#not because someone with rainbow bookshelves told me to

[going2hell4everythingbutbeingbi]

one of the most wonderful things in my life recently is my return to the books I loved in jr/high school.

I've been reading a lot less ever since starting uni, which sucks because I love books but I just couldn't get into any. I was complaining about not reading like I used to be able to, and then I realized (as much as tiktok encourages getting new books constantly) I can reread things.

specifically, I can reread books from high school. because I was reading more then for a lot of reasons, but also because I was reading things I liked, rather than what I thought I was "supposed to".

so anyway, here's some of the books I've been rereading (and absolutely tore through, this worked)

will saying you read these make people go "wow you're so dark/light academia"? no. but I read them instead of paying four months of library fines only to have them sit on my desk unopened the whole time. so I call it a win.

[thevoidfishsminstrel]

Lena let out an undignified squeak as she grabbed hold of the bookshelf beside her in an effort to not land on her face.

“I’m so sorry! Are you okay?”

Lena turned, wiggling her foot back into her heels properly, before freezing, eyes widening at the caped figure now scrambling to her feet.

An array of books and magazines were spread out on the floor, presumably the culprit of her latest near death experience. It was as though National City’s newly revealed superhero had been sitting in between the bookshelves on the library floor… studying?

Lena clutched the cheesy romance novel she had been too busy reading to her chest as Supergirl looked at her in concern.

“Miss?”

Lena’s brain finally restarted and she cleared her throat, straightening her blazer. “Yes. I’m fine. Thank you.”

“You’re sure you’re not hurt?” Supergirl was wringing the edge of her cape in her fingers, looking far too nervous for someone who was suspected to be the strongest being on Earth by several sapphic blogs that Lena most definitely did not read.

“I’m fine.” She reached out to put a hand on Supergirl’s forearm in an impulse comfort gesture. “I promise.”

Supergirl seemed to relax slightly, some of the tension seeping from her shoulders. She held out a hand. “I’m Kara.”

Any tension that had left her immediately returned tenfold, eyes widening in panic as she froze.

Lena bit back a smile and took Kara’s hand, shaking it despite Kara’s lack of movement. “Lena. And don’t worry - your secret’s safe with me.”

Kara deflated, running a hand through her hair. “Alex is going to kill me.”

Lena laughed and patted Kara’s bicep (definitely the strongest being on Earth). “Maybe you should stop saying names now.”

Kara grimaced. “Oops.” She looked like she was about to say something else but stopped and looked at Lena again. “Wait… are you Lena Luthor?”

Lena straightened up, careful mask falling into place to try to hide the way her heart sped up and her throat constricted. “Yes.”

But before she could launch into her speech about how she was different from the rest of her family and only wanted to help, Kara lit up, crouching down to shuffle through her piles of literature until she came up with an issue of a science magazine from a few years ago.

“I just read your article about sustainable building and how we can introduce cost-effective eco-friendly measures to construction to reduce the damage done to the environment and promote a symbiotic relationship with nature.”

Lena blinked.

Kara almost poked herself in the eye before redirecting the movement to brush a strand of hair behind her ear. “Sorry, I just thought it was really interesting. You’re probably tired of people asking you about your work.”

Lena’s eyebrows rose. “No I… I don’t mind.”

Kara smiled and Lena found her heart racing for an entirely different reason. She redirected her attention to the books scattered on the floor.

“So what’s National City’s resident superhero doing studying civil engineering, first aid and… veterinary science on the floor of the library?”

Kara blushed and knelt down to start scooping up all her things. “Sorry - I know I should have been at a desk I just got carried away.”

The pile of books was up to Kara’s eyebrows when she stood up and Lena laughed, taking the top third of them from her. “And I shouldn’t have been reading and walking. But that doesn’t answer my question.”

Supergirl shrugged, toeing at the worn carpet with her red boots. “I’m new at the whole superhero thing. I don’t know where to freeze breath a building to hold it up or how to save someone who’s got water in their lungs from almost drowning. The other day I rescued a snake from a tree and tried to wrap it up in my cape to keep it warm and the owner told me ‘thanks, but reptiles are cold-blooded so they don’t warm up like that.’” She pouted at Lena. “The owner was a ten year old.”

Lena bit back a smile. “So you’re trying to learn how to be a better superhero?”

She shrugged and bit her lip. “I just don’t want to mess up.”

Lena considered her for a moment. “You know, I happen to have degrees in a few different kinds of engineering. And I made everyone at L-corp, including myself, take a first aid course when I took over.”

Kara looked as though she was trying to contain her hopeful expression. It wasn’t working very well, although that probably wasn’t surprising since her motto was ‘hope, help, and compassion for all.’

Kara bounced on her toes excitedly. “Would you help?”

Lena grinned and gestured to the left with her head. “Come on, I know which desk is the best in the library.”

———

It became somewhat of a routine after that. Every Saturday, Lena would go to the library as normal, pick out a new cheesy romance novel for the week and some kind of thick science book to hide it underneath, and then meet Supergirl in the back corner of the library, at the desk hidden behind the spare computers from the 90s where no one would find them.

Kara would normally already be there, pouring over texts and making notes in coloured pens and highlighters. Lena had bought her a rainbow of folders and dividers for each of the aspects of superheroing she was trying to improve in, and they had spent one very unproductive but fun day labelling and decorating them. They were now covered in random doodles, squiggly multicoloured patterns, and stickers that Kara had found in a rotating rack by the front desk, immediately claiming were essential for her learning.

During the week, Lena would keep an eye on any news of Supergirl, getting some strange looks from Jess when she walked into her office to see Lena cheering as Kara did something they’d worked on together. At the weekend she would listen to Kara excitedly retell those same events until the librarian came over to shush them. She seemed to be the only person in National city that wasn’t completely charmed by Supergirl, and it always led to half an hour of Kara pouting and asking Lena why the librarian didn’t like her.

It was a few weeks before Lena got there first. She frowned, checking the surrounding isles of books for any caped figures but they were all empty as usual.

She sat at their desk and opened up the book she had randomly grabbed off a shelf, putting her latest romance novel inside it to covertly read. It was called ‘Lost and Found: A Love Story’, the back of it claiming it was about a woman who ‘drops her scarf at a train station but ends up finding something much more meaningful in the woman she bumps into at the lost and found.’ It was exactly as awful as it sounded.

Kara bounded up to the table about 20 minutes later, a coffee cup in each hand and a satchel slung over her shoulder that made her cape bunch up awkwardly. She beamed at Lena and set a coffee down in front of her.

“Guess what I just did.”

Lena slammed the books shut inside each other, scrambling to put her arms over them and rest her chin in her hand casually. “What?”

Kara either didn’t notice or didn’t care, rounding the desk and putting her bag down on it with a grin. “I laservisioned the supports of a broken crane back together using some metal from a billboard and now it’s totally fine for use again.”

Lena’s eyebrows rose. “What happened to the crane in the first place?”

Kara’s cheeks heated and she looked away, rubbing the back of her neck as she mumbled, “I may have flown into it a little bit.”

She scowled at Lena as Lena started laughing but it was undermined by the way her lips tugged up.

“Oh!” Kara lit up and started rifling through her bag. “I brought you this.”

She held out a book with a bright smile. Lena’s eyes widened as she looked down at the cover of what was very clearly another cheesy romance.

“It’s my favourite love story. It’s a bit like the one you’re reading at the moment but better, in my opinion. I thought you might like it.”

“What?” Lena scoffed. “I wasn’t reading a romance. I was reading…” she glanced over to check what book she had picked up, internally filling with regret as she read the title, but she had already committed to the facade. “The rhyming dictionary.”

Kara was very clearly trying not to laugh. “Ok. Well I’ll just leave this one here. And in case you didn’t know,” she leaned closer to Lena’s ear as she climbed into her seat, and whispered, “I have x-ray vision.”

Lena blushed, refusing to look at Kara’s smug grin. She cleared her throat and moved her books off to the side, along with the one Kara had put down, as casually as possible, and attempted to change the subject.

“So you remembered about weight distribution in support structures?”

Kara paused in taking folders and notes out her bag to turn to Lena excitedly, rambling on about her save, gesturing wildly with her hands.

Lena picked up her coffee as she listened with a soft smile, absentmindedly taking a sip.

She frowned down at the cup. “Is this my usual?”

Kara paused in her rambling. “Yeah. Does it not taste right?”

Lena shook her head, staring back down at her perfect coffee, cheeks heating at the heart drawn in latte art that Kara probably didn’t even have anything to do with. “No I just… I didn’t know you knew my order.”

Kara grinned, raising an eyebrow (Lena should never have taught her how to do that). “Perhaps you’re not as elusive as you think, Lena Luthor.”

———

Lena arrived at the library one Saturday to find Supergirl staring at the front doors like she might set light to them any moment.

“What’s wrong Supergirl? Lose a fight with a door handle?”

Kara turned to her with a pout, pointing at a sign hanging on the other side of the glass. It read ‘Library closed until 23rd due to water damage. Apologies for the inconvenience.’

Lena sighed.

“Where am I going to get my books for this week, Lena? I’m never going to understand civil engineering without them.”

Lena bit the inside of her cheek, the rational part of her brain at war with the part that was helpless to the superhero’s pout. It had to be one of her superpowers because Lena would never admit she was actually soft.

She tore her gaze away, trying to seem casual. “I actually have some engineering textbooks at my apartment. I guess you could borrow them if you wanted.”

Lena squeaked as Supergirl crushed her in a bear hug, lifting her a few inches off the ground. “Thank you thank you thank you!”

Lena laughed, trying to turn it inconspicuously into a cough when a passerby gave a slightly shocked and confused look at the sight of a Luthor and a Super laughing on the library steps. Kara dropped her back to her feet, stepping back with a sheepish smile.

“Sorry, I got excited.”

Lena shook her head with a smile. She turned to go but as she went to gesture for Kara to follow, her hand caught against Kara’s. Her brain misfired and decided in the split second where her index finger hooked onto Kara’s pinkie that the best course of action was to commit to it and simply hold hands. In an attempt to make it seem less affectionate and more practical, she walked off quickly, dragging Kara along in the direction of her apartment.

She could feel Kara’s smile like rays of sun behind her. At least her hair was down to cover up the heat that was creeping up the back of her neck.

Her apartment was only a few minutes from the library. She had to slap Kara’s hand away from the elevator buttons before she pressed them all, marveling at how many floors there were.

“So this is where you live?” Kara looked around the hallway, panicking when she snapped a leaf off of a decorative plant, while Lena unlocked the penthouse door.

Lena pretended not to see her discreetly dropping the leaf into the plant pot but raised an eyebrow at her. “No, Supergirl. I just decided we should come and stare at this random person’s door.”

Kara ignored her, walking past into her apartment and looking down at the city below through the large floor to ceiling windows. “Nice view. I should take you flying sometime - it’s even better from up in the clouds, especially at night.”

Lena closed the front door, trying not to think about romantic flights and being cradled in strong arms. “I’ll go get the textbooks.”

She moved towards her home office, Kara trailing behind in interest. The engineering textbooks were over in the left corner and she scanned the alphabetised section for the ones she wanted.

Kara ran her fingers over the spines of books until Lena was done. She smirked at Lena, letting her hand trail teasingly down the bookshelf before she left. Lena blushed as she realised why. Kara had found her fiction section, over half the books in which were very clearly a certain genre.

Lena groaned and followed her out.

They spent the entire afternoon on the floor around Lena’s coffee table, going through the textbooks, laughing over Kara’s constant puns, and eating the seemingly endless supply of snacks Kara produced from her bag. It wasn’t until the sun had started to set that Lena realised how long they’d spent simply telling jokes and stories.

It was alarmingly easy to just be around Kara. Strangely, Lena didn’t think she minded.

———

Lena frowned as someone knocked on her door. It was a Saturday morning and she was just about to leave to meet Supergirl at the library.

She only grew more confused as she opened the door to see a fluffy white cloud panting happily at her and squirming in her direction. A head poked out from behind it, looking just as happy.

“Lena, hi! Sorry to just turn up but the mean librarian lady threw me out because apparently you aren’t allowed to play fetch in the library.”

Lena stared at the woman currently holding a large puppy in front of her, familiar blonde curls pinned back and glasses slipping down her nose. “…Kara?”

Kara blinked at her for a moment before she seemed to realise. “Oh! Right. Sorry - this is what I look like normally. When I’m not being Supergirl I mean. Alex said I wasn’t allowed to wear the suit all the time because it had to be washed.”

Lena nodded slowly, trying to reconcile the image of this Kara with Supergirl and to not think too hard about the implications of Kara being comfortable enough around her to show her her civilian identity. “Right. Why do you have a dog?”

Kara lit up. “I saved an animal shelter from a fire and they let me adopt this guy. Isn’t he adorable?”

Lena looked at the matching faces of excitement. “Very cute. But why is he here?”

Kara shrugged. “Well I couldn’t leave him after I’d just adopted him so I thought he could join us for our study session?”

Lena crossed her arms and Kara pouted. It was somewhat undermined by the puppy licking her face and making her giggle but Lena was still helpless to resist.

“Ok but he better not mess up any of my stuff.”

“Yes!” Kara grinned, wiggling the puppy excitedly, his ears flopping about.

Kara kissed her cheek on her way into the apartment and Lena’s heart skipped a beat. The puppy licked her in an attempt to join in but even that didn’t stop the way her heart raced.

They settled on the couch, facing each other as Lena quizzed Kara with flashcards. The puppy alternated between curling up in Kara’s lap and zooming around Lena’s living room, falling over his own paws.

“Ok, last one. How do you treat a sprain?”

“Ice it with my freezebreath, wrap it so it’s compressed but not cutting off circulation, keep it elevated.”

Lena grinned proudly. “That’s it! Done.”

Kara threw her hands in the air in delight, squealing as she propelled herself forwards to tackle Lena to the couch. She pulled back just as quickly, pushing up to brace herself over Lena.

“Sorry. I got excited.”

All the breath had deserted Lena’s lungs and she stared up at Kara. A light flush rose on Kara’s cheeks, pale pink against the deep blue of her eyes, bringing out the freckles that dusted her skin.

The flashcards slipped from Lena’s grasp as she surged up to meet Kara’s lips. Kara’s arms almost buckled but she caught herself. And then she was kissing back.

Lena’s hands slid up Kara’s back, practically pulling Kara down on top of her.

They were both breathing hard when they pulled apart, eyes closed and foreheads rested together.

Kara was smiling softly down at her when she finally opened her eyes. She had shifted to hold herself up on one hand and one elbow, her free hand gently stroking back Lena’s hair.

She looked like she was about to say something when she did a double take over the armrest of the couch behind Lena and her soft look turned into a wince. “What was it you said about the puppy not messing up any of your stuff?”

[luvdsc]

ellipsism.

gold is a bluer color than blue.

pairing :: na jaemin x reader genre :: angst / soulmate + high school au word count :: 1,734 words warnings :: gang, blood, violence, death song :: you were good to me (jeremy zucker & chelsea cutler)

You order a chocolate milkshake.

You never had one before, but they were his favorite.

The boy with blue hair drank them so often that they were all you could taste when your lips pressed against his. He would place one hand on your cheek with the other gently grasping you by the curve of your waist, pulling you closer until he kissed you dizzy. The slightest hints of chocolate stained his breath as he whispered sweet nothings that meant everything to you. He mumbled i love you’s between each breath, sang you lullabies before every exchange of good night’s, and called you endearments sweeter than the sugary concoction he found so much delight in.

The drink is placed in front of you. Fingers curling around the base of the glass, you take a small sip, reveling in the nostalgic taste. You smile.

Chocolate milkshakes might be your favorite, too.

The boy with blue hair was a heartbreakingly beautiful enigma wrapped in a well worn leather jacket and a false bravado that fell apart easily beneath your fingertips once you had found yourself occupying every crevice of his heart. He was blue skies turning into cotton candy pink, whispered wishes slipped between birthday candles, vibrantly yellow dandelions peeking out between cracked pavement, the last wisps of dusk settling into twilight, and the nostalgic song that nestled itself within your years of adolescence and yet, you couldn’t remember the title of for the life of you. He was quiet laughter hidden between the dusty bookshelves of a library, kept promises that were sealed with looped pinkies, stolen kisses as the sunset spilled across the sky, and chilled chocolate milkshakes on a warm day.

Falling in love with the boy with blue hair and a heart wrenching smile was never on your list of things to do in high school, and you didn’t think falling in love with you was on his list either, but love had a funny way of working itself out. A chance encounter on your walk home, an innocent offer of tissues towards your usually absent classmate with a bloody nose, and one glance at this vibrant boy who seemed to hold entire galaxies in his eyes were all it took for you to go head over heels for Na Jaemin.

But you’d also have to thank your soulmate—whoever they were—because if Jaemin hadn’t noticed the odd words stating “Save me a milkshake?” tattooed across your wrist in ebony ink, he wouldn’t have offered to buy you a milkshake in return for the tissues. While sitting in the diner on the corner of Camellia Boulevard and Arcadia Street for the very first time, you found out he was much luckier than you as he showed off a neatly written “I promise” on his wrist.

In a world where soulmate signs came in all different shapes and forms, you were fortunate that yours was straightforward and easy-to-hide. It was supposed to be a simple transition of black into gold as your indicator. It was certainly better than Donghyuck’s sign whose hair color changed every few days courtesy of his soulmate. When you told the boy with blue hair about the day your friend was sporting rainbow streaks, the genuine grin gracing his face as he laughed loudly made him look like an angel, and well, angels never hurt anyone, right?

The boy with blue hair never told you why he was sporting a bruised lip and carmine stains at your very first shared interaction, but you were no stranger to all the swirling rumors at school about the wrong crowd he ran with and the affiliations he had with the darker side of the city. However, you never pried, accepting that he would tell you when the time came and he was ready.

And today, he was finally ready. He was ready to leave that part of his past behind, ready to move on, ready to take charge of his life with you by his side. He was going to tell you today.

Friday afternoons were always reserved for you, but unfortunately, he had to meet with someone from his past one final time. He secretly texted you in class, asking you to meet up a little later than usual at your and his favorite diner where the two of you like to argue over the superior milkshake flavor (you adamantly insist that vanilla is better).  When he received your affirmative reply a few minutes later along with a slew of pretty heart emojis, he beamed brightly before sending back a generous amount of cute emojis in response.

He was excited to show you the A he got on his English paper: the one that you helped him outline and that he stayed up all night perfecting. This was the first time he had put so much time and effort into an assignment, and his teacher was more than thrilled when she received the carefully stapled papers with his name proudly stamped across the cover page. His grades were slowly, but steadily improving, and it was all because of you. He even discovered that he really liked his computer science class and began to research potential classes at nearby community colleges.

Clutching his prized paper in hand, Jaemin stood at the intended meeting spot, enjoying the light drizzle of the rain overhead. The sun barely peeked out from behind the darkening clouds, causing the water droplets to glimmer and gleam as they fell. The gentle pattering of tiny raindrops against his face felt refreshing, almost like a new beginning, a quiet reminder of the rainbow that came afterwards.

Jaemin heard the awful squelching noise before he felt it.

It was an uncomfortable pressure at first until it increased in pain and spread across his abdomen, a cold feeling worming its way up and wrapping around his figure. He had found himself dropping onto the damp concrete, curling in on himself as the papers fluttered loosely from his hand, stained in dark shades of cerise that made its way across the ground.

The blurry figure standing above him stood still for a minute before darting off. No loose ends, he could hear his former boss’s voice echoing in his head. It was what he was told the first time he stepped foot on their territory. How naive of him to believe that they would let him go so easily.

Dragging himself towards the wall behind several empty dumpsters, he propped himself up, pressing down on the wound as best he could but the rivulets of carmine spilled much too quickly and easily, slipping between his fingers. It’s futile, and he knew it, the increasingly harsher waves of pain washing over him with every ticking second. He absentmindedly stared at the A and smiley face adorning his paper in red ink, now barely distinguishable from the other glaring hues of vermilion. The rain poured down, turning the paper translucent as it began to tear around the edges.

Mind going numb from everything but the thought of you—you who was still waiting patiently for someone who would never come—he painstakingly pulled out his phone from his jacket, the device almost falling from his grasp. He clumsily fumbled with it for a few moments before he managed to hit the right buttons. You answered on the first ring, and he smiled, small tendrils of warmth blooming from his heart at the sound of your voice. You were the rose among his garden of thorns, the green light on the other side of the shore, and the beacon of light in the midst of a storm.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he said, taking a deep breath. He hoped that you didn’t notice the way his voice wavered nor the way his breath quickened with every passing second. He hoped that you knew he tried so hard to not fall in love with you, so that you wouldn’t get hurt because of him. He hoped that you could forgive him for falling in love with you anyways. He hoped that you could forgive him for being selfish for the one last time.

“Hey, where are you? Are you alright?” Your worried tone was evident, and he squeezed his eyes shut.  He felt tired, his eyelids drooping slowly, yet he still forced himself to stay awake. He’s sorry for lying to you. “Yeah, I’m fine, just running a little late. Are you already there?”

“Yeah, I just ordered a vanilla milkshake for myself. You know, the best flavor,” you teased him, and he relaxed against the bricks, phone held loosely in his hand.

“Oh, really? I think you’re wrong.”

You scoffed, and he could easily picture the way the corners of your lips tug up into a smile that you desperately try to hide. “ You know what? I’m gonna get you a vanilla one right now instead of chocolate. This is what happens when you’re late.”

“You sure you’re not just buying a second one for yourself?” he laughed softly, and you gasped indignantly. “What do you take me for? A milkshake thief? Maybe I should just drink it myself.”

“No!” He weakly protested, breath growing shallower and weaker. He shakily held up his phone, desperately pressing it against his ear. If he closed his eyes, it was almost as if you were right here, talking to him. He could pretend that he was sitting next to you on vinyl covered seats as you share a plate of fries over vanilla and chocolate milkshakes and his fingers shyly brush against yours as he picks up a fry. He could vividly see how your eyes sparkle as you tell him about your day, and he’ll stare at you, enamored and starry eyed, as some retro love song plays from the jukebox in the corner. 

“Can you promise me something?” he said quietly. The pauses between each heart palpitation grew wider and further apart, and he could faintly hear you answer yes over his slowing heartbeats. He inhaled sharply, his breath stuttering, as he forced the words through his teeth, clenching tightly onto the phone like a lifeline.

“Save me a milkshake?”

On the other side of town, in a tiny booth tucked in a corner of a 1950s themed restaurant, four little words started to shimmer in gold.

“I promise.”

The boy with blue hair smiled.

As the sky wept, a splash of gold twinkled innocently against the darkening asphalt.

[thedumbguywithaheart43]

Boomlord's weird adventure

Chapter 14 a salty experience

The chamber was large and circular all of the shelves were covered in bookshelves filled to the brim with books. At the very center of the room stood a ice pedestal with a jet black Crystal hovering just above it. Finn and Dash went off circling around the room with weapons drawn. The two of them carefully made sure there were no hidden golems in the room."okay Twilight this is why we needed you well other than the whole fire thing. None of us can actually grab the crystal if we do we will die fairly quickly as it drains the heat from our bodies."Twilight looked up at him dumb strucked."And how exactly do you expect me to grab it?"she gestured over to the crystal with one hand. Boom shrugged"well I don't actually expect you to grab it I want you to use your magic you know levitate it like you did me."Twilight rolled her eyes at the statement."And how am I supposed to use my magic without my horn because in case you didn't know I'm not exactly a unicorn anymore."boom looked at her like she had just said something absolutely ridiculous although she had a point she wasn't in her normal form."you may be in different shape but you're still a unicorn at heart the portals don't change who you are. If you could use magic back home then I guarantee you can use it here. Oh and in case if you're wondering how to do it I would recommend looking down at your side."Twilight raised a brow before doing as he said looking down at the purple blade at her side 'wait a second both me and rarity were unicorns well I was an alicorn but that's besides the point. Since we were the only two who could use magic and that means...' she reached down grasping the hilt of the blade and pulling it up from her side. She then pointed the blade at the Crystal focusing on it. A purple aura formed around the blade and the Crystal.

2 the crystal began to shake violently as the aura surrounded."I-it's really in there."Twilight pulled the sword towards her slowly as she could feel the pull of the crystal fighting back. The crystal kept shaking as the pedestal under it began to crack. Finn and dash looked over at the scene watching im awe that's Twilight uses her new sword to pull the crystal. However the amazement was cut short by the cracking of the walls the ice itself starting to melt and drip away."boom I'm pretty sure that Crystal was the only thing keeping this place together without the ice King!"Finn called out to boom. Upon hearing this boom started reaching to his satchel pulling out a small glass eye. That I was emerald green with a lighter green pupil and a black slit Iris. "Everyone get close to me!"he pointed his gun up towards the ceiling with his other hand after pulling it out from his side. He unleashed six total shots at a single point on the ceiling from which a ray of sunlight emerged. The shots nearly broke twilight's concentration as she is never witnessed the weapon before but recognized it as the sound from earlier sending another wave of dread through her system. Even with the feeling of dread in her she refused to break concentration as the crystal started to pull towards her and away from the pedestal which was now falling into pieces. With one last mighty Pull of her weapon the crystal flung at her stopping only a few inches from her hovering around the edges of her blade. Upon fully leaving its position the pedestal crumbled into snow and water as large sections of the ceiling started crashing down around them."okay everyone this is going to be unpleasant."Finn acted first grabbing boom shoulder and rainbow Dash his leg startling her while boom wrapped his arm around Twilight with his gun hand and tossed the small glass eye high into the air through the small Gap.

3 A shearing headache wrecked its way through twilight's head and she suddenly found herself no longer trapped in a chamber but rather on top of shards of ice and snow. A arm still draped around her quickly calmed her as she realized she was safe."sorry about that ender magic can be a real pain but it's most convenient teleportation I could summon at the time."he wiped the sweat from his brow looking down at a quite funny scene. The sudden migraine from the teleportation caused rainbow Dash to fall out of the air and land on finn. And their position was rather humorous as they were on top of each other and in opposite directions."I think you two need to get a room."boom smirked as both Finn and rainbow Dash felt their cheeks get red separating from each other. Twilight herself couldn't help but chuckle at boom's joke 'Well they were teasing us the entire time so I think boom deserved this one.'the smirk on boom his face quickly went away as he focused on the hovering Crystal."can't believe this was the only thing keeping ice kings place from falling apart."Twilight blushed a bit noticing the focus look on his face.'crap that look looks cute.'"Hey who even is this ice King."rainbow Dash blurted out grabbing booms attention."oh hes Marceline's friend Simon but it was during a time when he couldn't remember who he was because he had a magical crown that cursed him it's kind of a long story but quite cinematic and well told."This only added to rainbow Dash's confusion ."don't worry about it. We should be getting back to the Candy Kingdom preferably before a random candy citizen bumps into a candy crazed Pinky."the group sure the light chuckle as they began making their way back home.... however unaware to them a danger loomed close waiting for the perfect chance to reveal itself or should I say herself.

(hope you guys enjoyed this chapter I do apologize if over the next few days if my stories post schedules are inconsistent as someone close to me is getting out of the hospital tomorrow and I will be spending time with them most likely so might take away from my postings but I'll try to make sure a chapter goes up every night the best I can like normal)

(also I am now aware that I got ender pearls and ender eyes mixed up . pearls are the ones that make you teleport but in my defense it could have been from a world where the rules are reversed but mostly it stems from the fact that I had not played Minecraft in quite some time)

[justlookfrightened]

Second Zimbits bingo post #4

Start reading from the beginning

“Stay over”

Jack left shortly after Shitty did, leaving Bitty alone with Lardo for the moment.

“You’re sure he doesn’t mind?” Bitty said. “I can go back to the Haus and make something real quick and bring it back, then get out of here. I mean, he doesn’t seem to like me much.”

“Dude,” Lardo said. “What makes you think he doesn’t like you?”

“He leaves as soon as he can after I show up,” Bitty said. “He hardly talks to me, and he barely had half a slice of my pie. Maybe I should have just gotten out of his hair. Sometimes I can’t help putting my foot in it.”

“You don’t know Jack,” Lardo said. “He talks more to you than most people, especially people he just met. I mean, he owns this shop, and he hardly talks to anyone. He only works the counter when no one else is here, and he’d actually prefer to run the errands than be left to talk to customers. He invited you to stay last night, and probably tonight too, it sounds like. I think he likes you fine.”

“I don’t know,” Bitty said. “It seems like he asked me to stay against his better judgment, like he couldn’t bring himself to send me away. It’s not like I can complain — it was great to have a warm bed last night — but I don’t want to be in the way.”

“In the way of what?” Lardo said. 

Bitty shrugged, then stepped aside as a gaggle of customers came in. 

He moved to look at the bookshelves that lined the walls while Lardo took care of them.

He stopped at the sight of an old copy of Mastering  the Art of French Cooking. Holy cripes. It was a 1961 copy, first edition, but in anything but mint condition. It had been well loved by someone, with food stains on some pages and penciled notes on others.

Bitty was still absorbed when Jack came back, carrying some kind of a salad with nuts and fruit for Lardo, chicken tenders and a grilled chicken sandwich.

“Which one do you want?” Jack said, holding up the tenders and the sandwich. “I’ll take the other.”

Bitty thought Jack looked a little relieved when he chose the sandwich, which was still hot. The lettuce was a bit wilted and the tomato was watery, but the bun was toasted and buttery and the chicken wasn’t dry.

“How much do I owe you?” Bitty asked, rooting in his pocket and coming up with nothing but his recipe book.

“You don’t,” Jack said. “I said I’d get lunch.”

Then Bitty was watching Jack walk away again. He was heading to the back, probably trying to find yet another country to order coffee from.

He finished his sandwich and returned Julia’s master work to the shelf where he found it.

Lardo was free again for a moment, so he approached her and said, “D’y’all know you have a first edition Julia Child on the shelf where anyone can get their grubby fingers on it?”

“I didn’t,” she said. “Jack might. He got all the books. But really, if it’s not about history or coffee, he probably doesn’t care. Or hockey. He still cares about hockey.”

Bitty raised a questioning eyebrow.

“He’s good at hockey, like really good,” she said. “Everyone thought he’d go pro, including all the teams who sent scouts to his games. But when he and Shitty finished their last season, and he had like four offers, he turned them all down, immersed himself in the lore of coffee and bought this place.”

“Which serves as a hangout and place of employment for his friends,” Bitty said. “See, I’m pretty sure it’s just me he doesn’t like.”

“No,” Lardo said. “He just has this thing about — I don’t know if protecting people is the right word. He likes to keep people safe. And he did invite you to hang out here.”

Well.That was true, but Jack was probably just being polite. But in Bitty’s experience, boys — men — like Jack didn’t much want boys like Bitty hanging around them, and Jack had already more than satisfied any obligation he had to keep Bitty from freezing to death.

Besides, Bitty wasn’t doing himself any favors by drooling over someone he couldn’t have. He’d take Jack’s advice, wander the town and maybe even the campus for a while, then go back to the Haus and bake. Maybe he could stop at the station and find out what time he’d have to be there to catch the last train out.

He reached in his pocket for his phone before remembering that he didn’t have one anymore. His parents paid for it, so he’d left it behind. Maybe as soon as he stayed somewhere long enough to get a job, he could get one on a pay-as-you-go plan. 

No phone meant no map, but Samwell wasn’t so big that he got lost. After an hour of walking, he’d decided that Samwell was a cute little town. Or medium town, but not a city by any stretch of the imagination. The university campus looked like it had been designed to look good in college brochures, and Bitty found all the rainbow-colored signs and flags a little disconcerting. He’d commuted from home to Athens for school for two years, and he’d never seen anything like it. He even had to try not to stare, first at two girls holding hands as they strolled by, and then at a boy kissing another boy on the cheek before heading into a building. Instead, he watched the other people to see how they reacted and … they didn’t. They didn’t even seem to notice.

His life would have been different if he’d come somewhere like this right after high school. Sure, he’d have to tell Mama and Coach the truth eventually, but maybe by then he’d have friends, and a place to go if they didn’t react well.

He did make his way to the train station, which was further than he remembered, and discovered that the last train left at 8:32. That should be enough time to make muffins, scones, cookies … maybe even some mini-pies. If he got back to the coffee shop to ride back with Jack soon.

“Ready?” Jack asked, as soon as Bitty returned. 

“Sure,” Bitty said. 

“Oh, you left this.”

Jack was holding out Bitty’s recipe book, his only real connection to home. 

“My gosh, I can’t believe I didn’t miss that,” Bitty said. “Thanks for keeping it safe.”

“No worries,” Jack said. “I wasn’t sure it was yours, so I looked inside. Those recipes are pretty old, aren’t they? Lots of them don’t even have amounts or anything.”

“I got most of them from my MooMaw,” Bitty said, like that explained everything.

Bitty didn’t get the quick start baking that he wanted to. First Jack insisted on stopping at the grocery to get fresh vegetables and fish for dinner. (“You can’t tell me you usually cook. I saw your kitchen.” “I don’t usually have guests.”) Then he wanted to know what ingredients Bitty needed to bake. Bitty wasn’t really sure, not without consulting his book, but he didn’t want Jack thinking too much about it.

“Um, flour,” he said. “Butter and shortening. Baking powder. Sugar. Maybe some chocolate chips?”

Anything else, well, it would be there if he needed it.

Jack headed upstairs for a nap when they got back to the Haus, and Bitty started baking. He’d only just got the muffins in when Jack clattered back down the stairs to say, “I called Johnson. He’s not sure when he’ll be back, but it won’t be tonight. You can have his bed again.”

“Really, I couldn’t,” Bitty said.

“What?” Jack said, looking at the ingredients spread on the counter. “We didn’t buy vanilla, did we? Or this cinnamon. Where did this come from?”

Bitty shrugged. “It’s your kitchen,” he said. “How about I get some biscuits going and we make dinner?”

That worked, for the moment,

Jack ate as soon as the food was done. 

“Shitty’ll be back after he drives Lardo home at eight,” Jack said. “Maybe later, if he stays there. Ransom and Holster usually get back by seven, but they won’t expect dinner.”

“I’m sure there’s enough left,” Bitty said.

“Anyway, I’ll be back about the same time as last night,” Jack said.

As soon as Jack was gone, Bitty worked as fast as he could, turning out enough pastries, muffins and cookies to supply a full bakery counter. He put them on trays, covered them in plastic wrap, and wrote “For Jack” in big letters on paper towels that lay on top. He made a sign that said “For the Haus” to put on the cookies he made that morning, then put on his jacket and slipped out the back door as Ransom and Holster were slipping in the front.

He was pretty sure he could find his way to the station after his afternoon rambles, even if it would be at least an hour’s walk. In the dark, too.

But no one would notice he was gone until Jack, or maybe Shitty, got home, and he should be on the train by then.

Bitty arrived at the station with minutes to spare before the last train. Which was headed south, not where he wanted to go, but needs must. He bought a ticket, spending most of the money he had left, and sat on a bench to wait.

And wait. Because of course the one time he cared how fast he got out of town, the train was late. 

Bitty had zoned out staring at the wall, fantasizing about what it would be like to live in Samwell (to even go to school at Samwell University …) when he was roused by pounding feet on the stone floor.

“Bittle!”

It was Jack. But he should have still been at the shop. It was later than this when Bitty made it there the night before.

“Jack? What are you doing here?”

“What are you doing here?” Jack returned. “I thought you were going to stay at the Haus.”

Bitty shrugged, looked at Jack, looked away.

“I was done with what I promised,” he said. “And there was no reason to trespass on your hospitality another night.”

“But … there was no reason you wanted to leave?” Jack said. “No one made you uncomfortable or anything, did they? Shitty told me you seemed a little mad at him this morning.”

Lord. This boy. Lardo was probably right — Jack was just awkward,. He really seemed to be trying.

“No,” Bitty said. “I mean yes, Shitty was a little pushy. But it’s not really his fault that I look twelve. And y’all have done more than anyone could expect to make me comfortable. You don’t need to worry about that.”

“Then why are you leaving? And you must have spent so much to buy the ingredients for the food you left at the Haus.”

“I really didn’t,” Bitty said. “And I’m sorry, Jack, but I just don’t think it’ll get any easier to leave if I stay longer. Maybe y’all’ve been too nice. But I need to find a place to call home, and delaying it by staying here … It’s not a good idea.”

“Please stay over,” Jack said as the train finally pulled into the station. “So we can talk about it. I’ll drive you here myself tomorrow if you really want to leave, but it sounds like you want to stay.” 

“I can’t,” Bitty said. “I don’t have the money for another ticket.”

“I’ll buy one if I have to,” Jack said. “To pay you back for the food. Just, please come back to the Haus with me? Or to the shop for now. There’s something I want to show you.”

Bitty gave a high giggle, because really? Jack had something to show him? Certainly not what Bitty wanted to see, though.

“Not another first edition classic cookbook?”

“Haha, no,” Jack said. “The kitchen. I was thinking — maybe if you stay a while, you could bake there? Make the food for the shop? We haven’t used it since we moved in. You can stay at the Haus. It’s not likely we’ll ever see Johnson again. He said he fulfilled his role in this narrative, whatever that means.”

By the time Jack stopped talking, the train was leaving and Bitty was still on the platform.

“Looks like I missed my train,” he said.

“Yeah,” Jack said. “But maybe … you found a home?”

“I wish it could be,” Bitty said. “But I’d always be wanting what I can’t have.”

“What?” Jack said. “If I know what it is, maybe I can help.”

“Jack, you know I’m gay,” Bitty said.

“Yeah?” Jack said, sounding almost offended. “Did someone give you a problem?”

“No, not here,” Bitty said. “But I learned a long time ago not to fall for a straight boy.”

“Straight boy?” Jack said, looking around like someone else had materialized next to them. “Who?”

Good Lord, Jack was really going to make him say it.

“You, Jack. You’re the straight boy.”

“No, I’m not,” Jack said. “Not straight, I mean.”

He paused.

“Wait a minute,” he said. “You have a crush on me?”

“See, I knew it would be awkward,” Bitty said.

Jack shook his head. 

“Come closer,” he said, staring at Bitty’s face.

Bitty took one step closer, then two. 

“Can I kiss you?” Jack said. “‘Cause I kind of have a crush on you too.”

[ineffable-bisexual]

@concreteangel1221​ this reminds me of my own head canon, but not of them teasing one another (although yours is very fluffy and funny!). It takes place after Freddie Mercury dies.

Crowley is, of course, upset and doesn’t really want to know where Freddie ended up. On the one hand, it might be cool if he was in Hell so Crowley could talk to him but the damp and dark wouldn’t be Freddy’s scene. But he also doesn’t want Freddy in Heaven because then he would have to deal with Gabriel and Sandalphon.

But then...

Years go by and the husbands are drunk (naturally) and Crowley brings it up again.

“It would have been a treat to see Freddie really give it to old Gabe, ya know? Just smart off to him, take a shot of vodka, give him the finger while smiling and calling him ‘darling.’ Someone’s sake...”

“I remember the day he died,” Aziraphale told him, pouring them another glass of wine. “I had never seen you so depressed.”

“Then again,” Crowley continues, putting his hand on his husband’s leg after he sits next to him, “I would have loved to have seen the look on everyone’s face if Freddie came over to Hell. Walking through the fiery gates in those tight white pants and huge crown and fur-lined cape. He would declare himself Queen of the Underworld, right to Beelz’s face, too! HA!”

“You cried all night, dear, I remember,” Aziraphale continues, too, a frown forming on his brow. “You played that one song on the turntable over and over, too, what was it again?”

“Oh...yeah it was uh...Somebody to Love.”

“Yes...”

“Yeah...It, um...reminded me of us...at that time.”

“Oh?” Aziraphale rested a hand on his. “Will you play it for me?”

“What?”

He motioned to the turntable he kept on one of the bookshelves. “Put it on. I’d like to hear it.”

Crowley hesitated, but then squeezed his husband’s hand before getting up from the sofa.

He put the record on and sat next to him again. Aziraphale smiled and kissed his cheek, tears standing in his eyes as he listened. 

“Darling...”

“Sappy, I know,” Crowley grinned, picking up his wine glass again.

“No! It’s a beautiful song! And, you know, I think I can...”

Crowley looked at him, puzzled. “You think you can what?”

Aziraphale set down his wine. “Dearest...what if I can find out for you?”

“Find out what?” He saw the slight raise of his husband’s eyebrow and it clicked. “You...y-you mean if Freddy--”

“Yes! I mean...I may not work  for them much anymore, but I can still get in and out of Heaven, and since our ‘trials,’ Gabriel and Sandalphon don’t dare to ask questions.”

Crowley grinned. “They’re scared of you.”

Aziraphale smirked. “Hmm, I wonder why.”

They giggled and the angel suddenly stood.

“You’re going now?” Crowley asked.

“Why not?”

“Well, I mean...what are you going to say?”

Aziraphale was by the turntable now, sifting through the records on the shelf below it. “What’s your favorite vinyl from him?”

“Uh...A Day at the Races. I placed it just there to play the record.”

He picked up the sleeve and carefully put the record back into it. “Ah! Very well!” He hid it in his coat and went to the door. “Be right back.”

Crowley shot off the sofa. “Angel! Wait! Are you really going back now? You think you’ll be able to get up there, I mean, the building is one thing, but you haven’t been up past the stars in eons! And you’re drunk!”

“Oh, pish posh, dear!”

“Don’t pish posh me! You can’t just--”

Aziraphale stopped his protests with a kiss. “Be back in the morning.”

“Morning?!” 

“Love you!”

------------------

The next morning passed...and then the afternoon. Early evening came and Crowley paced the entirety of the bookshop. He had finally decided to go out to look for him until he heard the familiar sound of the bell above the door.

“Angel?”

He rushed to him and saw that he was smiling from ear to ear, purple lipstick marks on both of his cheeks. A rainbow feathered boa was draped over his shoulders and he was clutching the vinyl record in one hand and an open bottle of champagne in the other.

“Darling!” he said. “I am dreadfully sorry that I kept you waiting for so long, but...well, what a time it was up there!”

“In the...headquarters?”

“Hm? Oh, Lord no! Upstairs, dear. Way upstairs! It’s definitely livened up since we left.”

Crowley stepped closer and squinted. “Is that glitter?”

“Oh! Yes,” Aziraphale said. “Just a bit; it was everywhere.”

“Well did you--”

“I met this amazing young man, dear! He reminded me so much of you! Tall, thin, long legs, gorgeous hair! And his makeup! He had a painted lightning bolt over his face and--”

“You met David-fucking-Bowie??”

“Dear! Language! Anyway, he was chatting with this other young man who had just finished setting his guitar on fire! Can you believe it? He set fire in Heaven! It was amazing!”

Crowley’s heart was pounding. “Jimi...Jimi Hendrix? You met--”

“Darling, stop interrupting me! Then I turn around and there’s this shorter bloke clad in a puffy white shirt and a purple coat! He looked regal and was very charming! He was making pancakes for everyone!”

“Was he wearing a weird symbol?”

“Why, yes! Come to think of it he was!”

“That was Prince!! Angel, you’re--look, did you find--”

“Oh! And I saw my old friend, Julia Child! Do you remember? I had dinner with her and her wonderful husband when I was in France in the 1970s. She was there with her husband and this other tall gentleman from the American South. Oh, darling, he was absolutely gorgeous! Slicked back black hair, deep blue eyes, tight white flares! Oh, my heavens, you know I don’t sweat very much but--”

“Aziraphale!”

The angel paused and frowned at him. “What? Oh! Right, yes. Here.”

He handed the Queen album to him and Crowley’s jaw dropped.

In glittering gold, over the black cover of the album, was the very signature of Freddie Mercury himself.

“I told him that my husband was a big fan,” Aziraphale said. He approached him and kissed him ever so gently.

“Oh...angel...” Crowley’s voice cracked. “Thank you...I can’t believe it...how was he?”

His husband smiled. “Happy. He was there with his partner, Jim. He misses his mates, but he knows they’ll be there one day. But really, he’s alright, and having the best time.”

Crowley sniffed back growing tears. “Did he meet...you know...”

“Gabriel? Oh...I don’t know...I forgot to ask. They met God, though.”

Crowley’s eyes grew wider. “They did?”

“Of course! She’s a fan of his, too, apparently.” He took off his feathered boa and placed it around Crowley’s neck. “How about I freshen up and we dine at the Ritz? I’ll tell you more about my trip.”

Crowley kissed him. “Thank you again, angel.”

“No problem, love.” He walked to the back room to go up to his flat, but suddenly turned. 

“Oh! She says hello, by the way.”

Crowley was puzzled again. “Who?”

Aziraphale laughed. “God, of course! She congratulated us on the marriage! She was a witness, you know?”

“Wait...what?”

[firstdegreefangirl]

6, 27, 48, 95, 149, 193, 226

6. Age you get mistaken for?

Ooh, this one varies, because it depends a lot on context. I’m 21, nearing 22, but generally carry myself with lots of confidence. So between that and my uniform/makeup, people at work always mistake me for older than I am. But also when I’m hanging out with my kids – all of whom are high school students – people frequently ask me what grade I’m in. I’m gonna go with somewhere between 16 and 25 lol.

27. Do you have any “rules” about food?

Not necessarily about food itself, but lots of situationally-based rules for eating. For instance, if you eat loud/crunchy/crinkly food at the theatre, you can die in a pit. And no, Dear Son, you can’t eat your French dip sandwich with aus jus in my car while I drive you home.

48. Say 10 facts about your room:

1. It needs wall art. 2. My books are organized in rainbow order. 3. I’ve also stacked knick-knacks on the bookshelves. 4. I have blackout curtains. 5. I built my own IKEA side table and added fun corner brackets to jazz it up. 6. ((I’m expanding this to include my closet because it’s attached to my room)) I made my brother go with me at midnight to pick my dresser up off the curb near my parents’ old neighborhood because it was free. 7. My clothes? Also in rainbow order. I’m a one-trick pony. 8. My Playbill collection is in boxes on my top closet shelf. 9. My mattress is memory foam. 10. I have jersey knit sheets because they’re soft and soft sheets are the best.

95. Are you going out of town soon?

Yes! I’m going to Texas at the end of the month to see my best friend get married! And hopefully I’m going a few hours away in January and/or March for theatre, and back to NYC next April. Also probably a couple trips to visit @crazygoblinfreakoutnoise and see shows with her!

149. Have you ever written a song or poem for someone? Have you had one written for you?

In middle school we had one of those awkward class assignments for Mother’s Day and we all had to write poems for our moms ((or “mother-like figures”)). And my dad always writes goofy little poems for birthday cards and Valentine’s Day.

193. If you were an element on the Periodic Table, which would you be and why?

Neon. Bright and colorful, but a little unstable sometimes.

226. Share the story of something that makes you smile.

There’re A LOT of these, but here’s one I don’t think I’ve told before: one of the kids I coach has a little sister who just turned five. She’s precious and I love her, but she can’t say her K’s very well yet. So she always calls me “Tay-tee” instead of Katie. For her birthday, her parents bought her one of the big Valentine’s stuffed animals from Walmart. I roll into the shop one afternoon and the first thing I hear is “TAY-TEE LOOK AT MY TITTY!” I’m … understandably concerned, and trying to formulate a response, so she repeats herself in case I didn’t hear. “LOOK AT MY RAINBOW TITTY WITH THE SPARKLE HOOFS!” I turn around and she’s holding a large plus cat ((or “kitty”)) with tye-dye fur and glittery paws. She’s the sweetest child in the world, and never ever fails to make my laugh.

[patchworkofstars]

Salted Caramel

Chapter 7: The Writer’s Lament

AO3  Chapter 1  Chapter 2  Chapter 3  Chapter 4  Chapter 5  Chapter 6

Relationship: Romantic Royality

Chapter Synopsis: Two guys sitting in a bedroom, one foot apart and they’re both gay.

Word Count: 5,300

Warnings: Crying, mention of bullying, mention of parental disapproval of sexuality (not rejection, just not acceptance either)

Notes: I was planning to split this chapter in two since it's so long, but there wasn't anywhere suitable to do that. So instead it's just one reeeally long chapter, for which I apologise ^-^” Hopefully it’s worth it though! ^-^

Roman crossed the threshold a step behind Patton, taking the opportunity to twist his head and quickly wipe away his tears on the shoulders of his shirt. Then his eyes scanned the room around him, and he found them pricking with tears once more as he took in the bright, comfortable, reassuringly wholesome atmosphere.

The walls were painted the same sky blue as Patton’s favourite shirt, and either he or Virgil had taken it further by adding white cumulus clouds and a yellow sun. And, whether deliberately following the theme or by happy serendipity, one wall was dominated by a large rainbow flag.

It was all so comforting, so utterly, perfectly Patton-like, that it felt almost like being embraced by the man himself. Roman closed his eyes, steadying his breathing as he tried to stop the emotions threatening to take hold. Much as his heart ached for its feelings to be returned, who knew if there was any hope left there? Patton had a crush on Remy or some stranger, and Roman was the one left wanting someone he might never have.

Shut the feelings out, shut them down, put on the mask and put on a show. Patton must never know how you’re feeling.

He composed himself as best he could and opened his eyes… only to find the other man watching him with such a wistful, almost longing expression that he almost reeled from the emotional impact it had.

He swallowed, suddenly acutely self-conscious, and felt his face burn. Roman had never claimed to be particularly bright - his intelligence was the sort that understood sentence structure and dialogue flow rather than how to solve equations - but now the pieces of a jigsaw slotted together in his mind to produce a picture he hadn’t realised he’d been missing.

“You’re my hero!”

“Is this the guy you were telling me you have a crush on?”

“He’s not my boyfriend and never will be.”

“Virgil housemate just had his heart broken by someone he harbours romantic feelings for.”

Patton had feelings for him, and he’d broken his heart. And now that Roman knew, what was he going to do about it?

His limbs felt heavy and uncoordinated, and he tried not to stumble as he moved to the centre of the room and looked around. Above the desk there was a large pin board covered with photographs, and he scanned them absently as he tried to get his emotions back under control. Some of the pictures were of flowers and cute animals, others of people most of whom Roman didn't recognise. Patton was in only three: one with Virgil outside the art museum, one with Remy, and one with two people who looked like his parents and three teenagers Roman supposed were younger siblings.

In each one Patton was smiling brightly, exuding joy and affection for those he was with, and Roman suddenly wanted nothing more than to be in one of those photos, smiling by Patton’s side. He shook his head, forcing the feeling away, and turned his gaze elsewhere.

The remainder of the room was cluttered with a mixture of scrapbooks, knick-knacks, stuffed toys, and DVDs. The bookshelves were stuffed with a jumble of fiction and cookbooks, the only history books visible being those required for the course.

Roman tried to act nonchalant, but wherever he tried to focus his eyes, they kept drifting of their own accord back to Patton. Not for the first time, he cursed his overdeveloped romantic streak. Of all the people to develop an attraction to… It could be worse, a treacherous thought reminded him. At least this one’s single, and not straight.

Patton sat down on the dove-grey bed cover and patted the spot beside him. Roman smiled awkwardly as he followed, carefully keeping his knees pointed towards the centre of the room rather than at his companion.

What on earth should I say? “I like you, you like me, let’s snuggle”?

Don’t you dare, brain, I’m watching you. Come on, I need a light, casual conversation starter.

“I never expected you and Virgil to be housemates”, he began at last. “How did you meet? You seem so...different.”

Patton grinned. “We are, but we get along great! We got talking in the first year when I saw him at the museum and went up and complimented his hoodie."

Roman tried to imagine how that conversation would have gone, but couldn’t. Either it was beyond his creative block, or it was just too bizarre.

“How about you and Logan?” asked Patton, tilting his head to one side. “You’re pretty different yourselves. I’d never have guessed you were friends.”

Roman shrugged. “We met at fencing club in our first year”, he explained. “Logan joined because it’s a structured, mentally-challenging sport with minimal physical contact. I joined because I wanted a chance to fight with swords.”

Patton nodded in understanding. “You wanted to be a knight, right?”

“Well, yes...” Roman confessed, with an embarrassed smile.

Patton beamed, his face lighting up in a way that made Roman’s head spin. “I knew it!” he exclaimed. “After all, you were my knight in shining armour outside the club.”

Oh, calm down, Roman! He could feel the warmth of another blush spreading across his cheeks and down his neck. Say something! Anything! Change the topic before he notices how red you are!

“You’re the real ‘Knight’” he found himself saying. “Do you have any idea how envious I’ve always been of your surname?”

What the hell, brain?!

Patton bit his lip and ducked his head, but he couldn’t hide his grin or the red flush spreading across his face. Roman took a deep breath, trying to think past the butterflies and find a safer topic of conversation.

“I, uh, don’t have the time for fencing anymore, sadly”, he said with forced lightness. “Or the energy, to be honest. I’ve been far too stressed with everything else I’ve got going on.”

“Hmm~ Is that what Virgil was supposed to help you with?”

“Well that was part of it”, Roman admitted. “He was trying to help me learn to relax. I’ve been having a lot of trouble with writer’s block, and I hoped that would cure it.”

“Oh yes! Your writing!” Patton’s eyes widened. “You never told me! What kind of things do you write?”

Wrong topic! Abort! Roman’s stomach clenched and he shifted awkwardly in his seat, unconsciously moving his knees to point even further away from Patton. “Well, I write a lot of poetry”, he said, his eyes on the wall, “And also...fanfiction.”

He took a deep breath and turned his head to see the response. To his surprise, Patton was almost glowing with excitement.

“That’s so cool!” he breathed. “Which series do you write about?”

Roman swallowed, a half-proud, half-embarrassed smile tugging at his lips. “I’ve written a few alternate universe pieces with Disney characters”, he said, “But I currently write mainly Dragon Witch Chronicles fics.

Patton squealed – he actually squealed – and leaned forward with his eyes shining. “What name do you write under?" he asked eagerly.

Roman flushed. “I can’t tell you that. You’ll look up my work, and that would just be embarrassing!”

“Aww...” Patton’s face fell, but then he shrugged. “Oh well, if you write Dragon Witch Chronicles fics, I’ve probably read them already anyway.”

“You won’t tell anyone will you?” Roman implored him desperately. “Please don’t mention it to anyone, it’s a secret!”

Patton frowned. “Don’t your friends know about it?”

“No way!” Roman almost shrieked. “I can’t tell them! If they knew, they’d be sure to-” He broke off and shuddered. “In any case, they must never find out. I have to hide it from everyone even remotely linked to our course.”

Patton tilted his head slightly to one side, his soft brown eyes full of sadness and concern. “That sounds exhausting”, he remarked.

The words hit Roman like a heavy jousting lance. The truth of them, the external acknowledgement he hadn’t known he so desperately needed, went through him like a shockwave, and a sob wrenched itself from his chest past his lips before he could even think of trying to stop it.

Patton reached out a hand, but as before he hesitated and then pulled back. “Maybe that’s why you’re finding writing so hard?” he suggested gently. “Virgil always says he can’t create if he’s not honest. His art is an expression of himself, so if he hid who he truly is, he wouldn’t be able to make anything good.”

Roman swallowed, taking some deep breaths before he risked speaking. “M-maybe...” he admitted. “I used to love writing, but now it’s always a struggle. The thought of even trying makes me nauseous.” He shook his head sadly. “Can I even call myself a writer, if I never seem to write anymore?”

Patton chewed his lip for a moment, looking down at the bed cover and stroking his fingers gently back and forth over it. “You know, I don’t think it’s only writing that makes you a writer”, he said at last. “I may not write myself, but the way I see it, you’re a writer because writing means so much to you, and because you feel so lost when you can’t do it. I think writing’s a part of who you are, even when you don’t write.”

“But I’ve barely written for months, Patton!” Roman wailed. “The only things I’ve managed to write were a poem after I walked you home that time, and then a short story about-”

He broke off abruptly. He was not going to tell Patton what that fic had involved. No way. If the subject matter weren’t embarrassing enough, there was always the risk he might recognise it.

“Hmm~ Well, do you know what’s stopping you?” the man asked, ignoring the sudden stop. “Why does the thought of writing make you feel so bad?”

Roman shook his head and sighed. “There’s so much pressure, so much competition. I feel I’m devoting all I have to it, and yet no matter what I do, I can’t keep pace with all the faster, better, more talented writers out there.” He turned away and put his head in his hands, his shoulders hunched with the effort of suppressing the tears that threatened to overwhelm him.

When he managed to speak again, it was in tight, broken tones. “I need to do it, but… But I can’t… I can’t risk failure…”

There was silence for a minute, and despite his fears, Roman's curiosity pushed him to risk looking at Patton. The other man was chewing his lower lip again, his head tilted characteristically to one side.

“Do you think, maybe, you struggle because you’re trying so hard to compete?” he suggested, a touch cautiously. “I mean, you said you started writing because you enjoyed it, but you don’t seem like you’re enjoying it now. So why keep trying to force yourself?”

Roman swallowed. “Because I… I need the praise”, he said, his voice soft and cracked. “I need the acknowledgement, the proof that I’ve done something worthwhile.”

“Is that the only reason you write?” Patton asked softly, a hint of something like disappointment in his eyes.

Roman shook his head firmly. “No, but still, I can’t help but worry. What if nobody likes what I write? What if, after weeks of pouring my time and effort into a story, no one cares? With every creation I show to the world, I put my heart on the line. I risk apathy, rejection, and downright hate.”

“I’m sure no one will hate it”, Patton gently assured him, “Not if it’s something you’ve put your heart into creating.”

Roman gave a short, bitter laugh. “Don't be so sure. And besides, apathy is almost as bad, and I've experienced that many times. Hate may cut, but apathy bruises."

Patton blinked back the tears trying to well in his eyes. “I know it hurts, but… If other people don't enjoy your creations, that's their loss, not yours. What matters most is that you like what you’ve made.”

Roman sighed, his voice coloured with exhausted helplessness. “You must understand, nothing stings like rejection. Nothing tears my soul and strips away my confidence more than pouring my heart and soul into creating something and then releasing it into the world only for the world to disregard it. And I need people to tell me my writing is good, that it means something to them, that I’m contributing something to the world to justify my existence!”

Patton leaned back away from him, eyes widening in alarm, and Roman grimaced as he was hit by a sudden wave of self-disgust. Just when he’d realised he liked Patton, he had to go and scare him off. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

The adrenaline seemed to drain out of him, and he slumped, eyes downcast. But when he cautiously raised them again he saw none of the expected revulsion on Patton's face.

Patton was leaning forward, head tilted to one side and forehead creased in concern.

“That’s not...” he began, quietly, hesitantly. “You don’t...” He broke off again and bit his lip, frowning as he tried to find the right words to say.

Roman waited, a tiny flicker of hope reigniting somewhere inside him. Maybe, just maybe, all hope wasn’t lost after all.

Patton took a deep breath and blinked rapidly - Were there tears in his eyes, too? Then at last he spoke.

“You don’t need to justify living, Roman. And if you have a purpose… Have you ever thought maybe it might be just to enjoy life? To make the world a little bit better in whatever way you can, even if it’s just by sharing your smile?”

“But writing is what I do!” Roman wailed. “I’m not like you, I’m no good at being kind, or making people happy! Without writing, I’m nothing but selfish, stubborn, insecure… - Feel free to stop me at any time! - I’m arrogant, egotistical...”

Patton smiled and shook his head. “You’re creative, caring, brave…” he looked down shyly, turning pink, “...Not to mention very handsome.”

Roman smiled wryly, trying to ignore the heat flooding his face. “Writing is what I do”, he repeated quietly. “It’s the only thing I’m good at. It’s the one chance I have to make something of myself and make my family proud of me.”

Patton frowned, picking awkwardly at the bedspread. “Have you spoken to your family about how you feel?” he asked.

Roman shuddered involuntarily. “I’ve already disappointed my parents by being gay, I can’t fail at this too.”

“They don’t accept the fact you’re gay?” Patton asked gently, leaning forward in sympathy.

“They wouldn’t kick me out or anything”, Roman quickly assured him. “They just… try to ignore it. They don’t say anything, but I know from their silence they don’t like it.”

“I’m sorry”, Patton said sadly. “That’s horrible.”

Roman shrugged and looked away. “Ever since I came out, they’ve tried to pretend it never happened. I’m an only child, and they were…very unhappy that I was dramatically reducing their chance of biological grandchildren.

“Do you want children?” There was a slight shift in the air, and Patton seemed to be holding his breath as he waited for a response.

Roman hesitated. “I’m not sure”, he replied uncertainly. It was always my parents’ priority, not mine, but… I suppose I would like to be a father someday. Assuming I can ever get a well-enough paid job to support a child.” He sighed. “Not that there’s much hope of that if I fail my degree.”

Patton shuffled a little closer, his soft eyes fixed on Roman. “What would you choose for your future, if you didn’t have to worry about qualifications or what your parents might think?”

Roman swallowed, feeling his face heat up further but unable to take his eyes from Patton’s as he asked himself what he really wanted. Right now, the only answer his brain was giving him was Patton.

“I’d lo- I’d like to write”, he said at last. “To be a- a writer, a proper author, you know? A professional, making a living writing stories. That’s been my greatest dream for years.”

Patton’s whole face seemed to shine, the brightness of his smile bringing a deeper blush to Roman’s cheeks. “That sounds wonderful, he breathed. “What kind of stories would you write? Fantasy? Ooh, or maybe historical fiction? Is that why you’re studying history?”

Really, it was uncanny how easily this man seemed to read Roman like he himself was a book, with the secrets of his heart written out for those caramel eyes alone. He took a deep breath, forcing his eyes away to watch the wall.

“I’ve always loved historical fiction. Tales of knights and princes, heroism, chivalry, romance… I dreamed of studying those times and turning what I learned into stories of my own. And the stories were even more appealing when they had a generous sprinkling of fantasy. Dragons to fight or to tame, sorcerers good or evil weaving fabulous spells… I saw it all so clearly in my mind, and it wasn’t long before I began re-enacting my favourite tales and then creating my own – escaping my mundane everyday life into the role of hero in a dozen different fantasy lands.”

Patton leaned forward, his eyes wide as he drank in everything Roman said.

Roman smiled wistfully. “When I grew old enough that wearing a prince costume and wielding a plastic sword became frowned upon, I stopped acting my stories out and instead settled for writing the scenes from my mind onto paper.”

He turned to see Patton's reaction and found him gazing with rapt attention. "What do you think?” he asked nervously.

“I bet you’d look amazing in a prince costume”, Patton replied with feeling.

Roman cleared his throat, his blush deepening. “Yes, well, in any case, I decided that studying history would help with my writing, even though the reality turned out to be depressingly short of happy endings. I endured the school history lessons convinced that if I could just get through this module, this year, this particular bit of tedium and misery I’d eventually be able to study the things I really wanted to. But now that I’m here, I’ve realised I still don’t enjoy it and I never will.” He shook his head and sighed, his shoulders slumping as he looked again at the wall.

Patton shook his head. “You didn’t realise the past was never like it is in those stories?” he asked.

Roman turned back to face him, his eyes dull and rimmed with shadows. “I wanted so much for it to be real that I managed to convince myself”, he confessed. “And when the illusion finally crumbled, it was too late to turn back.”

“It’s never too late”, Patton said firmly. “Never.”

“I’ve wasted years, Patton. Years spent chasing an impossible dream. I know now that what I truly want is to spend the rest of my life writing stories. Every spare moment I have, free from the tedium of my course, I devote to dreaming up new fantasies to escape into.”

He sighed wearily. “In all honesty, it’s losing myself in those stories that's kept me going this far. And now..." He swallowed as a lump rose to restrict his throat and tears once more flooded his eyes. “...And now I can’t even seem to do that.”

There was silence for several minutes, as Roman leaned back against the wall and Patton chewed his lip, staring down at his own knees. As Roman replayed the conversation in his mind, an awareness gradually stole over him and he sat back up with a sharp intake of breath.

“I’m sorry”, he said, with an apologetic smile, “I shouldn’t have been so negative about studying history. You probably love it.”

“Mm...” Patton bit his lip, and Roman was suddenly acutely aware he’d never even considered how he might feel about their course.

For a long moment the man was silent, then, “I find the past...comforting”, he said at last. “I can cope with even the most horrifying bits because they’re over, they’re gone.  The present is too raw. You hide from it in fantasy worlds, I hide from it in the past.”

The sadness in his eyes caused flames of anger to flare suddenly in Roman’s chest. “Is this because of… You know, how the class treat you?” he asked, his voice edged with fury.

Patton hesitated and then nodded, his eyes still averted. “That’s part of it”, he mumbled, “It was worse at school, but back then I could go home to my family at the end of each day, and they'd make it all better. I miss them all so much.“

His eyes filled with tears, and Roman internally panicked. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry! How do I stop him crying?!

Patton sniffed, removing his glasses for a moment to dry his eyes. "Lessons here aren't so bad", he assured Roman, "As long as I find a seat early and keep my head down. And I know I can always talk to Virgil, I just don’t like to bother him when I know he has troubles of his own.” He sighed. “I just wish I knew what people think I’m doing so wrong.”

Suggestions flitted through Roman’s mind, a mix of his own observations and comments he’d heard from others. He could give Patton a list of reasons why people thought he was childish and weird, but…

“If they don’t appreciate you, that’s their loss”, he said firmly. “I don’t want you to think you have to change for them. You’re warm, and kind, and fun to be with, and… I like you. I really do.”

Patton turned to look at him, his eyes wide. “Do you really mean it?” he asked softly. He reached out a hand once more, this time resting it lightly, tentatively on Roman’s arm. Roman felt his heart rate accelerate, and then, as so often, he moved without thinking. His hand was on Patton’s before he knew it, and the pink blush that lit up behind that dusting of freckles made him feel giddy.

“I, um...” he began, and then swallowed. At least one of them should probably have moved their hand by now, but neither had. Instead, he found himself caught up once more in those caramel eyes, so much lighter than his own, and he couldn’t help the affectionate smile that formed on his face.

“I like you a lot, Patton”, he confessed. “So I’d be happy for you to sit beside me in lectures. And to eat lunch together, if you want to.

“What if your other friends don’t want to include me?” Patton asked cautiously. “I wouldn’t want you to risk your friendships just for my sake.”

“Screw them”, Roman said passionately, “I want you.”

As Patton’s eyes widened and his face flared scarlet, Roman’s brain once more caught up with his mouth and he felt his own face blaze.

“I mean as a friend!” The words were ejected from his mouth in a rush, but as he turned away he couldn’t help adding softly, “...Or maybe more, if you’d agree to it.”

There was a long pause where they both looked everywhere except at each other. Then Patton finally murmured, “I’d like that.”

His voice was soft and husky, like the whisper of a breeze in the desert. Thirsty, Roman’s brain helpfully supplied, and he gave it a swift mental kick.

Patton turned his hand and curled the fingers to lightly brush Roman’s. “You’re sure you don’t hate me?” he asked, shyly.

He tailed off as Roman reached forward and placed a finger to his lips.

“Patton, I could never hate you, not now I’ve got to know you better”, he said, softly but with conviction. “You are an absolute angel, and I hope to spend a great deal more time with you from now on.”

He removed his finger and then watched in confusion as his the man’s eyes filled once more with tears. “I- I’m sorry”, he stammered, “I didn’t mean to upset you… I shouldn’t have touched you without asking. Please don’t cry...”

Patton shook his head and sniffed as he tried to blink away his tears. Taking off his glasses again, he placed them carefully to one side so that he could wipe his eyes. It took a few moments before he could speak, and in that time he reached forward to touch Roman’s sleeve once more. He stroked his fingers back and forth over the fabric a few times, then stopped and curled his fingers to gently clutch it.

“I’m not an angel”, he mumbled, his voice still choked with tears. “I’m over-sensitive and disorganised. I make silly jokes and pretend to be happy, even though I know nobody likes me.”

“I like you”, Roman told him fiercely. “And besides, I don’t see angels as perfect. I see them as those people who care about others and always do their best to put them first. Those who strive every day to make the world better in any way they can. And by that definition, you are unequivocally an angel.”

He shifted closer and put an arm around Patton, loosely at first, then tightening reassuringly as the man settled into his embrace.

He gazed down, taking in the view from up close of Patton’s soft waves of lavender hair and the galaxy of freckles covering his face. The tear tracks were still damp beneath his closed eyes, but there was a peacefulness there now, a contentment that warmed Roman’s heart. Never before had he felt so utterly entranced by someone, or so deeply protective of them. As he revelled in the sight and in his newly-realised adoration, words began to form in his mind, and he gathered them up, shaping them into lines that flowed straight from his heart.

“If ever tears are in your eyes

Like salt in caramel

And sadness wraps you in its curse

I’ll fight to break that spell.

I have no castle or acclaim

No fortune to convince

But I will want for nothing if

You’ll let me be your prince.”

Patton lifted his head and gaped at him. “Did you write that?” he breathed, “You’re amazing!”

“You inspire me”, Roman told him. “The only times I’ve written lately have been after spending time with you. You were absolutely right: I can be myself with you, and that sets my creative spirit free. Patton, my dearest, you’re my Erato, my Calliope!”

“I’m your what now?”

“My muse. I feel I could write anything with you by my side!”

The rose-pink flush spread from Patton’s cheeks to his ears and down his neck. “Oh! Well, I’ll be happy to help you in any way I can!”

“Simply spending time with you is enough”, Roman assured him. “I can already feel the creativity welling up in my veins! Oh, I could kiss you!”

At the sudden wideness of Patton's eyes and his bright red face, Roman replayed his own words in his mind. Then he felt his own cheeks grow hot at the realisation of what he’d just said. One day, perhaps, he would learn to think before he spoke, but this was clearly not that day.

There followed several seconds of excruciating silence as Roman’s eyes roamed every bit of the room that didn’t contain Patton. When at last he risked a glance at the other man, he found him looking back with a shy smile – a smile Roman’s own lips couldn’t help but mirror.

“Did you mean that?” Patton asked, scarcely above a whisper.

Roman felt a surge of courage. “Every word”, he replied fervently.

Patton’s smile widened. “I think I might like that”, he said, tears welling in his eyes once more.

Before Roman knew what he was doing, he had swept the other man into a hug. He could feel his own eyes stinging, but this time he made no effort to stop himself from crying. Burying his face in the collar of Patton’s shirt, he breathed in the glorious scent as he felt warm arms slip around him in turn.

And suddenly, for the first time in too many years, he felt safe, secure, and cared for.

He tightened his hold, drinking in comfort, as a warm tide of protectiveness spread through him. Their classmates could say what they wanted, could stare, and whisper, and jeer. He would never, ever let Patton feel lonely again.

Then, gradually, the memory of his words filtered through the companionable silence and Roman felt a warmth of a different kind ignite in his chest.

He moved back, pushing Patton gently away from him, then lifted a hand to ever so lightly cup the man’s cheek. To his delight, Patton leaned into the touch, and Roman could see his breath quicken and a new spark appear in his eyes.

They moved together, leaning in slowly but surely to close the space between, until their lips met with a light brush that grew in intensity and all Roman could think was soft, and warm, and home.

*****

“Pat?” Virgil’s voice called through the door several minutes later. “Is Roman in there? He stormed out of my room a while ago, and Logan and I haven’t seen him since.”

Patton pulled back and looked at Roman, who gave him a half smile and a nod. “He’s with me”, he called back. “We were, uh… We were talking about why we chose to study history.”

Roman slammed a hand across his mouth to suppress a chuckle.

“Wait, you were?” asked Virgil. “Actually, forget that, Logan wants to know if Roman wants a lift home. He can stay the night in your room if you prefer, though.”

For a second the two froze, staring wide-eyed at each other. Then Patton squeaked “I-don’t-think-that’s-a-good-idea!”, the words tumbling out of him in a shrill rush.

“Well, figure it out quickly, ‘cause Logan’s leaving soon”, Virgil warned.

Roman smiled wryly. Yeah, it was probably best not to spend the night together – even literally sleeping – before they’d even been on a first date. Speaking of which…

“I shall have to leave for now”, he said, “But perhaps we could meet again tomorrow? For a real date, this time.”

Patton looked ready to explode from sheer joy. “Yes!” he squealed. “That sounds great! Where do you want to meet?”

Roman hesitated. While his romantic instincts were screaming at him that Patton deserved a grand gesture, like being whisked off to Disneyland Paris for the weekend, his parents would hardly consider that a defensible use of his student loan. He had better keep things realistic, at least for the first date.

“It’s late”, he said, “And I’m sure we’ll both be tired tomorrow. How about we just go for a walk together by the river, and then get some drinks at Costa. I promise I’ll plan something more exciting for the second date.”

“Second...date...” Patton breathed, his eyes wide as he processed the words. “That sounds wonderful! And Costa will be great, you know I like going there.”

Roman smiled. “Good, because I believe I owe your barista friend an apology. And you as well.” He lifted Patton’s hand and pressed a kiss to the knuckles. “I apologise from the bottom of my heart for what I said before. I would be honoured to be your boyfriend, if you’ll have me.”

Patton’s enthusiastic response was cut short by a sharp rap on the door and Logan’s harsh tones. “Roman Zito, you have precisely three minutes to exit this room and get into my car. When that time is up, I will drive home whether you are with me or not.”

@metaphoricalpluto2 @theunoriginaldaisy @logan-smarter-than-you-sanders @fiive-second-cookies @sevencrashing @quietwords-loudthoughts @sher-soc-the-famder @what-a-catch-joe @intothevoidsunknown @karmels-stuff @smokeyrutilequartz @katesattic @the-office-cat @starryfirefliesbloggo @angst-patton @definitely-a-plant @unknownsandersfan @blinksinbewilderment @romansleftshoulderpad @creativity-killed-thekitten @chemically-imbalanced-romance @marvelfangeek09 @a-black-pegasus @softestlittlepuffball @wisepuma23 @hissesssss @musikasworld @the-prince-and-the-emo @xxladystarlightxx @pearls-of-patton @evilmuffin @suyun-doo @patton-in-name @shesavampirequeen @ultimate-queen-of-fandoms2

[intangibel]

Bonus Scene: You Want Me To Teach Me What?! (Izzy & Magnus)

Set within Chapter 6 of You Want Me To Teach What?! It’s not officially part of the story because that is only from Alec’s POV but @ladymatt & I loved this too much not to share it with you. 

“I think I can see why the other options aren’t right but I just, I know I’m missing something, Simon. Isn’t there anything else you can tell me about why dihydroxylation reactions occur so that I don’t have to rely on a process of elimination to get this kind of question right?” Izzy begged, frustrated with herself that she just wasn’t getting it.

Simon sighed, gesturing at the overcrowded whiteboard with a defeated expression. “I don’t know what else to tell you. I’m a biologist, pure chemistry never fascinated me the way organic chem does. I should get Magnus, he-”

“No. That’s really not necessary!” Izzy interjected quickly, startling Simon.

“C’mon, it’s not like you’ll be bothering him, catalytic reactions are his favourite thing to teach,” Simon said crossing to the door leading to the storeroom that connected the classroom they were using and Magnus’ office.

“It’s really, not that big a deal,” Izzy tried again, smiling tightly as she racked her brain for any reason not to involve Magnus. She was really, really trying not to interfere with the growing connection between Magnus and her brother. “If you don’t know the answer, Simon, then it can’t possibly be necessary for me to know, right? It’s the MCAT not -”

“I’ll be right back,” Simon said waving off Izzy’s protests and dashing out through the door on his mission to round up Magnus.  

Izzy sent a quick prayer to the heavens asking for Magnus not to be there or for the end of lunchtime bell to ring or -

“Izzy? Magnus said to come into his office,” Simon called back.

Izzy winced, apparently, the angels were not on her side today. Pasting on a smile, Izzy gathered up her workings and promised herself she could hold a perfectly normal conversation without caving into the enormous temptation to ask one, or maybe two, very small, very subtle questions about his feelings towards her brother.

“Isabelle, lovely to see you, my dear,” Magnus said, setting aside the book he’d been reading when Simon had come in.

Isabelle was surprised to realise she recognised the cover as one from that series Alec had waxed lyrical about for months, if not years. What had he called it? Transformative meta-something? Not exactly what she would have pegged as Magnus’ first choice for reading material during his lunch break but maybe her brother’s nerdy obsession with literary puns had inspired the choice.

As though seeing the direction of her gaze, Magnus turned his head to see his emerald and silver painted nails still danced softly across the cover before saying with a small, private smile, “As you can see, I was just making a start on the book your brother lent me.”

Unable to contain her surprise, Izzy laughed. She adored Alec but honestly, his obsession with his ‘library’ was ridiculous. “Alec hasn’t let a single book he owns out of his sight in years, much less lent it to anyone. He may have told you he was lending it to you, but he will have bought a new copy just for you. He’s very generous like that,” Izzy added, realising how it could sound to someone unused to Alec’s very particular ways.

“But it says here that this book is - Oh! I hadn’t noticed the dragon before. I guess that makes the phrase ‘Stolen from the Library of Alec Lightwood’ more appropriate,” Magnus said with a frown, holding the book up to show her the very familiar bookplate on the inside of the front cover.

Izzy stared open-mouthed as she tried to wrap her head around this new information. Apparently, Alec liked Magnus more than his own siblings and she was proud of him, for making this grand gesture even if Magnus wouldn’t recognise it as such, but it still hurt. As much as she’d love to get to the bottom of that one, she couldn’t raise it with him without revealing that she’d been here and she’d rather avoid that, if at all possible.

“Isabelle?” Magnus asked. “You’ll have to fill me in because clearly, I’m missing something.”

“I suggest buying a lottery ticket because apparently miracles really are possible,” Izzy said, shaking her head at the matching looks of disbelief on Simon and Magnus’ faces. “I was 14 the last time Alec agreed to lend Jace or I anything. In fact, the general rule in our family is that if you’d like to keep all of your fingers you shouldn’t even walk within a couple of feet of Alec’s bookshelves.”

The fingers he’d continued running across the cover jerked suddenly away as though they’d been burnt. For a moment Izzy thought she saw something akin to fear in the way he was looking at the book but it had been replaced so quickly by curiosity when he looked back at her that she wondered if she’d actually imagined it.

“Is this some kind of Lightwood family test?” Magnus asked his tone teasing despite the wariness that lingered in his eyes. “Should I perhaps borrow a copy of it from the school library and read that instead?”

“Definitely not,” Izzy said, shaking her head vehemently as she damned herself for opening her mouth. Alec would be crushed if he realised Magnus hadn’t actually read it, having taken the leap of faith and lent it to him. “Obviously he wants you to read it and trusts you or he wouldn’t have done it. Just, be gentle with it, okay? Don’t break my brother’s heart. Oh, and don’t forget to use a bookmark. But actually,” Izzy said cutting off whatever Magnus had been about to say in reply to her instructions, “I came to ask you a question about the MCAT, didn’t I, Simon?”

“Uh, right, yes!” Simon said quickly seeming to pick up on Izzy’s need to drop the earlier topic. “She wants to know everything you can tell her about dihydroxylation reactions,” Simon said handing over the question sheet with the original problem on it.

For a long anxious moment Izzy thought Magnus would resist her sudden change of topic but instead, he smiled, motioning for her to bring one of the other chairs as he cleared space on his desk for a miniature whiteboard and got out the full rainbow of coloured markers.

“You’re in luck, it’s one of my favourite catalytic processes because there are a number of ways you can do it...”  

Read the fic on AO3

[chiefbuttons]

Happy New Year! Books are the Best!

In 2018 I went to Japan, filled some bookshelves, and read more than the usual amount of literary biographies. In Japan, we navigated the bookstore in which Haruki Murakimi apparently bought his first fountain pen. While there, I bought copies of two of my favourite Japanese books: Kitchen by Banana Yoshimoto, and Book 1 (of 6) of 1Q84.

Japanese books are very beautiful, and all very uniform. There were hundreds of book protectors on sale in every bookshop and stationery shop (we went to a lot of those – the Iroshizuku ink was soooo cheap!), I had to remind myself that books in the UK don’t fit into them to stop myself from bringing them all home. Now that I have at least one  Banana Yoshimoto book in Japanese, there’s more incentive than ever to try and learn the language. I’ve been thinking a lot this year about how much is lost or gained in translation and what that does to a book depending on the language you read. This Little Art by Kate Briggs is a novel-length essay on exactly this topic, and I read it not long after The Idiot in which the protagonist has a crisis about language and how words can lose their meaning. They fit together very well in my head – both asked and tried to provide answers to questions about translation, like why even do it at all if meaning is going to be lost? Having read Murakami’s most recent book, Killing Commendatore, I’m still not sure if the absence of Jay Rubin as translator is responsible for my disappointment with it, or if it was just a bad book, or if Haruki Murakami has never been that great and it was all Jay Rubin all along.

This Little Art, The Idiot, Shirley and Romantic Outlaws are probably my favourites from this year. Also Daphne du Maurier’s short story The Breakthrough, from Don’t Look Now. Sinister, terrifying, haunting, all words that fall short of describing the atmosphere of that one short story.

I read Shirley after reading Outsiders by Lyndall Gordon. I had tried to read it before and had never been able to get past the first chapter, but something about Outsiders made me want to try again. Reading Outsiders made me realise in a way that I hadn’t before that books written in the last couple of centuries aren’t as far removed from us as I had thought. Previously, when reading books from different time periods, I had become as detached as if I was reading fantasy; I forgot that the stories being told were often very firmly set in social, political and cultural climates that had once existed. It helped me to find ways to empathise with the narrators and the characters, and make them much more human and relatable. While reading Shirley, instead of feeling like the characters and situations were a million miles away, I forced myself to remember that Charlotte Brontë was writing about events that were important to the people in the time she was writing about. Her father witnessed Luddite uprisings. The setting of Shirley with its discussions of workers’ rights and its attacks on mills was as real for Charlotte and her father as Brexit and Trump are for us now.

Turtles All The Way Down – John Green

My Twentieth Century Evening and Other Small Breakthroughs – Kazuo Ishiguro

Manderley Forever: Daphne du Maurier, A Life – Tatiana de Rosnay

Don’t Look Now & other short stories – Daphne du Maurier

Outsiders: Five Women Writers who Changed the World – Lyndall Gordon

Shirley – Charlotte Brontë

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The first time I tried to read Shirley, I struggled to get past the first three chapters. "This is not as good as Jane Eyre or Villette," I thought. And, of course, I was wrong. How did I come to change my mind and try again? It was because I read Outsiders by Lyndall Gordon. It was sometimes difficult to read; lots of what felt like fact-listing, and the events of the five lives studied are not always in chronological order, which would not be a problem if it was made clearer. This made it difficult to get through but did not affect my ability to be grateful for all the new information and the future reading list (I have a charity shop copy of Middlemarch now sitting on top of a book pile, and am searching for some Olive Schreiner). It also provided me with new reasons to persevere with Shirley. Though the Brontë sister included in this book is Emily, not Charlotte, it is impossible to talk about one without mentioning the other. Especially when Charlotte included a characters based on Emily in a novel: Shirley Keeldar and Caroline Helstone. To read someone's fictionalised perception of her sisters' characters, I thought, would be a very strange experience. And it is, it sometimes feels weirdly voyeuristic. In the future we are all in on the secret. A huge theme throughout Outsiders is the rights of women and how their role has changed over time; Shirley is referred to as an incredibly feminist book. And it is. Jane Eyre has nothing on it. Still feminist, but this is in-your-face "what are we supposed to do all day, cook and sew??" "…yes. I hate womenites." So I decided to read it again but placing it as contemporary, rather than viewing it as a relic of the past which I should accept that I can't always understand or relate to. Putting these new perspectives on it has really helped me to get into the book. This is a huge post. Shirley is great. (Also the first time Shirley was used as a female name!) #bookstagram #Shirley #charlottebrontë #outsiders #lyndallgordon #brontë #nowreading

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In Search of Anne Brontë – Nick Holland

Moshi Moshi – Banana Yoshimoto

Asleep – Banana Yoshimoto

Valley of the Dolls – Jacqueline Susan

Eleanor and Park – Rainbow Rowell

Winter – Ali Smith

Banshee, Volumes 2 & 5

My Uncle Oswald – Roald Dahl

Young Hearts Crying – Richard Yates

The White Book – Han Kang

Wuthering Heights – Emily Brontë

The Idiot – Elif Batuman

Emily Brontë Reappraised: A View from the 21st Century – Claire O’Callaghan

A Cup Of Sake Beneath The Cherry Trees – Yoshida Kenko

This Little Art – Kate Briggs

The Lonely City – Olivia Laing

The Diary of a Bookseller – Shaun Bythell

Sputnik Sweetheart – Haruki Murakami

A Cat, A Man and Two Women – Junichiro Tanazaki

N. P. – Banana Yoshimoto

Romantic Outlaws – Charlotte Gordon

The Pilgrims – Mary Shelley

Bartleby The Scrivener – Herman Melville

Behind A Wardrobe In Atlantis – Emma J. Lannie

The Hatred of Poetry – Ben Lerner

Convenience Store Woman – Sayuka Murata

Demian – Herman Hesse

Revolutionary Girl Utena 20th Anniversary companion book

The Penguin Book of Japanese Short Stories – Edited by Jay Rubin, Introduction by Haruki Murakami

The Beginning of the World in the Middle of the Night – Jen Campbell

The Tales of Beedle the Bard – J.K. Rowling, Illustrated by Chris Riddell

We went to a talk given by Chris Riddell at Nottingham Trent University. He was answering questions about his work on the newly illustrated Beedle the Bard while drawing for us live. He signed my copy of The Edge Chronicles Maps, and was generally very lovely.

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Tonight we went to see Chris Riddell speaking with Dr Sarah McConnell at Nottingham Trent University. There were live illustrations, and Shauna Shim did dramatic readings from The Tales of Beedle The Bard. I've been reading The Edge Chronicles since I picked up a copy of Beyond The Deepwoods AT THE LIBRARY (libraries, man!), aged 11, and thought it had the best front cover I had ever seen. Now that I'm older, if Chris Riddell has illustrated something I assume it's good and read it. Thank-you @chris_riddell for staying super late after your talk to speak to everyone and sign everything! @ntucreated #nottinghamtrent #illustration #theedgechronicles #beyondthedeepwoods

A post shared by Adelle Hay (@chiefbuttons) on Oct 3, 2018 at 2:26pm PDT

Ariel – Sylvia Plath

Charlotte Brontë Revisited: A View from the 21st Century – Sophie Franklin

Killing Commendatore – Haruki Murakami

By The Light of My Father’s Smile – Alice Walker

Agnes Grey – Anne Brontë

Rough Magic – Paul Alexander

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HAPPY FRIDAY GUYS

A post shared by Adelle Hay (@chiefbuttons) on Dec 21, 2018 at 1:55pm PST

How To Be Invisible – Kate Bush

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Merry Kate-mas =D

A post shared by Adelle Hay (@chiefbuttons) on Dec 25, 2018 at 9:34am PST

Mary Ventura and the Ninth Kingdom – Sylvia Plath

This year I would like to write more about the books I am reading – this blog has been very neglected for the past couple of years! I’ve been occasionally taking part in the Are You Book Enough bookbinding challenge on instagram again. This time last year I was working on the January 2018 theme Darkness. I wrote and illustrated a story called The Black Ribbon. It was inspired by the Tatiana de Rosnay biography of Daphne du Maurier, in which de Rosnay refers to Daphne du Maurier’s depressive episodes as her “black ribbon.” It’s also a tribute to Edward Gorey. I thought his style of illustration would be best suited to the story I was telling, so I had a go at reproducing his style.

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Part 2 of my #AreYouBookEnough January book. Here are all the illustrations and the story I wrote inspired by Edward Gorey, Daphne du Maurier and Tatiana de Rosnay. Please see my previous post for the explanation! #bookart #bookstagram #handmadebooks #illustration #edwardgorey

A post shared by Adelle Hay (@chiefbuttons) on Jan 30, 2018 at 1:43pm PST

Another of the books I made this year was a book in a box for the theme Listen. I chose to bind a book of Kate Bush’s Fifty Words For Snow from her song and album of the same name.

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This is my contribution to the August #AreYouBookEnough bookbinding challenge, #listen . I love to listen to music, and Kate Bush is one of my favourites. Why choose Fifty Words For Snow when I could choose any of her songs? Why does it fit the theme best? The song is a list. It's Stephen Fry reciting fifty words for snow – some made up by Kate Bush, some real. She wanted him to be the narrator because people believe the words he says, he is intelligent and speaks with a quiet authority.  Hearing him speak her fictional words for snow makes them sound real. Snow itself deadens sound but has sounds of its own; one of the words is "creaky-creaky." I hope whoever looks at my book can hear the snow behind the words. This is the first time I've made this kind of box, and my measurements are a bit off (the lid is loose!) but overall I'm pleased and know what to do better next time! The paper is very fibrous, I wanted something that looked and felt like snow. Both the front cover of the book and the lid of the box are padded. The ink I used to write the fifty words is a mixture of two different inks – white calligraphy ink and a Grey Plum Kwiz ink. I'm going to have to find a way to photograph it properly because it is almost pearlescent! If you hold the paper a certain way it disappears. Hold it to the light and it looks like it is glowing. I'll try and get some video footage of it. #AreYouBookEnough #bookart #handmade #katebush #fiftywordsforsnow #50wordsforsnow #listen #books #snow #music

A post shared by Adelle Hay (@chiefbuttons) on Aug 30, 2018 at 12:36am PDT

I will leave you with a picture of the new bookcase. I hope you have an excellent 2019!

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Got a new phone. The cats ran away so I took a picture of one of the bookcases. It's so shiny

A post shared by Adelle Hay (@chiefbuttons) on Dec 6, 2018 at 1:28pm PST

  Books I read in 2018 Happy New Year! Books are the Best! In 2018 I went to Japan, filled some bookshelves, and read more than the usual amount of literary biographies.

[wolfjawswriter]

Single Daddy Issues - Lockwood x Lucy 1

“1st Day at Kindergarten”- Lockwood x Lucy

Lockwood and Co. Series

Summary: Gotta like the teacher!

AU: SingleDaddyAU!

—————Lockwood—————

“You’ve got your lunchbox, dear?”

“Yes daddy”

“And your crayons?”

“Yes daddy”

“And you brought your blanky?”

“Yes daddy”

I drove down the highway stealing glances on my rearview mirror at the little girl that sat on my car’s backseat: my beautiful daughter, Juniper Lockwood.

Ever since I was in high school, I knew what I’d dedicate my life to; my father’s law firm. I had carefully planned my whole life so that I would get the best grades in high school, go to the best college in London, or if possible somewhere abroad, graduate with honors and start my professional career as the family’s business new boss.

My plans hadn’t fail me; I met all my expectations with ease and was soon appointed the CEO of Lockwood and Co., but, you know how people say that there’s our plans and life’s plans for us? And life always gets away with what it wants?

Well, that is exactly what happened to me: one moment my ex-girlfriend from college was at the door of my apartment, and the next moment I had my arms full with a one-year-old girl this woman claimed was mine. And according to the medical tests I took, she was mine.

This was a terrible turn of events for me. I suddenly had to provide for myself and a brat I did not wanted! That’s where my sister, Jessica, came up.

I told her what happened and she came to see me a week after the incident. She had been absolutely delighted to see how much resemblance there was between me and the girl, spent almost an hour cooing at the baby.

Jessica offered me an easy way out of the situation; she’d take the girl away and raise her as her own with her husband and her other kids. Little Juniper would never know she was mine: to her I’d only be uncle Anthony. I had been so tempted to say yes, but by then I had already spent a week tending to the little headache, and honestly, I had started to understand what parents felt like. The joy and pride they got from their children. I suddenly understood why my sister put up with her baby sons.

So, of course I rejected the offer, and promised myself and my baby girl I’d make it work, somehow, someway, even if I was a single dad. After all, money was not an issue.

Today, four years later, was her first day at kindergarten, and I was honestly more nervous than she was. The company had been growing lately and I’d been very busy overseeing all new changes, and even though Jessica was always happy to look after Juniper, I knew she’d have to go to school soon. Just, why so soon?

My deputy, Quill Kipps, suggested this little day care, Little Angel Childcare Center, where his son, Bobby, is currently attending. For what I understood, it was a small but very reputable kindergarten, with excellent reviews, numerous certifications and diplomas, and was actually close to my workplace, but that was as far as my knowledge went. Jessica had made me the favor of attending the school tour for parents and kids and taking the enrollment package, since, due to my overpacked schedule, I hadn’t been able to go. She assured me it was a fine school, but I needed to see this place for myself.

I pulled on the parking lot and took an eyeful of the place. It was a small building, walls painted with bright rainbows and clouds and smiling suns. The playground outside was spacious, with hard plastic houses, sand pits, slides and swing sets. Other cars were parked here as well, with  mothers and fathers helping their children off the car and taking them to the building, some kids crying and some others happy.

I took a deep breath and walked out of the car, opening the backseat’s door to help my daughter off her baby seater.

“Are you sure you’ll be alright?” I asked her one last time. Juniper looked at the building’s door where people entered and disappeared, then back at me with her big, brown eyes.

“Yes daddy”

“All right then, take my hand” The sight of unruly children was everywhere: running around the playground, the parking lot, the halls, crying or laughing, being pulled or chased by their annoyed parents. I made a mental reminder to praise Juniper later for being so well-behaved; cook her favorite dinner, and maybe watch a Disney movie with her before bedtime.

“Hey, Junie!” A woman greeted us as we walked down the hall. She was short, very short indeed, with brown hair, also cut short. She wore a sweater and a skirt over leggings, and a light yellow apron on top. Couldn’t be older than twenty “Welcome to your first day of class”

“Hi miss” Juniper shyly waved her tiny hand at her.

“You don’t have to greet the janitor, dear” I told my daughter. The woman raised an eyebrow and frowned, before grinning slyly at me.

“I am Juniper’s teacher” She said and pointed to the apron “This is just the uniform” Oh dear. My face heated up in embarrassment, but I decided to put it aside for appearance’s sake, so I raised my eyebrow at her.

“Who are you?”

“Name’s Lucy Carlyle. Very polite girl you’ve got here” She said as she ruffled Juniper’s freshly combed hair “You must be Anthony Lockwood, her dad. Though, you look kinda young to be a father”

And she looked much too young to be a fully licensed teacher, let me tell you!

“Yes, she is my daughter” I said putting my best business smile “Can I speak with the principal?”

“Headmistress Munro is not here right now” She said as she turned and guided us to the classroom, which’s floor was covered in colorful foam, with tiny table and chairs here and there. There were toys bins on one side of the room and bookshelves on the other, plus a TV on one of the walls “But I’m assuming there’ll be a few things you want to know before leaving Juniper in our care”

“Yes, are you a fully licensed teacher? Have you been trained in child psychology?”

“I’m majored in it” She said proudly “Mrs Jessica told us about your daughter, man, she’ll be okay here”

“What kind of snacks do you provide the kids with?”

“Biscuits, tea, milk, fruit, sometimes cake, and for those who stay in the afternoon hours, we give them a healthy meal at midday, its all supervised by the nutritionist” She listed off by memory and smiled “And, because I know you’ll ask, we do provide gluten-free options. But I see she brought her own lunch box”

“Daddy, can I play with the toys?” I heard Juniper ask quietly beside me.

“In a moment, darling” I pointed to the toy bins and eyed it suspiciously “How often are those cleaned?”

“We clean all the toys before morning starts, after class hours, during nap time and whenever any of them gets too dirty” Lucy took a doll from the bin my daughter her been eyeing and gave it to me so I could inspect it. I guess it was decent “She is your first child, isn’t she? That’s why you’re so, neurotic?” The teacher asked me with a smile.

I tried my best to look offended off my cavalries, but ended up sighing and racking a hand through my hair. My worries passed from leaving my daughter in this place to leaving my daughter with this careless woman. Why had Kipps suggested this place?

“I just want my daughter to be safe” I muttered. She rolled her eyes and shook her head, then patted my shoulder in empathetic manner.

“It alright, that’s what every parent wants, but you’re making this place look like some kind of horror movie orphanage, and I think you’re scaring her” I looked down to my little Juniper. She was wearing her Sleeping Beauty dress, her favorite Disney princess, with little dress shoes and pink socks. Her hand was still in mine, gripping it tightly in her own seek for comfort.

“Well, I’ll leave you to say your goodbyes, class will start in a few minutes” Lucy turned around and walked out of the room, calling for the kids to get inside.

I kneeled down on the foamed ground and cupped my daughter’s cheeks, her tiny hands coming to my hands.

“Daddy loves you, ok?” I said as reassuring as I could manage. June nodded her head firmly “If anything happens, if you’re not comfortable or if someone’s not being nice with you, just tell someone to call me and I’ll be here to pick you right away, alright?” Again she nodded her little head “Be nice”

“I will, daddy” I hugged her tightly and covered her forehead in kisses, making her giggle adorably. To pull away from the hug was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but it eventually had to end. I stood my full height and turned to the teacher once again.

“I’ll leave you my number so you can call me if my daughter needs anything” I said, still in a business manner, but she still looked as cool as if she was at the beach. Goddamit, what do I have to do to make this woman to understand that my daughter was no joke?! “Give me your number as well”

“All right” Lucy took a piece of paper and wrote her number there, accepting the work card I gave her in which I wrote my number “Try calling at 10:00 or 12:00, that’s when we have playtime and lunch, and if you want to call during afternoon, I’d say you do between 3:00 and 4:00, we do arts and crafts then and play outside. I can’t assure you I’ll always be able to pick up, but if I don’t, just call the school”

“Well, if Juniper needs anything and I can’t pick up, just call Lockwood and Co.; my secretary will get me”

“Oh, you’re a lawyer?” Now, this information usually worked when you wanted to make someone respect you or fear you, and that was what I wanted; for her to understand that I was not all smiles and jokes when it came to my daughter. However, she didn’t seem the slightly bit affected by that knowledge, and only smiled again “That’s great! Well, I’d love to keep chatting, but class is in session, so I have to ask you to leave”

With one last glance at my baby girl playing sitting with her blanky on her lap, I walked out of the classroom. Once I was back in my car, I sighed worriedly and allowed myself to cry a little. Only a little.

[foreverdrivinginpuddles123]

Best friends with the god of mischief (chapter 3)

TITLE: Best friends with the god of mischief CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 3 AUTHOR: foreverdrivinginpuddles123 / lokistories123 ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine being friends with Loki. After a while you start having feelings for him, but you don't tell him. One day Asgard's enemies try to go after you and Loki takes you to Asgard. Loki and Thor defeat the enemies, but you and Loki decide it is better for you to stay in Asgard for a while. One day Loki comes back from a mission. He tells you he found out that he's a frostgiant and that he is most likely adopted. Loki can't cope with this and he gets really angry. Whilst you try to calm him, he quickly yells that he's in love with you. RATING: Teen NOTES/WARNINGS: Odin’s a dick. Shocker! And Frigga is a badass. Let me know what you think. Suggestions are always welcome. Next chapter will most likely be NSFW.. :P

  Chapter 3

Odin (as I presumed was the guy sitting in the big golden room in the big golden throne) was looking very pissed.

“Loki, welcome back to Agard, but I did not expect you to bring a souvenir. You know it is strictly forbidden to take any creatures from other planets to Asgard. Especially a MORTAL!”

Okay I was not in Odin’s favor, and I was scared for my own life.

“Hello to you to father. She was in danger and needed to be taken to a safe place. From what I recall, Asgard is one of the safest places in the universe.”

All I could do was watch and listen.

“She does not belong in Asgard, you are to take her back to Midgard at once!”

“No, I shall not! The dark elves visited me and told me they would hurt her if I did not do what they wanted me to do.”

“So? Let her die, she is just a mortal.”

“She’s the only friend I’ve got. Unless you want me to bring the Aether to them.”

“You would really do all that to just safe one stupid mortal from death? Find a new friend Loki.”

 A woman entered the room and stood next to Odin.

“He will do no such thing; a friend of Loki’s is a friend of ours. And the Aether stays put as well. We’ll need to defeat Malekith as soon as he shows himself.”

“Y/N, may I introduce you to Frigga, Queen of Asgard and my Mother.” He gave me a squeeze in my hand.

“Hello, madam. It is an honor meeting you.” I made a very clumsy bow, but I got a kind smile back.

“The honor is ours. Now if everyone would excuse me. Me and my husband need to discuss something.”

Odin wasn’t done yet, but Frigga dragged him away from us.

 “Loki, does this mean I get to stay? Or will I be thrown back?”

“You get to stay Y/N, queen’s orders.” He smiled at me, but he also looked relieved that I got to stay.

 “Loki you know I saw all the Thor movies, right?”

“Yes, I am aware. I am also aware of all the funko’s, books, hot toys and poster you have of that movie.” I blushed.

“Well, you watched them with me, so you know what the dark elves want with the Aether, right?”

“Yes, but the Aether is not here on Asgard, it is in a safe place, being guarded as well. There is no need to worry. Me and my brothers, will take care of it.”

“Brothers? You have more than one sibling?”

“Yes, it’s me, Thor and Baldr. Although I am not overly fond of the last one. Then there is Hela, my sister. I get along the best with her. Not to worry, she is not interested in world domination or domination over the Universe.”

“Wow, I did not know that. I’d love to meet them.”

“You will, tomorrow but for now you need some rest. You’ll stay in my chambers, that way I can protect you the best. You’ll have your own side room. It is for the servants, but seeing what you’re used to, you’ll love it.”

 As we entered his “chambers” I immediately noticed the big row of bookshelves. His room had more bookshelves than a regular library. He bed was in the middle of the back wall. And in the middle of the room was a big couch and a table with 2 chairs. It was basically one very big house. There were 2 doors to the left. One led to his massive walk in closet (medieval style), and the other led to the “bathroom”. It looked more like a Greek bathing house, but okay, bathroom it is. On the right there was one door. This door let to my “chamber”. And IT.WAS.HUGE! It was the size of my whole parents’ house! I had a walk-in closet twice the size of my room. I had my own desk, dining table and couch. And I quickly noticed all my books were there as well in two big bookshelves.

 “OMG, loki this is amazing! Are you sure this is my room, it’s too big. But wait?! Where is the bathroom?”

“Yes Y/N this is your chamber, or room as you call it. The servant usually bathe elsewhere, but you are welcome to use my bathroom if you please.”

“As long as you don’t enter while I’m in there it’s okay, there is no lock on that door.” We laughed.

“I’m going to take a bath, if you’ll excuse me” Loki walked towards the bathroom and nearly closed the doors.

In the meantime, I snooped in his closet and in mine. The dresses were beautiful. Loki had filled the closet with his magic with dresses that would fit me. They had all the colors of the rainbow, but I spotted green the most.

 When Loki was done I got the bathroom. I couldn’t get the crane to work.

“Loki! I can’t get the water running.” I felt even more stupid, that I couldn't even get the goddamn tub filled with water. It was more like a Jacuzzi size, but that didn’t really matter right now.

Loki showed me how it worked and left the room.

When I finally got into the water I finally relaxed a bit. A lot of thoughts ran through my head. I just got a lot of information this day, which I thought were only myths. I almost fell asleep when I heard someone talk in the distance. I opened my eyes and noticed a woman standing in the corner.

“Can I help you?” The last thing I wanted was to piss of another god.

“Hello mistress, I am Amelia, one of Loki’s servants. But right now, I’m assigned to you.”

“Oh, I didn’t know I got a servant. My name is Y/N. I can do a lot of things myself, you really don’t have to follow me all day or do weird chores for me.”

“You are very kind an polite mistress, but I’m afraid that this is my job.”

She was politely telling me to shut the hell up and just let her do her things.

 “One known habit is that the servant need to bathe their masters.”

“OH, there is really no need for you to do that! I am perfectly fine with bathing on my own if that’s okay with you.” I was not liking the Asgardian habits and rules so far.

Thank god I got to make some of my own rules with “my servant”, because there were a lot of things that did not comfort me in a bit. She need to bathe me, she needed to dry me, and some other totally useless (AND PERSONAL) things.

 Luckily, we made the deal that she would only dress me, show and guide me around, and do chores in my room. I didn’t know what chores, but I was just going to wait and see.

“Can I help you with anything else Mistress?”

“No thank you.”

Gladly she left, and I could continue being peaceful in my big big bathtub/Jacuzzi. When I was done I dried myself, but I noticed I didn’t have any clothes to put on. Should’ve brought my onesie with me…

I tried calling for Amelia, but instead Loki entered.

“LOKI NO! I’m almost naked!”

“Darling you’re wearing a very VERY huge towel, there is enough left for the imagination…”

“I called for Amelia, where is she?” I tried covering myself up even more but noticed that I was truly being covered by a very huge towel.

“She told me you did not wish any services from her any further, so she left and went to her own chambers. You should know that if you do that around the evening, the servant will leave and only return the next morning.”

“That’s not what I said?! I just said there was nothing else she had to do for me atm. I didn’t know she would leave.” I felt a bit sad, but I know this was a lesson learned.

“What is it you needed from Amelia? I could have her brought back?”

“I just need something I can wear to bed, I thought there would be something lying around here, but there is literally nothing here.”

“I’ll grab you a nightgown, just wait here.”

 Loki quickly returned with a nightgown. It looked like one of those old medieval gowns you would see in movies or Televison shows. Gladly Loki left, and I could dress myself.

When I looked in the mirror I noticed the gown was rather see-trough. I should’ve just worn the towel to bed, because this gown literally left very little for the imagination. I wrapped the towel around me as well and went back in Loki’s room. I could hear Loki chuckle.

 “Why on earth are you still wearing that towel over your gown?”

“There is very little left for the imagination if it is just me and the gown. This damn thing is see-through! I feel ashamed enough already.” I really did. I was thrown in front of the king of basically everything, got a maid that had no shame, could not get a bathtub to function, and now I’m looking like an 18th century whore. Loki could see the sadness and shame on me and gave me a hug to comfort me.

“There is nothing to be ashamed of. You’re not used to any of our customs, and you’re handling it pretty well. There have been other mortals around here and other being from other worlds. They were not handling it as great as you are right now.”

“Really?” That was the only thing I could manage to get out of my mouth. He was a good comforter and knew exactly what to say to make me feel better.

“Yes, now come. Let’s have a cup of tea and I’ll fill you in on some more customs.”

 We sat down on his couch. It was a big but very soft green couch. There could easily be 10 people sitting on there without touching each other.

Loki told me a few things:

v In the morning everyone gets dressed by their servants and eat in one big hall. At the front table the king and his family eat. At the last table, the lower ranks would eat. But this were still high-end people such as the secretary, painters, etc.;

v On Thursday there would be an audience with the king. This was not forbidden to visit, and a lot of people just visited for their own pleasure;

v The library was forbidden for everyone but the kind and his family. Loki said that I was forbidden as well, but he would make a deal to get me in anyway;

v Lunch and dinner would have the same ritual as breakfast;

v The kitchen was open 24/7 for the wishes of everyone that lives in the castle;

v Don’t wander in the castle alone or alone with the servant, because you’re likely to get raped and killed…;

v The royal dresser would visit me tomorrow to make me a custom armor.

 I got a bit excited about the last one, but it was more for me, than that the armor would ever be needed. Loki just wanted me to feel “at home”.

“I’d love to tell you more, but I think it’s time for you to get some rest. Today was a very intensive day, and I really need you to be rested for what we’re going to do tomorrow.”

 He gave me another hug, and I went to my own room, still wearing the towel over my gown.

When I closed the door, I flew the towel over a chair and jumped into bed.

I believe I felt asleep straight away when I closed my eyes.

 LOKI’S POV

She looked beautiful, and she was completely soaking wet and wearing a towel 10 times the size of her. She had red cheeks herself, but they were now furiously red. She was embarrassed. She sent away the servant without knowing it and was in need of a nightgown.

I quickly grabbed her one. Most of these were VERY see-trough, but the one I picked was the least obvious. I gave her the gown and left the room.

I sat myself on the couch and heard her enter.

When I looked up I couldn’t help but laugh. She noticed it was see-through and covered herself up with that huge towel of hers. She was being modest, but she mainly did it for herself it seemed. She quickly told me that the gown left little to the imagination. My imagination went wild.

 I told her a few stupid customs we had, and I would tell her more in the next few days.

Tomorrow I wanted to share something of mine with her, but I couldn’t tell her just yet. I needed her to rest so that she’d be ready for tomorrow.

 She went to bed and quickly afterwards I did as well. I fell asleep thinking of her and her bright red cheeks.

[lokistories123]

Best friends with the god of mischief (chapter 3)

TITLE: Best friends with the god of mischief CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 3 AUTHOR: foreverdrivinginpuddles123 / lokistories123 ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine being friends with Loki. After a while you start having feelings for him, but you don't tell him. One day Asgard's enemies try to go after you and Loki takes you to Asgard. Loki and Thor defeat the enemies, but you and Loki decide it is better for you to stay in Asgard for a while. One day Loki comes back from a mission. He tells you he found out that he's a frostgiant and that he is most likely adopted. Loki can't cope with this and he gets really angry. Whilst you try to calm him, he quickly yells that he's in love with you. RATING: Teen NOTES/WARNINGS: Odin’s a dick. Shocker! And Frigga is a badass. Let me know what you think. Suggestions are always welcome. Next chapter will most likely be NSFW.. :P

Chapter 3

Odin (as I presumed was the guy sitting in the big golden room in the big golden throne) was looking very pissed.

“Loki, welcome back to Agard, but I did not expect you to bring a souvenir. You know it is strictly forbidden to take any creatures from other planets to Asgard. Especially a MORTAL!”

Okay I was not in Odin’s favor, and I was scared for my own life.

“Hello to you to father. She was in danger and needed to be taken to a safe place. From what I recall, Asgard is one of the safest places in the universe.”

All I could do was watch and listen.

“She does not belong in Asgard, you are to take her back to Midgard at once!”

“No, I shall not! The dark elves visited me and told me they would hurt her if I did not do what they wanted me to do.”

“So? Let her die, she is just a mortal.”

“She’s the only friend I’ve got. Unless you want me to bring the Aether to them.”

“You would really do all that to just safe one stupid mortal from death? Find a new friend Loki.”

A woman entered the room and stood next to Odin.

“He will do no such thing; a friend of Loki’s is a friend of ours. And the Aether stays put as well. We’ll need to defeat Malekith as soon as he shows himself.”

“Y/N, may I introduce you to Frigga, Queen of Asgard and my Mother.” He gave me a squeeze in my hand.

“Hello, madam. It is an honor meeting you.” I made a very clumsy bow, but I got a kind smile back.

“The honor is ours. Now if everyone would excuse me. Me and my husband need to discuss something.”

Odin wasn’t done yet, but Frigga dragged him away from us.

“Loki, does this mean I get to stay? Or will I be thrown back?”

“You get to stay Y/N, queen’s orders.” He smiled at me, but he also looked relieved that I got to stay.

“Loki you know I saw all the Thor movies, right?”

“Yes, I am aware. I am also aware of all the funko’s, books, hot toys and poster you have of that movie.” I blushed.

“Well, you watched them with me, so you know what the dark elves want with the Aether, right?”

“Yes, but the Aether is not here on Asgard, it is in a safe place, being guarded as well. There is no need to worry. Me and my brothers, will take care of it.”

“Brothers? You have more than one sibling?”

“Yes, it’s me, Thor and Baldr. Although I am not overly fond of the last one. Then there is Hela, my sister. I get along the best with her. Not to worry, she is not interested in world domination or domination over the Universe.”

“Wow, I did not know that. I’d love to meet them.”

“You will, tomorrow but for now you need some rest. You’ll stay in my chambers, that way I can protect you the best. You’ll have your own side room. It is for the servants, but seeing what you’re used to, you’ll love it.”

As we entered his “chambers” I immediately noticed the big row of bookshelves. His room had more bookshelves than a regular library. He bed was in the middle of the back wall. And in the middle of the room was a big couch and a table with 2 chairs. It was basically one very big house. There were 2 doors to the left. One led to his massive walk in closet (medieval style), and the other led to the “bathroom”. It looked more like a Greek bathing house, but okay, bathroom it is. On the right there was one door. This door let to my “chamber”. And IT.WAS.HUGE! It was the size of my whole parents’ house! I had a walk-in closet twice the size of my room. I had my own desk, dining table and couch. And I quickly noticed all my books were there as well in two big bookshelves.

“OMG, loki this is amazing! Are you sure this is my room, it’s too big. But wait?! Where is the bathroom?”

“Yes Y/N this is your chamber, or room as you call it. The servant usually bathe elsewhere, but you are welcome to use my bathroom if you please.”

“As long as you don’t enter while I’m in there it’s okay, there is no lock on that door.” We laughed.

“I’m going to take a bath, if you’ll excuse me” Loki walked towards the bathroom and nearly closed the doors.

In the meantime, I snooped in his closet and in mine. The dresses were beautiful. Loki had filled the closet with his magic with dresses that would fit me. They had all the colors of the rainbow, but I spotted green the most.

When Loki was done I got the bathroom. I couldn’t get the crane to work.

“Loki! I can’t get the water running.” I felt even more stupid, that I couldn't even get the goddamn tub filled with water. It was more like a Jacuzzi size, but that didn’t really matter right now.

Loki showed me how it worked and left the room.

When I finally got into the water I finally relaxed a bit. A lot of thoughts ran through my head. I just got a lot of information this day, which I thought were only myths. I almost fell asleep when I heard someone talk in the distance. I opened my eyes and noticed a woman standing in the corner.

“Can I help you?” The last thing I wanted was to piss of another god.

“Hello mistress, I am Amelia, one of Loki’s servants. But right now, I’m assigned to you.”

“Oh, I didn’t know I got a servant. My name is Y/N. I can do a lot of things myself, you really don’t have to follow me all day or do weird chores for me.”

“You are very kind an polite mistress, but I’m afraid that this is my job.”

She was politely telling me to shut the hell up and just let her do her things.

“One known habit is that the servant need to bathe their masters.”

“OH, there is really no need for you to do that! I am perfectly fine with bathing on my own if that’s okay with you.” I was not liking the Asgardian habits and rules so far.

Thank god I got to make some of my own rules with “my servant”, because there were a lot of things that did not comfort me in a bit. She need to bathe me, she needed to dry me, and some other totally useless (AND PERSONAL) things.

Luckily, we made the deal that she would only dress me, show and guide me around, and do chores in my room. I didn’t know what chores, but I was just going to wait and see.

“Can I help you with anything else Mistress?”

“No thank you.”

Gladly she left, and I could continue being peaceful in my big big bathtub/Jacuzzi. When I was done I dried myself, but I noticed I didn’t have any clothes to put on. Should’ve brought my onesie with me…

I tried calling for Amelia, but instead Loki entered.

“LOKI NO! I’m almost naked!”

“Darling you’re wearing a very VERY huge towel, there is enough left for the imagination…”

“I called for Amelia, where is she?” I tried covering myself up even more but noticed that I was truly being covered by a very huge towel.

“She told me you did not wish any services from her any further, so she left and went to her own chambers. You should know that if you do that around the evening, the servant will leave and only return the next morning.”

“That’s not what I said?! I just said there was nothing else she had to do for me atm. I didn’t know she would leave.” I felt a bit sad, but I know this was a lesson learned.

“What is it you needed from Amelia? I could have her brought back?”

“I just need something I can wear to bed, I thought there would be something lying around here, but there is literally nothing here.”

“I’ll grab you a nightgown, just wait here.”

Loki quickly returned with a nightgown. It looked like one of those old medieval gowns you would see in movies or Televison shows. Gladly Loki left, and I could dress myself.

When I looked in the mirror I noticed the gown was rather see-trough. I should’ve just worn the towel to bed, because this gown literally left very little for the imagination. I wrapped the towel around me as well and went back in Loki’s room. I could hear Loki chuckle.

“Why on earth are you still wearing that towel over your gown?”

“There is very little left for the imagination if it is just me and the gown. This damn thing is see-through! I feel ashamed enough already.” I really did. I was thrown in front of the king of basically everything, got a maid that had no shame, could not get a bathtub to function, and now I’m looking like an 18th century whore. Loki could see the sadness and shame on me and gave me a hug to comfort me.

“There is nothing to be ashamed of. You’re not used to any of our customs, and you’re handling it pretty well. There have been other mortals around here and other being from other worlds. They were not handling it as great as you are right now.”

“Really?” That was the only thing I could manage to get out of my mouth. He was a good comforter and knew exactly what to say to make me feel better.

“Yes, now come. Let’s have a cup of tea and I’ll fill you in on some more customs.”

We sat down on his couch. It was a big but very soft green couch. There could easily be 10 people sitting on there without touching each other.

Loki told me a few things:

v In the morning everyone gets dressed by their servants and eat in one big hall. At the front table the king and his family eat. At the last table, the lower ranks would eat. But this were still high-end people such as the secretary, painters, etc.;

v On Thursday there would be an audience with the king. This was not forbidden to visit, and a lot of people just visited for their own pleasure;

v The library was forbidden for everyone but the kind and his family. Loki said that I was forbidden as well, but he would make a deal to get me in anyway;

v Lunch and dinner would have the same ritual as breakfast;

v The kitchen was open 24/7 for the wishes of everyone that lives in the castle;

v Don’t wander in the castle alone or alone with the servant, because you’re likely to get raped and killed…;

v The royal dresser would visit me tomorrow to make me a custom armor.

I got a bit excited about the last one, but it was more for me, than that the armor would ever be needed. Loki just wanted me to feel “at home”.

“I’d love to tell you more, but I think it’s time for you to get some rest. Today was a very intensive day, and I really need you to be rested for what we’re going to do tomorrow.”

He gave me another hug, and I went to my own room, still wearing the towel over my gown.

When I closed the door, I flew the towel over a chair and jumped into bed.

I believe I felt asleep straight away when I closed my eyes.

LOKI’S POV

She looked beautiful, and she was completely soaking wet and wearing a towel 10 times the size of her. She had red cheeks herself, but they were now furiously red. She was embarrassed. She sent away the servant without knowing it and was in need of a nightgown.

I quickly grabbed her one. Most of these were VERY see-trough, but the one I picked was the least obvious. I gave her the gown and left the room.

I sat myself on the couch and heard her enter.

When I looked up I couldn’t help but laugh. She noticed it was see-through and covered herself up with that huge towel of hers. She was being modest, but she mainly did it for herself it seemed. She quickly told me that the gown left little to the imagination. My imagination went wild.

I told her a few stupid customs we had, and I would tell her more in the next few days.

Tomorrow I wanted to share something of mine with her, but I couldn’t tell her just yet. I needed her to rest so that she’d be ready for tomorrow.

She went to bed and quickly afterwards I did as well. I fell asleep thinking of her and her bright red cheeks.

[mistressofmuses]

Must Have Been Some Magic

Laurel flicked the switch by the doorway on, and several small lights strategically placed around the main room came to life, illuminating overflowing bookshelves and wall racks and display cases.

Continuing in, she set her bags down on the kitchen table, one of the only clear surfaces in the small house.

Really, it would almost have been more of a museum than a house, if she ever let anyone else in for long enough to look at everything, or had any kind of organized system to display things, or even a formal catalogue outside of her own head. Fossilized seashells sat next to antique coins, delicate woven scarves draped over the hilts of weaponry spanning centuries, grimoires and other books of esoteric knowledge shared shelf space with miniature paintings, and fine jewelry sat between meticulously preserved flora and fauna specimens. Her collections were extremely eclectic, and she enjoyed the feeling of being surrounded by the things she loved, with a story attached to every object. Some might call her a hoarder, but none of it was trash. She knew all of the objects, everything about them and the story behind each one.

It was always the stories that got her.

She took the silk tophat out of the box it had been stored in. It was fairly old, and made of silk rather than felt or fur. It appeared very well made, clearly professionally done, rather than something mass-produced as a novelty item or costume piece. Without some more specific research, she probably wouldn’t be able to discern its true age, though she was willing to place it as being something from the early 1900s.

She hadn’t been in the market for an antique—or at the very least vintage—tophat, but the man who ran the little second-hand store knew her weakness for an interesting story. Laurel had bought probably a hundred items from him in the past, and he tended to hang on to anything with a unique quality to it, especially if it verged on the supernatural.

This, he’d claimed, was the magical hat that had brought Frosty the Snowman famously to life.

Laurel smiled a little ruefully to herself, and she turned the hat over in her hands. Frosty the Snowman wasn’t even some kind of legendary holiday figure—he’d been invented in the 1950s as a character for a novelty Christmas song. He’d certainly cemented himself as a modern folklore character for the holiday season, but he hadn’t been inspired by anything older than that. Not exactly the kind of legend that could plausibly have any “real magical object” attached to it.

Still, it was a cute story, and seasonally appropriate, even if the mild weather of the last few weeks didn’t have anyone feeling the real holiday spirit. That reminded her to turn on her indoor Christmas lights, and she plugged them in. Several strands of delicate white lights lit up around the dining room window and the border between the walls and the ceiling, giving the room an even more enchanted feel to it, and Laurel sighed with contentment.

She considered putting the hat on and almost hesitated, but she told herself she was being absolutely ridiculous. She flipped the hat over and placed it on her head. She waited to see if she felt the urge to start dancing or singing, but nothing changed. She laughed at herself, and it sounded a little strange as the only sound in the house.

She turned on some Christmas music—fully instrumental, thank you, she much preferred piano or orchestra pieces and Celtic arrangements to yesterday’s pop stars—trying to hang onto some vestige of holiday spirit. She wore the hat for a little bit as she did a little cleaning up, but then left it on the table as she fixed herself a small dinner and read a few more chapters of her current book.

When it was time for bed, she glanced at the hat again and smiled, realizing she had the perfect place for the hat to go.

~

The Christmas lights in her bedroom were rainbow rather than white. The white lights complemented the bulk of her collection, but her room was her even more private space, full of more mundane treasures like modern novels and stuffed animals, and she was happy for everything to be rainbows.

“Hello Miss Terry,” she said to the figure standing along the bedroom wall.

Miss Terry was a… well, “doll” sounded too reductive, “mannequin” sounded too sterile, “sculpture” too stationary. She was all of those things, while none of those things really described her.

Miss Terry, a deliberate play on “mystery”, had been Laurel’s imaginary friend as a child, and then she’d had no figure to inhabit, but had simply existed in Laurel’s vibrant imagination as a playmate and best friend. She had been a magician for as long as Laurel could remember, inspired by the idea of the classic stage magicians that Laurel had been so impressed by as a little girl. “Knowing” a little girl like herself who could do all those things had been what she wanted most at that age. Oddly, she herself had never wanted to be a magician, even though she had remained forever enamored with the idea of magic, both as stage tricks and something more.

There had been a period of a few years she rarely thought much of Miss Terry at all, during the awkward stage between being too old for imaginary friends and too young to not care.

When she was a teenager she’d resurrected Miss Terry as a character she drew in her art classes and made up stories about. Sometimes the stories had been full of high adventure, and sometimes they’d been escapist wish fulfillment for an awkward lonely teen. Miss Terry had been the perfect friend, confidant, and even fantasy girlfriend.

When she grew up and moved out on her own, living in part off of a generous inheritance from her late grandfather and in part off of the piecemeal work she did at freelance art and part-time jobs, she hadn’t given much thought to Miss Terry at all. Until she’d turned around in an antique store one day, and she’d been there.

It had been the strangest thing, because the figure looked somehow exactly how she’d always imagined Miss Terry, while also being nothing she’d ever seen before. The figure was life-size, and made like a doll. She was stylized, made of a metal frame with poseable joints, with porcelain panels on her limbs, chest, and back, as well as porcelain hands, feet, and face. The porcelain was painted in a lifelike manner, the expression on the face offering a self-satisfied smile, like she’d just gotten something she wanted. She had hair, cut in a short, black bob. And she was dressed like some kind of eccentric stage magician, in fitted pants, shirt, and vest below a tailored jacket, all underneath, of all things, a silk three-quarters-length cape.

Laurel’s breath had been literally taken away when she saw her, and it had taken her some time to compose herself well enough to inquire about the price of the figure. The shop owner had looked at the figure and gave her a price that was steep, but not out of the question. Then he’d knocked it down some, saying the figure was bulky and no one had had any interest in it for years at this point.

Laurel paid, and took Miss Terry home, and got her cleaned up of all of the dust and dirt that had accumulated on her and her clothes. Laurel even repaired frayed hems and sagging seams, ensuring that Miss Terry could look her best. And she’d lived there, in Laurel’s room, for the last seven years. Laurel resumed their “relationship” with little interruption, talking to her, venting to her, and treating her like a quiet friend. She found Miss Terry’s presence there comforting.

No one else seemed to think so. The one time Laurel had gotten up the courage to bring a girl home with her and it had gone well enough to end up in the bedroom, the other woman had remarked that the “weird mannequin” was creepy. Later, she declined when Laurel asked her for a second date, saying that Laurel herself was just too weird for her. Her loss.

Laurel hadn’t brought anyone else home with her after that. Or at least no romantic prospects. And she’d been fine with that. She knew it was silly, maybe even a little pathetic, but she liked her life as it was. She was sure it would be considered some brand of crazy to have such an attachment to something imaginary, but Miss Terry gave her a sense of not being alone.

Now Laurel turned toward Miss Terry, holding the hat behind her back.

“Hello, my dear,” she said. “I have a gift for you. I know it’s a little early for Christmas, but I think you’ll like it. Don’t worry that you didn’t get me anything.” Laurel laughed. “I thought this was nice, and then I realized just how well it would suit you.”

She pulled the hat from behind her with a flourish.

“Here, I’ll put it on you…”

She settled it on Miss Terry’s head, where it fit like it had been made for her. It looked absolutely perfect with the rest of her attire, making her look more like a magician than ever. While Laurel’s old drawings of her friend had often included a hat, she wasn’t sure why she’d never thought to buy one for her before this. Ah well, this one was perfect.

“It looks wonderful on you!” Laurel clapped her hands and beamed at Miss Terry. “All magicians should have a nice hat. It’s perfect for you.”

She turned back to her dresser to change into something to sleep in. Digging through the drawers, she stood up when she heard a sound behind her. She thought she’d imagined it, until she heard it again; the sound of someone taking a step.

Her heart began to pound; she had plenty of value in the house, and she’d always known a break-in could be a risk. Still, she turned to face the threat.

And was nearly face to face with a woman. A very familiar woman, wearing a silk tophat. But she wasn’t made of metal and porcelain anymore. While the slightly crooked smile still graced her lips, those lips were soft and expressive. Her dark blue eyes weren’t painted on, but sparkled in the light of the Christmas lights around the room.

The woman offered her hand, palm up, bowing gently as if asking for a dance.

Laurel reached out hesitantly, until her fingers brushed the other woman’s warm, soft palm. The woman brought Laurel’s hand to her lips, pressing a gentle kiss to the knuckles, showing just how soft those lips really were.

When Miss Terry spoke, her voice was low and husky. “Hello, Laurel.”

~

@yourbookcouldbegayer

Prompt was: "You found the old silk hat that turned Frosty into a walking talking snowman. Turns out, the hat works on other things too.”

This one turned out very differently than I was first thinking, but I’m reasonably happy with it. And not quite as tight on the deadline tonight! (Tomorrow will be a struggle.)

[littlewolfheart-blog1]

Nerding Out, Being A Social Weirdo, and Other Joys of Having Asperger's

* I spent most of my time at parties doing things like reading on the couch, sitting on the roof watching the tree limbs dance, playing with the dog, and browsing bookshelves. But I was also the person who could be trusted to help the drunk girl wash the vomit out of her hair in the shower. * If there is an object around, I will bump into it or trip over it. This includes air. * If I am in a space, it is quite possible that I will get lost in it. Sometimes this involves full-blown meltdowns in which I am forced to pull over, scream, and bash my hands on the steering wheel. * Noises like blaring sirens, balloons popping, fireworks, and biscuit cans being opened make me scream, cover my ears, and rock back and forth. * I don't wear make-up & couldn't care less about my hair or social conventions of dress, but I might spend an hour trying to decide on what color combinations I am in the mood to wear. * I haven't eaten a meal unless I have spilled some of its contents all over myself. * That person was flirting with me? I had no idea. That person can't stand me? I had no idea. * No, I am never too old to collect stuffed animals. * Yes, I do have nonverbal conversations with my dog. * Oh, my god, someone is knocking on the door. Panic! Panic! Quick! Someone turn off the lights and the TV. * Can I consider reading an obsession if I read over a hundred books a year? * I can't eat here. The lights are too bright & it is too noisy. No, seriously, I have to leave. * I wrote a novel when I was in middle school. It was over a thousand pages long. One could probably classify that as a fixation. * I become an encyclopedia of whatever sparks my interest. This has included such diverse obsessions a Mickey Mouse Club (in my aforementioned novel I was a member. Hey, I never said I was Virginia Woolf or anything.), animals, Autism,literature, mythology, neuroscience, American history, films, world cultures, art, music... * "Well, I'm doing okay, but I am late because I couldn't find my keys & my leg had a very bloody collision with my couch. Also, I'm pretty sure my underwear is inside out... Okay, nice talking to you. Bye!" * I have never been able to approach someone I am interested in talking to before scripting out about a hundred possible conversations first. * A typical introduction by me for myself: "Oh, hi, I am kind of weird because I hear voices in my head. No, I'm not schizophrenic ; not that there is anything wrong with being schizophrenic. It's just that---well, it's like there are a thousand movies playing in my head at once. Nooo, I'm not crazy, hahaha; I just have Asperger's." And then I spend the rest of the evening sitting in a corner with the host's Chihuahua in my lap. * When I started dating my husband, I told him, "You're probably going to need a user's manual." * I have books in every room of my apartment except the bathrooms. I used to keep books in the bathrooms, too, but they would get water damage & I'd be like, Why God? WHY??? No, I don't keep pots and pans in there; it's too full of books. Why can't I store books in the kitchen cabinet? * I should try to be less weird so I can have more friends? If they don't like me for who I am, then fuck 'em. I don't need friends. I have my dog. And books. Lots & lots of books. * I got lost on my college campus all the time. I'm not sure how because it's only 177 acres. I just had to look that number up because I wanted to be accurate. * How many times have I watched Buffy the Vampire Slayer? I don't know, at least five million, probably. * I've finally figured it out, or at least narrowed it down. I am either a hobbit, an elf, a fairy, or an alien. * Where would I want to go more than anywhere else in the world? Hogwarts, of course! What? That's not in this world? Sure it is. J.K. Rowling wrote about it. I know all about Hogwarts. I've read the Harry Potter series at least eighteen times. * No, I don't think 34 is too old to wear rainbow-striped tights and tee shirts with unicorns on them. * My blind client has to give me directions when we go out. Did I mention I have a lousy sense of direction? * I'm sorry I locked my keys in my truck. Don't panic. This happens all the time. All I have to do is ask somebody for a screwdriver, a butter knife, or a pair of scissors. I am very creative at getting out of tricky situations. *There is no one like me. I don't see the point in trying to be anybody else.

[yourobedientslytherin]

The Upper Hand: Jefferson x Reader {Part 7}

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

Hamilton -- Modern AU (Law School)

Jefferson x Reader

2,026 words

Part 7! I’m just gonna say sorry now... Another filler chapter that didn’t turn out how I had planned. Better chapters will come soon, including the reveal of who the reader has been staying with for the last couple of days. 

Thomas stares at the blinking curser at the top of his Word document, his mind anywhere but the 10-page paper due tomorrow at 11:30am. Knowing that the ringer is on full volume, he resists the urge to check his phone. If you contact him, he will definitely hear it.

Three days without a word from you, no answer to the dozens of phone and text messages he had sent to you. Messages like,

Saturday, 11:45am: Y/N? I understand why you’re not picking up. I just wanted to apologize for my behavior. It was childish and immature and I can see why you’re so upset. I regret my actions and words toward Hamilton, for your sake. Okay, well, please call me back so I know you’re okay. Bye.

Saturday, 4:26pm: I guess you’re still not answering your phone. I’m just calling to apologize again. I’m sorry that I hurt you. And I’m sorry about your dress. You looked so beautiful in my favorite color.

Sunday, 3:58pm: Y/N, please answer. I miss you so much, and I’m worried. I can’t believe I messed this up. You deserve so much better than me. But… please, Y/N, give me a second chance. I…I need you.

Monday, 7:19pm: I know that I should just take the hint and stop calling, but you weren’t in class today. Are you okay? I took notes for you in Washington’s class and emailed them to you. And, just in case you forgot, our presentation is this Thursday. I understand if you don’t want to speak to me, but we have to finish our project. So if you won’t call me to talk about us, then please can we discuss the presentation? Bye.

He feels incomplete without you around, like he lost an important body part and all that’s left is a gaping hole. He hadn’t realized how much better his life was with you in it. Your laugh had the ability to brighten his whole day; when you glared or rolled your eyes at him, he could only think about how cute you looked. He finds himself thinking about the way you always tightened your ponytail when you were getting serious about something, or how you nibbled on your lower lip when you were deep in thought.

A knock at Thomas’ open bedroom door jerks him back to the present. James Madison stands in the doorway, solemnly holding a bowl and spoon in one hand. He looks Thomas over, his scruffy, unshaven beard, his unkempt hair sticking out in more crazy directions than usual, his sweatpants and baggy shirt. Never has he seen Thomas so un-put together. Y/N must really be doing a number on him.

James walks to Thomas’ desk and hands him a bowl of mac ‘n’ cheese. Surprisingly, Thomas places it beside the laptop and wordlessly nods at him. James has never seen Thomas leave mac ‘n’ cheese untouched.

“How’re you doing?” James asks quietly.

Thomas lets out a half-grunt, half-snort. “I think I lost her.”

“You’ve never lost anything before.”

“This is different.” The taller man leans his head into his hands. “She has a mind of her own. I can’t just make her do what I want.”

James chuckles. “That’s good for you. You need someone who can stand up to you.”

“But she’s gone. I’ve called her more times than I can count, but she won’t pick up. I barely got a chance with her, and I blew it.”

“I think that when she’s ready, she’ll contact you. She seems like she needs some space.”

Shaking his head, Thomas looks up at his friend. “I’m afraid that if she has too much time, she’ll forget me.”

“She could never forget you, Jefferson. You’re unforgettable.” James motions to the bowl of rapidly cooling mac ‘n’ cheese. “Now eat something. You’ll feel better.”

When James leaves, Thomas takes a bite of his favorite comfort food.

Suddenly, his phone rings, startling him into almost falling off his chair. He recovers quickly and grabs it, reading a number he doesn’t recognize, and answers.

“Yeah?”

“Jefferson?” a masculine voice asks.

“Yes. Who is this?”

“Hamilton.”

Thomas’ voice turns cold. “What do you want?”

“I know I’m the last person you want to hear from, but... have you heard anything from Y/N?”

“She made it pretty clear that we were done.”

“So, no?”

“Nope.”

“Shit.”

Thomas’s heart quickens. “Why?”

“It’s just that nobody’s heard from her since Friday at the restaurant. Laf, Herc, and Laurens haven’t gotten any messages, Peggy hasn’t seen her. Complete silence.”

Thomas grips the edge of his desk in panic. He hadn’t even stopped to consider that you could be in any danger. A sickening guilt gnaws at his stomach. What if you had been kidnapped? Or had gotten into an accident?

“Look, Jefferson, we’re going over to her apartment to look around. Hercules hopes that we can find some clues as to where she’s gone.”

There’s a pause, muffled arguing in the background followed by a muttered, Dammit Laurens!

“Laurens says we need to invite you, if you want,” Hamilton grumbles. “I’ll text you her address.”

“All right.”

The line goes dead, leaving Thomas sitting in stunned silence. You could be in serious danger, but there’s nothing he can do about it. He feels so helpless. Forcing horrible images of you in danger from his mind, he slams the laptop shut, forgetting the paper in a heartbeat. You are his first priority.

Fifteen minutes later, Thomas arrives at your apartment. Lafayette answers his knock at your door, wordlessly letting him enter. Hamilton is sitting on your gray couch, scrolling through your laptop with laser focus. Laurens is looking through some unopened mail on a side table. Hercules Mulligan and Peggy emerge from the hallway.

“Toothpaste and face wash are gone,” Herc announces.

“Looks like she took an overnight bag or something,” Peggy adds. But there’s a lot of clothes on the floor, so it’s hard to tell what she took.”

“She tried on nearly everything in her closet getting ready for her date with Jefferson,” Laurens informs, looking up at Thomas as he enters the living room.

Hamilton glares at Thomas but returns to his work when Laurens nudges his arm. “I don’t see any email confirmations for major purchases, like plane or bus tickets. I think she’s still in the city.”

“Who else could she have gone to stay with?” Thomas asks. He doesn’t know you well enough to conjecture about this.

The group congregates on the assorted chairs and couches in your living room, silence falling as everyone thinks about your other contacts.

“I think she had lunch with Aaron Burr once,” Peggy murmurs thoughtfully.

“That doesn’t mean she’d go stay with him, though,” Laurens interjects.

“Have you heard back from Angelica?” Hamilton asks Peggy. He avoids Thomas’ eyes and his body is turned away from him. Thomas fights the urge to roll his eyes. How immature is this guy? Still involved in a petty fight while his friend is missing?

“She said she hadn’t heard from her.”

“Didn’t she hang out with George Eacker and Charles Lee at one point?” Lafayette asks.

“Freshman year,” Hamilton mumbles, clearly irritated at the mention of those two. “She told them that she was from Nebraska, and they told the whole school. She was so embarrassed.”

Hamilton glares at Thomas, as if to say Doesn’t that sound familiar? Thomas clenches his jaw, feeling new regret for the way he treated you.

“There’s no way she’d even talk to either of them,” Hamilton states definitively.

The group falls silent once again. No one has any answers to the one question everyone is thinking in their minds. Hercules suggests another sweep of your bedroom for any overlooked clues, Peggy and Lafayette following him down the hall. Hamilton stays with your laptop, reading through old emails and attempting to log into your bank account to check your credit card activity. Laurens stays between Thomas and Hamilton, acting as a buffer between the two explosive characters.

Thomas feels so useless. He sits in a floral patterned armchair near the window—unbeknownst to him it’s your favorite chair—and skims the books in your bookshelves. Many classics, Jane Austen, The Aeneid, Odysseus, Charles Dickens. A few mystery books, a handful of period romances. There’s a big section on history, especially World War II. A small book with a tattered, well-worn cover catches his eyes, and he pulls it off the shelf. Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird. He flips casually through the pages, skimming highlights and annotations you’ve written in the margins. One page catches his attention.

“The one place where a man ought to get a square deal is in a courtroom, be he any color of the rainbow, but people have a way of carrying their resentments right into a jury box.”

This passage has been highlighted and underlined. An annotation in pink pen is in the margin.

Justice should be blind to any human-created prejudices, including color, nationality, sexuality. Lawyers should disregard these differences when representing clients and remind the jury to remain impartial, for the preservation of justice.

Thomas finds himself nodding in agreement with your note. It’s such a powerful, yet simple statement that he’s never really thought about before. Racial tension has always been an issue in this country, and the courtroom hasn’t been immune to it. Thomas remembers reading To Kill a Mockingbird in high school; he found himself being inspired to go into law because of Atticus’ passion for racial justice in the courtroom. He realizes that this book inspired you as well, another thing you two have in common.

The HamilSquad returns to the living room, gloomy expressions revealing their lack of success in your bedroom. Peggy grabs her coat and shoes.

“Guys, I think we should split up and check any places we think she might be,” she says, jangling her car keys in her hand. “Hercules and I are going to check out Angelica’s and our apartments.”

“Lafayette and I can call Burr and see if she’s at Alex and I’s apartment,” Laurens volunteers.

This left Alex and Thomas.

“Someone should stay here in case she comes back,” Alex says.

“I can.” Everyone looks at Thomas warily, but he ignores it. “Madison will call me if she shows at my apartment. I want to be here.”

Hamilton’s eyes narrow, but Laurens’ gentle hand on his shoulder stops him from arguing with Thomas. “Fine. I’m gonna go contact a friend, see if he can help me with her laptop. But I’ll be back to keep an eye on you.”

Thomas nods in surrender. The two men who need to apologize to you the most will be waiting if you return to your apartment. While the others put on their coats and jackets and tersely say goodbye, he wanders into your kitchen for some food. Not eating for twelve hours has really taken a toll on his stamina.

You have a lot of frozen premade cookie dough in your freezer, so he pulls out a roll. The fridge has sandwich fixings and a pitcher of strawberry lemonade, which he also takes out. While the cookies bake, he makes a turkey, tomato, and lettuce sandwich, hungrily consuming the nourishment.

After he rescues the cookies from almost burning, he checks his watch: 2:17am. No wonder he’s so tired. He grabs a cookie from the tray and wanders into the living room. He’ll sleep on the couch; hopefully Hamilton will be quiet when he comes back. But when he lays down, he realizes that he’s too long for the couch. Either his feet and half of his lower legs or his head and shoulders are lying off the edge.

Exhausted and frustrated, he gets a sudden idea. He stumbles into your room, taking a moment to appreciate the decorations—it’s very you—before tiredly tugging off his shirt. He tosses the shirt onto the floor and tumbles face-first into your bed. The pillow smells like you, he sleepily realizes as he pulls the blankets over his body. Within a minute, he is asleep, his mind filling with dreams of you.