#doorknob saga

[sirswooshnoodles]

Omg this was an amazing saga thank you for sharing. I am now in love with Patches.

And adding “developing new respect for Jesus (carpenter)” to my vocabulary

Hopefully the new knob works for many many years to come, and patches is there in good health to see it.

Cant have fucking shit in Detroit

[greenorangevioletgrass]

fever pitch (b.b.) - part one

previous part | series masterlist | next part

soundtrack: bewitched - laufeypairing: footballer!bradley x popstar!readersynopsis: you and Bradley find a secret garden and get acquainted... or maybe you already have?warnings: language, tension, fluff, angst but hypothetical?? idk, bradley is a dreamboat but what else is newnotes: the saga continues! i had a whole outline planned out, but then as i wrote it, it turned into a beast of its own and honestly, im just an employee here 🤷‍♀️ happy reading, and please let me know what you think in the comments, reblogs, and asks! i would love love loveeee to hear it from you <3

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“Are we even allowed in here?” 

You and Bradley turn a corner from the club area into a narrow hallway. There’s a door that leads outside, thanks to the little glass pane, you can see a little terrace situation outside. Bradley tries the doorknob… and it opens.

“I mean, there’s no sign that says we can’t…” Bradley shrugs, offering his hand to guide you in.

Like Alice in Wonderland, you step into a formal English garden in the heart of this complex of townhouses-turned-clubhouse. In the middle of the bricks and noises of the city, there are beds of roses and manicured hedges and ravines over a stone arch. It’s small, but very intentional even with the mosses growing on the edges of the fountain in the middle. A Dionysus statue sits atop the fountain, as if pouring wine instead of water. A nice touch to celebrate festivities.

“Wow. This is straight out of the old movies we talked about.” You marvel at your surroundings. “Like… The Sound of Music or something.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, exactly.”

Bradley starts humming My Favorite Things as you stroll your separate ways around the garden, marveling at the evergreen shrubs and colorful perennials. You eventually meet each other again right in front of the Dionysus statue. It feels like a sign from the universe for him, so he asks,

“May I have this dance?"

He can't be real, can he? "Like a 'dance' dance?"

"Absolutely." He says it with such conviction that it's easy to forget that the deafening, thumping electronic music from the club is completely shut out from your little pocket of a park. And the only semblance of music you can hear is the rustling of leaves, the trickling of water, and the fluttering memories of Bradley's velvety tone.

So you take his hand. He pulls you in and leads you into a slow dance. You were expecting to just sway, this is surreal enough as it is, but as you dance around the fountain, you slowly notice… the slow and simple rhythm, the unmistakable one-two-three, one-two-three count… This is a waltz step.

“You are full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“I try my best.” In a swift movement, he twirls you away and reels you back in with a spin. He just prays to God or whoever is listening that you can’t actually feel his racing heart as he holds your back flush against his chest.

(You can’t. You’re too busy calming your own.)

“So… you and your friends celebrating the success at Wembley?”

His voice tickles the back of your neck, and this sudden closeness is too much for you to bear. You strategically turn around so you’re facing him again. “Oh, no. This is just my night off. I still have… three shows left here.”

“So how long will you be in town for?”

“Another week.”

“And after that…?”

“Paris.”

“Right…” he nods. “And home is in… Los Angeles?”

The question catches you off-guard for some reason. You know he’s probably just asking where you live, but something about the way he asks it makes it sound like he’s asking about… ‘home’ home. “Technically, yes.”

He makes a face. That’s a strange answer… “What do you mean, technically? I’m sure you must have at least one home base somewhere, right?”

“I do, yeah.” You smile sheepishly.  “LA is my home base. But… it’s not like I have any emotional attachment to the city or anything.”

“Where’s that, then, if not LA?”

You give it a good thought… but you got nothing. “I don’t know. Ask me tomorrow.” Maybe it’s the romance of the setting—although his warm hazel eyes play a crucial role too— it makes you feel more inclined to be more honest than you usually do.

Bradley smiles. He’s so fascinated by you, but at the same time, he has an inkling that he might need to solve a few puzzles himself before you let him in. And he would gladly take his time to get there.

At the same time, slow-dancing to a hummed classic with this man away from a modern-day nightclub… It makes you wonder what kind of person he is. “And you? You’re an American in London. Where’s home for you?”

“Well, I think Virginia will always be home, but this place has really grown on me. I’ve been here for most of my adult life, and this city, the team, the people… I can’t imagine living anywhere else.”

“Virginia, huh?” you smirk—imagining him growing up near the water, a sunkissed teenage boy shooting the shit with his friends.

“Yes, ma’am. Born and raised.”

It’s only at this moment that Bradley is so much like this garden. Seemingly out of place, frozen in time while the world moves all too fast around it. But at the same time, perfectly placed, a calm in the eye of the storm. Just for this little pocket of a park.

Just for you.

“Are you normally this… Southern gentlemanly? With the suit and the sweet disposition and the waltz…”

“Honestly? Not really.” He admits bashfully. “But, I don’t know. I feel like I’m in another era with you right now.”

“Oh?”

Bradley doesn’t elaborate right away. Instead, he asks you, "Do you believe in past lives?"

Your face lights up, and he knows he just asked the right question. "I don’t know. Do you?”

"A little…" he nods, thoughtful. "Maybe not in a religious sense where you die, you get judged, and then come back as a... worm or whatever. But.. I kinda like the idea that... no one is ever really a stranger, you know? That our paths have crossed at some point."

"And you're saying we've met before?"

"Oh, yeah." Again with the conviction, this motherfucker. 

“Really?” You step away from him, entering a more cerebral dance than the one that you just swayed into. Your fingers barely touch the surface of the water on the fountain, and ripples it over as you walk by. "Where do you suppose we have met before?" 

He looks up at the sky, moving clouds and all, pondering his answer. "I was thinking the 40’s and 50's—you know, the Golden Age. But I think it's a little earlier than that, don't you think?" 

"Like... the Roaring Twenties?"

“Yes!”

His enthusiasm amuses and fascinates you endlessly, and you never needed much to fuel your active imagination anyway. "I like that. I can see you as... a former pilot who fought in World War I. And then went on to become a poet. Or a pianist."

"I think I'm better off as a pianist.” He’s not very good with words—he’s much better plunking the ivories to get the party going.

"Fair, fair. A jazz… pianist, maybe?"

"Ooh, interesting." Bradley smiles, picturing it in his head. "And what would you be?”

"I don't know. You tell me." You lean back against the stone arch, looking at him expectantly. His answer will determine how he sees you and thus, how you feel about him. And you want him desperately to have a good answer.

"I wanna say... the starlet, or the mysterious singer—" 

"Oh, come on. Even in my past life, I'm still a singer? Can't I be something else?” You groan in protest.

He chuckles, settling right across from you. "Okay, okay..." he looks at you deeply, pensively for a moment. "You're one of those socialites, who drank martinis and danced the Charleston until morning."

"Makes sense. I do love martini... and the Charleston." 

"Right? You'd be one of those girls who rebelled against daddy dearest and partied all night, maybe broke a few hearts along the way."

"Including yours?"

“I don't know. You tell me."

Now it's your turn to pause and take a good look at him. You try to picture it; how boisterous and bright he must be, getting the party going by playing ragtime or samba. And you try to picture toying with his feelings; those irresistible hazel eyes watching you longingly across the room as you give some random man time of day for no other reason but to spark his jealousy... 

"Nah. I think yours is the only one I didn't break. Not on purpose, at least,” you conclude definitively. The thought of leaning over the piano, sipping on cocktails while he croons out some love ditty—or sitting on his lap while he teaches you a Christmas tune at a holiday party seems way more appealing.

"What do you mean?”

"Well, you said so yourself about daddy dearest. He wanted me to marry one of his business associates, an heir to a shipping company or something.” You cheekily stroll past him, down the little path towards the fountain again.

Bradley smiles knowingly, just a step behind you. "Ah. And I'm just a lowly little pianist. What chance did we have, huh?"

You halt your steps and turn around to face him, a mischievous smirk on your face. "Would you have fought for me?"

To your surprise, he meets your gaze with a soft, unwavering look. "Without a doubt. I would have stood up to your father and told him that we were meant to be together, come hell or high water."

The phrase echoes in your head. Come hell or high water. It’s so loud, it sends you reeling and you had to sit down on the edge of the fountain. Suddenly the image of a screaming match flashes so clearly in your mind. Bradley's hand gripping years for dear life. The shallow sobs under the suffocating constrict of your dress. The tears blurring the sight of him leaving…

“But it didn't work, did it…”

He doesn't hear a question in your words —it sounds like a statement. And Bradley, ever the hopeless romantic, wants to say no. Of course it worked out, it had to. Maybe you ran away with him and lived a life of simple means. But it wouldn't have mattered, because it would've been full of music and dancing and love.

But the heartbreak in your eyes is so palpable, so...real. For a moment, it felt like the two of you actually lived it. You were just retracing the forgotten steps now. 

"No.” He shakes his head softly, sitting next to you. "We tried. We fought, but... we lost.” 

You know that, but it hurts to hear it anyway. Still, you can't help but continue the story. "I think I ended up marrying the businessman, do the right thing for my family. And let you go... play your music in Paris or something. Chase your dreams."

The life he imagined. Of simple means and abundant music... just no you. "I would have written so many songs about you..." he chuckles wistfully. As painful as it would've been to keep picking at old wounds, at least he would still have you in his life.

"I think I would've found your record eventually,” You pipe up, partly in self-consolation. Sure, it might be a stretch, but you're way beyond caring. You needed a piece of him, too. "And I would put it on every time I missed you. Which was every night."

The night is so still, even the leaves seem to give you a moment of privacy. Your little fingers barely touch on the edge of the bench as you sit and grieve for a tragic love story that never happened. 

Eventually, though, you take a deep breath and break the silence. "Fuck. I could write a whole album based on that."

Bradley laughs at your sudden interruption, glad that you snapped him out of his reverie and brought him back to reality. "Yeah? I would be happy to help you brainstorm." 

You throw him a look. It feels weird to return to this point of acquaintance after feeling like you’ve gone through lifetimes with him. But you’re glad to start anew in this life. "Is that your roundabout way of saying you wanna keep seeing me?"

"Maybe. Is it working?"

"I don't know. I don’t do maybe’s. You should ask me for real.”

Holy fuck. He closes his eyes for a moment as his heart skips. You always seem to keep him on his toes, do you? "Alright. Can I see you again? Maybe take you out to dinner?" 

"I would like that. Does tomorrow night work for you?" 

"Perfect." he beams at you. Fuck playing it cool, he just won himself a date with you.

"We should swap numbers so we can figure out the details.” You reach into your purse to grab your phone. And then, something dawns on you, making you smirk devilishly at him, "You wanna put your number in, or would you rather give me that friendship bracelet I heard you made for me?"

Bradley stops dead in his tracks. Of course that public declaration was gonna bite him in the ass. He was doing so well, dancing and talking and making an actual connection with you...gosh, he must've looked stupid right now. "You knew about that?" He grimaces.

"Of course. I have eyes and ears everywhere, " you sling coyly, letting him punch his numbers into your phone with great embarrassment. "That, and Natasha might have sent me a post on Instagram.” 

He sighs in defeat as he hands your phone back. "Goddamn it, Natasha…"

[zelphin124]

Beyond The Bound Pages: Homer

Chapter 2: The Refusable Offer

Well, this might feel very rushed, but Saga also felt as if their interaction was rushed okay? Into The Iliad! Masterpost Chapter 1 <--> Chapter 3

~o0o~

It was typical for Saga’s hands to ache in pain, but the rest of her body felt as if they adopted that pain. Her head ached each time she tried to form a thought; all of her thoughts felt louder as if she could hear them aloud. Everything felt scratched except for her arms, which were normally wrapped in a tan cloth. 

As she turned on her side, she felt the floor comfortably adjust to her body. Her eyes fluttered open. To say that she was confused was an understatement. All she saw was some pillows on a couch. Saga forced herself up, grunting as her back begged her not to move. She ran her hand through her hair, which seemed to have unpinned itself from its previous bun. 

Her clothes were… clean. Saga spanned her stare toward the ceiling as her memory returned to her. She couldn’t see where she had fallen from, despite reflecting on taking a few hard hits after running away. There was no large tower in the ceiling, nor were there any holes. It was clear she had been moved from her previous location. 

Thunder cracked outside of whatever building she was in, lightning transmitting flashes of light through the crystal windows which the rain graciously tapped upon. The room was dark, for the most part. The couch Saga was on rested at the back wall. The two torches rested adjacently via the door in the center of the front wall. The walls themselves consisted of large, stone bricks. The floor was lined with small wooden planks, which looked rusted in the dim light, but as Saga stood, they did not crack under her weight. 

The soles of her feet ached, bruised on each side. To rest her body on top of her legs felt like a crime. Saga searched her arms, unable to find any splinters or scratches that weren’t already plucked out or patched up. She pushed her hair behind her shoulders so she could see the condition of her fists. She carefully unwrapped them, wincing as her skin came into contact with the musty, sticky air. 

Her knuckles were bloodied and bruised, versus her scratched palms aching from the deep wounds laced around them. Her fingers were bent as if a few of them were broken. Nevertheless, she could still move them, and she still used them as if they were perfectly fine. The fire from the torches licked the shadows away, but their attempts to reveal anything else on her hands were futile as she encased them in a new cloth in her pocket. She hesitated putting the cloth away, glancing at how shiny her coat was and feeling how soft it felt on her arms. Her shoes were loose on her feet. Everything was oddly comfortable, and Saga couldn’t feel any spray paint or dirt on her. 

Saga rested her hand on her chest, patting it frantically. She was supposed to have an old book to sell, and it was not near her. She glanced under and on the couch, finding nothing. Each movement with her shoulders ached, but it didn’t distract her from trying to find the book. Her eyes darted across the room. It was so small, she figured she would’ve seen it if it was in there. Her feet slowly moved across the floorboards before she rested her hand on the doorknob. Wincing as she turned it, she flung it open, stepping outside. 

The strong smell of papers whiffed across the room into her nostrils. Brighter flames from bigger torches greeted her eyes, and the only thing disrupting the silence was the gentle cracking of the fire. The air was not as humid as before, and it was a perfect temperature for her skin. Saga’s eyes barely showed the surprise she felt when her eyes laid upon the massive library before her. 

Rows upon rows of books sandwiched the hallway before her with each shelf stretching up to twice her size. There was only one of two rows without a full line of books, each labeled carefully according to the period they were written in. Some books were small, some were large. There were dull and colorful ones, ones with old, rustic papers, and others with clean, silky printed papers. Any book Saga could have ever imagined laid before her eyes. At the end of the massive hallway was a large opening, with all the walls filled with books. There were a few ladders on each side, held onto the shelves by wheels that slid around for easier access. It was adorned with vines and flowers hanging from the ceiling, giving the atmosphere a mythical touch. A fireplace rested in the center of the open area, cracking gently and providing a subtle light for the desk to the right of it. The windows on each side of the fireplace showcased the storm outside: dark clouds and pouring rain with the occasional crack of lightning. The ceiling was lower in the hallway than it was in the open space. All of it surrounded a simple circle in the middle, a pattern embedded into the floor. It looked more like a swirl of water rather than Saga’s expectation of a ritualistic star. 

She stopped dead in her tracks, listening to anyone in the library. All she could hear were the droplets of rain and the cracks of fire. It unnerved her, but she gently strolled through the hallway of books, glancing at each one to see if she would recognize any of the titles. There were a few books that reminded her of the productions the studio would put on, which made her face sour at the thought. None of the books were the ones she found in Craco, but that didn’t stop her from looking for it, as she knew that particular book could get her a quick buck if she stole it from the one who stole it from her. 

Her steps into the big room echoed. Saga mindfully watched her steps, making them as quiet as possible. Tiptoeing around a large room wasn’t something she was used to, but it was something Isabella taught her. The heat of the fireplace in front of her was unusual and reached her the moment she stepped near it. Her eyes marveled at the large collection of books that were at her current disposal. The only issue she saw was finding an exit. There wasn’t any clear escape from the place she was in. Perhaps it was down another book hall like the one she came out of. 

Saga wandered over to the desk, spotting an old book on top of it. She narrowed her eyes as she stood in front of the furniture, peering through the darkness to look at the title. It was familiar to her. The intricate word Homer popped out immediately. It was oddly centered on the desk, but there didn’t appear anyone to be claiming it, just like before. 

The woman hesitated, running her fingers along its uneven pages. She wasn’t a big reader, nor did she think stories were worth her time. However, there was something about this tale that stroked her curiosity. It was as if the book called to her, begged her to explore its pages discreetly. There was something inside it that felt crucial to her next steps. Perhaps it had information about surviving against the law, or something of a powerful force… Maybe it could teach her a thing or two about fighting, which she needed more practice in. Saga recalled how she successfully put the police in their place when they tried to stop her, but it would not be enough if she wanted to continue fighting forces stronger than her. Saga picked up the book and opened the cover carefully, turning it to its first page. 

“Good choice.” 

Saga closed the book and spun around, flinging her fist directly at the voice behind her. Her fist came into contact with nothing, pushing the air. Bewildered, she looked around, before her gaze traveled down to the floor, her eyes resting upon a small man. 

The man glanced up at her with large, brown eyes that were barely visible through his white hair, mustache, and beard. He wore a pointy green hat, shaped like a gnome, and waddled around on his little feet with pointed brown shoes. He had a large, leafy jacket that covered his arms and chest. He held about three books in his stubby arms, and the gleam in his eyes almost convinced Saga he was happy to see her. “You took a great fall, young one.” His voice was one akin to a grandfather's. “How are you feeling?” 

Saga’s grip on the book in her hands tightened. She still had her fist raised as she stared at the man, quickly putting on a mask around her neck to cover her nose. She backed away slowly, her eyes never leaving the man’s figure as if she expected him to attack at any moment. 

He stared blankly at her, smiling the further she got away from him. “Too soon? I should’ve started with my name. Call me Moriel, child.” 

Her eyebrows furrowed as her feet gently found a footing on the circle in the middle of the room. She tucked the book into her arm, her fist still facing toward him, ready to strike. Her eyes were mixed with anger and pain, unable to capture the motive of the person standing before her. 

Moriel approached Saga gently, setting the books down on his desk and outstretching them to her. “I don’t often get visitors, so I don’t mean to frighten you. I know I’m…” he paused, glancing at the book in her arms. “Ah! Do you have an interest in Homer? It’s a great book… I thought it was the one from my collection until I lost it.” 

Saga gently let down her fist, her shoulders relaxing. She winced as she stood up straight, deciding he was not an immediate threat. “I plan to sell the book for cash.” Her reply was curt and short as she chose her words carefully. “It’d be wise to not stop me.” 

The man looked disappointed, forcing a frown. “You’d sell a book without reading it?” His head tilted on his neck axis curiously and unnaturally. 

Saga’s only reply was a nod. She started to back up, glancing around for an exit. 

The man waddled around his desk, pulling himself up on the high chair behind it. He struggled, scooching onto the base with his belly before he adjusted his position and dangled his feet off it. “Ah, well, go on ahead then. If you… find the exit, let me know, I haven’t been able to find it in decades. Le Oltre le Pagine Rilegate library has… a special exit.” 

She still could not understand Italian for the life of her. Saga stopped moving, glancing around one more time. She peered into the rows of books, only seeing one door from whence she came out of. Saga could not spot any other doors or hidden turns amongst the maze of shelves. She glanced up, still unable to find the place where she fell from as there were no holes in the ceiling, which itself looked like a maze of books the higher it went up. The torches gently cracked with light as the lightning’s rumble struck outside once more. There was no visible ground amid the storm and flooding. It felt like her feet suddenly turned into cement. Her breathing stopped as she felt anxiety pin itself to her chest; how was she going to get out? 

“Now, now, don’t stress,” the dwarf-man waved his hands. “People usually find their way out after they take a journey through a book.” 

The injuries Saga felt on her body were not going to heal any time soon, and she needed to get out of the library as fast as possible. The man was not making any sense. Journey? Through a book? Confused, she glanced back at the Moriel. What kind of magical fever dream was this? She hesitated but inquired more. “Journey?” 

“You are a woman of few words,” Moriel remarked. “I’m surprised you chose Homer out of all books to venture through, it’s not a great novel for women.” 

He spoke as if she already agreed to do something. Saga was taken aback; she approached Moriel cautiously. His choice of words was not careful enough for her taste. “What?” 

He continued to talk, occasionally swaying side to side as he hummed to himself. His eyes never left his desk or her, giving Saga the feeling he was always watching. “You have a few scars from your fall, but you should be fine after my treatment. Your hands… however… are a different story. I’m surprised they are still attached to your wrists and not infected.” He changed the subject so frequently, it was difficult to keep up and reply to his comments. “You’ll need to find a way to heal them through your journey because your hands will be very useful…” He glanced back up at her, observing her clothes. “Homer doesn’t usually attract your type, it usually appeals to actors or people in the creative careers.” 

Saga flinched; a nerve had been struck. 

Moriel spotted it and preyed on it. “You don’t seem like an actress, why does that strike you? Are you one, or have I simply lost my vision?” 

Saga glanced at the floor, refusing to meet his glittering eyes. “Used to be…” She muttered. 

“Ahh,” Moriel smiled, stroking his beard. “That explains the call of this book on your life–” 

“I am not an actor,” Saga snarled, raising her fist again. Her attempt at intimidation simply failed. “I will not succumb to that title. I’m part of an upcoming mafia, you’d do well to fear me!” 

“The mafia that abandoned you to the police?” 

Saga caught her tongue, her eyes widening. She lowered her fist in shock and backed away. He had no reason to know about that… how did he know? 

“You took a pretty hard fall, and they didn’t come looking for you,” Moriel pulled out a binder from his desk, flipping through its contents. “You’ve tried to adapt to their rough temperament, but it will not help you on this journey.” He swayed side to side again, removing his gaze from her. “I suggest you choose a different title than one associated with your traitors, young one.” 

Saga stopped backing away, standing in the middle of the swirling circle on the floor. Her head spun as she fought tears at the reality of what happened back in Craco. She stared down at the pattern. 

She could’ve sworn the pattern moved. 

Moriel went on another rant, completely derailing and forsaking the previous conversation. “Right, you have two instructions from me. Rule number one of exploring books, do not change canon events,” he gestured to the book in her hands. “Otherwise the book, your guide, may not be so accurate.” 

Saga shook her head, recollecting her thoughts. What was happening? What was he talking about? “Wait–” 

“Secondly, you must follow a man named Odysseus. Stray away from him, you will lose the plot and your way of escape from the book. It’s key to experience the story as the book entails.” 

“Stop,” Saga commanded, raising her voice. It was enough to make the old man jump and stare up at her. She glared at him. “I did not agree to this.” 

Moriel looked up from his excessive muttering, hunched over the binder on his desk. He raised his bushy eyebrows and blinked twice. “Oh, I know.” 

Before Saga could move, Moriel raised his hand toward the ceiling. As if it was in sync, water poured out from the pattern on the floor, surrounding Saga in a thick column. It swirled around her, defying all laws of physics to do so. It rose faster and faster, making it more difficult for Saga to see the man. Everything happened so fast, and she couldn’t recall giving him any confirmation that she wanted this. 

Saga stared in shock, panicking. She watched the water surround her, however the force was so strong, it only hurt her hands when she tried to part it and get out of the circle. She clutched the book tightly to her chest, staring in horror at the man commanding the waves. “What the hell are you doing?!” 

“Learn lots!” He beamed with a smile. “See you in eleven years, assuming you don’t die before then!” 

Saga struggled, trying to get out of the water. It glowed as it touched her before the column surrounded her, it stopped moving. Saga only had time to glance up as the buildup of a waterfall came crashing down on her, plunging her into a large pool beneath the floor. Everything went black around her, and the pressure of the water increased frantically. She swam around hopelessly, unable to control the current and where it was taking her. Darkness consumed her like a predator eating its prey, and she coughed up water, losing her breath faster than she anticipated. It tugged and pulled on her hair and clothes, thrashing her around before the current flung her upward, revealing a bright light. 

Saga didn’t see any resemblance to the wooden floor she had fallen through, nor did she see any books but the one in her arms. She didn’t pay attention to anything else as she swam up to the surface, breaking the surface of the water. 

Her hair flung back as she gasped for air desperately. The bright sun greeted her face immediately, and there were a few sounds of nature nearby. Saga didn’t see anything but the sun and clouds as she paddled herself to the nearest shore she saw. It was a rocky beach, and it took all the strength in her arms to pull herself onto one of the ledges. She coughed violently, water seeping from her lungs as she rolled onto her back, catching her breath…

It didn’t take long for her to sit up, everything hurting in her body. Her hair was soaked, and so were her clothes. She shivered, feeling the cold water rest on her skin. Her eyes burned from the bright reflection. 

…Bright reflection? 

Saga glanced at the sea in front of her. It was some of the clearest water she had ever seen. Small trees were abundant, and the ground felt as if no human had ever laid foot on it. Her eyes widened in horror, not recognizing anything as her thoughts became much more clear. 

Where am I? 

[pearlhoardsfixations]

I know i said it like a million times but Doorknob means the world to me

This is my Team Rocket Grunt OC. Her name is Doorknob and she’s a Petrel simp.

[hopepaigeturner]

Learning Lessons

CONTEXT

Between Ep 4 flashbacks we see Sophie getting ensconced in Bridgerton family life. Sophie utterly able to stand up to Eloise as shown when she accompanies Eloise through Bloomsbury and through the whole: “Eloise as a maid” saga.

However, we do see Sophie being ostracised by the servants. I explain more here. In particular, the Queen Bee Helene. Helene is jealous that Sophie does not want to be her friend, is getting ‘special treatment’ from the Bridgertons by sitting with them at tea.

Furthermore, we also see that the Bridgerton brain cell does not reside in Benedict’s brain as he constantly harries Sophie with flirtations. E.g. turning up on the servant stairs, flirting at tea, leaving flowers etc. He is utterly ignorant of how his actions are further fuelling Sophie’s ostracization.

✨Flashback ✨

It is an afternoon where the Bridgertons are out. The ladies at some luncheon/garden party, the boys getting ready to go to Mondrich’s. Sophie is walking down a corridor.

“Sophie!”

“Yes?” Sophie walks along and finds Helene with her head in a cupboard. Another maid is next to her.

“Mrs Wilson says that there is some spare thread in this cupboard, but I cannot find it anywhere.” Helen turns to her with a sweet smile, “Do you mind having a look?”

Sophie, with a sceptic look, peers into the cupboard and searches.

“Helene, this is a linen cupboard—”

Helene shoves Sophie into the cupboard.

Sophie is plunged into darkness with a click of a lock.

“Helene?” she calls, turning to the door and testing the hinges. All she hears are giggles. “Helene, can you let me out?”

“Oh, so sorry Sophie, I am ever so busy…I might be able to spare a second before supper!” Helene calls before laughing and walking off with her accomplice.

*~*~*~*~*~*~**

“Benedict, are you coming?” Michael Stirling calls.

“I, uh…” Benedict looks up at the stairs. “I shall be with you anon,” he calls over his shoulder, “I just want to check something.”

“Alright, but do not tally too long—otherwise you shall miss all the fun!”

“Of course!” Benedict calls back again, but still wholly focused on the staircase. “I just feel…” his face turns grave, “I feel that something is wrong,” he whispers.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Sophie steps back and takes a deep breath.

“It shall be fine. It is just a cupboard,” she says to herself in a measured tone. “It is just a cupboard.” Her hand returns to the doorknob twisting it with a little more force. “You can get out….you will get out…” she rattles the door harder, breaths escalating, “It is fine,” her voice squeaks slightly, “You are not trapped, you are not—” her voice breaks off.

“Helene?” Sophie’s voice strains. “Helene? Are you there?”

Her voice sounds heartbreakingly childish. Upon hearing no return, she snaps.

“Helene!” She bagns her fists on the door, rattling the doorknob, shaking the door on its hinges.  “Open the door! Please, please, open the door!”

Her cries escalate, movements becoming frantic, sobs choking her throat as she becomes hysterical. The camerawork is chaotic, cutting between different close-up angles, juxtaposed with shots of Benedict rushing along the corridors as if something within him senses her distress.

“Please let me out! Please!”

The chaotic camerawork adds a third element; sounds of historic slamming doors, a woman’s voice

“You shall stay here until you learn your lesson…”

An image of a grown Sophie bloodied and bleeding as the light is extinguished from the shutting of a cellar door.

Sophie closes her eyes as her fists pummel the door—another memory ripping forth.

“Please Araminta, please let me out, I am sorry!” cries 10-year-old Sophie, still in the threadbare coat we saw in the prior flashback with Posy. Sophie is curled in a ball, the only light in the dark cellar being the light from the door, blocked by a shadowy figure. “I was only defending Posy,” she sobs.

“Posy is in her room in tears after what you did.” The figure looms in the doorway. “You have made her miserable, as you make all of us miserable. So, you shall stay here until you learn your lesson.”

The doors starts to close as little Sophie sobs,

“No! No! Please, I am sorry, please do not leave me, please—”

“—let me out!” a grown Sophie screams against the cupboard door. Her frame shudders, legs buckling. “Let me…let me…” her breaths stutter, the panic attack winning over. “Please—Ben—Ben—"

The camera cuts to Benedict, running down corridors, propelled by the sickening sensation in his stomach.

Sophie is sliding down the door as the panic attack takes hold.

“Ben…Ben…” her voice mere puffs of air.

Benedict turns down one corridor.

Sophie is almost on the floor, her throat choked, fingers clawing at the door—

Benedict turns a corner, reaching out—

Suddenly light floods into the cupboard and Sophie collapses into a pair of arms.

She is cradled to the floor, back against the wall. Her saviour’s voice is muffled, but commands her through the 5,4,3,2,1 technique.

Once her breaths steady out, she breaks into tears and clings to the figure’s waistcoat.

“Oh Benedict, it was so horrible—so, so horrible. It was as if I was—I was—back—back there—I do not know…I do not know—oh Benedict!”

“Err, Sophie?”

 Sophie looks up, horrified.

The camera shifts. The audience find Benedict hovering around the corner, breaths still panting, the straining of his heart clear on his face as he watches the scene…

Benedict watches footman John comfort Sophie.

“Oh god, oh no, no, no.” Benedict hears Sophie say, her panic escalating again, breathing laboured with tears in her eyes. Benedict’s fist clenches as John takes her into his arms and soothes her hair.

The camera changes focus back to John and Sophie.

 “John, I—I did not—"

“Hey, hey, it is alright,” John replies, hushing her and resting her back on the wall. “Just breathe deeply for me. In, out.”

Sophie follows his commands, but her eyes still tremble.

“John—”

“Apologies for not being the knight in shining armour you wished for,” John replies with a playful grin. Sophie huffs with a small smile. “Atleast now we are even.”

“Even?”

“You know…at the carriage…” he trails off, referring to earlier in the episode when, on her first escapade with Eloise, she had spotted his intimacy with a printer’s boy.

“Oh,” she replies softly, lowering her voice. “I do not think it is my business to decree whether someone’s affections are worthy. Love is love.” She smiles reassuringly. “Regardless, I would never have held that over you.”

“Yes, I should have expected that, but still…” he gives her a friendly smile. “Your secret is safe with me.”

“Thank you. Although there is not much to tell.”

“You know I can understand the appeal.”

“Hmm?”

“You have no idea the fantasies I have had about the Bridgerton brothers since working for them. Just wait until they start fencing.”

Sophie bursts out laughing, clapping her hand over her mouth to muffle the sound.

Benedict, far enough to see but not close enough to hear, looks pained.

“I guess you must have seen a lot since you started in this household,” Sophie replies with a smile.

“Indeed, if you think Eloise’s excursions are chaotic you have merely scratched the surface.”

“Truly?”

“Truly.”

“They are a peculiar family…”

“They are kind, and they mean well. Although sometimes they can be a bit naive.”

They both know John is referring to her invites to tea.

“Uggh,” Sophie put her head in her hands. “Yes, that same naivety prompting this whole debacle.” She lifts her head up, eyes distant “Ofcourse being invited to tea is…nice…very nice—but problematic.” She turns back to John, “Thank you, for saving me. I did not think I had many friends.”

John shrugs.

“It is nothing. I overheard Helene giggling about something and knew it could be nothing but nefarious.”

“She is intolerable.”

“Indeed, although do not on any account tell her I said so.”

“My lips are sealed.” Sophie imitates locking her lips together.

“Indeed. But this is passes the line, we should tell Mrs Wilson—”

“No.” John startles. Sophie draws herself up. “I will not give Helene the satisfaction of knowing she unsettled me.” She holds out her hands and John helps her stand. “Petty jealousy will not silence me.”

Benedict, still hidden, grins.

“Further, I have faced far worse at much harsher hands.”

Benedict’s grin drops.

“Yes, it seems you have.” John’s eyes drift from Sophie to the cupboard. Sophie swallows thickly.

“Thank you, once more.”

“Ofcourse, and do not worry—my lips are sealed.” He imitates the same locking motion that Sophie had. Sophie nods, quietening slightly.

“I can assure you there is nothing, that is, nothing untoward occurred between—”

“You do not need to explain.” John smiles. “We might wipe their floors, but that does not mean we do not have the same capacity of emotion than they. Also, you are not the first maid who has been pestered by men hovering around the servant’s staircase.”

Sophie groans.

“He does not listen. And even though he does not mean to, he makes it so much worse.”

Benedict, flinches back, pressing himself against the wall.

“You never know I could put a discreet word with Mrs Wilson.”

“No, no. That would just make it more obvious.” Sophie sighs. “Sometimes I think I should have stayed in the country.”

“And abandon me to manage Eloise Bridgerton’s reckless behaviour alone?” John tuts. “Come Sophie, I thought you were not so cruel.”

Sophie chuckles.

“Well, I suppose for your sanity I should stay.”

“Indeed, come on,” John offers her arm. “In ten minutes, the cook brings out the biscuits for tea and you can usually grab a couple straight from the oven.”

Sophie smiles and accepts his arm. The pair walk off, in the opposite direction than Benedict.

Benedict is left on the wall, his eyes a little hollow, as if his thoughts are elsewhere. He looks over in the direction of Sophie and John’s retreating backs. He turns back, face contemplative, but brow furrowed with conviction.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

This flashback is supposed to hint at some of the destructive messages Sophie has faced that resurface.

This scene also teaches Benedict that ‘no means no’ and shifts his ‘wooing’ of Sophie as I describe here to be more respectful, considerate and focused on her wellbeing.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Masterlist

PREV | NEXT

As always I’d love to hear your ideas/corrections/opinions and always open to chat or requests!

So, check out the list here, for more of my ideas.

Or check out the general arcs of my prospective S4 here.

[spikesgeliebte]

Part 6 of the White Rose Saga - I find bliss in ignorance

Chapter 4: The Twelve Nights

Sam nodded, slowly grasped the doorknob, and pushed it open. He aimed his weapon at the figure hunched over the sink but quickly lowered his arm when he realized who it was.

“Dean?” he breathed out in relief. “What the hell are you doing here?” he asked, astonished. It was highly unusual for Dean to be the first up before anyone else.

“I don’t think it was just dust that got into my eye,” Dean said, but there was fear in his voice—something even rarer for Dean than being the first to wake up. Sam and Aria immediately went on high alert. Aria, who had been standing in the doorway, squeezed past Sam into the bathroom, which was really too small for three people. She grabbed Dean by the shoulder and forced him to turn around.

The sight that greeted them left them frozen in horror.

[ikoninovelist]

Saga Sees a Door

You find a Manuscript Page. Do you read it?

The darkness was encroaching, surrounding Saga as she continued typing the story. No matter what she did, no matter what she wrote, the story just kept getting darker and darker. No way out, no escape. She could feel her mind slipping again. Trapped in a neverending nightmare, woven from her own, unwilling hands. The shadows in the cabin grew longer. She could barely see the keys now, yet she kept. Typing. Muscle memory guided her fingers as they frantically tapped each key, desperately scratching and clawing for a way out of this hell! The gnawing pit in her stomach a dread too deep. There was no way out. There was no hope. Nothing but this neverending nightmare. And it was all her fault! She slammed her palms down on the desk, pain ringing all the way up to her shoulders with the force of the blow. A brief reprieve from the agony of writing as she reflected on what she’d done. How could she have been so careless? Just one moment of distraction and they were gone! Taken, drowned in the darkness. They were lost and it was all. Her. fault! She was a terrible trainer. She’d let them down. The story would never be finished. She would lose herself in this dark nightmare, but so would they. Her pokemon didn’t deserve that! She was a hack! What did it matter that one fan had reached out to her. Her books didn’t sell, not enough to put food on the table. What made her think she could write the way out of here? Her books couldn’t save enough to think about retiring. How could they save her family? She was a monster. She’d written this story to save her pokemon, but how many others had she put in harms way in the process? Miss Christy wasn’t even supposed to be real, but there she was, on the page, fresh ink glistening like blood. The detective was in danger, and it was ALL HER FAULT! Tears dropped onto the writing desk, soaking and darkening the unfinished wood where they fell. Drop after drop making rivers in the grooves as she sobbed. At the very apex of her grief, just as it felt as if her heart would burst from the agony of it all, she felt a paw on her arm. She looked up, vision blurry with tears, and saw a familiar silhouette. She blinked away the haze and it became clearer. Shadow, her Riolu, stood atop the desk, eyes filled with concern. “How-” The words stuck in her throat. Somehow, she knew better than to ask. Whatever deity or machinations had placed her beloved friend here, it was unwise to sully this boon by questioning it. She scooped up the Riolu and held him tight, fresh tears welling up in her eyes. And somehow she knew, if he was here… they were all here. The answer wasn’t in the story. The story was a trap! A cell with bars made of all her insecurities. Her need for perfection on each page. Her fears that she wasn’t a good enough friend to those she cared about most. Her worries that her chosen profession was the dream of a fool. She looked down at her friend, the dark loneliness fleeing her as shadows from the light. She looked up to the far wall, noticing for the first time the door set into it. She knew it had always been there. She’d just been too stubborn and caught up in herself to see it before. She crossed the room, still carrying Shadow in her arms. Each footfall heavy and creaking, her insecurities screaming at her, begging her to come back. What she was about to do? It was crazy! It would surely only bring her more pain! The story was easier, she could mold the world with it. If she left it, she wouldn’t be in control of the narrative anymore, and where would that leave her? She felt the weight shift in her arms. Not alone… she wouldn’t be alone. She reached out towards the doorknob, the metal cold against her skin. Carefully she turned it and opened the door, nothing to be seen but inky blackness beyond. “We’ll find them,” she promised, staring ahead as she crossed the threshold. “Together.”

[rainbowangel110]

Little sister watches ToH saga Ep 18-21

She watched episode 17 without me :( oh well

Ep 18

"Aww little Gus!"

"I don't like his friend." "Neither do I."

"FLAPJACK!!"

"Is he still your favorite palismen?" "Yeah :D" oh boy

"What's Hunter doing here?" "He's homeless right now." *giggles*

"I don't trust this." referring to 'Grey'

"Called it!"

"What is going on??"

Rambles to her about how strong Gus is to cover the entire school

Skip to the blush and I am all :DDDDDD while she's all "Oh?"

"So uh they have an instant kill spell apparently." "Why??" "No idea."

She loved the fight and the "Then how about just the two of us?" moment

Hunter runs in front of said moment "Dude you're ruining their moment."

"So uh... touch the bubble and all your bad memories come out." "I don't like that."

Second blush "Bruh." "THE EARS!!!"

"So now he's gonna tell them what's gonna happen!" "Yes!! Where's Luz though?" "Next episode."

Ep 19

"You recognize that voice right?" "The Collector."

"Aww she sent so many hearts." *cue eyeroll from her*

She's not homophobic, just a elementary schooler.

"So King's dad is.." "The Titan they live on? Yes."

"Nooo the Owl House!"

She really liked the little moments with King

"Steve!!!"

"Raine!!!" "Eda and Raine finally talk to each other."

"Nice save." Referring to Terra showing up

Man I do not remember the Eva/Luz fight hurting this badly.

"Noo they got captured!"

I know she was close to crying a little there with the transport scene where Luz was pleading with Eda. But she didn't.

"Everyone is here!" "Are they safe??" "Yes."

"She gets to carve her palismen??" "Yeah!" "Yay!"

Ep 20

"So... do we think Belos is gonna keep his promise and free the Collector." *looks at me* "No."

"She carved an egg?" "Yeah."

Still not used to Luz and Amity referring to one another as girlfriend but is pretty chill with it.

"Gotta remember that promise."

"HER FRIENDS! :D"

"They head bonked lol." "Boys be like that." "Yep."

"She broke the thingy?" "The Tamagotchi? Yep."

Was not ready for the kiss lemme tell you

Full on :O

"I was distracted by the animation-" "Same."

"Wait but kissing is only if you get married. Are they already doing that???" MY SIDES. No sweetie, no.

"In a bush." "Bush buddies."

"Does King not get a disguise?" "He does get a cloak." "Aww."

Noticed the Luz teleporting thing, but the ensuing fight made her forget it like seconds later.

*end credits* "Is... why is she flying to the Moon? Is Belos on the moon?" HELP-

Ep 21

Was awwing over King sleeping and the palismen huddled together.

"Food :)"

"Is this why you call me Mittens?" :O

"HOOTY IS SAD!!"

Tried to give her a sisterly head bonk during the Eda/Lilith moment but she was like "What are you doing lol?" :( I'm head bonking you! Goofball.

"I hope his pants do catch fire >:(" "Girl he's gonna catch more than that."

We cheered for Luz during her "Spicy Toss" moment. KICK HIS ASS!!

Okay she got spoiled by Youtube Shorts about the moment Belos got sigiled but nothing more, and I did my best to hide it from her so she was still cheering at that part.

Was upset at the crack on King's skull.

"It's like his horn :("

"Creepy monster thingy-" "I do agree-" Also this isn't the creepiest he can get lol

"So remeber how you asked how many clones Belos made?" "Yeah?" "So this" *referring to the GG Graveyard* "Is the full extent of it." ".... I don't like this." Kid neither do I, but, we stay silly :P

She sees the Collector for the first time

"THAT'S WHAT HE LOOKS LIKE??"

"Cool right?" ".... Kinda?"

"He's breaking King dad nooo."

"WAIT THIS IS HOW THEY?" "Yeah this is it." (Again, she got spoiled on them coming to the Human Realm)

"How are they gonna get back?" You'll have to see~~~

*points at Anne* "I know what that means :D"

*watching outro asking her questions, also stalling time so she can see the moment*

"Wait how's the door close-"

*rewind 10 seconds*

"Look at the doorknob."

"Is that-" "Yep :)"

Someone's alive. And angry :)"

AND WE'RE DONE WITH SEASON 2!!!

[blogquantumreality]

This reminded me of the absolutely buckwild doorknob saga.

Earlier today I could not find DIY help for a problem with my deadbolt because everything turning up on a search was AI-generated nonsense. I solved it myself. Here is an actual human-written and human-illustrated help file in case you, too, are having this damn problem with a deadbolt.

The deadbolt had worked loose (probably due to old screws + my kids yanking on it a lot) and was too deep for the door. It had started out flush with the door but now stood out from it and you could slide things behind it. Suboptimal! Illustration of The Problem:

To fix this is very simple. For me the hardest part was figuring out where my Phillips head screwdriver (the kind with the little cross on it, not the flat kind) had gotten to. In my case, the only things I needed were a Phillips head screwdriver and my door keys.

How to fix this:

- take off the interior faceplate. Mine is held on with very short screws; some interior faceplates have a little latch you have to press underneath, though.

- underneath the faceplate you will see the extremely long screws that adjust how deep, exterior-to-interior, your lock apparatus goes. The bolt for the lock runs at right angles to this apparatus. The screws are too loose and that's why the lock is too deep.

- hold the exterior side of the lock flush against the door

- tighten the long screws (but don't overtighten! you don't want to strip them)

- put your keys in and check that you can still turn the bolt all right. if not, loosen the screws, line it up, and retighten.

- replace faceplate

The whole fix took me about ONE MINUTE once I found my screwdriver.

[starkcontrasts]

GOD the fact that silva knew andreas calling his father's sword "an unbalanced piece of shit" was because andreas was jealous he gave it to sky. the fact that silva said that shit WITH HIS CHEST to their shared child just like "yeah your dad's a jealous fuck, i can finally tell you that now that we're being honest abt him, also yeah he's got anger issues on top of anger issues. two of many reasons why we broke up" i am gagginggg he said and i will put him in his place!! his grave!!

[morganbritton132]

your little eddie TikTok saga is the HIGHLIGHT of my day and I love checking it at work to help me get through the Eight Hours of Capitalist Bullshit; yesterday I had a thought that might be funny to share - a friend in college told me about how their family adopted a dog that had gone through all the service dog training but was rejected for its temperament, and how they had to basically put childproof locks on everything in the house because the dog knew how to open doors / cupboards and turn on the lights. now, Ozzy is a Good Boy and would never use his training for Shenanigans, but there is another member of the Munson household, one clever enough to leave and fetch help when her human is hurt, who grew up watching Ozzy turn the lights off when Steve had a headache or open the cupboard to get medication or fetch various items when Steve is too dizzy to stand up, and she would have zero compunctions about using such knowledge to be an Absolute Menace. Just imagining the chaos Joan would wreck as a clever cat who has learned All the Tricks but Answers to No One makes me giggle; Eddie's TikTok compilation would be hysterical.

First, I come up with most of the ideas for this saga while I’m at work because working sucks so I’m happy I lessen the burden of living in a capitalist hellscape in some capacity. Second, yes. Yes. Absolutely yes.

I love this because Steve and Eddie’s house would be tailored to make turning on and off lights and opening doors easier for Ozzy which then makes it easy for Joan to do these things with malicious intent. She is a perfect combination of Eddie’s chaotic gremlin energy, Steve’s pettiness, and Ozzy’s training.

She will turn on the light in any room that she’s in but can’t be bothered to turn them off. Eddie and Steve close the pets out of their bedroom for obvious reason? Nope. Joan wants in there and she will not only open the door but also send it into the wall with force, scaring everybody including herself.

They had to start putting the dog and cat food in bins because she’d get in the cabinet and tear the bag open if they are a few minutes late feeding her.

The cabinet that stores all of their medication and their first aid kit is deemed The Very Important Cabinet. It is where anything health-related goes. It’s super important. Joan will get into the cabinet and put her toy mice in there. Steve has opened that cabinet door, a toy mouse has fallen out, and Steve has literally fled the room.

Eddie swears that the only thing keeping Joan in the house is that she does not want to leave and that they never changed the doorknob on their front door to make it easier for an animal to open.

I do think it’s very funny if Ozzy uses his training for selfish purposes sometimes but only when Steve is not there. Steve never brings Ozzy on his semi-monthly platonic date with Robin so it’s just Ozzy, Joan, and Eddie at that house. Ozzy loves Doritos so if he gets a bag out of the cabinet and tears it open then that’s on Eddie for not paying attention.

Eddie tries to tell Steve about it but Ozzy knows how to open the lid to the trash and cleans up after himself. Steve never believes him.

[feral-pansexual]

Daichi x Sugawara x Reader : Good Job, Baby (Part 1?)

I maybe have issues… which may be shown within this work. Thanks.

Warnings: Daddy/Mommy kinks. mentions of smut, but. Not there yet

Word Count: 0.9k

— — — — —

A week.

One whole week that you were to be without your boys. Daichi and Sugawara had both been called to their highschool reunion, but you had opted to stay home alone. You were an adult, you could handle it.

Couldn’t you?

Not incredibly well, apparently. You were so close to breaking down, breaking the rules that the pair had set for you. So close to touching yourself, finding some way to relieve the ache deep within you.

 But you wouldn’t. You had promised the pair of them that you were going to be good for them, and you’d be damned if you broke that promise. Instead, you occupied yourself however you could. Throwing yourself into your work, taking cold showers to stave off the ache of not having your beloveds beside you. 

For the most part, it had worked. You were keeping your promise to Suga and Daichi, counting down the days until their return. Even though you knew they would be back soon, it hadn’t stopped you from craving the both of them ever since they had left.

Fate has funny ways of tempting people, doesn’t it?

On day seven, you took to waiting in the living room. Daichi had texted you, saying he and Suga were on their way home, and to ‘be patient for just a tiny bit longer, alright baby?’ So, you waited. 

You checked the clock. It was only 2 in the afternoon, you could take just a little nap and greet your boys when they got home.. Right? Curling up on the sofa, you laid your head down on your arms and drifted off to sleep.

You jolted awake to the sound of keys in the doorknob. Bolting upwards, you shook your head to rid it from sleepiness and glanced towards the clock.

Four thirty. 

You could hear voices on the other side of the door, Suga’s chuckling spilling into the living room as the door swung open. You blinked up at the men as they stalled, a smile crossing your face. Daichi and Suga glanced at each other momentarily before returning their gazes to you.

“Hey, baby. Did Mommy and Daddy interrupt your nap?”

You shook your head at Suga’s question. He chuckled again, moving to scoop you into his arms as Daichi shut the door.

“Aww, you sure love? You look so tired..”

“Daddy said to be patient.” you mumbled, leaning your head into the crook of his neck. “Just.. didn’t wanna be somewhere else when you got home, ‘s all. Got tired ‘f waiting and fell asleep.” You inhaled deeply, sighing as the scent of Sugawara’s cologne hit your nose. 

“You weren’t waiting out here for us all day, were you?” Daichi finally walked over to greet you as well, tilting your head out of Suga’s shoulder enough to expose your little forehead, which he pressed a gentle kiss onto. “Did you get anything done before you went to sleep?”

“Mhhm.” You nodded, leaning up into the kiss before settling your chin onto Sugawara’s shoulder. “I finished cleaning my dishes, made the bed, did some of my work online..”

Suga turned around, him now face to face with Daichi. Your back pressed into the tallest man’s chest, you could feel as he hummed quietly. “Sounds like our baby did everything they were supposed to, huh Daddy?” 

You moaned quietly, tucking your head back down. Saga and Daichi - Mommy and Daddy - using each others’ titles never failed to have this effect on you. You could feel Daichi hum against your back again, and mumbled back to him when you felt a gently hand stroking the top of your head.

“Of course they did. Our baby has always been good for us, Koushi.”

A quiet, comfortable pause filled the space before Daichi spoke again.

“Did you touch yourself while we were gone, (Y/N)?”

You lifted your head, turning as far as you could to look at him. Suga helped, shifting you in his arms and turning his own body so you could look at Daichi.

“No, Daddy. I didn’t want to break the rules.”

You watched as a gentle smile crossed Daichi’s features. He took another step forward, hand cupping your cheek before kissing you.

“Good job, baby. We’re so proud of you.. You did so much better than last time Mommy and I had to leave, huh?”

You nodded. It wasn’t hard to think back to the last time your partners had been on a trip without you.. They had left the same rules for you to follow, promising a nice reward if you didn’t break any of them. Instead, you had been punished after touching yourself. 25 spankings, no release at the end of the night.

Torture.

You had promised, both to them and yourself, that this time it would be different. And, true to your word, you had staved off any attempt your body had made to persuade you to break your promise.

“Good, baby. C’mere.”

Daichi reached out, gently plucking you from Suga’s arms to place a smattering of kisses against your cheeks. You let out a shriek, grinning as you tried to escape the attack. Sugawara laughed, coming up behind you and pressing kisses against the back of your neck. You gasped, laughing as your lovers trapped you between their kisses.

This trip had gone far better than the last, both for you and the loves of your life.

— — — — —

Oh, look! Another terribly ended story! I’m planning on doing a 2nd part to this where everything gets *steamy*, so. Hang around for that IG.

[phantomrose96]

God you sexy son of a beast.

Bruv u gotta tell your landlord abt the doorknob. If they are responsible-ish landlords they should replace it or at least offer to reimburse you. Like that def shouldn't be your responsibility. That being said, fuck landlords so hard, I hope they cover it!

That's a good idea. I'm gonna get on asking my landlord.

@phantomrose96 can you fix my door.

[muchamusedaboutnothing]

Heart of a Hunter Act VII - Ch. 14

Heart of a Hunter Act VII - Ch. 14

Characters: Dean x doctor!Reader, Sam Winchester

This story is Act 7 of a saga.

New to the story? Get caught up on the Heart of a Hunter Saga here.

All your favorite Winchesters are alive, in spite of the curse that nearly took them from you. After coming so close to losing the only family you have left in this world, you’re taking matters into your own hands. There’s a witch to hunt.

Series Warnings:

Character injuries/sickness - Take note that no one is excluded from this.

Canon-typical violence and language.

Lots of whump.

Lots of caring for hurt characters.

Smut (18 Only. NSFW. You were warned.)

Angst.

Fluff.

Medical talk. Is that even a warning

Image Credit: bing image search, google image search, @jamiedornaniseverything , @iansomerhaldres ,

Wordcount: 1873

Chapter  14

Dean could still hardly believe it was over. He was so goddamn proud of you his heart could burst with it.

He’d been less than an hour away when you’d called to say the witch was dead. Of course, he didn't admit when you called that he was already on the road to meet you, but you’d find out soon enough.

He knew the name of the motel you were staying in, but not the room number. When he pulled into town he called but you didn't answer, prompting him to call a second time. "Come on, sweetheart. Pick up … pick up …."

Still no answer.

He was relieved to see your truck parked only a little haphazardly in front of the stretch of motel doors. He parked Baby next to it and cut the engine, grabbing the keys as he hurried to climb out.

He looked around quickly. There were two motel doors directly in front of him, but after another glance he noticed drops of blood on the cement in front of one. He cast his eyes up to find a smear of dried blood on the doorknob, too.

He banged on the door. “Hey, it’s me. Open up.” He waited, but you didn’t come to let him in. He knocked again, sighing in frustration. It took a moment to pick the lock and he let himself in the room, but it was still faster than arguing with the motel's manager.

"Hey, you in here?" he called out as he closed the door behind him.

Your duffel was on the bed but there was no response. His eyes drifted further toward the bathroom where one of your boots was barely visible in the bathroom doorway.

He rushed forward to find you lying motionless on the linoleum with enough blood on your clothes to make his heart jump into his throat.

"No, no, no. Oh God.… " Dean dropped to his knees, searching for a pulse at your neck. He breathed a sigh of relief when he felt it bounding there beneath his fingers. He kissed your forehead, shoving down the wave of emotion that threatened to overwhelm him as he moved on to inspecting you closer.

There were no obvious signs that you'd hit your head when you'd blacked out; another thing to be grateful for.

A needle driver was still clasped in your hand and you'd managed half a dozen stitches in the cut above your hip before passing out. From the looks of things, you'd need at least that many more to close it.

Dean loosened the belt around your thigh only to discover a gunshot wound. He cursed under his breath as he inspected the area closely. There was no exit hole and, while fresh blood slowly oozed from the wound, he was certain no major arteries were involved. He tore open a fresh gauze square and pressed it to the hole, quickly scanning the supplies already spread out all over the bathroom floor and sink.

He grabbed an elastic bandage and wrapped it around the top of your leg to hold the gauze in place and provide some compression. It would only take him a moment to finish what you'd started with the cut in your side, but retrieving the bullet would be more complicated.

"Okay, sweetheart. I've got you."

He carefully gathered you in his arms, mindful of the most obvious injuries as he carried you to the bed.

You awoke to a stinging pain in your side and throbbing in your thigh. When you opened your eyes you saw your husband bent over you, brow furrowed in concentration. You tried to speak, but your throat was so parched you only managed a soft groan.

Dean's head snapped up and he smiled as he looked at you. "Hey, there she is … my beautiful badass."

You cleared your throat. "I ... I must have-"

"Blacked out?" he offered, eyes soft and full of concern. "Totally understandable considering you were stitching yourself up. And don't worry, this cut here didn't even mess up your tattoo." He winked and kissed your lips tenderly, pulling back to gaze at you. "Hang tight for me, kay? I'm gonna finish patching you up."

You sucked in air through your teeth at the feel of the needle piercing your skin as he worked. "How - how did you get to me so fast?"

He hesitated for a heartbeat. "We'll fight about that when you're fit to be fighting again."

You knew that meant you wouldn't like whatever answer he had. Maybe letting it be for now was the right choice. "Jonah?" you asked. "Is he-"

"With Sam and Addie," Dean finished. "Playing house and getting spoiled."

You sighed a breath of relief then, only to suck in another at the pain.

"Just finishing up with this cut, and the gunshot wound in your leg is a given, but what else hurts?" Dean asked. You must have thought a little too long about how to answer, because Dean turned his head to study your face again. "Still with me?"

"Hmm? Yeah…."

"C'mon, sweetheart. You gotta tell me everywhere those sons of bitches messed you up."

You tried to focus on the question because it was reasonable for Dean to want to assess your injuries. You hadn't given him a lot of information on the phone earlier - certainly hadn't wanted to worry him more than he already was. But then, you'd apparently overestimated your ability to stay conscious while suturing yourself up.

"The gunshot wound and the cut are the worst of it," you answered.

Dean was quiet while he placed two more sutures and tied it off, trimming the excess. "Hang tight. Gotta put a bandage on this." He secured a large piece of gauze in place on your side with medical tape.

He loosened the elastic bandage he'd wrapped around your thigh and slid it further up your leg before wrapping it tighter to act like somewhat of a tourniquet. Then he immediately set to work examining the bullet wound. "Small calibur, judging by the entrance hole," he said as he worked.

"It was my backup weapon," you admitted.

Dean's eyebrows went up. "Your .380?"

"She ricocheted a round back at me and, well … "

Dean nodded in understanding. "Okay then. Good and bad news is the smaller caliber means less soft tissue damage, but the slug might be a little harder to find."

The combination of pain and surprise made you snort. "I must be delirious. I swear I just heard you say soft tissue damage."

Dean glanced up at you, a cocky smile on his handsome face. "What can I say, sweetheart? Been married to a doctor all this time. Apparently the lingo's rubbing off on me."

He used iodine from the med kit to sterilize the wound.

"There's a metal probe that's rounded on the ends." You gestured with a wave of your hand toward the med kit.

"I know. I got this," Dean said with a reassuring smile. "Hang in there for me." With forceps in one hand and the probe in the other he began searching for the bullet.

"Son of a-" You gasped and reminded yourself not to flinch or jerk away as Dean worked.

"Sorry sweetheart, but you gotta breathe," he encouraged without looking up. "Now that you're conscious let's try to keep it that way, hmm?"

You did as he said and exhaled before sucking down another breath of air. Jaw clenched, you closed your eyes against the searing, hot pain. Beads of sweat gathered on your brow. Willing yourself to hold still, you desperately wished it was over already. You just wanted to sleep.

Several minutes passed before Dean let out a victorious "Ah-ha, gotcha!" He was holding the mushroomed .380 slug up in the light using the forceps. "Another one for the Mason jar back home," he said as he set it aside on the nightstand.

"Thank you," you breathed.

"Don't mention it," he said, shooting you a wink. "Give me a second to clean this out." He ripped open a packet containing a syringe with his teeth and used it to draw up some sterile saline. Then he aimed the syringe at the bullet wound and pushed in the plunger, washing out the wound. He repeated the process several times.

"This one will have to heal from the inside out," he said as he dried the area with a square of gauze.

You nodded in agreement as he applied some antibiotic ointment and put a clean dressing in place. His doctoring skills had certainly come a long way since you'd met him.

"Good work, grasshopper," you said, smiling through the pain.

Dean moved the supplies out of the way. He brought you a glass of water and you popped an antibiotic pill from the med kit to help prevent infection.

"Let me take a good look at you." Dean's hands carefully went from your ankles to your head, checking for any other areas of tenderness or bleeding in between that he might have missed before. You had some sore spots, but that was to be expected after the fight you'd been in.

When he gently took your face in his hands and looked into your eyes, you knew he was scrutinizing the size and shape of your pupils.

"You get your bell rung?"

"Only if you count headbutting a demon."

His lips turned up in an amused smile. "That's my girl."

But it hit you like a brick then. "God, the demon…. We have to get back to the shop."

Dean's brow furrowed. "What? Right now?"

"I left a demon behind in a devil's trap."

Dean blinked at you. "One demon? So, I'll gank him. Let me just get you situated here first."

You were already sitting up again and lowering your feet to the floor. "No. I need to go."

"I don't think you should be going anywhere. I'll take care of it."

"I'm going. I need to get dressed."

Dean squared his shoulders, planting himself in front of you. "Dammit, sweetheart. Don't you think you're being a little unreasonable?"

You paused long enough to look up at him, taking a step closer and reaching out to grasp his hand in yours. "This demon - or, rather the person he's possessing - I need to find out if he can be saved. He’s the patient that was in the medically induced coma. What if we can exorcise the demon and save him?"

Dean studied you with concern in his green eyes, but, to his credit, he nodded resolutely. "Yeah, okay. If that's what you need to do."

You suspected his profound relief at your still being alive factored into that answer.

Dean retrieved his bag from the car and helped you pull on one of his clean t-shirts and your sweatpants. "You know, this still doesn't mean you have to go. I can handle an exorcism so you can stay and rest."

"Nice try." You gave him a little smirk that meant you were digging in your heels, but appreciated his failed attempt to leave you behind.

You limped across the room. "Where are my truck keys?"

Dean sighed, admitting defeat. "Just get in the car. I'm driving, missy."

Act VII Masterlist.

You can find the Masterlist for the Heart of a Hunter Saga here.

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[loptrcoptr]

old doorknob or new doorkob

oh man. I feel so conflicted. My new love is so shiny and it opens up so easily, but sometimes I come home and find that it hasn’t closed the door all the way. Does it want an open relationship? Am I not enough?? Old doorknob never did that, and it died protecting us from meanie burgulars.

I guess I just knew old doorknob better. But we all know new doorknob is the love of my life, we’re just having a rough patch. we’ll get through it

[pearl-the-artist]

Post so fire I gotta reblog it twice

Also would like to add onto the saga with my own Petrel/Doorknob shenanigans if I may

yeah whatever girl go get him