#OF ALL THE CONFOUNDED-- (The Pink Doctor~!)

[unboundwanderers]

               "No, No, No, No, No!!!" Flamingo-colored locks were tied up into a pretty bun, and pretty golden eyes flick about various computer screens in an uncomfortably polished and clean control room. "I mean- this simply WON'T do at all." He cried out, sweeping his coattails aside and resting his fingers on the Tardis controls, all the buttons blinking and flashing as he checks various readings and outputs. "What do you mean 'The Bulb is out'- I just had it changed-" He stopped to straighten his posture, tapping his chin with his finger and letting out a huff. "...Oh, well- I had it changed a few years ago- but that's REGARDLESS of the point- Why should I need to change the bulb now-?All it does is focus the readings on the temporal satellite." He moved to twist a dial on the specific control that the Tardis Light Bulb helped control.

               "Oh- Oh! Of course!! Of all the CONFOUNDED, mindless coincidences! The Bulb's focusing frequency seems to have caused a FEEDBACK loop to the iso-Tronic phase shifters- Oh, of course- if I can't get it fixed, I won't be able to get proper temporal readouts ANYWHERE I land." He snapped his fingers, strutting around the console and affixing various switches and buttons into place, "I'd basically be flying blind- well, I am flying blind right now." He noted, before twisting a specific dial on the console and activating a specific control matrix. "I'll have to do an emergency landing." He noted to himself before activating The TARDIS' emergency landing protocol. The Column in the center of the Console began to sink up and down, twisting anti-clockwise instead of clockwise as it began plotting a new course from amidst the vortex.

               Meanwhile, The Doctor begins heading to the coat rack and slinging this HORRIFICALLY colored patchwork coat over his body. The rest of his outfit is made up of bright yellow denim made up of his jeans, and bright-colored sneakers- neon green and pink with hints of yellow. A dark black silk collared shirt and a burgundy vest with dark green fob chains sticking out of the pockets tied together with a nice- bright blue cravat. Then right on top of it all a multicolored coat with many assortments of patterns, bright yellow cuffs, and all sorts of nightmarish colors. When The TARDIS finishes its landing cycle, The Doctor activates a lever on the console that opens up the Door.

               "Oh! Oh, for heaven's sake!!" He cried out when his eyes immediately met the location the POLICE BOX had materialized in. "Of course, you want to take me down memory lane- but is now the most appropriate time?!" He cried out, clearly frustrated with the POLICE BOX's totally coincidental landing choice. The Doctor moved to ignore his current surroundings after shutting the Police Box doors. He instead, moved to take a lightbulb out from the inside of his coat pocket (he had that the whole time?) and begins to scramble up the Police box and up onto the roof of it. "Now- I must do this VERY carefully... and I mustn't have ANY interruptions! One wrong move and I could create a phase field that sends the TARDIS into a random point of this planet's time..."

                                                            He is being as careful as he can.

@maquiscursed

[musingsofmyown]

Missing Case #005

  Since Sherlock’s return, he and John became closer than ever. Going out nearly every day, taking even the most menial cases, sitting together in the flat and talking instead of Sherlock retreating to his room at the first sign of boredom. They had fun, staying near each other at any given moment. Of course, John had work but he left when Sherlock was usually asleep and came back around noon to about 2. And when cases came into the mix of their now semi-domestic habits, 221b would feel alive, even more so than in their earlier days of living together. The most recent of which, having lasted three days, felt less of a case for the police, but more as a strange easter egg hunt. The killer had planted several murders around London, each containing evidence from a different scene entirely, even though Sherlock had been a bit confounded by the strange, nonsense scenes, he figured it out by the second victim. 

  It’s always a small celebration after a case: sitting in and watching a movie, going to the park for crap coffee and chips, sometimes they’d go out for dinner. It was Angelo’s tonight, the over-excited man giving them the best seat in the house, a candle, and free dinner no matter how many times John offered to pay.   

  “Mmm, no serial killers?” John looked out of the window and chuckled.

  ���I don’t know,” Sherlock smiled,”did you text one?”

  The two barked out in laughter as Angelo came around to take their orders,”The regular John?” He nodded,”And will you be eating today Sherlock?”

  “Actually… yes, I will. Alfredo thank you,”He smiled, then looking to John with the same warm, kind face.

  “Alright gentlemen, I will have them out shortly,”Angelo retreated, secretly very pleased that Sherlock would finally be having his food in earnest after all these years.

  “You’re more chipper than usual, what’s new?” The doctor mentioned before taking the wine glass in hand. He glanced at the younger man who, for a split second, blushed. Which in turn caused John to choke a little on his drink, playing it off as a cough, rather convincingly as well.

  “Nothing’s new, just… enjoying the moment,”He toasted to John and took a sip of his own wine, he raised his eyebrows,”Angelo got a new shipment of wine, this must be a bit more expensive than his usual stock.” Sherlock added that last bit to do two things specifically: Take John’s mind off of the very obvious reddening of his face, and to perhaps illicit a complement over his observation skills-

  “Agreed, nice catch Sherlock,” both men, as it had been for the past 12 years, were oblivious as ever to their similar efforts of flirting,”I heard you playing last night-” 

  Another pink hue made its way on Sherlock’s high cheekbones, of course, John meant the violin, but his mind travelled elsewhere,”Ah yes, another composure. You know how it helps me think.”

  “Well it must’ve worked well, you solved this case pretty fast considering how confused you were at the start-”

  “I was not confused,” Sherlock was quick to correct him, of course a bit put off by the prod at his skill,”I was simply… misled by the evidence.” He appreciated the low chuckle that came from his companion after the comment,”If it were up to Anderson, the case would still be open.”

  “So goes pretty much every murder he’s investigated on-”the older man added,”Why don’t you and him get along?”

  “First case we ran together, I had already been working with Lestrade for about two years, he had voiced his… displeasure at my being there one too many times and Lestrade snapped at him. Since then, Anderson’s pretty much hated me and I have graciously returned the gesture,”He shrugged, Sherlock didn't have much of a problem with Anderson being mad at him at every given moment, though since ‘The Fall’ the poor forensics specialist was much more kind.

  “You and Lestrade have known each other for a while haven’t you?”

  “Oh ya,”He picked his wine glass up, merely to have something in his hand,”going on nearly two decades. Why? Are you jealous?” He quipped before mentally slapping himself, the tease came out faster than he could stop it and there was no going back now. Might as well finish the rich, dark red liquid while he internally wished he could disappear at a whim.

  “What if,” John leaned forward, god he hoped that he wasn’t misinterpreting Sherlock’s meaning,”I am?”

End Case-

(check under cut if you want more of this fic)

if anyone would be interested in this particular work, it's actually a tidbit of a longer fic I have stowed away! Just let me know and I'll post on Ao3 once I finish it out!!!

^^Previous Case!!^^

@atomiccollectorcreation-blog @train-mossman @tjlcarchives @neverquiteeden @rhasima @bisexual-confusion @whatnext2020 @helloliriels @totallysilvergirl @jobooksncoffee @safedistancefrombeingsmart @iwannahavefrecklessodamnbad @7-percent @timberva @everyonebeatmetothegoodnames @erinswriting @myfirstisthefourth

(let me know/reblog if you wanna be added to the tag list!! Also let me know if you want to be taken off!)

[sinsbymanka]

Female Hawke/Varric Tethras + kiss prompt 'on a scar' and it's one of Hawke's scars? :3

Thank you for the prompt @serphena!! For @dadrunkwriting and in honor of my Varricmance March Madness...

The Crossbow Goes or I Do

Words: 2,104 Rating: Teen Chapter 1/1 Additional Tags: Pre-Relationship, They did their pining, ten years of it apparently, Mutual Pining, Idiots in Love, Mutually Unrequited, Friends to Lovers, Past Bianca Davri/Varric Tethras, Hawke is a menace, Mage Hawke (Dragon Age), Purple Hawke (Dragon Age), Flirting, Banter, POV Varric Tethras, Varric Tethras' Chest Hair, Hurt/Comfort

Summary: Elodie Hawke is a menace that fits just right into Varric's life and keeps him on his toes. After The Incident with misfiring Bianca, Varric knows he'll let her get away with anything....

...except it's hard to let her get away with leaving.

Read on AO3

Varric doesn’t know how The Incident happened.

Well, that’s not strictly accurate. He knows Hawke the way he knows the best ways to sneak around the Guild Hall, where to purchase the good ink, and how much it’ll cost to bribe Corf when Rivaini gets carried away. He’s well aware of what she gets up to when she’s unsupervised.

Hell, usually when she’s supervised too. The woman is a force of nature and they’re just along for the ride.

What does surprise him about The Incident, as it’s known forever after, is how quickly it happened. He swears up and down every time it comes up in conversation afterward he only looks away from Hawke for a moment. One second, he’s peering down at the short story that eventually became his bestselling Hard in Hightown series, the next…

The sound of a bolt rattling into Bianca’s chamber, the whoosh of another flying through the air, followed quickly by his large, ornate, absolutely atrocious dressing mirror shattering into a million pieces.

He’s better off without it. Honestly, the most upsetting part of the whole sequence of events is that he isn’t holding Bianca.

Varric doesn’t look up from his papers. The room is completely quiet.

“Hawke.”

“Varric.”

He appreciates the deadpan delivery of his name. He really does. Odd how quickly Hawke wormed her way into that special, stupid part of his heart that forgives almost anything. She’s barely off the boat at this moment, fresh faced and lively if a bit too hungry looking.

He’s known her for a few months. And, bizarrely, he feels like he’s known her all his life.

“That sounded like Bianca,” he observes, as if he wouldn’t know the way Bianca sounds anywhere.

“Well, that doesn’t make any sense,” Hawke chirps. “Somebody told me that Bianca is a delicate, complicated lady who can only be fired by one specific dwarf who was trained in her secrets by an Antivan Crow whose life the dwarf saved.”

He finally looks up to take in the damage. Mirror shattered, bolt in the wall behind it, and Hawke standing shamelessly in the middle of the room cradling his crossbow.

“Somebody also told you not to touch her,” he adds pointedly.

Hawke grins from ear to ear. “We’ve already established somebody is full of shit.”

He discards his journal and glides back across the room, arms out and a carefully maintained disgruntled look on his features. “Come here, beautiful. What’d she do to you?”

Hawke takes a step back, eyes widening in clear afront. “What did I do to her? Varric, she’s drawn blood!”

“I told you she’s a sensitive lady. Difficult to handle. Little rough around the edges.”

“She’s a menace Varric.” Hawke relinquishes the crossbow and examines her fingers with a wrinkled nose. On her left ring finger is a nice cut, blood welling and dripping down her palm. “Look what she did!”

There’s a smear of crimson on the trigger. He wipes it away with his shirt sleeve. “You got your fingers stuck in the gears. She taught you a lesson about respecting other people’s property.”

“It’s going to scar!”

“Let me send an urgent note down to Darktown for Blondie. He’ll be thrilled to come stitch together your papercut.”

She laughs and puts one palm on the curve of her hip, leaning into his space. “I’m telling you Varric, the crossbow goes or I do.”

Something lurches in his stomach, a hint of fear he doesn’t quite have a name for, a bit of knee jerk panic at the thought of losing the last bit of her he truly has. But Hawke’s joking, Hawke is always joking, he can see the sparkle in her blue eyes and the twitch at the corner of her lips.

He lets his own tip up in the same playfulness. “You better clean up this mess before you go.”

She sighs in defeat and plops her finger between her pink lips, sucking on it thoughtfully while she looks at the chaos she’s caused. Varric spends a second too long examining the way her cheeks hollow around her finger.

He’s only a man, after all, no matter how taken he is.

“How much bad luck is it to break a mirror again?” she asks.

Varric doesn’t believe in human superstitions, or much of anything beyond the worth of his coin or the power of a well-loved lie, but he answers her. “Seven years at least. And just in time for our expedition too.”

Another moment of silence. Then one single, elegant curse. “Bollocks.”

xx

Somehow, Varric gets stuck with the job of keeping Hawke in bed.

Privately, he thinks Blondie must be out to get him for humiliating the mage in more than one card game. Otherwise Varric wouldn’t get saddled with the most impossible job in Kirkwall. Their newly crowned Champion, and what a laugh that is, sits in her opulent bed wearing nothing but the rattiest shirt he’s ever seen. It’s so large it hangs off one freckled shoulder.

Varric wonders if it isn’t one of Carver’s old hand-me-downs. It’s better than thinking Hawke was plucking her nightclothes out of some moldy trunk in Lowtown, anyway.

Her icy eyes glare daggers into him from where she’s propped against the headboard. “Varric, if you don’t help me out of this bed I will chop Bianca into firewood.”

“Remember what happened the last time you got into a tussle with Bianca?” Varric asks, raising his eyebrows.

“I still have the scar!” she protests, trying weakly to push herself up off the bed. The covers slip, revealing the bandages wrapped around Hawke’s waist. Before Anders got his hands on her, bandages like those were the only thing holding Hawke’s guts inside her.

Varric knows. He put them on.

“You’re gonna have a better one now. Comes with a heroic story and everything.” A story where Varric stands, clutching his crossbow, helpless and afraid as a sword pierces Hawke’s body and hoists her off her feet. A story where she summons a fistful of fire to smother the Arishok as she’s impaled on his blade.

Varric’s still covered in a cold sweat and it’s been four days. Andraste’s ass, what would he have done if…?

But it’s not worth thinking about. He can’t face it in this bright bedroom, with Hawke and the mutinous gleam in her eyes. She swings them from his face to the window, her expression wistful.

It tugs at his heartstrings, it really does. Hawke has barely spent a night in this mansion in Hightown since they dragged Leandra’s body from the monster’s pit and held a quiet, solemn funeral at the Chantry. She bunks at a spare cot in Anders’ clinic, crashes on the moldy old chaise in Fenris’ mansion, falls asleep in Merrill’s bed while Daisy sits in front of her damned mirror all night.

But, more often than not, she’s in Varric’s bed and he’s in his armchair. Or she falls asleep in the armchair and refuses to be moved. Varric should complain, it’s ridiculous that he’s sharing one suite of rooms while she’s got a whole damn house, but he doesn’t. He can’t.

He knows what it’s like to live in a mausoleum to the dead.

In truth, Hawke has not come home to stay since it stopped being a home, and now she’s trapped there with her guts shoved back in and a title she could care less for.

“Play a game of Diamondback with me,” he cajoles. “You win, I’ll risk my chest hair and get you into the garden against the doctor’s orders.”

Hawke bites her lip and considers his offer, narrowing her eyes. “You cheat.”

“And if you pay attention, you may learn something to improve your own lackluster technique.” He pulls the cards from his pocket and hops up, in a painfully undignified fashion, onto her ridiculously high bed. The action brings a spark of humor to her gaze.

“I won’t be distracted by your ridiculous cleavage today, serah,” she teases, watching him shuffle the cards. In the brief moment of silence, Varric catches the way she runs her thumb over her finger, tracing the small silver scar Bianca left all those years ago. It’s a habit he’s noticed with fondness when she’s plotting, and it should worry him to see her scheming…

But honestly, he’d rather have her scarred and scheming than not have her at all.

xx

They stand on the docks with the world on fire around them when Varric finally runs out of things to say.

There’s a joke here... somewhere. He struggles to find it while Hawke stares over his head at the ruined landscape of Kirkwall. He could say something about how she sure knows how to make an exit, but the thought of her exit sticks in his throat, deep in his chest.

Kirkwall without Hawke makes no sense. Varric without Hawke makes no sense, and when did that happen?

She’s leaving and he’s staying. It’s what they need to do. She’ll be free as a bird to ignite the revolution she’s become the figurehead of, thanks to Blondie, and he’ll be here to confuse and confound the authorities while he tries to put his home back together.

But, somehow, it feels like his home is about to get on Isabela’s ship.

“Look on the bright side, Varric.” He looks up into Hawke’s face. She’s got her best Champion smile plastered on, the one that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “We’ve almost burned through those seven years of bad luck, right?”

The mirror. Her face without the wrinkles of worry at the corner of her eyes, on her forehead, Bianca in her arms and a smile on her face. Varric’s chest constricts painfully.

The Hanged Man is gone. Hawke is leaving. All he’s got is Bianca on his back and a pile of trouble again.

“You’ll always have the scar though,” he jokes weakly.

She looks down at her hands. Varric wonders if she can see blood on them, even though she’s done everything she could have. The scar from her run in from Bianca is merely a thin white line across her finger, but his eyes go there immediately.

He doesn’t know what possesses him, but it feels right to snatch that hand out of the air. Long fingers curl immediately over his leather gloves and her blue eyes flick to his face.

It’s a bad idea, but he’s too committed to stop now. He brings her knuckles to his lips like she’s a fairytale princess instead of the biggest menace he’s ever known, like he’s a knight instead of a cheating scoundrel. His lips brush over that thin scar softly before he pulls away, looking up into Hawke’s eyes.

She swallows, hard, and Varric swears he sees tears in her eyes behind a watery smile. Varric’s words are still missing, lost somewhere in the rubble around them, but he has to try. “Hawke-”

She pulls her hand from his and drops it to the side. “Well Varric,” she begins behind her brittle smile. “I’ve been telling you for years. That crossbow goes or I do.”

For a brief, insane moment Varric considers slinging his beloved Bianca over his shoulder and into the harbor. It passes just as Hawke stoops to envelop him in her too long arms. He just catches her whisper. “I’ll miss you.”

“Yeah,” Varric swallows his own bitter emotion. “Me too, Elodie.”

That makes her laugh and lightly punch his shoulder as she withdraws. He barely gets a look at her tearstained face before she flees up the gangplank and onto the boat, leaving him bereft.

“If you were waiting for an opportune moment, you have missed it,” Fenris remarks acidicly behind him.

Varric ignores the remark and the ridiculous insinuation behind it as Fenris appears in his line of sight. His love life is complicated enough, after all. “I can afford to let her go, she doesn’t owe me five sovereigns.”

The familiar, immediate refrain is almost comforting. “I’m good for it.”

Varric huffs a small, broken laugh. “No you’re not.”

“You are not incorrect,” Fenris finally admits. The elf casts a look behind him for a moment before adjusting the pack over his shoulder. “I wish you well, my friend.”

The bastard has enough decency not to add Varric will need it. “Watch her back, Broody.”

“I will attempt to do so,” Fenris murmurs, shoving past him. “Although nobody does it as well as you.”

Varric watches him go with a heavy weight in his stomach.

That is exactly what he’s afraid of.

[mka1098]

I’m Gay Panicking But It’s Fine - A Solangelo One-Shot Fanfiction

Thank you to @windbyfire for letting me use your fanart !

Might be a bit of OOC it's my first Solangelo piece; they are just too cute for me not to try and write them. Also, I'm straight (feel free to make fun of me like my friends, I take all the hits) so my attempt at gay panic is just not great. I just tried to think of my friend when they gay panic. Haha, hope you guys like this piece, and here's the link to the podfic/audio version

Audio listen along: https://youtu.be/xRLTIr6ZqwE

I'm Gay Panicking But It's Fine by Mka1098

Nico is a generally petulant, cold-faced, and stoic person. He smiles only during the darkest and latest of nights and barely grunts a word at people. His expressions are perceived as less than friendly and perhaps the only people who weren’t afraid of him and his ghost powers could be counted on one hand. (Percy, Annabeth, Jason, Hazel, and Renya). So it was a total shock to him when the golden-haired Will Solace bounced next to him right as he was leaving his cabin at 2 PM in the afternoon.

“Uh… hi?” He says in the quietest voice. Will smiles brightly at him.

“Hi, Nico.” The blonde says. Nico frowns. He feels as if he’s being smirked at. And oh, it is not a welcomed feeling, not for him. Enough people believe they can mess with him and those said people were sent right to Will’s own wing.

“What do you want?” He asks with a bit of bite in his tone. Will shrugs.

“Just wanted to say hi.” He says evenly. Nico scowls at him.

“That’s it?” His tone is harsh. “You just wanna pop over here and say hi? For no reason?” Nico says snarkily. Surprisingly, Will doesn’t run and scream in terror; he doesn’t start to shake either. Instead, his smile seems to grow infinitesimally bigger and he shoves his hands into his pockets.

“Yep.” He pops the P of the word before turning sharply left and away from Nico. The blonde doesn’t even look back at the confounded boy he had left standing. Instead, he smiles at some of the other campers and heads into cabin 6.

Nico stares back at him dumbly, even as he disappears into the cabin. “What the Hades?” He mutters quizzingly to himself. Nico crosses his arms tightly on his chest. There are some other campers, gossips for sure, who are staring at him. They are murmuring hush whispers while clearly pointing at him. He sends them a murderous glare; the point gets across and they scramble away quickly. Nico sighs. Sure being dark and broody is helpful when one wants to be alone but there are times when he doesn’t want to be alone. Alas, how on this earth is one supposed to make friends when they have the appearance of a walking skeleton. Nico keeps walking towards the mess hall. He needs food; he needs it now. His stomach shouts at him to hurry up. Hm, if only Jason was here then maybe he’d believe him that yes, the Nico Di Angelo does still run on sustenance-- well, something other than happy meals.

Few campers are still in the mess hall when he arrives. They stick to their own tables, their only sibling. Nico has no sibling, not any that are here at least. Sitting down, he summons plain salted noodles, slightly butter and light garlic; diet coke rather than water. He sighs as he smashes a forkful into his mouth. Pasta’s great and all but he eats it because they are simple carbs. Plain pasta isn’t overpowering, it isn’t too earthy or meaty or lettuce. It’s just enough to keep him upright. Nico sighs again as he finishes half the bowl, quickly getting sick of the dish. As he scrapes the rest of the pasta into the fire, he wishes he had a friend next to him.

-

“Welcome back.” Nico groans as the harsh light attacks his eyes. He attempts to get up but is shoved, gently at least, back down. “You just woke up; it’d be awful if you fainted again.” The voice chuckled. Nico’s eyes register just enough to see curly blonde hair next to him. The figure is wearing a white coat and holding a clipboard; it’s Will.

“What happened?” Nico says in a slight snarl.

“Shadow travel,” Will responds dryly. “Did you know you have a limit on distance and time?” He asks with an innocent voice but his eyes are letting on more than he’s saying. “It seems to me that your body uses a lot of energy to travel around that way and it lowers our blood sugar significantly.”

Nico scowls at him and blinks at the feeling of a hollow ache within him. “Yes, I did know that.” He says. Will makes a half-smile, half-smirk.

“Great, then I’m going to need you to manage your shadow traveling a bit better,” Will says. “I will come up with exact rules soon but know it’s going to be more limited now.”

Nico feels fury well up inside of him. “Not over my dead body.” He growls. Wills chuckles at his threat, annoying Nico even more.

“One-” Will puts a finger up. “-if you were a dead body then I did my job wrong. Two, as if you’d go so quickly. And three, doctor’s orders.” He says firmly, leaning in. Nico crosses his arms indignantly.

“And what if I don’t listen?” He snaps.

“You will.” Will sounds so sure of himself. Nico’s eyes darken.

“And how do you know that?”

Will leans in; he leans in very much. Nico gulps subconsciously and for a moment is shell-shocked by the smug look on Will’s face. His eyes are full of bright lights and mirth. His mouth is pink and completely sure. Nico never really talked to Will before… well yesterday when he had randomly said hi when Nico woke up. He had always known the blonde, how could one not and vise versa. He knew Will was smart and capable and a wicked good doctor; Nico just didn’t know how commanding and snarky he was either.

“Oh, I have a feeling.” With that, Will leans back and rips off a piece of paper, and hands it to Nico. The boy stares at it; it has times and measurements. “Your rules,” Will says easily. “Doctor’s orders.” He leaves with a flourish of his coat and Nico is left still on the bed with shouted orders to rest.

Nico is surprised-- pleasantly surprised. Everyone at camp is afraid of him and his ‘scary’ powers. But Will is not. It’s a nice change. A hint of a smile appears on Nico’s face. He actually listens for once (because he is not Percy Jackson)

-

“What is that?” Nico stares at the cards in Will’s hands. He shrugs. Nico scowls at him deeper. “What is that?” He repeats.

“Mythomagic cards.” Will smiles brightly; Nico wants to put on sunglasses. “I was playing with a couple of my patients when I remembered that you used to be a huge fan of the game. That was how you identified Dionysus right?” Will teases. Nico feels his face warm up, something that never happened before. Indignantly, he turns away with a huff. “Huh? Don’t like it? Mm… could’ve sworn you still liked the game; oh well, see you later then.”

Will only takes about 3 steps before Nico caves. “Wait,” Nico calls out quiet but Will hears and spins around as if he had shouted at the top of his lungs. “I- I still like the game, okay?” Nico says, trying to act hardened but it wasn’t working as well as he was hoping it would.

“Perfect!” Will says with a grin on his face. “Come join me.” He puts a hand out between them. Nico stares at it. What? Noticing that Nico didn’t move a muscle, Will quirks an eyebrow up. “Huh? Too much for you to handle?” He teases. “Sorry, just say it.” He brings his hands back to the pocket of his sweatshirt but smiles welcomingly for Nico to follow him. Nico frowns before giving in and following the blonde. He still catches the smirk residing on Will’s face.

“You don’t need to look so smug; I still like the game,” Nico growls. Will tilts his head to the side.

“I hoped so.”

They enter the hospital healing wing and there is a group of kids in clean white robes that seem to light up when their eyes catch on Will. They are young-- ages 9...10...11...12 perhaps. “Dr.Solace!” They chorus before even noticing that Nico stands next to him. Will smiles brightly; he looks almost like an angel of medicine with the sun shining through the window. “You’re back!” The kids continue. Will laughs and leaps onto one of the empty gurneys. Nico walks and stands awkwardly next to it. The kids don’t spare him much of a glance-- he wants to melt into the shadows to escape but finds that the wing is so lit up with light the nearest shadow could barely cover his entire hand.

“I am!” Will says, eyes Twinkling. “And… I brought a friend.” He presents his arms out like a magician showing his newest trick. The kids stare at Nico. Nico stares back awkwardly. Uh… what is he supposed to do now? He waves; a tight forced smile is on his face. The kids look at him intently and then back at Will. They smile, a move Nico did not expect, and nearly giggle out. What on… what? “Guys…” Will says with a head shake. Nico looks at him with a head shake. Is there a blush on his face or has Nico forgotten breakfast again? “-don’t laugh. This is Nico.”

A kid falls over, chortling. “Oh… we know.” He says mischievously. Will sends him a hard look. The kid turns back to Nico and thrusts a stack of cards in his hands. “You’ve ever played?” Nico looks at the cards… amateur set.

“Yeah.” Nico grunts. The kids here are all too young to know his past-- they don’t know what these cards mean to him. “Course I do… I’ve got seven of these.” He continues. The kid’s eyes widen like saucers; the other kids gasp dramatically.

“No way!” The kid lights up like a firework. “That’s so many! I only have that one of everything. But I do have two Apollos!” The kid explains.

“No, you don’t! You don’t have Athena.”

“It didn’t come with!”

“That’s no excuse.”

Nico is confused and stares at the bickering kids, unsure of what to do next. WIll seems to have noticed his discomfort because he leans over slightly. “Tanner, he’s one of Ares’s kids. Lara’s mom is Athena. They like to fight a lot but they’re friends.” He explains. Nico quietly nods, observing as Lara and Tanner begin to shove each other's shoulders. Will allows them to fight for a minute longer before cleaning his throat and stenly glaring at them. Lara sheepishly takes her hands off of Tanner’s shoulders. “That’s enough; do you want to start the game now or what?” Will smiles, holding his cards up. Nico copies the motions, inspecting each player carefully.

“I’m ready to win.” Lara brags. Without meaning to, a rare smirk raises to Nico’s face; it feels equally foreign and nice.

“That’s funny because I’m sure I’m going to win,” Tanner shouts at her. Lara stickers her tongue out at her.

Nico lowly huckles, hiding it behind his stack of cards. Will seems to be the only one who notices it. The blonde looks at him with a smile and eyebrow quirk. Nico scowls. “What?” He snaps.

Will shakes his head. “Nothing. Just nice to see that look on your face.”

Nico stares at him, unsure of what he means. So instead of worrying about it, he resorts to slamming these kids at Mythomagic. No one knows it better than he does.

“Woah! How’d you do that?” Lara shouts at him when Nico unsurprisingly wins. He shrugs.

“Easy move.” He says lazily. Lara glares at him but it’s nothing like her older sister’s stare so he’s not fazed at all. “You’ll learn it in time.” He all but teases. She snarls at him; he slightly grins back.

Will laughs and forces Lara to put her cards back in the pile. “He’s a big fan of the game, don’t take it personally.” He tells her. Tanner looks back at Nico with wide and impressed eyes.

“Really?”

Nico feels awkward-- never once has anyone looked at him in awe. Why was this kid doing these? What did he want from him? “Uh- yeah. I have most of the extra packs. You know, it’s fun.” HE babbles out, wanting to melt into the ground. Tanner leaps up onto his gurney.

“That’s awesome!” He cries. “Can you play with us more?” He asks. His eyes go big and wide and Nico finds it in himself to not shut him down with a harsh no. tanner looks excited, Lara looks interested and Will looks smug. Nico snarls at him.

“What’s got you all happy and sunshiny?” He asks. Will just keeps smiling, still looking like a medicine angel or whatever.

“It’s nice seeing you have fun. I’m so used to you groaning in pain on one of these.” He motions to the gurneys. “You should play with us more. Lots of the kids love the game.” Will asks. His smile seems welcoming. Nico is still unsure if he should or shouldn’t agree. “Besides… how else will those extra card packs come into use?” Will teases.

Nico decides that he’ll agree to play with him more often. “Touche.” He mumbles and Will knows he’s won. The kids are a bit loud for his taste but the game is fun. It’s nice playing with people who love Mythomagic almost as much as he does. And Will… he’s nice… a little too nice but not awful. He’s a nice friend. Maybe…

When Nico leaves the hospital wing to retreat into his own cabin to nap the day away, he leaves with a new ten-year-old fan, a planned gaming session next Tuesday, and Will’s touch lingering on his shoulder. He buries himself in his four blankets and knocks out for twenty hours.

-

He admits… it’s weird having a friend-- at the same time, it’s so nice. Will is friendly and bright; slightly annoying but sometimes it makes him smile in a way that makes him also want to bury himself into the ground. How could a person look so sweet yet not disgusting? It didn’t make sense! The last time a person had smiled like an angel and been cute without being awful was Percy and Nico didn’t need another round of that.

“Hey… Will, can you- do you think you can help me with something?” Nico says, very nervously. The feeling’s very odd for him; he’s more brooding than awkward on a day-to-day basis. The young patients behind Will seem to giggle slightly. The blonde smiles back at him, looking as golden as his father in a tiny way.

“Yeah… with what?” He asks, leaning forward on the gurney.

Nico opens his mouth to respond but is distracted for a second. Who on Gaea’s earth gave Will arms like that? They’re strong, that’s clear but not overly muscled and big. Lean but firm and oh dear Zeus, why can’t Nico stop gaping at them. Why are they so gorgeous? Why are they so distracting? Oh gods. Nico swallows and forces his eyes away from the view. If Will had noticed him staring, he certainly doesn’t show it. His smile is as serene and pleasant as ever. Nico swears his face isn’t bright red but it may be.

“Um- Per- my dad wants me over for dinner and… I don’t know, I wanna make a good impression on my step-mom; she’s not trying to smite me so I think it’d be nice.” Nico admits, fighting the urge to shadow travel away. God, he’s so awkward. Nico blames Will’s newfound arms for the feeling-- technically though, Nico had been awkward since he called out Will’s name while walking slowly into the room.

“Yeah, of course!” Will smiles brightly.

“Really?”

“Definitely. My shift’s wrapping up anyway so I have the time.”

“Oh.” A smile sneaks its way up on Nico’s face. He hates it. “Thanks.” He says meekly. Will shrugs, calling that it’s no problem and that he’ll meet him at his cabin in about ten minutes.

When Nico closes his cabin door, he questions his own sanity.

He further questions it as Will explains which fork is which and which spoon goes where. Oh if he thought his arms were a distraction before then it was the entire center star of a solar system now. With his doctor coat, most of Will’s arm had been covered and only the forearm showed and a sliver of upper arms-- now his entire arm is on display and Nico’s mouth is basically probably drooling. It’s all lean muscle and beautifully tanned skin.

“Nico? Hello~?” Will waves his hand in front of his face and Nico jumps about a foot in the air. Will snickers; Nico does not.

“I hear ya, salad, soup, all that,” Nico growls in an attempt to hide his gaping. Will chuckles and folds his arms over his chest. Huh, wow… biceps-- very nice. Nico feels dizzy.

“Great, then I will be on my way then,” Will says easily, walking towards the door.

Everything in Nico’s mind and body screams at him to not let the boy leave. He steps up and puts a hand on Will’s shoulder and wow, it’s an equally terrible and glorious idea. He jerks back like he’s been burned; Will takes notice and looks at him like he’s gone insane. He probably is a third way there.

“I- I need help picking something nice to wear.” Nico blabbers out, a very unlikely thing for him to do. “Pure emo black probably isn't the best impression.” He continues like an idiot. He secretly asks for the earth to open up and swallow him whole. Then again, he could probably have that arranged if he really wanted it to happen. “I don’t know what to do, you know…?” Cue awkward grin. Cue facepalm. Cue Will’s weirdly cute head tilt.

“Well your father is Hades so I don’t think she’d really mind this-” Will looks him up and down; Nico’s face becomes red. “-ensemble. But I do get where you’re coming from. I’m thinking… nice but still My Chemical Romance?” Will teases him. Nico scowls at him. “I kid-- actually no I don’t.” Will makes a quick turn and thrust open Nico’s closet. It’s a total mess and explosion of black clothing. He’s unsure if he should be embarrassed or not. Either way, he is. “This… not bad...this one is actually better-- okay, I got one.” Will throws his newfound sartorial choice. Nico catches it in his hands and looks quizzingly at them. “Nice non-ripped jeans, striped black and white button-up… just wear black sneakers and comb your hair out of your face a bit,” Will instructs him.

Nico nods. “Not a bad choice.” He laments. WIlls rolls his eyes and scoffs.

“I’m gay-- course I have some style. What’s your excuse?” He says snarkily.

Nico can only blink back at him. Gay, gay, he’s gay. Oh of course he’s gay! His inner monologue is stupid. I’m gay, he’s gay. Oh my gods, we’re both gay. I could date him! I wanna date him? Do I? No! I don’t! Maybe? Yes? No? He has great arms… it wouldn’t be bad. And a pretty cute smile-- plus he’s gay. Wait… why is he staring at me with that look? Nico opens his mouth but no words come out. Wills starts to full-on laugh. He’s laughing, oh my gods, I’m dead. It’s cute… AH, I’M EVEN MORE SCREWED! Wow, his arms… I should watch him do his blood tests one day. Nope...that’s weird. But would it be hot? Probably…AUGH!

“Are you okay?” Will gasps in between his chuckles. Whatever is happening in Nico’s mind is the mental equivalent to a keyboard smash.

“Yep,” Nico says, preparing to shadow travel. He steps backwards into the shadow and begins to melt away.

But much to his shock, Will’s eyes widen and his hands shoots out, grabbing Nico by his hoodie sleeve. Will drags him back into the light and aggressively points a finger in his face. His expression is a mix between worry and lots of anger. He’s never been like this before. Nico is shocked and weirdly intrigued.

“You’re not getting away with that-- not from me at least.” Will scolds him. Nico stares at him blankly. He’s mad… it’s lowkey hot. Uh- should I be breathing right now because I don’t think I am. I mean, he’s a doctor he could fix me. NO! BAD IDEA! I’ve never seen him so mad. Or mad at all. Huh. Huh... I don’t think my brain is functioning. “-as your doctor… it is an order.” Will finish but Nico caught only 10% of what he said. Nico gulps, not out of fear but out of… well he doesn't even know.

“Noted,” Nico says dryly. Will huffs and nods, looking at him with a fierce glare. It’s now he understands why Percy gets that stupid dazed look on his face when Annabeth is yelling at him. He’s really hot right now and I don’t think that's okay. Nico wants to shadow travel again but it would probably be risky. Not that he doesn't want to see angry Will again, it’s more so… he’s already pushed it.

“Good,” Will says haughtily before leaving the cabin.

Nico stares out his window till Will’s curly blonde hair is no longer visible. He then falls into his bed, face-first into a pillow. He blinks into the pillow-- and does so for a very long time. His brain is fried and it is because of Will.

I’m panicking

-

“I need your help.”

“Really?”

“Yes! Please help me now!”

“Okay, okay, what for?”

Nico looks around him and then back at the IM. “I think I’m panicking.” She raises a brow at him and drily says, no duh. He glares at her; Renya isn’t phased in the slightest. “But really-- I feel like my heart is about to explode.”

“Is your heartbeat really going that fast?” Renya questions. Nico throws his arms up in the air.

“Maybe? Probably not?” Nico sighs and drags a hand down his face. “...I saw Will.” He admits.

Renya’s face turns into an interested smile. “Go on.”She says. Nico feels his face heating up and the following urge to jump into an ice bath. Gods, he hated blushing like a ten-year-old girl.

“Everyone was going swimming…” He continues. The smirk on Renya’s face grows. “-and I decided that maybe I should go too, you know, for fun.” He mumbles.

“Nice to hear you’re not hermit-shelling yourself.” Renya teases. Nico glares at her. SHe only shrugs.

“But-” Nico points up a finger. “Will and his sibling decided to go swimming in the lake too. Which I guess makes sense or whatever, everyone in camp is burning up today but I still wasn’t expecting it.”Nico ignores Renya’s snickers.

“You didn’t realize that he: as a part of the camp, was going swimming in the lake?”

“Shut up!”

“You literally called me to freak out over this.”

Nico just nearly swipes at the message. “I discovered his arms a couple weeks ago and I couldn’t look at him the same; now I’ve seen him without a shirt and I can’t look at him, full stop. He’s hot-- like really hot. Literally looks like his dad; what do I do?” Nico walks around in a circle in his cabin, tugging at his hair in a frenzy. “I stared at him for a complete minute. I don’t think I breathed or blinked or moved at all. Just- I stood there.” He continues.

“Nico,” Renya says seriously. “You’re panicking.” She deadpans. He turns to scowl at her. She raises a brow in defiance.

“I know that!” He cries out. His eyes catch to the uncovered window where there is a perfect view of bare-torso Will ran by. He is silently laughing, hair flying back and eyes nearly closed. Nico gulps and his brain pauses for a minute or two. How are the campers around him even functioning!? It’s like watching a piece of art but not in an objectifying way. “I’m gay panicking but it’s fine.” Nico sputters out. The words are a total mess that falls in front of him. Renya cackles like a witch.

“Will walked by?”

“Yes!”

Nico grabs a blanket from his bed and huddles it around his body. He groans loudly and falls to the ground. Renya’s eyes trail down with him, quietly witnessing his breakdown. She doesn’t even make a sound as he mutters deliriously about how Will is affecting him and that his brain is now melted.

“You know, it may just help to tell him you like him. Might stop the panicking.” Renya offers. Nico glares at her from the ground and forces an arm out to wave around madly.

“What part of-” His arms are now a helicopter rotor. “-this makes you think I could confess.”

Renya rolls her eyes. “You’re an emo-depressed boy, not an emo anxious boy.” She says drily.

“I could be both!”

“But you’re not.” Reyna chuckles. “It’s fine to tell him you like him. He’s not as blind as Percy; he’s as gay as you are so that means he knows what he’s doing. You’ve said it before, he’s very clearly smirked while you blushed. Why not tell him? Will’s not the type to lead a person on. He probably is just waiting his time and having fun with it. It’s more torturous for you than him.” Nico makes a sound of pure gay panic for an impressibly long time. Renya allows him to do so. “I gotta go soon.” She looks off the IM for a second and nods. “However, you still need to at least consider it.” She points at him threateningly.

Nico nods meekly from the floor and watches wordlessly as the IM disappears.

If anyone is able to die from gay panicking, Nico’s unwilling trying to accomplish it.

-

Nico wants to die but he can’t seem to turn off his mouth. The words he was spilling weren’t the ones he had practiced with Renya but Will is smiling at them nonetheless. He’s sure the red on his face has taken over and he’s become a tomato head. Nico feels miserable and thanks all deities for making sure no one else is walking onto the scene.

“-so yeah that's kinda what I wanted to say...yeah.” Nico prays for his father’s realm.

Will lets out a laugh and if it wasn’t so horribly sweet and cute, Nico would have shadow traveled away. “That’s very nice and brave of you to say,” Will says. He leans out and presses a kiss to Nico’s cheek. Nico nearly falls over. “And I like you too. But I’ve been waiting for you to make a move since you started staring at my arms like a lifeline.” Nico gasps and points at Will accusingly.

“You noticed?”

“How could I not.”

Nico glares at him harshly. “I don’t like you no more.” He mutters. Wills sighs but with a smile on his face. He opens his arms and closes them around Nico’s form. Nico is shocked by the fact that he is still standing. His inner mind is frozen still. “Oh.” He says dumbly.

Will chuckles, the sound resonates lowly and vibrates from his chest to Nico. “Does this make up for it?”

Nico scowls but doesn’t deny anything. His heart is beating much faster than it should but it’s kinda okay with him. He decides that, yes the hug makes up for the torture Will put him through: freaking arm tease. It’s warm and comforting and he really likes how Will smells.

“Yeah. It does.”

Awe... aren't they just so cute? I wrote this pretty late at night so my own speech patterns ended up slipping in. By the way, the emo-depressed/anxious boy thing is literally a thing I put in from my own personal conversations. I have a very wonderful NB emo anxious depressed boi in my life. I hoped you guys liked this story and found it either funny, cute, or slightly relatable...maybe. - Mka1098

[deiitaelric]

Amnesia / Bakudeku fic Part 1

ship: bakudeku

tags: amnesia, some angst, homophobia (?), happy ending, unnedited, I'm writing this as a thread on twt so I don't know where I'm going exactly

It was strange being back after more than three years. He was calmly walking down the street, impregnating himself with the familiarity of the place. The smell, the view, the people. And then… He.

His feet moved on his own, already calling for him. However, even if he was all by himself, he didn’t react at Katsuki’s call. Only a few feet between them and yet zero reaction.

That really pissed him off.

Raising a hand, he grabbed him for one arm, making him turn a little.

“Oi, Deku, are you deaf?” But he only looked at Katsuki with big, confused, slightly scared eyes.

“Sorry? I-I think you’re confounding me with someone else. My name’s Midoriya”

“Duh, I know”

Izuku blinked in confusion at the response. Katsuki did the same. Suddenly Izuku let out an "Oh" and started searching something up in his pockets.

“Do we know each other? Sorry, I…” He handed a piece of paper to the blonde, who took it, annoyed and confused as fuck. Katsuki looked up at him after reading it.

“Really? Do you have amnesia?”

“Yeah, sorry, I… I don’t remember you. I don’t remember almost anything beyond two years ago” Katsuki kept silent for a moment, reading the piece of paper over and over again. “How do we know each other?”

“We’re… childhood friends”

“Oh, really? That’s awesome!”

“I guess”

“Hmm, sorry for not remembering. Were we still in touch?”

“No, I… I moved out some years ago”

Izuku offered a sad smile. His phone pinged and he excused himself as Katsuki read the report one more time.

“If we’re childhood friends you have to know my mother, right?”

“Of course, how’s she doing?”

“She’s good. In fact, I’m going to see her right now. Do you want to come with me?”

“…Sure” Katsuki responded after a brief pause, handing the sheet back to Izuku. “Do you two still live in the same apartment?”

“Great, she’ll be happy to see you” The green haired boy saved the piece of paper in his pocket again without even paying attention to what he was doing. Habit. “And yes, my mom told me I’ve spent my whole life in there, so it has to be the place you know”

They started walking together feeling a little odd, and Katsuki was dying to ask more questions, but he didn’t know where to begin. He looked out of the corner of his eye at Izuku and saw him wearing a focused face. Suddenly he widened his green eyes and looked back at him.

“Oh. Are you Katsuki-kun?”

“Yeah, I’m… Yeah”

“Oh” Izuku smiled wide. “I remember my mom talking to me about a childhood friend called Katsuki. She… she even showed me some pictures of him. I mean, of you” He corrected himself. “My mother was a little sad about me not remembering you. She’s gonna be so happy that we reunited again” He smiled even wider at Katsuki, but it vanished when he found the hint of sadness in the blonde’s expression. “I’m sorry for not remembering you. The doctors said I might remember one day, but, well, they’re not sure… Maybe if we… talk some more? What name did you use earlier? It’s some nickname you have for me?”

“Yeah, I… I used to call you a stupid nickname but…”

“It’s okay. You can call me the way you want, maybe it rings some bell for me”

“I’ll use Izuku, if you don’t mind, I really never get to call you Midoriya, so…”

“No, sure! It’s totally fine!” Izuku smiled at him, cheeks with a hint of pink. “And… Well, I… Is Katsuki your name or last name?”

“Name. Last name’s Bakugou”

“Well, I’m glad to meet you again, Bakugou-kun” Izuku smiled and reached a hand, but Katsuki made an ugly face. Izuku’s smile dropped as well as his hand. “Oh, sorry, I… Should I call you Bakugou-san or…?”

“It’s okay, it’s just... It’s weird hearing you call me that way”

“Oh. What way did I used to call you? Sorry, I…”

“Katsuki’s fine”

“Okay. Katsuki, then” Izuku beamed, offering his hand again. “Nice to meet you again, Katsuki-kun”

“Hm” Katsuki took his hand, feeling an unpleasant twist on his insides.

Part 2

[lady-divine-writes]

Ineffable Holiday 2020 - “A Wonderful Christmas Timey-Wimey” (Rated PG13)

Summary: Crowley isn't feeling the holidays this year, which Aziraphale thinks is par for the course, what with him being a demon and all. With only a few days left until Christmas, Crowley runs into a girl who may change that for him.

A girl who mistakes him for The Tenth Doctor. (1945 words)

Notes: Written for the Ineffable Holiday 2020 prompt 'shopping'.

Read on AO3.

“Must you pick out every present for the toy appeal yourself?” Crowley asks, rearranging items on the shelf, replacing a few of the more popular toys with jars of pickled fish, tins of olives, and tubes of fungal foot cream. "This is so dull!"

"It would be less dull if you helped instead of complained."

"Mrr ... ngk ... urgh ..."

"You'd be brightening someone else's day," Aziraphale says to persuade him.

"Not really my department," Crowley replies. "You could always do what other shops do and put a donation bin inside your door.”

“Inside my door?” Aziraphale utters a disgusted noise. “You expect me to invite people into my shop on purpose!?”

“It would be for the good of mankind,” Crowley teases. "Well, child-kind, more accurately."

“I am not going to dignify that heinous suggestion with a remark,” Aziraphale mutters, walking to the opposite side of his trolley to escape his husband’s asinine ideas. 

"I still don't see why you need to do this yourself. I don't think braving a crowd of the entitled to buy useless junk for kids is going to earn you brownie points with Heaven."

“Buying presents is fun, Crowley, no matter who they're for! It gets me into the holiday spirit!”

“Not me. I’m not feeling Christmas this year.”

Aziraphale looks up and considers his gloomy husband. He'd thought this mopey affectation was simply per the norm. He didn't realize his husband was honestly feeling blue. “Have you felt the Christmas spirit any other year?”

Crowley shrugs. “Once or twice. It’s become such a vulgar holiday, hasn’t it? The commercialization, the greed, the false charity - such a far cry from the days when generous humans would leave presents anonymously on the steps of their needy neighbors. Nowadays, with social media, everything’s such a show. Look what I gave! Look who I helped! Look how compassionate I am!” Crowley grimaces. “Despicable.”

“I would imagine, as a demon, you would take pride in the change,” Aziraphale says icily.

“’m not that kind of demon, angel.”

“You’ve got a few days yet. Maybe you’ll come across something that will fill you with Christmas joy.”

“Doubt it.” Crowley goes back to the ruination of the shelves, snarling when his husband manages to set things to rights behind his back. He's preparing to remove the word not from the boxes marked batteries not included when he gets the distinct feeling that someone is stalking them. He stands straight and peeks down the aisle, eyes darting left and right behind his glasses so as not to be too obvious. Once he confirms his suspicions, he comes up behind Aziraphale and whispers, “Do you ever get the feeling you’re being watched?”

“All the time,” Aziraphale says nonchalantly. “Because we are. The Almighty sees all, remember?”

Crowley rolls his eyes. What a frickin’ angel thing to say? “We’re not alone.” 

“Exactly! Didn’t you hear what I just …?”

Crowley steps in front of his husband, grabs Aziraphale’s head, and tilts it to the side. Aziraphale’s gaze follows. From around the end of the aisle, Aziraphale spots a pair of stunning green eyes, set in a face surrounded by a blonde bob, disappear into the doll aisle.

“What the …? Oh, dear …” 

"Wot? Wot's wrong?"

Aziraphale chuckles. "It looks like we have company.”

Crowley turns to see a woman headed their way, spurred on by a girl pushing her in their direction. The woman waves sheepishly. “Hello. I am so sorry to bother you.”

Aziraphale smiles. “It’s quite alright. Is there something we can do for you?”

“Kind of.” The woman glances sternly behind her when the girl gives her a shove. “My name is Sheila. This …” She jabs a thumb over her shoulder at the child they have yet to see completely “… is my little sister Freya.”

“Hello, Freya.” Aziraphale tries to maneuver around Sheila’s body to get a good look at the girl. He catches a glimpse, but Freya moves too quickly out of view for Aziraphale to get more than that. But from what he can see, she isn’t paying attention to him.

She’s focused on Crowley.

“She’s shy,” Sheila says. “But she asked me to come talk to you because she thinks …” Aziraphale hears the girl whisper, something only her sister can understand, and Sheila sighs. “I’m so very sorry, but she thinks that you …” She gestures to Crowley “… are … The Doctor.”

Crowley’s eyes go wide. “Doctor?” he repeats, confounded since, in all his long years on this planet, to his recollection, no one has ever mistaken him for a doctor. An undertaker, definitely. A forensic investigator, once or twice. A rockstar and, on occasion, an actor. But not a doctor. 

With a sudden spark, it hits him. 

Not a doctor. 

The Doctor. 

“Wait - Doctor. You mean like … Doctor Who, The Doctor?”

Freya giggles. Sheila’s cheeks turn pink. “The Tenth Doctor specifically, yeah. Again, I’m really sorry about this, but, uh …” Aziraphale reaches into his pocket and produces a handkerchief when Sheila chokes up “… our mum's just passed, and our dad's underway. He’s not going to be home in time for the holidays." She sniffles. "I'm afraid we've been suffering from a severe lack of cheer lately.”

“So it seems,” Aziraphale says sympathetically.

“And I thought that maybe if you didn’t mind … I mean, I know you don’t know us from Adam, but …”

While Sheila talks to Aziraphale, Crowley gets down on one knee to get a better look at Freya. She’s the most erratically dressed child he’s ever seen. But kids can get away with that, can’t they? She’s wearing oversized trousers, a floor-length coat, a shirt with a rainbow across the front, braces …

Oh, gee, he thinks. She’s dressed like The Thirteenth Doctor.

Freya sneaks a peek, lower lip sucked so far between her teeth, he can see every freckle on her chin.

He smiles and gives her a wink.

“Figured me out, did ya?”

Both Aziraphale and Sheila go silent when they hear Freya gasp.

“It is you!” Freya says, eyes so wide they start to compete with every other feature on her face. “My sis said it probably wasn’t you, but I knew it was! I just knew it!”

“It’s me,” Crowley says, not entirely sure where he goes from here. “But you can’t tell anyone you saw me, okay?”

“Oh, don’t worry …” Freya motions zipping her lips together “… I won’t say anything to anyone! I promise!” She leans forward and whispers, “Where’s your TARDIS? I didn’t notice a police box outside.”

“And she looks,” Sheila says. “She really looks. Every time we leave the house.”

“Oh, uh, you know what? I got it fixed,” he says, quickly culling from one of the few pieces of Doctor Who trivia he knows. “The chameleon circuit? It's good as new.”

“It is?” Freya’s eyes light up as if she's hearing the most important news of her young life.

“It looks just like a regular old car now.”

“Really?”

“Yup. A big black car.”

“Wicked!”

Aziraphale doesn’t hear everything Crowley says to Freya, but that doesn’t concern him. Crowley has always been aces at dealing with children. And as Freya’s eyes become wider and her smile spreads, Aziraphale can’t help smiling himself. Crowley is a demon with a vivid imagination, and he’s using it to weave this girl a tale of wondrous, supernatural antics, which includes traveling through time with a man he calls his companion (whom Aziraphale realizes, with a flick of Freya’s eyes upward, is supposed to be him) as they attempt to save Christmas from …

“The Weeping Angels?” Freya looks about her, a mixture of anxiety and excitement turning her cheeks red. “I read that comic! About how you and Thirteen went up against them to save Earth! Are they back?”

“No. Even worse."

Freya's mouth forms a tiny 'o'. "The Master?” 

"Yes." Crowley echos her gravitas to make it appear he understands the dangers of being pursued by such a villain. "Hence my disguise, which you saw through brilliantly. Well done!"

“Oh, I could tell it was a disguise from a mile away!” she proclaims with the modesty of a child who has gotten one over on the adults.

“How?” 

“The hair! You’re ginger! But, between you and me, I’d tone it down.”

“You would?” Crowley says in a way that makes Aziraphale snicker, falling somewhere between engaging and offended.

“Oh, yes!” she says. “It’s a bit on the bright side. It’s a dead giveaway that it's fake.”

Crowley nods, fighting to keep his cool. It would do him no good to start bickering with a child over whether or not a fictional character should wear their hair his color. “Noted.”

Sheila watches Crowley interact with her sister, sees her smile for the first time in weeks.

Sheds a tear when Freya tells Crowley that he is, without a doubt, her favorite Doctor, and that when she sees him on the telly or reads about him in the comics, it makes her feel less sad and alone.

“Okay, Freya,” Sheila says, wiping her eyes with the cuff of her shirt. “I think it’s time for us to let these gentlemen get back to their business.”

“She means the mission,” Freya corrects for her.

“That’s right,” Crowley says. “But you know what? We’ll bump into each other again. Another time.”

“Yes,” Freya says in awe. “We will. Another time.”

Sheila takes her sister’s hand, but the girl breaks free and throws herself into Crowley’s arms, squeezing him tight. “Thank you, Doctor!”

It takes Crowley a second, but he wraps his arms around Freya’s thin body and squeezes back. “You’re welcome.”

“Come on, Freya,” Sheila says in a wobbly voice. “Let's go home.”

“Goodbye, Doctor! Goodbye, Doctor's Companion!”

"Goodbye, Miss Freya," Aziraphale says, amused to be relegated to the title of Doctor's Companion. His name must not be necessary, he muses, since she never asked it.

Freya takes her sister’s hand and pulls her from the aisle, telling her all the things Crowley had said about his and Aziraphale’s mission to save Christmas.

Crowley watches Freya and Sheila round the corner, the girl pausing a moment to give them one final wave before she skips out of sight. 

But Crowley doesn’t look away.

He stares thoughtfully after her, doesn’t snap out of it until Aziraphale puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Are you all right, my dear?”

“Yeah. Yes. Of course,” Crowley says, slowly falling back to Earth. 

"Shall we get going, too?"

"No," Crowley says in a distant voice. His eyes travel from the end of the aisle to Aziraphale's hand on his shoulder, down to the trolley half full of toys. With a hiccup, he picks up where they left off before Sheila and Freya stopped by, and Crowley became The Doctor. "No! You're nowhere near done! Wot? Were you only planning on helping five kids? Pfft!" Crowley clears his throat. "Would you mind if I, uh, picked out a few things, too? For the appeal?"

Aziraphale looks at him strangely. "You want to shop for toys?"

"You’ve only chosen the boring ones! The educational slop! No kid is gonna want half this stuff! I think that, maybe, you don’t have the knack.”

Aziraphale crosses his arms over his chest. “I don't have the knack?”

“Yes.”

“For buying toys?”

“Again, yes.”

Aziraphale grins. “Are you asking to help me brighten someone else's day?”

Crowley's cheeks go pale. “No! Maybe. Don’t look at me like that. You’re just buying toys. It’s not astrophysics. Look, turn down the halo, or I’m going home!”

[v-thinks-on]

Day 31 of That Which Lies Buried Beneath the Snow

First || Previous 

Today's Prompt (from cjnwriter): "That confounded deerstalker."

On that January morning, the quiet little village inn was a flurry of activity. The skies were blue and the passes were clear once more, but snow always loomed upon the horizon.

“I believe it is time we returned to London,” Holmes had declared.

“Yes, I have also begun to long for home,” Watson said.

So, bags were hastily packed, rooms scoured for anything which could have been mislaid in a month of residence. M. Dupond joined them, to return to Marseilles before the snow impeded travel again.

“A highly successful vacation,” Holmes remarked as they loaded the carriage. “I must thank Dr. Ansruther for his recommendation.”

Watson found himself in no position to protest, but he contented himself with adding, “If not quite what the doctor ordered.”

Holmes chuckled. “Perhaps not.”

But a smile exchanged between them said that all was well.

“I did not find what I had hoped for,” M. Dupond remarked more somberly, “but thanks to you, M. Holmes, at least I know what became of my dear aunt and uncle, and M. Renaud was kind enough to part with some of their remaining belongings, to give me something to remember them by.” It was on M. Renaud’s account that M. Dupond’s bags were heavier than they had been when he had arrived.

They were all about to pile into the carriage when there was a sudden gust of wind.

“Confound it!” Holmes exclaimed.

All eyes turned to him and Watson asked urgently, searching for any trouble, “What is it?”

Holmes’s now bare head, his hair windswept, told the tale. “I am afraid it is a lack rather than a fresh obstacle. I fear my deerstalker has gone.”

They all glanced around, but it was nowhere in sight, and the cold wind continued to blow, if perhaps without so much force. They were left without any other choice, but to huddle into the carriage, Holmes first, his ears already beginning to turn pink from the cold.

“We will have to get another in London, but in the meantime you can have my cap,” Watson offered, once they were all comfortably inside.

“No, my dear Watson, I would not leave you bare-headed.”

“I have my bowler in the trunk.”

“A city hat, Watson? That would do you no good here, I fear.” 

“A scarf, then?” Watson suggested, untying his own.

“I will be mistaken for a little old lady,” Holmes said, but he allowed Watson to tie the scarf around his head as they set off back down the mountain.

And with that, 2020 and this story come to an end! Happy New Year, everyone!!

Thank you for coming along for this bumpy ride! I especially want to thank Hades Lord of the Dead for coordinating the December Calendar Challenge of Awesomeness again this year, and everyone else who participated for the prompts that challenged my storytelling abilities at every turn!

[apprentice-lex]

Thank you <3 Warnings for alcohol, obviously. Mildly suggestive humor, but SFW.

Valerius

Usually, when he had indulged too much, the Consul still retained his grace and dexterity. Now, however, you were witnessing the exact opposite of that. The Consul was seated at the dinner table - and lucky he was sitting, too, because it took him three tries to capture the (perfectly unmoving) wine glass. He tipped the bottle, glancing at you from the corner of his eye and managing to absolutely saturate the pristine tablecloth with the dark, crimson liquid. You winced. That won't come out easily. The Consul flashed what would usually be a charming smile - had he the proper control of his face - and grabbed another glass to pour wine for you. Unfortunately, since he was looking at you, he failed to notice for quite some time that the glass he was attempting to fill was upside down, wine pouring all over the table while he was giving you his best dazzling smile. That was it. With a sigh, you stood up from your chair. It was time for operation "steer Valerius towards his bed" to commence.

Valdemar

Something extremely concerning had happened. Valdemar, usually more punctual than clockwork, didn't show at all, the assistant doctors sharing half-concerned, half-relieved glances, more than a few of them looking expectantly at you. Of course it fell to you. With a frown, you departed, heading for their estate. Empty. Deserted. Your footsteps seemed too loud as you pushed open a door which stood ajar; it creaked on its hinges. An involuntary shudder ran through you. They weren't there. Which meant you had to check their personal laboratory. You descended the steps; the feeble light of torches was barely enough to illuminate the narrow stairwell. A sharp smell of steel, blood, and antiseptic assaulted your nose. And something else... alcohol? Boldly, you stepped into the laboratory only to be greeted by a sight you never thought to see. Valdemar, slumped over their alchemical table, a dazed look on their face. The alcohol fumes were near-unbearable. You took a few cautious steps towards them none the less. "Valdemar?" you called, concerned. They raised a gloved hand, waving as if they were chasing off bothersome insects instead of your concern. "S...mishcalculated." What? Your frown deepened. "'s... 's gave off more fuhmes than exshpected..." They were waving again, this time towards the tilted and spilled beakers of some purple liquid. "The procesh... help...will you?" They extended a slender arm towards you, and you immediately jumped into action. In retrospect, intoxicated Valdemar seemed to be 150% more limbs than usual and heavier than expected. Still, you - carefully - helped them upstairs where there was fresh air and they would likely recover from their little mishap. You received at least a dozen of compliments along the way, including but not limited to how your musculature seemed very functional and they'd love to study it further. Oh well.

Volta

The Procurator was usually a timid, excitable person. So the flush on her cheeks and the giggles were a surprise. As the evening progressed, more and more often did you find the Procurator's hand on your arm, or her leaning into your touch. The pink blush that colored her cheeks every time you gave her a questioning smile or a raised eyebrow was simply confounding. This was entirely out of character for her. So, when she leaned towards you and whispered that she could just eat you up, you had to get to the bottom of things. She did not have anything strong to drink that particular evening, so you couldn't blame the wine which, judging from her behavior, would have been the most likely suspect. Your eyes zeroes in on an empty box of candy at Volta's elbow, and you discreetly got a nearby servant's attention. You did not have to ask, you merely looked at Volta - who was almost doubled over in her chair, giggling - and raised a questioning eyebrow. The servant's hand shot to her mouth to cover her own grin. "Oh, forgive me! These were a gift from Prakra - I do believe they are made with a great quantity of apricot liqueur." The servant stifled a giggle of her own, before shooting you an apologetic look and hurrying away. Your attention turned to Volta, who was currently reaching for a very tempting-looking decoration consisting of fake fruit, gifted to her by some diplomat or other. You grabbed her outstretched hand. "Now, Procurator, why don't we go for a walk?" you suggested cheerfully, then added, suppressing a laugh: "perhaps it will help clear our heads."

Vlastomil

The soiree was perfectly boring. The music was boring, the food was unimpressive, and the gossip was absolutely not worth the effort. So, what else could the Praetor do, but retreat to a shadowy corner, find a comfortable-looking armchair, and take the bottle of plum liqueur with him? Sure, he'd already added a little something extra to his tea that afternoon to ward off the cold, but certainly he wouldn’t overindulge... Well, that was what he decided, about two hours prior... Sprawled in the armchair like he'd usually never be in front of guests, the Praetor was currently giving you cheerful, mellow smile, his otherwise pale cheeks tinted pink with the tell-tale sign that he did overindulge...a little bit. You sat in your own seat by his side, listening to an impassioned story about worm racing, before Vlastomil fell silent, his eyes glazing over slightly. You remained silent too, watching the practically visible wheels turn in the Praetor's mind. "You know what this evening is perfect for, my dear?" He leaned towards you, entirely too close, close enough to feel his breath on your skin - surprisingly, you couldn't smell any alcohol; instead there was just the subtle sweetness of fruit and Vlastomil's own scent - lavender and a hint of sage. You arched an eyebrow, waiting in polite silence. "Worm riding," He whispered, a wide grin splitting his face. Patiently, he waited to hear what you thought about his obviously brilliant idea, unaware of the blush creeping to your cheeks as you remembered the Praetor’s true form. It took him a moment. "Oh. Oh. I meant..." he blinked, a matching tide of color rising to his own face. "No, oh heavens. Literal, ah... I meant... actual... The racing..." Suppressing a laugh, you cut him off by grabbing his hand. "Let's go." Your gaze lingered on his face for a moment, to appreciate how his eyes lit up with joy, before you allowed the overly-enthusiastic Praetor to lead you out of the estate and towards the gardens, where you knew Wiggler would be. You'd return hours later, both you and him covered in mud and your sides aching from laughter. Of course, there would be rumors, but it was worth it.

Vulgora

"I WILL DEFEAT THEM!" Oh no. You rushed out of the dining room and into the chill evening air, chasing after the clearly intoxicated Vulgora; the other dinner guests parted like a tide, casting worried glances towards both you and the Pontifex. They stopped dead in the middle of the courtyard, their golden eyes searching wildly for any foe worthy of them. Gasping for breath, you finally reached them. And you had to think fast, lest there be a diplomatic incident for the ages. "Ah, no, Vulgora - Pontifex - how can you... how can you go into battle without a trusty, uh, steed?" They frowned at your words, thinking hard. Then you saw their eyes zero in on the life-size statue of Count Lucio in the middle of the courtyard, riding his warhorse with an expression of smug superiority on his marble face. Oh no. By then, you had a sizable following of curious dinner guests, who silently trailed in your wake, eager to see what kind of scandal the intoxicated Pontifex would cause. And oh, would their curiosity be satisfied. "HE'S ON MY HORSE!! OFF, YOU KNAVE!" With an impassioned shout, the Pontifex rushed at the statue - obviously completely oblivious to the fact that it was marble - and in one powerful motion shoved the likeness of the Count. You sincerely hoped the statue was carved out of a single piece of marble, and that the stone Count wouldn't budge. It wasn't. With a heavy thud, the marble likeness of Count Lucio fell to the ground, landing in an extremely undignified pose - a rider's posture meant the Count's face was in the grass, and his posterior in the air, on display. You heard the laughter of the crowd behind you, but you had more immediate concerns as Vulgora climbed the marble animal, pointing a gauntleted hand towards the horizon. "ONWARDS!" "Uh, Vulgora-" your meek requests went unheard. "TO VICTORY!" Oh, Nadia would be furious. But first, you had to get Vulgora off that horse...

[janeofcakes]

Keep your Friends Close...: Chapter 7

Hello, everyone! I’m sorry I didn’t get this up earlier in the week. That was my plan after the last short and suspenseful chapter, but the editing gods would not cooperate until last night and this morning. This one is definitely longer though. Definitely. I hope you all enjoy it and it brings respite in these crazy times. On the upside, how much time do we all have for reading now, am I right? I haven’t been able to read anything for months, but I’ve read so many OmegaJohn stories this month already. Love it! I think I might try some reverse Reichenbach next. Anyway, enjoy!

----

'Cause love's such an old fashioned word and love dares you to care for the people on the edge of the night and love dares you to change our way of caring about ourselves. This is our last dance. This is our last dance. This is ourselves under pressure.                                                                                                       -- Queen, Under Pressure

Weight and power establish velocity, along with time and distance. Assign a figure for each skater based upon average velocity and it further simplifies the equation. Exertion of power can be determined more easily. If velocity equals…

Sherlock’s eyes snap open when a loud bang reaches his ears. He is lying on the over-sized sage green couch in the condo’s living room. Sherlock bought it knowing he would spend hours on it within his mind palace, likely falling asleep on it most nights. He frowns mightily when he hears the bang again.

Glancing at the wall clock and furrowing his brow, Sherlock considers who the hell would come to his door at this hour. Greg? Another bang on the door and he sits up. It can’t be about Molly. He spoke with her just that evening. He had sneaked out of the stadium around 8:30 and gone straight to Ford. Well, almost. There was a stop for her favorite ice cream on the way. They had talked and joked as they ate the contraband treat.

“Seriously, Sherlock, you have to stop coming here every night,” Molly had chided. “I know you’re behind on all that extra work you do after hours. You’d have to be by now.”

“Nonsense. My calculations and strategies for upcoming bouts are coming along perfectly,” he told her around a mouthful of chocolate chip cookie dough. “Besides, there is nothing in this world that is more important to me.”

“I’m flattered,” she laughed and then took on a more serious tone. “There’s nothing wrong with letting someone else in, you know.”

“What?” he had seen her knowing expression as soon as he looked her way, even though she quickly shifted her eyes away and into her ice cream pint. “Molly, no. It’s not like that.”

She returned her gaze to him and smiled broadly. It was his turn to look away, cheeks pink. 

“Oh, come on. I’ve seen the way you look at him.”

“Molly, I can’t.”

“Why on earth not? You’re equals within the organization.”

“I know, I just…” Sherlock finally met her eyes again. “I swore off that sort of sentiment after Victor. You know that. Caring about someone that deeply is not an advantage.”

“Oh, Sherlock, I know he hurt you. I’ll never forgive him for that, but you shouldn’t give up that part of yourself,” Molly touched his arm, putting her own Chubby Hubby pint in her lap. “You shouldn’t deny yourself the chance to be happy.”

“I am happy.”

“Sherlock,” she admonished. He sighed and looked down at his ice cream, prodding it with his spoon.

“You really think I should risk it?” he had asked after a moment.

“I don’t think it would be a risk with this one,” she answered solemnly.

Clearing his mind to focus on the here and now, Sherlock rises from the couch and walks briskly to the foyer as another pound to his front door sounds through the hall. He leans in close and peers into the spy hole to see John Watson’s head and torso. Sherlock steps back, his mind confused by the man’s presence and his stomach already doing those annoying flips.

“John, I wasn’t expecting…” Sherlock begins while opening the door. John pushes in, effectively shoving him out of the way and shuts the door quickly. He looks Sherlock over as though he is looking for...what? Then he scans as much of the condo as he can see from where they stand, going so far as to take a few swift steps in to peer down the hall suspiciously. Befuddled, Sherlock watches his movements closely and takes a quick step back when John suddenly advances on him.

“You’re okay?” John asks distractedly, still glancing around. “He’s not here?”

Sherlock blinks, now utterly confounded. He is about to ask John what the hell he is talking about when he finally notices what John is wearing. Sherlock typically sees everything one has to tell in a glimpse, but the combination of the doctor’s odd behavior and the effect John has on him in general, much as Sherlock hates to admit it, renders his powers of observation moot. Finally observing everything John has to tell, Sherlock finds himself astounded and more than a little confused.

John is in Sherlock’s condo, standing in right front of him in nothing but a pair of boxer shorts and a t-shirt. A somewhat clingy t-shirt at that. One that hugs every curve and muscle and dries Sherlock’s mouth in an instant. As he swallows hard, he notices the dark red stain of blood on the tee’s shoulder right at the top of John’s arm.

“Blood,” Sherlock blurts suddenly. 

“There’s no one here,” John faces him, finally finished scanning his surroundings like a startled animal.

“You’re bleeding,” Sherlock announces, eyes now roving over John’s body and searching for other signs of injury.

“You’re alone.”

“And from your hip too.”

John puts his hands on Sherlock’s shoulders and pushes him back until he bumps into the door to his condo. Sherlock looks at him with an expression of annoyance and he hopes not arousal. John pins him to the wall with deadly serious eyes.

“You’re sure there’s no one here? You haven’t seen anyone?”

“There’s no one here!” Sherlock’s voice raises in irritation. “Jesus, John.”

The doctor stares at Sherlock for a moment with stormy dark blue eyes that slowly begin to lighten. The anger and seriousness on his face smooths into something softer. He releases his hold on Sherlock and shuffles backwards, relieving the tension and what little space there was between their bodies. Sherlock, however, is not going to let him off that easily. He closes the gap again and touches John’s shoulder just under the blood. John flinches, but does not pull away.

“Sorry,” he mutters.

“What happened?” Sherlock asks, trying no to notice the flip in his stomach at that first touch.

“What?” John looks to his shoulder to see Sherlock’s long fingers, probing around gently to get an idea where the wound is. “Ah, shit.”

“It’s fine. It’s fine. Just come with me,” Sherlock takes hold of the hand on John’s uninjured arm and guides him through the condo.

“Christ, I need to put more energy into finding a permanent flat,” John declares with humor in his voice. “This is a bloody palace.”

“It’s one of the bigger ones in this building,” Sherlock tells him as they walk. “If I’m not buying a house, I might as well still have what I like.”

“Which is?”

“Space,” he says as they enter a large bedroom with a vaulted ceiling. John stops about ten steps in and looks around the room in apprehension. Meanwhile, Sherlock drops his hand and continues walking to a door on the far wall.

“Sit,” he gestures at the bed and disappears into the en suite. He opens a cupboard and removes a plastic case. He also grabs two hand towels to sop up blood, knowing he will likely need more than the kit has to offer.

When he returns, supplies in hand, John is not sitting on the bed. He is standing stalk still right where Sherlock left him. He stares, eyes shifting around the room slowly like they are drinking in every detail. Sherlock follows his gaze to a chest of drawers and settles on the photo of him Molly that sits upon it. He looks back at John and clears his throat.

“John?” he steps forward.

“What? Oh, right,” John says, regaining his focus. He starts for the bed, but stops. “Sorry, I can’t do this. I’ll ruin your sheets.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Sherlock smirks. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Completely taken aback by the joke, John just stares for a full ten seconds while Sherlock opens the med kit. He watches as the tall man sifts through its contents in search of peroxide, gauze dressings and bandages. Sherlock observes him from the corner of his eye, wondering if John is actually going to sit down and let him tend to his wounds or needs to be prompted again. One thing, he sure as hell is going to explain how he was hurt and why he is running around Detroit in a t-shirt and underpants. Not that Sherlock is complaining, of course, but he is hardly going to tell John that.

“Do you want me to put a towel down before you sit? Because you are going to sit on the bed,” he says, meeting his wide eyes. Are his pupils bigger than the lights should allow? They are certainly beautiful. Blue like the ocean, clear and open. Then John blinks and looks down at his feet as he shifts them. 

“No, it’s…” he looks back at Sherlock with honest embarrassment.  He bites his lip and it is absolutely adorable. Sherlock almost flinches when his stomach flips this time. “Actually, yeah. I’d feel better about it.”

Sherlock’s lips turn up and he huffs out a breathy laugh.

“Okay,” Sherlock heads for the en suite again and tosses a look over his shoulder. “Be right back.”

When he returns this time, John is standing closer to the bed. He looks nervous, holding one hand in the other and wringing slightly. Sherlock smiles reassuringly, trying to ease John’s mind. He steps in close and drapes a thick dark green towel on the bed. When he stands straight again, he and John are face to face, inches apart. John’s mouth is open and he is breathing more heavily than he should be. His pupils seem even larger than before. 

Sherlock shifts back, but is still close. His gaze falls to John’s chest as it rises and falls, the thin fabric of the shirt pulling taut over his pectorals. Sherlock can just make out the darker outline of a nipple before he forces his eyes back to John’s face, trying desperately not to stop on the man’s lips.

“Are you all right?” he asks quietly. “You’re breathing fast. Is it the pain?”

“What?” John replies breathlessly.

“The pain. Is it bad? Does one wound hurt more than the other?”

“No, it’s not bad,” John swallows deliberately. “They’re just flesh wounds.”

“Are they? Why don’t you sit down and let me take a look?”

“I could just do it myself.”

“John, please.”

They share a look. It is very serious and intentional. Is it Sherlock’s imagination or is there heat in John’s eyes? He is certainly trying to keep it from his own. His hand is on John’s, holding it gently, though he does not remember putting it there. John’s hand is warm and soft. God, he wants to hold it forever. He wants to learn everything about this man, spend the rest of his life touching and holding and memorizing every inch, every thought, every dream he holds dear. It all comes upon him so suddenly that their one point of contact feels like the key to a secret door, opening and revealing a part of himself he never knew existed. Sherlock has never felt this way in his life. He had loved Victor, to be sure, but did not feel anything even close to this. It is amazing. And...Jesus Christ, he is completely fucked.

“Please, allow me,” Sherlock whispers in a rough tone. John looks at him without blinking. The very tip of his tongue darts out to lick his lips. It lasts only a millisecond, but the sight of it sends Sherlock’s stomach to flipping and makes him weak in the knees. 

“All right,” John breathes. Without pulling his hand away, he turns slightly and sits on the edge of the bed. Swallowing hard and trying not to think about the fact that John Watson is sitting on his bed right in front of him, Sherlock reluctantly releases John’s hand and takes some gauze from the kit. 

“Take off your shirt.”

Did he really just say that? Sherlock nearly rolls his eyes in sheer embarrassment. Instead, he shakes his head minutely and then tries to adopt a more professional air, picking up the open bottle of peroxide. Placing the gauze on its top, Sherlock tips the bottle and saturates the gauze.

When he turns to John again, he means to speak, but the words die in his throat and come out as more of a gasp. John is just pulling the t-shirt over his head, tousling his blonde hair as it sweeps past it. He drops it on the bed next to him and looks at Sherlock expectantly, but the coach just gapes. John is gorgeous. His sun-kissed skin looks smooth and almost silky, stretching over his pectorals to his shoulders and down over the mostly defined muscles of his abdomen. There is not a single hair on his broad chest and his nipples are peaking from the slight chill in the air conditioned room. He looks like an underwear model and Sherlock’s mind floods with ways to worship every inch of his body.

“You used to surf in Anaheim,” Sherlock remarks instead, clearing his throat and keeping his tone even. John blinks.

“How did you… You see people, right. How do I keep forgetting that?” John smiles and then winces when he moves his arm.

Sherlock places his left hand on John’s bicep to hold him steady and touches the wet gauze to the wound right at the curve of his shoulder. The skin around John’s eyes tightens slightly as he watches the gentle ministrations clean away blood to reveal an angry dip where the skin was split open and the muscle marred.

“I don’t see, John,” Sherlock corrects as he works, “I…”

“Observe,” John finishes.

“And deduce,” Sherlock continues, looking at John with pin-point focus. The doctor’s eyes rise from the wound to meet his disarming silver gaze, steady and true. Sherlock feels warm, color rising into his cheeks and he feels light-headed. The air around them is heavy with promise, and the glimmer on John’s face is peaceful and welcoming. Looking at him, Sherlock is suddenly struck by the feeling that he has found someone who can truly understand him and the way he thinks, the way he sees the world. Molly has seen it too, but can it be? Could John really be what she thinks he could be? It is a concept Sherlock had given up hope of finding after Victor. At least, he thought he had.

“It’s the tan, right?”

“And the physique,” Sherlock says before thinking and immediately closes his eyes, cursing internally. John just laughs.

“I’m afraid that’ll change once I’ve been here a few more months.”

“You can always join a gym,” Sherlock suggests. As he works, he takes notice of the wound’s odd shape and angle. It is oddly familiar and yet, like none he has ever seen before, and he has seen quite a bit throughout his ten years in derby. This is different. What kind of object would make a mark like this?

“I’m always at the stadium just like you,” John says with a smile, “and I’m not one for going to a gym in the middle of the night. Or getting up at the bloody break of dawn.”

“You could use the exercise equipment at the stadium then. The ladies are usually out of the building by 8-8:30.”

“Oh, I’d feel a little odd doing that. Wouldn’t want to intrude on the off-chance someone is still there.”

Sherlock shrugs as he places a bandage and begins taping. John looks right at him, sparing none of his attention for anything but the man before him.

“How do you keep yourself fit?” John asks in a light tone, brows near his hairline. “Midnight jogs in the park?”

“Of course not,” Sherlock laughs, finishing with the bandage. “I have a few pieces of equipment here.”

“Do you?” John asks thoughtfully. “God, I need to get myself a real place. Having my own equipment would be perfect.”

“And your leg.”

“What?”

“Your leg. It’s also injured.”

“My...right! Right. Of course,” John looks both flustered and relieved. He leans over so his hip is easier to see, clenching his teeth in pain as he goes.

Sherlock bites his lip and ghosts his hand over John’s hip and thigh without touching the fabric of his boxers. He looks at the doctor with great unease. There is definitely more blood on the boxers than there was on John’s tee and it looks fresher. He wets his lips, unable to believe he is about to make his next suggestion.

“This would be a lot easier if you lie down,” he says almost timidly, “and less painful.”

John’s eyes go wide and his lips part in shock. It only lasts a second before the doctor schools his expression, looks at his hip and then back at Sherlock.

“Yeah, okay,” he says as though convincing himself. “Right. You’re right.”

John sits up again and takes a deep breath. With his teeth biting at his lower lip, he lowers himself down slowly and then turns onto his side carefully. It’s the most goddamn erotic thing Sherlock has seen in his life. Bending his good arm and supporting his head on one hand, John looks up at Sherlock. He gives him a pained and hesitant smile.

“Ready?”

“I was about to ask you that,” Sherlock answers with a small smile.

“All right then,” John wets his lips and slips his fingers into the waistband of his boxers. Sherlock’s brain stops as he watches John pull the waistband down to reveal a hipbone, the wound and skin much lighter than the rest of John’s body. Sherlock’s mouth goes dry. 

Absolutely. Bone. Dry. 

His gaze slides along John’s torso and stops on the exposed skin. He can just see a smattering of light curls that disappear into the boxer shorts. He blinks and shifts his eyes to the wound quickly, hoping John did not notice.

“This one could be deeper,” Sherlock mutters nearly to himself, as he grabs one of the hand towels and presses it against the wound. John inhales sharply, but does not flinch.

“I’m inclined to agree, but won’t know until you clean it up,” John’s voice is tight. “It hasn’t stopped bleeding. Could need stitches. You up for this?”

“Of course,” Sherlock bristles. “I have seen countless injuries on the track.”

“Yeah, but did you have to stitch them up on the fly?”

Sherlock meets his eyes. Truthfully, he has not. But he has come close. Sherlock readies a new piece of gauze and wets it with peroxide. When he is ready, he moves the towel aside and leans in closer. John’s body twitches at Sherlock’s first touch and again periodically as he cleans the wound. It is much deeper than the other one and very similar with that odd shape. Sherlock furrows his brow, trying to place it. 

“Why not a house?” John’s voice is quiet and pained.

“What?” Sherlock’s hand stills. He turns his gaze to John, his brows raised in question.

“Why haven’t you bought a house? You’ve been here a long time,” John asks, referring to their previous conversation, clearly trying to distract himself.

“Ah, well,” Sherlock fumbles for words. Sherlock hates being off-balance, taken by surprise. He struggles for equilibrium. “Houses are meant to be shared, not kept by a single man.”

He pauses in both word and action. The two men lock eyes in a very serious gaze.

“The home I grew up in was full of love. It was bright and airy. So was Molly’s. It just doesn’t seem right to have one all to myself.”

“Did you share one with Victor?”

“No,” Sherlock replies after a moment. “Not his style. We lived in an upscale apartment downtown. It was right where he needed to be, both for his work and social life.”

They are silent for a few minutes. It is awkward and yet, not. Sherlock feels very comfortable and calm, even as his nerves remain edgey. His grey eyes suddenly dart to where his own hand rests on John’s hip, a reminder to stay still while he works. He can feel the warmth of the skin under his hand. A light sweat breaks out on Sherlock’s forehead and his heart rate picks up. It sounds so loud in his ears and John must be able to hear it. They are too close for him not to.

“I understand,” John finally says in a quiet voice. “It’s never felt right to me either.”

The look they share takes on new life, a new purpose that they both feel down to their bones. A connection, a common bond, and Sherlock makes up his mind in a split second. John Watson must stay in his condo tonight.

Sherlock straightens and removes the gauze, and his hand, from John’s hip. The angry mark on his skin looks so hateful, marring what is otherwise a gorgeous landscape. Sherlock clears his throat and looks at John, nodding toward the wound.

“So what do you think, Doctor?” he asks cheekily. “Do I need to find a needle and thread?”

“No, I don’t think so,” John chuckles. “A couple of butterfly strips will do it. D’you have any in that first-aid kit of yours?”

“As a matter of fact,” Sherlock gives him a smartass grin, brows still raised. He places the gauze he is holding back on John’s hip, fingertips grazing the soft skin, and then reaches for John’s hand. He places it gingerly on the gauze. “If you would be so kind.”

“It would be my pleasure,” John jokes.

With a smile on his face, Sherlock turns to the kit and begins rifling through its contents for the strips. He knows he has seen them before and is certain he has never used them. Just as he sees them, his hands slow to a stop and eyes lose their focus, as he stares blankly at the kit. John’s wounds are from bullets grazing his body. Sherlock has seen examples just like them in the medical books he studied while Anderson was the team doctor. He wouldn’t trust that man to place a band-aid on a scrape, much less execute decent stitches. Sherlock had felt more secure knowing he could step in, or at least watch to make sure as little was bungled as possible.

Sherlock’s gaze comes back to reality and darts to John’s shoulder, then his hip. He feels the packaged butterfly strips between his fingers, but his mind remains elsewhere. A cold chill drips slowly into his veins as a singular horrifying thought reverberates in his head.

Someone fired shots at John.

Someone attempted to murder John.

Sherlock’s eyes fly to John’s face. He was relaxed and cracking jokes earlier, but now wears an expression of curiosity that creeps in the direction of worry. Sherlock looks away as he tears open the package in his hands. He has placed the first one in seconds and then the other.

“Nicely done, Dr. Holmes,” John jokes, eyes bright and amused again. “Now all we need is a bandage and you’ll be doing my job. I don’t think I’d be very good at yours though.”

“Who shot at you, John?” Sherlock asks without preamble. He pins the doctor with such an intense glower that John cannot possibly look away or avoid the question. His smile fades.

“You really cut to the quick, don’t you?”

Sherlock cocks a brow.

“Have I ever given indication to the contrary during our association?” he asks, but it is not really a question.

John purses his lips, raises his brows and tilts his head to the side in both a thoughtful gesture and one that acquiesces the point. Sherlock leans closer and rests his hand on John’s thigh, just under the wound. He watches John’s face as he glances down at Sherlock’s hand and then lifts his gaze to look at the coach full in the face. His features are wary, but otherwise unreadable. Sherlock squares his jaw. Nothing is going to keep him from finding the truth. 

“Who was it, John?” his tone is soft, but firm. Sherlock has not heard anything quite like it from his own lips before. He wonders silently at this man’s power over him and wishes he had some, any power over John. Is he going to tell him the truth outright or try to pass this off as nothing? He trusts Sherlock, but will he trust him with this?

John watches Sherlock for a moment with the same scrutiny that Sherlock studies him. John seems to consider something and then looks resigned, sighing heavily. He sits up and raises a hand to cup the back of his own neck.

“I don’t know,” he says. “He was all in black with a knit cap pulled over his face.”

“A balaclava.”

“If you want to be technical about it, yeah. Either way, I couldn’t see his face.”

“He was in your apartment?”

“Longer than he expected to be. He said he was on a schedule,” John’s voice is harsh and Sherlock’s eyes widen in surprise. He had not expected the attacker would have spoken to John and the fury simmering just beneath the surface of John’s words makes Sherlock wonder what else was said. He is suddenly and inexplicably compelled to lighten John’s mood.

“He can’t be too happy about the delay your kicking his ass has caused.”

John’s eyes go from hard with anger to soft amusement in seconds. A rather unceremonious burst of laughter pops from his lips, now turned up in a smile.

“I wouldn’t say I kicked his ass,” he remarks, “but I don’t mind fucking up his plans one bit.”

“His intention was murder,” Sherlock says with a hint of a question in his voice.

“Without a doubt.”

“Why, John?” Sherlock is suddenly on his knees before the bed at eye level with John. His voice is tense as he tries to find anything at all in the wing he has marked for John that would warrant such an attack. “Is there someone from Anaheim who would want to hurt you? Do you have any enemies?”

“Normal people don’t have enemies, Sherlock,” he answers sharply.

Sherlock jerks back as though he has been slapped in the face. He instantly recalls a conversation they had about the Demons and their coach, James Moriarty. His ‘arch enemy’ Sherlock had called him and John had laughed.

“But why do you two hate each other so much?”

Sherlock knew John had heard different theories from most of the ladies. HardOn’s rendition was the most colorful, as one would expect. Sally’s would be the most accurate. She was there after all, but she had declined to offer an explanation out of respect for her coach. Sherlock had never told anyone what had actually transpired, always dodging the questions with declarations of reps or laps, but John had been nothing but honest with him at their dinner at Angelo’s. His face hid nothing and his obvious pleasure in Sherlock’s company had gotten the better of the coach, as it so often does.

“We had just beaten the Demons badly. It wasn’t for the championship or even a play-off bout, but Moriarty was pissed off,” Sherlock had said with a growing grin. “He made some disparaging remarks about Molly and I…”

“Yeah?” John asked with anticipation. He had looked like a child at Christmastime, his bright blue eyes shining.

“I punched him.”

John howled.

“In the throat.”

John’s laughter died in his throat. He looked at Sherlock in shock and Sherlock thought his chin might actually hit the floor.

“No!” John said in a choked whisper. “You didn’t.”

He laughed so hard when Sherlock nodded and he nearly slipped right off the bench they were sitting on.

“Coach!” HardOn had suddenly yelled form the track. “Stop mistreating Ph.D. He can’t take care of our sorry asses if you keep bustin’ his.”

Hella hooted as she rolled by her partner, slapping her ass on the way. Sherlock had signaled for more laps and then glanced at John as his laughter grew even louder, tears actually beginning to roll from his eyes. Sherlock had grinned at the reckless abandon.

“Shit,” John’s voice draws Sherlock’s eye and pulls him from his thoughts. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

“It’s fine,” Sherlock mumbles.

“It’s not,” John persists. “I wasn’t thinking of you. I wasn’t thinking at all.”

Sherlock is looking away and rising to his feet, desperately wishing this conversation would end. He picks up a sterile bandage packet and tears it open, swiftly putting the bandage in place. It surprises John enough that he almost recoils, but Sherlock grabs his hand roughly and shoves it toward the bandage.

“Hold this.”

“Sherlock.”

“It’s fine. Just leave it. I need to get this bandage on and then you will tell me everything that happened.”

John stares at him pointedly while he tapes the bandage down. Once he is finished, he packs up the first-aid kit and closes its latch. Sherlock considers returning it to the en suite, but knows it is the coward’s way out. He has never shrunk back from anything in his life. He is not going to start now. Instead, he meets John’s eyes and sees a fierce determination there that matches his own.

“I didn’t see him when I got home, but he was there,” John begins without being asked. 

He goes through everything that took place and in as much detail as he can. Sherlock cringes when John gets to the fire escape and alley. The bastard came so close to finding John there and would have surely killed him where he stood. No place to run. Sherlock does not interrupt, forcing back his fear and worry for John. 

By the time the doctor is finished, Sherlock’s eyes are closed and his fingers steepled before his chin. He visualizes it all in his mind, trying to keep his emotions at a distance. He has not been to John’s apartment, but knows the building and general layout for a unit. He watches the man grab John from behind in the kitchen and the ensuing struggle. Sentiment momentarily gets the better of him and he physically flinches when the second bullet grazes John’s hip. He breathes deeply and follows John out the window and down the fire escape. 

The whole incident makes him sick to his stomach, but the kitchen is the worst. The thought of a murderer holding John close to his own body from behind, a most vulnerable position indeed. The image stirs within Sherlock an emotion he isn’t sure how to process. Fear and protectiveness, like he was wronged somehow right along with John. It does not make sense. John is not his to protect and yet, there it is, front and center. Sherlock cannot ignore it or his feelings for John. He has tried, of course, since the moment he walked into Greg’s office to meet the doctor. Even though there are no organizational rules preventing them from exploring an attraction, there is still an obstacle and it is the most important. Sherlock’s own heart. He allowed himself to be vulnerable with Victor and paid the price. Recovering from it would have been impossible had he not thrown himself into coaching and derby. He had vowed never to be in that situation again. Since then, Sherlock has never felt the desire to open that door in his mind palace, not even a crack.

Until now.

And it was not a decision. That dinner with John changed everything. The door wasn’t just opened, it was forced from its hinges. In spite of it, Sherlock has tried to board up the doorway and move on. He may have feelings for John, strong feelings, but cannot risk his heart again no matter how persistent it is. Because John would have nothing less than his whole heart and losing it, losing John would destroy him. 

John.

So open and honest and yet, such a mystery. John would tell him anything if he only asked, even the personal and painful. John seems so responsive when Sherlock’s resolve slips and finds himself flirting, but truth be told, Sherlock is not entirely certain of John’s interest or orientation, for that matter. The stories of his past relationships are just vague enough that Sherlock has not gathered whether they were with men or women or both. They all have ambiguous names like Chris and Jamie, and are just short enough to provide the gist with no real details. Sherlock still cannot seem to deduce him either, not to the extent that he can everyone else. John cannot possibly know how he confounds Sherlock.

When he opens his eyes, John no longer sits on the bed before him. In fact, John is not even in the room. Sherlock’s eyes look from side to side sharply, his brow furrowing with worry. Is John even in the condo? Sherlock jumps to his feet just as the en suite door opens and the man in question appears in its frame. He still wears only boxer shorts and Sherlock feels his knees weaken a fraction. Flip. Stop it!

“Hey. Sorry,” he says quickly, noticing Sherlock’s distress. “I needed the loo and I didn’t want to interrupt.”

Sherlock cocks a brow and gives him a questioning look.

“Your thoughts. You were in your mind palace, yeah?”

“I was,” the coach answers. “For too long it seems. My apologies.”

“No worries,” John’s hand is at the back of his neck again, his brows raised. “I guess I should call the police.”

“No.”

“No?”

“It’s late and they will keep you in the station for hours,” Sherlock explains, making no attempt to keep the disdain from his tone. “You may as well get some sleep. Waiting to tell them in the morning won’t make much difference.”

“But they should start looking before he disappears,” John protests.

“Oh, they won’t catch him,” Sherlock almost chuckles as he approaches John.

“What?” he asks incredulously.

“I’m afraid the police force is far from competent.”

“What? Jesus, Sherlock.”

“But reporting the incident is still a good idea. Better to have it on record in case…”

“In case what?” John’s hands are on his hips. Well, one is more on his waist. Sherlock says nothing. “In case he comes back?”

“It is a possibility, John.”

“I know it is. That’s why I plan to be very careful when I go back.”

“You can’t go back there,” Sherlock tells him abruptly. John’s fixes a glare on him, anger burning dangerously beneath his skin and tinting his cheeks. His mouth is a thin line. He watches Sherlock, biting the inside of his cheek. The coach diplomatically backpedals before John has a chance to speak. “Not tonight anyway. Not until the police look over your apartment and interview the neighbors.”

John narrows his eyes and exhales a steady breath. To Sherlock’s surprise, John remains silent instead of arguing or simply telling him to mind his own fucking business. After a moment of waiting, Sherlock decides this is far worse than shouting. The air is thick with John’s anger and the weight of anticipation is overwhelming. Sherlock’s lips part, placations at the ready, but he remains quiet when John’s features transform right before his eyes. The hard lines soften and his muscles relax.

“Yeah, I suppose that makes sense,” he concedes reluctantly, “but I don’t have my wallet for a hotel. I don’t even have any clothes.”

“You’ll stay here,” Sherlock states as if the decision has already been made and then immediately flinches. Did he learn nothing from his previous misstep? John Watson does not like to be told what to do. He tries for a lighter tone that suggests more than it commands. “I have a spare room.”

“Oh, Sherlock, I couldn’t,” John starts, raising a hand in protest. Sherlock silently blows out a breath of relief that he has skirted the line and John has not taken offense. He shrugs, his confidence returning.

“Why not? You’re here already and you’re right about your state of dress, especially considering the blood. You can’t go anywhere looking like this.”

John’s eyes drop down his own body and Sherlock’s can’t help but follow. Good god.

“You’re right. Of course, you’re right,” he nods with a small smile. “Thank you.”

***

Sherlock stands in his own spare bedroom, surveying everything to make sure he has not forgotten something. John is looking back at him and holding a dark blue t-shirt in his hands. Sherlock hopes it fits well enough. There is a pair of sweatpants in one of his drawers that is far too short for him, but he is quite certain it will fit John well enough. He just has to find them before they talk with the police in the morning. John does not know it yet, but Sherlock intends upon going with him to his apartment. He has already composed the all-team email stating he will not be in the stadium for morning workouts. He has also resolved to look over every inch of the apartment. Sherlock Holmes is no detective, but he will damn well solve this mystery so he can look the man who tried to murder John in the eye when he breaks his nose.

“Well, I hope that fits you,” he tells John. “I’m not exactly your size and your shoulders are a bit broader than mine.”

“Yeah, a bit,” John chuckles and jokes. “Thanks for noticing.”

Sherlock studies him for a moment, taken aback by the apparent flirtation. He wets his lips and glances away. He cannot be reading this correctly. John is not flirting with him. He can’t be flirting with him. He is joking. That’s what it is. He is making light of all this, of the situation.

“I’ll work on finding those sweatpants,” he says in lieu of a real response.

“Thanks,” John replies, dipping his chin in embarrassment. He looks up at Sherlock from under dark lashes that have no business being so long. Flip. “I’m sorry about all this. I hate to impose.”

“It couldn’t be helped,” Sherlock tells him honestly. “I’m glad you came.”

“Yeah, about that. When I first got here I was really abrupt and a little…” he closes his mouth suddenly and stares. “Wait. You’re...you’re glad I came?”

“Yes,” Sherlock answers before he can think better of it. He looks at John, who is very clearly surprised. Anything more than that is difficult to read. Sherlock crinkles his brow in frustration. This would all be so much easier if he could deduce John properly. Of all the people he has ever met, why does the one person whose innermost feelings he most wants to know have to be so damn impossible to read? “We are friends and I want to help.”

“Oh, right,” John looks disappointed and his face falls a fraction. Why?

Sherlock decides quickly that may not have been the best thing to say, but he has no idea what he should have said instead. He clears his throat and gestures to the closet door.

“Extra blankets are on a shelf in the closet,” he explains. John’s gaze follows his hand and then Sherlock as he turns to walk toward another door. “This is the bathroom. Go ahead and use the towels and washcloth hanging on the rack.”

Sherlock squats and opens the cabinet beneath the sink. He pulls out a mid-sized sand pail. It bears the image of the Grinch from the 2018 remake. Molly had begged Sherlock to go with her and they gave him the bucket as soon as he entered the theater. It was some promotional thing and he was the umpteenth person. Dull. He would have refused had they not filled it with popcorn. Sherlock could eat his weight in popcorn.

Once the film was over, Sherlock knew he would never willingly part with it. He felt a certain kinship with the Grinch. Badly hurt in his past, unwilling to let it happen again, shutting out people and feelings, a single friend by his side. He has not mentioned how easily he can put himself in those shoes because Molly would just feel sorry for him, no doubt. She would also not appreciate being equated to Max, the dog and would staunchly disagree. She sees a side of him that no one else does. If they had not grown up together, he probably would have shut her out too. The changes in Victor and their divorce had hurt him so deeply, he did not think he would allow anyone but Molly into his life again. Then he met John and, just like with Cindy Lou Who, everything changed. He supposes John would also not appreciate the comparison.

Sherlock takes a toothbrush still in its unopened package and a small tube of toothpaste from the bucket. Replacing the bucket and standing, he catches John’s curious eye.

“Have a lot of overnight guests, do you?” John smirks, already knowing the answer.

“Dental samples,” Sherlock supplies as he sets them on the sink. “I don’t discard things that could be useful. I’ll get you a comb while I look for the sweatpants.”

“No, Sherlock, I’ve already imposed enough.”

”It’s no trouble at all, John,” he says firmly, placing both items on the counter. John’s lips are curled into the beginnings of a smile when Sherlock looks to him again. The coach actually gives himself a once-over before asking, “What?”

“I appreciate it,” is all he says.

Sherlock finds himself smiling back. Neither one says a word. The two men simply face one another, smiles inexplicably growing into grins. Sherlock could stay this way all night and all day tomorrow too. He would love nothing more than to have John as a house guest for any length of time, sharing stories and jokes. And a bed, his mind supplies so coolly it is like something they were always meant to do. 

Sherlock gives his head a quick shake to dispel the images forming in the John wing of his mind palace and slams the door shut before his cheeks are so pink John will think he has a fever. Shifting backwards a step and worrying his lips, he meets John ‘s eyes again. He suddenly feels ridiculous, like he is tucking John in for the night. Not trusting himself to speak, Sherlock turns and walks to the door. When he looks back at John, the man wears yet another unreadable expression. Sherlock shrugs toward the hall and smiles somewhat awkwardly.

“Good night, John.”

“Sherlock, wait,” he steps forward in a rush, tossing the t-shirt on the bed. They are only a couple feet apart now and Sherlock can already feel heat radiating from his cheeks down through his neck and into his chest. He watches as John bites his own lip and wards away the thought of doing it to John himself. John looks at him apprehensively, visibly debating whether or not to share what is on his mind.

“Do you…” John begins, but stops immediately. His features alter into something more decisive and his voice is authoritative when he speaks again. “This has something to do with Billy.”

Sherlock’s brows furrow over narrowed eyes. His mind instantly begins testing and weighing every possible scenario.

“Someone tried to poison him to get him to leave and now as soon as you have another competent doctor, someone tries to kill him? No,” John shakes his head. “It’s too damn coincidental.”

He pauses to run a hand through his hair and cover his mouth in thought. When he removes it, he also shuffles his feet closer to Sherlock’s, bringing them even closer.

“I don’t know exactly how Molly figures into this, but…”

“Saving her is reason enough to eliminate you,” Sherlock finishes for him as it begins to snap into place. John must believe the same because he is already nodding. “It’s Moriarty. It has to be.”

“Now, Sherlock,” John’s face fills with doubt, “don’t rush to any conclusions.”

“I’m not rushing to anything. It makes perfect sense. The bastard wants to win and will do whatever it takes to do it.”

“But murder?”

“Any. Thing,” Sherlock pins John with cold grey eyes. “He has no scruples. His moral compass is skewed. Classic personality trait.”

“Personality trait? Are you saying he’s some kind of psychopath?” John’s tone is incredulous.

“No,” Sherlock replies thoughtfully. “He’s a sociopath.”

John purses his lips and shifts his weight. His hands rest on his hips and he looks at his colleague skeptically.

“Sherlock, there is absolutely no proof that Moriarty has anything to do with this,” he lifts his hand in placation when Sherlock opens his mouth to protest. Against his better judgement, Sherlock remains quiet to hear the doctor out. “I’m not saying I don’t trust your judgement. He is definitely a suspect. I just don’t want you to convince yourself that we should only focus on him is all. It could easily be someone else, anyone else at this point.”

“Fine,” Sherlock says. It makes sense. It does. John is not wrong, but Sherlock still believes Moriarty is behind all of it. Everything he knows about the man, every experience they have shared is all the evidence Sherlock needs. However, solid physical proof is what police will require. All the more reason to go with John to his apartment in the morning, which he might as well mention now while he is at it. “I’m going with you to meet the police tomorrow.”

“What?” John starts. “No, you don’t have to do that.”

“And I am going to search your apartment myself once they’ve gone,” he continues. “I’ve little confidence in their abilities. I will solve this mystery myself.”

“What? Like on Scooby Doo?” John snorts. “ ‘Looks like we have ourselves another mystery’.”

Sherlock shoots him an indignant glare.

“Sherlock,” he takes a step and rests his hands on Sherlock’s shoulders, shaking his head. “This along with coaching and everything else you have on your plate? No. Besides, it’s too risky. We’ve both seen how dangerous this is. I have the bandages to prove it.”

Sherlock meets John’s earnest gaze with one of his own. His voice is quiet and deadly serious.

“Molly is my family. I will place myself in the line of fire to protect her every time. You know that. Failure means the murderer will try again. And she isn’t the only target. So are you. I cannot allow that.”

“Sherlock, I’ll not have you risk your life for me,” he replies shortly. He moves his hands from Sherlock’s shoulders and shakes his head. “That is something I will not allow. I will not put you at risk.”

Sherlock looks at the doctor wickedly and lets out a dark chuckle.

“I’d like to see you try to stop me,” his lips curl upward into a smirk as he watches John with a gleam in his eye.

John presses his lips into a thin line and for a moment, Sherlock thinks he might tell him what a stubborn asshole he is. But the anger and frustration quickly fade from his face, making way for a broad grin and bright eyes. Sherlock could look at those blue eyes for a hundred years and it still wouldn’t be enough.

“Another time,” John breathes.

Their eyes are locked on one another. The human eye can say so much without words. John’s are open and honest, conveying his every emotion so articulately. But there is also something that remains so clearly hidden, just beneath the surface. What Sherlock wouldn’t give to know what it is.

Without realizing it, Sherlock has drifted quite close to John. He knows he should pull back, but has no intention of doing so. John smells so good. Cinnamon and vanilla with a unique musky scent that must belong to John alone. Sherlock inhales deeply, wanting to memorize every detail of it, of this moment because they will never be this close again. John will snap out of this spell and step away, a window in time to be suffocated with shutters and never reopened.

But John is not stepping back. His blue eyes explore every inch of Sherlock’s face as though he has the same idea Sherlock does, but that cannot be. John does not feel the same way and Sherlock feels so many things at once - joy, safety, adoration, comfort and... He feels like he is home. Not just in his condo, but home. 

The air around them crackles with electricity and oh, Jesus, he wants to kiss John. It would be so easy. Just lean down, angle his neck, close the gap. Sherlock knows full well John’s lips would be soft, perfect. John is perfect. He does not bore Sherlock, has never bored him, could never bore him. John is funny and intriguing, honest and mysterious. Sherlock loves it all. He could easily spend a night or week or month or forever with John and never know exactly what would happen like he does in anyone else’s company. People are idiots. John is brilliant.

Fear flashes across Sherlock’s features and a chill runs down his neck, spreading into his veins until he can feel it in his fingertips. Did he just profess love for John? No. He tries to deny it, but the proof of it appears around every corner he turns within his mind palace. Fuck! Fuck! What the fuck is he going to do now? It was one thing when it was just an attraction. He can live with suppressing an attraction, but love? With someone he works with and sees every day? Someone he is friends with? If he takes this chance as Molly suggested and it ends like Victor, he will have nothing to fall back on. Derby and skating, his very life blood, will remind him of John.

Sherlock jolts backwards and plants his hand on a nearby dresser to keep himself steady. His breaths are coming rapidly and he holds a palm to his chest. His distress clear, John lurches forward to help, putting a hand on his arm.

“Sherlock!” his voice is urgent and full of worry. “Are you all right?”

“M’fine,” he nods, straightening up. “Fine. Just tired.”

Sherlock shrugs away from John’s touch, leaving his hand hovering alone between them. By the time it is back at John’s side, Sherlock is at the door with his hand on the knob. 

“Good night, John,” he whips the door closed and collapses against it, heaving a great sigh. Tipping his head back until it rests against the door, Sherlock’s gaze drifts up and focuses on the ceiling.

He is in love with John Watson.

He is in love with John.

He is so fucked.

----

And at least one idiot knows he’s in love! Hooray! But if, or when, will he give in and let himself show it? If/when will he admit it to John? What will John think? What will he say? Just what were his past relationships and how have they shaped who he is and how he views love? So much we don’t know yet and so much time to learn.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter, my friends. Don’t hesitate to ask me anything or just say hi. I love you all! Stay safe.

[sundaywhiskey]

on abortion

The Sunday Blunt is a 2020 election survival effort of researched, brief-ish, minimally edited rants on America’s hellish political hellscape and related hell.

I haven’t had an abortion but I can’t think of a time in my life when, if faced with pregnancy, I wouldn’t have gotten one.

I took emergency contraceptive once. Alone in a Rite-Aid parking lot, I flipped the box over in my hands and had two distinctive thoughts—The first was gratitude for access to this true medical miracle. When the condom broke, there was no question I’d take Plan B: that alone was forty dollars I couldn’t spare. The average cost of childcare in California was 45% of my salary, and I’d yet to see the pro-birth stans heading Congress propose socializing that shit. I didn’t even have a savings account.

But more importantly, or more personally, I didn’t want to be pregnant: not then, maybe not ever. My panic disorder thrived on sensitivities and discomfort within my body, and I worried without medication I’d become housebound with anxiety all nine months. I’d lose my job, and thus my health insurance, along with everything else. I’d be without partner: three dates later, the could’ve-been father would leave when he discovered I’m neither competitive nor super into movies. How are those dealbreakers? I do not know. Anyway. I was grateful. A child would have irreparably upended my life.

*

So it goes whenever personhood is threatened, too many brave humans have shared stories to social media about their abortions: the woman whose teenage boyfriend tried to lock her down by poking a hole in the condom, the young girl who wasn’t ready to be a mother. It’s wild, truly, that we demand each other publicly perform emotional labor when science draws the same conclusion: Society conclusively benefits from access to safe, legal abortion.

The Turnaway Study followed for five years two groups of women who’d sought abortions—one group had received the procedure, while the second was turned away because their pregnancy was, according to laws, too far along to terminate—and discovered that women who received abortions were not at greater risk for negative mental health side effects; in fact, 95% of those women were happy with their decision. A second, Finnish paper studying teenagers over seven years yielded similar results. Both studies reported the women who did not receive abortions were less likely to be employed full-time, more likely to receive public assistance, and more likely to live in poverty. The women who received abortions were more likely to pursue higher education.

While it’s nearly impossible to estimate how many illegal abortions were performed prior to Roe v. Wade, calculations of the 1950s and ‘60s suggest the number ranges from anywhere between 200,000 and 1.2 million procedures annually. By procedures I mean with bleach, with knitting needles, with scissors and wire hangers. I mean with staircases. Antibiotics significantly reduced the amount of associated deaths, but abortion still accounted for 200 deaths per year or one-sixth of all pregnancy-related deaths, according to the official reports. Doctors estimate the number was much higher. In El Salvador, where all abortions are outlawed, 11 percent of illegal abortions result in death. That’s 2,000 people per year.

*

—My second thought was quieter, more confounding: “Am I killing a baby?”

I was raised Catholic with an asterisk: my father had abandoned the shtick when his second grade nun-teacher slapped him with a ruler, and my mother enforced only CCD classes and Christmas Eve mass. Our household was liberal, pro-choice—Mom had lost a friend to a coat hanger abortion. But I grew up around a church and I have relatives who dig the church and I once dated a man who spent our four-year relationship disappointed I wasn’t “pure for him,” so I caught the drift: My womb was an incubator. With this pill, I robbed the world of a human. There was shame in my decision.

It’s unlikely I would’ve gotten pregnant. The sex in question had occurred on the seventeenth day of my menstrual cycle; if the sex happened one day earlier, the chances were exponentially higher. One day later: impossible. It’s curious, the way my reproductive system works: almost as though it’s designed to prevent unplanned pregnancy. Where do things go so wrong?

With sperm.

Obviously I wasn’t killing a baby. In the twelve hours since intercourse, if anything happened at all, we’d made a zygote, which is a mischievously adorable word but not a baby. I don’t know when a baby becomes a baby. I don’t think anyone does. When my sister and her partner wanted a child, the two pink lines on a drugstore pregnancy test was a baby. Two days later, when my sister told me about her sweet litto embryo: no question, that was my nephew.

But I imagine us reversed, and those two pink lines are a crisis, a financial and emotional grave. To my sister, the embryo is the reason she searches last minute cross-country flights we both know she can’t afford, books the appointment when I’m too ashamed and afraid, triple-checks I asked someone to drive me. The reason she saves my life.

There’s another asterisk to my Catholic roots: Big, lifetime *Golden Rule* fan. My father wasn’t one for, like, parenting, besides half-jokingly forbidding me from tackle football and motorcycles, and once bending at the hip and looking into my child-eyes and saying this: “I won’t be mad or disappointed about anything you do as long as you treat others the way you want to be treated.”

So I think about that.

I think, what if I hadn’t learned immediately the condom broke. if an unlikely pregnancy occurred. if the morning sickness throbbed against my throat for weeks so I couldn’t leave the house: for the illness and the fear thereof. for the panic attacks. for the unmedicated depression. what if I had to do it alone, if the loneliness rocked my bones like the ocean at shore break. How would I want to be treated if I was scared and alone and faced with a difficult decision?

And then I treat people that way.

[unboundwanderers]

THE TARDIS HEADCANONS. STORED UNDER THE READ MORE.

The TARDIS as she appeared throughout each incarnation. This Post acts as a reference point to show off every design used by the respective DOCTOR, including Police Box and Console Room design. Stored under the read more to not clutter dash.

All TARDIS MODELS and CONSOLE ROOM MODELS belong to their owners and were sourced and displayed using Garry's Mod addons.

To the mutuals, I tag in this post. I may reference some of what we've plotted on Discord. Please let me know if you want me to remove the headcanons that reference your muse.

THE SCARF DOCTOR'S TARDIS

The Scarf Doctor's tardis is based on the model used and debuted in the Season 10 episode "The Three Doctors". In this timeline, The Scarf Doctor has an expansive labyrinth connected to the console room. He will maintain this Console room for a long time. Its most notable rooms belong to its Companions, who visited frequently and who The Doctor had to entertain for long periods of time.

@primewitch-- During her stay in The TARDIS, she requested a recreation of her home in Mondstadt. Lisa's abode was very complex to a spell she used that allowed her to make her room two stories high, and virtually- it was bigger on the inside. However, this was not difficult to replicate- as The TARDIS is an infinitely generating space- meaning The TARDIS was able to accurately recreate the room precisely as she left it.

@lunaetis' Dehya, on the other hand- was given a custom room based on randomly generated keywords, while THE TARDIS also scanned Dehya's culture and memories of home. Her room is entirely unique, but unlike Lisa's- it wasn't a whole house. It was a singular bedroom. A large one, but a bedroom nonetheless.

@kemikorosu's Lumine had the smallest room out of all of them. Not for any particular reason, but mainly because she only spent a month or two with Scarf before The Time War started. By the time it broke out, she would barely be able to sleep aboard The TARDIS, so its size was only as small as it was for the sake of conserving power.

THE WAR DOCTOR'S TARDIS.

The War Doctor's TARDIS reorganized itself into a battleship. Characteristics that were present in this TARDIS would carry over to The Looney Doctor's tardis, but it was mainly a transitional unit. The Console used is the most organic and easily modifiable version- meaning The WAR Doctor could more easily make adjustments to it at any time needed.

The WAR DOCTOR had no additional rooms during his tenure as The Doctor. He needed all the additional power for shields and speed, as well as temporal transistor units used to breach Dalek Shields. Communication systems and anti-hook devices were boosted due to a lack of architecture or generated rooms, and the boosted power stopped The TARDIS from being.

@kemikorosu's Lumine shared the same room as @lunaetis's Lumine, and when the two were briefly brought together during The Middle of The Time War and were allowed to travel with The War Doctor simultaneously, they simply slept in the same room.

THE GOTH DOCTOR'S TARDIS

The Goth Doctor's TARDIS is arguably the biggest console room. Littered with blackboards, bookshelves, and desks with different unfinished inventions- This TARDIS actually stands on a platform. Underneath the main console floor, descending the staircase- allowed for Companions and Passengers to deposit items in storage bays, as well as allowed The Doctor to directly access the Tardis Console Internals- the guts of the ship.

With the LAST GREAT TIME WAR over and done with, the TARDIS could finally start generating rooms again. Expansive corridors lead to libraries, a swimming pool, expansive Victorian-style bedrooms, and closets. This TARDIS also had a ship's galley, which was an expansive area with an alcohol bar, a stocked fridge, and radio players and TVs.

The Exterior of The TARDIS was the only thing carried over from The WAR DOCTOR and presented itself as a polished and cleaned-up version of it. The lettering, the door sign, and the windows are all illuminated, glowing a snow-white bright. The Lantern, when dematerializing, flashed a pale gold.

THE LOONEY DOCTOR'S TARDIS.

THE LOONEY DOCTOR'S TARDIS WOULD HAVE SIGNIFICANT LIGHTING CHANGES THROUGHOUT ITS COURSE OF USE. @lunaetis's Eula's first few months aboard The TARDIS would be represented in a faded, cooler color- and a darker interior. Sooner, The Console room would change into a brighter, evened-out tone. It would remain this way until Eula died but would become as bright as The gif pictured above when @gunnhildred's Jean started traveling with The Doctor. It would become the brightest it ever had while The Doctor traveled with the Acting Grandmaster. It would remain as bright as the final linked gif, the lighting used while @vonerde's Gaia traveled aboard. The look the Console room had when Gaia traveled with Looney would be the last it'd look prior to The Doctor's regeneration.

By no means did the TARDIS hate @vonerde. If anything, she ADORED Gaia, but she was always frustrated at Gaia's tracks she'd leave in. So much so that The TARDIS would PURPOSELY and sometimes SUBTLY reorganize Gaia's Garden, throwing off its placement and causing the Goddess minor confusion. The TARDIS made it abundantly clear that this was because of the mud tracks and leaves she left aboard when she dropped garbage bags full of Gaia's leaves on her, however. The TARDIS would usually lighten up her teasing of Gaia when the Passenger painted her exterior.

THE PINK DOCTOR'S TARDIS.

There's not much to say about Pink's TARDIS other than that it is meticulously organized. The most intriguing room it had was the one The TARDIS made for @maquiscursed's Kazuha when the Ronin joined the crew. For Kazuha, The TARDIS actually produced a room that was exclusively a simulated version of The Crux, with the sounds of the waves and the smell of the wind as authentically recreated as possible. It also had zero room energy to help with meditation.

THE TARDIS did not dislike @lunaetis's Hu Tao, but it found her off-putting, and as such- did not IMMEDIATELY generate Hu Tao a bedroom when she began traveling with The Doctor. It only generated her one when Hu Tao began complimenting The TARDIS and giving the console head pats at the behest of Pink, who advised that maybe the TARDIS needed physical reassurance once in a while.

The TARDIS would give @kemikorosu's Lumine a proper bedroom when she began traveling with The Pink Doctor once again. Her room was an authentic recreation of the home she lived in when she returned to Teyvat after the war, scattered with mementos of her travels and of her experiences across the universe.

[inhumansforever]

Moon Girl and Devil Dinosaur #38 Review

spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers

It’s the beginning of a whole new arc as Moon G and Devil D embark on an adventure that finds them in the mysterious realm of the Dream Dimension.  From the likely sleep-deprived creative team of Brandon Montclare, Natacha Bustos and Tamra Bonvillain.  Quick recap and review following the jump.

Lunella Lafayette has been having the worst time sleeping of late… and she’s not the only one.  Her nights have been fitful, filled with anxiety dreams and nightmares, all leaving her waking up completely unrested.  And it would appear as though most of her classmates are additionally plagued by troubled sleep, struggling with their own bad dreams… the teachers too.  It’s almost as if all of Public School #20 has been infected by some sort of syndrome of bad sleep and troubling dreams.

After taking one two many hits in dodgeball during gym class, Lunella has had enough and she sneaks through the maze of nebulous air-duct tunnels that lead to her secret laboratory under the school.  There she finds Devil Dinosaur, snoring away.  She joins him, snuggling up for some much needed sleep.  

Whatever hopes Lunella had for getting the rest she needs are quickly dashed as she finds herself once more engulfed in another vibrant dream.  Yet this one seems different, more real and elaborate.  A voice informs her that she has entered the ‘dream dimension,’ a preternatural realm outside of reality.  

The voice emanates from a slight figure perched atop a giant purple mushroom.  He introduces himself as ‘Bad Dream’ the wonder warlock, the baddest dream demon of them all.  

Lunella is less than impressed.  She’s gone up against likes of the Omnipotis, The Kingpin and Mr. Sinister… some kid in a halloween costume isn’t going to scare her.  

Little kid or not, it does seem as though this Bad Dream fellow has been the one responsible for ruining everyone’s sleep and filling their heads with nightmares.  Bad Dream doesn’t seem to think of the matter as all that big a deal.  He feels those who live in the waking world have got it made.   Whereas it looks as though Bad Dream may be stuck in the Dream Dimension, with only his Cloud Chimera for companionship.  

This Cloud Chimera is this long, translucent,  jellyfish-looking creature whom Bad Dream states protects him.  Together they’re a team… not altogether unlike Lunella and Devil D.  

Rather suddenly, Bad Dream decides that it is very important that Lunella leave.  It isn’t clear whether or not the little guy has grown bored of Lunella’s company or (more likely) he feels it no longer safe for her to be there.  He demands she leave, but Lunella isn’t budging… not until Bad Dream promise to stop his funny business and let people start getting better sleep.  

Bad Dream ups his demand that Lunella shove off, chasing her off atop his Cloud Chimera.  Outmatched, Lunella has no choice other than to wish herself awake.  Suddenly, she finds herself back in her lab… once again thoroughly unrested.  

But she and Devil Dinosaur are not alone!  Somehow the Cloud Chimera has transcended through the dream dimension into the real world.  At first Lunella imagines she must still be dreaming, but this is no dream.  She’s in real danger.  The Chimera swoops and circles about the lab, chasing Lunella until Devil D finally catches it with a devastating chomp.  And with this the Chimera dissipates into a fog, returning to the dream dimension.  

It all leaves Lunella quite aware that something serious is afoot… and all of this is not going to go away by merely hiding under the covers.  Moon Gilr and Devil Dinosaur are going to have to do something about this… but how?  Dreams and alternate dimensions, creatures made of clouds… this is not the realm of science; this is something more.  This is magic.  And Lunella hates magic!  Fortunately she knows just the right guy ideal to help her out.  And the preview art for the next issue shows exactly who that is.  So gear up for another Moon Girl and Doctor Strange team-up adventure!  Nice!!!

A great first issue of the arc, one that has me very exciting for the next installment.  

With Lunella being as smart as she is, it is often necessary to pose her against dilemmas where she cannot easily use her intellect to devise a solution.  And the mystical realm of the dream dimension with all of the weird denizens therein fits the bill perfectly.  

Lunella’s interactions with Dr. Strange back during the World’s Smartest arc were an absolute riot and I cannot wait to see more of it; the two of them are so fun and funny together, I’m quite pleased that they’re getting another adventure alongside one another.  

Dreams, the psyche and the unconscious have all remained rather vexing to the world of science.  Science has discovered and figured out so much about so many things, yet the inner workings of the human brain remains highly mysterious, all but impenetrable to the conventional tools of scientific study.  Sure we know what happens in the brain when we dream, what regions are active and the functional utility of dreaming, but the meaning behind those dreams, the places they take us and the way they can make us feel remains subjective, nebulous, utterly confounding.  It’s the kind of psychological quagmire that raw intelligence is ill equipped to contend with.  A wonderful foil for out Lunella.  

Bad Dream is a curious new character.  At first I figured he prove to be the son of the demonic villain and Dr. Strange foe known as Nightmare.  And this may still be the case, yet it’s looking more like he is just some normal little boy who has somehow found himself stuck in the dream dimension unable to return to the real world.  Whatever the case, I’m definitely looking forward to finding out more.  Plus I just love his costume.    

Artists Natacha Bustos and Tamra Bonvillain really get to stretch their creative muscles in depicting the dream dimension and it’s all just a delight to behold.  They get a really neat slash page of Lunella’s being pulled into the dream realm and definitely make the best of it.  

Following the Save Our School arc, which took place entirely in the real world confines of the Lower West Side, it’s really neat to see Bustos and Bonvillain illustrate a more fantasy-oriented setting.  Ms. Bustos offers up a wonderful landscape of floating orbs, giant mushrooms and living clouds.  And Ms. Bonvillain enlivens it all with darkened pastels, neat shades of pink and purple that makes the realm seem both dark and mysterious while also vibrant and uncanny.  Much like a dream.  Steve Ditko would surely approve.  

And so do it.  Not to be missed.  A great beginning to what looks to be a very fun arc.  Four and a half out of five Lockjaws!

[shirtlesssammy]

8x08: Hunteri Heroici

Then: 

Cas is back from Purgatory, but it’s at a price he has no idea he’s paying.

Now:

Gary, a man with a wedding ring, meets Olivia, a woman without a wedding ring, at a secluded park. They’re happy to see each other --until Gary’s heart beats so hard it pops out of his chest!

At a Gas ‘n Sip, the boys load up on fuel for Baby and soda pops for themselves? (I mean, unless Cas is driving, I can’t believe they’re drinking beer. Additionally, notice how Dean doesn’t get Cas one but these days Dean gets Cas a drink even when he declines one. Sigh.) Sam breaks down the latest on Kevin and the tablet. They’re safely hidden away on a houseboat of Garth’s, but no new breakthroughs on the tablet. Dean then asks Cas if he’s heard anything on angel radio.

Cas turned that off. He doesn’t want anything to do with Heaven anymore (Sad Trombone Noise.) Cas is going to be a hunter! Hurrah.

Look at this radiant angel! Petition for Cas to smile more 2K19.

He’s going to be Team Free Will’s third wheel, adding extra grip and greater stability. Cheers all around! He even has a case! They decide to check it out. Cas asks to sit in the front seat, and is thoroughly denied.

Look at this sad bean. Petition for Cas to sit in the front seat 2K19.

Once at the coroner's office, they take a look at the victim. His chest has a huge comic heart-shaped hole in it. Once the detective leaves, Cas jumps right into hunter mode: no EMF, no sulfur. He sniffs the corpse and notices he did recently suffered from a bladder infection. “Cas, stop smelling the dead guy,” Dean chastises. “Why?” He knows everything now. Sam disagrees and mentions the affair the man was having. Dean surmises the guy was living a lie and it caught up with him.

*Sam suffered a fugue state for a year Flashback*

Sam and Amelia are settling into their new home together and Amelia’s dad pays a visit. He has no time for the shiftless drifter in his daughter’s life.

In present day, the trio head to interview the widow. Cas knows exactly what to do. He leans over the woman, and with a slightly funny New York accent, he screams, “Why did you kill your husband?!” The woman bursts into tears and Dean pulls Cas aside. “I was being bad cop.” “You were being bad everything.”

Turns out the wife knew about Gary’s affair. Cas is confounded by the turn of events, and Dean is elated.

Cut to a suicidal businessman on the edge of a building. He takes a step, but keeps walking on air several feet off the building. He exclaims, “God wants me to live!” before plummeting to his death. Splat.

TFW investigate again. Dean realizes it all sounds a bit like Bugs Bunny. Cas is on the case again! “So we're looking for some sort of insect-rabbit hybrid? How do we kill it?” Bless.

I just want to pause here and squee about how hard Cas is trying to be a hunter in this episode. He’s flipping adorable. And this whole episode is so beautifully bright and colorful (like a Looney Tunes cartoon!)

At the motel, Cas has an epiphany about cartoons and humanity (and I feel a bit called out as a fan constantly looking for more meaning in a silly little show with violence and humor.)

Motel Room Bullet Points of Goodness:

*Dean drops a Tom Petty reference

*Cas pokes around Dean’s toiletry bag

*The slumber party that was cut for time

*”I’ll watch over you”

*The set design

Cas hears about a bank robbery over the police band. Cut to a splattered body with a 1 ton anvil over it. Looney. The bank robber, dubbed The Black Hole, struck again. He’s called The Black Hole because he always leaves a signature black hole on the wall. Sam goes with the detective to look at paperwork on the other robberies, while Cas shows off his angel strength to Dean.

Later at the motel, Cas reads John’s journal. Dean asks how Cas is feeling. (o_O) Cas deflects and gets testy when Dean pushes for him to contact Heaven. (O_0)

Cas then confesses to Dean his fears about Heaven and how he destroyed thousands of his own kind. “I can’t go back.” He fears that if he sees how he destroyed Heaven, he might kill himself (O_O) (Like, this is legitamily heavy stuff. I think Cas is only now forgiving himself for this.)

*Interrupting Moose Alert*

Sam has enough looney information for them to map locations that correspond to a retirement home.

At the retirement home, Sam and Dean flash their badges (and poor Cas appears to reach into his trench but looks sideways glumly.) They ask to interview the residents. Cas’s first interrogation is a doozy. “You are so pretty, Charles.”

During the interview about her missing jewelry, the woman mentions that the cat talks sometimes. Cas is on to interrogation number 2!

While Cas starts to crack his catty canny interrogation subject, Sam's got eyes on another resident of the retirement home. Waggle those fingers Wayne's World style, kids, because it's time for a flashback! 

In Sam's flashback, Amelia serves a godawful dish of pasta and noodle-fied hot dogs in keeping with her family's tradition of that as a first meal every time the military moved them to a new town. Sam tries to bond with Amelia's dad by throwing out that his dad was a Marine (a fact that I constantly forget). Amelia's dad continues to be a giant dick, mocks the Marines, and tells Sam that he thinks Sam is something akin to ex-military. Sam looks like a traumatized ex soldier to him, and he's just holding on to Amelia for a chance at a normal life. It's an insightful comment, but delivered in such a dickish manner that I want to punch the guy every time.

Dean snaps Sam out of his fuzzy flashback and Sam recognizes Fred Jones, a resident of the facility, as a psychokinetic ex-hunter. Dean and Sam rally the troops to interrogate Fred, tragically cutting off Castiel's masterful interrogation of the cat.

In Fred Jones' room, he's fixated on the TV which is showing old cartoons. He's utterly unresponsive to any of their attempts to reach him (which, to be fair, is mostly just shouting and being loud). DEAN. DUDE. Dean tests their hypothesis that Fred's their guy and bashes himself in the forehead with a book. From the sound effects and comedic expression, we understand that they're in the cartoon zone. “Do we...kill him?” Castiel asks, running through the hunter playbook. The facility director overhears this concept and our team is sent away.

Cut to a birthday celebration in the day room. There's a huge sparkler candle jammed into a massive pink cake and Fred's sitting in the corner. He lights upon an old cartoon with a stick of dynamite and in no time at all...WHAMMO! The candle explodes. Cake everywhere. (Fortunately, nobody died.)

Sam rushes up to announce that Fred's gone. Though things are looking bad for detective Cas, he does notice the diamonds on one of the nurse’s wrists. The diamonds belonged to one of the other nursing home residents, and were recently stolen. The nurse claims that her boyfriend gave her the diamonds and TFW speeds off in the mystery machine to interview their next suspect! 

They find the thief's apartment. There's one dead guy and one gravely injured. Cas heals the injured man. <3 CAS <3 Then it's interrogation time. The guy Cas heals reveals that the doctor in charge of the facility is in charge of the thefts. He's taken Fred to the bank for one more score.

As TFW loads up in the car, Sam experiences another fuzzy flashback. This time, Sam's washing dishes while Amelia's dick father tells her - audibly in the other room - that he knows what's best for her and she should move home. FUCK OFF, AMELIA'S DAD.

TFW find the bank and sure enough, there's a black hole painted onto the wall. Dean reaches inside and when his hand passes through, he happily mutters “Awesome,” and gets ready to head inside. 

Cas sniffs out the power near the bank and finds Fred inside of a van. Cas does a quick and super chill mind meld with Fred and Sam, propelling both of them into Fred's mind. It's a cartoon world.

In Fred's head, he's lucid. Sam and Cas tell him about all the weird stuff that's going down in the real world. “You want to know what's the worst thing that can happen to a guy that's got a mind like I got? Losing it,” Fred tells them. While Sam, Cas, and Fred are having existential crises, Dean fights the robber.

Dean’s gun doesn't work; cartoon rules are in full force. There are frying pans, anvils, and more. It’s a wacky, inventive fight and at the end, we all learn a very important lesson. Never bring a gun to a gag fight.

For Comedic Science: 

Sam finally processes his soft focus flashbacks and tells Fred that he's gotta to wake up and face reality. Cas takes these words to heart, likely having his own soft focus flashback as we watch him standing thoughtfully in the background.

Fred wakes up. The thief tries to escape through the black circle on the wall but it's now just paint again. He threatens Dean with a gun but Fred comes in and forces the doctor to shoot himself. Fred's lucid for now, but tells them that it's only a matter of time before he slips away. He asks them to make it stop.

Cas tells Fred that he can help him, but it will be very painful and there may not be much of him left after that. Later, the procedure done, Fred listens to Ode to Joy in his head as they wind up the case. Dean offers Cas shotgun but Cas refuses. He has to--

And then Cas is zapped back upstairs to Naomi's office. She knows Cas wanted to return to Heaven and she forbids it. Cas is desperate to go back to Heaven and help, but Naomi tells him he must stay away. Back on Earth, Cas zaps back to the conversation. Instead of what he was going to say, Cas amends himself to say he's going to stay and watch over Fred for a few days and then figure out what he's going to do next.

And we've got one more flashback... Sam, Amelia, and Amelia's dad are finally bonding over stories of Amelia's embarrassing youth. FUCK OFF, AMELIA’S DAD. The phone rings and Amelia gets up to answer it. Sam opens up to her dad, telling him that he lost his brother and ran because of that. Maybe they'll be friends after all! Yay? And then Amelia gets off the phone. It's the military. Her husband's been found alive! Yaaaay?

Back at the retirement home, Dean and Sam take off, leaving Castiel to settle next to Fred and listen, for a little while, to Ode to Joy.

Wascally Wabbit Quotes:

Garth has a safe house boat?

So, what now? Move to Vermont? Open up a charming B&B?

A third wheel adds extra grip, greater stability.

So we're looking for some sort of insect-rabbit hybrid?

X marks the spot.

That's Looney, alright.

I understand. The bird represents God. And coyote is man, endlessly chasing the divine, yet never able to catch him. It's hilarious.

There was a pastry mishap.

“It’s wabbit season.” “I don’t think you pronounced that correctly.”

What's up, doc?

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive! 

[bffhreprise]

Best Friend For Hire Reprise, Entry 395

 I could hardly peel my eyes from my new grandchild.  Between his birth and the start of the New Year’s Eve party—a few hours at most—he had not only spoken, but had insisted on attempting to walk several times, seeming really disappointed that he couldn’t quite manage more than a couple steps.

 Even with Alma’s explanation of how she had been teaching little James for months through her magic, I still had trouble wrapping my head around a newborn being this alert and… speaking.    

 “Father, might I try to walk again?” asked my grandson.

 “There’s no need to rush.” replied James.

 “But everyone else can walk.” he complained with the most adorable, little pout.

 “Come dance with me!” exclaimed Dani, bouncing on her heels and reaching for her brother with a broad, excited grin.

 “You had several turns already.” stated Alma as she hugged Dani, looking as happy as I had ever seen her..

 “But Mom…” complained Dani with a pout nearly as adorable as her brother’s.

 “Mother.” he spoke

 Dani looked up at him, grinning as she said, “To me, she’s Mom!  I’ve been talking with them since before you were conceived!”

 “Not my fault.” muttered James defensively.

 “Tell them you want to dance with me!” she insisted.

 “You’ll just spin me around again.” he argued, looking wary.

 “And hug you!” she exclaimed.

 He sighed.

 “Your first sigh, little brother!” exclaimed Dani.

 James didn’t respond, looking at her curiously.  “How old were you when you started walking?”

 Dani shrugged and told him “No idea!  Older than you’ll be.  I bet you’ll have it down in a week.”

 When I first met Dani, I hadn’t known what to think of the pink-skinned, cobalt-haired girl with those large, amethyst eyes.  Having my son legally adopt a girl nearly his own age was odd enough without her being so blatantly…  My thoughts became disarrayed as I watched her spin away from her mother and acrobatically twirl through the air almost like a figure skater on ice, gracefully dancing away and then back again.  Despite the oddness, she was family.  I’d grow accustomed to little James as well.

 “What am I missing?”asked little James, sounding terribly upset that he couldn’t walk on his own, especially after seeing how Dani moved.

 “Patience.” stated James with a smile for his son.  “You’re strong enough to walk, but there’s unstable energy coursing through your body.  In time, your strength will be constant, and we’ll start teaching you magic.”

 “Are you sure he’s just not missing me?  I’m certain you’ve been holding him longer each time.” teased Alma with a loving gaze for her husband.

 “I believe I’m next.” I informed her, wanting to hold my grandson some more before he wouldn’t allow it anymore, which might only be a few days at this rate.

 James kissed his son’s head and passed him off to me.  “Remember: small movements.” he encouraged.

 “And don’t squeeze too tight.” cautioned Alma.

 “He’s not that strong… yet.” I argued, having already felt the babe’s surprising strength on my prior turns.  Then I looked into my grandson’s violet eyes and told the little guy, “Don’t worry.  You’ll probably pass me within the year.”

 “Really!?” he asked excitedly.

 “Probably.” agreed Alma.  “I expect you’ll be able to do this in ten years.”  She did that thing where she could make images appear in my head, showing me little James lifting a car off the ground.

If she expected the son to be that strong so quickly, he probably would be, but I… I never would’ve guessed he’d be so strong.

 “I won’t grow!?” little James asked in obvious disappointment.

 Everyone present laughed.

 “You will.  Sorry.” she assured him when her mirth subsided.  “I don’t want to guess what you’ll look like by then.”

 I found his ignorance reassuring.  Being born with too much knowledge would have made him too… unrelatable.

 “You’ll have a little friend soon.  Then you’ll be able to learn together.  Do try to take advantage of your head start.” teased Mila, looking at little James affectionately.

 “Sister?” I guessed.  “Is the team working on another… like you?”

 Mila shook her head and said, “As you know, Mother created an artificial womb months ago.  My master failed to mention that my sister, being genetically engineered, won’t be quite human either.  You know how competitive Mother can be.”

 “She got competitive creating a baby?” asked Rachel with as much surprise as I felt.

 “How are babies created?” asked little James.

 “Science!” exclaimed Mila, quickly covering Dani’s mouth.  “Assuming your mother hasn’t taught you a vast amount of information regarding chemistry, the explanation would take far too long for tonight.”

 “Science?  Chemistry?” he questioned, pushing himself up slightly to peer down at Alma.

 “You’ll see soon enough.” she promised, projecting a barrage of images into our heads.  The barrage of images was too quick to really follow, but I recognized a rocket and test tubes.

 To Rachel, Mila explained “Though Mother’s DNA went into my sister, she engineered the rest from scratch, basing the design off what she knew from those here.  I doubt anyone read far enough in the employment agreement to notice, but there is a clause related to the use of DNA samples from the yearly medical checkups for the furtherment of mad science.  Yes, the clause really does state ‘mad science’, not medical experimentation.”

 “Couldn’t that cause legal issues?” I asked, finding the idea worrisome.

 “You underestimate Mother’s love of obfuscation.  ‘Mad science’ is further defined in no less than two hundred other sections.  On occasion, I postulate the methods she used to get her law degree at such a young age.  My favorite theory involves her confounding doctorates to such an extent that she was granted the degree just to get rid of her.” explained Mila with a humble smile.  “I’m sure scientists would have tried keeping her around for further explanations into her own theories, but decent lawyers know when to cut their losses.”

 “Mother… all of that was still English?” questioned little James, looking confused.

 Nodding, Alma said, “Yes, James.  You’ll learn.  You should also note that you never want to ask Aaliyah for detailed explanations.  Even her own daughter won’t push that too far.”

 “She’s right.” agreed Mila quite sincerely.

 The little tike kept asking everyone questions, determined to learn everything as fast as he could.  I would have to speak with Rachel, but I was determined to visit much more frequently, not wanting to miss any more of our grandchild’s growth than I had to.  I could only imagine how much the little guy would change within a month if I dared to stay away that long.  Rachel would, of course, complain to me far before then if I attempted such lunacy.  We both had grown so accustomed to sampling Marco’s cooking when we could that we rarely went two weeks without stopping by for at least a meal.  No, we would be here often.

[murdered-with-daisies]

Understanding The Small Things

A/N: I know I haven’t updated anything in awhile, I’m really sorry guys, I’ve been super busy and my computer took a shit in June and I haven’t been able to recover anything from it or get a new one. This is my first time on a laptop since June :o But here’s a KakaSaku one shot I wrote earlier today, hope you guys like it :)

Pairing: KakaSaku

Words: 1,615

Summary: There were alot of things Kakashi didn't understand after the war. His former students were just one of the many things on that list. 

My Fanfics      Ao3.net        FF.net    

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         Kakashi stood under the awning, the green tiles of the roof hard under his feet. The rain poured above him, the clouds opening up like heaven might fall through at any minute. If there even was a Heaven. He was unsure, he knew there was someplace else, but of Heaven he wasn't sure.

         Is that where Rin had gone? He'd like to think so. And Obito... He wasn't so sure. Obito had come back during the war, had worked along side him again. It was an odd feeling, having him back and now that he was gone again there was a ache in his chest, it had been there since the first time he had died. But where the ache was once a heavy memory, now it was all light and breezes and soft winds. He carried it with him still, of course he would, but it was different. He still went to their graves, he still left flowers and tears and memories and parts of himself there at the cold stones. They weren't there, he knew that too, but it helped to think they were, to fool himself into thinking they were listening to him.         Kakashi ran a hand through his silver hair, even in the rain it defied gravity, sticking every which way. He had gotten his hair from his father, he had gotten everything from his father, if he were being honest, and Kakashi was nothing but an honest man. Atleast to himself. He sighed as he stepped out into the downpour, it soaked him through in seconds and the clouds just seemed to get darker, sensing his fastly decaying mood.         He had a meeting, a very important meeting. Kakashi skipped the streets, keeping to the rooftops as he dashed towards the hospital. He was late, he knew that too. But she would be expecting that.         As he reached the hospital he jumped through a window, open for him solely, and landed swiftly in her office. And there she was, his former student, studious with her head above a stack of too many papers. She looked up, seeing he had finally arrived. She rolled her eyes- an hour late, she thought.        Her office- a small converted supply closet really- was dark, save for a single desk lamp she had shoved in the corner. It illuminated little, just enough for her to see the work she was doing. Kakashi watched as she stood up and smiled at him, switching the light off. Her smile was kind and pretty, not expectant though. She never asked for more than he was willing to give, and today she could tell a smile might not be one of them.         She removed her long doctor's coat to reveal a mint sweatshirt, heavy enough for the cold spurt they had been experiencing, and crisp white pants. She was effortlessly pretty, all spring and air and absolutely nothing like the weather Konoha was currently stuck with. "Come on, lets go meet the boys before Naruto starts yelling. We're already late enough," she teased him as she passed him, grabbing an umbrella from next to the door. "Looks like you could have used this more than I did!" His clothes were soggy still, but it didn't bother him much. They'd dry eventually, he shrugged at her as they made their way out of the building.         They walked quietly through the streets, dodging puddles as they went. It was an easy silence. It was always easy with Sakura, Kakashi thought. Her presence next to him eased the ache in him. He had failed her as a teacher, failed her as a comrade, dumped her on another teacher, but yet here she was. Still smiling and welcoming as always. He wondered if it bothered her, how inept he had been. It probably did, but she didn't voice it to him. They all had their secrets and maybe that was her's. Who was Kakashi to pry? It was one of the many things he didn't understand.          As they reached the ramen shop they could already hear Naruto, one fourth of their old team, yelling at what was probably the second member of their team. He was always loud and boisterous; a complete 180 switch from Sasuke, the moody brooding boy who had grown into a moody brooding man. Kakashi and Sakura entered, smiling at the boys. "Sakura! Kakashi! Finally you made it! I thought you died or something!" He excitedly waved at them.         Sasuke rolled his eyes, "Dobe over here already ate half the restaurant's ramen, if you had waited longer there wouldn't be anymore for anyone else." He crossed his arms in his stool. Sakura sat next to him, and kakashi next to her. Sometimes it baffled him how normal it seemed. How not even a year ago they were fighting eachother to the death, destroying the village and then saving it, and now of all things they were eating together. Sure they still fought but Sakura was the referee for their spats, one they learned quickly to accept or face her powerful fists.        Their dinner lasted longer than Kakashi had liked, he stayed silent for most of it, taking in the sheer realness of the situation. Sasuke was all black and white and red; his personality, his appearance, and his actions. He was bred on order, precision, and power; through the years he had still harbored those habbits. Naruto was yellows and orange, his whole being was open and he said everything he thought, sometimes to a fault. If Sasuke was Lightning, then Naruto was the thunder. And then there was Sakura, she was all pinks and greens, from her hair to her eyes, to her lips and her clothes. She was their Earth, kept them all grounded, quick thinking and powerful, like mother nature. And then there was Kakashi. He didn't know where he had fit into everything, even now. He knew he was important to them, but where he stood in their dynamic he wasn't sure. The three nin were a world of their own, one he wasn't sure he would ever penetrate. He wasn't sure if there was a person alive who could.          As if sensing his quietness, Sakura looked at him, her eyes looking at him with worry and understanding. She angled her head towards the exit, a movement so small he almost thought he missed it. But he didn't, he returned her unasked question with a nod. The two younger boys didn't even notice, being too involved in a spat at their end of the counter.          Sakura stood up and stretched, her arms above her head and yawned, "Well, its been fun, but I've got work in the morning, I really should be heading out." She told the boys then turned to the masked ninja, "Kakashi, walk me home? You're on the way, I'll share my umbrella with you." Kakashi nodded while Naruto began a protest. Sasuke just grunted and elbowed him, the two would be there long into the night most likely. As much as Naruto annoyed the boy, he still appreciated his company, and it prevented him from going back to his dark, old home, still in the Uchiha compound. For that he was thankful.           Kakashi was grateful for the diversion and the excuse. She was always doing that; making excuses for him. He wondered why, he did nothing to deserve her help. They walked under her pink umbrella. He held it above the two of them. It had grown quiet on the streets, rain still fell, but little by little it was slowing and the clouds were leaving to reveal a rich navy night. He was greatful. To the weather and to the girl walking next to him. His home wasn't on the way to her's. They all knew that, but no one had called her out on it, they simply let her lie.          They neared her home, her red door moved ever closer to the pair of ninja. Kakashi stopped as they arrived to her apartment. "Thank you." He didn't have to say for what, she already knew. She was good at that too.          She smiled softly at him, "Youre welcome, Kakashi-sensei." She still used that too.          "You make me feel like an old man, Sakura, I'm not your teacher anymore." He told her, one hand still holding her umbrella, the other in his pocket. He had perfected the art of aloofness long ago.          She shrugged, "I know, its just so fun to tease you though." She turned to unlock her door.           He sighed at her attitude. She turned back around and smiled, "Hey Kakashi, come her, I want to tell you a secret." Her emerald eyes sparkled, he leaned his ear closer, hunching his back to lean to her level; she was a full head shorter than he was. Instead of telling him a secret she lightly placed a kiss on his masked cheek and pulled back. "Goodnight, Kakashi." Before he could say anything, she was already in her home, closing the door behind her. He doesn't know how long he stood there, outside her door, holding that umbrella above himself, but he thinks it may have been a moment too long.          Under his mask he smiled, a real smile for the first time that rainy day, and suddenly, the world was just a little brighter. He was a little confounded by the sudden cheek kiss, but he didn't mind it in the least. It looks like he had one more thing to add to his list of things he didn't understand. Sakura was quickly rising on it though, if he were being honest.          And Kakashi was nothing if not an honest man.

A/N: Let me know what you guys think :) Hope you liked it :)

[mirkwoodshewolf]

Little Star sweeper Loki x baby reader

Hey guys well I’m just gonna try this out and see how it goes. Any wattpad oneshots or requests that I do will also be posted up here now please bear with me cause this is my first time posting on tumblr so hopefully this gets to everyone and I don’t screw this up. Now I do not own the Avengers or Loki or any other referneces they all belong to Disney/Marvel and tumblr belongs to tumblr :)

Taglist:

@evyiione

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It had to happen someday, though everyone expected it to happen sooner than later but shortly after Thor and Jane were married, Jane fell pregnant with their first child.  When the news came out of Jane’s pregnancy, the entire Avengers tower was a buzz to try and baby proof the tower, set up a nursery wing, and buy baby stuff like diapers, clothes, powder, bottles, etc.

         As a couple of months went by, all of the Avengers began pestering to Jane about the baby.

         “So Jane, any word on what the gender is?” Natasha asked.

         “Well Bruce knows but Thor and I have made a decision to not know until the birth” she stated.

         “What? But then that’s just a waste of buying clothes?! How do we know we even bought the right ones?!” Clint cried out.  Natasha slapped him over the head and said.

         “Quit your whining Clint, you’ll probably be even worse than the baby”.

         “Hey!”

         “Okay you two break it off will you?” Steve said as he pushed the two assassins apart before another Budapest incident happened in the tower.

         “Yeah, besides I don’t want you two children blowing up my tower” Tony said as he was just walking in looking over some notes for his new Iron suit model.  Natasha flinched and said demonically as her head slowly turned towards Tony.

         “What. Was that. You said?” Tony slowly looked at her and thought to himself ‘oh son of a-’

“You might wanna run Stark” Clint said then the red haired female assassin chased after the billionaire Iron man around the tower, the two screaming profanity at each other, mainly Natasha.

Yes everyone was in a hustle and all they could talk about was the arrival of the new baby, well almost everyone.  Only one wasn’t too thrilled as the others in the tower were.

Yep, Loki.

He kept quiet and rolled his eyes about how all that was ever talked about in the tower was a being who hasn’t even been born yet.  They don’t know it and yet everyone is making a HUGE fuss over it.  And he just didn’t get it nor did he even care, but he did get ANNOYED with it.

And I mean REALLY annoyed.  Sometimes he even blew his top off only to calm himself down and disappear for days.

After awhile of Loki being annoyed with the endless baby talk, Thor decided to finally confront his brother on the matter. He went to Loki’s room and knocked on the door when he heard his brother shout out.

“Go away you imbecile!”

“Loki we need to talk!” Thor shouted.

“There’s nothing to talk about! Now go back to your mortal and leave me be!”  Thor lifted his hammer then forcefully bust the door down and saw Loki jump from his bed as a book came flying out of his hands.  “What in the Hel name was that for!? You know nothing of privacy nor do you seem to understand the phrase ‘leave. Me. Alone’!”

“Loki, we need to talk about this, ever since Jane’s pregnancy, you’ve been insulting my unborn child. I would like to know why that is brother?”

“First of all, get it through your head that I’m NOT your brother! Second; this realm annoys me to no end and now to add more to my punishment here, you expect me to live in this confound building with a wet, dripping, noisy bildshnipe baby”.  Loki turned around and walked away as Thor then growled.

“That wet, dripping, noisy bildshnipe baby will be my future child, and your future niece or nephew”.

“Oh well then I shall have to practice my curtsy”.  Loki dripped out with sarcasm as he mocked a bow then turned back around and continued to walk away as Thor then roared at his brother.

“Don’t turn your back on my Loki!”

“Oh no Thor, perhaps you shouldn’t turn your back on me”.  Suddenly Loki was pinned to the wall and held by his arms by his brother as he snarled.

“Is that a challenge?!”

“Temper, temper Thor, I would dream of challenging you”. Thor growled softly then released his brother.  “Though that child maybe born one day, I will never take part in getting to know it, nor will I ever come to love it, because it’s a disgrace to even be birth by a father like you and a mortal woman as it’s mother”.

“LOKI!!!”  Thor charged at him but Loki disappeared into green light causing Thor to crash into the floor.  He growled as he fell for that trick again then he heard a voice say.

“Leave it point break, he’s not worth it anyways, don’t let him get to you”.  He looked up to see Tony outside the broken doorway.  He entered Loki’s room and helped Thor stand up as he said again, “don’t let him get to you Shakespeare, there’s one like him in every family, actually two in my family. And they always manage to ruin special occasions”  Tony patted his shoulder for comfort.

Thor sighed deeply and muttered to himself loudly enough for Tony to hear him,

“What am I going to do with him?”

“We could always make Bruce angry and let him have some fun like last time”. Tony suggested.

“Brother Tony!” Thor stated.

“Alright, alright, just suggesting. Oh yeah, can I make a request? If your baby is a boy mind naming him after yours truly?”  He said as he raised his hands up in defeat then continued as they both walked out of Loki’s room.  Thor laughed heartily as the two of them walked back to join the others back in the lounge room.

*FF to birth of baby*

Jane had woke up one evening due to her water being broke as her contractions began as she started panting and screaming in pain. Thor, Bruce and Pepper quickly got her to the emergency wing of the tower and got her ready for the birth. With Bruce as her doctor, Pepper as the midwife and Thor standing by as her partner all three of them coached Jane into the long labor.

After 14 hours of labor, Jane and Thor were finally proud parents.

Pepper cleaned their baby up and said as Bruce wrapped the baby up in a pink blanket.

“Thor, Jane, I’m proud to say you both have a beautiful, healthy baby girl”.  Jane and Thor smiled then Pepper handed the baby to Jane who held her baby close to her chest and Thor looked down at this little angel they had created and brought into this world.

“She’s so beautiful, just like her mother” Thor said softly as he looked at Jane and she looked up at him.  They kissed each other then looked down at their little girl.

“Do we have a name yet?” Pepper asked.

“We do, (y/n). (Y/f/n) (y/m/n) Thordottir”.  Jane stated. Bruce then printed out her birth certificate and said.

“Alright, everything is in order, she’s a healthy little thing, and now Jane I suggest you get some rest, Pepper and I will inform the others and allow you three some privacy”.  Pepper and Bruce then left the room leaving the happy family some alone time.

Jane kissed her daughter’s small head and whimpered out.

“I can’t believe she’s really here”/

“Neither can I Jane, but she’s finally here. (Y/f/n) (y/m/n) Thordottir”.  Jane sniffled then said,

“Want to hold your baby girl?” Thor looked at his wife and gently held out his arms and Jane passed their baby to him as she said, “mind her head”. And in his arms, she looked so tiny like the size of a newborn kitten that can fit into your palm.

“She’s so tiny,” he whispered then looked down and saw his newborn daughter wiggle slightly as she cooed out, “Hello little one, I’m your daddy”.  Jane smiled as tears of joy came down her face as she watched this lovely scene unfold then due to the labor exhaustion, she closed her eyes and fell asleep.

~FF a few weeks later~

Ever since the arrival of (y/n) the Avengers had all seemed to have changed.  They were much kinder, giddy, and almost down right happy all the time.  All the Avengers loved little (y/n) as she filled their days with sunshine and joy.  But one person was down right confused about how a little thing such as a baby could make a team of weirdos act so giddy and gay in Spring time.

Loki.

One morning he was in the lounge reading one of his copies of Shakespeare’s plays and he could hear the baby crying over the monitor that Tony had installed in JARVIS.  He took notice that the baby didn’t always cry and fuss like normal babies do but it still annoyed him ever now and then.

He shut his book and began to think to himself,

‘What is special about this baby?’ He stood up and something was telling him to go up to the nursery two levels up.  He didn’t even know why it was happening, but he felt himself walking towards the elevator and pressed the up button as he thought to himself again as the elevator took him up.

‘I just can’t understand. It must be something wonderful, it must be something grand. Cause everybody is smiling, in a kind and wistful way. And no one’s even noticed that I can easily cause mischief’. The elevator dinged and as he stepped out, he saw Tony and Clint whistling happily as they carried a tray of empty baby bottles and a trash can of dirty diapers.

They kept whistling as they past Loki and went down the elevator as giddy as a foul in Spring.

Now Loki was really intrigued.

‘What sorcery does this baby have anyway?’ He then heard the baby’s soft crying coming from down the hall.  So as not to get caught, he quickly turned himself into a black wolf and slowly stalked towards the room as he continued with his thoughts.

‘What sorcery does this babe have. I will find out today, what has these foolish Avengers, act. This. Way?’  He slowly crept up towards the door of the nursery and heard the soft coo of the new babe and slowly peaked inside but then retreated back as he saw Jane holding her newborn daughter in her arms walking around the room slowly rocking her.

Jane walked towards the nursery bed they had set up that stood next to the blue with pink ribbon crib and sat down on it as she began singing her baby to sleep as she rocked her back and forth gingerly.

La-la lu, La-la lu

Oh, my little star sweeper

I'll sweep the stardust for you

Loki crept inside the nursery hiding under one of the tables as he stared at Jane in awe as he remembered his own mother singing him to sleep just like that when he was a babe and a child.  He watched as Jane stood up and tucked the baby into her crib and gently began rocking it back and forth.

La-la lu, La-la lu

Little soft fluffy sleeper

Here comes a pink cloud for you

As Jane kept singing, Loki kept low to the ground as he now stood in front of the crib on the other side of Jane.  He was determined to see just what made this baby make the Avengers go so crazy, so without trying to be noticed by Jane, he raised his upper body to try and see the crib without being noticed to catch a glimpse of the babe.  Unaware that his brother stood behind him and could see this wolf trying to see the babe was his brother.  Thor reached out and touched his brother’s head making Loki flinch and lower himself to the ground baring his teeth.

La-la lu, La-la lu

Little wandering angel

Fold up your wings, close your eyes

Thor nodded in acceptance and Loki could now fully look into the cradle to see just what the fuss was about.  When Jane finally lifted the blanket to reveal the babe, when Loki finally saw the tiny thing wrapped up in pink.  His face felt warm, his heart raced and his felt all giddy inside.  

He quickly looked at his brother and Jane then back down at the babe and smiled a wolfish grin as his wolf tail began wagging happily.  He now knew why the Avengers were acting so giddy because of this babe.

She was just so darn cute.

La-la lu, La-la lu

And may love be your keeper

La-la lu, La-la lu, La-la lu

“There now, little star sweeper, dream on”. Jane whispered as she tucked her baby in.

The three of them smiled at each other then Thor gently rubbed his brother’s wolf head and Jane did as well as gently kiss behind his ear.  The couple then left Loki alone to get better acquainted with his little niece.  Loki wolf glowed a bright green and yellow light and soon appeared beside the crib in his normal form.

He smiled happily down at the little babe and gently picked her up and held the tiny thing in his arms as he walked towards the bed and sat down on it staring at this little thing in his arms.

“You know, I guess for once I was wrong. I thought you would be just like all the other babes I’ve seen in this world, noisy, spoiled, irritating, but ehehe, now looking at you; here like this, you are the most beautiful creature I’ve seen in all the nine realms. And I’m proud to be your uncle, my little Star sweeper”.  It was then the babe began to wake up, and staring up into Loki’s emerald eyes were the most beautiful (y/e/c) eyes he had ever seen.  

They gleamed just like the stars themselves.

Loki smiled lovingly for the first time it what seemed forever as the ice in his heart melted just from the first look into her eyes.  The baby cooed happily as she reached out for Loki’s face.

He softly laughed and lifted his index finger and gently poked her tiny button nose.  She grabbed onto Loki’s finger with a slightly strong grip.

“Ohh, you’re strong little one, I guess that comes from your father, thank Valhalla that you don’t look like him though, your beauty comes from your mother”.  Loki chuckled softly, the baby softly laughed as she again reached out for Loki’s face.

He smiled lovingly and nuzzled his nose against her chubby little cheek as he shoulder length hair gently tickled her face. Then the baby gently raised her hand up and cupped Loki’s cheek.

He suddenly froze in shock.

He looked down at his niece and saw her cooing lovingly as she smiled a gummy smile and babbled cutely in baby tongue. Now Loki truly felt his heart melting, tears fell down his face as he kissed his niece’s forehead and kept her tiny hand cupping his cheek.

“I’ll take care of you my little Star sweeper, I promise”.  He then peppered light kisses all over her face making her coo and gently tickled under her chin with his index finger making her laugh.  He smiled and tucked the baby into his arms and watched with loving eyes as she yawned tiredly then cooed as she nuzzled into her uncle’s chest, gripping his armor in a tiny little fist.

Loki laid backwards on the bed and stroked his niece’s head and wrapped a protective arm around her so that no one would steal her away from him then the two of them fell asleep together in the nursery room.

~FF 9 months later~

         Little (y/n) was growing up quite fast as she was now 9 months old, it was Winter once again in New York and now the Avengers had to get back to reality.  They were sent on missions for weeks, months at a time but they still made time for little (y/n) but the one who was almost always with her and would not let her go was none other than Uncle Loki himself.  

He had her practically hooked to his hip as he carried her around the tower, feeding her, rocking her to sleep, playing with her, and showing her his magic by conjuring up animals for her to play with like rabbits and butterflies.

But now came around the time when Jane and Thor had a science convention to go to for a three days weekend.  And it would be their first time being away from their baby for that long of a period.  All of the other Avengers were still out on missions and Pepper just recently got called away on business so they had no one to watch over their daughter.  Even though Thor asked Jane about Loki, she worried that Loki could just steal her away and make her his with the way he’s been protective and possessive over her.  

Jane wanted another babysitter to watch over Loki too to make sure he didn’t do anything reckless to their child, so she called up Erik and Darcy and they said they would be free and would come around Thursday when they had to leave.

Thor was currently packing up their bags for the plane ride to the convention in San Diego and Thor said as he zipped up the last suitcase while Loki just watched him with curiosity.

“Well, that should do it, hopefully this will be enough when we get to San Diego”.  Loki tilted his head in confusion as to why in the world they were leaving for San  Diego?  He then quickly left for the nursery to see Jane looking over their sleeping daughter who she had just put to bed in her crib. He walked on the other side of the crib and looked down at her as Thor whispered to his wife,

“Jane, Jane, we don’t have much time”.

“Thor I just can’t leave her, she’s still so small and helpless,” Loki leaned down against the crib and looked lovingly at his little niece but it quickly turned to anger and annoyance as Thor said.

“She’ll be alright,” Jane walked out of the nursery and Thor continued as he gently pushed his worrisome wife out of the nursery wing, “now come on, if she wakes up we’ll never get away”.

“But Thor I feel so guilty deserting her like this!”

“Nonsense”.  Loki looked at the door to see the parents of his own niece walking away then looked down worriedly at his niece.  His eyes quickly turned to rage as he disappeared from his niece’s side then quickly stood before Thor and Jane in the form of a Nightfury.  He snarled at Thor and Jane and glared at them with stilt pupil and wings out as far as he could expand them to make himself look menacing.

Loki knowing what it’s like being abandoned did not want his niece to be abandoned by her own parents making her feel unloved just like him.  If you’re going away you either take your child with you or not go at all.  And Loki was furious to thinking after these past months of taking care of her and loving her, it was all a trick just so they could go away to their stupid science convention.

“Brother, what is the meaning of this?”

“Oh Thor, he thinks we’re running out on her”. Jane stated chuckling softly. Thor gently placed his hand on his brother’s dragon head but Loki snarled and knocked his hand away but Thor placed his hand on his head as did Jane as Thor said.

“Oh don’t worry brother, we’ll be back in a couple of days”.

“And Darcy and Erik will be here,” Jane said. Loki’s pupils then began to dilate to appear more friendlier at Jane’s statement then Thor’s statement made him feel proud.

“And with you here to help them take care of her,”

‘Mr. and Mrs. Odinson, Darcy and Erik have arrived’ JARVIS stated.

“Oh and speaking of which,” Thor stated as Loki faded away down to the lobby to open the door as Jane gave the order to let JARIVS open the doors for Erik and Darcy.  Just before Loki could open the door, they opened and Darcy burst right in like a raging bull and Erik followed pursuit of Darcy unaware that they had slammed the door in on Loki.  He poked his head out and narrowed his eyes at the brunette airhead scientist and the genius who helped him with the New York invasion.

“Oh sorry we’re late guys, hope we haven’t kept you waiting!” Darcy said urgently.

“Here let me get your bags for you both,” Thor stated but Darcy interrupted by saying as she stripped herself of her jacket.

“Now, now, now no fussing we know our way around, on your way now, mustn’t miss your flight, have a good time and don’t worry about a thing. Goodbye guys goodbye, have a good time in San Diego!” Darcy said as she pushed them outside.  Loki stood beside her in wolf form as he watched Thor and Jane get into the car and wave goodbye then drove off.

The doors then closed and Loki was butted out unintentionally.

“Now to see that cutie goddaughter of mine!” Darcy cried out.  Loki’s ears perked at the mention of his niece and quickly phased into a tiny sparrow and flew up towards the vents and flew through them until he reached the nursery and saw Darcy and Erik standing over her crib cooing out in baby talk. Loki entered through the vents and stood by her crib and phased back to normal as he smiled down at her.

“Coochie, coochie, coochie, coochie, coochie coo. Awww~ you adorable little—” Darcy gasped and cried out as she saw Loki standing right in front of her looking down at her goddaughter.  “God damnit what are you doing in here?! Go get out shoo! Shoo! Scat get away from my goddaughter!” Darcy hit Loki over the head with her purse.  As Loki ran out of the room, Darcy slammed the door loudly making little (y/n) cry loudly.

“Aww there, there now. Mama Darcy won’t let that mean old monster frighten you again, no, no, no, no”.  Loki heard Darcy coo as he tried to open the door but when he heard Darcy’s words, he felt crushed.

Monster.

Of course she would say that about him, but to hear her say that to his little niece crushed him.  He then sulked away from the nursery wing and went back into his room and laid on his bed and curled up in shame as he tried to stop his crying.

Surprisingly (y/n) hadn’t stopped crying ever since Darcy shooed Loki out from the nursery, Darcy and Erik tried everything they could to make her stop but nothing they did seemed to work.  By nightfall, they were exhausted and just gave up and heavily drunk themselves to sleep with Tony’s secret stash of alcohol.

When Loki kept hearing her crying over the baby monitor he couldn’t take it anymore. 

He couldn’t stand to hear his little niece in pain so he quickly ran towards the nursery but took notice of Darcy and Erik passed out with Tony’s alcohol bottles all over the place.  He shook his head in disgust then quickly teleported to the nursery and saw his niece screaming her head off.

Her little face was red and tearstains stains her cheeks like dried up glue.  He felt his heart clench as he walked right up to her and took her in his arms.

“Shhh, shhh, shhh, there, there now my little one, shhhh, stop your crying, I’m here now. Uncle Loki is here~” he cooed softly as he rocked his niece softly.  (Y/n) then stopped her loud crying and looked up at her uncle with soft hiccups.  He smiled and said as a bottle filled with milk appeared in his hands and he went to the rocking chair and sat down in it. “There’s my girl, there you are, yes my little dove”, he then began feeding her hoping that it would relief her of her hunger problems since it seems that she didn’t want to have Darcy or Erik feed her.

After her meal, he held her close to his chest where she snuggled into his armor breathing in his scent as she gently whimpered and softly fussed.

“Shhh, shh now, don’t cry. I’m here darling, I’m here, come on, come on” he held her to his shoulder as he gently patted her now forming light brown hair.  (Y/n) sniffled and her fussing died down to gentle coos as she gripped her uncle’s armor in her first.  “That’s my girl,” he separated her from his shoulder but held her out as he gently rubbed his nose against hers making her softly giggle.  “That’s how I like to see my little one, with a big smile on her face”. Loki then peppered kisses all over her head down into her neck blowing raspberries making her laugh.

He playfully growled as he laid down against the bed and raised her up with his hands cupping around her small waist then he began tickling her ribs as he kept her in the air making her laugh even more.

“Mhm, I love tickling my little lion cub, hearing her laugh makes me feel so happy inside” he brought her down and nuzzled his nose against her cheek as he also kissed her temple.  (Y/n) nuzzled under her uncle’s chin and felt herself beginning to relax as her body was telling her it was time for sleep but she began fussing to try and fight it off.

“Oh my darling, you must be tired from all that crying you’ve been doing all day, let’s get you into your crib”.  He walked over to her crib and went to set her down but she quickly grabbed his finger and fussed as tears began forming in her eyes once again.  Loki’s heart clenched then he came up with an idea.

He took (y/n) in his arms and teleported the two of them to his room and set her down on his bed and cuddled close beside her and summoned a child’s book in his hands.

“Would you like me to read you your favorite story little one?” (Y/n) cooed and babbled softly making Loki chuckle softly then he tucked her in his arm as he began to read her favorite story, “The Cat in the Hat”.

After the story, (y/n) was finally asleep as she was curled up into her uncle’s strong arm.  He smiled softly and covered the two of them up with the blanket then he whispered to his niece,

“Goodnight my little Star Sweeper, sleep well”.  He gave her one final kiss then like a protective wall, he wrapped himself around her and held her close to his chest.

~Extended Ending~

Darcy and Erik woke up sometime in the late afternoon to hear nothing but silence.

“Darcy do you hear anything?”

“No, you don’t think—” they quickly as they could raced to the nursery to see (y/n) but were shocked to see her not sleeping in her crib.  They only knew one person who could’ve had her.  They raced to Loki’s room but when they got there they were shocked at what they saw.

Loki was cuddling (y/n) as they both were sleeping. Darcy looked at her watch and saw that it was 10 minutes pasted (y/n)’s second naptime but Loki managed to handle it, and the fact that they weren’t woken up or had to suffer anymore crying once they woke up hung over.

“Well I’ll be—who would’ve thought”. Erik stated. Darcy smiled softly then said.

“Maybe I was wrong, maybe he does care about her, now I think I’ll believe what Jane says from now on”.

“Come on Darcy, I think we best leave them to rest”.

“Oh wait I wanna do something first!” She quickly went to her camera app on her phone and took a quick picture and posted it on Instagram and Twitter as well as Tumblr and titled it.

GOD OF MISCHIEF WITH BABY (how cute)

More fangirls got turned over to Loki’s army now than ever.