#ALSO THE WAY HE SAYS HOME AURGHHHH

[mrlowell]

The "People keep telling me that SBR is even gayer than all the other parts I can't see how they are gonna top part 5" to "Oh wow the sugar mountain arc was really gay" to "Omg the break my heart break your heart chapers actually broke my heart" to "Yeah ok Gyjo is canon" pipeline

These panels as well 😭😭

[darsynia]

Upside Down and Backwards | Oneshot

I'm glad I worked out the angle that made this story less a rehash of Animate Objects, because I enjoyed writing it and wanted to share! I wanted to add I am deeply honored that you suggested that I write one of your OCs. I was so touched I kind of blocked that out the first time, my dear @sobeautifullyobsessed, because I didn't know what to say, and I feel like that was a disservice to you.

Summary: Stephen understands why the best place to train new devotees to the Mystic Arts is Kamar Taj when he impulsively saves the life of a young woman. It turns out he trained himself on all sorts of mindfulness-- except for the kind where he sees someone he wants and steals her from fate's grasp without thought to the consequences.

Length/Warnings: 2,544 / rated T for swearing

UPSIDE DOWN AND BACKWARDS

The problem with having access to actual magic is that in the real world, you’re not instantly granted the discernment to use it un-chaotically.

In retrospect, that was probably why the Ancient One and her predecessors trained people in Kamar Taj: to keep large mistakes at a minimum.

It’s not that Stephen thinks of himself as a novice, it’s just that he’s recently gone through a sequence of life-changing events, and that kind of thing changes a man. Enough to make him incapable of watching someone else go through a life- ending event without intervening.

The moment had been simple enough; one second he was standing in front of his favorite cafe with a to-go cup, the next he was sending you into the mirror dimension with a sweep of his hand. The old man’s sedan didn’t hit you, instead crashing into the building across the street with considerably less energy than it would have without Stephen’s interference. Everything happened fast enough that he was able to jog across the street, enter the mirror dimension to find you standing dumbstruck and confused. He’d led you out through a portal back to a nearby alleyway, and before you could say anything, Stephen had portaled back to the Sanctum.

It wasn't until he went to take his first sip of his coffee that he noticed it was gone.

A mysterious stranger saved your life. He’d also given you coffee.

It’s days later, and you’re still bemused. You’d gone home and looked up ‘Avengers’ in an incognito window, but none of the pictures had looked familiar. Statistically speaking, those particular heroes are unlikely to be the only ones who exist, but you’re understandably obsessed by how and why you were saved. 

The only other clue you have is the coffee he’d handed you, and since today is your day off, you head down to the cafe it came from, seeking answers. 

You’re in luck: the barista recognizes your description of the man (you’re not surprised. He’s distinctive and handsome, certainly memorable), remembers the drink he usually gets, and only then thinks to tell you that he’d been there ten minutes ago.

“Do you know where he came from?” you ask, and the barista gives you a sly look. “He saved my life,” you explain, feeling oddly like that should be a secret between yourself and the stranger, somehow. “I ended up with his coffee-- I just want to return the favor.” --and ask him a million questions, confront him about how in the heck he did what he did, where he came from, where he’s going, whether he’d maybe like to have coffee WITH you sometime--

This seems to earn you the young woman’s trust, and she points out which way to head. You don’t think you can catch up, but it’s a nice day, and you don’t know how else to find him.

Five minutes into your hurried pace, though, you suddenly find yourself in a garden, with no idea how you got there. You catch a glimpse of golden sparks in your peripheral vision, and alarm floods your senses. Determined not to go down without a fight, you take the lid off of your piping hot coffee, tossing the liquid at the tall figure that’s approaching you.

“Aurghhhh!” the man hollers, as you drop into the kind of fighting stance you’ve seen on tv shows. He moves his hands in a strange way, and an odd blue light flickers to life, bathing his body in its glow for a few seconds, before he straightens and frowns at you. “I suppose I deserved that.”

It’s your handsome (somehow dry and un-stained) stranger.

“What do you want?” you say, snatching your keys from your pocket and trying to arrange them between your knuckles like you’d seen in a YouTube video once. The man is silent, and you look over to see his skeptical expression, complete with expressive eyebrows. “Just because you have magical powers doesn’t mean I give in without a fight!” you grumble.

“No, no, I’m impressed,” your captor says.

He sounds anything but. You try to take in your surroundings in a way that won’t reveal your next move, but he gestures to the courtyard that borders the small garden you’re standing inside.

“I thought the garden would be soothing. A non-threatening space.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Are there mountains in the distance? You back up a little bit, adjusting your stance so there’s a column in the way of the view you refuse to believe is real. The man before you is similarly unrealistic; handsome, clearly powerful in a mysterious way, and confident. Your fatal weakness.

The man is nodding. “All right, in retrospect, kidnapping you after wordlessly saving your life using inexplicable means is the opposite of reassuring. I swear, when I planned this, it wasn’t supposed to turn out this way!”

“So you’re admitting to premeditated kidnapping? Smooth, real smooth,” you say, sidestepping to stand next to instead of in front of the plant you’d been cowering near. There’s a wooden sign on a stake planted in the ground next to it, and you intend on grabbing it in a minute. Unfortunately, you’ve telegraphed your intentions.

“Will you just--” he says in an exasperated voice-- and suddenly, you’re being lifted in midair in a haze of golden magic. “Listen to me?”

“You’re really used to getting your way, aren’t you?” you blurt out. For some reason, the man’s bizarre blunders and frustration are reassuring in ways his grandiose displays are not. Not that you’re going to tell him that. He’d probably look smug and then you’d really be in trouble.

His brows are furrowed. “Yes, actually.”

“How long has it been since you’ve needed to say please?” The man’s hands drop to his sides, consequently dropping you to your feet. You’re rather proud of the way you manage to keep your balance, in the face of all of this. To press your advantage, you say, “Well, I don’t know about you, but I was taught the golden rule. Do unto others, and all that. So: please explain what the everliving heck is going on?”

He should be angry. He should be affronted. Instead, Stephen’s captivated. You are uncowed, unsoothable, and somehow undaunted in the face of everything he’s done. Hell, he’d almost accidentally dropped you on your ass, and you’d landed on your feet.

“‘What’s going on?’ I thought I saved a damsel in distress, but it turns out I’ve abducted a wildcat instead!” he says, just to see what your reaction will be. 

“Exactly what would you expect a person to do in this situation?” You are incredulous, but even so, you seem to be looking around for a weapon of some sort.

All of a sudden, it strikes him that you might be unconsciously ramping up based on his own vehemence. Taking in a deep breath, he connects with the mindfulness he’d only touched lightly back in his surgeon days, the kind he’d perfected in his first months at Kamar Taj. You’d been tensing up like you were about to run, maybe grab hold of something nearby, but you let out a breath of your own and watch him.

“Frankly, I’d expect you to be afraid of my power,” he says quietly, sliding a casual hand into his trouser pocket. “I’m not in the whole sorcerer getup today.” Stephen leans forward conspiratorially, adding, “I feel certain if I were, you’d have been a little cowed.”

“I do recall some kind of blue contraption,” you muse.

Contraption! He almost, almost gets upset, but as Stephen circles you to slough off some of his frustration, he sees a bit of a twinkle in your eyes. You do seem attuned to him-- but that doesn’t mean you’ve ceased fighting back.

You’re just doing it in a different way.

“All right, Java Joe the All Powerful, what do you really want? I could have plans you’re disrupting with this, you know.”

Java Joe? You fight dirty, it seems. He stops in his tracks to slowly turn toward you. For a long moment, the two of you look at each other, and he watches the signs of embarrassment rise in your body language. Even so, you don’t look away despite starting to shift your weight from foot to foot, and he feels something stir deep inside.

Right as your hands start to jitter at your sides, Stephen raises a single eyebrow.

You burst out laughing.

Stephen grits his teeth and waits, but not because he’s annoyed. Oh, no. It’s worse than that. He grits his teeth to prevent a smile. You’re a handful, and he’s been alone a long time.

“Well played,” you finally say, lifting your chin. “I’d ask forgiveness for the shitty coffee nickname, but I don’t think your dignity suffered a whit there. I just have to ask: have you ever looked at yourself when you lift an eyebrow like that? It’s just the most--” 

“Go on.”

You angle your head sideways at the tone of his voice, your eyes narrowing, and Stephen’s breath catches. Is there a way you can sense his inner turmoil?

It seems that you can, because you step forward. “I was going to say it was very dramatic, maybe even villainous, but I’ve changed my mind about you. You’re no villain.”

“Am I meant to be disappointed?” Stephen can’t help but ask.

Your smile is lovely, sending another tremor toward his heart’s hastily-erected sheath of armor. “Not at all, because I think you know that heroes are still dangerous. I can rephrase, if you like.” With a regal dignity that makes him mentally dress you as some kind of Roman empress, you bow before him, pulling yourself back up to a stand as you say, “All Powerful one, tell me why I’m here?” You meet his gaze and brazenly raise a single eyebrow of your own.

In that moment, Stephen understands why he’d saved you. He wants you. He’d somehow known that in the split second your paths crossed-- but would he have done it if he’d realized that by saving your life, he might end up being responsible for it?

“Hardly ‘all powerful,’ but close,” he says smoothly, walking closer. Only when he’s inches away and you’re still standing tall and unafraid does Stephen speak again. “I wanted to know what you thought happened that day. Then I didn’t want you to lash out before I got to--” he breaks off, surprised at himself. The things he wants to say, the things he wants to do, they’re not ‘day we met’ kinds of things.

They might be, though, if your time is short.

“What is it?” you murmur, looking worried again.

Stephen smiles, feeling the sweetness along with the bitter realization that his gut is usually right. If it is, he might have a fight with fate on his hands.

“I stole you away,” he whispers. It’s been forever since he’s done this, snatched someone from death’s grasp. Usually he puts them back together better than nature had. He’s never put someone back together with magic before. “I suppose I’m afraid I don’t get to keep you.”

The words fall out before he can stop them, but you drift forward rather than back, as though the seismic sway he’s been feeling might have harmony to it.

“Before I react to that, tell me what you mean?” you say, your eyes searching his.

“I hadn’t meant to say--” Stephen starts, but shakes his head decisively. “I’ve saved lives before, with skill. I don’t know whether there are different rules for lives saved with magic.”

Your eyes widen, but with awe, not fear. “So you really mean ‘keep,’ don’t you! You think some sort of Cosmic Conservator will come and fix the glitch?” Stephen nods. “Who says you’re not the Conservator?”

With the same split-second impulsiveness that he used to save your life, Stephen reaches out and draws the back of his fingers across your cheek. The touch is electric, stunning his vocal cords to a deeper register. 

“Would a Conservator do this?” he says, right before his lips brush yours.

You’re delighted by the shocking heat of his touch. There’s an instant yearning that takes over both of you after that first testing press, as though it could be possible to attune to a person’s charge within seconds of tasting them.

Somehow, without knowing his name, you trust this man, both as a function of seeing his frustration (something almost as intimate as feeling the prickle of his beard as the kiss goes on), and knowing he’s saved you at least once. There’s something desperately moral about him, almost arrogantly so, and you tug him closer, hoping to spark more frustration and thus another thrill.

From across the courtyard, there’s the sound of voices, of many feet, and you slide your hands down from clutching his collar to press on his chest, reluctant to stop but unsure of your surroundings. The man gentles the kiss so sweetly that you’re left reeling when he does pull back.

“My name is Stephen,” he whispers with a thin, vulnerable smile. “I’m doing this all out of order, and I have to make you angry with me again, because--”

Breaking off without explanation, Stephen pulls you to his side and swings one hand in a circle in front of you, drawing up the golden electricity you’d seen more than once before. It leads to the very spot he’d kidnapped you from.

“You left me with a coffee, last time. Is the kiss more valuable, do you think?” you say, clasping your arms around yourself to bolster your stung confidence. 

Stephen’s response is another unexpected kiss, brief but heartfelt. He leads you through the sparking archway right afterwards, his expression stern but earnest as he takes your hand.

“Why do I feel like I’m already in danger of leaving my heart behind?” he whispers, shaking his head as though he’s as stunned at the possibility as you are. It feels right, though, and you want to tell him that, but Stephen stops you. “Hold still, I--” 

His hands are already moving, generating neon runic symbols in the air that hover for a few seconds before rushing towards you to disappear in splashes of magical light.

“Protection spell. I have to go, but something tells me you'll subsist on curiosity and fury until I can step away again.”

“That’s a given,” you manage to say through the spinning of your heart and head. Things like this don’t happen to ordinary people like you, but you suppose that no one is ordinary, once Stephen takes notice of them. “Stephen?” you blurt out, after he steps back, obviously about to leave. He lifts his eyebrows, and you say, “Take care of it, will you?”

“Of?”

“The part of my heart you stole away. We still have to find out whether it belongs to you or Death, right?”

Stephen’s grin is blinding. “Right. I’ll, ah…” he steps back into the halo of his portal and lifts his chin, a picture of utter confidence. “I’ll pull some strings.”

His smile is the last thing you see as the whirl of the portal closes between you.