#what if we made out in a corner of the most esteemed library in the world? haha jk unless

[nyctictea]

The Quiet Section

[starsallalight]

@mcrtals : Edward & Belle

“it is quite alright.    it is a lovely day, i enjoyed the sun and my book, this was probably one of the most lovely afternoons i’ve had since i joined your court.    ”     as much as her father believes this to be their home, their birthright, belle desperately misses the home she was forced to leave behind;   the crooked trees by her windowsill, the library tucked away at the back of the house, she misses the shadows and breezes, even if she had grown to find joy in the castle’s sunny afternoons.     “     you needed rest.    ”

the king isn’t wrong  —   her cousin had made it all seem so easy.   he had carried the crown with grace and dignity, never showing any cracks.     “     he had a lifetime to learn, from someone who had carried the same weight.    ”she tries and assure him, warm hand coming to rest over his.    

“he didn’t, you are good and just, and that is what matters, that is what we need you to be for now.    the rest will come with him.    ”     assurances are easy to give because she believes in him, despite the fact she knows he will never get the chance to grow into his role.    as much as she has grown…    fond of him, desperately fond, there are forces outside this castle, at this very moment, plotting how to remove him from his position.    he is just, and kind, and he is what the people need;   the nobles have other priorities.

“     why don’t you tell me,   ”    lifting her hand from his, her fingers interlock on her lap,    “    what is plaguing you?    i wish…    i want to help.    ”

Edward offered a small smile before his hazel eyes dropped to their hands. Her words were so like Ella's. Her faith and support too. Ella had always believed that he could do no wrong, and Edward had put an intense amount of pressure on himself to try and always keep her esteem.

And where had that gotten him? A dead sister, no living family, and a burden on his shoulders that he was in no way able to carry. Had there been anyone else able to take the throne, he'd have abdicated the first instant he could. Edward was a merchant, a farmer! Not a king! But, as the Grand Duke- dear Frederick- had told him, Kit had had no one else to leave the kingdom to. If he hadn't stepped up, the kingdom would have fallen into ruin, and the lives of everyone on the island would have been at risk. Invasion and war would have been imminent.

"There's been talk of needing to devise a treaty with Zaragoza." He explained. "I can barely understand it all myself. But I guess their king wasn't too pleased that the deal the former Grand Duke made regarding Kit was thrown out in favor of my sister. It... It may come down to me having to marry Princess Chelina, if we can't reach an agreement. Then there's been trade issues with England. With everything else going on, I'm not able to see to them as I was before. And... Ella's birthday is around the corner. I... I don't really want to face it without her here. It's just... It's wrong. Every time I close my eyes, I see her face. Hear her deriding me for not saving them. I can't sleep. And that's just complicating everything. I'm a mess. I feel sick all the time. I'm falling to pieces, but I have to keep it together, and it's making my job as king damn near impossible. I feel like I'm not even allowed to mourn. I couldn't mourn my mother because my father was incapable of caring for my sister and I. I couldn't mourn him because no one else was going to keep Ella safe from his wife and her schemes. And now, I can't mourn her because there's all this other pressure and more people who need me than ever. There's always been so many people who I was expected to look after, yet, with every passing day, it only sinks in more how after my mother died, no one was ever there to look after me."

[previousloversandmuses]

Slow Burn - Prologue

Part I | masterlist

A/N: This is a “must read” precursor to the whole series. Please read it to know what the origin story is. 

Pairing: Y/N x Obi Wan Kenobi

Words: 2048

Warnings: None. Brief mentions of violence. Low self esteem.

I am always one to experience emotions at a heightened frequency. Dangerous for a Jedi in training I know, but the council never took it as a sign of caution, just a minor set back. Happiness is bright, and beaming, even painful. My cheeks hurt for days after, smile lines sculpting my skin too early in life. Anger is powerful, my skin becoming vicious, and hot. Ripping through me like a silver bullet, and tearing my already unrelenting gut apart. I am loud, I am violent, and most of all, passionate. I would later become grateful of this curse, turning it into a blessing. Sadness is so deep. Tears crash like an ocean, and my heart would ache in my chest. The physical symptoms of my despair become overwhelming, and make me sick.

A fresh eighteen myself, my graduation is only a year or so away. Compared to other padawans, ones that don’t deal with the same struggles as myself, have already been graced with knighthood. They make their masters proud, and have already completed more missions at sixteen than I think I ever will in my entire career. 

I had the choice to become independent, to take my morals by the throat, and shove them deep down inside me, never to be seen again- but it really just isn’t that easy. See, I’m taking this time for meditation, or even a “behavioral therapy” of sorts. I have meetings with other council members, more powerful, and more prominent than my own master, who is often off tending to matters elsewhere. A mighty general he is, but they see me as someone who would cause more of a distraction, so I stay here at the temple left to my own devices. Sometimes I think it may be because I’m a woman, and other times I just take a good look in the mirror and recall the outburst that has stained my face only minutes before. 

Today was like any other; wake up, meditate, exercise, study, combat training, study, try and find time to eat something, and study. I walked down the main hallway with Master Yoda. He spoke to me about how he once struggled with his emotions as well, but with enough meditation, learned how to keep them at bay. Looking down at him and his vacant expression, I was surprised he had ever even felt an emotion a day in his life. That was until seconds later…

Stopping in my tracks, my hand flew over my heart. I recalled feeling out of breath, like my heart had physically stopped beating in my chest, or at least was trying to catch up with the rest of my body. I was shaky, yet somehow managed to take a knee. Something was off, that feeling in my chest grew and grew until I was faced with the blackest black I had ever felt. The darkest emotion to ever run through my body, as cold as ice, and heart stopping. It was deep, I felt it within the darkest abyss in my soul. It wrapped around my insides and nestled itself a home deep within the most shielded corners of my subconscious. That’s when Master Yoda felt it too. His hand flying over his heart, and steadying himself on my own shoulder. His face morphed into a snarl, gasping at the sudden pain that now infected his unwavering calm aura. 

...

After a painstakingly slow recovery, I sat on the edge of my bed. My quarters were neat and tidy. My bed, usually made up in the morning, because I have always been one for a routine. My walls weren’t bare, in fact they were almost completely covered in photographs I have taken from my travels as a Padawan. I'd go to the library, and butcher borrowed books, clipping photos of different words, and alien fauna. But today, those bright colors capable of producing fantasies for hours and hours, seemed black and white. 

I had been staring at the floor for sometime, desperate in trying to heal the ache in my chest. It felt as if I had a cold, like the burn after a deep cough. I felt so tight, so tense, an actual living embodiment of rigor mortis. Yet, at the same time, I hardly felt all there. It was as if my existence was floating all around me, and my shell was sitting vacant on an uncomfortable mattress. The knock on my door was enough for me to engulf myself again. 

“Y/N, are you decent?” The voice asks. 

“Yes,” I reply, rolling my shoulders back. 

“The council has requested an audience. Please report downstairs within the next few minutes.”

I nod my head, as if whoever was behind the door could see me. 

“An audience,”  I think. “Let’s add another year to that training plan, shall we?”

...

Walking downstairs to the council room, I can’t help but feel that all eyes are on me. They cut through me like a hot knife, slicing me thin. I feel so vulnerable. Like everyone around me can feel what I feel, and if I’m being honest, they probably do. A good Jedi who is in tune with the force, and especially in tune with others, can sense an intense emotion from a mile away. I’m sure at this moment I pretty much equate to an open book. No reason to try and hide it, force knows I struggle with concealing even an inkling of agitation. 

Seeing the council room in sight, I take a deep breath. This is it. I’m done for. This reaction was way too over the top. I’ve scared people, I’ve scared Master Yoda. Might as well just turn in my saber now and call it a day.

I walk into the door. Only a few masters sit scattered around. Master Yoda of course perched dead center, Master Windu waiting patiently to his right. But my master was nowhere in sight. You’d think if they were going to terminate me, that maybe my own mentor would be among them? Shaking his head, sending me glares that one could only compare to fucking daggers. He was tough on me for sure, maybe he was too ashamed of what I’d done to even bear to see me in this moment. 

“Coming here so quickly you did,” Starts Master Yoda. “Grateful we all are.”

I smile and bow my head. 

“Y/N,” Master Windu starts. “We’re here to discuss the events that happened earlier.” 

Oh god here it comes. This is it. I’m totally done for. I can’t even keep myself calm now. My face, getting hotter and more red by the second, is going to be the biggest tell. At least let me go out with some dignity. 

“Your reaction, what you felt at least, was not just brought on out of the blue. Master Yoda had the same experience, as did all of us on the council, and most Jedi and padawans in the temple.”

“I don’t understand.” I say. 

“At around 1 Coruscant time, an enemy bomb was detonated on Nal Hutta.”

Then it hit me. My heart sinking, I began to shake my head. 

“Unfortunately, Unit 505, and Master Cato were all killed on impact.”

My ears ring. Slowly, I move over to a chair, bracing myself. 

“That’s,” I start, trying to find the words to say. “He would’ve felt it, all of them would, I don’t understand.”

“We have a feeling it was planted by a Sith. That’s the only way it would’ve clouded any judgement.”

I slump into it, my vision going black, my head spinning. 

Master Cato has been with me since I was a very little girl. Although rough, tough, and brutally honest, he has done nothing but be a father to me time and time again. Everything I do is a reflection of him. He had been so busy at war, fighting day in and day out, I caught myself missing the commands, and demands I once so passionately despised. I took our whole relationship for granted, and now, is this the price I have to pay? The last time we spoke he told me how disappointed he was in my outburst in my Alien Fauna lab. I was being stubborn, I was bratty, and rolled my eyes. We had argued that entire call. He didn’t even attempt to say goodbye. Now, for an eternity, I will have to face the catastrophic guilt of my actions. Live with the fact that I never, ever told him how much I appreciated him. And even, how much I loved him so. The closest thing to family in my life, gone, in the snap of a finger. 

Both Master Yoda and Master Windu continued to talk but it all felt like empty words. I couldn’t hear them anyway. 

“Although this situation isn't ideal, we and the rest of the council applaud you for being able to feel something most of us haven’t been able to experience yet.” Claimed Master Windu.

I don’t listen. I stand up again. 

“What am I going to do? I don’t feel comfortable with being knighted yet. I had- we were working on so many things I-,” I stumbled on my words. 

“You’ll get placed with a new master.”

“There are no new masters. And even if I had been trained a certain way, I don’t know how to learn otherwise.” 

There is silence. 

“The force works in mysterious ways. Meant to happen, I feel.” 

I scoff. “Meant to happen,” what an evil thing to say.

I begin to walk off, stopping of course, only to get in the last word. 

“Not only have you told me that my master has been killed, but you lack any empathy. There is no emotion in your eyes. Nothing.”

“We mourn your master y/n, just as much as you do. You know what we stand for. You know our view on attachments.”

“He's like-,” I choke. “He was like my father.”

I can’t even begin to explain the pain I feel. Disgust in myself, I should’ve been better. I could’ve been better. The last few years of our relationship I’ve just been behaving poorly and rebelling, and then getting angry at him when he made me face the consequences. Like I wasn’t aware of the job I was made to do. I should’ve been nicer, I could’ve been nicer. It’s all going in a circle, all the things I should’ve done just morphed into things I couldn’t do. Maybe I was too emotional. Maybe my tears that fell leading up to this moment was all part of the plan, the final kicker to show that I wasn’t apathetic enough for this job. My empathy, my burning passion will always be my biggest flaw. This hole that gapes inside of me will never be filled, and now it grows bigger. It’s like a disease. Am I enough? Will I ever be enough?

“Put you with Master Kenobi, we will.” States Master Yoda. 

Master Windu is quick in turning his head. He glares at him. 

“Master Yoda, General Kenobi has just finished his training with Anakin. It is far too early to give him a new Padawan, if at all.”

Yoda nods, almost giggling. 

“Yet so freshly knighted, a Padawan Anakin already has. Obi Wan will have no problem with taking on a student. Graduates soon, she will.”

“But General Kenobi and I have two completely different methods of combat, let alone ideals.” I scoff. 

“All Jedi have the same ideals.” Adds Windu. 

“He is a Jedi guardian, I am a Jedi sentinel-“

“Train with General Kenobi you will. Not long ago he also lost his master too soon.”

Master Yoda nods to me. He stands up and walks over to the large windows behind him. Looking out over Coruscant, he takes a deep sigh of relief. 

“Master Windu,” says Yoda. “Get in contact with the 212th battalion.” 

I watch on as my fate now rests in a stranger's hands.

[whatareyousearchingfordean]

Come As You Are

Summary: Dean takes Y/n dress shopping for a hunt, both of them blissfully unaware of where it will lead. 

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus Size Reader

Word Count: 3.9K+

Warnings: Language, self-esteem and body image struggles, public intercourse, unprotected intercourse (wrap it before you tap it)

Author’s Note: This was written for an anonymous request, 

“Hey babe I don’t know if your taking requests but I had a groovy idea dean x shy plus reader where they have to get the reader nice sexy clothes but she feels really uncomfortable in them and refuses to leave the dressing room and dean confess how he feels and they have sex in the dressing room ? Fluff and smut” 

I truly enjoyed writing it so I hope it lives up to your expectations anon. Remember, feedback is like crack to writers, and we always love to hear what you thought xoxo Alex

Consider checking out a book from Alexandra’s Library!

A frown etched itself on her face as she ran her hand over the fabrics hanging from the racks. All of it felt foreign underneath her fingertips. Satin, chiffon, and everything else that was far more expensive than she was used to. Y/n’s wardrobe mostly consisted of denim and polyester blends that tended to fray after two washes. It was all that a hunter could afford, after all. 

“How in the hell are we gonna afford any of this crap?” She whispered to Dean, who was eyeing the rack behind her, the gowns in front of him all a deep shade of red. 

“Charlie’s miracle card, remember? There is no limit,” Dean raised his brow at her, a grin etched across his perfect face. 

“Fine,” she groaned. “I still don’t see why I even need to go dress shopping, I’m sure I could find something in my closet.” 

“I’ve seen your closet, and none of it is right for this case. You’ve got to distract the coroner for the night and you can’t do that in baggy jeans and flannel.” Dean huffed as he picked a dress off the rack. Y/n’s eyes went wide as she took it in, the hem was short for anyone’s standards, then add in the plunging neckline and this dress left nothing to the imagination. 

“That is so not happening,” Y/n pointed at the offensive garment, her stomach fluttering at the simple idea of even trying to slip into it. Every spot on her body that she hated would be on full display in that thing. Her thick thighs, the roll that sat on her bra just under her arms, and don’t get her started on her abdomen. 

“Come on, just try it. You never know ‘till you try it on.” 

“Ugh,” Y/n snatched the dress from his hand before stalking off to look at more dresses. There were a couple more options that she grabbed to try on that were closer to her comfortability level. Under normal circumstances, she wouldn’t be caught dead in any of the items in her arms. But Dean had this way about him, always able to convince her to do anything without question. Maybe it was the way his skin crinkled around his eyes or the brightness that always seemed to live behind those deliciously green eyes? Who was she kidding, it was all of that and then some. The huntress had fallen hard for him from that first meeting. Sometimes she wondered why she chose to torture herself. 

Dean Winchester was the cream of the crop when it came to hunters, as was his baby brother, Sam. The whole world knew who they were, including heaven and hell, so how could she be expected to resist him when he smiled at her the way he does. Or even when he made her coffee in the mornings just how she liked it and picked up chocolate and pain killers for her when he knew it was that time of the month. He was exceedingly attentive to her, something that she was sure he only directed at Sam. It was just another thing that surprised her about the legend of a man. 

Yeah, like an idiot she fell for the eldest Winchester. There was no stopping it even though she was certain that her feelings would never be reciprocated. Y/n wasn’t like the other woman that Dean went for when he was on the prowl at bars. It’s not that she was ugly, it was that she was plain at best. People didn’t turn their heads when she walked in the room, men’s gazes didn’t linger on her from across the bar, no, Y/n was merely average. That’s how she knew that Dean would never see her as more than a friend because he had never looked at her in any form of want. 

“Are you ready to try those on?” A sales woman’s voice broke her out of her unrelenting train of thought. Dean answered for her before she could process the woman’s words. 

“Yes, please.” He smiled brightly and Y/n watched as the woman’s face flushed under his gaze. Y/n almost felt bad for the woman who was now just another victim to his charm. The saleswoman at least would be able to relish in his attention, wondering about what could have been had Y/n not been there with him. Y/n on the other hand already knew her fate. But mostly, if she was being honest, she was jealous. 

Dean put his hands on her shoulders and guided her along behind the boutique worker who took them into the back of the store where the dressing rooms were located. The area was mostly quiet, just the music from the speakers could be heard in the space. Three large mirrors sat in front of a stage on the far wall, the rooms spaning out on either side of it. In the center of the room were three plush chairs for those waiting for others to sit in. 

The worker unlocked a door for her as Dean plopped down in one of the chairs. Y/n slipped behind the door, letting out a deep breath as it closed behind her. If there was one thing she hated it was trying on clothes. Nothing ever seemed to fit her right or look anything like what it did on the hanger. It made the task a constant battle with her self-consciousness. 

Y/n had always carried extra weight on her body. It wasn’t that she didn’t live an active lifestyle, she was a hunter, after all, it was the diet that hunters were accustomed to. It was fast food and dives in every small town in America. Not many mom and pop places tended to offer an egg white omelet, and it wasn’t her inclination to eat them either. So, she had always been bigger than most, and if she was being honest she had grown used to that. Maybe she used it as a shield to protect herself. Making connections with people as a hunter only tended to end in heartbreak, so this was easier. 

The hunter hid the scary red thing Dean had selected behind all the rest of her haul, hoping she would find something before she ever even got to the thing. Y/n stripped from her flannel and jeans tossing them on the bench in the corner. She also added her bra to the pile, knowing all of these garments necessitated that she did not wear one. That left her in her favorite pair of panties. They weren’t anything special, but they made her butt looked its best.

The first dress in the line up was a straight black dress that hit just above her knee. The neckline wasn’t anything too crazy but the sleeves rolled off the shoulders a strip of fabric wrapping around her bust. Y/n was able to slip it on and tug up the zipper on the side. With a slide of her hands against the fabric, she frowned at her reflection. Not that it would flatter any figure, in her opinion. 

“What’s taking so long in there?” Dean called out from his spot in front of the mirrors.

“I’m not coming out in this thing,” she called back as she began to take the dress back off. 

“Oh, come on sweetheart,” 

“Nope, next,” Y/n heard him huff even through the door and she imagined he rolled his eyes as well. 

The next dress was a deep blue color. It had a wrap and pencil skirt, with an asymmetrical shape between the hem and the neckline. She supposed it was pretty but it also kind of looked like she had wrapped herself in a towel. Mostly, she felt like the point in the neckline was going to stab her in the throat, and she was not sure how to be sexy when she was trying not to die. It was another pass for her. 

There was only one dress left, and at that moment she was wishing to whoever was listening that she had picked out a few more choices. Dean was whistling now, some Zeppelin tune she couldn’t exactly identify and she knew he was getting impatient. Y/n swapped the fabrics on her body, pulling the thin straps of the red satin piece up onto her shoulders. The dress clung to her skin, the fabric lightweight. 

“Y/n/n,” Dean’s voice was just outside the door, the new proximity of it startling her. “Come on, you have to show me at least one. I know you and you’ll just try vetoing them all.” Y/n swore under her breath because he was right and it pissed her off that he knew her that well. The zipper was out of her reach on her back and she supposed she wouldn’t be able to truly see what it looked like on her unless she zipped it up. 

“Fine, I need help with this zipper anyway,” she sighed and held the fabric against her naked chest while opening the door with her other. Dean was beaming when he came into view on the other side of the door. He snuck inside faster than a flea, the slamming of the door startling her again. 

Get it together woman, you kill monsters for a living, Y/n cursed herself. 

“Turn,” Dean instructed her with his fingers, and the woman obliged as she faced the mirror. Dean brushed her hair off her shoulder with his fingertips, the action barely distinguishable but it sent the hairs on the back of her neck standing to attention. With one hand holding the bottom stop, he used the other to tug on the pull tab, sliding together the teeth in one fluid motion. 

“Thanks,” Y/n’s words were soft as she made eye contact with the green-eyed hunter in the mirror. He ran his tongue of his bottom lip, pulling the plump flesh between his teeth as his eyes wandered over her exposed skin. 

Y/n visibly cringed as she looked at herself. Unfortunately, this was her favorite out of the three, but that didn’t mean she felt like she could venture anywhere in public in the thing. “Sweetheart, if that coroner hadn’t already been eyeing you up today, he would not know where to start when he sees you in this.” 

“Shut up,” Y/n scrunched her nose as she spun around to whack Dean’s shoulder. “You are so full of it.”

“Am not,” Dean scoffed, his eye softening before he continued. “Y/n, why don’t you see how beautiful you are?”

Y/n whipped around to stare at him, her arms crossing over her chest, not believing that those words come out of his mouth. Surely, he was playing with her…

“Have you looked at me, Dean?” Y/n slapped her hands against her thighs, emphasizing their jiggle upon impact. “I’m nothing special.” 

“I have looked at you,” His gaze traveled down her body again, his breath hitching slightly as he did so. “I’ve been looking at you for a while now.” The drop in Dean’s voice sent heat rushing through her body, the gravel undertone making her shiver. 

“Dean--” words escaped her as the hunter stepped into her personal space, pushing her back against the mirror. Dean’s left hand came to rest against the reflective surface just beside her head as he chewed on his lip. 

“I don’t think you know how hard it is for me to keep my eyes off of you,” he leaned into her, his nose brushing alongside hers. “And now, seeing you in this dress, I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep my hands off you.” 

A rush of confidence coursed through her blood as his hot breath fanned over her face and Y/n slipped her hands behind his neck, pulling his lips down to meet hers. The movement was anything but smooth, though the action sent both of the hunters into action. Dean growled as he nipped her lower lip and she opened up to him, allowing his tongue to invade her mouth. 

A moan involuntarily came from her as his hands moved to her hips, the heat of his skin seeping through the thin material where his finger pressed into her flesh. He stepped back, pulling her after him as he backed up and dropped to sit on the plush bench. Dean bunched up the material to her hips as he urged her to straddle his lap. Y/n used her hands on his shoulders to steady herself, the new bulge in his pants a surprise to her as she settled in his lap. 

“Yeah, and you thought I was kidding,” Dean took in the slight rise in her brow, leaning forward to run his lips across her jaw, taking note of the places that made her shiver. Her eyes were squeezed shut as she allowed Dean to explore her body and let herself just feel him. Dean raked his teeth along with the shell of her ear, causing her to buck her hips and both of them to groan.  

“Fuck,” her words were a breath on her lips as she repeated the action, the roughness of his jeans just enough friction on her aching sex. 

“That’s it, beautiful, take what you need,” Dean sat back and used his hands to keep her body moving against his own, watching the way her brows scrunched together in the center of her forehead. With a shift of his hips, he had her pushed back and straddling his left thigh, his hands still in their place on her hips. “Can you come like this, sweetheart?”

“I don’t--” a jolt of electricity had her halting her denial, instead she chose to just nod and place her hands against his chest to balance her movement. She could feel Dean’s heart hammering in his chest under her palm and the quick rise and fall of his breath. Even at this moment, she was disbelieving that he was that turned on watching her get herself off on his thigh, but she had the proof hammering under her fingertips. Y/n was biting her lip to keep quiet in the small room. “Dean, I’m so close.” 

“I’ve got you, come for me, Y/n,” he husked as his grip tightened, though she wasn’t sure how that was even possible, seeing as there was already gonna be bruises there later, that she was sure of. The sound of his voice reverberating in her head had the coil snapping inside of her, heat flooding her body as every nerve sparked and faded out. A rush of air left her lungs, her body slumping as her muscles relaxed post-orgasm. 

“Oh my god.” As her arousal ebbed from her body and the reality of what just happened came to her sense, Y/n clammed up and she tried to climb from his lap. Blood rushed to her face and her hands flew to her cheeks to hide the heat settling there.

“Woah, where are you going?” Dean stopped her from making a hasty exit, his eyes searching hers in question. 

“Dean, what the hell just happened?” 

A smirk replaced the confusion on his face as he leaned forward and nuzzled his face in her neck, tracing his tongue up her pulse. “You just got yourself off on my thigh while I tried not to cream my jeans,” he breathed in her ear. It was like he already knew every button to push on her body, his dirty talk doing everything she needed it to for her body to already be aching for him again. 

“I--”

“Shh, sweetheart. That was hot as fuck, and all I want now is to be buried deep inside that pretty pussy of yours.” 

“Jesus,” her eyes shifted to his, taking in the mischievous glint shining behind his iris. “You aren’t kidding.”

“Nope,” he popped the ‘p’ at the end of his word and Y/n nodded as she climbed off him. She turned her back to him so he could undo the zipper, and it took a second for Dean to catch on to her silent action. He jumped to the edge of the bench and tugged down the zipper before sliding the material down her shoulders. Dean hooked his fingers into the edge of her panties, placing a kiss on the dip in her lower back before pulling the soaked material to pool at her feet along with the dress. He stood then as she turned back to him and pushed his jacket and flannel down his arms, adding it to the pile of discarded clothes in the room. 

“Come, on we don’t have a lot of time before someone gets suspicious.” There was a quiver in her voice as she lifted the hem of his tee and tugged open his belt. It was taking everything in her to quell the shaking in her hands. Dean’s fingers came down to wrap around her wrists, halting her movement and she looked up at him. 

“Y/n we don’t have to,” he was trying to read her mind as he examined her face. The trepidation was seeping through her pores, but not because she didn’t want this. Hell, the painful ache between her legs told her how much she wanted this, but her brain couldn’t help to race through the million thoughts about what it all meant. 

“No, I-- God do I want this,” Y/n began chewing on the inside of her cheek as she tried to come up with the words to explain to him what she was thinking. But the longer the time passed the more nervous she grew, standing there stark naked and he’s still basically fully dressed. “I think I’ve wanted this for a long time now, but I’m just scared.”

“Of?” He urged her to continue.

“That this doesn’t mean the same thing to you,” Y/n cast her glance down, her eyes fixated on the way the fluorescent light glinted in the metal of his belt. 

“You think that this is about getting my dick wet for me.” It wasn’t a question, because she had all but spelled it out for him. “Y/n,” He put his fingers under her chin and turned her head back up to his, brushing his lips against hers, the action soft and unhurried. “I told you, I’ve been watching you for a while now, trying to learn everything I could about you. I would have done this the first night I met you if I hadn’t thought about what it would do to you. But I’m done being scared because I think I fell for you a long time ago and no amount of whiskey or other women could make me forget that. So I’m done fighting it.” 

“Yeah?” Her eyes were swimming with unshed tears now, and Dean answered her with another kiss, pulling her body flush against his own as he invaded her mouth. The pair only pulled apart when they could no longer fight the need for air. “Dean--”

“Yeah,” he breathed, dropping his grip on her to finish what she started with his belt. Y/n watched his movements, her breath getting caught in her throat as she watched him pull his length from its cotton confines. Dean signaled for her to turn with one hand as he stroked himself with the other. She obliged, of course, and Dean pushed her gently between her shoulder blades until her hands were pressed against the mirror. He nudged her legs to open a tad wider, meeting her gaze in the mirror. 

“Do we--” 

“I’m good if you’re good,” she told him, knowing where he was going with his question. He nodded to her before lining himself up with her entrance. Dean held her gaze as he entered her from behind, both of them sighing together as he became fully seated. Y/n closed her eyes as she tried to compose herself, her head falling between her arms. 

“Fuck, open your eyes, look at yourself,” Dean was biting his tongue as he swatted her ass to get her to lift her head again. She indulged him, looking at herself in the mirror before turning her eyes back to his in the mirror. “There you go,” he praised her, the words like music to her ears as he pulled back out and slammed into her hips. 

Dean set up a steady rhythm, careful to not shake the walls of the dressing too much with his movement. The couple kept their eyes on each other in the mirror, the moment the most erotic thing she could ever remember doing, but for the life of her, she couldn’t be bothered by it. Even from her vantage point, she could see how blown his pupils were, the black of his iris’ all but drowning out the green that she loved so much. To be honest, she wasn’t sure which she liked more now. All she did know was the feeling of him moving inside her and the way her muscles were shaking. 

A small knock had Dean stilling his movements, and Y/n stood up, pressing her back against his chest. He slipped an arm around her chest as she signaled for him to be silent. “You doing alright in there?” 

Y/n swallowed the lump in her throat and let out a breath, “Yeah,” she called back, afraid her voice would be too wrecked if she said anything else. 

“Is there anything else I can get you? Maybe some different sizes?” The saleswoman tried again. 

“Nope, I’m all set, thank you.” 

“Okay, just let me know.” The sound of her footsteps could be heard retreating from the dressing room, and Dean pressed his face into her neck, the pair of them chuckling. 

“Come on, sweetheart,” he adjusted their position, resuming the movement of his hips as he snaked his free hand down to rub against her clit. Y/n jolted in his arms at the contact, this time closing her eyes as he built her back up. “I’m right behind you. Can you come for me again?” Y/n nodded against him, her hands flying to his forearm as she felt herself jumping over the cliff, her mouth open in a silent scream. Her knees buckled and Dean had to adjust himself to keep her from falling, still fucking her from behind as her fluttering walls milked him to his own orgasm. He bit into her shoulder to keep himself from groaning out loud. 

“Sweet Jesus,” her body went limp in his arms as the pair of them caught their breath in the now muggy space. 

“Yeah, you are so not going out with that coroner tonight. We will find a different way.” Dean admitted as he pulled his now softening cock from her. Y/n flinched at the feeling and the subsequent rush of his release inside her. 

“What?” She turned to him as he began righting himself, not understanding why he didn’t want her to do her job.

“‘Cause you are all mine now,” Dean tugged her into his chest, his fingers around one of her biceps. “And I want to spend all night making sure you can’t walk tomorrow.” 

“Oh,” Dean laughed as she blinked at him, clearly lost for any sort of coherent answer to what he just told her. 

“Get dressed so we can get out of here and kick Sammy out of our motel room.” Dean tapped her ass again and she pushed him away from her, a stupid grin on both of their faces.

Forevers: @22sarah08​ @akshi8278​ @anathewierdo​ @atc74​ @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce​​ @callmekda​ @dawnie1988​ @deanwanddamons​ @ellewritesfix05​ @emoryhemsworth​ @flamencodiva​​ @foxyjwls007​ @hobby27​ @janicho88​ @jensengirl83​ @katehuntington​ @lyarr24​ @malfoysqueen14​ @mrsjenniferwinchester​ @msmarvelouswinchester​ @polina-93​​ @sleepylunarwolf​ @stiles-stilinski-24-dylan​ @smol-and-grumpy​ @superfanficnatural​ @supraveng​ @talesmaniac89​ @tranquility-or-chaos​​ @waywardbeanie​ @winchest09​

[haus-seeblick]

Suptober Day 4 - Secrets

Title: “Messy”

Rating: General Audiences

Word Count: 3,503

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, John Winchester, Original Characters

Tags: John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Angst, Breaking The Rules, Dean is Sam's Real Parent (But he shouldn't have to be), Dean Giving Sam a Childhood, Dean Has Self-Esteem Issues, Dean Meets a Cute Boy, Unwanted Haircut, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Dean is 13 and Sam is 9

Summary: John leaves Dean and Sam alone at a motel the day before Halloween. Despite John's hard-and-fast rules about leaving the motel room, Sam convinces Dean to take him trick-or-treating. While they're out, Dean meets a boy who makes him feel like breaking the rules was worth it.

On AO3 Here

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Dean, you know the drill,” John says brusquely as he hoists the duffel over his shoulder. “Tell me the rules.”

Dean stands up from where he’s folding laundry on the motel room floor. They stopped at the laundromat this morning, John tossing Dean just enough quarters for two small loads before taking Sam along with him to the local library for research. They’ve been tracking a creature for days and John’s still not sure exactly what it is.

Dean would have loved to help with the books. Instead he sat in front of the laundry machine, exactly the same as the hundreds of others he’s fed with quarters over the years, and watched their clothes spin around and around. He noticed new holes in Sam’s jeans and socks when he moved them to the dryer. If his dad will let him use some of their wound-stitching thread, he’ll repair them after this hunt.

He faces his dad, posture straight and hands behind his back. “The rules are stay in the room, keep the doors and windows locked, don’t answer the door for anyone except you and Bobby, only spend money if I absolutely have to, and always have a weapon in reach,” he rattles off.

John nods, face impassive. “And the most important rule?”

“Protect Sammy,” Dean says firmly. He glances over to the rickety table under the window, where his scrawny little brother is filling out a worksheet. It’s part of the last round of homework their teachers had given them at their previous school, right before John took them out again to hit the road.

Dean quietly tossed his own homework in the garbage and told Sammy to finish every worksheet, because he was going to mail it back to the school and his teacher would check it. Sam’s even writing a letter in the cursive he’s learning to go along with it.

Dean has no clue what the address of the school is.

John pulls the Impala key out of his pocket and opens the door. “I’ll be out of cell range during this next leg. Check in date is Thursday. Don’t call for help until Sunday.”

Dean nods. John steps halfway out the door before turning back. He eyes Dean for a long moment, as if he’s trying to come up with something to add. Eventually he just says “I’m cutting your hair when I get back. You look messy.”

The door closes. In the silence of the room, Dean reaches up and touches his bangs. Just this morning, in the reflection of the washing machine door, he admired how his hair was curling a bit over his ears. It framed his face and made him look softer. Less skinny. More like the other boys he’d seen at school.

Oh well.

The Impala roars to life outside in the parking lot, and Dean listens until the purr of the engine fades away down the road. He looks at the half-folded pile of laundry at his feet.

“Tomorrow’s Halloween.”

Dean jumps a little. Sam’s right next to him, eyebrows raised expectantly. Dean pushes him away and drops onto the couch, nudging a balled-up pair of socks with his foot. “Don’t sneak up on me.”

Sam sits down next to him. “Dean, I think Dad forgot about Halloween.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “He didn’t forget, Sammy. It just doesn’t matter.” He avoids looking at his brother, running his fingers over the ridge of threads barely holding together the hole in his own jeans.

“But I told James I’d be a doctor,” Sam needles. “He’s gonna be a pirate.”

Sam’s ability to instantly make friends always leaves Dean feeling half-proud, half-nervous. Sam was in third grade with James for less than two weeks, and he still talks about him constantly.

Dean thinks it’s better not to get attached. He just can’t bring himself to teach Sam that particular lesson yet.

He sighs and glances at Sam. “You know you can’t trick-or-treat with James anyway, right? He’s in Denver.”

Sam groans dramatically and flops against the hard backrest of the couch. His shaggy hair falls into his face. Dean looks at the longest strands, curving past Sam’s cheekbones.

“We can just do Halloween here,” he suggests, even though he knows “buying candy from the gas station” definitely doesn’t count as necessary spending.

Sam shakes his head where it’s still resting on the couch. “That’s not real Halloween.”

“We’ve never done a real Halloween, so how would you know?” Dean’s just buying time now, putting off the moment when he has to say “no.”

The stink-eye that’s sent his way is of epic proportions. “I watch TV, Dean.”

Dean rubs his face. “Sammy--”

“--Oh, please, Dean, please!” Sam shifts into begging mode, sitting up and whipping out the puppy eyes. His left eye is half-covered by hair. “I know we’re not allowed, but can’t we break the rules just one time? It can be a secret.”

They hold eye contact for a moment, but Sam’s more stubborn. Dean looks away first, his eyes falling to the laundry on the floor. Almost unconsciously, he reaches under the lumpy couch cushion next to him and lets his fingers graze the pistol stashed there. His stomach rumbles and he wonders how far he can stretch their last cans of soup.

Suddenly, a secret doesn’t sound so bad at all.

“Okay,” he says.

Sam must’ve not expected Dean to relent, because he’s silent for a couple seconds before whooping and launching himself at Dean. “Ahh! Thank you thank you thank you!”

Dean can’t help the smile tugging at his lips. He hugs Sam back, the kid’s bony shoulder digging into his ribcage. After a moment, he pulls away and puts on his most serious face. Hands on Sam’s upper arms, he looks him straight in the eyes. “Sam, if we do this, you cannot tell Dad. Do you understand?”

Sam nods enthusiastically, still grinning. Dean digs his fingers into his arms. “Listen to me, or we’re not going.” He waits for Sam’s face to fall a little before continuing. “You can’t just not tell Dad, you can’t drop hints. You have to clean up all your wrappers. We can never talk about it. Do you get it?”

Sam’s eyes are wide now. He nods again, very small, and Dean knows he’s gotten through. He loosens his grip on Sam’s arms. “All right, then. How are we gonna make you look like a doctor?”

Sam beams.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next night, they lock the motel room door behind them and head out. The neighborhood that starts a few streets behind the motel is pretty normal, as far as Dean can tell. The houses aren’t super big, but the yards are, and there are toys scattered on some of the lawns. The biggest house on the corner even has a tree swing. The big tree reminds him of the one in their front yard in Lawrence. He tries not to think about that too much.

It’s dark, and chilly -- they’re still in Colorado -- and Dean holds his jacket closed in front of his chest. The zipper broke a couple weeks ago. Ahead of him, Sam doesn’t seem to feel the cold at all. His “doctor coat” flaps behind his legs as he skips down the sidewalk. It’s just a sheet from the bed that Dean stuck together with safety pins in a certain way (it doesn’t look like a coat at all, but the mirror in the motel bathroom was shattered so Sam couldn’t see it anyway). He hung their stethoscope from the big first-aid kit around Sam’s neck, with the express instruction not to lose it, and he emptied the rest of the first-aid kit onto the couch so Sam could carry the empty box with the big red cross and look professional.

Sam hasn’t smiled this much in weeks. Dean’s neck is crawling with the knowledge that he’s breaking rules, bigtime, but he shakes it off. They’re out now. It’s done.

Sam has already latched on to a group of kids making their way up the drive to a single-story brick house. Dean hears him introduce himself, sees him flash the big toothy smile that Dean told him makes him look friendly. The other kids compliment his stethoscope, and Dean relaxes a little.

Everyone in the group is wearing what looks like homemade costumes, too — there’s another bedsheet, draped over a short kid’s head like a ghost (if only ghosts actually looked like that, Dean thinks); and a long black coat, obviously from an adult, dwarfing a kid who Dean’s pretty sure is supposed to be a vampire. Sam, in his makeshift getup, fits right in.

Dean’s trailing behind the group, letting Sam do his making-friends thing, when he notices another older kid doing the same. He looks about Dean’s age, maybe a year older, fourteen or so, and he’s dressed like an angel with a blue halo made out of pipe cleaners. The rest of his outfit is normal, though — a t-shirt that’s printed to look like a suit and tie, under a regular puffy winter coat. Dean’s eyes linger on him as they follow the younger kids up to the house. When they come to a stop so Sam can ring the doorbell, the other boy looks over at Dean, too.

“Hi,” he says. In the yellow glow of the porchlight, his eyes look greenish blue. “I’m Al.” He reaches out a hand. Dean looks at it for a moment, then takes it. They shake. Al’s hand is warm and smooth, a stark contrast to Dean’s freezing, calloused palm. Dean wishes he could hold on a bit longer.

“Dean,” he replies, dropping Al’s hand. He’s not sure what to say next. That’s Sam’s area of expertise.

Luckily, Al doesn’t let him flounder long. “Do you live around here?” he asks, friendly and curious. Dean’s used to hearing that question asked with a thick layer of suspicion, usually out of the mouth of some nosy adult. He still gives his practiced answer, though.

“No, me and my brother are just visiting our grandparents for a couple days.”

Al nods, accepting the lie easily. “I thought I’d never seen you at school.” He points at the sheet-clad ghost. “That’s my sister Katie. She’s seven. It’s the first time our parents are letting me take her trick-or-treating on our own.”

Dean smiles and gestures at Sam, who’s holding the empty first-aid kit out to the homeowner for candy. “That’s Sam. He’s nine. Same deal for us.”

“I like his costume,” Al says. Dean bristles for a moment, until he realizes Al’s being sincere.

“Thanks,” he replies. “I like Katie’s too.” He sweeps his eyes over Al again. “Why are you wearing a fake suit with your halo?”

Al looks down at himself and laughs sheepishly, smoothing down the front of his t-shirt. “I wanted to do a toga with a sheet, but it’s way too cold. I just dressed up ‘cause Katie wanted me to. The halo was the quickest thing.”

“It works,” Dean assures him, suddenly wanting Al to feel good about himself. He shuffles his feet a little, kicking at the fallen leaves littering the walkway. Al smiles at him and something grows in Dean’s chest, a warm, glowing ball, making everything feel tight and tingly. He’s not sure what to do with it.

Sam appears at his elbow suddenly, much to Dean’s relief. He ruffles Sam’s hair. “What’d you get?”

Already chewing on something that looks very caramelly as it squishes between his teeth, Sam holds out the first-aid kit. “She gave me two big ones!” he announces around his mouthful. Two full-sized Milky Ways, one already half-unwrapped, slide around in the box.

“Cool,” Dean says. “Don’t get a stomachache.”

“They’re gonna get stomachaches,” Al says ruefully as Sam and Katie bounce down the driveway to hit the next house. “We should steal some of their candy, y’know, just to protect them.”

The word protect briefly jolts Dean out of his growing sense of relaxation and he sneakily pats his chest, feeling the sheathed knife tucked away in the inside pocket. He makes sure he can still see Sammy (now bounding up the walkway of the next house), and takes a breath. Everything’s under control.

“You okay?” Al’s looking at him with his eyebrows drawn together, a lock of dark hair falling into the crease. He has nice hair, Dean decides. Floppy and kind of messy, squished flat in the middle by the band of the pipe cleaner halo.

“Yep,” he says, forcing the cheer into his voice. If Al notices, he doesn’t say anything. They continue to follow their siblings through the neighborhood, leaving some distance so they can talk. Al tells Dean about school, that he likes science and hates history, that his favorite band is Journey, that he wants to play soccer but his dad wants him to play football, and that he wants to be a veterinarian.

“I like cars,” Dean says in response. “I’m not great at school. Not sure what I wanna do when I grow up.”

Not sure how to tell you that I’ll probably be hunting monsters for the rest of my life.

Al leans on the picket fence of the house that they’re currently waiting outside. “You could be a teacher,” he says.

Dean narrows his eyes at him in confusion. “I just told you I’m bad at school.”

Al shrugs. “My favorite teacher says he didn’t like school. That’s why he’s so good at helping us. He gets it.”

The heavy layer of clouds above them breaks, and a ray of moonlight lands across Al’s face. They’re standing between streetlights, so the silvery glow makes Al’s blueish eyes gleam. Dean finds he has to breathe a little harder than normal. He shakes his head.

“Nah, if anyone’s gonna be a teacher, it’s Sammy. He’s really smart.”

Al hums and pushes off the fence. Sam and Katie are moving on again. “I don’t know, man. You seem smart to me.” He pats Dean on the shoulder, the warmth of his hand seeping through Dean’s threadbare jacket.

In the relative darkness, Dean smiles so hard his eyes squeeze shut.

Eventually, they’ve stopped at every house in the neighborhood. Dean’s pockets are full of the candy that doesn’t fit into Sam’s overflowing first-aid kit. Al’s coat pockets are bulging, too. Sam and Katie run sugar-hyped circles under a streetlight while Dean and Al stand on the corner, looking at each other a bit awkwardly.

“Uh-- I’m glad we ran into you guys,” Al says finally. “You’re really cool.”

Dean’s glad that he’s the one facing away from the streetlight, because his cheeks heat up and probably look way pinker than they would from just the cold.

“You too,” he says. “Wish we lived around here.”

“Where do you live?” Al asks. “You know, just in case we ever take a road trip.”

Unless your destination’s my dad’s car, I don’t think you’re gonna run into me.

“Sioux Falls,” he says. “South Dakota. I live with my uncle.”

If Al finds that strange, he doesn’t pry. Dean could hug him. He wants to hug him.

Katie comes barrelling over, dragging her pillowcase of candy along the pavement. She’s huffing from running around, ghost sheet dangling half off her body. “Al, I’m soooo tired.” She flops against her brother. Sam comes trotting up behind her and grins at Dean. Dean tries to smile back, but there’s a lump in his throat, something that’s making it hard to breathe.

Al pats Katie on the head. “We should probably go home, anyway. It’s getting late.”

Still taking tight little breaths, Dean nods. “Uh-- yeah, us too. See if Sam can sleep off the sugar rush.”

“How long are you staying with your grandparents?” Al asks.

Dean looks at his feet. Weighs the pros and cons of sneaking out again. He’d have to take Sam; there aren’t actually any grandparents who could watch him.

He can’t risk it.

“We’re going home tomorrow morning,” he says, every word dropping like lead. Sam shoots him a confused look, but he ignores it.

Unless he’s imagining it, Al’s face seems to fall. “Aw, too bad. Wait! Hang on.” He rummages through his candy-heavy pockets until he pulls out a little spiral notebook and a nub of a pencil. He writes something on a page and rips it out. He hands it to Dean.

“Our phone number,” he says with a little smile. He steps forward and the streetlight catches his eyes again. Dean thinks that in the sunlight, they’d be bright blue. Al gestures at the paper. “You’ve got a phone at your uncle’s, right? Maybe you can call me sometime.”

There are way too many feelings jumbling around in Dean’s chest for him to say anything coherent, so he just nods. Al smiles wider. “Cool. I’m happy we met you.” He takes one more step forward and — Dean stops breathing altogether — wraps his arms briefly around Dean’s shoulders. He’s very warm. His hair smells good. Dean’s brain doesn’t catch up quite in time, and he misses his chance to hug back. The edge of Al’s halo brushes Dean’s forehead as he pulls away.

“Thanks for hanging out,” Al says, putting his arm around Katie’s shoulders and turning to go. “Have a good drive back home!”

Dean clears his throat. “Bye, guys,” he says lamely. Sam waves enthusiastically to make up for it. They stand under the streetlight for a long few minutes, watching Al and Katie go.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam manages to eat every piece of candy by Thursday morning, which is the day they’re supposed to hear from John. Dean makes him eat canned vegetable soup in between meals of Mars bars and Skittles. They scrounge the motel room for wrappers, tossing them all into a big garbage bag that Dean’s going to throw into the dumpster outside. He finishes folding the laundry, counts the money to make sure it’s all there, re-packs the first aid kit, and puts the sheet back on the bed without the safety pins.

Anytime the unease creeps in about having broken the rules, he looks at his brother’s shining face and pushes it back down. He and Sam rehearse their story in case John asks them what they did and Sam even finishes all of his worksheets. Dean folds them up and hides them at the very bottom of his duffle. He tells Sam he put them into the mailbox in the motel office.

And every few hours, he pulls the folded little piece of notebook paper out of his pocket and looks at it. In careful handwriting, Al had written:

Alan Montgomery

(from Halloween. I hope you call.)

And his phone number.

Thursday afternoon, Dean takes the candy-wrapper garbage bag out to the parking lot. At the last second, he pulls Al’s note out of his jeans. After a long moment of reading and re-reading it, he gently folds it back up and tosses it into the bag. He throws the whole thing into the dumpster.

But not before memorizing the number.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

John gets home late Thursday night. Before they check out of the motel on Friday, John sits Dean down on the toilet seat in the bathroom and pulls out his electric clippers.

While John has his back turned, plugging in the clippers by the sink, Dean pushes his hand through his hair, feeling the soft strands bunch up between his fingers and fall back down onto his ears. He remembers Al’s messy hair brushing his cheek when they hugged.

John flips the clippers on and the buzzing fills the bathroom. For the second time, Dean is glad that the mirror is shattered.

With every lock of hair that tumbles to the ground, Dean recites Al’s number in his head.

“There,” John says gruffly, after the floor and Dean’s lap are littered with honey brown strands. “You look like a man again.”

Dean stands up, brushing off his jeans. His head feels cold. “I’ll get a broom,” he says.

He’s halfway out the bathroom door when John says “Dean.”

Dean freezes, already wondering where he left a wrapper, how John found the garbage bag, if Sam let something slip. He slowly turns back. John’s wrapping the cord around the clippers.

“I need you to come on the next hunt. We’ll drop Sam off at Bobby’s.”

Bobby’s, where the telephone is. Dean’s heart beats hard for a different reason now. He tries to look casual. “Are we gonna stay for a bit?”

John’s already shaking his head before Dean’s done talking. He pushes past him and drops the clippers into his duffel bag on the bed. “No. We’ll be on the road for a while.” He stops and looks at Dean. “Weren’t you going to find a broom?”

Dean loads a dustpan with his hair and empties it on top of the garbage bag in the dumpster.

He whispers Al’s number again.

[eyeofthedrgn]

A Heavy Battle Symphony - Chapter 4

New chapter! This chapter is slightly fluffy, still angsty, but much less than previous chapters.

Catch up here: Chapter 1 // Chapter 2 // Chapter 3

TW: language, mental abuse, verbal abuse, physical abuse, violence, depression, anxiety, panic attacks, self harm, self-esteem issues, sexual abuse (only alluded to briefly in future chapters), just a lot of trauma, angst, smut - lots of lovely gay smut

Word count: 1685

Chapter 4 - Forgotten

A little piece of paper with a picture drawn

Floats on down the street 'til the wind is gone

And the memory now is like the picture was then

When the paper's crumpled up it can't be perfect again

It was Monday, and he was healed enough that Maeve let him go to school. After a normal morning routine, Lorcan made sure he wore a hoodie that would do a decent job covering his neck. Hood up, hands in his hoodie pocket, head down, he headed to school.

He missed a lot of schoolwork. It was going to be a late night. Luckily, most of the teachers gave him until the end of the week to turn it in.

When P.E. came around, he went straight to the gym rather than the locker room. He found his teacher and handed him his doctor's note. Mr. Brullo sent Lorcan to the library to study. Lorcan was happy about that. He was able to catch up on some of his homework.

Lorcan's handwriting, luckily, wasn't hindered by his cast. Perrington at least broke his right arm, his non-dominant arm. That he was thankful for, if he could be thankful for anything that happened to him.

He was getting a headache from his pre-calc homework. Lorcan rubbed his face with his hand and sighed.

"Lorcan?"

Lorcan grunted and slowly turned to see Elide, who looked relieved to see him. That was interesting. "Oh, uh, hi."

"Aren't you supposed to be in gym?" Lorcan lifted his casted arm. Elide's eyes widened and her lips parted. "Oh." She swallowed. Fuck, here comes the pity. "How-" she closed her mouth. "How'd that happen? We thought you were sick." Why were they concerned?

He told the same story Maeve told the doctor. Something about getting in a fight and falling down stairs, and "you should see the other guy". She didn't seem to believe him, neither did the doctor.

"Can I sit with you?" Lorcan shrugged. She sat down and then proceeded to talk to him about what he missed in creative writing. He didn't realize her voice was so soothing.

"Has anyone signed your cast yet?" She was eyeing the black cast. "I have a silver Sharpie!" She pulled it out of her bag and held it up with a smile.

Lorcan huffed a small laugh. Not being able to say no to that smile, knowing he was going to get in trouble, well, what could really do to him anyway? So, Lorcan carefully pushed up his hoodie sleeve. She smiled brightly at him. He propped his head up on his hand, eyes closed and listened to her hum as she put ink to the black cast.

++++

It was hard to keep from asking Lorcan questions. Elide saw the handprint bruise on his neck, the exhaustion lining his body, and of course, the full arm cast. She thought about how his injuries were formed. Obviously, someone put their hands on him, but who?

She didn't know who he lived with besides his aunt. It was doubtful that a woman had done this sort of damage, but one never knows for sure.

As she put pen to plaster, she kept looking up at his face between strokes of ink. He had drifted off to sleep. His face was slack, a slight snore every time he breathed out. Lorcan looked so innocent like that and dare she say, gorgeous.

Having finished her artwork, she just watched him until the bell rang. She gently brushed a lock of hair off his forehead, delicately tucking it behind his ear. He didn't stir.

Elide wished there was something she could do to get him away from his more than shitty situation. Calling the police was probably out of the question, but that was really the only thing she could think of.

The bell rang.

---

He didn't realize he had fallen asleep until he felt his textbook being pulled from under his elbow. "Oh, shit. Sorry," Lorcan furrowed his brow as he started cleaning up his stuff.

"You looked tired, I didn't want to wake you, but it is lunch time." Elide smiled, "and you have to look at your cast!" She seemed so excited about it.

Expecting some nonsense, he was pleasantly surprised to find a nice line drawing from his elbow to his wrist. It was a row of detailed trees with her name under it. Lorcan looked at it with awe. He looked back at Elide, "You did that?" Obviously, she did that. Don't be stupid, Lorcan, he thought to himself.

She giggled. He thought her laugh was adorable. "Obviously." Lorcan's cheeks flushed while he finished packing up before they walked together to lunch in a comfortable silence.

---

He followed Elide through the lunch line, the lunch lady gave him an extra serving. He was probably looking a little gaunt these days having barely eaten for the past week. Lorcan started towards the empty table in the corner.

Apparently, Elide wasn't having any of that as she pulled him to the group table before he could go be alone. Everyone seemed excited to see him. His name was shouted amongst several other greetings. Lorcan felt a tug in his chest as he looked around at the friendly faces. Why were they always trying to be nice to him? And then his eyes fell on the silver haired boy, he instantly forgot what he was thinking. He stared at the green eyed beauty a fraction longer than he should have as he sat down.

Elide introduced everyone. Aelin, Lysandra, Manon, Dorian, Chaol, Fenrys, Connall, Rowan - the silver haired boy - and then Vaughn, who was the last one to join the table.

He was sitting between Elide and Fenrys. Lorcan kept his head down while he ate, feeling very out of place. Everyone was chatting around him, over him, leaning around him. It was a lot. He wished he was alone at the table in the corner.

Rowan spoke up, "Can I sign your cast?" Lorcan jerked his head up. The sleeve of Lorcan's hoodie was still pushed up, he had forgotten to pull it back down which was unusual, but under the current circumstances, it made sense.

Lorcan's heart sped and he suddenly felt warmth spread up his neck. It drove him crazy how much his body reacted of its own accord around Rowan. He wished it would stop.

There was no reason to deny him when the punishment was coming now anyway since Elide's Sharpie touched the cast in the library, so he just shrugged and moved his arm towards the center of the table, towards Rowan.

"Elide, can I borrow your Sharpie?" She handed it over with a nod and went back to animatedly talking to the other girls about something.

Lorcan was careful not to press into the edge of the table, as he adjusted his arm. "I don't think mine will be as pretty as Elide's. Sorry in advance." Lorcan just shrugged a shoulder. He watched Rowan do his little doodle.

Then Rowan grabbed Lorcan's hand to carefully twist his arm to get to a different part of the cast easier causing electricity to shoot through his skin. His breath hitched. The soft fingers lingering on his skin, he never wanted the other boy's hand to move. Lorcan's eyes darted to Rowan's face to see if he noticed anything weird. All he saw was intense concentration, the way his tongue stuck out just a tad and his brows stitched together. Suddenly he was too warm, chest tight, heart pounding. Hellas below.

"There!" Rowan smiled at his silly nonsensical line doodle signed with his name. "All done." That smile did weird things to his stomach and the absence of those warm fingers made all the heat he had just been feeling disappear. A shiver ran down his spine.

Rowan capped the Sharpie and went to hand it back to Elide when Fenrys grabbed it.

"Can I?"

"Yeah." He was screwed anyway.

By the end of lunch, his cast was covered in names and doodles by his... Friends? They couldn't be friends, could they?

As he walked to his next class, he started panicking. His chest tightening for a whole other reason than being in close proximity to a certain boy. A tightness that was only reminiscent of growing anxiety. He shouldn't have let anyone sign it. What was he thinking?

Fuck.

++++

"Lorcan," Rowan breathed as he saw the dark haired boy basically being dragged by Elide to their table. Everyone perked up at that and welcomed him back.

Rowan saw his pained expression. Then, he saw the cast and the light purples, greens, and yellows on his neck that Lorcan was obviously trying to hide with the hood of his hoodie. It looked like a handprint. A fucking handprint. His gut roiled at the thought.

But then Lorcan looked at him, and oh boy, those eyes were going to be the end of him. They were an amazing onyx, almost like pools of night. His cheeks heated and he hoped no one noticed.

He finally got the courage to ask to sign his cast. And when Lorcan leaned over to get his arm closer to Rowan, he noted the stiffness and slight discomfort that flitted over his face. There was so much damage to Lorcan's body that they couldn't see. It made him unbearably sad thinking about it.

For the rest of lunch, while everyone signed Lorcan's cast, Rowan just sat there silently, observing the beautiful dark haired boy. He'd catch his eye every now and then give him a small smile, which was never returned. His eyes just quickly flitted away. Lorcan, he learned was very hard to read.

Rowan wished they could hang out, just the two of them. He wanted to get to know him and help him. And know what those lips felt like, tasted like. How it would feel to thread his fingers through his long dark hair that was usually in a messy bun. Or just to hold his hand. Fuck, he had it bad.

____

Thank you for reading! Let me know if you would like to be tagged.

@thenerdandfandoms @starlightorstarfire

[harmoni-me]

Hello! I’m not sure if your requests are still open but, if they are here you go! I wanted to ask if you could write me a request of Nagito Komaeda x a reader who is the ultimate Chess Master? I kinda wanted to imagine him falling in love or already dating his S/O who plays chess as a professional and is more on the kinder side when it comes to him. Good luck! 💖

Ooo! This is such a unique concept, and I absolutely love it! Writing it was an absolute joy! Thank you so much for the amazing request <3

Nagito Komaeda x Ultimate Chess Master Reader!

The ultimate nurse, the ultimate swords-woman, the ultimate photographer…everyone in this class seemed to posses such interesting talents. It made you feel quite jealous, in some sort of way.

Now, of course you never thought of your talent as boring, useless, or unnecessary in the slightest! After all, you were the Ultimate Chess Master. You believed that everyone should try chess at least once before inflicting their nasty opinions on the strategic game. Unfortunately, that was already too late when it came to…basically your entire school life.

In Elementary, you would ask the kids on the playground to play a quick game of speed chess, because you thought it was a fun way to spend time with friends! But all you got in return were child-built insults, saying that chess was stupid and boring. It’s quite ridiculous to admit, but those comments still float around your mind sometimes. Kids were harsh, still are���

In Middle School, you had a few close friends, and when you asked one of them to try playing a game of chess with you, all they did was look at you weirdly, a look that only seemed to scream “uh, are you serious?”. This was when you started to question your liking for chess. Was it that weird? Am I the only one my age that thinks that chess is actually a fun game?

Now, you were sitting in class at Hope’s Peak Academy, a school full of the elite, yet…

This was the first time you felt truly, whole-heartily ashamed about your love for the game of chess.

“Are you kidding me? Chess? You got into this school for an old-people game like CHESS!? Pfft-!” A girl in twin blonde pony tails and an orange kimono let out a shrill of laughter.

“An…old people game….?” You muttered to yourself, steadily becoming a little closed off from the rest of the class.

You’re love for chess was parallel to how you played, which was almost unbeatable on a professional level, yet…

Why were these comments crushing your heart? Why did it make your love for the game waver?

Class continued like normal, just a little lecture to start off the rest of our high school lives. You honestly weren’t paying attention, your focus more attentive to your little chess notebook, filing it with strategies you wanted to try against high-level computer AI.

Though, it would be nice to have even a complete beginner to play with every once and awhile, though, you might be asking for too much.

Thump

Great, more harassment.

You turned around slightly in your seat, and looked down at the ground it see a crumpled piece of notebook paper that had hit you in the back. You picked it up, and looked around to try and figure out a potential culprit, but it seemed as if everyone was acting normal. No dice, then.

Unfolding the messy ball of paper as quietly as possible, you read what seemed to be words written on the inside.

Meet me in the library today after school, but you don’t have to if you don’t want to be seen with trash like me

The wording on the letter was…strange, but that didn’t stop you from feeling a tiny firework of joy in your heart. Yet, you couldn’t help but feel more nervous than joyous due to how the letter was written. It was surely vague, but it really seemed like the writer as quite the low self esteem.

You were suspicious, but honestly, what could go wrong? It had to be someone from the class that you were just introduced to, so at least it’s not like a blind date sort of thing…

The more you thought about it, the more it actually seemed like a blind date. Nice.

Time seemed to move incredibly slow for the whole rest of the school day, but eventually, the bell had rung, and you were out the door in a heartbeat.

After a little while of asking for directions to the school library, you finally reached your desired location: An absolutely humongous cavern of probably any book one could think of.

Only a couple of students were residing in this literal book mansion, and none of which you recognized.

“I guess they’re not here yet…” You mumbled, sitting yourself by a large, lit fireplace. As the warmth from the flames licked your skin, steadily causing you to naturally relax all of the tensed muscles that were stuck to your bones.

You pulled out your phone, and automatically started a game of online chess with a random opponent. The game was done in a mere ten minutes. The other player was no doubt new to the game, but that’s ok, you were there once too.

You suddenly heard a subtle clunk next to you, making your gaze wander to that direction. It was that boy from your class, the lucky boy. You remember him clearly because you thought his hair resembled a fluffy cloud. The two of you made eye contact, his foggy green eyes squinting a bit when he smiled at you, warming your heart a smidge.

“Y/N L/N, correct? I hope you don’t mind my presence, though it’s ok if you do, I would never blame you on something that’s not your fault.” The thin male crouched down to take a seat on the floor with you, sitting cross-legged.

“Yep, that’s me…and I actually kind of appreciate the meeting, honestly. Even if you just came for simple company, I think that’s very nice of you, especially since everyone in the class already thinks my talent is boring and all…Nagito Komaeda, right? I’m happy to meet you.” You shot a warm smile to the boy, causing him to reciprocate.

“You’re too kind to such untalented scum like myself, all I have is the Devil’s luck, after all! I can’t even control any of it! So I’m glad someone like me can be used as a stepping stone for you to be a beacon of hope!” Nagito chuckled, humored by his own self loathing.

You flipped your whole body to face the living incarnate of a four-leaf clover, “Well, um, on a personal note, I don’t think you’re scum. At all. I think your talent is anything but boring…I also think you’re…quite kind, for hanging out with someone like myself.” Fiddling with your uniform sleeves in nervousness. You just want him to feel better about himself.

The boy went quiet, his smile dwindling from your comment. Was he not used to compliments?

After a few moments in silence, Nagito gazed into your eyes, a new type of smile prettily stitched onto his features. It was almost like this expression was more…vulnerable, uncovering itself under layers upon layers of facades. His face almost made you breath out a sigh of relief at how comforting and relieving his genuine expression was.

“I would like to play with you. I-If you would let me, of course.” Nagito gestured his hands downwards to the chess set he had placed onto the ground since the very beginning. And how did you not notice that? It may or may not be the fact that the boy in front of you seemed to be way more intriguing.

You’re eyes widened as sudden happiness started to flow through every vein within your body. The excitement washed over your soul, rejuvenating it’s prior state of melancholy dreariness. Was…he was serious, right?

“Really…?” Was all that you managed to squeak, causing the lucky student to tilt his head in wonder.

“Hm? Well, of course…I don’t really know who else I would be aski-“

“C-Can we please play speed chess!?” You sputtered, the passion and the fireplace flames reflecting off of your eyes to reveal in an enticing glow.

“Speed Chess?” Questioned the frizzy-haired boy, though he did seem quite interested at your sudden burst of energy.

“Yeah! It’s also commonly referred to as Blitz Chess, and it’s like chess, but you have a very short amount of time to make your moves! It’s super duper fun, and if you want even more fun, then we could also play Bullet Chess! It’s even faster, and a game only takes roughly three minutes if you…keep up…the…pace…” Your words started to get quieter and more mumbled. God, you totally forgot the two of you were in a library, how embarrassing….

A hearty laugh spilled out of Nagito’s mouth, the corners of his lips turning upward to the ceiling. You looked down in pathetic nature. That was totally something to laugh at…

“Though I would consider myself a newbie when it come to chess, speed chess sounds lovely.” Nagito smiled, his pointer finger playing and twirling around the queen piece’s crown.

“Ah, a-alright, well, lets get started, shall we?” You stuttered, with joy obviously evident within your voice.

                                       .   .   .

Unsurprising to you, you had won all three games of speed chess against Nagito, though, it was surprising how close each game was. the more you thought about it, the more you realized his luck most likely aids him whenever he plays. Definitely one of the most interesting opponents you’ve been up against, whether it would be for casual online play, or in-person tournaments.

“Ah, bummer, I guess someone as useless as me shouldn’t even try to come close to beating you!” The boy ruffled his cloud-like locks, laughing at his loss.

“Hey! You had me worried for a few turns there, you were no pushover at all, Nagito!” You proclaimed, frustrated on why he would still think that, even thought the game results were all obviously pretty close.

“Also, please don’t say that your useless…it makes me really sad, because it’s not true at all.” You looked up at him with eyes that reflected something that had never burned so brightly before, and Nagito noticed.

Those eyes, previously clouded from the despair given from others, were now shining with a glimmering hope…and he drew that out from you…by simply playing a mere few games of chess.

For a moment, and only for a moment, he believed your words. Maybe he wasn’t so useless, he helped you find your smile and joy, right? Maybe…maybe…

“Oh yeah!” You shot up, causing Nagito to snap out of his thoughtful daze. You stuck your hand out to him, waiting for reciprocation.

“A handshake, to wish a good game among equals.” You encouraged the boy, wanting for him to fully indulge into what it was like to play the game in a professional, yet somewhat casual setting.

The boy looked at your hand, observing everything. Your nails, your fingertips, your knuckles, all the way down to your wrist. Equals, huh…

Nagito then slowly reached out to your hand, grasping onto it gently, yet it felt like it was the most comfortable fit he could’ve imagined. He wanted the warmth from your soft skin to seep into his cold hands, wanting that heat to slowly fill the rest of his frozen body, all the way up to his thawing heart. Though he didn’t linger any more on the handshake than he needed to, not wanting to make it uncomfortable for you.

But god, did he want to hold on forever.

[kaalamarii]

Study Session (Satan/MC)

Summary: Satan and MC are at the library late at night doing homework and it leads to something else.

Word Count: 1626

Warnings: semi public (or just public) sex, vaginal fingering, oral sex, kind of rough

AO3

Masterlist

MC yawned, rubbing her reddening eyes and adjusting herself, straightening up and pulling her legs into the criss-cross position in front of her. Satan’s eyes left the book in front of him to momentarily look at the girl next to him. 

The day had started out kind of nice. Satan had suggested that they go to the library together so he could help her with some homework and they could study together for a big test they both had coming up. Also, he would never tell her, but he liked having alone time with her. She was cute, chewing the end of her pencil as she read, twirling her hair, eyes narrowed as she took notes, sometimes stopping to stretch or get up and walk around. Satan would pretend not to notice her, his face buried in his books as he watched her in his peripherals. His mind ran away from him a few times when she sat with her legs underneath her, pushing herself close to the table, her skirt falling up to her thighs. 

As the hours passed, Satan was getting more and more irritated and anxious to leave. He was tired, and though he was trying to stay patient with MC’s confusion over the assignments, he was struggling. He reminded himself that she was just a human, of course she didn’t know stuff that was simple for demons who had been living in Devildom for thousands of years. 

Not to mention, with every sigh, stretch, and cute little movement she did, Satan was distracted and flustered. He couldn’t wait to get home, to his room, to read a book that was actually interesting, take care of his sexual frustration, and then go the fuck to sleep.

MC got up for what felt the fiftieth time in the last ten minutes, holding her book and reading out loud while walking in a circle, an attempt to keep herself awake. Satan rolled his eyes, trying hard to get his school work done but was distracted yet again when MC threw her book down in front of him. “I need help.”

She made her way over to him, standing at his side and leaned over him, pointing to the question in her text book. “This one…”

Satan didn’t listen as she spoke, explaining what the text said and what she didn’t understand about it. They were incredibly close, close enough that he could smell her. As well, her tits were eye level, and Satan couldn’t stop himself from staring into her uniform shirt as it fell forward, flashing her black bra.

“Satan?”

The demon still didn’t respond, eyes glued onto her tits and mind focused on thoughts of bending her over the table, taking her then and there.

MC looked back at him, confused until she followed his gaze and figured out what had him so distracted. The corners of her mouth turned up into a small smile and her cheeks turned red.

She had never seen Satan stare like this. Sure, she had caught all of the brothers ogling her at least once, that was to be expected being the only girl in a house of guys. None of them were ever inappropriate or made her uncomfortable, and it actually did wonders for her self esteem when the boys looked at her. 

MC placed her thumb and pointer finger on his chin, lifting his face to meet hers. He blushed a bit, realizing that he had been caught looking. “Sorry...spaced out.”

“Do you want to take a break?” she asked, sitting down and moving her hand down to his leg.

Looking at her hand on his leg, Satan knew exactly what was up. He brought his eyes up to meet hers and turned the lightest shade of pink. “Can I kiss you?”

MC smiled, nodding her head. 

The demon leaned in, pressing his lips to hers. He started out gentle, barely touching the tip of his tongue to hers and lightly brushing her arm with his fingers.

The more they kissed, the more pleasantly rough he got with her, nipping at her lips and pressing his green nails into her skin, leaving faint imprints of crescent moons. He stood, never leaving her mouth, and lifted her up to place her on the table. Satan’s hands traveled up her skirt, fingers splayed over her thighs.

A low moan emitted from the human as she felt arousal pool in her stomach and between her legs at the feel of his touch. 

Satan smiled wickedly, pressing his thumb against her wet panties. “What do you want?”

“Touch me.”

As much as Satan wanted to tease the poor human, make her beg for him, he was aching to touch her, just as she had wanted him to do. He moved her underwear to the side, running a finger down her wetness. 

She let out the cutest little squeal, her hips bucking involuntarily to get some friction.

He dove in for another kiss, pushing his middle finger into her. She moaned into his mouth as he added another finger and pumped in and out of her, his thumb reaching up to press against her clit.

Her head fell back, lovely noises echoing from her through the empty library as he continued to finger fuck her. Satan couldn’t help but grin as he watched her body moving along with him, her eyes rolling back in her head and mouth dropped open as he pleasured her. 

“You’re beautiful,” he told her.

She smiled. “So are you.”

He felt himself start to blush again, but quickly gained composure as the sound of a door opening caught both of their attention. Satan craned his neck, looking to see who dared disturb his fun. An elderly demon with a cart of cleaning supplies came in through the door.

Luckily they were in a corner, mostly unseen from the rest of the library and gone unnoticed by the janitor. 

“Is it really that late?” MC whispered.

Satan shrugged, lifting her skirt and planting kisses on her thighs. 

She squirmed. “Satan! Shouldn’t we stop? What if we get caught?”

He shook his head. “I’m not stopping.”

He kissed between her legs, and MC bit her lip to keep herself from making any noise. She looked down at the demon with wide eyes.

“Don’t worry, he can’t see us.”

“Don’t you think he’ll come over eventually?”

“I’ll have you cumming way before then,” he promised with a smirk before diving back in under her skirt, tongue lapping away at her sex.

“Sat-FUCK.”

“Shh,” he teased, “You don’t want this to end early, do you?”

He continued licking her cunt, pushing his tongue in and out of her and circling her nub. He lightly-very lightly-scraped her clit with his teeth before taking it into his mouth, sucking on her. 

MC put her hand to her mouth, muffling the sounds she couldn’t keep contained.

Satan worked her most sensitive spot as he pushed his finger back in her, curling it and doing a ‘come hither’ movement. MC’s hips bucked, her body trembling as her climax took over.

Satan pulled away, smirking. “Didn’t I tell you that I’d make you come before we got caught.”

“Impressive,” she said, a satisfied smile on her face. “But don’t think that’s all I want from you.”

Satan kissed her again. “And what is it that you want now?”

“You know what I want,” she replied, eyes falling down to the bulge in his pants.

He gripped her hips, pulling her off the table and turning her over, roughly pushing her head down onto the table. He leaned down on top of her, his hard cock pressing against her ass. “Tell me what you want, MC.”

“I want you.”

Satan didn’t need to be told twice. He undid his pants, freeing his cock and pushed her panties to the side again, rubbing himself against her glistening slit. “You want this, MC? Want me to fuck you here on the table?”

MC groaned at his head rubbing against her clit. “Yes, Satan. Please, I want you inside me.”

Satan slowly pushed himself into her, squeezing his eyes shut at the feeling of her warmth. He moved in and out of her, his hips slamming against her ass.

“Fuuuuck,” she whimpered quietly.

Satan could hear the janitor coming closer but found himself not caring. All that mattered to him right now was the feeling of being inside her. He sped up, hand going up to her head and lacing his fingers in her hair, lightly pulling her hair as he fucked her.

“You feel amazing,” he muttered, in a daze. 

“Yes,” she said breathlessly, “You do too.”

She felt slightly embarrassed as she started to come again, her walls spasming on his cock.

He let out a low growl, waiting until she was done to pull out. He pulled her to him and pushed her onto knees facing him. Satan pushed his cock against her lips, and she eagerly opened her mouth for him. He held her hair again, thrusting into her mouth. 

MC gagged on him a bit but didn’t care. She enjoyed seeing the small amount of vulnerability from Satan as his knees buckled and his eyes squeezed shut, his cool exterior dropping as he came. She groaned as she swallowed his seed, the taste of both of them mingling sweetly on her tongue.

Satan helped MC up, pulling her in and kissing her. 

“That was incredible,” she complimented him.

“Agreed. But I am beat. You ready to go home?”

She nodded. 

The two fixed up their clothing and stuffed their things in their bags. They left the library, walking past the janitor on their way out with polite waves, blushes on their faces.

[eclectic-feathers]

Hello! Here’s my submission for @50yearsofqueen’s event. Posted nearing midnight for the drama. It’s a Doctor Who crossover that doesn’t really have much to do with the franchise other than in concept. It’s a very complex show, but canon’s already constantly challenged so I might as well challenge it even more. Thanks to my partner @bananavarina who made the art for this chapter and other chapters to come. Special thanks to @anne-white-star for helping me with the concept. Hope y’all enjoy!

———————————————

Humans succumb rather easily to trickery. After all, an unfortunate amount of them lead such jaded lives to the point they gradually lose the ability of thinking outside the box. This particular box is all these humans have ever known, yet, still, it serves as a case study in the development of claustrophobia. It’s stuck moving at a steady pace in a singular direction: forward. No turning back, no jumping ahead. Worst of all, the box never takes you anywhere. You need gasoline for that and gasoline, as you may well know, is expensive.

And if you don’t prefer a cheaper alternative for transportation, you’re either very well off or there’s something terribly wrong with you.

Thus, when presented with a different box, a time-traveling, space-hopping one which happens to accommodate much bigger dimensions on the inside, humans are easily fooled into stepping right in, putting aside all reasonable caution.

It’s for this reason that The Doctor recruits folks aboard his TARDIS with relative ease. It’s an art form he has nearly mastered, effectively trapping starry-eyed wanderers under the guise of adventure into a lifetime’s worth of the terror they least expect upon boarding. This terror had plagued dozens of Earthlings whose narrow understanding of space and time rendered them rather clueless as to how they might defeat it. This entity was, as brave Jamie McCrimmon ever so rudely proclaimed, a threat less comprehensible than Cybermen. This threat was unwanted exposition.

(Which is more commonly referred to as rambling.)

Countless humans have fondly (and exasperatedly, as certified human, Tegan Jovanka may attest) listened to The Doctor ramble for hours on end. It was a familiar dynamic, one The Doctor found comfort in. Perhaps, most of his companions never truly understood what he would be rambling on about, but it was, and still is, part of their exchange. The Doctor finds joy in showing such excitement, such beauty and wonder, to his friends. In return, his friends put the fun in his travels and gawk, accordingly, to all that they witness.

The Doctor always expected his companions to marvel in the sights and let him ramble on and on from topic to topic. What he didn’t expect was for them to stop marveling and start rambling back.

-

“Your mama loved scarves. They were all she had managed to pack from home when she was taken here.”

Brian slipped on his rubber footwear, his feet secured by tiny pieces of braided cloth cut from a scarf threaded through unevenly punctured holes. Haru had called them flip flops although he wasn’t quite sure whether it was a name he’d invented to cheer him up when he was little (like when he used to call lightbulbs fireflies) or if it happened to be the effect of inherent human silliness, thus making it the correct term.

“This is your papa’s favorite pair of pants. Your mama doodled stars and planets on it for his birthday. He loved them as he loved her...you love them too, don’t you?”

He pulled the pants up and fastened it with a belt. It was rather long and baggy for a ten-year-old. Still, Brian tried to make it work, bunching up the cloth and standing as tall as he could. He wondered if his father was out there, unaware of the existence of a son, finally home among the stars drawn daintily across his trousers.

“We all had to wear long sleeved shirts back in the metropolis. I wore green. He wore white.”

Brian put one on accordingly. The sleeves flopped and swallowed his arms as the shirt engulfed his skinny frame.

“Your mama had sewn him a vest. He wasn’t particularly fond of vests but he was very fond of your mama.”

He put on the black vest

Little Brian stared at the mirror in front of him, unsure what to feel. He felt tears prickling at the corners of his eyes, yet he wasn’t quite sure if it were right to mourn for something he’d never known.

“Bri?”

Brian looked up to find Haru standing at the doorway. His face was blank, yet a storm seemed to brew in his eyes. Perhaps, he was upset that the child he’d loved and raised as if he were his own was wearing the painful reminder of his friends long gone. Or, perhaps, he was disheartened that said child wasn’t satisfied enough with his care to stop yearning for his parents’ presence. Perhaps, he was neither of those. Perhaps, he was angry.

Brian hoped he was angry.

A moment of silence passed between them. Then another. Brian had read about moments like this in fictional Earthling books. He was steeling himself for those angry outbursts he always read about. Haru rarely got upset, yet Ian had never messed up this terribly before. So he braced himself…

Only to be engulfed in a bone crushing hug.

Brian quickly hugged Haru back as the latter trembled. He felt the pitter patter of tears falling on his shoulder and for the first time in his life, he felt the crushing weight of loss.

“You deserve to know your father,” Haru croaked as he regained his composure. Brian merely buried his face in his shoulder as he finally let his own tears flow.

“I already do, Dad.”

—————————-

“Doctor, your library’s collection of medical books is incomplete,” proclaimed Brian, a young man clad in white, signifying his status as an esteemed astronaut of Planet Rhye.

The Doctor gasped theatrically, startling Deacy, a man from 21st century Leicester, younger and less knowledgeable than Brian, yet seemingly much wiser. He’d been tinkering with a malfunctioning lever for about an hour now.

The Doctor merely smiled in apology to which Deacy responded with a fond shake of his head.

“Oh the TARDIS hasn’t been fixed yet?,” Brian inquired as he sank into a lavish red sofa situated in the console room.

“Not to my knowledge, no,” Deacy replied.

The Doctor laughed.

“Cheeky now, aren’t we?”

“Well, I deserve to be cheeky. After all it wasn’t me who busted the wiring in the butterfly room for a photoshoot.”

The Doctor scoffed as Brian let out a snort of his own.

“I’ll have you know, darling, that we’re perfectly safe and untarnished. I managed to avert the crisis by rearranging the wires before anyone could get hurt.”

“Did you, now?,” Deacy asked, his confusion evident.

“Of course I did!”

“Then how come the wires here are all mismatched and tangled up?”

A sudden silence swept across the room.

“Oh! You managed to rearrange them well enough for the TARDIS not to combust but they still weren’t in the correct order because based on the times we were on Itakam and the time we went to Roman occupied Greece, you’re no good at technical repairs,” Brian piped up, rather satisfied with himself. Deacy chuckled as The Doctor gaped at his lack of tact.

“Brian...do tell me about the library,” The Doctor muttered, as Deacy amusedly returned to his work.

“I’ve searched high and low in every single shelf of your library and found references to every single medical lung condition I’ve read of back home. They were all there...except for one.”

“Well, that’s silly, darling! The book dealer had been very sincere. I couldn’t have been tricked!”

“Perhaps, you’d simply been gullible?,” Roger suggested as he entered the room. He was exceptionally beautiful with no trace of wrinkles, pores, or even a philtrum. His skin was smooth as silk save for a pair of gills which rested on either side of his neck. He sat next to Brian and plopped his feet on the former’s lap. It was no secret that this Doctor, unlike the last two of his incarnations, was reserved around strangers. That being said, soaked up every last trace of physical affection from his friends like a sponge. Yet, even he chuckled at the display of such disregard for human manners.

Brian was human. However he’d been raised far from Earth, isolated from society with no one but Dad for company. Etiquette was unimportant in his little world and Dad hadn’t known enough about human custom to teach him anything of substance. Brian hadn’t known touch for years and he embraced, quite literally, its sudden return in the form of team cuddles. It seems rather funny, doesn’t it? That there are things you never realize you lost until you find it and cherish it once more? Ian seemed to believe so.

Roger was a fish.

“That’s impossible, for how all that pretentiousness my sixth face had, he simply wasn’t one to be tricked.”

“I beg to differ,” Roger countered. “I’ve met him. You’re absolutely rubbish at spaceship maintenance, I give you that. But you’re actually quite clever...very creative even. He was witty and creative too, but he wasn’t clever. He was mostly a bumbling fool.”

The Doctor didn’t know whether to be flattered or insulted.

“What medical condition were you looking for anyway?,” Deacy inquired as he rolled up the sleeves of his turtleneck and took off his spliced button up.

“Hanahaki disease.”

At this, Roger quickly turned away from Brian, trying to hold in his laughter. The Doctor buried his smiling face in Deacy’s shoulder as the latter forcibly schooled his expression into one of nonchalance. He was well aware that Hanahaki disease was fictional, after all, his girlfriend, Ronnie used to write fiction in her spare time and he’d be the beta reader. He nodded politely, as Brian happily hummed a little tune, oblivious to his friends’ antics.

You know you’ve got a terrible grasp on human custom when even a fish is more culturally aware than you.

“Well, either way,” Brian piped up, still blissfully unaware, “your collection’s incomplete. Maybe we should go look for the missing volume after Deacy repairs the console?”

“I reckon we need another adventure,” Roger agreed as he set his legs on the floor and yanked The Doctor towards the couch. Brian scooted closer, letting his head rest on Roger’s shoulder as The Doctor climbed in and rested his upper body on his companions’ laps.

“I’m afraid we’ll be stranded here for a little while,” Deacy remarked.

“Then what are you waiting for?,” Brian asked as he beckoned Deacy over to the couch. The latter smiled as he joined in what he believed to be the best part of traveling with The Doctor: cuddle piles.

—————————————-

“Are we gonna tell him…?”

“No!”

“How dare you?! I invited you onboard expecting a starry-eyed audience to gawk at everything I do but instead I got someone who seems to know my TARDIS better than me!”

“There’s no point in complaining about free maintenance.”

“You’re one to talk, fishman. There’s no point in bringing you along with me to witness the universe if you’ve already seen it all!”

“Yet you still keep us around.”

“...I suppose I do. Now wipe those smug looks off your faces. We’re going to 2012. Just to appease him.”

[rosemaidenvixen]

Both Sides of the Sky

Chapter 5: Calling

Ao3

The doors to the front entrance loomed ahead of them. Thick mahogany of solid build, richly carved by very skilled hands. It was clear whoever had first commissioned them must have paid a great deal. But as Claire stepped closer, she was able to notice the countless pockmarks and scars pitting the wood, how they had been so badly warped by the wind and rain that they no longer would hang quite straight. 

Not a good harbinger for what lay beyond.

Keeping that thought, among others, to herself, Claire watched as the doors, warped wood catching ever so slightly in the frame, were pulled open. Revealing a grimm faced butler behind them who silently took the card from her father and ushered the three of them inside.

Without turning her head, it wouldn’t do to appear too curious, Claire glanced around at her surroundings. Avalon hall was massive, she had been able to see that much from the outside. But it soon became clear that the state of the front doors was not a unique feature.

Silk curtains that were faded and stained at the edges. Scuff Marks upon scuff marks on the floor from centuries of feet traipsing up and down the corridors. Tarnish creeping around the edges of the candlesticks, giving the silver a rotten appearance. And due to the building’s esteemed age, all the windows were small and far between, the dim light making the hallway feel claustrophobic.

The overall effect was that Avalon hall didn’t feel like a house where living people resided, rather more like an abandoned, decaying ruin from a bygone era that she and her parents were trespassing in.

Fighting very hard to suppress a shudder, Claire followed her parents deeper into the house.

It looked as though the rumors were true, this family may have a lofty and noble history, but they had fallen far indeed. Claire kept her gaze straight ahead and pointedly ignored the peeling wallpaper as they walked further in. Straight into debt by the looks of it. 

The butler led them up the main stairs and down a hall on their right, to where someone was waiting for them, before swiftly turning and heading off to complete some other task. Claire had expected Strickler to greet them, as he had on her walks with Jim, but instead they were greeted by his uncle, the venerable Lord Merlin, who was so old Claire half expected him to have powder in his hair.

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance Master and Mistress Nuñez,” he politely shook hands with her father before gesturing for them to follow “My nephew is waiting for us in the parlor, let’s not keep them waiting, shall we?”

As they walked he turned and looked Claire straight in the eye, flashing her a grin.

Startled, Claire quickly recovered and managed to return the smile with one of her own. 

They’d only gone a short ways when Merlin stepped to the side, opening a door into a smaller small room.

“Please, after you,” the words were intended for all of them, but his gaze was once again locked on Claire. While she supposed most people would be flattered, Claire couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable at the attention, although why she couldn’t say.

Forcing down the cold fluttering in her belly, Claire followed her parents into the room, blinking at the sudden brightness within.

The curtains had been thrown open, filling the room with sunlight and allowing her to see that, mercifully, this space was in much better shape than the rest of the house. Immaculate blue and gold wallpaper, spotless china dishes and sparking silver on oak tables. Couches that looked comfortable and lived in, even if they were a little threadbare. 

Claire let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.

Strickler was here, and so was Jim, right by his side, both of them standing by a small table holding several teacups filled with steaming brown liquid, two of which he handed over to her father and mother before picking one up himself “So glad you all could make it today, please take a seat. James and I are so happy to have you here,”

He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively “He was quite looking forward to this,”

All the adults in the room tittered at that while Claire blushed crimson, across the room she could see Jim’s face turn a similar hue. 

Still flushing, she sank into a chair, everyone else following suit. The adults quickly fell into banal conversation concerning the weather and current events. Leaving Claire and James to stare at each other in awkward silence.

She wanted to talk to him. There were half a dozen questions perched on the tip of her tongue. Had he recovered from his tumble in the woods and fall in the river? Who was his mother and why did no one ever speak of her? Did the stone bridge still haunt his dreams the way it did hers?

But despite how much she burned for answers, Claire couldn’t bring herself to speak of those things, not in front of their parents.

It was too….private, personal; and the last thing she wanted was her parents pouncing on those thoughts and picking them apart piece by piece. 

Of course there was a chance that Jim felt differently about his family, but the way he also kept his silence made Claire think not.

So here they were. Sitting there mute and bored to tears. Tuning out their families' blathering, Claire allowed her eyes to unfocus, gaze rolling around the room before landing on a sword hanging on the far wall. The blade was dull and the hilt simple, but it was clear that the sword’s true value was in its truly ancient age. She could easily imagine Strickler plucking it from foreign shores during one of his many expeditions. 

Unfortunately by now their mutual silence had been noticed.

“James, why don’t you show the young Miss Nuñez our collection,” Claire jolted slightly upon hearing Strickler mention her name “I’m sure she’d find it fascinating,”

James stood from his chair and extend a hand towards her, flashing a smile that was almost convincing “Of course,”

Claire lifted herself up and returned his smile “That sounds delightful,” at least it would be better than sitting in silence. She allowed Jim to lay a hand over her forearm and lead her to the other side of the room.

“This sword is a viking artefact, along with that shield,” he inclined his head to the right “The vase and teapot are from the far east,”

“Very impressive…” Claire nodded along politely, when her attention was captured by a large painting hanging near the corner, a woman wrapped in silver gossamer reclining in a pond. A simple image, but captured in breathtaking detail “What about the painting, right next to the shield?”

“I...don’t know,” Jim glanced back towards the seated adults.

“Nothing much interesting about that one I’m afraid,” Strickler said with a shake of his head “Merely a gift from an old acquaintance,”

Claire’s eyes darted over the ripples and waves captured in shades of blue paint “It’s very lovely, is it an Undine?”

Strickler let out a chuckle, that sounded more than a little patronizing “A naiad actually,”

Despite her best efforts, Claire felt herself flushing at his thinly veiled condescension “What’s the difference?”

“Naiads live exclusively in fresh water whereas Undines aren’t bound to any one form of water. Oceanids live in open seas and nereids live along saltwater shores,”

For a moment the entire room was silent as everyone turned and stared at Jim. He flushed, clearly feeling the weight of their gazes.

Claire felt a grin, the first entirely genuine one of the day, spreading over her face “I didn’t know you were so well versed in mythology,”

“I...um....” Jim glanced over at his father and uncle for help, face a deep red.

Merlin let out a loud laugh, giving his knee a hearty slap “My dear nephew you’re too shy,” he glanced towards her parents “James has always had an avid interest in mythology, we had trouble getting him to put the books down,”

Jim, clearly embarrassed, was blushing a bright scarlet, and couldn’t seem to stop fidgeting under the attention. Meanwhile, even while she sympathized with the scrutiny, Claire was absolutely brimming with delight. Finally something that she and Jim could talk about, at least while they were in mixed company. 

Still chortling, Merlin got to his feet “How about I show you two youngsters the library,” he glanced towards her parents “With Master and Mistress Nuñezs’ permission of course,” 

Moving so subtly Claire was sure that she was the only one who saw, Ophelia and Javier shared a sly look with each other before turning towards him “We think that sounds delightful,” Javier said, both him and Ophelia positively beaming.

*

“What do you think of the classical myths?”

“They form the bedrock of literature as we know it and have persevered to the modern age due to their highly advanced themes and ideas,”

Jim’s gaze briefly flickered toward Merlin, sitting in a leather chair in the corner of the library holding a book whose pages he hadn’t turned for nearly an hour, the older man giving him an almost imperceptible nod. Claire pretended not to notice. 

She thumbed through the thick book on the table in front of them “One of my favorites is the myth of Tantalus. He tried to trick the gods by feeding them his own son, but they weren’t fooled. They restored his son to life and condemned him to the underworld, with food and water forever just beyond his reach,”

“Oh yes,” he nodded “That is a classic, did you know that’s where the word tantalize comes from?”

Claire did, but she smiled and nodded as if she didn’t, keenly aware of Merlin’s eyes on the two of them.

Like the rest of Avalon hall, the library was old to the point of being ancient, but rather in a cosy sort of way. Mahogany shelves and angled windows giving the room a feeling of warmth. Walls completely lined with books from end to end, supplemented by the occasional freestanding shelf. Most impressive was the collection itself, the largest collection of books Claire had ever seen in her fifteen years. Some published as recently as a year ago, some centuries old; all filling the room with the sweet scents of paper and leather.

At first she’d been excited to discuss literature and folklore with Jim. Both of which were things she very much enjoyed, and hoped that they would be able to build upon a mutual interest. But what Claire hadn’t accounted for was Merlin hovering and ever so subtly correcting Jim when he strayed from what he deemed to be the proper responses. Most of which Claire already knew from her own studies. Making the entire conversation feel dull and rehearsed. Exchanging repetitive answers may be better than silence, but not by much.

Maybe if they wandered off the beaten path a little she could get Jim to tell her his own opinion and not the one his uncle approved of. There was a copy of Bluebeard just across from her, but that didn’t feel quite appropriate right now. She reached over to the far end of the table and pulled a new book with a dusty blue cover towards them “Have you read the Poetic Edda?”

“Yes I have,”

She waited for him to elaborate but he didn’t.

“Thrymskvida is my favorite portion, what do you think of it?”

“Truly a classic piece of Norse myth, although there is debate on whether its origins are Christian or Pagan,”

Well this clearly wasn’t working, time for a different approach.

“What is your favorite Arthurian legend?” she said abruptly, setting the blue book to the side without preamble.

Jim started, clearly caught off guard. He stammered for a few seconds before coming up with an answer “Oh, uh...Sir Gawain and the Green Knight,”

A solid classic, one that she could easily see Lords Strickler and Merlin lecturing him on how it was the best.

“That’s a good one, although I’ve always thought Gawain got away pretty easily considering he broke his word,”

Jim’s amiable expression slipped, sliding into a soft frown “Gawain did keep the scarf the lady gave him, but he could have easily given it to the lord after he let the green knight chop off his head. He wouldn’t have been breaking his word, just stretching it,”

Claire paused, mulling over his words “I suppose that’s true, but Gawain gave his word to give the lord whatever he gained during the day once he got home, not whenever he felt like it. He broke his word, and for that he deserves to be punished,”

“But--”

From the corner of the room Merlin rustled the papers of the book in his lap just loudly enough that it was clearly intentional. Jim shut his jaw with a click.

Claire had to bite her lip, quite hard in fact, to keep from groaning out loud. Just when their conversation was finally starting to get interesting, apparently disagreeing with her trumped what his uncle considered ‘correct’ as far as polite discussion went.

But what was the point of having a conversation if the other person agreed with whatever she said?

Claire had entertained the company of more than a few boys who had agreed with everything she said. Quite frankly she would sooner jump in the river again.

Time for another subject change “My favorite is the Quest for the White Hart,”

Jim nodded slowly, cowed back into meekness by his uncle’s interference “That is a really good one,”

“I enjoyed Pellinore’s quest for Nimue the most, especially at the end when he ends up cursing himself by not helping his daughter and the knight,”

“Really? I always thought that was pretty grim, he was told to let nothing distract him from his quest, he was only following instructions,”

“Doesn’t matter, he could have helped them but he didn’t,”

Jim paused for a bit “Wouldn’t that parallel Gawain’s story then? It’s not about what would be considered fair, it’s about keeping your word,”

Claire felt a smile tugging on her lips, very clever, it looked as though they could have a half decent discussion after all “I guess you have me there,” she pulled the green leather bound tome closer “But while we’re discussing the Green knight, you know how the old woman was really--”

The clock against the wall abruptly started to chime, signaling Merlin to sit up from his chair with a creak “I’m afraid our time together today must come to an end, feel free to keep the book Miss Nuñez, young James can collect it at a later time,”

And by that he was surely referring to when he and Strickler would come to their house with Jim to visit her in one weeks time. Which she knew her parents were no doubt arranging at this moment.

But still, she was disappointed that her time with Jim, however awkward and supervised, was coming to an end...which was not something Claire was accustomed to feeling .

She swallowed the confusing knot of emotion as the two of them followed Merlin out the library and back down towards the parlor, having to force the words out past it “Thank you, I will be sure to keep them in good condition,”

Claire thought that she and Jim would be able to get to know each other better when they weren’t slopping through the wilderness, but as it turned out their families' supervision wasn’t much of an improvement.

And unlike any of the other boys her parents had set her up with Claire wanted to know Jim better. He was genuinely sincere, and while Jim played the role of a nobleman well enough, Claire could sense something more beneath the surface. Like watching the surface of the sea and seeing the shadow of a hidden beast moving deep within.

She eyed the back of his head as they headed down through the gloomy hall.

If Claire wanted to get to know Jim, the real Jim, then she was going to have to get a little more creative. 

[dalamjisung]

foul play - chapter 3

You sigh in frustration and put your pen down. As always, you were at the library studying for an upcoming test that you knew you were getting at least a B on. It was how you worked: you knew the subject backwards, but you’d still go to the library study it again and again and again. If you wanted to be the best– which you did– you had to act like it. But you couldn’t help but notice the strain that that put on your relationship with Felix; not that there was one to begin with, anyways. You met him a while back, through your roommate, and you guys kind of… clicked. Well, the old you liked with him, this new you, this studious, focused, hardworking you couldn’t quite adapt to Felix. You adored him, however, and the old you, the one that used to have fun, and not worry too much, and simply live the days as they come and say fuck it to the terrible consequences that usually followed, the you you made sure to burry six feet under, it was fighting to come out again. To be with him. To like him back. Your roommate has repeatedly told you how much he likes you, and you pretend to not believe it– pretend to not like it,– but the truth is you love the fact that he likes you, because then it means that it’s not a one sided crush, this one you have. But you still don’t do anything about it, and it hurts. It hurts you, him, your friends, and you couldn’t help but feel like a bitch. Knowing that you wouldn’t be able to study anymore, you pack your stuff, smiling a little when you notice that is just 2AM and that you might actually get a little sleep before your morning shift tomorrow.

As you were walking out of the library, you feel shivers on the back of your neck, so strong it makes you stop on your tracks and take a good, careful look around. It was stronger than the logical side of you, but you couldn’t shake away the feeling of being observed. Just when you relaxed and started walking again, a hand lands on your shoulder. Your body tenses up and you instantly forget everything your roommate thought you in case you ever got attacked. You just scream.

“Oh my god, no no no, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” The man shouted over you, putting his hands up and stepping back.

“Who the hell are you?” You scream turning to look at him.

“Me?” He points at himself, eyes wide, and you couldn’t help but notice the mole under his left eye. Your mind was reeling, making sure to memorize his face as best as you could, in case you had to give the police a report later. “I’m Hwang Hyunjin, nice to meet you.”

“Okay,” You nod, breathing out in relief. You’ve heard of that name before. “Felix’s friend, right?”

“Yes!” He cheered. “Yes, I’m glad you remembered, Y/N.”

“Yes, but…” You get closer, fear now substituted for curiosity. “How do you know me?”

“Oh, I live with Felix and Chan hyung.” He smiles. “I know your roommate too, and she told me I could find you here.”

It all made sense, except for one small detail, “And why do you need to find me for?”

“Felix’s pain meds ran out,” He explains. “And I don’t want to make him sound like an addict– cause he's not,– but I was wondering if you could get him a refill?”

“What pain meds?” You ask in confusion.

“The ones you gave him.” Hyunjin also looks confused. 

“I never prescribed him anything.” You say in shock. Pain meds?

“Wha- wait, what?” Hyunjin mumbles. “He told me he got them at the nurse’s office!”

“The real question is why would he need pain meds?” At this point, you both moved to the corner of the road, hoping to not be noticed while talking about pain meds and the school’s esteemed player.

“Because he is in pain,” Hyunjin says as if it is the most obvious think in the world.

“No shit.” You sigh in frustration.

“No, I mean he’s in pain all the time.” Hyunjin says looking at you skeptically. “Especially after games. You didn’t know?”

“No!” You shout and quickly apologizes. “I’m sorry. No, he never told me.”

“That’s weird, he said he’d tell you next time you guys hung out.”

“But we never hung out!” And then it hits you. Of fucking course. You guys never hung out, because you never made time for him. You didn’t get to be angry. You didn’t get to be angry at all.

“Please don’t tell him I told you!” Hyunjin begs. “He’d kill me.”

And you just nod, because honestly, how hard would it be lying about this one more thing?

—————————————

foul play // three : just one more lie

pairing: soccer player!felix x med student!reader

genre: college!au, fluff

description: They met through a mutual friend and that was the start of it all; Felix’s one sided crush and Y/N’s constant worry. The boy, a right forward player, was known in the field as one of the best players in the game; and also known in the hospital as one of the clumsiest. Y/N worked at the nurse office as part of her on-campus residency and believe it or not, the nurse office has its regulars, and Lee Felix was one of them. Sprained ankle, broken wrist, two concussions, and yet, he never takes a break. Until Y/N stepped in.

masterlist

chapter two // chapter four

—————————————

and chapter 3!!! It’s Wednesday so I plan on posting again someday on the weekend :D I am really excited to see this story develop! What do you think so far? Leave me a comment! Like! Share! Help a struggling writer heheh and don’t forget: WHEN I HIT 600 FOLLOWERS, I’M DOING A GIVEAWAY! A STORY JUST FOR YOU! I won’t post it to the blog unless you want me to, and I will write it per your exact instructions :)

[disneytva]

Matt Olsen Uploads The Douglas Furs Series Bible Of The Rejected Disney XD Series From 2015 All Art Belongs To Jesse Ledoux

Matt Olsen from Sly Cooper fame & co-creator of Douglas Furs uploaded in his website the series bible of the Douglas Furs a rejected Disney show for Disney XD who sadly was rejected.

The Douglas Furs is an original cartoon series about a community of animals living together in Douglas, an otherwise unpopulated corner of the deep forest Pacific NW. Though they hold down jobs, use complex machinery, and return their library books late, they still remain animals. It’s like William Shakespeare said, “A bear will always be a bear, even if he’s wearing overalls.”

Characters Names

Barry The Bear: Optimistic Bear with a big heart and that fixes all the problems,supports Douglas to the absolute max, innocence and naivete are components of Barry’s character, he’s no wide-eyed child, speechless and dreamy in the presence of wonder. Quite the contrary! Barry is a loud, active celebrator of every new experience. He loves life! Even the most normal, everyday things can get Barry excited and revved up to a surprising extreme. Though it’s also true that his rabid interest may change in an instant with the discovery of some new stimuli

Mary Margaret: Mary-Margaret attends Rutherberry Elementary, She is the Bullhorn’s star investigative journalist, a role which she takes very, very seriously. The position feeds her all-consuming curiosity, or as her peers simply call it, “being a nosy-pants”. Her efforts have single-handedly made the Bullhorn the most-read paper in Douglas, all but putting the “professional” paper, the Douglas Herald-Gazeteer, out of business. Mary-Margaret is the elementary-school age daughter of Douglas’ leading intellectuals. Her father, Myron, is a critical studies professor at the local university, while her mother, Dagmar, is Douglas’ most esteemed (and only) deep-Jungian psychiatrist.

Beverly:  Beverly is the single force that keeps Douglas functioning as a city. As Deputy Lieutenant Mayor, she performs all the responsibilities of not only her own position, but also the Mayor’s and several other government officials. She’s vastly overworked but somehow manages to hold it together, fulfill all her duties and put out the fires. Sometimes, literally. (She’s also a volunteer firefighter.)

Her hectic home life does not provide much of a relief from her career. She’s happily married to Garland, who in addition to being father and primary care-giver to their children, is a semitalented landscape painter. Her six kids, three sets of twins, are all very energetic and clamor for her attention.

Viktor:  Viktor was a celebrated Cosmonaut of what we would call vaguely Eastern European descent. On his final lift-off – a mission that would have sent him hurtling past Mars and Jupiter to be locked in orbit around Saturn – the rocket he was piloting failed, veered way off course and crash-landed in Douglas. (He suspects the rocket was tampered with by a jealous rival.).  Since that time, his main pursuit has been to repair the rocket and resume his mission. However, due to Douglas’s non-advanced state of technological development that goal remains far outside his reach. So, he remains an unwilling resident, but he’s gradually warming up to living in the township. Maybe.

Viktor is skeptical and even paranoid of almost anything outside his world. As such, he rarely leaves his home for fear of saboteurs. He’s not against helping others, but he wants all the information first and would really prefer it if there was something in it for him, too. This is probably a holdover from his Cold War-esque training.

Rainier Somersett-Psymthe:   Rainier is not only the wealthiest citizen of Douglas, he is also the town’s single-largest employer. He is the current scion of the storied Somersett-Psymthe lineage and, through no effort of his own, inherited the family business: the Silky Beast line of personal shampoos for Him and Her. Due to the hirsute nature of the population of Douglas and surrounding woodland areas, Silky Beast is in extremely high demand. Since the day-to-day running of the plant is handled by underlings, Rainier lives immune from responsibility and has plenty of free time on his hands. The main focus of Rainier’s efforts is feeding his fame. He has a continual hunger for attention and thrills to read his own exploits chronicled and discussed in the local paper. He is a strict adherent to the no such thing as bad press ideal and will perform any manner of ridiculous acts solely to guarantee his presence on the front page. 

 Barry and Rainier are roughly the same age and share many of the same memories of growing up in Douglas, albeit from completely different perspectives. Where Rainier lives in a gilded mansion built by his great-grandfather and passed down from Somersett-Psmythe to Somersett-Psmythe, Barry lives in a one-room yurt that he constructed himself. There’s still a bit of work to be done around the back. No one would ever consider them rivals. No one except Rainier, that is, who considers everyone his rival. It’s possible that Rainier could be envious of the simplicity of Barry’s existence and attempt to out-simplify him, but that hasn’t happened... yet.

Carl:  Carl is Mary-Margaret’s classmate at Rutherberry Elementary and the staff photographer for the school’s newspaper, The Rutherberry Bullhorn. His ability to fly means that he excels at aerial photography and can get shots from many different angles. Carl is drastically near-sighted and requires a large pair of corrective lenses to approach “eagle-eyed”. With the glasses on, he can see slightly better than most of the other animals in Douglas, but without them the world is a predominately blue and green blur. In a lot of ways, Carl fits squarely into the classic “nerd” stereotype, e.g., he’s quiet, bookish, shy, a little physically awkward, etc., but he has other qualities which don’t fall so easily under that sad rubric. His parents have imbued him with a strict sense of personal responsibility, justice and honor. It’s a code of ethics that has been handed down his proud family line for ages upon ages.  What Carl doesn’t realize is that he is also the subject of interest by many of the other girls at Rutherberry. Unfortunately he is too singleminded to notice their adoration, even when it is at its most blatant. He lives every single day on the verge of either making his feelings known to Mary-Margaret or giving up on her entirely

Mayor Trewfuss:  Quincy Trewfuss is the oldest citizen of Douglas and has served as the town’s extremely popular mayor for an astonishing forty-two terms. With one brief exception at the beginning of his career, each of those forty-two terms have been consecutive. At the close of his first two-year term, he declined to run for re-election and happily handed the mayoralty off to someone else.  Trewfuss is entirely unsuited for a life in politics. He is skittish, fearful, apprehensive, easily bewildered and opposed to any and all conflict. He lives in an eternal state of being overwhelmed. His frequent response to any crisis is to follow his natural tendencies and play possum. He literally pretends to be dead. It may have stopped fooling most folks a very long time ago but they understand that whatever calamity has come up has pushed him to the edge. So, in response, he is given time alone to regather his senses. As it turns out, it’s become a very effective tool for him. Those on the inside know that he is only a figurehead at this point. His deputy lieutenant mayor, Beverly, actually handles all the significant mayoral duties. Trewfuss reluctantly appears at ribbon cutting ceremonies, poses for photographs with civic leaders, sleeps his way through city council meetings and that’s about it. Still, he remains perpetually on the verge of a total nervous breakdown.

Link And Louie:  These two live in a homemade tin roof shanty just outside Douglas, beyond the treeline. Though they attempt intimidation, the town generally regards them as more of a nuisance than a threat. Link and Louie, of course, are oblivious to this and sincerely believe they are genuinely terrifying to the regular squares. Though they’ve never revealed how they ended up around Douglas, popular opinion holds that the last town they harassed, finally had enough and chased them out in a most embarrassing fashion. This accounts for the chips on their shoulders and their “somethin’ to prove” attitudes. Link is the instigator, with Louie always willing to go along blindly with any of Link’s plans. Though he’s never been tested, it’s a safe bet that Louie is not very smart. He lets himself be talked into a lot of Link’s fairly stupid ideas, most of which involve putting himself in danger of imprisonment or bodily harm, while Link remains safely at a distance. Link consoles Louie by claiming this as an occupational hazard, their biggest fear is Gordon The Sasquatch.

Gordon:  Gordon is supremely boring. His company invariably brings a slight level of discomfort to everyone he encounters. His stories are long-winded, circuitous and off-topic. He speaks in an exhausted, physically draining monotone. Still, it’s hard to say a bad word against him since he’s never done any harm to anyone. So, those he encounters will often endure the conversation out of kindness and for fear of hurting his feelings. He’s staggeringly sensitive. Now, this is not to say that he’s not without value. Gordon possesses great strength and is very tall. So tall, in fact, that his head is always out of frame or behind a tree branch or perhaps hidden by a low-hanging cloud. (The home viewer will never see his face.) Just on physical presence alone, he’s an intimidating force and may be called upon to act as anything from security to heavy lifting. In those situations, his size and strength becomes a large enough asset to overcome his crippling dullness. Even though he’s not a “true” citizen of Douglas – he camps nomadically in the woods outside town – he’s generally happy to be of service and always enjoys being around others. Gordon is also a budding folksinger and can often be found with an oversize acoustic guitar, singing his terrible songs to the ears of nature, since no one else – given fair warning – is likely to listen. Overall, he’d really like to meet some other sasquatches

Douglas is a township surrounded on all sides by dense Evergreen forest. Within this clearing is a fully-functioning community of various animals indigenous to the Pacific Northwest. The town is constructed of available materials with homes and buildings suited to each animal’s own preferences. For example, as a beaver, Beverly lives in a log cabin-esque dam on the river. Wood and stone dominate the local architecture, while brightly colored mosses, ferns, wildflowers and lichen provide the embellishments. Greens, browns, grays and blues dazzled up by pinks, yellows, oranges and purples provide the palette. Technology exists only to the level it is needed. 

Since the town itself is rather small, cars were never necessary and therefore, not invented. A refrigerator, on the other hand, is an absolute necessity. I mean, how else is one expected to keep one’s salmon puffs fresh? No specific number has ever been ascribed to the population of this small town – they’re not sticklers for data gathering – but as a sort of reference to its size, here’s some semi-useful factoids: 

• 1 TV channel. All of the programming is made in Douglas by Douglas for Douglas. Not surprisingly, a majority of the shows take place in Douglas. “Hot Douglas Nights” is appointment television.

 • 1 fire department and 1 hospital. Accidents do happen. Of course, when they happen to cartoon characters they’re hilarious.

 • 2 school districts, each with its own elementary, middle and high school. This is really only done so that the grammar teams have someone to compete with... er, I mean, with whom to compete. 

• 36 square miles in area. That’s the legal US definition of a Survey Township and, by pure coincidence, a remarkably close measurement of our own township. Go figure

 • 200 years old. Douglas was founded in the year 1812*. Of course, that’s by our calendar. Here, they use a completely different system to measure time. It’s like dog years, but then you have to modulate the formula for each species. It’s very complex. 

[fandomsilhouette]

you found me in the ashes then (and taught me how to thrive)

The glass he makes is fragile and firm, shatters at the touch of his hand but holds the weight of his whole heart strong and steady. It melts in the heat and bends to his touch, reshaped by the palms of his hands. Felix has left his mark, made something beautiful, something he could call art. 

There are scars on his hands from the cuts and the burns. Looking at them in the morning light, the crisscrossed lines look like art too. 

Happy @felixmonth​, y’all! 

Marinette doesn’t forgive him, necessarily. He’s too far gone for that, and he doesn’t expect anything more than… well, he had expected her to burn the pillow at first sight but clearly that didn’t happen. Felix finds himself absurdly, ridiculously grateful for every smile she sends his way. It’s not often, and usually in passing, but he’s finally getting to see more than the tips of her hair as she rushes around a corner and disappears. He missed this. Felix hadn’t realized how much. 

He also finds himself going back to the library, missing his kids (his kids? when did that happen?) and wondering how they’d been all summer. He’s surprised when most of them even remember him, ask about where he’s been and beg for their favorite stories to be read first. 

A little girl with black hair all tied up in pigtails pushes a book at him. Felix has never read it before, and, ignoring the guilt that comes with choosing a book out of simple curiosity, picks it up. Savvy, he reads, by Ingrid Law. The children settle down, and he starts reading. 

There’s something relaxing about beanbag chairs and bookshelves, and the warmth of a child like a cat on his lap. There’s something relaxing about reading children’s books, too: they reach to the deepest parts of his childhood Felix has yet to shed and call to him, pull him apart into all the pieces he’s broken into and find the spaces where the glass doesn’t fit and smoothes it over, burns him in the light of being seen and heals him in the same breath. There’s no judgement in reading it to the children. They’re a free pass to exploring the themes he skipped over as a child. Felix holds onto it with both hands. 

In the book, Mibs climbs onto a bus and hitchhikes her way to her Poppa, injured in the hospital. On the way there, she learns how to work her savvy, and learns that her strongest power is the one she’s had all along. Felix’s heart aches to have a power like that, to be able to touch someone and know what they feel, what they need. He wishes he knew how to be the person that the people around him need. 

“Mister Felix, you are what we need.” The little girl in his lap snuggles into his stomach and sighs, half asleep. Most of the other kids have wandered off or nodded off, holding their parents’ hands or clutching at their collar. He hadn’t meant to whisper it out loud. He’s sort of glad he did. 

“Where are your parents, noodle?” Her name is Maggie, but Felix calls her anything but. Her favorite is noodle, and he’s inclined to use it when she’s all soft spoken and sweet like this, wiggly and melted in his lap. 

“I dunno, I lost ‘em.” She makes no move to get up. Felix shrugs off his jacket and tucks it in around her, and starts in on the second book in the series. Her parents come to pick her up two books later, just as he’s wrapping up the last one, and he lets her take his jacket with her. She wears it gleefully, sleeves hanging past her fingertips and one shoulder sliding off. Her arms wave just to flap the sleeves and her eyes light up when her mama spins her around. He doesn’t expect to get it back. 

Marinette shows up with it two weeks later at camp with a note and a messily stitched cat, grinning. 

“You have a secret admirer.” The cat is stitched in with the same gap-toothed stitching that shows in the uncontainable joy of Maggie’s smile. On the back, in that messy careful writing, she’s scrawled “You are your own savvy!” Felix’s heart bursts. She’s too young to be so clever. She’s just young enough. 

“Very secret, mhm. Definitely.” And then he manages a wink, and that turns into a full blown smirk when Marinette turns pink. She hands him the jacket and Felix doesn’t jump when their fingers brush. It’s been washed out and has that lingering little kid smell, overlaid with something that smells like bakery and flowers. That night is Felix’s turn to fall asleep tucked into a jacket that feels like it fits just right. 

Marinette doesn’t avoid him that summer, but she doesn’t seek him out either. It’s a strange truce to be in, to go on hikes on paths they used to walk together, to see his messy stitches propped up against her neat ones in the project storage of the arts and crafts room. Felix makes an effort to wave, to nod at Nino and ask about his new music, to talk to the younger years when they get lost or lonely. Felix finds he has so many stories memorized from how often he read them at the library. He does voices, and the youngest campers are enthralled. The older ones are, too, but they skulk around at the edges, keep themselves busy with something else and act like they aren’t paying attention. Felix leans in, winks at them, and catches a little boy around the waist, throws him up in the air. The older campers laugh at the shock on his face, and when Felix gets overrun with kids demanding attention, he waves over the rest and slips out once everyone is laughing. 

He runs into Marinette leaning against a wall outside, waving Nino off so he can catch up with Luka. Felix can see the blush even on Nino’s dark skin, and tries something new. A nod, a wave, something encouraging and bright instead of sneering or snide. 

“I was waiting for you.” Her voice is teasing and light and makes Felix blush. He doesn’t respond. “You’re pretty cute with those kids, y’know. Allan is especially fond of you, he won’t stop talking about the voices you do.” 

“...you know them?” 

She snorts and pushes herself up, starts walking away. “I’ve been teaching them arts and crafts for years, so… yeah. I do.” There’s something sharp in her tone, chiding and playful all at once, and Felix’s heart races. He watches her back, her ponytail swinging, and worries. She pauses. “Aren’t you coming? You’re going to get caught in the rain again if you don’t hurry.” Then she winks, and takes off at a jog. 

Felix laughs in delight, shakes off the first raindrops on his skin and chases after her, a few steps behind but getting closer. 

By the time they’ve sat down with their lunch, the rain is coming down heavily. Marinette waves and splits off to find Nino, and Felix wanders over to an empty table. He can still see her, animated, waving and gesturing wildly, and Nino laughs with her. She glances over at Luka and Nino pulls a face, but he slides down into his seat too. When Marinette laughs, Felix does too. 

By 3PM, not a lot of people are left laughing. The rain is coming down hard, and with everyone stuck in the great hall with nowhere to go, counselors are rapidly losing any ability to keep everyone entertained. By 5, everyone’s irritated and scared, itching to be back in their own cabins or outside or anywhere else. There’s general discontent growing across the room. Felix slips away from his table to make space for the growing group of upset children huddling together in support and slinks into a corner. Cabin fever is setting in, which makes Felix almost smile. They aren’t in their cabins, and the irony would make him laugh if he wasn’t so listless-lost-lonely in this crowded hall. Thunder rumbles. Felix’s spine shivers in time with the skies. 

He’s still watching Marinette. He doesn’t know what that says about him. 

She hasn't looked back at him, but the lightning strikes and she makes her way away from the seat she’s curled up in for the last five hours. Nino sticks his tongue out behind her and she does the same back to him before turning around to look at Felix. There’s lightning again, sure, but it’s in her thundercloud-blue eyes. 

It’s shockingly beautiful. 

She slides down the wall, her shoulder barely brushing his. Electricity shoots across his skin and he shudders. Half an hour passes like that, each second tapped out with the beat of his pounding heart. 

Her voice is quiet when she finally speaks. 

“...why did you do it?” She’s not looking at him, but he can hear the strength it takes her to ask the question out loud. Felix draws circles in the dust on the floor with his finger. 

“I… wish I could tell you. I don’t know, Marinette. I’m sorry.” 

“I know. I just want to know why.” She pauses. “I… Nino says I shouldn’t care or I should ask you and get it over with, and I’ve never been one to not take my own advice.” Marinette doesn’t explain that statement and Felix doesn’t ask her to; in the time that Marinette’s been here, Nino has been edging his way towards Luka. 

“My… mother. I just… I spent so much time around people who just…” Words slip away from Felix and frustration roils in his gut. It’s bitter and biting and hurts, and he screws his face up, clenches his fists. Marinette looks away and leans into his space, and he feels seen and safely hidden all at once. “…this is going to sound so dumb, but I didn’t… I didn’t know what happiness looked like. I thought… I just… that’s what people did, okay? Growing up, everyone who smiled at me wanted something, and usually something I couldn’t afford to give. So instead it was torn out of me and after a while… you start seeing smiles with all their bloody teeth when all they’re used for is taking a bite out of you.” 

She doesn’t look at him, doesn’t speak. It feels like the walls are closing in, squeezing at his heart. The fever spikes. Felix thinks he might be sick; he gropes blindly for water and gulps it down. 

“I really did want to be your friend. I don’t know what it looks like but it’s damn hard making friends. Chloe spent the first whole decade of my life tearing down any scrap of self esteem I had. By the time I even figured out how to stand on my own two feet, everyone else had managed to make friend groups and build social skills and I was years behind. I worked hard to catch up. I made my way here and I refuse to be called manipulative for being kind.” Words come pouring out of her, like she spent the last half hour building them up behind a dam just to let them all burst now. They wash over Felix like waves, cool on his burning skin. 

“I think I’m… starting to get that, yeah.” He tries for a joke: “As it happens, I happen to be pretty behind too.” It makes her laugh, and pride wells in his smug grin. She bumps into his shoulder. 

“You’re not too bad, y’know. I’ve seen you with them.” She nods at the kids and then weighs her words on the scales of her tongue, decides to speak. “Thank you, Felix. I forgive you.” 

“Thank you, Marinette. You’re… not too bad yourself.” 

Counselors start bringing out dinner and the children rouse. By dessert, Marinette is singing and the kids come gather around her to listen, to sing along in their warbling voices. She nods at Felix and he joins in too; then someone demands stories and between the two of them, they manage to get through three Disney movies. She doesn’t move from beside him the whole time. 

She falls asleep first, still stuck in the great hall while the clouds pour down, tilts onto his shoulder. Felix doesn’t do anything but slide down until she’s comfortable, and keeps telling stories until his voice gives out and the campers are passed out around them. 

Come morning, the sun breaks through the clouds, bright and bold and shining. Felix wakes up to it, revels in the light of the morning sun, and grins.

[josjournal]

Spoke too Soon (FMF #396 - Hammer)

Written for @fullmoonficlet (This got away from me, but I’m not even mad.)

Stiles pulled his Jeep up to the address listed on the flyer laying on the passenger seat. He was surprised by the number of vehicles parked haphazardly around the property. As he climbed out, he scanned the people milling about looking for someone in particular. He knew there was no guarantee that the handsome man who had hung the flyer on the bulletin board at the university library would be there but he held out hope.

He was about to give up when he heard a loud whistle and everyone stopped wandering around, turning their attention to the edge of what looked like a freshly poured basement and Stiles grinned when he spotted the hottie. He turned to nudge Scott before remembering his best friend had blown him off declaring that building a house, no matter how good the cause, with Stiles on a Saturday, was not his idea of a good time. Stiles feigned offense, but he didn’t need Scott’s reminder that a construction site was not the safest person for someone with Stiles’ level of grace, which is to say absolutely none.

A fact which was proven as he tried to work his way through the crowd, closer to the front and managed to catch his foot on the corner of a large stack of wood, sending himself and the wood tumbling forward and into the man he’d come here to see, but this wasn’t how he’d wanted to be introduced with him swearing up a storm and the rest of the crowd laughing uproariously. He wanted to stay where he was and hope he was eventually forgotten but instead he felt strong hands grip his biceps and pull him to his feet. 

“Are you alright?” the man asked.

“Everything except my pride and self-esteem,” Stiles muttered and felt a flush of pride when the man chuckled and gently let go of his biceps, but moved one of his hands to the small of his back, steadying him as he turned to address the crowd.

“Greetings, everyone. I see a lot of familiar faces and a few new ones,” he smiled over at Stiles who ducked his head and ran a hand over his face. “For those that don’t know me, my name is Derek Hale and I’m the founder of Hale Construction.” 

He went into a brief history of his involvement with the organization building the house that day before clapping his hands together with a smile. “Time to get down to business. Over the years, I’ve never met a person we couldn’t find a place for on our construction sites. I suspect today will be no different.” He glanced over at Stiles who cucked his head and kicked his toe into the dirt, dislodging a stone that flew up and hit himself in the cheek.

He cursed under his breath as Derek chuckled a bit under his breath before continuing to talk. “Now, everyone has different skill sets so we’ll use those skills to our advantage today. Those of you who are experienced, you know where you’re best used and those of you who are new, come see me and my partner, Boyd,” he gestured to a man standing not far away, one arm draped over the shoulder of a busty blonde who popped a bubble and winked at Stiles when he caught her eye, “and we’ll figure out where best to place you.”

Stiles started to edge back toward his Jeep but felt a tug on his wrist and looked down to see Derek had wrapped a hand around his wrist while he talked to a couple of people. When Stiles tried to break free, Derek’s gaze slipped over to him and he stayed frozen in place. He turned his attention to Stiles once the last person in the line was gone. 

“Have you ever done construction?” Derek asked him and Stiles shook his head. “I’m not surprised.” He should have been offended but the soft smile on Derek’s face softened the words. “Can you paint?”

“Most likely,” he said. “As long as you aren’t looking for artistic ability. The most intricate I’ve ever done is that spiky ‘s’ thing all kids draw.” 

“Alright, until we get to the point of painting, why don’t you help me move some topsoil and plants from the trucks to the backyard area?” Stiles flushed under the way he blatantly checked him out. “You look like you could do some heavy lifting.”

“Not as much as you,” Stiles muttered under his breath, wanting to throw himself into the basement when Derek laughed and started walking away. 

Hurrying after him, he managed to sidestep a large pile of bags of topsoil and managed to step on the blade of a shovel, snapping the handle upwards. It would’ve smacked him in the face if Derek’s reflexes hadn’t been unbelievable and he caught it in one hand and kept Stiles on his feet with the other. 

“You are a danger to yourself and everyone around you, aren’t you, kid?” Stiles opened his mouth but Derek kept talking. “I should probably get your name in case I have to give it to the EMS when they undoubtedly show up.” 

Derek was an expert at saying things that should be insulting but sounded fond more than anything so he gave a dry laugh in response. “Stiles. Stilinksi.” 

Derek’s head gave a strange jerk, his lips twisting into a smirk he’d seen many times in the past. “Your name is Stiles Stilinski?”

“The only name I’ll answer to,” he countered.

The silence stretched between them as they studied each other. Just when it became uncomfortable, Derek turned and grabbed two bags of soil, hefting one over each shoulder. “Grab one and let’s go.” He turned to watch as Stiles debated copying his actions. “One, Stiles. You don’t need to overdo it. We’ve got a lot of time.”

Pouting, Stiles bent over to pick up one of the bags, startling and nearly face planting into the plastic when there was a loud whistle. Looking over his shoulder, he saw Derek staring at him, the bags still balanced on his shoulders, arm muscles bulging and a smirk on his face. “Lift with your knees, not your back!” he called out and Stiles fought the urge to flip him off even though from his position it was obvious he was about to do the wrong thing.

Huffing out an annoyed breath, Stiles squatted down and picked up one of the bags, losing his breath slightly from the weight as he pushed to his feet and moved slowly to catch up with Derek. He forced his eyes to study the ground in front of him, avoiding any pitfalls that would send him falling to the ground and humiliating him even further than he’d already managed that morning.

The next hour goes mostly smoothly, except for the thick layer of sweat and dirt that Stiles winds up with on his face, but it made Derek smile and shake his head in a way that looked fond and sent warmth through him that had nothing to do with the sun moving higher into the sky. They talked while they worked and Stiles discovered Derek was more than just a good looking guy with a knack for building homes; he was intelligent with multiple degrees as well as quick wit and a sense of humor so dry the Sahara would be jealous.

Stiles stopped to grab a bottle of water from a cooler set up under a tent when Derek got pulled away to help Boyd with lifting a wall and putting it into place. Opening the bottle, he leaned against a table and drank quickly, choking and he saw Derek glance over at him, eyebrows narrowed in concern. Stiles waved him off and wiped his arm across his mouth and turned his attention to everything going on around him.

After he’d made the decision to come help on the site, he’d spent days doing what he did best and researching. He’d watched a bunch of time-lapse construction videos on house building and as he watched, he recognized some of the things that people were doing. He moved closer to a couple of people that were putting together frames for the roof and Stiles thought he could handle helping them out and spoke up to offer his services.

A lanky guy with light curly hair gave him a look and then called out to Derek. “Can this guy help us frame?”

Derek was wiping his hands off on a black bandana before tucking it in his back left pocket. He studied Stiles before turning his attention to the nail gun in the other guy’s hand. The sigh he gave rankled Stiles for the first time all day but when Derek spoke, his words soothed him a bit. “Sure, Isaac, give him a chance, but watch him.”

Isaac nodded and flashed a grin at Stile who tried to keep his excitement hidden, failing when he did a small fist pump and Derek and Isaac both laughed at him. He reached for the nail bun, holding it up to study it and flinching when Derek jumped out of the way. ‘Whoops.”

“Just watch where you’re aiming that thing,” Derek told him, smiling and turning his head when a large truck pulled onto the site. “I have to go sign for the delivery.” He turned back to Stiles, his expression serious but his eyes soft. “Be careful, Stiles.”

Stiles smiled to himself as Derek walked away and he swore he wasn’t watching the slow swing of his hips as his gait turned into a strut. He wiped at his face, hoping he wasn’t drooling when he heard someone laughing at him. Turning, he saw Isaac with a knowing look on his face. “Nice view?”

“Shut up and show me how to use this thing,” Stiles said, holding up the nail gun and feeling a lot less confident than he had when Derek was watching him. “Or give me a hammer. I know how to use one of those.” He shrugged mentally remembering the failed birdhouse he’d attempted with his father when he was six and the trip to the hospital when he’d dropped the hammer on his father’s foot.

Stiles listened carefully as Isaac showed him how to hold the gun properly with enough pressure to keep it from bouncing back when the trigger was pulled. He jumped a little the first couple of times but eventually fell into a rhythm and allowed himself to relax. Someone turned on a radio nearby and Stiles bounced his head along to the eighties music, grinning when Isaac sang along and laughed out loud when the blonde that had been standing with Boyd earlier stopped what she was doing to belt out the chorus into the hammer she had in her hands.

Stiles was working on the last section of the roof frame, just a few more nails to go when a hand landed on his shoulder. Startling, he jumped, the nail gun slipping off the wood and hitting the toe of his shoe with a loud bang. Stiles dropped the gun, staring down at his foot in horror. Between one breath and the next, the pain hit and he looked up at a horrified Derek. 

“Pull it out,” Stiles hissed, unable to move more than his mouth.

“No,” Derek said calmly, reaching for Stiles’ arm and draping it over his shoulder as he called out to Isaac to call 911. Boyd appeared at Stiles’ other side and mirrored Derek’s motion before they both reached down and grabbed one leg, lifting Stiles up and moving him over to one of the picnic tables set up for lunch and set him on the top. 

“Pull it out,” Stiles tried again, his head spinning as Derek took a water bottle from the blonde who reached to stop Stiles from grabbing the nail himself.

“We can’t. It’s probably slowing the bleeding,” he explained, pouring the water over his foot, shoe and all before kneeling down and looking at the bottom of his foot and wincing. 

“What?” Stiles squeaked, trying to shake the blonde loose. “Let go of me!” 

“No,” she said, firmly. “Hi, Stiles. I’m Erica. Boyd’s girlfriend,” she said instead. “How did you hear about the build today?”

Stiles gave her wide eyes and started to shout at her when she squeezed his hands and continued talking. “You know, we love having new people on the builds and we hope this little incident won’t keep you from coming back to hang out with us. Maybe next time you can help me out with the organization? That would be fun.” She winked at him. “We could get to know each other better.”

“What the fuck?” Stiles asked and then heard the sirens in the distance and realized he hadn’t thought about his foot in at least a few seconds. “You’re trying to distract me?” He accused, pointing a finger at her and poking the tip of her nose.

She went cross-eyed looking at his finger before pulling back and biting the tip of it, breaking into laughter as the ambulance came to a stop and the paramedics hurried over. “It worked,” she said, stepping back as the men got to work, and the next thing Stiles knew he was in the back of the ambulance on his way to Beacon Hills Memorial.

The next couple of hours went by in a blur once they gave him an IV and filled it with something that burned going in but felt amazing afterward. He remembered Scott’s mom coming in to check on him and promising to call his dad but then he must have dozed off watching a rerun of some stupid movie about teen werewolves playing basketball because the next time he woke up the television was off.

The room was dark and as he glanced around, trying to find the cup of water he vaguely remembered a patient care assistant bringing into him, his eyes fell on a dark shape in the chair near the bed. “Dad?” he croaked out of his parched throat.

“Bit too early to be calling me that,” a voice that definitely wasn’t his dad responded before sitting up to give Stiles a good look at his face. “And isn’t the term usually ‘daddy’?”

Stiles lifted the IV free hand to cover his face, cheeks burning in embarrassment. “What are you doing here, Derek?” he mumbled, wishing the ground would open up and swallow him and, with his luck, it just might.

“Wanted to make sure you were alright,” he answered, standing up and stretching before picking up the cup off the overbed table and holding it so Stiles could take it and sip from the straw. He nearly dropped the cup when something was dropped in his lap. “Plus, I got you a present. Actually, Erica ran out and bought it but made me bring it to you.”

Stiles’ face fell; he’d actually thought Derek wanted to see him but he was just running an errand. “Hey,” Derek said, softly as he moved to turn on the light in the room and returned to the bed, sitting on the edge. “I was already planning on coming to see you when she gave it to me. I would’ve been here a bit sooner, but we had some trouble with the window installation.”

“Probably because some idiot shot themselves int he foot, literally, and messed up the entire job,” he muttered, fingers running over the plastic bag from a local toy store in his lap.

Derek reached out and took Stiles’ chin gently between his thumb and forefinger, lifting his head so their eyes met. “Hey, it was an accident and I was worried about you.” 

“You don’t even know me,” Stiles argued.

“You don’t know me either, but you still showed up to the job site after seeing me hang a flyer at the university,” Derek told him and Stiles’ eyes widened in horror at being caught out and wondered how obvious his staring had been. “I was walking by the library on my way to visit little sister when I saw you go into the library. I might have followed you inside and then chickened out of saying ‘hi,’ so I hung up the flyer and hoped it might get you to come so I could meet you where I felt comfortable. I figured if you didn’t even look at the flyer I could take it down, but you stole it before I got a chance.”

“Didn’t want to lose the address,” he muttered and Derek chuckled, a warm sound that Stiles felt in his stomach. Taking a deep breath and planning to blame the drugs if what he did next didn’t work out, Stiles blurted out, “Do you want to maybe have dinner with me after I get out of here?”

“I’d like that,” Derek told him, glancing down at his phone when it pinged. Rolling his eyes, he nudged the bag towards Stiles again. “Open this up. Erica is driving me nuts wanting to know your reaction.” He looked down at the phone again and then back up. “Do you mind if I video it?”

“Why not? I’m almost scared now but you wouldn’t let her get me anything that would hurt me, right?”

“I’ve only known you a day and I’ve seen you trip on air,” Derek said with a smile as he lifted the phone up. “Pretty sure that means you could find a way to hurt yourself with anything.”

Stiles gave a sarcastic laugh as he opened the bag and reached inside, pulling out a plastic bag with a cardboard header. Looking inside the plastic he started laughing at the toy toolbelt complete with plastic tools inside. Carefully, he pulled off the cardboard, managing to avoid the staples and reached in to pull it out. “Well, it’s a little small, but at least I can’t hurt myself with plastic tools,” he said as he started to take the hammer out, the claw catching on the elastic holding it in place.

Growling to himself, he gave it one more tug and it pulled loose with greater force than expecting and flew right into his eyes. Slapping his hand over his eye, Stiles let out a mix of a yelp and a groan as he let himself fall back against his pillow.

“Spoke too soon,” Derek said, his lips pressed together as he fought back a laugh that exploded out of him when Stiles glared at him with one eye before joining him in the laughter, reaching for the nurse call button to request an ice pack.

Cross-posted to AO3

[fanfictrashdump]

Universe in a Jar, 2 - Phase 4 fic

Recap: Some days ago, I reblogged this post about the magical trio. And then my brain went off on a monumental tangent and, I wrote Universe in a Jar.

Characters: Stephen Strange, Loki, Wanda Maximoff, OC

Rating: T? 

Warnings: Language! Embarrassing use of euphemisms, mourning, grief, mention of parent death, flirting is you squint, neurological disorders, attempted accidental murder, and typos probs.

Summary: Baby-sitting beings arguably more powerful than him goes awry for Doctor Strange. He knows one person who can possibly keep them isolated and out of trouble. Well, he knew someone who could… he hasn’t seen them in decades and for stupid reasons. 

XX

Persephone paused at the kitchen entrance, steeling her resolve and gathering the courage to walk past the table to get herself a cup of coffee. The notion that she would have to make herself brave enough to get something in her own home was ridiculous, but her kitchen was currently full of magic beings, as it had been every day for the past week. That wasn't the bit that made her hesitant, not being strictly ordinary herself. It was the man bent over a bowl of blackberries, freshly plucked off of a bush out back, that made her anxious. It was the superimposition of the familiar sight, her friend picking out twigs, leaves and the occasional caterpillar from the fruit, with the dull memory of a storybook villain who laid her whole feelings to waste.

"Morning! There's coffee and I'm making pancakes!" Wanda announced, much more cheery than she had been in a long while. The silence and lack of activities of their little haven in rural Nebraska had given her plenty of time to deal with unpleasant feelings. The witch tossed a half dozen pancakes in the air, all of them flipping perfectly back onto the griddle with no mess. Some people were blessed with better magic than her, Seph realized a little bitterly. "They have blaaackberries!"

"Oh. I, um, yeah–"

Stephen made a small noise of amusement. "I got strawberries for you. I know you think blackberries taste too purple."

She was forced to look up at the face she had been dreading for a whole week. The corner of Stephen's mouth twitched upwards briefly in a not unkind manner. Purple splotches stained the front of his t-shirt, a sight that took her back to days of youth when they would fill their shirts with berries and stuff themselves under a shady tree. Clearly, he had not yet learned another method to carry produce.

"That is not a thing, I assure you," Loki quipped with a smirk. He had helped himself to a book from Seph's library and had kicked his feet up on another chair, watching as the other two tinkered with breakfast.

"I have synesthesia. So, it is, actually, a thing."

She skirted past the men to the coffee maker, pouring herself a fresh cup and helping herself to the milk and sugar that had been left beside it. Wanda was good at this homemaker lark, considering Seph felt like she was an esteemed guest in her own home. Wanda had remarked several times that she liked to make people feel welcome and that she felt guilty for dropping in with the 'Magic Castle rejects' and causing 'unwarranted levels of trauma'. Seph had reassured her that she was fine with the company and it wasn't even bad to have Stephen around, but there was always an edge in her voice and a hint of mistruth in her voice that failed to convince the other woman.

"What in this Midgardian Hel is synesthesia?"

"Mis-wired sensory neurons." Stephen and Persephone answered in unison, startling each other and sharing a long, tense look before she continued. "My taste and sight are a little crossed."

"So your brain is broken." Despite the bluntness of his statement, Loki did not sound mean, more curious.

"More like it perceives differently."

"Mm." He was quiet for a long time after that one hum. The only noise in the kitchen being the sizzle of pancakes and the occasional sip of coffee. "How do you perceive portals? Do you feel the energy and shape it?"

Seph tilted her head in thought. She knocked Loki's legs from the chair and sank into the seat. Stephen and Wanda pretended to be engrossed in their task of making pancakes while they eavesdropped on the conversation. "No. It's like… have you ever seen those forests in a bottle? With like the microplants and worms, and you water it and close it. And it'll basically a self-sustaining entity as long as you don't open it? I see it like that, but the bottle is very flexible and bigger on the inside. Like the TARDIS."

"The what?"

"Time and relative dimension in space. It's a space and time travel machine. It's bigger on the inside," Stephen explained, mixing his fourth cup of coffee of the morning, which did not help with the shaking of his hands but it did wonders to quell his nauseous anxiety.

Loki's eyes widened with excitement. "Where can we acquire one?"

Seph smiled, reaching over to pat Loki's hand. "It's a television show, buddy. It's not real."

"Then why bring it into the conversation?"

"It was a good comparison. I didn't know quality entertainment was so lacking in Asgard." The atmosphere shifted subtly and Seph looked up from her cup of coffee to see all three magicians tense. "What?" More silence followed. Stephen's eyes flittered to Loki and everything made sense. This Loki had not lived through the chaos of moving his people to Earth. She then remembered Wanda giving her an update on everyone a few days ago and how he had not really taken everything all too well… fuck. "Oh. Oh, shit, I'm sorry, Loki."

The Asgardian smiled, a calm, bright expression that looked a little forced. "No worries."

Pushing the coffee away, she angled her body to Loki's and grasped his hand. "It's OK to be sad about losing a home that never truly accepted you, Lo–"

Stephen rolled his eyes and muttered. "Here we go."

Seph groaned, closing her eyes to settle herself. "No one's talking to you, Stephen!"

"Bleeding heart."

"Scalpel jockey."

He scoffed. "You could've done any specialty, chosen any residency–"

"And that's what I did. Not all of us are content hacking into people's heads."

"Not content in making a real difference, you mean?"

"Yes, tell me how that surgical career is working for you right now, Strange!" It was a low blow, she knew, and there was almost a feeling of guilt as he closed his fists to mask the shuddering of his hands self-consciously.

"I'm sure your business is booming. A couple of global catastrophes have probably got the nutjobs flocking to the brilliant psychiatrist, Dr. Hale."

Seph let out a disdainful laugh. "Considering most of my patients are kids who can suddenly levitate shit around their room or accidentally set things on fire, yes. My business is booming. If only the Earth had a protector that would keep global catastrophes from happening and triggering powers in scared kids." She swigged from her coffee and leaned back in her chair. "At least they have someone to talk to."

He slammed his own cup onto the kitchen table and chuckled. "And there it is! We talked almost twenty minutes without you bringing it up, Seph. Good job! You're getting bett–"

His cutting remarks were cut off abruptly, leaving only an odd mutter and the thumping of fist on glass. Around him, walls of a shimmery energy created a box and closed off all noise from the Sorcerer Supreme. His protests sounded like they were coming from underwater, though the walls were clear and solid to the touch. It almost looked like a specimen jar for entomologists–a killing jar.

"He's quiet, at the very least," Loki remarked, turning to give Seph a smile only to find her hazel eyes glowing as if they were leaking light, contrasting starkly with her dark skin. Her hands were shoulder width apart. Distractedly, she tilted her head, curls shifting slightly, and brought her hands closer together. The box rippled, and with it Strange coughed, suddenly panting for breath as he thumped his fist on the wall. "Persephone. Seph. Seph!" The woman showed no signs of hearing him, intensely focused on just the box and her prey. "Wanda!"

Wanda turned from the stove, midway through an eye roll before she dropped her spatula and swirling a large red orb in her hands and directing it towards the glass. The barrier shimmered but barely moved. Loki worked green and golden magic over Seph, trying to break through the blocks in her mind, but was becoming continually distracted by Stephen trying to magic his way out of the enclosure until he slumped forward, breathing shallowly.

"Come on, Seph. You need to let him go. It's not going to help." His eyes drifted to Strange. The sling ring had his magic flicker shortly before dying. Something about that box was not letting him enchant. "Persephone, killing him won't make it better. Believe me. Knowing the person who made you suffer is dead only gives you more grievances."

Wanda surrounded the bottle with her magic. It deformed and shifted, but was no closer to breaking apart to when she started. "I need help and Strange doesn't have long."

"Switch!" Loki turned his attention to the box, his magic making the whole thing shudder.

Wanda had taken his place and was fluttering her fingers beside Seph's temple, red tendrils flowing between them in an effort to access the other's mind. She frowned. "She's… she's keeping me out. How is she doing this? This shouldn’t be possible."

"Impossible is our specialty. Just keep trying." Loki grit his teeth, drawing and gathering his magic and concentrating it in one small, brilliant pebble. With a grunt of effort, he shot the projectile at the glass and a small crack appeared. "Oh for fuck's sake!" 

He repeated the process several times until the crack extended and opened just enough for air to flow in. Stephen breathed a little easier but was still looking weak, his skin sallow and pale; lips a sickly purple. With one last growl, Loki’s magic exploded outward, and the box shattered with a spine-quivering screech. He barely had the time to snatch the Sorcerer before he collapsed on the ground.

Seph inhaled sharply, shaking her head to clear the cobwebs from her mind, and opened her eyes to find all three guests staring at her with furrowed brows and narrowed gazes. Her gaze connected with Wanda, who still had her magic at the ready, to Stephen who was hanging off Loki's shoulder, desperately moving air into his lungs, to Loki who just looked concerned. On the floor, shards of shimmering glass rested, shaking to some unknown Universal vibration pattern before disappearing.

"Well, at the very least, he'll know not to antagonize you, now," Loki quipped, breaking the tense silence.

"Loki, no–" Stephen groaned, watching Seph disappearing from the kitchen, her footsteps echoing up the stairs.

About an hour later, Seph heard her bedroom door squeak open. She sat up like a shot and shuffled back against the headboard. Stephen closed the door behind him, his eyes fixed on her shaking form.

"Don't. Just, go back outside. I'll stay here. I–I can't be anywhere near any of you," she rambled, eyes wide and glittering with tears.

"It's a house full of magicians, we'll survive." He placed a stack of strawberry pancakes soaked in syrup on the bedside table. "You should eat. That kind of display… you should be exhausted right now. Why aren't you exhausted?" The question he tacked onto the end sounded rhetorical.

Reluctantly, she grabbed the plate just as her stomach growled. She picked at the pancakes before taking a bite. She winced at the taste, the color was too vibrant, too in-your-face. Stephen had definitely not had a hand in making these. He was terrible, but he remembered details like it was no one's business. Swallowing the bite, she put the plate back, wincing. With little warning, Stephen had pulled her hand towards him, a handful of long scratches etched into her palm, like the shattering of the box had recoiled into her hands.

"What? You hurt yourself and you don't say anything?" He tutted under his breath, bringing the other hand to his inspection to find similar scratches.

"Stop."

"I'll have to get the First Aid kit–"

"Loki, stop!"

Stephen frowned, eyes narrowing. "Loki?"

"Loki. Stop. Now."

The Sorcerer stared for another minute, face tight, before the glamour shimmered and faded in its entirety. "How did you know?"

She turned her hands to tap on his palms, held out steadily to hold hers. "He lets them shake when he's focused on something else. And the food was a little too bright."

"I knew I should've asked him to make it." He sighed, shrugging before gesturing for her hands back. "Let's have a look, pet." After a second's hesitation, she returned her hands and left them to his mercy. His magic stung her palms, but she remained still, occasionally sucking air through her teeth at the sensation of rapid healing.

"I thought you didn't like him." She said, out of the blue, but he immediately understood.

"He's been decent enough." He paused for another moment. "I'm also certain there is some sort of cosmic balance that would gravely suffer if that bother of a human is killed.” He waved his hands in a flourish and grinned. “There we go." 

"I'm sorry."

Loki frowned. "What ever for?"

"You guys are supposed to be laying low and recuperating not dealing with a fool with no sense of control."

"No control? Persephone, you wanted to kill Strange."

"Exactly! I–"

"No. You misunderstand me." He leaned down to level their stared. "You wanted to kill Strange. I could see it in your mind but I couldn't break through. You have excellent control. Which is why I had to go for the box and not your mind. I would've had to kill you to break the magic, if I had."

"So, I'm a psychopath?"

He laughed, bringing her hands to his lips and kissing her knuckles. "No, dear. You're just very angry at him. I hate to say it, but you might have to talk this through like adults."

Seph frowned. "Have you ever tried to have a conversation with Stephen Strange?"

"Yes. It was painful." He laughed. "He's not unreasonable, though. He's just a bit of a…"

"Control freak?"

He smirked and nodded. "Your adjective is kinder."

"Usually is." The pair glanced over at the door to see Stephen leaning against the frame, arms crossed. "I was always the asshole in the duo."

Seph made an annoyed noise in the back of her throat. "Do none of you knock? Were you all raised in a barn?"

Stephen snorted. "We grew up in the middle of nowhere, Nebraska, where we, quite literally, spent most of our free time in a barn. You're lucky we speak in complete sentences given the public education system here."

"I know your mother taught you how to knock, Stephen Strange."

He rolled his eyes, quickly getting frustrated. "And yours taught you how to be polite. We both failed our mothers, it seems."

Seph's eyes flashed briefly and Loki made a warning noise loud enough to break her out of the glowing trance. "Have you learned nothing, you idiot?" Turning back to her, he smiled. "What he means to say is, memories have made him miserable and pent up all week and it’s making him snarky, but he is ready to give up the torture of having you angry at him."

"I haven't been miserable and pent up." Stephen’s tone was indignant and his chin jutted out defiantly. Loki was there to match his haughty tone with one of his own.

"Oh, so the self-immolation in her name was a coincidence?"

"I wasn't–"

She mouthed the phrase to herself several times, turning it over in her mind. Stephen looked fine, little scratches and scars from attempting to wrangle the other two, aside. Her doctorly instincts were not sounding any alarm bells that usually came on when she suspected any type of self harm. Was he maybe mentally torturing himself? "Self-immola–? Oh my god." She could barely look at either of the men. She definitely did not have to know what any of them got up to in the privacy of their own rooms. "Stephen!"

"I wasn't! Are you seriously listening to him about this?" He defended, though there was a jerky sort of nervousness in his movements and his cheeks blazed red.

Loki mouthed 'he was' at her and Seph covered her face with a pillow because suffocating in the fabric was a better alternative to this conversation. "Midgardians are such prudes, honestly. You're a beautiful woman and what I can presume is a source of comfort to him. He was very respectful of you in his thoughts–"

"How long were you watching me?"

"Long enough to respect your endurance.” Movement caught his attention. “Darling, where are you going?" Seph had thrown herself out of bed and was marching towards her closet, only to find that the door wouldn't budge. Same happened to the main door, en suite, wardrobe, even the drawers in her dresser. She wasn't going anywhere and Loki had made sure that every avenue of escape was unavailable.

Stephen scoffed. "Well, I can still lea–" He patted down his pockets and let out a groan. "Loki!"

"Looking for this?" The god held Stephen's sling ring between his thumb and index. "You can have it back when you've made nice."

"Why are you doing this?"

"I am done being in the middle of conflicts. I didn't like it five hundred years ago and I don't like it now. I detest having to scramble to keep her from killing you. This is the third time this week. Every time you anger her, the response is stronger." Stephen opened his mouth to protest, but Loki marched on. "What happens when her emotion and rage outweigh her control? I barely freed you today. Next time, she will succeed."

The Sorcerer rolled his eyes, ever the dramatic soul. "Yes, tell me how you'll weep."

"It'll barely register in my mind but it will destroy her, Strange!" The men’s argument was catching momentum fast, complete with random pointing in her direction and very colorful expletives.

"Could you not talk about me like I'm not in the room?" She murmured, just as the screaming match between the two started to elevate, scuffing her feet on the ground with a pout.

Loki swallowed the, no doubt acidic, retort he had poised on his tongue. "Apologies, flower. I meant no disrespect." He gave her an encouraging smile, holding his hand out to her. "But this is an issue that must be resolved sooner rather than later." After a moment's hesitation, she slapped her hand into his with a sigh and he chuckled. "Don't seem so enthusiastic."

"It's not about holding your hand–," she defended quickly, her eyes rounding with sadness as she fell back into her spot on the mattress.

"I was kidding, darling." He glanced at the Sorcerer. "Stephen."

"I'm not holding your hand, dude," he retorted instantly.

"Good. I've seen where it's been, I don't want it near me at the moment." Seph giggled quietly and Loki looked extremely pleased with himself at the sound. Stephen frowned, jealousy gnawing at his stomach. "Stop pouting, Strange. It's unbecoming."

"He doesn't deal well with negative emotions. So, he pouts a lot."

"I do not!"

"And denies negative feelings. Acknowledging them means he didn't successfully lock them into a tiny chest, wrapped them in chains and dropped them into the ocean."

"You're making me sound like a sociopath."

Seph fixed him with a raised brow look. "Where's the lie?"

Irritation clouded his speckled blue gaze, expression falling into the bored mask he usually wore. "Alright, this was a mistake. Loki, let me out."

"When's the last time you cried, Stephen?"

"Don't analyze me, Hale." His hissed tone would have intimidated a lesser human, but she remained as passive as ever. 

"It's a simple question, bud. I want to know how irritating you're going to be through this conversation."

"Does it matter?"

"It makes my point. You've always been awful with expressing yourself because you've convinced yourself that whatever asshole mask you put on makes you seem more mature. If you–"

"Match day."

"What?"

"Match day. I haven't really cried since residency match day. We weren't talking and you went off to Chicago and I stayed in New York. That's when I knew I lost you."

Loki leaned into her and asked under his breath. "When was that?"

"Decade and a half ago."

His eyes bugged out at her before turning back to Strange. "Decad–what is wrong with you?"

"You've had ample crying in the last decade and a half, have you?"

"I've had ample crying in the last ten and a half days. What the fuck is broken inside you?"

"Hey! Be nice!" Seph snapped, glaring at the god.

Loki rolled his eyes. "Abandoned you for your powers when you were at your lowest?"

"Oh. Right."

A long pause followed.

"I didn't know how to go back," Stephen admitted quietly. "I stood outside your building for three months. I could never knock. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the look on your face when I blew up at you… I knew I couldn't fix it. I still do."

Despite the ice that flowed through his veins, he couldn’t not stare back at the accusatory glare in her eyes. "I flew back home alone."

"I know."

"I identified her body alone."

"I know."

"I buried her alone. She loved you like you were hers and you didn't show up to her funeral, Stephen. I just…" Tears cut off the rest of her sentence, a sob gripping her throat. After a long while, she sniffled, wiping messily at her face. She chanced a look at him, his expression hard and his left eye twitching the same way it did when he was particularly upset about something. Twenty years and she could still tell when he was shoving his guilt down. "You're the one who leaves her flowers." Seph sighed, thinking about the bouquet of violets that were always there whenever she visited her mother's grave, and the fact that in recent times, it seemed like the visits had risen exponentially. Which made sense, since he could open a portal to the other side of the country at any given time.

He shrugged. "You leave mine flowers, too." He sighed, glancing hard at the floor. "I didn't forget my whole damn life just because you weren't speaking to me, Seph."

"To not have been speaking to you requires an effort for you to speak to me, wouldn't there?"

"She has a point."

"Shut up, Loki."

"Just moderating, Strange."

"I was stupid and scared. I went to you for everything. Feeling happy, feeling sad, stressed–you were the go-to for advice. Ironically, the person I would've asked for advice on how to approach you… was you." He forced a chuckle, feeling ridiculous. "Much like, full disclosure, the person I asked dating advice for was also you."

She cackled. "Yeah. No shit, Sherlock. I asked you what your mystery girl liked and it sounded like you were reading from my diary. You weren't exactly subtle."

"I threw in some bad information."

"You said she might be into girls."

Stephen's mouth flapped open several times before he dragged a hand down his face. "In retrospect, yeah, I pretty much described you, but I wasn't sure if you were into both."

"We went on three separate dates, you just didn't fucking notice!"

"And you were attracted to him?" Loki interrupted, eyes narrowed and looking between the two. "Were there no other options in lovers?"

"Shut up, Loki!" They replied in unison.

Seph smiled sadly, her fingers absently trailing over Loki's in an effort to distract her mind. "I would've forgiven you the second you knocked on my door if you had just apologized and meant it. Not something out of obligation or because I was literally your last resort."

"I'm not good at admitting when I'm wrong. You know that."

"Truly a tragedy, considering you're wrong a lot of the time, even if you swear up and down that you’re right," she teased, sounding like a well-practiced jab.

There was a bit of amusement lighting up Stephen's face. "I get one question wrong on a test, thirty years ago and it's all you ever talk about the rest of our lives."

"I also got a better score than you on the MCAT, so…"

He barked out a laugh. "I hate you so much." The smile slowly melted from his face, leaving behind a passive expression. He felt relaxed, less uptight. Whether that was due to the tension in the air lifting the slightest bit or the fact that he could feel her familiar aura as he had for so much of his life, he didn't know. "I'm really sorry, Peep. Leaving you is a regret I'll take to my grave."

Her nose scrunched at the long-forgotten nickname and shook her head, deciding that she knew better than to tell him to forget that endearment ever existed. "I'm sorry I tried to kill you, I guess. In my defense, you were asking for it."

"That's fair."

"Did I hurt you?"

He smirked. "Crushed my lungs a bit. Nothing permanent." He tilted his head. “Why? Is it going to become a common occurrence?”

Persephone's face clouded. "I don’t know, Stephen. It’s a process. I can’t just–”"

“You can’t just forgive him like nothing happened. He understands.” Loki pinched her cheek playfully, leaving her to bat it away with an irritated pout. "Hold your grudge. Keep it for as long as you need, but don't let it poison you. Stupid things happen when you let grief color your perception."

"Whatever. I promise not to murder him, at the least.” Heavy expression fell on the Asgardian, next. “Also, if you ever use the phrase self-immolate in your name, again, I will punch you in the face. I didn't need to know that."

"I WASN'T!"

"I don't care if you did. I don't want to know while I'm still really pissed at you. Got it?"

Both of the men mumbled a "fine" under their breaths before a collective click resounded around the room. They were free once more. Stephen hesitated at the door, his demeanor giving off the impression that he was building up to say something. Seph watched him expectantly only to have him drop his shoulders and turn on his heel, twisting the doorknob to make a hasty retreat.

"Him? Of all people? Really?"

Seph laughed, rolling her eyes. "He was the boy next door. And he's always been pretty hot."

"You can do better." His voice was smooth and rumbly and made her raise her eyebrows.

"I think you mean I can do worse."

Loki smirked. "Norns, I hope you do."

[revasserium]

handle with care ft. tsukki please and thanks!

send me a number and a character, and i’ll write you a drabble

13. handle with caretsukishima 

he’s not exactly what you’d call fragile, all height and arms and pointy elbows stacked on top of legs that look more like stilts than legs, a tongue so sharp you wonder if it hurts him to speak -- if he’s ever cut himself on the edges of a his self-esteem, obvious in the way he hunches over just a little when he walks, the walls he builds around himself with nothing but a pair of headphones and fingers tucked into his pockets. 

watching him is like watching a skyscraper, all height and steel until you remember it’s made of enough glass to shatter a whole damn city. 

“if you start working on the project outline, i can do the powerpoint section.” 

you flick a strand of hair over your shoulder and nudge the project paper towards him. final projects have to be done in pairs, and you guys just happen to be sitting next to each other; it’d been a simple, painless process, and it wouldn’t be until much later that he’d tell you he’d been mulling over how to ask you to be his partner for weeks. 

(”really? weeks?” 

“yeah yamaguchi was starting to get really pissed at me for being a wuss.” 

“oh man, i never thought i’d see the day when yamaguchi calls you a wuss.” 

he grins, “happens more often than you think.” 

“aw, well aren’t you two precious.”) 

“sure.” he pushes up his glasses and gets to work, his lips pressing as he frowns in concentration. later you’d tell him that it was cute, that you’d watched him out of the corner of your eye at the library more than once, and he’d blush the most precious shade of red, scowling and folding his arms, claiming that it’s “creepy” and “an invasion of privacy” and “you could have told me sooner, i’d let you take a picture or something.” 

when you lean over to show him the powerpoint, your hair falling over your shoulder, you don’t notice the way he glances down at the way your arms are brushing, how he has to swallow to keep himself from shivering, the goosebumps rising along his skin as you go through the preliminary slides, asking which ones he’d rather present to the class. 

it takes him a moment to answer, but he does, because he’s nothing if not astute, and he’ll be damned if he lets this defeat him. 

it’s just a dumb school project. 

but there’s nothing dumb about the knots in his stomach or the way his heart race, irrationally, intensely, thundering in his ribcage as if it were running away from something, and maybe he is -- because how fucking terrifying would it be if you found out, if you didn’t feel the same way he did? 

later, you’d bet him that you’d liked him longer, so there was no reason to worry. 

(”i highly doubt that.” 

“oh yeah? go on then, when did you know?” 

he blushes, hooking his chin over your shoulder, his hands curled over your stomach as the pair of you lounge on his bedroom floor. 

“like, the third day of school.” 

“what happened on the first two days?” 

“i was trying to figure out what i was feeling.” 

you grin, “well, ante up baby, i saw you at the entrance ceremony and instantly fell in love.” 

he laughs, breathy and soft by your ear. 

“liar.” 

“i’m not!” 

“are too.” 

“are not!” 

“really? then why’d you wait so long to talk to me?” 

you roll your eyes. 

“have you seen yourself? you were giving all sorts of fuck-off vibes, and i couldn’t really try and talk to you when you had your headphones on, could i?” 

a pause, and then, “you could’ve... i wouldn’t have minded if it were you.”) 

you split the work between you, and its easy, because you’re both smart, and trying a little too hard to show off. 

when he tells you he has the script memorized, you smile and tell him “me too”. there are still two more weeks left before the project is due; oh what to do with all the time. 

“do you want to... uh --” 

you quirk an eyebrow, wondering what he might say. 

he licks his lips and scratches at the back of his head. 

“there’s -- there’s a sale on curry buns at the convenience store.” 

he stuffs his hands into his pockets. 

“and the owner guy is our coach for volleyball, so he’ll give us a discount.” 

“oh.” 

“do you -- do you wanna go?” 

“to get curry buns?” 

“or... whatever else.” 

you smile, “what else do they have?” 

he lets out a sigh, his cheeks turning pink. 

“how the hell am i supposed to know?” but he backpedals immeidately, “but i mean, we can go look, right?” 

you laugh, because sometimes, just sometimes, he acts like a boy his age for once. 

“sure, we can go look.” 

he jerks his head towards the school gates, a pleased little grin on his lips. 

you wonder if he knows how obvious he is. later, he’d tell you he does, and he’d kiss you, because that’s what he does when he gets embarrassed. and you have to admit, kissing him back, it’s not the worst thing.