#but the fact that he dropped that as an example sentence without batting an eye had me all dfkjkjdfkjdfg

[airenyah]

so for the past 2ish years that i've been taking this thai course i've been the youngest participant by far and also (mostly) the only girl

and because of that, even tho it's an online course so we're not super close with each other, despite that i still often feel like i have a bit of a status as the group baby (affectionate). and it shows in moments like earlier in class when someone asked about the word "inspiration" and then, when asked to give an example sentence, without batting an eye went "[airenyah] is my inspiration to learn more thai"

y'all. this man is one of the best (if not THE best) student in our course 🥺

[imagining-in-the-margins]

Hard at Work (S.R.)

Summary: Spencer can’t seem to speak straight or sit still during a zoom meeting. Request: sub!spencer! youre on zoom with the team and cockwarming spencer and after you praise him and stuff. Couple: Spencer Reid/GN!Reader Category: Smut (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: Oral sex (male receiving) Word Count: 920

MASTERLIST

Spencer’s eccentricities and idiosyncrasies were one of your favorite parts about him. They came in handy more often than one might think they would. For example, while he stammered his way through an awkward, poorly-thought-out sentence to the rest of the bored zoom call participants, no one would bat an eye. They would simply assume that something had distracted him, or perhaps that he was just naturally confusing, even at his best.

But you knew the true reason behind his stutter — because it was you, on your knees underneath his desk and between his legs. It was your mouth pressed over the bulge in his pants, puffing hot air through the fabric.

After his first yelp, you hear the loud clack of his fingers on the keyboard to alert you that his mic had been muted. You take pleasure in the sound, as well as full advantage. It isn’t until you nudge the belt buckle away and finally relieve the pressure in his pants that you hear Spencer’s nervous whimpers suddenly cut short.

“Yes, that’s correct,” he says to the others on the call in a remarkably put together tone.

You decide to change that. Without any hesitation, you pull his cock free from his pants. Goosebumps raise over your arms as you hear the clack of the keyboard, followed by a string of curses underneath his breath. You aren’t sure how he hadn’t seen it coming, but he somehow seemed surprised when your lips parted around his shaft.

You hear his steady breathing, though. You hear as it becomes threadier when your tongue traces the outline of his head. Spencer is at his wits�� end, having been deprived of your affections too often as of late. That’s why you don’t blame him when he drops a hand to your head and grabs a fistful of your hair.

You don’t blame him at all. In fact, you thank him with a long, deep moan.

“Shit!” he wails, quieter than you know him capable of. For the briefest second you wonder if he’s just given you away, but then his hand starts to loosen over your hair.

“Sorry,” he whispers, and you soak in the submission in his voice. His hands are trembling, but gentle once again as he starts to pet the top of your head. Again, you reward him for his praise, although this time it’s with a slow, consistent rhythm. The dependable sort of beat where his body starts to find a way to relax through all of the tension.

Every so often, when you’d hear the computer clicking, Spencer’s throat would clear and only slightly broken words would come out. But when he clicked it again, the true Spencer emerged. The man you loved and cherished with all of your heart would break free from the shackles of propriety and showmanship.

Through the bobbing, you open your eyes to glance up at the man now fully lost in the throes of passion. So lost, in fact, that he doesn’t even notice that you’re staring. His jaw is hung open, his eyes glazes over and his hips rocking to make up for the rhythm you’ve broken now that you’re busy watching him, instead.

Spencer bites down on his bottom lip, the peach shade now matching the rest of his skin. You realize — or at least, hope — that he’s finally broken and turned off his camera. Because his head falls back and both hands come to hold you as he mutters a string of broken, foreign curses.

“Thank you,” he pants at the end. You know that one, at least, so he says it again.

He repeats it over and over, sometimes in the shape of your name (or some mangled version of it). His gratitude is displayed in bulging veins and whimpers that are steadily growing louder the faster that you move.

And then he can’t take it anymore. Your beautiful boy clutches your hair with both hands and pulls you down against him. He holds you down as you gag, and you make a mental note of doing the same to him when the tables are turned. You consider punishing him sooner, but quickly realize it would be impossible.

Because once he finishes, he gingerly pulls you up and into his lap. The long forgotten Zoom call is ended when he slams the laptop shut in favor of you. He holds your face in his now tired hands and wipes away any sign of tears from the intrusion he’d so rudely caused.

You giggle when you remember that you’re essentially upset with him for interrupting your interruption. He giggles too, but for another reason. He giggles because he is happy, satiated, and loved. Spencer nuzzles into your neck, basking in the praise of a job well done (or in the case of his work call, not done very much at all).

But you decide that he’s done enough, so you give him a kiss on his forehead and the praise that he would abandon his work for anytime at all.

“My good, pretty boy,” you whisper into his hair. “I’m so proud of you.”

Spencer has his quirks, but at the end of the day, you knew he just wanted love like everyone else. But as you shower him with praise, you see a smug little smile grace his cheeks, and you think he might just be a little too proud of himself, too.

(Tell me what you think about this fic here!)

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

Canary, Part 16

First

Previous

So… fighting people while injured, even if it’s not a particularly long or difficult fight, is apparently a bad thing. Marinette didn’t feel it until the adrenaline wore off, but the moment it did it hit her like a freight train. She’d had to lean against a nearby building, her hand cradling her ribs, trying her hardest to keep her breathing under control.

When that didn’t help as much as she would have liked, she called Danielle.

“Hey, so, hypothetically… what do you think would happen if I ignored the bedrest thing --.”

“The fuck?”

“Sorry?”

“You don’t sound sorry.”

“Hahahaha anyways so what I did was... so, like, I may or may not have, maybe, sort of, um…” She swallowed thickly. Her mouth tasted of copper, which was never a good thing. “Scaled a two-story building, crawled through some vents, flipped a guy that’s over a foot taller than me over my shoulder, lifted said guy back to his feet, and then jumped off the roof? You know… as you do?”

“You do not get to say ‘as you do’ what the fuck that is not a normal thing --.”

“How long do you think it’ll be?”

Danielle sighed and she could hear her count to ten under her breath. When she finished, she said: “... can you afford an extra few weeks? Because that’ll at least set you back half a month. I’d say an extra month and a half but...”

“I hope I can,” Marinette said, biting her lip. Had Emma told Joker how long the doctor had prescribed she took time off? Because if she already did that then there was no way Joker was going to allow the extra few weeks.

Not that Marinette thought she would be able to go that long without doing anything at all, she supposed, but she would love an excuse not to see his pasty face.

“I’ll have to prescribe painkillers if you don’t --.”

“No.”

Danielle scoffed a little but didn’t press it. A lot of Gothamites had seen what painkillers could do to people. And, from what Marinette could find about the woman, Danielle was a perfect example -- she’d struggled with the workload of going to med school and having a job at the same time, she’d gotten hooked, and it had promptly ruined her life. Of all people, she wasn't going to question why someone wouldn’t touch the stuff.

“At least try and stay out of trouble this time, okay?”

Marinette huffed a little (and then winced when her ribs protested it). “I do! The job really hadn’t been that bad today. Trouble just has a way of finding me.”

The doctor only laughed.

~

It was late at night, but it was cold in her apartment (the heater was broken, which was a surprise to absolutely no one considering how cheap the apartment complex was) and she couldn’t fall asleep. So, Marinette had been making macaroons for Tikki when she’d heard a knock...

On her window. She knew the distinct sound of gloved knuckles hitting glass by heart thanks to the occasional vigilante dropping by her safehouses for help with wounds they didn’t want the Big Bad Bat to see.

But they didn’t know that she was Canary, bats wouldn’t be coming by for her first aid capabilities.

Unfortunately, she could think of one other person that wore similar gloves that had already gotten into her apartment through the window. And he probably wanted his miraculous back, so there was a motive for his sudden appearance.

She didn’t want him in her apartment again. This was her house. It was supposed to be safe.

(Not that her houses have been feeling all that safe ever since Cobblepot had figured out who she was.)

She could hardly breathe -- a feeling she was getting far too used to for her liking. She brought a shaky hand up to the hollow of her throat, pressing on the tiny indent in her collarbone. It was a pressure point, she thought she remembered, it was supposed to help calm her down.

It wasn’t working.

She pulled a knife from her knife block and slowly crept around the wall that cordoned off her bathroom.

Her eyes scanned the apartment for anything that was off. Nope, it seemed that he’d stayed outside… she looked out the window...

Oh. It was Red Robin.

This was… marginally better. Maybe.

Marinette put the knife back and walked over. She bent down to unlatch the window lock and let Red Robin in.

He clambered through the window once she had moved out of the way. He closed it behind himself and, though she knew that was just so it would be harder for eavesdroppers to hear their conversations, it made her skin crawl.

He noticed, apparently, because he didn’t even lock it and he kept a wide berth as he walked around to stand in the middle of the living room part of the apartment, by the couch.

“You should have checked to make sure that it was really me,” Red Robin said and she fought back a wince. That was his work voice.

“Well, no one else would wear an outfit that awful.”

Her voice came out flat. She was still anxious and it was throwing her off. She picked at the fingers of her gloves, pretending to be very interested in a nonexistent loose thread as she tried her hardest to push down the emotions that shouldn’t be there in the first place.

He was there to interrogate her, sure, but that was fine. She’d faced far worse interrogations before, had interrogated people in far worse ways before. This was nothing new, she could handle this.

Knowing she would be fine, though, wasn’t enough to relax her.

She took a deep breath to get herself under control then cringed. Broken ribs shouldn’t be so hard to remember. She brought her hand up to rest over the injury.

“Are you alright?”

His tone had softened a little, but that only made her bristle. She didn’t want his pity. Not when she could see a burn she had caused poking above the neckline of his suit.

“I’ll be fine in a month.”

(Okay, actually it was closer to a month and a half to two months since she had irritated the injury, but who cares about those kinds of technicalities?)

“What about you? Are you…?” She couldn’t finish the thought. She didn’t want to know if it wasn’t going to get better. She knew they were on opposite sides, but that didn’t mean she liked the idea of them getting hurt. They were…

Well, they weren’t friends.

They were like rival football -- sorry, soccer -- teams. On opposite sides, but they held little actual malice for each other.

He seemed to sense the genuine unease she felt at the idea of him being hurt because of her, because he gave the ghost of a smile.

“I’ve had worse.”

She picked at her gloves again. She wanted to take them off to pick at her nails but even the idea of taking them off in front of someone was enough to make her feel a little sick.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to but I needed to make sure you wouldn’t come and arrest me or my friends immediately and I thought that would distract you but it was kind of a dick move and --.”

He cut her off with a chuckle.

Heat rose to her cheeks.

She cleared her throat awkwardly. “Right, the point that I was trying to get to was that I didn’t actually want to hurt you… it was just...”

She didn’t have the words to excuse what she had done. She could only shrug lamely.

Some of the amusement faded. “It’s fine. Like I said, I’ve had worse. It’s an occupational hazard. For both of us, apparently.”

“I -- yeah -- I’m sorry about that, too. I honestly didn’t think we’d all become friends and I felt kind of bad about not telling you but -- but I just couldn’t.”

“I get it.”

She raised her eyebrows just slightly.

He sighed lightly and leaned back against the couch. “I do. You couldn’t tell me. I’m the textbook definition of a narc. You were just looking out for yourself.”

She managed a stiff nod.

But now she didn’t really know where to go. Why was he there? Why hadn’t he told the other bats yet? Was it that they were also narcs and he was protecting her? Why? Sure, he said it was fine that he had blown her up, but she doubted that it was really fine. People were like that, saying things that they didn’t mean because they didn’t want it to be awkward.

The questions swirled around in her head, each one clamoring to be the first one to be voiced. But she still couldn’t seem to come up with any one question to ask.

“I don’t get it,” Red Robin said when it became clear she wasn’t going to be saying anything for a while without prompting.

And, wow, that sentence was exactly what she had needed to pull her out of her thoughts. Because what?

“You just said…?”

“I don’t get why you’re a henchman,” he clarified. “It doesn’t make sense.”

Her frown deepened. It wasn’t all that hard to understand, she didn’t think.

“... because I need money to live, and I don’t really have many other options when it comes to getting it,” Marinette said, her tone making it obvious just how stupid she thought he was. Which wasn’t fair to him, Red Robin was a born and bred rich kid (she knew this fact in her bones, though he would never admit anything like that for fear of her finding out his secret identity), but it was simply obvious.

He shook his head. “It just doesn’t line up. You look up to heroes so you clearly have morals, why would you give that up for money?”

She scoffed at that. Because the real Marinette Dupain-Cheng had done more than looked up to heroes -- she had been one. But even that hadn’t been enough to keep her from becoming Canary when push came to shove.

“Morals are a privilege, Red.”

The lenses of his domino widened.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “I drew a line in the sand and, when it became clear that line wasn’t going to be enough for me to survive, I stepped over it and drew a new one. You say you’ll never break a law, and then you say you’ll never hurt anyone, then you say you won’t hurt someone that doesn’t deserve it, and then you say you won’t hurt kids… and then one day you wake up and you realize that there isn’t that many more lines left to cross and the first line you’d made is so far behind you that you can’t even dream of getting back to it.”

Marinette swallowed thickly. She was too close to this, this was way too close to real for her. She hated the old feelings that this case was dredging back up. She hadn’t felt this awful -- this helpless -- in such a long time and she didn’t want to feel this way.

Red Robin didn’t seem to notice, at least, far too stunned by what he was hearing to notice the tears brimming in her eyes.

“But -- but you haven’t even been here that long!”

And he was right. The process had gone fast for the fake Marinette, she’d gotten a job not that long after she had officially arrived in Gotham… but she had an explanation for that:

“I don’t have any other options. You can look up my name and find article after article talking about how I stalked a hero. There goes all the legal options, no one wants someone like that representing their company. And, since Canary exists and has no problem going undercover, most of the Rogues don’t hire Asian women if they don’t have a Rogue vouching for them, saying that they’re a real person and not just someone trying to give information to their competitors. So, I’m stuck with Joker.”

He reached a hand out like he wanted to hug her. She didn’t make any moves to stop him, but he still thought better of the action and let his hand fall limp at his side.

The silence in the room was deafening.

And then, he broke it: “Let me help you.”

That simple sentence had nearly broken her.

Because those were the exact words she had been longing to hear.

They were just many years too late.

Why now? She wanted to scream.

“Why me?” She asked instead.

“Because I care about you,” Red Robin said softly.

The tears in her eyes were getting harder and harder to hold back and she needed to channel that into something more productive.

Anger. Anger was productive. Usually.

“Your job means you’re supposed to care about everyone. Why me?”

He didn’t answer that. Instead, he said: “You clearly want out.”

“Everyone does. Why me?”

He looked a little frustrated. Marinette knew the feeling.

“If everyone wants out then why are you so mad about it?”

Why would she be mad about it?

Marinette found an answer with ease: “I don’t know, Red, probably because I almost had to fight a kid to the death in order to get a job with Joker -- and the best option I could give was to send him to Scarecrow instead. Or because there’s two sixteen year olds working with me… and Benny is smart, he was in honors classes, he skipped grades, he got a full ride scholarship, so it’s not a lack of potential. They’re all good people -- and, above that, they’re kids. If anyone deserves out, it’s them. So, for the last time: why me?”

He couldn’t seem to find an answer. His mouth hung slightly open, as if he was shocked at the outburst.

“Say it. Say the quiet part out loud,” Marinette dared him.

She didn’t actually want to hear it, though. She didn’t want him to say that ‘I care about you more than them’. Marinette liked to think that she’d ended up the way she had because she was inadequate in some way, that if she had tried a little harder or that if she had been just a little more skilled maybe she might have gotten out in a legal way. It was what kept her sane. It was a personal problem, not a systemic one. Personal problems could be fixed, systemic problems never would be. But this entire job challenged that very ideal. Because this ‘Marinette Dupain-Cheng’ she had created was close to the one that had existed ten years ago, but this Marinette was getting so many more opportunities... she was friends with a Wayne and the bats. It had only been three and a half months and she had already found two different ways that she could have gotten out, but if she could do it now then that meant she had always had the capability. It meant that the thing that could have saved her -- no, that the thing that had doomed her was nothing more than bad luck and a lack of good connections.

Maybe Red Robin knew that she didn’t actually want to hear it, or maybe he just couldn’t bring himself to say it… but, whatever the reason, he turned around and made his way towards the window.

“I know I’m a bad person, Red. We both can see that. And that’s fine. But you don’t seem to know that you’re not a good person, either.”

He glanced back at her, lips drawn in a thin line, but didn’t say anything. He simply slipped out the window and disappeared into the night.

She let herself sink to the floor and bury her face in her knees.

She’d gotten what she’d wanted.

So, why did it feel so awful?

~~~

SpoilerAlert: canary totally has a knife kink

TheBetterCanary: what the fuck

SpoilerAlert: why else would you use knives almost exclusively

TheBetterCanary: because theyre quiet

TheBetterCanary: and stabby

SpoilerAlert: you’re so right i’m so sorry

~~~~~

Next

Taglist: @nathleigh @peachmuses @jayjayspixiepop @unoriginalmess @miraculousfanfic127 @probably-a-hologram @iloontjeboontje @mystery-5-5 @flyhighdreamer @starlit-dreaming @aespades @lowhangingtreebranches @twsssmlmaa @queenz-z

[awanderingdeal]

How about Nado meeting Kuny’s parents

Do with that as you please

Happy

Sad

I don’t mind

Love, Trash Monster :)

Hello Trash Monster! Thank you for your prompt. This one kind of got away with me and loved writing it. It’s actually rather angsty for me, but there is a happy ending. 

CW: coming out, homophobia (mentions of potential harm to queer people), food mentions, very minor sexual content 

Please let me know if you feel I need to add any warnings

Rating: T+ (sexual content is very minor, but the subject content is a bit heavy at points)

Credit for the sweater weather universe goes to @lumosinlove

"You know you don't have to tell them if you don't want to," Jackson grazed his thumb reassuringly over his boyfriend's hand where they were clenched together. They had been sat stiffly on the sofa for the last 20 minutes, waiting for the knock on the door that would announce the arrival of Evgeni's parents.

"I'm want," Evgeni sighed, his words barely a whisper. "I'm just scared. I don't know what they think. What if they hate me?"

Jackson clutched Evgeni's hand tighter, lifting it to his mouth to press his lips gently against his skin. "Zhenya, I mean it. I love you and I will still love you even if you decide you don't want to do this."

Evgeni shuffled impossibly closer, "I love you too, I'm sorry, I'm coward."

"Stop," Jackson frowned. "You are not a coward. This could get you arrested back home. Killed even. You are allowed to be scared." He let out a frustrated sigh, not aimed at his boyfriend, but at the world around him. "Look, how about we just see how things go. I'll follow your lead and there is absolutely no pressure to say anything to them. As far as they know, I'm just your housemate."

"Very good housemate," Evgeni chuckled, although his laugh seemed strained. "Okay, we play by ear."

"Where'd you learn that one?" Jackson teased gently. Evgeni was always dropping new words and phrases he'd learned, his smile quietly proud, and Jackson loved it. 

"I learn from Finn. We both complain about silly boyfriends speaking French and he teach me English," Evgeni explained.

"Hmm, I'm not sure this is a friendship I should be encouraging," Jackson gave a mock glare. 

"Too late," Evgeni smiled. It was a real smile this time, and Jackson felt like his next breath came a little easier than the last. "We go shopping together next weekend. He give good advice unlike you."

"I changed my mind, this is an excellent friendship," Jackson grinned. Evgeni opened his mouth, likely a clever reply on his tongue, but anything he had to say was interrupted by a loud knock on the door. 

Jackson couldn't understand the string of Russian that Evgeni muttered, but he'd have wagered a large amount of money that it wasn't positive. "Hey, relax. It's just your parents. You love them, they love you," he reassured, despite the growing bubble of anxiety in his own stomach. He'd met his Evgeni's parents a few times before, but it felt different now, even though they weren't aware that anything about their son's relationship with his 'housemate' had changed.

"I go now," Evgeni said as he stood, but the words seemed to be aimed more at himself than Jackson. He left the room muttering to himself and running his hands nervously through his curls. 

A minute later, there was a burst of noise. Jackson smiled, letting his breath out with a sigh of relief. Some part of him had decided the world was going to implode the moment the front door opened, but all he heard was the happy sounds of a child and parents being reunited.

"Jackson," Evgeni pushed through the door a moment later. "You remember my Mother and Father?" he asked.

Smiling, Jackson stood. This part was easy. He could be polite. He was Canadian, polite was in his blood. "Of course," Jackson nodded. "It's lovely to see you again, Mr and Mrs Kuznetsov. Evgeni has been looking forward to your stay." He offered his hand out for his boyfriend's mother to shake. 

"I tell you to call me, Yelena," the tall woman said, batting away his hand softly and pulling Jackson into a hug. "Evgeni only wants to see me for Syrinki," she pretended to whisper. Jackson opened his mouth to mention that he had in fact been learning to make the Russian dish so that Evgeni would feel a little less homesick, but reconsidered. The idea felt too intimate, too suspicious. Looking up briefly, he met Evgeni’s eyes, finding a sadness in them. Maybe he had been thinking the same. 

“Nonsense, even big boys like us need a hug from our mom’s from time to time,” Jackson finally settled on a reply. 

Yelena gave him one last squeeze, patting his cheek. “You’re a good boy, Jackson.”

He wasn’t sure if he was making it up, but the moment seemed significant. He looked at Evgeni again, but just received a shrug, so Jackson turned his attention to Mr Kuznetsov. The man really did not speak much English, so Jackson just waved and said, “hello.” The smile he got in return was almost identical to Evgeni’s. 

                                                           ***

It was now day 3 of the Kuznetsov’s week long visit, and Jackson was really starting to think something was up, he just couldn’t quite place what. They sat on the sofa, looking at some photography Mr Kuznetsov had taken. Jackson had been told repeatedly to call him Lev, but he still couldn’t do it in his head. It seemed like a perfectly ordinary thing to do, Mr Kuznetsov was very passionate about his hobby, but Mrs Kuznetsov kept making little comments that Jackson found quite strange. 

“This is church we get married in,” Mrs Kuznetsov explained, pointing to an unassuming, old looking building nestled between some trees. “Would you like to get married, Jackson?”

The question didn’t even throw him this time, just another example of the odd little elements that kept cropping up. The reasonable part of him wanted to chalk it up to an over curiosity, however he was not entirely convinced. “Yeah, one day,” he nodded, training his eyes on the photo so they didn’t wander to look at his boyfriend. 

“No have to be in church though,” Mrs Kuznetsov patted his hand, “not these days.”

Jackson wasn’t sure how to respond to that and thankfully, Evgeni came to his rescue muttering to his mother in Russian. Her reply was terse, but she slid her finger over the tablet screen to reveal the next photo. 

Things moved on smoothly, and soon Jackson was leaving the three of them. As nice as it was to get to know the family, he realised it was a bit awkward for Mr. Kuznetsov and Jackson liked to allow them to spend time together without feeling guilty about leaving him out. He had almost forgotten about the incident, until lunch time the next day. 

Jackson and Mrs Kuznetsov had made lunch together, which had been strange and yet oddly comfortable. He had realised midway through slicing carrots for the soup that it felt as if they had done this many times before. 

“Oh! I forget,” Mrs Kuznetsov clapped her hands together excitably, getting up from the chair she had just sat on. “I see a photograph in the newspaper,” she said, rooting around in her purse, making a small triumphant noise when she found what she was looking for.  

She placed the clipping down on the table proudly. The photo was of Remus and Sirius. “I think it funny that it in news all the way in Russia,” Mrs Kuznetsov chuckled. “The article was not so nice, so I just cut out photo. Make me think of you. Such nice boys they are.”

Jackson didn’t know what to say, so he just looked at Evgeni. However, his boyfriend was not looking in his direction, staring at his mother instead. Mrs Kuznetsov went about ladling soup into the bowls, humming softly under her breath. 

                                                           ***

It was the final evening of Evgeni’s parent’s stay, and Jackson couldn’t wait to truly release the breath he had been holding. The two older Kuznetsov’s were wonderful, but Jackson wanted to be able to touch his boyfriend, to use the affectionate endearments they had given one another and quite frankly, he was horny. 

That thought was ripped from his mind, by the commotion of Mrs Kuznetsov tripping and throwing her glass of iced tea all over Evgeni. Jackson didn’t know much Russian, but he recognised the swear word that fell from his boyfriend’s lips and the scolding he received from his mother didn’t need translating. Then she began gesturing towards the wet clothing, saying something that made Evgeni’s eyes widen. Jackson would forever maintain that the sound that came out of Evgeni’s mouth was a squeak. 

“Off, off,” Mrs Kuznetsov ordered, her voice firm.

Jackson sympathised with Evgeni’s reaction now. He cleared his throat, mumbling a comment about getting a mop and hurried from the room. On his return, he realised he hadn’t been long enough, finding Evgeni standing in just his underwear. He swore softly to himself, going about mopping the floor, trying his level best to look anywhere but Evgeni. It felt like forever before his mother took his clothing, muttering something about the washing machine. 

“Mama,” Evgeni called, just as she was leaving the room. She looked back, smiling softly and Evgeni took a deep breath. “Jackson is my boyfriend.” He looked at his father and repeated the sentence in his native tongue. Jackson couldn’t recall loosening his grip on the wooden handle, but the sound of the mop clattering on the floor pulled him from his shocked pause. 

“Zhenya,” he breathed. And in that moment, the monumentality of his words seemed to hit Evgeni. Jackson saw the panic cross his boyfriend’s features, tensing his muscles to go and offer comfort, but somehow Mrs. Kuznetsov got there first. There were tears in her eyes, and a thousand thoughts ran through Jackson’s mind. He wanted to console Evgeni. He wanted to assure Mrs Kuznetsov they were good people, that Evgeni was the same son he had been thirty seconds ago. 

“I am so proud of you,” she reached out to grasp Evgeni’s hand. “I wait all week for you to tell me.” 

“What?” The word came from Evgeni and Jackson simultaneously. 

“Evgeni talk you, like I talk Alyonushka,” Mr Kuznetsov smiled. The words were stilted and the accent heavy, but Jackson understood well enough. Evgeni’s cheek took a pink tint to them. 

“I know love when I see,” Mrs Kuznetsov wagged her finger at Jackson as if he was a naughty child. She gave a small sigh, looking between the two of them, “Russia not so nice. But you safe here in USA, and Russia get better. One day, you hold hands there too.” 

Jackson felt tears in his own eyes now. Not even the fact Evgeni was standing in only his underwear could ruin this moment.

“Go put clothes on. I tell story to grandkids one day,” Mrs Kuznetsov smiled. 

“Mama!” Evgeni reprimanded. His next words were Russian, but the embarrassed exchange between mother and son was universal. Jackson suddenly realised he could tell his own parents now, and that seemed both terrifying and magnificent. He wasn't at all worried about their reaction, but it still seemed big. Deciding those emotions could be left for another day, he let himself enjoy this moment.

[kateis-cakeis]

hot take: Wilbur having a drug van/wanting to do drugs should not be legitimate critique of his character (what a weird sentence lol). In a universe where Tommy and Techno can kidnap someone and force them to work as a "slave" and no one bats an eye, or where Tubbo can drop anvils on Ranboo's head and its fine, people using Wilbur wanting to make potions and sell them as a reason why he was always evil and L'manburg was always doomed just look silly

Hello, Anon!!! This is very interesting and a very piping hot take!

However, just to mention, while, considering everything that has happened on the server, wanting to make drugs and sell them may not be the worst thing to happen, it definitely is hella important to Alivebur as a whole.

But yeah, I hella agree with you, using it as a reason that he was always evil is a bit ://// 

Dude’s goal at first was just to steal everyone’s brewing stands (and blaze rods) so that only he and Tommy would be supplying drugs to the rest of the server, so they could make money. It definitely wasn’t a honest way of living, but it wasn’t evil, or why L’Manberg was doomed from the start sdfjhgh.

Like I see the take all the time, Anon, I know what you mean. People reducing L’Manberg down to ‘But it started as a drug van!’ or people using it to demonise Alivebur. Like, so? So? That’s minimal compared to what Alivebur did come the end, or what most have done.

I feel like they forget everything that happened in that first stream. The drug empire one, in which they never actually got to make any drugs (just stole some water breathing from Tubbo), and technically never got to build the empire.

Alivebur was close to making an invisibility potion!! But he was stopped by Purpled and was then chased down. So, there was never actually an empire, Alivebur never actually achieved anything.

All that happened was, Tommy and Fundy (not yet Alivebur’s son :P) were arrested. Tommy was killed. And Alivebur was killed in one shot simply for singing clown music at the cops. 

Like a lot more wrong was done to Alivebur and his friends in that one stream than Alivebur stealing some brewing stands, blaze rods, and some water breathing potions. He didn’t even make drugs! 

So like yeah, using it to say his character was always evil is just... I’m not gonna say bad analysis, but it’s deliberately leaving out the facts. Yeah, so what, he wanted to make some drugs and then made a nation because he was killed for it, and his friends were imprisoned and also killed for it????

Alivebur said this:

“What is your wildest dream?” (Tommy)

“A nation where we can brew drugs without anyone stopping us.” (Alivebur)

- (Wilbur’s The Wall: 5:26, 29th July)

for a reason.

Looking at this, and then looking at the examples you used in your ask, Anon, it is very silly, ain’t it? What’s some drugs compared to murder, to blowing up a nation, to experimenting on someone without much research (when said person doesn’t feel confident about it), to executions, to using people as free labour, to taking hostages.

What’s some drugs compared to that huh? And the scamming too, it looks insignificant compared to all that.

I think the fandom also has a very negative outlook on drugs too, which doesn’t help. Not to mention, that they were legit just calling potions drugs dfkghdfhjg, which Wilbur mentioned in the starting a revolution stream. 

So yeah, Anon, yeah I agree with you. 

[julie-and-the-himbo-ghosts]

Sometime You Gotta Lean On Someone Else: Chapter 2

Chapter 2 is here!! Sorry for everyone who’ve been waiting this whole time, I’m a slow writer lol. But maybe a much longer chapter makes up for it

Words: 3,679

Content warning: mild violence - Willie fights and knocks out a few dudes and it's about half of the chapter so I describe it pretty detailed, so if that's too much for you, you can skip to the line “He turned around to see every single one of the hostages staring at him slack-jawed.” Also some swearing, just like the last chapter.

Read on ao3

Chapter 1

Chapter 2: Be Gay, Fight Crime

Willie thanked whatever higher power that was up there that the bank had a back alley. There were so many ways it all could’ve gone if they hadn’t had a back alley, but they shook the thought out of their head, replacing it with just Alex, Alex, Alex.

With his bike leaning up against some nasty wall, he emptied the contents of his duffel as fast as he possibly could without dropping them everywhere. Inside: a pair of his good grippy gloves; a baggy hoodie with his little skateboard design on the back; loose black pants; one of those ski masks that only left space for ski goggles uncovered; a big roll of duct tape; and his stickers with the same design as his hoodie. What they affectionately referred to as their “Be gay, fight crime” gear or, if they were feeling basic, just their Spy Bag.

He just really hoped the bank had a back door he could get through.

There had to be someone - some higher power, ancestors, the OG ally the Universe, whoever - up There looking out for him, because somehow he managed to find a backdoor into the bank that was unlocked and unblocked by bank robbers. If he was going to be honest, he didn’t know if he should be thankful that the bank had such bad security or if he should consider suing them for emotional trauma.

Pushing possible lawsuits aside, he silently slipped inside the bank and made his way toward the bathrooms, where he ditched his now-empty duffel bag and slipped his tools into his pockets.

Well, ‘tools’ was being generous, he’d admit. It was really just his duct tape and his little skateboard stickers he specifically made so he could have a Vigilante Signature™, before he was nicknamed the Highland Park Vigilante and was just Willie, the anonymous guy in baggy black clothes just helping people he saw in danger, who was just starting out as a vigilante and wanted a cool signature.

As they crept down the hall, they could hear voices - the robbers, they assumed. They started out muffled and unintelligible, but as he got closer, he could begin to make out some of their sentences.

“Man, let’s go,” One of them said, his voice accented like a guy from those old mafia movies. They decided to call him Jersey. “This is taking way longer than practice; the cops are gonna get here soon.”

It took them a second, but they finally realized the robbers were walking toward him, and he pressed himself against the wall. Shit, shit, shit. One guy they could handle well enough. Two? Two was pushing their luck.

“We’re going as fast as we can,” A second voice responded, and they just barely stopped themself from sighing in relief. It was just a patrol with a walkie-talkie.

“Hurry faster,” Jersey replied.

“Shut up and do your job,” Growled the robber on the walkie-talkie - Radio Man, to them. “We had to tie up more hostages than we expected, and Marv found one in the bathroom, so it’s taking longer than we thought.” Their breath hitched. Marv. A hostage in the bathroom. So the robber who dragged Alex from the bathroom had a name. “Quit whining about the time and make sure no one’s wandering around the halls. And don’t radio us unless it’s urgent.”

“Fine, asshole,” Jersey grit out. The radio went from static to silent, and the sound of their heartbeat filled their ears. Jersey rounded the corner, and Willie waited until he was all the way into the hallway before they sprang out of their position against the wall.

“What the—” They heard the robber start, and they kicked him in the stomach before he could reach for his gun or radio. Jersey stumbled back, but didn’t fall over, and quickly recovered. He swung at them - too wide, they noticed, and too easy to dodge - so he ducked his head back and caught his arm with their own. Before Jersey could take his arm back, they followed it up with a jab straight into his nose. While Jersey reeled back, they swung their other fist into his chin with his left hook, finally knocking him out for good. When he finally slumped to the floor, they snatched their duct tape out of their pocket and wrapped his wrists up securely before ditching him in a nearby closet.

Willie pocketed Jersey’s radio as well, and then took off down the hall, deeper into the bank.

~~~

The bank was practically a maze, he realized, and he added the fact that he accompanied Alex here all the time to the list of things he was thankful for.

Alex. Just the thought of him overtook the adrenaline racing through his veins from taking down Jersey with the cool rush of fear. This wasn’t just any job - there were actual people in danger, Alex included, and - if he was being scarily honest - he didn’t actually know if he was okay. Anything could’ve happened after he hung up the phone, and the thought, the thought, of Alex being anything other than okay made him want to curl up and cry.

But he couldn’t because Alex was in danger, and curling up on the floor didn't help him, didn't help Alex, and didn't help the other hostages in the bank. The only people it did help were Jersey, Radio Man, and their buddies.

He steeled himself and moved faster down the halls and towards the hostages - towards Alex.

~~~

When the maze of halls ended, it dropped them off in a little doorway next to the bank tell counter - close enough for them to duck behind the counter without anyone seeing them, but accessible for customers to use to go to the bathroom, for example.

They rolled behind the counter from the doorway and stuck their head up so they could peek through the glass that would usually separate the tellers from the customers.

The blinds on the front windows of the bank were drawn, and the hostages were all clustered together on the opposite end of the tellers’ counters. About ten of them, they estimated, including Alex, sticking out from the others with his bright blond hair, pink shirt, and black fanny pack. They had to freeze to stop themself from just running over there and releasing him. They had to deal with the robber guarding them first, and then Radio Man, and then any other robbers that might be there.

They couldn’t see the robber guarding them right off the bat, and they must have peeked their head up a little too high looking for him because one of the hostages snapped their head around and locked eyes with them.

And naturally, with their luck, it was Alex.

Alex looked panicked - well, more panicked than he was just being a hostage - and Willie put a finger up his mouth as if to shush him from the other side of the room. Alex, thankfully, looked like he got the message, and he snapped his eyes away from theirs.

With that disaster averted, they continued to scan the room for the guard. With this amount of energy they needed to spend looking for him, his name needed to be Waldo. Waldo was at the front, practically dead in front of Willie, pulling the blind away from the window to look through.

Seizing the distraction, Willie vaulted over the counter - careful not to knock his legs on the glass - and ran silently across the room, and he almost made it.

Waldo turned around when he was just feet away from him, and he swung his gun towards them.

Fuck.

It was a cliche, they knew, but it felt like everything moved in slow motion for a few moments. Willie saw the gun swinging towards their face, the pull of the trigger, the bullet shooting out of the gun. They stopped dead in their tracks and threw their weight backwards. Willie saw the bullet shoot towards them and fly over their face almost in slow motion, as if it was moving through jelly instead of air. The shot was nearly deafening, but the momentum of the sudden stop and throwing their weight back caused them slid on the ground like a baseball player sliding into home base - except, instead of sliding into home base, they slammed into Waldo’s legs and bowled him over. He crashed to the ground, and the gun clattered out of his hands and onto the floor. They rolled to the side and grabbed it, pointing it at Waldo before he could get himself off the ground.

He hoped he didn’t seem as unsure on the outside as he did on the inside, because shit, he hated guns. Just levelling a gun at Waldo - a robber who took Alex hostage and shot at them - made his stomach roil. There was a reason he ran around town as a vigilante instead of joining the police force. Well, multiple reasons, but he didn’t have the time to list every single one.

“Don’t move,” He told Waldo.

“Who the hell are you?” The man just said in response, his voice incredulous.

They recognized that voice.

They didn’t know him or anything dramatic and cliché like that, but they’d heard it before. Only two words, to be fair, but it was a memorable two words.

Waldo was the guy that dragged Alex out of the bathroom.

A surge of rage shot through him. He knew it was irrational and unreasonable and downright dangerous, but he was pissed. He’s the reason Alex is in danger.

“Give me your arms,” He growled. He didn’t consider himself an angry person, not in the slightest - he might get irritated, sometimes, but never really pissed. There was a very short list of special offenses that got him pissed.

He could add ‘endangering Alex’ to that list, then.

Waldo - no, Asshole now - put his hands up in a defensive pose. “Okay, okay. Don’t shoot.” He slowly outstretched his arms, fingers linked. Willie reached into his pocket to grab his duct tape - gun still trained on Asshole - and used his teeth to pull up the edge of the tape. They carefully slipped the gun into another one of their pockets - thank God for cargo pants - and started wrapping Asshole’s wrists in tape.

But Asshole had another idea.

Using his clasped hands like a fist, he swung his hand at their face and caught them in the jaw. They reeled back a step from the force of the swing, then shot their elbow out and smashing it into the side of his jaw, quickly following it up with a kick to his stomach and another punch. Asshole collapsed to the ground, out like a light, and he finished wrapping his arms and legs in duct tape.

He turned around to see every single one of the hostages staring at him slack-jawed. Some were incredulous, like they were thinking “What?? The hell??” - not some of their fans, then. Others had more of a shocked, wow-I-just-got-saved-from-a-bank-robber-by-the-Highland-Park-Vigilante look, the one that always made him smile a bit. There were two kinds of people.

Well. Not if they counted Alex (and they always did).

Alex…Alex was a little harder to read; his emotions weren’t in plain view like the rest of them. You’d think he would be the easiest to read, being his completely hopeless crush neighbour, but Willie just could not read tone or emotion sometimes. They were many an English teacher’s nightmare kid - he spent countless free periods and lunches in high school with English teachers desperately trying to teach them, but none ever succeeded. There was a reason he used to be a chemistry major, and it was because chemistry was straight hard facts and not that ‘open to interpretation’ chaos.

Anyways. Alex.

Alex looked shocked like the others, of course, but there was also a hint of admiration - and was that a blush? - that made their cheeks heat up, too. He’d never been more grateful for the mask covering his cheeks.

It might’ve been a little weird, they realized later, the way they just stared at Alex for a bit - okay, a lot - longer than normal, especially as the Highland Park Vigilante and not his friendly neighbourhood he/they.

Sirens pierced the quiet, low and muffled in the distance, and that sent another little shot of adrenaline through his veins. Shit. He had to get out of there and change and get away from the scene, not to mention Radio Man, who was still loose in the building somewhere and was definitely going to start to hear the sirens soon.

They moved to rush out of the room but stopped midstep and went in Alex’s direction instead. As they got closer, Alex’s mouth dropped open slightly with a hint of incredulity that made them smile. Digging around his pocket, he grabbed one of his several vigilante signature stickers that he carried around to leave his mark and pressed it into Alex’s hand with a dramatic wink.

If Alex hadn’t been blushing before, he definitely was now, with that dark pink tinge to his cheeks and his mouth gaping open even more than before.

They let themself revel in the warm, bubbly feeling of pleasure making Alex blush gave them while they jogged out of the room.

~~~

Willie opened the door to the bathroom - the same one he ditched his empty duffle bag in before he took down all the robbers - slowly, checking to see if there was anyone in the hallways before walking out.

He’d found and knocked out Radio Man just as the cops arrived at the scene. Instead of having to negotiate with several robbers with hostages, they found, the hostages walked out of the bank, free and unharmed, as soon as they arrived. He laughed to himself, thinking of the confusion those cops were facing - before they found out he was behind it, of course.

With just their head peeking out the door, he scanned the hallway, looking for any cops or stray people walking around that would almost certainly find some random guy from off the street carrying a duffle bag inside a bank-turned-crime-scene right after a robbery foiled by a vigilante extremely suspicious. So really, he was just on the lookout for anyone.

There was someone moving down the hall, but he didn’t know if it was fortunate or unfortunate for him that the someone was Alex.

He quickly threw his duffel back into the bathroom and walked out of the door as if it was a completely normal thing for someone to be randomly using the bathroom in a recent bank-turned-crime-scene. He could be subtle - on a good day.

With a better view, he could see Alex’s face better; he had that look on his face he always had when he was in a light worry-anxiety combo spiral. But when he locked his eyes on them, it morphed into one much more surprised and relieved.

“Willie?” He nearly cried, and ran up to hug them. “What are you doing here? How did you get in? Why were you in the bathroom?”

Willie let a little laugh escape his throat and he returned the hug, embracing him tightly. Alex is okay, Alex is okay, Alex is okay, his brain repeated like a broken record. “That’s a lot of questions, hotdog.”

Alex pulled away - he immediately mourned the loss of his body heat pressed against him - and they could see a faint blush dusting his cheeks.

“That’s not— I was worried, okay?”

They gave his shoulder a little shove. “You were worried? I’m not the one who got taken hostage.” He hoped the light tone in his voice covered up the immense worry and anxiety and fear that had been crushing him since Alex first called him.

“Well, I’m not the one with a history of doing dumb thing things with a low impulse control,” Alex shot back.

Well, I hate to break it to you, but that’s exactly what happened, he thought. Doing dumb things? Check. Low impulse control? Always.

“Yeah, well, I’m not dumb enough to try to take on three bank robbers by myself,” He gave him a little laugh, like Yeah, of course I would never do that, Alex. God, he hoped he wasn’t as unconvincing as he sounded.

Alex gave him a weird, hey-wait-a-second look. “Wait, how’d you know there were three?”

Fuck.

His breath caught in his throat, and he felt his all-too-fake smile plastered on his face.

Think fast think fast thinkfastthinkfastthinkfast—

“Uhh,” They started, and they could feel Alex’s glare on him. “The, uh, the cops told me when I got here. I asked what happened and they told me, and then they let me use the bathroom in here as long as I didn’t ‘mess with the crime scene’.” They cringed internally with how bad the lie was.

But Alex seemed to buy it.

Something in Alex’s hand glinted under the harsh fluorescents of the bank and caught their eye. It was his vigilante sticker he’d pressed into his hand before the cops came.

A little balloon of something bubbled in his chest. He kept the sticker. They didn’t really know what they expected him to do with it, but it still shocked them anyways (and if it made him irrationally happy, then that was no one’s business but his own).

“Hey, what’s that?” He innocently (and impulsively) asked Alex, gesturing lightly to the sticker.

“Oh, uh,” Alex spluttered, looking completely caught out. “It’s nothing, really.”

Willie bit down on his growing smile. “You lying to me, hotdog?” He put a dramatic hand to his chest. “You wound me.”

His stuttering trailed off, and Alex looked at him helplessly. “No?”

They couldn’t help it; they giggled. Alex just had that effect on them. “Oh, come on, spill,” They whined and lightly pushed his shoulder again.

Okay, they were willing to admit that the teasing might have been unnecessary, given that they knew everything that happened down to the last detail, but it was hey, it was fun, too.

Alex gave a big, dramatic sigh and a roll of his eyes. “The vigilante who saved us, the Highland Park Vigilante, they usually mark all the places they save people with a sticker. But, uh, since it was a bank and the cops were on their way and everything, they just gave me the sticker instead.”

“Oh my God, you’re blushing.” He definitely was; a light blush dusting his cheeks proved it.

“I am not.” The higher pitch in his voice and the darker pink tint of his blush betrayed him.

“Oh, you so are.”

“Okay, fine, I might be blushing,” Alex admitted, and their grin grew larger. “It was just really cool. I’m in the bank and I’m just thinking ‘oh shit, I’m literally being held hostage,’ and suddenly this guy appears behind the counter, all dressed in black, and literally vaults over the teller window like it was nothing and tackles the robber guarding us. And then, and then the guy tries to shoot at them and they just dodged a bullet like it was nothing. And when you could finally hear the police sirens coming, they ran out of there immediately, but stopped just so they could give me their sticker? And then they winked at me, Willie, they literally winked at me as they gave me the sticker. How am I supposed to not be blushing?”

They could be an oblivious gay sometimes, sure, but he was sure of one thing: Alex was definitely crushing on the Highland Park Vigilante.

He just so happened to be said vigilante and be hopelessly in love with have a big crush on Alex, too.

A small silence following Alex’s rant and his little epiphany hung in the air, as if neither of them knew what to say. Finally, Alex broke their little frozen bubble of silence and pulled his phone out of his pocket, gasping as he scrolled through his notifications.

“Everything all right?” They asked.

“I’m late for band practice,” Alex groaned, “and Luke has been blowing up our band group chat for ages.” He gave him an apologetic look. “Thank you for coming to— Actually, I still have no clue why you came all the way here, but thank you, Willie. Really. I don’t know what you thought you were going to do, but it means a lot to me.”

Now he was the one blushing, his cheeks felt hot, and he couldn’t look away from Alex’s earnest eyes. “It was— It was nothing really.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I told you, I’d do anything for you, Alex.”

Alex’s mouth had been open as if he was going to say something, but no words came out except for the audible clack of his teeth as he shut his mouth. “I—” He paused for a second. “I, uh, I know.”

Neither of them said anything, and once again, a little silence fell over them.

Willie shoved one of his hands in his jeans pocket and ran the other through his hair. What am I supposed to say to that? He thought, overrun with a gay panic.

But Alex spoke again before he could think of a decent response.

“Bye, Willie.” His voice was quiet and apologetic and hesitant, like he didn’t want to leave them there. “Thanks again.”

There were so many emotions swirling around in the mush of their brain as Alex walked away that they didn’t even know where to start to untangle them all.

But as Alex’s blond hair and pink shirt disappeared around the corner, one emotion pushed its way to the surface.

Joy.

This incredible, lighthearted joy that they could only assume came from the relief from saving Alex, from hugging him and knowing that Alex was safe, from the possibility that maybe he liked them, too.

Willie rode the happiness high as they walked all the way down the hallway towards the back alley where they parked their bike, and they couldn’t even fathom anything that could ruin this amazing feeling.

They were opening the back door of the bank when their traitorous brain decided to crush their happiness with the one thing.

Alex is crushing on Highland Park Vigilante, not Willie.

Taglist: @rawwwra, @sylphrenas, @willex-owns-my-heart, @thegaylink, @julie-n-phantoms 

Send me an ask or a dm or reply to one of the chapters to be added to the taglist!

[amazingphanisnotonfire-imagines]

Steve//i can see a better time, when all our dreams come true

hey! last part! i just want to say thank you to everyone who’s read, liked, reblogged and supported this series! you all mean the absolute world to me. i know this is gonna sound cringey or whatever, but this series is more than just that. i was originally supposed to write and post this last christmas. but something that i can’t really remember stopped me and i was so disappointed in myself. then this hell hole of a year happened and i had a major mental health crisis (something i am still recovering from) meaning i couldn’t do anything but watch the same three tv shows and scroll through instagram for about 3 months, as well as a bunch of other awful things. i thought it would be a miracle to just start writing requests again, but then when i was going through a notebook, i found this idea and remembered how much i loved it and how upset i was that i hadn’t done it. so i thought i’d try and do it, and after many, many days and nights of me stressing about the littlest things and driving my girlfriend absolutely insane by only talking about this (sorry, i love you!), i’d done it! and i am so proud of myself! i know its not the biggest achievement of the year, but it’s mine. so again thank you to not only everyone whose read this series, but also thank you to everyone who has read and supported everything i’ve done this year. i really do hope that next year is a better one for all of you! happy new year my loves! 

They say that time moves in different ways depending on the situation. 

For example, the day you spent hours driving to the beach with Steve and Robin felt like it was over in five minutes. But the time stuck under ground in a really crappy elevator with them felt more like a week. 

From the time it takes Steve to take his bandana and goggles off and to walk the three steps to you, it feels like days and seconds all at once. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you tight to him and the two of you let out a breath you feel like you’ve been holding for the past week. Finally you feel like you can breathe again, and finally the weight on Steve’s chest shifts a little. 

Your hair is matted, your clothes dirty and torn and there’s a cut on your cheek, blood slowly trickles down your cheek, staining your face and your t-shirt red. But you’re you, and you’re alive and you look like you don’t know whether to laugh or cry. 

“You have no idea how much I’ve missed you.” You’re the first to speak, your words stumbling over each other. A chuckle mixed with a sob passes your lips as you hug him again, you hold him tighter than he’s ever been hugged before, it feels like his ribs are being crushed but he doesn’t care. He just presses a kiss against your forehead, and runs his fingers through your knotted hair. 

Hot tears land on the top of your head but you don’t feel them, you’re too busy crying into his shirt and the two of you stand like that for a few minute, thankful and very overwhelmed that the other one is alive and well. 

“I think I do.” He sobs and you let out a short laugh. “I love you so much Y/n. I am so fucking sorry. I’m such an idiot.” 

“No, no. It’s fine.” You cup his cheeks. “I was overreacting and I shouldn’t have stormed off. It’s fine.” You say and press a quick kiss to his lips, they’re salty because of the tears but neither of you care. “I love you Steve.” You finish and he breathes deeply, his shoulders sagging and the only thing that keeps him from falling is you. 

“I thought you were dead.” He cries. 

“Nah. You can’t get rid of me that easy.” You try, nudging his shoulder but he doesn’t smile. 

“I thought I’d never see you again. I thought...I thought.” 

“I’m fine.” You cut him off before he can finish his sentence. “Look. I’m good.” 

“I wouldn’t go that far.” He teases and you stare at him offended. 

“Rude. You do know that I almost died right?” 

“You’re so dramatic.” He rolls his eyes and yours widen. 

“Excuse me? I’m sorry who came all the way into an alternate dimension just to save me? Oh right. You.” 

“I only did that because I had nothing better to do. You know after boxing day things got a bit boring.” He shrugs and you slap his shoulder. 

“Asshole.” You mumble making him laugh. “How did you find me?” 

“Do you really think I’d forget the place we first met?” He replies, sending you a look and you squint up at him, the light from his torch blinding you slightly. “Sorry.” He mumbles and quickly turns it off.

“I thought given the circumstances you would have at least tried.” You shrug, staring at the floor. 

“Nah. Surprisingly it was the best day of my life.” He confesses and it surprises not only you but himself. That’s something he never thought he’d say. 

He thought Halloween 1984 would be a day that always hurt to think about. And yeah, thinking about what Nancy said to him still stung, but then he remembers you. 

You, in a costume he didn’t quite get. Your expression full of irritation that only softened when you saw him crying. You who asked what was wrong and stayed with him until he decided he wanted to go home. You who the next day found him to make sure he was okay. 

“Will you marry me?” He asks and your eyes widen.

“What?” You splutter and he stares at you hopefully. 

“I love you more than I have loved anything ever. You’re my favourite person ever, you make every day brighter. On days where I think I can’t do anything, when I think my dad is right about all the the shit he’s said and that little nagging voice in my head is shouting, you’re always there to tell me I’m wrong. You’ve helped me when I’ve been broken up with, beaten up and drugged. You fought a Russians for me and beaten up creatures from another dimension without even knowing what it was. I’ve never felt safer or happier with you by my side. I know I’m an idiot, but still...will you marry me?” 

“Steve.” You gasp, tears roll down your cheeks mixing with the blood and goo. “Yes. Yes I will marry you.” You reply and he lets of a sigh of relief. “Although, you didn’t get on one knee, and I don’t see a ring.” You tease and he rolls his eyes. 

His hands cup your cheeks delicately, he ducks his head down and presses a gentle kiss against your chapped and sore lips. 

“Steve? Steve? Are you okay?” Robin’s voice crackles through the walkie-talkie and you jump apart, suddenly remembering where you are. A loud crash comes from just outside and you and Steve freeze and stare at each other.

Thunder booms so loud it rings in your ears for a few seconds after and Steve feels the weight come back, only this time its shared with you too.

“I’ve got her.” He says slowly and eyes the bathroom suspiciously. “If you’re not already at the portal, go now. We’re on our way back...over.” He says and you hear a collection of relived sighs. 

“Yay! You said it!” Annie cheers and Steve rolls his eyes.

“What she means is we’re glad you’re both okay. Now get your ass back.” Robin adds and you and Steve don’t need to be told twice. Steve grabs the bat he dropped on the floor and reaches for your hand. He starts to pull you but is instantly stopped when he hears your cry in pain. 

“What? What’s wrong?” He’s in front of you instantly, looking you up and down for any injuries, and then his eyes land on your leg, and you watch him pale. 

“Stupid ugly thing got me.” You mumble and glance down at it, you cringe at the sight of the now brown blood, and inflamed scratches. Yeah, there is no way you’re going to be able to get that stain out.

“Can you walk.” He asks and looks around for anything to help. 

“I’ll be fine Steve. I just need to get used to it.” You reply. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes.” You nod. “Come on. I don’t want to be in Tina’s bathroom anymore than I already have been.” 

“Same.” He huffs and wraps his bandana around you. 

“What about you?” You ask while he puts the goggles on you. 

“I’ll be fine.” He waves you off. “It’s only a bit of dust.” He smirks and you roll your eyes. “Now come on.” He says quicker and wraps an arm around you. The two of you hobble towards the front door, tripping on a few vines and branches.

Steve helps you balance against the wall and the front door creaks as he pulls it open. 

“Okay.” He nods and looks back at you. “Nothing is waiting to kill us so I think we’ll be fine.” 

Famous last words.” You smirk and he rolls his eyes at you while helping you walk again. 

As soon as your outside, the door slams closed making the two of you jump. Wind rushes around the two of you and brown and black works its way into the cracks of the sky. Buildings tumble down around you, almost as if an invisible force is stomping on each of them. You and Steve share a look as the chaos seems to get closer and closer to you. 

“Shall we go then?” Steve asks, his eyes wide with fear and you quickly nod. 

“Yep.” You reply. “I hate parties anyway.” You say and a small smile twitches on your lips. Steve returns it and the two of you make your way down the steps and onto the street. 

Thankfully, Tina doesn’t live that far from you. In the past that was something you hated because it meant you couldn’t get out of parties, this time however, you’re very grateful for the closeness of your homes. 

In an ideal world, it means you’ll be able to get back to the right and semi-safe world in less than twenty minutes. However, if the past seven years have taught you and Steve anything, it’s that you don’t live in an ideal world. You live in the opposite in fact. 

Like you said, the habitants of The Upside Down, don’t care much for cleaning, and it’s only made worse now that the entire things seems to be collapsing around you. Either it’s doing it on purpose so none of you can escape, or all of you just have some really bad timing. 

“So this whole place is dying?” You ask and look around. It certainly looks like it’s dying. It has done since you woke up and its only gotten worse. You also thought it was strange that you hadn’t been eaten by now. 

“Yep.” He replies. “Apparently all those times we thought we’d won but hadn’t. Did actually do something. It just took a while for it to feel the affect.” 

“And I’m in here because?” 

“Annie said that whatever dragged you in, was probably looking for anything to eat.” He replies and you think about it for a few seconds. 

“So why didn’t it eat me?” 

“How the hell am I suppose to know.” He says. “Do I look like the scientist here?” 

“Furthest from actually.” 

“Exactly.” He smiles. 

“So what’s the plan?” 

“We get out as quickly as we can.” 

“The more detailed plan?” You roll your eyes. 

“Dustin and Lucas got a bunch of explosives and fireworks. We’ve dumped them in here and as soon as we get out, El and Will’s going to explode them!” He says proudly and you look at him impressed. 

“Wo-Watch out!”

You and Steve narrowly miss being hit by a falling tree, only to trip over some sort of decaying monster. 

“Gross.” You huff and look down at your hands, now covered in blood and guts. “Are you okay Steve?” You ask while trying to stand back up. 

“No.” He mumbles and you frown as you turn around to face him. He’s hunched over in the middle of the road, dry heaving and your eyebrows furrow as you watch him. 

“What’s wrong?” You ask, however instead of answering you’re just met with a groan. “Steve? We haven’t got all day.” 

“It went in my mouth!” He exclaims and turns around, throwing his hands up in the air. “That things guts were in my mouth. I can taste blood. Oh god. I’m gonna die. Or turn into one of those. Y/n, if I turn into anything like that please just kill me. You have my permission to take a baseball bat to my head...just please, bury me somewhere nice.” He rambles making you snort a laugh. “It’s not funny Y/n.” 

“It kind of is.” You reply and he glares at you. 

“It’s not.” He mutters and slowly walks towards you. However he freezes when he notices your eyes widening. “What?” He asks. “Y/n? What’s wrong?” 

“Don’t move.” You whisper and he feels his blood run cold. 

“What?” He squeaks and watches you slowly limp and pick up the bat lying on the floor. 

“Oh god. It’s happening isn’t. I love you Y/n. Tell Robin it was me that broke her Walkman. I told her it was Dustin, but it was me.” He closes his eyes, expecting the worst. 

Something scratches at his legs and he breathes in, this is it. He’s going to die, so are you and everything is going to be for nothing. He wants to reach out for you, to hold you close and then at least you’ll be together, but he can’t he’s frozen. 

And then he hears a thud, a small whine and your heavy breathing. Slowly he opens one eye, expecting to see some sort of toothy monster staring back at him. But instead he’s met with the back of your head. He watches you drop the bat, the noise echoing into the darkness and slowly he looks down. 

He’s not entirely sure what tried to kill him, it’s unrecognizable now that’s been beaten into the ground, but it looks scary anyway. 

“It’s the same fucker that dragged me in here in the first place.” You look over your shoulder and wipe your forehead. 

“I love you so much.” He stares at you in awe. “That was hot.” 

“Shut up.” You huff but wink at him anyway. “Are you okay?” You ask and glance at his leg. 

“Oh, yeah.” He shrugs and looks at the small scratch. “I’ll be fine. What about you?”

“I’ll live.” You shrug. 

The two of you stumble around the corner and into the forest and you watch as your friends climb through the glowing doorway to the real world. 

“Guys!” Steve shouts making everyone freeze. The kids have already gone through, leaving just Nancy, Jonathan, Robin, Annie and Joyce behind. Tears form in your eyes as you stare at your friends. 

“Hurry up!” Jonathan shouts. 

“I’m trying! It’s a bit difficult though with my leg hanging off!” You shout back and watch as Jonathan pushes Nancy through the goo before running towards you. 

“Jonathan!” Joyce shouts, her voice can barely be heard over the wind. It blows through your ears and makes you shiver. Trees move wildly around you and you watch as the sky starts to fall away. 

“Well that can’t be good.” You gulp and walk a bit quicker. Jonathan stands on the other side of you, holding your waist and the three of you stumble towards the portal. 

They let go of you and push you through, you land on the forest floor with a loud thud and small groan escapes your lips. 

“Y/n!” The group shout and everyone moves to help you stand. You’ve never been so happy to see everyone. Robin and Annie pull Jonathan, Steve and Joyce through. And as soon as Joyce is stood up, El and Will press the detonators. There’s a loud bang that makes you all jump back, and you watch as the portal vanishes, leaving the brown of the tree trunk behind. 

“Is everyone here?” Joyce asks and scans the group. 

“It’s a bit late if they’re not.” Robin replies. “But yes...I think we did it. We actually did it! Yes!!” She cheers and jumps up and down. Everyone shares a look before looking back at her and even Annie looks a little concerned. 

“I can’t believe you all came for me.” You pull the goggles and fabric off of your face, and tears roll down your cheeks. 

“Of course we did.” Dustin hugs you. 

“You didn’t think we’d leave you in there did you?” Nancy asks also wrapping you up into a tight hug. The res of the group follow and soon you’re in the middle of an eleven people hug...not that you’re complaining though. 

“Jesus Christ. How long were we in there?” Steve asks and looks at the now dark sky.

“Who the fuck cares. Let’s go home.” 

Fireworks crackle and explode above your head. The sky lights up with red and oranges, leading the way home for the 12 of you. 

The residents hope that the bright lights will keep the darkness at bay, but from now on, they won’t have to.

“Happy New Year love.” 

“Happy New Year Steve.” 

[lifeofroos]

Part 43. Slowly but steadily getting there boys. 

In short: Nico gets therapy from Dionysus. In this chapter, Dionysus explains more about the voices in Nico’s head. The story can also be found on AO3 and FanFiction.net! And in Tumblr tags like Dionysus, Nico di Angelo, Therapy, etc. 

This might be crazy: Chapter 43: Demeters’ Divine pear Juice

Dionysus gave me a juice box when we got to the Big House. We sat down on a side of the porch where people rarely came, from which you could see the forest. 

I put the straw in the juicebox. ‘I think you are going to tell me what you and dad think is going on in my head,’ I said, a little shaky. 

‘Yes. After that, we will decide what to do about it.’

‘Okay.’ I took a sip. Oh, pear juice. ‘I want to know what it is. I have noticed you and Hades take it quite seriously, so…’ I shrugged, unsure how to finish that sentence. 

Dionysus stared at one of the trees. Someone put it big, red mark in the middle of the trunk. ‘Are you ready?’

‘Yes.’

He nodded. ‘Hades and I think that the faces  and voices are coming from the Elder Gods. The Elder Gods are gods who were before, but are not anymore. Selene and Helios are examples, but there are also gods who got reïncarnated a few times. Eh, I am one of those. There have been two Dionysusses before me.’

I raised my eyebrows. ‘Sorry to I interrupt, but that must be weird as hell, knowing that.’

He shrugged. ‘I live with it. Anyway, these Elder Gods are supposed to be in a place not even the gods have ever seen. All we know about it is that it is not always in the same place. It moves. And when it does, sometimes a few Elder Gods get themselves stuck in Tartarus.’ He took a break to sigh. ‘The only way for them to get out is if they find the doors of death. Yet, for sóme reason, they always try to contact someone in the hope that person will come down to Tartarus to break them out, even though no-one can do that.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘If their target actually goes down to...’

‘Hadestown?’

‘...Tartarus, it usually does not go over well.’ He slouched a little. ‘And Hades and I think that target is you.’

I took a few sips of pear juice. ‘But there is something we can do about it,’ I said, trying to visualise a solution. 

‘Yes, luckily. Multiple ways, even.’

‘Otherwise, you would not be so calm.’ I think. 

‘Very observant. Probably the best way to get rid of them is via the diplomatic route.’

I pulled my legs upon the chair. ‘Does that mean that I will have to talk a bunch of primordials down?’

‘Elder Gods. Primordials are something else.’

‘Elder Gods, then?’ 

‘Diplomatic means without violence, in this case. How it is done is that you attract the peaceful spirits who are in the Elder Gods’ resting place, so that they can keep the spirits in Tartarus at bay. That does mean that you might still hear a voice sometimes, but those voices will be peaceful and wise. Taking the violent route means that you do not hear those voices either, but it will also give you traumas the diplomatic route won’t give you.’

I thought about that for a second. Would I mind a voice if it was peaceful? ‘Would the voices be near constant?’

‘No. They don’t talk much, and when they talk, it is usually enlightened babbling.’

‘It would be completely gone if I chose the violent route. But I assume that will cause hefty PTSD?’

‘Among other things.’

‘Alright. Then I trust that you are right.’

As soon as I said it, it felt like a stone sank into my stomach and I realised I did not, in fact, fully trust that he was right. This was something big, something dangerous. I could trust him, I knew that, of course, but... ‘Eh, that being said, what exactly are we going to do? How will I attract these peaceful Elder Gods?’

‘We will go to the underworld. Near the Styx lays a platform from where you can contact the peaceful Elder Gods. You will go into a trance. I will be the one to guide you through that state. You will make contact with the right voices and notice the bad ones leave. After we are done, the nasty voices will fully go away over the course of a few weeks.’ 

He said we’ll have to go to the underworld. Near the Styx. I knew Dionysus had never done anything to me, but somewhere inside I was afraid that he would hurt me. That he would throw me into the Styx and leave me there. I would be in trance, or otherwise said, unable to defend myself. 

‘Nico, do you have trouble trusting me on this?’

I took a deep, deep breath. ‘Yes. I know I can trust you, but somehow I don’t.’

‘The fact that you told me shows that you indeed trust me. Now, I know your father would be willing to come with us, so that there is more than one person to witness what is happening.’ He shifted on the chair. ‘There is also a contact platform on Olympus, if that makes you more comfortable. However, there will be people walking around and trying to see what is going on there.’ 

I did not want to go to Olympus. I’d take the Underworld. At least I knew that place. ‘A third option, which can be combined with either of the previous two, is that I ask Hestia to come along,’ Dionysus continued. Hestia. I could trust Hestia. She would never hurt me. Yet, could I ask that of her? ‘That is not a strange thing to ask. She often comes along when someone has to meet the Elder Gods, because she calms people down.’ 

I squeezed my juicebox. ‘If that is so, I want Hestia to be there. I can trust Hestia. Yet, I think dad will want to be there too. Eh, and I understand that you will still be the one guiding me.’

‘Then that is what we are going to do.’ He stuck out his hand. I shook it.

‘Yes. Then that is what we are going to do.’ 

I didn't really know how to feel. I felt a cocktail of different emotions. Fear most of all. 

‘I understand it if you feel strange. I am proud that you are still here.’

I nodded and drank a bit of pear juice. ‘It is a lot.’

‘I reckon.’

‘Eh, when will we do this? Right now? Tomorrow? In three weeks, three months?’ 

‘The only limits I set is that you must give me time to speak to Hestia first, I want it to be over with this very week and I want it to be right after you’ve had a meal. For that meal, you should stuff yourself. Eat too much, even. If it isn’t enough you might faint.’

‘Okay. Tomorrow then, if you can reach Hestia by that time. Right after breakfast. I want to get it over with and I do not want to chicken out.’

He smiled. ‘Very well, Nico. Very well.’

Will slept in my cabin that night. ‘Maybe now it can finally get better.’

‘Maybe it will.’ I moved closer. ‘I am afraid, Will. It sounds like a whole operation. I mean, Dionysus was pretty calm about it, which makes me think it cannot be that bad. But…’ I sighed. 

Will kissed me on the top of my head. ‘I’ll be right here to hear it all once you're done. I’ll drop everything I am doing. I’ll let someone die if I am in the middle of an operation.’

I understood it was meant as a joke, but I was not really in the mood. I closed my eyes. ‘I want to sleep.’

‘Then you can sleep, Nico. You are safe.’

A/N: Kinda on the bridge about whether I’ll upload a chapter where Nico talks to Hestia or if I should get it over with and then write a chapter about Hestia. Update from future Rose: Hestia chapter will be there. Next up. 

Okay boys I feel like I am kind of dragging this arc. Sorry for that. As said before, Hestia will be next and then I’ll get to The Thing and after that to the other Thing (Not saying much but it’ll be cool). 

It suddenly hit me that Nico and Will being a couple was a whole shock in America, when in the Netherlands there was this book where someone (very obviously) had a mother in a relationship with a (non-evil) stepmother in like... 2008 and no-one batted an eye (Lena Lijstje, for all my Dutch readers) (I googled it. It was damn 2002). 

[hazelandglasz]

“Some asshole customer is screaming at you for doing your job and I can tell that you really want to yell back but I’m assuming you can’t so excuse me I’ll do it for you.” AU - you should soooo do a sterek one ! If you wanted to of course,, But I bet it would be so freaking awesome!

On AO3

Stiles is a regular at Hale-thy.

For one, if he wants to force his father into eating more than steaks and potatoes, he has to set an example, and the food here manages to be healthy and delicious.

For two …

He loves to indulge in some people-watching, particularly the staff manning the restaurant.

They are all related, or so it seems, from the hostess to the bartender to the cooks to the waiters.

Or, to be completely accurate, there is one waiter in particular who has all of Stiles’ attention.

His nametag simply reads ‘Derek’,  but Stiles has a variety of nicknames for the waiter.

Grumpy.

Dark & Broody.

Big Guy.

Woomph Rgjrdtkh, on one particular occasion (Derek ended up wet from head to apron, and he was wearing a white shirt. That was a happy night for Stiles).

Besides Derek, they are all fairly amusing to observe, and Stiles is nothing if not a glutton for free amusement.

(Well, free. The measly dollars he pays for his meals are nothing compared to the enjoyment this restaurant gives him.)

But tonight, Stiles is not amused.

Because, as grumpy as Derek may look, he’s actually a sweet, decent, polite guy who never complains and never claps back when the customers are being less than stellar guests.

Like, Asshole at Table 52.

The moment he entered the restaurant, he started complaining to his date that he didn’t want to “eat like a rabbit in some sort of poorly lit den, Isabelle”, to which poor Isabelle only replied with a sweet smile that if he wanted to eat somewhere else, Harold, you can do so on the next date.

Something in her voice told Stiles that the possibility for said next date was dwindling by the minute.

And now.

Now.

Now, Harold has apparently decided to take all his balled up anger issues on Derek.

Who, again, apparently, did nothing wrong except explain to the gentleman that while the cooks were perfectly able to copy the Kardashians Nut salad, it wasn’t on the menu, as it is, but could he recommend the “Tough Nut” salad, which has the same main elements?

“You calling me a tough nut, asshole?”

Oh shit, Harold clenches his fists and Isabelle is face-palming like crazy.

And Derek only smiles, all teeth, which is really counterproductive if you ask Stiles, and bows his head. “No, Sir. The Tough Nut is one of our most popular item.”

“And I should take it to make it easy for you?”

“No, but--”

“Get out of my face. I will decide what we’re eating, we don’t need some loser who can’t do better to tell us what to do.”

Derek clenches his jaw but nods curtly before going back to the bar, his back to the rest of the room. His sister is immediately there, covering his hands with her own.

Good for him. Stiles is glad to see that Derek has such a good support system, but that doesn’t solve anything.

He’s filled with righteous anger, and he really wants to tear good ol’ Harold a new one.

Before he can form a proper plan, his legs decide for him and take him to table 52.

“What do you want?”

Isabelle looks up and gives Stiles a shaky, apologetic smile. Stiles smiles at her before turning all of his attention to the asshole in the seat in front of her.

“What do I want? Oh, nothing. Nothing from you anyway, except your respect and some manners.”

“Wha--”

“Nah, nah, nah. You had the stage, you tried to prove you were the bigger man here, but using a poor waiter to unleash some of the day’s tension is really in poor taste don’t you think?”

“How dare--”

Stiles leans forward. “What did I say? Shush. The grown-up is speaking.”

Somewhere in the back of his head, Stiles’ dad is laughing himself to tears at the sentence.

Somewhere in the background, the whole staff has stopped their activities to observe.

“Now, you may not be aware of the following facts, being unfrozen directly from Neanderthal times, but in the modern world, we don’t chew people up for doing their job. We take their advice, and we thank them, either in words or with a tip at the end of the meal. People in the serving system are not punching balls,” he adds, straightening up, “but if you need to resort to physical outburst to get your manners back, I volunteer to kick some sense into you.”

With every word pronounced by Stiles, Harold has packed himself into a smaller ball in his seat, turning redder than a rotten tomato.

“Um.”

“Thought so.”

Isabelle is turning red too, but obviously because she is containing her laughter.

Stiles looks around, and his eyes meet Derek’s.

Who is shocked enough to have his jaw dropped.

(Why doesn’t it make him any less attractive? Why?)

Stiles smiles crookedly and, bolstered up by the adrenaline coursing in his veins, winks at him.

I got you boo.

Which is really saying something about the levels this crush has gotten to.

“You are all mad, in here.”

Stiles gives Harold his best Cheshire cat’s smile. “Oh, no. You found out.”

“Come on, Isabelle.”

“I’d rather not.”

Harold is already standing up, but he freezes when she replies. “What? But--”

“Good evening, Harold.”

From red, Harold is taking a dive into a very unattractive shade of maroon. “Fine, be that way. I wasn’t that interested--”

Stiles puts his fingers on Harold’s lips. “Don’t say something you may regret later. Or should I get some soap from the kitchen to clean that potty mouth?”

“No need.” Stiles is surprised Harold doesn’t try to bite his fingers off. “I’m leaving.”

“Without paying for the date?Tsk tsk tsk.”

Harold opens his mouth and closes it, angrily taking a bill from his wallet before storming out. 

Stiles and Isabelle share a look before they both burst out laughing. “That was generous,” Stiles says, flicking the 100 dollar bill closer to her.

“Nearly not enough, believe me,” she replies with a smile. “Are you by yourself, oh white knight in shining plaid armor?”

“Um.”

“Sorry, Miss, this knight is already spoken for.” 

Derek has managed to sneak up back to the table, his hand warm on Stiles’ shoulder.

Stiles turns his head to look at him, one eyebrow crooked, and Derek winks at him.

That’s fair.

Except it’s totally not fair. Derek’s wink and smile are weapons of mass destruction. Stiles’ are merely nerf guns.

“Right. Right! Spoken for!” Stiles shrugs. “Totally off the market.”

Isabelle pouts before shrugging back. “I should have guessed. My loss! But your meal is still on me, as a thank you.”

“I won’t object to that. Milady,” Stiles adds, giving her a curtsey before returning to his table, Derek hot on his heels. The words are almost literal here, given how close Derek stands.

“That really was chevaleresque of you,” Derek says softly as Stiles sits back.

“I really couldn’t let him go on like that. You were perfect, and he was being a dick.”

Derek chuckles, looking down before killing Stiles with a bat of his eyelashes. “I’ve never been called perfect before.”

“You--you need to change your entourage, then.”

“Maybe I do. Do you know anyone interested in a position?”

I could be interested in a lot of positions, Stiles thinks but he bites on his lower lip to keep the words from tumbling out.

His thoughts must be loud, though, because Derek’s smile widens into a smirk. “How can I repay your kindness, though?”

“Coffee?”

Derek blinks, looking surprised and … disappointed? “Oh. Okay. Right away.”

“No! No,” Stiles adds, lowering his voice after the initial outburst. “I meant, have coffee. With me. Somewhere. Else.” Stiles closes his eyes and wipes his face with his hand with a sigh. “We could get some coffee sometimes, in a place where--”

“Where we wouldn’t be surrounded by my family who is watching us like zookeepers watch over baby pandas?”

Derek points his thumb behind him, and sure enough, the staff is looking at them with all the subtlety of a chili pudding.

“Indeed.”

Derek smiles in a softer tone. “I could pick you up at your place on Thursday?”

“You don’t know where my place is.” Stiles pauses. “Do you?”

“No, I don’t. But you know where I work. Seems a bit unfair.”

“You’re a bit unfair,” Stiles mumbles, gesturing at Derek from head to toe.

The tip of Derek’s ears turns bright pink, and it is adorable.

Stiles is doomed, in the best of ways.

[randomfandomimagine]

Fate Is Sealed. Chapter 12

Fandom: John Wick

Ship: John x Elizabeth (OC)

Previous Chapter - Chapter Index - Next Chapter

Read it on AO3!!

That time I spent with John almost managed to make me forget about the real world, about the assassins and the debts and the danger. And then the nightmares found me again, not allowing me any more of a respite.

My footsteps were firm as I approached Gaige’s building, my determination being unshakeable as I told my heart to stop racing. Nonetheless, I gripped the gun in my hand so tightly that my fingers hurt.

I noticed a lack of noise as I stood before the door. The lights were on inside, but there was a very telling silence that caused my stomach to churn. I ignored all of this and adamantly swung the door open to reveal the office.

There where dozens of goons usually reunited, tending to their devious business, were now empty chairs and desks. Several bottles of alcohol were all over the place, opened and unfinished. The air felt heavy and eerie.

Daring to walk further and head for Gaige’s personal office, I found the door already open. There was no one in sight, not even Gaige himself. Treading lightly, I immersed myself in the room and took an attentive look around.

For the most part, everything seemed in its place. I looked at Gaige’s empty chair, noticing a blood stain that had soaked through the thick fabric. If he had been sitting there when he obtained that wound, it would have gone directly to his heart. I had a vague idea of what happened, and who did it.

Shaking my head to focus on the task ahead, I went through the drawers looking for a specific file. My eyes scanned the folders, absently recognizing familiar faces of goons I had run into thanks to Gaige. A tightness formed on my throat when I passed Delfino and Dominic’s files. But right after theirs, I found the headshot of a woman at the front of a folder.

I opened the file reading ‘Simone Brasher’ and skimmed for any important information that would tell me where she was hiding. A certain address caught my eye, so I memorized it and slammed the file closed.

As I made my way outside the building, I pulled out my phone and dialed John’s number. The mixture of emotions I was experiencing clouded my judgment, but I was lucid enough for that.

The line beeped for several seconds, until there was as click followed by a deep voice that I knew very well.

“Eli-?” Before he could even finish his sentence, I impatiently interrupted him.

“Why did you do it when I told you not to?” Every fiber of my being was overcome by anger, and I could not control myself. Honestly, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to. I felt powerful for once, and that sensation was intoxicating.

“Do what?” John’s tone was somewhat soft and innocent.

“You know what” I scoffed in annoyance. “I doubt Gaige and his people magically disappeared”

John sighed on the other end, taking several seconds before replying.

“Elizabeth, he went after me again” A pang of guilt initiated in my nape, but I repressed it before it could take over my mighty fury.  

“Interesting, our business clash again” I sarcastically replied, giving him a mocking smirk even if he couldn’t see it.

“This isn’t you…” John lowered his voice to a sad murmur. “Where… Where are you?”

“On my way to make some justice” When I reached my bike, I climbed on it again. “About time”

“You’re gonna get yourself killed!” He suddenly exclaimed in frustration. “And even if you don’t, you know this is wrong. You’re not like this!”

“Don’t look for me” Was all I said before hanging up, even if the slight guilt from before returned stronger.

I grunted in annoyance to myself as I grabbed on to the handlebars of my motorbike and started the engine. I had to do this.

Like I had told John, I needed to do something. I was done sitting still and taking all that abuse, being manipulated and frightened. Feeling small and unsafe. Acting like John Wick seemed the best way to do it.

As I put the bike to a halt I could see the docks. Not far from them was a small rundown warehouse. The windows were broken and the humidity had eaten through the wood that coated the outside. But I knew it was the place.

Wielding my gun again, I walked towards the warehouse. That was it, the point of no return. And I was willing to do whatever it took, to let whatever to happen. I just needed to act no matter what. It was something I had to do.

The door was halfway open, and inside I found a figure facing its back to me. I recognized the expensive clothes and the blonde ponytail. She looked over her shoulder with the sound of my footsteps.

“You just can’t have enough, can you?” Simone stood up from her the big crate she was sitting in and turned to me. “You were really stupid to come here”

I frowned when I noticed her mascara had run over her cheeks, leaving dark traces along her skin. I was distracted from that detail when she took a step closer to me. Even if several meters still separated us, I grit my teeth and lifted my arm to point the gun at her. She didn’t even bat an eye at the movement.

“You’re gonna pay” She bitterly said, continuing her advance. “Your boyfriend killed my friends. And my boss”

“Maybe they shouldn’t have tried to kill him” I offered, tilting my head. “And maybe you shouldn’t have murdered my father in cold blood”

“He had unfinished business with Gaige when he retired” Simone smirked, portraying a mockingly friendly and innocent voice. “What kind of an example would that set?”

“He would have paid it” Winston himself had said it, my father was good at his job, he had plenty of money. “Gaige didn’t want him dead, dammit, he would have paid it”

“You see, I wasn’t so sure about that” Her condescending attitude was making my blood boil. “And sure enough, one day all records of his money were gone”

My bike. He bought me an expensive motorbike so I could be independent, and he left the rest of the money for me so I could make it on my own. He knew he was going to get killed.

Forcing myself out of my thoughts, I focused back on her and got startled when I realized how much closer she was to me now. I cocked the gun as a warning, but that didn’t hinder her advance towards me.

“And I’m going to kill you” When I piped up, she finally stopped walking.

“Very funny, Lizzie” Smirking still, she crossed her arms over her chest. “He used to call you that, you know. Wouldn’t stop talking about you, Lizzie this, Lizzie that”

Before I could stop myself, I had pulled the trigger and landed a bullet on her upper arm, putting a hole through her shiny jacket. She glared up at me in outrage after checking her new wound in disbelief.

I mockingly wrinkled my nose in response, glad of my impulsive act. I was going to kill her, but she was going to suffer first.

Determined, I took a step forward just for her to hinder my advance. Out of nowhere, she had pulled out a dagger and thrown it at me. I grunted when I felt the blade sinking in my shoulder, just above my collarbone.

I didn’t drop the gun, and in fact I tightened my grip on it. I felt out of myself as I took ahold of the dagger encrusted in my skin with my free hand and pulled it out, screaming in a sound that didn’t seem to come out of my own throat.

A fleeting thought told me that maybe pulling it out wasn’t the best idea, but it soon passed when it was replaced with a lack of any logical reasoning.

“This is for calling me a bitch” Watching Simone’s smirk only further fueled the liquid fire in my veins, and I once again moved without thinking about it twice. Barely stopping to look at the bloody dagger in my hand, I threw back at her with as much force as I could. It tore a yelp of pain from her lips as it sunk into her thigh.

Doing the same as I did, she sharply pulled the dagger out of her leg and wielded it fiercely. I raised my gun and pointed it at her as a warning. Neither of us moved at first, seizing each other up.

A little voice was shouting for me to shoot her already, but the gun felt extremely heavy in my hand. There were so many dazed thoughts rushing through my head that I couldn’t focus on one.

I wrapped my other hand around the butt of the gun to stabilize my aim, but Simone was already on the move. I pulled the trigger, but failed as I was rattled by the ferocity with which she ran to me. The bullet got lost in the distance and so I decided to stick to what I did best. Close range hand to hand combat.

"You never had the stomach for this" Simone smirked, ready to take me on.

I lunged at her, tackling Simone to the ground. We struggled for several seconds, landing punches on each other until I was suddenly pushed on my back and pinned against the ground. I tried wiggling out of her lock but found that she was too strong.  

I grabbed a handful of dirt and tossed it at her face. Simone tried turning her head, but she wasn’t fast enough to avoid it getting into her eyes. I smirked at the thought that I had played dirty and momentarily blinded her.

Jumping to my feet, I took her from behind and put her in a lock of my own, cocking the gun and resting it against her temple. It was suddenly hard to breathe, and my heartbeat drummed against my ears. I watched Simone as she shut her eyes tight, cringing at what might happen next. A pang of guilt struck my chest as I found a twisted satisfaction at the sight.

“Drop the gun!” A voice said out of nowhere, forcing me to look upwards.

I gulped when I saw a group of six people surrounding me, all pointing weapons at me. That snake had called for backup. I didn’t know how or when, but she had.

Gritting my teeth, I held my hands up in surrender and let go of her. I bit the inside of my cheek to contain the anger I felt when I heard her scornful chuckle. I was tempted to shoot her still, even if it would definitely trigger my own death.

“Drop it” Simone held her hand up, smirking as her other hand motioned over to the people threatening my life to get closer.

I begrudgingly gave her my gun, which she took with a mocking head nod. At least I felt a slight pride at the fact that she considered me enough of a threat now to call for backup. Even if it was through John’s influence.

“Any last words?” She said, lifting the gun up to my head.

I still felt out of breath, like I had run a marathon. But my hatred for her was so great that I refused to give her the satisfaction of knowing I was frightened.

“You’re still a bitch” I bitterly said, earning a glare from her.

"Shoot her" Was her response to my defiance.

I closed my eyes, prepared for death. After all, I had always known it was the only way out of that mess. I had merely postponed it, but I had always believed it was my destiny, that my fate was sealed to meet a violent end. At least I had found some good things on the way to my demise.

“I wouldn’t do that” My heart skipped a beat when I recognized that gruff voice.

Opening my eyes, I saw John approaching us, machine gun in hand ready to fire. The men and women working with Simone hesitated. I calmly lowered my arms back to my sides at the sight of him approaching.

“Lower your weapons” He said, a calm yet clear order.

They didn’t even wait for Simone’s approval, all of them instantly obeyed the Boogeyman’s order. The tension was tangible in the air as all the present at the moment eyed each other.

“Elizabeth” John called, startling me slightly for directly addressing me. “Go”

“But-“

“I’ll handle this”

“John…”

“Go!”

I recognized the dangerous look in his dark eyes and decided to oblige. I didn’t want him solving my business, but I knew he could easily take them all.

It was my chance to fix that mistake, to forgive about that quest for revenge before it was too late. Although I realized it was already too late when Simone, wanting to punish me for my audacity with the attempt on her life, followed after me.

“Shit shit, fuck” I muttered, taking my other gun and running at top speed.

As I let my legs do their job, I focused on my shaky hands to make sure that the magazine was charged and then shoved it back on its chamber.  

Hoping I would outrun Simone, I rummaged through my brain in search of a safe place I could go to. My train of thought was interrupted when I heard gunshots, so I looked over my shoulder without stopping my dash.

John had resorted to his Boogeyman ways again as he easily took the six of them at once. He even allowed himself the distraction of blindly shooting Simone to slow her down and give me an advantage. The blonde screamed when the bullet reached her leg, but she continued her pursue on me.

I focused up ahead again, taking advantage of her small pause to recover from the wound and running for my life.

The Continental was the safest and closest place I could think of, so I barged inside and hurried for the elevator without even saying hello to Charon.

Simone was far behind me, but I was pretty sure that she had seen the direction I was taking and assumed where I was headed. It was a matter of time before she reached me, so I hoped I would at least lose her on the many floors of the hotel building. I didn’t exactly trust her not to break the rules.

I ran to the elevator and waited for it to arrive. The anxiety was building up in my chest as I knew that every millisecond was immensely valuable. Once it arrived, I quickly opened the grills door, but before I could come in, someone grabbed me from behind.

I screamed as a hand tugged at me and grimaced when my back hit the ground. The sight of Simone looking absolutely feral took my breath away, or maybe how hard I landed.

“Excuse me!” I heard Charon’s voice exclaim, probably alarmed by my screaming.

Simone grunted in annoyance and carelessly threw me inside the open elevator, following closely behind and pressing a button so the doors would close.

Charon was arriving just as the grill that served as doors closed. I stared at him from the ground, bearing a begging expression that I hoped he would understand. My anxiety intensified when I saw his familiar face disappear as the elevator went up.

While she was distracted with him, I jumped to my feet and pushed her against the metallic door. Before she could turn around, I punched her in the kidney.

Right after, she did turn around –at an incredible speed –and crossed my face with her fist. I stumbled backwards, causing the elevator to shake but luckily not stop. The last thing I needed was to be stuck in an elevator with Simone.

I reached out with my hand to stabilize myself as it touched the wall and leaned against it, holding my jaw in pain. She was already prepared to retaliate, so I kneed her under the chin. As I lunged at her to try and attack, she quickly held me in a lock.

I was pushed against the wall, then she held my head by the hair and slammed it against the fluorescents. She repeated the process until I painfully felt it break against my forehead, as well as some blood dripping from the cut.

Not content with this, Simone continued smashing my head against the now broken lights. Although I felt slightly faint and my ears were ringing, probably because of a mild concussion, I gathered the strength to hold my hands against the wall to try and offer some resistance to her blows.

Just then, the elevator stopped moving and the doors opened. Taking advantage of the momentary distraction from her side, I pushed her against the corner and stumbled outside of the elevator.

I swore under my breath when I realized we were in a floor filled with locked rooms. I was trapped.

The corridor was absolutely deserted, only a room service cart parked against a wall. Simone casually walked over to it, watching it with curiosity, as she pulled out the gun she had taken from me.

Feeling the skin in my face tight and wet because of the blood that was drying out, I grimaced at her. She was far too calm, and she didn’t seem upset at all that we were now in sacred ground. In fact, she showed me a smug smirk.

“You know the rules” I reminded her, my eyes never leaving her as she lifted the top off a silver tray from the cart.

She ignored me as she eyed the untouched food and shook her head a little. Then her eyes focused on the bottle that contained a dark liquid.

“I’m so thirsty” She muttered, taking the time to pour some of the alcohol in a glass and sniff it.

“Put the gun down” I insisted, watching how she carelessly waved it around while pretending to point at the food. “There are rules here”

Simone took a sip of the drink and smirked at me again, lowering her gun but not dropping it. It felt like she was teasing me, torturing me as much as she could.

“Glad we settled it” She grinned in amusement. “Killing your father wasn’t a big deal anyway”

The helplessness that had engulfed me faded away with her words. It was then when I remember that I still had a gun. I wouldn’t hesitate.

“Say that again, you bitch” I muttered through grit teeth, glaring daggers at her.  

She then lifted her arm, gun still in hand. Simone furrowed her brow in determination and I acted on instinct. I startled myself as I wielded my gun and pulled the trigger.

I watched in awe, the bullet hole pouring blood in her forehead.

Like it had burned me, I dropped the weapon to the ground and looked for something to hold on to. My knees felt weak as she fell limply on the ground. Her body landed with a thud. She wouldn’t get up again.

I let out a strangled scream as I realized what I had done. A commotion started out around me, since the gunshot had attracted attention.

Falling to my knees, I covered my mouth to try and conceal the loud sobs that escaped it, but to no avail. Tears tainted my vision as my eyes fixed on the motionless body of Simone.

There was no turning back now, and that peace I hoped to experience after Simone was dead was nowhere to be found. I only felt sick. I couldn’t breathe.

I had killed her. I had broken the Continental rules. I had behaved like a bloodthirsty assassin, like that very thing I refused to become. Like the thing I resented my father for being. Like the thing I feared John Wick for being.

And now I had become my own worst nightmare. I had broken my own rule.

Everything dimmed around me, the voices and sounds of alarm. Doors swinging open and footsteps. It all became faint and distant.

I felt disgusting as I knelt there, having no consolation other than bawling my eyes out and whimpering in a pathetic manner. There was no solace for me now.

“Liz!” Someone approached me, dropping to their knees and obstructing my field of vision. I hadn’t noticed my eyes were still on Simone, I was too numb to realize or look away. “Liz! What happened?”

I couldn’t respond, I couldn’t answer the question. All I could do was continue crying, wishing I hadn’t pulled the trigger. Silent tears streamed down my face as the shock lingered.

“What have you done?” The voice insisted, taking me by the shoulders.

“I-I’m sorry…” I choked out, reaching out to touch them as my foggy brain finally registered who I was talking to. “I’m so s-s-sorry…”

“It’s okay, I’m here” Cradling my head against his chest, he sheltered me in his embrace. “It’s alright now”

“No, I k-killed her” Came my strangled voice. “She was gonna shoot me and I…”

“I know” He rocked me slightly, protectively wrapping his arms around me as his hand lingered against my head, keeping it close to his chest.

“I’m sorry, John”

“I know…”

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[petri808]

Inu-vella

InuKag AU Based on this Romance Novel post  @bearpluscat  I tried lol.  

“Oi!  I said I was sorry!  Damn it, woman how many times do I have to apologize, it’s not my fault the two of you look the same!”  He grabs her arm to stop her from walking away from him, again.  “Kagome, come on gimme a break, will ya!”

“Inuyasha,” she pinches the bridge of her nose, letting out an exasperated sigh, “and I have told you a thousand times, if you want me to be nice to you,” looking at him straight with narrowed eyes, “you need to be nicer to me, work with me!  It’s my job to make sure your poses are on point and matches the look the author wants. But you fight me at every turn!  I understand you’ve been doing this for a long time, but that doesn’t mean you couldn’t learn a thing or two either.  Now if you’ll excuse me,” she turns on her heel, “I need a drink.”

The cover model growls and stalks away in the opposite direction towards his trailer.  Ugh, that woman!  She was such a stubborn…. “Ugh!”  Inuyasha slams his trailer door behind him then drops back to lean against it.  But that’s one of the things that had attracted him to her in the first place...  Inuyasha hangs his head.  Ever since he’d become a model for romance novel covers, women started to fling themselves at him, stalk him.  He couldn’t even go shopping for milk without someone trying to slip their number or underwear in his pocket.  And don’t get him started on the one who somehow broke into his house and made coffee with nothing more than an apron on; thanks Sango for slacking on his security…  

Oh, but not her and frankly, it intrigued him.  From day one, Kagome never even batted an eye at him, of course it could have something to do with the fact he’d called her by his long over ex’s name.  “Ugh,” Inuyasha throws himself onto the small couch, closes his eyes, and drapes an arm over it to block the light.  Kagome Higurashi.  She looks just like Kikyo but was a total spit-fire compared to the other’s more, broody nature.  His manager Miroku had done some digging into Kagome and learned Kikyo may have derailed the young woman’s attempts at becoming a regular photo journalist or something.  No wonder, she’d gotten so pissed when he’d called her by that name.  But how was he supposed to know!      

“Tch,” Wasn’t like he was doing his dream job either.  Don’t get him wrong, this gig paid plenty well and kept him very comfortable.  When he’d been ‘discovered’ walking through a mall one day, yeah, cliché as it sounds, the publisher thought he’d be perfect.  Handsome and edgy, whatever that meant.  Never mind that he never resembled the male human characters in the stories, the women went wild for the exotic half-breed with the long white hair and doggy ears so ergo, his body sold books.  Six years later and he was one of the highest sought-after cover models in their industry.

Problem was, no one else took him seriously.  To mainstream publications, what Inuyasha did was one step above porn.  None of that was true, but it didn’t stop them from type casting him.  Ironically, one thing he and Kagome had in common was being stuck doing something they were good at, but in an industry that wasn’t seen as very highly coveted. Inuyasha sighed, if only he could just figure out a way to talk to her, take her out for a drink one night after work or something and have a normal conversation.  Maybe then, she could see the similarities, and possibilities.

Inuyasha hears the door open and close, but by the smell of it, wasn’t someone he cared to talk to anyways until he needed to.

“Let me guess,” Inuyasha’s manager pokes him in the arm, “you had another fight with Ms. Higurashi.”

“Bite me, Miroku.”

“Sorry, but I don’t swing that way.”

“Fuck off then.”

“Oh, come now, my grumpy hanyo client, it’s been a year now since you two started working together, surely it’s about time for you to drop your drawers and just lay yourself bare for the woman.”

Inuyasha sits up quickly, “what in the fucking hell are you saying!  That I should sleep with her?  I can’t even get her to talk to me so how am I…”

“I’m sorry it was a pun, you know I can’t help the sexual jokes,” Miroku holds his hands up, “it means just go to her with your non-existent tail tucked between your legs, beg for forgiveness, and just tell her how you feel.  No fighting, no cussing, be as soft as you possibly can, and just be vulnerable for once.”

“I’ve apologized plenty,” the hanyo crosses his arms.

“Yelling it doesn’t usually count,” Miroku chides back.  “Women need to be treated delicately.  Look just let that sink in okay, think about it.”

“Keh!”

“I’ll take that as a yes. Now, back to business, you’ve got a week till the next photo shoot.  Go home, relax, try not to get into any trouble, and I’ll see you then.  Oh, and the car is waiting outside to take you home.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Inuyasha waves the man away, “I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

He couldn’t stop thinking about it.  All week. Throughout the day, his managers comments kept coming back.  Miroku and his stupid puns, that damn perverted lecher.  Women need to be treated delicately….  Why? Kagome sure didn’t act like a fragile flower.  Be vulnerable for once.  Tch, in their world, vulnerability got you stepped on. Even Sango had chimed in on the way home the day of the last shoot, telling him that maybe this Kagome person had her own insecurities and that’s why she put up a wall when she was around him. It couldn’t hurt to try being a little nicer.  

Be a little nicer….  As he read up on the next shoot, it was supposed to be sensual as usual, but they wanted the male model to show a little weakness.  Obviously, he wasn’t very good at showing that side, so maybe… he’ll listen to her direction for once.

Some of Kagome’s friends and family would ask her how she was able to keep a straight face or focus when dealing with all the hot guys she had to photograph for the book covers. Honestly, she wasn’t sure.  None of them were really her type so it didn’t bother her.  Until him. The first time she saw Inuyasha on set, her heart skipped a few times at the sight of his galloping abs and perfect hindquarters, oh, and don't forget the soft doggy ears perched on his head…  but then he opened his mouth and well one year later, they were still no better than that first day had been.  Kagome had hoped to start anew at some point, but every chance was squandered, and she’d lost hope along the way.  

At the day’s shoot, Kagome started as she always did, working with the female model first.  The woman was seated on the bed giving her best melancholy expression.  She had been directed to pretend she was sad to learn her lover will have to leave for a long time because of the war efforts, and she was doing a great job.  But now came the part Kagome always dreaded, getting Inuyasha to portray the results she needed.  Kagome directs him to sit next to the model and gently cup her chin, tilting it upwards.

“I know these kinds of scene’s are a struggle Inuyasha, but I want you to think of a sad time, like a pet you had that died, or maybe how you would feel if your mom passed away.”

Inuyasha closes his eyes momentarily to take a deep breath.  He was pretty sure Kagome didn’t know his mother had died while he was still very young, but that loss still bothered him.  His ears flatten in a defeated manner, lips slightly quivering, and his eyes glassing over.

Kagome is so shocked at his silent and quick acquiescence that she blanks out for a second.  “G-good Inuyasha, really good, hold it,” she snaps away from a few different angles.  “Wow, this is perfect.  Okay now maybe lean…”

He leans forward until his forehead is resting against the female models, closing his eyes.

Again, his perfect adjustment astonishes Kagome.  “Yes! Don’t move, that’s perfect!”  She snaps away several more shots.  “You guys did so great!  Thank you, I think we got it.”

The female model retreats to her dressing room but Inuyasha stays seated on the bed with his head hung down.  Memories of his mother had carried him through the shoot but now it was a matter of letting it go again.  Part of him wanted to be upset that Kagome had used it as an example but that wouldn’t have been fair, and he knew it.  

“Are you okay Inuyasha,” Kagome checks on him after stowing away her camera.  “You did…. You did really great today.”  

“Thanks.”

No emotion, not anger, more of a sadness in his tone.  Kagome was puzzled, what had gotten into him today?  

“Hey,” she sits down beside him, “I’m sorry was it the shoot?  What’s wrong?”

“My mom…. My mom died when I was little.”  Inuyasha lets out a breathy exhale.  “I’m sure you didn’t know, but it just still get to me ya know?”

Kagome’s hand fly up to her mouth, “Oh, I’m so sorry!  I-I didn’t… I was just trying to think of the saddest things and,” she bows her head as her own tears threaten to surface, “my dad’s death was the first thing I could think of.”

Inuyasha looks up at her surprised, his eyes widening when he smells the salt building.  “Oi!” He panics.  “I-I didn’t mean to make you sad too… aww crap,” he runs a hand down his face, “I’m sorry Kagome, p-please don’t cry.”  He pulls her closer, hugging her.  “Don’t cry, I can’t handle it when women cry.”

She sniffles, “it’s okay… I’ll be okay,” letting Inuyasha hold her, Kagome relaxes in his arms.  With a half-hearted chuckle, “Guess we do have something in common besides…” she doesn’t finish her sentence, but he knows exactly what she was talking about.

“I don’t wanna talk about that either.  She screwed both of us over, but it’s done now, no sense in reliving it.”

“Yeah…”

“Hey, um,” Inuyasha relaxes his hold, “do you… maybe wanna go get a drink and just talk….  L-Like start over?”

Kagome pulls back and looks into his eyes, testing the validity behind his statement.  Was he making a pass at her because he thought she was being vulnerable?  But the closer she look’s, Kagome could only see a genuine sincerity staring back.    

If anything, it was worth a shot, at least towards a better working relationship.  She smiles, “I’d really like that.”

[jackyjango]

Daddy dearest...

A Modern-day Powered AU!

Tags: Dadneto, enemies to friends to lovers, fickle author, author doesn't know what they're writing, or why for that matter

Charles massages his forehead again. What had started as a dull ache at the back of his head had spread over the last two hours. At this rate, it's going to turn into a full-blown migraine by the end of the day.

The first two weeks of school are always difficult. With the kids still high on energy from the summer holidays it'll take another week or so in the least for them to wind down to a schedule.

There are five new students this year-- all mutants. It should be a good thing, really-- Charles is always thrilled to have new students admitted into the school. But just not in this situation. The basketball court and the gym are under renovations, and they're short of two teachers; which means that Charles has to juggle between supervising the renovations and substituting for the said teachers. It doesn't help the fact that three of the five new students are extremely mischievous.

The naughtiest of them all is Peter Maximoff, who simply won't sit still for even for a millisecond. To make matters worse, his mutation is Superhuman Speed. At just 6, he can run three laps of the classroom in the blink of an eye. Luckily, his twin sister, Wanda is docile. She doesn't speak much with anyone who isn't her brother, but she has a bright mind when it comes to imbibing her lessons or observing her surroundings attentively. It'll take some time for her to mingle with the others, Charles understands. He'll help her if in that aspect if necessary.

Then there's Alex Summers, who's hell bent on destruction. They've already had to replace a bulletin board and a chair; and they're still in the first week of school.

Ororo gets a certain joy by scaring others with the white sparks that trickle out of her fingertips. It had been tough making her understand that such behaviour wouldn't be accepted, which only encourage her further into doubling her antics.

It's not that little Kitty is troublesome, but she needs more attention than the rest. Recently manifested, she often finds her leg getting stuck in a chair or an aimlessly batted hand caught inside a table. Calming a crying Kitty and rescuing her without injuries has, by far, not been easy.

'Please listen,’ Charles emphasises when the class collapses into a din of chatter. Peter runs to his sister and back to his chair before Charles can finish. Mort is sticking his tongue out and gazing intently at something on the table. Bright sparks of light are bursting in front of Illyana, coaxing giggles out of her.

'Class, listen!’ Charles says out forcefully, again, and picks up the bowl on the table. The new object in Charles’ hands becomes the centre of his students’ attention as they turn towards him.

‘We're going to do an activity,’ he says when the class goes quiet, ‘Each one of you will come here and pick up a chit from this bowl.’ He shakes the bowl in his hands, shuffling the chits inside. 'Once you've gone back to your place, you'll have to draw and colour whatever you think the chit says.’

To demonstrate, he picks up a chit from the bowl. 'Favourite food’, the rectangular strip of paper reads. Charles does love a good Mac and Cheese any day, but he can't draw a bowl of Mac and Cheese without making it look like abstract geometry. He settles for drawing a pizza on the board. It's what he ends up ordering nowadays, anyway. Plus, it's simpler to draw.

It earns him enthusiastic nods and energetic claps from his students.

'It’s simple, see...’ Charles says as he turns to face them. The kids are gleaming at him, eager to start. Peter is already fidgeting in his seat, struggling to sit still.  

Charles sighs. 'Peter, why don't we start with you?’

Peter has grabbed a chit and has gone back to his seat even before Charles has finished the sentence.

Following Peter's example, the others jump from their seats and make a beeline for the bowl. 'In a line… Please come in a line. One by one,’ Charles shouts over their excited chanting of 'me me me’ as he lifts the bowl higher to keep it out of the reach of their outstretched hands.

Once everyone has picked a chit and settled down in their seats around the oval table, Charles walks behind their chairs slowly.

Charles isn't aware of the contents of the chits; Theresa had been kind and had offered to make them.

Alex is sticking out his tongue and scrubbing his crayon over the paper. Ah, of course, his ‘Favourite Toy’ is a red toy gun. Darwin-- bless his creativity-- is drawing a blue house with yellow windows accompanied by an orange tree for 'My Home’. Ororo is trying and failing to draw the scales on a fish for 'My Pet’.

Just when the satisfaction of bringing out the children's creativity has begun to settle inside, Chairs spots Peter at the very end of the table.

The boy is sitting so still that for a moment Charles wonders if he's imagining things. His silver brows are pulled inwards and his thin lips seem even thinner where they're pressed together. His vision is fixed on the blank paper, his chit forgotten on the side.

Charles has never seen Peter like this. There's always a face splitting grin on his face, even when he falls down by tripping on table legs in his haste.

Charles walks towards the boy and sits down on the low stool next to him.

'Peter,’ he calls out softly and lays a gentle hand on his shoulder.

The boy lifts his head up. His brows release revealing the blue of his eyes.

As a rule, Charles doesn't read the minds of children. The brain structure isn't completely formed, it's way more chaotic than adults’, and more prone to damage from telepathic contacts. Charles’ shields are always up during school hours. But even his shields are not effective in blocking out the waves of wariness radiating from Peter.

‘Are you having trouble drawing, darling?’ he asks softly, leaning in towards the boy.

Peter nods his head slowly.

'That's no problem, I can help you with it,’ Charles reassures him with his best smile. ‘Let's see what you've got.’ He picks up the chit from the table. 'My Mother’ it reads.

Charles doesn't understand what to make of it. Is the boy simply not able to put his thoughts into a drawing? Does he come from a broken family? Does he have an estranged mother, or God forbid, an emotionally distant one?

Peter's bottom lip is trembling when Charles turns to face him. Not wanting to presume, he says, 'Peter, why don't you tell me about your mother, and we'll see what we can draw.’

Peter is quiet for a long time, only looking up at Charles with wide eyes. Dealing with children is simultaneously simple and complicated. So Charles waits patiently running a soothing hand up and down Peter's back.

Just when Charles begins to wonder if the boy will answer at all, Peter says, 'My Vati says that my Mama is a star in the sky, and that she watches over us when we sleep.’

Of all the things Charles had expected, Peter's answer wasn't one of them. A swell of sympathy bubbles up from the bottom of his stomach. He knows all too well of what it's like to lose a parent. The kids are still so young. It's brutally unfair.

‘What else does your father tell you about her?’ (Vati is German for Father, if Charles remembers correctly)

‘He says that she loves us very much. Much more than we love her.’

Charles smiles. It's perhaps a mild relief in this unfortunate situation that the twins have a father who’s there for them. ‘I'm sure your mother loves you a lot, darling. And the two of you are very lucky to have a wonderful father.’

The listlessness on Peter's face abates and a small smile takes its place at the mention of his father. Peter nods his head quickly in answer and adds: ‘Vati is the best! He sings to us before bed. He makes us cake on our birthday. But not as good as Nana though. He can never cook asgoodasNana-’ that's the last of Peter's words Charles catches before it quickens to cover a mile per second. Though, Charles doesn't need to listen to the rest of it to have his assumption confirmed that Mr. Maximoff, is in fact, is a loving father.

An idea strikes. ‘In that case, Peter,’ Charles says when Peter finally finishes speaking. Pulling out his pen from his breast pocket, he scratches the 'Mo’ from the chit and writes a 'Fa’ on top of it. ‘Why don't we draw your father instead?’ Charles  leans in conspiratorially and whispers, ‘Now now, this is a secret between you and me, alright? So don't tell anyone.’

'Not even to Wanda?’

'Not even Wanda.’

A quick smile blooms on Peter's face. 'I can do that!’ he says and delves into sorting out his crayons.

Charles sits there for a few more minutes watching as Peter draws and erases out the frame of a stick figure. Generally, Charles makes it a point to keep a steady correspondence with the parents of all his students and meet them personally. He had missed meeting the Maximoffs on the first day of school. Mr. Maximoff had dropped in just as he had left towards the gym to meet with the contractor.

Charles makes a mental note to meet Mr. Maximoff when the latter comes to pick up the kids that day.

*

Charles smiles fondly at Peter's drawing as the boy drops it on the table in a blur of silver.

It's innocent in a way only a child's can be. Wanda, on the right, is dressed in a red frock while Peter on the left is dressed in black trousers and what Charles infers in reference to his silver hair is a silver jacket. The man in the middle-- Mr. Maximoff-- with short hair and a beard, clad in what looks like a plaid shirt and jeans is holding both their hands. All three are smiling, Mr. Maximoff excessively so, baring all his sharp teeth in a wide grin.

Charles knows that Peter is exaggerating, but strangely, that smile reminds Charles of his adversary from high school.

Charles isn't one to use that term loosely, nor he is the one to have adversaries to begin with. But if anyone had come close to meaning half of it, it was Erik Magnus Lehnsherr.

Even after all these years… Charles cuts his thoughts short.

He looks down at the sheet again. Mr. Maximoff, he reminds himself. He should meet with Mr. Maximoff after school.

-

[incorrecteragonquotes]

Eragon Movie Recap Part 3: Eragon McProtagonist and the Sorcerer’s Stone

It’s time for the third installment of the Eragon Movie Recap!

We pick up where Part 2 left off. Roran’s gone. Eragon’s moping. Brom’s comfortable getting in trouble with soldiers. Garrow has life advice. The cool rock is entirely normal and definitely isn’t a weird egg.

After lamenting his cousin’s departure outside in the sunset, Eragon is continuing to mope indoors. Without warning, the cool rock on the floor before him begins to shake violently. It starts to crack. Eragon looks at it like it’s super gross but also a little intriguing.

The cool rock explodes, revealing tiny dragon, which immediately starts making cheerful little noises. Eragon smiles, and starts theorizing about the variety of non-rocks the creature before him could be. To his credit, he does identify the cool rock as an egg, though the impact is somewhat lessened by the fact that he proclaims “you’re an egg!” after the hatching, to a creature that is clearly no longer an egg. Said creature makes an admirable attempt at miming the word “dragon”, to no avail. Eragon decides that whatever the thing in front of him is, he simply must put his hand on its head.

There’s a big flash of light, and a few key characters awaken due to a disturbance in The Force. Brom clearly wasn’t expecting this. Galbatorix looks unhappy, but unsurprised. He appears to have been sleeping in the throne we saw him in earlier. Although, if we close our eyes and pretend those horns and neck-scale-looking things don’t belong to the arm of his oversized chair, we can believe that he may have been taking a nap with his dragon, Shruikan. That would have been a neat little detail. Arya, on the other hand, is looking a little smug.

Arya is lying on a table in some sort of dungeon. She doesn’t appear to be secured to it in any capacity, though I’ll give this a free pass on account of there being a powerful magical shade nearby who knows a thing or two about keeping people captive. Durza, too, has noticed that something’s up, and begins questioning his prisoner. Arya, as part of a perplexing new strategy, decides that this is a fine time to gloat about how the egg has already hatched.

Durza is displeased by this news. He retaliates by doing some weird shade magic that somehow extracts the details of the egg’s whereabouts from Arya’s mind. I’m still a little miffed that she even has those, but it’s also strange that this is how Durza gets his information. Maybe it’s just that Durza is putting extra effort into being mean, leading to a unique experience, but this doesn’t look anything like the telepathy that we see clearly later in the film.

Back in Carvahall, Eragon wakes up from a brief nap that may or may not have lasted the entire night? Time of day is really hard to follow in this movie. Eragon hears some echoes of Arya’s words to Durza, which he promptly ignores in favour of looking at the tiny dragon snuggling with him. He takes a look at his hand and sees a really weird rash. Instead of reacting with concern for his own well-being, he starts scolding his new friend for causing it. How he reached that (admittedly accurate) conclusion so quickly is beyond me. Suddenly, their talk is interrupted by Garrow calling for his nephew, catching their attention.

Before leaving, Eragon decides that he should feed his dragon. He fills a bag with milk, intending for it to slowly leak so that the milk inside can be consumed one drop at a time. The dragon has other plans, however, and decides instead to rip the bag open, spilling everything in the process. All seems lost until a rat scurrying around some corner begins to make a ruckus. The dragon jumps over to it and swallows it whole, making for a somewhat unsettling visual. Instead of being alarmed, Eragon decides that this is the perfect time to quip happily about vermin infestations.

Back at Galbatorix’s weird mountain rectangle, (no, I’m not making this up,) Durza reports back about the hatching of the cool rock. He tries to discount the threat by emphasizing that farm boys are not dangerous to kings, but Galby’s not having any of it. Apparently, it doesn’t matter how useless the new Rider is, only whether or not the rebels see him long enough to gain a little hope. This would, of course, lead to aggressive action, and dealing with that is just too much work. Galby (and his really weird fingernails, goodness gracious) orders Durza to stop Eragon and company from reaching the Varden by any means necessary.

Eragon, meanwhile, is out on the farm in some field or other. His weird rash is looking less angry. He seems to think it’s pretty cool. His new dragon buddy comes to visit him, and he voices some extremely unsubtle complaints, making it clear that he has a lot of abandonment issues in this movie.

Over in some fort or other, Durza is standing precariously above some weird, smokey pit full of bats. He summons the Ra’zac by saying “Ra’zac” a bunch of times and doing some enthusiastic posing. The Ra’zac obligingly explode out of the dirt in what appears to be a nearby forest, and are instructed by Durza to find and kill Eragon.

In the evening, Eragon walks into town to what looks to be the local outdoor cafeteria. A bunch of adults are already eating there, listening to Horst complain about how he has yet to hear from his recently conscripted sons. The cafeteria is apparently being monitored by soldiers so they can arrest anyone who voices too much dissent. Brom joins in on the complaining, as he reminisces about the good old days.

Brom launches into a little monologue about how the world used to be so much better, back in the day. Less cruelty, less suffering, more freedom, and more dragons. Eragon, on a mission to learn anything he can about his former cool rock, pays special attention. Of course, Brom only really gets to slander the king for about two more sentences before soldiers come over to bully him into submission. Eragon takes issue with this.

Eragon asks the soldiers not to hurt Brom. Interestingly, this seems to work, so he presses further to let Brom finish his conspiracy theory. In a baffling turn of events, this happens without question, and Brom says his last few sentences. This does incur further threats from the soldiers, which is an unusual strategy for them to be taking when they’ve already permitted Brom to finish speaking. He and Eragon make meaningful eye contact, assuming that Brom isn’t facing away from the cafeteria and everyone in it. Because Brom and the camera both moved, it took me at least a good five viewings to conclude that the eye contact was probably real. Regardless, it’s nice to see that little twinkle in Brom’s eyes.

Later, Eragon is running through a field with his little dragon, fangirling over Brom’s story. After a collective effort, the dragon manages to take flight, amazing both it and Eragon. It’s a triumphant moment until the dragon flies off into the distance, and Eragon realizes that it’s over. The adventure has passed him by. It’s just like Garrow said, some people are built for adventure, and he just watched his own fly away. I think this makes for a neat little moment, and a nice example of thematic consistency, so the filmmakers have my respect for including it.

Eragon stews in his disappointment for a bit. He breaks the silence by proclaiming that “she’s gone”, despite the fact that he knows nothing about his dragon’s gender. This detail bothers me because of how much emphasis was placed on it in the book. It’s far from important, but it stands out quite a bit.

Suddenly, moping hour is cut short - Eragon’s weird scab has begun to glow! In the sky, we see the dragon fly through some clouds, growing rapidly and explosively. In the space of five seconds, (yes, I timed it) the dragon has reached adulthood! It lands before Eragon and takes a moment to appreciate its own transformation.

Instead of voicing his questions aloud, like he has done up to this point, Eragon thinks them loudly to himself. The dragon joins the telepathic exchange, and joins Brom’s story’s fanclub. Eragon clarifies aloud that this is, in fact, telepathy. With that out of the way, the dragon introduces herself as Saphira, and proclaims that Eragon is her Rider. After recovering from his surprise at this revelation, Eragon begins scheming for the future.

That’s it for Part 3! Thanks for your patience with this one, and thank you all for reading! The feedback on the recaps so far has been wonderful. This part covered about 9 minutes of screentime. We saw a dragon hatch! We saw that same dragon come of age! They grow up so fast. I am sad to see our weird egg go, and I will miss having so many opportunities to use the phrase “cool rock” in the forthcoming recaps. Oh, the sacrifices we must make.

Remember to tune in next week when we visit such questions as “will Arya be reprimanded for her carelessness in the field?”, “does Brom possess any desire for self-preservation?”, and “is this the only time we will reference Garrow’s discussion of theme?”. See you then!

Bonus:

[beersfromthebleachers]

What ever happened to Bruce Maxwell?

Another reason why I get upset over the attention baseball is not receiving is because it is not in the limelight for the so-called“right” reasons. What I mean by right is that is does not receive the same media coverage as the NFL or NBA does. There are handfuls of statistics that point to the reason why the other two leagues receive more attention than others, but there is a slim line that has the same matter of attention when it comes with baseball and race. The problem is not the lack of race in baseball, which has flourished from the majority of nations along with all complexions that have represented their game and their culture. In fact, it is the lack of race that includes one specific demographic: African Americans. In a sport dominated by other cultures, only eight percent of African Americans that are considered active players on the major league level. The league is taking responsibility for its actions for lack of diversity, but there is one pattern that also held its backlash of a common political problem that has been displayed by the African American athlete.

During the 2016 NFL season, the peaceful protest of taking a knee during the National Anthem was spearheaded by Colin Kaepernick and collection of NFL players in order to bring awareness to police brutality towards African Americans. The protest was considered disrespectful towards the nation’s military, who hold the honor for fighting for the freedoms of this country. However, active and former military members have reiterated that the protest made by athletes is another contributing right to make the statement during regular season play. The result has caused a great deal of backlash and uproar that certain members along with Kaepernick,have faced the consequences of no longer being able to play in the NFL.

Fast forward to September 23, 2017 when the Oakland Athletics hosted the Texas Rangers. Bruce Maxwell of the Athletics became the first active player in the MLB to join the protest, who then takes a knee during the national anthem. Considered a hero during the game, Maxwell receives a standing ovation before his first at bat in the match up. Fast forward to today, he is a free agent belonging to no team after being released at the end of the 2018 season. For Maxwell, he received the same amount of backlash and harassment from fans and nationalists everywhere who considered his stance on the protest “unpatriotic”. However, it is not his political stance that keeps him from being playing at a competitive level.

A month later on October 28, Maxwell was charged with aggravated assault with a deadly weapon and disorderly conduct in his home in Scottsdale, Arizona. He pleaded guilty to the disorderly conduct charges and was sentenced to two years’ probation and his weapon charges were eventually dropped. The unfortunate events that Maxwell was involved in spread into the 2018 season with the Athletics, playing only 18 games with the senior club before being demoted to the Triple-A affiliate life for only 51 more games. He was designated for assignment by September, a full year after Maxwell took a knee at a game; he was a free agent by the end of the season. In a span of just a year, Maxwell joined Kaepernick as an unemployed athlete after making a peaceful political protest. It seems like that the stance in professional sports teams will take the stance to leave politics off the field in order to let the audience know that the show must go on.

My last entry discussed the formula on how MLB kept baseball players on teams who were involved in domestic abuse; this situation is no different to every other major sport in America. Sexual assault, child abuse, and domestic violence are all new punishments have been addressed in the current age of sports in all leagues in North America. Primarily, these situations have focused on the athletes of color. The cultural indifferences are a disconnection of cognitive learning with the progress of society, where some of these cultures do not have the freedom to learn in the new era of progression and are stuck in traditions that are outdated. This also goes along with the idea that society fails to teach these new methods in areas segregated to these cultures, inside and outside the borders of the United States. The media and the fans of specific players or sports teams are still criticizing the punishments that are carried out. When the punishments are issued out, they are made to put these players of culture into example that would hopefully be taken into consideration in their communities.

Maxwell’s mugshot following his arrest

These conditions for Maxwell are much more different. He was born in Wiesbaden, Germany to African American parents that served in the U. S. Army. Maxwell’s stance would be considered disrespectful to the nation’s military in the public eye, but the circumstances for the protest was to go against police brutality. The “ripple effect” for his stance comes from the same scrutiny that Kaepernick faced and still does to this day. The problem is the same individuals who have families serving in police, regardless of color and do not find the conditions to bring awareness to the issues both sides face rarely support it. The standoff of both sides of this issue grows in urban and rural areas all over the country, colored or not colored these issues should be addressed and the role models, like athletes, are ones that have rights to express what they want about them.

Holding a job in any professional sport when taking this political approach is something that is bares a weight that no professional team wants to take a part in responsibility. Maxwell started the 2019 campaign without a job in the Majors or any of their affiliate teams. Unlike Kaepernick, teams were not avoiding him due to his controversy. His career numbers were not that impressive with a batting average sitting at .240 while hitting only five home runs and collecting 42 RBIs. The free agent market for catchers in the Majors has been slim, with former World Series Champions Evan Gattis and Miguel Montero remaining unsigned. Even without the baggage of taking a political stance and the controlled substance charges, the chances of Maxwell getting signed by any other team was never in his favor.

Still, there is hope for Maxwell moving forward in his career in baseball. Being an international born baseball player has its benefits, as he can be an ambassador of the MLB brand in different leagues. On March 6th 2019, he signed with Acereros de Monclova of the Mexican League. Maxwell also played for the German national team in the last World Baseball Classic in 2016; he is still an active player on that roster. If Maxwell performs well on the international stage, we possibly could see him return to the Majors. He is remorseful for what he has done on and off the field, his primary focus is to get back to playing baseball. Maxwell holds one piece of baseball history: being the only player to kneel during the National Anthem. It is not something that you get remembered for in Cooperstown, but he stand alone as the player alone who made a stand in a peaceful protest.

[littlespoonevan]

turn my blue heart to red

Ahh so this is for Skam Fic Week - Day 5: Work Colleagues which is a personal favourite of mine :’))))

since i’m dYING for a doctors au and basically none exist i gave in and wrote one myself sdjkhfkasj title comes from Bad Case of Loving You by Robert Palmer bc i wanted something doctor related lmao enjoy <333

*

Isak collapses on the counter of the nurses’ station, burying his face in his arms and letting out a pained groan. “Why do I always end up treating Mr Olson? His personal hygiene routine makes me feel like I need to take a turn in the chemical shower.”

Jonas gives him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder and Isak raises his head, using his crossed arms to brace himself against the counter while he looks forlornly from Jonas to Mahdi. “What did I do to deserve this?” he moans. “Is this what I spent a million years at med school for?”

“Just be thankful you’re not the one giving him a sponge bath,” Mahdi reminds him with a grimace.

“Or helping him to the bathroom,” Jonas shudders and Isak feels a little better.

“Are you guys on break soon?” Isak asks hopefully. “I wanna get lunch.” Not that he has much of an appetite after that but he needs coffee.

“We can probably sneak away when Eva gets back,” Jonas says, glancing up at the clock.

“I think Mags is finishing up his rounds soon too,” Mahdi adds, taking out his phone presumably to text Magnus – which isn’t exactly professional but all their patients are safely in their beds, they don’t need to know.

Isak is about to ask if they’ve heard what the cafeteria special is today when two hands are suddenly gripping his waist and making him jump. He whirls around, half-expecting to find one of his handsier patients, and rolls his eyes when his gaze lands on Even.

“Did I scare you?” Even asks teasingly, waggling his eyebrows as he leans casually against the counter beside Isak.

“Never,” Isak scoffs, sending a fierce scowl in Jonas’ direction when he catches him smirking at them both. Jonas is under the ridiculous impression he and Even have a crush on each other which is not true.

“Did I hear you discussing lunch plans?” Even asks then, smile softening when he looks at Isak but still bright enough to make Isak’s stomach trip over itself.

(Okay, maybe it’s a little true.)

Even in his paediatrics scrubs covered in yellow ducks and his white lab coat, with his quiff wilting and probably running on about five hours sleep, Even still manages to look devastatingly handsome. Isak is both jealous and a little turned on, to be honest.

“Yeah, I was gonna grab something while I’ve got time between rounds,” Isak says.

“But we’re still waiting for Eva to come back to man the station before we leave,” Jonas explains.

“Hey, did you see Mags?” Mahdi asks. “He should be finishing up soon, right?”

Magnus works in paediatrics with Even and every kid that comes into the hospital absolutely adores the both of them. Isak’s not surprised with their sunny demeanours and caring personalities. They always know just how to make the kids calm down and make them feel comfortable staying in the ward. He can’t imagine two better people for the job.

“He’ll probably be awhile. Emilie is back again so…” Even trails off but the others nod in understanding. Emilie has been coming to the hospital since she was a toddler and since Magnus was an intern. They still can’t pin down an official diagnosis for her but Magnus is incredibly attached.

“Well, why don’t you two just go for lunch and we can join later?” Jonas offers, throwing Isak a subtle grin like he just did him a favour. Isak hates him a little – and loves him a lot. “Who knows when Eva will be back?”

“If you’re sure?” Even checks, turning to Isak with a beaming smile after both Mahdi and Jonas nod their acquiescence. “Looks like I get to steal you for a while.”

“You’re not a very good kidnapper if you tell me in advance,” Isak points out, making Even bark out a laugh.

“Whatever. Dump your lab coat in the locker room and grab your hoodie,” Even says, latching onto Isak’s arm and tugging on it. “I’m taking you out for lunch; that cafeteria food isn’t good for us.” With a quick wave at Mahdi and Jonas, Even starts dragging him away from the nurses’ station and Isak is helpless but to follow him.

After depositing their coats in the locker room and changing into their regular jackets Even eagerly leads them out of the main entrance of the hospital and sets them off down the street.

“Where are we going?” Isak asks – not that he really cares when he gets to spend time alone with Even but it seems like the appropriate question to ask.

“What about that café at the end of the street?” Even asks, nodding vaguely in the direction of said café. “They do good sandwiches and stuff.”

“Why can’t we just get a kebab?” Isak complains, hiding his smile in the collar of his bomber jacket when his words have the desired effect of making Even sigh dramatically.

“Isak, you’re a doctor,” Even chastises. “Kebabs are not a substantial meal to get you through the day.”

“But cheese toasties are?” Isak asks wryly.

Even casts him a sidelong glance, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Well, my ones are.”

“Then why aren’t we going back to Casa Bech Næsheim?”

“Too far,” Even answers as if Isak hadn’t been joking. “Don’t worry; I’ll make you dinner someday.”

Isak falters at that, stumbling a step and hurriedly righting himself again before Even notices. It’s- see, sometimes Even says things and it- it makes it sound like Jonas might actually be right…

But Isak mostly tries to push it out of his head. Relationships between colleagues are complicated and besides, he values Even’s friendship so much he can’t imagine fucking that up if he were wrong. Even has been there for him since Isak’s very first day when he was a useless intern having a panic attack in a closet after witnessing a patient crash.

Even had just started his first year fully qualified and had helped Isak calm down and bought him hot chocolate afterwards before totally covering for his ass with the other doctors when they came back to the ward. He’s one of Isak’s oldest friends at the hospital – besides Sana who he actually entered the programme with – and Isak doesn’t know what he’d do without him.

“You will?” Isak asks, belatedly with surprise too evident in his voice.

But Even takes his response in his stride and flashes Isak a grin. “Of course! I can’t always feed you takeout, I’m definitely not leading by example.” He pauses to laugh before looking excitedly at Isak again. “Tell you what, next time we both have a Friday night off I’ll blow you away with my culinary skills.”

The chances of them both having a Friday night off are pretty much slim to none at the moment but Isak lets himself hope anyway. “Deal.”

Lunch is nice. Neither of them get called back to the hospital so they can actually eat in peace and they try their best to keep their conversation off their patients. It’s not easy considering both of their social lives are basically non-existent at the moment but still. Even tells him about his friends and some new bar they’d found last week when Even had actually been able to join them for drinks. Isak mostly talks about Eskild since he’s the only person in Isak’s life not related to the hospital somehow, telling Even about the movie night they’d had the other night when Isak had gotten home at a reasonable time for once.

“A movie night!” Even exclaims. “That’s what we’re doing when I cook for you. I need to educate you.”

“I know plenty about movies!” Isak protests and that’s a big fat lie, honestly.

Even gives him a disbelieving look. “No offence, Isak. I love you and everything but you’re horribly uncultured.”

Isak would hit back with a quick retort – he really would – but his brain is a little too stuck on the first half of Even’s sentence. He knows he doesn’t mean it like that, he knows Even is kidding, but try telling his heart and his overactive imagination that.

“We should probably get back,” Even says with a sigh, checking his watch after what feels like far too little time.

Isak nods and tries in vain to fight Even for the check but Even bats him away with a pointed, “Nope! My treat.”

God, he makes it so fucking hard for it not to feel like a date.

“What time are you finished today?” Isak asks when they’re walking back. Tomorrow’s his afternoon shift and he’s itching to get a chance to hang out with Even for a little longer on his own. They’ve barely seen each other in the past couple of weeks with the hospital getting increasingly busier as the cold weather settles in, making the number of road accidents skyrocket. And every time they are around each other everyone else is usually around too. Which, Isak likes everyone else…just not as much as he likes Even.

“I’m on call until Friday,” Even says with a half-smile, looking more resigned than happy about the fact. “So the likelihood of me actually getting to sleep in my own bed tonight is pretty slim.”

Isak’s shoulders drop and he tries not let his dejectedness show. Even probably spots it anyway – he’s way too adept at reading Isak. Throwing his arm over Isak’s shoulder, he reels him in close, tucking Isak against his side. After a moment of mild panic, Isak manages to relax into him.

“Swing by the on-call room when you’re done later and give me a hug before you go,” he says, squeezing Isak’s shoulder. “It’ll get me through a night of interrupted sleep on a shitty bed.”

Again, sometimes Even says things.

Still, Isak is helpless to deny him, reluctantly slipping out from underneath Even’s arm as they step through the hospital doors.

When they’re changing back into their lab coats in the locker room Even stops just before they’re about to part ways. “So can I expect a call from Dr Valtersen later?” he checks, eyes sparkling and playful and making Isak desperately wish kissing was a regular thing they did.

Instead, he steels himself, gives Even his signature charming smile and says, “Just for you.”

Isak can’t wait for the end of his shift.

*

[ashnadir]

strangerein‌:

“That is true. Surely not a nice thing, but it is true”, the nymph agreed. In Rein’s books Iann had always been a wise man and even though Rein didn’t always sound it aloud, he was quite sure Iann knew he thought that. But just in case he didn’t, Rein decided to say it aloud anyway. “You are wise. Like an owl. Calm and have wisdom in your words”, then a tiny grin crawled on his lips, “But sometimes totally cuckoo. I’m sure you can turn your head backwards and creep everyone out.”

The comforting rub on his arm was returned with a thankful smile. In a way it was a bit funny even how Rein hadn’t really been one to be all touchy-feely, now he definitely liked all that. A simple touch could mean so much and he certainly had learned to appreciate that a lot. Especially hugs. And he had became quite great with giving hugs too.

“That stigma has been going for decades, probably centuries”, he hummed and leaned his hands on the edge of the counter as he watched what Iann was doing with the blood. “But I trust your judgement with her and won’t put her in the bad books before I’ve met her and gotten to know her.” The fact of him meeting her might never happen, but either way, he’d be sure not to judge her just because she did blood magic.

The brown eyes moved to stare at Iann’s face when the smile seemed to only grow. Which caused Rein’s smile grow as well. “You kinda dig her, like dig her or just dig her?” It definitely was extremely bawdy sentence, but Rein had a feeling he already knew the answer to that even without asking it. But he had to tease Iann about it nevertheless. “And what kind of magic she does for you? Helps you out with all this stuff or something completely different?”

Iann’s eyebrows raised at Rein’s proclamation, which to Iann seemed to come out of nowhere.  He gave the nymph a down-turned smile, unsure what to say until Rein countered his praise with a tease.  That, Iann knew better how to handle, and he grinned too.  “Well, cuckoos also secretly lay their eggs in the nests of other birds, so when their babies hatch, the other bird has to raise them with their own chicks...a little impostor.  So ‘cuckoo owl’ seems really apt. I’ll take it.” 

Rein was definitely right about the stigma, an on-going circle of suspicion and distrust and countless examples to demonstrate why all types of carrion witches shouldn’t be trusted.  Iann himself could list a few right off the bat - and some of those examples, in a way, even came from Ciara herself.  

Iann looked through the microscope, then turned on more light in the basement and looked again, making some adjustments.  He also took three drops of blood on a dish, and then found other liquid reagents to drop into the blood, inspecting the results of reaction of Copper’s blood.  

He couldn’t help the grin on his face chocking slightly as Rein - Rein!  Of all people - loaded his follow-up with innuendo.  “You kinky old bastard!” Iann laughed, but then added a shrug, using his hands to motion as he talked.  “All three!  All three - we’re, ah.  We’re together I guess. And she’s incredible.  Plus she says she loves me which y’know, is always kind of a bonus when you’re thinking...ah...when you love them back.”

Iann was about to say ‘thinking long-term’ but the truth was he didn’t know about long-term, with Ciara.  Unable to stop himself, he said,  “Thing is, she’s never had a relationship longer than a year.  Not that I have so great track record myself.  Longest relationship I managed to keep was like...three years.  And that was when I was a dumb kid.”

He then shrugged continually and said,  “Y’know, just magic.  Like...healing and blood-related stuff. Protection...”  

Lifting the dish with the drops of blood, he pointed at one - “Ah-ha!  Here we are.  This is supposed to indicate a high metal content, turn the blood a bright purple.  Well--”  Iann pointed to the drop of blood, which was now a virulent purple.  “What I see in under the microscope kind of confirms it, take a look.  Those blood cells are...definitely not just animal.”

The Tomcat Doc || Rein&Iann