It’s ridiculous and he knows it, and he’d be stupid not to give it one more try.

He eyes the older Winchester with a narrowed glance, a sigh leaving his lips as he watches him busy himself with work that didn’t need to be done.

His gaze lingers for a moment, lips pursed and brows furrowed. Benny moves to turn away, even takes a step or two away from him before he turns back around.

“Dean?”

He turns his head, avoiding Benny’s gaze as he waits for him to talk.

“What you do is your choice, you know that. But I suggest you stop bein’ so damn stubborn and realize what you’ve got before it’s gone. Do me a favor and quit bein’ an idiot.”

With that he walks away, leaving Dean to stand by himself. That anger is still very much there, that frustration stronger than ever as the regret eats away at him. He’s got the urge to sweep all those tools on the floor once more, his chest tight as he jaw tenses. And that glance over to the clock on the wall didn’t make it a single bit better.

“Son of a bitch,” he murmurs through gritted teeth, crossing the garage with quick steps as he snags his keys.

You sigh as you look around your room, scratching the back of your neck as you try and see if you’ve got anything else to add to your bags, to see if you’re missing anything. A part of you is stalling, you know you are. You don’t want to leave home and you don’t think going back to Stanford is in your best interest, not really.

Half of your decision is fueled by your spite towards the older Winchester, to leave just because you said you would. The other half is filled with indecision, filled with the worry that you might regret not finishing your degree. You felt like you owed yourself that much, you did. But you felt that dread in the pit of your stomach at the thought of putting yourself through another year of it, another year of something you didn’t have your heart set on and you knew you couldn’t do that.

It was another conversation to have with Sam, another decision you’d have to make that had your stomach knotting with nerves. Something that’d been the last thing you wanted to do, the last thing you wanted to think about.

But you couldn’t put it off, couldn’t do that forever.

You spun on your heel after giving your room another once over with a sigh, knowing full well there wasn’t anything more you needed for Stanford that wasn’t already over there. Nothing more that you needed other than the clothes and belongings you brought with you when you came home all those weeks ago.

You paced through the hall and down the stairs, your last duffel bag in your hand as you make your way to the living room. All of your bags and suitcases had been stacked by the front door, packed and ready to go as Sam’s had sat there with them.

You swallowed thickly at the sight of them, biting the inside of your cheek in a nervous habit. It only made things all the more real, only solidified the idea that you were leaving again for another few months until you’d come back to visit. Only solidified the thought of going back to law school for one more year.

You exhaled a shaky side as you shook out your hands, pacing around the living room. Sam was gone to say his goodbyes to everyone, something you’d already done the night before. He was gone and he’d be back any minute with Bobby. Then you’d go to the airport and get dropped off together and go back. You’d go back to your second home that just didn’t feel quite so good as this one.

The thought had your nerves swirling in your stomach, twisting and churning as you ran your hands down your face. You were twenty-four still acting like you were eighteen, acting like quitting law school would be the worst thing in the world. You knew there was no rush, no timeline, but the stress of it all was weighing heavy.

The thought of leaving home again, leaving everything for a little while, the thought of the older Winchester was weighing heavier on your mind.

You quit your pacing and walked to the kitchen, grabbing a glass from the cupboard. You filled it with water and drank it down, your teeth sinking into your lip as you closed your eyes for a brief moment.

The ring of the doorbell had your heart jumping in your chest, had it hammering once more. It was time to go and you knew it, there was no more stalling, no more thinking it over. No more putting it off because it was happening now. You were going back for a little while and this was it.

You exhaled a shaky breath as you put your empty glass in the sink, making your way to the door as a couple knocks sounded. Your gaze lingered on your bags by the door for a moment longer, a moment longer before you had to put them in the back of Bobby’s car.

After a beat of hesitation, you twisted the door knob, swinging it open. Your breath hitched in your throat, mouth going dry as your gaze falls on him, his stare moving up from his boots as you meet those green eyes you’d get to stop thinking about. You swallow thickly as your heart flips once more, lips parting.

His expression is hard to read as he stands there with a look to mirror yours, his tongue swiping over his lips in a nervous habit. He reaches up to scratch the back of his neck before his hand falls back down to his side. You glance around him to the Impala parked haphazardly and crooked along the curb, a rushed attempt at parking. And then your eyes flicker back to him, back to the Winchester who’s mouth had been opening and closing a couple times in an attempt to figure out just what he wanted to say.

You were ready to go, as ready as you’ll ever be—and now your plans were put in a tailspin as your mind and your heart spiraled in a frenzy as Dean Winchester stood in front of you once more.

—

Series Taglist: @myloversgone @colereads @stoneyggirl2 @samsgirl93 @poptart06294

General Taglist: @flamencodiva @stixnstripesworld @elegantbutedgy @humanmistakes @agalliasi @campingmonkey @deandaydreaming @lanea-1 @akshi8278 @kidd3ath @taikawho

[maisygrace]

First try, don't judge

Hi, Maisy here. Probably nobody will read this, but if you do then be warned that its my first work I've published, so it might be awful. I think it's kind of okay, but who knows?? Enjoy. xx

Dylan leaned back in his chair and yawned. Prep was so boring. He and his friends had been sitting in the school library for almost an hour; they had three big tests coming up next week, and they needed to get good marks. The only person not studying was Dylan. He had the attention span of a goldfish. As he sat looking around, Dylan fiddled with his pen, his rubber, he tried to settle down and read his textbook – he knew this stuff already! Having done anything and everything to keep himself occupied; Dylan (defeated by boredom once again) resorted to the classic timewaster of tapping his short fingernails on the wooden table.

He was so zoned out that when his friend Flynn put his hand on Dylan’s arm, Dylan jumped like he had been poked with a cattle prod. Coming back to reality with a jolt, Dylan realised that Flynn was waving his tanned arm in front of his face and saying, “Dylan? Dyl? You alright mate?”

Still dazed, Dylan nodded his head and replied, “Huh, what? Oh yeah. I’m fine.”

Flynn grinned and ran a hand through his chocolate-brown curls, “Good that. I’ve finished my history notes, and Jamie and Al left about ten minutes ago. We should probably head to dinner.”

Dylan’s stomach grumbled in response, “Don’t know about you, but I’m starved.”

Flynn laughed and pushed back his chair; it squeaked against the hard wood floor. He slung his bag over his left shoulder and started out of the library. Dylan hurried to grab his things and followed. Catching up to his green-eyed friend, Dylan slowed his pace to match Flynn’s. They walked along in silence for a while, until Dylan, who had been deep in thought, looked at his friend and asked, “Do you ever get bored?”

“Bored of what?” Flynn looked at him quizzically.

“All this,” Dylan paused, “The same thing every day: waking up, getting ready, going to school, going to the library to study, eating dinner, and then going to bed to start all over again?”

Looking pensive, Flynn shook his head. The sunlight caught on his curls as they bounced back and forth.

“No, not really.” he said, and that was that.

The pair walked the rest of the way to the dining hall in silence. When they arrived, they were greeted by two other boys their age, waving energetically. Dylan and Flynn waved back and made their way over to the table. The shorter of the two boys had shoulder-length hair that was a dirty blonde and was tied back into a ponytail. A devilish grin was spread across his pleasant face. He had eyes that sparkled with mischief, but they were framed by big dark circles, an indication of many sleepless nights. His uniform was untidy – his shirt was untucked, there was mud on his trousers, and his blazer was slung haphazardly over the back of his chair. He had undone his blue and white tie so that it hung loosely around his neck with his shark tooth necklaces.

The boy who was sitting next to him was his opposite. He had short, brown hair that had been carefully styled, a small smile had crossed his face when he had seen his friends, but aside from the occasional smile, he wore an expression of indifference. With neat uniform worn perfectly, he could not have looked any more different. He was constantly begging his Al to sort out his uniform.

“Al, please.” he said exasperatedly, “At least tuck your shirt in.”

Having grabbed himself a sandwich, Dylan sat down and laughed, “If he tucked his shirt in then he wouldn’t be our Al. It’s no point in begging.”

Al’s grin grew impossibly wider. “So,” said Al, “what stuff have you guys actually revised? A'cos I’ve done my French and History, but I don’t actually have any Geography notes.”

A conspirational look briefly passed across Al's face. He made puppy eyes at James.

“Jamie,” he whispered in a wheedling tone, “Can I have yours?”

“Fine,” James sighed as Al punched the air. James pretended that he minded, but they all knew that he really didn’t. “I think I’ve done all my revision. French, History, and Geography.”

Nodding, Flynn agreed, “Yeah, same. Is it just me, or is the French really difficult stuff?”

“I know right!” exclaimed Al. As usual, he was too loud. Too loud or too quiet with Al; there was not in between.

“Meh,” Dylan made a noise of disagreement, “It’s not really that difficult when you know what you’re doing.”

The other three boys all rolled their eyes. Dylan was always doing this. Bright smile falling from his face, Al tore off a chunk of bread and rolled it between his thin fingers. Hand going limp, he let the bread drop back onto his plate.

Avoiding everyone’s gaze, he mumbled, “Yeah, I’m sure it’s not.”

Al’s voice was laced with danger; the silence that followed was like the calm before the storm. Taking a shaky breath, Al pushed his chair back from the table. The noise of its flimsy legs screeching across the floor - though it went unnoticed in the noise of the room - was the start of uncomfortable silence. Holding up his hands in defeat, he stepped away from the table.

“You know what mate? Have fun passing all your tests with full marks and no revision. Funnily enough, some of us have to work hard to do well.”, he paused, looking long and hard at his friends, “And even then, we’ll probably still fail.”

His voice cracked with the last word. Al's eyes glistened with tears as he turned on his heel and stalked out of the dining hall. Barely a second passed, and then James got up out of his seat, grabbed Al’s bag and blazer, and hurried after his friend. Giving Dylan the evil eye, Flynn grabbed his sandwich and followed. Dylan dropped his head into his hands; he hadn’t meant it like that. Why did he always manage to say the wrong thing? How did he always manage to say the wrong thing? Sitting at the table, Dylan was alone with his thoughts, he didn’t like it. Picking up his bag, he got up and left. Al had been in moods like this before – Dylan knew it wasn’t a good idea to go back to the dorm room yet.

Having wandered aimlessly around the school for at least an hour, Dylan began to make his way back to his room. His room? he thought, more like their room. Dylan made his way along the corridor to their dorm room. Standing outside, he pushed open the door and stepped inside. He was greeted by a familiar sight. Inside the room was four beds, two on either side of the room. Each bed had a small table beside it, and each boy had decorated his table in a different way. On Flynn’s bedside table there was a pair of earphones, a few pens, and a packet of tissues. Only Dylan knew about the polaroid of his twin sister that he kept in the top drawer. On James’ table there was a phone charger, a clock in the shape of a TARDIS, and a copy of Good Omens. Good Omens was James’ favourite book, and was only one of the many that he had brought with him to school. Al’s table was the strangest by far: a picture of his pet snake Noodle, a compass, and multiple small objects (such as bracelets, stones, and feathers). Al was a “collector”. Flynn said Al was a hoarder, and James said he was sentimental. Dylan’s own table had a packet of chewing gum, a glass of water, and a photograph of himself and his friends. When the photo had been taken, the boys had been on a school trip to Dover Castle. The day had been swelteringly hot, and James’ lunch had been stolen by seagulls, but it was one of Dylan’s favourite memories. Dylan walked over to his bed and sat down. He kicked off his black leather shoes and laid down. Having only had a few seconds of peace, Dylan suddenly felt the bed dip by his left knee. Flynn had emerged from the boys’ shared bathroom, seen Dylan, and had made himself right at home. Slightly raising his head from his pillow, Dylan shot Flynn a quizzical look.

“What?”, said Flynn.

Dylan sighed, “Well, you wouldn’t have come over if you didn’t have something to say.”

Dylan knew that wasn’t true, but he said it anyways. Flynn looked taken aback.

“Don’t you start it on me, I only came to check if you were okay.”

Flynn put his hand on Dylan’s bare arm. Shrugging his shoulders, Dylan put his head back down.

“I guess so," he started, “I don’t like being smart you know. I don’t like school, and I don’t like work or tests. I- I sometimes just wish that I could forget everything that I know and could be anywhere but here.”

Flynn frowned; he hated seeing Dylan like this. Usually, he was so bright, and happy, with a quick wit, and brilliant sense of humour, but nobody could be happy all the time. Wrapping a protective arm around his friend, Flynn laid himself down next to Dylan. Dylan moved closer into Flynn's side, and closed his eyes.

[kyojuuros]

If Attack on Titan were a highschool series (ignoring Isayama and Junior High), which archetypes do you personally believe the characters would be? This could be either American or Japanese high school.

I’ll stick with American since I’m not too familiar with Japanese school stereotypes! I apologize it took so long to post a reply to this. I wanted to make sure I put some good thought into it. My attention span has also been a bit off lately. lol

Also, I pulled most of these stereotypes from this list. It’s uh… been a minute since I was in high school so I needed a refresher. 😂😂

Since the high school au generally revolves around the main 104th kids, they’re the only ones I included on this list. 

Eren - Misfit, Metalhead, Fighter, AthleticI say metalhead since Isayama has said that Eren would be a fan of metal music, and being a fan of metal myself I could see him spending a lot of time listening to the music and taking in the lyrics, being super stoked to go to concerts and mosh, all that fun stuff. Misfit because while I don’t see him being part of the “in” crowd, I think that he would generally be accepted by his peers and have friends among various groups of other stereotypes. Fighter because he would always step in when someone is being bullied, especially if it’s a friend. Eren’s someone who I think would like to stay in shape, so he would probably get involved with a sport. I could see him doing something like baseball (if he’s influenced by Zeke, since Zeke definitely would be) or maybe cross country or wrestling. 

Mikasa - Teacher’s Pet, “Normal Kid,” Musician/AthleticFor Mikasa I think she’d be considered one of the “normal” kids who don’t particularly fit into any group (could also be a misfit I suppose in this case). I think she would be very astute in her studies and therefor become a bit of a “teacher’s pet” in the process or at least someone who teachers might favor. I could see her getting into some kind of non-academic “extracurricular” like learning how to play piano or maybe some kind of martial arts. I feel like her parents would want her to utilize something like this to instill self discipline and keep her involved and busy with something. This may or may not translate into her getting involved with academic extracurriculars like band/orchestra/choir or one of the athletics (maybe cross country or even basketball, I could see her doing either of those). 

Armin - Bookworm, Misfit, Teacher’s Pet, DebaterArmin would definitely be a bookworm and try to absorb everything he’s taking classes on. Because he’d be very involved with his learning and quick to find the answers, he would probably become a teacher’s pet of sorts. Kids from all areas would probably like him since he’s very friendly and quick to reach out to others (although some may end up just using him for his wits), so misfit would work well to describe that. I could see him being super into debating so he would probably join the debate team or some other type of academic “show off your smarts” activity. I could see him being the kid in history class questioning the curriculum and arguing with the teacher about watered down retellings of history! lol

Jean - Preppy, Partier, AthleticI feel like Jean would be like your typical frat boy archetype. He dresses nice, collar shirts, Abercrombie, stuff like that. He’d be the type to throw house parties while his parents are away and/or go to the other house parties. He’d be the guy there trying to be the life of the party or try to get laid. Just overall wants to have a good time and be accepted by everyone. On top of which I think he would be involved in some kind of athletic extracurricular, cross country, basketball or maybe even track & field! He and Eren probably get in fights all the time because they never see eye to eye on anything lol

Marco - Band Geek, Drama Kid, Bookworm, Teacher’s PetI feel like Marco would be the textbook definition of a geek. I could see him being really into band/music and theater. He wants to excel in school to please his family and he does well, causing him to become a teacher’s pet. It’s possible he’d maybe express interest in an athletic extracurricular but perhaps things like marching band would be more than enough for him -  I imagine he would probably play the trumpet! He tends to get along with everyone. 

Sasha - Class Clown, Sleeper, Slacker, AthleticDefinitely isn’t the type to take things too seriously and probably puts off all her studying for the last minute - if she does so at all! And definitely is the person who starts typing up her book report the night before it’s due and relies on spark notes (or whatever you kiddos use these days haha). She loves to eat of course and since she likes to go hunting, she might keep up on her physical health a bit so she can keep up during the hunt. So probably something like cross country or track & field to keep her in shape.

Connie - Class Clown, Sleeper, Slacker, AthleticConnie and Sasha are a package deal. Like her, he procrastinates often and may even forget about assignments entirely. But he makes sure to keep up enough to stay involved in extracurriculars so he can stay in his athletics. I could see him being into soccer, wrestling or football. Him and Sasha are both well known for having books slammed on their desks because they fell asleep. Connie never goes without a good retort to his teacher. lol

Historia - Cheerleader, Popular Girl, Drama Kid, AthleticHistoria would be that girl who is nice to everyone, so she easily gains popularity (and I do mean Historia, not the Krista persona). I can see her being really into drama since she’s good at putting up an act, giving her something to channel that talent into. I also think she would be athletic but not too into sports, so she would turn to something like cheerleading (or maybe dance team!) to please her athletic side. I could see her being involved in dance outside of school, like ballet. 

Ymir - Skater, Gamer, Athletic, (maybe) Pot HeadYmir is definitely a skater type and that’s how she gets her athletic urges out. If she’s not out in the skatepark, she’s probably at home playing video games (probably skater games or shooter games). I could see her being a bit of a pothead but perhaps not stereo typically so, just occasionally. She would definitely play basketball at school and probably hopes that the cute cheerleader from 4th period notices her when she makes that slam dunk!

Reiner - Jock, Popular GuyReiner is definitely a jock. Football during the fall, track & field during the spring. Wrestling during the winter. He’s a very outgoing guy, always shows up to parties, always puts himself out there and wants to have a good time. He looks out for his peers, helps others with their schoolwork and is just overall well liked by everyone. The “big brother” to his classmates. People always come to him with a problem and cheer him on during his athletic events. He has a slew of personal insecurities but only his closest friends typically see them. 

Annie - Loner, Athletic, BookwormAnnie would be introverted (not necessarily shy though) and keep to herself more often than not. She is athletic, but doesn’t participate in school activities. She would be into kickboxing, probably pushed onto her by her father, but she enjoys it anyway. While not a “fighter,” she’s probably showed off her kickboxing skills a time or two on the school grounds. I think she would also be big into reading books and would do well with studying so she could get into a good college. Generally people don’t talk to her much, but occasionally people like Armin, Marco or even Eren reach out to her. 

Bertolt - Loner, Athletic, BookwormLike Annie, he is a lot more introverted than the others. He tends to keep his nose in books and typically only spends time with Reiner outside of school. He gets along well enough with others but can become shy at the prospect of hanging out with them. Over the years, though, Reiner helps him to loosen up a bit so he can have more connections with the others. I could see Bertolt being involved with soccer or basketball. 

[dontcallmecarrie]

Blurred Lines

aka the incredibly niche and self-indulgent AU that spawns alternative timelines every time I so much as blink

Fandoms: Doctor Who [I haven’t been caught up since it got removed from Netflix; 10′s era and some fixits for 11′s run, too], Sherlock [playing fast and loose with canon here, and goes wildly AU after the end of Season 2]

Warnings: canon-typical violence, mental health issues at least partially stemming from an incredibly traumatic period, relationship problems, writer’s salt about Martha Jones being underappreciated

With how much the universe had been making and remaking itself, a chaotic and tangled mess, was it really that hard to believe that several wires had gotten crossed? 

In this particular case, the line between fiction and reality got...smudged, and Martha’s journey didn’t end when she left the TARDIS. 

However, this particular universe is even more convoluted than that— after all, this is also a universe where Moriarty and Mycroft exist alongside the Doctor and UNIT, but that’s a story for another day. [Mostly, anyway.]

This particular story, however, begins and ends with Martha Jones. 

Martha Jones, the medical student who had hoped for an adventure and got a war zone during her travels with the Doctor, whose steadfast loyalty had her walking the Earth. Martha Jones, who entered the TARDIS a doctor in training and left it a battle-hardened soldier who’d faced down Weeping Angels and madmen alike. Martha Jones, who, alongside her family, had experienced an incredibly traumatic event—the Year that Never Was—and now, all she could do was carry on with her life, burdened with the knowledge of a could-have-been that wasn’t.

Suffice it is to say, Martha’s not exactly in a good place. 

The aftermath of the Year was ugly, on a number of levels, and it affected her relationship with her family—but that’s not it. Her time with the Doctor’s changed her on a fundamental level, and everyone who ever knew her can see it. Martha has a very hard time wrapping up medical school, because of it, but in the end becomes a doctor.

She joins UNIT mostly as a way to get an excuse for some of said changes, because right now everyone’s just seeing a medical student with shadowed eyes and a habit of checking for exits and—well. Being able to say she’s a reservist neatly explains several questions Martha wouldn’t know how to answer otherwise. That she went on several intense and highly-classified missions just prior to re-entering as a civilian is just par for course, really.

[aka Afghanistan still happens, only things went to hell in a different way]

Martha goes back to life as a mostly-civilian doctor, with the conditional that she’d be on-call for if UNIT needed a discreet presence to look into things, and is just generally trying to carry on with her life despite the severe PTSD she’s got going on.

Incidentally, she’s also looking for a flatshare.

Meeting Mike Stamford was a happy accident; he’s a friend from medical school, and as they’re catching up her living situation gets mentioned, and...huh. Apparently Martha’s not the only one looking for a flatmate. 

Mike ever-so-helpfully volunteers to introduce them, and here’s where things diverge.

See, if it’d been John Watson, he'd take one look at Sherlock—at the man whose wit was sharper than his cheekbones, who’d gotten a read on him in the span of five minutes and was basically a force of nature—and he’d be enthralled.

However, in this universe, Martha Jones is filling his shoes, and she takes one look at Sherlock—at the tall, dark-haired man who burned so, very brightly, who effortlessly commanded the attention of everyone in the room—and all she can think is: ‘oh, no. Not again.’

Here, everything that drew John to Sherlock is everything that’s pushing Martha away; the parallels are so, so blatant it’s ridiculous. 

Every shred of common sense tells Martha to run. And yet.

Martha can’t help but be drawn in. He’s so, so brilliant, and he’s so similar and yet not to the Doctor, and...it’s been a while, since she left the TARDIS, since she last had an adventure like the one this man is promising. 

But Martha’s still on the fence, because of obvious reasons. Her biggest issue is that Sherlock doesn’t seem to be human, [because last time that happened she’d ended up seeing her world burn] and it’s not until she’s pinning a murderous cabbie and talking about the pills that she finally lowers her guard because it turns out that for all that he pretends otherwise, Sherlock isn’t that bad.

And once Martha’s guard is down, the two get along like a house on fire. 

No, really, it’s actually pretty unnerving, especially for the crew at NSY, or just anyone who’s ever known Sherlock. In the days and weeks and months that follow, it quickly becomes evident that one of the mysteries of the universe is, “just where on Earth did Sherlock find this woman?” because...well. 

At first, the confusion had been of the general “who the hell can stand living with this guy?!” variety, and more than a few people, up to and including Mycroft, are actually slightly concerned by the fact that Martha Jones can listen to even the fiercest of Sherlock’s diatribes and not even blink before shoving the grocery list at him as she heads off to work, and whose only reaction to Sherlock’s most gruesome experiments had been to yell at him for using the good saucepan for it. [Really, it’s almost like Martha’s dealt with someone like Sherlock before.]

It’s not until later on that things really start piling up, however, and here’s where things get...interesting. 

It’s not just the way Martha so easily falls into step at Sherlock’s right side, anymore; it’s the way Sherlock’s actually slightly less standoffish at crime scenes, and the first time he actually thanked someone for something Lestrade nearly spilled his coffee down his shirt while everyone else gaped, and that’s also right around the time the rumors start. 

Ah, yes. The rumors. 

Because apparently, a man and a woman moving in together automatically means they’re a couple to some people. Martha and Sherlock quickly develop a routine of saying, “we’re not together”, thanks in no small part to Mycroft’s smirking after bringing up how fast they were moving in their ‘relationship’.

Martha, who’s just been recovering from being the rebound from last time [hi, Rose], and Sherlock, who’s on the asexual spectrum [I’m leaning towards demi, for this particular AU, but really it depends] do not appreciate these rumors. Well, tough, because the more time goes on the more everyone around them ships it, because these two are very clearly good influences on each other: Sherlock has yet to pass out of malnutrition [a new record, by Mycroft's standards], and the shadows in Martha’s eyes recede as time goes on, and she makes friends among the NSY crew. [She makes an effort to befriend Molly Hooper, and helps her get over her crush.]

The more time goes on, the more annoying the rumors get. Martha’s irritated because she’s finally starting to look into dating again [and also because she’s self-aware enough to know that pursuing a relationship with Sherlock, especially at the moment, would be a Bad Idea because of the parallels she’s still occasionally seeing—plus he’s not interested anyway, so]. 

Meanwhile, on Sherlock’s end, he may or may not be starting to quietly panic as he’s starting to experience his first crush in god-knows-how-many years because he did not sign up for this crap, nope, where can he uninstall this weird feeling he gets when Martha smiles at him? 

Also because he thinks she’s not interested in him, and he doesn’t want to ruin their friendship.

Other than that, though, things are going great: Sherlock and Martha make one hell of a team, and Mycroft’s teasing [...and basically everyone else’s, for that matter] just get more ammunition as time goes on as they’re photographed tiredly leaning into each other after particularly long cases, etc. 

Bits and pieces of Martha’s past come up every so often: some rather niche trivia here, a textbook takedown of an armed suspect there, the way her bag seems to hold everything from granola bars to the better part of a pharmacy. However, they’re few and far between, and typically only end up raising more questions than answers. Sherlock’s taken it as a challenge, but even he ends up stumped sometimes because really, where the hell did his flatmate learn to handle a knife like a Black Ops commando? He’d be very annoyed at not having figured Martha out sooner, except it looks like Mycroft’s stumped too.

But for the most part, canon ensues, as the continue with their daily lives. They go on cases, fight crime, and try to ignore the increasingly-annoying rumors.

The appearance of Jim Moriarty marks the beginning of the end.

Martha’s at the of her rope, trying to hold it together when she’s seeing this huge, epic showdown between genii. She’s trying not to lose it, doing her best to carry on when Sherlock’s acting differently, and people are dying, and...well.

Suffice it is to say, Martha’s not a happy camper, even before she gets kidnapped as the last hostage. Incidentally, she also accidentally got Moriarty’s interest because of the way she reacted to said hostage situation; the way she stoically deals with the vest is a marked contrast with the way she’d viciously fought a squad of armed personnel not an hour before, and that? Is just intriguing. 

...and canon marches on. 

They escape, and Sherlock’s not the only one who’s alarmed by the way Martha just. Breaks down laughing, after the fact, after having seen two genii facing off against each other and having faced certain death.

Time goes on, things proceed as per canon. Everyone’s starting to suspect Martha’s an unconfirmed living saint, and the rumors only get worse and there’s now a betting pool as to when they’ll get together—and then Irene shows up.

Which, awkward. Everyone expects Martha to be jealous but really she’s just protective about boundaries, and that she’s unruffled by Irene’s blatant flirting is just raising more and more questions, even after the Woman sauntered out of the picture.

Time passes, and canon ensues. They have more adventures, Martha’s journal [because she’s too private to have a blog, in this one] gets more and more pages filled in, and things are looking up. 

Cue Reichenbach.

Martha’s guard skyrockets after Moriarty’s reappearance, and trying not to panic even as the fiasco feels exactly like a deja vu of the showdown she’d seen between the Doctor and the Master. She’s scrambling for a peaceful resolution, scrambling not to lose it but it’s so, so hard because the parallels are right there and as if that’s not enough, there’s Weeping Angels running around. The entire time she’s at the end of her rope, things are looking bleak and in so many ways it’s just like last time and—and then, Sherlock dies.

Sherlock dies, and she had to watch him fall. 

And with his fall, she backslides like never before, every last scrap of progress she’s made with her PTSD erased in one fell swoop, and [just like last time,] Martha Jones walks away.

Ices over, packs up her things, and only sticks around long enough for the funeral before shipping out for a UNIT mission. Only keeps in touch with a few people, whenever she has the time—a phone call here, a quick visit when she’s on leave there.

Martha throws herself into her work, to forget. And with time and distance, she starts to pick up the pieces. [Again.] 

Her career is going places, and things start to settle down again. There’s been an effort to clear Sherlock’s name, but she doesn’t follow what’s going on because she’s not sure her heart would be able to take it. Besides—she’s got other things on her mind, what with the whole mess with the Sontarans and all. 

cue Doctor Who canon and fixits

Somewhere along the way, Martha meets Tom Milligan [again, outside of a time that would never happen], and they hit it off. Slowly, because Martha’s still quietly grieving for her best friend and they both travel a lot for work, but...they click. 

aka yep Tom’s kinda filling in Mary Morstan’s role

...and then the Earth gets stolen, and a lot of things end up going down very fast.

Using a highly-experimental device that had a good chance of killing her? Okay, came with the territory. Meeting the Doctor again? Sure, why not, this type of mess was right up his alley. Having Sherlock show up as they’re trying to figure out how to fix it, though? 

Let’s just say the reunion’s...interesting, and the only silver lining in all this is the face the Doctor made when he heard her ex-flatmate’s name. 

Cue fixit that doesn’t end up with Donna’s memories erased, manages to take care of the Daleks, and also manages to explain just why Sherlock Holmes is running around in 2013. Things get squared away, and there’s a happy ending for everyone as they all head off to their next adventure.

.

.

.

Here’s my main issue: there’s just so many ways this AU can go, so many potential spinoffs and ships possible that finding one ending is next to impossible. 

The Moriarty AU is a personal favorite, for instance, but even just the original has me torn between Martha/Sherlock, or Martha/Tom Milligan [aka yep he’s kinda filling in Mary Morstan’s role in this, or Sarah], or a mix of both via queerplatonic relationships—and then there’s the fixits, because there’s some things I had an issue with in the original [the way Irene got handled by the writers, for instance] and the list just goes on. 

Just—expect varying levels of crack and self-indulgence, because of Reasons. And the odd ship, too, because why not.

Also: for those curious about what happened to John—his deployment was unusually quiet. It didn’t help that troops got recalled after something went down with the new Prime Minister [hi, Mr. Saxon] which meant his convoy didn’t get ambushed and he didn’t get shot and sent home. Sure, he still has some PTSD, but not as bad as he might have otherwise, and that his hand doesn’t have a tremor means he quickly gets a job as a surgeon once his deployment’s up, and he settles back in as a civilian without having too hard a time of it. Along the way he meets and falls for Mary Morstan, and they have a happy ending living a quiet life because this is supposed to be a fixit AU and if I can minimize the angst and body count, I will. 

[gutterballgt]

Raleigh introducing Chuck to the Hobbit/Lord of the Rings. That is all. -Kai

Oh my God Kai why would you do this to me because HOLY SHIT.

I just wrote that whole sentence without proper punctuation. That’s how excited I am.

Because Chuck always gives Raleigh so much shit about his reading thing. And Raleigh is always irritated because, thanks to a wee bit of brain damage from piloting solo twice and SURVIVING A DIP INTO ANOTHER DIMENSION CHUCK FOR FUCK’S SAKE I KNOW I’M READING AT THE SPEED OF SMELL IT WAS FUNNY THE FIRST TIME OKAY?

But Chuck’s idea of reading is engineering texts and jaeger schematics and solar punk (because Mako is always right, and Mako is convinced that some of the rebuilding should focus on harnessing the power of Green), and he consumes them like Max shotgunning down a raw steak, where Raleigh is strictly a fiction kind of guy. Well, fiction and World War II.

But that was sort of how he came by his love for Lord of the Rings. He knew Tolkien wasn’t writing about the war, per se, but… it had that feel to it. He’d just always loved the hobbits and the creeping eeriness of the ring wraiths and the sweeping breadth of the story and the idea that stepping outside the front door is such a dangerous thing. It had been for him, anyway. He and Yancy had joined the PPDC and… everything else followed as way follows onto way.

So when he found out that Tendo had kept all of the PPDC’s old “library” books in storage, including all of Tolkien’s books that he and Yance had traded back and forth years ago, he did a pre-emptive raid of the taped up boxes and was all the way through The Hobbit (it only took him three weeks, and no, he didn’t at all think about how he used to power through it in just a couple of days as a kid) and now is just starting The Fellowship of the Ring, a cup of herbal tea steaming away at his elbow, when Chuck happens.

The big jerk doesn’t start in immediately. Oh, no. He has to go to the kitchen for his own cup of tea and a frankly ridiculously large slice of cake first. Then, he plants his unpredictable ginger ass right across from Raleigh and starts.

“Whatcha readin?”

Sighing, Raleigh resigns himself to not getting another word read until Chuck’s done having his fun. “Yes, it’s a really long book, and yes, I’ll still be reading it two weeks from now, so get it out of your system.”

“Touchy.”

He raises an eyebrow, and Chuck has the good grace to look a bit abashed.

“Yeah, alright. Might have earned that one.”

Grumbling, Raleigh fiddles with the handle on his mug. “Might?”

“Only so much crow I’m willing to eat, mate.” The flash of dimple says no crow at all will be eaten. “Seriously, what’s the drama?”

“Ya know, Chuck?” He carefully, deliberately marks the page and closes the book. “It might be funny to you to read an entire manual on mechatronics over lunch while I struggle through a chapter all damn day, but it’s not like I can do anything about it. I have fucking brain damage, okay? I’m lucky I can still read at all. So spare me your amusement at my fucking predicament, okay?”

He wants to say more, but the expression on Chuck’s face stops him. The kid looks… mortified. In fact, if he isn’t mistaken, the brat is actively sweating.

“What.”

“Uh.” Chuck swallows hard. “Brain damage?”

“Yeah.”

More sweating. “You… uh… never said anything about brain damage.”

He rolls his eyes. “Because it’s such an easy topic to talk about.”

“Well, fuck, mate, how the fuck was I supposed to know, then?” Still acting weird, the kid scrubs a hand up over his face. “Jesus, I feel like a right wanker now.”

He starts to snark back, then takes a good, long look at the kid. Chuck looks embarrassed and miserable. As if months of giving Raleigh shit about reading slow, about his lack of an attention span, about his occasional pause during a conversation to remember what the hell he was talking about, are suddenly replaying in his mind in a different light.

So, they sit in silence for long enough that Raleigh reopens his book and tries to recatch the magic. It’s not easy. Tolkien is a favorite, but the language is dense, and it’s hard enough to focus on the words when he’s alone. With Chuck looking like he’s forgotten to feed Max for a week, it’s nigh impossible.

Eventually, when Raleigh has managed to read and absorb a whole sentence, Chuck clears his throat.

“So… what’s it about, eh?”

He raises an eyebrow. Still looking miserably sheepish, Chuck shrugs.

“Must be a goddamn good book for you to know how long it’ll take you to get through it and still… want to.”

His eyes narrow. “Uh-huh.” But the kid doesn’t budge, so he sighs and looks down at where his finger is marking his current spot. “Okay. Uh… hobbits, mostly. And elves and dwarves. Some warriors and sorcerors.” Grinning a bit, he shoots the kid a wry look. “And a ring that everyone seems to want but the poor kid that has to carry it.”

Chuck’s eyebrows go up. “Well, now I have to hear the whole thing.”

To his embarrassment, Raleigh finds himself sputtering. “Uh… hear it? I… uh… don’t think… I mean, it’s on the server, so… you can–”

“Jesus, mate, just read a few paragraphs. Maybe I’ll fucking hate it and we’ll both get out of this without a goddamn fistfight, yeah?”

He snorts, surprised and fairly sure he should be annoyed, then looks down at the marked page. “As slow as I read, you’ll probably just get bored as hell and sneak out while I’m trying to get through the chapter title.”

“Oi, just fucking read it, mate.”

“I’m already a chapter in….”

“So, not so far in that you can’t start over.”

He eyes the kid, but for all that the big jerk can be a real shit, Chuck seems to be on the up and up this time. So, hesitant and almost positive that this is a terrible idea because he has the devil’s own time focusing these days, Raleigh leaves the bookmark in place and flips back to the start of the book.

Clears his throat.

Fiddles with the page.

Clears his throat again.

“Mate, just… read it.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He debates another moment, then just… tries the damn thing. “Prologue: Concerning Hobbits.”

–TWO HOURS LATER–

“Oi, mate, can you pause a sec? I’ve gotta piss like a racehorse, and I don’t wanna miss anything.”

Blinking, Raleigh looks up from the book and realizes that the mess hall is empty except for him and Chuck and he’s been reading – READING! – for hours without losing his place even once. And he’s read just fine, at a perfectly normal speed. And he actually knows what he’s reading. It isn’t just word salad.

“Chuck?”

“Make it quick. My eyes are floating.”

“Just… I haven’t read like that since… fuck, since before Knifehead.”

Chuck grins, the dimple carving deep, and Raleigh is surprised by the full-on excitement on the kid’s face. “Yeah? That’s good, right?”

“I guess.” A laugh huffs out of him. “I just… maybe it’s reading out loud? Makes me focus in a different way, maybe?”

To his surprise, the kid’s face brightens further. “Yeah? Well, not gonna lie, mate, but I rather wanna hear the rest, so… reckon it’s a good thing, yeah?”

“You seriously wanna sit around listening to me read when you can read the damn thing yourself? Probably in half the time?”

And though the kid shifts from foot to foot, clearly about to piss himself, he shrugs. “Fast is for textbooks and schematics. I rather like you taking time with this one.” Another shift. “And your voice is nice, yeah?”

His eyes widen, but Chuck escapes to take a leak before he can ask for clarification. He looks at the book, where the bookmark has moved far past where he was originally, almost as if he’s been reading at his old pace.

Shaking his head, he looks at his empty cup of tea next and decides he’ll need another one because his throat is dry from all the reading.

All the reading. Jesus, he’s been just reading along like it was nothing.

And Chuck really seems to enjoy the story thus far, which he hadn’t expected but maybe should have.

He abruptly decides to make Chuck another cup of tea, too. Kid deserves it, if for no other reason than being willing to sit and listen so Raleigh has to read aloud, which is apparently the only way he can read like a normal human adult these days.

And when Chuck comes back, surprised but pleased by the fresh, steaming cup of Earl Grey, Raleigh just picks the book back up and starts back in, reading like he’s never even heard of brain damage. It becomes a regular thing to see the pair of them seated together here and there around the ‘dome, bent over first Fellowship of the Ring, then The Two Towers, then Return of the King.

Then The Hobbit.

Eventually, long after they start falling asleep in a pile in one bunk or the other but not too long after they kiss for the first time almost as an accident when Raleigh sees Chuck to the door in the wee hours of the morning after waking up spooning each other, The Silmarillion makes an appearance.

Halfway through that, they give up any pretense of spending any time apart.

It’s so much easier after that.

[anime-matchmaker-blog]

Hi! Can I have a Drrr and Blue Exorcist mach up please? I'm a straight female that's kind, innocent, intelligent, awkward, curious, and shy. I like reading, writing, and singing even if I'm not good at it. I'm more into writing horror and murder mysteries, which a lot of people find funny and surprising since I'm seen as such an "adorable bean" as my friends say. (1/3) -Smile

I really enjoy singing songs that hold meaning to me or ones that I can dance to but I listen to a wide range of punk, rock, alternative, and even some pop as long as it’s not really dirty or anything. I enjoy making people happy and making sure everyone is smiling. I’m a bit of an old soul. I love going out and taking pictures with my polaroid (usually alone-I get embarrassed around others) or listening to music. I’m an INFJ if that helps anything. (2/3) -Smile

When it comes to flirting I get really flustered, but if you playfully make fun of or tease me I can retaliate and it actually helps to get me out of my shell. I have really big grey eyes and longish blonde hair. I’m 5'7" and relatively thin as well. Finally, I have imperfect teeth that I get embarrassed about on occasion, but I tend to smile a lot so over the years I’ve gotten over it except for the occasional moment when I don’t have the highest self-esteem. Thank you! (3/3) -Smile

(4/3) I also where thick, black rimmed glasses. I’m really sorry I forgot to add that. -Smile

Hello, Smile-anon! Sorry for the wait! ^^; I hope you enjoy your matches!

Durarara!! - Kida Masaomi

Masaomi is a player so he hits on everyone, but most girls would brush his words off and carry on like usual. You’re the only one who responds to him and he makes it his goal to tease you on a daily basis. When your friends hear about this, they conclude that he’s flirting with you, although you don’t find it like that. Then again…maybe he is flirting…you’re not sure and Masaomi does the same thing to every girl. However, when he’s around other girls, he keeps his distance, as if he doesn’t really want to get involved with them. With you, he stands a bit closer and his voice is softer. His smiles are genuine and the words he once spoke with tease begin to sound sincere. Polite.

When you’re stuck in writing a part in your new murder mystery, you grab your polaroid and head out into the city. Too engrossed in your work, you don’t notice a group of guys following you and before you realize it, you wandered off and ended up into an alleyway. Masaomi appears out of nowhere to get you out, all while avoiding the advancing guys. He leads you back into the city and he walks you back home, claiming that the city isn’t as safe as you might think it is. He asks you what you were doing and you tell him about your murder mystery, which gets him excited since he wants to read it. You ask him if it’s strange to hear that you like writing horror, but he doesn’t think so - he finds it unique. He heads off again after dropping you home, making you promise to let him read your work sometime.

You indulge him with one of your older mysteries. Despite his apparent dumbness, he manages to solve the mystery easily and for the next few ones, he’s able to decipher them out. You start to wonder if the mysteries should become more complex or maybe Masaomi is actually secretly a genius. When asked about it, he explains that he’s just good at reading in between the lines and looking at the whole picture. His street smarts help him in plenty of  situations and apparently, it makes him “smart”. You enlist his help in writing the next mystery and in exchange, you’ll help him with his homework.

The two of you start to spend more time together. He’s often at your place since you need a computer to do your writing and he often breaks out into song. He likes engaging you in bad karaoke (he’s bad at it and he loves hearing you sing) and he also loves showing you different parts of the city you haven’t seen before. You don’t take any photos while with him, but after spending enough time with him, you begin to. He doesn’t interfere with your photography, knowing that it’s your hobby and it isn’t his business.

Until your friends point it out, hanging out with Masaomi has turned into dating Masaomi. He realizes it around the same time you do and he doesn’t hesitate to confess his feelings. He’s willing to do whatever it takes to protect you and keep you safe, whether you accept his feelings or not. He would do anything to see you smile because you really do have an incredible, one-of-a-kind smile.

Ao no Exorcist - Okumura Rin

Rin has his own group of friends that’s difficult to penetrate, so you find yourself staying away from him, preferring to remain by yourself. When he catches you by yourself taking photos though, he doesn’t hesitate to approach you and ask you what you’re doing. You try denying you were doing anything at all and he gives you a look before shrugging it off. He goes on to state that he saw you clearly taking pictures and he teases you for trying to cover up something so obvious. You manage to tease him back, bu in the end, you ask him not to tell anyone about it. He promises to do so.

Now that he has some connection to you, he occasionally goes to you to tease you or ask for homework help. His attention span is unfortunately short, so after fifteen minutes or so, he’s off doing something else. He usually comes back, but most of the time, he doesn’t, so you get the opportunity to listen to your own music, humming along to your favorite songs. He catches you (he’s got good timing, at least) and the two of you discuss music further. He doesn’t listen to anything good since he doesn’t know where to start and you take the chance to recommend him music you think he’ll love. You realize later on that music playing in the background helps him focus (since he can focus on the music for one minute and then return to his work) and the two of you collaborate to create a playlist that’ll satisfy both of your tastes. Rin’s stupidity is endearing at times and you find yourself smiling despite him struggling. He comments by saying you have a weird smile and that immediately results in a textbook to the face. He apologizes by cooking dinner for you.

Since he’s not too shabby with exorcism and all that, he’s able to help incorporate those elements into your murder mysteries, which adds a new layer of exploration to the storyline. He’s too dumb to be able to figure anything out, but he does approach the scenarios from different angles. The two of you often listen to music while spending time together and Rin enjoys having something playing while he cooks. He has a voice to die for so you try to make him sing whenever possible in exchange for listening to you sing. He doesn’t think you’re terrible - you have a cute voice. He finds you cute overall, especially your smile. That compliment results in another textbook to the face, but it’s out of surprise more than anything else.

While out in the city, you bring your polaroid with you so you can take photos without Rin noticing. He does notice, however, and he asks you to take his photo. You refuse to at the beginning, but he manages to convince you to do it. He asks to borrow your camera and he ends up snatching it from your hands, insisting to take your photo. When it prints out, he places both photos together and wishes that they’ll merge into one so the two of you can remain together forever.