#a well-worn black sweater red shirt jacket shirt sleeves peeking out of the jacket and a black coat

[fluffylord]

GIDEON SHEPHERD THE DEVIL’S HOUR | SEASON 2

[the-only-ace]

Hey I know you are really busy with all the request and job and all that but can you do shinee's reaction to s/o stealing their t-shirts and hoodies?? You can make them one shots of you want too😁

shinee reacts: their s/o wearing their clothes

heyyy~ i really liked this request because i personally love to do this. for this request, i want to try something new since you gave me an idea with the one-shots part. so instead of describing their reactions, i'll convey it in a form of a short story. it will still be per member! i hope you will like this one (heads up though, the posts is a bit longer than my usual shinee reacts) <3

p.s. if you guys can, kindly let me know if you like this kind of format for shinee reacts. thank you!

send in your requests here!

onew / jinki: you sighed for the nth time within just 10 short minutes. you were staring and pouting in front of your closet for you can't find the perfect clothes for your brunch date with onew. it was a hot day today and you just wanted to wear something cute but comfortable. however, it seems like your wardrobe doesn't offer that kind of outfit.

your eyes slowly traveled toward onew's part of the closet. his side was full of quirky graphic tees which you always find adorable. you don't usually borrow his clothes but you can't help but to take a peek at them and take the one that caught your eyes.

it was a white oversized shirt with a cute box cartoon drawn in front of it. you tried it on and it stopped perfectly on your thighs, making it look like a cute dress. surprisingly, it even matches the pair of sneakers you were wearing.

before you can even decide whether you were keeping it on or not, onew walked into your room. his hair a bit damp and he was only wearing a towel considering that he just took a shower.

"oh, is that my shirt?" he pointed at you.

"uh... yeah. do you mind? i just wanted to wear something that is yours." you sheepishly replied.

"no problem!" he beamed his big bright smile before proceeding to get his own outfit.

you muttered a thank you then went to your vanity to finish touching up your makeup. afterward, you grabbed your phone and wallet and placed them inside your shoulder bag.

"alright, I'm ready to go..." you trailed off as you saw what he looked like. "what the hell are you wearing, lee jinki?"

"your shirt?" he raised an eyebrow, clearly feigning ignorance.

he was wearing your favorite grey t-shirt and it looked pitiful on him, it was as if it can tear at any moment. it barely covered his abdomen and was stretched to its limit.

"no shit, sherlock." you facepalmed at his usual weirdness. "what i want to know is why... why are you wearing it?"

"i thought we were doing a thing wherein we wear each other's clothes." he shrugged as if his response should be expected.

"what? no! please have mercy on my shirt and put on your own clothes." you can't help but laugh at him as you pushed him back to the dresser.

"alright, alright! i just wanted to make you laugh and look, it worked perfectly." he playfully pinched the tip of your nose before taking off the top he borrowed. "also, you should keep that shirt since it looks a hundred--no, million--times better on you."

"thanks, love," you whispered as you wrapped your arms around his waist and pulled him into a warm hug.

key / kibum:

after the long busy months, you were finally having a girl's night with your best friends. you stood in front of the full-length mirror in your room to give yourself a final check. your hair was styled into textured waves and your lips were colored with the boldest red lipstick you can find. your nude heels matched the little black dress you were wearing. your outfit looked almost perfect and you just knew what you were missing. you quickly snatched key's gold leather jacket and put it on. ah, perfection.

this was the norm for you. your boyfriend's wardrobe was beyond incredible especially his outerwear collection and you just had to wear them every chance you can get. to be honest, key was very stubborn in letting you borrow his clothes... at first. after all the compromising, begging, and crying you made, he eventually budged and gave up. of course, it does not come for free. he practically made you sign a contract that once you stained his clothes, you have to shoulder the bill of the laundry and the shop will be chosen by him. however, if you damaged or god forbid, lost his clothes, you have to replace them. you immediately said yes to all of the conditions in a heartbeat. so far you only paid for 2 incredulously expensive laundry bills.

now, you were finally ready to leave. you walked out of the bedroom and made your way down the living room. there, key was sitting on the couch watching one of his favorite tv series.

"I'll be going out now," you announced as you grab your car keys near the front door.

"hey, hey, hey!" key clicked his tongue upon seeing your clothes. he was now looking behind his shoulder and giving you a stink eye. "is that my jacket?"

"um... maybe?" you gave him an awkward smile.

"of course, it's mine." he shook his head disapprovingly. "only i can pull that off, by the way." he sassily added.

"wow, i didn't know the fashion police was here. you should have given me a head's up, babe ." you bit back with a scoff. the last time you checked, you looked damn fine in it.

"just stating facts, baby," he replied in english.

"alright, then why don't you take me shopping then? so you can buy me a new set of clothes that will satisfy your standards." you challenged and if he said yes, you were clearly the winner.

"excuse me, i do call you 'baby' but i am not your sugar daddy. go now, you'll be late." he shooed you off.

"okay bye," a playful smirk appeared on your face. "daddy."

this made key rolled his eyes before turning his back on you. he would very much rather ignore you if you keep on acting that way.

"it's bye now, for real." you giggled as you open the door. "love you!" you called out before stepping out.

"love you too, brat." key mumbled with a small smile.

minho:

winter was approaching and the air was slowly becoming colder than usual. it was the best time to stay in the comfort of your warm home and enjoy hot cocoa with your loved ones. a perfect time to wear your sweaters and hoodies indoors. however, this was not the case for minho for his favorite hoodie was missing.

"hey, babe?" he called out from the bedroom. "have you seen my black hoodie? the one with the white writings on it."

"what's that, i didn't hear you?" you went inside a few seconds later.

and there it was, his favorite hoodie being worn by his favorite person. you looked smaller while wearing it since it was way too big for you. the hem almost touched your knees and your whole arms were lost inside the sleeves. he can't help but smile at the sight.

"nothing, i was just looking for my hoodie but it looks like i found it." he gestured at the clothes you were wearing.

"oh, shoot. sorry, i didn't tell you that i borrowed it." you hit your forehead with your palm.

"it's okay. you're free to use them anytime, anyway." he patted the top of your head.

within the last few weeks, minho noticed that you sometimes wear his clothes. it was not a daily thing though and you even asked for his permission. slowly, it became every day and he would just be surprised to see you walking around the house parading his jackets and sweaters. he didn't mind it though, he was just curious about what you do to your own clothing. also, he hoped that he still had some remaining tops for himself during the cold season.

well, guess luck was not on his side.

his eyes were staring at his closet wherein there was only one jacket left, one. you followed his gaze and you promptly felt the warmth raised to your cheeks. you were surely red from embarrassment now. you were happily wearing his clothes that you didn't have the time to count how much was left.

"oh my god, i'm sorry! i didn't--" you cut yourself off as you watched him put on the lone jacket from his dresser. "i'm sorry, i didn't notice it. i just... can't help myself. your jackets are so comfortable and warm compare to mine." you tried to explain yourself. also not to mention that they all smelled just like him.

"don't worry about it." he reassured you as he placed his arm around your shoulder. "just be mindful next time. i might end up half-naked someday, you know."

"how can you be so sure that's not my goal?" you teased before sticking your tongue out.

he laughed at your silliness and then pressed a soft kiss on your warm forehead. you decided to make a cup of hot cocoa for him as a peace offering.

taemin:

it was past midnight and it was raining cats and dogs outside. you visited taemin in his apartment for a stay-at-home dinner date but a storm came before you can even go back home. taemin then convinced you to spend the night there instead. it was not a big deal anyway since you stayed over a lot of times already. you just didn't bring your sleepover bag with you and the dress you were wearing was definitely not comfortable to sleep on.

your caring boyfriend of course promised to ease your worries. the two of you shared a warm bath after dinner and he lent you his clothes for you to change to. so that was how you ended up on his couch, fighting off sleep because the show you both were watching always had a cliffhanger ending per episode. you two needed some answers before you can drift off to sleep peacefully. it was the weekend tomorrow anyway so staying up late won't hurt that much.

your head was laying on his lap while his right hand was playing on the locks of your hair and his left one was comfortably resting on the top of your hip. his hand would occasionally rub circles on the exposed skin. as much as you hate to move from your cozy spot, you had to or else you might end up dozing off right there and then. not to mention, him playing on your hair does not help at all.

you slowly got up from the sofa as you tried to stifled a yawn. "i'll just go get some cold drink." you pushed yourself up from your seat.

you then raised your arms and stretched with a satisfied groan. your shoulders and back were sore after laying down for more or less 3 hours. you can even hear your joints cracking from stretching out. also, you felt the shirt you were wearing raised up.

taemin's shirts were not overly huge for you whenever you wore them. the hem barely covered your behind and right now you were sure that a tiny portion of your buttcheeks was peeking through the white tee. you weren't conscious about it, taemin saw much more than that anyway.

suddenly, you felt a slap across your behind which made you freeze on your spot. you looked behind and saw your boyfriend confidently leaning on the couch with his legs crossed.

"did you just slap my butt?" you inquired.

"uh-huh," he nodded with a cocky grin. "want me to spank you again?"

you frowned a little as you processed the sudden change of mood. taemin won't deny it though, seeing you in his shirts always made his heart skip a bit and his breathing ragged. you always looked effortlessly sexy in them.

"sure, why not?" you replied wickedly after a few seconds of silence.

taemin processed your answer in a split second and he hastily grabbed you by the waist and threw you on his broad shoulders. he did not forget you give you another smack on the ass when he made his way toward the bedroom, the television was completely forgotten.

[elytrafemme]

cough syrup character refs (updated over time!)

hi :) 

i made a post a while back with JUST the cs!benchtrio designs, but i decided i should make one consistent post (that i didn’t lose the link to like with the other one) that you all can use as a reference! 

note, again, that this will be updated and some characters may have their designs shifted. i’ll likely make a post saying if i add any characters to it, but for minor changes i may not mention it. sorry if it’s a mess by the way, i’m not very good at this haha 

headcanons are totally okay if you want them :) 

Tubbo:

his shoulder-blades are off center 

5’5

brown hair, used to fall into his eyes as a kid but he’s since cut it so it just settles just a little over his eyes (at his brow), thick and semi-curly

wears a lot of bright and pastel colors; big fan of yellow, blue, and green

has worn the same pair of sneakers for several years, they’re red; or, used to be

his eyes are bright blue, like Tommy’s-- a lot of people say this makes them look like they’re biologically related, even though they otherwise don’t look too similar

a lot of people think he looks just like Wilbur, eyes aside

has freckles and is fairly tan (anybody is fairly tan compared to Ranboo, though)

small scar on forehead and a larger scar on his cheek. it’s since faded quite a lot. his cheeks are rosy otherwise, and there are some burn/small scars along his arms. nothing as large as his cheek, though. 

Ranboo:

6’6 and built like the leaning tower of pita

half-platinum blond, half-black hair (his hair is a little crispy but it’s soft on a good day)

hair goes to just a bit above his shoulders-- long enough to tie into a ponytail, not long enough to braid

wears black gloves (aside from at home + work) and usually dark clothes; doesn’t have to explicitly be dark, just not bright and not pastel, so it typically hits the monochromes

brown-green heterochromia 

offensively pale

probably wears a lot of jewelry (c!ranboo is rich and cs!ranboo definitely isn’t but he can keep the fashion sense ok) 

very, very faint facial scars-- only a few and on the same side as his brown eye. he scratches there when he panics, too, so they worsen sometimes. small scar peeking out over his top lip as well, and one of a similar shape + orientation off his eyebrow. has stretch marks because he is like 6’6. 

author cannot be held liable if she forgets about any of his scars because she has no idea what she is doing thanks 

Tommy:

bright blue eyes and very blond hair-- similar to his DSMP design 

wears a lot of sweatshirts and long-sleeved shirts, especially liking the color red

6’1-6’3 (it’s 11 PM and i don’t care enough to verify what I set it as) 

has no freckles and is paler compared to Tubbo, but not pale in like, an almost offensive way

scar on his knee for crashing a bike and small scar on his stomach for falling out of a tree; any other marks are either hidden or nonexistent

a fairly lanky fella 

Wilbur:

messy and slightly curly brown hair with grey hairs interspersed (no single grey streak, just some scattered to signal stress) 

dark brown eyes and freckles, about as tan as Tubbo, I’d say

still attached to his yellow trench coat, but also oversized sweaters and jackets in general; he peaks in October-December weather, if that helps any

owns platforms and Techno hates him for it 

if he has any scars, nobody’s ever really seen them except for the top surgery scars, which I don’t know who would end up seeing anyway but it’s more plausible

Techno:

giving Ranboo’s hair dye a run for its money (that’s partly a lie, Techno’s looks a lot better I assure you); bright pink but you can see dark brown roots still coming in, since he doesn’t care to re-dye it unless Wilbur tells him to

perpetually tired eyes 

hazel eyes (listen man I can’t give anybody red eyes I’m fucking trying here)

5’11 solely because I find short Techno to be a funny thought but he also regularly wears heeled boots so he comes off more like 6’1 

please don’t make this guy skinny. I’m not here to make demands if you’re already drawing me fanart because I owe you my life but I am kind of begging you here in this one department. 

I’ll be honest guys I don’t have much else to say here

Philza:

blonde hair that’s like an uncomfortable length (like Ranboo’s but a bit longer)

blue eyes; another reason why people think Tommy and Tubbo are his biological kids 

a solid 5’7 because my synthesia is going to kill me if I don’t associate him with the number 7 somehow but I have no idea how accurate that is 

he also looks permanently tired but in like a divorced dad way (he’s not divorced, his wife passed away)

Quackity:

there’s a scar through his right eye, and his eye itself looks unfocused / blurry. i don’t really know how eye scars worked and I promise you all I have Google Image-d this more times than I care to admit I’m still confused

a lot of white button up shirts and sometimes a cardigan over it. he genuinely dresses like some preppy art history major but he’s more like depressed political science major, but if you squint it’s all the same 

his eyes are generally a light brown color, and his hair is black. beanie only sometimes 

aside from the eye scar, he has quite a lot along his arms and chest, none particularly coordinated aside from a top surgery scar as well. Yes, tnt duo is t4t what did you want from me

roughly the same height as Phil

Schlatt: 

6’1 

a bit paler than Tubbo, but the same exact shade of hair

brown eyes a little darker than his hair

wears a lot of button ups, too, and suits, but also sometimes he’s just shirtless with sweatpants, so it sort of varies on the day 

a lot of scars too but i’m noticing that doing all of this in like one 30 minute session is just making this whole scars business sound a bit depressing. none of them are really viewable assuming it isn’t a shirtless kind of Tuesday so

wears a lot of rings. not really related to anything it just sort of makes sense 

makes an effort to shave but does have stubble 

[sonderthroughthestreets]

Souls of the Underworld (Greek Myth AU)

Hi!!! I’ve been working on something for a while now and this is the first time I’m attempting something like this. This is a Greek Myth AU for sobbe and I don’t have everything figured out but I’m really excited to see where this goes! I’ll post the link but you can read it here too. I might have longer chapters going forward. Hope you enjoy reading it!

A/N: It’s an AU where they are demigods and it’s mainly centred around the Hades and Persephone myth. Enemies to Lovers, Fluff and Angst. No warnings apply (for this chapter) 1861 words

AO3

Special thanks to @to-enter-polaris (whose gifset themes had started all this) @fvae @robbesdriesen and @lieverobbe for helping me with this! I love you all dearly💞

She wasn't always like this.

It wasn’t always messy words screamed in anger and torn apart syllables. It wasn’t shattered glass and shattered parts of herself, a wreckage in the storm. And it wasn’t a stream of negligence, silence hanging in the air, unintentional at best.

In the cold nights of winter, it would feel like a ghost swallowed in the dark, like a walking corpse floating silently down the halls. The grey skies would engulf her whole being in the mornings, unable to let her move or get out of bed. She wouldn’t eat, she wouldn’t sleep, she wouldn’t tend to things that needed to be tended to. Some days she’d swear she’d burn this whole city, a bitterness in her throat as she grumbled the words lying under the covers.

But she wasn't always like this.

In the months of a new spring or in the sweet heat of the summer, she would be different, completely reborn of ashes. It was as if her body would wake up from slumber, rejuvenated and refreshed, and in the midst of her slowly healing soul, she would hold a small, little boy in her arms. She would sway him and sing him lullabies to sleep, and as he got older, she would kiss his injuries and welcome him to her bed when he had nightmares. And when he got older still, she would run her fingers through his dark hair and she would make him breakfast, cutting up fruit for him. She would lay kiwis, strawberries, blueberries, and blackberries, really any kind of berry, on a plate. Oranges and melons, apples and bananas. But as he got even older still, she told him that pomegranates were her favourite.

He would watch her slice open the rind and fiddle with the seeds, a yellow hazy glow surrounding her. The details of her face were hard to decipher, but her smile and warmth was there. It was a warmth as radiant as the sun. And that warmth would just slip away. Just when he felt like he could reach up and touch her, she always slipped away.

“Robbe,” he heard her voice, sweet as honey in the thick air. It echoed and faded into ringing.

“Robbe.”

His eyes abruptly opened and his body jolted in bed. Light peeked from the windows of his shared apartment, illuminating his room. The ringing hadn’t stopped and he realized it was the alarm on his phone buzzing. He let out a groan and turned it off. When his eyes focused on the screen, they widened to see the time. 08:35. He was late. He was very, very late.

Jumping out of bed, he threw on the shirt closest to him and headed for the bathroom. It was locked and as Robbe jostled the doorknob, he knew who was inside.

“Milan! Milan come on,” he yelled through the door. He brought his ear closer to hear him singing in the shower, completely unaware of his state of panic. Robbe sighed.

Just then, Zoë emerged from her room shuffling through the purse in her hands. She had an almost frantic look on her face as well.

“Robbe, have you seen my charger? I can’t find it and I have to meet Senne soon,” she asked him.

Sure enough, she was dressed for the fall weather, wearing a loose beige sweater layered over a fitted black full-sleeve, her blonde hair immaculately straight and her lips tainted with her favourite red lipstick. The effort wasn’t just all for Senne, but Robbe could smell the perfume he helped her buy and he noticed the extra rings she wore on her fingers. He could sense her frustration in not wanting to be late, to see him as soon as possible.

“Maybe try under the couch cushions,” he suggested. “Things always get stuck there.”

As Zoë turned into the living room to squeeze her hands through the cushions, Robbe tried knocking once more, calling out Milan’s name. When she returned with her charger, she thanked him and gave him a look of realization.

“Shouldn’t you be in class by now?” she asked.

“Slept in. And Milan is not helping,” Robbe rolled his eyes.

“Milan!” Zoë knocked. She turned back to Robbe. “He’ll be out soon. I hope,” she added. “We’re still meeting up tonight, right?”

She doubled checked her bag for her keys, her phone, and other essentials, then looked up to see how distracted Robbe looked. His mind was elsewhere, drifting through the memories of his dream, eyes fixated to the side. He could feel her watching him.

“Robbe?” Zoë asked. Robbe’s brown eyes lifted to meet hers finally and he tried to muster up the best smile he could manage.

“Yeah,” he said. Zoë didn’t look convinced but she also didn’t want to push him, especially when both of them were pressed for time and she knew how much Robbe didn’t like being late. So instead she opted to reach out and squeeze his shoulder with a solemn smile.

“I’ll see you tonight, then,” she said as she hurriedly left the apartment, the door clicking closed.

Robbe heard the shower stop and a humming Milan with a pink towel on his head opened the bathroom door.

“Finally!” he threw his hands up as he entered, ignoring Milan teasing him with a

“Wow, someone’s in a grumpy mood.” -

By the time Robbe rushed outside with his bike, the sun hid behind the clouds of grey skies. It smelled like rain, the petrichor oozing off the streets of Antwerp and as he rode, pedalling faster than ever, his energy depleted. His initial panic had worn off and now he just felt dread about going to class. As he turned a corner to the university, his mind kept seeping memories from his dream this morning. He always felt a twinge of bittersweet whenever he thought about his mother, but she never left his mind or heart.

The time spent with her in the summers, laughter floating through the air and the feeling of sadness when autumn came and she had to leave or the lonely winters when he was younger and it was just him and his papa, it all still burned in his memory. He’d just seen her the past month, but she had left again for therapy treatment. He’d speak with his dad from time to time with awkward pleasantries shared, but it just wasn’t the same, What little time he could spend with her, he cherished and whenever she left, he felt a gaping hole in his chest. God, he missed his mama.

Robbe quietly snuck into the lecture hall for his plant biology course, shaking his curls and trying not to rustle his brown jacket as he took it off. He sat in his seat next to Yasmina who gave him a squinty-eyed look.

“What?” he whispered.

“You’re late,” she whispered back.

“Yeah, and?”

“You’re never late.”

He glanced at her, her olive green hijab perfectly wrapped around her head and her pens laid on the desk neatly next to her notebook. Always on time, always prepared.

“Sorry,” was all he could say as he took out his own notebook, irritated that it was true but he couldn’t do anything about it now.

Yasmina looked like she wanted to say something but just then the door to the class opened and a student walked in. He slipped by unseen and promptly took what seemed to be the only seat available: next to Robbe. Others may not have noticed him, but Robbe’s eyes had followed him all the way until he sat down. He was donned in all black, shirt, jeans, jacket all black and his bleached blond hair looked almost white under the fluorescent lights. He had a strong jawline and perfectly tanned skin, radiating a glow Robbe didn’t know was possible.

When he glanced over at him, Robbe had turned his head back to his notebook so fast, he might have gotten whiplash. He tried to focus on the professor and his notes instead. Scribbling down the names of plants being mentioned, he also tried to slow his breathing. But that was pointless when the boy leaned over to look at his writing.

“You write the names in Latin and Greek?” he asked.

Robbe wasn’t expecting that question, yet he lifted his head to answer.

“Yeah,” he drawled slowly.

“Strange,” was all the boy said before looking straight ahead to the professor.

And Robbe didn’t know why but it irked him. For as long as he could remember, he’d been able to read and write in Greek and he would always accompany any Latin with Greek. Who was this guy, coming into class late, not even notebooks or a laptop open for notes, and what made him feel the need to comment on his notes? He hadn’t even seen him in class before now. If it wasn’t for the fact that he still felt groggy after waking up late, he’d probably say something, but instead he seethed in silence for the next hour and a half.

Once class ended and everyone packed up to leave, Robbe saw him glance over at him one more time, like he was deciding something, unsure and suspicious. Like he was sensing something. Sensing him.

Then he left.

“We’re studying Thursday for the midterm, right?” Yasmina piped up behind him. Robbe was almost startled.

“Yep,” he told her. “At 16:00?”

“Sounds good. Who was that?” she tilted her head at the now empty space where the boy had been.

“I don’t know. Never seen him before in this class,” Robbe shrugged.

“Me neither. Probably just transferred from another course or got off the waitlist for this one.”

“Probably.”

“I’m sorry I can’t make it tonight for the get-together,” Yasmina said as she lifted her bag. Robbe, his flat mates, and all their friends planned to spend some time together tonight at the apartment. It had been a while since all of them had been together, what with school and their own lives muddling in-between. Second year in uni for Robbe was turning out to be much easier than his first, but he still wanted to find time to dedicate to relaxing with his friends. Yasmina had been able to make it once before, but mostly she had to keep missing them.

“That’s ok. You know, you don’t have to apologize every time,” Robbe smiled at her.

“I know,” she returned the smile. “It’s just I really have to help out my parents and I wish I could be there.”

“Next time,” he blinked with a slight nod, lips curving up with sincerity.

“Maybe you could invite your new friend, too,” she teased.

“Again, I don’t know him,” he rolled his eyes.

While walking out of class together, he tried to ignore the nagging feeling inside of him that he would, get to know him that is. The nauseating feeling that irony would catch up to him. That feeling that there was something about that boy and he couldn’t be sure about him either.

The one that told him he sensed something in him too.

[adahlenan]

Appearance Meme! ☼✂✗Ұ for Lys, Leo, and Fio

WELL IT TOOK A LITTLE WHILE TO FINISH, BUT FINISHED IT SHALL BE.

Lys

☼ How does your character usually dress in daily life?

↪ Lys loves to dress nicely, rarely if ever choosing to wear something 'ultra casual'. One of his staple items is a ribbon, either worn in his hair, or used as a decorative necktie, most often purple or red; though his collection is rumored to exceed 20 different colours. Comfortable cardigans or loose sweaters over button-up shirts, blouses with long loose sleeves and lace trimmed cuffs, and even shawls draped over his shoulders are all quintessential staples of his wardrobe, though a short-sleeved top is exceedingly rare to spy, restricted only to the most unbearable heat. Lys prefers to have the focal points on the top half of his outfit, leaving his pants or footwear to be more neutral, usually earth tones or charcoal - not often a stark black - and simple, often lacking any kind of decorative detail work.

✂ How does your character usually style their hair?

↪ He usually wears his hair down, but how he styles it is far from consistent. More often than not he'll simply go for some variation of a ponytail, braid or bun, tie a ribbon into it and call it a day. The only constant with Lys's hair is that it's never simply left down with nothing done to it save for a quick brush or comb. Even on the most rushed of mornings he still finds the time to quickly fasten a ribbon or pin for some form of decoration. However, during particularly agitated episodes, Lys can be spotted with his hair pinned up in a painstakingly crafted updo - more often than not his husband's handiwork work - as a last ditch effort to stop him from taking shears to his hair and cutting it all off.

✗ What (if any) scars does your character have?

↪ Many. Although Lys's scars are foremost burn scars, and not ones acquired through combat. Most of his right side is covered with the web of scarring, ranging from his hip, to his torso, all the way down his arm and finally to his hand. At a young age his village was attacked by the Dravanians, razing the town to the ground and trapping Lys under burning timber until he was able to drag himself free. Though he survived, he bears the scars for life, choosing to keep them covered up out of shame, though if one looked closely enough, they could spy the scars peeking out of a shirt collar or hiding under lace cuffs. His newest scar however is one hardly visible, seeing as it vanishes into his hairline. Cutting across his forehead on the right is a thin, jagged scar he collected from Eureka. While he may jokingly refer to it as a souvenir, it was a wound that nearly cost him his life.

�� How short/tall is your character compared to their peers?

↪ Lys is on the taller side of average! Having such a tall husband, he's thankful for the few extra inches he has over some of his friends, making the relationship a far comfier one than it could be, given that most of his friends are on the shorter end of the spectrum, seeing as they're either Hyuran or half Elezen.

Leo

☼ How does your character usually dress in daily life?

↪ Leo adheres to the idea that simple is better, and classic is classic for a reason. Looking at his closet, the selection is decidedly monochrome, with some splashes of red thrown in for good measure. Button-down shirts, jackets with sleek, crisp lines, and on occasion, a simple sweater. Deceptively simple choices, though undeniably expensive and often with touches more befitting of a noble house back in his home of Ishgard. Silver detailing on clasps, or ornate embroidered trim on cuffs hardly visible until you get close enough to see the thread catch the light. Leo's choice is pieces that speak for themselves, and what they say is usually "please leave me alone, I'm goth and wealthy."

✂ How does your character usually style their hair?

↪ Style is a strong word to use. In his youth he put perhaps more effort into his hair, but honestly? He just can't be bothered anymore. Why fuss over something like his hair when simply running his hand through it with a bit of water works just as fine. It's out of his way, it's neat (?), it's easy to fix throughout the day. For how fussy he can come off as, he's somewhat low maintenance.

✗ What (if any) scars does your character have?

↪ Many. From his stint in the temple knights, Leo collected his fair share of scars from field work, as well as the training that proceeded active duty. Being an idealistic young knight with the goal to protect everyone, it's no surprise that reckless actions left their mark on his skin. His most notable however, would be the thin line cutting across his cheek, and the jagged, uneven lines cutting across his neck, with suspiciously similar ones present on the palms of his hands, a story he refuse to share.

Ұ How short/tall is your character compared to their peers?

↪ Leo is on the taller side of things, something he's rather thankful for when trying to cut an intimidating presence - though he won't admit to such. Another bonus would be that he's within a good few inches of his brother-in-arms' height as well, making holding a solid conversation considerably easier when one doesn't have to crane their neck just to chat.

Fio

☼ How does your character usually dress in daily life?

↪ Fio prefers clothing that's easy to move about in, nothing too restrictive, though quite snugly fit to their body. They're an engineer after all, and want as little chances as possible for clothing to get caught in machinery or magitek workings. Fio has no strong colour preferences, liking muted earth tones and bright colours all the same, it just depends on whatever mood they're in that morning... as well as if they're on an active battlefield or not. A somewhat fashion conscious person, they do try to pick colours that won't horrifically clash with their hair. Unfortunately for them, after defecting to the Resistance in Bozja, they wore whatever they got handed to them, outside of whatever they arrived wearing.

✂ How does your character usually style their hair?

↪ Quite simply, but with enough fussing that you can't call it "effortless". Fio's hair is quite soft and with a lot of volume, lending itself easily to the preferred messy 'bedhead' they usually show up wearing, carefully inspected in the mornings to ensure there's no extra unruly pieces hiding in the mix. When working or when the mood strikes, they've been known to accessorize with hairbands and clips or even pulling back their hair with a tie into some semblance of a ponytail provided it's grown long enough.

✗ What (if any) scars does your character have?

↪ Most of Fio's scars are simple engineering mishaps, nicks on sharp metal edges or small burns from too hot tech whenever they got careless. Being an engineer, most of Fio's life has been away from active combat, leaving them mildly scar free, though time in the Bozjan front has afforded them enough opportunities to make up for that. A scar cuts across their lip and cheek, caused by a piece of scrap metal going flying when some experimental tinkering went wrong, and another along the bridge of their nose is embarrassingly enough caused by tripping and falling as a child with a pair of too large goggles on their face at the top speed of an excited child could muster.

Ұ How short/tall is your character compared to their peers?

↪ Fio's quite average as hyur come - although on the shorter side - with a wiry build that only accentuates how small they are. However, they use their size to their advantage, able to climb inside chassis and shells of magitek creations to tinker away or strip parts on the battlefield. Growing up in Garlemald, they were by far shorter than many of their peers, and now find themselves in a similar situation in Bozja yet again.

[hearts-hunger]

Take Care of Those You Call Your Own || Part 2

Masterlist || Read on ao3 here ♡

Part Summary: Brian and Freddie get up early for school and work, trying to keep from waking their boyfriends. They enjoy their morning walk to Imperial College London and fret about leaving their poor sick boyfriends at home.

Pairings: Poly!Queen

Genre: Fluff, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: A tiny bit of period-typical homophobia, but otherwise none!

A/N: Ok dolls! Here’s part two! As evidenced by this part, this series has literally zero plot. It’s just fluff for its own sake, and as far as plot goes it’s slow-moving at best. That said, it’s really soft, and I hope you enjoy it! This one’s a bit Maycury-centric, and the next part will be Dealor-centric, but it’s always Poly!Queen up in this piece and I will always try my best to give each boy their due amount of love from the other three ♡

Six a.m. came far too early, the alarm clock on the nightstand chirping dutifully until Brian fumbled around in the darkness to turn it off. He blearily watched the little white numbers until the last tile flipped from zero to one, sighing against the pillow as he tried to build up the will to get out of the warm and very comfortable bed. Groaning softly, he gently and begrudgingly disentangled his gangly limbs from the blankets, careful not to wake anyone else.

The hardwood floor was cold on his bare feet, and he grabbed a pair of socks from the top drawer before pulling on Freddie’s sweater he’d discarded on the back of the chair last night. He pulled back the curtain just enough to peek outside to the London street below; the world outside was sleepy and beautiful, covered in a heavy blanket of snow and still waking up in the grey morning light. He tried not to think of how unpleasant it would be to walk to school in ankle-deep snow; in the warmth of his bedroom, winter was lovely, and he enjoyed it while he could.

He stifled a yawn behind his sleeve as he went over to the other side of the bed, running a hand gently up and down Freddie’s arm to wake him.

“Time to get up, Fred,” he said softly, enough to wake the older man but not enough to disturb the younger men still sleeping peacefully.

Freddie gave a pitiful groan. “Already?”

Brian couldn’t help a sympathetic chuckle. “Yes, love, I’m afraid so.”

Freddie’s eyes fluttered open as he turned onto his back, looking up at Brian with a sleep-softened gaze. A tender smile crossed his face.

“Could get used to waking up to your face every morning,” he said gently. He reached up and glanced his fingers over Brian’s jaw.

Brian smiled. “Lucky for you, you’ll probably be waking up to me every morning, since I seem to have taken on the role of your personal alarm clock.”

“Oh, you don’t mind,” Freddie teased lightly. Brian loved the way his boyfriend’s voice sounded when he first woke, soft and a little hoarse and full of affection.

Brian gave Freddie’s fingers a gentle kiss. “No, I don’t mind,” he agreed. “Why don’t you have your shower and I’ll make us some breakfast, hm?”

Freddie carefully rose from bed, gently prying John’s hands from his arm and giving the bassist’s knuckles a kiss before he left John to sleep. He gave a disgruntled huff at how cold the floor was.

“Bloody freezing,” he said. He put his arms around Brian’s waist and snuggled close to the taller man, burying his face against Brian’s chest.

“Oh, now we’ll never get anything done,” Brian said, putting his arms over Freddie’s shoulders and holding him close.

“That was my plan all along,” Freddie said. Brian chuckled and did his best to warm Freddie up.

Freddie looked up, his angular features so beautiful in the soft morning light. “Come in the shower with me?”

Brian peppered gentle kisses all over Freddie’s face. “Are you crazy? My hair would never dry. I’d be a popsicle trying to walk to school with damp hair.”

Freddie giggled, the sound warming Brian all the way through. “I suppose you’re right. Can’t have you catching cold too, can we, darling?”

“God, I don’t have time to be sick,” Brian said, anxious just thinking about it. “I’ve got to finish this bloody draft before the holidays, and we’ve still got songs to record, and I - ”

“Shh, lovely, hush,” Freddie soothed, brushing a curl behind Brian’s ear. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you worry. Everything’s going to be just fine. Please don’t fret. It’s six in the morning, far too early for all that.”

Brian chuckled. “Yeah, you’re right.” He gave Freddie a quick kiss. “What do you want for breakfast?”

Freddie gave a dismissive wave of his hand as Brian released him. “Whatever you make will be lovely, darling.”

Brian made his way out to the kitchen as he heard Freddie turn on the shower, crossing his arms over his chest against the cold of the rest of the flat. He set about making tea as the first order of business, humming quietly to himself as he made a simple toast breakfast for the two of them.

“What did you decide on, my darling?” Freddie asked as he came out of the bedroom, towel-drying his hair. He was dressed warmly but fashionably in a white thermal shirt, black pants that hugged his slender hips, and a flowy red velvet jacket. It could be the worst blizzard London had ever seen and Freddie would still dress up, something Brian found equal parts amusing and attractive.

“Mmh, toast,” Brian said. “Your plate’s just there. Have a nice shower?”

“Oh, delightful,” Freddie said. “Water’s nowhere near hot, which makes for a lovely bathing experience.”

“Oh, no,” Brian said with a sympathetic laugh. “Poor thing. Here, have some tea. That’ll warm you up.”

Freddie gratefully accepted the mug of tea from Brian, letting it warm his hands for a moment before sipping at it. He surveyed their living room over the rim of the mug.

“Christmas is only a few weeks away,” he said thoughtfully. 

Brian hummed in agreement as he enjoyed his breakfast.

Freddie raised a brow. "Our flat is rather dreary for being this close to Christmas, don't you think?"

Brian smiled. "You're ready to decorate?"

"Darling, I've been ready to decorate since Halloween," Freddie enthused. "Do you think…"

He looked a little bashful. "I know we haven't got a lot of time this weekend, with you finishing up your draft and us needing to be in the studio all hours, but…"

"You'd like to decorate this weekend?" Brian asked sweetly.

Freddie smiled. "It might be a nice treat, you know, with Rog and John being under the weather and all. It might put us all in better spirits."

Brian chuckled and kissed Freddie's cheek, feeling the warmth of his endearing blush. "'Course we can decorate this weekend," he said. He'd find a way to lasso the moon if Freddie asked for it. "Maybe tonight, if the boys are feeling better.”

“Could we really?” Freddie asked with a beaming smile. “Oh, Brimi, you’re a darling, you know that?”

Brian smiled. “I’m your darling.”

Freddie grinned and gave his boyfriend a kiss. “Quite right. You’re my darling.” Freddie kissed him once more before giving his shoulder a gentle shove. “My darling who’s going to be late if he doesn’t go get dressed.”

Taking his cup of tea with him, Brian left Freddie to his breakfast as he went back to their bedroom to get dressed. He didn’t need to look very professional - his only suit was one that was a hand-me-down from his father, and Freddie had done some alterations on it so it didn’t hang off him quite so obviously - and he rarely dressed up for school if he wasn’t meeting with one of his advisors. He set his tea on one of the nightstands, deciding on a pair of well-worn jeans and his pink and purple striped thermal shirt.

“Brimi?”

Brian turned at the call of his name, a smile already surfacing at John’s sleepy voice. The younger man was snuggled close to Roger, bundled head to toe in blankets, his cheeks pink and his doe-brown eyes impossibly gentle when they looked at Brian.

“Good morning, love,” Brian said softly. “You alright?”

“You’re getting ready to go?” John asked.

Brian hummed in agreement. “We’ll probably be home by lunch,” he said. “D’you think you and Rog are ok to stay here alone?”

John nodded, moving over a little to make room for Brian as he came to sit on the edge of the bed. Brian brushed John’s hair back from his face, feeling the warmth of his fever.

“How about some medicine before I go, hm?” Brian said. “That way you won’t have to worry about it. And I’ll give Roger some too.”

John preened under Brian’s touch. “Okay,” he agreed. “Actually, don’t wake Rog. He was up a few minutes ago and just fell back asleep. I’ll make him have some later, if that’s ok.”

Brian smiled. “Perfectly alright by me, love. It’s good of you to let him sleep. Though I would have thought you’d like to avoid fussing with him about it.” Roger could be a bit of a handful to deal with when he was sick, especially when asked to take medicine.

John’s laugh dissolved into a few rough coughs, and Brian tutted sympathetically.

“Poor love,” he cooed. “Let me go get your medicine, ok? Sit tight.”

John wasn’t of a mind to do anything else, warm and snugly cocooned next to his blonde boyfriend who was a furnace even when he wasn’t feverish. He sat up a bit when Brian retrieved the medicine from the bathroom and returned to give John a dose, a laugh bubbling from the older man when John made a face at the strong taste.

“Not too tasty, that, is it?” Brian asked. “Here, have my tea.”

“Oh, no, Brian, you won’t be able to drink it after me,” John said, not taking the mug that Brian offered.

“I know, you goose,” Brian teased affectionately. “I’m giving it to you. I’ll make some more.”

John hesitantly took it. “Are you sure?”

Brian kissed John’s forehead before standing to return the medicine. “Yes, sweetheart. I’ll just put the medicine on the counter so you can find it for Rog later, okay?”

“Hey,” John said, taking hold of Brian’s hand as he stood. Brian studied John’s face with a look of worry.

“What?”

John smiled and it eased Brian’s worry. “Have a good day at school, Brimi.”

Brian smiled and gave John’s hand an affectionate squeeze. “Thanks, love. You can ring up if you need anything, ok? You remember the extension?”

“73,” John said. He gave Brian a cheeky smile. “As if I could forget the extension of the phone I get called to fix at least twice a month.”

Brian laughed and tried to hide a blush behind his hands. “Yes, well, it’s a finicky thing, that phone.”

John giggled and held onto Brian’s hand a moment longer before letting him go, sipping at his tea as Brian went to put the medicine away and finish getting ready. Freddie came into the bedroom, his hands fluttering around like they did when he was nervous.

“Oh, bollocks,” he said, looking slightly panicked. He saw John was up and his lips bowed in surprise.

“John, love,” he said. “You’re up.”

“Just to have medicine,” he said. “What’s wrong?”

Freddie waved a hand, indicating he didn’t want John to worry. “I’ve just misplaced my bracelet, that’s all.”

John smiled; it was very like Freddie to get worked up over a missing bracelet. “Which one?”

“The big gold one,” he said, “you know, with the red flowers on it? It’d go perfectly with my belt, but I can’t seem to find it.”

“It’s on top of the dresser,” John said confidently, nodding in that direction. “Might be in the jewelry box, but it’s up there.”

Freddie looked in the jewelry box in question and gave a delighted gasp when he pulled the missing bracelet out.

“John, darling, you’re marvelous,” he gushed, putting the bracelet on his wrist and showing it off a bit. John had to admit it did look rather good with his outfit. “What would I ever do without you, flower?”

John smiled and set Brian’s tea back on the nightstand, settling back down next to Roger. “Lucky for you, you’ll never have to find out.”

Freddie gave a pleased hum of agreement as he graced John with a beaming smile. John loved Freddie’s smile; to him, it was one of the most beautiful things in the world.

“Oh, look at the two of you,” Freddie cooed, seeing his two youngest boyfriends cuddled together. “I wish I could stay and cuddle you both, darling.”

“I wish you could too,” John said. Freddie’s heart nearly couldn’t take the soft pleading tone in John’s hoarse voice.

“My darling,” he said tenderly. “You’re too lovely for your own good, you know that?”

John beamed as Freddie leaned down to kiss his cheek.

“Oh, guess what?” Freddie said excitedly. “Bri said we could decorate tonight if you and Rog were feeling up to it. It might be a bit much after being at the studio this afternoon, but - ”

“Oh Fred, could we really?” John interrupted, his expression bright. “I’d really like to if we can.”

Freddie smiled. “If you’re feeling better, my love, we’ll do whatever you want,” he promised. “Just rest up for me, and we’ll see how it goes, okay?”

John nodded in agreement, the thought of decorating the flat for Christmas already enough to make him feel a bit better. He wished he wasn’t sick, but he’d do everything he could to be feeling well enough, and to prove to Brian and Freddie that he wasn’t too sick to decorate.

“Wonderful,” Freddie said. He kissed the tip of John’s nose, drawing a giggle from the younger man. “We’ve got to get going, lovely, but call Brian at school if you need anything, alright? You two take good care of each other.”

“Could you stop and get some more tissues before you come home?” John asked. “We have enough to last until then, but I think Rog is going to need some more.”

As if to prove his boyfriend’s point, the still-sleeping blonde gave a snore that suggested how congested he was.

“Sure, of course,” Freddie said. “We’ll stop by the store on the way home. Anything else you can think of?”

John shook his head and Freddie patted his leg.

“Okay, then, darling. See you later. I love you.”

John smiled. “Love you too.”

Freddie gave his boyfriend one last quick kiss before heading back out to the living room; John heard him putting his jacket on and imagined Freddie all bundled up in the faux fur coat he always said looked “rather debonair”. Brian came out of the bathroom, a bit of eyeliner bringing out his lovely eyes, and blew John a kiss.

“Love you, sweetheart,” he said, grabbing his messenger bag from where he’d dropped it in the corner last night. “Tell Rog when he wakes up we love him too.”

“You know I don’t need to,” John said sweetly. “But I will. Come home soon.”

Brian smiled. “Soon as we can, lovely, soon as we can. Don’t forget to call if you need anything.”

John laughed. “I’ll remember, I promise. Now go on, before you’re late.”

Brian gave John one last tender smile before leaving the bedroom, pulling on his jacket while Freddie waited patiently by the door.

“Ready, darling?” he asked when Brian had wrapped his rainbow scarf around his neck.

Brian held the door open with a flourish. “After you, dearest.”

Brian followed Freddie out and locked the door behind them, feeling a pang of guilt as he did. He wished they could stay and take care of their boyfriends; it felt wrong to be leaving them to fend for themselves for half the day. Freddie felt the worry and guilt coming off Brian in waves and took his hand as they walked down to the lobby of their apartment building.

“They’ll be perfectly fine without us, Bri,” Freddie said gently. “No need to fuss.”

“I know,” Brian said with a sigh. He adjusted the strap of his bag on his shoulder. “I just feel bad leaving them. What if they get worse? What if they need something and don’t call?”

“They will,” Freddie said, pushing the lobby door open and sucking in a breath at the freezing morning air that met them. “Not - I mean, they won’t get worse, but they will call if they need something. And if you’re that worried about them, call after a few hours and check up on them.”

They walked together down the sidewalk towards Imperial College London’s campus, which was only a few minute’s walk from their flat they rented in Courtfield Gardens. John had always said it was rather romantic they lived somewhere that sounded so stately and royal; though the little flat they could afford hardly felt either, they all smiled when John would talk about Courtfield Gardens in his most posh voice like they might invite the Duchess for tea one afternoon. Mercifully the snow had been shoveled off the sidewalks so they didn’t have to slog through it, but the air was still bitter cold as the sun peeked above the roof of the buildings lining the street.

“Lovely and brisk, isn’t it?” Freddie said, a smile on his face.

Brian gave a short laugh. “Little cold for me, but at least it’s not snowing.”

Though the street was quiet this time of morning, there was a young man coming out onto his front steps further up the street; Freddie pulled his hand from Brian’s and didn’t look up at him, a fierce blush coloring his cheeks.

“Sorry,” Freddie said quietly. He still didn’t meet Brian’s eyes, keeping his gaze on his snow-dusted shoes.

Brian just sighed and stuck his hand in his pocket. He knew as well as Freddie did that two men walking down the street hand in hand was an open invitation for insults and jeers - or worse, as they knew from experience, physical violence - but Brian had never quite managed to go without feeling a little hurt every time one of his boyfriends’ hands slipped from his. He knew it wasn’t personal - his boyfriends would happily show the whole world they loved him if they could - but it made the cold of the morning just a little more biting as he walked beside Freddie as if they were no more than mates.

“You don’t have to apologize,” Brian said after a moment. “You know you don’t. Not ever.”

Freddie shook his head. “Yes, I do. I just snatched my hand out of yours because of some bloke on the other side of the road. I feel awful every time I do something like that, to any of you.”

Brian nudged his shoulder against Freddie’s. “Hey, it’s alright. I know you love me, and you know I love you. Even if I can’t just stop in the middle of the street and kiss you senseless in front of all of London like I want to.”

Freddie couldn’t help a smile and did meet Brian’s eyes then, a mix of sadness and affection there that mirrored what Brian felt.

“Kiss me senseless, eh? You sure you’re up to it?”

Brian laughed. “I know I am. I’ll prove it to you when we get home. Or maybe I’ll drag you into a broom closet at the university.”

Freddie’s laugh was musical in the cold air. “I bet you would, darling. But that’s yours and John’s thing, I’m much too averse to school in general to have a tête-à-tête on campus.”

“Maybe I’ll come by Kensington then,” Brian teased. “You can sneak me behind the clothes racks.” Brian knew Freddie and Roger had done just that more than once, one time having witnessed them emerging from behind the racks of mismatched clothes all flushed and giggly when he came to walk them home. It was always a risk to do things like that outside the safety of their own home, and they hadn’t managed a lover’s tryst between the four of them yet, but how could they resist each other? They loved each other, risks be damned, and in rare moments that allowed them to overcome the fear they felt at being together when others could see.

Brian took Freddie’s hand again before the older man could protest, twining their fingers together. Freddie looked up at him in surprise.

“If anyone asks, I’m blind, and you’re making sure I don’t run into things,” Brian said with a cheeky smile.

Freddie relaxed a bit and gave Brian a smile. “You’re incorrigible, Brian May.”

They walked hand in hand until they reached Imperial’s Department of Physics, a grand old building that was practically Brian’s second home. A handful of faculty and students were milling about; it was still early for the majority of people. Freddie tipped up his face and gave Brian a sweet smile.

“Learn lots, my darling,” he said, as he always did.

Brian smiled. “I’ll try.” He squeezed Freddie’s hand before letting it go. “Have a good day at work.”

“I’ll do my best,” Freddie said. “Check up on the boys if you feel yourself getting worried about them. They’ll love to hear from you anyways. It’ll cheer them up a bit.”

“I will,” Brian promised. “You’ll be by around lunch? I might be in a meeting with an advisor.”

“Don’t worry about me, darling,” Freddie said. “I’ll amuse myself with some thousand-page tome on stars in your office, if need be.”

Brian smiled. “If you say so. I’ll see you later, then.” He pressed his fingers to his lips in a muted gesture of blowing Freddie a kiss. “Love you.”

“Love you,” Freddie said gently. He stuck his hands in his pockets and turned to go, wishing Brian would walk the rest of the way to Kensington Market with him, or that he had Roger coming with him to work. 

It was unusual for both Freddie and Brian to be parting ways on their own. Brian missed John by his side as he pushed through the doors of the Department of Physics building, telling him excitedly about the new project he was working on in the tech department; Freddie missed Roger walking to work with him, bumping into him almost relentlessly to make up for not being able to hold hands. They both consoled themselves with the thought that it would only be a few hours before they saw their boyfriends again, and they both knew they wouldn’t hold back in lavishing all the attention they’d missed this morning on the men they loved more than anything else in the world.

Read part three!

forever taglist: @tv-saved-the-teenage-girl @hazah@dashlilymark@punkgeekchic @harrisunn @stephydearestxo@luckytrashgooprebel @someone-get-a-medic @chlobo6

[vampirefreakism]

The Scientist (Chapter 33)

Summary: In the events following Asgard’s destruction, Loki finds himself on Earth seeking refuge to await the inevitable. Much to his surprise, it comes from a source he would never have expected.

Warnings: none

Word count: 3.5k

A/N: God let’s hope this shows up in the tags and stays there. The AO3 and Spotify playlist are linked in the Masterlist. I haven't stopped or deleted anything. I also posted this on Wattpad so check me out on there if you like!

Masterlist

----------

As one song transitioned to the next, Loki glanced away from his book to the back of the CD case. Luna wasn’t around to enjoy the music with him – the reason he spent most of the morning sending high praises to the Allfathers. She would be able to tell how quickly he lost interest in the wonders of evolution over a new album. New for him, normal for her.

Marking his place, Loki put his book down and strode over to the newly set-up record player. He traced a finger around the edges as he tapped his foot to the beat, imagining how a track might sound played through it. It escaped him as to why Luna would need another thing to play music. ‘You have one already,’ he had reasoned, but it was a lavish gift from Stark. It would have been rude to not accept it.

Loki had the privilege of carrying the boxes into her apartment and assembling everything with her. A different science than he was used to, but it was no less entertaining. Ignorantly, he had pondered out loud which album they could play. ‘We don’t have the proper format,’ Luna told him and expanded on what a vinyl record was. Loki remembered them from a trip or two to Earth during the early 20th century. A surprise people still used them, but he figured it was purely for the nostalgia.

He pressed the on button on the front, awakening the turntable. It spun clockwise in a lazy fashion. Loki was tempted to lift the cover and touch it. Feel the material move against his skin, but Luna was firm. ‘Don’t touch it unless you’re putting a record on. It has to be kept clean.’ Would she be able to tell if he defied her? Perhaps. She was more perceptive than he previously took her for.

Feeling peckish, he switched the turntable off and grabbed his phone on the way to the kitchen. Peter teased him with the promise of sending pictures of the inside of his school and his other friends. It was a naughty and dangerous idea, and Loki was all for it. Finding nothing of interest on the counter or in the fridge, he settled for an ice cream pint. No need to worry about his hand turning blue, so long as he was alone.

Loki’s phone pinged to life as he was finishing the first half of the container. It was a message from Peter. He shook his hand out, getting some warmth back into it, and opened it.

‘Hey! Im in math. Is boring’

Attached is a hastily-taken picture of a whiteboard covered in diagrams and equations. Portions of it were blocked by the many students in front of Peter’s phone camera. Loki snickered and typed out his response.

‘doesnt look so’

Two minutes pass by – enough time for Loki to fish out a few more scoops of ice cream – and Peter messages him again.

‘its one of my best subjects so it doesn’t bother me too much. Ned and MJ are in another block from me so I miss them’

Loki's brow creased. He held his spoon in his mouth, so his hands were free.

‘MJ?’

‘oh yeah right you don’t know her. Shes my other really good friend’

‘what’s she like’

The long delay for Peter’s return message put Loki a bit on edge. Intent on calming his nerves, he put the rest of his ice cream away and ventured to Luna’s room. He could hear his music still, only muffled a little.

Beneath her bed sat a row of shoeboxes, containing everything but a pair of shoes. The first Loki opened housed all of Luna’s keychains and charms. A few piqued his interest; a simple black skull, a Darth Vader figure, a mini Mjolnir, and a crescent moon with two stars attached. He smirked, turning over the little moon in his hand. He expected no less from her.

Through the concluding music, Loki’s phone chimed anew with a message for him. Careful not to step on the charms littering the floor, he shuffled back to the kitchen and opened up his device. Again, it was from Peter.

‘hey! Srry for the wait. Teacher almost caught me txting lmao’

Loki grins.

‘first rule of mischief: never get caught’

‘ooh neds here now. He says hi’

Attached is another picture, taken at a low angle, of Peter and Ned. Both boys smile into the camera as Ned waves down to it, greeting Loki through the phone.

‘hello ned. Grand to see you again’

‘we r at lunch now. MJ is here too’

This photo was not of either of the two boys, but of their friend sitting across from them at a table. The friend – Loki assumed – was MJ. She held a book in one hand as she shot someone an irritated look.

‘is this MJ?’

‘yeah. We interrupted her reading but its ok XP’

‘does she know about me being here?’

A pause in the messaging held the air still. It was as though Peter deliberated in secret. Loki was impatient for the outcome.

‘no, but she might suspect. She’s really observant. Lolol shes already commented on my txtin’

‘may not be wise to communicate in front of people’

‘maybe not. txt u later?’

‘sure’

‘kk! Talk l8r!’

A loud silence took the apartment once more. Loki was desperate to banish it, so he started the album over again. He didn't mind. It wasn't the first time he'd exhausted the work of a musician in a day.

Feeling antsy, he went back to Luna’s room. He always liked looking at her little treasures, no matter if they were new to his eyes or if he’d seen them ten times before. Tucking her box of keychains back where it belonged, he moved on to another corner of the room: her closet.

Clothes were always crucial to Loki. Being a royal meant looking his best, both in the ballroom and on the battlefield. He was consistently stereotyped as the brother with the more developed fashion sense, but Thor knew his way around an outfit as well as he. Presentation was critical in any scenario.

Loki pried the door open as careful as he could, should anything come tumbling out. Luckily, everything inside was placed smartly and in order. The upper shelf supported a few boxes and spare sheets, the clothes hung on the rack in a beautifully organized fashion, and the remained floor space kept extra bags and larger boxes. Many places to start, not enough time to go through them all.

He started with the clothing. It was a surprise to see Luna hanging her T-shirts and long-sleeved shirts up as Loki preferred to fold his, but he liked it. It made them look neat and presentable. Beside them, her pants were placed in the same way. She had a few different kinds, so Loki took a look at each.

He’d seen her in leggings and joggers in the house and the gym. Which one she wore all depended on her mood and how the day went. One pair of dress pants sat suspended amongst them. Her skinny jeans – a black pair and a dark red pair – she wore any time they went out. Today, she put the dark red ones on for work, leaving Loki with the black pair. He tried to pick a favorite, but Luna wore both exceptionally well.

Sweaters and jackets squeezed in next to them. Luna possessed a broader assortment than previously believed. The first of the group Loki spied was the sweater she wore the day they went to the aquarium. It was light grey with a graphic on the front of a dark forest. Loki passed a hand over it, tracing the trees from the exaggerated sharp tops down to the bases on the drawn ground. Simple and practical yet stylish and unique. He snuck a hand into the sleeve, feeling the inside. It was soft and plush, like wearing a blanket. A whisper of jealousy passed through his head as he imagined feeling something so comforting against his skin; a far cry from the leather and rougher fabrics of his homeworld.

He peeked at the others he hadn’t seen: a black pullover with a small cartoon alien spaceship on the left side of the chest, a dark grey hoodie with a geometric skull design, a plain black suit jacket, and a notably large black hoodie with a four-letter abbreviation embroidered broad across the chest. Loki tilted his head and unhooked it from the bar. In front of the mirror, he held it up to his frame. In theory, it could fit him, but the forefront of his mind was occupied by one question: why was it so different from the others? Looking crossly at his reflection, Loki stepped back from the mirror and put the sweater back. Better for him to move on to something else lest he leaves a trace of his meddling.

Shoved into the far side of the closet were the clothes he considered to be more formal and fancy. Things Loki never bothered to think he would see, much less worn by his friend. His eyes were first met by a dress. Luna never seemed the type to wear such a garment. Loki found it difficult to imagine it on her, but he kept inspecting it. It was black with a fit-and-flare shape and long sleeves. The fabric was soft and stretchy, and the neckline left less to the imagination than Loki was used to. He tucked it back and pushed it towards the opposite side. Enough with it for now.

The outfit behind it lay draped over the hanger in three pieces. To the untrained eye, they were indistinguishable as to what they might be. Possessing such a sight, Loki took a bold step, unhooking the hanger and laying it on Luna’s bed. One piece had a red-to-black gradient, the other was plain black, and the last was small and wine red. He took the black garment out first and held it at eye-level. Seeing it clearly, he discovered it to be a long skirt with a drawstring waistband. The fabric was a bit flimsy, as though it was meant to go underneath something. He set it down – keeping its proposed purpose in mind – and picked up the gradient piece.

The color shifted along the entire length of the cloth, and it was long. It looked to be a scarf or a wrap skirt. Perhaps it could be both at the same time. The fabric was soft, and Loki couldn’t stop touching it. It was made of silk and felt like cool water in his hands, flowing and moving as though it was alive. He hastily pulled up his sleeves and let it fall across his bare arms. To say it was heaven to touch would be an understatement. He could wear an entire robe of the material and never want to take it off.

He retrieved the final raiment and held it as he did the skirt, feeling the soft material. It was made of stretchy velvet and resembled the sports bras Luna kept in her drawer set. The neckline of the tiny top scooped a bit lower than the one on the black dress, and the short sleeves were made of embroidered red lace. Loki turned it from back to front and back again. It held no zipper, buttons, or strings to tie. Only a simple tug was needed to put it on.

Loki lay it down and stepped back. With all the pieces on display, he surveyed them properly and built up the outfit in his mind in various ways, but nothing seemed correct. Again, he was at a loss. But, to his luck, Luna’s voice came floating into his mind as he recalled a past conversation.

“I do have one, and I like it a lot, but it’s nowhere near as nice as that one.”

One. One what? Loki had an idea and a heavy feeling.

Racing out of Luna’s room, he charged through the open space to the picture of Luna’s mother. The one of her wearing an expensive saree. His eyes widened, realizing he'd snooped in the wrong place and disturbed the wrong item. Loki glanced at the kitchen clock. He had enough time to put everything back before his friend came home. He walked back to Luna’s room, swallowing nervously.

Gently, he ran his fingertips along the saree wrap cloth, feeling the energy it held. This was Luna’s one. Her one outfit representing her culture and heritage – what made up the core of her being – and he’d gone and disturbed it without a care in the world. For shame. Loki groaned and closed his eyes. He had an apology ready, but no one to apologize to.

He closed his eyes and, with his soul, reached out to Luna’s ancestors. Her family members from the mother country. The ones who survived so she could exist. Loki acknowledged the boundary he crossed and asked for their forgiveness. He folded and hung the clothes back where he got it from, hoping they would listen and grant his request. Feeling light in his chest, he smiled. They knew he was sincere.

Loki pushed the clothes into the order he found them in and closed the closet door. Enough snooping for today. He shut the bedroom door on his way out and ambled to the kitchen for an apple. The skin was crisp and the inside as savory as he liked. The apartment was quiet again. For now, Loki deserved it. A bit of hushed contemplation would do him some good. It was a curve, but he was learning.

Throwing the apple core away, he rinsed his hands and got a fresh glass of water. He took the book he had been reading and sat in the armchair by the window. Luna warranted a bit of good behavior from Loki, even though she was not there to see.

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

Close to 3pm, Loki’s phone dinged with a new message from Peter. He marked his spot in his book and opened the text.

‘finally done! Wow the day felt long’

Loki grinned and responded.

‘I bet’

‘so where r u now? R u at the compound?’

‘no, im in lunas home’

‘ooooooh what do you do there all day’

Loki paused, deciding what to tell him.

‘read her books, watch her movies, listen to her music’

‘noah fence, but that sounds kinda boring :P’

“‘Noah fence?’" Loki muttered under his breath. "Oh, ‘no offense.' Right.”

‘it can be, but we go to the compound on Saturdays and out anywhere else’

‘nice nice nice! U comin by this weekend??? to the compound???? ?????’

Loki snickered at Peter’s apparent excitement. He humored the boy.

‘I might’

‘pls bcuz I have some stuff I wanna show u’

‘looking forward to it’

‘:D I have decathlon practice now, so txt l8r??’

‘sure. You know where to find me’

‘lol yeah’

Loki didn't bother texting back. Peter was busy studying with his friends, or so he imagined. He got up and turned his music back on, again, not bothering to change the CD. Good music deserved to be listened to.

His enjoyment was short-lived as his phone rang with a different tune, this one constant and more musical. Luna had shown him what it meant. Someone was calling him.

Loki looked at the screen and saw Luna’s name lit up. He pressed the green button and held it to his ear.

“H-hello?” he spoke.

He heard a light muffled gasp. “You answered! Yay!” Luna praised.

Loki smirked. “Yes, I did.”

“So, uh, hi.”

“Hi.”

Loki heard a distant cough. “Um, what are you doing right now?”

“Waiting for you. Listening to music and reading.”

“What are you reading? Anything interesting?”

"Oh, yes. In fact, it’s one of your biological science books.”

“Ooh, which one?”

Loki read the cover. “‘Four Billion Years’ by William Loomis.”

“Mm, good choice.”

He opened the book to a random page as though Luna was watching him and he had to prove it. “The genetic code is so complex. It’s no wonder you study it.”

“Yeah. There isn't a dull moment with it. So, which artist are you listening to?”

“A wonderful lady by the name of,” Loki picked up the CD case, “Marina.”

“Oh! Awesome!” Luna exclaimed. “And how do you like her?”

“Very much. She’s fantastically accomplished.”

“I had a feeling you would like her stuff. Which song do you like most so far?”

“I couldn’t possibly choose. They’re all good.”

“Just one. The other songs won’t feel less liked, I promise." She giggled, and so did he.

“Let’s see.” Loki flipped the case to the back and read the track list. "Uh, ‘Fear and Loathing.’ "

“Ooh, nice choice. I love that one. They're all good. I have several favorites.”

He hummed. “So, what are you doing now?”

“Taking a bit of a break. I called to tell you that I’m going to be late. Traffic is horrible right now, so it’s not safe for me to leave yet. I’m also working out some ideas for a new experiment.”

The fire of Loki’s interest was stoked. “Oh?”

“Mhm. It’ll be a DNA manipulation using CRISPR like last time, but I would have to redo an RNA template for the new organism.”

“Which one might you be using?”

“Zebrafish. I want to test healing time.”

“Why use a new one when you already have the first one?”

“Because zebrafish are larger than the worms and transparent, so I can see all the inner workings, even the blood vessels in real-time. I can nick one a little and see the movement of the cells as it heals the wound. They also have an organ system similar to humans so I can visualize things more easily than with a worm.”

Her job never ceased to capture him. He felt like he could watch her work all day.

“Amazing,” Loki breathed out.

“Yeah! I've seen a bunch of videos where they do that, and it's really cool, so I'm hoping to get some good results. Even if they don’t change from the average results of a non-mutated fish, it’s not nothing.”

“Of course, but may I speak freely?”

Luna chuckled low into the phone. “You may.”

“I think you will get a difference." He didn't wish to give anything away, but he was confident she would get something. If the worms could produce ice particles on their own, the fish would do the same.

“I will keep that in mind.”

“I suppose I should let you get back to work.”

“Yeah, I have some more things to finish up before I leave. Hopefully, the traffic will be a little more merciful on me.”

“Here’s to hoping.”

“Hm, yeah. Well, bye, Loki. See you at home.”

“Yeah. Bye.”

Loki listened to the buzzing silence on the other end of the line. Pressing the red button, he set his phone down and wandered back to the record player. A present from Stark. Luna got a pair of socks from Peter. And what from Loki? Nothing. As he pulled gently at the string bracelet around his wrist, he thought of her. Luna was the best friend he wished he had earlier in his life but never got. Now, he had her, but how has he repaid her kindness?

Loki gave to his kingdom for four years as its king, proving to his people he was better than the person he used to be. He had the capacity but lacked the resources. What could only he offer? Stark and Peter had more stable connections, but what did Loki have? What did they have together?

He looked around the room and noted all points of interest. They shared film, music, food, and dancing. Yes, dancing was a good place to start. She only did it with him. With nothing Asgardian to gift, he would have to settle for something earthly. Something she didn’t currently possess but would greatly enjoy.

Loki perused the CD shelf. He knew most of the artists, but he didn’t know what Luna didn’t have or if she would like something new. His eyes flitted from album to album and stopped on one he recognized: ‘Led Zeppelin IV.’ Their first dance was in there. Reading the spine of the case, Loki laughed under his breath. Luna was influencing him again, making him sentimental. But now, as an idea formed in his head, sentiment felt good.

His phone dinged, providing a momentary distraction.

‘done with the stuff. About to go on patrol so my messages will be here and there’

It was from Peter. Perfect timing.

‘alright, but one thing before you go’

‘yah??’

Loki took a deep breath and, with shaking hands, typed out his question.

‘how much do you know about vinyl records’

----------

Taglist:  @the-doctor-9-10 @pinkieperil @sherlockfan4life

[phaedrecameron]

House of Fraser, Chpt 4- Un Dono

“Jamie! The Randall fiancée is here.”

“Her name is Claire, Marsali. Send her back would ye?” Asked Jamie.

Jamie turned back to his table. He had several fabrics laid out in various colors. He began his mental checklist as his eyes scanned his workspace: satin, taffeta, silk, charmeuse, brocade, sheer, lacy, ivory, light gold, neutral.

His fingers tapped a tattoo on the table as he sought to calm his nerves. He hadn’t been this nervous since his first runway show. He fiddled with his collar. He was wearing well worn jeans, a burnt red v neck sweater atop a white Oxford, both rolled up at the sleeves, and his lace up boots. He was sporting a few days stubble.

After several minutes, Jamie looked toward the entryway.  He walked into the foyer. Marsali pointed to one the siderooms.  There he saw Claire speaking on her mobile. Her back was to him, but from the set of her shoulders and the movements of her arms, he knew she was angry.

Her hair was in a low ponytail. She was wearing a leather jacket, a fuzzy knit beanie and light weight wool trousers. He knew he should leave and give her privacy, but he felt rooted to the spot. Abruptly, she turned and saw him. He meant to apologize, but he caught sight of her face.  Jamie pushed the door fully open and was at her side in an instant.

“Claire, are ye alright?”

“Ah, Mr. Fra—“

“Call me Jamie.”

Claire brushed an escaped curl from her face. She looked up at him, smiled, and slowly backed away. Jamie realized he was all but on top of her and had lightly gripped her elbow.  He immediately took two steps back. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didna mean.. I thought…”  

“It’s alright,” she readjusted her cross body purse, “my job.” She shrugged. Claire expected him to drop the matter, but he stood his ground, waiting to see if she truly was okay. “I…one of my patients is very sick,” she explained, “his only hope is an expensive experimental drug, not approved in the U.K.”

Her face was like quicksand, he could read all her emotions as they formed, coalesced, and dissipated. He saw her fear, hopelessness, anger, and determination.

“The hospital is trying to convince the family that conventional treatment is the best course, but they’re wrong.  Just bureaucrats more interested in cutting costs and forms in triplicate!” Claire’s fists curled.

Jamie took one step closer. He noticed a small cluster of silver hair near her right temple; the strands threaded through her curls, hiding and peeking through like a swirl of cream through coffee.  “Dinna doubt yerself, I’m certain ye’ll persuade them.”  

She looked somewhat shocked by his statement.  “You have a lot of faith in someone you just met,” Claire replied.

“I know things and I’m a good judge of character,” he gave her a half smirk and bumped her shoulder.

She couldn’t help but smile as she looked into his face. He smelled earthy…sandalwood maybe. He’d grown a bit of facial hair. He really could model his own clothes. She quickly looked down when she realized she was staring.

“Have ye always wanted to be a doctor?”

“Yes. Always. It’s the only thing of which I’ve ever been sure. And to help children…. to see them endure such horrible pain when their lives have just begun,” she shook her head, “I was born to it I suppose.”

Jamie watched as the same stubborn curl fell to her eyebrow. He fought the urge to brush it from her face. “It must take a lot out of ye, to give so much of yerself to help. The bairns are lucky to have ye.”

“Well, it’s my job. No different than anyone else’s, really.” Claire tried to brush off his implication.

Jamie scoffed, “the skill to save a child‘s life? ‘Tis a gift Claire, truly.”

Her face seemed to light up at his words. Jamie realized, inexplicably, that she wasn’t used to being complimented. She smiled and looked away. When she looked back at him, Jamie knew he had been staring longer than could be considered polite. He turned and grabbed a clean sketchbook and pencil that was sitting on a table. Seeing Claire’s curious gaze, “I keep em lying around. Ye never know when inspiration will strike,” he gave her one of his half smiles.  He sketched for 30 seconds or so while Claire tried in vain to see his work.

“Shall we?” Jamie moved to the door.

Claire began to follow. “Will I see those?” She pointed to the now closed sketchbook he held in his hand.

“Possibly,” he teased. Jamie couldn’t show her the sketches. The sketches were designs for the spring line, not her gown. Looking at her had dislodged him from the rut he’d been in regarding the line’s direction.

Claire shook her head at him, freeing more curls, “Alright, this will be a good distraction,” she said without thinking. “Oh god.” She cringed and closed her eyes. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean that this,” she motioned to his studio, “isn’t important…that what you do—?

“Dinna worry. I understood yer meaning. I may not be saving children’s lives, but I’d like to think I bring a bit of joy into the world.”

He turned and Claire followed him down the hallway.

Claire was soon distracted by his studio. It was enormous. There were huge windows and skylights. She saw long tables covered in fabrics, scissors, measuring tape, pins and that was just what she could identify. There were large standing boards covered with clothing designs. Some were hand drawn, others computer generated. There were mannequins and cameras. The back wall contained a row of large screen desktops.

“Claire, you remember John? He and Marsali will be assisting periodically.”

“Um, yes, hullo.” Claire’s head continued scanning the studio.

Jamie felt an unexpected pride at being able to impress her. She started to wander between the tables, Jamie carefully following behind. “Did you design all…of this?” She waved her hand in the air, her engagement ring glittering in the natural light.

“Mostly, but it’s a team effort. I oversee everything. Set the theme.”

“It’s amazing.” Awestruck, she turned to face him.

It was the first time he’d seen her true smile. He swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat, “thank ye.”

She stopped at the table where he had laid out the fabrics.

“Is this..?” She looked at him for confirmation.

“Aye, feel them.”

She ran her fingers along the fabrics. There was the cool smoothness of satin, the rough snag of embroidered lace, and the uneven bumpiness of an embellished bodice.

“I don’t know where to start,” her voice low.

“That why I’m here. Come.” Jamie winked. Or she thought he winked, it was more like he blinked both eyes.  She laughed as he directed her to a wooden step placed before a floor length mirror.  

She stepped up and Marsali removed her jacket, revealing her plain black t shirt.  Jamie came by her side.  While on the step, they were at eye level. His deep blue eyes swimming with mischief.

“I think the color is the first decision,” Jamie stated as he brought the fabrics near her arm, “look at these.” Claire looked at the fabrics in the mirror as he brought each close.  “Yer skin is fair…almost pearl like. This would suit ye best.”  

She shyly touched her neck. “Oh? And which color is that?”

“It’s a shade of ivory, called ‘forever’.  Though... light gold and champagne are also options.” He stepped back to grab more fabric. She peeked at him in the mirror. With his jaw set in concentration, he was completely in his element. She could easily imagine him spending his days and nights here, lost in a frenzy of creation. That passion and calling to a vocation was something Claire understood well.

“Also yer quite tall,” he was saying. He was walked behind her and raised his hands.  “May I?”

She nodded. He gently grabbed her ponytail and deftly pinned her hair up; his fingers grazing her neck as he did so. Claire felt the hair on her arms raise at his touch and wondered how many models he had done that for.

“Ye’ll want to show off yer neck, maybe?” He didn’t wait for her answer, but grabbed a sketchbook and began scribbling.  He’d look up every so often, furrow his brow, and keep on scribbling.

Claire thought she would dislike being stared at and fussed over like a toy doll, but she felt…excited. A sudden energy hummed throughout her body. She twisted her hands and sighed with relief. She knew Frank worried about her lack of enthusiasm for the ceremony. She assured him she wasn’t a ‘big wedding ceremony’ type, but secretly she worried also. The pressure Frank was under was enormous. He needed her to be present for him on their wedding day; be what he required. She owed him that. Perhaps with Jamie’s help, a little piece of the wedding would be hers also. That would make it easier.

Jamie held out his sketchbook. “What do ye think? Would these suit ye or…Frank?”

She gasped as her hands swept over the pages.

“Yes, yes, they’ll suit.

[sincerlyyme-blog]

Group Therapy (CONNOR MURPHY x READER)

AUTHORS NOTE: hello!!!!! i am back!!!!!!! i wrote this little thing, in hopes of making it a multiple part series. so this is just part one! but if you guys dont like it, let me know and ill just leave it as it is. I also want to take a moment to say that i am back to UPLOADING A FIC OR HEADCANON ONCE A DAY!! when i first started this blog, that was my uploading schedule. life got in the way, but im back baby!!!!! 

Word Count: 2.4k ish

TW: suicide, suicide descriptions, swearing, therapy groups , etc

PS: i have been to many group therapies, so this is all just based purely on personal experience. so if this is triggering to you, please dont read any further!!!!

           Connor Murphy was special. Not special in the way you would describe a rare artifact or gem. He was special like the waves in the ocean, the colours in the sky, or oil paint on a canvas. He was special because you knew what to expect. Like a wave in the ocean, you expected to crash. Like the colours in the sky, you expected to fade out after hours of daylight. Like oil paint on a canvas, you expected to dry and harden after creating something beautiful. Connor Murphy was a synonym for beautiful; only the rarest of poets could find in a dictionary. He was the sound that rolled off of the tongue of a politician. He was the feeling of warm laundry, draping around your body. Connor was all of these things—which is why his downfall was to be expected.

           You had tried numerous group therapies in the past. None of them seemed to improve your feelings or behaviors. But they stabilized your health, which is all you could really ask for. There was something equally pleasing and eerie about joining group therapy. It was oddly satisfying to hear everyone bitch and complain, but also eerie that the painted beige walls would contain a group of kids who tried to kill themselves. Talk about a Suicide Squad.

           You drove yourself to group therapy. This one was named Youth Wonders: Group Therapy and Psychiatrics. The name was slathered on the brick building in bronze lettering. It looked ancient. Maybe it looked cool back in 2002, but it made you roll your eyes just at the sight. You were 5 minutes early. Your keys were still lodged into your car ignition. This was the hardest part: getting out of the car. There was always that part of you that was tempted to ditch, go eat some McDonald’s for the hour, and go back home to tell your dad that everything went well. The feeling of guilt spread over your stomach just at the thought. You have lied to your father many times before. He didn’t deserve to be lied to again.

           Finally, you slumped out of the driver’s seat and walked into the horrid building. It smelt like old carpet and candle wax. Kind of like a church. But nothing Holy grew an abundance to you whilst walking through the halls. A white, thick door was stood open with a brick. On the inside if the door, facing you, a pink slip of paper was taped up.

“TEEN YOUTH SUICIDAL THERAPY GROUP”

           They really don’t sugar coat anything here. Your footsteps grew heavier as you walked through the door. Plastic chairs were all set up in a circle. Inside there were only four teenagers, and a woman who had a strange resemblance to Whoopi Goldberg.

           “Name, please?” her scratchy voice echoed off the walls. Her dry hands where clutching a clipboard and her pink pen was held between her fingers, like a cigarette.

           “Oh, uh, Y/N L/N,” you frowned, taking a seat across from her.

           According to the amount of chairs set up, there were only six people in the group. You, an empty chair, Whoopi-Goldberg-lady, and an empty chair. The empty chair was to your left. You stared at it, feeling cold. The awkward tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife. You took this moment of silence as an opportunity to look around the room. All of the teens glared at their feet.

           The girl next to you had red hair. Her face was populated with cystic acne that looked painful to the touch. Her ginger locks were pulled into a low ponytail. She wore a large men’s sweater that hung off of her skinny body. Sitting to her left was a large Filipino boy. He wore a purple sweater and old hiking shoes. The toe of the boots were worn out and his big toe peeked out. His hair was greasy, and he looked in need of a shower. Down the line, in the circle, sat a Latina girl. Her hair was done perfectly and her ears were pierced. Big golden hoops dangled from the lobes, reaching her collarbone. She was chewing bubblegum, and wearing a croptop – even though the temperature was just above freezing. Finally, in the corner sat a very pale white boy. He was short and skinny. He looked like he was 12 years old. His minecraft shirt had large orange stains, and had blonde whiskers growing in on his upper lip.

           Whoopi-Goldberg-lady took a final sigh, clicking her pen. Just as she opened her mouth to speak, another person stomped in.

           “You finally decided to join us…” the woman looked at her clipboard before reading out loud, “Connor?”

           The boy grunted in response, throwing his body down onto the chair next to you. You winced at the sound. He had long hair. The ends curled into the collar of his denim jacket. Your eyes trailed up to his face. The muscles in his jaw flexed as he grinded his teeth together. The Whoopi-lady stood up, smoothing out the material of her chiffon blouse.

           “Welcome, everyone. My name is Liz,” she spoke above her gravely tone.

           Her name was Liz. Finally, you could stop referring to her as the Whoopi-Goldberg-lady, in your head.

           “I will be your counselor and guide for this group. Within our 9 weeks here, I expect all of you to hit a few goals. The first being: opening up. I want you to share your story, knowing that whatever is said in here, stays in here.”

           You could hear the boy next to you, practically scoff.

           “So the first thing we are going to do is; go around the room, say your name, age, and explain why you are here.”

           You could feel everyone tense up.

           “Let’s start with,” Liz glanced at her clipboard. “Jamie.”

           The red-haired girl sat up straight. She removed her fingers from her mouth, as she was just chewing on her cuticles moments ago. Her bleeding fingers dove into the sleeves of her sweater.

           “Hi, I’m Jamie,” she spoke softly, almost like a robot. “I’m 15 and I’m here because I overdosed on sleeping pills.”

           Liz nodded, “Ok. Great. Thank you, Jamie.”

           Next in line was the boy in hiking boots.

           “Hi, I’m Leroy. I’m 16 and I tried to hang myself from a tree,” his voice was a deep baritone. But was quickly cut off by the Latina girl beside him.

           “Did the tree break, fatty?”

           “Andrea,” Liz warned. “This is supposed to be a safe space.”

           “Ok, yeah, whatever. I’m Andrea. I’m 18. This is my third time here. I took too much meth and blacked the fuck out. So I’m here,” she snapped her gum, fingering the golden hoop on her ear.

           “Daniel, your turn,” Liz looked at the small pale boy.

“Hi, um, I’m Daniel. I’m 16 and I, uh,” the boy began to sob violently. Your heart broke a little bit. The boy next to you, Connor, scoffed. You were almost in disbelief at his heartless gesture.

“It’s ok, hun. Take your time,” Liz spoke softly.

Daniel continued, hiccupping and telling the group how he tried to end his life just two weeks prior. After many tissues, Liz continued down the line.

“Connor?”

The boy next to you, shifted in his seat. He was now sitting up, straight. His long legs tangled over each other. His large, black combat boots looked heavy against his skinny shins. He was wearing a lot of layers.

“Yeah, hi, I’m Connor. I’m 17. I tried killing myself 3 weeks ago.”

“How? You have to say how,” Andrea twirled her hair around her finger.

“Why? Do you get off to people’s backstories or some shit?” he hissed back.

Liz waved the two of them off, gesturing that it was okay to keep those details private. Next was you. And you could feel your breath become heavy. All eyes landed on you.

“Well, uh, my name is Y/N. I’m 17, also. I tried killing myself last year, but I’m here because my therapist told me to,” you spoke softly.

“That’s fucking boring.”

“Andrea!”

 You were pouring coffee into a Styrofoam cup, rubbing the drowsiness out of your eyes. It was the half-way mark through group therapy. The group is given a 15 minute break between the two hours, and there is a small table full of shitty snacks and coffee.

“Coffee at 1pm?” a voice spoke from behind you. You turned to see that Connor boy offering you a lazy smirk.

“Yeah, what’s wrong with that?”            “Well it’s shitty filtered coffee, and no one drinks coffee in the middle of the afternoon.”

“I didn’t know you cared so much,” you spoke while moving to the side, putting creamer and 8 packets of sugar into the small cup. “I just didn’t sleep well last night.”

“Jesus Christ,” he gaped at the amount of sugar you put in.

“It’s good, you should try it some time,” you mused, taking a small sip.

Connor shook his head, pouring some of the filtered brew into a cup of his own. “No, thanks. I’d like to live well into my thirties.”

“Isn’t that the opposite of why you’re here?”

“Touché.”

 The rest of the afternoon went as expected. Red-haired girl went on a rant about her dad never loving her, Daniel cried some more, and Liz gave us homework to complete for next week. The green folder full of worksheets will be added to the pile of therapy homework that you never do. You have other things on your plate. You have a job, school, and university to think about.

While walking to your car, you see the tall boy leaning against the hood of your car.

“Uh, hi?” you spoke, raising on eyebrow.

He jumped a little bit, not seeing you at first. “Oh, hey, can you drive me home? My dad is at work and my mom…” he trailed off, looking at his feet.

You scratched the back of your head, not really knowing what to say.

“I’m sorry, I barely even know you. I should just walk home-“ he began to ramble, grabbing his messenger bag from between his feet.

“Get in,” you sighed, unlocking the car.

“Wait. Really?”

“What’s your address?”

The car ride was pretty silent. It contained the sound of your humming motor, and the small murmurs of directions from Connor. You had asked him what street he lived on, but he just told you that he would direct you there. He lived on the outskirts of the city. By following his directions, you drove into the suburbs. The houses were all parallel to each other. Each of them very large, big two-car garages, and nicely trimmed lawns. It was the type of neighborhood that would give out the good candy on Halloween.

“It’s the house on left, here,” he mumbled once again. Your eyes practically bugged out of your head.

“This one?” you took one hand off the steering-wheel to point to the house in front of you. It was gigantic. It was painted yellow with a dark blue door. It must have been at least 4 stories high. The backyard, from what you could see, was massive. Two large pillars on other side of the front door, reminding you of pictures in textbooks about ancient Rome.

As you pulled into his driveway, Connor picked at his nail polish. “What? Are you surprised?”

“A little,” you laughed, looking over at him.

He began to pick up his bag, looking over at you. The sunset in the sky casted a pink shadow in your car, making everything a rose colour.

“Well, uh, thanks. I’ll see you next week,” he spoke, stepping out of your car.

You watched as the goth boy walked into the giant, yellow house. It was a sight to see.

 Next week rolled around, and you were five minutes early. You sat in your car, rubbing your temples. Another night without sleep. It was beginning to take a toll. Sitting in your car became a ritual you had. It gave you time to mope, before having to put on a brave face for wherever you were going. You let out a large sigh. Your head was pounding. Placing your forehead in the palms of your hands, you laid them down on the steering wheel. Closing your eyes, you were grateful to have a second to decompose.

It was quiet until you heard your passenger door open and slam shut. You let out a scream, sitting back, looking at the man who just entered. It was Connor.

“WHAT THE HELL?”

“Chill the fuck out.”

“CONNOR, YOU CAN’T JUST DO THAT.”

“What? Get in someone’s car? I know. I’m not an idiot.”

You began to go on a slight rampage, telling him about how many girls get abducted by leaving their cars unlocked. He responded by telling you to ‘lock your fucking car, then’. Before you could shout another witty response, he shoved a cup of hot coffee into your hand.

“Here.”            “What… What is this?”

“Coffee, you dumbass.”

“Yeah, I know. But why?”

He just shrugged, taking a sip out of his own cup, leaning back in the passenger seat.

“So, why do you sit in here?” he mumbled against the warm lid of his beverage.

“It’s just nice, I guess?” you spoke out softly, rubbing your eyes.

Connor nodded, drinking his coffee quietly. You did the same.

  Lunch time came around. Therapy had been going well. But you couldn’t help but find yourself staring into space every other minute. It was no group participation. It consisted of Liz telling everyone that how they were feeling is “okay”. It wasn’t anything that you hadn’t heard before.

You stood up the moment Liz said that your 15 minute break began. You walked over to the snack table, pouring another cup of coffee. Connor watched you from his seat, chewing on his bottom lip.

No one else had picked up on your caffeine habits. Rather, the rest of the teenagers fought over the sugar cookies that were lined up on the table. You walked back to your seat, sighing loudly as your butt hit the chair. You took a large gulp of the cheap caffeine, letting your eyes settle close for a moment.

“You know, I never got to hear your story last week,” you spoke softly with your eyes still closed.

“Well, same goes to you, I guess,” he mumbled back, slouching into his chair.

You cracked an eye open, looking at him. “Mine isn’t as recent.”

He shrugged back, watching you as your eyes flutter shut once more.

“My family is shit. My parents hate me. Some kid wrote a weird letter about my sister. I freaked the fuck out. It was just kind of the last straw, I guess?”

 It was quiet for a few more moments. You opened your mouth to speak, then Liz clapped loudly, asking everyone to return to their seats. Group began again, and Connor avoided your eyes at all costs.