#i wrote most of it in a stupor late last night

[sanddusted-wisteria]

Footprints in the Snow [Oneshot]

Genfic (Grace & Qi)

Warnings: Contains spoilers for the main story starting from The Goat. Largely based on headcanons, so might be OOC?

Also on AO3

[Summary contains spoilers, so it's below the cut]

Summary: Normally, Qi comes into the saloon for dinner at exactly 6 PM on Tuesdays. He gets a tea porridge and a milk chestnut and some sand tea. Every. Single. Week.

But this week, he doesn't show up until 20 minutes to close. And it doesn't take a secret agent to see that something's up...

A/N: This one goes out to @trash-can-sam for giving me the brainrot for this via these really great comics and HCs. Note again that the characterization here is largely purely in the realm of headcanon since we haven't seen too much of either Grace or Qi's personal quests yet. But fuck it, we ball

Also note that this'll take place after the end of the main story we've got in the game so far, but since we don't know specifically what happens yet, it's vague as to when it happens exactly. Enjoy!

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

Winter 23

“Uh, somethin’ the matter, Grace? I think that glass is plenty polished now…”

Grace blinked, gaze snapping from the far door of the saloon to Owen’s concerned face. “Oh. Uh. Yeah. Everything’s good.” She looked down at the glass in her hands. The only stains left now were from her fingerprints all over it.

“You sure? You’re not one to space out like that…well, outside the kitchen, that is,” Owen said with a sheepish laugh.

Grace frowned. “Well…it’s not much, it’s just that…” She hesitated. Was she really going to point this out? “Qi hasn’t shown up for dinner yet.”

Owen’s brow raised, and he looked over to where she was just looking. “Oh, you’re right…Director Qi always has dinner here on Tuesdays…”

“Right around this time, too.” 6 PM exactly.

“Huh. Never figured you’d be worried about the director,” Owen said with an amused grin.

Grace put her hands on her hips. “Aren’t you always saying, ‘Get to know your regulars?’”

Owen waved a hand with a laugh. “I’m just playin’, Grace. Sharp eye you got there.”

Grace snorted. “You say that every other day.”

“It’s true, though.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Grace muttered. “Anyway, you think anyone’ll come in tonight? It’s gonna snow, so maybe we can close up early. Unless we want to wait for Qi.”

Owen hummed. “Let’s wait on the director,” he said with a warm smile. “Plus, maybe a few other people’ll come in for a hot bowl of soup tonight.”

6 PM turned to 7 PM.

7 to 8.

8 to 9.

No Qi.

Grace started putting the glasses on the bar away and grabbed a rag to clean the countertop off. Almost 10. Almost closing time.

No Qi.

Just as she was wiping off the last stain on the counter, the far door to the saloon opened. She glanced up to see Qi walking in, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his thick winter coat. Deep circles framed the underside of his eyes.

“There you are,” Grace intoned with a smirk. “Explosion at the lab hold you up or something?”

“No,” Qi said briskly. “The usual.”

The smirk slowly faded off Grace’s face.

“Director!” Owen called out suddenly through the open kitchen door. “Glad you could make it after all! Everything alright?”

“Yes.”

Owen stared at Qi and Qi stared back at Owen. Owen’s smile turned confused. “You sure…?”

“Yes,” Qi said, sharper this time. “The usual. …Please.”

Owen and Grace exchanged a look. Then Owen’s signature smile reappeared. “Tea porridge and milk chestnut, comin’ right up. Go ahead and make yourself comfy, Director. Grace, mind pouring him some sand tea?”

Grace nodded. Qi abruptly turned around and headed for the door. “I’ll be outside.”

“Wait, Director! It’s cold out there! W-we don’t mind wiping off a table again for you!” Owen called after him. But the door was already open and shut.

Owen gulped and glanced over at Grace. “Make sure he stays warm out there, okay? It’s on the house tonight.”

Grace nodded again. Both of them went into the kitchen, Owen to the stewpot and Grace to the kettle. She filled it as high as she could and grabbed the freshest tea leaves in the pantry. Once it was all steeped in the largest teapot they had, she grabbed two cups (Why two? she asked herself, but it was too late to put one back.) and carefully opened the door outside.

Qi was sitting at his usual outdoor seat, snow wiped away and table filled with a massive stack of paper. He was scribbling rapidly onto a smaller (relatively, it still had to be at least a hundred pages) stack held together by only a single binder ring, muttering indistinctly as he shuffled through some of the other papers. He didn’t look up as Grace approached, so she set the teapot down and poured a cup. Qi snatched the cup with his free hand just as soon as Grace let go of the cup, almost like some sort of animalistic instinct.

She stared at him in his caffeine-fueled stupor for another minute, scanning his face. The furrowed brow, the muttering, the unfocused gaze… It didn’t take a trained agent to know what the problem was.

Eyes lingering on Qi’s illegible handwriting, she opened the door again and went back inside. Owen was just coming out of the kitchen with a tray and two hot bowls of food.

“Everything okay?” Owen asked with a worried smile.

“He’s still alive, at least,” Grace said. She held her hands out. “I can take it to him.”

Owen nodded. “He can take all the time he needs. Don’t worry about closing up.”

Grace nodded and took the tray back outside. Qi looked up this time, awkwardly pushing some of the papers to the side to make room. Eventually, there was enough space, and Qi took up the spoon and started slurping up the porridge, his pen still moving in shapes that didn’t resemble any known language.

Grace just stared at the undignified scene in front of her. What…should she do? She looked over at the spare cup she accidentally(?) brought out with the tea. She shrugged. Might as well.

Wiping the snow off the chair opposite Qi as best she could, she lowered herself down. Qi was only half-visible on the other side, the other half obscured with papers. Grace tentatively poured herself a cup. Qi didn’t seem to care that she was stealing his tea. She took a sip and flinched slightly at the scorching-hot water. How the hell was Qi drinking it this hot?

Lightly blowing the surface to cool it, she kept an eye on Qi across from her, endlessly pursuing some hell-bound goal that only seemed to exist in his own head. His movements were getting more erratic, writing outside the lines and spoon moving faster. At this rate, he was gonna—

Splat.

—spill.

Qi froze with a strangled gasp at the stain that covered a third of the page, blurring the ink. Grace could hear his breathing getting more ragged and heavy. His eyelid twitched.

“Damn it!” he exploded, and there was a flash of movement. The packet hit the floor with a smack and a flutter of papers.

Grace’s heart had jumped at the sudden noise. But she didn’t flinch. Not a muscle in her body moved, not a single flick of the eyes.

Just like training. Only this time with something quieter than a gunshot.

Qi panted as he glared at his discarded papers, soaking up the light amount of snow on the deck. He sucked in a deep breath through his nose, pressing his hands over his puffy eyes and into the bridge of his nose.

Grace silently leaned over to read the title page.

City-State of Sandrock

Annual Scientific Research Summary of Findings

Year 99

Director Heng Qi, Sandrock Research Center

Due by the end of this week, said Grace’s memory of Vega 5’s regular publications.

“Waste of time,” Qi muttered through his hands. Grace looked back up at him, her face still holding its practiced neutral setting. “Nothing else in there matters compared to the Olympia. Which they already know about. In detail. Thousands upon thousands of pages already. But sure, why not a few hundred more?”

He ripped his hands away from his face, hitting his lap with a loud slap. Then he brought up a hand again to readjust his glasses. “Bureaucracy,” he spat. “It’s always bureaucracy.”

For the first time in years…Grace was at a loss for words. She’d always know what to say. She’d learned exactly what to say to get what she needed. But this? No handbook or instructor could ever teach her whatever this was.

“And do they care?” Qi plowed on. “Do they even consider for the tiniest measurable quantum of time what it all means? Do they even see the implication of 5 more Olympia spacecraft not in the facility? Can they even comprehend the value of science beyond explosive power and munition counts?!”

He paused, waiting for an answer from someone, yet also no one.

“No!” he shouted, echoing faintly across the cobblestone streets. “They don’t care! It’s always more data disks, Director! More diagrams! More papers! Oh, and why aren’t you focusing on defense already?! It’s like—”

“—nothing will ever be good enough for them.” The words were already out of Grace’s mouth before she could think.

Qi jumped in his seat, suddenly remembering she was there. He panted, out of breath, staring at Grace with a confounded, but angerless look.

The corner of Grace’s lip quirked up. “You do 8 years of loyal service… You end up saving the whole country… And the second it’s over and the bad guys run home to cry to Daddy Emperor, you don’t even get a pat on the back…just your next mission.” She took a sip of her tea. “If you’re real lucky, you even get a tacky medal or something. That you can’t even wear ‘cause it’s illegal to acknowledge you.”

Qi only kept staring at Grace, trying to ask questions with his eyes that she wouldn’t be able to answer. Grace simply closed her eyes and drained the rest of her cup. The tea was getting cold.

“I don’t miss Atara,” she murmured with a light sardonic smile. It came out a lot softer than she meant it to be.

She opened her eyes, but kept them fixed on Vivi’s darkened house across the way. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Qi’s head slowly move down and glance away.

I don’t miss Vega 5, he said without uttering a sound.

[incredible art by @/trash-can-sam!]

A tiny snowflake drifted down into Grace’s empty cup. She looked up to see more gently flutter down from the clouded night sky.

Leaning down to the floor, she picked up the fallen report, shaking off the snow and water as best she could. The back several pages were probably ruined beyond salvage. She held it out to Qi.

He stared at it blankly for a few seconds, before taking it back and placing it back on the table, between a couple of the other papers to protect it from any more damage. Then he picked up his spoon and began eating again.

Grace took the teapot and poured herself another cup. Glancing across the table, she saw Qi’s half-empty cup and topped it off. Qi just nodded slightly without looking up.

She lifted her cup to her lips, carefully taking a sip. It was cooler now, no longer scalding her tongue as it went down. It warmed her belly from the inside out, even through the freshly-fallen snow. She looked out to the dark and empty streets, scanning almost like she would to spot a target in a crowd.

But all her eyes lay on was the sleepiness of night and the serenity of winter. Snow slowly coating the cobblestones. The warm light from the streetlamps illuminating the flakes falling in greater numbers. A cold, silent blanket draped over Sandrock.

She glanced over at Qi again. The bowls were empty. He was nursing his tea now, taking slow drinks as he too looked out over the quiet, snowy street.

Snow dusted the top of Qi’s books, burying the cover’s text. It built up around their feet and settled in their hair as they sat, still and silent as the world around them.

After her third cup, Grace reached over to the teapot, holding it over her cup, only to find it empty.

Qi looked over. Upon seeing the last few drops plop into Grace’s cup, he wiped the snow off his books and gathered them under his arm. Grace moved with him, picking up the dirty dishes. They both stood up, regarding each other for a minute without budging an inch.

“On the house,” Grace said, suddenly remembering.

Qi slowly nodded. “Thank you.”

And with one last unreadable look, he turned around and disappeared behind the corner. His footsteps slowly faded away up the stairs, muffled by the snow.

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

Spring 2

3…2…1.

The door of the saloon opened. Grace smirked to herself as she refilled the lemonade pitcher. Exactly on schedule.

She turned around to see Qi’s perpetually unamused face. “The usual?”

“The usual,” he nodded.

Grace made a quick note on her order pad, not that she needed to. “You ever gonna try something else? We got a whoooole menu to pick from and you always just get your soupy stuff.”

“Out of everything on said menu, these two items provide the optimal amount of energy and nutrients for my diet,” Qi said, rolling his eyes as he took a seat at the bar (which Grace internally raised an eyebrow at). “Plus, the soup provides good hydration.”

“Ah yes, nutrients…” Grace said as she poured him a fresh cup of tea. “Like the sugar?” She grinned.

“…Carbohydrates.” A sideways glance.

“You always get rice porridge…”

“Not a sufficient source on its own.” Hiding his mouth behind a sip.

“…Two bowls of porridge…?” The grin on Grace’s face widened.

“That’s too much. And there’s no protein. Are you going to make my order, or…?” Trying to change the subject.

Normally, Grace would’ve tried to poke him again. But just this one time, she only let out a snort and shrug, and headed for the kitchen.

And if she felt a brief sense of relief as she did, well…that was classified.

[butmakeitgayblog]

I know you wrote the snippet for AWTR first time but what was the morning after like?

Serene would be the word Clarke would use to describe it. All soft kisses and quiet hums of content. Neither really talking in more than pillow-muffled whispers.

Clarke finds out that Lexa's a tummy sleeper and something about learning that secret is just... It just feels like something precious to know. And it's all good and well because laid like that, she's like an open canvas for Clarke. The full expanse of her back on display, looking deliciously bronze-kissed in the early sun.

When she drifts off sometime between the first songbird calls of dawn and when the sun rises over the trees, Clarke lets her sleep. Spending the hour or so Lexa lays snoozing in tiny huffs and barely-there snores just watching her. Soaking in the moment. Nestling close enough to feel her every breath, a leg thrown over Lexa's thighs as her hand traces circuits from her shoulders to her bottom, drawing landscapes and mountain ranges and whole universes worth of stars with her palms and fingertips. All intertwining and stretching from the high cliffs of her shoulder blades to the twin dimpled valley of her ass.

When Lexa finally stirs and hums in a happy little groan, well that's all the invitation Clarke needs to inspect her work.

She slips further on top of her. Blankets Lexa with her whole body and breathes in the sweat and soap of her hair. Rides the waves each bouncing laugh when Lexa tells her she's heavy... but shakes her head no when Clarke asks of she wants her to get off... She traces each invisible line of her drawings with her lips and tongue, and wonders if her love is enough to make them as permanent as her love is for this girl.

Clarke's hands follow her lips, caressing along Lexa's ribs, hips, and thighs, and before she totally realizes it they're somehow making love again. It's more heated than last night with Lexa apparently having found a second wind in her nap, and Clarke comes twice on her fingers and tongue before she's even managed to have breakfast.

She returns the favor in kind, licking remnants of sticky sweet syrup from Lexa's breasts and belly before declaring they both need to shower.

After making Lexa come yet again on the bathroom counter.

It's hard to focus on the whole mantra of 'wash, rinse, repeat' when all her brain keeps sputtering out are the images of watching herself fuck Lexa in the bathroom's giant mirror as Lexa's head tips back in ecstasy.

Dressing is a messy affair. All ridiculous kisses and handsy half-hearted attempts at actually putting on clothes, and when it's all said and done and they're standing at the front desk, Clarke's credit card has taken a 'Late Check-out' blow.

Lexa drives them back because, well, she's the only who's even sort of slept. Which is fair, considering Clarke seriously cannot stop yawning. But any thoughts of a cat nap fly right out of the window when she takes in just how good Lexa looks handling her car.

She's just so goddamn cute.

And adorable.

And the most bizarre kind of sexy in her hideous sweater from the night before. Looking downright erotic every time she checks and then double checks all of her blind spots and religiously uses two fingers to flip her signal. They ride back in pleasant silence. Just the wind and the occasional secret smile passing between them as Lexa grips the wheel with one hand, the other rubbing soothingly at Clarke's thigh.

Clarke just leans against her headrest and feels utterly at peace in her droopy-eyed stupor, watching her girlfriend drive her shitty Honda back home.

[holden-caulfield]

Hi! Hope everything is great with you! ❤️ are you taking requests now? I have an idea for a Draco x reader fic. If you want to write. It’s ok if you’re not feeling it or if you’re not taking request ☺️

I was thinking about plot with something like that the reader and Draco are always on each other and fighting, but secretly like each other. They fight to make the other to notice them or to interact. One day the reader borrows a book at the library and made some notes in it (even if she’s not supposed to, just a bad habit that she has). She just writes some thoughts or comments regarding the book or life in general. And then Draco borrows the same book after the reader and sees that there are notes in the book but don’t know who made it. He likes the notes and decided to write his own notes in the book. The reader borrows the book again and see the notes that Draco wrote. So maybe they go back and forth writing notes in the book or even change to another book. Then I don’t know about the plot only that they end up together and it is a fluff ending ❤️

Oh. God. This request was e v e r y t h i n g, i loved it so much, thank you lovely anon!🤧

Wouldn't You Like To Know

↪︎ 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Summary: draco and reader hate each other but a common interest might change everything.

Warning: none :)

Word Count: 1207

//

Nothing could make you angrier than that slytherin prick, Draco Malfoy, and yet you couldn't bring yourself to loathe him. There was something just so intriguing, so intoxicating about the boy that made you forget about how much of a haughty twat he actually was.

He seemed to be always picking on you, always having to comment on your choice of clothing of the day or stating how 'immensely insufferable' you were. You obviously never backed down, taking every chance you got to talk with the slytherin, even if it was just to insult his incredibly unnatural, yet entrancing hair or his arrogant ways.

You hated the boy, but you couldn't ignore him. Even though you very much wanted to on certain occasions.

It was saturday, a moment to finally be able to relax a bit and forget about lessons for a while, but someone decided to importune you. It was way too early to engage in a full battle, so you saved your efforts, leaving him in the hallway with his clique and a snarky reply. He had a rather surprised look on his face at the lack of interaction, but you couldn't notice it.

You made your way to the library; it seemed to be the only place you could find solace in. Reading had always been a way to unwind for you, therefore it was no surprise that the library was exactly where you were headed.

You skimmed through the long shelves of books, stopping your finger on a very old-looking volume. You took it out carefully and found yourself a cozy spot in the library, near a window so that you could see the lovely morning unfolding.

It was a copy of your favourite book of all time and you could swear the vintage-like look of the tome was due only to your continuous readings. You loved that book, every time you read it feeling like the first time and successfully taking your mind off of whatever you were worried about.

You started reading it for the hundredth time, taking your time while doing so, and without even realizing it you were starting to underline certain sentences. The quill and ink in front of you on the desk seemed to be begging you to use them and that you did. You highlighted all of those phrases that struck something you, you wrote tiny notes near the words you found the most interesting and you realized that when it was too late. The damage had been done, so why stopping?

You kept reading for a long time, the sky visible through the windows changing vastly beside you until it was already past lunch-time. You closed the book lovingly and put it back where you found it, sure to be able to return later, and took off towards the great hall.

Unbeknownst to you, that was also someone else's favourite book because when you came back, more notes had been added. Tiny messages in the most elegant calligraphy you had ever seen were adorning the pages you had previously stained. What really surprised you was that most of those short lines were actually replies or simple comments to your own.

'This is my favourite line.'

'I'd argue that the best line is actually at the next page.'

'This passage, i will never get tired of reading it.'

'How could one get tired when it's the best piece of literature ever written?'

You were completely shocked but somehow your heart warmed at the gesture: a stranger liked your same exact book and took the time to reply to the silly comments of some heedless student, it sounded almost romantic.

You immediately took a quill with the intention to add more comments but froze as you dipped it in the ink. What were you going to write?

You stopped to think for a moment and the most obvious question came to mind, so you retrieved the quill from the inkwell and wrote onto the last page, the only blank one.

'Who are you?'

You let the ink dry and placed the book back in its place, planning to come back the next day and find an answer.

It was silly really, to be so excited just because a couple words exchanged with a stranger. It had no meaning either: said stranger might have had the same habit as you, writing in all the books they read, or maybe said stranger only found your comments funny and wanted to add their own.

Nevertheless you returned to the library the next morning, very early given the fact you hadn't really slept the previous night, excitement flowing freely in your veins and keeping you awake. You hurried to the chosen section and grasped the book, clutching it in your hands as you brought it with you towards your usual spot.

You opened the book and quickly browsed through the pages until the last one. A reply was there, but not the one you were expecting.

'Wouldn't you like to know...'

What now? You couldn't just keep writing there, you couldn't just change book and keep on writing on every single volume in the library...

Defeated, you stood up, book opened in your hands as you walked through the library you knew by heart, trying to decipher who your mysterious correspondent could be.

"You?!" your eyes shot up from the book to meet his grey ones, Draco Malfoy.

"What? Can't even visit the library now?" you replied, eyebrows raised. You noticed he was oddly eyeing your book and slowly closed it.

"Why do you have that book?" he asked again, almost ignoring you with his eyes still set on the tome.

"I was reading it? That's what i usually do with books, you know."

"Are you sure? Because i have a feeling you write in them." your displeased frown soon turned into one of stupor.

"You?!" he nodded, smirking; for the first time you noticed a tinge of genuineness in his smug grin and the thought that maybe, just maybe Draco Malfoy wasn't the bully everyone thought passed through your mind.

You didn't know what to say and apparently neither did he for you both remained still and silent, staring in each other's eyes. It wasn't awkward: you looked into his grey orbs with longing, as if you had always known he could have been what you wanted and finally were able to see this side of him, the side of him you were in love with even if you didn't know it existed.

He cleared his throat then, making you focus back on reality.

"Although i enjoy the library, i think we should find a different place to talk about... this." he motioned to the book and your dreams completely shattered. He was probably not pleased with the discovery, one of the students he hated most exchanging notes with him. "Maybe at hogsmeade, tomorrow, at 8?"

"You don't hate me?" as relief washed over you, surprise did too.

"Not really, i actually quite like you, but i thought you hated me so i played along." you smiled at the unexpected confession and he furrowed his brows. "So, is that a yes? Because i can go back to hating you if not and forget everything."

You chuckled lightly, rolling your eyes. "Wouldn't you like to know, Malfoy..."

//

Taglist <3

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[from-a-reckless-writer]

as a prompt: these stupid hats w lena, kara, and alex respectively

disclaimer: i wrote this at 12:30 am running on the sugar high of an ice cold ovaltine drink topped with salted caramel ice cream that tastes more like salt than caramel and all of this was written without proofreading and prior research, so...read at your own risk. 

Alex wanted to burn the picture. She wanted it out of her sight. She wanted to see it up in flames until it has disintegrated into a million pieces. But...Kelly said she can’t. So, there on the mantel above the fireplace of their home stands a framed picture—a stupid picture, in Alex’s perspective—with Kara grinning in the middle, Lena on her left wearing a shy smile, and Alex wearing the biggest scowl on her face, arms crossed as Kara slung both arms around her and Lena. The three of them wearing the most stupid caps in the history of stupid caps.

See, there’s a story behind said stupid caps with the stupid captions on them. It was Nia who gave them the stupid caps. Two weeks after Alex told them the story...

A story Alex wishes no older sister ever has the tragedy of experiencing.

It started with a phone call in the middle of the night, as every good tragedy story starts with.

Kelly shakes her awake, "Babe, your phone s'ringing," she slurs sleepily. The shrill ringing finally breaking through Alex's sleepy stupor.

Who the fuck calls at 2 am? It was an unknown number which made Alex's heart rate speed. Oh God, what if something’s happened to their mother?

"Hello?"

"Hello, is this Alexandra Danvers?"

It was too formal for a call in the middle of the night. Oh God, it's a hospital isn't it? Oh fuck, fuck, fuck—

"Uh, yes, yes this is Danvers, speaking."

She tries to keep the panic in control. 

"Ms. Danvers, this is Officer Brooke of NCPD, your sister, Kara Danvers, is now currently detained in our precinct for—"

Alex mind decided to dissociate the moment she heard the words; public indecency, bail and misdemeanor. 

“Thank you for informing me, officer. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

Because, WHAT THE FUCK? 

You know that moment when something just shitty happens, and your body just goes into robot mode? Alex searching her bag and wrangling for her keys is what wakes Kelly up. 

"Alex? What are you doing? Where are you going?"

How do you tell your girlfriend that your sister and her girlfriend couldn't keep it in their pants, and now, she has to bail them out for acting like two horny teenagers?

Good God, this is a PR disaster, if one—just one paparazzi—caught wind that Lena Luthor is sitting in a cell right now, with about five other drunks and one kid whose pushing drugs, the media would have a field day. 

“Uhm, I have to go get Kara from a precinct. It’s a long story, babe. Go sleep. I’ll tell you in the morning.”

“Oh my god, precinct? What happened? Is she okay?”

Kelly bless her heart, was concerned about her sister’s wellbeing. Meanwhile, all Alex wants to do was punch the shit out of her. Never mind the fact that it would probably harm Alex more than Kara, but she’s fucking pissed. This is so stupid, of all the fucking bad decisions that would land Kara Danvers in jail, it’s public sex.

She doesn’t need this shit. 

“She’s okay, don’t worry,” Alex utters, thinking, Well, she isn’t gonna be okay once I’m done with her. 

“Go back to sleep, promise it’s nothing big. I gotta go now.”

***

“Alex!" Kara exclaims, behind bars. That's a sentence she'll never thought she'd associate with Kara. "Thank Rao, you’re here, we--”

“WHAT THE FUCK WERE THE BOTH OF YOU—" Alex pauses mid-yell, when she sees Lena stumble behind Kara, "Are you drunk?!!” 

“Oh my God, I swear to God, I’m going to die early because of your bullshit.”

Alex played the “I have the number of the Chief of Police and I can get your badge suspended since I am also the Director of a covert government agency, if you do not give me my sister and her girlfriend, right this instant” card. And now, she’s faced with a blushing Kara and an apparently still very drunk, very disheveled looking Lena Luthor. 

“We’re sorry!!”

“Oh, oh you better fucking be sorry, you’re telling J’onn I need my brain bleached tomorrow morning. Public indecency for fuck’s sake. You’re a billionaire couldn’t you have just called your driver?!”

“Oh, uhm well, uh we kind of uh I kind of--”

Oh my God, Lena Luthor is into exhibitionism. 

“Fuck. Okay, fine, whatever you’re forgiven I don’t give a shit anymore,just please shut up and please, please do not talk to me for the next 48 hours. Both of you. Understood?”

***

Apparently, Lena dragged Kara to Al’s claiming that, Kara what you need is a good drink. When’s the last time you experienced even a mild buzz?

And so, to the bar they went. Lena sending her driver home for the night, knowing that the both of them would be staying out late, and she can definitely just call an Uber or something, or maybe Kara wouldn’t really get drunk and they can just fly home. 

But none of those happened. Instead, what happened is Kara getting wasted like never before, and Lena going down right along with her. And as usual as things go with these two, an innocent kiss outside the bar quickly escalated into something...more. 

And now, here they were blushing and unable to look Alex in the eye in the back of Kelly’s car. Alex couldn’t exactly pick two drunk women with her bike could she?

She really didn’t know a person can be capable of feeling this much rage and exasperation but apparently, it is so very possible. 

The moment they arrive at Lena’s place, she doesn’t even tell them goodbye or acknowledge their sorry’s and thank you’s, she just stares ahead, knuckles white around the steering wheel as she hears the car door close. 

***

“It’s a very funny picture, Alex,” Kelly whispers in her ear, hugging her from behind as Alex glares at the newly-framed photo. 

“That wasn’t a fun night, and this isn’t a funny photo. It’s a traumatic reminder, Kelly.”

“Stop being dramatic. It’s a cute photo. Nia really captured the essence, you know?”

Kelly lets out a laugh at Alex’s knitted eyebrows, once she spins around in her arms to face her. 

“They better call Nia the next time they get arrested.”

“You think there’s gonna be a next time?”

“Kelly, it’s Kara and Lena. There’s gonna be a next time.”

[12tardis]

Feel The Pull Of You (Newt Scamander x Reader)

Warnings: none (cabbage if you’re James Acaster)

Requested: Yes @imapartofwaytoomanyfandoms24 asked for ‘a soulmates AU where the reader loves magical creatures and they can only see colour when they touch their soulmate and she runs into him looking for her demiguise. She’s in shock and so is Newt and then she sees her demiguise runs up to it and grabs it and walks back to him and they both stare at each other’ - thank you honey! I hope you like it- I’ve had a couple soulmate ideas kicking around my head for a bit but I hadn’t considered the colour one so thank you! 

Summary: You’ve seen in only shades of grey your entire life knowing that meant you had a soulmate out there somewhere. Your demiguise has been acting up lately and leads you on a wild goose chase through the streets of London where you literally fall into the arms of a handsome stranger. 

A/N: I had to stop here or else I was just gonna keep writing for lord knows how long because IMAGINE what a trip it would be to see all the creatures with your whole new colour palette. 

Words: 1,925

Title song: The Pull Of You- The National - just rewatched the IAETF film last night and balled my eyes out. What was it you always said? We’re connected by a thread. If we’re ever far apart I’ll still feel the pull of you.

Taglist: @moonkissk7  @just-an-outstanding-auror

 It had been exactly 3 months since Newt had finally released his book ‘Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them’ and exactly 3 weeks since he’d received the most unexpected letter in the mail from a complete stranger. 

There had been plenty of children and a few keen creature lovers that had approached him at his book signings. They were always eager to hear more about his adventures and his case and he’d received a few fan-mail letters, again mostly from children drawing their favourite creatures. He loved those ones especially because he hoped it meant he might have inspired another generation of children to follow in his footsteps. 

But there was one letter Newt hadn’t put down since he’d received it 3 weeks ago. He kept it in his pocket and often found himself re-reading it over and over again. There was just something about the elegant scrawl that had completely captivated him from the moment he opened it. 

And here he was again, standing beside a cafe in the middle of a bustling street in London, pulling the well worn letter from his pocket and tracing his fingertips along the lettering. He had had every intention of writing back to the stranger but a mishap involving a hungry Graphorn had meant he’d lost the envelope with the sender return address much to his dismay. 

‘Dear Mr.  Scamander, 

I am writing to thank you for your incredible book and the remarkable work you have done in magical creature preservation. I must admit I found myself quite moved by your passion. I am an aspiring Magizoologist myself and I can assure you there is still an entire world of magnificent creatures out there to discover!

I wonder if perhaps you were looking for an assistant to help you with your creatures? I’m sure, a capable set of hands could be of great service to you with your ever expanding case and I am confident I could be of help. 

Perhaps we could meet for tea some time and I can show you some of my dearest creatures? 

I eagerly await your response. 

Yours respectfully,  Y/N L/N ‘

 As he stood on the street corner reading the letter for what must have been the hundredth time he truly mourned the fact that he had no way to contact the sender because there was just something about it that pulled at his heart strings like he’d never felt before. It almost felt like a puzzle. One that he desperately needed to solve. 

The letter had kept him up most nights, wondering about things that would never usually cross his mind. He wondered what the sender looked like? And more peculiarly he wondered what the colour of her eyes were. Or perhaps the colour of her hair? 

To most people these questions would be normal to ponder and that was because most people had some idea or reference for colour. But not Newt. For Newt, these questions were completely nonsensical because he only saw in shades of grey. 

His colour blindness had never bothered him before because he knew it meant he was one of the lucky ones that had a soulmate. A twin flame that he was destined to be with. He was generally content, and patient biding the time because he knew one day he would meet his other half. But ever since he’d received that letter he had found himself feeling restless and frustrated, walking the length of the city and mourning the entire spectrum of colour he was missing out on. 

It bothered him now to realise that he had no idea what colour the letter even was. What colour was the ink you’d used? Logically he knew it was black ink on a presumably neutral toned paper but what did that even look like? 

He was so preoccupied in his musings that he barely registered the sensation of his case rattling in his hold as one of his creatures was unsettled because he was suddenly stood face to face with a Demiguise. A Demiguise that certainly wasn’t his Dougal. 

“Bunsen! BUNSEN! Oh my stars Bunsen I swear if you don’t get back here right now you’ll be eating cabbage for the rest of the week. CABBAGE!” 

You were madly dashing through the London crowds in pursuit of your rogue Demiguise, completely uncaring of the bewildered looks you were receiving from the other locals. 

Bunsen had been acting out of sorts for several weeks now, pacing back and forth and frequently leading you on wild chases much like the one you were on now. This time though he really wasn’t relenting and you were just thankful no one else noticed the creature hurtling past them. 

Your stomach dropped however when you saw him stop and stand on his hind legs to face a man in a long coat. The man had his back to you but you were certain from his body language that he was very much aware of the rare creature that was now stood in front of him with glowing eyes. 

“MERLIN NO!”, you panicked dashing towards the man. 

 “Sir, please don’t panic! He’s harmless I promise! He can’t hurt you, just stay calm!” you shouted at him as you approached, lunging for the Demiguise that dodged you, of course, sending you careening forward into the very arms of the man you were shouting at. 

You gasped, blinking furiously when your vision transformed instantly while your heart seemed to swell to double its size in your chest. You stared down at the ground in wonder, taking in the way the shades of grey slowly bled into all these colours and shades you’d never seen before. 

Newt grasped you in his arms with a loud ringing in his ears as he tightened his hold on you instinctively. He gaped back at you, so completely enraptured with the sight of you that he barely noticed the new spectrum of colour he could now see. 

That was until you were suddenly moving out of his hold and rushing away from him. His knees nearly buckled as he watched your retreating figure, his brain now vaguely taking in the colours around him. He was still standing frozen to the sidewalk as he slowly came to digest what had just happened. 

He had literally just run into his soulmate.  Who was chasing a Demiguise. You tripped and he caught you and then you ran away from him just as quickly, and his heart was surely about to shatter beyond repair but then oh-

You were walking back towards him, with the Demiguise perched on your hip and he felt his heart in his throat as he took you in. 

You had nearly fallen again when Bunsen had suddenly stopped in his tracks, seemingly content with being in your arms again as you scooped him up. You noticed the way his eyes flashed and he was looking over your shoulder and you remembered that yes, you had just cannon balled into your soulmate. 

The person you’d been dreaming of your entire life. “Why you clever little…”, you breathed out, petting Bunsen shakily while your heart slammed in your chest. You closed your eyes and sucked in a deep breath before you turned back around to face the man..

You two stood in front of one another for what felt like an hour, just staring at each other in complete awe. You took in the colour of his hair, fighting back the unexpected impulse you felt to comb your fingers through it and then you looked back into his eyes. And you knew then what your favourite colour in the world was. 

Newt was entirely unprepared for the sudden urge he had to just touch. He’d never really understood the need for affection, instead shying away from it but as he gazed back at you his hands seemed to burn at his sides. He longed to run his thumb along your bottom lip or graze his hand down the curve of your shoulder to your waist. 

Bunsen had apparently had enough of the silent staring competition going on between you two though because he let out a huff followed by low grumble. 

This startled Newt from his stupor and he quickly held his hand out to you “I do apologise for my  rudeness, I’m-“

“Newt Scamander”, you breathed out quickly, your eyes bright and a small smile playing on your lips. Newt’s eyebrows flew up in response.

“You know my n-name?”, he stuttered, stunned that a beauty such as yourself would know who he was. And when you took his hand in your own he felt the most overwhelming sense of peace rush over him. 

You squeezed his hand in your own, nodding slowly as you smiled wider at him “yes, I wrote to you. A few weeks ago. My name is-“

“Y/N L/N!”, he cut you off this time, his eyes wide as he set his case down beside him carefully, still gripping your hand in his own as he used the other to rummage through his coat pocket. “You wrote this!” he exclaimed, holding the obviously worn letter up for you to inspect. 

It was your turn to look at him in astonishment as you nodded again, furrowing your eyebrows.

 “I...something about this letter just felt...like home,” Newt explained, shyly threading his fingers with yours as he pocketed the letter once again. 

When you stared back at him silently, glancing down at your joined hands he continued. 

“I apologise, I really wanted to write you back but one of the Graphorn’s ate the envelope”, he turned to look at Bunsen then, nodding at him.

“I bet you two would get along”, he murmured and Bunsen made a noise of interest, reaching an arm out towards Newt signalling that he wanted to be held. 

You looked down at Bunsen in surprise because he had never allowed another person to touch him before but your surprise quickly washed away as you watched Newt take him into his arms, greeting him with the kindest smile you’d ever seen that you couldn’t help but swoon. Of course he would like Newt. He had, after all, been trying to make this meeting happen for weeks now.  

“Oh!”, you were broken out of your ogling when a passerby just barely missed knocking Newt’s case over that was still set on the ground beside him. You didn’t hesitate to pluck the case up, holding it securely against your chest and the very sight alone had Newt feeling dizzy with adoration. Not only were you breathtaking but you cared for creatures too. 

“So um…” he cleared his throat nervously, looking back at you with hopeful eyes “I know I’m a bit late, but I wonder if you are still interested in that cup of tea?”

You smiled back at him widely, stepping close to him until you were nearly chest to chest and he sucked in a breath of surprise when you lay your hand over his where it was resting on Bunsen “yes, but only if you promise to show me around your case afterwards.” 

Newt laughed softly, nodding as he shifted Bunsen to be perched on his hip with one arm so he could thread his fingers with yours again “well I suppose it would help if my assistant knew her way around the enclosures”, he murmured, looking over at you as you fell into step beside him, following him through the bustling streets hand in hand.  -MORE WRITINGS HERE-

[editorofeverything]

Day 6? of going through my drafts I never finished or posted because ✧Low Self-Esteem✧

Except I started going through my fanfic folder... and getting really into the plotlines I had going on there... and I may have started completing them all of a sudden?? I won’t question it because I’m afraid the will to write will suddenly go away so here is my now complete first part of my Daminette fic I wrote like a year ago?

So, without further ado, here is four times the Ladybug magic teleported Marinette to where she would be safest, and the one time she was already there—Part One.

~

When Tim Drake started his nightly shift in the Batcave with a pot of coffee in hand and a research project in the works, he didn’t expect a magical portal to spit out a ladybug themed superhero at the Batmobile with a cut off scream.

He froze as the swirling red portal disappeared and the hero that made a dent in the Batmobile stopped moving. He reached over and pushed the SOS button that would alert the others that something was wrong before grabbing his coffee mug as a weapon and heading over towards the girl.

She was small, was his first discovery. Probably shorter and younger than Damian, and yet she was wearing a bright red suit over her curled body and a mask over her closed eyes. She was hurt, and Tim didn’t know what to do. He hadn’t slept in over a week and the brain cells that were left were combusting at the sight of a child crumbled on the floor after playing the hero game.

He sucked in a breath and froze at the puddle of blood starting to pool under her head. The crashing of glass broke him out of his stupor and he barely noticed his favorite mug broken on the floor beside him before he threw himself at the girl’s side and eased her onto her back so he could look her over. All he could do was breathe a sigh of relief when he could feel her pulse beating weakly. He tried her mask first, and, after discovering that it wouldn’t budge from her skin, he realized that whatever magic she possessed would prevent him from checking her for injuries.

He brushed her hair out of her face and saw the bruises and scrapes all over before he checked her head. Her lips parted in a small cry when he touched a tender spot and he cursed at his red coated fingers when he pulled away.

“What the hell is it now, Drake? Do you even know what time it is?” Jason walked over with Alfred on his tail and rested his hand on Tim’s shoulder, startling him. “What’s up-? Who the fuck is that?”

“She teleported here. She’s… Jay, she’s hurt really bad and she’s some type of magic so I don’t even know how hurt she is and-” A beep interrupted his rant and they both looked for the source on her.

“Alfred, get the first aid kit and get the others in here.”

“Of course, Master Jason.”

~

“All I’m saying, Father, is that maybe if we put him through a rehab system, these ridiculous late night emergencies would decrease.”

“They’re not all hallucinations, Damian. We haven’t had an incident since last month.”

“Until now,” Damian huffed as he and his father ran into Alfred who was carrying a first aid kit, some blankets, and some towels.

“Was Tim injured, Alfred?”

“No, Master Bruce. There seems to be an intruder in the Batcave. I believe Master Tim and Master Jason are currently trying to assess her for injuries, but it seems she is of the magical variety and her suit is giving them some trouble.”

Damian was already sprinting to the cave while Bruce grabbed some of the items from Alfred and walked with him to the group of his kids kneeling around a small figure on the ground.

Damian saw the dent in the Batmobile before he saw the girl and actually stopped in surprise. “She did that?”

Bruce followed behind him and made a surprised noise as well before moving towards Tim and Jason’s side. “What happened?”

“A portal opened up and she was thrown into the Batmobile. She’s been unconscious the whole time. Her head is bleeding and I wouldn’t be surprised if she has a concussion. I can tell she’s hurt more, but we can’t take off her suit to check.”

Jason placed a towel under her head and she moaned at the movement, her eyes fluttering.

“She has these earrings that have been beeping for the past three minutes. I think they might be where she gets her powers from. They seem to be timing out.”

A final beeping noise echoed throughout the cave before a bright pink shine encased her body, revealing a small girl. She had blackish-blue hair tied in falling pigtails, pale skin that was speckled with bruises and lacerations. Her clothes looked impeccable, though the blood from her wounds was starting to soak into her red sundress.

“What the actual fuck is that?” Jason spotted a round, red figure moving on the girls collarbone.

The bat family took in the little red bug as it sat up and shook its head before seeming to notice the girl she was on.

“Marinette!” the thing spoke and Tim clutched Damian’s arm with an urgency that startled him.

“Please tell me you heard that thing talk.” Damian patted Tim’s hand lightly.

“You are not alone in hearing the kwami talk, Master Tim.” Alfred straightened up at the sight of the mystical being fretting over her charge’s unresponsive body.

“Kwami?” Bruce muttered under his breath, looking to Alfred for answers.

“Tikki, Goddess of Creation,” Alfred pressed his fist into his hand and bowed towards her, “how may we assist you?”

Tikki turned her wide eyes to Alfred and floated up to him. “Please help her! She’s more hurt than I can heal, and the fight is still waging on! Without Ladybug, the entire team will fail!”

Bruce straightened up at that and turned to his sons. “Jason, Tim, keep pressure on her head wound and wrap up any minor lacerations. She’s lost too much blood. Damian, come with me so we can get some more supplies for Miss Marinette.”

“Father, a word, please?” Bruce paused as soon as they exited the cave and were heading for the kitchen with a list of things Alfred told them to grab like water, cookies, and something light for Marinette when she would wake up. Damian had gotten better with being open and calm with his family for a while, but it still took time to unlearn years of life being taught one way for so long.

“What is it, Damian?”

“I… I know everyone’s concerned about the girl—I am too—but has anyone thought of what will happen if she wakes up? Will she recognize the Batcave? Will we reveal our identities to her, especially since she’s been forcefully revealed to us? What if she doesn’t wake up? How will we explain how a foreign girl ended up in Gotham?”

“These are all good questions, Damian, and I’m glad you’re able to share your concerns with me. In this matter, though… I believe we’ll just take Alfred’s que for right now. If at any point you feel uncomfortable with your identity being discovered when Miss Marinette wakes up, then you can leave and we’ll fill you in later.”

Damien’s silence carried into the kitchen as Bruce started handing things to him to take back.

“I’ll go back,” Damien finally said as Bruce pulled the cookie jar off the cabinet, planning on taking the whole thing. Who knew how much those kwamis could eat? Bruce certaintly didn’t, and the fact they were magic too didn’t help him any. “I think… Alfred usually knows best, and I trust his judgement… As well as the rest of the family’s. I want to make sure the girl is okay firsthand, and we can go from there.”

Bruce felt a wave of affection and pride towards his son, and wished Damian would look him in the eyes, but he would settle with placing a hand on his shoulder and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Then, let’s go give them a hand, son.”

~

Bruce and Damian joined the group quickly enough to arrive just as Tikki and Alfred were starting their own conversation while Jason and Tim assisted the girl. Damian stood with his father, both with their guard up in case someone could possibly track Marinette and Tikki down. Magic, they agreed before they entered the room, is a fickle thing, and they didn’t want to take any chances of their family, or their sudden patient, to be caught off guard.

“You were a previous Miraculous holder, weren’t you? I can sense your bright soul. Who was your chosen?” Tikki asked, hovering just over Marinette’s collarbone. Alfred didn’t know if it was because she was protective of the girl or injured herself, but he felt it too rude to ask directly of the tiny god.

“Duusu, the Peafowl Miraculous of Emotion. We were separated after a year of us working together, and I never knew what happened to him or Nooroo, who was taken as well.” Alfred could tell Master Bruce and the boysr were listening intently on their conversation, but wouldn’t interrupt. Detectives they might be, but Alfred raised Master Bruce, and they, in turn, raised the boys to have manners. He could sense their questions piling up, but was confident they would save them for after they delt with Marinette’s most pressing wounds.

“Unfortunately, they ended up in the wrong hands. It’s why Ladybug and Chat Noir were called together in the first place. Marinette has made excellent work in finding and defeating Hawkmoth, but there has been too many obstacles in her way lately. She’s been through a lot…” Tikki turned on to face Marinette and Alfred was overcome at the overwhelming sense of sadness emanating from Tikki.

“We will do all we can for her,” he choked out, and shook his head at Jason and Tim, who paused at the catch in Alfred’s voice. “For such a young child to be a holder though…” Tikki sat on Alfred’s shoulder as Tim and Jason started wrapping Marinette’s head gently and patched up some larger cuts she had on her side. Her ribs were likely broken if the mottled bruised running down her side were anything to go by, and her ankle seemed to be sprained, if not broken as well.

“The previous Guardian made a rushed decision on who to choose for the Miraculous. It just so happens that Marinette is the one soul in this lifetime that resonates with mine. Despite her age, she has become one of the best Ladybugs I’ve had the honor of assisting, and she is now the Guardian of the Miraculous Box as well.”

“Guardian? She’s a Guardian as well? How could that be?”

“The previous Guardian’s identity was compromised by Hawkmoth, the villain with the butterfly miraculous. He’s been terrorizing Paris for almost three years now. Marinette had to step in as Guardian or the Miraculous Box would be lost.”

“Tikki…” The girl winced away from Jason and Tim’s hands and she whimpered.

“Tikki…” Bruce began in a steely tone, “how old is Miss Marinette?”

“She’s turning eighteen in a few months. I know she’s young, and I hate to put so much on her shoulders, but she’s the only one who can be Ladybug, and competent enough to be Guardian. She’s intelligent, strong emotionally and physically, and her heart is pure. She is the embodiment of what Ladybug is supposed to be.” After that speech, Damian took a breath and knelt down between Todd and Drake to assist. They still didn’t know everything, which could be dangerous for them, but Damian felt that if he were to take a chance on anyone, it would be this girl that was worthy of so much power and responsibility.

As soon as Damian brushed his fingers against her wrist to check for a break, however, the girl suddenly seized up and Damian jolted his hand away. Tikki gave him a strange look before floating over to her chosen.

“Tikki!” Marinette shot up, instantly collapsing with her head pressed into her knees with a groan. Tikki nudged Marinette cheek with her head reassuringly.

“It’s ok, Marinette. We’re safe for now. Please lie down or you’ll hurt yourself more.”

“Safe…? But where are we? School?”

“I believe that a Ladybug power was activated when Mayura cornered you. It teleported you to where you would be safest in the world.”

“Safest?” Marinette looked around and seemed to panic at the group of men surrounding her. “Oh my god, who are these people?! Did they see me transform? Tikki, you’re supposed to stay hidden!”

“Excuse me, Miss Marinette, but you can rest assured that you and Tikki are safe here.” Alfred rested a gentle hand on her arm, and she immediately relaxed. “I know first-hand the challenges of being a Miraculous holder, and we will do everything in our power to assist you if need be.”

For a moment, Marinette seemed paralyzed. She was looking at Alfred unfocusedly, as if she was seeing right through him. Suddenly, she met his eyes and started speaking a language only the three could understand.

“You have the soul of emotion and light. Touched by one who has been stolen and corrupted. You have my trust and thanks for your assistance, young Peafowl.” Marinette stated in an ancient, unfamiliar language before blinking out of her haze and nearly falling to one side if Damian hadn’t grabbed her and kept her propped up.

“Sorry,” she blinked slowly and focused on Alfred again, “I’m still getting used to that.”

“Your trust in me is an honor, my lady Guardian, but I doubt I can be considered very young anymore,” Alfred said with some humor in his voice. Marinette smiled warmly at him and, with the help of Damian, Jason, and Tim, eased back onto a few blankets and some towels to cushion her beating head.

“Damian, pass some water over,” Tim asked, still checking over Marinette’s head. Damian did so, being uncharacteristically silent during the entire conversation.

“My head is fine,” Marinette said in a thick accent. “I believe I hit it after I have been teleported, not during the battle.”

“You speak English very well, Miss,” Bruce praised, leading to Jason cooing at her blush.

“Ah, well, it’s important to be able to communicate with tourist during akuma attacks. I’m afraid I haven’t had much practice, though. And it’s definitely not as good as your French.” Marinette gave a shy, kind smile to Alfred.

“What did I hit my head on, anyways? I’ve been thrown before, but I’ve never hit anything so hard that I’ve passed out and detransformed.”

The resounding silence echoed throughout the room and Marinette took a breath before sitting up properly and keeping her gaze steady at the ground.

“Whatever it is, I don’t want to know. Don’t even tell me your names.”

“Miss?”

“I’m a superhero fighting an evil villain with magic jewelry, I know the awkward ‘I have a secret I can’t tell you’ silence. I haven’t exactly been on this side of the conversation much though. I understand. Just let me catch my breath and I’ll be out of your hair.”

“’Catch your breath?’ You have a concussion! And broken ribs! You can’t fight like this!” Jason was getting too worked up, but this was a child.

“Yes, I can. Just give me a minute. I’ve fought in worse conditions, and I’ll be better once I can reverse the damage.”

“Reverse the damage?” Damian said, and was almost disappointed when Marinette didn’t look at him directly. She wasn’t looking at any of them, except for Alfred, in the face. Deniability, most likely, but definitely not what he was initially expecting when he decided to stay with his family despite the chances of being recognized.

“Tikki?” Marinette said, and rested her head against the Batmobile while she started poking at her wounds.

“I give Marinette many powers. One of which is the power of the Miraculous Ladybug. It reverts ay damage done by a kwami instantaneously. In fact, the dent in your motorized vehicle should be back to normal as well once the battle is won.”

“Tikki, I need to know how the fight is going. Be stealthy and take a look, and grab Khalki. I’ll need him to teleport back to Paris. I don’t want to risk using whatever power got me here in the first place.”

“I’ll be right back!” Tikki turned towards Alfred and patted him gently on the cheek. “I leave my chosen in your hands, Alfred. Look after her, please.”

“Of course, Tikki.”

“Thank you, young Peafowl.” Alfred returned her smile instantly before Tikki disappeared through the floor.

~

“So, let’s play ‘Do I Have a Concussion 20 Questions!’” Jason announced after he and Tim propped her up between them, leaning against the dent in the Batmobile.

Damian sat in front of them while Bruce and Alfred had moved over to the Batcomputer to try and do some research into the Miraculous themselves.

Marinette giggled and focused herself from closing her eyes by chipping at her black nail polish.

“So question number one: what is your name?” Tim was holding the broken handle of his coffee mug in his fist and was talking into it like it was a microphone.

“Marinette, but you already knew that,” Marinette said in a teasing tone.

“True, but this is if you know your name, not for us, little lady,” Jason bumped her shoulder with his gently and she giggled again.

They went through a few questions that were vague enough not to uncover her identity completely, but still show that she had her wits about her. Where are you from? Paris, of course. Do you go to public, private, or home school? Public! I hate homeschooling. Do you live with your parents? Yeah… oh I left my phone with my stuff at school. They’re probably worried sick. Do you have a job?

“Oh!” Marinette suddenly exclaimed, jolting where she sat. “Maman and Papa are going to be so disappointed if I can’t get home in time to watch the bakery! They’re going on a date tonight, and we have three orders to fill… I wonder if I can get Chloe to push their reservation…”

Jason shared an apologetic look with Tim when they realized how much she just let out. Damian was alarmed. She didn’t even seem to notice how much she just gave away about herself during her rambling.

“Why are you telling us all of this?” Damian finally asked after a moment of silence. He didn’t understand this girl. She was in a strange place, surrounded by strangers, and willing to avoid looking at them or around to keep them comfortable with their secrets, and the she goes and basically tells them where she lives.

“I know it might not makes sense, but as Ladybug and Guardian, I can sense things most people can’t, and I’ve learned to trust myself above all. My powers brought me here because I’m safe, and I can sense that you all have pure souls. You two even have souls saturated in Destruction energy… The Black Cat’s energy. It balances my own soul out well… How did you come across a Lazurus pit?”

Jason and Damian jolt and look at each other. Bruce was at Damian’s side in the next moment. “How do you know about the Lazurus pits?” He asked in a cautious tone, though Marinette didn’t seem to notice. She was still picking at her nail polish and Damian had a moment of irritation at the flaky mess until he realized she was probably doing it to keep her focus off of them.

“I am Guardian, and Tikki’s chosen. I know everything there is to know about the Miraculous, though I only recall the information when I needs to be used. When the Ladybug and Cat’s miraculous are combined, the holder may make a wish. One of those wishes was to be immortal. The Lazurus pits were created out of that wish, but the price was heavy. To manipulate a soul into bearing life after one should die… it leaves a mark—mentally, physically, emotionally… Most of the Lazurus pits were destroyed to restore balance, but some still remain in this world to keep the balance of what was already taken as its price. If they were all to be destroyed, something else in the world would have to be as well to keep balance.”

The resounding silence in the room felt suffocating, but Marinette just smiled reassuringly and brushed her dress down. Damian suddenly noticed that he felt… calmer in her presence than he usually would with someone he met barely twenty minutes ago.

Marinette’s voice brought him out of his thoughts once more. “Tikki is coming back.”

The kwami suddenly appeared a moment later with another one right behind her. Marinette smile and held out her hand.

“Hello, Khalki.”

“My Lady,” Khalki purred, floating around her hand.

“The fight is still going, Marinette. Chat Noir and Queen Bee are playing decoy and distraction. I informed them that you had been transported away for your safety and that we would be present for the fight soon. Hawkmoth and Mayura can’t end the fight and get what they want without Ladybug present, and Chat Noir and Queen Bee are smart enough not to let them leave or capture them while you’re gone. Both sides are playing it safe and waiting for your return.” During Tikki’s rundown, Marinette slowly but surely began to stand on her own, leaning against the Batmobile.

“Well, let’s give them an entrance they won’t forget. Are they all still at the Tower?”

“Yes. Chat Noir has followed your direction to keep them centered there well.”

“Good. Tikki, spots on. Khalki, Tikki, merge.” The family all stood and watched in amazement and shock as Marinette glowed that same pink hue before the red and black spotted heroine stood before them.

“Your injuries are still there.” Damian broke the silence to his family’s surprise. “You should be careful and finish your battle quickly to minimize your injuries until you can heal.”

Marinette seemed surprised, focusing on his shirt, the closest she’s gotten to looking his in the eyes the entire time she had been there. He almost… wanted her to. He wanted to look directly into her bright blue eyes and let her see him as he saw her… He shook himself out of that embarrassing train of thought just as Ladybug said something that caused a portal to appear.

“Thank you for your help…” Marinette nodded to them and looked one last time at Alfred. “I hope we meet again, young Peafowl.”

“As do I, my lady Guardian,” he bowed.

Ladybug turned and was suddenly gone. The only evidence of her being there was the broken remains of Tim’s broken mug and the huge dent in the Batmobile.

“Well, I’m going to sleep,” Tim announced to the room. “Someone else can take night shift tonight and someone can also tell me this wasn’t all some fever dream in the morning.”

Half an hour later, Damian, who had volunteered to stay up and finish the nightly watch in order to gather more information of the Miraculous and Marinette, noticed Tim’s mug appear sitting perfectly on the floor half full of the sludge he must’ve been drinking before it had broken and the dent in the Batmobile disappear in a wave of ladybugs.

Damian smirked at the knowledge that she and her team had won their battle, and that, if these items were fixed, then so were Marinette’s injuries. He ignored the part of him that felt… proud at the knowledge of her win, and happy knowing she was healed.

Damian grabbed the mug off the floor and took it with him to drop off in the kitchen while he searched for a snack. All his searching through all the bakeries in Paris was starting to make him hungry, especially the one he left on the Batcomputer. He would have to see if the Dupain-Cheng Bakery catered internationally, or if the woman posing with her husband in the owner’s bio passed down her black-blue hair to any daughters his age.

~

UPDATE: Here’s the link to the next part and the AO3 link for anyone who wants to continue!

Next - AO3 Link

[teiasviago]

une nouvelle vie, chapter 5

AO3 | @frogsmulder + @freckleslikestars

The Seldens’ honeymoon goes by in bliss across the Atlantic among the French, and they return to their lives irreparably changed in some ways while immutable in others. “It shall be a new adventure,” Lily declares, referencing their relatively new attempts at procreation. Lawrence agrees. But as the months start to go by, leaving them unexpectant of a bundle of joy, their happiness starts to dwindle. “I am sorry I cannot do this for you.”

Lily’s face is tucked against her husband’s sternum and her voice is whisper-soft. “Oh, Lily...” Selden sighs, tucking her further against him as her tears wet his chest. “We will find happiness in the two of us if our efforts do not come to fruition, I can guarantee it. We have not weathered tumultuous storms in our lives to lose sight of ourselves now.”

“But what if I am unable to bear children? That is all women are meant for, do you not see?”

“Do not let those words reside in your mind, my love. You are much more than your ability to have children.”

“If I am not a mother, then what am I meant to be? I have unintentionally hinged the purposes of my existence on ensuring your happiness and bringing forth children into the world. What should I do with my time if it is not spent rearing our children?”

“Lily, please, it is alright. You have talents—you are excellent at storytelling, for example.”

She sniffles and raises her eyes. “Truly?”

“Yes, truly. You could write them. Even if they are stories meant to entertain children, your stories are of value. Do not despair, my love. You are worth more than your value to society. No matter what, you have my love to see you through every hardship.”

Lily nods and presses a kiss to her husband’s clavicle. “Alright.” She takes a shuddering breath. “I shall sleep on this.”

—

In the proceeding months, the Seldens finalize their purchase of a townhouse with three bedrooms and two bathrooms, deciding to leave two of the three undecorated. Lawrence suggests making one of them into an office and the other into a guest room a several months later, his voice soft and casual to convey that he is not attached to his proposals, and that what they hope the rooms will be used for will come in due time. Their anniversary passes with little fanfare, only a private dance in their sitting room used to mark the occasion. Lily throws herself into writing exercises to occupy her time, spending hours at her desk in the sitting room planning and writing down ideas. Some days, Selden has to retrieve her from her stupor of inspiration and guide her back to their bed, where they reconnect.

They know one another with the truest of intimacies now, and it shows in how they anticipate the other’s actions with frequency.

“I shall be leaving for a few months,” Selden reveals during dinner one day in the fall. It has been a year and a half since they married. “I have been chosen to work on a case in England. You could come with me, if you’d like, though you would not know anyone there.”

Lily shakes her head demurely. “I shall stay here and look after the house, avidly awaiting your return,” she decides, placing her hands over his.

They both smile; a small happiness has started to bloom in the house born of small concessions of acceptance. One day, Lily knows, they may fully bloom, but there is still hope for another way. All is not lost just yet. Selden bids her farewell the next day and she watches him exit the door and catch a hansom with a wistful look on her face. Perhaps some time apart—time during which they must halt their attempts at procreation—is what they need. Hope is a dangerous, feeble thing sometimes.

—

“Lily!” Gerty wears her surprise openly and her friend wears her worry the same way. “Has something dreadful happened?” She ushers Lily inside her flat with a tender hand.

“I am well, Gerty, only—something has happened. But it is not dreadful, it is wonderful.” Lily sits down on her friend’s couch, her hands fluttering around each other.

“Then why do you look worried?”

Lily bites her lip before sighing heavily. “I strongly suspect that I am pregnant at long last. But this could not come at a worse time; Selden is off in England, as you know, and I cannot decide if I should write to him about this as he would want. I should like to surprise him with the news in person, and if I wrote to him not only would that not be possible but I know that he would travel home as speedily as possible to the detriment of his career. He shall make it back with plenty of time to spare before the birth if he sees the case through.”

Gerty lowers herself onto the couch as she ruminates on Lily’s words. “Well, if there is time enough for the case and the birth, I believe that you should wait to surprise him when he arrives home. It would be the loveliest of surprises.”

“So I shall omit this wondrous development? I would be stronger in my convictions if not for the notion of lying to my husband sending my stomach into knots.”

Gerty’s hands envelop Lily’s and she meets her dependable friend’s eyes. “It is not a lie. You are planning a surprise! What could be more innocent than that? It is the most spectacular of surprises, at that. He will forgive you immediately, if he even views the situation as having something to forgive as a part of it.”

Lily offers her friend a small smile, tears of joy gathering at her waterline. “What would I ever do without you in my life, Gerty? I owe you.”

“We are friends; friends support each other in times of need.”

“Nonetheless, I appreciate the time you have taken throughout our friendship to help me. It is unparalleled.”

—

Carry Fisher is the third person to be made aware of Lily’s pregnancy, and only on the condition that she keep it to herself. Lily enlists her help in having new dresses made to accommodate her slowly-expanding abdomen and bustline. By the time Carry declares that she has “popped”, she has a whole new wardrobe. And now Selden is set to return.

Lily sets about checking the windows for a sign of his returns after breakfast but finds herself tiring easily from her rounds through the front rooms. She sighs and sits down to write, hoping to distract herself from the anticipation of her husband’s arrival. Fortunately, Lily is able to lose herself in the story (her first is set to be published soon!) and separates from her desk only to eat, relieve herself, and exercise—the last of which is a thinly veiled excuse to check outside the house.

When ten o’clock in the evening rolls around, Lily resigns herself to the fact that Selden’s traveling is delayed and readies herself for bed. She smiles as she brushes her hair, the baby moving inside of her. She has gotten to know her and Selden’s child thoroughly since the flutters started; it’s most energetic in the morning, acting as if Lily has starved it by not eating at five o’clock. She cups her belly and feels the baby’s foot.

“You are so loved, little one. So loved.”

—

She wakes up in the middle of the night, frowning and tired. Lily snuggles into the bed in an effort to fall back asleep when she hears Selden quietly clear his throat in the bathroom. She opens her eyes and sits up, her suspicions confirmed when she sees the glow of a candle through the cracks around the door. She grins and adjusts the pillows behind her back as she waits for her husband to return.

After a few moments, he pushes the door open, pausing in the doorway when he realizes she is awake. “Apologies,” he says, making his way to his side of the bed after putting the candle in the secure holder at the foot of the bed. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Come to bed,” Lily tells him, offering him her hand. “I have much to tell you.”

As they situate themselves in bed together, he eyes her distended abdomen, and she cannot help but grin again. “You are...”

“With child, yes,” she finishes for him, pressing her forehead to his as she brings his hand to her belly. “I wanted to surprise you in person. We have a while yet before the birth—at least two months. I knew that if I wrote to you of the news, you would put your entire being into traveling home unnecessarily quickly.”

“It would not be unnecessary, Lily. You and the babe are the lights of my life.” Selden slides down the bed and presses a kiss to her belly before returning back to his original position. “I won the case, as well. You two are my lucky charms, too.”

Lily laughs at that as she nuzzles her husband’s face. “Nonsense, Lawrence. You are an excellent lawyer; you won the case because you are intelligent and dutiful, not because we are lucky. Luck had nothing to do with it.”

“We shall have to agree to disagree,” Selden says, his gaze sliding down to her belly again. “Please write me next time, my love. This is a wonderful surprise, but I feel that I have missed so much. This first child of ours shall be a learning experience. Next time we will both be much more prepared, and I would be less anxious towards getting home.”

“If you happen to be traveling during, I shall write you a letter once a week of the elder child and the one growing in my womb by then. You would feel as though you had not missed a day. But it is late, my dearest, and the babe takes much of my energy for its own.”

Selden nods before starting to pull the fabric of her nightgown up until her belly is exposed. She places his hand where the baby is poking at her and revels in his expression of awe. He presses a slew of kisses to her skin before resting his forehead against her belly. “You are wondrous, my dear,” he tells her. “Absolutely spectacular. You have only become more radiant as time goes on. Selfishly, I am glad that no one else sees you in all your glory.”

“I do not mind, Lawrence. Yours are the only eyes I would wish to have on my body.” Lily watches as her husband slides up the bed again with hooded eyes, and lets them slip closed when he eases a hand beneath her abdomen and between her thighs. “Your fingers are the only ones I would want to touch my body, as well.”

“I love you,” he murmurs against her lips.

“I love you, too.”

[octoberobserver]

Hello, Cas - Destiel Fix-It Fanfic

READ ON AO3

“Hello, Cas.”

Dean Winchester has to admit this new Heaven is great and all, but nothing compares to the deep-seated satisfaction of watching his best friend startle at his voice, turning on the spot, their eyes locking. 

Now you know how it feels, dumbass. 

“Hello, Dean.” 

Something settles in Dean’s chest at that.

Cas looks different. Younger, maybe. Less tortured, definitely.

The trench coat isn’t quite right, though.

The sun is still shining, where they stand on the edge of the lake. 

Dean has no idea how much time has passed since he left Sam with their mom and dad and hit the road again, one destination in mind, Bobby’s “Cas helped” ringing in his ears. He doesn’t know how he knew where to go, it more of a feeling, than anything else. Like a beacon calling out to somewhere deep inside him. 

So he drives. 

And finds him at the edge of a familiar-looking pier, gazing out at the water, deep in thought. 

So deep in fact, that Dean manages to somehow sneak up on him. He wonders if it’s a particular perk that Jack wrote into the fabric of this place.

Dean Winchester must finally be allowed to get the drop on the angel, Castiel. It’s an intrinsic part of his eternal paradise.

For what must be one of the only times in their many years of friendship, Cas breaks eye contact after a fleeting but heavy glance, looking over Dean’s shoulder to where Baby is glinting in the late-afternoon sun. 

“Did you have a nice drive?” 

He did.

He hadn’t meant for it to last quite as long as it did, but got lost in the journey, time slipping by like nothing at all as Kansas and later, Led Zeppelin, crooned on the radio.

“I did,” he replies, coming to stand right next to the angel, “thanks for bringing Baby up here.” 

He knows it was Cas’ doing. Ensuring his Impala was waiting for him. Not that Jack needed reminding. He smiles as he thinks of their driving lessons. 

“Your version of Heaven wouldn’t be complete without your beloved vehicle,” Cas attempts a smile while still not looking directly at him. 

Something lurches in Dean’s stomach. The same something that once had him reaching for the bottle and drinking himself into a blackout, numbing stupor. 

“Cas…” he tries to speak over the lump in his throat, “back in the bunker, man, I—”

“Sam arrived okay?” Cas cuts across lightly, moving away from him, shuffling along the edge of the lake, eyes downcast.

Dean blinks before stumbling after him, confused.

“Uh, yeah. He did. Lived a long, happy life with Eileen. Just like he deserved.” 

Cas says nothing at that, but the tension that mars his shoulders eases a little. 

“Eileen arrived some time ago. I got to introduce her to your mom.”

Dean didn’t know that. Hadn’t thought to ask that. Hadn’t thought to ask a lot of things, really.

Guilt rises from the pit of his gut. 

“Sammy’s with them all now,” he speaks in an effort to drown it out, “pretty sure Mom is showing her our baby pictures as we speak.” 

He chuckles.

“Jack really did think of every little detail, huh?” 

Cas gives a nod, short and curt, eyes still downcast and suddenly, Dean can’t take it anymore. 

“I thought about it, every day. Saving you.”

The words expel from him, banished from his body before he can stop them. 

His legs move on their own volition until he is barely a foot from him, speaking directly to the back of his head. 

“‘Gripping you tight and raising you from perdition,’” he quotes in his best Cas-gruff, “repaying the favor from all those years ago.”

He heaves a sigh as Cas abruptly comes to a halt.

“Killing myself somehow to plunge into the Empty on a wing and a prayer, maybe. One last deal to end all deals. But then I...I thought about your sacrifice. You died for me, Cas. So that I could live. So that I could be more than daddy’s blunt instrument. More than the destructive son of a bitch I’ve been since that night in ‘83.”

He pauses, watching the water ripple along the bank. 

“I had no way of knowing that some wayward rebar would put a stop to that so soon,” he laughs dryly, holding his arms out, sarcasm seeping into his tone, “‘the great Dean Winchester’ cut down in his prime by some shoddy—”

“I almost asked Jack to bring you back,” Cas interjects, eyes now cast out to the skyline as he wrings his hands, “I was...concerned about Sam. And—the unfairness of it all. I...I didn’t want your story to end like that, Dean. You deserve happiness too.”

His heart gives another lurch in his chest.

So much for being dead. Don’t think the ol’ ticker got the memo. 

“I was, Cas,” he half whispers to the water, “I was happy. If even just for a little bit. Because, we, me and Sam, we were finally writing our own story. Not Chuck.” 

He tilts his head as Cas slowly begins to turn. 

“I just didn’t count on that kinda plot twist,” he speaks around a half-smirk, half-grimace, “always thought I’d go down in a blaze of glory. Not offed by some opportunistic, no-name vamp and crappy reinforced steel.” 

He finally lets himself laugh at that. Loud and abrupt and more than a little pained. The sheer absurdity of it. Him, having survived Hell and possessions and God himself. 

Cas doesn’t laugh.

But he does step slightly closer. 

“He called his kid Dean,” Dean continues, apropos of nothing. “Sammy.”

“I heard.”

“Dean Castiel Winchester.” 

Cas blinks, apparently not privy to that information.

“That’s...touching.” 

“Yeah,” Dean grins, “really rolls off the tongue, huh? Castiel Winchester?” 

Cas shifts his weight from foot to foot, his brow furrowed.

Guilt creeps into Dean’s veins. 

“Cas...will you look at me, man?” 

A beat passes. 

“Please?” 

Finally, those bright blue eyes meet his, holding his gaze this time. 

“Hi.” 

It’s not what he intended to say. Not even close. But it’s a start.

Cas throws him a puzzled look.

“Hello, Dean.” 

A shiver, one he hasn’t felt in what feels like a lifetime ago and also like it was yesterday, flows up his spine at Cas’ voice. 

“God, I missed you.” 

Something unreadable passes over Cas’ face before a smile, small but warm, appears. 

“I missed you too, Dean.” 

He lets that settle between them for a beat, basking in the words that always manages to sound a little different coming from his best friend than they ever did from his brother. 

“Back in the bunker…” he attempts again, only to trail off when he sees Cas visibly tense, eyes darting away again.

He’s waiting for rejection, he thinks to himself.

The realisation hits him like a spike through the back.

Too soon?

“Back in the bunker,” he continues for the third time, voice softer than he could ever remember it being, “I thought that was it. That we were gonna die. For good.” 

Cas’ gaze slowly starts to rise again.

“That Billie was gonna kill you, that the last thing I’d see before I died was her destroying you,” he pauses, his breath shaky, “and it broke me. That...fear...I started to shut down.” 

Blue eyes meet green. 

“And then you started talking,” he murmurs, his pulse speeding up as he recounts the memory he had fought so hard to keep buried, “you said that happiness isn’t in the having. It’s in just being. In just...saying it.’” 

A gasp, short and shallow and quiet escapes Cas, then.

But he keeps Dean’s gaze. 

“Yes I...I did say that.” 

Dean nods.

“You said something else too.” 

Cas nods back, a stricken expression crossing his face. 

“Dean—”

“I was frozen, paralysed,” Dean cuts across him, taking that last step towards him to halt merely inches from his face, “I...I couldn’t process what you were saying. I couldn’t...make sense of it. You said I was caring and selfless and the most loving human being you had ever known, but Cas,” he takes a deep, shuddering breath, the words lodging in his throat as he blinks back the burning behind his eyes. 

“You deserved so much better than what I gave you.” 

Cas shakes his head vigorously, holding up a hand. 

“No, Dean. What you gave me—”

“All I gave you was grief and anger and pain, man. I know that.” 

Cas’ mouth twists at that. 

“You always came when I called, you fell, rebelled, were hunted,” Dean continues, swallowing down the bile rising in his throat, “you gave me everything. You gave your grace, your life, more than once—”

“And I did all that, I risked my life, my grace, I rebelled and was hunted because I had changed, Dean. I cared. You changed me. You made me care about everything and everyone. You gave me that. You gave me a place in the world. A place to call home. A family to call my own. That was all you.” 

Cas is breathing hard. Dean’s eyes lowers to his chest, surprised to find it heaving. Something stirs in his stomach at the sight. 

“Do you understand?” 

Slowly, he lifts his gaze back up and nods. 

They fall into a silence, nothing but the sound of the water and some nearby birds passing between them. 

It’s here that Dean finally decides that his happiness deserves to be said. No Empty could threaten them here. But he’s always been an ‘actions speak louder’ kinda guy.  

Turning on his heel, he books it back over to Baby, throwing open the trunk. He can feel Cas’ wide, confused eyes on him and he reaches in and pulls out what he instinctively knows is somehow there, waiting for him. Slamming the trunk, he holds it behind his back as he races back over to the lake’s edge, a little unnerved that Cas may do one of his disappearing acts before he gets a chance to show him. 

He takes the last few steps slowly. Closing the distance between them bit by bit as he tries to dredge up every ounce of courage he has ever felt fighting demons and vampires and the Devil and God. 

He stops mere inches from Castiel, angel of the (former) Lord, and the best friend he has ever had and holds out his old trench coat, the same coat he had kept with him all this time, on every hunt, on every drive. 

“This uh...this belongs to you.” 

It’s not the only thing that belongs to him. But Dean can’t quite say that. Not just yet. 

“Dean…” Cas’ voice is low, soft when he reaches out to take it, their fingers brushing. 

A bolt of electricity flows up Dean’s arm, his grip tightening on the cloth.

“You kept it.” 

Cas sounds disbelieving, reverent, loving. 

He sounds like he has always sounded, now that Dean lets himself hear it.

See it.

“Of course I kept it. It’s yours. And I…” he lets out a breath, nerves settling as he allows himself to finally experience those feelings within him differently for the first time, like he once said he wanted to, to a priest in a church confessional. 

He speaks the truth, out loud, for his best friend, the man who has meant everything to him for what feels like forever, to finally hear.

“I love you too, Cas.” 

He half expects the new Heaven to open, a crack in the chassis of paradise to form at that revelation. 

But the water keeps flowing, the birds keep singing and Cas...keeps staring.

Not exactly the reaction he was going for.

“It’s...I’m honoured to be considered a Winchester brother.”

Dean blinks.

Ice cold fear, stronger and more intense than anything he had ever felt while he was alive, seeps into his veins, then. 

Had he got it wrong? What Cas was saying to him in his last moments? Had that not meant—

He looks down into those deep blue eyes and sees...more. More emotions and thoughts and feelings than Dean could hope to comprehend. 

Cas always did look at him a hell of a lot differently than Sam ever did. Than anyone ever did.

With a shake of his head and a mental pep-talk that consists fully of ‘fuck it, I’m already dead,’ he lets his hand slide across Cas’, halting it before he could pull away.

“No, Cas I-I mean yeah, you are a Winchester, always have been, but...that’s not what I meant. I...”

He puts the slightest amount of pressure on the back of his hand, almost squeezing but not quite, it enough to spur him on to make another confession. His deepest and oldest yet.

“What you wanted but...could never have? I-I’m saying you can have it.” 

He’s pretty sure neither one of them are breathing at that moment. Not that Cas ever needed to, or that they especially need to now. But, there is a noticeable stillness between them as Cas digests his words. 

It’s the longest seven seconds of Dean’s after-life. And considering time moves differently up here, that’s saying something. 

A smile, gentle but filled with so much happiness it has Dean’s heart hammering against his ribcage, breaks out on Cas’ face. 

“I would like that, Dean.” 

Bafflingly, he begins to shed his clothes.

Dean’s eyes widen, panic and something else surging through him as he glances frantically around for any prying eyes. Cas is stripping out in the open, in heaven of all places. 

Holy shit. The holiest. 

“Whoa, whoa, what—”

It’s then that he realises that Cas is just removing his coat and is now pulling on the old one, beaming. 

That settles something in Dean, then. Fills a space he knew had been empty for a long, long time, as his eyes land on Cas with his signature trench coat, striped tie and white shirt, even in paradise. 

He hadn’t changed too much, then. And God, (Jack?), Dean loves him for it. 

“How do I look?” Cas asks, holding his arms out, looking expectant, much like he had years ago when he had walked out of their motel bathroom, freshly changed and Dean didn’t know quite how to keep his shit together.

He had been so blind.

“Good,” he rasps before clearing his throat, reaching out and fixing Cas’ lapels, smoothing them down and itching to keep his hands resting just over his heart.

Another beat passed as Dean stared doggedly down at the old, brown material. 

"You know,” Cas begins, sounding as if he had just figured something out, “in those ‘chick flicks’ you insist you don't like, wouldn't this be the part where you kiss me?"

Green eyes meet those baby blue for what felt like the millionth and first time all at once. 

“You wanna have a chick flick moment, Cas?” he asks quietly, because he’s scared and needs a minute to actually get his shit together for the most important thing he never got to do in life. 

“After everything, I think we deserve it.”

Dean’s eyes slip closed at that, basking in the timbre of his voice as he leans down to rest their foreheads together. 

“Yeah,” he agrees, his breath brushing against Cas’ lips, “we do.”

He closes the gap and kisses him feather-light. 

Heaven doesn’t implode, the world doesn’t end.

So he does it again.

A little harder this time, his mouth dropping open in a half-gasp as Cas leans up, pressing against him and clutching at his shirt, his tongue trailing along his bottom lip. 

Damn. The pizza man teach him that too?

Any coherent thought leaves his brain when he licks into Cas’ mouth, their tongues meeting. Dean clasps Cas’ jaw in his hand Cas grips his shoulder, right over where his risened handprint used to lie, and his bloodied one stayed on his jacket forever as Dean never could bring himself to wash it before he kicked the bucket. 

Emotion wells in Dean’s chest, the word finally ringing within him. 

“I-I have wanted that for a very long time,” Cas mumbles against his lips as they break for air from habit rather than necessity. 

“Yeah, me too…” Dean replies, tipping their foreheads together again, “I’m sorry it took me so long to realise it.” 

Cas’ hold on his shoulder tightens. It’s forgiveness and an apology all in one. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I’m sorry I had to leave you.” 

I’m sorry you died, lies unsaid between them. 

Dean merely shakes his head, tilting back to catch his eye. 

“So we’re two sorry dumbasses,” he jokes gently, warmth spreading in his chest at the sight of Cas’ bright eyes glistening, knowing his own are in a similar state.

“I prefer the word ‘pining.’ Less dumb, less ass.” 

A laugh bursts from Dean then, loud and more jovial than he had felt in years. 

“Come on, sunshine,” he grins, knocking their shoulders and staying close, “we got some people waiting to see us.” 

~~

For the lovely @itsmajel & @thefriendlypigeon ♥♥

(I’ve not watched a full episode of Supernatural in six years. The finale being the exception, so sorry for any inaccuracies!) 

[viktorrotkiv]

Trust Me

This fic was written for the @snowbaz-sweethearts-exchange as a gift for @seducing-a-vampire , and beta-read by @stevenuniversestolemyheart ​ (<3).

Read on AO3

*

Simon was being weird again. Avoiding him. Being evasive and distant.

Baz has been through this once before, and he really doesn’t want to do it again. This game of avoiding one another, almost-talking about feelings, trying to keep hold of a sinking ship. They survived the last time, but just barely. Baz thinks maybe he didn’t do enough then, because it feels like they survived on pure chance. Luck of the draw. Fate had tested their relationship, pushed it almost to the breaking point, then got bored and gave up, and they bounced back. Slightly broken, and a little less idealistic, but realer, and stronger. Different.

Baz couldn’t stand change. He had had enough ‘different’ for a lifetime. This time, the ship won’t even start to sink, because he’s going to stop it.

He’s going to prove to Simon Snow that he’s the best boyfriend around.

*

At first, Simon was worried about Baz’s birthday. He wanted to make sure it was perfect and special. After everything they’d been through, Baz deserved some happiness and peace. But the moment he thought of his brilliant idea, he relaxed completely. He sunk fully into planning and organizing, devoting hours and days to it, but he wasn’t worried anymore. He was confident.

The grand plan was this; on the morning of February 24th, Simon would show up at Baz’s parents’ house, where Baz was staying for a few weeks. They would have breakfast with Baz’s family, after which, everyone, including Simon, would give Baz his gifts. Simon’s gift will be a pair of jeans, reminiscent of Simon’s first visit to Baz’s house, and a hand-made gift card, entitling Baz to “give Simon Snow a makeover of your choice, including, but not limited to, hair, clothes, and manners.” Baz will laugh and immediately change into the jeans (this was, of course, a crucial part of the plan). They’ll spend the morning with Baz’s family (and maybe some of it in Baz’s room, decidedly away from his family), and then Simon will noncommittally suggest lunch with a few friends. Baz could either accept or decline; this was important in order to make it seem like the day wasn’t orchestrated. In the afternoon they had tickets to see an exhibition at a Normal museum that Baz was buzzed about; this part he was aware of. On the way back from the museum, Simon would suggest walking through a park, where, lo and behold, all of Baz’s friends and family would be waiting with balloons and home-cooked food and cake.

The only problem was that Simon was terrible at keeping secrets, and worse at lying. There was only one solution: he would have to try and avoid Baz for the next few weeks.

February 1st

Mordelia was going to be the death of him. Last night there had been one acceptable clean pair of trousers in his closet. He was sure of it, because he had checked specifically, because he knew that most of his clothes were in the laundry. And now, as he was getting dressed to meet Simon, it was gone. The only things he could find were old trousers that didn’t really fit anymore, and a few pairs of pyjamas.

“Mordelia!” Baz slammed the closet door shut and stormed out of his room. “What did you do with my clothes?! Good morning, Daphne. Mordelia, I’m going to hex you!”

“What?” His little sister peaked innocently out of her room, seemingly trying to shut the door on herself.

“You know what you did. Where are my trousers?”

“Oh, these?” Mordelia bent down and picked something up from the floor behind her.

“Yes, these!” Baz snatched them away angrily. “What on earth did you need them for?”

“Nothing.” She shied away from his inquisitive gaze. “I was, er – I was playing dress up.”

Baz huffed and sighed, but walked away. He didn’t have time for this. The ‘perfect boyfriend’ that he was trying to be was never late. But seriously, who on earth thought that moving back home while he looked for a flat near Simon and Penny was a good idea? Oh, right. All of his friends. His parents too. His siblings were happy to have him. And he wasn’t paying rent.

*

Simon’s secret phone beeped with a message. Yes, he had gotten burner phones for the Top Secret Baz’s Birthday Surprise operation. Growing up in a Normal orphanage had left its marks, and a love for trashy spy movies was one of them.

The message was from Mordelia, one of his many accomplices, and it contained Baz’s trouser size.

Also, he’s mad at me now. Can you tell him it wasn’t my fault that I had to take his trousers?

You’re brilliant, Simon wrote back. And no! You mustn't tell him either, remember?

Will you buy me sweets?

Only if it makes you shut up and promise not to tell Baz

Alright :)

Fine. Simon saw Baz through the window of the coffee shop and quickly put the phone away. As Baz entered the shop, holding a bouquet of flowers, Simon stood up to wave him over. When he reached the table, Baz gave Simon a quick kiss on the cheek, and held out the bouquet.

Simon accepted the flowers and brought them to his nose to cover his embarrassingly big grin. They didn’t usually kiss in public; Baz was as shy about kissing as he was about eating, and they never knew what seemingly-charming old lady would shoot them a disapproving glare. This was a nice change of pace.

The flowers smelled good, and like they had been kept fresh with magic. Simon wondered what they were called.

“They’re Gerbera daisies,” said Baz, seemingly reading his mind. “Now, what disgustingly sweet monstrosity do you want to drink today?”

Simon couldn’t help but grin again. Avoiding Baz was going to be very, very difficult.

February 5th

Simon picked up a pair of jeans, only to be horrified at the amount of tears and holes it had. There was virtually more empty space than cloth. He quickly put it back down, trying and failing to fold it into the right shape, and moved on to the next display. He was feeling kind of lost. Now that Mordelia had acquired Baz’s trouser size for him, he could actually buy Baz’s present, but this wasn’t his speed at all. Big shopping centres. The actual shopping. Lots of Normals around. Fashion. God, he felt completely lost.

“Need any help?”

Simon turned to find that a chipper employee had appeared behind him. They popped up like mushrooms after the rain. “No, thanks, I think I’ll be fine.” Simon did his best to smile as he spoke, but he guessed that the vibes he was giving off were actually ‘terrified’ and ‘lost’ and perhaps ‘sad puppy’.

The employee seemed doubtful but didn’t push it. She was short, with short hair, and her store-mandated vest was covered with optimistic pins. Her ears reminded him of a pixie.

She had started walking away when Simon changed his mind. “Actually! If you don’t mind, I think I do need help.” Her kind smile encouraged him to continue. “I’m looking for jeans for my… my, er, boyfriend. I’m looking for something without many tears, and not too tight.”

“Do you want me to bring you a few options?”

Simon sighed in relief. “That would be great, thanks.” He told her the size he needed, and she walked purposely towards a rack on the other side of the store. As he watched her pull out different pairs and pile them in her arms, fascinated by her decisiveness, Simon’s phone rang. The regular one, not the burner phone. The phone he had forced Baz to buy with him, so they could talk. Baz, who was the one calling him right now.

Shit, shit, shit. He took a deep breath, finger hesitating above the screen, and let the phone ring almost five full rings before picking up.

“Hey, babe.” Simon closed his eyes and mentally kicked himself. He had been going for ‘casual’, but there was nothing casual about pet names with them.

“Babe?” Baz’s incredulous tone was almost enough to make Simon hang up.

“Erm. Yeah. No. Ignore that. What’s going on?”

“Nothing. I just wanted to talk to you.”

“Oh.” Simon looked nervously around the store. The employee was halfway back to him, still stopping at displays and racks.

“Remember how I told you that Mordelia stole my clothes? Now she’s decided to teach the baby how to play the piano. The sound is deafening. I’ve started taking walks around the garden just to avoid her.”

“Oh, that sounds awful.”

“It is! It really is. Erm, so, I tried to find a reason to get out of the house, and I’m in the coffee shop we like, and they have a sale on chocolates, and I was just wondering if you like marzipan.”

“Erm, yeah, sure. It’s sweet, right? Then sure, I guess I like it.” The employee had almost completed a full round. He’d have to hang up soon.

“What about hazelnut? Or – or, get this, hazelnut coffee.”

“Er…” Simon smiled apologetically at the employee, who was back in front of him, carrying a pile of clothes almost as tall as her. “Yes to hazelnut chocolate, no to the coffee. I, er, I kind of have to go, can we talk later?”

“Sure, I – I guess.” Baz let Simon hang up.

Simon thanked the employee profusely and started going through the pile of jeans.

Baz pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at the blank screen, disappointed. Mordelia really was trying to teach the baby to play the piano, that much was true, but it wasn’t the reason he was looking at chocolates. He was trying to do something nice for Simon, and his boyfriend was still acting weird and pulling away. That had to have been the shortest phone conversation they’d had since Simon had forced him to buy the damn thing. What could he have possibly done wrong?

Baz paid for the chocolate in a stupor and left the store deflated.

February 10th

Dearest Basilton,

No. Simon crossed out the words. Who was he, Baz’s grandmother? Wait. Did Baz have a grandmother? Obviously, genetically, he had to have grandmothers. But were they alive? How could Simon not know this? He’d have to ask him.

Simon shook his head and stared at the paper.

Baz, he started again. Simple and personal. You already know how much I love you.

Simon chewed on his pen. No: I hope you already know how much I love you.

But birthdays are a time to state the obvious again. So, I love you, I love you, I love you. You’re the best person I know. The bravest, the strongest, the most resolute person I know. The smartest. Wait, nevermind. Second smartest. Stop glaring at me and read the rest of the card.

I love how good you are with your siblings. How patient and gentle you are with me when I need it most. I love how dramatic you are, and how dramatic our story is. I love that you’re looking for a flat near me and Penny. Maybe eventually we’ll be looking for a flat near Penny. I hope so. I hope we get there.

I wish you the best birthday ever. The best fucking birthday anyone on this planet has ever had, Baz. And an incredible year. And an amazing life after that. You deserve it. I’ll be there to share that year and that life with you, for as long as I can.

Well. If all goes according to plan, you’ll be reading this in front of your family, and I don’t want you to sob like a baby in front of them, so I’ll stop now. But I just need you to know that you matter, so much.

Love,

Me.

There. Perfect. Simon started copying the words from the draft paper to the card.

*

Baz glanced at the recipe again to make sure. Three quarters cup of butter wasn’t going to be enough for his boyfriend. He turned back to the counter and filled the cup to the brim with melted butter.

As he poured the butter from the cup to the bowl, he heard Mordelia’s small, barefoot steps entering the kitchen, and then he was attacked from behind with a waist-height hug.

“Hey!” He turned around, pretending to be mad. “Never put your sticky little hands on my clothes again. As your punishment, you now have to help me bake.” He lifted her onto the counter and she giggled. “Here, take this and mix the batter.”

Mordelia turned to the bowl beside her and started mixing with great concentration as Baz added the rest of the ingredients. Mordelia helped him shape the batter into scones, and when they came out of the oven, round and fresh and smelling like the feeling of home and lazy mornings and butter, he let her have one.

The rest of the scones went with Baz to Simon and Penny’s flat. Baz hardly bothered to knock these days. He had a key to the flat, but since Simon was the world’s biggest airhead, the door was usually left unlocked. It was the first in a long list of things that both Baz and Penny chided him on.

He called out as he entered, but spotted Simon almost immediately, sitting at the kitchen table with a look of intense concentration. When he noticed his boyfriend, Simon quickly shoved the piece of paper he was working on under the napkin holder.

“What’s that?” Baz gestured to the table.

Simon waved his hand, trying to blow away the question, but he looked a bit worried. “It’s nothing.” He enveloped Baz in a hug and a kiss. “Are these scones for me?”

Baz nodded. “Home baked.”

Simon’s thrilled yell startled Penny out of her room. The three of them spent a cozy afternoon together, eating scones and watching movies, but Baz couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that Simon was hiding something from him.

February 14th

Valentine’s day wasn’t nearly as big a deal for mages as it was for Normals, but Simon had told Baz all about what it was like for Normals a few months ago. Apparently, they went completely out of their way to show their partners that they loved them. To Baz, it seemed kind of obvious that people liked who they’re dating. But apparently Normals bought ridiculous gifts, like huge teddy bears that were completely impractical, or much too much chocolate for one person.

Actually, in Simon’s case, there was no such thing as too much chocolate. Baz supposed the whole ordeal was kind of sweet. At least, it was sweet how excited Simon got over the holiday. So he decided to surprise him with a date.

He was currently at a Normal shopping centre, making preparations. Baz looked at the bags he was holding, wondering if anything was missing. He had bought a teddy bear (medium sized, so it could fit on Simon’s bed); a box of chocolates (not heart shaped, God forbid); a bouquet of red and white roses (these, Baz could appreciate the value of); and a box of pastries (chock-full of butter, of course). It seemed like enough, until a colorful stall caught Baz’s eye. In a clear plastic case sat a pile of colorful heart shaped candies, engraved with cheesy-sweet sentiments. Kiss me. First love. Be mine. Baz thought that some grubby little child had probably put their dirty hands all over the candy. Simon, on the other hand, would love them. Baz added a bag of the candies to his shopping pile.

Next was picking up Simon’s favorite dishes at an Italian restaurant they liked, and finally, picking Simon up and taking him on a surprise picnic in the park.

*

Simon didn’t usually bake, but since he wanted everything to be special on his boyfriend’s perfect birthday, he had announced to Penny and Agatha that he was going to make the cake himself. They had promptly laughed in his face, and then offered to teach him how to bake.

At the time, Simon had protested that there was always a recipe, and you didn’t need to learn how to bake. Now he couldn’t be happier that the girls had convinced him to make a practice cake, especially after Baz’s scones had set the bar pretty high. Apparently, there was a certain cup size you had to use for measurements, and there were different types of flour for different types of doughs, and some people (Simon included) needed to break a few eggs wrong before they could break an egg right.

So the brisk knock at the door, followed by Baz’s voice floating in, couldn’t have come at a worse time. Simon was wearing Penny’s ridiculous apron, which had the names of classical composers printed haphazardly all over it in strange angles, and he was covered in flour and a milk stain.

“Shit. What do I do?”

Agatha pulled the apron off Simon’s neck and patted most of the flour off his shirt. “Make up some excuse, if you can.”

Simon walked around the corner to the front of the house tentatively. “Hey!”

Baz flourished yet another bouquet of flowers. What had gotten into him lately? “Hello. I’ve come to steal you for a few hours.”

“Oh, it’s… it’s not the best time. Er, Agatha is here, and, erm, she and Penny really want me to bake this cake with them…. Can we please reschedule for tomorrow?”

“Actually, we can’t. You can bake a cake any other time. Oh, it smells good…” Baz started to walk towards the kitchen, but Simon quickly got in his way. “Snow, what are you doing? I would like to say hello to Penny and Agatha.”

“Snow?” Simon seemed dumbfounded. “You haven’t called me that in a while.”

Baz sighed. “I’m sorry. It just feels like you’ve been pulling away from me lately. Which makes me feel like we’re in school again. Which is one of the reasons you need to come with me right now, because I planned a lovely date for us, and the food is getting cold.”

Simon ran a hand through his hair, mussing up the curls. “Give me three minutes, and then we can leave, okay? This is really sweet. Thank you.”

“Alright. I’ll say hello to the girls and then wait in the car. I’m not sure that it isn’t going to get towed away.”

“Erm, no. I – I need three minutes first, and then you can say hello.” Simon hurried into the kitchen and shut the door firmly behind him, feeling very guilty. “Ladies. We need to wrap this up. I told him we were baking a cake, but he probably expects something much… smaller than this.”

Penny looked back and forth between the multi-layered cake and the door, behind which stood Baz. “We’re just about done. It needs to go into the refrigerator for a few hours.”

Agatha shook her head. “He might want to see it if it’s in the refrigerator.” She picked the cake up carefully and slid it gracefully into the oven.

Penny, ever the rule stickler, looked shocked. “You – you can’t. It’s a chilled cake.”

“Just trust me, okay?” She shut the oven door just as Baz opened the door.

“Simon, this is ridiculous. Hello, Wellbelove, Bunce. Please tell my idiot boyfriend that he can bake with you any other time, and that today is Valentine’s Day, which he was excited about, and he has to come with me before our food gets cold.”

“That sounds like kidnapping.”

Agatha, ever the peacemaker, shot Penny a glare. “I personally couldn’t agree more. We actually just put the cake in the oven, so it’s the perfect time for Simon to leave.”

“The oven… isn’t on.”

“We’re using magic. That’s why it doesn’t look turned on. Penelope wanted to practice her heating magic. Right, Penny?” Agatha sickly-sweet smile still held a remnant of the murderous glare.

“Erm… yes. Exactly. Simon, go and have fun. It is Valentine’s Day, after all. We’ve got this.”

February 24th

The last week and a half before Baz’s birthday passed uneventfully. He and Simon toured a few apartments and had some nights out, but neither one had any more steps to their plan. Simon was done with his. Baz was just exhausted and out of ideas.

*

In Simon’s opinion, Baz’s birthday passed without a hitch. He showed up at the Pitch manor at the appointed time. Breakfast, presents, and a lazy morning all went according to plan. Baz even teared up a little when reading his card.

“You’re such a sap, Sn– Simon. I– I love you too.” Baz embraced him, but Simon was practically buzzing with giddiness and pushed him off.

“Open the rest of it!”

“This gift card entitles you to–” Baz burst out laughing. “That’s incredible. I am definitely using it in the next week. And this is… jeans. These are jeans. You probably want me to change into them right now, don’t you?” Baz walked into the guest bathroom accompanied by excited cheers from both Simon and his siblings, and emerged wearing a snug pair of jeans to excited claps and whoops from his parents.

*

Later, in Baz’s room, Simon decided it was time for a little digging. “Do you… this is a bit random.” He picked at Baz’s duvet absentmindedly. “Do you still have grandmothers?”

“Daphne’s parents live an hour away. We see them once a month or so.”

“And your biological grandparents…?”

Baz shook his head minutely.

“Oh! It’s one already! I told Penny I would let her know– your dead relatives are fascinating and everything, but do you want to have lunch with the girls? Maybe Dev and Niall?”

“My dead relatives are fascinating, don’t disrespect them like that.” Baz broke out in a smile. Maybe Simon’s cold patch was over. “Sure. Let’s have lunch.”

*

Later, much later, they were walking on a lamp lit street, arms hooked together and frosty breaths mingling in the air, and Simon leaned his head on Baz’s shoulder. “I have to admit, that exhibition was actually interesting.”

“I know. Robert was a genius. But I’m still having a bit of a hard time believing that you enjoyed an art exhibition so much.” Baz could feel Simon shaking with laughter beside him, his warm body pressed to his shoulder to hip. He didn’t want to ruin the moment. He really didn’t. But… “Simon. We should talk.”

Simon picked his head up and Baz immediately missed the comforting weight on his shoulder. “Huh?”

“You’ve been distant lately. As if you don’t really want to spend time with me.”

“Don’t be silly. I love you. Here, let’s walk through this park.” Simon was barely listening, pulling on Baz’s sleeve to steer him towards a lit patch of grass.

Baz took a deep breath. “You’re avoiding my questions again. It feels… It feels like you’re hiding something from me.”

Simon stopped walking and looked back at him with sudden realization. “Something like… your birthday surprise?”

Baz squinted at the park ahead of them. Were those...?

“Don’t be silly. I would never hide anything from you. Not again.” Simon reached up and kissed Baz sweetly. “Now come on. Everybody is waiting for us. I’m in charge of bringing the birthday boy, and it’s too simple a job to mess up.”

Baz let Simon lead the way. He didn’t want him to see the ridiculous grin that he couldn’t seem to wipe off his face.

[blackswaneuroparedux]

The Irish Lion: The legend of Paddy Mayne and the SAS

The first crop of Special Air Service (SAS) soldiers were a motley crew of bar-room brawlers, public school hell-raisers, eccentrics and misfits but they all embodied the tenets of courage, honour and ingenuity.

Hatched in the desert and borne out of the necessity of World War Two, the SAS or known as ‘the regiment’ was started by the 6’5” ‘Phantom Major’ David Stirling nicknamed him The Giant Sloth for his chronic laziness and fondness for slipping out of camp for nights of carousing. He hated marching, military discipline and disdained authority. By all accounts a terrible soldier but he was brave and cunning.

The principle behind the SAS was simple: To use small bands of irregular elite soldiers who could operate by stealth behind enemy lines, destroying aircraft, supplies and hopefully also enemy morale as a by-product of causing vast mayhem. One perception of the unit at this stage is as a motley band of scruffy and rebellious commandoes striking out of the darkness at the Nazis. The latter part of that is true, the former needs qualifying – all the men were disciplined operators drawn from commando units. They sometimes grew out unkempt beards because they were in the desert and away from camp for long stretches. It, of course, helps glamourise things more that Stirling himself was captured and eventually transferred to the infamous Colditz Castle after multiple escape attempts.

In his absence, responsibility for the SAS passed to his second in command, the larger-than-life Irishman Robert Blair ‘Paddy’ Mayne.

Known to be a terrific soldier with tremendous battlefield intuition, Mayne was allegedly recommended to Stirling by his friend Eoin McGonigal. He was brave, unconventional and a force to be reckoned with – the perfect man for the nascent SAS. There was just one problem: He was languishing in prison for striking his superior officer Geoffrey Keyes (or perhaps it was for threatening him with a bayonet?). Curiosity sparked, Stirling went to meet Mayne in his jail cell.

An account of their initial meeting appears in Alan Hoe’s biography of the SAS founder.  At first, Mayne was reluctant to join Stirling’s unit, known at that point as ‘L Detachment’: “’I can’t see any prospects of real fighting in this scheme of yours’. There was undisguised scepticism on his face. “’There isn’t any. Except against the enemy’. It was the right reply because Mayne began to laugh. “’All right. If you can get me out of here I’ll come along’. He extended his huge hand. “’There’s one more thing’, Stirling said, ignoring the hand. ‘This is one commanding officer you never hit and I want your promise on that’. He reached out for the hand.

It wasn’t just the partnership that became legendary. On the heels of his stunning military successes, a number of stories about Mayne sprang up that added to the legend.

The son of William Mayne and Margaret Boyle Vance. Robert Blair "Paddy" Mayne was born on 11th January 1915. He was born into a wealthy Presbyterian family and the sixth of seven children, four boys and three girls. He grew up on the 41-acre grounds of the Mount Pleasant estate overlooking the town of Newtownards, County Down in Northern Ireland. Educated at Regent House School, he played cricket, rugby and golf, excelling in each while also demonstrating an aptitude as a marksman in the rifle club.

While at Queen’s in Belfast studying law to eventually qualify as a solicitor (lawyer), he took up boxing and within a matter of months won the Irish Universities Heavyweight title in August 1936. He made his Ireland rugby debut against Wales at Ravenhill in 1937 and the last of six appearances two years later, coincidentally against the same opposition in Belfast. His talent was recognised in selection for 1938 Lions tour to South Africa, where he made quite an impression on and off the pitch. Mayne could tolerate any physical challenge but was unable to cope with boredom and when of a mind to do something expected full compliance from acolytes, willing or reluctant. Breaking hotel furniture during drunken stupors were not uncommon.

His drunken off-pitch exploits couldn’t camouflage his innate ability as a gifted rugby player. Mayne lined out in 17 of the 20 provincial games and all three tests against the Springboks; having lost the first two he was singularly influential in securing a victory for the Lions in the third test.

The late Sean Diffley, rugby correspondent and author, wrote of the talented rugby second-row: “Mayne was a Viking, a throwback to the ancient days of towering warriors, gentle and charming when in repose, but fierce and dangerous when aroused, and a ‘hyphenated’ nuisance when he had a couple of jars. His fierce dark physical outbursts may well have been the stuff of legend, but they were not always fun to those immediately concerned, and they were a great cause of worry to his friends. There was the case of the Irish player for instance, who in 1939, was thrown out of the window of the Swansea hotel by Mayne during the post-match celebrations. Witnesses were thankful that it was a ground floor window and that the player came to no harm, but it was not simply high jinx either that caused the incident, but the result of Mayne brooding darkly on something that is now long forgotten.”

At the outbreak of the Second World War, Mayne received a commission in the 5th Anti-Aircraft Battery, in April 1940 joined the Royal Ulster Rifles and following Dunkirk volunteered for the 11 (Scottish) Commando.

He was mentioned in dispatches for the impressive manner in which he commanded his troop in the Litani River Raid in Lebanon and recruited by David Stirling for his newly formed SAS unit.

There are tales of Mayne shooting the floor around the feet of a bar owner who overcharged and was rude to him, and the 2004 documentary ‘SAS Warrior: The Life of Paddy Mayne’ reports that an intoxicated Mayne once unloaded his pistol into a drinking companion.

The murder is said to have been covered up.

But many of these stories are untrue, or at the very least they require contextual explanation.

Take for instance the story that Mayne was in prison and awaiting a court-martial for striking his commanding officer, Geoffrey Keyes, later posthumously awarded a Victoria Cross, but whom the Irishman considered an upper-class twit. That Mayne had no time for the privileged caste is part of Mayne’s myth making.

Many historians now dispute the veracity of the story. There is no record of Mayne’s arrest and David Stirling, as author Gavin Mortimer and other writers of the SAS Regiment have written, was prone to exaggerate to mischievously feed the legend. 

Indeed the story that Mayne was imprisoned for striking his superior officer, Geoffrey Keyes because he wasn’t selected for a raid to kidnap or kill Erwin Rommel makes no sense. The SAS were drawn from Nos 7, 8 and 11 Commandos, operating around the Mediterranean in 1941. (Commando were units containing around 500 well-trained troops). Keyes and Mayne were both in 11 Commando, which was decimated in a mission in Syria earlier that year. By the time it was reconstituted and the Rommel Raid conceived, Mayne had already left the unit. In any case, it’s just as well Mayne did not participate – the mission failed (because Rommel wasn’t there) and Keyes, along with many others, didn’t make it back.

Instead, Mayne, would meet Stirling in North Africa months before, and not in a prison cell either.

It was he who, in fact, recommended his friend Eoin McGonigal to Stirling, not the other way around.

Stirling was not looking for a modern-day incarnation of a Viking berserker. On the contrary, the founding philosophy of the SAS (then known as L-Detachment) indicates a need for extreme heroism but also extreme professionalism: “An undisciplined TOUGH is no good, however tough he may be. Most of ‘L’ Detachment’s work is night work and all of it demands courage, fitness and determination of the highest degree and also, and just as important, discipline, skill and intelligence and training.”

The odd thing is that life in the SAS during World War 2 was perfectly exciting enough. There simply wasn’t any need to make up tall tales. Mayne himself said as much in a letter: “(T)here is no use writing this stuff, people think you are shooting a line – the most fantastic things happen every time we go out.”

A perfect example of this occurred around the time Mayne wrote this. He and Stirling had decided to drive a truck with five comrades right up to an enemy encampment in the desert.

They had a German speaker with them and used him to bluff their way in. When the man was asked for the password, Mayne, who didn’t speak much German, related later what he understood the general direction of the conversation to have been:

“How the – do we know what the – password is, and don’t ask for our – identity cards either. They’re lost and we’ve been fighting for the past seventy hours against these – Tommies. Our car was destroyed and we were lucky to capture this British truck and get back at all. Some fool put us on the wrong road. We’ve been driving for the past two hours and then you so and sos, sitting here on your arses in Benghazi, in a nice safe job, stop us. So hurry up, get that – gate open.”

It wouldn’t be a nice safe job much longer. Mayne, who had a pistol resting on his lap, waited as one of the guards stepped closer to inspect them. Luckily the bluff worked because Mayne realised at the last minute he’d forgotten to cock it.

Once the gate was open, they proceeded to blast the hell out of the trucks and tents that they found within the camp, before also blowing up their own truck (by mistake) and hot-footing it out of there.

By this point, of course, they’d found their stride, but it had been a difficult learning curve. L-Detachment’s first mission called for dropping 60 men by parachute behind enemy lines. But wind conditions were awful and they were scattered hopelessly wide, isolated in the desert and miles from their targets. Most were either killed or captured (one of the dead was Mayne’s friend Eoin McGonigal). Fortunately, there was a solution right under David Stirling’s nose.

The Long Range Desert Group were themselves a kind of special operations unit conducting reconnaissance and the occasional raid of their own. A portion of their men and vehicles were next allocated to assist L-Detachment, and from that point forward Stirling’s force would be conveyed to their targets by their comrades in the LRDG. Gavin Mortimer’s book ‘Stirling’s Desert Triumph: The SAS Egyptian Airfield Raids 1942’ features an exchange between Mayne and one of his subordinates during a mission rehearsal in one of the 30cwt Chevrolet trucks they’d be using:

“’What direction are we driving in?’ (Mayne) suddenly said, turning to the front gunner. “The man stared at the stars, trying to figure out which star was which. At length he replied: “’North-east, I should say, sir’. “’Ha!’ exclaimed Mayne. ‘You wouldn’t get far if you had to walk back.’ “Changing gear, Mayne cast a sideways glance at his gunner and said quietly: ‘Mind you’re certain of your direction by tomorrow night’.”

At first, Stirling’s men were dropped off some distance from their targets and then approached on foot. The favoured method for destroying German planes in airfields – the main objective – was to attach and then detonate Lewes bombs. These had been created by one of their comrades, Lieutenant Jock Lewes.

But then a new method of operation was stumbled upon. During a raid on Bagoush airfield, in the Quattara Depression, Mayne had put bombs on 40 aircraft but only 22 of them went off. After examining some charges left over, he found that the primers had been inserted into their plastic sleeves too early – they’d been in there too long and had become damp.

From this problem came a series of solutions: They should just drive the LRDG vehicles right up to the target from now on to save time; they should, therefore, make sure the vehicles had machine guns mounted for protection; in fact, why not just drive the vehicles into the airfields and use the machine guns to destroy the planes instead?

This all came together in the raid on Sidi Haneish airfield on July 26/27, 1942. Two columns of nine jeeps each burst out of the night and whipped around the rows of Luftwaffe planes, riddling them with bullets before high tailing it back out into the darkness. 30 aircraft were left in ruins.

But the history of the SAS and Paddy Mayne wasn’t all spectacular desert raids.

Following the capture of Stirling and the migration of the war to Sicily and Italy, the nature of the fighting changed.

So too did Paddy.

L-Detachment had been re-designated as 1 SAS Regiment on September 28, 1942, and now Mayne, promoted to Major himself, was its standard bearer in Stirling’s absence. Contrary to his reputation as a stereotypical action hero, Ross says that Mayne’s side as solicitor now emerged as he came to be, in Ross’ view, probably a better administrator than Stirling. To be sure, an authoritarian side also emerged, but this too seems indicative of his care and commitment to professionalism, training and mission prep. He seems to have cared very deeply about men killed under this command and worked extraordinarily hard to prevent their deaths.

The SAS’ next incarnation as ‘the Special Raiding Squadron’ (SRS) was certainly very successful, as it worked its way over defensive positions in Sicily and then up the western side of the Italian peninsula. These actions are noteworthy for two things: Difficult objectives achieved and relatively low casualty rates, a testament to Mayne’s careful stewardship.

Augmented by the American landing in the east at Salerno on September 9, 1943, one of these actions took place at the Biferno river, behind which the Germans were making a stand. The SRS, along with Nos 3 and 40 Commandos were dispatched to Termoli to outflank them. No 3 Commando would establish a beachhead allowing No 40 Commando to capture the town and its harbour whilst the SRS continued on to take bridges. The subsequent fighting would be the stuff of Hollywood Second World War movies, featuring trucks set ablaze and Germans spilling out in alarm, along with encounters with hardened German paratroopers and skirmishes around farm buildings.

Despite the stiff and professional resistance, the Special Raiding Squadron lost only one killed, three wounded and 23 as MIAs. In return they inflicted casualties of 23 killed, 17 wounded and 39 captured, as well as taking ground north of the Biferno.

Next up was France. Here the SRS would be upgraded to 1 SAS proper, a battalion-sized force of about 1,000 men, as it served in the Special Air Service Brigade alongside 2 SAS (led by Bill Stirling, David’s brother) and two French parachute battalions and an independent Belgian parachute company (about 200 men). Just as Mediterranean operations had required the SAS to work under different circumstances and terrain, so too would a return to parachuting and work behind enemy lines in France test the unit. Gone (were the days) when teams of four men with water bottles and a handful of dates, lightly armed – a few grenades in their pouches and Lewes bombs in a haversack – set out to stalk an enemy airfield. They would need more equipment - not only more of what they’d had before, but more equipment than those used to logistical planning for the airborne troops seemed to realise.

Resupply by the RAF was thought about, as were jeeps – better for getting men around but harder to conceal. Men on foot might prove more stealthy in the new rubber-soled boots, but these left distinctive footprints that could be tracked and, in any case, problems had shown up in training (the uppers were known to separate from the soles). Training patterns also needed adjusting. Early on Mayne had fought to prevent the SAS from being turned back into a regular Commando unit.

Now he was fighting amalgamation with the PARAs. Maroon caps were issued and his men instructed to wear them instead of their sand-coloured berets– Mayne told his men to hid the SAS berets in their packs until they could don them later out of sight of officials. On a more practical level too the SAS was butting up against what, by that point, had become conventional methods of training paratroopers. The latter had to learn to land in large groups during the daytime in open country, ready and able to engage in battle immediately. SAS parachutists needed to land in small teams, quietly and at night.

Mayne himself was involved in some of the war’s latter action. Most memorably on 10th April 1945, the push towards Berlin was underway. Near the village of Borgerwald, an SAS unit was ambushed and their commanding officer killed. Mayne took over the Jeep, manning the guns and some say he single-handedly rescued every wounded man by lifting them one by one from a ditch and into his jeep before destroying the enemy gunners in a nearby farmhouse. For this daring feat, he was recommended for the Victoria Cross. The citation was signed off by Field Marshal Montgomery himself but the award would elude Colonel Paddy. He received a 3rd bar on his Distinguished Service Order (DSO) and his name would be remembered as the stuff of legends.

Paddy Mayne’s service with the SAS would end as it began, with his commander Major-General Bob Laycock – who had been the one to recommend him to David Stirling – writing to congratulate him on his DSO:

“My Dear Paddy, “I feel that I must drop you a line just to tell you how very deeply I appreciate the great honour of being able to address, as my friend, an officer who has succeeded in accomplishing the practically unprecedented task of collecting no less than four DSOs. (I am informed that there is another such superman in the Royal Air Force). You deserve all the more, and in my opinion, the appropriate authorities do not really know their job. If they did they would have given you a VC as well. Please do not dream of answering this letter, which brings with it my sincerest admiration a deep sense of honour in having, at one time, been associated with you. Yours ever, Bob Laycock.”

Looking back at his legacy, many have wondered why he didn’t get the Victoria Cross. George VI publicly expressed surprise that Mayne had not been awarded a Victoria Cross. Some say it was because hot-headed Mayne, who’d become Lieutenant Colonel by the end of the war, had punched the second in command in his battalion during one heated exchange. Others say it was down to a technicality - because the raid in question was multiple acts of bravery, not a single act. The official SAS historian Ben Macintyre suggests that Blair Mayne was denied the Victoria Cross either because of his brawling, his anti-Establishment streak or his alleged homosexuality (rumours rather than factually proven it must be stressed). Blair Mayne mistakenly thought Churchill had personally blocked him because of his history of brawling against military superiors and drunken behaviour that perhaps offended Churchill’s purist views of being an officer. The truth seems to be that Churchill was said to have been saddened and shocked by the omission.

In 2005, 50 years after Mayne’s death, an Early Day Motion in the House of Commons supported by 100 MPs, proposed that, “the Government mark these anniversaries by instructing the appropriate authorities to act without delay to reinstate the Victoria Cross given for exceptional personal courage and leadership of the highest order and to acknowledge that Mayne’s actions on that day saved the lives of many men and greatly helped the allied advance on Berlin.” It was defeated.

Perhaps there was no conspiracy though. Some historians of the SAS Regiment have laid out a common-sense case for precisely why one would expect Mayne not to have won the VC: Because doing so required independent witness testimonies of a recipient’s brave deeds from high-ranking officers. Special forces work, by its very nature, made reaching this bar highly unlikely. Heroism would have been commonplace, but, for the most part, it was clandestine and often independent of senior officers.

Mike Sadler, now close to 100 years old, is the last surviving member of the original SAS. His feats of bravery during the war read like a movie script. He was decorated with the French Légion d’honneur at 98 Years old in 2018 . Mike Sadler joined the Long Range Desert Group in 1941 and was based in the North African desert.  Lieutenant David Stirling brought the SAS (Special Air Service) into service, and Mike Sadler was transferred to the new unit when they began launching raids in Libya. He became their top navigator as he had a unique talent for being able to navigate vast expanses of desert, without the aid of maps, to guide the raiding parties to their targets. He also served under Paddy Mayne from 1941 until the end of the war.

I have had the privilege to have met Mike on one or two occasions through both my older brother and father with whom they share a common friendship through military veteran circles (but belonging to different eras). Over a few lunches and dinners over the years, I was hooked on his anecdotes and was full admiration for his exploits.

Most memorably Mike recounted the time that while sitting in a restaurant in Paris surrounded by seven or eight soldiers Paddy Mayne took out a grenade, pulled the pin and placed it on the table. Several dived for cover but Sadler reckoned that Mayne wasn’t about to kill himself. He was right; Paddy had previously removed the detonator.

This atypical story added to the Olympian myth of Paddy Mayne. And yet the grenade incident in the busy café wasn’t the random act of recklessness it sounds like. There was method in the madness. Mayne was making an important point. Whilst responsible for French troops who were part of the Special Air Service Brigade in 1944, he’d been horrified by reports of improper handling of grenades. The French troops simply hadn’t been as familiar with infantry training as they should have been. So Mayne used the incident in the café to show it was possible to completely control a grenade if one knew what they were doing.

Sadler explained that like him all the men who served with Mayne had a huge respect and admiration, drawing from his comforting presence on missions. But for all that Paddy Mayne had no close friends, other than Eoin McGonigal, who helped persuade him to join the SAS and who was killed in the Benghazi raid, the very first SAS operation in 1941.

The sad truth is that Paddy Mayne cut a solitary figure, often to be found reading the darker poetry of AE Housman. Mayne was socially awkward with no idea how to talk to women even though they were attracted to this very big, athletic Irishman. He revered his mother and put women on a pedestal, refusing to tolerate swearing in their presence. He was shy until drink initially loosened his inhibitions but then transported him to far darker places. But for all that he wasn’t reckless with the lives of his men. He weighed up situations, was intuitively brilliant in terms of the guerrilla tactics he employed when orchestrating his night-time raids in customised jeeps deep behind enemy lines initially in Egypt and Libya.

Lieutenant-Colonel Robert Blair ‘Paddy’ Mayne was a fighting legend, and a pitiless killer in war. Even his comrades thought him cold-blooded and overly ruthless. Stirling thought Mayne had gone too far on occasions in killing the enemy. And yet Mayne typified the SAS recruitment policy, whose finds were the “sweepings of prisons and public schools”. In countless missions behind enemy lines, Major Paddy Mayne destroyed more aircraft than any fighter pilot on either side during the course of the war between Britain and Germany. He was to go on and become one of the most decorated British soldiers during the war.

Ben Macintyre, author of ‘Rogue Heroes: an authorised history of the SAS’ wrote: “It is not a story of unalloyed British bulldog heroism. These people were tough as tungsten but they were also human and frail and huge mistakes were made.”

Such men of war are not made for peace time.

Mayne sought further adventure in an Antarctic expedition but had to return home prematurely with a debilitating back condition, the origins of which came from his war service.

He took up a position as secretary to the Law Society of Northern Ireland until, returning from a night’s socialising on December 14th, 1955, he clipped an unlit parked lorry, and crashed into a telegraph pole on the Scrabo road, a few hundred metres from his house. Paddy Mayne died at 40 years old. He is buried in Movilla Abbey graveyard.

Hundreds attended Mayne’s funeral. His life was and continues to be commemorated in books, film. A statue in his native Newtownards stands in his honour. The town’s western bypass is also named after him.

A remarkable and complex character, he crammed a great deal into a life largely spent in the service of others, some of whom would have regarded him as a hero, although he, himself, would not.

King George VI asked Paddy Mayne how it was that he had not received the Victoria Cross, and he answered in a manner that sums up this courageous and remarkable man:

“I served to my best my Lord, my King and my Queen, and none can take that honour away from me.”

[lover-of-many-things]

I would follow you anywhere

(So I finally wrote a Supercorp fanfiction. Only took me four years. It’s short and cute and dumb and inspired by this tumblr post

Read it on ao3 here)

She was in jeans and a now ruined t-shirt under a flannel with black hair that was in a messy bun on top of her head, but what really struck Kara were her eyes. A beautiful green, but one slightly more blue than the other—she could spend hours trying to mix colors to match them perfectly. Kara swore she was in love—that easily.

A cute little college au inspired by a tumblr post

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

Kara was stressed. She had five finals this week and had only studied for one of them so far. She knew she should have started studying over the weekend, but her friends roped her into a movie marathon. She already had a hard enough time denying her friends at any given time, but add on free snacks and movies and she was a goner. 

So when she woke up on Monday, cuddling a half empty chip bag from the night before, she jolted out of bed. Checking the time—11:30—she hurriedly jumped into the shower. Luckily, Monday was her only free day this week, but she had wanted to be up early this morning to get one of the study rooms at the library. They always filled up incredibly quickly during finals and Kara had a hard time studying outside of the designated study rooms; even the gentle whispering was too loud for her to concentrate. 

Half an hour later, Kara was dressed in a casual t-shirt and joggers, not wanting to wear jeans for the long steady session she was preparing for, with her hair up in a loose ponytail. She ran into the kitchen and quickly made a lunch that she could just eat in the library while she studied. She’d probably still be hungry, but the sandwich she made would be enough to tide her over until dinner. 

She grabbed her books, bag, phone, and keys, and she hurried out of her apartment, texting her roommate, Nia, that she’d be gone all day studying and to not expect her back until late. The weather outside was beautiful, Kara noted. Spring was in full swing and she’d much rather be going on a run than to the library, but then she’d further have to face the consequences of her actions. She wanted to avoid that confrontation at all costs, especially if Alex and Eliza caught wind of it. The disappointment of her adoptive sister and mother was not something she ever liked to experience.

She crossed the street onto National City University campus and enjoyed the feel of the afternoon sun on her skin. She started in the direction of the library when a food truck caught her eye. Food trucks were pretty common on campus, especially around finals, but this particular food truck—Just Desserts— was a rarity. It was only ever on campus twice a semester at most and no one ever knew when it would show up, but it had the best desserts. It was Kara’s white whale. 

She glanced down at the time on her phone, towards the library, and then back towards the food truck with a steadily growing line. Screw it. She already wasn’t going to get a private study room, so she may as well get as many desserts as possible to help as future rewards for studying. She hurried over to join the line and hoped they wouldn’t be out of everything by the time she was up to order.

Thankfully, since it was literally just desserts, the line moved pretty quickly, and Kara was happy to see that only one item had been crossed off the menu board so far. Finally, it was Kara’s turn to order. She only looked over the menu for a moment. 

“Hi!” She smiled brightly, “could I just get one of everything that you have left?” The cashier didn’t even look up from the IPad, tapping in the order when she spoke.

“Finals, huh?” She told the chef the order over her shoulder before facing Kara again. “That’ll be $28.” 

Kara laughed and nodded. “Yeah. I need something to incentivize me.” Kara handed over her card, paid, and stood off to the side. A few minutes later the cashier called her order out, and she quickly squeezed through the line of people to grab it.

“I’d eat the parfait first if I were you, it doesn’t last that long in the sun.” Kara took the plastic bag full of various desserts from her.

“Thanks!” She hurried away from the food truck, taking out the red berry parfait and started eating it. She really was hungry, and though it was light, the berries really hit the spot on a spring afternoon. Side mission completed, she walked towards the library with regained fervor, intermittently taking a bite of parfait as she walked. 

It was as she was looking down to take one of her intermittent bites that another body collided with hers. The plastic cup her parfait was resting in cracked and shattered, the contents getting everywhere. “Fuck!” Kara only looked up at the sound of the curse and was met with the sight of the most beautiful woman she had ever seen, covered in red berry parfait. 

She was in jeans and a now ruined t-shirt under a flannel with black hair that was in a messy bun on top of her head, but what really struck Kara were her eyes. A beautiful green, but one slightly more blue than the other—she could spend hours trying to mix colors to match them perfectly. Kara swore she was in love—that easily.

Kara didn’t realize she had been absolutely still and staring until the woman grabbed both of her hands, still covered in parfait remnants along with the rest of her. If Kara thought the sight of her eyes was enough to get lost in, she was woefully unprepared for the voice that was about to speak up. 

“I’ll never be sorry enough, but you look so beautiful....I have to go.” There was a soft, beautiful lilt to her voice, an accent of some kind, but Kara couldn’t pinpoint it in that brief moment. Before Kara could even comprehend what had happened to reply, the woman dropped her hands and ran off through campus, still covered in bits of parfait.

Kara blinked for a few moments, registering what had just happened. She looked down at her now ruined shirt, to the parfait on the ground, and to her hands still held out in front of her from where the stranger had grabbed them.  Beautiful....she called me beautiful. Kara’s mouth opened and closed a few times as she processed this information. Part of her was still stuck on the fact that she no longer had a parfait. 

Another student shouldered by her in a rush to enter the library, knocking her out of her stupor. “Right,” she mumbled to herself, “studying.” She grabbed a napkin from the bag of desserts she had and cleaned up as well as she could before heading into the library. As predicted, all of the private studying rooms were taken, so Kara just grabbed the nearest available table and spread her books across it. She was determined to get some work done, ready to put in place her tried and true incentive based studying method. She just didn’t take into account thoughts of green eyes and a lovely voice filling her head.

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

She tried to study. She really did. She opened the books and her notes and she read them over, but nothing seemed to stick. The only thing she could think of was the stranger who ran into her and waxing poetic about her certainly wasn’t going to be the answer to anything on her journalism exam. It had been three hours and nothing; she’d already gone through half of her snacks and her sandwich. Lacking the motivation she slid her phone out to text Alex. 

Kara

Help meeeeee :((

It only took a few minutes for her sister to respond.

Alex

Shouldn’t you be studying?

Kara huffed at the reply.

Kara

What if I was actually in some kind of danger?

Alex

Are you?

Kara

....no :( 

Alex

Then shouldn’t you be studying?

Kara

I’m tryingg but studying’s hard :((( I didn’t get one of the private study rooms and then a pretty girl destroyed my parfait and I can’t stop thinking about her and how I’ll never see her again :((((

Alex

Ew, Kara. What kind of euphemism is that? You fucked in the library???? Do you know how many fluids there probably are floating around there?

Kara immediately flushed at her sister’s text, her mind involuntarily flashing with images. She quickly sent out a series of texts to deny her sister’s thoughts.

Kara

NO !!!!!!!!!!!!

I meant it literally !!!!!!

She ran into me and I dropped the parfait I was eating :((( but she was so pretty and called me beautiful and I think I’m in love

Alex

.............

This would literally only happen to you. I don’t know what to tell you. 

Kara

Tell me I’ll see her again and then to start studying again.

Kara could practically feel Alex sigh on the other side of the conversation, but she thought that maybe the reinforcement from her big sister would help her concentrate.

Alex

Fine. You’ll see her again. She probably studies for finals too and so should you. Get back to studying.

Kara

You’re right. And also you’re the best :)))) Love you!!

Alex

Love you too. And I know I am ;)

Kara smiled and took a deep breath before putting her phone away. Talking to Alex always helped her clear her head and reorient herself, so she looked down at her books with renewed vigor. She studied with newfound concentration, losing track of time as she went from subject to subject; not even the usual gentle whispers surrounding her interfered.

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

By the time she stretched and decided she deserved a break, she realized the library was a lot quieter. Most people had left for dinner and hadn’t returned, and those that remained were really in the groove, silently flipping through books. Kara decided a dinner break was a necessity, and loathe as she was to give up her spot, no one was close enough to look after her things. She quickly packed up and hurried down to the nearest dining hall. She grabbed some potstickers and chicken lo mein before heading back to the library.

She enjoyed the last fringes of the sunset during her walk back to the library and took a deep breath. She actually felt pretty prepared for three of her exams and would have more of the week to keep studying for the other two, so she was feeling pretty good. She pulled her arms up over her head in a stretch, eyes closing instinctively at the sensation, bag of food gently hitting against her forearm from where it hung from her hand, when she accidentally bumped into someone.

“I’m so sorry—“ The apology automatically coming out of her mouth before her eyes snap open to see— “you.” Kara was breathless. It was the stranger who had run into her earlier, shirt still stained with little drops of red from the berries.

“We have to stop meeting like this.” The stranger teased, humor lacing the sentence. 

“I don’t think I mind it.” Kara smiled and she could swear the stranger blushed.

“Tell that to your parfait.” Kara laughed.

“My food made it out alright this time. I think the parfait was at fault.” The woman laughed and all Kara wanted to do was to make her laugh again. 

“Maybe....sorry again though. I was studying and lost track of time; I was almost late to a final.” She looked remorseful, as if she had been beating herself up about mismanaged time all day. 

“Seriously, no problem.”

“You sure? It looked like a really good parfait.” The woman fiddled with her hands nervously.

“It was, but it could never be better than you calling me beautiful.” Kara’s eyes widened at her sudden burst of confidence that surprised even her. The woman raised an eyebrow and her lip quirked upward in a smile.

“Is that so?” Kara rubbed her neck nervously at the scrutiny of the other woman and nodded. The woman hummed then held out her hand. 

“I’m Lena.” Kara stared at the outstretched hand for a moment before taking it in the her own. She couldn’t help but notice that her hand was very soft now that it wasn’t covered with bits of yoghurt and berries. 

“Kara.” Kara smiled and adjusted her glasses with her free hand, her bag of food jostling at the movement.

“Well, Kara, I still feel bad about earlier, and I’ve had a private study room booked all day if you wanted to join me to study?” Lena was basically offering Kara Eden with her private study room and, while her mind briefly switched to more...scandalous thoughts, she quickly shook those away and nodded enthusiastically.

“That would be amazing! You have no idea how hard it’s been studying today without one. I could barely concentrate.” Kara had no intention telling Lena that she was the reason that Kara couldn’t concentrate. 

“Come on, then.” It isn’t until Lena was leading them inside that Kara realized they were still holding hands, but Kara already knew that Lena could walk her straight into oncoming traffic and she’d still follow. She was in deep already.

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

Despite the hounding and teasing from Alex when Kara told her the next morning, they did actually only study. They also planned to study together the rest of the week...and they planned to go on a date that weekend.

Red berry parfait was now Kara’s second favorite food. After potstickers, of course.

[littlestarofthewest]

Forever ago, I wrote a little ficlet based on this post by @theunholyoutlaw <3 for her OC Stevie and John. Back then, I promised her smut, and I take my smut promises very seriously, so here you go :) (I put part 1 and 2 together)

Title: lipstick kisses | Word Count: 2800 | Rating: Explicit!!! (18+)

Pairing: John Marston x OC | Tags: fluff and smut

The first time Miss Stevie Blackheart meets Mr. John Marston is during a bounty hunt. She gets there first, but John is the better shot, which makes him essential for bringing the bounty in at all. 

They're both after Greg Wheeler, also known as Crazy Wheeler. He's a trigger happy lunatic who's not at all interested in being brought in alive. Working together, Stevie and John get him to the nearest sheriff nonetheless. Splitting the bounty evenly, they go their separate ways, assuming they'll never see each other again.

As it turns out, they seem to frequent the same saloon and run into each other so often that any innocent bystander might think that they meet up there on purpose. After initial nods as a greeting and timid hellos, they get to talking once in a while, and it comes a time where they work some more bounty jobs together.

After a job well done, they often end up drinking, and Stevie gets to learn that John Marston is a flirty drunk. It always seems like good fun, and he never tries anything with her, but after about three months of this, Stevie sometimes wishes he would. 

John is a badass when it comes to their work, but he can be rather sweet when you get him on his own. He's also a chaotic idiot at times, but Stevie can appreciate that he straight up says what he thinks. 

That's why today is weird. John keeps sneaking glances at her in between sips from his beer. They're not quite drunk, just a little tipsy. It's time for John to either tell stupid jokes or hit on her. So far, he hasn't done either.

"What is it?" Stevie finally asks, unable to keep the annoyance out of her voice.

"What is what?" John asks.

Stevie rolls her eyes. "You're giving me these weird looks. Why?"

"I was just wondering-," John says, his eyes wandering to Stevie's lips. He licks his own before lifting a hand to her face, his fingertips trailing over her lower lip.

Stevie has a hard time staying like this, fighting the urge to bring out her tongue or suck John's fingers into her mouth. He takes his hand away, shrugging his shoulders, and finally, Stevie's mind catches on. 

"You've been looking at my lipstick?" she asks.

"Yeah, it's so dark."

"So?" Stevie asks, something fluttering in her chest. 

It's been a long time since she cared what others thought about her, but John's opinion seems to be the most important thing all of a sudden. 

"I like it," John says, in that matter-of-fact tone he has when spilling some of his personal truths. "Does it taste like something?"

Stevie shrugs her shoulders, but before she can answer, John brings his hand up again, gently holding her chin.

"It looks like it tastes like something," he says before leaning in. 

John brushes his lips along Stevie's before licking along her lower lip. She melts into the touch, forgetting to breathe, but it's over as fast as it started. Leaning back, John lets go of her and takes his bottle instead. "Guess I was wrong."

Finally, Stevie gets out of her stupor, hitting John against the shoulder. "That's your excuse to kiss me? You thought it tastes like something?"

"Was just curious," John says, a slight smile dancing around his lips. Stevie's not sure if he's deliberately playing dumb or not. 

"I see," she huffs. "Anything else you're curious about?"

John studies her for a long moment. "I'm wondering if you would like to go outside with me."

He's not saying it, but the implication is pretty clear. There's only one thing they could do out there together, especially after what just happened. John empties his bottle and heads for the door. He looks at Stevie one last time before stepping outside.

She's frozen to the spot. It's not like Stevie hasn't thought about this, but walking out that door after John might change her whole life. What is she going to do?

--------

Stevie's heart is pounding like crazy, and she's torn like she's never been before. On the one hand, she wants to stay and let John rot outside for all eternity. What was he thinking coming on to her like that? Wondering if it tastes like something. What a load of horseshit.

On the other hand, that barely-there kiss already had her go weak in the knees. What would it be like to do that properly? How would it feel like if John touched her again, and not only her lips? 

Stevie keeps staring at the door, trying to way the pros and cons when that ugly piece of wood suddenly comes closer and closer. She finds herself pushing it open, and the second she walks through the door, John grabs her arm and whisks her away into a side alley.

"You have some nerve," Stevie bites, wiggling her arm free.

"You came," John says, surprise in his voice.

"Maybe I want to kick your ass after what you just did."

Stevie's surprised about her own voice. She sounds pretty damn serious, and John lifts his hands as if she's holding him at gunpoint.

"Please do," he says, just as serious.

The implication of having John at her mercy drives heat waves all over Stevie's body. John is leaning back against the wall behind him, and Stevie's gaze is drawn to his neck. John's wearing a thick jacket for the cold, but the shirt under it is barely buttoned up. Over the last few weeks, Stevie has been staring at that small stretch of skin, the little hairs peeking out like an invitation to explore.

"You're an idiot, John Marston."

"I know," he says, finally taking down his hands, "but please enlighten me why."

"You talk about my lipstick, and all you can think about is if it tastes good?" Stevie asks, very much in the mood to torture John a little. "You should've asked yourself what my lips would look like wrapped around … certain things."

John opens his mouth, clearly surprised, but nothing comes out. It's actually endearing that the thought has never occurred to him. That creates a problem for Stevie because she pushed aside any ideas about John with the reason that he must be some sort of a heartbreaker, having a lady in each town. All he did, though, was kissing her and wondering about the taste of her lips. 

"I didn't-" John begins, a blush creeping onto his face.

Without thinking, Stevie throws her arms around his neck and kisses him. It's not easy, considering how John is almost a head taller than Stevie, but he seems to shrink under her show of control. It's a real kiss this time. Lips brushing, tongues rubbing against each other, shared breaths in the little space between them. 

John comes out of his stupor, and Stevie is reminded that he's not one to play around, no matter what he sets his mind to. His hands roam over her body, the blushing idiot replaced by a man who much likely pleased a few ladies in his life.

After pressing Stevie against the wall of the saloon, John sneaks his hands under her shirt, tracing his fingers over her skin while still kissing her. He doesn't hesitate or stop for a second, cupping her breasts and knitting the soft flesh. Stevie lets out a surprised gasp, and John suddenly draws back before grabbing her hand.

"Come on," he says, dragging her along.

Stevie follows but not without a struggle. "Where are you going?"

"If this is happening," John says, gesturing between the two of them, "then I don't want to do it behind this rundown shithole."

They're making their way to the horses, warmth spreading in Stevie's chest. She's been sure than John wanted nothing but a bit of fun, but looking for a nicer place almost seems romantic like this means more to John. Despite knowing that Stevie can handle herself, John helps her onto her horse before climbing his own.

"Where to then?" Stevie asks, wondering if John just made a spur of the moment decision or if he actually thought about this before.

"Follow me," John says, taking off as if someone is coming after them. 

It's a short ride through thick trees until they come to a clearing, the ground covered with late-blooming flowers and the moon shining down on them through the small gap in the trees. John jumps off his horse and lets it go wherever it wants before holding out his arms to Stevie. 

Of course, she'd have no trouble doing this on her own, but she enjoys how John's hands close warm around her waist, and while Stevie's horse trots away, John pulls her down to the ground.

They kiss as if there hasn't been any interruption at all, John's hand sneaking under Stevie's shirt again. She takes it even further by opening the buttons on John's shirt, pulling it down together with his jacket. John replies in kind, taking off her shirt while kissing along her neck.

Stevie holds on to John's shoulders, her nails digging into his flesh when his lips reach her breasts. He sucks one of her nipples into his mouth, making her arch her back with a gasp. John keeps teasing her, his thumb rubbing over her other nipple until she's got enough. 

With a grunt, Stevie reaches down between John's legs, her hand pressing hard against his bulge. "You want to play, John, or do you want to go down to business?"

"Never satisfied, are you?" John growls, but he sits up to take off Stevie's pants. 

"Not yet," she says before pushing John over to get on top of him.

John gives up easily, letting her take off his pants. Stevie crawls on top of John, not caring how eager she might seem. With his hands on her hips, Stevie rubs her wet pussy along John's cock, getting them both to break the silence of the night with eager moans.

Despite the darkness, Stevie can see the wild look in John's eyes as his gaze travels up and down her naked body, setting her ablaze. She eagerly reaches for John's cock, bringing him in position so she can sit down on him. John throws his head back, closing his eyes. "Shit, you're tight," he curses, biting his lip.

Stevie loves to see him so out of control, rolling her hips to tease him even more. She could imagine all kinds of naughty things that John could do to her, but he's only pulling her closer, looking into her eyes. With John's hand caressing Stevie's face with a feathery touch, he gets her to kiss him again. All of it is way too tender, his touches and kisses worshipping her instead of taking his own pleasure.

Warmth pools in Stevie's chest and she moves faster, almost angry. John has no right to be so sweet with her, luring her into thinking that this might be more than just sex. Pulling away from John, Stevie runs her fingers over his chest, leaving red scratch marks, more moans tumbling from John's lips.

He's holding on to her hips, but Stevie is the one in control, holding back or riding John like her life depends on it. It's been a long time since she felt that good, and she can't help the constant stream of profanities spilling out, making John growl whenever she says his name.

As if he needs to get back at Stevie, John runs his hands over her body, his fingers digging into her soft flesh everywhere he can reach. Then one hand finds its way between her legs, John's fingers providing just enough friction on Stevie's clit that she can't bring herself to stop, rutting so eagerly against him that she tumbles over the edge soon after.

John bites his lip again, holding out while Stevie's hips still buck on top of him. She takes deep breaths while John runs his fingers over her skin. "Satisfied now?" he asks.

Stevie shrugs. "A little bit."

After riding out with John on numerous bounty hunts, she knows the face he makes all too well, meaning she's in trouble. Without warning, he grabs her and flips them both over to get on top of her. Stevie wants to protest, but John shuts her up with an eager kiss before whispering in her ear. "My turn now."

He grabs her wrists, pulling her arms up over her head. The ground is cold, but Stevie can't really care, not with the way John trusts into her now. He has lost all bashfulness, leaning down to bite along her neck. It surprises herself that she lets him take over like that. In all her life, no man has ever pushed her around, but giving up control and letting John do to her what he wants turns her on way more than she thought possible.

Moans tumble from Stevie's lips as John lets one hand roam over her body. He teases her nipples again, getting her to eagerly roll her hips and meet his hard thrusts. Closing her legs around him, Stevie spurs John on to go even harder, and he covers her with his whole body. Held down like this, all she can do is take the pounding, heat consuming her, and pressure building up between her legs.

Then, John pulls back, making her think he might stop before pushing into her with one hard thrust. Stevie cries out, and John groans. "Oh yes, let me hear you, darling."

He does it again, making Stevie gasp, her thighs shaking. Something about the harsh treatment drives her right to the edge. John grabs her hair, tilting her head back. "Let me hear more from those sweet lips."

As John thrusts into her again, Stevie lets out another cry, bringing John to do it over and over again until Stevie can't take it anymore. She struggles against John's grip, her hips bucking, but John doesn't give her an inch. 

He presses himself against her, pushing into her with short hard thrusts, his mouth claiming her lips again. "You want me to fill you up, darling?" 

Stevie knows it's stupid to let him come inside of her, but right there, she wants it bad. "God, yes," she moans.

John buries his head against her neck, and when his hot come fills her up, Stevie falls right over the edge with John. Warm waves rush from her core all over her body, her heart pounding so hard against John's chest that he must be able to feel it. She moans his name over and over again until all she can do is breathe.

They both go quiet then, enjoying to be close. At least until Stevie shakes under John. He looks up, his face worried. "You alright?"

"What do you think, Marston?" Stevie grunts. "The ground is freezing cold."

John grabs Stevie and turns them around again, fishing for his nearby coat on the ground to put it over them. "Sorry. That better?"

"A little," Stevie says. Somehow she feels like she needs to keep their usual distance, but it's hard with John watching her, carefully brushing her hair out of his face. "We should get going."

John's arms draw closer around her as if he doesn't want to leave just yet. "There's a rundown cabin nearby. I stayed there a few times, doesn't seem to belong to anybody."

Stevie stares down at John, her brows pulling together. "You know of a cabin nearby, but thought this here would be a good place to fool around?"

"It's a bit of a ride to the cabin. I didn't feel like waiting that long," John says, a smile playing around his lips that drives a new warmth into Stevie's chest. "We could still go there now, warm you up."

His voice sounds hopeful, and Stevie shrugs, wishing she could decide how to feel about this. "I guess."

Finally, John lets go of her, and they both quickly dress. John gets on his horse and holds out his hand to Stevie. She raises a brow at him. "I can ride on my own."

"But then I can't warm you up," John says, before looking down at Stevie's guns. "And I'd feel safer with you closeby."

Stevie huffs but lets John help her up on his horse. She doesn't know what it is, but feeling John's warm body pressing against her, his arms closing around her like a shield, she has to admit that it feels nice. Stevie whistles for her horse to follow, and by the time they leave the clearing, she knows that for once in her life, she opened the right door.

[codyfernmorelikedaddyfern]

My Much Better Half - Duncan x fem!reader

Hi Guys! Remember when I talked about the fact that I would write something about Xavier today?

Well here is a big old pile of Duncan Shepherd fluff.

Suggestions are more than welcome :)

Description: After feeling under the weather for a few days, you discover that you are expecting yours and Duncan’s first child. His reaction? Take you to Paris to celebrate.

Warnings: I wrote some much fluff that I might actually be ill. Also flashback smut. and then more fluff? And somehow it’s 4.6k+ words. Did I mention fluff?

Flashback sequences are in bold italic. Present day is in regular font.

You stepped in the elevator door, tugging nervously on your own fingers as you pressed the button to reach the top floor. Everyone you walked past gave you a respectful nod accompanied with a “Miss Y/L/N”. You had hoped this little visit to your boyfriend of 4 years would be a discreet one but for some reason, this time around, it looked like all eyes were on you and your legs nearly gave out under the weight of the crushing pressure.

You would usually enter the premises with your fingers intertwined in Duncan’s, his smile taking all of the attention off of the heavy title that was “Mr. Shepherd’s other half”. When it comes to exiting, the brunette would guide you straight to the underground parking where you would both jump in a car and get driven home to arrange his lunch and yours.

 Such appearances were rare and the need to leave in secrecy was nearly a must since every time your name was mentioned, a flock of paparazzi would welcome you at the entrance of the skyscraper and the anxiety and stress of being in all sorts of tabloids was not something you were looking forward to it. It was a lesson the both of you learned the hardest of way.

 A groggy Duncan woke you up as he slid out of your shared bed and you immediately informed him of your state. You had been feeling sick for a couple of days and silently prayed it was only due to undercook chicken from the take away down the road but when it carried through Monday, you noticed the clockwork pattern. Whimpering out of bed, you quickly dialled your boss, informing them you would not be able to come in today right before you spewed your bile in the porcelain bowl.

A look of concern shrouded you as Duncan swiftly came and rubbed your back, now covered in a thin coat of sweat. He had been supportive to your need to remain home and he promised he would keep his phone on loud so he would be able to quickly pick up your calls and rush home in case you needed him. “We’ll go to the doctor tomorrow if you don’t feel any better, okay, darling?”

 The ring of the elevator pulled you out of your stupor, a fresh gulf of air and busy office noise filling your ears and lungs. Any time you had to come in with your partner, you were always well dressed and your hair was neatly pulled together however you did not have the time for glamourous looks today.

You gingerly stepped out into the open plan office, stepping as confidently as possible to the large wooden door and heavily knocking on it. “Come in?” you heard from the other side. Your fingers wrapped around the metal handle of the door, pushing it open. One arm rested against the edge with the large windows of his office, the other wrapped around a glass of scotch.

 The creaking of the door twisted Duncan around, his usual relaxed expression lighting up his face once you passed the doorway, pushing the wooden panel closed behind you. Worry grew deep in your belly as you stepped towards your lover “Y/N! I wasn't expecting you!”, his lips delicately wrapped you in a tender kiss, dismissing the half full glass of whiskey to gingerly surround your cheeks, still cold for the outside.

Expecting was the only word you were hoping the brunette would avoid. “What brings you in my office, sweetheart? Is everything alright? Still feeling ill?” he perched himself on the edge of his desk, sipping on his scotch once more. “I need to talk to you about something” you bit your lip, trying to hoist yourself next to him. His dark brows drew closer in confusion and worry.

 “What's going on, honey, he asked, framing your face once more.

- We have a problem and I'm scared of your reaction...

- W-What do you mean? Are you- leaving me, he enquired, standing up and lodging himself around your thighs, his hands resting on your hips.

- Oh no! You replied. Duncan, I'm late.

- Oh, honey, It's okay, I'll call a cab for y-hang on...”

 It took a lot for you to not laugh at his naïve remark. His bright blue eyes widen in shock, his hands dropping from their perch as he gingerly stepped back. Worry grew inside your gut once more as he was withdrawing from you. “Y-You're pregnant?” he asked, trembling still. Averting your gaze from him, nodding. Gritting your teeth to keep your jaw from quivering in terror that this might be the reason why he leaves you. “I did three tests and they all came back positive”.

“And, it's- it's mine, right?” he asked again, taking a confident step forward to inch himself closer to you. “Of course, you idiot” you scoffed slightly, lifting your eyes to dive deep into the ocean blue of his own gaze. You trapped your bottom lip between your teeth, not surprised that he still had that effect on you even after he made you his so long ago. His beauty would never cease to mesmerise you and you couldn’t understand how in Heaven or Hell he ended up being yours.

“Honey, if you don’t feel ready, we can… wait…” you tried, the feeling of him slipping off of your grip still lingering in your thoughts. “So that means I'm going to be a father...?” he gasped, ignoring your remark, a timid smile crept across his face as you nodded just as sheepishly as he grinned. Duncan paced around his office, muttering some sort of plan of action on how he would break the news to his mother and mainly to the world.

He then paused his erratic prowling just as you noticed the tears staining his cheeks. He looked up at you and, not as good as you were at hiding your emotions, he burst out in a stream of tears, rushing against you to hold you tight and close in his warm embrace.

 “Have you ever been to Paris?” he asked and the next thing you knew, he was escorting you out of the large Shepherd Freedom Foundation building he had just spent the last 35 minutes blabbering about baby names and how you would decide on the education of your child and when you would start planning your next one.

It took all your efforts to bring him back down to Earth, where life was still going day by day. He excused himself as you both jumped in a cab straight to your flat.

You had approximated the night it had happened. You were both really goods with protection. You were on the pill and in dark times of needs, Duncan made a small stash of condoms. You vividly remembered a couple of weeks back, on your anniversary, when you had been busier cooking up a meal for the both of you than taking the small medicine.

 The sound of the door opening sent an excited shiver down your spine. Tonight would be special regardless of the outcome of your spinach lasagne. Tonight, you celebrated 4 long years of love and dedication to one another. Duncan's smile grew wide as his eyes met yours. You wore his favourite little black dress underneath the “kiss the cook” apron he had gifted you for your birthday a couple of months back.

A full dinner and one and a half bottle of your favourite red wine later, he was on you, ripping breathes and gasps out of your lungs. He had you exactly where he wanted you, in the largest crook of his heart and each passing day, you were gaining more and more of him.

It felt like the first time again. Your fingers trembling, the both of you heavily inebriated except that this time, you had gone through many more dates. This time, you had loved and fucked each other down to the bone.

And with a man as stressed and frustrated as Duncan, you found him pounding into you more often than not.

 This time, he took the occasion present in front of him and his fingers explored you all over again. “I’m going to make love to you so good we’ll need tomorrow off” he whispered in the shell of your ear, a slight groan mixed to the sounds of his voice. With a drunken and mischievous expression, you quickly took off, running all the way to the bedroom in a fit of tipsy giggle. His footfall were on your tail, a soft laugh escaping from his chest.

In your usual clumsy habit, you slipped against the wooden floor of the bedroom, caught on your way by the toned arms of your lover, a string of chuckles still pumping out of your chest. In a careful, but still buzzed, swoop, he lifted you on your bed and crashed a loving kiss against your plump lips. His hands trailed from the base of your ankle as your tongue fought his for dominance. Duncan’s digits grazed the fabric of your stockings all the way up to the thick elastic band concealed underneath the cotton of your dress.

“Fuck… The garter belt, my only weakness” he groaned, amused, pushing another few laughs from you as you innocently shrugged.

The naïve façade only lasted a second as you felt the sharp sting of the garter coming off and slapping your skin, pulling your lip between your teeth in a soft moan. He played with them, toying with your impatience, his kisses becoming more desperate by the second while you allowed him to peel off the stockings then freeing you from the soft pair of panties.

 He took in the view, a heavy sigh filling his chest. “You make me so happy Y/N, I hope you know that”, he planted his lips against the supple skin of your inner thigh, then again, half an inch closer to your core, and another one. You mentally counted the kisses, expecting his kiss to meet your heat but he instead repeated the painfully slow ritual of kissing his way down your thigh, this time on the other side.

“So do you, Duncan” you gently moaned as he brought his lips closer to where you needed him the most. You lost your fingers in his brown locks right before the pushed his tongue, flat, and incredibly hot, through the length of your cunt, tasting you like he had done so many times before.

 A loud drunken moan escaped your lips as he went against you again, this time pushing his stroke past your folds to caress the throbbing bundle of nerves between your thighs. A contempt sigh left him as he started to suckle on your labia, one after the other. Countless time, you reminded him to be gentle, that the slow and soft drove you up the wall, and he learned his lessons.

Practically making out with your clit, he languidly looked up at you as you twisted and arched under the pressure he was applying. A mixture of torture and absolute ecstasy. Your gaze met his as your coil started to wrap in your belly. His pace gently quickened while his hands drew incoherent shapes on the skin of your outer thighs.

As you were brought closer and closer to the edge with mix mixture of strokes, nips and suckling from Duncan, he pushed two of his fingers deep inside of you. His lips were gentle but his fingers were exempt of the rules, roughly pounding against your sweet spot and in a string of moans, the thread holding you tight released, the tension suddenly ceasing in a chain of twitches and trembles.

Shaking heavily underneath the brunette, fully surrendering to his mercy while his lips jumped up against your jaw, the pad of his fingers helping you ride out your climax. He groaned and grunted as your toes curled, your hand tightly gripping the sheet only to let them go and immediately grab at them again.

 “So god damn beautiful” he whispered, his rough brushes steadily stopping and withdrawing from you. Making quick work of your clothes, you were both rendered naked, exposed to each other once again. Still short of breath, your fingers drove down his chest, caressing every inch of his toned body. Getting lost in the darkness of the room, your delicate fingers curled around his throbbing shaft, pushing out a sigh from Duncan. “Tonight, I’m making love to you” he muttered in your ear, gingerly pushing your hand away before he lined himself up with your glistening entrance.

“Tonight, I’m worshipping you” he said again, easing himself between your supple thighs. Broken I love Yous stemmed in the middle of your pleads for touch. The harsh stubble of your brunette scratched the sensitive skin of your neck before small pecks covered your throat and shoulders. His hips brushed against yours while his hands languidly wrapped around your waist, holding you nice and close to him.

 Delicate and gentle, he thrusted inside of you, brushing your walls in a crackling of whimpers. You rarely heard these squeals coming from Duncan but whenever these sounds crawled out of his throats, you were encourage to remember you were the only one capable of making him crumble.

Pushing your fingers in his dark locks and drowning in the blue of his eyes, nothing else mattered. You just wanted him for all eternity and you prayed every day you would keep him that way. The sweat shrouding both of your figures as he languidly pumped in and out of your heat sobered the both of you. A spark of realisation burst in his eyes but you could not put your finger on it.

That look usually blooms when he realises he forgot to put a timer on the over or he left the light of the bathroom on all day. Whatever he forgot to do that night was quickly dismissed as the only thing that broke the intense gaze linking both of your minds was a deep and loving kiss. Full of passion, you both drunk the syrupy taste of your affection.

 His thrusts quickened while that bubble grew in your belly once more. Contracting the muscles in your legs first, the sensation intensified, then you clutched his back, pushing you one step closer to the edge.

Duncan became a blabbering and whimpering mess, mewling your name and profanities as he climbed his own slope of ecstasy. “I’m so in love with you Y/N” he moaned again and that was the only push you required to have you tumble down the cliff of your release. The coil snapped and your walls fluttered tightly against his hard shaft, squeezing him so hard it was nearly painful.

 His harm reached up to grab the already broken wooden headboard of your bed, his digits grappling the material and violently yanking on it, shattering a new piece that would be tossed to the floor as his large cock spilled heavily inside of you. Heavy panting and loud moaning pulling the both of you to ride your climaxes.

 The driver looked back at you in the rear view mirror, apparently waiting for you to do something. “Y/N? Are you alright, darling?” Duncan pulled you out of your day dream and gently out of the car, holding your hand securely. “I was… Thinking, sorry” you excused yourself shyly while following the brunette to your apartment. Leading you into the foyer of your flat, he closed the door behind his back, lingering there as his eyes trailed against your, watching you walk into the living room.

 “Baby, he announced as he quickly stepped in the room behind you, if you don’t feel ready or if you are worried about it, I need to know.

-I-I’m fine, Duncan, I promise. But I still need to wrap my head around it.

- I’m right here if you need, okay? I just want to make sure you’re comfortable with the decision and the change but ultimately, I will support anything you chose to do.”

 His eyes planted into yours, your let the cold blues wash over you as you gently smiled and nodded. If this were to happen with anyone else but Duncan, you would second guess the outcomes however, you were sure about the choice you were both going to make in welcoming a new life in the world.

Before you knew it, you were already buckled in a plane, flying over the large body of water separating America from Europe. You had never been to Paris before and you didn’t think you ever would due to the multitude of unexpected calls both you and your lover would be subjected to but when it came to celebrating, your partner knew how to surprise you.

And before you knew it, the bumpy landing of the plane rattled your bones awake. Fatigue was definitely one of the symptoms you were experiencing in the very early stages of your pregnancy so sleeping through the flight was no issues for your tired body working so hard to make your womb the safest place it could be.

 You didn’t realise how lit up Paris was. It wasn’t called The City of Light for nothing after all. Duncan had apparently planned it all out. He brought his mother along with the both of you, expecting to announce the beautiful news of the pregnancy to her in an over the top manner like he was used to doing even if you had the sneaking suspicion, he had something else planned during the short trip you engaged in.

The night you both came out to the public after over a year of dating behind closed doors, he had taken you on a red carpet for a gala you were the furthest from being interested in. As if parading you around and introducing you to his peers as “This is Y/N, my much better half” was not good enough to announce to the world the blossoming passion between the two of you, he had organised the most beautiful fireworks you had ever seen.

It’s on that night he knew he loved you, his eyes devouring your from head to toe and it had not escaped his mother’s watchful eyes.

 Watching him grow closer to his mother was a beautiful change you were happy to have made blossom. The three of you made your way out of the small plane, entering the privately hired car Annette had taken care of. It was like the both of them had plotted this long ago.

Exploring the small streets of Paris all the way to the hotel room you would reside in, a series of hushed speeches took place between Duncan and his mother. Unbothered by it, you gentle slipped in and out of consciousness as sleep gained the better of you. You woke up in Duncan’s arms as he gingerly carried you through the halls of the hotel to rest you on the large bed before peeling your shoes off and tucking you in.

 “She must be drained if this is the first long distance flight she experience, Annette whispered.

-That’s why I didn’t want to wake her up, the male hushed, pushing a few strands of hair away from your face before standing up and walking towards his mother. Thank you for helping me organise this, mom.

-Don’t mention it, Duncan. I just hope you’re sure about it and that you are ready.

- I am, mom. I’ve never been more sure.”

 You dozed off again, the words broken and blurry in your ears. The soft kisses of Duncan across your shoulders woke you up as the gentle sunlight warmed your intertwined bodies. He had swapped your travelling outfit for some of your comfortable pyjamas while you rested peacefully. His toned arms pushed your back closer to his chest, breathing the soft scent of your skin. You could feel his smiling lips against your lips. “Rise and shine, beautiful. We have a busy day ahead” he whispered, painfully releasing your limbs from his embrace.

Oh how you loved how close he would hold you down in the morning. The tickling of his stubble teased you awake most of the time and you would remain laced within each other for as long as you could. The love you had for each other was so pure and beautiful.

 Walking from shops to shops, Duncan showered you in attention and gifts. When his mother joined the both of you for lunch, you offered for her to join the both of you in a few shops, hoping to watch your boyfriend and his mother bond some more in this beautiful.

 “That would be lovely, Y/N, Annette smiled warmly,

-We should be on our way already if we want to visit the last couple of shops on our way. Mom booked a table for dinner, Duncan stroked your hands as he motioned to the waiter for the bill.”

 You made your way out of the small restaurant, ready for some more shopping with your boyfriend, his mother hooked to his arm. It took about an hour for him to invite you in the large stores he had in mind but there was one he planned on bringing his mother to. Walking up the busy street, the brunette pointed at the neon sign in top of the shop. “Petit Bateau”. Annette look at the façade then back at him in confusion.

“Let’s have a look and pick something, shall we?” he enquired, smiling wide at his mother. Her brows drew closer, perplexed by his question. “I think you’re past the age of wearing bibs, Duncan” she scoffed, unsure on what to think. That’s only when he looked back at you, his smile growing only wider that his question started to click in her mind. He held out his palm to you, inviting you to join his side and you sheepishly stood by him, clutching his fingers with your clammy ones.

 “What does this mean” she wondered again, taking a careful step back as the tall frame of your boyfriend gingerly pulled you closer to the store. “Y/N is expecting” he announced in a small chuckle, her eyes growing further in disbelief. “Come on” he carried on, walking you inside of the store, his mother in tow, still shocked.

Your fingers unlaced from your man’s as you went alone for your own little wonder. Looking back shortly after, your gaze fell upon the tender embrace of Annette and her son, tears spilling from both of them. A silent exchange of words then took place before the tall brunette eagerly shook his head, wiping his teary eyes. His attention turned to you and he smiled fondly at you.

 You had not bought anything today and if you were to spend anything, this store was the one. You looked at the multitude of tiny coloured socks, browsing through swaddles and onesies while your fingers absentmindedly brushed against your belly.

The comforting arms of Duncan wrapped around you as you turned around, holding what you thought was the most adorable little ensemble to proudly show it to him. “That’s lovely, sweetheart, but I’m afraid we are starting to run short on time” he hushed you. You placed the new born outfit back and settled for a soft pyjama. As you walked towards the cashier, Annette met you with a tight embrace, whispering gentle words of encouragements and congratulations before taking the small hanger from your hands.

 Besides your protest, she purchased it, seemingly beaming of happiness and pride as she looked back at her son, the same look plastered on his face as he admired you. Slowly making your way to the car in a comfortable silence, you laced your fingers with your boyfriend, exchanging mischievous looks and cheeky smiles. The destination was a total mystery to you but as you watched the Iron Lady growing taller in the horizon, you started to wonder why you had not imagined that Annette would book at table on top of the Eiffel Tower. Guiding you to the small lift and grabbing at your hands, you felt your lover grow nervous, his eyes lost in the breath taking view of Paris’ horizon.

 Puzzled by the clamminess of his hands, you brought your palm to his cheek, feeling him melt into your loving touch. His gaze fell onto you and he took a deep breath as he read through your soft features. “You are so beautiful” he said as the lift reached the peak of the tower. Keeping your digits in his grasp, he invited you to step out of the elevator, following below you. Annette was waiting by a table, looking at your entrance. She motioned towards a corner that had no tables. “Let me take a picture of you two in front of the view!” she rejoiced, holding her phone up.

Your lover’s hands held on your waist as you walked to the decorated corner. Some soft music was playing in the background and you stood in position to let his mother snap a picture with you. She gave a discreet nod to her son as he slowly turned towards you, grabbing your delicate hands and bringing your knuckles for a kiss.

 “Y/N” he began, the clamminess of his hands had returned, if not worse this time around. “You are the most beautiful thing that has ever happened to me. I have never loved anyone as much as I’ve loved you and I knew from the moment I saw you watching the fireworks on that night we made it official that I had fallen in love with you and the privilege of having you now carry my child is the biggest honour I could receive” tears slowly piled at the edges of your eyes in realisation. You looked at him, watching his cheeks getting stained by salty streams of his own. “But I have another favour to ask you today, darling” he spoke in a halted breath before dropping to one knee, quickly retrieving a velvet box from his back pocket. His fingers reached up to yours again, his eyes now pleading and loving. “Y/N, will you do me the honour of become my wife?” he softly asked, displaying the stunning ring sitting in the cushioned box he now had opened.

 The ring was dainty and gentle, radiant with beauty. Lost in his eyes, you quickly wondered, how in the world would you even be able to say no? Nodding vigorously as your cries got muffled against his lips in a passionate kiss, he pulled away from you shakily reaching for the ring inside the box to slip it on your finger, a happy sod ripping through his chest as he smiled even wider.

His face turned to his mother, who was covering her mouth to muffle her own tears, and he gave her the dorkiest thumbs up.

She lowered her phone, which had been recording and rushed to hug the both of you tightly, letting a small weep escape her throat. “Welcome to the Shepherd’s family, Y/N” she said, touching your cheek warmly.

 “Oh, Annette, I’ve felt like part of your family from the day Duncan took me on our first date” you chuckled, looking at the ring then back at your, now, fiancé. Leaning in to drop a gentle kiss on your forehead, he bit his lower lips to hold back his grin. He had secretly worked on this whole trip for over a year and he meant to unfold it all for your anniversary but forgot about it’s date however, that was a secret he was willing to take to the tomb.

[redrobin-detective]

All Together Now

I’ve been feeling nostalgic and watching some Doctor Who again (ah back to my roots) and I wrote so much DW fic back in the day that I thought I’d share an old favorite. A story in which all 11 (this was written in 2013, just after the 50th so no Capaldi or Whittaker) Doctors meet each other in true disaster fashion. It was fun dialogue and opportunity to flex on my ridiculous amount of DW knowledge. (7′s spectrox toxemia comment to 5, still funny seven years later)

XxX

The Eleventh Doctor was having quite a nice relaxing day. He was bored with it already but he was certainly having it. He stared out at the dark purple waves of Atrios wondering where he would go next. He had dropped Amy and Rory off a while back after the scare at the alien motel and he just couldn't quite get back into the swing of adventuring, not yet anyway. He missed them, plain and simple, and the TARDIS just seemed so lifeless without them.

"Oi, you with the bowtie, would you give me a hand?" The Doctor jumped slightly and considered not turning; actually to be honest he considered getting up and running away screaming. Of course he recognized that voice, how could he not? A few centuries ago he had been speaking in that voice. "Really, it will only take a mo and then you can go back to your sulking." The Doctor scowled and turned around to face his previous incarnation.

"I am not sulking; I was just enjoying the scenery." He looked back over his shoulder at the purple waves, he supposes they were a bit dull. The other Doctor, the tenth version anyway, rolled his eyes.

"Right I forgot never to underestimate the entertainment levels of human tourists. You lot act as if you've never seen an alien ocean." The Doctor quirked an eyebrow, rude and not ginger, yes he was totally seeing it now. Well whatever, he was in it now so he'd better get ole Sandshoes here out of the way before a paradox ensued. How the hell did he not remember this?

"So what sort of help do you need so desperately that you interrupt my… introspection."

"I came here with an Earth woman she has red hair and is very, very loud. I seem to have lost her, have you seen or rather heard her?" The Doctor, or really Eleven since there were two Doctors present, was so confused he couldn't even name the thing that confused him the most. First of all, he doesn't ever remember coming to Atrios with Donna. Second, shouldn't Ten have picked up on the fact that this man was not only a Time Lord but a future version of himself and three, Donna. Donna was here, he could see Donna again. He could talk about adventures and laugh with Donna. All three were very good reasons to stick close to Ten and find out just what was happening. He shook his head.

"I'm afraid not, but I could help you look for her, if you want…" Ten frowned suspiciously and Eleven couldn't help but feel vain about the wrinkles that appeared around his eyes and mouth. "You know, to get away from the sulking thing for a bit, you're right, I just said goodbye to some good mates and well-" Ten smiled and clapped him on the back, Eleven was mildly surprised nothing exploded. They began walking down the beach as Ten went off on a long ramble.

"Sure of course, I understand, come on. I do love chatting; I do it a lot apparently. Donna says I've got a gob that just doesn't stop and I tell her that she's not much better what with all her shouting and stuff. I'm sorry I've gone off again haven't I? What did you say your name was again?" Eleven blinked, would John Smith be too obvious?

"Er uh Rory, Rory Williams." Ten grinned.

"Well my name is…" His eyes darted to something over Eleven's shoulder and they widened to the size of saucers. Eleven almost turned but Ten stopped him finishing loudly. "Yes, and I am Wilfred, Wilfred Mott, lovely to meet you." He leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially. "Ok Rory, act natural. I know this bloke but he doesn't know me yet. I'm a time traveler so this is possible, it'll be over soon. So just stay calm and act natural."

"Oi, hold up, I've got a question. Have you two stooges seen a young girl, about 19 or so with curly blonde hair?" Eleven sucked in his breath and bit his lip. This was bad and getting baderer by the second. As if dealing with Ten wasn't bad enough but now Nine pops up out of nowhere?

"Rose?" Ten choked out and Eleven wanted to roll his eyes. He forgot how that incarnation was nearly overwhelmed by his sentimentality for the London shop girl. Eleven frowned, he couldn't really blame him though, he wasn't much better with his little Amelia. Nine walked over to them with concerned look.

"Oh so you've seen her then, that's good. I've been looking for her for a while now, honestly I don't know what part of 'don't wander off' they don't they get."

Ten and Eleven exchanged a look in which Ten mimed a quick shush noise. It made the eldest Doctor want to tear his hair out. Here he was hiding from Ten who was now trying to convince him to hide from Nine. He was fairly certain this couldn't get any worse. Nine glared at them clearly getting impatient.

"If you two are done making faces at each other, would one of you point me in the direction of my companion? I'd like to get off this heap of rubble as soon as I can thank you very much." A discreet glance in Ten's direction told Eleven that his younger self was still too caught up in the thought of meeting his Rose again. He sighed and turned to address Nine.

"Um sorry mate, don't know any Roses here. My friend… Wilfred and I haven't seen anyone else and hopefully no one else unexpected pops along." Eleven said with a strained smile, the last part muttered under his breath. Ten seemed to snap out of his stupor and properly look at him for the first time. Eleven wasn't sure what would happen if they all started deducing identities but he'd rather not find out. While he was curious as to why Nine was here, this many Doctors in one area couldn't possibly be good.

"Pardon chaps!" The three Doctors froze as Eight all dressed to the nines – dear Rassilon he did not just think that- snuck up behind them. They all turned and gave him a thinly disguised grimace while the pretty faced man just kept smiling as if nothing were wrong. So this is before the Time War then, hard to imagine a time when he was that innocent. "Would one of you tell me where the nearest town is? Lucie wanted to do a bit of shopping or she did before I lost her. I suppose I should be asking if you've seen her about. She's about yeah tall, Northern accent, rather brash." Eight said with a small, kind smile.

"Nope, nuh-uh, none whatsoever!" Ten squeaked rocking on his heels while Nine took a few steps back. Eight regarded them all with a funny expression on his face as his gaze sharpened.

"Is everything alright? Are you in some sort of trouble?"

"No!" Nine said stepping forward with a menacing glare. Eleven winced a little; it appeared Nine was still wounded by his previous regeneration's actions during the war or lack there of perhaps. "And I think it's about time you got going you hussy." Eight took a step back in surprise only for a very distinctive umbrella to swing down in-between the two. Eight's surprise shifted from one Doctor to another as he turned to the newest member of the group.

"Now gentleman, I don't know what's going on between the two of you but you're grown men and I'd think you'd better start acting like it." Seven purred pulling his umbrella back and hooking it onto his arm. "Now really, what is going on here? And what are all you doing staring at me for?" Four Doctors turned to look at one another.

What in the name of Rassilon had he been drinking last night?

"Excuse me dear fellows." Seven's eyes widened as Five approached followed by a very pensive Six who hung back a little, probably to observe to his past self. "Is there a hospital nearby?" He asked jovially before subtly leaning forward gesturing his head back towards Six and whispering conspiratorially. "I don't think that man is quite stable, I think it's best if he got some proper rest." The group was all silence but he thinks he heard Nine muttering about the blasted coat under his breath to which Eleven wholeheartedly agreed. Which would makes sense as they were the same person after all. Eight cleared his throat.

"I'm sorry er Sir, but we're all tourists as well I'm afraid so we're just as lost as you are." He said trailing off slightly as he eyed the group before finally settling on Eleven. "Funny, I thought I'd gotten past the bowtie thing years ago." He mumbled quietly and Eleven huffed and indignantly straightened his very cool accessory. Oblivious, Five nodded a bit sadly casting a glance at Six.

"Yes, well I am a Doctor maybe I can do something on my own. I do wish I knew what had happened that would make him so peculiar." He paused and Seven brought his umbrella to his lips.

"A dose of spectrox toxaemeia and a hero complex will do that any day." The rest of the Doctors cleared their throats or coughed or just outright snorted. Five blinked as he eyed Seven.

"I'm sorry I didn't quite catch that, did you say spectrox-"

"-toxaemia, yes it's a poison found primary on Androzani Minor in the Sirius system. A horrible way to go, or so, I've been told and I'm hoping not to find out myself truth be told." The Fourth Doctor interrupted smiling broadly while Five sputtered before readjusting his celery to cover the motion. The Fourth Doctor adjusted his hat and grinned manically. "Hello, I'm the Doctor; might I ask what's going on here?" Six finally seeming have lost interest in sulking, stepped forward and instinctively all the other Doctors reached forward to stop him from acting too rashly. Too late though.

"Well that's a fairly presumptuous question for you of all people to be asking, Doctor." He said, jabbing Four in the chest. "I think we really ought to be asking who you are and are you doing here?" There has got to be a small star exploding somewhere as five Doctors simultaneously face palmed. The Fourth Doctor blinked and not breaking eye contact reached into his pocket and pulled out a bag.

"Why my good man, I think you need a jelly baby."

"I don't believe I do thank you very much!" Six shouted tugging on his lapels. Seven stepped in and held his hands in a placating way.

"Gentlemen please there's no reason to shout." Six turned his glare onto his future self.

"Oh don't I? Just look at your jumper man. Who dressed you this morning? The Riddler?" Nine snorted at this.

"Oi have you looked in the mirror recently, thank God I got over that phase quickly enough." Six's annoyance melted as he took in the rest of large group as if noticing them for the first time. "Wait are you all...?"

"Did it really take you that long to work it out?" Four asked, biting of the head of a jelly baby. "I weep for my future." He rolled his eyes over in the direction of the older Doctors. Ten quirked an eyebrow in annoyance, "what?"

"Oh nothing," Four said tucking away his jelly babies. "Just looking at a future mid-life crisis, practically children you are. Honestly the next one's going to be twelve years old." His eyes slid over to Eleven, "oops too late." Eleven's mouth twitched, oh to hell with the timelines.

"Oh well aren't you just the coolest with your scarf and your candies." He spat, throwing his arms in the air which probably wasn't the best move if the looks on everyone's' faces were any indication.

"Yes thank you for noticing, a trait you seemed to have misplaced young man. Tell me, are your parents coming to pick you up soon?" Four teased.

"Oh I'd get that big head of yours out of the clouds before you take a fall, opps," he mimicked "too late I guess. Celery boy is better than you every day." Five grimaced.

"Please don't draw me into this narcissistic competition." But still the bickering continued as their voices grew louder and tempers grew shorter.

"You should've wiped out the Daleks when you had the chance you maniac! You could have avoided the whole damn war!" Nine shouted

"Oh will you be quiet you! What happen? Did the pretty princess over there swallow glass to turn into such a bitter angry man? My clothes are a disguise but yours show how ugly you truly are!" Six retorted.

"Disguise for what? Your dreadful personality? If you weren't so distracted by your clothes you could have saved Peri you half wit numbskull." Ten interrupted.

"Hey now therrrrrre everyone calm down. What are we fighting for? Can't we handle this as Doctors?" Seven countered.

"I do concur, we are the Doctor and we should be acting like it so if everyone would just..." Eight pleaded.

"Shut up Lord Byron, just because you didn't fight in the war doesn't mean I don't blame you for it! We're all responsible!" Nine accused.

"Oi, big ears! X-nay on the War-eh." Eleven hissed.

"Mmmhmm!" Though quiet, the sound of an older man clearing his throat caused all the Doctors to turn and find, well himself. The First, Second and Third Doctors stood there looking none too pleased at their future incarnations. The bickering Doctors had least at the sense to look ashamed.

"Now then, which one of you is the eldest?" The First asked giving his cane a light tap on the ground. The Eleventh Doctor slowly stepped forward and rocked awkwardly on his feet at the aggravated look his younger counterparts gave him. Honestly, they should know that he couldn't help the face.

"Oh for Rassilon's sake look at that, younger than Susan I'd bet. Oh no matter, no matter, will you tell me what in the name of sanity is happening, hmmm?" One demanded causing the other two Doctors to nod.

"Yes please enlighten us since you're clearly the most aged and experienced." Three drawled out sarcastically.

"Hmm, what's a boy got to say that we don't know?" Two huffed. Choosing to ignore thm, Eleven continued.

"We're not quite sure but somehow we all ended up in this time and place. I came across Ten who was-" he paused as if remembering something important. "Hang on, I came here alone but didn't you all come with companions?" He saw the other Doctors' eyes grow bright with understanding.

"Yeah, like I said before, I came with Donna" "and Rose" "Lucie..." "Ace is accompanying me currently" "Peri, wait what do you mean I could have saved P-" "I had Tegan and Turlough" " the savage Leela who-" "Miss Sarah Jane Smith" "What? But where did Jamie and Victoria go?"

One nodded at the string of names he did not know but someday would. "And I came with Steven and Dodo, yes I see your point young man, where did they go?" The Doctors suddenly looked around as if it would cause their companions to reappear. Seven took a few steps back away from the group.

"Yes, well I need to be finding Ace. I brought her here to let loose some old Nitro-9 and Rassilon knows what she'll do without prrroper supervision." He tipped his hat, "I look forward to meeting you all, well not particularly." Four smirked as he also turned and sauntered his own way.

"Yeah, same goes for Leela. I don't want to know what she's getting up to. Probably murder if I were to guess. Don't worry, I'll be sure to enjoy being an adult while it lasts. Goodbye, my dears." Nine huffed and spun on his heels as he stalked away.

"Forgot how unpleasant that one could be, reminds me too much of you all. Now I'm off to find my Rose, I swear if I see any of you again-"

"I should be going too," Five interrupted leaning forward to shake Ten and Eleven's hands. "Don't worry what they say, I'm sure you're all doing a cracking job. Have a lovely rest of your day." Ten smiled and returned the handshake enthusiastically.

"Yeah you see that's what I'm talking about! A true inspiration, now you sir, are the Doctor. My Doctor I guess if I had to pick a favorite." The two men smiled and wandered off together. Slowly the Doctors dispersed in their own directions, probably searching for their companions until only One and Eleven remained. Eleven tried to ignore One's rather penetrating stare and instead nervously tugged at his collar.

"You said you came here alone?" One began.

"For now," Eleven shrugged. "It's too dangerous to travel with humans for a long time. They get worn out and sometimes-sometimes bad things happen. It's better this way so I don't needlessly endanger lives." One pursed his lips before treating Eleven to a small smile and a light shoulder tap.

"Hmm so you are wiser than you look. Ho it's nice to know I look that good when my eyes are as old and troubled as yours are. So humor me old man, did we ever get around to fixing that old Chameleon Circuit?"

In a bar about 12 miles away

"I'm bored when's the Doctor going to get here? He promised us a pleasure planet but all I see around here is dirt." Tegan moaned sitting her head on the bar. Something had obviously gone astray as there were many, many people here looking for the Doctor but describing all sorts of different looking men. 

One savage looking girl even described the first Doctor she had met, the scarf one, almost to a tee. She was busy arguing with a short teenager over explosives and Tegan was sure the place would be blown up in about 5 minutes. It didn't help that this obnoxious red head kept fawning over this Rose girl. Apparently she was important or something. Boy did she ever needed a drink.

A couple others were huddled in groups talking about their Doctors and what they were like but Tegan was just too upset for that kind of thing right now. All she wanted was for that Time Lord who couldn't tell time to get in here so she could give him a swift kick to the behind. She didn't even have Turlough to pass the time with as he was too busy chatting up some of the prettier girls. One girl was so scantily clad even Tegan was embarrassed. Ugh alien or not, he was still a man. She'd have cozied up to the handsome one in the kilt but the way that Victorian lady held onto him said he was off limits.

The sound of the door swinging open caught her attention as an older looking gentleman wandered in and opened his eyes wide in surprise as he saw them all. He muttered something to himself with a wry little smile on his face and took the seat next to her. He smiled sweetly and she realized that he wasn't nearly as old as he looked, just dirty and worn down like he'd been in a war or something. But there was an impish sparkle in her eyes that was terribly familiar... Oh lord it couldn't be.

"Excuse me Tegan," he began in a light voice. "I'm looking for the Doctor." Tegan smirked.

"Well, you've certainly come to the right place."

[theshinobiway]

can i get a Neji imagine with him being jealous of the reader being so close to Sauske (as friends) btw love your blog💗💗

Good Golly Gee this took longer than I expected. First I had difficulty coming up with a setting and the plot for this scenario, so I ended up throwing darts at a board (metaphorically) and decided to roll with it. Thus, The setting is post-war Konoha around the time of “The Last.” Sasuke is back in Konoha (and had a decent redemption!) and Neji is alive, though he was heavily injured.

This is one of my rare times where I wrote it with a female reader simply because (most of my readers tend to be female or fempronoun-identifying) and the prose flowed much better with a specific pronoun. “They/Them” is sometimes difficult to portray as an intimately personal address. Can English just get a Gender-Neutral pronoun already? I’m open to creating other versions of this story with different pronouns if requested, just send me an ask!

That also being said, I have the mappings for a Part II to this scenario that I would be open to writing at a later date (I need a break from this one, lol.) If there’s interest, let me know!

Thanks as always for contributing to the blog! :)💚💚

Neji Hyuga — Untouchable Stars

“He just doesn’t get it!”

You slammed your drink down, the telltale blush of your night’s exploits covering your face as your best friend barely restrained a groan from his seat.

“He may not, but for the hundredth time the Hyuga’s too much of a coward to make the first move. You need to be more direct. Just ask him out, already.” 

Sasuke shot you the side-eye from his seat as he coolly sipped his own drink, watching you down your third.

“And what if you’re wrong and he doesn’t like me?!”

“What’s not to like?” Your longtime friend gave you a small smirk.

Were it not for his current—secret—relationship with a certain pink-haired friend of yours, it might almost have been flirtatious. But, both she and you knew where his eyes were, and both of you could read him well enough to know loud and clear what every gesture of his really meant.

If only you could read the Hyuga just as easily.

“Oh? Go on…” You intentionally drew out your words, less from drunken slur and more from your disbelief that this was headed anywhere that didn’t end in an insult.

“Well, you’re great at a lot of things.” Sasuke shrugged his comment off, but it did much to lighten your mood.

“Really? Like what?!” You threw your glass down, now more than halfway convinced he was being serious.

Sasuke gave you his characteristic smirk for reassurance—the closest you could ever get to a real smile—and you were elated.

Until he opened his tactless Uchiha flapper.

He held up his hand to count. “For instance, confessing your sorrows to everyone in the vicinity, drowning in self-pity, drinking away your feelings…and making sure everyone in this bar and the few surrounding know that you have the biggest crush on N-“

          Sasuke liked to think himself one of the most accomplished shinobi in the village.

          But Sasuke was not more accomplished than a drunk, flustered you that currently had an arm wrapped around his neck before he could speak.

He tapped out within seconds, wheezing.

“What in the world—ugh—are we still children?!” He sputtered, rubbing his throat and reaching for his drink before deciding better. The burn of the alcohol wouldn’t help right now.

“Oh, sure! In that case, should I go around spouting off about your secret relationship?!” You fired back, punctuating your answer with an aggressive slurp of your drink and a boorish stare.

Sasuke hadn’t been public in the slightest about his relationship with his pink-haired teammate, though being his closest friend, you were privy to much that others weren’t. Sakura herself had respected his wishes to keep most of their relationship private. Naruto on the other hand…well, if there was anyone it would come from…

“You wouldn’t have the gall.” He grumbled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Because I’m a good friend!” You sneered, downing the rest and raising your glass. “Another!”

“Seriously, are you going for a Mountain Round tonight?”

It was a common drinking game in Konoha. One shot for every Hokage, and every Hokage had an accompanying drinking song. Most tried to get through all of them on their twentieth birthday to celebrate their coming of age. If you didn’t stop soon, you’d be making cheers to your fifth—and passing out in the street like the fifth.

“I’m going for a number of shots that make me forget his name tonight!” You swung down your drink, letting the burn roll over your tongue. No matter how bitter it was, it couldn’t match you yet. “Let me know when I’ve stopped talking about him.”

“Done, and you’re done.” Sasuke took the finished glass out of your hand and set it on the bar, sweeping you away from the counter.

“Hey! I’m still walking!” You tugged at his arm, but you were out the door of the bar before you could make a scene. “I’m not sloppy—"

“That’s not the goal of a nightly outing, now time to get you home.” Sasuke grumbled, cursing the very man that put you in this state.

The situation had been the same since you were kids—you were head over heels, a certain someone was none the wiser, and Sasuke was left hearing all about it—but the only difference was that the complaining could now be, ahem, augmented by alcohol.

But Sasuke, being the great friend he was, managed to get you out of the bar and on the steady path to home and a restful sleep despite your struggling. On a separate note, you vaguely recalled that you were meeting someone else tonight, but for the life of you, you couldn’t remember who it was while you were being dragged from the bar whilst on the receiving end of a lengthy lecture from your Uchiha friend about your ‘limits.’

Sasuke liked to think himself the wisest of the two of you.

In any case, you weren’t exactly a fan of being manhandled—drunk or sober—so you decided to concoct the best plan you could to get out of his deathgrip on your arm.”

“Hey! What’s that?!”

”What?”

Sasuke was not more clever than a drunk, troublesome you.

No sooner had he fallen for the childish trick (which he would say later was the result of his own inebriation and not because you were actually clever,) you shot out of his reach and made a dash…straight down the steps of the bar.

“Ack—!”

And then, right when it seemed you would meet the ground first, a sudden familiar shout of your name brought you back.

“(Y/N!)”

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Just then, seconds before you bit the dust, and the whirlwind of movement brought your latent nausea to a not-so scenic ending, you were whipped back up to your feet and the merry-go-round of lights were kept steady enough for you to send an insult hurling back at—

“N-Neji?!”

“You’re…drunk?”

          There was nothing more sobering than the realization that you might have made a fool of yourself in front of him.

‘Of all the times for him to find me—now, really?!’

You were held up by two strong arms and the last remaining shred of your dignity, but the look on the aghast Hyuga’s face told you he was waiting on an answer. In your best hazy stupor, you put your best foot forward and managed a perfectly elegant, coherent:

“I don’t know.”

Neji tilted his head, thoroughly taken aback—first by your sudden appearance in his arms, and now an answer that he had expected just as much. Realizing he might have been staring, he suddenly averted his gaze until Neji’s eyes flickered to Sasuke, who stood close behind. They narrowed immediately.

Neji’s arms held you in a firm grip, letting you a chance fully regain composure. Or what you could, with your arms interlocked with his and a small voice screaming in the back of your head.

Whatever chance you had of dignity was shot all to hell the minute you realized he was close enough that you could catch the characteristic scent of the Hyuga compound—aged wood. Without realizing it, you were unconsciously leaning forward into it. Luckily, Neji hadn’t noticed, too intent on staring down your would-be caretaker.

You couldn’t see Sasuke’s expression—you were far too absorbed in Neji, who hadn’t released his grip of you though had regained your balance—but with your extensive knowledge of the Uchiha, whatever he likely did was taunt the Hyuga with a look. Sasuke had a wonderful talent for ticking people off, and Neji was no exception—in fact, he took absolute pleasure in it sever since their first meeting.

Neji spoke first, clearing his throat and putting his practiced composure forward.

“Need I ask why (y/n) is currently in this state?”

Why was he always so irresistible when he looked so stern? You were practically drooling over him—but for some reason, the normally observant Hyuga kept his gaze ahead.

“Huh. Because she…can’t hold her liquor?” Sasuke scoffed back at the Hyuga. “I didn’t realize I was her keeper.”

Holding an inebriated you upright and staring into the face of a man that didn’t seem to take it seriously, Neji was less than amused at the snarky reply.

“And you let her get like this, or did you intend for this happen?”

“She can make her own decisions, as any other adult, Father.” Sasuke curled his lip back at him.

Neji took the bait. Sasuke’s cheeky grin was perfectly misconstrued—as Sasuke surely expected, and Neji’s grip on you unconsciously tightened as his eyes narrowed to slits.

“And just where are you going this late in the evening?” Neji snapped back.

Sasuke had always suspected another side to your ‘unrequited’ love for a while, but it wasn’t always clear. This, however, was an ample opportunity to test his theory.

The results spoke for themselves.

And while he was tactful enough to save your face in front of the object of your affections, playing coy to rile up a potential suitor was all part of his assessment of the Hyuga. Neji might have been a little too commanding in response for Sasuke’s taste, but Sasuke was also too much of a smart aleck to make things simple—no, if Neji was even remotely responsive to his insinuations, Sasuke was going to be just as curt and press him on.

All with the same smirk plastered on his face.

It was difficult to keep track of the conversation when you were in Neji’s arms. All the flush in your face couldn’t have been caused by alcohol—not at this point. In your daze, you caught a brief wind of Sasuke’s snide reply.

“I thought we settled this when we were kids, Hyuga…” Sasuke leaned forward, truth of the situation be damned if it meant he could have a chance to get under the Hyuga’s skin.

”I don’t answer to you.”

Sasuke knew of your affections and clearly could tell he has projected an image of the situation onto the Byakugan-user that was not so accurate—but at this point, perhaps this is what the Hyuga needed to make a move.

“Your arrogance becomes you, Uchiha.” Neji then shot back a taunting look of his own. “The only reliable quality about you, as it were.”

Relinquishing his grip, Neji managed to put you fully upright, facing Sasuke head-on. “A wonder you’re still friends with this one.”

“Neji, He’s just—" you were cut off almost immediately.

“Really? We’re still very close though, we’ve been friends for…how many years now, (y/n)?”

You stumbled over a reply, turning your head just enough to shoot Sasuke a look that screamed murder if he continued.

“A wonderful display of your friendship, tossing friends from balconies. You care to express your friendship elsewhere, perhaps with your pink-haired admirer? Perhaps if she heard of your recklessness, you might find yourself airborne instead.”

Neji clearly had no idea they were dating. Not that he really spent extended time around either of them to tell.

“Oh, and what would you know of her competence? Were you looking for an introduction?��� Sasuke tilted his head, jeering at the man barely holding himself back. “Unfortunately, she’s—”

“Sasuke-kun!”

The heavens bequeathed a blessing to this gradually deteriorating situation in the form of Sakura, who was now hurrying her way up the street.

You forgot she had been invited to join you after her shift at the clinic.

“Sakura.” Sasuke smiled, a rarity from him. You were still startled by it now and then, which is why it caught your attention.

And Neji saw where yours went.

“Sorry I’m late, the patient needed extra bloodwork done—Oh!” Sakura noticed you and Neji, standing close together, and evidence of the Hyuga’s agitation was still clearing. It took all of a few seconds for Sakura to surmise what might have transpired moments before.

Perhaps in the future, Sakura’s social finesse could rub off on Sasuke.

“I’ll be taking him out of your way before he causes more trouble.” She nodded towards Neji, who looked ever so slightly more agitated than normal. You put your hands up defensively, trying to remember how words were formed as you battled the fog clouding your mind.

“Oh don’t worry about it, he’s been—”

“Oh, your face is so flushed!” She placed a small hand on your cheek and gave you a wink, grabbing Sasuke’s hand with her other, then glancing back at the Hyuga. “Neji, get her home safe, would you?”

Before the Uchiha could protest about her grip, he resolved already to let himself be carried off, letting you helplessly watch as they left. Sasuke gave one lest telltale shrug as they got further away, communicating all you needed to know.

‘Hey, I tried to help. Good luck.’

You flickered your gaze at Neji’s figure before looking away once again.

‘What the hell am I supposed to do right now?!’

Drunk you didn’t sign up for this. Sober you wasn’t too far behind.

And yet, the only answer you got was the accelerated beat that drummed through your ribcage as Neji stood close.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

‘Not only did he have the audacity to let her stumble around in this state, but it’s almost as if he was toying with the idea of bringing her home. Was the full attention of one of the more renowned kunoichi in the leaf not enough?’

He knew why the Uchiha might find interest in her. What he didn’t understand in all of his genius was the hold that Sasuke seemed to have over other women, even given his reputation.

‘The way that she gazed at him when he smiled at Sakura…’

He felt a familiar, painful curl in his chest when he saw it. That wasn’t where he wanted to see that kind of look directed. When he clearly saw the situation unfold with the Uchiha and the medic-nin in front of her, he felt the deepest empathy.

‘Unrequited.’

He clenched his fist. ‘She doesn’t deserve someone like that. She deserves far better than you.’

Sakura caressed her face, apologetically. ‘At least she can be courteous about it,’ he grumbled in his thoughts, knowing that all the kindness in the world couldn’t help.

When Sasuke gave an uncaring shrug in her direction, he was ready to snap the other arm off.

‘You have everything in front of you, and this is how you act?’  Neji watched your helpless expression as they walked off, and another pang of ache went through his chest until he gave one last glance to the offender’s retreating form.

‘How dare you.’

The sheer frustration of it all was enough for him to feel his blood pressure rise.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The last of your efforts went into staying as sober as possible, hoping his wouldn’t be a night to remember for all the wrong reasons.

“Are you well enough, like this?” Neji’s voice cut you out of your trance.

“O-Oh, yes, I’m fine.” You shook your head frivolously to be more convincing.

Bad idea, because it only made you dizzier.

“I’m sure you aren’t unfamiliar with this condition.” Neji hadn’t meant for it to sound so harsh, but the line between straightforward and blunt was not so easily tread.

“H-Hey I’m not that kind of person! I just lost track of how many I had is all, but I don’t make a habit of it!”

Neji gave you a disinterested blink before he sighed, hands placed firmly on his hips.

“Relax, (Y/N). I’m well aware that you aren’t the kind to overindulge. I’m sure it was an accident. Regardless of how it happened, though, you ought to be escorted home.”

Neji paused, as though he thought better of the situation than before.

“Should I find you another…friend for that?” He gestured to the surrounding streets. It wasn’t necessarily dismissive, but it still had a bite to it.

That bite wasn’t meant for you, but himself.

You furiously shook your head. Drunk confidence egged you on, hoping you could somehow finesse the situation. You were determined to salvage as much of your reputation as the alcohol would allow.

“I can get home, y’know, if it’s alright with you…”

“Not a wise choice.”

You sounded confident in the moment, but Neji wasn’t convinced. And surely after walking a few blocks in one direction, future you would be agreeing with him. Which is why his immediate dismissal of the idea wasn’t surprising.

It couldn’t hurt to ask.

“Well wisdom could say you’re the…best choice, then?” You ended tentatively, but Neji’s brows lifted and the corner of his mouth twitched.

What had sounded vaguely like drunken rambling to you had actually…charmed him?

“Flattering.” He replied, flatly, though some amusement drifted across his face.

It wasn’t a clear acceptance, so you were ready to retreat until he turned his body and waved for you to follow.

“I haven’t forgotten the way, luckily for you. Let’s get going.”

You didn’t hesitate then.

  A few moments of walking in silence passed before he looked over his shoulder to catch you timidly following, bunched up and holding your arms, last bastion of humanity devoted to keeping your body mobile.

“Are you.. cold…?” One of Neji’s hands drew to the string of his Haori without a second thought.

“Oh, I’m just still a little…” Embarrassment filtered from every hand gesture to the way you avoided his gaze. You started the night intending to forget about him. And now, here he was, walking you home.

Couldn’t he have found you three drinks sooner?

       A sudden warmth around your shoulders snatched your attention from your pouting. Neji’s haori hung over you, still warm from his wear. Your face would have flushed further if the alcohol weren’t already occupying your face. The self-conscious posture tipped him off to your internal self-lecture.

“I already gave you my thoughts.” He reassured you for the third time that night, then, satisfied that you were warm, he took a moment to glance at how the fabric, meant to hang loose even on him, swallowed your frame.

The corners of his eyes crinkled for a moment before he turned to continue on.

“Still, the last thing I want is for you to think badly of me…” Were you whining? A bit, but more than anyone, Neji understood the importance of a good image. Therefore, he had no issue with a bit of sympathy slipping into his tone.

“One accident is hardly a threat to your reputation.”

“It wasn’t really an accident, though.” You twirled the hair at the base of your neck, wobbling to the side and out of the busy street.

Neji arched a defined brow in response and paused in long silence.

“Then what called for the occasion?”

You weren’t sure if the question was meant to fill the emptiness of the silent street, or to perhaps silence the overflowing thoughts of a quiet mind.

“Oh well, you know…” You blinked bashfully, looking away as a light dusting of pink—that didn’t originate from your inebriated state—decided to make its way to your face. “…just…thinking about the chances I don’t have with someone I really admire.”

There was something to be said for drunk honesty.

Unfortunately for Neji, not everything was said. Which meant there was always room for interpretation.

Or in his case, a severe misinterpretation.

“I see.” He clicked his tongue, averting his eyes forward as he let go of your shoulder. “Unfortunate.”

“You have no idea.” Crossing your arms over your chest, you wondered if he could read the subtext.

Gods, he can read everything from a faint twirl of the hair to the way you blink, can’t he just read your mind?

‘On second thought,’ —the realization struck when his gaze suddenly grew cold—‘perhaps it was best he couldn’t.’ One thought of that glare revealing itself unto you when you confessed was enough to make you retreat from your advances—even drunk you wasn’t that foolish.

Rather, drunk you was just sensitive enough to think better of a drunken confession that may have ended in a sobering heartbreak.

“I’m not so sure…” Neji didn’t mean to respond outloud, but all the better that you hadn’t heard him, too focused on the now beating heart that was going wild in your chest at the thought of him walking you home.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Walking on the street was enough to set his heart alight. And, when the adrenaline was coursing through his veins and he was consciously aware that you might be more honest than normal, he couldn’t help but ask a more pressing question.

“Perhaps you would have preferred the Uchiha to walk you home?” He didn’t mean to be so curt, but the events from earlier put him his own self-depreciating mood. And he also feared a certain response.

“What? Absolutely not!” He half-heartedly glanced at your sudden outburst. Of course, you wouldn’t be brazenly open about your crush, but—

‘Hold on—where are the signs of denial?’

You weren’t kidding when you seemed to imply you were glad to be rid of him.

“I get enough time with him as it is—” Neji’s eye twitched.

‘I’d rather not be reminded of that.’

“—And I’d rather him spend his time with Sakura than worry about me.” There was a tinge of melancholy to your voice. To you, you were envious of how close they had become, wishing that for yourself.

To Neji, he heard that you wanted that closeness with him for yourself and let a pitiful smile, his split-second question subsided.

“How selfless of you.” He sighed. ‘I couldn’t even entertain a thought such as that, unfortunately.’

“Not really, I was lucky enough to spend time with you instead. It’s been so long…” You wobbled without meaning to, catching yourself on his arm as one step was simply too much for your body to keep up.

While you took a second to register, Neji’s attention was all on you at once and his arm stiffened of its own volition. Then, his face bled concern. Without meaning to, his hand covered yours, making sure you kept your grip.

“Sorry, I—Oh! They’re open early this year!” There were few things that could get you as excited as one certain treat. The colorful sign of the food stall flickered in the distance over the crowd, just barely legible in your blurry vision. He followed your attention in a second.

Neji let a small groan of frustration, knowing all too well your addiction to a certain stand’s seasonal delights.

“Home, (Y/N)—”

“Come on!” Neji’s insistence was futile the minute you snagged his hand. How could he protest an opportunity like this? He didn’t expect tipsy-you’s strength, either, judging by how easy it was to pull—ahem, drag him with you.

          Could a heartbeat be felt in fingertips? With the way it resounded in his chest when you grabbed his hand, Neji might have thought so.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

“There, are you quite ready to go home now?”

“How are you so-ooo grumpy when you have the best thing in the world in your hand?!” You munched happily, letting the taste cover your parched mouth, washing away the lingering staleness of the alcohol from earlier.

“I had that earlier.” He grumbled, just out of earshot. He hadn’t intended to, but it was clear when he was agitated. You vaguely registered his speech, but you had other occupations—like the snack in front of you.

“Oh, what?”

“I said at least the food might sober you up.” Neji shook his head to snap out of his own thoughts and bit into his serving, rather unimpressed with the fare. But given that he was able to share it with you, he found ways to enjoy it.

The alcoholic haze that blurred your vision before gave the world a surreal, almost painted expression. Scenes that would not have fascinated you before were prime entertainment for the intoxicated. Lights danced around the street, peeking out from the silhouettes of the passers-by as they went about their ways, unconcerned for the magical visions that surrounded them. And Kami, and the smell of the food stands was enough to make you hungry for seconds.

When you found your way along the scene to the image of Neji beside you, serenely enjoying the evening bustle through the streets, you couldn’t help but reflexively swallow.

Was the taste always this sweet?

“Did I get some on my face?” In the moment it had taken you to consider why your snack was more delightful than usual, Neji had caught your rather obvious stare.

And you had been staring for an uncomfortable amount of time.

Cue a drunken panic.

‘Quick, something clever, something bold that you can maybe play off as a casual—’

“Ah, yeah, the uh…the cute! It’s all over your face!” You intended to wave your hand over your cheek for emphasis, but drunken limbs don’t like to listen—

They like to make you forcefully smack yourself in the face instead. Hard.

Nailed it.

Neji gave you a dead silent stare. Bewildered.

“I…what?”

Neji had just seen you stutter out an odd mix between a pickup line and a sincere answer, then whack yourself in the face. He was honestly doing his best to process the scene. His head tilted.

A stroke? Were you having a stroke?

“Oh, boy! Time for me to get home!” You shot up, tossing the remaining part of your container in the bin and were perfectly fine to hurry off to cover up your reddened face.

Your home wasn’t far from where you were, but Neji made sure to keep close eye on you—especially after that display. Somewhere in your racing thoughts you lambasted yourself for walking so fast, giving up precious moments that you never got with the object of your affections.

“It’s a bit darker down this way than I remember.” Neji called from close behind as your rounded into your secluded neighborhood. It was one of the few that managed to not be fully developed, and houses still stood a decent bit apart.

“There aren’t many lamps around here, so most of the light used to come from the sky…” You mused. It was an older part of the city, for sure, and you brushed your hand knowingly over where the railing to your steps would be.

But the tragedy was that the light pollution took away another relic of a bygone time.

“I always remember the stars being, well, brighter!” You sighed, turning back from the porch to ponder in thought as Neji made his way next to you, sure to catch you if you stumbled over the steps. “It’s hard to see some of them now, though, with how big the town’s grown. Even on the Hokage mountain now, the lights of the city tend to block out the sky…” Leaning back over the porch railing, you shot him a half-hearted glance. “Do you remember the time we watched the stars as kids?”

“Mmm…There were a few times, as I recall.” He sounded vaguely bemused but gestured at you to come away from the railing. Not a bad idea in your state.

You perked up immediately. So, it wasn’t just you that remembered.

“And how it all kinda began just…by chance?” Your legs moved automatically for you, responding to his beckon while the last remaining braincell attempted a coherent conversation.

          The nights spent with Neji, legs thrown over the side of the mountain as you spoke about life, dreams, and all that stood between were the perfect picture of your teenage years. You had taken a walk that summer evening after your teammates had gone home and found yourself in the northern grounds above the Hokage mountain.

There wasn’t much development on Hokage mountain back then, save for the arena that the final rounds of the Chunin exams were always held in, along with some miscellaneous work buildings. Past the arena, the mountaintop still remained wild as ever. It wasn’t a prime spot for foot traffic, despite the view.

Of all the places for Neji to find you, the cliffside overlooking the village was a peculiar spot in the nighttime. Not the place one would expect a familiar face, but then it happened, and so it was. You thought the only reason it ever happened was by sheer possibility.

“Until it wasn’t.”

You glanced curiously at him, wondering what he meant. As kids, there were a few occasions he had asked if you would be making your way there that night, and if his presence would be welcome to join.

It fell off in routine soon after he was promoted in rank and his duties more than doubled. Then you assumed it was just meant to be the past, that he had other things to occupy his time. You may have grown apart some in those years, but you always wondered what he remembered about those nights.

“I mean…our conversations were…productive.” Neji cleared his throat into his fist. “It was a nice change of routine.”

‘Productive? Routine? Who else would describe childhood memories like that but him?’ You nudged his side with a small grin dancing on your face, startling him. Of course, he drew himself back into his stoic shell when he realized you were teasing him.

“You could just say you liked spending time with me then.” Leaning over, you shifted once more to place you both back within the same distance.

Neji’s straight face refused to betray him, though by what might have been a trick of the light, you thought you saw his face flash a bit of color.

“I wouldn’t be that blunt.”

“Then say it pretty.” You knew you were obviously giving him eyes right now, but a flustered Neji was too much to pass up on. He saw it, but doesn’t mean that he believed it was too serious.

“You need to get rest if you’re speaking like this.” Neji ushered you back inside with a grunt, waving you inside before you could embarrass him further.

“Say it…!” You pressed on, perhaps being a little too cute for your own good.

Neji knew he wasn’t about to get out of this one. He swallowed, looking for every conceivable method of escape before resigning himself.

“I wouldn’t be opposed to another visit sometime…for old time’s sake.” If you weren’t drunk, you might have picked up on the tinge of hesitation in his otherwise self-assured and carefully worded response. Hesitation—not reluctance.

Your eyes lit up immediately at the invitation.

“Yes! Yes, yes, yes!”

You intended to give him an impulsive hug, but your inebriated body’s translation of the thought was closer to a full body slam.

Thus, Neji forgot how to breathe—and your grip wasn’t very tight.  

“Oh, ow—is it really that…exciting?” He managed to free the arm that had been wedged between you and the porch and placed both of his hands prudently upon on your shoulders.

He wasn’t sure if he was meant to ask a question in that moment, because it brought your face up close to his.

Much closer than it had ever been.

For the second time that night, you found your way into his arms, pressed against his chest in your inebriated haze. He was so warm against the cool night air, and you got lost, looking on his expression for every hint of his thoughts right then. There was too much to be said, but you didn’t want to come back, lost so far in the moment as you were.

Dreams weren’t ever as good as this.

Long, dark strands of hair fell around his face, tickling yours as he held onto you, making you forget he had even asked a question. Because right now all you could think about was that…

“You’ve always had the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen..” You couldn’t help the smile that you meant for him.

Those beautiful eyes in question widened in shock at your words, and his world silenced when you did.

Save for the heartbeat—was it his or yours?—that reached his ears.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The deafening pulse of blood in his ears was all Neji could hear. With his eyes locked on your lips, the uncomfortable realization that his body was not within his control for some strange reason took over his rational thought.

Then again, he also wouldn’t admit to himself that it was due at least in part to his proximity of the source of those honeyed words, either.

The playful glint dwelled still in your gaze, then in the corners of your smile until it dropped, as quick as a light could be put out with a flip of a switch. One he struck down with his pesky self-denying habits before he remembered how foolish it was to wander in the dark.

“You’re intoxicated.” He swallowed and finally spoke bluntly, setting you upright.

When your hands didn’t displace themselves from their grip on his shirt, he grimly reached for them. He couldn’t allow himself to hope for what he knew was truly not meant for him.

But in that moment, the first murmur of doubt crossed his mind.

It whispered in his ear when his hands reached yours—they were so small compared to his—and passed over in the soft light in your eyes. One that didn’t come from the street lamps, the mirroring of the shop windows, or even from the moonlight.

It was his reflection, and he never thought he could be so bright—until he saw himself through your eyes.

Dreams really weren’t as good as this.

Neji’s voice lowered to a whisper, somewhere between talking to himself and to you.

“What are you thinking right now?”

It was pretty simple, actually. It was the same thought, every time you saw him cast against the night sky the times you met then, and even now. You let the years finally come and speak their due.

“I always thought you alone were brighter than any of the stars.”

It wasn’t often Neji was without retort—and even if he happened to not respond, it was on his terms. Those offending lips rendered him speechless, and he lowered his head as if closer inspection would reveal just how.

And when they rose to the occasion, he fidgeted once, twice, wondering if this really wasn’t a dream, if those few centimeters were really all that were left between you, and if he really was leaning down to close that distance.

In a dream could he feel the warmth, the weight of you in his arms, or the way in which you drew to him? Could he see everything he wanted so clearly in this one glance, as though the stars had dropped from the very heavens to light the eyes that gazed at him with this adoration? If in a moment, the night air wouldn’t disappear at once with the smell of the dried grass, the fallen leaves, and the smell of sake—

Sake.

“You’re drunk.” Neji whispered hoarsely, drawing back at once and shifting so that your head was closer to his shoulder. He hadn’t wanted you to see the expression on his face right then.

You panicked, heart racing at the tide of events that shifted within seconds.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

You buried your face in his shoulder, too embarrassed that what was nearly a romantic moment had ended this way. It wasn’t clear how he had meant what he said, after you had clearly—in your mind, clearly—been trying to kiss him.

‘You’re drunk, and you’re acting foolish’?  That seemed far more like him than any alternative.

“Sorry…” You murmured, barely audible with your face in his chest.

Still, he held you for few precious moments, perhaps letting this embrace be his only selfish action for the night.

“You need rest.” Still, he didn’t move quite yet. You didn’t, either.

“I know…” Reluctantly, you drew away from him, avoiding his gaze. Neji shifted his weight, politely opening the door to your home for you and ushering you inside.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“What?” You blinked, your head still spinning from earlier.

“The…stars…?” Oh. Obviously! Still, Neji looked genuinely concerned. You immediately moved to compensate for your memory.

“O-oh, I thought you meant earlier as in…” You waved off furiously, trying to remember how to speak. Neji thought he had missed some unspoken courtesy and just as hurriedly racked his brain to figure out where he had faltered in his propriety.

“I could check on you in the morning, if it be necessary?”

He wouldn’t tell you that any hour could be yours, if you only just asked.

But you would have been too modest, anyway.

“If you aren’t too busy, I think…well, you’ll probably be busy, you have so many important things and—” You rambled on, not sure where the aim of it was, fidgeting with your hands. “—I don’t want to ask you to—“

You stilled only when Neji caught your hand, bringing it to his face.

He pressed his lips to your knuckles, turning his eyes to meet yours. You flushed, feeling his breath still ghosting on your hand. He might have said every word you ever wanted to hear just then in the way he looked at you.

“Tomorrow. Goodnight, (y/n).”

And when he left, you sank down to your bed, hand on your chest, your heart playing those words, unspoken, but felt in your chest.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

[scandalsavagefanfic]

You know how Bruce took Jason to the place where he died, hoping Jason could remember something to help resurrect Damian? What if Bruce actually succeeded in triggering Jason's memory of what happened on the day he died, but instead of getting the information he needs to revive Damian, Jason goes into shock and dies. Or worse he returns to the state he was in mentally when he crawled out of his grave?

You’re my favorite kind of monster. My angst soulmate.

This is the first comic book that made me cry. We’ve been talking a lot lately about Bruce punching Tim in Batman #71 and some people even talk about Bruce beating the shit out of Jason in RHatO #25 but frankly, in my opinion, this is the most fucked up thing Bruce has ever done (and that’s not even counting the fact that after he subjects Jason to this, Jason punches him (as he should), and he punches Jason back).

Trying to summarize it in the thing I wrote for this wouldn’t have done it justice so I included the panels which roll right into the little ficlet I wrote for this. So you’ll want read the comic panels like they’re part of the story, because they are.

[[If you haven’t read Batman and Robin (2011) #20 by Peter Tomasi and Patrick Gleason, you should. The really heartbreaking stuff takes place immediately following the panels I’ve included]]

Regress 

Words: 1121 (not counting the ones in the panels)

Rating: …Teen?

Warnings: emotional abuse/manipulation, panic attacks, seizures, severe traumatic brain injuries, severe ptsd

He doesn’t register the increasingly labored breathing at his side until movement out of the corner of his eye interrupts his speech.

Jason is doubled over, one elbow bracing himself across his knees, fingers of the other hand digging deep into the dirt, steadying himself against the ground.

“Jason?” Bruce says in concern, stepping toward him. But the younger man, raises his hand in a halting motion and stumbles away a few steps putting more space between them.

Stunned, Bruce watches in confusion as Jason takes too many deep, frantic breaths as though he can’t get any air. He’s hyperventilating, his face suddenly clammy; pale and wet with sweat.

When Jason squeezes his eyes closed only for them to fly wide open almost immediately to stare at ground, refusing to blink until tears well up and drop into the dust, that’s when Bruce is shaken from his shocked stupor and rushes to the younger man’s side. 

Just in time to catch him as he suddenly seizes, collapsing into Bruce’s arms while convulsions wrack his body.

He knows the look of abject terror on Jason’s face is reflected on his own. He has no idea what’s happening, how something like this could come on so suddenly, without warning. 

Jason doesn’t have a history of panic attacks or seizures. But his pulse has skyrocketed. It’s racing so fast Bruce is worried he’s going to have a stroke or go into cardiac arrest. 

“Jason, I-I know it’s hard son, but you need to focus. Please, try to breath or you’re going to–” 

Or you’re going to die.

Bruce chokes on the rest of the words. He looks up, out at the rubble of the warehouse that only a couple years ago had blown up around his tortured son and killed him slowly as it filled his ruined lungs with poisonous smoke.

His gaze snaps back down a moment before a wet gurgle sounds from within Jason’s throat. Instantly, without hesitation, Bruce turns Jason onto his side. So he doesn’t drown in the vomit that spills beneath them, splashing onto Batman’s boots. 

It doesn’t even register in Bruce’s mind. Jason’s pulse is still ratcheting higher and higher. 

He keeps Jason securely in his lap, pressed close against his armor, with one arm. Both eyes fixed intently on the youthful face twisted in agony, watching for any changes, trying to not fixate on the way one pupil is a pinprick while the other is dilated so wide there isn’t the slightest hint of color. With his free hand he starts desperately fishing for the strongest sedative he can safely administer to someone Jason’s size.

Suddenly, Jason’s eyes shut tightly again, his mouth falls open in a silent scream, and he grabs at his head; pressing against his temples with all his strength before taking fistfuls of hair and trying to pull them out. 

Terror isn’t strong enough to describe the kind of fear that floods every cell of Bruce’s body and it’s only years of practice that allow him to compartmentalize his guilt and shove it aside. He can’t afford– Jason can’t afford– for him to fall apart.

Letting his violently spasming, child slip gently from his lap to the ground so that he can effectively retrieve the sedative is at once the hardest and easiest thing he’s ever done.

Moments after he depresses the needle’s plunger, Jason’s convulsions slowly abate. His hands drop, boneless, away from his head. His breathing evens out. His lids drop heavier and heavier until he’s taken under. 

Finally his whole body relaxes.

Bruce takes a deep breath of relief and realizes he had been holding his own.

But now, in the silence, bathed in the harsh white from the Batmobile’s headlights, darkness pressing in, the crumbled remains of a dark tomb casting sharp, twisted shadows across the eerily still form of the teenager they once buried… now Bruce is left with only his own thoughts. 

I did this.

————————————————————-

Two months and two dozen specialists later, the best anyone can tell is that a severe panic attack triggered a seizure which tore open all the old wounds the Lazarus Pits had tentatively mended. The physical trauma inflicted on Jason’s brain is some of the most extensive the doctors had ever seen. And permanent.

He’s lucky to be alive, they’d said.

The last time Bruce saw Jason, the little patches of hair he had torn out had just started growing back. His eyes were vacant as he stared, unseeingly, into the distance. Tim had gently wiped up the clear fluid that occasionally leaked out of Jason’s ears with a tissue. Then, with one final angry, heartbroken glance back at Bruce, he’d wheeled an unresponsive Jason out of the manor, into his new van, and drove away.

Alfred had gone with them.

Tim and Barbara speak to him exactly twice after that. Once to extract Damian from the league after Ra’s managed to resurrect him. And the final time to help Dick finish with his undercover work at Spyral. 

None of them are surprised when they find out Bruce lied to them about Dick’s death.

Dick is horrified when he sees Jason again for the first time, when Tim and Barbara fill him in. The look of disgust he levels at Bruce cuts deep. Even though Bruce knows he deserves that and worse. 

Damian, who had been conflicted about what happened with Jason, it was cruel and heartless but it was done out of love for him, went easily with Dick to Bludhaven after everything. Dick’s right. It’s for the best.

Bruce deserves it all. He’s aware of that. What happened… what he did… it’s unforgivable.

But he can’t stop himself from checking in on them. Making sure they’re all right.

That’s how, nearly a year later, he learns they’ve all moved to New York together. They have the top TBI specialists there. The boys chose a place close enough to the city that they can do their night jobs but far enough outside the city limits that the lights are in the distance and the noise is non-existent. A peaceful house in a peaceful wood, tucked away from the world, where their broken brother can… can…

Exist.

They take hundreds of pictures. Jason is in every single of them. Never alone. Never forgotten. Always cared for.

But there’s still nothing behind that emotionless gaze.

Sometimes Bruce thinks about putting Jason in the Pit again. Even found himself, with no one to stop him, halfway to New York once. 

But the boys haven’t taken him. Dick and Tim and Damian haven’t tried it. They must have a reason.

And if one thing has been made abundantly clear to Bruce, it’s that his judgement absolutely cannot be trusted.