#YES THIS IS WHERE THE HAIR SAGA HAS HEADED. I WAS LIKE. IF I PAY A MAN MONEY THEN HE CAN FADE IT HIMSELF.

[carnageacorn]

if the barber is mean to me i will cry at him

[randomshyperson]

The Scarlet Witch Prophecy - The Third Year

Series Masterlist ||  Read on AO3

Summary: As the youngest daughter of Howard Stark, you have ordinary expectations for your years at Hogwarts. Little do you know what adventures await you when your destiny is intertwined with the legendary Scarlet Witch.

Warnings: +16. Adaptation of the Harry Potter Saga, Magical Thematic, Prophecies, Mentions of Violence, Torture and dark magic, Language (swearing and minor/major offenses), manipulation of will, Underage kissing, insinuation of smut with minors, Smut (overage), descriptions of death, aggression, obscurity, angst, fluffy, soulmates analogies.

Chapter Words:  7.290K 

Chapter Notes: Wanda x Reader friendship is here. And more about the world history. I’m pretty sure this is the last chapter where things are easy going. Just like Harry Potter, things start to get dark during four year. Good reading to everyone, i hope you like the story so far.

Tag list ( let me know if you want to be tagged or removed idk haha) @mionemymind​ / @abimess​ / @stephanieromanoff​ / @yourtaletotell​ / @tomy5girls​ / @justagaypanicking​ / @thegayw1tch​ / @idek-5​ // @myperfectlovepoem​ // @helloalycia​ // @ENSORCELLME // @AIMEZVOUSBRAHMS // @imapotatao​ / @aimezvousbrahms​/ @ensorcellme​/ @helloalycia // @ichala

//-// x //-// //-// x //-//

Your list of materials is much longer in the third year.

Tony complains that you shouldn't have taken so many classes, but you are so curious to explore the areas of magic that you can't help it.

This time, Mantis meets you in the diagonal alley. You were hoping to spend some time with Gamora and Nebula as well, but once you get a glimpse of their father, you know that's not going to happen.

Thanos is a tall, muscular man, and has a permanent aggressive look on his face. He also kept his hands on the shoulders of his two daughters while they were waiting to be attended to at Flourish and Blotts. You also noticed that your friends were wearing very beautiful and remarkably expensive dark green capes, and just like their father's outfit, they had a bundle of a silver snake. That was the first time you understood what Slytherin pride meant.

"He's scary." Mantis commented softly beside you. You nodded in agreement. Groot, who was a little bigger since you saw him last year, jumped on your shoulder, sitting next to your ear. You smiled at the creature before looking forward again.

You and Mantis were standing at the entrance of store, and saw your friends through the window. You gave up the idea of complementing them when you saw their father.

"Let's restock the potions list first, Mantis." You tell her. "Then we'll buy our books."

You meet Tony again at the Leaky Cauldron after you finish. He hides something from you quickly, but you are distracted by an apple muffin flying towards you, and you don't ask.

Bucky was staying at the Leaky Cauldron because his house had a magical accident. His father said something about a persistent spell flood. Since the rest of Bucky's family were muggle, only he and his father were staying there, solving the problem while Bucky's sisters were at his aunt's house.

Since everyone needed to buy the materials for the new school year, Tony asked you to join his friends when you were done buying your stuff.

After lunch with everyone, Mantis said goodbye to you, and you returned Groot to her hands.

You led her to the exit of the bar, but as you walked back to the table, a conversation caught your attention.

"I'm telling you, they saw him in Sokovia." A bearded man whispered. He looked so nervous, you couldn't help but pay attention. The woman standing next to him, a cup of a strange liquor in her hands, rolled her eyes.

"That's miles away, Thomas." She said. "If Korvac gets anywhere near London, the ministry will send him back to Azkaban in two seconds."

"He's already escaped once, Sara." You rebut the man. 

You frown at the conversation. Walking back, you have a thoughtful frown on your face, and Tony teases you.

You get distracted by Steve's jokes about the coming year, and forget all about it.

It's only after you've packed your bag, during dinner, that you remember.

"I heard something strange today." You say casually as Tony and your father dine beside you. "Some folks in the Leaky Cauldron were talking about someone escaping from Azkaban."

Your father chokes. Tony stares at you, and ducks his head when your father looks at him angrily. Howard gaze softens when he looks at you however.

"Honey, who told you that?"

You shrug.

"No one told me dad." You reply. "I ended up overhearing two strangers talking about it. I never knew about anyone escaping from Azkaban before, it seemed important."

Tony kicks you under the table, and you frown in confusion. Your father takes a deep breath.

"Honey, listen to me carefully, will you?" He begins, and you worry at his serious tone. "There are important things going on at Daddy's work. Things that could be dangerous." He says and you look at him in surprise. "You and your brother are too young to be getting into such matters, and I hope you will trust me to keep you both safe."

"Yes, dad." Tony assures, but you remain silent. A moment later, you add: 

"Daddy, is there anything I can do to help you?"

"No honey." He says taking back his fork. 

"It's okay to tell me what's going on, I won't be scared. I can help..."

"Enough!" He exclaims angrily punching the table. You jump lightly in your chair, startled. Your father doesn't look at you. "I don't want you to hear anything about this anymore. You two are children, and it's dangerous. Have I made myself clear?"

You look at Tony, but he is glaring at the plate in front of you. 

Swallowing the urge to cry, you get up, hurrying to run to your room.

Your father calls you several times, but you don't answer. 

A few minutes after you are in your bed, he appears in your room. His posture is much gentler than before, and he kneels down beside your bed.

"Honey, hey." He calls to you. You keep your face in the pillow, and he sighs. "I'm sorry for yelling at you." He says, and with your silence, he continues. "Can you forgive me?"

It takes a few seconds, but you look at him, and nod. Howard smiles faintly.

"You and your brother are the most important things in my life." He says fondly. "And I would never forgive myself if something happened to you because of me."

"Dad, you can't control what is in the rest of the world."

Your father chuckles lightly. 

"Yeah I know." He says. "Damn, I wanted you to stay a little girl forever, so you wouldn't be so smart."

You laugh, pushing his shoulder lightly.

"You're not going to tell me what's going on, are you?" You ask and your father sighs, looking away.

"It's nothing that will affect you honey." He says. "It's just problems of the magical world. I don't want you meddling in something like that. Not at this age."

You sit down on the bed next, raising your pinky to your father.

"I swear I won't pry into such business if you promise to tell me if things get serious enough for me to know."

Her father laughs, raising his own pinky then.

"I promise, kiddo."

You both laugh as you take the oath, and your father hugs you next. When he lets go and stands up, you pull his hand away.

"Apologize to Tony, Daddy." You ask surprising him slightly. "He doesn't like it when you yell either."

Your father sighs, bending down to kiss your forehead. He asked you to go to sleep before he closed the door.

//-//

It is very cold when you arrive at Hogwarts.

But you don't care because all your friends link arms and walk together, making you laugh at the confused looks you get when the other students notice the small row.

Over dinner, your mood changes quickly however.

"I imagine it has come to the attention of many students here, especially the older ones, the recent untoward events in the magical world." Principal Harkness began during the announcement of the new school year. She had a serious and authoritative tone, and deep dark circles under her eyes. You have never seen her like this before. "But for those of you who are not aware, the dark wizard known as Korvac escaped from Azkaban a few months ago." The hall exploded into murmurs at the mention. You saw Professor Strange lock his jaw, probably disagreeing that such a topic should be broached with eleven-year-olds. "After much consideration, the Ministry of Magic thought it best to apply additional security to the castles."

"So, starting next week, we will have special guests at the Hogwarts castles; The ministry has determined that aurors and Azkaban guards will be guarding the outside of the grounds."

The crowd erupted in boos as soon as the words echoed in the hall. Your Hufflepuff colleagues remarked in horror that the dementors, the guards of Azkaban, were terrifying, and you sought your brother's gaze at the Slytherin table, but he was looking earnestly at the principal.

Agatha sighed impatiently, and the hall fell silent. She asked everyone to be careful with the guards in Azkaban, not to give them reason to fight back. And then she returned to the daily announcements as if nothing had happened.

You didn't eat very well after that.

History of Magic with Professor Okoye was one of the hardest classes in school.

You were hoping to get decent grades this year, but you were assigned to be with Peter as your pair, so you knew you would have to work for two, as your friend had no interest at all in that subject.

"Why don't you try to pay attention?" You asked slightly annoyed as you made your notes. Quill was drawing small dragons in his notebook.

"I want to be a famous Quidditch player, I don't need to know the history of the Goblin revolution for that."

You sighed, turning your attention back to the blackboard. Several minutes after class had begun, a Gryffindor student raised his hand.

"Professor Okoye, may I ask you a question?" it was Thor Odinson, and he seemed to have grown at least twenty inches over the summer. You noted that his hair was also longer when you looked back, wondering who was speaking.

"Of course, Odinson." The teacher said with a gentle smile. Thor cleared his throat as he lowered his hand, seeming to hesitate.

"Could you tell us about the Mephisto followers?"

The room fell absolutely silent at the mention of the name, and many students looked at Thor with wide eyes. The smile on Professor Okoye's face completely disappeared.

"Where did you hear that name, boy?" she asked sternly, Thor swallowed dryly.

"M-my father, ma'am." He replied. "I heard him send a bawler to the ministry quoting that name. When I asked, he told me to study the history of the wizarding world. I thought I would ask you because I couldn't find anything in the books."

The room looked at the teacher expectantly. Okoye sighed, seeming to decide whether to talk about it or not.

"Listen to me carefully please." She asked as she walked around the tables. "Some years ago long before any of you were born, there was a sorcerer who made all the wrong choices. He sought immeasurable power, and was never satisfied with his own abilities. And many other wizards believed that the quest for ultimate power was something worth dying for. When this wizard became a symbol of power and cruelty, he named himself Mephisto."

Her classmates exchanged startled looks, but the teacher continued to tell.

"The dark wizards and witches who supported this quest became known as the Followers of Mephisto, or Walkers of Death. The magical ministries around the world banded together to put an end to the group, and there was a great battle, where most of these wizards were imprisoned or killed in a duel."

"What happened to Mephisto?" Thor asks suddenly, interrupting the narration. The teacher hesitates, but then gives a reassuring smile.

"He's dead, of course." She assures.

"My mother says he was never found." Added another classmate, you think her name is Valkyrie, but you've never talked to her. Much buzz runs through the room at her utterance, and Professor Okoye twists her fingers nervously.

"When the Walkers of Death were eliminated, Mephisto lost his power." She tells seriously. "The last person who faced him is related to someone in this room actually."

Professor Okoye turns to you, and you want to sink into your chair, feeling your heart soar.

"Auror Howard Stark was the last sorcerer to fight Mephisto before his demise. Thirteen years ago." She says and you feel all the stares on you. "But that's enough from this matter for today, students. Mephisto's story is taboo in our witch community because of the thousands of lives that were lost during that period." She adds, "I hope you will be respectful about the memory of those victims, and not comment on such a thing, or mention the name of this despicable wizard again."

The teacher closes the subject after that, looking upset. You can't pay attention to the class again when she goes back to talking about the magical revolution.

//-//

"Did you knew about that?" You ask angrily when Tony looks unimpressed when you approach him in the third floor hallway, after searching all over the school for him.

He looks tired.

"Stop talking so loud, will you?" He asks looking around. "Of course I knew, I've been researching this story for months."

You frown in confusion, and Tony rolls his eyes leaning against the bookshelf next to him.

"I didn't tell you anything because you're only thirteen!" He adds nervously. "That's not children's business."

"It is my business if it involves our family!". You retort angrily. A group of students walk past you, looking at you curiously, but Tony just pretends to be admiring the trophies until they leave.

"Look, I don't really know what happened, but dad used to be an auror when mom was alive." He recounts. "And then he took on this powerful sorcerer, and mom died when you were born. He became an inventor, switched departments in the mystery, and nobody talks about this Mephisto guy nowadays."

"Do you know what this has to do with the wizard who escaped from Azkaban?" you ask with your arms crossed, Tony gives a chuckle.

"Isn't it obvious, sis?" he retorts wryly. "Korvac was Mephisto's greatest ally at that time. And he escaped from the most secure prison in the world. A lot of people think that means the walkers are getting back in business again."

"My god Tony, why didn't dad tell us any of this?" You ask worriedly and Tony laughs humorlessly, looking upset.

He straightens his posture and points to the glass on the trophy shelf that was propped up. 

"And there's more." He says. "Take a look at that."

You turn your face to stare at the objects that were stored there. Most were trophies, but there were also pictures of the Quidditch teams from previous years. Tony is pointing to one of those.

"No way." You whispered as you see it. In the caption on the board, it read "Howard Stark and Erik Lehnsherr receiving awards for their honorable service to the school." It was your father and your teacher, probably in their senior year, and they seemed both content. The magical photograph showed them hugging each other by the shoulders, huge smiles on their faces, and two golden cups in their hands. 

"Yes, little sister." Tony said also looking at the picture. "Dad and Magneto were friends in school days. I wonder what happened to Professor Lehnsherr to make him so bitter. He looks happy in that picture."

The sound of the bell announcing the next period makes you jump in fright, as you were completely distracted by the photograph in front of you.

"Let's talk about this later, Tony, I have charms now and..."

"No way, Y/N!" Tony interrupted frowning. "That's none of your business. Dad told me that you promised to stay out of it, and I agree with him. You're too young!"

"Oh and you think he'll like knowing you're investigating this whole story?" You retort and Tony sighs, looking away, "That's what I thought.

"I'm not going to get you mixed up in this story."

"Fine, I'll find out on my own, then."

"Y/n..."

"See you, Tony."

//-//

Having dementors in the castle is really scary.

It's been two weeks since classes started, and with the first Quidditch game of the year approaching, you're pretty anxious.

You didn't make much progress in your research during those days. None of the professors wanted to say anything about Mephisto's time, and you lost fifteen points when you tried to ask Professor Lehnsherr about his school days, for being a snoozer.

The only things you found out other than what Tony told you were what Gamora and Nebula shared with you. They mentioned that Thanos was particularly busy during the summer, and that they had never seen him go to the Ministry so often before. 

You also started reading the Daily Prophet, and every day they would publish something about Korvac's escape, even if it was only to say that there was no news in the case. 

When the day of the first match arrived, you ignored the strange feeling that settled on the edge of your stomach as if something bad was going to happen.

You are overjoyed when you are in the air, waiting for the match to start, and notice that all of Tony's friends, including yourself, have yellow flags in their hands to cheer you on.

Everything goes well until the end of the first half.

You noticed a bludger almost reaching your chaser team mate, Clint Barton and moved forward to defend him many meters above the stadium. Because it was raining, your visibility was very poor. You knocked the ball away, but lost sight of Clint, although you heard him shout a thank you. As you dived down again, lightning exploded beside you, and you jumped in fright, feeling your ear whistle as you became completely disoriented.

As you began to get used to your surroundings again, you felt your body become completely tense. The cloud in front of you was almost a face shape, it looked like someone with horns or maybe wearing a tiara. The image dissolved in the next second, and you felt a strange chill run through your body. Releasing the broom handle only to hug your arms, you looked down, the whole team many meters away. 

When you tried to join them, something came in your way.

Dementors must have been the scariest thing you had ever seen in your life. And there was one of them right in front of you. You widened your eyes in shock, and the creature looked straight at you.

Losing your strength quickly, you felt yourself slipping off the broom. A feeling as if you had been wrapped in a very painful spell overtook your body as you fell. 

//-//

You woke up in a jolt, and warm hands pushed you back into bed.

"Relax, kid." Your brother spoke with a smile. "I swear I'll actually forbid you to play at some point."

"What happened?" you asked confused. All of your friends and Tony's friends around your bed.

"You fell off the broom, damn it." He retorted and you rolled your eyes.

"Yeah but there was a dementor up there..."

"Yeah, everyone saw it." Tony interrupted looking annoyed. "Professor Harkness kicked everyone out of the stadium after Professor Strange conjured up the patronus."

"I have never seen Professor Strange so angry." Gamora remarked next. 

"Oh, there's something else." Natasha warned moving around the crowd to stand beside you on the bed. "Your broom fell into the Whomping Willow, and well. It' s right here."

In Nat's arms were the remains of what had once been your Nimbus 2000. You sighed in displeasure, but at least you could ask Jarvis to buy you another one.

After you were released from the nurse's office, Principal Harkness was waiting for you in the hallway. She waved for all your other colleagues to go their ways, as she escorted you to the Hufflepuff common room.

"Tell me, dear, are you feeling all right?" She asked tenderly. You nodded in agreement as you walked.

When you reached an empty hallway, she stopped walking, and touched your shoulder so that you would do the same. She knelt at your height and looked deep into your eyes.

"Tell me what you saw up there."

" Professor, I don't remember..." You started to say, but then fell silent, immediately recalling what you saw as you gaze the purple glow in front of you. It was as if your thoughts came out of your lips before you even thought to say them. "I saw an image in the clouds, it was like a horned creature or someone wearing a crown. Then the dementor reached me and I felt an immediate chill and unhappiness. I had the feeling that I was wrapped in a sensation of pain as I fell down."

The professor seemed to absorb every one of your words. She smiled then, her eyes returning to their normal color quickly, making you believe you had imagined the whole thing.

"Thank you dear." She said. "Let's keep this between us, okay?"

When you two walked back, you didn't remember any conversation at all.

//-//

Your first trip to Hogsmeade is amazing.

You buy two bags full of candy at the Honeydukes, and then you and your friends go to the Three Broomsticks, to have some buttery beer.

Quill seems to have become friends with Pietro Maximoff during Quidditch practice, because as soon as they see each other, they greet with a hug.

You ignore the feeling of nervousness that settles on the pit of your stomach when your gaze meets Wanda's.

Your friends don't mind sharing a table with the Maximoff twins, and that's how you end up sitting a few feet from Wanda, Gamora's watchful eye on you trying to understand why you're so quiet and flushed.

"Everyone is so nervous about the dementors at the castle, that I think we should try to do something fun. Like throw a party." Quill suggested to the group. Mantis looked excited.

"I think we could do something before Christmas." Gamora suggested and the group agreed.

"Does anyone have any idea where we can have this party? Quill asked." Since we are from different houses, maybe the common rooms are not a good option. I heard that the Slytherin kids don't really like the Hufflepuffs.”

Quill's teasing makes Wanda roll her eyes, but the rest of the table giggles. You look away to your cup.

"We could use some empty room on the seventh floor." Pietro suggested, and Quill gave an excited exclamation.

"This is a great idea." He said. "If the older students are going to participate, we can get some prefect to cover for us."

Quil looks at you and Mantis has to poke your shoulder for you to notice and pay attention.

"Sorry, what is it?" You ask when you notice all the looks on you.

"Can't you convince Steve Rogers to join us? He's your brother's boyfriend."

You laugh, nodding in agreement

"Okay folks, I'll try to call them all."

On the way back to the castle, after you spent the afternoon talking about the most diverse random subjects and telling jokes, you leave your hands in your pocket, because it is very cold.

Quill and Pietro start playing tag, and Wanda walks alone. You hurry up to join her.

"Hey." You greet with a smile, Wanda also has her hands in her pockets.

"Hey". She responds kindly.

"Is everything all right?"

"Yes?"

"Are you asking me?" You say back with humor and Wanda laughs, looking at the floor as she walks. "I… I thought it was cool this afternoon." You confess the next moment, feeling your face get hot. "With everyone together, I say. And you and your brother, it's ... you two are nice."

"Thank you, Stark." She replies with a smile. You move your fingers inside your pocket before you speak again.

"If we're going to be friends, you can use my first name". You say and Wanda looks at you, but you keep looking forward.

"Are you sure?" She asks after a moment. You frown without understanding. "Are you sure you want to be my friend?"

You look at Wanda in surprise. But then your expression softens.

"I thought we were going to be friends last year, but you looked angry every time you saw me."

Wanda laughed lightly, looking ahead.

"Yeah, I… I'm sorry about that." She says. "It wasn't something you did. It was just a few things I heard. And I ended up thinking that you were judging me like everyone else at that school." She tells you. "It would make sense since you saw me face the troll." Wanda whispered the last part. You bit your bottom lip before speaking again.

"You could have talked to me, you know?" You say. "I kept thinking that I had done something wrong."

Wanda said nothing, and you sighed, running your hands through your hair.

"We can forget about it and be friends now, what do you think?" You then suggested a smile on your face.

Wanda looked at you, and her green eyes cause something in your stomach to sink.

"I would like that."

"Cool." You comment breathlessly.

//-//

Being friends with Wanda is so natural that it almost surprises you.

Now whenever you sit down at the Slytherin table, there are two new members in your group of friends.

Eventually you discover that it was Quidditch that build Quill and Pietro friendship, as they stopped fighting because they were spending a lot of time training together.

At the Slytherin table, you know that Pietro and Quill receive angry looks because they are from Gryffindor, but no one has the courage to say anything to you, perhaps it is the deadly stare that Wanda gives anyone who dares to look foully at her brother.

You also succeed in inviting Steve and Tony, in addition to your brother's other friends, to the party before Christmas. Steve says that you all can use the old Astronomy room on seventh-on Saturday, and that the curfew would be at ten o'clock. The news of the party ends up spreading quickly around the school, but your friends don't seem to mind that it stopped being something small just between you guys.

When the day finally comes, you wear a comfortable jeans and sweatshirt set, realizing that it is a choice of clothes much more similar to Muggle-borns than pureblood but no one seems to care.

"Hey, you took so long" remarked Gamora as soon as you went up to the seventh floor and met her at the door of the room. "Come on, everyone is already in there"

As you took some of the non-alcoholic fruit drink that Mantis helped Quill make, you looked around the room. You waved sheepishly when your eyes met Wanda's, who was coming in. She looks very beautiful in her wine red sweater, and she smiled at you, and you didn't understand why you felt your stomach flip.

Soon everyone were all together, talking animatedly on various subjects. When Quill and Pietro started doing a dance competition, you laughed so hard that your belly was aching when they were done.

//-//

You have your first Divination class that week.

Professor Heimdall was already waiting for the students while he was sitting on a kind of ivory throne in the corner of the room, which smelled of incense that made your head spin slightly. It really was a remarkably mystical and mysterious environment, even for a magic school. The illumination was limited due to long white curtains on the walls, and there were many candles scattered around the room. Mantis whispered that this kind of thing was done to increase concentration when working with this kind of magic. 

"Welcome to our first meeting on Divination, students, the most complex and unstable of magical arts." began the professor as soon as everyone was seated at the tables spread around the tower. "I must warn you that if you seek answers to your most personal questions here, you will most likely not find them. There is no stability in this subject."

Some students commented softly among themselves, but no one seemed willing to contradict the professor, his yellow eyes roaming over everyone in the room.

"Let's begin today's class with an introduction to the basics of study in divination." He warns, and with a flick of his wand, the cupboards at the back of the room open, and from there several sets of cups fly out to all the tables. Then the professor touches his wand to the teapot on the table, and it multiplies into four pairs, flying around to serve everyone.

When everyone has their cups full, Professor Heimdall goes to the small blackboard, and begins to explain how divination works. You hurry to start writing it down.

Many minutes later, when you have finished your tea, Mantis pokes your shoulder.

"Let me look at yours and you do mine?" she asks and you nod, handing her your cup. You clear your throat, looking intently at the dregs of tea in Mantis' cup.

"I don't see anything." You grumble, trying to concentrate. The powder doesn't seem to form anything. 

"Remember to check the symbols in your books." Warned Professor Heimdall aloud the next moment. You took a deep breath, running your fingers across the paper as you tried to identify the images.

"Mantis, let's switch, I don't think I'm getting anything..." You start to say softly looking at your book, when you glance at your friend however, you frown in confusion. She has her gaze glazed on your cup, one hand covering her mouth, "Mantis, what happened?"

She gasps softly, and you straighten your position as you notice a thick tear running down her cheek, feeling your heart soar with worry.

"I'm... I'm so sorry." She sighs breathlessly, dropping her cup on the table. The noise attracts everyone's attention, but Mantis is getting up the next moment, and running out of the room. You stand up, but Professor Heimdall puts his hand on your shoulder.

"Don't worry, miss Stark." He says. "It's common for those more sensitive to divination to have that kind of reaction in their first contact with the spirit world." He explains with a tender look. You don't understand why, but his voice calms you. "Go back to your activity, I will talk to your friend."

He waves to the rest of the room next, and then leaves. You sit back down, exchanging worried glances with Gamora and Nebula who are at the table in front of you. 

Your first action is to look at the cup that Mantis has thrown on the table, but the impact has broken it at the bottom, and the liquid has run down the cloth. You sigh in dissatisfaction, using your wand to clean up the mess.

When class is over, Gamora and Nebula quickly join you.

"Any idea what that was about?" Gamora asks as you walk together through the castle. 

"No, she just got a glazed look in her eyes, and then she ran off." You count. "I'll try to ask her in potions class."

"Maybe she saw some evil omen." Nebula comments, and Gamora elbows her in the stomach. "Ouch."

You frown worriedly.

"Does that mean something bad is going to happen to me?"

Gamora denies with her head, forcing a smile as if trying to reassure you.

"Bad omens can be many things, even something silly, like losing a sock in your room." She says and you leave your hands in your pockets, not feeling reassured by this information.

"Yeah, but Mantis wouldn't cry over a sock." You retort and Nebula nods in agreement, but Gamora has a serious expression.

"I'd rather think it's nothing bad." She says. "Professor Heimdall said it's normal for sensitive students to have that reaction, isn't it?" She adds and you shrug. "Maybe she's just been watching you lose a game or something, but she was so overwhelmed with having seen something, that she got emotional."

"I hope you're right." You grumble as you reach the stairs. You sigh. "See you at lunch, girls. Have a good History of Magic class."

Gamora and Nebula wave goodbye and head in the opposite direction from you after they watch the staircase move.

You hurry to avoid being late for potions.

//-//

Mantis doesn't come to the dungeon either. You poke Quill in the back as he sits down in front of you, and ask if he's seen her anywhere, but he shrugs, worried that you don't know either. You just sigh, telling him what happened in class.

"I'm glad I didn't take that subject." He says as he hears the story. "I've heard that some people learn to see the day that the other person is going to die. That's scary."

You laugh incredulously.

"That sounds like a lie."

Quil shrugs his shoulders. "That's what I heard."

You wish you could talk more, however Professor Erik entered the room the next moment, and everyone fell silent. You tried to forget about the divination class by concentrating on making your poison antidote correctly next.

//-//

You only found Mantis at lunchtime.

Or rather, she found you.

You had just come out of charm class, and she was waiting for you outside. You looked at her with surprise and concern, but she just smiled, looking much more relaxed than earlier.

"I'm sorry I disappeared." She says. "Professor Heimdall thought it best that I get some rest, and then he taught me some things about aural sensitivity."

"I don't know what that means." You comment making her smile. 

"It doesn't matter." She says. "I'm sorry for scaring you earlier."

You shake your head.

"Mantis, come on, no need to stress about it." You retort. "I was worried about you, and I'm sure it wasn't your fault." 

Mantis smiles, looking forward. You bite the inside of your cheek, finding her strangely calm and distant.

"Do you remember what you saw in my cup?" You ask hesitantly, and a small glint passes through Mantis' eyes, but then she smiles quietly, denying it.

"It was no great thing, I believe." She says. "Professor Heimdall has assured me that it must have been just a bad memory, and that there is nothing to worry about."

You frown, but something in Mantis' expression tells you that she just won't talk about it anymore. Not wanting to make your friend uncomfortable, you don't press the issue again.

//-//

It's Christmas again, and you don't go home.

This year Hogwarts is much emptier than it usually is, and you know that it's because of the dementors. 

The vast majority of the families, even those who usually leave their children at Hogwarts, have asked the students to return home. Your father briefly mentioned in his last letter how there were many requests for shift changes during the holiday period.

Tony also stayed in the castle, you knew he was planning to enter the forbidden section of the library, and he had told you to mind your own business when you asked if you could help.

Surprisingly, Gamora and Nebula returned home. It was very unusual because Thanos didn't like parties, but they promised to write to you. Mantis always returned home, so you just handed over your present before hugging her goodbye. Quill and the Maximoffs stayed with you.

"You know you're losing right?" you remarked with amusement as you were spending time with your friends in the Gryffindor communal room, a wizard chessboard in front of you. Quill let out an annoyed groan. 

"That game is harder than it looks." He grumbled looking at the pieces. " Knight move to E3 please."

The piece moved, cursing softly that Quill was making a stupid move, and you laughed.

"Can't you see her bisbe right there you idiot? "Squinted the black item, and Quill sighed in irritation.

"You want to play by yourself, do you?" He retorted, and Pietro and Wanda who were watching you two, giggled.

"Are you talking to the game, Quill?" Pietro teased as if the boy in front of him was crazy. 

After you beat Peter, it was your turn to face Pietro. He was a much better player, but he still made a lot of thoughtless moves.

Someone walked past the door, and you heard noises of footsteps, and then there was a girl joining you all.

"Hey, Monica!" Pietro greeted the girl cheerfully as soon as he saw her. The girl smiled at him. "Guys, this is Monica Rambeau, she is..."

"Professor Rambeau's daughter." Quill completes as if it is obvious. And you and Wanda smile at the girl. "Everybody knows Monica, man."

"What are you guys doing?" The girl asks curiously.

"Playing chess."

"Losing at chess, you mean right?" you tease with a smile. Pietro and Quill laugh in agreement, Wanda is distracted by the book in her hands.

"Do you want to hang out with us?" Pietro asks.

"Actually, I'm going to go outside." Monica says excitedly. "I just went in to get a coat. Darcy and I are going to make a snowman. Why don't you guys join us?"

You exchange glances with your friends. They all seem to think the same thing. And that's how you end up in the outside yards, in a snowball war.

" Back off, Pietro, I'm on your team!" You yell at the older Maximoff who has just hit you with an icy snowball to the chest. Pietro laughs.

"In war it's every man for himself!" He shouts running toward you. You laugh as you run away from him, preparing to hit Quill who is in the opposite direction.

"Hey, get down!" You heard someone shout and you turned around, obeying the order as soon as you noticed Darcy's raised arm toward you. She threw a snowball at someone behind you, and you laughed when Pietro let out an exclamation. Running toward the girl, you thanked her with a wave of your hand before running back. 

After hitting Monica and Quill twice, you ran out of Pietro's reach when he appeared at your side, laughing. Stumbling, you ended up miscalculating your speed, and knocked Wanda down next.

"That's a foul." Joked Pietro as he watched you two fall, laughing along with both of you. Before he could throw a snowball at you, Quill was back and he ran. You helped Wanda up as you apologized for knocking her down.

"One point each." She says holding the snowball at chest height. You smile, and wait for her to throw the snow at you. She laughs when she has done so gently, pushing the ball against your shoulder, the icy liquid running down your blouse making you shiver slightly. 

You pick up a snowball from the ground next, but when you look at Wanda, her face flushed with cold, and emerald eyes sparkling with amusement, you don't have the heart, and just smile wryly, making her look at you curiously.

"What is it?" she asks confused by the way you are just looking, making no mention of throwing the snow at her.

But the moment was broken next, when you all heard an animalistic noise nearby, and turned your heads with curiosity.

A few meters away was the guardian of the lands, Drax, leading a line of winged horses through the snow. You and your friends let out a chorus of excitement.

"Wow, look at the size of those horses." Pietro commented looking in the same direction. 

"They're not horses, people!" Monica exclaimed excitedly. "They're unicorns! Mom said we were going to study them next class don't you remember?"

Only when Monica said this did you squeeze your eyes shut to get a better look, and you could see the white horns in the distance. Drax waved at you from a distance when he noticed that you all were looking. He led the horses to the area where the class on Magical Creatures was usually held, and you saw that Professor Rambeau was waiting for him.

After that, it seemed to get colder. And you all decided to go inside and have some hot chocolate, as you took your friends into the kitchens. The elves were happy to serve you sweet breads and cakes, even outside of dinner time.

//-//

On Christmas morning, all of your friends, including Tony and Natasha who was Tony's only friend to stay at Hogwarts, gathered at the same table in the main hall for the gift exchange.

"Stop fussing, boy, you'll mess up the presents!" You heard Darcy complain to Quill. She and Monica were also with you because Pietro invited them. Neither of you guys minded, because they were very nice.

"I'm just trying to get a peek." Retorted Peter raising the gift package in the air out of Darcy's reach.

"It's not your gift, so you can't look!" 

You laughed at the interaction, finishing opening the package in front of you. Natasha had given you a new collection of wand care products and you loved it.

"You do need to take better care of your wand indeed." Teased Tony when he saw the gift. You laughed while waving a middle finger at him, and stood up to hug Nat in appreciation.

Most of the gifts were clothes, and candy. You bought a collection of exploding snap cards for Quill, and he was very pleased, already throwing the cards on the table to play with everyone. Pietro and Monica eventually agreed to participate, while Darcy watched them.

"That's mine right there." You said shyly to Wanda as she picked up one of the packages from the stack. "I hope you like it."

Wanda bit her lower lip in anticipation as she opened the package. And when the red scarf became visible, she fell silent, and it was your turn to be nervous.

"I know you're from Slytherin and all, but I've noticed that you really like red." You hasten to justify. "And then I saw this scarf in Hogsmeade and I remembered that day after charms class that you forgot your scarf and Pietro lent you his and so I thought it would be a good idea and..."

"I loved it." She interrupts looking at you. Her cheeks redden and a tender smile on her lips. You relax with relief immediately.

"Oh, right." You say. "Good, then."

You think you've been looking into Wanda's eyes too long, because your face is starting to heat up. But Peter gives a celebratory shout for getting the card move right, and you and Wanda look away quickly. She puts on her scarf next, and you look down at your lap to hide the silly smile that insists on escaping your lips.

//-//

When classes at Hogwarts return, the Dementors leave.

Apparently there was a big commotion in the Ministry of Magic. You hear many students commenting on this during the class break. And then there is a story in the Daily Prophet saying that Korvac was killed in combat with aurors in London, but there are also many people saying that this is a lie, and that he has run away again and the Ministry of Magic doesn't want to assume to the public.

Anyway, Headmistress Harkness removes the dementors from the castle and the atmosphere in the school improves considerably.

Nebula has a large purple mark on her left eye when she returns. Gamora tells everyone that she fell off her broomstick. You choke when she tells only you that it was Thanos who did this after he caught her snooping in his office.

"You can't tell anyone about this, okay?" She asks tearfully and you nod frantically, hugging her to calm her down. "I've never seen our father like that."

"It's okay now, Gamora." You say tightening in your embrace. "I will help you."

When you write to your father, asking what to do in a situation where the dangers are indoors, he says that Stark Mansion is big enough to accommodate your friends.

When you come home for the vacations after doing very well on your final exams, Gamora and Nebula are with you.

[lit-in-thy-heart]

and the next instalment of the merlin gif analysis saga is...

gwaine realising he's in love with merlin

because i want to make myself cry

Glossing over the fact that the first gif actually makes something in my chest clench, this seems to be the episode where Gwaine realises that he might be a lot little in love with Merlin.

Elyan definitely seems to believe that Gwaine is in love with someone in 5×06 (thanks @sneakyboymerlin for reminding me of that) and you could argue that Gwaine's lack of interaction with Merlin in 5×05 proves that it's not Merlin he's in love with, but think about it.

Gwaine rarely reveals his true feelings when he's around other people, but Merlin seems to be the exception. He's put himself out on the line before (yes I'm thinking about the 'Not Arthur' scene, I'm always thinking about that scene) because he can't seem to help but lay himself bare in front of Merlin. So if he's realised that he cares for Merlin a bit more than he should, he is going to be terrified of revealing that fact, and avoids Merlin because that's the only way he is going to be able to process his feelings.

Because Gwaine has it bad.

He loves Merlin subtly, powerfully. In the first gif, he casts a glance over his shoulder to make sure that Percival is still behind him and has still got hold of Merlin (honestly I don't know what they'd do without Percival, he's essentially the assigned transportation knight) and what's really interesting is what Gwaine is doing with his hand. It's not quite gripped on his sword, but hovering above it, with the fingers splayed. And perhaps I'm projecting but that is a movement I usually associate with trying to calm yourself down when panicked. As if he's telling himself to take a breath and everything will be fine. And the way Gwaine takes Merlin from Percival is so painfully gentle. He lets Merlin's body fall into his arms, rather than actively manipulating his form with his hands. Gwaine seems very reluctant to disturb Merlin in any way at all, choosing to kneel behind his head and slow down the process of setting Merlin down, despite the situation being quite dire. He handles Merlin like he's a glass ornament, as if he's afraid of him shattering at any moment.

Merlin is relatively well-supported by the makeshift bed they've got going on, yet Gwaine chooses to leave his hand resting on Merlin's shoulder. In fact, it doesn't look just like it's resting, but he's moulded his whole hand to fit around Merlin's shoulder. His hand doesn't need to be there. Gwaine doesn't even need to be there. He could easily be stood with the other knights, yet his instinct is to be as close to Merlin as he can. The only way he could be closer is by having Merlin in his lap, but that would probably make it more difficult for Gaius to examine him.

Gwaine has never really been one to shy away from physical contact. In the season 3 episodes he consistently provides Merlin with hugs (mostly when Arthur has rejected him but we'll get onto that whole thing in a bit) despite not knowing each other for that long. Even later on in this episode, he drops all the firewood to give Merlin a hug when he recovers. There seems to be an instinctive urge to be close to Merlin. And the fact that Merlin's head is resting on Gwaine's forearm is making me want to curl up in a ball and scream. And maybe Gwaine has never questioned this eagerness for physical contact before. But by the second gif, I think he knows what his initial refusal to be away from an unconscious Merlin means.

And a key part to this analysis is something I never thought I'd be looking at in depth, as glorious as it is: Gwaine's hair.

The first image directly follows the first gif, and the second image precedes the second gif. You can see that Gwaine's hair in the first image is much flatter than it is in the second. By the time Arthur and Co have left and Merlin is still unconscious, Gwaine seems to have been running his hands consistently through his hair. It's significantly messier and, whilst it could be argued that the wind plays a part, Gaius's hair remains largely unaltered. And one way to try and deal with stress or panic is to run your fingers through your hair again and again. It's not difficult to believe that Gwaine has been pacing up and down doing exactly that because Merlin is still not waking up.

If he was panicked before, then he's feeling tormented now. His hair, pushed out of his face in the first gif and image, is falling unchecked into his face and Gwaine, who usually keeps his hair in a relatively immaculate condition, is doing nothing about it. Because Merlin is lying right in front of him, potentially dying, and he has no clue how to deal with that.

In the second gif, Gwaine partially turns away and looks up, seeming to take a quick breath. He's deliberately not looking at either Merlin or Gaius, and this reaction comes after Gaius implies that Merlin could have internal injuries. And if there's internal damage and Gaius doesn't know how to deal with it, then Merlin doesn't stand a chance. And it's quite possible that Gwaine is looking up like that to try and blink away tears or just to ground himself. Merlin has been seriously injured before (think of the writers using him as a bit of a punching bag in season 4) but that damage was always external and Merlin was healed rather quickly. If it's internal, then nothing can be done by Gwaine. And it is when Gwaine is faced with the thought of being without Merlin that he realises just how much he needs him.

And when there's the slimmest chance that Gwaine might be able to help, he launches himself into it. When Gaius tells him to get firewood, he starts off in a manner that is almost a sprint, before seeming to realise that being in that much of a rush would expose his feelings, and he hesitates before electing for a fast walk instead. Because the only way he can keep himself from falling apart is to focus on helping Merlin and the possibility that he might be alright after all.

Look at his face here. He is stunned, then ecstatic, then confused. And the way that he moves towards Merlin makes it clear that he is not going to give him the trademark one-armed hug, but a full-on embrace. And Merlin brushes Gwaine off, because he doesn't have the time because Arthur is in danger and Gwaine probably should be paying more attention to what Merlin is saying but he's not. He's giving Gaius a tender smile as if to thank him for helping Merlin.

Gwaine hasn't made any mention of Arthur or the knights, even though it is a dangerous mission with or without knowing it's a trap, and his preoccupation with Merlin shows just how deeply he cares for him. The fact that his first instinct is once again to make physical contact with him, even though there was the prospect of internal damage and hugging Merlin might not have been the best thing to do, just says that Gwaine has got it tremendously bad for Merlin.

It took the thought of Merlin dying for Gwaine to realise that he was in love with him, and Gwaine spends the rest of the series struggling to deal with that.

He distances himself from Merlin for two episodes, not engaging in any conversations with just the two of them, until--

THE SUBTEXT.

Merlin's glance down in the first gif, demonstrating that he'd also do anything to protect his mother, is one thing, but Gwaine's reaction? The subtle sag of his body, the eyes darting down away from Merlin, the gentle swallow. In that moment, he's thinking how he would do anything to protect Merlin. Gwaine's gaze lingers on Merlin for a moment before he looks away, realising that Merlin has no idea how he feels about him. There's so much tenderness in that one look, especially after the slight annoyance that there seemed to be when Merlin kept talking about Arthur.

Gwaine was Merlin's friend before he was a knight. But Merlin only seems to see him as a knight these days, and Gwaine seems to decide that the only way he can indicate any of the love he has for Merlin is by being what Merlin wants him to be: a soldier to protect Arthur.

You have my word on it, Merlin.

You have my word that I will protect the one you care about the most. You have my word that I will keep him safe for you, so you don't have to feel the same pain I did. You have my word that I will put my life on the line for him, because he means more to you than I ever will.

Because this is when Gwaine realises that though he may love Merlin, Merlin will not love him back.

The way Gwaine falls back in his chair is incredibly interesting. There seems to be a bit of an impact with his shoulders, suggesting that he's hitting it with some force, but his limbs seem pretty tense. He's not slumping back in it from fatigue, he seems to be subtly throwing himself back in it. Because when Merlin was injured, Gwaine was thinking only about him and worrying about his welfare. But when Gwaine himself is injured (or has faced a threat of injury), Merlin spends the whole time talking about Arthur. And Gwaine can never measure up to Arthur. Gwaine only received hugs from Merlin when he'd been rejected by Arthur; a part of him believes that he's second best to Arthur in Merlin's eyes. And Gwaine is resigned to that, to never being able to measure up to Arthur, but is not happy about it. But he clings on to Merlin in whatever ways he can. By protecting Arthur. By greeting him when he's released from the cells and being one of the first faces he sees.

And just before their final interaction in the finale, Gwaine doesn't give Merlin a hug after Merlin has faced injury, but a touch on the arm. A touch that is incredibly similar to the one Arthur has given Merlin many times.

Because maybe, just maybe, if Gwaine can prove that he's similar to Arthur, then Merlin might look at him in the same way he looks at Arthur. Might prioritise Gwaine for once. Might even return a fraction of the love that Gwaine hasn't known what to do with for most of the season.

Gwaine would do anything for Merlin, but, by the final season, Merlin only sees him as a shield for Arthur.

[janiedean]

more of the tyrion/sansa mortician/hairdresser saga

cc @meri-vaahtoaa HAVE YOUR EXTRA DOSE OF IT U___U I HOPE IT’S TO YOUR TASTE U__U

sequel to this fic here, warning for... well, an embalming happens offscreen and no one is very sympathetic towards the dear deceased aka littlefinger I guess X°D *drops and crashes*

Thing is, Tyrion had absolutely planned to go back to Sansa Stark’s shop. He had been bracing up to see her again and if he caught himself glancing at his hair in the mirror more than usual, well, can you blame him, since he actually likes it for the first time in his life?

And then he sees her again a whole week after he walked into her shop, at his damned internship, with her mother, because -

“See,” the woman — how did she introduce herself, Catelyn, yes, Catelyn, “my sister should have been here but — she didn’t take her husband’s death that well.”

“I’m sorry to hear it,” his boss, Oberyn, says with all the professionally he doesn’t usually have when off the clock.

“Oh, don’t bother,” Catelyn goes on as Sansa notices him standing behind Oberyn and tentatively waves — he waves back —, “I mean, let’s just say that, uh. I… didn’t have a great relationship with him and my husband loathed him, and in between us he poisoned her against the entire family, so it’s not like anyone was that sad about his passing, but anyway. What I meant, if it was for me I’d have just told you that we’d do a closed casket funeral, but my sister is really adamant that it’s not, so I suppose that he’ll need to be embalmed.”

“You don’t sound too happy about it,” Oberyn says.

“I don’t know,” Catelyn replies, “I find it kind of creepy. Anyway, I absolutely don’t want to pay extra for the coffin, so —”

“I think,” Oberyn says, “that maybe I should show you what options you have making sure you’re aware of the cheapest ones, and my apprentice over there can start having a look at the corpse? Actually, Tyrion?”

“Yes?”

“I think you can handle embalming this one corpse, it’s not the kind you have to completely reconstruct from scratch and it could be a good exercise. That good?”

“Uh, of course —”

“Then — Mrs. Stark, if you’d follow me?”

Catelyn does and he’s left alone with Sansa.

“How interesting,” she says, “I had no idea this was where you worked.”

“I didn’t tell you now, did I?”

“No, but — well, they’re kind of — I mean, I wouldn’t want to say friends but we’ve come here for anyone who died in the family? I think, at least. Anyway, honestly, no one except my aunt liked Uncle Peter. You can relax when you work on him.”

“Well,” he laughs nervously, “at least when I come to your shop before my final I’ll have had a lot of practice, thanks to him. But — well. I should be done tomorrow morning at latest, isn’t the wake tomorrow afternoon?”

“Oh, yes,” Sansa says. “I’ll see you then, I suppose.”

Then she winks and goes to join her mother.

Well.

Time to go check on his first corpse, Tyrion thinks, and heads for the embalming room downstairs.

— —

Indeed, Mr. Baelish died of a sudden heart attack, which means that while his face is still half-contorted in a not exactly pleasurable expression, it’s not the kind of body you have to manually reconstruct. He only starts on it the next morning, no point in doing it a day before the actual wake, and he’s done in two hours, early enough to dress the body in the suit his wife sent over — extremely pricey, coming from money Tyrion can see that, but also exceedingly black and he’s not even sure it looks good on the man, but what does he know and what does he care? He’s just placed the eyecaps under the man’s eyelids when someone knocks.

“It’s open,” he says, and — “Sansa?” He blurts as she tiptoes into the room.

“Yeah,” she says, sheepishly, “I asked Mr. Martell if I could come say hi to you. Uh, I see you really pumped him full of carcinogen?”

Tyrion snorts. “Well, yes. Gotten the blood out, got all the right fluid in, made sure to un-set rigor mortis and so on.”

“For what it’s worth,” she says, “it looks like you are cut for this job. Sure, his hair doesn’t have the best cut, but — well. He kind of always looked at me creepy, so I never offered a free cut and I’m not going to start now. Will you be at the wake, just for science?”

“Yeah,” Tyrion nods, “that’s… I mean. I could not be, I’m not an official employee, but.”

“But?”

He figures he might as well go and say it. She did say she was going to put a move on him, didn’t she?

“But,” he says, “I understood you will be and I’d quite like to see you again.”

“Oh,” she smiles, delighted, “then by all means. Do come to the wake. I’m actually looking forward to it, now.”

Then she waves at him and leaves the room.

Tyrion is not going to faint and fall off his damned chair. He does have a dignity.

— —

“Heads up,” Oberyn tells him later, as they ready the room for people to walk inside in half an hour, “I absolutely do forbid actual employees from being unprofessional on the job, but you aren’t an official employee.”

“… Was — why are you telling me this?” Tyrion blurts.

“Because I’ve seen how Miss Stark looks at you and how you look back at her,” he shrugs, “and I certainly won’t begrudge you for being unprofessional, if you choose to be.”

Then he winks, too.

God.

God, has he just said Tyrion could —

He did.

Oh, from the way he’s grinning, it’s obvious he did.

Fuck.

He thinks he needs a moment or fifteen. And he could do with a drink, but — yeah. Not now.

Still —

He has no idea what’s going to happen the moment this wake begins, but he’s actually kind of fucking looking forward to it.

What the hell is his life, he wonders, and then the first people start knocking — early, of course — and he schools his face into a semblance of professionalism.

Or at least he tries to.

— —

“Well,” Sansa says one hour later, “this certainly has been something.”

Considering that her aunt broke down in tears over Mr. Baelish’s casket, then her son also broke out in tears because she was miserable and she was ignoring him, then he started screaming about how much he always hated Mr. Baelish anyway, then the aunt lost her shit at him and Oberyn had to calm her down, then some of Mr. Baelish’s friends were adamant in saying that he certainly had never tried to fuck with not paying his taxes which apparently Ned Stark is absolutely sure of and that turned also into a half-fight and then the aunt started arguing with Mrs. Stark about how the casket was too cheap for such a wonderful man and Tyrion is nowhere near sure it’s over yet…

“It has,” Tyrion says, wishing he could have a beer like most of the guys in this room, but technically he’s on the clock. Now that wouldn’t look very good, if anyone noticed, and honestly, he doesn’t want to get noticed by anyone else. “Also, I hope this doesn’t mean i can’t come get my hair done in three days.”

“Of course,” Sansa smiles, “I’d be delighted to have you. I did have plans, for when you did come.”

“Oh,” Tyrion feigns, “did you?”

“Maybe,” she replies, slowly, looking down at him, “if your employer has a storage room, I could show you some of them?”

“Well,” he says, “I don’t have a storage room, but.” He nods towards the stairs going down.

He’s kind of sure she’ll say no, and of course she wouldn’t, he just asked —

“Actually,” she grins, “lead the way.”

He swallows.

He does.

— —

Two minutes later, he’s sitting on the stool he used during the embalming process and he has his hands on Sansa’s face as she leans down slightly and she crashes her mouth against his, kissing him hard, her fingers grasping at his hair and tugging at it and he groans back into her mouth, his tongue slipping inside it, and she moans and —

“Well,” she says, “I absolutely don’t regret it.”

“Oh, you don’t?”

“You kiss really well,” she replies, and dives in again, her tongue moving against his, curling gently and tracing his teeth before she kisses him harder, and fuck but she knows what she wants and it’s just making him want to tug her closer and so he does and —

“Just so you know,” he breathes when they part, “Oberyn informed me I can be as unprofessional as I like until he’s not paying me for my services.”

“Does it mean we can do this while they fight their way through the wake?” Sansa grins.

“Yeah,” he says, “yeah, we can.”

“Splendid,” she smiles wider, and then her mouth is on his own again and Tyrion isn’t going to give a single fuck about the fact that he just kissed her in the damned embalming room.

He can tell her the cool facts about it later, he supposes, and then proceeds on kissing her again and again and again, ignoring the mess upstairs.

Honestly, if this is how his internship is starting, he thinks he’s going to enjoy this job a lot —

Though not as much as he’s enjoying the moment right now. Not at all.

End.

[sweeethinny]

James is Dating - Part 2

I love part 1, but I felt that Ginny's reaction to that was missing, so here goes, one more mother and son moment between James S. and Ginny

Part 1 | AO3

read bellow the cut :)

'Busy?' Ginny said, head into James' messy room, looking for him in all that mess of clothes, gifts, new things, and a lot of other things he kept inside.

'No. Do you need anything?’ He stepped out of the small closet by the window, still wearing only the old, dirty paint-dry shorts he had used to help build the new house for Sir, their dog.

'Do you want to go with me to the market? Your father asked me to buy more ice cream, fish and beer.' Today all the Weasley and aggregates would gather at the Potter house, Harry seemed more anxious than ever to open the new room, which was now not just a forgotten room at the back of the house, with everything that couldn't fit in the attic, which almost never had the windows open. It was an appropriate place, with comfortable armchairs, a wallpaper of flamingos that Ginny had chosen and an incredible view of the pool and the sunset.

'Sure, I'm just going to put the shirt on ... will I meet you down there?' She nodded, closing the door and walking to the stairs.

It had been a day since James told Harry that he was dating and so far he has remained silent to Ginny, which saddened her a little, since James always told her several things. She waited patiently after dinner, guaranteed to get James to help clear the table with her, and yet, today during the morning run, she tried not to say too much, hoping that he would bother with the silence - as he always did - and talk about the news she already knew.

Harry summed up what the two of them had talked about and how happy James looked about how it all went down, but Ginny wanted to hear directly from him, not just what her husband remembered.

Harry couldn't tell if James had that sparkle in his eyes that she saw appear during one of the dinners, while he and Mira talked softly in the other corner of the table, and her son seemed to almost sparkle every time she laughed. Or when he hurry down the stairs while the owl hooted to announce it arrival with the mail. And Ginny wouldn't even comment on the time she caught him looking at Mira' breasts. It was a quick thing, while she and Mira talked about Quidditch, the girl fixed the collar of her sweater, without any apparent malice, and out of the corner of her eye Ginny had been able to notice the movement of James' eyes.

She wanted to laugh and make some comment about it, but the boy soon managed to get them off track and take Mira away from Ginny, saying they were going to play Quidditch - and they went.

Mira was a girl that Ginny had been cheering James on to notice her, since the first day Ginny met her, she was a sweet person, and it was understandable that even Scorpion, always tried to be around her on vacation. She was also beautiful; tall, almost the same height as James, with blonde hair similar to Fleur's, but more wavy and messy than the perfectly smooth strands of her sister-in-law, dark eyes that seemed almost unreal, and a way of behaving that exuded confidence. Not much to detriment her, just enough that she could survive the world without being too affected. And she was smart, which was a very important point for Ginny not to worry about.

As far as James talked, her mother was a witch and so was her stepfather, while her father was a muggle, as were her grandparents. They even got to know her mother on a day when they went to get Mira to go with them to the Quidditch Cup, the woman had studied in the same year as the twins but was a Ravenclaw, just like her husband.

Mira was the perfect girl that Ginny could have imagined for James.

Okay, aside from the fact that maybe she was in as much or more trouble than the boy, but it was something to let go of.

'Is Dad going to make fish? I thought Teddy had convinced him to make that meat pie,’ James appeared, startling Ginny who was concentrating on watching the yard through the big window in the living room.

'You know what he looks like, when he put something on his head, forget it.' She turned, smiling at the boy and giving him her arm to hold, in order to apparate to the dark and safe alley where they landed. The market was a block and a half away, but today was a Saturday during the holidays, which meant crowded streets and long lines for even the simplest things.

'Excited to start classes?' She asked, needing to restrain herself from releasing a million questions about the courtship he had kept hidden for so long.

'Yes, at least I’m not going to see Professor Johann anymore, which makes me very happy. ’

'I thought you liked DADA.' The two stopped in the fishmonger line, surrounded by conversation.

'I like it,' James shrugged, fussing with his hair like his father did, almost making Ginny laugh. 'But he is very annoying, and he hates me.'

'I doubt it.'

'I'm serious, he hates us all but Mira, but it's because she and he share the same terrible taste for books, and they've been reading the same saga lately, but if it weren't for that, he would make her organize more than thousand of his books in alphabetical order too, as he does with us. '

‘And what does he tell her to do?’ Ginny wanted to jump for joy because they were talking about Mira, knowing that now it would be much easier to pull James’s secret.

'He almost never gives her detention, really, it's almost like he was blind to her walking down the corridors or in the forest at night, but the times he had to do that, Mira said that she just kept separating the tests by year and home' James denied, looking incredulous.

'Well ... and what would she be doing in the hall at night? Or in the Forest? ’

'Nothing I know of, of course.' James smiled in that way that always made Ginny and Harry watch, his eyes shining in something malicious, as if hiding to death what the hell they were up to at school. 'I am usually in my room, you know? Respecting the schedule and sleeping early. ’

‘Oh sure, I sure believe that,’ She smiled falsely. 'Will Mira come to dinner?'

'No, she traveled to her uncles' house in France, her cousin just gave birth to a baby.'

'Hm ... We should go to France for the next vacation, it is a pretty beautiful destination, especially in the summer.' James smiled in agreement, but if Ginny knew her son well, he was not thinking about French landscapes. 'I like her.'

'From whom?' The boy looked at her, curious, as if he were caught in the act.

'Mira. She is very kind to us. ’

'She is like that naturally.' James defended her, even though Ginny was not implying anything.

'A great quality, by the way ... And she is beautiful.' James' cheeks turned pink, but he continued to look confidently at all the fish exposed in the ice basins, it was almost their turn.

'Scorpion agrees with that, I think I saw him looking at her legs more times than I can count.' He looked at Ginny, his brown eyes looking so much like the ones she saw in the mirror when she caught herself thinking about Harry as she dressed for her class, trying to ignore how all the girls seemed to like him now that he was in sixth year and had grown up.

'And you? Do you agree?' She took a risk, biting her cheek to contain her smile when her son's face caught fire.

'She is my best friend.'

'Hermione was Ron's best friend.' She shrugged. ‘That didn’t stop him from finding her beautiful.’

'Daddy told you, didn't he?' James stared at her as if Ginny had just said that she knew his biggest secret, eyebrows raised.

'Did he tell what?' Before James could speak, however, the fishmonger called them.

They didn't waste a lot of time in the market, exchanging few words while choosing the products and then paying, walking at a slow pace and almost as if they were postponing their return home, feeling the breeze of that summer night, and seeing the city brighter and more awake than ever.

James didn't open his mouth, seeming to think well before speaking, but Ginny wanted to laugh and ask her son if he thought she was an idiot and that she hadn't realized that overnight, there were pictures of him with Mira in his room, especially the one of the two in Hogsmeade where he had his arm around her waist.

'He told you what I told him.' The boy finally spoke, and Ginny stopped walking, thinking that if they went home, there would be no way to talk without Albus, Lily, Harry or her whole family arriving and hinder, then, she preferred to stop and sit on a bench that was in front of a square they used to run, discreetly putting a spell so that the fish that would not spoil by staying out of the ice.

'Yes.' She looked at him as soon as they were seated, smiling from ear to ear. 'Your father is a gossip, you know that.'

'What do you think?' James also smiled, but his cheeks were flushed.

'Well, I like Mira, and as long as it doesn't interfere with your studies or hers, everything is fine. I've been waiting for this for some time.' The boy laughed, denying and looking at the lake that shone ahead, lit by the various lampposts.

'Her grandmother wants to talk to us.'

'Grandma?' James nodded, laughing even more.

'She says she wants to meet our family, said she is tired of just hearing about the Potter but never sees them in person.' The two laughed. 'It's all right? Are we going to have dinner with them after they get back from the trip?’

'Of course, it will be a good time, I'm sure.' She sighed. 'Do you like her? Isn't it just something to pass the time?' Ginny didn't know if she would be able to overcome the disappointment she would feel if James did that, even though she thought it unlikely that he would be able to play with Mira's feelings like that.

'Nooo, I really like her. We get along well.' He looked happy, in fact, during the Easter break he looked a little miserable, and Ginny wondered now if it had anything to do with her. James was no longer hiding in the room and remaining silent and scowling in the corners

'Good, because I like her very much, and we would fight if you were playing with her.'

'It is more capable of her making me cry than the other way around,' he joked. 'But I wouldn't have told you if it was nothing.'

'You didn't tell, your father told me.'

'Yeah, whatever.' He shrugged. 'I think I was embarrassed... Lily made the whole trip miserable, sitting in our compartment just to provoke, talking nonstop to Mira.'

'She's jealous of you, you're her big brother.' Ginny smiled, remembering how sulky her daughter was every time James went out with friends and she needed to stay. 'You did the same with Teddy. It's normal.'

'But it sucks.' He made a face. ‘Albus wasn’t like that when he heard.’

'He's better at hiding his feelings, we'll have to wait a few more weeks to find out.' The two were quiet, the music from the pub across the street was loud, as were the laughter and conversation, and Ginny almost started to worry with when it would James who wanted to go to places like that, wondering if she would stay up all night like she did when Teddy first went out.

Not that she didn't trust James, but it was still a little disconcerting to look at him, and realize that he was no longer that little boy who hugged her legs whenever he was embarrassed.

'Are you happy?' She looked at him.

'Yes.' James smiled, that shy dimple appearing on his left cheek. 'I was afraid that she would reject me. She’s a little scary. ’

‘But she didn’t reject it.’

'Yeah, something like that... She tried, and we fought, but then everything went well and I kissed her.' He smiled sheepishly, making Ginny laugh and that maternal concern dissolved a little.

'Well, this is what matters.' She stood up. 'Come on, let's go before your dad pulls out his hair and calls the Aurors to look for us.'

'He wouldn't do that.' The two walked to the alley.

'Never doubt Potter' drama.' Ginny lined them up, James holding her arm. 'I'm happy for you.' She kissed her son's forehead - which was almost starting to get taller than she was - and apparated them back to the house.

[fwibblefwobble]

modern!au single dad tomioka giyuu: a concept

modern!giyuu x reader headcanons

so a few days ago i was up late texting a friend and went wild with the idea of him as a single father in a modern!au... here’s a collection of my ravings

warning: light profanity

- you two live two doors down from each other in your apartment complex

- you quite literally bump into him on your way back in from work

- he’s like ack i’m sorry and helps stabilize you

- never really noticed you lived so close and keeps an eye on your door whenever he’s on his way in/out

- one time he’s just spacing out and staring at your unit and you walk out and make eye contact with him

- he’s like oh shit

- you’re confused but you just assume he spaced out and don’t ask

- he has somewhere to be but he goes back inside and waits until he knows you’re out of the building 

- just waits with his head in his hands like what the fuck

- his daughter’s like ???? you good????

- he’s like fine yeah 200% buttercup don’t worry about it

- proceeds to worry about it for the next week

- the next time you meet he’s checking the mail after a morning run

- light sheen of sweat and jacket rolled up to his elbow, some sweet forearm action

- it’s a sunday morning after you went out with friends and you look a lil trashed cause you spent the night at their apartment and came back early in the morning 

- your mascara’s kinda flaky and you did a half-assed job at washing your face but you didn’t expect to run into Hot Neighbor™

- he greets you and hopes that you forgot about the thing that happened a week ago

- if anything your mind is occupied by why the hot single dad two doors down is giving you butterflies

- he does the thing where he pushes the hair in front of his face back

- its hot in a post workout sweat kinda way

- casual conversation ensues again in the elevator

- you bring up something about you being a ta at a local uni getting her masters

- he’s like not to capitalize on your talents but would you mind tutoring my kid for a day, i have to work overtime at the office on thursday and all my friends are booked

- assures you his kid is a very well behaved lovely girl, you’re apprehensive because children but also yes sure i have nothing better to do

- my guy has her room decorated

- whatever color she wants he paints it for her

- she has her own lil window with fake plants cause she can’t quite take care of real ones yet

- you and his daughter hang out after you help her with homework, watch tangled for like 2 hours and make dinner together

- she doesn’t do much because children with knives is not a good idea but you make her feel like she’s contributing to the team

- lots of high fives and good jobs, makes her feel very important

- he comes back home so fucking exhausted but he sees you and his kid on the couch passed the fuck out and oh my god

- he has half a mind not to drop his shit right there and join you

- against his will he wakes you up and you’re embarrassed like oh my god i’m so sorry i fell asleep in your apartment cuddling your daughter

- he’s so in love lmao that image of you and his kid lives in his head rent free

- he’s kinda breathless thinking about it

- once you’re safely back in your own apartment he tucks his girl in and makes sure not to wake her up

- lays in his bed just like wow

- you guys talk the next day and you’re still apologizing profusely, you feel so weird and you can’t look him in the eye

- he insists on at least getting you lunch, you guys settle on dinner at a local place that’s not too fancy

- putting yourself together before the pseudo not date but kinda date is The Strugglebus Saga

- you get in a facetime with like 5 of your friends trying to figure out what to do

- tiptoeing the fine line between date and not really date, what’s too comfy and what’s too casual

- “is red my color? does he like red lipstick? is lipstick too much?”

- he kinda hears you cause the walls are just the tiniest bit thin but it’s cute cause he’s having a tiny crisis of his own

- arranges shinobu to take care of his baby while he’s gone

- his daughter helps him get dressed it’s so cute

- “ARE YOU GOING ON A DATE???”

- he’s like no...?

- “dad, that isn’t your color.”

- confidence lowkey destroyed but it’s ok

- wears his lucky socks his daughter gave him for father’s day for good luck

- it’s a very cute and chill date, he picks you up at your door and the both of you are nervous cause it’s been a while since you’ve put yourselves out there

- it’s a tiny bit awkward in the beginning but as you guys ease up a bit it’s all good laughter and banter

- he doesn’t want you to know he heard you freaking out but he makes sure to tell you that you look nice just as subconscious validation

- both of you are a lil sad when the main date portion is over so you guys decide to get ice cream and walk around after

- and wow is it just me or do the lights get brighter when he’s around???

- he thinks the exact same thing

- he hasn’t felt this alive in a very long time

- you guys split the bill for the main date but he pays for your ice cream cause he’s a big gentleman 

- and when you guys say bye to each other he walks into his apartment, closes the door and lets out this sigh

- he turns around and its his daughter and shinobu both giving him The Look™ and he just refuses to acknowledge it

- you go home and scream a little bit

- your ears are hot and your cheeks are burning but you can’t stop *smiling*

- gotta rub your cheeks a lil to soothe the pain

- by now you guys have each other’s phone numbers and text each other that you had a good time before you each go to sleep and both of you are smiling at your phones like absolute idiots

- the next time you see each other is completely by accident

- you’re at a bookstore browsing and you see him around the corner with some flowers tucked under his arm looking through some stationery or stuffed animals

- and you’re like?? flowers??? does he have someone did i misinterpret that whole entire outing was that just out of courtesy and not cause he was interested in me

- but he says hi and strikes up a conversation

- you kinda timidly ask about the flowers and he’s like oh! i saw these when i was coming home from work and i remember walking by the florist with my daughter and she said these were her favorite flowers so i was thinking of surprising her when i got home

- as if your heart could swell with any more love for this man

- the love in his heart and his attention for DETAIL?? unparalleled. he is TOP TIER

- and at that point you’ve been over close to a dozen times, his daughter’s a smart cookie she doesn’t even need tutoring but ever since you looked after her she keeps on asking him if he can invite the pretty lady next door

- he asks you and you are more than accommodating, that girl is an absolute angel

- elects to leave out the part where she called you his girlfriend

- not quite there yet but maybe someday

- he catches you and her singing the mulan soundtrack with plastic hairbrushes once and it’s adorable domestic ass shit

- you’re 200% down to listen to this girl talk about elementary school drama

- honestly better than half the shit that happens at uni

- giyuu asks you to cover for him at pta meetings and all the other moms are very disappointed to see you instead of regularly scheduled eye candy

- if marissa looks at me like that one more time i swear we’re gonna scrap

- when you tell him about it he’s absolutely oblivious to the fact that every single mom is in love with him

- he just thought they were nice, nothing more to it

- kinda really pissed that they treated you like shit and next time he goes AND brings you

- absolute power move, suck my ass bethany

BONUS FIRST KISS HYPOTHETICALS:

- happens very organically, both of you don’t even register it until it hits

- both of you are like fuck!!

- he’s like are you okay with it?

- and you’re like yeah 200% but are you okay with it?

- he’s like yeah of course

- and both of you say yeah and nod to each other back and forth until you take the initiative and pull him in again

- lowkey making out in the elevator

- your hands are all up in his hair and *wow this is exhilarating*, like his heart is full to burst

- and when he comes home his daughter’s like are you ok? your hair’s kinda messed up and stuff

- he’s like yeah it looked like this when i left

- she looks at him funny, like it definitely did not

- he’s just at a complete loss for words he’s trying to hide your lip gloss smeared on his face and his head is a lil woozy

- and he just gestures for a minute

- flails his arms weakly

- “yeah... uh... it’s, uh... wind.”

[ineloqueent]

angel of lies | one

Brian x Fem!Reader / Roger x Fem!Reader

synopsis: welcome to the opera populaire. be careful what you wish for.

warnings: tw; mention of blood

word count: 5.3k

a/n: in honour of my birthday (i flatter myself), the much-procrastinated, long-awaited (?) saga begins! a massive thank you to jess ( @brianmays-hair​ ) and pearl ( @deacyblues​ ), the masterminds behind the premise of this fic. if you have not already guessed, this is most definitely a phantom of the opera au.

~⚘~

The stage was alive with sound.

With movement it crawled, such that from a distance it appeared to be shimmering, for the headdresses of the dancers sparkled like mirrorballs, casting flecks of light throughout the theatre like stars.

In the grand foyer, glittering crystals dripped from the ceiling, and shadows chased the balustrade statues that raised candelabras above their marble heads.

The place hummed with life, typical of the pre-show hustle and bustle, where every inch of floor was populated by activity, each person more frantic than the next, and the frenzy was only building by the minute.

The theatre became louder as the shouts grew more frequent, and the poor conductor was struggling to raise his voice over the clamour, the prima donna of the production now doing the most orchestration, in terms of chaos.

You sighed, and Meg rolled her eyes. This was going to be a long night.

Meg’s brother shot her a warning look.

We cannot afford to lose our leading lady, his look said.

“Yes, Monsieur Giry,” Meg mocked, but only when his back was turned.

“I heard that,” John hissed as he passed his sister.

But Meg only laughed.

You shook your head at her. “You really oughtn’t annoy your brother like that. He has the power to fire you from here, you know.”

“Oh, but it’s so funny when he gets like that,” Meg said. “His hair always bounces whenever he leaves in a huff.”

You stared after John, whose mound of hair really did bounce when he walked. You smiled.

Then, one of the owners of the opera, a man with dark hair and dark irises to match, made a grand gesture, and all eyes followed his hand. “Darlings, may I present the Vicomte de Chagny.”

Your heart caught in your throat, and you found that you couldn’t remember as to why Meg was giggling by your side.

It couldn’t be.

It couldn’t be him.

Could it?

In your disbelief, your mouth fell open, because there, at centre stage, being introduced as the new patron of the Opera Populaire, was Roger.

Golden-haired, blue-eyed Roger, sweet and silly, who, in your childhood, had been a companion closer to you than your own shadow. You had no fonder memories than those in which he made an appearance, laughing happily as the two of you traded stories of goblins and the rain lashed against the windows of the attic, as your father, long passed, played his violin by candlelight, as Roger shared with you the last of the chocolate.

There would never be a day when you did not think of him.

“Y/N?” Meg intoned.

“Roger,” you whispered, unable to do anything but watch him and his smiling eyes, as he shook hands with the opera personnel.

Meg frowned, standing on her tiptoes in an attempt to see above the gathering crowd, but she was unsuccessful. “The Vicomte? What of him?”

A smile flickered across your face as you murmured, “I guess we could say we were childhood sweethearts.”

Meg’s eyes widened in your peripheral vision. “Y/N, he’s so handsome,” she said.

“What,” you laughed, “do you think he’s too good for me?”

Meg pushed you lightly. “No, of course not. If anything, I’m just surprised that there are still attractive people left in the world. And god, you’re lucky to have had one of them.”

You flushed, “Meg! I have not had him, as you so indelicately put it. And he was never mine.”

“I believe I am keeping you for rehearsal, Signor,” Roger told the owner of the opera in his airy manner. He spoke rather like a prince, you thought, with his long vowels and sharp consonants, and the way his voice hummed with a cadence, as though his words were meant to be a song.

“Oh please, with the formalities,” the opera director waved a hand. “Freddie.”

“Freddie,” Roger nodded. “Well, I’ll be here this evening, to share in your great triumph!”

He shook hands with the company once more, and then departed through the wings on the opposite side of the stage.

Your heart sank a little as he left. But then again, it had been many years ago that you had seen him last, and so much had changed since then.

“Y/N?” Meg asked.

You shook your head. “He wouldn’t recognise me.”

“Of course he would,” Meg assured you, a hand on your sleeve. “He didn’t see you, that’s all.”

You weren’t so sure.

“I have a message, sir,” John was saying to the owners of the Opera Populaire. “From the Opera Ghost.”

“Oh god in heaven!” cried Freddie. “You’re all obsessed.”

John blinked, irritated at being interrupted, but deigning to continue nonetheless. “He welcomes you to his opera—”

Freddie snorted indignantly, “His opera?”

“And commands that you continue to leave Box Five empty for his use, and reminds you that his salary is due.”

The discussion continued, with an outrage on Freddie’s part, concerning the paying of a salary for someone who was not even real, and your thoughts wandered back to Roger.

He had scarcely returned to your life for a handful of minutes, and yet, your infatuation had already taken ahold once more. You wondered faintly if he had ever thought of you the way you still thought of him.

But then you were thrown from your reverie, as a cry erupted from the crowded stage.

“He’s here!”

“Who?” you said, alongside everyone else in the theatre.

Meg clutched at your arm as a hush fell over the room.

“The Phantom of the Opera,” another person shouted. “Up in the rafters!”

Gasps and whispers sparked all around, and you whirled in the same direction as your companions, each of you straining your eyes in an attempt to see past the darkness of the rigging.

One of the opera directors called for silence.

“There’s no one there,” he said, and the masses fell calmer again, turning away from the rear of the stage and grumbling about making a fuss over nothing.

But you didn’t turn away; you stared into the abyss.

And then a shadow swept across the scaffolding, like dark fabric tossed in a wind, like a cloak, or a cape, and you gave a shout.

“There!” you said, your heart thudding with adrenaline, and Meg whirled in the direction of your raised arm.

“Where, where?!” she cried, but the longer she looked, the more obvious it became that whatever had previously been there was no longer.

You lowered your arm, a little dejectedly.

“Never mind,” you murmured, a crease forming between your eyes. “I thought I saw something, but I suppose I didn’t.”

“Oh,” Meg frowned, looking as disappointed as you felt.

But even as she turned away, you couldn’t tear your eyes from what you’d seen.

Because you knew what you’d seen.

You’d seen eyes— hazel— staring right back at you.

~⚘~

The darkness came so easily these days. He did not even have to turn to the shadows for it to eclipse the light. It was there at the corner of his eye, a soft whisper at his ear, a constant presence that was as calming to him as it would have been unsettling to any other.

The darkness had never drawn back in fear at the countenance of his face. The darkness had never told him that he was unloved and would forever remain unloved. The darkness had never cast him from his home, and forced him to cower in the cold when the snow bit at his skin, exposed by the coat he could not afford to own.

The darkness had always been there.

And yet, it was darkness, and so by definition, it was never really there at all. It was the absence of all things, and nothing can come from nothing.

But she was not nothing.

The light she carried in her voice, in her shoes. She was as light on her feet as she was in her spirits, and it made him want to change.

But he knew naught of change, and so it would not come.

Not without her.

But with her… Perhaps.

~⚘~

The production had barely begun, and yet Roger was already leaning over the banister to bring himself closer to the stage, as close as he dared to go without tumbling into the audience on the lower level.

He had hardly been able to believe his eyes, his ears, when she had taken to the stage. For all he could tell, her shimmering gown might well have been made from the waters of a moonlit river, and her eyes bore the same gentle glow they had always borne, and her voice was as beautiful as ever. Roger wondered if she would deny her talent still, if he were to tell her of it again, this day.

He could not deny the warmth which spread through him at the sight of her, and nor did he wish to. He would bring her flowers after the performance and tell her again of her talent.

And maybe, he would tell his Little Lotte what he had never been able to tell her all those years ago.

Maybe he would tell her that he loved her.

The production had barely ended before Roger had left his place on the balcony, in favour of hurrying down the stairs to where he would not miss seeing her.

Her. The only one who mattered.

~⚘~

Their calls echoed, praise upon praise where none before had existed, where previously you had lived in an echo chamber of your own mind, where you had been forced to endure the clamour of every voice that hissed— not good enough, not good enough, you’ll never be good enough.

Where had they been when the desperation had settled into the hot blood that coursed through your veins, painted your toes in horrible hue when you had danced for too many nights without a penny to show for it? Where had they been when your father had died and you’d have given your voice itself to have him back, to feel once more the touch of hand upon your shoulder, assuring you that he was there, that you were there?

Where had they been?

Their affectations you would have wished to endure as little as you wished to endure the echo chamber inside your head, for they would have shouted if a man had ridden a horse across the wooden framework of the stage.

But there was another sound. There had always been another sound.

In the darkness there was a solace— a comfort, almost— and a low, steady hum.

A voice.

An angel. Your father had always promised you that there would be an angel.

And he had been right.

An angel of music, to light the quiet moments between your thoughts, when friends were few and the cold grew monstrous teeth.

There had always been music in your ears— a tune to be hummed, a dance to be danced— and you could not quell the urge to sing when it came to you. That was how you had found your way to the Opera. It had called to you, far stronger than anything you had felt since your father had passed, since Roger had left.

Roger.

He was here. And he was here tonight. What had he thought of the show? Of you? Or were your fears to be realised, that he had not recognised you at all?

The candle in your peripheral vision flickered, subject to the whims of a draft.

The wind does not whisper indoors.

A shiver ran down your back, as sure there had been fingers to skim down your spine, the softness of the action turned sinister by the anonymity of the hand.

And then— again— a voice.

It bristled on the air like electricity, like a live wire simply waiting for the right person to make contact and ignite a fire.

It prickled on the back of your neck.

You turned, your movements slowed by a strange sort of fear, and yet, you wanted to know whose voice it was. You intended to make that contact, for so long had you lived without any sort of fire at all, and you were tired of being burned out.

“Where in the world have you been hiding?”

You nearly jumped out of your skin when Meg’s call reached your ears, the sound of her dainty footsteps growing more distinct as she approached. The shadow at the corner of your eye was snuffed out as surely as any flame.

You felt your shoulders lower ever so slightly, half in relief, half in disappointment.

You had been so close to knowing that the lack of knowledge was now almost too much to bear.

“Really,” she went on, with a little huff. “You were perfect. I only wish I knew your secret.”

“Meg,” you said, and she tilted her head like a curious fawn. “When your brother brought me here to live… whenever I come down here alone to light a candle for my father, a voice from above and in my dreams…” You trailed off, thinking of the soft baritone you could call to mind at will, it was so frequently present. “He was always there,” you murmured. The memories lulled you, quieted your senses, as though you were walking in a dream. “You see, when my father lay dying, he told me I will be protected by an angel. An angel of music. I used to dream he’d appear…”

You were quite sure that Meg had made a response to your musings, but you were not well aware of what that response had been, and nor could you find it in you to care. There remained suddenly only a singular thought within your head, and that was who? Who was the voice? He was the darkness, you were sure of it. He was the comfort, the peace amidst the chaos of the world, but he was evasive, the unseen genius. You longed to know the face of such an angel. You did not know for how much longer you could go on not knowing.

You blinked, and became conscious of the fact that you were no longer in the chapel. Meg had led you from it, and the two of you now weaved behind the screen, in the space between the stage and its rigging, your friend leading you by the hand.

“Y/N, your hands are cold,” she whispered, and her own face was pale, a mask of terror.

You wriggled your fingers slightly in her grasp. She was right; you felt as though the warmth had left your very blood. But though your skin was cold, you were not. You burned brighter than ever, as bright as the candle you lit, night after night, in the memory of your father.

“I know,” you answered. “But I am not frightened.”

~⚘~

It was John whom you saw first, following the show.

He placed a hand on your shoulder, and when he smiled, you thought that perhaps he considered you family as much as he did Meg. It made you feel a little less alone in the world.

“You did well, Y/N,” he said.

Then, to your puzzlement, he handed you a single red rose, upon the stem of which was tied a silk ribbon, in a pretty bow which shimmered onyx black in the dimly lit dressing room.

You had the strangest feeling, looking at that bow. An overwhelming sense of déjà vu, as though you’d somehow seen that exact shade of black before. In a dream, perhaps. Or in another life, if there were such things.

A shadow stirred at the corner of your eye, but when you turned to confront it, there was nothing but light bouncing off of the walls, and John nowhere to be found.

And Roger, standing in the doorway, with his familiar half-smile and eyes that glinted with mischief, a bouquet of flowers over one arm.

“Little Lotte thought,” he began, his smile growing as he made his way toward you, “am I fonder of dolls, or of goblins of shoes, or of riddles or frocks—”

“Those picnics in the attic,” you said, and your smile mirrored his.

“Or of chocolates,” Roger continued with a wink, setting down the flowers.

They surfaced in your mind, those memories. Bathed in golden light as though the sun shone upon them through stained glass windows, their images rendered divine in their innocence, their happiness. “Father playing the violin…”

“As we read to each other dark stories of the North,” Roger reached you and sank to his knees, his tone soft and playful and all those things you’d missed about him since before you’d known he’d be gone.

“No,” you whispered, and you thought that his eyes had never been as blue as this. Wider than the sky and bluer than the deepest of seas, cerulean and sapphire and everything in between. Every shoal and reef one could have imagined to exist shimmered in his irises, a whole other world, and it belonged to him.

And it belonged to you, when you looked at him.

“What I love best, Little Lotte said, is when I’m asleep in my bed…”

A tingle rushed down your spine as he drifted closer to you, so exquisite in his stillness, the prettiness of his being that suddenly assaulted your senses like the smell of roses.

Roses. A rose. With a black ribbon.

A gift—

“And the angel of music sings songs in my head.”

His smile grew until you thought it would take over his face entirely, and then he embraced you, tightly.

Oh, how you’d missed him and the feeling of being held in his arms, the way your chin fit perfectly on his shoulder and his cheek rested against your cheek.

“You sang like an angel tonight,” he murmured, and you sighed into the crook of his neck.

He pulled back again, and you relished the way his gaze lingered on your own, as though he could not look away, and even had he been able to, would have had no mind to do so either.

“Father said, when I'm in heaven, child, I will send the Angel of Music to you.” Roger blinked, as though resurfacing from the depths of a dream, and you perceived a change in him. “Well, father is dead, Roger, and I have been visited by the Angel of Music.”

He gave a little laugh, and there it was at once, that which had hurt you so much in the past, and still stung you now. You had thought you had grown, but really, you were still that little girl, no more grown than you had been when you were shorter than your father’s music stand, as sensitive as you’d always been.

He didn’t believe you.

He thought you were telling stories, as usual, and his skepticism was grating; it tore at your heart.

“Oh, no doubt,” he said, clearly in doubt. He stood up, brushed off the front of his coat. “And now we'll go to supper!”

You fought to make him believe you, anything to have that warmth return to his eyes once more, to turn away his disbelief. “Roger, no—”

“Change, sweetheart, and I’ll order my carriage,” he waved a hand as he strode toward the door.

“No, Roger, wait!”

The door had shut. And he had shut you out, again.

You were still those children, haunted by your losses and warned not to believe that which was strange, even if it was true.

But there was no magic in this form of youth, because it was not youth so much as the turning of a blind eye to that which one did not understand.

And Roger did not understand you. You couldn’t help but wonder if he has ever.

The lock of the door clicked, and you tensed.

The room felt suddenly cold, and you would not have been surprised if cobwebs had begun to spiral down from the ceiling, if ice had formed on the door handle and the mirror, if the flowers all around you had withered in an unbidden frost.

Then a rush of that strange wind that could not possibly exist within the walls of the Opera, and every candle in sight was extinguished. You imagined that it was not only the candles in this room, but all of the candles, everywhere, snuffed out in their prime, one by one, until the Opera turned shadowy and grey.

The frost settled on your skin as a voice rose from the shadows to greet you in the silence left in the wake of Roger’s departure.

A familiar voice.

“Ignorant fool,” came the whisper, quiet but condemning in manner, resolute in assessment.

It was close. He was close.

The angel, he was here.

“Angel,” you murmured, your eyes flitting between the shapes of the world in darkness, trying to discern the living from the inanimate, but entirely without luck. You whirled, anything to catch a glimpse, yet still there was nothing. “I hear you— speak, I listen…”

Your plea was met with silence, but his presence was not gone, so you began again. “Stay by my side... Guide me.”

You reached out your hands in the darkness, and there again was that rush of cool air, like someone moving past.

“You shall know me,” he answered. “See why in shadow I hide.” His voice lowered to that whisper again, and you felt the cold reach your very bones. “Look in the mirror.”

Toward the mirror you wandered, on some invisible path, like staring at something so horrible that one cannot look away, only this was not horror you felt, but a sort of gravitation in favour of the unknown.

Curiosity.

And there, in the looking glass, was a face, or part of one— high-cheeked and fine boned, severe in beauty, yet cold in the stare of those hazel eyes which should rightfully have been warm as a summer’s day.

But they were not.

Had the mirror been any less pristine, you would have thought it damaged, for you could see little cracks there, in his eyes. But the cracks were not part of the mirror. In fact, they were part of nothing at all, no more than a figment of your imagination. But you perceived in him a brokenness, and so that was how he appeared to you.

His skin shone like porcelain, almost blended with the half of his face covered by some fashion of mask.

And curls.

His hair was so curly that you thought there would have been curls for miles if they had all been uncoiled and the ends spun together.

Such beauty did not often hide behind a mask. You wondered why this one did.

You drew nearer to the mirror and it rippled like water. You imagined the figure reaching out his hand to you. Or maybe you were not imagining it. Maybe it was real.

And it was.

His fingertips skimmed the palm of your hand and you gasped at the touch.

There was a tremble in his hand, and you longed to still it. You curled your fingers around his wrist.

He pulled you closer to the mirror and sharply, the air left your lungs.

You felt his eyes skim down from your temples, to your jaw, until he lifted his gaze to meet your eyes. You could not breathe beneath that gaze.

“Are you afraid of me?” he asked.

And the darkness— it finally had a face.

“I am not afraid of you,” you whispered, feeling a heaviness like relief take over your senses, dousing you in drowsiness.

“Perhaps you should be,” he replied, and his exhale touched your lips. The blood in your veins which had been cold was now hot, and the pace of your heart made your head spin.

Then his grasp fell stronger upon your own, and he pulled you through the mirror.

Someone was calling your name, somewhere, but you found suddenly that you could not look away from the one who grasped your hand, the one whose eyes remained upon your own, even as he led you.

Where he was leading you, you did not know, but this mystery was one that had existed for far too long already, and you were desperate for answers, for a glimpse of truth in this world of shadows, where you had been blind for too long to remember what truth looked like.

So perhaps it was not the truth that you were chasing, but rather a dream, in which you would slip farther and farther from reality until the fantasy consumed you.

But what was there to miss from this place? You had no family to speak of, and the opera would surely go on as it always did. After all, the show must go on.

The walls seemed to bow inwards, and the candles mounted there danced in the hands that held them, because indeed, the candelabras were golden hands.

But you were not concerned by the swaying walls or the golden hands. All you could think of was the hand which rested lightly in yours, the eyes that gleamed softly, far more beautiful than any candle.

It soon became dark once more, as the candelabras became fewer and fewer in number, as you descended with the face of the darkness, until at last you found yourself within a small boat, which sailed swiftly across the waters of a river you had never known the existence of.

Perhaps it was the river Styx, of which you had always heard in stories. You did not spare the thought doubt, for nothing would surprise you anymore. It would seem there was an entire world beneath the Opera Populaire, and this was the first that you were seeing of it.

How many more hidden corners of the world had passed you by?

The thought struck in you a sadness, and awash with a heady loneliness, you glanced over your shoulder.

But of course, he was still there— the tall, dark shadow that had always been there, and you hoped he would always be there. The darkness still called to you, even now.

You felt a smile curve your mouth.

Then the boat crested a shore, and you turned back to the prow of the vessel, to find the walls of a spacious cavern decorated in swaths of red velvet, similar to that of the Grand Drape of the opera. All around were those candles, sparkling like supernovas in the darkness, the light glancing of off hundreds of odd trinkets, from mirrors to chandeliers, to more candelabras, and it impressed you as strange that there should be so many agents of light in a place of such darkness.

And then he was stepping from the boat and extending his hand to you again, though you could not remember letting go.

His gaze was sharp and it challenged you, dared you deny him your hand.

You did not deny him your hand.

Wordless still, he drew you forward, led you on a path amongst the candles, to the music of the night— of the river water lapping against the shore, of the sound of the velvet drapes which fluttered in that impossible wind which seemed to breathe life into every forgotten corner of the Opera Populaire, including this cavern.

You came to a stop where the ground was raised, and you at once lifted your eyes to that masked face.

“Who are you?” you murmured.

“The same as I have always been,” he replied, with a dip of his head.

“And who is that?”

“The angel, of course.” His voice was low, smooth as caramel, and enraptured by the sound, you gazed up at him. “Yours.”

“Mine?”

“Am I not your angel?” he asked, and you thought he drew closer. “Have you not always spoken to me amongst the whispers of the night? Have you not fallen asleep many a time with my name on your lips?” He was definitely closer now, for you were almost chest-to-chest, and he grasped your hands between the two of you, lifted them to his lips.

He ghosted your fingers with a kiss, and heat spread through you at the tender touch.

“I do not know your name,” you said.

He lowered your hands but did not release them, instead running one long forefinger over the underside of your wrist, a gesture behind which shivers followed.

“May, some used to call me.”

“May?” you whispered, and felt the intimacy of the name of your eternal protector hum across your lips. “An uncommon name.”

“I once had another. But none remember it.”

“Except you,” you said. “You remember.”

His eyes flickered. “I can hardly call it mine.”

This was dangerous ground. His jaw and his grip upon your hands had tightened, and though the change in demeanour was subtle, it was significant.

But you pushed back, because you had come here for answers.

“Tell me,” you said.

You took your hands from his grasp and raised them instead to either side of his face, to the cool porcelain of the mask, to the burning skin which told of fire beneath— a fire to his soul, as there was to your own.

His eyes fluttered closed at your touch and he leaned his cheek into your palm, his breath a caress across your skin.

“Brian May.”

He gifted the words to you with a shudder, and you knew in your heart that you were the first in a long time to hear them. His lips brushed your palm, and his fingers skimmed your hips, to which you leaned in closer, now almost in an embrace.

“Return my name to me,” he whispered.

To your toes you lifted yourself, and his name flooded your lips as ambrosia, everlasting, binding, but though your blood turned to fire, your bones did not become dust, unless by dust, stardust was meant.

“Brian May,” you said, and slipped your fingers beneath the mask.

With a cry, he pushed you away, roughly, and you fell to the ground as the mask fell from his face.

A tremor began in the surface beneath your feet, before it spread to the entirety of the floor and spiralled up the walls, shaking the cavern and everything within it with such force you feared the breaking apart of the very Earth.

Candles toppled from all around, and you gave a shout as one narrowly missed lighting your dress aflame, again when a mirror nearly crushed you, and hot tears of mortal fear pricked your eyes.

Until a hand pulled yours and a body shielded your own, as glass shattered and waves swelled within the winding river.

Then, as abruptly as it had begun, the earthquake receded, and your protector disentangled himself from you.

Sitting up, you wiped tears from your face, ashamed of the fear which had plagued you, and you found that the cavern was all but completely dark. Only a single candle had survived the shaking of the cavern, and its light now seemed almost garish.

Then eyes met your own in the dark, and your gaze fell upon the right side of his face, to find—

Nothing. Nothing at all. Nothing but the second half of a man’s face, equal in beauty to the first half, for but a slightly over-dilated pupil which obscured the hazel of its iris.

But then again, perhaps you did not see a man at all, but a boy.

Because for all the terror in his expression, you could not see past his youth.

When he spoke this time, his voice was gravel, and a coldness settled within you at the condemnation in his tone, for it was clear that he was no protector here.

“What have you done?”

~⚘~

[let-it-raines]

your wonder under summer skies (11/?)

Summer in Storybrooke, Maine means one thing for its residents: tourist season. This year, for Emma Swan and Killian Jones, it means relationships ending and friendships changing all the while they attempt to figure out just what their relationship is. It’s somewhere straddling the line between friends and lovers, and there’s no guarantee of a soft landing if they fall into new territory.

rating: mature

ao3: beginning | current

tumblr:  1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 |

-/-

“What do you think about – ”

Killian’s fingers flutter across her hip, nails curving into her, and Emma shifts on the mattress, angling her hips closer to him and sticking her left leg between his. The hair on his legs brushes across her skin, and she loops an arm around his stomach, tugging on his chest hair with her fingers as she props her head up with her free hand. Killian tugs her closer, and she grumbles as his hand settles more firmly on her ass.

“What do I think about what, love?”

“Well, maybe if you’d let me finish instead of feeling me up, you wouldn’t have to ask.”

His hand squeezes her again, and Emma would squirm out of his grasp. She really would. She simply can’t find the motivation.

He flashes her a smile, the small light breaking through her closed blinds making his teeth shine almost blindingly white, and she can still see the sleep in his eyes, the blue as bright as usual but somehow the slightest bit duller than usual, an impossibility that is somehow possible.

Damn charming idiot.

“Me? Let you keep talking? I’d never do that.”

Emma tugs on his hair. “Shut up.”

“I think we just established that’s the opposite of what I want.”

Emma rolls her eyes and shifts a little closer to Killian so that she can lean down and brush her lips over his collarbone before moving back until her lips touch the ink on his back.

“I was thinking,” Emma repeats against his skin, “that it’s a Monday, you and I both have the day off, all of the fourth of July tourists are gone, and that we should get some takeout and borrow one of the boats you guys have stored in the marina.”

His fingers move over her ass again, sinking down just far enough that Emma gasps as he ghosts over warm flesh in a teasing touch that might promise so much more if she plays her cards right.

Or wrong.

Or not at all.

All she has to do is ask. Killian isn’t really one to say no.

He hums as his fingers keep moving and as his lips brush against her forehead, light, fleeting, almost invisible. “Liam would love that.”

“Please. Liam has done it before. Elsa talks about all the times they’ve gone out. Hell, we go out with everybody all the time.”

“Ah, yes, but that is Liam, and the rules are a little different for him.” Heat burns low in her belly as he keeps teasing her, and she feels it simmer across her skin. The room is suddenly warmer than it was, her air conditioning and ceiling fan not doing the work they’re supposed to be doing. “However, I’ve never been one for following the rules when I know how to bend them.”

“Scoundrel.”

“Or dashing rapscallion.”

“Same thing.”

He winks and she laughs. His fingers keep moving, and Emma shifts over him, settling herself on top of Killian so that his hand slips away but she can feel the delicious friction of Killian brushing up against her. God, this is not helping how hot she is. Leaning back, she purposely rolls her hips and listens to Killian groan. It’s deep and guttural, and the sound reverberates around the room and settles heavily in her throat so that she has to swallow it down. His jawline is sharpened by his scruff that he shaved yesterday, and he tilts back into the pillow as his eyes shut.

“So, what do you say, KJ?” she whispers. “You want to run away from the world and take me out on some rich person’s boat?”

“For you, sweetheart, I think we can do that.” His hands grab onto her hips and suddenly he’s lifting her off of him until she’s on her side on the mattress and Killian’s back is brushing up against her as his lips run hotly across her neck and his hand grabs onto her breast, fingers moving over her peak and driving her higher and higher far quicker than he has any right to. “But it’s still early, and I’ve had other plans in mind since before you started your hour-long saga about Ruby’s date with Mulan last week.”

“It wasn’t an hour.”

“It certainly felt like one.”

“It was not.” She tries to lean away from him to grapple for her phone, but he tugs her back until she can feel all of him brushing up against him. His breath is warm against her neck, and suddenly, she’s not so bothered by the heat anymore. “You’re not going to let me check my phone to prove a point?”

“Swan, can you be quiet for just one minute?”

“One minute? If that’s all it’s going to take, I’m not sure I want you to be my fuck buddy anymore.”

His hand and his lips still, but it’s only for a second. She wouldn’t have even noticed if she weren’t so damn turned on right now and if there wasn’t a distinct lack of coffee running through her system, but she quickly forgets any qualms when Killian lifts her leg over his hip and he’s brushing against her right where she wants him.

Fuck.

“You’re usually not so talkative in the mornings,” Killian whispers into her ear before she turns her head so that his lips brush over. It’s soft, gentle even, and she keeps waiting for Killian to hurry, but he doesn’t. “Are you still tired?  You called pretty late last night.”

“Killian?”

“Hmm?”

“I think it’s your turn to shut up.”

He laughs into the kiss, and she does the same. But then he’s sliding into her, slowly, slowly, slowly, and she loses all of her breath at the feeling of him inside of him, warm and thick and full. He retreats for a moment, but then he’s rocking back into her, slow and steady and so damn delicious that she has to dig her nails into the sheets to keep herself from writhing.

Killian likes when she does that, though, likes a lot of things about how she is behind closed doors and underneath the sheets, and her cheeks flush at the thought. He’s usually one for her being on top or him taking her fully from behind so he can bury himself inside her, but this, she likes this, too.

“Hmm, you feel good,” she mumbles against his mouth as he keeps kissing her, the movement as slow as the thrust of his hips. She tangles her other hand in his hair and pulls him closer as her nose presses into his cheek.

“Now, I’ve certainly heard that one before.”

She pushes her hips back in response, and Killian bites down on her bottom lip as his hips begin a steadier, smoother rhythm that has her gasping for air and wondering why the hell they haven’t been doing this for longer.

Warmth continues to spread over her, and while there’s sweat pooling at her lower back and across her forehead, there’s a warmth that she can’t quite explain, one that she doesn’t necessarily want to.

It’s easier not to.

Killian’s hand palms her breasts once more while his other hand trails down her stomach, scratching across the smooth planes of her stomach before going just low enough that she definitely can’t breathe anymore as her body keeps reaching for that high.

It’s not long before she finds it, and Killian swallows her cry with his kiss, his tongue soothing it away as that warmth spreads even further and his hips keep slowly snapping to work her through it and have him find his own high.

God, it’s so good that it would be totally unfair for him not to feel this way too.

When it’s over and Emma is still boneless, she flops onto her stomach and buries her face in her pillow as her heartbeat still tries to calm. She can feel Killian’s lips on her back, and he moves down, tracing her skin with his mouth before he buries his face just above her ass while his arm loops over her.

She doesn’t want to move for the rest of the day.

This. This is all she wants.

“Can you carry me to the bathroom to clean up?”

Killian huffs against her. “Give me five minutes, and then I can.”

“For someone who has a pretty fast recovery time, that’s a little slow on you getting the strength in your legs back.”

“I ran on the beach last night. I’m still sore.”

She reaches back and pats his head. “Poor baby. How ever will you survive?”

His teeth bite into her skin, and Emma squirms away, moving out of his hold and nearly falling to the floor. She catches herself at the last minute, but only by sticking her leg down to the ground.

“You were saying, Swan?”

“Ass.” She finishes rolling off the bed and stands up. She might as well. “Do you want to shower before we go steal a boat?”

“Borrow. We’re borrowing one. I have to pay a fee.”

“You have to pay a fee to your own business.”

“Aye. That’s how it works.”

“Huh. Okay, well, get some cash out of my jar on the bookshelf, and I’ll pay for half of it.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“It was my idea. Technically, I should be paying for all of it. But half is good.”

He nods and rolls back. The light is now hitting the ink on his hip as well as the ones on his arms, and really, she should dedicate more time to tracing that damn compass. “And I won’t shower here. I’ll rinse off at the docks.”

Emma raises her hand and salutes. “Aye, aye, Captain. I’m going to shower, so you can do whatever you want. I think I might possibly have cereal.”

“I would be surprised if you did. You need to go to the market.”

Emma shrugs. “I get fed at work or by you. I really don’t think I do.”

Emma leaves Killian in her bed to walk to the bathroom and shower. She takes the time to shave since she’s going to be in a bikini all day. Halfway through she wonders if it’s really worth it since she’s it’ll only be Killian around. She’s nearly there, though, so she finishes before turning the water off and running a towel up and down her body. She doesn’t bother wrapping herself in it when she walks back to the bedroom and digs out a white bikini from the back. She really needs some new ones, but this is an old favorite. After she puts it on and ties it, she finds a pair of jean shorts and a button-down before walking down the hallway to her kitchen.

Killian’s standing at the counter, spoon hanging out of his mouth, and she’s genuinely impressed by the fact that she actually had both cereal and milk.

It’s pretty much a miracle.

“I’m ready to go when you are. Where do you want to get takeout from?”

“Granny’s?”

“A man after my own heart.”

The spoon falls from his mouth, metal clanging against her countertops, and she swears that Killian’s body stiffens before he shakes himself out of it and reaches over for the spoon.

What the hell was that?

“Clumsy, much?” she teases.

“Don’t make fun of me, love. I will be the one driving us today, and if memory recalls, you have no clue how to drive out on the waters.”

“Yeah, well, maybe you’ll have to teach me.”

By the time they’re down at the marina, it’s past noon. Emma has a bag full of towels, sunscreen, and drinks, as well as their takeout from Granny’s, and Killian’s got Skipper on his leash. The dog keeps trying to jump into the water, and Emma has no idea how he’s going to deal when they’re actually out in the middle of the ocean.

Seems like a disaster waiting to happen.

Killian steps onto a small, clean boat. It’s only got a seat for a driver behind the steering wheel and then a small, built-in section of cushions at the back, and after taking his hand to get on, Emma settles down there with Skipper, who is more focused on trying to get their food than anything else. Killian slowly drives them out away from the docks. He waves to several people on the way out, ones they’ve both worked with enough to recognize them as they lounge on their boats, and then they’re breaking away from everything and to the calm of a still ocean and the sun shining down on her skin.

This is exactly what she’s needed.

This summer is non-stop. She has barely had any kind of break where she could have a full day to herself. Hell, she hasn’t really wanted that. A day to herself means a day to overthink everything that’s currently happening, and she doesn’t need that.

What she needs is to stretch out on a towel and let the sun bake into her skin while the boat gently rocks beneath her and salt water splashes over her skin to keep her from getting too hot.

If only she could be a tourist in this town and have this be her everyday reality.

“Swan, if you leave your food sitting out, Skip is definitely going to eat it all.”

Emma rolls over on her side and opens her eyes to squint at Killian. “Is that your way of saying you’re going to eat my food?”

“Never. Mine is better anyway.”

Her eyes roll, and she sits up on the towel before standing and walking over to sit on the cushions next to Killian and Skipper. She grabs her food out of the bag, as well as a bottle of water, and opens the container to grab an onion ring. Skipper is definitely eyeing her onion ring, but that’s not happening.

These are too precious for that.

“Oh my God, did I tell you who I saw at Granny’s?”

Killian shakes his head and adjusts the aviators on his face before stretching his arms above his head, his muscles pulling at the movement.

That isn’t distracting at all.

“Who?”

“Have you met the new sheriff? Graham something? I think it starts with an H. Um – ”

“Humbert, I believe.”

“That’s it! Anyway, so he was at the counter getting food for him and David, and he introduced himself. Like, he knew who I was and everything, and I’m 100% sure Marg didn’t listen to me when I told her I didn’t want to be set up with him.”

Killian’s arms fall down to his lap. “Pardon?”

“Oh, did I not tell you? Mary Margaret was really into setting me up with him a few weeks ago. I think it was on the fourth, but I told her I wasn’t interested in it. She has obviously put the wheels in motion, though. Or David is super weird and has a picture of me on his desk or something.”

“I feel like one of those is more likely than the other.”

Emma shrugs and bites into an onion ring. “Maybe. It was so weird, though, because I could tell he was trying to flirt, but it’s like I had no idea how to respond.”

He crosses his arms over his chest and props his foot up on the small table. “You mean, you didn’t flirt back?”

“Why would I flirt back?”

“Because you’re a single woman and an attractive man was into you. Flirting seems like the right thing to be doing.”

Emma swallows and puts her container of food down. She closes it so Skipper can’t get into it and then crosses her legs underneath her. “How do you know he was attractive?”

“I’ve seen him around. He looks like your type.”

“My type?”

“I know you’re partial to men in leather jackets with facial hair.”

She scoffs and crosses her arms, onion ring dangling from her finger. “Are you jealous?”

She can’t see his eyes from underneath his sunglasses, but his forehead wrinkles and his brows peak up enough for her to know they’re rising. She probably shouldn’t have asked that question. She was kidding, but Killian does not seem amused.

“Why the hell would I be jealous?”

“It was a joke, KJ. You don’t need to get all defensive about it. I know you’re not jealous because we’re not – you know…whatever.”

“No, no, we’re not, so I’m not bloody jealous. If you want to go on a date with the Sheriff, you should go.”

“I don’t want to go.”

“Fine.”

“Fine?”

“Yeah, fine.” Killian rises from the seat and walks back toward wheel on the boat. “What kind of music do you want to listen to?”

Holy whiplash Batman.

Where did that conversation even come from?

And how the hell did it end?

“Whatever you want. You know I always trust what you pick.”

He nods and thumbs through his phone until she hears the familiar sounds of John Mellencamp playing through the portable speaker Killian always brings out.

“So old school today?”

“Mhm.” He steps down the small step and reaches for Emma’s hand that is now onion-ring free. When she doesn’t take it, he flexes his fingers. “C’mon.”

“What are you trying to do, exactly?”

“I’m asking you to dance.”

“Why the hell would you ask me to dance? You’ve seen me dance. You know I’m bad.”

“That’s because you’ve never had a partner who knows what he’s doing.”

“Oh, and that’s you.”

“That is definitely me.”

She shakes her head as Skipper tries to get into her lap. “I’m not dancing with you.”

“Swan.”

His lips curl into a smile, soft and pressed together before he’s showing all of his teeth. His tongue flickers behind his teeth, and she just knows how his eyes look even without being able to see them.

Charmer.

“You were being a bit of a dick a minute ago.”

“Was I?”

“Definitely.”

He reaches forward and grabs onto her wrist, gently tugging her up until her legs are unfolding and she’s standing next to him, the boat warm against her bare feet. Killian intertwines are fingers with hers and pulls her flush to his chest as his left hand settles on her waist, inching closer and closer to her ass.

“If this was an excuse to touch my ass, you could have just done it.”

“Please,” he groans, “I’m more of a gentleman than that.”

“You keep saying that, but I know for a fact you’ve been staring at my boobs all day.”

Killian tilts his head back with his laughter and quickly spins her around before she settles back in her position from before. “You’re wearing a thin white bikini. It hides exactly nothing. What did you expect me to do?”

She tugs on the hair at the nape of his neck. It’s long enough to be able to flip and flow now, and she kind of likes it. It makes him look handsome in a boyish kind of way, and really, she’d be okay if he didn’t cut it for awhile.

As if that’s any of her business anyway.

“I expected you to do exactly that.”

He chuckles and keeps swaying with her as Jack and Diane still plays and the water shifts underneath them. “You’re something else. You know that?”

“I am aware of my greatness.”

“Do you remember,” he chuckles, “about three years ago, when we all took a boat off the water, and David and Liam thought it would be hysterical to push everyone off and into the water when they were least expecting it?”

“Yeah, but after two people, we were all definitely expecting it.”

“True, but it didn’t keep you from getting tossed in.”

She gently slaps the back of his neck. “Hey, if I remember correctly, that was your fault.”

“Only partially?”

“That’s how I remember it.”

“Partially my ass,” she laughs, tilting her head up to look at Killian. “You were in on it with them. You called me over to get me to help putting sunscreen on your back, and I was doing it, David picked me up and threw me in.”

“What makes you think I was doing anything other than protecting my skin from the sun?”

“Because you had just put some on. I remember.”

“No, no. I don’t think that’s what happened.”

“That’s exactly what happened!”

Killian hums and spins her around again. She nearly trips over Skipper, but he dodges her before coming back to lick her leg.

“I don’t recall that happening that way, so that must mean I’m right.”

“You’re not, and I’ll forever hold that grudge against you.”

“Add it to the list, darling. Add it to the list.”

The song starts dying out, and another one starts. She doesn’t recognize it, but its tempo is slower and softer. It’s peaceful, and if she hadn’t moved from her towel, she could easily be falling asleep right now.

“I miss when Liam was like that,” she whispers. “He used to be so carefree.”

“Liam has never been carefree. He’s worn the weight of the world on his shoulders for his entire life, and it’s rare that he doesn’t feel that or that he doesn’t have a stick up his ass. I love him, but he can be a righteous ass.”

“Hey, I feel the same way about you.”

Killian’s hand tightens in hers, but then it loosens, the iron grip gone.

“Hey, Swan?”

“Yeah?”

“Will you help me put some sunscreen on my back?”

“Yeah, sure, I – oh my God.”

In the blink of an eye, she’s being lifted off her feet and over Killian’s shoulder so that the only thing she has a view of is his ass and Skipper panting.

She is going to murder him.

“Well, I’d wait until you got in close with the Sheriff before you committed a crime like that.”

“Did I say that out loud?”

“You did indeed, love.” He pats her ass and then starts walking toward the other end of the boat. She could get down if she wanted to. She knows that she’s strong enough and that Killian would let her, but she’s honestly kind of curious to see if he actually has the balls to do it. “I bet the water feels great.”

“Why don’t you dive in and see for yourself?”

“I think I’m going to let you go first.”

And then the bastard tosses her in the ocean.

So he does have the balls to do it.

The water’s cold when she lands in it, and salt water ends up her nose. But she doesn’t stay under for long. She’s not necessarily scared of the animals that live in the ocean, but she’s not fond of the idea of getting eaten by a shark or stung by a jellyfish either. So she quickly swims back to the boat and climbs up the later until her likelihood of dying is at a minimum. That’s always something she’s aiming for.

As soon as she can see clearly again, she scans around to try to find Killian. He’s not anywhere on the boat, and Skipper is standing at the edge loudly barking. Emma turns her attention that way, and finally, she sees a mop of black hair emerge.

Huh, he really did jump in after he tossed her.

“How’s that water feel, Jones?”

“Refreshing. You didn’t want to stay in?”

“Not really a fan of getting eaten by a shark.”

“You do look like shark bait.” He pulls himself back up and sits beside her, nudging his shoulder into hers. “Did you really not see that I was going to throw you in the ocean the moment I brought up that story?”

“Oh, no, I did. You’re not sly.”

“So you think, love. So you think. What do you say we finish our lunch now?”

“I’ve been thinking about that ever since you interrupted me. I’m surprised there’s even any left with Skipper on board.”

“He’s like his owner. He has better taste than onion rings.”

“He’s also like his owner in that he smells like a wet dog.”

Killian chuckles and wraps his arm around Emma’s shoulder, pulling her in to kiss her cheek. “It’s best you get used to it since you’re stuck with us for the rest of the day.”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

-/-

The sun sets while they’re still out on the water. The vibrant blue sky fades into the most brilliant shades of orange and pink that mix together like only an expert painter could do. Emma see sunsets all the time. She works during them, and she’s got a perfect view of the ocean from her office and from all of the dining halls, but she never sits and watches. It’s the same sight almost every night, the same mechanisms happening in the sky, but there’s always the slightest difference depending on how many clouds are scattered in the sky or the upcoming weather.

Tonight, it’s perfect, and Emma can’t help but stare as she sips on a bottle of water and perches herself on the bow with Killian. His skin is already darker than it was when they set sail this morning, a tan now totally covering him and sharpening all of his features. Meanwhile, her freckles are all more prominent, but overall, she’s the same color except for the red on her cheeks. It’s been a good day, she thinks, even if there have been a few times where Killian has gotten a little short with her or zoned in and out of conversations. Maybe he’s got something on his mind that’s bothering him, but he would tell her. That’s what they do.

Rule number one and all that.

“I much prefer the sunrise to a sunset,” he suddenly says.

“Aren’t they pretty much the same?”

He drags his foot in front of him before pulling his knee to his chest. “The colors are different, just barely, but if you look at it enough, you can tell. Milah was a painter, and she would always talk about the subtle differences. I never noticed until her.”

Emma’s breathing stutters, but it quickly returns to normal. The only time Killian has ever mentioned Milah by name was the night of the fourth because she was having an absolute meltdown over seeing Neal. She knows he only did it to help, to share something to show that he understood, but really, it made her feel so damn guilty.

His girlfriend died, and then he found out she had this entire other life.

Emma can’t…she can’t imagine how he dealt with that, but then again, he and Liam picked up their lives and moved to another country after it, so maybe he didn’t deal with it too well. And yet, here he is still talking about something she loved to do because he still loves her. He didn’t say that, but Emma knows. She gets it.

So maybe his point did work. They do understand each other.

“I also am partial to how quiet it is in the mornings,” Killian continues. “I’ll be on a run or have Skipper in the sand, and the only thing I can hear is the chirping of the birds of the crash of the waves. It’s peaceful. You don’t get that a lot of times when the sun is setting.”

“What about right now?”

“Now,” he sighs, “is pretty perfect, too. You ready to go back home soon?”

“In a little while. I think maybe I need to appreciate the peace while I can.”

It’s midnight by the time Emma sets foot on solid land again. She’s exhausted, but it’s the good kind where she can feel it in her bones and in her smile. Skipper runs ahead of the two of them to the car, jumping in as soon as Emma opens the door, and Killian settles into the passenger’s seat as Emma turns the key in the ignition and starts driving back to her place.

“Where are you going?”

“My place.”

“Oh.”

Emma turns to look at him and watches him twist in his seat. “What?”

“Nothing, nothing. Can you drop me and Skip off at home? I’ve got an early day tomorrow, and I’d really like to get as much sleep as possible in.”

“Um, yeah, I can do that if that’s what you want.”

They drive in silence for the few minutes that it takes to get to Killian’s place, and when she puts her car in park, ready to turn it off completely, Killian leans over and presses his lips against her cheek. “Goodnight, Swan. I’ll see you later.”

-/-

-/-

tag list: @qualitycoffeethings​ @mrtinski​ @klynn-stormz​ @scarletslippers​ @jonirobinson64​ @snowbellewells​ @therealstartraveller776​ @thejollyroger-writer​ @sherifemma​ @galaxyzxstark​ @galadriel26​ @idristardis​ @karenfrommisthaven​ @teamhook​ @spartanguard​ @searchingwardrobes​ @jamif​ @shireness-says​ @ultimiflos​ @nikkiemms​ @resident-of-storybrookee @onepunintendid​ @bluewildcatfanatic​ @superchocovian​ @killianswannn​ @carpedzem​ @captainkillianswanjones​ @mayquita​ @mariakov81​ @jennjenn615​ @onceuponaprincessworld​ @a-faekindagirl​ @scientificapricot​ @xellewoods​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @stahlop​ @kmomof4​ @tiganasummertree​ @singersdd​ @tornadoamy​ @cluttermind​ @lfh1226-linda​ @andiirivera​ @elizabeethan​ @captain-emmajones​ @csalltheway​ @itsfabianadocarmo​

[odekiisu]

Fractions of Echo - VI - The Saga of Captain Rex’s Hair, Part the Second

The campaign had already been going on for far too long, and the men were exhausted. Apparently, the Captain and the Commander had somehow gotten pinned down at the bottom of a canyon with a small squad of troopers, with no way out that didn’t involve having to shoot their way through a whole battalion of clankers. They were stuck there for the better part of two days, before an extraction team made it to their position and got them out. By the time they got back to base, dark red dust was clinging to their armour and, if Echo’s experience of the dust on this karking planet was anything to go by, getting inside crevices that it should not be able to get to. But now, word was that they were close to victory, close to finally being able to get off this miserable ball of dust.

“Echo, Fives, a word?” the Captain’s voice came from somewhere behind them. As one, they turned, and the Captain indicated that they follow him to the command tent. As soon as they entered, the Captain removed his helmet.

Echo looked at Fives. Fives looked at Echo.

“Uh, Captain?” Echo asked. “You still have… a bit of that dust in your hair.”

Captain Rex ran a hand through his hair. “No, I don’t…” he started, then realization dawned. “Ah.”

“What’s that?” the Commander asked, entering the tent behind them. “Hey Rex, your roots are showing. You told me to tell you if that ever happens.”

The Captain turned to Commander Tano with a sigh. “So much for our company’s secret then.”

The Commander’s laugh was high-pitched and sounded like bells tinkling. Echo marvelled at how young she seemed – despite rationally knowing that she was older than him and Fives, older even than Captain Rex. But in this moment, he couldn’t take his eyes off the Captain’s hair, catching the light in odd ways. It certainly wasn’t black like his own, but neither was it the pale blond he usually sported, but more a shade of reddish bronze quite similar to the colour of his skin. Echo could see how it would be hard to spot under most circumstances.

“You know,” Commander Tano confided in them, “He used to be light blond like he normally is now, but as he got older his hair got darker.”

The Captain sighed. “Could I retain at least some sense of mystery?”

“Nope,” the Commander chirped, and added with a frankly adorable crinkling of her nose, “Hair is weird. Does it normally change colour that much?”

“Uhhh…” Fives looked to Echo, who replied, “…no? Not for us at least.”

“Huh.” The Commander hopped up on the table. “Now, about that strategy you suggested…”

***

“Hey,” Hardcase said, as he and Jesse bracketed Echo and Fives on their way back to barracks from their showers – and man, how great it felt to have an actual water shower after the mess of dust that was Florrum.

“Word is you’ve solved the mystery of the good Captain’s hair,” Jesse said.

“And what if we have?” Fives smirked.

“Care to enlighten us poor souls with the truth?”

Fives looked to Echo, mischief writ clear in his eyes. “What’s in it for us?”

“How about this: whoever the victor is will pay us a cut?” Echo suggested, raising an eyebrow.

“Deal,” Hardcase replied immediately.

“Hmm… I’ll have to think on it,” Fives said. “Give us a bit to think this over?”

“Oh, sure thing, take your time,” Jesse replied.

***

Echo approached Hardcase in his barracks. Jesse was nowhere in sight – he’d timed it well. “Fives and I agreed on it, and we know you know where this barracks’ stash of contraband is.”

Hardcase straightened up. “So you’re here to make a deal?”

Echo nodded. “Yes. I’ll tell you, in exchange for a bag of sweets. No less than a proper handful.”

Hardcase held up a finger before darting to the next bunk, digging around underneath it, and coming out with an unmarked box. He grabbed a handful from it, then held it out sheepishly. “No bag. Sorry.”

Echo nodded, taking the candy and distributing them between two belt compartments. “You were right,” he told Hardcase. “The Captain’s a natural blond.”

“Ha! Knew it,” Hardcase punched the air. “How did you find out?”

“Last campaign. He took his bucket off in the command tent, it was obvious that he hadn’t cut his hair in two weeks. Blond.”

***

Fives cornered Jesse after a drill. “So, it appears I have some information you want. What are you willing to pay for it?”

Jesse considered. “I may have some moonshine secreted away somewhere.”

“Hmmm… I’d take it for me, but Echo’s not much of a drinker, and I gotta share.”

“Chocolate, then?” Jesse offered. “You ever had chocolate? Lotsa people have bet chocolate on the outcome, and if your expression is anything to go by, I’m about to get a significant increase to my stash.”

Fives smirked. “Chocolate’s fine.”

Jesse nodded. They were almost at barracks, but Jesse took a sharp right just before they reached the door, leading Fives to a seemingly random service hatch in an alcove. “Keep an eye out, would you?”

Fives turned around and watched the corridor, but this was out of the way and none of the brothers walking past along the larger hallway connecting the gyms to the barracks even so much as glanced at them.

“Here,” Jesse said, handing a bag to Fives. “This enough?”

Fives opened it to see a decent quantity of chocolates, wrapped in sparkly multicoloured foil. “Perfect.” He unwrapped one and popped it into his mouth, the smooth sweet taste almost overwhelming him. “You’re right, by the way. Captain Rex does bleach his hair.”

***

Echo and Fives strode into Rex’s rarely-used office, their faces sporting matching smirks.

“Got something for me, boys?” he asked, setting the datapad and its requisition forms aside.

Echo set a small bag down on the Captain’s desk and slid it over to him. Rex opened it up to see a small handful of individually wrapped sweets – he recognized the Chandrilan chocolates, and the small round caramels, but the rest were a mystery he’d take great pleasure in discovering for himself. “Excellent,” he told them. “Thank you. How did they react?”

“Both fell for it,” Fives said. “I’m guessing they’ll find out tonight, if they haven’t already.”

“The barracks will be in an uproar,” Rex mused.

Echo agreed. “It’ll be absolute chaos. You want a holovid?”

“I don’t think giving incriminating evidence to me is the best idea… but then again, who’s to say the file won’t become corrupted immediately after I’ve watched it?” There was a mischievous twinkle in the Captain’s eyes, same as when they’d hatched this plan together.

Fives inclined his head. “It’ll be done, sir.”

Echo cleared his throat. “A question, if I may, sir?”

“Yes?”

“Why do you dye your hair?”

Captain Rex sighed. “I used to get a lot of flak for my hair colour as a cadet, but then… I guess I got used to it. Did keep my head shaved at one point, but when it grew back three shades darker, I realized that I missed the old colour. It looked distinctive. Sharp.”

Echo nodded.

“Anything else?” the Captain asked.

“No, sir,” Echo and Fives replied in unison, and the Captain dismissed them.

“Oh, and Captain?” Echo called over his shoulder. “Be grateful we haven’t told them about your premature grey hairs.”

The door hadn’t quite closed behind them when Echo heard it swoosh open again.

“Echo, report to LD-37 first thing tomorrow. You’ve got two shifts helping sort the laundry.”

Worth it, Echo thought.

(I - II - III - IV - V)

[goldenraeofsun]

we can follow the sparks

More of this verse!

As they sit down to lunch, Alicia asks in a hushed voice, “Have you guys seen the new Latin teacher?” 

Josephine shakes her head as she bends down to pull out her history textbook. She’s one of those miraculous people that can study, gossip, and eat all at the same time.

If Alicia tried that, she’d dump bits of tomato on her book, ask “what?” every two minutes, and absorb zero percent of the reading.

“I have Latin tomorrow,” Aidan says as he digs into a container of leftover spaghetti.

“Oh, you don’t count,” Alicia waves him off and nudges her brother with to pay attention. Max looks up from haggling with Krissy for half of her pastrami sandwich.

Aidan's brow furrows. “Why?”

“Because you’re straight,” Alicia dismisses.

Krissy dumps the pastrami in front of Max and grabs half of his grilled tofu and veggie sandwich and his kale chips in return. Max’s face falls.

Aidan scowls at Alicia. “What, is the new teacher hot or something?”

Alicia scoffs, “Or something.”

Max’s face lights up hopefully. “Hotter than Mr. Winchester?” 

“Mr. W isn’t hot,” Krissy points out, nose wrinkling.

Alicia rolls her eyes. “You are literally the only senior who thinks that.”

“The only student,” Max corrects as he takes a hearty bite of pastrami.

Alicia holds out her hand, which Max slaps obligingly. Thank god Alicia has her twin. 

“Maybe Kaia has had him,” Josephine points out as Kaia takes the only free seat at their lunch table, Claire close on her heels. They both squeeze in, content to practically sit in each others’ laps.

Alicia rounds on the newcomers. “Have you had Latin?”

“I take Spanish,” Kaia says, shrugging. “Why?”

With her nose already buried in her book, Josephine supplies, “Alicia says the new teacher is hot.”

Claire chokes on her own spit.

“I heard from Patience he also teaches French and Spanish too,” Max says in a hushed voice.

“Oh,” Kaia says with a sidelong glance at Claire, “I have Spanish tomorrow.”

Claire silently hands Kaia half of her wrap, saying, “I’m not taking a language this year.”

“You can do that?” Krissy asks.

Kaia passes Claire her yogurt without looking at her because they are truly the most disgusting couple ever. Claire shrugs. “I was taking Mandarin at my old school, but obviously I can’t do that here.”

“At Carver,” Aidan spits.

Claire ignores him. “I’m taking AP English and Creative Writing instead.”

“Nice,” Max raises his fist for her to bump, “double Mr. Winchester.”

Claire makes a face. “I’m with Krissy on this one. I don’t get the appeal.”

Max shakes his head despondently. “Of course you don’t. You’re a lesbian.”

“That doesn’t mean I don’t have eyes,” Claire snorts. “He’s old.”

“Nobody’s had Latin, French or Spanish yet?” Alicia asks, aghast.

“Hey!” Adian calls, “Alex!”

Alex looks up from the next table over where she’s squished between Patience and Tracy Bell. “What?” she demands, annoyed at the interruption.

Aidan smirks and says out of nowhere, “Do you think Mr. Novak is hot?”

Patience giggles and elbows Alex in the side as she splutters, “No!”

“That’s a yes,” Alicia says smugly.

* * *

Josephine approaches Mr. Novak’s desk cautiously, a little nervous to be talking to her new teacher one-on-one for the first time. She tries, “Professeur?”

Mr. Novak pauses wiping down the board. “Est-ce que tu as un problème avec les devoirs?”

Josephine shakes her head, saying slowly as she mentally translates, “Je n’ai pas ma copie de l'étranger. Je l’ai acheté le weekend dernier, mais il y a un… delay.”

“Retard,” Mr. Novak translates for her. He smiles and adds, “Pas de problème. Je garde toujours une autre copie dans mon bureau. Si tu voudrais bien me suivre.” He gestures for Josephine to follow him to the Language Office, but they stop short at the sight of Mr. Winchester standing in the doorway, staring at Mr. Novak with wide eyes.

“Dean,” Mr. Novak says in surprise. “Qu’est-ce qui s’passe?”

Mr. Winchester goes bright red. “Cas?” he asks weakly.

Mr. Novak gives his head a little shake. “My apologies. It’s been a long day. Is there something you need me for? I was just about to give Josephine my office copy of The Stranger.”

Mr. Winchester’s mouth opens and closes before he stutters, “N-no, it’s nothing. I’ll just… catch you later.” 

Josephine glances up at Mr. Novak as they turn the other way down the hall, towards the Language Office. “C’est bizarre,” she mutters.

Mr. Novak laughs lightly under his breath. “Peut-être il a oublié ce qu’il voulait me demander.”

Josephine inwardly frowns at the suggestion that Mr. Winchester “forgot” why he stopped by Mr. Novak’s classroom.

Josephine had Mr. Winchester for English as a freshman. He never forgot anything. He had an endless supply of Vonnegut quotes on hand, and he always remembered to ask Krissy how her dad was doing after he had a close call with cancer over spring break that year.

This time, he didn’t look like a man who couldn’t remember something; he looked embarrassed.

“Peut-etre,” Josephine echoes because she wasn’t about to just say all that to a new teacher. And in French.

In his office, Mr. Novak hands her a copy of Camus. “Voilà,” he says, completely straight faced. “Si tu as besoin d’autres choses, viens me voir.”

Josephine bobs a nod. “Merci beaucoup.”

“Au revoir,” he says with a little wave as she leaves the office.

Josephine meets up with Krissy by the front doors, half-heartedly fending off Aidan’s shitty flirting. “Hey,” she says. “Sorry I’m late.”

“No problem,” Krissy says easily. She pushes off the wall. “Aidan was keeping me company.” She smiles at him, and Aidan perks up like Pavlov’s dog hearing the dinner bell. “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Aidan says faintly as Krissy and Josephine take off towards Josephine’s car.

Josephine waits until Krissy is buckled in to say, “You’ll never believe what happened after French today.”

* * *

Krissy has never regretted taking German more in her life. Edlund’s a pretty small high school with a little over 500 students in total, so all anyone’s been talking about for the first two weeks in September is the new language teacher, Mr. Novak. 

Alicia and Max think he’s hot.

Josephine thinks he’s nice.

Aidan thinks he’s cool.

Kaia thinks… well, she’s been pretty mum on the subject, but she’s not the gossipy type, so Krissy isn’t surprised.

Only Claire rolls her eyes every time Mr. Novak’s name comes up.

Krissy hasn’t met the new language teacher. If she’s lucky, she can catch a glimpse of messy hair and a rumpled suit while she speed-walks from Calculus to World History.

While investigating Mr. Novak himself might be difficult, Krissy is close with Mr. W. 

She can still remember how Mr. W’s footsteps sounded down the hospital hallway in the oncology wing; how her heart pounded in her chest the first time she got in his car; how he talked for forty-minutes about “his baby” all the way to Josephine’s house.

Once a week for a month in freshman year, Mr. W chauffeured Krissy from the hospital on Tuesdays (Josephine’s parents took her on the weekends). Occasionally, he stopped in to talk to her dad, since they both went to Edlund High years ago. Edlunders, as Mr. W said, always took care of their own.

On the car ride to Josephine’s, they talked about Vonnegut, surrealist fiction, dystopian sagas… They only skipped over classic literature, since Mr. W thought everything written before the 20th century was boring as fuck. Mr. W did allow Shakespeare, though, because of all the dick jokes. 

Krissy knocks on the door to the Language Office three weeks into the school year. While she’d like to pretend to herself her visit is to get Mr. W’s opinion on Mr. Novak (his opinion would be more reliable than Alicia, Max, and Aidan combined, and on par with Josephine’s) she can’t pretend the mild haze of panic clouding her head has anything to do with a teacher she doesn’t even have on her schedule.

“Come in!” Mr. W’s voice calls.

Krissy steps inside, nodding to Frau Allen at her desk by the window. Otherwise, the office is empty.

“Hey, Krissy,” Mr. W says with a smile as she fiddles with the strap of her back, hovering by the door. “You wanna take a seat? Cas already left for the day.” He gestures to what Krissy assumes is Mr. Novak’s desk, next to his.

Krissy sits. “Thanks.”

Mr. W’s lighthearted expression turns serious as he reads her face. “Is everything okay? Your dad doing well?”

“Oh yeah,” Krissy says quickly, “still in remission. Everything’s looking good.”

“Good,” he says emphatically, and he means it, not like Ms. Masters or Mr. Trent after the news went around school that her dad was sick.

Krissy taps her fingers on Mr. Novak's vacated desk. “What happened to Mr. Turner? Did he finally retire?”

“Mm hm,” Mr. W hums. “He still goes fishing with Bobby - Principal Singer - so I heard he’s doing well.”

“How’s the new guy?” Krissy asks as she spins the seat around.

Mr. W frowns at her question. “He’s good,” he says as he pins her in place with a long look. “Why the interest? Don’t you take German?”

“I’ve been considering switching,” Krissy lies. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Frau Allen make a face.

“Because that makes sense,” Mr. W says, clearly not believing a word. “Aren’t you in AP German?”

Krissy ignores the question. “I heard Mr. Novak came from Carver.”

“He did,” Mr. W says cautiously. “So what?”

“Maybe he’s a spy.”

“This is high school, not the USSR,” Mr. W says with a snort. “Plus, Cas was an Edlunder first.”

Krissy blinks. “He was?”

“He was a student in my year.” He smirks. “He actually tutored me in Latin, if you can believe it.”

Krissy mulls that over. “So you know him pretty well.”

“Well enough,” Mr. W says, back to being cagey as hell. “I know he’s a good teacher and this school’s lucky to have him.”

“Okay,” Krissy says dubiously.

Mr. W rolls his eyes. “Now we’ve got that out of the way, and god knows why you wanted to talk about Cas, why are you really here?”

“Everyone’s talking about him!” Krissy protests.

Mr. W leans back in his chair and surveys her with a cool eye. “Since when have you been interested in gossip?”

“Uh…”

“That’s what I thought,” Mr. W says, satisfied. “Just spit it out, kid. I promise it can’t be that bad.”

“Would you write me a recommendation letter for college?” she asks in a rush. “Please.”

Whatever Mr. W had been expecting, it wasn’t that. He laughs, and Krissy almost dies of embarrassment before he says, “Well duh. I have a draft of the thing I’ve been sitting on for two years.”

“Really?” Krissy asks, her eyes round.

Mr. W nods. “After everything with your dad, I thought this might come up. And there were parts I didn’t want to forget so I wrote ‘em down.”

“Great,” Krissy says faintly. She shouldn’t be so surprised. Mr. W told her he always liked to be prepared. A true boy scout, he’d say before laughing to himself. 

When she’d voiced her confusion - Mr. W being a boy scout wasn’t all that outrageous, if you take away the minor swearing (he was a lot worse when she was a freshman). He said they didn’t take men like him.

Krissy tactfully changed the subject, but the next week she went to GSA for the first time.

It was worth giving up her Thursday lunch period to see Mr. W smile when she walked into his classroom for their weekly meeting. 

* * *

Max winces as Krissy elbows him in the ribs. He’s giving up his Thursday lunch hour for this?

Alan Corbett’s been going on and on for the past twenty minutes. Sure, he’s President of GSA, but that does not mean everything he says is worth listening to. It’s a shame. He’s too nice for anyone to tell him how boring he is. 

Kaia and Claire are playing footsie under the table.

Thank god Krissy gets it. As their only Straight rep of the Gay-Straight Alliance, Max was highly skeptical when she signed up at the end of freshman year. But Mr. Winchester liked her, so it was enough to convince Max not to give her the cold shoulder when she sat next to him. Plus, whatever Mr. Winchester says goes, since Max could listen to him read the dictionary with that ruggedly deep voice of his.

Max doubts Krissy’s heard a single word out of Alan’s mouth. Instead, her whole attention has been riveted on Mr. Novak, who’s attending his first GSA meeting. He sits off to the side, by the big poster of Game of Thrones (Mr. Winchester says it’s based on a book, so it counts).

Krissy scrawls in all caps on the back of a history assignment: HEART. EYES.

Max subtly shakes his head and picks up his pencil. WTF?

Look at how they’re looking at each other!

They’re not tho

Exactly! Krissy taps her last message forcefully. They keep look at each other when the other one is looking the other way

Why do you care?

Krissy frowns.

If I wanted gossip, I would’ve stayed in the cafeteria with Alicia

It’s Mr. W. I know you like him

I like to look at him Could care less about his love life I thought you were the same What gives?

You only pretend to be a shallow man whore I know you like him You started this club with him 3 years ago

How else could I find questioning dudes to fuck?

ew

But all I ended up with was… Max nods at Alan in disgust.

Krissy hides her smile behind the fist propping up her chin. You have the best gaydar in the city limits. So does Mr. W have a chance with Mr. Novak?

Mr. W flipped a closeted Republican, so… And I’m not talking about politics.

Seriously?

You didn’t hear it from me

You don’t even like gossip Who the hell told you that?

Alicia. Who else? She knows everything.

Max smirks as he starts his next note.

It’s why her hair is so big. It’s full of secrets.

Krissy doesn’t manage to stifle her laugh in time.

Mr. Novak frowns disapprovingly, but Mr. Winchester doesn’t notice since he’s too busy staring at Mr. Novak.

Maybe Krissy’s onto something.

Max looks down at their notes to find another message: Josephine told me Mr. W has it bad for Mr. Novak

Max scrawls incredulously, Josephine??? Since when does she pay attention?

That’s what I’m saying He’s got it so bad even Josephine can see it

Aromantic Josephine, who took a year to figure out Aidan was into you

Yup.

I bet they’ll be banging in 2 weeks

Can you not

$5 says I’m right

Make it $10. 

* * *

Aidan sulks against the wall of the gym. He finally got Krissy to agree to go to a dance - Homecoming! - and all she wants to do is hang with their friends.

And fine, it wasn’t like he expected them to sneak out and make out or do more stuff when they were alone… but he kind of did.

At least he got a couple of dances in. Before Krissy dragged him away, he even got to grind up against her. It was fucking magical.

Now, he’s at a table with Kaia and Josephine. Krissy is waving over Alicia, so Max can’t be far behind. Only Claire is a no-show, but Krissy told him a few minutes ago she was in the bathroom. Girls always take a bafflingly long time in there. Maybe there are snacks?

“Where’s Max?” Aidan asks loudly over the music. There’s only two of them; the Y chromosome reps gotta stick together. 

Alicia vaguely waves her hand toward the dance floor. “I think he mentioned something about Ennis Ross.” She spins the folding chair around to straddle it and rest her arms on the back.

Aidan draws up short. “Ennis is gay?”

Kaia snorts. “Does it matter?”

“Not to Max,” Krissy says with a grin. “You know he’s always happy to play the baking soda volcano.”

“Huh?” Aidan asks.

Krissy rolls her eyes. “He’s always happy to be someone’s experiment.”

“Oh.”

Alicia’s lips purse but she doesn’t comment.

“Did you see Mr. Novak and Mr. W?” Krissy asks, tipping her head towards where the two teachers lean against the wall underneath one of the basketball hoops, talking with their heads bowed together.

“They are cute,” Alicia agrees, looking grateful for the subject change.

Mr. Novak dressed up for homecoming with a tie the school colors, and Mr. Winchester has Edlund's mascot, Peppy the Pigeon, painted on his cheek.

“Do you think if Aidan spikes the punch, it’ll,” Krissy waggles her eyebrows, “make things happen?”

Josephine frowns. “I don’t think Mr. Novak could ever be drunk enough to make a move in front of students.”

“But Mr. W for sure,” Krissy says.

“Oh yeah,” Alicia says.

“Hey,” Aidan protests, holding his hands up in the T formation for timeout. “I’m not giving up my booze.”

“Speaking of,” Alicia holds her hand out, “Gimme some.”

“What? No! Get your own.”

“How am I supposed to do that?” she asks, eyebrows raised. “Mom doesn’t even allow Coca Cola in the house because it brings ‘negative energy.’”

Krissy nudges Aidan in the ribs with a pointy elbow, and he sighs. He fishes his flask out of his suit pocket and hands it over. Alicia takes a swig and promptly passes it to Josephine, who gives it to Kaia.

“Hey, save some for the guy who brought it!” Aidan says as he snatches it back.

“Not too much,” Max’s voice says from behind him. He grins as Aidan jumps. “Whiskey dick is a real thing.”

“Hey,” Josephine greets. “No go with Ennis?”

“Got spooked right as we were getting to the good stuff,” Max says with a shrug.

“Sorry,” Kaia says sincerely.

“It’s alright,” Max says as he throws himself into the last empty chair. “I only got one more year here, and then there’s gonna be a whole freshman class of questioning dudes ripe for the taking.”

Krissy wrinkles her nose. “You do you, I guess.”

“Thank you, Kristine, I will,” Max says.

Alicia rolls her eyes.

“We were just talking about Mr. W and Mr. Novak,” Krissy says, jerking her head to the basketball hoop. “Huh,” she says, her eyes widening a she scans the gym, “Where’d they go?”

“Probably to go make out,” Aidan says bitterly with a significant look at Krissy. She frowns.

“We can only dream,” Alicia says wistfully.

The song changes to something with a thumping baseline and a catchy chorus, and there’s a deafening cheer from the dance floor.

Aidan glances around, but nobody at the table moves to join in. He taps his feet to the beat. A few of the teacher chaperones have meandered closer to the dancing group, eyes peeled for inappropriate activity.

“Wanna get some air?” Aidan says in a carrying undertone (the music is very loud) to Krissy.

Max groans. “Yes, please.”

Aidan glares.

“Where?” Alicia asks.

Adian's mood sours further. He is never going to touch Krissy’s tits at this rate.

Kaia sets her phone down on the table. “Claire’s already out by the football field. She says nobody’s there.”

“Alright then,” Josephine says as she gets to her feet and stretches.

Krissy holds her hand out to Aidan. “Come on, you,” Krissy says with a small smile, “This was your idea.”

Aidan grumbles but follows the group. The halls are weird in the dark, still festooned with banners and streamers from Spirit Week. Everyone is oddly quiet as their footsteps echo off the rows of closed lockers. They pass one of the lab rooms, and a shadow moves across the window, accompanied by a hushed giggle.

Max smirks. “Wanna bet how many are getting it on right now?”

“I’d steer clear of the supply closets,” Alicia says with a shudder.

“Talk about a cliche,” Krissy complains as they round the last corner before the large double doors to the field. “If I was sneaking around, the roof is the way to go. No one ever looks there.”

Aidan files that fact away for later.

The fall breeze hits them squarely in the face as they step outside. Aidan shrugs out of his jacket and puts it around Krissy’s shoulders, ignoring her eye roll and smiling at Josephine’s thumbs-up behind Krissy’s back.

Max gallantly gives Alicia his jacket too, and Josephine and Kaia huddle together as they pick their way across the field, stepping over bits of confetti, torn bits of streamers, and a few abandoned signs. The crowd had been particularly enthusiastic since they’d been playing Carver Preparatory.

Edlund High won, of course. For the fifteenth year in a row. Carver sucks.

They find Claire at the top of the bleachers, wearing her normal leather jacket over her midnight blue dress.

“Hey,” Kaia says, kissing her on the cheek. “What’re you doing up here?”

“I don’t like crowds,” Claire says, hugging her arms to her chest.

“Me either,” Josephine says as she sits next to Claire. 

“You didn’t have to bring the cavalry,” Claire complains to Kaia.

Kaia shrugs. “They wanted to come.”

“The dance was lame,” Max says as he bounds up two bleachers at a time.

“Because you’re too cool to do the electric slide,” Alicia says as she plops down on the row below.

Krissy wanders around, searching for the best spot to sit out of the wind, Aidan’s coat still wrapped tightly around her shoulders. “Hey,” she hisses, hand flapping in their direction. “Look!”

“What?” Alicia leans over to see what Krissy’s spotted. “Holy fuck,” she breathes.

Aidan, Max, and Josephine peer over the railings to see the shadowy area below, leaving Kaia and Claire to their whispered conversation.

Holy fuck is right. That’s Mr. Winchester. And Mr. Novak.

“What are they doing?” Aidan asks before he can stop himself. It’s not like he doesn’t know what a heavy duty make out looks like. 

Max snorts.

Alicia throws him a despairing look.

Krissy swivels around to face Claire. “Did you know they were down there?”

“Yeah? So what?” Claire says, frowning. “I wasn’t about to perv on a couple of teachers.”

Krissy’s mouth falls open as she stares at the group as a whole. “Do you think this is the first time?”

Max sneaks another peek. “Probably not,” he says critically. “Either that, or Mr. Novak’s way more randy than I ever gave him credit for. A real freak under that suit.”

Claire’s face spasms.

“Or maybe Mr. Winchester just brings it out in him -” Alicia starts.

* * *

“They’ve been dating for three years!” Claire explodes. 

Everyone turns to stare at her.

Two months. Two goddamn months of this. 

When she transferred to Edlund from Carver, she thought the worst part would be her family’s disapproval. They all told her it was stupid to throw away her future at a good school for a girl. They always said it like that, like Kaia didn’t have a name. At least Uncle Cas supported her, not that he had a single leg to stand on, since he was switching jobs and taking a pay cut to be with Dean. Claire would have preferred if her uncle didn’t follow her from school to school like the dorkiest duckling ever, but it was nice to have him in her corner.

But no, the absolute worst part was all the gossip she had to listen to. About Uncle Cas, aka the biggest doof on the planet.

Maybe Grandmother was right, and Edlund was filled with a bunch of idiots. Claire throws up her hands, saying through gritted teeth, “Castiel transferred from Carver to spend more time with Dean.” 

“How do you know that?” Krissy asks, her mouth falling open.

Claire purses her lips. “Castiel’s my uncle.”

“Your what?” Aidan gapes.

Claire rolls her eyes. “He’s my uncle. Dean’s his boyfriend. They’re gross together all the damn time - but not in school because Uncle Cas has opinions about it.”

“If Mr. Winchester could make out with him all the time, he’d do it,” Kaia adds because she’s had dinner at Uncle Cas’s way too many times and has seen it for herself.

Krissy leans over the railing. “Get it Mr. W!”

Alicia cackles as Dean and Uncle Cas jump apart, glancing around for the voice.

Dean’s Peppy face paint is nothing but a smear of grey and black on his cheek. Double gross. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters as he spots the group on top of the bleachers. “What the hell are you guys doing here?” 

“I wanted to make out with my girlfriend,” Aidan complains. Krissy rolls her eyes, but Claire doesn’t miss the regretful expression on her face before she turns back to the pair of teachers below.

“Just getting some air,” Josephine explains pleasantly as she aims a kick at Aidan’s shin.

“Don’t let us interrupt!” Max calls wickedly.

Dean runs a hand down his face and nudges Uncle Cas with his shoulder. “We should escort them back, right?”

Uncle Cas sighs. “It would be irresponsible not to.” He glares at Dean. And even in the dark, Claire can see how red his face is. “I told you sneaking off was a bad idea.”

“Be thankful we didn’t get to my real bad idea before the Scooby Gang found us,” Dean says, eyebrows waggling suggestively.

“We can still hear you,” Claire reminds them loudly.

“Alright, alright,” Dean says, flapping his hands at them like a giant mother hen. “Get down from there and back to the dance. I heard someone spiked the punch.”

“Really?” Aidan asks as he offers Krissy his hand to help her down.

“No,” Dean deadpans. He mutters to Uncle Cas, “I can’t believe we got cockblocked by a bunch of kids.”

Claire makes a noise of disgust as her feet hit the ground. “Are you incapable of whispering?”

Uncle Cas shoots Dean a warning look before saying calmly, “Nothing was going to happen. We were, ah, getting some air.”

“That’s not all you were gonna get,” Dean says in an undertone.

Claire groans.

“Stop,” Uncle Cas tells Dean reproachfully. “I know you’re goading her. It’s inappropriate.”

“I’ll show you inappropr-”

Uncle Cas actually slaps his hand over Dean’s mouth. “Not another word, Dean.”

They are the worst. Claire pretends to trip Dean up as they pass her, and Dean flips her the finger when Uncle Cas looks the other way.

Claire waits for Kaia and the rest of the group, dawdling after the pair of teachers. Bemused, she watches as Krissy, Max, Aidan, and Alicia hand Kaia money. “What’s going on?” Claire asks.

“Your girlfriend fleeced us,” Aidan complains as he pockets his wallet.

Claire raises her eyebrows.

Kaia shrugs, but her face is as smug as Claire has ever seen it. “I just bet everyone else was wrong.”

Claire’s mouth falls open. “Were you betting on them?” she hisses, pointing at Uncle Cas and Dean.

“I thought it would take them two weeks to sleep together,” Max says.

“I bet two months,” Krissy adds.

“One month,” Alicia supplies.

“A year,” Aidan says with a helpless sort of look.

Claire swivels to glance at Josephine. “What about you?”

Josephine raises her hands in a gesture of innocence. “I had no idea, which is why I didn’t get involved.” She studies the pair ahead of them for a few steps, her eyes narrowing as Dean reaches over to ruffle Uncle Cas’s hair. “I would’ve said something stupid like ten years.”

Claire bursts out laughing.

“What?” Krissy asks, annoyed.

Claire nudges Kaia, who looks stricken. “Come on, you know she nailed it.”

“I did?”

Claire snorts. “They got together after their high school reunion,” she says as Josephine’s face lights up. “It took ten years for those dumb fucks to get their shit together.”

Without missing a beat Uncle Cas calls over his shoulder, “Claire, language!”

Kaia smothers her giggles into Claire’s shoulder.

[beautiful-de4mity]

[Alice Nine Fanfiction] ASYLUM

“You can’t say this world is kind to people. That’s how it is.”

Saga's body freezes instantly, paralyzed. His throat is choked painfully in order to endure a scream that refuses to come out of his chest, a feeling of intense fear gripping him but he is unable to do anything about it. Shou said he means no harm, but Saga has no reason to believe him. If the family that gave birth to and raised you could be so cruel, is there any guarantee that a stranger like Shou won't do the same?

Chapter 01 [Lingering]

Author: beautiful-de4mity

Fandom: Alice Nine

A/n: inspired by ASYLUM that is always incredibly stunning during lives and I have always been captivated by Saga x Shou’s relationship both on stage and real life. This is my first time ever writing Alice Nine’s fanfiction in English, I’m going to need maaaaaaaany critics 😥💦

Inspired song: ASYLUM from PLANET NINE Album

Disclaimer: Alice Nine belongs to themselves wwwww

At two fifteen in the afternoon, all of Shou's classes for the day finally ended. In one deep breath, the handsome young man tidies up all his belongings and hurriedly moves outside the campus. He should have met with Amano sensei at the private central hospital in Shibuya at one o'clock, but Professor Hisashi, his lecturer of Psychological Testing and Measurement, suddenly asked for additional classes after lunch since he has to attend a seminar out of town next week.

Shou's heart skips a beat groggily as he reaches the nearest bus stop, opens his cellphone and checks the reply email from Amano sensei two days ago containing an invitation to meet the man in his office. Shou fell at the first glance with that young neuropsychiatrist—since he was still a freshman to be exact. At that time, the campus held a seminar on Speech Language Disorder by inviting several experts as speakers and Amano Tora was one of them. Shou recalls vividly how fascinated he was watching the young doctor's every move up to the podium, explaining the material on Aphasia for about thirty minutes in a casual manner contrasted with his deep voice. From then on, Shou was secretly determined to focus his studies on neuropsychiatry and began to diligently read articles in that field.

Shou ends his flashback when the bus that is going to take him to the hospital arrived. In a bit of a hurry, Shou gets on the bus and pays using IC card before sitting in the back seat near the window, still trying to calm his nervousness. In the past few weeks, Shou has been working hard on a research proposal on mutism (after reading an article of which Amano Tora is one of the contributing authors) and sending it to the young doctor and asking him to become the instrument validator. Shou didn't even update the contents of his YouTube channel to make a perfect proposal, he was overjoyed when Amano sensei replied to his email and invited him to meet!

The trip to the hospital is painfully slow for the impatient Shou. The young man keep tapping his feet on the bus floor, tidying his shirt, his brown hair, and muttering what words he will say to Amano sensei later. As soon as the bus stops at its destination, Shou jumps excitedly from his seat and hurries off. By his pair of long slender legs, Shou has no trouble getting to the hospital building in less than ten minutes.

“Anou, sumimasen. May I know where the psychiatry ward is?" asks Shou at the hospital information center.

A young female staff member smiles kindly and explains to him where the psychiatric ward is. Shou rushes to follow the female staff's direction while taking out his cellphone again from his pocket to inform Amano sensei that he is already in the hospital.

"Ohara?" Shou's head automatically lifted when someone calls his name as soon as he stepped out of the elevator. His heart is racing when he realizes it is Amano sensei.

"Ha—hai," Shou bows a little too deeply. "Amano sensei, thank you for accepting my research proposal and agreeing to become a validator," he stammers.

Amano sensei chuckles as he waves his hand, “Don't be so formal with me. Just call me Tora sensei or Tora. I'm not that old."

"Eh?" Shou's beautiful eyes widened to find how casual this person he’s always idolized. "Ii desu ka?"

Amano sensei or Tora then nods and invites Shou who is still a little bit overwhelmed to his office. Shou silently watches the side profile of the young doctor; their height is not much different so that their shoulders almost brush, Tora's stern facial lines and unlike Japanese men in general make him even more charming, his enormous figure is clad in a dark shirt with folded sleeves up to elbows and the top two buttons of his shirt are loosely open. Shou’s face starts to heat up and he immediately looks away.

"Please come in," Tora opens the door to his room.

Tora's workspace is large enough to accommodate a set of assembled PCs on his working desk surrounded by paperwork and important documents. There is also a cup of cold, half-drunken coffee and an ashtray filled with cigarette butts. Shou raises an eyebrow at how 'carefree' this young doctor is, in fact he doesn't reflect a doctor-like personality at all. Or is it because his area of ​​expertise is psychology that's why Tora has this happy-go-lucky attitude? Shou subconsciously starts analyzing in his head.

"Please sit down, why are you staying there?" Tora chuckles at the empty chair across his work chair.

"Ah, yes, alright ~" Shou sits up awkwardly.

"Hmm, so I've read your proposal and I have to admit it's the most interesting topic I've read in the past year, let alone an undergraduate student who compiled it," Tora opens the conversation.

Receiving such praise, Shou can’t help but blushes.

"What attracted you to mutism?"

Shou immediately swallows hard. There's no way he can say that the reason he brought up this topic was because of the article he read last month in which Tora was one of the contributors. Shou was silent for a long time before simply answering the truth.

"I—read an article written by Professor Matsuda about mutism in traffic accident patients and was interested in exploring the topic."

Tora lifts an eyebrow, "Oh," the young doctor rises from his chair and takes something from the bookshelf, Tora waves a print out of a twenty pages-thick paper. "Case Study of Neurogenic Mutism in Traffic Accident Patients with Brain Damage, 2016?"

Shou nods, his hand feels cold.

"I was involved in this research too, it is very interesting indeed." Tora smiles then sits back down on his chair, Shou lets out a sigh of relief. “Actually I invited you here with a wish to offer something, too, if you don't mind."

A slipping sensation like jumping two stairs at once occupies Shou’s belly when he heard that. "What is it, sensei?"

***

You can’t say this world is kind to people; that’s how it is.

Did I lose something? I don’t know what it is, in this empty dissonance.

The surroundings are always cold even though the air conditioner is not turned on and these white clothes cover his whole body. The young man is sitting in the corner, staring at a small aquarium with bluish neon lights located near a large glass window where people usually watch him and take notes on his every move. It doesn't stop there, every corner of the room has CCTV connected to a computer somewhere in this big hospital, he doesn't know, he doesn't care. He just wants to live quietly. He just wants some warmth.

His bony arm is lifted, revealing an iron plaque on his wrist with some information about him engraved on the surface. The young man is stunned to stare at it for a moment.

Name: SAGA Age: 18 Admission date: 2019/05/12

Two people has just come and study him through the glass window, catching his attention. One is Amano Tora, one of the neuropsychiatrists who is assigned to take care of him, while the other one—Saga tilts his face intrigued—a tall, slender fine-looking young man with brown hair and a pair of big beautiful eyes who is now smiling at him. Amano Tora seems to explain something to the beautiful-eyed young man, they seem to be engaged in a serious conversation. A few moments later, the door opens and the two men enter to greet him.

“How are you doing today, Saga?” asks Amano Tora in a friendly tone that always make him feels weirdly relaxed and safe.

He nods curtly while his gaze darts on the other young man standing beside Amano Tora.

“Ah, yes. I bring a friend today. He is Ohara Shou and he is going to assist me in treating you from now on,” Amano Tora explains. “He’s an undergraduate student, you guys are the same age, I’m sure you can get along well in no time.” The doctor flashes a charming smile.

The beautiful-eyed young man named Shou comes forward and introduces himself, “Hajimemashite, Saga san, I’m Ohara Shou. Yoroshiku onegaishimasu!”

Shou is confused because Saga doesn't respond and stares at him intensely as if judging him from head to toe. Even so, Saga's dark irises fascinate him. Shou can clearly see Saga's jawline because his body is so thin, his eye bags are sunken and blackened, and his short dark hair is messy that almost covers his entire forehead, his body looks thin and frail. Earlier, Tora had already explained Saga's condition. He is a mutism patient who has been under the supervision of a hospital research team due to years of physical abuse from his own family. Until now, the research team has not been able to determine whether Saga’s case is a neurogenic mutism or the other type of mutism. The MRI scan showed that he had brain trauma which should not have affected his speech ability, but from the day the children welfare discovered him and admitted him to this hospital, Saga hasn't spoken a word to anyone.

After a few minutes allowing himself to be glared at by Saga, Shou kneels in front of the skinny young man and smiles gently at him, causing Saga to move back in fear. “It’s okay, I mean you no harm.” Carefully, Shou tries to reach Saga’s hands and holds them softly.

Saga's body freezes instantly, paralyzed. His throat is choked painfully in order to endure a scream that refuses to come out of his chest, a feeling of intense fear gripping him but he is unable to do anything about it. Shou said he means no harm, but Saga has no reason to believe him.

If the family that gave birth to and raised you could be so cruel, is there any guarantee that a stranger like Shou won't do the same?

[bellemorte180]

STORY TIME

I’m feeling snarky today. Why? Who the fuck knows. I woke up this way.

So I. was on discord chatting with some lovely Klaroline friends and somehow I got into the story of the time my dad left my mom at the alter. 

Yes you read that right.

My family can be a legit soap opera at times. 

Anyway, here is the story...

So, my parents were high school sweethearts; but like the kind that should have not been together....ever.....at all. My dad was the only son of three kids and was going to take over the family business.

Not mafia. Get your head out of that fanfiction rabbit hole. It was a tractor store. One that did pretty well and made my grandparents comfortable but not as interesting as Al Capone. 

My mom was a cheerleader and a sweetheart while my dad was the bad boy with a silver spoon in his mouth. They got engaged at 19 and married at 20. The wedding was FUCKING MASSIVE. Its the 1970s and it was huge. Like my mom said she invited close to 500 people. 

I know you’re asking...is this where he left her at the wedding?

Nope. 

Keep reading.

They married and by the time they were 22, they were filing for divorce. My dad was WILD okay, Like, party at the run down red-neck bar in town wild and my mom put up with too much shit. Not my maternal grandmother though- go read the story about how she almost killed three teen boys and you can just imagine how many times she marched into some bar with curlers in her hair to pull my dad out of a drunken stupor.

ANYWAY.

They divorced and my mom started dating. Around 26 she was dating this guy (who to this day we do not know his name). She got pregnant with my oldest sister and the dude just bailed. He did not want a kid and legit vanished, leaving my mom pregnant. 

My dad, who had grown up (but only a little) by this point found out my mom was pregnant. He stepped up, offered to raise the kid as his own and they got back together. Had my sister and my dad was listed on the birth certificate. Remember that. It's key for later. Everyone thought he was the bio-dad of my sister.

Two years go by, mom gives birth to my other sister and mom and dad decided to get remarried. But since they already had the whole massive wedding eight years previously, they just decided to go to the court house. 

But my dad just didn’t show up. 

Left my mom sitting at the courthouse. 

With my grandparents. 

I don’t know this for sure but I have a suspicion that my dad was in some dive bar. Mom never confirmed that theory but I know my dad and I’m sure that it was what happened. 

Now, normal people would have left my dad after that, but not my saint of a mother. Nope. She stayed. She had two kids with the guy and didn’t want to break that up. They just never got married again.

TOLD EVERYONE THEY DID but actually just didn’t-remember that. 

Seven years later I was born. The best accident to have ever happened if I do say so myself. 

BUT my dad was cheating on her and that is a whole different story which ends up with him marrying her (yes he showed up to THAT wedding), having a fourth kid that may or may not be his, and my mom getting married to someone else, divorcing, engaged again to another person and ending that relationship.....but that is drama is for another day. 

Fast forward to when I’m 20 years old. Dad was in and out of my life for....reasons....and he gets colon cancer. Stage 4. It sucked. He dies-again that is a whole other drama saga that I’m not getting into at the moment. He has a Will that my psycho step-mother both tries to hide from us (she like legit had an auction to sell off ALL of my family heirlooms and belongings). Like, my dad wasn’t Bill Gates but he was comfortable.

Did I see any of that money?

No.

Anyway, my sister and I go to the courthouse, pay for the probated Will and read it. In the Will my dad legit said that my eldest sister was not his biological daughter. Like, we all thought she was.

My fucking aunt who is his sister thought she was his kid. This was how hush hush that was. Apparently they made up some story about how they got back together, didn’t tell anyone until Mom got pregannt. Mom was then forced to tell us the above story and how they were actually divorced when we were all born and that he stood her up at the court house and the whole nine yards. 

My mom cried. She didn’t want us to know that cluster fuck. 

Refused to tell us who my sister’s bio-dad is though and she has decided that she doesn’t want to know. 

I do but not my business I suppose. 

ANYWAY, that is the shit show sneak peak of what my family is like.

[fallen-imagine-angel]

‘Accidental’ Run-In - Steve Harrington x Reader

Notes: Here’s the second Steve request! Others are still in the works, will be posted soon, hopefully! And by the way, if you’re super cautious about spoilers then I wouldn’t read this just in case, but I’ve re-read it like three times and I don’t see anything that’s really spoiling season 3?? But be warned that I could have missed something. Hope you enjoy!

Summary: You let it slip that you and Max are headed to the mall for a day.

‘Accidental’ Run-In

Steve Harrington x Reader

Requested?: Yes, by @divergentseagreengirl “Can you do a Steve story where the girl he ends up with also kind of takes on a big sister role with Max? Maybe she's also had some losses in her life and is a little broken and she and Steve connect and understand the other and what they need.”

Word Count: 1,591

Warnings: Possible ST3 spoilers, mentions of a neglective father, Steve being too cute?

You worked at the arcade when you first saw Steve Harrington. Scratch that, when you first talked to Steve Harrington. He and the kids he had befriended were there to play games. Well, Steve was there to watch them, mostly. 

“I can teach you the trick to all the games,” You had told him. He listened to you, for the kids’ sake.

A year later, you’re applying to a job at the video store with the same boy. The two of you had grown close, finding comfort in the fact that both of you had awful dads. You had gained a fairly large crush on Steve in this past year, especially after you dealt with the whole Mind Flayer and Russian thing with him, Robin, and the kids. Adding on the similarity you already had, you two became even closer. Little did you know your crush was reciprocated.

“(Y/n)! Steve!” The kids rush into the store with large, suspicious smiles on their faces.

“What do you want?” You sigh, going back to putting up movies that had been returned.

“A discount,” Lucas tells you bluntly. You frown.

“Please, please, please? We only have two dollars and we really want to watch Star Wars!” Mike pleads, showing you the two dollars in his hands. You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose.

“What’s going on over here?” Steve walks over, putting a hand on his hip.

“The boys want to rent Star Wars and they’re forcing us to watch it with them. We don’t have enough money so we’re asking for a discount.” Max explains shortly. You look over at Steve.

“And I’m guessing (Y/n) said no?” Steve asks, cocking an eyebrow.

“She hasn’t said anything.” Dustin looks at you for an answer. Eleven looks up at you expectantly, a face of pure innocence and pleading.

“Fine. Just this once, though.” You point a finger at the kids. They all nod excitedly. You grab the entire Star Wars saga up to this point from the shelf and hand it to the kids, taking their two dollars.

“You’re the best, (Y/n)!” Max hugs you tightly. You laugh and ruffle her hair.

“Hey, we still on for tomorrow?” You ask her. She nods.

“Wouldn’t miss it.” She runs off with the rest of the gang. You had also grown close with Max over the bond of having a dad that doesn’t care. 

“What’s tomorrow?” Steve asks, sidling up to you. 

“Oh, I promised her I’d take her to the mall tomorrow. Her brother’s being a douche and she needs some girl time.” You shrug, going back to work.

“Aw, cute.” Steve laughs, helping restock the shelves with you.

“What, me or the fact that I’m taking Max to the mall?” You joke, nudging his shoulder.

“Both.” He grins at you. You blush and say nothing.

~+~

The next day, you’re in the mall with Max.

“Oh, no. That is not your style, please put it back.” You put the frilly dress back on the rack, right out of her grasp.

“I think I’d rather die than wear that.” She pulls a face. You laugh.

“I’d rather die than see you wear that.” You turn toward another rack of shirts, this time pulling out a shirt that looked more like her style.

“It’s perfect!” She grabs it and goes to the fitting room. You look through the racks for something you’d like.

She jumps out of the fitting room, showing off her new outfit.

“Cute.” You compliment, nodding as she twirls around.

“I’m gonna get it.” She grins and goes back into the fitting room. You grab a shirt off the rack and try it on, deciding that you like it.

“You ready to go?” You ask, grabbing the shirt she liked from her to buy it. She nods.

“Yup. Oh, how are you and Steve doing?” She asks as you head to the counter.

“Huh? We aren’t dating. You know that.” You furrow your brows. You set the items on the counter and pay for them.

“I know, I just...you should be.” She shrugs, leaning a hip on the table.

“Max, we don’t like each other--”

“Bullcrap, I know you do. It’s so obvious.” She scrunches her nose up at you, crossing her arms.

“Fine, I like him but there’s no way he’d ever like me.” You grab your bagged items and walk out of the store. She follows.

“Whenever he looks at you, his eyes are literal hearts.” Max rolls her eyes.

“You sure are blunt today.” You raise an eyebrow at her.

“I learn from the best.” She grins at you. You scoff.

“I assume that’s me?” You smirk.

“Without a doubt.” She answers.

“Oh, hey guys!” Steve strolls up to the two of you, a smile on his face.

“Now’s your chance,” Max whispers before he’s close enough to hear her.

“Yeah, yeah. Shut up.” You silence her. She smirks proudly to herself. As Steve nears, you see Lucas behind him.

“Why is Lucas here?” Max questions.

“Your guess is as good as mine.” You shrug.

“What are you guys doing here?” Steve asks as he comes to a stop in front of you.

“I could ask you the same thing, Harrington. I told you I was going to be at the mall today with Max.” You tilt your head in confusion.

“Wow, that’s...weird. I don’t remember you saying that. Well, since we’re here, why don’t we give the kids a couple of dollars and make them go get us ice cream or something while we catch up?” Steve asks, shoving a few dollars into Lucas’ hand.

“Sure, whatever. Come on, Max, let’s go.” Lucas links arms with his girlfriend and walks off.

“You seem desperate to get me alone, Stevie.” You giggle, sitting down on a nearby bench with him.

“I- uh, yeah, I guess so. There’s just something I need to tell you.” He wipes his hands on his jeans, suddenly nervous. You frown.

“What’s wrong?” You ask, setting a calming hand on his shoulder.

“I like you.” He blurts, unable to stop the words once they started forming.

“You like, like me? As a crush?” Your eyes widen at the new information. Butterflies burst in your stomach.

“Y-Yeah, like I have a crush on you.” He admits, scratching the back of his neck nervously.

“I like you, too, Steve. I have for almost a year now,” You tell him, setting a hand on top of his. He turns his hand over and holds yours.

“Yeah? That’s a relief because so have I.” He smiles in relief, lacing his fingers with yours.

“I told you he came here to ask her out!” You hear Lucas yell. You look over and see him and Max hiding horribly behind a bush. She shushes him, but it’s too late. They’ve been spotted.

“Sorry! We’re gonna...uh, go get ice cream now.” She smiles widely, giving you a thumbs up. You laugh as they run away.

“Kids…” Steve chuckles.

“So, you were going to ask me out, huh? Was Lucas in on this plan?” You smirk and nudge his shoulder.

“He wasn’t in on it per se, but he did know that I came here to ask you out. Which I still technically need to do because I only told you I have a crush on you. Um, (Y/n), do you want to go on a date with me?” He smiles sheepishly.

“I’d love to.” You kiss him on the cheek. 

“How’s your dad going to take this?” He asks, rubbing the back of your hand soothingly.

“He won’t like it, but when has that stopped me before?” You ask, giving him a sad smile. Your father is a sore subject for you, but you tell Steve everything. You trust him, and he understands you, so you let him in. In return, he lets you in and tells you everything.

“Good point.” He smiles, kissing the back of your hand. You two look forward for a minute, both thinking of kissing each other. You’re too shy to initiate it the first time.

“Should we check up on--”

“Can I kiss you? Like, actually kiss you instead of on the cheek or hand?” Steve asks suddenly, looking over at you. You blush.

“Um, yeah, I wouldn’t mind that.” You nod. 

“Perfect.” He breathes out before pressing his lips softly to yours. You kiss back, wrapping your arms around his neck as his go around your waist. You pull him closer. 

“Holy crap!” You hear from behind you. You and Steve break away from each other, looking over to see Max and Lucas standing there, shocked and holding ice cream.

“They kissed!” Lucas looks over at Max, his eyes wide.

“Did you guys get us any ice cream?” Steve peers at the kids, noticing only two cones in their hands.

“Um, no. We figured you’d be too busy.” Max backs away slowly. You turn back to Steve.

“It’s okay. I’ve already got the sweetest thing right here in front of me.” Steve presses his forehead to yours.

“Oh my god, Steve.” You can’t help but burst out laughing at his corny joke.

“Oh, yeah, (Y/n). Get used to this.” He grins at you.

“I think I’ll manage.” You smirk, pulling him in for another kiss.

You’ll definitely be able to manage corny jokes if it means getting to be with Steve after a long and terrible year of pining. In fact, you’ll be able to manage anything with Steve by your side. Even your father.

[lihikainanea]

Something in the BFF!Bill storyline that I had kicking around in my head today. It’s not chronological to where I’m at in their saga, this happened before they boinked each other’s brains out.

 It’s been a weird mental health day today, and sometimes I can find comfort in writing the comfort I think I need, if that makes sense. It seems to have worked.

And I think it’s important to note, when it comes to these two doofuses--that he has pulled tiger out of a lot of shit; but she has definitely done the same for him.

We’ve all got demons, don’t we?

*** He never exploded, which you could never decide if that was a good thing or not. Bill was imposing enough physically that if he had a temper added on top of that, he would be downright terrifying. But when he snapped--a rare occurrence in itself--but when he had truly had enough, his silent rage, the way he got so quiet, was somehow even more scary.

He was an open book if you knew him well, he wore his heart on his sleeve but always kept it guarded to his chest, choosing who he showed that side to. He was easy enough to read once he let you in, everything was always in his eyes. He was big on eye contact, you learned quickly, always seeking it out and pressing you for it when you spoke to him. And when he wasn’t in front of you, when you didn’t have his eyes to read, you learned to pay attention to the tone of his voice. 

His tone was why your blood ran cold the minute you answered the phone.

“Hi,” was his curt greeting, “how are you?”

When Bill snapped--the rare occasion when he well and truly snapped at something, when his mind won the battle he’d been fighting sometimes for weeks and couldn’t take it anymore--his tone became sterile. Tactical. Almost mechanical.

“Are you okay?” you asked immediately.

“No,” it was dry, direct. “I need you here.” “Okay,” you hauled a duffle bag out of your closet, already shoving clothes into it blindly.

“I have a flight lined up for you. Can you be at the airport in an hour?”

“Yes,” you did a quick mental recall, trying to remember where he was. Yes, yes he wasn’t far for this one. Just one timezone over and the flight was maybe 3 hours.

“Okay. I’ll text you the boarding pass. My assistant will meet you when you land and bring you to set. I still have a few hours I need to be here,” like a drill sergeant. Cold. Factual. Completely devoid of emotion.

“Bill, I don’t need details, but tell me...something. Are you hurt?” you tried not to panic, but a cold sweat was breaking out on your neck.

“No. But I’m done.”

“You’re done?”

“I’m done, tiger,” he said, “I’ll see you soon,” and with a curt farewell, you hung up the phone. An Uber arrived at your apartment before you could even order one.

You knew what he meant by done. He had been working on a project with a director that, for the first time in his career, he wasn’t clicking with. While Bill adored your fire and grit, he had a hard time processing and relating to people who he found cruel or who harboured excessive, irrational anger. This director, when you pressed Bill for details, was making his life a living hell. Never happy with the takes while simultaneously not being able to tell the actors what he wanted to see, flying off the hook at the entire crew, pushing the actors beyond the limits of their comfort zones without creating a safe space on the working set. Bill had been FaceTiming you a lot more than usual on this gig, and each time he looked more and more stressed. His empathic side, one that he relied on so heavily in his life, was in shambles. Bill was a sponge in most social situations, reading people and absorbing their energies. When surrounded with nothing but negativity, nothing but anger and blind rage and criticisms, he disappeared into his own head and sometimes had trouble puling himself back out of it.

From the sounds of it, just from a phone call, he had snapped. He was, you knew, in the midst of a mental breakdown that was the result of a nightmare director, a project he had originally been so excited to work on, and his own demons. Bill’s mind was a complex place, and for as much kindness and gentleness that he showed you in your friendship, he sometimes forgot to treat himself the same way. 

You texted him when you boarded, again when you landed. You texted him when his assistant ushered you into a car, hopping in the driver’s seat and taking off. He hadn’t responded. The drive to set was under the half hour mark, and the car had barely stopped before you were out and trying to find him. There was no scene in action, but the director was yelling anyway. You cringed.

One of Bill’s buttons--few as they were, but easy to push--was yelling. Belligerent, aggressive yelling.

You couldn’t find Bill, instead hearing murmurings from the crew of an actor that had snapped. Had walked off, mid scene, and locked himself in a bathroom stall. Had refused to come back out, like a diva. Wasn’t answering his phone. Was wasting everybody’s time on set like an arrogant prick, as they waited for this delicate flower of an actor to get his shit together. You seethed. They were all glancing in the same area, a hallway slightly to the right of the enormous green screen. You headed that way, and stopped in front of the last door. You texted Bill to unlock it, but he didn’t respond. Grabbing a bobby pin from your bag, you jimmied the lock just enough and slammed your palm into it. The door creaked open.

Bill was scrunched up in the furthest corner on the floor, his legs bent at sharp angles and his knees coming up under his chin. Cigarette butts littered the floor around him, a lit one between his fingers. He didn’t move to put it out as he usually would, when he saw you.

“Hey bud,” you said. You approached him, slowly, as one would an unpredictable animal.

“Hey, kid,” he said. His voice was still devoid of emotion, and his look terrified you. His usually expressive eyes were stone, his jaw locked, his entire face was ice.

You knelt in front of him, waiting until he lazily slid his gaze to your eyes. He looked away quickly.

“You want to talk about it?” you asked.

“Nope.”

“Do you want to get out of here?” you tried again.

“Nope,” he took a long drag of his cigarette, turning his mouth to blow the smoke away from you. He was stoic.

You knew there was no sense in asking him what he wanted to do. His mind wasn’t functioning, and this was the most far gone you had ever seen him. So you tried another approach. Unzipping your bag, you took out a colouring book and the pencil case that had kept you occupied on the plane. You gently set them down on the floor.

“Can I touch you?” you asked, quietly. You didn’t dare move. He nodded his head.

“Bill, look at me,” your tone was gentle, but firm. Working his jaw, he took another haul of his cigarette and stubbed it out before he brought his eyes to yours.

“Can I touch you?”

“Yeah,” he rasped. You still kept your movements slow,  sitting down beside him and squishing your shoulder into his side. Coaxing his legs down from their sharp angles, you tossed one of your legs over his and rested your head on his shoulder. You felt him rest his chin on top of your head, breathing in, before plunking his cheek down. Tearing a page from the colouring book, you placed it on his lap and grabbed the pencil case in front of you. You started to colour. It took a few minutes, but eventually his hand reached, plucking a crayon and starting to colour between the lines of the drawing you had given him.

You don’t know how long you stayed like that. You had no intentions of moving until Bill told you he was ready. You checked in every now and then, nothing pushing or urgent in your tone, just wanting to see where he was at in his mind. You would have sat with him, like that, for days if he needed it. And he would have done the same for you, you knew.

Eventually, he nudged you. Shifting a little, he moved you until you sat in front of him. He looked down, fiddling with his hands, and you gently placed one of yours on top. The other tilted his chin up.

“I know what they’re saying about me right now,” he started quietly.

“Who gives a shit what they’re saying about you right now,” you said, your words were biting but you tried to keep your tone level.

“I’m done, tiger,” he continued, “I tried to make this work and I can’t.”

You nodded, staying silent.

“I can’t do this. But I can’t walk away, either.”

“Why not?” you asked.

“What if it ruins my career?”

It was a reality. You told him that. Walking away from a project with a big director attached to it could have been career suicide, you knew that even when you had nothing to do with his world. But you also knew it was still early in the project, you knew that he paid a lot of money to publicists, agents, assistants, anyone who could manage his public image. You knew there would be a way to spin this--creative differences, at worst--that could justify his dropping out of the project. You knew that people with hearts of gold were easy to pick up on, and even in the smoke and mirrors that were part of being a celebrity, that would somehow shine through. It took some time, a few more cigarettes for him, but he eventually nodded.

“Get me out of here, kid,” he said, his eyes pained, as he stubbed out his last cigarette. You brushed the hair from his forehead, helping him to his feet.

“You trust me, Billy Goat?” you asked. He nodded.

“Good,” you pulled out your phone, firing a quick text to his assistant for her car keys, and the location of his trailer. You plugged your earphones into the jack and tugged Bill’s shirt so he’d bend into your reach. You put your hands on either side of his face.

“You need to do exactly as I say. Your eyes stay on me, at all times. You look at no one. You don’t take the earphones out. You listen to no one, you speak to no one. You do nothing except hold my hand and follow me. Got it?”

He nodded. 

“I love you, bud” you said as you kissed his cheek, tugging the hood on his sweater up around his head.

“I love you too, kid,” He let you place the earphones in his ears, wincing a little as you cranked the volume on a Nirvana song. You popped your phone into his pocket.

“Let’s get you the fuck out of here,” you said, but it fell on deaf ears. Grabbing his hand, you unlocked the door. His assistant stood beside it, and you grabbed her keys from her outstretched hand and blew past her. With Bill hot on your heels, you stalked off set. When the director yelled after you, you barely spared him a glance.

“He’s done,” you yelled back, not breaking pace.

You identified Bill’s trailer from the instructions his assistant sent you. Locking the door behind you, you gently pushed him onto the couch and plucked an earbud from his ear.

“Anything other than your bag in here?” you asked. He shook his head. You shoved the earbud back in, grabbed his knapsack, hauled him off the couch, and started toward his assistant’s car.

You took your phone back when you were safely the car, looking up directions to the airport and texting his assistant to have his luggage from his hotel shipped to him back home. Bill stayed silent, his face still blank as he leaned against the window.

He let you guide him into the airport, plunking him down in a chair while you figured out a route back home. A flight would leave in two hours, but an overnight layover was needed at the next stop before being able to fly home from there. You gave the agent your credit card.

It was akin to dealing with a child, the way you had to guide Bill through all the steps. You had to tell him to take off his shoes, when to put them back on. You had to remind him to drink some water, and when he squished next to you on the small plane seat with his legs jutting into the aisle, you managed to gently coerce him into eating something. When you landed for the overnight layover, you booked a room at the hotel there and shoved Bill into the shower. When you emerged from yours, you sat next to him on the bed where he had curled up. He reached for your hand, placing it on his wet hair. You threaded your fingers through it. It was only then, when he looked at you, that you started to see your best friend in the eyes that had been blank since you busted the lock on the bathroom door.

“Thanks, tiger,” he said.

“Any time, bud. We’re in this together, all of it. Always,” you reassured. 

“This is gonna be one hell of a shit show,” he sighed, pinching his eyes shut. You moved your hand from his hair, smoothing your fingers over his features.

“Those are my favourite,” you said. It earned you a laugh and you kissed his cheek.

“Get some sleep, Billy Goat. We’ll deal with the rest tomorrow. Together.”

[hexenmeisterer]

Comparing “The Ladies’ Man” to “A Likely Story”

Some collaborative due South meta 

Here’s what happens when two friends separated by lots of geography watch due South together over Skype, read ALL of truepenny’s meta, and then start jamming in a google doc about two episodes-- which differ drastically in tone but share a bunch of themes! (crossposted here on DW, which is a better place to comment if you wanna have an actual back-and-forth discussion.)

H is me and T is the inimitable @touchmycoat.

H: In “A Likely Story,” Ray is trapped in his ideas about his love interest (what’s her name again?). He cannot for the life of him tell when she’s lying, he can’t see her true motivations, he can’t know her. He’s just using her as a blank screen to project his internal conflicts onto. This is, as truepenny points out, a theme that due South returns to almost every single time it explores romance. How many episodes philosophize on the possibility of “love at first sight?” Off the top of my head, I’ve got “You Must Remember This,” “Victoria’s Secret,” “An Invitation To Romance,” and “Say Amen”…

As Huey and Dewey say in “Say Amen,”

“Well, you know the thing is, you can't really love someone until you know them.”  “Sure you can. The hard thing is to love them after you know them.”

T: The love interest’s name is Luann— Frannie’s actually the first person to name her, well into the episode. Luann’s not introduced to us, to Ray, to Fraser by name, relation, or even profession. We’re just left to assume she has a caretaking role for Mrs. Tucci based on her age and actions. The dialogue even (intentionally?) suffers from this unknowing; Ray says, “Look Fraser, I am very sorry for Mrs. Tucci’s loss, and I will make every effort to find the killer of her husband, but the fact remains she is a very beautiful woman.” The pronoun confusion just further highlights how much it doesn’t matter who Luann is, just that she is “a beautiful woman.” This issue goes from highlight to glaring headlights when the cut from EXT. CAR, EVENING to IN. STATION, DAY is done by their conversation just rolling over, and guess what they’re talking about? Well, Ray’s talking about sex, and how little of it they’re both getting.

H: The Lou Skagnetti story and Sword of Desire, which both show up multiple times throughout the episode, explore the (gendered) stories people build around romance. The ending scene specifically juxtaposes these two stories about love by putting their endings right next to each other. Ray and Luann have retreated from each other after a failed attempt at connection, and they both soothe their disappointment by turning to fantastical love stories.

This one, told between two men, out in the “wilderness” by a campfire:

“Lou Skagnetti looked at the princess who sat across the stone table in the stone cabin high atop Sulfur Mountain, and the princess smiled at him. And for a brief second, Lou Skagnetti could hear his own inner bell ring as though it were rung by a thousand angels. And he took his hand and he placed it over his heart, and Lou Skagnetti vowed that never again would he kill and eat another princess as long as he lived. . . unless, of course, she were covered in choke cherries and brown lichen and a sprinkling of dust -”

vs. this one, read in a comfortable bedroom (with the most floral bedspread ever invented), a story that one woman read aloud to another to help her sleep:

“Gabriella's chest heaved at the sight of him. His boldness made her feel like a true princess. As he came near her, she could feel the trembling of the deep inside her most secret place…”

Notice how they could almost be the same story told from different perspectives.

Fraser’s story, though, does not offer the same easy comfort Luann’s does. His story is a funny distraction, but it's also a dark mirror held up to romance. Fraser's status as an outsider means he knows different stories than Ray and Luann. This story shows the blood and guts of love. In the context of the episode, it gestures at how the theater of "love" often leads people to act in deeply un-loving ways towards each other; how it can get in the way of people even knowing each other. (“That's one dark story.” “Yes. It is.”)

Fraser has seen Ray use his position as a police officer to stalk his ex and now he’s seen him try to date a suspect. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that he’s telling Ray a story where the protagonist has been “eating princesses.” The story’s not just an accusation, though; it’s a hopeful story, a humorous story; it’s told playfully and as an act of care, and it points to the possibility of true love in the future that is not based on violence.

T: I almost wish the show had the continuity to also let this moment comment explicitly on what Fraser couldn't get from Victoria. His love for her is so mired in guilt that he thinks himself deserving of all the violences she visits on his person. It's like, Ray is pre-Lou Skagnetti and Fraser is post-Lou Skagnetti; Ray needs to stop his violence and Fraser needs to pay for his violence. The same problem of failed recognition occurs on both sides of the story.

H: I love your point about Fraser being like Ray but somewhere further along in the accountability process.

In the "love-at-first-sight vs. true knowledge of a person" saga that is this show, there is one unexpected pair of people who know and love each other deeply after very little time spent together: Beth Botrelle and Ray Kowalski. They can see right through each other. They understand each other’s motivations— so not only can they tell when the other’s lying, but they can tell you exactly why. They are bound together through shared experience. And while their story is obviously not romantic, it is shockingly loving. Beth is willing to falsely confess to a murder she is unjustly accused of just to make Ray feel better, just to give him a real shot at moving on with his life after she dies. Ray is obviously willing to risk his job and his life to exonerate her, but he is also uniquely willing to admit his mistakes to her; he tells the truth exactly as it happened, and therefore sacrifices the easy self-justifications that have kept him functioning as a cop and as a person all these years.

(and, side note— how interesting is it that Beth of all people calls Ray “queer,” and his response is to laugh and nod?)

Beth does need to be saved from a death sentence, but she is emphatically not a damsel in distress (or a "princess"). She needs to save Ray as much as he needs to save her. Both of them know that their freedom is bound up in the other's.

T: So maybe in some ways this is Ray's post-Lou Skagnetti (I'm laughing as I write these words but bear with me). This is his Victoria, but antithetically; this is where he pays for the violence. Victoria was guilty and Fraser arrested her, Beth was innocent and Ray arrested her—but they both know, to some extent, that the arrests seemed immoral (Fraser in particular, where if they did actually sleep together, he’s fully abused his power as an officer of the law). Where Victoria wanted to destroy Fraser for it, Beth wanted to save Ray from it (she sought to alleviate his conscience by telling him she was guilty). But both Fraser and Ray had to be willing to destroy themselves and the roles they occupied for Victoria and Beth. The Fraser who is whole and the Victoria who seeks his destruction cannot coexist. And, to continue your reading of "Ladies' Man" as the keystone episode where Ray just really should not be a cop anymore, the Ray who is a cop and the Beth who is innocent/alive cannot coexist. There's something very interesting about these relationships between men and women that fail due to one or both of their placement in some kind of institution, because of one or both of their duties/supposed loyalties. Fraser's commitment to duty catalyzes the break between him and Victoria. Ray's abuse of his authority is no fucking good for Stella or Luann, and even when he succumbs to the ease of police authority he fucks over Beth.

Tying Ray and Fraser and Victoria back to “A Likely Story,” everybody, particularly Ray, speaks in projections; throughout the episode, Fraser is the mirror while Ray is the puppy, as in Ray doesn’t know the other puppy isn’t real, so he’s snarling and barking at the mirror, who is merely the medium through which the reflection is transposed.

H: “FRASER IS THE MIRROR AND RAY IS THE PUPPY” WHAT THE FUCK I LOVE THIS IMAGE. IT IS ABSURD AND TRUE. YOU ARE BRILLIANT. Please, expand upon this point.

T: This one particular projection:

Ray: “Let me see if I got this right, Fraser. Luann is a beautiful woman, therefore she must be bad. And since she's a really beautiful woman, that means she's got to be really bad. Is that how it goes inside your brain?”

Of all the projections, Fraser most clearly calls this one out for what it is: “Are you sure it is my brain we are talking about?” Funny, since this is the one projection that fully echoes Fraser’s hangups about Victoria. Vecchio’s line from “Letting Go” seems resonant: “Not every woman with long dark hair tries to kill their lover.” But this is clearly about Ray: his low sense of self-worth makes him look for flaws in women he believes are “beautiful” and out of his league.

H: Yes!! They're both backed into these low-self-esteem corners with regards to romantic relationships: they’re both thinking, "there's something wrong with me." Ray projects that outwards (“what’s wrong with this woman?”), but Fraser does a slightly different thing with it: “if she's into me, she must be operating on an incomplete set of data.” Fraser knows that people think he's attractive, but also thinks that they can't see/know him enough to love him in a real way. I think that's why he was so INTO Victoria-- she knew he did bad things and wanted him anyways! And she, to his mind at the time, was clear-headed about what kind of punishment he deserved for his wrongdoing. There's something more comforting about that than waiting for the other shoe to drop.

T: Both “A Likely Story” and “Ladies’ Man” are about women that Ray Kowalski has wronged, and both end with Ray apologizing—very sincerely—to the women. Fundamentally, I love that as a narrative choice.

H: Yes. Apologize, man. (Apologize and quit your job. I think these two episodes lay out a really compelling case for exactly why Ray does not go back to being a cop post-COTW.)

To summarize:

Ray is a human-shaped projector. He can’t readily name his feelings, but they do warp his perceptions of reality and he does act them out. "I don't know what I want till I see what I do." -Ray Kowalski in The Teeth of the Hydra by Resonant.

This is terrible news for everyone involved when you're a cop!

These episodes both deal with the nature of love-- its relationship to truth and to police work. “A Likely Story” shows the burdensome trappings of heterosexual, romantic love, which in this case serve to obfuscate the truth; “The Ladies’ Man” shows an intense kind of "true love" between a man and a woman that has nothing to do with romance or sex and everything to do with solidarity and truth-telling.

T: And 4, we can absolutely implicate Fraser, at least thematically, in something every step of the way, el oh el.

[yeet-me-into-oblivion-please]

Well, Supernatural is actually ending and I don't know what I'll do

[ Brevity is not a strong suit of mine since I've included personal details but there's stuff I feel everyone in the SPN family needs to read]

You might be expecting another post about how Supernatural saved someone's life and how devastated they will be when it ends because they've watched it for so long as well as how the actors have impacted their lives. This is probably one of those but please hear me out.

Supernatural premiered in 2005 and I was in preparatory class (aged 5 years and was before I began 1st grade). I heard of it because my aunt would watch it time to time so I'd also tried to get some peeks myself but I wasn't allowed to because it was "too scary".

Then our local cable began to show seasons 1-5 and that was when everyone in class started watching and quoting it. This was in 6th grade and I was frustrated because I knew about it before most of them yet they acted like it was a new show. I had a fair idea about the story but once I began watching it, I fell in love with it and loved it like a part of my soul.

Yes, Jensen Ackles was my first crush but I still thought (and do think) that both he and Jared are super hot. So I was sucked into this vortex, this Neverland which I never thought I would end.

I joined Tumblr for this show in 2013 because I saw the jokes about there being a Supernatural gif everywhere and wanted to be a part of the fandom/community. This was also the year I actually became interested what other fans felt though I never used this site properly until 2016 I would read the IMDb discussion boards because I hated scurrying through Destiel-infested posts.

(Fun fact:I wasn't using any social media of my own but on my mother's Facebook I liked a Supernatural fan page asking people's opinions on Destiel. This is was around the time season 8 was just finishing or had already finished so I read the comments--- people talked about Dean and Castiel being gay and didn't approve of it as there was this one girl who was conservative and didn't believe in homosexuality while others went on how Dean was always a ladies man which I agreed with. Not that I commented but I thought there was something I missed and I thought Castiel used Dean as a vessel, thus Destiel.)

But I digress. I was in deep by the time season 9 premiered and majority of the people I knew stopped watching the show except for this girl who bullied me throughout preschool who put up this update that Dean had become a demon. I doubt she watches the show now but it was hard seeing her put pictures of "I heart Dean Winchester" and pictures of Jensen when my mom asked me why I don't do the same.

Supernatural, I feel, has become that embarrassing thing you are into in middle school but suddenly drop when you're older, looking back and thinking, "Yeesh, I can't believe I used to watch this show."

I'll be a grown woman at 30 or 40 and probably eventually in my 70s and 80s but I will still look back fondly, the good, the bad and the ugly because I have like many teenagers have undergone many changes (friends, family, emotions, hobbies etc) but Supernatural has always been this constant in my life.

Because let me tell you, I'm seeing these posts saying stuff like how people are glad that it's finally over with its "bullshit" and that's it's dying. That is extremely disrespectful and insensitive to those people who literally live for it, who have invested time and money into it: gif makers, artists, meta writers (I may not agree with you guys but even you count). They don't know what to do once the show ends because it has helped them in ways others will never ever be able to fathom.

I saw the video put up by the guys. I saw and I could tell that Jared, Jensen and Misha had probably cried their guts out before the announcement because their eyes were red and puffy. Jared was controlling himself by talking less as Jensen was clearly on the verge as well but yes they said that they should save the angst for next year.

I love the guys; I love Jared being a goofball and Jensen being equally goofy as well and I'll say this too, I used to enjoy some of Misha's crass jokes (not the highlight ) as well which was why I looked forward to the gag reel every summer (because of J2) because it was cathartic after a traumatic season finale. I love the witty banter and the pranks the cast would do and I will miss it tremendously.

I have some issues with my aunt but everything would be okay when we would fawn over the guys and bingewatch the entire season the summer after it finished airing. We'd quote quotes back and forth and even spiritually killed ourselves watching short clips of "Sammy, close your eyes", "I'm proud of us" etc. Hell, she even promised me that when we go visit my uncle in the States we'd attend a con together.

If, and whenever we do go, it'll be different because the show won't be on air anymore and I know for a fact that I won't feel the anticipation of an episode.

So don't say disrespectful and callous things like "fucking finally". You can dislike the cast/plotline/show but don't ridicule and mock those who invested in the show,some of you are most probably speculating and have barely seen it.

I'm not some dumb, blind fan. I can see some stupid mistakes and don't always eat up what the writers show. For example, everyone must have figured that I dislike Destiel because it's based on groundless assumptions. I thought the Bloodlines was a crap idea that had nothing to do with the main plot and knew it was destined to fail.

As for Wayward Daughters/Sisters or whatever the fuck it was supposed to be called, I was not looking forward to it at all because it was one of those "forced diversity" shows, y'know gender bent stuff.

I felt that they were bastardising everything that Supernatural has and will (always) stand for because some people had a hair up their backsides. Yeah, I loathed Claire and that Kaia mourning thing was bullshit. Thank goodness I was sick that day and couldn't keep my eyes open for that episode.

If we were told that there would be a Men of Letters(with Henry Winchester) or even a Bobby-Rufus spinoff I would be okay with that but for now since the show will finish next year let's the wounds heal first, shall we?

I hope that Jared and Jensen get some offers once the show is done and I will pay good money to see movies, TV shows of them etc but for now I will keep quiet since I hope we get an ending we (and the boys) deserve.

Yes, the writer situation scares me and I think they should call Eric Kripke for a last hurrah. I mean, it is his baby and he should get to have a say in the series finale as well as J2.

Will one of the brothers die and the other will live (I'm worried we'll get a reverse Swan Song)? Will they both die leaving Cas behind and Jack as some sort legacy who trains future hunters? That would be a possibility since the sheriff in 14.16 asked the Winchesters why they don't tell people about monsters. What happens to Baby?

I seriously doubt the ending will be happy(maybe not 100%) but the best thing would be if they go driving with Baby into the sunset...

Dean at the steering wheel with Sam riding shotgun, where they should be ---- where they will always be, home. Dean plays his "mullet rock" as Sam would playfully mock his brother's musical choices. No chick flick moments. Just the Winchesters.

The boys need to lay their weary heads to rest, so they can cry no more. Because they are the legendary Winchesters, the hunters who saved the world countless times unbeknownst to many. I don't think their work will ever be done but there will be peace when they are done and how they will reach that point we'll never know till 2020.

Everyone will hear "Carry on wayward son" for the last time ever in Supernatural over a painful montage of "Dad's gone on a hunting trip and he hasn't been home in a few days" and "Saving people, hunting things, the family business". Now who in this fandom wouldn't be wracked with pain?

This is the show we all joked about that made a deal with the devil to never go off air but I did expect this a long time ago. Only thing was that I didn't know how I'd treat the news. I was that person who would go, "pfft, of course Supernatural would get renewed". Then again, this was the show that an ending was imminent and the whole season 4 debacle about Misha and the angel storyline saving the show blah blah blah.

So next year, everyone will flock to see the finale and epic conclusion to the Winchester saga whether they stopped at season 5,6,7 or 10,12. Diss it all you want for the shit show it may have become but wherever you left off, you may still want to know what happens to Sam and Dean Winchester in the end.

Once Supernatural ends, I'll turn 20 next summer and I would like to think of it being poetic that I end my adolescence with a show I have loved when I brave the cold, ruthless world of adulthood. I'm a picky person and can't say what's my favorite xyz is but you know what I'll say about my favorite TV show.

We will have completed 327 episodes which is the highest for a scifi TV show so I do hope the boys get some sort of recognition. It was us crazy bitches and jerks that gave the show the mileage and it was us that gave Jared and Jensen faith that they could carry on so for the remainder of season 14 and for 15,support these guys. Support these annoyingly sexy and ridiculously hilarious dudes for this show. I'm sure Jared and Jensen love the show like it's their kid practically but I wish everyone would just shut up, tinhatters, bronlies, stans, destihellers because we are all fans of the one show so let's ease the time we have left.

But seriously imagine Sam and Dean on a desert highway, the orange and yellow rays of the setting sun make Baby shine in all her splendor which makes Dean swell with pride. He starts the engine with a low rumble and they're off. They might to California to feel the sand beneath their feet or to Disneyland. They're living the "apple pie life" and this is their personal heaven : with each other.

I wouldn't mind this playing in the background if the ending is the inevitable and unspeakable you know what :

It's wishful thinking, since I wish they'd actually play some Zeppelin instead of song titles being used as episode titles but I wish they could use some Queen or Guns n Roses and stuff before 1979 because everything sucked ass afterwards according to Dean.

I want the classic rock resurgence in the show as well but I know they'll end up using the cash elsewhere. I wouldn't mind a body swap episode but if wishes were horses, right?